Mr. Darcy, the Heir of Pemberley

By P. O. Dixon

When young Fitzwilliam Darcy, the heir to one of the grandest estates in Derbyshire, starts spending time in company with Elizabeth, all his objections to the inferiority of her connections fade away. She becomes his greatest temptation. The more he sees her, the more he wants her. Can Darcy persuade Elizabeth to overcome her first impression of him and eventually win her heart?

Miss Elizabeth Bennet has strong reservations against Mr. Darcy for a good reason. Upon first meeting Elizabeth, the proud man deemed her fairly tolerable but not handsome enough to tempt him. However, with her mind more agreeably engaged with thoughts of his handsome best friend, Elizabeth feels obliged to get along with the disagreeable man.

Alas, there is more than Elizabeth's unfavorable opinion of the gentleman to keep them apart. His mother, Lady Anne Darcy, has her own opinion. Her plans for her son's future are not to be threatened by a country upstart whom she deems so far beneath him in consequences as to be deemed laughable. Lady Anne will do whatever it takes to keep Elizabeth away from her son.

What are the chances for happiness between Darcy and Elizabeth with so many obstacles standing in their way?

Grab this impassioned romance novel today and recall the fervor of first love. Experience what it's like to feel that youthful exuberance all over again as you read this enchanting page-turner.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Regents and Cotswold Book Group
• Release date: Jul 30, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201535278

P. O. Dixon

Bestselling historical fiction author, P. O. Dixon, is a great admirer of Historical England and its fascinating days of yore. She, in particular, loves the Regency period with its strict mores and oh so proper decorum. Her ardent appreciation of Jane Austen's timeless works set her on the writer's journey. Visit podixon.com and find out more about Dixon's writings.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

LONDON, ENGLAND - SPRING 1812

Fitzwilliam Darcy’s face felt stiff and unbending as the cool evening breeze brushed his skin. His mouth ached with the weight of a frown. The loud chatter and music within the ballroom, filled with sharply attired gentlemen and women wearing fashionable gowns and jewels, grated on him. He abhorred standing around and watching others make merry while he silently stewed. Darcy had no patience with his current situation, so he stepped outside to clear his mind.

The balcony’s solitude afforded him the perfect haven, away from the petty pleasures of others. The moon was full that night, its silvery rays casting a net across the skies, draping the grounds in its delicate glow. Darcy rested his hands on the balustrade, which was trimmed with flowers—their sweet aroma flooding his senses. He closed his eyes and let his mind wander. His thoughts seemed to drift miles and miles away until the music and laughter faded into the background. At length, footsteps approaching from behind broke his concentration.

He darted his eyes around, looking for the source of the footsteps. Charles Bingley, one of his closest friends, was approaching and gave him a quick wave.

What is it, Bingley?

Good-looking and gentlemanlike, Bingley stood nearly as tall as Darcy. Darcy’s junior by two years, he had a pleasant countenance and easy, unaffected manners.

Come, Darcy, Bingley said, I must have you come back inside and dance. I hate to see you sulking about by yourself in this stupid manner. You had much better return to the ballroom and dance.

Fitzwilliam Darcy scoffed. Absolving himself completely for his current state, he blamed his friend Bingley instead for his being there. Despite his pleasure at being in London, far away from Pemberley, his family’s estate in Derbyshire, and his mother’s prying eyes, attending such soirees was not his favorite means of passing the time. A single young man of four and twenty and the future heir to a large fortune—one far too large, in fact, for his own good—he felt he had much rather be at White’s with his friends. Bingley, the outgoing fellow he was, had insisted they attend the soiree instead and he’d challenged Darcy to a bet. Darcy lost the bet and the price to pay was attending that night’s soiree.

