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Edward's Dilemma
Posted on Sunday, 10 January 1999
Author's Note: This is sort of a sequel to "The Fairy Godmother". The reference to pudding is, of course, because of Marks' very funny story, "Pudding".
Fitzwilliam Darcy and George Knightley were very busy men. Not only were they newlyweds (an office which took up much time!) and owners of large estates, they were also the founders of a support group called "Help Yourself". It was for sometimes romantically-challenged men. Having discovered (with the help of a very mysterious lady) that the key to their love-lives lay within themselves they had generously decided to share their new-found wisdom with other men.
"So, Knightley," Darcy said as they set up chairs for their weekly Wednesday circle discussion, "do you think we'll have a big crowd today?"
"Oh yes! Our group gets more popular every week," Knightley answered proudly.
They heard a knock at the door, as the servant opened it they slid on wire-rimmed glasses which officially put them in full therapeutic mode. Henry Tilney, Frederick Wentworth, and Edward Bertram walked in followed by Charles Bingley, Edward Ferrars and Christopher Brandon.
The men sat down and recited their credo,
"When your wife wants you romantic
There's no need to get frantic
'Cause whatever you do
They're stuck with you
So, really, there's no reason to panic"
It still needed some tweaking.
"All right," Darcy began, "who wants to go first?"
Edward cleared his throat. "U-u-um, I-I-I have a p-problem," he stammered.
"Go ahead," Knightley said calmly.
"M-my anniversary is coming up, i-it's on Monday, and I have no idea what to g-get Elinor."
"Does anyone have a suggestion?" Darcy asked.
The room was quiet for a few seconds as the men thought about this.
Henry Tilney ventured, "I've always found that a nice muslin never goes unappreciated. I could help you pick one out."
Everybody but Darcy and Knightley laughed at this, and even they had to repress a smirk.
"Well, do you have any better ideas?" Henry asked defensively.
They muttered among themselves until Captain Wentworth shouted, "A kitten!"
They all stared at him.
"I like kittens," he explained sheepishly.
"Er-okay," Knightley said. "Darcy, how about you? What would you give Mrs. Darcy?"
"Pudding," Darcy answered.
"Pudding?" everybody asked in unison.
"Yes," Darcy said beginning to blush.
"Mrs. Darcy is that fond of pudding?" Edward asked.
"Oh yes," he said, then quickly changed the subject. "Knightley, how about you?"
"I've always been a traditionalist; flowers, candy, jewelry..."
"Boring!" cried Henry and Frederick.
"You look very smug over there, Brandon," Bingley said.
Brandon shrugged.
"What have you got up your sleeve?" Edmund Bertram asked.
"Well, for my anniversary, after a romantic dinner I plan to take Marianne for a walk under the stars-"
"Oooh," his audience interjected.
"Then I'll read her her favorite poetry-"
"Aaahhh"
"And then I'll give her this-" Brandon stopped.
"What?" the crowd asked breathlessly.
Brandon slowly pulled a long, slender box out from his inside pocket. He carefully opened it and revealed to them...a pen quill.
"Huh?" Bertram asked, disappointed, "You're giving your wife a ratty old pen quill?"
"This isn't any ratty old pen quill. This ratty old pen quill was used by Cowper himself," Brandon answered with glowing eyes.
"So?"
"So," Edward supplied, "if I know Marianne, Brandon won't stay in his flannel waistcoat much longer that night."
The men whistled and catcalled. "Brandy, Brandy, Brandy," they chanted.
Then Darcy and Knightley remembered themselves. Darcy said, "That's enough." He checked his pocketwatch. "Edward, I hope you have some ideas, it's time to wrap things up."
"Y-yes, thank you," Edward answered gratefully and everybody got up and left.
Darcy and Knightley shook hands over another job well-done.
Elinor Ferrars enjoyed her anniversary very much, and if she wondered why she received a kitten wrapped in muslin or why they had five varieties of pudding for dinner she didn't ask.
It was, indeed, a job well-done.
