The Perfect Bride for Mr. Darcy

by Mary Lydon Simonsen

  ***

  Now in her late fifties, Lady Catherine de Bourgh found it difficult to stay awake after dinner. Fearing she might miss some juicy tidbit about what was going on in London or in the nearby village, she sat dozing, night after night, with her unsupported head bobbing between her ample bosom and the back of the chair. It was only after she had stopped snorting and had advanced to full-blown snoring that her lady’s maid, the saintly Mrs. Pentup, was able to convince Her Ladyship that no one would object if she retired for the evening.

  As soon as she was sure that her mother was truly gone, Anne de Bourgh let out a sigh of relief and removed the quilt from her lap. Mrs. Jenkinson, Anne’s nurse, came over to her charge, patted her hand, and removed to an adjacent sitting room where she would be available but not intrusive.

  Colonel Fitzwilliam, who had been waiting for his aunt to leave the room, started pacing the floor. After ten days of continued interaction with Lady Catherine and listening to her soliloquies on everything from tending a garden, which she never did, to commenting on great art, which she had never seen, to the great cities of Europe, which she had never visited, he was exhausted. And with Darcy in his room refusing to come down, it was impossible to play even a game of whist.

  “Anne, play something on the pianoforte,” her cousin pleaded. “Even if you play badly, at least we will have something to laugh at.”

  “Richard, as you know very well, the pianoforte is here exclusively for the use of our visitors as no one in the house has ever learned.”

  “But as your mother has stated on several occasions, if she had learned to play, she would have been a great proficient.”

  “And if my health had allowed for me to learn, as Mama has frequently stated, I would have performed delightfully. So much untapped talent in one house. It truly is a shame,” Anne said with a chuckle. “But I thought Miss Elizabeth played quite well. Although she insisted she has little talent, I think she displayed a degree of competence that made listening to her quite pleasant. I am sure Will enjoyed her playing as he went over to the piano as soon as she had begun. What do you think?”

  “What do I think? What I think is where in the deuce is Darcy? He said he had business letters to write, but he cannot still be at it. When I went to his room to plead with him to come to dinner so I would not have to bear the burden of your mother’s undivided attention, he waved me off. Then he called me back to tell me to be ready to leave for London no later than noon tomorrow, implying that I was responsible for our delayed return to town. My bags have been packed and ready for the last three days. It is he who keeps putting it off. Mercer must be beside himself with all of the contradictory instructions he has been given. His behavior has been odd since our arrival. I have never seen him so unsettled.”

  It was not unusual for Will to be out of sorts when confined indoors, and confinement was the very definition of a visit to Rosings. He hated to be cooped up for any length of time, and idle chatter drove him to distraction. The dearth of truly good society had Darcy on edge, and his annoyance usually generated biting comments. “If I hear one more time about the condition of the roads between here and Bath, I shall pay for the repairs myself.”

  “Anne, I can wait no longer as I am committed to joining the Aldens in Hampshire. I shall have precious little time for shooting, as I must return to my regiment within a fortnight. Blast it all! I am sure all the best coveys are already gone,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said, pounding the mantle in frustration. “Having said that, for some reason, I do think Darcy means it this time. He only has so much patience for your mother, and if he is keeping to his room, then he has obviously used it all up.”

  Anne agreed that her cousin’s behavior was unusual. To begin with, Darcy’s visits never lasted more than a week. He felt obligated, as the son of Lady Catherine’s only sister, to visit his aunt, and insisted that Colonel Fitzwilliam, as the son of her only brother, come with him. But ten days? Rarely had he stayed this long. Anne was pretty sure she knew why he had extended his visit, and she intended to ask him about it when they were alone.

  As if on cue, Darcy entered the room, and it was immediately apparent his mood had not improved.

  “There you are, Darcy. Will you play cards as Anne is thoroughly bored with my conversation?”

  “No, I have come down to say good-bye to Anne.”

  “Then we truly are leaving in the morning?”

  “Fitzwilliam, is it your habit to ask the same questions over and over again? It must be very tiresome for your staff.”

  Colonel Fitzwilliam rose. “Still the bear, Darcy?” and walking over to Anne, he kissed her on her cheek. “Be careful, Anne. Although I do not think he will attack, he is still dangerous, so be on your guard or you may find yourself suffering lacerations from his sharp tongue.” Bowing from the waist, he added, “I bid you both a good night, and my dearest cousin, I shall see you sometime in December,” and looking at Darcy, “if not before.”

  Once Fitzwilliam left the room, Anne got right after Darcy. “He is correct, you know. You have been a bear ever since you came back from the parsonage.”

  “Who said I went to the parsonage?” Darcy asked with some alarm in his voice.

  “Didn’t you? I assumed you went there once you had learned the reason why Miss Elizabeth did not dine at Rosings. You left in such a hurry. I could think of no other reason.”

  Darcy started to pace. “Yes, I was concerned. During my morning rides, I have become accustomed to meeting Miss Elizabeth on her walks in the park, but I did not see her this morning. When the Collinses said she was unwell, I thought I should go to the parsonage and inquire after her health.”

