Darcy Comes to Rosings Read online

  Darcy Comes to Rosings

  Andrea David

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  Published by

  Artesian Well Publishing

  www.ArtWellPub.com

  ∞∞∞

  Learn more about Andrea’s books by visiting her website, www.AndreaDavidAuthor.com

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination, are derived from the public domain works of Jane Austen, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Darcy Comes to Rosings

  © 2018 Andrea David

  First edition, October 2018

  All Rights Reserved Worldwide

  This ebook is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of international copyright law, and subject to criminal prosecution. An ebook format cannot legally be loaned or given to others. No portion of this literary work may be sold, manipulated, transmitted, copied, reproduced, or distributed, in any form or format, by any means or in any manner whatsoever, without the express written permission of the author, except for brief excerpts used for the purpose of review. To request written permission, contact Artesian Well Publishing at www.ArtWellPub.com.

  All trademarks used herein are the property of their respective owners.

  Published in the United States of America.

  This book is set in England and uses predominantly British spelling.

  Table of Contents

  About the Book

  Prologue

  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

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  About the Book

  Elizabeth Bennet from Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice is enjoying a visit with her newly married best friend in the idyllic countryside of Kent. Her pleasant holiday is interrupted when the arrogant Mr. Darcy appears at nearby Rosings Park. During their frequent meetings, her spirited retorts do nothing to deter his attentions to her. In fact, they only seem to encourage him.

  Realizing Darcy is in love with her, Elizabeth is torn by an awful dilemma. With her father’s estate entailed on a male heir, she and her sisters face the prospect of poverty if they do not marry well. Darcy’s wealth could save them. But how can she marry a man she does not esteem simply for the material comfort he can offer?

  Fitzwilliam Darcy is determined to forget the lovely Elizabeth, who stole his heart during his autumn sojourn in Hertfordshire. So naturally, when he learns she is spending the spring within walking distance of his aunt’s estate at Rosings, he goes for an extended stay. He finds Elizabeth even more enchanting than he remembered.

  When Darcy discovers Elizabeth’s rightful resentments against him, he seeks to make things right and court her properly. Can he convince her of his worth? Or have his past sins—and the machinations of an old enemy—sunk him in her opinion forever?

  This Pride and Prejudice variation is a full-length, sweet Regency romance. It includes kissing and a fade-to-black wedding night scene.

  Prologue

  “Take that, you French rogue!” The fallen oak branch, which served as Richard’s sword, clashed against Will’s. “I’ll run you through, I shall.”

  Will lowered his own branch and scowled at his cousin. “Why do I always have to be French?”

  “Because when I am grown, I shall be a real soldier in His Majesty’s army, whilst you will only be a gentleman.”

  Fitzwilliam Darcy, aged eight, puzzled at that. He had thought that being a gentleman was better than being a soldier, but he would have to ask his mama. She knew all about precedence. Will did not understand exactly what precedence was, but he knew it was important.

  “En garde!” Richard commanded, and Will raised the branch again. It was not a fair fight, because Richard was two years older. Still, Will used all his strength, and Richard was careful not to knock him down.

  They played a little longer, then ran along a path through a woodland, heading toward the manor house at Rosings Park. The building was no bigger than Will’s home at Pemberley, but it was not a warm, friendly place. With Richard at his side, though, Will was happy.

  Will sprinted as fast as he could, making his muscles work so he could keep up with his cousin. The breeze in his hair, the air coursing through his lungs, filled him with joy and wild abandon.

  During this large family holiday at his aunt and uncle de Bourgh’s, he was free from his tutor and could spend all day playing with his Fitzwilliam cousins. He liked his studies but did not care much for being confined to the nursery. It was full summer, the trees a leafy green, and his restless young body demanded fresh air and vast, open spaces.

  Late afternoon sunshine cast dappled shade on the rich earth. Will slowed to catch his breath. When he and Richard reached the lawn, they fell into a walk, composing themselves and feigning the dignity of their elders.

  Their aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, insisted that despite their youth, they must behave like gentlemen. Since it was her house, they had to follow her rules. That’s what Will’s mama had told him. And he always tried to do what his mama said.

  They strode into the house through the servants’ entrance. The housekeeper called, “Go straightaway to the nursery!” as they bounded up the stairs. But they did not. Richard headed to his parents’ rooms, and Will went looking for his own mother and father.

  If he went to his nurse, she would get a wet cloth and rub it roughly over his face and hands, scolding him for getting dirty. His mama’s touch was gentle, and she would tell him what a sweet, good boy he was whilst she washed him up. His mama was so pretty—it hurt his heart sometimes to look at her, like she was an angel from heaven.

  When he reached the outer chamber of his parents’ rooms, he heard their voices coming through the open bedroom door. “Can you believe Catherine,” his mama said, “insisting that she has higher precedence now that de Bourgh has been knighted? We are daughters of an earl, and get our precedence from our father. As I am older, I outrank her.”

