by Amy Cecil
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
What bloggers are saying about
A Pride and Prejudice Novel by
Amy Cecil
“On Stranger Prides” is an Austenesque romance story that proves once again that readers can fall in love with Fitzwilliam Darcy even when he trades in his starched cravat to become a brooding pirate with a long-kept secret. Readers looking to escape into their own slice of paradise with Darcy and Elizabeth will love this romantic adventure that sizzles in all the right places. Here’s a seaside escape that’s perfect for anyone looking for love in unexpected places, sans the Dramamine.”
Just Jane 1813
“A whimsical and engaging take on Pride & Prejudice, A beautifully written romance combined with a riveting adventure on the high seas.”
Maureen and Kathi Read
“This was my first pirate book and oh man, I was blown away. Within a couple of pages I was so hooked! It was like I was living in this book.”
Laid-back Book Bitches Blog.
“This is a love story for the times, Amy Cecil is absolutely brilliant … On Stranger Prides is a breathtakingly beautiful rendition to Jane Austen.”
Alicia Reads
“… Amy's fresh take on the story gives it the push it needed to become a more modern novel! Having such a classic novel written in different prospect lets Austen fans enjoy the story in a totally new way. It is simply, evolutionary!”
BAMM PR & Blog Services
“…Ms. Cecil did a remarkable job on her spin of Pride & Prejudice, With fresh eyes she made me fall in love with Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy all over again.
Amy Bernal, My Books-My World
A Pride and Prejudice Novel by
On Stranger Prides – A Pride and Prejudice Variation
Copyright © 2018
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or any portion thereof, in any form whatsoever, unless in a review. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Book cover design and layout by Ellie Bockert Augsburger of Creative Digital Studios. www.CreativeDigitalStudios.com
Cover design features:
Old fashioned photo of a beauty brunette: konradbak / Adobe Stock
Editing Services provided by Carl Augsburger of Creative Digital Studios. www.CreativeDigitalStudios.com
ISBN- 13: 978-1983810039
ISBN- 10: 1983810037
Dedication
This book is dedicated to all the
Jane Austen fans who continue to wonder
“What if … ?”
Foreword
Amy Cecil is an extremely talented author able to masterfully weave tales that take you on an adventure and make your heart melt. Her odes to the brilliant Jane Austen are marvelously written and will hold even the staunchest of Austen fans in captivation. On Stranger Prides is no exception and only helps solidify the fact that Ms. Cecil is a true Austenite. Classically written with clips from Austen intertwined with a shot of today’s romance will have readers everywhere wanting more. A thrilling and truly wonderful companion to her other Austen-esque works. Thank you, Amy, for another perfect Mr. Darcy.
A. Maslo, Author, Annarii Fae Series and The Princes’ Collection.
Prologue
1813
Elizabeth Bennet
I waited patiently for Charlotte and Mr. Collins to leave for Rosings. I needed to be alone with my thoughts and needed to find a way to rationalize what Colonel Fitzwilliam had told me earlier that day. But the more I thought on it, there was no rationalizing it. Mr. Darcy had purposely separated Mr. Bingley from my sister. It was clear now that it had been drawn to my attention. How could he do such a thing?
To prove that my accusations were correct and to further pursue my dislike for Mr. Darcy, I employed myself to examine all of the letters from Jane that she had written to me since my arrival in Kent.
It did not take me long realize that although Jane had no complaints, nor had she revived any past occurrences or even showed that she was unhappy, every sentence conveyed her uneasiness. She would be the last person to admit her unhappiness and would show no signs of her misery.
Mr. Darcy was proud of the fact that he had been able to inflict heartache on my sister. Only a truly awful person could find pleasure in someone else’s pain. I sat back in the chair in disbelief at all that I had heard that day. What kind of man is Mr. Darcy? I wondered. Now that his character had shown itself there was one thing of which I was most certain: Mr. Darcy was not the kind of man with whom I would ever want to associate. The only consolation that I had was that I would be leaving this place in a fortnight and soon would be home to provide comfort for my dearest Jane.
Suddenly, sadness came over me at the thought of leaving Kent. Not because of I would be leaving Mr. Darcy. Not because I would be leaving the Collinses or Lady Catherine. No, I was sad because leaving Kent meant that I would be leaving Colonel Fitzwilliam. We had developed a good friendship and I know that once we parted company we would most likely never see each other again.
Eventually I was able to relax. I could only hope that the awful headache that had kept me at the parsonage all evening would begin to subside. Just as I closed my eyes, I was suddenly roused by the sound of the doorbell. Who could that be? I thought. Most of the people whom the Collinses and I know here in Kent are currently dining at Rosings.
My headache began to get worse as Mr. Darcy walked into the room. Although I was seething at the sight of him, to maintain civility I greeted him politely with a slight curtsy and said, “Mr. Darcy.”
