Hi everyone! This fic will be updated once a week on Saturdays. My other unfinished works have not been abandonned either, I am just not inspired with them right now.
I hope you will enjoy this take -though for warning, don't expect a 'Pride and Prejudice' remake. The plot is still ongoing in the Regency era though.
Enjoy :)
The Price of Pride
2
The carriage shook on the rocky road. Bruce sat squeezed between a man and a woman, barely able to breathe. The horses' hooves slammed on the path as they crossed the dark woods. The windows were covered by small curtains, halfway hiding the outside view, but he could still see the blurry landscape passing by.
They shouldn't be here. It was late, so very late. He disliked nightfall on the road, loathed traveling full night even more. They should have stayed at the last inn. But they were in a hurry.
The carriage shook again and this time it stopped. Bruce reflexively curled against the woman. She was holding him tightly against her, whispering words he did not understand. The other man shouted something. Nothing replied. He reached for the handle, pulled the door open.
A monster of darkness with bloody hands stood outside, mouth opened on rows of teeth, ready to devour them all.
Bruce woke up gasping for air.
His heart raced and his skin sweat, hands trembled as they clung to his sheets. He briefly closed his eyes, forced his mind to focus. He was in his town house. He lay alone under soft covers, his back against a comfortable mattress. He was not in that carriage, holding onto his mother while trembling with fear. His parents were dead, he was alive. Bruce opened his eyes again and repeated the last part to himself. I am alive.
But am I lucky to be so?
He forced himself into a seated position, ran a hand over his face to chase the remains of his nightmare. Or twisted memory. Whichever fit best, he supposed. He shouldn't have indulged so much last night. Too much alcohol messed with his head. Too much alcohol brought back the things he would rather keep forgotten, and he was alone to deal with it.
It wouldn't happen if you were married, a small voice, eerie similar to Alfred, teased in the back of his mind.
Bruce groaned in frustration. He had a handful of mistresses scattered around town. After a well-served banquet, he usually stopped by one place or another depending if they were receiving, called for the lady and stayed the night. It had been a while since he had visited any, though. And he knew exactly why. The reason was a tall, dark-haired woman with big doe eyes and a tendency to distract him whenever she stood around.
He glanced at the empty side of his bed, recalling how he had imagined her lying there before going to sleep. He could easily picture her now, curled on a side, watching him back. He wondered if she'd welcome his attentions, or even offer them. Some of the women he had bedded before did not appreciate his caresses. Miss Troy though? She would most likely. From their multiples conversations and his personal observations, she seemed to be a very passionate woman. Arousing his own passions would not be hard either; one stolen kiss had his control wavering already. What would it feel to have her willing by his side?
The door opened and Alfred stepped in. The butler was impeccably dressed, in spite of having likely slept even less than him.
"Good morning sir," he said once he realized his employer was awake. "I hope the night brought you council."
"Brought me nightmares, if anything," he muttered. The butler immediately turned concerned; he would know what haunted Bruce's dreams. "I am fine Alfred. It will pass."
To any other employee, he would have never dared to confess this. But Alfred had known him ever since he ran around the propriety in short pants. The most obvious mark of their familiarity was the fact he still called the man by his first name, regardless of his highest position amongst the domestics.
"Your partners will be expecting you at eleven for your weekly planning," Alfred announced then, falling back into their morning routine.
Bruce knew he would have to force himself awake sooner or later.
"Of course," he mumbled and pushed himself on his feet. "Thank you Alfred."
He washed and dressed, and breakfast was brought to his room on a tray. Bruce began eating while his eyes skimmed over the newspaper. Nothing out of the ordinary –business was running smoothly, no catastrophic meteorological event was announced and Napoleon was still at war with the rest of the world. His eyes lingered when he caught the name of Ambassador Ludendorff.
