By Consequence of Marriage (A Pride & Prejudice Novel) Read online

  As she stabbed at an errant garden pea with her fork, Elizabeth reflected that her father did not quite say she was NOT to marry Mr. Collins, and the only solace she found was that he had not said she MUST marry Mr. Collins. The rest of dinner she did her best to minimize her role in further discussion on any subject matter. With any luck, she could feign exhaustion, and avoid the parlor for after dinner activities. Putting her plan in action, she began to yawn loudly, even going so far as to comment to the bombastic Mr. Collins how taxed she was from dinner.

  As Hill began to clear the plates from the last course, and her father invited the men for a brief visit to his study, with no further prodding Mr. Collins performed splendidly in Elizabeth's mind. That is, until he laid out the particulars of his desires.

  “Mrs. Bennet, I wonder if I might be of service in carrying Cousin Elizabeth to retire to her room? It seems her injuries still weigh upon her energies, and my patroness, Lady Catherine, would scold me most thoroughly if I were lax in performing a gentleman's obligation for a maiden in need.”

  As Mrs. Bennet happily agreed to the scheme, Elizabeth's stomach dropped somewhere below her knees. She tried to protest, but there were no alternative options. The twinkle in her father's eye communicated that he was in no mood to alleviate his daughter's embarrassment at the expense of his own amusement in the ordeal. With a huff and a frown, Elizabeth fixed her arms to provide an easier position for Mr. Collins to lift her.

  He managed to maneuver around the table with Elizabeth, but a quarter of the way up the stairs, his stamina began to fail him. The experience was nothing like the evening Mr. Darcy carried her down and up again at Netherfield. There were no broad chest muscles, so taut and masculine, for her to feel just under his shirt. The plump parson's scent was not like spice and the outdoors. He reeked of awkward ambition.

  Near the top of the stairs, the man actually did falter, and Elizabeth soon found herself dumped upon the floor. Thankfully, they had reached high enough that she was on the floor of the second story, and not falling down the rest of the stairs. Mr. Collins however, did indeed slide a step or two in increased embarrassment and damage to his dignity.

  “Cousin Elizabeth! My deepest apologies, I fear my foot must have slipped. Perhaps the stairs had some moisture upon them. Are you all right?”

  Elizabeth's laughter tinkled like delicate crystal. She was still the daughter who shared her father's sense of humor. And the sheer ridiculousness of her situation cascaded over her senses so much so that she must laugh if only not to cry. “Quite comfortable, Mr. Collins. If you would like to retire downstairs, I believe I may manage the rest on my own.”

  “Of course not! Here, I shall lift you again, and carry you straightaway to your quarters.”

  With a look of intense gravity, Elizabeth abruptly ceased her laughter. “Sir, you have done quite enough. Now spare me further embarrassment and potential injury, your attentions are not needed. I only ask for the privacy I am owed as I crawl my way to my bed.” For a moment, Elizabeth seriously considered kicking the man the rest of the way down the stairs with her good leg, but the fantasy was for naught, because what little sense Mr. Collins possessed did indeed carry him down to the parlor.

  Only after he was gone, and no one else passed in the hall at the base of the stairs, Elizabeth was comfortable to roll over from her sore behind, and indeed crawl down the hall to the last room on the left. When she reached her bed, she pulled the treasured book of Mr. Darcy from underneath her pillow and cast it to the bottom of her trunk. With tears she could not keep from falling, for the first time in a long while, alienation from her family ripped her heart. No one argued for her happiness. No one came when her bottom fell with a thump out of the arms of Mr. Collins. She had become as inconsequential as her sister Mary, and the pain of losing her father's affections tormented her as she struggled to find sleep.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The candles burned low in Mr. Darcy's study as he sat in the tufted leather chair his father had sat in before him, years ago, when he was master of the Darcy family. Richard had never returned from Matlock House, there had been no word on the status of George Wickham. All Darcy had to show for his efforts was a patched up marriage settlement for the cad to sign while the lawyers worked on a fraudulent marriage license.

