The Elizabeth Conspiracy

by Jennifer Joy

  "Lizzy, what is this about? I have never before seen you so agitated." Charlotte reached forward, setting her hand on Elizabeth's bouncing legs only to be sent back up when Elizabeth's knee popped against it.

  Elizabeth was one trembling mess, she knew. Even her voice shook as she answered, "I have heard the worst news." Jane's letter crinkled in her pocket. "Oh, how I despise Mr. Darcy!" she exclaimed, Jane's tear-stained cheeks as clear in her mind's eye as if she were in the room with her and Charlotte.

  Charlotte sat back in her chair like one struck. Raising her hand to her chest, she said, "You cannot mean it, Lizzy. I had rather thought Mr. Darcy preferred you."

  Elizabeth scoffed. "I suppose I am to feel honored."

  "He and Colonel Fitzwilliam call often at the parsonage. I do not think it is because they enjoy my company in particular, nor that of Maria or Mr. Collins."

  Elizabeth rolled her eyes.

  Charlotte's lips pinched in disapproval, but she did not know his great sin. She would soon see reason.

  "Lizzy, appearances are often deceiving. I know Mr. Darcy insulted you, but he has been very attentive of late. You cannot punish him forever because he offended your vanity. In fact, I would not be surprised if he makes an offer for you."

  "He would not dare! Surely, he must know I could never accept him when he has ruined Jane's chances of happiness with Mr. Bingley."

  Charlotte's jaw dropped. "What?" she whispered.

  Elizabeth shared the entirety of her conversation with Colonel Fitzwilliam.

  Charlotte shook her head slowly from side to side, her mouth still agape. "It must be awful for you to endure being wronged so completely."

  "Were it only me, I could endure it. But Jane is everything good and lovely. The colonel said there were strong objections to the lady." Elizabeth shook her head violently and threw her hands up in the air. "I cannot imagine what those objections could be. Her manners are captivating, her mind improved, and her understanding is excellent. I dare Mr. Darcy to find a kinder, more loyal young lady in all of England. She would cover over his faults where he would expose her to the cruelties of disappointed hopes. And he calls himself a gentleman!"

  Being of a practical mind, Charlotte said, "I agree that Jane is everything lovely. Perhaps, could Mr. Darcy's objection be with … other members … of your family?"

  Her suggestion gave Elizabeth pause, but she quickly discounted it. "I will own that Father has some peculiarities, but he possesses abilities which Mr. Darcy need not disdain as well as a respectability he will never reach."

  Charlotte pinched her lips again. Elizabeth knew her outspokenness sometimes chafed on Charlotte's sensibilities, but he had brought it upon himself when he had interfered with Jane.

  "Perhaps not Mr. Bennet…" Charlotte said.

  Mother. At the thought of her, Elizabeth's confidence gave way a little. Stiffening her shoulders, she said, "Any gentleman with eyes to see past his own nose would observe that appearances often misrepresent the lady who covers over faults with love and good-nature, rising above them with a grace and honor he completely lacks."

  Charlotte arched an eyebrow at her. Elizabeth was curious to know her friend's thoughts, but dared not ask lest she utter anything in the way of a compliment to Mr. Darcy's character. Elizabeth could not bear that.

  With a sigh, Charlotte said, "We are engaged to drink tea at Rosings this afternoon."

  "I cannot go." Elizabeth squeezed the tense muscles at her neck. Her pulse pounded against her forehead, making her temples ache and the pressure building behind her eyes unbearable.

  Charlotte dropped her chin. "You put me in a difficult position, but I cannot in good conscience insist you accompany us knowing what I do. Mr. Collins will be apprehensive of displeasing Lady Catherine when she learns you have remained at home. I will do my best, but I expect you will hear about it for days to come."

  Elizabeth squeezed her friend's hands between her own chilled fingers. "You are the best friend I could wish for, Charlotte. Thank you."

  With a resigned smile, Charlotte said, "At least you will not have to hear Mr. Collins' excessive praise of every dish, of Miss de Bourgh's improved looks, or the cost of the glazing in front of the house."

