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  Love Never Fails

  A Pride & Prejudice Variation

  jennifer joy

  “Love Never Fails: A Pride & Prejudice Variation”

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems — except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews — without permission in writing from its publisher, Jennifer Joy.

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, locations, and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Published by Jennifer Joy

  Facebook: Jennifer Joy

  Twitter: @JenJoywrites

  Email: [email protected]

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  Copyright © 2016 Jennifer Joy

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-13: 978-1-944795-91-7

  I love you, Dad!

  Contents

  Epilogue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Thank you!

  About the Author

  Other Books by Jennifer Joy

  Epilogue

  They buried Father. Two farmhands wielding shovels piled the moist earth on top of his coffin until they smothered the scent of pine, and it disappeared under the ground.

  A few of the tenants and some friends had come to pay their respects. Elizabeth Bennet had not expected many. Mother was not there. Her nerves and a convenient sense of propriety prevented her from joining her elder daughters in their hiding place behind a tree at a discreet distance from the funeral service they were not allowed to attend until after the mourners had gone. Lydia and Kitty, Elizabeth’s younger sisters, stayed at home with Mother so they might wail together in the privacy of their rooms as proper females were supposed to do. Elizabeth did not want to be proper. She wanted to be next to her father.

  Elizabeth stood between Jane and Mary, her arms linked through theirs on either side as they approached Father’s grave. Her knees nearly buckled as the final person left, but she forced herself to stand. Exhaustion poured over her like a wave. Her eyes burned, but she could not indulge in a good cry. Not yet. Not when her sisters relied on her to keep their family together through the trials which were yet to come.

  Jane looked at her. “Come, Lizzy. You must rest.”

  She was not ready to leave. Her limbs stiffened, and a numbness which had helped her through the past two days swept over her, so that she did not know if she would ever be able to move again.

  “Just a moment longer. I…” She cut her words short, feeling like a puppet in her own skin. How could she explain that no number of goodbyes were sufficient for her to accept that Father was gone? She still looked for him when she rounded a corner or entered his study. Though she had helped the manservant with what she could to prepare Father for burial, Mother being in too poor a state to offer any assistance, she held the fading hope that this was all a horrible nightmare from which she could not wake.

  In the distance, the last retreating figure turned back to look at the heap of fresh dirt marking Father’s final resting place. Elizabeth did not recognize him with his black greatcoat and dark hat, but that did not signify. It would be difficult to recognize anyone through the blurry haze of the dark day.

  "I never thought anything could happen to Father." Jane sniffed and reached her hand up to wipe her cheeks.

  Elizabeth had not either. Yet, there they stood at the top of a grassy knoll where generations of Bennets lay under the stark autumn branches of an ash tree.

  Mary said, "Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted."

  Her words brought Elizabeth no comfort. It was unjust that Father’s death would mean that they could barely continue to live. Their home was no longer theirs, but would go to a distant cousin they had not yet met. Their income was so much reduced, they could not afford to live elsewhere. Her hands clenched into fists, and she hated herself for thinking of their troubles so soon. But someone had to do something. Elizabeth, her sisters, and Mother must live.

  "Thank you, Mary," she said through her clenched jaw. "Let us return to the house and comfort our mother." The house. Not their home anymore.

  He looked back again at the three ladies standing beside Mr. Bennet's grave. They would feel his loss greatly. Especially his favorite daughter, Miss Elizabeth. “My Lizzy” he had called her. She must be the one in the middle, her sisters’ arms looped through hers, leaning on her petite frame for support. It was just as Mr. Bennet had predicted.

  He would have to find a way to speak with her. He was honor bound to do so.

  Slowly, the ladies turned to walk away from the grave. Miss Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder, and he recognized the look in her face all too well. The weight of responsibility, the grief of mourning, the burden of being stronger for the weak, the determination to hold on to those remaining, the fear of losing them too…. The distance could not disguise her emotions. He had felt them five years before when his father died. He understood their power.

  Fitzwilliam Darcy turned back toward Netherfield Park. Now was not the time to reveal secrets. His honesty would cast propriety aside to reveal what shamed him at that very moment, but he determined within himself to respect her grief and wait.

  Shrill wails and lamentations greeted them before they even entered the house.

  "I will ask for some tea to be sent up to Mother," said Jane. If anyone could bring comfort to her, it was Jane. But after three days of caring for the never ending demands of Mother and their younger sisters, Jane’s eyes were surrounded with dark circles. If Elizabeth did not ease her load, she worried that Jane might fall ill.

  “Do not rush yourself. I will tell Mother that cook had to fetch some dandelion root,” Elizabeth said.

  “She will not like it,” sighed Jane.

  “What else is there when we have no more tea leaves to reuse?”

