Epiphany with Tea: A Pride and Prejudice Variation Read online

  Lady Catherine threw up her hands, retaking her seat, arms folded across her chest and her face averted. Mr. Collins all but fell into his chair. Anne looked down at Richard, a deep line marring her brow as she considered him. Finally, she turned toward Darcy and Elizabeth.

  “How am I meant to respond?” she asked, clearly addressing Elizabeth.

  Elizabeth shot Darcy an inscrutable look, sparking worry in him. She turned back to Anne. “There are basically three choices. You can say yes. In your case, I would make it clear you do so contingent on the financial arrangements, since Colonel Fitzwilliam offered them and as you have much at stake.”

  She fell silent, glancing at Darcy again. With a murmur of apology, Richard pulled himself to his feet, retaking the chair beside Anne. He held out a hand. She took it without looking, seeming almost unaware she did so. Richard, Darcy realized, had been looking after Anne for a long time. True, only when he was visiting, but he visited often. More often than Darcy did.

  “What are the other two choices?” Anne prompted.

  “You can say you need to think it over, in which case you would politely offer a time limit. The time limit shouldn’t be more than a day or two. You can’t expect to hold him hanging.” Elizabeth pursed her lips. “Or, you can say no. In that case, you should thank him for the honor of his proposal. It is an honor, even if both gentlemen went about it in an exceedingly odd way and keep taking liberties with our persons.”

  She tugged slightly and Darcy quickly released her hand, feeling a bit ill-used by the reprimand. Then again, she hadn’t said yes yet, so he had no right to her person. Did her removal of her hand signal she would decline? A harsh weight settled in the pit of his stomach.

  “What do you plan to do?” Anne asked.

  Darcy noticed Anne didn’t reclaim her hand. He cast a sideways look at Elizabeth, catching the pitying glance she was directing toward him. She was going to say no, he realized. He couldn’t permit it. Elizabeth, he’d come to appreciate, had a stubborn streak. If he let her refuse him, it would be difficult to change her mind. He shook off the panic trying to freeze his tongue, speaking before she could. “She is going to do the same thing you are, Anne. She is going to listen in private, voice whatever objections she has, explain her motives, ask me any questions, and then make an informed decision. This is too important to do without thought.” Lady Catherine let out a derisive snort, but Darcy ignored her, pressing on. “Anne, you’ve known Richard all of your life, but you probably have questions for him as well, in light of this possible change in your relationship.” He turned to face Elizabeth, proffering his arm. “Come, Miss Bennet, let’s walk in the shrubbery. I’m sure Anne and Richard can find a place for their conversation as well.”

  “None of you will walk anywhere,” Lady Catherine said, but her tone was more peevish than angry. “You shall drop this nonsense and remain here.”

  Her expression thoughtful, Elizabeth accepted Darcy’s arm.

  “Anne,” Richard said, standing. “Would you care to walk in the garden with me?”

  “She would not care to.” Lady Catherine’s tone had regained some of its earlier vehemence. “Anne, I am still your mother. I raised you. You will remain in your seat.”

  “I would love to walk in the garden, Richard, thank you,” Anne said, rising to take the arm he offered. “Or should I call you Colonel Fitzwilliam, as we are not truly cousins?” She shot Lady Catherine a venomous look.

  “I would prefer Richard.”

  Lady Catherine raised a slightly shaking hand to her brow. “This is some kind of inexplicable joke. You have all conspired to make light of me.”

  Ignoring his aunt, Darcy led Elizabeth from the room. Behind them, he could hear Anne and Richard following.

  “But it’s going to rain.” Mr. Collins protest followed them down the hall.

  Present Day, December, Pemberley . . .

  Elizabeth watched Darcy over her teacup, employing the delicate porcelain to conceal her smile as his gaze grew abstract. After ten happy years, she knew that look well. He was evaluating, thinking, considering. It was a small victory, for his evaluation may not come out in her favor. She knew, though, that she’d chosen her words well. Darcy was as aware as she of the pitfalls of judging someone without knowing them.

