by Jann Rowland
“Mrs. Gardiner is an excellent lady,” replied Mr. Darcy.
“That she is,” said Elizabeth. “As for David Gardiner, my other uncle, he is a good man. It is only that he is protective of us, and for that, I believe you can blame my father, who is not by any stretch of the imagination a taskmaster.”
Mr. Darcy glanced at her and said: “The situation between your uncle and my brother is largely resolved.”
There was a hint of a question in his tone, and Elizabeth nodded her agreement. “My uncle claims he has no quarrel with your brother. The current issue is he knows your brother’s reputation and is uneasy because of his recent meeting with my sister.”
“I do not believe Alexander meant any harm.”
Elizabeth sighed. “Nor do I, Mr. Darcy. But since this resentment between our families continues to fester, I believe it would be best to keep us apart, and, in particular, keep Alexander and Lydia from meeting.”
“With that, I cannot but agree, Miss Elizabeth.”
Their last few words reminded both that their current meetings violated their fathers’ decrees. Though Elizabeth did not see any harm in Mr. Darcy and had begun to esteem him, she knew she should not be meeting him in such a fashion. Thus, it was a short time later that they parted, each going their separate ways, likely with the same resolution of ending their meetings. For Elizabeth, the thought of giving up Mr. Darcy’s society, even the secret encounters in which they had engaged, filled her with regret. But her father had commanded it, and Elizabeth knew she must obey at last.
Chapter XIII
Within a few days of Darcy’s last meeting with Miss Elizabeth, another arrived at Pemberley to swell their family party.
Darcy had not intended it to be their last meeting, for the desire to meet her still burned in his breast, a fierce, bright flame he could never imagine extinguishing. Their conversation during that meeting had reminded him, however, that his father—and hers—had commanded that there be no contact between the two families. Darcy had always been a dutiful and obedient son and could not remember a time when he had defied his father’s decrees. That was enough to keep him from seeking to meet Miss Elizabeth again.
It was fortunate, therefore, that his cousin arrived to provide a distraction. Fitzwilliam was, in some respects, like Alexander, though he had never been one to gamble. He was, perhaps, a little freer with his attentions toward the ladies than Darcy, but he was not cavalier. Moreover, he was an excellent man, one who had shown his mettle repeatedly in his service of the crown and his devotion to his family. Darcy had always been closer to his cousin than even his younger brother—Fitzwilliam was Darcy’s truest friend, even more so than Bingley had been.
“I offer my thanks to you, Uncle,” said Fitzwilliam after he had arrived and made himself presentable. “Your offer to host me at present is very much appreciated.”
“We would not wish you to pine for your betrothed at Snowlock,” said a laughing Alexander. “Perish the very thought!”
Fitzwilliam grinned at the younger Darcy. The two had always been close, though the age difference meant they were not as friendly as Darcy had always been with his cousin. But they were much alike in temperament, their sense of humor similar, their views of life, love, and what constituted happiness aligned.
“Perhaps someday you will discover the torture of being separated from your beloved, Alexander,” said Fitzwilliam. “Until then you may laugh at me as much as you like. When that day comes, however, I shall laugh the loudest.”
“There is no doubt in my mind you shall,” replied Alexander.
The banter between the two more verbose members of the party was always amusing, and that day was no different. Throughout the afternoon they teased each other, their subjects ranging from the state of their love lives to outrageous stories of their exploits—which Fitzwilliam won without question, in Darcy’s mind—to even some commentary about who the better horseman was. In this fashion they were all entertained until the supper hour arrived.
When they sat down to dinner that evening, the conversation continued to flow with ease. As Fitzwilliam had been heretofore a member of the army for close to a decade, the members of the Darcy family were quick to congratulate him on his change to civilian status.
“It has been a way of life for me since I left university,” said Fitzwilliam in a candid moment during dinner. “In some ways, I miss it.” The man paused and grinned. “Oh, I do not miss the chill of sleeping in a tent, being sent on errands on whatever whim by a commanding officer, and I shall certainly not miss being the target of French bayonets. But it is an adjustment, and one which shall take some time to make, I should think.”
