Undoing
By L.L. Diamond
Published by L.L. Diamond
Copyright ©2020 LL Diamond
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, transmitted, or distributed by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed and online reviews without the express written consent of the author. The characters 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.
Cover and internal design © 2020 L.L. Diamond
Cover design by L.L. Diamond/Diamondback Covers
Cover Art: Anna Maria Dashwood, Marchioness of Ely by Thomas Lawrence, courtesy of Art Institute of Chicago and CC0. Cottage on Fire at Night by Joseph Wright of Derby. Courtesy of Yale Center for British Art and CC0.
ISBN-13: 978-1-7342783-4-7
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/LLDiamond
Instagram: @l.l.diamond
Twitter: @LLDiamond2
Blog: http://lldiamondwrites.com/
Austen Variations: http://austenvariations.com/
Other works by L.L. Diamond include:
Rain and Retribution
A Matter of Chance
An Unwavering Trust
The Earl’s Conquest
Particular Intentions
Particular Attachments
Unwrapping Mr. Darcy
It’s Always Been You
It’s Always Been Us
It’s Always Been You and Me
To all my friends who I’ve made during our stay in England.
Whether we were online friends before and finally met in person or we met for the first time here,
thank you from the bottom of my heart for making this time in my life so amazing.
Table of Contents
Prologue
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
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Table of Contents
Prologue
Monday September 28th 1808
Elizabeth reached a shaky hand up to knock on the hard, wooden door of her father’s library. Her stomach roiled and twisted while she waited for her father’s usually comforting voice call for her to “enter.” What would he say? Would she have a choice in her future? This was a day that had certainly not ended the way she had planned!
Instead of soothing her, his call made her muscles stiffen further. She cracked the door, but rather than step through, she hesitated and peered inside before slipping into his sanctuary. Her lips curved at the sight of him comfortably seated in his usual pose behind his desk, his wire-rimmed spectacles perched upon the tip of his nose. How many times had she entered to find him thus? Too many times to count, if she gave it much thought. Perhaps the tumultuousness of the moment made his current situation surprising, though oddly soothing. Her palm pressed against her chest. Why would her hands not cease their incessant quaking?
“Aaah, Lizzy, I have been expecting you. I take it the duke has departed for London?”
“Yes, important business requires his immediate attention, but he indicated plans to return early next week.”
Her father nodded and held out a hand towards the chairs on the opposite side of his desk. “You have come to discuss his proposal, then?”
Nodding, she took the offered seat and firmly clasped her hands in front of her. Hopefully, they would stop that infernal trembling soon. Why had she let this situation discompose her in such a way? “I do not know what to do, Papa. I attempted to refuse as politely as I could, but he would not hear of it. He insisted I take a few days to consider my options. He even suggested I seek your counsel on the matter.”
Henry Bennet sighed, placed his book on the desk, and leaned forward on his forearms. His steady and intent gaze was a tell-tale sign—this would not be one of their more light-hearted discussions.
“You do know he discussed his proposal with me before he approached you.”
Elizabeth nodded, her hands clenched a little tighter, and she swallowed down a sting in the back of her throat. Lord, but she hated that feeling. “Yes. He indicated he had done so. He seemed certain you would sanction the match.”
After a quick bark of laughter, her father shook his head. “I merely agreed to explain the particulars of the discussion between him and myself. I never suggested I would force your hand.” He peered over the rim of his glasses. “I will stand by your decision, regardless of your mother’s tirades—though, if she learns of it, she will never forgive you for refusing a duke.”
His prediction of her mother’s antics prompted an exaggerated roll of her eyes, though her trembling had lessened considerably. “I find him amiable and intelligent, Papa, I do. Yet, I do not possess the depth of feeling I deem necessary to justify marriage.”
The slight crinkle around his eyes disappeared along with the slight curve of his lips, and she took a deep breath while she waited for him to speak. Would he speak favourably and press her to accept the proposal or would he simply recount the conversation? “Many marriages have no basis in emotion but are as a result of other factors. You are not so young to be completely naïve to those alliances.”
Elizabeth shook her head, still attempting to cease that slight infernal shaking of her knees. The duke’s proposal had been unexpected, to say the least. One day, he was a welcome visitor to the neighbourhood who became well-liked and respected for his open countenance and manner. This morning, he became an unwanted and unwelcome suitor. Elizabeth had no appreciation for being caught unawares. His confidence in her acceptance also unnerved and disturbed her a great deal.
Before she could respond to her father’s statement, he tapped his palm upon his book and stood to pace around the room. “As an exceedingly wealthy and titled man, he could have any woman he desired from the ton, any woman in possession of a significant fortune and superb connections, yet he has overlooked those women since he became of marriageable age. Instead, he wants you. Do you know why?”
“He claims to appreciate my intelligence and my lack of artifice.”
