Darcy By Any Other Name Read online

  D A R C Y

  By Any

  Other Name

  Laura Hile

  Copyright © 2016 by Laura Hile.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher at the address below.

  14280 SW Wildhorse Way

  Beaverton, Oregon 97008

  www.laurahile.com

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Book Layout ©2013 BookDesignTemplates.com

  Cover Design by Damonza

  Darcy By Any Other Name/ Laura Hile. -- 1st ed.

  ISBN 978-1530600366

  For my mom, Janet, with love.

  Follies and nonsense,

  whims and inconsistencies

  do divert me, I own,

  and I laugh at them whenever I can.

  JANE AUSTEN, PRIDE AND PREJUDICE

  Contents

  Any Savage Can Dance

  2A Fine Figure of a Man

  3Hit or Miss

  4Barefaced Questions

  5Rufty Tufty

  6Whirligig

  7Such Amiable Qualities

  8What I Suffer

  9Petticoat Wag

  10Step Stately!

  11Rose is Red, Rose is White

  12No Humor at Present

  13To Crown the Whole

  14A Fine Thing

  15Picking of Sticks

  16Drive the Cold Winter Away

  17Cheerily and Merrily

  18A Parson’s Farewell

  19The Jovial Beggars

  20New, New Nothing

  21Very Lively Hopes

  22Of Mean Understanding

  23A Fine Companion

  24More Secrets Than One

  25A Matter of Pride

  26Rag, Tag, and Bobtail

  27If All The World Were Paper

  28Faults on All Sides

  29Topsy-Turvy

  30Decked in the Garb of Fancy

  31For A Kingdom

  32Certainly Very Little

  33But Look at Home

  34Let Soldiers Fight

  35Ranting, Roaring, Rattling Boys

  36Of Chequered Fortune

  37Fields of Frost

  38He Knew Not How

  39Past Endurance

  40Tutor of Truth

  41Perils of Men

  42Give Me Leave

  43Tolling the Bell

  44My Reasons I’ll Own

  45‘Tis Certain So

  46 Fain I Would

  47 Jump at the Sun

  48 Turn of the Tide

  49 Epilogue: Upon A Summer’s Day

  1 Any Savage Can Dance

  Fitzwilliam Darcy’s gaze swept the Netherfield ballroom. A stout fellow, his clothes shrieking of the parsonage, was urging Elizabeth Bennet to join him in the dance. Darcy’s smile threatened to become a smirk. He’d seen the man earlier, bumbling through dances he did not know, skipping and cavorting like a mooncalf. Apparently Miss Elizabeth would have no more.

  Should Darcy ask her for another dance? Hardly! They’d danced earlier, and everything Darcy said she deliberately misunderstood.

  Perhaps this was just as well. After all, what was she to him but the second-eldest Miss Bennet? Even in his thoughts—especially in his thoughts! —he would allow this beguiling young woman no quarter. Yet like a moth drawn to flame, here he was thinking about her, observing her.

  That parson, or whoever he was, was mightily attracted. His smiling attempts at raillery spoke volumes. Why hadn’t he the sense to conceal his infatuation? Did he not realize that he was making an idiot of himself? She so obviously did not wish to speak with him.

  And yet this was the sort of fellow that Elizabeth—no, the second-eldest Miss Bennet! —was likely to marry. Truth, Darcy reminded himself, must be faced. And so he studied the parson’s flushed, well-fed cheeks and promising double chin.

  That a person like this (Darcy could hardly call him a man!) might wed adorable, intelligent Elizabeth was revolting. But such was the way of the world, his world, and it happened every day. Darcy drew a long breath and averted his gaze.

  Presently he heard a cough and the words “Hunsford” and “Lady Catherine de Bourgh.” Why, the unknown clergyman was no longer at Elizabeth Bennet’s side, he was here at Darcy’s elbow. And he was making a very low, very formal bow.

  “My dear Mr. Darcy,” said he, “far be it from me to thrust myself upon your notice. However—”

  Did this person, whose surname was Collins, intend an introduction? Darcy was too astonished to reply.

