Mrs. Bennet's Favorite Daughter

by Jann Rowland

  “One more thing,” said Fitzwilliam before his new lieutenant reached the door. “Georgiana is staying with Darcy’s friend at an estate close to Meryton. I trust I do not need to inform you of what awaits you should you attempt anything further with her?”

  “No, sir,” replied Wickham, though it was clear it surprised him to hear Georgiana was nearby. “I have no intention of so much as speaking with her.”

  “Good. Then we shall get on famously.”

  Wickham nodded and let himself from the office. With a sigh, Fitzwilliam sat behind his desk, wondering what he had done. Had he made the correct choice? At present, he could not say, for he had little faith in Wickham. If he had allowed him to walk out of the office, however, Fitzwilliam knew Wickham would never have amounted to anything. Though he did not like the man, Fitzwilliam knew this was Wickham’s best and, perhaps, last chance. Thus, he would do what he could to ensure Wickham was kept under control. Perhaps he would surprise them all.

  Another sigh escaped Fitzwilliam’s lips and he drew a sheet of paper from his desk drawer and began composing a letter to Darcy. His cousin would wonder if he had taken leave of his senses and would journey to Meryton at once. Fitzwilliam wondered himself if he had not lost his wits. Expecting Wickham to reform must be the maddest thought he had ever had.

  It was clear on the return journey from Meryton that Mr. Collins was displeased with what he had seen. The moody way in which he stomped along the path, the choice epithets she could hear muttered under his breath informed Elizabeth, if his glares at everyone and nothing did not. Kitty and Lydia avoided him by carrying on about Mr. Wickham, how handsome he was and how he would appear to excellent advantage when he donned regimentals. Elizabeth regarded them with exasperation, though in part she was amused at their antics—as they were not yet out, they would have far less contact with the officers than they would wish.

  Mary and Jane walked a little ahead, speaking in low tones, leaving Elizabeth with Mr. Collins. It seemed the parson had singled her out among her sisters, for he turned to her at once and began to ply her with questions.

  “What an interesting little town you have here, Cousin.”

  “It is our home, Mr. Collins, and will one day be yours. Meryton is, perhaps, not the center of fashion and society, but the neighborhood’s worth is in its people, is it not?”

  Mr. Collins huffed, though it sounded like a snort. “I suppose you must be correct. But those we met this morning must not be all the neighbors you can boast? There must be others, those from more . . . prominent families?”

  Knowing to what he was referring, Elizabeth felt hilarity build up in her breast, though she refrained from laughing. “If by prominent you refer to those of the peerage, I must inform you there are none of that sort nearby. The nearest man of any prominence, I believe, would be Baron Harlow, who lives some miles to the south and east, beyond Hatfield. We never see him here.”

  “And others of wealth and fortune?” demanded Mr. Collins. “Is this neighborhood devoid of such people?”

  “There is more to people than wealth,” Mr. Collins,” said Elizabeth, her tone chiding. “You, as a parson, do not tie a person’s worth to the state of his pocketbook or his prominence in society, so you?”

  “Of course not!” snapped the parson, though Elizabeth could see his displeasure still hovered over him like a cloud. “Our Lord is no respecter of persons and loves the pauper as much as the prince.”

  “Then we see matters alike, Mr. Collins,” replied Elizabeth. “Once you come to know the people of the neighborhood, I know you will see them as I do. We are not a high and mighty bunch, but neither are we savages.

  “Take my closest friend, Charlotte Lucas, for example. There is no firmer friend than Charlotte, for she is everything good, gracious, kind, and lovely. Should she be despised because she does not possess the riches that society seems to hold so dear?”

  “Is she very poor?” asked Mr. Collins is a sulky tone.

  “Of course, she is not,” snapped Elizabeth, beginning to become cross with him. “In all measurements that matter, Charlotte is an excellent woman, and I am convinced that any man who attains her hand would find blessings aplenty for the simple fact of having her as a wife.”

  Mr. Collins glared at Elizabeth with suspicion. “Are you attempting to put forth your friend as an acceptable match?”

