A Very Austen Romance

by Robin Helm

  He choked on his wine. Bingley hit him on the back until he recovered.

  When his friend was busy speaking to Miss Bennet again, Darcy could hear his own insulted tone as he said, “Miss Elizabeth, let us be clear. Are you saying that entering into marriage with me would be so repulsive you would not wish it upon anyone?”

  Her eyes widened, and she blushed the prettiest shade of pink. “Oh! No, that is not what I meant at all, sir. I would not want anyone to be forced to marry, and I have no intention of punishing you for saving my life! Besides, I wish to marry for love.”

  He could not stop a sound of disbelief from escaping his lips. “If that is your goal, you live in a fantasy world like my cousin Anne.” He shook his head. “I will not marry a woman I despise, but love has nothing to do with marriage. One has a duty to familial honour to marry well.”

  Miss Elizabeth seemed to be in shock. “You would vow before God to love your wife when, in fact, you do not care for her?”

  “I do not believe what you define as love is the same as what is meant in that vow. You yourself said only yesterday that there are many different kinds of love.”

  Although she kept her temper under control, the tone of her voice and the spark in her eyes indicated that her spirit was afire.

  “Yes, but that does not mean one should marry for just any type of love. If you do not see how a deep, mutual affection could benefit a lifelong commitment, then you must think like certain other people that I am acquainted with, sir, which makes me wonder… would you, as they do, expect a woman hide her intelligence whenever there are gentlemen about? Should she never discuss her personal beliefs? Does it make you more comfortable when a lady’s verbalizations are limited to giggling and agreeing with every word you say? Should we bat our eyelashes, flirt at every opportunity, and hand out empty compliments to every gentleman of means we happen to come across in an attempt to entice him, even if it is against our principles?”

  He almost said yes just to prolong the discussion and be witness to her response, but disguise of his true opinions was unwarranted at this juncture.

  “I promote none of the things you mention. I would hope all those who spend time in my company, lady or gentleman, would feel free to behave as themselves—within the bounds of propriety, of course. However, I do not believe as you do. I have seen many successful marriages where the parties involved married simply to combine fortunes, connect ancient family lines, and provide an heir and other children, who will do the same. These were their common goals.”

  “I see now that what you and I consider a successful marriage varies widely, Mr. Darcy. Of course, I, too, have closely observed many married couples, but very few of them have achieved what I would consider successful union. Those few who have attained it began with a love-match, then later realized a blending of minds, souls, and purposes—Pragma as the ancients called it—which is what the institution of marriage is meant to be.” She hesitated. “In my opinion.”

  “Perhaps the ancient Greeks fantasized about achieving Pragma, but it is my estimation that what they—and you—describe is an idealized and fictional state. I have never seen a true love-match in my life, let alone a marriage like the one you describe. Every person I know who allowed passion to guide them into choosing their mate regretted it very soon after taking their vows. What you and my cousin Anne hope for, simply does not exist.”

  “Then, Mr. Darcy, I must say it is possible you are socializing within the wrong circles, for I have. Someday I hope you will have had a chance to witness the behaviour of a long-married couple who joined together for real affection. When you have, I have no doubt you will change your opinion on the subject.”

  “Excuse me,” Bingley said.

  Darcy did not want to look away from Miss Elizabeth, for in this state of indignation, she was a glorious sight to behold. However, Bingley cleared his throat, and Miss Elizabeth broke their shared gaze then blushed a deep red. Darcy followed her line of sight and realized Bingley and Miss Bennet were staring at them, both wide-eyed.

  Bingley said, “Debates like these are too much like arguments for my comfort.”

  Miss Elizabeth examined her sister’s face, looked down at her plate, and blew out a slow breath. When she looked up again, she said, “I apologize. It was my fault the conversation took a turn in that direction.”

  She picked up her fork and took a bite of what must have been, by then, very cold venison.

