Excentryke's Musings

Title: The Netherfield Heiress
Author: ExcentrykeMuse
Fandom(s): Pride & Prejudice / Twilight / (Bridgerton)
Pairings: Fitzwilliam/Bella, Darcy/Eloise Bridgerton, (mentioned one sided) Darcy/Anne De Bourg, Mr. Collins/Elizabeth Bennet, (past) Jane/Bingley
Word Count: 4k
Rating: PG
Written: January 2025 Prompts
Warnings: non canon pairings, arranged marriages, inheritances, off screen deaths, inheritances, Lady Catherine De Bourg
Prompt: for Focacciobread: And as per usual, any opportunity for me to advocate for the lovely Colonel Fitzwilliam (and Bella !) is one I’ll take.

The Netherfield Heiress

“I must marry an heiress,” Fitzwilliam declared as he got into the carriage with Darcy for their annual trip to Kent.

Darcy looked at him through his verdant eyes.  “I do not think this is a new revelation, Fitzwilliam.”

“No,” Fitzwilliam agreed.  “However, Andrew has announced that he is to marry Lady Sarah, despite his many years of bachelorhood.  He will produce an heir, and I will never be the Viscount of Owestry.”

“We knew that was true,” Darcy sympathized as he hit the top of the carriage with his walking stick.  The carriage, likewise, after a couple of moments, began to move.  They were well on their way to Kent and Rosings Park.  “He was always going to marry.”

“It was looking less and less likely.  Andrew is in his thirties.”

“True,” Darcy agreed, “but just because he has a disinclination to marry does not mean he was never going to give into society’s expectations and do it.”  He sighed.  “Are you going to marry Anne?”

Lady Catherine expected Darcy to marry their wealthy and sickly cousin, Anne de Bourg.  He would never, however, be induced into matrimony to her.  She was, therefore, ripe for the pickings.  The problem was, though she was extremely wealthy and would inherit Rosings Park, she was dull, pale, pasty, and prone to sneezing.  She also had no accomplishments, conversation, or talents.  She was an unacceptable prospect.

“There must be other heiresses,” Fitzwilliam reasoned.  “The Bridgerton sisters are now making their way into society.”

“The Bridgerton sisters will never marry the impoverished second son of an Earl,” Darcy told him.  “The eldest is now the Duchess of Hastings.  While Eloise has not married—” (Eloise, Fitzwilliam remembered, was the particular friend of Georgiana) “—the next eldest married the Earl of Kilmartin.  The youngest is too young for you and she will make a fine match in five years’ time.”

“Eloise—”

“No,” Darcy insisted.  “You are not taking advantage of Georgiana’s friendship with her.”

Fitzwilliam noticed a light in his eyes.  “Do not tell me that you mean to marry the Bridgerton girl yourself.”

Darcy looked slightly uncomfortable.  “I said nothing of the sort.”

“You did not need to say anything, Cousin.  Your demeanor suggested—”

Darcy now seemed perturbed.  “Come, man.  Put such idle thoughts away.  Eloise Bridgerton is not the woman for you.  That is all you need to know.”

That proved it.  Darcy intended to marry his sister’s especial friend, Eloise Bridgerton.  Darcy’s mother, the Lady Anne Darcy, had been the daughter of an Earl.  Now he would marry the daughter of a Viscount.  It was a very fine prospect for an untitled landowner.

It would be an even better prospect for the second son of an Earl, but that path seemed to be closed to him now.  He’d have to find another heiress, one who came with a house in London.

He settled back in the carriage and looked out of the window.  The Featherington girls would not do.  They did not have dowries and they were nothing to look at.  Two of them were also already married.  The last one was—pudgy—if Fitzwilliam remembered correctly.

The trip to Kent took well over a week and when they finally arrived, Fitzwilliam’s good mood had run out.  Anne was just as sickly as ever and Lady Catherine’s attempts to bring Darcy and Anne together were more than just a little transparent.