  Elizabeth chortled louder than she needed to, several hot tears escaping. "There is that," she said, forcing a smile and hoping Charlotte would credit her tears to laughter.

  Her friend knew her better than that. Squeezing her hands, Charlotte stood. "I will leave you now, but I shall send the maid up with a tea tray and my bottle of laudanum. I do believe the events of the day have plagued you with a headache which prevents you from attending us to Rosings."

  Charlotte thought of everything, and Elizabeth was indebted to her for it. She did not care to ever see him again.

  Leaning against the wall of her room, she sank down to the floor. Hugging her knees, she soaked her skirts with bitterness and anger until she went numb.

  Chapter 3

  Fitzwilliam Darcy planted his feet on the gaudy Turkish rug in his aunt Catherine's drawing room, as firmly rooted in place physically as he was in every other sense. Her arguments were for naught. He would never budge.

  "You will marry Anne," Aunt Catherine repeated, raising her head haughtily, her steely gray eyes boring into him.

  She could glare all she wanted. His mind was made up.

  His cousin Richard had wisely stayed in the shadows, of which there were many in the room, clearly not wanting to be called upon for his opinion in the matter. It was a good tactical move, one worthy of a colonel in His Majesty's army.

  Though Anne was the center of the controversy, she stared off at something only she could see, her arms hanging limply from her sides. Mrs. Jenkinson, Anne's companion, comforted her charge, thoughtlessly patting her hand. Anne did not seem to notice.

  Once Aunt Catherine had begun speaking about their supposed engagement, an agreement Darcy did not recall ever entering, Anne had grown remarkably silent the louder and more insistent her mother's voice grew. She would be of no help. As usual.

  Darcy folded his arms over his chest, every muscle in his body tensing as he lowered his chin to look his aunt directly in the eyes. "I am not, nor have I ever been, engaged to Anne."

  A hint of color burned Aunt Catherine's cheeks. "It has been arranged since your birth," she insisted as she had since Anne had reached her majority several years before.

  Again, Darcy looked at Anne for any reaction other than boredom, for a sign to show her wishes in the matter. Not that it would change his mind, but as a gentleman he at least had to take her into consideration when it was their future Aunt Catherine wished to arrange. Aside from an exaggerated sigh, Anne gave no indication of speaking for herself or offering to free Darcy of an engagement that never existed.

  He pinched his lips and exhaled slowly, resenting the time he was forced waste by repeating himself. "If any agreement was made, it was not done by me. I am capable of choosing whom I will marry, and I thank you to allow me to make my own decision."

  Aunt Catherine stretched taller in her Baroque chair, her knuckles turning white as she grasped the top of the cane she used more for show than for her need of it. Her complexion was as pale and controlled as the white hair piled high on her head.

  The only crack in her cold exterior was the shake in her voice. "Anne's health is much improved. The doctor said only yesterday she is fit and fully capable of seeing to the responsibilities of a married lady. She knows her duty and will see it done to your credit."

  Richard coughed from the shadows.

  Anne no longer stared off into nothing, but focused her eyes on the hands Mrs. Jenkinson patted in her lap. Her face glowed red like the velvet chairs in the dining room. Her nostrils flared, but Darcy held little hope she would inconvenience herself by defying her mother.

  Aunt Catherine continued, "Does she not look well, Darcy?"

  Anne glared at him. No matter how much her health had improved, she was still
the most selfish creature he had the duty by relation to know. She could never tempt him. Had she or anyone else in the room known who had the power to tempt him, they would be appalled. It had caught Darcy quite by surprise as well.

  With Elizabeth Bennet firmly in mind, her lively eyes sparkling with wit and her petite form rounded in all the right places, he said, "I will own that Anne does look much improved, and I congratulate you for giving her the medical attention she deserves to live a fuller life. However, I seek more than a match made of obligation, and I wish nothing less for my cousin."

  Aunt Catherine exhaled impatiently, a derisive snort escaping her. "I never would have dreamed that my sister's child could be so selfish. The grounds are manicured, the menus are made, the sermon is written, and Anne's dress is ready. Had I not believed you to be a gentleman of your word, I never would have made such extensive preparations."

