Chapter Text
Mr. Darcy’s Vow
A Pride and Prejudice Story
by Timothy Underwood
Cover Design by www.ebooklaunch.com
Copyright © 2016 by Timothy Underwood
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank Steelio, Publicola, BethJH, Elle, Naomi, LisaMarie, and BettyJo for reading the manuscript and offering thoughts and corrections. It is a stronger novel for their help.
Chapter 1
Derbyshire, Autumn 1806
Fitzwilliam Darcy stood by his father’s open grave. The parson droned on endlessly.
Finish, Mr. Pruitt, finish.
Every kind word said about his father was a lie.
Darcy looked at the carved oak surface of the coffin, and he saw his father’s face as it had been that day yet again. He felt the helpless rage — the sickness of learning his father, his hero, was a worthless spendthrift.
Ninety thousand pounds? Why have we never economized?
Darcy had begged his father. The image was burned into his memory: his father had worn embroidered red silk dressing gown that had cost near fifty pounds. The room was filled with sculptures, paintings, and expensive curiosities from around the world. A beautiful blue porcelain snuff box sat on the corner of the desk.
Father, we must spend less. It will not be very painful to economize.
Darcy remembered his father’s open face harsh and hard for once. We are gentlemen; our comfort and consequence must be maintained. I shall hear no more of your timid tradesmanlike obsession with pennies and shillings. We are Darcys. We are not vulgar.
Darcy had completely lost his temper then. We will be nothing! Nothing when the estate is sold. You will have no damn comforts then. Georgiana? Me? Have you no care for us? Were your words about duty lies? So help me, by God! I swear. I swear to God I shall be nothing like you. Damn you. Damn… Damn!
Fitzwilliam. His father’s voice was ice. Gentlemen don’t lose their temper.
There had been a terrible pause, and his father’s gaze had bored into him until Darcy flinched back.
I am your father. It is not your place to make demands. I will hear nothing more on this subject. Go back to your university and be glad I do not disown you.
It had been four years. How much more debt had Father accumulated?
Tears — Darcy was not sure if they were of anger or of grief — tried to gather. The old parson wouldn’t stop talking, and Darcy’s eyes stung in the chilly winter wind. The mourners had gathered like a flock of ravens to pick at the dead. They wore beaver top hats and black overcoats. The sun was bright, painfully glinting off the February snow.
A drunken midnight race across a snowy field with George Wickham. Even knowing his father was a fool, what was a man near fifty thinking to accept his godson’s challenge?
Ha! If you had listened to me, you would be alive. I wanted you to get rid of that vicious, dissolute gambler years ago. But no, you were a vicious, dissolute gambler yourself.
George Wickham openly wept.
He should. He had killed Father.
Darcy wanted to strike him, to take his glove and slap his young rival across the face. He would challenge Wickham to a duel and gain revenge. He would gain satisfaction for how Father had loved Wickham better and for how Wickham killed him with that race.
Darcy saw Bingley’s concerned eyes looking at him. His anger loosened. He was exceedingly glad his friend had dropped all plans to travel to Derbyshire with him. Bingley somehow saw when Darcy needed quiet and a sympathetic presence and when he needed conversation.
Darcy let out a long breath.
Mr. Pruitt spoke the last sentences of the rites. The funeral was almost complete. He would not let his anger against Wickham control him. Gentlemen don’t lose their temper.
The other mourners, local gentry mostly, watched sadly. Tears showed in a few eyes besides Wickham’s. George Darcy had been well-liked in the neighborhood, and though deeply in debt, he was generous to his friends and the largest employer for ten miles around.
At last the service ended. The other people present left or shuffled by to shake Darcy’s hand.
Mr. Windham, an older man whose estate bordered Pemberley, laid a sympathetic hand on Darcy’s shoulder. Darcy had always seen Mr. Windham as an extra uncle, and unlike Darcy’s father, Windham sincerely cared for his tenants and estate. “It is not easy, even if you are prepared, to learn an estate — I hope your uncle will give you much help, but I am far nearer. Do not hesitate to seek help.”
With a stiff nod Darcy thanked him. Mr. Windham’s bald forehead gleamed in the thin sunlight.
Mr. Windham hesitated. “Fitzwilliam, there is another matter. A month ago I received a substantial inheritance invested in government funds. Your Father intended to sell me the lands between our estates to me when I took final possession of the money.”
Darcy clenched his jaw. So Father had planned to lose yet more of the land which had been held by the Darcys for more than a century. Darcy hoped to save it all, every fragment of Darcy land left. He would be the opposite of his father.
“It was an informal agreement — you are not honor bound to sell.” Mr. Windham spoke into the silence after Darcy froze. “I know your father had great debts, but I do not know how great.“
“I shall find out the particulars this afternoon. But I will not sell if I have any other choice. The land is my heritage, my duty. I will care for it if I can."
“I expected you to speak so. You always — your father was a good man in many ways, but he was not a good master. You always showed more true Darcy dignity. I hope it does not come to this, but if you are forced to sell any land, I promise I will give a good price."
Darcy did not reply.
Mr. Windham stuck out his hand and Darcy took it. They shook hands firmly.
Soon only Darcy and Bingley remained.
The gravedigger went about his business. He held the spade with one hand far forward, nearly touching the metal, and the other far back along the handle. Remembering geometry classes, Darcy realized the gravedigger had created a lever and fulcrum that let the man push the shovel deep into the dirt and with an efficient motion quickly toss the moist pile of mud into the grave.
Each shovelful of dirt hit the wood with a soft plop.
Plop. Plop. Plop.
Now dirt fully covered the polished oak.
Why?
Why wasn’t his father honorable and good?
Darcy tensed to keep from crying. The hole slowly shrank. He would not grieve for a man who tried to ruin his family.
The gravedigger finished and Darcy handed him a shilling as a tip. He left to go about his day. Only Bingley was there, stomping his feet and clapping his hands together to stay warm in the cold. Darcy ignored the chill on his face and the painful bite in his feet.
He stared at the freshly turned dirt.
Bingley pushed Darcy’s arm. “Your solicitor and steward. You have an appointment. Remember." Darcy took a deep breath and straightened himself. Silently the two friends walked out of the churchyard.
Despite Bingley’s presence Darcy felt empty and alone.
He would not let himself cry.
Tomorrow he would see Georgiana. His uncle, Lord Matlock, had pulled her from school and taken her to his estate fifteen miles south of Pemberley. Tomorrow Matlock would bring Georgiana with him and stay for three weeks to help Darcy settle into management of his estate.
Matlock had always been kind to Darcy. He also counseled his father to be reasonable and economize.
Georgiana.
She must be taking this so hard. She adored Father and had been torn by the years of strife between Darcy and him.
Though he avoided his father, Darcy wrote many letters to his sister and spent as much time visiting with her as he could. Though she was twelve years younger than him, until he had met Bingley a year before, she had been his only real friend.
After his first term at university, Darcy came home for Christmas and found the fields near Lambton sold and vast debts remaining. There had been vast debts for years and years. And he’d never known. It was that dizzying loss of security which made Darcy return to Cambridge determined to save every penny of his allowance. He moved from his expensive rooms to a small boardinghouse mostly inhabited by poor second sons seeking to become clergymen. He sold his horses and made do with only one servant. His old acquaintances laughed at him. Darcy now realized he should not have isolated himself, while many of his aristocratic peers sneered, some of his old friends had genuinely cared about him. Besides, he had never needed to live so shabbily.
The walk back to Pemberley took fifteen minutes. Darcy received and returned sad nods from each person he met on the road. The ground was hard from the cold.
The house had been decked out in mourning for its lost master. All the drapes had been changed to black, and planters of black flowers had been set round the windowsills and portico.
Wickham sat in one of the velvet-trimmed waiting chairs in Pemberley’s entryway. He stood before Darcy’s eyes adjusted to the comparative dimness of the room. “Fitz, I must speak with you."
Darcy’s face curled in disgust at his childhood friend’s continued familiarity. If charming George hadn’t flattered his father’s every notion, Father wouldn’t have been such a fool. Half his father’s excesses were the fault of George Wickham.
Darcy stared down from his superior height. Wickham’s eyes were red from his tears. Darcy felt a stab of guilt: He had not cried: should not the son be saddest? Without speaking Darcy walked past Wickham.
“Your father promised to support me in establishing a profession —”
Darcy turned. “I shall deal with you later. After I speak with Mr. Harding and Mr. Henry.”
With a frown at the delay, Wickham gestured his acceptance.
Mr. Henry, the family’s solicitor, and Mr. Harding, the man who replaced George’s father after he died, both stood upon Darcy’s entrance to his father’s study. It was a lavishly decorated room. A vividly colored painting was set in the door itself dancing nymphs surrounded a muscular man with a sword. The tall walls of the room were bordered all around with life-size portraits of Darcy’s ancestors. For more intimate discussions, there was a fine stuffed sofa and several armchairs around a table with a collection of the best crystal glasses and a decanter.
A Ming vase, a real one, unless his father had been hoodwinked, sat above the elaborately carved fireplace. That would fetch a pretty penny when he sold it.
Darcy had not stepped into this room since his argument with Father years ago. There were different paintings, a mechanical music box now stood in a corner. The armchairs were new: heavy walnut with beautifully chiseled lion’s paws for feet. Later he would decide which items he would he sell and what items would be kept for sentiment or practicality.
At least the heavy desk was the same.
Darcy gestured for the two men to sit. He took his own place, for the first time, in his father’s seat. Before he spoke to the lawyer and the steward, he pushed his chair back and looked through the large windows at the expansive vista. It all belonged to him, the product of a proud family tradition which went back nearly to the Civil War. This was his land. His responsibility. By Jove, he would meet his responsibility.
“Begin,” he said to Mr. Henry. “How much debt did my father accumulate?"
The solicitor raised his eyebrows at the way Darcy phrased the question and pulled a large calfskin notebook from his bag. He opened it to a long list which he handed to Mr. Darcy. “Here are all of the various debts, commitments, and promises your father has made — including the bequests in his will. The mortgages on Pemberley and your other estates, together with various unsecured debts owed by your father, come to a sum of one hundred and seven thousand pounds sterling. This does not include the thirty thousand settled upon the female descendants of Lady Anne Darcy by your father’s marriage articles. No interest charge is associated with your sister’s dowry, but it is a sum which you are required to deliver upon your sister’s marriage."
Darcy nodded and tapped his finger against each item in the list. While extremely large, the debts were smaller than he had feared. Near the bottom he saw Wickham’s name. His childhood companion received a bequest of one thousand pounds and a promise to provide him with the living at Kympton upon the death of the current holder.
By Jove, Wickham a clergyman?
Darcy carefully examined each item on the list. Mr. Henry began to speak, but Darcy held up his hand and shook his head. Once finished, Darcy settled the notebook onto the table and squared his shoulders. “Mr. Henry, what did you wish to say?”
“Mr. Darcy, despite your debts, your assets are extensive. Mr. Harding” — he pointed his elbow at the steward who sat next to him — “will know every detail, but the income of the Pemberley estate has averaged a little more than ten thousand. You own a townhouse in London and another in Bath. All the minor landholdings and estates scattered around the country have been sold to protect the main holdings around Pemberley. Additionally, you have an account used to meet ongoing expenses which currently has three thousand pounds at Hoare’s bank."
Mr. Henry grabbed the notebook he had handed Darcy and opened it to a different page before returning it. “This summarizes the income and expenditure for the estate over the past years. Your father spent roughly twelve thousand before interest charges in each of the last five years of his life, adding to his debts each year. While substantial economies could be achieved in the management of Pemberley house, you cannot maintain the manor house and the house in London and pay the interest charges. I recommend you put Pemberley up for rent and obligate the lessee to pay for the servants needed to maintain the mansion. You can live comfortably in London or Bath on the net income and — if you are careful — slowly retire the debt."
“No.” Darcy spoke in a tight passionate voice, “This is my land. Darcy land. Land continuously inhabited by us for a century. I will never abandon it."
Mr. Henry pulled his hand through his blonde hair at Darcy’s vehemence. “Mr. Darcy, you are a very young man; you have a romantic attachment to the notion of family responsibility, but you have no sense how expensive this house is. It requires a large crew of maids to keep the rooms clean. Your carriages and stable cost far more. When you entertain or travel to London, it costs yet more. Your estate is unentailed — which is why your father could mortgage it so heavily — if you add to those debts, eventually no one will extend you further credit, and you would be forced to sell your land and be left with little money. Do you understand?"
Darcy’s jaw tightened at the patronizing question.
He had thought of nothing else since he had discovered at seventeen his father was determined to spend and spend and spend. “If it takes so many maids to keep the rooms of Pemberley clean, I will let them become dirty. If I cannot afford my carriages, I will sell them. If I must entertain more than I can afford to maintain my consequence, it shall not be maintained. I care nothing for appearances. I will not act to impress vain fools who measure a man by how many carriages he owns or on what street his London townhouse is. The land. It is the land that matters. My responsibility is to my land, to my tenants, and to the future of my family name. Pemberley is my birthright. I’ll never leave her. I am not my father."
The lawyer straightened. “You are not. I think you are little like him. If you know what you are about, if you will do what is necessary to cut your debts and protect your family’s heritage, you’ll be a far better gentleman than most. I think you’ll do. I could never convince your father to cut anything.”
With a thin smile, Darcy said, “I am prepared to cut everything. We shall sell the house in Bath and the house in London. I will sell the jewelry the family has collected. We will sell the artwork in the galleries and any valuable first editions from the library. I shall sell my father’s wine collection and the two newest carriages."
Darcy pointed at the Ming vase on the mantelpiece, “Much of what my father has collected can be sold at a good price. Every room, every knickknack, every object in my possession shall be examined. Anything with enough value to be worth the effort will be sold. The staff will be enormously reduced, and I will make no pretense of maintaining appearances. However” — Darcy looked at Mr. Harding — “everyone who loses their place here will be supported ‘til they are well-settled elsewhere. All of my dependents are my responsibility, like my land and tenants. I will never shirk a duty."
Once alone Darcy slumped in his chair and covered his face with his hands.
More than one hundred thousand pounds. Even if everything went well, it would take well over a decade to clear. To a man of twenty and two, it seemed an endless prospect.
He had already deprived himself and cut his expenditures to the bone at Cambridge, so he could save three quarters of the allowance his father gave him. Darcy had expected he would only possess what he saved and earned through his own efforts. Now he would live in a dirty house, with a cheap carriage and poor stables, for another fifteen years.
No matter. He could face any task, no matter how unpleasant, so long as it was his duty.
At a knock on the door, Darcy straightened himself. “Enter."
It was Wickham. “I saw Mr. Henry and Mr. Harding leave; you said we would speak once they left.”
As he stared at the well-dressed young man with his expensive haircut and fine black coat, the rage which each sight of Wickham had brought since it happened built again in Darcy’s chest.
A drunken midnight race.
Wickham said, “I’m sorry for — I am sorry that — by Gad, I can’t speak — I see it again and again, Musket’s legs stumbling and, and your father — if only I had not suggested — Fitz, your father was the — he was the best damn gentleman in England. He was the best damn — I’ll never meet another man of his quality. He was my best friend."
Wickham’s arm brushed at his eyes.
Darcy’s hand curled into a fist at Wickham’s girlish grief.
After a pause for Darcy to reply, Wickham wiped his nose and said nervously into the silence, “Your father, he promised me the living at Kympton when it becomes vacant. But he promised me that if I wished to pursue law, he’d help me establish myself. I do not believe — I would not make a good clergyman and I wish to study law."
Darcy did not break his stare at Wickham, and Darcy took a perverse pleasure in seeing Wickham rub his hand against his leg as he spoke. "I thought you could give an immediate sum to allow me to study law and establish myself. The value of Kympton is seven or eight thousand, so six thousand would be a fair recompense for giving up my claim on the living."
Without altering his glare, Darcy thought quickly. Now was the time to get rid of Wickham. If Wickham gave up his claim to the living, Darcy would never need to see him again. Father wanted Wickham to have money to set himself up at law; Darcy would happily give the minimum that would accomplish that. The current expense would be amply repaid when he sold the living to a man with a decent character after Mr. Pruitt died. Wickham would not hold out for the living itself when he wanted money now.
At last Darcy said, “Your calculations are poor. We do not know when the old vicar will die — the promise was to support you in establishing yourself, not the full value of the living — I will offer two thousand. With your bequest of one thousand pounds that is ample to live on while you study law and to let you purchase a clerkship with a respectable lawyer. If you apply yourself assiduously, you will earn more than you could as the rector of Kympton."
Wickham’s mouth fell open. “You plan to rob me! This… this is because you blame me — you should not. It was an accident. No one — I assure you no one is more grief stricken by your father’s death than I am. His death struck me as hard as my own father’s — nay, harder.”
“He was my father. Not yours.” Darcy ground his jaw shut to keep from shouting. He had never yelled since that argument when his father said that gentlemen don’t lose their temper.
Darcy slowly mastered himself. “That is my offer. You will receive no more."
George Darcy’s lesson to never yell had been better learned by his son than his godson. “Damn you, Fitz. Damn you! It is not that you blame me — you are jealous. You hated that he loved me more than you. I deserved his love more. You don’t mourn him at all — you are happy he is dead. You are pleased to finally have this great estate for yourself. Damn you. He deserved better than you. He deserved better than a heartless prig. I ought to have been his son. He loved me as though I were."
Darcy’s jaw hurt from how he clenched it. “Get out. I will send you an agreement which you can sign or not as you will. But if you do not, you can bring suit against me when I award the living to another, for you shall never enjoy my patronage."
“I deserve more. But you are a damned thief. I will sign your damn agreement, but one day” — Wickham slammed his hands onto Darcy’s desk — “one day you will regret stealing from me. One day I will get revenge."
Darcy tried to sort through his father’s papers before he joined Bingley for dinner. But there was a note written in his father’s hand, and the sight of that familiar script caused Darcy’s throat to tighten again and tears to well up. Nothing more would ever be written in that hand.
It took Darcy several minutes before he had calmed himself enough to stand, and he sought out Bingley. The two spent several hours playing billiards. Bingley made Darcy debate inane subjects to keep his mind occupied. Darcy ignored the emptiness in his stomach. But as they entered the dining room, Darcy caught sight of a large portrait of his father staring down at him with his friendly smile.
He should’ve removed that portrait so he couldn’t see it.
Darcy clamped his lips together and ignored the food. He drank glass after glass of wine. It took several hours before Darcy was intoxicated enough to say it.
The two had moved to the fine wingback chairs in Darcy’s library. They faced each other across a small coffee table.
“I can’t understand it.” With a shaking hand, Darcy placed his drained glass down. “Why? Why am I sad? I should not be sad.”
“Of course you should be sad, your father just died."
“No, I shouldn’t! I should not. I… I cannot, not in sober thought, think it anything but a blessing he died when he did. He was not a good father. He was a wastrel and imprudent. He brought his own death upon himself. I should not mourn him. I should not."
“Darcy, when my father died, I — he was a better father than I believe yours was, but he was a very imperfect man. However, when he died I could only think that I would never see him again. There was an empty space in the world which he used to occupy.”
Bingley took a deep breath, “I am not ashamed to say I wept like a woman. It is natural. Think on the happy times, and mourn the man he was and the man you wish he had been.”
“No, I won’t. I won’t —”
Darcy could not keep speaking. He remembered a moment from his childhood: He had been a small boy, and his father lifted him onto a pony. His father’s hands were large and protective. Father laughed; the boy had felt warm and happy.
He sobbed. Darcy could not stop it. Bingley stepped close to his friend and pulled him into an embrace. For long minutes Darcy’s tears fell into the shoulder of his friend’s coat.
When the spell ended, Darcy pulled his muslin handkerchief out and blew his nose. He could not speak his gratitude, but he gave Bingley a nod that Bingley returned. In the companionable silence which followed, Darcy knew his friend understood.
Darcy pushed the mostly empty second bottle of wine away with disgust. He had work to do on the morrow, and feeling sick would not help. Darcy stood unsteadily to his feet and saw the room spin slightly around him. “I shall retire — I may mourn my father, but I will be a better man than he was.”
Chapter 2
August 1811
Today was Pemberley’s account day.
Mrs. Reynolds and Mr. Harding sat around the small table in Darcy’s study. Darcy chatted amiably with them while they waited for Mr. Henry to arrive. The lawyer was soon brought up, and he waved good-naturedly before settling onto the brown sofa next to Mr. Harding.
Almost every quarter his pile of debt shrank and his income grew. The regular review of his affairs was useful, but Darcy loved the ritual of it.
Darcy jovially greeted Mr. Henry, “Did your niece’s wedding go well?”
“It was a beautiful ceremony — my sister cried, but she is prone to emotion. Sophie was ecstatic, and her young gentleman properly serious and enamored." Mr. Henry grinned. “The breakfast was excellent, and there was dancing in the afternoon. An exemplary country wedding. They shall do well together. He is already well-established, and I heard a very good report from the senior partner in his firm."
Mrs. Reynolds said, “I am glad to hear that — I recall when I gave the girl a tour of Pemberley.” The housekeeper turned to Darcy. “That was during your father’s time. She was a sweet young thing.”
Darcy said, "Your family must be pleased for her to be so well-settled.”
“Yes, though my sister shall miss her daughter a great deal. Oh — I heard an excellent one at the wedding.”
Mr. Harding perked up and rubbed his hands together, while Mrs. Reynolds rolled her eyes. Mr. Henry collected jokes and anecdotes about lawyers. Darcy had heard many of them when he visited the Inns of Court as a student.
Mr. Henry spoke, bobbing his blonde head, “What is the similarity between a lawyer and an apple?"
“I have heard this one.” Darcy shook his head. “It is not the best.”
Mr. Henry pouted and then grinned again and gave the punchline to the other members of their group, “They both look especially well when hanging from a tree.”
Mrs. Reynolds pursed her lips to keep from smiling and shook her head in mock disapproval. Mr. Harding barked out a laugh. “I enjoyed that one — do you recall the one you told at our last meeting? What is the distinction between a judge and the Almighty?”
Mr. Henry’s eyes brightened. “Oh yes."
Darcy smirked. “The Almighty knows he is not a judge.”
Everyone laughed, and then Darcy asked Mr. Harding to list out the rents received during the quarter. It was odd that Darcy was so relaxed with his staff while being known in society as stiff and haughty. He found it difficult to relate to his peers. They were obsessed with superficial concerns and the pursuit of empty pleasures.
He was only intimate with Bingley and his cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam. But they were enough.
Mr. Harding took his carefully written account book out and read from it in a clipped tone. Once he listed the rents, he described the prices received for the various goods directly sold by Pemberley and then finally the estate expenses and taxes. Darcy kept a tally in his head of the numbers, and when Mr. Harding finished Darcy said, “My sum suggests we earned somewhat less than fourteen thousand in the past year? Is that your value?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Very good.” Darcy smiled and nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Harding.”
There was a simple joy in the receipt of rents and reduction of debts. Darcy did not think he was greedy; he certainly did not squeeze his tenants or servants. But he loved owning a well functioning estate that created huge sums of money every quarter.
The cotton mill had caused the biggest increase in his income. It had been his uncle’s idea. Several of the mills which Mr. Arkwright built in the Derwent Valley were on the Matlock estate, and they had made his grandfather and uncle wealthier.
Enough water flowed through Pemberley’s land to support a mill, and Lord Matlock naturally wished his brother-in-law to share in his own good fortune. However, George Darcy refused the advice: It would be beneath the dignity of the Darcy name to participate in such a low endeavor; it would encourage the growth of new fortunes; and those large brick buildings were unsightly.
Upon his accession to the estate, Darcy eagerly made an arrangement with a manufacturer. Rather than buying the lease of one of his tenants to find room, Darcy tore up a third of his park. Old trees — many of which he had already decided to cut and sell to the Navy — elaborate gardens, and half the deer park had been removed to make room for the mill and living space for the workers. The stream had been dammed, creating a large mill pond. Now the sound of the running waterwheel and clanking machines was usually audible, though barely, in the distance.
The rest of the park had been turned to productive use as well. Rather than paying more than a hundred pounds a year to keep a vast neatly mowed lawn, Darcy had meadows for his best breeding animals. Most of the ornamental gardens had been replaced with vegetable gardens whose produce was sold to the mill workers. The orangery still operated, but almost all its production was sold as well.
Darcy missed the old forests and freely running stream, but the rolling green land around was beautiful. He loved the constant hum of productive activity, the view of grazing cows and horses from his window, and the laughter of the apprentice children attached to the mill on Sundays.
After Mr. Harding’s report, it was Mrs. Reynold’s turn to describe the household expenses.
Darcy always had her list each item, even though most were the same every quarter. As Mrs. Reynolds described exactly how much in wages had been paid to each servant, how much the feed for his horses had cost, and how much his food cost in fuel and ingredients his mind wandered.
Mrs. Reynolds continued, “Three hundred fifty for the rent and establishment in Ramsgate for Miss Darcy. One hundred fifty for her allowance and the salary for companion. Ninety-five pounds for the piano you purchased as a surprise for Miss Darcy’s return.”
“It arrived?” Darcy sat more alertly.
He had always been close to Georgiana, but this past year she had been difficult. He had been scornful when she asked for a greater allowance. He was comfortable being thought an impoverished eccentric, but Georgiana was young, and she had been terribly over indulged by her father. He should have been kinder.
Hopefully, a full size Broadwood would make a fine peace offering. Georgiana adored the piano, and Darcy loved it when she begged him to listen to a piece she had practiced.
She had gained her affection for the instrument while at school, so the expense of sending her back after Father died had not been completely wasted.
“It came two days ago while you dined at the Windhams.” Mrs. Reynolds replied, “Their man set it up in the main drawing room, and one of the maids who had some skill with music tested it before we sent him off with the pay. It sounded very well, Miss Darcy will be ecstatic when she sees it.”
“I hope she shall.”
Georgiana had wanted a larger allowance, like the other girls at school. Darcy had lived for three years at Cambridge on less than he already gave her.
He did not want her to become like their father.
When he refused, Georgiana had stormed and cried and said she never wanted to see him again because all he cared about was money. Then she begged to not be returned to school because she was too embarrassed to face the other girls.
Darcy remembered being embarrassed about money. It had been painful, but he was a better man for having endured it. He nearly sent her back to the school on the principle that she should learn not to care. But, the biggest lesson his sister had received from the hundreds of pounds of tuition paid each year was that she had an obligation to spend as much money as she could.
He had been a numbskull when he sent her back to a school chosen by Father.
It would only compound the error to force her to return. Darcy agreed to let Georgiana leave school and live under the supervision of a companion for a few months while finishing her studies. Mrs. Younge had been found through a friend of Colonel Fitzwilliam. Georgiana had wanted to be on the seaside, so he rented a house for her in Ramsgate.
When Darcy traveled to the town with Georgiana to make sure all of the affairs were sound, they argued again when the size of the house and number of servants disappointed her. She had been taught how to properly run a household at her school, and it required more money. They parted on poor terms.
He had failed in raising her.
There had been too much influence from her father. She was ten, past the most impressionable age, when Father died. It was obvious in retrospect that close association with other wealthy girls would encourage her in that reckless mindset which valued expense and luxury while despising responsibility.
He should have hired a governess and kept her at Pemberley.
When she returned from Ramsgate, he would do a better job. He would throw out the useless curriculum that taught girls to paint tables and net purses. Instead he would take Georgiana around Pemberley with him, so she could understand how much effort went into producing the wealth she casually wanted to waste. He would make her understand.
Darcy missed his sister. She was sweet and enthusiastic and made the big house brighter when she was home.
Twice he almost decided to visit her. But Darcy always had matters of pressing business. More importantly, she wished to be on her own, and perhaps she would be happiest without his watching eye for a few more weeks.
Mrs. Reynolds completed her list. “Including the higher expenses for Miss Darcy’s care, over the past year you spent twenty-nine hundred pounds.”
“Very good,” Darcy replied distractedly. He fiddled with the stack of papers in front of him. “Mr. Harding, you have a daughter near Georgiana’s age. How do you manage her? I cannot make my sister understand the importance of discipline and frugality.”
“Do not ask me for advice — my wife mainly raises her. I only know she is the sweetest and most irresistible creature when she wishes a special treat or a new dress. It is Mrs. Harding who will tell her no.”
Darcy made an unhappy face.
“She will grow up eventually. Do not worry over much, Mrs. Harding assures me they are all silly until much older. Miss Darcy is a good girl.”
“I hope so.”
Mrs. Reynolds said, “Fifteen is a trying age. The dear girl will become wiser as she grows. I know it.”
Darcy wanted to puff out his cheeks, slump in his chair, and sigh loudly.
Maybe, she would not grow wiser as she became older, and his errors would be the cause. He could not whine and show such weakness in front of his employees. Though he considered them his friends, he still was the Darcy of Pemberley and their master.
Darcy sat straighter. “Time will tell. Mr. Henry, your report.”
Mr. Henry listed the terms of each new lease negotiated during the past quarter and said, “The payment we made this quarter to Hoare’s bank was the last money we owed them. In total we reduced the debts by seventy-five hundred pounds this year. Interest payments for the year were a little less than thirty-three hundred. Your total debts are now sixty-one thousand pounds.”
The lawyer took off his spectacles and smiled. “I noticed while preparing the figures that this was the first twelvemonth since you took the estate when your income after interest was greater than ten thousand pounds.”
Darcy grinned. “So, I am worth the ten thousand a year Pemberley was always supposed to earn.”
“If you wish to boast about it, you ought to dress the part. Otherwise your listeners may not believe you.”
Darcy frowned. Over the years Mr. Henry had gone from fearing he would turn into a spendthrift like his father to not so subtly encouraging Darcy to spend more and enjoy life more. If the man had not become a friend, Darcy would have been offended by the out of place suggestion from a subordinate. But, being obsessed with one’s dignity and protecting the distinction of rank was the attitude of the worthless members of the gentry who paid no attention to the labor required to produce their money.
This was one of the few matters Darcy agreed with his father about. George Darcy had always encouraged informality and friendship among his employees. His closest friend had been the previous steward. Mr. Wickham senior had been an excellent steward devoted to the family’s interests. It was not a dangerous self-indulgence to follow that example.
“I do not care to impress anyone. Those who know me can judge my character. That is enough. I shall not dress to suit the income of a man with ten thousand a year until all my father’s debts are gone.”
“You should not deny yourself every indulgence while you are young.”
“I enjoy my life well enough. You speak out of concern, and I will not take offence, but this is not a matter I shall budge upon. In any case, should no serious problem arise, I shall be clear well before I am five and thirty. I shall still be young enough to kill myself on a fast horse chasing some poor fox while imitating the style of Beau Brummel.”
The way Mr. Henry peered at him showed skepticism combined with having taken the message. Then he frowned. “Did you consider Miss Darcy’s dowry? By my calculation you will be six and thirty at least before you could set aside a fund to cover it. Most likely she will marry before then. Though if rents continue to rise” — he grimaced, showing he did not think it likely — “it would be faster.”
“I thought about it. My sister, and her heirs, should never be at risk of destitution in the way she was during my father’s life. I would not give permission to a gentleman unwilling to accept a settlement which only gave him the income from her money. Then I can secure the principal against Pemberley and pay Georgiana’s income out of mine. Since I shall never need to suddenly find thirty thousand pounds, I consider it more a future expense than a debt. It perhaps is a fatuous conceit, but…" Darcy spread his hands out wide.
“I consider that a sensible view,” Mrs. Reynolds spoke before anyone else replied, “and you do spend six or seven hundred pounds upon Miss Darcy each year. You shall be the loser by less than it appears.”
“Have you considered marriage?” Mr. Henry spoke, “It is not my place to advise you on such a matter, but a large dowry would do much to bring forward the day when you are free of debt.”
“I have not thought much upon it.” Darcy shrugged. “I wish my marriage to be more than a mercenary arrangement to acquire the largest dowry possible. And most heiresses are spoiled and would spend more than the income brought by their dowry.”
The girls Georgiana wished to impress and their older sisters would make poor wives for a man such as him.
“Besides,” Darcy continued, “It would not be such an easy task as you believe for me to find an heiress to marry. Many believe I am on the brink of bankruptcy. Most in London would be shocked if they learned my income was even half what it is in truth. Few heiresses would attach themselves to an austere country gentleman with little wealth.”
Mr. Henry began to speak, “That —” He cut himself off. “It really is not my place to advise you in this matter.”
“What about Miss Bingley?” Mrs. Reynolds asked, “She spoke admiringly of how you managed the house and claimed the economies we use are charming. I think she admires you; any sensible lady would. Her brother would put no obstacle to such a marriage.” Mrs. Reynolds eyes sparkled. “He is the easiest mannered gentleman and such an excellent friend for you.”
Darcy shrugged. He was not going to insult a gentlewoman, but he did not trust Miss Bingley’s professed love of economy. While she might ecstatically claim she wanted to live simply and spend little, Bingley complained about how she begged for a little more money a few weeks before every quarterly payment of her allowance.
More importantly, while somewhat attractive, she was not to his taste. Miss Bingley knew how much he was really worth, and he did not want to marry a woman who would pretend to be a type of person she was not to attract a wealthy husband.
Mrs. Reynolds wanted little Darcy children to run about the house, but Darcy did not expect to marry until his debts were cleared, and even if he did, it would not be to Miss Bingley.
Mr. Darcy smiled at Mrs. Reynolds but shook his head slightly. “Is there any other business we should discuss?”
In a few minutes more the other three left Darcy’s study. He straightened his papers and smiled at the numbers. Only a bit more than sixty thousand left. It would not be many more years. Life was going splendidly.
A footman knocked and entered, delivering Darcy’s mail. One letter caught his eye. The curve of the letters was familiar, and the address showed it to be from Scotland. He did not have any acquaintance who might correspond with him in Scotland. Something about the letter gave a cold chill, blowing away his pleasant mood.
When had he seen that handwriting?
There were two papers folded inside the letter. One was in Georgiana’s hand. With a sick dread Darcy unfolded it.
Chapter 3
Darcy sat in a heavy red armchair in a posh meeting room inside Hoare’s bank. The summer heat made it unpleasant in his cravat and coat. As he waited he pulled the already worn letter out of his coat pocket once again, and he studied his sister’s handwriting:
You shall be startled by my news. I am married, Fitzwilliam. Married to the best man in the world. You remember George Wickham, our dear father’s godson. I met him again at Ramsgate, and he loves me. He loves me. It is so fresh, each time I think on it I smile and feel like to explode with happiness.
The only, only sadness I feel is that you shall not be happy with me. At least not at first. You do not approve of my dear George; it is natural as you both — though good — are so different. He is not noble and austere, but open, charming and sweet.
I know I have always disappointed you. You desired me to be as hard and stoical as yourself. I wished for life to be more like it was when Father lived. It was wrong of me to grow angry when you would not indulge my feminine weakness. I shall miss you. We both shall long for those times when you sat on the bed next to me and read until I fell asleep, or when I played for you, inspired to perform my best so you would be proud. But I believe you shall eventually be happier without the responsibility for my welfare.
Even if you are not, I cannot turn away from my dearest, dearest George. He needs me. You said he could manage on his own, away from us. But he could not. When I met him again, he had nothing. He needs to be part of the family like he was when Father lived.
I know it is wrong for a woman to marry without her family’s consent. But I cannot repent because Father would have approved. I know he would have; he saw George as his second son. And now he is, like he should have been. One day we will all be a happy family again.
You shall be lonely — you must find a dearest woman whom you can love as completely and unabashedly as I do my darling husband.
I kiss this paper and hope you will feel my affection through it.
Yours sincerely,
Georgiana Wickham
Darcy rested the letter on his knee and wiped at his eyes.
It had been near a fortnight, and every time he read the letter it knocked a hole in his spirit. In the first year, before he sent her back to school, she ran to greet him with an embrace when he returned from the fields or from observing the construction of the red brick factory and the dam across his stream.
He remembered the day she was born.
She’d had the bawling red face of an infant. But she focused her eyes on Darcy when Mother handed him the new baby to hold. She smiled. During those years when he spent almost nothing at Cambridge, he had known someone would need to care for little Georgie.
Darcy rubbed his hand over his mouth, barely comforted by the gesture. Expensive paintings hung around the richly appointed office he waited in. It was hot. He wished he could pull off the cravat and splash cold water over his neck.
