Mr Darcy Got Married (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

Chapter 1

“I thought it would never end,” Caroline Bingley complained on the morning after the ball at Netherfield.

The hosts and their guests—still sleepy and drained—were taking a late breakfast in the large dining room, which bore no trace of the previous night’s events. Around the table, conversation was difficult.

“It is snowing,” someone observed; and, with little interest, the company returned to their food.

“I do not remember a more disagreeable gathering than last evening. Forgive me, brother—it was not your fault. It is this country neighbourhood, where all the young women seem unmarried and eager to secure a husband.”

Caroline continued speaking while the others ate in silence, scarcely attending to her complaints. Even her sister, Louisa Hurst, seemed to hold a slightly different opinion, though she did not contradict her.

Charles Bingley smiled—as he often did—at his own recollections.

The ball had been delightful, and he still felt the animation of the dances and the pleasure of the conversation.

He remembered Jane Bennet stealing glances in his direction, her eyes like two stars that stirred him each time they met his.

He inclined his head absently at his sister, paying little attention to her remarks.

He was accustomed to his sisters’ constant complaints.

He only wished that Caroline might soon marry; many of her concerns would be resolved after that happy event.

He was persuaded that her bitterness arose only from her want of affection.

He had once imagined that Mr Darcy might be inclined to marry his sister; but, however often they met, Darcy’s interest in Caroline was lacking.

He was polite, but cold—a clear sign that he did not wish to know her better.

Bingley had once tried to tell her that men did not admire women who spoke disparagingly and complained excessively of others, but it had been in vain.

His sisters lived for gossip and for the discovery of faults in others.

“Did you like the ball, Mr Commack?” Miss Bingley asked, despite the silence that followed her last remarks.

George Commack, a close friend of Bingley and Darcy, was frequently present at their gatherings. He was pleasant company, but as he was already betrothed, he was of no interest to the ladies of Meryton or Netherfield.

“As a matter of fact, I did,” he said, looking at her with unconcealed disdain. “It was a splendid occasion and a pleasant gathering, and the ladies were so handsome and merry that I enjoyed every moment.”

“Mr Commack!” Caroline exclaimed. “What would your intended say to such a declaration?” She meant to sound teasing, but did not succeed; there was only irritation in her voice.

“Lady Roberta is a kind young woman; we love and trust each other. What about you, Darcy? What did you think?”

“I am not entirely far from Miss Bingley’s opinion. There was some beauty, certainly, but the general behaviour did not meet my expectations.”

Caroline nodded with a broad smile. “I am glad that you agree a young lady must receive a gentleman’s attentions with reserve and simplicity, and never initiate any gesture that could jeopardise her reputation.”

“Of course, Miss Bingley,” Darcy said. “I dare say that many young ladies, as well as their parents, behaved in a rather unrestrained manner, to which I am not accustomed in society.”

These words roused Bingley from his reverie.

He looked around with some astonishment that anyone could fail to enjoy a ball on a cold autumn night.

Most of his guests had spoken only in praise of the music and the refreshments.

They had also admired the ballroom, decorated with garlands of flowers at such a season…

but his own family, and his dear friend Darcy, were the ones to criticise his efforts.

“What do you think, Miss Commack?” Bingley asked, confident that Commack’s sister would have a kind word for the evening.

She smiled. “Mr Bingley, it was a successful party, and I congratulate you.”

∞∞∞

Bingley was happy and in love—not at all prepared for the discussion his friend Darcy wished to have with him as soon as breakfast ended.

Alone in the library, they sipped coffee and watched the snowflakes fall in a delicate dance, forming a thin white covering over the garden.

“I see you agreed neither with your sister…nor with me.”

The perplexed expression on Bingley’s face made Darcy smile.

His friend was the very image of benevolence and good manners.

He could not remember Charles ever speaking a harsh word to or of another person.

But such a quality was of little use in the presence of young women who aspired to be married.

Bingley—wealthy and kind—was the natural object of every mother’s ambition, and the dream of every young lady.

“I enjoyed last night’s ball…that is all I said. I do not think it necessary to examine so closely a friendly assembly, or people gathered for pleasure.”

“You have a generous temper, my friend,” Darcy said, with both admiration and concern. “You do not perceive the designs of those around you.”

“Is it ‘malice’ for a mother to wish her daughters well married, or for a young lady to hope for happiness?”

“No, but I find it disquieting when a mother anticipates her daughter’s marriage to a gentleman whom she has known for so short a time.”

Bingley frowned—a rare expression for him.

“What do you mean? I profoundly dislike this manner of speaking in hints and half-meanings.”

Darcy looked at him with some wonder; he had rarely seen his friend so vehement. He must have been either tormented or angry to speak so.

“Then I shall be explicit. Mrs Bennet spoke last night of your marriage to her daughter.”

Bingley was so surprised that his breath came in short gasps, and for a moment Darcy could not determine whether he was offended or pleased.

