Chapter Text
She ran.
She ran fast.
She ran without caring to look around her. Through the cloud of angry tears she could only make out the green of trees whooshing at her both sides. The chilly wind of the winter morning gushed past her wet cheeks and through the sound of the wind she could still hear the faint voice of her mother chasing her - accusing, angry, frustrated. She didn’t know whether it was her mother or the voice originated itself in her weary brain.
She didn’t care.
She just wanted to be away from it all, the chaos and conundrum of her home, the chaos and conundrum of her heart. So, she ran and ran and ran, until she collided with something solid.
It was solid, but not the kind that breaks your bones - hard, cold and unyielding. It was the kind of solid you could lean on when your whole world decided to take a spin - warm and supportive. And more so, it caught her before she could crush hard on the ground and a vaguely familiar scent washed over her, soothing her as if on its own.
She dared to look up and for the first time since she rushed out of her home, she could feel her world settling on a single object.
"Mr Darcy!"
"Miss Elizabeth!"
Both of them spoke at once, both in surprised whispers.
The fog in her head was starting to clear as Elizabeth became aware of the warmth that spread through her body despite the shivering in her spine. She became aware of the places where Mr Darcy's hands were holding her tightly - one on her upper arm, another on her waist… the thumping of her heart which rhymed with the strong beats of his hard chest… the ticklish sensation where his hot breath fanned the stray locks beside her ear…
Their eyes locked. Mr Darcy's blue-grey eyes widened for a fraction of second before it turned hard with unfathomable emotions locked behind. He drew his hand away from her as if burned and took a few steps back. And suddenly Elizabeth felt cold and hollow.
Mr Darcy cleared his throat and said, "Are you well this morning, Miss Bennet?"
"Do you think that I would never get an offer of marriage again?" Elizabeth blurted out.
"I- What?!"
"Oh don't answer. I know it already," Elizabeth turned away from him, moving the sticky locks from her damp forehead, "I am not handsome enough to tempt you!"
Mr Darcy flinched. He knew that her accusations were not misplaced; yet, deep down, a small part of him felt a sharp pain at those words laced with such hatred.
He closed the gap between them by taking a few involuntary steps towards her. Maybe it was the alcohol from previous night's ball still in his blood or maybe the unusual circumstance of this unexpected meeting with the woman who slipped in and out of his half-asleep awareness throughout the night, Mr Darcy put a tentative hand on her shoulder and asked with unexpected softness, "Are you alright?"
"Mr Collins proposed," Elizabeth let out a bitter laugh, "And he and my mother think that this is the only offer of marriage that I am ever going to get. Me, poor Lizzie, not half so handsome as Jane, nor half so engaging as Lydia!"
"Mr Collins proposed to you!"
"Why? Am I not handsome enough to tempt even Mr Collins?" Elizabeth turned around sharply to face him again. This time her eyes were burning, although tears still hung from her eyelashes. She gulped her disgust as she pictured Mr Collins as her husband : the sweating toad-like face, the beady eyes glinting with lust as he neared her bed. She shut her eyes tightly, yet the images in her mind's eyes couldn’t be unseen any more.
Darcy, on the other hand, was completely at a loss. Coming face to face so closely to her, his breath caught. The fierce look on her face, the strange mix of helplessness and determination in her eyes, her lips - swollen and red, her hair unruly, framing her beautiful face like a halo… he didn’t know what he was saying before opened his mouth, "You are one of the most beau-"
"Lizzie, Lizzie, where are you?"
Darcy closed his mouth abruptly mid-sentence as he was interrupted by a high pitched voice close by. But he wasn’t fast enough to put some distance between him and the flustered woman at his arm's length. So when Lydia, the youngest and silliest of the Bennets, discovered Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy and Miss Elizabeth Bennet in the woods they were standing facing each other, far closer than deemed appropriate, the demeanour of the said lady disheveled, and above everything else, unchaperoned.
"Oh my God! MUMMA!"
Notes:
Thank you for reading. Please let me know your thoughts. Constructive criticisms are always welcome, but no personal attacks please. After all, none of us wants to be like Caroline Bingley, do we?
See you soon in next chapter.
Chapter 2: Chapter 2
Notes:
This is a work of fanfiction. The characters, world and story of Pride and Prejudice, of course, belong to Jane Austen.
My dear readers, please accept my heartfelt thanks. Your encouragement, thoughtful comments and kind support in the very first chapter have been both motivating and heartwarming. I am truly grateful to each of you for sharing this journey with me.
Happy reading!
Chapter Text
"To that disagreeable Mr Darcy! What have you been thinking, Lizzy?” cried Mrs Bennet, plopping herself down upon the nearest sofa in the morning parlour of Longbourne.
"Mamma, I-" Elizabeth began, attempting a protest.
“But he is rich, that's for sure. Ten thousand a year! Humph.” Mrs Bennet snapped her fan open and fluttered it furiously before her face as her mind raced. "You shall have such fine carriages-"
"Fine dresses," Kitty swooned.
"Grand ballrooms," added Lydia.
Mary said gravely from her corner, "It is not about money, carriages, dresses or balls. A young lady should not let these to distract her from the true purpose of the holy institution called matrimony. Marriage is an institution based upon-"
And the middle Bennet sister would have droned on at length, had not Jane, as always, interposed with her gentle grace.
"Mamma,” she said, “Mrs Hill has been seeking you about the dinner menu. Kitty, Lydia, why do you not take a basket to Mr Housings? Little Bella is quite unwell. Only the other day she was asking me to teach her how the two of you had styled your hats with new laces. Your visit may cheer her up."
"But, Jane-" Lydia whined.
"Go, now." Jane’s tone was firm. “Mary, dearest, do you happen to know where Mr Collins is?"
Mary frowned, "I think I saw him leaving Longbourn, walking towards the Lucas Lodge."
As if on cue, Mr Collins, Lady Lucas and Miss Lucas were announced. To the chagrin of Jane and Lizzy, neither their mother nor their sisters showed any sign to leave the room, eager as they were for the drama that promised to unfold. And their expectations were immediately gratified, for Lady Lucas did not waste a moment to let out a cry as soon as she set foot in the room.
"Oh, heavens! It is true then, I suppose!"
The lady made a gesture of great distress, placing her palm on her bosom and threw a pitiful glance at the second Bennet daughter seated at the centre of the room.
Elizabeth could feel the gleam of jealousy, morbid curiosity and heartless judgement even without looking at the guests. It pierced through her gown, her skin, her flesh and bones like a sharp knife until it shredded her soul, her pride, her honour into pieces. And suddenly, the small frame of Mr Collins cast a large and looming shadow as he stood with his back at the window. Elizabeth dug her nails to her palms to compose herself.
Charlotte Lucas took a seat beside her and put a quiet hand on her shoulder.
Lady Lucas scanned the room to assess the reaction of the Bennets. Dissatisfied, she seated herself beside Mrs Bennet, clasped her hand and exclaimed, "Oh, Mrs Bennet, I am truly sorry for your tragedy. Lydia, I can imagine, but Lizzy! No. It is unbelievable… caught in the woods and that too with that pompous, arrogant Mr Darcy! What could she be thinking? Yes, he is wealthy, a very advantageous catch indeed. But still… considering how ill-mannered he is, I can not fathom what appealed to her eyes that she would forgo all propriety and rush to-"
"Mamma!" Miss Lucas cried out in protest.
"Oh, hush child. I know that the both of you are good friends. And see how fate has placed you in so difficult a position today! You can not even share the joy of your own betrothal, without dreading the pain it may cause to your friend. What must poor Elizabeth endure, to hear that you are engaged to the most worthy man imaginable, while she was dallying with one so disagreeable, bringing ruin upon herself and her family!”
All Elizabeth’s weary brain could register was that Charlotte was engaged to 'the most worthy man imaginable' and she blurted out, "You are engaged! To whom?"
Before she could finish the sentence, somehow the sinking feeling in her heart told her the answer. Her eyes found Mr Collins and Lady Lucas, both of whom had sickeningly triumphant smiles on their faces.
Elizabeth was not the only one struck by the revelation, for an amused voice came from the hallway that joined the sitting room to Mr Bennet's study.
"I do not think, madam, that you or your daughter need trouble yourselves about sharing such felicitous news.” Mr Bennet leaned against the doorframe with his usual carefree grace. “Although I must question the worthiness of the gentleman, considering the interval of only a few hours between his rejected proposal to one lady and his engagement to another. Nevertheless, I wish Miss Lucas and Mr Collins every happiness marriage can bestow. And I expect, Lady Lucas, that you will extend the same courtesy to my Lizzy and her betrothed."
