The Garden of Roses, page 1
The Garden of Roses
A Pride & Prejudice Variation
Anne Arden
The Garden of Roses
Copyright © 2017 Anne Arden
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All rights reserved.
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No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, places, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Contents
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
Epilogue
Also by the Author
Chapter 1
The balmy winds of a chilly London morning did nothing to quell the warmth that lingered deep in Elizabeth’s heart; a warmth that only could emanate from the presence and company of close-knit friends.
Seated atop cushions of lavender velvet in the back of a shiny coal black carriage, she pretended to listen with intense interest as Mr. Collins rattled on about a nearly unidentifiable political issue that—or so he believed—was of great interest to everyone present. And Charlotte, his long-suffering wife, reinforced this belief by nodding and smiling—if only, or Elizabeth couldn’t help but notice—through gritted teeth.
Leaning back in her seat, Elizabeth exchanged knowing looks with a smirking Maria Lucas before turning away from Charlotte’s prim dark-haired sister and peering out the window of the carriage that was taking them to a prestigious and much-anticipated destination.
She’d long heard tales of the societal matron known as Lady Catherine de Bourgh, owner of Rosings Park estate and patroness of Mr. Collins. She recognized Lady Catherine’s formidable position in British society, and knew that the grand lady would broach no disrespect.
Elizabeth folded her hands on her lap as they journeyed toward Rosings Park. Naturally, she had no intention of showing the lady one bit of disrespect. Providing, of course, that she showed her the same decent courtesy.
Ah, but she was beyond certain that she worried herself for nothing. Although Mr. Collins’ incessant chatter on the grand lady had not exactly painted her as the most likeable character, surely Lady Catherine would appoint herself warmly, proving herself a gentle and amiable hostess for their party this day.
Elizabeth, for her part, had dressed her best this day in a lovely day gown of lavender brocade with sleek satin cuffs, and a prim ruffled collar. A pair of polished ebony slippers completed the look, as did a pair of ivory gloves that she now touched to her fair-skinned cheek.
She had nothing to concern herself about—nothing at all.
She repeated this mantra to herself as she sat upright on her seat and forced her gaze in the direction of their destination; a vision that forced her to amend her opinion that she had nothing to worry about—nothing at all.
As their carriage made a sharp right turn through the entryway of Rosings Park, she found herself and her fellow passengers winding down a long pathway bordered on both sides by well-trimmed hedges and welcoming sculptures culled from the finest stones.
Beyond these borders, vast fields of lavender violets and golden marigolds lined the emerald lawns of Rosings Park; an elaborate estate that claimed as its centerpiece the sprawling silvery grey manse topped with domes and turrets, and further distinguished by banks of crystalline windows and fronted by sets of steps—stairs flanked with still more in the way of marble statues.
Were those looks of abject pity she saw on their faces as they passed? Elizabeth pondered about the bleak expressions of the statues, clutching Charlotte’s arm as the two friends lead the now silent procession to the front door of Rosings Park. She fully expected one of those stone figures to bellow out, ‘Beware, all who pass here!’ at any given moment.
Her thoughts scattered as suddenly she found herself standing in a clean-tiled entryway; one occupied by a dour-faced servant who seemed just about as personable and welcoming as the stone statues who guarded the door.
“Lady Catherine will see you now,” the man announced, and guided the group across the threshold of an elaborate sitting room.
Elizabeth’s senses reeled as she found herself ensconced in a room that bore a greater likeness to the main gallery of a London-based art museum; one lined on all sides with pieces she recognized as classic brass-framed oil paintings, posted as they were on walls of emerald brocade above a grand ivory corniced fireplace.
The room’s grandest accent occupied a settee of ivory silk at the dead center of the room. An indomitable-looking older lady sat on the settee and Elizabeth knew without a doubt that she now stood face-to-face with no other but Lady Catherine de Bourgh.
Dressed for the day in a lush jacquard dress of pure, deep purple with a ruffled underskirt and lace front panel, the lady cut a striking figure with her bountiful silver hair swept atop her head and a lovely necklace of ruby garnet around her neck.
One thing that she didn’t wear, Elizabeth couldn’t help but notice, was a smile.
“Mr. Collins!” the woman barked almost immediately as they approached her, looking the group up and down in a cool and steely manner. “You are tardy.”
Elizabeth tensed immediately, her eyes shifting to the distinguished Cherrywood grandfather clock that occupied a far corner of the room.
No Madame, she thought to herself, we are in fact two moments early.
“Lady Catherine!” Mr. Collins enthused with a smile, giving the sour lady a deep bow. “My sincerest apologies for our delayed arrival. It is indeed wonderful to see you. My wife, you have already met—Mrs. Collins—but may I present to you her dear younger sister, Miss Maria Lucas, and her beloved childhood friend—Miss Elizabeth Bennet, who also happens to be a dear cousin of mine, as I am sure I have informed you.”
