The Second Mrs. Darcy: A Pride & Prejudice Variation Novella

by Renata McMann

  The Second Mrs. Darcy

  by

  Renata McMann

  &

  Summer Hanford

  By Renata McMann and Summer Hanford

  Mary Younge

  Poor Mr. Darcy

  Mr. Collins’ Deception

  The Scandalous Stepmother

  Caroline and the Footman

  Elizabeth’s Plight: The Wickham Coin Series, Book 2

  Georgiana’s Folly: The Wickham Coin Series, Book 1

  Other Pride and Prejudice variations by Renata McMann

  Heiress to Longbourn

  Pemberley Weddings

  The Inconsistency of Caroline Bingley

  Three Daughters Married

  Anne de Bourgh Manages

  The above works are collected in the book Five Pride and Prejudice Variations

  Also by Renata McMann

  Journey Towards a Preordained Time

  Short Stories by Summer Hanford

  The Forging of Cadwel

  Hawk Trials for Mirimel

  The Fall of Larkesong

  The Sword of Three

  Novels by Summer Hanford

  Gift of the Aluien

  Hawks of Sorga

  Throne of Wheylia

  Coming in 2016: The Plains of Tybrunn

  With special thanks to our editor, Joanne Girard

  Cover by Summer Hanford

  Copyright 2014 by Renata McMann & Summer Hanford

  All rights reserved

  ISBN-13: 978-1500763503

  ISBN-10: 1500763500

  The Second Mrs. Darcy

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Epilogue

  Mrs. Bennet’s Triumph

  The Second Mrs. Darcy

  Chapter 1

  Darcy handed Elizabeth the letter. He tried to catch her eyes, to express with a look what he couldn’t speak aloud, but she avoided his gaze. Marshaling himself, he gave her a brief bow and left.

  At least she took the letter. He suspected curiosity would make her read it, especially as his method of delivery safeguarded her reputation. He hoped, with a quiet desperation, that she wouldn’t simply toss it on the fire. Even though he’d ruined his chances with her already, he needed her to know the truth, so that she wouldn’t think on him too harshly.

  It had taken him hours to write the letter, but he said everything he needed to say. He wrote about Wickham’s infamous behavior, even though it meant exposing his sister Georgiana’s near elopement. He explained that he’d persuaded Bingley not to marry Elizabeth’s sister, Jane Bennet, largely because he believed she didn’t love Bingley, but would accept an offer of marriage because of his wealth. He’d poured his heart into the letter and now he felt he had no heart left. He never loved a woman before he met Elizabeth Bennet, and never would again.

  He walked back to Rosings, hardly noticing his surroundings. What were the beauties of nature to a man who would never see love in Elizabeth’s eyes? Darcy’s lips curled, caught between self-mocking and pain at his own lovelorn thoughts. He had become the very type of man he once decried.

  “Cousin,” said a quiet voice.

  “Anne,” he said, turning to find his cousin, Anne de Bourgh, seated on a shade-dappled bench beneath an ancient oak, a blanket over her lap. Surprised to find her alone, Darcy looked around until he spotted her companion, Mrs. Jenkinson. She occupied another bench, a fair distance away across the well-groomed lawn, shrewd eyes fixed on them over her sewing.

  Anne’s gaze followed his and she said, “I was indulging in the illusion of privacy, but I don’t mind your company. Will you join me?”

  Darcy didn’t feel like company, but nothing else would suit his mood, either. There was no point in being churlish to Anne, he thought, seating himself next to her, thinking about how yesterday he himself had indulged. His illusions were of spending time with Elizabeth at his side, basking in her ardor and gratitude. He’d expected to be planning a wedding, but instead he saw the rest of his days lined up before him, empty.

