A Pride and Prejudice relationship chart

My husband read my book. He kept telling me he was going to read it, but I really didn't think he would, because he never reads fiction. He reads--he reads lots of books; just not fiction. However, I was wrong! He did read it, once we got a hard copy.

Now, my husband is familiar with Pride and Prejudice in a general way. He's watched at least parts of various movie versions, and I will sometimes talk to him about the characters and what I'm writing about. However, he is not so familiar as to remember exactly who everybody is, and a few chapters into UA, he was asking me a lot of questions about how different people were related. To help him, I made him the following set of family trees, and I thought I would post it here too.

Unequal Affections Vignette--The Wedding Day

A vignette featuring the Darcy and Elizabeth of Unequal Affections.

Unequal Affections Vignette—The Wedding Day

After knocking, Colonel Fitzwilliam entered the room where Darcy stood before a mirror in his shirtsleeves, meticulously perfecting the folds of his cravat. “Well, old man?” he said. “Are you nervous?”

Darcy shook his head, smiling slightly.

The colonel laughed. “You always were the coldest fish in the sea.”

Their eyes met in the mirror. “Cold is not how I feel,” said Darcy simply.

Just then Mr. Bingley appeared, all eager excitement. “The carriage will be round in half an hour, Darcy! You’ve just time to drink a cup of coffee and eat something if you wish.”

“I would not count on eating a great deal during the wedding breakfast,” advised the other man.

Darcy nodded. “I will eat.” His valet approached and helped him into his coat. He smoothed the lapels, tugged on the sleeves and bottom edge, then walked over to the writing desk. Although nearly all his things were packed up and ready to be sent ahead as soon as he left for the church, he had a box sitting out which contained his correspondence, important papers and a few valuables. Reaching inside, he produced a small leather jeweller’s box.

“Is that the ring?” asked Bingley.

He nodded again, opening it to study its contents for a moment. Fitzwilliam walked over to stand at his shoulder. “That was Lady Anne’s ring, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.” It comprised a rare yellow diamond, surrounded by small white diamonds on a golden band.

“Has she seen it yet?”

“No.” A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “She never even asked me what sort of ring I intended to give her. I do not believe she cares.”

“Well, she will not be disappointed with that.”

Darcy did not reply, but he had a singularly satisfied look in his eyes as he removed the ring and slipped it into an inner pocket. 

They proceeded downstairs, where Darcy ate his breakfast with remarkable composure while his cousin and friend continued to watch him closely, as if expecting him to give way to nerves at any moment. When word came that the carriage was waiting he wiped his mouth, stood, checked his appearance in a nearby mirror one last time, and strode purposely across the floor, out the door and down the steps, his companions trailing behind.

~%~%~%~%~%~

“What do you think, Georgiana?” asked Elizabeth of her newest sister, who had been permitted, along with Jane, to watch her dress. Georgiana blushed at having her opinion sought, but offered it timidly.

“I think the flowers would be prettiest if you placed them here.” She moved the spray in question to a slightly different location.

Elizabeth studied her reflection. “Yes, I think you are right.”

“It does not matter what you do, Lizzy,” said Jane. “You are beautiful regardless.”

She looked at herself, eyes full of wonder and happiness and a new bashfulness. “Do you think he will feel so?”

“Of course he will!” exclaimed both ladies at once.

The door opened to admit Mrs. Bennet, looking resplendent in her own garb. “Well, Lizzy, let me look at you,” she said, and commenced an inspection, tweaking and tugging and making little sounds of approval or disapproval as she did. Elizabeth looked with laughing eyes at the others.

“I suppose you will do,” was the verdict eventually. “You will never be Jane but you are far prettier than any other girl in Hertfordshire, and I’m sure Mr. Darcy knows it.”

“Yes, Mama, I am sure he does,” she answered, suppressing a laugh. “Even if I cannot be Jane.”

Mrs. Bennet nodded her agreement before bustling off to check on her younger daughters. The three women left behind looked and each other and burst out laughing. “Dear Mama!” said Elizabeth. “I believe I may actually miss her.”

“Of course you will miss her,” said Jane. “Just as we will all miss you.”

