An Unnatural Inheritance: A Pride and Prejudice Variation

by Virginia Brand

  “Is she always this terrible, or is she worse with Anne gone? I truly can’t account for it, but it’s almost as though Anne provides some degree of a filter or block, and with her gone, Lady Catherine truly says everything that comes into her mind,” Colonel Fitzwilliam continued, shaking his head. Darcy simply nodded and ignored his once amiable cousin, who had quickly turned sour upon arriving at Rosings and had been making identical complaints for the better part of a week.

  “I think she’s onto you, Darcy. She’s figured out why you came specifically when Anne wasn’t here, and she’s not amused. If I were a betting man, I’d say we could expect Anne’s sudden arrival any minute.”

  Darcy’s bleak mood darkened. He too had considered this, and as such was eager to complete as much of their yearly review of the estate as quickly possible in the vain hope of leaving before his cousin was called back.

  “Trust me, I am aware. Let us try to get the work done quickly,” Darcy finally said at last, the first words he had spoken all morning. There was but a moment of silence before Colonel Fitzwilliam began again.

  “Why did we come when Anne was gone, by the way? I know you claimed you had business around Easter that would make the trip impossible then, but we all know that was a show. I know you’re not eager to marry Anne, but why all the subterfuge?”

  Darcy let out a great sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. It was a reasonable question, he allowed, but the last thing he wanted to do was talk about marriage. He had escaped to the punishing and severe home of his aunt in an attempt to push all matters of love and matrimony out of his mind, in fact.

  “I don’t appreciate the implication that this was a deliberate plan,” Darcy said, despite the fact that it absolutely had been. Fitzwilliam snorted.

  “Very well, then, Darcy. Hide from your bride as long as you like, but sooner or later you’re going to have to do the deed,” he said, pulling out his watch to check the time. As he was glancing down, he did not see the physical cringe that passed through his usually stoic cousin.

  “I won’t be marrying her,” Darcy said finally. “I came when she was gone so that I could try to have one last attempt at peace before I have to inform Lady Catherine.”

  Colonel Fitzwilliam sat straight up in his saddle and stared at his cousin with an open mouth.

  “You’re going to refuse her? You’re going to jilt Anne?”

  Darcy reined in his horse with a sharp pull to the bridle, and his cousin was forced to do the same.

  “I cannot jilt someone I have never made a promise to!” Darcy burst out, his voice uneven and much louder than necessary. “This engagement is expected, but not promised, and I have never given her my word. It’s cruel of Catherine to fill Anne’s head with such expectations, and I refuse to have this, of all decisions, dictated to me. I cannot and I will not compromise.”

  Colonel Fitzwilliam stared at him for a moment, before he began to laugh boisterously.

  “Good God, man, it’s about time. You’re so stoic and stalwart I was sure you’d marry her for the sake of the family. I am happy to see you’ve found some of that supposed Darcy grit in you!” Fitzwilliam laughed, spurring his horse on. Darcy followed him, glowering.

  “How refreshing to discover what you’ve thought of me,” he said in a dry voice. But his cousin simply laughed again.

  “So why the sudden determination? What is the lady’s name? When may I wish you joy?” Fitzwilliam asked, his tone teasing and light as he glanced over his shoulder at his cousin, who, though taller, was still two years younger than him. He had expected the joke to bounce off Darcy’s black mood, but to his unceasing delight, the joke landed and his cousin’s careful mask slipped into an expression of surprise, and he stiffened even more in his saddle.

  “You may not wish me joy. There is no woman, and there will be none. I do not plan to marry,” Darcy finally responded, his voice tight.

  Fitzwilliam’s delight of the previous moment vanished.

  “Don’t tell me you’re serious, Darcy. Why would you make such a decision? What about Pemberley? What’s gotten into you?” the colonel asked, peppering his cousin with questions.

