Courting Elizabeth: A Pride and Prejudice Variation

by Renata McMann

  Mrs. Bennet sat up abruptly, dropping her arm to her side. “What? Who has she written? When? Mr. Bennet, why do you keep these things from me?” Mrs. Bennet cried. She fell back onto the couch again. “Have you no consideration for my nerves?”

  “Who has she written to, Papa?” Elizabeth asked.

  “She has written to Jane, whose hands are quite busy, so I had not yet remarked on it.”

  Elizabeth was a bit disappointed Miss de Bourgh hadn’t written to her, but it was most correct to write Jane, as eldest, and no one was to know Elizabeth and Miss de Bourgh had a special relationship. Jane looked at Elizabeth, who nodded. Setting the wound ball of yarn on the table, Jane crossed to their father. He lowered his letter, selected one from the pile, and handed it to her.

  “Thank you, Papa,” she said, before returning to her seat.

  “Well, what does it say? What does she want?” Mrs. Bennet cried.

  “I don’t know yet, Mama.” Jane’s tone was patient. She opened the letter. “It seems Lizzy and I are invited to Netherfield Park tomorrow morning.”

  “Not me?” Lydia said, her face forming into a pout. “Why just you and Lizzy? You’re both so boring.”

  “I’m sure they’ll invite you next time,” Jane temporized. “What do you suppose they plan? It’s too early for luncheon.”

  Elizabeth shrugged. “I suspect we’ll find out tomorrow.”

  ***

  When she and Jane arrived at Netherfield Park the following morning, Elizabeth was surprised to find only Miss de Bourgh, Miss Bingley and the Hursts. Miss de Bourgh greeted them warmly, and the other two women greeted them with their typical false smiles. Mr. Hurst seemed happy enough to see them, but excused himself immediately, muttering that he was not attending.

  “Attending?” Elizabeth repeated as Mr. Hurst ambled from the room. She resisted the urge to rub her forehead. Although she sometimes had a good night’s sleep, the previous night she hadn’t slept well, again assailed by terrible dreams about being shoved into carriages, and wasn’t sure she was game for dealing with Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst.

  “My cousins and Mr. Bingley have arranged a race,” Miss de Bourgh explained. “They would like an audience.”

  “Mr. Hurst doesn’t wish to attend?” Jane asked.

  “Mr. Hurst is above racing,” Mrs. Hurst said with a sniff. “As am I.”

  “Well, I am not.” Elizabeth smiled. “How are we to go? We have our carriage.”

  “I’ve already sent for ours,” Miss Bingley said. “I’m sure your horses wish to rest.”

  “Of course.” Elizabeth was certain Miss Bingley simply feared the Bennets’ carriage wasn’t fine enough for her, since the horses would hardly need rest after a mere three miles.

  Mrs. Hurst bid them farewell and they all filed out into the courtyard. Elizabeth had to admit, but only to herself, that the lovely open carriage waiting for them would be a preferable way to travel. It seated the four of them easily, providing a smooth and enjoyable ride to where the gentlemen waited.

  The gentlemen hurried over to help them down from the carriage and more greetings were exchanged. Elizabeth was amused to see how eager the Earl of Matlock looked, and even Mr. Darcy wore an anticipatory smile. She looked up and down the curved stretch of country road they’d arrived at. It was tree lined and didn’t strike her as auspicious for racing. “Where will you run?”

  “Down this road,” Mr. Bingley replied. “Darcy pointed out at this time of year, we can’t ride across fields without hurting the crops.”

  “As if a few plants matter,” Miss Bingley said.

  “Well, Darcy said they do, so we found this lane instead.” Mr. Bingley didn’t look at his sister. “It’s little used, and we have servants posted to keep carts off.”

  “Mr. Darcy again?” Elizabeth guessed.

  “Me, I’m afraid,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said. “But Darcy sent out his coachman to find out who usually used the road and paid them a small amount to stay off it.”

  “A very sensible idea,” Jane said. “It wouldn’t do to cause an accident or keep farmers from their work.” She looked nervous.

  Though Jane hadn’t said anything about it, Elizabeth suspected her sister didn’t actually approve of racing.

  “Richard and Darcy worry like old women,” the earl said.

  Miss Bingley laughed, giving every appearance she found the statement exceedingly funny.

