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2025-10-23
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2025-10-27
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5/?
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An Unfortunate Suitor

Summary:

When Netherfield Park is let to Mr. Bingley, the Bennets are amazed by his companion: an impoverished, handsome gentleman, whose fall from wealth has made him notorious. The local gentry are loathe to accept him as an equal, especially when his manners leave much to be desired. Only Elizabeth Bennet tolerates him, curious about the mystery behind his ruin: something about it doesn’t quite add up, and she suspects there is more to Mr. Darcy than meets the eye. E/D, J/B

Chapter 1: Prologue

Chapter Text

“Are you sure about this, Darcy?” 

Darcy paused, his fingers just touching the rim of a very ugly hat. Instead of picking it up, he turned and treated his friend to a long stare. “You have already made your objections, Bingley.” 

“Yes, to a stone wall! I cannot believe you think this a good idea.” 

The taller man sighed and picked up the hat. There was a worn section on the crown, which he instinctively brushed with his fingers to neaten it. “You know my reasons. I have told you a hundred times. They are logical, and…” 

“Logical!” Bingley laughed aloud. 

It was so peculiar to see his mild-mannered friend arguing that Darcy had to hide his amusement. Of course, Bingley was not going to convince him. They had both spat words at each other a hundred times, and neither of them was prepared to shift. But it was always worth one last go, while they waited for the rest of the party to get ready. The carriage was waiting to carry them into Meryton, and the men had been ready for half an hour. Miss Bingley’s preening was not to be rushed. 

“I told you, Bingley: I am tired of being treated like a gold mine. I am a man, and if I am ever to be treated as one I cannot let my fortune get in the way.” 

“You are treated as a man, you oaf. Why, my sister…” 

“Let us not discuss Miss Bingley in this context. Not if you wish to remain my friend.” Darcy replied flatly. Bingley rolled his eyes and glanced up at the stairs, where his sisters were still getting ready. 

“I do understand, Darcy. Sometimes, when a pretty lady dances with me, I wonder whether she is just pretending. Some of them do want to get their hands on my money, and care for me not at all. But - forgive the shocking suggestion - that is why you talk to them! Usually it is the mothers who are pushing them forwards, and you find out soon enough if their interest in you is real.” 

“I would need your charisma to play that game.” Darcy replied, putting the hat onto his head with finality. “You know I do not. I would cause offence as soon as I opened my mouth, and then I would be just as badly off as if I never made the attempt.” 

Bingley smiled gently, “I will not agree to that. You are pleasant company.” 

“You make it easy.” The man said, pulling on a coat which was a little too big for him. Seeing the expression on his friend’s anxious face, he sighed. “Look, humour me for tonight, at least. If it does not work then I shall apologise to everyone for the deception and return to Pemberley within the day. But if it does work, Bingley, then neither you nor your sisters can interfere. Do you agree?” 

Bingley grunted and then held out his hand to shake. “I agree. I wish you luck. You will need it! I suspect that the mothers of Meryton will refuse to let their daughters within ten feet of that awful hat.” 

Darcy smiled and straightened the offending object over his eyes. “We shall see.”

Chapter 2

Chapter Text

Elizabeth Bennet loitered beside her sister, Mary. While the younger girl stood beside the wall out of habit, Lizzie was there to get her breath back. She had been dancing for over an hour, and was fervently wishing that the Assembly Room windows opened a little wider. A second wish was that fans were more fashionable, for she could have cooled her dizzy heat in a few moments. 

Perhaps Mary had brought a book. Lizzie craned her neck surreptitiously, looking into her sister’s lap. There was a small reticle, but no sign of anything waft-able. She groaned in her throat and resorted to flapping her hand pointlessly at her red cheeks. 

“Lizzie!” her mother growled, ambushing her so suddenly that both girls jumped, “Put your hand down, girl! You look like a fool. What will Mr. Bingley say when he sees you?” 

“Mr. Bingley is hardly going to notice.” Elizabeth told her drily, “He is not coming here to comment upon my hands. He is here to be surrounded by a curious horde the second he arrives.” 

Mrs. Bennet tutted at this reference to her peers, who had been whispering behind their hands all evening, “Such uncouth behaviour. They should all be ashamed of themselves. If only they were not so rude, I could go and greet him myself. I am far more suited for it than they, for I was one of the first to hear of him.” 

