Pride and Proposals
A Pride and Prejudice Variation
Victoria Kincaid
Copyright © 2015 by Victoria Kincaid
Smashwords Edition
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-0-9916681-1-3
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 1
Miss Bennet, I must tell you that almost since our first …
No. Too formal.
You must be aware of my attentions …
Would that assume too much?
You must allow me to tell you how much I admire you …
This came closest to expressing his sentiments, but would she view it as excessive?
Darcy guided his stallion along the path to Hunsford Parsonage, anxiety increasing by the minute. Somehow the perfect words for a proposal must come to mind. He was close by the parsonage.
Almost out of time.
He took a deep breath. The master of Pemberley was unaccustomed to such agitation of the mind. But Elizabeth Bennet had a habit of unsettling his nerves as no one else could. Not for the first time, he wondered why that should indicate she would be the ideal companion of his future life. However, he had wrestled with his sentiments all day and finally concluded that it must be so, despite his objections to her family.
He had not slept the night previous and only fitfully the night before that. Practically his every thought was occupied by Elizabeth Bennet. Every minute of the day, he would recall a pert response she had made to his aunt or a piece of music she had played on the pianoforte. Or the sparkle of life in her fine eyes.
Yes, at first she had seemed an unlikely candidate for the mistress of Pemberley, but his passion could not be denied.
He no longer made the attempt.
Strange. He had been angered with himself for months that he could not rid himself of this … obsession with Miss Bennet. But once he had determined to surrender to the sentiment and propose to her, he felt almost … happy. Despite the fleeting sensations of guilt and doubt, he could not help but imagine how joyful it would be to have her as his wife.
He pictured the expression on Elizabeth’s face when he declared himself. Undoubtedly, she was aware of his admiration, and she had returned his flirtatious banter on more than one occasion, but she could have no serious hopes for an alliance. Her delight would make any of his misgivings worth it.
The woods on either side of the path thinned, and Darcy slowed his horse to a walk as he reached the clearing surrounding the parsonage. Initially, he had been bitterly disappointed when Elizabeth’s headache had prevented her from accompanying the Collinses to Rosings for tea, but then he recognized a perfect opportunity to speak with her alone.
Excusing himself from the gathering had not presented any difficulties. His cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, had received a letter that day with word of an unexpected inheritance of property following the death of his mother’s sister. Darcy was well pleased for his cousin, who had chafed at the limitations of a second son’s life. Richard had excused himself to plan for an immediate departure from Rosings the next day so he could soon visit his new estate. Darcy had seized on the excuse as well – since, naturally, he would be taking Richard in his coach and would necessarily need to prepare.
Darcy turned his thoughts to the task at hand.
You must allow me to tell you how violently I admire …
No.
You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you …
Perhaps …
Darcy swung his leg over the pommel and slid off his saddle, tying his horse up at a post outside the Collinses’ front door. Pausing for a moment, he breathed deeply, willing his body to calmness. Then he seized the door knocker and rapped.
The maid who answered the door appeared unnecessarily flustered. As he followed her down the short hallway to the Collinses’ modest drawing room, Darcy had a dawning sense of wrongness.
Voices already emanated from the drawing room. Darcy immediately recognized Elizabeth’s lovely soprano. But the other voice was male, too muffled for him to hear. Had Collins returned home unexpectedly?
Darcy quickened his stride, almost crowding against the maid as she opened the drawing room door. “Mr. Darcy, ma’am,” the maid announced before swiftly scurrying away.
Darcy blinked several times. His mind had difficulty understanding what his eyes saw. His cousin Fitzwilliam was in the drawing room. With Elizabeth. With Darcy’s Elizabeth. In actuality, Richard sat beside her on the settee, almost indecently close.
Why is Richard here? Darcy wondered with some irritation. Should he not be packing for his departure rather than preventing me from proposing?
Richard and Elizabeth had been smiling at each other, but now both regarded Darcy in surprise.
For a moment, all was silence. Darcy could hear the crackling of logs in the fireplace. He had the nagging sensation of having missed something of importance but could not identify it.
“I … uh … came to inquire after your health, Miss Bennet.” Given the circumstances, Darcy was proud that the words emerged at all coherently.
“I am feeling much recovered, thank you.” Her voice was somewhat breathless.
A look passed between Richard and Elizabeth, and she gave a tiny nod. Darcy’s sense of mystification increased. Finally, Richard sprang to his feet with a huge grin on his face. “Darcy, you arrived at just the right moment. You can be the first to congratulate me.” At that moment, Darcy started to get a sinking, gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Elizabeth has consented to be my wife!”
Chapter 2
Elizabeth opened her eyes, staring at the canopy of her bed, unwilling to face the business of donning clothing and descending for breakfast just yet. She wished to review and savor her memories of the previous day’s events before facing others’ reactions.
