Yes, Mr. Darcy: A Pride and Prejudice Novella

by J Dawn King

  “I am come to accept your invitation to dinner on behalf of myself and the Bingley family, sir.” Darcy remained standing as he had not yet been invited to be seated. Mr. Bennet had not even offered him the courtesy of rising when he had entered the room. This lack of proper manners did not bode well for the conversation, Darcy suspected.

  “I judge you are a young man used to having your way.” Confidence oozed from Mr. Bennet. “I am Oxford educated with an extensive background in the study of characters, Mr. Darcy. I also have the benefit gained from decades more of life’s experiences.” He looked the man over. “I am certain my wife will be glad of your acceptance, Mr. Darcy.”

  The tone was dismissive and Darcy could not keep the flash of ire from his eyes.

  “Are you a lover of the game?” Darcy pointed to a chess board positioned on a small table under a window. There appeared no dust so it had recently been used.

  “I am. You, Mr. Darcy?”

  Darcy could hear the condescension in the older man’s voice. He sensed the attitude of superiority in both Mr. Bennet’s countenance and his tone. Darcy had spent his lifetime in company with such men. They lived on small estates yet felt they were a vassal king to a miniature kingdom, subservient solely to England’s throne. They hid under their ownership, begging for protection, though they did nothing for themselves and those under their care.

  “I played many a time with my father.” He carefully worded his comment. He would give nothing away to his opponent. “It has been some years since I have done so.” He mentioned nothing of the many matches he played since his father’s death.

  “Then let us have a game.” Enthusiasm and victory dripped from Mr. Bennet, as if he had already won the match.

  Darcy knew the routine. The board was utilitarian and well-used. As it stood, the black king rested on its side—checkmate. It did not surprise him at all to have Mr. Bennet sit on the side with the white pieces, without words indicating he had been the victor of the prior game. The player with the white pieces always moved first.

  The board was reset, the pieces put in place and Mr. Bennet made his first move. As Darcy moved his hand over the pawn, Mr. Bennet spoke.

  “I surmise you find enjoyment in my daughter’s company.”

  Withdrawing his hand before touching the piece, Darcy looked at the man closely. Mr. Bennet had not looked up from his perusal of the board, as if he cared not for Darcy’s response. Nonetheless, the hand resting on the table was tightly fisted. Mr. Bennet cared.

  “I believe you would be surprised if I did not.” This was a familiar game—verbal thrust and parry. Since his youth Darcy had practiced fencing with the masters. His father taught him the power of using words wisely. “I also do not doubt that one of your greatest pleasures is spending time in conversation with Miss Elizabeth.”

  Elizabeth’s father snorted, yet said nothing. He waited

  until Darcy made his first move and lunged. A bold move much different to a skilled parry.

  “What are your intentions towards my daughter?”

  The corner of Darcy’s mouth lifted. “She will be my wife.” It was plainly said.

  “Humph!” Mr. Bennet refused to glance at his opponent. “You do not know her well enough, Mr. Darcy, to make such a determination. My Lizzy is a simple girl who has not been raised to manage an estate. She has no skills outside of a minimal interest in music, which she plays poorly. Find a woman in your own sphere. Leave my daughter to me.”

  Anger surged in Darcy’s chest. How dare a father speak in such a way of a daughter he should love and cherish. “I believe Miss Elizabeth would be both surprised and distressed to hear herself described in such a way by you.”

  Again, Mr. Bennet snorted. He said nothing in reply as the game continued in silence.

  Darcy realized that Elizabeth’s father had every intention of walking away with both his pride in his chess skills intact and a confidence that his daughter would remain in his home.

  “You insult the child who has striven the hardest to gain your approval.” Darcy again acted with hesitancy in

  making his next move, though his voice was firm. “And these are the actions of a good father?”

  “I know what you rich men are about, Mr. Darcy. You see young girls like my daughter as a way to pass your time and ease your boredom in the country. When you return to London, you will forget about her as she is left behind with her heart broken and crushed.” Mr. Bennet’s bishop slid across the board, it’s opponent seemingly vulnerable.

  Darcy could see that the older man wanted to rub his hands together, but did not so nothing was given away.

  “You do not know me enough to accuse me of such, Mr. Bennet.” Darcy had his own strategy for the game. He also had his own path for the conversation. “I became acquainted with Miss Elizabeth in July of this year, sir. This is not the work of a moment.”

  “July, you say.” For the first time, outright disdain covered Mr. Bennet’s face. “I have heard nothing from her about you, Mr. Darcy. You must not have made much of an impression on my impressionable child.”

  Another piece moved across the board.

  “Your child was mired in a pit of despair at your plans for her.” Darcy hesitated over his move, as if unsure. “How could you do that to her?”

  “You have no right to question my parental decisions. It is I who knows what is best for Lizzy.”

