Darcy & Elizabeth: A Season of Courtship (Darcy Saga Prequel Duo)

“Darcy & Elizabeth: A Season of Courtship”
Copyright © 2014 by Sharon Lathan

Front and Back Cover and internal design © 2014 by Sharon Lathan

Front Cover portrait in public domain - “Safe at Last” by George Sheridan
Knowles (date unknown)
Back Cover landscape in public domain – “Wivenhoe Park in Essex” painted
by John Constable for Major General Francis Slater Rebow in 1816.

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Sharon Lathan

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

Published by Sharon Lathan

www.SharonLathanAuthor.com

Books by
Sharon Lathan

* * *

Mr. & Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy: Two
Shall Become One

Loving Mr. Darcy: Journeys Beyond
Pemberley

My Dearest Mr. Darcy: An Amazing Journey
into Love Everlasting

In the Arms of Mr. Darcy

A Darcy Christmas

The Trouble with Mr. Darcy

Miss Darcy Falls in Love

The Passions of Dr. Darcy

Darcy
& Elizabeth: A Season of Courtship

Darcy
& Elizabeth: Hope of the Future
(coming soon)

Table of
Contents

* * *

Prologue:
Hope Enters on a Whirlwind

Declarations
at Sunrise

Love
Flurries and Fogs

Starlit
Evening

Flash
Floods of News

Frosts of
Jealousy

Warmth of
Autumn

October
Showers

Sun
Shines on London

Fall
Pruning of Prickly Debris

Shivering
from the Heat

Emotional
Downpour at Darcy House

The chalked end of the stick hit
the white ball precisely as aimed. The sharp
thwack
of impact was
rapidly followed by sharper cracks as the cue ball bashed into the triangle of
red balls.

Fitzwilliam Darcy watched the balls
scatter across the green felt surface. His keen gaze evaluated his potential
next shots as one red ball dropped into a corner pocket and three others slowly
rolled into favorable positions. Now came the option of choosing an easy point
over a maneuver that required extreme deliberation and application of his
skills. Considering the purpose in his solo game of billiards, the latter was
the sensible choice.

A week ago, he had departed
Netherfield in Hertfordshire and returned to London and his house on Grosvenor
Square. His preference would normally be Pemberley, especially this time of the
year, when hunting was exceptional and the fall foliage burst forth in vivid
colors. The thought of his beautiful Derbyshire home, sitting on a pastoral
rise on the edge of the River Derwent, brought an ache to his heart. But the
pain of homesickness was a mild sting compared to the agony eating at his soul.
Mounting his horse and riding away from Hertfordshire—
from her
—had
proven far more difficult than leaving Pemberley ever had.

A week of busy days with his
solicitor, working at his desk, fencing at Angelo’s, riding at the track, and a
dozen alternative activities depleted his energy and prevented his musings from
incessantly drifting to contemplations of what Elizabeth Bennet was doing, who
she was talking with, what she was wearing, or—most dangerous of all—whether
she was thinking about him even a tiny bit. Unfortunately, his cousin Colonel
Fitzwilliam was not in Town, although Richard would probably bluntly call him a
coward and a fool for being here in the first place. Since Darcy fought daily
against accusing himself of that very thing, it was probably for the best that
the colonel was away on some sort of military mission.

It was late in the afternoon and
the windows of the Darcy House billiard room were open to encourage the
entrance of cooling breezes. Even in crowded London, where breezes of any sort
were scarce, one could reasonably expect to obtain some relief by opening
windows during the first days of October. But not today. Unseasonably warm
weather gripped the city. Those citizens who could not escape to country
estates added the heat to their list of daily complaints. Not that Darcy was
remotely aware of what anyone in London was grumbling about. He was too
preoccupied with his own miseries, none of which had to do with the weather.

For the present, he welcomed the
heat because it contributed to the mild sweat he had worked up after three
previous, intense games of billiards. Never mind that he was playing alone and
not keeping score; the activity of hitting balls accurately necessitated
discipline and concentration. Both were excellent for distracting his mind from
dwelling upon his love life.

Or lack thereof.

Billiards proved a better choice
than reading, so he bent over the table to line up what would be a jaw-dropping
shot if successful. But the test of his expertise would remain eternally
unknown in this particular instance. A sudden tumult from the corridor caused
him to straighten from the table, and a half second later, the door burst open
and smashed into the wall.

Lady Catherine de Bourgh charged
through, not unlike a raging bull toward a fluttering red cape.