Lady Lucas started, "Oh, Mr Bennet, Lizzy and her betrothed! What can you mean? I fail to comprehend -”
"Only if you would let me speak, Lady Lucas," Mrs Bennet cut in sharply, "You have been spouting nonsense about our Lizzy since you entered the room! Yes, of course she is engaged. She has already been engaged long before this! Yes, yes, she does enjoy vexing her poor Mamma, but she is not the sort of girl to allow gentlemen wholly unconnected to her take liberties!"
"I… what.. But to whom?" asked Lady Lucas.
"To me, Lady Lucas.” The voice came steady and unyielding. Mr Darcy emerged from the study to stand beside Mr Bennet. “Miss Elizabeth and I have been privately betrothed for some months past."
Ignoring the gasps, the mutters, the indignant protests from Mr Collins, Mr Darcy strode forward with measured resolve. Before Elizabeth could speak, before she could even think, he took her hand in his. His touch was so warm that she realised belatedly how cold her own fingers had become.
Then he did the unthinkable.
Mr Darcy, who had once declared Miss Elizabeth Bennet as only 'tolerable' at the Meryton Assembly, bowed his head, raised her hand and pressed his lips upon it.
Elizabeth’s breath caught. Her eyes flew to his, her cheeks aflame. And somewhere in the fuzzy background, she heard Lydia (or was it Kitty?) shriek in delighted glee.
Chapter 3: Chapter 3
Notes:
Thank you for all your lovely comments, kudos and bookmarks. They motivate me to carry on even on days I am super exhausted to write (like today!). Here is the new chapter for you all. We take a deep dive into the heads of our beloved characters.
Happy reading!
(And of course, I don't own Pride and prejudice and its characters.)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Elizabeth stood at the window of the bedroom upstairs that she shared with Jane.
She stared at Mr Darcy’s retreating figure as he left Longbourne on his horse.
The knot in her stomach tightened.
He did not take his leave from her. Neither did he properly ask her for her hand in marriage. He took it for granted that she would accept him.
And he was not wrong. Was he?
Elizabeth thought.
She had no way to refuse him. Her fate was sealed the moment they were discovered unchaperoned.
"Why wasn’t I found by someone sensible, like Jane, Papa or Charlotte… even Mary would do, I suppose!" she thought.
But she could not change the fact that she was found with Mr Darcy alone in the woods by the silliest girl in England and the most desperate match-making Mamma in Hertfordshire.
Elizabeth could not banish the memory of their startled cry, the commotion as her other sisters, father and few servants followed her mother's loud lamentations about a ruined daughter…
And then, the cold unwavering voice of Mr Darcy as he declared to the crowd, "Do not be alarmed, Sir, Madam. We already have an understanding. We are… betrothed."
The vexing man! What had he been thinking? A secret betrothal! Who would believe that?
But people did believe them! Did they not? Her mother, her younger sisters, her neighbours and relations - none had a spec of doubt, especially after the little show he put on for all to see.
Heat crept on Lizzy’s face as she recalled the softness of his lips on her ungloved hand, his breath hot on her skin… it was very brief, merely a kiss, more of a whisper of his lips on her hand… but it was enough to legitimise their story in the eyes of the society and more than enough to quicken her treacherous heart.
Lizzy turned her thoughts resolutely back to her family.
What had Papa been thinking, agreeing to corroborate such a story? Was there no way around to save her reputation? Did he try to think of any other solution than marrying her off to that… that insufferable man, the man she despised with all her being?
She could not know. Mr Bennet refused to listen to her pleadings and protests.
Lizzy shivered as she remembered the look of utter disappointment on her Papa’s face as he closed the door of his study with Mr Darcy inside. The men discussed the arrangements behind closed doors and her fate was decided.
Elizabeth clutched the windowsill.
Her body shook. She heaved. She wanted to cry, at least in the privacy of her own bedroom.
But tears did not come.
Nausea crept in.
***
Mr Darcy galloped on his horse to Netherfield. The late morning sky was cloudy. Damp air passed him by. Low rumbles of thunder echoed on the vast fields between Longbourne and Netherfield.
He nudged his horse to run faster.
How different this morning was from the morning before.
The previous morning had come with fresh, crisp air. The dew drops on the grass shone like diamonds and the light mist in the faraway meadows added a layer of mystery to the picturesque country landscape. It was full of such anticipation, such sweet agonies, confusions… His biggest worries were about how to approach Miss Elizabeth Bennet for a set of dance or two without showing preferences or raising hopes. He had convinced himself that whatever he felt towards the daughter of an insignificant country gentleman, must not go beyond an evening of admiring her from afar and sharing a set of dance. And after that he was determined to do the prudent thing - leave Hertfordshire as soon as possible and bury his feelings so deep inside that they would never bother him again.
This morning, damp and gloomy, with a storm brewing somewhere, it all felt like a lifetime ago - the dance Mr Darcy finally shared with Miss Elizabeth the previous evening at the Netherfield ball, his disgust at the brazen behaviour of her mother and younger sisters, his shock at the negligent nonchalance of her father and his renewed determination to leave Hertfordshire sooner rather than later and possibly drag Bingley along with him to save him from a loveless marriage.
Mr Darcy still could not believe, let alone process what had taken place within the short period of a few hours.
How did matters come to such a pass?
Had he acted rightly?
Of course he did! He always strived to do so.
He had to marry Miss Elizabeth. That was inevitable. He was honourbound to do so from the moment he decided to talk to her unchaperoned in the woods, instead of leaving her alone. The only way to maintain some semblance of respectability, considering everything, was to give it a romantic colour - a prior understanding.
And now the imminent scandal defused, Mr Darcy, ever the man of action, made a mental list of correspondents he had to write to immediately.
How would he communicate the tidings of his sudden and unexpected felicity to his family? He did not care about the reaction of the Ton or London gossip columns, but his family and their opinions he respected deeply. They would not approve of his marrying so beneath him, that was for sure. But would they shun him and his future wife publicly?
And what about Georgianna? How would she react! How would her prospect in the marriage market be affected by her brother’s poor choice?
Mr Darcy could not think anymore.
He clenched his jaw. He needed to do what had to be done - mechanically, meticulously, as he always did, without letting his emotions run his actions.
And he must not let his mind ponder over the woman at the centre of it all - her betrothed, Miss Elizabeth Bennet with her sparkling eyes and biting humour… only ‘Elizabeth’ to him now. The very thought of her, let alone her presence, had always unsettled his reasons and clarity.
Otherwise, how could he permit himself to be caught in such a disagreeable predicament as this!
As Mr Darcy reached the Netherfield hall, his worries had already given way to seething anger against everything and everyone, including himself, his betrothed, her family, his fate and society in general. So when he was seized by Miss Bingley, Mr Darcy was already at his worst.
The woman simpered at him and said with a conspiratorial whisper, "Good morning, Mr Darcy. I have been searching for you all morning! Let us not delay it anymore. Charles is in his study."
At the confused look on Mr Darcy's face, she moved closer to him than was strictly proper.
“It is about the talk we had last night about the little problem regarding our overzealous neighbours…” She said, “and the not so little problem regarding their daughter with a pretty face. We must convince my brother to leave at once!”
And then, Miss Bingley added with a disdainful curl of her lips, "Although, had I not known you better, Mr Darcy, I may have said that you are slightly partial to the one with 'fine eyes' and her hem six inches deep in mud!"
Mr Darcy stiffened.
He took a step back to create a respectable space between them. Then looking squarely at Miss Bingley, he said in a voice that he often used as the master of Pemberley, "The neighbours you are speaking of so disrespectfully, madam, are gentlemen and gentlewomen. Maybe not as refined as our London society, but they belong to a long line of landed gentry, unlike some of my other acquaintances who forget their origin in self imposed pomp and importance."
Caroline Bingley, the daughter of a wealthy tradesman, had the long overdue effect Darcy intended to have on her. For the first time in their entire acquaintance, Miss Bingley was too shocked to speak.
But Mr Darcy's stomach lurched as he looked at the hall leading to the study. At the door stood a stunned Charles Bingley, the man who was not only a longtime friend but also was like his brother, with evident pain on his otherwise happy light blue eyes.
"Charles… I-", Mr Darcy stuttered.
Bingley shook his head, “Darcy, old friend, I believed you were different. Thought that you were unlike those gentlemen who see nothing beyond bloodlines. But all along… beneath the proclamation of your friendship, this is what you truly think of me and my family!?"
Before Mr Darcy could apologize or explain himself, Mr Bingley disappeared in his study, closing the door behind him.
Mumbling something incoherent to a statue like Miss Bingley, Darcy left the scene and went to his room.
With a heavy heart and conflicting emotions, he drew out his stationary items. After he finished writing and sending express letters to his sister Georgianna, cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam, his uncle the Earl of Matlock, aunt Lady Fitzwilliam, his lawyer, his housekeepers in London and Pemberley, Mr Darcy found that Bingley had already left for London in urgent business.
