Disclaimer: Nope, don't own Erik or anything Jane Austen. They all belong to…well, Jane Austen, and Erik belongs to Leroux, ALW, and a few others. Only original characters/places are mine.
AN: Okay, here we go, another story! I hope that I can do justice to Jane Austen, her stories, and Regency England. I'd also like everyone to note that I'm using the characters from the 1995 version of P&P, meaning Jennifer Ehle and Colin Firth, who are my favorite Elizabeth Bennett and Mr. Darcy. Please be kind and leave a review of what you think! Thanks!
Chapter 1: In Need of a Husband:
For longer than I can remember, my mother always talked about my possibly marrying an aristocrat of England or a man of great fortune. Either one would do, for I had fifty thousand pounds as an enticement for any suitor. Such a dowry would easily set up even the poorest English lord for life, and elevate me into higher social circles than the ones my own upper-class family already enjoyed.
"But if she is not taken by a man of title, then a man in possession of a fine fortune and of good family will do as well," she told my father.
As a second option for me, Mama felt that a man of great wealth, combined with my family and social connections, would provide good dowries and bring excellent marriage matches for any of her future grandchildren. However, a great title is far more difficult to come by, and so my dear Mama decided that it would be best for me to marry someone of the nobility, if one should make an offer for me.
Papa, however, always secretly told me to marry for love. "Many marriages are made with the desire for wealth and titles, and hardly any affection," he said whenever Mama wasn't there to hear. "I would much rather you wed someone you can love, respect, and who can make you smile on the darkest of days. Besides, the inheritance you and your husband will get upon marriage will set you up quite well, and if the worst should happen, you may always write me for money and protection."
As you can see, my father doted on me, his only daughter, as much as he did my younger brother, Nathaniel, who was the heir to our estate and all it's income. Unlike some brothers and sisters in our social standing, Nathaniel and I were close, and there was no jealousy between us, even though it would be my right to be angry and jealous of him.
Since the day of his birth, I had been told that Nathaniel would get everything that belonged to my family, and I would be left with nothing but a small income to live on, should I not marry by the day of my father's death (God forbid). Thus, my mother's desire to see me wed before that terrible day she became a widow and dependant on her son's good will. Nathaniel, of course, secretly swore that he would never turn me out of the house or leave me destitute; he loved me too much for that.
"Besides, there is more than enough room here to shelter you, and I would happily provide for you and our mother," he said once, just after Mama had again told us of our possible fates. "We are surely rich enough for that!"
My brother was right, of course. Ours was a wealthy family, for both out parents came from great and respectable noble lines. I had seen our family tree once in a book in our library, a great list of names leading down to my father, Robert Woodworth, and my mother, Catherine. Papa's family dated back to William the Conqueror, though the wealth came from Henry VIII, who had been quite free at handing out gifts to his friends. Thanks to many good investments and excellent marriages, the wealth was still intact to this day.
Mama was descended from a great line as well, and just as old, though they were not so rich –actually, they were not even English. Despite her black hair, black eyes and clear complexion, it was easy to see that my mother, Catherine Woodworth, was not the usual English lady. Her family had come to England with Catherine of Aragon, the Spanish princess who eventually became the first wife of Henry VIII. Instead of returning to Spain once their princess had been delivered to England, my mother's ancestors had remained and intermarried with the English. To this day, a trace of exoticness can be seen in eyes and face of Mama's family, for on a very rare occasion, a Spanish bride or groom had been sent to England to marry one of the family's children.
I sometimes think that it was my mother's beauty that had attracted my father, though he said it was her wit. I still believe it was the former, rather than the latter.
Like my mother, I managed to inherit some of that exotic Spanish look – my face had a touch of olive coloring from a Spanish ancestor, and my features were dark brown eyes uniquely shaped like almonds, as well as the distinctive curves that a Spanish woman traditionally bore. Even my hair was reminiscent of Catherine of Aragon, for we both had locks of a dark auburn that looked almost brown.
Poor Papa, fair of hair, eyes, and skin, had passed no traits on to me, nor to my brother, who was as dark in hair and eyes as I, though he did have the legendary Woodworth nose. I always teased him about using that great nose of his to plow the fields around our estate. Nathaniel, the good person that he was, took it all in good humor and was more than happy to tease me back.
However, none of the closeness I shared with my father and brother could save me from my mother's wrath of my still being unmarried at age 25. She considered me a spinster, though society would not officially be able to call me that until I was aged 30. I had to admit, though, that my mother was right to worry as all mothers do: I had been out in society since I was seventeen-years-old, and had yet to attract a husband. By society's standards, any woman not married after two or three social seasons in London was considered a failure, and it would be best for the poor girl to become a nun or remain a burden on her unfortunate family.