“Ah, but we will be returning soon enough,” she twinkled back. “When a certain other expected event  takes place.”

Jane smiled happily at this reference to her wedding.

In a few more minutes Jane and Georgiana went to put the finishing touches on their own toilettes, leaving Elizabeth alone for a few minutes. She cast a lingering glance around her chamber, knowing that when she came back there, it would not be as the maiden who had slept in that bed and dreamt girlish dreams for so many years. She would be a married woman, and if she ever slept here again, her husband would be with her. Smiling a whimsical smile, running a last, caressing hand over her old dresser, she left the room—and her girlhood—behind forever.

When Elizabeth came walking softly down the stairs in her bridal array, she found everyone but Lydia, Kitty and Mrs. Bennet gathered there. Her father looked at her with suspiciously misty eyes and pressed her hand.

Mr. Darcy had sent an extra carriage from Netherfield, but even so the first carriage was slightly cramped as Lydia, Kitty and Mary squeezed into one seat while Mrs. Bennet and Mrs. Annesley occupied the other one. In the second carriage, Mr. Bennet, Georgiana and Jane rode with Lizzy.

The gentlemen were all waiting outside the church when they arrived, making conversation with Mr. and Mrs. Phillips. Mrs. Bennet’s coach disembarked first, and everyone made their greetings politely. It was on the other carriage that all eyes focused. Mr. Bennet climbed out first, and turned to assist Miss Darcy, who went immediately to her brother’s side. He took her hand and squeezed it, his eyes still fixed on the carriage door. Next, Miss Jane Bennet was helped down by her betrothed, and finally, leaning on her father’s hand, his Elizabeth, all in white, with a veil draped over her bonnet. Their eyes met across the distance and held.

Colonel Fitzwilliam tugged at his arm. “Come, Darcy we must go inside,” he whispered. “You should not be out here at all.”

Darcy shook him off. “I am hardly superstitious.” He crossed the small distance to her.

Elizabeth smiled shyly, endearingly at him, and offered him one gloved hand. The other held a small bouquet of flowers and fragrant herbs. He raised it to his lips, caressing it lightly. “My love.”

Elizabeth’s mouth deepened at the corners. “My love.”

Darcy’s throat constricted and he looked way momentarily. It had not been enough days since she first spoke that title for him to have yet grown accustomed to it.

Mr. Bennet’s presence distracted them. “Shall we go inside?”

There were not enough people to be worth filling the pews. The entire community had been invited to the celebratory breakfast afterward, but here in the church it was only family and the dearest of friends. The Phillipses sat with Mrs. Annesley, but the others just filled up the front of the sanctuary, Elizabeth’s sisters grouped behind her, Darcy’s sister and cousin together on his side, while the maid of honour and best man took the nearest positions. Mr. Bennet gave his most beloved daughter away to the man who had fairly earned her love, and even Lydia remained quiet and respectful during the short, solemn ceremony. Elizabeth hardly even blinked when he slipped the sparkling ring on her finger; there was no ring at all that mattered compared to the man standing opposite her.

When they came out they found that some local children had gathered outside, and there, too, was Sir William, with John and Maria and all the younger Lucases and even Charlotte with them, all laughing as they threw flowers and rice over the married couple.

Elizabeth had asked if they could walk home from the church, walk home as she had walked home nearly every Sunday for so much of her life. Mrs. Bennet had thought the request terribly eccentric, but Mr. Darcy had smiled as he granted it; he was not sorry for the extra minutes alone with his bride. While the others went on by carriage they strolled quietly through the sunshine, saying very little but walking very close, and when some sheltering trees provided sanctuary, who could blame them if they tarried a while, whispering and kissing, utterly happy with the world and themselves in it? It was a rosy cheeked Elizabeth and a bright-eyed Darcy who finally arrived at their wedding breakfast.

It was a loud, jolly, bustling party. Elizabeth talked with one person after another, sparkling more brightly than her wedding ring, while Darcy watched her. When Colonel Fitzwilliam, at long last extracting himself from Lydia’s clutches, appeared beside him, he spared him only a flickering glance and slight smile.

“It is good to see you so happy,” said the colonel quietly.

