Page 1 of A Maid of No Consequence (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

TO SECURE A MARRIAGE OF PERFECT INDIFFERENCE

F itzwilliam Darcy stared out the front window of his London townhouse, trying to find a calm within him.

Lady Catherine de Bourgh and her stepdaughter had just been announced by the butler, and he needed to summon some inner fortification to face them and their inevitable demand.

The pressure his relations had been putting on him recently had been unrelenting.

It mattered little that Georgiana had been settled into marriage for almost two years; his uncle, Lord Matlock, was keen for him to marry, often reminding him of his duty to secure an heir for Pemberley.

None of them understood that there was no other woman in the world for him except for the one who told him she would not have him—not even if he were the last man on earth to marry.

That wound still smarted but Darcy knew he was at fault.

Five years on, he still could not be free of Elizabeth Bennet.

Nor did he want to be, even if, by now, she likely had married a gentleman in Hertfordshire and had a child or two.

Darcy did not realise he had sighed heavily until his aunt’s voice brought him back from his wool-gathering.

“And what does my favourite nephew have to be so melancholy about? No, not there, Anne, sit here, to my left. Sheffield, why are there no refreshments? Darcy,” she crowed, “I cannot see how you abide such lackadaisical servants. They would never be allowed to be so lazy at Rosings.”

Darcy bowed to his aunt, lightly kissing her outstretched fingers, before nodding to his cousin.

Anne was nine and twenty, and she looked even more worn than the last time he had visited Rosings.

Anne had been a lively child before her father died and her stepmother’s controlling ways had grown ridiculous.

The bolder, louder, and more demanding Lady Catherine grew, the more he had seen Anne shrink and wither.

How was this to be the woman to sire his heir, let alone be Pemberley’s mistress and wife and companion to her husband?

Darcy had been told that his mother and aunt arranged their marriage after Lady Catherine wed Sir Lewis de Bourgh and became stepmother to his young daughter; he was assured that his betrothal to his cousin had been his mother’s sincerest wish, but he was not convinced of the truth of it.

Anne had become family, but there was no real affection between them.

And yet he knew she would marry him if he asked.

After her father had died, her stepmother had become her mouthpiece.

It seemed to Darcy that perhaps Anne had no choice in anything and likely hoped being a wife would afford her more power over her own life .

“Anne has something to tell you, Darcy. Tell him, Anne,” Lady Catherine commanded.

Anne began to speak but was quickly interrupted.

“Oh for pity’s sake, speak up! Darcy wants a wife, not a mouse!”

Wincing, Darcy spoke in his cousin’s defence. “Aunt, perhaps you would allow Anne and I to speak in the garden.”

“Splendid. We should all take a turn in the garden.” Lady Catherine began to rise from her seat.

“Alone,” Darcy said firmly. “Just Anne and myself.”

Anne rose as gracefully as she could. Darcy offered her his arm and they walked silently out of the room and to the small courtyard garden behind his home. Once there, Anne still did not say a word. It would be for Darcy to start. “And how is my cousin today?”

“I am well,” she said softly.

“I assume Lady Catherine has brought you here to speak of the presumed arrangement between us. I would like to know if it is truly what you wish.”

“Yes, I do,” she said, without hesitation.

“Have you always felt this way?”

“Yes,” she said firmly, looking straight ahead.

Dismayed, Darcy exhaled deeply. It was not what he had been expecting; he had believed Anne to be as disinclined towards him as he was to her. There was certainly no romantic feeling between them.

As they passed his mother’s favourite autumn damask rosebush, he could not help but recall the love his parents had felt for each other. He had always hoped for the same; indeed, he had once imagined it within his reach, five long years ago with Elizabeth Bennet .

But those days were long past. He was getting older and so was his cousin.

If he did agree to this arrangement, despite his better judgment, would it be a marriage of love and respect?

He sincerely doubted it. No stirrings of that sort had ever arisen in his heart—not with Anne, at least. He could not see how marriage would change that.

Releasing Anne’s arm, he stepped in front of her, arresting their movement and forcing her to look at him. “Why? Why do you want to marry me?”

“Because—” She stopped to clear her throat. “Because it is our destiny.”

“Do you care for me?”

“I have always cared for you.”

“And I, you, Anne—but as family , and no more.”

Anne looked up at him. “Is that not enough?”

“For marriage?”

She nodded. “It is what I was always taught to expect.”

“But have you never had aspirations of marrying for affection?”

“Romance is what writers and composers use to peddle their operas, their books, or their plays. But in truth?” It sounded to Darcy as if she were reciting a rehearsed speech. “No, marriage is a commitment. An intellectual commitment, of two minds in unity.”

Darcy tried to school his features, so she would not see his shock. Never had he heard Anne string so many words together in one speech. He was disappointed hearing her opinions on marriage. So, no love. Or even an inkling or pretence of love.

“Is this what you believe? Or is this what my aunt believes? ”

“Lady Catherine and I do not agree on everything. But on this, yes.”