It turned out, however, that the local vicar had recently married and his new bride had a guest, a Miss Isabella Swan.  The reports were that the new Mrs. Collins was quite pretty and Darcy even said that he had known Mrs. Collins—the then Miss Elizabeth Bennet—in Hertfordshire, though he had not been acquainted with Miss Swan.

“Yes, Miss Swan,” Lady Catherine confirmed over tea the second day they were present.

Darcy was standing at the window, looking out over the gardens so he would not have to sit beside Anne.

“She is the daughter of the late Sir Charles Swan.  She owns Netherfield Park and has been in Bath this past six months taking the waters with her companion.  She rented to your friend, Mr. Bingley, I believe, Darcy.”

Turning from the window, Darcy nodded.  “Yes.  It is a fine property.  I did not realize we were renting from a lady.”

“So it would appear,” Lady Catherine continued.  “Sir Charles died under suspicious circumstances three years ago, leaving Miss Swan an heiress.  Miss Swan has quit the property entirely for Bath and has not been in Hertfordshire since, but she condescended to visit Mrs. Collins upon her nuptials to Mr. Collins.  She is all affability and gentile beauty.  Why, she is quite as accomplished as my Anne.  She would do quite well for you, Fitzwilliam—”

Fitzwilliam, at the recommendation, set down his dish of tea and looked over at Darcy.  He was uncertain he trusted any young lady to be affable if recommended by his aunt, but if she was a young lady of rank and fortune, he could not afford to pass her over simply because Lady Catherine approved of her.

“When do we meet Miss Swan?” Darcy inquired from his place at the window.

“Tomorrow week if you do not meet her at church,” Lady Catherine informed him, her eyes nonetheless cutting to Fitzwilliam. 

That was only a few days away.  Hopefully she was at least passably pretty.

When Sunday morning came, Fitzwilliam was certain to dress smartly in his regimentals.  It was always good to make a favorable first impression.  Darcy, he noticed, had not lingered in his toilette but looked imposing as ever.  Darcy escorted Lady Catherine, as the nephew of higher rank, but Anne walked with her companion, a Mrs. Jenkinson.  That left Fitzwilliam to take up the rear.

This unfortunately left Fitzwilliam with no one to confirm who, exactly, Mrs. Collins was in comparison with her friend.  This normally would not have been a problem.  Mrs. Collins was obviously the pretty woman with dark eyes in demure cotton and a straw bonnet.  The problem was that she had two friends with her.  One was demonstrably like her, a sister perhaps, but Lady Catherine had not mentioned a sister.  The two women had blonde curls and a similar turn to their face and the one Fitzwilliam determined must be Mrs. Collins leaned toward her supposed sister and made comments throughout the sermon, looking decidedly in Darcy’s direction.  This would indicate a previous acquaintance.

The other lady was simply though neatly dressed in pink cottons edged in lace and a fashionable hat.  Fitzwilliam could not see her face for most of the service, but at the end of the final hymn, Mrs. Collins leaned in and whispered a quiet word in her ear, and the lady looked up with a flash toward the Rosings party and betrayed a pretty face and deep violet eyes.

Fitzwilliam’s breath caught. 

The lady with the violet eyes was perhaps the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. 

It was a quiet beauty not meant for sonnets but instead for nights by the fire and quiet contemplation.

Her brow furrowed as her gaze met Fitzwilliam’s and he tipped his hat toward her, hoping that she was the mysterious Miss Swan and not some penniless country miss.

“Tell me I have the right of it,” he implored Darcy as they gathered outside the church.  “The pretty one with blonde curls and dark eyes in the demure dress is Mrs. Collins, the lady with the similar looks is a sister, and the lady in the fashionable hat and pink cotton is none other than the inestimable Miss Swan.”

“I see she has taken your fancy,” Darcy remarked.  “The lady in the demure dress is Mrs. Elizabeth Collins.  Miss Bennet is indeed her elder sister—in the green.”

Fitzwilliam looked at his cousin strangely.  Odd that the vicar should marry a younger sister and not the eldest who had precedent.  Miss Bennet was the lovelier of the two but perhaps Mrs. Collins had qualities that were not readily apparent to the eye.

