An Unnatural Inheritance: A Pride and Prejudice Variation

by Virginia Brand

  She allowed her mind to wander as the group came to a stop once more so that Lydia and Kitty could talk to yet another officer. A tall, handsome man was standing by the officer, and Lydia was practically hanging off him as Elizabeth, Jane, and Mr. Collins approached.

  “Lizzy, you must meet Mr. Wickham!” Lydia exclaimed, letting out a loud giggle. “He has just bought his commission and is to be an officer!” The man — Mr. Wickham — bowed to Elizabeth and Jane deeply.

  “Indeed, miss, I will soon be joining the ranks of redcoats, and shall happily take up my role of protecting your beautiful village,” he said, smiling at the two sisters. He had a very easy smile, and Elizabeth could tell immediately that he was the kind of man who enjoyed laughter. He had a naturally handsome face, but his bright expression improved his looks dramatically.

  “I thank you for your service sir, but pray, tell me — what are you protecting Meryton from? Please do not tell me Napoleon has set his eyes on Mr. Brown’s millinery!” she said, her eyebrow arching up.

  Mr. Wickham paused for a moment and seemed to consider her question.

  “You wouldn't happen to have any bears around here, would you Miss…?” He trailed off, an unspoken question hanging in the air.

  “Elizabeth Bennet, sir. And bears? I do not believe that we have bears in Hertfordshire, no. A fair number of foxes, and far too many deer. Are you to liberate us from those threats?”

  “Deer you say?” He scratched at his chin thoughtfully. “No, I don't believe I'm soldier enough for that level of danger yet. I'm afraid you shall have to manage on your own.”

  Elizabeth let out a loud peal of laughter, and was rewarded with another wide, warm smile from the gentleman in front of her.

  “I believe we shall manage. Tell me, Mr. Wickham, where are you from?”

  “I come from the rugged beauty of Derbyshire, Miss Bennet. Though we have hills and rocks to spare there, I find I am vastly enjoying the simple beauty of your home country,” the man answered.

  “Derbyshire!” Lydia exclaimed, “Why, we know someone from Derbyshire!”

  “Truly, do you not think we should continue on our way to your aunt’s house? We would not want to keep her waiting,” Mr. Collins broke in. “My cousin tells me your aunt has prepared a tea for us, and I would not want to seem ungrateful for her hospitality by being so late. My patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, often says…”

  Lydia looked as though she had several things to say in response, but she was luckily prevented from speaking her mind by the sound of hoofbeats behind them; as one, the party turned to see Mr. Bingley approaching them at a trot.

  “If it isn't the Miss Bennets! I was hoping I would run into you,” Mr. Bingley said, dipping his hat as he looked directly at Jane. Jane returned the barest of curtseys, and stared at her feet. Mr. Bingley seemed momentarily caught off guard by her cool welcome, but rallied quickly.

  “You see, I have promised to hold a ball at Netherfield, and I had hoped to solicit your opinion on a date! I would greatly wish it to be soon, but I know young ladies always have the most understanding and best reasonings when it comes to these kind of things,” Mr. Bingley said, a wide smile stretched across his face. “Miss Bennet, what say you?”

  He peered curiously at Jane, and she lifted her eyes from the ground for the first time.

  “Mr. Bingley, I do not believe you have met my cousin, Mr. Collins. He is staying with us at Longbourn. Mr. Collins,” she said, turning to the man and speaking in a softer voice, “When do you leave for Kent? I should hope you will be here for the ball.”

  Elizabeth watched Mr. Bingley’s curious expression shift to something of surprise, and she felt an aching sympathy for the man. To hold a ball — which she largely suspected was purely a means of dancing with Jane — only to have Jane express interest in dancing with another man at that ball! It it were anyone but her sister, who she knew to be entirely incapable of inflicting harm, she would call the action cruel.

  “I do not know when the ball will be, but I will admit that I hope whenever such a festive occasion occurs, I may do the honor of having one of my fine cousins’ hands for the first set?” Mr. Collins asked hopefully. Elizabeth opened her mouth to respond, but Jane had already beaten her.

  “I’m sure we would all be honored, sir.”