  He gulped his third glass of whiskey, his private reserve from his estate in Scotland, mulling over how neat a plan it would be to send his ungrateful wench of a sister and her lover to the Northern lands and be done. Let her marry in front of the blacksmith, or better yet, suffer Wickham's abandonment when the money jingled in his purse. Three times he had trekked upstairs to talk with her, and each time she had rebuffed his attempts. There was simply no reasoning with her!

  The study door opened, and for a moment he was hopeful it would be Richard, but instead it was his man Simmons.

  "Pardon me, sir, but I knocked a double set, and you did not answer. I thought perhaps you had fallen asleep."

  "No, no, I was lost in my own thoughts. Come in, what is it man?"

  "I only wished to say your evening attire is laid out and wondered if you require my assistance for the evening?"

  Darcy eyed his valet suspiciously. Simmons would never be so bold as to ask his master to retire for the evening, his staff was loyal and respectful. He had no doubt Mrs. Potter was pulling these puppet strings, attempting to care for his well-being when he had no intention of remaining sober. "Go on to bed, I might be going out later."

  "Out sir?" The valet and Darcy glanced to the mantle clock's late hour, knowing there was no chance of the steady, dependable Mr. Darcy leaving at such a late hour to begin an evening of entertainment.

  "Yes, out! I don't answer to you, Simmons, OR ANYONE ELSE FOR THAT MATTER!" he roared. The valet blinked a few times as Mr. Darcy stood there, spent in anger, and immediately apologetic for his outburst. With a small nod, the valet closed the door.

  Darcy sank back into his chair, covering his face with his hands. He pulled and tugged at the skin, willing himself rid of the desperation and loss. How? How had his sister been led so easily astray?

  The correspondence piled on his desk from his months of searching for her and then pretending not to search for her mocked him from their perfectly organized stacks. The buzzing in his ears grew to such a noise, the master of Carver House, Darcy House, and Pemberley could not hear his own thoughts. How many of these invitations and falsely offered extensions of friendship would coil back and sneer once they heard of his misfortune? How many would laugh and jibe in their lounges and parlors at his ruined sister? The rage again rebounding inside his chest, with a great bellow of frustration, he knocked everything – letters, quills, ink, and stamps - to the floor, clearing the shiny, cherry desk of every responsibility, request, and report. It was clean. It was calm. He was free.

  Leaning back for a moment, he heard the clock strike the hour with a single chime. Dog tired and drunk, Fitzwilliam Darcy pushed himself out of the great chair for great men with a heave and shaky balance. Plodding his feet one after the other, he stared at the door as his ultimate goal, but found himself mildly distracted by the splattering of blood stains on the oriental. With a laugh, he lost his footing and landed haphazardly on the sofa that lined one wall across from the fireplace. Deciding it was as good a place as any, in moments he was fast asleep with a snore loud enough to wake the dead.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “You will dress and come downstairs this instant, or I will not allow you to marry George!" Fitzwilliam Darcy yelled at the closed bedroom door, finally fed up with his sister's antics.

  The door opened suddenly. A bedraggled Georgiana Darcy gasped at her brother's closeness to the doorframe, both siblings wearing the same wrinkled clothing from yesterday.

  "I am to marry?" Georgiana looked hopeful. "But aunt said –"

  "Aunt Maggie has arranged it all. But you will cease acting like a spoiled child and come downstairs to speak with me as a woman. Or so help me
, I will not sign the settlement papers." Darcy waved a stack of parchment to emphasize his point.

  Georgiana's attitude changed immediately to one of jubilation. "Of course, Brother, I shall bathe and dress and meet you in the breakfast parlor in one hour?"

  Darcy released a breath of relief. Here was some semblance of the person he knew, the young woman he left in Ramsgate just five months before. If only he had known how disastrous granting her a vacation from her studies would become. "As you wish madame."

  With a bow, he left his sister, and walked down the hall, mentally preparing himself to apologize to his man Simmons. Fitzwilliam knew better than to drown his troubles in Scotch, but it wasn't the first time his man had seen such a display and there was no doubt it would be the last time. The esteemed master of over half of Derbyshire was human after all.

