Carrie Bebris
Pride and Prescience

Carrie Bebris

PRIDE and PRESCIENCE

or, A TRUTH UNIVERSALLY ACKNOWLEDGED

A Mr. & Mrs. Darcy Mystery

For Katherine and James

Acknowledgments

This novel is the work of more than two years, during which my life changed in ways unfathomable to me when I first typed the words “Chapter One.” In the period of its gestation, I found myself facing personal challenges of an unexpected nature. Many days, it was difficult to leave the present behind and slip into Regency England to spend time with Elizabeth and Darcy — but once there, it was like entering the home of old friends. I came to understand, more than ever before, Rudyard Kipling’s words: “There’s no one to touch Jane when you’re in a tight place.”

There is indeed no one who approaches Jane Austen’s ability to help one through a tough time — except the individuals mentioned here. I am indebted to the following people, without whom neither this book nor I would be what we are.

My family, both immediate and extended, for support in forms too numerous and profound to list.

Anne Klemm, a kindred spirit whose friendship has nurtured my writing and my enjoyment of Jane Austen in so many ways — from book discussions and an Austen pilgrimage through England, to brainstorming and critiques. If we were not Jane and Cassandra in a previous life, we were surely sisters.

Theresa Nunemacher and Diane Welch, for the gift of their friendship. And also, along with Alyssa Hoff and Karen Ellsworth, for giving me time and space to write.

Stan! Brown, for helping me find my way back to Netherfield when the path grew dark.

Victoria Hinshaw, Andrew Hughey, Julia Martin, Lisa Bernard, and Peter Archer, for generously sharing their expertise.

Ed Greenwood, for kindness to a fledgling writer.

My fellow members of the Jane Austen Society of North America, for sharing their knowledge of and enthusiasm for Austen and her writing. I especially thank Joan Philosophos and Marsha Huff for their encouragement. Joan, I wish I could give you a copy of this book, but I know you read it over my shoulder as I wrote.

My editor, Brian Thomsen, for helping me turn an idea into reality.

And, of course, Jane Austen.

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a

single man in possession of a good fortune,

must be in want of a wife.

— Pride and Prejudice, Chapter 1

Pride and Prescience

One

Happy for all her maternal feelings was the day on which Mrs. Bennet got rid of her two most deserving daughters.

Pride and Prejudice, Chapter 61

On the day Miss Elizabeth Bennet wed Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, she did not mind dividing with her elder sister, Jane, the notice due a bride. Indeed, she had been delighted when Jane chose to marry Mr. Charles Bingley in a double ceremony. It seemed only right that two sisters and two men who were themselves particular friends should all embark on their new lives together, and she hoped the event presaged many happy hours spent in each other’s company in the years ahead.

Elizabeth did mind, however, sharing the stage with Mr. Bingley’s sister Caroline.

The new Mrs. Darcy glanced across the drawing room of Longbourn House. Miss Bingley and her fiancé, Mr. Frederick Parrish, sat beside each other on the sofa, monopolizing the attention of half the wedding guests. Their immediate spectators included two of Elizabeth’s younger sisters, assorted aunts and uncles, and Caroline’s sister, Louisa Hurst. The couple’s chatter had also drawn the observation of others in the room. Mr. Bennet looked on with amusement, her mother with annoyance, her cousin Mr. Collins in uncharacteristic silence, and the Gardiner children in awe. The audience wanted only the addition of the Prince Regent himself to comprise the most unlikely party in all England, but, unfortunately, no one had thought to invite him.

Elizabeth knew little of Mr. Parrish, in fact had never met the American before today. According to Miss Bingley, he was a gentleman of the first consequence. He had one townhouse, two carriages, three tailors, and could walk on water every other Tuesday. He also, anyone within auditory range had been given to understand, was a wealthy landowner, a patron of the arts, and a master of the intricate “ballroom” style of folding one’s cravat.

Elizabeth had not yet conversed with Mr. Parrish, and based on Miss Bingley’s praise had little inclination to do so. She suspected, however, that of the myriad attributes proclaimed by his fiancée, the gentleman’s chief recommendation lay in the simple fact that he had chosen Caroline, from among all the unattached young women of the Polite World, as the object of his affections. How an otherwise sensible-seeming man had allowed that to happen, Elizabeth could only speculate; she attributed it to either a momentary lapse of reason or a prolonged lapse of sobriety.

