In Darcy's Arms
A Pride & Prejudice Variation
Gwendolyn Dash
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Copyright © 2018 by Gwendolyn Dash
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.
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
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Epilogue
Author’s Note
About the Author
In Darcy’s Arms
Based on the classic novel by Jane Austen, a story that asks what would have happened if Elizabeth had caught her sister’s cold?
One by one, the residents of Netherfield Park are falling to a strange illness, but are midnight rambles through the hedgerows and delirious confessions on moonlit balconies a sign of a new understanding between Darcy and Elizabeth, or merely the result of a fever dream?
When Darcy leaves the countryside, Elizabeth thinks she has the answer. And when she, too travels with her sister to visit the Gardiners, she is determined to put her feelings for the arrogant man behind her and enjoy herself in town. But try as they both might, it cannot be denied: from quiet country lanes to the glittering ballrooms of London, there is no place for Elizabeth except…IN DARCY’S ARMS.
In Darcy’s Arms is a sweet, standalone Regency romance of 60,000 words.
For Elizabeth Ann West,
who deserves a happily ever after
Prologue
The nightmare was drawn in aching clarity. Wind roared through the tree branches and swept up pale autumn leaves to smack wetly against Elizabeth’s face and hands.
She was lost! Lost in a maze of thorns.
Brambles tore at her dress, and pebbles cut against the tender skin of her feet. What ever was she doing out of doors without shoes or gloves or hat? She turned around and around, looking for a way out of the maze. Shadows leered at her. There were monsters, lurking in the darkness. A full moon shone overhead, and she knew if she could get beyond the maze, she could find her way home by its light.
She must make it back home. She must get to Longbourn.
But another turn of the maze brought her no closer to safety. She felt as if she’d been wandering for hours. She was so tired, so tired. Elizabeth careened down the paths, meeting wall after wall of sharp thorns and thick hedges.
At last, exhausted, she fell to her knees in the gravel. She would never get out.
“Miss Bennet!” Strong hands on her body, lifting her up. She felt the heat of his fingers through the thin linen of her nightdress. . Where were her petticoats? Her stays?
Who was this man?
“Miss Bennet,” he whispered in her ear. “What are you doing outside at this hour? You must come back into the house.”
She knew that voice. She had heard it often, challenging her, sparring with her. But she’d never heard it like this. Soft and low, rumbling soothing syllables into her ear as she was lifted into his arms.
Mr. Darcy.
Chapter 1
Two days earlier…
Jane Bennet did not return from her dinner at Netherfield. Instead, she sent a note to her favorite sister, Elizabeth, which arrived at Longbourn just as all the Bennets were finishing breakfast.
She was ill—probably due in large part to her having become wet through in yesterday’s downpour—and would need to trespass on her hosts until the local apothecary deemed her well enough to travel.
Mrs. Bennet, of course, was delighted, for more time at Netherfield must allow for more time in which Jane could attract the attention of Mr. Bingley.
Elizabeth, however, was skeptical that a red-nosed, bleary-eyed Jane would be much of an attraction, or even if she would be in the vicinity of the gentleman in question. Even the most smitten of young men would be hard-pressed to find an excuse to visit a female acquaintance’s sick bed, and one who both desired and managed such an extraordinary act would have little need of matchmaking on the part of the lady’s mother.
Mr. Bennet scoffed at the entire scheme. “Well, my dear," said Mr. Bennet to his wife, “if your daughter should have a dangerous fit of illness—if she should die, it would be a comfort to know that it was all in pursuit of Mr. Bingley, and under your orders.”
“People do not die of trifling little colds,” sniffed Mrs. Bennet, returning to her needlework.
Elizabeth Bennet frowned and read again the words her oldest sister Jane had sent.
Excepting a sore throat and a headache, there is not much the matter with me.
And, yet, Mr. Jones had been called for. Jane was far too sweet to allow anyone to fuss over her. She could be at death’s door, and she would still insist that there wasn’t very much the matter with her. If indeed all her eldest sister suffered was a trifling little cold, Elizabeth would be very much relieved. But she would need to see it for herself.
However, there was still no carriage to be had, and Elizabeth was no horsewoman. If she went, it would have to be on foot. But no sooner had she declared her intentions, then her mother exclaimed, “How can you be so silly as to think of such a thing, in all this dirt! You will not be fit to be seen when you get there.”
“I shall be very fit to see Jane—which is all I want. The distance is nothing when one has a motive. Only three miles. I shall be back by dinner.”
As none of her sisters wished to muddy their clothes, Elizabeth soon set off on her own. She did not dress with much care, as she expected her gown to be quite limp and bedraggled by the time she arrived. Nor did she bother much about her hair but let the wind blow the front askew and her oldest bonnet flatten the rest.
