Pride & Prejudice Villains Revisited – Redeemed – Reimagined: A Collection of Six Pride and Prejudice Variation Short Stories

by Renata McMann

  To my relief, for no young woman should be as devoid of self as Miss Darcy seemed to be, after about three weeks of managing the household, I noticed a problem. I’d long since learned that keeping careful track of the accounts for a household gave insight into potential issues. While it was the case that, in any household, there would be unexpected expenses, sometime there were things that went beyond what was reasonable. In my previous job, I’d uncovered a cook’s addiction to sweets. In the job before that, I’d discovered that the heir was a secret drinker.

  In this case, the extra expense was candles. Miss Darcy used too many of them. She also claimed to have insomnia and was in her bed for ten hours or more each night. I knew some young women needed extra sleep, but that seemed excessive.

  The following day, when Miss Darcy began her scheduled practice on the pianoforte, I excused myself and went to her room. Normally, I stayed in the parlor while she played, usually with something to occupy my hands. It was more to keep her company, and because her playing was enjoyable to listen to, than for any need. She would complete her daily practice without any urging from me.

  I closed the door to Miss Darcy’s room behind me with a quiet click that surely couldn’t be heard over her playing. It was, of course, a lovely room, but nearly devoid of character. The few adornments that were there were all, I suspected, gifts from her brother. I shook my head. Miss Darcy must have some sort of personality. I was sure of it.

  Treading softly, not difficult to do with the lush carpeting, I crossed the room and opened her wardrobe. I felt around the bottom, looked behind her dresses and in the back corners of her drawers. I peeked behind her furniture and under the edges of the carpet, before turning to the bed.

  I checked beneath her pillows. I was about to drop to my knees to peer under the bed when a voice in the hallway startled me. I crossed to the door and put an ear to it.

  “. . . so much more handsome than Tommy,” a voice I recognized as one of the maids said.

  Now that I was at the door, I could hear footsteps without.

  “La, don’t be daft,” another girl who worked in the house said. “Tommy’s much more . . .” The footsteps trailed off as her voice became too muted to understand.

  I put a hand to my pounding heart. I ought not to be so nervous. I was only doing what Mr. Darcy had hired me to do. It was my responsibility to discover why Georgiana Darcy was using so many candles. I only hoped it wasn’t for anything too scandalous, like corresponding with a gentleman. Then, I would have failed before I’d begun.

  I could have asked Miss Darcy why she used so many candles, and would need to if I didn’t find anything suspicious. I worried the question would force her to lie to me, however. Or, perhaps worse, insult her, if she truly wasn’t doing anything untoward. Either would drive a wedge between us. New as our acquaintance was, I knew I needed a bit more time with her before we tested our budding regard too strongly. A personality like Miss Darcy’s needed gentle handling.

  No longer hearing anything in the hallway, I returned to the bed, dropping to the floor to look underneath. I was rewarded with the discovery of a large box. I slid it out, hoping it didn’t contain an equally large pile of lover’s letters. I couldn’t fathom what I would do if that turned out to be the case.

  The box contained books. I took each out, examining them. There was Evelina, Cecilia, Belinda, The Mysteries of Udolpho, and many more. I sat back on my heels. Georgiana Darcy was a secret romantic; a secret novel reader.

  I smiled, relieved. Here was something a normal young woman would do; hide in her room at night and read forbidden novels. That her brother wouldn’t approve of such a practice was likely, but he also hadn’t expressly told me she was forbidden from reading such things. I looked over the books again, feeling that this might be both a good way to impart wisdom to Miss Darcy and something for us to bond over.

  First, however, I had to determine the level of suitably of each book, for likely some were not appropriate for Miss Darcy. It was a daunting pile, and I didn’t know all of the titles. Of the ones I did know, I only considered one to be truly inappropriate. I set it aside, placing the others I was familiar with back in the box before setting that one on top. I selected one of the novels I didn’t know at random, sat down in Miss Darcy’s chair, and began to read. There was no way I could judge if the novel was inappropriate without trying it.

