When Darcy Met Lizzy: A Teaser

Hi lovely humans,

I thought I’d give you a little teaser of When Darcy Met Lizzy! Here are the first two chapters ❤️

If you like what you hear, consider pre-ordering the book. Pre-orders are super important in the publishing industry, and they’re even more essential for indie authors. You can pre-order the audiobook, the paperback, or the limited hardback edition.

Enjoy!

DARCY WANTED TO tell Bingley she’d rather tear off her own arm than attend the ball in Meryton, but she knew it wouldn’t make a difference. Ever since she’d met Bingley at Cambridge, his bright smile and the hopeful glint in his eyes never failed to save her from her darkest moods. So even though Darcy detested the thought of all those people, the crowded, smoky room, and the way her cravat would grow sweaty and tight against her flesh as the night wore on, how could she possibly disappoint the one person in the whole world capable of bringing her joy? Darcy looked at her friend as he twisted his hands in anticipation. Today was a good day for Bingley. The prospect of dancing, beautiful women, and laughter had lessened his grief, and for the first time in months, she thought she could see the young man Bingley had been before his father died. Darcy knew how he felt; her own father died six years ago when she was just eighteen. She watched Bingley stick his head out the carriage window. The night air streamed through his curly, blonde hair. His pale skin was as thin as a husk over his cheekbones and there were purple half-moons beneath his eyes.

Darcy remembered her grief well: pain that made food bitter and sour on the tongue and sleep, once a place a refuge, unsafe. After her father’s funeral, she’d stood alone in the front hall of her family’s ancestral home, Pemberley. The house was dark; the windows were splattered with rain and foggy from the sudden cold. Georgiana was only ten and had to be carried to bed by the governess, but Darcy? Darcy stood in the hall, unable to take a single step forward. All around her, maids lit candles, and footmen carried her belongings into her father’s old rooms. Pemberley was, as always, a hive of quiet, dedicated, and organized action. But in all that bustle and pragmatism, no one dared disturb Darcy, standing still on the pristine, white marble floor. She was afraid to move because her footsteps echoed so loudly she was frightened of the sound of her own body. Darcy felt like a clumsy giant crashing through her father’s home. Her father’s home. Now her home. She was even younger than Bingley then, barely more than a child herself.

“Darcy, I can’t tell you how glad I am that you’ve come to join me at Netherfield,” Bingley beamed across from her in the carriage. “It wouldn’t have been the same without you.”

Darcy nodded and looked out the window. Moonlight transformed the rolling, peaceful green hills into the silver crests of waves. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. The season was already changing. She could smell it in the air: the cold, rotten smell of wet earth. And apples! That sweet, putrid scent that played along the wind always reminded her of Pemberley. She’d buried her father during autumn, and still, even after all this time, the flicker of frost in the air and the scent of fallow fields brought her back to that awful day when she’d gone to look for her father in his study and found him face down in his ink.

“Make this carriage fly! Tonight, we shall dance until dawn!” Bingley half-yelled out the carriage's window.

Darcy smiled. She was happy for her friend. He’d found a proper estate to rent and perhaps, one day, own. Bingley, the golden child! Just inherited a hundred thousand pounds and a beautiful reputation. Perhaps, by the time his first son was born, Bingley would be a landed gentleman, like Darcy, like her father before her. But unlike Darcy, Bingley had no famous lineage to live up to. No noble mother, no earldom in his past. Yes, Darcy thought, with only the slightest edge of envy, Bingley was free from the burden of expectation. Besides, Bingley was a man. He would never feel the pressure she felt: Mr. Darcy, woman and gentleman, the first child to Mr. Darcy senior and Lady Anne Fitzwilliam, master of all of Pemberley and caretaker of more than five hundred years of noble ancestry. But then again, Darcy thought, Bingley dealt with expectation in his own way. All Bingley wanted was to make everyone around him happy. He was constantly joking and leaving little gifts in your pocket. Bingley’s father spent his entire life in trade so his son could be a landed gentleman. And that was a sort of expectation, wasn’t it? Living your father’s dream? Trying to make your father happy even after he was dead?

For the first time in his life, Bingley had access to his own money. He could go wherever he wanted and do whatever he pleased! The whole world lay open to Bingley. Darcy knew this time was special and might never come again. It was a time of change, of transformation. Possibility clung to him like a shimmering, hopeful aura. He hadn’t made any decisions and so had nothing yet to regret. Darcy wasn’t about to deny her friend anything, not now. So, she was going to the Meryton dance because that’s what Bingley wanted her to do, and by God, she would do it.

