by Jennifer Joy
Fitzwilliam Darcy, Guardian
A Pride & Prejudice Variation
Jennifer Joy
"Fitzwilliam Darcy, Guardian: A Pride & Prejudice Variation"
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems — except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews — without permission in writing from its publisher, Jennifer Joy.
This is a work of fiction. The characters, locations, and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Published by Jennifer Joy
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Twitter: @JenJoywrites
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Copyright © 2019 Jennifer Joy
All rights reserved.
ISBN-13: 978-1-944795-27-6
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 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Epilogue
Thank You!
About the Author
Other Books by Jennifer Joy
Chapter 1
Pemberley September 1812
“Come, Darcy. Is there nothing I can say to change your mind?” Charles Bingley pleaded, his usual light-hearted manner replaced with somber candor. It ought to have added more weight to his invitation.
But Fitzwilliam Darcy would not budge.
Darcy shook his head, fingering the black band around his coat sleeve. “I am honored you wish to include me, Bingley, but I must beg your patience. I cannot leave Pemberley. Not yet.”
Bingley set down his drink. Clasping his hands together, he leaned forward. “You have not left Pemberley in a year.”
“Nine months,” Darcy corrected. Nine endless months that had passed as quickly as a breath now that they were gone.
“A difference of three months does not make your isolation any better. You have shut yourself off from the world. It is not good.”
Were Darcy to relive the past months again, he would still have acted exactly as he had done. There had been no other option.
Bingley added, “Is this how your dear sister would wish for you to live after—?”
Darcy’s eyes snapped to Bingley, who bit his lips together and shrank back in his chair. He did not say the word aloud, but it loomed in the air. Bingley did not know the half of it, nor could Darcy tell him. There was no time to mourn, nor would Darcy share what was his alone to bear.
“I thank you for your concern, Bingley,” Darcy replied, reaching for his brandy when his throat tightened. Tossing back the contents of his glass, the burn a welcome reprieve, he added, “Georgiana always wanted the best for the ones she loved.”
Deep breath. Her name was still difficult to say aloud when she was not there to reply to it. Another breath. “However, it has only been two months since she was laid to rest. I am not ready to go out into society.”
Bingley shook his head. “Two months, two years, two decades. Grief will take all the time you give it. You must live, Darcy. It is not only the time your sister has been gone, but the months you have spent in her care until consumption claimed her.”
Darcy gritted his teeth together. He despised lies. He detested liars. And yet, that was what he had become.
“Truly, you are to be commended,” continued Bingley. “There are few brothers as dutiful as you have proved to be. But I worry for your health if you continue in this same attitude. Come. Join me and my sisters in Hertfordshire.”
The undeserved praise stung. Not one day passed without Darcy wishing he could turn back time. He would not have trusted when he needed to protect. He would not have been too late. But as much as he wished to control time, he could not reverse it. Nor had he managed to extract Bingley from his parlor, though he had refused his offer many times.
Perhaps Bingley would stop insisting if Darcy showed a measure of consideration. “Hertfordshire?” Darcy asked politely.
His normal enthusiasm restored, Bingley spoke excitedly, “Yes. You will recall how I had wished to let an estate near a village called Meryton. It was a year ago.”
Darcy remembered. Bingley had asked for his opinion and guidance, and Darcy had been agreeable to the idea. The day before his departure to meet Bingley, Georgiana had shown up in Pemberley’s entrance hall, sopping wet, gaunt, and expecting George Wickham’s child. That had been nine months ago.
Reaching for his glass only to see it was empty, Darcy cleared his throat. “I had hoped you would continue your plans without me.”
Bingley colored. “I ought to have gone, but I did not trust myself to manage an estate without the benefit of your experience. My dependency reflects poorly on my character, I realize, but it is the truth.”
Why did Bingley not leave? He deserved better company than this. “I did not mean to chastise you, Bingley, only to appease my conscience for not accompanying you.”
“I do not fault you for putting your sister’s needs ahead of my own. Had you acted otherwise, I would have felt horribly selfish and guilty.” Taking another sip of his drink (two more and he would be done, calculated Darcy), Bingley continued, “Do not blame yourself. I was not ready for the responsibility I would have to bear if I were to do a proper job of it. Had I gone alone then, I would have made a muddled mess of everything, I am certain.” He chuckled softly, perfectly at ease with his faults.
Darcy envied him. He could not afford to have faults. Not when his last failure had cost Georgiana’s life.
She had married over the anvil at Gretna Green. Darcy’s little sister, of whom he was entrusted guardianship, had signed her death sentence when she wrote her name beside a ne’er-do-well out to get her fortune. Wickham had killed her.
But Darcy’s oversight had made it possible.
Bingley’s happy tone clashed against Darcy’s dark turn of mind.
