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  DARCY’S MATCH

  A PRIDE AND PREJUDICE CONTINUATION

  PHILIPPA J ROSEN

  Text copyright © 2019 Philippa J Rosen

  All Rights Reserved

  For their first wedding anniversary, Darcy and Lizzy propose a weekend of very special entertainment at Pemberley. A cricket match is announced, between Darcy’s team and a team of professional players from Kent cricket club.

  Darcy invites two old friends from Cambridge, William and Jonny Hammond. An incident from his past, however means that Jonny Hammond might not play, and it also makes the others treat him with suspicion.

  Over the course of the weekend, it becomes clear that Mary Bennet has taken an interest in one of the Hammond brothers. But Lizzy is not certain that he can be trusted.

  Find out more in this affectionate and funny continuation of the classic novel.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Notes

  DARCY’S MATCH

  Chapter 1

  It is a truth universally acknowledged, that for some couples, marriage is a partnership which builds and is steadfast and does not collapse with adversity.

  Darcy and Lizzy sat in the library one sunny day in spring. Feigning to read a thick volume by Mr Richardson, Darcy looked at Lizzy closely. They had been married almost a year and had just returned from a trip to the south of England. Darcy thought it had been the best and happiest year of his life.

  As a wife, Lizzy was pragmatic and efficient.

  As a friend and companion, she was witty and intelligent, easily a match for her husband.

  As a mistress of the house, she was kind and friendly to servants and tradesmen.

  As a lover, she was frank and responsive and returned his passion in full.

  As a sister and daughter, she ensured her husband led an interesting life.

  They shared a mutual respect as well as attraction. Their quarrels were infrequent, sometimes fiery, but always resolved by the time they retired to their bed chamber for the night.

  She saw him watching her and smiled.

  “What are you staring at, Fitzwilliam?”

  “Oh, just admiring my wife,” he said.

  She blushed charmingly as he put down his book.

  “I hope you enjoyed our trip, my love?” he said.

  “Oh, darling, it was wonderful. Hampshire is beautiful at this time of year. The boat trip on The Solent, swimming together in The Channel, long walks over the meadows, along the cliffs, long afternoons alone; it was perfect, magical.”

  “And did you enjoy the cricket match?”

  “Actually, I did. I thought it would be rather dull, but when Mr Stevens explained all the strange rules and regulations, I found it most interesting.”

  “I am glad. I felt rather bad at first, taking you to watch cricket. I know some people find it tedious. I felt I might be acting a little selfishly, just because I enjoy it.”

  “Selfish? You, Fitzwilliam? Not at all. And even if I hadn’t been interested, that shouldn’t mean that you miss out on things you enjoy. And I’m sure it would be the same if there were things I enjoyed. For example, you wouldn’t want me to miss out in enjoying the company of my mother and younger sisters, would you? I mean both of us, of course.”

  “Of course not,” he said, with just a hint of doubt in his tone.

  She grinned. She was gently teasing him again. Deep down though, she did miss her family sometimes.

  “Shall we go for a walk around the estate his morning?” he said, returning to his book.

  “That would be pleasant.”

  “In half an hour, say?”

  “Perfect.”

  Half an hour later they began their walk. It was a beautiful sunny morning. They set off across the extensive lawns and went into the meadows, green and pleasant, sprinkled with wild flowers of brilliant hue; yellow, blue, pink and white. They climbed the gentle slopes. They skirted dense woods, following smooth paths of cinder and stone, walking hand in hand, oblivious to everything except each other and the soft, lush beauty of their surroundings.

  “Shall we walk up to the tower?” said Darcy

  “How far is it do you think?”

  “No more than a quarter of a mile. A mere ten minute walk at most.”

  As they rounded a small hillock, the folly came into view, black against the bright sky. It was a tall round tower, turreted at the top and located on the highest hill on the estate. It had been there for many years and everybody, within Pemberley and without, called it ‘The Tower’. They walked to the top of the hill and stood beside The Tower.

  “We have walked quite a distance, haven’t we, Lizzy?”

  “Indeed. I confess, I am rather weary now. I would rather like to sit but the grass will stain my dress. And your white linen britches too.”

  “No matter,” said Darcy.

  He went to the other side of The Tower, took an old key from his pocket and opened a small wooden door. He returned with two collapsible oak chairs and opened them up for Lizzy and himself.

  “I didn’t know we had chairs in The Tower,” she said

  “We didn’t. Until I asked one of the servants to place a couple there. In case one should need a seat upon which to rest.”

  They sat down and gazed on the estate. Beneath them the fields stretched out and beyond them they saw Pemberley itself, golden stone in a sea of green. Beyond that were farmers’ fields, some laden with crops, some fallow, a patchwork of green, yellow and brown.

  “I do love Pemberley,” sighed Lizzy. “even though I’ve been here nearly a year, there are still new things I discover on a regular basis.”

  “I know. There are so many little nooks and crannies throughout the estate.”

  “Yes.”

  He made a sweeping gesture with his arm.

