Without Vanity or Pride: A Pride and Prejudice Variation Duology

Chapter 1

September 1812, Longbourn

Crunch! The papers she clutched crackled loudly, disturbing the quiet peace of her hiding place amongst the trees.

Cursing her unseemly haste, Elizabeth Bennet released a blessedly inaudible sigh as she loosened her hold on the correspondence gripped within her palm. If she was not careful, the charming refuge she had found for herself would soon be discovered—and all for a want of patience. Perhaps she ought not to have brought such a temptation with her, for indeed, what she most desired was to swiftly devour every word her aunt had written. Oh, why must stationery make such noise!

If only she had not been reduced to hiding in the first place. Yet, as her father often quoted, “For extreme diseases, extreme methods of cure are most suitable.” Elizabeth inwardly sniggered at her father’s probable amusement in likening George Wickham, her lamentably irksome brother-in-law, to a serious affliction described by an ancient Greek physician. Would that she could rid herself of the man as easily as lancing a boil! The process would probably be less painful by comparison.

Thud…thud…thud…Fallen leaves amplified the steps of a man’s heavy boots on the ground. Speak of the devil, and he shall appear. Holding herself absolutely still, barely daring to draw breath, Elizabeth waited patiently to hear the longed-for retreat, cursing once again the dogged persistence of the infuriating man! Why would he not simply leave her alone?

“Miss Elizabeth.”

He could not have spotted her yet, for she had chosen her present location in Longbourn’s pretty little wilderness quite carefully. Sitting with her back resting against a wide tree trunk, flowering bushes sheltering her little copse on all sides, Elizabeth dared not move a muscle. Hearing her name called once more, she silently cursed the day she first saw the man walking down the street in Meryton. An unassuming man, a more reasonable man, would know beyond doubt that their previously friendly acquaintance was at an end, but George Wickham was not a reasonable man.

A rustling of foliage distracted Elizabeth from her practiced immobility, nearly startling her into a shriek. Without warning, the fluffy, matted, orange fur tail of Longbourn’s old barn cat brushed against her face. Bracing herself against the inevitable sneeze, Elizabeth nearly cried with relief when the man’s footsteps faded away. She was safe—at least for a time. Unfortunately, it was a temporary pardon at best.

How had it come to this?

Though she had anticipated no pleasure in welcoming her sister Lydia and her husband to Longbourn after their scandalous elopement, Elizabeth was yet surprised by the sheer misery their visit had already brought. Since their arrival, the Wickhams had presented a rather cloying picture of newly wedded bliss to the family, though Elizabeth could well detect the insincerity underneath Mr Wickham’s affected smiles. He had attempted, on numerous occasions and with a persistence that was maddening, to engage his new sister in more private conversation, no doubt hoping to rekindle their previous rapport. Elizabeth, however, could not bear the prospect of appearing on remotely cordial terms with the man, angry as she was over his previous deception regarding Mr Darcy’s character and the heinous manner in which he had jeopardised the future of her entire family through her silliest sister.

Daring to return to the missive she held in her hand, Elizabeth let the truth of her aunt’s words wash over her as she finished the final page. Aunt Gardiner had replied as fast as she possibly could to Elizabeth’s request for information on Lydia’s wedding, or more importantly, for information on its rather unlikely guest, Mr Darcy.

When she had foolishly disclosed the details of her sister’s elopement to him at the inn in Lambton, Elizabeth had never expected Mr Darcy would take it upon himself to save her family’s reputation. Indeed, she had only thought about what she had lost. A poor, country gentlewoman was already a most inadvisable choice of wife for a gentleman of Mr Darcy’s wealth and station, but a ruined, poor, country gentlewoman was an impossible one. At the moment of his departure, she had surprised even herself with the acute longing and anguish that pervaded her being, knowing beyond doubt that he was indeed the best of men, and he was lost to her forever.

The sound of heavy footsteps on the path once again alerted Elizabeth to the approach of her nefarious brother-in-law. Unwilling to endure his presence, and requiring a better refuge, Elizabeth stood and walked at a brisk pace towards the orchards. She could not avoid Mr Wickham indefinitely but felt unequal to the task of exchanging pleasantries, much less endure his particular brand of flirtation.

The sheer impudence of the man! Who else would be so bold as to leer at his new sister under the dubious guise of gentlemanly charm?

Perhaps if her feelings were under better regulation, she could confront him in some subtle manner regarding the many falsehoods with which he had filled her mind during his previous sojourn in Hertfordshire. Indeed, it would be most thrilling to watch him writhe with the understanding that not only did she fully comprehend his previous deeds, but her knowledge also extended to precisely who had paid his debts and brought about his position as her brother. Her changed opinion on Mr Darcy would no doubt wound Mr Wickham’s vanity, a momentarily cheering prospect, before the very same thought plunged her once again into despair. What did it matter if he knew she thought him a scoundrel and Mr Darcy an honourable gentleman?

Mr Darcy would never come to know her changed opinion of him, and even if he did, Elizabeth was absolutely certain that he could never bear to offer for her again, not if connexion to her family came with a brother whom he had every reason to loathe for all eternity. He could not love her so well as that—nor in her opinion, should he. In her own mind, her abuse of his character coupled with her defence of a rogue made her decidedly unworthy of his regard. Thankful for the private nature of her disappointment, Elizabeth reflected on how her father would indeed laugh at her misfortune, for she was more than a little crossed in love, though she did not find it as agreeable an experience as he had seemed to imply.

