by Jann Rowland
“It is always wonderful to have family nearby,” said Mrs. Bennet.
“Are you from the area, Mrs. Bennet?”
“I am,” replied Elizabeth’s mother.
“And your family estate? Where is it located?”
Mrs. Bennet regarded Miss Bingley for a moment before answering, clearly not liking something in the woman’s manners. “My sister is the wife of an attorney, and my brother lives in London. If you stay here long enough, I shall introduce you to my brother, for he always visits us a Christmastide.”
Miss Bingley pursed her lips, but while she gazed at Mrs. Bennet for a moment, wishing to ask further, it seemed as if she possessed some well of discretion. Knowing her mother had the woman well in hand, Elizabeth turned back to Mr. Darcy, noting how he watched her with interest.
“Is something amiss, Miss Bennet?”
“Not precisely amiss,” was Elizabeth’s slow reply.
Hesitating for a moment, Elizabeth wondered if she ought to make any comment about Miss Bingley—Mr. Darcy was staying at a house her brother was leasing, so any perceived criticism of the woman might be ill received. It was the smile playing around the corners of Mr. Darcy’s mouth which settled it and convinced Elizabeth that the gentleman was not blind to the woman’s improprieties.
“Perhaps I am speaking out of turn, Mr. Darcy, but Miss Bingley has given me the impression she does not think much of my family. The way she is questioning my mother suggests suspicion.”
“I shall not say your impression is incorrect, Miss Bennet.” Mr. Darcy paused and then said: “It is not proper to speak of her. Let me only say you are correct to suspect her motives and any professions of friendship she may make.”
“Thank you, sir,” replied Elizabeth. “Though I do not rejoice in being correct, I would not have my family taken in, either.”
Having canvassed the disagreeable subject, neither felt any compulsion to continue to speak of Miss Bingley. Thus, they spoke of other matters and stayed together for some time, speaking of items of much substance, and Elizabeth’s opinion of Mr. Darcy’s worth was quickly confirmed. The gentleman was intelligent and could speak to his opinions in a confident, yet respectful manner. And Elizabeth soon realized the danger this man presented—it would be as easy falling in love with him as it might be to fall from a horse. The ramifications of developing feelings for him, Elizabeth did not wish to consider, for men of his consequence and position did not fall in love with women of hers.
Elizabeth shunted those thoughts to the side, instead content to enjoy his company. Thus, it was some time later when she became aware of an issue which had arisen, namely that her sisters were becoming a little excited and loud as a result. A glance around the room showed that Colonel Fitzwilliam was now speaking with her father and Mrs. Garret was nowhere in evidence—it seemed she had stepped from the room for a moment, possibly on an errand for Elizabeth’s mother. Her sisters were whispering and giggling, looking in the colonel’s direction, and it was up to Elizabeth to settle them.
“If you will excuse me, Mr. Darcy. It seems my sisters are in need of a guiding hand.”
Stating it was no trouble, Mr. Darcy bowed to Elizabeth’s curtsy, and when she turned away, she noted him following her. Elizabeth tried not to notice his presence and concentrated on her sisters instead.
“Kitty, Lydia,” said Elizabeth as she drew near, “I believe that is enough, girls.”
“Oh, Lizzy!” exclaimed Lydia, her voice still too loud. “Have you ever seen such a man as Colonel Fitzwilliam? Next to him, the officers of the militia are nothing at all!”
The snort Elizabeth heard behind her told her Mr. Darcy’s amusement at hearing his cousin referred to in such terms. The urge to smile was strong, but Elizabeth suppressed it in favor of regarding her sisters with as much firmness as possible.
“Yes, Liddy, Colonel Fitzwilliam appears to be a good man. But let us have some decorum, shall we not?”
“You always curb our fun, Lizzy,” grumped Lydia, Kitty nodding beside her.
Then Mrs. Garret appeared to take her sisters in hand, and Elizabeth retreated after giving them a smile. Mr. Darcy was grinning at her, still amused with Lydia’s comment of Colonel Fitzwilliam, she was sure. Unfortunately, the event had caught attention of another.
