A Baby for Mr. Darcy Read online

  A Baby for Mr. Darcy

  A Pride & Prejudice Variation

  J. Dawn King

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Epilogue

  About the Author

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  “A Baby for Mr. Darcy: A Pride & Prejudice Variation”

  Copyright © 2019 by Joy D. King

  Cover design: JD Smith Design

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems – except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews – without permission in writing from its publisher Joy D. King.

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, locations, and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Published by Quiet Mountain Press LLC

  Follow J Dawn King on Twitter: @jdawnking

  Like her on Facebook: www.facebook.com/JDawnKing

  Or connect by email: [email protected]

  Please join my mailing list at http://jdawnking.com for news about latest releases.

  Acknowledgments

  My sincerest thanks go to Debbie Fortin, Beatrice Nearey, Anji Dale, and Betty Madden for reading and reading and reading this story. If the punctuation and grammar is perfect, it is all their doing. If not, I played with it after they returned their edits. Therefore, instead of thanks, I owe each of these lovely women an apology.

  Nicole Clarkston, you are a ROCK STAR!!! Thank you for your priceless input.

  Regina Jeffers, you quickly became my hero when you helped me out of the corner that I had boxed myself into.

  Many thanks also go to the readers and reviewers at http://www.fanfiction.net.

  Please note: I used American English for this story rather than British. Having the element of adventure made it impossible for me to get the story correct by keeping it fully in the Regency tone. Please accept my apologies and request a refund from Amazon if this offends you.

  Also, there are many very strong opinions as to whether or not Darcy could inherit the earldom from his uncle (yes, he could), whether an illegitimate child could inherit a title (no, he could not), whether Darcy would become a viscount once he was determined to be heir apparent (no, he would not have the courtesy title of viscount), and whether or not Napoleon allowed travelers to France (yes, he did.) If you have further questions about the events of the story, please search Google. I did.

  My deepest gratitude also goes to Jane Austen for her delightful characters, wonderful stories, and the potential for imagining more and more from Fitzwilliam Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet.

  Prologue

  “I am sorry to hear about Anne.” Hugh Fitzwilliam, Lord Matlock, watched as his elder sister, Lady Catherine de Bourgh shrugged. They were a cold family, regularly accused by jealous friends and spiteful enemies of being devoid of natural human feeling. He had no regrets that his reputation was one of power and prestige. In his opinion, kindness and consideration were for the lower orders inhabiting England. “You show little regret for the loss of the child you raised.”

  “Had Anne been mine, not the by-blow of my husband’s infatuation with Lady Smythe, I may have cause for regret.” Lady Catherine lifted a porcelain dog imported from the Orient and studied the garish surface, as if it held her captive. Finally, she placed it back on the table.

  “Yet, you raised her as your own.”

  “That sounds deceptively like commendation, Hugh.” She inelegantly dropped into the chair across from him, then harrumphed. “Fitzwilliams are lacking in progeny. I never conceived, despite the filthy attempts by my long-dead husband. Your eldest has been wed six years with no offspring. You have no grandchildren to call your own. Anne was always weak. Her outcome was not unexpected. The real loss was the babe. It was a boy.”

  “I wanted that baby!” Lord Matlock pounded his fist on the arm of his chair. “I need an heir.”

  “You have an heir and a spare,” his sister taunted. In their male dominated society Lady Catherine was not above using any means to point out her brother’s flaws. Her grandson would have guaranteed her own future. Additionally, he would have been an advantage she could have held over Hugh for decades to come. The loss to her was overwhelming.

  “Henry is childless. Richard will mourn his wife and son by running off to fight Napoleon, and I will be left with no one I can nurture and mold to be a force in Parliament and a strengthening aid to the Fitzwilliam name. If Henry does not father a son, we are doomed to having a Darcy becoming the next Lord Matlock once this generation is gone. With his family’s politics and character, the Fitzwilliams would lose all control.”

  Lady Catherine nodded. There had not been one occasion when the brother and sister had been together since adulthood that they had not thoroughly considered the ramifications of not having just the right male inherit the title. Where Lord Matlock wanted power, Lady Catherine would have used a child for bargaining to gain her way.

  “If only our ancestors had not arranged the remainder to include females in the succession.” Hugh Fitzwilliam wanted to spit on the ground. Rarely were daughters included where titles were concerned. “We would not need to worry about any Darcy inheriting the earldom.”

  “Yet, it was a brilliant move at the time, you have to agree,” Lady Catherine pointed out, her words dripping with sarcasm. “When our grandfather’s only son died unexpectedly, his grandson by his daughter became heir to the title. I believe that was you, Hugh, was it not?”

  “You know it was.” The earldom was his most precious possession. Through it he gained his utmost desire, fame. His grandfather had groomed him well. His intentions to do the same with his own grandson seemed doomed to failure.

