Beginning, Previous Section, Section VII, Next Section
Posted on Friday, 15 February 2008
Of an orderly, almost obsessively methodical disposition, Lord Matlock disliked surprises, even pleasant ones – and so one may understand why he felt a certain amount of irritation when his supper was interrupted by the news that there were visitors in the hall awaiting admission.
Grumbling under his breath, the earl rose from his chair; Lady Matlock shot him a look of warning from across the length of the table – that silent glance she had perfected over the years that told him he had better keep a civil tongue in his head. He might have chuckled at how easily his wife was able to make him feel like a troublesome schoolboy again, but at the moment, his attention was claimed by the two people who walked into the dining room after the servant.
“Richard? And Fitzwilliam – what are you doing in Town? I thought you were to stay at Catherine’s until next week.”
“And good evening to you too, Father,” Richard said drolly, bending to drop a kiss on his mother’s cheek.
“Fitzwilliam!” Georgiana, who had been sitting with Sophy by the end of the table, leapt up to run into her brother’s welcoming arms. He smiled and hugged her tightly, suddenly aware of how very much he had missed her over the past month and a half. She pulled back to beam at him, and he tweaked her nose, laughing at her look of astonishment.
“I m-missed you,” he said, slinging one arm over her shoulder and leading her back over to the table. “You sh-shall have t-t-to t-tell me about everyth-thing you have d-done here in T-Town to amuse yourself. I want an account-ting of every sh-shop visited, every b-book read, every b-bonnet and glove p-purchased, and every h-handsome young b-buck you d-danced with while I was away.”
She squeezed his hand eagerly. “I shall talk until my voice gives out, if it will make you happy – and only if you promise to fill me in on all the latest happenings in Kent.”
His features clouded over for but a second; he simply winked and replied, “I have m-much to t-tell you, G-Georgiana; you will h-hear all soon.”
“My dearest boy, how are you?” Lady Matlock rose from her seat, her indulgent smile swiftly melting into a frown. “What have you done to yourself, Fitzwilliam?” Whisking out a delicate laced handkerchief, she lifted herself to her toes and dabbed at his cheek. Black dust came away on the silk, and she held it accusingly out in front of him, tapping her slippered foot against the floor. “How in heaven’s name did you come to be so dirty? You too, Richard – your face is practically covered in filth.” Much to the amusement of the others, Lady Matlock borrowed her husband’s sturdier kerchief and set to cleaning her nephew’s face until he was pink-cheeked with the scouring and embarrassment.
Colonel Fitzwilliam was thoroughly enjoying the spectacle of his cousin being tidied up like a child – at least until the countess turned to her son and scrubbed his face too, grasping the gold braid on his shoulder to prevent an escape attempt. “Mother, for god’s sake...” he sputtered, but she interrupted him with a gentle pat on his blushing cheek.
“You have no one to blame but yourself, my dear. If you two come in here looking like boys who have just been off rolling in some mud puddle, I will treat you accordingly.”
Edmund snorted gleefully, and the colonel twisted around to glare at his brother, who was settled quite comfortably to observe the proceedings.
“Helen, let the boy alone,” Lord Matlock said gruffly. “From the looks of it, they’ve both been on the road all night. At least let them have something to eat before you send them up to change.”
Lady Matlock was apparently of a mind to agree, for she herded them over to the table and saw to it that their plates were piled high. The two men ate with gusto – even the extremes of exhaustion and anxiety are not enough to deter the male sex from a hearty meal – and in between bites tried to explain their early departure from Rosings. Darcy had decided to be open with the others, since Lady Catherine would undoubtedly make her sentiments known to the rest of the family; and so, when the dessert course was finished, he leaned back in his chair and launched into a rather abridged account of the quarrel and resultant banishment.
“Cathy threw you out?” the earl said incredulously, looking from son to nephew and back again; Darcy assured him that it was so.
“And in the dead of night,” Lady Matlock exclaimed, eyes flashing with displeasure. “I can hardly believe it. How could that woman send you out at that hour, when the roads to London are so dangerous? My word, you might have been killed – or even robbed!”
“I rather suspect Darcy and Dick would think robbery preferable to the alternative, Mother,” Edmund drawled.
“You ought to have waited until morning,” Lady Grasham sniffed, speaking up for the first time. “Dashing all about the country at that sort of hour is hardly decorous.”
The colonel ignored his sister-in-law. “We didn’t really have all that much time to consider the matter, Mother; leaving Kent was our first priority.”
No one said anything more for several minutes, until the earl sighed and rose to stand before the fire. “There is one thing I still do not understand,” he said. “What set Catherine off in the first place? Forgive me, nephew, but you know that she has always been careful to preserve the connection, despite....er....”
“D-Despite her aversion f-for my c-company,” Darcy finished for him. “D-Don’t t-trouble yourself about it, Uncle. Speak f-freely.”
“Yes, well....Catherine has always been careful to keep appearances up. She despises the thought of even the slightest hint of family discord being made public. I would never have imagined that she would actually give you such an ultimatum, let alone cast you out.”
Darcy shifted uncomfortably, glancing over at the viscountess, who was eagerly listening in the hopes of snatching up some extra tidbits of gossip. “I would exp-plain th-things further to you later, Uncle. Th-There is a d-delicate circumstance of which you sh-should b-be made aware, b-but I would r-rather sp-speak of it later, if I may h-have your indulgence.”
The earl had noticed the direction of his nephew’s gaze and smiled slightly. “Of course; you may tell me when you are ready to.”
“For now,” Lady Matlock said, having recovered some of her habitual composure, “you must both rest – and I believe I have a letter to write to that woman, if you will excuse me.” She rose from the table, patted her son’s shoulder, and swept elegantly from the room.
“Do you suppose you ought to ask Cuthbert to hold the post?” Edmund spoke up, more seriously. “It might only make things worse.”
The earl shook his head. “One thing I have learned in these thirty years, Edmund, is that your mother is perfectly capable of dealing with my sister herself. In fact, I believe she is one of the few people who has ever been able to give Catherine a good dressing down.”
Darcy and the colonel exchanged glances. If there was one thing – or rather, one person – that riled the generally sweet-tempered Helen Fitzwilliam, it was Lady Catherine de Bourgh. The two ladies had never gotten along, particularly when it came to matters involving the Darcys. Lady Catherine had always objected to her brother’s familiarity with the two – she favored a more distant relationship – and their quarrel over how to manage Darcy and Georgiana after their father’s death had only driven a greater wedge in between Rosings and Matlock House. There was a little streak of well-concealed vindictiveness in Lady Matlock’s character that delighted in prodding at any downfall that troubled her sister-in-law – and it appeared that she was fully prepared now to savor the opportunity.
“Regardless of why she did it,” Edmund said quietly, “I believe the issue at stake is how we are to stem the repercussions.”
“Indeed – that may well prove a serious problem.” The earl studied his nephew. “You have considered the consequences, Fitzwilliam?”
“Yes. Many t-times.” He paused reflectively. “I c-cannot k-keep living this way, Uncle; having t-to watch my every word, b-being c-criticized at each turn....I grow weary of it. She must understand th-that her p-position in this family d-does not give her the p-privilege to c-conduct my affairs. I will not b-be d-dictated to.”
