Darcy's Fair Lady: Regency Pride and Prejudice Variation

By Andrea David

Fake engagement! Can Darcy convince London society that Elizabeth will become his wife—while persuading his heart that she won't?

 

After quitting Netherfield, Darcy must convince Lady Catherine that he's betrothed. It's the only way she'll let her daughter Anne marry her beloved. When Darcy receives a sudden windfall from one of his investments, he comes upon an idea. He offers Elizabeth Bennet a substantial sum to pose as his fiancée.

 

Lizzy is shocked by the impropriety of his proposal. Yet she and her sisters desperately need the funds to stave off genteel poverty. Plus, while she's in London, she can help reunite her sister Jane with Bingley, her former suitor.

 

Lizzy and Jane live as guests under Darcy's roof and receive lessons to fit into fashionable society. Lizzy discovers a new side to the Darcy she once despised: his kindness to his staff, his devotion to his sister, his concern for her wellbeing. Is there more to this handsome and fascinating man she once considered so proud? Could their faux betrothal turn real?

 

This sweet Regency romance is a 57,000-word standalone novel. It includes kissing but no on-page intimacy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Daring Hearts Press
• Release date: Aug 21, 2022
• ISBN: 9781393092919

Andrea David

Andrea David is a women's fiction author in Raleigh, North Carolina who writes stories of romantic love and family dynamics. She enjoys gardening, scuba diving, and hiking active volcanoes with her husband. Connect with her on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/andrea.j.wenger.author/ Never miss a release! Sign up for Andrea's fan list to be notified of new books, special offers, and exclusive content.  http://eepurl.com/b2UhvD

Book preview

Chapter 1

On a brisk December morning, Fitzwilliam Darcy rode through Hyde Park. His black mare’s hooves thundered against the hard-packed earth. Charles Bingley kept pace at his side on a chestnut gelding. Yellow rays of sunlight skimmed the horizon and broke through the mist.

Darcy breathed the clean air—clean for London, at least. At times like this, he missed his Pemberley estate, the endless woods and rolling hills. Hyde Park was a poor substitute.

He once again questioned their decision to quit Netherfield—the estate Bingley had let in Hertfordshire. It had been two weeks since they had left the country retreat. Since then, Darcy had been restless, his mind plagued by Elizabeth Bennet.

The provincial beauty had all the wit and spirit he wished for in a wife. Her father was gentry. Yet the manners of her mother and younger sisters were as barbarous as a boar released in a ballroom. Aligning himself with such a family was unthinkable.

He must, and would, forget her.

The sun rose higher in the sky. He and Bingley slowed their horses to a trot. Bingley was unusually subdued—he had been morose since leaving Netherfield.

It wasn’t the countryside that Bingley mourned.

No, the cause of his downcast spirit was the beautiful Jane Bennet, Elizabeth’s older sister. Jane was wholly unsuitable as a match for Bingley. Darcy had told him so, as had Bingley’s sisters. Beneath her sweet temper lay an unhappy truth: Jane was a fortune hunter.

Not that Darcy could blame her. If the gossip was correct, the Bennet estate was entailed and would go to a distant cousin. The five daughters of the family had no dowries to speak of. Yet as pretty as they were, Darcy had no doubt they would find husbands suiting their station.

Even if the thought of Elizabeth marrying another stung his heart.

Reaching a busier section of the park, the horses slowed to a walk. Darcy looked over at his friend. Bingley’s uncharacteristic silence betrayed his mood.

Darcy endeavoured to rouse his friend’s spirits. I have a meeting this afternoon about a business venture. Care to join me? Darcy’s tone was too bright, but he pushed on. A fellow from Lancashire is developing a new textile loom. It could prove profitable.

A fine idea. Bingley’s enthusiasm seemed forced, his normal exuberance weighed down by melancholy.

Darcy refused to feel guilty. Bingley had a gentleman’s education, but his fortune had come from trade. Marriage to a noblewoman would secure his family’s social standing. Darcy had no wish to see his friend throw himself away on a country girl with no dowry or connexions.

After all, an unscrupulous fortune hunter had preyed on Darcy’s young sister. Darcy had saved Georgiana from ruination, but her heart had been broken. He was determined to protect his friend from the same fate.