  Elizabeth continued upstairs with Mary. Lydia and Kitty knelt beside Mother's fainting couch, sobbing into her black skirts in the dark room.

  The floor creaked as Elizabeth opened the curtains, then took her place next to Mother.

  She lifted her head. Her eyes were red and puffy from tears.

  "Oh, Lizzy," Mother said as she grasped her hand. "How unfortunate Mr. Bennet should pass away the same evening of the Meryton Assembly. He was to introduce you to Mr. Bingley! Now, how are we to meet him when we are not allowed to make calls and with no one to introduce us?"

  Disappointed that Mother's chief concern was less about losing Father and more about missing out
on a diverting evening at a ball, Elizabeth pulled her hand into her lap.

  "I so dearly wanted to dance," sighed Lydia.

  Kitty said, "Just think how dreadful it would have been had Father died at the Assembly."

  Elizabeth clutched her hands in her skirt. Did they care for nothing other than dancing?

  Mother fanned herself. "At least you would have been introduced to Mr. Bingley and the other gentleman my sister told me was there. He had a commanding sort of name, though I cannot remember it now."

  "Mr. Darcy of Pemberley," Elizabeth mumbled, only content to keep the line of conversation going because of the calming effect it seemed to have on Mother.

  “Esther said that he was a rather serious gentleman. He did not dance at all, though there was a lack of gentlemen in the room and he never would have wanted for a partner. However disagreeable Mr. Darcy is, he is still a gentleman of means and could have married one of my daughters. Oh, if only Mr. Bennet had not died just before the assembly!" Mother’s face crumpled under the pressure of a new round of sobs.

  So much for calming Mother. No wonder Jane was worn to the bone. Trying again, lest Jane come upstairs to another emotional disaster of which she would take it upon herself to calm, Elizabeth said, “Tell us, what else did Aunt Phillips say about the gentlemen? Perhaps we should meet them in passing." Such an event was unlikely, but the idea would give Mother hope.

  Mother dabbed her face with a handkerchief, letting her fan dangle from the black ribbon tied around her wrist. "Esther described Mr. Bingley as an affable gentleman. He danced with every lady in the room, though he did not dance with any certain lady more than once. Surely, if he sees Jane, he will want to marry her… though he may have his pick amongst my girls. If only Mr. Bennet had done his duty by us—"

  "What of Mr. Darcy? Did Aunt give any indication as to why he did not dance?" Elizabeth interrupted through her agitated breath. She would not stand anyone— not even Mother— speaking negatively of Father.

  Mother pinched her lips in disapproval of the interruption. "Of Mr. Darcy she did not say much other than that he did not dance at all for the entire evening. Can you imagine that?"

  Kitty and Lydia exclaimed, "What? Not dance at a ball?"

  Mary, who had sat quietly by the window, said, “The rewards of observation and reflection are far greater. I take little pleasure in a ball.” As usual, she was met with blank stares. Lydia tossed a pillow at her.

  “According to Esther, his manners were so off-putting, she determined him to be too proud to mix in company with the villagers present. Sir William tried to converse with Mr. Darcy and encourage him to dance, but it was for naught. Or so I hear," said Mother.

  "If Aunt Phillips said it, it is as good as the gospel," Elizabeth said, too annoyed with the present conversation to attempt to change it and determined to think Mr. Darcy a good man just to be contrary. Aunt was known to exaggerate her stories to better suit Mother's craving for drama and intrigue. Her account only proved it. What gentleman would behave so abominably at an assembly? No, it must be an exaggeration.

  "What bothers me most is that we are not free to socialize with Mr. Bingley or Mr. Darcy. How are they to marry two of my daughters if we cannot attend any social functions for several months at least?" Mother picked at her black crape dress.

  "I think the black is striking against the silver streaks of hair at your temples," offered Kitty.

  Mother reached up to touch her hair above her ears. "Do you think so? Striking, you say? Kitty, bring me a mirror."

  Looking from side to side, examining her face and hair against her widow's weeds, she finally sniffed and handed the mirror back to Kitty. "Not too bad, I must say."

  Mary said, "The hoary head is a crown of glory."

  Lydia gasped. "Do not be so simple, Mary. Who would call their head hoary? That sounds dreadful.”

  “Gray, then?” Mary suggested.

  Kitty said, “Silver is infinitely better than drab gray and I would never call Mother's hair dull."

  "It is in the scriptures," said Mary, her chin jutted out.

  Lydia twirled her hair around her finger. "Lor, whoever wrote that got it wrong. Silver is infinitely more beautiful than a hoary head."

  "Father always said you were handsome." Elizabeth whispered the words, needing to talk about him even though it made her eyes brim and would upset Mother.

  Bracing herself for another bout of tears, Elizabeth was surprised when Lydia sat taller and smiled. “Perhaps you will marry again soon!”