“What . . . interesting younger sisters you have, Miss Elizabeth,” said Miss Bingley, the sneer setting fire to Elizabeth’s temper. “Perhaps your father should consider sending them to school, for surely they could use some seasoning.” Miss Bingley laughed, a cruel sound designed to offend. “Then again, as they shall never have a London season, I suppose it is of little matter. Such manners must be normal here.”
Elizabeth kept herself from gasping by force of will. There was little of subtlety in Mrs. Bingley’s ill-bred attack, and Elizabeth’s immediate instinct was to respond in a like fashion. But as Mr. Darcy was standing nearby—though the gentleman appeared startled and annoyed by Miss Bingley’s words—and Mr. Bingley was a guest in their home, Elizabeth would not descend to Miss Bingley’s level. Then again, she could not allow the insult to pass without some response.
“I thank you for the advice, Miss Bingley,” said Elizabeth. “But Mrs. Garret has matters well in hand. Besides, it is not the practice of families such as ours to send their daughters to school when a governess’s instruction is much more effective. At a school, one never knows to what influence they will be subject.”
Miss Bingley looked down at Elizabeth, the image of a vulture peering at its prey entering Elizabeth’s mind. “If your father chooses the proper seminary, Miss Elizabeth, a young woman may attain an education without worry for unwelcome influences. I attended a very well-regarded seminary, so I have knowledge of these things.”
“That much is obvious, Miss Bingley.”
Mr. Darcy cleared his throat, sounding suspiciously like he was about to break out into laughter. Though Miss Bingley did not like what Elizabeth said, it was obvious she considered nothing Elizabeth said to be of consequence, given the superior way in which she continued to look down on her. Instead, she turned to Mr. Darcy, and while she was speaking to Elizabeth, she continued to look at the gentleman.
“Should you wish for an example beyond reproach, your sisters should take the likeness of Miss Georgiana Darcy.” Miss Bingley laughed. “Then again, I suppose your sisters will never be acquainted with her, for Mr. Darcy is discriminating regarding her acquaintances. But I assure you, Miss Elizabeth, Miss Darcy would never behave like your sisters.”
“All young ladies have high spirits at one time or another, Miss Bingley,” replied Mr. Darcy. “It is not unexpected. That is why children are taught the proper way to behave and young ladies are not allowed in society until they are prepared. I am certain that Miss Kitty and Miss Lydia will improve with experience, and with the examples of their excellent elder sisters and their companion’s instruction, they will be acceptable as companions for Georgiana if they are introduced.”
Miss Bingley regarded Mr. Darcy without betraying her feelings on the matter, not that Elizabeth required any clues about how the woman felt. In the end, it seemed she took him at his word—or was not willing to contradict him—for she did not protest.
“Quite,” was all she said before she turned and made her way back to the chair she had recently occupied. For the rest of the evening, she said little, staring at them all with ill-concealed disdain.
“Thank you for your support, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth quietly.
“It is nothing less than the truth, Miss Elizabeth,” replied he in a similar fashion. “There is nothing wrong with your sisters that a little experience will not resolve.”
Then they left the objectionable subject behind and spoke of other matters for the rest of the evening. And by the end, Elizabeth was convinced that Mr. Darcy was a dangerous man. In many ways, he was far more dangerous than even Mr. Wickham.
“So, you have found nothing?”
Fitzwilliam scowled, a sight Darcy found rather amusing, though the subject most certainly was not. “Not a thing,” replied Fitzwilliam. “I have interviewed all of Wickham’s supporters with the regiment, but he has told them as little of his past as he could manage.” Fitzwilliam paused and barked a laugh. “Given his reticence, I find myself surprised that Wickham did not invent some alias to use, though I suppose falsifying one’s identity when joining the army might come back to haunt him.”
“Is it any worse than deserting?” asked Darcy.
“Touché.”