Notes:
Thank you for sticking to the end. Please let me know your thoughts in the comments. Constructive criticisms are always welcome. But no personal attacks please. After all, none of us wants to be like Miss Bingley, do we?!
See you on the week after next.
Chapter 4: Chapter 4
Notes:
Thank you all for your support. Each comment or kudo mean so much to me and inspires me to do better. Hope you like this latest chapter.
Happy reading!
Disclaimer : I do not own Pride and Prejuduce and its original characters.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
"But, Papa!"
Mr Bennet shook his head, "No, Lizzy. I do not want to repeat myself again. I believe I have made myself sufficiently clear. You will not venture outside alone until your wedding. I trust you are intelligent enough to comprehend a simple instruction without my having to repeat it thrice.”
He then reopened the newspaper and hid behind it, effectively cutting the conversation short.
Unaccustomed to being at the receiving end of her father's cutting remarks and indifference, Elizabeth felt her eyes prickle.
Still, she tried one last time.
“Papa,” she said in a small voice, “You cannot truly believe that I am to be blamed for this situation.”
“It does not matter what I want to believe or not,” replied Mr Bennet, not looking up from his paper, “You went alone into the woods and were careless enough to be found unchaperoned with a man.”
“But you know very well that I had nothing to do with it! It was by accident that -”
“Tell me, Lizzy,” said Mr Bennet, folding the paper upon his lap and fixing her with a look, “did you leave when you saw Mr Darcy approaching you, alone, in the woods?”
“I… no, I did not. But-”
“No. You did not. There are no if’s and but’s. You chose to remain there unchaperoned and to converse with him, knowing fully well the possible repercussions. It was at that exact moment that you broke my trust and risked not only your own
reputation but also of all your unmarried sisters.”
Lizzy was too shocked to reply. She could not believe her dear papa could blame her so.
Mr Bennet sighed, “Lizzy, had you come to me instead of running away, I would have supported your refusal of the ridiculous proposal from Mr Collins. But, my dear, you must understand my position. I cannot save you from a scandal of this nature. I have an estate that is entailed away and five unmarried daughters, most of whom possess too little dowry or charm to recommend them for advantageous matches.”
Lizzy’s eyes burned, and it was no longer only from the urge to cry.
She opened her mouth to ask her father who was to blame for the lack of dowry or formal education of his daughters. She wanted to ask why he did not intervene only the other night at the Netherland ball, when her younger sisters’ sheer impropriety was to the point of damaging whatever chances the family had for a respectable match.
But she did not.
She looked around her father's study, the messy old room with books up to the ceiling - her safe haven, her refuge whenever life with her mother and younger sisters became too much for her sanity.
With a sinking heart, she realised that the man she had worshiped as her hero was, in reality, a man who hid himself and his failures as the master of the house, behind his books and seemingly clever remarks.
The once warm and cozy room suddenly felt cold and empty.
Without another word, Elizabeth left the room after her father had forbidden her usual morning walk the day after he forced upon her the decision to get married to a man she despised, only to blame her for it as well.
She ate her breakfast with unusual quietness. Mrs Bennet's loud demands to have an expensive trousseau of the latest fashion for 'dear Lizzy' buzzed like distant monotones. She scarcely noticed the arrival of a letter for Jane from Netherfield, nor the sudden change in her sister’s
countenance.
It was much later in the morning that she found Jane sitting quietly beside the window of their shared bedroom, the soft winter sun revealing the tear stains on her face.
"Jane! What has happened?" Lizzy rushed towards her sister. And then she saw the letter clutched in Jane’s trembling hand.
"May I?" She took the letter. The rustle of the tree branches outside seemed to echo Jane’s silent sobs.
Lizzy scoffed at the letter at her hand. The conniving Caroline Bingley! How could she!
Before she could speak her mind, there was a soft knock on the door.
It was Charlotte Lucas. Glancing around, she slipped quickly inside.
"I had to come through the servants' entrance," she whispered, clasping Lizzy's hands, "After yesterday's debacles, Mamma would not be happy if she knew that I was here.” Then, noticing Jane, she gasped, “Jane! You look wretched! What has happened?”
Jane shook her head, but after a pause she wiped her eyes and said with forced calmness, "The Netherfield party has left for London… with no intention of returning."
"Including Mr Bingley!?" exclaimed Charlotte.
"I am afraid so. He went first, the rest followed. Miss Bingley writes that none of them mean to come back."
"Miss Bingley says so. Not Mr Bingley.” Said Charlotte, "Jane, dear, anyone who saw the two of you at the ball would know that he was truly besotted."
"Indeed.” Elizabeth stared with bitterness, "Miss Bingley realised it too. Hence this hasty departure and her farcical letter! Jane, oh Jane, I beg you. Do not believe a word of it. Mr Bingley will return and you will have your happily ever after. You will marry for love! One of us will."
Lizzy did not realise that she was shaking until Jane and Charlotte enveloped her from both sides in a warm hug.
She could hear Charlotte's soft voice in her left ear, "Do not hold back, Lizzy. Let the tears flow."
And for the first time since the disastrous morning - when she had rejected Mr Collins and ran straight into a betrothal to Mr Darcy - Lizzy wept. Hot tears of grief, fear and helplessness streamed down her face.
At last when her sobs subsided, Lizzy settled cross legged on her bed, Charlotte by her side. Jane quietly left, giving the friends privacy to talk.
They shared their stories - two engagements born of utterly different circumstances.
“Who knows the truth?” asked Charlotte after Lizzy told her everything.
“Papa and Mr Darcy, of course. No one else in my family except Jane. My uncle and aunt Gardiner must be told soon. It was during my stay in London with them last summer that the supposed betrothal began. I trust them to corroborate the story and keep our secret.”
“Oh Lizzy,” Charlotte whispered, “what you must be enduring! I am honoured that you decided to trust me and I am more than glad to be here for you.”
“I know, Charlotte. It breaks my heart to act such falsehood with my own nearest and dearest ones. I did not want to add the name of my best friend to that list… Now, enough about me. Tell me about you. Are you happy? Do you believe you can find happiness with Mr Collins?”
Lizzy was sceptical at first about Charlotte’s betrothal to Mr Collins, but then she realised that she was in no position to judge. She, who had always declared her intentions to only marry for the deepest love, was now settling for not only a marriage of compromise, but also acting in a deceitful way in front of the entire world! At least, Charlotte, the unromantic, the ever pragmatic one, had been properly proposed to and had a choice to accept or not. Or had she? At seven and twenty, never being very handsome or romantic, daughter of a small country knight, what other prospects Charlotte had for her future happiness?
Still, Lizzy could not help asking, “What prompted Mr Collins to propose so soon, only hours after I refused his suit?”
Instead of getting offended, Charlotte laughed, "Oh, he was already dejected, disappointed and in need of comfort. In other words, someone to stroke his ego. He received plenty of that from Mamma and, I confess, some from me as well” (Lizzy hid her shudder just in time). “And when someone brought the news that you have been… compromised… his own righteous ego, encouraged by my mother and fueled by his absent but ever-present patroness Lady Catherine, demanded that he ‘rectify’ his mistake of a proposal to a woman of such 'inferior morals'. So he proposed to a 'more prudent and respectable lady, better suited as the wife of a pastor’... without delay.”
"Oh God!"
"Please, Lizzy, do not be offended. You must know that none of those are my own sentiments."
Lizzy pressed her friend’s hands gently and said, "It is alright, Charlotte. As measurable as I am now, I still do not regret refusing him. I do not resent you or disrespect your choice. I can not, after what I am going through myself. I only wish you happiness and peace in your marriage."
Charlotte smiled, touched by her tone. "Your situation is not as hopeless as you are feeling…” She said, “Oh, do not scoff, Lizzy, hear me out. I have often seen Mr Darcy look at you when he thought no one was watching -"
"To find fault in me, no doubt!"
"Or maybe not. Perhaps he was intrigued. And beneath his rudeness, I think he is a man you might come to respect once known better. That is something not all of us can say about our own partners.”
Silence fell between them, each lost in thoughts about what lay ahead.
Then Charlotte spoke again, more hesitantly, “But there is something that troubles me, Lizzy.”
Elizabeth looked at her in silent askance.
"It is something Mr Collins was saying," Charlotte said, "I dismissed it at first, but he swore that it was true, because Lady Catherine herself confirmed it. She claims her daughter, Miss Anne De Bourgh, is engaged to Mr Darcy. The match was arranged between their families at their birth."
"Engaged! Are you certain?"
"I can not say, Lizzy. But Mr Collins seemed very much sure.”
Lizzy was silent, her mind racing, “Despite all his faults, Mr Darcy is not dishonourable. He once said that disguise of any sort was his abhorrence."