“Then Miss Swan is the fashionable friend.”

Darcy prodded his walking stick into the gravel.  “You will be wanting an introduction,” he noted reservedly.  Darcy did not care to socialize especially with those not of his social status.

“You shall have to speak with Mrs. Collins on Wednesday,” Fitzwilliam cajoled.

Darcy was still regarding his walking stick.  “I do not appreciate Mrs. Collins’ character.”  He paused.  “You may have noticed: Miss Bennet smiles too much.”

Now that Fitzwilliam thought about it, Miss Bennet had been smiling to herself serenely the entire service.  He thought she had been pleasantly engaged with the boring sermon.

“You can walk away as soon as you introduce me to the ladies,” he tried.

“If that is how you feel,” Darcy finally agreed.  He looked up from his walking stick, catching Fitzwilliam’s gaze.

Where Darcy’s eyes were a verdant green, Fitzwilliam, whose father was Darcy’s mother’s younger brother, were a deep blue.  They resembled each other almost identically otherwise with the same curling brown hair, the same height within inches of each other (Darcy being slightly the taller), the same broad shoulders, the same long legs, the same long fingers.  Their similar looks were remarkable considering how little Fitzwilliam resembled his elder brother Andrew, the Viscount of Owestry.

Darcy picked up his walking stick and led Fitzwilliam over to where Mrs. Collins was speaking to her sister and Miss Swan.  She was in animated conversation, her left arm lifting in an arc to illustrate a point.  Miss Bennet was smiling at her pleasantly while Miss Swan was glancing over her shoulder at Darcy and Fitzwilliam’s approach.

Miss Swan cleared her throat.

Mrs. Collins immediately paused, turned, and the three ladies curtseyed as the cousins stopped before them.

Darcy and Fitzwilliam bowed.

“Mrs. Collins,” Darcy began before stopping, clearly lost for words.  Then, rallying himself, he continued: “I see you are no longer in Hertfordshire.”

Laughing, Mrs. Collins smiled.  “I am as you find.  I have married since we last danced at Netherfield.”

Danced?  At Netherfield?  Darcy danced with a woman who was not of his most intimate acquaintance?  This certainly intrigued Fitzwilliam.  However, he put the thought aside and focused on Miss Swan who was politely regarding her friend.

Darcy was clearly embarrassed. 

Fitzwilliam kicked him.

“May I introduce my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam?” Darcy said, stepping to the side.  “Fitzwilliam, Mrs. Elizabeth Collins, her elder sister, Miss Jane Bennet.”  The two sisters curtseyed.

“This is our neighbor,” Mrs. Collins introduced, “the owner of Netherfield Park, Miss Isabella Swan, who has been late in Bath.”  She turned her head toward Miss Swan who was now looking straight at Fitzwilliam before she, in turn, curtseyed.  “Jane and Bella have come to visit me now that I am settled here in Kent.”

“How charming,” Fitzwilliam commented.  “Darcy and I come every Easter to visit Lady Catherine and our cousin, Miss De Bourg.”

“You are attentive nephews,” Mrs. Collins replied, a laugh in her dark eyes. 

Fitzwilliam could see why Darcy did not care for her.  Everything seemed to be a laugh to her.  That would grate on Darcy.  It was strange that he would dance with her.  It must have been a favor to Bingley with whom he was staying.

Fitzwilliam, however, ignored Mrs. Collins’ playful statement.

“I hope you have settled in at the parsonage, Mrs. Collins.  I understand my aunt made several improvements to it when Mr. Collins took occupancy.”

Her dark eyes shone.  “Most decidedly comfortable, Colonel.”

Darcy shifted beside him.  “I see Lady Catherine,” he announced.  “Ladies.”  He bowed to them and left Fitzwilliam with Mrs. Collins and her friends.

Fitzwilliam did not mind.

“And you, Miss Bennet?  Are you quite pleased with your sister’s situation?”

