Mr. Darcy Came to Dinner

  Also by Jack Caldwell

  PEMBERLEY RANCH

  THE THREE COLONELS

  MR. DARCY CAME TO DINNER – A Pride & Prejudice farce

  Copyright © 2013 by Jack Caldwell

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

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarly to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  For information, address Jack Caldwell, P.O. Box 592, DeForest, WI, 53532.

  http://webpages.charter.net/jvcla25/

  http://whitesouppress.com/

  http://austenauthors.net/

  ISBN: 978-0-9891080-0-3

  Layout & design by Ellen Pickels

  Cartoon design by Elaine Eigel

  Dedication

  To Barbara,

  the joy of my life.

  * * *

  In Appreciation

  To Debbie Styne, Ellen Pickels, and Mary Anne Mushatt,

  for their endless hours editing this work.

  To Moss Hart and George S. Kaufman,

  for showing me the way.

  To Jane Austen,

  for her genius.

  I could not have done it without all of you.

  Chapter 1

  Elizabeth Bennet was not having a good day. Her sister Lydia’s intention of walking to Meryton had not been forgotten even though there was company for dinner. Every sister except Mary agreed to go, and their cousin Mr. Collins was to attend them at the request of Mr. Bennet, who was most anxious to be rid of him for an hour or so. Elizabeth would much rather not go, but she obeyed her mother’s entreaties and set off on the excursion with the others, discontentment filling her mind.

  At twenty years of age, Elizabeth was the second of five daughters born to an obscure country gentleman from Hertfordshire. She was of middling height with a light and pleasing figure and was complimented frequently on her rich brown curly hair, sparkling eyes, and excellent teeth. She would be considered the beauty of her family if not for her eldest and youngest sisters.

  Jane, the eldest, possessed all that a lovely English rose could possibly want — save fortune and connections — and Lydia, while very young and very silly, was vivacious, usually in good spirits, and womanly for her age. The middle two sisters — poor Mary and Catherine, who went by the name of Kitty — were overlooked in comparison to their siblings. Mary took refuge in her books while Kitty parroted Lydia’s antics.

  Elizabeth overcame her shortcomings in appearance by sharpening her mind. She prided herself on her discernment and wit, and many a pretentious person was the unknowing subject of her condescension. This was an occupation she shared with her father, who was as misanthropic as his favorite daughter was otherwise sociable and friendly. From Mrs. Bennet, Lizzy, as she was known to her family, inherited little save good looks and a jolly countenance.

  Alas for our heroine — for Elizabeth Bennet is the heroine of our tale — she had no brothers, and her father’s modest estate of Longbourn was entailed upon the son of a cousin. Because of this state of affairs, Mrs. Bennet’s failure to produce a male heir resulted in that lady’s obsession with making fine marriages for all her girls. While it would be well that the Miss Bennets find happiness in the matrimonial state, the primary motivation for their mother was her own house and board should she survive her good husband. A vision of starving in the hedgerows was her constant nightmare.

  Therefore, when said cousin arrived to repair the breach between the Collins and Bennet families, Mrs. Bennet was determined that the young man would marry one of her girls. In that way, Mrs. Bennet could realistically expect to remain mistress of Longbourn until the time came for her to receive her heavenly reward.

  You, gentle reader, knowledgeable in the ways of the world, might wonder at Mrs. Bennet’s reasoning. Surely upon Mr. Bennet’s demise, her son and daughter would establish the mourning widow in the dowager cottage. Such an idea never occurred to Mrs. Bennet. A daughter of hers, tossing her mother out of Longbourn? Unthinkable! This denial only fueled the good lady’s fixation.

  The Reverend William Collins of Hunsford was a tall, heavy looking young man of five and twenty with a grave and stately air, formal manners, and a rather empty head. He could read and write — useful talents for someone in his profession — but he lacked the intellectual capacity to understand fully what he read or wrote. He learned as little as possible at university, and it was only due to a fortunate chance that he enjoyed a somewhat prosperous living in Hunsford rather than earning his bread as a missionary in some faraway place such as Africa or India. Lady Catherine de Bourgh was his patroness, and such was the man’s gratitude that others might wonder whether he had exchanged worship of the Almighty for glorification of the mistress of Rosings Park, Kent.

