For The Sake Of Her Happiness Read online

  MARLEY FULTON

  www.marleyfulton.com

  FOR THE SAKE OF HER HAPPINESS

  A PRIDE AND PREJUDICE VARIATION

  © 2019 MARLEY FULTON. All rights reserved.

  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 1

  The rolling fields and the winding lanes that took them deeper into the heart of Kent were many a fresh sight for Elizabeth’s wide gazes. Carrying a thick scent of poplar, the air that grazed her lips as she peeked out of the window, had a distinctive country essence - different from the air back home at Longbourn, but a country air nevertheless. And with every new brisk scent and sight she met with, the more it seemed her adventurous spirit was warmed. Perhaps, that would explain why her cheeks were not so pale as they would be this time of the year. That, and the extremely comforting countenance of her dear sister Jane as she bid her a farewell in London earlier - a countenance, which did not appear as lovelorn, or despondent, as it had this month past.

  Adding to the colour on her cheeks was also that she had plenty more joyful images to fill her thoughts and heart. The anticipation of meeting her friend, Charlotte Lucas, whom she had not seen since the wedding; and the small adventures that her stay at Hunsford might present her with.

  “Yes,” Elizabeth smiled through a wave of optimism that arose within, “the days ahead hold promise of cheerful times!”

  “Oh, look,” Sir Williams,” gentle tone drew her away from her thoughts, “is that not Rosings Hall?” Even from a distance it made such an imposing landscape - its magnificence exceeding her expectations by bounds!

  “Indeed! That is Rosings Hall,” nodded Elizabeth, stifling a grin as her active mind set out to sketch the faces of Lady Catherine de Bourgh and other members of the household as described by Mr. Collins.

  Soon, the carriage was steered off the high road towards Hunsford where the lanes forked. On the right was Rosings Park , with rows of topiaries that sat prettier than pieces of china on a parlour mantelpiece; and the other lane led to a beauteous garden bordered by sprawling hedges, with the parsonage posed at its midst.

  “Oh, welcome,” came an excited voice, from the other end of a short gravel path.

  The newly wedded couple, Mr. Collins and Charlotte, had emerged at their open door just as the carriage came to a standstill at the wooden gate. No sooner had Elizabeth stepped down into the walkway, had her friend rushed forth to greet her, and the group blossomed into bursts of smiles and greetings.

  “I hope your journey from London has not been too tedious,” Mr. Collins walked up to his guests, his eyes coming alive in a manner that was welcoming.

  “I assure you, it has not,” smiled Elizabeth, filled with a soothing assurance at the earnestness in their manners and faces.

  Not surprisingly, the earnestness in his welcome carried over to several questions and several more minutes of waiting by the gate, as he enquired after the well-being of the Bennets. That was followed with a few rehearsed remarks about the frontage of his house before the guests were escorted in. By the time she was guided into the parlour, a second welcome speech followed - one that was more emphatic than the previous one - before he concluded by speaking for his wife, announcing the dishes to be soon set at the table.

  Nay, Mr. Collins had not changed one slight bit.

  Elizabeth listened to his extravagant monologues with a cordial nod every so often, even discerning that his sole reason for flaunting the best portions of his parlour and its furniture was to draw her attention to the luxuries she seemingly missed out on. After all, one could not deny that his abode was very agreeable.

  “Yet,” she thought to herself as she found herself smiling softly by the end of it, “none of these seeming luxuries could make me regret for half a second, my decision to reject his hand in marriage.” If anything, she could not fathom how Charlotte could continue to wear such a happy expression around her husband. And whenever Mr. Collins let slip an embarrassing remark - which happened more often than she would care to count - she had to remind herself not to look too wide-eyed as she turned to her friend. If not for the once or twice that she caught a mild red on the lady’s cheeks, it was obvious that Charlotte sensibly turned a deaf ear to his stupidity.

  “Might you ladies be interested in a stroll?” he asked, patting his posh armrest once the study and praise of each piece of adornment in his parlour had come to an end. “A walk around my humble gardens?”

