This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
THE RED CHRYSANTHEMUM
Copyright © 2013 by Linda Beutler
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any format whatsoever. For information: P.O. Box 34, Oysterville WA 98641
ISBN: 978-1-936009-26-8
Cover by Janet Taylor
Graphic design by Ellen Pickels
Dedication
For Jacky, and every best friend, everywhere.
Acknowledgments
Beyond the timeless genius of Jane Austen, whose vibrant words bring thirsty readers back to her well of inspiration time after time, I wish to thank two of her acolytes, Abigail Reynolds and Mary Street. The first Jane Austen what-if I ever read was What Would Mr. Darcy Do? by Abigail Reynolds, and so learned that answers Jane Austen never supplied could be imagined by modern writers in a compelling way. In Mary Street’s The Confession of Fitzwilliam Darcy, the world was taught how to think like Darcy. That Reynolds, Street, and myself found “ample sources of delight, each in our own way” in the brilliant and unequaled performances of Jennifer Ehle and Colin Firth in the 1995 BBC television adaptation of Pride and Prejudice, propelled to life by Andrew Davies’ exquisitely crafted screenplay, seems obvious but cannot be overstated.
My heartfelt gratitude is extended to everyone at Meryton Press, especially Gail Warner, my generous editor. When I found myself through the looking-glass with a nearly completed manuscript in my computer, they did not seem in the least surprised or hesitant to lead me forward.
Chapter 1
Friday Morning at the Inn at Lambton
24 July, 1812
Fitzwilliam Darcy rode up High Street in the village of Lambton, approaching the town’s best inn as if pulled by a magnetic force. His intent was to contrive a private conversation with a young lady staying there, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, even though he would be entertaining her and the relatives with whom she was travelling, her Aunt and Uncle Gardiner, that evening at his estate. How Elizabeth would respond to his chosen topic was unforeseeable, but he hoped for the best. In fact, he felt more hopeful about everything than he had for several months.
Edward and Madeleine Gardiner turned away from a shop window and noticed Darcy proceeding toward them. They were beginning their day of visits with a leisurely stroll to St. Swithin’s, the church at the top of High Street. Mr Darcy saw them and doffed his hat but did not dismount. “Mr Gardiner! Mrs Gardiner! Good morning! Where does your visiting take you today?”
Mrs Gardiner curtsied as her husband removed his stylish beaver with a friendly bow. The lady answered, “You see us bound for St. Swithin’s Church, Mr Darcy. It was where my family belonged when I was a girl, and I have fond memories of it.”
“A charming chapel. I have attended two or three weddings there. I hope Lambton is living up to your memories, madam?”
“Indeed it is, sir, as are the people. I have been able to renew several of my old acquaintance.”
“I hope the absence of Miss Elizabeth from your visit to the church does not mean she is unwell?”
“Oh no, sir, not at all. Lizzy is never unwell,” replied Mr Gardiner. “She has just received a letter from her sister Jane by this morning’s post and begged to have a few moments to herself to read it. We shall call back for her in an hour.”
“Will she, or yourselves, be offended if I interrupt her?” Darcy asked. His face looked surprisingly hopeful.
Mr Gardiner, as the male relation and therefore guardian of his niece on their tour of Derbyshire, responded, “I do not see what harm could come of a public conversation in the guest sitting room, as long as all the doors are open.” He spoke with a twinkle in his eye that Darcy recognized in his niece.
To Darcy’s amazement, Mr Gardiner was the brother of Elizabeth’s mother, the altogether ignorant, shrill, and nervous Mrs Francis Bennet. Other than general colouring and the same chin, he never would have guessed such an amiable, sensible and lively man — and to his credit a fine fisherman, Darcy had learned — could be the brother of such a one as Mrs Bennet. That he was the uncle of Elizabeth Bennet, however, made abundant sense.
“Nor can I imagine my niece taking offence. It was in that room that we left her.”
