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Not an Heiress
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Not an Heiress
A Sequel to Discovering Mr. Darcy
Leenie Brown
Leenie B Books
Halifax
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews, without written permission from its publisher and author.
This book is a work of fiction. All names, events, and places are a product of this author’s imagination. If any name, event and/or place did exist, it is purely by coincidence that it appears in this book.
Cover design by Leenie B Books. Images sourced from DepositPhotos and Period Images.
Not an Heiress ©2017 Leenie Brown. All Rights Reserved, except where otherwise noted.
Contents
Dear Reader,
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Epilogue
Unravelling Mr. Darcy Excerpt
Before You Go
Acknowledgements
More Dash of Darcy and Companion Stories
Other Leenie B Books
About the Author
Connect with Leenie Brown
Dear Reader,
This novella is part of my Dash of Darcy and Companions Collection. These Pride and Prejudice inspired stories are quick, sweet reads designed to fit perfectly into a busy life.
Dash of Darcy titles in this collection will focus on Darcy and Elizabeth, while each Companion Story will focus on characters from Pride and Prejudice other than Darcy and Elizabeth and will be a sequel to a Dash of Darcy story.
The books in this collection are numbered in the order in which they were published and contain a complete HEA (happily ever after) for the hero and heroine. However, you may wish to know that all Companion Stories will reference events in the Dash of Darcy story to which they are a sequel, so reading those stories together will provide the greatest enjoyment.
Thank you for selecting to spend time with this story. It is my desire that you will find a sweet escape within its pages.
Happy Reading!
Leenie B.
Prologue
Mr. Bennet settled back in his chair and studied the lady who sat in front of his desk. It was not their first meeting. They had spent several hours in various conversations during his latest stay at Pemberley.
“You are still of the belief that Colonel Fitzwilliam holds a tendre for my Mary?”
Lady Catherine de Bourgh liked Mr. Bennet. He did not dance around a subject — one could be direct with the man. He was also not the sort of gentleman to dismiss a lady simply because she wore a dress and was capable of bearing children. “I am certain. My brother, Lord Matlock, informs me that his son Richard has spent the best part of the season attempting to find a wife.”
“That does not signify that he holds my Mary in regard.”
Lady Catherine smiled. “Perhaps, but I find it curious that each lady has been found lacking despite her beauty and fortune.”
Mr. Bennet shrugged. “He has simply not found that for which he is looking. It is not so unusual.”
“Mr. Bennet, I must disagree. He has found the one he needs to marry. He is just unwilling to accept her because she does not yet have a fortune.” She saw Mr. Bennet’s head begin to shake, but she was not about to allow him to contradict her. She had adequate proof that her supposition was correct, so she shared a sampling. “His father heard him asking one very well dowered young lady whether she read Fordyce, and when she replied in the negative, he thanked her for the dance and departed. He never approached her again.”
Mr. Bennet’s eyes had grown wide, and he had leaned forward eagerly interested.
“My nephew has also grumbled loudly that most of the ladies he has taken for a picnic or a drive do not consider it their place to care for the children. They would prefer a nurse or governess see to the task of raising the next generation of offspring, which you know is not unusual, but it is the opposite of how your daughter views the responsibilities of a mother.”
Mr. Bennet nodded. Mary had always spoken firmly in defense of a mother’s role in caring for her children. And that defense often contained a quote from the scriptures such as that bit about Timothy’s mother. Mr. Bennet scratched just below his ear. He should be able to remember it as oft as he had heard it.
“Those ladies also were never approached again.” Lady Catherine straightened the hem of her sleeve. “Mark my words, Mr. Bennet, my nephew was comparing them to Miss Mary and has found them wanting.”
It was logic that Mr. Bennet could not deny. “So, you have devised a way to make my Mary acceptable to him?”
Lady Catherine inclined her head and gave a half shrug. “I should like him to accept her regardless of what those documents say.” She pointed to the packet of papers lying before Mr. Bennet. Then with a last fidget of straightening her sleeve, she held his gaze. “However, I intend to force the issue much as I did with Darcy.”
A sparkle of amusement shone in Mr. Bennet’s eyes. She had hoped his wish to be amused by the folly of others might assist her in her scheme, and it appeared it would.
“I am not opposed to a compromise,” he said, “as long as it is evident that both will be happy with the results.”
“I could not agree more. I should not wish either unhappy, for I shall, after all, be forced to live with that happiness or lack thereof.”
Mr. Bennet nodded slowly. “Then I give my permission to arrange the match however you see fit.” He touched the place where he had signed the documents to ensure the ink had dried before he folded them and pushed them across the desk toward Lady Catherine. “The second son of an earl is not a bad catch for my Mary.”
Lady Catherine allowed it to be so as she picked up the papers from the desk and placed them in the bag she had brought with her. “I should very much like to have you and your family visit Rosings in one month from today.”
Mr. Bennet’s brows furrowed.
