An Unnatural Inheritance: A Pride and Prejudice Variation

by Virginia Brand

  “He is angry now, so angry that he cannot think,” she called out. “He is throwing fire.”

  “What does that mean? What are you talking about? Lizzy, focus on Lydia,” Mary chided.

  Elizabeth’s limbs and eyelids felt heavy, and she closed her eyes again eagerly, though it took great effort to open them again. Lydia, she thought. Focus on Lydia.

  Waves lapped against the sides of the bowl and the crush of voices surrounded her as the man walked down a street.

  “He is by the sea. There are so many people here, so much noise. They yell at each other, and the air smells terrible, like fish and filth,” Elizabeth said.

  “A port, maybe? A dock? Could it be London?” Mary mused. “Elizabeth, you must look deeper. Focus on Lydia.”

  “She is cold, I think. And unhappy.”

  “Look around, where is she?”

  “There is so much water. I can hardly see through it,” she said, her voice weak. “I am so tired; I do not think I have the strength.”

  “Lizzy, come back. Come out of the vision, do not exhaust yourself!” Jane said.

  “All things come at a cost,” she whispered, echoing the voice that was running through her head. “The storm is drowning him out. I cannot hear the rest.”

  A warmth filled her suddenly, and she felt a light pressure on her right hand as if it was being held, though she dared not look away from the bowl.

  “I am here, Elizabeth, I will help you,” came Georgiana’s soft voice, drifting through the haze. Elizabeth closed her eyes again, and bid them to open one more time.

  “I still see only the water, the sea — the seas and the sky demand it. Name yourself!” Elizabeth exclaimed suddenly. She felt as though her voice was being pulled from her, and images swam through her mind suddenly. She was adrift, unable to control her words or tear herself away as the visions tore through her. “For Mother Earth, the winds — we called the wind because we lost control.”

  “Georgiana,” Mary’s stern voice said, rising in alarm. “Call her back. She has gone too far into the vision, she’s seeing the future and taking in too much. Call her back.”

  “I do not know how!” came a small voice next to her, followed by a tug on her hand. “Elizabeth, come back, it is time to come back.”

  “I bind myself to you; my body, my soul, for now I am one part and you are the other, and together we shall be whole,” Elizabeth said, her voice coming in a frenzy of whispers. “I know I am to be wed, and that is part of the source of my anguish. I wish him out of my life, I wish him gone.”

  “Elizabeth, you must stop!” Mary called out. “She is mixing past and present; she is mixing things she has said to me with something she is seeing in her future. Truly, you must call her back; it is not safe for her to see so much.”

  There was another tug at her hand, another plaintive cry from Georgiana, and Elizabeth wished to tear her eyes away from the bowl and look to the girl at her side, but she could not. The images were coming so fast she could not contain them; the man in the rain, a field of lavender moving in the wind, a white silk ribbon draped across her hand; fire growing in a grate; a great black horse emerging from the fog —

  Suddenly she felt torn in half as a large pair of arms wrapped around her from behind and pulled her from the water. She let out a cry of pain and surprise and felt herself crumple to the hard, cold floor as reality came rushing back to her, her chest rising and falling quickly as she attempted to catch her breath. Beside her, Mr. Darcy was kneeling, his arms still around her and unable to keep the fear from his eyes as she looked between him and Georgiana, who looked equally scared. Above her, Mary and Jane still stood reflected dimly in the mirror.

  “This is why I will not practice,” she breathed heavily. “Because I cannot control my powers.”

  “Miss Elizabeth, do not strain yourself to speak, please,” the Mr. Darcy said gently, removing his arms from their circle around her but still crouched by her side. “Are you well? Do you need anything?

  Elizabeth shook her head and attempted to rise to her feet, but could hardly find her balance.

  “I am fine, I assure you, only weak,” she said softly, accepting the outstretched hand Mr. Darcy offered her with a look of gratitude. She clasped his hand gently and allowed him to help her rise unsteadily to her feet before she turned to face her sisters.

  “I must speak to my aunt and uncle, and then I will leave for home directly,” she said quietly. “Lydia is in Portsmouth, and she is not happy.”

  XXXII

  Longbourn was unnervingly silent as Elizabeth crept down into the dining room. An unexpected storm had rolled in, foiling her plans for an afternoon walk, and so instead she sought refuge in the windowseat of the dining room. She had not hid behind the curtains since she was very young, but it seemed the last place anyone would look for her — and as such, it was the first place she wished to be.

  She tucked her legs up to her chin and stared out the window, watching the rain slowly drizzle down the panes of glass, and rested her forehead against the cool surface. She felt as though her head had been aching since she left Pemberley. Her stomach pitched at the memory of Mr. Darcy and Georgiana helping her down to the lake, Mr. Darcy explaining the fabricated express that had come for Elizabeth, and the whirlwind rush to pack up and return home.

  He had seen them back to the inn on horseback, had stayed until the very end and handed her up into the carriage, and the look that he gave her nearly broke her heart — for it held so much warmth, so much meaning. And yet, she felt without a doubt that it was the last such look he would ever give her.

