An Unnatural Inheritance: A Pride and Prejudice Variation

by Virginia Brand

  Darcy was silent for a long moment.

  “You are my closest friend, and I do not wish to see you suffer. But please, Bingley, be careful.” Bingley stared at him, his face set.

  “I will be open with her. I know she is not a witch, but I must confess I would not care. I only know that I cannot be happy without her. If she has woven some magic, it only means that she wishes to be with me as well, and that fills me with a hope I could not possibly describe.”

  Darcy silently resumed drinking his coffee, and despite the unsatisfactory conclusion, was under the impression that the conversation had run its course. As such, he was surprised when Bingley continued speaking several moments later.

  “What about Miss Elizabeth? You’ve formed a bit of a friendship with the lady. Do you think she is involved in this plot of yours?”

  Darcy attempted to keep the coffee from leaking down his face as he coughed.

  “No, I do not,” he said sharply. Bingley’s eyebrows furrowed.

  “What makes you think that? How can one sister be a witch and the other so totally ignorant?”

  Darcy cleared his throat, feeling rather awkward for reasons he couldn’t explain.

  “I have seen no evidence of nefarious witchcraft from Miss Elizabeth. Though Miss Bingley accused her of making her sister ill, Miss Elizabeth’s concern over her sister’s health was very real. And on the morning when Miss Bennet wove her siren song to bring you to her chambers, Miss Elizabeth was not even in the house, as I came upon her walking outside that morning.”

  Darcy did not mention his strongest point in Miss Elizabeth’s favor: every time he mentioned magic, she grew exceedingly nervous. A practiced witch would not fear such conversation, which led him to believe that she either knew of her powers and did not practice, or knew of her sister’s magic and was uneasy with it.

  “So you do not think the rest of the family has magic at all? Just Miss Bennet?” Bingley’s voice was rising again, and Darcy shook his head to quickly cut him off.

  “I am not sure, to be honest. I do not think the younger girls practice, for they are wild creatures and if they had magic at their disposal they would surely have wreaked havoc amongst the neighborhood by now. The middle one, Miss Mary, seems a studious sort, and as a result too reasonable to practice regularly.”

  “And Miss Elizabeth? You do not think she is magical?”

  Darcy grew silent.

  “There is something mystical about her, to be sure. I have seen her magic — her accidental, raw magic — with my own eyes. She has it, I am convinced, but I do not think she uses it. I think it rather explodes from her whenever moved to great heights of emotion, like a raw, untamed thing.” Darcy’s voice has grown softer, and had Mr. Bingley not been in the midst of great emotion himself, he might have noticed the very peculiar expression on his friend’s face.

  ***

  Nearby at Longbourn, Elizabeth was indeed in the midst of a great swell of emotion as she sat on the floor of her room.

  “Lydia, I am serious. You have seen Jane. She is miserable,” Elizabeth said, her tone urgent.

  “I know that, but I don't understand why you need me! Jane will be dreadfully angry if she finds out,” Lydia whispered from her perch in a nearby chair. Elizabeth gritted her teeth and took a steadying breath.

  “For reasons I cannot fathom, you seem to be the most powerful of all of us. Jane cannot know, Mary would not approve, and every spell Kitty casts goes horribly awry. I would do it myself but I need assistance, and I believe you have better control that I do,” Elizabeth said.

  Lydia perked up slightly.

  “What do you mean?” she asked, preening slightly. Now Elizabeth let out the sigh she had been holding back.

  “When I grow angry, I have a hard time containing my magic. I lash out, or it becomes visible. But you are angry all the time, and I have never once seen you lose control of your powers,” Elizabeth said sweetly, a smile on her face as Lydia’s own transformed into a pout.

  "Very well, fine, I will help you! It is good to see you stop being so serious for once. And Jane has been dreadfully out of sorts over the whole situation. I swear she scolds me daily. If we can help her be happy, maybe she will leave me in peace.”

