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

by Renata McMann

  She looked down again, confused. No, she couldn’t love Darcy. He didn’t love her. She refused to dote on a man whom she made merely happy. Her pride wouldn’t allow it. Any attraction she felt must be because he was the only person of her class she’d seen for the last month. It was only proximity to him that spurred these fanciful notions. It could be nothing more than that.

  “Very well,” she said, realizing she was tormenting him with her silence. “I am twenty-one and could marry without it, but I would like to obtain my father’s permission.”

  “Of course, but Kate can’t travel yet, so we can’t go to Longbourn. I propose we marry here. We can have a quiet ceremony.”

  Was he ashamed of her, then? Elizabeth stiffened. Perhaps she’d agreed too quickly, but she wouldn’t go back on her word. “No. I want my family with me, at least Jane and my father.”

  “Invite whomever you like,” he said, sounding frustrated. He turned away, his hands clenched at his sides. “I have family I want as well. Georgiana is betrothed, but she should be here. Under the circumstances, do not invite Mr. Wickham, even if he is your brother now.”

  “Very well,” Elizabeth said. She’d had no intension of doing so. She didn’t care for Wickham and would never be that insensitive to Darcy, but the way he said it, making it an order, offended her. Her earlier fear was already realized. He expected a docile, grateful wife. “If I am excused, then,” she said, making it a statement, not a question. He nodded, not turning around, and Elizabeth all but stormed from the room.

  Darcy realized with Elizabeth’s parents, three sisters, and the Gardiners attending the wedding, his side would look very thin unless he invited someone. He didn’t want it to appear to Elizabeth that he was ashamed of the marriage. He replayed their exchange in the parlor many times, aware that he had offended her somehow, and settled on his suggestion of a quiet ceremony as the moment things went truly wrong. Before that, the way she’d looked at him, he’d almost thought she cared for him.

  He suggested a quiet ceremony because he thought she would want one, but now realized he made a mistake. One he seemed doomed to keep making. Instead of asking Elizabeth for her thoughts, he decided what they must be and acted on them. Must he always be so great a buffoon with her? Perhaps, he thought ruefully, he was that way with everyone. No one else stood up to him the way Elizabeth did.

  To try to mitigate the damage, he wrote an announcement of his wedding and sent invitations to a fairly large number of relatives and friends, promising them housing in Pemberley. None of the missives were particularly detailed, for he felt he needed to explain the true circumstances of the marriage in person. He didn’t want anything misconstrued, or for letters to exist where he wrote about Elizabeth’s reputation being compromised.

  He invited Colonel Fitzwilliam to stand with him at the ceremony, and invited Bingley and his sisters to attend. It didn’t surprise him that Bingley’s sisters declined. Bingley himself wrote that he was pleased to come. The letter was brief and correct, but Darcy could almost feel the surprise and, he imagined, recrimination, that went into every pen stroke. Knowing as he now did, that Jane Bennet had truly loved his friend, and seeing the continued constancy of Bingley’s feelings for Elizabeth’s sister, Darcy was willing to assume guilt for his role in deterring their union. Perhaps he would find a way to make amends for that, as well. It seemed, he mused, that he had much to atone for.

  The need for a quick wedding resulted in the one person whose presence he really cared about being absent, Georgiana. Her wedding date was already set, and would take place less than a week before his wedding to Elizabeth. He considered pushing his wedding back, but Kate was doing so well, and Elizabeth seemed so distant, he feared she might change her mind and leave.

  To further add to the turmoil in his life, he received a letter from the uncle of Georgiana’s fiancé which was tantamount to an urgent summons to London. It appeared Georgiana, always the sweet and trusting soul, confided to her husband-to-be, Viscount Lawrence, everything that happened between her and Wickham. The viscount brought it up with the uncle who raised him, and the uncle promptly attempted to blackmail Darcy into increasing Georgiana’s dowry.

  Darcy was torn. He knew Elizabeth was perfectly capable of arranging for the ceremony and caring for the arriving guests. Of her proficiencies, he had no concerns, but these were his final moments alone with her before the wedding. He’d hoped to apologize for his, second, inept proposal. If he could catch a glimmer, just a spark, of what he once imagined he saw in her eyes when she looked at him, he would tell her all. He would admit that Anne lay in wait for him, playing on his dejection. He would confess that his love for Elizabeth never wavered, in all these months. Surely, such ardor would fan a spark into a flame.