  “Humble” was not how one would describe the thriving gardens, which Mr. Collins took the greatest pride in being the keeper of. Why, he even kept count of how many trees lay at the far end of the patch, and possibly how many leaves each branch carried too.

  “I do encourage it,” Charlotte managed a rare remark as she pointed to a trimmed rose bush, sometime during the course of their walk, “the activity keeps one fit.”

  “Yes,” sighed Elizabeth, pleased to notice a glimpse of pride on her friend’s features then.

  By the end of it, though, there was not a view left undiscussed; and having grown weary of the excessiveness, Elizabeth found herself gazing at the adjacent Park instead.

  After all, Rosings Hall did not need a “Mr. Collins” to recommend it to her. Its beauty spoke for itself. A grand modern structure at the centre overlooking a park, with a scattering of outbuildings - all of which, sat on high grounds that stretched as far as the eye could see.

  “How charming,” a palm went up to her chest in admiration.

  Eventually, the lack of proper footwear meant Elizabeth could excuse herself from any further trips around a frosty meadow. Therefore, the men continued onwards as planned, while she returned to the house with Charlotte, two merry steps at a time.

  “Here is my sideboard where I organise needlework. Apart from it, I have a separate shelf to store unstitched silks,” Charlotte grinned. “So, what do you think of it?” Elizabeth could perceive a tune in her friend’s voice - a delightful tune that was not to be perceived when her husband was around, earlier.

  “It is all very elegant,” she sat at the table. “Tidy and elegant! It is a compliment I pay to your skills, of course.”

  “Oh, thank you!”

  The conversations ensued thereupon with an informal ease - a sort of ease that could not be enjoyed when her husband was around earlier. “Perhaps, Charlotte chooses to be oblivious to her husband in her home?” An amusing explanation, it was - but, it was the sole explanation she could think of by which her friend might preserve her sanity and nature.

  By that evening, Elizabeth had already learned of the news that Lady Catherine was in the county. Her presence had formed the major part of their conversations at dinner. After having heard several praises of her ladyship - of how affably Charlotte and Mr. Collins’ sister, Maria, were treated during their dinners at Rosings twice every week, how they were unfailingly sent home in one of her carriages each of those times - Elizabeth found herself politely anticipating her calling at the Rosings Manor. She had no reason to believe that she would not be delighted by Lady Catherine, as she had been repeatedly assured.

  It was nearly an hour since she donned her nightcap and tucked herself underneath blankets when Elizabeth still lay awake beneath closed eyelids. “How could Charlotte appear so pleased with her marriage?” she exhaled faintly. “What was it that gave her the will to be a companion to Mr. Collins, or the poise when dealing with the embarrassment he so of
t made of himself?” After all, there was not a single recallable instance, where her cousin was either agreeable to look at, or pleasant to be around.

  “Agreeable…”

  She shifted her head to the right half of her pillow that had not been laid on for a few minutes. “Agreeable?” Mr. Bingley came across as pleasant and agreeable from the very start. “So was Mr. Wickham!” mused Elizabeth, before stalling her thoughts for a moment, as she felt the chords of her heart twist uncomfortably.

  Yet as irony would have it, amongst Jane, Charlotte and herself - one would tend to believe that it was Charlotte who appeared happiest. A few minutes later, she shifted her head back to the left.

  “Well, Charlotte is living her life well. And that ends the matter, ” she surmised at length with a tender smile, happy for her friend. She allowed her mind to drift onto other ideas and livelier images of this visit that did not carry the risk of disturbing her peace as much.

  The next noon, she was in her room, humming a merry tune as she glimpsed at the mirror. Adjusting her bonnet so she could step out for a walk she heard a sudden yell tear through the air below.

  “My,” her hands paused, “what could that be?” She waited, to try to discern the cause of the uproar - but it was the stairs that bore the brunt thereafter, as a pair of feet came treading up vehemently.