Miss Bennet’s serene smile tilted toward him.  “Indeed, Colonel.  It is satisfying seeing a sister so well settled.”

Fitzwilliam, however, desired to speak with neither of the Bennet sisters.  His object was Miss Isabella Swan.  He turned to her next.  “How do you enjoy Kent?  It must be very different from Bath.”

Looking at him intelligently, Miss Swan asked, “Do you know Bath, Colonel?”

“I only know London.”

“Both are Metropolitan.”

“You enjoy the city then.”  He turned fully toward her then.  “Kent must be a change for you.”

“It is only for two months,” she informed him, unintentionally giving him her schedule.  “I shall be back in Bath with its concerts, balls, and card games.”

This sparked an interest in him.  “You play cards, Miss Swan?”

A hint of worry crossed behind her eyes.  She paused.  “Does not every lady?” she asked in return.

Fitzwilliam regarded her for a long moment, uncertain if he should pursue the subject.

Lady Catherine, however, interrupted by calling his name.  He looked over his shoulder and saw that the carriage was ready to take him back to Rosings Park.  There was no excuse he could give to stay longer now that he had been summoned.

“Forgive me for leaving you ladies on such a fine morning,” he apologized.  “I understand I shall see you Wednesday.  Mrs. Collins,” he said in farewell, turning to her.  “Miss Bennet.”  He looked into her serene face.  He then reached for Miss Swan’s hand, which she hesitantly gave, showing his presence.  “Until next time,” he promised her specifically before tipping his hat to all three of them and leaving.

Darcy was waiting outside of the carriage, having already handed in Lady Catherine, Anne, and Mrs. Jenkinson.  They shared a look.  Darcy had seen his preference.  Fitzwilliam was not sorry for it.  Darcy entered the carriage and Fitzwilliam looked over his shoulder.

Mrs. Collins was once again engaging her friends in conversation, but Miss Swan was not paying attention.  She was instead looking back at Fitzwilliam.

Tipping his hat to her one last time, he then entered the carriage, satisfied with his morning well spent.

“I see why you do not care for her,” he commented to Darcy the next day, “Mrs. Collins.”

“I had the misfortune to share the same house with her for a week,” Darcy confessed.  “Caroline had invited Jane Bennet to dinner and she rode over in the rain.”  This was said dismissively, “an obvious ploy by the mother.”

“Mrs. Bennet meant to catch you then?” Fitzwilliam inquired.

“No,” Darcy admitted.  “She meant to catch Bingley.”

Fitzwilliam motioned for Darcy to continue.

“Miss Bennet caught a cold and the next day Mrs. Collins appeared to tend her, her hem six inches deep in mud.”  This last bit was thrown out with all the contemptuousness Darcy clearly felt.  “I would never allow Georgiana to traipse about the countryside after a rainstorm after a sick friend.”

Even Eloise Bridgerton?—Fitzwilliam wanted to ask, but he already knew the answer.  Darcy would send for the carriage.

“That is how you spent the week in the same house.”

“Indeed,” Darcy agreed.  “It was then that Mr. Collins came calling.  I was unaware until the Netherfield Ball that he had chosen Miss Elizabeth Bennet and not her elder sister as a prospective bride.  It appears that the Bennet family had determined that Miss Jane Bennet, the eldest sister, had a serious chance at catching Bingley and so steered Mr. Collins toward Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

“You assume they had warned Mr. Collins off Jane.”

“I know they did.  Mr. Collins, according to Meryton gossip, is set to inherit Mr. Bennet’s estate and came to Longbourn expressly to choose one of his daughters in recompense for the entail.  As Jane Bennet was unavailable, he chose the next available sister.”

“How many sisters are there?”

Darcy looked a little perturbed.  “Five.  They were all out in society.”

“What?  All five out before the elder are married?  Miss Bennet cannot be—above twenty.”