“You are independent, and have been in your own right for some years,” Lord Matlock agreed, “yet it is a delicate business. As little as we might like to admit it, she does have clout in this area of the world – whether by merit or sheer force of personality. Sir Lewis spent many years building up the reputation and prominence of the de Bourgh family in London society, and even though Catherine has seen fit to fall back into the country, that name is still well-known and well-respected. If she chooses to publicly disown you, there may be complications.”
Darcy waved his hand dismissively. “I care nothing for London. My reputation in Derbyshire is the only one that is of any consequence; I will hardly take offense if a few less invitations are sent my way.”
Lord Matlock opened his mouth, took a quick look around the room, and seemed to realize that the dining room, with all its attending servants and certain unwelcome listeners, was hardly the place to discuss this bit of discord. “Fitzwilliam, Richard, perhaps we could go to my study to talk in greater comfort. Georgiana, you may accompany us.”
The table was quickly cleared, and Edmund escorted his pouting wife up to the nursery after exacting a whispered promise from his cousin that he would be filled in on the details later; Mrs. Younge, who had been sitting silently next to her charge, excused herself to attend to some stitching in the parlor.
The two gentlemen and Georgiana settled around the fireplace in the study, and the earl, after pouring himself a glass of wine, closed the door and seated himself behind his desk. “I think you do not quite comprehend the seriousness of this business,” he said sternly. “I know my sister. She is stubborn as a mule and full of pride – a Fitzwilliam to the bone – and she will not forgive or forget.”
“I d-do c-comprehend more th-than you think. I have allowed th-this to g-go on for years, b-because I knew what a b-break in this family c-could mean to all of us. Th-this d-disagreement was inevitable, Uncle, and very necessary b-besides.”
“There is perhaps still hope. Catherine is not completely incapable of listening to reason. Mayhap if you were to make some concessions or explain some part of....”
Darcy gently cut him off. “Th-that is not p-possible. The s-source of our c-conflict is not one th-that c-can be explained away or c-cast aside.”
Lord Matlock blew out a frustrated breath. “You are speaking in riddles, Fitzwilliam.”
“The argument was over a young l-lady.”
That comment garnered the instant attention of everyone in the room; Richard winked at his cousin over his wine glass.
“What lady?”
Darcy sighed. All or nothing, I suppose. “I m-met a lady in Hertfordshire, while I was st-taying with my friend Charles B-Bingley.” He saw the surprise on his sister’s face. “She is a m-most remarkable w-woman; l-lively, sweet, and c-clever enough to p-please even you, Uncle. My affections f-for her were already f-firmly settled when Edmund’s accid-dent c-called us away t-to London. I met her again recently in K-Kent – one of her int-timate friends m-married Lady C-Catherine’s p-parson – and we f-formed a...m-mutual attachment. My aunt d-discovered it, and d-demanded th-that I ab-bandon Miss Be...the lady.”
The earl blinked, seemingly unable to formulate a reply, and the colonel, taking pity on his cousin’s discomfort, spoke up.
“I have met Miss...er...the lady....” He winked again. “And I may assure you, Father, that she is a paragon of virtue, talent, beauty, et cetera.”
“Th-Thank you, Richard.”
“No need to be sarcastic, Darcy.” The colonel smiled. “I am quite serious. Our Darcy is a bit too wily to be taken in. The lady is as genuine as they come.”
“I know her,” Georgiana said unexpectedly, startling her uncle. “She befriended me in Hertfordshire – not overtly – and we have been corresponding these many months. As my cousin has said, she is not a person to feign something she does not feel simply for personal gain, and if she has spoken of her affection for my brother, then it is so. Her family is not rich or particularly well-connected, but neither are they destitute, and her father is a respectable gentleman. I believe her eldest sister is to marry Mr. Bingley, who is not unconnected himself.”
Grateful for her unanticipated input, Darcy caught her eye and smiled; she didn’t return the gesture.
“Are you engaged?” Lord Matlock asked.
“The words have not b-been sp-spoken yet, c-considering the st-state of things – I would see th-that her f-father is accustomed t-to the notion b-before springing it on him – b-but we have an understanding, a p-promise, t-to each other; a p-promise th-that I fully intend to c-carry through soon.” A steely glint appeared in his eyes. “If you th-think to p-persuade me t-to put her aside....”
The earl lifted his hands. “No, no, not at all. You must make your own choices, whether they are mistakes or not; I could have no say over whom you marry, even if I wished to. I would only ask that you be careful, Fitzwilliam. I would not wish this whole matter to end badly.”
Darcy acknowledged his uncle’s acceptance but suspected that Elizabeth would have a difficult time earning his family’s trust. They were so very protective, and he knew that his aunt and uncle privately harbored the same doubts he had had about marriage in his condition, and wondered what sort of a woman would choose to marry a man like him of her free will. Oh, he did not fault them for it, nor did it cheapen their affection for him in his eyes, for he knew it was a natural response to a situation which no one had ever thought about dealing with before – for no one had ever really expected him to marry. “I am res-solved, Uncle. I l-love her.”
He expected Richard to laugh at such a besotted display, but his cousin was strangely silent, and Georgiana averted her eyes. The earl nodded. “Bring her here to dine when you have the opportunity and things have been settled with her family. We should like to meet her.” He suddenly grinned, an expression that seldom appeared on his grave face. “Meet her on the condition, of course, that you will actually tell us her name; you need not fear that any gossip will touch her.”
“Miss B-Bennet,” he said quietly, with a hint of pride. “Her name is Elizabeth B-Bennet.”
“‘Elizabeth,’” Lord Matlock repeated. “Helen will like that. Her favorite sister’s name was Lizzy.” He tapped a quill-pen against the desk a few times, and then glanced back up. “There is still the matter of Catherine’s interference – it is especially difficult if a marriage is involved. You know how tenaciously she holds to the idea of rank marrying rank.”
“I know,” Darcy said wearily. “She m-made her views on th-that most c-clear.”
The earl chuckled. “Oh, I imagine she did.”
“It could be dangerous,” Georgiana spoke up, sounding a little irritated. “Has no one considered that at all? Fitzwilliam, what will people say if they discover that your own aunt has sent you off? Only imagine how the rumors will fly!”
“We did consider it, peahen,” Richard said lightly. “That seems to be the trouble with this whole escapade.”
“I will t-take c-care,” Darcy reassured her, seeing that his sister was upset. “We must h-hope that Lady C-Catherine’s d-desire to keep family b-business p-private will also p-prevent her from sp-spreading the news.”
“She has nothing to lose by telling all of England,” was the instant rejoinder. “You and I are the ones who will be injured by it. I would not be so certain that our aunt will accept this quietly.”
“What a little pessimist you are, Georgy. Let your brother have some time to work this out before you give him more problems to deliberate over.” The colonel rose, stretched, and yawned. “As for me, I believe a good night’s rest will be more beneficial than all this chatter.” He smiled at his youngest cousin. “Be patient with us, peahen.”
“We are all s-safe f-for the moment,” Darcy reminded her. “No one else knows we are in L-London, and I expect th-that Miss B-Bennet will s-soon be on her way home. You see? Th-there is nothing to f-fret about now.”
