Without Vanity or Pride: A Pride and Prejudice Variation Duology

Chapter 1

May 1812, Hyde Park

Though it was not quite the fashionable hour, the paths through Hyde Park were crowded, the populace of London seemingly uniformly determined to take advantage of the fine spring sunshine. The rains of spring had begun to abate, and Fitzwilliam Darcy hoped, rather than believed, the ache in his heart would soon do likewise.

It had been nearly a month since Elizabeth Bennet’s scathing rejection of his offer of marriage. The first week had been marked by shocked fury as he contemplated, endlessly, the terrible accusations she had hurled at him. The second week, fury had dissipated as he had recognised, reluctantly, the justice in some of what she had said. The third week, despair set in as he recognised she was entirely correct. He had been selfish, disdainful, conceited, arrogant, and he was wholly unworthy of her.

In the last week, the fourth since that fateful night at Hunsford parsonage, he was resolved to forget her. What else could he do? He could not loll about like a maudlin schoolgirl, no matter that he felt quite maudlin. Keep busy, he told himself, outrun the agony. So it was that he forced himself into intense occupation nearly every minute of the day, scarcely allowing himself a moment’s rest until he dropped into his bed, exhausted, at night. It had been, thus far, mostly unsuccessful, but he reasoned if he just kept at it, he would conquer his feelings.

“Come walk in the park with me,” he said to Viscount Saye, nearly the second his cousin entered his study.

Saye ignored him and walked over to the bookshelf. “You own Thérèse the Philosopher, yes?”

“I do not. A walk? Will you join me?”

“I am positive you must.” Saye looked over his shoulder from his perusal of Darcy’s shelves. “I was with Sir Frederick this morning at our club, and Mr George Boyer comes by and tells us that the author was his great grandmother?—”

“The author was a man.”

“The protagonist then,” Saye replied impatiently. “So Boyer rattles on some nonsense about the truth in it, and he and Fred begin to argue over it, so I told Fred, ‘Why not see if what he says is true? Darcy is sure to own it’.”

“Alas, I do not,” Darcy replied. “I am not in the habit of filling my family library with erotica.”

“Yet, you clearly know the story, else you should not have known it was erotica,” Saye replied with a smirk.

Darcy rolled his eyes, ignoring the gibe. “Come with me to the park.”

Saye could not go easily. He insisted on looking over all the shelves, heedless of the system of organisation that Darcy employed; he then concluded the tome must be at Pemberley; and lastly, he decried walking as a hopelessly common endeavour and suggested they ride. Darcy waited patiently while his cousin rattled away, secretly rejoicing in the effortless expenditure of time, and at length the two gentlemen set out.

“I have never known you to be in such a fever to promenade during the fashionable hour,” Saye remarked as they went. “Dare I say you are prepared to find another lady to woo?”

In an unguarded moment a se’nnight past—one on the end of a difficult day in which too much brandy and too little food had been consumed—Darcy had confessed all to Saye. His cousin had been particularly vexatious all day long, teasing him about being a gloomy miss and wondering aloud and loudly whether Darcy’s courses were plaguing him. At length, Darcy could take no more and begged him to leave off.

But Saye would not leave off, not until he was in possession of every mortifying morsel.

To his credit, knowing the truth of the matter made him desist. Alas, Darcy found this to be even worse, having become an object of pity for a man widely known to be merciless.

“She must be an idiot,” Saye had opined, with a clap on his younger cousin’s back. “She could have been married to one of the wealthiest men in England!”

“She is not an idiot,” Darcy had replied quietly. “I am.”

In the week since, Saye had contrived a number of remedies for Darcy’s spirits, including cock fights, a race with the Four-in-Hand Club, cards, and now, ladies. Darcy considered telling Saye that no, he absolutely was not prepared to consider making love to another woman; however, as they entered the park, Saye’s head swivelled about madly, taking in the many ladies and gentlemen moving about. As it seemed to be occupying him nicely, Darcy did not protest.

“She is a fine-looking—no, no, too fair. That is, unless you seek a fair-haired lady this time?”

“I do not want anyone at all, save for her.”

“Miss Bennet was…?”

“Her hair is dark.”

“Darker or lighter than your own?”

“What does it matter? Darker,” Darcy replied impatiently.

“I wonder if she possesses some sort of Gypsy blood? Or Italian! Those Italians can certainly dress a person down. Now, there!” Saye made a gesture with his hand. “What say you to that charming creature just that way?”

“That charming creature looks like she is Georgiana’s age.”

“What about that one?” Saye gestured again.

Darcy shook his head. “Pray stop. There is no use to any of this.”

But Saye would persist until Darcy’s head ached, and he was seriously considering shoving his cousin into the Serpentine. Fortunately, they paused a moment as Saye’s present love interest, Miss Lillian Goddard, peeped at him from within a cluster of young ladies some distance away. He tipped his hat, which made some of her friends giggle, though Miss Goddard was sedate and only nodded in reply.

“Nothing like a sweet-looking blonde in my opinion,” Saye mused happily. “Miss Goddard has a sister you know, and just as pretty as she is.”

“Also lately married.”

“Lord Jermyn? The man is half dead already. We will all be dancing at his funeral, likely before you are done moping over Miss Bennet.”

With a roll of his eyes, Darcy enquired, “Why on earth would we dance at his funer?—”

His voice died, for when he raised his eyes, he saw her. His heart dropped into his Hessians at the sight.

He knew it had been a dreadful idea to come to the park. At the fashionable hour no less! Idiot! But the day was nearly sublime, and even he had grown weary of sulking in his library. He would pay dearly for this fit of good humour.

“What is it?” Saye asked.

“Shh. I mean, stop. Slower.”