  ~%~

  Perhaps her mother had not been too far off when she feared the blow to Elizabeth’s head might have knocked all sense from it.

  Yes, the idea of what a marriage really should be was something she felt strongly about, especially when it came to her own future, and yes, it was a subject that had been weighing on her mind of late, due to the circumstances, but why had she felt it necessary to discuss it with Mr. Darcy?

  She took another bite of her meat. Though it had no flavour, she refused to waste the food nor the effort Sarah had made on her behalf to cut it for her.

  Jane made more of an effort to include her and Mr. Darcy in their conversation for the remainder of the meal, keeping the conversation flowing so well that it forbade a repetition of their earlier disagreement. Elizabeth made polite answers to inquiries, but not much else. Mr. Darcy nodded every so often.

  After dessert, Elizabeth claimed a headache, which was true. The gentlemen escorted them to Elizabeth’s room, and Elizabeth managed to avoid all discussions by going to bed immediately.

  In the morning, Jane must have forgiven her for making a fool of herself, for she did not bring up the subject, even though Elizabeth’s mind harped on it. By the time Mr. Jones came to see her, she was in quite a state of mortification. She could not bear seeing Mr. Darcy again any time soon.

  She told the apothecary and her sister in no uncertain terms, “Even if I have to walk the three miles alone, I will be at home by the end of the day. If I become dizzy and fall, I will crawl the rest of the way.”

  Mr. Jones chuckled. “There’s no need, Miss Elizabeth. Since I usually stop at Longbourn after leaving here, I will take you both with me. Both of you ladies will fit nicely in my buggy, and your father can send for your things later.” Elizabeth sighed her relief. “Thank you, sir.”

  Jane did not seem as happy as Elizabeth felt.

  ~%~

  ~Two weeks later

  Elizabeth noted the page number and closed her book. Physically, she could now focus on the words, but she could not concentrate, and the reason was not due to her injuries at all.

  Good progress had been made on her state of health since arriving home. Her family had gradually become less protective. Although she was still quite grateful for the rail on the stairs, she had been permitted to do more each day. Jane still accompanied her on all her walks about the gardens, but she was only allowed to ramble close to the house. Jane mostly spent that time in silent contemplation—something of which Elizabeth really had no need, for her mind always ended up in the same place. Mr. Darcy.

  She missed him terribly, even though it was obvious he did not miss her at all.

  Was Jane thinking of Mr. Bingley all the time, too? She came close to asking her sister several times, but she never gathered enough nerve.

  At least Jane had been able to meet with Mr. Bingley several times since they had been home.

  Once their mother had seen Jane and Mr. Bingley together, she had given up her quest to pair her eldest daughter with Mr. Darcy. Now, she could speak of nothing other than the expectation of Jane’s living only three miles away once she married him.

  Elizabeth smiled. She had to agree with her mother on that subject. They seemed perfect for one another. An engagement seemed imminent.

  Meanwhile, Mr. Darcy had not even come down to see them off when they had left Netherfield, let alone accompany his friend to Longbourn.

  Last week, Mr. Bingley had said his friend had gone to London to see his sister the day after they had returned to Longbourn
, which was a good excuse, but what about before?

  Today, Mr. Bingley told them Mr. Darcy would be acting as escort for Mr. Bingley’s sisters and brother-in-law, who were expected at Netherfield this afternoon.

  Elizabeth’s pulse quickened. She would see him soon. The Assembly Ball was in two days.

  To Jane’s and their mother’s delight, Mr. Bingley had already engaged Jane for a set, though he said his sisters were always late, so he could not reserve any specific dance.

  Now that Elizabeth’s arm was no longer in a sling, Mr. Jones had given her permission to dance a little, but certainly not the more lively ones.

  Would Mr. Darcy request a dance?

  She shook her head. She would be better off if he did not—he was not interested. She had to rid herself of all thoughts of him.

  However, it would be nice to dance with him just once.

