From Tolerable to Tempting: A Pride and Prejudice Variation

CHAPTER ONE

I t is a truth universally acknowledged that a single sister, in expectation of excellent news, can never be still.

Georgiana, stop pacing and come away from the window. I assure you, the longer you watch, the slower the wait will be!

Mrs. Annersley, with customary calm, turned over the heel of a wool sock.

Her charge, half obscured by the mullioned glass, emerged from the window. She neglected, however, to take a seat.

"I know, I know, but I can’t help my excitement."

"I am glad you are pleased Mr. Darcy is returning, but I cannot see why it is occasion for such anticipation."

Miss. Darcy smiled. She had a pleasant face, still youthful, but definitely maturing. In the last six months, her hems had been let out twice, and her natural diffidence seemed to be improving.

She waited while the hall clock chimed the hour before answering slightly mischievously.

"Aha, Margaret! You are obviously not in possession of this!"

Merrily she waved a letter about her face. It fluttered as she did a small pirouette about the drawing room. Mrs. Annersley thought she’d never seen her charge in such high sprits. The girl even seemed to have a little colour in her face, the dark circles lighter than usual.

She smiled, allowing Georgiana her moment of levity. After all, the young lady had been in the mopes for months.

So, dare I ask what is in the letter?

"It is not so much what is in it as what is not in it!"

"My, you’re full of mysteries today!’

"Yes, but you see, I know my brother rather well. He refrains from asking me, most delicately, how I am feeling!"

That is good?

"Of course it is! It means he has either forgotten my… unhappiness, or he is distracted from it."

Mrs. Annersley nodded approvingly. The subject of Georgiana Darcy’s near elopement with a man of contemptible morals had been casting a pall over the household for months. Fortunately, the calamity had been averted, but as is inevitable with these things, only time could truly heal the scars. She looked up from her stitching with an indulgent smile.

And that is good?

It is, if his distraction takes the form of a very pert young lady with fine eyes!

Georgiana!

Oh, don’t scold, Mrs. Annersley! I would never say such a thing in company.

I should hope not…

Yes, but his letters have been full of Miss Bennet. Miss Bennet dines with us at Netherfield… you would enjoy her wit… Miss Bennet enjoys frosty morning walks… Her skirts are regularly muddied but her expression, after such exercise, is radiant…

Georgiana fumbled in her pockets for another note. And look here, look at this one… I don’t believe I’ve ever seen such expressive features…

This, from my reticent, formidable brother! Miss Bennet must be a paragon!"

"Miss Bingley is a paragon!"

Ugh! Miss Bingley is a prudish old stick. I can only thank heavens William is not foolish enough to be caught in her toils…

But here Miss Darcy went silent, remembering how foolish she had been, and what toils she had been so recently rescued from.

Ah, Wickham again. If only she could stop thinking of him…

Her companion cast a sympathetic glance and changed the subject.

"Come, dear, your brother will arrive shortly and you shall be able to pepper him with all your questions, I’m sure. In the meanwhile, perhaps we can set our minds to discussing other matters. Did you read that article on the velocipede I set out for you? It sounds most intriguing, though too daring for my tastes! Fancy balancing on a two wheel contraption with no steering…"

But Georgiana was not to be distracted.

He should have been here by now.

Perhaps you are right, but bouncing on the window sill is not going to bring him any faster!

Do you think he will bring her to Pemberley?

"Certainly not! It would be most improper!"

‘But his letter hinted… well, I rather hoped they might have come to an understanding! Surely he would wish me to meet her?

Margaret Annersley answered with a wry smile and a pointed glance at the silks, all a tumble on the floor. Georgiana sighed. She picked up her embroidery and concentrated on the delicate shading of a peach. Mrs. Annersley went back to her humbler sock. If Georgiana’s ears still strained for the sound of carriage wheels, at least the morning was industriously spent.

In another house entirely, matters were neither so quiet nor serene.

