Page 1 of Unwillingly Mrs. Darcy
Elizabeth
9th April 1812
Hunsford Parsonage, Kent
E lizabeth Bennet stood frozen, her breath catching in her throat as she stared at Mr Darcy. Had she heard him correctly? Had he… proposed? To her? The very man who had insulted her family, undermined her sister’s happiness, and carried himself with such insufferable pride. What on earth was he thinking?
Her confusion swiftly gave way to outrage as his words replayed in her mind. He had offered himself to her in the most abhorrent manner imaginable. Insinuating that he was proposing against his better judgement, deriding her family as a stumbling block he would deign to tolerate, and describing his feelings for her as though they were an affliction rather than a joy. Indeed, he had spoken as though she had imposed them upon him, as though his attachment were her fault, something for which she ought to atone by accepting him.
Her hands curled into fists, the fabric of her gloves straining against the tension in her fingers. His audacity, his arrogance—it was intolerable. And yet, perhaps she ought not to have been surprised. Had not Colonel Fitzwilliam recently spoken of Mr Darcy’s interference in her sister’s courtship with Mr Bingley, lauding it as an act of brotherly concern?
My cousin did his friend a great favour, sparing him a marriage beneath his station. From all I heard, the young lady in question was certainly charming, but rather cold, with a family that would undoubtedly hinder the gentleman’s standing among the gentry .
Elizabeth’s indignation surged anew. Her sister Jane, cold? Impossible. Jane’s sweetness and gentleness were beyond compare, and Mr Darcy had the audacity to twist those virtues into faults. Worse still, he now dared propose marriage to her—the sister of the very woman whose happiness he had so callously destroyed because he deemed her unworthy of Mr Bingley.
Her eyes narrowed as she fixed him with a piercing glare, her vision tunnelling until only his face remained. She straightened her posture, drawing herself up to speak.
“Mr Darcy, to say your words surprised me is an understatement. But make no mistake—I would not marry you, not if you were the last man in all of Kent. Nay, not in all of England! How dare you make this proposal after the misery you have wrought upon my family? After the cruelty you inflicted upon my beloved sister?”
Mr Darcy’s expression shifted to one of astonishment. His composed demeanour faltered as he blinked rapidly, his lips parting as though to speak but failing to form the words.
“Miss Bennet, I… I assure you, I do not understand what you mean,” he said finally.
“Do you not?” she retorted, her voice cutting like a blade. “Do you deny interfering in my sister’s courtship with Mr Bingley? Advising him against her, suggesting that marrying her would bring ruin to his prospects?”
Mr Darcy’s face darkened, his jaw tightening as he straightened his posture. His eyes, so penetrating mere moments ago, now held a defensive glint.
“I see,” he said coolly. “Well, since you ask—yes. I advised my friend against such a union. I believed—and still believe—that he would have done himself a great disservice by marrying your sister. A marriage cannot thrive without genuine affection, Miss Bennet, and I saw none on her part.”
Elizabeth’s voice rose, trembling with fury. “And how, pray, did you reach this cruel and baseless conclusion? Did you even deign to speak with her? To ascertain her feelings?”
He hesitated. “No, I did not. That would have been improper.”
“Then you presumed.”
Mr Darcy bristled. “It was not presumption—it was observation. Your sister showed no indication of deeper feeling towards Bingley. Her regard for him seemed no more than amiability. My friend deserves to be with someone who genuinely cares for him, not merely for his fortune.”
Elizabeth’s chest heaved as she struggled to contain her anger. “You have misjudged her entirely. My sister is the kindest, most selfless woman I know. She is reserved, yes, but her heart is pure, and her love for Mr Bingley was sincere. Your interference has caused her unbearable suffering. Even now, months later, she pines for him! That you could cause her such pain, all because of your unwarranted opinions—I shall never forgive it.”
Her voice wavered slightly on the final word, but she continued. “But of course, such cruelty is no novelty to you, is it, Mr Darcy? It is your way, to wield your power and influence without regard for the consequences.”
Mr Darcy’s brows furrowed deeply. “Miss Bennet, I beg your pardon. To what, exactly, are you referring?”
“To Mr Wickham,” she replied, her voice sharp as a blade. The name alone seemed to strike him like a physical blow.
“Wickham,” he repeated, his tone low and scornful. “Of course. I should have known that his lies would influence your opinion of me. I ought to have accounted for your connection to him before proposing.”
“You should have,” Elizabeth said, her voice icy. “It would have spared both of us much distress. I am grateful to Mr Wickham for enlightening me about your character—your shameful treatment of him, depriving him of the living promised to him by your own father.”
Mr Darcy’s features hardened, his lips pressing into a thin line.
Elizabeth pressed on, her fury giving her strength. “You pride yourself on being a man of honour, Mr Darcy, yet your actions speak otherwise. To think that you could believe I would accept a proposal from someone so selfish, so disdainful of others—I scarcely know what to say.”
“Nor do I,” Mr Darcy replied, his voice low with tightly controlled emotion. “If this is truly what you think of me, I regret ever making a fool of myself by proposing to you.”
Elizabeth drew a breath, prepared to continue her tirade, when the sound of hurried footsteps and the crash of a door interrupted them.
“Elizabeth!”
Elizabeth turned, startled, just in time to see Kitty rush into the room, followed closely by Maria Lucas. Kitty’s face was blotched with tears, her entire body trembling with distress.
“Kitty! What has happened?” Elizabeth asked, moving quickly to catch her sister by the shoulders.
“We must go home,” Kitty sobbed. “There was a letter from home—Father… Father has been in an accident!”
Elizabeth’s stomach dropped. “An accident? What do you mean? Is he… is he…”
Kitty shook her head wildly, struggling to speak through her tears. “His carriage overturned. He was on the London Road, coming home, and… oh, Lizzy, it is dreadful!”
Elizabeth felt her sister slump into her arms, her weight heavy with despair. She tightened her grip, whispering soothingly as Kitty’s sobs wracked her body. A moment later, Elizabeth turned to Maria, her voice trembling.
“Maria, where is Mr Collins?”
Maria stepped forward hesitantly, glancing nervously at Kitty before holding out a crumpled letter. Elizabeth released one arm from around her sister and reached for it, smoothing the paper as best she could with trembling hands.
Only then did she became acutely aware of Mr Darcy’s presence behind her. She glanced back to see him standing still, his expression unusually grave as he watched the unfolding scene.
“Mr Darcy,” she said curtly, her tone barely civil.
He bowed slightly. “I will excuse myself. I do hope the news is not too terrible.”
Without waiting for a reply, he turned and left. Through the doorway, Elizabeth saw him pause briefly outside, glancing back over his shoulder. For a fleeting moment, their eyes met. The smouldering anger she had felt moments ago flared, but as quickly as it came, it evaporated.
Her family needed her.
Elizabeth turned back to the letter, cradling Kitty with one arm. The ominous words on the page blurred as tears pricked her eyes. But she would not falter—not now. Whatever awaited them, she would face it head on, for her father’s sake and for her family’s future.