The Prince of Pemberley 1

By Moira Bianchi

It ́s a truth universally acknowledged, as well as feared, that fate has its twisted ways to dispose of our lives. And of all alignments the planets on my chart could assume, this one is especially whimsical.
I should refrain from behaving like a risk-taking girl excited about poking a hornet’s nest. I’m in my forties, after all. Actually, coming to think of it, I’ve been feeding this mess since I was thirteen.
You see, I was a regular Brazilian teenager from a small coast city in Rio de Janeiro estate called Merytônia and the British School my sisters and I attended had branches worldwide. My older sister Jane and I took part actively in our school’s Youth Group believing ourselves links of a chain that would revolutionize the planet fighting passionately for humanity.
But the group’s biggest achievement wasn’t civil revolution during Cold War; it was bringing people closer in a pre-internet world. I was curious and outgoing and made friends all over, one British guy in special.
He was seventeen, an arrogant senior secretary for the International board, I was secretary for the Brazilian board therefore we exchanged documents often – as often as our posts allowed - and before we noticed, we were friends. We loved each other’s insight filled notes attached to documents and those eventually escalated to thick letters independent of the Youth Group. We sent each other small gifts; shared inner thoughts and aspirations for a future that we dreamt would be bright and adventurous.
Time passed, the ideals of a better world met real life, college, lovers, careers and we grew apart; but there was always that... gap in my chest that only his letters could fill. Eventually the gap effaced as I lived on, married a good man, had two lovely kids.
Suddenly, decades had gone by.
A few months ago, on the verge of turning forty and starting my PhD abroad, by chance, out of nowhere, while casually surfing the net, I found Fitz’s name crowning a big company’s organogram.
I knew it couldn’t be the same Fitzwilliam Darcy but what if it was? It could only be some astrological midlife revolution positioning Uranus against Uranus in my birth chart but I was very excited with the possibility of finding my dear friend after so long! Of course I wrote him a note! (By the way, Fitz says Uranus against Uranus is rubbish.)
To my surprise, it was him! He answered soon after and we reconnected instantly, as if time hadn’t passed at all. He’s married to a cousin, has two teenage daughters and missed me as much as I missed him.
Only, at first, I didn’t realize how much it was...
We started talking daily, met as often as we could crossing continents and oceans, united our families and kept thirsty for our friendship.
One thing led to another and now... I don’t know where this will lead us.
Lines are blurring in front of my eyes and I find myself loosing the ability to discern how I truly feel from what I should feel opposed to what I want to feel.
I’m standing on a cliff, my toes curled on the edge. Should I jump?
An old yearbook quote keeps coming back to me: “Don’t overanalyze what you feel, autopsies only exist where there’s no longer life.”
Oh, I need a cigarette. And a dose of Fitz’s single malt whisky. See? I need him to stop thinking about him...
How did it come to this? Well, like I said, it started with a note:
“Sorry to bother but, when a young girl, I used to correspond with the most presumptuous person I had ever met, so much so that he could only have blue blood in his veins. The heir of the richest estate-country in the whole England, His Royal Highness the Prince of Pemberley, had your name exactly and was a close friend who I miss dearly.
At the time, I was a passionate human rights enthusiast and HRH shared my views for a better world, as long as they didn’t disturb his kingdom’s peaceful life.
If, by an ingenious twist of fate it is you, please reply.
Cordial

• Language: English
• Publisher: Moira Bianchi
• Release date: Oct 28, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311952004

Moira Bianchi

A 40 years old architect and human engineer addicted to Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice from the moment she first read ‘...Darcy had never been so bewitched by any woman as he was by her.’ After years consuming Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy in fanfiction, movies, TV series and what else; she decided to try her hand on writing and loved it. Married for almost twenty years, mother a tyrant prince of her own, Moira lives in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.

