Much Ado about Many Things
A Pride and Prejudice Variation
by Sophie Lynbrook
Copyright © 2020 Sophie Lynbrook
All Rights Reserved
Cover art: Shutterstock
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
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
CHAPTER 46
CHAPTER 47
CHAPTER 48
CHAPTER 49
CHAPTER 50
CHAPTER 51
CHAPTER 52
CHAPTER 53
CHAPTER 54
CHAPTER 1
The lady doth protest too much, methinks.
HAMLET, ACT III, SCENE II
Mr. Darcy was staring at her again. It was the oddest thing. If it were a different gentleman who kept looking so intently at her, Elizabeth might have thought herself to be admired, but that was impossible in this case. Mr. Darcy’s opinion of her was far from admiration. She could only assume that it was her flaws which kept attracting his attention.
Not wanting to meet his critical gaze, she glanced around the breakfast table. Mr. Bingley smiled at her, but he was alone in displaying such friendliness of manner. Mr. Hurst was focused entirely upon his well-laden plate. Mrs. Hurst was reading a letter, and her sister was looking at Mr. Darcy with dissatisfaction, presumably because he was looking at somebody other than herself.
Miss Bingley liked to have his full attention and often made a great deal of effort to gain it. In the past few days, her methods had ranged from flattery to parading herself in front of him. She was tireless in this enterprise, but not particularly successful as far as one could tell. Mr. Darcy was not an easy man to read, but Elizabeth had not observed any sign of interest on his part, nor any inclination for receiving so much praise and notice. He was a proud man, but it did not appear that his was the sort of pride which required compliments and adoration.
Elizabeth wondered what methods Miss Bingley might chose to employ in order to attract his notice this morning. At the moment, however, the lady’s attention was required by her sister.
“Selena writes that they are having a merry time at Chaddington this year,” Mrs. Hurst said. “Mr. Barrowclough is there, and you know how amusing he is.”
Elizabeth did not, having no acquaintance with Mr. Barrowclough, but the conversation was obviously not meant to include her.
“He is very droll,” Miss Bingley agreed. “Who else is there?”
“Lord and Lady Shipley, the Palmerstons, Mr. Gibbons and his sister—”
“Eliza Gibbons!” Miss Bingley cried with disgust. “Selena invited her? I am astounded.”
Elizabeth stifled a smile. It seemed that she was not the only Eliza whom Miss Bingley disliked. She wondered what offense this unknown person had committed. Perhaps the lady lacked sufficient accomplishment to be a suitable friend. Or perhaps she was too accomplished, and thus a potential rival.
“I believe that Mr. Gibbons is a particular friend of Mr. Palmerston,” Mr. Darcy said.
Elizabeth was now curious about his opinion of Miss Gibbons. It would not surprise her to know that the unfortunate lady did not meet with his approval either. After all, he was very particular in his tastes, as had recently been established. Apparently, the chances of earning his approbation were equal to six divided by the sum total of his female acquaintance.
Realizing that she was smiling at this amusing thought, Elizabeth quickly composed herself. Fortunately, Mr. Darcy was no longer looking at her, Mrs. Hurst was studying the letter, and Miss Bingley was too busy being affronted to notice anything.
“I am sure Selena would not have invited either of them if we had gone to Chaddington,” she said to her brother. “There really was no need for you to lease this place when we were welcome there.”
“Selena writes that the shooting is excellent,” Mrs. Hurst contributed.
“The shooting here is excellent,” Mr. Bingley said.
“But at Chaddington there is excellent company as well,” Miss Bingley said. “This is just not the same. You should have invited more people to join us. We could have had a large house party as well. Why did you not think of it, Charles?”
“I am quite happy as we are,” her brother replied. “We have no shortage of good company.”
Miss Bingley made no answer to this, but Elizabeth suspected that a great deal would have been said about the lack of satisfactory company in the neighbourhood if her presence had not impeded such remarks.
Instead, Miss Bingley said to Mr. Darcy, “I am certain that you would have preferred us to invite some other guests. A very select group, naturally.”
Even Mr. Darcy looked awkward, but he was spared from having to reply by a sudden exclamation from Mrs. Hurst. “Selena writes that they are getting up a play!”
“A play,” Miss Bingley echoed. “That sounds like great fun. Does she say which one they have chosen?”
Mrs. Hurst glanced back at her letter. “Lovers Vows.”
This was not a play with which Elizabeth was familiar, but she saw Mr. Darcy raise his eyebrows. Evidently, he did not approve, but that did not necessarily mean there was something terribly wrong with the play. His reaction could just be a reflection of his exceptionally high standards.
“Which part is Selena to act?” Miss Bingley asked her sister.
“Amelia. She writes that she would much rather have been Agatha; however, Lady Shipley desired that role.”
“It is the better part,” Miss Bingley said. “There is a great deal of feeling in it.”
“Miss Gibbons is to be cottager’s wife.”
