Mr. Darcy, the Heir of Pemberley is the title of my current work-in-progress. It’s been a while since I wrote my last full-length retelling. I’m excited to be embarking on this journey.
For the fans of Pride and Prejudice who love competition between Darcy and another man for Elizabeth’s affection, here is a story that is guaranteed to be entertaining and full of surprises.
To add to the intrigue, Darcy has yet to inherit Pemberley. At four and twenty, both of his parents are alive—a happy circumstance, indeed, but one wrought with formidable obstacles in the path to happily ever after.
The story is told from the perspectives of several characters while weaving a tender love story between Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth.
I love returning to Pride and Prejudice and playing with the characters to see how they’ll react in different situations as new friends are made and new foes are encountered. I’m especially delighted that I’ve found a way to introduce a compelling new man for Elizabeth to choose from, which always makes for extra drama in Pride and Prejudice stories!
Here’s an excerpt from Chapter 1 for your reading pleasure. Enjoy!
Chapter 1
London, England – Spring 18xx
Fitzwilliam Darcy’s face felt stiff and unbending as the cool evening breeze brushed his flesh. His mouth ached with the weight of a frown. The loud chatter and music within the ballroom, full of sharply attired gentlemen and women wearing fashionable gowns and jewels, grated on him. He abhorred standing around and watching others make merry while he silently stewed. Darcy had no patience with his current situation, so he stepped outside to clear his mind.
The balcony’s solitude afforded him the perfect haven, away from the petty pleasures of others. The moon was full that night, its silvery rays casting a net across the skies, draping the grounds in its delicate glow. Darcy rested his hands on the balustrade, which was wrought with flowers—their sweet aroma anointing the eaves where it mingled with the honeysuckle blooming on the trellis. The palms of his hands fitted perfectly into the thick stone, and he steadied himself on the barrier. Darcy closed his eyes and let his mind wander. His thoughts seemed to drift miles and miles away, until the music and laughter faded into the background. At length, footsteps approaching from behind broke his concentration.
Darcy darted his eyes around, looking for the source of the footsteps. One of his closest friends, Charles Bingley, was approaching and gave him a quick wave.
“What is it, Bingley?”
Good-looking and gentlemanlike, Bingley stood nearly as tall as Darcy. Darcy’s junior by two years, Bingley had a pleasant countenance and easy, unaffected manners.
“Come, Darcy,” Bingley said, “I must have you come back inside and dance. I hate to see you sulking about by yourself in this stupid manner. You had much better return to the ballroom and dance.”
Fitzwilliam Darcy scoffed. Absolving himself completely for his current state, he blamed his friend Bingley instead for his being there. Despite his pleasure at being in London, far away from Pemberley, his family’s estate in Derbyshire and his mother’s prying eyes, attending such soirees were not his favorite means of passing the time. A single young man of four and twenty, and the future heir to a large fortune—one far too large, in fact, for his own good, he had much rather be at White’s with his friends. Bingley, the outgoing fellow he was, had insisted they attend the soiree instead, and he’d challenged Darcy to a bet. Darcy lost the bet, and the price to pay was attending that night’s soiree.
Continue Reading on my Patreon Page (initial chapters are free)
