Darcy and Elizabeth What If? Collection 2 Read online

  He cut an imposing figure in his blue tailcoat, which was from the best London tailor and which was so well made it moulded itself to his shoulders and fit exactly across his chest. His shirt was a brilliant white and the ruffles down the front and at his wrists were crisp in their perfection. His noble profile was topped with abundant dark hair and his jawline looked as though it had been sculpted. Everything about him proclaimed his wealth, and his air was that of an important and influential gentleman.

  But for all his wealth and position, something was missing and he asked himself again: Is this life, with all its wealth and comfort, truly joy?

  And he answered: no, it is not.

  The days of his boyhood, they had been joy. Tramping through the woods on the Pemberley estate with his friends on misty autumn mornings, his senses filled with the smell of wood smoke, the sound of scurrying animals and the sting of cold air on his cheek: those things had made him feel truly alive. He had revelled in the feel of the branches beneath his hands as he ducked beneath them, the texture of the wood being rough and interesting. He had gloried in the uneven ground rising and falling beneath his feet as he walked, and the exhilaration of running and climbing, which made the blood pump round his body. And he had been elated at reaching the top of a tree and looking around him for miles, every sense alert as he balanced on a branch and steadied himself with one hand against the trunk. All this had been joy.

  But now his position was too dignified to allow him to do any of those things. He never ran or climbed or laughed, and he missed those simple pleasures.

  Which brought his thoughts back to the Hallowe’en party, for it would be full of simple pleasures. He had a sudden longing to experience them, but it was impossible. He was Mr Darcy of Pemberley. He could not go bobbing for apples, nor gathering them either. He would lose his dignity.

  The door opened behind him. He did not need to turn his head to see who it was. The expensive perfume was enough to tell him it was Caroline Bingley.

  He continued to look out of the window. He did not wish to be rude to Miss Bingley but neither did he wish to speak to her. She had a malicious streak and although she sometimes amused him she more often annoyed him. But for the sake of his friend, Charles Bingley, he tolerated her, although sometimes it was hard.

  Today was one of those times. He wanted to be alone with his memories of a happy and carefree childhood. But it was not to be. Miss Bingley had found him and Miss Bingley would remain.

  He could never relax with her because she would take the slightest softening in his manner as a sign he was warming to her, and she would convince herself he was falling in love with her if she could. But he could never fall in love with a woman like Caroline Bingley. She was all artifice and show; all superficiality with no true personality underneath. She said what she thought he wanted to hear, instead of what she really thought or felt. Or else she said whatever she thought would advance her aim of winning him, as well as winning his ten thousand a year.

  And so he said nothing, leaving her to be the first to speak.

  ‘Ah, there you are,’ she said brightly.

  She was not in the slightest bit perturbed that he had his back to her, nor that he did not turn round. She simply went over and joined him at the window.

  ‘I know exactly what you are thinking,’ she said.

  ‘I doubt it,’ he replied.

  His words and his tone of voice were not encouraging, but Caroline needed no encouragement.

  ‘You are thinking it will be insupportable to have a noisy, vulgar group invading Netherfield next week and picking apples, quite as though they were farm hands – and I am sure some of them look like farm hands! Did you see Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s brown complexion? What can she be thinking of, to go out in all weathers without a parasol? And what can her mother be thinking of, to let her grow so tanned and coarse? Quite as if she worked in the fields all day, instead of undertaking the occupations of a lady.’

  She paused, but when he did not reply she changed tactics.

  ‘And that is not all,’ she said. ‘I hear she walks about the neighbourhood unchaperoned whenever she wishes, without any regard to propriety. She does not take so much as a maid with her, nor even one of her sisters. She simply goes where she pleases and does as she wants, without any sense of decorum.’

  Mr Darcy knew that Miss Bingley intended to give him a disgust of Miss Elizabeth, but instead her words did the opposite. They opened up an attractive vista of freedom with Miss Elizabeth at the centre of it, and he admired Miss Elizabeth for claiming that freedom. Not for her the meaningless rules of society. She had the character and personality to go her own way.

