Mr Darcy’s Forgotten Love (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

Chapter One

Meryton, Hertfordshire

The carriage wheels turned in a steady rhythm along the Hertfordshire lanes, carrying Darcy and Bingley towards the assembly rooms at Meryton.

Through the window, Darcy observed the passing hedgerows and modest cottages, their aspect neither particularly charming nor wholly disagreeable—merely what one might expect of the provinces.

"You are unusually quiet this evening," Bingley remarked, his tone carrying that perpetual optimism which Darcy both envied and found occasionally tiresome. "I had thought you might share my enthusiasm. After all, it was your counsel that persuaded me to take Netherfield."

Darcy inclined his head. "The estate suits you admirably, as I believed it would. You required something substantial, yet manageable, and Netherfield provides both. I am gratified that my judgement has proven sound."

"Sound!" Bingley laughed. "How like you to reduce happiness to mere judgement. I am perfectly content here, Darcy. The grounds are excellent, the neighbourhood seems amiable, and tonight I shall make the acquaintance of every family of consequence within three miles. What more could a man desire?"

"What more, indeed. Though I confess my presence tonight serves purposes beyond social obligation to you, however valued that obligation may be."

His friend's expression grew knowing. "Ah, yes, Miss Cassandra Rochford. Lady Catherine's recommendation, if I recall correctly?"

"My aunt believes her eminently suitable.

" Darcy adjusted the collar of his shirt with deliberate care.

"Miss Rochford is the daughter of Viscount Welles.

The family's reputation is unimpeachable, and their connections are extensive.

Lady Catherine and Mrs Rochford have been intimate friends for twenty years. "

"And the lady herself? What manner of woman is she?"

"I have not yet had the pleasure of making her acquaintance. Our correspondence has been brief but cordial. She writes with appropriate refinement and has assured me she means to attend this evening's assembly."

"You speak as though you were negotiating a business arrangement rather than a courtship."

"Is not marriage, for men in our position, precisely that?" Darcy's tone remained even. "One must be rational about such matters. Affection may develop in time, but compatibility of station and fortune provides the foundation."

"How very pragmatic of you." Bingley's amusement was evident. "Though I confess I harbour hopes of something rather more romantic for myself."

"You are a romantic by nature. I am not."

"Perhaps. I suspect some woman shall appear one day and entirely overturn that philosophy of yours. You shall find yourself working quite desperately for her regard, mark my words."

Darcy's mouth curved—not quite a smile, but near enough. "Your imagination exceeds your reason, Bingley. Women of breeding and sense do not inspire desperation. They inspire respect, which is far more durable."

"If you say so." Bingley glanced out the window. "I wonder if the ladies of Hertfordshire differ at all from those in town? One grows rather weary of London drawing rooms."

"Human nature is universal," Darcy replied. "You may find minor variations in bearing or conversation, but the essential concerns remain unchanged—fortune, connections, marital prospects. Gentlemen of our circumstances rarely encounter difficulty in securing female attention."

"What a cheerful assessment." Bingley's laugh filled the enclosed space. "I suppose you are correct, though it removes rather a lot of the intrigue, does it not?"

The carriage slowed as they neared the assembly rooms. Through the windows, Darcy could see the glow of candles and the movement of figures within. Music drifted faintly on the evening air, distinct and competently performed.

"Georgiana would have enjoyed this," Bingley noted. "She does so love assemblies."

"She is better situated in Ireland with Lord and Lady Matlock," Darcy said. "The change of scene will do her good. She has been too much confined to Pemberley of late."

"You miss her."

"I am accustomed to her absence when necessity demands it.

" Darcy's voice held no sentiment, though Bingley, who knew him well, might have detected the faint softening beneath.

"She shall return in a few months, and I shall be made to endure her chatter about Irish landscapes and the superiority of Dublin assemblies over London balls. "

Bingley grinned as the carriage came to a halt. "Then let us make the most of your temporary freedom. Come, Darcy—into battle."

"Hardly a battle."

"No? We shall see."

***

The assembly rooms were crowded and vibrant with the hum of provincial society at leisure.

Darcy's entrance, alongside Bingley, drew immediate notice—two gentlemen of evident wealth and consequence were not common visitors to Meryton.

He bore the scrutiny with practised indifference, his expression neutral as introductions commenced.