Both Elizabeth and Maria curtsied in greeting, although Elizabeth still met in full the stern, unyielding gaze of her less than gracious hostess. Her pearl pink lips pressed together in a firm hard line, and her hands folded tight in her lap.
“It is a pleasure,” Lady Catherine managed in a dry tone, although Elizabeth somehow doubted that this woman ever had taken much pleasure in anything throughout the course of her long and distinguished existence. Ever.
“It is indeed,” Elizabeth answered aloud, marking her words with another formal nod. She wondered what the lady’s problem was. She hadn’t expected much sense from the matron of Mr. Collins, but couldn’t help but wonder whether their modest upbringings were the cause of her discomfort.
“It is good to see you, my lady,” Charlotte said with a curtsy.
“And you, Mrs. Collins,” the lady acknowledged, with only a bit more kindness. “Please do have a seat. I will summon my servants to bring some refreshments.”
Soon the small and still quiet group enjoyed a sumptuous tea of chocolate and cinnamon, along with light decorative petit fours and pastries. Elizabeth rattled her rose print china cup moments later, as a vibrant burst of pure gold energy invaded the room with dazzling aplomb.
She smiled in spite of herself as a bouncy blonde girl—who must not have been older than sixteen—bounded into the sitting room; doing anything but sitting as she came to stand before them with a broad, bright smile.
“Miss Bennet? Miss Lucas?” the girl chirped, her golden ringlets bouncing merry on the shoulders of her smooth canary yellow satin day dress. “Yes, it must be you! I am so very pleased to meet you.”
For the first time since she had stepped foot through the door of Rosings Park, Elizabeth Bennet smiled.
“Indeed, we are,” she concurred. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss—?”
“Darcy!” the girl exclaimed with great spirit and—of course—pride. “I am Miss Georgiana Darcy, Miss. It is a pleasure to meet you.” The girl curtsied before them, but Elizabeth hardly paid it any attention.
She froze in her seat as she repeated in a slow, deliberate tone, “Miss Georgiana Darcy?”
As if on cue, a pair of sharp-dressed gentlemen swept into the room. And while the man on the left—a tall, brown-haired gentleman in regimentals—was unknown to her, the man on the right—one who boasted a flawless, distinguished visage, ebony eyes and thick, wavy dark hair—was all too familiar to her disbelieving eyes.
His tall and muscular form was adorned this day in a black double-breasted jacket, matching pantaloons and a crisp ivory cravat.
Immediately, Elizabeth’s gaze clashed and held with his, their busy surroundings dissolving around them as they shared a long, intense stare.
“Miss Bennet, Miss Lucas,” Lady Catherine spoke up, making a grand gesture in the direction of the two men. “Please meet my nephews, the honorable Colonel Fitzwilliam, and the distinguished Mr. Darcy.”
Darcy and Elizabeth stared at one another, saying nothing for a moment.
Then, in the span of a single heartbeat,
“We have met.”
Lady Catherine arched her eyebrows.
“You have?” she asked, her tone laced with surprise.
Chapter 2
Of all the upscale sitting rooms in all of England, why did she have to come to his aunt’s?
Fitzwilliam Darcy stood stock still at the centre of Lady Catherine’s grand sitting room, for once at a complete and utter loss of words as he beheld the very woman he’d been striving so hard to forget.
How could he ever have been dismissive of this radiant beauty who stood so proud and graceful before him?
Oh, certainly, he had at first dismissed Elizabeth Bennet as being a woman of a lower class, and one not possessing the peerless blonde beauty of her sister Jane.
However, in the time since their initial meeting, he had found himself thinking of her more and more. Although perhaps not as formally educated as himself, he must admit that she did possess wit and wisdom, along with a warm (if just a mite too willful) and vibrant personality—one tempered with just the right amount of dignity and reserve.
He had come to understand that, despite his previous belief, perhaps one did not need a great deal of money to possess grace and class. Oh, not that he would ever go public with his feelings for her; but perhaps they could still enjoy some pleasant times together?
Already in Hertfordshire, he had been alarmed to find that a part of him seemed to come alive in Elizabeth’s presence, and had even found himself reveling in her every word and gesture each time they met.
This madness must cease, he chided himself. There was nothing good that could come out of this. That’s what he had told himself already as they had left Hertfordshire.
But it did not help that this woman who so stirred his interest had been placed right before his path once again. When Elizabeth invited him to take a seat beside her, he couldn’t help but walk forward as if in a trance to join her.
“It is good to see you again, Miss Bennet,” he said, taking her hand in his and raising it to his lips for a soft, sweet kiss. “I hope your family is in good health?”
He reveled in the sparks that seemed to pass between them the very instant that his lips touched her sensitive skin. He heard her breath catch as his own rebel heart pounded in his chest. Blast it.
“I am most pleased to see you, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth returned. “And my family is well, thank you.”
