by Jann Rowland
“That is because I was not present. Surely you noted the late arrival of a rather loud and demanding guest?”
“I will own I remember something of that sort occurring,” allowed Elizabeth. “But I apologize. I had not meant to pry.”
“It is no trouble, Miss Bennet. In fact, it is providential that we have had this conversation, for I should warn you, as it will likely affect you in the future.”
“How could it possibly affect me?” asked Elizabeth, quite perplexed as to his meaning. There was no jesting in Colonel Fitzwilliam’s manner, and he regarded her with some appraisal. Elizabeth bore his scrutiny as best she was able, though she wondered at it. Had Mr. Darcy told him something of her of which he did not approve? She could not imagine him speaking to her in censure after so short an acquaintance.
“Your cousin, Mr. Collins, it seems, saw something in Darcy’s behavior toward you and warned his patroness, who, as you must know, is Lady Catherine de Bourgh, aunt to Darcy and myself.”
“Something in his behavior?” echoed Elizabeth, not understanding any more than she had a moment before. “Mr. Darcy has been kind in speaking to me on occasion, but there has not been anything else between us. And how could it affect your aunt?”
“It seems you are missing a crucial piece of information, Miss Bennet,” replied Colonel Fitzwilliam. “You see, Lady Catherine has asserted for many years that Darcy is engaged to her daughter, Anne.”
Elizabeth grimaced. “You have clarified matters admirably, sir. When Mr. Darcy came to Longbourn the day after Mr. Collins’s arrival, I did share some conversation with your cousin. Mr. Collins, as he is a zealous supplicant of your aunt—”
“Lost no time in informing her ladyship,” finished Colonel Fitzwilliam.
“Idiot,” muttered Elizabeth, prompting Colonel Fitzwilliam to laugh. “I had wondered why he felt it necessary to send a letter to your aunt, even walking to Meryton in the pouring rain to ensure its delivery.”
“Indeed,” replied the colonel, still smirking at her epithet toward the ineffectual parson. “Lady Catherine can tolerate no hint of Darcy’s interest to another woman, and, as such, she hastened here to ‘protect her daughter’s interests.’ As I happened to be at my father’s house when she came and was on leave, I decided to accompany her, thinking I could render Darcy assistance.”
“I am certain your offer is much appreciated, Colonel,” said a distracted Elizabeth. This Lady Catherine would be difficult to tolerate, Elizabeth knew, especially since she had a reason—created out of whole cloth by her stupid parson—to suspect Elizabeth of ulterior motives. At least she was not in residence in the same house as the virago.
“So, I suppose I should ask you now,” said Fitzwilliam. Elizabeth could hear the hilarity in his tone. “Do you have designs on my cousin?”
Elizabeth directed a saucy wink at him, prompting his chortle again. “I cannot inform you of that, now can I, Colonel? No lady likes to forewarn one who might be in opposition.”
“I dare say Darcy deserves you, Miss Bennet.” The colonel shook his head and wiped at his eyes. “He requires a lively lady to keep him on his toes, and I am certain you would be good for him.”
“Colonel!” gasped Elizabeth. “Do you not think you should refrain? I already have no good expectations of your aunt’s behavior.”
“Do not worry, Miss Bennet. I do possess some discretion. I cannot say anything about my cousin’s feelings on the subject, but he is a good man. You will find no better testimony of his character, for we have been friends since our childhoods.”
A flustered Elizabeth could think of nothing to say, so she blurted the first thing that came to her mind: “Even better than childhood companions?”
A quizzical look was the colonel’s response. “Have you met any who claim to be Darcy’s childhood friend?”
“One,” replied Elizabeth, now wishing she had not said anything. “There is a Mr. Wickham in attendance tonight, and though he had much to say of Mr. Darcy, it was not nearly as complimentary as what you have said.”
In an instant, Elizabeth witnessed Colonel Fitzwilliam’s genial countenance turn from bright sunlight to the darkest night. He seemed to feel some great anger, which he masked with some effort.