Book preview

The Prince of Pemberley

BOOK 1

A Pride and Prejudice inspired novel

Moira Bianchi

2015

Copyright

THE PRINCE OF PEMBERLEY is a work of fiction inspired by Jane Austen´s Pride and Prejudice, and although several characteristics and situations are presents, they are freely used. All characters here come from Ms Austen’s novels (Elizabeth’s children were Ms Austen siblings) except Darcy’s daughters. Names, characters, places and incidents either are a product of the author´s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

It is a big love story of leaps of faith, inner struggles and second chances divided in three volumes entitled ‘Friends’, ‘Lovers’ and ‘Partners’. Opening each book there is a quote magisterially penned by Niccoló Machiavelli giving the reader an idea of the developments ahead.

The characters met and befriended during the eighties and nineties, so a few great artists are also quoted such as Madonna, The Rolling Stones, Men at Work, Ne Order and many others. The author has no right over these works mentioned, but is greatly thankful for the inspiration.

Cover designed by Bianchi & Neiva.

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

Rights to Ms. Austen´s work belong to her legacy

Work registered at EDA Biblioteca Nacional – Ministério da Cultura – Brasil - 2014.

www.moirabianchi.com

Copyright © 2014 Moira Bianchi

All rights reserved.

Smashwords edition

ISBN 9781311952004

Copyright

THE PRINCE OF PEMBERLEY is a Pride and Prejudice inspired story divided in three books.

This Book, the 1st - ‘FRIENDS’ – shows their friendship and how their love grew out of hand;

Book 2 - ‘LOVERS’ – shows their struggle to deal with their relationship in spite of being married to other people.

Book 3 – ‘PARTNERS’ – shows their life together as a legitimate couple.

Paperback versions also available.

This love story has a very touchy plot, one that has been looping in my mind for a while now. The allowance of fate, stars or Divine Providence to dictate a special someone designed to complete us is hardly an exclusive notion but even though it has been discussed for ages, it is still intriguing.

Several talented people have done it marvelously: Shakespeare, Byron, Austen, Eça de Queiroz, García Marquéz… Innumerous movies such as ‘An affair to remember’, ‘Serendipity or ‘You’ve got mail’. Still, here it is my own version of it.

The idea of one finding the person who was meant for her/him too late always intrigued me, even more. What would one do? Should one accept the irony and move on or stop-rewind-restart?

Especially concerning Pride and Prejudice, I frequently wonder the outcome of Mr. Darcy not visiting Netherfield to help Mr. Bingley and only meeting Elizabeth Bennet when both were already committed. Here goes my modern version of this what if.

I have been married for seventeen years already and dated my husband since he was a junior architect and I was a freshie in College, so this is our first (hopefully only) marriage. Therefore, I haven’t lived the situations portrayed here but unfortunately, several of my friends and relations have. Of course I saturated the colors but most of the situations here have a lot of reality.

Also, this book centers on a one side of two broken marriages. The other two sides, right, wrong, avenged, justified or betrayed have all my respect. For what is worth, with a seventeen years’ experience, I know it takes a lot of work to keep a marriage healthy and I’m aware the four major characters here are to blame.

Dedication

As always, this book is dedicated to my two roommates: my husband and son. I thank them for the patience and support (even though I can tell they are starting to get fed up with my absent presence at home).

Also thank my friend Cris Neiva who patiently designs my covers, as well as my many other friends who feed me with interesting stories and don’t mind (much) when they recognize themselves in my characters’ idiosyncrasies.

My online JAFF community is very dear to me and without them; this book would be a lot sadder.

Ms Austen for having left Pride and Prejudice available, as well as Persuasion. (And Lady Susan, Emma, Mansfield Park, Sense and Sensibility…).

Last but not least, I thank the friends who talked to me about their experiences and relationships.

Jane Austen once wrote

‘…if a book is well written, I always find it too short…’

and maybe that is why I can’t let her Pride and Prejudice alone.