“Lizzy! Jane!” Mrs. Bennet bustled over to the quiet corner where, beckoned by early winter sunlight edging its way past the draperies, her second daughter had sought a moment’s respite from her social duties. Jane, concern clouding her face at their mother’s summons, hurried to join them.

Elizabeth sighed at the impending but not unexpected intrusion. She’d known her interlude would prove fleeting on a day such as this; nevertheless, she’d strayed over here to indulge in reflection. After one-and-twenty years, these were her final hours as an inmate of this house, and, though not by nature an overly sentimental person, she’d wanted a chance to bid it farewell in her heart before going away. Fortunately, a very short span of time had sufficed. Her mind had soon wandered to Miss Bingley and other more prosaic thoughts, the interruption of which mattered little. “What is it, Mama?”

“My poor girls, how dare that woman try to spoil your day!” Mrs. Bennet, her bosom heaving and complexion flushed, expressed her indignation with all the wounded vanity the mother of two brides could muster. “To announce her own engagement at your wedding breakfast—”

Elizabeth wished her mother possessed a voice one-tenth its volume. “Mama, everyone here knows this is our day, not hers.”

Jane extended a placating hand, as if to literally smooth their mother’s ruffled feathers. “I am sure my new sister doesn’t mean to draw notice toward herself.”

At Jane’s defense of Miss Bingley, Elizabeth couldn’t stifle a laugh. “Dear Jane, only you could be so generous. She was circulating the news while we were still in the receiving line.” Her gaze turned back to the newly betrothed couple. Miss Bingley beamed at something Mr. Parrish said, an expression Elizabeth had rarely seen on the woman’s typically haughty countenance. It softened the severe lines of her cheekbones and upward tilt of her chin, lending her an almost pleasant aspect. “Much as I hate to admit it, he seems a good influence on her.”

“He’s more than that woman deserves,” Mrs. Bennet whispered too loudly for Elizabeth’s comfort. “And his fortune! Lady Lucas told me he just inherited an enormous sugar plantation in Louisiana. It has a French name… Mont-Joyo, or something like that. He’s easily worth ten thousand a year. Ten thousand, Lizzy — same as your Mr. Darcy!” Her mother’s tone became reverent at the mention of Mr. Darcy. Though he was now her son-in-law, Mrs. Bennet, like many of Darcy’s acquaintances, yet found him a formidable man.

Elizabeth observed Miss Bingley listening to Parrish with rapt attention. He cast his fiancée a warm smile, then broadened it to include the rest of his party. Monts Joyeux. She searched her rudimentary knowledge of French for a rough translation. Joyful Hills? The image of a home so named somehow suited the attentive, amiable man. But Miss Bingley was another matter. “I’m astonished that she consented to marry an American,” she said. “One can’t imagine her living in the United States. She’d consider it uncivilized.”

“Maybe the size of Mr. Parrish’s inheritance influenced her,” Jane said. “It must be a very grand estate. I understand, however, that he plans to buy another property here in England.” She lowered her voice so that it reached only Elizabeth’s ears. “Perhaps Caroline will have her own Pemberley at last, Lizzy, now that she knows she’ll never have yours.”

Anticipation swept Elizabeth at the mention of Mr. Darcy’s home in Derbyshire — now her home, too. Before Darcy became engaged, Miss Bingley had been obvious in her aspirations to one day cross Pemberley’s threshold as its mistress. Apparently, she’d experienced more disappointment over failing to secure the estate than its owner, for no sooner had Darcy and Elizabeth set their wedding date than Miss Bingley embarked on a whirlwind courtship with Mr. Parrish. Somehow, in the space of mere weeks, Caroline had managed to win the affections of a very eligible bachelor.

Sensing someone’s gaze upon her, Elizabeth raised her eyes to meet those of her new husband. Darcy stood some distance away, enduring the effusive congratulations of Mr. Collins, who had apparently found himself unequal to the effort of holding his own tongue long enough to overhear Mr. Parrish’s words, and had therefore chosen to confer upon one of the bridegrooms his felicitations and sagacious marital counsel. Despite Darcy’s diverted attention, the clergyman continued his discourse unabated, completely insensible of the interruption in attendance to his soliloquy.

Though Darcy had cropped his dark brown hair a little shorter than usual for today, unruly curls yet wisped round his head. Short side-whiskers lent prominence to his strong jaw, while the lapels of his double-breasted coat accented the broad shoulders that so capably bore the weight of many responsibilities. Not of brawny build, he nevertheless exuded puissance, the noble virility of a classical marble bust come to life.