A chance encounter with Colonel Fitzwilliam the previous day had revealed the distressing news that Mr. Darcy had conspired with Mr. Bingley’s sisters to separate Jane from their brother. The anguish that followed had brought about a headache, preventing her attendance at Rosings for tea.
Elizabeth had been grateful for a reprieve from Mr. Darcy’s company, being uncertain if she could treat him civilly. Instead, she had occupied her time reviewing Jane’s recent letters, noting how out-of-spirits her sister’s words sounded. Although Jane wrote nothing in particular to elicit concern, her entire manner lacked the enthusiasm her sister usually displayed. As Elizabeth peered out of the window, worrying that her sister might never recover her spirits, the maid had announced Colonel Fitzwilliam’s arrival.
Initially, the colonel entered and settled on a chair near the fireplace, only to vacate it and wander about the room. They spoke of inconsequential matters:
her health and that of her family. Elizabeth found herself concerned about the colonel’s health. He displayed a kind of nervous energy that she had never before encountered in him.
Finally, he settled once more in a chair, leaning forward so that his eyes caught and held hers in an intense gaze. When Elizabeth had first met the colonel, she had thought him pleasant, but not handsome. Now she was forced to reevaluate this opinion. The energy that lit his face transformed it; she could not tear her gaze away.
“I received a letter today.” He paused, and Elizabeth nodded. “My mother’s sister, Rebecca Tilbury, died unexpectedly last week.”
“I am sorry to hear it.” Elizabeth was mystified about the import of this conversation; he did not appear to be mourning his aunt’s passing.
The colonel waved away her concern. “I barely knew her. My family was not on good terms with her, and I had not seen her since my boyhood. The letter I received was from her solicitor. The terms of her will stipulate that I am to inherit her estate of Hargrave Manor. It is only an hour’s ride from my parents’ home in Matlock.” His eyes were unfocused as he contemplated the vagaries of fate and capricious relations. “I did not expect it.”
After a moment, the colonel returned his attention to Elizabeth. “The estate is quite good. Several hundred acres, producing a steady income of some four thousand a year.” Elizabeth nodded and smiled. “And a house in Town as well. I will sell my commission immediately so that I may take possession and manage the estate.”
“I am very happy for you. This is good fortune!” she said warmly. Now Elizabeth better understood why the colonel appeared so abstracted. He was coming to terms with his unexpected good fortune. However, why was he sharing the news with her now? Surely it could have waited until she visited Rosings on the morrow?
Colonel Fitzwilliam’s eyes fixed on Elizabeth’s face, provoking a blush from her. “Today, when we walked in the Park, I told you that younger sons did not have the luxury of marrying where they would like.”
Elizabeth’s breath caught.
“This thought has often tormented me this week. More than once I considered ignoring the needs of an income to follow the dictates of my heart. But today, I need not make such a choice. I can marry where I would. And I would marry you, Miss Bennet, if you would have me.”
Elizabeth’s whole body flushed. Thankfully, she was already seated, or she might have fallen. She opened her mouth, but no words emerged. This was the most unexpected event. Well, no, the most unexpected would be a proposal from Mr. Darcy. She almost laughed at the thought.
The colonel scrutinized her face anxiously, his hands absently kneading the gloves in his lap. “I can perceive that I have surprised you. Do not feel compelled to give me a response immediately.”
Elizabeth swallowed and found her voice. “Yes. That is, yes, this is a surprise.” Why was her throat suddenly so dry? Every word was hoarse to her ears. “Such an honor is quite unexpected.” Her mind was in turmoil as she attempted to sort through her feelings about the man before her.
“Miss Bennet, let me assure you of my sincerest affection.” He reached out across the space separating them and boldly took her hand in his. “Never have I encountered a woman who I felt would suit me so well. Your wit and vivacity—indeed, your spirit—are …” He swallowed hard and glanced at the fireplace. “To be honest, words fail me. I am a soldier, not an orator. But should you honor me with your hand, I will do everything in my power to make you happy.”
In truth, Elizabeth had not allowed herself to consider him as a potential husband. An earl’s son, no matter how impoverished he believed himself, was considerably beyond her expectations. But now that she reflected on their, albeit brief, association she recognized he was one of the most amiable men of her acquaintance. He was unfailingly charming and affable, polite to his aunt and cousins, even when they were at their most vexing.
When all Mr. Darcy would do was stare at Elizabeth in disapproval, Colonel Fitzwilliam would talk to her with great animation, eager to learn about her family and the country around Longbourn. Despite their short acquaintance, she was aware they shared remarkably similar tastes in books and music—and always anticipated their conversations with great pleasure.