  “Very considerate of you. And how did you find her?” Anne’s question was met with silence. “Did you talk to her? What was said?”

  “She said she was well. She certainly looked well. I should have left it at that.”

  And then he said nothing. Anne was used to his taciturn nature. When things did not go his way, he often withdrew into himself. Trying to get him to talk when he was in such a mood was difficult, but not impossible.

  “And what were the consequences of your remaining?”

  “It was the damnedest thing,” Darcy said, staring off into the distance and, once again, became quiet.

  “Will, please tell me what happened. I can see something is wrong. Did she say something unkind?”

  Darcy laughed to himself. Everything she said was unkind from her terse greeting to her accusation that he was acting in an ungentlemanlike manner. That had truly stung. He knew his faults. He could be sarcastic, impatient, aloof, but not a gentleman? No, he would not concede that. It was true he could have chosen his words more wisely, but he had not gone to the parsonage with the intention of asking Elizabeth for her hand in marriage. His purpose in calling was to ask after her health because he would be returning to London in the morning. But as soon as he had entered the room, he was overwhelmed by her beauty, especially her dark luminous eyes and a mouth begging to be kissed, all framed against the last rays of the afternoon sun. It was then that all of the barriers he had erected gave way, and he knew how ardently he loved her. And the words just poured out of him, so much so that he could not remember all that had been said, although he did recall mentioning her inferior position in society, expected opposition from his family, and his lack of success in attempting to overcome his feelings for her. But was it not important for her to know how he had struggled? Was there any greater proof of his love than the fact that he had honored her with his offer of marriage?

  Darcy felt Anne’s hand on his arm. She was asking what had happened at the parsonage, but all he could manage to say was simply, “I made her an offer of marriage.”

  Anne took a deep breath. That was not the answer she had expected. Darcy had no idea how much his expressions revealed about what was going on in his mind. Once he had learned from the Coll
inses that Elizabeth would not be coming to Rosings for tea, he had emotionally withdrawn from his company. After muttering some excuse no one could understand, he quickly departed, and Anne was pretty sure where he had gone. But a proposal? That she would not have guessed, but it brought a smile to her face.

  Darcy motioned for her to sit down and then plopped into the chair vacated by Fitzwilliam. “There is no need to smile, Anne. There will be no announcement made. No congratulations given. Miss Elizabeth Bennet refused my offer.”

  “What?” Anne was stunned. The Darcys were one of the oldest families in the realm and belonged to a Norman aristocracy that held as much importance and prestige as many families with titles. And there were other factors. She knew from Darcy about the anxiety in the Bennet household because there were five daughters in need of husbands. From Mr. Collins, she understood the Bennet estate was entailed away from the female line to his benefit, and from her mother’s interrogations, she knew Elizabeth lacked some of the accomplishments most families expected before approving a prospective bride.

  “I do not understand. She will never receive a better offer.” Anne’s mind was racing trying to find an explanation for Elizabeth’s actions. But everything she could think of was a reason for her to accept the offer, not to reject it: financial security for her and her family, her elevation in rank, a house in town, and becoming the mistress of the magnificent Pemberley estate. She finally said, “I did notice an attitude of independence, but to refuse your offer…”

  “You need not trouble yourself. I have had all day to think about what transpired at the parsonage, and upon reflection, I now look upon Miss Elizabeth’s response as a piece of good fortune. Considering her background, I am convinced a marriage between two people of such varying interests would have little chance of success, and both of us would have come to regret our choice of partner, and very quickly, I am sure.”

  “But what reasons did she give for her refusal?”

  Darcy went over to the fireplace and started to stir the ashes with the poker. With his back to Anne, he answered, “She believes I separated Charles Bingley from her elder sister, Jane, and accused me of ruining forever her most beloved sister’s chance of achieving true happiness. Eligible bachelors must be light on the ground in Hertfordshire for this event to be nothing short of a tragedy.”

  Ignoring the sarcasm, Anne asked if he did interfere.

  “Yes, and I do not regret it at all. There were some very strong objections to the lady’s family,” and he turned to face his inquisitor. “Anne, if you could only see them in society! Good grief! Her mother shows no restraint whatsoever if she thinks her actions might secure a husband for one of her daughters. A younger sister has not a modicum of talent, but that does not prevent her from playing the pianoforte at every gathering. The two youngest sisters are out in society without proper preparation, and their behavior jeopardizes the very thing Mrs. Bennet seeks. Who will marry into such a family?”

  “Apparently, you would, Will. These objections are valid, but if you were willing to overlook them, then why should Charles not do the same?”

  “Are you serious? I could marry the innkeeper’s daughter, and my place in society would not be jeopardized. Bingley’s place is so tenuous that a marriage to the daughter of a farmer would end forever any hopes he had of making his mark in society. You do not know the history of the Bingley family. Their fortune was made because the grandfather invented an advanced process for the smelting of ore. Bingley’s grandfather was a blacksmith, and his father never ventured farther south than York.”