  “My love,” his father said mildly, “is it worth spoiling this visit by arguing with her? She will never concede, and it is such a trivial thing.”

  “Trivial!” The pitch of his mother’s voice rose on that exclamation. “The entire social structure of England rests on that hierarchy.”

  “I doubt very much that the kingdom will fall if the precedence of two earl’s daughters gets reversed. Just be glad you are not French.”

  His mother turned silent at that, despite the laugh in his father’s tone. Will was not sure what it meant to be French, except that they were dogs who had rebelled against their rightful king and queen. Will was very glad he was not French.

  He stepped into his parents’ bedroom, and they turned to him. They were dressed for dinner, his mother in a pale blue silk gown, his father in a dark sui
t with a gold waistcoat. They looked so dignified, whereas he was as dirty as a street urchin. For a moment he worried they might scold him.

  Instead, his mother gave him a broad smile. “Why, look at you! Did you and Richard have fun?” She went to the wash basin and wet a cloth.

  “Yes, except that he made me be a French soldier again, and the French are dogs.”

  She hesitated a moment. “Well, it is only make-believe. You do not mind, do you?”

  Will thought about that. “No, I suppose not. I like Richard.”

  His throat tightened, and he pushed down the urge to cry. He was too old to cry. But soon, he would have to go back to Pemberley, where he would be all alone. He wished Richard were his brother. He did not have any brothers or sisters, and Richard had three of each.

  It wasn’t fair. Will had had a brother once, but the baby had gone to Heaven, and his mother had cried and cried. His father had not cried, but he had been sad. Will had tried to follow his father’s example, but sometimes he had cried, too.

  His mother gently caressed his face with the cloth, then his hands. “Goodness, you need a scrubbing. I shall tell Nurse.”

  “But she is so rough!” Will complained.

  His mother’s lips pursed. “Well, you are a big boy now. Perhaps you could wash yourself.”

  “She scolds me if I do. She says I get water everywhere.”

  “It is just a little water. It does not harm anything.” His mother kissed his forehead and beamed. “If you get cleaned up and dress like a gentleman, you can dine with us instead of taking a tray in the nursery.”

  His father chuckled.

  His mother turned. “What?”

  “I can see Catherine’s face now.”

  “It is a family dinner, and my son is the best-behaved child I know.”

  His mother’s words filled his heart. He tried very hard to be good. When he was good, it made her smile, and her smile was the prettiest sight in the world.

  “That will not stop her from chiding the boy for everything he does,” his father remarked.

  His mother narrowed her eyes, then looked at Will kindly. “Remember what I told you about not making Lady Catherine cross?”

  “You said not to argue.”

  “That’s right. Lady Catherine gets cross when she does not get her way, so we choose our battles. Do you understand what that means?”

  Will nodded. He had heard it before. “We let her have her way if it doesn’t matter.”

  “And if it does matter?”

  Will thought a moment, then beamed. In a menacing voice, he said, “We battle to the death.”

  His father laughed and tousled his hair. “You sound like Richard.”

  Will’s chest tightened, squeezing his heart. “Can Richard be my brother?”

  His father knelt. “I am afraid not. But he can be your best friend, and he will always be your cousin.”

  Will nodded fiercely. “When Richard is a soldier, and I am a gentleman, will he have higher precedence than me?”

  His mother laid her hands on his shoulders. “He will have higher precedence because his father will likely be earl by then, and your father will be a gentleman. But you will be a man of consequence. Always remember, you come from a noble family. Your grandfather is an earl, as your uncle will be after him, and then your cousin. And you will be master of Pemberley one day, one of the greatest houses in all of England.”

  His father chuckled. “In all of Derbyshire, at least.” He stood and kissed his wife’s cheek.

  Will’s mother stroked his arms. “You must always defer to those above you in the hierarchy—but in your heart, you must never think of them as your betters. Your father is the finest man in England, and if you emulate him, then you shall be, too.”

  “Anne,” his father said in a soft voice, caressing his wife’s back.

  “It is nothing more than the truth. I defy you to find anyone who treats his servants and his tenants better, or who is a better husband and father. A title is not the only measure of a man’s greatness.”

  His father rested a hand at his wife’s waist and kissed her tenderly. Then, he turned back to his son. “Off to the nursery with you. And tell Nurse she must let you wash yourself, and any mess you make be damned.”

  “George!” his mother cried with a laugh.

  “Say it for me, Will. Any mess be damned.”

  “Any mess be damned!” he said confidently.

  “That’s my boy. Now off with you.”

  Will skittered to the nursery, memorizing what his mother had said about his place in the world. It was important to come from a noble family, but it was also important to be kind, like his father was. That pleased Will. Because he wanted nothing more than to be like his father.