A small article hinted about bribery that might have been given, as a magistrate had suddenly released a man after he had committed theft –a man who, according to the reporter, worked for the former general himself. He smirked. The article was signed L and although the letter could mean a dozen names, he could count on one hand the number of people who would dare go against a politician so subtly. Mister Perry was growing more and more daring in his older years, if he allowed his own niece to dabble with journalism. Miss Lois Lane was a close acquaintance of his –if not one of his rare trusted friends, and he would recognize her penmanship anywhere. Not to mention, he had been the one to needle her onto Ludendorff. Lois had been itching for a real, serious and scandalous story, and Bruce had been more than happy to oblige. Though never voiced aloud, some rumors concerning the man would definitively be worth pursuing. The way Ludendorff had acted towards Miss Troy had ruffled his feathers and what better revenge than nudge another determined, often underestimated, young woman upon his scent?
Ludendorff belonged to the gentry who gave themself far more importance than they actually had. Unfortunately, the little importance that they had could prove itself harmful for those around them. Bruce still remembered archly how uncomfortable Miss Troy had looked when she spoke of her unwanted suitor. And suddenly, he wondered how she viewed him.
Given their most recent conversation, she did not seem to hold him in high esteem. It was understandable; he had, admittedly, taken advantage of her situation for his own pleasure. No wonder why she could barely stand his presence. And yet, he could tell she was intrigued by him. Her eyes sought his presence when his name was announced. Her body betrayed her attraction and in spite of their parting words, her reaction indicated she might not be so against the idea of him pursuing her. Bruce huffed as he remembered his own words. No seduction for Miss Troy. No, she was far too…far too…
She did not deserve his lusting.
So many grand ladies put on airs they had not earned. These women, Bruce could play and torment guiltlessly. Miss Troy was a different breed altogether. She was no gentle flower, but he felt protective of her. They agreed on many things but he often stated the opposite just to hear her lovely voice and see the flash of anger in her eyes. Yes indeed, she was not the kind of woman he could just bed and forget. She deserved to be cherished and respected by a man who would worship her to her dying days. He was far too fickle, far too unstable to fill that role.
You can't know till you try, whispered the same little voice eerie similar to Alfred's.
Oh shut up, his own voice retorted, almost embarrassed.
"Sir, Master Richard is expecting you in your office."
Bruce nearly started at Alfred's voice. He hadn't heard him enter his rooms.
"What?" He blurted inelegantly. "Didn't he have his own meeting today?"
"Indeed," Alfred confirmed. "Nevertheless, he seeks your council and approval before engaging this meeting."
He racked his memory, trying to pinpoint who was Richard supposed to meet, and remembered him vaguely speaking of an engineer who had approached him with a fabulous new invention...doing whatever...The project hadn't caught his attention but Richard had sounded interested nonetheless.
"Yes, of course," he muttered. "I will be there shortly."
The butler hummed in satisfaction and left. Bruce promptly finished his breakfast, skimming over the last articles of the newspaper, and hurried to his office.
While everyone called Richard his godson, Bruce had never actually known any of the young man's relations. He had merely happened to witness the murder of Richard's parents when the boy was barely ten, and had taken him away before the murderer could come after him. He hadn't planned to keep him once the crime had been solved. Yet, by the time the criminal was arrested and hanged, his household had fallen in love with the young orphan and Bruce had, reluctantly, turned attached to him. It did help that Richard was no simpleton and quite intelligent. The boy had thus become his family, his partner and, should he never sire a child, his heir.
Said young man was currently sitting on his desk, an open book in hand. He stood when Bruce entered the room.
"Well, you look like you have been out in society one night too much," he teased as a greeting. "Tell me, do you really have your eyes set on a young lady? What was her name again, Miss Troy?"
Bruce rolled his eyes.
"You ought to stop gossiping with Alfred," he muttered. "I am not pursuing her."
"You attend nearly every event she goes to," Richard pointed out, a mischievous glint in his eye. "From your perspective, that is almost courting."
Bruce ignored the young man's words and focused on the point of their meeting.
"You wanted to see me, here I am," he replied instead. "What is this opportunity about?"
Richard's expression turned slightly more serious. He pulled a bunch of papers and handed them to him. They contained a very detailed plan of a huge mechanism.
"The man's name is Steve Trevor. He owns a minor company back in the colonies. He and his partner, some Samir something, I'm not sure I got the name right, need funds to build the newest revolutionary machine. It's a steam-powered locomotive, a reviewed version inspired from Mr. Trevithick. It's supposed to be lighter, faster and more economical."
