Mr Darcy to the Rescue
A Pride and Prejudice Regency Variation
Diana Enright
Contents
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
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Copyright © 2017 by Diana Enright
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Chapter 1
“My goodness, Mr. Darcy. Have you heard?”
Fitzwilliam Darcy glanced up, irritated at having been disturbed. Peace had become a scarce commodity in his Mayfair townhouse. While Darcy very much enjoyed Charles Bingley’s company, the same could not always be said for Bingley’s younger sister. It was clear to Darcy that she had set out to beguile him, but she had not yet succeeded at that endeavour; nor would she ever.
“Heard what, Miss Bingley?” he muttered, trying and failing to inject a degree of civility into his tone. “I imagine I have heard a good many things in my time.”
Caroline Bingley chuckled as if he had paid her a generous compliment. Her brother shook his head in amusement and fondness.
“Dearest Caroline. Your appetite for gossip is boundless. It never ceases to amaze me.”
Her eyes narrowed, but otherwise she ignored this comment. Darcy closed the ledger he had been studying, assuming he would not be allowed to concentrate until he indulged Caroline Bingley by hearing whatever cruel tale she was bursting to share.
“It is all over town,” she added in a conspiratorial whisper.
Darcy cared little about affairs that did not concern him and he considered asking her to leave. He held back: doing so would surely offend Bingley and Darcy did not wish to do that.
“Very well,” he said. “But surely you will share this news with me whether I want to hear it or not.”
“Oh Darcy,” she giggled. “You must not tease me so. It is unfair. I value your good opinion of me.”
He waited, watching her silently. It wasn’t that his friend’s younger sister was unattractive. The opposite was true. She was charming and well-bred as a lot of wealthy women were. She would make a fine wife.
Just not for Darcy.
Miss Bingley was not the only young lady who inspired such apathy in him. He had been prevailed on to attend many balls in the past several months, some of which he had begrudgingly attended so as not to offend the host. He could not attend a gathering without various mothers pushing their daughters on him as if they were saleable commodities! It was quite ridiculous.
And tedious!
Darcy, of course, was sharp enough to understand the motives behind their enthusiasm. Not only did he possess a vast fortune, but his name was held in high enough esteem to satisfy the snobbery of the most discerning of old families. And for their part, they would provide Darcy with a suitable young lady for a wife; a lady of refinement and good breeding who would in turn produce an heir to carry the Darcy name onto the next generation.
Darcy sighed. For many years, he had seen such a union as an inevitable part of his future. And he had never felt dissatisfied about the prospect. Until the previous winter, that is. He could never have known that his life would be permanently altered by such an unremarkable event as a dance in a small country town.
But it had been.
He had met a young woman from an unsuitable background who was different to any woman he had ever met. Even now, months later, her fine eyes haunted his dreams and ensured he would never find happiness in a society marriage. It was as if knowing her had cursed him; the spirited conversations they had shared had forever soured him to the idle small talk preferred by the ladies who were his equals in society.
You are a grown man, he chided himself as he stared out the window. You must stop indulging in such fantasies.
“Darcy!”
It was the elder Bingley this time, watching him with a mixture of fascination and amusement. Charles cared little for reading or quiet reflection.
“What is it, Charles?” Darcy muttered. “Don’t tell me you also have a juicy morsel about the goings on of Lady Chatsworth’s latest suitor.”
Charles snorted. “You are not yet thirty and yet you have the outlook of an elderly curmudgeon twice your age.” He laughed, and Darcy knew there was no malice in his statement. “Actually, I have grown intrigued and it seems my dear sister will not share her tale until she has made a captive audience of the two of us.”
Darcy sighed and stared down at his desk. “Very well,” he muttered. “Miss Bingley, please do us the honour of sharing your tale. Has the Earl of Wentworth absconded again?”
He said it in a voice dripping with sarcasm, but it did not dent Miss Bingley’s enthusiasm one jot. If anything, it seemed to spur her on.
“Actually,” she said, looking at each of them in turn. “It doesn’t concern a lord or an earl. It is someone of an altogether humbler background than that.”
“I can scarcely contain my disappointment,” Darcy muttered.
Miss Bingley smiled. “I think you’ll be far more interested in this news once I tell you whom it concerns.”
“I doubt it,” Darcy said, looking back at the papers on his desk and sighing. What should have been a simple matter was taking a lot more time to settle than he might have liked. Not that he begrudged his time: Bingley had gotten into a bind, and Darcy was always happy to assist his dear friend. “I try not to involve myself in other peoples’ affairs.”
By now, instead of looking chastened as he intended, Miss Bingley was positively glowing. Irritation swelled within Darcy. He had much to do and instead his time was being taken up with this vacuous nonsense. Not only that, but Charles seemed quite intrigued.
