Mr. Darcy’s Twin: A Pride and Prejudice Variation Romance: Wit and Whimsy Pride and Prejudice Variations

MR. DARCY’S TWIN

A PRIDE AND PREJUDICE VARIATION ROMANCE

WIT AND WHIMSY PRIDE AND PREJUDICE VARIATIONS

RACHELLE AYALA

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Two identical faces. Two entirely different hearts. One impossible choice.

When Elizabeth Bennet meets the handsome but reserved Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy at a local assembly, she’s prepared to dismiss him as merely another proud member of the gentry. But the arrival of his identical twin brother—the charming, vivacious Lieutenant James Darcy—throws everything into delightful confusion.

While the brothers share the same striking features, their personalities couldn’t be more different. Lieutenant James pursues Elizabeth with open admiration and easy charm, drawing her into a whirlwind of attention that flatters and intrigues. Meanwhile, the enigmatic Mr. Darcy watches from a distance, his disapproval seemingly evident in every glance.

But as Elizabeth finds herself caught between the twin’s competing attentions, she begins to wonder if first impressions might prove dangerously misleading. Is James’s charisma truly as sincere as it appears? And could there be depths to the solemn Mr. Darcy that she has yet to discover?

In this captivating Pride and Prejudice variation, Elizabeth must navigate the complexities of her own heart while unraveling the mystery of two men who share a face but perhaps not a destiny. For in matters of love, sometimes the most difficult choice lies between what dazzles us at first sight—and what slowly captures our heart forever.

A delightful Regency romance filled with wit, warmth, and the unforgettable spark that has made Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy literary lovers for generations.

Copyright © 2025 by Rachelle Ayala

All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction based loosely on Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice.

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real events or real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

All trademarks belong to their respective holders and are used without permission under trademark fair use.

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CONTENTS

Wit and Whimsy Pride and Prejudice Variations

1. An Unexpected Acquaintance

2. An Unexpected Captivation

3. Unexpected Encounters

4. Dinner and Dilemmas

5. A Garden Party of Complications

6. A Rounders Revelation

7. An Unexpected Proposition

8. London Diversions

9. Fortunes and Misfortunes

10. A Request Declined

11. Brothers in Arms

12. Homecoming Lamentations

13. An Unexpected Visitor

14. The Darkest Night

15. An Unexpected Pleasure

Epilogue

Excerpt - Forcing Mr. Darcy’s Hand

Excerpt - A Serenade for Solitude

About the Author

Reading List with Heat Levels

WIT AND WHIMSY PRIDE AND PREJUDICE VARIATIONS

A Gift Intended: A Christmas Tale

Bewitched by Pemberley: A Halloween Tale

A Ghostly Match: A Halloween Tale

Between Frost and Friendship: A Christmas Tale

The Unromantic Mr. Darcy: A Valentine’s Tale

Mr. Darcy’s Twin: A Love Triangle

Forcing Mr. Darcy’s Hand: Enemies to Lovers

The characters you love from Pride and Prejudice appear true to form in familiar settings, though certain historical traditions and timelines may vary. Stories can be read in any order.

CHAPTER ONE

AN UNEXPECTED ACQUAINTANCE

Elizabeth Bennet adjusted the pale blue ribbon on her best evening gown—a cream muslin with delicate embroidery that had taken her weeks to complete by candlelight. The fabric whispered against her skin as she pinched a bit more color into her cheeks before the small looking glass. Though not one to typically fuss over her appearance, tonight’s assembly in Meryton carried the weight of expectation. New faces would appear. New possibilities might unfold.

Lizzy! Must you always preen so? Lydia’s voice carried up the stairs. Mama says the carriage waits, and Papa detests tardiness.

A sigh escaped Elizabeth. One final glance in the looking glass confirmed that Jane’s efforts with her dark curls—arranged into a becoming style, tendrils framing her face—would have to suffice.

Elizabeth descended the stairs to find her family in various states of anticipation. Her mother, resplendent in a gown at least a decade too young for her, was already listing the many eligible bachelors expected to attend. Jane stood nearby, serene in her pale pink muslin that perfectly complemented her fair beauty. While her younger sisters were in a flutter of feathers and ribbons.

There you are, Lizzy! Mrs. Bennet exclaimed, her voice pitched to a level better suited for hailing a distant ship than addressing a daughter mere feet away. How can you be so tranquil when Mr. Bingley and all his fine London friends will be at the assembly tonight? Jane has been ready these twenty minutes! Oh, my poor nerves! Your father insists we cannot leave until all of you girls are properly assembled, though heaven knows Kitty and Lydia have been ready since teatime!

