Believing in Darcy: A Pride and Prejudice Variation

by Renata McMann

  Her mother’s sobbing was such a constant noise now, it almost faded to the background in Elizabeth’s mind. She hoped Mrs. Bennet didn’t make herself ill. Elizabeth had never known her to carry on for quite so long before. Of course, never before had Elizabeth’s father died and Longbourn been taken from them.

  “I don’t want Mrs. Collins’ rights limited,” Mr. Darcy said. “She only agrees to you remaining in Longbourn if you understand that your being here does not mean you have the right to continue to stay, Mr. Collins.”

  “I understand,” Mr. Collins said. He offered a slight, rueful grin. “In truth, I don’t have the means to remain in Hertfordshire if I must board myself. I would like to stay until this is sorted, if possible.”

  Mr. Darcy nodded, his expression losing some of its usual guarded edge. “I think we are on the right course.” He turned back to Elizabeth. “Is there a place the three of us can talk? I don’t believe it will take us long to reach an agreement.”

  “The library,” Elizabeth said. “There are pens and ink in the right-hand drawer of the desk. You’ll want to take two chairs.”

  Mr. Darcy nodded, the look he gave her disconcertingly warm. He, Charlotte and Mr. Collins stood. Both men took up the chairs they’d been sitting in.

  “I believe I know the way,” Mr. Collins said.

  Elizabeth’s mother put her head down on the table, crying.

  For once, Elizabeth agreed with her.

  Chapter Seven

  [H]er mother … used emotions rather than reason to influence those around her.

  As he left the dining room, Darcy tried to decipher the expression on Elizabeth’s face. She looked sad, which was to be expected. There was weariness etched on her features, though she was as lovely as ever, even in black. He wouldn’t have imagined anyone could look so beautiful while in mourning.

  She also looked perplexed. He longed to read into that look, to hope it meant she was reconsidering her opinion of him. He wouldn’t permit himself to, though. He’d suffered enough heartache over Elizabeth Bennet. More than he’d ever considered himself capable of. It wouldn’t do to dream up reasons he might still have a chance with her. He could remember the tone of her rejection and knew he didn’t. Nor would he sink so low as to ask a second time for a country miss to marry him.

  He would, however, take the advice implicit in her directions on how to locate writing materials. Elizabeth was correct, it was a good idea to write down any agreement Mr. and Mrs. Collins came to. As Darcy followed them down the hall, he reviewed what he knew of both, hoping for an amicable discourse.

  Darcy had looked into Mr. Collins after leaving Hertfordshire that spring. He was, indeed, the Mr. Collins who lived not far from Pemberley. Though Darcy hadn’t actually met the man, their paths had crossed the year before. Mr. Collins had rendered services to his parishioners, suffering losses of his own in the process. Learning of it, Darcy had done his best to set things right. It didn’t do to have a man of the cloth suffer for behaving nobly.

  When they reached the library, Darcy put his chair down and moved to sit behind the desk, assembling the writing materials. Mr. Collins arranged the two chairs they’d brought. He stepped back, bowing, to indicate Mrs. Collins should select a seat. Only when she had done so did Mr. Collins take one. All of this he did without a word, reinforcing how different he was from his older brother.

  Darcy folded his hands on the desk, studying the younger Mr. Collins. He was a well-proportioned man. He’d already shown himself to be reasonable and kind. Would he be like his brother in one thing, though? Would he recognize Elizabeth’s unique beauty and wit and ask her to be his wife? Would she dare to refuse him, with her future so uncertain, and him a good man?

  She couldn’t dislike the clergyman. He’d only just arrived. He hadn’t had time to offend her, as Darcy had. He also hadn’t contributed to her favorite sister’s unhappiness or belittled her family. The man was well-nigh perfect.

  Darcy realized his teeth were clenched hard enough to send pain radiating through his skull. He forced himself to relax. What Elizabeth did or did not do was not his concern. He cleared his throat. “It’s my hope both of you can agree what is needed is to preserve the value of the property and the rights of both parties.”

