Mr Darcy's Mail-Order Bride

by J Dawn King

  A Pride and Prejudice Variation

  “Mr. Darcy’s Mail-Order Bride” Copyright © 2016 by Joy D. King

  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 Joy D. King.

  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.

  Cover Design: JD Smith – Design

  Interior Formatting: Sarah Johnson, Peculiar World Designs

  Published by: Quiet Mountain Press

  Combining Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice with the Wild, Wild West was a huge risk for me. Even though I’ve lived in Oregon most of my life, I’ve never written about it before. By the time I typed “The End” I had fallen in love all over again with my home.

  My sincerest thanks to Dr. Cynthia Maynes of Evergreen Family Medical and the paramedic staff of the Urgent Care Clinic on Edenbower in Roseburg. I’ve never had a compound fracture before and am not old enough to have experienced a broken bone in 1869, so their information and willing assistance was invaluable.

  A great big shout of appreciation also goes to the staff and researchers at the Museum of the Oregon Territory, the Clackamas County Historical Society, as well as to those at McLoughlin House. Your exhibits helped me visualize the 1860’s. I thank you.

  To all the readers who left comments on both fanfiction.net and beyondausten.com – you are AWESOME!!!

  To Betty, Debbie, and Jennifer: The errors are my own. Gracias!

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  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

  Epilogue

  Bonus Excerpt: Love Letters from Mr. Darcy

  About the Author, J. Dawn King

  Other Books by J. Dawn King

  Wednesday, February 10, 1869 – Baltimore, Maryland

  The cowboy pulled his six-shooter from his holster and peeked around the corner of the bank building. Shattering glass along with screams of panic and terror from within sent a stream of sweat trickling down the middle of his back. Marshall Morgan Brown was over an hour away attending the trial of the notorious outlaw Barton Solomon, the scourge of the West, a hired killer who had over sixteen notches on his pistol grip. With no lawman available, the cowboy was on his own. Only he could protect the innocent women and children of Bent Nail Creek.

  He sighted down the barrel, the rays from the burning sun bouncing off the cold steel. Holding steady, he zeroed in on the front of the building. The door burst open, and two gunmen carrying bags of money…

  “Lizzy!” Jane whispered loud enough to get her sister’s attention. “Uncle Gardiner is here.”

  Elizabeth Bennet closed the dime novel and shoved it under the cushion in time to stand and welcome her mother’s only brother back from his long journey at sea.

  The Bennet family surrounded their favorite uncle, Mr. Edward Gardiner, to hear about his journey.

  “Did you discover lovely vistas and beautiful forests, Uncle?” Elizabeth Bennet had a great admiration for nature. Living in the midst of a city on the Atlantic Seaboard gave her few glimpses of the Earth’s verdant bounty.

  She was weary of witnessing the remnants of the war between the states. One of her father’s colleagues referred to the conflict as the Civil War; an oxymoron from her point of view. Reconstruction had begun, yet a sense of hopelessness and loss still blanketed her neighborhood.

  Most had lost at least one male family member to the conflict. The prospects for any of the Bennet daughters marrying and having a home of their own were slim to none. The ball they had attended the night before affirmed the sparsity of male partners as she was forced to sit out all but two of the dances—standing up with her eldest sister, Jane, both times.

  “The West is like nothing I have ever seen before, Lizzy. The soil is rich, begging to be planted. Tall fir trees are remarkably thick, keeping the sun from reaching the forest floor. Bushes dripping with sweet blackberries hanging from the vines grow so abundantly I soon tired of the fruit. Apple trees, pear trees, and plum trees filled groves so the produce fell to the ground wasted. The grass was green and lush, and it felt like walking on your mother’s thick rug in her sitting room. When our vessel pulled into Portland on the mighty Columbia River, we spied a snow-capped mountain shaped like an upside down funnel overlooking the bustling city. I cannot wait to sell out and return with my family. The Willamette Valley is the future for the Gardiners.”

  “And Indians, Uncle?” Mary, the middle sister, had wanted to be a nurse during the war, but her tender age and her father had kept her home. Now, she dreamed of becoming a missionary to the native Americans.

  “How about men, Uncle Gardiner? Did you see many men?” At fifteen, Lydia Bennet felt the loss of potential suitors as heavily as her older sisters. Brash and bold, she was determined to marry first. Her next eldest sibling, Catherine, called Kitty, followed her lead. Though Lydia had been the one to mention what was on all of their minds, all five Bennet sisters dared not breathe until their Uncle Gardiner answered.

  “Yes, Mary, I saw Indians.” Uncle Gardiner knew his nieces well. “While there, an express rider arrived in Oregon City. In his mailbag, he had an East Coast newspaper with the headline, “30,000 Women in Need of Husbands”. The ensuing uproar caused a stampede as gentlemen and ruffians alike tore at one another to read the information. Therefore, yes, Lydia, there is an abundance of single men who long for the comforts of home and good companionship.”

  Even Mrs. Bennet sighed at the thought.

