In Mr Darcy’s Confidence (Sweet Standalone Pride and Prejudice Variations #9)

Chapter 1

Though gusts of crisp November wind sent dry brown leaves whirling around her feet and the fields on either side of the road to Meryton were hard with frost, Elizabeth Bennet was walking too briskly to feel the cold.

She walked as though a quick enough pace might allow her to leave her thoughts behind her, and with considerable reason.

The passage of a week had not been enough time to forget how her family had humiliated themselves at the Netherfield Park ball — particularly since that humiliation had been witnessed by the entire neighbourhood.

Elizabeth shuddered again to remember how Caroline Bingley had sneered during Mary’s unfortunate performance at the pianoforte, and how that sneer had turned into a satirical smile when Mr Bennet had so loudly called her away.

Still worse was Mr Darcy’s look of stern judgment in response to Lydia and Kitty’s loud romping. Elizabeth fumed to remember it. He had no right to look down on her sisters in such solemn judgement, like a king peering down at peasants from on high.

Infuriating man! And when he so clearly thought nothing of any of them, why on earth had he asked her to dance? And why had she been so slow-witted as to leave her unable to think of any proper reason to refuse?

Elizabeth’s steps slowed a little as she thought of that dance. Mr Darcy was more graceful than she would have imagined, and he had borne her veiled accusations with more patience than she would have guessed.

It had not been an unpleasant dance — not by any means. Elizabeth might have enjoyed herself considerably, if only Mr Darcy had not been Mr Darcy. Certainly, it was among the most pleasant of the dances she had that night.

That thought necessarily made Elizabeth remember the least pleasant dance she had had at the Netherfield ball, and she shuddered in disgust at recalling her dance with Mr Collins.

It had been bad enough to have her feet stepped on and to see her partner so often moving wrongly without being aware of it, but it was nothing to hearing his insinuations of particular regard.

Elizabeth had left the dance with the horrifying conviction that Mr Collins intended to leave Longbourn not just with a view of his own future property, but with a mistress for it as well — and that she had been chosen for that role.

That conviction had been proven right only two days after the ball.

Elizabeth had not required a moment’s thought before refusing her cousin’s offer of marriage, but she had required a considerable amount of fortitude to convince her cousin that she meant it, and still more to withstand her mother’s anger and hysterics at her refusal.

Mrs Bennet’s anger had not yet abated, and formed a considerable part of Elizabeth’s motive for walking to Meryton on a day that, if not rainy, should have given no other inducement to go out and brave the increasing cold of late autumn.

“Lizzy!”

The voice hailing her was very welcome, for it belonged to Charlotte Lucas, her nearest neighbour and dearest friend.

Mrs Bennet was inclined to pity Charlotte, but in this, as in so many things, her mother’s judgement was badly lacking.

It could not be denied that Charlotte was rather plain and had a dowry only a little larger than Elizabeth’s own, but these things were nothing to Charlotte’s treasures of a quick wit and great good sense, combined with an even temper and kind heart.

Not everyone was so lucky as to have such a friend.

“Charlotte!” Elizabeth called out in response, hurrying to meet her. “You are walking to Meryton as well?”

Charlotte shook her head. “No, Lizzy, not really — I am walking out to meet you.”

“I am flattered then,” Elizabeth said warmly, taking her friend’s arm in her own. “Shall we walk on as we talk? We shall be too cold if we stand.”

“Yes, indeed. I am in need of a little exercise in any case.”

“I am always glad to see you, Charlotte,” Elizabeth remarked as they walked on, “but you are particularly welcome to me now, for I have been wishing to thank you. It is most neighbourly of you to keep my cousin at Lucas Lodge for nearly every meal. I have quite enough of my mother’s disapproval without suffering Mr Collin’s glowering at me as well. ”

Charlotte did not laugh at this, as Elizabeth had expected her to, nor yet wave off her thanks. Elizabeth looked at her friend, at first curiously, and then with dawning concern.

Nor did her worry decrease on closer inspection. Charlotte looked somehow altered. If Elizabeth was not much mistaken, she looked rather anxious, her thin face pale and drawn.

“There is something I must tell you,” Charlotte said then. Her voice was steady, but Elizabeth thought it took an effort to make it so.

