Replacement, Pt. III

Title: The Replacement, Part III
Author: ExcentrykeMuse
Read: Replacement, Pt. I & Replacement, Pt. II
Fandoms: Pride & Prejudice / Twilight Saga / (Bridgerton (TV Series))
Pairings: Bella/Fitzwilliam, (past) Bella/Darcy, (slight) Benedict/Sophie
Rating: PG
Word Count: 4k
Warnings: Lady Catherine is strident, Darcy is hurt, Fitzwilliam is in the wings, Queen Charlotte decides on her diamonds, Bella is a klutz, Bella is confused, arranged marriages, Georgiana is a flibbertigibbet
Summary: Bella, having refused Darcy, is now released onto London Society as the Rosing Heiress… and they’re not sure what hit them…

Replacement, Pt. III

Bella folded the letter from Eloise Bridgerton.  They had become correspondents after Bella had got lost in the woods at Pemberley the previous August and Benedict Bridgerton had found her.  Bella and Lady Catherine were in the carriage, arriving in London for the Season that began every year in April.  Bella was eighteen and so she was to be presented to Her Majesty Queen Charlotte as the heiress of Rosings.

Unfortunately, this meant Georgiana Darcy was also going to be presented.

“What are you thinking, my dear?”

Bella looked over at Lady Catherine.  She tried to smile.  “I am hoping Miss Bridgerton and I like each other.”

“Miss Bridgerton is several years older than you,” Lady Catherine warned.  “You may not have a great deal in common.”

“Yes,” Bella agreed carefully.  “I know.”  She bit her lip.  “Do you think Mr. Bridgerton will ask me to dance?”  She paused.  “Do you think I will step on his foot?”

“If you step on his foot, then he shall not mention it because he is a gentleman.”  Lady Catherine looked at her pointedly.  “A gentleman never mentions it.”

“No,” Bella agreed.  “Of course, Aunt.  How silly of me.”

When they arrived at Rose House, Bella was shown to her room.  She was now out of mourning for Anne De Bourg, her cousin, and allowed to wear her house colors, which were red.  She thought this made her blush look worse, but she could not gainsay Lady Catherine, who was her guardian.  She preferred to wear blues and greens, but the De Bourgs did not wear those colors, so Bella could not, even though it was her grandmother who was a De Bourg.  She was now the De Bourg heiress and so she must conform.

When she came in for tea it was to see Lady Catherine happily sorting through invitations with a large diary on the table in front of her.

“Well, dear,” she said, looking up.  “We shall be well engaged once you come out in four days.”

Bella sat down and took her cup from Mrs. Jenkinson.  “Shall we?”

“The Viscountess of Bridgerton shall be holding a ball the night before your presentation.  Unusual as Lady Danbury usually opens the season.”  She leaned in as if to impart a secret, “but her ball is the next night.  You shall wear your pink for that occasion, with the pearls I think.”

Bella took a deep breath.  “Mr. Benedict will be at his mother’s ball, shall he not?” Bella asked carefully, sharing a knowing glance with Mrs. Jenkinson.  When she had got lost on the grounds of Pemberley the previous August, it had been Benedict Bridgerton who had found her.  He was friends with the Viscount of Owestry and as of last August, he was unmarried.

“That flibbertigibbet,” Lady Catherine proclaimed, looking up from her diary, an invitation clasped between her fingers.  “He is a second son, Isabella, dear.  You know I want you for a baronet.”

Bella glanced at Mrs. Jenkinson worriedly.  “I know, Aunt, but a second son from a suitable household—”

“No,” Lady Catherine declared, raising her hand.  “I will hear no more of it.  A baronet or a lord.  I shall hear nothing else.”

Chewing her lower lip in worry, Bella only nodded her head and returned to her tea.

Lady Catherine watched her out of her pale blue eyes for a long moment and then returned to her invitations.  “I see the Duchess of Hastings has not sent her card,” she told Bella, trying to change the subject. 