Cap'n Wentworth Walks the Plank
It was time for another meeting of the "Help Yourself" support group. The members were seated in a circle in one of Pemberley's drawing rooms. After eating some very tasty scones Edmund had made (it was a new recipe), Darcy and Knightley called the meeting to order.
"Who would like to share first today?" Darcy asked.
"Frederick looks like he has something to share," Knightley answered.
All the men looked at Frederick expectantly.
Frederick shifted uneasily in his chair, "All right, it's like this," he said, "my wife thinks I'm a pirate."
"Your wife thinks you're a what?" Edward asked not sure if he had heard correctly.
"A pirate. You know, hardy har har and ahoy matey...that sort of pirate."
"Why on earth would she think that?" Henry asked.
"Do we really want to know?" Brandon sighed.
"Yes, we do," Darcy answered, very intrigued.
"Well, it started with a necklace I brought Anne back from my last voyage. It was beautiful. Lots of diamonds and everything, but Anne knew I couldn't afford it. She said, 'Looting again darling?' She was only half serious, but when I couldn't come up with a good answer..."
"How did you afford the necklace?" Knightley questioned.
"Uh, the diamonds aren't real, only paste. Very realistic and everything, but paste all the same. I couldn't tell her," Frederick said ashamedly.
"So you're saying you'd rather have your wife think you're a pirate than have her know you bought a fake necklace?" Edmund asked.
"Pretty much..."
"What I don't get," Knightley said, "is why she thinks you are a pirate just from that."
"Yeah," Henry added, "I'd expect it from my wife, but well, you know my wife..."
All the men nodded. Mrs. Tilney, though lovable, was a little off her rocker.
"There's more. A couple of days ago Anne caught me drinking rum," Frederick confessed.
"So? Lots of men who aren't pirates drink rum," Bingley said.
"I was wearing an eyepatch. I've always had this urge, it's sick, I know."
"Are you sure you're not a pirate?" Bingley asked. He was getting a little afraid.
"You don't really expect me to answer that, do you?" Frederick asked defensively.
"I'd kind of like an answer," Edmund said.
"Me too," Edward added.
"OF COURSE I'M NOT A BLOODY PIRATE! WHAT DO YOU TAKE ME FOR?" Frederick yelled.
"Settle down, nobody here seriously believes you're a pirate. Do we?" Darcy said calmly. "I think some people owe Frederick an apology."
"Sorry Freddie," Bingley, Edmund and Edward chorused like guilty schoolboys.
"I forgive you," Frederick said grudgingly. "But how can I convince my wife that I'm not a pirate? I already see too little of her as it is, now she's avoiding me."
"I think," Henry suggested, "you should buy some muslin."
"How would muslin help me?"
"Pirates are notorious muslin-haters," Henry explained.
"Uh, thank you, Henry," Knightley said. "Does anybody else have any ideas. Please?"
"Maybe you should take Mrs. Wentworth with you on your next voyage, so she could see for herself if you're a pirate or not," Bingley said, not convinced of Frederick's innocence.
"I think that would work," Frederick mused. "Yes, Anne needs a change of scene, anyway, and I think she would love the sea. Yes, that would be perfect."
"Is it settled then?" Darcy asked.
Frederick nodded.
"Then I now call this meeting of the "Help Yourself" support group adjourned."
The men filed out, pleased with themselves. Nobody was more pleased than Frederick. Anne did love the sea and they had many romantic, unpiratic nights.
Henry's Vision
Henry walked into Hartfield, where the support group was being hosted that week, with a spring in his step and bags under his eyes. He could barely wait for Darcy and Knightley to start the session.
"Does anybody have anything to sh-" Darcy began.
"I do, I do! I have something to share," Edward interjected.
"Go right ahead."
"Well, last night I had the most amazing dream. It-"
He was interrupted by Edward, "I had a dream last night too! There was a cow, and a pianoforte..." He stopped when he saw Henry's murderous look.
"Save your breath to cool your porridge, Edward, it's my turn to share. As I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted, last night I had a dream. It was more than a dream, really. It was a vision. Can you guess what it was of?" he asked.
