Darcy and Elizabeth What If?
Collection 3
Includes
#7 Mr Darcy’s Valentine
#8 A Ball At Pemberley
#9 Mr Darcy’s Waterloo
JENNIFER LANG
This collection © Jennifer Lang 2016
Each separate novella © Jennifer Lang 2015
The moral right of the author has been asserted
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior permission in writing of the publisher. Nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
This book is a work of fiction. The characters and incidents are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any real person or incident is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Table of Contents
Mr Darcy’s Valentine
A Ball at Pemberley
Mr Darcy’s Waterloo
Mr Darcy’s Valentine
Darcy and Elizabeth What If? #7
JENNIFER LANG
Table of Contents
Contents
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 One
Mr Darcy, of Pemberley in Derbyshire, was in the habit of paying a visit to his aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, two or three times a year. Lady Catherine lived at Rosings Park with her daughter, Miss Anne de Bourgh.
Although duty compelled Mr Darcy to visit his aunt, he was not fond of her and he found his cousin Anne insipid. Luckily, Lady Catherine and Anne were both the sort of people who liked to spend their time indoors, which meant he was able to escape their company by engaging in outdoor activities.
So it was that on the morning of February 13th, he was out riding in the neighbourhood of Rosings early one fine morning. The weather was mild for the time of year, with enough of a wind to make the exercise bracing. The countryside was beginning to emerge from its winter dreariness and although the trees were still bare, snowdrops could be seen raising their white heads, together with occasional crocuses.
He rode down to the river, which rushed past noisily, and then forded it at its shallowest part and headed for the east gate. He went out on to the road so that he could take a more direct route back to the house. He had not gone far when he saw a carriage bowling towards him. It slowed as it reached the crossroads and he saw that it was about to turn off the main road and head towards Rosings. As it turned, he saw it from the side and he recognised it as the carriage of his friend, Mr Bingley.
What is Bingley doing here? he wondered.
He felt the stirrings of alarm, for he had last seen Bingley in London. He was afraid that Bingley had brought him some bad news about his sister, Georgiana, who was also in London. He galloped down the road and took the turning to Rosings, so that he soon caught up with the carriage. He slowed his stallion to a trot as he reached it.
Mr Bingley rolled down the window and greeted him with a cheery, ‘Morning, Darcy!’
From Mr Bingley’s smile and happy tone of voice, it was obvious he had not come with any bad news.
Mr Darcy relaxed.
‘Good morning, Bingley. What brings you to Rosings?’
‘I am on my way to visit friends in Dover. When I told Miss Darcy of my intentions, she asked me to deliver this painting to Lady Catherine on my way.’ He glanced towards a large parcel placed on the seat next to him. ‘I must say, Darcy, I think it is one of the prettiest things she has ever done. It is a water colour made from a sketch she did of Rosings the last time she was here. It shows the house from the front and she has done it remarkably well.’
‘I remember it,’ said Mr Darcy with pleasure. ‘She must have worked hard to finish it so soon. It is very good of you to take the trouble, Bingley. My aunt will be delighted.’
Mr Darcy swung his leg over the back of his black stallion and dismounted in one lithe movement, his black riding boots gleaming as they caught the morning sunlight and his cream breeches pulling tight over his firm legs. His greatcoat fell open as he dismounted but then it closed again as he set both feet firmly on the ground. In the cold weather he needed his coat, and the many capes at the shoulders provided warmth as well as giving protection from any rain.
He tied the reins of his horse to the back of the carriage and climbed inside, settling himself opposite his friend.
Mr Bingley knocked on the roof of the carriage and it set off at a stately pace towards Rosings House.
‘Georgiana wrapped it herself,’ said Mr Bingley.
He gestured towards the package, which was wrapped in brown paper. It was held in place by a wide ribbon to prevent it falling.
Mr Darcy nodded his approval. His sister had made a neat parcel of her gift.
‘And how was Georgiana when you left her? Was she well?’ he asked.
‘Yes, very well. She was playing a duet with Caroline as I left the house.’
‘It is good of your sister to keep her company,’ said Mr Darcy.
‘Nonsense! Caroline enjoys it. Miss Darcy is delightful.’
Mr Darcy smiled, but although he was glad to hear his beloved sister praised, he was also conscious of a feeling of dissatisfaction. He had, for quite some time, hoped that Mr Bingley would fall in love with Georgiana. Mr Bingley was a good-natured young man with a fortune of five thousand pounds a year, and he would make a very good husband.
Georgiana was too young to marry yet, of course, but in time she would be of marriageable age, and Mr Darcy could think of no one he would rather see as her husband than his friend Bingley. But although Mr Bingley was always kind to Georgiana, and although he spoke well of her, Mr Darcy could detect nothing tender in Mr Bingley’s comments.