  He imagined her wandering through the woods in the spring, with her sprigged gown matching the bluebells that carpeted the woodland floor; or walking through fields of poppies in the summer with her fine white muslin gown fluttering around her ankles and her face turned up to the sun; or strolling through crisp woods in the autumn, her pelisse matching the bronze leaves and the wind putting roses in her cheeks; or traversing snowy lanes in the winter, wrapped up in a cloak with a bonnet and muff, as the cold air brightened her eyes and made them shine.

  He smiled as the images danced before him, and then he frowned, because he should not be spending so much time thinking about he. And yet, from the moment he had first seen her at the Meryton assembly to the present, she had affected him in some way.

  He thought back to that first encounter at the Meryton assembly, which had taken place a month before. He had been keen to criticise her when Mr Bingley had wanted to introduce her to him, and that in itself was unlike him. He would usually not exert himself in any fashion where a stranger was concerned, not even to notice or criticize them. But something about her had made him notice her, and ever since that inauspicious first meeting he had been unusually aware of her.

  He should not be drawn to her. She was impertinent and she liked to tease him, instead of fawning on him. But perhaps that was the reason he was interested. She was herself, not the person she thought she ought to be, or the person everyone else thought she should be. She had her own character and she would let nothing dim its light.

  Like a moth to the flame, he felt himself drawn to that light. It was the light of happiness, freedom, liveliness and laughter. It was all the things he had lost. It was joy.

  But it was dangerous for a moth to go too near the flame, He must not allow himself to be attracted to Miss Elizabeth, with her bright and lively nature, since he was already as good as engaged to Miss Anne de Bourgh.

  As he thought of it, his spirits sank. It was a good match, and one sought by all his family, but even so it left him feeling cold. If he was anyone else he could simply marry elsewhere. But Mr Darcy of Pemberley did not have the freedom to choose a bride, and to marry whomever he pleased. Mr Darcy had an estate to think of, and tenants, and so he must marry an heiress. And he had an old family name with a long lineage, so he must marry someone from an illustrious family.

  He must be careful to hold Miss Elizabeth at arm’s length and not give any hint of the admiration he felt for her. He must not do anything which would give rise to gossip. He must remain aloof and treat Miss Elizabeth with cold disdain.

  But for the first time in his life he found himself wishing he were an ordinary member of the gentry, and that he could live his life as he pleased.

  Somewhere at the back of his mind, that thought took root and started to flourish, as though it were being nurtured by some unseen force . . .

  Lady Anne was very pleased with her first efforts to save her son from a lifetime with Miss Anne de Bourgh and encourage quite a different match instead. It had been easy to remind Miss Elizabeth Bennet of the poem she had learnt at her father’s knee, contrasting the dullness of duty and the pleasures of joy, by nudging it to the top of her mind. And its effect on Mr Darcy had been startling – so startling that Lady Anne had not had to nudge his memories of childhood joy to the surface, they had risen all by themselves. She was glad he had had a happy childhood, and she had to admit that it had been in spite of her, rather than because of her. Her husband was right: she had been very proud in her lifetime, thinking constantly of her position as an earl’s daughter. It was because she had married a man without a title, of course. It had made her feel she had to remind people of her own status, when really such a thing had not been necessary.

  Her husband had had much to bear!

  As she thought of her husband, she thought fondly of all the years they had spent together, living out their days in the beautiful Pemberley estate, and blessed with two wonderful children. It had been a love match, and despite the fact that her friends had thought her mad to marry a man without a title, the marriage had been a happy one.

  And now she wanted the same kind of happy marriage for her son.

  She had made a good start, but there was one thing she had not bargained on. Or, rather, one person, and that was Miss Caroline Bingley.

