Pride Prejudice and Prodigy

An Unexpected Lady

Prologue

Not many days after Mr Collins' most welcome departure from Longbourn, Elizabeth was reflecting upon the capriciousness of life as she walked towards Meryton one morning with Jane, Kitty, and Lydia. Jane was earnestly engaged in the office of cautioning her two youngest sisters on the need to show greater restraint in the company of the officers, leaving Elizabeth free to pursue her thoughts regarding chance, and how so much in life appeared to depend upon it. These thoughts began with her considering, as she had done often in recent days, the astonishing acceptance of Mr Collins' offer of marriage by her friend Charlotte. How could a thoughtful, intelligent girl such as Charlotte, agree to spend her life with so absurd a partner?

Perhaps it was because she could find no satisfactory answer to this perplexing question that her thoughts wandered to the perverse sequence of events which were responsible for her friend's most unfortunate betrothal. To begin with, there was the entail on Mr Bennet's estate, which ensured that it would pass to Mr Collins upon her father's death. It was this which almost certainly had prompted Mr Collins' visit. He was doubtless motivated as much by the surreptitious desire to inspect his future property, as he was by his avowed intention of choosing a wife from among Mr Bennet's daughters. He appeared to believe they were his by right to select from, according to his whim – and to be accepted – as if they too were part of the entail; the presumptuous buffoon! Had it not been for Mr Bingley and her mother's hopes for Jane in that regard, her elder sister would have unquestionably been the object of Mr Collins' attentions. But Elizabeth knew her sister well enough to know that though it would have grieved her excessively to go against her mother's wishes, she would never have accepted Mr Collins. Jane would marry for love – and no woman could love Mr Collins. Thus, she herself became the object of Mr Collins' hopes and illusions.

On the very day Mr Collins had finally come to the point – and been so vigorously rebuffed – Charlotte came to spend the day at Longbourn, and as an act of kindness to her friend, sought to engage Mr Collins' attentions. Was it he, out of wounded pride, who first had the notion of Sir William Lucas' daughter as a suitable wife – one of whom Lady Catherine de Bourgh must surely approve – or did Charlotte deliberately set about encouraging his addresses? Whatever the truth of the matter, one thing was certain: chance had played an extraordinary part in the chain of events that would end with one of the most significant events in her friend Charlotte's life: her marriage to Mr Collins.

Continuing with her theme of chance, Elizabeth directed her thoughts towards a more agreeable subject: her acquaintance with Mr Wickham. It was strange to think that had he not been treated so abominably by Mr Darcy and denied the promised family living, Mr Wickham would now be a clergyman in some distant northern place, and she would never have experienced the pleasure of his delightful manners and company. Elizabeth smiled to herself. I shall certainly thank chance for that piece of good fortune – and not Mr Darcy! Little did Elizabeth know, as she engaged in her musings, but the recent death of a person wholly unknown to her had already set in motion a chain of events which would soon touch her life, and perhaps alter its course irrevocably.

Part One

Chapter 1 ~ An Unexpected Lady

When the Miss Bennets returned from Meryton, they were surprised to learn that their father had been unexpectedly called away. All their agitated mother could tell them was that an express had arrived, and soon afterwards he had hurriedly departed without any explanation. All he had said was that he was unlikely to return before several days. As he was enigmatic by nature, and not disposed to confide much in their mother, Jane and Elizabeth, while surprised at his unexpected journey, and curious to know what it could mean, were not overly anxious. Kitty and Lydia were too much occupied with gossip concerning one of the officers of the militia to be troubled, and Mary was upstairs, engaged in the improvement of her mind, altogether oblivious of her father's sudden departure.

Mrs Bennet passed the absence of her husband speculating to whence he might have gone, fretting over when he should return, and fearing that he would be set upon by highwaymen and murdered. What would become of them all then? The elder Miss Bennets could not help but feel that it was a welcome distraction of their mother's attentions, which had lately been much directed at themselves. For Jane, it was an agreeable respite from her mother's endless speculations as to why Mr Bingley was not yet returned to Netherfield; and Elizabeth was happy to spend a few days free from her mother's angry recriminations regarding her refusal of Mr Collins.

***

When Mr Bennet eventually returned in the fading evening light four days later, he looked tired and careworn, and was not inclined to answer any of their questions. He asked for his supper to be sent to the library, where he shut himself away, safe from the curiosity of his wife and daughters.

The following morning, when all were seated at the breakfast table, he lowered his newspaper and addressed his wife thus: “Mrs Bennet, we are to receive two visitors within the week, please have the guest rooms ready for their arrival.” He immediately disappeared behind his newspaper once more, as if no further explanation were required.

