The Strange Marriage
of Anne de Bourgh
and Other Pride and Prejudice Stories
by Skylar Hamilton Burris
© Copyright 2010
In This Collection:
Introduction
(about this collection)
The Strange Marriage of Anne de Bourgh
(novelette)
Too Clever By Half
(short story)
Let Not the Sun Go Down
(short story)
A Battle of Wits
(an exchange of letters)
Mr. Darcy’s Homecoming
(short story)
About the Author
(additional reading)
Introduction
Dear Reader,
In the pages that follow, you will have the opportunity to enjoy a novelette and four short stories that continue Jane Austen’s classic novel Pride and Prejudice. While I strive to remain true to the author’s original characters, I write in my own style. These brief selections are not as thoroughly developed as my novel-length sequels to Pride and Prejudice. If you are entertained by what you read here, I hope you will purchase one of those books.
Double Edge press brought my first novel, Conviction, to the marketplace in 2006. The book focuses on the fate of Mr. Darcy’s younger sister Georgiana, though it also offers the reader a few glimpses into the married life of Mr. And Mrs. Darcy. Once Conviction hit bookshelves, it wasn’t long before I was being asked for a second novel. Fortunately, I had already crafted another Pride and Prejudice sequel, this time focusing on Charlotte Collins, but I was not fully satisfied with the final product. Thus, I threw myself passionately into the revision of An Unlikely Missionary, severing scenes like a butcher searching for the best cuts of meat.
As part of that revision process, I switched from a third person omniscient narrator to a first person narrator, and this required me to exorcise a number of subplots from the novel. While the restructuring enabled me to rewrite An Unlikely Missionary with a more consistent focus, it also meant eliminating some of my favorite scenes. In the end, I could not bear to part with them permanently. Consequently, I took those scenes and crafted them, with quite a bit of alteration, into a novelette and two of the four stand-alone short stories you will find here. As a bonus, during the 2013 revision of this collection, I added two additional short stories that were previously available only online.
Happy reading!
Sincerely,
Skylar Hamilton Burris
The Strange
Marriage of
Anne de Bourgh
CHAPTER ONE
Fitzwilliam Darcy sat at his immense mahogany desk and stared at the red wax seal that closed the unwelcome letter. He hesitated to break it. His resentment, once formed, was implacable. Mr. Darcy had not been ready for the reconciliation that Elizabeth had urged him to make. He almost hoped that his aunt’s letter might contain some veiled insult leveled at his wife, so that he might have an excuse to renew all the vigor of his former anger and discontinue correspondence with Lady Catherine once and for all. At length, he took the blade of his letter opener and cut loose the wax, unfolded the letter, and began to read.
Fifteen minutes later, with great reluctance, he sought out his wife. When he found her in the greenhouse, he greeted her with a perfunctory kiss, sighed heavily, and tapped the folded letter against the palm of one hand.
“Wearying news?” Elizabeth asked him as she returned a plant to its shelf.
“My aunt has requested a visit.”
“Well that then is good news, my dear. She must at last have forgiven you fully. This invitation has been too long delayed.”
“Forgiven me? What had she to forgive?”
“In her mind, Fitzwilliam, a great deal, I assure you. I can recount her visit to Longbourn that day if you desire an idea of just how much she thinks she has forgiven you.”
“Neither of us needs to recall that.”
“No indeed. So, when are we expected to present ourselves to the scrutiny of Lady Catherine?”
“In three weeks time. Have you the stomach for it, Elizabeth?”
Mrs. Darcy smiled half-heartedly. “I can endure the visit, though I would have a much stronger motive if Charlotte still lived in Kent, but of course she thought nothing of moving herself even farther from me.”
“My Dearest Elizabeth, you know Mr. Collins was offered a superior living. His situation at Rosings was impressive enough for a mere clergyman, but to have the honor of being offered a living by Lord Mowbray…you cannot blame your friend for the relocation.”
“No indeed,” Mrs. Darcy admitted, “but think how deprived my dear friend must feel now that her husband no longer has the chimney piece to discuss.”
Mr. Darcy appeared faintly amused, but then a cloud of reluctance obscured his handsome features. “So we go then?”
“Musn't we?”
“I suppose we must.” He shoved the letter into his coat pocket. “I am returning to my study now to write my aunt. I will tell her we shall visit.”
Mrs. Darcy nodded, but not precisely happily.
“Will you be able to tolerate her, Elizabeth?”
“The question is--will she be able to tolerate me?”
“She will. She must, or she will risk an end to our relation.”
Elizabeth laughed lightly at her riled husband. She reached out to stroke his cheek for a moment and then lowered her head against his chest. He leaned down to kiss her forehead. “I will be in my study if you need me.” He cast back one last resigned glance as he departed the greenhouse.
*
The Darcys soon followed their letter. As their carriage drove past the Hunsford parsonage on the way to his aunt’s estate, Mr. Darcy called out to his driver to stop. The carriage came to a jerky standstill, and he alighted from it. He reached his hand out to his wife, who eyed it with some confusion.
“Although your friend no longer resides here,” he explained, “we should nevertheless call upon the new rector.”