Still, he resolved to use that moment to further his purpose.

He felt a strong desire to protect his friend from the schemes and intrigues that seemed to flourish in the small town of Meryton.

He explained that the mother and her daughter appeared to act in concert.

In the face of Bingley’s enthusiasm and evident affection, Miss Bennet’s behaviour struck him as rather cold and indifferent—“incapable of answering with the same delicate feelings,” he said, as Bingley listened in astonishment.

Nor did his objections end there. Darcy also disliked the father, who had been among the first neighbours to call upon the newcomer.

Other fathers, with daughters to marry, had introduced themselves almost at the same time.

It seemed nearly a competition—to lose no opportunity, and to be first in gaining the attention of the promising bachelor now settled nearby.

Darcy had nothing against marriage; but he believed it ought to be founded on genuine affection. If a woman brought no considerable fortune, she ought at least to bring to the union all the feelings proper to a wife.

“I…do not understand,” Bingley said. “Why does this trouble you so much? Is it not the same in London, or wherever marriageable young ladies assemble?”

“It is the same in essence, but I expect discretion and elegance, rather than an unscrupulous pursuit.”

“I see—and you think this family of that kind?”

“Entirely,” Darcy said, as if pronouncing a verdict.

Bingley was sad and confused, for he truly admired Miss Bennet.

He admired her beauty, her gentleness, and even the reserve she maintained in the face of his attentions.

To him, it had seemed evident that she shared his feelings; however shy she might be, she had not sought to encourage his acquaintance further during her stay at Netherfield.

“Charles, tell me—how many times have we had this same discussion? Your wish to become engaged after only weeks, or even days?”

Bingley stood almost with his back to his friend, watching his guests walk in the snow. Darcy was right. In the past, his advice had saved him from at least two imprudent engagements.

“You know I am right. I ask only that you return to London and allow your feelings time to settle. Consider what such a connection would entail. You would not merely marry her—all the Bennets would be settled within three miles of you. This is not for you, my friend. You may meet many agreeable and interesting ladies in London. Why choose here, surrounded by narrow interests and constant gossip?”

Bingley did not look at him. He would not have Darcy see the depth of his distress. And what if this time were different? What if Jane Bennet were to prove the greatest—and perhaps the only—love of his life?

But Darcy’s reasoning pressed upon him. He imagined her family constantly at Netherfield, imagined disagreements with his sisters. He liked Miss Elizabeth; but he could not forget the conduct of the two youngest—Kitty and Lydia—who had flirted shamelessly all evening.

“So, my friend—what have you decided?” Darcy asked.

∞∞∞

They left Netherfield a few days later without seeing the Bennet family. It was a victory for Caroline and Louisa, who were eager to have Mr Darcy on their side—and succeeded.

“I am satisfied that, for once, Mr Darcy has the same opinion,” Caroline said as she travelled to London with the Hursts.

“Netherfield may be close to London, but the people here are thousands of miles away in their behaviour. And that family is the worst. Imagine—five daughters to marry! And Mrs Bennet ready to do anything to secure Charles for one of them.”

“You cannot blame her,” Louisa observed, not as dissatisfied with the local society. “Miss Bennet was different; but you are right—our brother should marry in London. And for you, there are more chances to win Mr Darcy’s heart with those women out of sight.”

“Oh, no! What are you saying, Louisa? Mr Darcy would never be attracted to a woman like Eliza Bennet.”

Not a word had been said about the Bennet sisters other than Jane. Louisa looked closely at her sister, who blushed when she realised she had betrayed her concern. Clearly, deep down, Caroline believed that Mr Darcy’s behaviour showed a slight interest in Miss Elizabeth.

“I do not understand why you would say something like that,” Louisa said, irritated.

“Mr Darcy expressed more than once that there was little beauty and no fashion in that gathering. I heard him say he felt not the smallest interest in any of the ladies present. And remember the way he spoke to Miss Elizabeth that morning after Miss Bennet fell ill. He was at once haughty, reserved, and fastidious; and his manners, though well-bred, were far from inviting.”

“Yes, you are right—but do I have to remind you that Miss Thornville triumphed over Lord Davenport?”

Louisa seemed not to understand. Being married, she paid little attention to such observations, unless they rose to general notice.

“What do you mean, dear sister?”

“I mean that Rowena Thornville played the part of a woman indifferent to marriage. She was always ready with a curt reply, and I remember more than once when she contradicted Lord Davenport. Everyone believed he disliked her—only to discover, a few months later, that they were engaged.”

“You may be right, but I doubt such a plan would succeed with Mr Darcy. He is far too intelligent. And besides, Rowena Thornville was one of the most elegant ladies in London, while Eliza appeared before us with a soiled gown, after walking alone from Longbourn to Netherfield. She can have no claim upon a man as distinguished as Mr Darcy.”