Had he failed or was the fault his father’s blood?
It did not matter.
He loved and missed his sister no matter what. His dear sister was ruined in the eyes of society; worse, she would be terribly unhappy once she understood the sort of man Wickham was.
And he… he needed to destroy his own finances once again. He had thrown everything into increasing his income and paying off the debts. Now he needed to borrow again; she had undone years of self deprivation.
Darcy refused to dwell on the money. He would not be like Shylock unable to decide if he missed his ducats or his daughter.
Georgiana mattered, needing to keep expenses cut to the bone for years and years more did not. Not really.
Four years. Four more damned years of debt. And that was only if he could find someone to lend the money.
She was still just a child. A foolish young child who didn’t understand. It had been his duty to protect her. You don’t blame a child because you failed to protect them.
Mr. Hoare entered the room. He was a soberly dressed man of about fifty who wore a full wig. The Darcys had banked at Hoare’s for many decades, and the genial face of Mr. Hoare was a familiar sight. This time, however, he grimaced and would not meet Darcy’s eyes.
Mr. Hoare settled into his desk and opened the monogrammed leather bound folder which contained his summary of the Darcy accounts. He gazed at a spot next to Darcy’s shoulder. “The weather? How was it in Derbyshire when you left?”
“Pleasanter; a touch too warm, but nothing like,” Darcy waved his hand about, indicating the city itself. Mr. Hoare’s manner gave Darcy an anxious chill. The banker would not lend him nearly enough. Proprieties should be observed. Keeping his voice pleasant, Darcy asked, “I am surprised to see you in London this late in the year, when will you head to your pile in Exeter?”
“I already spent August there. For those of us who are used to it, London in the summer is not so bad, at least not when the river doesn’t stink.” Mr. Hoare laid the folder flat and said, “Mr. Darcy, I was shocked to hear about your sister, but you should not beat yourself up about it. These things happen, they do. I fear the only reason you might be here is to find the funds to pay out her dowry.”
“I am. I borrowed five thousand from friends in Derbyshire, but I need another twenty-five.”
What if Mr. Hoare could not loan anything?
He would find some expedient. He always did.
The government’s massive demand for funds to prosecute the war against Napoleon made it hard for private citizens to borrow. Most lenders preferred to keep the term of their mortgages at only a year or two, and Darcy had repeatedly struggled to find new money when a friend of his father’s did not wish to roll a mortgage.
“Only five thousand? Mr. Darcy, I can provide something, but far less than you need. My loan book is still longer than is comfortable. Because your family has been our clients for so long I can loan you five thousand, but more than that would be unsafe for me. We have survived so long by never overextending ourselves."
“My security is excellent. You can take a mortgage against well-developed fields in Derbyshire.”
“Mr. Darcy, you know it is not a matter of security. I simply do not have the money. Why did your uncle not help? Even if he is very angry about your niece’s behavior, he should be concerned about keeping land in the family.”
Darcy had expected his uncle to help him — his uncle always helped him. But not this time: I won’t help you pay off that gamester your father raised and his block-headed daughter.
Over the past years, he had needed his uncle’s support to avoid any land sales. Half Darcy’s remaining debt was directly held by his uncle, and much of the rest was held by friends of Matlock’s who were willing to do a good turn for the Earl’s nephew. Darcy’s prickly manners at university and refusal to spend more time than necessary in London for the season meant he had little acquaintance to beg outside of his own county.
“Lord Matlock thinks I should force Mr. Wickham to go to Chancery for Georgiana’s fortune. The Lord Chancellor is a friend and owes Lord Matlock a favor. Apparently he thinks it would take near five years before a judgement would be made for Wickham.”
“Oh. That is a sensible plan. The law is clear, and he would receive it in the end, but you would be able to acquire much of the funds needed out of your rents. To make it easy to gain a girl’s portion when she marries without consent is encouragement to fortune hunters and imprudence. This Mr. Wickham cannot be well positioned to handle the costs which bringing a case before Chancery requires, and in the end his costs would come out of your sister’s portion.”
“Wickham is a dishonorable, vicious man lacking in all principles. But I am not. The funds are owed upon my sister’s marriage. The funds will be provided. He may have taken my sister, he may have won his revenge, but he will not force me to act dishonorably."
A little voice spoke to him: That is not your only motive. Darcy looked out the window at the smoggy street. Wickham might hurt Georgiana if he was not paid.
She was just a child. She had run away, but it was still his duty to protect her. He still cared for her dearly.
“Do you know where I might find more funds? Is there any bank, or friend of yours, or someone who could loan me twenty thousand?”
The banker scratched beneath his wig. “I do not think any respectable bank will lend you much on short notice. I only will loan you what I offered because our houses have been friends for so long. Conditions are so tight. Mr. Darcy — you do not wish to hear this, but you should either follow your uncle’s advice or sell outlying fields."
So Mr. Hoare could not help him. He still needed to find twenty thousand.
Darcy stood and shook Mr. Hoare’s hand firmly. “Thank you for your help.”
*****
Darcy stepped out into the London sun from the dim environs of Hoare’s bank.
He sat against one of the pillars next to the entrance and slumped with his head in his hands. Why did Georgiana need to run away? What sin was he paying for?
Perhaps he could find one of those men who preyed on gamblers and ignored the usury laws. He had no idea what rates they charged, but they must be absurdly high. Certainly they could provide twenty thousand.
Had Wickham forced him to borrow from criminals?
“Darcy! Your hotel told me you’d come here, I hoped to find you before you left. It would be a terrible bore hunting all of London.”
Charles Bingley clapped him on the shoulder, and Darcy stood with a sudden smile. “Bingley, what are you doing here?”
“I heard what happened. I am so, so shocked Georgiana could act in that manner." Bingley shook his head. “Come, you must come with me to my club — we will dine together. I will absolutely hear no opposition to this.”
Despite recent events, and the failure of his errand Darcy could not help but feel cheered by Bingley’s company. “I would not dream of opposing you."
“You ought to have sought me out as soon as you arrived in London."
“I believed you resident in the new estate you let in Herefordshire."
“Herefordshire?" Bingley stared blankly at Darcy.
“You wrote to inform me you took an estate in Herefordshire; surely you have not forgotten letting a new estate so quickly.”
Bingley’s face cleared. “Drat! You misread my handwriting — I must strive to write clearer, or have Caroline write it out, if I ever have any important information to convey. My estate is in Hertfordshire. It’s less than a half day’s ride from London."
“Herefordshire to Hertfordshire, a leap across the country made with one inkblot — you should dictate if it is important."
Bingley laughed and pushed Darcy into his carriage. They were in motion for less than a minute when Bingley said, “Darcy… your manner was exceedingly depressed when I picked you up. If you still need money towards Georgie’s dowry, it would delight me to help you."
Darcy stretched his legs out and turned to his friend. "You just let an estate, and you will purchase within a few years — this is hardly the time to strip yourself of funds. I did not intend to ask you at all."
“Nonsense! There was never a poor time to help a good friend. Besides, though I may plan to buy an estate, I daresay it would hardly be prudent to put all my resources into it. And do not say I will be better off in government funds — Boney might stop his Majesty for paying off his debts, but you’ll be good for the money."
Darcy’s frown showed his continued hesitation, and Bingley added “Come, I insist. What do you need."
They locked gazes, and with a shrug Darcy admitted, “Twenty thousand. So you see it is a large sum I still need to find. I can’t borrow from you; it would be years before I paid you back. The term for my loan with Hoare’s is only a year, and unless the situation changes, he will insist on being paid back quickly. And I have made promises to the friends I borrowed from in Derbyshire such that they will come first."
"Twenty thousand! That is a big amount, but if I cut here and there, I could make do without the income off of it.” He snickered. “It shall be a fine excuse not to help Caroline out so often.”
“Bingley! I am not going to borrow twenty thousand pounds from you.”
“Pray tell — what shall you do to find the money?”
Darcy froze with his mouth open. Damn his uncle for not helping.
“Well?”
Darcy sighed and rubbed at a point on his forehead. “Perhaps one of those criminal types who loan to gamblers. You know, the ones who hire bravos to beat late borrowers.”
Bingley laughed. “So you admit you have no good option. Darcy, I would happily give you twenty thousand. You are my dearest friend. You of course would not accept it, and neither would I in your situation. It would not be good form. We are gentlemen, and we have pride. But if someone is going to profit from your misfortune, don’t you think it would be damned better for you to be paying interest to your closest friend instead of a criminal?”
"Are you certain?”
Bingley rolled his eyes and grinned. “I know you’ll pay me back. It is not like I am doing you a favor.”
Darcy laughed and shook Bingley’s hand. “My deepest thanks."
At the club the two spoke on lights topics, resolutely avoiding Georgiana and the scandal. Bingley had saved him for now, but he owed so much money. He still owed so much money.
If his uncle ever completely removed his support, it would be impossible to raise that much money without selling part of the estate. Without becoming like Father. He needed to find a large sum of capital.
Darcy slowly relaxed as the two played billiards for an hour after the meal. He had no need to worry; Matlock would not do that. His uncle was like a second father to Darcy. He only opposed Darcy paying Georgiana’s dowry because he thought it was against Darcy’s best interests.
Bingley broke his losing streak by winning the fourth game, and he stepped back to watch the servant arrange the table for the next game. While he chalked his cue, Bingley said, “Ha! That was a good shot — instead of heading straight back to Pemberley you should come to Hertfordshire with me for a month or two. You’ve hardly taken a break since your father died, and half the purpose of having one’s own estate is to entertain your friends.” Bingley smirked. “Caroline will be delighted to host you.”
“Do you wish to encourage or discourage me?”
Bingley raised his eyebrows. “Maybe her determined pursuit will be put off by the new scandal. But she is very determined. Don’t frown in that manner. You are not a coward to be scared off from good company by my sister.”
Darcy shook his head and made a face. “I am needed at home. With these new debts, it is more important than ever for me to ensure no uneeded expenditure is made."
As Bingley won the previous game, Darcy shot first. He managed to knock two balls into their pockets and grinned at Bingley, who whistled appreciatively.
While Bingley leaned over the table to line up his own shot, he said, “It’s not so important for you to be there. I know your Mr. Harding and Mrs. Reynolds. They are very sharp, very devoted to you — things will not slip if you are away for a month or two. It cannot be wholesome to spend your whole life stuck on the estate, riding out only to oversee tenant matters and going over account books from dawn till dusk.”
“Hmmmm.”
He had taken few breaks, and all his trips away from Derbyshire had been to buy or sell goods for the estate. Maybe it was time to stop for a month. To think. He needed to understand Georgiana.
What could he have done better?
He did not want to be at Pemberley alone. He had looked forward to Georgiana’s return so much. Now that the desperate search for money was over, he simply did not wish to return.
For several minutes the two took their turns in silence. Darcy weighed the proposition. He could conduct much of his business via correspondence, and his staff did not need constant supervision. He had received the letter in his office, and he did not want to return to it. He would enjoy two months of Bingley’s company greatly.
He had work to do.
He would not be like his father, doing everything he wanted, with no thought to his duty. Perhaps he could visit Bingley, but the fact he wanted to so badly made him hesitate.
Was he making excuses to avoid facing how all his efforts were set back by four years?
His debts were greater than they had been when he completed the sale of his townhouses in London and Bath. Four years of his life gone.
Darcy had burned the letter Wickham sent with Georgiana’s, but a single reading had stamped it into his memory. Only five words.
Pay up, brother. I win.
He could not relax now. He needed to face every painful duty.
“Is your frown because you found a real reason you need to return to Pemberley?”
Darcy sighed. He needed to face his duty, but his debts would be paid no quicker if he spent two months in Hertfordshire. “I have not.”
“Remember, you owe me a favor. Hertfordshire will be far pleasanter if you are there.”
Darcy laughed. “You claimed you were not doing me a favor.”
The two grinned at each other and Bingley said, “Admit it: you wish to visit. We will have such fun, the hunting is excellent, and I have been told there is a family of beautiful ladies in the neighborhood, and the local gentlemen have been most friendly."
Darcy leaned over the table to take another shot. “Fine, I would be delighted to visit. But do keep Miss Bingley from hounding me too much.”
Chapter 4
Taking Bingley’s spacious new chaise between London and Netherfield was far more comfortable than traveling by post. The springs were vastly better, and his back would not ache for a quarter hour after leaving the carriage. However, maintaining a carriage and its equipage cost hundreds of pounds per annum. It was not worth the money in Darcy’s view. He did keep a curricle which he used in Derbyshire for those times when he did not want to travel by horseback, but it was small and did not need uniformed attendants.
When they came near Bingley’s new neighborhood, he pointed out features and landmarks. “That is Oakham Mount, and the estate we just passed is Longbourn. The family had five grown daughters, and I have been told they are all exceedingly pretty. But when I called on Mr. Bennet, the miser did not give me an opportunity to see his daughters."
Longbourn was a decently sized modern brick building with rows of marble columns in front. Darcy smiled. “He was, no doubt, terrified they would see you and run screaming.”
“Yes, but would they run towards me or away?”
“I shall leave it to your vanity to determine how I answer that question.”
“He shall not hide them away forever! Look" — they were passing through a market town, and Bingley pointed at a red building with rows of huge windows — “that is the assembly hall. They are holding a ball tonight — we shall meet the Bennet sisters there.”
“A ball? Tonight?”
“Yes — you shall be able to meet the neighborhood."
“Must I?”
“Now, Darcy, I wish to go — I have been promised the girls are deuced pretty — but I could not abandon you to sit and brood at home. That would make me a poor host indeed.”
“I shall go. But I do not expect to enjoy it — no doubt the room will be buzzing with gossip about Georgiana’s elopement and my inevitable bankruptcy within ten minutes.”
“I’m sure nothing of the sort shall happen. Everyone I have met is very good-natured. This is not London."
Several minutes later they rolled down a fine drive lined on both sides with gnarled oak trees dripping golden leaves. Bingley pointed out the window when they pulled around a small bend. “Look — here it is.”
It was a large building with respectable marble columns, and Darcy counted a row of twelve windows along the gallery. There was a wood over to the side which provided plenty of nesting for the pheasants they would shoot. A small stream flowed through the park, but it was too thin to be used for a cotton mill. The value of the land fit with what Bingley said he was paying. Unless there was something not visible at a glance, Bingley had not been gulled by the landlord and leasing agent.
The carriage pulled up and Bingley exclaimed, “Look — Caroline and Louisa have come out to greet us." He pulled open the window, allowing in a blast of chilly air, to wave at his sisters. "Hello, hello —”
As soon as the carriage pulled to a stop, Bingley leapt out and rushed up to his sisters.
Miss Bingley wore an elaborate silk dress with an expensively embroidered pattern. She stiffly allowed her brother to embrace her. Pushing him away, she said, “Charles, you’ll damage my dress — there is no need for such low enthusiasm.”
Bingley embraced Mrs. Hurst and pointed at Darcy, who had sedately stepped out of the carriage. “Look at who I dragged from London — he is here for rest and relaxation; we shall not let him be annoyed at all — if you see him spend more than two hours in a day at his letters, grab and burn them. I shall depend on you both to help me in my surveillance.”
Miss Bingley noticed Darcy’s frown and cried, “No, Charles! Don’t speak so, you can see Mr. Darcy does not enjoy your joke.” She stepped up to Darcy with a deferential smile. “You can depend upon me. I will not betray you if you write your letters in my presence. I would never interfere with your important matters of business.”
Darcy shrugged. “Thank you. I am glad I do not need to fear my important papers being burned by you.”
“If they are so important,” Bingley spoke laughingly, “you should not spend so much time on them.”
Miss Bingley said, “I believe Mr. Darcy spends so much time with his papers because they are important. You would do well to adopt his seriousness, Charles.”
“Yes, Charles,” Darcy said, “you should be more like me. Miss Bingley knows I am a paragon who is worthy of universal imitation.”
Bingley grabbed his sister’s arm and started to walk the group into the house. “Don’t tease my sister. Caroline, feel free to steal Darcy’s papers and burn them whenever you will. He’d like the challenge of keeping them hidden.”
Darcy said, “I would not.”
"You would too.” Bingley replied with a bright sunny grin.
Darcy grinned back, he probably would.
Miss Bingley disentangled her arm from her brother’s and took Darcy’s arm. “I am determined you shall enjoy your stay. I put you in the room in that tower” — she pointed to an addition out jetting from the main house — “it has an excellent view of the woods, like from your second floor sitting room at Pemberley. Mr. Darcy, I was shocked to hear what Georgiana did. We are all your friends, no matter what others might say, you are fine and decent, and you did your best to raise her. ‘Tis not your fault.”
“If not mine, whose? I shall not blame Georgiana; she was — she is but a child.”
Miss Bingley jerked her head around. “You do not blame her? Surely you have no wish to see her or communicate with her again."
“I cannot cease to love my sister because she — I remember her as a babe."
They entered the warm vestibule of Netherfield. Miss Bingley let go of Darcy’s arm and tilted her head to the side. “But was not — Mr. Wickham was the son of your father’s steward, was he not? Surely you could never accept such a low born man as your brother. You would not, right?”
Darcy examined Miss Bingley’s face curiously. So this is what it took to scare her off. She would chase someone whose sister married a servant, but if he planned to associate with that servant as an equal, it would be too much.
“I would.” Without waiting for a response Darcy walked over to Bingley and said, “If you expect me to go to your assembly tonight, we will need to get my trunks upstairs, so Judson can get everything prepared for me to dress.”
Darcy remembered his little sister as an affectionate child embracing him. If it would protect Georgiana, he would shake Wickham’s hand and call him brother. But Wickham despised him as much as he despised Wickham.
Georgiana was lost. She belonged to her husband.
*****
In a rural neighborhood with a decided surplus of ladies relative to gentlemen, the entry of any eligible man into the neighborhood placed a sparkling ‘what if’ in the minds of every unmarried lady. What if this new gentleman was her future husband?
Maybe he would sweep her off her feet and carry her to his castle, or, even better, his large well-furnished modern estate. Naturally, the ladies of Longbourn dressed with unusual care the night of the assembly when they would meet Mr. Bingley. Naturally, their eyes turned and carefully scrutinized the entry of Mr. Bingley’s party.
Jane’s eyes were caught by Mr. Bingley himself; he was a handsome gentleman with easy manners and a ready smile. He charmed all he spoke to and, to Elizabeth’s pleasure, singled out Jane as a particular partner. Elizabeth’s own eyes were caught by his tall, dour-faced companion.
The instant she saw him, Elizabeth enthusiastically told herself he was the most handsome man she had ever seen. Tall, well-muscled, with an erect bearing, and black hair that fell over his forehead. He was very pleasant to look at. But — did he ever smile? What would he look like if he did?
While Elizabeth admired Mr. Darcy, her mother walked up and pointed openly at the gentleman. “Heavens! Lady Lucas just told me the whole history of Bingley’s friend — he stands there haughtily, but he is a bankrupt, and his sister eloped with the steward’s son!"
“No! That cannot be true."
“It shocked me exceedingly as well. But be assured it is true."
“He, a bankrupt? I do not believe it — there is something in his face which proclaims he would not be so extravagant.”
“’Tis his father’s fault. He has a great estate in Derbyshire, but his father gambled away almost the whole value of it. Mrs. Long visited the house on her tour of the north. It was once as magnificent as Chatsworth but now is grimy and collapsing into ruins. He barely held on to the estate, and when his sister ran away, he lost everything when he paid out her dowry. He shall be forced to sell the family lands and live with Bingley as a penniless dependent.”
Elizabeth hoped the story was exaggerated. No wonder he never smiled.
“Look at him: He stares about like he is above us and does not want to talk to anyone, just because his uncle is an earl. That does not make him better than us. He has no right to be so exceedingly proud. Look at Bingley dancing with Jane. They make such a handsome couple. I do hope Bingley doesn’t let that man impose on his generosity; it would be difficult for his wife.”
“Mama!" Elizabeth was angry at her mother’s heartlessness. This was a man who had lost everything due to the actions of his relatives; he deserved their sympathy.
“It is early to form expectations — but Bingley is very taken with Jane. Look at how they smile at each other. I always knew she could not be so beautiful for nothing.”
Mr. Darcy remained quiet and uncommunicative through the night, and he only danced once with Bingley’s older sister and once with the unmarried sister, Miss Bingley.
That alone was enough to set the neighborhood against Mr. Darcy. But a tale of scandal meant he was faced with derision. Everyone thought his character must be ghastly.
Papa would laugh if he was here. It was human nature to believe the unfortunate deserved their fates. It was not funny this time.
Their low opinion of Mr. Darcy was wrong.
Elizabeth only needed to look at him to see it. He was not unpleasant or excessively proud. He was perhaps proud, but a man born to such a great estate and with a peer as an uncle had a right to be proud. He faced poverty, scandal, and the scorn of society with a quiet dignity.
Elizabeth thought his manner marked him as naturally awkward. When the scandal was added to a retiring nature, it was natural he would not wish to converse with new persons.
Elizabeth’s eye turned towards him every time she wasn’t dancing; he was uncomfortable and… sad. Did he care for his sister? He must. It was terrible of that girl to do such a thing to her brother.
One time Elizabeth and Darcy’s eyes met, Elizabeth’s heart leapt, and she gave Mr. Darcy a small smile. He returned it for a brief second but then turned away. Elizabeth blushed at being caught but continued to watch him surreptitiously. Near the middle of the evening, as she stood in the line of dancers and waited for a set to begin, she saw Mr. Bingley approach his friend and whisper something which made Mr. Darcy break out into a smile filled with delightful warmth.
Watching Mr. Darcy so absorbed her that Elizabeth missed when the music started and needed to apologize to her partner.
When Elizabeth was forced to sit out a dance due to a lack of partners, she sat behind Mr. Darcy. She laughed at herself; he had not spoken a word to anyone outside his party, yet she was already infatuated.
She was ridiculous.
Mr. Darcy stood with his heavy, thoughtful frown. Hopefully he would turn to look at her, request an introduction, and offer to dance the next set. Even if he did not, the view of his back and the neat fall of his tailcoat was compelling.
The seat of his coat was shiny from wear. Why did wool garments age like that? Cotton or silk would fray and lose fibers from the weave, but they did not change in the way wool did. The coat must be at least three or four years old. Very unfashionable, but his disregard for the dictates of fashion made Darcy handsomer. He naturally created the effect of careless indifference that some dandies spent hours attempting to imitate.
Mr. Bingley walked up to Mr. Darcy and said loudly, “Come, Darcy. I must have you dance. I hate to see you standing about by yourself in this stupid manner. You had much better dance.”
“I certainly shall not. You know how I detest it unless I am particularly acquainted with my partner. At such an assembly as this, it would be insupportable. Your sisters are engaged, and there is not another woman in the room, with whom it would not be a punishment to me to stand up with.”
“I would not be so fastidious as you are for a kingdom!” Mr. Bingley shifted his weight and seemed to see what Elizabeth thought was clear: Mr. Darcy truly wished to be left alone. “Come, I know you wish to brood in solitude — but you did not come to Hertfordshire to stand about like a bear. Several of the girls here are uncommonly pretty.”
“You are dancing with the only handsome girl in the room.”
Elizabeth could not help but be pleased at the praise of Jane. Bingley’s reply was everything she could wish for her sister: “Oh! She is the most beautiful creature I ever beheld!” Elizabeth’s heart leapt as Mr. Bingley continued, “But there is one of her sisters sitting down behind you, who is very pretty, and I daresay, very agreeable. Do let me ask my partner to introduce you.”
“Which do you mean?” Darcy turned around and looked at Elizabeth.
When their eyes met, Elizabeth’s heart raced with a euphoric jolt. Her silly scheme had worked. She would dance with him!
Darcy withdrew his own eyes and coldly said, “She is tolerable; but not handsome enough to tempt me.”
Elizabeth lost the rest of their conversation in a surge of mortification. She had been caught out and rejected. Her cheeks flamed. It hurt. She wanted to either cry or claw at him.
Elizabeth closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She normally was the one who discouraged unwanted suitors. She hadn’t known being told you were not handsome, just tolerable, could hurt so much.
He shouldn’t have been so rude. She was never rude. Not like that.
Disagreeable, horrid man.
He was repulsive. Every nice thing she had thought about him was clearly false. He was worse than everyone said. Most men liked her appearance very much. Most thought she was handsome enough to tempt. He must be insensible if he could not see that she was far better looking than just tolerable.
Bingley’s conversation with Darcy had ended. Elizabeth stood with her colour high and gave Mr. Darcy a slighting incline of her head when he turned to look at the noise, and then she pranced towards Charlotte.
Chapter 5
Darcy settled with an erect posture onto the velvet covered cushions of Bingley’s carriage. Despite the late hour he was not tired. The guilt preoccupied him. He should not have said that to the girl. First, she was in fact handsome enough to tempt him. Worse, he had been cruel and ungentlemanlike. Darcy needed to apologize to her.
She had appeared hurt. When he glanced back at her after Bingley left, she sat with a pinched, white face. She was beautiful, and Darcy realized she had glanced his way all evening.
Then she stood and gave him that brave scornful eye.
A selfish part of him liked the idea that at least one woman had been interested enough in him to be hurt by his pique. But she had recovered quickly. When she spoke to her friends, Miss Elizabeth did not stop smiling.
Her smile was exquisite.
Darcy tried to arrange an introduction to Miss Elizabeth, so he could apologize. But, she found a partner for the next dance too quickly and was standing in the line before he found any gentleman whose name he recalled. She remained occupied, moving from one partner to another for what little remained of the night. She laughed and smiled endlessly.
He still needed to apologize.
“Eh, Darcy?” Bingley elbowed him.
Darcy looked up with a confused expression.
Bingley laughed. “It never ceases to amaze the way you lose the conversation when preoccupied. Pray, do you not agree Miss Bennet is the most beautiful creature you’ve ever laid eyes on? — You need not prevaricate, you already proclaimed her a handsome girl.”
Darcy’s mind was filled with his Miss Bennet, and he replied without thought, “She smiles too much.” Her dimples, the rounded cheeks, her arched lips.
“The deuce she does! She smiles too much? I know you better — you give the best impression I have ever seen of a man determined not to be pleased by anything. For my part, I cannot conceive of an angel more beautiful than Jane Bennet.”
Miss Bingley replied from her corner of the carriage, “She was a sweet thing; I would not object to knowing her better.”
Mrs. Hurst agreed.
For a minute the carriage was silent. Miss Bingley said, “This is a vulgar, gossiping neighborhood. I was asked three times — three times — if the stories about your sister were true. They wanted to know if I knew Mrs. Wickham. I of course claimed I was not acquainted with any Mrs. Wickham. But, Mr. Darcy, you can see the scandal. Eventually people will talk less — but if you ever associate with Mrs. Wickham, they will remember again."
Mr. Wickham would prevent any future association. It was absurd that Miss Bingley cared so much about how he was seen. No matter how the public perceived him, he was not going to marry her.
Miss Bingley added, “If you were to appear at a few balls during the season with your uncle, people would talk far less. Though you would need to wear a newer fashion. I cannot say for you to dress like Beau Brummel — with your debts you must be prudent, but you could improve appearances economically.”
“Miss Bingley, I do not care a whit how I appear. I never have, I never shall. The opinion of persons wholly unconnected to myself has no influence on my happiness.”
Miss Bingley sat stiffly, unsatisfied by that answer. Darcy shook his head and smiled.
*****
The Bennets shouted, laughed, and talked over each other on the boisterous carriage ride home.
Mrs. Bennet exclaimed, “Dear, dear Jane! You were so admired! I was excessively disappointed to see Mr. Bingley dance with Miss Lucas for his first, but then he noticed you. Heavens! Of course he did — you are so very handsome.”
Jane blushed and fidgeted as her mother happily praised her for attaching Mr. Bingley’s attention. Though she was made uncomfortable by her mother, Elizabeth saw how her sister smiled at each reference to a mark of Bingley’s regard.
Elizabeth was mostly silent on the carriage ride home.
She had nearly told the story of Mr. Darcy’s rudeness to Charlotte in a mocking, laughing tone. But she could not. His sister had abandoned him, and he was crushed under heavy encumbrances. He was awkward and unhappy.
Elizabeth’s anger died and she felt sad instead of hurt. The rudeness of her neighbors provided some excuse for Mr. Darcy’s own rudeness.
She could not despise him.
Besides it did not matter. Even if he admired her greatly, he could not afford to marry a penniless — or nearly penniless — lady such as herself.
Also, what was that Latin phrase Papa liked? De gustibus non est disputandum. It was no failing of Darcy’s that she was not to his taste. He should not have spoken the insult, but it was no crime to not find her beautiful.
He was still the most handsome man she had ever seen.
She would not cry. She would not.
Elizabeth forced herself to spend the rest of the evening dancing, laughing, and showing the highest spirits she could.
Now, as Elizabeth ignored her mother’s inanities on the ten-minute ride home, she saw the humor. She had acted like a silly husband hunting Miss and received the proper fruit of such sly efforts.
After they arrived back at Longbourn, Mrs. Bennet described the ball to her husband at great length. Mr. Bennet’s impatience with his wife’s detailed report of who danced which dance and the lace on the dresses of Bingley’s sisters made him drive them all to bed quickly.
Elizabeth snuck to Jane’s room as soon as she was dressed in a nightgown with a blue woolen robe over it. Jane opened her door at Elizabeth’s knock. They scooted together under the covers to ward off the late autumn nighttime chill.
“Pray tell, how much did you like Mr. Bingley? For Mama is in love.”
Though she could not see Jane’s smile or blush, Elizabeth felt them in how her sister shifted her weight and brushed at her hair. “He was most agreeable. Everything a young gentleman should be, open mannered, lively and pleasant.”
Elizabeth laughed. “And he liked you as well — which any young gentleman with good sense ought. Why, I daresay he nearly forgot himself near the end of the evening and asked you for a third dance.”
Jane giggled. “I am certain he had no such thought in his mind.”
“He did — and if he had not, he was a fool. You are not only the prettiest dancer in the county, but the best.”
Jane elbowed Elizabeth. “Be reasonable!” Jane turned over in the bed to bring her head closer to Elizabeth’s. “Do tell — did someone attract you? For much of the night your eyes were on Mr. Bingley’s friend, that very tall and well-formed Mr. Darcy.”
She is tolerable I suppose. But not handsome enough to tempt me.
No. She had kept herself from tears and regret so far. She would not let them take her now. It was a meaningless, silly incident.
“Lizzy?” Jane softly touched Elizabeth’s arm. “What is it?”
“I confess; I did like him — do like him — at least his appearance. Very much. However, that is of no note. He likes me not at all.” Elizabeth forced herself to smile. She put real amusement into her voice. “It was the silliest thing — I sat near him hoping he would notice me and ask for an introduction. Yes, I know it was most silly of me.”
Elizabeth gave a small laugh. “Your Mr. Bingley approached Mr. Darcy and said that he should dance, and I would make an excellent partner. So the tall and handsome Mr. Darcy turned his satirical eye to meet that of the hopeful blushing maiden; their eyes met; her heart leapt in hope. Then he returns his eye to his friend” — Elizabeth used a gruff low toned voice — “Bingley, she is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me.”
Jane saw through Elizabeth’s laugh and embraced her sister tightly. She kissed Elizabeth on the forehead. “That was abominably rude. I will find a way to show him my displeasure.”
“Pray, do not! It was rude of him, but you heard the stories about him and his sister — to have lost a dear family member so recent. He cannot be himself. And the neighborhood treated him abominably. His sister and his debts were the only topic of conversation at the assembly. I watched us talk about him and point at him where he could easily hear. He was rude, but if a gentleman ever had excuse for rudeness, he did.”
“You must not allow his words to make you unhappy. You must have felt dreadfully hurt when you heard that. I care not what his excuse was. It was unpardonable — I should tell Bingley they were overheard when next I see him. I am sure he will force his friend to apologize.”
Elizabeth laughed. “Dear, dear Jane. I am pleased you would take on Mr. Darcy in my defense. But if his behavior was unpardonable, I wonder at your insistence Mr. Darcy be made to apologize.”
“Now be serious. You are more hurt than you pretend.”
The two girls snuggled next to each other. Elizabeth felt the irrationally strong sting of rejection. It was foolish to feel so strongly about being dismissed by a man she had not even met.
Silly, foolish, irrational.
Elizabeth sighed. “I am hurt. But his offense against good breeding is not the source of my unhappiness. I daresay it did me a favor. Charlotte would laugh at what I shall say — and you ought as well — but you are my dear Jane, and in a moment you will embrace me and say, ‘oh, Lizzy’ in that sympathetic tone of yours.”
Jane preemptively embraced Elizabeth. “Oh, Lizzy, is it really so bad?”
Jane laughed self-consciously when Elizabeth giggled. “I admit you know me well.”
“My first thought when I saw Mr. Darcy was that he was the best looking man I had ever seen in my life — and I include the Drury Lane actors we saw that summer we stayed with Uncle Gardiner.”
“Oh — you thought he was so very handsome, and then he said you were not handsome enough to tempt him.” Jane embraced Elizabeth again. “Oh, Lizzy.”
Elizabeth laughed, and Jane pulled back in embarrassment and said stiffly, “You did deserve better.”
Elizabeth embraced her sister. “I did not. I behaved as a silly country Miss with nothing on her head but a well looking gentleman, and the event was quite what I deserved. I can no more blame Mr. Darcy for not seeing me as handsome enough to tempt him than I can blame myself for not seeing Mr. Goulding as handsome enough to tempt me. We are, none of us, to be blamed for our tastes. I have determined to be as forward and insolent in Mr. Darcy’s presence as I please. I am not afraid of him. He may not like me, but he is still excessively handsome. His rudeness liberates me to ogle his person as much as I please.”
Chapter 6
The Bennets had invited Mr. Bingley and his party to a large dinner at Longbourn several days after the assembly. Darcy felt unusually awkward as he entered the red brick manor. He would find an opportunity to apologize to Miss Elizabeth. His honor demanded it.
The Bingley party arrived fashionably late due to Miss Bingley’s delays, and Mrs. Bennet spent several minutes in a discourse on Mr. Bingley’s virtues. By the time it was finished it was time for the guests to be seated for dinner.
Bingley had mentioned Miss Bennet a half-dozen times during the past three days. His friend was clearly infatuated. Mrs. Bennet was obviously aware of his friend’s feelings, and like so many women she was forward in the pursuit of an advantageous match for her daughter. Mr. Bingley and Miss Bennet were, of course, seated next to each other.
As Darcy sat, he scanned the dining room. A brass chandelier, whose polished metal gleamed dully, hung from the ceiling. All the candles were lit as the lateness of the season meant twilight had already begun. Beeswax candles were expensive. Darcy reflexively calculated the cost of burning them for the next six hours.
Other candles glowed from brass holders set around the walls. The brightness made an impressive show, and despite the loss of daylight, the details of the room were clear. The Bennets could have lit the room with half that many candles.
This was why he rarely used his main dining room during the winter. He needed to host some dinners to maintain amiable relations with his neighbors. But dinner parties were painfully dear. The roast, the candles, the additional servants for the night. Pemberley had hosted enough grand entertainments during his father’s time.
The Bennets served their guests on silver plates, and the first course proved to be a deliciously seasoned ragout. Mr. and Mrs. Bennet seemed careless in the way his father had been. They could not spend this much to entertain their neighbors and put aside for the future when Mr. Bennet died.
Mrs. Bennet was a skilled hostess, and the guests were scattered about, so everyone had the opportunity to speak to someone new. Darcy sat next to Mrs. Bennet, who viewed with satisfaction how her eldest daughter and Bingley were deeply involved in conversation. Bingley puffed out his chest to look a little taller, and his eyes danced as he eagerly spoke to Miss Bennet.
There was a little thought in Mrs. Bennet’s extravagance. Even though she only had a small fortune, she depended upon her eldest daughter marrying well enough to support everyone after Mr. Bennet died. Bingley was her target.
Miss Bennet was friendly but showed little animation or enthusiasm as she smiled at Bingley.
Darcy did not want to see his dearest friend trapped in an unhappy marriage that would drain his resources. Not after everything Bingley had done for him. Yet, it was enormously premature to worry about any such matter. And maybe Miss Bennet did dearly like Bingley. Darcy possessed no ability to understand young women.