“My dear Mr Bennet, who are these visitors?” demanded his wife. “This must have something to do with your mysterious journey. Pray tell us what this is all about, sir.”

Mr Bennet laid down his paper with a sigh. It was clear that he would have no peace until his good lady's curiosity was satisfied. “You may recall my mentioning on occasion, an intimate acquaintance from my Oxford days, by the name of Lord Darlington.”

“I am quite certain I would recall anyone of so elevated a rank had you mentioned him, Mr Bennet; but indeed you did not,” said his wife, shaking her head before continuing excitedly. “Are we to receive a visit from Lord Darlington? You said two persons – Lady Darlington must be accompanying him! Oh, what a great honour for us! I shall call Hill immediately and instruct her to use the finest linen in making up the guest rooms.”

However, before she could ring for the housekeeper, Mr Bennet said, “Lord Darlington will not be visiting us; he died some weeks ago.” This had the immediate effect of quieting his wife and daughters, who looked towards him in silent anticipation. “The purpose of my recent absence was to pay a visit to Lord Darlington's widow, and his son who succeeds his father to the title.”

“Then you must have invited Lady Darlington and her son to visit us! Oh, how wonderful for our girls! But pray tell what kind of gentleman is this young Lord Darlington? Is he married?”

“He is not; but if you will allow me—”

“How exciting,” cried Mrs Bennet. “How old is he? He must be rich! Is he handsome? Jane, my dear, how fortunate that Mr Bingley remains out of the way in London; the young Lord Darlington may very likely fall in love with you. Imagine what a match that will be! Lady Jane, does it not sound delightful? Oh I can hardly wait—”

“The young Lord Darlington is not coming!” interjected an exasperated Mr Bennet. “Perhaps you can spare us the details of the nuptials until I have finished my communication and departed from the room, madam.”

“Not coming? Why ever not? Why have you not invited him, Mr Bennet? How could you be so cruel and heartless a father, to pass up so exceptional an opportunity for your daughters?”

“Perhaps, if you would allow me to finish what I have to say, you may decide that you would rather not have the young Lord Darlington for a son.”

“Good gracious, why ever not?”

“My friend, the late Lord Darlington, married a few years earlier than myself, and his lady soon afterwards bore him a son and heir; but most unfortunately she did not recover from her confinement. Lord Darlington, not long afterwards, took a second wife, being anxious that his son should not grow up motherless. His new wife was from a noble family, and was herself a widow with a baby daughter. The unexpected and premature death of her first husband occurred before suitable provision for such an eventuality had been made, and she was left with very little to live on—”

“In such circumstances it is hardly surprising that she would accept any offer. But of course you know what they say about second marriages being for comfort, not love, my dear,” said Mrs Bennet.

“Indeed I do not, Mrs Bennet – and I would very much appreciate it if you would be so good as to spare me the information.” Rising from his chair, he added, “If you will excuse me, I must arrange for the carriage to be despatched immediately to collect Lady Darlington and her daughter. I leave the arrangements for the ladies' accommodation in your care, Mrs Bennet.”

“Daughter? But, how many days are they to stay with us, Mr Bennet?”

“I have not the slightest idea.”

“But, why ever not, Mr Bennet? And why do you send our drab old carriage for them – it will never do for a great lady and her daughter – she must have several carriages far superior to our poor vehicle at her disposal. Certainly, the young Lord Darlington would not allow his mother and sister to travel abroad without proper conveyance and attendants. It is unthinkable that he would not make a suitable carriage available to bring them to us and to collect them when it is time for their return.”

“They will not be returning to Darlington Hall.”

“Not return? Whatever do you mean, Mr Bennet?”

Mr Bennet stopped at the door, the astonished faces of his wife and all five daughters turned towards him. He paused for a moment to consider his words. “My recent journey was prompted by an express from the late Lord Darlington's solicitor, entreating me to intercede with the son. As an old acquaintance of his father, and being somewhat known to the son, the solicitor had hoped that I might prevail upon him to reconsider his decision to cast out his stepmother, Lady Darlington, without a penny. Most regrettably, I failed to soften his resolve in the least.”

“How shocking!” exclaimed Mrs Bennet. “How could he treat the person who has stood in the place of a mother to him almost all his life so abominably? But why is she penniless? Surely her late husband, Lord Darlington, must have made a will providing for his wife and daughter.”

“Indeed he did. According to the solicitor, the late Lord Darlington made a second will soon after remarrying, making ample provision for his new wife, her daughter, and any subsequent children she might bear him. About a year ago, he made a third will, which was even more generous in its provisions for his wife and her children, all of whom were most dear to him; although the son from his first marriage remained the heir and would naturally inherit the title and the estate.”