“And is Wickham here now?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “I do not know, sir. I have not seen him since before supper.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam nodded. “I will attempt to find him, for where George Wickham goes, devilry must not be far behind. Do not give heed to his assertions, Miss Bennet, for the infamous behavior is all on Wickham’s side.”
With a nod, Elizabeth returned her mind to the steps of the dance, and within a few more moments, it had ended. The colonel escorted her to the side of the dance floor, and with a short bow, he excused himself. And then he was gone.
The evening continued, and as all things must end, so too did the ball come to a close. Elizabeth had not seen Colonel Fitzwilliam again that evening, nor had she caught sight of Mr. Wickham, which she suspected must be to the man’s benefit. Of Mr. Darcy, she had only caught a glimpse. Also absent was Lady Catherine, for it seemed that she had decided to retire upon arriving, which was just as well, in Elizabeth’s opinion.
One by one, the carriages of those in attendance were brought around, and Elizabeth’s friends and neighbors departed. As the dwindling company waited for their conveyances, Elizabeth began to wonder when their carriage would come. A glance out the front doors showed that a heavy bank of fog had descended upon Hertfordshire, and she knew that if they did not begin soon, the hour would become truly late, and the fog would make travel hazardous.
A few minutes later, Phelps, Longbourn’s driver, entered the house and made his way to Mr. Bennet for a whispered conference with him. Mr. Bennet listened gravely as the man spoke, his countenance betraying none of his thoughts. Not far from Elizabeth, she noted Mr. Bingley’s sisters standing, clearly wishing them to be gone. As the last guests other than the Bennets departed, leaving them alone with the Netherfield family, Miss Bingley raised a hand to her face and produced a most prodigious yawn.
“I am so fatigued!” complained she to Mrs. Hurst, a clear and less than proper method of advising them all that their presence was no longer wanted.
“Mr. Bingley,” said Mr. Bennet, rising from his conference with Longbourn’s driver. Mr. Bingley looked up from his conversation with Jane. “It seems we have a problem. My carriage has developed a fault and will be quite unable to convey us to our home.”
“Then let us call our carriage, Charles,” said Miss Bingley, with more urgency than tact. “It can see the Bennets home readily.”
“It will take some time for the carriage to be taken out of storage and the team made ready,” replied Mr. Bingley. “I think it might be best to invite the Bennets to stay the night. They can then return to their home in our carriage tomorrow.”
“Surely there is no call for that!” exclaimed Miss Bingley. At the same time, Mr. Bennet voiced his objections, stating: “We would not wish to intrude, especially after you have provided such excellent entertainment tonight.”
“Nonsense!” said Mr. Bingley, choosing to ignore his sister for the moment. Miss Bingley was not insensible of it and clearly fumed that her brother was answering Mr. Bennet instead of herself. “It is hardly your fault that your carriage is having trouble tonight.” He turned his eyes toward his sister, and they hardened slightly. “I am certain Caroline joins me in inviting your family to stay the night. It is the sensible thing to do, especially if any of us wish to find our beds before sunrise.”
Though it was evident she was unamused, Miss Bingley sighed and conceded the point. “I suppose it does make sense. I will speak to the housekeeper. Fortunately, I have several rooms kept at the ready for visitors.”
Thus, it was done. The housekeeper was summoned and assured them the rooms would be ready in a matter of minutes. A footman was sent to Longbourn to ret
urn with a selection of clothing for those staying the night. Then, an assortment of nightgowns for the ladies and bedclothes for Mr. Bennet and Mr. Collins were procured, and soon they were making their way above stairs to their rooms. Outside, Elizabeth noted through one of the windows that a few snowflakes had begun to fall. She hoped it did not amount to anything more than that. She had no wish to stay at Netherfield any longer than required.
Chapter V
“Oh, Louisa!” cried Caroline when they were finally alone in her room. “It is in every way horrible! Not only must we host those awful Bennets the night after enduring the entire neighborhood, but now Mr. Darcy’s odious aunt has descended upon us as well.”
A small part of Louisa Hurst’s mind was amused at her sister, and she could not help but say: “To say nothing of Colonel Fitzwilliam’s presence as well.”