  “Will you all fit on the lane? Where does it go?” Miss de Bourgh asked, peering one way and then the other.

  “The road curves around and meets another lane.” Mr. Bingley’s tone was bright with enthusiasm. “It’s perfect. We’ll basically be going in a circle. We’ll have the driver pull the carriage off to the side there.” He pointed to a place where the trees were farther from the road, where the gentlemen’s horses were being minded by a groom. “We’ll start off that way, and come back around here. You’ll be at both the start and finish line.”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “I agree with Miss de Bourgh. The lane isn’t wide enough.”

  “We’re going in pairs,” Lord Henry said.

  “Colonel Fitzwilliam and I are first, then Darcy and Lord Henry,” Mr. Bingley elaborated.

  “Then I’ll face the winner of the first race,” Lord Henry said, shooting Mr. Darcy a challenging grin.

  “We’ll see,” Mr. Darcy answered.

  “Come, let’s begin. Enough dawdling.” With that, the earl crossed to the carriage and started giving orders to the driver.

  They quickly arranged themselves, the ladies piling back in the carriage, now moved off the road. The elevation gave them a splendid view as Mr. Bingley and Colonel Fitzwilliam lined up. When they left, their horses were neck in neck, but by the time they returned, Colonel Fitzwilliam was several lengths ahead, for which Mr. Bingley was forced to endure amiable ribbing.

  Mr. Darcy and Lord Henry lined up next. Mr. Darcy’s roan, a sleek animal with an even temper, struck Elizabeth as the better horseflesh. Lord Henry’s grey, however, was a very high strung beast. As the route the gentlemen had selected seemed short, she feared the earl would win.

  Her fear was realized, though it was a near thing. Lord Henry rounded the turn ahead of Mr. Darcy, but the earl’s grey, sides heaving, was obviously nearly spent. The grey’s burst of speed behind him, Mr. Darcy gained ground, but not quickly enough. They crossed the finish line with the earl ahead by half a horse length. Miss Bingley cheered, rushing over to congratulate the winner. Elizabeth helped Mr. Darcy walk his roan.

  “In a longer race, I would have had him,” Mr. Darcy said.

  “I agree. Who picked the length of the track?”

  Mr. Darcy chucked. “Henry did. Well noted. I’ll remember his trick for next time.”

  “Are you finished dawdling, Henry?” Colonel Fitzwilliam called. “I think it’s time for us to race.”

  “Can’t you see I’m dutifully entertaining a lovely young miss here, Richard?” Lord Henry said, nodding to Miss Bingley.

  “No, but I can see you’re resting your mount for as long as you can get away with.”

  Colonel Fitzwilliam’s comment elicited a round of laughter. Soon, under the taunts of the other gentlemen, Lord Henry bowed to Miss Bingley and returned to the roadway. Elizabeth stood beside Mr. Darcy for the final race, giving up her seat in the carriage to Mr. Bingley, who sat beside Miss de Bourgh. There was an abundance of good natured teasing as Colonel Fitzwilliam and Lord Henry lined up. Elizabeth watched, greatly amused, and wondered if she was seeing an example of what life would have been like with brothers.

  “Darcy, ten pounds says Matlock wins,” Mr. Bingley called from the carriage.

  “I like my money where it is.”

  “Colonel? I’ve got ten pounds against you.”

  Colonel Fitzwilliam laughed. “Beating Henry is all the reward I’ll need.”

  “Ten? You’d take it if you really thought you could beat me. Twenty pounds says I win, Bingley,” Lord H
enry offered.

  “No thank you, my lord. Not against you and that grey.”

  “Give the word, Richard,” Lord Henry said, grinning at his brother.

  Colonel Fitzwilliam gave the count and the two set out amid a shower of cheers. Both men leaned low over their horses’ backs, their faces intent. Mr. Bingley kept up his badgering about wagers after they left, but even he fell silent when they didn’t reappear in the expected time.

  “Darcy?” Mr. Bingley’s tone was tense. He jumped down from the carriage.

  Mr. Darcy nodded. “We’d best go check. If you’ll excuse me,” he added, bowing to Elizabeth.

  “East or west?” Mr. Bingley asked, mounting.

  “I’ll go east.”

  Jane, her cheeks pale, climbed down from the carriage, looking up and down the road.