Contents

Copyright

Acknowledgments

Synopsis

Elizabeth speaks

Prologue

The Prince and the King

Chapter one

A long, long time ago

Chapter two

Poste restante

Chapter three

Royal affairs

Chapter four

Reunion

Chapter five

Time after time

Chapter six

Candid and personal

Chapter seven

Simple pleasures

Chapter eight

Taming the inner freak

Chapter nine

Useless to resist

Synopsis Book 2

Book 2 excerpt

Synopsis Book 3

About the Author

Other titles from this author

Synopsis

It all started with a note. A silly, innocent note and now I’m in this wretched situation.

It is a truth universally acknowledged (and feared) that fate has its twisted ways to dispose of our lives, mine included.

I should refrain from behaving like a risk-taking girl excited about poking a hornet’s nest. I’m in my forties after all. Actually, coming to think of it, I’ve been feeding this mess since I was 13.

You see, I was a regular Brazilian teenager certain I could change the world by fighting passionately for humanity. I lived in a small coast city in Rio de Janeiro estate called Merytônia and the British School my sisters and I attended had branches worldwide. My older sister Jane and I took part actively in our school’s Youth Group believing ourselves part of a chain that would revolutionize the planet.

But the group’s biggest achievement wasn’t civil revolution during Cold War; it was bringing people closer in a pre-internet world. I was lucky enough to make friends all over, one British guy in special.

He was senior secretary for the International board, I was secretary for the Brazilian board so we exchanged documents often – as often as our posts allowed and before we noticed, we were friends. We loved each other’s insights that eventually escalated from small notes attached to documents to thick letters independent of the Youth Group. We sent each other small gifts; shared inner thoughts and aspirations for a future that we dreamt would be bright and adventurous.

Time passed, the ideals of a better world met real life, college, lovers, careers and we grew apart; but there was always that... gap in my chest that only his letters could fill. Eventually the gap effaced and I lived on, married a good man – Navy Captain George Wickham, M.D., had two lovely kids. And 20 years went by.

A few months ago, on the edge of turning forty, by chance, out of nowhere, while casually surfing the net, I found Darcy’s name crowning a big company’s organogram.

I knew it couldn’t be the same Fitzwilliam Darcy but what if it was? It could only be some astrological midlife revolution positioning Uranus was against Uranus in my birth chart but I was very excited with the possibility of finding my dear friend after so long! Of course I wrote him a note! (By the way, Darcy says Uranus against Uranus is rubbish.)

To my surprise, it was him! He answered soon after and we reconnected instantly, as if time hadn’t passed at all. He’s married to a cousin, Anne de Bourgh, and has two teenage daughters.

And he missed me as much as I missed him.

Only, at first, I didn’t realize how much…

We started talking daily, met as often as we could, crossing continents and oceans, united our families and kept thirsty for our friendship.

One thing led to another and now I’m a cheater. More than that.

Having a married man for a lover makes me a... Double cheater?

We belonged to each other before we became who we are. It’s like a travel back in time, a bubble, a portal between dimensions. The weirdness is that it almost feels like this thing between me and Darcy is somehow allowed... Does such a thing as a bubble exists?

My sister Jane pesters me about it. His cousin Graham Fitzwilliam tells him to find a way out.

How did it come to this? Well, like I said, it started with a note:

"Sorry to bother but, when a young girl, I used to correspond with the most presumptuous person I had ever met, so much so that he could only have blue blood in his veins. The heir of the richest estate-country in the whole England, His Royal Highness the Prince of Pemberley, had your name exactly and was a close friend who I miss dearly.

At the time, I was a passionate human rights enthusiast and HRH shared my views for a better world, as long as they didn’t disturb his kingdom’s peaceful life.

If, by an ingenious twist of fate it is you, please reply.

Cordially,

Your always loyal subject

Elizabeth Wickham, Bart. (Née Bennett)"

Book 1

Friends

"Everyone sees what you appear to be,

few experience what you really are."