“You were not, mama.” Mary pointed out in her factual way, “All of the ladies at church were speaking of it; that is how you heard. Then you came and told us, and we have heard nothing else since. A gentleman of five thousand a year! Oh lawks, so handsome and eligible! Please.” she scoffed and shook her head, “The best thing about this ball is that afterwards, we will not have to speak of him again.” 

“Not speak of him! When he is engaged to one of your sisters?” 

“Mama, you are getting rather ahead of yourself.” Lizzie interrupted, cringing inside, “Mr. Bingley has never met us, nor do we know if his preference runs in our favour. We know he is coming with a party of ladies, so he may even be attached to one of them! We know almost nothing about the poor man, apart from the fact that he is decidedly not engaged to any of us.” 

“...yet!” Her mother finished triumphantly, and then her head snapped up. “Oh, I think he is here!” 

“Mama…” Lizzie started, and then sighed when Mrs. Bennet scurried off towards the door. The scrum of curious locals was already three-people thick, and more hopeful mothers were joining it with every passing moment. Despite herself, she could not stop her eyes from moving towards the door. She could not make out the new arrivals at all. The only thing that stood out was a faded hat, whose owner must have been rather tall. 

“Who is that, do you think?” She asked Mary, drawing her attention to the hat. It had been removed now, and she had to explain, “No man of five thousand pounds would come to a ball wearing that hat!” 

“Then it isn’t Mr. Bingley, is it?” the girl said, sounding bored. “Do go away, Lizzie. The only thing worse than being here is having to listen to everyone’s scheming.” 

“I am not scheming.” Lizzie said, but she obliged. In a few moments she was swept into another dance, and quite forgot her irritation at her mother and her sister. Her partner had rather moist hands, and kept trying to engage her in conversation about some horse race that he had attended in… Lizzie let her mind wander, and watched the non-dancers enviously. 

Mr. Bingley was obviously the slender stranger, with the smiling face and cheery manner. He already had a throng of young women around him, pushed by their mothers almost into his arms. Elizabeth cynically decided that his lateness had been deliberate; if Bingley danced every set he was asked, then he would pass out from exhaustion before the night was over! 

The man’s bounding energy when he finally started to dance was delightful, like watching a puppy chasing its own tail. Lizzie was so caught up with watching that she did not realise that his partner was Jane until they flitted past her. Her sister gave her a nervous, dazzling smile and Lizzie beamed back. 

Moist-Hands cleared his throat loudly. Clearly, some reply was needed. Since she had no idea what the question had been, Lizzie simply smiled and hoped for the best. The man smiled back, revealing a crooked incisor, before launching into another speech about the kind of horseshoes a race horse needed, compared to a hunter, or… 

Feeling herself at liberty to ignore him once more, Lizzie’s eyes drifted. The two ladies in the beautiful green gowns must have come with Bingley. One of them was holding the arm of a portly gentleman, and the other had the same striking nose as Mr. Bingley himself. A sister, then, and a married friend of some kind. Certainly not anyone to get in between Mr. Bingley and a conquest. 

Elizabeth sighed. She would almost rather he was attached. The poor man looked like he was drowning in young ladies. Enviable in some circumstances, she suspected, but not when one was simply trying to greet the neighbourhood. 

She heard the music end with relief, and curtseyed to her partner. He opened his mouth after bowing, and she hurried back into the crowd before he could summon whatever equineal banality was in his tedious mind. Determined not to be followed, she headed straight for the side of the room furthest from the fire. It was dark there, and calmer. She backed against the wall, looking warily for Moist-Hands’ pursuit. 

The wall came too soon. Her back collided with something hard, which let out a harsh ‘oof!’ and pushed her away. Elizabeth cried out in alarm, and then pressed her fingers over her mouth. 

“Oh, I am sorry!” she cried, muffling her unbidden giggles, “I did not see you.” 

“Clearly.” the obstruction retorted, and a man emerged from the shadows. His eyes were fierce and dark, fixed accusingly on her. “You were walking backwards, madam.” 

“Well… I have stopped, now!” she rejoined, and then burst into more awkward laughter at the expression on his face. He looked so indignant! “I promise to walk forwards from now on, sir.” 

