Mr. Darcy's Foreboding: A Pride and Prejudice Variation

by Glenna Mason

  “Yes, I can already imagine my sheep traversing these hills.”

  “Growing long, warm wool.”

  “Worth my while.”

  “And horses, Charles. You can raise them below—ponies, work horses, hunters—whatever you prefer.”

  “Jane likes the house and gardens.”

  “And it’s only an hour from Pemberley by carriage, half an hour on horseback over the fields.”

  “And even closer to Asbrey Park.”

  “Miles and Mary are an hour the other direction.”

  “Century Gate it is. I’m sold.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  By early August, Jane and Bingley had settled comfortably into their new estate. Elizabeth and Darcy visited often, as did Mary and Miles, helping the new Derbyshire residents first unpack and sort and then perfect the settings in their home.

  “I’m glad the home came with furnishings,” Jane said, “but I hate those ugly sofas in the parlor.”

  “Jane, you’ve never hated anything in your life,” Elizabeth said, grinning.

  “True. Well, despise them then.”

  The two giggled lightheartedly. Life was good.

  “And of course you’ve already selected replacements,” Elizabeth guessed.

  “I have. Would you like them at Pemberley by any chance? I have to put them somewhere,” Jane teased.

  “Perhaps. I have the perfect spot.”

  “Oh?’ Jane said, surprised. The sofas really were awful.

  “In the front entry.”

  Jane burst into spontaneous laughter, replying, “Oh, sure.” Then seeing Elizabeth’s serious countenance, she continued, “Fitzwilliam might have something to say about that.”

  Elizabeth snickered and declared, “You know that Fitzwilliam thinks I’m perfect.”

  “Not this time he won’t. Now as to those hideous drapes that match the sofas . . . “ And so it went. The Bennet ladies felt truly blessed: wonderful husbands, charming homes and magnificent futures.

  But how boring life might become without a few challenges. And from ancient times, the fates have seemed to concur that luck, be it bad or good, comes in threes. We’ve had the evil of the three witches in Macbeth or the grace of third times the charm and the ambiguity of win, lose or draw. Interestingly, three might be a western culture talisman. The American Indians, for example, consider four a key number, and the Chinese favor five. However, in Britain the threes have predominance, as the Darcys were about to find out.

  The first Darcy trial came in the form of Francine Bennet. Mr. Bennet had a standing invitation to Pemberley. He had in fact accompanied Darcy, Elizabeth and Georgiana home in May, for six weeks of exhilarating fun, riding out with Darcy and Georgiana, Elizabeth trailing along with a groom, house hunting with Jane and Bingley, reading in solitude and conversing with everyone.

  Now, however, a little over a month after his return to Longbourn, Mrs. Bennet insisted that he take her to Derbyshire to see Jane’s new house and then across Derbyshire to view Mary’s on their way home. “I must see that my girls are well situated” was her excuse.

  Mr. Bennet wrote Elizabeth his explanation. It read:

  Dear Lizzy:

  Your mother speaks of nothing else. My ears are fractured from her constant entreaty. I shall have no peace until I relent. Therefore, we leave in a fortnight. We shall spend one week at Pemberley, two at Century Gate, and two more at the Westfields. We will arrive back at Longbourn around Michaelmas, which reminds your old father that at that time a year ago I had all my sweet girls around me.

  Love, Your Papa

  When Elizabeth read Darcy her letter, he replied, “But, darling, that is just when we are going to Ramsgate for our honeymoon.”

  “Next year I suppose. There’s no stopping Mama when she blows through like a whirlwind. What are someone else’s honeymoon plans compared to a visit by Fanny,” Elizabeth joked.

  “It is long drive from Derbyshire in any case.”

  “I know. Why don’t we go from London next May, before we come home to Pemberley? Georgiana can come with us. We’ll be old married folks by then,” she said, smiling. “It can be a vacation by the sea, not a honeymoon.”

  “Georgiana will not wish to go to Ramsgate.”

  “Then some other coastal village—Lyme or the White Cliffs—somewhere educational as well as wet. I’ve never seen those shores either. Any will thrill me.”

  “Excellent idea, my dear. We’ve almost a year to peruse the atlases and geographical texts in the library to find just the right locale. Coming up with a new plan may bring almost as much pleasure as the trip itself.”

