Meant to Be: A Pride and Prejudice Variation Read online

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  Meant to Be

  A Pride and Prejudice variation

  By Andreea Catana

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents for this specific book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  MEANT TO BE

  Copyright © 2017 by ANDREEA CATANA

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any format whatsoever.

  To Lory Lillian for assisting me in writing this book and for her friendship all these years

  To Ellen Pickels for such wonderful work

  And last, but not least, to all of YOU who think that no matter how things stand in life, Love is always the answer.

  TABLE OF CONTENT

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  An earlier time…

  Mr. Darcy of Pemberley, Derbyshire, stood in front of the window, smiling bitterly as he gazed at the majestic sight spreading before him. In daylight, the estate had a particular charm with the great pond resplendent in the sun, a sight Darcy had always found soothing.

  But now, the name he carried offered no shelter from the thoughts he harboured: rage, disgust, and ultimately, deception. There was nothing to soften the bitterness, not even the knowledge that he had avoided the unspeakable at the last minute. He succeeded in having the name of his family protected and his sister guarded from irreparable disaster, yet he felt defeated in spite of his success—for there was nothing to celebrate.

  Darcy arched his back in a futile attempt to alleviate the pain of the last days he had spent on horseback, travelling back and forth from London. He could not part from Georgiana; he had to be at Pemberley as often as possible, at least until she was willing to speak to him again—be brother and sister again. He had hoped that being near her at all times would allow Georgiana to accept and understand the reasons for his intervention—that he indeed had to do what he did. His younger sister was once again home—away from all the wrong and evilness of that man—but things were no longer as they used to be. He felt her distance—her reserve in connecting to him—and that grieved him. Someone with a less keen eye to observe such things would have remarked nothing out of the ordinary in their daily life, as if no rift had set the siblings apart. Georgiana was civil—her rank and education would not allow otherwise—but Darcy knew this to be merely an appearance he could not shatter.

  “You are a fool, Darcy!” Wickham’s words when they last saw each other were still with him and resounded in the room with more clarity than before. “You cannot imagine how easy it has been for me to expose to your sister how truly vile you are. You pompous, arrogant fool! And now, she knows who you are, and you can do nothing about it.”

  Darcy clenched his fist, knowing once again the resentment he had felt when he looked into the man’s eyes. Wickham had been his father’s favourite, his trusted friend; he had received nothing but support and kindness from Darcy’s family. To know that it was repaid in such a despicable fashion could not be endured.

  If only I had seen it sooner—become acquainted with Wickham’s true character. Maybe this betrayal would not create such acute pain and Georgiana and I would not be apart.

  “Or maybe I saw Wickham’s true character and was too proud to admit the truth. Oh, Father, if only you had known the kind of snake that crawled into your house!

  “Darcy?” Hearing a voice, he turned his gaze towards the doorway. “What are you doing alone in here? I thought we were supposed to go riding. It is an excellent day for sport.”

  Darcy unclenched his fist and directed himself to the desk to avoid looking directly at his cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam, whose presence at Pemberley he had almost forgotten.

  “I had correspondence to finish,” he admitted in a cool, quiet voice.

  The colonel, who boasted a cheerful nature—contrary to his cousin’s morose state—stepped forward, unaffected by the standoffish welcome.

  “I see you have written a great deal,” he said, looking at the neat table in a genial manner. Darcy felt no need to reply; instead, he gave a harsh look that made the colonel abruptly change the nature of his inquiry. “Will you tell me or must I guess? Is it Georgiana again? Has she said anything to you?”

  “No!” Darcy protested briefly, pausing to compose himself, which the colonel allowed. “Georgiana barely speaks to me. Most of the time she just sits in silence, especially when she is in my presence; she has not even touched her pianoforte since we returned.”

  “Allow her time, Darcy. She is young; of course, she does not understand. How could she?”

  Darcy glared back at his cousin, letting him know he had already thought of those arguments to little avail. Then he spoke coldly. “If she would only express herself, make claims, reproach me…anything but this dreadful silence!”

  “She is very young—”

  “She is my sister—and a Darcy!”

  The colonel gave a half smile in the knowledge that, once again, he had stirred vehemence in his cousin. The famous Darcy pride at its finest! He rejoiced; his cousin’s spirits these past months were deeply concerning, and it was even more difficult as the colonel was the only person who knew what had happened. He also knew he had to make Darcy react to it—or at least try. And thus, with even more conviction, the colonel spoke again.

  “Finally, a reaction from you, Darcy!”

  Darcy looked at his cousin, surprised and unsure of what to make of his words.

  “You blame Georgiana for not reacting, but you have done exactly the same, keeping everyone at a guarded distance. At least I think we can now speak openly about what has happened. You know I detest not being able to speak my mind and give my opinion on every subject, trivial or not. You may be proud, but I quite enjoy being frivolous—occasionally.”