  Elizabeth did not know what may have passed between the two of them, but Jane was clearly sending a message to Mr. Bingley with her words and actions, and the man began to look slightly distressed.

  At that moment, Mr. Darcy rode up, his black beast panting, a look of severe consternation on his face.

  “Bingley, what got into you? I was in the middle of—” he trailed off as he spied the women gathered around Mr. Bingley’s horse, and nodded curtly. His horse whinnied and jerked its head back and forth as Elizabeth stepped forward, and Mr. Darcy had to reach down to pat the side of its neck reassuringly.

  “Ah, yes, there you are. I was just telling the Bennets about my ball, and they were introducing me to their cousin, Mr. Collins,” Mr. Bingley said in a dull voice, gesturing down at the group. Mr. Collins stepped forward, and, as his wide girth shifted, Elizabeth realized that Mr. Wickham was now visible to the larger group.

  “Mr. Bingley, have you met our new friend Mr. Wickham? He is soon to be Lieutenant Wickham, which I think suits him much better,” Lydia said in a singing voice. Mr. Darcy jerked his head up to look at the man, and Elizabeth watched in wonder as their eyes met.

  As sudden as lightning, a searing whip of anger and despair cut through her, lashing against her heart and filling her with a physical ache. She cried out and clutched at her chest as she took a step backwards, as though the strange emotions that had so briefly whirled within her had been so solid as to cause her to lose her balance.

  Elizabeth looked up, desperately trying to catch her breath as seven pairs of curious and alarmed eyes gazed down on her.

  “Lizzy? What happened?” Jane asked, rushing to her side. Elizabeth stared at her sister. Had she not felt that? The emotions that had flared were not her own, and even as she struggled to regain her composure, she knew that it was magic that had allowed her to channel them. But why were her sisters not reacting the same? Had they not felt it?

  She looked up, her eyes large, as a horrifying realization dawned upon her: that whip of anger and cutting edge of hurt had come from Mr. Darcy. She could still see it in his eyes, even as it faded from her own body.

  “Miss Elizabeth, are you well? May I assist you?” the gentleman asked urgently, a heavy tone of concern in his voice as he repeated Jane’s question. Elizabeth glanced between him and Mr. Wickham, whose face was a mask of surprise, and nodded.

  “Yes, I thank you, sir. I just… I am afraid that I suddenly feel unwell. It was a momentary concern, I assure you, but I should really be heading home…” Elizabeth trailed off, her voice faint. She bobbed a clumsy curtsy to Mr. Bingley, Mr. Darcy, and Mr. Wickham, and turned to Mr. Collins.

  “La, you look like you have seen a ghost! Did you? Oh Lizzy, was it something mag—” Lydia began to say, rushing forward toward her older sister.

  “Cousin!” Elizabeth practically yelled in her rush to cut off Lydia, “Would you kindly walk me home? I am afraid I will have to introduce you to my aunt another time,” she requested. Elizabeth risked a glance in Mr. Darcy’s direction, and saw that his concern had been replaced by a suspicious looking gaze, and his eyes had narrowed. Jane, fighting through her worry for Elizabeth, stepped forward and possessively claimed Mr. Collins’ arm.

  “Our aunt has gone to such work to prepare for our visit. I will escort Mr. Collins, along with Lydia and Kitty, and Mary may walk you home. She is so much faster than I am, and is the only one who can keep pace with you.”

  Elizabeth narrowed her eyes, but consented, and, bobbing a curtsy to the rest of the party, took Mary’s arm and set off down the road back toward Longbourn. The moment that Elizabeth had turned from the group, she heard Mr. Darcy’s horse whinn
y once more, and all at once he was gone, thundering off in the other direction without so much as a goodbye to the assembled group.

  “Lizzy, what happened?” Mary asked as soon as the two sisters had rounded a bend in the road which separated them from the rest of the party. In hushed tones, Elizabeth attempted to describe what she felt to her sister, and even still she could feel remnants of the pain in her chest.

  “Are you sure it came from Mr. Darcy? It could have been from Mr. Bingley — Jane was almost horrible to him, don’t you think?” Mary asked, but Elizabeth shook her head.