“I can't imagine anyone else praising Lady Catherine. My cousin was so dedicated to the cause.”
Darcy smiled as they walked up the gravely path. “Well, here the praise is reversed. In her letter, my aunt had nothing but compliments for the new rector.”
“Hmmm...it will be interesting to see who earns Lady Catherine's praise.”
Mr. Darcy knocked on the door, which was now answered by a very different clergyman than the one they had once greeted there. The rector’s facial features were almost statuesque in their symmetry, and his lush, blonde hair was perfectly arrayed. Even his eyes seemed something out of a Greek romance, with their piercing blue intensity. Mr. Darcy did not fail to notice the slight smile of appreciation that toyed at the edges of his wife’s mouth.
“May I help you?” the rector asked. He looked at Mrs. Darcy. “Do I have the pleasure of knowing you?”
Mrs. Darcy seemed unable to form words, but Mr. Darcy responded with a curt, “No. We knew the former inhabitants of this parsonage—”
“- Ah,” the new rector interrupted, “You must be friends of the Collinses.” Mr. Darcy detected a hint of disdain in the man’s voice. “They have relocated to another parish. I am Simon Jonson, the new rector.” Mr. Jonson did not seem particularly interested in his new guests until he looked past them and observed their impressive carriage, which was not at all the sort of vehicle one might expect of a mere clergyman’s friend. His demeanor changed instantly. Mr. Jonson swung wide the door and with a great bow invited them inside, asked their names, and, upon learning that Mr. Darcy was the nephew of Lady Catherine de
Bourgh, began to express his admiration for the woman and his gratitude for her patronage.
Mr. Darcy, who was not particularly interested in listening to a catalogue of his aunt's virtues, said, “We must take our leave of you now to call upon my aunt.”
“Allow me to accompany you,” replied Mr. Jonson, and before long, the three were seated before Lady Catherine in the staid drawing room of Rosings. Mr. Darcy's cousin Anne sat with them, but as usual she remained pressed back against a chair, a handkerchief clutched in her hand, utterly silent.
Mr. Jonson treated Lady Catherine with the same obsequiousness as had Mr. Collins, but he was apparently a shrewder man, for his adulation had an almost natural appearance, which was very pleasing to his benefactress. Indeed, Lady Catherine was eyeing Mr. Jonson with considerable pleasure, and in a manner that rather shocked her uncomfortable nephew. Even Elizabeth had taken note of the rector, but her instinctive reaction had been quickly and modestly suppressed. Lady Catherine, on the other hand, allowed her eyes to linger in a manner that was far too obvious. It was an unseemly look for any woman to direct at a man, but for such a gaze to originate with the haughty Lady Catherine, who had dared to call his own marriage an embarrassment, was beyond Mr. Darcy’s ability to tolerate.
“I need to have a moment to speak with my aunt alone,” he announced to the room.
Lady Catherine appeared to be in no hurry to rid herself of the company of her newly acquired devotee, but she nonetheless acquiesced to her nephew’s request: “Mr. Jonson, you may take Mrs. Darcy to see my gardens. I am sure she would be of no inconvenience there.”
Elizabeth rose and followed Mr. Jonson from the room.
“So,” said Lady Catherine, caressing her diminutive lap dog and tilting her head ever so slightly to ensure that Mrs. Darcy had departed from the room, “what issue is it you would like to discuss with me?”
“Issues, Aunt, for there are two.” Mr. Darcy rose and walked over to stand beside her, an action that might have intimidated anyone else. Lady Catherine, however, was probably too assured of her own privileged position to be bothered by his intensity. Nevertheless, his hard tone of voice seemed to startle her. “First and foremost, let me make one thing apparent. I have sought reconciliation with you because my wife has convinced me of the importance of maintaining family ties, but you and I will not persist on amiable terms—or indeed on any terms at all—if you do not learn to show my wife the respect she deserves.”
“Of course any wife of Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy is due a certain degree of—”
“- She is due respect, Aunt, regardless of her position as my wife. She is worthy of respect. Now, I do not anticipate that you will change your opinions; that would be asking too much. I do, however, expect you to alter your behavior with regard to her. The insult which you just now, in my very presence, leveled at my wife was entirely unacceptable.”
“Why, nephew, whatever do you mean?”
“You know precisely what I mean! Your implication that she is an inconvenience to you—”
“I specifically said she would not be an inconvenience—”
“—Enough. I am not blind to your insinuations. Understand that from henceforth, I will regard any such implication as a direct insult, and I will consider it adequate motivation for completely severing all ties with you. Am I understood?”
Lady Catherine, despite her affronted countenance, nodded a slight agreement. Mr. Darcy knew she considered him to be a shining gem in the family crown, and he brought great respect to the family by his wealth and education. A breech with him could throw her own social position into jeopardy, even if she was titled and he was not.
Mr. Darcy, calmer now that he had defended his wife, did not wish to dwell long on his other concern. He spoke rapidly and pointedly. “You might reconsider, aunt, your attentions to the new rector.”
“Excuse me?”
“I cannot excuse you,” he said and left the room.
