Darcy and Diamonds Read online

  Darcy and Diamonds

  A Pride and Prejudice Variation

  Caitlin Marie Carrington

  Contents

  Cast of Characters

  Untitled

  1. Darcy

  2. Darcy

  3. Elizabeth

  4. Elizabeth

  5. Elizabeth

  6. Elizabeth

  7. Darcy

  8. Elizabeth

  9. Elizabeth

  10. Darcy

  11. Elizabeth

  12. Darcy

  13. Elizabeth

  14. Elizabeth

  15. Elizabeth

  16. Elizabeth

  17. Elizabeth

  18. Darcy

  19. Elizabeth

  20. Darcy

  21. Elizabeth

  22. Elizabeth

  23. Darcy

  24. Elizabeth

  25. Elizabeth

  26. Darcy

  27. Elizabeth

  28. Elizabeth

  29. Elizabeth

  30. Elizabeth

  31. Darcy

  Thank You for Reading

  Also by Caitlin Marie Carrington

  Snowbound with Darcy

  About the Author

  Cast of Characters

  This novel begins at Netherfield, almost eight years after Mr. Darcy first proposed to Elizabeth in the Hunsford parsonage.

  The Bennets

  Mrs. Jane Bennet, widowed

  Jane Bingley, née Bennet, age 28

  Elizabeth Allerton, née Bennet, age 27; widow of Daniel Allerton

  Mary Jannis, née Bennet, age 25; married to Mr. Albert Jannis

  Kitty Hastings, née Bennet, age 24; married to Lieutenant General Martin Hastings

  Lydia Grace, née Bennet, age 22; married to Major General Edward Grace

  The Bingleys

  Charles Bingley, married to Jane Bingley, née Bennet

  Caroline Doughton, née Bingley; married to Mr. Gregor Doughton

  The Darcys

  Fitzwilliam Darcy, age 35

  Lady Edwin Gloucester, née Georgiana Darcy, age 22; widow of Lord Edwin Gloucester

  Colonel Oliver Fitzwilliam, age 38

  “Then I examined my own heart. And there you were. Never, I fear, to be removed.” – Jane Austen

  1

  Darcy

  A warm, early summer rain fell across the earth, soaking the green, rolling hills and vales of Georgiana’s estate. Fitzwilliam Darcy felt a rush of relief as he surveyed the verdant landscape: it was her estate now. Not her arrogant late husband’s. Not his manipulative family’s. Only his dear sister’s.

  She deserved at least this, after having lost her husband so early in their marriage.

  Darcy leaned forward in his seat, trying to survey as much of the land as he could from his swiftly-moving carriage. He knew Georgi would not appreciate his study of the estate, but he’d spent all winter and spring deep in Pemberley’s books and land, as well as the new land he’d purchased in Scotland. It was not a mode of thinking that he could turn off easily. In truth, it had been his life for the past decade—managing estates, fixing everything from fallen fences to intricate contracts. Making things better.

  He’d failed miserably with his own life, and often enough those of her friends and relations.

  He was much better with land and the books. Ordered, rational books. And even when there was a flood or fire or disaster, he knew the steps best taken to fix them. He clenched his fist as the carriage pulled to a stop in front of the great country home. But how could he fix anything in Georgiana’s life now?

  But as the footman raced to open his door, he knew he would have to hide his concern. Yes, her husband had died only two years into their marriage. She must be devastated—all her grand plans, laid waste in one awful instance. But Georgiana had long since stopped showing her emotions freely, to him. Perhaps to anyone.

  Certainly not to her husband.

  Darcy couldn’t blame her. Though she’d married the ideal husband—young, intelligent, whip-smart and the only son of a duke—her light had dimmed in the past two years. Where once Darcy had despaired of his only sister ever entering Society and making a way for herself, he recently had wished she had never married. That she had stayed in her rooms at Pemberley—as she once had been wont to do—forever.

  “Brother.”

  He looked up as the grand front doors opened before him, and there she stood.

  “Georgi,” he said affectionately, opening his arms wide like he used to when he’d come home from school. She’d run full-force at him, throwing herself into his arms and squeezing his neck so tightly he thought he’d stop breathing.

  He’d adored it. Adored her affection, for himself, for the whole, entire world.

  Then Wickham had happened—his old, childhood friend. His enemy. The man who’d almost ruined Georgiana’s life, convincing her to love him, to run away with him. If Darcy hadn’t discovered them that day, in a city on the edge of the ocean, his sister’s life would have been one of sadness and regret and shame.

  Thank God Darcy had found the illicit couple, and stopped Wickham forever. Of course, he’d only done that once he’d seen the perfidious man threatening another family, in another town…

  For a moment, as Darcy turned to direct his valet upstairs, the wet country greenery outside changed, the watercolor greens flowing into half a memory. Of a small town, and a young woman. Her flashing eyes, the tilt of her cheek in candlelight. The feel of her waist as he’d held her, however briefly, as they turned around the ballroom—

  “Would you like to refresh yourself, and then join me for tea in the parlor?”

  Darcy blinked and realized that Georgiana had moved slightly closer to him. She looked lovely but pale in her mourning dress.