“Even that role is too good for her,” Miss Bingley said uncharitably. “Oh, I do wish we were there. I would very much like to act in a play.”
“So would I,” Mrs. Hurst agreed.
“It is so disappointing to be left out of all the fun.” Miss Bingley cast another reproachful look at her brother.
“Perhaps we could get up a play of our own,” Mrs. Hurst suggested.
“That is an excellent idea,” Miss Bingley cried. “What do you think, Mr. Darcy? As a devotee of the theatre, you undoubtedly have a great talent for acting.”
“It does not necessarily follow that the love of a thing can be equated to a talent for it,” Mr. Darcy observed. “I have done a bit of acting, but I would only describe myself as competent, not particularly talented.”
“I am sure you are too modest. A man like you, who does everything well, must be capable of a performance to rival Mr. Kemble.”
“I assure you that I am possessed of no such abilities.”
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��But you do enjoy acting?”
“Yes, I find it quite diverting.”
Elizabeth was surprised to hear this. She had the impression that Mr. Darcy was a serious man who did not much care for diversions of any sort.
“I would not mind doing a bit of acting,” Mr. Bingley said.
Mr. Hurst had nothing to say on the subject, but that was of little matter since he was outnumbered. Elizabeth guessed that he was going to be compelled to take some part even if it were against his will.
She was almost sorry that she would miss the opportunity to observe this spectacle. It would be interesting to see how this varied company performed. Mr. Bingley would no doubt bring warmth and geniality to his role, whether it was required or not. His sisters, both so full of their own superiority, would be at great pains to display their abilities, whether or not they had any. On the other hand, it would be miraculous if Mr. Hurst took the trouble even to learn his lines. His performance would likely be a hindrance to any play they acted, no matter how small his part.
Mr. Darcy, however, could be counted upon to shine in any role assigned to him. His lines would be memorized to perfection. As for this idea of mere competence, Elizabeth expected that he would strive for a great deal more. A few weeks’ acquaintance was sufficient for her to comprehend that Mr. Darcy had a great value for distinction. Indeed, it would not surprise her to know that his idea of competence was what most people would call excellence.
Naturally, he would desire the principal part. Nothing less would suit his pride. For that matter, a lead role would also suit his admirable stature and commanding presence. It might be interesting to watch him perform; however, her departure from this house was imminent. Before breakfast, she had written to her mother and requested that the carriage be sent to collect her and her sister Jane that very morning. It would be arriving before long, and not a moment too soon in Elizabeth’s opinion.
She had spent three evenings enduring the sneers of Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst, tolerating the scorn of Mr. Hurst, and suffering the scrutiny of Mr. Darcy. Her eagerness to be at home again vastly outweighed any curiosity to discover the degree of his acting abilities.
Mr. Darcy’s performance was nothing to her. Indeed, he was nothing to her. A proud, disagreeable man, who had too much confidence in his lofty opinions and too little consideration for others. She would be very glad to see the back of him.
CHAPTER 2
Most dangerous is that temptation that doth goad us on…
MEASURE FOR MEASURE, SCENE II, ACT II
As Elizabeth excused herself and left the room, Mr. Darcy was sorry to see her go. He had been pleasantly occupied in admiring not only her fine eyes, which had caught his attention early in their acquaintance, but also the rosy shade to her cheeks and the attractive curve of her lips.
But he must get command of himself. His admiration was daily growing more dangerous. He must stop noticing her. Even better, she should go far away from him. Now that her sister was on the road to recovery, it was to be hoped that Elizabeth’s stay at Netherfield would soon come to an end.
Her departure should give some restoration to his peace of mind, and perhaps Miss Bingley’s as well. In the past few days, her jealousy had been evident in her incivility to Elizabeth, as well as a notable increase in her attentions toward Mr. Darcy. Hopefully this play would give both of them some much-needed relief from feelings which had been stirred up by their houseguest.
“I rather like this idea of acting,” Mr. Bingley said. “What play do you think we should do?”
“Why should ours not be the same as Selena’s?” Miss Bingley suggested eagerly. “I would very much like to play Agatha myself.”
With me as Frederick, no doubt, Mr. Darcy thought, suddenly aware of a different danger. It appeared that Miss Bingley had visions of acting a sentimental part opposite him. She was probably looking forward to the many embraces between mother and son which took place in Lover’s Vows.
“I would not mind being Amelia,” Mrs. Hurst said. “It is an amusingly comic part.”
It is a dreadful part, Mr. Darcy thought. Amelia was excessively forward in her manner, and her speeches were shockingly unladylike. Then there was Agatha’s irregular situation and the accompanying implication of intimate relations outside marriage. Worst of all was the excessive amount of hand holding and embracing. It was all very well to watch such a play being performed by professional actors, but it was entirely unsuitable for private theatricals.
