Miss Darcy's Companion: A Pride and Prejudice Variation (27 page)

BY THE SAME AUTHOR

FROM THIS DAY FORWARD

~ THE DARCYS OF PEMBERLEY ~

A Pride & Prejudice Sequel

“A thoughtful and discerning sequel about the Darcys”

Austenesque Reviews ( September 2013 )

On a crisp winter morning in a small country church, Miss Elizabeth Bennet married Mr Darcy, and her quiet, tame existence abruptly changed. The second daughter of a country gentleman is now many different things, to different people. Beloved wife. Mistress of a dauntingly great estate. Reluctant socialite. Daughter. Sister. Cousin. Friend. And as the days of her married life go by, bringing both joy and turmoil, the man who stands beside her is her shelter and comfort in the face of family opposition, peril and heartbreak.

Three very different Christmas seasons come to serve as landmarks to their lives, and there are blissful days and times of sorrow at the old English country house. And before too long, a time would come when Darcy must decide if he is prepared to risk everything for the sake of a full life together – or succumb to the collection of his fears.

* * * *

“Quiet footsteps, eerily quiet, drew him from his trance. He looked up – and followed. The ghostly sound faded as he reached the eastern staircase and he took the steps two at a time, down to the very bottom. A madman’s quest for he knew not what pushed him to the gallery. In the light of the moon, from her portrait, his grandfather’s first wife looked down upon him with the deepest compassion.

He dug his fingers in his hair.

A long, dry sob racked his chest as he pounded the frame of the unfortunate woman’s likeness, and broken gilt plaster fell to the floor. He covered his mouth with his fist, stifling the groan. And ran out of the deathly silent room, chased by his demons.”

THE SUBSEQUENT PROPOSAL

~ A Tale of Pride, Prejudice and Persuasion ~

“Achingly romantic and exquisitely expressive”

Austenesque Reviews ( December 2013 )

A number of broken-hearted characters from Jane Austen’s most romantic novels are thrown together by the vagaries of fate, and all manner of unwise decisions are taken at this vulnerable time. But then their past creeps up on them – and what is there to do but face it, and hope that their convoluted paths will finally lead them to their proper place?

“Elizabeth,” he murmured against her lips, her skin, her hair, and then her lips again. “I cannot forsake you. I cannot. I cannot lose you. I cannot bear to think of a life without you – ‘tis not worth living, ‘tis but a slow death. I cannot lose you. I beg you, do not send me away again. I love you. Elizabeth, I love you!”

Friends, rivals, foes, wrong choices and a duel – Fitzwilliam Darcy’s life is never dull.
‘The Subsequent Proposal’
follows him in his struggles to decipher the troubling enigma of Elizabeth Bennet’s feelings, and correct the worst misjudgement of his life…

THE SECOND CHANCE

~ A Pride & Prejudice – Sense & Sensibility Variation ~

“A Sensible & Sensitive Variation

of Pride & Prejudice!

The expressive tone, the thoughtful and reverent approach to Jane Austen’s characters and plots, the playful narratives, the winks at social commentary – Joana Starnes is a brilliant writer.” Austenesque Reviews (July 2014)

Soon after the Netherfield Ball, a troubled Mr Darcy decides to walk away from a most unsuitable fascination. But heartache is in store for more than just him, and his misguided attempts to ensure the comfort of the woman he loves backfire in ways he had not expected.

“Well, Mr Darcy, what shall it be? The joy of music or of the printed word?” she asked, in a manner so highly reminiscent of their past interactions as to make him almost giddy with renewed hope.

The joy of
you
, he thought. My greatest folly was to ever walk away from it!

THE FALMOUTH CONNECTION

~ A Pride & Prejudice Variation ~

“Exquisitely and expressively written and certainly not to be missed.”

Austenesque Reviews ( November 2014 )

Just as Mr Darcy finally decides to propose to the enticing Miss Elizabeth Bennet, she is summoned to Falmouth to meet a relation she never knew she had.

Thus, the ill-starred Hunsford proposal is avoided, but before he could even begin to understand his luck, adverse circumstances hasten to conspire against him, and Fitzwilliam Darcy is compelled to follow the woman he loves to the far reaches of Cornwall, into a world of deceit and peril, where few – if any – are what they seem to be…

Hammers pounded in his temples and Darcy bit his lip, endeavouring to set aside the pain of his own crushed hopes. Nothing mattered now more than her safety! What vile deeds was Trevellyan contemplating? Justice of Peace, was he – or a wolf left to guard the town? What was Trevellyan’s game? Why did he pursue her? For her inheritance, rather than the God-given blessing that she was? Or for some other reasons of his own?

