Believing in Darcy: A Pride and Prejudice Variation

by Renata McMann

  Believing in Darcy

  by

  Renata McMann and Summer Hanford

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  From Ashes to Heiresses

  In the wake of a devastating fire at Longbourn, Elizabeth and Jane are taken in by their aunt and uncle in Meryton. Concerned about their situation, Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley come to Hertfordshire, but not before Mr. Wickham attempts to use Jane’s heartache to his advantage.

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  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Epilogue

  With special thanks to our editor, Joanne Girard

  Cover by Summer Hanford

  Copyright 2017 by Renata McMann & Summer Hanford

  All rights reserved

  Chapter One

  Lady Catherine, in her kindness, finds no trouble too small to dispense her wisdom on.

  Elizabeth paced back and forth across the drawing room of the Hunsford parsonage. She couldn’t decide which emotion was stronger, anger or surprise. She was shocked Mr. Darcy had proposed to her, and livid he’d done so in so insulting a manner. Her emotions were too strong to be contained. She needed to be in motion.

  She heard a carriage arrive, likely signaling the return of Mr. and Mrs. Collins, along with Mrs. Collins sister, Maria. Elizabeth had declined the invitation to visit Lady Catherine at Rosings on the grounds of a headache, little knowing that lingering in Hunsford would result in Mr. Darcy’s appearance. She was inclined to renew the complaint now, in no mood to exchange pleasantries with anyone, even Mrs. Collins, though Charlotte Collins was one of her oldest friends.

  Hearing them in the entry hall, Elizabeth squared her shoulders and smoothed her dress. Her duties as a guest required she not scurry away and hide from them. She would not permit Mr. Darcy’s rudeness to reduce her to similar behavior. Crossing the room, she sat down, picked up the book she’d been reading that morning and opened it to her bookmark. When they entered, she closed the book. “Mr. Collins, Charlotte, how was your visit with Lady Catherine? Where is Maria?”

  “Miss Lucas, in a show of intelligence I wouldn’t have credited her with before, has gone immediately to the undisturbed quiet of her room to write a letter to her mother detailing every aspect of our time in Lady Catherine’s presence. You will be sorry you missed it, cousin, when I tell you all,” Mr. Collins said, coming to sit in his favorite chair.

  “I’m sure I will be sorry,” Elizabeth agreed, for she already was. Sorry she hadn’t given in to her impulse to disappear to her room.

  Likely able to read her tone, Charlotte gave Elizabeth an amused smile, seating herself near the fire.

  Mr. Collins, taking Elizabeth’s reply as encouragement, was more than pleased to go into great detail about their visit, beginning with what they were offered to eat and drink. It was an uninteresting tale, but Elizabeth listened with a smooth face and proper responses. Her anger at Mr. Darcy, and disdain for his uncouth behavior, made her resolve not to let Mr. Collins’ obnoxiousness make her any less polite than she should be.

  “Then, there was the fine manner of advice Lady Catherine was so kind as to bestow on us,” Mr. Collins said after exhausting every detail pertaining to wine and food. He seemed unaware he carried nearly the entirety of the conversation himself, not pausing for more than polite agreement, or that Elizabeth had eaten and drank the same offerings on previous occasions at Rosings.

  “A moment, Mr. Collins,” Charlotte said, turning to Elizabeth with a wan smile.

  Elizabeth could sympathize. Listening to Mr. Collins repeat what had surely been an arduous visit at comprehensive length must be even more distasteful than the initial enduring of the events. Still, Charlotte had made Mr. Collins’ rambling her lot in life, much to Elizabeth’s dismay, and must therefore tolerate him.

  “How are you, dear Lizzy?” Charlotte asked. “Did your constitution improve in our absence?”

  “I’m much better, thank you,” she replied truthfully. At the least, better than she’d felt when they returned, her composure regained.

  “Mrs. Collins is not at all well,” Mr. Collins said. “She is tired. She’s been waking at all hours.”