  He spent weeks persuading himself a marriage for love was worth all the disadvantages it brought. In his arrogance, and he could now see it as such after her humbling treatment, he hadn’t realized that he was not the one who needed persuading. If he’d spent a tenth of the time in courting Elizabeth that he had in arguing with himself he might…

  Darcy sighed. No, he would never have changed her mind, but at least he would have known she didn’t want him. At least he could have spared his pride. What a fool he’d been to assume she was his for the asking.

  “What troubles you?” Anne asked.

  Darcy didn’t answer immediately. He didn’t want to add to Anne’s burdens by discussing his own. Her continued ill health was something she didn’t complain of, but must be hard to bear. His mind floundered, unable to think of any words that didn’t involve Elizabeth. He turned to her, taking in the concern in her eyes, and realized that he’d waited too long to speak. Now she would never believe him if he told her he was fine.

  “Don’t tell me it’s nothing, because I know it’s something. You can tell me. Mrs. Jenkinson isn’t within hearing and there are no servants about. I promise not to repeat what you say to me.”

  Darcy knew that was true, since Anne kept to herself, but he still couldn’t form an answer. As much as he wished to unburden himself, it bore the risk of Anne’s censure. She might side with Elizabeth. He was uncertain if his bruised ego could endure further chastening.

  Anne took in his reluctance to speak. “Sometimes, I sit here and sing to myself,” she said, not pressing him. It wasn’t her way to press, for which Darcy was grateful. “I sing very badly. I wish I sang like Miss Bennet.”

  Darcy jerked at her name. Memories of her at the piano warred with ruined dreams of her voice accompanying Georgiana’s playing, filling Pemberley with sound and joy.

  “Don’t you like Miss Bennet’s singing?” Anne asked. “I love it.”

  “So do I,” Darcy said, unwilling to lie.

  “Why did you react so strongly?” Her eyes searched his face, holding his gaze.

  “I didn’t.” Darcy saw Anne didn’t believe him. He could read the hurt on her face as he lied. He didn’t want to add treating his cousin poorly to his list of sins. Besides, who could he tell, if not Anne? “That is, I love more than her singing,” he said, the admission nearly catching in his throat.

  “But you won’t marry her because she is so beneath you?” Anne asked, her eyes still holding his gaze.

  Darcy realized his earlier supposition was correct. His cousin would side with Elizabeth, and be right to. “I won’t marry her because she won’t marry me,” he said. He managed the pronouncement in an even tone, his steadiness belying the pain it caused him to utter the words.

  “You asked her?” she said in a tone of mild surprise.

  “Last night,” he said, reflecting that his cousin’s surprise underscored how badly he’d conducted his courtship, if a courtship he could name it. “She refused me in terms… Well, let’s say that I’m the last man in the world she would marry.”

  “I’m sorry she was so harsh with you,” Anne said. “I wouldn’t think she would be so impolite. She parried my mother’s ill manners without bowing to her, in spite of Mama’s provocation.”

  “I provoked her mor
e,” Darcy said. As bitter as the memory of his behavior was, he couldn’t help but reflect on the irony, that he should defend a decision which wounded him so deeply. “I insulted her when I proposed. I was so sure she would accept that I thought it was more important to explain why I delayed so long in proposing than it was to woo her. She had every right to insult me.”

  “Perhaps if you give her time and try again,” Anne said, the sympathy in her voice wounding him. “Now that you know she needs to be wooed, woo her. If you love her, it will be worth it.”

  “She will never love me,” Darcy said. “I thought her witticisms were directed at me because she was flirting with me. I was wrong. She was trying to throw barbs at me because she didn’t like me, not realizing how I misinterpreted them. She disliked me from the beginning and last night I fulfilled all of her negative expectations. She is out of my life, and she is probably grateful for that. I care too much to inflict my presence on her. Since she can’t be my wife, I want her to be happy, and the only way I can do that is by staying away.”

  He clamped his mouth shut, realizing he’d grown impassioned in his speech. He hadn’t meant to reveal his pain so fully, even to Anne. Would this raw feeling, this anger and grief, always live inside him now, lurking below the surface of civility, waiting to burst forth?

