Page 2 of The Duke of Derby (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

Elizabeth stared at the express which had just been delivered to her. Both Charlotte and Maria looked at her curiously, but they were kind enough not to question her. The news was astonishing, life changing, yet she could not tell the ladies any of the details.

She looked back up at her friend. They were sitting in Charlotte’s little back parlor where they had spent most of the mornings during Elizabeth’s visit. Since it was not the nicest room in the house, Mr. Collins tended to avoid it, leaving the ladies in peace.

“It is good news,” said Elizabeth, “very good news, indeed, but my father says I may not share any details at this time. Rest assured, I shall write and tell you all as soon as I may. I am afraid, however, that Papa is cutting my visit to you short. He will be sending a carriage for me next week on Monday.”

“Must you really leave us so early?” asked Maria.

“I am afraid so,” said Elizabeth. “My father needs my presence.”

“If it must be so,” said Charlotte, “then there is nothing I can say. I shall miss you, though.”

“Thank you, Charlotte,” said Elizabeth. “It has honestly been a pleasure staying with you this past month. Now, if you don’t mind, I think I would like to take a walk.”

“You took quite a long walk this morning, if I am not mistaken,” said Charlotte. “I seem to recall Mr. Darcy accompanying you as you returned.” Again, there was an unspoken question in her voice.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “Yes,” she said.

“For some reason, every time that man comes across my path, he insists on keeping me company, though he does not say much. Even what he does say makes little sense. Do you know, he talked about my next visit to the area as if I would be staying at Rosings instead of here with you? The man must have marbles for brains.”

“Perhaps, he is under the assumption that Colonel Fitzwilliam will be making you an offer,” said Charlotte.

“Perhaps,” said Elizabeth. “It seems unlikely, but I can think of no other explanation. It makes little difference in the end, however.”

“Does that mean you would refuse him, if he proposed?” asked Charlotte.

“It means that, under the circumstances, I could not give a definitive answer without consulting my father,” said Elizabeth.

Charlotte’s eyes widened in surprise. “That must be some rather incredible news to make you hesitate when making your own decisions.”

“It is,” said Elizabeth. She then stood and headed to the front of the house to grab her pelisse from the hall closet. “Now, I believe I shall take that walk. I have much to think about, and you know I always think better when I am moving.”

Charlotte smiled indulgently. “I am well aware of that particular foible. Go take your walk. Hopefully, you will feel better when you return.”

With her pelisse on and buttoned up, Elizabeth left the parsonage, which was the home of her cousin, Mr. Collins, and his wife, Charlotte, who was Elizabeth’s closest friend.

Charlotte and Mr. Collins had married this past January, and Charlotte insisted both Elizabeth and Charlotte’s sister, Maria, come visit her once she was settled.

Her visit was supposed to last six weeks, though it would now be cut a week short.

Elizabeth headed for her favorite walk. It was a little path that ran through the middle of a line of trees. It was not exactly a forest. Rather, it appeared as though the trees had been deliberately planted to provide shade to this particular path.

Once she was hidden within the trees, she pulled her father’s letter from her pocket and read it again.

April 7, 1812

Dear Elizabeth,

I have just received the most astonishing news. First, rest assured we are all well. In fact, we shall soon all be better than we have ever been, though likely quite a bit busier. A distant cousin of mine, of whose existence I was not even aware, has passed away, and I have been declared his heir.

Knowing that this letter will reach your hands directly, since I will be sending it express, I will write here some of the details, though they must go absolutely no further until events are more settled.

Feel free to burn this letter to keep it from your nosy cousin’s notice.

In fact, I request you do just that. Despite what he may think, this has nothing to do with him.

You may recall me mentioning my grandfather a few times. He was the one that established the entail on Longbourn. Before he became owner of the estate, however, he was a naval captain. And before that, he was the youngest son of His Grace, Peter Smythe, tenth Duke of Derby.

Yes, my Lizzy. My great-grandfather was a duke, and I had no idea.

The title passed to his eldest son, then to his grandson with no problems. However, the twelfth Duke of Derby, His Grace Michael Smythe, ran through a series of unfortunate circumstances.

His first wife had two daughters, but they both died of smallpox.

After the wife died, he married again. The second wife had a series of miscarriages, ending in her death as well.

The poor man had no wish to marry again after so many tragedies, but the crown insisted he try again for an heir.

So, he married a final time when he was sixty-one years old.

He finally managed to produce a son. Unfortunately, both mother and son were killed in a carriage accident in 1799.

After that, he isolated himself from all society.

His Grace, Michael Smythe finally passed on a month ago.

The crown, unwilling to let the dukedom die without one last effort, initiated a search for any long-lost heirs, which is how they discovered my grandfather.

His family had declared him dead, but there were enough records to prove that my grandfather was indeed Brent Smythe, second son of the tenth Duke of Derby.

Which brings me to the present time. Two days ago, I received a visit from a very official-looking solicitor, who brought me a letter declaring me to be the thirteenth Duke of Derby.

He told me I will need to present myself to the Prince Regent to be acknowledged, and then I may claim my new property.