  “I do no such thing,” said Elizabeth. In the confines of her mind, she added: I would not see her bound to such a man as you! “The only thing I am suggesting is that Charlotte is a good woman and a wonderful friend, and I do not think it right that men should overlook her qualities in favor of great wealth. If they do, they will miss out on a gem of the highest value.”

  “Yes, I can see why you would say that, Cousin,” said Mr. Collins, though Elizabeth knew she had not moved him in the slightest. “It is unfortunate that so many men dismiss her with nary another thought because of her circumstances. But that is the way the world works. It is not my responsibility to change it—rather, I must live in it.”

  As a parson, Elizabeth thought Mr. Collins had some forum in which he could trumpet proper values, even if others were unwilling to listen. His words, though proper in some respects, were nothing more than lip service, for the man was so fixed on a wealthy wife that it blinded him to all other considerations. Elizabeth had no interest in changing his mind, for not only did she not wish to turn his attention on her, but any length of conversation with the man was liable to provoke an aching head.

  “Is there no one in this neighborhood who possesses that which a man seeks in the woman he marries?”

  “As I said, Mr. Collins,” replied Elizabeth, eager to end this conversation, “we are simple people. Most of my friends possess dowries but if you are looking for a woman with a dowry of twenty thousand pounds, you will know disappointment.”

  When Elizabeth opened her mouth to end their discourse once and for all a sudden thought struck her. Though the thought which had crossed her mind was one she should not contemplate, it also possessed the possibility of provoking great amusement. Mr. Collins stumped along, his head bowed in thought, a thunderous moue of disappointment drawing his eyebrows together. Perhaps it was unkind of her mention it, but the lady was most deserving.

  “Now that I think on it, Mr. Collins,” said Elizabeth, drawing his pouting eyes back to her, “it has come to my mind that there is a young woman in the neighborhood who might meet all your requirements.”

  An instant transformation came over the parson. “There is?” asked he, excitement in his voice.

  “The Bingley family has come to the neighborhood of late to live at Netherfield Park, an estate owned by my uncle. Mr. Bingley is an amiable man—he has shown a great deal of interest in my sister, Jane. One of his own sisters is married, but the other is yet single and with no prospects of changing her status of which I am aware.”

  “Yes? And her dowry?”

  “Oh, it is not proper to speculate about a woman’s fortune,” demurred Elizabeth. The exact number she knew, though that presupposed the gossips of Meryton had received the correct information but she was not about to inform Mr. Collins.

  “That is correct, I suppose,” replied the gentleman, deep in thought. “You say your sister Jane has been the target of his attention?”

  “Mr. Bingley visits often and rarely has any attention for anyone other than Jane. Furthermore, Miss Bingley claims Jane as a friend, and I am well acquainted with her as well.”

  “Then will you introduce me?” Mr. Collins’s excitement was unmistakable.

  “Mr. Collins,” said Elizabeth, no trace of facetiousness in her voice, “nothing would give me greater pleasure than to introduce you to Miss Bingley at the earliest opportunity.”

  “Excellent,” replied he.

  For the rest of the walk, Mr. Collins was silent, a great improvement on his usual tendency to fill any void with his bland pronouncements and nonsensical musings. The thought of riches seemed
to have overwhelmed that inclination, for he peered off into the distance, seeing nothing, muttering to himself about how he would go about wooing the unfortunate Miss Bingley.

  For Elizabeth’s part, she could not wait to tell Charlotte of Mr. Collins, to introduce her to him and to share her bemused opinion of the gentleman. Further, the thought of haughty Miss Bingley fending off an amorous idiot in Mr. Collins was beyond any amusement Elizabeth had seen in her neighborhood in the last twelvemonth. How she would laugh!

  Chapter VII

  Meryton was a market town much like any other. A wide thoroughfare comprised the center of the community, on which sat merchant shops that might exist in any other town in the kingdom. It was not unattractive, but it was not Lambton either, with its winding, cobbled streets and old country charm.

