Springtime in the Fall
While much of the story remains the same, two important details have changed: Bingley's friend is Randolph Darcy. His father is Fitzwilliam Darcy. Oh, and it is the son rather than the father who insults Elizabeth Bennet.
AN: This story is somewhat biographical and dedicated to a dear friend. She met and married a man many years older than her. Theirs was a romance for the ages. As she is a fan of P&P as well as (insert blush here) my stories, I thought I'd try giving her an early Christmas gift.
AN2: I know, I know. So many of my stories place Elizabeth on top of Oakham Mount. That is partially due to my own love of hiking and mountain climbing (small mountains. Zero chance of freezing to death). I met my friend on just such an adventure, just as she met her husband on an even taller mountain (think really, REALLY tall)
An autumn morning atop Oakham Mount...
Elizabeth Bennet hiked up the path and crested the hill just in time! With the late night before she would have been justified in rolling over and burying her face in the pillow for another hour of sleep at least. Instead nature called out to her, as it always did, and she climbed out of bed. If she did not "spring" out of bed as she might have on other mornings, the reader must forgive her.
The previous night ended in the harvest, or Michaelmas assembly, an event which most of the young people looked forward to after a long dry spell in festive activities. This year everyone had looked forward to the assembly because there was a new neighbor... something very rare in this oddly remote area.
I include the word "oddly remote" because, in fact, the town of Meryton and its four and twenty estates was but a mere three and twenty miles distant from Town, or rather London, on relatively decent roads. It was also only ten miles distant from St. Albans, a thriving small city which straddled the Great Northern Road. With such short distances Meryton would not have been considered "remote" by anyone with a decent horse or carriage... except for five geographical features.
Hertfordshire, as counties in England go, would be considered mostly flat, or at best a rolling landscape. Yet by some twist of geographical history five hills had grown to form a circle around a long valley which was split by the Mer River. The Mer, being barely a river for most of the year, kept the valley well watered and fertile. The five hills made it so that most travelers never stopped to wonder what was on the other side.
That was until Baron Jon d' Bennet, a veteran of William of Normandy's early battles and eventual conquest, rode over the very hill where Elizabeth now stood. He saw that the valley was just what he was looking for: a good place to retire and raise a family which was away from it all. The newly self-proclaimed King of England listened to Bennet's request, confirmed that there were no other higher claimants, and had the man's name down in the Domesday Book. The Mer had barely been a trickle during the summer day when he first saw it, so the aging warrior became Jon d' Bennet, Baron of Longbourn. (Note: a "bourn" is a stream that flows intermittently, or seasonally).
Although many centuries had passed and the ravages of history had reduced the family's holdings to little more than a small estate, Elizabeth still knew the tale. And on clear mornings like this, as the sun slowly rose from behind the three hills opposite to her position, she liked to imagine a time when the baron, his wife, and his family worked to turn the land into something special.
Elizabeth was just about to release the sigh she always felt after watching a sunrise when a horse nickered. Spinning around, Elizabeth's hand flew to the blade that she kept in her dress pocket! Mr. Hill had insisted on teaching her how to defend herself when she turned twelve and began to grow a womanly figure, since neither her father or mother seemed inclined to assign a footman to guard her on her rambles. She was actually quite skilled with a blade should she ever be called upon to defend herself.
She only relaxed slightly when she saw a tall, older, but very handsome man in fine clothes seated a good twenty feet away on her favorite "thinking rock."
"Your pardon for startling you, Miss," the man had a deep and very pleasant voice, though even in such a simple sentence Elizabeth sensed that he was a man of some authority. "Aristotle was merely stating his own appreciation for the beauty of the sunrise. He is a rather philosophical sort."
Elizabeth's hand left her pocket, "With such a name I would have thought him more inclined to be cataloging and defining the flora and fauna rather than appreciating the sunrise."