Today, Mother was worrying over the matter as she usually did. She had come into the dining room all aflutter and bemoaning my fate as an old maid. Father had merely rolled his eyes good-naturedly and gone back to eating his supper. Nathaniel gave me a sympathetic look and took a drink of water.
"Eight years since she's been out!" Mama exclaimed in a shrill voice, the one she always used when she was worried or horrified. Today, she was both. "Eight years and for nothing! Fifty thousand pounds, good looks, and from a good family, and what do we have to show for it? Nothing!"
Papa set down his fork and wiped his mouth. "My dear, Annabelle had only been to London for two seasons," he calmly reminded his wife. "That was on your request, as we may both recall, and as for the others, she has either been in Derbyshire or here at home, attending balls and assemblies as she is required. It is hardly Anna's fault that you removed her from London before she was able to find the husband you so long for her to have."
That is my name, you know. Annabelle Woodworth, eldest daughter of Lord and Lady Woodworth of Huntington Hall, and distant relation to many of the great families in England. Mama is especially proud of our connection to the great Darcy family, and if she had her way, I would be married to one of our relations of that clan. However, I have spent far too many summers with the Darcy cousins I have, and therefore know all of their faults. Being a Darcy is not in my future.
"My dear, we must do something," Mother declared in her most authoritative voice.
Father, now knowing that he would not be returning to his supper until Mama was satisfied, sat back in his chair. "And what would you have me do, my love?" he asked, looking completely at ease. "Derbyshire did not produce a husband for her, and neither has any of the local balls or assemblies."
"We should send her to London." That was Mama's way of saying that she would not be argued with. "She may stay with my brother James and his wife."
A look of skepticism crossed Papa's face. He probably remembered, where as Mama did not, that my uncle, Sir James Cartwright, had two small children of his own, and that his house would not be holding any sociable events in the foreseeable future. His wife, Josephine, would be unable to escort me around to all of the balls and gatherings in town, for she was a sickly creature who disliked the public and preferred to stay home with her children and doting maids.
Papa also likely remembered that I despised visiting there, never mind actually staying there for weeks on end.
"Dearest, James has two small children, hardly good company for Anna, and Josephine is not able to provide herself as a chaperone to our daughter," Father said gently.
Mama waved that aside. "My sister, Sophia, lives with them now," she said. "I've had a letter from her last week, saying that she has quit the place she has shared with our sister Nora and offered her help to James in raising the children."
I stared down at my lap. Aunt Sophia had a way of criticizing me as much as Mother did, and staying with her in the same house as my uncle would only make things worse.
"Perhaps she could go visit Fitzwilliam Darcy instead," Papa suggested. "If not in Derbyshire, then perhaps in London. He has a house in town, and at a good location in the heart of society."
At the sound of Fitzwilliam's name, I looked up. He and I were close, though we were not closely related, but through my father, we were closer to the Pemberley Darcy's than anyone else.
Papa had been a dear friend to the late Mr. Darcy, Fitzwilliam's father, and they had gone to school and to college together, remaining close friends until the elder Mr. Darcy's death. So, up until the death of his friend and relation, Papa had often taken our family to visit the Darcy estate of Pemberley.
My first meeting with Fitzwilliam when he was ten-years-old and I barely seven. Papa had decided to take the long journey to Pemberley and bring me along with him, leaving my mother to care for my toddling brother. I had liked Mr. Darcy very much, although his son had thought it below him to play with a girl three years his junior. The fact that I was too young to pronounce the name 'Fitzwilliam' correctly did me no favors with him, since I called him 'Fitz' until my tongue was trained well enough to say his first name. For this, he rather disliked me for a time, and always abruptly called "Miss Woodworth" whenever he was forced to address me.
Thankfully, my chance for redeeming myself arrived three years later, when the elder Mr. Darcy asked if Papa and I would join him and his family at Rosings Park, home of Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Lady Catherine was the sister of Mrs. Darcy, and had asked for them to visit Rosings and to invite any sort of companions that they wished. Papa accepted his friend's invitation, and the two of us traveled to Rosings as soon as we were able. There I met the arrogant Lady Catherine and her sickly daughter, Anne.
"Anne is a wonderful name, though I wonder at your daughter being called Annabelle," Lady Catherine had told my father after we had all settled in the parlor for afternoon tea. "It truly is an odd name to give a child."