In a hurried manner, he asked, “Miss Elizabeth, are you well this evening? I was concerned when you did not accompany your friends to Rosings.”
“I am quite well, Mr. Darcy. Just a small headache. Thank you. And you, sir?” I asked.
“Very well, thank you,” he replied.
He appeared very nervous. He would sit down for a few moments, and then get up again and begin to walk about the room. After the customary social pleasantries that we had just endured, I decided to remain silent in the hopes that he would tell me the purpose of his call. I did not really care to hear it, but I hoped that he would divulge his purpose and then quickly depart. Now that would be pleasant indeed!
After a silence of several minutes during which he continued his agitated pacing, he finally came toward me and said, "In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings can no longer be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you."
My astonishment was beyond any expression that I could expose to him. I stared at him in disbelief. Is Mr. Darcy actually standing before me declaring his love for me? And is this really how he thinks a gentleman does this? Did he really consider this sufficient encouragement to entice me to accept him and the avowal of all he felt? Although he was nervous, he did speak well; but there were feelings besides those of his heart that had not been clearly spoken but implied. He made it perfectly clear that I was inferior to hi
m and that our connection would be a degradation to his family. In vain I have struggled indeed, Mr. Darcy. Do tell me all about your struggles and then I shall share mine.
The more practical side of me could not disregard the compliment of such a man’s affection. However, the deeply rooted dislike I felt for him did not vary in spite of that, not even for an instant. I tried to compose myself to answer him, and for a moment I felt sorry for the pain he was about to receive. But then the images of Jane and Mr. Wickham were clear in my head and compassion gave way to anger. He was still talking, concluding his declaration representing to me the strength of our attachment which, in spite of all his endeavors, he had found impossible to conquer; and by expressing his hope that it would now be rewarded by my acceptance of his hand. He spoke of apprehension and anxiety, but his countenance expressed the utmost security.
Oh, the nerve of this man! As he spoke, I could easily see that he had no doubt of my providing him with a favorable answer. He was quite sure that I would say yes.
When he finally stopped talking, the color rose into my cheeks as I said, "In such cases as this, it is, I believe, the established mode to express a sense of obligation for the sentiments avowed, however unequally they may be returned.”
“Unequally?” he interrupted.
Without addressing his question, I continued, “It is natural that obligation should be felt in some form or another. And perhaps gratitude, and if I could feel gratitude, I would now thank you. But I feel neither obligation nor gratitude toward you. Mr. Darcy, I cannot say that I have never desired your good opinion of me. I am sorry to cause you pain, but you bestow your affections unwillingly. However, I believe your pain will be of short duration. I am sure that the feelings which, you tell me, have long prevented the acknowledgment of your regard for me, can have little difficulty in overcoming it after this explanation."
He was leaning against the mantelpiece with his eyes fixed on my face. At first he appeared calm and unreactive to my words, but his complexion slowly grew pale and I could see anger in his eyes. His disturbance at my words showed in every one of his features. He was struggling to maintain his composure, and it was clear that he was waiting to speak until he had attained it. He was not the type of man who would speak in a situation like this until he was sure he was civil and in control. Finally, with forced calmness, he said, "And this is all the reply which I am to have the honor of expecting! I might, perhaps, wish to be informed why, with so little endeavor at civility, I am thus rejected."
"I might as well inquire," I replied, "why with so evident a desire of offending and insulting me, you chose to tell me that you admired me against your better judgment? You may believe I was uncivil, but I believe I was not. But even if I was, I have other reasons to refuse you. Even if I returned your feelings or had some regard for you in any way, my answer would still be the same.”
“And why is that?”
I paused for a moment, then proceeded to answer him as civilly as I could. “Do you think that any consideration would tempt me to accept the man who has been the means of ruining, perhaps forever, the happiness of a most beloved sister?"
His face flushed with color as he realized my meaning. I expected him to jump in and defend himself, but he did not. He listened silently as I continued.
"I have every reason in the world to think ill of you. No motive can excuse the unjust and ungenerous part you have played in her unhappiness. Do you deny it?” Without giving him a chance to answer, I continued, “You cannot deny that it was you who divided them and, by doing so, exposed one to the censure of the world for caprice and instability and the other to its derision for disappointed hopes. You have involved them both in misery of the acutest kind."
I paused and waited for some reply, some sign of indignation or remorse for his actions. He said nothing and merely looked back at me incredulously, which only infuriated me more. "Can you deny this, Mr. Darcy?" I asked accusingly.
With an air of confidence, he replied, "I have no reason to deny that I did everything in my power to separate Mr. Bingley from your sister. And know that I do rejoice in that success. You can see that I was much kinder toward my friend than I have been toward myself in this regard."