  “Fitzwilliam, Jane has these sofas that she abhors. We could sit them under the windows in the library and cuddle, while we investigate the coastline,” Elizabeth said, studiously.

  “Elizabeth!”

  “What?”

  “I’ve seen those sofas you know.”

  Elizabeth burst into joyous laughter. Darcy joined her.

  “A visit from your mother won’t be too bad,” Darcy said.

  “It’s only a week.”

  “And I’ve got this cave I need to explore over on the peak on the south side of the estate.”

  Elizabeth smacked him with her fan.

  The week entertaining Mr. and Mrs. Bennet was surprisingly nondescript. Mrs. Bennet rearranged the furniture not only in the two front parlors, but also in Darcy’s library and study. Darcy was quite stoic about the ordeal, since Mrs. Bennet was so delighted with her stylish redecorating of Pemberley.

  Darcy knew he’d have the furniture moved back as soon as she left. The marks had been clearly imprinted on the orientals over the years, after all. And since the chore kept his mother-in-law busy and happy, he had no reason to go caving in his peaks.

  Darcy, Elizabeth and Georgiana also went to visit the Bingleys during the Bennets’ second week of sojourn there. Then the Darcys and the Bingleys traveled to the Westfields to overlap with the Bennets’ first week with the Viscount and the Viscountess.

  The first three weeks of her visit to Derbyshire, Mrs. Bennet chattered on and on about her daughter, the Viscountess, but, intriguingly, when she actually got to the Westfield estate and had the chance to address the Lord and his Lady, the Viscount and Viscountess, her daughter Mary, Fanny Bennet was rendered speechless.

  The whole week that the Darcys stayed at Westfield Manor, Mrs. Bennet barely put two sentences together and even then seldom in a volume over a whisper. So impressed was Darcy that on their return trip to Pemberley, he asked, “How do I become an Earl?” Elizabeth and Georgiana laughed so hard they almost burst through the seams of their staves.

  *****

  When the Darcys arrived home from Westfield Manor, they were greeted by a letter on the table in the entry hall. Its return address was George Wickham Regimental Corps Bristol. Would this be the second challenge to the ennui of ordinary, everyday pleasures in the life of the Darcy household?

  After refreshing, Darcy, Elizabeth and Georgiana gathered for tea in the music room, just in case they needed a few dramatic chords on the piano after opening Wickham’s missive.

  “Shall we guess first?” Georgiana suggested.

  “And bet on the answers?” Elizabeth added.

  “Why not!”

  “A shilling?”

  “I’d say not. A quid.”

  “A quid it is.”

  “Who pays?”

  “Half a quid each for the losers.”

  “Done!”

  “Wait a minute,” Elizabeth instructed and rushed from the room, returning a few minutes later with three sheets of stationery, a quill and ink well.

  “What’s this?”

  “We write down our answers.”

  “Why?”

  “Whoever goes first might choose another’s guess.”

  “Clever girl. You’re correct, so go first.”

  Elizabeth went to the table across the room and with a flourish provided an answer. �
�Next,” she said, folding her response in half. Georgiana, smirking, took Elizabeth’s place and scratched out a response. Darcy then penned his and collected the answers.

  “Tea is too mundane,” Darcy declared. “This calls for champagne.” He rang for Mrs. Reynolds.

  “Mrs. Reynolds, champagne please and four goblets. You must join us. Wickham was always one of your favorites.”

  “Yes, Master Fitzwilliam,” she said, grumbling as she exited, “Favorite, harrumph, that scamp.”

  “Oh, and a piece of paper, Mrs. Reynolds, for your guess.” Mrs. Reynolds looked confused, but returned with a footman carrying champagne on ice and flutes. Mrs. Reynolds had pen and paper.

  Darcy poured, while Georgiana instructed Mrs. Reynolds on their bets. Giggling like a school girl, Mrs. Reynolds added her guess to the pile.

  “To our bets,” Darcy toasted. Everyone raised a glass. “To our bets!” they cheered.

  “Let’s open our own guesses first,” Darcy suggested. “Then we’ll open George’s letter to see if anyone won.”

  “Good idea. Let’s,” the others agreed.