  Darcy had met Charles Bingley while both were guests of a Leicestershire family who hosted one of the finest hunts in England. An expert horseman himself, Darcy had rarely seen anyone who could ride as well as Bingley, and their mutual respect for each other’s riding skills had proved to be the basis of their friendship. Because of his affection for his friend, Darcy wanted Bingley to make his mark in society and took it upon himself to educate his friend as to what was expected of a man who, if Darcy had his way, would move in the top circles of England’s elite.

  “To a large degree, the gentleman Bingley has become is my creation.”

  “And you did an admirable job, Will, as Mr. Bingley is most certainly a gentleman,” Anne said in a voice she hoped would be calming, as she had never seen her cousin so riled. “I have only met the gentleman on two occasions in town, but with Mr. Bingley’s ample income and, if I remember correctly, the prospect of additional monies from a family trust, Jane Bennet’s position in society would be of little importance to Charles. With so many aristocratic families deeply in debt, people like Charles Bingley can no longer be ignored no matter whom he has chosen as his wife.”

  Darcy had no response because he knew of at least a dozen individuals, including Lord Fitzwilliam, who relied on loans from families like the Bingleys to help them pay down their debts.

  Anne understood Darcy’s silence was a validation that what she had said about Bingley was correct. “Other than your concerns regarding the family, did you have any objections to the lady?”

  “Absolutely! A most important objection. I do not think she loves Bingley. There certainly was nothing in her attitude or manner that indicated a deeper regard for him than for any other man with whom she had conversed. Her expressions showed interest, but to my mind, no real affection.”

  “I see. So it was you who interpreted Miss Bennet’s actions for Charles. And it was you who decided that Charles’s rank in society was more important than securing the love of a woman whom he had found to be delightful. And it was you who convinced Charles to return to town and sever any relations with the young lady because you know what is best for your friend.”

  Darcy avoided Anne’s gaze. His relationship with his cousin was closer than even that which he had with his sister. Following the death of their parents and because of the ten-year age difference, Darcy had emerged as a father figure to Georgiana. But that was not the case with Anne. He loved her as dearly as a sister and hated to disappoint her, but with Elizabeth’s rebuke still fresh in his mind, he continued to defend his actions.

  “I acted in the best interest of my friend, and for that, I make no apology, and I have nothing more to say on the matter. However, according to Miss Elizabeth that was not my most grievous sin. I fell short in her eyes because of a perceived transgression against George Wickham.”

  Darcy spat out Wickham’s name as if it was a malignancy. Anne was aware that Wickham had attempted to arrange an elopement with Georgiana a year earlier. The very thought that Wickham might have succeeded caused a fire in his belly.

  “In my letters, you will recall I mentioned Wickham had received a commission in a militia regiment encamped near Meryton,” Darcy continued. “I believed he would not reveal his connection with my family for fear that the true story would become known. But I was wrong. Apparently, he convinced Miss Elizabeth that I am a villain and that I denied him the living promised to him by my father.”

  “Did you tell her the true story?”

  “Certainly not. I would not risk exposing Georgiana.”

  “You must not hold Miss Elizabeth in very high regard if you are concerned she would repeat a story shared in confidence.”

  “Of course, you are right there,” he responded, staring off into the distance. “Miss Elizabeth would recognize the importance of secrecy, so no additional harm might be done to Georgiana. I will give you that.”

  “Then you should immediately acquaint Miss Elizabeth with the truth of the matter, so she might know of Wickham’s villainy. Once she knows what actually happened, she will see you in a different light.”

  “I have done exactly that. The reason I did not come to supper was because I was writing a letter exposing Wickham for the liar and moral bankrupt that he is. I have written truthfully and fully of my role in Bingley’s decision to quit Hertfordshire as well, and in
the morning, I will put it all in a letter, which I will deliver to Miss Elizabeth when she walks in the grove. I know her favorite spot.”

  “Will, let me caution you. You should not give Elizabeth a letter that you wrote while you were still so angry. Wait until you get to London. Once you place the facts before her, they will speak to the justice of your argument. You do not wish to give offense when none is necessary.”

  “Give offense? Me? If you heard the things she said, you would not concern yourself with her feelings. And you are right; I am angry. Is she so gullible that she was willing to believe every word that came from the lips of someone whom she had not known a week earlier? Did she not think it inappropriate that a stranger should share such personal information? I was so taken aback by her accusations regarding Wickham that I could hardly remain composed enough to say something civil before leaving.”

  “That is exactly my point. Miss Elizabeth was so very angry with you because of your interference in her sister’s affair that it was only natural that she would listen with prejudice to anything else you had to say. For your own sake, I suggest you not give her that letter. Remember, you might very well encounter her in society, and you may come to regret your actions.”

  “There you are wrong, Anne. Our paths will never cross again. It was only because Bingley asked me to go to Netherfield Park before signing the lease that I met her at all. I went to the blasted dance in Meryton because Bingley would give me no peace. Do you think I am in the habit of running about the country attending local dances? Other than the annual Lambton harvest dance, I avoid dances held in assembly halls, inns, or barns.”