  She understood Darcy’s reluctance, likely better than any other person could. Mr. Wickham had overshadowed Darcy his entire childhood. He’d been a charming, pretty boy and a favorite of Darcy’s father. Elizabeth had never met the previous master of Pemberley, and never confided her feelings about him to her husband, but she didn’t quite like the man. What sort of father made his shy, serious son feel he wasn’t as good as the brash, amiable child of another?

  Elizabeth’s smile grew. It amused her that she could speak of not judging people one wasn’t familiar with, her manner infused with righteousness, and then condemn the late Mr. Darcy in her thoughts. Still, in a way she was familiar with him, through his children. Of course, in that case, she must love him, for Darcy and Georgiana were wonderful people, with firm moral characters, and who brought great happiness into her life.

  Composing her features, Elizabeth lowered her cup. Darcy was well into thought now. She could see it in his abstract gaze. She hoped he would agree to meet young George, at least. He was, as she’d said, a good lad. He showed little of his parents’ wildness and was always polite and happy to see Elizabeth when she visited. In truth, he reminded her more of her sister Jane than of Lydia or Wickham, though in his features he somewhat resembled his father.

  She studied Darcy’s face, even more handsome than when they’d married. While she feared the passing years were adding lines to hers, though most were lines of laughter, they’d merely added greater consequence to Darcy’s visage. As she watched, his lips turned up slightly in a smile, and she couldn’t help but mirror it.

  Elizabeth ran an idle finger over the roses circling her teacup. She used the set often, and had taken special care to ensure it was out today. It was her favorite, for it reminded her of one of the happiest days of her life, the one when she’d realized she loved Darcy. She had no way to know if it brought the same memories to him, but the roses always invoked a feeling of joy in her heart, and she’d wanted that today.

  Retrieving her silverware, she took a bite of her now cooled food, turning her gaze out the window. She loved the grounds of Pemberley, which were stunning even now, snow kissed. Perhaps, if the day went well, she would take the children for a walk later, and Darcy would join them. He’d promised to throw snowballs with their son, and make a snowman with little Jane, and he would. Darcy always kept his promises. It was one of the things she loved about him.

  Her eyes tracing the white-iced branches, Elizabeth’s mind turned to a different walk, on a different grounds. It was spring then. A beautiful, perfect spring day. A day on which she’d been misjudging Darcy terribly, and it hadn’t rained.

  Over Nine Years Earlier, April 1813, Rosings . . .

  Elizabeth walked through the grounds of Rosings in silence, her hand resting lightly on Mr. Darcy’s arm. She was waiting for him to tender an apology for involving her in his family’s tumult, or to beg her forgiveness for subjecting her to his charade. Perhaps she would even tease him a bit by pretending she believed his proposal.

  She glanced at him askance, taking in his serious expression. He didn’t look as if he’d appreciate being teased. In truth, the idea didn’t appeal to her. His proposal had seemed much to sincere to make light of.

  Yes, it had felt very sincere and, for a moment, she’d believed. Then logic had asserted itself. Mr. Darcy’s proposal couldn’t be an honest one. He barely knew her, or she him. She shook her head. The very idea was ridiculous. The grand Mr. Darcy, who found her only tolerable, would never lower himself to proposing marriage to her, a mere country girl. More than likely, he’d felt secure in making her play a part in his little drama because he imagined she would know there was no possibility he was sincerely inter
ested in someone as low as he saw her to be.

  Still, he had proposed, and before witnesses. Elizabeth would never ruin both of their lives by forcing him into a union, but she would use his imprudent behavior to some advantage. She had before her the perfect opportunity to improve the circumstances of her friend Mr. Wickham, for surely Mr. Darcy owed her something by way of apology for his behavior. Adopting a casual bearing she said, “I understand the living willed to Mr. Wickham was given to someone else. Don’t you feel he should be compensated for the loss?”

  “You mean by more than the three thousand pounds he already received?” Mr. Darcy asked, frowning slightly.

  “Three thousand pounds,” she exclaimed, momentarily taken aback. Could that possibly be true? “He never mentioned receiving that.”

