The Secrets of Darcy and Elizabeth: A Pride and Prejudice Variation

by Victoria Kincaid

  He had believed Elizabeth liked him. All those teasing conversations…Now he realized she employed humor to cope with uncomfortable circumstances. But he had never considered her emotions at any great length. This had been, he realized, only one of many miscalculations. I wanted her to love me, but I never stopped to wonder if she did.

  He shook his head to clear away a vision of Elizabeth welcoming him with a warm smile; such love would never come to pass. Before the proposal he could never escape thoughts of her and such musings had been a guilty pleasure, but now these visions caused nothing but pain.

  He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, drawing his cousin’s attention as he glanced across the carriage with concern. It was a mark of how distressed Darcy must appear that his cousin had been more anxious than teasing with him over the past few days. Darcy managed a wan smile for his cousin, but knew that it had not reassured Richard; the concern did not leave his eyes.

  Darcy returned his gaze to the passing scenery. France was truly a lovely country and the early June weather meant that the passing scenery was green and lush. They were nearing Paris, where they would join two of Colonel Fitzwilliam’s friends, Major Broadmoor and Colonel Wilkins, whom Darcy had met previously and knew would be good traveling companions.

  “So, what shall we do tomorrow?” Richard asked conversationally.

  “My first object is a visit to the Louvre. What are your plans?” Throughout the trip, Richard had complained about Darcy’s silence, so he found it easier to pretend an interest in conversation.

  “I suppose I could accompany you to a museum. But, my first stop is a patisserie.” He rubbed his stomach in appreciation

  “I should have known! You came all this way just for the French pastries.”

  “Mais, oui,” Richard responded with a grin. “Is there any superior reason?” Darcy gave him the ghost of a smile. “I received a letter from my mother’s friend Mrs. Radnor. She is married to a Frenchman, Robert du Plessy, who is now an advisor to Bonaparte himself. They have a grand house in a fashionable part of Paris.”

  “Your mother associates with one of Napoleon’s advisors?” Darcy arched an eyebrow skeptically at Richard.

  “We are no longer at war, remember?”

  “Old enmities are not easily forgotten. Many people in London do not believe the peace will hold.”

  “So it is fortuitous we are visiting Paris while we can, eh?” Richard gave Darcy a rakish smile. “Mrs. Radnor has invited us to a ball she is holding at her townhouse the day after next. Would you like to attend?”

  “A ball full of the beau monde of Paris?” This was precisely the type of social event he had been avoiding in London.

  “I believe it will be populated mostly by visitors like us or Englishmen living in France. Lady Radnor wrote that she grows lonely for her countrymen and holds balls to bring them together.”

  “That is no inducement. I do not want to attend a ball,” Darcy scowled at the thought. “I left England to escape them.”

  “I thought you left England to escape Miss Bennet.” Richard replied promptly.

  “I still do not wish to attend any balls.” Darcy said firmly.

  “Perhaps you will be introduced to a comely English lass.”

  “Poor girl.”

  “Or perhaps a fun-loving French lass.” Darcy simply scowled at this suggestion, but Richard grinned, not at all discouraged. “I have not conceded defeat. We will improve your spirits somehow.”

  “You shall have to find another means of doing so. I will not attend any balls.”

  Darcy surveyed the ballroom at Radnor House. How did I let Richard talk me into this? He wondered for the hundredth time. At one time he had felt he was master of his life, but now – between Elizabeth’s rejection and Richard’s machinations – everything seemed to spiral beyond his control.

  It was quite a crush, all over the ballroom ladies in glittering dresses and gentlemen in brocaded waistcoats and lace cravats were jostling and maneuvering just to edge their way from one place to another. It was hot. It was loud. Everyone had to raise their voices to be heard. It was exactly the kind of event Darcy hated. Watching the milling throngs, he contemplated strategies that would allow him to depart early.