Darcy suppressed a smirk. He could all too easily imagine Miss Elizabeth Bennet taking offence. “Thank you, sir.” Darcy reseated his hat. “If I do not see you again before our conversation is finished, I look forward to seeing you tonight. I shall send a carriage, so you need not book transport with the inn.”
“You are very kind, sir, but it must be said that we travel by our own carriage.” Mr Gardiner bowed again. He did not mention his business was carriage making.
Darcy blushed a little. Still supposing your own vast superiority, eh Darcy? “Ah, of course. Excuse my presumption, please. Until this evening then…”
When Darcy turned his horse down High Street, Mr and Mrs Gardiner exchanged a significant look. They believed Fitzwilliam Darcy to be in love with their niece, and every encounter with the man seemed to add evidence to their supposition. Darcy wore his heart on his sleeve, though appeared unaware of doing so. How their niece felt about him in return, they could not yet say, and she did not seem inclined to speak of what was obvious to them.
Gaining sight of the inn, Darcy scanned the second story windows. In one, he spied Elizabeth’s back with her dark coil of lustrous hair pinned carefully upon her head. His heart increased its pace.
Inside the inn, he asked after Miss Bennet, and the affable and efficient maid, who always wore an obliging smile, led him to the guests’ sitting room where two days before he had introduced his sister, Georgiana, to Elizabeth. The introduction had been a great success on Georgiana’s side, as had Elizabeth’s return visit to Georgiana yesterday. Now his sister was forming the habit of quoting to him, in private moments, clever things Miss Bennet had said. Darcy was delighted.
Because it was a chamber available for use by any guest of the inn, the servant merely tapped on the open door to attract Elizabeth’s attention then stepped in and announced, “Mr Darcy to see you, ma’am.” Darcy strode past the maid to see Elizabeth look up with surprise and a fleeting smile.
“Thank you, Hannah,” said Elizabeth. The servant withdrew, leaving the sitting room door open.
Upon entering the room, Darcy noted Elizabeth’s posture and the manner in which her legs were curled beneath her upon the window seat as she read her letter. Her bonnet and gloves were on a nearby table and her spencer was untied. Clearly, she had intended to walk out with her aunt and uncle when the post arrived.
As Darcy bowed, Elizabeth scrambled to her feet, her skirts briefly riding up before slipping down to the toes of her boots. Darcy did not miss a flash of pink stockings just over the tops of her worn but clean walking boots, causing blood to roar in his ears. Such well-turned ankles! Certainly the result of her being a great walker… He straightened and tried to gather his wits enough to remember what he had come to say. He glanced around the room; they were alone.
“Mr Darcy! I had not expected to see you until this evening. My aunt and uncle have gone out — ”
“Indeed, I met them, and they explained you had remained behind with a newly arrived letter from your sister. I hope you will not resent my interruption, but it is about your sister that I would speak to you.”
“You could scarcely have chosen a topic, Mr Darcy, with which I would more eagerly agree to converse,” Elizabeth replied, although she could not help colouring slightly when she remembered the
last time they had spoken of Jane.
Darcy removed his hat and gloves, placing them on the table next to Elizabeth’s. He paused — the sight of his hat and gloves next to hers arrested his breath — before drawing up a straight chair to face Elizabeth as she settled herself upon the window seat.
Is she glad to see me? Did I catch the ghost of a smile when I was announced, or was she already smiling at something in her letter? Elizabeth settled her hands in her lap and looked down at them. With a start, she noticed the open ties of her spencer. Even though she knew full well Darcy had seen her in this walking gown without a wrap on several occasions, she suddenly perceived the open spencer as somehow provocative. She stood up precipitously and turned her back to him. It would be more improper to remove the garment in his presence, so she retied the three bows across her bosom. “I pray you, sir, excuse my appearance.” When she turned back to him, her cheeks were a becoming shade of pink.
Darcy stood when she did, and they were now almost toe-to-toe. He managed to refrain from saying, “You are lovely,” and said instead, “Of course! I have caught you at your leisure.”