  It was suitable enough, though unrealistically romantic, and fairly engaging. I was about thirty pages into it when the door opened. Miss Darcy gasped, a sound I echoed, startled. I realized I’d been so engrossed in the story, I’d lost track of time.

  Miss Darcy’s eyes were wide and steeped in guilt as they darted from me to the box on the floor. She bit her lip, looking about almost as if she might bolt from the room. I realized I would have to be more temperate than I might have been with another young women. I closed the book and set it aside.

  “Please explain to me what I’ve found here,” I said, gentling my tone.

  She looked down at her feet, twisting a slipper-clad toe into the carpet. “Books,” she whispered, almost too softly for me to hear.

  “I can see that,” I said.

  Her head popped up, her eyes even wider. “They’re mine. My brother sent me money and I bought them.”

  “I wasn’t suggesting you stole them.” I smiled, something I wouldn’t normally have done while reprimanding a charge. “I want to know why you hid them and why you hide the fact that you are reading them.”

  Silence met my question, along with more abuse of the finely woven carpet, though I was sure it could stand up to Georgiana’s nervous fidgeting.

  I didn’t think harshness was needed, so I kept my voice kind. “Miss Darcy, I need an answer.”

  “At school, the teachers didn’t approve of novels,” she whispered.

  “Well here, in this household, I don’t approve of you hiding things.” I rang for a servant.

  “What are you going to do?” she asked, her foot stilling. “You won’t tell Fitzwilliam, will you?”

  “No, I shall not inform your brother, so long as you promise to no longer hide things from me,” I said. “Most of these books are perfectly suitable reading for a young woman, and will give you something to converse about in like company.”

  “Thank you,” she said on an exhale, smiling.

  “Do not thank me yet,” I said.

  A maid appeared in the doorway. “You rang, missus, miss?”

  “Yes.” I stood, quickly returning all of the books to the box. I looked the maid up and down. She seemed sturdy enough. Lifting the box, which was rather heavy, I handed it to her. “Please put that in my room.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Younge,” the maid said with an awkward curtsey.

  I thought she was the one who didn’t think Tommy, the baker’s delivery lad, was very handsome. I turned back to face Georgiana, who watched the girl until she left. She then leveled accusing eyes on me.

  “Those books are mine,” she said.

  She still whispered, but there was a vehemence in her tone and a stubborn set to her jaw that I had never seen before. In fact, it was the first time she’d protested anything. That was interesting. I’d finally found something that Miss Darcy felt strongly about, her books.

  “I am not going to destroy them, and you will see most of them again,” I said. “Please get ready to go out.”

  “Where are we going?” she asked, still looking mutinous.

  “We’re going to see Madame Falconet.”

  Miss Darcy blinked several times. I could tell my answer surprised her. All else aside, we rarely visited Madame Falconet. Normally, she came to Miss Darcy’s house twice a week and lessons were conducted here. I hoped we would find her at home and available, for I had a plan on how to affect multiple positives from Miss Darcy’s proclivity for reading romance novels; furthering our friendship and her language skills.

  Miss Darcy was still frowning at me, making no move to ready herself. “Of co
urse, if you don’t wish to do this my way, we can always take the matter of the novels up with Mr. Darcy,” I said.

  Her eyes went wide and she hurried past me to her wardrobe.

  “I’ll expect you in the foyer shortly,” I said, leaving the room to hide my smile.

  I took myself to my room and rang for a maid as I set about wrestling my hair into my bonnet. The box of books sat at the foot of the bed.

  “Yes, missus?” It was the other maid. Possibly, the first was afraid I would make her carry things again.

  “Please have the carriage brought round,” I said.

  “Yes, missus.” She dropped a curtsey and left.

  Miss Darcy climbed into the carriage without protest, but she pouted the entire ride. Looking askance at her protruding lower lip, I felt that pout would be the bane of some poor young man’s existence in the not too distant future. Fortunately, I was not a besotted young man, so Georgiana’s pout was wholly ineffectual.