Yet, even when she spoke, unsettling thoughts rose to her mind unbidden - the deception of their supposed betrothal... the business with Mr Wickham… Was not violating one's late father's wishes counted as dishonorable?... If he could disregard a promise to someone he grew up with, how easy would it be to cast aside an insignificant country Miss he met only a few times?
What if he truly was engaged to Miss De Bourgh? And even if he was not, it was clear that his family wished him to marry the heiress.
How would his family take the news of his betrothal to a woman of no dowry, no connections?
Would they stop him from returning to
Hertfordshire?
Would it be so difficult to persuade him in that endeavour?
He had not exchanged a single word with her after that fateful morning. It was her father who had informed her later that Mr Darcy had departed for London - to arrange the necessary paperworks for the marriage and to inform his family.
Her betrothed did not find it necessary to tell her himself.
She had no idea what was passing in his mind.
So she settled for the judgment of her own mind and it whispered darkly that if his family pressed him hard enough, it would not be difficult to dissolve an engagement to a woman he himself declared as tolerable but not handsome enough to tempt him…
And indeed, her fears were not wholly misplaced, at least regarding Mr Darcy's family, for at that very moment in London, Mr Darcy stood at the drawing room of the Earl of Matlock, filled with more frustration and disappointment than he had ever anticipated.
Notes:
So how do you think Darcy's family would react? Please let me know your thoughts.
Constructive criticisms are always welcome. But no personal attacks please. None of us wants to be Caroline Bingley, do we?!
See you in next chapter. Updates will be alternate weeks.
Chapter 5: Chapter 5
Notes:
Thank you so much for all your comments and kudos. Your support means a lot. Here is the latest chapter. Happy reading.
Disclaimer - I do not own Pride and prejudice.
Updates every alternate week
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The fashionable drawing room of the Earl of Matlock’s grand London mansion was in an uproar. The Earl, a plump aristocrat in his fifties, reached for his fifth piece of lemon cake as more blood rushed to his already ruddy face. Beside him on the plush sofa, his wife, Lady Arabella, sat with her lips pursed in a thin line, her tea untouched on the table. It was too early in the morning to comprehend, let alone approve of the unexpected news - their nephew Fitzwilliam Darcy, a most sought after bachelor in the London marriage mart, was betrothed to a country woman of no consequence, far beneath their social standing.
At least the young man had the decency to announce it himself to the family in person.
All the reasons for disapproval Mr Darcy anticipated regarding his betrothal to the previously unheard-of Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourne, Hertfordshire, were present - her lack of connection, meagre dowry, absence of finishing school experience, her connection to trade, including relations in Cheapside. Worries about his good sense and her conniving schemes to secure such a good match above her station were also thrown in between.
He bore it all in practiced silence as he stood beside the window, body partly facing outside, hands clasped behind. The disapproval and disappointment of his relations left him unperturbed.
But when Lady Arabella said, "Fitzwilliam, I do not want to presume… and I mean no disrespect. I also know that you are absolutely discreet. But, son, she is not… umm… with child, is she?" Fitzwilliam Darcy had had enough.
He whirled around to face his uncle and aunt.
"Madam," he said stiffly, "I have not only had the deepest respect for you, but have regarded you as close to a mother after my parents’ demise. In turn, I had expected at least the slightest understanding of my character."
"Fitzwilliam, I…"
"No, please, let me be clear. Even if you do not respect or fully know me, please do not disparage the reputation of my future wife.”
“Darcy, my boy!" Interjected the Earl. “You can not blame your aunt for being concerned about you. It is inconceivable to us all how you, of all people, after eluding the schemes of so many clever matriarchs and crushing the hopes of so many accomplished debutants of the Ton, could allow yourself to fall prey to the… well… this - this girl!" and he gestured helplessly. His indignation evident. The deep farrow of Mr Darcy's eyebrows grew and the lines of his lips thinned.
A throaty laugh from the other corner of the room startled them all. Beside the window facing the garden sat Lady Sofia, the Viscountess, the Earl's daughter-in-law. The elegant lady in her early thirties was engaged in turning the pages of the La Belle Assemblée and the remnants of the sarcastic smile suggested that the latest fashion illustrations were not her only source of amusement.
Darcy had never understood that woman.
The Earl cleared his throat , "Do you find the situation amusing, Sofia?”
Lady Sofia closed the paper and regarded the scene with the exasperated detachment of an adult watching children squabble.
“Oh, very much so, sir.” She said dryly. “You said it was inconceivable why Darcy is engaged to this gold-digger country nobody -”
"Do not put words in my mouth!” The Earl cried, “I have never said any such thing.”
"Of course you did not.” Lady Sofia rolled her eyes, "No doubt poor Darcy had to keep his betrothal a secret from us all. Anyway, you said you could not find any reason behind this engagement. Could you really not? Have you ever considered something else… like… love?”
Darcy found his chest tightening at the word. Others looked at Sofia in utter disbelief.
She sighed, “Is it so inconceivable? For most of us, love comes last, if at all, among the reasons why two people should marry. But, for some, it might be a factor. After all, everyone deserves to be loved, but very few actually are. Is it not so, cousin Darcy?” She raised one eyebrow.
A vein ticked at his temple. He was neither prepared nor in a mood to divert any bait today, let alone outsmart it.
Before he could reply, Lady Arabella snapped.
“Do not be ridiculous, Sofia.” She said, “For I know that you are not naive. Love! Indeed! Only fools value it above social station or financial compatibility in marriage. And I tell you, this Bennet girl definitely does not.”
Lady Sofia regarded her mother-in-law for a few seconds, then asked with feigned sweetness, “By any chance, do you happen to know where my dear husband is at present? Or for that matter, where has he been for the last two days?”
“Why would I!” said Lady Arabella. “That is not my place to-”
“Do you know where he is, madam?”
“No, I do not.”
Lady Sofia shrugged, “Neither do I.” And reopened her magazine.
The Earl took the final bite of his cake and wiped his mouth with a napkin. Then looking squarely at Mr Darcy, he asked, “So, if everything comes down to, Heaven forbid, love… Do you love the woman? And most importantly, does she love you back besides your property, name and connections?”
Darcy blinked. Love? He remembered a long-ago afternoon at Pemberley — an impromptu picnic, the sweet scent of her mother’s rose garden, sunlight haloing her golden curls, his father sitting beside her on the blanket, carefree, smiling, his hand lightly on her swollen belly… The gazes and smiles his parents shared that uneventful day were etched in his memory as the very definition of love. Even Mrs Reynolds’ apple pie seemed entwined with the warmth of it.
Love!
And then another image intruded - horrified look of Elizabeth when she realised that she must marry him.
Love…
No, he could not allow such needless emotions to cloud his mind.
Mr Darcy squared his shoulders and said, “Rest assured, uncle, I have utmost faith that our marriage will be founded on happiness and love.”
His uncle studied him sharply before asking, “And what about the role of Mrs Darcy of Pemberly? Do you believe she can rise up to the task?”
“I do.”
This time Mr Darcy’s answer came out more confident and prompt.
The Earl shook his head, “All right. If you are determined, then… After all, she is a gentlewoman. At least you are not eloping with a maid!”
“Geoffrey!” Lady Arabella looked fully scandalized.
Geoffrey Fitzwilliam, the Earl of Matlock, laughed until tears came. “I must confess, my dear, it sounds hilarious. Look at the perpetual frown on his face! Even a maid in her right mind would not be charmed.”
Colours rose to Mr Darcy’s face. He became all too aware of the actual circumstances of his engagement and could not help the faint pang at his heart.
Lady Arabella’s sharp voice prevented his mind from wandering further into forbidden territory.
“Do not be fooled by your uncle’s jest.” She said, “He will be watching like a hawk when your wife enters society. So would I.”
The Earl nodded. “We Fitzwilliams always stand by our own in society, no matter our internal differences. You have always been more like a son to us than a nephew. But should we ever sense anything untoward in your future wife that might threaten the family’s reputation, you know how far our connections reach. The Archbishop dined with us just last week.”
“Is that a threat?” Lady Sofia quipped from her corner.
“Not at all.” Said the Earl, “Darcy understands perfectly. Do you not, son?”
Mr Darcy nodded. Of course he understood. He had been instructed in the weight of the family name since the time he was in the cradle.
He felt relief in the notion that, though they had not wholeheartedly approved of his engagement, his immediate family would not shun him or his future wife in society - at least not unless she made a misstep. Mr Darcy resolved to be more careful regarding her connections, especially her mother, younger sisters and the relations in trade.