"A kitten?" Frederick asked.
"No"
"Pudding?" Darcy tried.
"Nope"
"A cow playing the pianoforte?" wondered Edward.
"I'll chose to ignore that," Henry said glaring at Edward. "My dream-vision-was of the most perfect, most beautiful, most heavenly muslin!"
"Uh, great, Henry. I'm really very happy for you," Knightley said. "Now moving on-"
"No! I'm not done yet!" Henry cried.
"There's more?" Brandon groaned.
"You see, I know in the deepest part of my heart that this muslin really exists! It's somewhere in London, I need you to go with me to get it."
"You need us to help you shop?" Frederick asked. "Even Bingley can go shopping by himself."
"Hey!" Bingley cried.
Edward and Edmund snickered.
"You two have a lot of room to talk," Brandon said sarcastically.
"Don't fight," Darcy intervened, "save it for after the meeting."
Henry continued," I need your help, because how can I possibly find it on my own? Do you know how many warehouses there are in London? Help me. Please!"
"What do you say, men?" Knightley asked.
"Field trip!" they yelled in response.
The support group piled into Darcy's and Knightley's carriages. Henry was seated by Edmund who was next to Edward. "Um, Edmund, could you move over a little bit? I'm squished," he whined.
"You're squished? I can't budge an inch. Maybe if Edward would stop lolloping..." Edmund responded.
"I don't lollop! You lollop!" Edward yelled.
It was a very long ride.
Once in London, Henry gave a very detailed description of the precious muslin and split the men into pairs. He sent them on their way, except for Darcy and Bingley, who were to go with him.
"Don't forget to hold hands when you cross the street!" Darcy reminded as the pairs took off.
Each pair searched high and low in every warehouse they were assigned to, but to no avail. The muslin was nowhere to be seen. Henry, Darcy, and Bingley tried the very last shop.
"Can I help you sir?" the attendant asked.
"Yes, I hope so. I'm looking for a muslin, a very special muslin," Henry said and described the cloth once again.
"Oh, yes, we have that," the man said.
Henry's face lit up.
"Or we did have it ten minutes ago. A young lady just came in and bought the very last bit of it. I think that pattern has been discontinued, too. Sorry."
Henry's face fell.
"She was a bit odd, you know. I think the cheese had slipped off the cracker, if you know what I mean. Not quite playing with a full deck. The lights were on but nobody was-"
Henry just turned around and walked out. Darcy and Bingley followed him to their meeting place. Henry sat on a bench and held his head in his hand.
"I sure am sorry," Bingley said.
"You'll find a muslin ten times better," Darcy added.
"I want to be alone right now," Henry sniffed.
Bingley and Darcy shrugged and relocated to another bench. Henry didn't lift his head up until he heard a familiar and beloved voice saying, "Mrs. Knightley, are you quite sure Miss Bates didn't kill her mother? Could it have been Mrs. Elton?"
Henry saw his wife walking with Mrs. Knightley, a basket in her hand. "Cat!" he called. "What are you doing here?"
"I should ask you the same question," his wife answered coming up to his side. "Oh, never mind, I'm glad you're here. I'm so excited! I bought the most wonderful thing! Now, I know you like to buy my muslins, but I couldn't resist this one. I don't think it will fray." She reached into her basket and pulled out a length of the prophesied muslin.
"Oh, my love," Henry said breathlessly. "That's it!" he yelled. "THAT'S IT!" He swung Catherine around. "You're incredible!"
By this time all the men had gathered around the Tilneys and were clapping Henry on the back. After five minutes of celebrating Henry stopped suddenly. "So you were the woman who bought the muslin?" he asked Catherine slowly.
"Yes, silly. I thought we established that," Catherine answered.
"Then I think I have a score to settle with that shopkeeper."
"The shopkeeper? The one who looks like a villain from Udolpho? I told him he did, he wasn't too happy. What score?" Catherine asked.
Henry looked at his wife and his muslin and smiled. "Never mind, lets go see the dressmaker."