They sat down again. There was an awkward pause before Darcy continued. “As I said, I would speak to you about your sister…er, Miss Jane Bennet.”
Elizabeth smiled at his hesitation and chuckled. “Yes, one must be specific when mentioning sisters to me; I have far too many.”
He returned her smile. “Let me begin by saying how gratified I was when you accepted a visit from Bingley on Wednesday. I would not have blamed you had you spurned the opportunity.” He searched her eyes for some clue to her emotions as he spoke but she had fixed her gaze at a point over his shoulder at the mention of Charles Bingley. “I fear, to my shame and through my fault, he may not be a popular man in Hertfordshire.” Darcy looked down.
Elizabeth searched his face when he finished speaking. His eyes were on his hands, which sat in loose fists upon his knees, and his cheeks had joined hers in being now a little rosy. I shall not shy away from this, Elizabeth decided. “I have no complaint against Mr Bingley that would be served by such an incivility as you suggest. How proceeds his tender regard for your sister?”
Darcy looked up, his confusion evident. “My sister?”
“Why, yes. Jane wrote to me from London, when I first arrived in Kent in March, with the information that Caroline Bingley had finally called at Gracechurch Street and expressed the expectation of an announcement of a betrothal between Mr Bingley and your sister.”
Ah, that is how Caroline dissuaded Jane. Darcy gave his head a slight shake of disapprobation. So Caroline was that cruel. “Let me assure you, Miss Elizabeth, the expectation is entirely on Miss Bingley’s side and hers alone. Georgiana and Bingley are only as companionable as friends of the opposite sex, much separated in age, might be. After last summer…” Here Darcy paused to give Elizabeth a meaningful look. He referred to the foiled elopement of his sister with the wastrel George Wickham, of which he had informed Elizabeth in April. “…I am afraid Georgiana’s confidence in all things has suffered a blow from which she has yet to fully recover. And Bingley’s affections remain quite firmly lodged elsewhere. That is the point I wish to convey to you, Miss Bennet. That is what I have come to tell you.”
Darcy watched as several distinct emotions crossed Elizabeth’s countenance. Finally, her mouth settled into a thin line of temper, her tempting lips compressed. She was not most pleased by what he had hoped was good news.
“I have long suspected Miss Bingley of greater spitefulness than Jane ever would dare accuse her. Jane is too good. May I take it from your response you were not aware, sir, that your sister’s imaginary attentions to your friend, and his for her, were offered as the fictitious reason for Mr Bingley’s defection from my sister?”
“Most assuredly not. Once again, I own I am annoyed by the presumption of Miss Bingley. She will continue to assume everyone’s motives are as mean as her own.”
“Since the very night we met, Miss Bingley’s motives have always been abundantly clear to me,” Elizabeth spat. “At least in her case my first impressions were entirely correct. I expect the worst of her and am never disappointed.” Elizabeth paused, sensing an imminent loss of control and willed herself to be calm. She could not, however, keep from adding, “If Mr Bingley’s regard for someone other than your sister is as constant as you say, I wonder that he has not returned to that lady’s neighbourhood.”
Their eyes locked. Darcy could see the anger Elizabeth was attempting to subdue. He drew in a deep breath, returning her implacable gaze with what he hoped was equanimity. Elizabeth perceived an unexpected vulnerability in Darcy not previously displayed.
“That he has not done so has been entirely my doing. I thought I knew Bingley’s character, but after conversing with him these past two evenings since your reunion, I realize I have greatly misjudged him. You see, Miss Bennet, before his acquaintance with your sister, Bingley was given to a series of idle flirtations characterized as ‘being in love,’ but which came to nothing. I thought his particular attentions to your sister were simply more of the same until I began to seriously observe him at the Netherfield ball.” Darcy sighed and then continued, “But you know all this. I have written it to you. That I also misjudged and slighted your sister’s affections when I had no real knowledge of her character has become intolerable to me, especially now that your presence has revealed Bingley still admires her to the exclusion of all others.”
Elizabeth’s countenance did not change, but she nodded acknowledgment of the letter Darcy had written following his unsuccessful proposal of marriage.