As his carriage drove him towards his townhouse at Mayfair, he felt lighter. But a new remorse surfaced soon. He recalled Georgiana's radiant face as she congratulated him on his betrothal the previous evening. She was genuinely happy for her brother and was eager to meet her future sister-in-law. Darcy’s conscience weighed on him: he was not deceiving Georgiana, but shielding her from bitter truths that most of the world must accept.
There was also the conundrum with Bingley. Charles had not made any contact with him since he reached London. Mr Darcy almost groaned as he thought how badly he had left things with his best friend the last time they met. And he did not want Charles to know of his engagement in the newspaper.
The dull ache around his left eyebrow spread across his temple, growing stronger. He craved space, a few hours of blissful oblivion.
A few knocks on the roof of his carriage and soon he was threading through London streets towards his club. There, he sought to leave his mental turmoil behind, entering into a fencing match with his long time rival, Lord Houston. Yet, his mind had other plans. Hours later, Fitzwilliam Darcy was found at the bar, a glass of whiskey in hand, being thoroughly beaten by his opponent for the first time ever.
When he finally returned to his townhouse that evening, weary in body and mind, he found a visitor waiting for him.
"Richard!"
"Oh, Darcy, you wretched dog! What have you done to yourself!"
And after a long day, Darcy finally felt an upward tug at his lips, "You've no idea…"
"No, I do not. But then, why not enlighten me, dear cousin?"
"Well…"
"And by enlighten I mean spill it all, Darcy. No hiding things, no half truths. If you know what is good for you, you would tell everything to at least one soul!"
With that, Fitzwilliam Darcy and Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam retired to the Master’s Study and uncorked an old bottle of wine reserved for special occasions.
***
Meanwhile in a shady pub near Meryton -
Fortune smiled on him. He had been dealt with good hands that day and with some subtle nudges from his years of expertise in the art of deception on card tables (he refused to call it 'cheating', it sounded too derogatory to his sophisticated standards), his gain was quite good that day. As he sat at a dark corner of the pub with a glass of cheap beer, he counted his gains mentally, and though his debts remained substantial, today’s winnings were a welcome reprieve.
He started to drink and continued till he spent more than half the money he had gained that day at the table and he would have continued to drink more unless some fragments of conversation entered his ears. Actually it was not even part of conversation, it was the mention of just a name that made his ears perk and his drunk brain functioning.
"Mr Darcy!" a voice exclaimed, "The disagreeable man from the Netherfield party?"
"The very one!" replied another, "They say they have been secretly betrothed all this time. Can you believe it?"
"I don’t know…. They always seemed to be at each other's throat… But perhaps it was a ruse…"
"Humph… still don’t believe that cock and bull story. They must be hiding something."
"Maybe, maybe not. Leave it. What is to us whatever these rich masters and mistresses do. Our lives are not going to be changed!"
“Oh, but mine will!” Thought George Wickham at the half hidden corner as an evil smile spread on his face.
He drained his drink in one gulp and rose.
It was time for a little… investigation.
Notes:
Thank you for reading it. Hope you liked it. Please let me know your thoughts in comment section.
A few facts I want to clear.
I have adopted few fandom special names, like Richard Fitzwilliam for the Colonel and Earl of Matlock as his father. In the book it is just mentioned that he is an Earl.
Lady Arabella and Lady Sofia are my own. Still developing these characters, let us see in which direction the Fitzwilliam family go! And what do you think Wickham is planning?
Let me know. Constructive criticism is always welcome, but no personal attacks please.
See you soon!
Chapter 6: Chapter 6
Notes:
Thank you all for your continuous support. Each kudos, comment, subscribe mean a lot.
I have tried to write this chapter a bit differently than the other chapters so far. Let me know if you liked this one.
Happy reading!
Disclaimer- I do not own pride and prejudice and the original characters by Jane Austen.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It was a pleasant morning at Longbourn - clear and still. The sun cast a golden hue upon the melting frost that silvered the grass.
After breakfast, Kitty and Lydia set out for the little cottage of Mr Housings, a tenant at Longbourn.
The early December air was deliciously crisp, just enough to redden their cheeks. The thin veil of mist was slowly dissolving over the far fields. Birds chirped in the hedgerows. It was a morning that made a charitable errand seem like a holiday, so full of promises and innocent delight.
The young sisters trod cheerfully, hand in hand, their chatter and laughter ringing sweetly across the fields to the ears of young labourers at work. Each tip of a hat or a respectful nod from particularly handsome ones provoked a fit of giggles. Kitty would sometimes pinch Lydia’s arm to rein her in, recalling the stern remarks of their elder sisters on similar occasions. But the next moment, they were both blushing and breaking out in youthful laughter again, the rebukes quite forgotten.
They had two baskets in their hands - one containing food and warm clothes, the other filled with ribbons, hats and a sewing kit. The second basket was of far greater importance to the younger Bennet sisters, who wished to show their skill in decorating hats to little Bella, who always delighted in their company and had been sick for days. The elder Bennet sisters, however, found this occasion to gently nudge Kitty and Lydia towards learning the duties of the daughters and hopefully future wives of landed gentry; hence, the first basket.
Six-year-old Bella Housings was playing on a worn blanket in front of the cottage. Seeing the approaching Bennet sisters, she ran towards them.
“Miss Kitty! Miss Lydia!”, she cried, her blonde pigtails bouncing at both sides of her head.
Kitty and Lydia returned her enthusiasm with equal fervour, pinching her cheeks, tickling her side, swinging her hands until all three of them were breathless with laughter.
Mrs Housings, a thin woman with kind eyes in her early thirties came out of the cottage, with a three-year-old boy clutching her hand and a babe of a few months rested against her bosom, its tiny fists clutching at her shawl.
Kitty handed her the charity basket and ruffled the little boy’s curls.
“Oh, bless your hearts, Miss Kitty, Miss Lydia!” Mrs Housings said with a warm smile, “You are too kind to come all the way.”
“Nonsense!” laughed Lydia, “We really love to play with Bella, do we not, Bella darling?”
“How is Bella now?” Kitty asked.
Mrs Housings grimaced, “Poor little thing. Suffering since Tuesday. Feeling a bit better this morning. The sight of you will do her good.”
Kitty nodded, “Mrs Hill packed some herbs in the basket she said would do good for the cough. Make her tea with it at bedtime.”
Before Mrs Housings could reply, a gleeful shriek came from the little girl. Lydia had opened the second basket, revealing ribbons of every colour the little one could imagine.
Mrs Housings smiled again and said, “Go, Miss Kitty, please make yourselves at home. You’ll take a bit of milk, Miss? It’s nothing fancy, but fresh drawn this morning.”
Kitty nodded and joined the others on the blanket. Bella had already chosen a piece of pink ribbon and a pale blue hat.
"Marvellous choice!” said Lydia, "You have such a nice eye for these things, Bella. Shall we make a bow… or a flower?”
“Flower!” Bella clapped.
“Flower it is! Kitty, hand me the pink threads.”
About half an hour later, the girls were too engrossed in their work to notice a handsome gentleman in redcoat approaching them, until the man greeted them, “Miss Catherin. Miss Lydia. Good morning. What a nice surprise to find you here.”
“Mr Wickham!” Both sisters cried at once.
The man tipped his hat and smiled at them.
Lydia jumped up with an unladylike squeal, scattering pink, blue and golden ribbons in her wake.
Kitty followed behind.
"Mr Wickham!"
"Oh, what a surprise, Mr Wickham! Where are you off to?"
“Come, join us!”
“Yes, yes, you must! Look at the ribbons. Aren't they pretty?!”
Both girls vied for his attention, smiling and batting their eyelashes.
It was not the first time young women had fallen over each other to win him over, nor would it be the last. And Wickham was a generous man. He could not disappoint anyone, least alone such naive young girls as these. But the facade of an honorable gentleman must be maintained.
So, the smile George Wickham bestowed upon the young ladies was somewhat reserved and reluctant.
He shook his head and said. “Thank you for the invitation, ladies. I would love to join you. But I am afraid I can not at this moment.”
Kitty looked disappointed, but Lydia was visibly indignant.
“Whyever not?”, she demanded.
“Because I am on an errand from my commanding officer. On my way, I thought I would visit your sister and offer my congratulations on her betrothal. But if I join you ladies here, I might lose all sense of time, as I always do around beautiful young ladies.”
That seemed to soothe Lydia's ego a bit, though not enough to forgive his choosing to visit her elder sister instead.
She bid Bella a rushed goodbye and ran to join Mr Wickham on his walk to Longbourn, giving Kitty a hasty order to gather their things.
At that moment, Mrs Housings came out again, carrying two mugs of milk and two pieces of homemade oatcake.
Poor Kitty was left in the middle of conflict once more. She threw a wistful glance at the retreating figures of her sister and the handsome man, then looked at the scattered ribbons, the expectant child and finally to the woman trying to be a dutiful host despite meagre means. Her head spun as she tried to decide what to do, and her heart rebelled, wishing only to follow the handsome man to the end of the world.