  Elizabeth directed her attention toward Charlotte. “If that’s the case, I’m sorry to hear it. I hope you’re feeling better soon.”

  “I’m sure I will be.” Charlotte’s expression brightened with her words.

  Elizabeth had known Charlotte all her life. There was something about her mien that made Elizabeth feel Charlotte was privy to more than she said. It wasn’t that she was lying, but she wasn’t telling all.

  “Lady Catherine was quite adamant about the harm lack of proper rest can do,” Mr. Collins said. “She graciously condescended to give me something to help Mrs. Collins sleep.”

  Charlotte’s brows drew together. “When I confessed my recent difficulty sleeping, I believe I mentioned it is nothing worth troubling Lady Catherine over.”

  “Which was considerate, of course, but Lady Catherine, in her kindness, finds no trouble too small to dispense her wisdom on,” Mr. Collins said. He turned back to Elizabeth. “When Mrs. Collins left the room briefly, I told Lady Catherine of her trouble. She said Mrs. Collins is undoubtedly not getting her full nights’ sleep if she’s waking. Lady Catherine said no good would come of it.”

  Elizabeth was surprised at Mr. Collins. She would have thought him too dull to realize his wife’s words were a warning, but she was obviously mistaken. He wouldn’t have waited for Charlotte to leave the room before speaking of it if he hadn’t realized she would disapprove.

  Still frowning, Charlotte shrugged. “I wake up, but go back to sleep quickly. It is nothing to trouble Lady Catherine over. I don’t need anything to help me sleep.”

  “Yes, you do, or you wouldn’t be waking up. Lady Catherine was very adamant about what the trouble must be and how to resolve it, and we would do well to benefit from her wisdom.” He pulled a small square bottle out of his coat pocket. “This will help. Lady Catherine said you should take six spoonfuls before going to bed.”

  Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. “That seems like rather a lot. Are you sure that’s what she said? The bottle looks quite small for so large a dose.”

  Mr. Collins turned it in his hand. It was stoppered with a cork and unlabeled. “No.” He paused, looking thoughtful. “Lady Catherine said tablespoons, not teaspoons. I don’t believe Lady Catherine, in her wisdom, meant Charlotte to avail herself of it for long. This is but a generous gift of a sample
from the lady’s store.”

  That eased Elizabeth’s worry somewhat, but she still didn’t care for the idea of Charlotte being drugged into a good night’s rest. Especially when a glance showed her friend’s distaste for the idea.

  Mr. Collins turned to Charlotte. “You really do look tired, Mrs. Collins. It’s already evening. Perhaps you should follow Lady Catherine’s advice now. We can entertain ourselves for one evening without you while you avail yourself of extra sleep.”

  Charlotte’s shoulders sagged slightly. She pressed her lips into a thin line for a moment, then nodded. Elizabeth realized her friend must be tired indeed to give in. It was still quite early for bed.

  “I’ll fix you a draught,” Mr. Collins said, his eyes kind as he looked at Charlotte. He stood, set the bottle on the table, and hurried off toward the kitchen.

  Elizabeth admitted to herself, albeit grudgingly, that Mr. Collins seemed to actually care about Charlotte’s wellbeing. Perhaps his defiance of her wish not to trouble Lady Catherine was born of care for Charlotte, not simply the desire to give his patroness new ways to dispense her advice.

  Momentarily freed of Mr. Collins, she turned to Charlotte. “What is really the trouble?”

  Charlotte shook her head, her lips clamped shut.

  “Charlotte Collins, if something is truly wrong, please tell me. I shall do all in my power to assist you.”

  “Nothing is wrong, Lizzy.” Charlotte’s lips turning up in a slight smile. “I’m simply unsure of something. I’ll tell you soon.”

  Elizabeth found that response unilluminating. She opened her mouth to say so, but closed it again at the sound of approaching footfalls.