  Elizabeth’s smile grew wider. She was positive she was going to regret this arrangement, but she could not bring herself to care. As the ball grew closer, Elizabeth had the sinking suspicion that either she or Jane were soon to be the future Mrs. Collins, and if it fell to her, she could leave her dear sister with a parting gift, and a helpful push toward her true love.

  “We are going to do a spell to reveal emotions,” Elizabeth told Lydia, sliding a thick book out from under her bed. Lydia’s eyes went large as she gasped.

  “Where did you get great-aunt Elizabeth’s grimoire? I thought we weren’t allowed to read that?” Lydia squeaked out, her head reaching toward its pages. Elizabeth slapped her away gently and shook her head.

  “It must be a complete secret, Lyddie. I have been borrowing it from father’s study for the past few years, privately, and copying the spells that seem useful into my own private book. I know father thinks his aunt’s magic was too dangerous, but truly, there are some fascinating enchantments in here. And it is still white magic, so I do not think we are straying too far.”

  Lydia jumped down from her chair and scooted along the floor to sit next to Elizabeth as her elder sister opened the old, thick book to the page that she had marked with a leaf earlier that week.

  “It should be a relatively simple spell, as we just want to help Jane and Mr. Bingley realize their inner emotions.” Lydia nodded, her eyes scanning the page.

  “We have all the herbs needed for the spell already! But — oh, Lizzy! This will not be easy to do!” Lydia exclaimed. Elizabeth raised her eyebrow.

  “Why do you say that?”

  Lydia pointed at the page toward an illustration that was recorded in their great-aunt’s fine, faded handwriting.

  “We must draw that rune on the spot where Jane and Mr. Bingley will stand. How will we do that? It will be impossible to do so without them seeing it, and we cannot leave a mark behind,” Lydia whispered, looking very annoyed at her elder sister’s lack of forethought. Elizabeth shook her head and reached back under the bed, and, pulling out a small drawstring bag, deposited it in Lydia’s hand.

  “During the ball, one of us will go to an alcove that is located outside of the ballroom. It is far enough away that I do not believe Mr. Bingley will have it well lit, but close enough that it is not so improper. We will draw the necessary rune with that salt, underneath a bench which resides there,” Elizabeth said. “I will manufacture an excuse to send both Jane and Mr. Bingley to the alcove, while you are in the library reading the enchantment and burning the proper herbs.”

  “Lizzy, this sounds dreadfully complicated,” Lydia pouted. Elizabeth chewed on the side of her cheek, afraid to admit that her sister was right. But she could not fathom how to make it more simple. The rune had to be drawn somewhere private, which narrowed their options dramatically. She wished that it was not so cold out, for the balcony would have made the entire scheme much simpler to pull off.

  “It must work, Lyddie. We have no other options. And we cannot be discovered.” Lydia nodded again, then looked at her sister with a glint in her eye.

  “I will help you with this, but I expect you to return the favor one day. I do not need your help with anything at present, but someday I will, and you must not ask too many questions or refuse your help. Do you agree?” Elizabeth squinted at her sister, nervous to make such a bargain with an unusually serious Lydia. But she was desperate, and had no other sister to turn to.

  “I suppose. Yes, it is a deal,” Elizabeth said, extending her hand. Lydia grasped it eagerly.

  “And you will loan me your blue ribbon for the ball,” Lydia added quickly while their hands were still joined. Elizabeth groaned and nodded.

  “Fine. You must give it back though!” Eli
zabeth called, but Lydia was already up and on her way out the door, and Elizabeth knew she would never see that ribbon again.

  XII

  Netherfield Park had never looked as glorious as it did that night. Though the family that was leasing the estate to Mr. Bingley were kind, they had never truly mixed among the neighborhood. Those who had visited the estate had gone but rarely, and the elder generation could not remember a private ball ever having been held there.

  The Bennet family was one of the last to arrive, owing to the excessively long time it had taken the younger Bennets to get ready. Elizabeth, already full of nerves, had little patience for her little sisters that evening. She was positive that a skilled inspector would find attraction runes littered across her sisters’ bodies in lavender oil, placed in hopes of becoming particularly alluring to the large number of officers present.