Georgiana again looked away; Richard merely shrugged, and bid everyone goodnight before heading up to bed. Swinging open the study door, he collided with someone standing directly on the other side, knocking the other person onto the carpet.
“I do beg your pardon....” Thinking that he had mowed over one of the footmen, he was astonished to discover the figure on the floor was Georgiana’s companion. Mrs. Younge was flushed, her cap askew, and she scrambled to her feet with rather commendable speed for a woman of her age.
“Excuse me, sir,” she stuttered before turning tail and rushing back up the staircase.
The colonel watched her leave, shaking his head in wonder. Excuse me, indeed! The nosy creature must have been hoping to overhear the conversation inside. Poor miserable wretch! – to be reduced to eavesdropping to get any bit of amusement.... Such was the lot of a companion, he supposed, but then, he had never held a very high opinion of governesses – they were invariably either saucy, insolent girls or dried-up old maids.
He started up the steps himself, not harboring any anxiety about what the curious Mrs. Younge might have heard. Darcy would not have hired her in the first place if she had a loose tongue; and besides, the door to his father’s study was made of very thick cherry-wood – he doubted that she had managed to distinguish one word in thirty even if she had had her ear pressed up against the paneling.
Absorbed with the appealing thought of a warm bed and some sleep, the colonel neglected to consider the fact that doors had keyholes.
“Mama, Lizzy is come!”
Jane, hearing her sister’s exclamation, instantly set aside her embroidery and joined Kitty at the front parlor window.
Mrs. Bennet, absorbed in counting stitches, wasn’t of a mind to be interrupted. “For heaven’s sake, Kitty, what are you about? You’ve made me lose count again!” She paused, apparently registering what her daughter had said. “Lizzy’s here? Why on earth would she be here? Something dreadful must have happened in Kent – I am sure of it! Mr. Collins must have thrown her out of the house! I knew that girl would stir up trouble; oh, what will our neighbors say? Mr. Bennet! Mr. Bennet!”
Jane watched the little curricle wheel up the drive – her sister was perched up next to the driver, holding her bonnet down against the afternoon wind. Eagerly, Jane put on her shawl and started to head out to meet Elizabeth, but her mother’s wailing soon put an end to that idea; and she was obliged to take a moment and sit by Mrs. Bennet to assure her that Elizabeth had most likely chosen to return home early.
At length the parlor door opened and Elizabeth stepped inside, still bundled in her pelisse and bonnet and clutching a portmanteau.
“Lizzy!” Jane hastened to embrace her, as the other girls crowded around to welcome their sister home.
“Did you bring us anything from Kent?” was Lydia’s first exclamation. “Lord, I hope you did, for going away someplace new is only good for shopping.”
Elizabeth laughed. “Do not fret yourself – the parcels are in my trunk....and do at least allow me a few more minutes to catch my breath before you send me up to fetch them.”
“I can wait, as long as they are very good presents.”
Assured by her sister that they were, Lydia was content to drop back and let the others have their say. Kitty gave Elizabeth a kiss, and Mary inquired after the Collinses before Mrs. Bennet, unhappily deprived of attention, demanded a proper greeting from her daughter.
Elizabeth accommodatingly went to her and sat close to listen as her mother first informed her that she had been very ill and then asked for a recounting of her stay at Hunsford. However, Elizabeth had not gotten beyond a cursory description of her arrival before Mrs. Bennet cried, “Oh, yes, those Collinses! I was quite overcome by the idea of your suffering, being there with that family for so long. Mrs. Collins must have positively gloated over her new situation; I imagine she dropped a few hints here and there about her good fortune in getting Mr. Collins after you refused him – although I daresay that would scarcely be more than you deserve, Miss Lizzy – and she is probably very pleased with herself for making such a fine match. Heaven knows she couldn’t have caught anyone else, with her looks. Nothing to Jane at all.... I suppose those two spoke often of having this house when your father is dead?”
“If they did indeed speak on such a topic, they would hardly discuss it in front of me.”
Mrs. Bennet made a sound of disbelief. “I would not put anything past them. Those Lucases have always been schemers, the lot of them.”
“Lady Lucas is your intimate friend, Mama,” Jane reminded her, appearing a little shocked, “and Charlotte has been a friend to us for many years. You cannot suspect them of having engineered any of this.”
“That may be so, but that Lady Lucas has been intolerably self-satisfied about Charlotte’s getting this house....but of course, you will have heard Jane’s news!” Her mind swiftly latched onto this more promising subject. “What think of this business, Lizzy? Mrs. Bingley! – how well that sounds!”
“Indeed, I am delighted for Jane – and for Mr. Bingley as well, for I do believe he is getting the better part of the bargain.”
“The better part? What nonsense that is! He has five thousand a year! Oh, my Jane will be a star in Meryton society, I am sure of it. Only think of how many balls and soirées will be hosted by my dearest girl! Mr. Bingley could not refuse her anything; he is quite besotted – and if you use Gowland’s regularly and manage to keep your figure, Jane, I daresay he will love you forever.”
“Mama,” Elizabeth cut in, rising from the settee, “perhaps you might excuse me; I should like to change out of these traveling clothes and see Papa.”
“What, and miss tea?” her mother cried. “Your dress and your father can wait. It is nearly the hour for tea, and you know better than to disrupt such things. My nerves cannot bear the slightest upset in my routine. Do try to be more considerate, Lizzy.”
Elizabeth sat down, and when Mrs. Bennet’s attention was diverted by ringing the bell, she crossed her eyes, making Lydia and Kitty giggle. The tray was carried in presently; Mrs. Hill bid Elizabeth a fond welcome home, and the cups were filled and passed around.
Mrs. Bennet wished to speak more about the upcoming wedding, but Lydia, with her louder voice and relentless spirits, managed to wrest away control of the conversation. “Lizzy, you will never guess what Papa has done,” she moaned, flopping back dramatically unto the cushions. “He is being terribly, dreadfully unfair, and you are the only one he ever listens to. Won’t you talk to him?”
“I can hardly say anything until I know what he has done.”
“He banished the officers!” Kitty said mournfully. “He said that we could not have Saunderson or Captain Carter or any of the others over for anything but afternoon tea with Mama – and Mr. Wickham and Denny are not allowed in the house at all!”
“We have been miserable creatures these two months,” her sister added, “and Lord, you cannot fathom how dull it has been here! Papa does not let us go to Meryton above three times a week, unless we are with Mama or Jane – and he has said that we may not even call on the officers when we are there. Kitty and I threw the most magnificent fuss over it, but Papa didn’t even blink! Can you imagine such cruelty? Do try to convince him that he is being very unjust, Lizzy.”
Elizabeth took a slow drink to give herself a little time. Wickham, forbidden entrance to Longbourn? Heavens, that was a change! Her father had included the entire militia in the ban, but she felt certain that a particular lieutenant was the reason for this unprecedented exhibition of discipline. She would have to speak to him about it. “I think my father must have had his own rationale for doing as he has, and I have no cause to interfere.”
“Lizzy!”
Kitty raised her voice to be heard over her sister’s whining. “Papa never minded the officers before. It must be because of Mary King.”
