Pride, Prejudice and Romance (Pride and Prejudice Variations)

Chapter 1

Darcy held his glass absently and looked at Hurst. Better said, he looked through him. He briefly wondered what his opinion about the named gentleman was, but quickly abandoned the thought, as it mattered little to him.

His mind was full of Elizabeth Bennet’s lovely image.

It was the fourth evening since Elizabeth had arrived to nurse the eldest Miss Bennet, who had taken ill with a cold whilst visiting the Bingley sisters.

They had spent another evening together in Netherfield’s dining room, talking about all kinds of nonsense and exchanging conflicting replies.

Not to each other. He barely addressed her directly at all.

But he enjoyed admiring her keen mind, sharp tongue and eyes that sparkled when she answered Caroline Bingley and Louisa Hurst’s impertinent remarks.

He still smiled as he recollected the conversation about accomplished women, Elizabeth’s denial of being a “great reader”, her teasing rejection of his invitation to dance a reel…

He also remembered her mocking tone when she called him a man without fault and her assumption that his defect was the propensity to hate everybody.

He surely did not hate her. Quite the contrary.

He was so far from hating her, that it frightened him.

She attracted him more than any other woman before and more than he wished to admit.

Miss Bingley – to whom he had revealed that comment about Elizabeth’s fine eyes – was uncivil to her, and more annoyingly, teasing to him.

Darcy knew he could overcome any unwanted feeling.

His self-control and restraint were part of his being.

But Miss Elizabeth’s nearness was disturbing for his sanity, stirring his senses in a way no other woman had done before.

He was painfully aware of her presence only steps away from him – day and night.

He was completely bewitched. And, although he struggled to show no sign of admiration, nothing that could inspire her with the hope of any connection between them, he was aware that he had failed several times.

He allowed himself to engage in conversation with her, he was the subject of her teasing, the recipient of her hidden smiles and meaningful glances …

He had no doubts that she was partial to him too, but he hoped and prayed that her feelings for him were not strong enough to cause her grief and disappointment when he left, which he expected would happen soon.

He needed to put distance between them because he was in great danger.

Despite the inferiority of her connections, the lack of decorum of her mother and younger sisters, of her situation in life so much beneath his, he had started to believe she was precisely the woman who would suit him the best. He wanted her–and therefore he was in danger.

He could not stay longer. If only she would not suffer too much at his departure.

“What do you think, Darcy?”

“About what?” he startled and turned towards Bingley. The three men were in the library; the ladies had already retired for the night. Hurst was almost asleep, lounging in the armchair with his fifth glass of brandy in his hand. Or was it his sixth?

“About the ball. I promised the young Misses Bennet that I would host it soon.”

“You know my opinion about any ball. I avoid them whenever I can. Hosting one seems like a useless effort to me. But I am sure you will do it and it will be a success. Is that the answer you expected?”

“I surely cannot expect more,” Bingley replied.

“Promising the young Misses Bennet anything is a complete waste of time,” Hurst said, filling his glass again.

“Upon my word, those girls could not be more different. The eldest one is beautiful and demure, the second one sharp and too smart for her own good, and the youngest ones are just useless.”

Darcy and Bingley glanced at each other in silence. Darcy became more annoyed with each of Hurst’s comments, for no particular reason.

“What should a young girl do to prove herself useful? And how long should a man do nothing before he is considered useless?” Darcy found himself enquiring.

Bingley glared at him in panic; Darcy regretted his rudeness, wondering why he had not guarded his words more and what had happened to his patience.

“I do not follow your meaning, Darcy,” Hurst replied.

“It does not matter. We should go for a ride tomorrow,” Darcy changed the subject. “We have been spending too much time inside lately.”

“It might be too cold for riding,” Hurst said.

“And I must stay at home, in case Miss Bennet needs something. She is not completely recovered yet. It would be rude of me to abandon her.”

Darcy rolled his eyes. “Really, Bingley, that sounds ridiculous. You are planning one hour of exercise, not going to war. As you wish; I will take a long ride early in the morning. Perhaps even before breakfast.”