Starring Edmund
Every man in the support group could see something was bothering Edmund. The usual placid clergyman's eyes were jumpy and a thin layer of sweat covered his upper lip.
"Edmund," Darcy prodded gently, "what's wrong?"
"Something's rotten in the state of Denmark," Edmund muttered.
"Something rotten?" Brandon mused. "Edward, did you forget to change your socks again?"
Edward turned beet red and checked his feet the moment he thought nobody was looking.
Bingley sniffed, "I don't smell anything foul."
"Fair is foul and foul is fair," Edmund responded darkly.
"You're starting to worry me, buddy," Knightley said. "Your name is Edmund Bertram, isn't it?"
Edmund answered helplessly in a falsetto, "A rose by any other name would smell just as sweet."
Henry shook his head sadly, "I think he's gone round the bend."
"Et tu, Brute?" Edmund gasped.
Frederick ran up to Edmund and slapped him on the face. "Snap out of it, man!" he cried.
Edmund shook his head and his eyes cleared. "Thank you," he said. "That was a particularly bad one."
"Bad one of what?" Darcy asked.
"Are you possessed? Do you need an exorcist?" Bingley inquired looking at clergyman Henry.
"No way!" Henry protested. "I don't do that demon thing."
They all turned to the remaining clergyman, Edward, who was still examining his socks, oblivious to the fact that everybody was staring at him. Brandon cleared his throat and Edward looked up triumphantly. "They're clean!" he declared.
Edmund sighed, "I'm not possessed, at least not by a demon."
"What is it then?" Henry wondered, relieved that his exorcism skills, or lack thereof, weren't needed.
"I'm in the wrong profession," Edmund began glumly.
"The wrong profession?" Frederick exclaimed. "You're one of the holiest people I know. You're a perfect clergyman!"
"Really," Brandon added, "if anyone's wrong to be a clergyman it's Henry. He has a hard time putting God before muslin."
"That's my business and God's," Henry said. "Not yours, Colonel."
No! I am an awful clergyman! I am a horrible, two-faced, hypocritical beast!" Edmund wailed.
"What is it that you want to be?" Knightley queried.
"Oh, it's too terrible to say."
"You don't want to be a pirate, do you?" Frederick whispered.
"No, worse!"
Edward, who couldn't imagine anything worse than a pirate, stuttered, "O-oh, p-please t-tell us."
Edmund took a deep breath and confessed, "I want to be an actor."
"So?" Bingley asked, "What's so wrong about that?"
"Actors are immoral, rude, self-centered, vain heathens!" Edmund vented.
The support group stared at the once mild-mannered man with their mouths hanging open.
"I've had a bad experience with actors," he explained.
"I'd gathered that," Brandon said dryly.
"Besides, Fanny wouldn't like it."
Darcy pondered the situation. "Edmund," he asked, "what play was your 'bad experience' with?"
"'Lover's Vows'," Edmund replied shuddering.
"Well, there's your problem! You don't have to act in plays like 'Lover's Vows'. How about you write biblical plays and get the community involved?" Darcy said. "You could even remain a clergyman."
"Hey, that's a good idea!" Edmund cried. "Thanks! You've saved my sanity."
After the meeting Edmund began his first play "Ruth and Boaz". Fanny approved, and even agreed to act. So, if you've heard of the Bertram Acting Revue, that's how it started. And if you haven't, it's because they weren't any good.
Brandon en Vogue
The members of the support group were surprised to see that it was their usually cool-as-a-cucumber Colonel Brandon take the floor.
"This is kind of embarrassing," the Colonel began.
"You're Edward's brother-in-law, you should be used to embarrassment by now," Henry Tilney laughed.
Edward's eyes welled up with tears, "Th-that's not n-nice," he whined.
"No it's not," Darcy, Fearless Leader #1, reproved. "Apologize, Henry."
"Sorry," Henry sighed, but added under his breath, "You big, fat baby."
"Back to you, Brandon," Fearless Leader #2, Mr. Knightley said.