He had never imagined Georgiana would run away.
Miss Elizabeth was animated as her fine features changed expressions quickly, and she flashed her hands about enthusiastically. She spoke to a gentleman Darcy believed was a Mr. Reed. Her dark ringlets waved; one bounced against her ear.
Their eyes met. Something twisted in Darcy’s stomach. When she looked away, there was a pretty pink color in her cheeks.
“Have you met all my daughters, Mr. Darcy?”
It took Darcy a moment to focus on his hostess, then he said, “I was introduced to Miss Elizabeth before we entered the dining room.”
Mrs. Bennet sniffed. “They are all well behaved girls. Even Lizzy, though Mr. Bennet allows her to run about. No, you’ll never have any scandal come from my daughters. They know what is right and won’t dishonor their family. They are always well supervised.”
Darcy kept a stiff emotionless mask at Mrs. Bennet’s reference to Georgiana. He had thought she was well supervised. If only he had not been so busy. And cheap. It would have been fifty pounds, but he should have hired an investigator to search out Mrs. Younge’s past. Her references had been good. Colonel Fitzwilliam had found her, but it was still his fault.
During the entire dinner Elizabeth was constantly aware of Mr. Darcy. She, mostly, kept herself from looking at him.
Why did he scrutinize her? He didn’t find her attractive. Was there so much to criticize about her person and behavior?
He could despise her if he will. She would laugh and act as she always did. One time her eye met his. His expression was solemn and inscrutable. Elizabeth looked away and forced herself to only pay attention to Mr. Reed.
But when Mrs. Bennet loudly exclaimed that her daughters were well behaved, it caught Elizabeth’s attention. It was impossible not to look at Mr. Darcy.
His face was still and he breathed steadily. He stopped eating and stared at the white linen tablecloth. Her mother’s horrid attack had struck a tender point. Many of the rumors claimed Mr. Darcy loved his sister dearly, and Mr. Darcy must feel his own failure as a guardian.
Mrs. Bennet smirked maliciously. “Do you keep a house in London?”
Elizabeth blushed in embarrassment and averted her eyes. Watching Mr. Darcy be embarrassed in this way sickened her. He had every right to despise her as the daughter of such a mother. Everyone in the neighborhood knew the story of how he sold a fine house in Grosvenor Square.
“No, madam.”
“Heavens! Why ever not? I believed most old families, such as yours, kept one. It is so important to be able to enjoy the season and provide a display to the other great families. Were our consequence so great as I heard the Darcys’ was, we would keep a house in London.”
“Of that, madam, I have no doubt.”
Darcy was happy the subject had turned from his sister to his supposed poverty. He did not care how extravagant fools saw him. Darcy took a bite from the ragout and let himself enjoy the pungent smell of the spices and the fatty meat on his tongue. He knew his own wealth; he knew that despite appearances he was a substantial man with great consequence.
Apparently convinced she had won a victory, Mrs. Bennet smirked again. Despite being well past forty, she was yet an attractive woman. Miss Elizabeth would likely age as elegantly as she had.
“It surprises me indeed that you have no house in London. My brother’s wife is from your region of the country — she grew up a mere five miles from your estate — she once said the Darcys were the greatest family of the neighborhood and they kept a fine house in one of the best neighborhoods in London."
Darcy shrugged. He took another bite of the stew. Perhaps he should praise Mrs. Bennet’s cook. He bet himself fifty pounds that she would reply to any such praise by commiserating him on his inability to afford one himself.
Her eyes bright, Mrs. Bennet asked, “Was my sister’s intelligence mistaken?”
The pettiness of Mrs. Bennet delighted him. Darcy enjoyed pretending to be considerably poorer than he really was. If Mrs. Bennet knew his true income, she would be eager to attach him to one of her daughters, despite the scandal.
“Alas,” Darcy shook his head sadly, “I was forced to sell the house. It was a matter of harsh necessity; a necessity I regret every time I wish I could throw a great entertainment for society. There were enormous debts left from my father’s time, and the sale of the house only provided modest relief. My debts forced me to make many sacrifices. I do not even keep a chaise, and when I must travel to London, I go by post."
Darcy sighed theatrically and let his face sag. He wanted to appear as depressed as he could.
Mrs. Bennet sneered. “That is a pity for you.”
The woman ceased speaking to Darcy and turned her attention back to Mr. Hurst, who complimented her fulsomely on the quality of the ragout.
He glanced around.
Elizabeth Bennet watched him from the edge of her eyes. Her face was red. Their gazes met again. She turned away immediately. He did not know her, but surely Miss Elizabeth could not be the same sort of person as her mother. Not with her pretty eyes and the brave smile she met his rudeness with. He would not judge anyone by their family.
Elizabeth blushed for Darcy.
Could not her mother see how rude, how improper, how immoral it was to try to hurt Darcy in this manner? Her reference to his debts and the need to sell his house amused him, at least Elizabeth thought from the cast of Darcy’s face that he only pretended to be depressed by his inability to throw entertainments of mythic grandeur.
Mrs. Bennet’s reference to his sister had hurt. It spoke well of Darcy that his sister’s fate concerned him, while he faced his poverty with a sanguine shrug.
Elizabeth only paid a little attention to Mr. Reed, who was telling an extended anecdote for her amusement. After Mrs. Bennet ceased speaking to him, Darcy looked about and their eyes caught. Elizabeth felt embarrassed at having been caught staring at him again. She asked Mr. Reed a silly question and forced herself to listen to his response.
Darcy was a little bored as he sat without speaking. His eyes were pulled towards Miss Elizabeth. Why had he ever said she was not handsome enough to tempt him?
She was very tempting. Her fine mobile features worked into easy smiles as she conversed with the gentleman next to her. Her clear skin showed when she blushed, and the set of ringlets hung neatly around her face. Each time she smiled, one side of her face turned into a pretty dimple.
“Perhaps.” Mary Bennet, seated on his other side, cleared her throat. Darcy looked over, distracted from the reverie on Miss Elizabeth’s features. “Mr. Darcy, you should read Fordyce’s sermons on the education of young women. It has much useful advice. I have copied out long extracts from it.”
Darcy grunted but, though it was rude, made no verbal reply.
Undiscouraged, Mary Bennet quoted many passages discussing how to teach young ladies moral behavior and respect for their families.
*****
After dinner when the gentlemen rejoined the party, Mr. Reed approached Elizabeth immediately. Elizabeth greeted him cautiously. She suddenly suspected from the manner of his smile that Mr. Reed admired her. He had inherited an estate almost as large as Longbourn a few months ago. Perhaps she should encourage him.
After all, she was not handsome enough for Mr. Darcy.
That was ridiculous. Mr. Darcy had nothing to do with the matter. If Mr. Reed liked her, it would be a good match. Elizabeth, however, did not think she liked him.
Darcy stood next to the fireplace with his elbow leaning against the mantelpiece. His manner showed a silent disinclination for engaging with the neighborhood. Not that the neighborhood deserved such consideration from a man it abused horribly behind his back.
His eyes settled on her again and he frowned.
Elizabeth smiled brightly and walked up to him. It was time to discover what he was really like beneath the jagged exterior. No rudeness from him would discourage her until she learned all she wanted.
“Mr. Darcy, you gaze upon us all with a satirical eye. What observations have you made? Do you find the neighborhood tolerable?”
Darcy was surprised by Miss Elizabeth’s approach. Her lips curled up in a playful smile, and one of her cheeks had a delightful dimple. Even though she was referring to his insulting words, the expression in her pretty dark eyes was genuinely friendly.
Darcy smiled at Elizabeth.
His smile was warm, and Elizabeth blushed and looked away, but she forced her eyes back to his face.
Darcy said, “Anything I might say after such a brief acquaintance would shame me. First impressions often are very wrong and rarely should be spoken. If that impression is poor, not only would it be rude to speak aloud, but it would make the speaker a fool.” Darcy gave Elizabeth a pointed look. “One might say someone is only tolerable and then discover upon a second glance they are most handsome.”
“Now, Mr. Darcy, I do accept your oblique apology, but you do not need to claim you find me handsome now. You only need admit that you were rude then. I would never judge a man harshly over a matter of taste.”
“I was very rude then, but you have always been handsome.”
“Yes, I know. My vanity is a towering pillar.” Elizabeth patted Darcy on his well-shaped arm. She knew she would be shy if this handsome man was actually attracted to her. “You need not fear you could undermine it. I am determined it always shall stand, immune to all words thrown at it. However, I can only accept your apology for the rudeness, because however tolerable you find me, politeness requires you claim to find me handsome.”
“It is not untrue merely because I must claim it.”
“Oh, sound reply. I fear I shall never know if I am only tolerable, or if I am, in fact, handsome enough to tempt.”
Elizabeth grinned saucily at him. She was tantalizing. It was almost as if she didn’t want him to find her attractive. Darcy did not know how to assure her he found her tempting without being imprudently pointed in his admiration. Nothing could ever happen between them.
She added, “I am very grateful you apologized. I thought there was a look of goodness about you, despite your manners.”
The sincerity in her eyes touched Darcy. He smiled sloppily back at her. To break the moment, he quirked his eyebrow at her and said, “Despite my manners?”
Elizabeth laughed. “That was ill-phrased. It seems I am now the rude one. You do stand in an… untalkative manner. You are intimidating Mr. Darcy. I only approached you as I am determined to rise to every challenge.”
“I am delighted you did. It has improved my evening enormously — I fear I am never easy with strangers. I find it difficult to enter their conversations.”
“But you converse easily with me.”
“No, Miss Elizabeth, you converse easily with me.”
“Another sound reply. I fear I shall seldom win when I contend with you, and I dearly love to win.”
“The victory easily obtained is not near as sweet as one struggled for.”
“Were you not supposed to say that as a gentleman you would intentionally lose to protect my delicate sensibilities? That would be more chivalrous than a proclamation that you intend to defeat me as often as you may.”
“Does my lack of chivalry undermine your belief in my fundamental goodness?”
“Nay — for I fancy myself a great observer of character. It is now a matter of my vanity to believe the best of you — do tell me what you think of the neighborhood. I truly wish to know. You have nothing to fear from me — if you expose yourself now, I will be able to compare what you see presently to what you think when you leave Hertfordshire.”
“Miss Elizabeth, that may appeal to you. However, I must have an incentive.”
“Aha!” Elizabeth grinned brightly. “You wish me to bribe you, so that I can hear the failings of my neighborhood. That hardly seems fair.”
“You are the one who believes I think ill of the neighborhood.” Darcy found Miss Elizabeth’s forwardness charming. Her brown eyes were bright and flashing. He wanted to amuse her so she would stay near and continue to smile. Her perfume wafted to Darcy. It was floral and unsettling. “Perhaps I think very highly of you — of the neighborhood — and only hesitate out of a fear you will think I perjure myself with flattery.”
Elizabeth laughed.
The happy sound made Darcy grin at her. The way the edges of her eyes crinkled together when she laughed was delightful. Elizabeth leaned her head back and was unselfconsciously happy. This was no pose of affected amusement, but genuine good humor.
Elizabeth said, “I might like to hear you perjure yourself with flattery — though only if you entirely believe every word you say.”
“Then find some bribe.”
Elizabeth tapped her cheek, smiling brightly at him. “Pray tell, are you more the sportsman or the scholar?”
“Both, milady. Is that not what is needed to complete the character of a gentleman?”
Elizabeth laughed again. “True — and I expect you to prove the most perfect of gentlemen. But I need more details of your pastimes if I am to entice you.”
Elizabeth leaned closer to Mr. Darcy as she spoke and emphasized with a low voice the word ‘entice’. She realized she was flirting with him.
“You wish to entice me?” Elizabeth blushed at how Darcy lowered his voice in turn. “You shall find that an easy task. I can fence so well I won the annual tournament at my club, I have jumped many a gate during a fox hunt, and I have been known as one of the best shots in Derbyshire. Yet, when I have an hour to spare, I will study the Latin poets.”
Darcy blushed when Elizabeth grinned back at him. He realized he was acting like a fool, boasting about exploits that were mostly a decade old.
“Oh!” She clapped. “That is an impressive list of accomplishments. Do you compose poetry as well? Do you play the lute so as to make a lady’s heart melt?”
Darcy turned his face away and, with a nervous gesture he could not stop, brought a hand up to rub at the back of his neck. “I should not brag. I do hunt as well as any other gentleman and remember enough of Latin to get along, but I do not spare the funds to keep a stable of hunters, and usually I am too busy with estate matters to maintain my marksmanship or fish often. My reading is usually agricultural treatises. I do fence regularly for the exercise — I am quite good.”
The grin Darcy finished with was boyish. Elizabeth smiled back. The way Darcy flushed as he admitted his pretense was sweet. She liked that he was not really a boastful gentleman who would say anything to impress her.
“And poetry and music? As you have not denied your talents there, I shall believe you to be a true master of both arts.”
Darcy flashed his teeth. “You wish me to perjure myself.”
Elizabeth laughed.
Miss Bingley walked up to them. Her face was pinched, as though she had tasted something sour. “Poetry? You ask after Mr. Darcy’s talents at poetry? There is no need for a man to do something so silly as compose poetry. I would never wish that from a gentleman — you wish to be sly and make sport of Mr. Darcy. He does not deserve to be laughed at.”
“I only tease in good humor — I hope I am not one of those persons who would laugh at another’s misfortune. Besides” — Elizabeth’s eyes flicked to Darcy’s face again — “He is a paragon. Have you not heard me admit he is the greatest poet of the age? And a musician of great talent. It is impossible to laugh at one of such grandeur.”
Darcy snorted at Elizabeth’s impish expression. “I am unsure whether to be astonished at your discovery of such virtues in me — virtues I was entirely unaware I possessed — or to view your praise as a fine example of how first impressions can mislead.”
“You should thank me for discovering your great talents, which you can now exploit.”
“Well, madam” — Darcy’s eyes twinkled as he bowed — “it is not I, rather it is the ages to come who must thank you for the discovery of such skill.”
Miss Bingley spoke sharply. “I can see you both are quite amused. How did you arrive at this discovery of Mr. Darcy’s talents?"
“Miss Elizabeth wished to hear my observations of the neighborhood. She hoped it would reveal something of my character.”
Miss Bingley spoke quickly, “Miss Elizabeth, you wish to hear how an outsider sees your neighborhood? Let me answer.” She did not wait for Elizabeth’s nod to continue, “Society here is well-connected. It is a marvel, how you all communicate so clearly — if a person enters a room, every story about them will be immediately shared around. The good and the ill. Also, your mother — she’s an excellent host. I’ve never seen someone whose conversation will put a guest at ease better. She would never bring an inappropriate topic into conversation.”
Darcy saw how Elizabeth flushed and involuntarily glanced at Mrs. Bennet. Miss Bingley’s desire to insult her because of the behavior of her relations annoyed Darcy. A man should be judged by their own behavior, not those of his relations. He was not like his father.
Miss Elizabeth was bright and charming. She seemed little like her mother or the moralistic sister he had sat next to.
Georgiana proved to be like Father.
Miss Bingley added, “I heard from my partner at dinner that you visit your Cheapside relations often. Mr. Darcy, did you know, Miss Eliza’s uncle is in trade and lives next to his warehouse in Cheapside.”
Elizabeth noted the slightly disgusted way Mr. Darcy recoiled from Miss Bingley. It was clear her attempts to entice him were misaimed.
Elizabeth widened her eyes and spoke with girlish enthusiasm, “It is so wonderful to have relatives in trade! When I go to London, I get the ribbons and silk pieces at cost. It lets me extend my allowance so much further!”
Miss Bingley ran her eye up and down Elizabeth. “Yes. With your income that must be a matter of great importance.”
Elizabeth nodded eagerly. “Oh it is. With our income.”
Miss Bingley sneered. “I am in the fortunate position of being above such contrivances.”
Darcy spoke without thinking. “Perhaps your income would go further if fewer candles were burned at parties such as this, and if the meal was kept to only two courses.”
Elizabeth frowned at the ground with bright red spots in her cheeks.
Oops.
He had insulted her mother and, by implication, her. He was a blundering idiot.
Would he always be an inarticulate fool in Miss Elizabeth’s presence? Darcy quickly apologized, “I should not speak on anyone’s housekeeping. It is a personal matter in all cases. Your mother puts on an excellent party, and has been a good host. My need to make compromises should not lead me to disdain those who are in more fortunate circumstances. Might you forgive me for my unwarranted words?”
Darcy’s apology gave Elizabeth a sudden insight into his character.
Miss Bingley might think herself above small contrivances to create easy economies, but Darcy obsessively thought about them. When he spoke he tended to be blunt, however, he was not trying to be hurtful, not this time, but rather to express what he would do in the Bennets’ situation.
He looked at her with that earnest face as though he was terribly worried she was mortally offended. As if she could be offended by a man with such a sincere face. “Oh, you need not apologize. My mother is a little extravagant, but she means well and wishes her guests to have a good time. My father does not allow her to spend past our income.”
Miss Bingley exclaimed, “You should be more cautious. There is nothing I despise so much as extravagance. When I set up my own household, I will practice every possible economy.”
Darcy watched Elizabeth’s disbelieving expression as she eyeballed Miss Bingley. It was hard not to grin again. She clearly did not believe Miss Bingley’s professed love of economy either.
Miss Bingley spoke again, a speculative gleam in her eye, “Miss Elizabeth, you claimed to be an observer of character. What do you think of me? Please, do not spare my feelings — I am not a vain woman. Your true opinions will not hurt me.”
Elizabeth pursed her lips. "Hmmm.” She smiled impishly. “Even if it were fragile, my assessment of your character would not damage your pride: you are a perfect exemplar of a fine English lady’s education.”
The manner with which Elizabeth uttered that made Darcy crack a smile. He was sure Elizabeth saw he was amused, though he hoped he hid it from Miss Bingley.
He thought of his sister with a smile. It was the first time he remembered smiling about her. He certainly should not have sent Georgiana to that expensive school.
Elizabeth’s description surprised Miss Bingley. “I… well, I thank you for that. But to say I was well-educated does not require much insight. Superior breeding is always evident. If you are a great judge of character, you must have a profounder insight.”
Elizabeth’s dimple showed again. “Perhaps you should think further upon the insight I already gave you. It has more depth than you realize.”
Miss Bingley’s lips curled downwards into an unpleasant expression. Before she could speak Darcy said, “Miss Elizabeth, I would dearly like to hear how you see me.”
She laughed. “Is this what I deserve for asking you to reveal opinions based on only the briefest of acquaintance?”
“You are the one who is a great judge of character, besides, are not first impressions fascinating.”
“I am a great observer of character. My judgment, however, I am hardly qualified to speak towards.”
“But nonetheless, I perceive, you think highly of it.”
Elizabeth grinned. “Aha, I managed to make you reveal your opinion of me, and without resort to bribery. You see me as quite overconfident, which I suspect to be true.” Darcy raised his eyebrows and gave a shrug of agreement. His smirk was very handsome. “Well, as you have revealed your opinion of me fairness demands I make some return.”
Elizabeth looked Darcy’s long tall form up and down. He was clean and well-muscled. There was an amused light in his eyes. His happiness looked far better on him than his somber manner at dinner or in the assembly hall. His hair was a vibrant brown and his eyes a bright blue. There was a curl that fell over his forehead.
“I do hope your delay is not because your opinion of me is completely negative. I know I have revealed some faults to you.”
“Oh, my assessment has nothing negative in it.”
“And I believed you to be scrupulously honest.”
“I am.”
Darcy smiled and waited for Elizabeth to speak.
“You are too solemn. That is my opinion. You do not laugh enough, and you take matters too seriously. Your worries are important — I know they are — but what is the purpose of life if there is not opportunity to laugh along the way?”
Elizabeth spoke with a sudden intensity and passion. Her words struck Darcy as though they provided the solution to his happiness. He had thought he was happy before, but it had been a matter of happenstance. He wanted to smile and laugh more. He’d never laughed much.
Miss Bingley spoke, “Mr. Darcy’s manners are perfect — too free laughter in gentlemen is vulgar. The fault is with your preferences — Mr. Darcy has great responsibilities which he strives to fulfill."
Elizabeth tilted her head and pursed her lips and peered at Miss Bingley. The slight shake of her head was dismissive. Miss Bingley flushed.
Darcy said, “You do not think — I could not laugh about the — what has happened…”
“Oh. I do not say you should laugh about that — It does not matter what you laugh about, but no matter how poor the situation is — you should laugh. Happiness is a choice — please, do not choose to be miserable.”
“Do you think that?” Darcy found himself smiling. “I hope you are correct.” The weight of his debts and worry for Georgiana lightened. “You spoke rightly; I have not been in the habit of frequent laughter.”
Soon Mrs. Bennet encouraged an impromptu dance, so Jane might have another opportunity to entice Mr. Bingley. Since Elizabeth’s manner at the piano entertained better than Mary’s, Mrs. Bennet made her play. After all, no gentleman wished to pay court to her.
Miss Bingley returned to Netherfield that night unusually quiet and surprised by herself. She had decided to pay no further attention to Darcy. If he was committed to one day acknowledging his vile sister, someone else could marry him. That was too much; even Pemberley and a relationship to an earl was not worth it.
But then she had seen that low ill-bred baggage flirting with Mr. Darcy. Miss Eliza made those eyes and smiles at him. Mr. Darcy was hers. And no penniless bitch would take him away.
Darcy was like a great wounded beast who normally would shrug off every snare of the hunter. But now, until he had recovered from the shock of Georgiana’s muddying her blood and handing a fortune to a servant, a cunning hunter might fell the elephant and feast for the rest of her life on the carcass. That is, live at Pemberley the wife of a driven man who was far wealthier than any other she had more than a bare acquaintance with.
Chapter 7
A fortnight after Darcy arrived at Netherfield, a letter from his banker arrived with the morning post. Darcy finished chewing a slice of bacon as he took the paper from Bingley’s footman and sliced the letter open. Mr. Hoare’s stationery was heavy and smooth to the touch. Darcy stared at the paper without unfolding it; he knew what news it would contain.
Miss Bingley and her brother squabbled about what Bingley had worn to a ball the previous season. Bingley laughed at Miss Bingley. “Nay, I swear I will wear buckskin and a riding jacket to Lady Rutledge’s ball next season.”
The letter was simple and businesslike. Mr. Wickham had taken possession of the thirty thousand pounds of Georgiana’s dowry. The funds had been transferred to Child’s Bank.
He had lost the money when Wickham and Georgiana found a blacksmith in Gretna Green to witness their vows. Darcy had accepted its loss already, but now it was really gone. Years and years. It would take years and years to recoup the funds.
Damn Georgiana. Damn her. He sent the money. Why didn’t she send him a note which described how she fared?
Maybe Wickham prevented her. Maybe he beat her to gain an additional revenge.
Darcy crumpled the letter. He squeezed the spiky edges of the white ball into his palm.
Damn.
He wanted to pound the small ball against the table until something broke. Darcy closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe evenly.
"Is it bad news about Georgie?" Bingley set his fork and knife aside, and he looked at Darcy with a sympathetic frown.
Darcy stiffly nodded.
Miss Bingley exclaimed, "Oh! I hope she is well. Please, say she is. I was wrong before to despise her! She is a sweet girl who was taken advantage of by that vicious fortune hunter. She is still so young. I wish we could help her."
Darcy stared at her coldly. “So you decided that my fortune is worth such a sister?”
Miss Bingley had expected such a response to a sudden turn about. She had practiced in the mirror and wrinkled her face so tears came out. “Do not insult me so! I have feelings, Mr. Darcy, I do. I remember your sister. She is a shy thing, and she only wished to show and receive affection. I have been too blinded by what society says, but don’t say I have no heart!”
Bingley and Darcy blinked at her, and Darcy pulled at the tight wrap of his cravat. “Miss Bingley, I apologize. Do not cry. My temper ran away with me, and I lashed at you.”
Darcy almost said he was sure Miss Bingley did have a sincere affection for Georgiana, but while her tears made him guilty, he still thought she was lying.
Bingley said skeptically, “That is a fine performance. She may be a sweet shy thing, but Georgiana also is a damned fool. Darcy is there news of her?”
“Wickham has the money, all thirty thousand pounds.”
“Oh.” Bingley said, “After the dinner party at the Lucases tonight, we will drink ourselves insensible. What do you say?”
“That will hardly bring the money back.”
“The point is to forget the money.”
Miss Bingley said, “Does it bother you so? Please, I wish to understand. I know it is a great sum, more than my dowry, but Lady Anne had been the daughter of an earl.”
“Four years. I have more debt than I did four years ago. It feels as though I have done nothing in that time.”
Miss Bingley replied, “That is not true! You have done a great deal. There is that pretty mill, and the new breeding areas for sheep and cows, and you have repaired all the bridges about Pemberley. It will not take so long to pay this back. You can do it. That is what I admire about you — you always succeed. You shall again.”
“I know. But it is hard.” Darcy shook his head. He would not have believed Miss Bingley could say something which made him feel better.
Bingley stood up. “Enough of this. Caroline, you’ll make me gag if you carry on in this manner. Darcy, we have a full day of shooting and drinking.”
Once they were in the forest walking behind the gameskeeper, Bingley said, “You should not trust anything my sister says. She is like Father was, except without the intelligence. She’ll say anything to get her way.”
“That is not a kind way to speak of your sister. After all, she has a heart.”
Bingley laughed. “She hasn’t gulled you.”
Miss Bingley had a dowry of twenty thousand pounds; the same amount he had borrowed from Bingley. It was a great amount of capital. It was worth years of the strictest economy. If he married her, he would no longer worry whether he could protect the estate.
The idea of actually marrying her now brooded in his mind, and Darcy could not force it away.
That evening Elizabeth arrived at Lucas Lodge with bubbly enthusiasm coloring her cheeks. She of course wasn’t in love with Mr. Darcy. He did not like her appearance. However, he enjoyed her conversation, and he was as clever as he was handsome. Which was very.
This night Mr. Darcy frowned and seemed distracted. He said even less than normal, and he would occasionally rub his face and sigh. What was the matter? Had he heard something further about the sister who ran away with the steward’s son? Was someone ill?
Miss Bingley stood near Darcy and spoke to him with sympathetic whispers. Unlike the other times Elizabeth had seen the two together, Darcy actually paid attention to her and showed real smiles.
Surely not.
Mr. Darcy was too clever to marry such a woman.
A quarter of an hour later, Charlotte convinced Miss Bingley to play for them. Mr. Darcy sprawled in a low red armchair in the corner of the room, and he stared at the piano with an unhappy frown.
Elizabeth hoped to make him smile, and she walked across the room and pulled a wooden chair next to his seat. Darcy nodded at her but continued to attend to the music. The strains produced by Miss Bingley were smooth and Elizabeth heard few errors. This corner of the room was dusty and a faint smell of paint lingered from when the Lucases recently redecorated.
Darcy recalled how Georgiana loved to play for him. Miss Bingley showed a well-trained stylistic perfection, but there was no passion for the music in her play. If he married her, the expensive piano purchased for Georgiana would not go entirely to waste.
Miss Elizabeth sat next to him, and he could not smile at her bright presence. She was right that he was too miserable, but he could not undo the tangled anxiety about his sister and his fortunes.
Elizabeth at last spoke, “Mr. Darcy, this is hardly such a piece to evoke such a deep sigh.”
Darcy’s eye was drawn to her. He saw the peach skin of her elbows, dim in the candlelight, between where the long formal glove bunched up around her wrists and where the sleeve of her dress began. She leaned forward. The folds of her dress outlined her knee. Darcy met her eyes and involuntarily smiled at the concern in them. “Miss Bingley plays — It is… played well.”
“Please. Something bothers you. If ‘tis not a matter which ought to be kept private, tell me what makes you sigh and scowl.”
Miss Elizabeth smelled of roses. She had placed herself as close to him as was proper, and her perfume comforted him. Her yellow gloved hand rested on the arm of his chair.
Darcy surprised himself by telling the truth. “My sister has great skill with the piano. She loves to play very much. Many nights, once the business of the day was done, she eagerly displayed what she practiced that morning.”
"Oh. You worry for her a great deal. It torments you that you can no longer protect her.”
Darcy nodded. “Even though — It still seems natural to care for her — she behaved abominably, she betrayed me and my family name in the worst way possible, and she set herself outside the bounds of respectable society. But — I love her dearly. I have, ever since she was set in my arms as a crying babe and smiled at me.”
Elizabeth ached for him and impulsively shot her hand out to squeeze his wrist, and then with a blush she released it and drew back.
The way Darcy softly smiled back at her made Elizabeth’s stomach flutter.
He said, “Others think — I am told I should care nothing for her anymore — all of society, even my uncle, who has done so much for me. Yet, I will not."
He spoke like a solid rock that could not be moved. Elizabeth replied, “You should not. You should not — if society demands you think ill of one who nature has made dear, you — I admire you. You should still love her.”
Elizabeth’s praise embarrassed Darcy. He would send a letter to Georgiana. He did not know if Wickham would allow his sister to reply, but even though he despised Wickham. he would try.
“Thank you. It — perhaps it is odd, since I always trust my own opinions — your approval, it makes me more certain of myself. I had been unsure whether to mail Georgiana. Some part of me thinks she should return first, begging for forgiveness. But I need to know if she is well.”
“I am glad you will. It is natural to care. To throw a fifteen-year-old girl who had been under your protection away from your affections would be unnatural and wrong."
“She is so young, I blame myself. I failed to supervise her, and I failed to raise her properly. I live an austere life. I did not indulge her enough because I wanted her to learn to be like me. I had not recalled how unpleasant it is to appear poorly before your peers."
Darcy’s visible melancholy returned. He stared at his lap.
Elizabeth wished to embrace him, to hold him like she would hold her sisters or Charlotte when they were hurt. “You cannot — you cannot blame yourself for not knowing — you tried — you tried with everything to raise her well. It was ill luck, or your sister’s own character — not a lack of affection or effort on your part."`
“My sister’s character is not at fault.” Darcy spoke almost sharply, “She was led on by a foolish affection — she was raised by our father to see Wickham almost as a brother. She is still just a child. When she found him in reduced circumstances… I should have known I could not trust Mrs. Younge. If I had hired a proper companion, the meeting never would have occurred.”
“You could not have foreseen —”
“Her letter — the letter which told me she had married — it said, ‘he needs me more than you.’ I do not doubt that his needs are great, but — he swore vengeance against me. When I would not give him all he wished following my father’s death, he swore to avenge himself. He has no affection for her. My poor sister — to love a man who cares nothing for her, who exploited her naivety, a man who will waste all her fortune on cards and other women, like he wasted every other resource given to him —"
Elizabeth briefly squeezed his hand again. “Mr. Darcy, do not make yourself miserable. Life can go on through unpleasantness. Happiness is a choice for her as much as for you”
“How can I choose to be happy when it is my fault. My guilt.”
“Do not be ridiculous. She made her choice. If you cannot accept that, I will grow quite cross with you both. You should still love her, and forgive her, and even support her, if you can without letting Mr. Wickham abuse you, but at fifteen she knew what she was about. She is not a child any longer.”
“But…” Darcy looked away from Elizabeth in discomfort. He was not sure if he saw Georgiana as she was, or if he could only see the affectionate child. The affection in her letter.
“Do you remember how you were at that age? Would you have obeyed your own reason or your father’s judgement?”
Darcy smiled weakly. “I was foolish and I thought myself very adult, but I was wrong. She is my sister. A woman. It is a gentleman’s duty to protect the weaker sex.”
“Absurd fancy. The weaker sex. Do we seem so weak in matters of the heart? We shall make our own fool choices as surely as any young buck will. It is no favor to us to pretend we are insensible creatures not capable of that. And it is a vanity to pretend men are sensible. You should have chosen her companion better, and Wickham is a vile man, and I believe your sister to be as good a woman as a naïve girl of fifteen can be, but do not take more guilt upon you than is your due.”
“Some guilt is my due then?”
“A little, I suppose. You would not believe me if I said you had no guilt. She was but fifteen and under your care. A girl of five and ten is no longer a child, but she is hardly full grown either. Far more guilt, in my view, belongs to the Church of Scotland which allows such marriages without a guardian’s consent. But there is no benefit to agonizing about their role. Think on the past only as it gives you pleasure. When you have a daughter of your own, you shall not make the same mistakes. It does your sister no benefit for you to feel as much guilt as you do, to have the absurd belief it is entirely your fault, or even mostly, and if she is as good as you believe her to be, she would hate it if she knew.”
“As a lad, after I discovered what my father was, I thought he would completely run out of money and have nothing left to care for her, and I would need to ensure Georgie was well. Miss Elizabeth, have you ever held a child in your arms and known you must protect her? When she was born — my mother laid Georgiana in my arms and told me I would need to be a man and help care for my sister. And then she smiled at me.”
The concerto Miss Bingley played ended. She saw Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth sitting next to each other and she walked to them with a wide smile that did not reach her eyes.
“Miss Elizabeth — my performance? You must have noticed the little errors and fudges I made. I know you did, Mr. Darcy — Mr. Darcy is a great lover of music.”
Darcy said, “On the contrary, I noticed no errors. Your technique is superb.”
Miss Bingley said to Elizabeth, “I have heard you play a little — the piano is empty; I would dearly like to hear you perform again."
Likely. Miss Bingley hoped Elizabeth’s performance would be lacking in comparison to her own. Elizabeth did not care. She was choked by emotion from her conversation. Nothing she said, none of the truisms or trite proverbs anyone could say would undo the brute fact that Mr. Darcy loved his sister dearly, and she had made a terrible mistake.
Elizabeth sat on the stool and leafed through the pieces of music on the piano until she found a song by Robert Burns whose chorus captured her emotion. Elizabeth sung with feeling.
Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy,
Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy;
Well though knowest my aching heart.
Chapter 8
When they left Lucas Lodge, the Netherfield and Longbourn parties had been the last ones waiting for their carriages to be brought around. Jane and Bingley had been inseparable again, and Elizabeth smiled at the couple speaking closely to each other. She chatted with Charlotte and kept an eye on where Mr. Darcy stood surrounded by Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst. He was mostly silent.
The Bingley carriage was brought round first, and Miss Bingley wordlessly made Darcy hand her into the carriage. She made a fuss of needing her shawls and the blanket arranged properly to protect her from cold, and as Darcy solemnly busied himself with arranging the fabrics, Miss Bingley turned and singled out Elizabeth with her eye. She gave Elizabeth a superior smile.
Elizabeth felt a twinge of jealousy, but she suppressed it.
On the ride home, Mrs. Bennet regaled everyone with each sign that Jane was certain to be soon settled at Netherfield, and Jane was too pleased to object this time. Lydia and Kitty talked over everybody exclaiming how handsome Lieutenant Denny and Captain Carter were.
The next morning Elizabeth set out early on a walk. A small wafting of snow had fallen the previous night, and the bare branches of the trees looked glorious decked in white. The sun had only started to melt it, and sparkling droplets of water dripped from the trees.
It was a cold clear day, and only a few wispy clouds hung like thin sugar confections in the air. Elizabeth had tightly bundled herself up, and the bite of cold on her cheeks was almost pleasant. She skipped along the aged wooden fence that bordered the road. Every so often Elizabeth flicked the white snow off the top of the rails.
In the distance, Elizabeth saw Charlotte walking towards her.
Elizabeth called out to her friend, “Pray, walk with me for some distance.”
Charlotte smiled and hurried over. “I hoped to see you this morning. I set out in this direction on the chance you might come this way.”
“Is this not a beautiful morning? I love when it snows enough to turn everything white, but not enough to stop me from walking.”
Charlotte’s bonnet bobbed in agreement. Charlotte then said, “Lizzy, there is a matter… well, you and Mr. Darcy were quite close yesterday.”
Elizabeth blushed. “He was unhappy — thinking about his sister — I tried to comfort him, but I fear what I said did little good.”
“Most evenings you find some reason to speak to Mr. Darcy as much as possible.”
“We are friends — only friends — I assure you.”
“Are you? His frequent gazes show more than friendship. And Lizzy, you like him more than you wish to admit. Be cautious — likely his situation is better than many of the rumors, but he still would find it difficult to afford to marry a girl with a tiny dowry.”
“We have not known him for much longer than a fortnight. A matter of a half-dozen conversations and several dances cannot reveal enough of his character for me to wish to marry him. It would not be sensible."
