To Marry Mr Darcy - A Pride and Prejudice Variation: Meetings and Misunderstandings, #2

By Meg Osborne

When Fitzwilliam Darcy asks Elizabeth to marry him it is a logical proposal - one he thinks might benefit them both. Even if they are the only ones who can see it!

Her family is convinced Elizabeth Bennet has leapt from one mishap to another, and when news of his surprise wedding spreads, Mr Darcy finds himself without the support of family and friends. Will such an onslaught of opposition from all sides unite the new Mr and Mrs Darcy, or cause further heartache?

 

To Marry Mr Darcy is the second book in Meetings and Misunderstandings, a series variation of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Meg Osborne
• Release date: Apr 22, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201358532

Meg Osborne

Meg Osborne is an avid reader, tea drinker and unrepentant history nerd.  She writes sweet historical romance stories and Jane Austen fanfiction, and can usually be found knitting, dreaming up new stories, or adding more books to her tbr list than she'll get through in a lifetime.

Book preview

Chapter One

George Wickham was beginning to rather enjoy his life in Meryton. This afternoon, he was reclining on a low chair, his regimental issued boots propped up on the corner of a table, slowly making his way through a bowl of walnuts and listening to the crackle of the fire that roared in the hearth behind him. Yes, Meryton could turn out very pleasantly indeed, if not for...

His expression darkened.

Darcy.

He certainly had not expected to hear the news that Fitzwilliam Darcy was in town, staying with his friend Charles Bingley at the elegantly-appointed Netherfield Park, only a short distance from the Meryton garrison. What dreadful luck to find him here! Still, Wickham was not without options. The first and perhaps best would have been to make his excuses and leave town before Darcy could tell of Wickham’s misdeeds to anyone who might listen. His own account of my misdeeds, at least. He is not blameless in the misfortunes that have befallen me, although he shall certainly neglect to mention that pertinent detail. Wickham scowled, picking up a walnut and pressing it between his thumb and forefinger before tossing it into his mouth. Darcy is sure only to share the very worst stories about me in order to paint me as the blackest of scoundrels. He crunched loudly, the sound reminding him that he had already begun to mitigate that particular possibility.

When Lydia had written to him enquiring if he knew the name Mr Darcy it had been as if Fate herself had reached out and offered him an olive branch. Here was a chance - uninitiated by him - to sow a few seeds of his own. He had not come out and said anything so very bad, of course, but his letter had been written in such a way that an enquiring mind such as Lydia Bennet’s might easily have ferretted out the true picture of Fitzwilliam Darcy Wickham had wished to create. He was only surprised that since sending the letter to Lydia a few days ago he had heard nothing by way of response.

Nothing! He reached for another walnut. Perhaps I was too subtle in my insinuations. Or perhaps I picked the wrong sister to confide in.

He had struck up a friendship with Lydia mostly because it was easy. She was charming, of course, in her way. Pretty and flirtatious and full of the excitable energy of youth. She was as unlike Georgiana Darcy as it was possible for a young lady to be, which was perhaps another reason she so appealed to Wickham just at present. After everything that had happened, if he was honest - as Wickham rarely was, even with himself - he felt rather bad about his treatment of a girl who had been nothing but sweet to him, even when he did not deserve it.

Her sweetness did little to temper her brother’s callousness, he thought, chewing thoughtfully and wondering just what else he might do to sour the great Fitzwilliam Darcy in the minds of Meryton at large. He had already caught wind of the gossip swirling around Hertfordshire about the newly arrived Mr Darcy, and the wider party presently living at Netherfield. It was Mr Darcy who attracted the most interest, being both wealthy and unattached - although strangely aloof. He did not contrast entirely favourably with his affable, agreeable friend Charles Bingley, and that was the angle Wickham decided he must make the most use of. His veiled references to their shared past had done little to spark Lydia’s curiosity, which was a pity. He had been rather banking on her head for gossip to do his work for him in circulating the rumours of Darcy’s prior ill-treatment of poor, defenceless George Wickham.

A knock came at the door to Wickham’s room and he straightened, setting his feet back on the ground and the dregs of his walnuts on the table.

Come!

Wickham. A weaselish young recruit shuffled across the threshold, his eager smile too wide and his cheeks pink with breathless excitement.