“I have always heard,” said Alexander, “that there is nothing more exhilarating than being the target of another’s guns, as long as their skills are poor.”
Though Mr. Darcy reprimanded his son for such an unsuitable remark at the dinner table, Fitzwilliam grinned. “There is some truth to that. The problem is that sooner or later someone in the French army will teach their recruits how to shoot straight. Eventually, everyone’s luck runs out. Though I was pleased to do my duty and serve the crown, I am not sad to leave the horrors of war behind. You were fortunate, Cousin, that you had an estate ready for you and did not need to seek a profession.”
“Well do I know it,” replied Alexander, nary a hint of nonchalance in his tone. “If I had, I doubt I would have chosen the army, regardless. I believe I would make a better parson than a soldier.”
“And as you would not make a good parson,” said Mr. Darcy, “the notion of what a poor soldier you would be causes one to shudder.”
The mirth released at Mr. Darcy’s sally encompassed them all, Alexander laughing the loudest. “That is the truth!”
“It is also beneficial for you,” said Darcy, “that Lord Chesterfield is a vigorous man who will not require you to take over the estate business at once.”
“No,” replied Fitzwilliam. “Nor will I bother with all the political maneuvering in the House of Lords, for I shall not be an earl—I am more than happy to leave that to my future son. The estate business I assume he will transfer to me after the wedding. Until then, I mean to enjoy my freedom.”
The family voiced their approval, after which Fitzwilliam turned to Alexander and fixed him with an appraising look. “I will own my surprise at hearing that you were returning to Pemberley. Has the situation improved? I cannot imagine the incessant and silly quarrel with the Bennet family has abated to any great degree.”
Since Alexander did not seem interested in responding, it fell to Darcy and his father to relate the reasons for Alexander’s return. Fitzwilliam listened, curiosity alive in his countenance, and he nodded when the explanation was complete.
“That is reasonable,” said he. A grin came over his countenance and he said: “I have heard my father has begun to turn estate matters at Snowlock and the other properties over to James, though his time of freedom lasted longer than yours.”
“But James has been managing the estates attached to the viscountcy for several years,” reminded Mr. Darcy.
“That is true,” replied Fitzwilliam. “But those estates are not as large.”
“I think, in James’s case,” said Darcy, “the bigger issue will be learning to deal with the politicking which goes with the earldom.”
“I would agree,” said Fitzwilliam with a nod. “As a viscount, he is not immune to it, but he has not had the burden of the family’s political agenda. Someday he will be a leader of our faction in parliament.”
Fitzwilliam then turned back to Alexander. “And what of Mr. Gardiner? Has he not stormed Pemberley’s walls, baying for your blood?”
“Mr. Gardiner is more level-headed than that,” said Mr. Darcy. “If it were a Bennet, that may very well have happened.”
Darcy wished to speak up, to inform his father he was wrong, but the words would not come. He had little desire for his relations to learn of his meetings with Miss Eliza
beth, and it would be difficult to explain the reasons for his thoughts should he speak. Even so, Darcy could not but think his father was wrong. The baron was, by all accounts and what Darcy had observed of him on occasion, a mild, scholarly sort of man, and though he had only seen Mr. Collins once, he could not imagine the former parson behaving in the manner his father suggested.
Though Darcy hesitated to voice his concern, Fitzwilliam was not thus afflicted. “If you wish my opinion, I think the matter is a silly one. I cannot say I know the baron to any great degree, but I have spoken with him on occasion. My father says he is perfectly unassuming.”
The frown this opinion produced from the elder Darcy did not miss Fitzwilliam’s attention, but he did not make a response. The Darcy family knew their close relations, though they rarely associated with the Bennets, would not shun them because the Darcys wished it. Fitzwilliam’s family thought the dispute was sheer nonsense.