“It is good to be so happy.”

“I never imagined it, when we first arrived at Rosings in March.”

Darcy just shook his head.

“She will be a lot more fun at Christmas than that lady Edward married.”

Darcy gave a short bark of laughter. “Where is Georgiana?”

“Bingley and Miss Bennet have her safe. Even her shyness cannot combat their combined good will and amiability.”

He nodded. “You’ll take care of her?”

“Of course I will. Go and enjoy your wife.”

“My wife,” he murmured, and set off across the room. The crowds seemed to part almost miraculously before his tall figure; in only a few moments he had arrived at her side.

Elizabeth, flushed from heat and exertion and happiness, took his arm and smiled brilliantly at him. “You want to go.”

“I don’t wish to rush you.”

She shook her head. “I think I have talked to every person I ever knew now. The only person I have not spoken enough to is you.”

He led her towards her eldest sister. “We are ready to leave, Jane,” said Lizzy.

“Of course you are. I will go and tell my parents.” She slipped away.

“Is there anything else you need?” Darcy asked.

“I don’t think so.” She gripped his arm more firmly. “I have everything right here.”

The family goodbyes were meant to be private, but word spread quickly that the bride and groom were leaving, and by the time the carriage came around the house had disgorged its every soul onto the front porch and steps, servants included. Mr. Bennet gripped Darcy’s hand. “I could not have parted with her for anyone less worthy.”

Darcy returned his gaze without any of the old arrogance. “Thank you.”

Then it was up into the shiny new carriage, a lurch and they were moving, Longbourn’s treed drive, the shops of Meryton and the hills of Hertfordshire, all slipping, slipping past. She felt her husband’s hand pressing against hers, and his finger brushing down the side of her cheek. “You will come back again.”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.” Her eyes moved from the window to his dear face. “I love it all, but I love you more.” His arm went around her and with a deep sigh, she settled back against him. “Take me home, Fitzwilliam.”

Burying his face against her neck he whispered, “As you wish, Mrs. Darcy.”

Dissuading Bingley

I'm back posting again finally. In honor of the release of Unequal Affections I will be posting some excerpts, and then the follow-up vignette I wrote.

This is the prologue, but it also forms a complete vignette in itself, as it represents what I think the conversation that Bingley and Darcy had about Jane would have been like. I actually wrote this (all but about the last paragraph) long before I ever began Unequal Affections, and it just worked out that it formed a good prologue for it.

Dissuading Bingley

November 1811

“Darcy, if you try to tell me that Miss Bennet is unworthy of me, I’ll—I’ll—!” Mr. Bingley’s hand clinched. “I’ll do something!”

They were in London, three days after the Netherfield ball. Mr. Bingley had been surprised to discover that the guests he had left behind on his country estate had followed him to town, and upon being now told the reason, he was anything but pleased.

“She is not unworthy of you, but her family is,” Darcy replied evenly. “And unfortunately, she cannot be separated from her family.” Bingley was not to know how he felt the force of that statement himself. “Think, Bingley! It is not only that Mrs. Bennet’s family connections would diminish the status your family has worked so hard to attain; beyond that, can you really imagine introducing that woman—those sisters—to your acquaintance with pride? Do you think you can bear with complacency their vulgarities and intrusiveness, for the rest of your life? What marriage could survive that? And you may be sure that the very amiableness of Miss Bennet’s temper will prevent her from ever setting them at a distance. Not only will you have to bear with them, but the whole of your acquaintance will have to bear with them too. Consider your friends for a moment—consider your sisters! You may be willing to mortify your own consequence, but what of theirs? Miss Bingley is not yet married; you cannot think it will recommend her to any future husband, that he must take on himself such connections as Mrs. Bennet and the younger Bennet girls!”

Mr. Bingley had grown a little pale, and was clearly struggling. “But they are all very good natured—” he protested weakly. “They are not so bad as you say, I am sure.”