Shocked speechless, Darcy stared at
her advancing body and forgot to bow or relinquish the cue. A white-faced Mr.
Travers, the butler, trailed behind her, his pleas falling unheard, and after a
stunned nod from Mr. Darcy, he practically bolted from the room.

Darcy did not have time to envy the
butler’s escape. His aunt was already talking—or yelling, to be precise.

“Darcy, I have passed the most
unpleasant morning as a result of alarming reports, scandalous falsehoods that
I intended to deal decisively with at the root, in the same manner as one
employs to destroy a poisonous weed. My intentions were honorable and wholly of
sound reason, I can assure you! One anticipates that a person will be
reasonable, especially when confronted with logic and facts by a woman of my
breeding and station. To say that I have never been thus treated in all my days
is a vast understatement. I had no wish to burden you with this vicious
scheming, Nephew. I hoped to ease your load and spare your sensibilities by
talking to the chit myself. Never did I expect a girl of uncommon
pigheadedness! Such hideous lack of propriety and decency! Rude as I have never
before encountered! How could I have been so blind as to not see her for the
creature she is? No wonder she could presume, as unworthy as she is in every
facet, that she could use her wiles to reach above where she rightfully
belongs. I shudder to imagine what our well-ordered world is degrading to if
this brand of selfishness and, yes, evil abounds! Of course, considering her
upbringing and low connections…”

After no less than five attempts to
interject into Lady Catherine’s tirade, Darcy surrendered the effort. He stood
at the edge of the billiard table, the cue finally laid onto the felt surface,
and focused on his obviously furious aunt. The worst of his surprise passed, to
be replaced by concern and confusion. Her disjointed harangue made no sense to
him whatsoever, and with the dearth of concrete facts as to what the “scandalous
falsehoods” were, Darcy failed to muster a personal concern.

Lady Catherine, on the other hand,
was red-faced and sweating! Rather than losing steam, each sentence appeared to
rile her more. Darcy began to fear she might faint or collapse from an
apoplectic fit. As he stepped forward to commandeer the unstable situation,
Lady Catherine’s most recent remark finally penetrated and instantly doused his
concern.

“What did you just say? You were at
Longbourn? Are you speaking of Miss Elizabeth Bennet?”

His cold inflection and abrupt
stride toward her accomplished what his previous, soft interjections had not.
Lady Catherine’s voice stuttered to a halt. She misinterpreted the icy anger
visible in his eyes and the hard set of his jaw, made evident by her next
words.

“Indeed I am speaking of that
horrible girl! Nephew, you have no idea the degree of scheming amongst that
family. Tragically the eldest has sunk her claws into poor Mr. Bingley,
although perhaps there is hope for him yet. The scandal of a broken betrothal
is minimal compared to the devastation of marrying into
that
family—”

“Enough!” he barked. “I refuse to
listen to slurs against the Bennet ladies or Mr. Bingley. Are we clear?”

Lady Catherine merely stared,
neither agreeing nor disagreeing with his command. Then her eyes narrowed. “I
was certain it must be impossible. Please tell me there is no truth to the
claims, Darcy. Surely the Master of Pemberley is too wise to be drawn in by a
pretty face and seductive advances. You would not forget your promises to Anne
and stoop so low as to actually offer marriage to that girl, would you?”

“Lady Catherine, my personal
affairs are absolutely none of your business. Not now, not ever. And I will not
listen to another word, from this day on, regarding Anne and me. That topic has
been closed for a decade or more.” He stepped closer, fury warring with panic
and causing his insides to churn. “As unfathomable as it is, evidently you
accepted rumors from God knows where and then traveled from Rosings to
Longbourn for the express purpose of confronting Miss Elizabeth Bennet. What,
exactly, did you say to her, Aunt Catherine?”

“Only the truth. That it had been
reported to me by a reliable source, by my rector, Mr. Collins, that not only
had the eldest Bennet contrived to receive an advantageous offer of marriage,
but that
you
were to soon be united with Elizabeth Bennet! Impertinent
girl that she is, a straight answer to my request for clarification was not
rendered. By her evasion and shameful arguing,
with me
no less, I knew
it to be a vile lie. Nevertheless, she persisted in countering every logical
reason I gave for why a match with you is unacceptable.”

During her reply, Darcy turned and
lurched to the window. Blindly, he stared outside. Darkness, borne of murderous
rage and plunging despair, engulfed him. Coherent thought was nearly
impossible, and his aunt’s words sliced as painful as a dagger thrust into his
gut.