The man grinned and something happened inside of Elizabeth. He was as old as, or at least close to her father's age but he was easily the most handsome man she had ever encountered. The white hairs at his temple only enhanced rather than detracted from his magnificence. "You are no common miss, I see. Were you educated at one one of those dreadful 'finishing schools' or did you come by your knowledge by some other means?"
"I did not attend any school, but my father was an Oxford don before fate made him the next Master of Longbourn. He brought a rather large library here with him and has never ceased to add to it." Elizabeth realized that it was not entirely appropriate to hold a conversation alone with a stranger she had not even been introduced to, but was enjoying it too much to end the encounter quickly.
"He opens his library to you, then?"
"I or any of my sisters are welcome to read any of his books if we are so inclined. It is just that I am the only one 'so inclined.' My sisters Jane and Mary do enjoy some volumes, but I have always wished to know everything about... well, everything."
The man regarded her with approval, which only added to the pleasant frission that she felt, "Then I commend you for your efforts." He stood, confirming Elizabeth's first impression that he was both tall and very well-formed, "Well then, while it is has been a pleasure sharing the sunrise with you, Miss...?"
She curtsied, "Elizabeth. Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn."
The man set his tophat on his head, making him seem taller still, "Then it is an honor to meet you, Miss Bennet. I am Fitzwilliam Darcy, of Pemberley in Derbyshire." He was startled to see her pleasant, pretty expression fall. Even those remarkable eyes lost their shine for a brief moment. "Oh dear, that was not a good reaction. Tell me please, was it my son who generated that reaction? What has he done this time?"
Elizabeth felt mortified at her strong reaction. This handsome, kind, and pleasant man did not deserve the look of disgust that must have painted her face in that brief moment. She tried to demur, to brush the incident aside, but the dear man gently insisted. Elizabeth found that she could not refuse the man an honest answer given his sincere expression, "It is a small thing, truly, in the great scheme of life. He merely behaved in an arrogant and self-important manner at last night's assembly dance."
Fitzwilliam Darcy gently prompted, "There is more."
Elizabeth sighed and finally repeated the insult that his son had spouted. The intensity of his reaction surprised her, "Is he blind?!" Then his face... both of their faces colored a bit. Elizabeth completely forgot the son's insult in the face of the father's clear appreciation. Then he said, "I arrived by carriage late yesterday, after my son and the Bingleys had already departed for the assembly. I was asleep before they returned and I woke in time to ride up here to watch the sunrise. Hence I have not yet spoken to my son. He and his friend have only just left university and are full-young and somewhat foolish. Be assured that..."
"No!" Elizabeth startled them both with her exclamation, "Mr. Darcy, I had rather that the matter be forgotten entirely. Forgive me, but your son is a stranger to me and I am content that it remain that way. If you must speak to him, then remind him that he and his host are guests in our community. We offered them friendship and welcome, but of the entire party only Mr. Bingley behaved with any friendliness in return. If they change their ways, then all is good. If not, then they can expect a cold welcome here. We are simple people but we do have our dignity."
Once again the older man warmed Elizabeth with the appreciation in his eyes and voice, "Well said, Miss Elizabeth Bennet. If you do not mind, I shall pay a call on your father tomorrow? I am also a great lover of books and would like to know the man."
For the briefest moment Elizabeth felt a thrill at the request, then she scolded herself that the man was merely asking to meet a man of his own age and interests, not expressing an interest for her sake. "I am quite certain that my father would welcome you, Mr. Darcy. If you are also a chess player, then you will soon be the best of friends."
He smiled, swung up onto Aristotle, tipped his hat, and rode away down the trail towards Netherfield. Elizabeth watched until he was out of view and expelled a heavy breath. That smile is dangerous!
The Netherfield Ball, November 26th, 1811
Fitzwilliam Darcy winced as he saw the buffoon step on Miss Elizabeth's dancing slippers once again! The fool was typical of the type of man that his sister-by-marriage, Lady Catherine De Bourgh, would choose for her parson: sychophantic, worshipful of those above him, and arrogant to those he deemed below himself.
