The Secrets of Darcy and Elizabeth: A Pride and Prejudice Variation (2 page)

“I am proud, arrogant, and insensitive,” Darcy ticked the points off on his fingers. “Also, her opinion of my character was shaped by conversations with our great friend George Wickham….And….I helped persuade Bingley to separate himself from her sister.”

“That was
her
sister you told me about?” Richard groaned. “I am afraid I conveyed that information to Miss Bennet.” He appeared genuinely contrite.

Darcy waved this concern away. “I does not matter. No doubt she would have discovered it another way.”

“These do not seem to me to be insurmountable obstacles. You can explain the truth behind your dealings with Wickham and fix the situation with Bingley. Then you only need to be nicer to her…I know that will be the hardest part.” He gave Darcy a wicked grin, his teasing nature resurrecting itself.

Darcy stood and started pacing, rather unsteadily, on the carpet before his desk. “I already refuted Wickham’s lies in a letter to her. I also confessed my sins to Bingley two weeks ago. Hopefully he will forgive me someday.”

“That was well done,” Richard nodded approvingly. “Will he return to see the sister?”

“I believe he will visit Netherfield next week.” Darcy stared bleakly at the pattern on the carpet.

“You should accompany him. Perhaps you can change Miss Elizabeth’s opinion of you.” Richard’s voice was full of hearty encouragement.

Darcy considered it for a moment; perhaps his letter had altered her view of his character, but, no, it could not possibly change enough. He shook his head in despair. “I am afraid it is a hopeless cause. She made that abundantly clear.”

“Surely there is some small reason for hope.”

“She said that she had not known me a month before she knew I was the last man in the world she could be prevailed upon to marry. I defy you to find cause for hope in that.”

Richard gave a low whistle. “That is…impressive…”

Darcy raised his eyebrows in appreciation of Richard’s reaction. “Indeed.”

Richard rubbed his chin with his palm. “Well, she is a spirited woman with decided opinions.”

“Yes.”
That is why I love her
.

“So, may I ask, what purpose does the port serve?” Richard’s voice was gentler and less teasing. Did he sympathize with Darcy’s despair?

“The theory behind the port is that it dulls the pain and causes me to forget, at least for a little while. It also helps me sleep. And then the following day I feel so awful that I cannot think of anything else.”

“So that is the theory. How does it work in reality?” Richard asked.

Darcy shook his head, realized that it made the room sway, and stopped. “A life in tatters with drink is still a life in tatters.”

“Surely it will get better with time,” Richard said encouragingly.

“So I believed as well, but I have yet to see it.”

“You need a distraction – something to take your mind from her,” Richard mused. Then he stood suddenly. “I know! Some friends and I are going to Paris in two days’ time. You should accompany us. It will provide exactly the distraction you require.”

“Paris?” Darcy’s port-soaked brain was having difficulty absorbing the rapid shift in the conversation.

“Yes, since the Treaty was signed, English visitors have been flocking to the city. We will spend two weeks seeing the marvels of Paris. Come with us!” Darcy had to admit that his cousin’s energy and enthusiasm was contagious.

However, the thought of going anywhere was anathema in his present condition. “No. I would—”

“You would rather brood and cause Georgiana distress? Come with us! A change of scenery is just what you need. Maybe you’ll meet some beautiful English heiress doing her Grand Tour.” Enthusiastic about his plan, Richard was walking restlessly about the room.

“No, I will never love another.”
I will never get married. It will be up to Georgiana to provide an heir for Pemberley.
He knew this truth in his heart, but did not voice this thought out loud.

“Fine, my friends and I will attend balls and you can visit museums. Come with us!” He gave Darcy a calculating look. “You know I will hound you until you agree.”

Darcy shook his head, unequal to the task of arguing with his cousin. There were good reasons not to visit France, he knew, but at the moment he was having trouble marshalling those reasons to his cause. “Very well.” He sagged in his chair. Maybe it would do him good. At least he could get drunk in France just as easily as in London.

Darcy stared out of the window at the passing scenery. Picturesque hills and gardens rushed past the window. He wished to be excited about the view and the prospect of visiting a country that had been all but closed to English citizens because of war. But instead his mind fixated on Elizabeth, musing about how she would enjoy the scenery and fantasizing about having her accompanying him on his travels. Again and again he recalled her arch glances and bright smiles.

Darcy still wondered why he had acquiesced so easily to Richard’s blandishments, although the thought of being in a different country from Elizabeth was very appealing. Perhaps the English Channel was wide enough that it could dispel some of his heartache.

I need never see her again
, he reminded himself. But then he recalled that he must surely encounter her when Bingley and her sister inevitably wed.
What if she has found someone else by then?
He tormented himself with the thought that she might be engaged the next time he saw her.

He had often entertained the uncharitable hope that that Elizabeth was languishing at Longbourn regretting Wickham’s perfidy.
But, what if she never read my letter? What if she did not believe it?
Or, worse yet, maybe she still cared for Wickham despite everything. One horrible night it occurred to Darcy that if she had not read his letter she might marry Wickham. But, he consoled himself, she had no fortune, so Wickham would not pursue her.
I hope
.

This thought led inevitably to the recollection of her words when she refused him and the expression of her countenance. Before the day of the proposal, he had seen her teasing, happy, even offended, but he had never before experienced her white-hot anger.
From the very beginning of my acquaintance with you, your manners impressed me with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain of the feelings of others.
He grimaced, musing that he seemed to have a special talent for calling forth rage from an otherwise amiable woman.