Bingley had been in love before. He was a friendly fellow who liked everyone he met. His head was easily turned by a pretty face. At only four-and-twenty, he could wait to marry until he found the ideal match.

The man would get over Jane Bennet. It was only a matter of time.

Just as Darcy would get over Elizabeth.

A headache formed between Darcy’s eyes. The sojourn in Hertfordshire had been a disaster. After two weeks in London, the ridiculous infatuation ought to be behind him.

The night he and Elizabeth had danced together—he dared not let himself think on it. Dressed in pale blue silk, white flowers in her hair, her dark eyes sparkling as she teased him... With all her airy charm, it had felt like leading a sylph along the dance floor.

That had been the last time he had seen her. Remembering the feel of her warm hand in his, the way her shimmering gown had clung to her curves... No, he wouldn’t dwell on those thoughts. She was not for him.

Nearing the park’s exit, Darcy and Bingley encountered the Earl of Greymore. With him was his sister, Lady Cressida Marlowe. The friends pulled to a stop and exchanged greetings.

Tall and blond with a trim moustache, Greymore was about Darcy’s age. Their estates were near each other, and they had been chums since before Eton.

Lady Cressida was seventeen and exceedingly pretty. Her hair was lighter than her brother’s, and her eyes an even more startling blue. Her bottle green habit looked demure yet was perfectly tailored to her figure.

I heard you were back in town. Darcy spoke to the earl in a welcoming tone. Will you stay in London for Christmastide?

We will. My mother is holding a musicale in a fortnight. With Mayfair so empty this time of year, she’ll expect you to come.

Of course. Darcy enjoyed music, and Lady Greymore had fine taste. It should prove an enjoyable assembly.

Mr. Bingley. Cressida’s voice was calm and pleasing. Are you staying at Darcy House?

No—with my sister, Mrs. Hurst, on Grosvenor Street.

Ah, yes, of course.

Darcy couldn’t help thinking Lady Cressida was exactly the sort of woman Bingley ought to marry. She was intelligent and well-spoken, with an aristocratic mien. Her placid demeanour would make a good foil to Bingley’s excitable nature.

Lady Cressida, Darcy said, I understand you’re making your come-out this year.

I am. My mother dissolves into tears whenever the subject arises.

Cressida is the baby of family. Greymore eyed his sister fondly. So naturally, my mother is now hinting to me about grandchildren.

It’s the curse of the title. Cressida spoke in a dry tone. You’re expected to produce an heir.

Are you seeking a countess? Darcy joked.

The earl was unruffled. I may as well, since I’ll be squiring my sister to all the entertainments this season.

Good luck, then. Darcy tipped his hat.

Greymore and his sister rode off. When they were out of hearing distance, Darcy asked Bingley, What think you of Lady Cressida?

She’s a pretty girl, and clever, too. She would make you a fine wife.

Darcy smiled wryly. Or you.

Me? Marry an earl’s daughter? No, I wouldn’t aim so high.

She could do worse.

Bingley did not reply. His manner turned brooding. Clearly, he wasn’t ready to think about courting another. The beautiful Jane Bennet was too much on his mind.

After leaving Hyde Park, Darcy and Bingley parted ways—Bingley for Grosvenor Street, and Darcy for Berkeley Square. The sun shining in Darcy’s eyes did not improve the pain in his head.

After his morning ablutions, Darcy took breakfast in his room. Then, he headed to his study to peruse the day’s correspondence.

He expected the reports from some of his investments. They might have been waylaid, being forwarded from Derbyshire. He had left Netherfield before informing the staff at Pemberley where to send the mail.

At the top of the stack, another sort of letter caught his interest. The direction was in his cousin Anne’s handwriting.

Miss Anne de Bourgh was the only child of his mother’s sister, Lady Catherine de Bourgh. He and Anne saw each other rarely. His family seat was in Derbyshire, hers in Kent. Her ill health prevented trips to London.

They were regular correspondents, however. Despite seeing each other for only a few weeks out of the year, he considered their friendship a close one. She had no nearer male relation, and he felt protective of her.

Still, he was surprised to hear from her. He owed her a letter. Could this missive be urgent news? He opened it with no small concern.