Bingley sensed his disapproval. “Come on, Darcy. You’ve been slaving over those papers for hours. You should relax a while.”
“I don’t think you grasp the seriousness of this matter,” Darcy said through gritted teeth. That was the main reason he had offered to help: Bingley had wished to brush off the loss rather than confront the crooked fellow who had deceived him. Such a course of action was unfathomable to Darcy, especially given the sum of money involved.
“Yes, but—”
“But nothing. It would be remiss of me to sit back and laugh at the trifling misfortunes of some young fool when there are important affairs to look after. Your affairs.” He looked pointedly at his friend.
“It is only money, Darcy.”
Darcy groaned. “Do you realise how many
noblemen have said that same thing down through the years? I do not know the exact number, but I would bet you it is a lot. You only need to pass through any part of the country to see vast estates in various states of disrepair and decay. You must take better care of your affairs, Bingley. You cannot simply wash your hands of it and leave it to the trustees.”
“Oh Darcy,” Miss Bingley interrupted. “Please let us not talk of money. It is so frightfully dull.”
Darcy stared at her aghast. Her wealth had been amassed rather recently, and it surprised him how convincingly she feigned indifference to it. He ignored her comment, preferring to return his attention to the papers in front of him.
“I have a luncheon at the Royal Theatre,” she said, sounding almost pained.
“Then you must leave forthwith. Take my carriage—I shall be here for the rest of the afternoon attempting to make sense of these records.”
She sighed and rolled her eyes. “You are the most obtuse man I have ever encountered, Mr. Darcy!”
Why then, he wanted to ask, do you persist in seeking me out and persecuting me?
“That has been remarked on before,” he muttered.
But Miss Bingley was not to be rebuffed. She leant forward, resting her palms on his desk. “It concerns one of the young ladies we met in Hertfordshire last winter.”
Darcy felt a jolt of shock. It was real and physical, even though he had not shifted from his chair.
“Does it?” he said, feigning indifference.
Miss Bingley nodded triumphantly, clearly seeing through his facade. “Yes. I heard it from Miss Levine who heard it from an acquaintance of that family.”
Darcy was surprised by his reaction. After all, he barely knew the Bennet ladies. The mother and her sister were entirely without tact, and he had even urged Bingley to take his leave from Netherfield, based on his suspicion that Bingley might attempt to enter an imprudent marriage.
What Darcy had not succeeded at was clearing his mind of Elizabeth Bennet. She had scarcely been out of his mind since he left Hertfordshire. He had tried to console himself by reflecting that their paths were unlikely to cross again, but it seemed that matters were not so simple. An outbreak of flu in Derbyshire had kept him from making his annual visit to his aunt in Kent that spring. He had discovered after the fact that Miss Elizabeth Bennet had been in attendance. It seemed he was destined to keep encountering her and he wasn’t sure how much longer his resolve would last.
The truth was his heart ached with longing whenever he thought of that quick-witted young lady.
“I hope they are all well,” he said, trying to ignore the rapid beating of his heart. He knew Caroline Bingley well enough to know that this was unlikely to be the case.
Caroline smiled exuberantly before her face fell in a most dramatic way and she clasped her hand to her breast. “Oh, Darcy. I had forgotten the regard you felt for that strange Miss Eliza. It is most unfortunate for them all. It appears that one of the Bennet ladies had been disgraced!”
Chapter 2
Elizabeth Bennet paced the drawing-room at Longbourn House for what must have been the hundredth time that morning. The post should have arrived hours before, but nothing had come. It had been the same the day before. Her father was not much of a writer, but these were not normal circumstances and he had promised them he would keep them updated. She had thought about writing to her aunt in London but decided against it. After all, her aunt and uncle were already doing more than their fair share in trying to locate Lydia.
At first they had all believed the contents of Lydia’s letter to Mrs. Forster, in which she stated their intention to marry. But now doubt had crept in, especially since a couple matching their description had been seen changing to a hackney coach at Clapham. Weeks had passed now and there had still been no word from Scotland announcing the marriage. Nor had there been any sightings of the couple on the road to Scotland.
Lizzy’s private belief was that they had gone to London instead of going north and that they had no intention of going to Scotland.
If that was true, it would be devastating for all of the Bennet girls. At sixteen, Lydia was too young to marry in England without the consent of her parents. It seemed unlikely that Wickham had gone to London for the purpose of having their wedding banns read in a new parish: it would have been far simpler to settle the matter in Scotland.
If the elopement wasn’t bad enough, many terrible stories had begun to emerge from Meryton merchants; stories which painted Wickham in a most unfavourable light. It appeared that he had built up vast debts with many establishments. Not only that, but he had hidden a penchant for gambling that made Elizabeth fear for the welfare of her sister. Lydia has allied herself to a man who was not only penniless, but deceitful and cruel.