  “Eliza. Eliza. Eliza.” The knocks at the door were so hurried, Elizabeth wasted not an instant more and flung it open.

  “Maria?” The woman was in near-hysterics, it seemed, as she wrung her hands twice over. “What happened?”

  “Please come with me, dear Eliza, to the dining room. There is a sight you must see.”

  Elizabeth did try asking questions along the way and received no proper response, which only piqued her burning curiosity further. Thankfully, she was to spot the cause of the uproar soon thereafter, through the large windows of the dining room that overlooked the lane.

  “Two ladies in a carriage? At the garden gate?” Elizabeth almost rolled her eyes, “I feared it was something else altogether, and what do I see - Lady Catherine and her daughter.”

  “Oh dear,” Maria shook her head in alarm, “the old lady you see is not Lady Catherine, but Mrs. Jenkinson, who lives with them. The other is Miss de Bourgh,” she gestured at the younger one silently. “Quite a frail creature, is she not? It is difficult to imagine one could be so thin and small!”

  “Pray, it is impolite to keep Charlotte standing outdoors when there is such chill in the blowing wind. She could just as well come in!”

  “But she would not,” Maria informed, in the very next breath, “Miss de Bourgh would not call at the house if she could avoid it. She is far too prideful.”

  “Is it so?” Elizabeth felt her lips give into a slow grin that she was not commonly so prone to. “So , this is Miss de Bourgh - the one intended for Mr. Darcy? I quite like her appearance,” she muttered to herself as her mind’s eye drew an unflattering portrait of the couple. “She looks sickly and cross. She will make him a very proper wife, a perfect match.”

  Well, Mr. Darcy did wish for a match he considered equal, He relegated all else to a status beneath him. His was a propensity to resent as she had not quite seen before and that she was not able to yet quite forget.

  Her frown arched as his words stubbornly returned to her, “My temper would perhaps be called resentful. My good opinion once lost, is lost forever.”

  Nor could she bring herself to forgive him for what he did to Mr. Wickham, despite that she was not as close to the latter as she once presumed. Or, disbelieve that he had a role to play in Mr. Bingley’s loss of affections for her sister.

  “You ladies are fortunate indeed!” Mr. Collins’ loud announcement pulled her attention away from the memories of Netherfield. Elizabeth turned to her hosts who were stepping into the house after having bid Miss de Bourgh due farewell at the gate. “Congratulations.”

  “All of us have been invited for dinner, at Rosings on the morrow,” clarified Charlotte.

  Chapter 2

  Neatening the ruffles of the neck frill, she gazed at her attire of choice with perfect composure. An evening gown of green silk with full sleeves and an attractive neckline - it was, of the gowns that she had brought along, a most fashionable one. “Yes,” she smiled, “that should do quite well.”

  “Miss Bennet. Miss Bennet. Miss Bennet.” came three measured knocks at her door, followed by the restless calls of her cousin, “Miss Bennet, are you ready? It would be unkind to keep Lady Catherine de Bourgh waiting. Do not fret over the appearance of your dress, as long as it is the best of what you have. I can assure you, her ladyship is far too gracious to pass judgement on the attires of those less fortunate than her.”

  “Yes,” sighed Elizabeth, “I shall be there soon.” She had only needed a few moments longer than she did every evening, and far fewer than most women would otherwise need, to dress for dinner with her ladyship. The urgency in the tone of her cousin was therefore excessive, but it did not surprise her.

  Ever since an invitation had been extended from Rosings, there was a murmur of excitement in the cottage air, like the arrival of the first bee or two around an early spring flower. Little else was allowed to be spoken of thereafter, apart from the impending dinner at the grand mansion - for Mr. Collins had much to advise his guests in preparation for their visit.

