Believing in Darcy: A Pride and Prejudice Variation Read online

  “Maria,” Mrs. Collins said, her tone slightly sharp.

  “I’m sorry,” Miss Lucas said. “But I promised Mama I would read Romeo and Juliet. I read most of it, but thought I would finish it on the journey. You know how she’ll question me. I have to read the end.”

  “They both die,” Darcy said, dryly. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Elizabeth’s smile.

  “Oh, no.” Miss Lucas turned wide eyes on him.

  “I read it a long time ago,” Darcy said with a shrug. “Still, I believe I remember the first scene says as much.”

  Miss Lucas was still watching him with round eyes. Mrs. Collins took the book from her and opened it to the beginning. “A pair of star-crossed lovers take their lives.”

  “I did read the beginning. I suppose I didn’t believe it would really end that way,” Miss Lucas said. “That’s so sad.”

  “It was sad for them to marry,” Mrs. Collins said with asperity.

  Across from her, Elizabeth raised her eyebrows, but didn’t comment. When she saw Darcy looking at her, she turned her head slightly away, toward the window.

  “Why was it sad for them to marry?” Miss Lucas asked. “They were in love.”

  “Like Mr. Darcy, I read it years ago, but I wonder that they would have any money. If their parents disowned them for the marriage, they would be poor,” Mrs. Collins said. “I don’t think the spoiled only children of rich parents would cope well with that.”

  “Let’s suppose money isn’t the issue,” Elizabeth said, turning back. “Assume they have that.”

  Darcy hid a smile. Perhaps Elizabeth was trying to keep him at arm’s length, at least it appeared that way, but she couldn’t forgo a philosophical discussion.

  “Then they would certainly be happy,” Miss Lucas said. “They loved each other very much. Enough to defy their families.”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “Defy them, yes, but forgo them forever? If they were disowned by both of their families, would they be happy? Would their love for each other be enough without all of their other connections?”

  “Doesn’t a woman often give up her family after she marries?” Darcy asked.

  That earned him a hard look from Elizabeth.

  “I certainly didn’t give up mine,” Mrs. Collins said. She nodded toward her sister. “Mr. Collins accepted my family.” She turned a smile on Elizabeth. “And my friends.” Her smile turned rueful. “Even if he felt scorned by them. I suppose it’s because he didn’t have many connections of his own to add to our lives. The only remaining family he had is his younger brother, who I met but once.”

  “I didn’t know Mr. Collins had a brother,” Darcy said. He frowned, his mind going to the entail and Mrs. Collins probably state.

  “He didn’t speak of him often, but they corresponded regularly,” Mrs. Collins said. “They are very different, even though his brother is also a clergyman.” She turned to Darcy. “His living is in Derbyshire.”

  “Where?” Darcy asked. His home was in Derbyshire. Did he know the man?

  “East Lambton,” she said.

  “That’s not ten miles from Pemberley.” Darcy knew of a Mr. Collins of East Lambton who was a clergyman. It hadn’t occurred to him the man, well regarded, could be a relation to Elizabeth’s sycophantic cousin. Different indeed. “I’ve heard of him. He is well liked.” He noticed Elizabeth raised her eyebrows ever so slightly in skepticism.

  “So, perhaps it was wrong of Romeo and Juliet to try to marry?” Miss Lucas said. “They didn’t have money of their own, and they likely would be sad to give up their families.” She sighed, but then smiled. “If you’ve all read it, maybe you can tell me how they die?”

  They did, all three of them offering Miss Lucas details they remembered. Having broken the conversational ice, they proceeded to talk about books for much of the rest of the journey. Darcy was surprised to find Elizabeth had read a translation of Herodotus. They talked about it for some time. Elizabeth had a knack of bringing Mrs. Collins and Miss Lucas into the conversation by retelling some of the interesting stories that Herodotus had told. By the time they reached Hertfordshire, Darcy had to admit to himself that it had been an altogether pleasant journey.

  Chapter Five

  “I can’t see how he can be happy to inherit a property that doesn’t belong to him,” Mrs. Bennet said.

  Elizabeth didn’t bother pointing out that whatever anyone inherited hadn’t belonged to them.

