Rosings is a place of potential and simmering passions for our dear couple. How out of control Fitzwilliam Darcy must have felt! I imagine Mr Darcy was as shocked as anyone to find himself hopelessly in love with Miss Elizabeth Bennet. I love that tension-filled moment of the proposal at Rosings where both he and Elizabeth had been operating from completely incorrect information about the other and both feeling themselves completely in the right.
A Photo of a stone bridge, much like the one I imagine Darcy and Elizabeth meeting at in SWELL MY SONG.
I have always thought that there were times when, if Mr Darcy had been of a mystical turn of mind, he could have easily believed himself to be under some sort of spell. That was one of the jumping off points for this Greek mythology inspired novella- SWELL MY SONG. What if Elizabeth attributed his passion to unnatural influences?
Ulysses and the Sirens by John William Waterhouse, 1891
The imaginings of sirens began as a half woman/half winged beast. That is how they were first described in Greek mythology. As time passed, artists in the Middle Ages began to also portray them as creatures with tails from the sea. I personally prefer to imagine them as sea creatures with their songs interwoven in the crashing of waves. So I guess it is a personal preference at this point in history.
Another jumping off point for the inspiration for SWELL MY SONG was a passage from Pride and Prejudice-
“You are a very strange creature by way of a friend!—always wanting me to play and sing before anybody and everybody! If my vanity had taken a musical turn, you would have been invaluable; but as it is, I would really rather not sit down before those who must be in the habit of hearing the very best performers.” On Miss Lucas’s persevering, however, she added, “Very well, if it must be so, it must.” And gravely glancing at Mr. Darcy, “There is a fine old saying, which everybody here is of course familiar with: ‘Keep your breath to cool your porridge’; and I shall keep mine to swell my song.”
Ulysses and the Sirens by Herbert Draper, 1909
The image Jane Austen paints with her words always struck me as unusually charming and colloquial. It conjures feelings of wind and waves in my mind. Being a fan of Greek mythology since my teen years, I decided a mash-up of mythology and misunderstandings was too delicious to pass up.
The Fisherman and the Syren by Fredrick Leighton, 1858
Here is an excerpt from my novella SWELL MY SONG- The Mayhap Myths Book One, which will be released in April 2025. I hope you enjoy it!
***
As recollections of her reassurances to her father rose in her memory, Elizabeth stared at the ivories before her. There could be nothing—absolutely nothing—to the myth Mr Bennet believed in, could there? Doubt gnawed at her.
Lady Catherine was momentarily distracted by the bringing in of a letter. Elizabeth composed her countenance as well as she was able and glanced around. Mr Collins was so enamoured of Lady Catherine and, to a significantly lesser degree, his wife, that he was in no danger of developing a passionate regard for her. Charlotte, Mrs Jenkinson, Maria Lucas, and Miss de Bourgh were in no danger of a heated regard for her. Colonel Fitzwilliam, though pleasant, never took an interest in her the way men commonly did with women. Perhaps his heart was already engaged. Or perhaps he was a woman-hater who was disgusted by the thought of marriage and preferred the company of fellow bachelor friends.
Either way, Elizabeth doubted very much that the colonel need be a concern. That left only Mr Darcy. Though close to her as she sat before the instrument, his attention was momentarily engaged in giving Lady Catherine curt replies. She studied his profile. It was a shame he had so little regard for the feelings of others, for he was handsome, intelligent, and could be lured into a lively debate when the mood struck him. However, Elizabeth could never forgive the ways in which he had insulted her, her family, her friends, the entire populace of Meryton, nor the severe injuries he had inflicted upon George Wickham, that handsome officer of the militia. Mr Darcy had wilfully disobeyed his deceased father and brought financial ruin to that amiable young man. It was more than she could bear to think about.
With her jaw clenched, she decided she would sing before the present company. Mr Darcy despised her too greatly to let his heart be swayed by a fictitious fairy tale. To imagine that the females of her family were in possession of some power of seduction through song was laughable. If anything, Elizabeth was certain that he would scowl and find fault.
Her courage strengthened. A lull in the conversation made her realise that all eyes were back on her. With deliberateness, Elizabeth rested each fingertip upon the cool ivories. Inhaling deeply, she pressed down and began her song.
Soon, all nervousness was forgotten as the rising tremors of sound ran through her flesh, coursing through her entire body. The song itself wove through and around her heart, forcing every misgiving about betraying her father’s faith from her awareness. The grand, ornate room seemed to fade to ashes, dull and grey, leaving only the melody that Elizabeth performed to fill the cavernous space.