“Ugh. Do not remind me. He may be respectable as the son of an earl, but his flippant manners are absolutely dreadful.”
Louisa nodded in commiseration, though in the back of her mind, she wondered at their hubris. Lady Catherine and Colonel Fitzwilliam were members of an old and well-placed family, nobility at its very finest. Caroline had hopes of attaching herself to the family, after all, by way of marriage to Mr. Darcy. But Louisa knew Caroline detested Lady Catherine because of that ridiculous cradle betrothal story and because the lady had denigrated their connections during their only previous meeting. As for the colonel, well Louisa could not imagine many of high society behaved in the same way he did.
“I do not suppose we will be successful in luring Charles back to town tomorrow with Lady Catherine in residence,” said Louisa.
“I wonder why she came at all. She has never cared for our association with Mr. Darcy in the past.”
Louisa knew that was not quite true. She knew that Lady Catherine had protested Mr. Darcy’s friendship with Charles before, and she would not be surprised if she continued to voice objection to it whenever she had the chance. The fact of the matter was that she did not consider the Bingleys a threat to her precious daughter.
“At least we will be rid of the Bennets tomorrow,” said Caroline. “If we can, we must induce Lady Catherine to leave and return to London ourselves.”
“Or you may lose Mr. Darcy,” added Louisa. “He seems to be more approving of Miss Elizabeth every day.”
Caroline only snorted. “Mr. Darcy’s discernment is far too developed to be taken in by the likes of Miss Eliza Bennet. I have no fear that she might be set up as a rival.”
Though Louisa was not so sure of that, Caroline had taken up the brandy decanter and poured herself a glass. Louisa could not abide her sister’s drinking the foul beverage, so she excused herself at once.
“Cheer up, Sister,” said she, a last word of encouragement to the sister with whom she had always been so close. “I am certain something will present itself. We will remove Charles somehow.”
Louisa did not know if Caroline made any response, for she turned and quickly let herself out of the room. When she obtained the sanctuary of her bedchamber, she sighed and threw her dressing gown over a chair, making her way to the bed. As she lay down, she could see little balls of ice impacting the windows, and she was lulled to sleep by the faint sound which reached her ears.
"You did not tell me that Wickham was here,” said Fitzwilliam, his tone accusatory.
Darcy frowned. “It had quite fled my mind,” replied he. “I was not even aware of his presence until earlier this evening.”
“What could he be doing here?” asked Fitzwilliam as he paced the room. They had gathered for a bit of strategic planning after the guests—other than the Bennets, of course—had departed. The question about Wickham was the first topic of discussion his cousin had raised. “Do you think it likely he followed you here to cause more trouble?”
“I doubt it,” replied Darcy. “He was in London those months after Ramsgate, as you know. Though I have had him discretely watched, I have not looked into his doings. Regardless, he was wearing the scarlet of the militia, so I assume he joined the regiment in Meryton, though I cannot fathom how he might have obtained the funds to purchase the commission.”
A slow smile spread over Fitzwilliam’s face, and it was not at all pleasant. “Well, well. Who would have thought you had it in you, Georgy Porgy? This is an opportunity to finally control him. It is possible I can use my influence to have him transferred to the front lines in Spain. I have no doubt our Georgy would look good with a French bullet adorning his gut.
“As long as he leaves me and mine be, I am quite content to return the favor,” said Darcy.
“That is the problem, Darcy, if you will forgive my saying so. Sentimentality colors your perception when you consider that libertine. He has already begun to try to defame your name in this town.”
“Oh?” asked Darcy, though his mind was on other matters. “It is not as if I shall be here long.”
“And it does not concern you that his chosen target is none other than Miss Elizabeth Bennet?”
Darcy tried not to react, but his cousin’s snort told him that it was an abject failure.
“Oh, yes,” continued Fitzwilliam. “I know not what he told her, but it seems Miss Elizabeth had the sense to at least question his tale. I informed her that she should not believe anything Wickham said, but I am unknown to her. It would be best if you informed her of enough to allow her to defend herself and her family.”