"Alright," the Colonel said and took a deep breath. "You know as well as I do the benefits of wearing flannel. It's economical, versatile, and keeps rheumatism away, right?"
"Well, flannel's okay for long johns and blankets, but muslin is a superior material in ever-"
"Shut up, Henry," Edmund said uncharacteristically.
Henry waited for someone to jump in and defend him. Nobody did. He grouchily picked up his chair and carried it to the corner to sulk. All the other men breathed a sigh of relief that the incessant muslin-plug had stopped at least momentarily.
"Back to flannel," Charles Bingley encouraged.
"Yes, well, most people love flannel. How can they not? It's so fuzzy!" Brandon stopped to rub his waistcoat, entirely made of the wonderfully fuzzy cloth.
"The problem is?" Darcy prodded gently.
"Marianne hates it! She says it makes me look to old. She hates half my wardrobe. She doesn't like my festive red and green plaid Christmas waistcoat, and she absolutely detests my spring collection in friendly pastels," Brandon cried glumly.
"So?" Edward asked, "Why not j-just go shopping?"
"If only it were that easy," Brandon groaned. "Marianne wants me to see a fashion consultant. A fashion consultant! I'll be squeezed and primped and made to look a fashion plate."
"Oh come, come. It won't be that bad," Edmund comforted.
"Not that bad? Do you know what the fashionable colors are this season? Pea-green and carrot-orange. I'll look like a vegetable garden!"
"Actually, you'll look like Bingley's sisters," Henry shouted from over his shoulder.
They all laughed except for Charles who had to try very hard not to.
"May I ask the name of the fashion consultant you are to see?" Knightley asked.
"Some prancing ninny named Sir Walter Elliot."
Frederick sucked in his breath and clapped his hands over his mouth.
"What's the matter?" Darcy inquired.
"Um, oh, nothing really. Air just went down the wrong pipe," Frederick said weakly.
"Hey! I've got a great idea!" Edward yelled suddenly. "Why should Brandy see a fashion consultant when he has us? We're all pretty trendy guys."
"Yes, great idea! We'll help the Colonel. No need to mess with some silly fashion consultant who, by the way has no relation to me at all," Frederick agreed.
The men decided to have their tailors replicate their favorite articles of clothing. Darcy even had his favorite green coat copied.
The next week when Brandon tried his new clothes on music suddenly came from nowhere. Brandon began spontaneously singing, "I'm too sexy for my shirt, too sexy for my shirt, so sexy it hurts!" and started to unbutton the inferior article.
All the men yelled for him to put it back on and Edward complained, "I h-have to r-r-ride home with h-him."
Needless to say Marianne was very impressed with the Colonel's new look and urged him to go into the field of fashion consultation. Also needless to say the Colonel refused and threatened to go back to wearing flannel waistcoats as he had a very lovely pink and red one specially made for Valentine's Day.
Charles in Charge
The members of the Support Group were under a blanket of depression. Their star, their very sun of happiness seemed to be behind a cloud. They could scarcely believe it. Charles Bingley wasn't smiling. Since they had known him Charles had hardly ever registered below an 11 on a happy-scale ranging from 1 to 10.
"Charles," Knightley asked him, "what's wrong?"
"Is it that obvious?" Charles replied morosely.
"You look as if your favorite Indian muslin frayed in the wash," Henry said. "It hasn't, has it?"
"I don't think so," Charles answered, absent mindedly.
"So what's the problem?"
"It's my in-laws," Charles groaned. "They've been staying with Jane and me for two months now. It's becoming unbearable! Mary will lecture us from Fordyce's sermons. Mrs. Bennet and Kitty are always bickering-"
Just then Edmund started coughing uncontrollably. Over the racket Frederick yelled, "Don't keep coughing so Eddy, for heaven's sake! Have a little compassion on my nerves. You tear them to pieces."
To which Edmund responded by shouting, "I do not cough for my own amusement."
Charles looked at them in wonder. "Yes they sound exactly like that."
Edmund coughed some more, deliberately, in spite of the deathly glare Frederick was sending him.
