by Violet King
Mr. Bingley grew pale; his eyes glittered, and his hand clenched into a fist. “The cad! I will stand as your second should you call him out.”
“I cannot speak of these events. Any hint to the scandal would be more damaging than silence. You must understand.”
Mr. Bingley took a breath. “Of course. You have my word as a gentleman. I will say nothing.”
Mr. Darcy expelled a breath he had not realized he was even holding. “Thank you.”
“I will not give Wickham leave to step foot at Netherfield Park. Of that you can be certain.”
Bingley was a worthy friend. Darcy said, “You are beyond gold.”
Bingley laughed. “You are unsettled to bestow such high praise upon me or anyone.” He waved Darcy towards the chairs. “Sit. I keep whiskey behind those old farming manuals of my father’s. After such heavy talk, I believe we could both use a taste.”
Darcy sat, and Bingley rummaged around, as promised returning with a half-full bottle and two tumblers from the shelf. Bingley poured, and they sat in silence, allowing the drink to warm their palates and bellies.
Mr. Bingley was the first to break the silence. “Not to pry,” he said, “but you and Miss Elizabeth—has the animosity eased between you?”
Had it? “I was merely attempting to appease Miss Bennet’s wishes.”
“You apologized! I cannot think of a time when you have apologized to a lady, excepting that one ball where you stomped on Miss Doherty’s slipper.” Mr. Bingley took another drink. “Was your apology well received?”
“No.”
Mr. Bingley, to Mr. Darcy’s annoyance, laughed. “By chance, did you forget to use the words ‘I am sorry’ or ‘I regret’ when making your statement of apology?”
“I may have been remiss in the details.”
“It was best to clear the air then, as your conversation with Miss Elizabeth was most amiable this morning.”
“I may not be adept with the flowery words of apology, but I am attempting to make restitutions.
“Do not let me stop you. The Bennet sisters have an appeal, though none is as lovely as the eldest, Miss Jane Bennet, in my estimation.”
Mr. Darcy considered warning Bingley about Jane, but he was as yet too close to the woman, and proximity would only increase the draw of his infatuation. Best to wait until Darcy and Bingley returned to London.
“I am trying to set things right between me and Miss Elizabeth,” Mr. Darcy said. “There is no more meaning to it than that.”
“Of course.”
“She is in no means suitable for me as a wife, however charming one might find her.”
“As you say.” Mr. Bingley’s lips twitched.
Bingley was determined to be amused. Mr. Darcy drank the final swallow from his glass. “I had intended to bring Miss Elizabeth some books, as she is fond of reading. Have you any of a mathematical nature?”
“Start there,” Mr. Bingley said, waving towards a shelf to his left. “But if I have such volumes, I have not read them. My father, to his credit, drilled into me what was necessary so I could manage my inheritance. Beyond that…” Bingley shrugged.
Darcy thanked him. They finished their whiskey, and Bingley offered another clap on the shoulder before informing Darcy that he had been inside long enough and wished to go for a ride.
“Darcy,” Mr. Bingley said before he left. “Bring the books to Miss Elizabeth yourself.”
“Why would I do such a thing?”
“You are making an apology. Such things are best handled in person. And bring a deck of cards. They will surely enjoy the entertainment.”
Mr. Darcy perused Mr. Bingley’s bookshelf, and to his delight he found a small folio of mathematical theorems. He did not comprehend nor have interest in the contents, but Miss Elizabeth might, and in that way she might also recognize his attempt at restitution.
He chose that and two other volumes of a more narrative nature. After further consideration of Mr. Bingley’s suggestions, gathered the books and a deck of cards in his arm and made his way to Miss Bennet’s sick room. It could hardly be improper to deliver books to an ill woman and her sister.
When Mr. Darcy arrived, the door was ajar, and from inside the room, Mr. Darcy heard womanly laughter. Mr. Darcy’s guts turned to ice. “Miss Bennet, it is good to see you smile.” Was that Miss Bingley’s voice? Blast Bingley and his suggestions! Darcy would have been better off to have sent his offerings with a servant.
Mr. Darcy hesitated and quietly—very quietly—stepped back from the door. But it was too late. Behind him, Mrs. Hurst exclaimed, “Why Mr. Darcy! Are those for Miss Bennet? Come! Come! The Bennet sisters will be most grateful for your kindness.”