Elizabeth had always expected to marry for love, but she fully recognized the precariousness of her family’s situation. Someone in her family must marry well, or their circumstances would be dire indeed when Mr. Collins inherited Longbourn. Jane seemed so out of spirits over Mr. Bingley’s rejection that Elizabeth wondered if she would ever wish to attract another man’s attention. And Elizabeth was loathe to trust her family’s future to the whims of her younger sisters. Goodness knows what type of husband Kitty or Lydia would bring home!
She did not love Colonel Fitzwilliam, but she believed she could love him upon greater acquaintance. No other man had so provoked her interest since the early days of her acquaintance with Mr. Wickham. And, she realized with no little surprise, she was rather more disposed to the colonel than she had ever been to Wickham. There was a certain openness in the colonel’s character, a selflessness, which she very much admired.
He provoked laughter from her far more than any other man she had ever encountered, which she considered quite a recommendation. Surely laughter was an excellent basis for friendship, and friendship a good start for a marriage, she reasoned. She could live a long time and never meet a man who suited her as well as the colonel.
“Miss Bennet?” Colonel Fitzwilliam’s eyebrows had drawn together, creating a crease in the middle of his forehead. He must have been awaiting her response for some time.
“Forgive me, Colonel, you have given me much to think about.”
He stood. “I should leave you to your thoughts. I have no desire to rush your decision.”
At the sight of the colonel moving toward the door, Elizabeth realized what her decision would be. In fact, the decision had already been made.
She rushed across the room, wishing to intercept the colonel before he reached the door. “No, please do not leave. Richard, stay.”
At the sound of his Christian name on her lips, the colonel turned to face her. His eyes sought hers, alight with hope.
“Yes.” She smiled gently at him. “My answer is yes.”
Richard’s face broke into a wide smile. “Ah, Elizabeth, you have made me the happiest man in England! Nay, the whole world!”
She laughed softly. He caught her hand in his, and she realized with a shock that neither of them was wearing gloves. The feeling of his warm flesh against the sensitive skin of her hand felt deliciously forbidden, almost as if they had been caught kissing.
“Darling,” he murmured and pulled her gently against his chest. Her head nestled just under his chin, a perfect fit. Yes, she could be quite happy with the Col—Richard. Perhaps she was a fair way to being in love with him already.
After a moment, Richard broke off the embrace, regarding her seriously. “Tomorrow, I must ride to Longbourn and call on your father. When would you like the wedding to take place?” He took her hand and led her over to the settee, sitting daringly close to her.
And so Mr. Darcy discovered them a quarter of an hour later.
Chapter 3
If someone wished to devise a personal hell specifically for him, Darcy mused, they could not possibly create a better one. He stood at the foot of the stairs to Colonel Fitzwilliam’s new London townhouse. It was not as grand as Darcy House and the neighborhood was not quite as fashionable, but it was certainly elegant and spacious enough for a second son who, until three weeks ago, had no expectations of aspiring to any accommodations beyond a set of rooms to let.
Darcy regarded the house’s impressive neo-Classical façade. He had been anticipating this day with all the joy most people might give a raging fever. Now that he had arrived, somehow his legs had turned to lead and would not obey his instructions to climb the stairs.
Even a simple glance at the townhouse caused dread to curl into a t
ight knot in his stomach. How would he survive the evening with his dignity intact? No, that was beyond hope. How would he survive the evening at all?
His eyes closed briefly, blocking the view of the offending structure. Darcy had quit Rosings the morning after Fitzwilliam’s awful announcement. Fortunately, Darcy’s plans had already been fixed, so no one thought his swift departure odd, and Richard apparently perceived no strangeness in Darcy’s manner. Perhaps he should consider a career on the stage.
Richard’s letters had described how he had traveled to Hertfordshire, easily securing Mr. Bennet’s consent to the marriage, and then returned to Hunsford where he escorted Elizabeth to her uncle’s house in London. In the intervening weeks, Richard had sold his commission and visited his estate, attending to all the urgent matters involved in taking immediate possession. Meanwhile, Elizabeth and her aunt made preparations for a wedding scheduled for some three months hence.
Darcy had tortured himself by quite thoroughly perusing each of Richard’s letters, absorbing every detail of his cousin’s felicity with Elizabeth. Bizarrely, he almost preferred to hear news of her—even when it concerned her betrothal to another man—than to know nothing of her life, a true sign of how pathetic his obsession had become.
He had tried—oh, how he had tried!—to resume his former indifference toward Elizabeth. However, now he had confessed his feelings to himself, the genie refused to return into the lamp. In a moment of honesty, during one of many nights spent staring at his ceiling, Darcy admitted to himself that he had never been truly indifferent to Elizabeth. When he had thought himself indifferent, he had only been fooling himself.
Darcy could only count one slim success in his favor over the past weeks. Since returning from Hunsford, he had adroitly avoided both Richard and Elizabeth.
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