Lady Catherine rose. “Your wife will not be opposed to a wedding breakfast in Kent, will she?” It was such fun to see a man’s eyes pop open wide and his mouth drop open. She had enjoyed creating that expression when just a girl, and it seemed the pleasure did not fade as one aged. She waited while Mary’s father mentally gathered himself.
“I should think she will be delighted,” Mr. Bennet finally managed to reply.
“The earl and countess will also be in attendance.” Her lips pursed as she struggled to keep a grin in check. “I would advise you to bring whatever documents are needed for all to be settled quickly. I shall see that a license is secured.” She extended her hand to Mr. Bennet. “I do so like doing business with a man who knows how to come to the point quickly.”
Mr. Bennet gave her hand a firm shake to seal their deal. “You will ensure she is happy?” he asked, still holding Lady Catherine’s hand.
She nodded. Lady Catherine could understand his hesitance. Parents of any true worth always worried for the happiness of their children. “I would not accept any less than pure delight.” She smiled as he lifted her hand and kissed it. “I shall see you in one month?”
“One month,” he assured her.
She moved to exit the room but then stopped just short of the door. “You will not mention the need for the visit, will you? I should hate for the surprise to be ruined for Miss Mary.” Indeed, her plans would likely come to naught if word reached Mary before they could be put into action.
“Not a word until three weeks hence.” He chuckled. “I can only endure the raptures of my wife in minuscule amounts, and the mere thought of being invited
to an estate such as Rosings and being in the presence of a real lady will send her soaring.”
Lady Catherine chuckled as she reached for the door handle. She had witnessed some of Mrs. Bennet’s raptures over the past three years, and she did not envy Mr. Bennet’s place in having to endure them as often as she suspected he did. “You are a wise man, Mr. Bennet.” She pulled the door open. “One month,” she repeated and waited to get a nod of acceptance before exiting his study.
Chapter 1
Mary Bennet tucked the book she had just finished reading back on the shelf and pulled out another. The selection of books at Rosings was not small, but — she sighed, there were just not enough books of substance, at least, not the substance she sought. She flipped through the pages covered in verse.
There was only so much poetry she could read, and she was certain she had surpassed her limit. In her opinion, poetry did nothing to secure the mind in the realities of propriety. In fact, lately, it had done the exact opposite. It had her dreaming of walks in the forest and along streams with her hand in that of a very handsome gentleman — a gentleman who was not within her reach.
She shoved the book back onto the shelf. Poetry was not what she needed. He would be here soon. She needed to have something more serious to read. Something that would keep her mind from wandering to his wide shoulders and muscular calves. Young ladies should not have such thoughts, especially young ladies who were determined to be an example of propriety to one and all. However, no matter how she tried, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam could not be thought of as serenely as other men. It was really quite vexing how he tormented her with thoughts that caused her to smile at impropriety. A sermon was needed and the sooner, the better.
“If Lady Catherine is looking for me, I will be at the parsonage,” Mary told Fletcher, Rosings’ butler, as she tied on her bonnet in preparation for her walk. “I will not be long.”
“The parsonage?” Lady Catherine de Bourgh stood in the doorway to her sitting room just down the hall from where Mary was attempting her escape. “We have guests arriving. It would not do for you to be gone when they arrive, and if I know my nephews, they will be early just to vex me.”
“I will not be long,” Mary tried to keep the pleading tone from her voice. “I only wish to borrow a book from my cousin.”
Lady Catherine’s eyebrows rose. “Are there not enough books in the library?” She knew precisely the sort of book Mary sought, but it was better to not let the young lady know.
“It is lacking in sermons.” Mary looked at Lady Catherine’s toes. Lady Catherine was not pleased to have her library or any part of her home criticized, nor was she particularly fond of Mary’s choice of reading material. Mary had endured more than one lecture on broadening her repertoire.
“It is lacking in nothing that a young woman should need.” Lady Catherine had taken a liking to Mary when she met the young lady at Pemberley the second summer after Lady Catherine’s nephew Fitzwilliam Darcy and Mary’s sister Elizabeth had married.
Mary was the most likely of the three youngest Bennet sisters, who were in residence that summer, to need improvement and need it the earliest. Lydia and Kitty did not seem to lack an interest in society the way Mary did, nor were Lydia or Kitty in as great a need of a husband since they were younger than Mary.
However, there was something else that endeared the young lady to Lady Catherine — nothing that could be quantified beyond a spirit of gentleness mingled with a will of iron. She smiled. It would be lovely to have such a lady added to her collection of relatives in a closer fashion. It had not escaped her notice how often she found the young lady watching Richard nor how often Richard found reason to be in the presence of Mary.
Mary’s shoulders drooped. “I have faithfully read the novels you gave me and the book of poems. May I not read just one book of sermons?”
Lady Catherine pursed her lips. “One book?”
Mary nodded.
Lady Catherine sighed. “Very well, but be quick.”
Mary dipped a curtsey. “I will, my lady.”