Darcy was less than surprised at his cousin’s words, for his own knowledge of the situation from Colonel Forster had informed him the same. It had often been a pattern with Wickham to inform his so-called friends little of himself, for Darcy had long known the man’s skill at making friends was far superior to his ability to keep them. As for an alias, Darcy thought his erstwhile friend was far too arrogant to stoop to something so weak as to hide his identity.
Still, Fitzwilliam had determined to make the inquiries, and as his cousin was a skilled interrogator, the possibility of something of use being discovered had been something they could not forgo. Darcy had not accompanied Fitzwilliam that morning, as his cousin had been firm in asserting Darcy’s presence would only be detrimental.
“You loom, Cousin,” said Fitzwilliam when Darcy asked if he should attend. “It would be better to speak to these men as friends than to intimidate them into telling what they know. They are more likely to be honest if treated well.”
“I am capable of discretion, Cousin,” said Darcy, though not offended by Fitzwilliam’s words.
“Perhaps,” replied Fitzwilliam. “But I think I should take care of the matter myself all the same.”
“Then what is our next move,” asked Darcy, returning his thoughts to the present.
“There is nothing to be done except to return to London to continue the search there.” Fitzwilliam rubbed his chin in thought. “Our George has been adept at concealing himself, but eventually he will make a mistake and I shall have him. Then he will pay for his misdeeds.”
Fitzwilliam paused, a frown settling over his countenance. Knowing his cousin was considering something important, Darcy did not respond, preferring to allow him to speak in his own time. That moment took longer than Darcy would have thought.
“I do not know,” said Fitzwilliam at length, “but something about this whole situation bothers me, and I do not know what to make of it.”
“What is that?”
“That is just it,” growled Fitzwilliam, his frustration evident. “I cannot quite place my finger on it. But something bothers me, and I know it is important to unraveling this mystery.” Fitzwilliam paused and then spoke slowly: “You know we have long suspected there is someone in London harboring Wickham, someone who assists him and is willing to provide him shelter.”
Darcy nodded. “That could be anyone. There are plenty of people in London who do not care for those of our status, and any of them might be hiding him. For that matter, there are many he might have charmed, plying them with false tales, or even a false identity. That would be easiest for him to accomplish.”
“It is possible,” said Fitzwilliam, albeit grudgingly. “It has been on my mind, however, that it might be something more. Though I have no proof, I suspect whoever he has turned to for aid, it is someone known to us. He has driven away all of his friends, even those who despise you now know what he is and know he would turn on them without compunction if it gained him a copper. Even so, something tells me this person is known to us.”
“I do not know how to advise you, Cousin,” said Darcy. “In matters such as this, I suspect your instincts are more highly honed than my own.”
“Not to worry,” said Fitzwilliam, his tone dismissive. “It will come to me eventually. And when it does, I shall find Wickham and exact vengeance from his hide. Then the prison ship can have him, and I will stand on the pier and wish him a swift journey to hell.”
Fitzwilliam laughed at his own words. “Either way,” he continued, “I shall return to London. Should anything arise, you know where to find me.”
Chapter XVII
“I had not thought you would leave us again so soon after your arrival,” said Bingley to Fitzwilliam when informed of his imminent departure. “Duty calls you back to your regiment?”
“Duty, yes,” replied Fitzwilliam. “Though, as always, the regiment calls, it is also our friend Wickham who provides the main impetus for my return. Once again, our friend has made himself into a nuisance, and that is one boil I intend to lance at the earliest opportunity.”
Bingley frowned. “Do you have any more idea of where he may be hiding now than you had before?”
“Unfortunately, he remains elusive.” Fitzwilliam bared his teeth, the rictus of a grin making him appear devilish. “It is only a matter of time, though I suspect Wickham believes he may evade us indefinitely. But I have no doubt I shall find him at some time or another, and God help him when I do. Dear Wicky has much for which he must atone.”
“Then I wish you every fortune in your search,” replied Bingley. “And should your presence be required again in Meryton, you may be sure of your welcome.”
“My thanks, Bingley,” said Fitzwilliam, slapping Bingley’s back. “There is every possibility you will see me again, and likely far sooner than you might wish.”