  “I’m not certain how that can be accomplished, but I’m eager to hear suggestions,” Mr. Collins said. “The trouble is, I’m paying a curate to take over my living in my absence. It’s money I can’t really afford to give him, but I felt I had to come in person. I don’t want the estate to be neglected, and if I knew it was going to be mine, I would work to see to the long-term interest of the property.”

  “How long will your curate work?” Darcy asked. Mr. Collins made a fair point. He was, in fact, losing money and had no guarantee of compensation, since Mrs. Collins might have a son.

  Mr. Collins gave another wry smile. “As long as I’m willing to pay him. He’s maintaining the garden and my chickens and goats, but he’s also eating from that. I’m paying him half of my tithes, proportional to the number of Sundays he preaches.”

  “I realize that must be a large investment for you,” Mrs. Collins said. She turned back to Darcy. “I have some notion of what Longbourn is worth, and the income here. I’m sure there’s a fair way to work this out. My greatest concerns are to see Mr. Bennet’s estate run properly in the interim, and, if I may be so blunt, to ensure Mrs. Bennet truly does leave. I hold no ire for her, but she will stay and keep squandering the resources of the estate if she is not handled firmly. No matter who the entail goes to, I’m sure neither of us wishes for that.”

  Darcy nodded. He was pleased to realize this would be an easy job. Both of the people seated across from him were aware the outcome could go either way and both seemed willing to compromise. “I propose Mr. Collins stay and supervise the property, with limited staff and without entertaining.”

  “Except for uninvited callers,” Mr. Collins said. “Or will I turn them away?”

  “No, that won’t be necessary.” Mrs. Collins offered a smile. “A handful of callers are nothing to concern ourselves over. The farm, however, is. It will yield only a small income from selling milk, eggs, and summer ripening crops, but I don’t believe the baby will arrive until late in October. By then, most of the harvest will be in. How shall we allocate that?

  Darcy was once again impressed by Mrs. Collins’ practicality. He could see why Elizabeth valued her as a friend. “I propose the nonperishable crops be sold by whoever inherits, but the income from the perishable items be used to pay for the maintenance of the property.”

  Mr. Collins nodded. “That sounds reasonable to me.”

  Mrs. Collins’ expression was contemplative. “What if there is more income than required to maintain the property?”

  “Whatever is left over could be divided equally between the two of you, regardless of who inherits?” Darcy suggested, curious if they would both agree. Whoever inherited the property would have a reduced total income, but it meant that the loser would benefit as well.

  “I feel that is fair,” Mrs. Collins said. “If I have a daughter, it will add to her resources. If I have a son, Mr. Collins will be better compensated for his time spent here.”

  Mr. Collins nodded. “I am in agreement with that solution.”

  “Good,” Darcy said, nodding. “We can run this by Mr. Phillips, or another attorney if either of you would prefer, but I think that covers all of the contingencies. I’ll note down the details and you can both look it over. Mr. Phillips’ clerk can make official copies.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Darcy,” Mrs. Collins said.

  “Yes, my exact sentiments,” Mr. Collins added.

  “I’m pleased to oblige.” Darcy was slightly surprised to realize he meant it.

  ***

  For a long moment after Mr. Darcy, Charlotte and Mr. Collins left, everyone sat in a silence punctuated only by the sobs of Elizabeth’s mother. Elizabeth looked at the strained faces around the tabl
e, suppressing a sigh. She knew she should say or do something to alleviate the tension, but couldn’t muster the ability to care.

  “I’ll take Mama to her room,” Jane said, standing.

  Mary stood as well. “I’ll help.”

  “What dear girls you are,” Mrs. Phillips said, smiling up at them as they converged on Elizabeth’s mother.

  As Jane and Mary helped Mrs. Bennet from the room, Lady Lucas leaned across the table toward Elizabeth. “May we speak in private, Elizabeth?”

  “Yes, certainly we may.” Elizabeth stood, making her way around the table.

  “Should I go ask if they need anything in the library?” Kitty looked about as she spoke, as if unsure who to address the question to.

  “I wouldn’t yet,” Mrs. Gardiner said, though she smiled at Kitty. “Why don’t you tell me how Lydia is?”