For a timeless moment, their hands and gazes held in what seemed an unbreakable clench; their surroundings continuing to dissolve around them as they shared a faint but unmistakable smile.
“Ahem!”
The couple jumped apart as the icy tones of Lady Catherine de Bourgh served to shatter their mood and moment; inspiring them to sit upright and apart as they cleared their own throats in definitive unison.
And here he had believed that his aunt was diverted and occupied by her earnest conversation with the ever-attentive Mr. Collins. He should have known; the woman likely had eyes situated on the back of that overly-coiffured head.
His attention snapped back to Elizabeth as she observed in a mild tone, “I had no earthly idea, Mr. Darcy, that Lady Catherine was your aunt.”
Darcy nodded.
“Indeed, she is,” he affirmed with an affectionate smile in the direction of his still sour faced relation. “And a more exquisite woman never lived, do you not agree Miss Bennet?”
Darcy feared that if Elizabeth cleared her throat just one more time, her poor vocal cords would surrender the cause and cease functioning completely.
“She is…” The good Miss Bennet paused, seeming to struggle to find just the right words to describe Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Or at the very least, some cordial, if wholly inaccurate descriptive words that could be used in polite company.
“Unique,” she managed finally, although Darcy couldn’t mistake the slight cringe on her beautiful face.
Darcy nodded once again.
“Unique. Yes, I presume that’s the word,” he echoed, folding his hands before him as his generally solid expression dissolved into his version of an amused smirk.
What was this enchanting woman doing to him, he pondered? What kind of brazen sorceress must she be, to inspire Fitzwilliam Darcy to smirk of all things? Again, he thought with chagrin, this madness must stop.
Shaking his head to clear it of its dreamy haze, Darcy gladly accepted the rose-print tea cup offered to him by his aunt’s servant. Draining its piping hot contents with unseemly haste and nearly burning his tongue in the process, he once again turned his attention to the enchantress before him.
“So, Miss Bennet. It has been altogether too long since our last visit,” he said, inclining his head in a curious manner. “How, may I ask, have you been occupying your time at Longbourn?”
Elizabeth shrugged, taking her own, more delicate sip of her cooling tea as she considered her response to this query.
“My sisters and I always find much with which to busy ourselves. And whatever activity we undertake, whether it takes the form of a charitable effort, a poetry reading, a good meal shared with our parents, or a jaunty song performed in unison on our family pianoforte, we always savor one another’s company with the greatest joy and laughter.”
Darcy nodded, regarding her with a thoughtful stare.
“So, you say, Miss Bennet, that you are skilled in particular at the pianoforte?” he inquired. “I find this rather interesting. Do you play often?”
Elizabeth shook her head.
“Oh, not as often as my sister Mary. She is the true musical aficionado of our family,” she declared, her tone low and humble.
“Ah, but she is being modest!” the calm voice of Charlotte Collins suddenly interrupted their conversation as she jumped in, no doubt having heard what they were talking about. Elizabeth’s eyes seemed to widen at her friend’s words, but she said nothing.
“What I mean to say, Mr. Darcy,” Mrs. Collins continued. “Is that my friend Elizabeth here is an exquisite purveyor of the pianoforte. As humble as she may come across, she is in fact superior in her skill, perhaps even more so than her dear younger sister.”
She paused here, lowering her tone as her chagrined-looking husband pressed her ribs with a gentle—but, from all appearances, highly purposeful—nudge. “Of course, dear Mary is the sweetest girl, and certainly means well. I am beyond certain that, under Elizabeth’s kind and patient tutelage, she will improve with time. Elizabeth, for her part, is a near virtuoso when it comes to the fine art of piano playing. You must hear her play, Mr. Darcy.”
“Oh, in that case, we all must hear her!” His sister Georgiana suddenly jumped in, snapping her hands together and bouncing up and down on her seat. “Would you please favor us with a song, Miss Bennet?”
Darcy nodded, all the while suppressing a second landmark smirk as he considered his sister Georgiana’s unbridled enthusiasm.
“I rather would like to hear her play, Mrs. Collins,” he assured Charlotte, and slid back in the direction of Elizabeth. “Do you favour playing in public, Miss Bennet?”
Oh, dear… Elizabeth closed her eyes momentarily. How had this come to happen?
Charlotte was her best friend and she knew well that Elizabeth did not enjoy playing the pianoforte in public. But still, her friend had passed her grand recommendations around—recommendations that were far too kind for Elizabeth’s level of skill.
And for what reason? To impress Lady Catherine or Mr. Darcy? It made no sense. But when Darcy nodded at her and answered, she knew she couldn’t say no.
“Well, I suppose I would not mind it, given the opportunity,” she allowed, squirming in her seat until she came up with a line that might just save her still. “Only I find that I am not frequently presented with just such an opportunity.”
Darcy sat back in his seat, inclining his head sharp toward a far corner of the room.