  Darcy sighed heavily, and reined in his horse again as he looked out at the path before him. Around the bend he swore he caught the sight of a mane of auburn hair disappearing through the trees, and he heard the soft sound of a tinkling laugh. For a moment his heart swelled with the memory, and the aching tension he had carried with him lessened. But the daydream passed, and the tension came slamming back, as well as the anger he had been carrying.

  Would he never be rid of her? Would these daydreams and visions follow him everywhere? He cursed her again for doing this to him, for sentencing him to a life of scanning crowds for her face, of hearing her laugh as he went to sleep. She was the reason he would never marry, for he knew in his core that he could marry none but her. And he would not marry her. Though temptation made him weak, he was resolved on this one point.

  “I am not molded for marriage,” Darcy said finally. “I do not think it would suit me. I plan to leave all of Pemberley to Georgiana and her children, for I know she will marry well.”

  He spurred his horse on to avoid Fitzwilliam’s questioning, racing down the lane toward the spirit that had disappeared around the bend. He knew she would not be there, but he felt a small sense of relief at allowing himself to race after her — even if it was just a mirage.

  Imagine that fastidious, serious man’s surprise when, as he rounded the bend in a flight of fancy, he came upon the sight of a very real flesh and blood woman, walking slowly down the lane and reading a book.

  She looked up at the sound of pounding hooves, her eyes wide in surprise as she caught sight of him. And then her face broke into a wide smile that nearly took his breath away, and he couldn’t help but return one of his own.

  As Colonel Fitzwilliam rode up the spell seemed to break, and each of their faces lost their smile and clouded over as each was eaten up by some inner thoughts, and by the time his cousin began to speak, Darcy had fixed his unreadable mask back in place.

  “Oh, excuse us, Miss, we did not mean to startle you….” Colonel Fitzwilliam began to say, but trailed off as Darcy swung down from his horse and approached the stranger.

  “Miss Elizabeth, I must confess this is the last place I expected to encounter you,” he said tightly, offering her a stiff bow.

  “Oh, so we know this woman. Lovely,” Darcy heard Colonel Fitzwilliam grumble from behind him as Elizabeth returned his courtesy with a quick curtsey. Elizabeth appeared to have heard Fitzwilliam’s comment as well, and she seemed flustered by their appearance, her eyes flitting around in hesitation.

  “I am in the country visiting my cousin and his wife. I confess, I did not expect to see you either,” she said quietly. There was a moment of silence, as he and Elizabeth each stared in opposite directions, apparently deliberately avoiding each other’s gazes. “How are you doing, sir?”

  “I am well,” he responded immediately, his voice sharp.

  He could not tell if she detected his lie, though her eyes did flit to his face for the first time, and he watched with interest as a small flush worked its way up her neck. A cough from behind him shook him out of his reverie, and he cleared his throat awkwardly.

  “Miss Elizabeth, may I please introduce my cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam? Fitzwilliam, this is Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn in Hertfordshire. Her cousin, Mr. Collins, is our aunt’s rector,” Darcy said quickly, making the mandatory introductions. Elizabeth bobbed a curtsey, and Colonel Fitzwilliam got down from his horse to give her a sweeping bow. A muscle in Darcy’s jaw tightened as he witnessed his cousin’s exuberance.

  “Miss Elizabeth, I am very pleased to make your acquaintance! My cousin and his friend Mr. Bingley have told me much of their stay in Hertfordshire,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said. “To hear them tell it, Hertfordshire and its inhabitants are like Heaven on Earth.” Now Darcy flushed.

  “How is Mr
. Bingley?” Elizabeth asked softly, though her voice was tight.

  “He is well,” Darcy responded again, his voice curt. Another lie. He wondered if she could tell. Why was he so suddenly predisposed to falsehoods when around her?

  “And you, sir? How have you been since you left us?” she asked.

  There was an awkward pause, during which she seemed to have realized that she had simply repeated her earlier question.