“Mary King?”
Jane answered for her. “Miss King came here to live with her relatives; she is an heiress – I understand she has ten thousand pounds, completely independently – and she and Mr. Wickham became engaged last month....”
“Nasty little freckled thing, she is,” Lydia said petulantly.
“...but they broke off the engagement a few weeks ago,” Jane continued, “for her uncle came and took her away to Bath.”
“And poor Wickham was left all to himself again,” Kitty piped up.
“Poor Mary King, I should say,” Lydia retorted. “Wickham is quite as well off without her, though I daresay she will end up an old maid.”
“A woman need not spend her time attending to a husband and children, nor consider the gaining of such blessings the focal point of her existence,” Mary said primly. “A life of devotion and contemplation is no less commendable.”
“For you, maybe. How tedious all that study would be! I should think it enough to make a person run completely mad.”
“Lydia,” Jane interrupted. “Lizzy has not seen Papa yet, and since she is needed here, won’t you go to the library and tell him she is home?”
After a little necessary complaining, Lydia obeyed and blessed silence filled the room for almost a full minute, at which time Mrs. Bennet gladly took over.
The barrage of tedious news ended only when Mr. Bennet stopped inside to welcome his daughter back and assure her that he would be most content to have rational conversation at the table. Having said this much, he then cheerfully informed his wife to expect Mr. Bingley for supper; Mrs. Bennet was incensed at having the news sprung upon her with but a few hours to spare, and this new distraction allowed Elizabeth and Jane to flee upstairs unnoticed.
The former changed out of her dusty traveling gown while the latter inquired more minutely after Charlotte and the parsonage house.
“It was, all in all, quite a pleasant place to while away a few months – and I shall have to write a particularly eloquent apology to Charlotte for leaving sooner than I had meant to. I put the house to considerable inconvenience; Mr. Collins was rather displeased to have to spare a servant for the journey.”
“Charlotte will not fault you for it. I am pleased, Lizzy, that you had such a lovely time in Kent. I had so hoped you might.”
“I did,” Elizabeth said smilingly, “but I am very glad to be home again.”
Despite Mrs. Bennet’s dire predictions, Hill and the housemaids managed to lay out a respectable meal, and Mr. Bingley arrived in good time, looking – if it was possible – even more ebullient than when Elizabeth had seen him last.
He greeted Jane with especial warmth and then sketched a bow over Elizabeth’s hand. “We shall be brother and sister soon, Miss Elizabeth – what shall you think of that?”
“I will think it delightful,” she replied, “but only if you consent to abandon that absurd formality and call me ‘Lizzy’ as Jane does.”
“It would be my pleasure.”
“Good – and I am very happy for you both. I could not ask for a better brother, nor one who has more excellent taste.”
Bingley laughed. “I shall endeavor to deserve your sister, Lizzy, if such a thing is indeed possible.”
Jane blushed prettily. “Oh, do not encourage her, Charles! There will be no end to the teasing between the both of you.”
“She knows me too well but is too good to rebuke me; and that is why it is such a joy to tease her. If you have not already learnt that, sir, you had better soon.”
“I believe I already have determined the manner of things between these two,” Mr. Bennet said, as he took his place at the head of the table. “Jane is a good girl, and I have great pleasure in thinking she will be so happily settled. I have not a doubt of their doing very well together. Their tempers are by no means unlike, you see. You are each of you so complying that nothing will ever be resolved on; so easy, that every servant will cheat you; and so generous, that you will always exceed your income.”
“Exceed their income? No indeed! He has five — ” Mrs. Bennet abruptly seemed to recall that Mr. Bingley was sitting down the table from her; and, amazingly, she actually appeared somewhat embarrassed.
The faux pas was quickly glossed over, as the table was soon full of merry chatter and laughter. Elizabeth suddenly realized how much she had truly missed the easy camaraderie of her family party; too many meals at Hunsford had passed in solemn silence, as Mr. Collins preferred it so.
“Tell me, Lizzy,” Mr. Bingley began, smiling a little too innocently, “did you see my friend in Kent? I understand you visited Rosings Park, and I know Darcy was there with his aunt at the same time.”
“Mr. Darcy was in Kent?” Jane inquired, turning her gaze curiously onto her sister.
“Lady Catherine de Bourgh is his aunt,” Elizabeth said reluctantly. “You may remember that our cousin mentioned it while he was staying here in the autumn. And yes, I did see him a few times at Rosings; he and his cousin frequently called at the parsonage.”
“You mean Colonel Fitzwilliam?” Bingley chuckled at some undisclosed recollection. “A man of the town if there ever was one. An excellent soldier though, from what I know of him.”
That caught Kitty’s attention. “Did you like him, Lizzy? Was he very handsome?”
“Not very; but he was most agreeable.”
“I should have loved to have met him,” Lydia announced, looking pointedly at her father, “since I have not seen a single officer for a fortnight.”
“That is pitiable, my dear,” Mr. Bennet replied, “but I fear pity is all you shall get from me. I will not yield in this matter, and I suggest you not pursue it any more tonight; I have quite reached my quota for today. You are, of course, welcome to try again tomorrow if you wish.”
“It is very hard of your father, Lizzy, to deny the girls their amusements, but you shall not hear me say anything against it.”
Elizabeth saw Bingley conceal a grin behind his napkin. “So I hear, Mama.”
“I was once very fond of a redcoat myself,” Mrs. Bennet reminisced. “Why, I am sure I cried for two days together when Colonel Millar’s regiment went away. I thought I should have broke my heart.”
“I am sure I shall break mine,” said Lydia, crossing her arms huffily.
“And yet I am unmoved.” Mr. Bennet gestured for Hill to bring out the next course, putting an end to the quarrel before it escalated.
Too soon it seemed that Mrs. Bennet was calling for the ladies to retire to the parlor for tea; and barely thirty minutes later the gentlemen rejoined them. While everyone was milling about in line for coffee, Bingley found an opportunity to draw Elizabeth aside.
“I had a letter from Darcy on Thursday – he mentioned that he was to come back to Hertfordshire very soon. I have the rooms readied, but I wondered, since you saw him last, whether you knew exactly when I might expect him.”
“He comes on Tuesday,” she blurted. Bingley grinned at her, and she hastily amended, “That is to say, I believe he said that he and Miss Darcy were to travel on Tuesday. I could be wrong.”
“I rather doubt it.”
“Mr. Darcy made his plans most carefully,” she said, cursing her fair complexion, for she knew her face must be flaming red. “He was anxious not to cause you any trouble.”
Bingley waved an indifferent hand. “It is never any trouble; in fact, I had been about ready to write and demand that Darcy come to Netherfield to stand up with me at my wedding – either way, he would have been back in Hertfordshire. You see, I am quite at his disposal.”
Elizabeth’s eyebrows rose. “Disposal? I would not word it so strongly, sir.”
“I might. Darcy is a capital friend, I assure you; but he is often accustomed to making arrangements by himself, and without reference to anybody else.”