  Elizabeth went to her. “I shouldn’t worry yet,” Elizabeth murmured.

  “Worry? Of course not,” Miss Bingley snapped, but her face was pinched with concern.

  Mr. Darcy turned his mount east, Mr. Bingley west. They’d just set off when Colonel Fitzwilliam and Lord Henry walked into view. Lord Henry was riding Colonel Fitzwilliam’s horse and the colonel was leading the earl’s grey.

  Jane sagged with relief. Elizabeth was very happy to see the two men unharmed as well, and intrigued at the strength of her sister’s reaction. Jane and Colonel Fitzwilliam had been walking together often, but Elizabeth hadn’t realized how taken her sister was with him. She hoped, and suspected, he felt the same.

  “My horse fell,” Lord Henry said as they drew near. “He’s too lame to carry weight. Richard, like the old woman he is, insisted I ride back. I tried to pull rank on him, but that didn’t work.” He slid off Colonel Fitzwilliam’s horse cautiously.

  Elizabeth wasn’t certain if he was hurt or not. He seemed to be putting weight on both legs. Aside from the damage to his clothing, there didn’t appear to be anything amiss.

  “Oh, Lord Henry,” Miss Bingley cried, hopping down from her perch and hurrying to his side. “Are you certain you’re unharmed? You’d best ride back in the carriage. I’m sure one of the Miss Bennets will give up their place for you. They adore walking about the countryside.”

  “A carriage?” He grimaced, though in pain over the idea or because he was injured, it was difficult to ascertain. “I will if I may have a beautiful lady to accompany me.”

  “But of course you shall.” Miss Bingley smiled up at him. “I’ll accompany you. It’s my duty as hostess to see to your comforts.”

  Lord Henry looked about. “Don’t let me spoil the morning for the rest of you. Except you, Bingley. As undisputed loser, you get to walk my horse to Netherfield.”

  “That sounds fair to me,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said, looking at Jane. “Someone needs to take your grey straight back, and I was planning a longer route.”

  Elizabeth caught Jane’s slight blush and suppressed a smile. It was good to see her sister happy again.

  “Charles,” Miss Bingley said. She darted her eyes toward the carriage, where Miss de Bourgh sat. “Weren’t you going to join the three of us in the carriage, to take Lord Henry back? You are his host. Perhaps a groom—”

  “Actually, I would like to walk, but not too far,” Miss de Bourgh said, standing. “If Mr. Bingley must go straight back, I shall have someone to walk with.”

  “It would be my pleasure,” Mr. Bingley said. He hurried forward to help her down from the carriage.

  “Perfect,” Lord Henry said. “It is a lovely day for a carriage ride with a beautiful woman.” Miss Bingley hovering at his side, he got into the carriage without any difficulty or hesitancy, though he didn’t offer to help her up.

  Elizabeth understood why Colonel Fitzwilliam had insisted his brother ride back. As Lord Henry lounged back in the seat across from Miss Bingley, it was impossible to tell if his easy manner was due to being perfectly hale, or born of bravado. It was obviously best to error on the side of caution.

  Soon, Miss Bingley and Lord Henry departed in the carriage, Mr. Darcy’s and Colonel Fitzwilliam’s horses tied to the back. Mr. Bingley turned his horse over to the lone groom, who was ordered to inform the servants waiting to turn back traffic that the races were over. Miss de Bourgh and Mr. Bingley set out, the latter leading Lord Henry’s grey.

  After a brief discussion, the remaining four broke into two groups. Jane and the colonel headed east, so she wouldn’t have to witness the spot where Lord Henry fell. Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy, though Elizabeth had no real desire to see the location either, set out the other way. As it wound about, it would eventually meet the road Jane and Colonel Fitzwilliam had taken, but not too soon.

  “Lord Henry took his fall in good spirits,” Elizabeth said. “I suppose it will be Colonel Fitzwilliam’s duty, later, to point out to his brother that he forfeited, meaning Colonel Fitzwilliam won.”

  Mr. Darcy smiled. “If Richard hadn’t been so distracted by your sister, he would already have thought of it.”

  “He does seem to find her rather distracting.” Elizabeth looked down the sun dappled lane, relishing the beauty of the day, and the pleasure of the company. “If Lord Henry’s horse wasn’t obviously lame, I’d suspect he organized his fall to allow the party to break up.”