“Please do,” Elizabeth urged her, trying to push down her own worry at Charlotte’s odd behaviour. “You know I would wish to hear anything that you might choose to confide to me.”

“Perhaps not this,” Charlotte replied, with the dry humour that suited her so well. “You shall be the first beyond my parents to know that I am engaged.”

“Engaged!” Elizabeth exclaimed in astonishment. “Charlotte, of course I am most happy for you! But how has this come about, and to whom are you engaged?”

Charlotte did not reply at once, but took a long breath. Watching her and thinking of how very few single men their neighbourhood afforded, Elizabeth felt a dawning suspicion and a gnawing worry. “Charlotte — you cannot possibly mean that —”

“I am engaged to Mr Collins,” Charlotte blurted out.

Once the words had emerged, she could not seem to stop.

“You must not be too quick to judge me. It is a most prudent match, Lizzy, and one made at a time when I had almost ceased to think I might have any chance at marriage. I am seven-and-twenty — well and truly on the shelf, even if I were not also so plain. Mr Collins is not a vicious man. I will be provided for — I will not be a burden to my parents. That is enough.”

In the wake of this flood of words, Elizabeth was silent for a long moment, half-numbed by shock and disillusionment.

Chief among her thoughts were two: that it was done, with nothing to be gained by protest, and that Charlotte was not quite the woman she had thought her.

To make such a marriage of supposed practicality, all the while knowing she would not only never love her husband, but could never respect him, must put an end to any idea of refinement of character.

Perhaps it was the best choice Charlotte could have made. It was certainly the most practical, viewed in a strictly prudential light. But it was not a choice Elizabeth could ever truly respect.

Still, for the sake of the long friendship between them, Elizabeth did her best to answer gently. “I hope you will be very happy, Charlotte, and I hope Mr Collins knows he is marrying very well indeed. My congratulations to you both.”

Charlotte must have expected a more unrestrained response, for she relaxed a little on receiving even these careful, measured congratulations.

Each word she spoke of her expectations for the wedding and marriage to come showed her hopes to be little more than that of having a comfortable, respectable home.

Elizabeth agreed with it all, wishing only to get away from the depressing spectacle of a dear friend who had suddenly become a stranger.

Charlotte must have felt the sudden constraint between them as much as she did herself, for she made an excuse to part ways as soon as they entered Meryton.

Whatever pleasure the day might have had was gone for Elizabeth. Her visit to the hat shop to purchase ribbons was devoid of its usual savour. Even the lending library could not much interest her, and Elizabeth gave back her last novel and picked out a new one with a very distracted attention.

She was at the point of concluding that there had never been a less satisfactory visit to Meryton when the day at last took a turn for the better with the sighting of a group of red-coated militia officers across the street.

There was a gentleman of particularly handsome mien and charming address among them.

No acquaintance could have provided so satisfactory a meeting as Mr Wickham, who hurried to meet her with a highly complimentary degree of eagerness as soon as their eyes met.

As they exchanged bows and greetings, Elizabeth felt as though the encounter might yet make up for all the disappointments she had suffered that day.

Any person of taste would enjoy speaking with so skilled a conversationalist as Mr Wickham, and it did not hurt that he always seemed so very pleased to be talking to her.

Nor was that day an exception. “Miss Elizabeth, how delighted I am to see you today,” Mr Wickham remarked, pairing the words with a warm, intimate smile. “I was so very sorry not to dance with you at the Netherfield Ball, for I had been looking forward to it considerably.”

Elizabeth would have thought it rude to inquire into his absence, but at such an invitation, it was not necessary to resist her curiosity.

“You are very kind, Mr Wickham,” she said.

“Indeed, I should have liked to dance with you as well. It is such a shame you could not attend! I hope you were not unwell?”

He shook his head. “No, I thank you for your concern. But it was a different matter entirely. You, who know how I have suffered, will understand perfectly. As the date approached, I thought better of putting myself in such close contact with Mr Darcy. Though I have nothing for which to reproach myself, how could I justify spoiling such an event? Mr Bingley has done nothing to me, nor yet the good people of this neighbourhood. It would have been very wrong of me to allow an unpleasant scene to arise.”

“You are too good,” Elizabeth told him. “I only wish more gentlemen would be as conscious of the effects their actions may have on others as you are.”