Surprised by his admission, I responded, “Why would you do such a thing?”
“In all honesty, I believed his affections were stronger than hers.”
“So because of this belief, you stepped in and saved your friend from a broken heart? Did you ever think that perhaps my sister was shy? Or perhaps she was not raised in that manner and concealed her affections to the public. Or maybe that was the way she did show her affection?”
“I did,” he replied. “My actions were based solely on my perceptions formed when I observed them together. And no, Miss Elizabeth, I did not think about your sister’s shyness or any other factors that could have been working to change what I observed. Perhaps I made an error in judgment where Bingley and your sister are concerned.”
Did he just admit that he was wrong? I paused briefly because I was taken aback by his admission that he was wrong, but not for long. There was more that I needed to say and he was going to hear it all. "Mr. Bingley and Jane are not the only reasons," I continued, "on which my refusal is based. Long before any of that business had taken place my opinion of you was irrevocably decided. Your character was unfolded to me many months ago from Mr. Wickham.” At the mention of Mr. Wickham, his entire demeanor changed. It was as if the name itself brought him so much ill will he could not bear to hear it. However, that did not deter me from pressing on. “What do you have to say for yourself on this subject, Mr. Darcy? What excuse can you have to defend yourself against Mr. Wickham’s accusations?"
"You take an eager interest in Mr. Wickham’s follies," he said angrily.
"How can I not take an interest in him? Especially now that I know what misfortunes have befallen him as a result of your mistreatment."
"His misfortunes!" He spoke loudly, his anger evident in his words. “Yes, Miss Elizabeth, his misfortunes have been great indeed; but not at my hand. However, you will not allow my response in this matter as you have already deemed it as an excuse.”
"What kind of gentleman are you, Mr. Darcy? You have reduced Mr. Wickham to his present state of poverty. You have withheld the advantages which your own father bestowed upon him. You have deprived him of the best years of his life. You, Mr. Darcy! You have done all this! And yet you treat the mention of his misfortunes with contempt and ridicule. You, Mr. Darcy, are no gentleman and you should be ashamed to call yourself one!"
"And this," he yelled, as he walked with quick steps across the room toward me, "is your opinion of me! This is the estimation in which you hold me!”
“It is!” I responded. He was standing extremely close and I was beginning to feel odd. I wondered if perhaps I was claustrophobic…but no, if I were claustrophobic I would be pushing him away. My feelings were the exact opposite; I wanted him to stand closer to me. I wanted him to touch me. I wanted to feel his breath on my skin. When he spoke I was brought back to the argument at hand. What is wrong with me?
“Well, I thank you for explaining it to me. My faults, according to your calculation, are heavy indeed! But perhaps," he added, stopping in his pacing and standing directly in front of me, "these offenses might have been overlooked, had not your pride been wounded by my honest confession of the scruples that had long prevented me from forming an alliance with you. Perhaps your bitter accusations would have been suppressed if I had concealed my struggles. Maybe I should have flattered you more and led you to believe that I was making an offer to you without any concerns or considerations. But I would like to think that you have come to know me over the last few months and despite your feelings of apprehension towards me, you would know that I despise every sort of deceit. I am not ashamed of the feelings that I related. They were honest and true and if you had consented to be my wife you would have known that you would have had a husband who would always be
that way with you. Did you really expect me to rejoice in the inferiority of your connections? Did you think I would congratulate myself on the hope of relations with someone whose station in life is so decidedly beneath my own?"
With every word that he spoke, I grew more and more angry with him. Trying to maintain my composure, I exclaimed, “Mr. Darcy!” I was quite sure that I had shouted, but he kept on talking about my connections or lack thereof. His arrogance was infuriating—to think that he was convinced that I would even entertain a connection with him! “Mr. Darcy!” I interrupted again, “Do allow me to be perfectly clear. If you suppose that the mode of your declaration has affected me in any way other than to spare the concern which I might have felt in refusing you, I assure you it has not. It would not even if you had behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner. You could not have made the offer of your hand in any way that would have tempted me to accept it."
His astonishment was obvious, and he looked at me with an expression of mingled incredulity and mortification. He still could not comprehend that I was adamantly refusing him. I continued, “From the first moment I made your acquaintance, your arrogance, your deceit, and your selfish disdain for the feelings of others convinced me that you were the last man in the world I could ever be prevailed upon to marry.” I knew I was being quite rude to him, but I felt he could have had no other expectation after the things he had said.
I do believe that he finally heard me because he stopped talking. He looked at me, absolutely astonished by my words. When he regained his composure, he replied stumblingly, “So this is your opinion of me?”
Matter-of-factly, I replied, “It is.”
"I believe you have said quite enough, madam. I understand completely your feelings toward me. And, I might add, my comprehension makes me quite ashamed of what my own feelings have been.”