  “I have been so fortunate as to be distinguished by the patronage of your esteemed aunt,” said he, “whose beneficence has preferred to me the rectory of Rosings Parish.” Mr. Collins paused to draw breath and displayed a fine set of teeth. Had he come to the end of his speech? Darcy hoped so.

  But no, Mr. Collins had more to say, and his plump fingers became busy in a hand-washing motion that Darcy found repellent. “And in such a capacity,” said Mr. Collins, “I must set social niceties aside and take it upon myself—for indeed, it is my solemn duty as a clergyman—to convey to you the tidings that, as of Monday last, your aunt was in excellent health.”

  Mr. Collins paused and smiled expectantly. Darcy said nothing.

  The silence, which Darcy meant to become awkward, was quickly filled. “Lady Catherine, as you know,” said Mr. Collins, “is a most distinguished and worthy patroness, and I am humbled and gratified by her notice. And I am most honored to make myself known to you, her distinguished nephew. Such an august lineage is yours, and such a distinction is mine, to serve—”

  There followed more praise of his aunt. Darcy endeavored to stem the flow with a quelling look, but it was no use. Mr. Collins would talk, tossing out compliments with abandon.

  At last there came an opening. “My venerable aunt,” said Darcy crushingly, “is known for her powers of discernment. I am certain she could never bestow a favor unworthily.”

  This was the wrong reply to a simpleton like Collins. He responded with delight, not chagrin, and resumed talking. At last, with a gesture and another bow, Mr. Collins dropped a useful bit of information. Apparently he was related to the Bennets of Longbourn.

  Didn’t this cap all! As if Miss Elizabeth’s mother and boisterous younger sisters were not enough, she must have this noxious cousin!

  Darcy’s lips curled into a sneer. After the slightest of bows to Collins, he turned away. Mr. Collins went immediately to Elizabeth’s side, apparently to share his triumph, but Darcy did not wait to see her response. He had had quite enough of her family.

  In fact, he’d had quite enough of Netherfield Park. Why in heaven’s name had he convinced Bingley to take this estate? Anything—a cow herder’s stone cottage shared with the cow! —would be preferable!

  But no, when considering a property one took into account nothing of true importance. The size of the rooms, the condition of the park, the number of bedchambers, the state of the drains—what were these? What one ought to do, Darcy now realized, was examine the neighbors! Line them up, spend thirty minutes exposed to their chatter and flattery and hapless conversation, and then run like Hades in the opposite direction!

  Darcy’s
next thought involved supper, but the sight of Charles Bingley in conversation with Miss Jane Bennet pulled him up short. Charles was all smiles, and with every glance he displayed his preference for Miss Bennet. She, of course, was loveliness itself. Darcy looked on for some minutes, wondering what peril Bingley would suffer. When they made for the supper tables, Darcy followed at a distance.

  And who should be sitting there but the mother, Mrs. Bennet, deep in conversation. Miss Elizabeth, who sat beside her, was looking uncomfortable and no wonder; once again Collins was pressing his attentions. There was an empty seat at the opposite side of her table, one that would allow Darcy to observe Bingley’s movements.

  With narrowed eyes Darcy took a plate from the buffet and filled it. The noise in this room was almost painful, and yet he was able to catch some of Mrs. Bennet’s conversation.

  “Such a charming young man,” she was saying, and Darcy knew at once that she was referred to Bingley. “And so rich. And living but three miles from us. And what a comfort to think how fond the two sisters are of Jane! To be sure, they must desire the connection as much as I.”

  Darcy stiffened. With precision he placed his fork on his plate.

  “And what a promising thing,” Mrs. Bennet continued, “for my younger daughters, as Jane’s marrying so greatly must throw them in the way of other rich men.” She patted her companion’s arm with gloved fingers. “You have all my good wishes, my dear, to soon be as equally fortunate with your sweet daughters.”

  Miss Elizabeth, looking most uncomfortable, leaned to speak into her mother’s ear.