“That is so, certainly,” she said, thinking that perhaps now Darcy had learnt not to assume that his easy manner of coming and going would always be smiled upon, “but Netherfield is your house, is it not? You ought to dictate when your visitors arrive, and not scruple to throw them out when you feel yourself overwhelmed by company. You might choose to wrest that control away if you wished to; yet it appears to me you really do not have any objection to his orderly attitudes.”
“By all means,” Bingley laughed, “you ought to hear all the particulars before you make such a statement, not forgetting our comparative height and size, for that will have more weight in the argument than you may be aware of. I assure you that if Darcy were not such a great tall fellow, in comparison with myself, I should not pay him half so much deference.”
Elizabeth could no longer repress a giggle. “I have not known him as long as you, sir, but I rather think he does not appear to me a man who requires much obeisance from his friends.”
“Mayhap not, but you still have much to learn of his ways,” Bingley said, with a wink. “I declare I do not know a more awful object than Darcy on particular occasions, and in particular places; at his own house especially, and of a Sunday evening when he has nothing to do.”
“I shall take care, then, to avoid him on Sunday evenings.”
Mary called out for them to fetch their coffee before it grew chilled, and Elizabeth reluctantly abandoned this line of conversation, supposing that Jane was impatient for her betrothed’s company. Time, with that capriciousness so particular to it, now seemed to pass by at a ponderous stroll, reducing Elizabeth to fix her eyes on the mantlepiece clock, as if to hurry it on; and at half-past nine, Mr. Bingley finally bid them all goodbye and promised to call on Jane the following morning for a walk.
After his departure, Elizabeth went directly above-stairs, eager for some rest. Her trunks had already been unpacked, and she changed into her nightgown and had already crawled under the coverlet when Jane knocked on the door. The two sisters snugly settled into the little bed and talked quietly, so as not to disturb Mary next door; but excessive weariness kept them from saying much at all.
“Why did you not tell me Mr. Darcy was in Kent?”
Jane’s softly-voiced question startled Elizabeth, who was nearly half-asleep. It took her a moment to reply. “I did not know what to tell you, at first. I did write of him in a letter, almost a week ago, but it was never sent.”
There was another thoughtful pause. “How long did you say that he was at Rosings?”
“Nearly six weeks.”
“And you saw him frequently?”
“Yes, nearly every day.” She studied her sister’s face, but Jane’s expression gave nothing away. “Are you angry with me for not telling you?”
“No – how could I be, when I have kept something from you as well?”
“Oh, dear, that sounds quite ominous. Pray tell, is it very dreadful?”
“Lizzy,” she said, with a gravity that instantly quieted Elizabeth. “I am quite serious. I meant to mention the matter, but I was not sure how to phrase it.”
“Phrase what?”
Jane hesitated, sighed, and reached out to grasp her sister’s hands. “I have something to tell you which I am afraid you will not like....”
Posted on Friday, 22 February 2008
Despite having the comfort of a large, well-sprung carriage and the best accommodations available on the road, Darcy had never much cared for traveling in this genteel fashion. He preferred riding alongside the conveyance, out in the invigorating air and sunshine; inside the confines of his coach, the light was dim and his legs were too long for the close seats. The warm stuffiness of the air also made him too apt to fall asleep, which greatly vexed him, for such an incommodious position was an affront to his dignity.
This journey was no different. His knees folded almost against his chest, Darcy attempted to read a book, shifting every so often to ease the ache in the small of his back. He was attempting to keep in good spirits, which was not a simple task when he was so hot and fatigued, as well as impatient to reach Hertfordshire and see that Elizabeth was safely returned to Longbourn. Nor did his companions make smiling any easier. Colonel Fitzwilliam, squeezed into the opposite corner, was happily snoring without a thought to the ridiculous picture he made, and Georgiana was staring sullenly out the window.
It would be a relief to be back at Netherfield. Bingley, with his discreet manners and lively disposition, was always a pleasure to be in company with and an accommodating host of the first order. Between him and Darcy there was a very steady friendship, in spite of a great opposition of character. Bingley was endeared to Darcy by the easiness, openness, and ductility of his temper, though no disposition could offer a greater contrast to his own, and though with his own he never appeared dissatisfied. On the strength of Darcy’s regard Bingley had the firmest reliance, and of his judgment the highest opinion. In understanding, Darcy was the superior; but in matters of the world, Bingley was the experienced one. He was privy to the notions and motives of people that Darcy, with his sheltered upbringing, had no conception of.
Perhaps that was what made them so compatible: one was a man of education and logic, the other one attuned to the nuances of human nature. Oh, Mr. Darcy was certainly aware of certain sensations others harbored toward him: distrust, alarm, repulsion, discomfort....yes, of all those he knew well; but the deeper feelings, those more ambiguous – and perhaps more frightening – were a puzzle to him.
These thoughts aside, Darcy counted himself fortunate to have found such a friend, and was glad to be back in Hertfordshire – his eagerness was, even then, more directed toward a visit to Longbourn than a return to Netherfield.
He could scarcely have spent another day in London, no matter how much pleasure he took in being among his cousins. Elizabeth almost exclusively occupied his thoughts, and he admitted to himself, at least, that he was a making a regular mooncalf of himself over her. How Fitzwilliam would jest if he knew the extent to which his cousin’s mind was distracted by a memory of a pretty face and pert smiles....fortunate indeed that his thoughts were his solely his own.
Darcy finally abandoned the pretense of reading – he rather doubted he had read a few words out of a hundred, and comprehended even less – and sat back to watch the fields and trees flash by. He fervently hoped Elizabeth was settled at home; he could not bear to think of Lady Catherine imposing upon her with another foolish tirade. Although he believed that Elizabeth was too sensible to credit any of the woman’s ranting, he still wished to spare her the indignity of being accosted.
He felt badly for his leaving again, but he assured himself that as soon as he was able, he would find the time to secure Elizabeth’s hand – he had waited quite long enough for that honor. If she was willing, he would make his addresses to her father directly. There was no point in drawing out the issue; he would rather make his intentions known at once than deal furtively with Elizabeth and raise Mr. Bennet’s suspicions. Elizabeth deserved better, and truth be told, he simply no longer had the patience to stand by without declaring himself.
The prospect was mightily welcome. He dared not count their engagement as a certain thing, for he did not yet know how Mr. Bennet would react – but he was resolved upon having Elizabeth, however long it took to sway her family to accept his suit. It was true that Darcy had been indulged as a child, and this lingering proof of a spoilt upbringing came through in his fixed determination. If Elizabeth truly wanted him, then no opposition of parent or circumstance could keep him from taking her to wife.
Colonel Fitzwilliam shifted and stretched with a yawn, jostling Darcy from his solitary musings. He casually took up his book again as his cousin sat up, and Georgiana only burrowed further into her corner.
“Still reading that drivel?” the colonel said amiably.
It was drivel – a very dry manual on the various methods of cultivating farmland – but Darcy was hardly going to give Richard the satisfaction of knowing that he had chosen the book out of his library without giving it a glance beforehand because he was in such a rush to pack and begin their journey.
“We shall b-be in Hertfordshire s-soon,” he said, happy for an opportunity to turn the subject. “D-Do you not th-think the scenery f-familiar, G-Georgiana?” Her eyes flicked in his direction, and her shoulders shrugged faintly before she turned her attention back to the window. He felt a sudden sting of irritation at her childish behavior – the source of which he did not yet understand – but he reminded himself to be patient. In time she would tell him, and he would do what he could to ease her anxiety.