The Prince

by Niccolò Machiavelli

Florence, 1532

Prologue

The Prince and the King

‘Yeah, mate, that’s where our girls are.’ He pointed at the TV. ‘I know, scary isn’t it? Almost a hundred thousand people... Nanda’s old friends invited her and Lizzy wouldn’t miss such a savage gathering.’

‘Mummy.’ The boy yawned and tried to keep his slanted greenish eyes opened with difficulty.

‘Di, Sally and Nanda.’ He sipped from his tumbler.

‘Di?’ The boy sat up.

‘At the concert, mate.’ He pointed at the TV again. ‘We’re waiting for our girls.’

‘I’m a boy.’ The little voice babbled making an effort to maintain the binky between his teeth.

He chuckled. ‘Yes. Duda, Tom, Daddy are boys.’ He pronounced ‘Dooda’ with care to copy her Brazilian accent as he had been taught two years before and they watched the concert in silence for a while. ‘Remember when Nanda told us about this rock festival? It was a mess in our media room, the girls talking at the same time making plans, Tom escaped to his room, I escaped to Mum but you held your ground like a superhero! You’re so brave, mate!’

‘Superman!’ An excited babble with heavy eyelids.

‘Yes, Superman!’ He chuckled and adjusted the almost asleep toddler to his side on the couch. ‘Mum was studying in her studio, so pretty in glasses. Don’t you think she looks pretty in glasses?’ He waited but only got a grumble as answer. ‘I told her to get her shoes and purse so I’d take her to dinner even though it was not Friday. We always escape the five of you on Fridays... I left using the front door, she used the back and we met at the lobby; I took her to the Japanese tiny restaurant near the transatlantic, do you know which one? The one you like because we seat on the floor? She loves that place too, that’s why I took her there...’ He sighed and drank a little more, eyes on the histrionic superstar on the living room’s big screen. ‘I never liked this guy, he broke the band to fly solo, remember I told you about the band?… Not even for her I played him on the radio...’ He got no answer and checked his mate who had his eyes closed and lips moving his binky lazily. ‘My Bart told Nanda to buy us all tickets for this festival, except you and by God, how much you cried!’ He chuckled. ‘I haven’t been to a concert like this in ages, Tom has a girl, he wouldn’t leave London. Don’t tell mum, ok?... Ah, so beautiful, mum; so happy talking about something she likes, drinking sake, kissing my face. I love when she leans on me in public and kisses my face with love, combs my hair with her nails, sometimes she rests her fingers inside my collar when she leans on my shoulder. I like that too.’ He thought for a while. ‘I like a lot of things Bart does. The way she handles you and your bossiness, Sally and her performances, how she rescued Diana from that bloody junkie roommate’s influence, her post PhD classes, our homes...’ He paused. ‘How hot she is when all dolled up for my business dinners that she complains about but I know she’s proud to be my date…’ He glanced at his left hand. ‘Her waist and hips and bosom and arse-’ He clamped his mouth shut worried the toddler was listening and gratefully heard a light snore.

There were more three doses of whisky, a nanny dismissed and a housekeeper delivering snacks in the two following hours he watched the concert on TV with the company of a sleeping angel until the door opened and his girls’ giggles preceded them inside the house.

‘Dad!’

‘Oh my gosh! You came after all!’

‘Why didn’t you meet us there? Did you just arrive?’

‘You had to be there, dad! It’s so cool!’

‘The bodyguard managed to get us tickets for the roller coaster!’

‘Mum and Sally even tried the zip line!’

‘Shsh, don’t wake up Duda! Poor munchkin, was he waiting for us?...’

The girls had been perfecting the art of speaking fast at the same time since they got used to live together. That made him and Tom perfect the art of keeping silent, Duda tried to babble with his adored girls and Bart offered occasional drops of wisdom - sometimes in his ear as a whispered comment or joke. He liked that very much as well.

His slanted greenish eyes were droopy and a little foggy after the whisky and the flight, but still they searched around the hubbub of excited girls until she came through the door. Lovely in denim shorts and wedge sandals, a simple t-shirt with sequined sleeves, hair up in a ponytail. Blimey, she’s fine; my bit of all right… She stopped by the door and her fine eyes widened, the smile grew exponentially between those parenthesis and he felt like arriving home.