18
Elizabeth had little fondness for Miss Caroline Bingley, but her stories of London balls brought a light to Jane’s countenance that Elizabeth grudgingly appreciated. Jane’s illness still made her weak and inclined towards falling asleep, sometimes midway through speaking, but she was looking better as the day progressed. The treatments were helping, along with the honeyed porridge Mr. Darcy had sent. Despite her animosity towards him, Elizabeth appreciated his efforts.
However, when she heard Mrs. Hurst call out Mr. Darcy’s name, and both entered the room, Elizabeth was unsure she was grateful enough to wish more time in his presence. In her experience, Mr. Darcy was a man best appreciated in his absence. But she smiled anyway, standing to curtsy to him and thank him for all he had done for Jane.
“Done for Miss Bennet?” Miss Bingley asked with a note of incredulousness in her voice. “What has Mr. Darcy done?”
“My mother had some special remedies for colds,” Mr. Darcy said. “When Reginald or Georgiana caught sick, I ensured the use of these remedies to speed my siblings’ recovery.”
Elizabeth was touched and frankly shocked that Mr. Darcy had thought to do something so kind. Perhaps she had misjudged him, at least to some extent.
“How thoughtful!” Miss Bingley exclaimed. “I had no idea you were so involved with the care of your younger siblings.”
“My mother passed on when I was eleven, and my father... he grieved. I cared for my brother and sister until I was sent away for school.”
Elizabeth had never considered a young Mr. Darcy tending to his siblings’ illnesses and ailments. It was at odds with what the man had revealed of himself to this date, and Elizabeth found it, to her shame, rather charming. “Thank you,” Elizabeth said. “For your remedies. Jane is recovering with much more ease.”
He will ask for your hand in marriage. Twice.
Elizabeth pushed the fortune teller’s words from her mind. Mr. Darcy’s kindness to Jane was not the makings of a courtship.
Mr. Darcy was still stiff, but it seemed less reproachful, perhaps because he held three books and what appeared to be a deck of cards cradled in his right arm. “I had only intended to deliver these and not to interrupt Miss Bennet’s rest.” He crossed the room and placed the books on the nightstand.
Miss Bingley exclaimed, “Is that deck of cards? Why Mr. Darcy, you must stay and play with us.”
Mr. Darcy said, “I do not wish to impose.”
Jane said, “It is no imposition.”
Elizabeth stared at her sister in shock. She was inviting Mr. Darcy to stay and play cards with them? Jane’s lips curved upward, almost as though she was having a joke with herself. Maybe her fever had returned?
“If you would like,” Mr. Darcy said, “then I am at your service.”
A chair was brought for him, along with a tray table to place over Jane’s lap, upon which they dealt the cards.
“But Commerce is so mercenary,” Miss Bingley said. “Why not Loo?”
“Had we not enough of Loo last night?” Mrs. Hurst interjected. “I like Whist.”
“We have one too many players,” Elizabeth remarked, glancing at Mr. Darcy. Perhaps he would take the hint and find such entertainments beneath him.
But Jane cut that hope off at the knees. �
�No, Whist is perfect. Lizzie and I can share the same hand. I am like to fall asleep halfway through the game anyway and ruin everyone’s fun.” Jane yawned, almost to punctuate her point. If it had been anyone but Jane, Elizabeth might have suspected an ulterior motive. But Jane knew how odious Elizabeth found Mr. Darcy. She had been incredulous at Madame Godiva’s intimation that Mr. Darcy would ask Elizabeth’s hand in marriage. Surely, Jane wouldn’t conspire to force them to spend more time in each other’s presence!
After more negotiation, the group agreed to Whist. Miss Bingley maneuvered to have Mr. Darcy on her team, and Elizabeth, with some relish, turned all of her skills with probabilities and counting cards to trouncing them utterly.
It would have been easier without Mrs. Hurst, who chose her cards without the slightest hint of rationality. She was worse than Lydia! But as the game progressed, and Elizabeth, Jane, and Mrs. Hurst gleefully achieved five points to Mr. Darcy and Miss Bingley’s three, Miss Bingley’s countenance took on a decided frustration, her jaw taut and lips turned downward.