“Yes, they are,” returned his friend sternly. “You did not observe them as I did, for you saw no one but Miss Bennet. Mrs. Bennet is a vulgar, shallow, scheming woman who had no compunction in boasting of your wealth, even before you made an offer. Miss Mary Bennet lacks sense and taste, and as for the two younger girls—mark my words, Bingley, one day one of them will disgrace her family by her foolish behavior. They are spoiled, vain and silly, with no sense of propriety, and hardly even of common decency. Their mother positively encourages them, while their father has the sense to know better, yet chooses to mock them rather than make any attempt to restrain them.”

Bingley quailed under this merciless description of the Bennet family and turned away in utmost agitation. Darcy saw him grasp the mantelpiece until his knuckles turned white. The moment his friend ceased speaking, he burst out, “But I love her, Darcy!”

“I know,” replied Darcy quietly.

“And I daresay you may say I have been in love before, but never like this!” He began to pace the room. “There’s no woman in England like her! She’s an angel! I don’t—I don’t think I could ever be happy without her!”

“You were happy before her.”

“But that was before I knew her—that I knew such a creature existed.” He paused, and Darcy waited. “No,” he said finally. “No, you cannot ask it of me.”

Darcy frowned. “But—”

“I’m a man of honor, Darcy!” he cried. “So are you! Would you have me behave so infamously—to pay her such attentions, raise such expectations and feelings, and then desert her? You would never behave so yourself, surely!”

“Do you believe she loves you, then?”

“Yes! Well—” he flushed, “not as much as I love her, perhaps, but sincerely, I am convinced of it. She does return my regard.”

“I disagree,” said Darcy coolly.

Bingley turned a shade paler. “What?”     

This task was turning out to be even more unpleasant than he had anticipated, but he steeled himself to continue without flinching. “I took the opportunity to observe her carefully on the night of the ball. Her countenance was ever serene and smiling, indicating a general complaisance, but no discernible depth of feeling. She received your attentions with pleasure, it’s true, but no differently than she received any other young man’s attentions.” He waited a moment while this information sank into his unhappy friend’s mind. “She likes you, Bingley, but I do not think she loves you. I acquit her of scheming—that is her mother’s part—but if you proposed she would certainly accept you; how could she do otherwise, in her situation? You will give her no other choice. Family duty, prudence, will all compel her to accept you regardless of her feelings. If you do not propose, you will certainly disappoint Mrs. Bennet’s hopes, but not necessarily Miss Bennet’s. She will not be heartbroken. In fact, she may even be slightly relieved.” 

During this whole speech Bingley had sat with his head in his hands. When Darcy finished there was a long silence before he finally looked up, his face haggard. “I—I was sure she cared about me,” he whispered.

“I’m sure that she does, as a friend. I simply do not believe she is in love with you.”

“Do not believe?” He searched his friend’s face almost desperately. “But are you sure, Darcy?”

“I am not omniscient, if that is what you are asking. But based upon my own observation, I am completely convinced within myself that her heart has not been touched.”

That Darcy’s conviction weighed heavily on the other was clear. He passed a shaky hand through his hair, and unshed tears shone in his eyes. “There’s no reason she should love me,” he said huskily. “There is nothing outstanding about me. I’m not especially handsome or especially clever or especially good. I did think, but…” he jumped up and walked around the room in a disjointed fashion. Darcy simply waited in silence. “You are right, you know,” he said at last in a low voice. “I have been trying to think of any particular look or word—anything that might have indicated a clear preference on her part; anything that would prove she loves me. But there was none. It was just her general sweetness, her kindness.” He sighed deeply.

“Charles,” Mr. Darcy spoke gently, “I know this is painful for you, but you must consider before you truly have gone too far to draw back. Is it really worth the humiliation of such a family, such low connections, to acquire a wife who, however sweet and kind, cannot even return your affection? Can you really rate your own happiness above your obligation to your sister? Would you even be happy in such a marriage? You love her, but is just having her enough? Is having her, but not having her heart—giving up so much, putting up with so much without even an equal return of regard, sufficient? Could it be sufficient for any man?”

Another long silence, then Charles said, “No. No, it is not sufficient. I could not be content to love but not be loved in return. If she had loved me, Darcy…” he sighed brokenly. “If she had loved me then I would have given anything for her. But I cannot make her love me, can I?” He looked over at his friend.

“No,” Darcy agreed. “No, you cannot.”