“It is no matter to me if you walk sideways, madam. As long as you walk nowhere near me.” he growled, and walked away without bowing. 

Capital offence! Lizzie’s mouth dropped open as he left. She had never been dismissed so rudely in her life. 

When the man moved out of the shadows, Elizabeth suddenly realised that he must be the owner of the awful hat. That is, if his coat was any indication. Most people wore their finest clothes to balls. If that was the best the man had to offer, then his fortunes must have been no better than his manners. 

She puzzled over that, for he had arrived with the Bingley party. Was he some kind of impoverished cousin, perhaps? It was strange that Bingley had not taken the man under his wing, or at least let him borrow a hat for the evening. What kind of host would allow someone to live with him, share a carriage and an invitation, and yet attend a ball looking like that? 

Elizabeth watched Bingley, frowning. He did not look like a selfish man. 

Then she looked at his tall friend. The man had made his way over to the refreshments table and was sipping a glass of punch and glowering at Bingley. Everyone was ignoring him, even the servants, who barely glanced at him when they refilled his glass. No mothers pushed their daughters towards him. Lizzie wondered if any of the daughters was sad about that, for the rude man was much more handsome than Bingley. 

If he had not been so rude, she might even have hoped for a dance herself. Then, of course, her mother would have berated her for wasting her time with such a man, and the night would have ended badly. 

Such a man… 

Her frown returned, and she scratched her nose thoughtfully. A man in an old hat, but his shirt was tailored and neat. A man with an ill-fitting coat, whose shoes were made of fine leather. A man with bad manners, who clearly had no compunction about causing offence. Elizabeth could not think of many unfortunates who would be so complacent. 

Elizabeth smiled slowly, and watched her sister standing up for a second dance with Mr. Bingley. It seemed that they were about to make an acquaintance. If she had a second attempt, she thought, she could figure out the rude stranger once and for all.

Chapter 3

Chapter Text

Jane was invited to dine at Netherfield Park a few days later, at the request of Mr. Bingley’s sisters. The following morning, Elizabeth went to nurse her sister through the fever she had caught from the short journey between the houses. 

Lizzie was practical enough to know that her sister would be well cared for in the fine home, and knew that her company would be a balm, not a cure. She departed quickly, but did not rush to Netherfield in a panic. To spite her mother, she walked there along the country lanes, and approached the house through its sprawling lands. 

The house had been unoccupied for some time, until Mr. Bingley had taken up the lease. It seemed that he was not a demanding tenant. Local shepherds were used to using Netherfield’s lands for grazing, and by the number of sheep she passed, Elizabeth knew that this had not stopped. 

It was still early, and there was a soft dew on the grass which was slowly seeping up her skirt and making her ankles itch. Elizabeth knew she would be scolded when she got home, first by her mother for such unladylike dis-attire, and then by the servants for giving her more work to do. When she was younger, her mother’s word for it had been ‘farming girl’, as if a few splashes of mud were all that stood between Elizabeth and a life of labour. She was just ruminating on the notion when she heard something rustling through the grass to her left, 

She looked up just as the stranger stopped in his tracks. It was the rude man from the ball, wearing the same coat, hat and fine leather boots. He was cleanly shaven by a skilled hand, and he walked with the upright posture of a duke. 

Elizabeth was too concerned about her sister to unpick this contradictory apparition. She didn’t even bother greeting him, for they had no introduction beyond his terse comments at the ball. Instead, she gave him a glaringly artificial smile, curtseyed and then continued walking. Missing the hint, the aggravating dolt fell into step beside her. 

“I am come to see my sister.” she explained, just to fill the rasping silence, “She is unwell.” 

“Ah. Your sister is Miss Bennet?” The man worked out. He was clearly as astute as a ham sandwich. Elizabeth thought to ask how many other ailing gentlewomen were hiding in Bingley’s bedrooms, but bit her tongue. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“So you came from Longbourn - the house over that rise?” he gestured, and Lizzie nodded. His eyebrows flew up, “On foot?” 

“As you see, sir.” she knew her voice was terse, but did not offer him an explanation. The man fell silent for a moment before blurting out:

“Then I will walk with you, Miss Bennet.” 

Drat. 

“As you like.” she replied, indifferently, “What is the fastest route to the house?” 

Bad-Hat indicated, and then offered her his arm. Elizabeth took it. He smelled like cologne and sandalwood soap. A decidedly expensive smell for a man as impoverished as he. 