Her father gave a brief tilt to his head and lifted his eyebrows. “I cannot find fault with his judgment. He has indicated he cares little for your meagre portion and is prepared to offer you a generous settlement, as well as provide ten-thousand pounds to be settled upon Jane.”
Her eyebrows drew together. Only Jane? “I do not mean to sound ungrateful, but why not set aside portions for all of my sisters?”
“By London society’s standards, most ladies are not out until seventeen, which makes your younger sisters too young at this time. Instead, he intends to bestow money on each of your sisters upon their seventeenth birthdays in the hopes it might curb your mother’s desire to push them out at fifteen, as she did you.”
Her hand clenched upon the arm of the chair. She had hated being out at fifteen. She had not wanted to attend balls or attr
act a suitor. She wanted nothing more than to ramble about Longbourn and read the books in her father’s library.
Her mother’s intentions, however, were not the current issue at hand. Instead, the question lay in the motivation of the duke’s generosity. She shrugged, lifting her hands then dropping them into her lap. “I simply do not understand why he would go to so much trouble.”
“Our family is of little consequence to most of society. We have no great fortune, a small estate, and no relations of standing. His generosity provides some elevation to our status. Though he is the origin, his gifts give our family an appearance of affluence we lack and should help ease your way into society.”
She gave a faint huff. Why did it feel as though she were being purchased like a mare at auction? “A society I shall not join unless I agree to his scheme.”
His eyes twinkled with humour. “True, but he is trusting you will say yes.”
With a spring from her chair, she crossed to the window before turning in a swish of her skirts. “I enjoy a companionable friendship with him, but I maintain that I do not love him.”
Again, her father peered over his glasses. “Companionable friendship is more than most people possess in marriage, Lizzy. I thought I was in love with your mother, but in the end . . .” He paused and pressed his lips together.
Her eyes darted back to his face. “You never loved Mama?”
A long drawn out exhale escaped him. “I earnestly believed my heart was filled with her when I proposed, but I do believe upon reflection, that my feelings consisted of no more than a mere infatuation. Your mother was handsome and different than the other ladies.”
“How so?” she asked, stepping closer.
“Well, she was not the silly woman you know. She possessed a quieter, more demure manner. Your sister Jane oft times reminds me of your mother when we first met.”
An unladylike noise escaped her nose before she could stop it. Mama? Demure and quiet?
He sighed and removed his spectacles, rubbing a lens with his handkerchief almost absentmindedly. “After we married, I suppose she began to reveal her true nature. Not all at once, mind you, but gradually, over the next few years, she transformed into the woman I now take refuge from in this library.”
Surely, he did not mean . . .? “Are you saying I should marry him to avoid a life such as yours?”
“I am saying you should not reject him simply because your feelings do not extend beyond friendship. It could be a blessing your feelings do not run deeper. You will not suffer for it. You would have a husband worthy of your respect instead of one you revile.”
She glanced out of the window at the branches of a nearby apple tree swaying in the wind. The branches almost lumbered from side to side they were so laden with fruit.
A weight had appeared to press upon her shoulders, much like the descriptions she had read of the mythological Atlas. She shoved the tree from her mind and returned to the duke. How could she accept him? Yes, he was amiable, but her agreement would be in opposition to the ideals she had always held dear.
“Did you know he owns the great house at Stoke?”
Her head whipped around, her eyes wide. “I heard in the village he was leasing. Aunt Philips claimed Uncle Philips brokered the contract.”
“You should know better,” her father scolded. “Your aunt would claim she heard it from the queen herself if people would believe such tripe.”
Her lip curved upward on one side at the unfortunate yet accurate description of her mother’s sister. “So, her claims have no foundation in truth.”
“Not a one. Stoke has always belonged to the duke. He has let the place out in the past, but decided to inspect the property himself before allowing new tenants to take possession.”
“But what has this to do with his proposal of marriage?”
“He offered Stoke as your mother’s home when I am gone.”
Elizabeth pursed her lips and crossed her arms over her chest. “You would be gone, and I would be the one to receive her moaning and groaning about the impossibly small drawing rooms.” She shook her head with a lopsided smile. “No, thank you.”
Her father laughed as he sat in his chair. “You would not be in the neighbourhood to hear her complaints, and Derbyshire is too far for her to easily travel. You need not read her letters.”
“Oh, Papa,” she said, laughing. “I am certain to hear her lamentations from Hertfordshire. You do know how she likes to go on.”
He grinned and his eyes twinkled. “Yes, but she would no longer wail of Mr. Collins casting her into the streets upon my death.”
She blew out an exhale, shifting the pages of a ledger upon his desk. How weary she was of a topic she preferred to forget. “You believe I should accept his proposal?”