Bruce remained silent. Richard had to be aware that investing in something he could not keep a close eye on was not a good idea. Much to his relief, the young man went on:
"Their so-called innovation will never work, I studied steam engines long and carefully enough to know we will need a few years to best the first attempt. However, I am more interested in finding out if either man designed this particular part." He pointed at one point of the drafted engine, the one most obvious modification of the plan. "If whoever came by this might turn out to be a gold mine. I want to interview that person."
Bruce nodded.
"Sounds sound enough. You don't need my approval for this," he went on, and narrowed his eyes. "What are you here for exactly?"
Richard grinned:
"That is for me to know and you to wonder." He patted his godfather on the shoulder. "Have a good day, Bruce." And promptly left.
TPOP
Diana woke up in a sore mood and even the copious breakfast couldn't quell her anger. Her encounter with Mr. Wayne weighted on her mind, as it usually did. The man always had that dreadful effect on her, and she loathed it. Usually, she was the one who figured out what people thought, trained to anticipate their reaction. Her father had trained her to seek for the tiniest detail that would make a difference. But that man…that man ruffled her feathers, challenged her self-control, and damn if she let his words distract her again-
"You seem upset this morning, Diana. I take it you had an interesting encounter last night?"
She breathed in slowly and met her father's eye. Hadrian Troy was one of the most imposing men she had ever known, barring Mr. Wayne. He towered over people like a giant, his long hair usually tied in a low ponytail, his intense eyes and sharp smirk striking fear in the heart of people who didn't know him well…or knew him too well. He had unparalleled flair to sniff a lie or a good deal, a keen mind and a great sense of business –one that had allowed him to build his own empire upon arriving in England, with the help of his first wife's dowry. And unfortunately, he could always, always read through her.
His sentence drew his second wife Persephone's attention. As she hadn't participated to the past night event, she was much more awake and aware of the conversation than her step-children. Donna was valiantly trying not to fall head first in her bowl while Jason did a much better work pretending he was listening instead of dozing off. Lyla was still resting in bed.
"An interesting encounter?" she repeated, intrigued. Diana bit back the urge to roll her eyes.
"Nothing interesting in the least, I assure you," she muttered.
Somehow, that sentence was enough for her to draw the same conclusion her husband had minutes ago. Persephone sighed and asked resignedly:
"Please Diana; please tell me you did not insult Mr. Wayne this time."
She huffed and protested:
"I did not!" Hadrian's eyes twinkled madly. Her stepmother looked rather desperate. "Why don't you worry about what Jason did instead? You left the ballroom for a while; didn't you?" she added, glaring at her twin.
In spite of his remarkable pretense, her brother was too sleepy to fully comprehend her words.
"Uh?" he merely said, feigning disinterest, when Diana knew he was this close to having his nose fall into his plate.
Her father chuckled.
"Unfortunately daughter, you are the only one awake enough to hold a decent conversation. Hence, you have our full attention." He leant forward. "So, how did the Master of Gotham made himself a nuisance?"
Diana had never told them the full story of their first encounter, but she suspected her father had deduced what had occurred back then. Thankfully, he hadn't attempted to confront the man. Mr. Wayne's less than flattering reputation with ladies could only cause a scandal that would reflect badly on her.
"He merely acted like his insufferable self, that is all," she muttered. "Nothing to worry about, I assure you."
Predictably, that did not reassure her stepmother in the least.
"Well, I suppose it is a good thing that man fancies you," Persephone muttered under her breath.
"WHAT?"
Her indignant shout pulled Donna and Jason from their lethargy. Even Hadrian raised an eyebrow. The older woman blinked, taken aback, and frowned in displeasure. Diana flushed red when she realized how loud she had been.
"Manners Diana," Persephone chided. "I have I told you many times about -"
"He does not fancy me," she retorted sharply. "He is a pest, always looming and showing up in balls even when he doesn't want to go, if only to safeguard his interests. But. He. Does. Not. Fancy me. The only reason he approaches me is to tease or flirt when he is bored. I am only an amusement to him, not a…an interest."