  Had Darcy been of a mind to pay much attention to the town in which he found himself, he might have looked about with interest, regardless of his thoughts of the plainness of the location. Bingley’s estate was nearby, meaning Darcy would spend at least the coming two months here, and it was always beneficial to know the residents to effect good relations with them.

  Darcy, however, had little attention for such considerations. The late August sun was beating down on him, the day hot and muggy, and the news he had received from his cousin did nothing to improve matters. It was likely that Fitzwilliam had penned his letter in the expectation that Darcy would drop everything and rush to Hertfordshire, and he was correct. While Darcy could have come to Netherfield days earlier, he had been enjoying the last few days without Caroline Bingley’s suffocating presence, even though London was not pleasant at this time of year. News of Wickham and the libertine’s proximity to Georgiana changed all that, for Darcy could not rest without seeing personally to his sister’s protection.

  The directions Fitzwilliam had given him were precise, and Darcy found the building the militia was using as their headquarters with ease. It was a low building, paint peeling from weatherworn panels of wood, no sign other than the officers in evidence as to the building’s present use. There was also no way to tell what it had been used for before the regiment took control of it.

  Presenting himself within as instructed, Darcy followed a junior officer toward the back to a plain, nondescript door, and when the sound of his cousin’s voice called for them to enter, Darcy followed the man into the room. It was plain and utilitarian, not much different from the building which housed it, though his cousin’s presence behind the desk was a welcome sight.

  “Ah, Darcy,” said Fitzwilliam with his customary smirk, then nodding in dismissal at his officer. “You made better time than even I thought.”

  “Enough of your insouciance,” said Darcy, his voice gruff from the dust of the road, but also prompted by simmering annoyance. “Have you taken leave of your senses?”

  With a chuckle, Fitzwilliam shook his head and gestured to a chair in front of the desk. “It is good to see you too, Cousin. It is about time you deigned to join your sister at Netherfield. If not for some excellent friends she has made, she would have been quite at Miss Bingley’s mercy.”

  No doubt as Fitzwilliam had intended, Darcy’s interest was aroused at the mention of his sister’s friends—Georgiana had always been so shy, making friends was difficult. Intent on receiving answers, however, Darcy directed the conversation back to his concerns, perhaps a little harsher than he had intended.

  “I wish to know of Wickham, Fitzwilliam,” said Darcy, speaking in a slow and uncompromising tone. “Do you not recall how he attempted to make off with my sister only two months ago? And now you propose to allow him to remain here, where he is only two miles from her? How can you account for such foolishness?”

  “If you would allow me,” said Fitzwilliam, “I will tell you my reasoning. It would be best to remember, Darcy, that I am not cowed by your authoritative manner, nor does your displeasure affect me. I am also one of Georgiana’s guardians, and I am aware of the need to protect her. I would not be doing this if I did not have excellent reasons.”

  Though the urge to castigate his cousin was strong, Darcy refrained. “Very well, then. Tell me why you have allowed Wickham to remain.”

  The slight smile with which his cousin regarded him annoyed Darcy further, but at least Fitzwilliam did not further delay. “Tell me, Darcy—have we ever had a better opportunity to control Wickham then we do now?”

  “And you think you can control him.”

  “Yes, I understand he has always been ungovernable. But he has never been a soldier under my command either. At present, Wickham has two choices: he may restrain himself and fulfill his duties to my satisfaction—else I will see him the stockade—or he sneaks away in the middle of the night. Deserting in a time of war, even from the militia, is a serious business.

  “Or, there is a third option,” added Fitzwilliam, his gaze as sharp as Darcy’s. “You can call in his debts and see him incarcerated in Marshalsea where he should have been all these years already.”

  Darcy could not suppress the grimace provoked by Fitzwilliam’s pointed comment, for his cousin had been warning for years about Wickham, urging him to have the debts called in. There was little argument to make on the subject, for after the events of Ramsgate, Darcy knew he was correct.