  “No, sir.” Darcy countered. “You only know what is best for you.”

  “And where is the error in that, young man?”

  Darcy’s play seemed haphazard and ill-timed, as if he barely knew the rules of the game and was guessing at the movements of each particular piece.

  “Miss Elizabeth shared that you did not involve yourself in the lives of your children until your youngest came out in society.” An advance. “That this same event happened to coincide with the request of your cousin for a bride must have seemed felicitous to you.”

  “It was.” A retreat.

  “I cannot imagine Miss Elizabeth not being clear in her opinions of marriage to Mr. Collins. You have to know she is miserable at the thought.”

  “She will be content to be mistress of Longbourn.”

  “Will she, now?” At this there was a change of engagement, a move to give a swordsman an advantage or to play their target as a fool. “How long would she have to live with your cousin under your roof before that event would take place? Decades? A quarter century or longer?”

  “I am ready to end this game and this conversation.” Thomas Bennet smirked. “I would like to offer a wager, Mr. Darcy.” He stared his opponent in the face. “I propose we make the results of this game more interesting.”

  Darcy wanted to smile. He did not. He had been a master chess player at Cambridge. He supposed Mr. Bennet had been the same during his university years, though the intervening decades would have likely provided no real challenge for him from the residents of the neighborhood. He imagined Elizabeth’s father had taught her the game enough to stimulate competition, though not to win. At least he hoped so.

  It was twenty minutes later when Darcy walked into the drawing room. His eyes found his target. Elizabeth was seated near the window, ignored needlework resting on her lap. Mrs. Bennet and the remainder of her daughters were either engaged in sorting ribbons or looking at fashion plates in well-used women’s magazines.

  At his entrance and rapid approach, Elizabeth set the embroidery hoop aside and stood.

  There was no preamble, only a direct approach. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet, would you do me the honor of accepting my hand in marriage?” Darcy’s words were clipped, his voice easily carried across the room.

  ***

  Elizabeth heard the screech of her mother and the squeals from her youngest sisters. She ignored them and peered into Darcy’s eyes.

  “You are angry, sir.” She could see the muscles of his jaw clinching as his teeth almost ground together. He did not even look at her while he made his brief prop
osal.

  “I am.”

  “May we walk in the garden so I can provide you an answer there?” Elizabeth tilted her head and looked even closer at him. Even under distress, he truly was the handsomest man she had ever seen. However, having her younger sisters and mother as witnesses would not do.

  “You are not rejecting me, then?”

  “I am not.” Elizabeth quickly responded, surprised how sensitive she was to his regard. “Nor am I accepting you…yet.” In a move meant to calm the situation, she touched the back of his hand where it was fisted at his side. The pain that had flashed in his eyes at the thought of being rejected had touched her heart. Why did she feel his hurt so deeply? “Sir, might we speak of this privately?”

  “No, Elizabeth!” Mrs. Bennet interrupted. “You will speak of it here. But I caution you, girl. Before you answer you need to consider the future of your sisters, not just your own. Mr. Collins has made promises for the family consistent with his positon as cousin. This man,” she waved her hand at Darcy, “with his ten-thousand a year is far more suited to a beauty like my Jane. Jane could not be so beautiful for nothing. Mr. Bingley’s five-thousand a year will not do! I will see that Mr. Bingley is for Mary. I will have three daughters married!”

  ***

  Darcy saw the flush cover Elizabeth’s face at the vulgar interference of her mother. He knew he would hide nothing from her. When she heard of what her father had done, she would be even more appalled. It certainly was in his favor for her to know as it would almost guarantee her acquiescence. Nonetheless, he wanted her willing agreement to his proposal, responding from desire rather than distress.

  “Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth whispered so only he could hear. “Are you, indeed, set on this course?”

  “I am.” He moved his other hand to cover hers.

  ***

  “Why, sir?” Before he had gone into her father’s study, he had been close to declaring himself. She had been close to accepting him. Nevertheless, reason intruded. Elizabeth needed to be sure of her own heart and of his. Time needed to be allowed to do so. But something had happened with her father. She could still feel his ire radiating from him until it surrounded her. Elizabeth worried over what had taken place between the two men.

  “Will you trust me, Elizabeth?”

  She hesitated before she replied. In truth, they knew each other so little. Yet what she did know about him harmonized with her own desires. He was tender towards his younger sister and careful with his guardianship. He had been willing to overlook the faults of her family in his pursuit of her. There was nothing else to be done. “I will, Mr. Darcy.”

  “Will you call me Fitzwilliam?”

  “As you have called me Elizabeth?” She smiled and her eyes softened.

  He smiled in return. “Yes.” He whispered.

  “You have struck a bargain with my father, then?” The idea was repugnant to Elizabeth.

  “You are too quick.”

  Taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly, Elizabeth clasped both his hands in hers, squeezing tightly. She could not move her eyes from his.

