by Beth Poppet
“I did not see her much my last days at Rosings, as I believe her condition keeps her indoors most days.” He did not reference the period of time in which he avoided the rectory and its inhabitants altogether. “Miss Bennet is rather concerned for her, though. Lady Catherine was much displeased with how boldly she spoke out on behalf of her ailing sister. I did what I could to offer our assistance, but beyond baskets of fruit and recommending a good physician there is not much else anyone can do in these matters but wait and hope, I think.”
Bingley looked as if this bleak answer pained him more than the aches he suffered from his attempts to walk again. “Thank you, Darcy. It does me good to know that you and Miss Bennet did all you could.”
“Charles, you are not in love with Mrs Collins, are you?”
“No, Darcy! That would be ghastly improper! Not to mention deplorably immoral. No, I am not… in love with her, but there was a time when I very well might have been were circumstances different, and I don’t like to think of such a sweet creature somewhere in this world suffering or lonely.” His indignation at Darcy’s accusation softened into a sombre thoughtfulness. “Her husband… he loves her a great deal, doesn’t he?” Then with a return of his usual cheer, “Never mind that. Of course, he does. Couldn’t possibly do otherwise as a vicar and a man.”
In all this, Darcy was shamed into silence. He had always seen his friend as a kindly, jovial fellow, but not one prone to profound or steady feeling. It surprised and pained him to know that the woman who was once Jane Bennet had touched his heart so deeply and absolutely over the course of one happy evening that though she was another man’s bride, he could still think on her with nothing but pure tenderness and a desire for her to be cared for.
He had not thought it possible of his friend; indeed, he did not know if it was possible for himself to feel so strongly for a woman. Yet there he knew he was in error, for even as Bingley attempted to distract them both from such dreary subjects as Mrs Collins suffering, Darcy’s thoughts were fixated on her sister, Elizabeth Bennet, who was but three miles hence and not yet attached to another man.
It was as Bingley suspected. Darcy had been jealous of George Wickham, and the seeming preference Miss Bennet had shown towards him. He knew such unworthy feelings were beneath him, and yet he could not prevent the pang to his heart that occurred whenever she had laughed for him, made sport of someone to amuse him, or worst of all, danced with him in such a fetching manner. The danger of Wickham gaining Miss Elizabeth’s affections were long since passed with his marriage to her youngest sister; a marriage he was glad to take part in enforcing, if not for his own peace of mind but for his sister’s. He was apprehensive of bringing Georgiana to Netherfield at all, but Mr Wickham and his new bride had gone on to Newcastle and would not be in Hertfordshire to risk their crossing paths. Furthermore, Fitzwilliam was of the opinion that they could not shield Georgiana from all knowledge of Wickham whatsoever, and it was best to get the truth of it out in their own way rather than risk her hearing of him from the town gossips or an ignorant friend who might let it slip.
Fitzwilliam was with her now, breaking to her the news as gently as he was able. Darcy was, perhaps, only partially guilty of cowardice in not being the one to do so. He did not relish any special conversation of a delicate nature with his sister and even less when it had to do with her near-elopement almost two years prior. Though time had healed much of her embarrassment, she still grew nervous and withdrawn whenever there was any mention of the scoundrel who had almost succeeded in ruining her forever. Perhaps the news of his recent marriage would bring some small comfort to her, but it was not a conversation Darcy was eager to have and when her other guardian, Colonel Fitzwilliam offered to be the man to do it, Darcy was more than happy to relinquish the role as protector and comforter to him.
The music room Georgiana had established herself in was elegantly furnished, and to the taste of one who was not a true musician but rather kept the pieces for show and little else. This suited Georgiana very well as Caroline Bingley took excellent care of all her instruments regardless of how infrequently she made use of their presence. Georgiana also preferred to practice alone and with the assurance that she disturbed no one with her playing, nor was anyone likely to hear or see her at all during her isolated concerts. This was another point in favour of Caroline’s situation of the music room for it was tucked away at the back of the house, as out of the way and unobtrusive as Georgiana herself.