He towered over her cousin, his stature enabling her to see every nuance of his countenance. The man who could quell observers with the rise of a single dark brow bestowed upon her a look of infinite tenderness before returning his gaze to Mr. Collins.

“Miss Bingley can have every acre of Pemberley,” she said softly. “I have the real fortune.”

She glanced once more at her husband. Poor Darcy — stuck in the corner with Mr. Collins, and no end to the interview in sight! Noting that the servants had just laid out the tea table, she headed for it, intending to relieve Darcy’s suffering by interrupting the conversation to offer refreshment. No sooner had she poured coffee to take to the gentlemen, however, than Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst approached the table.

“I’m positively parched.” Miss Bingley took one of the cups from Elizabeth’s hands.

Mrs. Hurst took the other. “Yes, it is very dry in this room.”

Elizabeth forbore suggesting that perhaps Miss Bingley’s thirst derived from having spent the morning talking excessively about herself and Mr. Parrish. Instead, she commented on that safest and most meaningful of all topics — the weather — observing that there had been little rainfall of late.

“A providential circumstance for your wedding,” Mrs. Hurst said, “particularly since it was held in the country. Otherwise, you would have risked dragging the hem of your gown through mud on your way into church.”

“And what a charming little church — not at all like the large London ones where so many in our circle have tied the knot. Here we could all be so snugly seated.” Miss Bingley’s voice held all of the usual smugness with which she addressed any of the Bennets. “Altogether a nice little affair from beginning to end. Do you not agree, Louisa? How fortunate you are, Eliza, to have had your mother to guide you in the planning.”

Elizabeth ignored the poorly stifled snicker that erupted from Mrs. Hurst. The Bingley sisters had never managed to mask their disdain for her mother, had seldom even tried. In moments of self-honesty, she conceded that their criticism was not without foundation. But their rudeness was. Mrs. Bennet might lack restraint and good judgment, but her silly behavior had at its root the sincere wish of seeing her five daughters securely settled, and maybe even happy. The Bingley sisters, in contrast, had demonstrated by words and deeds that they ultimately had no one’s interests at heart but their own.

“Mrs. Bennet must have taken particular pleasure in preparing for today, since she was unable to participate in your youngest sister’s wedding,” Mrs. Hurst said.

“Yes — how is Mrs. Wickham?” Miss Bingley asked.

“She is well,” Elizabeth responded civilly. In other words, Lydia was still infatuated with the wastrel she’d married, and therefore as happy as a flighty, thoughtless, self-absorbed girl can be. Though Elizabeth loved her sister, the remembrance of last summer’s scandalous elopement yet pained her, and she felt guilty relief that when Wickham’s previous misconduct toward the Darcy family rendered it impossible to include him on today’s guest list, Lydia had chosen to remain with her husband at his military post in Newcastle rather than attend the nuptials.

“Have you any advice for those of us who will soon follow you down the aisle?” Miss Bingley pressed, casting a conspiratorial smirk at Mrs. Hurst. Louisa leaned forward for Elizabeth’s response.

“With your own taste to guide you, I am sure your celebration could derive no further benefit from my opinions.”

The Bingley sisters returned to their party, where Caroline continued to hold court with Mr. Parrish. The American’s distinct accent seemed to entertain its listeners independent of whatever he had to say.

Elizabeth poured more coffee and carried it to Darcy and Mr. Collins. “Forgive the interruption, gentlemen, but I thought you might appreciate something to drink. I’ve been informed that it’s dry in here.”

Darcy’s look of gratitude had nothing to do with the refreshment.

“Cousin Elizabeth, your eagerness to serve your new husband does you credit.” Mr. Collins accepted the coffee but could not leave off talking long enough to taste it. “Do allow me to express once more my most heartfelt wishes for your future happiness. Though, as I was just expressing to Mr. Darcy, it grieves me that you entered into the matrimonial state without his aunt’s permission. You will, I am sure, be gladdened to hear that her ladyship still tolerates the mention of your husband’s name in her presence, an omen which leads me to believe that if you applied to Lady Catherine with the utmost humility and the deference to which one of her rank is entitled, she may in due course yet condescend to approve the match.”

“What a relief! I know not how Mr. Darcy and I will get on until we obtain her approbation.”

“Thank goodness you realize the seriousness of the situation. I had feared you were insensible of the grave insult you have paid her ladyship—”