  Mr. Bennet did not find his brother-in-law’s comments amusing. “You will not continue to encourage my daughters, Edward. I will not have them running to the Wild West in search of any Tom, Dick, or Harry to be their husbands. With the war over, it will soon be as it was before.”

  Elizabeth wanted to shake her head at her father—or shake him by the shoulders. When the Confederate army attacked Fort Sumter in April 1861, Thomas Bennet buried his head in his books and refused to look up until the surrender of General Lee to General Ulysses S. Grant in Appomattox Court House in Virginia. Their mother had taken to her room with a four-year case of nerves. Both Jane and Elizabeth had striven to make their meager funds stretch to cover the rising costs of food. Luxuries had been eliminated, to the chagrin of her mother and younger sisters, and fear had settled over most of the household at the many changes they had been required to make. Fewer young men were seeking tutorage in classic literature from her father and their coffers were almost drained dry. In the years since the war was declared over, economic expansion to the West kept the students from their door, so conditions continued to be lean.

  She caught Jane shaking her head, her eyes closed against their father’s attitude. His denial had intensified their hardships, and they both were weary of stretching the few coins they possessed to feed and house seven residents. Gone were the cook and housekeeper. Jane cared for the oversight of the living rooms while Elizabeth ten
ded the kitchen chores. For the most part, it was thankless work. Nevertheless, Elizabeth’s nature would not allow her to remain discouraged. She felt she owed it to her sisters to bolster their dreams for a happier future.

  “Uncle,” Elizabeth was desperate to hear more, “tell us of the trip itself.”

  As she listened to descriptions of the ports-of-call down the coast of the Americas, around the tip of South America, and northward to the Pacific Northwest, Elizabeth felt her perpetual longing stir to make such a journey. The thought of having a good, kind, intelligent man waiting at the end of the months of travel with a home, garden, and friendly neighbors was Jane’s dream. As for Elizabeth, she wanted adventure—even if it meant she would never marry. But travel took money, something which was always in short supply in the Bennet household.

  Later that night, after the family had retired, she was unsurprised to hear Jane’s soft knock on her door.

  “What did Uncle say?” Elizabeth had been puzzled when Edward Gardiner had met in private with her eldest sister. Rarely had she been excluded from their conversations.

  Jane thrust a letter into Elizabeth’s unsuspecting hands. “Read this.” Then she sat on the edge of the bed to await her sister’s opinion—something Elizabeth typically shared freely.

  The envelope was, surprisingly, in almost untouched condition, showing Uncle Gardiner’s care of the letter. The contents, therefore, had to contain either sensitive or life-changing information.

  September 4, 1868

  Netherfield Ranch

  Oregon City, Oregon

  Dear Miss Bennet,

  Please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Charles Archibald Bingley. I am nearing twenty-three years of age and the owner of a 640-acre property outside of Oregon City. My parents moved my two sisters and myself to the Pacific coastal region in 1867, only to suffer an accident at sea. Within a month, my siblings and I relocated to the Willamette Valley. With the help of a trusted friend, I built a large home and have enough income from my land to support a family. My eldest sister, Louisa, is recently married to Mr. Gilbert Hurst. Caroline, who is just turned nineteen, attends a school for ladies in Boston and is in her final year. She plans to return to Netherfield in the fall of 1870.

  Your uncle described you as beautiful, kind, and caring. These are the qualities I am hoping to find in a wife. My friends describe me as amiable. I spent enough time in Mr. Gardiner’s company for him to give you an accurate portrayal as to whether or not this is the truth.

  Life in this part of the country is quiet if you fail to listen to the calls of the natural world. In the spring, the air is filled with the noise of birds as they seek food for their young. From red robins plucking at the ground for a fat worm to the cry of magnificent eagles, the variety is astounding. In the autumn, bull elk bugle to call their mates and bears grunt as they fill up on the last of the summer’s crop of insects and berries.

  I believe the beauty of our part of the world is best described by a British poet.

  “There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,

  There is a rapture on the lonely shore,

  There is society, where none intrudes,

  By the deep sea, and music in its roar:

  I love not man the less, but Nature more”

  Only this morning I walked outside my home to find a doe with twin fawns. The little ones still had some of their spots. They played by the honeysuckle arbor as their mother grazed on the newly cut grass. Serenity and joy filled me, as well as longing to share the moment with someone.

  Have you ever hoped to travel outside of Maryland? Would you, or could you, imagine yourself married to a man so far from the rest of your family?

  My hope is that you respond soon so I know whether I have hope.

  Most sincerely,

  Charles A. Bingley

  Elizabeth’s eyes moved over the paper a second time and then a third. “Lord Byron,” she whispered to herself. How many modern men were familiar with Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage? Yet, he had quoted one of her favorite verses of the lengthy poem. Each word fed her soul. Mr. Bingley was a wordsmith, a man who appreciated a turn of phrase—the solace of joining adjectives and nouns—until a human heart was touched.