  “What is Mr. Darcy to me,” cried Mrs. Bennet, “that I should be afraid of him? I am sure we owe him no such particular civility as to be obliged to say nothing he may not like to hear.”

  “For heaven’s sake—” Darcy heard Miss Elizabeth whisper.

  Darcy focused his attention on his plate. Elizabeth, at least, had not her mother’s scheming qualities. But the elder Miss Bennet? Darcy’s gaze traveled to where she sat with Charles Bingley. A very deep game this mother was playing, and Charles had taken the bait. Jane Bennet seemed an obliging girl, but what was her true nature? What young woman would not be enticed by an income such as Bingley’s?

  Singing was talked of, and presently another Bennet sister came forward, a girl whom Darcy had thought to be quiet and retiring. How mistaken he was! This girl was as fond of attention as the younger sisters, but she had no musical taste and even less ability. Her performance on the pianoforte was insupportable, and her singing was worse. Darcy kept his eyes averted, but Bingley’s two sisters did not. There were whispers and looks between them, as if they took pleasure in Mary Bennet’s display.

  Her father finally put a stop to it in a most ill-mannered way. But what could one expect in such a place and from such a family?

  And then Mr. Collins decided to have his say. “If I,” said he, speaking in a voice that half the room could hear, “were so fortunate as to be able to sing, I should have great pleasure in obliging the company with an air; for I consider music as a very innocent diversion, and perfectly compatible with the profession of a clergyman.”

  Darcy could only stare. These sentiments were lifted directly from his aunt, who gloried in her unlearned abilities.

  Mr. Collins went blithely on, as if Bingley’s guests were rapt listeners to a favorite lecture: “The rector of a parish has much to do. In the first place, he must make such an agreement for tithes as may be beneficial to himself and not offensive to his patron. He must write his own sermons—”

  Many gaped, others smiled. Mr. Bennet, Darcy noted, was looking particularly amused, though why he should be was puzzling. Did the man not see that Mr. Collins brought shame upon every member of his family?

  At last, after a bow in Darcy’s direction, Mr. Collins concluded his speech with more twaddle about the homage due to the provider of his preferment.

  “Very sensible,” Darcy heard Mrs. Bennet whisper loudly. “A remarkably clever, good kind of young man.”

  Darcy rose to his feet. He had had enough of this ball, of Collins, and of the entire Bennet clan. He strode through the drawing room, down the staircase, and out of the mansion. If the door had been unmanned by footmen, he gladly would have slammed it.

  Once outside Darcy skirted the house and made for the ornamental garden. The sound of music and muted laughter followed. What a fiasco Bingley’s ball had become! And it was all the fault of the guests.

  Never did Darcy think to prefer the soulless anonymity of the London social set, but such was the case tonight. Bluff country gentlemen and ambitious mothers, all staring as if he were a prize stallion! One whisper about the extent of his income, and every person was on the hunt to become his friend.

  Charles Bingley, of course, saw none of this. He was pleased with each of his new neighbors and thought them charming. Darcy’s brow knit in a frown. What to do about Bingley? For plainly he must be extricated from Jane Bennet’s charms. That she was a fortune hunter Darcy had little doubt. He had paid his sister’s dressmaking bills long enough to know that Miss Bennet’s lovely gown was no homemade affair, nor were any of her sisters’ dresses. Their mother obviously spent money like water!

  A crunch of footsteps on gravel caught his attention; had someone followed him? Darcy turned and saw the white of a clerical cravat. Indeed, he could hear Collins’ reedy voice calling his name.

  Darcy increased his pace and crossed the lawn, heading for the stone Folly. Perhaps he could lose Collins in the shadows? There was no question that the man would take a hint and go away.

  Sure enough, on Collins came; Darcy could hear his mincing trot. “Oh, Mr. Dar-cy,” he shrilled. “Forgive the intrusion, but—”

  The chill air held the promise of rain, and something in Collins’ tone told Darcy that he was cold and uncomfortable. So much the better! Darcy came to a halt beneath one of the Folly’s arches and waited. The wind was picking up; fallen leaves swirled around his feet. Yes, a storm was definitely blowing in.