A wave of nausea threatened and dread gripped him, icy, terrifying – and worse, a thousand times worse than the searing notion of Elizabeth married to another. Was she about to fall into a trap of Trevellyan’s making? Had she, her great-aunt and her entire family put their trust in a dangerous man?

THE UNTHINKABLE TRIANGLE

~ A Pride & Prejudice Variation ~

“The language is poignant and strikingly expressive. Mr Darcy’s ardent love, intense yearning and anguish is palpably felt in every speech, action and description. Beware, readers, it will melt your heart!” Austenesque Reviews ( October 2015 )

All is fair in love and war – or is it? What if Mr Darcy’s rival for Elizabeth’s hand and heart is not some inconsequential stranger, but his dearest, closest friend?

On the eve of what would have been the Hunsford proposal, Mr Darcy receives the shock of his life when Colonel Fitzwilliam returns to Rosings an engaged man. Engaged to none other than Miss Elizabeth Bennet. How is he to reconcile the claims of loyalty and kinship with the deepest yearning of a heart that would be forever hers?

“Eyes tightly shut against the horrifying future, Darcy dug his fingers in his hair. Lost to him forever. Not merely lost, but promised to his cousin – firmly in his life, but never his! How in God’s name was he to bear it and not become unhinged? How was he to have her at his table, and not betray himself? How was he to see her, time and again, and give no sign that he wanted her more than he had ever wanted any woman? How was he to keep up the pretence, day after excruciating day?

There was no escape from the hell of his own making, and it burned like molten lead to know he could have spoken months before Fitzwilliam had even met her. He could have spoken last November, and by now they might have already been wed.

She would have been his, not Richard’s. And if his cousin should have had the horrible misfortune of falling in love with his wife, then it would have been Fitzwilliam’s hell, not his. It would have been for him to be torn asunder between loyalty and a need so deep that it burned its way into his very soul.”

* *

Darcy kissed her with a passion bordering on desperation, then burst out more fiercely than ever, “Elizabeth, you must leave me room to hope! Or, as God is my witness, by this time tomorrow I will have carried you off to Gretna Green and damn the consequences!”

* * * *

All are available at Amazon, in Kindle format and in print.

COMING SOON

MR BENNET’S DUTIFUL DAUGHTER

~ A Pride & Prejudice Variation ~

When Colonel Fitzwilliam’s disclosures are interrupted by the bearer of distressing news from Longbourn, Miss Elizabeth Bennet is compelled to consider an offer she would have otherwise dismissed out of hand. An offer of marriage from the all-too-proud Mr Darcy.

Yet how is she to live with a husband she hardly knows and does not love? Would she be trapped in a marriage of convenience while events conspire to divide them? Or would love grow as, day by day and hour after hour, she learns to understand the man she married, before she loses his trust and his heart?

MR BENNET’S DUTIFUL DAUGHTER

Excerpt from Chapter 1

Elizabeth Bennet was ready to go home. Not merely ready – she was eager. Her stay at Hunsford had lasted long enough. While it was good to see her dear friend Charlotte, the other delights of the sojourn were far less palatable. Just as she had told her father upon leaving Longbourn, of such delights a little could go a very long way. Mr Collins and his pompous and self-gratulatory absurdities. Lady Catherine holding court at Rosings. Her mousy and insignificant daughter. And last but by no means least, a certain gentleman from Derbyshire, whose arrival into Kent had put the finishing touches on what had already begun to be a trying visit.

It was a mercy that he did not call at the parsonage often – nowhere near as often as his far more agreeable cousin. How strange that such different men should be so close, not only in blood ties but also in terms of a longstanding friendship.

Whenever Colonel Fitzwilliam spoke of Mr Darcy, it was with obvious affection. What that gentleman had done to deserve it, and indeed what they would find to talk about when they were alone, Elizabeth could not tell, although from the colonel’s intimations Mr Darcy was very different from the way he presented himself in Kent.

For her part, Elizabeth had perceived no difference between his Kent and Hertfordshire personae. The silences were still uniformly long, the manner equally cold and distant. And if there were exceptions, they were nothing but baffling. Such as his willingness for conversation and, unheard-of, even a smile or two the other evening when he had joined her and the colonel at the pianoforte. Or his pithy remarks when he would chance upon her in her ramblings with perverse regularity. No further than the previous day he had made some passing references to Rosings that suggested he fully expected her to be staying at the great house upon her next visit into Kent.

