Chapter 1
Sneak Peek of Elizabeth Bennet’s Inheritance - A Darcy and Elizabeth enemies-to-lovers story
Elizabeth Bennet inherits a stunning fortune.
Mr. Darcy left Hertfordshire to escape his attraction to her –
will her sudden wealth pull them together or drive them further apart?
Chapter 1
Longbourn
6th February, 1812
The view out of the drawing room windows was not a cheerful one. The grasses lay dead and brown on gray dust, the trees bare and leafless and occasionally shivering in a chill wind. Twiggy bushes and shrubs hunkered low to the ground beneath a dismal cloudy sky.
In contrast, indoors was delightfully pleasant.
A generous fire warmed the room, where Mrs. Bennet reclined gracefully across the sofa as she dozed.
Lydia and Kitty had both claimed chairs near the fire, each happily reading a novel from the lending library in Meryton, occasionally giggling or sighing depending on where they were in their respective plots.
Elizabeth sat near the window, a basket of sewing forgotten at her feet.
Her attention was alternately on the dark skeletal trees stark against the pale sky outside and her sisters as they whispered together about their books.
Her mother gave a faint snore, and Elizabeth glanced over, noting with vague sympathy that Mrs. Bennet’s famed nerves must have kept her awake again the previous night.
A tap at the door drew her attention, and she looked over as their butler entered with a silver tray expertly balanced on his hand. “A letter for you, Miss Elizabeth,” he said properly, crossing to her and lowering his tray.
“Thank you,” Elizabeth replied, taking the letter eagerly.
It was, she observed, from her Aunt Madeline Gardiner, who lived in London with her husband and four children.
At the moment, Elizabeth’s elder sister, Jane, was staying with the Gardiners, and Elizabeth was eager to hear further word of her beloved sister, who had suffered a heartbreak the previous autumn.
She broke the wax seal, spread open the pages and turned a little in order to avail herself of the light coming through the window.
3rd February, 1812
Dear Lizzy,
I do not know how long I will have before the children want me, so I will write immediately of Jane as I am sure you are concerned about her.
You are completely correct to believe that she suffers periods of despondency over the desertion of Mr. Bingley.
I do feel quite badly for her; she has such a tender heart.
I was here, of course, when the young man’s sister came to visit.
Based on Miss Bingley’s behavior, I would say that Jane is well served at being separated from her former beau.
What an intolerable woman! She was rude to my maids and haughty and discourteous to me and Jane.
I understand that Mr. Bingley is substantially different from his sister, and I suppose I can believe it. Siblings do vary so much, do they not?
Now, having briefly discussed Jane’s difficulties in romance, may I ask a gentle question about Mr. George Wickham?
Certainly a most handsome and charming man, but given his lack of fortune – well, Lizzy, I hope that you are not encouraging him too much.
He cannot support you or any children, and it would be most unwise to form a strong attachment to the young…
Oh! I was just interrupted, and I have shocking news.
Well, I am surprised, though perhaps I ought not to be.
But I am babbling, and in a letter, which is quite absurd.
Dear Lizzy, I just received word that Annabelle Simpson is dead.
I know you will grieve as I do – such a fine old lady, who, I am confident, derived great delight from your extensive correspondence in the last years.
Do you remember how you used to write very seriously of the kittens in the stable and your antics in climbing oak trees?
I visited her only two weeks ago, and she seemed cheerful enough, though frail.
Her heart had been giving her trouble, it seemed, but I never imagined.
.. She lived a good long life; she was almost seventy years of age!
I am pleased to know that she is with our Lord, but I will miss her wry wit.
The children do want me now.
With much love,
Madeline Gardiner
Elizabeth bit her lip, gulped, and felt tears start in her eyes.
Annabelle Simpson was dead? She could immediately conjure up, in her mind’s eye, the straight backed form of the wealthy old lady who had proven an amusing and faithful correspondent these last years.
Elizabeth would miss her comments on London life and the foibles of mankind.