"And then," Charles continued Mrs. Bennet will say something to Mr. Bennet and he will ignore her. She thinks he doesn't hear and says it louder until she is screaming. It happens at least five times a day.
"Yes," said Darcy, "You have no idea how bad it is. 'You don't know how I suffer' she says. She doesn't know how I suffer-"
"My brother-in-law," Charles interrupted, "likes to get sympathy because of them, but he has no clue how bad it really is. He won't let them live with him."
"That scoundrel Wickham!" Darcy exclaimed. "He actually tries to get people to feel sorry for him?" Charles shook his head slightly and looked pointedly at Darcy. "Oh. You mean me."
"Do you want them to leave?" Brandon asked.
"Well, no. Jane enjoys their company and I've learned that when she's happy, I'm 'happy'. If only they were quiet! I wouldn't mind just looking at them. Mrs. Bennet's a handsome woman. Kitty's quite lovely and Mary's becomes pr-, well attra-, well interesting looking. If one could only get them to quit talking non-stop they'd be the perfect family."
Frederick scratched his head. "You could feed them constantly. Whenever they start to talk shove something in their mouths."
"You can't be serious!" Henry cried. "They'd explode after awhile and that isn't very nice to look at."
"Y-you l-l-look very reflective, b-brother," Edmund said to Brandon.
"Well Edward, you know that game we play with Mrs. Jennings when we want her to stop 'winkling' us?"
"Oh yes! The quiet game."
"Right. Here's what you do," Brandon instructed. "Tell your in-laws that whoever stays quiet the longest wins a prize. It's quite effective."
Charles nodded, "I'll try that."
So Charles went home and tried the game. To his immense surprise and relief, they loved it. He stocked up on boxes of very chewy candy to give away as prizes, which kept their mouths occupied even longer. He and Jane were 'referees', so they could talk as much as they wanted. Charles Bingley was once again happy, no longer just 'happy'.
The Quest for Fresh Blood
Once the gentlemen of the Help Yourself Support Group were seated in their customary circle, this time at Donwell Abbey, their esteemed leader, George Knightley, cleared his throat somewhat nervously and said, "Well, men, we have been together for quite some time, haven't we?"
Edward piped up, "One year, one months, eleven days, three hours, and forty-five seconds."
"I'll take your word for that. As I was saying, we have been together for quite some time and I think that it's time that we consider expansion."
"Expansion?" Edmund asked warily. "We like things the way they are."
"Yeah!" Frederick bellowed.
"Now men," their other esteemed leader, Darcy, said, "We can't just sit here week after week eating crumpets and feeling smug because we've finally discovered the key to marital bliss! No! We have a duty to help our fellow countrymen. Be all that we can be!" He stood up, his eyes misty and far away. He could almost here patriotic music playing in the background. "We owe this to our king, our prince, and our ancestors to show the world that British husbands aren't going to be manipulated and confused any longer. Who's with me?!"
Knightley coughed, somewhat embarrassed. "Darcy, get a grip on yourself," he hissed.
Darcy blushed. "Sorry"
"Now what you need to do is each bring in a new member next week. Is everything clear?" Knightley ordered.
"Do we have veto power?" Brandon asked.
"Veto power! This is a support group, not a club," Darcy laughed.
"I just don't want to get stuck with any morons."
Knightley sighed, "Brandon, you must remember that once these sessions start you need to refrain from calling people morons."
"Yeah, sure," Brandon said. "Moron," he muttered underneath his breath.
Henry spoke up, "Are you sure that you want to do this? I'm not worried about us, but for the new people. All the sudden they will be exposed to Edward's foot odor problem, Frederick's pirate-like urges, Edmund's mutiple personalities, and Brandon's propensity to try to strip down naked."
"Hey!" All four of the offended men yelled.
"How about your muslin fetish?" Frederick sneered.
"It's not a fetish, it's an...appreciation."
"I think it's a good idea," Charles suddenly said.
"You would," Henry replied.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Bingley asked, hurt.
"It means that you are way too chipper for a normal person. Are you smoking happy grass or something?"