“Of more importance,” said Mr. Darcy, changing the subject and giving the impression the Bennet family was a distasteful subject, “is the forthcoming visit of our de Bourgh relations.”
“Ah, yes,” said Fitzwilliam, grinning at them all. “It is fortunate that I am to be graced with the presence of my demanding aunt while I am staying with you all. I am certain I shall be subjected to an inquisition the moment she walks through the door, the subject of which will be the fact that England has yet to defeat the French Tyrant. No doubt, the fault will be mine!”
They all laughed, knowing that while the prediction may be silliness, Lady Catherine was capable of making them all miserable within moments of entering. Alexander, however, set them all straight on that point.
“If you think that, I must believe you insensible, Cousin. You know the first words out of her mouth will concern William and Anne’s forthcoming marriage.”
The understated laughter became open hilarity, for they were all aware of the truth of Alexander’s words. Mr. Darcy, however, was less amused than the others, for while he chuckled, his countenance soon turned dark.
“Should Catherine attempt to do so, I shall inform her she will not be welcome to stay with us. I have no desire to listen to weeks of her insisting on the match that no one other that she desires.”
“Thank you, Father,” said Darcy. “I would appreciate Lady Catherine receiving a set down on the matter, for I have no desire to listen to it myself.”
“Come now, Darcy,” jested Fitzwilliam, “a spring wedding would be just the thing. Of course, as it is more Lady Catherine’s wish than anyone else, perhaps she may take the bride’s position for herself, for she would not wish for her daughter to take all the attention!”
Laughter erupted again, and this time Mr. Darcy did not stint in allowing his mirth free reign. The amusing picture of his aunt, a similar age of his father, taking her daughter’s place, or leading them both into the church by the ears was much more amusing than it should have been. In this manner they spent the rest of the evening, their conversation so engaging that Darcy forgot about Miss Elizabeth. Perhaps he only thought of her once every other minute, instead of every minute of the evening, but it was a start.
“What do you think of this matter of the Bennets and the Darcys?”
Lady Charlotte Lucas, the young woman with whom Fitzwilliam was walking, gave him a curious glance. “Has that old matter reared its ugly head yet again?”
“Nothing in particular of which I am aware,” replied Fitzwilliam. “The subject came up at the dinner table after I arrived last night, and I had wondered if something had happened to raise tempers yet again.”
Lady Charlotte grew silent and reflective, which was agreeable to Fitzwilliam, for though he loved to speak with her, to hear her voice and enjoy her opinions, it was no hardship to observe her. She was a lovely woman, tall and graceful, her form slender and possessing all the right curves, her countenance handsome. Her head was crowned with a mass of glorious golden curls tied back in a simple knot, for she was no pretentious woman concerned about appearances. Darcy had always displayed a preference for women with darker coloring, mahogany hair and dark brown eyes, but Fitzwilliam men preferred their women to look like the Norse goddesses of old: blue of eye and blonde of hair.
And this woman was soon to be his. Fitzwilliam could hardly believe the good fortune his life had taken. At one time, he had loved this woman from afar—had adored her from their first meeting—worshipped her, convinced she would never see him as anything other than a poor soldier. A visit to Pemberley the previous year had changed all that, had given him some hope that she might return his feelings. It was then, during a visit at Christmastide, that he had taken his chance, had proposed, and to his everlasting joy, she had accepted him.
“There is nothing of which I am aware,” replied Lady Charlotte at last. “I have heard there was a confrontation in Lambton between Mr. Gardiner and your younger cousin, but the details are unknown to society, and neither family will speak of it.”
“Do you think they will come to blows again?”
“Elizabeth does not think so.” At Fitzwilliam’s interested glance, Lady Charlotte was induced to be explicit. “As you are aware, Miss Elizabeth Bennet is among my closest friends, and I consider her sister Jane a good friend too. I have had occasion to speak with the eldest Bennet sisters on the subject, and they have both assured me their uncle holds no grudges in the matter. It was an accident—he is well healed, and little inclined to pursue vengeance.”