Precisely because they began preparing at teatime, Elizabeth replied with a wry smile, adjusting her gloves. I preferred to finish my book before embarking on the elaborate rituals of feminine preparation.

Her father stood with a long-suffering expression honed over the course of twenty-three years of marriage.

And was your book satisfactory in its conclusion, Lizzy? he inquired, offering her his arm as they moved toward the door.

Far more satisfactory than most assemblies, she replied in a low voice. The heroine escaped a tedious marriage proposal through a particularly clever ruse involving a falsified letter and an obliging cousin.

Perhaps you might employ similar tactics tonight, should any particularly persistent admirers emerge, Mr. Bennet suggested, patting her hand with paternal affection and sharing a chuckle at the demise of Mr. Collins’s unfortunate proposal.

The Bennet family’s carriage, a weathered gig long past its prime, rattled and bumped along the rutted lane. Lydia and Kitty whispered about the officers they hoped to dance with, while Mary clutched a small volume of sermons with predictable disapproval.

I heard Mr. Bingley has brought the most handsome men from London, Lydia declared. Captain Denny says one of them is worth ten thousand a year.

I cannot imagine why a gentleman of such fortune would grace our modest assembly, Elizabeth replied, smoothing her gloves. Perhaps he lost a wager. Or has been banished from London society for some terrible transgression. That would account for his exile to Hertfordshire.

Lizzy! Mrs. Bennet’s scandalized exclamation was accompanied by a theatrical fluttering of her handkerchief. You must not say such things. Mr. Bingley has leased Netherfield Park, and that makes him a most respectable addition to our neighborhood

Jane gave Elizabeth a gentle reproving look. You must not always assume the worst of people before you’ve met them.

Not the worst, dearest—only the most amusing, Elizabeth countered pertly. For what is life without a little speculation to enliven it?

Oh! You are impossible, Mrs. Bennet lamented, though her agitation quickly gave way to renewed excitement as the carriage approached the assembly rooms. Now remember, Jane, you must smile! And Lizzy, pray check your tongue. No gentleman wants a wife who speaks before she thinks.

Then I shall endeavor to think very loudly, Elizabeth murmured, earning another gentle nudge from Jane.

The truth, however, was more complex. Elizabeth approached the evening with a curious mixture of hope and cynicism. One-and-twenty years, and countless assemblies, had taught her the predictable rhythm: familiar faces, tuneless dances, and the cyclical rise and fall of matrimonial hopes. Yet… the possibility of difference, however slim, always lingered.

Oh! There they are! Mrs. Bennet exclaimed, her voice carrying farther than propriety allowed. The crimson turban adorning her head quivered with excitement. Mr. Bingley and his party have arrived. Do stand up straight, Jane. Show them that elegant neck of yours. Lizzy, for heaven’s sake, smile properly.

Elizabeth felt the familiar warmth of embarrassment creep up her neck as several heads turned in their direction. She caught her father’s eye, recognizing his resigned amusement at his wife’s lack of subtlety.

My dear Mrs. Bennet, he murmured, his voice pitched for her ears alone but carrying to Elizabeth’s acute hearing, perhaps we might allow the gentlemen to enter the room before we commence our siege. A strategic retreat behind the line of potted palms might serve our campaign better than this frontal assault.

Elizabeth turned away to hide her smile, her gaze sweeping the room. The heat of so many bodies had already made the air close, and the night had scarcely begun.

Lizzy, Jane whispered, touching her arm. They’re coming this way.

Elizabeth followed her sister’s gaze to where Sir William Lucas was escorting three gentlemen toward them. The first, presumably Mr. Bingley, had a countenance as sunny as his ginger hair. But it was the two dark-haired men behind him that caused Elizabeth’s breath to catch.

They were identical—uncannily, impossibly so. Same tall, well-proportioned frame, suggesting strength without ostentation. Same handsome features: straight nose, strong jawline, well-formed mouth. Same dark curls, though styled slightly differently—one more artfully arranged, the other more severely tamed. Yet as they drew nearer, she noticed one moved with relaxed grace, his expression animated, while the other held himself with rigid formality, his gaze remote.

I feel as though I’m seeing double, yet not quite, Elizabeth whispered.

They must be brothers, Jane replied. What a remarkable resemblance.

More like the same man in two different moods, Elizabeth murmured. One all sunshine, the other all storm clouds.