If Mr Bingley had not spent the autumn at Netherfield Park then perhaps it would have been different. But he had met a young lady there, a Miss Bennet, and he had spent all his time with her. So much so, that his sisters had become alarmed, for Miss Bennet was the daughter of a small landowner and had no dowry to speak of. And so they had done what any sensible sisters would have done, thought Mr Darcy approvingly. They had endeavoured to separate their brother from Miss Bennet.
Mr Darcy had helped them, and together they had persuaded Mr Bingley to remain in London when he went there on business. They had protected him from Miss Bennet when she followed him to London by the simple expedient of not telling him she was in town, and they had encouraged him to spend his time with Miss Darcy.
But, so far, Mr Bingley had not fallen in love with her. Still, there was time. And although he did not yet love her, he liked her, which was a good start.
Mr Darcy was roused from his thoughts by Mr Bingley exclaiming in surprise, ‘Upon my honour! That young woman looks like Miss Elizabeth Bennet! What can she be doing here?’
Mr Darcy followed his friend’s gaze and saw they had drawn level with the parsonage. It was a pretty building with a garden sloping up from the road, green pales and a neat laurel hedge. A gate gave on to a gravel path and three people – two ladies and a gentleman - could be seen walking up the path and disappearing into the house.
‘She is staying with the Collinses,’ said Mr Darcy, his mood darkening.
He had thoug
ht he would be safe from Miss Elizabeth at Rosings, but by an unlucky chance she had brought forward her visit, which had originally been arranged for Easter. He had been dismayed to find her there; not because he did not like her but quite the reverse.
He had met her the previous autumn and, although he had thought her very plain to begin with, he had later changed his mind. She had a deliciously teasing manner, a fine intelligence and an abundance of wit, so that as he grew to know her he had felt himself in some danger from her.
But he had been determined not to give way to the feelings she provoked in him. Although she had personal charms that captivated him, she was from an inferior family and she was not a suitable wife for a Darcy.
And so he had given a sigh of relief when he left her neighbourhood.
But now here she was at Rosings, where he least expected to find her so soon in the year, ready to charm him and tease him and enrapture him all over again.
‘I thought she was not to visit the Collinses until Easter!’ said Mr Bingley. He added, with some embarrassment, ‘Miss Bennet told me of the arrangement, shortly before I left Netherfield.’
So Bingley has not forgotten Miss Bennet yet, thought Mr Darcy.
The thought annoyed him, but at least part of his annoyance was directed to himself, since he had not forgotten her sister, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, either. Even before he had encountered her at Rosings, she had continued to intrude on his thoughts, often when he least expected it.
‘There was a change of plan,’ said Mr Darcy. ‘Mrs Collins caught the measles and, as Miss Bennet had already had them, she brought forward her visit in order to nurse her friend.’
‘Oh, dear. I hope Mrs Collins is better? She should not have been out of doors otherwise.’
‘Yes, she has recovered,’ said Mr Darcy.
Thanks to Elizabeth, he thought, with a tenderness he could not disguise.
‘I wonder if I ought to call on her,’ said Mr Bingley. ‘Miss Bennet, that is.’
‘I believe that will not be possible,’ said Mr Darcy firmly. He did not want Mr Bingley to be reminded of the Bennets. ‘She is engaged to visit friends with Mrs Collins in the neighbouring town today. She mentioned the fact at dinner yesterday.’
‘Oh,’ said Mr Bingley, crestfallen.
They lapsed into silence.
At last the carriage rolled to a halt outside Rosings House. Both gentlemen climbed out and together they lifted the painting out. The carriage then rolled round to the stables, with Mr Darcy’s stallion trotting behind it.
Mr Darcy carried his sister’s painting up the stone steps that led to the front door, which was opened by an assiduous footman. They went into the drawing-room, where Lady Catherine and Anne were sitting with their needlework.
‘Aunt, I believe you know my friend, Mr Bingley. He was passing Rosings on the way to see friends and he kindly agreed to bring Georgiana’s painting with him in his carriage. You remember, she took a sketch of the house the last time she was here and you said it would make an excellent watercolour.’
‘Of course I remember. I have an excellent memory. I never forget anything,’ she said grandly.
Lady Catherine was an imposing woman who had not succumbed to the current fashion for high-waisted gowns, but who retained the panniered styles of her youth. The wide skirts added to her consequence and the sumptuous fabrics gave her a grand appearance. Her hair was elaborately arranged and her manner was regal.
She held out her hand to Mr Bingley, who bowed over it.
Her daughter, Miss Anne de Bourgh nodded to him and he bowed to her also.
The painting was unwrapped with due care and they all exclaimed over its likeness, and Georgiana’s skill in painting it.
‘We must hang it in the gallery,’ said Lady Catherine.
She rang the bell and gave orders to one of the footmen, who carried the painting carefully from the room.
‘You will stay for luncheon, Mr Bingley,’ said Lady Catherine. He started to make his excuses but she waved her hand imperiously and said, ‘I insist.’
