The Honorable Mr. Darcy Read online

  The Honorable Mr. Darcy

  A Pride & Prejudice Variation

  Jennifer Joy

  “The Honorable Mr. Darcy: 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-13:978-1-944795-92-4

  This book is for you.

  Contents

  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

  Thank you!

  About the Author

  Other Books by Jennifer Joy

  Bonus Material: The Indomitable Miss Elizabeth

  Chapter 1

  Fitzwilliam Darcy glared at the insolent man before him— the man who had become a plague to his family and a threat to his little sister. "Why are you in Hertfordshire?" he demanded, pulsing his fists at his side.

  George Wickham sat at a table near the cot in his assigned tent, polishing his pistol with booted feet propped lazily on top of the rugged wood. "What? Is it not obvious?"

  "My father paid off your debts before his death. I owe you nothing— especially after what you attempted at Ramsgate." Darcy's teeth clenched. He could not bring himself to say his sister’s name before the blackguard. How could Georgiana possibly have believed Wickham loved her when he had proved time and again that he loved no one but himself?

  Wickham chuckled menacingly. "How unfortunate you discovered my plan. You have to admit it was clever. Georgiana certainly had thought so before you showed up."

  “Do not say her name,” Darcy growled. He wanted nothing more than to disturb the smirk on Wickham’s face, but he was a Darcy and would not give Wickham the satisfaction of a lost temper… unless he was so foolish as to mention Georgiana again.

  Wickham took him seriously. He lowered his feet to the floor and straightened his posture.

  Assuming a bored tone which ran contrary to the fire coursing through his body, Darcy continued, "In every way, you have acted with deceit and treachery. I would be remiss to call you clever.”

  Raising his unloaded pistol, Wickham slowly inspected it, rubbing his thumb over his engraved initials on the sideplate. With a sneer, he said, "Where is your sense of humor Darcy? You take yourself much too seriously, and your pride will be your downfall. I came to Meryton with the sole purpose of making you miserable.” Wickham’s cackle shot a shiver down Darcy’s spine. “I had these glorious plans of ruining the villagers' opinion of you, while gaining their favor for myself… and what do I find?” Standing up and leaning across the table, his hand still grasping his pistol, he said, “They already despise you. They believe you to be an arrogant snob who considers himself much too good for the likes of them."

  Gossip. Darcy despised the harm it caused, and knew all too well how easy it was for others to be influenced by Wickham’s charm. "I do not care for the opinions of others. Of what import is it to me?" he asked, slowing his breath to calm his agitation.

  With a scoff, Wickham set the weapon down. Bringing himself to his full height and raising his chin so that he stood eye to eye with Darcy, he said, "So long as your pride prevents you from allowing your precious little sister's reputation to be ruined— thus casting a shadow over the otherwise perfect Darcy name— I intend to profit from it."

  Darcy held his gaze steady, though a bead of sweat trickled down his back between his shoulder blades. "You will get nothing from me. I saw to your commission and arranged for your independence from my household. You have benefited from my assistance to the fullest degree, and your insults and threats will get you nowhere."

  Wickham’s eyes flickered in mischief. "Ah, but is that true? How can you prevent me from relating how eager your innocent sister was to elope with me? She practically begged me to take her to Gretna Green."

  It was as if the scum were begging for Darcy to rearrange his face. Would Wickham’s charming influence lessen if he had a flattened nose or missing teeth? Darcy's fists clenched and his blood boiled, but he did not lose control. It was what Wickham wanted. He would see it as a weakness and use it against him.

  Forcing his fingers to relax in an admirable display of self-possession, Darcy said, "Nobody would believe you. It would be your word against mine, and I could readily supply witnesses to testify to your true character."

  Wickham harrumphed, but he took a step back. "That would take too long and the damage would be done. Besides, do you really think the people of Meryton will believe your word against mine when you have done everything possible to insult them? I hear that you did not condescend to dance at their assembly.” He paused, seeking affirmation.

  Darcy gave no answer. He had refused to dance when it soon became clear that the maidens he would have to partner were only interested in his fortune. Whispering fathers and ambitious mothers paraded their daughters in front of him like peddlers desperate to sell their wares.

  Wickham continued, “And I have it on good authority that you openly insulted a lady’s vanity. A lady who is as pleasing to the eyes as she is to the ears."

  Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Darcy winced before he could stop himself.

  With a self-satisfied grin, Wickham said, “I see that the rumors are true. Really, Darcy, I had thought that a lady such as Miss Elizabeth would turn your eye. She is of the intelligent type you have always preferred without degrading herself to the level of a bluestocking. Need I mention her fine eyes?” he added in mockery.