“Sensible? That has little to do with the matter. Many persons develop affection and marry on a slenderer basis. Besides I do not think one’s likelihood of happiness in marriage would be greater after an opportunity to study the other’s character for a twelvemonth. Success in marriage seems to me to be almost entirely a matter of chance.”
“Do you wish me to pursue him, or avoid him?”
“You should be wary. It is likely he will marry Miss Bingley. Such a match would make good sense; the close connection to an old family name and an earl would disguise the scent of trade left on the Bingleys’ fortune, while her dowry would absorb much of the debts left by his impecunious father.”
"She is wrong for him! Mr. Darcy is too sensible to marry a superficial, scheming woman like Miss Bingley.”
Charlotte raised her eyebrows expressively.
Elizabeth stopped walking and leaned against the railing of the fence. She brushed the snow away. There was a thick line of hedgerows across the field. The air was cold and clean. A symphony of birds piped their greeting to the morning. Elizabeth tried to pull a splinter out from the railing. Before the slender bit of wood came free, it snapped in the middle.
“I am not in love with him, and I am not handsome enough to tempt him. I heard him say that at the assembly ball."
Charlotte huffed disdainfully. Elizabeth looked at her friend; Charlotte rolled her eyes. “Really?”
Elizabeth blushed. “He said it.”
“Lizzy, self-deception is not a handsome characteristic. You like each other.”
Elizabeth laughed. “I hope he does not like me, for if I believed that, I would become shy in his presence. He is very handsome. Let us speak no more on this. You are convinced nothing can come of it because of his need for money, and I am convinced there is nothing at all.”
Charlotte leaned her elbows on the fence railing. “I am not convinced nothing will come of it. It may be exceedingly imprudent, but if he falls in love, he may act against his own interests. Things appear different when a person is in love.”
Elizabeth’s heart raced at the thought: what if he did fall in love and ask her to marry him? It was irrational to feel this way so fast, but Elizabeth knew she would accept him.
*****
One day when the afternoon sun pushed away the cold, Miss Bingley convinced Darcy to take a walk about the gardens with her.
For the past days Darcy had observed her closely. He wanted her money. It was not romantic, but that was the sole reason he was tempted. Marrying a girl who, as Miss Elizabeth described her, was a perfect production of a good English girl’s school, left him cold. He needed more in a marriage.
But Miss Bingley really was not so bad. Perhaps she would be tolerable, and if he could tolerate such a marriage, he had a duty to add to the wealth of the family. Besides, he would like to be Bingley’s brother in truth.
Netherfield’s gardens were picturesque and well laid out. The two ambled around the mossy cobblestoned paths. At last Miss Bingley said, “Mr. Darcy, I know you do not think highly of me.”
Darcy made the required denial.
Miss Bingley shook her head. “You do not. You perceive my admiration for you, but I fear you believe I only show you attention because I know you to be wealthy and because I greatly admire Pemberley. Please do not deny it; you said exactly that."
“And you replied that you had a heart. I have since suspected I may have misjudged you.”
“You remind me of my father. Very much. You are a man like he was. That is why I admire you.”
“Oh.” Darcy replied cautiously. He had heard stories from Bingley about his father’s ruthlessness as a businessman and how he casually paraded his mistress in front of their mother.
“You are driven by a passion for your family’s future. You do what is necessary, and you are not frightened by difficulty. It isn’t just your wealth that makes you stand out. The gentlemen in London are house bred lapdogs while you are a confident wolf tested by cold who can hunt down whatever is necessary to feed his den.”
Miss Bingley laid her hand on Darcy’s forearm, “I do dearly hope a man such as you shall be the future parent to my children. I would know they would be cared for.”
She focused her eyes on the ground and blushed. Darcy suddenly saw that while her beauty wasn’t vividly alive in the way Elizabeth’s was, Miss Bingley was almost a handsome woman. She was not lying. She liked him for more than his fortune.
It gave him a tender feeling towards her that was mixed with a vague guilt. Darcy’s mind flinched towards Miss Elizabeth singing at Lucas Lodge.
“Do you believe me?” Miss Bingley asked. “This is not merely words; it is what truly is in my heart.”
“I believe you.”
“I worry for you. Your life was tied to caring for Georgiana. I recall how sweetly you talked to her and kept her about when we would visit Pemberley. I fear if you return home alone, it shall not be good for you. Don’t.”
Darcy knew he flinched away from returning to Pemberley for that reason. But would Miss Bingley be good company? She played and talked well, but there was an overbred shallowness about her. He did not know what it would be like to live with her for years.
He said, “You and Bingley live very well here. Life at Pemberley is more constrained. I do not spend money on clothes — or many daily comforts. I do not entertain often. If I married, I might become more sociable and spend more to please… her, but I still would set aside at least five or six thousand a year to reduce my debts.”
“I have seen how you live.”
“It will be many years before the debts are gone. Likely a decade.”
“You fear I could not be happy? Please, Fitzwilliam" — she looked at him with appealing eyes — “I would not mind.”
“You do not know how it is to live under such conditions for year upon year. It is a different life. Your friends might sneer at you for having less of clothes and carriages than they.”
Miss Bingley pressed her lips together and grimaced. But she spoke firmly, “I understand — it would not be forever. Eventually everyone would see your worth. I know it.”
Darcy looked down and pulled at his ear. Marrying her was the right, prudent, thing to do.
He simply did not know.
“I shall think on the matter. I still hesitate. I do not love you, and I always thought — “
“Do you not respect me? And we have been friends for many years. Is that not a sufficient basis for companionship? You are a practical man.”
“Mayhap you are right, but… I do not know. Not yet.”
The two parted. Miss Bingley entered the house, after giving Darcy a smile that was kindly or hungry, and he went to the stables. He needed to marry now that Georgiana was gone, so he could have an heir.
He no longer disliked Miss Bingley. There was something appealing about how she wanted him, and she was prettier than he had realized before.
Prudence and duty pointed towards her, and she would be a tolerable wife, though not who he would have chosen if there was no need for money. He really would like an additional twenty thousand pounds.
He did not need to make a final decision yet, but he should marry her. He could wait a few more weeks to see if his judgement of her character worsened in that time, but before he returned to Pemberley, he would probably offer marriage to her.
Darcy had a good ride and decided the idea of marrying Miss Bingley was pleasant. He would like a woman in his bed and managing his house. Miss Bingley was pretty enough.
Chapter 9
One cloudy day a note arrived from Bingley sisters that invited Jane to dine with them. Mrs. Bennet frowned at the note. "The gentlemen are out dining — Jane, you must go by horse as it is likely to rain. Lizzy, it is odd they did not invite you as well. I have seen how you talk so much with Miss Bingley."
The rain started heavily only minutes after Jane left, and Elizabeth frowned and fidgeted.
There was no news of Jane until the next morning when a footman from Netherfield arrived with a note written by Jane that announced she was ill. Her poor sister would be quite lonely with just the supercilious Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley for company.
“Mama,” Elizabeth announced, “I going to visit Jane.”
“I see no call for that. Jane said it is a mild illness, and if you are present you may interfere with Mr. Bingley attending on her.”
“Jane is in bed — Mr. Bingley will be unable to attend on her in any case. It would be completely improper.”
“I do not see why not. He might try, at least if you are not there to worry him.”
“Mama! I shall visit Jane. Might I have the carriage?”
“By no means. I shall call on my sister this morning and tell her the news. It is much too muddy to walk.”
Elizabeth set out towards Netherfield on foot. She knew her dress and petticoat would be a muddy mess after walking three miles over the wet roads. She did not like that Darcy would see her that way.
Elizabeth tried to be careful. She stepped around puddles; she looked to see where the heaviest amounts of mud were before walking; and she still splashed her dress and boots with mud. When Elizabeth arrived at Netherfield, breathless from the long walk, she frowned at her clothing with angry embarrassment. Darcy and, worse, Miss Bingley would see and judge. Elizabeth brushed as much of the mud as she could off of her petticoats and let down her dress to disguise what was left. She hurriedly rearranged her hair, looping back into arrangement the curls which had fallen out.
Before she knocked, Elizabeth attempted to see her distorted reflection in the bronze plate of the knocker. Ha. She must be an awful sight. Well, she could do nothing further to help it.
Elizabeth blushed but smiled when the butler allowed her into the house and led her to the drawing room. Darcy, with his affection for his sister, would not judge her harshly for paying little attention to appearances when caring for her own.
The drawing room was neatly decorated, and the large marble fireplace held a cheery blaze. Vases full of freshly cut flowers perfumed the room; there was a collection of comfortable wingback chairs and deep sofas. Netherfield was the largest house in the neighborhood, and the ceiling of the drawing room rose some twenty feet above them. The walls had a rich rosewood paneling that was varnished to a gleam.
The fineness made Elizabeth yet more aware of her dirtied appearance. She blushed and stood stiff.
Darcy immediately stood, followed a little more slowly by Bingley. Elizabeth curtsied. Darcy stared at her almost wide-eyed, and Elizabeth flushed and brushed at her hair again. He did not look away, and Elizabeth’s face went hotter.
Miss Bingley said with a sneer, “My dear Miss Eliza, did you walk this entire way?” She shook her head dismissively. “I assure you, if you had cause to worry for your sister, we would have informed you. There was no need for the trip.”
Elizabeth blushed brightly. She knew Miss Bingley despised her for her dirty condition. Being scorned was preferable to the unsettled feeling Darcy gave her. His eyes still had not turned away. Elizabeth said, “I thank you kindly for caring for my sister. Yet, I dearly wish to observe her myself.”
Miss Bingley glanced at Mr. Darcy and led Elizabeth from the room. Mr. Bingley followed them, assuring Elizabeth in a rapid tone that he was doing everything possible to care for Miss Bennet, and in fact, if Darcy had not convinced him doctors often caused more harm than benefit, he would have called for a physician from London.
Darcy watched the back of Elizabeth’s shapely figure disappear from the doorframe. He let out a gust of air and turned to the window. It was an unseasonably warm day and Elizabeth’s sweat had dampened her dress and caused it to cling around her belly and hips. She had somehow placed a smudge of mud against her cheek. Her face had been crimson, from exertion and embarrassment. Her breaths had been fast, and the pants caused her bosom to rhythmically rise and fall.
Darcy had never wanted a woman so intensely.
His body was tense, and he ached with a longing to touch her. She was upstairs. In a bedroom.
Darcy’s mouth was parched, and he could not turn around, or else Mr. and Mrs. Hurst would see the effect of his arousal.
He took in several even long breaths. Without looking at the Hursts, Darcy walked to the door and nodded his head very quickly. “It is such a fine day — I believe I shall have a ride.”
Darcy’s stallion was a reliable horse, though a little ugly. He had been born on the estate, and Darcy had trained the animal since he was young. Today Darcy galloped hard along the country roads about Netherfield, trying to push both himself and the horse to exhaustion. He galloped more than five miles past Meryton and rode through several other villages before he jumped off the horse and sat sweaty and tired next to an oak tree.
He would need to bathe before being seen by Miss Elizabeth when he returned.
After such a walk, she would remain for several hours. When she was taken to bed by a gentleman the first time, her face would take on that rosy hue again. She had brushed at her hair and face nervously, but missed the spot of mud again and again. Darcy’s stomach clenched, and his arousal returned. He saw her dimpled smile, and he imagined her pushing her lips against him while smiling so.
Darcy sucked in a long breath and slowly blew it out, the air pushing his lips outwards. He took another breath.
This was not right.
Damn this desperate infatuation. He was very partial to Elizabeth. But he could not marry her.
Her fortune was a mere thousand pounds that would only be released upon the death of her mother. Her family was vulgar and connected to trade. He did not care about that himself — he had experienced too much to ever hold the sins of a person’s family against them — but his uncle would never approve.
His duty was to Pemberley, and he needed his uncle’s support or a large additional fortune to protect it.
Miss Bingley had enough of a fortune, and she was tolerable. He was going to marry her.
He had flirted with Elizabeth.
Each time they were in company, he had wished to converse with her and make her smile. He could not do that anymore. If he did, he might give her hopes, and he would dishonor himself.
*****
Jane was delighted to see Elizabeth, and her disappointment when the time came for Elizabeth to leave forced Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley to invite Elizabeth to stay. A servant was sent to Longbourn to inform her family and collect clothes and other necessaries. When the time came for dinner, Elizabeth changed her petticoats and carefully washed her face before she went down.
She had discovered why Darcy had studied her so intensely; a spot of mud had been on her face.
Elizabeth hesitated outside of the drawing room door. She would pretend nothing had happened. It was an absurdity, and she loved such things when they happened to other people. Appearing before Darcy with a smudge of mud on her cheeks would make a delightful anecdote someday.
Elizabeth smiled and settled herself. She held her head level and opened the door. Mr. Darcy’s blue eyes immediately turned to her. Elizabeth blushed, the embarrassment returning, and looked at the other occupants of the room.
Everyone was most solicitous to know about Jane’s well-being, though Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley’s concern held more sincerity than that of Bingley’s sisters. However, after the first greetings were done, it was a quiet table.
Mr. Darcy especially was silent, and there was something reticent in his manner that kept Elizabeth from pushing her conversation towards him. She was nervous. It was Charlotte’s fault. Before she was completely unselfconscious with Darcy, but now she wondered if he admired her.
Darcy strained to keep from staring at Elizabeth and halfheartedly directed what conversation he made towards Miss Bingley. Normally, Mr. Bingley kept the party lively, but he was oppressed by concern for Jane Bennet.
Darcy realized he was infatuated. Miss Elizabeth was beautiful, sweet, and affectionate. They conversed easily, and she was his feminine ideal. This was a damned inconvenient time to have such a realization.
After the quick meal, Elizabeth claimed a need to return to Jane and left the room.
The moment the door closed, Miss Bingley said, “Miss Elizabeth is a most impertinent and forward girl. And her behavior shows the worst sort of country self-reliance and impropriety. To walk across such a distance, alone."
“I agree,” said Mrs. Hurst, “and with her sister not very sick. She should have waited for the carriage. You noted her hems, six inches deep in the mud. And her hair, so blown about by the wind.”
Miss Bingley said to Mr. Darcy, “You cannot approve of the display she made of herself."
Elizabeth’s affection for her sister was praiseworthy. He saw her entering again panting, with her hair falling about.
Bingley said, “Enough of that. Enough. They are both very pleasant and good girls. I will hear nothing against them. I noticed nothing of the sort.”
Darcy had noticed the mud on her petticoats. The memory alone aroused him. He could not have imagined that such a sight would give him such a need for a woman.
“You saw the mud, Mr. Darcy.” Miss Bingley said, “Your eye is more discerning than Charles’s. You must think a lady should keep their appearance neater than that.”
Bingley laughed. “Caroline, you will not reach Darcy that way. Not at all. You never saw him before he inherited the estate.” Bingley grinned at his friend. “I remember when I first saw you. You wore the same tail coat you’d had for four years, but now it was two inches short. Those long arms stuck out, and you appeared to be some country bumpkin who could barely afford to attend university, wearing the coat of an older brother who was much smaller.”
“Ha!” Darcy replied, “And you looked like a peacock.”
Bingley laughed. “I thought I was doing you a favor, since you looked terribly uncomfortable in that long coat — and I felt terribly uncomfortable having just joined the college the day before. Greeting you was the best thing I ever did. The best thing.”
Miss Bingley blinked and tilted her head as her eyes darted between Mr. Bingley and Darcy.
Mr. Hurst raised his wineglass and said, “Hear, hear. You may have looked the eccentric, but you were the making of my brother.”
Darcy remembered the day. Bingley’s friendly grin had not changed. “You were lanky and thin and had an obvious smell of a cit about you. But, your open friendly manner immediately set me at my ease.” Darcy smiled. “I think that year was the happiest of my life. At least until the end…”
The memory of the old family servant arriving to inform him played before Darcy’s eyes. He had been at Bingley’s apartments, and they had finished fencing and planned to go out for a show. The butler’s face had been gray and lined. He had worn a tall black top hat and a black cravat. For a terrible instant Darcy feared something had happened to Georgiana.
And then… then he found that he had still loved his father.
Bingley raised his glass and said with a soft smile, “To happy times and to sad times. And most of all to friendship.”
Chapter 10
Elizabeth worried as she sat next to Jane that night and her sister’s fever rose. She spent the next hours anxiously wetting her sister’s forehead. Happily, several hours after midnight Jane stopped tossing about and her forehead felt almost cool. Elizabeth still did not leave Jane, but without watching her sister as close, Elizabeth fell asleep in the chair next to Jane’s bedside. A housemaid sent by Bingley to inquire after Jane’s well-being woke Elizabeth in the morning.
She carefully checked her sister’s temperature again and with a chirpy smile said to the maid, “Do tell Mr. Bingley that Miss Jane is sleeping well, and the fever is almost gone. Also say Jane will be very glad to hear about his concern when she wakes.”
The maid smiled and replied that she was glad to hear that Miss Jane was well.
Once the maid left, Elizabeth stood, stretched her arms wide, rubbed her eyes, and walked to the window. It overlooked Netherfield’s lawn, and the morning was bright and cloudless. A slight breeze ruffled the plants which still had leaves. It would be as warm today as it had been yesterday.
Elizabeth stretched and enjoyed the pull on her muscles. She was sore from the manner in which she had slept. If Jane stayed well, she would take a nap herself this afternoon. A maid could sit by Jane for an hour or two while she did so.
A distant door opened and closed, and Mr. Darcy walked out onto the lawn. He was followed by a large handsome spotted dog. Elizabeth smiled as Mr. Darcy rubbed the dog’s ears and then threw a stick for the animal to fetch.
Elizabeth pulled on her pelisse and went down the stairs to speak with Mr. Darcy. She found a maid and sent her to attend on Jane and walked into the nipping air.
Darcy smiled when he saw her. “Is your sister doing well?”
“She has a slight fever, but it is low, and she is sleeping easily.”
“I am glad to hear it.” Darcy peered closely at her. “Are you not tired yourself? I was informed by a servant that you nursed her the entire night.”
Elizabeth waved her hand. “I fell asleep a little, here and there — I am well. The sun and fresh air will do me more good than a nap would.”
Darcy smiled at her. She glowed with prettiness. The purple bags below her eyes and the bloodshot look transformed her beauty into something that called up tenderness. She was a good, affectionate woman.
The dog padded up to sniff at Elizabeth, and she knelt down and scratched at his ears. Darcy grinned at the picture of her petting the curious hound. "His name is Runner. Bingley purchased him as a pup during the year in Cambridge when we first met.”
Elizabeth smiled and grabbed the stick the dog pushed into her hand. She gave it a strong underhand throw. With an eager bark Runner chased after the stick. “He is a fine animal.”
Darcy nodded silently. Elizabeth looked up at him from where she knelt and with a dimpled smile asked, “Are you always out and wandering this early?”
She was such a beautiful picture. Her neck curved swan like, and her hair was loose and disorderly. Elizabeth must know he could never marry her. She would not misinterpret their friendship.
“I am. I try to take as many tasks upon me as I can, and an early start allows me to visit more of my tenants. Besides, the world shows so much beauty in these early still hours.”
This time Runner gave Darcy the stick. He took it and threw it a fair distance out. It sailed past the dog, who grabbed it from the ground and trotted back.
Elizabeth stood and asked, “Tell me about your lands. It is clear you love them greatly.”
“It is a large estate, the land is hillier and rolling. A great deal of forest and wasteland belongs to me. It is also colder than Hertfordshire, possibly there is snow on the ground at present. My study is on the second floor and has a huge set of windows which lets me see out over the land, for miles and miles. It is beautiful, and every time I study the spectacle I remember again that it is my duty to manage and improve the family legacy.”
Elizabeth looked intently at Darcy, while they took turns absently throwing the stick for Runner. In her mind’s eye she imagined him sitting behind a sturdy desk watching over a beautiful country landscape. “What do you see from that window?”
“It overlooks the park, which has been turned into meadow for special breeding sheep and cattle. I can see in the distance three villages. The roofs were slated in my grandfather’s time, and when the park was expanded shortly after my father inherited, a village was moved, and a row of modern brick cottages were built for them.”
“That is rather less picturesque than the thatched roofs on my father’s estate.”
“Yes, but slate is more practical, if it can be afforded. You would not want to replace your roof every decade. And slate is less likely to burn.”
Elizabeth laughed. “It is important to be practical. But while improvements are a good, I mourn the impractical when it was picturesque.”
“Pemberley itself, the house, is as picturesque as can be imagined. It has a beautiful marble row of columns and a tall portico with gardens planted along the stairs. The gallery faces out from the side which you see when you come up the drive and it has a grand line of windows. I sold the hung paintings, but many of the walls had been painted directly and are still magnificent.”
“Did you need to sell a great deal?”
Darcy nodded crisply. “I sold everything which had any value. We went through each room, and I spent three months bothering everyone in the neighborhood to purchase the heavier furniture. All the paintings and wines and jewelry were carted to London and auctioned off.” He grinned. “I retired thousands from my debt that way.”
“It doesn’t bother you to have sold so much that belonged to your family?”
“Not at all. It had been foolish to spend so much collecting things while the estate rotted. I was happy to undo my father’s extravagance.”
Elizabeth smiled. “I am glad you don’t miss it. I cannot imagine living in an empty house though. I do not want near so much as my mother, but some quality furnishings and sentimental objects are necessary to a woman. And books. Do tell me you still have a good library.”
“The library is much reduced and the collectible books, early editions and such, are all sold. Does that shock you Miss Elizabeth?”
“Surely you are not so unsentimental. I could never sell a beautiful book.”
“I am sentimental. But it isn’t books I regret. Someday… if I want to repurchase the books, I shall be able to. If I want more paintings, or statues, or furniture… those are just matters of money, and someday my debts shall be gone.” Darcy’s eyes grew distant. “What hurt most was the trees. The park had many tall old oaks, and I cut them down and sold them to the Navy. They shall not return to what they were in my lifetime. Even though I received a great deal of money for the trees, had my sacrifice not supported the nation and strengthened the timber wall between us and Napoleon, I could not have — even so, I still see where they once were and —”
Elizabeth laid a hand on Darcy’s shoulder and squeezed briefly.
“My family has failed its land. I often — with Georgiana — I wonder if what she did was inevitable. It was the nature of my father to seek what he desired without attention to prudence or right. I fear myself. I fear I someday might become like him.”
“You could never behave in a reprehensible manner.”
Darcy did not reply. He absently scratched at Runner’s ears. “I do not know. I fear it. I swore when I inherited the estate I would restore it. I swore I would protect the land and never behave as my father had.”
“And you have not. I know you have not. There is no better, more prudent gentleman that I know. You are dedicated, perhaps too dedicated.” If she could resurrect his father, Elizabeth would strangle him. “You are nothing like him! Nothing! — Don’t fear that.”
“I never understood. How could he… how could he decide having five sets of twins as footmen and three carriages was more important than — so many extravagant parties. Why? What fear or foolishness drove him to nearly destroy our legacy?”
Darcy looked at Elizabeth.
She was seated on the brick wall of a raised planter. Runner pushed the stick into his hand again. Darcy took the rough bark into his hand and absently threw it. He never talked about this anxiety. Not even with Bingley.
“If I cannot understand why he behaved so, how can I be sure I shall not as well?”
“You are too good to become like that. I believe in you. Ask your friends, we see you more clearly than you see yourself. You are principled, capable, noble — Mr. Darcy, you are the best of men. Do not doubt it.”
He looked at her. The breeze riffled through her hair; it was in a messy bun and some of the locks had fallen free.
“I am not perfect. I am tempted — but, if I give in once, mayhap I shall never stop.”
“Trust yourself. You must trust yourself — you will not do wrong. You cannot.”
“Do you truly believe that?”
“I do — I do entirely.”
“Then I shall do the right thing. Even though I am not such a paragon as you claim, your words make me feel more capable.”
Her face lit up, the bright dimple in her cheek showed, and her wide grin displayed her slightly crooked white teeth.
A cold breeze kicked up and blew through them. Elizabeth shivered, still smiling. Darcy said, “It is a chilly morning. I can see that you did not sleep well. You should go inside and try to nap. You must care for yourself.”
Elizabeth smiled brilliantly. “I will.”
Darcy took her hand and kissed the top of her knuckles. He held her hand too long. Elizabeth felt his strong fingers through her glove. At last he let go. They gazed at each other for a long moment before Elizabeth fled to her room.
That afternoon Elizabeth left Jane napping easily and eagerly went down to dinner. Darcy greeted her with a smile. She and he engaged in quick conversations, and Mr. Bingley occasionally added some further words.
In the evening they sat together, and Darcy attempted to work on a letter of business, but Elizabeth interrupted him with questions about the matter he was writing upon. Miss Bingley tried to catch Darcy’s attention, but she did not do nearly so well.
As soon as Darcy saw Elizabeth, every thought but her flashing smile and lively conversation fled. Perhaps he should speak less with her, but he did not stop himself. Miss Bingley was obviously annoyed, but Darcy refused to think about that. She had no right to complain about his friendship with Elizabeth. They were not engaged; at least not yet.
Chapter 11
Caroline Bingley wished she could strangle or poison Miss Eliza.
He had been hers.
Mr. Darcy hadn’t made any promise yet, but he smiled and talked to her and let her use his Christian name without comment. He needed her dowry; he no longer disliked her; he liked the idea of being Bingley’s brother-in-law.
Caroline had at last done it.
Then she came.
She strode in like a loose whore, with her sweat drenched dress and muddy skirts. Jane Bennet probably became sick solely to allow her sister to throw herself, like the slattern she was, at Mr. Darcy.
If only the creature could be thrown out. But she couldn’t.
Caroline had been educated at a fine institution. She had two countesses among her acquaintances; her dowry was twenty thousand pounds. She would not lose. Her father never lost. He would do anything to win.
At first Caroline decided she would destroy Miss Eliza. Her plan was to pay a footman to hide in Miss Eliza’s chamber and run out of it naked in the middle of the night. That would destroy Darcy’s admiration for her wild antics.
It would not even be wrong; no doubt Miss Eliza allowed handsome servants to entertain her in secret. A girl who would walk across three miles of mud to display herself to a gentleman would not hesitate at any immorality.
Caroline went so far as to start a conversation with one of the footmen. She would suggest the plan to him if she decided she could trust the man
After three minutes Caroline decided she couldn’t.
It was too risky. The servant would be caught and punished horribly, and he would say it was her fault, and Mr. Darcy would believe him. Besides a low person like that would be too frightened to attack a gentlewoman.
No, Caroline needed a different plan.
Her first plan had been inspired by how her father paid a Luddite leader to destroy a rival’s machines. Her next was inspired by how he had agreed with a different rival that they would not compete so both could sell their wares at far higher prices.
She had never really disliked Miss Eliza.
Because Caroline had expected to destroy Eliza’s reputation, Eliza had five days to flirt with Mr. Darcy before Caroline executed her new scheme. By this time Miss Bennet had recovered far enough that the Bennet sisters planned to leave the next day.
Miss Bennet sat in the drawing room, and she had all of Mr. Bingley’s attention. After she got rid of Eliza, Caroline would need to end that relationship as well.
Like always Darcy and Elizabeth perched on their seats and leaned towards each other. They were talking again. They always talked, and Mr. Darcy always smiled at her. Eliza used those bold pretty eyes to keep his attention.
“Miss Eliza,” Caroline’s heart beat fast as she spoke over her rival’s flirting. She had never done anything like this before. “I wish to discuss something with you.” Caroline smiled uncertainly at Mr. Darcy and her brother. “Surely you would not mind if us ladies abandoned you for a few minutes.”
Darcy looked intrigued, and Eliza shrugged and stood.
The two left the drawing room, and Caroline led Eliza around the corner to make sure their voices could not carry through the door.
Eliza smirked impertinently. “I had no notion we were in each other’s confidence. Whatever do you wish to speak about?”
She had planned to carefully talk around the subject before suggesting her bribe to Miss Eliza. However, with her arm almost trembling from sudden tension, Caroline exclaimed, “Your flirting is useless! He will not marry you. He cannot afford to. Why are you uselessly wrecking my position?”
“I have no idea what you mean. I have not been flirting.”
Caroline sneered and Eliza blushed.
“You only ruin my hopes, for you have none. It doesn’t matter how you bat your eyes and tease him. He shall never marry you. His duty to his land and family legacy matters more to him than you ever shall.”
Eliza blanched, but then she said, “He has little liking for you. I do not think he likes me either, but he certainly has no desire to marry you.”
“Do not be coy. You’ve employed every sly, alluring trick you could find to attach him. You know your success. If you cease to encourage him to look elsewhere, he will marry me. Mr. Darcy is desperate to replenish his funds. Marriage to me would help him. Before you came here with the pretense of nursing your sister, I’d had him.”
Eliza rolled her eyes. “Really? I doubt that. Mr. Darcy is not foolish enough to tie himself to the likes of you.”
Caroline ground her teeth. Under her anger her stomach churned with worry that Eliza was right. “I shall offer you a deal. If you immediately absent yourself from Hertfordshire — visit that aunt and uncle in Cheapside you are so fond of — I shall give you five hundred pounds.”
Eliza drew back with a repulsed expression.
“It benefits us both. He shall not marry you, so if you insist on pursuing him, you will gain nothing. I am being fair. Do you think you deserve more money? I can pay you seven hundred… No? Nine hundred? I will pay you a thousand — that would double your dowry. Surely you do not wish to blackmail me for more. I can give you a hundred in banknotes tonight and the remainder as a draft against my bank.”
Eliza replied with a frozen voice. “I am not for sale.”
Without any other word, Eliza walked down the hall and went up the stairs to return to her rooms.
Caroline stared after her, trembling again with unreleased anger and tension. That horrid, slatternly creature. Caroline pounded her hand hard against the paneled wood of the wall. Her hand stung, and the wood cracked.
It was impossible to calm herself. What had gone wrong? Was Eliza so sure she could attach Mr. Darcy that she wasn’t concerned about the money? Was she right?
Maybe she should still get a footman to hide in Eliza’s room. It would need to be done tonight. But that would mean facing another person and exposing herself. She didn’t want to do that.
But this time it would just be a servant.
Caroline turned around and walked back towards the drawing room. When she crossed the corner of the hall, Darcy stood with a grave expression. Caroline startled and jumped an inch. Her hands trembled. “Why, Mr. Darcy” — her voice shook — “did you hope to see me?”
He didn’t say anything. Caroline smiled submissively.
At last Darcy spoke. “I heard enough.”
He turned around and walked back to the drawing room.
*****
Darcy sat back down in his armchair and stared at the book on the side table. He had pretended to read it while actually talking to Elizabeth. Bingley’s attention was completely on Jane, and Mr. Hurst sat at the card table with a half full decanter of port while he played a game of patience. Mrs. Hurst toyed with her bracelets.
“Hurst, you do not mind if I join you?” Darcy spoke as he pulled a wooden chair to the card table and poured himself an overfull glass of port.
“Not at all. Do you fancy a game of piquet?”
Darcy did not want to think more than he needed to. The liberated feeling he’d felt when he first heard Miss Bingley’s attempt to bribe Elizabeth had already turned to depression. He needed her dowry to ensure the safety of Pemberley. He despised the prospect, but he would not flinch away from duty.
He could never marry Elizabeth, no matter how ardent his feelings.
“I would very much like the distraction.”
Darcy drew the lower card and dealt. He did an awful job at the game, unable to concentrate. Miss Bingley reentered the room and walked up to stand behind Darcy and lean on his chair. He never should have thought she had the slightest good quality.
Where was Elizabeth? What was she thinking?
He could not marry her.
Darcy ignored Miss Bingley and pretended she wasn’t there when she attempted to speak to him. He quickly finished his first glass of port and poured another. And then another.
Did his duty demand he marry Miss Bingley?
Darcy finished the decanter of port and rang for a servant to refill it. He lost several games to Mr. Hurst. At last Elizabeth reentered the room. She blushed at his wild gaze and hurried her sister up, saying it was time for them to head to bed.
The party broke up. Miss Bingley laid her hand on Darcy’s arm, and he pushed it away. He was too drunk to inhibit his disgusted response. The alcohol gave him a loose out of control feeling, as though he could do anything.
The Hursts and Caroline left, but Bingley laid his hand on Darcy’s shoulder. “You do not look well. What has bothered you tonight? Is it some matter about Georgiana?”
“In a way.”
He would never have been able to marry Elizabeth. There was no difference between throwing away a resource worth tens of thousands of pounds — his ability to marry a wealthy girl — and spending that much. He would be like his father if he married a penniless girl to please himself.
He couldn’t. No, no, no.
But if Georgiana had not fled, he would not need to marry Miss Bingley. Did he need to marry her?
Twenty thousand pounds. He wouldn’t be like Father and throw money away to please himself.
Bingley pushed Darcy back into his seat and poured himself and Darcy another glass of port. “Well there’s no use mulling it over alone. Tell me what is bothering you.”
Darcy shook his head. He couldn’t tell Bingley about his uncertainty and what he’d heard Bingley’s sister attempt.
“Now, Darcy, you must share something.”
“I am worried. Mr. Wickham — Georgiana shall be so unhappy and eventually impoverished."
“It is awful. A miserable situation — Georgie is a sweet girl, and she was too young to understand what a poor decision this shall be.”
“Are you not supposed to say something comforting about how it shall work out?”
“That would not comfort you.”
"By Jove, I hate this. Thirty thousand more pounds, I must act differently."
Bingley refilled Darcy’s glass and drained his own.
“I have no choice. An endless corridor of unpleasant mornings and evenings stretches before me. I shall hate it. I will be even lonelier than ever before — but I must!" Darcy pounded his fist against the card table. The stacked deck jumped an inch and fell back onto the table in disarray.
Bingley laughed. “I am damned glad I was holding my cup. Now don’t do anything insane. Besides things are not so bad. It is just money. You don’t need to be so lonely, you could marry. I’m thinking of marrying myself.”
“You think I should marry?”
“You’d be less miserable. If you don’t want to live the way you always have, then don’t. Listen: I do not tell you to be extravagant, but we both know you could spend far more than you have without being imprudent. I am in no hurry to be paid back — if that endless corridor of mornings bothers you so, you should set aside only a third of your income to reduce your debts instead of two thirds.”
“That is the seductive voice my father used. If I flinch from my duty once, no matter how disgusting and unpleasant and vile the task, I might never stick to it again.”
Bingley drained his glass. “What are you considering? By Jove, don’t tear down the great house and sell if for raw materials. It can’t be worth enough. You should rent the manor and live in a cottage on your estate if you are that desperate for a bit more speed in reducing your debts.”
Darcy laughed with an edge of hysteria in his voice. He was glad Bingley didn’t know what he was considering or that he had just described Bingley’s sister as disgusting and vile.
Bingley laughed along with Darcy. The two lapsed into a companionable silence.
Darcy refilled his glass and drank more. He was too befuddled by the alcohol to feel miserable about marrying Miss Bingley. Even though Darcy knew he had already drunk too much, each time he told himself to stop, the impulsive desire for more overrode it.
After all, he was going to marry a woman he despised.
Bingley began to snore.
Darcy stood so he could wake Bingley up. He shook him considerably harder than he meant to because his hands were unsteady.
“Ouch.” Bingley blinked at Darcy. “I shouldn’t have fallen asleep on you, but you could’ve been gentler.”
“Bingley, go to bed.”
“No. You need the company. You are melancholy — eventually you’ll admit what is bothering you and then you shall feel better.”
“I assure you I will not. I need to be alone on this matter — you cannot help me. Besides, you will fall asleep again in ten minutes’ time.”
In the end Darcy half dragged Bingley out of the room and pushed him up the stairs. Darcy left the drawing room and stumbled into Bingley’s sparse library. The air was cold, but the fire had been banked so Darcy could easily feed it back into a roar. There was a self-conscious deliberation to Darcy’s movements as he stirred the fire up and added wood to it. It was stupid to manage a fire while as intoxicated as he was.
When the fire was cheerfully blazing Darcy tossed an additional log in for good measure and dizzily dropped himself into an armchair.
Damn, damn, damn.
He would keep a hawk’s eye on every behavior of Miss Bingley after they married. He could never trust her to not try to cheat and steal and destroy his efforts.
