by Jennifer Joy
“Yes, her family… Well, I consider that her manners were impeccable. Try as you might, you could not find fault with her. Even Miss Elizabeth Bennet, in her unfortunate situation, acted the part of a perfect lady.” Bingley paused to chuckle. “Can you imagine Caroline sitting in a puddle of mud?”
Darcy smiled. Comparing the two women certainly made Miss Elizabeth’s reaction perfectly serene. Though Miss Bingley tried to hide it, her temper was just as fiery as her copper hair.
“Would you have Mrs. Bennet as a mother, then? Or the younger girls as your sisters?” asked Darcy in incredulity, thinking to distract Bingley’s romantic inclinations before they took root.
To his credit, Bingley thought for a moment before answering. “Their manners were a bit coarse and they would only bring embarrassment if brought into polite society… but, what use do I have for society if I let it stand in the way of happiness— if indeed my happiness is to be found with Miss Bennet. Nor would I do her the grave injustice of denying her such a future to placate those who have only held me in derision for my connections in trade. No, society be hanged… Although I would not be in a great hurry to take them to London. Perhaps a quiet life in the country would be best.”
Bingley’s reasoning struck a chord with Darcy. How high did he hold society’s expectations of his future bride? He had gone to great lengths to ensure a spotless reputation and naturally expected the same of a wife. Before he was pressed to comment, they arrived at Netherfield Park.
The rest of his afternoon was spent trying to convince Bingley to think rationally. He should not under any circumstances set up house in Netherfield Park only to pursue his interest in Miss Bennet, which may prove to be a fleeting fancy anyway. But Bingley saw every defect in the property through a rose-colored glass. Fortunately, not many defects could be found and Darcy figured his friend could make an offer for the property without coming to financial harm.
Chapter 5
En route to Pemberley, One week later
Some days had passed since Darcy and Bingley parted ways back in London. Darcy would not put off the inevitable any longer. He needed to return to Pemberley and talk to Father.
Normally, Darcy enjoyed solitude. But, not this time. Too many contrary thoughts wrestled in his mind and it was torture to sit still in the cramped carriage. The mystery of Anne’s letter… her refusal… his father’s wish that he marry sooner rather than later… Miss Elizabeth and her indecorous family… Bingley falling in love at first sight again… Richard’s talk about love and a happy marriage…
Only when Darcy reached the outer limits of Pemberley did he relax. Pemberley was Darcy’s favorite place, and for good reason. The late afternoon sun shone in welcome as it started its descent behind the forest of trees on the property. The fish pond sparkled, tempting Darcy to hop out of the carriage and swim as he had when he was a boy. But it had been a long trip and he wanted a hot bath. Accommodations had been limited at the inns and Darcy was ready for a good scrub, a freshly pressed shirt, and a polished pair of boots.
Darcy learned that his father had gone out for a ride, but was expected momentarily. He hoped the ride would put his father in a good mood, for he did not look forward to breaking the news about Anne’s refusal.
His father, George Darcy, resembled Richard with his grand ideas of romance, though Richard had learned to control his emotions in the army. His father had no such restraint, much to his son’s discomfort over the years.
A knock on Darcy’s door announced the arrival of a tray of food. Cold cuts of meat with fresh bread, preserves and fresh fruit, the first of the season, were devoured. His appetite proved to be bigger than he had guessed. Servants brought in buckets of steaming water as he relaxed in a comfortable chair, chewing each bite in pleasure. It was good to be home.
When the water was ready, Darcy luxuriated in a good scrub. As he poured the water down his hair and looked out the window of his dressing room, he again thought of Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Often during his travel home, the image of her sitting across from him in the carriage invaded his daydreams. The tendrils of curly hair clinging to her skin. Her dress, simple and adorned with a mud-stained hem. Her eyes which sparkled with life and chin that rose to a challenge. Darcy dumped some cold water over his head. Miss Elizabeth thought him disagreeable. He thought her judgmental.
Thinking of her family, Darcy cringed at the mother and three younger sisters, with their tactless speech and lack of decorum. Mr. Bennet had seemed more interested in returning to his study than anything. And Darcy almost forgot Miss Jane Bennet. She was beautiful and her manners were proper, but she was much too passive and unmemorable to suit his taste. If she returned Bingley’s admiration, she would be a calming influence to his excitable temperament.
The crunch of a horse’s hooves brought Darcy’s attention back to the present and his task at hand. He looked out the window and saw his father riding up to the house.
Rising from the water, he hastened to dress. He could hear his father enter the house. Darcy, himself a quiet person, never could understand how one man could fill a room and make such an entrance as his father did. He heard his progress up the stairs until he stopped in front of Darcy’s door. Then, three solid knocks. Darcy walked into his room to greet his father.
George Darcy was a tall man, just like his son, with a stoutness that came with age. His dark hair had a streak of silver at his temples which had appeared upon the death of his beloved wife, Lady Anne. He smiled broadly when he saw his son.
His father strode across the room, arms open. Darcy braced himself. His breath was squeezed out of him and he endured three vigorous slaps on the back.
