by Meg Osborne
The Other Elizabeth Bennet: A Pride and Prejudice Variation Novella
Meg Osborne
Published by Meg Osborne, 2017.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
THE OTHER ELIZABETH BENNET: A PRIDE AND PREJUDICE VARIATION NOVELLA
First edition. June 9, 2017.
Copyright © 2017 Meg Osborne.
ISBN: 978-1386391845
Written by Meg Osborne.
Also by Meg Osborne
A Convenient Marriage
A Convenient Marriage Volume 1
Longbourn's Lark: A Pride and Prejudice Variation
Three Weeks in Kent: A Pride and Prejudice Variation
Suitably Wed: A Pride and Prejudice Variation
A Visit to Scotland: A Pride and Prejudice Variaton
The Consequence of Haste: A Pride and Prejudice Variation
A Surprise Engagement: A Pride and Prejudice Variation
Fate and Fortune
Too Fond of Stars: A Persuasion Variation
A Temporary Peace: A Persuasion Variation
Three Sisters from Hertfordshire
A Trip to Pemberley
An Assembly in Bath
An Escape from London
Standalone
After the Letter: A Persuasion Continuation
Half the Sum of Attraction: A Persuasion Prequel
A Very Merry Masquerade: A Pride and Prejudice Variation Novella
The Other Elizabeth Bennet: A Pride and Prejudice Variation Novella
In Netherfield Library and Other Stories
Mr Darcy's Christmas Carol: A Pride and Prejudice Variation
Such Peculiar Providence
A Chance at Happiness
The Colonel's Cousin: A Pride and Prejudice Variation
Watch for more at Meg Osborne’s site.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Also By Meg Osborne
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
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Also By Meg Osborne
About the Author
Chapter One
I fear my brother is mere days away from making a very foolish match. I can do little, being merely his sister, but I know he thinks well of you and values your opinions, Mr Darcy, and so I implore you to come at once to Netherfield and keep him from a decision we might all live to regret...
Fitzwilliam Darcy tossed his letter aside with a sigh. It was the third such missive he had received in as many days inviting him to visit Netherfield Park and spend time with the Bingleys. At least now Caroline had moved on from sending him long, flowery descriptions of the great house, the grounds, the exquisite county of Hertfordshire rendered dull without his intelligent company... When that did not instantly summon Mr Darcy forth, Caroline had changed tack and mentioned their neighbours. “Such kind, friendly folk, albeit dreadfully countrified. There is not an ounce of sophistication between them,” suggesting, Darcy had thought with grim amusement, that Caroline Bingley herself was a model of sophistication herself. He had still not gone. Now, it seemed, she had determined to employ the very trick that might encourage him into action: Charles Bingley's alarming propensity to fall in love at the drop of a hat, or a handkerchief, or a teacup. Darcy could list half a dozen such accidents - engineered, he did not doubt, by the young Miss in question and with the distinct aim of catching the eye of the handsome bachelor worth a rumoured five thousand per year. Charles was too good-natured to ever suspect such scheming, but Darcy and Caroline - who noticed the schemes arguably because she had so often employed them herself in her own quest for a husband - were on hand to educate him and more recently to extricate him from the ballrooms and dining tables of London to the altogether safer country location of Netherfield Park in Hertfordshire. Apparently, neither Caroline nor Darcy had counted on scheming young ladies residing in the countryside.
Staring blankly out of the window of his study, Darcy debated for a moment before making his decision. He would go to Netherfield. Not because Caroline had ordered him thus - his features darkened at the suggestion of his doing anything at the request of Caroline Bingley - but because his friend was clearly in need of support and sanity, both of which Darcy was well-equipped to bring.
And in any case, it is not as if London holds such great attractions. He replayed his evening, which had been spent sitting in this very chair, attending to the letters from his staff concerning one of his properties in the north. He might have done precisely the same at Pemberley, or at Netherfield Park, for that matter. It would require far less of him in terms of society, for despite his best endeavours there were only so many invitations that could be refused in London without causing offence. In Hertfordshire he would be a stranger, and able to defer the majority of their socialising to Charles and Caroline, and had that lady not said there were few enough people in their locality worthy of getting to know?
He slid the letter back into view, running his eyes over it once more. Some mention of a name had nettled him, poking into his memory in a way he could not quite answer.
Charles has been captivated by a Miss Jane Bennet, of Longbourn, the first of four sisters - four sisters! - who are all as silly and scheming as she is. There is some relief to be felt that it is the eldest, Jane, and not her sister, Eliza, who has captured my brother’s fancy, for despite Jane being apparently the greatest beauty in the county, Elizabeth is esteemed also to possess a striking prettiness as well as an intelligent wit, which recommendations I confess do not speak well of Hertfordshire’s womenfolk.