"Henry, that's enough!" Darcy reprimanded. "Time's just about up. You've wasted it all arguing. Next week, each of you bring an initiate. Any more questions?"
Edward slowly raised his hand, his left foot in the air. "Do my feet really smell?"
The Initiates
The next Support Group meeting brought the regular crew each dragging along a bewildered victim. The men sat down in their newly expanded circle. All of the men except Henry, who was suspiciously absent.
"Where's Henry?" Edward asked, not looking too disappointed.
"Well he wasn't to keen on this "new people" thing. Maybe he quit the group," Charles said.
"I'm sure he has a good excuse for missing," Knightley said. "Let's make introductions. I'll start." He and a short, rather stout young man stood up. "Men, meet Robert Martin. He's a farmer and married to the former Miss Harriet Smith."
"Welcome Robert," they all chorused.
Darcy and his guest stood up next. "This is my cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam."
The men started to say hello to Richard when Charles interrupted, "Wait, Richard. I didn't know you were married."
Richard sighed. "Oh I'm very married. The problem is I don't know whom to. One week it's Caroline Bingley," he stopped and shuddered, "the next week it's Kitty Bennet, or Georgiana Darcy, or Anne DeBourgh. I think it's rather disturbing to be married to one's first cousin."
"There's nothing wrong with that," Edmund said defensively.
"But aren't you afraid that your children will be born with three legs or something like that?"
"Hey!"
"Next please," Knightley said, breaking up the impending fight.
"I'll go," Edmund said. "This is my, um, brother-in-law, George Rushworth." A large man with a red face stood up and gulped nervously.
"Are there any particular problems which you need help with?" Darcy asked gently wanting to make the timid looking man trust him.
Rushworth's eyes lit up with hope. "Maybe you can help me! My wife, Maria, uh..." he paused then finished in a rush, "ranawaywithanotherman."
All of the other men grimaced. Darcy smiled weakly, feeling a little out of his league. "We'll see what we can do for you. Next!"
Frederick stood up with a harried looking young man, "This is my brother-in-law, Charles Musgrove." His voice lowered, "He's got it rough."
"Hello Charles,"
"Wait," Charles Bingley said, "My name is Charles, too. We'll get confused."
"Um, you can Charles B. and he can be Charles M." Knightley solved, feeling like he was addressing a kindergarten class.
Charles B. stood with his guest, a portly, sweaty man. "This is my fr-,er, acquaintance, William Collins." Darcy shot him a death stare. Charles B. felt that he had to explain himself. "You see, I asked Mr. Hurst, but he was, shall we say incapacitated. Then I asked Mr. Bennet, but he just laughed at me. I was going to ask Richard, but Darcy stole him. I even thought about George Wickham, but I was afraid that he might make off with someone's silver. So I had to ask Mr. Collins..."
William took a big breath and began to talk. "I can't thank you kind gentlemen enough for your most gracious and condescending invitation to join your most interesting and engaging group. I also must thank my noble patrone-"
"Thank you Bill," Darcy stopped him. "Um Brandon who do you have?"
"This is my brother-in-law John Dashwood. He's whipped."
John said, "That pretty much sums it up."
Edward stood up with his find, "Th-th-is is my b-brother Robert F-f-ferrars. I guess we can c-c-call him Robert F. Or Mr. F," Edward laughed.
Robert F. stood up to comment, but was interrupted by a great furry object flying through the door.
"What the-" Frederick said.
Henry came running behind. "Sorry, he got away from me."
"Henry, what is this?" Darcy demanded.
"This is my initiate. His name is Bear and he's a Newfoundland puppy. Well, not quite a puppy anymore."
"Is this some sort of joke?" Knightley asked.
"No," Henry said. "You never said we had to bring a person. Bear's just settled down with a lovely Jack Russell terrior named Isabella (named after another female dog I once knew). Plus I had no one else to bring."
Bear jumped on Edward who began screaming.
"Meeting adjourned!" Darcy yelled. "Henry we'll talk about this later."