  Elizabeth couldn’t read Charlotte’s face as they approached the familiar sight of Lucas Lodge, though Maria was clearly excited to be home. The carriage came to a halt and they all disembarked in the yard. Lady Lucas and Sir William were outside hugging Charlotte almost as soon as she descended from the carriage. Mr. Darcy’s ever-efficient servants quickly unloaded all the luggage except Elizabeth’s. She briefly greeted Charlotte’s parents, and then Mr. Darcy helped her back into the carriage, which took her home. To her relief, for she didn’t know how to behave around him after his proposal and letter, he did not accompany her.

  Elizabeth meant to spend the short ride in anticipation of seeing her family. Instead, her mind kept returning to Mr. Darcy, his face expressionless, as he handed her into his carriage. She was surprised he’d brought her, Charlotte and Maria home, along with the wagon for Charlotte’s possessions. He’d been nothing but helpful and polite since Mr. Collins’ death.

  She had misjudged him. She could admit that. Not in every way, but in some. Most importantly, she’d errored in believing Mr. Wickham’s words about Mr. Darcy and permitting those words to color her perception of him.

  Perhaps she owned him an apology. With all he was doing for Charlotte, she certainly owed him civility. Her misconceptions notwithstanding, though, he’d still separated Jane and Mr. Bingley. He’d crushed another person’s happiness because he believed that person beneath his friend and, apparently, capable of mercenary behavior when it came to securing a wealthy husband. Worse, the person was her sister Jane, her favorite sister and the sweetest individual ever to walk the English countryside.

  Elizabeth frowned in displeasure. No, she didn’t owe him an apology, unless he owed her one. For his treatment of Jane and, indeed, his views on her entire family. If he elected to apologize for those things, she would do the same, for judging him too quickly and for listening to Mr. Wickham.

  A wry smile turned up her lips. She didn’t know why she was borrowing so much worry. It wasn’t as if she’d be called on to be much in Mr. Darcy’s presence. He was planning to remain in Hertfordshire only a day, and unlikely to seek her out. He must find her company quite distasteful now, in view of her refusal of him and her harsh words.

  Her smile brightened as the carriage brought her down the short lane to Longbourn. She jumped out when it halted, not bothering to wait for the footman. Her mother and three of her sisters hurried out to greet her. Her mother gave orders for her luggage while her sisters, Mary, Kitty and Lydia, hugged her. If only Jane hadn’t been in London and her father bothered to come out to greet her, all things would have been perfect.

  “Lizzy,” Mrs. Bennet said, holding open her arms.

  Elizabeth knew better than to actually embrace her mother. What Mrs. Bennet required was a mock hug and a light kiss on the cheek. Anything else and she would complain of abuse to her gown and hair.

  “Mama,” Elizabeth said, administering her greeting.

  “Whose carriage is that?” her mother asked, looking to where Elizabeth’s cases were being unloaded. “It’s very fine. Surely, it isn’t Charlotte’s.”

  “It’s Mr. Darcy’s,” Elizabeth said. “I wrote as much when I told Papa I was coming home. He didn’t mention it to you?”

  Mrs. Bennet shook her head, her expression oddly troubled. Then it cleared to a smile. “He did say that Mr. Collins is dead. I’ve never been so happy to hear of a man’s passing in all my life.”

  “Mama,” Mary gasped.

  “Well, I haven’t.” As usual, Mrs. Bennet d
idn’t seem to repent her words. “I can’t abide the thought of that man here in Longbourn someday.”

  “Well, now he never will be,” Elizabeth assured her. She took mild pleasure in adding, “Instead, his younger brother will.”

  Mrs. Bennet flew into a fit at the news Mr. Collins had a younger brother. Kitty and Lydia helped her inside to lie down in the front parlor, Elizabeth and Mary following. Mrs. Bennet railed against entails at length. She also mentioned Mr. Bennet’s disagreeable tendency not to tell her anything, saying he must know there was a second Mr. Collins.

  Elizabeth could only agree to that. Her father must know, and had kept the information to himself. He was often like that, though. Once they had her mother settled, Mr. Darcy’s carriage and servants long since departed, she asked, “Where is Papa?”

  The room went oddly still. Mrs. Bennet lifted the kerchief she’d placed over her eyes. “He’s resting and not to be disturbed.”