  First opening Georgiana’s, Darcy read aloud, “May I marry Georgiana for her dowry?” They all laughed and clicked glasses.

  “Elizabeth’s?’ He unfolded it and read, “May I borrow money. The amount is up to you, Darcy, old friend.”

  “You’re going to win, Mrs. Darcy,” Mrs. Reynolds said. Darcy nodded in her direction. “Your turn, Mrs. Reynolds.” He opened the note and read, “I’ve had a slight run in with the law. Can you save me from the noose?”

  Darcy opened his own and, with a mischievous wink, asserted, “Darcy, I need Pemberley. Please say I may visit.”

  “So shall I review/Before we pursue?” Elizabeth asked in a carefully rhyming couplet.

  “Please,” Georgiana and Mrs. Reynolds said. Everyone was enjoying this little diversion so much they didn’t want it to end in a probably mundane message.

  “Marriage, money, noose, visit,” Elizabeth said.

  “Brother, that’s amazing. You opened the bets in alphabetical order. How clever of you.”

  “On purpose too,” he declared. “This calls for another glass of champagne. Then we open the mysterious dispatch.” Darcy poured a new round. “Ready?”

  “Yes,” came a trio of response.

  It read:

  Dear Fitzwilliam:

  I have leave next week. I had such a remarkable resurgence of love for Pemberley at the New Year’s Eve festivities that I hope you will allow me to spend a few days there during this short respite from my duties.

  If so, I will ride King Rex over and stay out of your way—just walk the paths of the gardens, ride the trails to the Peaks and loll in the library. You’ll barely know I’m there. If you prefer not to see me, I can dine in my room.

  Your pal from the past, George

  “Brother, you did it. You won.”

  “How’d you know, Mr. Darcy?”

  “Did handling the letter give you vibes, Fitzwilliam?”

  “Not this time, Elizabeth. It was an easy guess. George truly loves Pemberley. It is where he grew up and his revered and respected father reigned. Can we invite him, Elizabeth? Will it upset you too much, Georgiana?”

  “If you wish it, of course he can come,” Elizabeth said. “You put up with Mama.”

  “Georgiana?”

  “I’m fine. He’s has already been here for New Years. I know that was a crowd and this will be more intimate and casual, but, Brother, I am truly ready to be a friend to George Wickham. I bear him no resentment for the past.”

  Georgiana kept her response purposely vague, since Mrs. Reynolds did not know about Ramsgate. However, Mrs. Reynolds did view Wickham as a vagrant rascal, so Georgiana did not worry about some measure of censure of his past creeping into her answer.

  “Good. I’ll write him right now, while we are all in high spirits. Or is it high on spirits?” Darcy jested. “I’m fairly sure—notice the qualifier—that George Wickham has literally begun his life anew. If so, he can become a good friend again and a frequent guest at Pemberley.”

  “And, Fitzwilliam . . . ” Elizabeth began.

  “Yes, Elizabeth?”

  “I doubt Wickham will move the furniture around in four rooms. You and the footmen may well revel in his stay.”

  Darcy bowed with a smile and left to pen his letter to Wickham.

  “Back to work,” Mrs. Reynolds said. “I haven’t had so much fun in years. And to think it centered on that rapscallion George Wickham. Amazing!”

  “Shall we play for each other, Elizabeth?”

  “Please, let’s.”

  And so the halls of Pemberley filled with the glorious sounds of the masters.

  *****

  George Wickham arrived, as he had proposed, at the beginning of the next week.

  “I rode all night.”

  “Why? Your horse must be ready to perish.”

  “No, I spelled him.”

  “You’ve always been a lover of horses, George.”

  “The sooner I got here, the longer I had to enjoy Pemberley.”

  “George, these excesses are unnecessary. Come when you like, stay as long as you are able, whether I am here or not. We are on a new route in our relationship, George. You are always welcome at Pemberley.”

  Wickham grabbed Darcy and hugged him. “Thank you, Fitzwilliam.”

  “Just like our childhood, George. We shall erase the twenty years in between.”

  “Good.”

  “Now go up and relax. I know you couldn’t bring much on horseback and so my closet is yours.”

  “I’ll just go up and bathe and shave before I see the ladies. I smell.”

  “Do.”