The colonel was gazing at his young cousin with no small amount of surprise, but he quickly covered the awkward pause with a laugh. “Aye, listen to yourself, Darcy – you are in such a state to see your Miss Bennet again that I daresay we could be deep in the wilds of the North and you would declare with all confidence that we were but a few miles from Hertfordshire. We are scarcely a half-day’s ride out of London, Darcy; I doubt we will be at Netherfield until late afternoon.”
“I s-suppose you are right,” Darcy said, able to smile at his own keenness.
“No matter. Time will pass quickly enough.” The colonel hesitated, shooting a little glance over at Georgiana. “I had thought to call on Colonel Forster when we arrived.”
Darcy straightened at this announcement. “C-Colonel Forster?”
“I shall explain later. I may not be able to talk with him for a few days as it is; I feel he ought to know some things.”
Darcy knew exactly what his cousin was about – he himself had informed Richard about Wickham’s unpleasant presence in Hertfordshire – and was inclined to doubt the wisdom of such an action. The carriage was not the place to discuss it, however, and he did not wish Georgiana to be privy to their conversation.
The three travelers presently turned back to their own pursuits as noon faded into the evening hours: Darcy attempted to read, Colonel Fitzwilliam dozed, and Georgiana remained implacably silent.
At around six, they entered a county in which the scenery truly did appear familiar, and even the colonel admitted that they seemed to be nearing Hertfordshire. Another hour brought them into the village, which was unusually still and solemn, as most of its residents were home at the dining table. Darcy looked around the familiar streets, and, although he was unarguably delighted to be back, something about the scene made him strangely ill at ease. He was relieved when the carriage exited the village to journey the three miles to Netherfield Park.
The estate, when they finally did arrive, looked much as it had the last time Darcy had seen it five months ago. The grounds were now remarkably lush and green, painted not in autumn’s golds and reds, but flowering with spring blooms. It was quite beautiful and looked like a very welcome respite from the smoky busyness of Town.
A figure appeared on the portico as the carriage pulled up in the drive. Bingley waved enthusiastically and did not wait for the coach to come to a complete stop before he jogged out onto the gravel path to help its passengers to disembark.
Bingley looked weary, somehow – as if he had not quite been sleeping well enough to support his energetic manner of living. Nevertheless, he greeted his friends with his usual warmth, besieging them with all manner of eager questions as he herded them inside and directed their trunks to be put above-stairs in the best guest chambers.
“Come, come,” he said jovially, clapping Darcy on the back. “Supper should be served at any moment. You came just in time for it.” He offered his arm to Georgiana and led the way down the hall.
An unpleasant surprise awaited them in the parlor. As the party was ushered inside by their host, Miss Bingley rose gracefully from a settee and came forward with outstretched hands. “My dearest Georgiana! And Mr. Darcy – how long it has been since we have been together! I am sure Louisa and I quite pined for you both.”
Mrs. Hurst nodded agreement, while her husband mumbled something about sherry. Colonel Fitzwilliam raised his eyebrows but said nothing, a merry little smile playing about his mouth as he watched Miss Bingley pause to survey him carefully, as if evaluating the cut of his clothes for evidence of his station. “Ma’am, Colonel Fitzwilliam at your service. I believe you must be Mr. Bingley’s sister; my cousin has spoken often of you.”
“Has he?” Miss Bingley turned glowing eyes on Darcy, who immediately backed up a step, pursing his lips.
“Why, yes; and I have heard much of your beauty and accomplishments. I see that these accounts have not been exaggerated in the least.”
Bingley’s sister preened, and Colonel Fitzwilliam, seeing how his cousin’s face had become rather ashen, regretted his teasing. Perhaps it had not been wise to prod a woman who already considered Darcy’s fortune hers for the keeping into entertaining false hopes; best not to urge Miss Bingley into interfering.
“Perhaps you might be so kind as to allow me to escort you into dinner, Miss Bingley.” He flashed her his most charming smile, one that had been known to stop a lady in her tracks. “I am excessively interested to hear of your time in London. I have just come away from it myself. Did you attend Almack’s while you were there?”
Miss Bingley seemed content to allow him to lead her in. Apparently she had few scruples entertaining herself with a new admirer as long as her original object was sufficiently unoccupied with a rival female’s company. They sat together, and she immediately embarked on a subtle interrogation, intent on ferreting out his connections; weighing his advantages and disadvantages, the colonel thought with amusement.
“And – do tell me if I have this correct – you are the second son of Lord Matlock?” She smiled sweetly at him, but he saw the glint of calculation in her eyes.
“Oh, indeed, I am. A pity for me, of course; but I find that the army life suits me quite well. My father and brother have been most generous with my commissions.”
“You might become a politician,” Miss Bingley broke in, visions of being the influential wife of a prime minister or foreign diplomat dancing about in her head. “Or you may take up the law. Such opportunities would allow you to become highly distinguished, sir, and I daresay distinction is very suited to you.”
“Oh, I haven’t a jot of diplomacy in me,” he said soberly, hardly able to keep his countenance, “and I should hardly make sense of all that Latin. No, I fear the militia is my only fitting profession.”
Miss Bingley spent a good deal of the next half-hour attempting to change his mind, assuring him that there were many opportunities in the world for a gentleman of his breeding and fortune. The colonel was being most attentive, and his addresses were exceedingly pleasing; Miss Bingley had no wish to be a soldier’s wife, and Mr. Darcy’s cousin was a new and interesting potential suitor – if anything was to come of it, he had better come to his senses and give up soldiering. She would never tolerate being torn away from the London society she so loved.
The meal progressed pleasantly for everyone else; Bingley was full of news, happy to put to voice those articles of intelligence which had not been practical to send in a letter. Georgiana even was sufficiently interested to offer a few remarks of her own.
Darcy enjoyed the unstudied atmosphere, so casual compared to the staunch formality of his uncle’s table – but he found his attention repeatedly drawn back to his friend’s animated countenance. Despite his every appearance of good humor, something about Bingley was different – there was a tightness about his eyes, an almost pinched look to his mouth...indeed, something was amiss.
Estate business, probably – Bingley had had difficulty in the past with two particularly troublesome tenants. It was planting season, and they were most likely fussing about one thing or another and just generally stirring up mischief. Darcy had dealt with his share of land disputes and knew how tiresome they could be.
Tonight was not the time, however, to inquire about such matters; tomorrow would come soon enough, and he might be able to offer his friend some assistance if finances were truly the problem.
The party separated early, as all were tired and uninterested in prolonging after-dinner conversation. Georgiana and the Hursts retired directly, and Bingley went to speak with Cook, leaving Darcy and the colonel to mount the stairs with Miss Bingley, who seemed unsure of which man to grace her attendance with. Darcy solved her dilemma with the simple expedient of lingering behind in search of his pocket watch, which was tucked securely in his waistcoat. He waited for a few minutes before venturing out into the hall to see that the colonel remained at the bottom of the stairs while the lady continued up to her chambers in solitary propriety.