Worse, the fool seemed fixated on Elizabeth! Somehow he had gotten it in his head that she would be the next Mrs. Collins! Darcy knew that Mr. Bennet would not sanction the match, so his confidence must have come through the prompting of Mrs. Bennet. Since that fateful meeting on the hill he had shared many personal conversations with the lively, intelligent, and beautiful Miss Elizabeth. Because of this he knew much about her, her family, and the dynamics which drove the family.
As soon as the dance was over and Elizabeth limped to a corner, he strode over, "Miss Elizabeth, when your toes have recovered from the mauling, would you allow me a set?"
The brilliant smile that escaped Elizabeth's face warmed him. "Although I am wounded, sir, tis merely a flesh wound and should quickly recover. If I sit out this one dance then I would be pleased to share my next set with you."
He jotted his name onto the two promised dances and then bent over her hand before walking away to secure a drink of punch. Behind him he heard the question in the voice of Miss Lucas as she said, "Eliza, is there anything..." He was too far away to hear the rest.
He shook off the wish to back up and hear Miss Elizabeth's response. She was full young, only twenty, and so vibrantly beautiful that she could have any man! His son was a fool to overlook her just because of her supposed rank and circumstances! There was entirely too much of Lady Catherine in that child! It did not matter, though. Fitzwilliam was the same age, only five years younger than Elizabeth's father. Her fine eyes were not for him, no matter how much they made his heart surge when she looked at him!
He returned juggling three tumblers of punch and was rewarded with smiles from Miss Lucas and Miss Elizabeth. When the music changed again, Elizabeth pronounced herself ready to dance. Darcy led her out to the floor, ignoring some of the whispers and mutterings on the sideslines. Just as in London, some of the older ladies and even married women had made it clear that they would not be averse to spending more time with him. That behavior, at least from the married women, disgusted him. Though their marriage had not always been amicable, at least he never cheated on his first wife.
Randolph Darcy came by his aristocratic manners naturally, from his mother and his mother's family. The Randolphs were only recently titled and "new money," yet they... and his wife and her sister, had all of the arrogance of the old families. Darcy, despite having no title, was one of the wealthiest commoners in the kingdom and therefore barely worthy of their daughter. Since he had needed to shore up that family's finances more than once he found their attitudes insupportable, but his son had absorbed them with his mother's milk (not that she had deigned to feed him from her own body).
Elizabeth snapped him out of his brown study with an impertinent jest and a smile. Once she had his attention she brought up the topic that worried her, "When you and your son chanced upon us the other day we had just made a new acquaintance...?"
"Ah yes. George Wickham. Have no concerns. I have written to my nephew who is a colonel in the Horse Guards. He rode in yesterday with several others. Lieutenant Wickham will now be serving His Majesty on the Peninsula. He will have no opportunity to cause harm to you or your younger sisters. I am sorry that I ever allowed that viper into my home. His father was the best of men, but the son is his opposite in every way."
"That is good. I did not like the way that he looked at my two youngest sisters... or the way that he told false tales against you."
Darcy felt warmed by her concern for him. This caused him to bring up another subject that pained him, "Miss Elizabeth, on the morrow I must depart for London..."
Elizabeth missed a step, turned white, and fought to compose herself. After another minute she asked in a choked voice, "Will you be back?"
When he hesitated to answer, the expression on Elizabeth's face nearly broke Darcy's heart. He quickly asked, "Do you wish for my return?" He felt foolish even asking such a question, but the pleading expression on her face gave him hope, as he had not dared to hope!
As soon as the first dance ended, he led her off of the floor even though he had secured both dances of the set. Once they were in a quiet corner, he asked, "Elizabeth, I am much nearer your father's age than yours, but if there was any chance... if my age did not bother you...?"