  “Are you certain your firstborn is the problem?” his sister boldly asked. “Possibly, it is that viper he married.”

  “Neither his mistresses nor his wife have shown any sign of a babe.” Hugh Fitzwilliam smirked. “Not through lack of trying, he reassures me.”

  “You disgust me.” Lady Catherine said the words, but her countenance had shifted forward in her chair, the better to not miss a syllable of the lascivious comment.

  “Be that as it may, this leaves us with our hands open, holding nothing.”

  “Anne is dead. Richard is now unattached,” his sister offered.

  Disgust churned in Lord Matlock’s gut. “His wife, the woman you raised as a daughter, has been dead less than a day. Can you not allow him to mourn?”

  “We do not have the privilege of being able to wait. He needs to marry again as soon as you and I select a wife for him. As you said, we need an heir.”

&nbs
p; “He informed me only an hour ago, when he gave us the news of his loss, that he would be leaving for Spain as soon as Anne and the babe are buried.”

  “Blast your stubborn sons!” Lady Catherine bounced from the chair and paced. “Then we have only one course. He shall have to bed his brother’s wife before he goes.”

  “Adultery?”

  “Do not turn Puritan on me, Hugh. We do what we must; we make any sacrifice necessary to keep the earldom with the Fitzwilliams. Richard should have wed someone strong,” she spit out each word. “I will never forgive him for marrying Anne. Darcy should have had her. As it stands, our nephew’s progeny will be the future Lord Matlock over my dead body.”

  Chapter 1

  She had been sold—bought and paid for by an arrogant almost-stranger who now had the right to treat her according to his desire with no regard for her opinions or her person—bartered by a man filled with selfishness to a man filled with disdain.

  Miss Elizabeth Bennet, now Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy, curled her fingers tightly into her palms. The smooth surface of the gold band was cold to the touch. Her teeth clamped together until they hurt. A tear born of fierce anger trailed a lonely path down her cheek.

  Until that day, Longbourn chapel had been a peaceful refuge where she had found solace in times of distress. From that moment on, she would shun the aged stone building as the origin of the grandest lie that had ever passed her lips, forcing her onto a journey of deceit, misery, and isolation.

  The carriage shook violently as the horses started their pull.

  Neither her mother nor father had followed them outside to see her on her journey. After the events of the morning, it was sadly as she had expected.

  Elizabeth refused to look at the man seated across from her. She would not speak to him either. Elegantly dressed, the stiffness of his backbone defined his character more than any of his actions, from the time he had arrived in Hertfordshire after Michaelmas until he unexpectedly departed during the Netherfield ball the previous evening.

  The day before, she and her sisters had spent hours readying themselves for their first private ball. Elizabeth knew Mr. Darcy would be there as he was the guest of Mr. Bingley, who was the current lessee of the estate. Mr. Bingley’s two sisters, whom Elizabeth silently referred to as the “supercilious” sisters, had the propensity to impress. Thus, the prospect for Netherfield Park being elegantly decorated like no other the Bennet girls had seen before created an eagerness beyond anything they had experienced since coming out.

  In addition, the charming officers of the visiting militia had been invited. One, Mr. George Wickham, had sought Elizabeth’s company during every gathering they had attended since his arrival in Meryton. Mr. Wickham’s ready smile and easy camaraderie made him a favorite in the community and a favorite with Elizabeth. She yearned to stand up with him. In advance, he had requested the supper set.

  Within minutes of stepping into the ballroom, Elizabeth’s dreams of an evening of a lifetime were shattered. While the decor was as expected, the attendees were not. Reports were that Mr. Wickham had gone to London to avoid his enemy, Mr. Darcy. There would be no pleasant supper dance. Her father’s cousin, Mr. Collins, had asked Elizabeth for the first set, only to step on her toes throughout the whole of the dance. Her sisters Kitty and Lydia romped through the guests as they chased down their favorite officers, braying laughter spewing from them when they carelessly bumped into others with no apology. Her mother’s loud bragging of a foreseeable engagement between her eldest daughter Jane and Mr. Bingley was offensive for no offer had yet been made. Elizabeth’s middle sister, Mary, had brought a book of sermons to the ball. She had seated herself in the far corner and would only look up to scowl at anyone who dared to approach. Their father had retired to the library as soon as they had entered.

  Disappointed hopes weighed on Elizabeth’s heart until it felt like it was beating from the pit of her stomach. The rhythm of the music and the heels of the gentlemen’s boots as they went down the line pounded between her ears.

  Shaking off her low spirits, Elizabeth located her good friend Charlotte Lucas, standing by the drinks table.

  “I was sorry to hear Mr. Wickham would not be in attendance,” Charlotte spoke over the music. “You were not the only one looking forward to dancing with the lieutenant.”