It was one of those sunny autumn days in which nature seemed to be engaged in a final, desperate battle against the coming winter. Birds still sang in the treetops, and blossoms still clung to their stalks. She crossed field after field at a quick pace, climbing stiles and springing over puddles impatiently activity. The previous day’s rain had left muddy ruts in all the roads and paths, and by the time she came in view of the house at Netherfield, her stockings and half-boots were quite brown with earth, and her face was pink and glowing with warmth from the exercise.
When Elizabeth looked down at herself, she wondered if, for once, her mother was correct. She could not tromp through the halls of Netherfield in this state. Perhaps she should apply at the kitchen door? Then again, she imagined that Mr. Bingley’s sisters, and probably his guest Mr. Darcy, already thought the Bennets little better than country folk, and her arrival in this state would do naught to disabuse them of their notions. She gathered her courage and approached the front door.
If the servant who answered the door was at all surprised by her appearance, he was too well-bred to react, and she was shortly shown into the breakfast parlor, where all but Jane were assembled and where her appearance created a great d
eal of surprise.
“Why, Miss Eliza!” declared Miss Bingley, seemingly in shock. “You cannot mean to tell me you have walked all this way. So early, and so all alone?”
“It is not so very far,” Mr. Bingley interjected. “Only a mile, surely.”
“It is three miles.” This curt statement issued forth from the mouth of Mr. Darcy, and when Elizabeth’s gaze landed upon him, it was to see his unsmiling attention turned quite steadfastly in the direction of her hem.
Perhaps she should have come to the kitchen, after all.
Elizabeth dropped a small curtsy to her host. “You must forgive me, Miss Bingley. I have only come to inquire after the health of my sister, and to see her if I may. I did not think of the distance, or of the time. Only of Jane.”
“Of course you must see your sister!” Mr. Bingley broke in, moving from his position near his chair. “Come, Miss Elizabeth, and I will show you to her room at once.”
“Thank you, sir,” Elizabeth replied. With one last nod in the direction of those still around the table, she took the arm of her host, and they departed for the chamber where her sister had been placed.
“We are all most concerned for her well-being,” Mr. Bingley confessed as they walked along. “I am told that she slept very ill, and she is not well enough to leave her room. I am sure that your coming here will do her good.” At the door he left her. “Please, do let me know if I can be of any assistance at all.”
Elizabeth was happy to see his kindness and interest for Jane in every word. Could it be that her mother had not been much mistaken? That this occurrence, unfortunate though it might be for Jane, might only increase the gentleman’s affection for her? She did not mistake that Mr. Bingley had taken the trouble to show her to Jane himself, rather than sending her with a footman.
But as encouraging as Elizabeth might be about the development, she could not support her mother’s manipulation of the circumstances. Jane was everything good, and her charms were not advantaged by petty schemes or timely colds.
Jane was in bed, with such paleness to her countenance and dullness to her eyes that Elizabeth was at once alarmed that her condition was even worse than had been expected. She was not, suffice to say, equal to much conversation, so Elizabeth attended her silently until the others’ breakfast was concluded, and Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst joined them in Jane’s room, as the gentlemen were spending the morning out and they had little else to do.
Elizabeth was torn. Their chatter, she feared, would only aggravate her sister’s sick headache, but at the same time, Jane seemed genuinely happy for the company, and their kindness toward her was delivered in more sincere exhortations than Elizabeth had ever seen from these women. If nothing else, perhaps this misadventure would teach her what it was that Jane found appealing about the connection, for, as sweet and patient as her sister was, she needn’t stray from home to find tiresome conversation partners.
“I am glad to see Mr. Darcy’s mood improving since he’s come into the country with us, Caroline,” said Mrs. Hurst to her sister.
Elizabeth was all astonishment. This was an improvement in his behavior? She shuddered to think what he must have been like in London.
“Yes, I am very pleased with myself, I must admit, “ Miss Bingley replied. “I am quite certain it never would have entered into Charles’s head to invite him, were it not for my suggestion. And when we first arrived, I did so worry that he’d not like the society at all.”
“It is not for the society that any of us came,” Mrs. Hurst replied slyly. Elizabeth, in lieu of giving the sisters the satisfaction of a response, decided to see if she could get Jane a cool cloth for her brow. “But the fresh air and riding has a way of calming men’s souls. Trust me, as a married woman, I know quite well when a gentleman wants for sport and amusement.”
In her limited acquaintance with him, Elizabeth would wager that Mr. Hurst had talked of little else.
“And this neighborhood holds several pleasures that Derbyshire, for all its beauty, does not,” Miss Bingley said.