“You wish me to walk slower?”

She had not as yet seen them. She, Miss Bennet, and another lady unknown to him had paused to examine some plant by the side of the path. Having satisfied whatever curiosity they possessed regarding it, the ladies turned and began to walk again.

“Walk slower? Or talk slower?” Saye asked again.

Darcy gave the sleeve of his cousin’s coat an impatient tug. “Walk slower, or let us linger here a minute or two. We cannot…that is to say, I do not wish to…I see some…people…a person…it would be for the best if we did not meet one another.”

With a profound and humiliating lack of discretion, Saye began to crane his neck, asking loudly about this person or that, and why Darcy would not like to meet them.

“Pray lower your voice,” Darcy hissed through gritted teeth. “It is her.”

He gestured with one finger to where the trio of interest walked ahead of them on the path.

“Her?” Saye widened his eyes and dropped his jaw to a comically wide degree. In a whisper-shout, he asked, “Miss Elizabeth Bennet? Here?”

“If you will only join me in hanging back a bit, I do not doubt they may divert to another path soon, or perhaps stop to speak to someone, and then we shall?—”

Saye turned to him, eyes alit with anticipation. He gave Darcy a little tap on the chest. “I want to meet her.”

“Absolutely not. We must avoid her notice at all costs.”

“Avoid her notice? I could not think of it. Indeed, I must be acquainted with this magical creature.” Saye rubbed his hands together delightedly. “Which is she? My money is on the one in green.”

“Half the park is wearing green, and I refuse to introduce you.”

“Dark hair, curls at the nape, straw bonnet, Pomona green pelisse.” Saye lifted one brow in triumph. “I see by your face that I am correct.”

“Nevertheless, we are not meeting them.”

“Why not?”

Darcy sighed. “You know why not. She wishes to speak to me as little as I would like to speak to her.”

“Ah! But I daresay you would like to speak to her, so that assertion is sheer puffery.”

Saye had him on that point. Against everything, Darcy did want to speak to her, even if it would be awkward and painful and dissatisfying. Even if Elizabeth wished to upbraid him again, he would endure it for the sheer enjoyment of the time spent in her presence.

“I would not impose myself upon her. I am certain it could only bring pain to us both.”

Saye had stopped in the middle of the path and regarded the ladies with a cocked head and one hand on his hip. “Perhaps not. Perhaps she would like to see you again.”

Darcy chuckled bitterly. “Indeed, I am very certain she does not.”

“How do you know? What did she say after she read your letter? What did she think of it?”

“After the letter?” The ladies had moved from the path and were making their way towards the bank of the Serpentine. His eyes followed their progress. “I do not know.”

“What do you mean you do not know? You handed her the letter, she opened it to read it, and then…?”

“I handed her the letter, and then I left her. I did not stay to see if she read it, nor can I imagine what she thought of it.” He swallowed, watching as Elizabeth, Miss Bennet, and the other lady joined a group of two small girls and what appeared to be a governess or nursemaid. “She might have thrown it directly into the fire for all I know.”

“I do not think so. She looks like the curious sort.”

“It occurs to me now that the letter was written in a dreadful bitterness of spirit. I am ashamed of what I said.”

“Whatever you wrote regarding Wickham could not be said with sufficient vitriol.”

Darcy nodded. “Yes, but the other things about…her family and—well, I am wholly persuaded that there is every possibility that the letter only angered her more.”

Saye turned his scrutiny from the ladies to Darcy and screwed up his face in a parody of bewilderment. “You insulted her family verbally—which may have been forgiven as we are all intemperate when angry—but then repeated the offences in writing?”

“Yes, and as I have told you repeatedly, I am ashamed of my conduct and certain she despises me for it. So we certainly should not plague her with my presence here.”

“How very like you that is!”

“To wish not to pain her?”

“To have the last word,” Saye retorted. “You must have the last word in any argument, and that is exactly what you have done to Miss Elizabeth Bennet—handed her a packet full of insults and then ran off before she could reply.”

“I did not run off.”

“Neither did you allow her to respond. Should she not have been permitted to have her say?”

“I assure you,” said Darcy, “she said quite enough.”

“She likely thought you had said quite enough as well, yet she paid you the compliment of hearing—or rather reading—your final words on the matter.”

“We do not know what she did with my final words,” Darcy reminded him.

“I think this Miss Elizabeth Bennet deserves her chance to give you a final proper set-down too.”

“My letter was not meant to be a set-down, it was merely?—”

“You just said you wrote it in a dreadful bitterness of spirit!”

“I did but…well, yes.”

“So perhaps she too deserves the opportunity to unburden herself of whatever bitterness of spirit she may possess.”

“Let me understand you. You wish me to approach a lady, in full view of her sister and friends and nearly every person of fashion in this park, and give her the opportunity to upbraid me?”

“And maybe once she has,” Saye teased him with a grin and shake of his finger, “just maybe she might then be willing to entertain the notion of giving you another chance to woo her.”

“Impossible,” Darcy scoffed.

“It certainly will be impossible if all you ever do is skulk along behind her, avoiding her notice.” Saye punched his arm. “I am going over there.”

“You do not know them!” Darcy cried to Saye’s departing back.

“I shall introduce myself.”

“You cannot! Every rule of polite society forbids it!”

Saye turned and grinned lazily, walking backwards with his eyes on Darcy. “Why should I care two straws for that? I am rich, devilishly handsome, and titled. I make my own rules. Now, either you come along and introduce me or I introduce myself, and she will know your relations are as abominably rude as you are.”

By some mystical inducement, Darcy felt his feet begin to move. “She already knows my relations are nothing to boast of,” he muttered. “She has met Lady Catherine.”