Eliza Bennet - Elizabeth Bennet. Darcy frowned. Why did that name strike him as familiar? He did not recognise the sister’s, although he had come across plenty of Janes in his life. Longbourn, too, was foreign to him, but Elizabeth Bennet...? Realisation struck him like a blow, and he lifted the note closer, scanning Caroline's words with intensity, as if there might be some truth, some confirmation of his fears scratched with her pen that he had missed on his first or second perusal. But no, the words had not changed. Elizabeth Bennet was little more than “beauty and wit”.
“And scandal,” Darcy muttered, casting the letter down again in frustration. Now he recalled it. He had not met Elizabeth Bennet himself but had certainly heard mention of her during his time in London. She was come recently - come and returned again, if Caroline’s assessment was true, for it certainly sounded as if all five Bennet sisters were settled once more in Hertfordshire. Her visit to the capital had been mercifully short, then, and yet its brevity had not hindered her in her goal to enjoy herself at others’ expense, to flirt and interfere and cause more than one heart to be broken. If this Jane Bennet was a relation of hers, then certainly, Bingley needed to be kept away from her at all costs, lest she be just as damaging as her sister. Hurrying to the door of his study, he turned just long enough to sweep up the pile of letters from his desk and carry them with him. He summoned his butler and explained his intention to quit London immediately for Netherfield Park in Hertfordshire, and was momentarily amused by the man’s shocked reaction. His master was not prone to sudden decisions or swift changes of course, and the demand to leave at once, within the hour, was so out of character that the poor man stood still in surpri
se for half a moment, until Darcy’s gruff encouragement pressed him to act.
“Do you misunderstand me, Fletcher? Ready the horses, see to my cases, I have one last task to see to before I return and will want to leave as soon as possible thereafter.”
He shoved the armful of letters into his confused man’s open arms.
“And find some safe storage for these, I shall want them with me on my trip.”
He did not wait to see Fletcher spring into action, but a murmured “Yes, sir,” in something that approximated his butler’s usual dry tone suggested normality had been restored and all that Darcy had commanded would be done forthwith.
Darcy, himself, had an errand to run, and he took half a moment to steel himself for the task. It was unfortunate that it was women, rather than men, who were the keepers of information about society, but it could not be helped. He ran through his circle to find the least difficult member and settled on Mrs Amelia Huntington. She was already wed, which would take part of the anxiety out of their visit. There would be no danger of him being seen to show partiality or affection in visiting her above any other. He had a standing friendship with her husband, and - he patted his coat down, and in the end pulled out his own pair of gloves as a prop. He “sought only to return a mystery glove that must, surely, belong to Peter?” He filed its pair away out of sight, and shook his head, wishing he might resort to plain truth and not this artifice in seeking his information, but he did not want to be taken for a gossip, and calling on friends without an excuse was no habit of his. Even if the excuse was paltry and, in this case, utterly fabricated.
He pulled the door open and began the short walk to the Huntington’s house without another moment's hesitation, fearing if he did not go now he would not go at all, and he needed another set of brains to puzzle out the mystery of Elizabeth Bennet. Darcy had not met her, himself, but he knew that Amelia had, and like her husband, she would be fair in her assessment and honest in her opinions. He did not need to hear gossip re-told, but a true picture of what Miss Elizabeth Bennet was like. He did not intend to face her unprepared.
***
Elizabeth Bennet was the queen of all she surveyed. Of course, her kingdom consisted of fields, rather than buildings and an army of solitary bees flitting from flower to flower which would win her no wars, but in that instant, she felt certain that even King George could not be any more content. She shuffled her position, angling for a fraction more comfort, and the branch beneath her creaked precipitously beneath her weight.
“Don’t you dare!” she said, warningly, to the tree that had been her constant companion as a child. “I know it has been some years since I climbed this high, but you cannot mean to tell me I am grown too big to do it. I shall simply ignore you.” Nonetheless, she did shimmy a little closer to the tree’s trunk and felt rather safer a moment later, with more branches beneath her to hold her weight. Taking one last satisfied look at the countryside stretching out below, she sighed happily and reached for her book, opening it to precisely the page she had left off, and in a moment more had returned to the terrifying battle, the romantic love affair, the desperation of the quest that she had lost many an hour to already that week.
“Lizzy?”
It was not that she ignored Jane’s voice, rather that she was so content, so lost in her novel, that she did not hear it.
“Lizzy, where are you?”
On the second call, however, her reading was well and truly interrupted and she was yanked unceremoniously back to the present. The branches were no longer so very comfortable, and something jabbed awkwardly into the small of her back. There was a spider creeping uncomfortably close to her, and her sister continued to call.
“Lizzy, are you there?”
With a sigh, Elizabeth closed her book and slid it under one arm, as she began to extricate herself from her hiding place.
“I’m here!” she replied, clambering down with rather less elegance than she had possessed on her ascent. Jumping the last few feet with a grunt, she brushed her dress down and looked up, expectantly, at her sister.
“You called?”
“I did,” Jane frowned, with exasperation. “Several times. Were you hiding in that tree all morning?”
