by Jennifer Joy
Win, Lose, or Darcy
A Pride & Prejudice Variation
Jennifer joy
“Win, Lose, or Darcy: A Pride & Prejudice Variation”
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems — except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews — without permission in writing from its publisher, Jennifer Joy.
This is a work of fiction. The characters, locations, and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Published by Jennifer Joy
Facebook: Jennifer Joy
Twitter: @JenJoywrites
Email: [email protected]
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Copyright © 2016 Jennifer Joy
All rights reserved.
ISBN-13: 978-1-944795-76-4
Thank you, dear readers, for providing me with endless inspiration!
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Epilogue
Thank you!
About the Author
Other Books by Jennifer Joy
Chapter 1
Netherfield Ball
“Oh, Charlotte. Could this evening possibly be any worse? I am sorely tempted to make my way to the library where I may hide between the pages of a novel.” Elizabeth puffed a loose tendril of hair out of her eyes.
“I have been your friend for too many years to believe that you would hide from any problem,” Charlotte said with a glint in her eye. She struggled not to smile.
“You dare laugh at my predicament? Some friend you are,” teased Elizabeth. “You must admit that it is particularly dreadful this evening.” She fiddled with her earring and looked nervously around the room.
“Why do you say that? Your family is not acting any differently from the way they usually do. It is only the company they expose themselves to that has changed.”
“You take advantage of our friendship to speak so plainly. However, you are right, so I will forgive you.”
Charlotte did not appear in the least bit affected— not that Elizabeth expected it of her. What was the value of a true friend if she could not speak her mind?
Taking a deep breath and relaxing her arms at her sides, Elizabeth added, “First, I find out that Mr. Wickham is in London— a trip which he no doubt made in a vain effort to appease Mr. Darcy, the very man who has treated him with contempt.” She twisted her fingers and stabbed her toe to the floor. “I had so looked forward to dancing with him.”
Charlotte furled her brow and lowered her voice. “You do not love Mr. Wickham, do you?”
Elizabeth conjured an image of the gentleman in her mind’s eye. He looked dashing in his regimental uniform. With his tall, lean frame and fashionably wavy, unkempt hair, he had the admiration of every maiden in Meryton. His conversation was exceptionally entertaining— the perfect mixture of wit and sarcasm. But he did nothing to stir her heart.
Elizabeth sighed. “I do not love him. More is the pity.”
“I find it rather convenient how popular Mr. Wickham has become after airing his account of the injustices he claims to have suffered at the hand of Mr. Darcy.” Charlotte watched her out of the corner of her eyes.
Elizabeth shivered. “What a disagreeable man.”
“Have you confirmed Mr. Wickham’s accusations with Mr. Darcy?” asked Charlotte.
“Of course not! Though if it comes up in conversation, I shall give Mr. Darcy the opportunity to defend himself.”
“Defend himself? You have already cast your judgment against him?”
“And why should I not when I know very well that he has been judging my family all evening?” She looked across the room where Lydia giggled and whispered into an officer’s ear. “And what a night it has been,” she groaned.
“Even then, I could have sworn that Mr. Darcy was going to ask you for a dance— an honor, considering that he has yet to engage in the activity. I dare say you will find him very agreeable on further acquaintance.”
“Heaven forbid! That would be the greatest misfortune of all. To find a man agreeable whom I am determined to hate. Do not wish me such an evil.”
“Still, you must have left a favorable impression on him.”
“I cannot imagine how. I have avoided dancing with him on two occasions and have done nothing to encourage his friendship. When I stayed here to care for Jane during her illness, he hardly spoke to me. And when he did speak, we could not agree on much of anything.”
Undeterred, Charlotte said, “He was walking this way.”
“Until Mother’s boast echoed through Mr. Bingley’s marble halls of how she had saved enough money to buy a full share of a lottery ticket at the book shop. As if that is something to boast about! I saw the disapproval on Mr. Darcy’s face as he promptly turned away. He must think my family to be the most ridiculous in all of Hertfordshire.”
Charlotte looked at Elizabeth out of the corner of her eye. “For one so determined to hate the gentleman, you seem abnormally disturbed by his opinion of your family.”
Elizabeth gave Charlotte her best glare. “Some friend you are.”
“I am your best friend and I thank you never to forget it,” said Charlotte with mock pride, making Elizabeth laugh in earnest.
“I do know it! And as you observed, Mr. Darcy does not seem inclined to dance this evening, and so I shall be spared from having to refuse him.” She giggled behind her hand until she saw Charlotte’s face freeze, her eyes fixed on something behind Elizabeth.