  Elizabeth suppressed a sigh. She looked forward to seeing her father. His resting was likely a sham, an excuse to remove himself from his wife and younger daughters, and didn’t apply to her. She wondered if anyone had even told him she was home.

  “Come, Lizzy, we’ll help you unpack,” Mary said, taking her hand and tugging her toward the parlor door.

  “Yes, go settle in,” her mother said, dropping the lace-edged square back over her eyes. “Leave your poor mother. There’s nothing to be done for me. Nothing any of you are willing to do, at least, especially Lizzy. Only, think, if you’d married Mr. Collins, we would all be safe, but no, you must be contrary, Elizabeth. You must always think only of yourself. You . . .”

  Her mother’s words faded as Elizabeth quit the room, her sisters with her.

  “I think Lizzy did the right thing,” she heard Kitty say, on the steps behind her. “I wouldn’t have married him.”

  “He didn’t ask you,” Lydia said.

  “He didn’t ask you, either, Lydia,” Mary reminded her.

  Though she was disappointed not to see her father, Elizabeth nearly relished her sisters’ bickering. She knew, soon enough, it would come to annoy her, but for now, it was pleasant to be home. Once they reached the room she shared with Jane, Elizabeth unpacked while her sisters hung about the room, catching her up on local gossip.

  Lydia and Kitty were mainly interested in what was going on with the regiment. Lydia was becoming good friends with Colonel Forster’s wife, who seemed to be as silly as Lydia and almost as young. Mr. Wickham’s name came up, but no more frequently than the names of the other officers. Elizabeth now believed Mr. Wickham was a deceiver and someone to be avoided. She was pleased he wasn’t more prominent in Lydia’s and Kitty’s reminiscences.

  “It’s too bad Jane is staying in London,” Kitty said. “The regiment may be gone before she returns.”

  Elizabeth paused in the act of shaking out one of her dresses, surprised. “I thought she would return soon after I arrived home. The Gardiners could send a maid with her.”

  “Papa wrote and told her to stay,” Lydia said. “He’s acting strangely. He told Mama she can’t invite guests. He wants the dinners to be simpler. He wouldn’t advance her any money, like he used to. She’s very angry with him.”

  Elizabeth felt that sufficiently explained the strange silence when she’d asked after her father. It seemed he was, at long last, attempting to rein in her mother’s extravagance. She was curious to ask him why, but respected his house-wide request not to be disturbed.

  It wasn’t until dinner she finally saw her father. Elizabeth tried to cover her shock as she went to greet him. He didn’t look well. He’d lost weight and his skin had an ashen hue. Taking her seat, she felt a tendril of dread twist its way around her heart.

  “Now, Lizzy, tell us how Mr. Collins passed,” Mrs. Bennet said once the meal began. “Likely you wrote of it, but Mr. Bennet doesn’t see fit to share his correspondence with the rest of us, much as he never shared the fact that there’s a younger Mr. Collins.” She glared down the table at her husband.

  Elizabeth turned to her father, gauging from his lack of reaction that he already knew about Mr. Collins the younger, assuming he’d heard his wife’s words. Her father’s expression was abstract. He picked at his food. Elizabeth hadn’t yet seen him eat any.

  In fact, Elizabeth had not provided details of Mr. Collins’ death in her letter. She considered doing so macabre. She’d fully expected to be forced to describe the event, however, given the nature of her mother. She was careful as she did so to make no mention of the switch in who took the medicine, describing Mr. Collins’ death as an accidental overdose. There was no reason to begin a rumor that Lady Catherine had tried to kill Charlotte.

  “And now he’s dead, some horrible second son will inherit our home,” Mrs. Bennet wailed. “It’s not fair, that a younger brother can inherit what isn’t rightfully his.” Her lips pressed into a mutinous line. “I don’t believe it. There’s someone pretending to be another Mr. Collins.”

  Elizabeth turned to her mother. “Charlotte met him. He visited for several days in February. He’s also a clergyman, and lives somewhere in Derbyshire.”

  “I can’t see how he can be happy to inherit a property that doesn’t belong to him,” Mrs. Bennet said.

