We Have Mary King to Thank – Part 1, by Jack Caldwell

Greetings, everyone. Jack Caldwell here.

As you know, I’ve been focused on my latest novel, BROTHER OF THE BRIDE: A Story of Jane Austen’s Fighting Men. However, this darn plot bunny just wouldn’t leave me alone! It demanded to be written, and as I always listen to my muse (and a harsh mistress she is), here it is. It runs ten parts and a total of approximately 23,000 words. I will post a chapter every Wednesday. Never say that the Cajun Cheesehead isn’t generous! Thanks goes to my lovely Beta Babe, Debbie!

I now present for your reading pleasure:

Part 1

April 1812

ELIZABETH SAT STUNNED IN THE PARLOR of the Hunsford parsonage. Had Mr. Darcy just proposed to her? Haughty, cruel Mr. Darcy? Insulting her family! Boasting of separating Jane from Mr. Bingley! Refusing to admit the wickedness of his actions against Mr. Wickham! It was not to be borne! Angry and astonished, she still labored to be civil in the face of the argument that then arose.

“From the very beginning—from the first moment, I may almost say—of my acquaintance with you, your manners, impressing me with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain of the feelings of others, were such as to form that groundwork of disapprobation on which succeeding events have built so immoveable a dislike. And I had not known you a month before I felt that you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry!”

A red-faced Mr. Darcy raised his hands, as though to ward off her words. “You have said quite enough, madam. I perfectly comprehend your feelings, and have now only to be ashamed of what my own have been.

“Forgive me for having taken up so much of your time, and accept my best wishes for your health and happiness.”

With those words, he hastily moved to leave the room. Elizabeth turned away so that he could not see if she wept. But the next sound she heard was not the closing of the door, but Mr. Darcy’s voice.

“Mr. Wickham will not marry you, Miss Bennet.”

Stunned, her eyes flew to him.

“I have known him all my life.” Mr. Darcy wore a pained, haunted expression. “You are a lovely young lady, and Wickham may desire you, but not for a wife. I assure you he would not marry any woman for less than ten thousand pounds.”

“M-Mr. Darcy, get out!”

The gentleman shook his head. “As much as you dislike me, trust me in this. Guard well your heart, Elizabeth.” With that, he quit the house.

~~~

Fortunately for Elizabeth, either the housemaid forgot to tell Charlotte Collins of Mr. Darcy’s visit or failed to make the effort to do so. Elizabeth was left on her own in the bedroom to which she fled after the gentleman’s exit. It was well, for she could not get his words out of her mind.

“You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”

Mr. Darcy loved her? How could that be? He had insulted her looks at their first meeting. They had argued constantly at Netherfield. He did nothing here at Rosings but stare harshly at her, looking to find fault. And he was engaged to Miss de Bourgh, for heaven’s sake!

But… Mr. Darcy was nothing if not honorable. Even at his haughtiest and most unpleasant, he was correct in his manners. There was not a hint of impropriety at Netherfield. He seemed to seek out her company, both at Rosings and during her morning walks. And he paid Miss de Bourgh no attention whatsoever.

And Miss de Bourgh likewise ignored Mr. Darcy.

Elizabeth had never known a couple in an arranged marriage, but she could not imagine such a complete disregard between the parties as she saw at Rosings. Perhaps Mr. Darcy and Miss de Bourgh were not engaged—at least, not yet? That seems at odds from what Mr. Wickham reported.

“Mr. Wickham will not marry you, Miss Bennet.”

Insufferable man! Mr. Darcy treated poor Mr. Wickham infamously. He denied his childhood friend the living promised by old Mr. Darcy. He condemned his father’s godson to relative poverty. How cruel, how terrible! Mr. Wickham was forced to join the militia to earn his bread. Even if she wanted to marry him—and had no desire to marry Wickham—Elizabeth could not. Wickham could not afford a wife.

Unless she had a sizable dowry. Like Mary King.

“Ten thousand pounds.”

How that phrase echoed in Elizabeth’s mind! Ten thousand pounds! The exact amount of Mary King’s inheritance. How did Mr. Darcy learn of it? The news was not spread until after he and Mr. Bingley left the neighborhood. Who could have told him? Who was his agent? Why would he care?

“Guard well your heart, Elizabeth.”

Why would he care? He cared for nothing in Hertfordshire, much less her! Did he not say she was not handsome enough to tempt him? Mr. Darcy strutted around, stone-faced, ignoring all of her friends. None were worthy of his attention.

His proposal was a complete shock. She cared nothing for him, and thought she had made that plain by her words and actions. How could he disregard that? The man must be addlepated!

No, not addlepated. Even Elizabeth had to admit Mr. Darcy was a clever, well-read gentleman. His observations and opinions at Netherfield could not be dismissed. He clearly made the most of his time at University.

If only he had learned to better disguise his haughty superiority!

“Disguise of any sort is my abhorrence.”

What an arrogant declaration! Mr. Darcy must give offense wherever he goes!

“You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”

Stop it! Stop it!

She would not regret him. She would not!

Yeah, yeah, yeah. It was a bit short. Hang in there. It gets longer and better next time!

Until next week, this has been the Cajun Cheesehead Chronicles.

It takes a real man to write historical romance, so let me tell you a story…