  Would he even be there for the wedding? Jane had demurred, saying he had claimed some kind of extended business to Bingley, but promised to do his best to attend. To Elizabeth, that clearly sounded like an open-ended excuse not to come. Why would he? His best friend would now be attached, permanently, to his greatest enemy. It would be hard for him to even keep that connection, she knew.

  But she should be grateful that there was a connection — even if it would force Mr. Darcy from her life. The news of Lydia’s wedding had thrown the house into equal parts hysteric relief and barely contained horror; Mrs. Bennet primarily accounting for the former, Elizabeth and Mary for the latter.

  “I cannot believe she would marry without me there,” Mrs. Bennet had moaned that morning at breakfast, only for the second time that day. “I should be very cross with her, if it weren’t for her exceptional match, that is.”

  And just like that, George Wickham had gone from a rake of the highest degree to an exceptional match within the halls of Longbourn, merely by the grace of being the first son-in-law. News of his sudden and unexpected promotion — as well as the prize money that accompanied it for “special services” — had only cemented his place and affection in Mrs. Bennet’s heart.

  “I could not possibly imagine what sort of services Mr. Wickham could provide to our country that would fetch him such high an honor,” Jane had confessed one night, prompting Elizabeth and Mary to stare at her in shock.

  “Jane, surely you know he could have done nothing. The man has no skill but lying. It was Lydia, I am sure of it,” Elizabeth had chastised. “If only she were not still blocking me, I would attempt to scry her again. I am sure that is why my visions were so strange; she had me blocked from seeing her directly, and so the spell went awry.”

  “I do not think that is a good idea, Lizzy,” Mary admonished gently. “When we were starved for information, it was worth the risk, but we know where she is now, and our uncle assured us she is unhurt. Whatever she has done, it has at least been done well.”

  Elizabeth glowered at Mary, but held her tongue. It was not a secret that she was not satisfied with her uncle’s report, which had been vague at best. Though her father could not be rousted, after arriving back in Hertfordshire Mr. Gardiner had set off to Portsmouth with the intention of bringing Lydia home or forcing a match, only to discover that his niece was recently wed, her husband
newly employed, and the couple were well on their way to being settled. He had returned home claiming to have had no hand in her new found luck, instead saying that Lydia and Mr. Wickham had sorted it all themselves. But Elizabeth was not so believing, and had spared no effort to hide her suspicions from her family.

  But between talk of Lydia’s wedding and Jane’s own impending nuptials, Elizabeth’s uneasiness over her little sister, combined with the sad reticence she had displayed since returning from her trip, made her an unpopular companion in the household. Even Mary grew tired of Elizabeth’s long silences and occasional sighs, and furrowed her brow at her older sister’s sharp remarks.

  “You will conquer this,” Elizabeth whispered to herself as she hid behind the curtains. “This sad humor of yours is out of character and completely unacceptable. You will be happy again; I demand it.”

  “I do not think it’s so simple as that,” came a chiding voice from the other side of the curtain, followed by a slender hand pulling it back. Elizabeth flushed slightly as her father looked at her curiously. “Good heavens child, why are you hiding here?”

  “Everyone is so happy; I did not wish to be a dampener,” Elizabeth said stiffly. Her relationship with her father had hardly improved since returning home, for they had unsurprisingly disagreed over how to handle Lydia’s disappearance. Elizabeth had not told him about her trip to Pemberley, and though she still bristled at his barring her from seeing Mr. Darcy, she felt a small amount of guilt for going against his wishes.

  “Then by all means, command yourself to be happy,” Mr. Bennet said with a small shrug, groaning slightly as he sat down stiffly next to his daughter. “So long as you are being happy for yourself, and not your sisters. They are hardly worth your happiness.”

  “Why must you put them down like that, father?” Elizabeth asked, expelling a great huff of air. “I was so upset when you called me silly and stupid, and I realized that it stung so much because I had never heard it before. And yet you apply the label to my sisters regularly — how must they feel, having never known the warmth of your praise and favoritism?”

  “Do you think I’m wrong?” Mr, Bennet said with a genuine laugh. “Your youngest sister has run away, and your second youngest conspired to hide it. Mary has forsaken all other accomplishments in pursuit of her books, yet does not even use her knowledge. Jane — well, Jane has done very well, aside from choosing an obnoxiously cheery fellow — and you, my brightest, have made grave mistakes and assigned your happiness to a very miserable fellow, if I may say so. Does that not ring of stupidity and silliness to you?”

  “Have you ever considered that Lydia is the most powerful witch in this family? She already accomplishes feats you could never dream of. And Kitty, though clumsy, is more loyal than any friend or sister could ever dream of. Mary has a single-minded determination and is exceedingly clever, and Jane has chosen a man as kind and warm-hearted as she is,” Elizabeth bit back. “For all their silliness, there are many things to be proud of your daughters for, and yet you have never, not once, acknowledged or expressed this.”

  Mr. Bennet stared at her for a moment, taken aback by her words, and a slow smile crept across his face.