“I understand why Bingley has hidden his continued and unabated regard for your sister. He assumes I will discourage him, and even with you here, he will not speak her name to me. It pains me that my previous ridiculous attitude has created this wedge in our friendship. When I overheard Georgiana ask Bingley to describe your sisters, he would only speak of Jane. He made it plain he is as devoted to her as he ever was.”
Elizabeth thought of her meeting with Bingley two days previously and his particularly accurate remembrance of the date of the ball where he had danced almost entirely with Jane. She had expected him to ask after Jane particularly. But of course, he would not. Mr Darcy was there.
“And yet he does not pursue her.” Elizabeth, exercising taut self-control, returned to the material point.
“What hope has he? He is well aware of the appearance of his actions. He has no expectation of success.” Darcy felt moved to defend his friend.
Elizabeth all but snorted her disdain. “So he does not credit Jane with the constancy of affection so apparent within himself? Were your tales so believable, Mr Darcy? Or is he afraid of the scorn of Meryton society should a man of pleasing and generous manners return to a house he has legally taken and renew his addresses to the most beautiful and charming lady of the county? Since when have gentlemen become so missish?” She looked away from Darcy. This was a terrible muddle, started by Darcy’s preposterous interference and abetted by Bingley’s sister, but now continued by Bingley’s caution and deference to his friend. What more dare I say?
A minute passed and then another. Darcy rose and started pacing. I must not lose sight of my reason for coming here. I knew I might bestir her anger at me, but I will not have her angry with Bingley. I must make this attempt.
“Miss Bennet, I now know, beyond any doubt, my friend is still in love with your sister. If you can assure me her regard for him is likewise steadfast and she bears him no ill will, I believe I have it in my power to right a very great wrong.”
That the happiness of her sister might be restored made Elizabeth’s heart soar, but she responded in a steady voice. “Indeed, sir, when last Jane and I spoke of Mr Bingley, her regard for him was not in the least diminished. If I may quote her, she said, ‘He is still the most amiable man of my acquaintance, and so he shall remain.’ You see, Mr Darcy, despite her attachment to him, Jane now has no expectatio
n of ever marrying for love. Her heart is quite fixed, but you know my family’s circumstances. Since she is the most beautiful of us all, she is resigned to marry where opportunity presents itself in order to secure all of us from eventual poverty.”
Darcy halted his pacing. Elizabeth stood to face him, and he regarded her with new eyes. He found it remarkable Elizabeth did not consider herself quite as beautiful as her sister. Perhaps she is being modest, but she sounds utterly sincere. Perhaps she has heard it from her mother for so long that she has come to believe it herself. She is confident enough of her wits but thinks little of her other charms. It further occurred to him that, never once in their acquaintance, not when they danced at Netherfield — when she was by far the most entrancing woman in the room — and not even during his ill-starred proposal of marriage, had he told her he thought her bewitchingly handsome. Now she stood before him, speaking with the fierce gravitas of a she-wolf defending her den. There was a majesty to her even as she spoke of the want of her family’s connections and the entailment, which might leave a family of women to destitution. He longed for her — to comfort her, to make everything in her life easy, to release her from all worry, to gain some of her passion for himself.
Darcy’s throat tightened. “She still loves him?” His temples were throbbing. As I still love you.
“Most assuredly,” she replied, nodding for emphasis.
He wanted to embrace her, to calm her in his arms, but instead said, “Let us be seated, Miss Bennet. I would continue this conversation if we can regain our composure.”
Elizabeth lifted her chin at the implication she had neared the sharp edge of civil discourse, but she knew he was right.
They sat. “I fear, in restoring your sister to Bingley, I must reveal to him information that will damage our friendship, perhaps irretrievably, but it cannot be helped. I have no right to request your assistance, but I may have need of it.”
“It will be a pleasure, Mr Darcy, to aid you in this particular cause however I can. What do you ask of me?”
The Red Chrysanthemum Page 1
