Page 1 of The Heir and Spare
Chapter 1
Elizabeth
The carriage rocked back and forth as the wheels hit deep grooves in the road from the mud of last spring. But no one inside shifted at all with the movement. All five Bennet sisters and their mother and father were pressed together so tightly even the sisters who were nodding off to sleep were still sitting upright. Elizabeth was drowsy with a great need for sleep, but she knew her eyes would not close for many hours yet. Her face burned with a memory that would not soon leave. A slight from a man was something that stung, but a slight from a stranger, a wealthy stranger of noble birth, that was something else entirely, and Elizabeth wasn’t entirely certain how it sat with her.
“Not handsome enough to tempt me.” The words echoed in Elizabeth’s brain. She didn’t know if she would ever erase from memory his insolent face or the sneer across his lips as he said them. By far the most fine-looking man in the room, gentlemen were scarce, and he couldn’t even be bothered to dance with her? Jane was immediately captured by his friend. Elizabeth knew her sister, Jane, was superior in looks and grace and kindness and Lizzie may as well admit that she was by far the better choicefor most men. But, certainly, there was a man somewhere who would prefer her, who would wish to be with her even when Jane was in the room. Or in this instance, could at least be tempted to dance a set.
She ground her teeth. She didn’t begrudge Jane. Not at all. She wished her the very best happiness. Because Jane deserved it.
But she could be hurt and angry about such a slight without being jealous of her sister.
The carriage jerked to a stop. The overly tired Bennet sisters climbed out and stumbled onto their front porch and into the house. Even their mother was lulled into a subdued silence as the weight of the early hours of a morning after a night of dancing descended upon them all.
Jane’s sleepy smile comforted Elizabeth. At least she’d been given the attention she desired. The apparently wealthy landowner, Bingley, had hardly taken his eyes off her, even when dancing with others. He’d showered Jane with smiles and attention and had walked her to their carriage as nearly the last people to leave the assembly.
No, Elizabeth didn’t begrudge her sister her smiles. She smiled to herself. If her mother was correct, they would be hearing proposals in a week’s time.
She rarely believed her mother on the subject of the Bennet women matrimony. She was far too desperate, far too concerned to have any sort of rational reaction to a potential suitor. She wanted it too badly. And in her own words, “You tell me what would occupy your thoughts if you had five daughters to marry who had no hopes of a living without?”
Elizabeth couldn’t fault the woman. But she also didn’t have to place too much trust in her opinions or predictions, either.
Left alone in the front entry, all others making their way to their beds, the servants in tow, her thoughts reluctantly returnedto Mr. Darcy. And to her horror, a lump filled her throat. She furiously dug fingernails into her palms. She would not give him the power to affect her so. She did not care. She couldn’t. His opinion did not matter. And frankly, she was handsome. She was quite beautiful, she hoped. She’d thought she looked bright and cheery after a walk. Her eyes aglow with happiness, her cheeks rosy. She shook her head and fell to the couch, resting her head in her hands. She had thought she was comely enough when she left the house that morning. Handsome enough to dance with.
She rose to her feet and began pacing. What she hated most was that she was having this internal conversation at all. No man should have that kind of power over her thoughts, over her feelings for herself. She moved to a mirror and studied her face, turning this way and that to see all the angles. She supposed if viewed from the left, her nose looked a bit…off. She adjusted the angle. But really, from most other viewpoints she was quite lovely even after a long night of dancing. She pursed her lips. Was she lying to herself? Was she really quite plain? Her shoulders slumped and the light of expectancy dimmed. Perhaps when she didn’t think anyone was looking, she morphed into an unadmirable visage that no one wanted. She glanced in the mirror to try and catch such an image to see if it were true. But no. She really did not look plain. She had striking features and they were lovely. She stood taller. And what she usually cared for more, was her wit. And her intelligence. She loved sparring. She loved a good play with words and understanding. She loved a good book. She hungered for information. And she loved how quickly she picked up on her father’s humor.
And what’s more? She was proud of her long walks and her ability to see things logically. She was proud of her pen. She could write witty quips and long letters that had her sisters buckled over in tears. She was excellent at expressing herself when she wished to. She nodded; her eyes carried a familiar glintof confidence she welcomed back. And then her anger returned. The fact that a man, a stranger she hardly knew, created such a crisis of self confidence in her with one phrase, one sentiment, angered her. She could not be giving others that kind of power. No. She would not.
She continued on this line of thought, walking back and forth across the room, ignoring the mirror. By the time she’d paced for a few minutes, she’d worked through the insecurity and had worked herself up into some serious self-love and obstinate determination to block out his words forever. She was handsome enough but more than that, she was enough period, smart enough, happy enough, resourceful enough, enough. The real question was not to determine her worth, but his. Washeenough?
With that new direction, she nodded to herself again in the mirror and at last went to bed.
Jane was already asleep, her smile lingering even in slumber.
Tomorrow she would exert her energy toward Jane.
And she needed to find her best friend, Charlotte. They were long overdue a conversation.
As she drifted off to sleep, one unresolved thought remained. Even after it all, she did find him handsome. Too bad his personality ruined such a perfect face.
Chapter 2
Arthur Darcy
While Fitzwilliam spent a diverting holiday with Bingley in his new estate, Arthur Darcy, his twin brother, spent the morning working on his ledgers. Really, it was Fitzwilliam’s responsibility, but did Fitz ever do anything he was supposed to be doing? Not unless it was under the pretense of finding a wife. Arthur scoffed. Finding a wife apparently covered every instance of socializing that his brother ever did, including his recent travels to Netherfield under the guise of helping his friend set up house. Arthur knew he was neither finding a wife nor assisting at Netherfield, but merely avoiding Pemberley. He could only hope he was not insulting all and sundry as he had lately taken to doing. His brother really was a lovely person. He was just supremely bothered of late.
Arthur frowned. What on earth would Fitz find of use in that area? What wife was he hoping to find there? Arthur was the brother who would find interest in the smaller towns. He would love a simple woman who loved to read, who took care of herself but did not spend too much time or energy on the latest in fashions. She didn’t know about pomades or hair rods oranything too complicated but simply awoke with freshness and light in her face; had eyes shining with the peace of good living and smiled easily with the joy of their relationship. He shook his head. Such a woman was not to be found in London. At least not that Arthur had yet encountered.
London did have many women of fashion, experts in the wiles of capturing men. And Fitz fit right in with that crowd. So what he was doing in the wilds of Netherfield was a surprise to Arthur.
Everyone knew that Fitz had no intention of settling down any time soon. Which was perhaps why he’d hidden himself away in such a remote location.
Really the man could do what he pleased, when he wished. Arthur had no need for him to do anything with the estate at the moment. He preferred when his brother stayed far away from estate decisions even though one day it would be his to manage. As the older twin he would receive it all, be the new keeper of everything, all the tenants, the servants and the legacy that was the Darcy name. Fitz was the heir.
The longer Arthur set things in motion to protect the income from mismanagement, the better. But he did wish the man to at least produce an heir.
He grimaced and then let his head fall into his hands. He was sounding like his grandmother, his mother, his aunt Lady Catherine. He was sounding like every other matron in the LondonTonwith eyes on the men to start marrying. With head still in hands, he counted to one hundred. It really was time for him to get out more. There were other things to be concerned with besides the estate. His own finding of a wife, for example.
He would not inherit the estate. He would not be the one doing the books always, but he had ensured his own inheritance. He’d ensured a living for himself, one that wouldbe very profitable—not Pemberley, but it could one day become something really special.