Not for the first time he wondered what had possessed him to propose to her in such an offensive way. Although in the past week he had achieved some small measure of understanding.
I occupied my time thinking about my own attachment to her and devoted no time wondering about her regard for me.
He had assumed she would be honored and pleased by his offer. If he were honest with himself, he would have to admit that he had expected her to accept him because of his fortune. Any hesitancy she might experience about his character would be overcome by the honor of his addresses and the material benefits he could bestow on her and her family. The irony was not lost on him. After shunning fortune hunters for years, he had presumed that his fortune would win him the woman he loved.
Has it so warped my very soul?
Had he actually begun to believe he was irresistible after experiencing years of women fawning over him?

He had believed Elizabeth liked him. All those teasing conversations…Now he realized she employed humor to cope with uncomfortable circumstances. But he had never considered her emotions at any great length. This had been, he realized, only one of many miscalculations.
I wanted her to love me, but I never stopped to wonder if she did
.

He shook his head to clear away a vision of Elizabeth welcoming him with a warm smile; such love would never come to pass. Before the proposal he could never escape thoughts of her and such musings had been a guilty pleasure, but now these visions caused nothing but pain.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, drawing his cousin’s attention as he glanced across the carriage with concern. It was a mark of how distressed Darcy must appear that his cousin had been more anxious than teasing with him over the past few days. Darcy managed a wan smile for his cousin, but knew that it had not reassured Richard; the concern did not leave his eyes.

Darcy returned his gaze to the passing scenery. France was truly a lovely country and the early June weather meant that the passing scenery was green and lush. They were nearing Paris, where they would join two of Colonel Fitzwilliam’s friends, Major Broadmoor and Colonel Wilkins, whom Darcy had met previously and knew would be good traveling companions.

“So, what shall we do tomorrow?” Richard asked conversationally.

“My first object is a visit to the Louvre. What are your plans?” Throughout the trip, Richard had complained about Darcy’s silence, so he found it easier to pretend an interest in conversation.

“I suppose I could accompany you to a museum. But, my first stop is a patisserie.” He rubbed his stomach in appreciation

“I should have known! You came all this way just for the French pastries.”

“Mais, oui
,” Richard responded with a grin. “Is there any superior reason?” Darcy gave him the ghost of a smile. “I received a letter from my mother’s friend Mrs. Radnor. She is married to a Frenchman, Robert du Plessy, who is now an advisor to Bonaparte himself. They have a grand house in a fashionable part of Paris.”

“Your mother associates with one of Napoleon’s advisors?” Darcy arched an eyebrow skeptically at Richard.

“We are no longer at war, remember?”

“Old enmities are not easily forgotten. Many people in London do not believe the peace will hold.”

“So it is fortuitous we are visiting Paris while we can, eh?” Richard gave Darcy a rakish smile. “Mrs. Radnor has invited us to a ball she is holding at her townhouse the day after next. Would you like to attend?”

“A ball full of the
beau monde
of Paris?” This was precisely the type of social event he had been avoiding in London.

“I believe it will be populated mostly by visitors like us or Englishmen living in France. Lady Radnor wrote that she grows lonely for her countrymen and holds balls to bring them together.”

“That is no inducement. I do not want to attend a ball,” Darcy scowled at the thought. “I left England to escape them.”

“I thought you left England to escape Miss Bennet.” Richard replied promptly.

“I still do not wish to attend any balls.” Darcy said firmly.

“Perhaps you will be introduced to a comely English lass.”

“Poor girl.”

“Or perhaps a fun-loving French lass.” Darcy simply scowled at this suggestion, but Richard grinned, not at all discouraged. “I have not conceded defeat. We will improve your spirits somehow.”

“You shall have to find another means of doing so. I will not attend any balls.”

Darcy surveyed the ballroom at Radnor House.
How did I let Richard talk me into this?
He wondered for the hundredth time. At one time he had felt he was master of his life, but now – between Elizabeth’s rejection and Richard’s machinations – everything seemed to spiral beyond his control.

It was quite a crush, all over the ballroom ladies in glittering dresses and gentlemen in brocaded waistcoats and lace cravats were jostling and maneuvering just to edge their way from one place to another. It was hot. It was loud. Everyone had to raise their voices to be heard. It was exactly the kind of event Darcy hated. Watching the milling throngs, he contemplated strategies that would allow him to depart early.

Balls were particularly painful because they could only remind him of Elizabeth. Elizabeth laughing at him behind her fan at the Meryton Assembly. Elizabeth lightly grasping his hand during the dance at Netherfield. He even thought fondly of Elizabeth’s rejection of him as a dance partner at Lucas Lodge.
I would give anything for a glimpse of her – even that angry and impertinent Elizabeth!
He sternly reminded himself that a glimpse would do him no good. She would never be his, but was destined to be some other man’s bride. Angrily, he attempted to push that thought, and its accompanying despair, away.

As he watched the revelers, he realized he had been foolish to believe that Paris would help him forget Elizabeth. Everywhere he experienced reminders of her: a yellow bonnet on the street; the melodious sound of a woman’s laugh; a clever turn of phrase by a traveling companion. Even the sight of lavender ribbon in a shop window sent him into an emotional whirlwind one afternoon.
If Richard knew the extent of my infatuation, he would give me up as a lost cause immediately
. Even as he watched the crowds of revelers, he noticed a woman with a hairstyle similar to one Elizabeth had worn. For a moment his pulse accelerated, but then he glanced away, angry at himself for his reaction.