  To his relief, Anne didn’t respond, giving him time to reassert control as they sat in silence. He tried to turn his mind to other things - his business ventures, Georgiana, Pemberley - but his mind kept turning back to Elizabeth. Pemberley should have an heir and his former visions of Elizabeth holding their child mocked him. She would marry, probably within a year or two. She would find some local squire, or worse, a clerk or tradesman where poverty and toil would wear her down. He hoped whoever it was would appreciate her wit, beauty and kindness. He once thought she was unworthy of him, but by turning him down, she proved herself above all of the self-interested women who fawned on him.

  He stared morosely at the ground, mind filled with a vision of how lovely Elizabeth looked, even as she denied him. He would never love again.

  “If you had married her this summer, you might have had a son who would reach his majority before you were fifty,” Anne mused, braking into his gloomy silence.

  “I hadn’t thought of it in those terms,” Darcy said, surprised by his cousin’s line of reason.

  “I have. My father died at fifty. So did yours.”

  “My father didn’t live long enough to help Georgiana find a husband,” Darcy said, trying to orient his mind to her turn in conversation.

  Anne gave a bitter laugh. “My father wanted me to have a season in London. He even told me that it didn’t matter if I didn’t find anyone, because I could have as many seasons as I wanted. He said he didn’t really want to give me to some man who wouldn’t appreciate me.”

  “You were sixteen when he died?” Darcy asked, trying to remember. He was sorry his father died before Georgiana was settled and realized he wanted to live to see his children grow up and marry. Yet, without Elizabeth…

  “Yes,” Anne said, cutting into his desolate thoughts. “We spent a year in mourning, and then I got sick and couldn’t come out. It was only then that Mama decided I was engaged to you.”

  “We weren’t…”

  “No. We never were. I want to marry, but Mama doesn’t allow anyone here who will court me.”

  “I would think you would fear childbirth,” Darcy said. He regretted saying it, thinking it too intimate, even for cousins. Why had he never before realized, until Elizabeth pointed it out, that he was such an unmitigated lout?

  “No. I want children or at least a child,” Anne said, apparently unruffled by his poor manners. “I know I’m sickly, but if I can survive childbirth, a wet nurse can take care of my child. Even if I don’t survive, I’ll leave something behind. I grow weaker every year. I’m afraid, very afraid, that when I die there will be nothing left of me. The world will never know I even lived. I don’t want that. And there’s Rosings. Who would inherit it? I would love it to be my child, even if I’m not there to see it.”

  “Are you sure?” Darcy asked.

  “Yes. Very. I want a child, even if it kills me.” She turned earnest eyes on him. “I want to live, not stay wrapped in a cocoon. What sort of life is this? Better to live only a year more, were it a good one, than go on watching my days slip away along with any chance I have of ever being strong enough to enjoy them.”

  Darcy took in the quiet intensity of her tone. He realized he loved his sweet frail cousin. Not passionately, and not enough, but he’d lost that kind of love the moment Elizabeth refused him. There was real fear in Anne’s eyes and, he saw, real hope. This was not idle conversation. Her words were not spoken by chance.

  Part of his mind said he was crazy to do this, but he knew he couldn’t marry for love. He might as well marry for caring, for family and for fortune. He slipped to one knee, the gravel around the bench crunching under his weight, and proposed marriage to Anne. He ended it by saying, “I can’t promise you my heart, but I will treat you with respect.”

  Anne agreed with Darcy’s request that they keep their engagement secret until Elizabeth Bennet left Kent. Darcy told her, his face showing his concern at her reaction, that he didn’t want to belittle Elizabeth by letting her know he proposed to another woman so soon after his declaration of love for her. Anne nodded, accepting that what he said was true. She didn’t have his heart, but she had his obligation, and that was all she required.