  Yet Georgiana needed him, and depended on him, so he hurried off to London. Darcy would, he reasoned, have years to make amends with Elizabeth and win her over. His sister needed him now. Besides, if the matter were handled quickly enough, there would still be time to speak to Elizabeth. Darcy harbored hopes of marrying a woman who loved him, and this was his last chance.

  It took delicate negotiations on Darcy’s part to persuade the Lawrences to keep quiet about Georgiana’s secret without giving them money. Not that he couldn’t afford it, but Darcy resented blackmail on principle. For good measure, he made certain he had a letter from the young Viscount’s uncle that indicated he knew about the intended elopement. If the uncle ever brought the information to public attention, that letter would say that he knew about the situation, as did other members of the family, but encouraged the wedding to proceed. To Darcy’s vast relief, Georgiana’s husband stood at his side and argued against extortion.

  By the time the incident was put to rest, an exasperated Darcy realized there was no point in returning to Pemberley before Georgiana’s wedding. He would only have to turn around and go back to London. Manfully suppressing his troubles, he acted the proper guardian, for the last few days Georgiana was in his care. When her wedding day came, Darcy found himself both proud and, though he didn’t let it show, oddly melancholy.

  Watching his sister and her new husband look at each other with love in their eyes, Darcy realized he was losing one dream and desperately worried for another. Though he was happy for Georgiana, and overjoyed that her new husband so clearly adored her, he was saddened that she would never live with him and Elizabeth.

  It seemed long ago now, but he held dreams of them becoming quite close and of watching his timid sister bloom under Elizabeth’s example. It was, he knew, the same thing he hoped for Kate. Seeing Georgiana now the possession of another man stirred fatherly feelings in him, giving him a glimpse of how it would be, someday, when Kate wed.

  The other dream, though in some ways more attainable, seemed almost as hopeless. Yet Darcy vowed, watching his sister and her new husband, that he would not give up on it. Whatever it took, someday Elizabeth would look at him like that, with love in her eyes. Not just the lingering joy that wreathed her features when she looked up from Kate, captivating though he found it, but true love, for him. First, he had to make sure he didn’t say or do anything else to upset her, for Elizabeth was strong willed and wouldn’t go through with the wedding if too provoked. Then, once she was his, he would have the rest of their lives to gain her love.

  Chapter 9

  Though she was angry with him, Elizabeth was still hurt that Darcy chose to spend most of the time between the engagement and the wedding away from her. If she had any lingering notion that he still loved her, his behavior seemed designed to lay it to rest. Of course, she told herself, she knew he didn’t love her, for she saw him with the first Mrs. Darcy. Yet, it wasn’t just a lack of love, or his grief for his lost wife. He kept a formality between them that was greater than it ever was before, seemingly designed to deliberately hurt her.

  She began to nourish a secret fear that he blamed her for not writing him about Anne Darcy, even though she thought Lady Catherine would and even tho
ugh there was nothing he could have done to save his wife. Yes, he’d been cordial, even kind, but that was before the proposal. Maybe he wished he hadn’t asked. The hypocrisy of marrying the woman he blamed for his first wife’s death might outweigh his love for his daughter.

  Elizabeth harbored these fears and fancies as her family and friends gathered. She told herself they were foolish, but Darcy’s behavior seemed to confirm them. His continued absence, accompanied by letters telling vaguely of business that he must attend to, was obviously designed to remove himself from her presence. Not only did it seem he couldn’t bear to be around her as their wedding day approached, it was embarrassing for Darcy not to be there, making it difficult for her to enjoy seeing her family.

  When Darcy finally returned, she found him equally remote with her family. She knew he had a long talk with her father, but that did nothing to make the two men get along. Mr. Bennet spent his time in Darcy’s library. Mrs. Bennet was awed by Pemberley at first, but soon was making suggestions to Elizabeth on how it could be run better. Her family still didn’t understand her need to see to Kate, who was gaining weight and thriving. They told her that if the wet nurse was inadequate, another should be found, now that the roads were passable. Elizabeth couldn’t make them understand that she feared to change what was working. As her anxieties grew, the only person she could even bare to be around was Jane.

