The Impulse of the Moment

by Jann Rowland

  Agreeing without delay, Darcy led them around to the back, his mind still mulling over his mother’s words. As for Lady Anne, she seemed to be taking more joy in the day than Darcy had any attention for. It was, indeed, a beautiful autumn day, the twittering song of the sky’s denizens filling his ears, accompanied by a warmth in the air and the brightly shining sun. But all these passed Darcy by with nothing more than a cursory thought. Too many other considerations clattered for attention in his mind, leaving little room for such frivolities.

  Netherfield’s back gardens were not nearly as extensive at Pemberley’s, and the season had rendered them devoid of color. But it was a calm, tranquil spot, perfect for quiet conversation and family communion. Darcy had not been in his mother’s company much of late. He had always found her to be a calming influence as her rational manner countered his father’s more austere character.

  “Let us sit on this bench,” said Lady Anne, gesturing toward a stone bench which sat amid several lively bushes, which in the summer would contain a plethora of beautiful roses.

  Darcy guided her to the indicated location and saw her seated before he settled in beside her. Given the manner in which she had interacted with Miss Elizabeth, he thought she would not say anything to give him alarm. But the defensive nature of his interactions with his father since his arrival made him wary.

  “It is evident to me,” began his mother, “you have not been happy in society since you entered it. Balls do not interest you, you avoid dancing as much as possible, and you do not converse with the young ladies in town enough to ever find a wife among their number.”

  “I . . .” Darcy paused, wondering what he should say. His mother’s encouraging smile prompted him to continue without fear of offending her. “Society has little interest for me. While I have always been aware of my need to marry and my duty to uphold the Darcy position in society, I have often observed that many young ladies are raised with all the proper accomplishments, but little substance.”

  The grin his mother gave him showed her agreement. “That is why we have not sent Georgiana to a finishing school. She will be made into an image of the accepted woman of the day—it is one with which I do not agree. I should much prefer to make her into a proper woman myself.”

  “And you have a wonderful touch with her,” said Darcy.

  “Thank you, Fitzwilliam. I have high hopes for Georgiana.

  “In reference to what we were discussing, your disinclination for society and opinion of society women caused me to wonder if you knew what you wanted in a wife. For if all young ladies are not suited to you, where could you find a woman who is?”

  “Perhaps it is an overstatement to say all ladies are unsuitable. Of course, I cannot refute your statement, for I have never found one myself.”

  Lady Anne gave a delighted laugh and patted Darcy’s arm. “In Miss Bennet, you seem to have overcome this deficiency.”

  “She is nothing like society ladies.”

  “No. And that is to her credit, to be sure. She is a breath of fresh air. Had you looked at every society girl to come out in the next twenty years, I do not think you could have found a woman more suited to you. I am happy for you, Fitzwilliam. I cannot imagine you being anything other than pleased with Miss Elizabeth as a bride.”

  Darcy beamed. “Thank you, Mother. Will you help me convince Father?”

  “It should not be required,” replied Lady Anne. “Your father is a reasonable man, though he is often a severe one. In time, he will see how good Miss Elizabeth is for you, that there is nothing wanting in her. She may not possess the kind of dowry the daughter of an earl might, but it is respectable, and if she lacks connections, she more than makes up for it in character.”

  The conversation went on for a few more moments, but Darcy’s thoughts were consumed with gratitude for his mother’s support. Soon after, Lady Anne indicated her desire to find Georgiana, and Darcy escorted her inside. There was no one else in evidence, leading Darcy to wonder where his father had gone. Thinking he might be with Mr. Bingley in his study, Darcy’s steps began to take him there, before he came upon a most unwelcome intrusion.

  “Well, I must hand it to you, Darcy, loathe though I am to do so.” Wickham flashed an unpleasant grin. “Then again, I suppose it must be a compliment to myself, for we always did have a similar taste in women.”