  “Yes, Mr. Darcy, I will marry you. I will be your wife.” This was stated so all in the room could hear. She wanted her mother to know there was no hesitation on her part.

  Surely Darcy’s exhale could be heard inside the house. “You will be mine.”

  Ignored were the noises from the other Bennet females. Neither Darcy nor Elizabeth were aware her father was standing at the doorway until he uttered, “Oh, Lord. What have I done?” When they both looked towards him, it was to see his retreating form as he headed back to his bookroom.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “I pray you, Fitzwilliam. Tell me what happened between you and my father.” Elizabeth sat on the cold stone of a garden bench. They were far enough away from the house to be undisturbed, though anyone looking outside the drawing room window could see them. Currently, there were three female faces pressed against the glass: Mrs. Bennet, Kitty, and Lydia.

  “I do not know how, Elizabeth.” Darcy dropped his head to his chest, shaking it slowly back and forth. “It will cause you pain.”

  This was the moment that had filled Darcy with dread since he left the bookroom. He reached over and took Elizabeth’s gloved hand in his. Then he rethought his actions, removing both his glove and hers before entwining his long fingers with hers. He needed the touch and it seemed to provide her comfort as well.

  “Fitzwilliam, I will not give you an argument or challenge your right to keep information from me.” He looked up at that. “But please know that my imagination is vivid. For example, I imagine from the manner in which you came into the room and proposed, my father wagered my future; a wager you must have won.” When he started to shake his head in the negative, she continued. “You were unhappy and angry when you offered for me, sir. Your sense of honor had to have been battered by whatever happened in my father’s study. Am I correct?”

  Again, Darcy contemplated her mental agility. He was pleased it was most likely superior to his own.

  “Yes, and no, Elizabeth.” A sigh ripped from Darcy’s chest. “You are both correct in your conclusion and entirely wrong.”

  ***

  She pondered what he meant. Then she truly looked at him. He was not withholding information because he did not believe she was undeserving or unable to understand. He was protecting her. His very nature had to be screaming at him to remain silent so she would never know the depths her father had plunged to in his quest to secure his family.

  “Oh! No! No! No!” Elizabeth put her free hand to her mouth. “It was not just me, was it? It was not only my future my father bartered with. It was my mother and my sisters as well.” She saw the truth on his face. He could hide nothing from her. “What was the wager, Fitzwilliam?”

  Darcy cleared his throat.

  “We played chess.” At Elizabeth’s nod, he proceeded. “Our discussion was becoming heated when he challenged me. If we were at cards, he would have increased the stakes of the game. As it was, he decided that the winner of the match would receive the desire of his heart. The deal he offered was that if he won, I would leave Hertfordshire and never see you again. You would marry Mr. Collins and live the rest of your life at Longbourn. If I won the game, I would have full financial care of your mother and sisters—and you.”

  Embarrassment flooded Elizabeth. She was ashamed of her father for the first time in her memory. Once Fitzwilliam was engaged in the game, his honor would not allow him to back down. It appeared to her that whichever way the game might have gone; Darcy would have lost.

  “I am so sorry. So very, very sorry.” Tears streamed down Elizabeth’s face so that she failed to see Darcy’s puzzled expression.

  “Elizabeth. Elizabeth!” He cupped her cheek, raising her face until he could see her eyes. They were in agony. “I did not lose. I won.”

  “I am aware you won the game, sir.”

  “Not just the game, Elizabeth, I won it all.” She finally noted his joy. It was then Elizabeth understood that his sadness was for the hurt in her heart, not his. “Do you not see? I won the right to marry you. I won the right to settle dowries on your sisters. I won the right to educate Kitty and Lydia—Mary as well, should it be her desire. I won the right to see your mother settled comfortably in Hertfordshire, amongst her peers, for the remainder of her life. All of this will ease the mind of the one woman whom I will cherish for my lifetime. To me? It is worth every shilling, every single one.”

  “So my father abdicates control and gains what he longs for most; to be left undisturbed in his bookroom.” The thought frustrated Elizabeth greatly.

  “No…” The corner of Darcy’s mouth lifted in a crooked adorable smile. “I would say the punishment will be all his.”

  “How is this possible?”

  ***

  He could stand no more. Darcy wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to his chest. He delighted at how invincible it made him feel.

  �
��I pray you are satisfied with my plan.” He squeezed a bit tighter as his smile grew exponentially. “You see, when Bingley came to Hertfordshire, he not only surveyed the estate of Netherfield Park, he looked at Purvis Lodge, Hay-Park, Ashworth, and Stoke. I shall purchase one of the estates and see your mother and sisters settled there upon the future demise of your father. However, I believe the portion of my plans which will become your father’s biggest regret will take place when my aunt, Lady Catherine shows up in Hertfordshire.”