Mrs Housings saved her.
“Do not worry, Miss Kitty.” Mrs Housing said quickly, wrapping the oatcakes in a paper, “Here, please take these. I made them hot for you. Do not worry about the basket. Jemmy would deliver it to the house later.”
“Oh! Thank you, Mrs Housings. I will see you soon. Goodbye. Goodbye Bella. Be a good girl.”
Kitty hugged Bella, but the elder woman gently urged her on, “We are so grateful, Miss. But run now. Please do not take me wrong. Your sister is without a chaperone.”
Kitty’s eyes widened, the implication not lost even in her flustered mind.
She was out of breath when she came into earshot of Lydia and Wickham.
Wickham stopped and turned with a charming smile, “Miss Katherin! Please forgive me for setting off without you. I thought you were following us. I apologise profusely.”
Kitty was tongue-tied. No one, let alone a handsome man, ever spoke to her directly, with such attention.
Lydia replied at her stead, “Oh, do not worry, Mr Wickham. Kitty does not mind. Do you, Kitty?”
“Well… I… umm…”
“It is so generous and considerate of you, Miss Katherine, especially being the elder sister.” Wickham said smoothly, “And another apology is due. I have already complimented your sister. Now, please allow me to compliment you on your generosity towards the less fortunate.”
Kitty blushed.
“I must command you both! Yes, I must.” Wickham continued as they resumed their walk, “So young, yet so attentive to your duties as gentlewomen. I am sure any man would count himself fortunate to call such charming and responsible young ladies his wife one day.”
Kitty blushed furiously, and Lydia broke out in a giggle.
“Do you know, Mr Wickham,” said Lydia, “It was my idea. The hats and ribbons! I heard that Bella was sick and I thought, la! colourful ribbons would cheer anyone up.”
“And I asked Mrs Hill for her herbs,” Kitty added eagerly, “the ones she makes for us when we are sick. And… and I thought… why not bring a full charity basket!”
Wickham nodded in approval, bestowing them both with more praise and indulgent smiles.
When he was sure that he had flattered their egos to just the right degree, and the girls were practically swooning over him, Wickham very casually remarked, “So, your sister and Darcy… they have been secretly betrothed all this time?”
“Yes! Can you believe it!” Lydia exclaimed. “And when you think of all those comments Lizzy made about Mr Darcy! so disagreeable, so proud, hurt her pride… and all the while secretly engaged to him! The lies she had told her own family - the high and mighty Lizzy!”
Kitty added in haste, “She had to do the act, did she not? After all, the betrothal was a secret. They could not let anyone suspect their understanding.”
“I understand. But Miss Katherine, do you have any idea why this betrothal has been kept secret?” Wickham asked, “After all, I see no reason for objection from your side of the family.”
Kitty shrugged, “I heard that Mr Darcy wanted time to break the news slowly to his family. They are a very fancy bunch, I suppose, Earls and Viscounts…”
“Yes, you heard right. Fancy and conceited. No doubt poor Darcy was nervous!”
Lydia giggled at the thought of the grave Mr Darcy being nervous. In fact, the idea of that proud, passionless man in a secret betrothal against his family's approval seemed the height of absurdity.
Her amusement halted at Wickham's next comment, “Your parents must have been aware of the engagement, were they not?”
Lydia frowned, “Hmmm… Mumma surely was not. She was as astonished as any of us. Papa might have known… But…”
“But?”
“Umm… well, you know… It was I who found them, Lizzy and Mr Darcy in the woods.”
“In the woods!”
“You did not know?” Lydia exclaimed, “It was so funny! You see, we were looking for Lizzy everywhere. She had stomped out of the house and Mamma was furious. And then, la! there they were! In the woods, alone. They were standing so close, you would not believe it. I screamed for Mamma. They parted… Lizzy's face was like a tomato and Mr Darcy…. Mr Darcy looked like he had just swallowed a frog!” Lydia laughed in glee.
“And Mr Bennet?” Wickham asked.
“Yes, Papa was somewhere behind me. He came when I screamed… And he looked…” Lydia closed her eyes to replay the exact moment in her mind, “He looked angry, very angry, yes… but before that his face had the same look as Mumma… He was as shocked as she was!”
“Oh! I can hardly fathom how difficult it must have been for your family. But in the end, everything has worked out, has it not?”
“It sure did. Mamma is so happy.”
“And how is your sister? She must be the happiest woman in the world.”
Yes, she must have been. Lydia herself sure would have been. The prospect of fine carriages, large pin money, grand balls and gorgeous gowns would have more than compensated for Mr Darcy's lack of red coat and charm. She would have been over the moon with excitement.
But was Lizzy? She had never quite understood her sister.
Lydia frowned.
And it did not go unnoticed by Wickham.
As they approached the final turn that would lead them to the Bennet household, Wickham politely excused himself, saying that he remembered an unfinished errand that needed his immediate attention and promised to visit in the afternoon.
He bowed politely as they parted ways, the sisters turning towards home. He lingered a moment longer on the path.
Wickham had no intention to call at Longbourn after all. There were better ways to encounter Miss Elizabeth Bennet than under her father’s roof.
Notes:
Thank you for sticking to the end. Let me know your thoughts in the comments.
What do you think is going on Wickham’s head?
What are your thoughts of Kitty and Lydia? I tried to portray them as silly, but still somewhat innocent and naive young girls.Constructive criticisms are welcome. But no personal attacks please.
So you soon.
Updates every alternate week.
Chapter 7: Chapter 7
Notes:
I am really sorry for missing my update schedule. Life has become too demanding and it is draining all the creative energy I had in me. But good news is, I have finished writing few chapters ahead of this one. I just need to edit and finalise them. Hope you like this chapter.
Happy reading!
Disclaimer : I do not own Pride and prejudice
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“You know, Darcy, you are going to meet your betrothed after days of absence. At least a hint of a smile or even a slight upturn of your lips would not kill you.”
Mr Darcy seemingly ignored the comment from his cousin as both of them rode towards Longbourne. Yet one could detect, if observed closely, an effort in his expression which looked more like a grimace than a smile.
Colonel Fitzwilliam shook his head and let out an exasperated sigh.
It was a fine morning in Hertfordshire - a sapphire sky and an early-winter crispness in the wind. The cousins had set out for Longbourne right after breakfast.
Mr Darcy was grateful to his cousin for accompanying him. After shouldering all the weights alone - the intricate lies regarding his betrothal, the struggle against his family's reservations, and the whirlwind of wedding preparation - he had felt much lighter when he finally shared everything with Colonel Fitzwilliam. The reassuring, perpetually exuberant presence of his cousin made the whole situation a little more bearable.
How was Elizabeth? What was she doing? Was she expecting him?... Probably not. He had not mentioned the date of his exact arrival in his letter to Mr Bennet; it contained only the finances and legalities of their marriage agreement.
Should he have included a letter for her? Was it expected of him? What exactly did she expect from him?
Mr Darcy’s frown deepened.
He remembered the last time he had seen her. She had been standing at the upstairs window as he rode away from Longbourne. She had not noticed him looking back. Her eyes had been fixed ahead - on nothing in particular - her gaze blank, lifeless.
Mr Darcy sighed. He had no idea what to expect when he reached Longbourne - how Elizabeth would receive him, what would she say, or most importantly, what he ought to say to her.
His cousin’s voice brought him back to the present.
“The way you are sighing, Darcy,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam, “You would indeed be convincing as a lovesick fool, had you not that perpetual frown on your face.”
The remark earned him another silent glare from Mr Darcy.
“Since we are having this delightful one sided conversation on this beautiful morning,” Colonel Fitzwilliam continued, “let me share a secret. It has served me very well on the battlefield. Whenever you find yourself lost in thoughts of hopeless situations, intentionally shift your mind - if not to happy thoughts, at least to the less unhappy ones.”
Mr Darcy grumbled something sounding vaguely like, “Will give it a try.”
And indeed he did. Instead of dwelling on his betrothal and betrothed, Mr Darcy allowed his thoughts to drift to the recent conflict with his dearest friend, Mr Bingley.
A few days earlier, Mr Darcy had decided to pay a visit to him. Upon arriving, he was immensely thankful to learn that Miss Bingley was staying for a few days with the Hursts for several days, leaving Mr Bingley alone at home. He did not have it in himself to tolerate an entire evening with Miss Bingley, particularly once she learned of his engagement.
Charles Bingley, by nature, possessed a cheerful countenance, and found it far easier to forgive than to hold a grudge. Bearing a grudge against Darcy, his dearest friend, confident and something like an elder brother, was an acute pain to him.