“Lizzy, why are you crying? Is something wrong with Jane?” Mrs. Bennet suddenly cried out, causing Elizabeth to jerk in surprise.
“No, no,” she replied, turning to face her mother, who was now sitting up and staring at her with worried eyes. “No, Jane is well enough.”
“But I suppose she has not seen Mr. Bingley?” the lady of the house demanded.
“No, she has not,” Elizabeth replied and then, eager to head off any wailing about Mr. Bingley’s desertion, continued, “Aunt Gardiner tells me that Mrs. Annabelle Simpson has died.”
“Oh!” Mrs. Bennet replied, her eyes shifting back and forth rapidly.
Elizabeth, who knew her mother very well, knew that the lady wished to complain about Mr. Bingley’s betrayal but also was curious about the death of Mrs. Simpson, even though the woman was a comparative stranger to the matron of Longbourn.
“Who is Mrs. Annabelle Simpson?” Kitty asked curiously, which tipped the scales in Elizabeth’s preferred direction.
“Oh, she was an elderly relation of your Aunt Gardiner,” Mrs. Bennet said, “though I do not entirely remember how they were related.”
“Mrs. Simpson is – was – Aunt Gardiner’s great-aunt on her father’s side,” Elizabeth explained.
“She must have been very old,” Kitty remarked.
“She was almost seventy years of age,” Elizabeth agreed.
“Have I ever met her?” the girl asked, her brow knitted in thought.
“No,” her elder sister replied. “I visited her a number of times while spending time with our London relatives, but I have not seen her in two or three years. I wrote to her regularly, however, and she wrote back with equal regularity. I will miss our correspondence.”
“You were writing to an old woman?” Lydia asked, tossing her dark curls. “How very dull!”
“Mrs. Simpson was not dull in the least,” Elizabeth replied, smothering her usual indignation over Lydia’s cavalier attitude toward the elderly. “She had quite an interesting life.”
“A scandalous one, you mean,” Mrs. Bennet huffed.
This, naturally enough, caused her two youngest daughters to perk up in excitement.
“Scandalous?” Lydia demanded, her blue eyes now gleaming with excitement. “How was it scandalous?”
“I do not remember the details,” her mother admitted.
“I do, and it was not so terribly scandalous,” Elizabeth said.
“It is merely – well, Aunt Gardiner’s paternal grandfather was the fourth son of a baron, while Mrs. Simpson was the baron’s only daughter, born rather late in his life.
There was not a great deal of money in the family, and Mrs. Simpson, thanks to her lack of dowry, was unable to garner an offer from a rich gentleman.
She chose instead to marry a wealthy widower who had two sons from his first marriage and was also a merchant.
Society was scandalized, but Mrs. Simpson preferred a comfortable life to genteel poverty.
Moreover, she and her husband were happy together. ”
Lydia wrinkled her nose and said, “I cannot imagine marrying an old man for his money! I intend to marry a handsome officer who wears a red coat!”
“Only if he has enough money, Lydia,” her mother said reprovingly. “It is all very well to marry for love if the gentleman has sufficient funds, but you would not enjoy mending your own clothes and cooking your own meals, would you?”
This was remarkably sensible advice, especially since Mrs. Bennet was so violently eager to marry off her daughters that she often drove possible suitors away with her enthusiasm.
Indeed, that was why Mr. George Wickham, the most charming and handsome man of Elizabeth’s acquaintance, was not an eligible suitor.
Elizabeth blew out a breath and forced herself to relax her tightened fists.
Mr. Wickham should be an eligible suitor, but he had been unhappily used by another handsome man of her acquaintance, Mr. Darcy of Pemberley.
Mr. Wickham, godson to Mr. Darcy’s father, was intended for the church, and indeed the elder Mr. Darcy had set aside a valuable living in Derbyshire for his godson.
But when the living had fallen vacant only a few years previously, Mr. Darcy had given it to another.
“I so wish that Mr. Wickham had money,” Lydia exclaimed in a strange echo of Elizabeth’s thoughts. “He is quite the most handsome, charming man I have ever met, and such a fine dancer!”