Maybe it would be foolish to marry her.
Maybe the self-indulgent part of his mind which didn’t give a tuppence about duty and right and which was just like his father should silence itself. He had decided to marry her. It would be irresponsible to throw away her dowry. He would marry her.
The room spun round Darcy.
He was becoming drunker even though he had stopped drinking a half hour ago. His stomach heaved, and when Darcy brushed his hand along his cheeks he could barely feel anything. Darcy closed his eyes and took deep breaths.
Soft footsteps sounded in the hallway and the handle of the library door was rattled from the outside.
Dear Lord, please don’t let it be Miss Bingley.
The door opened. For a brief moment Darcy saw Elizabeth Bennet’s rounded cheeks and dark eyebrows shadowed by the yellow light of her candle. She gave a small shriek of surprise and jostled her candle, putting it out.
“Mr. Darcy, you startled me!” She laughed warmly.
Darcy fumbled his way up and stood, leaning heavily on the arm rest of his chair. The light from the fire danced in small circles leaving a blurred image. Elizabeth was a dim shape barely visible in the gloom of the hallway. Darcy tried to behave as soberly as he could. He took a careful step away from the chair and waved exaggeratedly to ask her to enter. “Please, Miss Elizabeth, I cannot see you in that light.”
Elizabeth knew it was improper to join him at this hour, and from his manner she saw he was quite deep in his cups. She could not resist the temptation. Elizabeth blushed with embarrassment and looked away from Darcy as she stepped into the room. Her flannel nightgown and heavy blue woolen robe were not precisely immodest, but she shouldn’t converse with Darcy dressed this way.
She made an amused face and displayed a red cheeked smile. She would not let him intimidate her, though he were in his coat and tails, with that very white cravat, and she in her nightclothes.
His intense stare, the way he focused on her, unnerved Elizabeth. She felt flushed and warm all over. This was most improper. It was the most daring thing she had ever done. And he was not sober.
She’d realized after Miss Bingley tried to bribe her to leave that she half loved Mr. Darcy. He was clever and passionate and kind. Perhaps it was hopeless, after all he had only found her person tolerable, but now they were good friends. There must be some possibility he could come to love her.
When Elizabeth stepped closer and smiled, Darcy knew he had never seen anything so beautiful as Elizabeth. Her brown hair was let out in a braid, the fire glinted off her pretty eyes, and her blue robe clung around her so the curve of her bosom stood out. Darcy’s mouth was parched. His wine befuddled brain desired to reach out and brush his hand along the curve of her hip and stomach.
Elizabeth’s mouth was slightly open, and her wide eyes locked on him. She appeared to be caught in a hypnosis. Darcy knew too much of his mood appeared in his manner. He ought to send her away and go to bed himself.
She spoke in a breathy whisper, “I could not sleep; I wanted for a book to distract myself.”
Darcy made no reply, and his eyes hung on her, as though he wished to permanently imprint her face and form into his brain. Was this a gaze of admiration? Elizabeth hoped her desire for him was shared.
Drawn, as though Darcy was a magnet and she iron, Elizabeth helplessly shuffled her feet in tiny steps closer to Darcy. His white forehead gleamed in the flickering light, and his intense blue eyes pierced her. Jittery jolts wrapped around her body.
“You’re beautiful. The most beautiful…”
At Darcy’s words everything became more intense. Elizabeth could feel everything; her mouth was dry; she watched and waited with a desperate intensity, concentrating on every sensation. Darcy stepped forward till he was very close to her. He raised his hand. He moved it slowly, so very slowly. Every nerve was tense with anticipation; he barely stroked his finger along her cheek.
Elizabeth leaned towards Darcy pushing her face against his hand. Mesmerized by the tender look in his eyes, she hoped this moment would never end. Darcy appeared entranced; his touch sent tingles through Elizabeth’s body; a pleasant yet unnameable sensation tightened in her stomach and lower.
The moment possessed a dreamlike intensity for Darcy; Elizabeth did not move but her lips parted, and she panted swiftly. His finger continued to stroke the impossibly soft silk of her skin, and his heart thudded in his breast. Darcy gazed into her eyes. He saw permission in them.
He needed more.
Darcy cupped her cheek with his hand and stepped close to lay his lips on hers.
Butterflies fluttered through Elizabeth’s body. She tasted port and something peculiarly like Darcy on his lips. In her stomach a bird hopelessly flapped trying to escape. She floated, and she felt impossibly heavy. They stepped so close together that her breasts and stomach rubbed against his clothes. Darcy’s hand kept her head in place, and Elizabeth’s eyes closed as she gave herself up to the sensation.
The taste of alcohol on his breath brought Elizabeth to her senses. Darcy was not himself. She was behaving in a shocking and immoral manner. She would sin if she continued. She wanted to stay against him like this forever. It hurt in her chest, as though something had been torn, when Elizabeth pushed herself away from Darcy and stumbled back.
Her cheeks were red; Elizabeth placed her palms against them and exclaimed, “This has been — that was —” Elizabeth’s voice choked — it had been too beautiful for words. He did not say anything. It had been the most intensely beautiful moment of her life. “I must go."
She walked backwards, unable to look away from where he stood. He still held the hand which had cupped her cheek in the air. His lips were pale red. The sight of them hypnotized her. His eyes followed her. Elizabeth’s hands ached to run through his wild hair, and she desired to press his lips against hers again, this time harder. She saw how a well-meaning girl could abandon morality and give herself over to a man.
She had reached the door when Darcy cried out, “Wait, Elizabeth.” The desperate emotion in Darcy’s voice stopped Elizabeth. She had moved so slowly because she hoped he would speak.
“I should not have kissed you. I know. I know. But I feel profounder melancholy than I have ever before; your presence — Elizabeth, your presence — I beg you: stay, talk with me a little.”
Darcy’s thoughts were muddled, and he was terrified she would leave him to himself. She froze, her delicate features fixed on him, the belt of her robe was tied around her waist. Her figure was a slender hourglass. At last she nodded, her brown hair waving around her small head.
Elizabeth walked back into the room but kept a sofa between them. “You are overwrought and shall remember when sober that you dislike my person.” Elizabeth laid her tiny fine boned hand on the top of the sofa between them. Her expressive eyes never left his face.
The alcohol overcame Darcy’s natural reticence. “Dislike your person? Nay, never — never say that! You are the most beautiful, and lovely, and adorable creature my eyes have ever laid eyes upon. It is not merely your beauty, your voice sings to me — like Odysseus I am lashed to a mast, and I struggle desperately to escape, so I can run to your presence and listen to your laughter and voice forever more. But, alas, the ropes which I asked to be bound with are too tight. That happiness, never shall it be mine.”
Despite how her heart thudded from their kiss and the way the dancing hollow feeling in her stomach grew at his impassioned words, Elizabeth giggled and smiled with arch amusement at Darcy’s speech. “Why, I had no idea you had such words in you. You do have skill at poetry, but the bottle is required for it to show. In vino poetas.”
Elizabeth’s smile caused bright explosions in Darcy’s brain. “Nay — it is not the wine, but your fond presence. It is your beauty which authors my intoxication. It was you — you, Elizabeth — who the Bard spoke of when he said ‘if I could write the beauty of your eyes, and in fresh numbers number all your graces, the age to come would say ’this poet lies; such heavenly touches ne’er touched earthly faces.’ — You smile, Elizabeth, but it is true.”
“I thought you did not like my appearance. I had reason to believe, you found me ‘merely tolerable’.”
“I apologized for that! I said I did not mean it.”
The contrast between Darcy’s flights of fancy and the sudden boyish frustration on his face made Elizabeth laugh. “You had been caught and knew it. It would’ve been quite boorish not to apologize. I discounted every kind word you said about my appearance then.”
Darcy stepped next to the couch Elizabeth hid behind. She did not back away. He laid his hand on hers. “Do not discount this: Elizabeth, you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen — your face and smile — that pretty delightful arch smile, that twist in your lips where you pull the right a little higher, and it creates a dimple below those freckles on your cheek. That smile has haunted me since first I saw it.”
Elizabeth barely breathed. “Why then did you say I was tolerable but not handsome?”
Darcy flushed with shame. “I had hardly seen you and was ill tempered that evening. It was abominable of me. Those words hurt you. I am often foolishly backward in company. Yet, believe me, since first you smiled at me, I have been most tempted and bewitched by you.”
Elizabeth gripped the sofa between them, glad for its barrier. Darcy’s hand still covered hers. She panted and moistened her lips. She felt a swell of happiness work its way into a broad smile. “Why, Mr. Darcy, I always believed poetry to be the enemy of love, but I do think I like you when you speak in this manner.”
At Elizabeth’s words and smile, Darcy knew the situation had careened out of control.
He had never held the reins of his own emotions.
Darcy covered his eyes and groaned. “No, truly I am drunk, and you ought not take seriously anything I say. For on the morrow, I must ask Miss Bingley to marry me.”
Elizabeth felt kicked. Her hand ached to be covered by his again. Miss Bingley’s insults returned to Elizabeth’s mind. He was rejecting her again, like he had the first night. Tears swam in Elizabeth’s eyes, and she looked away from Darcy to brush them away furiously.
Elizabeth cried out, “How dare you! How dare you kiss me and then make love to me with your words and eyes when you intend to marry another. You have not acted the gentleman.”
Darcy removed the arm which covered his face. The pain in his eyes made it impossible for Elizabeth to rage at him. “I have not — I know. I ought never drink again. I have behaved most wrongly towards you — I wish I never touched you, never looked at you, never — Elizabeth, I have no choice. I must. I must marry Miss Bingley.”
“Why? You care not a fig for her! I cannot believe you are a man who cares for nothing but the wealth a girl might bring you.”
“I have no choice — the debts attached to my family home and name must be paid. I have been burdened all my life by my father’s extravagance, and now my sister’s elopement has forced me to borrow thirty thousand more. Do not think I dress this way out of preference; do not think I travel between London in Derbyshire by post out of preference; do not think I ever would have borrowed from my friend Bingley had I any choice. But I owe some ninety thousand pounds and cannot ignore any path to reduce that debt.”
Ninety thousand pounds!
She had always heard his debts were vast. Ninety thousand seemed an unimaginably vast and endless sum to Elizabeth. Her knees went weak, and she stumbled around to sit heavily on the couch. She couldn’t even tell him again to ignore his debts. It was too great a sum. Everything he spoke had always been about duty.
Darcy backed away, now it was he who kept the distance.
“Oh.”
Darcy wobbled into the armchair across from her. Elizabeth made a piteous whine, and she looked at him with heavy eyes.
Darcy waved his hand in a large circle. “So you see — you see my situation. There is no choice, I have no choice. I must marry for a large dowry.”
Elizabeth began to cry. Darcy’s stomach clenched, and he longed to reach out his hands and comfort her. But he had sobered enough to know that would be terribly stupid. Darcy gripped his armchair and kept still.
Elizabeth hurt because of his fate. The enormity of Darcy’s debt erased Elizabeth’s resentment. He was the best man she knew, and his life was irretrievably ruined by the misbehavior of his closest relations. He only wished to be a good gentleman. He only wished to meet obligations he had no part in creating.
She cried. He would marry Miss Bingley. There was no sense of jealousy, just unhappiness. Darcy would be unhappy with that horrid woman. She saw it every day in her own father’s marriage. A marriage between two whose minds were so different was doomed to misery.
“You can’t marry her! She shall drive you to distraction. She is not right for you. She understands nothing of your mind or of your soul. I can see your heart — your soul. She is vicious and immoral. She offered to pay me a thousand pounds if I left Hertfordshire to avoid you.”
“I know. I heard her. I know I shall be unhappy. That matters not. I do not seek my own happiness; it is not my place to do so. My duty towards my family and the future demands I do not act to please myself.”
“Then be prudent. Your present encumbrances might be relieved, but you cannot trust her. Whatever she says now, she would spend and spend. Your duty does not point towards her. Any woman would be delighted if you showed them attention. Even though — I understand. Ninety thousand pounds. You cannot marry me, but you can find some woman besides Caroline Bingley with money enough.”
Darcy blinked at Elizabeth, suddenly unsure. Her words always made sense to him, but he was not sure if it was infatuation or wisdom. He did not want to seize an excuse to avoid his duty.
“Mr. Darcy — your heir, the boy who shall carry on that family legacy. Caroline Bingley would be no fit mother for him.”
"Mayhap you are right.”
“Promise me. Make a promise not to marry her.”
“I promise I shall think on it. I am not such a fool as to make decisions of great import when befuddled by wine and, and — you." Darcy gave her a meaningful stare. Elizabeth blushed to the roots of her hair. Her entire body became warm again.
Darcy watched her; she was red cheeked and beautiful. He longed to again touch her, to pull her tight against him and kiss her. He felt the light headed elation her body would give.
She licked her lips and leaned towards him. Her robe fell open revealing the line of her bosom encased by her thin nightgown. Darcy was frightened he would kiss Elizabeth and perhaps not stop. She was so beautiful. He forced himself to stand and break the spell. “Elizabeth, we must part. I must leave. If someone were to see us together in this manner…”
She nodded. “We must.” Neither of them moved.
Darcy seized and squeezed Elizabeth’s hand. Then he forced himself to walk to the door and leave.
Chapter 12
Elizabeth rolled back and forth in bed. Memories of Darcy’s kiss and thoughts of his debt haunted her fitful dreams. She barely fell asleep after more than an hour, and it seemed as if no time had passed when the maid knocked on her door and woke Elizabeth.
She dressed and met Jane in the hallway. Jane was still wan and slow from her illness, but she appeared far more alert than Elizabeth felt. Elizabeth stumbled bleary eyed down the stairs to the breakfast room. The halls, windows, and rooms seemed changed. As though everything had been removed and replaced with almost identical furniture the night before.
Life was separated into before last night and after. The latticework in the windows was painted white. She had never noticed. The intricate details of the carving in the marble mantelpiece were delicate and beautiful. The food had a rich buttery aroma.
Bingley entered the room a few minutes after them. His clothes were trim and fit tightly about his arms and torso. He was not only a handsome object but also a moving man whose arms could hold and be held. What would Jane feel if she kissed Bingley?
Where was Darcy? He should at least see her off. He was always up early. Where was he?
Bingley grinned and sat with an open posture next to Jane, and he engaged her in conversation. Jane ate with an appetite and did not notice how deeply unsettled Elizabeth was. Bingley’s voice was pleading and friendly as he said, “Miss Bennet, you do still look a little unwell — though you are as beautiful as ever — would it not be better if you stayed a few days longer to be sure you are recovered? Please do say you shall stay at least until Tuesday."
Jane smiled at Bingley but resolutely shook her head. “Much as I dearly wish to enjoy your hospitality, I feel too well for such a pretense.”
“Yes, but sometimes people become sicker again — only a little sicker, in your case, of course. Enough that it would be best if we sat together and talked all afternoon again, but not so much that you actually feel poorly.”
Miss Bingley chirpily engaged Elizabeth in conversation. Her voice and smile became brighter as Elizabeth played with her food and refused to reply.
Elizabeth loathed her: the orange fabric of her dress, the pretty line of her nose, the pitch of her voice. Everything about Caroline Bingley was disgusting.
Where was Darcy?
Damn him. He kissed her, and now he hid from her.
Elizabeth viciously cut at a roll, leaving shredded breadcrumbs on the plate. She slathered the warm bread with butter and forced a large bite down her throat. The food did not settle the unpleasant pulsing in her stomach.
“Lizzy? Are you well?”
Jane’s large blue eyes peered at her with concern. Elizabeth replied with her sweetest, most Jane-like smile, “I am entirely well. Only I am so very eager to see our home again.”
Jane winced and frowned. “Truly, are you well?”
Not allowing the fake smile to waver, Elizabeth said, “I am very well. Can you not see that I am happy?”
Miss Bingley said with her brightest voice, “You do look very well, Miss Elizabeth. I’ve never seen you looking so well.”
Her eyes appeared vicious and rat like. She was an eager clawing creature. Mr. Darcy would not, could not. Even if he must marry money, he should find any other woman. Not her.
The blasted rake had kissed her and planned to hide in his room till she left. Maybe he deserved to marry Miss Bingley.
He had been so unhappy. His eyes had been helpless when he talked about his debts and Miss Bingley. His angular jaw framed by the flickering firelight. His lips pressed against hers. Her drawing her hand through his hair briefly. The silky feel.
Jane asked Mr. Bingley, “Where is Mr. Darcy? He is usually up long before breakfast. I hope he is well.”
Elizabeth focused on Bingley’s response.
“I told his man not to wake him. We were up late together and he" — Bingley blushed and waved his hand side to side — “he is unhappy about his sister. It… it can do a man well to drink with a friend — on occasion. He stayed awake later than I, and when I dozed off, he forced me to my chambers.”
Elizabeth blushed, imagining walking into the library with both of them there while in her nightgown and robe.
Bingley finished, “He will be most distressed that he has missed your parting. Perhaps, Miss Bennet, if you were to stay a few hours further, you could take leave from him properly.”
Elizabeth frowned at herself. She had been foolish to assume Darcy was not at breakfast because he wished to avoid her. He was no coward.
Jane looked at her, with a question in her glance. Elizabeth felt anxious. She shook her head to indicate they would leave as planned. She would not throw herself into Darcy’s way. If he wished to speak to her, he could seek her out himself. She would not act like a lovesick girl.
Elizabeth spent the next half-hour alternatively hoping for a sight of Darcy and dreading one. There was none. As soon as the carriage had turned round the corner, and they no longer saw Netherfield, Jane said, “Lizzy, what is the matter? What happened between you and Mr. Darcy?”
“Nothing is the matter.”
“Elizabeth. We both know that is not true.”
He liked her enough to kiss her, enough to make her fall in love with him, but he still rejected her.
Would he marry Miss Bingley?
He owed ninety thousand. How would he ever pay such a vast sum? Even marrying Miss Bingley would leave him with a vast encumbrance.
Oh, nothing was right, and she wanted to cry. She couldn’t tell Jane about the kiss. Not when she wanted it to happen again and again and again. Not when it was so intimate.
“Please, tell me what is the matter. Did he do something to you? I can see you deeply like Mr. Darcy. Did Miss Bingley say something to you when you left the room last night? She is my friend, but you are rivals, that is clear.”
“Jane, I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t. I don’t. I don’t. No matter how many times you ask me, I am fine. When we return home, I beg you, do not let Mama see I am unhappy.”
*****
Darcy woke and looked out his window. The sun was far up in the sky. He felt sick and clutched his head.
Elizabeth must be gone. The Bennet sisters had planned to leave early in the morning. She would think he had avoided her on purpose. Why had Judson not awoken him?
Darcy rang for his valet to come. The instant the man entered the room Darcy shouted, "Why was I not woken? Well? You know I expect to be waken promptly at seven if I’ve not roused myself.”
The valet was only a year or two older than Darcy himself, but despite being young he managed a mien of stiff dignity as well as his master did. “Mr. Bingley, sir. He caught me before I entered your room, and requested I let you sleep as you had been up late together the night before.”
“I am your employer. Not Bingley.”
"Yes, sir.” Judson gave Darcy a certain look which combined proper deference with judgment.
Darcy sighed. Of course Judson would leave him to sleep if he thought it was best and had not received explicit instructions to wake him. His valet had been the only servant Darcy kept at Cambridge. They had been together for many years, and Judson was devoted to his interests.
“Are the Miss Bennets gone?”
“They left immediately after breakfast, sir.”
Darcy grimaced. He had made a mess of things. It was obvious, now that Elizabeth had pointed it out to him, that Miss Bingley was not the only wealthy girl in England he might convince to marry him. It was his duty to marry an heiress but not her.
His uncle would help him find a suitable girl.
Elizabeth. She had saved him from a terrible mistake. He loved her; he wanted to marry her.
He must leave the neighborhood.
It would hurt, like ripping a barbed arrow out of flesh. He didn’t want to see Elizabeth again and face the scorn or affection that would be in her eyes. He had to leave, and it would be easiest now.
Why had he kissed her?
Darcy felt her soft lips again. Her body pressed against his. The skin of her cheeks. Just the memory brought euphoria.
He had never before lost control of himself the way he did the previous night. He must apologize to Elizabeth. It would be wrong to leave the neighborhood without saying something to her. He also needed to have an uncomfortable conversation with Bingley about his sister.
He had gone horribly wrong somewhere.
When had he become this person? He decided to marry the sister of his best friend, only to abandon her at the last hour before making an offer. He kissed the most perfect woman in the world, toying with her feelings, when he could make no honorable offer to her. He might destroy his closest friendship.
A point pulsated in the front of his head as Darcy stumbled down the stairs.
He would never drink again.
A covered container of eggs and bacon had been kept warm on the stove for him. Darcy piled food onto a plate and set about quickly eating. His stomach settled with the food, and the headache receded.
He disgusted himself.
Bingley entered the room, noted Darcy’s expression, and chirpily asked, “Headache?”
Darcy frowned. He forked the last of the eggs into his mouth and quickly chewed and swallowed them. “Bingley do you have your fencing equipment? I left mine in Pemberley as I had not expected to stay long in London."
Bingley grinned. "Exercise to recover from a night of dissipation. Capital idea. I shall not go soft on you."
For the first rounds, Darcy was sluggish. Soon he beat his friend handily. The equipment was not expensive, and it was fine exercise. Darcy’s steward was also skilled in the sport, and this allowed Darcy to keep in practice.
Strike. Blow.
The rapid movement and need to focus cleared Darcy’s headache. He felt a deep shame over his behavior towards Elizabeth.
A seductive whisper breathed through his mind: You should marry Elizabeth. You’ll never find another so perfect, so beautiful, so wise.
He could not; he would not. He was not his father.
He had hurt Elizabeth with his abominable behavior. It would be honorable to make her an offer of marriage.
He had rather be a disgrace than make a decision contrary to his character.
Darcy struck Bingley hard.
“A point. You win the round.” Bingley laughed. "That bruised."
“You ought to have defended yourself better.”
Bingley grinned. “You are in quite a temper this morning. Has the fencing helped your headache? Is your stomach settled? Let me strike you. I’m sure I can unsettle it again.”
Darcy laughed and laid the sword aside on a chair. “I am better; the exercise was beneficial."
“Excellent. Pray tell, what bothers you.”
Darcy frowned and shook his head. Bingley waved his fencing piece in Darcy’s face. “I shall not let you leave the room until you tell me. You’ve thrown down your sword; I have mine.”
Darcy sighed and settled into a wicker chair against the wall. “I need to leave."
Bingley’s face fell. “Must you? So soon — and…” Bingley looked away and shrugged. “I thought you wished to keep company with one of the local ladies."
"What!"
Bingley rolled his eyes. "You cannot imagine I have been so lost in the charms of my own Miss Bennet that I missed your longing stares and clever arguments with Miss Elizabeth.”
Darcy tilted his head up and closed his eyes. He rubbed his palm over his forehead. “Has everyone seen this?”
“Blast it, Darcy — don’t walk away. You like that girl; I daresay, she likes you. Your minds work similarly — she would be the making of your happiness. You are too morose, and with… without Georgiana, you need regular company. For once you should take my advice: marry her.”
Darcy did not say anything
“Please, don’t let me see you make such a mistake. You won’t find another woman who fits you so well. Not with your habits."
"Damn you. I know I would be very happy with Elizabeth. Don’t make me feel it more.” Darcy’s chest was empty and hollow. “It would be contrary to every good sense. Nothing but the rankest selfishness would lead me to marry a penniless girl while my debts are so large. I will not act so. There is some girl with twenty or thirty thousand pounds who I can like quite as much as I do Miss Elizabeth."
Bingley put his own sword down and sat next to Darcy. They were both silent. At last Bingley said, “So, that is how it is to be."
“I am afraid so."
"I never thought you’d be a damned fool.”
Darcy shrugged. Bingley was in a happier position. Would he marry Elizabeth’s sister? Even though she was penniless, hopefully Miss Bennet and Bingley would make a match of it and be happy. Darcy sighed. What was Bingley going to say when he explained about Miss Bingley?
Bingley suddenly grinned. “I demand you stay at least another week. I planned my ball with the expectation you would be there. It would not be the same without having a tall man to stand about the edges of the room. Since your only reason to leave so quick is a desperate need to prove yourself a fool, I expect you to be here.”
Darcy looked sideways at his friend. “You hope another opportunity to dance with Miss Elizabeth might change my mind?"
Bingley shrugged and his eyes twinkled. “It would not bother me. However, I suppose it unlikely. No matter — I want your company for as long as possible."
He should not stay. He had kissed Elizabeth. If he did not plan to marry her, he should not taunt her with his presence. He should not tempt himself. Darcy opened his mouth to say he would leave the day after tomorrow. There was a leaden weight in his stomach at the thought of so quickly leaving Elizabeth’s presence.
Darcy said, “I would miss your company as well. Another two weeks can do no harm. But I shall leave after the ball."
Bingley brightened. "Excellent — it shall be a fine, fine ball.”
“Bingley, your sister… Miss Bingley."
Bingley gave Darcy his full attention.
Darcy felt exquisitely uncomfortable. He had never behaved wrongly like this before. Nausea rose again as he hesitatingly said, “I may have given Miss Bingley some reason to expect an offer from me. However, I… I overheard a conversation between her and Miss Elizabeth. Your sister showed an appalling lack of character — I cannot marry her. It is dishonorable to back away after I gave her so much reason to expect an offer, but I must."
Bingley made a startled exclamation. “Don’t be absurd. You and Caroline. No. No one could think it.”
Darcy looked at him.
“Good God.” Bingley’s eyes popped in horror. “You planned to do it. You actually — good God. I can scarce believe it."
Bingley stared agog, and then he slumped and buried his face in his hands. Even if it would destroy his dearest friendship, Darcy could not marry Miss Bingley. It was some time before Bingley spoke, and his words surprised Darcy, “I’ve failed you as a friend.”
“How can you say that? You have always been the best of friends.”
“I hardly paid attention to you on this visit. That is clear. I had not realized you had been affected so deeply by Georgiana and by the loss of money. And I’d not realized you were so threatened by my sister’s machinations. If I had, I would — oh, I don’t know — gotten drunk with you more often."
Awkwardly Darcy touched his friend’s shoulder. “Bingley?"
“I knew you and Caroline had become more friendly, but I had no idea — none — that she had convinced you to tie yourself to her. At least you gave up the damn thought — is that what was on your mind when you chose to drink yourself into a stupor last night?"
Darcy nodded.
“I never expected good sense to come from strong drink. You would’ve been an idiot had you made the attempt. Were you to ask me for a blessing, I would not give it. You worry that you acted dishonorably — set your head at ease. Her family would give an absolute refusal. You need someone who has real affection for you, not my damned sister who would only count the years until she can convince you to spend more freely. She is too much like my father was."
Darcy looked Bingley in the eye and said, “I had feared my mistreatment of your sister might damage our friendship.”
“Never. You have always been my true brother."
Chapter 13
A few days later Darcy saddled up his horse to follow Bingley to Longbourn. The excuse was to inquire after Miss Bennet’s health.
He wanted to see her.
He needed to apologize and explain himself before he left forever.
After their fencing match, Bingley and his sister had a loud argument. The muffled shouts reached Darcy in his second floor apartment. The result had been that Miss Bingley no longer spoke to Darcy but instead treated him with a cold, offended silence.
Netherfield was far more comfortable without need to talk to her. Darcy was in no hurry to leave. At home there would be endless tasks, none of which would change that he was ninety thousand in debt. He’d meet his uncle near Christmas. Matlock would berate him for giving away thirty thousand pounds, and then they’d go hunting, get drunk, and laugh together. He would tell his uncle he hoped to marry to reduce the debts, and Matlock would arrange introductions to the daughters of his friends.
There would be no one but Mrs. Reynolds who he could talk to at Pemberley.
Darcy and Bingley cantered into Meryton. The houses and shops clustered together with their sloped roofs and brown wooden beams. Colorful signs stood in front of many buildings garishly proclaiming what trade the proprietor was engaged in. It showed the pretty image of an English market town. Darcy idly watched the brown and white façades of old timber framed buildings as he rode through town with Bingley.
There she was.
The Bennet sisters, with the exception of Mary, gathered on the side of the street. Jane and the two youngest sisters spoke to Captain Denny while a gentleman Darcy had never seen attempted to interest Elizabeth.
Despite how she politely paid attention to him and nodded at his words, Darcy perceived Elizabeth was bored from the flat aspect of her face when not forcing a partial smile, and the way she slightly rolled her eyes and smirked when he glanced away. The man was short, rotund, and wore a clerical collar. His slow gestures gave the impression of careful deliberation.
He stood possessively close to Elizabeth. Darcy unconsciously ground his teeth and rode up to them.
Bingley called out as he dismounted. “Miss Bennet! It is most good to see you. We just rode out to call upon you. You look very well. I had worried you might take some injury from your illness. We were bound for Longbourn to inquire after your health."
Jane smiled at Bingley. She made a small curtsy and said in her soft voice, “As you can see I have suffered no ill effects."
Darcy dismounted and glared at the churchman next to Elizabeth. He forced himself to relax. Elizabeth was not his to protect, and she never would be. He needed to remember that.
His eyes turned towards her again. Those brilliant eyes had watched him. Their eyes mingled. There was a question in her look; there was desire in it; and there was hurt in her vivid brown gaze. They looked at each other longer than proper. Darcy recalled himself and hurried closer. The hand on his horse’s bridle felt shaky and warm.
"You look — I had hoped to see you, all of you.” Darcy bowed his head in the direction of Elizabeth’s sisters, and he forced his eyes to look anywhere but at Elizabeth. He knew he had her full attention.
Neither Kitty nor Lydia, whose faces he kept his eyes turned upon, responded. Elizabeth said in a voice infused with false cheer, “We have heard no news out of Netherfield since Jane and I returned to Longbourn — are any announcements of import likely to come?”
Darcy looked at Elizabeth; there was anxiety and affection in her eyes. He hated himself. She had affection for him, and he had — accidentally and then drunkenly — encouraged it. He could not marry her.
"No — Bingley shall throw a ball in a week’s time, but… I thought on your words last time we spoke. You spoke rightly, my —” Darcy paused to search out words that might express what he wished to her only. “My scheme would not have suited my purposes.”
A smile bloomed over Elizabeth’s face. She was happy, and he would need to make her understand that he could not marry her. She must have some hidden hope, especially now that he would not marry Miss Bingley.
That light, it would dim. She would fight to keep tears away. He was the worst sort of person.
Darcy looked away from her face. He kept his eyes on her companion. His face was thick and jowled. Darcy couldn’t watch her eyes while he said it. “I shall leave Netherfield following the ball, and once I return to Pemberley, I shall write my uncle to see if he might suggest a… a better scheme for achieving the same end.”
Darcy heard Elizabeth rapidly pull in her breath. He looked at her. His horse whinnied as he pulled the animal’s head forward with his tense grasp.
Her face was white, but steady. "I expected you would plan something like that." She shaped her lips into a weak mimicry of a smile and added waveringly, “I wish you good luck and happiness in your future scheme."
The two gazed at each other. Her cheeks were pinched and pale. Darcy was disappointed that she did not argue with him or make some claim on his honor.
Elizabeth felt as though a knife had been slowly forced through her breastbone. She would keep her dignity. This was the best possible outcome.
She should be happy.
Her advice had helped him. That should make her happy. At least… he at least would not marry that horrid woman. He would not face that unhappiness.
Be happy.
Mr. Collins grunted and drew their attention to him. Elizabeth spoke in a thin, rapid voice, “Oh, I apologize. Manners — I forgot my manners. Mr. Darcy, allow me to introduce my cousin, Mr. Collins. My cousin, Mr. Collins. Yes, this is my cousin. Let me introduce you.” Elizabeth gestured towards Mr. Collins with a fast jerking motion. She was frightened that tears would start, and in front of Mr. Collins. If it was only Mr. Darcy, she would let them fall, he cared for her a little, even if it was not enough.
Darcy inclined his head, and Elizabeth made the formal introduction.
“Mr. Darcy? Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley?” Mr. Collins exclaimed with surprise.
Darcy nodded his head. He tensed and waited for this man to refer to his sister or his debts. "You are the Fitzwilliam Darcy who is the nephew of that most distinguished lady, Lady Catherine de Bourgh — the Mistress of the most sparkling and burnished gem of southern England, Rosings Park?”
Darcy nodded again, a little amused by this description of Lady Catherine. He sounded much as his aunt’s steward used to.
“I have the good fortune to have it in my power to inform you that your most dignified aunt and estimable cousin were well on Sunday past when they attended the morning services at Hunsford parish. It is my good fortune for Lady Catherine de Bourgh of Rosings Park to be my patroness. She is, as you know, the most estimable and perfectly condescending woman in England."
Mr. Collins continued for some minutes in a speech filled with an astonishing level of flattery for his patroness, his dear cousin Elizabeth, Darcy’s far more admirable cousin Anne, and Darcy’s own wellborn personage.
His verbosity normally would annoy Darcy, but now it allowed him to regain his composure. Darcy’s eyes helplessly turned to Elizabeth’s stiff face again and again. She was frowning like Georgiana did right before she burst into tears. Darcy flinched away but then looked back at her. This was his fault, but the only choice consistent with his character was to seek an heiress.
Darcy turned to his horse and softly patted his shoulder, a little comforted by the warm solidity of the large animal. He barely pretended to pay attention to Mr. Collins, who needed little of that pretense to be satisfied.
Mr. Collins recaptured Darcy’s attention when he said, “Your aunt has spoken upon the immoral behavior of your sister at great length. It horrifies me that one so closely connected to her glorious ladyship could act so disgracefully. It is a most disgraceful connection. Most disgraceful. You must feel the stain on Lady Catherine’s honor keenly, and the stain on your own honor as well. However, it is my duty, as a clergyman, to remind you that while you ought, of course, never admit Mrs. Wickham to your presence, or even allow her name to be spoken within your hearing, as that would be encouragement to vice and imprudence, Christian charity demands you forgive your sister for her misdeeds against yourself and your family honor."
Darcy’s fist clenched around his horse’s reins. Ever since Lady Catherine loudly pronounced to Darcy that due to his debts he was no longer a fit husband for Anne, relations between them had been cold.
Though Darcy did not know his quiet cousin well, he and Lord Matlock had thought it a promising idea to follow his aunt’s often mentioned plan for them to marry. The value of Anne’s estate was greater than his debts. However, until Georgiana eloped, Darcy had come to think the refusal had been fortunate. He did not wish to deal with Lady Catherine as a mother-in-law.
Elizabeth saw Darcy’s face grow pained and tense while Mr. Collins spoke of Georgiana. She hated the foolishness of her relative more than ever. It must hurt Darcy so, to hear his sister discussed and insulted in this way.
Elizabeth wanted to change the subject, but Mr. Collins never paused for breath. Darcy sharply spoke over Mr. Collins, “My aunt? My aunt has told you all this? She speaks so openly to you?"
"She has. Your aunt is knowledgeable about all matters. Her condescension is such that she will share her advice to all and sundry. Why, she has thrice used the example of your mismanagement of your sister’s education to edify my parishioners. There is none who is more charitable, or who is a greater credit to her exalted rank, than she. She has further complained to me that you do not write to her frequently. If you had showed greater filial feeling and sought her wise advice on how to raise your —”
“Yes, my aunt’s family feeling and wisdom are irreproachable. No one shows more Christian charity than she.” He had no need to listen to this bombastic fool tell him every problem in his life, every failure he had made with his sister, would have been avoided if only he had attended to his Aunt’s impertinent demands.
Mr. Collins missed Darcy sarcasm. “She is perfection itself. If you humbly approach her, she will forgive you for your sister’s transgressions, and advise you how to manage your present strained situation.”
"Yes. I do not doubt she wishes to see me humbled.”
Elizabeth saw Darcy was too angry at his own family to be offended by hers. It fit with the impression she had received from Mr. Collins that Lady Catherine would be cruel to her niece and nephew.
Jane stepped up to them with Mr. Bingley. Mr. Denny had continued upon his own business. Jane’s clear voice asked, “Mr. Collins, may I introduce you to Mr. Bingley? There is a matter of doctrine I discussed with him a week past I would like to hear your opinion about. We shall walk back to Longbourn, as Mr. Bingley was headed that way to call upon us. Would you travel with us and enlighten us on the path?”