*
Elizabeth sensed that Mr. Jonson was admiring her as they strolled through the intricate but soulless gardens of Rosings, but by the time she turned toward him, his features were reserved and dignified, and he addressed her with an expertly affected deference. “Mrs. Darcy, it is a privilege to meet you at last. I have heard much about you.”
“And if your source is Lady Catherine,” she replied, “then the praises that have reached your ears can be nothing less than glowing.”
He smiled sardonically. Elizabeth could tell he had caught her meaning, and she could not help but smile back. “Lady Catherine has many excellent qualities,” he said, “but she is perhaps not the best judge of character.”
“Perhaps not,” Elizabeth responded, looking deliberately at the rector and wondering about his own character. There was something simultaneous charming and off-putting about the man. Although she had not yet drawn a firm opinion of him, she was already inclined to consider him duplicitous. “When did you first meet Lady Catherine?” she asked.
“Above six months ago,” he replied. “I had just recently been ordained and was serving as a curate in the parish in Bath, where she vacationed. She condescended to address me after services one Sunday, and I cannot say how surprised I was when not long thereafter she offered me this living.”
Elizabeth glanced at him again. So Lady Catherine had once chosen a Mr. Collins to flatter her; now she had chosen a Mr. Jonson to gaze upon.
*
“Shall we leave tomorrow?” Elizabeth asked. She was seated in the southmost sitting room of Rosings, on the most ostentatious couch she had ever beheld: a sort of jewel with legs. “We've been here four days now; I think we've performed our duty, don't you?”
“I think we should remain awhile yet,” replied Mr. Darcy. He spoke to her casually, now that they were liberated from Lady Catherine’s company. In his aunt’s presence he tended to assume an affected formality, even with his wife.
“Must we?”
Mr. Darcy rose from the arm chair he had formerly inhabited and walked to the window, where he gazed out at the cautiously crafted grounds of Rosings. The view that extended before his eyes was theoretically beautiful; indeed, it was technically without fault. But it failed to inspire his senses, and he felt already how terribly he missed the familiarity of Pemberley. “My aunt is insufferable, I know. I am concerned about her conduct toward Mr. Johsnon.”
“Ah...Mr. Jonson. The man seems to be using his charm to fulfill his earthly ambitions.”
He turned to look at his wife. “So you are not deceived by his god-like appearance?”
Elizabeth laughed. “I almost think you are jealous, Mr. Darcy.”
“Hmph,” he grunted, and returned his attention to the scenery. “I am incapable of such petty emotion.”
Elizabeth smiled and began to consider how to further provoke him, when he continued, “And yet...I was rather piqued by the manner in which he looked at you, when you were coming back from the garden together.”
“What do you mean?” asked Elizabeth.
Mr. Darcy did not believe she could be earnestly unaware of the carnal glances that were thrice leveled in her direction. “He looked at you in rather the same way that my aunt looked at him.” The sentence was half mumbled, he had spoken it so quickly. It was almost as if he did not want to dwell on the memory. He came and sat beside her on the couch. “Shall I challenge him to a duel in order to preserve your honor?”
“You are not serious.”
“No. But I look it.”
“Rather.” And he would indeed look serious to any outsider. She, however, had learned to detect the almost indiscernible gleam that would, from time to time, steal into his eyes.
“And when I drew him aside after you came in, I looked it then too,” he said. “I feel suitably confident that there will be no further glances cast your way.”
A short burst of merriment escaped Elizabeth.
“Do you laugh at my thoughtful care for you?” he asked.
“I do.”
“Well,” he said, bristling like a puppy, “I shall neglect you in the future, and then perhaps I will be taken more seriously.”
“I take you very seriously, my dear.” She began to stroke his dark curls, but the attempt to soothe him only darkened his eyes. “That is why I can laugh at you.”
That last line of consolation dampened the warming cinders that had been quickened by her touch. He made a confused sound, the fusion of a laugh and a sigh. “That sounds like a profound paradox,” he said, “but it is really just a series of words you have strung together in order to form a nonsensical statement you hope will appease me.”
She laughed again. “Very well. Then how might I appease you?”
Now he was the one to smile. He leaned forward unhurriedly as he spoke, approaching her lips with his own. “I can think of one gesture, in particular, that would perhaps go a long way to reconciling me—” He pulled back suddenly as a footman entered the room.
“Mr. Darcy,” said the servant, casting his eyes instantly to the floor, “Lady Catherine wishes to inform you that your presence is desired in the dining room, as the meal will soon be served.”
“Tell her we will join her in a few moments.”
“Very well, sir.” The footman bowed and departed.
Mr. Darcy turned back to his wife to receive his kiss, but she prevented him with a finger to his lips and an anxious question: “So we may leave tomorrow?”
He rolled his eyes in frustration. It is sometimes said that men have a one track mind, but it seemed to him that it was the female of the species who could focus most methodically on a single subject, even when much more interesting objects were at hand. “Not tomorrow, my love,” he said, reflexively yielding to the inevitability of the conversation, but without answering as she had hoped. “I wish to stay a few days in order to observe my aunt and Mr. Jonson. I fear she may jeopardize the family’s honor.”
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