“Aside from our company?” her sister tittered.
Miss Bingley blushed. “I meant that it is only a short ride from town. For all its wonders, Derbyshire is not… well, it’s a bit distant from society’s delights.”
“Have you been to Derbyshire?” Elizabeth found herself asking.
The sisters exchanged looks. “No, I have not been to Pemberley, though my brother has. We were supposed to go last summer after Darcy’s sister Georgiana returned from Ramsgate, but the dear girl grew ill, and our plans had to change.”
“Such a shame,” said Mrs. Hurst. “And all the more reason to have Mr. Darcy here with us now.”
And thus it went for the rest of the afternoon. The sisters were in absolute agreement on every matter—the society in this neighborhood was dreary compared with London, excepting the people in this house, and Mr. Darcy was having a splendid time, which was only natural, given the country and society he enjoyed at Netherfield compared to London. That these contradicted each other did not signify one bit.
Elizabeth was bored with all the particulars long before they were finished with the topic. But it mattered little. Miss Bingley possessed the singular talent of making all topics about Mr. Darcy, sooner or later. They could talk of the weather, or the harvest, or the new shipment of ribbons at the dry goods store in Meryton, and, sooner or later, she would find a way to make it about the gentleman.
Mr. Darcy’s taste in ribbons was apparently excellent.
Chapter 2
Around three in the afternoon, the gentlemen returned. Jane having not much recovered, Mr. Bingley insisted on Elizabeth remaining with them for the duration and sent to Longbourn for her clothes. Jane wasn’t well enough to come to dinner, so Elizabeth changed into a fresh dress and descended alone.
Dinner was a tedious affair. Elizabeth was seated with Mr. Hurst, who aside from expressing shock and disapproval that she preferred a plain dish to a ragout, had nothing at all of note to say to her the entire meal. Elizabeth found herself rather duller than usual, too. Perhaps on another day she might have tried the more adventurous dinner offerings, but nothing tasted quite right on her tongue that evening, and the dining room was very hot, indeed.
She was relieved to excuse herself and return to Jane’s bedside, where she stayed even through coffee and until quite late in the evening. When she at last had the comfort of seeing her poor sister asleep, Elizabeth decided that although it would not be entirely pleasant, it would be correct to go downstairs and make an appearance in the drawing-room.
Upon entering, she found the whole party at loo and was immediately invited to join them. One glance at the imperious Mr. Darcy and his handful of cards, and she immediately suspected that they were playing high. She could ill afford to lose the rest of the year’s pocket allowance to a man who owned half of Derbyshire.
“Thank you, no,” she replied. “I would like to be able to respond promptly should my sister awaken and need me. I shall just amuse myself for a short time with a book.”
Once again, she got that expression of shock from Mr. Hurst. She rather thought he viewed her as one might a monkey in a zoo.
“Do you prefer reading to cards?”’ said he. “That is rather singular.”
What a shame for his wife.
“Miss Eliza Bennet,” said Miss Bingley, “despises cards. She is a great reader and has no pleasure in anything else.”
Elizabeth could not help but laugh at such a declaration, coming as it did from a woman who knew her so very little, and before she could think it over, she blurted, “I deserve neither such praise nor such censure. I am not a great reader, and I have pleasure in many things.”
Miss Bingley visibly bristled at such a response and returned to her game. Elizabeth got the distinct impression she’d done worse even than arriving with a muddy hem.
Mr. Bingley cleared his throat. “In nursing your sister I am sure you have pleasure,” he said. “I ho
pe it will soon be increased by seeing her quite well.”
Elizabeth thanked him from her heart and then walked towards a table where a few books were lying. He immediately offered to fetch her others.
“All that my library might afford!” he promised. “And I wish my collection were larger for your benefit and my own credit.” He shrugged. “ I am an idle fellow, and though I have not many, I have more than I ever look into.”
“I assure you, sir, I can suit myself perfectly with those I find here.” She only wished to pass a quarter of an hour in peace!
“I am astonished,” said Miss Bingley, “that my father should have left so small a collection of books. What a delightful library you have at Pemberley, Mr. Darcy!”
Ah, there it was. This conversation had been going on for at least a full minute. Elizabeth could hardly tell how it was that Miss Bingley had restrained herself for so long from complimenting Mr. Darcy.
“It ought to be good,'' he replied, studying his cards. “It has been the work of many generations.”
“And then you have added so much to it yourself. You are always buying books.”
If Mr. Darcy was surprised by Miss Bingley’s close observation of his purchasing habits, he made no show of it and merely replied, “I cannot comprehend the neglect of a family library in such days as these.”
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