  Balls were particularly painful because they could only remind him of Elizabeth. Elizabeth laughing at him behind her fan at the Meryton Assembly. Elizabeth lightly grasping his hand during the dance at Netherfield. He even thought fondly of Elizabeth’s rejection of him as a dance partner at Lucas Lodge. I would give anything for a glimpse of her – even that angry and impertinent Elizabeth! He sternly reminded himself that a glimpse would do him no good. She would never be his, but was destined to be some other man’s bride. Angrily, he attempted to push that thought, and its accompanying despair, away.

  As he watched the revelers, he realized he had been foolish to believe that Paris would help him forget Elizabeth. Everywhere he experienced reminders of her: a yellow bonnet on the street; the melodious sound of a woman’s laugh; a clever turn of phrase by a traveling companion. Even the sight of lavender ribbon in a shop window sent him into an emotional whirlwind one afternoon. If Richard knew the extent of my infatuation, he would give me up as a lost cause immediately. Even as he watched the crowds of revelers, he noticed a woman with a hairstyle similar to one Elizabeth had worn. For a moment his pulse accelerated, but then he glanced away, angry at himself for his reaction.

  Chastising himself, Darcy threaded his way through the crowd to where Richard and his two army compatriots were talking with a few other men about the state of the peace between England and France. “I do not believe Parliament will ever consent to surrender Malta to France. No matter what the treaty says,” said Major Broadmoor with a shake of his head. “Its strategic value is too great.”

  “They already agreed. Do you believe they will not honor the treaty?” Monsieur duBois was a Frenchman Darcy and his friends had been introduced to by Mrs. Radnor. He spoke excellent, though heavily accented, English. “If they do not give up Malta, they will violate it.”

  “Napoleon has already violated terms of the Treaty. He has not quitted the Batavian Republic,” noted Colonel Wilkins somewhat emphatically. “Many in England believe he never intended to honor his promises.”

  “You may be correct,” shrugged duBois. “I do not agree with all of the Emperor’s actions.”

  “If both nations do not meet the promises set down in the treaty, we will be at war once again,” said Major Broadmoor with a sigh.

  “Yes, I am afraid so,” conceded duBois. “The emperor has already threatened war if Malta and Egypt are not evacuated.”

  “Yes, and Parliament is recruiting more men for the navy,” put in Wilkins.

  Broadmoor shook his head sadly. “If you ask me, Napoleon is simply taking this time to consolidate his hold on power and organize his army.”

  “Hopefully the Treaty will hold for some time, though. I am thoroughly enjoying my visit to your fair city and would hate to cut it short,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said to duBois, apparently attempting to steer the conversation onto less gloomy – and controversial – topics.

  “I am always pleased when visitors enjoy the city. Have you visited Notre Dame?” duBois seemed to welcome the change in subject.

  Darcy left to collect more punch as the conversation turned to visiting the city’s sights, which he was already weary of despite the fact that they still had over a week of traveling remaining! Not that he was yearning to return to England; here, at least, he was relieved of the burden of pretending to Georgiana that everything was fine. Darcy ladled punch into a cut glass cup and then stood to admire the view from the window. Half an hour more, he calculated; then he could claim fatigue and leave.

  “Darcy!” He turned to see Colonel Fitzwilliam approach with a lovely woman on his arm. She had blonde hair, blue eyes, and a very young face. “Here you are!” Richard said jovially. “I was explaining to Miss Howard how you yearned for an English woman t
o partner for a dance.”

  Darcy’s eyes shot daggers at Richard, who smiled innocently. “I have it on good authority from her brother that she is quite an accomplished dancer. And she was born in Cornwall, so she is undoubtedly English.” Miss Howard tittered appreciatively at the joke.

  Darcy suppressed a grimace. He had specifically told Richard he had no wish to dance or to be introduced to eligible young ladies, but his cousin was convinced that socializing would lift his spirits. Sighing, Darcy conceded defeat. “Miss Howard, would you do me the honor of the next dance?”