Once the final notes had fled and the song was truly finished, silence greeted her. Blinking, Elizabeth opened her eyes, for they had been closed. Clapping, strong and unreserved, began from Colonel Fitzwilliam. She smiled, glad that there was no hint of rapturous passion in his eyes, just genuine appreciation.
“My word, Miss Bennet! You have shocked this worldly soldier exceedingly. I had no notion that Hertfordshire harboured such a rare songbird. Why, the best stages would be lucky to have you trod their boards.”
“I thank you, you are too kind.”
“Not at all! It is the truth.”
“Of course, if you had the opportunity to engage true masters from London, you may be able to develop your talent into something respectable,” Lady Catherine said with a wave of her hand.
Elizabeth suspected that Lady Catherine’s disdainfully tilted head hinted at some darker emotion. Jealousy? Envy? Scorn of a young lady whose talent made her own daughter fade even further into the exotic upholstery of the settee? Whatever the reason for the thinly veiled anger, Elizabeth took solace in the fact that she had been practically commanded to sing and had accommodated the great lady. She had already begged off several times in the previous weeks, claiming a sore throat. If she had attempted the false excuse again, she feared that Lady Catherine would begin to accuse her of carrying an infectious disease. Elizabeth shuddered to imagine the medical care that Lady Catherine would deem necessary for a minor sore throat. No doubt the ministrations would cause more harm than any benefit that may be realised.
Elizabeth sang another melody with a defiant throb in her voice, wishing to eliminate snide opinions from Lady Catherine. She felt free of any reservations, as she judged that none of the men in this room were in any danger of falling in love with her. Her voice, having been silent since their arrival here, had an added layer of pleasure and purity as the room, with the expensive instruments that were in a perpetual state of quiet, rang and reverberated through with her efforts.
Elizabeth paused at the end of her song, allowing the silence to resume its familiar, insidious presence. Finally, she stood to leave the instrument for the remainder of the visit. She assumed that the bench upon which she had been sitting was pulled back by Colonel Fitzwilliam. Turning to thank him with a nod, Elizabeth was shocked that it was Mr Darcy who stood before her.
“Thank you for gracing us with a song,” he said in a voice that lacked that certain quality of hardness that the gentleman usually spoke with. In its place was a deep and soothing lilt, like rough-hewn stone that has been smoothed and polished. It surprised her to suddenly notice this tone, and Elizabeth wondered if it was new or there had been a wilful lack of perception on her part.
She arched one eyebrow, not fully convinced that he was not being satirical at her expense. “Thank you, sir. How gentlemanly of you.”
A light frown briefly emerged on his lips. “I should hope that I never give rise to accusations that I am anything less than a gentleman.”
“I think a man of strong judgment accompanied by the willingness to share those judgments with others may be perceived as a shade less than a perfect gentleman. But, then again, perhaps my ideal of a true gentleman is far too rigorous for any mere mortal to attain.”
He smiled and shook his head gently, saying, “I must presume that what was sauce for the goose must now suit the gander. You speak again of my list at Netherfield of what an accomplished lady should possess.”
“And Miss Bingley’s suggestions. You did not refute any of her requirements.”
“You must permit me to defend myself on that point. True, I did not refute any of her requirements, but neither did I recommend them.”
“Since we are now in the murky waters of memories—who said what, who refused recommendation by omission, who had the final claim to be in the right—let us first agree that there should be an equally monstrous list of refinements for the gentlemen as there was assigned to a lady.”
Mr Darcy held one hand up with half a smile upon his face. “You have called me out, Miss Bennet, and I dare not attempt to scold you for it. Though I have studied hard to earn the title of gentleman and not simply claim it as my birthright, I do not think if I held myself up to such an imposing yardstick as the one we conjured for an ideally accomplished woman that I could withstand the scrutiny.”
Elizabeth was astonished. Was she witnessing Mr Darcy admit to some weakness in one of his judgments? Was he truly allowing her the victory in this clash of memory and mind? Could he be that gracious?
“What are you talking about? I must have my share!” Lady Catherine declared from the grouping of visitors she presided over.
Mr Darcy turned towards her with a rueful smile and a mild nod of the head as he extended his arm. “Miss Bennet?”