“You can imagine my surprise when I heard the property was still empty, and so I did what I was not ready to do a year ago.” Bingley’s chest puffed out as he announced, “I let Netherfield Park. I have a good feeling about the place, Darcy. Think of the new people we could meet and the countryside we can explore and hunt on. The property is extensive, with three lakes.” He listed all the attributes in such a way as to entice Darcy to agree to his proposal.
Holding up his hand before Bingley was carried away in his own excitement, Darcy said, “I thank you, but my reply remains unchanged. I cannot leave.”
Bingley opened his mouth — no doubt to continue in his fruitless exhortations — but Mrs. Reynolds entered the parlor then. Her hands were clasped in front of her; her shoulders, hunched up to her
ears.
Darcy tensed. Steadying his breath, he asked, “What is it Mrs. Reynolds?”
She met his eyes, and he felt the intensity in her firm look. “I apologize for the interruption, Mr. Darcy, but there is a situation which requires your immediate attention.”
Her vagueness could only mean one thing.
Rising, Darcy bowed to Bingley, who had sense enough to know their call had come to an end.
“I hope you change your mind, Darcy. You are always welcome in my home, be it in London or Hertfordshire,” he said.
It felt awkward to smile, but Darcy gave it a try. “Thank you, Bingley. I appreciate the invitation, though I cannot accept it,” he said, leaving the room with Mrs. Reynolds while the butler saw to his friend. Darcy spared him no more thought, his entire focus consumed with the matter at hand.
Wordlessly, Darcy and the housekeeper walked up the stairs.
Hearty wails echoed down the hall, growing louder as they reached the fourth door.
“Whatever ails her, it is not her lungs,” Mrs. Reynolds said as she stepped aside for Darcy to pass.
Mrs. Bamber paced the room, the inconsolable child defying the wet nurse’s efforts to calm her.
Securing the door behind him, Darcy rushed over to the babe Mrs. Bamber thrust into his arms. “What is my little girl upset about?” he cooed, settling his anxious charge against his shoulder and rocking back and forth until he felt her body relax.
Mrs. Bamber rubbed her eyes, her hair frizzing out around her plump, ruddy face. “I am sorry, Mr. Darcy. I could not calm her no matter what I did. She was determined to have you.”
Pulling a chair closer to the fire with his free hand, Darcy said, “You know I will always come when Anne needs me. Pray rest, Mrs. Bamber, and tell me why she is out of sorts. She is not ill, I hope?” Darcy’s hand spread over Anne’s back protectively, his stomach twisting.
With a sigh, Mrs. Bamber looked up at him. “She is a healthy child if ever I saw one, Mr. Darcy. That is not the problem.”
“What is it, then?” he pressed.
Mrs. Bamber looked at Mrs. Reynolds, only continuing when the housekeeper nodded. “You will not approve of what I must suggest.”
“Say it all the same. There is nothing I will not do to protect my sister’s child.”
Mrs. Bamber took a deep breath. “She needs to be around other people. She needs to leave this house — as do you, if I may be so bold.” She gestured toward the closed curtains. “I dare not show Baby Anne the beauty of her own surroundings lest she is discovered. It is a pity.”
She was right, of course, but what she suggested was impossible.
Mrs. Reynolds moved closer to the nurse, stopping once she stood in line with Mrs. Bamber’s chair and giving Darcy the impression that he was in a battle where he was outnumbered. She said, “We cannot keep the baby a secret forever. We have no recourse.”
Indeed, it was a fact of which Darcy was also well aware. But he refused to accept it. “Anne is under my protection and care. I will not go back on my promise.”
Anne’s little fingers gripped around the fold of Darcy’s cravat, and he heard her yawn. Closing his eyes, he rested his cheek against her fuzzy head. Softly, he said, “I expect to hear from Mr. Rochester soon. If there is a way I can adopt Anne or keep her as my ward, he will find it. I will do what is required.” Mr. Rochester was his last hope. Darcy had exhausted every other resource.
Pursing her lips together in her thoughtful way, Mrs. Reynolds said, “I could not help but overhear Mr. Bingley’s invitation. You have relatives in Hertfordshire, do you not, Mrs. Bamber?”
The wet nurse’s eyebrows creased. “Yes, I do, and I know them almost as intimately as my own children, thanks to my cousin. She writes often and extensively. Madeline Bamber she was. Madeline Gardiner she has been for several years now. Her husband’s sister resides in Hertfordshire.”
Darcy did not like the manner with which Mrs. Reynolds pinched her chin and considered him.
She said, “I remember Mrs. Gardiner. Her father had the shop in Lambton. You may not remember him, Mr. Darcy, as you were young when they left for London. He was an honest man, and your own mother was known to converse at length with his daughter. Lady Anne was an exceptional judge of character.”
Where was she going with this reasoning?
She continued, “I believe we both know what Mr. Rochester will say. Can you not help yourself along, Mr. Darcy? Especially when you have already received an invitation from Mr. Bingley?”