“So I had determined,” Darcy agreed solemnly.  “It was unsightly.  The entire Bennet family is unsightly.  Only the elder two sisters had a modicum of decency in society and, as I said, Miss Bennet smiles too much and Mrs. Collins—” he let his voice trail off.  “You have met her.”

Yes, Fitzwilliam had met her, and he understood why Darcy did not like her.

“The family, while unsightly with all their daughters out to catch husbands, surely must have been moderately respectable.  Bingley’s money comes from trade. I do not know why you associate with him.  You should not allow Georgiana to be seen with him.  He is not of the first circles.” 

Darcy looked a little perturbed.  “You know we were at Cambridge together.”

“That does not explain it,” Fitzwilliam reminded him.  “Mr. Bennet is surely a gentleman.”

“His wife comes from trade.”

“Bingley would not have minded that if he had had an attachment to the eldest Bennet daughter.”

“No,” Darcy agreed carefully, going to the window and looking out.  “Not with his own background.  You are correct.  Jane Bennet, however, was a fortune hunter.  She was after his five thousand pounds a year and held no peculiar affection for him.  If he was to marry a country gentleman’s daughter who had never entered London society, there should have at least been affection on her side.  I congratulate myself on separating them.”

Fitzwilliam considered.  “Miss Bennet is indeed beautiful.”

“Like a statue,” Darcy conceded.  “You might look at a statue, but would you like to marry one?”

“Pygmalion did.”

“His statue came to life and had a heart!” Darcy protested.  “I assure you, if Miss Bennet has a heart, it is not easily touched.”

Fitzwilliam paused.  It was clear that Darcy felt strongly about the situation.  He supposed no man should have a wife, serene though she was, whose heart was indifferent to him, especially if he entered into the marriage thinking his wife loved him.

“You know your friend best,” Fitzwilliam conceded.  “I do not know the parties involved.  Miss Bennet is, however, very pretty.  Prettier than Mrs. Collins.”

“She will catch a husband,” Darcy agreed.  “It simply shall not be Bingley.”

“Her sister managed to catch the vicar.”

“That she did,” Darcy agreed, folding his fingers.  He seemed deep in thought.  “At least the rest of the Bennets are back in Hertfordshire.  We do not have to deal with them.  There is just your Miss Swan.”

“My Miss Swan,” Fitzwilliam parroted back.  “I am not certain she is my Miss Swan.”

“No,” Darcy agreed.  “But you should like her to be.  Lady Catherine should certainly like that as well.”

“At least I know I look well in regimentals,” Fitzwilliam said more to himself than to Darcy.

Darcy looked at him speculatively, but said nothing.

The party from the vicarage came the next Wednesday after tea.  The vicar, a little man with big hands and ears that stuck out from his head, was obsequious, and every time he spoke Mrs. Collins’ eyes would light up in laughter.

It seemed Mrs. Collins was not above laughing at the peculiarities at her own husband.  Odd.

He may be ridiculous, but a man’s own wife should be supportive.

Mrs. Collins was once again wearing a demure dress in dark blue, which matched her eyes.  Miss Bennet, her elder sister, was dressed in a white spring muslin, which favored her very well.  Miss Isabella Swan, however, was wearing blue silks with another fashionable hat on her head instead of a straw bonnet.  She had dressed for an evening out in society among equals—that is, a baronet’s lady and her daughter—not a quiet night at home with her friends.

“Miss Swan,” Fitzwilliam greeted, taking her arm and leading her to the settee, “how enchanting you look tonight.”

“Thank you, Colonel,” she answered with a blush.  “I enjoy being in equal company.”

How prettily she blushed, he thought to himself.  The crimson color stretched down her neck to hide beneath her blusher. 

Lady Catherine controlled the conversation, as was her wont, but Fitzwilliam spent a very pleasant half hour admiring Miss Swan as she answered his aunt’s questions.

“I do take the water,” Miss Swan was now telling them politely, “every morning for my health.  As you can see, I am quite well.”

“Yes,” Lady Catherine responded.  “I have often wondered if we should go to Bath for the waters.  It might benefit Anne but Dr. Monroe has counseled against travel, despite the benefits the waters might have, and has advised we stay at Rosings Park.”