  She looked at Jane, who sat calmly at her side. Elizabeth could not fail to see the dream lingering in her sister’s eyes. Though they did not know of any females of their acquaintance who had become mail-order brides, the practice had been going on for a decade or more; being a drastic solution to an otherwise unsolvable problem. “Will you reply?” She knew before asking what her sister’s answer would be.

  Jane’s chin dropped to her chest as a blush covered her cheeks. “I would love to meet Mr. Bingley.” Then she looked directly at her sister. “But I need you to write him, Lizzy, as I could never match his elegant hand. You are much more skilled with words than I am. You even knew whom he quoted, while I did not.” Jane grabbed Elizabeth’s hands. “Please, say you’ll do it for me. Please?”

  Without hesitation Elizabeth replied, “Of course I will. Your goodness needs rewarded, sister dear. I’ll do all within my power to help you along.”

  Jane giggled. “Oh, Lizzy. To think that I might have a home of my own. The land sounds beautiful, and I would love to be married to an amiable man.”

  “Who is handsome.”

  Jane’s giggles grew louder.

  “And rich.”

  They both laughed until their father yelled through the walls for silence.

  “Does Papa know about the letter?”

  Although Jane was twenty-two years of age, she was still under her father’s authority because she lived in his household. As unwilling as their male parent was for change, this might be something they would have to keep from him until Jane had decided whether or not to travel to Oregon with their uncle and his family later in the year.

  “He does not.”

  “What did Uncle say about Mr. Bingley?”

  The blush returned until Jane’s cheeks were as red as Elizabeth had ever seen them. “Uncle described him as six feet tall, lean of build, with strawberry blonde hair, blue eyes, and a big smile. He claimed Mr. Bingley is sociable, pleasant, and eager to learn. His home is, as the letter says, newly constructed, overlooking the river.”

  “You have always preferred fair coloring, so he is sounding like the ideal man for you.” Elizabeth slapped her hand over her mouth as her laughter threatened to bubble over. She had not seen such happiness on her sister’s face since before the war.

  “Perhaps the friend he mentions who helped him establish his home is tall, dark, and handsome. He would be your ideal man.” Then it was Jane’s turn to muffle her mirth.

  “He is probably short, round, and balding with no comprehension of how he would handle a woman like me as a wife—if he is not already wed.”

  They chuckled.

  “Oh, Lizzy. I could not move so far away without you.” Both sisters quieted at the thought. The two of them were the best of friends. To be separated by such a distance was intolerable.

  “Then I’ll move with you to Oregon and be aunt to your many children. I will teach them to darn socks poorly and play the piano with robust enthusiasm until we are all driven outside to listen to the sounds of nature found at the Bingley family home.”

  “Why did you have to write about the fawns? What if Miss Bennet doesn’t like baby animals?”

  “Bingley, would you want a wife who did not?” Fitzwilliam Darcy chuckled to himself as he watched his closest friend wear a path in Darcy’s carpeting. At this rate, the floor covering would not last the year. The rug had survived its trip from the eastern seaboard when their family left Boston in 1830. He had not yet been born when his father traveled years later to attend university and obtain a wife whom he packed up and moved back to Oregon to take advantage of the Donation Land Claim Act. They arrived in Oregon to settle on his father’s 640 acres of prime forestland bordering the Willamette River. In the years after he was bor
n, his father and mother had purchased additional property until he was surrounded by four square miles of Darcy land.

  “And poetry? Darcy! She will think I have mislead her to think me more educated than I am.” Bingley raked his hands through his hair as he walked, making the top stand up in a spectacular disarray.

  “You are educated.” Darcy had met the Bingley siblings soon after they had arrived at Oregon City. Within a week, Bingley’s eldest sister had married the owner of the local livery and stable. Since then, they had sold their business and moved to Portland so Mrs. Hurst could enjoy the benefits of city life. After a month spent pouting at the rustic conditions and attempting to bind her seventeen-year-old self to the wealthiest single man in the area, Will Darcy, Caroline had been returned to the East Coast to polish her education and, as Darcy hoped, dispose of her bold ways.

  “Yes, but I didn’t pay that close of attention in school.” Charles Bingley’s father had sent him to two years at the College of New Jersey. The elder Mr. Bingley felt this was enough learning for a landowner. He pulled his son out of university to bring the family west.

  “Bingley, I wrote it in the same manner I write to my sister, Georgiana. The letter will be fine.”

  “But, you aren’t wanting to marry your sister.” Bingley shuddered. A horrified expression covered his face. “That came out wrong!”

  Darcy rolled his eyes.

  Bingley continued, “I want Miss Bennet to want to meet me as a potential husband. I don’t want her to be disappointed when and if she gets here by the man I truly am.”

  “She won’t be. You’re a fine man.” Darcy took a sip of the strong black coffee—his typical morning beverage. “Maybe next time you should write your own letter.”

  “I can’t.” Bingley finally sat opposite him in the tall leather chair. “My penmanship is so bad, she would immediately know someone else wrote the first letter. You’ll have to continue the correspondence until I can get her to say “yes” to my proposal.”