  “Henry would never throw a race. Richard is a good rider, and Henry tries very hard to win. I suspect he took dangerous chances.”

  “I haven’t known him long, but that does seem like something he would do. Still, I’m impressed by how easy he was with the outcome. I wouldn’t have guessed he was such a good-spirited loser.”

  “Henry spends his life in an endless series of challenges. He doesn’t find sport in it if his opponents don’t have a chance to beat him. He wins more than he loses, but he’s lost too many times to count. I don’t believe there’s much he takes seriously, to be honest.”

  Elizabeth nodded.

  Mr. Darcy paused, glancing up and down the empty roadway, bringing her to a halt as well. She looked up at him, curious why they’d stopped, and he dropped is gaze to study her face. A thrill of anticipation went through her, though she hardly knew for what. Did Mr. Darcy mean to kiss her? Had their relationship come to that place where he should attempt it? The thought made her nervous, but at the same time she was rather sure she would let him.

  “I know it is not my place to comment on it, nor likely good practice while courting someone, but I can’t help but notice you seemed not quite yourself of late,” he said.

  Elizabeth blinked, disappointed. It seemed he had no thought of kissing her at all. “Well, as no one is here to listen in, I don’t suppose you must act the proper suiter. Will you clarify what you mean?”

  He reached out, running a thumb across her cheek, hardly touching her. She suppressed a shiver, confused. Maybe he did mean to kiss her?

  “It’s something in your eyes.” Mr. Darcy’s tone was kind. “A shadow. It’s lingered there since we were in London.”

  She dropped her gaze from his searching look. “It’s . . . I haven’t been sleeping well, nothing more.”

  “Nothing more?”

  “I dream about being thrown into a carriage, and not being able to get free. I’m sure, soon, it will stop.”

  With gentle fingers under her chin, he tilted her face up. “I see.” His expression was flat. “You can’t sleep because of what Lady Catherine did.”

  “I’m sure it will improve. No actual harm was done to me.”

  He stared at her, obviously wanting to say or do something more. She could read the indecision and frustration on his face. He placed a hand on her cheek again, and Elizabeth leaned into it, comforted.

  “What can I do?” Mr. Darcy asked.

  “Behave as normal, so that I may regain normalcy.”

  He nodded. With a sigh, he dropped his hand, offering his arm. She took it and they resumed their walk. Silence spread out about them. Elizabeth was surprised by the comfort she’d found in his touch, but knew no good could come from th
e two of them behaving in such an intimate way. They were friends now, of that she was sure. Whether or not they were more, she didn’t yet know. She felt she would like them to be.

  Deliberately, she launched into conversation, turning it to an ongoing discussion they’d been visiting over the viability of agriculture as an investment in their changing times. Soon, they were at ease once more. Elizabeth pressed all thoughts of Lady Catherine and nightmare carriages from her mind. She’d much rather learn more of Mr. Darcy’s views, even those pertaining to fields and livestock, than dwell on such things. They walked back to Netherfield Park very indirectly, making what could have been a journey of a quarter hour into one that took nearly two.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Darcy and Richard were engaged in a game of billiards in the elegant, but old fashioned, room where the table was kept, Henry and Bingley observing, when Bingley’s butler entered. They all turned, knowing the man wouldn’t be there if not for something pressing. The butler, well trained, focused on Bingley, waiting for a nod of acknowledgement which was readily supplied.

  “A Mr. Wickham is here, asking to see Mr. Darcy in private, sir.”

  “Wickham, here?” Bingley turned to Darcy. “What could he want?”

  “I’ve no idea.” Darcy frowned. “Knowing Wickham, it’s likely trouble.”

  “If I may be so bold, sir?” the butler asked Bingley.

  Bingley nodded. “What is it?”

  “Mr. Wickham does appear rather harried.”

  Bingley turned back to Darcy. “Do you wish to see him?”

  Darcy nodded. “Put him in the library, please.”

  “Of course, sir.” The butler strode away.

  “You aren’t going in there alone,” Henry said.

  “I agree.” Richard set aside his cue stick. “I’m going with you.”

  “This is my house. I should be there, in case of trouble,” Bingley said.

  “Wickham is trouble,” Henry said with unaccustomed grimness. “I’ll join you as well.”