As he read, his immediate worry was assuaged. Anne and her mother were well.

But his relief was soon replaced by fury. He jumped to his feet. His muscles tensed, aggravating his aching head.

The more he thought on the subject—on his aunt’s caprice and obstinacy—the more he wanted to throw an inkwell across the room.

Darcy was a grown man of independent means, not a pawn on a chessboard. Yet he could not let Anne suffer under her mother’s tyranny. What was he to do?

DARCY STEPPED INTO the foyer of Matlock House. Morning sunlight spilled through the tall windows. He was greeted by the familiar scent of lavender wood polish, his aunt’s special blend. Lady Matlock claimed the fragrance was calming, but it did little to soothe Darcy’s agitation.

He pushed down the rage threatening to burst from his chest. His father had warned him he would be a target for fortune hunters. He had barely been eighteen the first time he felt the sting. But the worst offender was within his own family.

He would not be manipulated. Never again.

The butler gestured for him to wait in the salon, then went to see if the countess was accepting callers. Rather than settling into one of the silk-upholstered wing chairs, Darcy paced. A grandfather clock ticked down the seconds. The sound reverberated against the panelled walls and marble floors.

Red bows decorating the mantelpiece heralded the coming festive season. Normally, holidays in London with the Fitzwilliam clan were a joyous affair. This year, however, Lady Catherine had decided to join them. She was the earl’s sister, and a demanding woman.

He set his jaw to tamp down the ire rising in his throat. Emotion would only cloud his thoughts. Right now, he needed the clear, cogent advice only Lady Matlock could give him.

The butler returned and led Darcy upstairs to her sitting room. Lady Margaret Fitzwilliam, Countess of Matlock, sat at the escritoire. She rose and glided towards him, taking his hands and offering her cheek for a kiss. Darcy obliged, then closed the door behind the departing butler.

How lovely to see you, she said. To what do I owe the pleasure?

She was dressed in red, the cuffs and collar of her woollen morning dress accented with sable. A fringe of greying curls peeked out from her lacy cap.

I received a letter from my cousin, Anne de Bourgh. He thought of the sweet, shy girl cloistered in her late father’s estate at Rosings Park. She lived there under the eagle eyes of her mother and a hovering companion, Mrs. Jenkinson. Though nineteen, she couldn’t take a step outside alone.

Darcy frowned, contemplating the predicament he and Anne faced. She has accepted an offer of marriage from the son of a local squire.

How wonderful! the countess exclaimed. Young Mr. Thorpe, I assume?

Yes. The man had been a frequent caller at Rosings during Darcy’s last visit. Anne was an heiress and thus vulnerable to adventurers. So Darcy had made some discreet inquiries—the Thorpe family was in solid financial shape. Anne and her young man seemed truly attached to each other.

I’m glad to hear it, Lady Matlock exclaimed. He’ll make a fine match for her.

He would indeed. Darcy’s tone hardened. If her mother weren’t being difficult.

The countess let out a little sigh. "Of course. When has Lady Catherine not been difficult? She shook her head. Is Catherine still under the delusion that you will marry Anne someday?"

She is.

Lady Matlock waved away the suggestion. The woman won’t listen to reason. Though the countess’s posture remained regal, her lips turned downwards almost imperceptibly. She eyed him with an astute gaze, seeming to weigh the options. Perhaps Mr. Thorpe will agree to wait until Anne is of age, and can marry without her mother’s permission.

Darcy’s jaw tensed. A two-year wait is much to ask. Such a postponement put Anne’s virtue at risk. Or Thorpe might give up and find someone else.

The countess nodded thoughtfully. With the girl’s health preventing her from coming to London for the season, she might not get another offer.

Precisely. Frustration swamped him. Anne and I have told Lady Catherine repeatedly that we have no matrimonial plans. The woman remains obstinate. I can send her a letter congratulating her on Anne’s engagement, but I fear it won’t be enough.

Lady Matlock’s tone turned dry. She may not be convinced until you actually marry another.

Darcy bridled at that. Marriage was the last thing on his mind. He had just saved Bingley from a disastrous match. Darcy wouldn’t wed until he found the ideal wife.

He wouldn’t undertake the process lightly. He had exacting requirements.