  “I am well,” he repeated again, causing the party to lapse into silence. Colonel Fitzwilliam looked between each of them, before clearing his throat again.

  “Miss Elizabeth, I must beg your forgiveness, but we are needed elsewhere on the estate. It has been a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I hope we should see you again soon,” he said, taking charge of the situation. Elizabeth glanced at him for apparently the first time, and nodded, a small smile coming back to her face.

  “And you, sir. I daresay we will see each other again quite soon; my cousin has been invited to dine at Rosings later today.” Colonel Fitzwilliam nodded and took his leave, swinging back up onto his horse, but Darcy hesitated.

  “How long have you been in Kent, Miss Elizabeth?” he asked her softly. She looked up from the ground and met his eyes for a quick moment.

  “I have been here but a week, sir. And you?” His heart practically leapt into his mouth. She had been here the whole time?

  “We arrived a week ago as well,” he responded, his voice still quiet. Fitzwilliam’s horse snorted behind him, and he glanced up to the curious face of his cousin.

  “As my cousin said, we must continue. We will see you this evening, Miss Elizabeth,” he said quickly, giving her a nod and then swinging quickly back onto his horse and spurring the beast on, causing Colonel Fitzwilliam to have to speed to catch up for the second time that afternoon.

  “Fascinating! So that’s the witch, then?” Colonel Fitzwilliam said with a hearty laugh when they were well out of earshot.

  “What?” Darcy burst out, which earned him a confused look from his cousin.

  “The Bennet witch, the one you and Bingley are always talking about? Is that not the girl who Bingley fell madly in love with?” Colonel Fitzwilliam asked. “I’m surprised honestly, she doesn’t seem like Bingley’s type. She is uncommonly pretty though, don’t you think?”

  Darcy glowered at the ground, but did not answer.

  “I know you like to sniff out plots everywhere, but I think you’re both mad. She seemed very unassuming to me. And did not look at all like a witch. Besides, if I was a witch, God knows I wouldn’t be hunting down Bingley,” his cousin continued.

  “No offense to your friend, that is.”

  “The woman Bingley fell for is Jane Bennet, the eldest daughter. That was Elizabeth, her younger sister. There are five of them,” Darcy said dryly, stepping around the magic question.

  “Five daughters? I say. If they all look like that, perhaps Hertfordshire truly is Heaven,” his cousin joked. Darcy’s mood, which had gone through a tumultuous whirlwind of highs and lows in the past half hour, was now growing steadily blacker.

  “I would be careful around the Bennet women,” Darcy snapped out finally. “They are impossible to understand and do not hesitate to weave magic.”

  “And how would you know?” his cousin asked with a laugh, shaking his head.

  “Do not worry yourself, Richard. Come, we have work to do,” Darcy said finally, spurring the horse into action and leaving his cousin behind once more.

  XX

  Through the afternoon Darcy had driven himself and his cousin at a punishing pace to meet with the estate steward, visit an embankment that was causing drainage problems, and complete part of their daily inspection of the lands.

  Whenever there was a spare moment in which his cousin could bring up the Bennet family again, Darcy would find another task, increase their pace, or begin a dialogue on the various types of roofing that could be placed on tenant homes. It had not only succeeded in keeping his cousin from speaking, but it also had kept his own thoughts from wandering.

  But alone in his room that night, it was impossible to not think of her. Her hair, tousled from a walk, her eyes wide, and that punishingly beautiful smile she had treated him to when she saw him.

  She was happy to see me, he thought, a strange, uncharacteristic giddiness swelling within him. But of course she was happy to see him. Wasn’t she the cause of all this misery?

  He had spent his life in fastidious study, attempting to root out weakness and folly and indulgence, and yet, somehow he had so easily fallen into the clutches of a love spell.