Before Mrs Bennet could interrupt again, he quickly continued. “When Lord Darlington passed away, about a month ago, and his strongbox was opened, the solicitor found only the first will, which, being made prior to the second marriage, left everything to his son. There was no trace of the subsequent wills which had superseded it.”

The ladies gasped. “But surely the solicitor is able to testify to the existence of the later wills?” demanded Mrs Bennet.

“Indeed he is. In fact, he retains draft copies of all three wills, but they have no legal standing. It is not unheard of for a man to have more than one will. The latest one takes precedence, but he may, for whatever reason, decide to revert to an earlier plan for the division of his estate, and so destroy a later will.”

“But it is unthinkable that Lord Darlington could have done such a thing; to leave his wife and her daughter penniless!” exclaimed Jane.

“It is far more likely,” said Elizabeth darkly, “that the son had access to his father's keys, and that he opened the strongbox, inspected the wills, and destroyed the two later ones. Whatever his stepmother and anyone else were to receive would be at his expense.”

“Quite so; I am sure you are right, my dear,” replied her father. “Although Lord Darlington's death was sudden and unexpected, he lay incapacitated in his bed chamber for several days. The son would have had access to both his father's keys and the strongbox containing the wills during that period. Privately, the solicitor seemed in little doubt as to what had transpired, but there is no legal remedy – nothing can be done.”

“I imagine that Lady Darlington must have justly accused him of his crime,” said Elizabeth, “and consequently he has cast her out, along with her daughter.”

“Indeed not,” replied Mr Bennet. “The solicitor made her immediately aware that she had no legal recourse at her disposal; and she knows too well the disposition of her stepson to expect any admission of guilt or concession on his part. No such accusation has been made.”

“But then why has he cast them out, papa?” asked Jane.

“That is a question you may wish to ask the ladies yourself. Please excuse me,” said Mr Bennet, quickly exiting the room.

There followed a most animated conversation amongst the ladies, conjecturing as to the cause of the young Lord Darlington's actions. What a terrible blackguard he must be, to destroy his father's wills and drive out his stepmother and stepsister, leaving them homeless and destitute. It seemed unthinkable. Or was it perhaps revenge for a lifetime of cruelty at the hands of a wicked stepmother? Such things were not unheard of.

“We should never be hasty in judging others,” cautioned Mary. “The scriptures counsel us to judge not our fellow man, lest we ourselves be judged.”

“Nonsense!” said her mother. “I shall most certainly get to the bottom of it as soon as they arrive!”

“Mama,” entreated Jane, “please consider the state Lady Darlington must be in. She is in mourning, having lost her husband only very recently.”

“And she is very likely blameless for the actions of her stepson,” added Elizabeth. “I think we must give her the benefit of the doubt until we know the circumstances. Imagine how it must be for her; having just lost her husband, finding herself and her daughter cheated of their inheritance and then thrown upon the charity of strangers. She must be completely without relations if she is forced to come to a strange house. Mother, we must not question them. All we can do is strive to make them comfortable. Once they are at their ease, they may choose to confide in us something of the extraordinary circumstances that have led to this sad state of affairs.”

“Yes, mother, Elizabeth is correct,” pleaded Jane. “They are both of them in mourning and have suffered grievously. We must not pry into their affairs; it would be very wrong.”

***

When the two ladies arrived some days later, they were visibly tired and distraught; although they were at pains to express their sincere gratitude for the great kindness of the Bennets in taking them in. Lady Darlington seemed reserved and kept to her room much of the time. On the few occasions that she sat with them in the drawing-room, she seemed intent on absorbing herself in a book; although Elizabeth observed her occasionally staring fixedly at nothing in particular, her mind turned inwards on itself. She must have been a great beauty in her youth; and even in her present state of distress and sorrow there was a calm dignity about her. Whether it was the result of her daughters' counsel, her awe for the lady's title, or simply the respect that their visitor's poised demeanour commanded, Mrs Bennet kept her curiosity in rein.

The daughter, Julia, unlike her mother, sought comfort and distraction in the company of others, particularly Jane and Elizabeth, in whom she found sympathy and goodwill. At first she said very little except to repeatedly thank them and their family for their kindness and generosity. But one morning, a few days after their arrival, she was walking with the two elder Miss Bennets in a small wood not far from the house, when she confided in them that her mother was anxious to find a small cottage.

“You must not think of leaving us so soon,” said Elizabeth earnestly. “We are all of us delighted to have you remain with us for as long as you please.”

“Yes,” agreed Jane. “Both you and your mother are such charming companions, we would miss you terribly.”