  Elizabeth didn’t bother pointing out that whatever anyone inherited hadn’t belonged to them. She had tried to explain the nature of the entail to her mother before. She saw no reason to repeat it now. Instead, she changed the topic to the first thing that came to her mind. “It was very kind of Mr. Darcy to bring me, Charlotte and Maria back.”

  That caused a rambling list of Mr. Darcy’s failings in the eyes of her mother and younger sisters. Elizabeth found few she agreed with, but let them speak. She was too worried about her father to pay them much heed. It wasn’t until after dinner that she had a chance to speak with him.

  He asked her to come into the library, leading the way there as her mother and sisters returned to the parlor. As shocked as Elizabeth was to see her father looking unhealthy, the library shocked her more. Nearly all the books were gone. She stood in the middle of the room, flummoxed, while he crossed to seat himself behind the desk.

  “Why?” She felt no need to elaborate.

  “Sit down,” Mr. Bennet said, gesturing to the chair across from him.

  Elizabeth sat, the lack of books leaving her thoughts as she took in his haggard expression. “What is it, Papa?”

  “I am dying.” She started to protest, but he put up a hand. “The doctor isn’t sure what it is, but I am in constant pain and it’s getting worse. I’ve never saved enough money for you and your sisters. Some of it went into books. Mr. Gardiner is selling them in London. He will keep the money. When I die, it will be used to add to Mrs. Bennet’s capital and thus her income.”

  “When you die?” Elizabeth whispered, a strange numbness enveloping her.

  “It may not be for some weeks. I may have months, but I’m pretty certain I don’t have years.”

  If he had written this to her, she wouldn’t have believed him. She didn’t want to believe him now, but seeing him, with lines of pain on his face that had never been there before, she had the dreadful feeling it was true. “Who knows?” she asked, her voice little more than a murmur, as if giving volume to the words would make them more real.

  Her father ran a hand over his pale, haggard face. “The Gardiners. They haven’t told Jane or she would find a way to come here. Mr. Phillips knows, but he hasn’t told Mrs. Phillips. My doctor knows, and now you.”

  Elizabeth drew in a shaky breath. She was glad her uncles knew. She understood letting Mrs. Gardiner know but not Mrs. Phillips, who would undoubtedly let the whole neighborhood know. A small part of her whispered that, if no one else found out, it would turn out not to be true. Her father would recover and they would laugh, putting it all behind them. They would return to a closeness of shared talks about books . . . though the books were gone . . . they exchanging exasperated looks
when her mother procured extravagances . . . they would . . .

  Elizabeth shook her head, feeling as if her thoughts moved through honey. “My sisters told me you aren’t allowing Mama to entertain,” she said, realizing she should have thought more of their news.

  He let out a long sigh. “Every pound saved means a shilling of income if the money is properly invested. Mr. Gardiner and Mr. Phillips both know how to do that. They are joint executors of my will.”

  She stared at him for a long moment. She wanted to deny his words. She wanted to run from the room. Most of all, she didn’t want it to be true. “Mama must have guessed something is wrong.”

  “She thinks I’m malingering. Let her have her illusions. I can cope with them better than having her berate me for not leaving her enough money. Help me in this.”

  She agreed. What else could she do?

  ***

  The next few weeks were difficult for Elizabeth. Her father slept a lot. When she’d been home nearly a month, he started taking laudanum. The part of her that still clung to the belief he would recover wilted and died the day she found the small bottle of sticky dark liquid at his bedside. Her father hated laudanum. He’d always said it was addictive. She realized he didn’t care anymore.

  The neighborhood was abuzz with the news Charlotte was with child. Before word got out, she’d come to tell Elizabeth over tea. Elizabeth wasn’t sure if she was happy for her friend. A child was always a blessing, but having no living father for a child was difficult for a woman.

  It was all Elizabeth could do to muster cheer for Charlotte when she heard the news. Elizabeth knew it was partially her father’s state that made her so grim. At least she now knew what secret her friend had been keeping from her, and the source of Charlotte’s ill health.

  The news came that Colonel Forster’s regiment would be leaving for Brighton. Lydia was invited by Mrs. Forster to go with them, as her particular friend. Kitty was jealous, but that wasn’t surprising. Both Mrs. Bennet and Lydia were unhappy when Mr. Bennet’s permission hinged on limiting the amount of money given to Lydia, but otherwise pleased he encouraged her to go.