Her stepmother blinked again, and then, a rare smirk grew on her face. Diana felt her hairs stand on her arms; the older woman was a calm, gentle and composed person by nature. Anytime she showed a sign of something more –like a loud laugh, a particular twinkle or, in this case, a smirk –everyone knew something was up. The reaction was one of the few things she and her husband had in common.
"That is not quite what I heard," she countered slowly. "Apparently, his appearances at receptions have increased this past year…and you were attending most of them."
"That's not-" Diana protested.
"On a few occasions, he has inquired about our family's presence."
"He could have wanted to speak to fa-"
"And he has approached you in each and every one of them."
Her last sentence was marked by a smug smirk. Diana refused to acknowledge that her words. Persephone's smirk turned into a smile of mischief and resumed eating her breakfast. Donna finally grasped that gossip was at stake and found herself awakened enough to participate:
"Are we speaking of M. Wayne again?" she hazarded.
Diana pinched her lips and pushed away from the table, exceeded.
"I will leave and breathe fresh air. I believe I have a headache."
Her father laughed loudly. Diana stood without waiting for permission, feeling even more frustrated.
"On your way out, will you be a dear and see how your sister is fairing?" Persephone asked as she passed by her seat. "She ought to have been up by now."
Diana agreed and left the room promptly before another comment could be made.
She made her way into the main hall, followed the stairs up to the first level into the family wing. Lyla's bedroom was the first on the right, closest to the corridor in case she needed to be moved quickly. A quick knock later, the door opened with a faint creaking. Lyla's maid peeked through, obscuring most of the light from the outside. The room behind her was completely dark.
"Good morning Miss Troy," the woman said quietly. "Miss Lyla is still sleeping. She had a trying night."
Diana pursed her lips, halfway displeased, halfway worried. Her sister had taken ill last night, although it had not been as bad as before. She could not have had a turn to worse so soon, could she? Her step-mother would have never left her bedchamber otherwise.
"Persephone requested her presence downstairs," she replied eventually. "Open the curtains, I will see myself if I ought to obey her or not."
The maid reluctantly retreated to follow her orders. Diana entered and waited for the sunlight to bring some brightness to the room to approach the large bed. Lyla's room had been painted in light colors, soft tones of purple and red. The windows opened on the spectacular garden, although it was not the best view. The girl herself was bundled under thick brown covers, eyes closed. Her skin had the paleness of people who seldom went out, her blonde hair were braided for sleep. The sleeper's nose twitched slightly.
"You can stop pretending Lyla," Diana announced, her arms crossed but her tone amused. Her sister cracked an eye open, smiling sheepishly. She looked tired, but not sickly tired. She deduced: "You were up writing letters all night again, weren't you?"
The blonde girl shrugged.
"I received many this week; Diana," she whispered. "I wanted to finish them."
Her weak constitution didn't allow her many physical activities. She could not walk outside for too long nor could she ride. Her letters to her friends were her main distraction, one her father generously allowed. He sometimes teased that the cost of her correspondence was a line he included in the accounting books.
"And it could have not waited to-day?" Diana retorted.
Lyla ignored her question.
"Will you call upon Artemis and Alexa this afternoon?"
"As early as visiting hours allow," Diana admitted. "I will not stay confined at home listening to Persephone rambling about my nonexistent suitors."
Lyla's pale green eyes twinkled with amusement. It was a shame her health was so poor, Diana thought. At fourteen already, her sister had every potential of becoming a very handsome woman.
"I shall not ponder over the reason why," she laughed. "I was asking, for I need to post my letters. Would you mind bringing them to the post office on your way? M. Charon has most likely already gone to town and I need one to leave most urgently."
"Of course I will," Diana replied and gently stroke her youngest sibling's head. She stood and headed to the desk. Three letters were ready to go, waiting to be taken. She glanced at the names. Cassandra Cain and Barbara Gordon she recognized. The former was a ward to a tradesman their father did business with, the latter the daughter of a detective in London. While the third name sounded unfamiliar, the street was anything but. "That is a fancy place in London," she said. "Who is Kara Kent?"