  Darcy glared at Wickham. If he showed any sign of his regard for Miss Elizabeth, it would only make her his next target. He deeply regretted the cut he had made her close to two months before at the Meryton Assembly. He had not known her character, and had assumed that she was no better than Mrs. Bennet with her presumptuous claims that Bingley, with his five thousand a year, would soon propose to her eldest daughter. It was one of the rare times Darcy had to admit to making a mistake, and he was not too proud to admit it— if only to himself. However, he was unwilling to admit as much to Wickham. Best to change the subject.

  "The fact is that my sister did not marry you. You did not get her dowry. Th
is is only a desperate attempt to leech off the fortunes of others so that you may continue in your vices. I will have no part in it."

  Wickham sneered, not having the decency to be ashamed of his reprehensible conduct. "I thought you would say as much." Shrugging his shoulders, he continued, "It is of no concern to me. I already have the ear of the more respected members of Meryton society.”

  Society? In Meryton?

  Any humor Darcy found in the contradictory terms soon shriveled up as Wickham added, “When the time is right, I will reveal the truth about your sister, and it will not take long for word to spread. ‘Society’, be they of the upper or the lower classes, has one thing in common: They love to gossip, and they glory in the denigration of one who believes himself so far superior to themselves as to make his fall all the more spectacular. It is your choice, Darcy. I would take great pleasure in ruining you, but my silence can be had for a price."

  Darcy’s breath trembled in his effort to control it. How could he protect Georgiana without bending to the will of a man undeserving of his cooperation?

  He needed to distance himself. No good decision was ever made at the height of emotion. "You have said enough. I will hear no more." He turned to leave.

  "I will see you tonight, Darcy," Wickham called out from behind him, the laughter in his voice darkening Darcy’s mood as he smacked the canvas of the tent aside to depart.

  Blast Wickham! Blast Bingley for arranging a ball and inviting the devil!

  He stomped to his horse, ignoring anything but his purpose. He had to rid himself and his sister of Wickham’s influence.

  Elizabeth Bennet watched Mr. Darcy burst out of a tent between the rows of white canvas. His shoulders tensed up to his ears as he jammed his hat onto his head and stalked away in the opposite direction.

  “That is Mr. Wickham’s tent. What business could Mr. Darcy have with him?” asked Lydia, peering at the flapping canvas left in Mr. Darcy’s wake.

  Indeed. Elizabeth knew of the so-called gentleman’s unjust behavior toward the lieutenant. Mr. Wickham had confided in her— her already poor opinion of Mr. Darcy justified when she heard how he had failed to honor his father’s wishes upon his death, and how he had cast Mr. Wickham out as of no consequence. Had the miserable man come to gloat?

  Jane, Elizabeth’s eldest sister, spoke, interrupting her own accusatory thoughts toward the unpleasant Mr. Darcy. “Lydia, how do you know which tent is Mr. Wickham’s?”

  Elizabeth had been so upset about Mr. Darcy, she had overlooked that important detail.

  Lydia was the youngest of the five Bennet sisters and renowned for her coquetries. Her eyes flickered over to Kitty, her partner in crime. Kitty ought to have been more sensible, being a year older than Lydia, but she seemed pleased to follow the lead of her troublesome sister. It was a pity. Kitty was as kindhearted as she was gullible.

  Wrinkling up her button nose, Lydia said, “Do not alarm yourself, Jane. It is not as if I have been inside Mr. Wickham’s tent.”

  Mary, the middle Bennet sister, and the polar opposite of Lydia in matters of morality, huffed out of flared nostrils in righteous indignation. “I pray that no sister of mine would commit such an act of impropriety. It would reflect poorly on our entire family, and what would Mr. Collins think of us then?” she said through pinched lips.

  For Elizabeth, Mary put too much importance on what their boorish cousin, Mr. Collins, thought. Just because he was to inherit the estate did not give him the right to occupy her thoughts nor those of her sisters, one of whom he was determined to marry. Elizabeth shivered in revulsion.

  “Of what import is Mr. Collins to me?” asked Lydia, voicing Elizabeth’s opinion. “With so many handsome officers about, I flatter myself that I may handpick a dashing husband of whom you will all turn green with jealousy,” Lydia giggled, flashing her pretty dimples and looking down the row of tents.

  “Will you encourage Mr. Wickham then? He is exceedingly handsome,” said Kitty, watching Lydia intently.

  Lydia lifted one shoulder up and at an angle, reaching up to twirl a tendril of hair near her collarbone. She need not have concerned herself with her provocative posture. There were no gentlemen about to admire her at that moment. “I would look well on his arm, would I not? We would be the most handsome couple in London, I should think.”