Darcy’s jaw dropped. She would have him marry while he was still in mourning and when Anne clearly needed him? She would have him leave Pemberley, endangering Anne?
“Absolutely not,” he hissed, covering Anne’s ear for fear of disturbing her.
Mrs. Reynolds asked Mrs. Bamber, “Are your relatives in Hertfordshire the sort of people to be trusted with our charge? Are they as sensible as Mrs. Gardiner was known to be?”
Had she not heard him?
Mrs. Bamber looked between the two of them, answering when Mrs. Reynolds encouraged her with another nod. “The mother is a nervous, flighty creature. I would not trust her with a puppy, much less with our sweet Anne. Their father’s estate is modest, and I know it is a source of anxiety to him that it is entailed to his nearest male relation. He has five daughters, you see, and only recently did the youngest marry … and she to a militia officer without two pennies to rub together.”
This questioning served no purpose. Darcy had already refused Bingley’s offer. He turned to the wall where a portrait of Georgiana hung, turning Anne so she could see her mother while Mrs. Bamber expounded on the subject of her Hertfordshire relatives.
“However, my cousin Madeline always speaks highly of the two eldest Bennet daughters. She has nothing but the kindest things to say about them, and Madeline is nothing if not sensible and steady, as you recall.”
“They are daughters of a landed gentleman?” Mrs. Reynolds asked. Darcy felt her eyes on his back. He refused to turn around.
“Yes. They are proper ladies,” Mrs. Bamber said with pride.
Darcy eyed the door connecting the nursery to his bedchamber. He had learned over the past couple of months to carry out several activities with only one arm, and there was a book on his desk he would much rather read than endure the present conversation. He took a step toward the door, but Mrs. Reynolds swooped around him to block his path.
With a sweet smile directed at the sweet blossom in his arms, Mrs. Reynolds planted herself between Darcy and his escape. She was a clever one who knew him too well.
He was trapped.
Wasting no time, Mrs. Reynolds asked Mrs. Bamber, “What else can you tell us about your two eldest nieces?”
If anything, Mrs. Reynolds made him more determined than ever to stay on at Pemberley. The last place in the world he would ever agree to travel would be to Hertfordshire. She could stare at him all she wanted. His answer would remain unchanged.
“Miss Jane Bennet is the eldest, and a real beauty she is reputed to be. She has a way with children, and Madeline praises her calm manners,” said Mrs. Bamber.
Darcy pretended he did not notice the look Mrs. Reynolds gave him at that. He would not leave Anne, and that was final.
Continuing, Mrs. Bamber said, “Miss Elizabeth is the second daughter. She is a clever one, but she is not cruel or greedy. When the heir to her father’s estate proposed marriage last year, she refused him, stating that they could never be happy together.”
“She put her own happiness ahead of her security and that of her family?” Darcy asked. He was not impressed. What he would give to secure Little Anne’s future!
Bowing her head, Mrs. Bamber mumbled, “I thought it was romantic. Her father is — or at least he was at the time — in good health. I suppose he is unchanged. I have not heard from Madeline yet this month. But, Lizzy, as Madeline calls her in her letters, has youth on her side. She was not yet of age when her cousin proposed. I cannot
say she would react the same if a handsome young gentleman with kind manners and a gentle heart were to cast his eye in her direction.” The way Mrs. Bamber looked askance at Darcy as she spoke left little doubt to whom she referred.
Was he to be reduced to heeding the machinations of two females in his employ?
“I will not travel to Hertfordshire to propose marriage to an absolute stranger,” Darcy said bluntly.
Mrs. Reynolds replied snappily, “If your only recourse is to marry and produce an heir before Wickham finds out about his daughter, then I would encourage you to join Mr. Bingley in Hertfordshire. Like it or not, you will have to enter society again. You must marry! You could hardly do better in society. All of your acquaintances know Mr. Wickham, and he would sooner turn their sympathies against you.”
Darcy was well aware of the difficulties without Mrs. Reynolds pointing them out to him. While he had been busy caring for his sister, Wickham had no doubt used his time to garner the favor of their past mutual friends. It was the only way he could live as he did, by leeching off the commiseration of others.
“The Bennets would have no reason to know him, nor are they the kind of family with whom Mr. Wickham would seek to establish a friendship,” continued Mrs. Reynolds. “Miss Bennet sounds promising. Miss Elizabeth, on the other hand, sounds troublesome. A lady such as she would never agree to marry for convenience if she has already refused to marry for her own comfort and security.”
Mrs. Bamber nodded in agreement, saying, “Lizzy is Madeline’s clear favorite, but I have to agree she would never consent to a marriage of convenience. Jane is everything lovely. Madeline’s description of her is similar to how I would describe your dear departed mother, Lady Anne. Such grace and elegance.”