"She comes from the colonies," Lyla said excitedly. "Barbara last wrote she was seeking for new correspondents and encouraged me to send word to her. We have been exchanging letters for two weeks now."
Diana frowned.
"Did father allow this?"
"He does not oppose to me writing to Barbara, and she is far from the first and second circles of society," Lyla replied with a shrug before adding: "Please do not tell him, Kara is a very interesting person. I learn so much from her! This is all very harmless."
Diana sighed.
"As long as she does not call unexpectedly one day," she replied and folded the letters together. "Persephone expects you downstairs soon."
Lyla pouted. Diana raised an eyebrow in warning.
"Please lay my clothes out, Sarah," the younger girl ordered her maid reluctantly. "I do have to make Jason hold onto his word to drive me around the garden in the phaeton. He promised I would learn to handle the reins this time."
"You do realize you will have to battle Donna?" Diana pointed out. Her younger sister loved driving the phaeton and was, admittedly, quite skilled at it.
"Donna will be joining her friends at Mrs. Beaumont's tea shop, or so I heard," Lyla replied lightly. "She keeps returning there even though it is not the most popular place. Perhaps it is the French touch and pastries? They are very tasty."
Diana laughed and big goodbye to her youngest sister. She left the maid to dress her sister and headed back to her own bedchamber. As she approached the room, her steps suddenly faltered and stopped in front of a halfway-opened door. The room behind it, the former nursery, had been arranged for the exclusive use of the siblings. Perhaps a servant had been a little careless in their cleaning this morning, she thought.
She paused a brief moment, then made up her mind and stepped inside. The furniture was disposed as it ought to be, small but elegant couches surrounded a table set for card games and a chessboard stood next to the fire. In the far back, books filled the few shelves. Papers for correspondence were spread on a second table, near the outside window with a view on the front yard. Only three paintings decorated the walls. All three were aligned in order over the chimney. From right to left, Persephone, Hadrian Troy and last…
Diana stepped closer to the portrait of the other woman. She wore a thick white dress with golden patterns embroiled in the sleeves and the bustier. Her necklace, a single pendent in the shape of a "W", hung over her collarbone. Dark blonde hair was let loose over her shoulders, covering any earrings she might have worn. On the top of her head, the metallic headband seemed to glister with life. Piercing eyes stared right back at her. Diana entered the room and shut the door behind. She stepped closer, stopped at a respectable distance. She bowed respectfully, as if the portrait had been alive.
"Good morning mother," she whispered, her throat tight.
Hippolyta had only been twenty when the painting had been ordered, the very year of her marriage. From the echoes in Diana's memory, it had not been a happy one. Her family had been eager to get rid of their eldest daughter, a tomboy with a blatant disregard for protocol. Hadrian Troy had the aristocratic title but no money to back it and hadn't minded a wild wife. The tumultuous marriage had lasted six years, until Hippolyta fell off her horse and broke her neck. Diana had only been four at the time, but she sometimes remembered a dry laugh and warm arms wrapping her into safety.
She often wished she could have met her mother at an older age. Her father sometimes mentioned she had been exceptionally sharp-witted, like a beautiful rose with even sharper thorns. Although she resented her married life, would she have cared for her children's education or left them to their governess and nannies' hands? Persephone had always been a steady presence by their side, and those who knew both former and current wife would whisper of their differences. Sometimes, Diana wondered what kind of woman she would have turned to be, had her mother lived.
Lyla's letters suddenly felt heavier in her hand. Had Hippolyta Troy not died in that accident, the frail girl would have never been born. In spite of her peculiar character, Diana could not envision a world without her little sister.
Hippoyta's gaze suddenly turned heavier, as if silently accusing her of disloyalty. Diana looked away uneasily. Feeling guilty about the dead's sensitivity was useless, but she could always, somewhat, feel her mother's shadow heaving over her shoulders. She forced the uncomfortable sensation away and left the room. She needed to put Lyla's letters in her reticule in prevision of this afternoon's outing. Then, she would head outside. After this moment, she truly needed fresh air.