“Well, it might rain tonight–and tomorrow morning,” Bingley continued, looking outside. “And it seems very windy. It is almost winter, after all.”

“I am going to sleep, and I do not intend to wake up tomorrow before breakfast time,” Hurst declared. “Life in the countryside is very boring. Only eating, drinking and sleeping. We should return to town.”

Darcy felt his ire overcoming his calm again. Nobody was keeping Hurst there – he was free to leave anytime. Not that he would do anything else but eat, drink, and sleep in London either.

“I will need a drink for later,” Hurst muttered, taking a bottle of wine and his glass.

In Darcy’s opinion, he did not need another drink for at least several days, as he stumbled to his feet, with both his hands busy, struggling to keep his balance.

Darcy glanced at Bingley and rolled his eyes in vexation.

Hurst moved forward hesitantly and finally reached the door. He leaned against it, trying to push it open without freeing his hands.

“Hurst, let me help you,” Bingley offered, stepping towards him.

“I am fine,” Hurst mumbled, jiggling the doorknob with his elbow.

Suddenly his knees weakened and his feet slipped.

He dropped the bottle, then fell over, clutching the latch with a gasp.

The heavy door opened widely, dragging Hurst with it along the floor.

Bingley and Darcy both hurried to him. The wine spilt on the floor, while Hurst cursed, trying to stand.

He fell again, with the doorknob in his hand, cursing even louder.

Darcy and Bingley helped him up, then took him to the nearest chair.

“Damn stupid door. Give me something to drink, Bingley, would you?”

“I have called for a servant – you need to go to bed now,” Bingley responded.

“Gladly. But I need a drink first, then I will go to sleep. I cannot wait to end one more day. There is nothing more annoying than country living. Damn peasants,” Hurst muttered angrily.

Darcy brushed his jaw with impatient fingers, then paced the library, followed by Bingley’s worried gaze. Eventually, he stopped.

“Pray, tell me, Hurst, what do peasants or country living have to do with the fact that you drink way too much and have broken the doorknob?”

“The knob was already rotten. Bingley should have changed it anyway. Thank God I did not hurt myself. I need a drink,” he repeated.

A servant arrived, followed by a maid, who quickly started to sweep up the glass pieces and to wipe up the wine. The servant took Hurst by his arm and showed him upstairs, despite the man’s opposition and continuous swearing.

A few minutes later, the maid finished her job and was about to retire.

“Master, the doorknob is broken on this side of the door. Should I close it still?” she asked, hesitantly.

“No Mary; you may leave now. I will take care of it,” Bingley responded. The girl left and the two men checked the damaged door.

“You must have the latch replaced,” Darcy said.

“I know… I will take care of it tomorrow. I hope to find someone in Meryton to fix it quickly,” Bingley said.

“That man is just…I am lost for words. He is a complete waste of life,” Darcy declared peevishly.

“I know,” Bingley sighed resignedly, filling two glasses of wine. Darcy took one and returned to the settee. The door remained open.

“I will use a log to keep the door from closing; we do not want to find ourselves locked in here until morning,” Bingley added.

“Well, we have enough wood to keep the fire going, some wine and plenty of good books. I would not mind,” Darcy declared. Bingley sat down opposite him.

“I do not like to read in daylight and even less so in candlelight. I am sure nobody does; except maybe Miss Elizabeth.”

Darcy glanced at him and sipped some wine but said nothing.

“You know Darcy, I should not speak so of my family, but…Is it not diverting that my sisters like to ridicule Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth for their low connections and their family’s manners, and yet they both consider Hurst a worthy gentleman? One of them even married him.”

Again Darcy looked at his friend in silence.

It was diverting indeed and he nodded several times.

He found the Bennets’ behaviour appalling–except for that of the two eldest daughters–but until that day he had not noticed just how repulsive Hurst was.

Perhaps because he was so common for his class.

Many gentlemen in town, with only a name and a few connections, married an attractive dowry.

Then they lived their inept lives doing nothing of consequence.

Was a man working in trade, a lawyer, or even a farmer who worked diligently to gain his income, worthy of less consideration?