That was about as likely as the visit itself occurring any time soon. Lady Catherine must be as inclined to extend her an invitation as she herself to eagerly accept it. Goodness knows what the vexing man was thinking – not that his opinions were of any interest to her.

At least that morning he had not intruded upon her walk, praised be, and she had been favoured with more agreeable society. She had encountered Colonel Fitzwilliam and the ramble was proven even more pleasant for his company, although his conversation might have unsettled her in different circumstances. Had she set her heart upon him, that is. Because he had hinted in a light-hearted manner that second sons could not marry where they chose, without some consideration to dowry or connections.

It was just as well that she had wisely determined not to pin any hopes in that quarter, nor make herself unhappy over him. He was a pleasant man who in understanding and temper would have answered all her wishes. But Elizabeth was not the sort to pine over blatant impossibilities. Nor was she in any haste to become more closely related to Mr Darcy.

So she replied in an equally cheerful manner to the colonel’s comments about the minimum requirement of a dowry for a second son, and then was glad to move to different topics. Such as the colonel’s joint guardianship of Mr Darcy’s sister, and later Mr Darcy’s closest friend, whom he took prodigious care of.

“Yes, I really believe Darcy does take care of him in those points where he most wants care. From something that my cousin told me on out journey hither…” the colonel began, only to stop mid-sentence with an exclamation. “Ah! The man himself,” he observed, motioning with the silver end of his cane towards the rider who was approaching them at such uncommon speed that it might have been considered reckless. “I wonder what makes him drive the poor beast so. I can see why he might need to ride off some devils after hour upon hour spent at Rosings, but…”

The colonel trailed off and Elizabeth was rather glad of it. It would not do to engage in gossip about Lady Catherine’s clear determination to have Mr Darcy for a son in law, matched only by the gentleman’s disinterest in thus obliging his relation.

The fact that the rider had by then spotted them and had altered course with the clear intention of joining them was met with very different sentiments. Was she to have every one of her walks through Rosings’ woods plagued with his company?

With the greatest effort, Elizabeth smoothed her features and concealed her vexation. It was a fruitless effort because it flared again, beyond concealment, when the gentleman in question dismounted some ten yards away and proceeded to issue instructions – nay, peremptory requests – without preamble; indeed, without anything but the most cursory of greetings.

“Fitzwilliam, I must ask you to ride back and prepare for departure. The carriage is being readied as we speak. I shall escort Miss Bennet to the parsonage in your stead.”

The colonel’s temper must have been far more ductile than she had imagined, Elizabeth inwardly scoffed, for instead of showing the same sort of vexation that roiled inside her, he seemed to believe his cousin’s demanding manner deserved the time of day and his immediate attention. So much so that he rushed forth to meet his cousin halfway.

“What is amiss?” he asked at once, then his tone grew heavy with concern mingled with outright fury. “Not that rogue again! Come, speak out, man!”

“Nay, nothing of that sort, rest easy. Forgive me for alarming you,” Mr Darcy hastened to reassure him, oddly considerate, and Colonel Fitzwilliam breathed an obvious sigh of relief. “But you have guessed aright, something
is
amiss,” was all that Elizabeth could hear from where she was standing, before Mr Darcy’s tones dropped so low that they were barely audible.

The colonel’s exclamation of “Good God! Of course, Darcy, at once,” was much easier to hear, although not to comprehend. Nor was the fleeting glance he sent her way or his altered manner when he turned to voice his apologies for having to leave her in his cousin’s capable hands, for Darcy was in the right, he must prepare for immediate departure.

Then he swung himself into the saddle and was gone just as fast as Mr Darcy had approached them, leaving Elizabeth baffled and more than a little vexed at being thus abandoned into Mr Darcy’s company. She had no intention to place herself into his hands, capable or otherwise, and lost no time in telling him precisely that.

“You must have a vast deal to do as well, Sir. I must thank you for the offer to escort me, but there is no need. I can easily find my own way. Pray do not hesitate to return to Rosings.”

That Mr Darcy hesitated was beyond question, as shown by his highly agitated manner. But he made no move to leave her as suggested. Instead, he ran his fingers through his hair, which incongruously prompted Elizabeth to wonder in passing what his emergency might be. It was none of her own affair and she did not wish to know, but it must have been something grave indeed to make him rush out without a hat or, for that matter, coat and gloves.

Strangely enough, once Mr Darcy had conquered his agitation sufficiently to speak, it was to give voice to her own musings.