  The day before the ceremony was to take place, she and Jane were walking the grounds together, removing themselves from their mother and sisters. Jane, Elizabeth knew, was also eager to stay away because Mr. Bingley was to arrive that afternoon. That she didn’t wish to see him could be read on her face, but Elizabeth was uncertain of the root of the emotion. Was her sister still in love with Mr. Bingley and the sight of him too painful, or did sweet and biddable Jane harbor anger in her breast? She was considering asking, as a much more interesting topic than silently mulling over her own troubles, when Jane spoke.

  “Look, Elizabeth, your future husband,” she said, her tone warm.

  Elizabeth glanced in the direction her sister pointed. She hadn’t realized they were so near the edge of the trees, but a gap in the foliage revealed Mr. Darcy riding across an open meadow. She had mixed feelings about him riding the day before her wedding. On one hand, she knew he was personally inspecting the road repair, which was vital to the community. On the other hand, she resented he wasn’t spending time with her and her family. The fact that his reason for avoiding everyone was valid did little to mitigate his appearing to be a neglectful host.

  As a child, Elizabeth sometimes imagined her wedding day. The face of the groom was always hazy, but the figure of Mr. Darcy more than lived up to her youthful fantasies. He was tall and moved with a grace that showed he spent a great deal of time on outdoor activities. He was lean, muscular, and his face was handsome, more handsome than any other man she knew. She once thought her father was the most handsome man she knew, but now she had a higher standard.

  “You do love him,” Jane said.

  Elizabeth turned to see her sister was looking at her, not the well-cut figure of her fiancé. “I don’t know,” she said, looking away from Jane’s gaze.

  “I do, and I’m glad,” Jane said. Smiling, she took Elizabeth’s arm, turning her back toward Pemberley.

  Darcy was terribly nervous on his wedding day, as he waited for Elizabeth to appear. He hadn’t felt any such jitters when he’d wed Anne. In fact, he thought, he hadn’t felt much of anything. Now, he was inexplicably worried as he waited beside the altar, fearing that anything should yet again come between him marrying Elizabeth.

  His first glimpse of her took his breath away. He was used to seeing her tired from staying up with Kate, slightly frazzled and in adorable disarray. Now, she looked stunningly beautiful, even more so than the first time he saw her. Today, resplendent in her gown, she was perfection.

  No, that wasn’t true. She needed, rather, deserved, rich jewelry, not the simple cross on a chain. A slight smile came to his lips. He would see she had jewelry worthy of her beauty. He would spend the rest of his life giving her everything she deserved. Watching her approach, he felt himself relax. What seemed at times so impossible a dream, was finally about to come true.

  Elizabeth looked up as she neared the altar, meeting his gaze. He thought, he hoped, that there was a glimmer of affection in her eyes. He felt his facade of indifference wavering. He didn’t need to hide his love any longer. He couldn’t chase her away now. She was steps from his side.

  The door to the church burst open, and a voice called out, “Stop the ceremony!” All eyes turned. It was his aunt, Lady Catherine. Darcy took a step back, half in surprise at her words and half in shock at having his dream-turned-reality shattered.

  “Stop the ceremony!” Lady Catherine repeated forcefully. “It cannot go on.”

  “Why ever not?” Mrs. Bennet asked, standing.

  “His wife is barely cold in her grave. He can’t marry that seductress.”

  “His wife is gone,” Mrs. Bennet said. “And my daughter is no seductress! How dare you malign her on her wedding day!”

  Elizabeth had only half turned, so Darcy could see the color drain from her face. She took a step backward, toward him.

  “Darcy loved Anne,” Lady Catherine said, marching up the aisle. “He would never dishonor her memory by marrying so soon, and so far beneath him, unless seduced. I am here to save him.”