“Mr. Bingley is a generous host, is he not?” she asked innocently.

“Your sister has been treated well, I assure you.” 

“And you? I think he must be very generous to you. Although he should have loaned you a better hat, sir.” 

The man looked sidelong at her, “You do not like my hat?” 

“I would like it very much if it adorned a scarecrow, but it has no place on the head of a gentleman.” 

“A fair assessment, Miss Bennet, if rather blunt. I suppose I could ask Mr. Bingley for a replacement, but I am not in the habit of borrowing other peoples’ garments.” 

“Oh. So those fine boots belong to you? How curious.” 

He looked down, then up at her with a calculating expression. “You are prying, madam. Should I describe your garments in return? You are covered in mud.” 

“Mud washes off.” she retorted sharply. She realised that she had provoked him, but still! It was mortifying to have ones’ appearance mocked by a man whose coat would have adorned a groundskeeper. Her voice turned into a low growl. “That hat should be burned.” 

“I shall not say the same of your dress, Miss Bennet. For all your un-asked-for criticism of my person, I feel that would be rather too revealing.” 

“I assume you are referring to my character, sir.” she said, hiding her appalled gasp at the implication. Bad-Hat looked her up and down, not desirously but disdainfully, clearly unimpressed by whatever he saw. 

“I see nothing else that I would wish to refer to, Miss Bennet.” 

“How very poor your eyesight must be.” she snapped, and then blushed. 

He had provoked her into being so sharp and outspoken, and all for the sake of that dratted hat! She missed the next look he gave her, which badly concealed a speculative quirk of the lips, and quickened her step. 

Having scolded each other into silence, they continued to the house. When they reached it the man pointed out the door with a scowl, and stalked off with a rigid bow. Compared to Bad-Hat’s disdain, the open expression on Mr. Bingley’s face was a welcome sight. 

“Ah, Miss Elizabeth! Have you come to see your sister?” he cried, beckoning her through the hallway. “She is abed.” 

“Good.” Lizzie smiled, taking off her gloves, “May I see her directly?” 

“Of course. There is no need to play attendance on us. It is only myself and my sisters here.” 

“Really? There was a man…” she gestured vaguely out of the window. “Tall, serious…?” 

“Oh, that is Darcy. He won’t trouble you.” Bingley said vaguely, as if his friend was a surly lapdog instead of a grown man. “I will have the servants show you to the guest room, Miss Elizabeth.”

Chapter 4

Notes:

Wow, can I just say how flattered I am by all the support for this story? It's lovely to see so many people enjoying it. Thank you so much for all the comments and kudos! ^_^

Chapter Text

What gave her the right to criticise his hat? 

Darcy turned it over and over in his hands, muttering angrily to himself. It was an awful hat, but what gave her the right to point that out? He had never felt so indignant in his life. And her comments about Bingley’s generosity - made so innocently, but holding so much reproof! It was one thing to present oneself as an impoverished gentleman. It was quite another to be treated as one! 

He ground his teeth and then looked down at his boots. Expensive, comfortable, and totally at odds to the rest of his disguise. How had he overlooked such a detail? Miss Bennet had pointed it out so quickly that he had felt humiliated. His disguise, which he had been so proud of, was as thin as a cobweb. Miss Bennet had seen right through it. 

Had she seen right through him?

Darcy sighed and put the hat down. Perhaps he had been foolish, thinking to disguise his fortune and breeding beneath a single hat. He had thought himself so clever, sticking to his charade while there were strangers in the house and even bribing the servants not to let on to the scheme. But now it felt as if everyone was laughing at him. 

Especially Miss Bennet. 

He had left her in the garden, unable to stand another minute in her company. She was sharp and shrewed; he was a fraud. Two such unpleasant people should not occupy the same space, if they could possibly help it. Frankly, they should not occupy the same county. When he was with her, he heard his voice saying the kind of things that would have made his father box his ears. She was utterly provocative, with her quick wit and her clear intelligence. Not to mention… 

Darcy shook himself out of that thought with a grunt. It didn’t matter how she had acted, nor how he had responded. They were not trying to impress one another. The woman was aloof with him, no doubt because of his appearance. She was not the kind of person he was hoping to impress. Apart from her eyes, which were startlingly beautiful, there was nothing to recommend her. Such a shallow creature would probably have fluttered her eyelashes at him if she knew about his fortune, but her true nature had been easily revealed!