It was one thing to attend such a gathering. Darcy surely did not mean to enjoy it. He meant to get through the ordeal without drawing undue attention to himself as much as possible because he had grown tired of being viewed as the property of eager mammas in want of rich husbands for their silly daughters. Not that he did not enjoy the attention of members of the opposite sex when it suited him. He was not immune to the very great pleasure that a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman may well bestow. He enjoyed that manner of attention a great deal—just not that particular night.

I certainly shall not, Darcy replied. You know how I detest it, unless I am particularly acquainted with my partner. I daresay there is not a woman in the room whom it would not be a punishment to me to stand up with.

Bingley’s expression changed from a smile to a frown. His lips flattened, his eyes narrowed, and he raised one hand to his forehead as if he were fending off a headache. I declare, I would not be so fastidious as you are for a kingdom, he said. Upon my honor, the room is flooded with pleasant girls. A couple of giggling girls passed by arm in arm as Bingley was speaking, momentarily diverting his attention. There are several of them who are uncommonly pretty, he continued.

Darcy shook his head and scoffed. His friend Bingley showed a marked tendency to think with his heart instead of his head, and it always led him into one fix or another. Still, that tendency had never landed him in anything that could not be overcome. How unfortunate for the young women involved that Bingley’s constancy was as fleeting as the wind. Darcy could have no doubt that whichever young woman fell prey to Bingley’s charms was destined for heartbreak in a matter of weeks, if not days.

I am afraid you are wasting your time with me. You had much better return to the dance and do your part to delight and please.

I know you fancy yourself on your discernment as it regards matters of the heart, Bingley said, nodding sagely. However, I wager there is at least one young lady in attendance this evening who is more than capable of piercing your facade.

Darcy lifted a single, perfectly scripted brow. You and your wagers are what got me into this predicament in the first place, are they not?

Be that as it may, you must allow me to introduce you to Isabella’s friend, the young woman who is visiting her from Hertfordshire. You must have seen her. She arrived with Isabella and the two of them have been inseparable ever since.

Darcy had indeed seen the young woman whom Bingley spoke of—not that he gave her much notice. Miss Isabella Madden, whom he had known for years, was always attracting strays of one ilk or another. What was one more? Besides, whoever the young woman was, she was no doubt inferior to Isabella, who was steeped in elegance and grace, a true sign of good breeding, of wealth, and of privilege. It would not surprise him one bit to learn her friend had connections in trade. How insupportable!

As a matter of fact, I did notice Isabella’s new acquaintance. What of her?

She is very pretty. Surely you cannot deny it. Having met her earlier, I dare say the young lady is very agreeable. Do let me ask Isabella to introduce you.

Surely you jest. I have no interest in meeting Isabella’s new friend. She is fairly tolerable, but she is not handsome enough to tempt me.

Bingley shook his head.

What? Darcy asked, his impatience with his friend ever increasing.

I suppose I might just as well leave you to yourself. But before I go, might I offer you a bit of advice?

As though I have a choice but to listen, Darcy said. What is it, then?

It’s not the book’s cover but the writing on the inside that counts.

CHAPTER 2

Owing to the scarcity of gentlemen, Elizabeth Bennet had been obliged to sit down for two dances. She did so outside on the balcony. She was not the only person to sit and wait among the shadows of the moon’s glow. Watching the clouds drift across the night’s sky, she heard two young men conversing. She was too curious a creature not to pay attention to their debate. Growing up in a household of girls, she rarely had a chance to spend time with the opposite sex, studying their varying quirks and odd proclivities.

What would be the harm in listening? Elizabeth wondered. She moved closer to see the gentlemen, yet carefully to avoid being seen by them. As best she could surmise, one of the two men was not at all pleased to be at that evening’s soiree. The other, Mr. Charles Bingley—whom she had met earlier that evening—was doing his best to persuade the former to return to the festivities. As the more amiable of the two was failing miserably in his quest, Elizabeth lost interest in the discussion. She had just resolved to return to the ballroom when the gentlemen’s conversation took a turn toward Elizabeth herself. Her momentary joy in being praised for her beauty by one gentleman turned into disgust at having been disparaged by the other.