"Kitty, what have you done with my hat pins? I know they were in that box! You took them, you sly little wretch!"

"I did not!

Did so!

Lizzy braced for collision as Kitty ducked behind the sofa and Lydia made a practiced grab. Neither sister seemed the slightest bit put out – or interested —that she’d just returned from Kent, or that her eyes looked suspiciously red.

Oomph! Just as she expected, Lydia ran straight into her, narrowly avoiding the tall epergne of flowers that graced the Bennet’s front parlour.

Watch out, Lydia!

She took my hat pins!

Did not!

Oh, for heaven’s sake…!

Jane!

Lizzy smiled as she removed her gloves and gave her eldest sister a hug. Miss Jane Bennet had just entered from the garden, looking more fragile than ever. Though her hair shone like spun gold, her cheeks, Lizzie instantly noted, were pale. Her demeaour, always serene, now appeared defeated.

Lizzy I am so glad you are back. I missed you. The words were quiet. Jane, Lizzy knew, had suffered a lot from missing, lately.

She bit her lip as the familiar anger coursed through her. How dare Mr. Darcy interfere? How dare he cause her dear Jane such misery? If he hadn’t warned Mr. Bingley off her sister they could even now be betrothed, or at the very least enjoying a very pleasant courtship!

How could he assume to make judgments on behalf of his friend? It was unforgivable. Was Mr. Bingley not old enough to know his own mind? Could he not be trusted to make his own decisions? Could he not love Jane as clearly Jane loved him, without meddlesome, odious, quite annoying interference? Who did Mr. Darcy imagine he was?

Oh! Lizzy stirred up all the old resentments. They seemed to come to her effortlessly, now, almost like a shield.

She refused to think of Mr. Darcy without first churning up her annoyance. That way, at least, she would not have to cry.

She had done more than that in the carriage, thank you very much!

It had been a tedious journey indeed, Mr. Collins bobbing up and down in the chaise, insisting on accompanying her to the East entrance of Rosings. Thank God, not beyond, as the odious Lady Catherine could not countenance his leaving the estate for any small period.

Elizabeth had been glad to expel him, shifting over for Mrs. Covey, who accompanied her to lend her countenance. Unfortunately, she was too shy to do anything more than peer out of the window and reflect on the possibility of rain.

When that good woman began to snore, Lizzy’d taken the opportunity to weep. And, in the usual manner of that energetic young lady, she had done so with gusto.

Now, with no one to see or know her folly, only her eyes — and possibly her nose — were suspiciously red.

Jane, thank you. Charlotte sends her regards and bids me tell you she is well. Any chance of tea?

Indeed, mama just rang the bell for some, but I must tell you her nerves are still not what they ought to be…

Lizzy was not surprised. Ever since Mr. Bingley had left Netherfield with the unmitigated impertinence of not offering for Jane, Mrs. Bennet’s nerves had been beset. Not even the strongest of smelling salts or the most carefully prepared tisane could comfort her. After all, Mr. Bingley was worth five thousand pounds at very least!

What, as she repeatedly asked anyone with the slightest inclination to listen, was a tisane when compared with five thousand pounds?

Lizzy sighed. Lydia grasped Kitty’s ribbons. Kitty howled. Mary, entering the room from the porch, scolded portentously. Although Lizzie’s own life had changed dramatically, nothing, it seemed, had changed at Longbourn.

The light had shaded to pale wisps when Darcy’s carriage appeared. Though Georgiana raced down the steps to greet him, there was nothing more in the barouche than a small carriage clock, a tray of sandwiches and a battered old newspaper. The groom informed a disappointed Miss Darcy that her brother had chosen to travel on horseback.

By the time hooves were heard on the cobbles of the courtyard, night had well and truly fallen.

Brother!

Georgiana, already dressed for bed, greeted him from the stairwell. It did not take a second for her to know all her hopes were dashed. He did not look well, and seemed to have difficulty breathing. His clothes — usually immaculate —were sweat stained and flecked with mud. His eyes were as somber as his greeting.

