An Unnatural Inheritance: A Pride and Prejudice Variation

by Virginia Brand

  “Come, I may tease you, Mr. Darcy, but it truly is not a bad name,” she said sweetly. He shook his head.

  “Perhaps I was lucky. Not as lucky as my father, who was named George, but certainly luckier than my grandfather Bainbridge, or his father, Worsnop Darcy.”

  “Oh, dear. I agree, you were lucky indeed. Still, I imagine it takes some pressure off of the desire to find a perfect name as well,” Elizabeth said with a smile. “As soon as you wed, you already have a name. If only all of life’s difficult decisions were made so easy by family tradition!”

  The moment she said it, Elizabeth regretted it. The gentleman went stiff beside her, and was silent as he reached down to grab a rock. He threw it into the stream much too forcefully, and Elizabeth realized that she had said something to upset him.

  “Though sometimes familial duty and tradition makes life quite a bit harder, do they not?” he asked through gritted teeth. She stared at him quizzically, unsure of what she had said to provoke his sudden anger.

  “I suppose you are right. But our sense of duty is what drives us, isn’t it? What helps shape and mold our characters. Not everything in life is meant to be easy,” she said with a sad smile. “Indeed, without some pain, I do not think we could ever know ourselves.”

  “Your words ring of wisdom,” he said quietly. “Though I wonder at what point we must push back against expectations and duty, if that duty will cause us too much pain? Where is the balance between being true to your family and being true to yourself?”

  Elizabeth bit her lip nervously, unable to fully process his comment, but desperately happy that he did not appear angry at her.

  “I could not tell you, sir. It is something I struggle with myself. I cannot give you such sage advice when I myself do not have it,” she said, then smiled slightly. “Perhaps it is as simple as choosing to be happy, and thinking only on those things which give us pleasure.”

  He stared at her for a long moment before a small smile lifted the corner of his mouth.

  “You claim to have no wisdom, yet give excellent advice, Miss Elizabeth.”

  He helped her up the embankment and they walked in peaceable silence for several moments, before Elizabeth turned to him.

  “What do you hear of Mr. Bingley, sir? We have heard nothing of him since he left with you from Hertfordshire,” Elizabeth said quietly. Mr. Darcy cleared his throat and looked away, and for a brief second Elizabeth wondered if he was going to ignore the question.

  “He is well. I just received a letter from him this morning, actually. He writes that he has encountered your elder sister in London, though I assume you knew that already,” he responded stiffly. Elizabeth gasped, then smiled widely.

  “Indeed I did not, sir! That is welcome news indeed, for we have all been so curious as to how he has been these months,” she said, elated. She was sure that when she returned to the parsonage, she would find a letter from Jane containing the same information, but somehow hearing it from Mr. Darcy made her sister’s good news so much sweeter.

  “You may find him some changed, next time you meet him. He has given himself over to reading,” Mr. Darcy said with a smirk. Elizabeth let out a chiming laugh.

  “Mr. Bingley, taking up reading? Perhaps he has been spending too much time with you, sir.”

  “Perhaps. I cannot claim to be the inspiration for his new field of study, however. Since returning to London, my friend has made a devoted attempt at unlocking the mysteries of magic,” Mr. Darcy said, his tone dry with distaste as he glanced sideways at her. She flushed, though she knew that she had no obvious reason to do so.

  “Ah! Magic. I told you once, sir, that such a subject always comes up when you are around. Perhaps you had more influence on your friend than you think,” she said softly. “Though I will allow some surprise at the news. It is not a field I would expect Mr. Bingley to give credence to.”

  “He reads like a man driven, delighting in each new discovery. I assure you, he learned no such joy from me,” Mr. Darcy responded tightly.

  Elizabeth looked up at him and chewed on her lip. Dare she continue? She felt as though she were about to venture onto a lake covered in a thin layer of ice, but she could not help it, she so desperately desired an answer.

  “What think you of magic, sir?” she asked bluntly. He stiffened immediately and stopped walking.

  “We have spoken of it before, Miss Elizabeth,” he responded, clearly appearing uncomfortable, but she charged on, regardless.

  “Of its unsuitability for young ladies, of it’s relationship with morality, yes; but never have we discussed your opinions of it,” she pressed.

  “My opinion is simple: I do not condone it. Those who use magic often use it badly, and I have seen it leave nothing but pain and destruction in its path.” Elizabeth held her breath for a moment, and willed herself to not feel surprised. Did she not know this already? It was merely confirming what she already held to be true.

  “And do you damn all those who use it, for any reason?” she responded, her voice unaccountably breathless.

  “I would not say I damn them. But I can think of very few justifiable reasons to use magic. It has no place in our current society, and causes more harm than it’s worth,” he said.

  Looking at her for the first time, he released a breath, and his posture loosened. “I can understand the appeal, and rationally know that it is not always used out of spite or ill intent. But I think it is dangerous, and not well regulated by those who use it. It seems almost too easy to make an irreparable mistake, one that you would come to regret. Do you not think?”