Father gave me a fond smile, which I returned. "My wife, also called Catherine, was rather fond of the name Anna, but wanted our firstborn to have a unique name, so we decided on Annabelle. It suits her rather well, we think."
"Does your daughter play or sing, Mr. Woodworth?" Lady Catherine asked, giving me a criticizing glance. "My own daughter, Anne, would be most proficient in both, if her health permitted her to be."
"Annabelle plays, though not so well as her mother would like," Papa replied carefully. In truth, I played neither well nor ill, but passably enough to entertain company for a time, though my singing was nonexistent.
Lady Catherine focused her arrogant, hard gaze at me. "Will you play for us, Miss Woodworth?"
It was more of a demand than a request, so with all the grace and dignity my ten-year-old self could muster, I rose from my seat beside my father and curtseyed politely before going to the piano at the far side of the room, taking a seat on the cushioned bench as I placed my fingers on the keys. I was about to begin a short song when I heard the sound of stiff footsteps approaching, and looked up. There stood Fitzwilliam Darcy, looking uncomfortable and frustrated as he took a place beside me.
"My father wished for me to stand here so that you did not catch a draft from the windows," he said awkwardly, brown eyes serious beneath a mass of equally dark hair.
I smiled and began to play. "That is most kind of you, Mr. Darcy," I said in a light, teasing voice. "It might be of comfort to you that I am now able to pronounce your first name of Fitzwilliam, if I may be permitted to do so."
He looked at me in surprise, then gifted me with a small smile. Apparently his temper had improved since last we met. "You may, though I would prefer it if you were to call me Darcy while we were here. My cousin's surname is Fitzwilliam, you see, and it tends to cause confusion in the family. But at Pemberley, you may call me by my Christian name."
"If you wish," I acquiesced, my fingers gliding across the keys.
"And would you allow me to call you Annabelle?" he asked.
"Oh, Annabelle is such a formal name. My mother and father call me Anna; you may call me that, if you'd like."
Fitzwilliam then turned to look at the silent, pale Anne de Bourgh, sitting on a small couch with her caregiver Mrs. Jenkins, and frowned. "Perhaps it would be best if I called you Belle. I would not want to cause another state of confusion between two households by calling two young ladies by the same name."
Laughing, I finished the song with a flourish, my audience clapping politely when they realized I was done. "Will you play again?" my new friend asked. "Perhaps something more lively?"
"Do you mean for me to try and lighten the air of the room?" I whispered with a grin. He rewarded me with a conspiratorial smile, which I happily returned as I launched into a light country song that was meant to be danced to. We both laughed as I finished with a flourish, which seemed to catch the attention of our elders.
"What is so amusing? I must know," Lady Catherine demanded.
Darcy assisted me off the bench and escorted me back to my father. "It is nothing, Aunt," he said, solemn once more. "Merely a bit of childish amusement in a song."
Lady Catherine sniffed and returned to her conversation with her sister while her brother-in-law spoke with my father. Free of the intent gaze of our hostess, Darcy turned towards me.
"I hope that when next you visit Pemberley, you will do me the honor of meeting my sister, Georgiana," he said politely. "She is just two-years-old, but will be older when you meet, and I would like you to be a friend to her, light-hearted girl that she is."
I was flattered, to say the least. "It would be an honor."
From that day forward, we were firm friends. My family was often at Pemberley, and so I spent many happy months in Derbyshire over the years, enjoying the delights it had to offer. There my days were filled with picnics, horseback riding, parties, games, and visits to Lambton, the town but five miles away. When we were permitted to go out on our own, Fitzwilliam and I spent most of our time together talking about our younger siblings, our families, or about nothing at all, merely enjoying each other's company.
Unfortunately, not all of my time there was pleasant, though I did my best to make them so. When Mrs. Darcy died of a sudden illness, my father, concerned about his dear friend's welfare and that of his children, had brought our family to try and console the grief-stricken Darcys. Out of worry for Fitzwilliam, I did my best to help him recover from his mother's death, offering comfort when it was needed and distracting him with some of his favorite games or pastimes.
In the visits that followed the death of Mrs. Darcy, a small shadow of gloom seemed to settle over not merely Pemberley, but inside of Fitzwilliam as well. Although he never showed anything but kindness to me, he was rather cold and indifferent to others. I suppose that after loosing his mother, a person so close to him, and at such a young age, he felt it better to hide his true feelings from all but those exceptional few he held dear. I felt honored to be counted as a friend of value.