Bella could not remember who, exactly, the Duchess of Hastings was supposed to be.  She let it pass.

The next few days were spent pushing and prodding Bella into a white gown and curling her hair to perfection.  Charlotte, the maid, placed large white ostrich feathers in her hair, and when Bella looked into the glass, she did not quite recognize herself.

She was all prepared for the presentation to the Queen, but the night before was the Dowager Viscountess Bridgerton’s masquerade ball.  For that evening, Bella was permitted to wear a deep green dress with diamonds, her black hair done in an ornamental twist and a pink masque placed over her eyes.

“How will Mr. Bridgerton recognize me?” Bella asked Mrs. Jenkinson worriedly before she went downstairs for Lady Catherine to inspect her.  “He has not seen me out of mourning.”

“The heart recognizes whom we desire,” Mrs. Jenkinson whispered in her ear, so the maids would not hear.  She squeezed her shoulder.

“How should I recognize him?” Bella murmured.  “I saw him only the morning after I was lost.  It has been eight months since.”

“Let your heart guide you.”

With a whisper of muslin, Mrs. Jenkinson left the room, and Bella was left with her own reflection.

Lady Catherine approved and so they bundled into the carriage.  Bridgerton House was fine with a large chandelier and Bella allowed herself to be swept away by the music, accepting the hand of the first masked gentleman who should ask her.  It was after the third dance that she saw Darcy in a dark coat and black mask, his curling hair falling into his eyes.  It was not like him to not be perfectly put together.  However, Bella realized she should not have been surprised at his attendance.  He was, after all, chaperoning his younger sister Georgiana, who was to be presented on the morrow.  Bella was a little surprised to see him separated from her in the ballroom, but perhaps she was dancing.  Bella pitied the gentleman who was squiring her.

Their eyes met and Bella thought there was something different about the color.  She tilted her head in confusion and was surprised when Darcy approached her.  When he stood before her, she quickly curtsied, but spoke before he could, “Mr. Darcy,” she whispered, “you know no good can come of this.”

“Cousin Isabella—” he objected, and she paused.  Darcy never called her ‘Cousin Isabella.’  He was always polite and referred to her as ‘Miss Swan.’

“Claiming familial affection will not help you,” she objected, lifting her chin despite the tremor in her voice.  “I will not change my mind.  Go dance with other ladies.  You shall not dance with me.”

“Cousin Isabella,” he objected again, reaching for her, but she pulled away.

“I told you, ‘no,’” she whispered harshly, her violet eyes flashing.

Darcy—for it was Darcy, she was sure of it—paused.  “It is I, Cousin Isabella, Colonel Fitzwilliam.  It is not Darcy, though I should dearly like to know how he has offended you so egregiously.”

Bella paused and looked up into his eyes.  They were not green but a muddy brown.  Her gaze widened.  “Colonel Fitzwilliam?” she whispered in shock.  “Is it really you?”

“The very same!” he agreed with a grin, bowing to her gallantly.  “However, I should correct you, though I did not proclaim myself properly.  The Prince Regent has granted me a baronetcy for favors to the crown.  I am now Colonel Sir Richard Fitzwilliam.  A mouthful, I know, though if you simply wish to call me ‘Colonel’ or ‘Cousin Richard,’ I shall not object.”

Bella’s eyes widened further.  “Aunt Catherine did not tell me.”

“Father wrote,” Colonel Fitzwilliam mentioned casually.  “I believe he is still expecting Lady Catherine’s response.  She has much to do with your debut.”

Bella could not believe what she was seeing.  She knew Darcy and the Colonel were near exact copies of each other, but this was uncanny.  She could not tell them apart while the Colonel was wearing a masque, except for the eyes, which were shadowed by said masque.  “You look like brothers,” she sighed.  “Tis a wonder.”

“So many have observed before you,” the Colonel admitted.  “I shall take that as an apology for the misunderstanding.”