  Lady Lucas following her, Elizabeth led the way to the front parlor, her aunt’s and Kitty’s voices fading behind them. They seated themselves, the room feeling odd and empty to Elizabeth, as if their family had already departed. Her eyes slid across the furnishings and ornaments, some new but most worn. She wondered what was theirs to take, and what would remain. Most of the furniture would remain, of course, but neither Charlotte or Mr. Collins could have much use for her mother’s bits and pieces.

  “I want to make sure you’re comfortable with the arrangement, dear,” Lady Lucas said. “We’re unendingly grateful you saved Charlotte, and our first grandchild, but we are taking on two more mouths by having Charlotte back and you, and perhaps a third if the baby is a girl.”

  “I know, Lady Lucas, and I am very sensible of that. Thank you again for having me.” Elizabeth endeavored a smile, but wasn’t sure how her sorrow rendered the attempt.

  “As Charlotte, Maria and Susan do, you’ll be expected to take on some small chores. Nothing too onerous, of course. You’ll have time to pursue your accomplishments. You can have every hope of still making a good match for yourself someday. And, of course, we’ll give you a small allowance. We owe you that.”

  “Thank you, Lady Lucas. That is very kind of you,” Elizabeth said. She didn’t mind chores in the slightest. She didn’t feel she deserved the praise they heaped on her. If she’d been quicker or more forceful, she could have kept Mr. Collins from dying, and Charlotte and her baby would be happily ensconced in their own home, not dependent on the charity of Charlotte’s family once more. The Lucases were very kind. Elizabeth resolved to make herself as useful as possible, to thank them for taking her in.

  Lady Lucas reached over and patted Elizabeth’s hand. “We want you to feel at home with us, Elizabeth. As a sister to our children. We won’t make a servant of you, or leave you without any pin money.”

  Elizabeth nodded, still trying to maintain her watery smile. She wondered if she imagined the slight emphasis Lady Lucas put on the word sister. Elizabeth already felt nearly a sister to Charlotte. She was sure she would grow closer with Maria and Susan too. “Thank you.”

  Lady Lucas smiled. “I was very sorry about your father, dear. He was a wonderful man.”

  Elizabeth could only nod and sit quietly as Lady Lucas proceeded to reminisce about her father. Elizabeth knew it was right to do so. It honored those who left them to recall them with love, and her father was in a better place now. Still, the loss was too fresh for her. It was all she could do, as the minutes wore on, to maintain a polite look and murmur appropriate syllables.

  “Lizzy, Mr. Darcy, Mr. Collins and Charlotte are back.”

  With relief, Elizabeth looked over to see Kitty standing in the doorway, though her sister’s face was turned away, toward the dining room.

  “Well, let’s go see what decisions they’ve arrived at, shall we?” Lady Lucas said, standing.

  Elizabeth followed her and Kitty down the hall to the dining room, where they were informed that Charlotte, Mr. Collins, and Mr. Darcy had formed an agreement. Retaking her seat, Elizabeth noted everyone else had returned as well, save her mother. Elizabeth’s Uncle Phillips had a page before him, which he was reading carefully. She recognized the strong, clear penmanship as Mr. Darcy’s.

  “This seems equitable to me,” Mr. Phillips said, looking up. He turned to Elizabeth and her sisters, arrayed along one side of the table. “It is agreed that Mr. Collins shall have your father’s room.”

  Elizabeth looked over to Mr. Collins, who appeared nervous, perhaps even abashed. He met her look and shrugged slightly. She dropped her eyes, unsure how to respond. She’d suggested the room, and it was the only place to put him, but the idea troubled her.

  “Someone will have to tell your mother,” Mr. Phillips said.

  “I will,” Elizabeth said. As the least well-liked daughter, she may as well. She already knew what her mother would say, but was still not regretful. Even with all that had come to pass, Elizabeth couldn’t bring herself to wish she’d accepted the late Mr. Collins’ offer of marriage.

  She did wish, though, that her mother could be made more reasonable. Elizabeth lifted her eyes to the silent assemblage once more, taking in faces ranging from sorrowful to firm. She felt sorry for her mother, who used emotions rather than reason to influence those around her. Her emotions had no power over those who now controlled Longbourn.

  Chapter Eight

  …sometimes it was difficult to like the truth.