The man patted his hat with grateful smirk. He would tell Bingley that his plan had worked, after all. If it had saved him from Miss Bennet, then it was a resounding success. 

He sat down beside the fireplace, began a letter to his sister, and then stopped with a sigh. What could he tell her? His pride at such a clever scheme would not do. Georgiana was honest and sweet-natured, and would never countenance such a charade. Blushing at the thought of her censure, Darcy thought of the week that had passed and cringed. 

The same awkwardness which had always crippled him in company had struck again at the ball. He thought that it would not affect him this time. The bachelor master of Pemberley was always a figure of interest in a ballroom, and he disliked being under so many judgemental eyes. He hated knowing that all they could see was his family’s wealth. Throwing his dislike of artiface to one side, he had told himself that he was not disguising, but revealing. It was only by becoming somebody else that anyone would see who he really was. 

The irony was not lost on him, but Darcy was stubborn enough to ignore it. 

Things had not worked out how he had planned. Not exactly. In one way, the Assembly Room Ball had been a great success. It was amusing to witness the ambush from the outside, seeing Bingley disappearing under a tidal wave of matrons while he was all-but invisible. It was refreshing to be able to walk about the room uninterrupted. 

But there were some changes, as well, which he did not like. Before, if his eye fell upon a woman, they would smile back at him or make pleasant conversation. Now, their eyes skipped quickly away and they would not approach. Even Bingley’s sisters would not dance, for neither of them wanted to associate with such a lowly creature. Caroline smiled at him from time to time, humouring his ‘jest’, but even her rabid regard had faded. 

Unbelievably, Darcy found that he was bored. Bored! Nobody would speak to him, Bingley had been hauled off to goodness-knows-where, so he didn’t even have an ally to watch the crowd with. 

Not that the crowd were worth watching. A lot of sweaty young men and fashionably pallid women. Oh, and the unfashionable women. The older ones, in matronly caps, who spoke so stridently that the air rang around them. 

Darcy found boredom preferable to their presence. He retreated to the shadows, waiting for Bingley to either free himself or to be flattened, so they could go home. 

A shadow descended, and a slight silhouette collided with him with an impressive thud. Grunting in surprise, he pushed it away and found himself face to face with a young woman and a huge scowl. Then she looked around, back at the room, and he realised the scowl wasn’t meant for him. It seemed that Darcy wasn’t the only one who was avoiding someone. 

She apologised. He did not accept. She bore his criticism with no finesse, and he left. 

He might have told her not to take it personally. Their undignified encounter had been the final nail in the coffin. 

As soon as the lady tried to speak to him, her pretty face and awkward laughter made him recall every other sycophantic damsel who had tried a similar tactic. He had been bored, but at least the people here weren’t as artful as their peers in London. She had clearly misaimed her arrow, he thought snidely. The expression on her face when she saw his coat made it quite clear that he was not a welcome sight. 

It was no matter. He left, and knew that they would not see each other again. There was no need to be polite, and he was suddenly too exhausted to try. Sulking with the considerable skill of an un-petted labrador puppy, he had stalked off and thought no more about it. 

Until today. He had recognised her dark eyes at once. She recognised him, too - he could see that at once. And what did she recognise? Not Darcy the wealthy gentleman, thank God. But not Darcy the man, either. Darcy the cad, who was rude and selfish and… 

… did she think him a liar? Had she seen through him that much? 

Darcy sighed and ruffled his hair irritably. He did not bother to neaten it again. The locals were in the house, and the charade would continue.

Chapter 5

Chapter Text

Elizabeth would normally have felt self-conscious about being around such fashionable people. She was a gentleman’s daughter, but very aware that her clothes were not from one of the expensive London modistes, but the seamstress in Meryton. Similarly, her jewellery was neither expensive nor elaborate. She suspected that her hosts would wear expensive jewels even in their private dinners. From the few times she had seen Miss Bingley, she knew her to be a woman of supreme tastes. Such women generally spent their energy in comparison, taking pleasure at coming out on top. 