“Yes,” she agreed.  “I am sorry.”  She paused.  “Darcy did not tell you of our falling out?”

“No,” the Colonel answered carefully.  “Lady Catherine only wrote to Father that you were to have a Season after all.”

Bella was entirely uncertain how to answer that.

The Colonel, it seemed, did not require an answer.  Jovially, he asked, “Would you not allow me this next set, Cousin Isabella?”

“I am not your cousin,” she reminded him.

“By law you are Lady Catherine’s great niece, and she is my aunt,” he reminded her, leaning down with a twinkle in his dark eyes.  “Ergo I say you are my cousin.”

“I do not like it,” she responded, but she took his hand when he offered it and went out onto the dancefloor.

She did step on his foot once in the Allemand, but the Colonel did not mention it, so good natured was he, and he even went and fetched her a lemonade.  After she had danced with two other gentlemen, he came and found her again, and danced another set with her, and he was the one who delivered her to Lady Catherine.

“Darcy!” she exclaimed.  “I am surprised to see you with Isabella.”

“It is I, Lady Catherine,” he responded jovially.  “Colonel Sir Richard Fitzwilliam.”

“Sir Richard Fitzwilliam?” she checked.  “I had not heard.”

“Father wrote you.”  He looked over at Bella as if it were a joke.

“Did he?”  Lady Catherine was observing him now.  “Is it a knighthood?”

“A baronetcy, conferred on me just yesterday.  The title is still new.”

“I suppose you have your own coat of arms,” Lady Catherine checked.

“A slight alteration from my father’s,” the Colonel admitted.  “I hope you will not disapprove.”

“No,” Lady Catherine agreed carefully.  “And you danced with my Isabella?”

“Two sets.—I kept her away from Darcy, as was her wish.  I saw him staring out a window.  He was much engrossed when he was not observing Georgiana’s suitors.”

“Georgiana, yes,” Lady Catherine murmured, sharing a look with Bella.  “I did imagine she would be here with Darcy.  They are both to be presented tomorrow.—I suppose you are a man of consequence, now, twice that of Darcy, though you have no estate.”

“That can always be remedied,” the Colonel countered, “there are pretty heiresses with pretty estates.”

Bella quite took his meaning.  Colonel Fitzwilliam had always liked her, even when she was quite clearly meant for Darcy.  He had never interfered, had never suggested an alteration to Lady Catherine’s plans or Bella’s affections, but the tides had turned.  Biting her lip, Bella quite decidedly tried not to look down at her slippers.

Lady Catherine hummed.  “Say goodbye to your cousin, Richard, Isabella.”

Cousin, now, was he?  Bella was startled into silence.

Colonel Fitzwilliam seemed not to mind.  He took her gloved hand and kissed it, careful to catch her eye, before releasing her into Lady Catherine’s care.  Lady Catherine seemed pleased and took Bella’s arm, leading her out into the night.

“Let me see your card,” she demanded as soon as they were back at Rose House, leading Bella into the sitting room. 

Bella took it off of her wrist and handed it over before carefully removing her evening gloves.

“Did Sir Richard immediately recognize you in your mask?” Lady Catherine asked as she sat down with the card, looking it over and reading the penciled in names.

“Yes,” Bella agreed, taking her own seat and watching as Mrs. Jenkinson came in and rang for tea.  “He called me ‘Cousin Isabella’ but I still thought he was Darcy.”

“Yes,” Lady Catherine agreed.  “The likeness has always been startling.  As boys, if they had not been three years apart, they could have been twins except for the eyes.  I could hardly see the color of his eyes in that black masque.”

“No,” Bella agreed.  “The masque hid it well.”

Mrs. Jenkinson came to sit with them.

“I see Mr. Bridgerton did not ask you to dance,” Lady Catherine pronounced.  “I saw him chasing after a girl in a white masque.  That is well.”