  “Similar taste in women?” asked Darcy, his tone deriding his unwelcome companion. “If you recall, I do not frequent brothels, Wickham. The women you find agreeable would never be found in the places I frequent.”

  “Charming, as always, Darcy. If I have certain needs, what is it to you how I choose to meet them? Either way, we are not so different in our tastes as you think.”

  “There is nothing I wish to hear from you, Wickham.”

  Darcy moved to walk past the libertine, but Wickham turned and walked along with him.

  “Take Miss Elizabeth Bennet, for example.”

  Abruptly, Darcy stopped and turned a glare on Wickham. One might think it was sufficient warning to desist, but Wickham had never possessed the knowledge of when he might push too far.

  “I had no idea you could not only choose such an exquisite woman, let alone possess the knowledge of what to do with her when you found her. It seems I was wrong in my estimation of you.” Wickham paused and laughed, an unpleasant cackle of glee. “Of course, it remains to be seen if you manage to carry your so-called courtship to its proper conclusion. There is little doubt in my mind you will make a botch of it. You always were inept in the art of making love to a woman.”

  “Now that I have found a woman worthy of my love, I find I am quite adept at it. Perhaps you should mind your manners—Miss Elizabeth already knows what manner of man you are, and soon her family will know too. Your tricks will not work here, Wickham, for I will see everyone warned.”

  Wickham huffed in disdainful unconcern. “If you think the people of this town will prefer you to me, you appear to have picked up a certain delusion, Darcy. The only reason any of them will ever pay you any attention is because of your status and future wealth.”

  “Or perhaps because I will not rob them blind the moment they turn their backs.”

  “Then again,” said Wickham, ignoring Darcy’s insults, “I doubt your father will ever allow you to marry the girl. It is not as if she is a suitable match for the great Darcy of Pemberley.” Wickham gave him a dark grin. “Perhaps you can make her your mistress once you have married some colorless woman of the ton? You had best do so quickly as I will if you do not.”

  “Bastard!” growled Darcy as he clenched his fists at his sides.

  “Can you not abide each other’s company for even a few minutes?”

  It was his father’s voice that saved Wickham from a pummeling, such as he had not received since they were boys. As it was, Wickham directed an insolent smirk at Darcy before turning an aggrieved look in his patron’s direction. For perhaps the first time Darcy could remember, his father did not even notice.

  “We are guests at present, and I will not have you two behaving like a pair of ruffians. If you cannot abide each other’s presence, do not be in the same room as the other.”

  While Darcy only nodded, it was clear his former companion did not appreciate his share of Mr. Darcy’s set down. But Mr. Darcy was not watching his protégé. Instead, his attention was fixed upon Darcy himself.

  “If you will excuse us, Wickham, I must speak with my son.”

  “Of course, Mr. Darcy,” said Wickham, his grin showing how certain he was that Mr. Darcy wished to make his disapproval of Miss Elizabeth known. It was of no concern to Darcy what his father’s opinion might be—he was not about to give Miss Elizabeth up.

  Without a second glance at Wickham, his father motioned Darcy to proceed him down the hall, and Darcy acquiesced, but not before he noted a look of pure poison Wickham was throwing at them both. It seemed Wickham was not as confident as he appeared.

>   Netherfield’s library was situated not far from where his father had interrupted the confrontation, so Darcy led them there, knowing they could expect reasonable privacy. The sound of the pianoforte reached their ears, telling Darcy his sister was in the music room, likely in the company of his mother, and possibly Mrs. Bingley. While he did not know the location of the Hursts or Mr. Bingley, he was confident they would remain undisturbed.

  “I am sure you can guess my reason for wishing to speak with you,” said Darcy’s father as soon as they had entered.

  “It seems rather obvious,” replied Darcy. “Is there something else you wish to know of Miss Elizabeth, or did you wish to speak directly of your opinion?”

  The way his father looked at him told Darcy he was trying to decide if Darcy was being insolent. As Darcy continued to look at his father, betraying nothing, he must have come to the correct conclusion. Darcy had no interest in disrespect to his father. But he would not allow his father’s disrespect toward Miss Elizabeth either.