  It was the only reasonable solution for the feelings that had sprung on him so suddenly during the Netherfield ball, and the all-consuming realization that he was hopelessly in love with Elizabeth Bennet. He had, before that night, felt himself intrigued by the woman for sure. She was beautiful, in an unconventional way, and she had captured his interest. But her family, fortune, and lack of connections had been enough of a defense to keep him from truly being in danger. The rumors and suspicions of witchcraft had honestly been the least of his scruples.

  He had been a fool to think that Jane Bennet was the witch crafting a love spell, especially when Bingley had been so amenable to her advances. His pride had never led him to believe he was in danger, until it was too late. He was hopelessly in love with Elizabeth Bennet, and he hated her for it.

  There were days where he almost physically ached at the thought of her, where all he could think of was a future life with her at Pemberley, where she rambled the grounds and played to him at night, where he would read to her and he would argue with her, just to see that spark of anger again.

  But that future would never be. He had a responsibility to Pemberley, to his sister, to all those who depended on him, and he could never install a mistress who had been so morally bankrupt in her attempts to win the position. Were the shades of Pemberley to be thus polluted? If she had been powerful enough to turn his heart, what else could she do to him? No. He wanted her, desperately, truly wanted to love her and be loved in return, and yet he could not in good conscious allow himself to be swayed.

  In moments of reflection, he considered that her actions may not have been wholly mercenary. He had, at times, wondered if she was intrigued by him as well, especially during those brief times that they were alone. What if her attachment was deeper than he had thought? Perhaps, having found herself desperately in love with him, she had cast her spell, hoping not for money and position, but a reciprocation of feelings?

  Try as he might to ignore these feelings, Darcy wanted to believe the best of her. She did not seem the type to entrap a man like that, but the feelings within his breast and the thoughts that invaded his mind at night were proof enough that she had. She was wild and unpredictable at times, yes, but also intelligent and rational. Elizabeth did not seem the type to make such a large decision during a flight of fancy.

  Or so he had thought. Darcy had to admit that he was reconsidering this option now, following the events of that evening. It had been a disaster, almost without equal, from the moment the Hunsford party had entered the large parlour to be introduced.

  Mr. Collins was almost as ridiculous as Darcy had remembered, though his wife — who seemed to be a reasonable, if quiet woman — appeared to have had some calming effect on the man. She looked familiar, and through traces of the conversation he learned that he had apparently met Mrs. Collins in Hertfordshire when she had been a Lucas, though he could not remember her. They were joined by Mrs. Collins’ younger sister, another girl he had no recollection of, but felt some pity toward as she seemed terrified by the entire situation.

  As if she could read his feelings, Lady Catherine had focused all of her attention on Elizabeth, asking her question after relentless question; her family, studies, lack of governess, level of education, degree of achievements, and much more was discussed. Lady Catherine had only stopped short of asking the lady the size of her dowry. Elizabeth met
each of these questions with politeness and a degree of patience Darcy found startling. Where was the temper? Where was her spark?

  Darcy almost believed her to be a woman deeply altered when, at last, her impertinent disposition revealed itself halfway through the first three quarters of an hour. Her answers became more flippant, her words coy, and her impatience had clearly run thin. Darcy struggled to hold back a smile as she refused to tell his aunt her age.

  I wonder how old she is, he thought as he turned toward the window to hide his smile. Was she so very much younger than him? She seemed too young to be his age.

  “I am not yet one-and-twenty, ma’am,” she said from behind him. He could hear the smile in her voice as she spoke. Only eight years younger. Close enough to have seen the world, but not so old to have been turned against it. Twenty and eight-and-twenty — that is not such a difference.

  Dinner had passed much the same way, though through a strange coincidence of seating, he was placed directly next to her at the table. They did not speak to each other, or even look at each other, though he could not help but think of the last time he had seen her, when they had been seated next to each other just like this at the Netherfield ball. He did not know what had happened, but in the sudden dark that night he had heard her cry out, and something within him instinctively reached for her, and he had grasped her hand before he had even mastered his own mind.