Colonel Fitzwilliam was still able to find her out as he was well aware that there was little Georgiana loved more than music. She was so engrossed in her playing that she did not realise she had an audience until he was practically sharing the bench with her. She gave a start to be so surprised, but in the instant that she recognised the intruder her entire frame gave a little sigh of relief and her expression turned mildly accusatory.
“You should not steal up behind people in that way or you’ll give them a fright,” she chided, though her voice remained gentle and sweet. “Or was that your intention? To frighten me?”
“Like I used to do when you were little?” the colonel grinned, “Haven’t I promised never to purposefully startle you again? It was after that time you fell backwards so hard you began to cry.”
“Oh, don’t remind me of it, please!” Georgiana cried in distress. “That was so long ago. I should like to think I am a little more resilient by now.”
“Perhaps,” he squinted his eyes as if assessing her, “Though you’d likely pale and faint in a heap instead as all fashionable young ladies are wont to do.”
“Not from you,” she narrowed her eyes back at him, undaunted. “Young ladies of fashion only faint over lovers or deaths,” she primly stated. Then, blushing, she turned her face towards her music. “Did you have a purpose in being here other than to bring to remembrance old embarrassments?”
“Must I have a reason for visiting my charge?”
“I suppose not,” she smoothed her dress, “but it is unusual for you to make an imposition of yourself where you are not wanted.”
“Is that any way to address your guardian?” he said with mock indignation. “I shall speak to your brother of this insult.”
“You know Fitzwilliam will only take my side,” Georgiana laughed merrily, “He always does.”
“Tis only too true. I shall have to settle for levelling with you, Miss Darcy.”
“Miss Darcy?” she echoed with wonder. “You have never called me by such formal address. I must be in very great trouble.”
Her guardian sighed and did take the seat beside her on the bench. He sifted through the sheets of music at the piano until seemingly satisfied he propped one at the forefront of the stand and began to play one part of a duet very badly indeed.
Georgiana laughed and attempted to accompany him, but it was a hopeless mess as the colonel was even less of a musician than Georgiana was a performer.
“I am only trying to avoid a most serious and upsetting subject I need to discuss with you,” he admitted during an obnoxiously robust crescendo. He plunked out a finish and turned to his charge who sat waiting in perfect posture, hands resting in her lap, eyes searching his face for any inkling of what he was about to say to her.
He took her porcelain hands in his; hands he knew so well and had held in his own since she was first presented to him as his charge over ten years ago. It would not be long before Georgiana was presented as “out,” and he wondered what flocks of young men would be throwing themselves at her feet then. They would have to make it past him and Darcy first.
“What is it, Arthur?” she prompted him. “You suddenly look very unhappy. Is there something the matter with Fitzwilliam? Or Mr Bingley? Has he fallen on the stair again?”
“No, no. There is nothing the matter with anyone here, besides a little lovesick brooding on your brother’s part, but that is not what I need to speak to you of. It is of a person whose actions have caused this family great pain and turmoil, and who�
�” He let go of her hands to throw his up in despair with a disgruntled, “Bah! There’s no use! I’ve no idea how to beat around the bush, so I might as well say it. Mr George Wickham has married. He’s married, and gone away to Newcastle, where, presumably, his new orders with the regulars will keep him for good. There, I’ve said it, and I hope you aren’t… Are you going to cry?”
“No…” she fluttered her eyes in confusion for several moments before deciding, “I don’t imagine so. The lady who has married him. Do we know her?”
“You do not know her but by association. Lydia Bennet, as she was, the youngest sister of Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn.”
“Oh! But then… I thought you told me my brother was in love with Miss Bennet. If they were to marry, fulfilling his happiness, then Fitzwilliam’s wife would be… quite intimately connected to… to that person whom we so wish to avoid.”
“Yes, that is so. Which is one of the reasons I think your brother broods.”