Appalled, Elizabeth rushed back inside, determined to put the matter out of her mind.

She is fairly tolerable, but she is not handsome enough to tempt me.

A half-hour had not allowed enough time for the sting of the haughty gentleman’s words to abate. How had the events of the evening unfolded so dreadfully?

Thinking back, Elizabeth recalled having prepared for the ball with extra care that evening—not necessarily because it was her first such ball in London, but rather because of who would be in attendance.

It dawned on her as it had never before that her mother had been prescient in having insisted Elizabeth must go to town if she expected to make a good match. Indeed, for she now found herself in the throes of her first crush: at least the first one that signified. From the moment she first heard Mr. Jonathan Hughes speak, Elizabeth was captivated. Something in his air gave the best depiction of his character.

Not that he paid the sort of attention to Elizabeth that called for such amorous sentiments on her part. Upon being introduced to him, he had bowed slightly, nodded, and flashed the most devastatingly charming yet innocent smile she could imagine.

It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Bennet, was all he said, and then he had walked away.

As perfunctory as it all had been, it was enough to ignite the glimmer of hope in Elizabeth’s heart that she might soon get to know all there was to know about him, starting that very night, for she was sure he would be there, and she was sure he would ask her to dance. And since Elizabeth could think of no more promising means to encourage affection than dancing, the possibility of a most pleasant evening was all but assured.

Recalling herself to the present, Elizabeth blew out a frustrated breath. No one liked being the victim of someone else’s misery, especially a complete stranger’s.

Insufferable man! she silently screamed. He is discontented with the ball and his company, but why must that be the means of my current distress?

Elizabeth realized that she had not been meant to overhear the gentleman’s uncharitable remark made at her expense. But she was not sure it mattered.

That gentleman is just the sort of person who thinks too highly of himself compared to the people around him, and he does not care one fig for the feelings of others.

How is it possible that such a fine, tall person with such handsome features is capable of arousing such a degree of disdain with the utterance of so few words?

Elizabeth began to pity Mr. Bingley for suffering such an acquaintance. She was sure she never wanted anything to do with the likes of such a man. How unfortunate indeed that upon scanning the room searching for Jonathan Hughes, who was just what a true gentleman ought to be, Elizabeth espied him huddled together with none other than the haughty young man from the balcony.

Who does that gentleman think he is?

Who does which gentleman think he is, Elizabeth? asked Miss Isabella Madden, the young lady who had accompanied her to that evening’s soiree. Had it not been for Elizabeth’s desire to spend time in Mr. Hughes’ company, she would have preferred to be anywhere other than that evening’s gathering. However, Isabella was always eager for entertainment. Given the young ladies’ blossoming acquaintance, Elizabeth surmised she would often attend such outings.

Solitary rambles about the countryside in Hertfordshire were Elizabeth’s idea of a pleasurable pastime—not feigning indifference over the slights of those who considered her beneath them in consequence, owing to their forebears’ situations in life. She was a long way from Hertfordshire.

Elizabeth, the young lady said, trying to garner her friend’s attention.

Elizabeth’s mind was too busily engaged with thoughts of the haughty gentleman and his connection to Mr. Hughes to respond at once. After a moment or so, she asked, Pray, who is that gentleman standing over there with your cousin, the tall one who looks like he just tasted a bad lemon?

Oh, that is Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy. Despite his dour countenance at present, I daresay he is one of the handsomest men in all of England. What’s more, he is the heir to one of the finest estates in the country, as well as half of Derbyshire.

Which half would that be? Surely not the most agreeable half.

Surely you jest. Mr. Darcy is one of the most sought-after young men in all of England.

Does that include you, Isabella?

Heavens forbid. Mr. Darcy is much too fastidious for my taste. However, you might like him. Shall I introduce you to him?