“My parents were very fond of each other and I had always hoped for something quite similar. They had genuine affection,” he cleared his throat, “marital affection, and it was, well…beautiful to witness.”

Anne looked down for a few seconds, and then looked up to him. “I suppose if that is what you desire I could strive for some sort of affection between us.” Her eyes went back to concentrating on the walking path.

Darcy frowned. “I do not believe marital affection can be forced. Or even learnt.” He paused to think how to phrase his thoughts, as it was important for her to understand. “It is something to be felt here, naturally.” He pointed to his heart. And then gesturing to his head, he said, “Not here.”

“Are you refusing me?”

Darcy rubbed his jaw with his hand, and stifled yet another sigh.

He was weary of everyone’s expectations of him, yet he knew the time would come when he needed to carry on the Darcy legacy.

He had hoped it would be with a woman he loved—a woman with fine eyes and a sparkling vivacity.

Evidently it was not to be. That dream had died five years ago.

“Not a refusal, as such. No.” Darcy was starting to feel perspiration forming on his forehead, and it was not from the temperature of the day. “But perhaps we should spend time in each other’s company. To see whether we suit.”

A look of confusion appeared on his cousin’s face. “You have known me for most of my life. Do you not know already whether we suit?”

Darcy was feeling the ridiculousness of the situation. “No, not in the way of man and wife. ”

“Do you mean to woo me?”

Hearing the word ‘woo’ come from Anne’s lips brought home the truth of the situation. The very notion of it— wooing her —made his stomach flip. “Well, would it be so difficult to be in each other’s company, for instance, at the theatre, or at a ball?”

“I rarely go to the theatre, as Lady Catherine forbids most excursions. And you dislike dancing, at least, that is what I remember.”

Unfortunately, her comment brought Elizabeth even more powerfully into his mind.

Elizabeth, who dearly loved to laugh, and dance.

Darcy closed his eyes and willed the vision to disappear.

This is not the time to be thinking of her.

He cleared his throat, and when he spoke, even he could tell all the vitality was gone from his voice. “I have enjoyed it a time or two.”

Opening his eyes, he saw his cousin studying the leaves on the tree before them.

Needing to see her face to continue the conversation, he said her name.

When Anne turned, it was clear she was thinking it over—or perhaps thinking about what her stepmother might say.

“Marriage is for a lifetime,” Darcy said earnestly.

“Should we not make certain we have the amity and connexion needed for a successful marriage?”

She shrugged. “As you wish. But you ought to make your intentions known to my stepmother.”

As his cousin walked back towards the door, he looked at the roses. “Well, that went exceedingly well.”

“You told Lady Catherine you meant to woo Anne?” Fitzwilliam paced to and fro in Darcy’s study.

"Why should I not? It is a compromise of sorts. And it will put my aunt off for a while, until I can decide what to do. Until we can decide.” Darcy was not able to sound enthusiastic, not that his cousin would have believed it anyhow.

Fitzwilliam poured himself a second glass of claret. “You are a cork-brained oaf.”

“What would you have me do, pray tell? The pressure is getting difficult?—”

Fitzwilliam set his glass down with a bit too much force. “You asked our outrageously pig-headed, manipulative, and self-absorbed aunt whether you could pay court to Anne? You are as good as done!”

“You have a very distinct way of respecting your elders, Cousin.” Darcy shook his head.

Fitzwilliam’s outburst had shaken him. It was not that it surprised him, but that it had been the same reprimand going through his head for the last hour.

“I made myself very clear to Anne. She asked if I was to woo her.”

“With the intention of marriage. Or at least that is how our aunt will see it.”

“Of course she will. I am not an idiot, Fitzwilliam. I know what I am about.”

“You do know that this arrangement has nothing to do with Anne, and everything to do with what our aunt wants. And as to that, how do we even know that a betrothal is what your mother wished for you? We only have Lady Catherine’s word for that, you know.”

“I do not know anything anymore, Fitzwilliam. I am just tired.” Darcy heaved a heavy sigh and stood to walk to the window .

Fitzwilliam fell heavily into a chair by the fireplace. “But what is it you really want?”

He turned and faced his cousin. “You know full well what it is I want.”

“Yes, I do know. But she is not an option. Not anymore.”

“Obviously, not ever. It was all in my head, all hope and no substance.” Darcy moved from the window to join his cousin in a chair by the fireplace.

They sat quietly for a few moments, staring into the fire. “There are other women.”

“And I want none of them.”

“Darcy—”

“Do you not think I have tried to get past this? I know I must do something, find a wife to give me an heir—a fact of which everyone is reminding me!”

“I understand that you are frustrated. But if you do proceed with this wooing—what a ridiculous word that is!” Fitzwilliam shook his head at the sound of it. “Make sure you are clear you are not bound to anything. And let us hope you are not bound already, knowing our aunt Catherine as we do.”

“I do not care anymore!” Darcy slammed his almost empty glass on the table, spilling the remaining claret, rose and strode from the room.