Lady Catherine watched her scurry out the door. It might be best if Mary were gone when the others arrived. It would make discussing her with Darcy and Elizabeth a good deal easier.
“Have the tea things brought in in half an hour,” she said to Fletcher before returning to her sitting room. She sighed. The house was so empty these days without Anne and Mrs. Jenkinson to keep her company. It was partially why she had requested of Mr. Bennet that Mary come to stay with her.
She chuckled. Her meeting with the gentleman had been very productive. Not only had she gotten permission for Mary to come stay at Rosings, but she had also received his blessing to play at matchmaking for the one whom he considered his least-likely-to-marry daughter.
She settled into a chair that stood in just the right place to see the drive and took up her stitching. She would not be caught unawares. Her nephews might attempt to ruffle her feathers by thwarting her carefully scheduled life, but they would not succeed. The thought of ruining their fun with a bit of her own pleased her excessively. She would know when her guests had arrived well before they had stepped one foot from their carriage.
She did not have to wait very long. The tea service was just being laid out when she spotted them. Darcy’s fine carriage appeared first, and then Richard followed, seated high on his horse.
He was a fine specimen of a gentleman. Even she could see that. For all the detractors that found him less handsome than his cousin — which he was since there were few as handsome as Darcy — there were an equal number who found him enticing, especially when he was riding his horse or causing a general stir with some fascinating tale. Mary would be a very fortunate young lady to have such a husband.
And he would do well to have a sensible and devoted wife. Lady Catherine gave a little shrug. It was perhaps Richard who was getting the better end of the bargain. Mary was no wallflower, no matter how much she might attempt to be one. True, she did not shine like Jane or sparkle like Elizabeth, but she was not without charm. It was just that hers was the kind of beauty that lay quietly, waiting to be noticed.
Lady Catherine laid aside her stitching and watched as the carriage came to a stop and Richard jumped down to claim Alexander from his parents. He would make an excellent father despite his tendencies to exuberance and impropriety. She could not help smiling as he trotted off toward the garden with a laughing child on his shoulder.
It appeared the moment had come, and she smoothed her skirts nervously as she rose to greet Darcy and Elizabeth. With neither of the objects of her scheming present, now would be the best time to inform her other guests of her intentions to see Mary and Richard happily wed.
~*~*~
Mary did not spend very long at the parsonage, just a few minutes with Charlotte, hearing about the antics and accomplishments of the two young Collins boys and inquiring after Charlotte’s health as she was preparing for the arrival of a third child. Then, after a mere five minutes of listening to Mr. Collins wax eloquent on the book he was lending, she was free to leave.
Charlotte was so very good at distracting her husband when he began meandering. Mary hoped that when she married, she might find a sensible husband. A parson would be nice — one with a good living or two. Such an arrangement would afford her the comfort she desired. Of course, the wedding papers would have to be created in such a fashion as to leave her and any children she might have with ample means to live without relying on the charity of relations too much if she should be left a widow. She did not wish to have to worry about such things as her mother did.
She sighed. If only she were an heiress. Then, she would have a home and a husband that would provide everything for which she wished, but she was not an heiress, and so she must put fanciful and imprudent dreams out of her head. Colonel Fitzwilliam would not be hers, no matter what her heart’s desire was on the matter.
She rambled along the tree lined lane with her book under her arm and
mind firmly engaged with one of those imprudent dreams. In this one, she was walking this very lane leaning on the colonel’s arm. She sighed. She had noticed how his arms had been so very firm and strong whenever she had had the chance to walk with him at Pemberley. So strong. She wondered if a parson would be as well muscled as a colonel. She supposed not. After all, a colonel spent his time in riding and other gentlemanly pursuits while a parson spent his time studying. Reading, though a magnificent exercise for the brain, did very little to strengthen the body.
It was on these things that she was pondering when she turned from the lane and entered Rosing’s garden in the exact place where Richard was being chased by a squealing Alexander. She was not prepared to confront him just now. She had not had a moment to read anything grave! How was she to not allow her mind to be filled with him when she had fed it with nothing but poetry and novels? So, being totally unprepared, she was doomed to be struck most soundly by his presence and the charming prospect of him as he might be as a father. Had Alexander not stopped when she appeared at the edge of the garden, she might have been able to slip back into the lane and find a less provocative route to the house or a place to sit and read a bit before she ventured back into the garden.
“Miss Mary!” Colonel Fitzwilliam drew to a halt not far from her. “I did not expect to see you at Rosings? Are you visiting your cousin?” He directed the question to her but turned to make certain Alexander was still close. The child had moved, but not away. He had taken a few steps toward Mary and was tipping his head to the side as if he were trying to figure out who she was. “It is Aunt Mary,” Richard told him. “Mama’s sister.” He held out his arms in invitation to Alexander. “Come. Give your greetings as a proper young gentleman should.”
It did not take more than a minute for the child to find his way into Richard’s arms where he managed to give Mary a sweetly proper greeting by repeating everything that Richard told him to say.