  A shaven and handsomely attired George Wickham entered the parlor for tea at four. The ladies stood and curtseyed. Darcy bowed. Wickham, a smile from ear to ear, bowed formally to each.

  “Come, George. The crumpets are supreme.”

  “Sugar and cream, Mr. Wickham?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Both, please.”

  “George, welcome again to Pemberley. May I meet your horse, while you’re here?” Georgiana asked.

  “You certainly may.”

  “Perhaps we can ride out together, if Brother and Elizabeth will accompany us.”

  “We shall,” the two Darcys agreed.

  “When?” Wickham inquired, amazement tinging his query. “Would tomorrow suit?”

  “Certainly,” Darcy said. “Elizabeth is learning. You and Georgiana may outpace us.”

  And so began the most unlikely of frivolous flirtations.

  *****

  The third challenge to the Darcy serenity came in early October in the form of Darcy’s most dreaded foreboding: Caroline Bingley. While it was true that Mrs. Bennet had ended up harmless and practically speechless and that George Wickham had regenerated his former self to the extent that he had effectively regained the affections of Georgiana and her brother, Darcy had no such hopes for Caroline Bingley. Caroline, who was neither harmless nor regenerated, was unlikely to ever change. She was a harpy, and a harpy she would remain.

  Normally Darcy would have taken the impending Caroline visit in stride, ignoring her when she came in the room as much as was polite, and avoiding her presence in the first place as often as reasonably feasible. However, this time Caroline’s menace was sending unmistakable, unrelenting vibes to his susceptible psyche. All the signals relayed one clear message: Caroline Bingley despises Eliza Bennet Darcy. Darcy’s goal was clear: keep Elizabeth away from Caroline.

  The Caroline catastrophe commenced, about the time the Bennets arrived home to Longbourn and Wickham bridled King Rex to return to Bristol, with a letter which came by post to Charles Bingley. It read:

  Dear Charles,

  I have recently spent the month of August with the Hursts in the lovely, cool North Country. Louisa let me know that Gilbert had plans for September, which did not include me, so I returned to
Park Lane. I find that after three weeks I am bored silly without you, and dear Jane of course, to keep me company. Need I remind you that everyone who is anyone is out of the city? The heat is unbearable.

  I haven’t seen your estate, and so I am coming for an extended visit. I can probably spend December with the Hursts, but that gives me almost two full months to enjoy Derbyshire with you and your bride.

  Caroline

  Postscript: Do not bother replying. I follow this letter in two days.

  Charles raged for fifteen minutes before he calmed down enough to find Jane. “I’ll send her right back.”

  “You can’t do that.”

  “I can and I shall,” Bingley still railing said. “Otherwise she will hound us every autumn until we die.”

  “Oh, no, Charles,” Jane said, stricken.

  “I didn’t tell you, but I just received a letter from Louisa. Gilbert practically ordered her out of his house, he was so displeased at her constant complaints. Caroline is wrong about one thing—well, many things actually—but one for certain. Gilbert is not hosting her again this winter. He says she’ll have to remain at the townhouse in London. From all indications, he may never have her at his estate again.”

  “Don’t tell Caroline,” Jane said, shuddering. “We’ll never get her to leave.”

  Bingley looked at the congenitally complacent Jane.

  “What?” Jane asked, confused at his stare.

  “You’re normal, after all.”

  “Normal?”

  “Yes, you’re usually pleasant beyond measure, but in this instance you are just like the rest of us—hence normal.”

  “It is Caroline.”

  “True.”

  “Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam will not visit us while Caroline’s here.”

  “That does it. She goes.” Of course even Charles knew his threats were idle ones. Caroline wouldn’t go—at least not straight back, as Charles threatened. So he sent a rider to Pemberley with the news of Caroline’s impending intrusion. Ironically the rider passed Wickham and King Rex on the long, winding Pemberley driveway. Wickham was leaving to return to his station in Bristol; the rider was bringing news of challenge number three.

  *****

  No one, not even Caroline herself, knew that Caroline was suffering from an undiagnosed malady, which swung her moods from extreme despondency to full blown mania. During both her highs and her lows, Caroline envisioned herself the rightful Mistress of Pemberley, with her hand on the arm of the debonair Fitzwilliam Darcy, admired and loved by all.