  A few strides brought Darcy to Elizabeth’s side before his aunt could reach her. Without thinking, he put his arm protectively around her. She leaned into him, quenching his quick fear that she might pull away. He was aware of Bingley and Jane leaving their posts as well, taking up position on either side of him and Elizabeth, and Fitzwilliam moving to stand behind them. Under his arm, Elizabeth trembled.

  Lady Catherine came to a stop before them, her wrinkled face suffused with anger. She glared up at Darcy and Elizabeth, then around the church. “You all know she’s been living in his house, alone. Placing herself forever in his sight. Endlessly beguiling him with her dewy country airs.”

  Beside him, Elizabeth sputtered, and Darcy realized she shook with anger, not fear. Darcy could sympathize. He was having trouble gathering himself to speak as well, too astonished by his aunts ridiculous accusations.

  Mrs. Bennet looked around the church, her face red with anger. “Who is this ghastly woman?” she demanded.

  “Who am I?” Lady Catherin’s voice went up nearly an octave. “I am Lady Catherine de Bourgh and Darcy is my son!”

  “If he were your son, he would be Mr. de Bourgh,” Mr. Bennet said quietly, rising from his seat next to Mrs. Bennet.

  “He married my daughter, you fool. He is my son, and I say this marriage cannot take place.”

  “Aunt Catherine,” Darcy said, finally finding his voice. He tried to take a soothing tone. “Be reasonable.”

  “I am reasonable. You are marrying into a family that is not only beneath you, but will put a stain on both of our houses.” She took a step closer, all but yelling into his face. “Why, one daughter’s marriage was a patched up affair, at your expense. The oldest girl can’t even keep a suitor. She was expected to marry someone and he left her dangling. He probably got what he wanted and left her.”

  Beside him, Bingley jerked as if struck. “Is that what they’re saying about Miss Bennet?” he demanded. “How can they insult her so? She’s the loveliest, kindest, sweetest, woman there is. I would ask her to marry me in a heartbeat, if I thought she loved me.”

  “You would?” Jane asked, a blush appeared on her lovely face. She stepped around Elizabeth to see him better, apparently unaware she was moving between Lady Catherine and Darcy. “I do lo—”

  “No,” Bingley interrupted her. “It’s unfair to make you say it in so public a place. Not without a proper proposal.” He joined her before Darcy and Elizabeth, sinking to one knee. “I love you and have loved you since I first met you. I was persuaded you didn’t love me. I ne
ver meant to hurt you. If they are saying that about you, I owe you a proposal, and if you say yes, you would take this weight off my heart that has been there ever since I left you. I don’t want to force you into a marriage you don’t wish for, but if it eases you even a little, please accept me. I won’t be happy unless you marry me.”

  Miss Bennet held out both of her hands. “I love you,” she said as he took her hands. “I never wanted to say it or even let people guess it, but I love you. I’ll tell everyone here, I’ll tell the world. There was no weight on your heart. It was the bond that drew it to mine.”

  If Darcy saw half the love in Elizabeth’s face as he saw in Miss Bennet’s, he would be happy. He wasn’t surprised when Bingley stood, took Jane in his arms, and kissed her. He was happy for his friend, even in view of such an unorthodox proposal. Looking around, it appeared as if most people in the congregation were equally happy.

  But not all of them. “This is the family you are marrying into? Men proposing to women in the middle of a sacred ceremony? This unseemly display is unworthy of your heritage,” Lady Catherine said, glaring at Bingley and Miss Bennet as they rose and stepped away from her anger.

  “My heritage is in the hands of the baby in the back of the church and the woman next to me, who will raise that baby,” Darcy said, unable and unwilling to restrain the anger in his tone, too badgered by his aunt’s hubris and hypocrisy. “And you best keep that firmly in mind, because Kate will inherit Rosings.”

  “That baby is not Anne’s daughter. My granddaughter was too frail to survive. You hope to foist on me some peasant’s child and pretend it has a claim to Rosings? And what kind of name is Kate? It has no dignity.”

  “Her name is Catherine,” Elizabeth said, her tone sharp and cold as ice. “And I will prove to you she’s your daughter’s daughter.” Pulling away from Darcy, Elizabeth walked over to Nelly and uncovered Kate’s six-toed foot. “Anne’s feet were like this.”