  “Not just the house itself but the grounds too. There are little monuments hidden away in the woods, bridges of stone to cross the brooks and streams, strange statues from foreign lands.”

  Lizzy sat deep in thought.

  “Has it been a year? Why, Fitzwilliam, we’ve been married for nearly a year.”

  “How quickly it’s gone. Lizzy.”

  “We should celebrate.”

  “We should. In fact, I have been giving the matter some thought for the last few weeks. We could throw open Pemberley for a few days. Invite guests. All our friends…”

  “And family,” said Lizzy brightly.

  There was a brief pause.

  “Of course. Family too. Your mother and father and all four of your sisters. Charles too of course. But not Wickham. Definitely not Wickham.”

  “But, Fitzwilliam, my love…”

  “I’m sorry, dearest, but I cannot have that man in my house. You remember how he treated my dear sister? Remember Ramsgate?”

  “Of course. I understand.”

  They sat in front of The Tower and happily made plans together. There would be a dinner of course, and a ball. Darcy suggested activities outside, in the beautiful, extensive gardens.

  “What kind of outside activity?” said Lizzy.

  “A game of some kind?”

  He looked down at all the fields and meadows that stretched all the way back to their fine home, the centrepiece of the Pemberley estate. Near the house itself was a large area of lawn. Well mowed and watered, it was flat and smooth. It would be easy enough to establish a strip in the middle, roughly twenty two yards long and ten feet wide. All he had to do then was have the strip mow
n short and made flat using a heavy roller and bound the field with some kind of boundary, wicket fences perhaps.

  “A game of cricket?” he ventured.

  “Cricket?”

  “Why not. I know several people who play a decent game. Charles Bingley plays very well.”

  Lizzy considered it for a moment.

  “I think that is an excellent idea. And from what I understand from Charlotte’s letters, Mr Collins plays too.”

  “Mr Collins? You mean Mr Collins the clergyman?”

  “Yes, apparently he’s a decent wicket keeper.”

  “Really? A wicket keeper? Good heavens. And you’d be willing to invite him to Pemberley? After he behaved so wretchedly?”

  “Yes, why not?”

  He shook his head.

  “Lizzy, my love, you have more forbearance than I.”

  They talked further. Darcy had the idea of throwing Pemberley open for the people in the local villages to watch the cricket match for a small charge. The funds raised thereby could be put to a good charitable purpose, like assisting men returned from the war. Lizzy thought it was an excellent idea. They talked at length, not just about the celebrations but about their present life together, their future and the events which had brought them together. It was a pleasant discourse.

  “How long have we been here do you think?” said Lizzy.

  Darcy looked up.

  “Well, from the current position of the sun, I would say an hour or two.”

  “We shall be very late for lunch.”

  “Are you feeling hungry?”

  “A little. Perhaps we should have brought some kind of pic-nic with us.”

  “Oh, I think I can do better than that.”

  He went to the back of The Tower again and went in the little door. He emerged carrying a wicker basket.

  “Why, Fitzwilliam, what is that?”

  “It’s our lunch. I had the servants place it there earlier. It’s very dark and cool inside so everything will still be fresh.”

  He opened the basket.

  “Now let me see. We have various cold meats, some bread, various cheeses, a little fruit. And a rather good bottle of wine.”

  “What a wonderful surprise.”

  He set up a small table and began to lay out the food. They ate an excellent lunch together. Afterwards he put everything back in The Tower, assured that the servants would bring everything back to Pemberley house later.

  “Shall we return?” he said.

  “Yes, let’s. And perhaps later we can sit down and decide whom to invite to our celebrations.”

  “Excellent idea.”

  They walked down the hill, Darcy a few yards in front.

  “And, Fitzwilliam?”

  “Yes?” he said, looking back.

  “I’ve been thinking. As you refuse to invite Mr Wickham, and I agree with you entirely…”

  “What are you getting at, Lizzy?” he said with a grin.

  “Well, perhaps I ought to have a veto too?”

  “I see.”

  “I promise I shall use it wisely.”

  Darcy smiled to himself as he waited for Lizzy at the bottom of the hill. The wisest thing she could do, he thought to himself, was to use her veto on her mother. It would save on the bill for victuals at least, not to mention the good wines.

  So far then, he pondered as he walked, the guests consisted of his good friend Charles Bingley and his pleasant wife Jane. Mr and Mrs Bennet and their two youngest daughters, Mary and Kitty. And if the detested Mr Wickham were not there, then presumably Lydia would come with her parents. Well, if Lizzy could endure the odious Mr Collins, then he could certainly manage to get through a few days in the company of Lizzy’s family. And besides, Mr Bennet was amusing and decent company. His stories about Lizzy’s mother were always entertaining, though one was always happy to be a spectator rather than a participant, as it were. Nevertheless, it was very apparent that Mr Bennet loved his wife and would be quite lost without her.

  When they reached the house, they went in and changed their clothes. Then they went down to the study together. Darcy ordered refreshments for them and they sat together at a large oak desk. Darcy took a sheet of paper and began to make sketches of the field and what would be necessary to change it into a cricket pitch. He made copious notes on the paper, giving detailed instructions to his gardeners. Lizzy also took a sheet of paper and started to make a list of guests.