“Well, you must tell him not to hesitate on my account,” she said in earnest. “I would be mortified to know that he denied himself true happiness because he was afraid for me.” She ducked her head then, and lowered her voice to ask, “Tell me, was the previous Miss Bennet… did she consent to be his wife through an honourable courtship and a proper understanding?”
“I wish I could answer in the affirmative to your question,” he sighed, “but I’m afraid I cannot. They ran away together, and I believe Wickham would have left the youngest Miss Bennet in disgrace while he fled to some other country were it not for your brother’s intervention. Although, I must confess to being vastly instrumental as a messenger between the interested parties. I do not know whether he would have found them so quickly were it not for my involvement.”
Georgiana managed to smile at his self-aggrandizement, but her troubled look soon returned.
“What is it, Georgiana?” he tapped her under her chin. “Are you very sad?”
“Sad? That he is at last married and gone away? How could you think so?” she asked of him, truly hurt.
“We have never spoken of it, so I could not be assured of your own feelings, but… you did agree to elope with him. That generally implies a strong attraction, if not a deeper…” He cleared his throat quite loudly. “Well, one doesn’t usually agree to marry under such conditions unless one believes they love the person in question.”
“For one who has trouble ‘beating around the bush’ you are certainly using mystifying turns of speech at present. I do know what you mean to ask, and you may be assured that although I did once imagine myself quite in love with Mr Wickham, those feelings turned to shame and resentment the moment he exited Pemberley with the money my brother provided him in order to leave me behind.”
“Then… you do not still feel affection for him?”
“No. I do… fear sometimes what I might do, or how I might behave if he were ever to stand before me again. I do not think I should survive that encounter without fainting.” She meant it as a joke to make him laugh, but her Colonel was pensive and worried. “I only mean out of mortification, Arthur. I promise you, I do not love him, and I have not for some time.”
“Well then, I am glad!” he exclaimed with gusto. “And now that my commission is fulfilled, I will return to Fitzwilliam and leave you to practice in peace.”
“Oh!” Georgiana turned suddenly shy; a state of being not at all remarkable for her, yet odd in the presence of her guardian and dearest friend besides her brother. “Please stay if you wish. I have a new piece that is very troublesome to learn while stopping to turn the pages. If you would be so kind as to turn them for me…?” her question hung in the air.
“With all my heart,” he said with a dramatic flourish towards the music and was pleased to note that it caused Georgiana to smile again.
Chapter Nineteen
It was with no other feeling besides dismay that Elizabeth learned of the party Mr Bingley brought with him again to Netherfield Park. She was not naïve enough to believe that Mr Darcy’s company could be entirely avoided for long, and she hoped, rather than believed it possible to delay their next meeting until more time had passed between Lydia’s elopement and consequent marriage.
However, with two sisters married and Elizabeth more intimately acquainted with the Bingleys than Kitty by far, it was only a matter of time before her mother began scheming of ways to have her eldest unmarried daughter at Netherfield as often as propriety allowed.
Before Mrs Bennet had decided on the best course of action by which to sacrifice Elizabeth to the residents of Netherfield, Mr Bingley had sent a most remarkable messenger to call at Longbourn in order to renew their acquaintance.
The single rider cut a most becoming figure on the fine horse he rode, and Elizabeth blushed to hear the way her mother described the gentleman before he was near enough to identify. When the rider was first presumed by Kitty to be Mr Darcy, Mrs Bennet was nearly livid with objections. Such a proud and self-important man would never think to call on them alone, and it was absurd for Kitty to think so! As the rider came near enough for all three of the women huddled at the windows to see that it was indeed Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy come to call, it set the house in upheaval and mayhem. Most of this was due to Mrs Bennet’s sudden need to adjust everyone and everything that might possibly meet Mr Darcy’s eye as he entered the sitting room.