  He refused to feel guilty. "Any preparations you made were your own doing. I have never given you reason to hope I would one day marry Anne. I have given no encouragement."

  He widened his stance and tightened his arms over his chest. Who did she think she was to attempt to influence him contrary to his wishes? He was not Bingley, who did not trust his mind enough to decide his future without the assistance of his friends. Darcy knew his mind. He knew what he wanted — whom he wanted. And it was not Anne.

  He had already delayed his and Richard's departure from Rosings to allow him more time with Miss Elizabeth. His calls at the parsonage and her calls at Rosings had convinced him of her keen intellect and superior mind. Contrary to the view he had voiced months earlier to Bingley, her beauty had grown on him. Her humorous impertinence had blossomed in his mind into witty independence, a trait so opposite to the characteristics encouraged in Anne by Aunt Catherine, who, presently, rose from her throne-like chair.

  Aunt Catherine narrowed her eyes, examining him from the top of his curly hair to the tips of his polished Hessian boots. When she had done, she sat in her chair calmly, sending shivers up and down Darcy's stiff spine. She would not make it easy for him to go against her.

  "What has brought about this change, I wonder?" She thrummed her pointy fingernails against her chin, her eyes never wavering from his person.

  Darcy held still, knowing that any movement would be interpreted as a weakness. "There has been no change, as I never agreed to the arrangement."

  "You would dash your cousin's hopes?"

  "Anne has never given me reason to believe her hopes lie with me." He looked at her again. A word, a reaction, anything would be a welcome contribution to his argument.

  Anne rose, clutching Mrs. Jenkinson to her side as if too weak to stand on her own. In a voice barely above a whisper, she said, "Please excuse me, Mother. If we are to receive company for tea, I must rest." She brushed past Darcy, bobbing a feeble curtsy, a smirk twisting her face at her ability to use her sickness to her advantage.

  She received no opposition from her mother, who was too set on her own purpose to bother with the manipulations of her daughter. Anne's wake stirred the tension in the room, mixing it with her unpleasant aroma of herbs and camphor.

  Aunt Catherine heaved herself out of her chair, stabbing the carpet with her cane as she closed the space separating her and Darcy. She stood closely enough, he could count the lines she attempted to conceal with powder on her face.

  "You do realize what you stand to gain by marrying Anne? All of this," she said as she spread her hands out and waved them over the room, "would be yours along with her sizable dowry. You would become one of the wealthiest men in England, with properties to add to your coffers. Imagine the influence you stand to gain amongst your peers with such wealth to add to the prestigious name of Darcy."

  To her, marriage was nothing more than a business negotiation. His hands tightened into fists and he struggled to control his breath. "I am not in need of money or property."

  Undeterred, Aunt Catherine said, "And what of Georgiana? You have denied her the influence of female companionship for far too long. Have you no care for her future?"

  Darcy saw Richard stiffen out of the corner of his eye. His own exhaled breath shook, but he was proud of how even his voice sounded. "There is no one in the world more important to me than Georgiana. Whomever I marry, as you have pointed out, will exercise influence over her, and I intend to make certain it is to her advantage."

  "Anne has known Georgiana since birth. There is no one more qualified to see to the needs of your sister."

  "Richard and I will be the judge of that. Now, if our interview has come to an end, I should like to change out of my riding clothes into something more suitable for our guests."

  He stood face-to-face with Aunt Catherine, neither of them willing to budge nor admit defeat.

  Richard moved to join him, giving Aunt Catherine an excuse to harrumph as she walked regally back to her chair.

  Like a queen barking orders, she said, "I expect my nephews to reflect well on me amongst my guests this afternoon. I will not allow for us to be reduced to a source of mockery to a certain ungracious young lady who delights in poking fun at her superiors."

  That would be Elizabeth.

  Darcy bowed, concealing his grin until he and Richard had left the room. He was decided. In two days more, he would depart from Aunt Catherine's company. He would delay his stay no longer. Today, at tea, he would request a private audience with Elizabeth on the morrow before departing for London to make the necessary legal and household arrangements for the new Mrs. Darcy … at which point, his aunt would no longer allow for him to set foot on the grounds, let alone cross her threshold.