Elizabeth scoffed. I am sure I would not wish to be introduced to Mr. Darcy even if he were the last man in the world.

How unfortunate that Elizabeth’s assertion coincided with a lull in the music and her voice carried all the way across the room to where the gentleman stood.

Mr. Darcy’s expression was haughty and severe. He glared at Elizabeth for what seemed like an eternity before he finally broke eye contact with her and resumed his former attitude, speaking with the gentleman who stood beside him.

Elizabeth could feel the color spreading all over her body. True, he had spoken meanly of her earlier that evening, but she was not one to repay unkindness with unkindness. She much preferred to contend with her detractors with more grace and wit than she had shown. Making matters worse, he was standing with Mr. Hughes—whose good opinion meant everything to her.

Isabella, having been shocked by her friend’s speech and having seen Mr. Darcy’s reaction, cried, What on earth do you have against poor Mr. Darcy?

Still reeling from Mr. Darcy’s silent rebuke, Elizabeth summoned her spirits to playfulness.

Poor? I thought you said he stands to inherit half of Derbyshire.

I did indeed, but is that any reason to dislike him? He is one of my cousin’s closest friends, which makes him a dear friend of mine as well. I so wanted the two of you to get along.

Hearing that Mr. Darcy was one of Mr. Jonathan Hughes’ closest friends made Elizabeth a bit uneasy. The possibility that her unkind words spoken about his friend might garner his disapprobation was not something she wanted.

Her voice contrite, she said, Pray do not fret, Isabella. I did not know Mr. Darcy meant so much to you and your cousin. I shall find a way to make amends with him, I promise.

Even if it kills me, Elizabeth considered.

I am delighted to hear that, Isabella said. I foresee all of us spending a good deal of time in one another’s company in the coming weeks at my family’s country estate in Hampshire. The last thing we need is warring factions between the sexes, for my cousin and his friends are as thick as thieves. So we ladies must stick together. Indeed, I mean for all of us to get along swimmingly.

CHAPTER 3

That someone so far beneath him in consequence dared speak so callously of him for all the world to hear robbed Darcy of his composure.

Who does she think she is?

It looks as though, where sensible young ladies are concerned, your reputation proceeds you, my friend, said Jonathan Hughes with a hint of amusement in his tone.

Still reeling from the impertinent young woman’s offense against him, Darcy glared at his friend for making light of the situation. Usually, he would not mind Jonathan’s humor. However, he was flustered by the young lady’s apparent disdain toward him.

I am glad you are amused.

Who that knows you as I do would not be amused?

What does that mean? Surely I deserve better than to be laughed at by someone of such little consequence.

Most women he had met were so enamored with his looks and his family’s wealth and position in society that they practically threw themselves at him.

Darcy’s friend, who was handsome in his own right, shook his head.

I take it you are acquainted with her, Darcy said.

The other young man nodded. Indeed.

Who is she? Darcy asked, his patience waning.

She is Miss Elizabeth Bennet and she hails from a small town in Hertfordshire.

Darcy scoffed. Just as I suspected—no one special from no place special.

Rubbing his brow, Jonathan shook his head again. Come, Darcy, he said. You may as well become acquainted with Miss Bennet, for if my cousin Isabella has her way, all of us shall soon be spending immense time in one another’s company.

---

Were it not for the fact that the man who had considered her not handsome enough to tempt him was headed her way with Mr. Hughes, Elizabeth was sure she would have fled Isabella’s side. Instead, the closer the two gentlemen came the more her eyes were drawn away from her first object, Mr. Hughes, and toward the other man.

Mr. Darcy stood a couple inches taller than his friend. His beauty eclipsed that of every other man in the room, which was really something because theretofore Elizabeth had never seen a man as handsome as Mr. Hughes. Mr. Darcy’s dark, brooding eyes were hypnotic. And his hair, though boasting of loose curls, was perfectly formed. She had not seen such perfection in