---

‘Still can’t believe you’re here.’

‘I felt stupid alone in the transatlantic.’

‘What about Tom?’

‘Locked in his room as always, I was left alone.’ He raised an arm so she could attach to his side from legs around his to chin on his shoulder and wiggle until her nose touched his neck.

‘I like this shower gel.’

‘Found it here.’ He lowered his arm to hug her hip and waited her thin delicate fingers find his chest’s hair inside his t-shirt. ‘I’m afraid your baby smells the same.’

‘I noticed when I tucked him in. The nanny said you dismissed her.’

‘They kept hovering around me.’ He grumbled. ‘Nanny, housekeeper. It’s annoying.’

‘I’m sorry to burst your bubble, love, but they hover around the baby.’ She smiled sideways.

‘Huh.’ He brought her a little closer. ‘It annoys him too.’ She laughed softly. ‘When I arrived he was having dinner, there were noodles and broccoli everywhere!’ He chuckled. ‘We took toys to the shower and played for a while, then settled on the couch to wait for you.’

‘It’s incredible how you need company to use this shower. I wonder if you’re afraid of it.’

‘Huh.’ Even with the whisky, he would probably spend a good part of the night watching his love sleep, he always had trouble reacquainting to their Brazilian bed. ‘He’s not that into music, fell asleep when I was telling him about the concert.’

‘Keep trying, you have to educate him!’ She teased and kissed his neck. ‘You’re adorably grumpy, I still love it!’

‘Huh.’

Silence for a while.

‘Nanda was so happy around her old friends…’ She mused. ‘It even made me a little sad she missed them so much, but I noticed her bragging about her life in London and older sisters!’

‘Did they have fun?’

‘We all did! But you know something?’ He waited. ‘The other mothers were a little awkward around me, even though we were friends… The bodyguards, I think.’ He didn’t feed her musing and she trailed off. ‘Who is taking care of him? Hill?’

‘Tom?’

‘Mhum.’

‘Yes. She has orders to only allow two friends over, no girls and no going out alone.’

She nodded. ‘He already managed once...’

‘We talked about it. He misses Pemberley, that’s all.’ He arranged her leg holding her thigh.

She winced. ‘Wait, King, my knee.’ And disentangled her leg to rest over his.

‘I knew you should have taped it before going.’

‘You also told me not to go.’ She grumbled. ‘And people keep asking me about the colorful tapes…’

‘Eight hours standing cannot be nice for anyone’s knee, Bart. London has most of these concerts year-round, yet you insisted on coming here...’

‘Come on, it’s so much fun, a tradition for us here in Rio. It was the closest thing we had to your Wembley wonderful festivals… It feels like being a teenager again, the atmosphere of music, lots of people reunited to sing and dance, expensive food and drinks, interactive experiences, radical rides.’ She sighed. ‘The girls were right, you should have been there with us… Instead I had to endure three discreet and hot men hovering around us all the time.’ He raised his brows. ‘Couldn’t you answer my e-mail saying there was no need for bodyguards?’

‘It wouldn’t make much difference.’

‘They provided even the single beer I had, the poor guys waited with us on the women’s bathroom huge line!’

‘It was their job to protect my women.’

‘They did. I had to insist a lot to ride the zip line and still there was one with me as I got strapped and another waiting at the end of the ride.’

He shook his head. ‘I’ll read all about it on the report next week, like I read your e-mails.’

Laughing, she kissed his neck again. ‘I’m telling you now, windbag.’

‘Hot men. I specifically asked for the most horrendous blokes available to keep you from unwanted male attention.’ She was still laughing. ‘Did it happen?’

‘No!’

‘That’s a lie.’

‘I was surrounded by lovely girls; stylish, beautiful. Why would any man choose me?’

‘I know it happened. Tell me.’ He rolled on