“Oh?” Bella asked, careful not to look at Mrs. Jenkinson.  “I did not recognize him in the crush.”

“Such is the way with masked balls,” Lady Catherine philosophized.  “There are some excellent names on the list.  I like Sir Richard the best.  If we cannot marry you off to Darcy, best to marry you off to a Fitzwilliam.  He has a baronetcy, you have an estate, it is an excellent match.”

Mrs. Jenkinson looked up in interest.

The tea came in.

Mrs. Jenkinson served.

Bella took her cup.  “He is so—”

“He is cheerful because he has seen war in Europe,” Lady Catherine explained.  “He can be quite serious when he wishes to be.  He does not have the false solemnity Darcy puts about with his dark moods.  He does not blacken sunny does unlike Darcy.  I sometimes despair of Darcy.  I do not know how Georgiana keeps her spirits up.”

“Perhaps it is because she lives with Mrs. Ainsley almost year round,” Bella posited, thinking of the breathless girl who could not stop speaking.

“Perhaps you are right,” Lady Catherine agreed.  “You will most likely see her tomorrow at the palace.”

Bella set down her cup.  That was certainly a somber thought.  She could not abide Georgiana.

She was restless once she was in bed, thinking of Colonel Fitzwilliam and how like Darcy he looked in his masque.  It was quite startling.  Could she allow a copy of a man to make love to her when she had spurned his cousin?  And what of Benedict Bridgerton?  She had had her cap set at him just that morning and now he had gone and chased after a girl in a white masque instead of her—

It was all such a muddle.  It was too much to sort out that night.

The next day she was sewn into her white silk dress and her hair was braided into a complicated mass of intricacies, feathers springing from it, and she was bundled up to St. James’s Court.

Georgiana Darcy, of course, found her amongst all the young debutantes in their finery.  She was accompanied by a lady with graying auburn hair, stark eyes, and an elegant figure, who must be none other than the Countess of Matlock—Georgiana’s aunt, and Colonel Fitzwilliam’s mother.

Bella braced herself.

“Oh, Miss Swan!” Georgiana blurted out, the feathers on her head shivering.  Bella’s were taller.  “Is this not all—wonderful?” she gasped out, grabbing Bella’s hands.  “It will be like we are truly sisters!”

“Georgiana,” Lady Catherine interceded, coming up behind Bella.  “How well you look.”

“Lady Catherine!” Georgiana exclaimed.  “How lovely you look in white!  Did your maid do your hair?  How beautiful.  Did she do Miss Swan’s hair as well?”  Her eyes got wide.  “How magnificent.  She should talk to my maid.  Do you like my hair?  Lady Matlock thought a chignon but I said curls.  Curls are so much more refined!  But oh!  Miss Swan!  Your hair is not in curls.  Why is your hair not in curls?  Braids are so passé!  Lady Catherine?”  Her green eyes were wide in question.

“Georgiana,” Lady Matlock said, ushering her away, “Why do we not go speak—”

Bella breathed out a sigh in relief.

“To think,” Lady Catherine told her, “you could have been the one to oversee Georgiana’s debut.”

Bella tried not to glare at her.  “You cannot be serious.  I would be debuting myself if I were married.”

“Not today,” Lady Catherine reminded her.  “Married ladies are presented slightly later in the season.”

Bella chewed her lip.  “I suppose Mr. Darcy will be here to see Georgiana’s triumph.”

“If she can be silent long enough to walk down the hall,” Lady Catherine suppositioned.

Bella held in a laugh.

Lady Catherine’s eyes sparkled blue.

When it was time for the presentation, Bella stood quietly beside Lady Catherine, waiting for her turn.  Georgiana was called first, and Bella watched as she walked out of the double doors into the presentation hall.  She came back practically shaking before leaving out of the back exit.

When Bella’s name was called, she took a deep breath and advanced carefully.