  They did nearly quarrel, however, when Anne requested permission to inform her mother of Darcy’s proposal to Elizabeth. Darcy didn’t see the need. Anne explained, nearly resorting to tears, how difficult it would be to obtain the concessions he wished for from her mother without sharing the knowledge. Once she made him fully aware of how much her mother would press for a large wedding and all of the appropriate fanfare, should she think Darcy truly in love with Anne, she had no trouble obtaining his permission to approach the matter as she thought best.

  Once that was agreed, he left for London to arrange for a special license and for settlements to be drawn up. After he left, Anne sought out her mother, who was in her sitting room. She paused before knocking and entering, schooling from her face her satisfaction at how well she managed Darcy. She still had to face her mother.

  “What brings you here?” Lady Catherine said, looking up from the book she held.

  “I wanted to talk to you in private, about Darcy,” Anne said. She held in her excitement. It was a rare occurrence, this opportunity to shock her mother.

  “I’m sure he will agree to marry next year. There is no reason to give up. You were formed for each other.” Her mother sounded belligerent, as if she could command her wishes into fact.

  “He’s already agreed,” Anne said, savoring the astonishment that suffused Lady Catherine’s face. “He’s arranging for a special license and for settlements to be drawn up. We will get married privately next week.”

  “What! You didn’t consult me,” her mother said. Her tone took on that aggrieved note that cut across Anne’s nerves like a poorly played violin.

  “Mama, I am an adult,” Anne said. She held her mother’s gaze, not looking down as she normally would. This was too important for her usual meekness. “My dowry will be divided into three equal parts. I will have one third, one third will be set aside for any children, and he will get the final third. This isn’t at Darcy’s urging, but I would like you to sign something saying that if I die before you do, and I have a child, that the child will inherit Rosings.”

  Lady Catherine was nonplused by this, looking at a loss for words. After a few moments, she said, “Rosings will already go to your children by your father’s will. I deem your stipulations entirely reasonable. But why the secrecy, why the speed?”

  “I’m not well enough to want a big wedding,” Anne said, relieved and a bit surprised that her mother wasn’t arguing with her. It wasn’t that her requests were in any way un
reasonable. She was simply accustomed to her mother being contrary and giving orders for the sake of ordering. She pressed for more while the shock of the happy news was still curbing her mother’s tongue. “I want to go to my new home quietly and quickly and live there. Darcy thinks I should spend some time in London first and buy my trousseau.”

  “I’ll pay for your trousseau,” Lady Catherine said. “I’ll send an announcement to the newspaper too, or is Darcy attending to it?”

  “No. I don’t want an announcement, at least not for a while.” Seeing her mother’s frown, Anne hastened to add, “Darcy will be embarrassed if Miss Bennet reads about his marriage so soon.”

  “What has Miss Bennet to do with this?” her mother asked, her tone sharp. “I know she was attempting to use her arts and allurements to entrap my nephew, but we should not consider her at all.”

  “Mama, I owe this all to her. Darcy would never have proposed to me if he hadn’t been refused by her.”

  “What!” Her mother was clearly horrified by the notion. Pink spots formed on her cheeks, bright enough to show through her layers of powder.

  “He proposed to her and she refused. What’s more, she refused in terms that made it clear he could never win her.” She could no longer contain her smugness. “I’m so happy, Mama. I’ve waited years for this and that silly girl doesn’t know what kind of husband she gave up. I’m grateful to her. I would have relinquished my dowry to achieve this and it was given to me for free.”

  “You mean to say that Darcy proposed and she refused?” her mother asked, apparently too horrified by the idea to set it aside. “I didn’t think she had enough sense of class to realize how far beneath him she was.”

  “That is the jest,” Anne said, gleeful. “Neither she nor Darcy considers her beneath him. She refused because she didn’t like him enough to marry him. If she visits here again, you must be particularly nice to her. Even if she never thought of me, she did me a great kindness. Now, set down your reading and come congratulate me.”