“Miss Elizabeth!”

A breathless shout recalled Elizabeth to her surroundings, and she was startled to realise that Mr Wickham had discovered her, apparently intent upon staging an ambush. She froze, caught between an urge to run and her own mounting fury, sick to death of his unrelenting, miserable pursuit.

What he had evidently failed to notice, however, was that his wife was not far behind. Elizabeth watched her sister in dismay as Lydia’s scowling expression shifted rapidly to shock as she lost her footing and stumbled over a tree root, crying out in pain as she toppled to the leaf-strewn ground.

“George! My—my ankle!”

As Lydia began to wail in earnest, Elizabeth ignored Mr Wickham’s presence and rushed to her sister’s side.

“Do you think you can walk, Liddy? What on earth possessed you to run through the trees in your house slippers?”

Tears streaming down her cheeks, Lydia petulantly replied, “I only…wished to…draw my husband’s attention! You cannot…always have it for your own!”

With tremendous effort, Elizabeth refrained from lashing out at her sister’s ridiculousness while her ne’er-do-well husband finally offered his services.

“Well now, my love. I suppose I ought to bring you into the house.” Scooping Lydia into his arms, his young wife began to berate him over his inattention.

“I called out to you, George! Why did you not heed me? And why did you not…catch me?” Lydia sniffled.

As the Wickhams engaged in a heated conversation, littered with laments and accusations on Lydia’s side and filled with soothing flattery on the part of Mr Wickham, Elizabeth veered off towards the stables to send a groom to Meryton for Mr Jones. Though Elizabeth doubted the injury was serious, she knew full well that Lydia would never be appeased until the apothecary had at least been consulted.

Upon entering the vestibule at Longbourn, Elizabeth was dismayed to find that Lydia’s howls of pain had been joined by the shrill cries of her mother, who was clearly distraught over her youngest daughter’s suffering.

“Oh my dear, sweet Lydia! How could you possibly be so clumsy, child!”

“But, Mama?—”

“No, no, I cannot see you leaving for Newcastle now! Mr Bennet, you must insist that she stay until she is fully recovered!”

Alarmed by the prospect, especially over such a slight injury as a twisted ankle, Elizabeth was relieved to see her father had made an appearance amidst the chaos in the parlour.

“Calm yourself, Mrs Bennet. We do not know if her injury is so very grave.” Locking eyes across the room, Elizabeth could see the relief on her father’s face that someone with a more rational mind had arrived. “Lizzy dear, Lydia has told us you were there when she took a tumble. Where have you been?”

“I sent a groom into Meryton for Mr Jones, Papa.”

“Ah. Very well, very well. See now, Mrs Bennet, we shall soon know the fate of our daughter’s muddy foot.”

As Lydia wailed afresh at her father’s indelicate comment, Elizabeth decided to engage in more practical pursuits. After informing Mrs Hill of the apothecary’s imminent arrival and the possible need for dressings to wrap her sister’s foot and ankle, Elizabeth chose to wait outside for the man himself, hopeful at least that a little distance from both her sister’s cries and her sister’s husband would settle her spirits. It was not long before Jane found her just beyond the front portico.

“So, as I understand from Mama, Lydia fell in the orchard. I had not realised she ventured out of doors, for the last I saw her, she was trimming a bonnet with Kitty.”

Elizabeth sighed as she leant against her elder sister. “Oh Jane! You have caught me in the midst of some rather uncharitable thoughts. How I wish I possessed your even temper, for I cannot begin to imagine living with our youngest sister and her husband for any longer than we possibly must! Do you know that Mama is already insisting that the Wickhams stay beyond Wednesday?”

With polite admonishment, Jane responded, “You know as well as I that if Lydia is truly injured, she should not travel so soon. If it is a slight injury, then it is likely she will be well in a day or two, which should not affect their plans to travel north.”

“Well, here comes Mr Jones. Let us pray for a favourable report!”

“Lizzy, you are terrible!” Jane scolded, though Elizabeth could see that she was amused.

Easy enough for Jane to dismiss the seriousness of such a proposal. Wickham does not single her out as he does me. Nor does he seem to forget his manners in her presence.

“Good afternoon, Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth!”

“Good day to you, sir,” Elizabeth replied, “Thank you for coming so quickly. Our sister, Mrs Wickham, tripped in the orchard and injured her ankle.”

“Ah, I see! Well, take me to her, and I shall see what I can do.”

Only a quarter of an hour later, Elizabeth learnt that fortune had as good as abandoned her, for not only did Mr Jones determine that Lydia suffered from a badly sprained ankle, but he also advised her against travel for at least a fortnight, possibly longer. With Mr Bennet’s reluctant permission, Mr Wickham was all too eager to write to his commanding officer about the delay in their travels, something that failed to surprise Elizabeth. She was convinced he would seize any opportunity to avoid taking up his duties in the regulars, ungrateful louse that he was.

What wretched luck! Wickham, always nearby, seeming to lie in wait for me—now for another endless fortnight. Is it only my misery over what I have lost that makes every moment in his presence unendurable? Or is he hounding me on purpose? And either way, how will I bear it?

As she climbed into bed later that evening, Elizabeth was confident the coming weeks at her family home were sure to be the most intolerable of her life.