The way Mr. Collins’s eyes lit up showed him very pleased at the suggestion. “I am indeed always most willing to enlighten the laity. Most willing. Please describe the issue.”
Mr. Bingley began to speak and they drew Mr. Collins away. Jane turned back to smile at Elizabeth, who gave her a grateful look.
Lydia exclaimed, “We only just arrived. You may wish to walk all the way back to Longbourn before talking to anyone, but I must hear my fill of the gossip." Lydia and Kitty ran up to Mrs. Phillips’s house and knocked on her door.
Elizabeth involuntarily studied Darcy. He was as handsome as ever. His lean tall form was set off nicely by his riding breeches and the backdrop of his horse. He took her arm and led his horse with his free hand. Elizabeth peeked at him as they strolled silently. Her heart was torn; she hurt because, no matter how prudent and rational his plan to marry an heiress was, he was rejecting her.
Despite his words after he kissed her, she was merely tolerable and not handsome enough to tempt him.
He may not love her, but his presence thrilled her. Little jolts bounced up her arm from where he held it, and it was impossible for Elizabeth to keep herself from glancing at his lips. She wanted to be kissed again.
She wished to speak; he would not be near for long, and she must take advantage while she could. But it would be horribly improper to allude to their last meeting. Elizabeth could not bring herself to do so. But, her sense of injury, and even shame, meant light conversation was impossible.
Darcy at last spoke. Elizabeth looked at him, however, he stared straight ahead, “I must apologize for my behavior in the library, it was ungentlemanly of me, and I heartily regret treating you so."
He regretted kissing her.
Of course he did. Her friendship and affection wasn’t enough. She wasn’t handsome enough. She felt sick disgust for thinking his kiss had been anything more than a drunken whim, and a flood of tears gathered in her eyes.
Don’t be silly. Don’t be silly.
Darcy saw that her face was gaunt with the skin pulled tight around her forehead. She grasped Darcy’s sleeve and looked away from him. She was crying. Darcy spoke without thought, shocking himself, “Miss Elizabeth, if you believe it to be a matter of my honor, I am prepared to make you an offer of marriage.“
“No!” She jumped away from Darcy and stared at him aghast. “I do not wish that. How dare you treat yourself and me in this manner. I — how could you think I would wish you to hurt yourself over an event you regret. How could you think I would wish you to… to marry me out of a cold duty and honor. You would certainly regret that. I don’t want you to regret anything."
Elizabeth turned angrily and kept a distance of several feet between them. She walked forward at a stiff and rapid pace. They passed under a bower formed by the bare branches of a grove of oak trees.
The tears streaked down Elizabeth’s cheeks till she brushed them away. First, he said their kiss was only a drunken mistake — he said it meant nothing to him and was only a mistake he regretted. Now, he treated her like a husband hunting Miss who cared for nothing but acquiring the man she wished.
Darcy followed her, confused. He’d had no intention of making such an offer. Her rejection of him hurt — and relieved him. Jane, Bingley and Mr. Collins were one hundred feet ahead of them. Their privacy was assured. The air was chilly but not freezing. The road was bordered on one side by hedges and on the other by trees.
Darcy stepped to Elizabeth’s side again. She openly cried. Darcy’s stomach sank. “Speak to me. Please, Elizabeth, what do you want me to say?”
“I don’t regret it. I do not regret it at all. That moment, our kiss, it was the most beautiful — the most beautiful moment I ever experienced." Elizabeth choked. “To know you regret it, to know you wish that kiss, our kiss, had never happened. That is why I cry. You ask what I wish — I wish you had meant to kiss me. I wish it had not been a drunken foolishness you regret. I wish you cared for me. I wish you had meant it when you spoke about my beauty. I had thought… I thought you felt a little real affection for me.”
Elizabeth’s eyes pled for him to say he loved her. Her face was red and wet with tears. She was so close to him, and her pretty hand waved inches from his chest. He could seize it and bring it to his lips. Her lips were pale with tension. The tears made her cheeks shiny in the morning light. His belly felt the memory of her body pressed against his. He swallowed and fought the desperate desire to pull her in and kiss her again.
They stared into each other’s eyes.
Elizabeth smiled, and Darcy felt the world tilt on its side.
“Oh,” she exhaled, “you feel it too. You do. I see it. This bond between us is real. It is in your heart also.” Elizabeth stepped close; her eyes were on him; she was close. He could smell her sweet breath. She lay a hand upon his chest.
Instinctively Darcy began to lower his head towards hers.
This was wrong — madness.
He would not throw away all hope of marrying an heiress due to the giddy sense of desire and happiness Elizabeth’s presence created. He must tear the bond between them apart.
Darcy stepped away and closed his eyes to block out the sight of her. He breathed heavily; his body longed for her. His lips tingled from how they had nearly kissed.
His father. He saw his father reply to his demand for retrenchment. You would make me abandon every comfort, every friendship, every affection. I will not make myself unhappy for your misnamed prudence and duty.
He would not be like his father. He would not.
This was the desire of a moment. It would not cast out every thought. He would not throw away the habits of a lifetime for this passion.
He pulled in a deep breath and opened his eyes. His mind was steady.
"I do feel this bond — you are the handsomest, cleverest, kindest woman of my acquaintance. I felt as much as you when we kissed. But it matters not. I shall not forget my duty to my name, to my tenants, and to the future. I shall not. You know my debts; you know my situation.”
Elizabeth’s heart swooped with happiness at his words of praise — his words of affection. The fact they would always be separate meant nothing next to her happiness at his hopeless attachment. She did understand. That horrid sum of money overshadowed any wishes either had.
“Oh, if only you were not in debt. If only your father had done better — Oh!” Elizabeth gripped Darcy’s arm through his coat, “If it were possible, if you were free to act however you wished, would you —”
Elizabeth blushed and looked away, unable to continue. Darcy took her hand and squeezed it, then he placed it on his arm and led them down the road again. Elizabeth looked at him. Darcy had a sad smile, and he said, “I would. Had it been possible, if my position and my character allowed it, I would.”
It was impossible to feel unhappy. The moment was painfully bittersweet, like when in a novel the heroine found her father, after seeking him for a long time, only to discover he was dying.
Elizabeth did not grin, but there was more of happiness in her emotions than sadness. They walked in silence. A gust of wind tried to disarrange Elizabeth’s curls and forced her to reach her hand up to resettle her bonnet. Her mind was full of the tragedy of it. She exclaimed, viciously biting the words out, “I hate money — I hate the very thought of it.”
Darcy smirked in reply. The handsome curve of his lips set Elizabeth’s heart beating hard. “Is that not too extreme? To condemn money as such, with no exception, over one situation? Money is, after all, merely a means for facilitating the exchange of goods and labor.”
Elizabeth blinked then smiled at Darcy. She leaned her pretty eyes close to his face, “’Tis not too extreme, besides the Holy Book claims it is the root of all evil. To hate that shows great sense.”
“The Holy Book says the love of money is the root of evil. Not money itself.”
Elizabeth shrugged insouciantly, showing she thought the distinction trivial. Her smile combined with her still red eyes and cheeks were terribly inviting.
They must stop. He needed to stop. He could not banter with her like a friend.
They had reached Longbourn. Jane and Bingley stood in the entryway to the garden exchanging pretty glances while Mr. Collins talked endlessly. Darcy spoke quietly, “I must go.”
Elizabeth asked, "Must you?"
Her voice was wistful.
“I must. You know I must. You understand we cannot —”
“You must dance with me. Bingley’s ball — you must dance with me. Promise me.” Elizabeth’s heart was in her eyes. She pled with them for Darcy to give her this at least.
“Elizabeth," he replied, with pain in his voice. Elizabeth’s heart leapt at the use of her name. “It would be wrong. With the way things stand between us, it would be wrong. We must part.”
“I know we must part — but I care not. We have not parted yet — you owe me. You admit you acted in a most” — Elizabeth smiled at the memory — “un-gentlemanlike manner. I demand a boon in recompense, I demand you dance with me. Your honor demands it." This logic amused Elizabeth, and she smiled more brightly. “Do not be a silly. It is only a dance. And with a woman you now acknowledge to be handsome enough to tempt you. I am handsome enough to tempt you to a dance? Am I not? I shall feel hurt if you do not say I am."
He would regret this.
It was wrong to encourage her, but her pleading smile could not be refused. Darcy bowed elegantly and pulled her hand to his lips. The contact left a tingling sensation on his lips as he spoke, “Miss Elizabeth, might I dance with you during the second set at Mr. Bingley’s ball on Tuesday next?”
Darcy felt stupidly cheerful when Elizabeth grinned back, flashing her white teeth happily. “Mr. Darcy, I would be delighted to accept. It would be impossible for a lady to have a finer partner.”
Chapter 14
Elizabeth did not see Darcy again until the evening of Bingley’s ball, and the week passed with heavy rains that forced everyone indoors. Her spirits were agitated and in turmoil, and the impossibility of a long walk to work them off made her difficult to live with.
Her normal habits of novels and poetry could not keep her attention; or a romantic poem held it too well. She was forced to sew which left her mind free to contemplate Darcy.
Elizabeth prepared more carefully for the ball than she ever had before. As the maid fussed over her and Jane’s hair, Elizabeth examined herself. The glow in her heart showed on her face. She grinned each time she thought of how Darcy’s eyes would pop and follow her once she entered the ballroom.
Her white ball gown had a wide square neck that left a daring expanse of her chest exposed. Elizabeth wore a pretty necklace with an amber cross which disguised the contrast between the tanned skin of her neck and the pale white of her bosom. Her cheeks were red both with natural color and the carefully rubbed in rouge, and she had arranged her hair into a delicate mass of curls entwined with flowers. A few strands of hair had been arranged to fall out of the pattern and over her ears.
She had never been so beautiful.
Elizabeth hoped. Maybe her appearance would conquer his reason as well as his heart.
After the maid left Elizabeth studied Jane’s appearance. She had her own glow. The sisters smiled at each other, and Elizabeth embraced Jane carefully. “Bingley will lose his head when his eyes fall upon you. I know he shall.”
Jane blushed prettily and did not respond at first. Then she whispered to Elizabeth, “Darcy will too. He will not be able to turn his eyes away. I saw how his manner towards you changed. Perhaps I will be the one who must wish you happiness.”
*****
As the early guests arrived Darcy stomped around the ballroom until Bingley called him over and demanded he stand in the greeting line. Darcy’s mind had flopped many times between anticipation and guilt. But the guilt was predominant.
Elizabeth’s happy smile once he agreed to dance haunted his dreams and tightened his loins. She was too happy. He must crush her hope, and he must crush his own desire.
Darcy chanted to himself: be friendly but cold. Show no appreciation for her figure and leave her once the dance ends. Leave her forever.
Forever.
The Bennets entered. She was… she was almost too beautiful to look upon. Her dress, her figure, her skin. His eyes clung to her. He looked her form up and down. And his stomach leaped at the promise in her happy smile when their eyes met. Bingley effusively spoke to the Bennets, but Darcy quietly shook their hands. When he touched Elizabeth’s glove, he nearly jumped from the jolt of awareness that shot up his arm.
Her smile said: you wish to be distant, but I shall not let you.
While he was quiet, Elizabeth knew as she walked out onto the dance floor with Mr. Collins that Darcy’s eyes never left her. The Netherfield ballroom was a tall room with wide windows and marble columns along the sides. It had a mirror for the ceiling and was filled with flickering candles and lights. The light made Darcy’s hair gleam.
Mr. Collins stumbled through the steps of the dance and led her the wrong direction near half the time. Elizabeth did not mind. She was too happy. Her feet being stepped upon, the pedantic conversation, the annoyingly possessive manner Mr. Collins showed — none of that mattered.
He watched her. Mr. Darcy watched her. Their eyes would meet from across the crowded room, and Elizabeth’s stomach would swoop. After Mr. Collins, he would dance with her.
Darcy stood on the edge of the room, sipping a glass of wine during the dance. The swish and sway of Elizabeth’s gown entranced him. Her movement would make the dress wave to the side and display her pretty blue slippers and the neat ankles encased in her white stockings. Their eyes met, again and again. When the dance ended, he wished to immediately walk to her but knew he must not.
He would wait until most of the couples lined up, so as to indicate his reluctance.
The owning manner in which Mr. Collins kept Elizabeth’s arm and led her to the table laden with punch and glasses annoyed Darcy. Did that foolish man think to marry his Elizabeth?
A black pit opened underneath Darcy.
If no better offer was coming, it would, from the standpoint of prudence, be a good match. Surely, Elizabeth would not marry such a fool.
Elizabeth saw him watching her, and when their eyes met, she smiled mischievously. Darcy flushed and looked away, then glanced back. She winked at him and nodded her head towards Mr. Collins, who stood too close and ignored their byplay in favor of his speech. Elizabeth mouthed, “Rescue me.”
Darcy swallowed what was left in his wine cup and handed it to a passing footman. He walked stiffly to Elizabeth.
Elizabeth was tense with anticipation. She smiled and glowed as Darcy bowed and interrupted Mr. Collins. “I apologize, but Miss Elizabeth is to be my partner for the next.”
Darcy took Elizabeth’s hand and kissed it. His eyes lingered on the bare skin of her chest and shoulders, and on the swell of her breasts. Elizabeth blushed and felt caressed by his gaze. She wanted him to look. She wanted to belong to him. When he looked up and smiled with a boyish apology, she squeezed his hand.
They walked onto the dance floor.
Elizabeth glowed inside. He was happy, as he should be.
His resistance was silly — she only needed to conquer what was left of his heart for him to realize it. Then he would lean in and say he loved her as much as she loved him. He would kiss her again and again and again. They would be happy together.
She would run his household and manage without enough servants. He would say clever and sweet things, and she would make him laugh and smile every day. He would always possess that happy light in his eyes. They would have children, and he would wrestle and play with his son, their son, who would grow straight and tall.
Darcy’s eyes lingered on her figure, and each time he glanced down to look her over she felt an elated tightness. Butterflies played in her stomach. Their eyes mingled again and again.
Elizabeth’s beauty absorbed Darcy. Her face was lively and expressive. Her eyes flashed with happiness. She showed so much white skin, from the delicate curve of her neck to the swell of her breasts pushed up by her corset. A pink ribbon pulled tight set them off from below.
The sight exerted a hypnotic pull on his gaze that drew it back repeatedly. It was not politeness, but his need to see the smile in Elizabeth’s eyes again and again that kept him from staring. It was her smile that made him hard.
Their conversation died as the magic of the music controlled them. Darcy’s attention was focused on Elizabeth. There was no space for speech. Their hands touched, and she would squeeze his hand each time. Then the steps of the dance made them let go. Darcy began to squeeze back.
When the set finished, Darcy and Elizabeth silently walked off the floor. They both smiled. Before either found words for conversation, a very young officer walked up and squeakily claimed Elizabeth for his previously promised dance. Darcy hated the boy’s toothy grin and protruding Adam’s apple. Elizabeth showed Darcy a pretty curtsy and a resigned smile before being led off. The curve of Elizabeth’s backside was beautiful as she walked away.
Elizabeth glowed with happiness as she lined up across from the ensign. Darcy knew her happiness was unrelated to her partner.
Damn, damn, damn.
He had not acted as intended. She faced away from him, and the dark curls were held up by pins. Flowers were woven into her hair. The slender line of her neck pulled Darcy’s eyes. With a wrench he turned himself away and stared at the wall.
He hated himself.
Her manner — there was no way Elizabeth was resigned to their parting. He had aroused some expectation in her. Honor demanded he marry her.
Yes, even though he had never wished —that was not true, he had wished for her to love him — even though he had never planned to gain her attachment, it was there. A gentleman ought to take responsibility for his actions. He should not hurt a woman. Elizabeth would be hurt if he left. Even his uncle might agree his honor had become engaged.
His father’s image came to Darcy. The way he appeared the day of their argument in his expensive embroidered silk gown. That spectre that haunted him.
His father had pretended the demands of honor excused self-indulgence. He said it would dishonor the house not to gamble with friends and not to keep up enough carriages and liveried footmen and expensive entertainments.
Darcy had made an offer to Elizabeth. If she demanded he marry her as a matter of honor, he would. She had not demanded it, and she never would. Her kindness and affection were such that compulsion of that sort would be an anathema to her. His duty towards her was fulfilled. It was desire that made him wish to marry her.
It had been wrong to kiss Elizabeth.
But he had never intentionally led her on. He must not look at her again. The longer he allowed her to hope his reason could be overcome, the more she would hurt. He was a better man than he had been in Hertfordshire, and he would act better.
Her lips had been so very red as they danced; a few of her curls fell down over her ears. And her eyes — those brown pools filled with happiness and promised affection. Darcy’s body ached with the need to turn and look upon her person. When he did not turn, it felt as though he had passed through a terrible struggle.
He wanted to pillow his face against the curve of her neck, he wanted to seize her tight by the arms and press his groin into hers, he wished to brush his fingers across the soft skin of her cheek. She wanted him. She had dressed to please him, to make him look at her. Her body desired his, like his body desperately wished to bury itself in hers.
No.
He would not let raw lust lead him astray.
He felt this way merely because it had been so many years since he had known a woman. As a youth he went with his friends to visit women who had set up their business on the edge of the town. It felt good and was what all of his peers did. But after he discovered his father’s extravagance…
He had known vaguely that his father kept a mistress since the death of Lady Anne. But when he had studied the account books after the fields around Lambton were sold, he had found out how much his father spent on her. The house he kept her in was large and fully equipped with servants. His father probably spent more than one thousand pounds a year on her maintenance.
Buying women was a habit of his father’s.
It was not only a desire to be with a woman. He felt more, far more, for Elizabeth. He had felt lust before, but lust never enveloped him.
It was the affection Elizabeth had for him. And her smiles. The warmth in her smile, a smile that was just there for him. He wanted to kiss her smile and tickle her until she laughed. He wanted to make her affection for him grow through shared pleasure.
He had never felt anything like this. But he would not let mere feelings rule him. He was a man, a rational man. He would conquer this.
Elizabeth realized something had gone awry.
She could see as she danced with her new partner that Darcy stared at the wall with tension in his frame. Eventually, he walked about the dance floor, but his eyes always pointed away from where she was. One time he glanced towards her, but he caught himself and walked in the opposite direction.
Her partner realized that she paid no attention to him. But Elizabeth did not care.
After the dance finished Elizabeth wanted to approach him. But she was frightened by the grimness of Darcy’s manner.
Elizabeth stared longingly at him.
Miss Bingley approached her. “I told you he would not marry you. He depends upon his uncle. Lord Matlock would never approve an imprudent marriage. Never. Mr. Darcy could not marry against his wishes.”
Elizabeth frowned. Her eyes flicked to Darcy; he was closely examining the design on a candleholder on the opposite end of the room. Miss Bingley smirked at her. The smirk drove away Elizabeth’s desire to cry. Elizabeth said with a stiff voice, “I admire his filial piety.”
Elizabeth began to walk away, heading towards Mr. Darcy. Miss Bingley seized her wrist and with glittering eyes said, “He must marry an heiress to reduce his debts. Not an ill bred piece of halfpenny baggage.”
Elizabeth tried to pull her arm away from Miss Bingley; Miss Bingley squeezed it harder. The other woman hissed into Elizabeth’s ear, “This is your fault. You stopped him. He would have done it. I had convinced him to marry me, but you destroyed my every hope — he shall not marry you. He still needs money. I hope to see you weep. I shall drink every ounce of your unhappiness — I shall smile at every tear you shed. You are a worthless, low —”
“Were I you, I too would think on the unhappiness of others. It must be terrible to know there is something so wrong with you, so terrible about your person and mind, that despite his need for the money, despite the desire for a closer connection to Mr. Bingley, despite every prudent consideration, he could not bring himself to marry you. Think on that.”
Elizabeth ripped her arm away from Miss Bingley. The other woman snarled as Elizabeth walked away, but did not follow. Miss Bingley was right. Darcy’s behavior showed he had regained a sense of his own interest. She was half dead inside when she took her next partner’s hand and forced herself to smile at him.
For the next hours she did not look often at Darcy, for it hurt too much every time she saw him studiously attending to something in a direction opposite her. He knew she cared. She wanted to throw herself desperately at him, but Miss Bingley was watching, waiting for her to humiliate herself.
Elizabeth still had pride.
After two or three dances, she stood near Mr. Collins and tried to converse with him, so that other gentlemen would be less likely to approach.
Darcy felt trapped. Despite almost never looking at her, he was always aware where Elizabeth was. He hated how she danced with other men, giving them opportunity to touch her hands and watch her body jump up and down with the rapid motions of the dance. She was melancholy. The tiny brief glances he could not stop showed that she moved without vibrancy, almost stumbling through the motions.
There was something empty in the manner in which she allowed her cousin to speak to her. He felt her pain. It was worse because he only looked at her a half-dozen times during the course of the evening. This was his fault.
He would leave Netherfield tomorrow morning. Had he behaved as he ought, he would have left on Tuesday. After dinner he would make his apologies to Bingley and go upstairs. He should go upstairs immediately, without apologizing, so he could avoid looking at her ever again.
That thought made it impossible to leave before dinner. Darcy knew his seat was quite near Elizabeth’s, and while he would not allow himself to converse with her, at least he would be able to hear her voice as she spoke to others. It would give him something he could remember in the cold future.
Elizabeth wearily sat next to her mother for dinner. Mr. Collins’s conversation had grown to grate on her to the point that she gratefully passed him off to Charlotte for the hour of dinner. The foods were brought in: a dozen types of bird, roasts, a tall pudding in the shape of the castle, unwholesome sugar confections, white soup.
Elizabeth enjoyed none of it. Darcy sat at the same table, less than five feet away. But he refused to meet her eyes. He looked vaguely in the distance or concentrated on his food. Miss Bingley sat at the other end of their table, with her nose high as she quietly talked to her sister. Mr. Bingley sat next to Jane, Elizabeth could smile at them.
Jane was overjoyed. The universe was not entirely dark and empty.
Since he would not look upon her, Elizabeth looked at Darcy and tried to imprint his features on her mind. This might be the last time she saw him. And the night had started so well. She had been so happy for a half hour. Perhaps it had always been destined to end in tears, but couldn’t she have had one evening of perfect happiness?
Darcy looked so unhappy.
She felt sick watching the slow manner in which he stirred his soup. He looked at it as though eating was something that ought to be done but which gave no pleasure. Even though he did not look at her once, his attention was upon her.
Could he not look up, look up one time, and smile again?
Elizabeth tightened a fist under the table, driving her fingernails into the palm of her hand and forced herself to sit as straight as possible to control tears.
She had hoped affection could be enough. Affection should be enough. She was a fool. How had she been so stupid?
Mrs. Bennet chattered to Lady Lucas. The conversation turned towards the likelihood that Mr. Bingley would propose to Jane. “Heavens! It is certain to happen — it will be so good to have a daughter settled at Netherfield. So near to me. And with so much money. Mr. Bingley will settle a great deal on her in pin money. And think of the jewels and carriages Jane shall have. And she will throw my other girls in the path of rich men.”
During the speech Mr. Darcy’s gaze snapped to Mrs. Bennet, and then he looked down again, with a cold frown. With her hawk-like study of Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth saw his awareness of the impropriety of her mother. She felt ashamed. This was the worst evening of her life.
Even if Darcy had the money to marry as he would, he would run away after listening to Mama.
Could not Mrs. Bennet see how much she loved Darcy? Must she be shamed on the unhappiest night of her life?
“Mama, please — Mr. Darcy listens to you. You should not speak so in front of him. I beg you stop.”
“I owe him no such civility.” Mrs. Bennet looked at Mr. Darcy and said coldly, “He is an impoverished gentleman too arrogant to speak to us, despite his scandalous circumstances. Even if he is the nephew of an earl, I owe him no consideration. None of you would act like his sister did. They say he raised the girl like a daughter after her father’s death. I’m shocked a gentleman as good as Mr. Bingley tolerates a friend such as him. I shall have Jane tell Mr. Bingley to distance himself.”
Elizabeth wanted to die.
Darcy stared at Mrs. Bennet with a tight jaw. He gripped his spoon with white knuckles. The room was stuffy with the smell of sweat and food. Elizabeth desperately tried to keep from crying. She concentrated on the shape of Darcy’s nose.
Her stomach hurt so.
A half choked sob forced its way out of Elizabeth’s throat. The only reason she did not flee in shame was because she might never see him again. Elizabeth held her hand over her mouth and nose trying to force back the need to cry.
At last Darcy looked at her, and he smiled at her.
Mrs. Bennet described the dress she hoped to make Jane order for her wedding. Mr. Darcy sharply spoke over her, “Lady Lucas, tell me about your presentation at court. Your husband has told the story, but I would dearly wish to hear how it seemed to you.”
The choked, distressed sound from Elizabeth had brought his eyes up at last. Her eyebrows had crumpled together, and she had a red nose. An impassioned warmth uncontrollably tore through his chest and into the nerves and muscles of his face. He had never felt so tender, not even with Georgiana. He had been embarrassed by family. He knew how it felt.
He needed Elizabeth to feel less awful.
As Lady Lucas spoke, Darcy looked at Elizabeth again and smiled at her. He could not stop himself. The dam was gone; he no longer wanted to stop himself. She smiled back at him and wiped away the tears. Her smile was thin.
When Lady Lucas paused in her narrative, Mrs. Bennet spoke, “We’ve all heard this story — it amazes how some girls ignore their family’s wishes when they marry. My daughters —”
Darcy spoke over her again, making no pretense of politeness: “Lady Lucas, I wonder, do you recall the details of the dress you wore for your presentation?”
Anytime Mrs. Bennet began to speak, Darcy interrupted with another question for Lady Lucas. Otherwise, he watched Elizabeth. Her mood steadily improved, and at last she showed a real smile. She was amused by the manner in which he treated her mother. Her lips were delightful. Her eyebrows arched, and her eyes smiled at him.
Elizabeth thought that maybe she would hurt even worse the next day. But the evening was perfect again. It was not that he was handsome, it was not that he was wondrous, it was not that he made her heart skip and beat fast.
She loved him. Wholly and completely.
Her hope from earlier flared as he stayed near her after dinner ended. He must love her as much as she loved him. He could not leave when she loved him so. No doubt was permissible. Not tonight.
Darcy could not even try to leave her side. They talked and talked. They danced once more. She was beautiful and lovely. They could be like this forever. He only needed to marry her.
Miss Bingley stared angrily at them but did not dare to approach. Charlotte Lucas kept Mr. Collins’s attention.
The evening neared its end; Elizabeth knew they would part soon. He stood only a foot away from her; his evening coat fit tight, though it was five seasons out of date. The candles burned low and a few of them had gone out. In the dim light his eyes looked wide and deep. She sank into them.
She should speak. She should tell him everything of how she felt. She should argue and beg him to marry her. He would listen. She cared nothing for fortune or future problems. They would be happy; they would find a way to save his estate. She did not need servants or new dresses — affection and companionship was all that mattered. Even with his debts, they would be happy.
She stood so close to him. She could brush her breast against his arm, and lean up and breathe some whisper of love into his ear. She ought to. She ought to do anything that might convince him not to leave.
The two had fallen silent, enjoying the music and each other’s closeness. Elizabeth gazed into his eyes and tried to speak but could not. She looked away again; he would reject her. He already had. The strength of her feelings did not matter. It would be best to say nothing.
A proper girl, a moral girl, would not touch him as she wished to. A lady would not beg for a gentleman’s attention. It was the place of the man to make his choice, and he had chosen. As soon as he left her presence, his reason would return. He stayed next to her but made no promises. It would be wrong to do more than smile prettily. Elizabeth could not force herself to speak.
The moment passed.
After an evening, a perfect evening, they separated. Darcy and Bingley followed them to the carriage. Darcy kissed her hand goodbye one last time. She smiled at his figure, lit from behind by the torches set up on Netherfield’s portico. She loved him. It was the most painfully bittersweet moment in her life.
Chapter 15
Darcy could not sleep. He paced his room.
He ached with longing for Elizabeth. He wanted to kiss her and caress her and place her in his bed. He could be at Longbourn at 7 o’clock. They might be awake that early. He could be in London before noon. He would sit in the archbishop’s office and acquire a special license. Then back to Longbourn.
They could marry tomorrow evening.
He would do it.
She would be so happy.
Darcy smiled and smiled as he walked about imagining her joy and surprise when he walked into her drawing room. Tomorrow night his aching need to be impossibly close to her would be relieved when he buried his body in hers. She would hold him and whisper sweet things in his ears. He would control himself so as not to hurt her.
They would breakfast together the next day, laughing and kissing freely. She would make him smile, and he would never be lonely again.
What would Mr. Bennet think? He might dislike the speed Darcy would demand for the marriage. Elizabeth would not object, not when she looked at him with those smoldering eyes. She wanted to consummate their love.
Elizabeth was not yet of age. He needed Mr. Bennet’s permission. He knew there were rumors about his impending bankruptcy, and Mr. Bennet might demand Darcy provide papers to prove he had sufficient wealth to support his daughter. The real records were all in Derbyshire, but Mr. Hoare could provide enough documents to prove his income was substantial.
If that was necessary, he would travel to London tomorrow and retrieve the papers. Then they would get an ordinary license and marry at eight in the morning the day after. He could wait that long.
Something was wrong with Darcy’s chest. It hurt.
He continued to pace. Was there anything else which could go wrong? He would bring Bingley with him when he spoke to Mr. Bennet. If Bingley vouched for him, Mr. Bennet would believe he had enough money.
What was wrong with his chest? He was going to marry Elizabeth, why did it hurt?
He was not his father.
Oh God, no. He had to leave. Tomorrow, he had to leave. No. He didn’t wish to. There was some jagged tear in his soul.
He would leave Netherfield tomorrow morning. Bingley was to travel to London for a day, and Darcy would go with him. Then he’d take a post carriage in London and travel with it north.
He had toyed with Elizabeth’s affections again. He was a sick, disgusting creature. He had destroyed his sister, and he hurt Elizabeth. He was his father’s son. A person who harmed those he loved most.
Be friendly but distant. Ha! He had been a fool to trust himself.
He must never let himself see her again.
Darcy rested his forehead against the frosted glass of his window.
He had never wanted anything so much. This was different than every other temptation he had faced. Clothes and gambling were not important. Nothing mattered more than Elizabeth. He could marry her, and he would never act imprudently ever again.
It was foolish to treat marriage as solely a matter of financial gain or loss. That was why he’d nearly married Miss Bingley. Elizabeth had saved him from that.
Her eyes would sparkle when she saw him walk into her drawing room. He would smile and beg for an audience. And she would look at him with that sweet gaze.
Life would be happier. Everything would be happier. Even if Matlock cut off his loans, he’d be happy. Forget Pemberley, forget the land, forget everything. Elizabeth was worth it. Everything else could work itself out.
Tomorrow night, after they married by special license, he’d bring her to this room. She would be in that bed, and she would smile at him. Those eyelashes and her smooth skin. Her bosom uncovered.
Darcy felt sick and freezing.
He had decided to leave, and his mind changed itself.
That had never happened to him.
He might not manage to leave Hertfordshire without promising himself. If he let himself sleep, he would wake and no longer remember he was to go to London. He’d be in her drawing room before he recalled he could not marry her, and then it would be too late.
Oh, God.
Darcy was scared. He was a rational creature. He was not his father. He could control himself. He would control himself.
He could not let himself sleep. He could not wait for Bingley. Darcy pulled out a piece of stationary and wrote a note to Bingley which barely explained anything. He left it on his desk.
Then he dressed himself in riding breeches and a warm overcoat.
It was four am; it would be light enough to ride in another hour. Darcy went down to Bingley’s stables, and accidentally woke the stable boy. With his help Darcy saddled and prepared his horse.
The night was cold and dark. Darcy was scared of himself.
For a moment he wasn’t sure if he would ride the horse towards Longbourn or Derbyshire. The road to London passed next to Longbourn. Darcy decided he would take a long circuitous path to keep himself far from her home.
At last the first tendrils of light gleamed against the clouds in the east. Darcy smiled at the stable boy and gave him a half shilling.
He set off for Pemberley.
Chapter 16
Elizabeth woke early from a dream where Mr. Darcy strode into the house before breakfast. He proposed. They kissed, and as she held him desperately, Elizabeth awoke.
Elizabeth sat up, her heart beating hard. The light which snuck around her curtains proclaimed that it was an hour past dawn at most. The air in her room made Elizabeth shiver from the cold. She hopped out of bed and quickly grabbed her woolen robe from where it hung. She shoved her feet into her warm furred slippers and left her room.
Last night Elizabeth had been certain he would leave her behind. But now, in the light of morning, her body tingling from her dream, Elizabeth believed he would come and ask her to marry him.
He had been so tender after she had started crying. They had smiled at each other; he kept looking at her.
He wanted her.
Surely he would come.
Elizabeth sat on the red velvet sofa in the drawing room, and she had an easy view of the swinging pendulum clock that said the hour was seven o’clock. She watched the road to Longbourn through the window. When he came up, she would see him.
A bird landed on the window sill and chirped. The light grew, and the sky was cloudless.
Because she did not stir up the fire, Elizabeth was cold despite her warm robe. Some instinct would not let her move. She sat in an inelegant posture with her feet on the sofa and her arms around her legs. Darcy would be surprised when he came to find her the only one awake, and in her nightclothes, like when they had kissed.
Elizabeth waited.
And waited.
The clock let out a tinny bell that proclaimed it was eight. The long arm continued to swing back and forth.
She was stiff and cold, but Elizabeth did not move. The reasoning part of her brain screamed at the idiocy of how she behaved. Mr. Darcy perhaps could not bear to see her cry without trying to comfort her, but when he woke in his chambers she wouldn’t be there crying. Instead of her, he would think about his money and his uncle and prudence.
Every flight of birds made her heart leap, because he had startled them riding up the road.
She waited.
As another hour passed and it neared nine o’clock, Elizabeth contemplated the previous night. What had she done wrong? Was Mama right and her wild manner put him off? She should have kissed Darcy in front of everyone. She should have told him again and again that she loved him.
The bell rang for nine o’clock; Elizabeth slumped and began to cry. The rational part of her brain now argued with her emotions. Maybe he is still asleep, like the day we left Netherfield. Elizabeth’s emotions were not comforted. If he were to come at all, he would already have done so.
The servants were now moving about, but the rest of the family still slept after the long night at Netherfield.
Elizabeth blinked her eyes tiredly and stretched out on the sofa into a more comfortable posture.
She’d fallen into a light doze when Jane shook her awake. Her sister was bright eyed and dressed in a morning dress. “Whatever are you sleeping down here for, Lizzy? Go upstairs before Mama sees you.” Jane whispered, “Mr. Collins is still here — I saw him awake.”
Elizabeth ran to her room and dressed for the day.
Mr. Darcy certainly would not come. He was probably halfway to London by now.
Once Elizabeth dressed, she went downstairs and joined everyone at breakfast. Mr. Bennet was not present, as he had taken to eating breakfast in the library to avoid Mr. Collins. After she quickly gulped down her rolls, cake and a cup of tea, Elizabeth returned the drawing room. Part of her stubbornly hoped Mr. Darcy would come to call.
Mrs. Bennet and Kitty were also with her when Mr. Collins entered the room and begged that he might have a private audience with Elizabeth.
Mrs. Bennet eagerly agreed to Mr. Collins’s request. Elizabeth’s mind had focused so strongly on Darcy that she hadn’t realized she was the object of Mr. Collins’s interest.
It was a sick joke that she would receive an offer of marriage this morning.
Mr. Collins spoke at length. Prompted by a depressed curiosity, Elizabeth did not interrupt him. He dwelt on the advantages of his situation and the value she would gain from coming under the patronage of Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Elizabeth fantasized about Mr. Darcy throwing the door to the drawing room open and pulling her into his arms.
Mr. Collins continued his oration: “As to matters of fortune I am completely indifferent. I know you may never have more than the one thousand in the four percents settled upon your mother, and that you shall not receive that until her decease. I assure you no ungenerous reproach will pass my lips once we are married.”
He was indifferent to fortune. So Mr. Collins was superior to Mr. Darcy in one respect. “Mr. Collins, I am honored by your proposal, but I shall not marry you. I will not.”