  After overhearing Miss Bingley’s scathing remarks about Miss Elizabeth, it was clear that Miss Bingley wanted Mr Darcy for herself, but she would make him a terrible wife. She wanted him for his money and position, and had nothing to offer in return except her dowry, which Mr Darcy did not need. She had a mean and spiteful character and would make Mr Darcy extremely unhappy if he chose to marry her – which, of course, he would not. For he was a good judge of character and knew exactly how to value Miss Bingley.

  But still, Lady Anne saw the dangers. If Miss Bingley continued to criticize Miss Elizabeth, it was possible that Miss Bingley would undo all her own good work.

  The thought steeled Lady Anne’s determination. She would let no-one – and certainly not Miss Caroline Bingley – stand in her way. If Caroline became too much of a nuisance, Lady Anne had several amusing illusions at her disposal, and Miss Bingley would find out what it was like to cross a ghost!

  Chapter Three

  Over the next few days, the Bennet house began to take on a festive feel. Lydia and Kitty hid in corners, whispering and giggling. Mary decided to write out Robert Burns’s poem in her best handwriting so that it could hang on the wall in her aunt’s parlour. Elizabeth and Jane, meanwhile, made many of the preliminary, practical arrangements. Unusual ingredients started to appear in the kitchen and lists grew shorter as items were crossed off when they were found or purchased. Even Mr Bennet was heard to remark that he thought the party a good idea, although Elizabeth suspected this was prompted by the fact he would have the house to himself for the evening, rather than any desire to attend the party.

  Longbourn was not the only place to take on a festive feel. The town square began to change in significant ways, too. The officers no longer rambled about when they were off duty, or whiled away the hours playing cards or loitering in the circulating library with a view to flirtation. Instead, they spent their time collecting unwanted pieces of timber of every description for the bonfire. They acquired all manner of broken pieces of wood from people who were disposing of them, ranging from broken carts to garden palings. They visited the local woods and laid claim to fallen branches, and they carried their spoils back to town with much laughing and joking.

  Elizabeth paid daily visits to her aunt Philips’s house so they could discuss their plans and arrange everything that was necessary. Sometimes she was accompanied by one or more of her sisters, and sometimes she was alone.

  ‘I am glad you are here by yourself today, Lizzy, for I need your help,’ Mrs Philips remarked on one of Elizabeth’s visits, as they went through to the parlour. ‘I am planning to surprise Lydia and her friends, so you must promise me not to breathe a word of this.’

  Elizabeth promised.

  ‘Well, then. Some of the younger officers are going to help me make this a party to remember. When we play the game where the unmarried young ladies look into the mirror and see the man they are going to marry over their shoulder, Mr Mount and Mr Staithes have agreed to appear from behind a curtain and cast their reflections in the looking glass! To make things more interesting, they are going to disguise themselves with a variety of false moustaches and beards, so I need you to help me make some from wool and horsehair and other bits and pieces.’

  Elizabeth smiled at this. It would make the event lively and exciting for the younger ladies, particularly the silly ones who would believe everything they saw!

  ‘Very well, aunt!’ said Elizabeth.

  ‘Now, the room will be dark, or nearly so, for otherwise the disguises will not pass muster. I know that Lydia was thinking of using hand mirrors, but the looking glass will need to be at a particular angle for the trick to work and so I have decided to use the cheval glass. There will only be one or two candles lit and the fire will be banked down so that it sheds very little light. I think, with all these precautions, our game will be effective. I am saving the best trick for Lydia. I am going to send two officers to appear in the mirror when it is her turn and give her two husbands! Won’t she be pleased?’

  Elizabeth thought she would be very pleased indeed!

  Mrs Philips led Elizabeth through to the sitting-room. Pieces of netting were laid out on the table with hanks of horsehair, wool and yarn, as well as horse chestnuts and horse chestnut shells.

  ‘What are the horse chestnuts for?’ asked Elizabeth.

  ‘They are for a game where the young ladies are blindfolded and encouraged to feel their future husband’s chins,’ said Mrs Philips. ‘The horse chestnut shells are for unshaven chins and the polished horse chestnuts are for smooth chins.’

  Elizabeth burst out laughing.