Have you finished writing that report I delegated to you? The report ought to have been in Wickham’s own hand, and he prayed his young friend’s penmanship would not be so dissimilar to Wickham’s own that the work could not be passed off as his. I shall rewrite it if I must, but I would much prefer to have the thing done and not lose my evening to copying it out.

Almost. The young man hiccupped. But - you have a visitor. A young lady.

Wickham arched an eyebrow. The man would need to be a little more specific. Even in his short tenure in Meryton, and not free to associate as he might have been with Fitzwilliam Darcy abroad to curtail his freedom, Wickham had made a friend or two among the more impressionable young ladies of the parish.

Miss Lydia Bennet. This made the poor fellow’s cheeks redden still further and Wickham could only imagine the bold flirtation that Lydia had used against him. And her sister, Miss Catherine Bennet.

Two charming visitors! Wickham stood, brushing his hands down his front to straighten any wrinkles his hour’s lounging might have put into his regimental uniform. He knew the style suited him. I must deploy every weapon in my meagre arsenal if I wish my plan to succeed. He urged the young man out of his office and back to his desk to complete the report Wickham needed in good time, and continued his own journey to greet his waiting visitors.

Mr Wickham!

Good afternoon!

He was not sure which of the two Bennet sisters was more eager to see him and greeted them both with his most attractive smile.

Miss Lydia! Miss Kitty! What a pleasant surprise. Tell me, you cannot need yet more ribbons, can you? He assumed a picture of polite exasperation and both girls giggled. Well, who am I to deprive the haberdasher of yet more sales? Come, ladies. I shall escort you, ready to compliment and advise to the best of my limited ability.

He offered an arm to each of them and the trio set off, both sisters chattering happily and not so subtly vying for his attention. Wickham played his part to perfection, in equal measures teasing and complimenting and gently steering the conversation in a direction he chose. Perhaps all is not lost in my plan to undermine Darcy’s reputation in Meryton. Let us see if what could not be alluded to in a letter might instead be dropped, like breadcrumbs, during the length of an afternoon’s conversation...

IT HAD TAKEN VERY LITTLE convincing to persuade Kitty to walk all the way to Meryton with her, and whilst Lydia was grateful for her sister’s company and the advantage of having so pliable a companion - and chaperone - she could not help but wish that Kitty would be quiet for two minutes altogether.

And of course, it is now terribly awkward for all of us! You see, Mr Collins mopes dreadfully, looking so dismal and disappointed, and Lizzy refuses to speak to him or even to acknowledge his presence which means that the whole house is on edge...

Poor fellow!

Poor fellow! Kitty shrieked, clutching Mr Wickham as if she could not manage to walk a single step under her own power. Lydia bit her lip. It was a tactic she had used herself on occasion. Yet I’m sure I do not look half as silly when I do it!

Yes, poor fellow! Mr Wickham chuckled, expanding his point. You cannot imagine the effort it must have taken him to summon the courage to propose to your sister! I assure you, Kitty, we gentlemen have hearts just as tender as any young lady, though we hide them behind a seemingly stoical exterior.

Not Mr Collins, Kitty insisted. If you had been there, Mr Wickham, I assure you, your sympathies would lie entirely with poor Lizzy. She has shown him no partiality, encouraged nought but the plainest of friendships. Not even friendship! She is polite at best, and only then because he is Papa’s cousin. What possessed him to propose marriage, I cannot imagine.

Lydia swallowed. She very well knew that she had certainly contributed to Mr Collins’s course of action. Determined to stop any kind of friendship forming between her sister and Mr Darcy, she had boldly encouraged Mr Collins in his suit for Lizzy’s hand. She ought to regret setting him up for a fall but upon reflection found she could not. It is hardly my fault if he did not do the thing properly. Any sensible gentleman would have known to come to the matter of marriage carefully and not blunder in and make a fool of himself.

Very well, I confess there might be injury to both sides. But still. Ladies rally sooner than gentlemen, I fancy, where matters of the heart are concerned.

Wickham had grown serious all of a sudden, and Lydia found herself caught by his expression. His usually animated, handsome features remained under a cloud, as if his own memories of some lost love taunted him. Curiosity niggled at her and Lydia pressed him, wanting, now, to know her new friend a little better and never mind Lizzy’s problems.