  By the time Darcy was ready, he was pleasantly surprised to find his sister had completed her toilette and awaited his arrival in a chair at her normal seat at the table.

  The aroma from the buffet table of the numerous breakfast dishes distracted him, and his stomach grumbled. Realizing he had barely touched his food last night, Darcy decided fortitude from sustenance was his best hope to prepare for this difficult conversation with his sister. He gestured with his hand to encourage Georgiana to follow his lead, and both siblings piled their plates high. A shy smile from his sister, as they both reached for Cook's famous quiche, broke Fitzwilliam into a wide grin.

  "I cannot tell you how relieved I am to have you returned to my life. The last few weeks were agony wondering if you were alive or dead. I couldn't eat, I couldn't sleep. All I could think of was the horrible things I've seen Wickham perpetrate against any number of innocent women."

  Georgiana remained quiet as she took her plate to her chair, with her head down in a somber attitude. "I know George has his faults, but he is a good man if given a chance. His misfortunes have rendered him in such a low place, our father would never have wished his present position upon him."

  "And he told you this?"

  "Yes, he related your entire history to me. All about how you'd gone to school together, but as only the son of the lowly steward, none of the other boys would be kind to him. You ignored him, leaving him all alone without a friend in the world. But he would never tell father about how poorly you treated him, he didn't want to ruin father's opinion of you, Fitzwilliam," Georgiana gulped and edged a small bite off the corner of her quiche with her fork. Bringing it to her mouth, she offered her brother a wan smile of sympathy before resuming her meal.

  Fitzwilliam's face blanched white in anger. The cad had taken the true history of their lives and twisted the roles for his sob story to his sister! It was Fitzwilliam who never informed on Wickham, not the other way around. Fuming, Darcy took his anger out on the food upon his plate. The exaggerated scratching and scraping lasted for a few moments before Georgiana again tried to empathize.

  "You were so young, Brother, no one could blame you for being such a beast. Youthful indiscretion, that's what George called it…"

  "George this, George that. Let's get one thing straight. He has lied to you. He tried to steal you. He returned you in a state not befitting a woman of any level of birth!"

  "I knew you would not be reasonable. He told me you'd say I had it all backwards. But I've watched you Fitzwilliam. You have no kindness for anyone lest it fit your schedule. You shuffled me from tutor to tutor, and when I finally became too much of a burden, you shipped me off with a stranger as far as you possibly could manage!" Georgiana yelled.

  "Take care to lower your voice, young lady. I have not signed the settlement papers as yet." For a moment they both stared at each other in silence. In defiance, Georgiana picked up her fork and began eating once more. Darcy picked up his own fork, and matched her bite for bite, just as angry.

  Once his plate was empty of food, Darcy shoved it away and pinched the bridge of his nose as he closed his eyes in exasperation. "This won't do. Aunt Maggie said we must come to an understanding. You will marry George, and then you may learn for yourself which of us was telling the truth. I am exceedingly sorry for the day that realization comes upon you, but there is nothing I can do to spare you that pain now. As it sounds, you hold many misgivings about the care I provided you since we both lost our father, which I can only say if there was such a lapse in care, it was out of ignorance not from a lack of affection. You must decide if you can abide to live under the same roof as me, with your husband, and enjoy the lifestyle afforded, or if you would prefer to have your own establishment settled. I warn you now though, your own establishment would be funded from the meager interest of your dowry until such time as you turn twenty-five years old."

  Georgiana slanted her eyes at her brother, "You would deny me my inheritance?"

  Darcy laughed. Escaping the ridiculousness of his situation was not possible and a small part of his mind chirped about the injured bird in a far off county that shared a similar disposition. "I see more influence from George. Unfortunately, your intended never read the full will of George Alistair Reginald Darcy." Darcy took another bite, chewing with a smile as his sister squirmed in her seat. His aunt was correct, this was no innocent, this was a misguided young woman bent on making the most egregious mistakes possible before her sixteenth birthday.