  The following morning was, if possible, more difficult for Elizabeth than the evening before. She and Jane went through all their possessions, deciding what would be kept, what must stay and what was no longer needed. When they were finished, Jane went to assist their Aunt Gardiner, who was helping their mother take on the same task.

  Elizabeth, pleased not to be called into her mother’s presence after the fit she’d endured the evening before, went to help Kitty, who had to pack not only her own possessions, but Lydia’s as well. Elizabeth entered the room to find her younger sister crying, but working in spite of her tears. With much of Lydia’s clothing in Brighton and the rest of her things going no farther than the village, it didn’t take long to pack for her. Leaving Kitty with a parting hug, Elizabeth went to check on Mary. She found her middle sister standing in a very empty seeming room.

  “I’m done,” Mary said. She proffered a stack of pages. “Would you care for my sheet music?”

  “Because the Phillips don’t have a pianoforte?” Elizabeth asked, accepting the pages. The Lucases did, but didn’t have anyone in their house who played.

  Mary looked around the bare room, a sigh escaping her. “Partly.” Her gaze dropped to the floor. “You and Jane shared a room here. Kitty and Lydia shared another. I had this one to myself.”

  Elizabeth frowned, uncertain of Mary’s point. “Which I daresay was more pleasant than sharing with Kitty or Lydia.”

  Mary shrugged. “I didn’t fit in here.” Her voice was soft. “I realize I was Aunt and Uncle Phillips’ second, or maybe even third, choice. I plan to try to fit in there.”

  A fresh wave of sorrow washed over Elizabeth. “I’m sorry.” How much had she been responsible for Mary’s not fitting in? She didn’t torment Mary as Kitty and Lydia did, but Elizabeth had never reached out to her next youngest sister either, being happy with her father and Jane as her dearest companions. “I’ll take the sheet music and think of you when I play it.”

  Mary looked up, her face expressionless. “I would like that.”

  Elizabeth gave her a quick hug, being careful not to wrinkle the music, and hurried back to her room. She didn’t like thinking she’d been too self-absorbed to be a good sister to Mary. Of course, sometimes it was difficult to like the truth.

  After packing the music, Elizabeth went downstairs. Without realizing it, she found herself at the library door, where she’d always gone when troubled. She rested her forehead against it, unsure if she wished to go in. She wouldn’t find words of wisdom there, or even exasperation or amusement. Only a room empty of her father and his books.

  Wiping away tears that ha
d become an inevitable addition to her cheeks since her father’s death, she pushed the door open. Perhaps, if she closed her eyes, she would be able to imagine he was still there. Elizabeth stepped inside, conjuring the memory of her father.

  “Mr. Collins,” she exclaimed, startled to see him sitting at the desk.

  “Miss, uh, Elizabeth,” he said, gesturing toward the ledger. “I was just looking over your father’s books.”

  For the first time, she realized he looked somewhat like her father. He was much trimmer, and younger, but his features were similar, as was the kindness in his eyes. His face looked like he smiled often, though she hadn’t known him to do so much at Longbourn. She wondered if her father had the same air of easy affability, once, before life added an edge of cynicism to his humor.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I forgot the room might be occupied. I shouldn’t have intruded.”

  “No, it is I who am sorry. I should have left the door open. It must be upsetting to find me here.”

  “You have every right to be here,” she managed, startled by his understanding.

  “Not according to your mother.” He added a droll smile to his words.

  It was Elizabeth’s turn to sympathize. She hadn’t been able to make out the words, but she’d heard her mother’s aggravated tones when the two had met in the hall earlier in the day. “My mother isn’t always reasonable in the best of times.”

  He shrugged. “I take your point. This is anything but the best of times.” He leaned forward, his face serious. “You and your sisters have my deepest sympathy. Your mother as well, of course. I understand it’s very difficult to lose a father.”

  “Yet we all must, I suppose,” Elizabeth said, offering a shrug of her own. She appreciated his words, and his kind eyes, but she was tired of people’s sympathies. They did little more than open fresh sorrow.

  He looked away, leaning back, and drummed his fingers on the desk. “Perhaps you can help me,” he said abruptly. “I’m having trouble reading your father’s handwriting.” He pointed to the ledger.