  At length, Elizabeth, Sir Lucas and Maria were made aware of how exquisite the dishes that night might be, of how rich the interiors of the mansion were, of how many stately rooms it contained , of the windows at its front, of how many servants were assigned the responsibility of their upkeep, and so on. The occasion was, evidently, another excuse for Mr. Collins to flatter his patroness in all of her glory while flaunting how highly he was favoured by a woman of such wealth. He made full use of it!

  By the time they were making their way towards the grand mansion alongside their hosts, sir Lucas was quieter than ever and Maria had wrung her hands thrice already. “From nerves,” supposed Elizabeth with quiet amusement, “nerves at the thought of being in the company of nobility”

  In contrast, the expression on her own face was as pleasant as the scenes of the park they were crossing. The tales of the grandeur of Rosings and its rich residents had only piqued her curiosity, and she found herself looking forward to seeing it all for herself. As for the meeting with Lady Catherine, she was not in the least bit nervous, since she had heard nothing but glowing accounts of her ladyship’s disposition.

  Once past the stairs, they were met with interiors that were in every manner, a good match with the elegant exteriors of the building. Bringing to their attention every other opulent furnishing and enhancement in the areas along the way, it was a good half an hour before Mr. Collins finally ushered his guests into the anteroom where her ladyship sat.

  With measured poise and an air of sternness about her greetings, did Lady Catherine receive her guests, while Mrs. Collins went on to introduce them.

  As they took their seats, Sir Lucas nodded with awe and Maria could barely bring herself to do even that. A tall woman was Lady Catherine, carrying a frame more imposing than most woman Elizabeth had met.

  “A handsome face probably, once upon a time,” surmised Elizabeth of her ladyship as she looked closely, without any hint of the nervousness that Sir Lucas or Maria was apparently fraught with. “Mr. Wickham was right,” she recalled as Lady Catherine began to speak, her every sentence delivered with authority, never letting her audience forget her high rank for a moment.

  And strangely, as Elizabeth let her thoughts wander, the first face that came to her mind was that of Mr. Darcy. Partly because their features bore a resemblance, but mostly because how both of their attitudes carried a permanent air of superiority about them. “Well, they are related, after all,” she finally concluded, realising that she had been lingering on those thoughts for longer than she probably must, before shifting her gazes to the daughter.

  “My,” the contrast
ing picture she saw then almost made Elizabeth raise her brows in quiet wonder. With a pale face and a frail figure, Miss Anne de Burgh rarely ever spoke - apart from a low whisper or two to her attendant, Mrs. Jenkinson. After studying the girl for a bit, she decided that the daughter was as different from her mother as was the light of day from darkness of night.

  The dinner, thereafter, was a splendid affair, with Lady Catherine expectedly playing the role of a perfect host while arrays of servants brought in platters of delightful dishes - some of them known, some of them a novelty.

  Elizabeth looked on with silent amusement as Mr. Collins - joined now by Sir Lucas - showered lavish praise on all that they ate, much to the delight of her ladyship. Her own corner of the table was nowhere as lively, as she sat amidst a quiet Mrs. Collins and a quieter Miss Anne.

  “Do you have many sisters, Miss Bennet?” she asked sometime later, in the drawing room, setting her empty cup and saucer on a placemat by the side table. Having only just finished inspecting, interrogating and offering unchallenged advice on every little detail pertaining to Charlotte’s household, it seemed she had turned her attention to Elizabeth now.

  “Four sisters,” she nodded.

  “Are they older? Younger? Likely to be wed anytime soon?” the lady ran a thorough glance over her features, with the sort of expressions that told Elizabeth she was judged as having a pretty face. “Are they all handsome too?”

  Nay, there was no effort whatsoever to hide the forwardness in her ladyship’s tone or queries. But she was not perturbed and sated all of the woman’s curiosity with composure.

  “Yes, I would think each sister handsome in her own way.”

  After going on to proclaim her views about the entailment of the Bennet estate - how she found it unfair on Elizabeth’s mother, and how such a practice was not followed in her husband’s family; she apparently resolved to move her focus to the arts and learning. “Do you sing? Do you play the piano, Miss Bennet?”