Elizabeth sighed and began another circuit of the room. She must have covered miles since they first received the news from Brighton. She preferred to pace outside, away from the constant backdrop of her mother’s anguished cries which carried throughout the house. Unfortunately, the weather had conspired against her and it would have been foolish to wander outside in rain so heavy.
“Lizzy.”
Elizabeth turned and found her older sister Jane watching her from the doorway. She smiled. Even in such dire circumstances, Jane’s sweet face had a calming effect on her. She wondered if there was any situation that Jane couldn’t make the best of or find the positives in, though she suspected Jane was struggling to find the good in their current situation.
“Jane.” She glanced out the window, suddenly gripped by a feverish hope that she’d been distracted and thus missed the arrival of the post. “Has there been any word from London?”
Jane shook her head. “Nothing. I still think we should prevail on our father to head north instead. It could be that his source was mistaken and they have set out for Scotland after all.”
Elizabeth didn’t have the heart to disagree. She was now all but certain the two runaways were in London, hidden somewhere in that city. She had visited often enough to suspect it was possible to disappear there—so long as one was not at all discerning about one’s surroundings.
“Oh Lydia,” she muttered. “You foolish girl.”
The house was unusually quiet since word of Lydia’s disappearance had reached them. Kitty, who had been subdued since her favourite sister’s departure, was now practically mute. It seemed her main concern was the permanent loss of the busy social life she had enjoyed before Lydia left for Brighton. Their mother was more or less confined to her room, and more often than not in a deep sleep aided by stupefying draughts provided by the ever-present apothecary. They had attempted to spread the word locally that Mrs. Bennet had taken ill, but Elizabeth knew that the truth had probably emerged by now. After all, servants talked and Mrs. Bennet had never been known for her tact or discretion. Her elder daughters did everything they could to avoid mentioning the topic in front of their mother for fear of causing a catastrophic episode.
“None of us knew what he was truly like,” Jane said, shaking her head. Even she was now incapable of uttering a good word about Wickham.
Elizabeth nodded. That was the thing that galled her most, really. She too had been taken in by Wickham’s charm. She had even felt sorry for him when he told her how cruelly he had been treated by Mr. Darcy.
Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth thought. What a curious fellow. She had come to know him when she and Jane spent time at Netherfield House while Jane recovered from a cold. Her first impressions had not been good, but they had softened somewhat—until the entire party disappeared, never to be heard from again. Elizabeth did not have a good opinion of the man, but still he inhabited her thoughts on occasion. And not infrequently either! It happened especially often now: she wondered if her opinion of him had been unduly swayed by what Wickham had told her.
Did I misjudge him?
What does it matter? she asked herself scornfully. Mr. Darcy was probably sitting in an opulent room in his vast home in Derbyshire,
pondering over his wealth. For all she knew, he was probably married to a wealthy young lady from a good family. One thing she knew for certain was he wasn’t giving much thought to Elizabeth Bennet from Hertfordshire. So why did her uncooperative brain continue to dwell on him?
She shook her head, exasperated.
“What is it, Lizzy?” Jane asked. “You seem agitated.”
Elizabeth sighed. She wished she could confess her confusing feelings for Darcy, but it felt pointless and selfish. “I feel so helpless waiting here for news from London. Surely I should be down there, helping Father to find them. Perhaps I will go. Anything would be better than waiting here for news.
Jane gasped. “Lizzy, have you lost your mind? You are not thinking clearly. How would it look if you were to saunter around town all alone? It would not be proper. Besides, they are probably in Scotland. I don’t know why everyone insists otherwise.”
Elizabeth turned and resumed her pacing. “I am aware of how it would look, but these aren’t normal circumstances. In any case, I shall not be alone: I shall take a servant or join our father on his searches.”
Jane smiled and shook her head. “Do not worry so much. I know it is trying now, but I’m sure they will be found. It is all a misunderstanding. It sounds as if Wickham does not have much to his name. Perhaps they fear that father wouldn’t have allowed the match and that is the only reason for their subterfuge.”
Elizabeth was glad she was facing away so that Jane could not see her countenance. She winced. For a moment she wished she had Jane’s temperament; that she might be able to believe they still intended to marry. How positive the world must seem to someone like Jane!
“I hope you are correct,” she said at last, careful not to shatter her beloved sister’s illusions. After all, there would soon come a time when Lydia’s ruin would not only be confirmed but widely known. They would be miserable enough then without Lizzy prematurely removing Jane’s hope. “But I cannot rest while time ticks by and there is still no news of her.”
Mr Darcy to the Rescue: A Pride and Prejudice Regency Variation Page 1