  His eyes bore into her, and her chest constricted at his words. Did he know what she had done? Was he aware that he had been banished by her own hand, that his sister’s greatest secret had been divulged by her carelessness? She looked into his eyes, hoping for an answer, but could find none. No, surely he did not know. He would not deign to speak with her if he knew.

  “You make sage points, sir. I cannot argue with them,” she responded finally, after too many moments of silence. He blinked and took a step back, for during this exchange he had unwittingly approached her.

  “That shocks me, Miss Elizabeth, for I thought you dearly loved to debate.”

  Elizabeth shook her head and looked down at the ground.

  “But how can one debate against moral conviction sir? If I were to debate, what would be the objective? Is it ever one’s place to attempt to uproot morality and values? No, I believe this is one subject best left undebated.”

  The were silent, and for a long moment Elizabeth could feel his heavy gaze on her, though she did not look up from the ground.

  “I have promised to accompany my cousin to the village today, sir. I should prepare myself,” she said, bobbing a curtsey.

  Elizabeth barely waited for him to return the gesture before she had turned and quickly made her way back toward the parsonage, where she dashed up the stairs to the small guest room she occupied, almost unable to contain her tears.

  She had been such a fool, to think that things were different. On these walks she had allowed herself to imagine a different world, one in which there were not so many obstacles between herself and the gentleman; a world in which they were social equals, in which he had not insulted her that first night at the assembly. A world in which he was not so infuriating and rude; and, most importantly, a world in which he did not loathe magic.

  But such a world did not exist, and at basics she knew that putting herself in Mr. Darcy’s company so regularly only served to increase her pain. For though she may love him despite his flaws and defects, he hated who she was at her very core: a witch. She pledged that she would not walk out with him again, and would endeavor to avoid putting herself in his company. It only gave her pain, and would come to no good end.

  XXII

  True to her promise, Elizabeth no longer stepped out in the early mornings, and as a result had no further encounters with Mr. Darcy. Instead she only saw him during tort
urously long dinners at Rosings, or on occasions when he and his cousin would visit her and Mrs. Collins at the parsonage.

  During such visits, Mr. Darcy was all but silent, allowing his amiable cousin to dominate the conversations, and as a result Elizabeth quickly came to like the man. He was, in basics, as different from his cousin as night and day. He was outgoing and sociable and appeared always at ease, while his cousin often remained stiff. He, regrettably, had none of his cousin’s dark good looks, but his cheerful disposition did much in the way of improving his appearance.

  Colonel Fitzwilliam, who Elizabeth quickly discovered was also friends with Mr. Bingley, often asked Elizabeth about her life and family, though she suspected it was Jane he wished to learn more of. She was more than eager to reply.

  As she had expected, a letter had come the very same day she had spoken to Mr. Darcy of his friend, though Jane’s letter had been far more descriptive, and reading it had been a joy.

  “We met, quite by accident, at the theatre one night, and I confess that I was almost moved to tears at the look upon Mr. Bingley’s face! He invited our aunt and uncle to tea the next day, and has been most dedicated in furthering the connection. Our aunt likes him very much, though uncle is slightly removed — I wish he were more welcoming of Mr. Bingley, but I understand his reasons, for I believe he fears that the gentleman will remove himself again. As I cannot apprise him of the true details of the situation, I unfortunately must allow him to think as he will.

  Mr. Bingley has been most attentive, and I admit that I believe he may make me an offer at some point in the coming weeks. I wish you were here, Lizzy, for I am unsure how to proceed — should I tell Mr. Bingley about our ancestral inheritance, or wait to see if he does indeed offer? I am torn, for I wish him to understand all so that he may give thorough thought to the matter, but I also fear such knowledge would give him second thoughts. Though if I wait, and tell him after he has offered for me, I would worry that he has stayed with me out of honor, and would not have proposed if he had known before! I confess that this question is eating at me, and I am so consumed with it that I have not given full consideration to if he even will offer!”

  That Mr. Bingley would offer for her sister Elizabeth had little doubt of, and she admitted to herself with some shame that she would give most anything to be experiencing Jane’s hardships instead of her own.

  Though she had to admit that her hardships were not so great as she made them out to be in her head, and they were far more bearable on days that Colonel Fitzwilliam came to visit the parsonage by himself. He and Elizabeth would regularly walk together in the early afternoons, talking of nothing in particular. But she enjoyed his companionship and easy manners, and he did a poor job of pretending he was not desperate for an escape from his aunt’s home.

  On one such afternoon, the colonel seemed particularly out of sorts, and after several efforts to relax his spirits, Elizabeth opted for a more direct approach.

  “Colonel Fitzwilliam, forgive me for saying so, but you appear to be in a particularly poor mood today,” she said with a small smile. The man laughed and ran his hand through his hair in agitation.

  “Indeed, you have found me out, Miss Elizabeth. I’m afraid the atmosphere at Rosings has grown more… stifling of late,” he said with a coy grin. “You have heard that my cousin Anne has returned, yes?”

  Elizabeth’s eyes grew wide and she shook her head.