  Miss Howard blushed. “Thank you, yes.” They talked politely until the next dance formed, when Darcy led the young lady into position opposite him. It was an enormous ballroom and dancers were plentiful, Darcy saw with dismay, realizing it would be a long set.

  As the music started, they danced in silence for a few minutes. Believing it was incumbent on him to offer conversation, Darcy cast about for an appropriate topic. “Do you miss Cornwall?”

  She appeared confused. “How could I miss such a place when I can enjoy the pleasures of London and Paris?” She blushed. Apparently she blushed whenever she answered a question.

  Darcy decided on a different strategy. “Do you enjoy reading?” He asked as they moved through the complicated dance figures, grateful that at least she was a fairly skilled dancer.

  “Oh yes!” Her enthusiastic response was followed by another blush.

  At least we have a common topic! Darcy thought with relief as the steps of the dance drew them apart again. “What do you prefer to read? Poetry? Novels? Plays?” He asked when they came together once more.

  “Not so much.” What else? Surely she does not read many history books! “I prefer to read fashion magazines. Did you know that this season the fashion will be for long sleeves?”

  “No, I did not,” Darcy suppressed an inner groan. I will be revenged on Richard for this!

  They held hands and turned in the steps of the dance. “Indeed! Why you should see the illustrations in Godey’s! Long sleeves everywhere. And sheer overskirts in very light colors on almost every page! I said to my mother, can you fathom such…?”

  Miss Howard continued in this vein without any encouragement – or even participation – from Darcy, who found his thoughts wandering. At least her enthusiasm for the topic had chased away her blushes. Far from making him forget Elizabeth, this girl was making him appreciate his love’s intelligent conversation all the more – and reminding him of what he had lost. When did Elizabeth become the standard to which I compare all other women?

  As he awaited his turn to twirl his partner in the middle of the line, he saw another young woman, standing on the edge of the dancing, attempting to catch his eye and smiling coquettishly over her fan when he noticed her. Undoubtedly many of the English visitors here knew his identity and he was certain he would be subject to fortune-hunting women and their avaricious parents. He averted his gaze; he had no interest in playing such games.

  With an effort of will he pulled his focus back to the intricate steps of the dance. Realizing that she should allow him to contribute to the conversation, Miss Howard blushed and inquired about his opinions on music – agreeing completely with everything he said.

  Elizabeth had never simpered and agreed with his every opinion. Too late he realized it was simply that she did not desire his good opinion. He so rarely encountered young, eligible women who did not want his attention that he had not recognized her feelings for what they truly were. I must cease obsessing about her!

  The dance seemed to last forever. Darcy and Miss Howard moved down the line of dancers, encountering a couple that they had not yet danced with. Darcy stepped forward to take the hand of the new woman in the opposite corner and gazed up into her face. It was Elizabeth!

  Chapter 2

  Now I am hallucinating! He thought at first. My longing for her has addled my wits. But when he glanced up once more he knew the woman was definitely Elizabeth. She appeared as shocked as he felt. “Mr. Darcy!” He had not hallucinated that.

  Paralyzed by shock, Darcy faltered on the next step in the dance. A man from another couple inadvertently crashed into him, muttering an oath. “I beg your pardon,” Darcy muttered as he swerved to the side, only to trample a poor lady’s toes. With another apology, he finally retreated to his proper place and sought out Elizabeth, but she was swept away from him by the tide of the dance.

  Mechanically, Darcy continued dancing, relieved that it was a dance he knew well, but he could not refrain from continually peering down the line of dancers to Elizabeth. She seemed flushed with surprise, but had managed to keep pace with the dance. Darcy glanced at her partner, a man of perhaps 40. He’s much too old for her! The surge of jealousy caught him off guard.

  Darcy tried to make sense of her presence here. What is she doing in France? How long will she stay? More importantly, how will she receive me? Occasionally he had fantasized about encountering Elizabeth by accident, but now that he was faced with her actual presence he lacked confidence that he could change her opinion of him.