In this flurry of poorly orchestrated improvements to pillows, postures, and even the tilt of the little clock on the mantle, Mrs Bennet began to examine her current situation, and what benefit this wealthy—if not unpleasant—intruder might be to her girls. Beyond a general consensus of his being too proud for country society, and thereby deemed utterly disagreeable, there was not much gossip with which to cast aspersions on his person. It occurred to Mrs Bennet in the moments before his dismounting and arrival into the house that it might not be suitable to remember past incivilities in the face of ten thousand a year—which was certainly an ample income to erase much more than a few social slights. If Elizabeth would not do her utmost to catch Mr Bingley and his fortune of five thousand, she may still find Mr Darcy a worthy prize. After all, Catherine was yet unattached and perfectly capable of walking to Netherfield if she might decide upon some errand with which to send her forth.
All of this was taken into consideration and deemed justifiable reason for Mrs Bennet’s newfound acceptance of Mr Darcy’s visit so that by the time he was among them she was positively beaming for joy. A worrisome sight for Elizabeth, to be sure.
His bow was brief, but not so stiff as usual, she thought. There was obviously nothing wanting there in Mrs Bennet’s eyes, as her returning curtsy and greeting were full of welcome gratitude.
“Mr Darcy!” she gushed, “We did not expect a visit from you so soon upon your return to the country! Indeed, when Mr Bingley first left for town, we were uncertain upon his ever returning, which caused a great deal of alarm, you know. We are very glad he has decided to return however, and not a moment too soon as the shooting season begins tomorrow and there is nothing like the countryside for hunting. I suspect even you cannot deny the charms of Hertfordshire for such sport, as, well, here you are!” She paused only to laugh at her own observation, draw a breath and add, “You do us a great honour in your attention to us, sir. Did you leave Mr Bingley in good health?”
“He is considerably more able than he was at the start of his recuperation, though he still cannot walk without assistance. He wishes me to impart his regret at not being able to call on you himself.”
With this, Mr Darcy sought to escape conversation with the mother and his eyes settled on Miss Elizabeth’s strained expression. He wished to speak to her, to ascertain the reason for her discomfited manner, but he had not the proper words for inducing such queries without embarrassment to anyone present, and so he silently turned towards the settee.
Mrs Bennet anticipated him, offering him a seat, and almost in the same breath instructing Kitty to order the tea and refr
eshments. Taking the seat closest to where Lizzy stood she forced her to sit across from Mr Darcy where—if he was so inclined—he might look up to see her at intervals and be reminded that there was still a beauty of Hertfordshire left unclaimed.
This purposeful deviation from her usual seating arrangements was not lost on Elizabeth, and she struggled to keep the mortification from showing brightly on her cheeks. She failed to overpower the workings of such a natural instinct however, and Mr Darcy was thoroughly besotted by the flush that spread over her fair neck and face.
Mrs Bennet was still carrying on with the rapidity of one determined not to let a silence fall for even a moment. Mr Darcy was not required to answer with any more than a nod of acknowledgement or an affirmation of her commentary until she asked, “And… you have a younger sister, I think, sir. Is she here with you at Netherfield?”
“Yes, Georgiana is one of the party,” he said simply.
When asked after her age, he replied, “She is sixteen, soon to be seventeen.”
“Ah! Then she is between my Kitty and Lydia in age! My youngest, Lydia, is recently married, and I daresay there are many a young man whose hearts are broken for this deprivation of her company. I suppose Miss Darcy has suitors abounding as well?”
By this, Mrs Bennet meant to compliment his sister, as nothing in her mind could be prized higher than a flock of choice suitors, but Elizabeth recoiled inwardly to have her mother compare Lydia to Miss Darcy; the pang cutting even deeper into the gentleman across from her, she was sure, as they both shared such unhappy connexions to Mr Wickham. Mr Darcy seemed to take no heed of this unwitting mishap and informed Mrs Bennet that his sister was not yet out, though she had been presented at court. This momentarily silenced Mrs Bennet, who was ever more inclined to think positively of a match between her daughter and a man with such position.