Georgiana.

William? Georgiana’s tone was faltering and tentative.

I’ve had a long ride. I need to change out of my grime. I will see you tomorrow, sister.

The words were disjointed. Bleak. Georgiana was at a loss. She was too circumspect to ask after Miss Bennet —the empty carriage had spoken volumes— but she was filled with questions.

Shall I ask Mrs. Reynolds to send for some cocoa?

No. No. No cocoa. I will see you tomorrow.

But Darcy did not see Georgiana the next day. Nor the next. He remained in his rooms and did as all men in his position did. He drowned his sorrows, fidgeted with his cravats, wrote several feverish notes that he burned, each with a great dollop of self loathing and disgust, and he pined.

When Colonel Fitzwilliam found him in this state a fortnight later, he was shocked. Darcy was thinner, more grizzled, plainly unshaven and the utter despair of his valet.

Georgiana, pale and listless, was no better. So consumed was she with Darcy and his moods, that she had hardly a moment to spare on her own dark thoughts. The near elopement and the state of her fragile heart seemed to be receding into significance. Colonel Fitzwilliam threw up a silent prayer of thanks. Dealing with Darcy was bad enough. At least he was spared from reflections on the miserable worm, Wickham. Damn him for all the miserable havoc he had wreaked!

Darcy could barely smile when his cousin entered his suite.

Enough languishing, man! What the goddam heck is wrong with you? You look like you’ve attended your own funeral!

I might just as well have! Death of dreams, Fitz, death of dreams!

What a load of codswallop that is! You can have anything you like if only you exert yourself! Not like me, a second son who has to live off the kindness of his relatives!

Darcy grimaced. It was a faint glimmer of humour – better than nothing.

Am I kind enough?

Damn you, yes, when you’re not sulking like a schoolboy! I can see you are pining and I have one word for you.

And that is?

Go. Ask. Her.

"That’s three, and I have no idea what you are talking about.

No idea? You might hoodwink our aunt. You might hoodwink Anne, you might hoodwink yourself, but by God you shan’t hoodwink me! You’re in love with Miss Bennet. Shelve away your stupid pride and ask her to marry you. Simple.

Simple? Darcy could only repeat his cousin’s words with an enigmatic glower.

Yes. Simple.

"What if I already have? What if she’s rejected me? What if I happen to be —and I paraphrase here, her actual words were harsher — the last man on earth she would ever consent to marry?"

My God, Darcy, if that is not a hypothetical, you must have made the most unholy mess of it!

I did. Trust me, I did. She could not have insulted me more and frankly, now my first anger has dissipated, I can’t say I blame her. She lashed me with her tongue, decimated my pride, wounded my very self and you know what? The worst of it is, she had a point.

‘Well! I never expected to hear the Master of Pemberley own such a thing!"

Don’t joke, Fitz. I recount every last detail of our last conversation in my head and if I could undo time I would.

Surely if you speak to her, tell her…?

What? That the last man on earth she wishes to marry, now somewhat wishes he’d bitten his tongue?

It’s a start.

Not enough. I deplored her relations, her low station, her every inequality and unsuitability for the match…

Good God, Darcy, was that a proposal or a disposal?

You are meant to be making me feel better. For what its worth, I still stand by my objections. They are materially valid. I can’t pretend she is the match I would have planned or preferred, despite my inclinations.

"Yet your inclinations overcame your objections?’

They did, which is what I was trying to tell her in my bumble headed way!

"…and she insulted you to that extent? Very badly done of Miss Bennet, very bad indeed! I would have thought she’d be gentler in her manner, at least."

There was a moment of profound silence in the room, during which only the ticking of the hall clock could be dimly heard.

Then an anguished groan.