At present, no young lady had captured his interest. At least, no suitable young lady. Though lacking a title, he was amongst the wealthiest men in England. His uncle sat in the House of Lords. Darcy could afford to be discriminating.

He wouldn’t be ensnared by an opportunist. No matter how fine her eyes, or how lively her wit.

He looked at his aunt with a steady gaze. I have no thoughts of marrying at present.

"You are eight-and-twenty, Darcy. It’s time to start thinking of it. I can recommend some eligible young ladies."

I’ll not be rushed through courtship. Nor enter into matrimony merely to thwart the whims of Lady Catherine.

The countess tapped her chin. She paced to the window, then turned to face him. What about that young lady in Hertfordshire?

Darcy stiffened, staring at her in shock. What?

You mentioned her in your letters. You never mention young ladies in your letters. What was her name? Miss Benning...Benton...

Surely you don’t mean Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Heat rushed through him at the feel of her name on his lips. It conjured up memories of flashing eyes, a teasing smile, a dainty hand in his...

That’s the one! Lady Matlock smiled brightly. She sounds a clever, spirited girl. The perfect foil to your serious nature.

A vein throbbed in his temple. Is something wrong with being serious?

Of course not. You’re the sort of steady young man needed to run an estate the size of Pemberley. Not to mention your role as your sister’s guardian. But if you and Anne married...you’d be the most deadly dull couple in the world. Catherine is mad to think you suitable for each other.

Darcy gave her a wry smile. I’ll try not to take offence at that.

Oh, Darcy, you know what I mean. Don’t be difficult. A bride like this Miss Bennet seems precisely the thing.

Darcy glowered. She’s virtually penniless. Her family have the most shocking country manners. His irritation dulled to something more sullen. I had rather expected to marry a peer’s daughter.

How many eligible peers’ daughters do you think there are? The countess spoke with her characteristic lack of sentiment. You’ve met most of them, I daresay. If none of them have caught your eye, then perhaps you should deign to consider the gentry.

He felt the rebuke in her words. It caught him off guard. I don’t mean to suggest...that is, I don’t consider Miss Bennet beneath me. She’s unsuitable.

The lady herself, or her circumstances?

Darcy pressed his lips into a hard line. He didn’t like the turn of this conversation. He admired Elizabeth Bennet—but her family was a laughingstock, her fortune non-existent. Marriage to her was impossible.

Yet no other woman had sparked his interest. With that the case, how could he save Anne from her plight?

Perhaps Darcy wouldn’t actually have to marry. Would an engagement convince Lady Catherine to let Anne wed?

Miss Bennet was the one young woman he knew who could stand up to Lady Catherine. Elizabeth was witty and shrewd, sharp tongued but kind hearted. She would be the perfect candidate for the role of his betrothed.

He shook his head. He was thinking nonsense. Angry and flustered over the situation with Anne, his mind was not rational.

Darcy thanked his aunt for her counsel, then took his leave. Back in his study, his mood dark, he continued reading his morning’s correspondence.

The news from his steward at Pemberley was inconsequential. The next letter, though, had him sitting upright, features frozen in shock.

He had nearly forgotten his investment in a coalmine the year before. After all, he dallied in a variety of new ventures. Some paid out, most failed. Occasionally, though, one struck gold.

Or in this case, coal. The enterprise was now up and running. And the annual dividend was ten times his initial investment.

Darcy read the words again to be certain he had understood correctly. The sum was enormous. Normally he would reinvest the amount, but the timing of this pay-out set his mind whirring.

An idea to help Anne slowly took shape. It was an outrageous scheme—and outrageously inappropriate. Something he would never consider except under extreme circumstances.

But his cousin’s happiness was at stake. If this plan worked, he might be able to rescue her.

Even if it meant putting himself back in the path of Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

DARCY, THIS IS MADNESS! In the pale light of dawn, Bingley paced the cobbled stones of the mews behind Darcy House. He gesticulated wildly, the most animated Darcy had seen him since leaving Hertfordshire.

Darcy continued packing the saddlebags of his black mare, Athena. The cold December air didn’t penetrate his greatcoat, but his nose and cheeks grew chill. He was eager to be on his way.

"My mind is made up. May I stay at Netherfield, or