I will be going to London tomorrow to take care of that matter, after which I will need to travel to Derby. I will need you and Jane to come to Derby with me, so that we may do what is necessary to make our new home ready to receive the duchess, your mother.

I will come pick you up next Monday and take you to London, where we will collect Jane. Then on Tuesday, you and Jane will be joining me in traveling to our new house in Derbyshire. It is just a few miles outside of Derby, and the journey will take a couple of days.

Take courage, my daughter. Our lives are about to be upended in the most extraordinary ways, but once we are used to it, we will be all the better for it.

Please, keep this secret. Once I have taken possession of my property, we can make plans about how to make our new status known, but we must be careful about this.

Love,

Papa

Upon her first reading, she had not been able to take in all the details nor quite sketch out her relationship to the deceased duke.

She was too distracted by the knowledge that Charlotte was watching her read.

Now, however, she could see that the deceased duke had been nephew to Elizabeth’s grandfather.

Despite the complex genealogy, Papa hadn’t actually been that far removed from the rank he had now inherited. It only seemed distant, because no one had even suspected that Papa’s grandfather was connected to nobility in any way.

Elizabeth did wonder why Papa said that none of this was Mr. Collins’ business.

If he was a descendant of Papa’s grandfather, which was a requirement to be eligible for the entailment, he must be somewhere in line to inherit the dukedom.

She would have to trust that her father knew what he was talking about, however.

As soon as she returned to the parsonage, she would burn the letter, just as her father requested.

She tucked the letter back into her pocket and began pondering what this would mean for her future and that of all her family.

One obvious result was that the entail no longer mattered.

If Mr. Collins was not in line for the dukedom, then as long as Papa lived long enough to see at least one of his daughters bear a son, that son would carry on the title, thus providing for any remaining family.

Additionally, though this was not certain, the duke had likely left a large amount of money that the family could use to support themselves should anything suddenly happen to Mr. Bennet.

While the situation was uncertain for now, the only thing that could be worse than their current situation was if the old duke had gambled all his property away, leaving everything in shambles with little to no income available to repair it all.

While such things had happened in the past, it was unlikely in this instance, simply because he had isolated himself for the last twelve years.

Elizabeth briefly imagined her mother’s reaction to this news, but she could not picture it clearly.

Either she would be overly excited at her new station and wealth, or she would be intimidated into silence.

In this one instance, Elizabeth could not be certain.

Becoming a baroness or even a countess would almost certainly elate Mrs. Bennet, but being a duchess would be too high for comfort, at least for any person of sense.

For a brief moment, Elizabeth wished her father could arrange for her departure sooner than next Monday. It was five days away, and the suspense she would feel during the wait would likely eat her alive. She could already feel it gnawing away at her soul.

She briefly broke into a brisk walk in an attempt to work out some of the tension that was building inside her. Nothing would ever be the same. Everyone she had ever known, except her family, would be left behind as she and her family moved to Derby to live on their new lands.

Images of what her new home might look like flitted through her mind.

She had seen paintings of some great houses, but she had also heard tales of great houses that had fallen into disrepair, either through mismanagement or through financial difficulties.

Based on her limited imagination, she could not imagine which this one would be.

In this state of walking into the unknown, Elizabeth’s mind flitted from idea to question to thought with no rhyme nor reason. Eventually, she landed on the bit of her conversation with Charlotte where Charlotte had mentioned the idea that Colonel Fitzwilliam might have designs upon her.

Colonel Fitzwilliam was cousin to Mr. Darcy and nephew to Lady Catherine, the owner of Rosings and the patroness to Mr. Collins. The colonel and Mr. Darcy were visiting their aunt for Easter, something they apparently did every year.

Though her comment to Charlotte had been accurate, that she could not possibly answer such a query at this point in time, she thought about what she would like to say. Would she welcome a proposal from that corner?

Elizabeth liked Colonel Fitzwilliam. He was friendly and clever.

Their conversation was almost always peppered with little bits of humor, but it was sensible and substantial as well.

She didn’t love him. Of course, she didn’t love him.

She had only known him for little more than two weeks.

She had seen him less than ten times in total.

But he was the kind of man Elizabeth had always imagined falling in love with.

She compared him in her mind to Mr. Darcy: taciturn, proud, unfeeling Mr. Darcy.

In comparison, Colonel Fitzwilliam was masculine perfection personified, except perhaps in looks.

Even when one compared Mr. Darcy’s stony expression to Colonel Fitzwilliam’s cheerful one, Mr. Darcy came up the winner in handsomeness.

Elizabeth knew first-hand, however, that physical beauty had very little to do with successful and happy marriages.

She had only to look to her own parents to see that such was the case.

She was not able to come to a conclusion in that moment. There were simply too many unknown factors, not least of which was the fact that she didn’t even know whether the gentleman in question had any intentions towards her.

With a sigh, Elizabeth turned back toward the parsonage. Though she didn’t really have any answers or understanding of what the future held, she was at least confident that she understood the situation as well as possible under the circumstances.

Once she was back at the parsonage, Elizabeth snuck into the kitchen and burned her father’s letter in the kitchen fire.