His father sat in the chair next to the mirror and Darcy tried to catch his breath. Even though Darcy had a tall, strong frame, it always took a minute to recover from one of his father’s hugs.
“So, tell me, how did your trip go? Did you finally set the date?” He clapped his hands and rubbed them together excitedly. “I am eager to have some grandchildren running around Pemberley, even if it is Anne you choose to take as a wife,” he said with an expectant smile that faded at his mention of Anne. His father thought Anne to be a poor choice for a wife, but Darcy stubbornly abode by his mother’s wish that they marry.
Darcy tugged on his cravat as he folded the creases into subjection. Best get this done with.
Taking a deep breath, Darcy looked directly at his father and said, “I am afraid you will have to wait a while longer, Father.”
Shooting up from his seat, George Darcy clamored, “What do you mean wait longer? You will be eight and twenty this year! How much longer am I to wait for grandchildren, William?” He began pacing.
“Father, please calm yourself,” said Darcy knowing full well that his next words would do anything but calm his father. “Anne does not want to marry me. She released me from our engagement.” He clenched his jaw and waited for his father’s reaction. It did not take long.
“What?” he exclaimed as he continued pacing around the dressing room. “She does not want to marry you? Why in heaven’s name did she wait so long to say something? Were it up to me, I would have had you married years ago.” He was standing facing Darcy, his arms gesturing wildly. Darcy stepped back to avoid getting hit, just to be safe. He had expected this. His father’s face had a shade of eggplant purple to it and he decided it best to remain silent until his father was done gesticulating.
Finally, after a few minutes of ranting and raving, George Darcy sat down and put his head in his hands, shaking it. Darcy poured him a drink and, on second thought, poured one for himself.
“I too am disappointed, though for different reasons. I do not love Anne, but I was content with the arrangement Mother made with Aunt Catherine.”
“Your mother…” Father started, but stopped short. Darcy waited. There were moments when he craved to know more about her. Although he was twelve when she died, his memories of her had faded until he could barely remember the sound of her voi
ce.
Mr. Darcy swallowed his drink and said, “Tell me about your trip to Rosings. I cannot imagine Lady Catherine taking well to the news.”
Darcy told him about Anne’s refusal, the letter, and Aunt Catherine’s reaction to both.
Father sat with his brows knit for a while. Evidently, he too was in the dark as to the contents of the letter.
“I suspect I will get a letter in the post from Lady Catherine soon,” said Father with a sigh. He began massaging his temples. “You know, William, these past five years I have made very clear my wish for you to marry. I have allowed you to put it off, letting you use your arranged engagement to Anne as an excuse to isolate yourself and dedicate your energies to the estate. You have amassed more wealth for our family than I had ever hoped. But, of what use is money if you have no family or children to make you happy?”
Darcy had prepared an answer. “I do not take lightly my promises or those made on my behalf. Anne has other plans which exclude me, but I can consider with pride how I honored Mother. What is done is done and I will face the consequences of my loyal actions.”
After a long pause where Father sat contemplating Darcy, Father said, “Well, it is done.”
Slapping his hands on his thighs, Father stood up and placed his hands on Darcy’s shoulders. “But now, we must move on. I need not remind you that the Darcy name rests solely in your hands. As my only male heir, it is your responsibility to ensure the longevity of our family name.”
“I am well aware of my responsibility to our family and I do not take it lightly.”
His father squeezed his shoulders and let his hands fall to his sides. He sat back down, clasped his hands together, and said, “Good. Then you will understand my reasons in sending you back to London so soon after your return. You will stay in our house in town for the season. You will find a nice, young lady to make your wife and you will not grace Pemberley with your presence until you bring her home with you.”
Darcy felt the blood drain from his face and his fingertips turn to ice. This was worse than he had expected.
“But, Father, be reasonable. You cannot expect me to find a wife in two short months. The height of the season starts in just two weeks.”
Without batting an eyelash, George Darcy said, “Then you had better start packing your things. I could not be more serious, Darcy. You have not inherited yet and I swear on your mother’s name that if you fail at this, I will cut you out of my will.” He let the words sink in. As an afterthought, he added in a thoughtful tone, “Richard is a good fellow. Maybe I shall give everything to him. He is my favorite nephew and he stands in need of a fortune…” His voice was loud and his meaning impossible to misunderstand.
Darcy stiffened his spine and in a burst of false confidence said, “Very well. In two months’ time, I will return to Pemberley with a bride.” He would show his father what he was capable of.
Slapping his hands together as he rose from his seat, Mr. Darcy flashed a huge smile at his son and said, “Now that is what I wanted to hear. It will be good for my Georgie to have her brother nearby. Do you suppose you could take her to the theater or something nice while you are courting? She would like that.”
It was a mystery to Darcy how his father could go from being so fierce in determination to being so light-hearted. One minute he was breathing threats, next he was laughing and slapping him on the back.