  Will she even speak with me? He entertained the hope that she had softened in her opinion of him after reading his letter, but he had to be realistic; it was equally possible she had torn up the letter without reading it.

  However, he knew one thing for certain: he must attempt it. Proceed slowly, he cautioned himself. You should be content if she treats you with civility. Stealing another glance at Elizabeth, he recognized her yellow silk dress as one he had seen before, a very becoming frock that flattered her figure and caressed her curves. Clearly the intervening time had not diminished his attraction to her.

  After he had neglected to answer several questions, his partner had given up attempts at conversation. When the dance ended, Darcy barely remembered to take her hand to lead her from the dance floor as he craned his neck to search the crowd for Elizabeth. There she was! She was glancing around as well. Was she searching for him? He tried not to raise his hopes, but they were acquaintances, so she would be rude not to greet him.

  She glimpsed him and approached on her partner’s arm. Part of Darcy’s brain was rejoicing at her sheer nearness while another part was frozen with panic, certain that he would do or say something to chase her away again. His whole body was flushed with warmth and seemed to be suffering from a sudden loss of coordination, even his tongue.

  “Mr. Darcy! What a surprise!” She was smiling, but her eyes slid away from his almost at once.

  “Indeed.” It was all he could manage.

  “May I introduce my Uncle, Edward Gardiner?” Her uncle! Of course, not some new suitor. Darcy smiled with relief.

  “Mr. Gardiner, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Under the circumstances, Darcy was happy he had managed a coherent sentence.

  “Likewise, Mr. Darcy.”

  There was a pause and Darcy realized he must introduce his partner. “Mr. Gardiner. Miss Bennet, allow me to introduce Miss—” His mind was a blank; seeing Elizabeth so unexpectedly had addled his wits. What was her name? He could not remember it at all! Could this get any worse?

  “Miss Howard,” his partner supplied and the others returned her greeting. Apparently giving Darcy up as a lost cause, Miss Howard mumbled something about finding her partner for the next dance and hastened off. There was a long pause as Darcy silently berated himself. Say something!

  In the weeks since the disastrous proposal, he had envisioned what might occur if he were to encounter Elizabeth. He imagined being angry and cutting – or proud and superior, demonstrating all of the advantages in life she had forsaken in refusing him. Then, later, as he began to acknowledge the truth in some of her reproofs, he fantasized about being amiable and dashing, impressing her with his good qualities. And, always, he had dreamed of kissing her, removing the pins from her hair and… He stopped those thoughts before they went too far.

  However, he had never imagined being tongue-tied and awkward.

  “
M-Miss Bennet. I must say I did not expect to find you in France.” There, that was an unexceptionable statement.

  Elizabeth seemed uneasy and would not meet his eyes, instead looking down to fiddle with a button on one of her gloves. Was that because she wished to be away from here – talking to anyone else but him? “I had no such plans the last time I saw you,” she explained. “I was planning a trip to the Lake District with my Aunt and Uncle, but then unexpected business called my Uncle to France. They generously asked me to accompany them for the voyage.” Miss Bennet’s facility with words had not deserted her, he thought enviously. Perhaps she was not as anxious as he, since she had no concerns about earning his good opinion.

  There was a lull in the conversation and he knew he should fill it. “Your parents are in good health?”

  “Yes, they are all in excellent health.”

  He cast about for another innocuous topic. “How have you liked France?” When Elizabeth glanced up at him and blushed, Darcy realized he was staring her rather warmly, but he could not draw his eyes away from her. He was like a thirsty man in the desert and she was his water. After such a long deprivation, he could not readily relinquish the sight of her.

  “I have liked it very well indeed. It is quite different from London – in many ways, big and small. And it is simply enchanting at night.” Elizabeth managed a smile. Was it for him or for the city?