Page 40 of Darcy in Distress (Pride and Prejudice Variation #17)

Elizabeth’s face twisted in disgust, and she huffed aloud.

Mr. Collins, a clergyman, was her distant cousin and, regrettably, heir to Longbourn, as Mr. Bennet’s father had entailed the estate away from the female line.

The Bennets had never met him before, and Elizabeth heartily wished that Mr. Collins had chosen to avoid the estate until her father had passed on to his reward.

It was not, of course, that she disliked clergymen. Mr. Allen, who held the living at the church near Meryton, was a sensible, well bred, generous man who had done much good for those under his spiritual care.

“But Mr. Collins is entirely absurd!” Elizabeth suddenly exclaimed aloud, causing a squirrel on a nearby tree to freeze in surprise. She smiled at the sight and shook her head. “I apologize for my outburst,” she said to the little creature. “It is merely that...”

She trailed off, aware that talking out loud to a forest animal was ridiculous.

She found Mr. Collins tedious and annoying, but the worst aspect of his presence was that he had obviously chosen her to be his bride.

On the one hand, it was a kind plan; the five Bennet daughters would be effectively rendered impecunious when their father died.

Mr. Collins’s stated desire to ameliorate the pain of losing the estate by marrying one of the Bennet daughters was actually quite generous, given that Elizabeth and her sisters were poorly dowered.

On the other hand, Elizabeth knew that in all of England, there were few men whom she despised more than Mr. Collins.

He was an odd mixture of subservience and self-conceit, talked incessantly, and spent most of his waking hours driveling on about the glories of Lady Catherine de Bourgh, his patroness in Kent.

Elizabeth would be miserable if she married the man and was resolved not to do so; better the hedgerows than to wed and share a bed and children with a man whom she could not respect at all.

No, she would never marry Mr. Collins, and having the man staying in her very house was exasperating.

Her pace picked up as her mind reverted unwillingly to yet another unpleasant experience from the Netherfield Ball, when she had danced with Mr. Darcy.

The man was master of a large estate in Derbyshire and was handsome, tall, and the nephew of an earl.

Naturally, Mr. Darcy considered himself far superior to mere mortals and had been a thorn in Elizabeth’s side since the first night she laid eyes on the man.

That notable moment had been at a public assembly at Meryton, where the master of Pemberley had announced in penetrating tones that she, Elizabeth Bennet, was not handsome enough to dance with.

Their relationship ever since had been one of veiled antagonism.

It was really quite odd that the gentleman had asked her to dance last night; perhaps he felt some compunction at overtly disdaining her at the Meryton assembly?

Darcy’s closest friend, Mr. Charles Bingley, was in love with Jane, Elizabeth’s elder sister; perhaps Darcy thought it wise to present a more courteous face to the Bennet family?

If so – and at this thought Elizabeth’s lips curved into a satisfied smile – Darcy was no doubt quite surprised at their conversation during the dance.

Elizabeth disliked Mr. Darcy for his arrogance and pride, but she loathed him for his treatment of Mr. George Wickham, a lieutenant in the militia regiment currently stationed in Meryton.

Mr. Wickham was as handsome as Darcy, but far more congenial and charming; the man was godson to Mr. Darcy’s father, and the elder Darcy had sought to provide for Mr. Wickham by setting aside a good church living for the man.

The younger Mr. Darcy, fueled by jealousy, had cruelly refused to give Mr. Wickham the living.

Now the lieutenant was forced to earn his bread in whatever way he could find.

It was unconscionable, and Elizabeth, while she could not bluntly tax Darcy on his treatment toward the man, had made enough subtle comments to render the master of Pemberley uncomfortable indeed.

Elizabeth sighed unhappily as she considered poor Mr. Wickham, who was quite alone in the world.

She wished she could do more than be a sympathetic friend, but alas, it was not in her power to provide any true assistance.

She was attracted to Mr. Wickham, and she was confident he was attracted to her, but there could be no happy union between an impoverished steward’s son and the poorly dowered second daughter of a country gentleman.

The path she was taking met another, and Elizabeth turned toward home; the other end of the trail led to Meryton, and while she would enjoy visiting her Uncle and Aunt Philips, it would not do.

She really must return to Longbourn, and soon, or her mother would be upset.

More than that, her dearest Jane would worry, and Elizabeth did not want that .

She glanced at her wristwatch and noted it was later than she realized. She picked up her pace and turned a bend, only to stop in delighted surprise.

“Mr. Wickham!” she exclaimed.

/

The black stallion, Phoenix, halted at a touch of the reins and whickered softly, his breath puffing tiny clouds from his mouth.

Fitzwilliam Darcy looked around as he leaned a little closer to the great beast’s neck for warmth.

Here at the highest point on the Netherfield estate, the cold wind penetrated his wool coat and buckskin breeches, and he shivered.