“I do know,” Mr. Collins replied with a wave of his hand, “that it is the practice of elegant females to often refuse a man they secretly intend to accept on the first, or even second application so as to increase the love of their suitor through suspense.”
Maybe Darcy’s alternation between warm and cold behavior was intended to increase her affection through suspense. Was that a common practice among elegant males?
Elizabeth giggled inappropriately. Hysterical tears were near the surface.
Mr. Collins crossed his arms. “Miss Elizabeth, an offer of marriage is not a matter of amusement. You should take this more seriously. I shall tell your estimable mother the happy news.”
“I assure you I will not marry you. I will only marry a man who —” Elizabeth’s cheeks and eyes were tight, and a lump was in her throat. She would start to sob uncontrollably soon. Elizabeth fled the room and the house.
She found a bench in the woods and curled up on the weathered wood. She sobbed in the cold.
A few minutes later Elizabeth heard her mother’s shouts demanding she appear. Elizabeth ignored her.
She didn’t have a coat and wrapped her arms around herself to ward off the cold. She was not near cold enough to face Mama. The leaves had fallen, and she sat in a spot the sun shined on through the bare branches. The calls of birds competed with her mother’s occasional shrieks from the house.
A laden cart clattered along the road through the village.
Elizabeth looked up at footsteps. Jane walked to Elizabeth’s bench holding out her pelisse. Elizabeth smiled and shrugged into the coat before wiping off her face with a handkerchief.
“Lizzy, what’s the matter? This isn’t like you. Mr. Collins and Mama should not make you cry. Is it Mr. Darcy? He showed you every attention last night.”
“He isn’t coming. I know he is not. When he was alone he remembered his debts and how I am poor, and he won’t come back. If he was going to make an offer, he already would have called.”
“Do not be absurd — he loves you. I saw it in how he treated you last night; of course he loves you, anyone would. You are so bold and clever — I am sure he shall come. Perhaps he is asleep, or perhaps he needs to wait a few days to place his affairs in order. Mr. Darcy admires you too much to leave this region without making an offer.”
Elizabeth sniffled. “Do you really think so?”
“Of course, I do. Don’t be so sad — was that why you slept on the couch? Did you hope he would ride up early in the morning?”
Elizabeth blushed and nodded.
Jane took her sister’s hand. “Let’s go into town and see if there is any news. It will make you maudlin to wait about here. Besides, we want to avoid Mama until she calms.”
The two girls walked through the woods until they reached a road on the far side that let them walk to Meryton without being seen from Longbourn.
Elizabeth said, “I do not think he will. He admires me, but he needs money. He is too committed to clearing his debts. Oh, I should have told him how ardently I love him. Maybe then he would have promised…”
“He saw how you love him. He must have. Do not worry so. Everything will turn out right.”
When they entered town, they saw Miss Bingley who stood next to the Bingley’s handsome chaise. A team of four dappled horses was attached to the carriage, and all of the footmen and coachmen were gathered around it.
Miss Bingley’s eyes lit up when she saw Elizabeth and Jane, and she hurried to speak with them. Miss Bingley wore a coat with a rich fur lining and a deep orange dress. Her expression was like that of a cat batting at a trapped mouse. “Good day, good day. Is it not a good day, Miss Elizabeth? Have you heard the news? Mr. Darcy has left for his estate.”
Jane gasped. Elizabeth was settled and cold. Rather than a shock, it was a confirmation. She’d known all along.
“Yes,” Miss Bingley studied Elizabeth with a biting intensity. “He fled early this morning before anyone was awake. The stable boy said he waited out with the horse for an hour, and he was gone the instant it was light enough to ride. Methinks it was like Darcy wanted to flee someone. There was somebody whose presence he simply could not bear.”
Something snapped in Elizabeth. “It was your stench. Caro dear, no one tells you, because they are too polite, but you exude a foul odor.” Elizabeth waved a hand in front of her face. “The shock is not that Darcy fled your stench, but that anyone remains in it.”
Jane said in a shocked voice, “Lizzy!”
Miss Bingley looked at her with a vicious snarl. Jane had clapped her hand over her mouth and looked at Elizabeth wide eyed.
Elizabeth pointed at Miss Bingley, “She abandoned all pretense of respectability first. She offered me a thousand pounds if I would flee Hertfordshire and not interfere with her design upon Mr. Darcy.”
“And you should have taken my money. I told you that you had no hope. And now you have nothing. If you had listened to me, you would have the money, and I would have been able to marry him. Be unhappy now. I want to see you cry. Cry for me.”
Jane now stared agape at Miss Bingley.
“Caro dear,” Elizabeth replied sunnily, “You never had any hopes. You forget the foul stench you exude. Darcy did not need my help to be repulsed by you.”
If Miss Bingley so desperately wanted her to be unhappy, Elizabeth would throw herself off a cliff before she cried in the presence of her rival.
Miss Bingley growled. “You’ll regret this. You will.” She thrust her fingers in Jane’s face. “I shall destroy your mercenary design on my brother. I know you only pretended to be sick so your sister could throw herself at Mr. Darcy like a halfpenny whore. Well, I’ll stop my brother from ever returning to this dirty little town. And you shall cry too.”
Caroline Bingley strode to her carriage. The footman hurriedly opened the door, and before she entered the carriage, Miss Bingley cried out, “To London. My brother’s house. And fast.”
The carriage hurried away, the compartment bouncing up and down on the springs.
Elizabeth and Jane stared at each other. Jane said, “Heavens, I am not sure Miss Bingley is entirely well.”
Elizabeth giggled.
“I was certain she was my friend.” Jane shook her head slowly. “You were right; I should not have trusted in Miss Bingley’s affection. She is quite enraged with jealousy.”
“Oh, Jane. I may have harmed your position with Mr. Bingley. I should not have insulted Miss Bingley in that manner. It was not ladylike or polite — I was viciously angry.”
Jane frowned and pulled at her glove. “Oh my, I do hope — even with his sister so set against me, I do hope I shall see Mr. Bingley again.”
Her sister worriedly gnawed at her lip, and Elizabeth darted quick glances between Jane and the ground. Had she destroyed her sister’s hopes as well as her own? Last night Elizabeth had comforted herself with the belief that at least Jane and Bingley would make a match of it.
Elizabeth said, “If Mr. Bingley does not return, it will be because his sister told him a lie. I shall find him in London and try to speak with him. This is my fault. I will not let my selfish pique destroy your happiness.”
Jane grabbed Elizabeth’s arm. “Let us return home. Mayhap, Mama has calmed. We have heard enough news in town. Lizzy, it is not your fault. Miss Bingley makes her choices and had decided before we spoke to go to London to discourage her brother — her trunk was attached to the back of the carriage. If Mr. Bingley listens to his sister, it means our affection was not sufficient, and I shall understand. It would be improper to chase after Mr. Bingley if he chooses to withdraw.”
“I should have chased Mr. Darcy when I had the chance. I should have told him everything in my heart — how much I need him. Proper and improper are barriers to affection and companionship. I will never again let them stop me.”
Mr. Collins had left with Charlotte Lucas when she called while Elizabeth and Jane were in Meryton. Mama, however, had not calmed down, and she yelled at Elizabeth for a full ten minutes about letting Mr. Collins escape.
It was a sullen group that evening. Both Elizabeth and Jane were anxious about Mr. Bingley, and Elizabeth could not stop asking herself what had been so wrong with her that Mr. Darcy left.
It was absurd to think the problem was with her, and Elizabeth knew it. Mr. Darcy loved money more than her; it was that simple. A very ordinary, usual thing.
The memory of Miss Bingley’s desire to see her cry kept Elizabeth from turning maudlin. She would not give Miss Bingley the satisfaction.
The next morning Mr. Bingley returned early and asked Jane to marry him.
Everyone was very happy, and Elizabeth did not let herself become envious. Later that day Elizabeth asked about Miss Bingley.
“Caroline? She won’t be returning.” Bingley rubbed at the back of his neck. “I don’t know what all she said to you, but I apologize for it.”
Elizabeth smiled at Bingley. “I was insulting in return yesterday.”
“You had perfect excuse for it. She is terribly jealous of you. And Darcy — stubborn fool — maybe he’ll come around someday, but once he gets an idea in his mind… It is blasted hard to get it out.”
Elizabeth felt the hurt again.
“Forgive me.” Bingley patted Elizabeth on the shoulder. “I can well imagine how it hurts. I was frightened Jane might refuse me. I should not torment you with talk about the matter. Darcy likes you enormously, but he dislikes doing things to please himself even more. A fool — but Caroline, you asked about her. We argued, and I do not plan to speak to her for at least a year. I’m done supporting her; she can make do with her own fortune. She hates you and Jane, and even if Caroline apologizes, I shall not trust her. Louisa agrees with me completely. She is almost as frustrated with Caroline as I am.”
Over the next weeks Elizabeth kept herself busy and mostly happy. It did hurt, but she was not made for misery. Besides, Miss Bingley’s sole consolation was that she imagined Elizabeth was wretched. It delighted Elizabeth to know she was wrong.
Chapter 17
Pemberley was big and empty.
Darcy did not like staying within his beloved home. Half the rooms were stripped of furniture, and he was alone. He would sit at evenings with the servants, listening to Mrs. Reynolds talk. He visited the Windhams and his other neighbors far more often than usual, but even with other people he was disconnected and melancholy.
He had won a great victory over himself.
Darcy sometimes fantasized about returning to Hertfordshire and how happy and full the house would seem if Elizabeth was present with him, but he was satisfied with himself. It had been painful and difficult, and he had treated Elizabeth abominably, but in the end his reason forced the lustful beast to obey.
He had proven once again he was a better man than Father.
It was some consolation.
Darcy received news about Georgiana shortly after he returned. A month before Darcy had tried to contact his sister by sending the Wickhams a letter through their bank. A week after Darcy arrived at Pemberley he received Wickham’s response:
My Dear Brother,
Georgiana is mine. You shall not steal her. I will not let you. I am truly His son at last, and you cannot take that from me. She is happier with me than with you, because she is living with a man who holds George Darcy’s memory in the reverence it deserves. Do not seek to contact My wife again.
Your Father’s True son,
George Wickham
Damn him.
Despite Darcy’s frustration the letter relieved his worry. If Wickham was obsessed with Father’s memory, he was unlikely to use Georgiana cruelly.
Darcy wanted to see her, or at least receive a letter. But there was nothing to be done. He did not even know where they lived, and if he did, he would not have a letter placed secretly in Georgiana’s hands.
Maybe, he would never see Georgiana again.
Darcy went to Matlock a week before Christmas. The Earl of Matlock was a medium sized man who was a little overweight. He had large bushy sideburns and a full head of grey hair. His face was ruddy and good natured. As soon as Darcy dismounted from his horse his uncle grabbed him in an embrace. “Lad, it is damned good to see you again. Damned good. Did you enjoy your visit with your friend Bingley?”
“Yes.”
“Damned good, damned good. Well, you look well. You’ve not turned maudlin have you? It is a big house to live in alone.”
Darcy sighed. “A little perhaps.”
“Well. Well. You ought to marry. Perhaps next year. A new dowry would replace what you paid out to him.” Matlock shook his head. “We will not talk about them though. Are you ready to hunt tomorrow?”
Darcy nodded. He ought to tell his uncle he had decided to marry, so they could make plans. Darcy found it was impossible to speak; it was absurd to feel like he would betray Elizabeth if he courted a woman he could marry. He still felt deep in his soul that he should not betray her so.
Matlock clapped Darcy on the shoulder. “Good. Good. You do look well.”
Each morning they went after a deer or a fox or some other animal. It was an active week, and the constant hunting and games and conversations helped Darcy to forget everything else. In the afternoons he fenced with his uncle or Colonel Fitzwilliam after his cousin arrived.
Matlock had been one of the best fencers in England in his prime, and even though Darcy’s reflexes and reach were better, at least a fifth of the time the old man would play a clever trick that let him win. It was great fun. Colonel Fitzwilliam and Darcy were nearly evenly matched, though Darcy won five matches for every four his cousin took.
The day after Colonel Fitzwilliam came to the estate, he and Darcy went riding out together. After their ride they took a private room in an inn to eat and let the horses recover before returning.
Once they sat around the roughhewn wooden table with wine and a roast from the kitchen, Colonel Fitzwilliam said, “I keep thinking about Georgiana — poor Georgie” — Colonel Fitzwilliam held Darcy’s gaze — “I know you feel guilty, but it was my fault, I recommended her — Mrs. Younge was the General’s former mistress, and he was desperate to get a situation for her so she wouldn’t tell his wife. He lied to me. I should have known.”
Darcy shook his head. “I was her brother; and I interviewed Mrs. Younge after she arrived. And we should have hired an investigator. But your general suggested her. That seemed a good enough reference. If I’d only visited Georgiana at Ramsgate, before she and Wickham left.”
“Now that will not do. It is my fault.”
Darcy remembered Elizabeth’s words. Don’t take more guilt than is your due. “It is both of our faults, and it is Georgiana’s, and my father’s, and the Church of Scotland’s. It happened, and we can’t unmarry them. I doubt Georgiana even wishes that. What is done is done. All that is left is to hope she will not become miserable. Hating ourselves will do Georgiana no good.”
To his surprise Darcy realized he believed what he had just said. He worried about Georgiana, and he had failed her, but he no longer felt the guilt which had suffused him for the first months.
Colonel Fitzwilliam slowly chewed a chunk of the roast the inn’s waiters had brought. After he swallowed and took a gulp from his wine, he said, “And it also is the General’s damn fault too. I’m surprised. I thought you’d be too angry at yourself to think about my guilt.”
Darcy shrugged. He listened to Elizabeth when she spoke to him. He was glad he had been able to walk away, but he truly wished she had money enough for him to marry her.
The two ate in silence. Colonel Fitzwilliam asked, “How have you managed yourself? Did you meet any women while staying at your friend’s house?” At the way Darcy startled his cousin grinned widely. “You did! You! I can scarce believe me. Tell me about her.”
Darcy exhaled and studied the rough cut planks of the inn’s table. “There is nothing to tell. She has no dowry worth speaking of, and her connections are mostly to trade. I cannot marry her, so I left.”
“Oh.” Colonel Fitzwilliam patted Darcy on the shoulder. “It is a pity when fortune prevents a promising attachment.”
“I need to marry. I should replace Georgie’s dowry, but I can’t speak to uncle about it, because I feel like it would be a betrayal of Elizabeth.”
“No, no.” Colonel Fitzwilliam shook his head. “Don’t try to marry too soon. Women — women worth marrying — they can tell if you do not love them. You need to let your passion for this penniless girl fade before you can court a different woman. Do not even think of it before near the end of the season next year. When August comes, perhaps you can find a few house parties to attend. I am glad to hear you are thinking of marriage; you need heirs, and a woman will make you less lonely.”
Darcy remembered Elizabeth as she appeared when they danced at Netherfield. The bare skin of her chest and neck. Her appealing smile.
Damn.
He wished he had been able to marry her.
Christmas Day came and Darcy missed Georgiana and wished Elizabeth was present. He planned to return to Pemberley on the twenty seventh. The day after Christmas, Matlock pulled Darcy into one of the estate’s sitting rooms for a talk.
The servants brought large mugs of beer, and they sat next to the warm roaring fire. Darcy’s uncle made his ale with a great deal of hops. Matlock asked, “So, how did you scrape up the money for the gambler?”
Darcy grimaced at the unpleasant memories. “My friend Bingley loaned the bulk of the funds to me.”
“Doesn’t he plan to purchase an estate soon?”
Darcy shrugged. “It is prudent to have a source of income besides the land. My best alternative at the time was to find a usurer who preyed on gamblers.”
“You should have taken my advice. We could have forced Wickham to make a settlement on Georgiana if he wished to get the money quickly. The son of a friend met Wickham a month ago and won three hundred pounds off him at cards. The sum was paid promptly the next morning. It won’t take long for Wickham to gamble away all of Georgiana’s money, and then they’ll try to get something from me and you to live off. And you are soft hearted enough that you’ll give it to them.”
“Georgie is still my sister.”
“Damn it, Darcy, I’m soft hearted enough that I will give her something if it comes to it. But if you had been sensible we could have made him agree for the fortune to be protected. He could not have afforded to take a case through Chancery.”
“Oh.” Darcy felt suddenly foolish. “That would have been a good scheme. But… you said nothing of any such plan at the time. You said I shouldn’t pay at all because they didn’t deserve it.”
Matlock waved his hand and drank a long pull from his beer. “Yes. Well, I didn’t think of my excellent plan until two weeks later — after you wrote to inform me you had paid the money out. We were both damn fools. I was angry, and you were obsessed with giving away that money. You know how I get when angry. I do not think clear. By Jove, why were you so insistent the money be paid out so quickly?”
“I told you. It would be dishonorable to keep the money. It was owed by law, so I would pay it.”
“Don’t use that pretense with me.” Matlock slammed his mug on the wooden table. “You only give a damn about honor when it serves your purposes. You have your own code you live by, and it isn’t the Prince Regent’s.”
Darcy drank from his brown beer and stared into the liquid. “I was worried he would beat or mistreat Georgiana if he didn’t receive the money promptly. I wish one of us had thought of your idea to protect the fortune while it was possible.”
Matlock exhaled and looked up at the elaborate geometric patterns carved into the roof. “The whole thing is a damned pity. Poor girl. It would be his right to beat her too. Do you have any notion how they are living now?”
“I sent a letter to Georgiana, and Wickham ordered me to not bother his wife. He is still obsessed by Father’s memory. I do not believe he will intentionally hurt her. At least not soon.”
“Good. I do hope you are right.”
Darcy returned to Pemberley. It seemed just as empty as before.
Bingley’s news reached Darcy at the end of a productive day. A twenty-year lease held by a large tenant had ended, and Darcy spent the entire day closeted in his study with Mr. Henry and Mr. Harding negotiating the new lease.
The Robertsons had leased land from the Darcy family for more than a century. As the price of wheat had gone up very far in the past few years, the increase Darcy could demand in rent was large, and it took several hours of good natured bargaining before both he and Mr. Robertson were happy. There were large benefits when the same family farmed a piece of land for decades. The question was how to fairly divide the benefits between the landowner and the tenant.
After they had reached an agreement on the new rent and other terms, Darcy walked Mr. Robertson and his son to his door. He did not wish to act like a petty monarch in the way some gentry did. Mr. Henry set off to his office in the nearest market town to have his clerk draft the contract. In a week Darcy and Mr. Robertson would meet again to sign the completed document.
Darcy returned to his study and pulled out an account book that listed how much he earned from each tenant. Darcy settled into his chair and took from a drawer a pencil and a piece of stale bread to rub the old marks away. The entries were in lead so that they could be updated easily. An expensive resin grown in South America was superior to stale bread for removing pencil marks, but not using a rubber was an easy economy. Darcy erased the old lease value from the entry for the Robertsons and wrote in the new annual rent. He then changed the sum in the totals line.
Financially, matters were going well. But, he did not experience the joy of advancing towards his goal the way he used to. He would conquer this. He once felt happy without Elizabeth. He could again. His life was not dull and empty.
Darcy had won against the greatest temptation he had ever faced. He should be elated. But the effort had left him drained instead of invigorated.
Darcy’s footman knocked on the door and brought the afternoon post in on a cheap brass tray. The letters were placed on the desk, and Darcy sorted through them. One was in Bingley’s hand.
His heart jumped.
Maybe it mentioned Elizabeth. Darcy hurriedly tore the envelope open before he could stop himself from caring.
My dear Darcy,
My angel has accepted me. I am to be married! I am so happy. I must have you stand with me. Do promise to return to Hertfordshire. Jane is eager to see you again as well.
I shall expect you soon. Send word of your plans, so I can tell the housekeeper when to have your room prepared
C Bingley
Nothing about Elizabeth.
Did she hate him now, and Bingley did not want to say that? Was she still in love with him, and Bingley thought he would be more likely to change his mind if he was not pushed? Had Bingley been too obsessed with his own happiness to think about him and Elizabeth?
Darcy stared at the note.
His best friend was to marry. Bingley was to marry a sweet, angelically beautiful woman who was perfect for him.
Lucky bastard.
Darcy grinned.
This news needed to be celebrated. Darcy rang the bell, and when Mrs. Reynolds entered the room he said, “We must break open one of those old bottles of champagne that we didn’t sell. My friend Bingley is to be married — his fiancée is a fine woman. I met her when I visited him in Hertfordshire.”
Mrs. Reynolds clapped her hands. “How delightful! He is such a fine young man. You shall want to travel down again to be with him when he marries, by what date should I have your trunks prepared to leave?”
Darcy froze. He could not go.
He could not do it again. If he saw Elizabeth again, he would not walk away. He could close his eyes and see her features. Her delicate eyebrows, the line of her lips, the way her right cheek dimpled. The longing look in her eyes.
If she looked at him that way again… He would not go. It was too risky.
“Mr. Darcy?”
“I have not decided, yet — bring up the champagne, two bottles. We shall pass it around and let all of the staff have a glass.”
Mrs. Reynolds left, and Darcy sat down again and buried his head in his hands. This was Bingley’s wedding. He would not miss it, not because he was frightened of a girl. He was being a ninny.
Darcy pulled a piece of paper from one of the drawers of his desk and penned a quick note to Bingley. He would arrive two days before the wedding. At this time of year leaving no time for delays on the road was foolhardy, but he’d not be within a day’s journey of her for more time than necessary.
Two weeks after the letter arrived, Darcy set out on the icy roads with his valet. They traveled by post, crowded more often than not by fat merchants’ wives and gangly apprentices travelling to London for the first time. The cheap rooms at night were well ventilated with the freezing January air.
He wanted to see her again, but he had no reason to worry about his behavior. His emotions were under good regulation. He’d be polite and distant; his manner would prove that she had no effect on him.
Chapter 18
Elizabeth looked at the people who bumped and crowded against each other in Longbourn’s drawing room the day before Jane’s wedding. The Bennets were hosting a dinner for much of the neighborhood to commemorate the wedding on the next day. The feast after the wedding was to be held at Netherfield.
Almost everyone but Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy had arrived. Darcy had been expected the day before, but ice on the roads delayed him until past noon today. Elizabeth had seen the message Bingley sent with the footman two hours ago announcing the arrival of his friend.
It would not be long.
Elizabeth spoke with Captain Denny and Mr. Reed. It was petty, but she wanted Darcy to see her happy and with another man when he entered the room.
The timing of Darcy’s entrance was perfect. Mr. Reed had just finished a delightful anecdote about embarrassing himself horribly at his club in London, and Elizabeth and Captain Denny were laughing. Flushed with good humor Elizabeth could see Darcy’s eyes flash towards her. She tipped her head back and laughed harder and briefly touched Mr. Reed’s arm. “You are so very amusing.”
Darcy’s eyes lingered on the tableau before he forcefully averted his gaze and walked up to Jane to congratulate her.
Though distracted, Elizabeth continued her conversation with Mr. Reed and Captain Denny. She spoke with a high spirit and laughed at every joke either gentleman said, especially the dull ones. Darcy walked around the room and greeted several persons before he settled into a conversation with Charlotte.
He was as handsome as ever.
He stood turned away from her. Though he showed little animation, he was perfectly attentive to Charlotte. His coattails fell in a trim line, and the handsome length of his muscular legs was showed off by his breeches. He had not chosen her; she should not ogle him like an infatuated girl.
Elizabeth laughed again, a false tinny sound, and she tried to pay attention to Mr. Reed and Captain Denny.
After he entered the room — and saw Elizabeth laughing at another man’s words — Darcy did not look directly at her again. However, her laughter and teasing voice was never absent from his mind while he congratulated Miss Lucas on her impending marriage.
It was not real. She was forcing the laughter. He could feel her attention was on him.
Miss Lucas was Elizabeth’s friend, and he would not immediately approach Elizabeth. Talking to her best friend was the closest to Elizabeth he could let himself approach. Bingley and a throng of well-wishers monopolized Jane. Also… poor Miss Lucas. Being unmarried at twenty-seven must have made her terribly desperate. Desperation had nearly driven him to an equally poor decision.
At last enough time had passed that he could briefly greet Elizabeth without appearing overly solicitous. She wore a pretty evening gown that had a purple tint, and it was less daring than what she had worn at the Netherfield ball. While Captain Denny had the good-humored look of a man enjoying the conversation of a pretty and lively girl, Mr. Reed looked at Elizabeth with a more particular interest.
He did not stray outside the bounds of politeness, but Mr. Reed’s eyes glanced down at Elizabeth’s bosom too often, and he spoke entirely to her. Nobody — at least nobody else — should look at her that way.
Elizabeth should have worn a high necked day dress with an ugly shawl.
Darcy stepped up to them. Elizabeth flashed him a bright smile with a cocked eyebrow that asked why he had taken so long to approach her. Darcy’s stomach squirmed. He was simply greeting a friend.
Mr. Reed said, “Gaining the estate has changed my life completely! There are so many changes! My entire mode of life is different. Most importantly, I now can afford to marry.”
Elizabeth laughed even though Mr. Reed had not told a joke. She would not pay Darcy any special attention. He did not deserve it. She touched Mr. Reed’s arm again. “A sensible choice, Mr. Reed. A sensible choice to only marry where you can afford — Mr. Darcy would praise your wisdom extravagantly. I think—” Elizabeth gestured excitedly, caught in a sudden passion. “It is more romantic — it is wiser to marry when one becomes attached, whether it is possible to afford or not. But I am merely a woman.”
“Irresponsibility often has a romance about it,” Darcy replied gravely, “yet, it can never be wise.”
“No, no — you are correct, Miss Elizabeth,” Mr. Reed cried out, “were I to find a girl I really liked, I would marry her even if she had only the tiniest portion. I would show the sort of wisdom you praise. Yet, I had never, until I settled permanently here in Hertfordshire after my uncle’s death, encountered a woman towards whom I had such a strong attachment.”
Darcy used his years of self-control to avoid sneering at the man. Of course the nitwitted popinjay eagerly agreed with every damn word from Elizabeth’s mouth.
Elizabeth caught Darcy’s eye. “As a good Christian, should you not attempt to convince Reed to change his opinions and practice your vaunted wisdom?”
“I have no need to do so, for it is most easy for Mr. Reed now to claim he would’ve married upon nothing and against the wishes of the uncle he depended upon for his allowance. It gives him a certain daring to loudly claim the importance of affection. That is a stance I believe most ladies find attractive. What I wonder is whether he would have behaved so wisely if put to the test.”
“Now, Darcy, I am no hypocrite.” Mr. Reed cleared his throat. “I was put to such a test a year before my uncle’s death. He had arranged for me to marry a lady whose portion was a full fifteen thousand pounds, and he threatened to reduce my allowance if I refused to marry her. Unfortunately… the lady, her person was...” Mr. Reed stamped his foot and exclaimed, “She was no prettier than my favorite hunting bitch, and while Bess is a fine looking dog I’d not marry her. Pardon my expression, Miss Elizabeth.”
Darcy loved the way Elizabeth’s face twisted in disgust briefly, and how she turned to him and caught his eye. Elizabeth replied to Mr. Reed in a light tone Darcy recognized as insincere. “You do not offend me. I comprehend your sentiments. It was best you did not marry her; it would not have been a good match. Your peculiar vice is not love of money.”
Mr. Darcy refrained from sneering as Mr. Reed preened and thanked Elizabeth for what he imagined was her approval. The bell rang for dinner. Before Mr. Reed could ask her, Darcy peremptorily took Elizabeth’s arm to lead her in the procession to the dining room. Darcy caught Elizabeth’s eye and, glancing back at Mr. Reed, rolled his eyes. She grinned at him.
Elizabeth and Darcy were seated next to each other, but for a few minutes they remained awkwardly silent. Elizabeth’s uncle Mr. Gardiner was on her other side, but he was absorbed with the lady on his left.
Darcy abruptly spoke, “You look well. I’m pleased to see it.”
“I know I look well. You have never needed to say it. However, I also know that, no matter how good my looks, I am only tempting. I am not irresistible.”
Darcy frowned. She was still hurt.
“I apologize,” Elizabeth said quickly, “I vowed no hint about the matter would pass my lips, and none shall again. What must be, must be. It is no use to cry over spilt milk.”
Darcy shifted in his chair uneasily. There was nothing he could say.
Changing the subject, Elizabeth smiled and said, “Bingley spoke recently about the mill on your lands and how you dislike it. Now to be contrary I will choose, sight unseen, to declare the mill to be picturesque and an improvement on the landscape. In defense of the statement, as a young girl I found the illustration of Arkwright’s first mill in a geography of England to be charming.”
“Now that, that is a weighty argument indeed.” Darcy smiled, grateful that Elizabeth moved the conversation from unpleasant topics best avoided. “At what age were you when you studied this illustrated geography? And did you often return to that picture, or is this a memory of a single glance that you believe you found picturesque? — I will admit in favor of your case that, as the mill in my park was built by the son of one of Arkwright’s partners, it does looks similar. A large red brick building with a profusion of windows and a constant clatter when in use.”
“Aha, so you admit you would like it too if it was merely an illustration in a book, and not a noisemaking object which disturbs all the fish and birds.”
“In truth, the workers — especially the parish children who the mill owner took on as apprentices — are a greater danger to the quality of my ponds than the sound of the mill. I simply have not the heart to forbid them to fish.”
“That is sweet of you. I know fishing is considered by all men one of the great joys of childhood.”
“It is.” Darcy nodded seriously. “One cannot have a worthwhile childhood without muddying yourself and eating a trout you’d pulled out of the water just an hour past.”
The mention of trout caught Mr. Gardiner’s attention. “What is that about? Have you convinced Lizzy to talk about fishing?”
Elizabeth laughed. “He is explaining how his ponds have been denuded of game by the hordes of mill children he allows to freely fish on their Sundays.”
“Ah, that is very kind.” Mr. Gardiner flashed his easy smile. “It is a pity that their depredations have damaged the fishing; I once toured your park, back in your father’s day, and I recall a great envy upon seeing the trout leaping from the stream.”
“I hardly have the time to fish myself, and I feel I must do anything I can to improve the children’s situation. I wish the parish children were not employed on my land at all.”
“Oh?” Mr. Gardiner turned his chair towards Darcy and Elizabeth, while Elizabeth pushed hers back a little, so the two gentlemen could easily look at each other. “They had best be employed somewhere. Is the mill using orphaned children dependent upon the parish? The practice of apprenticing parish children to mills is beneficial to all. The children gain habits of industry and usefulness, their support is no longer borne by the ratepayers, and the mill gains a needed source of labor.”
“The benefit comes to the ratepayer and the mill owner — but the child? No. The children are packed in rooms together with dozens of others; they are given no opportunity to protect their possessions; they are ill fed and forced to work from sun up till sundown. It breeds disease. The owners habitually care little for safety, and children are by nature careless around dangerous machinery. Accidents that cause death or permanent disability are frequent. As for habits of industry, mayhap there’s something to that, but the claim that strenuous labor is necessary to teach such habits is simply an excuse to mistreat and overwork the children.”
“That is a harsh indictment. So you have a reformist’s bent? Have not laws already been passed sufficient to protect the children?”
“Laws have been passed, but my own experience proves they are yet insufficient.” Darcy smiled. “Mr. Gardiner, tell me honestly, do you, in your own line of business, always follow in every respect the spirit and letter of the laws passed to regulate it? Especially when there is no inspector, or you are a friend of the inspector, and the fine is quite small in any case? Do be honest.”
Mr. Gardiner nodded and then laughed. “I accept your point. Though I will not be honest on this subject. My impressionable niece is listening to the conversation, and I understand you are a Justice of the Peace.”
“Now, I am not so impressionable!” Elizabeth laughed. “It shall not ruin my morals to learn you smuggled from France that Chantilly lace you gave Mama last Christmas.”
“I did no such thing.” Mr. Gardiner winked at her and Darcy, who both laughed. Mr. Gardiner added, “I do confess some tradesmen ignore laws they find nonsensical or inconvenient when it is safe to do so. Is the enforcement so lax?”
“There is no requirement for the local magistrate to have the premises inspected. It is why I had myself appointed as a JP. The lease on the mill is for a very long term and gives me little control over what goes on in it. However, as a JP I could inspect the premises with my parson and levy fines. However, the fines themselves are nominal, a matter of pounds and shillings when the mill turns over thousands.”
“Do mill owners often abuse the situation? I have toured several mills, and at them the children were happy and industrious.”
“Accidents are infrequent; you would not expect one to occur during the two hours of your presence. Much of my uncle’s fortune came from leasing land and water rights to Arkwright. When I toured those mills as a lad, I saw what you did. The reality of the situation does not become apparent until you live near enough to see how affairs are managed day after day.”
“What do you wish done by parliament? Harsher laws? What did you do? Since you think the present fines ineffectual.”
“I did not fine him, and he agreed to improve the conditions. I directly hired several women to watch the safety of the children, and he has hired adult labor for the most dangerous tasks, mostly young unmarried women who think mill work is preferable to service. In exchange I have lowered the rent he pays by a fourth, so long as accidents remain infrequent. Also I had an additional hall constructed so the children were less crowded. I do not like it at all. On occasion someone is injured or killed, but when a person past the age of reason freely enters a labor contract, it does not sit on my conscience when an accident occurs the way the death of parish children did.”
“So you have no reason to be very unhappy about the situation. After all, people die in accidents all of the time, it is simply part of life.”
“I have reason to be unhappy that my income from tearing up my park is substantially less than I expected it to be, because I needed to bribe a manufacturer, so the legal murder of children for profit would not be on my conscience.”
“That is a harsh way to describe such accidents.”
“It captures the heart of the matter. Describing it otherwise because the death of the children is neither the mill owners goal, nor something he seeks, is sophistry. His negligence causes the death of children who the law has made him guardian.”
“I imagine you must oppose the entire practice — I feel less sure myself. Are you truly losing a great deal of money over this?”
“Five or six hundred a year. I only name a number to show that it would be absurd to expect private benevolence to suffice in curbing these abuses. The practice should be entirely outlawed. The only alternative would be to create a national system of inspectors, such as we have to ensure taxes are collected, but if that was paid for out of the manufacturer’s taxes, there would be little profit in employing parish children as opposed to the free labor of adults.”
“Yes. Yes…” Mr. Gardiner rapidly shook his head side to side. “I hardly know; I hardly know. I have the prejudice of my position in society. I do not wish to see Parliament interfere with private commerce. But then, the disposition of the parish children is not really a matter of private commerce at all. Certainly when the parents of a child are living they have a perfect right to sell their children’s labor as they will.”
“Perhaps. Rights of contract and property are cornerstones of English liberty. Still… No, I do not approve at all. The parent is the protector of the child, not the master. Children are under guardianship, and if the parent mistreats or neglects the child, the commonwealth should take on the responsibility. An adult has a right to sell their own labor, even into a very dangerous occupation, but I would no more give a parent the right to hire their children out to an unsafe mill than I would give them the right to murder the child directly.”
“Murder? Again, you are hyperbolic.”
“Yes. Consciously so. Perhaps negligent manslaughter would be a more accurate description than murder. The need for regulations to protect children is no weaker for the substitution.”
“Regulations that interfere with a parent’s right to manage their children’s welfare. Do you not in general approve of parental rights?”
Elizabeth interrupted their conversation. “Mr. Darcy, I think I understand why you think parental rights must sometimes be limited.”
Darcy replied, “Yes, you would understand me. I trust that. We have talked about my father. And a parent who lets their child work in such a mill does far worse than simply wasting the family inheritance.” Darcy looked at Mr. Gardiner. “So you see, my position on parental rights is a matter of my own prejudice. An entailment is a method of decreeing that a son is not allowed to harm the interests of a grandson. This extremely common practice amongst the gentry exists to protect children from parents. I think it not so strange then to say, when it is a matter of possible maiming or death, that we should collectively do what is needed to protect the children from their parents. We already allow such to be done in the case of property.”
“I do not think,” Elizabeth said, “That entails are fair to daughters.”
Darcy rubbed his hand over his chin. “Perhaps they are not. But then they are also unfair to second sons, and that is a sort of unfairness everyone accepts. Mr. Gardiner, do you still think children’s labor should be as freely sold as that of an adult?”