  “Gracious, Darcy. You look worse than I.” Then she startled him by laughing and moving closer, slowly enfolding him in a gentle hug.

  “I’m—I’m quite well, dearest. Only concerned about you.”

  She pulled back and looked up at him, her dark eyes so much like his own. “Concerned for me? Whyever for?”

  Darcy stared down at her, trying to see behind the benign politeness. Her late husband, Lord Edwin Gloucester, had not been dead two months. And yet his sister was calm. At ease. On the verge, it seemed, of smiling.

  Had Georgiana lost her senses due to grief?

  Then she startled him even further by rolling her eyes. “Darcy, go take off your muddy boots and meet me in the green room. You are much too serious, brother. Yes, I am in mourning but…well, we shall talk soon. I have much to share.”

  “You seem much changed, Georgi.”

  She smiled mysteriously. “Life is about change, is it not? Hurry now. You’re getting mud on my floors.”

  Darcy’s valet Dawson attended to the offending boots, and soon Darcy trudged upstairs and toward the room he had always used over his past two years of visits. He hadn’t been to Hedgewood Hall since the funeral and was surprised to find the house not quite as somber as he had expected. As he rounded the corner and made his way toward the west wing, he startled two young chambermaids who were actually laughing and skipping from one room to the next.

  The one constant was his valet, Dawson, who most predictably had already unpacked his master’s trunks and set out a change of clothing.

  “Mr. Darcy, sir,” Dawson said by way of greeting as he carefully arranged an assortment of linens. “Would you prefer your black boots or brown?”

  “I’d prefer anything dry and not covered in mud.” Darcy began to undress and stopped suddenly. “Isn’t this room supposed to have red walls?”

  Darcy hadn’t ever liked the blood-red wall coverings in his suite of
rooms, but they’d certainly been distinctive. “Dawson, am I losing my mind—or are we in the wrong room?”

  Dawson coughed politely. “I hear that Lady Gloucester has been…renovating.”

  Darcy frowned. Georgiana, renovating her home not two months after the passing of her husband? Granted, the man had been cold. Not a loving, effusive sort. But this was surprising.

  “Dawson, however do you discover your information? We’ve been here scarcely thirty minutes.”

  As Dawson took Darcy’s riding coat, Darcy could see his valet trying not to smile.

  “I have my ways, Sir.”

  “Indeed,” Darcy said. “I’ve always thought that a good valet keeps his master well-dressed and prepared for anything. But an excellent valet knows how to chat up the chambermaids, is that it?” Dawson was five-and-twenty and more than one London lady had remarked upon the valet’s fine looks. Darcy had not noticed the man’s appearance when hiring him, though after a year together Darcy now appreciated Dawson’s ability to speak with almost anyone and gain their confidences.

  It was an ability that Darcy knew he lacked, completely.

  “I consider it a most enjoyable reconnaissance, Sir.”

  Darcy laughed softly as he finished dressing. “Please make sure it is not too enjoyable.” He paused, staring at the now lemon-yellow walls. “Well, perhaps it is time to do some reconnaissance of my own.” What he did not say aloud was that Georgiana was much changed, along with her house. In fact, the entire house did not seem as if it was in mourning. After Dawson tied a quick, neat cravat, the valet bowed and left the room.

  Darcy moved to the wide windows and stared down onto the gardens and wilderness area behind the house. The land here was more flat and rolling than in Derbyshire. The rains had finally stopped, and sun drenched the wet fields and flowers. In the distance, beyond the neat hedgerows, he could see the beginning of a thick woods.

  It was not like the views from his beloved Pemberley, where the land close to the house was cultivated, but then swiftly grew wild and fierce the further one ventured. Here, with the sunlight melding to the green, the world reminded him, for moment, of…

  Meryton.

  He hadn’t thought of that small town in ages. Not since his old friend Bingley had first let a house in Hertfordshire. Back then, Bingley still looked up to him and sought Darcy’s advice in all manners of things.

  Even women…

  Darcy sighed. He had not appreciated Bingley’s friendship. Not the way he should have. Not until it was gone.

  Dawson had already unpacked his papers and the box holding correspondence and contracts to be examined. Darcy rifled through the thick pile until he found what he was looking for—there, on the bottom, the paper worn and creased, the ink slightly smeared. Bingley’s loose, loping handwriting had not changed, even after seven years.

  Each year for the past three years, Bingley had sent Darcy an invitation to his annual August house party. Before that, a heavy silence had fallen between the two men. Bingley had initiated the end of their friendship, but Darcy knew it was his fault, and his alone.

  This year’s party was in two months’ time, and Darcy knew he should reply. But each time he’d sat down to compose his regrets, his hand had paused. Sometimes a thick, black droplet of ink would fall, glistening, onto the empty page.

  Her eyes had been dark, like the shaded woods. Her smile flashing and mischievous, like a fairy sprite. And the last time he’d seen her, her words—and her heart—had been cold. Cruel.

  And perhaps…justifiably furious.

  Darcy shifted and dropped the letter on his desk. He had no time to dwell on past mistakes and women he no longer knew. He had enough on his plate, handling his sister…who seemed to have turned into a stranger, herself.