Today, however, Lizzie felt quite at ease. Jane had assured her that she looked very fine, and the dress her mother had sent from home was one of her finest. Her confidence was bolstered by the sure knowledge that Mr. Darcy would also look provincial, and that at least they would be matched. 

She frowned as she walked down the stairs. She had scorned Miss Bingley for her critical eye, and had fallen into the same trap! By complacently judging Darcy on his attire, was she being cruel? 

Then Lizzie reminded herself that it was not Darcy’s attire that had chilled the air between them. Had he been more polite, then she could have overlooked such a thing. She would doubtless have danced with him, and found something to laugh about. They would had an enjoyable evening, instead of both leaving it in something of high-dudgeon. Yes, it was all his fault! She resolved to think only of his attitude, and not his garments. 

It was a difficult resolution to uphold. When she arrived downstairs, the sight of him was quite startling. Elizabeth felt her mouth gape open, but she concealed it by feigning a yawn. 

If anything, the man had found even worse clothes to wear in his own home. The boots were gone and the shirt was crumpled. The less said about his waistcoat, the better. It all looked like he had borrowed it from the charity baskets most households had for their servants and the church. 

Lizzie curtseyed, keeping her eyes lowered, and spent the meal speaking to the ladies. They seemed reserved, glancing at Darcy from time to time with embarrassed looks on their faces. Was it because he was badly dressed, or because he was sitting in glowering silence?

After dinner, the group sat in the drawing room. Most of the party played at cards, placing bets and crying out in delight when they won. Darcy busied himself writing a letter, and Elizabeth tried to read a book. It was remarkably tedious, and she thought longingly of the comfortable room upstairs where she could be alone with Jane. A few more minutes, she told herself, and then she could excuse herself without causing offence. 

“Mr. Darcy!” Miss Bingley trilled. Her voice was a little over-bright, and there was a near-empty glass of wine in her hand. “What are you doing so secretly? I must know!” 

“It is no secret. I am writing to my sister.” 

Lizzie craned her neck, curious to see what his handwriting looked like. The page was empty. It seemed that Mr. Darcy had very little to say. 

“Oh, dear Georgiana!” Miss Bingley cried, and launched into effusions about a girl who was simultaneously brilliant and reserved. Lizzie’s ears pricked up, for in listing her accomplishments, Miss Bingley inadvertently revealed that Miss Darcy must have had an expensive education. Lizzie looked narrowly at Darcy, who looked as if he was trying to make the woman hush. Her mouth twitched in a smile, which she coughed to conceal. 

Rolling her eyes and glancing sidelong at Elizabeth, Miss Bingley finished her speech with: “And, of course, she is so good at… at coping without a maid. The way that she darns her own stockings  - you would never think that she…” she fumbled her way into silence. 

Elizabeth smiled politely and looked back at her book. 

“Miss Bingley,” Darcy said through gritted teeth, “I would thank you not to discuss my family. My sister is very private, as you know.” 

Clearly trying to recover, Miss Bingley approached and asked her to take a turn about the room. She even invited Darcy to join them, which did not surprise Elizabeth in the slightest. It was clear that the man was concealing something, and that Miss Bingley knew the truth of it. With such an intimacy between them, Lizzie thought that they must be very close. Perhaps they were even promised to one another. From the way Miss Bingley looked at Darcy, and his snide comment about her walking figure, she guessed that there was some attraction between them. 

Oh, Mr. Darcy wasn’t exactly pleasant to Miss Bingley. But since he did not appear capable of pleasing conduct, Elizabeth was not surprised by that, either. 

“Miss Bennet!” Bingley said warmly, when the card game was finished. “A note was delivered from your family before supper. Your mother asks if she can call upon your sister tomorrow morning.” 

Lizzie’s skin crawled, “Jane may be recovered by then. There is no need…” 

“Do not trouble yourself!” Bingley cried, waving away her demurements with a lively hand. “Even if Miss Bennet is well, I would not permit her to make the journey back when she is so lately recovered from a fever. I will not hear of it! You must stay until the end of the week, at least.” 

Darcy looked mildly panicked. His hands fluttered down to his threadbare breeches, and then he saw Lizzie watching him and stopped. Leaning back in his chair with an insouciant expression, he looked indifferently away from Bingley and returned to his empty letter. 

“Thank you, sir.” Lizzie replied, smiling honestly at Bingley, “It is very good of you.”