You speak as if you know how it feels to be spurned in love, Mr Wickham.

Oh, surely not! Kitty prattled on. As if any young lady alive would refuse so handsome a suitor!

Ah, Miss Kitty, you are kind. Mr Wickham shot her a smile and Lydia felt a flare of annoyance that he should spend his smiles on anyone but her. She dug her fingers into his arm, not sharply enough to wound, but enough to draw his attention back to her.

You need not act brave and brash to impress us, Mr Wickham. We like you well just as you are. She was not sure why she so desired his confidence at that moment, only that she sensed a secret that she very much wished to know. Is this - She lowered her voice to a whisper that even Kitty did not quite hear. Is this linked to how you came to know Mr Darcy?

Mr Darcy? Kitty’s eyes widened. Are the two of you friends?

No. Mr Wickham smiled sadly, his eyes meeting Lydia’s, though it was Kitty’s question he answered. Mr Darcy and I are not...friends. His voice broke on the last word, betraying the deepest of pain and Lydia felt a spark of curious sympathy. She had gathered there had been some estrangement between the two from Mr Wickham’s letter, although he had spoken very circumspectly of their parting. Now, entwined as it was with some tragical romance, she longed to know the whole and implored Wickham to tell them.

It is not for me to spoil your opinion of Mr Darcy. He let out a low sigh and tried to smile. I know you consider him a friend to your whole family.

He is not a close friend, Kitty ventured, kicking at a piece of gravel. Scarcely an acquaintance. He associates more with Lizzy than with either of us.

Speak for yourself! Lydia shot her sister a glare that Kitty did not notice, but she did not wish to show too much partiality for Mr Darcy at that moment. The only chance we have to hear Mr Wickham’s tale is if he thinks we are on his side.

Tell us, she urged him, smiling the sweetest smile she could muster. "Have you not proof enough of our affection for you?"

Very well. Mr Wickham chuckled. You are very sweet. Both of you. He turned to include Kitty in this, but it seemed to Lydia that this inclusion was merely an afterthought and she prided herself that she was the key person in whom Wickham chose to confide.

I have known Fitzwilliam Darcy all my life. We grew up together.

There was an audible gasp from Kitty and Lydia wished she was closer to her sister that she might step on her foot to silence her. Fortunately, Mr Wickham did not seem to hear. He was so engrossed in his story that it was as if he saw and heard nothing at all but the words he shared.

We were friends, many years ago. Alas, when his father died, Darcy’s true nature revealed itself to me. He swallowed. Old Mr Darcy was fond of me, you see, and wished to settle the living of a nearby curacy on me. It would have been a comfortable life, a vocation I would have devoted myself to. But Fitzwilliam thought better of the idea. He sold the living out from under me, paying me far less than its value, and ordering me away from the only home I have ever known. Pemberley.

He spoke the name with such affection that Lydia’s mind conjured a dream of an estate, yet guarded by a man who became less of a catch than a dragon, selfishly hoarding his wealth and privilege and banishing any who might share in it.

How cruel! Kitty sounded on the verge of tears, but Mr Wickham was not finished telling his story.

He had his reasons, I am sure. He paused, undecided whether to continue.

And so you have not seen him since? Lydia prompted, sensing she knew his answer before it came.

We met again only once. Wickham’s voice was low, taut with emotion. When I pleaded with him to allow me to marry his sister - the one young lady who forever held my heart. He refused, and we were forced to part. His eyes closed as if to hold back tears. He has ruined my life twice over, and now, I fear, he seeks to ruin it again.

Kitty was first to recover from this shocking revelation and immediately took Wickham’s part in the mess.

We shall not let him! She was adamant. Lydia, shall we not see that everybody hears of his cruelty?

Lydia nodded slowly, biting her lip. Could it be true? Was Fitzwilliam Darcy so malicious? She looked carefully at Mr Wickham, but the emotion that flickered across his handsome face appeared to be genuine.

"You need have no fear, Mr Wickham. We are your friends and shall never believe whatever wicked lies Mr Darcy chooses to tell us. It seems, whatever we first thought of him, that he is