  “I see you have decided to be sensible,” observed Fitzwilliam, his smug tone annoying Darcy all over again. “Then let me explain some of my other reasoning to you, for when Wickham appeared in this very room, I was tempted to run him through and end his association with the family forever.”

  “As I recall, such threats were a large measure of your reaction when you learned of Wickham’s actions at Ramsgate.”

  “I do not deny that,” said Fitzwilliam. “But when faced with him, when faced with the possibility this might be his last opportunity, I knew throwing him out on his ear, however much I wished it, would not do.”

  “When you suggest this is his last chance, I suspect you are referring to the opportunity to make something of his life?”

  “I do,” confirmed Fitzwilliam.

  Darcy snorted with contempt. “When has Wickham ever taken any opportunity to make something of his life?”

  “If you will forgive me, Darcy,” replied Fitzwilliam, “your father indulged Wickham and never made him acknowledge and correct his mistakes. After your father’s death, you paid him a substantial sum of money and paid his debts in Lambton, rather than removing it from the money he received from you. I know that as a man, you should not need to teach him to pay his debts, but perhaps if you had done so, though he would not have liked it, some measure of responsibility might have sunk into his thick head.”

  Passing a hand over his eyes in weariness, Darcy slumped back in his chair. In this also Fitzwilliam was correct—how many times had Darcy taken himself to task for how he had handled the situation?

  “You know I do not blame you for Wickham’s transgressions, Darcy,” said Fitzwilliam, his tone compassionate. “You sought to spare your father—I might have done nothing different. This approach, however, has not done Wickham any good. Quite the opposite.”

  “Then you mean to reform him,” said Darcy.

  Fitzwilliam snorted his amusement. “Like you, I have little notion it is possible to reform Wickham. What I can do is exert some authority over him. My captains know to watch him, though I have not told them everything, and I have warned him against accumulating debts and trifling with the ladies of the neighborhood. At the very least, I mean to ensure Wickham attends to his duties, for a little work will do him no harm.”

  “And if he proves ungovernable?”

  The vicious smile with which Fitzwilliam responded was more like the cousin he knew. “Then we raise the specter of his debts, which we know are substantial. If that still does not work, we always have the option of transporting him to Botany Bay—I would suggest the Americas, but Van Diemen’s Land is more distant, which I think would suit us all well. If he is here, we know where he is and need no
t search for him if he does not behave as he ought.”

  “Then we will do it your way,” said Darcy. “But if he so much as looks at Georgiana, I will see him in prison.”

  “Believe me, Darcy,” said Fitzwilliam, “if he does, I shall reach him first. If I had known treating Wickham in this manner would raise your bloodlust, I would have done it long ago.”

  “What are your impressions of the neighborhood?” asked Darcy, eager to dispense with the subject of Wickham for the moment.

  “I have enjoyed the society in the brief time I have been here,” said Fitzwilliam with a shrug. “If you ask the same question of Miss Bingley, you will receive a different answer.”

  “I might never have guessed,” said Darcy, shaking his head. Though the company of his friend was welcome, Darcy was not eager to stay in a house managed by Miss Bingley.

  Fitzwilliam grinned, an evil quality in it, knowing Darcy was walking into the lion’s den. Then he shrugged and continued:

  “The residents are simple, but we have both complained many times of those who consider themselves sophisticated.” Darcy nodded, knowing Fitzwilliam knew of his disinclination for the company of most of those of society. “Most are small estate owners with all that entails, and while there is a knight living in the neighborhood, he is the least polished of them all.

  “But they are acceptable, regardless of what Miss Bingley might say.” Fitzwilliam paused and grinned. “Your friend seems to find the locals acceptable, for he is already extolling the virtues of his latest angel. I must own that she is one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen.”

  “Another of his infatuations, no doubt,” said Darcy. If he was nothing else, Bingley was predictable. “If he began soon after he arrived, Bingley should already be tiring of her.”

  “This young lady appears to be different,” replied Fitzwilliam. “There is nothing I can say against her, for she and her family are all well mannered and good, everything a gentle family should be.”