“Miss Bennet, I have just been informed of a grave matter. Perhaps you ought to sit.”

The suggestion might have moved her to hilarity, given their location. He spoke as though they were in a parlour with plenty of seating choices, not in the middle of a well-tended forest with not so much as a decaying log in sight. Yet she did not laugh because, for the first time, the offer of a seat gave her the horrible suspicion that, in some way, the emergency concerned her. And then she received the dreaded confirmation.

“Forgive me, that was foolish,” he said hastily and came to take her hands, as though to steady her in the patent absence of a seat, as he delivered, “I am distraught to be the bearer of ill-tidings, but… I fear your father is in a bad way. Word came from Longbourn of an attack. They wrote of apoplexy.”

His hands moved to her shoulders, and timely too, because she reeled.

“Forgive me,” he said again. “I knew not how to say this and give you less pain.”

His voice was low, so low that she could barely hear it through the vast tumult scattering her senses.

“What…? How…?” was all she could say through her wretchedness and confusion.

By then, she was speaking into the folds of his neckcloth, too shocked to even notice, let alone take umbrage at being brought very close, the firm grip still on her shoulders. The subdued voice rumbled in her ear, with the third apology in as many minutes.

“Forgive me, this is all I know. Your sister sent no further tidings. But I thought you would wish to go to them at once.”

The last words sparked an immediate reaction.

“Yes! At once!” she breathlessly cried, stepping swiftly back from the unacknowledged closeness to clasp her hands together, then bring one to her temple.

“Fear not, you will be with them by nightfall. You must have heard me telling my cousin that my carriage is being readied. Chances are it would arrive at the parsonage before us. We can set off as soon as a maid has gathered your belongings.”

The words finally cut through her confusion.

“Your carriage?”

“Yes, of course. Time is of the essence. I imagined you would not object.”

“No… No… That is most kind. But…” The haze dispersed a little further. “Why would you? And how do you know of this?”

Under her very eyes, the countenance before her altered into a look of disgust bordering on hatred.

“Collins burst upon my aunt at breakfast. He read your express and hastened to come up to ask for leave of absence, without even troubling himself to find and notify you first. I had no notion till this morning that Longbourn was entailed upon him – nor how devoid of Christian charity he is. This vile excuse of a man of the cloth would cast you into the hedgerows as soon as he has the chance, the unmitigated– ”

The forceful rant broke off and the gentleman drew the deepest breath before resuming, just as forcefully.

“I will not have it, Elizabeth! To the best of my abilities, I will not have it.”

The shock caused by the display of temper greatly surpassed that of the declaration and of hearing herself addressed by her Christian name. Before she could collect herself enough to request clarification Mr Darcy spoke again, still prey to the greatest agitation.

“I know this is wretched timing, but it must be said. I would have found a way to speak with you this evening, were it not for–… I should have spoken days, weeks ago. No matter!”

His right hand cut forcefully through the air, once, and also cut the second rant short – more words than she had heard him speak in hours. And then his hand found hers, as did the other, to clasp them both between their chests, brought close again with one determined step.

“For all the poor timing, you must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you, Elizabeth. Marry me. As soon as it could be arranged. If we are wed before–… That is, if the worst should happen…” He broke off again and released one of her hands to nervously run his fingers through his hair. “Damnation! How can this be said? I hate giving you pain in the midst of my proposal, but if we were to marry before you have to go into mourning, then you would not be unprotected for a whole blasted year and I would have the right to keep Collins at bay. He might still stake his claims as soon as he could do so, the wretched scoundrel, but you would not be at the mercy of strangers before I am allowed to ensure your welfare. Can you see my meaning and not judge me for importuning you at such a trying time?”

Then there was silence and he stood there, waiting. Waiting for an answer to something that made no sense to her. No sense at all. Ardent love. Marriage. Mr Darcy. Mr Collins. Mourning.

Elizabeth wrenched her hands free to cover her face, as the last heartrending notion cut through the haze, dispersing it with the heat of anger. How could he speak of her father as though he were already gone?

Yet the flaring anger did not survive the overwhelming tide of fear and misery.

“I must go home,” was all she could choke out.

“Of course. There is no time to lose. Let us take the shortest way back to the parsonage.” A strong arm was wrapped around her waist. “Come, my love, let us not tarry. We can speak further of this on the way.”

The steadying support was withdrawn before she could protest at it or at the appellation, and the arm was placed under hers instead. She could not object to that. At least not until she found her feet, her balance and a fast and sure step that would take her back to the personage in haste and silence.