Sir William performed the introductions. Mr. Charles Bingley greeted them with warm enthusiasm, his admiration for Jane embarrassingly evident. Elizabeth noted this with private satisfaction; Jane deserved admiration from someone worthy of her gentle heart.

Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy acknowledged them with cool civility, his bow precise and his expression revealing nothing beyond basic courtesy. His dark eyes swept over their small gathering, seemingly cataloging and assessing each member of the Bennet family with detached interest. When his gaze briefly met Elizabeth’s, she felt an odd sensation—as though he saw far more than she intended to reveal, yet revealed nothing of himself in return. It was unsettling, this sense of being thoroughly examined while being offered no reciprocal glimpse into his thoughts.

A peculiar warmth spread across her skin under his scrutiny, prompting her to lift her chin slightly in unconscious defiance. Though the moment lasted mere seconds, it left her with a lingering awareness that both irritated and intrigued her.

Lieutenant James Darcy of the —shire Militia, by contrast, smiled with genuine interest, his posture relaxed and his demeanor open.

The famous Bennet sisters, he said, voice rich and pleasant. Your reputation for beauty and wit has preceded you, though I confess even such glowing reports failed to do you justice.

Her two youngest sisters giggled and tittered, while Jane blushed becomingly and Mary hid behind their father. Even Elizabeth felt herself warming to him despite recognizing the practiced ease of his compliment. A natural charmer, this Lieutenant James Darcy.

The other Darcy, however, watched them like they were no more than spots on a wall. When their eyes met briefly, his jaw tightened as if he could barely tolerate Elizabeth’s presence.

She quelled any consternation at his obvious insult, and merely turned her full attention to the affable James.

Are you recently come to Hertfordshire, Lieutenant Darcy?

Just this week, he confirmed with an easy smile that suggested he found her worthy of his full attention. The regiment has taken quarters in Meryton for the winter. A fortunate posting, I now realize, if it brings me into the company of such delightful neighbors.

From the corner of her eye, Elizabeth caught Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy’s frown at their apparent conversation. How curious, she thought, to receive such marked attention and apparent disapproval simultaneously from men who shared the same face.

Never one to be quailed, she directed her next question to the one wearing the dark tailcoat. And you, Mr. Darcy. Do you, too, plan an extended stay at Hertfordshire?

His dark eyes returned to her face, and Elizabeth had the disconcerting sensation of being assessed. My plans remain undetermined, he replied, his deep voice carefully modulated.

My brother, Lieutenant Darcy interjected with a grin, guards his intentions as jealously as a miser guards gold. You’ll extract no definite answers from him, Miss Elizabeth.

Mr. Darcy’s expression tightened. Not everyone feels compelled to share their every thought, James.

More’s the pity, the lieutenant replied cheerfully. Would you do me the honor of standing up with me for the next dance, Miss Elizabeth? I promise to share my every thought, however improper.

Elizabeth laughed despite herself, charmed by his easy manner and the obvious contrast he presented to his more reserved brother. I should be delighted, sir, though perhaps keep the most improper thoughts to yourself. We are scarcely acquainted, after all.

As you wish, he agreed with a wink that managed to be playful without crossing into impertinence. Though I warn you, the line between proper and improper shifts constantly in my estimation. What seems perfectly acceptable to me often horrifies my brother.

Elizabeth graced him with an exaggerated curtsey. Then I shall trust you to navigate that shifting line with care, sir. My reputation, while hardly fragile, is not infinitely resilient.

As Lieutenant Darcy led her to the floor for the country dance that was forming, Elizabeth glanced toward Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, who remained standing with Bingley. Though he appeared to be listening to something his friend was saying, his attention was clearly divided—his gaze following her and his brother with that same inscrutable intensity that Elizabeth found both disconcerting and strangely compelling.

Your brother does not dance? she asked as she and Lieutenant Darcy moved through the first figures of the dance, curiosity overcoming her determination to maintain a proper distance.

Fitzwilliam dances only when duty demands it, and then with all the enthusiasm of a man approaching the gallows, Lieutenant Darcy replied, executing a turn with fluid grace that spoke of natural athleticism rather than rigorous practice. He claims to dislike the activity, but I suspect he merely dreads the conversation that accompanies it.

Is he so very shy, then? Elizabeth asked, genuinely curious about the taciturn Mr. Darcy. As they separated for the dance figure, she found her gaze drifting toward him again, still standing apart from the general merriment, his posture suggesting alertness rather than relaxation.