She felt the heat rush to her face. Elizabeth clasped her hands together to keep some level of composure before turning to curtsy to Mr. Darcy. Had he heard her comment? She examined him for any telltale sign of emotion.
His tanned hands fixed tensely at the sides of his black breeches, his firm chin jutting out proudly over his perfectly tied white cravat and cream waistcoat, his intense blue eyes as cold as the stream she swam in to escape the heat of the summer… They told her nothing that she did not already know. Mr. Darcy was a haughty, emotionless bore.
The clatter of glasses behind Mr. Darcy pulled her away from the depths of his gaze and silenced the words he opened his mouth to utter. The timing was perfect. She had met his stare long enough— had lost herself in it if she were being completely honest with herself. Infuriating man!
As her vision focused past Mr. Darcy’s towering shoulder, she cringed. The distraction was not a welcome one after all.
Mr. Collins came barreling up behind Mr. Darcy, nearly colliding with a servant carrying a tray of empty glasses. The only man she detested the idea of dancing with more than with Mr. Darcy was her father’s cousin, Mr. Collins. What could he possibly want? He had already danced with her twice. Her aching toes protested.
“Mr. Darcy,” Mr. Collins shouted, his arm extended in front of him in a salute.
Elizabeth cringed yet again. She had hoped that Mr. Collins’ relationship to her family would go unperceived by the pompous gentleman before her, but fate was determined to complete her humiliation that evening. Girding herself in expectation of the worst, she waited for Mr. Collins to join them. He panted for breath, his complexion startlingly red against his black collar and coat.
“Mr. Darcy, I do not think you know Mr. Collins. He is visiting from Kent,” Elizabeth said, briefly introducing the clergyman, who looked at Mr. Darcy as if he were a deity to adore. As if Mr. Darcy needed more reasons to believe himself superior.
Before she could continue, Mr. Collins interrupted, “My dear Cousin Elizabeth, I know very well who this gentleman is.”
Mr. Darcy looked between her and Mr. Collins. He knew they were related now. Lovely.
Mr. Collins continued, “Allow me to reassure you that when I left Hunsford, your aunt Lady Catherine de Bourgh was in exceptional health. Your cousin Miss Anne de Bourgh was also in fine condition in spite of her maladies. I approach you in the highest regard out of my esteem for your… esteemed… family.”
How could a clergyman not have a more diverse vocabulary?
Biting her lips, Elizabeth looked at Charlotte, who appeared as appalled as she felt ashamed at Mr. Collins’ audacity in approaching a gentleman before being properly introduced.
Mr. Darcy’s gruff expression marked his disapproval. His eyes narrowed into slits. Lifting his chin, he turned to face Elizabeth directly. Offering his arm, he asked, “Miss Elizabeth, will you do me the honor of dancing with me?”
Stunned, she reached out to him before her mind could stop her. It was not until her gloved hand rested on his solid forearm that reason caught up with her, but it was too late. She could not pretend it had been a flinch.
Together, they walked away from churlish Mr. Collins and self-satisfied Charlotte.
A wicked thought almost made Elizabeth laugh. Charlotte may be smug now, but five minutes in Mr. Collins’ company would be punishment enough for always being right. Well, then, if Charlotte thought it best for Elizabeth to ask Mr. Darcy if Mr. Wickham’s claims against his character were true, that was precisely what she would do.
Finally, his opportunity had come. How many times he had made his way over to Miss Elizabeth to ask her for a dance only to have his plan frustrated. That she had avoided dancing with him on two previous occasions only increased his determination to secure a dance with her that evening.
Darcy had stood in horrified awe as Miss Mary’s inept performance on the pianoforte was forced upon guests in Bingley’s drawing room. Mr. Bennet’s public reaction to his daughter’s display was even worse. The two younger Bennet sisters chased the officers present openly and with no regard for propriety. Mrs. Bennet’s claims that her eldest daughter would soon marry Bingley had raised his ire. And when Mrs. Bennet bragged how she had managed to buy a full share of a lottery ticket, he believed her to be the most vulgar woman in all of Christendom. Had there not been enough of a resemblance to proclaim Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth to be part of the Bennet family, Darcy would have thought them adopted.
Nevertheless, Miss Elizabeth had agreed to dance with him. Her comment to Miss Lucas must have been made in jest. She was a clever one. It was a quality he had come to admire all the more during her and Miss Bennet’s brief stay at Netherfield Park. Miss Elizabeth had proved herself a worthy opponent in more than one verbal joust.