  Mr. Collins returned, a glass and serving spoon in hand. Elizabeth frowned at the spoon. True, serving spoons were often referred to as tablespoons, but she wasn’t sure there were even six spoonfuls of that size contained in the small bottle. A spoon that large couldn’t be what Lady Catherine meant.

  Mr. Collins went to the table. Giving Charlotte a smile, he proceeded to unstop the bottle and measure out spoonfuls. The reddish-brown liquid was thick, slowing the process and increasing Elizabeth’s unease. She had little experience with laudanum. Her father refused to allow its use in their house. Still, she was familiar with its description. She’d heard people used drops only, or thinned it with wine.

  Mr. Collins wasn’t using drops, and the viscous syrup did not appear thinned. When he came to the final spoonful, not enough of the potion remained in the bottle to fill it. Muttering about Lady Catherine’s staff being stingy, he held the bottle over the glass until only a thin trickle came out.

  “There,” he said, giving the bottle a final shake before setting it aside. He brought the nearly full glass to Charlotte, his expression showing affection. “Drink this. You will sleep soundly, and tomorrow you will be well, just as Lady Catherine says.”

  Charlotte accepted the glass. She sniffed it, grimacing, and raised weary eyes to her husband. Elizabeth bit her lip. She didn’t like to interfere in matters between a man and wife, but the little she did know of laudanum and other remedies suggested that no matter what was in the glass, it was simply too large a dose. Mr. Collins smiled down encouragingly. Charlotte lifted the glass to her lips.

  “No,” Elizabeth cried, jumping up.

  Charlotte turned to her, eyes wide with surprise.

  Elizabeth crossed the room and pulled the glass from her friend’s hand, eyeing the dark liquid with mistrust.

  “Cousin Elizabeth,” Mr. Collins said. “I must ask you to return that to Mrs. Collins. She is not sleeping well and needs treatment. Furthermore, Lady Catherine herself said Mrs. Collins was to drink it. What will I tell her if Mrs. Collins does not?”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “I will not let Charlotte drink this. I don’t know what’s in this glass, but this can’t be the correct dosage. You must agree, Charlotte, nothing save tea or wine is ever prescribed in such abundance.”

  Charlotte looked at the glass Elizabeth held. She let out a sigh, nodding. “Elizabeth makes an honest observation, Mr. Collins. In all my years, I’ve never heard of a medication for any ill being given so liberally, unless it is a thing usually drank.”

  Mr. Collins’ moment of husbandly care fled, his usual nervousness returning. He wrung his hands. “What will I tell Lady Catherine?”

  Charlotte frowned. She looked from her distraught husband to Elizabeth, to the glass.

  “You must drink it,” Mr. Collins said. “Lady Catherine bid you drink it. She is our benefactor. We do not wish to seem ungrateful.”

  “Mr. Collins is equally correct, Lizzy,” Charlotte said. “We do well to remain in Lady Catherine’s good graces. I’m sure no great harm will come from it.” She reached for the glass.

  Elizabeth took a step back from the chair, holding the glass out at arm’s length, far from Charlotte’s reach. “It isn’t safe. I can’t let you do this, even to appease Lady Catherine.”

  Mr. Collins plucked the glass from Elizabeth’s hand. Before she could attempt to reclaim it, he tipped his head back and poured the thick liquid into his mouth. Elizabeth and Charlotte both cried out in protest, but it was too late. Save for what coated the inside of the glass in ominous ripples, the bulk of the dark liquid was in Mr. Collins’ mouth.

  He swallowed convulsively, grimacing. Anger apparent in the set of his mouth, he turned to Elizabeth. “I shall sleep very well tonight. Tomorrow, you will see you were wrong. You will come with me to apologize to Lady Catherine for your and Mrs. Collins’ behavior. I am sure she won’t be surprised you are the instigator of this, Cousin Elizabeth. Knowing your contrary nature, it is only because I care for Mrs. Collins that I permitted you to visit. I’m afraid I must ask you to shorten your stay. Tomorrow you will make preparations to depart. I will not harbor a disruption to my home and a threat to Lady Catherine’s patronage.”