Shy? Lieutenant Darcy considered this as they circled each other, his expression thoughtful. Perhaps partly. But imagine having the weight of a great estate on your shoulders since one-and-twenty. It breeds a certain… caution. Fitzwilliam approaches all social interaction as though the fate of Pemberley hinges upon each word he utters.

The dance separated them briefly, allowing Elizabeth to ponder this assessment. When they came together again, her curiosity had only deepened. There was something in the lieutenant’s tone that suggested a complex relationship.

You speak as though you know his burden well, yet you do not share it, she observed, her keen eyes studying the lieutenant’s expression. Are you much younger than Mr. Darcy?

Something flickered in his eyes—a shadow quickly vanishing behind his customary good humor. We are the same age, to the minute. Though our circumstances could hardly be more different. Until six months ago, neither of us knew the other existed.

Elizabeth’s eyes widened, her steps faltering slightly before she recovered her rhythm. Surely you jest, she said, searching his face for signs of teasing. Finding none, she added, How could such a thing be possible?

On the contrary, Miss Elizabeth, I am in earnest, Lieutenant Darcy replied, guiding her through a turn with gentle pressure on her gloved hand. Fitzwilliam and I are twins, separated at birth. I was raised believing myself the only child of a country parson and his wife in Hampshire, while he grew up as the heir to Pemberley, one of the greatest estates in Derbyshire.

As they moved through the patterns of the dance, Lieutenant Darcy related a tale so extraordinary that Elizabeth found herself utterly captivated. He spoke of an infant illness that had threatened both their lives, leading to his adoption by the childless couple who raised him. He described the chance meeting at an exhibition in London, where he had encountered a man with his own face—a moment of recognition so profound that it had altered the course of both their lives.

How extraordinary, Elizabeth murmured, genuinely intrigued by this narrative that indeed rivaled anything in her beloved novels. Here was a story worthy of Mrs. Radcliffe or Miss Burney—separated twins, one raised in privilege as the heir to a great estate, the other in modest circumstances, discovering each other by mere chance after twenty-seven years of ignorance. It must have been quite shocking for you both.

For Fitzwilliam especially, Lieutenant Darcy agreed with a chuckle that did not entirely disguise the complex emotions beneath. Imagine discovering an identical twin who is not only a militia officer of modest means but also possessed of what our aunt calls ‘a shocking lack of propriety.’ The poor man had barely reconciled himself to having a brother at all before he was forced to acknowledge that said brother might occasionally embarrass him in polite society.

Elizabeth glanced toward Mr. Darcy, who now stood beside Bingley, his attention still fixed in their direction. And yet he has introduced you to his friend. That suggests acceptance.

Fitzwilliam has a strong sense of duty, Lieutenant Darcy replied. Once he confirmed we were indeed brothers, he has been determined to acknowledge me properly, despite the irregularity of our situation. Though I daresay he still hopes I might somehow become more… dignified. He executed a particularly elaborate turn, drawing a smile from Elizabeth. Alas, I fear he is doomed to disappointment on that score.

Always curious, Elizabeth asked. And likewise, do you aspire to transform the somber Mr. Darcy into a more lighthearted version of yourself?

Lieutenant Darcy laughed, drawing glances from nearby dancers. Touché, Miss Elizabeth! I see your reputation for wit is well-deserved. I have indeed made it my mission to introduce my brother to the novel concept of enjoyment. Thus far, my efforts have met with limited success. Fitzwilliam maintains that running Pemberley provides all the satisfaction a reasonable man requires, while I contend that a life without pleasure is hardly worth the effort of living.

Perhaps there is merit in both positions, Elizabeth suggested, finding herself genuinely engaged in this conversation despite her usual wariness of too-charming gentlemen. Duty provides meaning, but pleasure makes that meaning worthwhile.

Wisely said, Miss Elizabeth. I shall cite your authority the next time Fitzwilliam protests my attempts to draw him into society.

As the dance concluded and he escorted her from the floor, they passed near Mr. Darcy, who stood alone observing the assembly with what appeared to be detached interest. Elizabeth noticed, however, the slight tension in his posture as they approached—the barely perceptible straightening of his already impeccable bearing.

Brother! Lieutenant Darcy called, his voice carrying a note of challenge wrapped in good humor. You’ve been standing about like a statue all evening. Surely Miss Elizabeth’s charming example has inspired you to join the dancing? I assure you, she is an excellent partner—light on her feet and even lighter in conversation.

Mr. Darcy straightened, a flash of something crossing his features. I am quite content where I am, thank you.

Do you not care for dancing, Mr. Darcy? Or is it the company you find lacking?

The question was direct, perhaps too much so, but something about his reserved