Darcy stood in grave silence as his father planned the next few days. They would ride over the property, talking with their neighbors and tenants because it was of the utmost importance to know the goings-on and guard their trust. Darcy needed to write letters to be sent out on the next post securing a voucher for Almack’s and entry into other private gatherings; generally, to inform the finer families in London of his presence in town and ensure a full social calendar. His friend, Charles Bingley, would be a good resource. With Bingley’s happy character and Darcy’s wealth and high birth, he was sure to be busy every evening.
“William, you have a lot of writing to do. I will leave you to it. We shall dine in two hours hence, so you have plenty of time.”
Darcy’s physical reaction was to break out in a cold sweat, but for years he had trained his mind to control his emotions. As soon as Father left the room, Darcy sat at his writing desk to make a list. He would write what he must do and how best to do it. Having a plan of action would feed his confidence and ensure success. Failure was not an option.
Pemberley, One week later
Darcy was mostly packed and ready to return to London. He would leave the next morning in time for the first ball to be held at Almack’s on Wednesday evening, the first week of April. That was where the members of the ton mingled and Darcy felt positive he would find the future Mrs. Darcy among the elite there.
Riding through the property with his father in the morning hours, the time flew by. The same could not be said of the afternoon, which crawled at a snail’s pace. There was nothing left to do to prepare for his trip. Darcy had been efficient in his use of time. All he had to do was wait and Darcy hated to wait.
He went to his father’s study to see if there was any business to conduct while he was in London, not that he would be allowed to distract himself from his social obligations. But, it was worth a try.
When he entered the study, he saw his father sitting behind his solid oak desk, writing on a piece of paper.
The study was the one room in the house his mother had not touched, though a painting of her hung above the fireplace. His father felt it was important to have a space all his own, free of feminine influences. Smells of leather and old cigars mixed with ink and book bindings. The fireplace remained unlit and the window was open, letting in a fresh breeze and stirring the curtains. Besides the library, this was Darcy’s favorite room.
He sat down in a plush leather chair opposite his father, crossed his ankle over his knee, and waited as Father continued scratching away. Darcy knew better than to interrupt his concentration.
Folding the letter up neatly, Father sealed it with wax before turning his full attention to his son. He clasped his fingers together and pursed his lips. “Are you ready William?” he asked.
“Yes. I came to see if anything needed done while I am in London. Any business.”
George Darcy thought for a moment. “I think not, William. You have been invaluable to me in running this estate. But right now, Pemberley is without a Mistress and that is your chief concern.” He held up the letter he had recently sealed. “Just so you understand the importance of your task, I am sending this to our solicitor, Mr. Haggerston. The instructions within pertain to you. If you are successful and engaged to marry by the end of the season, then my current will stands. If you are unsuccessful and are not at least engaged, then I have given instructions for my will to be altered.”
“You are serious then, Father.” Darcy knew as much, but wanted to nurse the thin thread of hope he still maintained.
He was met with a cold stare. “I have never been more serious in my life.”
A knock cut through the tension in the study. The footman announced that Mr. Wickham was here to visit Mr. Darcy.
“This day keeps getting better,” said Father with a bite. Darcy did not appreciate the sarcasm, but understood his feelings toward Wickham.
The study door opened and in walked George Wickham— his dark hair fashionable in a careless manner, his clothes of the finest cut. He sauntered into the room, filling it with his cologne.
“Mr. Darcy. Darcy.” He bowed elegantly.
“What brings you to Pemberley, Wickham?” Father asked as Wickham took a seat next to Darcy.
“Strait to business it is then. I believe we are beyond pleasantries, are we not?” Wickham asked with an edge.
Darcy, who was not privy to the most recent exchanges between his father and Wickham, shifted in his seat to better see his boyhood companion. There was a bitterness in him Darcy had never seen before.
“The only visits I get from
you lately are when you want me to cover your debts. And I hear reports of you which trouble me greatly. Unless you have mended your ways, in which I would gladly welcome you with extended arms, I do not understand how you could have the audacity to call here,” said Father.
Wickham flashed a winning smile. “I am pleased to inform you that I took your sagacious advice and changed my circle of friends. However, they proved to be unwholesome and took me in for a good amount of money before I caught on to their scheming ways. I fear I am in debt again. I have since cut all ties with them and have only to clear my debt to end the association completely.”
“I will not pay for any more of your debts. You have received a gentleman’s education and should have intelligence enough to avoid these bad influences. I will take no part in feeding your vices.”
“What about my living at the rectory?” asked Wickham, starting to look concerned.
“What about it?” Father snapped.
“Would you deny me my living and cast me off without a farthing?”
“Your living is where it has been since you finished your education. Vacant. And waiting for you to occupy it.”
“You cannot possibly think the church is a suitable occupation for me,” Wickham scoffed. “I would have you give me the value of my living and be done with it.”
“I agree that a position in the church is ill-suited for one such as yourself,” Father said in disdain. His hands were balled into fists on top of the desk.
“Fine. If you only seek money, I will give you a bank note for the living’s worth to be done with you. Wickham— this ends our association.” Father’s breathing was coming fast and his color was up.
