Duke (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

Chapter 1

Longbourn, Hertfordshire

Elizabeth Bennet felt dispirited, an unfamiliar emotion to one not made for melancholy.

She sat in the window seat of her bedroom, looking out at the lifeless brown garden this gray winter’s day.

In her hand was a letter from Jane, who had been in London since the New Year, staying with her Aunt and Uncle Gardiner near Cheapside.

Elizabeth had read the letter to her mother and sisters when it first arrived.

Even Mrs. Bennet’s ever-optimistic conviction that her beautiful Jane could catch a rich gentleman—if not a lord—wavered.

“What is this sad business of Jane? She simply could not be so beautiful for nothing!” Mrs. Bennet lamented pitifully.

Only Elizabeth knew how deeply Jane’s heart had been touched by Mr. Bingley. Her mother saw only Mr. Bingley’s annual income of four or five thousand pounds that would surely save her from the hedgerows when her husband died.

In the letter, Jane wrote with ill-concealed ennui that the Bingley sisters were cold and almost uncivil when they returned Jane’s call three weeks later.

They looked around the Gracechurch Street drawing room with disdain, and proceeded to spend most of their visit effusively praising Miss Darcy, and how well-matched she was to their brother, who would certainly not return to Netherfield Park.

Their intention to give up their acquaintance with Jane was clear for all to see.

“Poor Jane! Poor, poor Jane!” Elizabeth sighed.

Jane’s disappointed hopes were only one reason Elizabeth’s entire outlook on matrimony had dimmed.

Just two days before, when the sun made a rare appearance amidst the endlessly gray, blustery days, she walked to Meryton with her sisters and Maria Lucas, and saw Lieutenant Wickham squiring Miss King around town most gallantly.

His attentions toward the young lady were so marked that he did not even notice the Longbourn ladies watching him from across the street.

Lydia was scandalized by his apparent slight, but she blamed the girl beside him instead. She cried, “Miss King! That freckled thing! What does Mr. Wickham see in her?”

Maria, glad to be the well-informed one, asked conspiratorially, “Haven’t you heard? Miss King inherited ten thousand pounds from her grandfather. She is an heiress!”

Lydia turned to Elizabeth and exclaimed dejectedly, “Mr. Wickham has jilted you!” Then she turned to the rest of the group and sighed exaggeratedly.

“Poor Lizzy! He is such a handsome and amiable man! Lizzy will pine after him and become a spinster, for who could replace a gentleman as dashing as he?”

Elizabeth shushed her indecorous sister.

“Lydia, not so loud! We are in public. Do not talk nonsense. Mr. Wickham is nothing to me. A lieutenant in the militia makes barely enough to take care of himself. He needs an heiress to marry. Handsome young men must have something to live on as well as the plain.”

Lydia looked at her elder sister intently for a long moment and said forlornly, “How can you be so unconcerned? Mr. Wickham deserted us—you in particular—for a girl who has nothing to recommend herself but a lucky inheritance!”

“Lydia, please stop harping on this. Mr. Wickham has made his choice. He did not desert any of us because he was not attached to any of us.”

Elizabeth’s newfound wisdom on Mr. Wickham’s financial circumstance and his choice of bride came only after her aunt, Mrs. Gardiner, had warned her at Christmas about the perils of disregarding the practical side of a marital attachment.

Just then they arrived at the milliner’s shop, and all discussions about Mr. Wickham were forgotten, except by Elizabeth, who, though not in love with Mr. Wickham, still felt chagrined at being supplanted.

Sitting by herself thinking about Jane, she could not help concluding that without a substantial dowry, girls like her and her sisters would always be the ones—to put it brutally honestly—discarded by eligible young men.

She had been truthful when she said her heart had not been touched by Mr. Wickham; the news of Mr. Wickhams’s defection did not make her think ill of either Mr. Wickham or Miss King.

Indifference is the sure sign of an untouched heart, isn’t it?

Upon contemplation, her receiving Mr. Wickham’s attentions with such eagerness was solely because she had been publicly slighted at the assembly by an eligible man from Derbyshire—not handsome enough to tempt him for even a dance.

Having the admiration of another young man, though not quite eligible, reaffirmed her worthiness and lessened the sting of the insult.