  “While I am certain questions of the girl will arise at other times, at present I need know nothing more.”

  Mr. Darcy paused, clasping his hands behind his back as he so often did, and peered at nothing, his thoughts clearly inward. Knowing it was his father’s means of marshaling his arguments, Darcy remained patient, waiting, preparing himself for a disagreement.

  “I am certain you must apprehend,” said Mr. Darcy after a few moments’ pause, “Miss Elizabeth is not what I wished for your future bride.”

  “That was never in question,” replied Darcy.

  The pacing ceased, and Mr. Darcy turned to peer at him. “But you are determined to follow through with this madness.”

  “Have you ever thought that I do not consider it madness?”

  “That much is evident,” was his father’s short reply. “At present, I am attempting to determine whether this imprudence is naturally born or if I have somehow been negligent in your education.”

  “Father,” said Darcy, speaking in a slow and measured tone to ensure his father understood he was considering the situation in a rational manner, “perhaps my definition of what is good for me is different from your own.”

  His father’s eyes rested on him, judging. “Explain.”

  “It is simply that I do not value connections to the same extent as you do, nor am I enamored with society. Do we not have so many connections that we can hardly take a step in London without tripping over one of them? And I know you do not care for the majority of those to whom we can claim as part of our circle.”

  When Mr. Darcy did not reply, Darcy continued: “There is no way you or anyone else can claim that Miss Bennet is in any way unsuited for the role I mean her to assume. She is intelligent and poised and will bring honor to our family. She is not deficient in any way.”

  “Well, she did seem to be a good sort of girl,” grumbled Mr. Darcy. “And perhaps what you say about the state of our position in society is true. But I must remind you that it will one day be your duty to uphold our position in society.”

  “Though I am not fond of London, I understand my responsibilities,” replied Darcy. “But if you will forgive me, Father, I would point out that it is I who must live with the woman I choose as my wife. I will be required to sire an heir, to converse with her, to be her husband. To be perfectly frank, I am far more interested in choosing my bride with a mind to ensure my own happiness, rather than the family’s dynastic expectations. Our position in society will not be damaged by Miss Elizabeth. In fact, I am convinced it will be enhanced.”

  It was several moments before his father responded to Darcy’s impassioned speech. In that time, Darcy watched him, alert for any indication of what his father might be thinking. But Robert Darcy was as inscrutable as always.

  “There appears to be little choice,” said his father at length, his words accompanied with a sigh of resignation. “In some ways—though not the ways I would wish—you are much as I am: stubborn, willful, and unwilling to bend when you believe you are in the right.

  “As I have said, I would have wished for more in your future wife, but my wishes would have been for those material advantages. You have chosen to value those assets which are not readily apparent. While I cannot say you are correct, I also cannot state the opposite. It is possible, though I assume you have already apprehended this fact, a marriage born in love will not bring the happiness you expect. But I have my experience with your mother and do not blame you for wishing for your own meeting of minds.

  “Thus, I will support you should you ultimately choose Miss Elizabeth.” His father paused, a wryness unusual in his character evident in the upturn of his lips. “In the end, I do not doubt you will do as you wish, my support or not. I only ask you take care to be certain you know what you are about before you propose. While a society marriage may be bad enough, marrying a woman you think you love with the expectation of a life of happiness will lead to a lifetime of misery if you are wrong.”

  “Thank you, Father,” said Darcy, feeling choked up by his father’s words. Rarely had he heard his father speak so much; Robert Darcy was a man who did not believe that every silence must be filled by a voice. What was more, Darcy had not expected his father to be resigned so quickly.

  But while he had given his approval, Darcy could sense that his father was yet anything but accepting. A single nod was his father’s response, after which he excused himself, leaving Darcy alone in the room. Miss Elizabeth would still need to convince him of her suitability. At least Darcy had the hope now that it was possible. He had feared his father would dig in his heels and never relent.