  ‘What fun we shall have!’ said Mrs Philips. ‘Now, let us get to work.’

  They began busily threading the various wools, hairs and yarns through the gaps in the netting, knotting them at the back, until they had made a selection of false hair. Then they cut the netting into beard, moustache or sideburn shapes, with hooks to go over the ears. Cords were attached to either side so the ensembles could be tied behind the head for extra security. Then they used the left over materials to make wigs.

  At last, Mrs Philips sat back and looked at the collection with satisfaction.

  ‘We have earned our tea,’ she said.

  She rang the bell and before long Elizabeth was drinking tea and eating hot, buttered scones.

  ‘Jenny has been perfecting her recipe for the scones. I mean to serve them at the party,’ said Mrs Philips.

  Elizabeth said how good they were, much to her aunt’s delight, and treated herself to another one.

  Once tea was over, she took her leave of her aunt and went out into the market square. The bonfire by now was about five feet high and she went over to examine it more closely. Mr Denny was there, talking to someone she could not see about the fire. As she rounded the bonfire a little further, she saw who that someone was.

  ‘Mr Darcy!’ she exclaimed.

  Mr Darcy turned towards her with a haughty expression and said, with a bow, ‘Miss Elizabeth.’

  Elizabeth dropped a formal curtsey and said, ‘I did not expect to find you here.’

  For he was the last person she had expected to be discussing anything as humdrum as a bonfire.

  ‘Mr Darcy has just been telling me the best way to make the fire,’ said Mr Denny. ‘I have sent Staithes off to find some more men so we can dismantle ours and build it again in a better way.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Elizabeth, for now it was all explained. It was typical of Mr Darcy to think he knew better than everyone else, for it was obvious he considered himself vastly superior to the rest of the human race. He had no doubt enjoyed criticising everything about the present fire, so that Mr Denny felt obliged to build it again. ‘How kind of him,’ she said with a mischievous glint in her eye.

  Mr Darcy turned towards her with a curious expression.

  Elizabeth was pleased to have intrigued him because Mr Darcy needed someone to intrigue him. He needed to be reminded that, here, he was not the lord and master of all he surveyed and that not everyone was at his beck and call.

  ‘Yes, isn’t it?’ said Mr Denny, who was as pleased as a puppy. ‘Very kind of him. very kind indeed.’

  Mr Darcy appeared gratified with the praise. Or, no, not gratified, Elizabeth corrected herself. He seemed settled again, as though he had received his due; as if everything in the world had once more resumed its expected place.

  ‘I am surprised Mr Darcy knows how to build a bonfire,’ she said, turning towards him.

  ‘We used to have a fire at Pemberley every year, although the custom has since died out,’ he returned. ‘But when my parents were alive it was a regular event.’

  ‘And did you build it yourself?’ she teased him.

  ‘No. But I used to help collect the wood when I was a boy.’

  She was surprised, and she could see by his face that he was glad to have intrigued her, as she had intrigued him. There was a definite hint of smugness at the corner of his mouth.

  ‘There were always fallen branches that needed to be burnt,’ he went on. ‘Or tree stumps that need to be disposed of, and a fire was useful. The Pemberley bonfires were thirty feet high and were very impressive.’

  ‘I can well imagine,’ said Elizabeth, who was impressed despite herself, just thinking about it.

  ‘Food and drink were served, and the bonfires were famous,’ he said.

  Elizabeth looked at the man before her and saw him with new eyes. He was dressed in a many-caped greatcoat, and beneath it she caught a glimpsed of a formal tailcoat and breeches. And yet, in her mind’s eye, she imagined him as a young man in a rough leather coat and breeches, with his hair rumpled from working in the woods and hauling fuel to the fire. Then she imagined him standing beside the fire, laughing and talking with friends and neighbours as he ate potatoes baked in the base of the fire, and apples toasted in the flames.

  This agreeable picture was dispersed a minute later when he said, ‘The villagers and tenants all found it entertaining.’