  With a nod to his wife, Mr. Collins slammed the nearly empty glass down on the table and stomped away. Elizabeth and Charlotte stared after him. Elizabeth bit her lip, realizing she’d overstepped.

  “It’s alright, Lizzy,” Charlotte said, her voice soft. “We’ll leave him to his rest tonight, and tomorrow I will speak with him. I’m sure you can stay. You may indeed have to apologize to Lady Catherine, though, if at all possible.”

  Elizabeth sighed, nodding. She realized she hadn’t lasted long in her resolve to behave with less presumption than Mr. Darcy. Thinking of him, she found herself as tired as Charlotte appeared.

  Charlotte stood. She crossed to take up the glass. A small amount remained in the bottom. “I suppose I should do my best to save this, so as to appear grateful.” She took it to the bottle and poured a trickle of the substance back in.

  “Do you think it’s laudanum?” Elizabeth asked, joining Charlotte at the table.

  “I believe so. We didn’t keep any at Lucas Lodge.”

  “Father won’t permit any in Longbourn, either,” Elizabeth said. “I’ve heard people come to crave it more than a drunkard does wine.”

  “Mr. Collins drinks rather sparingly. I’m sure we don’t need to worry over one use.” Charlotte, her hands full of glass and bottle, frowned down at the sticky spoon her husband had thoughtlessly set on the table, a ring of reddish-brown pooling under it.

  “I’ll clean this up,” Elizabeth offered. “You do look tired. You should rest.”

  Charlotte smiled. “We shall both clean it, and then have a pleasant evening together. I’m sure Maria will be down soon. It will be like passed days, the three of us chatting together.”

  Elizabeth found an answering smile on her face, her mood lightening. She still felt Charlotte was keeping something from her. Of course, Elizabeth didn’t intend to say a word about Mr. Darcy’s horrible proposal, so she supposed she had a secret as well. She would keep hers and not begrudge Charlotte the same right, and they would have a lovely evening.

  Chapter Two

  “He said that was the dose Lady Catherine told him to
take.”

  The sun was quite low as Darcy waited impatiently for Elizabeth to appear on the path, for he knew she often walked before breakfast. He’d been up half the night composing a letter to her. No fewer than fifteen sheets of paper, abortive attempts, rested as ash on his grate. Now he stood where he knew she preferred to walk, waiting to hand her the product of his labor.

  His actions were not those of a man who held hope. She’d refused him in terms which forbid that. He simply wished to clear his name. Elizabeth had accused him of harming Mr. Wickham. Darcy was uncertain the exact nature of the crimes Mr. Wickham ascribed to him, but he would have Elizabeth know his side of the tale.

  Mr. Wickham had been promised a valuable living in Darcy’s father’s will, but declared he didn’t want to be a man of the cloth. Darcy was happy to agree to Wickham’s demand of compensation for the living, knowing Wickham would be a disastrous clergyman. Darcy paid him three thousand pounds to give the living up, but by the time the incumbent died, Mr. Wickham had already squandered the not inconsiderable sum. He returned, demanding the living. Darcy refused. Mr. Wickham responded by trying to persuade Darcy’s fifteen-year-old sister to elope with him.

  The sun crept higher. Darcy resisted the urge to loosen his cravat. That he’d dressed with extreme care was not an indication of any desire to appeal to Elizabeth, but done simply to ensure he did not appear distressed by her rejection.

  Why should he be, after all? As he’d explained to her, she was beneath him. He was expected to make a match bringing money or connections. Better yet, a match which brought him both. Elizabeth had appalling relatives and no money. It should be easy to forget her.

  Well, not really forget her, but forget his attraction to her. Surely, knowing how unsuitable she was, that would be readily accomplished. Unsuitable and unreasonable, he reminded himself, girding his heart for sight of her.