  Darcy gazed at him with a benevolent expression that allowed his cousin’s remarks to pass unchallenged. Instead, he moved to the window and contemplated the view once more.

  “So…do you think Georgiana loved…that nefarious man?”

  “Of course not!” Darcy protested. “She is only enchanted with him. Her generous heart has taken her childhood affection for something more.

  “You must be right, of course, but—”

  “You know what pains me most? That he seemed so sincere. You recall how Father adored him.”

  His cousin nodded, remembering the times he had heard the late Mr. Darcy speak highly of his protégé.

  “Wickham was right, you know: I am a fool for having believed in his good intentions. I admired him for always speaking his mind decidedly, even in matters I dared not utter. He seemed genuine in his affection towards Father—so open and trustworthy. And now, I am certain it was all a charade to fool us all. What a lesson Wickham has bestowed on us!”

 
; “Now, Darcy…not everyone is like that.”

  “Everyone wants something, Henry! From now on, I shall always determine the reason behind everyone’s actions. This dilemma has been dreadful for me, but I fear that Georgiana will pay a higher price.”

  “She will forget about him. Do you remember us at her age, Darcy?”

  “This is different; she is different, and we should not mock it.”

  Darcy returned to the desk and sat down, defeated. The colonel remained in grave silence; his attention was fixed on Miss Darcy‘s presence in the garden. Georgiana was thinner than he last saw her weeks ago. Her countenance was saddened—he could see it clearly—but the sorrow had only added to her beauty. Georgiana did not seem to notice the colonel, although it would not have made any difference to her. Youth, the colonel thought as he watched Georgiana vanish from his sight, has the capacity to transform even pain into something poetic.

  At last, Colonel Fitzwilliam sighed with the realization and turned to Darcy. “What are you going to do?”

  “I do not know,” Darcy answered with pain in his voice. “It is a question to which I have no answer.”

  “Maybe you should leave Pemberley.”

  Colonel Fitzwilliam surprised Darcy exceedingly. “Leave?”

  The colonel nodded. “For a while. Allow Georgiana to sort things on her own.”

  Darcy wanted to object, but the colonel would not allow him to continue.

  “Come with me to London, Darcy. And before you protest, let me give you some excellent reasons. As you know, it is my firm belief that London is the perfect cure for all the misfortunes in life—so many distractions—”

  “No, no! I do not care for that!”

  “But many pretty young ladies have returned from Bath. Come, Darcy, do not be such a bore!”

  “First of all, there is not a single young lady who could tempt me out of my worries. And besides, you are perfectly aware how much I detest the false pretence of civility, modesty, and self-assuredness of their mothers, who are only trying to procure a husband for their slighted daughters. I absolutely abhor it!”

  “As you know, not a single one of them has had their way with me, Darcy. Consider me your greatest success! However, if you must avoid sentimental complications, you could always mention Cousin Anne in your conversations…”

  Although this last was meant as a joke, Colonel Fitzwilliam spoke in a serious tone. Darcy looked up reproachfully, which made the colonel change the subject at once.

  “Speaking of which, have you had any news from Lady Catherine?”

  “Yes—she insists most adamantly that we pay her a visit.”

  “No, no, no—I shall not go to Rosings Park! It was difficult to leave London and come here, and I would not wish to spend further time in the countryside. My good humour cannot endure much more of it.”

  “It is not your humour with which I am preoccupied but rather Lady Catherine’s temper. We must go and see her!”

  Colonel Fitzwilliam grinned then sighed. “You know what, Darcy? Let us make a deal: you come with me to London for a while, and I shall be at your disposal for the entire time you need me—including a visit to Rosings.”

  Darcy reflected for an instant on his cousin’s suggestion then turned to him again. “And what about Georgiana?”

  “There is always the post; you can write her as often as you like. I am sure you will have a better chance of reaching her by letter. Words have a peculiar power to heal even the worst wounds, and for a sensitive young lady such as Georgiana…”

  Darcy was tempted to agree; however, his worries about Georgiana, of her remaining alone at Pemberley, prevented his accepting the proposal on the spot.

  “You are of no use to her here anyway,” Colonel Fitzwilliam continued as though reading his thoughts. “You have seen it yourself. Of course, we can return to see her regularly if you wish, but I believe you ought to distance yourself from all of it. Come on, Darcy; say you will come!”

  The effect of his discourse was immediate, for Darcy rose and approached the window once again. He considered what he had heard with the utmost attention, and when he was sure that he had sufficient reason to agree, he spoke.

  “If I consent, you must promise me that you will not try to distract me with any of your charming young ladies. I am doing this to give Georgiana time to assess what has happened. I seek composure and not a wife in London.”

  “Cross my heart, Cousin!” The colonel laughed. ”And I know you—your pride will always stand in the way of finding one!”