“You have all been so kind to us – more than we could have imagined or hoped for – and we will be forever grateful to you for taking us in at this most difficult time,” replied Julia. “But my mother wishes very much to have her own establishment again, no matter how low it may be. Do either of you perchance know of any suitable small place in the neighbourhood that might be available for rent?”

“But would you not prefer to be situated closer to your own country, amongst your friends and acquaintances?” asked Jane.

“No, that would be most awkward and painful. We were in the first circle of our neighbourhood. How could we bear the ignominy of poverty before those with whom we were once intimate? We have no money, nothing, only a few small items of jewellery from my mother's first marriage, which my stepbrother was unable to claim as his own lawful property.”

Jane and Elizabeth were shocked.

“How could any person act so cruelly to another?” asked Elizabeth. “It is beyond imagination; even had you not been members of the same family. I know you were not related by blood, but you and he must have grown up together, your mother was also a mother to him. How could he turn his back so viciously upon his nearest friends? It defies comprehension.”

“Because he wished to be even nearer,” said Julia with a deep sigh. “Nearer than stepbrother and stepsister.”

“You mean he wished to marry you?” asked Jane.

“Yes.”

“How could you possibly marry so odious a man? How could any woman love – nay, not love: merely endure – such a hateful person?” demanded Elizabeth

“He was not always so,” replied Julia, with a sigh. “There was a time when I did love him – as a brother. I was but a year in age, and Edwin two, when my mother became Lady Darlington. He loved the outdoors; and as children we shared many adventures in the woods around Darlington Hall, and games about the hall when the weather kept us indoors. Edwin was a brave and adventurous child, and so long as he was the author and leader of our little exploits, he was happy to share them with me, and treated me with kindness. In those early years, Edwin and I were quite inseparable.

“When he was ten years old, he was sent off to school, which changed him and brought out an unpleasant side to his nature. When he came home for the holidays, he was no longer interested in our innocent adventures of old. He began to hunt, and delighted in indiscriminate killing: not just game, but robins, thrush, blackbirds, badgers, baby rabbits too small for the pot. He wanted to prove his manliness, I believe, and expected me to admire him for it – but I could not. I could neither share nor condone his cruelty.”

“Of course,” agreed Jane. “But I have observed that boys sometimes pass through such a phase, and then later they regain their sense of humanity.”

“Sadly, that was not the case with my brother, Edwin,” said Julia with a sigh. “But that was not the only thing which came between us. With Edwin away at school, I began to spend more time with my younger brother, James.”

“Oh, we were not aware that there were other brothers or sisters,” said Elizabeth.

“Only James. He was born a year after my mother's marriage to Lord Darlington. Being two years younger than myself, and three years younger than Edwin, we were loath to include him in our little adventures. He was the baby, and Edwin, particularly, seemed bent on excluding him; not that it seemed to bother James in the least. From the earliest age, he was quite self-sufficient, always happy wandering about alone, absorbed in the meadow flowers, or engrossed in some insect he had found by the pond. He drew beautiful pictures which were quite unintelligible to others, and wrote fantastic stories of make-believe people and animals and places. My mother used to say fondly that his head was in the clouds. She sometimes jested that James behaved more like a little girl and I like a boy, always running about, thick as thieves with Edwin.

“But when Edwin commenced school, my mother engaged a governess to teach me. James begged to join my lessons, and embarrassingly, he soon outshone me in every discipline. When my mother later engaged masters to teach us music and art, he completely eclipsed me.”

“How could that be?” asked Jane in astonishment. “Your performance yesterday evening on the pianoforte was superb; I have never heard anything so beautiful.”

“Yes indeed,” agreed Elizabeth, “I felt quite ashamed for my own meagre performance when I heard you play.”

“It is very kind of you to say so, but that is very much the way I myself feel before my brother's virtuosity; and not just upon the pianoforte – but at anything he turns his hand to. The regrettable changes in Edwin, which my mother attributed to his school, prompted her to keep James at home, and so we two were educated together; and though I was a diligent student and received much praise from our tutors, I could never equal my brother's accomplishments.”

“I think I should have hated such a brother,” laughed Elizabeth.

“But I did not. I soon came to treasure him and love him dearly; and it was principally this, I believe, that turned Edwin against me. He is, I am sorry to say, a selfish person, and possesses a very jealous nature. He became so jealous of my affection for our younger brother, that he developed a dislike bordering upon hatred towards him.”

“Perhaps his jealousy was on account of your younger brother's abilities?” suggested Jane.