He smiled at her as they stood across from each other, taking their positions as the music faded into the background. Her flushed cheeks brightened her fine eyes, giving them a lively luminescence. He had thought of a list of intelligent things to say, but at that moment, he was content simply to admire her.
The dancers began to whirl. Miss Elizabeth’s slender, lithe frame danced elegantly. A tendril of hair slid across her back as she moved gracefully along with the melody of the orchestra. Darcy could not recall ever having contemplated the advantages of loose hair, but as his instinct to reach out and tug the tendril grew, he understood the lure of the coiffure.
“How refreshing to see so many couples dancing this far into the evening,” she said, her sharp comment cutting through his appreciative observations of his dance partner.
“Quite,” he said. It was not the cleverest retort, but it would suffice.
“It is your turn to say something now, Mr. Darcy. I spoke of the dance, and you ought to remark on the size of the room or the variety of beverages at the refreshment table.”
Perhaps she had not been teasing Miss Lucas that she would refuse him another dance. Could it be that she disapproved of him? Why? Nobody disapproved of him. Unfamiliar emotions poured through Darcy. It was an uncomfortable sensation and his determination to find out what she held against him grew.
He smiled again. “Tell me what you wish me to say, and I will say it.”
"Very well. That reply will do for the present. Perhaps, by and by, I may observe that private balls are much pleasanter than public ones. But now we may be silent."
Frustrated that his attempt had done nothing to thaw her coldness toward him, he asked, "Do you talk by rule, then, while you are dancing?"
"Sometimes. One must speak a little, you know. It would look odd to be entirely silent for half an hour together. And yet, for the advantage of some, conversation ought to be so arranged, so that they may have the trouble of saying as little as possible." She glared at him, the gold flecks in her brown eyes blazing.
"Are you consulting your own feelings in the present case, or do you imagine that you are gratifying mine?"
"Both," she replied archly, “for I have always seen a great similarity in the turn of our minds.”
So she had noticed the similitude in their intellects too! His hope returned.
She continued, each word sharper than the last. “We are each of an unsocial, taciturn disposition, unwilling to speak unless we expect to say something that will amaze the whole room and be handed down to posterity with all the éclat of a proverb."
So much for that. He did not know whether to laugh at the absurdity of her comparison or the grain of truth expressed within.
"This is no very striking resemblance of your own character, I am sure," he said. "How near it may be to mine, I cannot pretend to say. You think it a faithful portrait undoubtedly." He waited, giving her the opportunity to reassure him.
"I must not decide on my own performance."
He made no retort. What did she hold against him? If only he knew, he would explain it. Unless… A sickening sensation— a hint of a suspicion— nagged at him, so that he asked, “Do you often walk to Meryton?”
The withering look she gave him told him that he was about to learn what he so desperately wanted to know, "Yes. In fact, when you met us there the other day, we had just formed a new acquaintance."
Wickham. It was as he had suspected. How he detested that man! How near he had come to ruining Georgiana, his little sister, who was as yet too young to receive the attentions of a wolf like Wickham. And all to cover his gambling debts. It disgusted him to be compared to the despicable rake— especially by Miss Elizabeth.
Careful to word his warning correctly, Darcy said, "Mr. Wickham is blessed with such happy manners as may ensure his making friends. Whether he is equally capable of retaining them is less certain."
Miss Elizabeth snapped, "He has been so unlucky as to lose your friendship— and in a manner which he is likely to suffer from all his life."
“You concern yourself over that gentleman, though I hardly think such a lofty term of address
applies to one who would air his problems to so recent an acquaintance.”
“And that is the reply of a gentleman? Do you not deny the wrongs you have done against an officer without the means to improve his situation in life?” Her nostrils flared, and he saw the blame and judgment in her accusing eyes.
He looked around them. There were too many people surrounding them to offer an explanation.
He listened, frustrated at his forced helplessness, as Miss Elizabeth continued, "Not long ago, you told me that you hardly ever forgave and that your resentment, once created, prevented you from forgiving the unfortunate individual who had lost your good opinion. You are very cautious, I suppose, as to its being created."
"I am," he said immediately. How dare she assume that he was the villain!
"And you never allow yourself to be blinded by prejudice?" she continued.
"I hope not." Certainly not as she did.
She scoffed. "It is particularly incumbent on those who never change their opinion to be secure of judging properly at first."
"May I ask to what these questions tend?" he asked through clenched teeth. He had finished discussing a subject in which he could not appropriately defend himself.
"I am trying to understand your character."
"And what is your success?" He held no hopes of a flattering reply.
She shook her head. "I do not get on at all. I hear such different accounts of you as puzzle me exceedingly."