  “No, I confess I had not.” Colonel Fitzwilliam frowned, then shrugged.

  “Well, it has thrown the household into some discomfort, to put it kindly. My cousin Anne is sweet but… well, I suppose you will see for yourself. You and your cousins are joining us for dinner tonight, are you not?”

  Elizabeth nodded and smiled.

  “I am eager to meet Miss de Bourgh. I have heard much of her from your aunt,” Elizabeth said. “Though I am sorry to hear that Rosings has not been as enjoyable as it might be. Pray, how is Mr. Darcy?”

  The question was out of her mouth before she could stop herself, and she realized that she was flushing a bright red as she bent her head to cover her embarrassment.

  She opened her mouth to speak and attempt to explain her question, but discovered that Colonel Fitzwilliam was grimacing and shaking his head.

  “You are perceptive, Miss Elizabeth, and have found the root of the problem. The atmosphere has been so stifling precisely because of Darcy,” he said. “I gather from your comment that he has spoken to you of it, which frankly surprises me, but I have noticed your closeness with my cousin. You seem to care for him. Maybe you of all people may be able to talk sense into him.”

  Elizabeth raised an eyebrow and paused, the flush returning.

  “I’m unsure what you mean, sir. I do not know how I could aid the situation,” she said.

  “I mean this marriage nonsense, of course,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said in exasperation. “This drama over the engagement has gone on too long. He needs to finally take action and speak to Anne, or our aunt, or just do something! Lady Catherine wants to toast the engagement tonight, and I fear the outcome, truly.”

  Elizabeth closed her eyes and willed herself to keep walking, though she had gone cold all over. Mr. Darcy was engaged? To his cousin? She knew that she had no hope of marrying the gentleman, that it was an impossibility for so many reasons. But perhaps a small part of her had still hoped. But it was one thing to imagine a love that could not happen due to emotional and situational barriers; it was another thing to have that love closed off, permanently, by the walls of matrimony.

  “Why do you believe tonight will not go well?” she asked, her voice faintly hoarse as she attempted to collect herself. She looked down at her hands, clenched tightly together in front of her, and expected them to be shaking, but they were calm. How could she look so stable, when inside she felt as though she were falling apart, one piece at a time?

  “Lady Catherine and Darcy rarely quarrel, but when they do, it is always over Anne and it is always fearsome,” he said, shaking his head. “I fear my aunt will attempt to provoke him, and he has been in such a foul mood lately, especially regarding his ridiculous decision. Perhaps he has said something to you about it?”

  “He has said nothing to me about it, and as such I do not think your cousin would appreciate us delving into his affairs. It is best we speak of this no more,” she demurred, taking a deep breath.

  “Yes, I suppose you are right. Darcy is a frightfully private person. But he shares everything with me eventually, one way or the other,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said. He paused, then peered curiously at Elizabeth. “I had hoped you had some insight. You have been a good friend to my cousin, and I trust you to think of his best interests. It appears I was right.”

  Shaken again, Elizabeth stared.

  “I am not so good a friend. I hesitate to even use such a title. Truly, your concern is laudable but I do not know why you believe us so close,” she said. Her head was beginning to ache from the tension building within her. The colonel shrugged beside him.

  “Darcy speaks highly of you, and I know you often walk out together in the mornings. I’m worried for him, to be honest, and I am eager to know that he has friends who have his wellbeing foremost in their mind,” he said with a sigh. “I fear the next few months will be challenging for him, as he deals with this marriage situation.”

  Elizabeth truly felt as though she would be sick right there in the lane.

  “Mr. Darcy is an intelligent man, I am sure he will see his way through,” she murmured, then stopped and shook her head. “Colonel Fitzwilliam, please forgive me. I am not feeling well. Would you be so kind as to see me back to the parsonage?”

  In short order, Elizabeth had returned to the parsonage, and once back in her room, sunk to the floor and simply stared at the door for many moments. She had expected to cry, but no tears were forthcoming.

  Perhaps I have spent my last tear on the man already, she thought to herself. Was this not a blessing? Was it not better
to have him removed permanently from her life and realm of possibility? He would not be alone, he would be upholding his duty, and she could rest content, knowing that it was useless to ache over something she could never have. Truly, in time she would be able to reason herself out of this.

  Though she took heart that soon, surely, she would be restored to sound mind, she could not bear the idea of facing him tonight, of meeting his bride and toasting their future. When Charlotte came to check on her she claimed a megrim, and, with many apologies and some persistence, insisted she would not be able to attend dinner at Rosings that night.

  When Charlotte, Maria, and Mr. Collins had left the parsonage, Elizabeth moved down to the large sitting room, wishing for a change of atmosphere. She did not wish to be cramped up in her room, wallowing in despair. No, she had done that once, and heartily refused to be confined by her rampant emotions once more.

  Peering out the window, she sighed with annoyance as clouds moved in, threatening rain. What she would give for fresh air! Perhaps the rain would be a blessing — indeed, she had been taught that rain was a good omen, a sign of cleansing and healing. She had just resolved to go out when a startled looking maid appeared in the doorway.