Men of Consequence

by Francine Rainey

  @2019

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other none commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, email the author at:

  raineyfrancine@gmail.com

  Credit to Jane Austen, who created such amazing characters that they live on in our minds and hearts.

  Cover design by Melody Simmons

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-two

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  August 1811

  The heat scorched the arm she had dangled from the carriage window these last ten minutes, left there as if by penance. The carriage was stagnant in the blazing August sun – as if even the wind had withdrawn in protest. Francesca eyed her companion, asleep now, and marveled that even in repose, the expression was sinister. Of what do you dream that makes you smile yet does not eliminate the scorn? She shook her head and sighed; she was fully aware of what provoked that wicked, sleepy smile – Fitzwilliam Darcy.

  Certain members of her family were obsessed with him. Francesca bit her lip and looked out the window at the passing landscape, ablaze with summer’s glory. How did I get here? A pawn in a diabolical game, the protagonist in a tragedy, doomed to pay excessively for her hubris. Foreboding and shame, the familiar parasites eating her soul, caused her to shiver, even in the intense heat of the sweltering summer. She wrenched her eyes from the window and gazed at the sleeping child upon her lap. Alexander. His name felt like a caress; such was her love for him. She smoothed away the curly hair plastered to his brow, and he stirred, a happy smile upon his beautiful face, a smile in contrast to her companion’s. Her heart expanded, and she smiled in response. He was so lovely, and she would do anything to protect him, to protect them. Suddenly, Francesca’s expression morphed from tenderness to stone. He will not be cast aside as I was. He will not be deprived of opportunities. She glanced again at her companion; the plan would work – she would make sure of it. However, she would not be a pawn, not this time. This time she would be the queen. And when she captured the king, she would rid herself of the parasites. She looked at her companion, well, she would at least rid herself of the parasites outside her soul. Recalling her purpose, she took a steadying breath, removed the arm that dangled from the window, and closed her eyes.

  Chapter One

  “I have excessive regard for Miss Jane Bennet,” Mrs. Hurst spoke in her pretentious tone. “She is really a very sweet girl, and I wish with all my heart she were well settled. But with such a father and mother, and such low connections, I am afraid there is no chance of it.”

  Bingley arose; the tone of the conversation was quite enough for him. He aspired to a game of billiards to calm his agitation. As he neared the door, the footman opened it; however, Caroline’s shrill voice and strident remark caused him to turn back with the door still ajar.

  “I think I heard you say that their uncle is an attorney in Meryton.”

  ‘Yes; and they have another, who lives somewhere near Cheapside.”

  Bingley looked at his sisters, “If they had uncles enough to fill all Cheapside,” cried Bingley, “it would not make them one jot less agreeable.”1

  “But it must very materially lessen their chance of marrying men of any consequence in the world,” Darcy replied as he gazed out the window with his back to the room.

  Bingley turned to exit and froze, his eyes as wide as a child’s caught pilfering sweets. “Miss Elizabeth!” he yelped. “I, I did not see you there!” He rubbed the back of his neck, “Um, how, how good to see you. Shall you join us?”

  Elizabeth raised her shoulders and smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Bingley, but I came only to request the use of your library. I believe my sister may be soothed if I read to her. May I borrow a book, sir?”

  “Of course, Miss Elizabeth! You need never ask!”

  “Thank you. Now, would you by any chance know where I might find said library, sir?” Elizabeth grinned.

  Bingley laughed. “Indeed, I do, Miss Elizabeth, though you may think otherwise considering the little time I spend there. Right this way.” Elizabeth flicked a glance at the inhabitants of the room, and then she turned and followed Bingley down the corridor.

  At the sound of Bingley greeting Elizabeth, Darcy swung around. First, his eyes widened in surprise; then they closed in mortification. He had glimpsed the brief look of anger and vulnerability that had crossed Elizabeth’s face before she smoothed her expression and raised her shoulders. Darcy groaned. Not again! She has heard another disparaging remark to add to the “not tolerable enough to tempt me” nonsense I sputtered at the assembly. Darcy sighed, then clenched his jaw at the sound of Caroline Bingley’s grating voice.

  “Oh, Louisa,” Caroline tittered behind her hand, “to think that Miss Elizabeth has heard us! How absolutely horrid!” Caroline said, then both sisters dissolved into laughter.

  In the library, Elizabeth absently perused Bingley’s sparse collection, her mind agitated by what she had heard. She had been marooned only one day at Netherfield, the leased estate of the handsome, rich and single, Mr. Charles Bingley, and yet it felt much longer. While her sister Jane lay in bed, sick in body, Elizabeth Bennet was sick in spirit – exasperated by the arrogance of Mr. Darcy, (Bingley’s friend), and the incivility of Bingley’s sisters. Mr. Darcy was richer, better looking, and also single, but he was so bloated with pride that even her mother, Mrs. Bennet, “the husband catcher,” refused to throw a net toward him.