“And so that is the infamous Miss Bingley,” the colonel murmured, watching the retreating figure glide up the steps. “A striking woman, I daresay, and not unintelligent. I’ve always had a partiality for blondes.”
Darcy shook his head in exasperation. “L-let the g-girl alone, Richard. It is f-for your own benefit – s-she has a way of latching onto you.”
“Oh, that I know,” he said cheerfully. “I rather believe she fancies me, especially after I assured her that both Father and Edmund were given to biliousness and would likely not live to see another year.”
“Richard!”
The colonel grinned unrepentantly. “Yes, she did seem to favor me a good deal more after that. A pity that she likes you better.”
“Yes,” he said dryly, “and s-she likes me so well that she generally t-tiptoes around me, as if she believes I will s-s-suddenly have a f-fit and st-start salivating on myself.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam laughed. “And you accuse me of being shocking! You do her a discredit, I am sure.”
The two gentlemen paused on the landing to locate the direction of their respective chambers. “I would c-caution you, R-Richard,” Darcy said, more seriously. “T-Truly, you m-may find Miss B-Bingley more d-determined than you b-believe. I have never sh-shown her the slightest amount of enc-couragement, and she has b-b-been c-courting me th-these four years at least. You would not w-wish t-to find yourself married t-to her b-because of some f-foolish impropriety. B-Bingley may ap-pear lenient, b-but he is a very p-protective b-brother.”
“What sort of man do you suppose me to be?” he replied indignantly. “An innocent flirtation has never harmed anyone before.”
“Wh-where have I heard th-that before?”
The colonel appeared a little vexed at that all-too true observation. “Good god, man, I am doing you a favor, keeping her occupied.”
“And f-for that I am eternally g-grateful.” His lips twitched, but he managed to keep his expression neutral. “However, you ought not p-press your luck.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam sighed. “As you say, Father. I shall endeavor to be so very decorous, unobtrusive, modest, and excessively dull that Miss Bingley will flee at the first moment of my arrival into any part of this house – and she will probably run straight to you.”
“I rather d-doubt it.” Darcy set aside the candle and opened his door. “She d-does not c-care much for my c-company – in fact, I d-do b-believe she is afraid of me. She t-takes great c-care to avoid b-being alone in the same room as I.”
“Then how in the devil does she intend to marry you?”
He shrugged. “I sup-pose I would l-live in one section of the house, and she in the other. M-Many marriages are sp-pent in p-perpetual d-disconnection. L-Look at your b-brother and the viscountess. They d-do not even st-stay in the same t-town above th-three months out of the year. She remains in London when he ret-tires t-to the country.”
“I would think Edmund would be glad of the respite.” The colonel yawned again. “It’s too blasted late to stand here discussing the state of my brother’s marriage. I’ll see you in the morning, Darcy.”
Darcy nodded and let himself into his own rooms. The fire had already been stoked and the chambers aired, making for a warm and welcoming sight to a weary traveler. As he finally slid underneath the covers, his last thought was that his cousin would have to be deprived of his company tomorrow. As soon as it was proper, he would ride directly to Longbourn – and, he hoped, to Elizabeth.
Promptly at eight o’clock the next morning, Darcy walked out to the stables; it was yet too early to call at Longbourn, but he planned to ride for a few hours beforehand – it had been several weeks since he had had the opportunity for such an exercise. London’s Hyde Park was not the sort of place where one might indulge in a fast-flying gallop.
Selecting one of Bingley’s more spirited geldings, Darcy set out a scant ten minutes later, delighted with the boundless freedom of the countryside after a day spent in an unaired traveling coach. The horse’s step was quick and light, and Darcy allowed him extra rein, as the path contained no traffic but for an occasional cart.
After an hour or so of this, his impatience bested his resolve, and he turned onto the eastern road to see if anyone at the estate was yet awake. He had gotten no further than the bend in the lane leading up to Longbourn property when another person approached him from the opposite direction.
Feeling all the happy anticipation of a new lover in a reunion, Darcy leapt down from his horse and led it hastily down the road to meet Elizabeth, who had stopped by the gate to watch him approach.
He took a moment to appreciate the lovely sight before him as he neared her. She was dressed in her favorite yellow muslin with a lace shawl, her curly hair tied back like a girl’s, cheeks blooming with rosy color – a fresh young country miss through and through. He was quite sure, as he returned her diffident wave, that he had never seen her so beautiful. Not even in her ball gown or in the finery she had worn at Rosings had she appeared to him so utterly charming.
Coming to halt a few paces away, he said warmly, “G-Good morning, Miss Elizabeth.”
It seemed impossible that she should be able to blush anymore than she already was; but somehow she managed the feat. “Good morning, Mr. Darcy.” She twisted her shawl in anxious reaction, studying his countenance attentively.
That brief and necessary moment of awkwardness was suddenly put to an end – one may not say for certain whether it was he or she who first moved, but the result was definitive and to the satisfaction of both. An embrace seemed a natural welcome after such a tumultuous separation, and Darcy was just as eager to receive her in his arms as she was to come into them.
“I have m-missed you,” he whispered against her hair, holding her tenderly. “I so w-worried th-that something might have p-prevented you from ret-turning home – that Lady C-Catherine might have approached you.”
“She would not have dared,” she said, tipping her head back so that he might understand her reply, “and if even if she had, I did not allow her the chance to make good on it. I left only the day after you did. My excuses were quite incredible and wholly unconvincing, and so Mr. Collins believed them without a moment’s alarm.”
He kissed her hand. “I sh-should not have d-doubted your ingenuity.”
“Indeed you should not have; but I must forgive you, for at times I rather doubted it myself.”
Darcy gradually became aware that it would probably be wise to continue their reunification somewhere besides the middle of a main road directly in front of her father’s house. He suggested a stroll around the property boundaries, and she agreed without a second’s hesitation. It soon became apparent that neither one was really much interested in a walk; they abandoned the pretense and sat together under the shade of a tree. Darcy made so bold as to reach out and take her hand, and they remained in that state of happy contentment for a time. Elizabeth asked after his relations; he wanted to know how she had spent her days since leaving Kent; and they both listened with as much pleasure as they spoke.
Elizabeth was loath to ruin this morning’s serenity with her news, but she knew it must be said; and she had, in fact, walked out with every intention of going to Netherfield – despite the early hour – and telling him of what had transpired during their absence. She both wished never to mention it at all, and to say it at once to have it put aside for good – but her sound judgment soon took precedence, and she broached a subject which had caused her a good deal of alarm.
“My sister told me something a few days ago, sir, which I believe you ought to hear.” She hesitated. “I shall dispense with the details and tell you directly: Mr. Wickham has been speaking of some matters concerning you which distress me greatly.”
Her somber eyes and stiff posture would have alerted him to some disturbance, even if her mention of Wickham hadn’t forewarned him of trouble. Even as he gently urged her to go on, he felt a sickening certainty that the issue under discussion was not one unfamiliar to him; if nothing else, Wickham was generally very predictable.