  “When did you become so obstinately direct? I cannot imagine I raised a daughter who would dare speak to me in such a way,” the older man said with a small smirk. “But indeed, it would seem I have raised a fearsome little thing indeed. I do not know what has caused this sharp mood of yours, but I do not enjoy it. Come, child, tell me.”

  Elizabeth stared him down, and for a moment considered simply walking away, but she stilled herself. Had she not promised to be less angry? Hadn’t she promised to keep her temper and be kinder?

  “I am sorry, father, but this is the mood that I have. If you do not like it, you need not subject yourself to it. For though I wish to be happy, I am not sure how much control I have over such matters.”

  “Do not tell me you are still distraught over that man,” Mr. Bennet said, his eyes narrowing. “You are not the type of girl to be so lost in your emotions. Surely, it can’t be that.”

  Elizabeth’s annoyance flared again, but she shook her head.

  “It is something else, do not worry. When I was at — when I was scrying for Lydia, I saw so many things I do not understand, and I think they were the future. I can’t even remember them now, to be honest, but I still feel like I’m missing something, like I should know something. You must believe me, I do not like being in such ill spirits, father. I start to worry that the curse Mary warned me about is real.”

  “Child, you are not cursed,” Mr. Bennet said, shaking his head. “You simply worked with magics above your level. It can cause us all to feel disoriented. Trust me, there is no curse.”

  “Then what of your aunt? I have read her diary, do not forget. And it’s not some fable or children’s story like you told us about black horses and bad witches. It is true, papa, and I worry…” she paused and sighed heavily. “I worry I will follow my namesake.”

  Mr. Bennet was silent a moment, then leaned forward and kissed her forehead gently, surprising her.

  “My aunt was cold long before the magic took her, child. Do not let it eat at you; there is nothing that could dim your spark,” Mr. Bennet said quietly. “Now please, for all that is good, come to the parlour and save me from any more talk of lace.”

  Elizabeth smiled at him, uneasily at first, but then she felt the heaviness on her lift, even just slightly, and a truer smiler appeared. She would think no more of the curse, or her sadness, or what she had lost. She would take control of her life, and determine her own happiness. And she would think no more of Mr. Darcy.

  XXXIII

  Mr. Darcy squinted up at the storm clouds and let out a heavy sigh as he knocked on the door of the small townhouse before him. He was quickly shown to the sitting room by a harried looking housekeeper, where he proceeded to wait tensely, resisting the urge to drum his fingers out of annoyance.

  As the door opened, a loud boom of thunder shook the house and Mr. Wickham paused in the doorway, flinching slightly.

  “Your wife’s work, I presume?” Mr. Darcy asked dryly as Mr. Wickham grimaced.

  “You would be correct, Darcy,” Mr. Wickham said. “She has taken to it shockingly fast. So, to what do I owe this pleasure?”

  Mr. Darcy stood, still tense, and moved to the window, which was now being attacked by a steady deluge of raindrops. He wished that Mrs. Wickham was here — these conversations somehow were always more bearable when her incessant chatter and lightheartedness were there to fill the silence.

  “I’ve simply come to see how you are settling in, Captain Wickham,” he said stiffly, and from behind him Wickham let out a bark of laughter.

  “Splendid, splendid, thanks to you and your cousin. Truly, I don’t know what strings Colonel Fitzwilliam pulled to get me this promotion, but it was just in time. Things looked dicey there for awhile, eh, Darcy?”

  Mr. Darcy’s eyebrows knit together in deep annoyance at the mere suggestion that he needed reminding of the dire situation he had found them in — penniless, posing as a married couple, unable to find the ear of anyone who would listen or care about the former Miss Bennet’s magic.

  “Don’t forget that all things come at a cost, Wickham,” Darcy said, then paused. Even as he spoke them, the words seemed like an echo. But he shook his head. “You have been given a rare opportunity — don’t waste it. Your job is to look after and protect your wife now, and no rank will help you if you fail the war effort — or your new sisters. I bought your naval commission and still own your debts, and my cousin arranged your prize money for your special services; do not forget this.”

  “Do you ever get tired of hearing yourself make the same threats over and over?” Wickham laughed as he poured himself a drink from the crystal decanter on the table. “Don’t worry, Darcy, I have everything I’ve ever wanted now; a beautiful wife, a sense of importance, and money. What are the odds of marrying a penniles
s girl who’s so much more valuable than any dowry?”

  Mr. Darcy resisted the urge to smash the decanter over Captain Wickham’s head, but resisted.

  “You have wealth and distinction because your wife is serving King and Country, and the War Office has been kind enough to award you the promotion in order to compensate her skills and keep her work private,” Mr. Darcy said. “Do not get ahead of yourself.”

  Wickham shrugged and sprawled in one of the armchairs near him, crossing his long legs over each other.

  “Is that all?”

  Mr. Darcy closed his eyes for a brief moment and shook his head.

  “No. I’m going north tomorrow for London, and then on to Hertfordshire the next day in order to attend Miss Bennet’s wedding. As it is a trip of some duration, I came to invite Mrs. Wickham to share my carriage to town,” Darcy said. “And to kindly remind both of you that there is to be no discussion of my involvement whatsoever at the wedding, or at anytime henceforth.”