  Fortunately for Lydia or Mother, who preened even more, Jane arrived with the tea. Elizabeth felt like a kettle about to boil over. Before the grass had time to grow over Father’s grave, Lydia dared say that Mother might replace him! It was wrong.

  Mother sipped her tea, her face contorting in disgust. “This is awful! Has cook decided to poison us all?”

  Elizabeth looked at Jane apologetically. “I forgot to mention the dandelion roots, Jane. I am sorry.” No matter how she tried, Elizabeth’s efforts to appease her mother always went awry and her guilt increased when she saw how Jane gracefully soothed her while her own frustration intensified.

  Pulling some papers out of her pocket, Jane said, “I found these on Father’s desk. There appears to be some correspondence and someone should look through them.” She held them out to Mother.

  “Give them to Lizzy. I am unlikely to understand them anyhow. Is there no sugar to sweeten this vile liquid?” Mother asked, not wanting to be bothered with any of the decisions which needed to be made unless it brought her comfort or lead a daughter to the marriage altar.

  Jane persisted. “Is not Mr. Collins the name of Father’s cousin who is to inherit?” As if she could forget. The name Collins had become synonymous with dread in their household.

  “That did not arrive recently, did it? I expect he will write soon,” Mother said.

  Jane blushed. “I did not mean to look, but I did notice that it is dated the day before Father…”

  Snatching the letter out of Jane’s hand, Mother poured over its contents, mumbling as she read. A large smile cheered her face and she fanned herself with the pages she rotated through her hands. “He means to marry one of you! We are saved!”

  Chapter 1

  Mr. Collins was gracious enough to delay his visit some months, but as winter crawled along and spring drew near, he descended upon them like an unwelcome guest. His delicacy insisted that he reside apart from the houseful of females, but he was a plague that would not go away during the days that mercilessly grew in length.

  Jane was safe. She had fallen ill the previous month and, even had she been in excellent health, Mother had better plans for her. “She cannot be so beautiful for nothing,” she said.

  Mary, too, was spared from Mr. Collins’ attentions though she was the only one among them to appreciate his mind-numbing confabulations.

  Kitty and Lydia were fortunate enough to be considered too young for his notice.

  He reached for Elizabeth’s hand after clearing the breakfast room of all its occupants. She moved her chair away.

  Undeterred, he said, “Cousin Elizabeth, you can hardly mistake my attentions and the little compliments I have showered upon you over these past few weeks. I have made it no secret that my aim, imposed upon me by my good patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, who I praise for her superior wisdom in matters of matrimonial happiness…” He paused, no doubt losing the purpose of his soliloquy in the abundance of superfluous words. Clearing his throat and wringing his stumpy fingers, he said, “It is my aim to take a wife and, Cousin Elizabeth,” he inched forward in his chair and reached for her hand, which she buried in the folds of her dress, “I have chosen you.”

  Elizabeth swallowed the bile stinging her throat.

  So pleased with himself and so certain of her response, Mr. Collins never waited for her answer.

  “I am quite comfortable in my current position and enjoy the condescension of my esteemed patrones
s, so that I am willing to continue in Hunsford for a time so that we might benefit from Lady Catherine’s advice as we settle into our new roles as husband and wife.”

  His face turned red and he wiped his forehead. There was no circumstance in the world which would entice Elizabeth to allow him to touch her with those sweaty palms. She leaned back until the wood frame of her chair pressed against her through the upholstered cushion.

  He took a large breath, no doubt in preparation for another windy speech and Elizabeth knew it was absolutely necessary to interrupt him.

  “You forget, sir, that I have made no answer. Accept my thanks for the compliment you are paying me— I am very sensible of the honor of your proposals— but it is impossible for me to do otherwise than decline them.” There, that sounded polite but firm.

  Not discouraged in the least, he waved his hand— sweeping her refusal aside as insignificant and exasperating Elizabeth further when he expressed as much aloud.

  Interrupting again, she said more firmly than before, “Sir, I am perfectly serious in my refusal. You could not make me happy, and I am convinced that I am the last woman in the world who would make you so.”

  His sweaty brows knit together and he squirmed in his chair, for the first time uncertain. “Need I remind you, Cousin, that you have little choice in the matter? I am in need of a wife and you are in need of a home. I humbly extend my generosity to your mother and sisters by offering them security on the condition that we marry. My situation in life, my connections with the family of de Bourgh, and my relationship to your own are circumstances highly in its favor. You should take it into consideration that in spite of your manifold attractions, it is by no means certain that another offer of marriage may ever be made you. Your portion is unhappily so small that it will in all likelihood undo the effects of your loveliness and amiable qualifications in the eyes of a lesser gentleman.”