  Elizabeth scoffed. “And what makes you think that he could take you to London— or would even propose marriage to you when you have no dowry to recommend you?” Really, Lydia needed a healthy dose of reality. Gentlemen became officers when they did not have a fortune on which to live. When Mr. Wickham married, it would be to a lady with a fortune. Neither she nor her sisters had been blessed with such an allurement.

  Kitty’s eyes clouded over, and she sighed. “How romantic it would be to live on love.”

  “It would stop being romantic soon enough when your stomach growls with hunger and the landlord demands the rent,” said Elizabeth.

  Lydia huffed. “How dull you are, Lizzy. I suppose you would marry someone like Mr. Darcy then, with his fortune and grand estate. I suppose his wealth would tempter his frigid manners?”

  Kitty jabbed Lydia in the ribs. “You are only put out because he did not dance with you at the Meryton Assembly.”

  With a frown, Lydia lashed out, “At least he did not dance with anyone at all, and he did not openly snub me as he did Lizzy.”

  Jane reprimanded her. “Lydia, you ought not speak of such things as brings one pain. Especially to your own sister.”

  “I am sorry, Lizzy,” Lydia said with a pretty pout. “You do know that I love you. I can imagine how I would feel if a handsome gentleman of fortune were to insult my vanity. I declare that it would cut me so deeply, I might not ever recover.”

  Choosing to laugh rather than take Lydia’s thoughtless words to heart, Elizabeth said, “Then it is a good thing he insulted me and not you. I have since decided not to allow anything Mr. Darcy might say or do to affect me in the least, and I am determined to refuse to dance with him should he ever condescend to ask me. Now, let us proceed to the shop as we set out to do or else we shall have no ribbons to braid through our hair for the ball tonight.”

  The mention of ribbons distracted Kitty and Lydia, who accelerated their pace and discussed which colors would best suit their complexions and match their gowns. Mary, who spent much time studying the virtue of self-sacrifice, accompanied them, no doubt believing it a penitence with which she would improve her standing before God. Only Jane held back, reaching her arm out for Elizabeth to take.

  “I wish Lydia would learn some discernment. She does not mean any harm, but she could benefit from some discretion,” Jane said.

  “And she exercises a poor influence over Kitty. How I wish Father would find a way to check them. If he is unwilling to do so himself, he ought to see to a companion.” Elizabeth’s pleas over the years had fallen on disinterested ears.

  Jane, understanding her frustration, nodded. “Father has always allowed us more freedom than most ladies. Since you and I turned out well enough, he hoped all of his daughters would follow suit. Now that he sees how his lack of interference has affected them, he considers it too late to do anything.”

  Elizabeth sighed. “And so he does nothing.” She dearly loved her father, but he had never been one to take action when it was needed. He was of the mind that fate sorted things out anyway, so why bother?

  Elizabeth did not believe in fate. “No, Jane, I fear the responsibility lies with us. We must see that our younger sisters are properly guided before they ruin our chances to make good matches. Mr. Bingley admires you greatly, but his sisters will be quick to bring up our family’s shortcomings to discourage him.”

  Jane’s eyes widened, and her cheeks flushed at the mention of Mr. Bingley. Her reaction confirmed what Elizabeth suspected. She would allow no one to interfere with her dear sister’s happiness. Especially the senseless behavior of their sisters.

  Chapter 2

 
“Mr. Denny!” shouted Lydia eagerly as they crossed the street, waving her hand back and forth. As if it were possible for him not to see them in the empty square.

  “There is never occasion to shout, Lydia,” observed Mary, determined to impose her upright views on her errant sister.

  Lydia stuck her tongue out at Mary, then returned the sweet smile to her face before turning back to Lieutenant Denny.

  He swept his hat through the air in a dramatic bow, resting it against the breast of his red regimental coat. “How delightful to see the Misses Bennet this morning.”

  “And we are equally delighted to see you, Mr. Denny,” purred Lydia.

  Elizabeth linked her arm through Lydia’s and held her firmly to her side. Perhaps her closeness would calm her. Her efforts were thanked with a sharp jab of Lydia’s elbow to her ribs. Elizabeth bit her tongue to keep from yelping, tightening her grip on Lydia’s arm both to keep her in place and to prevent her from repeating the gesture.

  “Are you coming to the ball tonight?” Kitty asked.

  Mr. Denny smiled. “Indeed, I am. I do believe Mr. Bingley invited the entire regiment! It promises to be quite the crush.”

  “What of Mr. Wickham? Does he plan to attend?” asked Lydia, tugging her arm to free it from Elizabeth’s vice-like grip.

  Mr. Wickham was a happy addition to any party, and while Elizabeth harbored no amorous feelings for the gentleman, she did look forward to dancing with him. He would make for an increasingly diverting evening and an excellent dance partner.