P&P What-Ifs #1 - Never Frightened at the Will of Others

Less than a year ago I wrote this simple what if.

What if Lady Catherine had found out about Mr. Darcy’s intentions before he had the chance to propose to Elizabeth at the parsonage?

Well, Never Frightened at the Will of Others is my answer to this question. A variation that begins with a confrontation between Lady Catherine and Elizabeth… taking a very unexpected turn.

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Never Frightened at the Will of Others

Elizabeth sat alone in the parsonage drawing room, Jane’s letters spread across her lap like open wounds still bleeding beneath the surface.

Her sister’s careful hand spoke of cheerful days and kind company, but Elizabeth could read the ache behind the cheer in her words. Jane’s happiness had not returned, nor would it, not while the shadow of Mr. Bingley's absence lingered.

And now she knew the reason. Only this morning, Colonel Fitzwilliam had unwittingly confirmed what her instincts had long suspected. Mr. Darcy had intervened.

Mr. Darcy. Her fingers clenched around the pages. To wound her sister—gentle, kind Jane—it was unforgivable.

She was interrupted from her thoughts only minutes after Charlotte and Mr. Collins had departed for Rosings Park, when Lady Catherine de Bourgh entered unannounced and brimming with purpose.

Elizabeth rose and greeted her with strained composure.

“Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” said Lady Catherine in her most imperious tone, “I must have a word with you.”

Elizabeth inclined her head politely. “Of course, Lady Catherine. What do you require of me?”

“I have just spoken with my nephew. He intends to propose to you this evening,” she declared. “I have come to forbid you from accepting his offer.”

Her nephew? For one breathless moment she thought of Colonel Fitzwilliam—only to dismiss the notion a heartbeat later. He had made it plain he needed a bride with a fortune. There was only one man Lady Catherine could mean. It could only be Mr. Darcy.

Mr. Darcy? The idea was so absurd she nearly laughed in Lady Catherine’s face.

The Lady’s voice cut through her thoughts. “Refuse him, and I shall see two thousand pounds added to your dowry. So, I ask you plainly, will you promise never to marry my nephew?”

To say Elizabeth was offended would be a gross understatement. Her stomach twisted, as if the offer were something foul she had been forced to swallow. Her pride, her very sense of self, recoiled. Humiliation prickled hot at her neck, followed swiftly by the cold steadiness of fury. That anyone could believe her so cheaply bought, so easily persuaded, it was intolerable.

“Lady Catherine,” she said, drawing herself up, “I have never been so insulted in my life. You have entirely mistaken my character if you believe I can be influenced by such methods. How far your nephew may approve of your interference, I cannot say; but you have certainly no right to concern yourself in my affairs. I must beg, therefore, that you speak no further on this subject.”

She had barely finished speaking when a sound near the doorway caught her attention, a soft movement, a breath. Someone was listening.

“So, you are resolved to have him, then?” Lady Catherine demanded sharply, her eyes narrowing.

Elizabeth’s heart raced. He was here. He had heard her.

“I have said no such thing,” Elizabeth replied steadily. “I am only resolved to act in the way that will, in my own judgment, secure my happiness, without reference to you, or to any person so wholly unconnected with me.”

At that, the door opened.

“Aunt, this is enough,” said Mr. Darcy firmly as he stepped into the room. His voice, usually so composed, carried the edge of restrained fury. “I confided in you with the hope of avoiding precisely this sort of scene... I had hoped to speak with Miss Elizabeth privately.”

Elizabeth’s breath caught as his words tumbled through her mind. She turned toward him slowly, heart thudding. His eyes met hers, full of a tenderness she had never imagined he could possess.

Was he going to?

“My dear Elizabeth,” he said, “I am sorry you were approached so rudely by my aunt. I had hoped to offer you something far more romantic. But please, you must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

Elizabeth froze.

Surely, she had misheard him.

Her thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind. The room felt too small for her breath. She had heard him—admire and love—and yet could not quite believe it.

Then, Elizabeth’s pulse quickened, not from hope, but indignation. He had interfered in her sister’s happiness, and now he asked for her hand in marriage? How dare he?

And yet, behind him, Lady Catherine stood scowling, her disdain palpable in the air. Her insulting offer still echoing in Elizabeth’s mind.

She turned toward the lady and caught the smug look hiding in her eyes, certain that someone like Elizabeth couldn’t reject her money, and with that, something in Elizabeth stirred, something proud, reckless, unyielding. She would not give that woman the satisfaction. She would not be bought off. She would not let anyone, least of all Lady Catherine, believe her affections could be manipulated or suppressed.

Her chin lifted. Her voice escaped before reason could catch it.

“I accept.”

The words rang clear. Mr. Darcy's eyes widened slightly, hope blooming across his face.

But Elizabeth barely noticed. Her heart pounded, her breath unsteady. The room had gone still. Lady Catherine let out a gasp that might have been a word or a curse. Mr. Darcy stepped forward, warmth in his expression.

And Elizabeth, she could not meet his gaze.

Now, too late, the full weight of her words settled in. It had not been love that spoke, it had been pride, resistance, the fierce thrill of defiance. Her answer had been for Lady Catherine, not for the man who stood before her.

She had won. But what sort of victory was this?

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I’d love to hear your thoughts, should this what if turn into a full book? Feel free to leave a comment or hit reply to let me know!