Fortunately for him, Mr. Bingley felt the same way. “Lover’s Vows!” he cried. “I do not think so. It might be hard to find a play that does not have something a little warm in it, but I draw the line at having Lover’s Vows acted in my home. It is quite unsuitable, besides being dreadfully sentimental.”
“I quite agree,” Mr. Darcy said. “But aside from that, I think we must look for a play with fewer parts, or else we shall be obliged to seek some additional performers.”
“We shall very likely have to do so,” Mr. Bingley said. “I cannot think of any play which we could put on without a few other people.”
Mr. Darcy could not dispute this, but he hoped they could limit themselves to a very few. He would rather not have this thing get out of hand. He would not have thought Miss Bingley keen to overpopulate their play either, but it seemed that she was more concerned with romantic pairings than filling her home with a crowd.
“Romeo and Juliet,” she cried. “That is just the play for us. It has such beautiful lines. I long to play the role of Juliet.”
And naturally, I am to be your Romeo, Mr. Darcy thought. You will have me declaring my love in poetic words while clasping your hands or clinging onto your corpse.
Fortunately, Mr. Bingley was possessed of greater sense. “I said a few extra people, not half the neighbourhood, and many of them equipped with swords. And I have no doubt you would be wanting a balcony from which to declaim your beautiful lines.”
“It need only be a little balcony,” his sister said.
“It might start out intending to be little, but it would undoubtedly grow into something palatial. I know what you and Louisa are like once possessed of a grand idea. This is a sizable house, but we have not the space for building majestic sets. I do not like to take my chances with so much wielding of swords either. The corpses may not all be pretend ones trying to suppress their breathing.”
“They will be pretend swords,” Mrs. Hurst pointed out.
“Oh, they should be, but who is going to take the trouble of acquiring a pretend sword when it is so much easier to come by a real one? Everybody and his grandmother has an old sword lying about somewhere.”
“All dusty and rusty,” Mr. Hurst murmured, nodding his head, although it was anybody’s guess whether this signified approval for the salvaging of old swords or for his brother-in-law’s restraint concerning their use. Or perhaps it was simply a prelude to nodding off.
“It is extremely unlikely that there would be any accidents,” Miss Bingley said. “I am certain it will all be perfectly safe.”
“I am not so willing to take my chances upon the mindfulness of a large and enthusiastic group of actors. Let us have a play without swords and balconies.”
“There are quite a few Greek plays which would only require a small cast if we were to reduce the chorus to a single person,” Mr. Darcy said.
Mr. Bingley eyed his friend warily. “As I recall, the Greeks were very fond of murder in their plays. Was not Agamemnon stabbed to death?”
“The deed is done offstage,” Mr. Darcy pointed out, “and with a knife, not a sword.”
Mr. Bingley was not appeased. “Iphigenia was sacrificed, was she not?”
“Also offstage.”
“I do not like the idea of sacrifices,” Miss Bingley said. She glanced at Mr. Darcy and added, “I like a Greek play as well as anybody, but I do not favour a tragedy for us.”
Mr. Darcy refrained from pointing out that Romeo and Juliet was a tragedy.
“It really would be a travesty to reduce the chorus of a Greek play,” Mr. Darcy conceded. “I am quite happy to play a comic part.” Preferably one without any romantic attachments, he thought, casting about in his mind for such a play.
“What about The School for Scandal?” Mr. Bingley suggested.
That play did contain a couple in love, but the plot did not dwell on romance, and they did not wax poetic about their feelings. They did not even have many lines together. And there were some very amusing scenes which would be fun to act. “I am in favour of it,” Mr. Darcy declared.
“I do not like that play. It is a very low sort of comedy.” Miss Bingley said this at the same moment as he spoke, or else she might have been more hesitant about expressing an opinion contrary to his own.
He was not surprised by her dissent, however. The School for Scandal offered none of the tender and emotional scenes which she had been favouring. She probably did not care for her choice of parts either: a malicious scandalmonger, an idle gossip, a disloyal wife, or a young lady of moral turpitude and not very many lines, none of which were particularly romantic.
“I think it a very funny play,” Mr. Bingley said, “and it has the advantage of requiring no swords or balconies. We shall only need a screen for Lady Teazle to hide behind, and we already have several to choose from. You and I could be brothers, Darcy. One of us wicked, but with all the appearance of goodness; and the other appearing to be a reprobate, yet good at heart. Which would you prefer?”
“Joseph,” Mr. Darcy said promptly, choosing the wicked brother before Miss Bingley could protest that they had not agreed upon the play. The other brother’s declaration of love for Maria was not a sentimental one, but it was safer not to take any chances. “I think you would play Charles very well,” he said to his friend. “I can picture you selling the family portraits.”
“But therein lies a problem,” Miss Bingley cried triumphantly. “You must have some paintings to sell, and we cannot play about with the ones which came with the house. They might become damaged.”
“We need not use any paintings at all,” Mr. Bingley said.
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