  “I don’t have the document he signed giving up the living with me, of course, but Colonel Fitzwilliam knows about it. Please ask him.”

  Elizabeth stopped, pulling away from him. She turned to scrutinize his face. He appeared sincere enough, but this was a man who had, moments ago, put on a very convincing show of asking for her hand in marriage. “I don’t believe you.”

  His frown deepened. “Then I repeat, ask Colonel Fitzwilliam. I believe he’s in the garden.” Mr. Darcy turned and headed toward the garden, walking rapidly. Elizabeth kept up with him, her certainty that he was lying diminishing in the face of his assurance.

  They found Colonel Fitzwilliam and Miss de Bourgh seated opposite each other on a set of low stone benches enshrouded by an arbor of climbing roses. It was obvious they were conversing, but broke off before Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy drew near enough to hear, turning to watch their approach. Miss de Bourgh looked back and forth between them, a line of confusion marring her brow.

  “Miss Bennet, Darcy,” Colonel Fitzwilliam greeted, standing as they drew near. “May we be of some service to you?”

  “Richard, please tell Miss Bennet why Mr. Wickham didn’t receive the family living my father willed him,” Mr. Darcy said, his lack of preamble conveying more disquiet than his expression did.

  “Because he received three thousand pounds to give it up,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said promptly, aiming an assessing look at Elizabeth. “It was Mr. Wickham’s idea.”

  She didn’t know what to say. Though she didn’t want to believe Mr. Wickham had so grossly misled her, or that she may have so vastly misunderstood Mr. Darcy, Colonel Fitzwilliam seemed sincere as well. Furthermore, he’d given the same information Mr. Darcy had, without prompting.

  “Thank you. I’m sorry to interrupt.” Mr. Darcy bowed to his cousins before turning to face Elizabeth, proffering his arm.

  “Then, when Darcy refused to give Mr. Wickham the living after the incumbent died, he tried to persuade Darcy’s sister to elope with him,” Miss de Bourgh said before Elizabeth could decide if she wished to take the offered arm or not.

  Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam both spun to face Miss de Bourgh, wearing matching expressions of shock.

  Miss de Bourgh, however, was looking at Elizabeth, her face serious. “That was last year, when Georgiana Darcy was only fifteen.”

  “How do you know that?” Colonel Fitzwilliam asked, his words clipped.

  “She told me.”

  If anything, both men appeared even more surprised.

  Miss de Bourgh shrugged her narrow shoulder. “Well, she had to talk to someone. You and Darcy weren’t talking to her about it, except to repeatedly tell her it wasn’t her fault. She needed someone to sympathize with her, not tell her she was too young to be responsible for her actions.”

  Mr. Darcy’s expression turned hard. “You will not go about sharing Georgiana’s shame, Anne.”

  “You’re being the fool Mother labeled you, Darcy,” Miss de Bourgh said with more spirit than Elizabeth would have credited her. “I’m not going about it. I’m telling the woman you hope to marry, because she doesn’t like you much and a large part of that dislike stems from her erroneous perception of Mr. Wickham and his relationship with you.”

  It was Elizabeth’s turn to be shocked. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Mrs. Collins often needs someone to talk with too,” Miss de Bourgh said, her expression smug.

  Elizabeth had no notion of what to say to that, at least not to the three people she was with. She could think of several things to say to Charlotte, none of them very courteous.

  Miss de Bourgh turned back to Colonel Fitzwilliam. “Now, Richard, I believe you were telling me about why you should resign your commission.”

  “Ah, yes, right,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said. Giving them an apologetic shrug, he retook his seat.

  His face a mask, Mr. Darcy offered his arm once more. This time, Elizabeth took it. With long strides, he led them back to their original path. They walked in silence while Elizabeth attempted to comprehend Miss de Bourgh’s and Colonel Fitzwilliam’s words. Not only was Mr. Wickham a cad and Mr. Darcy not a brute, but, as unbelievable as it seemed, Mr. Darcy had obviously meant his proposal.

  Elizabeth drew in a deep breath. Apparently, she owed Mr. Darcy an apology. “I’m sorry. I misjudged you.”