  Chapter 4

  Darcy stood as their guests arrived, shifting his weight from side to side and wiping his palms against his breeches. Why was he nervous? Any young lady would be honored to receive his attention. He took a deep breath and lifted his chin, a posture he knew showed him to advantage without being overtly vain.

  Mr. Collins entered first, his face glowing with the ruddy shade flattery and self-importance lent to his complexion. Following closely behind him was his wife. Darcy knew Mrs. Collins to be a great friend of Elizabeth's, though he could not account for it when their natures were so distinct from each other. Mrs. Collins was practical to the exclusion of initiative, while Elizabeth had rejected the security a marriage of convenience to Mr. Collins would have offered her and her family as the inheritor of her father's entailed estate. Not a common reaction from a young lady with an uncertain future, but one to be admired all the same. Had she hoped Darcy would offer for her?

  Looking at Mr. Collins as he fawned over Aunt Catherine and Anne, Darcy had to agree Elizabeth had chosen wisely, although the clergyman had on a couple of occasions attempted to make his cousin regret what she had lost by refusing his offer. It was poorly done, his wife being present to hear it in front of her sister, Miss Lucas, as well as himself and Richard. To Mrs. Collins' credit, she had smoothed over his inappropriate comments with an offer of tea and a change in the subject of their conversation. If she had held any illusions of a happy marriage, she did not seem to regret their loss.

  Miss Lucas came in last, and the butler closed the door behind her.

  Darcy's eyes searched the room, knowing himself incapable of missing Elizabeth's entry when his sole purpose in attending his aunt's tea was to request a private audience with her.

  He bided his time impatiently. Aunt Catherine would consider her absence as a personal snub against the house de Bourgh. She would ask.

  Darcy was not disappointed.

  "Where is Miss Elizabeth?" she asked.

  Their guests, not having been given leave to sit yet, stood before Aunt Catherine, clutching their hands and bowing and curtsying uncomfortably.

  Mrs. Collins nodded her head in a supportive gesture to her husband, who for the first time in Darcy's memory seemed to suffer from a lack of an expansive explanation.

  Mr. Collins bowed deeper before Aunt Catherine, his corset sq
ueaking in protest. "My deepest apologies, your ladyship and Miss de Bourgh. My cousin is unable to attend to us this evening as she is suffering from a headache. Her affliction is common among delicate ladies, and I pray she recovers so she may benefit from the influence of your superior company."

  Elizabeth delicate? Darcy had much to learn of her, but was confident Elizabeth's health was no more delicate than Mr. Collins'.

  Aunt Catherine harrumphed. "Her upbringing has put her at such a great disadvantage, I wonder if she recognizes the value of a close association with a family firmly established in the first circles."

  Darcy had no patience for a discourse on the advantages of rank in society. The words he had been practicing in his mind to say to Elizabeth demanded a voice or he would burst.

  Muttering his apologies, he departed from the room, leaving shocked stares and gaping mouths behind him. They need not have been so astounded. He would have had little to share in their conversation, and they soon would have forgotten his presence entirely between Aunt Catherine's imposing counsel on how better to run their household in accord with her standards, Mr. Collins empty compliments, and Richard's pleasing charm.

  Crossing the dark antechamber, Darcy declined the butler's offer to send for his greatcoat when it became apparent that Darcy was going out of doors. Intent in his purpose, he walked across the great lawn in the direction of Hunsford parsonage.

  The late afternoon sun shone through the trees, inspiring him with hope. Elizabeth was everything enlightened and happy. She would be a worthy match for him and a good influence on Georgiana.

  He arrived short-winded, only considering that he should have waited to knock until he had caught his breath when the maid answered the door. What a sight he must have been, his skin damp and his breath coming out in puffs. She did not deny him entry when he inquired about Miss Elizabeth, instead scurrying about her activities to disguise the shock his call at such an hour (and on an unmarried lady he knew to be unattended) would naturally cause.