“Jane informed me that, while we were both in Kent, Mr. Wickham began making insinuations about your character and....stability. You will remember what he told me all those months ago, about your having been mad...” She swallowed thickly. “I fear he has made the story widely known in the village. My Aunt Philips heard of it first – it had been spreading around the officers’ mess, and soon came to be talked of in the shops...most everyone has heard some version of it. I...” A look of shame overspread her features, and she averted her eyes. “I am afraid that my own mother has been one of the worst offenders in seeing Mr. Wickham’s story circulated. Jane tells me that she spoke of little else for a week – and only then stopped because Bingley had proposed and she had something new to talk of.”
She dared to look up at Darcy then – his set expression was not revealing, and he merely nodded for her to continue.
“There is something more....Mr. Wickham has added to his story now; he claims that you were nearly removed to an asylum, but your family....your family paid to have you kept out, to avoid the scandal. He has said that you have been in trouble with the law, that you cheated him of an inheritance from your father and kept your sister’s dowry for yourself so that she might stay with you and see to your wishes.” She bit her lip, pulling at her shawl again with such force as to almost rend the fabric. “There are other things – such perfectly horrible things – and we are at a loss as to how to stop this. No one will listen, and Mr. Wickham is so very consummate an actor....I do not know what to do.” Her voice quivered to a halt, and there was a brief silence.
“Th-Thank you for t-telling me,” he said at last, his own tones as equivocal as his countenance. “I would not have b-been p-prepared at all had not your s-sister t-told you of it. I had th-thought that B-Bingley was behaving rather strangely. Th-That explains it.”
“But what shall we do?” she repeated, perturbed by his lack of proper reaction. “Surely there must be some way to counteract it.”
Darcy shook his head slowly. “I d-do not think so. Let the st-story run its c-course, Elizabeth. If th-there are no f-further c-claims, the g-gossip will d-die down, just as it d-did before. Your f-father, however....”
“He does not credit a word of it,” she said quickly. “He knows enough of you and of Mr. Wickham to think that impossible. Shall you really do nothing?”
“Th-There is not much I c-can do. I have learned th-that p-protest is useless; I must t-trust your neighbors t-to observe things for th-themselves rather th-than t-take everything th-that is said about me as s-solid t-truth.”
“And Mr. Wickham?” Elizabeth ventured.
“He will b-be d-dealt with.”
That reply was hardly acceptable for her own curiosity, but Elizabeth let the matter drop. There would be more time to press the complete history of the two men out of him later; for now she simply wished to set aside this unpleasant conversation. She had spent enough time dwelling on it after Jane had disclosed the story to her. Such a shock it had been! Wickham’s tale had been forgotten completely, and she had never dreamed that he might use Darcy’s absence as an opportunity of filling more minds with his lies.
How tired Darcy must be of all this, she thought. He had just gone away from Rosings to escape his aunt’s abuse, only to meet with more in Hertfordshire. She was angry for his sake, and ashamed that her friends and relatives could be so cruel – but most of her ire was reserved for Mr. Wickham. She could scarcely believe the man’s audacity. Could no one else recognize the improprieties of his revelations? Did no one see how he used his tales to buoy up his own favor?
She recalled how amiable she had thought him upon first acquaintance and found that she could not wholly condemn those around her. The officer had such an expression of goodness, of open honesty, that she had nearly believed him herself when he had warned her away from Mr. Darcy. Only rational consideration had saved her from behaving as the others had, and perhaps dismissing Darcy forever because of one man’s insistence that the master of Pemberley was not right in his head.
“I am so very sorry,” she said after a moment, feeling miserable herself. “I cannot believe that he would seek to cause you more trouble here.”
At that, he smiled. “D-Do not f-feel uneasy. You have d-done nothing which I might have c-cause t-to censure; I d-do not b-blame anyone, l-least of all you. Th-This shall all f-fade away as soon as some other b-bit of gossip from T-Town reaches Meryton. It has always b-been so. As long as your f-father d-does not t-take heed, I have no c-care for it.”
“My father....yes, of course.” She glanced up at him, suddenly feeling a little shy. “Shall you speak with him, then?”
“No.”
Her astonishment was plain to see, and he hastily added, “I have n-nothing t-to speak to your father about yet, f-for I have not yet sp-spoken to you.” Lifting her hand up between them, he said gravely, “You must allow me t-t-to t-tell you h-how ardently I admire and love you, Miss B-Bennet.”
Elizabeth’s joy was beyond expression; she scarcely heard a word he said beyond that miraculous ‘I love you,’ and it was with some bemusement that she slowly became aware that he had stopped speaking and was watching her with anxious expectation.
“I do beg your pardon, sir. What did you say?”
For a second she thought he appeared rather offended, but the next he laughed out loud, a lively, delighted sound. “My d-dearest Elizabeth, I was m-merely wondering whether you would b-be interested in marrying me. D-Do take your t-time, for it is apparently of l-little c-consequence t-to you.”
“Oh, no!” she blurted. “I do want you marry you; I promise I will listen this time.”
Struggling to contain his amusement, he somberly made the petition again, and she answered him with equal decorousness, her eyes merry and laughing as she extended her hand grandly for him to kiss. He savored the soft touch of her fingers against his palm, and they quieted, each one somewhat overwhelmed.
Elizabeth’s spirits, however, soon rose to playfulness again, and she wanted Mr. Darcy to account for his having ever fallen in love with her. “How could you begin?” said she. “I can comprehend your going on charmingly, when you had once made a beginning; but what could set you off in the first place?”
“I c-cannot f-fix on the hour, or the spot, or the l-look, which laid the f-foundation. It is t-too long ago. I was in the m-middle b-before I knew that I had b-begun.”
“That could hardly be so – I am sure you did not know what to make of me while we were at Netherfield together. You must have thought me intrusive and quite prying.” She saw him shake his head and laughed. “Now be sincere; if that did not alarm you, than my manners must have. When you were around, I was as often in some shrubbery as I was not; and was unabashed by it. Did you admire me for my impertinence?”
“F-For the liveliness of your mind, I d-did.”
“You may as well call it impertinence at once. It was very little less.”
“Even more th-than your wit, your k-kindness was what d-drew my notice.”
“Kindness? That is a virtue I should not venture to claim for myself. It belongs to Jane.”
“You d-do not understand, I th-think,” he said, “how much you have d-done – how h-happy you have m-made me. I was alone, Elizabeth, n-nearly all my life. Oh, I h-had my s-sister and my aunt and uncle; but their g-goodness t-to me is in d-duty as well as affection. I had no c-claims upon you; th-there was no reason that you sh-should t-treat me with k-kindness – and yet you d-did, with no exp-pectations or falsity. If th-that is not the mark of a t-truly b-beautiful ch-character, then I d-do not know what is.”
His heartfelt praise humbled her, and she comprehended for the first time how something so simple as her acknowledgment could mean so very much to him. “You honor me, Fitzwilliam,” she said softly. “I do love you.”
“Th-Then you honor me as w-well,” he replied, taking her hand once more.
And so all thoughts of gossip, of troublesome lieutenants and querulous aunts, gave way to newer sensations and more pleasant musings as they spent the morning walking about the grove and speaking of their future together; and only when the position of the sun warned them that noon was fast approaching and they would both be missed at home, did they part, promising to meet again on the morrow.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five