  Now established as a vicar, Mr. Collins was determined that, since he was the heir to Longbourn, it was only right that the next lady of that estate should be chosen from the daughters of Mr. Bennet. Such was his generous object in visiting Hertfordshire, and his plan did not vary on seeing the ladies. His first choice was the eldest, but a quarter-hour’s tête-à-tête with Mrs. Bennet before breakfast disabused him of that notion as the general expectation was that the lady would soon receive an offer from a very respectable gentleman of five thousand pounds per annum! Mr. Collins had only to change his favor from Jane to Elizabeth — equal next to Jane in birth and beauty — and it was soon done, even while Mrs. Bennet was stirring the fire.

  Lizzy, as one might imagine from reading the earlier description of the lady, was not at all happy about this turn of events. Dutiful daughter she might be, but loyalty had its limits. Nothing could be further from her notions of an agreeable companion for her future life than this vainglorious, simple-minded, fool of a minister, but her veiled protests to her mother went unheard and unheeded.

  This situation was but one ingredient in Lizzy’s stew of discontent. Company was invited to dinner that evening: the agreeable tenant of neighboring Netherfield Manor, his disagreeable relations, and his haughty guest. Mr. Bingley was by all accounts a complying and pleasant man with happy manners and generous conversation. He also had the excellent taste apparently to be enchanted by Miss Bennet, a situation that had much to recommend it.

  His sister, Mrs. Hurst, was condescending and ill informed, while the other sister, Miss Bingley, was obnoxiously superior. What was especially insufferable about these two ladies was their hypocrisy. They believed their brother’s income of five thousand pounds from the Funds entitled them to look down upon the family of Mr. Bennet and his modest two thousand a year even though the Bingleys’ roots were in trade. Old Mr. Bingley worked himself to death on the docks of London to make the money that would ensure his progeny became part of the gentry. Of Mr. Hurst, little could be said; he was more interested in cards and brandy than in partaking of the other delights of country society.

  Mr. Darcy was another matter altogether. It was whispered he was the owner of a fine estate in Derbyshire, which brought him ten thousand a year, and counted among his relations earls, bishops, and judges. A darkly handsome man of eight and twenty, he was tall and well-formed and surely would be in the dreams of every maiden in Meryton if he had proven to be as open and friendly as he was rich. Unfortunately, it was not two days after his arrival at Netherfield that the whole of Meryton declared the gentleman to be proud and disagreeable, well above the common folk of Hertfordshire.

  It was enough that Lizzy had to share dinner with her unctuous cousin, but three hours at table with the Superior Sisters and Mr. Tolerable — for she had overhead an ungracious remark fro
m the gentleman at the last assembly dance — was almost more than she could endure.

  A third vexation was Mrs. Bennet’s nerves. The lady of the house was in an uproar, dashing about as if the Prince Regent were due at the door any moment. To be fair, Mrs. Bennet might be a pickle short of a peck, but there was no better table set in Hertfordshire than at Longbourn. She soon decided that the presence of her darling daughters and hateful cousin — she would not forgive the man his existence until he was her son — was a distraction that could no longer be borne. She must have peace and quiet if she was to prepare a masterpiece that would cause Mr. Bingley to fall upon his knee and claim Jane for his own.

  Thus was Lizzy’s state of mind as the party rambled the miles to Meryton on a fine November day. In pompous nothings on Mr. Collins’s side and civil assents on that of his cousins, their time passed till they entered the village. The attention of the younger ones was then no longer to be gained by him, and their eyes immediately wandered up the street in quest of officers; nothing less than a smart bonnet or new muslin in a shop window could recall them.

  However, the attention of every lady was soon caught by a young man of most gentlemanlike appearance whom they had never seen before, walking on the other side of the way with an officer of their acquaintance, a Mr. Denny by name. The civilian’s appearance was greatly in his favor. He had all the best part of beauty — a fine countenance, a good figure, and very pleasing address. All wondered who he could be, and an introduction was soon entreated. The gentleman was a Mr. Wickham, a native of Derbyshire, lately from London, who had accepted a commission in the militia that very week.