  “I am reluctant to intrude,” Mr. Collins wheezed out, for he was breathing heavily. “Most—reluctant.”

  The man had crossed the garden at a run! Was he now pretending this encounter was accidental? Not only was Collins impertinent, but he was also a liar. Darcy folded his arms across his chest.

  And Elizabeth thought him condescending? Top-lofty? Impossible to please? Would that she could see his patience and forbearance! For her sake, Darcy would not give Collins the reply his arrogance deserved.

  The man gazed at Darcy with a confiding smile. “I cannot think why, but I neglected to inquire earlier,” he said, and paused mid-sentence.

  Darcy knew precisely why: because the man was an idiot!

  “Is there a message, good sir, that you would like me to convey to your esteemed aunt? I return to Hunsford on the coming Saturday.”

  Surely this was the slenderest pretext for conversation! It now occurred to Darcy that the man might be seeking a loan.

  “Lady Catherine shall, I am sure,” Mr. Collins went on, “be pleased to learn of your connection with my relations here.”

  “I have no connection with your family,” Darcy snapped. “Or with any other in this district, save for the Bingleys.” That wind was decidedly sharp. He could hear the rumble of distant thunder.

  Collins gave a tittering laugh. “How can you say so, sir? You are quite the most sought-after guest, if what I hear from the ladies is to be believed.”

  Was the man actually winking?

  There was a flash of lightning. Collins’ confiding smile was back, displaying all of the man’s teeth. Such a grin on the face of a cleric was singularly disturbing.

  “Such condescension,” Mr. Collins said, almost purring. “And such an honor, to have your august presence among us, Mr. Darcy.”

  The wind tugged at Darcy’s coat. “Kindly stop blithering,” he said, “and confine your interest to your own affairs.” He paused, and then purposely added, “When you i
ntroduced yourself earlier, I fear I did not catch the name.”

  Two can play at lying, he thought.

  But Darcy’s snub was too subtle. “Collins,” came the cheerful reply. “The Reverend William Collins.” And he held out an ungloved hand.

  Darcy ignored it. Nothing would be gained by encouraging the man’s presuming habits. “Kindly convey my greetings to Lady Catherine,” he said through shut teeth. “And mention to her, if you would, that her latest rector—which would be you, Collins—is more of a humbug than the usual.”

  Collins’ smile became less confident. “Her latest rector?” he repeated. “But the preferment is for life.”

  Another bolt of lightning flashed, much nearer than the last. Thunder rolled, and the sound made Mr. Collins flinch. Darcy stood like stone, his eyes fastened on Collins’ podgy face. He allowed himself a slight smile. “Nevertheless, I fear my Aunt Catherine runs through rectors at a famous clip.”

  This remark caught Collins off guard. His eyes widened. “My predecessors have—resigned?”

  Darcy lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “Even a toad, when it is kicked enough,” he said, “will sooner or later come to its senses and hop away.”

  “Kicked?” Mr. Collins repeated. “Did you say kicked?” He lifted his chin. “I do not think,” he said primly, “that this is a proper way to speak of my beneficent patroness.”

  “Perhaps not,” Darcy admitted. “I am forgetting myself, Mr. Collins, and am speaking as to an equal. For you, her dependent, it would most definitely be improper.”

  Again lightning flashed, this time with violent crash of thunder, and rain began to fall in large drops. Collins wore no hat and soon his doughy cheeks were wet and shining. Reluctantly Darcy stepped back to allow the man to join him under the shelter of the arch. Even so, there were many spiders’ webs. Collins obviously disliked spiders. He twitched and brushed at his sleeves and shoulders.

  A tremendous gust rattled the branches of the bare trees, bringing dead leaves and debris swirling through the arch. The rain pelted down, and another roll of thunder shook the garden. Somewhere a door slammed. Mr. Collins looked anxiously in the direction of the mansion, obviously wishing to make a run for it.