The doors were opened and she took one step carefully in front of the other, focusing on the Dias at the end of the red carpet and not the dozens of faces lining her pathway.  She could feel Lady Catherine behind her, and Bella had to remember to breathe and not trip.  When she came up to the Dias, she sank into a low curtsey and lowered her eyes (which had already been lowered) and crouched carefully, making sure her hands were not crossed over her lap.

She waited.  She was uncertain what she was waiting for.

Then she heard it.  Rustling.

An intake of breath.  Was it her breath?

A hand was placed under her chin, and Bella slowly rose.

“Charming.”

Bella looked up into the eyes of Queen Charlotte.

“Simply charming.”

Bella took in a deep breath.

“And such magnificent eyes.  The color,” Queen Charlotte continued.  “I have never seen the like.  Your name, child.”

Bella felt like she would faint.  “Isabella Marie Swan,” she whispered, “of Rosings Park.”

“Ah,” Queen Charlotte realized.  “The Rosings heiress.  I read about you in Lady Whistledown.  You are quite the catch this Season, Miss Swan.  Unmatched.”

Bella blushed. 

Queen Charlotte smiled.  Looking over Bella’s shoulder at Lady Catherine, she commented, “You are to be commended, Lady Catherine.  Quite the—dare I say, diamond?”  She looked over Bella one last time before turning and leaving the receiving room.

Bella stood in complete silence and then the room erupted into whispers.  Looking down at her slippers, Bella remained perfectly still until Lady Catherine came up to her and touched her on the arm, whispering in her ear that they should withdraw.

“What a triumph!” Lady Catherine declared in the carriage.  “A baronetcy title is just what I wanted, but we can look even higher now if someone better comes along.  Still, I like a Fitzwilliam.  Bella, you have outdone yourself.”

“I have?”

“Why, yes.  You are this Season’s diamond!  Every marquis in London will be beating a path to our door.”

Bella nearly squeaked.  Every marquis?  For her?  This seemed a little too much.

“But Aunt Catherine—”

“No demurrals,” Lady Catherine demanded.  “We shall have to plan your toilette most carefully.  Perhaps we should leave your hair in braids.  The Queen seemed to like them so very much.”

Bella was absolutely overwhelmed.

At least when she got back to Rose House the feathers were taken out of her hair and she was cut out of her dress.  She was allowed to lie down for the rest of the afternoon and not get dressed until after dinner, taking her meal in her room.

Her hair was indeed left in braids, though a different style was chosen.  She was placed in a pink dress with cap sleeves and pearls put in her hair. 

She turned in a circle for Lady Catherine when she went downstairs and was declared ready for Lady Danbury’s ball.

“I have sent a note to Sir Richard,” Lady Catherine told her in the carriage.  “He shall be waiting to escort you into the throng of your suitors.  He shall have your first dance and your supper set.  If your triumph emboldens Darcy, he is to protect you.”

“Protect me?” Bella asked a little fearfully.

“Yes,” Lady Catherine told her stridently.  “You certainly need protection now.”  She smoothed out her red skirts.  “What are you about child?  You are the most celebrated debutante of the season?”

Bella swallowed nervously just at the thought of it.

When they arrived, Bella saw exactly what Lady Catherine meant.

Every man turned to look at them when Bella descended the stairs into the ballroom.  Whispers followed her wherever she went.  Although she was clearly on Colonel Fitzwilliam’s arm, men boldly approached her, asking for a dance or offering to fetch her a punch.  Her dance card was soon filled, and Bella kept on having to refer to it so she could remember her dance partner’s name.

Darcy even approached her just before the supper set, which belonged to Colonel Fitzwilliam.

“Miss Swan,” he greeted, bowing to her.

She curtseyed, not answering.

“I suppose your card is full.”

“Even if it were not, Mr. Darcy, you know no good would come of this.”

He made a motion to a waiter, who approached with glasses of punch.  Bella was offered one, but she had declined.  She had already had two glasses and she didn’t want to get light headed.  Darcy motioned for the waiter to leave them.