It was fortunate Darcy had much with which to distract him, or his continued worry for whatever Wickham was planning might have caused him to be irritable, to lose much sleep in thinking of it without cessation. As it was, however, life in Hertfordshire was pleasant, though not in all matters. Miss Bingley was a continued thorn in Darcy’s side, as the woman had redoubled her efforts to ensnare him. When he continued to ignore her efforts, it made her angrier than had Darcy rebuffed them. But he was rapidly coming to lose all interest in her feelings, and as such, he was not concerned for her state of mind.
The other aspects of his stay, however, were fine, to the point where Darcy found himself eager to continue his time in Hertfordshire, whereas otherwise, he might have wished to be at Pemberley. While the people were the same as those he might meet in any other corner of the kingdom, there was one who was far beyond them, and was the means of the bulk of Darcy’s contentment: Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
The day after Fitzwilliam’s return to London, Darcy, together with Bingley, found himself drawn once again to Longbourn. Had Miss Bingley known of it, she would have been disgusted with them, but neither saw fit to inform her. Soon, Darcy found himself in the company of the family, and before long, Miss Elizabeth suggested they walk out to the back lawn. The three elder sisters agreed and were shooed from the room by the mother in the company of Darcy and Bingley. And there, Darcy was pleased to engage in conversation with the fascinating Miss Elizabeth.
“I must congratulate your father, Miss Elizabeth,” said Darcy after they had engaged in desultory conversation for several moments. “Though I should be pleased to one day have daughters, I do not know I could withstand five without a son to even matters a little.”
Miss Elizabeth laughed. “It should be no surprise that my father quite agrees with you, Mr. Darcy. He has often lamented as much.”
“It is well you have a governess. Your mother might not have had any time for anything other than seeing to the education of you and your sisters otherwise.”
“Mr. Garret has not always been with us,” said Elizabeth. “In fact, she came to the estate only six years ago.”
That surprised Darcy. “She was not your governess when you were young?”
“No, Mr. Darcy. When we were young, my father tutored Jane and me, and we spent much time with my uncle in London, who assisted with our education.”
“Then the arrival of your sisters’ companion coincided with the ending of the entail your father mentioned?”
“That is correct.” Miss Elizabeth paused and smi
led. “When our futures were secured and my father set in place new measures to save dowries for myself and my younger sisters, he noted that Kitty and Lydia do not . . . Well, let us say they do not always behave with perfect propriety. As none of us will have great fortunes, he began to take some thought to ensuring we are well mannered, for while we will have dowries, most of what we will bring to marriage is ourselves.”
“A prudent conclusion,” said Darcy. “I imagine it was difficult for Mr. Bennet to manage an estate he would not be in a position to pass on to his own family.”
“While it does not speak well to my father’s character, I cannot say you are incorrect.”
“Perhaps it does not,” replied Darcy. “However, your father is diligent now, and that is the most important consideration, is it not?”
“Indeed, it is,” replied Miss Elizabeth.
“Then let us speak of other matters.”
And speak they did, then and on other occasions. No subject was barred, allowing each to obtain a greater understanding of the other, for as they both possessed many interests, their discussions were varied and interesting. In addition, their conversations proceeded in an easy, effortless manner, as if they had known each other for many years and could predict what the other would say. At times, their conversation became rather personal, but it did not feel awkward in any way—quite the contrary, in fact.
“It seems to me your father often allows you and your elder sister to reprimand your youngest sisters,” said Mr. Darcy on a day when Kitty and Lydia had been more than usually rambunctious. “That is an interesting tactic, as it is usually the father who has the final authority.”
“And you would be correct,” said Elizabeth. “If he feels it to be necessary, Papa will assume responsibility, and he has done so on many occasions. But he also believes my sisters and I are better positioned to understand young girls and guide them accordingly. Mrs. Garret has much to say in directing their behavior.” Miss Elizabeth paused and seemed a little embarrassed, before she pressed on, saying: “My mother, you see, is not in a position to provide much guidance, as she was not raised a gentlewoman herself.”