  After only a few days they had decided upon most of the arrangements. The guests were to arrive on Thursday or Friday. There would be a formal dinner on Friday evening. The cricket match would be played on Saturday, followed by a simple meal. If time permitted, there would be an intimate and low key ball that same evening. The guests would then return home on Sunday or Monday, as they saw fit.

  Darcy spoke to his cooks about food, and his vintner was summoned to discuss the ordering of as much wine, port, brandy, sherry and diverse liquors as was felt necessary. Aware that Lizzy’s mother and younger sisters would be present, Darcy added thirty percent to his original estimate. Even then, he was a little anxious.

  Lizzy ensured that elegant letters of invitation were duly sent to all their prospective guests.

  Darcy hit upon a felicitous idea. He knew a couple of people from his time at Cambridge who had played cricket at the highest level. And he had connections with the Kent cricket club, at the time one of the best county sides in England. He wrote, inviting them to bring a team to play his own eleven at Pemberley. He knew they would be too good against his own team, so asked that they lend him a handful of their own players for the game.

  With perhaps five or six Kentish players and his two Cambridge friends, he knew that not only would it ensure the match would not be hopelessly one sided, but would generate genuine interest among local people. Furthermore, the remaining players in his team would raise their own game if they knew they were playing against real county players. He himself would play, and Charles Bingley of course. Collins would be wicket keeper (he found it hard to believe that the man had any skill at all, but he took Charlotte’s word). That left Mr Darcy maybe one player short. Well, he thought, he would find somebody from somewhere. But not Wickham, even if he were the best player who had ever wielded a piece of willow…

  Mr and Mrs Bennet received their letter of invitation after a few days.

  “Why, Mr Bennet,” said the good lady of the house, “it seems Lizzy and Mr Darcy have invited us to the first anniversary of their marriage. It is to be held at Pemberley later this month.”

  “Splendid,” said Mr Bennet. “And are our daughters invited too?”

  “Of course. In fact, it states that a coach will be sent to take us all. Including Lydia.”

  “Including Lydia?” said Mr Bennet.

  “Including Lydia. That’s what it says here. That’s rather strange isn’t it? What do you think it means?”

  “It probably means that her husband has not been invited,” he said under his breath.

  “I wonder who will be there?” she said, staring out of the window but seeing nothing.

  “The usual crowd I expect,” said Mr Bennet.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, you know, it will be our married daughters and their husbands; Darcy and Lizzy, Jane and Charles, Lydia and perhaps Wickham.”

  “Don’t forget Mary and Kitty.”

  “The ones who are still on our hands?” he said wryly. “How could I?”

  “Oh, Mr Bennet, don’t say that. After all, we’ve married three of them off. And three out of five isn’t too bad is it?”

  “No, not too bad,” he said with a chuckle.

  “And don’t forget, it is primarily due to my machinations that three husbands have been found to date.”

  “I haven’t forgotten, my dear. And if I ever do, I am certain that you will remind me.”

  Mr and Mrs George Wickham sat in dining room of their comfortable house. They were seated for a late breakfast as was t
heir wont. Around them was scattered the detritus of a riotous party. The guests had included not only their most intimate friends but also aa number of acquaintances whom they had known for barely a couple of weeks.

  “I wish we had more servants, George,” said Lydia with her familiar charming pout.

  “You do, my love?” said Mr Wickham, not lifting his eyes from his magazine.

  “Yes. Then the remnants of last night’s entertainment would have been cleaned up by now. Shall I ring for somebody to begin removing the plate and empty bottles? That would be a start, wouldn’t it?”

  “True, my love, true,” he said in his careless manner, “but then that would delay them preparing our breakfast.”

  “I suppose you’re right.”

  There was a knock at the door.

  “Don’t stir, my love, the servant will answer it.”

  “And that will make breakfast even later,” pouted Lydia.

  A few moments later, a servant handed Mr Wickham a letter.

  “Any response awaited, Baily?”

  “No, sir. The man just handed me the letter and left.”

  Wickham opened the letter and read. He read again and turned over the letter to ascertain whether or not he had missed anything.

  “Strange,” he said.

  “What is it? Who is it from?” said Lydia.

  “It’s from your sister.”

  “Which one?”

  “The one whose husband looks at me with contempt.”

  “Which one?” she said with a grin.

  Mr Wickham looked up at her. Amused by her little joke he smiled at her.

  “I mean your sister Lizzy. It’s actually from them both.”

  “And what does it say?”

  “The deuce,” he said, “I cannot quite comprehend what they mean by this.”

  “What does it say, George?”

  “It invites us to a weekend at Pemberley to celebrate the anniversary of their nuptials. Was it really a year ago? Good heavens. It says ‘Mr and Mrs Fitzwilliam Darcy cordially invite you to join them at Pemberley in order to celebrate the first anniversary of their wedding day…”