  As they entered the noisy main hall, Elizabeth scanned above the crowd, looking for the familiar face of Mr. Wickham, but in each room she found him missing. When he had called for tea the day before, he had assured her that he would be there.

  “I have done nothing wrong. If Mr. Darcy wishes to avoid me, that must be his responsibility. I will not flee the county on his behalf.”

  The comment had made Elizabeth laugh, and further cemented her convictions that Mr. Wickham was in the right. But though it bothered her that she could not find her friend, her mind was far too full of other worries to dwell on it for long. As they waited in the long receiving line, Elizabeth noticed that Mr. Darcy wasn't part of the party, and a brief release of relief rolled through her. Though she had seen no sign of it herself, Mr. Wickham’s warning about Mr. Darcy’s abhorrence of magic had left her slightly concerned, and she was eager to avoid the gentleman, at least until the deed was done.

  At her side, Mr. Collins coughed.

  “Cousin Elizabeth, may I beg you for the honor of the first set? Though a clergyman, I do not believe that the joy of dancing with a pretty partner is beyond the realms of moral acceptability. On the contrary, in fact, as my patroness—”

  “I would be honored Mr. Collins, thank you,” Elizabeth said, cutting her cousin off. A look of annoyance flicked across Jane’s face, and at that moment Mr. Bingley appeared behind them, as if magic, to ask Jane for the first set. She obliged.

  Kitty and Lydia’s runes appeared to have worked, as they were practically mobbed by officers vying for a dance, and Mary retreated almost immediately to the tea room, leaving Elizabeth quite alone with her cousin.

  I suppose I should get used to his company at some point, Elizabeth thought, holding back a grimace.

  Though Elizabeth had never pictured what dancing with Mr. Collins would be like, the reality of the situation far exceeded anything she could have dreamed up. He was clumsy to an extreme degree, regularly trod on her toes, and at one point even jumped on them in his enthusiasm for the dance. Though he had eagerness, he appeared to have no knowledge of the moves, and thus was perpetually two steps behind. Halfway through the set, rather than asking for help, the gentleman appeared to put aside any pretense of knowledge, and simply began stylizing his own moves.

  By the time the dance was through, Elizabeth was beet red with humiliation, and had to keep herself from running as Mr. Collins escorted her off the floor. No sooner had she joined Jane and Charlotte than the tall figure of Mr. Darcy appeared before her.

  “Miss Elizabeth, may I request your hand for one of your open sets?” he said in a rush, starting his sentence before he had fully finished his bow. Elizabeth blinked.

  “You may,” she said, flustered. The gentleman stared at her, apparently waiting for a further comment, though none was forthcoming.

  “May I enquire which set you have free?” he asked after an agonizing moment of silence. Elizabeth stared at him for a moment longer, until she felt Charlotte’s elbow in the small of her back.

  “The dinner set,” she blurted quickly, almost cringing the moment she said it. She had multiple dances free. Why had that sprung into her mind?

  The corner of Mr. Darcy’s mouth tilted upward slightly, almost imperceptibly.

  “I look forward to it,” he said, bowing again and leaving quickly.

  Elizabeth whirled around to stare at Charlotte and Jane, disbelief on her face.

  “I cannot believe I just agreed to dance with Mr. Darcy,” she wondered aloud. Charlotte smiled at her.

  “What is so bad about the gentleman?” her friend asked, but Elizabeth shot her a warning look.

  “I wonder why, when the gentleman found me ‘barely tolerable,’ he should endeavor to ask for my hand now!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “Still, it can’t be as bad as another dance with Mr. Collins.”

  “Lizzy, you are far too harsh, both on your cousin and Mr. Darcy,” Charlotte scolded. “Mr. Collins simply is unfamiliar with the steps. And you of all people know that Mr. Darcy does not dance. His seeking you out is a great honor.” Elizabeth snorted.

  “He likely seeks me out in order to pass further judgement! He seems to find joy in discerning my faults, so I imagine our set will be of great amusement to him,” Elizabeth said, ignoring her friend’s glare. “Oh do not look at me like that Charlotte. If you are so concerned for the men, I daresay you may have them both.”