“I will not betray Georgiana’s secret.”
“I was not asking you to do so. Of course, you wish to protect Georgiana, and I might bludgeon you about the head if you spoke of Ramsgate to anyone not in the family. But Wickham’s sins are enough that even a vague description of them should be enough to put her on her guard.”
“Very well,” replied Darcy. “I shall consider it.”
Fitzwilliam put his feet up on the table between their two chairs. He sighed and rubbed his eyes, and then he gave a great yawn.
“I attempted to find Wickham after my dance with Miss Elizabeth, but I suspect he must have departed. In the morning I shall ride to Meryton and speak with his commanding officer. That should be enough to put a spike in old Georgy’s wheel.”
“Do you know the man?”
A snort was Fitzwilliam’s response. “The militia officers’ ranks are filled with men who have no stomach for war, and little in their heads but a pretty face and a gambling table. But some of the regiment commanders are decent men. Should the colonel of this regiment be of the other ilk, at least he will know that Wickham’s actions could seriously affect his position and future advancement. If I must, I may take certain steps myself.”
Again Darcy was uncomfortable with the direction of Fitzwilliam’s thoughts. Wickham had been a thorn in his side as long as he could remember, but he had been raised and educated under the auspices of the Darcy family. In a way, that made him a Darcy family responsibility. Darcy would rather see him shipped off to Botany Bay or the Americas than see him in Fitzwilliam’s sights. That sounded too much like murder for his taste. In the back of his mind, Darcy mulled over the story of King David, wondering if sending Wickham to Spain would make him no better than the ancient King of Israel.
“Well, I think I am for bed,” said Fitzwilliam. “I bid you good night, Darcy.”
Fitzwilliam stood, but as he was making his way toward the door, he glanced out the window. Darcy’s eyes followed his gaze, and he noticed a buildup of snow around the bottom corners. Fitzwilliam drew closer to the window, as Darcy extinguished the candles, and peered out over the countryside.
“It seems the light snow that started as the ball ended has become something much more substantial. If this should continue, we shall be snowed in.”
Darcy groaned. Snowed in with not only Lady Catherine, but Miss Bingley as well? What could possibly be worse?
It might have been the unfamiliarity of the bed or her surroundings. It might have been the knowledge that not
only was she to be the focus of Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s displeasure, but now she was staying in the same house as the virago. It might have only been the fact that the night had been full and Elizabeth’s mind was, consequently, not prepared for sleep. Whatever the case, she found that her eyes remained stubbornly open after being shown to her room.
Reaching down, Elizabeth itched a location on her leg, thinking ruefully that it might be this nightgown she had been given. The size of it suggested that it belonged to Louisa Hurst, though Elizabeth thought, with asperity, the woman might now prefer to burn it, given how it had adorned the unfashionable Miss Elizabeth Bennet that night. She would not put it past either of the supercilious women.
After some time of this, Elizabeth gave up every thought of sleeping. Instead, she rose and took the dressing gown, intent upon finding the library. Surely there would be a book which would hold her interest long enough for her to become fatigued enough to find sleep. A light under the door of the room next to hers changed Elizabeth’s mind, and she knocked, entering when the word was given. Elizabeth did not even notice the eyes watching her as she padded down Netherfield’s hallway late that evening.
“Jane, dearest,” said Elizabeth when she had entered the room and closed the door behind her. Jane was sitting up in the bed, but her mind was clearly far away, her gaze focused on some spot through the window. “Why are you still awake?”
“I might ask the same of you, Lizzy,” said Jane, turning a smile on her younger sister.
Elizabeth did not hesitate in joining her sister on the bed, grasping one of her hands between her own. “Oh, I do not know that our reasons are precisely the same,” said Elizabeth in a teasing tone. “I, after all, do not have a handsome man in the palm of my hand, paying me every possible deference.” Even in the dim light of the single candle, Elizabeth could see her sister color. “But I could not sleep either. I do not know what prevents me, but I do not feel even a hint of desire for sleep.”