  CHAPTER 8

  Darcy mounted his horse and touched the brim of his hat, nodding slightly at Miss Caroline Bingley, who grinned unabashedly at him from the window of his carriage. He did not wish to encourage her, but he knew from experience that if he did not at least acknowledge her efforts, her behaviour would only become more conspicuous and more embarrassing.

  Thank goodness Hurst suggested they ride alongside the coach for the remainder of the trip. He could not stand another minute of the unbroken chatter filled with gossip and false flattery coming from Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley, let alone another hour. Those two ladies were on the verge of making name-dropping and boot-licking competitive sports.

  The carriage made its way from the inn’s yard to the road. He urged his horse to follow behind it, out of sight of the windows.

  His mind drifted to Elizabeth, as he had begun to think of her at some point since he had last seen her. He would meet with her again soon.

  No, he should think of something else.

  Upon arriving in London, he had gone directly to his uncle’s townhouse. To his great relief, he had found Georgiana’s disposition had improved since he had seen her last. Staying with their aunt and uncle had been good for her—better than if he had continued fussing over her every sigh and melancholy expression. He felt quite comfortable leaving her with their relations this time.

  When his sister had left the room to fetch the drawings she had made whilst in Derbyshire, Aunt Adelaide immediately pounced, urging him to make the engagement with Anne official, reminding him of his sister’s need of a woman’s influence.

  He made it clear once and for all that he would never marry his cousin.

  Amazingly enough, his aunt accepted his word, saying she did not care who he chose, as long as the woman was a lady.

  Later he found that his declaration seemed to give her permission, during his short stay, to begin a campaign of parading before him every eligible socialite living within an hour’s drive of London.

  It had been one of his worst nightmares come true.

  Instead of finding a wife amongst them, unconsciously, he had spent these past two weeks comparing every woman he met to the lady he had come to know in Hertfordshire.

  The night before he left London, Aunt Adelaide confronted him. What was holding him back from making a choice?

  He told her honestly, “None can compete with the ideal woman I have pictured in my mind.” He shook his head. “Well, she might be the ideal match if her father held a title or she possessed a much larger dowry. But as it is—”

  Aunt Adelaide cut in, “Darcy, the lady you choose need not be titled or wealthy. I only thought that was what you were looking for. You must use your own judgement. Is she right for you? Will you be content to spend your life with her? Would she be good for your sister?” She hesitated. “Do you love her?”

  He raised his eyebrows high upon his forehead. “Love?”

  “Love.” She chuckled. “I will confide that your uncle and I married because both families wished it, but I have been convinced that had we enjoyed a longer courtship, we would have fallen in love before we took our vows. The truth is, we did fall in love soon after. I do not think your uncle and I would have been able to endure as much as we have over the years if it had not been for our caring so much for each other.”

  Darcy sat blinking at her.

  “Did you not know that I have always been an advocate for love-matches?” Aunt Adelaide patted his hand. “The girl who holds your heart is not in service or tradesman’s daughter, is she?”

  He sat up straighter. “She is the daughter of a country gentleman who owns a small estate in Hertfordshire.”

  “Ah, so that is why you are so eager to return to your friend’s home!”

  “I am afraid my memory is faulty. Nobody could be as lovely, as delightful, and as interesting as I remember Miss Elizabeth Bennet to be.”

  His aunt smiled slyly. “I suggest you return forthwith and find out.” She paused. “Your Aunt Catherine will not be as accepting of her as we will be, Darcy, but we will support your decision.”

  He left their house, and London soon after, with a great weight lifted from his shoulders.

  ~%~

  Under normal circumstances, Darcy would dread attending an event as provincial as an assembly ball, but for his current purposes, it would be perfect. Arriving late to any occasion usually annoyed him to no end, but again, the delay fit nicely with his current plans.