“Charles, contain yourself,” said Caroline, Bingley’s sister. She was sitting beside her brother but looking straight at Darcy. She’d felt Caroline’s eyes on her the entire carriage ride but refused to return her gaze.

“I can’t bear the thought of spending more than twenty minutes with such people. Don’t you agree, Darcy?”

“Ignore her, Darcy,” Bingley said. “I imagine that even you will have a good time. Look, here we are!”

The carriage had barely stopped before Bingley bounded out onto the street and into the throng.

Darcy took a deep breath. She adjusted her coat and pulled her collar away from her ears. Her shirt was neat, and her trousers? Perfect. All was in order. There’s nothing for it, she thought and stepped out of the carriage.

ELIZABETH BENNET AND her sisters saw the attractive, elegant group enter the dusty, dimly lit assembly room immediately. Her father, Mr. Bennet had told his wife and five daughters to expect two gentlemen and a lady from London at the ball tonight, and here they were. Their expensive coats shimmered like light upon glass. Mr. Bingley was easy to spot because he was just as her father described—beaming, bright, and boyish. Yes, he’ll do nicely for our Jane, Lizzy thought as she looked over at her oldest sister, who was Bingley’s equal in brightness. Elizabeth turned to examine the woman beside Bingley. She must be his sister, Caroline Bingley. She had the same pale skin, blue eyes, and blonde hair, but instead of a smile, she wore a sour expression as if she’d just taken a sip of spoiled milk.

But the gentleman beside Bingley? Lizzy had no name to match such a handsome face. She was almost as tall as Bingley, and she carried herself with strength and power—so straight and so sure! Her fine, sapphire coat illuminated her rich, tawny brown complexion. The woman glowed with some inner fire—like an ember, cool and dark on the surface but alight within. After a thorough inspection, Lizzy decided that what she liked most about her features was how her thick, black hair, pulled back in a low ponytail at the nape of her neck, accentuated her eyes, which were such a deep brown they looked maroon. There was an air of self-assurance and mystery to the gentleman that was irresistible to Lizzy, who, since childhood, could never tolerate an unanswered question. Mysteries never ceased to delight and intrigue her, and the mystery of a handsome gentleman? Well, that was the most intriguing sort of mystery.

“A woman gentleman,” Lizzy’s mother said, her face wrinkled with distaste.

“Come now, mother, they’re common enough. Why, the other day in Meryton, I saw a woman colonel! Redcoat and all. She nodded her head as Jane and I passed. I heard them talking about her at the millinery. Colonel Forster is her name. She defended us against the French. And, as we all know, she did a fine job! Which is lucky for us, mamma, since neither of us have practiced our French and would have been sorely left out if England had fallen to Napoleon. Could you imagine, mamma, the horror of not being able to gossip with our neighbors? Terrible thought!”

Elizabeth was always amazed that Mrs. Bennet never understood when her daughter was laughing at her. Perhaps it was cruel to mock her mother like she did but Elizabeth couldn’t help it.

“I still say there was something wrong with that Princess Amelia. Can you imagine? Living as a man the way she did! And to be married! To a woman! And her nephew, the king, you know the rumors they say about him…”

“Come now, mamma. When Princess Amelia died, you were not yet born. It was a long time ago. We will have to get used to women gentlemen, if we haven’t already.”

“I will not get used to it!” Mrs. Bennet cried.

Lizzy placed a calming hand on her mother’s elbow. She wouldn’t let her mother’s nerves overtake her—not tonight, not when Elizabeth could already see the way Jane looked at Mr. Bingley across the room. For one night, Lizzy would not allow her mother to make a fool of their family.

“I will never get used to it! How can that woman be a gentleman, but if your father dies, you’ll all be turned out of the house before he’s cold in his grave?! Ah, my poor nerves! I have such a pain in my side. I can feel a spasm coming, Lizzy. You’ll never know my suffering!”

“You forget, mother, it is father’s estate that is entailed away and must only be passed from father to son. It is not the law’s fault, it is not even father’s fault, it is because of Longbourn. One of our forefathers made a mess of things, as forefathers always do. So don’t be too harsh on this handsome gentleman because of their mistakes, mamma. It is not her fault you married the wrong man.”