  Chapter One

  There are fewer happier moments in life for a mother’s heart than the knowledge that her daughters are securely married. Such a blessing, however, was far from Mrs. Bennet, who spent her days crying over the lack of suitors in the neighbourhood—an aggravating situation.

  “Mr. Bennet” said his lady to him on a certain day, “What are we to do?”

  Mr. Bennet replied that he hoped they would have dinner together after he finished arranging his books.

  “How can you tease me so? You know perfectly well that I am speaking about our daughters.”

  “I am aware of that. I hear you speak of it more than I wish.”

  “You should! I am the only one who thinks of their wellbeing. Five daughters, Mr. Bennet! And not one of them has a prospect of getting married!”

  Mr. Bennet praised his lady’s ability to endure so much. Without taking his gaze out of the book he was studying, he answered her. “And is it your wish to have them wed before the day is done?”

  “Yes, if only there were decent gentlemen available.” She sighed in indignation. “If only they decided to let Netherfield Park. Upon, my honour, I shall never understand it—such a large estate and no one to live there. It is a pity, indeed. Imagine, Mr. Bennet, a young man of large fortune moving into our neighbourhood. What a fine prospect! Oh, how I hope I live to see that day!”

  “And what if the gentleman in question comes with a bride?”

  “Nonsense! I shall not have such words in my house. No wedded gentleman may set foot at Netherfield Park!”

  Mr. Bennet laughed soundly at his lady’s effusion, which created only greater vexation in her. “It should be requisite, then, that any gentleman considering a move into the neighbourhood must be single, my dear. It would make all our lives so much easier.”

  “How can you say such a thing—tease me so? Do you wish your daughters to remain alone on this earth when you are no longer here?”

  “Thank you, my dear, for keeping me in such cherished thoughts,” he mused, standing up to find another of his books.

  “You are impossible, Mr. Bennet! I shall never understand your indifference.”

  “You are quite mistaken, my dear. It is not indifference; it is preserving my wit.” Determined not to allow Mrs. Bennet to vex him further, Mr. Bennet asked, “Do you happen to know whether Lizzy has returned from visiting Miss Lucas?”

  “Lizzy, Lizzy…she is the only one you think of. I am ready to swear that you are quite happy she does not marry so that you might enjoy her presence. And it is entirely your fault, Mr. Bennet. I hold you to blame.”

  Mr. Bennet turned ’round and watched his wife over the rim of his glasses, bracing himself for what he knew to follow.

  “You know, books do little for a young lady,” Mrs. Bennet continued undisturbed. “I am almost sure that Lizzy’s sharp tongue has scared away more than one young man who might have taken an interest in her—or in Jane, for that matter. Putting other people’s ideas into a girl’s head is never a good thing.”

  “Lizzy is surely smarter than the rest of them.”

  “You speak of her with preference as she is your favourite,” she protested. “But she is not as pretty as Jane or as vivacious as Lydia.”

  “Thank goodness for that,” he interposed.

  “Mr. Bennet, if you do not care to indulge me in my concerns, you should fancy Lizzy ending up like poor Charlotte Lucas. No one will ever marr
y that girl—at her age and being so plain.”

  Mr. Bennet sighed deeply, knowing that, for once, his wife was right.

  “But rest assured,” his lady continued, fortified in his defeat, “that Lady Lucas and Sir William are determined to do all they can to find that girl a suitor and I—”

  Mr. Bennet closed the book with a thud, producing a squeal from his lady. She stopped with her mouth half-opened as if her words had suddenly become too large to be expelled and she was in distress.

  “And what would you have me do, my dear—post an advertisement in the papers that I have five unwed daughters that I offer in marriage for fifty pounds a year? I fear it might attract few suitors.”

  “Mr. Bennet, you cannot be talked to today,” she said, almost on the verge of tears, which produced an immediate effect on Mr. Bennet.

  “It is because I have other things to ponder, my dear,” he said, pacifying his lady at last.

  “More important than your daughters?”

  “Quite so, I am afraid. We are to receive a visitor later this week.”

  “A visit? From whom?”

  “A week ago, I received a letter from Mr. Collins.”

  “Mr. Collins? Your cousin’s son? And what purpose does he have to wish to come here?”

  “Mrs. Bennet, you are perfectly aware that Mr. Collins is the one who, upon my death, may turn you all out of this house as soon as he pleases.”

  Silence fell over the room briefly, but Mrs. Bennet found fresh words to express her frustration, “That stranger living in my house—I shall not bear it! How can there be such a thing? To have the house entailed away from my children—your children, Mr. Bennet! I am now completely vexed, Mr. Bennet. As if it were not enough that I have to suffer every day with knowing that our daughters have no marriage prospects, now I have to entertain Mr. Collins’s presence in my house.”

  “He will pay only a short visit, I am sure,” he said, hoping to pacify her at last.

  “That odious man comes to inspect his property! Oh, Mr. Bennet, what are we to tell our daughters?”