After the assembly, she had chastised herself for caring too much for a stranger’s opinion of her personal attractiveness.

All her life, every young man, including Mr. Bingley, who came across the Bennet sisters directed his admiring gaze toward Jane and scarcely afforded any notice to the rest of the sisters.

Mr. Wickham singled her out, probably because Mr. Bingley favored Jane so markedly.

The despicable deeds of Mr. Darcy reported by Mr. Wickham made her feel she was fortunate to have been thought of poorly by such an unsavory character.

Well, let all those haughty, mercenary, or capricious young men mind their own business so long as they never come close to us again. Jane will meet a far more worthy young man who will treasure her for her unsurpassed beauty and kindness.

Having reached this satisfying conclusion, she turned to the unopened letter from Charlotte, her erstwhile dearest friend now married to the Bennets’ distant cousin and heir presumptive to Longbourn, Mr. Collins.

Charlotte had been diligent in her correspondence with Elizabeth, although their previous intimacy had been diminished.

She described her new life with a cheerful spirit, and was even well-pleased with Lady Catherine de Bourgh, her husband’s officious benefactress.

Elizabeth could not understand how her dear friend could have become a shadow of her former sensible self. Charlotte’s unenviable married state put another strike against matrimony.

Yes, to be the spinster aunt caring for Jane’s children is the wisest future for me.

Before even opening the letter, Elizabeth could have guessed the contents: more praise on another aspect of life at Hunsford Parsonage!

Perhaps Charlotte had finally met the elusive Miss Anne de Bourgh.

Even though the Collinses had been invited weekly to the grand house, Mrs. Collins had seen neither hide nor hair of the heiress.

According to Mr. Collins—and one must exercise a judicious amount of skepticism for any of his appraisals on all aspects of the Rosings estate—Miss de Bourgh’s beauty far surpassed the handsomest of her sex, her distinguished birth showed in her every feature, and so on; while her supremely delicate health had prevented her from participating in society, she was destined for her cousin, Mr. Darcy of Pemberley.

Miss de Bourgh must be a rare find of a wife—beautiful and enormously rich! Their married life would be tranquil since neither enjoys conversation. But is there anything on earth worth having Lady Catherine for a mother-in-law?

Elizabeth was not often prone to introspection.

Why she should care about the future matrimonial felicity of a man she despised never entered her mind.

She had agreed to visit her friend when Sir William Lucas made the trip around Easter, but she had been dreading the prospect of spending six weeks in the company of Mr. Collins and his high and mighty patroness.

However, she did miss Charlotte despite their recent disagreement, and Kent would provide warmer climes, as well as new scenery and characters to sketch.

Meeting Miss de Bourgh, if the heiress condescended to show her face, would be a sufficient diversion to make the visit worthwhile.

Why was she so eager to meet this sickly lady wholly unconnected to her?

She did not know, and in fact, never questioned herself about it.

Without Jane, Longbourn sometimes became unbearable with her mother and sisters’ inanities. Fortunately, her father’s occasional ironic taunts countered the foolishness and made it almost amusing. She would miss her papa when she was away in Kent.

What Charlotte revealed in this new missive made Elizabeth drop the letter in surprise.

The Rosings estate had become Mr. Darcy’s property through marriage.

The wedding had been at Rosings only a few days earlier by special license, officiated by the Bishop of London and not Mr. Collins.

The newlyweds would reside at Rosings for the time being because Mrs. Darcy, nee de Bourgh, was not well enough to travel.

Elizabeth was shocked. She was just musing over the comical prospects of Mr. Darcy having to deal with his aunt as mother-in-law, and now it had become reality.

Somehow, it seemed implausible, but she could not fathom why she thought so.

The bride and groom were well-matched in lineage and fortune, the prerequisites in any marriage of convenience.

Elizabeth had assumed the man, most eligible if not for his odious character, had exited her life when he left Hertfordshire with the Bingleys.

Now, though, she would likely see him again when she went to Hunsford in a few weeks.

Hopefully, in his newlywed bliss, he would be excused for not renewing his acquaintance with an unattractive single lady so far beneath him in social status.

But he did single me out for a dance at the Netherfield ball, not to mention the one I refused at Lucas Lodge. What was he about? Whim or caprice?

A knock came at her door, and her mother came in without being invited.