  “Be careful, Lizzy. You border on arrogance, trying to give away that which isn’t yours,” Jane said quietly. Elizabeth blushed slightly as she turned to her sister.

  “And you, dear Jane, border on negligence, as you attempt to push away that which so plainly is yours.”

  Jane’s flush crept up her neck and settled as a rosy glow in her cheeks, and a more mean-spirited sister would have hated her for how delicately pretty her embarrassment made her look.

  But though Elizabeth would have liked to dwell on her uncomfortable upcoming dance with Mr. Darcy and her anxiety over her spell, she found it difficult to be out of spirits in a ballroom. Within a short amount of time Mr. Bingley had claimed her hand for a set, and she found herself quite diverted.

  Mr. Darcy had hung to the side of the ballroom for most of the evening and, with the exception of a few moments, had managed to entirely avoid Caroline Bingley. He was just giving himself a silent congratulations when the woman approached, her eyes glinting.

  “Oh, Mr. Darcy, I have been looking for you. I just heard the most delicious bit of gossip,” she said, practically purring as she came to stand next to him. He raised an eyebrow, but otherwise remained mute.

  “Have you met the Bennets’ cousin? Mr. Collins, I believe?” Mr. Darcy nodded, and glanced around quickly, searching for the man. He been nearby just a moment earlier, and Mr. Darcy was reticent to discuss the gentleman while he was in earshot.

  “Apparently he is in love. Truly, utterly captivated, as I hear,” Miss Bingley said. Mr. Darcy knit his eyebrows together.

  “And I should care why?” he asked dryly, immediately regretting his unchecked rudeness. Miss Bingley let out a grating laugh.

  “Because the object of his affection is none other than Miss Eliza Bennet,” she exclaimed. Mr. Darcy felt a jolt as a chill ran through him, but his companion did not notice. “I just heard the man saying he intends to make an offer tomorrow. To Miss Eliza! Can you imagine it? Such a headstrong woman tied to a clergyman — your aunt’s clergyman, of all people!”

  “I do not think they would suit,” Mr. Darcy said curtly. Miss Bingley laughed again.

  “Of course they will not, but this is likely to be the only offer she will ever receive, given her wild nature,” Miss Bingley said. “It will be very interesting to see how Miss Eliza adapts to such a life. I suppose you will have to report back, as you will likely meet the new Mrs. Collins on your trips to Kent.”

  Mr. Darcy stood rigid, tight lipped, and silent, barely acknowledging Miss Bingley’s presence as he attempted to sort through this new information. Miss Bingley, upon seeing the gentleman in question, called out.

  “Mr. Collins, how are you doing this evening?” Miss Bingley
asked the gentleman as he passed by them. Mr. Collins paused, looking just as startled as Mr. Darcy felt, and nearly stumbled in his attempt to bow.

  “Miss Bingley, Mr. Darcy! I am doing very well tonight, it is most kind of you to enquire!” Mr. Collins sputtered out, looking around in slight confusion. Mr. Darcy nodded tersely to him.

  “I hear I am to wish you joy, Mr. Collins,” Miss Bingley said, her voice low.

  “Joy?”

  “Indeed. I had heard that you are to marry Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Was my information incorrect? You made quite an exhibit together on the dance floor earlier,” she said, practically purring as she looked at Mr. Darcy in amusement, hoping to catch a similar expression on his face. She was disappointed.

  Mr. Collins’ eyes practically bulged out of his head, and from across the ballroom Elizabeth saw her cousin’s distress. Positive he was impugning himself on Mr. Darcy, she attempted to free herself from the conversation she was having with Sir William.

  “Miss Elizabeth?” Mr. Collins asked the lady before him. “I mean, yes, I hope so. I have plans to ask the lady tomorrow, and I shall hope to soon be a very happy man. I came to Hertfordshire upon the strict wishes of Lady Catherine de Bourgh — your esteemed aunt, sir, to take a wife, and, I pride myself, I may best fulfill those wishes while—”