But this time, Darcy knew the subject of their discord was too sensitive and serious to be easily dismissed. The injury had opened an older, deeper wound. Being the son of a businessman, no matter how wealthy, Bingley had always suffered snide remarks and condescension from his peers at Cambridge. It had been Darcy who ensured he never felt the inferiority of his birth and had shielded him more than once. Receiving the same treatment from Darcy himself must have felt like an utter betrayal.
That was why Darcy could not blame his friend when his usual carefree smile faltered at first.
When they settled at Mr Bingley’s study with two glasses of scotch, the air was thick with discomfort and unspoken wounds. Darcy ran his thumb slowly around the rim of his glass, staring at the amber liquid as though searching for courage in it. Bingley shifted in his chair, tapping the edge of his knee.
Darcy decided not to delay the inevitable. What he had done was wrong and he must apologise. And when he did, the words flowed more naturally and sincerely than he had imagined. Confessing he had been wrong did not feel like the Herculean task he had feared.
“Charles, please allow me to ask for your forgiveness,” he said quietly. “Whatever I said that day at Netherfield was unjust—to you and to your family. You must know that, to my very core, I have never believed you unequal in any quarter of life or station.”
Here, he paused, then exhaled, “In my defence, I can only say that I was not myself at that moment… Something life-altering, confusing and drastic had taken place only hours before, and I could not process it all. My only objective was to… well, escape your sister. But that does not give me the right to insult you or your family. I apologise again—profusely. Please forgive my lapse in decency and common sense.”
Bingley shook his head slowly. He looked at the fire crackling in the grate, then up at his friend, his eyes softer, “I understand, Darcy. You are a good man…”
“But?” Darcy asked, bracing himself.
“But… well,” Bingley said after a pause, “Sometimes, especially when you are uncomfortable or under pressure, you tend to become too insensitive to consider the repercussions of your hasty words.”
Darcy was at a loss. Had anyone else said this, his temper might have risen. But in the candlelit study, seeing the wounded earnestness in his friend’s eyes, he paused.
At length, Darcy said, “Thank you for your observation, Charles. I had never thought of it before. I shall try to be more attentive in future.”
Bingley nodded, then let out a shy laugh.
“I know I should not have let you off so easily, Darcy. But… well.” He shrugged, “And I am curious. You mentioned that something life altering had taken place that day. What is it, if I may ask? Are you all right?”
Darcy trusted him—light-mannered as Bingley was, he would never betray a confidence. And if Bingley was as smitten with Miss Bennet as he appeared, he deserved to know the truth before hearing the abrupt news of Darcy’s engagement.
So Darcy told him.
When Darcy finished explaining the whole tangled affair, Bingley was at the edge of his seat, mouth agape.
“Man,” he breathed, “here I was thinking my love life was complicated!”
Darcy grimaced, “I know I need not remind you… But the truth must remain between us. About your sisters -”
“No need to worry, Darcy. I know them well. They will not hear a word of this from me. And… I too need to share something with you. Perhaps seek your counsel.”
His countenance changed—from jesting friend to forlorn lover. Darcy did not miss it.
“Is everything all right, Charles?” he asked.
Bingley shook his head, “No… not since I left a piece of my heart in Hertfordshire… And please do not laugh. Louisa and Caroline do not leave a chance to mock me or scoff at my emotions.”
“Of course not, Charles! That would be highly insensitive of me. But…” Darcy cleared his throat.
“But?”
“Well… If I may be honest, I have had my doubts-”
“I know. My sisters have been emphatically telling me that her family, her connections, her lack of wealth - everything is unsuitable to our standards. And…and I cannot shake off your words from that day. After all, we come from trade, and she, though without money, comes from a long line of landed gentry. Perhaps it is I who is not suitable for her! I do not know, Darcy... I hate complications. They give me a headache, and in this case, a heartache!” He threw up his hands.
Darcy took a gulp from his glass, then refilled Bingley’s. “You are right. The disparities cannot be denied - on both sides, if we are impartial. But the difference is not greater than that between myself and Miss Elizabeth. Your concerns are not insurmountable. Mine… differ. But I shall not add to your burden. I will do what I can to clear my doubts regarding your attachment to Miss Jane Bennet. Until then, I advise you to remain in London.”
“All right, Darcy. But you must stay at Netherfield when you return to Hertfordshire. The housekeeper is very efficient. You will not find any difficulty even if I am not there.”
“I am sorry, Charles. I can not do that. I have already booked an inn at Meryton.”
“But why?! I insist-”
“No. In case you decide to never return to Netherfield, we would not want to raise false hopes and gossip by opening the estate again.”
“And if I do…?”
“Then it would be as the best man in my wedding.”
“Oh Darcy, I would be honoured!”
Bingley stood abruptly, rounded the desk, and pulled Darcy into a warm, manly embrace. Darcy returned it with equal sincerity.
Although Darcy had promised to observe Miss Bennet more closely and report to Bingley, he had no idea how he would accomplish it. He doubted the sincerity of Miss Bennet’s affections to his friend. She seemed like a woman who could be easily coaxed by her mother to bestow any eligible gentleman with her beautiful smile. He had not detected any particular preference to his friend on her part.
But Darcy’s own situation with his betrothed was already burdensome. Their relationship was not yet at a point where he could ask Miss Elizabeth such a personal question. Still, he resolved to do what he could. Little did he know what, or rather, who, awaited him that morning to overturn all his plans.
When the cousins reached Longbourne, they found Mrs Bennet, Miss Bennet and Miss Mary in the parlour. As the formal introductions were over, Mrs Bennet exclaimed, “Oh what a wonderful day! Not one, but two distinguished future relations have graced my parlour this morning! The son of an Earl. And an illustrious lady… would she not be the sister of the Earl, Mr Darcy?”
“I beg your pardon, madam. I do not have the pleasure of understanding who you are referring to”, said Mr Darcy.
“Why, your aunt of course! The very distinguished Lady Catherine De Bourgh!”
“Lady Catherine de Bourgh,” Darcy echoed, scarcely believing the conclusion forming in his mind. “And… she came here?”
“Yes. She is in the garden with dear Lizzy even now.”
Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam exchanged looks of utter bewilderment, hoping to find in the other’s expression some sign that this was a shared hallucination. But reality asserted itself. And it was Colonel Fitzwilliam, accustomed to swift action under unexpected attack, who moved first.
“Mrs Bennet, Miss Bennet, Miss Mary, it is a pleasure to meet you all,” he said crisply. “Although I wish to continue this delightful conversation, my duty dictates that I pay my respects to my aunt at once. And I am sure my cousin is eager to meet his betrothed. If someone might direct us, it would be ideal.”
“Why, of course! Mr Hill will show you the way. Mr Hill!”
Without wasting a moment, Colonel Fitzwilliam practically dragged Darcy toward the garden path
Notes:
Thank you for bearing with me till the end. I am excited for the next chapter. It was so fun writing it! What do you expect would happen in the next one? Let me know in the comments.
Also, constructive criticism is always welcome. But no personal attacks please.
See you soon.
Chapter 8: Chapter 8
Notes:
Thank you so much for reading and supporting this story — your encouragement truly keeps me writing.
A quick note: In this chapter I’ve included a few original Austen lines in the dialogue. They’re such iconic Pride and Prejudice moments — too legendary not to keep! I tried to italicise them for clarity, but AO3 formatting didn’t quite cooperate, so they appear in plain text. I hope the blend still feels natural and enjoyable.
Disclaimer - P&P does not belong to me.
Happy reading!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
As expected, Longbourn did not boast a manicured garden like Rosings Park or the vast natural vistas of Pemberley. Instead, it had a modest flower garden in front of the house, beyond it an apple orchard and old hedgerows gave way to a wilder path of trodden earth.
In the winter morning the grounds looked almost lifeless - skeletal trees, bare thorned branches and the soft decay of the season. The only sign of colour came from the English ivy climbing the trunks, the moss that covered the old walls, and the distant glimmer of an evergreen holly shrub.
Mr Hill led the gentlemen past the garden and pointed them generally towards the holly shrub before withdrawing. Mr Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam quickened their pace, their anxious breath misting softly in the winter chill.
When out of earshot, Colonel Fitzwilliam asked, “Has Aunt Catherine ever been introduced to Miss Elizabeth?”
“No. But when had something so trivial as social norms stopped her from acting upon her resolute decisions!” said Darcy through clenched teeth, “And in this case, I suspect the interference of a ridiculous, jilted suitor.”
“Jilted suitor! Oh, your love story is becoming more interesting every day, Darcy.” The Colonel laughed, earning a glare from his cousin.
As they neared the thick wall of holly, they could hear fragments of a heated conversation - or rather, one side of it - the raised, imperious voice of Lady Catherine De Bourgh.