  Chapter 1

  Elizabeth Bennet stood atop a hillock a short walk from Hunsford Cottage in the countryside of Kent. Golden sunshine spilled down over the trees and open meadows. The cool morning air and sweet scent of wildflowers invigorated her senses.

  She had planned her route with the purpose of avoiding Mr. Darcy, a handsome but aloof young man from Derbyshire who was staying nearby with his aunt. He often rode through the nearby fields in the morning. Encounters between the two were strained, as his excessive pride left him disinclined to speak.

  From the high ground where she stood, she thankfully saw no sign of him. His aunt’s home, the proud estate of Rosings Park, lay open to her view. The house was the largest and grandest she had ever seen. Its pale limestone walls gleamed in the sunlight, imposing towers reaching for the sky.

  How strange that such a place had been built for people of flesh and blood, and not faerie princes and princesses! Lizzy could not imagine calling such a place home. Yet she had dined with the residents of the great hall more than once during her visit. Their manners were as imposing as the house, but their minds perhaps less impressive.

  Surrounding the house was a wide lawn, cut through by a cobblestone lane flanked by tall cedars. Beyond the structure, a woodland sloped toward a stream that wound toward the horizon. In her mind she could hear the water babbling over smooth rocks, and could feel it cold and refreshing on her skin.

  Lizzy breathed the spring air. April was her favourite month, with the bluebells dotting the forest floor and trees unfurling their new, translucent leaves. The forest was quickly greening, the birds undertaking the business of seeking a mate and building their nests.

  During her weeks in Hunsford, she had come to love this walk. Besides the exercise and stunning views it offered, it also gave her a respite from the chattiness of her cousin. The reverend Mr. Collins had never encountered a silence he did not feel compelled to fill.

  She had met Mr. Collins only recently, the two branches of their family split by an old feud. But upon the death of his father, Mr. Collins had sought to make amends. Whilst visiting Lizzy’s family, he had procured the hand of Lizzy’s best friend, Charlotte Lucas. It was for Charlotte’s sake, and not that of Mr. Collins, that Lizzy had made this sojourn.

  Older than Lizzy, with a practical nature, Charlotte had long been a steadying influence. Though Charlotte had never been pretty, she was patient and kind, and Lizzy had missed her terribly since she had left Hertfordshire. Lizzy’s home life was not always felicitous, as one of five daughters in competition for the attention and affection of their parents—which were not always freely given.

  Lizzy was visiting along with Charlotte’s sister Maria, who was constantly amazed by the experiences she had in her sister’s new home. From the French porcelain plates to the hand-carved woodwork to the beehives in the garden, everything she saw was fantastic and new. Lizzy loved Maria but could not share her enthusiasm.

  Lizzy descended the hill in a dash, the fall of her boots sure against the soft earth. Perhaps when she arrived at the cottage, the post would have come. She longed for a letter from Jane. Her eldest sister was staying in London with their aunt and uncle, nursing a broken heart. Her attempts at feigning
a tranquil spirit were transparent to her sister. Lizzy could hardly endure the separation, knowing Jane suffered.

  Heading toward the woodland, she was startled to see Mr. Darcy emerging on foot from the dark shade of the trees. Her chest and shoulders sank. Fitzwilliam Darcy, of the great estate of Pemberley in Derbyshire, was a man of eight-and-twenty, as disagreeable as he was wealthy. ’Twas a pity he was consumed with pride—for in his person, he was as pleasing a man as Lizzy had ever beheld.

  Since she was out in the open, in full view of him, there was no getting around it. She would have to greet him, and be as polite as their mutual stations required. Had she not disliked him so much, she might have admired his upright posture and earnest expression as he approached. But in a man for whom she held such an aversion, those physical enticements were unforgivable.

  Drawing close, he bowed, and she curtsied. Since he said nothing, she began, “It is a beautiful morning, is it not?”

  “Splendid.”

  She looked at him expectantly, and was about to break the silence when he added haltingly, “You are in the habit of taking an early morning walk, I think?”

  She blinked in surprise. “Yes, but I have finished my exercise for today. I was just about to head back to the parsonage. If you will excuse me—”

  “I would be happy to accompany you.”

  Good heavens! The man could not wish for her company, surely. This must be some gallantry on his part. “I would not wish to put you out—”

  “Not at all. As you say, it is a beautiful morning. I can think of no better way to spend it than in the company of a beautiful woman.”

  Fire burned in her cheeks. It was not like Darcy to pay false compliments. Normally he was blunt in his appraisals; on the night they had met, he had dismissed her as tolerably pretty, but not handsome enough to induce him to dance.

  And now he had the audacity to call her beautiful?

  She was glad she had overheard his true assessment, or else his flattering words might have affected her. Instead, she held her head high, looking anywhere but at his face, and walked in a calm pace toward the parsonage, the home of Mr. and Mrs. Collins, where she was staying.