“I suppose Lady Catherine wishes you to marry Sir Richard now.”

“She wants Rosings to stay in the Fitzwilliam family,” Bella answered carefully, “and he is a baronet.”

“Ah, yes.  You will be ‘Lady Fitzwilliam.’  Quite the catch.  You will have your own coat of arms.  Anne only ever would have been ‘Mrs. Darcy.’”

Bella stared at him at his mention of Anne.  “I thought we were done bringing up my cousin.  It’s been well over a year.”

“We are never done bringing up Anne,” Darcy answered casually.  “Surely you know that.  You are her replacement, after all.”  He took a sip of his red wine, not looking at her.

Bella felt as if she had been slapped.

At this moment, Colonel Fitzwilliam came to claim his dance.  She gladly went with him.

He tried to rally her to conversation, but Bella was trying to hold back the tears.  Halfway through Schottische, the Colonel led her from the floor and, surprisingly, into an orangery.  He sat her under a flowering tree, handed her a handkerchief, and went and fetched her a lemonade.

“A punch would be counterproductive,” he told her, grabbing another chair and drawing it next to hers.  “What did Darcy say to you?”

“That I was a replacement for—Anne.”  She took a small sip of lemonade.  “It is only the truth.”

The Colonel turned solemn.  “It is true, that if Anne had not died, you would not be in your current position.” 

Hiccoughing, Bella looked up, trying not to cry.

“But you are not Anne.  Far from it,” the Colonel told her solemnly.  “Is it not true that I would have pursued Anne for her fortune?  Of course it is.  Darcy never would have though.  We would not be having a private argument about Anne, that we are having about you.”

Looking up carefully, Bella wondered, her voice soft, “You are arguing about me?”

“Oh, yes,” the Colonel agreed, shaking his head, “most viciously.  Darcy believes I have stolen you.”

Bella sighed.  “You have not stolen me.  He lost me all on his own.”

“Will you not tell me what happened?” Colonel Fitzwilliam asked carefully.  “No one has said.  I thought it was just a matter of time when we were all at Rosings last Easter.”

Taking another quick sip of her lemonade, Bella took another querulous breath.  “It was meeting Georgiana.”

“Georgiana?” the Colonel asked.  “She is a bit—much,” he confessed, “but she is harmless.”

“I could not imagine living in close proximity with her for any extended amount of time,” Bella confessed.  “The idea horrified me.  Georgiana—” she paused, thinking, “disturbs my equilibrium.”

“Ah.”  Colonel Fitzwilliam considered.  “You have the advantage of being able to choose not only your husband but your husband’s family.”

“Yes,” Bella agreed carefully.  “I suppose I do.”

“Darcy cannot help his sister.”

“No,” Bella murmured.  Her violet eyes flashed up at him.  “But you are a man quite independent.  I have met the Countess briefly, but you are removed from the Earl and Countess, and your brother.  Does he have a wife?”

“Owestry?” the Colonel asked.  “Quite.  Sophie.  Small, little, talkative thing.  I don’t much care for her.”  He shrugged.  “You are right.  If you were to marry me, you would see my family at the wedding, and then perhaps only at Christmas should we choose to see them at all.  We would see Darcy once a year at Easter—and Georgiana once or twice in London.  I am her second guardian, you remember, but that need not bother you.”

“I am not ready to be married,” Bella confessed quietly.  “I was not ready last Easter and I am not ready now.”

“That is your privilege,” Colonel Fitzwilliam told her, standing and offering his arm.  “It is my privilege to dance with you until such a time when you should decide you are ready.  Now, who is next on your dance card.”

She smiled up at him happily.  Looking at her card, she told him, “Lord Lumley—Cousin Richard.”

His muddy brown eyes lit up almost gold.  The color struck her.  “Let us go find Lord Lumley,” he told her gamefully, and with that they left the orangerie.

The End.