“Define ‘all morning’?” Lizzy asked, with a grin. “I certainly did not stay up there when I heard Lydia and Kitty wailing, or Mama seeking an assistant for a task that I would doubtless still be but halfway through, had she found me....”
Jane’s frown gave way to a smile, and she looped her arm through her sister’s, tugging her back towards the house.
“You might have let me join you!” she said. “For, failing to find you, Mama fixed on me as the best person to help her.” She sighed.
“Which of course, you did,” Elizabeth prompted “Saint that you are. And now all is achieved, and there is no need to look glum.”
“Come on, Lizzy, you must surely be hungry. I was sent to find you for lunch.”
“Very well, in that case, I am happy to be found.” Elizabeth’s stomach grumbled noisily and she realised that her small breakfast had been ably burnt off by her climb.
The sisters fell into a companionable silence as they reached Longbourn, and when Lydia saw their approach through the dining room window, she let out a shout.
“At last, Lizzy, you have deigned to join us. Might we eat now, Mama, I am so hungry!”
“You have waited this long without succumbing to starvation, you might manage another few minutes,” Mr Bennet said, dismissively. “I wonder you think of a thing besides your stomach, Lydia.”
“I think of many things besides my stomach!” Lydia protested. “Like my hands.” These elegant appendages were held up for display. “Do not you think I have pretty hands? A gentleman told me so once, and I have held onto it as a fine compliment.”
“Oh, yes, my dear, you have inherited them from me,” Mrs Bennet commented.
“Fine hands that rarely see work are fit only for the devil,” Mary put in, sourly, as Elizabeth and Jane found their own seats at the table.
“The devil clearly has elegant tastes then.” Lydia stuck out her tongue, and a fight was narrowly averted when Mr Bennet cleared his throat loudly and drew the family into saying grace, which was done with a modicum of sobriety before they fell to eating.
“Where did you get to this morning, Lizzy?” Mrs Bennet asked, after a moment. “I looked for you everywhere!”
“You cannot have looked for her everywhere, my dear,” Mr Bennet countered. “Otherwise you would surely have found her.”
This garnered a look of irritation from his wife, that gave him a surprising amount of delight, and he returned his attention to his meal, caring little what his daughters got up to during the day, provided they were quiet enough in their pursuits that he would not be unduly bothered.
“I was reading,” Elizabeth offered. “In a tree.”
“In a tree?” Mrs Bennet screeched. “What if somebody had seen you?”
“You mean like the servants? Or the livestock? Or one of my sisters?” This was said with a deferential smile towards Jane.
“Like a gentleman.” Mrs Bennet enunciated the word carefully, as if doing so gave it additional weight.
“Gentleman!” Lizzy scoffed. “And do we have many eligible gentlemen roaming freely about Longbourn, Mama? If so, I will gladly meet them and comport myself entirely appropriately before them. But I shall still climb the occasional tree if I wish to, in their absence.”
“Oh, Elizabeth!” Mrs Bennet moaned, despairing yet again over what to do with her wayward second daughter.
“I think climbing trees is so childish!” Kitty volunteered, lifting her head with an affectation of maturity.
“That’s just because you can’t do it,” Lydia said. “I am sure I could climb even higher than you, Elizabeth, for I am taller.”
“Taller and heavier,” Kitty shot back, wounded by Lydia’s comment and intent on returning like for like.
“
You have always been jealous of my figure, Kitty -”
“Girls, girls!” Mr Bennet raised a hand, wearied before the argument had even properly begun. “Might we please just eat one meal without descending into chaos?”
“We are fortunate to be having such a mild autumn,” Jane offered, after a moment’s tense silence. “Which enables us all to enjoy nature in its various forms.”
With her calm comment, peace was restored, and Mr Bennet sent an approving glance over the table towards the one daughter who could be relied upon as peacemaker.
“Yes, and in so doing, recall to mind our Creator...” Mary offered, but her words were drowned out by a rather loud snort from Lydia, which won her a warning glance from her father and hurriedly became a sneeze.
“Have you heard again from Mr Bingley, Jane?” Mrs Bennet asked, returning at length to her favourite of all topics of conversation: the prospects for marriage for her daughters.
“Not since last we spoke of it, Mama,” Jane said, her cheeks colouring. Elizabeth frowned. Neither he nor his sister had not responded to Jane’s card, and yet it had been some days since it was left. That was not like Mr Bingley at all, who, if anything, sent rather too many letters than too few.
“Really?” Lizzy asked, eager to draw her sister on the matter. “They have not returned your call?”
Jane shook her head.
“I am sure he is very busy.”
“Too busy to even acknowledge it? He invited us to call, did not he? Is it our fault that he was out on the very date and time he first specified? It would be polite only for him or his sister to come in person and apologise for making us go all that way in vain.”
“I am sure they did not mean to cause us any inconvenience.”
Elizabeth said nothing, certain only that her sister was entirely too prone to giving people the benefit of the doubt and permitting such slights that ought to be repented of.