“He is wooing Mary King now, though,” Kitty remarked.
“Of course he is, but only because she recently inherited ten thousand pounds!” the youngest Miss Bennet declared. “It is quite shocking, really; she has so many freckles!”
“Handsome young men must have something to live on as well as plain ones,” Elizabeth pointed out regretfully.
“The world is so unfair sometimes!” Lydia complained, and Elizabeth could only sigh in agreement.
/
Drawing Room
The Next Day
The door to the drawing room opened, and Mr. Bennet entered, which provoked his wife and four younger daughters to look up in surprise.
It still lacked two hours to dinner, and the master of Longbourn invariably spent the majority of the day closeted in his library, away from the chattering of his wife and younger daughters.
Elizabeth often spent time in the library with him, but today she had not.
She was grieving over the loss of Mrs. Simpson, and her father’s sardonic view of life and death would not be a great comfort.
“Elizabeth,” Mr. Bennet said, “will you please join me in the study?”
“Of course, Father,” Elizabeth replied, setting aside her needlework, standing up, and shaking out her skirts.
“Is something the matter, Mr. Bennet?” Mrs. Bennet asked fretfully.
“No, nothing is wrong,” her husband replied. “Come along, Lizzy.”
She did so, departing with Lydia and Kitty’s giggles in her wake. Her youngest sisters seemed to find amusement in the most ridiculous of events, which was, in Elizabeth’s view, a great pity. She herself liked to laugh, but not at everything and anything.
She followed her father down the corridor that led to the study, which was adjacent to the library. Mr. Bennet opened the study door, and Elizabeth passed through and stopped in joyful surprise.
“Uncle Gardiner!” she exclaimed, and then rushed forward to embrace her favorite uncle. “Oh, what a delightful surprise this is!”
She stepped back, her eyes suddenly widening in distress. “Is it Jane? Or Aunt Gardiner or the children? Has something happened?”
“Nothing bad has happened, Elizabeth,” Mr. Gardiner said immediately and forced a smile. Elizabeth, regarding him carefully, noticed that his forehead was creased in thought. But Mr. Gardiner was a truthful man, so she knew that Jane and her other relations were well.
“Why are you here, sir?” she asked, taking a seat next to the fire, which was crackling pleasantly.
Mr. Bennet and Mr. Gardiner took seats in chairs across from her, and Gardiner, after blowing out a breath, said, “Elizabeth, my dear, Madeline sent you a letter recently. Did you receive it?”
“I received it yesterday,” Elizabeth said, and sighed mournfully. “Mrs. Simpson is dead.”
“Yes, she is,” Mr. Gardiner agreed, and tilted his head thoughtfully. “You are grieved?”
“I am. I met her in person less than a dozen times, but we had a robust correspondence for the last eight years. She was such an interesting woman, and so kind to write regularly to a twelve year old as if she were quite a young lady.”
She sniffed and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief and then managed a shaky smile. “Yes, I will miss her.”
“That explains it, at least partially,” Mr. Bennet said cryptically.
“Explains what?” Elizabeth asked.
“It appears that you have inherited some money from the lady,” her father said.
“Yes, you have,” her uncle said. “Yesterday I met with Mrs. Simpson’s solicitor, a Mr. Harris, at his request, and you are a legatee in the lady’s will, as is Jane.”
Elizabeth’s brows raised in surprise. “Truly? That seems startling, as we are not even blood relations.”
“Truly,” Mr. Gardiner said, and cleared his throat before saying, “Mrs. Simpson left you seventy thousand pounds.”
Elizabeth froze, goggled, and finally gasped out, “What?”
“Elizabeth has inherited seven thousand pounds?” Mr. Bennet demanded, his usually sardonic expression replaced by open astonishment.
“Elizabeth has inherited seventy thousand pounds,” Mr. Gardiner corrected. “Seventy thousand.”
Elizabeth swayed a little and reached out her hands to brace herself on the arms of her chair. “That ... that is impossible.”