  “No, I am sure. We were speaking to Mr. Bingley for several moments and I did not feel it, not even when she was asking after Mr. Collins. I agree that she may have hurt Mr. Bingley, but I am sure her comments could not have caused the level and force of anger that I experienced. I tell you Mary, it happened right as Mr. Darcy saw Mr. Wickham, and I am quite positive it was a reaction to him. Didn’t you see them lock eyes? And then Mr. Darcy rode away immediately, and didn’t even say goodbye to the group.”

  “But why Mr. Darcy? I just don’t know how you could be sure it was him. What if it was you? What if you are actually ill?” Mary pressed.

  “It was not me. I know magic when I feel it, and by some strange occurrence, magic allowed me to feel Mr. Darcy’s emotions. Perhaps because it was so strong, and because I was near him, I picked it up. Perhaps if you had been next to him you would have felt it instead,” Elizabeth said, though Mary looked unconvinced. “But I know it was him, Mary. I saw it in his eyes, and I felt him. I could not explain it to you, but I know in my very core that it was him.”

  “It is extremely strange,” Mary mused. “I admit I have never read about anything like this. I would be curious to explore further. I know some witches can have empathic links with other individuals, but it is usually between family members or loved ones, and even then it is usually between ones who also have magic. Perhaps your power is growing?”

  Elizabeth nodded, barely listening to her sister. Mary was welcome to search her books, but she was sure that no book would explain what had happened to her.

  “I wonder what has transpired between the two men? They must know each other, and something horrible must have happened for Mr. Darcy to be that angry. He felt very hurt too, but there was a touch of resentment… Mary, it was terrible.”

  “Pray, put it out of your mind. Some mysteries are not meant to be solved,” Mary said warningly.

  “But surely there is a reason I felt it! Providence wanted me to know what Mr. Darcy was feeling, though I cannot reason why,” Elizabeth exclaimed. “I simply do not believe that I would suffer by accident.”

  IX

  Despite Mary’s warning, Elizabeth could not put the strange interaction between Mr. Darcy and Mr. Wickham out of her head, and, when Mr. Wickham and several other officers came for tea two days later, she was eager to discover more about the gentleman.

  She told herself that it was purely due to curiosity, but she could not entirely lie to herself when she considered that the man was exceedingly handsome. When he arrived at Longbourn wearing his newly made red jacket, for the first time Elizabeth understood her younger sisters’ fascination with the garment.

  Mr. Wickham was everything that was polite and sociable, and after the tea had been served and the inhabitants of the Longbourn drawing room fractured into smaller groups, Elizabeth was delighted when the gentleman placed himself next to her.

  “Miss Elizabeth, I hope you are feeling better. I admit I’ve thought of you with some worry since we parted the other day,” Mr. Wickham said, his tone full of concern. She smiled and nodded.

  “Yes, I assure you I am feeling quite better. It was but a strange occurrence, and I assure you I am in perfect health,” she responded. “I admit I was disappointed to break off our discussion when we did, as I was so looking forward to hearing more about Derbyshire. Did you know we have recently made an acquaintance from that area?” she asked, keeping her eagerness out of her voice. She hoped to drop the topic into conversation lightly. Mr. Wickham’s face clouded over slightly.

  “Mr. Darcy? Yes, we are familiar with each other. I have actually known the gentleman my whole life. We grew up together, and were once close friends,” he responded, carefully picking around his words. “But I do not wish to bore you with old remembrances. I wish only to know more about you, Miss Elizabeth.”

  Elizabeth attempted to hide the surprise and disappointment she felt. Mr. Wickham’s admission that he and Mr. Darcy were friends confirmed her suspicion that the men knew each other, and his use of the past tense to describe their friendship was intriguing. She was eager to learn more.

  “There is not very much to me, I assure you sir. You are the new entry to the neighborhood, and by default of being new, you are infinitely more interesting,” she quipped back, smiling. Mr. Wickham ducked his head in fake embarrassment.

  “That is not what I have heard, Miss Elizabeth. If even one rumor is true, I daresay you are very interesting indeed,” Mr. Wickham responded, lowering his voice. Elizabeth went slightly stiff, and forced her smile to continue.

  “I do not know what you mean,” she said. Mr. Wickham smiled and sat back in his chair, and placed his tea cup precariously on his knee.