  Nobody would expect a man of his stature to dance at such an unsophisticated occasion. He also predicted there would be so many people present, Elizabeth would most likely be occupied with her neighbours and acquaintances by now and would barely notice his presence. Therefore, he could observe her with a keen eye, uninterrupted, and prove to himself once and for all that she was not all he remembered her to be. Then he could get on with his life.

  As the Netherfield party entered the room, he lost confidence in his plan. The company did not simply glance their way, they stopped… everything: dancing, talking, eating, drinking, and walking about. Even the four-man orchestra ceased playing. Everyone stared at them, unabashedly.

  Could their intentions be any more apparent? While every neighbourhood had their share of clods and barbarians, did this one consist of nothing else?

  Bingley cleared his throat. Up until this moment, Darcy had thought Bingley could be comfortable in any society, but even he was uncomfortable.

  A balding, portly gentleman whose name Darcy could not remember came rushing at them from across the ballroom.

  Bingley greeted him and pumped his arm, then introduced the rest of the party to Sir William Lucas.

  Darcy glanced around the room, his eyes thirsty for the sight of Elizabeth. There! She was on the dance floor almost on the other side of the room. She and her dance partner, a handsome young man, were the only two not looking in his direction. She said something. Her partner laughed. Her smile widened.

  Jealousy seared through him.

  What a foolish oaf. She was not his. He had no right to be jealous.

  He tore his gaze away and focused on Bingley’s back instead.

  As the crowd began to stir and murmur, the orchestra started up again. A group of matrons near Darcy obviously did not know the meaning of the word whisper.

  “Mr. Bingley’s income is five-thousand a year. Both ladies are his sisters—one is Mrs. Hurst and the other Miss Bingley, though I am not certain which is which. The shorter gentleman is his brother-in-law, Mr. Hurst, and the taller gentleman is Mr. Darcy, who by all accounts has at least ten-thousand a year.”

  The ladies made sounds of elation.

  He expected if they only knew his true worth, the noise they made would have been deafening.

  “Allow me to take you about and make introductions,” Sir William said.

  Darcy almost laughed out loud when the gaggle of matrons scattered around the ballroom like billiard balls, each stopping to collect at least one young lady, before hurrying to a gentleman’s side and waiting their family’s turn for introductions to the newcomers.

 
Bingley’s step faltered momentarily and he stopped. Darcy looked back at him. His friend’s smile had never been this bright, which could only mean one thing: He had spotted the Bennets.

  Darcy tried, really he did, but he could not help himself—he had to look.

  She was no longer on the dance floor and was not standing with Miss Bennet, but perhaps she was somewhere close to her. He searched all nearby faces, to no avail. Disappointment weighed heavily. His gaze found Miss Bennet once more. He would have to ask her about her sister.

  A shadow moved behind Miss Bennet. Dark hair peeked out from behind her. Relief spread through him when Elizabeth stepped forward.

  Miss Jane Bennet turned and touched Elizabeth’s arm, which was no longer in a sling. Elizabeth tried to hide it, but he could see she flinched slightly, and he deduced it must still bother her a little. An ache developed in his left shoulder.

  His anticipation grew. Would she meet his gaze? How long until they were introduced to the Bennets?

  Caroline Bingley came up beside him and took a firm hold of his arm, which reminded him of where he was.

  He looked around him.

  Egad! How could his good sense have abandoned him so completely? How long had he and Bingley stood there, staring at the Bennets like fools?

  Darcy bumped Bingley’s elbow with his own to wake him from his daze. Bingley looked up at him and widened his eyes. Yes, he had been in a similar state; the cause being a different Bennet lady, but enchanted just the same.

  Movement in the periphery revealed that Sir William had only just realized he lost his entourage and was doubling back. Bingley shadowed him this time, trailed by the rest of the party.

  He could feel Elizabeth’s gaze land on him. She was watching him now.

  It took every ounce of his vaunted self-control to refrain from looking in that direction.

  Caroline chuckled under her breath. “So this is the best company Meryton has to offer? There are nothing but country bumpkins here.”