Jane, after the first few hands, leaned back against the pillows and fell asleep.
Mrs. Hurst said, “Fortune smiles on me when I am teamed with the Bennets. I believe I have never had such a string of good hands.”
“I believe more than luck is playing into your fortunes today,” Mr. Darcy said.
“Are they playing a trick on us?” Miss Caroline narrowed her eyes. “I had not thought to sit down with a Captain Sharp in sheep’s clothing.”
“I do not understand what you mean,” Elizabeth said innocently. “Surely Mr. Darcy would not bring us a tampered deck to embarrass himself.”
“Of course, Mr. Darcy would not stoop to anything improper. He is far too well bred for such tricks!”
“Certainly so,” Elizabeth said dryly.
But Mr. Darcy surprised her. “If I tried anything of the sort, it would not be in the presence of such finely bred young ladies.”
What did that mean?
Mr. Darcy added, “I assure you, Miss Elizabeth, no one is fooling anyone at this game. If anyone is winning it is fairly, through their skills and perhaps a hint of luck.”
From that point, Mr. Darcy played significantly better. He and Miss Bingley gained another two points. Elizabeth, suspecting he too had memorized the order of the cards on the table and was now taking well-thought-out estimates of which remained, deliberately overlooked an opportunity to use a Trump take the next hand, instead throwing a seven of diamonds.
Mr. Darcy’s eyebrows furrowed, and Elizabeth smothered her own smile. Oh! This was much more entertaining with a worthy opponent.
The next few games brought an even exchange of points. Both Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy were hampered by their partners, which added a certain degree of randomness to what had become a vicious exchange of estimated probabilities.
Miss Bingley exclaimed, “Trump!”
Miss Bingley laid down the eight of clubs Elizabeth had suspected was in her hand, and Elizabeth, knowing she had no more of that suit, designated it as Trump again and promptly took the following hand.
When they reached the agreed-upon ten points, it was well into the afternoon. The game ended with Elizabeth, Jane, and Mrs. Hurst squeaking out a win, largely due to the lead they had gained in the first few rounds.
Mrs. Hurst suggested, “Shall we play to fifteen?”
Miss Bingley, perhaps suspecting that her desired conquest was taking far too much interest in Elizabeth through the game, sighed and said, “No, let us do something else. Miss Elizabeth, you have such a lovely voice. Perhaps you can read to us? That small one,” Miss Bingley pointed to the book of theorems on the table. “It seems short. What is it?”
“I should take my leave,” Mr. Darcy said, standing abruptly.
To Elizabeth’s surprise, she felt a pang of sadness that Mr. Darcy was leaving. He had been a fair match for her at cards, and few in her acquaintance, gentleman or lady, managed that. She wondered what it would be like to play him one on one. He would be a delight at Commerce, and then Elizabeth might determine if the sharpness of his mind matched that of his tongue.
Mr. Darcy, a delight? Had she caught some of her sister’s fever?
In the interests of politeness, and because Mr. Darcy had managed, for over a full afternoon, to behave like a civilized human being, Elizabeth said, “I must convey my gratitude again on behalf of myself and my sister for your solicitude in her illness. And your agreement to visit and entertain us.”
Mr. Darcy averted his gaze. Still formal, but softer somehow. “It was no trouble.” He bowed.
Miss Bingley, seeing her prey make a move to escape, curtsied and said, “Yes, Miss Bennet needs her rest. We shall make certain to visit again before dinner.”
“Just now?”
“Yes, Louisa,” Miss Bingley shot her sister a sharp look.
Flustered, Mrs. Hurst stood. “Of course! Miss Bennet needs her rest.”
When the three had left, Elizabeth breathed a grateful sigh of relief. Though the game was enjoyable, entertaining the sisters on her own seemed more a burden than a diversion.
Also, there was the business of ciphering and deciphering. Though Mr. Bennet’s eyesight was not well enough to catch the subtle intricacies required to quickly decipher, he could write in a clear enough hand to develop encoding keys. Elizabeth looked over them, making certain his handwriting was legible enough, before putting them in a pile to return to Longbourn for mailing.
A pair of intercepted letters followed, in French, which Elizabeth over the course of the next hour cracked and, writing in her notes with the deciphering, also placed in the pile to return home.