Fitzwilliam laughed. “I wonder what my relations will say to know my future wife is an intimate of their evil enemies, the Bennets.”
“It is of little significance to me what your relations think,” said Lady Charlotte, her gaze challenging, daring him to disagree. “And they should already know, for I have never hidden it.”
“Of course, it is not,” said Fitzwilliam. “I neither wish to compel you to throw them off or disapprove of those whom you call friends, my love.”
“Then what is your purpose for raising the subject?”
“I am not certain,” confessed Fitzwilliam. “There was something . . . Well, I do not know. Something off about Darcy’s behavior last night.”
Now he had his betrothed’s full attention. “In what way?”
With a shrug, Fitzwilliam said: “Perhaps it was not off. It is simply that Darcy, though he does not say much on the subject, has always followed his father in condemning the Bennets. Yesterday, however, he seemed almost . . . restrained. It was as if he did not wish to say anything negative about the Bennets, though he has never been so discreet in the past.”
“Is it because he has realized continued enmity is futile?”
“I don’t know. It may be.” Fitzwilliam paused and considered the matter. “It may be nothing, for my cousin can be taciturn at the best of times. But I know Darcy well—as well as any other man, I will wager. There is nothing, in particular, I can point to and say his behavior is strange, but the notion there is something happening of which I am not aware will not leave me.”
“Is this where you inform me you intend to follow your cousin to determine what he is doing?” teased Lady Charlotte.
Fitzwilliam guffawed and captured her hand in his, bringing it to his lips. “That is a brilliant idea, my sweet.”
Had he been so inclined, Fitzwilliam might have predicted her reaction in advance. “I hardly think that is proper, Anthony.”
“No, I suppose it would not be,” replied Anthony. “It is not as if I suspect him of fraternizing with one of the Bennet sisters, so there is little reason to do so anyway.”
“Now that is a solution which would heal the breach between the families,” said Lady Charlotte with a sigh. “Marriage has healed many a feud in the past.”
“I doubt they would ever be in a position to marry their scions to each other,” muttered Fitzwilliam. “While I cannot speak of the Bennets’ feelings on the matter, my relations would rather abandon Pemberley itself than have anything to do with the Bennets.”
/>
“And when they attend the same events,” added Lady Charlotte, “it seems as if there are two armed camps, for they will not approach each other.”
The comment set off the genesis of an idea in Fitzwilliam’s mind, and he considered it for a moment. Armed camps were something with which he was familiar, and there were ways to bridge them. Should the Bennet and Darcy families come together in a situation where they must have some contact, would that not force them to be civil with each other? Then, could that not be used to affect a thawing of their relations?
“Do the Bennets and Darcys often attend events together?”
“There are certain intricacies of the neighborhood’s society,” said Lady Charlotte. “Each family has those with whom they prefer to interact, and most events are planned with one or the other clique invited. At assemblies, they come together, of course, but as those in Lambton’s public halls tend to be large, they avoid interacting.”
“Then what if we put them in a situation more intimate, where they will have no choice but to interact?” At Lady Charlotte’s uncomprehending look, Fitzwilliam elaborated. “Do you not plan a ball every year at Lucas Manor? Your father’s house is large, but the ballroom is not as large as the assembly rooms. Who do you usually invite?”
“We snub neither family by inviting the other,” said Lady Charlotte, her frown suggesting she understood what he was saying. “Having said that, I cannot remember the last time the Bennets and Darcys attended together. Last year the Bennets made for London early, and were absent.”
“This year both are still in Derbyshire,” said Fitzwilliam with a grin. “Unless one of them decamps in haste—and I know it will not be the Darcys, as our de Bourgh relations are to join us at Pemberley—they cannot avoid each other unless they wish to offend your father.”
Lady Charlotte laughed. “Are you not concerned about the breakout of war in England?”