  The whole party was still standing and talking together very agreeably when the sound of horses drew their notice, and Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley were seen riding down the street. On distinguishing the ladies of the group, the two gentlemen came directly towards them and began the usual civilities. Mr. Bingley was the principal spokesman.

  “Miss Bennet!” cried he from horseback. “We were just on our way to Longbourn to inquire after you. Were we not, Darcy?” he said as he reluctantly tore his eyes from the lady.

  Mr. Darcy corroborated the truth of Bingley’s account with a bow and had just fixed his eyes on Elizabeth when he was suddenly distracted by the sight of the stranger. Both changed color; one looked white, the other red. Mr. Wickham, after a few moments, touched his hat — a salutation that Mr. Darcy barely deigned to return.

  Elizabeth happened to see the reaction of both as they looked at each other and was all astonishment at the effect of the meeting. What could be the meaning of it? It was impossible to imagine; it was impossible not to long to know.

  Jane seemed not to notice anything remarkable about the meeting. “We are just collecting a few items for our mother. She is so looking forward to our dinner tonight. May I introduce you to our cousin? This gentleman is Mr. Collins from Hunsford.”

  Mr. Darcy tore his furious gaze from a slightly quaking Mr. Wickham. “Hunsford, did you say?” he enquired more pointed than polite.

  “Indeed,” injected the clergyman. “I have the very good fortune to have earned the Hunsford living thanks to the condescension of my very great patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh of Rosings Park.” The tall, fat man bowed deeply. A chuckle could be heard from Mr. Wickham.

  “I say, Darcy,” said Mr. Bingley, “that is your aunt, is it not?”

  Mr. Darcy acknowledged it was so, an intelligence that sent Mr. Collins into raptures.

  “Of course! Mr. Darcy — the nephew of the esteemed Lady Catherine de Bourgh!” The gentleman took off his hat, placed his free hand over his heart, and executed a full bow from the waist. “What an honor for me! Forgive me not knowing you on sight. Such a noble visage can only belong to the family Fitzwilliam. You see, Lady Catherine has kindly acquainted me with her splendid heritage. I can assure you, sir, of Lady Catherine’s good health and that of Miss Anne de Bourgh, too. Your intended is surely the finest flower in Kent — nay, all England! It will be a great day in Hunsford when you take her away from us.”

  Elizabeth was surprised to hear that Mr. Darcy was an engaged man. No one in Hertfordshire had any notion of it, and for some reason, the information troubled her.

  For his part, Mr. Darcy’s crimson countenance did not fade, but his chin rose and his eyes narrowed. “Who did you say you were, sir?” he demanded, his voice as cold as a strong winter’s breeze.

  The vacuous vicar smiled. “William Collins at your service, your lordship.”

  “I have no title. Keep your aggrandizements to yourself.” Mr. Darcy’s teeth hardly moved as he hissed, “By what right do you bandy about my family’s business?”

  Mr. Collins did not take offence. “Lady Catherine does confide in me, my good sir. I might be looked upon as her most important counselor.”

  “But you are not mine!” Mr. Darcy snapped. “You would do well to remember that and that you are in Hertfordshire, not Kent. Come, Bingley!”

  Mr. Bingley had witnessed the entire exchange, as had many in Meryton. He blushed and nodded from his saddle to Jane. “Miss Bennet, ladies, gentlemen — until this evening.” In another minute, Mr. Bingley rode on with his friend.

  Mr. Denny and Mr. Wickham walked with the young ladies to the door of Mr. Philips’s house and then made their bows in spite of Miss Lydia’s pressing entreaties that they would come in and even despite Mrs. Philips’s throwing open the parlor window and loudly seconding the invitation.

  Mrs. Philips was always glad to see her nieces. The two eldest were particularly welcome, and she was eagerly expressing her pleasure for their company when her civility was claimed towards Mr. Collins by Jane’s introduction of him. She received him with her very best politeness, which he returned with much more, apologizing for his intrusion without any previous acquaintance with her.