  “It was understandable. You did not know me and had only Wickham’s words on the subject. I realize he is charming.” He raised his face, appearing to study the sky. “Anne said Wickham was a large part of why you don’t like me.” Did she imagine the pain in his voice as he spoke? “What other parts are there?”

  “I’d rather not say. No good can come of it.” Even had she still thought Mr. Darcy the monster Wickham painted him as, there was no reason to torment him.

  “Miss Bennet, I don’t mean to give up my pursuit of you quite so easily,” Mr. Darcy said, to her surprise. “I believe honesty is our only course, and am willing to try it even if it hurts my chances that you will accept my proposal. If I confess to doing something that cannot at all please you, will you share your grievances so I may have a chance to refute them?”

  Elizabeth mulled over his words, turning her head to contemplate his profile. Her first thought was to refuse to discuss the matter further. She did not care for Mr. Darcy and therefore did not wish to marry him. But what if her dislike was woven of figments, as Miss de Bourgh implied? If so, he deserved fresh evaluation. If his proposal was not an act, then it seemed, astonishing as it was, that he did love her.

  He loved her enough to propose to her, in spite of her lack of connections or funds. To propose to her before his relations, and bare his feelings for all to see, even his tyrannical aunt. Elizabeth had spoken to Miss de Bourgh of the passion a man should bring to a union. Mr. Darcy had shown her that passion, in spades.

  Not to mention, when one wasn’t busy abhorring him, he was rather handsome. Tall, too, with a fine frame. Elizabeth felt her face heat slightly and she dropped her gaze to the path. “Assuming your confession is of a nature comparably momentous to mine, I agree. We shall trade, but as this is your proposal, you will not mind going first.”

  He smiled slightly. “I will mind, but I will also agree.” He cleared his throat, tugging at his cravat. “I discouraged Mr. Bingley from proposing to your eldest sister.”

  “I suspected as much,” she said, not masking the anger in her tone. “Why?”

  “The most cogent reason is that I didn’t think she loved him.”

  “She did.” Anyone who knew Jane well could see that.

  “She seemed, well, too serene to be in love.”

  Elizabeth clenched her fists, trying to keep control of her anger. He didn’t speak again, apparently waiting on her. Though thoughts of Jane’s sorrow twisted her heart, Elizabeth took a steadying breath. She would not fall into the trap of judging too quickly yet again. She cast Mr. Darcy another appraising look.

  He said Jane had seemed too serene. Is that how her sister appeared to others? Elizabeth had spoken with Charlotte about that very issue. They’d discussed how little Jane showed her feelings. Charlotte’s opinion seemed, in fact, to mirror Mr. Darcy’s, and Charlotte did
know Jane well. Not as well as Elizabeth knew her sister, but then, no one did. She finally said, “You have a point. You said most cogent. What were your other reasons?”

  “One reason was a mistaken one. I realized that today. Who knew that tea at Rosings would bring such enlightenment?” This last he said in a low voice, as if speaking to himself, his gaze still turned upward. “I realized, for the first time, that most people justifiably dislike Lady Catherine. I could list her faults, but you probably know them better than I do. I don’t see them, because she is family. I could see the faults in your family because they weren’t mine. It was only when I seriously considered marrying you that I found those faults forgivable. I now realize that if I marry you, your family will become mine, and I will accept them as I do Lady Catherine. Before I fell in love with you, I could not accept your relatives, and I thought Mr. Bingley would dislike them enough that any chance at finding happiness with your sister would be ruined by them. Clearly, I was wrong in that. If loving you permits me to feel acceptance toward your family, Bingley would have no trouble doing so. He is a much more accepting person than I am. I’m certain he would come to care for them.”

  It took all of Elizabeth’s concentration not to trip over her own feet during Mr. Darcy’s speech. Did he realize he’d said he loved her? Twice. Her cheeks felt as if they were on fire, though her feelings were in too much turmoil for her to know if it was embarrassment or some other emotion that burned there. She was glad he wasn’t looking at her. She tried to marshal her thoughts, realizing she needed to respond. “That seems convoluted,” she finally said.