Miss Swan looked over to where Anne was sitting, bundled in shawls, upon the settee.

“Surely,” Miss Swan suggested carefully, “if you broke up the trip into no more than a few hours a day, Miss De Bourg could be in Bath in no more than a week and would not tire herself out.”  Her eyes alighted again on Lady Catherine.  “You could even break up your travels by spending two nights at every inn for the benefit of Miss De Bourg.”

Anne squeaked and disappeared further into her shawls so that only her nose was poking out.

Fitzwilliam regarded her fearfully, wondering if she should topple over in her fear of being regarded by the entire assembled party.

“You are too thoughtful, Miss Swan,” Lady Catherine complimented, strangely not overriding the younger Miss Swan with her opinion as she did with most visitors.  “I shall consult Dr. Monroe.  There may be merit in your plan.”

“Bella,” Mrs. Collins interjected, “is all thoughtfulness.”

The tone of her voice suggested that her words were a jest and not meant in any seriousness.

Fitzwilliam looked at the vicar’s lady harshly.  “I think it an excellent plan,” he defended.  “It takes my cousin’s health into account and may allow her to be transported to the healing waters.  A fine plan, I say.  I could even escort the two of you, Aunt, if you should wish it and if my commanding officer allows.  Then we might visit Miss Swan in Bath and renew our acquaintance.”

“A fine plan,” Darcy conceded.  “We should have Dr. Monroe call on the morrow.”  He had been standing at the window with his dish of tea, but had turned back at the room.  “Anne has been cooped up at Rosings too long.”

Miss Swan’s eyes widened at his pronouncement.  Her large violet eyes were turned to him and she then looked at Fitzwilliam, who smiled at her encouragingly.

“It is decided,” Lady Catherine declared.  “On the morrow Dr. Monroe shall call on us.”

Mrs. Collins seemed to suppress a smirk.

Miss Bennet smiled serenely.

The vicar was clearly out of his depth.

When it came time for the ladies to perform, Mrs. Collins was given the choice of the instrument first, as she was married, and she played pleasantly though with little technical skill.  Her sister, Miss Bennet, turned pages for her. 

Lady Catherine remarked loudly that she would never truly be skilled unless she practiced and she was “invited to come play on the pianoforte in Mrs. Jenkinson’s room whenever she liked as she would be in nobody’s way in that part of the house.”

The rude comment would have usually made Fitzwilliam embarrassed on his aunt’s behalf, but as he did not particular like Mrs. Collins’ sly smiles, he ignored the suggestion.

When it was Miss Swan’s turn to perform, he led her to the pianoforte and offered to turn pages for her. 

“Oh no,” she demurred.  “I shall play from memory.  I shall be singing, in any case.”  She gave him a small smile, played the opening chords, and began to sing in a rich alto.  Miss Swan certainly had the benefit of the masters in Bath.

At the end of the evening, Fitzwilliam took her hand and led her out to the carriage, lifting her up and meeting her eyes.  They were bright and intelligent, but with a question in them.  He smiled at her and squeezed her hand, before letting her go and stepping away.

“I see you’ve found your heiress,” Darcy commented when he came back into the house.

“It is as you’ve found.”

“I can tell you that Netherfield is a fine prospect, though she seems to like to spend her time in Bath.”

“I do not mind retiring from an Army career to Bath,” he answered, “and I like her face.”

He remembered the way her dark violet eyes lit up in her face when she sang.

Darcy was regarding him and Fitzwilliam looked up at him from his musings a moment too late. 

“I see I shall be visiting Netherfield Park again although I thought I had seen the back of that place,” Darcy commented.  “At least Mrs. Collins will not be there.”

“Indeed,” Fitzwilliam agreed, “but she is here in Kent.”

“A man cannot have everything his heart desires,” Darcy remarked before turning further into the house, leaving Fitzwilliam to watch the carriage take the vicarage party further down the drive.

The End.