  “How well do you know Mr. Darcy, Miss Elizabeth?” he asked suddenly, switching the subject. Elizabeth crinkled her forehead as she stared at him with some confusion.

  “Not very long; the gentleman has only been in the neighborhood a number of weeks.”

  “And how is he liked in the neighborhood?” Mr. Wickham asked. Elizabeth let out a small, surprised laugh.

  “He is not at all liked!” she almost exclaimed. “Everybody is disgusted with his pride.” Mr. Wickham smiled wider.

  “And do you share this opinion of Mr. Darcy?” he asked. Elizabeth paused a moment.

  “Truly, I have spent some time with him and I find him utterly puzzling. I will allow that he seems a good man, but he seems to have an over-inflated sense of purpose, and he is so silent. Do you know, I think I have only heard him laugh once. On my word, I am not sure if I could ever truly like a man who does not laugh.” At this, Mr. Wickham let out a small chuckle and sat forward.

  “So why did you use magic to intercept Mr. Darcy’s emotions during our meeting the other day?”

  Elizabeth’s body went rigid and the smile dropped off her face as she stared at Mr. Wickham, her eyes large as she struggled to find an answer.

  “Sir, I do not—” she began to say, but he shook his head.

  “Fear not, Miss Elizabeth, your secret is very safe with me. But please, though we have known each other but a short time, I feel we are friends already. Do not attempt to mislead me; others may be fooled, but I recognize magic when I see it. What did you feel that day?”

  Elizabeth’s mind raced as she attempted to find a response. What was Mr. Wickham playing at? Was he attempting to walk her into a trap?

  Mr. Wickham seemed to have noticed her apprehension, and leaned in even closer.

  “Miss Elizabeth, I am not trying to ensnare you. If you truly do not know what I am talking about, I will happily quit your company. But you have no need to hide or be afraid,” he said, looking around the room intently. “I am very familiar with magic; I come from a magical family myself and have, on occasion, practiced.”

  Elizabeth’s mouth practically fell open, and her heart began beating again.

  “You are a follower of the old ways?” she asked in surprise. Mr. Wickham gave a small, noncommittal shrug.

  “I learned some of it as a child, but I am very poorly educated in the matter. I am proud of my legacy, but growing up it was difficult to practice, and I was heavily discouraged from pursuing the art,” Mr. Wickham said.

  “Why?” Elizabeth pressed, her apprehension from the earlier moment all but gone, and her attention entirely focused on Mr. Wickham’s exceedingly handsome face.

  “I grew up at Pemberley, Mr. Darcy’s estat
e. My father was the late Mr. Darcy’s steward, and he was very close friends with the master. The late Mr. Darcy was the best of men, and was very good to us. His only flaw — though I understand it now, as an adult — was that he did not fully comprehend or understand magic. He knew that my father used it to help his estate prosper, but he preferred to turn a blind eye, so he could feign ignorance.”

  Elizabeth was transfixed, hanging on every word. Magic! At Pemberley, of all places! She could hardly believe it; the censuring Mr. Darcy with a grand estate that had been advanced through agricultural magic.

  “Mr. Darcy’s father took me under his wing, and had me educated alongside his son, and I was treated as one of the family. But, as I’m sure you know, the Darcys are fashionable people, and exist in a world where magic is not only not accepted, but actively feared and disdained,” Mr. Wickham said, his voice growing sad and reflective. “It was very difficult for me to learn my family’s art, and, I admit, I feared pursuing the matter further.”

  “That does not explain the rather frosty meeting between you two. You said that you were close friends. I do not mean to pry, but how could you and Mr. Darcy drift so far apart?” Elizabeth asked, decidedly ignoring Mr. Wickham’s earlier question about her magic.

  “It is a very long story, Miss Elizabeth, and I admit it does not show me in the best of light. There were a great many misunderstandings leading to our falling out, and though I do not truly understand what drove Mr. Darcy to treat me in such a way, the matter is, unfortunately, settled. It does not do to dwell on the past,” Mr. Wickham said, leaning back from her and breaking the heavy tension that had hung between them. Elizabeth blinked. Her curiosity was now truly engaged.