“No, indeed not,” replied Julia, shaking her head with a smile. “Edwin deems art, literature, and music unfit pursuits for a gentleman. At that time, he himself was interested only in hunting, blood-sports, and games of chance. Later, after school, he spent his days – or more accurately, his nights – gambling, drinking, and in all manner of dissipation. But while he sneered at his younger brother for his unmanliness, he was nevertheless jealous of how well-loved he was by our mother, myself, and most especially, his father, whose affection was too great to be concealed. It was apparent to all that James was his father's favourite. Over the years, Edwin's jealousy led him to hate his father almost as much as he hated James.”

“And your mother and yourself, also?” suggested Elizabeth.

“No, in our case there was jealousy, certainly; and anger at our undisguised affection for his younger brother, but not outright hatred. My mother loved Edwin as her own child; and despite everything that has happened, she loves him still. Sometimes I think she blames herself for not preventing him from turning out as he has; but I cannot see what more she could have done. She wished to remove him from school in order to better supervise him, but he would not hear of it. It is my opinion that the school is not to blame; it is well-respected, and I am acquainted with many fine gentlemen – including my father, Lord Darlington – who have attended there. No, it is his character, I fear, that is to blame: his predisposition to jealousy, hatred, and rage are so marked,” she said, shaking her head sadly.

“But then why did he cast you out so cruelly if he does not hate you?” asked Elizabeth.

“Because I would not marry him.”

“But you were raised as brother and sister, it is not natural,” objected Jane.

“I do not know if it is natural or not. We are not related by blood. I only know that my affection for him, so strong at first when we were children, and in later years strained on account of his behaviour, though still surviving in some measure, was the affection of a sister for a brother. I could never have married him, any more than I could marry my brother, James, whom I love so very dearly. But for Edwin, who can say? It seems his love was of different nature. When it became such, I cannot say, I did not realise it until about a year ago, when he first told me of his wish to make me his wife.”

“And you refused him?” asked Jane.

“Yes, of course – repeatedly. Eventually his addresses became so fervent that I confided in my mother, who spoke of it to my father. They both believed that such a marriage was unnatural and wrong, even had it been our mutual wish and had our characters been such that there might have been some hope of happiness. They were aware of the strength of my feelings against the match, and quite certain that it could not lead to happiness for either of us. Lord Darlington categorically forbade Edwin to address me further on the subject, and as long as his father was alive, he acceded to his injunction.”

“But he renewed his addresses after his father's passing?” surmised Elizabeth.

“Most forcefully and alarmingly,” replied Julia, shaking her head. “I imagine you have heard that my father's will, which contained the most generous provisions for my mother, my brother James, and myself, disappeared along with a previous one, leaving his estate entirely in the hands of Edwin?”

Jane and Elizabeth nodded.

“Shortly after my father's funeral, Edwin presented me with a simple choice: marry him and make my home at Darlington Hall, where my mother might remain to live out her days. James would never again be welcome there, but he would continue to receive the same generous allowance that my father had provided for him to continue his studies for as long as he wished. If I refused, however, we would all three be thrown out and cut off without a penny. Edwin was well aware that we had neither private fortune nor relations to whom we might turn.”

“How dreadful,” said Elizabeth, “to be presented with such a choice; what a cruel and heartless man he must be.”

“And yet, he was moved by love to behave so terribly,” mused Jane.

“I do not call that love,” said her sister. “Passion, infatuation, the desire to own and possess another, perhaps – but love? Never!”

“Yes, I agree,” said Julia. “There was a time, long ago, when he did love me, rightly, as one loves a best friend, as a brother loves a sister; but what it became was not love. As much as I dreaded the consequences of refusing him, I could not accept such an offer.”

“Of course you could not!” affirmed Jane, “And surely your mother and brother do not blame you!”

“Indeed, they do not. They were both adamant that I must refuse him. My mother ventured on more than one occasion to make Edwin see how improper it was to use such means to gain my hand. She begged him in the name of his late father; for the sake of what he owed to a mother who loved him and a sister who had been the devoted friend of his childhood, but he was utterly obdurate.”

“And my father fared no better,” added Elizabeth. “He spoke of his vexation in endeavouring to make Edwin see reason; to properly understand his responsibilities as the head of the house. He addressed him in the most forthright terms, saying that his actions were not those of a gentleman, and warned Edwin that if he made good on his threat, he would be shunned by all decent society and would forever be cast as a villain or a madman. But Edwin refused to listen.”

“Yes, I recall how displeased Mr Bennet appeared after his interview with Edwin. In contrast, his manner towards my mother and myself was all compassion and consideration. He insisted on our coming to Longbourn without delay, and staying as long as need be. Your father is the most kind-hearted of men, and we are quite overcome by his kindness.”