  Meanwhile, across the room, Bingley mulled over the insensitivity of his companions and never had he seen the inanity of such beliefs until that day. Miss Jane Bennet, who was kind and beautiful, and her sister, Miss Elizabeth, witty, courageous, and caring, assigned to men of little consideration simply because they lacked wealth and connections! Never had he seen the absurdity of society’s mores as clearly than at that moment when applied to two of the worthiest women of his acquaintance.

  Lessen their chance of marrying men of consequence indeed. Ha! How does Miss Bennet’s or Miss Elizabeth’s lack of wealth make them inferior to the dandies I have met in the ton wh
o live to drink and gamble away their inheritance? Bingley ran his fingers through his rebellious locks and glanced at Elizabeth. He quite liked her. She was spirited and kind, her conversation as captivating as she was lovely to look upon, (not as lovely as his Jane, but close). She deserved a man of consideration, a man of consequence in sense and situation. If I am fortunate, I will be such a man for her sister. When we wed, perhaps I can help Miss Elizabeth along as well.

  After selecting her book, Elizabeth walked quickly down the corridor, the sting of Darcy’s words and the tittering of the superior sisters had caused her usually optimistic outlook to darken. She was aware of her family’s situation. Her father, a country squire of modest income with an estate entailed away from the female line, married a tradesman’s daughter with a modest dowry, little sense and a love for spending, who birthed him five daughters and no sons. The nonexistent heir prompted her mother to even more insensibility, for she believed that upon her husband’s death that she and her unmarried daughters would be consigned to gentile poverty and cast into the hedge groves. Goodness, Elizabeth had heard the hedge grove speech from her mother long enough! Though Elizabeth was hopeful, she was also realistic. Not many men of higher stations would consider a virtually dowerless bride, and not many of her station could afford to consider one. She was aware that their prospects were not great, but to have her family’s situation bandied about by the superior sisters and the pompous Mr. Darcy, grated upon her good humor.

  Elizabeth tiptoed into Jane’s room. Jane Bennet lay with her beautiful eyes closed. No wonder Bingley is smitten; Jane is beautiful inside and out. How dare Mr. Darcy and the superior sisters dismiss Jane because she does not possess fortune or lofty connections. Jane, who never finds fault with anyone, is superior to them all in what matters most: character and disposition. Elizabeth sighed. If it had not been for mother’s scheming, Jane and I would be home now surrounded by the warmth and chaos of family, and I would be spared the incivility of Netherfield’s trio. No, but mother would scheme! Mrs. Bennet had forced Jane to ride horseback in the rain so that her most beautiful daughter might become wet and sick and be forced to stay in Mr. Bingley’s house. It was mortifying, and Elizabeth was confident that the pompous one and the superior sisters understood her mother’s machinations. Elizabeth knew that Bingley’s sisters and Mr. Darcy already regarded her family as inferior and her mother as scheming, and while Elizabeth could have laughed at their arrogance, it was much more difficult to do so when her family generously provided the absurdity.

  Elizabeth surmised that ever since the opportunity to have a daughter well settled, which would save them from the hedge groves at the death of her father, her mother had acted with more desperation and even less decorum than usual. Therefore, when Mr. Bingley let Netherfield, it had whipped her mother into a frenzy, and thus the campaign to “catch” Bingley began. Elizabeth chuckled, her mother’s characterization of finding a husband, “the catching of Mr. Bingley,” caused her to visualize said Mr. Bingley caught in a web, as prey in a spider’s.

  Elizabeth looked at Jane, resting peacefully and sighed. It was rather right than desirable that she join her hosts in the drawing room. She and Jane had always been the ones to salvage their family’s honor, and she would not shrink now. She squared her shoulders, “Once more to the breach!” Elizabeth whispered and headed for the battlefield.

  It was midnight. The moon was full in the sky as Darcy reclined upon the bed staring at the ceiling; neither his mind nor body could find rest. Tapping his finger upon his chest, he pondered the conversation in the drawing room. I should not have spoken such words. Lessen their chance of finding men of consequence in the world, true, but why did I speak such a thing? Darcy shook his head. I know why, to remind myself that I cannot have the very tempting Miss Elizabeth! And to think that Elizabeth heard me! Initially, when the mask was removed, Elizabeth’s face had betrayed her vulnerability, and Darcy had felt drawn into her soul – for just one beautiful moment.