Mr. Bennet’s expression fell. Long discussions of her hopes and aspirations occurred often in this very room, yet the answer to her question was plainly written upon his face. “I do.” His eyebrows lifted. “But it is not my decision to make.”
A loud cacophony erupted outside of the door before it flew open to reveal a red-faced and dishevelled Mrs. Bennet.
“Elizabeth Adelaide Bennet! What did you do to drive the poor duke away?”
She closed her eyes as the sound ricocheted like a bullet from her skull down her spine. Marriage to the duke would have at least one positive aspect—escape from Francine Bennet.
“I promise to give it more consideration, Papa.”
He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose over his spectacles. “I am glad to hear it.”
Chapter 1
Friday March 10th 1809
The London home of Lord and Lady Vranes was an absolute crush! Fitzwilliam Darcy, who heartily disliked balls and large social gatherings of any kind, navigated his way through the throng in a vain attempt to find a place to stand. After pushing between two rather rotund women standing back to back, a small, vacated area appeared, and he stopped to examine his surroundings. Perhaps someone of his acquaintance stood nearby? An insipid discussion of the weather was preferable to being alone when the matchmaking mamas targeted him for the kill.
Instead, a familiar name uttered in a gossipy manner teased his ear. He trained his eyes on the crowd. Had he heard correctly? He did not turn but latched onto the sniping voice somewhere behind him.
“He may be a duke, but he is surely nearing sixty by now. I have heard she is but fifteen! I maintain the alliance is positively scandalous!”
“Oh posh, Hattie! Firstly, from what I understand, she is seventeen. If she were from the ton, this would be her first season, so she is not so young. Besides, he is not the first older gentleman to marry a lady newly out, and he certainly will not be the last.”
The first speaker had to be Lady Dudley, a well-known, relentless gossip. She was the epitome of the reason he detested most women of society.
“His choice is simply nonsensical. I introduced him to, and gave him every opportunity to marry my Ruth, but he never even glanced at her. He leaves town to visit a property in Hertfordshire—of all places—and returns with a wife. A wife, I might mention, that is barely of marriageable age!”
He grimaced and attempted to block out a mental image of her Ruth. As if his godfather would look once at Lady Dudley’s homely daughter, much less twice. She was cut from the same mould as the mother—not to mention she lacked the slightest bit of wit and intelligence.
“Mrs. James Chapman called on me yesterday. Have you met Althea?”
He could not see the two ladies, so the other party must have answered with a nod. “She saw the new duchess at the modiste and told me she saw no beauty in her. Her face was too thin; her complexion had no brilliancy; and that her features were not at all handsome.”
“She must have some accomplishments to land the Duke of Leeds.”
“Well, I also heard she had no fortune!” Lady Dudley’s companion gasped as a hand on his arm jolted him from his eavesdropping.
“Are you enjoying
yourself, son?”
His father stood beside him, a mischievous smile on his face. He gestured towards a set of glazed doors, and they exited to the balcony, ensuring the door closed behind them. It was a cool and foggy night, and despite the heat of the ballroom, very few people sought respite out of doors.
“I do not know why Lady Vranes insists on inviting so many people. They simply do not have the room to accommodate a crush such as this.”
“It has become stifling inside,” Fitzwilliam agreed.
His father tilted his head as he studied him. “What interested you so about Lady Dudley’s gossip?”
Fitzwilliam gave a bit of a start. His father rarely wished to know the subject of anyone’s gossip. “She was discussing our cousin’s marriage.”
George Darcy laughed and shook his head while he glanced out at the small garden. “She held grand aspirations he would wed her eldest daughter. He finally marries, so she does her best to lambaste the victor.”
Fitzwilliam furrowed his eyebrows and stepped closer. “I do not understand why he married. He has always claimed he would never take a wife.”
His father shrugged and leaned against the railing. “To be honest, his news took me by surprise as well. They should be putting in an appearance sometime tonight, but you know your godfather; he strives to be fashionably late.”
They both smiled as his father gestured towards the doors. “We should return to the ballroom. Thomas would never forgive us for missing his grand entrance as a married man.”
Fitzwilliam sputtered out a laugh. “No, he, no doubt, expects us to stand to the front of the crowd and cheer.” He preceded his father through the door only to nearly collide with Lady Tennant, who was accompanied by her daughter Lady Sarah.
“Mr. Darcy,” the mother crowed. “How lovely to see you!” Reaching out beside her, she propelled her daughter forward until the poor girl stood almost inappropriately close to him. “I am sure you remember my daughter Sarah.” Fitzwilliam stepped back and gave a quick bow.
“Good evening, Lady Sarah.” He remained impassive. He could not give the young woman or her cloying mother any hope of success. Lady Sarah may have the connections and fortune some families desired, but he could not tolerate her vanity and insipid conversation. He would rather muck out all the stables in London than be in Lady Sarah’s company.
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