‘In that case, I accept with thanks,’ he said.
‘Do you sing, Mr Bingley?’
Mr Darcy felt sorry for his friend. He heard Mr Bingley mumble something about not having much voice, but Lady Catherine overruled Mr Bingley’s protests, saying she was sure he sang very well. Lady Catherine, when bored, would brook no protests! She said that, once he had taken some refreshment, Anne would accompany him on the pianoforte.
‘Anne plays very well, and would have been a great proficient if her health had allowed it,’ she said.
Refreshments were brought in, and then Anne rose meekly and went over to the pianoforte, where she opened her music and began to play. Mr Bingley had no choice but to sing. In fact, he had a very pleasant tenor voice. Mr Darcy was then compelled to sing and so the time passed until luncheon was served.
Afterwards, Mr Bingley took his leave and Mr Darcy retired to the library, where he said he had some letters of business to write.
In fact, he had no letters to write. He simply wanted to be by himself.
He closed the door of the library behind him and leant against it with a feeling of relief. Seeing Bingley again had reawakened thoughts of the previous autumn, and the feelings he himself had entertained for Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
He thought of their first meeting at the Meryton assembly, where he had remarked, rudely, that she was not handsome enough to tempt him to dance. He had regretted it soon afterwards, for he realised she had overheard him. The mocking look she had given him as she walked past convinced him of it.
That look had aroused his admiration. She had not been overawed by him, or cast down by him. Her self regard was too healthy for that. Instead, she had been amused. There had been a sparkle of mischief in her eyes and he had been captivated by it.
She had continued to intrigue him whenever they met. She had not fawned over him, as other women did. She had, indeed, often been impertinent. But there was a sweetness about her which made her impertinence attractive, and it aroused, not only his admiration, but stronger feelings, too.
He was not used to such feelings. Women usually bored him. He found their conversation trivial and their flirting tiresome. But with Elizabeth, the more he knew her, the more interested he became.
He looked forward to seeing her. His day brightened whenever she walked into a room and it darkened when she left.
But it could never be. She was not a suitable wife for Fitzwilliam Darcy and he had his pride. He could not marry someone from the gentry, it would demean him.
He could not take her as his mistress, either, as her rank was too high to make that possible.
And he did not want her as his mistress, if truth be told.
He did not want an Elizabeth who felt compelled to agree with him and flatter him and pander to him. He wanted her as she was, with all her liveliness and rebellious spirit.
He remembered her walking past him at the Meryton assembly, and the saucy look she had given him. She had put so much into that one look. She had shown her complete indifference to him and his opinion of her. And she had shown her superiority to him because she knew how to behave and he, with his rude remarks, did not.
He remembered that look, and the merry smile that had accompanied it, and he wanted her all over again.
If he went down to the parsonage, he could claim her in half an hour.
That was all it would take for him to walk down there, stride into the house and propose.
Although the idea was preposterous – preposterous! – still, he could do it, and then Elizabeth would be his.
It was such an attractive prospect that he almost gave way to his feelings and he was half way to the door before he checked himself and forced himself to walk back to the fireplace.
He would not give way to his feelings for her.
He would not!
If he did, then all his good work so far would be wasted for, when he had discovered he
r at Rosings, he had gone out of his way to avoid her. He had absented himself when he knew she would be visiting. If that had not been possible, he had endeavoured to ignore her.
Even so, although he had ignored her outwardly, by sitting at the other end of the room, or conversing with his cousin, or some other stratagem, he had not been able to tear his attention away from her. He had listened for the sound of her voice and paid attention to her conversation, even when he was supposed to be talking to someone else. He had taken pleasure in her singing and her performance on the pianoforte, even if he was meant to be playing cards with his aunt.
So that, despite ignoring her, he had come to know her better and to like her even more.
And now Bingley’s visit had stirred up all his earlier feelings again, and he was finding it harder and harder to fight them.
Worst of all, she had been invited to dinner for that very evening and he would not be able to excuse himself. He did not know how much longer he could fight his attraction to her.
And, if he gave way to his feelings, he did not know what the consequences would be.
Chapter Two
Elizabeth Bennet did not see the carriage rolling past as she returned from her walk with the Collinses. It was not until much later, after she had been with Charlotte Collins to visit some of Charlotte’s new friends in the neighbouring town, that she learnt Mr Bingley had been there.
Mr Collins was full of the news. He had not accompanied the ladies on their visit but had, instead, gone to see some of his parishioners, and news of Mr Bingley had spread by way of the servants
‘Lady Catherine was most pleased,’ said Mr Collins. He told his wife and guest all about it as they took tea before dressing for their dinner engagement at Rosings. ‘I am sure you will be pleased to see the painting, Miss Bennet,’ he said, attempting a clumsy compliment, ‘for with your discernment you will be able to see that Miss Darcy’s painting is most superior.’
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