  Darcy groaned and turned on his side. Such was his experience with the vexing Miss Elizabeth. No sooner had he rejected her as inferior in every way, then he found himself captivated by her wit, liveliness, goodness, intelligence, and beauty. He had long since repented of that remark, borne of frustration, that he had uttered at the Meryton assembly, not handsome enough to tempt him indeed! When he had really looked, he could not look away. Elizabeth had the most beautiful eyes, large and expressive, and when she smiled, it was as if all the life and joy within her beautiful spirit clamored to be released through them. No, she did not possess the features that the ton considered as evidence of nobility and therefore of beauty, but there was something that Darcy found much more appealing to her large eyes, full lips and heart-shaped face. Though Elizabeth was small, barely reaching his shoulders, she was supple, and Darcy was fascinated that as tiny as she was outside, inside her lovely form, she was a warrior, fierce and courageous. Elizabeth was everything he had dreamed of and more. He never imagined there existed in one person both tenderness and toughness, sweetness and archness, whimsy and sincerity wrapped up in a most appealing package.

  Darcy closed his eyes and thought about how lovely she had looked with her eyes ablaze, and with her sharp mind taking him to task over his concept of an accomplished female. Darcy groaned; how could I have ever found her wanting? Not handsome enough indeed. Darcy knew he was in danger. Elizabeth fascinated him. Of all the beautiful, accomplished, dowered, and well-connected ladies in the ton who had thrown themselves at him for years, none had elicited in him even a scant portion of the feelings Elizabeth had. His mind told him she was unsuitable, but his heart and his body spoke quite contrarily. She awakened him, made him feel alive with anticipation, free and flighty and yet paradoxically anchored and content – as thrilling as a new prospect, yet as familiar as home. He wanted to hold her, share his deepest thoughts and behold tenderness and understanding from her beautiful eyes. He wanted to walk her to his bedroom, close the door and shut out the rest of the world. He wanted to untether the weight of duty and responsibility and lose himself in her conversation and softness of her arms.

  Darcy kicked the covers from him, arose and paced. Take hold, man! This can never be! She is completely unsuitable. She has neither fortune, nor connections. She is possessed of quite the silliest mother in England, an indolent father, and three ridiculous sisters. Introducing them into polite society would make me a source of derision and substantially reduce Georgiana’s potential for an excellent match. No, no, she would never be accepted in our society, Darcy paused and inhaled deeply, even though she is quite the most exquisite creature ever created, and I want her more than I have ever wanted anything.

  No! You must remember what you owe to your name. This is just a passing fancy. Yes, that is all. I will be fine once I leave this place. Darcy groaned. Leave this place, leave this place, leave … her. Darcy’s shoulders sagged, and he dropped back into bed. The agony of his decision weighed upon his spirit like a boulder. He wished his burdens could take flight like a leaf hoisted by the autumn breeze. But wishes did not reality make, and Darcy chastened himself to cease thinking like a child in the schoolroom. Elizabeth would never suit. He was correct in his earlier assessment, even if it had pained her to hear, men of consideration would not consider her. Men of consequence were subject to societal expectations, to responsibility and duty. They could not marry for something as vain as love alone. No, we must advance our standing for future generations, just as our fathers did for us. It was the fee one paid for privilege. It was the toll required for position – and a heavy toll it was. No, I must remember that duty cannot be untethered no matter how crushing, no matter how much I may wish it. It will not lose its gravity and float away.

  Darcy sighed and closed his eyes. Sleep was long in coming and little in restoration.

  Darcy awoke in the morning tired but strengthened in his resolve. He would master himself; he would remember his duty. Except for the barest of civ
ilities, he would avoid Miss Elizabeth. Darcy summoned the great Darcy will that had sustained and even advanced his family through generations.

  “In no way shall I be tempted by you, Miss Elizabeth. This infatuation shall go no further. I shall avoid you at all cost,” Darcy spoke aloud and sighed, feeling calmer than he had since he had looked deeply into Miss Elizabeth’s sparkling eyes. Squaring his shoulders, he pulled the cord for his valet. Duty had trumped desire. He would not fail.

  The next morning, Darcy’s ride had been exhilarating. The fresh, crisp air had filled his lungs as Midnight’s hooves pounded across the field. Now, as Midnight walked back toward the stables, Darcy halted at the sound of a beautiful soprano that filled the air. Elizabeth!

  Darcy closed his eyes as her lovely voice invaded his being. How wonderful it would be to have the right to listen to her soothing song each day. Opening his eyes, Darcy dismounted and peered from around a tree. There she was smiling at the sun as if they shared a secret. Darcy stilled. She was so lovely. Just then, Elizabeth rose and strolled toward the copse, and Darcy panicked. He should move around the bend and avoid their meeting, yet, he had remained, his feet cemented to the earth. Closer, she came, still smiling and now humming softly. Move man! Darcy commanded his feet. Move away, man! Remember your resolve. You are Fitzwilliam Darcy, master of Pemberley, no inconsequential daughter of a country gentlemen can have control of you! However, as she neared, like a marionette with his string being pulled by a master, Darcy lurched forward into her path.

  “Mr. Darcy! You gave me such a fright!”

  “Good morning, Miss Elizabeth. Forgive me for startling you.”

  “It is of no consequence. Good morning, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth curtsied and walked past him resuming her song.