  Madame Falconet’s maid showed us in. The French woman rose to greet us, gliding across the room in her slightly too frilly muslin gown. I assumed her goal was to appear more youthful and exotic, but she wasn’t succeeding.

  “Mademoiselle Darcy,” Madame Falconet said, taking Georgiana’s hands and mock kissing her cheeks. “Madame Younge,” she added, nodding at me over Miss Darcy’s shoulder.

  “Madame Falconet,” I replied, nodding back, but she’d already returned her attention to the focus of this visit; the young woman with relatives in the nobility and a very wealthy brother.

  Madame Falconet kept Georgiana’s hands, leading her to a sofa and sitting with her. She leaned toward Miss Darcy, giving the impression that Georgiana was the most important person in the entire world. She reminded me of the women who did end up with the leading roles in plays. I didn’t quite care for her. I seated myself in a chair across from them.

  “Magnifique! It is so wonderful to see you today,” Madame Falconet gushed. “Such a grand surprise.”

  Georgiana nodded, looking at their joined hands. I could tell she was wondering if it would be acceptable to pull hers free.

  “Would you care for refreshments?” Madame Falconet asked. “Shall I send for some of your English tea for you?”

  “No, thank you,” Miss Darcy said.

  “No? Well then, tell me, my dear, why have you come to see me this day? What can I help you with?” Madame Falconet asked. “Tisk, tisk,” she said before Georgiana could even open her mouth. “Tell me en Francais.”

  Georgiana looked to me, her expression beseeching.

  “We’ve come hoping to borrow a French novel,” I said, switching to that language. “It should be something of a romantic nature, but appropriate for a young woman.”

  Madame Falconet finally released Georgiana, turning to me. “Madame Younge,” she said, also in French. “You always speak so impeccably. Sometimes, I wonder that you even need me at all.”

  She said it with laughter in her voice, but a hard glint in her blue eyes. She pursed her lips, looking me up and down, then rose gracefully and crossed to a set of shelves. Pulling out a book, she turned back.

  “I think this would do,” she said.

  I rose as well, realizing she had no intention of bringing me the book. When I drew close, she handed it to me. She kept a smile on her face, but I had the distinct feeling she liked me even less than I cared for her.

  It was a copy of Paul et Virginie. I was familiar with the work, and deemed it suitable enough. “Thank you,” I said. I skimmed the shelf, seeing little else there that I would permit Georgiana to read. If this book went well, I would have to look into purchasing more. Madame Falconet’s taste in literature ran toward the lurid. “May I assume you have read this?”

  “But of course,” she said, looking and sounding offended. “It is boring, no?”

  “I think it will be just the thing for Mademoiselle Darcy.”

  She nodded, smiling with little sincerity.

  I looked over to find Georgiana gazing at the floor, which annoyed me slightly. The girl took so little interest in what went on about her. I hadn’t switched to French to exclude her. I’d hoped she would be interested enough in what was transpiring to work to follow our conversation.

  “Miss Darcy,” I called, reverting to English. She looked up, her expression startled. I walked toward her, holding out the book. “This shall be your new reading material.”

  She took it, turning it over in her hands.

  “It is a story you will enjoy,” I said.

  She nodded, her expression glum.

  “When you finish it, you may have one of your novels back,” I said. “For each novel you read in French, you will continue to receive back one of your English ones. I will choose stories you will like,” I added, smiling at her encouragingly. “Also, as this is now part of your studies, you will read during the daytime, not at night. Nighttime is for sleeping.”

  Behind me, Madame Falconet snorted. I ignored her.

  “Are we agreed?” I asked Georgiana.

  “Yes,” Georgiana said.

  I didn’t demand she repeat the syllable in French. “Thank you, Madame Falconet,” I said, turning back to Georgiana’s French master. “We appreciate you receiving us unexpectedly.” Behind me, I heard Georgiana stand.

  “But yes, of course,” Madame Falconet said. “I am always pleased to see Mademoiselle Darcy, and I shall see you again soon, for our usual lesson.”