Lizzy smiled gaily, hoping to end this talk of the entailment before her mother truly began to cry. No matter what she or Jane said, Mrs. Bennet could never seem to understand what an entailment was and why such a horrific thing should have occurred to her family. Her mother’s penchant for hysterics, while entertaining at times, filled Elizabeth with a deep shame. Sometimes Lizzy would look at her mother and wonder—how is it possible that this woman right here is the woman who gave birth to me? How is this woman my creator when sometimes, she is more of a stranger to me than those gentlemen across the room?

“That is Mr. Darcy,” Lizzy’s friend Charlotte Lucas said, coming to her rescue. Trust Charlotte to always have the answers—good, strong, steady Charlotte. “Mr. Bingley’s fortune is nothing compared to hers. Rumor has it that she has ten thousand pounds a year.”

“Ten thousand!” Mrs. Bennet said, looking Darcy over from head to toe, her eyes beady and hawkish. “Ten thousand indeed! Well, she certainly is a fine gentleman,” she said again. “How fascinating!”

Elizabeth shook her head. Of course, now that her mother knew Darcy was the richest person in the room, she was also suddenly the most handsome.

Mr. Bingley crossed the ballroom to greet them immediately, as Lizzy knew he would. Everyone—man, woman, or beast, flocked to Jane’s side. Jane was the kindest person who had ever lived, but she was also one of the most beautiful. Yes, she had all the features considered most attractive in a woman: a tiny waist, full figure, plump bosom, and clear complexion. But Lizzy knew that what made her sister truly beautiful was her true, genuine nature that shone through her face like a beacon. Jane attracted all who saw her—even those with less than honorable characters, which is why Jane had Lizzy. Because while the whole world was beautiful and good in Jane’s eyes, Elizabeth knew better. She could spot an evil or dishonest person from a mile away. All their lives, Elizabeth had stood at Jane’s side, silently defending her from anyone not worthy of her beauty and grace. But Elizabeth could already tell that Bingley was one of the good ones. He flew to Jane in minutes. It was as if the hall had grown dark, and only Jane’s lovely smile was left to light his way through the room.

Jane stuck out her gloved hand, and Bingley blushed at her touch. Good, Lizzy thought. It’s a good sign when a man is nervous around a woman. It shows that he has the ability to truly feel. As Bingley whisked Jane across the dance floor, her white linen dress and his black coat sparkled in the candlelight. Despite Jane’s plain frock from two seasons ago, she captivated the entire ballroom. Lizzy saw Caroline Bingley frowning as she watched her brother dance with Jane. Ha! Lizzy laughed ungenerously. She heard Caroline Bingley had a fortune of twenty thousand pounds compared to Jane’s measly 500 pounds, and only after Mrs. Bennet died. Clearly, Jane’s attractions were beyond the material. Lizzy thought there was nothing worse than being loved for your money and not your soul, and more than anything in the world, Lizzy wanted Jane to be loved for her compassionate and open heart.

Lizzy scanned the room, looking for Mr. Bingley’s friend, Mr. Darcy. She almost missed her, standing in the shadows under the wooden eave on the far side of the hall. But across the room, in the flickering candlelight, Lizzy discovered that Darcy was staring at her with a mute intensity. At first, Lizzy thought she might be imagining it. The gentleman was far away, could she be sure that she was the one Mr. Darcy was looking at? But she felt Darcy’s gaze more than she saw it. Her look sent a flush of heat from the nape of Elizabeth’s neck down her spine to where her heels hit the floor. Darcy did not smile and did not frown. She simply stared at Lizzy openly and without any emotion. It left Elizabeth feeling as if she’d been dunked into a trough of water in the dead of winter and yet her chest glowed with unexpected heat.

Lizzy liked to read faces. She delighted in watching scenes play out at a ball. It was one of life’s greatest pleasures. Which jilted lover left the hall in a huff, which mamma wished to partner her daughter with the wealthiest man in the room, although too often that was her own mamma. She coveted all these little moments and stored them away in her memory. She made a study of characters and liked to know everyone better than they knew her. But Darcy’s face was closed to her. She had never seen an expression that was so drawn, so cold, so impassable. It terrified her.

Neither woman looked away. Elizabeth felt that a face like Darcy’s could mean only one of two things. Either Darcy contained a great emotional emptiness capable of great evil, or she was capable of a depth of feeling so profound and so electrifying it had to be carefully contained. As their eyes met, Elizabeth felt as if something deep within her core, something cold, tight, and long ignored, was suddenly held over a flame. Lizzy squirmed and tore her eyes away from Darcy, but she couldn’t contain the sensation that she was melting. She feared she was dripping all over the ballroom floor.