For the first time. Colonel Fitzwilliam was genuinely alarmed. Was Darcy actually more than just jug bitten? Was he feverish? His face was so pale, and his eyes red rimmed. Rather worrying for a man of Darcy’s robustness. And this groan? It was more than a groan of anguish. It was soul shattering.

Darc? Are you alright?

"No, no, I am not alright. And she would have been gentle. Indeed, she said that she was sorry to cause me pain — it had been done most unconsciously."

"There, that does not sound the same as the heavy set down you intimated earlier."

No, that was before she laid all my sins — manifold, I must add, before me. They were a curious mixture of the real and the imagined. They ranged from separating Bingley from her sister…

Bingley!

"Yes, I see you start. Apparently I have you to thank for that little gem reaching her ears…"

"Darcy! You cannot imagine… you can have no idea… I hoped to raise you in Miss Bennet’s estimation. I told her you were a caring enough person to intervene on behalf of your friends. You told me Bingley had got tangled up with some unsuitable person… my, God! You have to believe me. I had no idea the lady in question was her sister!"

Obviously.

Darcy’s tone was bleak, but he managed a small, rather wry grimace.

"Not to worry, Fitz. I can shoulder the blame for that manfully. I have examined my heart most mercilessly, I can tell you, and I believe I would do the same again.

Miss Elizabeth ascribes her own high values to her sister’s situation. I cannot help but think the elder Miss Bennet is motivated by more mercenary motives. Look at her mother, for heaven’s sake. Vile woman!

Whatever Miss Bennet may say, no matter how she may chastise me, truth is truth! You have only to be three minutes in the damn woman’s company to know she is after nothing but Bingley’s fabled five thousand!"

"And Miss Bennet is not after your ten?"

"Would she were. No, no I don’t. I honour her for her position. It cannot be easy."

Indeed, not. Throwing over one of the richest gentlemen in England when one’s home is entailed to a buffoon speaks of character.

Yes. I insulted her deeply by not conceiving she would reject me. I was so proud, so elevated in my own opinion of myself, so sensible to the honour I did her and the degradation I drew upon myself that I neglected to remember her character. Her principles. I am undone by the very thing that drew me to her in the first place. Miss Elizabeth Bennet is no Miss Bingley.

"Indeed not!"

Laugh, Fitz, but feel for me a little when I tell you she rejected me most forcibly! I do not think I can do anything to undo the harm I have caused. I can still remember her flashing eyes, her burning fury as she turned me down. Do you want to know what she said? The fullness of her ire?

I’m not sure I do.

Well, hear me, man, and know why I suffer. She said, You could not have made the offer of your hand in any possible way that would have tempted me to accept it." That does not sound like a woman in love, a woman slightly offended, a woman who I can cajole and soothe, whose fears I can put to rest!

That sounds like a woman who loathes me and the irony, Fitz! The irony is that I thought she rather liked me, and that she was complicit in our morning walks around Rosings, that she secretly yearned for them, ached for them as I did!"

Darc… Colonel Fitzwilliam removed the crystal from his cousin’s hand.

French, circa 1700. The heirloom piece looked set to shatter from Darcy’s grip. He drained the glass – pointless wasting – as Darcy continued his bitter venting.

How presumptuous of me! What an utter, useless, stupid cretin I have been!

Humble pie, Darcy?

Very humble.

Can you not speak to her, show her this remorse? Surely her heart cannot be so hard as to remain stony in the face of it?

"I do not want a wife who is sorry for me. Besides, I have written her a letter."

You have?

Indeed. It was written in anger, but the gist is all there. I have not yet told you the worst.

"The worst? Good God, Darcy what could possibly be worse? My imagination boggles."

"Well, let it continue boggling. George Wickham continues to destroy every particle of my life that he possibly can! Not content with interfering with the villagers – two maids I know of are in the family way through him —

I have organized pensions and one wedding to a Highborough footman who is prepared to ask no questions — he moves on to Georgiana. I will say no more on that score, you know well enough. The shadows under her eyes are their own tale and haunt me every single time I see her. God, I wish we’d killed him!"