“Maybe. I do not like the idea of laws that interfere with the rights of a parent to determine what is best for their child. It is unnatural. A revolutionary French sort of thought. Perhaps freedom requires the occasional tragedy, and we should not be so soft hearted as to abandon freedom every time there is an unfortunate abuse. If we disallow child labor then Parliament will interfere again and again, with the best of intentions in every case, but eventually we will live in a very different world than our own.”
“I do not know if I fear such a future. I approve of the habits of neither my own class, nor yours. The world is not as it ought to be. I am no misanthrope, but I do wish to see a world with better, more disciplined habits. The French tried to throw off every restraint given by religion and hierarchy; I see that as more the natural end of your preference for never interfering with individual rights than my belief morality should be enforced on the manufacturer and parent even when it interferes with the right to form contracts. I believe religion and philosophy stand with me in this matter.”
Mr. Gardiner shrugged. “Perhaps. I am less certain about labor by children in mills than I had been. Even if the child is hired with the consent of the parent, it is not the same as on a farm or in a small business where the whole family works in its own interest.”
“I certainly do not find anything wrong with a child helping a parent at their work, so long as the work is not highly dangerous.” Darcy looked at Elizabeth. “That mill, that picturesque mill which looks a little like Arkwright’s first, this is why I dislike it. The building I have grown used too; its management I cannot.”
Elizabeth shook her head and frowned. “I admit defeat — I do not think I can convince you to be pleased by your mill.” Elizabeth was absorbed by thoughts of the mill children. That sort of kindness was very much in Darcy’s character, to act to help poor children when his own debts were so great.
After dinner, Elizabeth and Darcy immediately gravitated towards each other in the drawing room. They sat in a corner, with blue and white tea cups between them on a small rosewood table. Naturally, as they looked at Jane and Bingley smiling together, the conversation turned towards the couple.
Darcy spoke, sipping at his tea, “They make a handsome couple.”
“And they are perfect for each other. I like Bingley more every week.”
“He is the best of friends. He deserves happiness. I only slightly know Miss Bennet, though. Tell me more of your sister.”
“Jane? She is an angel. She always believes the best of everyone. For a long time, I feared someone would take advantage of her sweetness, and I always thought it necessary to protect Jane. Once —” Elizabeth hesitated and stared into her tea and breathed the fragrant odor from the thick brew. The candlelight glinted off the milky surface. Placing cup back down, Elizabeth’s eyes shot back to Darcy’s. “Did you ever hear my mother tell the story of the man who wrote Jane a sonnet when she was fifteen? Likely you did. She has always been fond of it.”
The seriousness of Elizabeth’s manner confused Darcy. “I heard something about it. It is fortunate for my friend that the attachment did not ripen.”
Elizabeth glanced around the room. All of the other guests were intent on their own conversations. She spoke in a hushed voice which would not carry, “It is my fault it ended so suddenly — I do not think I acted wrongly, but… what I did has still gnawed at me.”
“You need not share this story if you think it best unsaid.”
“No — I have told no one this, not even Jane, it would please me — I wish you to know it.”
At Darcy’s nod and intent expression, Elizabeth began, “We were in London visiting my aunt and uncle for a few months, and a man became infatuated with Jane. He was ten years older than her — twenty-five seemed far more aged to me then. He was a boring and shallow man. Jane neither liked nor disliked him, but she was determined to think the best of him. Mama was enthralled by the thought of the match for, while much poorer than Bingley, he had a respectable estate.”
Elizabeth looked at her hands. “It was the way his eye lingered on Jane’s figure when he thought himself unobserved that made me dislike him. I was sure he only wished to marry Jane due to her beauty. He couldn’t understand her goodness and character. Today, Jane — until she met Bingley she discouraged every potential suitor because she did not feel what she ought. But… we were both so young. I… I thought she would do what Mama wished.
“I had servants trail the man — I sold jewels which had been a gift to pay them — and found he kept a mistress on the outskirts of town. He visited her constantly despite courting Jane. He recited his horrid poetry to Jane and left in his carriage and headed straight to that woman. I was only thirteen at the time. I know girls are intended to be delicate and have little understanding of such matters, but Papa never restricted my access to the library. I understood what he did.
“I told myself Jane would not believe me. She would convince herself he had an explanation that absolved him of wrong doing. We were fans of Gothic romances, and I thought Jane would decide that the woman he visited was a secret half-sister — or some similar nonsense. Mama would not care. I knew that. So I made a fake version of Jane’s diary. It claimed that she despised him. I left the diary where Mr. Bad Poet would find it. He did not resist the temptation, and after the day he picked it up we never saw him again.
“It was dishonest. I lied and in a manner defamed Jane —” Elizabeth looked at Darcy pleadingly. “I needed to protect Jane, but, still…”
Darcy couldn’t speak. She had trusted him with a story she’d never even told Jane. Elizabeth hurriedly added, “The affair may have ended with nothing —I ought to have tried a different method to put the man off — Jane was so confused by his sudden abandonment, and I never could bring myself to tell her why.”
“You were still a child — you were brave and caring. That… that is what matters. You are… were perfect. You needed to do something. If I could have protected Georgiana from Wickham by lying…” — Darcy gestured with his head towards where the glowing couple sat surrounded by well-wishers — “The event has proven fortuitous. You are older now, wiser, but your heart has always been what it should be.”
“Yes — I know that, but —” Elizabeth laughed shakily. “I have never, not even to my aunt, and certainly not to Jane, spoken of this — I feel easier. Thank you.”
“I am glad.”
The gentlemen of the party departed not much later with Bingley while the ladies gathered around Jane to laugh and speak with her on her last night as a maiden.
The warm glow her conversation with Darcy gave Elizabeth carried her happily through the next hours. Eventually, she said a last, last good night to Jane and settled on her own bed to await the morning.
She was so happy when she sat next to Darcy. She loved his voice, and she loved the way he held her eyes and listened. It was as though they were perfectly formed for each other — but no matter how connected they felt, tomorrow or the day after he would leave Netherfield and return to his own estates. Then he would marry another.
Elizabeth sobbed quietly.
She had expected he would avoid conversation with her, and perhaps he had planned to. But when he was near, it was so easy to talk.
Elizabeth hugged her pillow to her face and muffled the sounds so no hint of them could reach Jane or any other inhabitant of the house. After tomorrow he would leave again, and she would eventually stop missing him and fall in love with another.
You are resigned. Be resigned. You are happy. You accept that he shall not marry you.
*****
Darcy drank and listened to the gentlemen who had gathered with Bingley at Netherfield. He refused to think about the future; instead, he contemplated how sweet it had been to talk to her. The flash of her eyes and the goodness of her character.
After a half hour of drinking in Netherfield’s dining room, a gentleman called out, “I bet I can shoot a damn sight better than any of you.”
The tipsy group went outside and took turns making poorly aimed shots at a hastily set up target. The sheet of paper with a bull’s-eye sat in the middle of Netherfield’s lawn and was illuminated by a pair of torches. Several bottles of good Jamaica rum were passed around.
When the bottle reached him, Darcy wiped the round opening of the bottle and took a deep swig. He swirled the liquid around his tongue, leaving a pleasant burn. A line of fire lit its way down his throat. He passed the bottle along as the warmth settled in his stomach.
The smell of gunpowder and alcohol was pungent in the air.
He had drunk port the night he kissed Elizabeth.
Mr. Goulding shouted out to Bingley, “You are so damned lucky! Damned lucky.” He tipped one of the bottles of rum back and drank deeply. He pointed his gun up and shot into the sky. “To Jane Bennet. Prettiest damn girl in the county.”
Bingley grinned sheepishly. The flickering light from the torches the servants had set up gave an orange tint to his flushed face.
Someone whose name Darcy did not know shouted, “To Jane Bennet! The brightest jewel of Hertfordshire.”
Everyone cheered, and all of the loaded guns were discharged into the air. The gentlemen holding the bottles raised them together and drank a swallow before passing them on.
“An angel!” Bingley shouted out, “She is the prettiest angel in the world. I said that the first moment I saw her — Darcy, confirm that.”
“Aye,” Darcy took a bottle of rum when it was pushed into his hand. He took a small swallow and passed it along. He was not going to indulge far enough to lose his wits. “She always held your eye.”
Mr. Reed, the gentleman Elizabeth had been speaking to when Darcy entered Longbourn’s drawing room, exclaimed, “You may have taken the prettiest — but the other four Bennet girls are still there for the rest of us. Do you plan to do anything for them? Not all of us have money enough to ignore every consideration but the beauty of our partner.”
Bingley laughed. “Maybe if I like the man. So you are out, Reed.”
There were laughs all around. Mr. Goulding slapped Mr. Reed on the back. “Bingley sunk you.”
Darcy’s fist clenched itself. Reed had been looking at Elizabeth.
At Elizabeth.
Darcy was sure he wished to marry her. Darcy’s chest felt squeezed, and he imagined pounding his fist into the corner of Mr. Reed’s face.
The oldest Lucas son tried to hand Darcy the bottle again, but he pushed it away. Mr. Lucas looked critically at Darcy before he handed the bottle to another guest.
Mr. Reed was unabashed by Bingley’s putdown, and he wobbled a little as he exclaimed, “You’ll not stop everyone that way! I’d marry one of your sisters without money. They’re all so —” He waved his hands to outline the curves of a lady. “You’ll have a damned good night tomorrow. But you don’t have the only good one. I bet Eliza will be even more exciting once you get her in bed. You can always tell: the skirts with spirit tumble the best.”
Darcy’s chest thudded tightly. There was a haze of red in front of his eyes. He held a gun, though he’d not reloaded it after firing his turn. He could still pound the stock against Reed’s forehead. Everyone around was armed.
“She is my sister!” Bingley looked suddenly sober. “I’ll not hear anything of the sort. Apologize for that — I demand you apologize now.”
Bingley’s eyes flickered away from Mr. Reed and towards Darcy for an instant; Darcy suddenly realized how he must appear with his muscles tense and his teeth bared. Darcy wanted to pound Reed’s face into a bloody pulp.
Mr. Reed said, “Bingley, I just —”
John Lucas put his arm around Mr. Reed’s shoulder. “Hear, hear. Apologize, man. She is a gentlewoman. You know not to speak about a lady crudely. Apologize.”
Everyone murmured in agreement.
Mr. Reed bowed his head and said, “No offense. I should not have spoken so of Miss Elizabeth. It was wrong of me. I have let drink run away with my senses, and it is far past time for me to retire.”
Darcy relaxed a little. He still wanted to hurt Mr. Reed. Bingley glanced at Darcy and said, “Enough of this. It is time for billiards — we are too foxed for guns.”
No one disagreed, and Bingley’s footmen and butler came to take the weapons away. They had suddenly become a somber group.
As they reentered the house Mr. Lucas said loudly, “Reed, you should not even think about Miss Elizabeth!” Seeing he had everyone’s attention, Mr. Lucas added, “Papa always said you should never marry a woman cleverer than you are. And Elizabeth, she’s sharper than all of us.”
The round of laughter which followed drained the tension from the room.
It was well past midnight when the laughter and games ended and the other gentlemen either went home or to rooms given to them at Netherfield. The wedding was to be held an hour before noon, so the late hour was not a problem.
Darcy had ceased to drink fairly early, so he was still alert, though tired. Bingley was halfway between drunk and simply uninhibited. Darcy said farewell and went to go up the stairs to his room.
“Wait. Sit with me, please.”
Darcy sat next to Bingley and raised his eyebrows in question.
“I’m too nervous. Everything changes tomorrow. What if I am a terrible husband?”
Darcy smiled and patted Bingley on the shoulder. He rolled his eyes and replied, “That is impossible. You are too good of a gentleman to make yourself or Jane unhappy.”
There was a silver tray with meats, cheeses, and rolls left on a side table. A decanter full of water sat next to it.
Darcy poured himself a glass and grabbed a piece of ham and a wedge of cheese before he pushed the tray towards Bingley. “Eat something; it may reduce the effects of the drink in the morning.”
Bingley did not reply, instead he stared morosely into his lap.
Darcy sighed. He had to try to relieve his friend’s nerves. “My dear man, I have known you five years — and have seen a great deal of you in that time — you are an excellent man, and Miss Bennet is a lucky woman indeed. Anyone can see she adores you.”
“Yes, but —” Bingley looked up at Darcy, worried eyes framed by his curly hair. He had taken off his cravat and tail coat earlier in the evening and now wore a green silk waistcoat and linen shirtsleeves. “Why do people end up miserable? So many couples are miserable. Look at my new parents or my brother and sister Hurst. Did they plan to become miserable?”
“You are nothing like either of the gentlemen — Jane is little like her mother or your sister.”
“That only means I shall find a novel manner in which to make her unhappy.”
Darcy laughed. “Many couples are happy together. You never knew my aunt, Lady Matlock, but her and my uncle were devoted to each other. And you have met my nearest neighbors, the Windhams. Do not worry so. It is possible to find happiness in marriage.”
“I know that. But I am… I am not so responsible as you, people can talk me into doing foolish things. I am easily persuadable.”
Darcy shrugged and stuffed the last of the roll into his mouth.
“You cannot deny it. Caroline — when I went to town to sign those papers the day you left, she came behind me and tried to convince me to stay in London. She half convinced me Jane was just humoring me and did not care for me at all. I chose not to listen to her, but what if I make such a mistake? I cannot be sure I will never do so.”
Darcy finished the glass of water and ate another slice of cheese.
“You know I am too persuadable.”
“Then be persuadable.” Darcy shook his head. “Just listen to Jane first. She is a sensible girl and will not lead you astray. It is the two of you together. If you remember that I think you will do well.”
“Follow Jane’s lead? Always do what my wife tells me to. You recommend I be henpecked — that is not a manly piece of advice." Bingley grinned. “I like the idea. So long as she provides the orders in privacy, my reputation may remain intact.”
The two laughed, then Darcy and Bingley sat in silence.
They had ceased to feed the fire, and the room grew colder and darker. Only a few candles were still lit, the flames flickering an inch or so above the gleaming metal of their holders. Darcy yawned and decided he had sat with Bingley for long enough.
“You and Elizabeth.” Bingley spoke abruptly, “I saw the two of you were friendly this evening. She was delighted to see you — I spared enough attention from Jane to tell that. Over the past month we occasionally talked about you. She always wanted to know if I had any news of your doings.”
Of course. It had been no accident they were seated next to each other at dinner. Darcy growled, “I would appreciate it if you did not encourage impossible hopes.”
Bingley cleared his throat. “I do little of the sort. It is your behavior which encourages such hopes.”
Darcy stiffened. He had talked to her hungrily. And she had been open and warm.
Bingley pushed Darcy in the shoulder. “Likely you shall ignore me again, but I must try: marry her.”
“I wish you would not interfere.”
“You smile with her. You are happy — for once you are completely happy. You are obsessed with her. I daresay your mind was on her pretty eyes this whole evening. Don’t be a blockhead.”
Darcy bristled at Bingley’s words. Bingley’s familiar eyes were concerned. Darcy slumped into his chair. His closest friend had earned the right to speak to him so.
Bingley looked away and rubbed at the back of his head. “I have talked with Jane — Elizabeth does not know this — but, because she is to be my sister, my favorite sister, we thought we might increase her dowry.”
“No.”
“Now listen! I’m not giving you anything — she will be my sister. In less than a half day, she shall be family to me. I would dearly like if you were family as well.”
Darcy felt a delight at the notion. He buried his face in his hands. “It cannot matter. You cannot, not in good conscience, give enough to matter against my debts. I must find an heiress.”
Bingley frowned. “Is your situation that desperate? I thought you were stable. Is it really true you must marry an heiress? If you are in need, what is mine is yours.”
“It is not that.” Darcy waved his hand. He was not sure what it was. Bingley was right; he did not need to marry an heiress. His uncle though would be very unhappy if he married a penniless girl, and without Matlock’s support he might be forced to sell part of Pemberley.
He had sworn to never do that.
Things had always come out right for Darcy before, maybe they would again. Surely he’d find a way to keep from selling. He did not feel it, but he was more than rich enough to afford a penniless wife. His net income was at least eight thousand a year. He would not be harmed if he sold part of Pemberley to redeem his debts and earned that sum off a smaller estate.
Mr. Windham still wanted to buy part of his land, and he was an exemplary landlord. When he died, his son would be as well.
The room was almost completely dark as the last candles went out. It was still winter and the air was becoming frigid. Darcy stared at the dim red glow from the fire grate.
“Why deny both yourself and Elizabeth this happiness? You love her. Don’t be a fool. It would take you longer to sink your debts, but I know that you are not afraid of adding however many years to the process.”
“My uncle would be unhappy. I need his loans to keep Pemberley safe. He was very angry about Georgiana — it would be difficult to find someone to offer a new mortgage if I needed to replace his money.”
“Fiddle!” Bingley slammed his hand on the small table between them, rattling the tray and knocking over a small pile of rolls. “Your uncle would be brought to reason. Do you remember the stories he told us — the time we were hunting — Lord Matlock might rant and storm, but once he met Elizabeth, he’d come around.”
“I’m not sure.”
Bingley waved his hand dismissively. “Risk it. You’ll find some way to get the money. Marry her, then we’ll figure out how to make it work.”
“I cannot risk my estate in that way. I will not.”
There was a long tense silence.
Why must Bingley push him so hard? It was difficult enough to ignore his own arguments. Darcy was determined not to bend.
Bingley had dipped his thumb into his glass of water and rubbed his wet finger around the top again and again.
“I don’t think that is the real reason. You are frightened it would make you like your father. I remember how you swore you would always be different. But it wouldn’t. You are nothing like him.” Bingley set his glass down. “When I asked Jane to marry me, I knew that if I did not, I would regret it for my entire life. Do not do something you will always regret. Not for a stupid reason."
Chapter 19
Elizabeth and Darcy’s eyes met during the ceremony.
The smell of incense and burning candles hung near the front of the modest stone chapel. The morning light strained in through the tall windows, stained yellow, red, and green. A rich green cloth was set on the altar. The parson held a small brown prayer book in front of him and intoned the words of the ceremony.
Darcy paid attention to nothing but Elizabeth’s bright brown eyes. The white around the irises, the black of her pupil. Her bold eyelashes. He no longer was sure. The parson spoke of joining, of souls united. It was as though the words applied to them. He needed to be nudged when it was time to hand over the rings.
Elizabeth imagined she was marrying Darcy. She hoped. A desperate hope flowered as their eyes held.
The minutes passed.
The ceremony ended, and they signed the registers. Elizabeth’s hand brushed against his, and he smiled. She saw he was no longer sure that he wished to walk away from her.
This was her chance — her true chance to convince him to seize their happiness. She would not let shyness or concern for propriety stop her. It would not be like last time. She would not let him leave again.
They walked out of the church, following Jane and Bingley. Darcy tightly held Elizabeth’s arm. It would hurt him if he let her go.
It was a bright day with a thin winter sun that left the air cool but pleasant. A crowd of the local gentry waited outside of the tall double doors to greet the happy couple. Everyone smiled and shook hands.
After the crush lessened, Mr. Reed shook hands with Bingley and Jane. He then spoke to Elizabeth, “I love to see people wed happily! A wedding always makes me think about marriage and the future. Is it not so for you?”
Barely paying attention to Mr. Reed, Elizabeth said with high emotion, “Oh, it definitely makes me think of marrying.” Her voice was full of feeling, and she squeezed Darcy’s arm as she spoke.
Mr. Reed did not see that, and he smiled at Elizabeth. “Miss Bennet, would you walk with me to your brother’s house? I would like to converse with you.”
Elizabeth blinked at him. But before she could find a polite refusal, Mr. Reed moved to take the arm which Darcy did not hold.
Darcy held Elizabeth’s arm tightly, and pulled her away from Mr. Reed’s grasping hand. Darcy’s voice came out in a low growl, “Reed.”
Elizabeth’s eyes to darted to Darcy’s face. He was jealous. Elizabeth’s cheeks pulled up into a bright smile. Darcy looked delightfully masculine with his teeth bared. Her bold hero.
He was claiming her.
Reed spoke, “Now, Darcy, what are you doing — oh.”
Elizabeth did not look at Reed; she was far too busy admiring the way Darcy glared. She’d never thought his eyes would be so perfect when he was angry.
Reed added in a flat voice, “I apologize. I did not understand the situation, Mr. Darcy. There was no offense intended. Good fortune to you both.”
Darcy stared at Mr. Reed as he walked around the corner of the church. When he was no longer visible, Darcy turned to look at Elizabeth. She smiled more brightly than ever before, and her eyes sparkled with amusement. Everything pulled him towards her.
Darcy smiled back, but it was a thin smile.
His stomach roiled with disgust and anxiety. He was failing. He had sworn to behave in one manner, and he had failed. His eyes held onto her face. He had no choice, no ability to turn away from the promise in her smile. This was like last time; his mind would change itself again.
Maybe he no longer wanted to fight himself.
He loved her.
Elizabeth saw he was torn. She only needed to push him a little further. Then whatever made him hesitate would dissolve. He would realize it did not matter — no matter what difficulties they faced they would be happy. Happy while they faced them together.
"Darcy, your arm, it is the only one I want to hold." His eyes searched hers. “It is the best arm I know. I plan to hold it always.”
Darcy nodded barely, his eyes not leaving Elizabeth’s. The moment burned into his soul. He would marry her, just like his father would have. She deserved better than him. Better than a man who would break a solemn vow with himself.
Elizabeth seemed unnerved by his stare but still smiling said, “Mr. Reed is an awful man. To compare a woman to a dog like he did last night.”
Darcy’s heart beat hard, and his eyes softened.
Elizabeth cheerfully said, “You are a like a dog — a great big clever sheepdog that protects the herd and drives off wolves. A loyal companion.”
Elizabeth’s stomach flipped as Darcy at last smiled back at her. A real smile; one which pulled the corners of his eyes together. Her heart pounded wildly.
He said, “So you think it right to compare gentlemen to dogs, just not ladies.”
“Your character has the good features of a wonderful dog. I doubt you would ever loll your tongue out to beg for a choice treat.”
“I might loll my tongue out to beg a special favor from you.”
Elizabeth’s face went bright red. It made her envision games husbands and wives might play with each other. She added, “I did not compare your appearance to a dog’s — though how you look does make me want to hold and pet you.”
Darcy frowned. “I am not much like such a dog — such a dog would never abandon his flocks.”
Elizabeth’s smile did not waver, but her stomach spasmed painfully. She needed to make him see. His first duty, his true duty, must be to himself — to his own happiness. To her.
Charlotte interrupted them and touched Elizabeth’s arm. She pointed her pale blue glove towards the road. Half the people who had been invited to the feast at Netherfield had already started down. Charlotte said some nonsense about the meal, but what Elizabeth saw was concern in her eyes. Charlotte glanced between her and Darcy, and Elizabeth realized that they had been very indiscreet.
Elizabeth did not care.
Darcy took Charlotte’s arm with his free hand, and the three set off on the short walk to Netherfield. Elizabeth said, “It is a beautiful day. A happy day.”
Darcy nodded.
Elizabeth added, “It shall be happy. Charlotte, do you remember my dog, Merlin? Would you not agree that it would be a great compliment to be compared to him?”
Elizabeth squeezed Darcy’s arm again, working her fingers deeper into the springy flesh of his muscles.
“That shaggy creature? I swear you loved him as much as Jane. And you would let him follow you everywhere. You dreadfully spoilt the animal.”
“He was a delightful dog. Loyal, friendly, noble. He understood that claiming those who he cared for and keeping them near always was most important.” Elizabeth spoke to Darcy, “You know that as well.”
Darcy remembered his father. He would run about and appear well for everyone in the neighborhood — but he failed to protect and guard those nearest him. Elizabeth was the person dearest to him now that Georgiana had left. What was the purpose of protecting the estate if he did not protect it for somebody?
Maybe it would not be like his father to marry Elizabeth. Maybe…
Miss Lucas was quiet, and her eyes were pointed firmly away from them.
It felt like there had been a long pause in the conversation, though it had only been a matter of seconds. “You are right. Caring for those you love is most important."
The three of them reached Netherfield, and Jane ran to Elizabeth and hugged her tightly. During the breakfast Darcy was unable to talk to Elizabeth because all of the women crowded around Jane. He talked to Bingley. Mr. Bennet watched him with a speculative frown.
He was giving up.
Elizabeth; his Elizabeth. He would marry her.
He’d nearly decided that before, but this time was different.
He would not change his mind this time. He did not want to change it. Resisting her charms had not made him happy. He was tired of endless duty. Life with Elizabeth would be warm and happy and filled with laughter.
It did not matter that he was acting like Father.
When their eyes met, his heart leapt and his stomach twisted with anxiety.
She was perfect. Beyond perfect. She was precious and sweet. She was happy, lively, eager. If he ran again, if he forced himself away, she would be hurt terribly.
His father’s behavior was driven by vanity and indulgence, not affection. He loved Elizabeth with everything in his soul.
They sat too far apart from each other to converse during the wedding breakfast.
Elizabeth saw how Darcy watched her with those dark probing eyes. He kept drinking, and she drank too. She was scared. She would not survive it if he left again. She could not. Not now. He looked like the portrait of a haunted man. His eyes rarely left her, but he was not happy.
After breakfast the ladies left to help Jane to dress for her wedding trip. They went to the side room, where Jane removed the wedding clothes and put on a traveling dress. For a few minutes Darcy faded from Elizabeth’s mind.
Her sister was married!
She was going away, and when she returned, she would live at Netherfield. Nothing would ever be the same. Tears began, and Elizabeth hugged Jane again and again.
At last Jane was in the wedding chaise, and it pulled away. Colder weather was coming in, and the wind flapped their clothes. The wheels of the carriage made a low clatter as they rolled over the packed gravel driveway.
Darcy saw the bittersweet look in Elizabeth’s eyes. The occasion was so much happier than when he learned about Georgiana, but still Elizabeth had always been so close to her sister. She must feel the change deeply. He squeezed her arm.
Elizabeth smiled at him and wildly waved her other arm at the departing carriage. Darcy leaned next to her ear and said in a low voice that vibrated in Elizabeth’s stomach, “You shall always be her sister. There is change, but that bond remains. That will always be the same.”
Elizabeth allowed her happy tears to flow. “I am so happy and sad at the same time. It is silly… I did not think I would cry so.”
Darcy wanted to comfort her and dabbed at her face with his handkerchief. He then handed the cloth to Elizabeth, suddenly uncomfortable with the intimacy.
“Thank you… I am so, so glad you are with me. You always cure any melancholy. I am always warm and safe when you are near."
Darcy loved to hear her say that. Every bit of Elizabeth was precious to him. It was not a matter of her beauty, but of her being. He felt like he was floating, and he grinned at her.
A voice screamed in the back of his mind. You cannot do this — stop, stop, stop. Darcy pushed it away. He would not walk away this time.
A cold chill froze Darcy’s guts. He could change his mind. He knew he could change it. What was he doing? He was violating a solemn oath. Father did what he wanted. He wouldn’t be like Father.
This was wrong.
Darcy’s breath hitched, and Elizabeth saw the wildness return to his eyes. He looked away from her. Mr. Bennet spoke to Sir Lucas, but Elizabeth realized he watched them. Charlotte and Mary were talking, while Lydia and Kitty had walked off to Meryton for gossip already.
This was no time to be shy.
Ignoring those around her, she stepped close to Darcy and placed her hand on his upper arm. “You are happy now. Be happy. This is perfect, this is where you belong. Do not doubt it."
Elizabeth felt the wine in her stomach, his arm was muscular, and she flushed with desire for him to touch her. “Your estate, your uncle, your plans — they are not as important as our love. As this bond between us. You know that.”
She smiled brightly at Darcy. He said with an eerie uninflected voice, “I am happy with you. Yes. Happy.” He made no motion to step away from her. “Elizabeth — I think I should go.”
“Stay. You deserve to be happy. You need friendship, you need affection, you need me. You will be lonely and lost if you leave. I will be lonely and lost.”
“I know what I need."
“You are no fool. You do not — we do not need wealth. We do not need anything but each other. You will not find happiness in a large income. Admit you are no fool.”
“I am no fool."
“Then do not return to Pemberley alone.”
“I do not know what is right. I… I can’t think.”
He left her and walked around the house and into the garden. The weather had turned icy, and a cold wind blew through the bare branches. It cooled him down.
Darcy pressed his head against the wood of a white gazebo. Resisting Elizabeth made him a fool. The money would work out, hopefully. It did not matter. He would lose no money by marrying Elizabeth, because he could not marry an heiress.
Elizabeth was the only woman he could ever marry.
He was going to walk back around the house. He would grab Elizabeth’s hand, he would lean his head next to hers, and he would whisper, “Marry me.”
A girl’s slippered footsteps sounded behind him. It could only be Elizabeth. Darcy took a deep breath to prepare himself.
“Look at me,” her achingly beautiful voice called out, “Fitzwilliam, look at me.”
She stood, every feature clear in the afternoon light. Her dark eyes were fevered; she was bareheaded; he could see the pale white line of a part through her hair.
Elizabeth stepped forward, and her voice rang out clear, “You love me. This bond — you cannot deny it. I love you, I want you — we will be happy. Please.”
Darcy did not reply. His features were painfully sharp and beautiful. Elizabeth did not know what the cast of his face meant. She stepped so close their clothes brushed. Elizabeth stood on her toes to speak into his ear, pushing her breasts against Darcy. He tensed, and she felt it. Elizabeth breathily whispered, “You want to enjoy my body. I want yours. Take me to your home. Make me your wife.”
Darcy burned.
Flames ran through his toes and fingers and torso. She stepped back and looked at him. The memory of her warm breath tingled on his ear. He could not think. She was beguiling and beautiful and inhumanly tempting.
“Please…” Elizabeth moaned.
She grabbed his shoulders and pulled herself up to kiss him. Darcy desperately held her against his body, he felt her belly and breasts tight against his stomach and chest. He could never let her go. Her leg rubbed against his loins. She flicked her tongue at his lips, and he opened them.
Darcy’s eyes closed, and Elizabeth whimpered into his mouth.
Wickham’s voice laughed in his mind. His father’s cold eyes glared into his core. Darcy froze. Elizabeth continued to squeeze his shoulders. One strong hand was tangled in the hair on the back of his neck. Her lips and tongue begged him to kiss her back. Her weight was warm, soft, and clinging.
A despicable voice cut through his mind: You are Fitzwilliam Darcy. You are not like your father.
Darcy felt as though he was looking down on his body from above. He wanted to stop himself as he pushed Elizabeth away. He did not recognize the voice as his own. “Madam. I cannot. I cannot fail my duty. We shall not meet again. I shall not let passion guide me.”
Elizabeth reached towards him. “No — I need you.”
Her face collapsed as Darcy stepped back away from her and shook his head, no. Her mouth opened and closed. Her face was white, so white. It was like she didn’t understand, couldn’t understand. Then Elizabeth turned and ran. She stumbled over a plant and banged her knee. Darcy stepped towards her to help her stand, but she immediately rose and ran again.
Sick.
Darcy wanted to throw up and cry. He wanted to die.
Why? Why did he do that?
He hadn’t meant to refuse her. He didn’t want to refuse her. He hated himself. When he walked away from her last time it had been a victory over himself. But this was a defeat.
With a slow, slouched step Darcy walked to the post station. He clutched his hand against his chest and tears rolled down his face.
*****
He didn’t care for her. Elizabeth’s knee hurt from where she fell as she ran, and her dress was torn.
Everything. She had shown him everything in her heart, and he didn’t care.
He rejected her again.
It was not supposed to be like this. She had been brave and ignored propriety and the foolish social rules that stopped women from showing affection. He was supposed to realize that love — that she — mattered more than prudence and money.
Elizabeth found an isolated bench, surrounded by tall rosebushes on three sides and hugged her shoulders tightly. She sobbed and sobbed with huge choking gasps. Her nose was stuffed, and she could not breathe right. Her breath hitched with a rasping wheeze as she struggled to draw in air. Her chest hurt.
Everything hurt.
She brought her knees up and buried her face against them. Her left knee stung with pain, a dull counterpoint to the agony in her chest. The freezing surface of the bench made her shiver.
A lone bird chirped, not heeding her cries, and the sun came out from behind a cloud warming her.
What was wrong with her?
How dare he reject her! There was nothing wrong with her! How dare he change his mind after he had nearly decided to marry her again? Indecisive, greedy waffler. Damn, damn — damn him.
Elizabeth sobbed harder. It felt like acid ate through her stomach.
“Here is where you fled!”
Mr. Bennet stood under an arbor. It was covered with gray leafless vines, and the sun lit him from behind. His tailored black coat clung tightly against his frame. Her father’s face was mottled; his neck jutted forward.
“You can’t disguise it — a servant saw you kiss him. He abandoned you, I see. Good for him. You Jezebel. You behaved like… like a damn whore.” Mr. Bennet’s veins pulsed visibly. He held his clenched fists trembling in the air above Elizabeth. For a moment Elizabeth feared, or maybe hoped, he would strike her.
Mr. Bennet stomped his foot. “Look at me! Damned girl. I never thought you were a sly, loose Miss who only wanted to trap a gentleman. You’ve made a scandal of yourself. Has he taken your virtue? Did you let him do that? Perhaps at Netherfield when you were with Jane? Well? Did he!”
Elizabeth flinched at her father’s shout, and a startled flight of birds left the garden.
A servant had seen her?
Of course one had. Elizabeth’s hot flash of shame somehow made her less miserable. As her father continued to yell, she ground her teeth in anger. She loved Darcy. If he had wished her virtue, she would have given it to him. She wished he had.
She would happily become Darcy’s mistress if he asked.
He hadn’t.
Elizabeth’s face crumpled, and she sobbed again. Mr. Bennet grabbed her wrist and roughly yanked Elizabeth to her feet. “The carriage is in the lane behind the house.”
He dragged Elizabeth behind him with a viselike grip on her wrist. It hurt.
Elizabeth tried to stop sniffling and hold her head high. She was angry at her father for accusing her so, she was angry at Darcy for leaving her, she was angry at herself for not being enough for Mr. Darcy.
The carriage was empty, and their coachman sat on the roof. Mr. Bennet hurled her in and then settled next to Elizabeth on the bright red cushions. He stuck his head out the window. “To Longbourn. Hurry.”
With a jolt the carriage started its rattling way.
Elizabeth sat stiffly. She angled her head away from her father and did not look at anything. The empty pit in her stomach still swallowed everything else. Tears dripped down her cheeks.
“I expected better from you. How could you? You are like your mother. You are like every worthless girl who hopes some poor gentleman will become so desperate to tumble her that he’ll be stupid enough to marry her.”
The air between them was stuffed with tension. Mr. Bennet asked, “Did you?” When Elizabeth made no response, Mr. Bennet repeated far more loudly, “Well! Did you? Pray tell, are you still a virgin? Do I need to chase after that worthless gentleman to find out?”
“Don’t speak of Darcy so!”
Elizabeth looked at her father. His face was still red; the muscles behind his jaw tense and vibrating. Her sharp tone stunned him into stillness for an instant, and Elizabeth tasted the saltiness of the tears pouring down her cheeks. Mr. Bennet began to speak again, and Elizabeth cut him off, “You need not worry for my virtue. He didn’t want me.”
Mr. Bennet sneered. “He wanted you. That was obvious. But he walked away. Good for him. By Gad, good for him. I admire men who are better than me. He chose not to marry you, but you chased him, like your damn mother, just because you wanted a handsome husband. Damn all women. Damn your despicable female tricks, damn those touches and coy looks, those obscene sighs. You are all disgusting creatures desperate for a good estate and a husband. I never thought you would descend so low.”
“Maybe if you hadn’t been an irresponsible, selfish gentleman who spent his entire income and instead provided a dowry for your daughters, I would not have needed to use those female tricks to attract an honorable husband. Perhaps if you had been a better father, Darcy might have… I might have… maybe… Oh, I wish I had been good enough.”
Elizabeth’s stomach clenched again, and she started to sob once more.
Mr. Bennet didn’t move for a minute. He then he put his arm around Elizabeth and pulled her against him. “There, there girl. I shouldn’t have said that. I did not mean it; Forgive me. I… I should have made the effort and saved a dowry for you. I have failed you.”
Elizabeth cried into her father’s shoulder; the stiff wool of his overcoat scratched her raw nose. He patted her on the shoulder.