Sir William Lucas, who had called at Netherfield the previous day to welcome the arrivals to the neighbourhood, greeted them with effusive warmth. "Mr Bingley! Mr Darcy! What an honour, sirs, what an honour indeed! You do us great credit by attending our humble assembly."

"The pleasure is ours, Sir William," Bingley responded with matching warmth. "We are most eager to make the acquaintance of our neighbours."

Sir William beamed and immediately began a series of introductions—names and faces that blurred together in Darcy's mind with little distinction.

He responded with appropriate civility, conscious of his obligation to appear amiable even as his attention remained alert for mention of Miss Rochford's name.

Bingley, true to his genial nature, was soon drawn into animated conversation with one of the local gentlemen about hunting prospects in the area, leaving Darcy to continue the circuit of introductions alone.

"Ah, and here is Miss Rochford!" Sir William exclaimed with evident pleasure, leading him towards a small group of young women near the far wall. "Miss Rochford, allow me to present Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire."

A young woman turned from her companions, and Darcy recognised immediately why Lady Catherine had recommended her.

At first glance, her bearing proclaimed her breeding—the elegance of her posture, the costly sheen of her gown, the measured grace of her gestures.

She was handsome, undeniably so, with fair hair arranged in the latest fashion and features that might have inspired a poet to metaphor, though Darcy himself was not inclined towards such flights.

She turned, her smile practised and pleasing. "Mr Darcy. What a delight to make your acquaintance at last. Your aunt has spoken of you with great affection."

"And she of you, Miss Rochford." Darcy bowed. "I am gratified to find her praise entirely justified."

She laughed as if on cue. "You are too kind, sir. I hope Hertfordshire is treating you well? It must seem rather provincial after London."

"Every place possesses its own character," Darcy replied. "I find Netherfield agreeable, and the countryside offers a certain tranquillity one does not encounter in town."

"How diplomatic. I trust you mean to stay for some weeks? There are several families you simply must meet."

"I am at Mr Bingley's disposal, though I confess I should be honoured if you would reserve the first two dances for me this evening."

Her smile widened. "I should be delighted, Mr Darcy."

Before he could respond, another young woman appeared at Miss Rochford's elbow—smaller in stature, with darker curls and an expression of lively intelligence that immediately marked her as different from the studied composure of her companion.

"Forgive me for interrupting," the newcomer said, though her tone suggested she felt no particular need for forgiveness, "but you did promise to introduce me, Cassandra."

Miss Rochford's expression flickered with something that might have been irritation, quickly smoothed away. "Of course. Mr Darcy, may I present my dear friend, Miss Elizabeth Bennet? Lizzy, this is Mr Darcy, lately of London and now residing at Netherfield with Mr Bingley."

"Miss Bennet." Darcy bowed with precision.

"Mr Darcy." Her curtsey was correct but lacked the deferential quality he had come to expect. "I understand you have recently arrived in Hertfordshire. I do hope the society here does not prove too insipid for a gentleman accustomed to London's diversions."

There was something in her tone—not quite impertinence, but certainly not deference—that gave him pause. "I do not require constant diversion, Miss Bennet. A well-ordered household and rational conversation suffice."

"How fortunate for you." Her eyes—dark and far too expressive—held a glimmer of humour that he found vaguely unsettling. "Though I confess I should find such limited requirements rather dull. Does nothing ever surprise you, Mr Darcy?"

"Surprise is generally the result of poor planning or insufficient information," he replied evenly. "I prefer to avoid both."

Her laugh was sudden and unrestrained—too unrestrained for a formal assembly. "What an extraordinary philosophy! You must live a very predictable life, sir."

"I live a well-ordered one."

"Which is not at all the same thing." She tilted her head, regarding him with an openness he found disconcerting. "But perhaps you prefer order to excitement. Some people do."

"Order," Darcy said, his voice cooling slightly, "is the foundation of civilised society, Miss Bennet."

"And excitement is what makes life worth living," she countered. "But we shall have to disagree, I think."

Miss Rochford intervened with a delicate laugh. "Lizzy does so enjoy a spirited debate. You must forgive her, Mr Darcy—she cannot help herself."

"There is nothing to forgive," Darcy replied, though he found the entire exchange oddly irritating. "Miss Bennet is entitled to her opinions, however unconventional."