“...Your arts and allurements may, in a moment of infatuation, have made him forget what he owes to himself and to all his family…”,
“...and am entitled to know all his dearest concerns…”,
“...engaged to my daughter. Now what have you to say?”
Whatever reply Elizabeth gave did not reach their ears. They advanced more quickly. The voice grew louder -
“...You will be censured, slighted, and despised, by every one connected with him. Your alliance will be a disgrace; your name will never even be mentioned by any of us…”, “...They are destined for each other by the voice of every member of their respective houses; and what is to divide them? The upstart pretensions of a young woman without family, connections, or fortune…”
Mr Darcy clenched his fists in anger.
What was that infernal woman doing here? And what rubbish was she talking about? Who gave her leave to disparage Elizabeth, his betrothed, in such a manner!
They reached sufficiently close to hear both sides of the conversation when they heard Lady Catherine saying, “Tell me once for all, are you engaged to him?”
This time, Mr Darcy distinctly heard the voice of his intended - clear, restrained and simmering with anger.
“Yes, I am.”
“I see…”, Lady Catherine drew herself up, “In that case I have an offer for you, Miss Elizabeth Bennet. I have a full understanding of the entailment of your father's estate and its present income - more understanding than you, I am sure. I also know about the pitiably meagre dowry you and your sisters possess. Now, I have talked to Mr Collins. He will willingly allow your mother and sisters to continue residing at Longbourn after your father's demise, if he receives a certain compensation. Leave the particulars to my more capable hands - the precise amount may be adjusted if you wish. But you have to promise me. You will break off your engagement to my nephew and will never step into his life ever again.”
Mr Darcy felt a shiver at his spine. He knew his aunt to be condescending and meddlesome. But this exceeded anything he had imagined.
He moved instinctively to intervene. But his cousin put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him and urging him to hear the reply of the younger woman.
The reply came at length, slow and cold, “You have wholly misjudged my character, My Lady. I will make no such promise.”
“Oh, you vexing creature! I know girls like you quite well. You want more, do you not? All right, I will add a thousand pounds to the dowry of you and your sisters - each! But that is all. You can not extract a single penny more from me or my nephew. I am sure you understand that this is the most generous offer you will ever get, more generous than you can ever dream of!”
“You are right, Lady Catherine. This is beyond any offer I could have ever dreamt of. But I have one small doubt.” Elizabeth’s voice sharpened, “Your ladyship wants Mr. Darcy to marry your daughter; but would my giving you the wished-for promise make their marriage at all more probable?... Would my refusing to accept his hand make him wish to bestow it on his cousin?”
“You insufferable chit! That is not your concern. Now promise me that you will never marry Mr Darcy or step foot into his life. I shall not go away till you have given me the assurance I require.”
“And I certainly never shall give it… You have widely mistaken my character, if you think I can be worked on by such persuasions as these. How far your nephew might approve of your interference in his affairs, I cannot tell; but you have certainly no right to concern yourself in mine. I must beg, therefore, to be importuned no farther on the subject… You have insulted me in every possible method. I must beg to return to the house.”
Before Lady Catherine could say anything further, the gentlemen stepped forward.
“Aunt Catherin, what a surprise!” Colonel Fitzwilliam began cheerfully, “Good Heavens! I can not imagine how delighted you must be for Darcy, that you hurried here to congratulate Miss Elizabeth before any of us!”
It took a few staggering moments for Lady Catherine to absorb the sight of not one, but both of her nephews together - nephews who would stand by each other beyond the gates of heaven and hell. But she was not a woman to be dissuaded so easily.
She looked at Darcy, “Is this correct, Darcy? What this impertinent chit says - is it true?”
Darcy was too furious to speak at once.
Colonel Fitzwilliam seized the pause to take his aunt firmly by the arm, “Come now, aunt, let us give these love birds some space…”
“Love birds! LOVE BIRDS! What are you talking about! And why are you dragging me? Unhand me at once, Richard, I order you!”
Her voice drifted away along the path as she was forced to retreat -
“The gall of that nobody! Refuses me…”, “The shades of Pemberley…”, “...disregarding the wishes of his dead mother…”, “...will not be recognised by any of the…”
The voice grew fainter until the only sound left was the soft rustle of branches in the cold wind.
Mr Darcy was still so preoccupied with what had just transpired that he did not hear at first that Elizabeth was talking to him.
“Pardon? You were saying something?” he asked.
“Is this what I should expect from now on?” Elizabeth said sharply.
Darcy frowned, which raised Elizabeth's ire more.
She lashed out, “Am I to be insulted, humiliated or plainly ignored by all your family and friends? Is this going to be my life from now on as your wife, as your betrothed? Is that why you have made up this story of the betrothal - to punish me, to make me a subject of universal scrutiny and judgment?”
Whatever words of apology Darcy was forming regarding his aunt's uncivil behaviour, died down. His anger flared, previously directed at his aunt, now finding a new direction towards his betrothed.
“Elizabeth, what my aunt did was uncalled for. But regarding the rest of your words, I hope you understand what you are talking about,” he said, drawing to his full height, towering over Elizabeth. “You know perfectly well why I had to make up the story of our secret betrothal. I had nothing to gain from the situation. It was only to save your reputation.”
“Only to save my reputation!” cried Elizabeth.
“Yes. You know that I had nothing to gain from it”, Darcy said gravely. “From the very beginning I knew that this union between us would bring in scrutiny from all quarters, especially my family and circle. Could you expect me to rejoice in formulating such a story, if not for a grave reason, that would connect me to relations whose conditions are so decidedly beneath my own? To congratulate myself on a union with someone with such inferiority of birth?”
“And what about your honour as a gentleman, sir?” Elizabeth moved away from Mr Darcy, a wry smile on her face, “Of course, what is a short dalliance with an insignificant country woman to the honour of the great Mr Darcy!”
Before realizing what he was doing, Darcy grabbed her shoulders with both hands and spun Elizabeth to face him.
“Is that what you think about me, Elizabeth? Are my character, my actions, my… my regards for you so completely misunderstood?”
“Your regards, sir! After declaring the betrothal, from the moment you changed the course of my life, have you ever spared a single moment to talk to me? Did you endeavour to know my feelings? Offer assurance? No. You decided to finalise everything with my father and then left for London - without a single word or a single letter in the days that followed. And now, suddenly on a fine morning, you are here, talking about your misunderstood regards!”
“I… I truly did not understand that you expected such things. I thought… perhaps you needed some space…”
“Oh, it is not merely this affair, Mr Darcy.” Elizabeth continued, “You know I have my reasons. You were speaking of your character, sir. Long before any of these had taken place, my opinion of you was decided. Your character was unfolded in the recital which I received many weeks ago from Mr Wickham.”
Darcy's grip on her shoulders tightened, “You take an eager interest in that gentleman's concerns.”
“Who that knows what his misfortunes have been, can help feeling an interest in him?”
“His misfortunes! Yes, his misfortunes have been great indeed!”
“And of your infliction. You have reduced him to his present state of poverty, comparative poverty, by withholding the advantages, which you must know to have been designed for him. And besides it all, from the very beginning, from the first moment I may almost say, of my acquaintance with you, your manners, impressing with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit and your selfish disdain of the feelings of others, led me to feel, not even a month from when we met, that you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry.”
He felt as if she had struck him.
Mr Darcy dropped his hands and said very slowly, in a voice almost inaudible, “And that is your opinion of me!”
Elizabeth did not answer. But the turning away of her face, her set jaws and hard gaze were sign enough.
Darcy felt the weight of reality settle over them both.
He knew that it would be difficult. Yet in the last few days, he somehow dared to hope that some sort of affection and mutual respect might grow between them in time. It was not unheard of in arranged marriage. He hoped that maybe they could rekindle the moments of joy and passionate banters they had shared during her stay at Netherfield.
But in this chilly winter morning, standing amongst the barren wilderness, with a betrothed so resolute to dislike him strongly (with some of her reasons quite justified), Darcy felt hollow inside and out.
“Forgive me for connecting the course of your life with mine against your will.” He said, “But now we can not take a step back. No matter what we feel, we must maintain the charade - if not of happiness, then of peace. We can not let the scandal escalate. Your reputation, my honour and our family's future, especially that of our sisters’ depend on it.”
He offered his arm.
Without a word, she took it.
Together, they walked back toward Longbourn - each resigned to a future that, for the moment, promised little but unhappiness.
Notes:
Thank you for reading all the way to the end!
I would love to hear your thoughts, especially on the two P&P classic conversations that appear here in new form. These scenes are so iconic that playing with them feels a bit like handling sacred Austen relics... but also too irresistible not to twist just a little!
Did it work for you?
Tell me everything — I’m genuinely curious (and slightly nervous)!Constructive criticism is always welcome. But no personal attacks please.
See you soon.
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