Finally, at the bottom of the stack, was a letter addressed to her.
Elizabeth’s heartbeat sped up as she noted the sender: Miss Georgiana Darcy.
She opened it. Miss Darcy wrote in an embellished hand.
Dear Miss Bennet,
After a terse greeting followed a page of manufactured Latin. Elizabeth smiled and set about deciphering Miss Darcy’s words.
19
Mr. Bingley and Mrs. Hurst followed Darcy down the stairs into the parlor.
“My! You are ever so skilled at cards, Mr. Darcy. Not that I would ever accuse you of engaging in trickery. Merely a display of talent that was something to behold.”
What had been something to behold was Miss Elizabeth’s skill. Mr. Darcy kept that thought firmly to himself.
When Darcy was seventeen and Reginald fifteen, their cousin James Fitzpatrick, just before buying his commission, had instructed the brothers on how to count cards. Mr. Wickham had been absent on that occasion, and now that Darcy was older and had a better assessment of Wickham’s character, he wondered if his cousin had held some inkling of Wickham’s deficiencies and thus avoided him when possible.
It was likely the case. Until Wickham’s betrayal, Darcy had counted him as a friend. Flawed at points, but Darcy was loyal to those he considered friends.
Reginald had been by far superior at the card counting and the many other small tricks James had shown them with the warning, “This will serve you in the hells, but be careful in proper company. One must choose his ground carefully, you understand.”
Once realizing Miss Elizabeth intended to play with reckless abandon, Darcy had met on her ground and found himself thoroughly captivated.
Yes, Miss Elizabeth had been remarkable. She had taken care not only to ensure that she won a fair number of hands, but that Mrs. Hurst was equally favored by fortune. If Mr. Darcy had not learned and then drilled himself relentlessly until he achieved some mastery of the skill, he would not have recognized her machinations. More remarkable, when called to account, Miss Elizabeth had not backed down. Not that she was the sort to back down in anything as Mr. Darcy had come to understand and admire.
“It is as your sister said,” Mr. Darcy finally responded. “Fortune smiles as she sees fit.”
And how Miss Elizabeth had smiled, a subtle twit
ch of the lips that lit up her eyes as she noted her winnings, and even the occasional genuine laugh at one of his own comments during the game. Mr. Darcy was not the sort whose commentary elicited genuine mirth, at least not intentionally.
Miss Elizabeth was, of course, unsuitable as an object of infatuation, and Mr. Darcy would not allow himself to help such an undisciplined emotion besides. Still, he had enjoyed the game.
“Well, I enjoyed playing with her,” Mrs. Hurst said, echoing his thoughts.
“Yes,” Miss Bingley agreed. “It was an amusing diversion. Though I admit, I feel some concern with how Miss Elizabeth furrows her brow so when thinking. Such expressions lead to unattractive creases as one grows older.”
Mr. Darcy had found the expression charming, in part because it revealed again the agile mind beneath the dark, silky tresses of her hair.
Not that Mr. Darcy had any good reason to think of Miss Elizabeth’s tresses, silky or otherwise. But as much as he wished to force the thought from his mind, a part of him could not help wondering if the feel of her hair was as smooth as it appeared.
“So how do you intend to amuse yourself, Mr. Darcy?” Miss Bingley asked, and then, without waiting for an answer, she continued, “The weather is fair, with only a few clouds, and we have an hour yet before we must change for dinner.”
“I have correspondence I must review.” Or so Mr. Darcy hoped. He had played cards for far longer than he had intended. Miss Elizabeth’s presence had been an unexpected pleasure, and he feared had he stayed longer, his interest in her might strain the bonds of propriety. Darcy was not like Bingley to imagine himself in love with a country miss.
Mr. Darcy extricated himself from the sisters and made his way to retrieve his post. Seeing both a packet from his solicitor and a letter from his sister, he immediately closed himself off in Mr. Bingley’s study.
Placing the correspondence on Mr. Bingley’s desk, Mr. Darcy pulled open the bottom drawer where he knew Mr. Bingley stored a bottle of brandy and two glasses. Taking one, he poured the brandy and took a swallow. Bingley, generous in all things, would not begrudge Darcy the liquid courage.