  Her companion was the perfect medicine. Not one to hold onto disappointment, Elizabeth grinned, “Why, Charlotte! I am pleased he saw your sweet smile. Or, was it your quick wit that impressed him?”

  Charlotte blushed as she chuckled. “I am sad he is not here, Lizzy. However, I will hold the memory of him requesting the first and final dance of the evening, for my lifetime.” She sighed dramatically.

  “Why, my dear, Miss Lucas. You had best guard your heart or you will end up as romantically inclined as the rest of the unattached females in Hertfordshire.”

  Charlotte snorted as Elizabeth had known she would. With a much lighter heart, Elizabeth turned at the clearing of a male throat behind her. To her intense displeasure, Mr. Darcy had approached.

  The man was a menace—an egotistical, pompous snob, who had insulted Elizabeth’s looks with cruel comments on the night they met. Over the course of his two-month visit to Hertfordshire, his attitude and opinions had not improved. When he asked her to join him for the next set, she had to accept or sit out for the rest of the evening. It was highly unfair.

  The dance had been a disaster. Their arguments during the course of the set had been that of two strong-minded individuals who were both exceedingly confident they were in the right. She loathed his every word, every expression on his face, and every breath he dared to take. When a footman interrupted due to an emergency and Mr. Darcy walked away, the gratitude surging through her rendered her knees weak. If she never had him in her eyesight again during her lifetime, she would have been pleased.

  Later, Mr. Bingley told Jane that Mr. Darcy had left immediately for town. What a tremendous relief!

  Yet, he had returned.

  The next morning, instead of continuing to Netherfield Park as Elizabeth would have wished, Mr. Darcy stopped at the Bennets’ estate of Longbourn. Arriving well before visiting hours after a late-night gathering was the height of rudeness. Elizabeth was unsurprised at the callous arrogance of the man.

  What she had not expected was the result of his conversation with her father. No matter how thoroughly she pleaded her case once Mr. Darcy had stepped outside the room, Mr. Bennet refused to budge from his position. She would wed Mr. Darcy. Immediately.

  Ignoring her tears and her pent-up anger, her father marched her down the aisle of Longbourn chapel without once glancing at his daughter. Her mother applauded, squealed like a piglet, and gloated throughout the abbreviated ceremony.

  Elizabeth knew any protests she offered to the clergyman would be in vain. Mr. Silas Campbell was the fourth son of a gentleman who had chosen an easy route for earning a living by attaching himself to Longbourn’s master, a man as unreligious as the rector. Mr. Campbell’s loyalty was not to the parishioners but to Mr. Bennet, who had generously provided the living. He would have done nothing to help her.

  Within moments it was done. The vows were said, and the common license filled in with the necessary information. As soon as the register was signed, Elizabeth was herded outside into the carriage by the man now her husband. The newly wedded couple departed Longbourn without looking back.

  Elizabeth glanced at Mr. Darcy from the corner of her eye. She wanted to strike the smug look from his face. How dare the man!

  “We must have some conversation,” he insisted.

  “Must we?” Petulance was generally outside of her normal character. Although she strove to display calmness, her insides roiled against the circumstances. For a wedding, the most important occasion of a young lady’s life, it had not been much. No flowers, no new gown, no wedding breakfast, no guests. Only Mr. Darcy, her self-satisfied father, and triumphant mother had attended. Her parents and g
room had not even allowed time for Elizabeth’s four sisters to rise from their beds to witness the nuptials.

  “Yes, Elizabeth, we must,” Fitzwilliam Darcy ran his hand over his mouth, a nervous gesture quite unexpected from a man who gave the impression of constantly being in control. Sighing, he continued, “Although my attentions were likely anticipated, you must wonder at the speed of our union. Pray, feel free to quiz me at your leisure. We will not arrive at my estate...our estate, rather, for four days, weather permitting.”

  Intense anger shot from the bottoms of her traveling boots to the tip of her bonnet. “Anticipated? You believe I expected your proposal, Mr. Darcy? How can that be? For the last I heard from you was that I was barely tolerable, certainly not handsome enough to tempt you.” Even she heard the sneer in her tone. “No! You have a motive other than love or lust to demand my hand in marriage, for there has been no inclination on either of our parts for the other.”

  “No inclination...” he whispered, as if to himself, a deep frown settling on his admittedly handsome face. “You are saying you harbored no expectations?” He leaned forward, drawing uncomfortably close. “None at all?”

  His incredulity flustered her. Was he completely dense? “Sir, in the eight weeks you have resided in Hertfordshire, you have done nothing to gain favor from anyone other than Miss Bingley, your host’s unattached sister. You freely showed your disdain for my friends and family, each and every one of them. In fact, Mr. Darcy, I rejoiced to have you return to London last evening where you would have undoubtedly been in company with like-minded individuals who were full of self-praise at how wonderful they are. No, I had anticipated nothing from you except silence.”