I, too, but the risk of scandal was too high.

Yes. He banks on that. Darcy’s bleak tone turned vicious for a moment.

What has George to do with Miss Bennet?

"Everything. The little snake has insinuated himself into her graces and poured forth his poison. My God, I could kill him. I don’t trust myself to confront him."

"What are you saying? He didn’t tell her about Georgiana?"

For the first time, Colonel Fitzwilliam looked seriously alarmed.

"No, for that would be far too much to his discredit."

So what has he done?

Nothing much. Only besmirched my name from here to Meryton and God knows how far beyond. Apparently, I dishonoured my father’s wishes, refused his calling as a clergyman, committed I don’t know how many offences against his person, all resulting in him being some tragi—heroic figure and me being the lowest kind of scum.

Oh, please! No-one would believe that!

No one? Darcy raised his brows. "If Miss Bennet, one of the wittiest and most discerning ladies of my acquaintance can, so can everyone! I am doomed by my shyness and diffidence. It is construed as arrogance and pride. He is elevated by his charm and attention to the inanities. It is construed as character, I believe."

This is alarming. We cannot tolerate such tales. Not only are they offensive and untrue, they are also dangerous.

Yes, dangerous for a man hoping to propose honourable marriage, you mean?

"No, dangerous for young ladies who might be duped. Rouse yourself out of your self-pity, Darcy! The man is dangerous, not only to Miss Bennet, but to all susceptible young maidens. We must warn both the military and the people of Meryton before there is a catastrophe."

I have thought of that. But Colonel Foster is something of an idiot. You have only to look at his young, impressionable, and very silly wife to see that. I’m not sure I would trust him with such a secret as Georgiana’s.

But we cannot say nothing!

I agree. Which is why I wrote to Miss Bennet. I can trust her to be circumspect, if not wholly just!

"You told her of the happenings at Ramsgate in a letter?"

Darcy nodded. She would not have allowed me near enough to tell her in person. And besides, that stupid excuse for a parson kept hovering. I couldn’t dream up a reason to visit with Miss Bennet alone. And I am very sure I could not have endured another five minutes of Mr. Collins’s obsequious attentions.

No, indeed. Colonel Fitzwilliam’s yes flashed, a moment, in humour.

How did you give her the letter?

I waited at dawn, like some callow youth, for her to emerge into the sunlight. I must have circled the grove outside Hunsford like some kind of Bedlamite until she appeared. God, Fitz, I can still see her now, her hair a halo of curls, her scent all lavender and lemon, her hems muddy — again— but the most solemn look upon her dear face. I could barely bring myself to breathe.

Did you talk to her?

Hardly. There was no time. I am sure she would have been disinclined. She did not seem enchanted by my presence. Quite the contrary. I had only a moment for the briefest bow. I pressed my note into her fingers and I left by the gate.

Did she read it?

"I don’t know. Perhaps I will never know. I believe her natural curiosity will overcome her distaste of the clandestine. And of me, of course."

Colonel Fitzwilliam could hear the pain reappear in Darcy’s voice.

But if you don’t know she read it, how can you know she’s been warned off Ensign Wickham?

"I don’t know, Fitz. I don’t know. I have done what I can. All I can. Can I have my chambers back, now?"

Certainly not! With that, Fitz pulled the curtains open. The light, in the shadowed room, was momentarily dazzling. As Darcy closed his eyes in protest, his cousin called in Peters, the valet. Peters looked highly relieved, and arrived brandishing a very businesslike shaving knife. He was followed closely by a maid with hot water, and an under valet with several crisp shirts, an iron fresh from the forge, and a series of ice white cravats.

The melody emanating from the music room was mournful. It was followed by a series of vigorous scales that were marked more by their crashing then their finesse. Georgiana thought they had the advantage of precision and monotony, so that as her fingers limbered, her mind could wander. Today, they wandered to