It was time to return to the warm mansion a mile away, where his valet had no doubt finished packing his clothing for the return to London.

Darcy sighed aloud and discovered, to his annoyance, that he had unconsciously turned Phoenix so that he could look upon Longbourn, the estate which lay along the eastern border of Netherfield.

Mr. Bennet was an intelligent and well-read man, but he was not a diligent husband, father, or master of his estate.

His wife, Mrs. Bennet, the daughter of a solicitor, was a shrill, vulgar woman whose only attraction lay in her still considerable beauty.

The lady spent her life throwing her five daughters at gentlemen in the hopes of snaring wealthy husbands for them; indeed, if it were not for Mrs. Bennet, Darcy would probably not be leaving for London today.

His mind shifted back to the night before when his younger friend, Charles Bingley, the current lessee of Netherfield, had hosted a lavish ball for the neighborhood.

Bingley, a generous and charitable soul with an eye for handsome women, had spent much of the evening dancing with and hovering over the eldest Miss Bennet; a blonde, blue-eyed lady who was, even to Darcy’s critical eye, one of the most beautiful women in the kingdom.

Mrs. Bennet, eager for her daughter to wed Mr. Bingley, had loudly proclaimed to those in attendance that Jane Bennet would soon be mistress of Netherfield.

Darcy huffed in indignation and nudged his horse into a walk.

Phoenix was four years old, full of energy and vigor, and this would be the last country walk he would enjoy in some time.

It was a pity in some ways; Darcy far preferred the country to London, but as Bingley’s closest friend, he could not allow the younger man to tie himself to a vulgar family of poor connections and little wealth.

It was not as if Jane Bennet truly cared for his friend.

Unlike her mother, she was a charming, genteel young woman, but there was no true affection in those celestial eyes when they looked upon Charles Bingley.

Miss Bennet would certainly accept an offer of marriage from Bingley because her family’s estate was entailed away to a distant cousin, but his friend deserved better than to be tied for life to a woman who looked upon him with courteous indifference.

Only two hours previously, Darcy had risen early and met Bingley’s two sisters, also alarmed by their brother’s infatuation with Miss Bennet, at the breakfast table.

It had not taken long for the threesome to agree that Bingley must be separated immediately from Jane Bennet.

Bingley had left before dawn for London to visit his man of business, and Darcy, along with Bingley’s two sisters and brother by marriage, would journey to the City this afternoon to urge the man to stay away from Netherfield.

Darcy was not entirely certain that they would succeed – Bingley’s attachment to Miss Bennet was stronger than he had ever observed in his friend before – but he had to try, for the sake of their friendship. It was the right thing to do.

Phoenix neighed softly, and Darcy looked up in surprise. Without thinking about it, he had directed his horse on the path that led toward Longbourn, toward the second Bennet daughter, Miss Elizabeth.

Not for the first time, his heart beat faster at the thought of Miss Elizabeth, whom he found both intriguing and alluring.

It was not, of course, love. He could hardly be in love with a woman of poor connections and no fortune, even if her beauty was considerable.

It was merely that he was fascinated with her singular nature, surely.

The lady did not flutter her eyelashes or show off her décolletage, but rather debated his views with arch vigor, and disagreed with him for what seemed to be the sheer joy of being contrary.

No, that was not adoration fluttering in his breast. Absolutely not!

It was merely that he was so very tired of the typical women of the gentry, who boasted of their accomplishments and eyed him greedily, like matrimonial sharks in search of wealthy prey.

He had been pursued and hunted and annoyed for so many years now.

Miss Elizabeth Bennet was different, that was all.

Her manners were unusual, as was her beauty and her intelligence and her wit and her boldness.

Only last night, when he had asked her to dance a set, Miss Elizabeth had berated him over his supposed mistreatment of the vile George Wickham!

Of course she was wrong about Wickham – the man was a consummate rogue, but Wickham was also charming and handsome and it was no great surprise that Miss Elizabeth had taken the poorer man’s side.

Darcy was not at ease with strangers, and he knew he was often abrupt and stiff in his conversation.

He did not blame Miss Elizabeth. Indeed, he rather admired her. Women never challenged him, never!

But she was not a worthy wife for a Darcy. Indeed, he must flee Hertfordshire now, while he still could, before her magical charm and saucy ways made him forget his duty to his family, his estate, and his name .

He sighed morosely and patted Phoenix’s neck.

“I am a fool, am I not?” he murmured. “Of all the women in the world to attract me, it would be Miss Elizabeth. Well, come along; I have no doubt that the ladies will take rather a long time to pack, but we do need to leave for London well before nightfall.”

The horse whinnied softly as if in response and shifted to the left, just as the sound of a feminine scream and a cry of “no!” impinged upon Darcy’s hearing. Unless his ears played a cruel trick, the voice was that of Miss Elizabeth!

/

I hope you enjoyed this excerpt from Gallant Mr. Darcy !

- Laraba