The few times I was able to see her before she was sent off to school, I also became a friend to Georgiana, the sweet younger sister of Fitzwilliam. Even though she was ten years younger than her brother, it was clear that Georgiana was the apple of both her father and her brother's eye, and that a very strong bond of love was shared between the three. It nearly broke her heart when her father died just short of her eleventh birthday, but thankfully she had Fitzwilliam there to help with her sorrow.
The only difficulty with being such a good friend of the Darcys of Pemberley is that my mother had hoped that I would one day be mistress of that grand estate. However, such a match was not thought of between myself and Fitzwilliam, nor by our fathers. Papa and the late Mr. and Mrs. Darcy had thought their son and I to be too close of friends to end up marrying, though such a union might have occurred if it had been spoken of by our two families.
As it was, my mother was left to disappointment when no offers were made for me by Mr. Darcy when I came to the age to wed. Of course, by the time my "coming out" into society occurred, Fitzwilliam was thoroughly involved in his studies at Cambridge and was uninterested in London and society, so Mama had abandoned the idea and focused her hopes on finding a suitable match in town. Obviously, Mama was still upset over her decision.
"No, it will do Anna no good to go to the Darcy home, for he will likely be out of the country for the next few weeks," she said woefully. "I've just read in the papers that Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy is married to a Miss Elizabeth Bennett, who, I might add, is from a family of no importance, wealth or consequence."
"Mama!" I gasped. "That is no way to speak of the new Mrs. Darcy! Fitzwilliam must love her very much to have married her; he would never have wed her otherwise."
"He would never had married her at all if you had but spoke of marriage to him in the first place!" Mother snapped.
Across from me, Nathaniel winked at me, the corner of his mouth quirking up into an amused smile –thankfully, it was the corner facing away from our mother, so she did not see. I glared at him, feeling jealous that my brother would never have to go through this. Nathaniel would be free to marry anyone he chose, as long as she was of a good family or had a fortune, and it did not matter how old he was when he married –after all, men of thirty or forty years of age wedded young ladies without raising a fuss in society.
"Well, it's too late for that now," Father said, finishing off his supper with a last drink of wine. "But I do think it would be good to stay with the Darcys for a while, if only to meet the new Mrs. Darcy and see if young Georgiana is doing well."
"She might even see Mr. Bingley," Nathaniel put in, apparently trying to cheer her.
Mr. Bingley was Fitzwilliam's oldest friend, and a very agreeable man. I had met him at Pemberley on a few occasions, and liked him immensely for his pleasantness and good humor. Mama had heard last summer about his five thousand pounds a year, and had thought him a suitable match for me as well, until she met his sisters.
"No, Mr. Bingley has just married a Miss Jane Bennett, who is apparently the elder sister to Elizabeth Bennett," Mama said, frowning. "Honestly, how many Bennett girls can there possibly be in that family? Why, just a few months ago I saw that a Lydia Bennett had married a George Wickham." She huffed in annoyance.
I frowned and took a drink of my water. George Wickham was the son of the late Mr. Darcy's steward, and though both Mr. Wickham and his son had been well-thought of by the elder Mr. Darcy, the young man had turned out rather wild. I had not met Mr. Wickham until long after my first visit to Rosings Park, and did not like him at all; he had attempted to flirt with me many times, but I was not naïve to fall for his flattery. He had been a friend of Fitzwilliam, but I knew that they had grown apart over the years, the gap between them widening after that whole situation with Wickham attempting to elope with Georgiana and steal her fortune. I had expected the two men to meet for a pistol duel, but Darcy was too good a man to shoot someone for any reason, and if he had been harmed or killed in the duel, who would take care of poor Georgiana?
'At least Wickham has found himself a wife,' I thought, sitting back so that dessert could be served. 'But why would he choose a girl with no money? I remember that Wickham dearly wanted a rich wife to fund his gambling and spending debts.' I would have to ask Fitzwilliam, the next time I wrote.
"No, staying with Mr. and Mrs. Darcy is out of the question." My mother's voice broke my thoughts. "Anna will stay with my brother James, and that is the end of it."
I honestly didn't think that my going into society at age 25 was going to change much, but my mother would not leave me a moment's peace if I did not go and do as I was told. Fortunately, I had the benefit of friends living in London, which would allow me places to escape to when I grew tired of my uncle's home.
Holding back a sigh, I finished my lemon ice as I thought of which dresses I would be taking with me, and how many I would have to buy once I got there.
AN: Lots of info in this chapter, though I hope it wasn't too boring. Please leave a review and let me know what you thought! Thanks!