  Mrs. Philips was quite awed by such an excess of good breeding, but her contemplation of one stranger was soon put to an end by exclamations and inquiries about another, of whom, however, she could only tell her nieces what they already knew. Mr. Denny had brought Mr. Wickham from London, and he was to have a lieutenant’s commission in the ——shire. She had been watching him the last hour, she said, as he walked up and down the street.

  Lydia and Kitty thought that an excellent occupation and were soon at their chosen station, but unluckily for them, no one passed the window now except a few of the officers, who, in comparison with Mr. Wickham, were proclaimed “stupid, disagreeable fellows.”

  This judgment did not sway the girls once they learned of a party to be hosted the next day by Mr. and Mrs. Philips for those officers or from demanding that their aunt invite her nieces too. This was agreed to, and Mrs. Philips added that they would have a nice comfortable noisy game of lottery tickets and a little bit of hot supper afterwards. The prospect of such delights was very cheering, and they parted in mutual good spirits.

  As they walked home, Elizabeth related to Jane what she had seen pass between the two gentlemen. Elizabeth could not make any sense of the altercation, and though Jane would have defended either or both had they appeared to be wrong, she could no more explain such behavior than her sister.

  Interspersed in Elizabeth’s new sentiments about the gentleman was an unsettling feeling of disappointment. She knew no earthly reason why she should have such a feeling, but she could not rid herself of it. She made a silent vow to learn more on the morrow about the mysterious Mr. Darcy from the agreeable Mr. Wickham.

  * * *

  Fitzwilliam Darcy was not having a good day, and he left Netherfield early for the dinner appointment at Longbourn in a dark mood. He knew his demeanor was too cross for company, and the intensive simpering offered by Miss Bingley only made things worse. He needed to follow his usual practice of riding his troubles away on the back of a favored horse. Unfortunately, all his mounts were in London or Pemberley, and Bingley had neglected to bring more than one. Darcy had to make do with a rented beast from Meryton.

&nb
sp; Since coming to Hertfordshire as guest and advisor to his great friend, Mr. Bingley, Darcy found he had to deal with a pair of consternations — one expected and one not. Mr. Bingley’s sister, Caroline, had long labored to attach herself to the master of Pemberley. Darcy could be a one-legged midget with a humpback, and still Miss Bingley would shower the man with compliments and flirtations. She had her cap set on Pemberley and what the estate would bring to her — full acceptance by the First Circles — but Darcy was clever and had successfully kept her at arms’ length for some years. This visit would be no different.

  What was different was Elizabeth Bennet. Darcy could not for the life of him determine what the girl was about. Since setting eyes on her at a crowded and rowdy assembly — just the sort of gathering that always set his teeth on edge — he could not get the impertinent girl out of his head. Miss Elizabeth seemed lovelier each time they met, and it almost ignited a suspicion that the lady was primping herself for his benefit, but that conjecture was dismissed by any knowledge of her character.

  Did she not walk three miles in mud just to visit an ill sister? Was not her complexion the healthy glow earned by long walks in the countryside, not the smooth ivory favored by young ladies of fashion? Did she not read the works of Aristotle and poetry by Wordsworth, rather than the dreadful novels found in the sitting rooms in Town? Did Miss Elizabeth not tease and challenge him at every turn, rather than sit and simper and make tiresome conversation in the manner of Miss Bingley?

  Darcy had tried to keep his distance. It would not do to raise expectations. As lovely and interesting as Miss Elizabeth was, she was not of his circle. He was expected to do right by his Darcy and Fitzwilliam heritage and bring honor and money into the family by his marriage. It was what he was raised to do. Surely he could find an agreeable companion of his future life amongst the denizens of the ton as his father had before him. Somewhere in England was a woman of beauty, breeding, benevolence, and fortune who could carry on an intelligent conversation. It was a mighty challenge, but Darcy was not discouraged. Fortune Favors the Bold was the family motto.