  "The dowry of his minor daughter is contingent upon the approval of her spouse by the appointed guardians." He watched as that fact took hold, and she stared at him with tears glistening in her eyes. "While I shall willingly affix my name to your settlement papers with a Mr. George Wickham, I'm afraid Richard will never do the same. He and I are in agreement to allow you to marry, with strings attached."

  "But that's not fair! It's my money!"

  "I thought you were in love. Does not love conquer all, even a meager allowance for the next ten years?"

  Georgiana stood with such force, her chair knocked back and clattered to the floor. She clenched her fists by her side. "You would still keep me as your docile little sister. But I am a woman now. I do not need your protection!"

  With emotion threatening his masculine countenance, Fitzwilliam's voice slightly quibbled. In a hoarse whisper, grossly shocked at this foreign version of his sister before him, he told her she had to the end of the day to decide. Bearing a heavy heart, Fitzwilliam Darcy also pushed back from the table, and with a sad nod, dismissed himself from his sister's presence.

  He called for his coat and hat, picking up his walking stick as it stood sentry next to the front door. Needing time to think, he strolled the two blocks towards Matlock House. If Richard would not come to him, he would go to Richard for counsel. And the time it would take to stroll might lessen his anger. Why was he not French or Italian? There, unruly sisters are thrown into a nunnery until they behave correctly. But Protestant England offered no such option, and he blew out a breath as he remembered there was little choice but to allow them to marry. The nausea came at the concrete notion of George Wickham as his brother in law, but Fitzwilliam Darcy managed to maintain his gentlemanlike demeanor. He barely knocked when the door to Matlock House opened and Richard appeared in shirtsleeves from the study.

  "I wondered how long it would take you to arrive. Mother expected you last evening."

  "I did not speak to her until just now." Darcy handed his personal effects to the butler. "How be the groom?"

  "Oh, he'll live. Just."

  Lady Matlock appeared at the top of the staircase and both men acknowledged her presence. "And if you do not stop punching him, Richard, he'll never be healed enough to walk down the aisle. You've had your fun, now find another way to vent your frustrations."

  "But mother –"

  "Enough." She glared at her son and accepted a peck on her cheek from her nephew in greeting. "Did you work out an accord?"

  "I gave her my terms. She either resides with me and her husband, or moves out and they may live off the interest."

  "Good show, now take your cousin to the club. Go fenc
e, play cards, whatever it is you men do."

  "Mother, I harbor no desire to run and play, as you call it. Darcy and I have business here."

  "My dear, you forget who's home this is, but fret not, I forgive you. Darcy?" She turned to her nephew and raised an eyebrow. "Take him before his father and brother return."

  Darcy nodded and Richard flexed his knuckles, but ultimately agreed to go upstairs and refresh his appearance. The Countess of Matlock took Darcy's arm and led him towards the sunlight of the morning room. "Come tell me about your discussion. Together we can plot to thwart any childish and misinformed designs she may labor under."

  "You truly think she still means to fight the strictures of her position?"

  "Undoubtedly, she is an unruly, misguided young woman. Tell me more about this Mrs. Younge you two selected for her care . . ." Lady Matlock closed the sliding doors to the morning parlor with a frown upon her face.

  Chapter Twenty

  Elizabeth cherished the plan of a peaceful Sunday afternoon full of reading. She had managed to sit in the pew at service, she would not miss the first week of Banns for her sister over a trifling ankle sprain. Mr. Jones said the bones were likely healed, but it would take time for the muscles and tendons around her foot to recover. Her mother was still complaining about the lack of a special license, but Jane wished to include the neighborhood in her happiness. The expression on Lady Lucas' face, as if she had just tasted a tart lemon, was worth the pain of crowding into the carriage in itself.

  Settled beneath her favorite quilt, one stitched by great grandmother Bennet, and finally warmed up from the sudden chill uncharacteristically hitting Hertfordshire for the end of October, Elizabeth dozed. A knock on the door interrupted her haven.