  Something momentous had happened that day. It was easy for one so close to the two principals to notice. What it was, Lady Anne Darcy could not say, though she had her suspicions.

  A glance at Fitzwilliam at dinner that evening informed her that her son was more comfortable now than he had been at any time since their arrival. Fitzwilliam sat with Georgiana and the younger Mr. Bingley and spoke, if not with animation—for it was not his way—at least with ease. And though his father sat nearby, speaking with the elder Bingley, none of the tension which had characterized their interactions since their arrival—and to some extent for some years now—was absent.

  Had her husband bent his stiff neck concerning the matter of Miss Elizabeth Bennet? It was possible, for he was not nearly so prejudiced as he often displayed. For a moment, Lady Anne considered the relative merits of approaching her son—for her husband could be remarkably close-mouthed when he desired—to learn the truth. After a little reflection, she decided to allow him to inform her of the matter when he saw fit. For now, she was more than happy to enjoy the easier relationship between the two most important men in her life.

  The other issue she could see was the matter of George Wickham. That the young man had come to them intending to foment discord between father and son, Anne did not doubt. Though she had not known the extent of Wickham’s true character until Fitzwilliam had informed her, she had always seen his jealousy, his efforts to make himself appear better than her son. Perhaps this episode would result in Wickham showing his true colors to her husband.

  She also did not misunderstand the looks Wickham was giving her only daughter. Georgiana’s dowry was more than enough temptation for a man like Wickham. Lady Anne knew her daughter would not give George Wickham any encouragement, but there was still the matter of his becoming desperate enough to force the issue. Was it possible to break the hold the young man had on her husband?

  “I would like to announce,” said Mrs. Bingley, drawing Lady Anne away from her thoughts, “I have decided I should like to hold a ball at Netherfield in honor of our guests, if that is agreeable to you all.”

  While Lady Anne had no objection, she looked to the men in her family, knowing that Fitzwilliam and Robert were not fond of dancing. It was, therefore, difficult to stifle her laughter when she noted that Fitzwilliam appeared eager, the reas
on for which was a mystery to no one. Robert, she thought, noticed it too, though he appeared more resigned than anything. Curious, Lady Anne watched her husband.

  “That is a lovely idea, Mrs. Bingley,” said Lady Anne, turning a warm smile on her hostess. “As there is so much romance in the air, I would imagine a ball would be agreeable, even to our menfolk.”

  The sudden embarrassment in her son delighted Anne as did Mrs. Bingley’s rapid nod of her head. “Yes, that is exactly it! By that time,” continued she, turning to look at her son, “I hope we may be in a position to announce an engagement.”

  “Perchance we shall,” said the younger Bingley, “though I believe Darcy might be in a position to propose to his Miss Bennet before me.”

  “The only reason for that,” jibed her son in return, “is that you have dragged your heels these past years. Had you worked more quickly, you would already be married to your Miss Bennet.”

  Instead of offense, it was clear Mr. Bingley was excessively diverted by Fitzwilliam’s quip, as was most of the company. The talk thereafter centered on the notion of hosting a ball and what might be done to prepare for it. The men added little when it came to discussions of arrangements, and Anne found herself agreeing to help her hostess organize it. It was no trouble for her part, as Anne suspected it may turn into an engagement ball, even if Mr. Bingley did not propose.

  It was later that evening when they had retired to their rooms that Anne learned the truth of the events of that day. Her husband was also less than happy about the amusement Mrs. Bingley had proposed at dinner.

  “Must you encourage them in such a manner?”

  Though laughter bubbled up at the sound of her husband’s plaintive manner of speaking, Anne feigned ignorance. “Of what do you speak?”

  “This . . . ball Mrs. Bingley wishes to hold.” Robert grunted with annoyance. “There is still hope Fitzwilliam will come to his senses, but that will not happen if he is continually urged to give in to his infatuation for the girl.”