  2

  Darcy

  Georgiana’s personal parlor was much the same, though she’d filled the room with white roses. Darcy watched his sister pour tea and set out biscuits for him. She motioned toward a chair opposite her, but he was restless. He’d been trapped in the carriage for more than a day, and he couldn’t sit yet.

  Pacing, his hands slid from a small statuette to the sideboard and back, his fingers trailing along the smooth, polished wood as he spoke. “I’m so sorry I haven’t visited since the funeral.”

  Darcy winced inwardly. He spent too much time alone, and his voice had sounded more gruff and angry than he’d intended. He’d meant to sound kind, caring and patient. But he was none of those things, was he?

  “Ah, my dearest brother. Straight to the point as always. Please, sit. I can’t have you towering above me and fretting. You are entirely too tall and it is disconcerting. You might hit your head on the ceiling or some such nonsense.”

  Darcy gave her a dire look. The ceiling was a good twelve feet tall and he was nowhere near it. Nonetheless, he threw himself into one of her chairs, which seemed made to fit a person half his height. “Apologies, Georgi. I should have learned my lesson by now. I always come off better if I don’t open my mouth.”

  Georgiana raised one eyebrow, a neat trick, and took a delicate sip of tea. “I disagree, but you won’t listen to me.”

  “On the contrary, all I want is to listen to you.”

  She smiled a secret smile. “I amend my response: you will not listen to me, should I attempt to dissect your character. But you will listen at length, if it should give you the opportunity to dissect mine.”

  Darcy stared at his sister. “What a speech, now, Georgi.”

  “Deny it, I dare you!” She laughed suddenly at his open-mouthed shock.

  Darcy shook his head. Where had his retiring, reticent and utterly inoffensive sister gone?

  He rather liked this new girl, but still…what had happened?

  “I am curious. I expected to arrive at a house in mourning. Instead I see skipping maids, flowers in abundance, and one mysteriously content sister.”

  Georgiana frowned and set her teacup down. He knew that look…

  “No, now, don’t become riled. I’m not judging you—” he said.

  “Oh, but you are!” she exclaimed. Georgiana took a deep breath, as if reminding herself to relax. To treat him with kid gloves. Darcy frowned; was she treating him like…a child? When he’d been the one to raise her, bring her up, shield her from the world?

  Well, he and his slightly older cousin, Colonel Oliver Fitzwilliam. They’d been Georgiana’s guardians since his parents had been taken from them, too soon.

  “But I can’t blame you, Darcy. You judge everyone.”

  He sat up, trying to read her tired visage. “Are you angry with me?”

  “No.” She leaned back and put her hand to her head, suddenly looking exhausted. A flash of fear ran through his soul—was she ill?

  “No, I’m not angry, brother. I’m…weary. You do not intend to judge, but how can you stop yourself? You are a Darcy, after all, and king of all you survey.”

  He frowned, disturbed not by her gently mocking words, but by her strange, quicksilver moods. “Don’t let the king hear you say such things.”

  She laughed quietly. “Farmer George and you have much in common, I hear. You both prefer land management to people.”

  “Not entirely fair. Certain people are more interesting than…barley,” Darcy said with a smile. “Or are you implying that I’ve lost my mind, like our dear sovereign?”

  Georgi rolled her eyes, but a smile graced her face again. “No. Of course not. But you might—once you hear what I have to say.”

  Darcy clenched his fist. “Tell me, then. What is going on?”

  She closed her eyes and took a heavy breath. Then she opened those eyes, so like their mother’s, and said softly, “First, I want to thank you, Darcy. I tease you about managing everything and everyone, but if you hadn’t done so—if you hadn’t so clever with my marriage settlement—I might have lost my home after Edwin died. You know his cousins are furious that I’m still here, which I would not be if you had not insisted o
n such a brilliant jointure. I have a house and an income. What a rarity for a woman. What a gift.”

  Tears welled in her eyes. “I cannot be angry with you, brother. Not for you being you. You are strict and unyielding and demanding—it is true. But you do act so out of love. You have always cared for me, and even when you gave me away, you ensured my continued care as best you could. But what you did not foresee, what no one could…is how very much I hated my husband.”

  Darcy sat back in shock. And it was this shock that allowed him to listen quietly, even as anger and rage rumbled like thunder through his soul. The man Georgiana had chosen—the man Darcy had given his blessings to—had appeared to be the very finest sort Society had to offer. Lord Edwin Gloucester had been the only heir to his father’s title. He’d been remarkable at school, respected at the club and Almack’s alike. The rare young man who didn’t waste his father’s money with drink and gambling, and the rare father who wasn’t desperately looking for an heiress to save his family’s estates and bolster their failing fortunes.

  And, Edwin had seemed to truly care for Georgiana.

  But now, as she spoke, she revealed that she had been miserable. Perfect on the outside, hollow to her core.

  “Did he—did he hurt you, Georgi?” Darcy was finally able to grate out, his hand clenching in anger. If Gloucester had touched his sister, he swore to God he’d find a way to kill the dead man all over again.