  “Where you will go over what you’ve read,” I added to Georgiana.

  That earned me a sullen nod from Georgiana and a glare from Madame Falconet, though it was cast with a smile on her lips.

  “Until then,” Madame Falconet said. “Au revoir.”

  “Au revoir,” Georgiana mumbled.

  We saw ourselves out.

  Chapter Six

  He was looking as harshly handsome and unyieldingly superior as ever.

  Over the next few days, I could tell Georgiana resented what I’d done, especially my rule that the book must be discussed in French. Her reading went very slowly at first, and I frequently had to help her with translations, the only time English was permitted in relation to the novel. When Madame Falconet arrived for her next lesson, the three of us discussed what little Georgiana had managed to read, my charge whispering in halting French. I received frequent and expressive looks of disapproval from Madame Falconet for the duration of the session.

  The following week progressed better, however, and, by the time Miss Darcy was a quarter of the way through Paul et Virginie, she was caught up in the story. When the novel was finished, the three of us had a long talk about it, during which Georgiana was much more animated than usual. Madame Falconet and I then selected another book. Miss Darcy read it, but next elected to reread Paul et Virginie.

  Aside from pursing her accomplishments, twice a week, Miss Darcy socialized with other young ladies. Usually, these were dismal affairs, with girls who were only compatible in theory, but not in practice. The elite families with young ladies who weren’t yet out thought that all they needed to do to give the girls practice moving in society was to bring them together. Under the watchful eyes of their mothers or governesses, they would become great friends, but I knew those friendships only lasted so long as eyes were on them. Miss Darcy spoke so little on these occasions that she was usually ignored.

  In a way, I almost thought that was better for her. Most of the girls seemed to be the sort I’d initially feared Miss Darcy would be, after meeting her brother, and I didn’t think Miss Darcy would really enjoy their company. Of course, given their pampered upbringings and the nature of the occasions, they could hardly be expected to behave any other way than affectedly. I knew there was no way to determine who among them was actually kindhearted without interacting more, and spent considerable time trying to think of a way to encourage Georgiana to speak with them.

  Nothing I tried seemed to help, though, and our next social occasion found her once again sitting alo
ng the wall beside me, when, by rights, she ought to be one of their leaders. She was bright, pretty, and very wealthy with impeccable connections, after all. If nothing else, I thought some of the women should think to ingratiate their daughters in the hopes they might end up spending time near Mr. Darcy and catch his eye. He was one of the most eligible bachelors in their circle, after all.

  As these uncharitable thoughts were going through my head, the woman seated to the other side of Georgiana turned toward her.

  “Miss Darcy,” she said. “I believe I’ve heard you are of a studious inclination. May I ask what you enjoy reading? I’ve been attempting to catch my Lucy’s interest.”

  The woman was one I always felt to be nicer than the average mother attending the events. She was less wealthy than the others, which I assumed was partly why she’d learned kindness. We all knew the only reason she and her daughter were permitted into the group was that her brother, via her sister’s marriage, was an earl with a marriageable son.

  “I enjoy reading Paul et Virginie,” Georgiana said, switching to French.

  I was a bit surprised she was holding so strictly to my rule about using French when discussing the work. I waited, hoping the woman would react kindly.

  “Oh, that is a splendid story,” the woman said, also speaking French. She glanced past Georgiana to me, smiling. “But ever so sad.”

  “Yes,” Georgiana said, still in French. “I think that’s part of what makes it so wonderful a story, though.”

  A governess, who was a French émigré, joined the conversation and the three of them spoke enthusiastically about the book. It was the most I’d ever seen Georgiana speak while attending one of those occasions. Knowing she couldn’t see me, as she’d turned toward the other two women, I smiled.

  Their animated conversation drew attention, and soon a group of girls wandered over. “What are you talking about?” their leader asked.

  “Paul et Virginie,” Miss Darcy said. “I’m sorry, but Mrs. Younge says I have to speak French when I discuss it.”