Puzzled, Elizabeth took his arm as they strolled across the vast room to rejoin the others. As she sat, her eyes followed Mr Darcy. If he had always striven for the title of a gentleman—not just from birth, but equally from his character—how was it possible for him to have treated Wickham so abominably?
There was a debate in her heart. Her friendly warmth towards Mr Wickham was examined. The officer had undoubtedly helped to heal her injured pride when the casual jibe of Mr Darcy at the Meryton assembly had stung more than she had acknowledged aloud to anyone. Her wounded dignity was reluctant to admit just how insulted she had been in that moment, even to herself. The flattery of Mr Wickham, who arrived on the scene seemingly for the sole purpose of repairing her dignity through attention and distinction, had gone a long way towards healing the cutting slight from Mr Darcy.
For a brief, mortifying moment, Elizabeth wondered if the sound of her voice really had swayed Mr Darcy. Never before had he been so attentive. If Elizabeth had been of a more naive, impressionable temper, she would have begun to truly suspect that he had just been enchanted by her voice.
Despite some sly comments by Charlotte about how often Mr Darcy glanced her way or visited the parsonage during her visit, Elizabeth felt herself justified in assuming that Mr Darcy’s opinion of her was so hopelessly fouled, she could risk swelling her song in his presence. There was no danger of that particular gentleman becoming enamoured of her.
As they spent the rest of the visit listening to the outlandish proclamations of Lady Catherine, Elizabeth occasionally stole glances at Mr Darcy in order to reassure herself that he had not fallen under her spell. Feeling ridiculous, Elizabeth was dismayed to note that he was frequently already gazing in her direction. Several times, she caught him turning his eyes away from her just as she looked upon him. And more than once, her own cheeks warmed as they both glanced towards the other at the exact same, awkward moment.
His mood was a mystery to her, his face unreadable.
Elizabeth was enormously grateful when the party from the parsonage was brusquely dismissed by Lady Catherine in preference to a solitary meal with Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr Darcy. Her only regret was the loss of the company of Colonel Fitzwilliam, as that gentleman could always be relied upon for keen observations and the occasional repressed merriment at Lady Catherine’s posturing and Mr Darcy’s awkward silence.
The colonel and Mr Darcy escorted them to the door, both gentlemen apparently not relishing the coming evening with no other source of conversation than their aunt and cousin.
“Really, Miss Bennet,” the colonel said, “your rendition of that aria was entirely novel, yet lovely. You must have a trail of hearts broken in two by the sweetness of your sound.”
Elizabeth laughed at this bold compliment. “Indeed not. I cannot boast of that, sir.”
“No, she cannot!” Maria interjected with a rare showing of confidence. She did not usually speak up in the company of either Colonel Fitzwilliam or Mr Darcy. “For, I do not think I can recall an instance when I have heard her sing in company. Only at her home or when she visits Lucas Lodge. Whenever we ask her in mixed company, she refuses! Is that not so, Elizabeth?”
Her heart tight with consciousness, Elizabeth replied, “Why, Maria, you make me sound so peculiar! That cannot be, you must be misremembering. I think other gentlemen have heard me sing, such as your father.”
“Yes, but when there are unmarried gentlemen about, you demur and merely play.”
“I have had the very great pleasure of hearing Miss Bennet sing before today,” Mr Darcy said softly.
Elizabeth turned, stunned and speechless. She had always been so scrupulous! How was this possible?
“You—you have me at a disadvantage, sir,” she stammered. “I do not have the pleasure of recalling…”
“Nor should you. It was entirely by accident, I assure you. I had been desirous to walk the path up to Oakham Mount for a glimpse of the famous view. You were in the valley below, just to one side of a stone barn, quite hidden away from general view, but I was able to see you. By a trick of the barn wall, your voice was clear as you sang. I could not bring your attention to my presence, for the distance was too great, unless I tossed some pebbles down upon you, which I did not judge you would appreciate. Therefore, I did not consider my eavesdropping rude, for the only other way to get your notice would have been if I had waved my arms and shouted. I estimated those actions would have been far more shocking to you than my quietly enjoying your impromptu concert.”
No! A horrible turn of events. Of all the gentlemen in the country to hear her sing! It shot her to her core with embarrassment and worry. The glances he stole at her after her song just an hour prior, were they warm with feeling? This was as terrible a development as she could imagine.
***
Thank you so much for popping in and enjoying some talk of myths and love! Please subscribe to my very irregular email and follow me on social media, Amazon and Bookbub. SWELL MY SONG will be available ion late April 2025.