Elizabeth's broken look changed into a brilliant smile, "Oh, Mr. Darcy! Surely you know by now? If I have not made my feelings clear, allow me to do so immediately: If it is not you, then I cannot imagine that there shall be another."
"Then you must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you. My age is a problem and my family, at least on the side of my first wife, will not be kind or welcoming, but we will not need to interact with them much... if at all. I would make you my wife tomorrow if I could, but for the sake of your reputation I must do things correctly: will you allow me to court you?"
Elizabeth's fine eyes were teary with joy and relief as she answered, "Yes! Just so long as it is a short courtship. My own mind and heart are already set."
Meryton Church, January 1811
Mr. Bennet walked his favorite daughter down the aisle with some bemusement and only the slightest anxiety. He had been shocked when his new friend Mr. Darcy had asked for permission to court his Lizzie, but after reflection he realized that he should have seen the way that they were drawn to each other. And despite the fact that the man's son would someday inherit the bulk of the Darcy fortune, there could be no worry about his friend's ability to support his daughter financially.
Fanny had protested that the troublesome girl would have been better marrying Mr. Collins because he, at least, would have given her lifetime security. When the courtship had become an engagement, however, Thomas Bennet had shared just enough of the details to send his wife into a paroxicism of gleeful squeals!
Thomas felt just a little jealousy as he and his Lizzie approached the man who was waiting to steal his daughter away. The man was only five years his junior and was till handsome enough to make all of the ladies, young and old alike, swoon at his tall and handsome self. Thomas knew that he had not retained even half of his own good looks from his youth. But one look at the loving eyes of his daughter as she gazed at the waiting groom reassured him. She might have been drawn to the man for his good looks, but she had fallen in love with the man who shared her love of books, chess, and so many other interests.
It still hurt to let her hand go and return to his seat.
Epilogue
Fitzwilliam Darcy and his second wife Elizabeth came under a lot of criticism at first from his peers, but since they paid the scoffers no mind the furor slowly died off. Anyone willing to look could see that they made each other very happy. One of the greatest protesters, next to Lady Catherine, was Fitzwilliam's own son Randolph. But when he spent a year of two in her proximity Randolph realized that Elizabeth was a very fine woman, despite her origins. The young man even began to revise his ideal for what he wanted in a wife based upon what he saw in his father's relationship.
When Randolph Darcy did marry, three years later, he chose a woman who looked nothing like his step-mother but who had much the same personality and character. Elizabeth took great pleasure in teaching the beautiful young woman, who looked much like her own dear sister Jane, how to be mistress of Pemberley and the other estates. Then, when the older couple deemed the younger couple to be ready, they handed the reigns over to them.
With the wars over and peace returned to the continent, Fitzwilliam Darcy spent the remainder of his life escorting his beautiful and loving wife Elizabeth to all of the places around the world that they had spoken of or expressed an interest in. She surprised them both by falling pregnant during their travels even though she had seemed barren in their first six years. One girl, Bethany Jane, was born in Rome. Another girl, Rosemary, was born in the Caribbean. Both girls were like their mother and were therefore a great joy to their father.
Fitzwilliam Darcy lived to the remarkable age of ninety-two and remained happy and healthy right up until the morning he failed to wake up. His wife Elizabeth, now sixty herself, would have been quite welcome to return to Pemberley, where the Darcy family dearly loved her. She would have also been welcome in any one of the many homes that her sisters or sisters' many children had. After all, the "elder" Darcys had always made it a point to visit and bring presents and stories from around the world whenever they returned to England's soil.
Instead Elizabeth Darcy took up residence in the pleasant cottage that her husband had built for her on the top of Oakham Mount. It boasted a garden, a lovely sunset, and the memories of the place where they first met and fell in love.
Author's personal note: There you have it, Joyce. I'm sorry for your loss but glad for the joy that your marriage brought to you. Merry Christmas. And thank you for all of the many stories that you shared with me.