Did Jane and Elizabeth Bennet deserve less admiration and happiness in marriage because they did not possess a dowry large enough to make them eligible for unworthy, lazy men?

“What do you think, Darcy?” Bingley enquired, and he startled. As always, when he was thinking about Elizabeth, his mind was oblivious to anything else.

“Should we retire?”

Thunder rattled the windows. The rain had started.

“You may go. I will stay a little longer, to finish my wine and to choose a book. I shall see you early in the morning, Bingley.”

“Very well. Take care with the door–do not let it lock you inside.”

“If it does, you will find me here in the morning,” Darcy jested.

∞∞∞

Elizabeth gently touched her sister’s hair.

After three long and disturbing nights, Jane was finally sleeping peacefully.

Her fever was gone and her state had improved beyond any reason for further concern.

Very soon they would be able to return to Longbourn.

At Netherfield, Elizabeth knew their presence was not welcomed.

Except for Mr. Bingley, the others were rather irritated by their stay–or perhaps only by hers.

With Jane, everybody appeared to behave nicely, even in a friendly manner.

But to her, Bingley’s sisters were rude and annoying, Mr. Hurst was indifferent and Mr. Darcy as haughty, proud and unpleasant as always.

As much as she struggled to keep her temper, for Mr. Bingley’s sake, she rarely succeeded.

Her own reactions were not commendable; she often responded rudely to Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley’s insolence and condescendingly to Mr. Darcy’s haughtiness.

At least, the latter was well-educated and smart enough to notice her teasing, and at times her debates with him were diverting.

But he did attempt to offend and mock her at times–such as when he asked her if she was inclined to dance a reel, or when he had scorned her mother and younger sisters the previous day.

He was a distressing man, who always watched her to find faults and who seemed equally discourteous to his friend’s sisters.

Mr. Darcy appeared to simply dislike people, except perhaps his own sister, of whom he spoke very fondly.

The friendship between the two gentlemen was strange, even peculiar, and she wondered what common interests they might have and how they had even met and connected.

The most important matter to Elizabeth was Mr. Bingley’s admiration for Jane and how Mr. Darcy regarded it.

The gentleman’s influence over his younger friend seemed a very strong one and it was likely that Mr. Bingley required Mr. Darcy’s advice and maybe his blessing in choosing a wife.

It was slightly frightening for Elizabeth to realise that Jane’s happiness might depend upon Mr. Darcy as much as on Mr. Bingley himself.

The thunder and lightning broke the dark silence of the room and Elizabeth moved towards the window, watching the storm through the curtain of rain. Jane moved and moaned, then fell into a deep, restful sleep again.

Elizabeth watched her sister for a while; the fire was burning steadily, the chamber was warm and inviting, but she was still restless.

Time passed slowly; it was before midnight, yet sleep kept evading her.

Eventually, she put on a robe and tied it around her, leaving the room.

She needed to read something. As she stepped carefully down the stairs, she recollected the argument with Miss Bingley about being a great reader.

Somehow, Miss Bingley had managed to turn that compliment into an offence and Elizabeth had to defend herself.

How ridiculous was that? And then, Mr. Darcy’s comment about accomplished women who improve their minds through extensive reading came out of the blue.

Laughing to herself, Elizabeth pondered if Miss Bingley wished to capture Mr. Darcy’s affection badly enough to start reading for his sake.

Walking through the dark and silent house, carrying the candle in her left hand, Elizabeth approached the library.

She slowly pushed the door and it moved more easily than she expected, as the door was unlocked.

She took a step inside and released a small cry as she stumbled into an unexpected obstacle.

A strong smell of wine made her dizzy. She lowered the candle and with astonishment, she observed a log in front of the door.

She removed it with her feet, looking around attentively.

The fire was still burning in the grate, while outside the squall of rain and wind roared.

She entered, deciding to select a book and return to her room immediately.

But a voice froze her in her tracks and the candle fell to the floor, while a large shadow rose up from the couch, obscuring even the light from the fireplace.

Through the darkness, Mr. Darcy’s voice startled her.

“Miss Bennet, do not close the door!”

A heavy sound interrupted his request, rendering it useless.