by Jann Rowland
“Do not make such jests, Fitzwilliam!” snapped Lady Catherine. “Why should Darcy search for a lady in the woods when Anne is here and willing to provide companionship?”
It was no surprise to anyone when the elder Darcy cleared his throat, a pointed reminder, though he did not look up from the book in his hands. Anne’s mother understood the rebuke at once, though she accepted it with as little grace as she ever did. Alexander turned to Anne and grinned, which she returned, but she was more interested in Darcy’s response—which was to glare at his cousin—and Anthony’s challenging look.
“Why you would suspect me of such things I cannot understand,” replied Darcy to Lady Catherine’s nod of satisfaction.
Unlike her mother, Anne noted that Darcy did not deny he had seen another woman on his ride that morning. The thought of staid Darcy doing something so improper as meeting a young woman in the woods was so unlikely as to seem absurd, but the continued discussion between them piqued Anne’s interest and stoked her suspicions.
“I did not say you were,” replied Anthony, his manner at once flippant and probing. “I suggested that had you been a little more adventurous, I might have thought you interested in a young lady of surprising identity.”
At this, Mr. Darcy put down his book and eyed Anthony. “Do you have some knowledge the rest of us do not?”
“We all know William very well, Uncle,” replied Anthony. “There can be no suspicion he is behaving in any way improper. If he is interested in a young lady, I should think you would applaud him, for it seems to me it is high time he thinks of marriage and producing the next heir of Pemberley.”
“I think—” began Lady Catherine, only for Mr. Darcy to cut her off.
“We are all very aware of what you think, Catherine, and I would remind you I do not agree.” Lady Catherine huffed but did not press the point. Mr. Darcy turned to regard his son. “Anthony is correct, William. As you are now seven and twenty, it is time you began to think about taking a wife.”
“I understand my responsibilities, Father,” said Darcy. “There is no need to lecture me on this matter.”
Though Mr. Darcy gazed at his son a few moments, interspersed with glances at Fitzwilliam, it seemed he decided it was nothing more than the banter between close cousins and returned to his book. What he did not see, but Anne noticed, was William’s glare at Anthony, who responded with his own brand of insouciance.
No one said anything further, which served to keep the peace, but Anne remained watchful, and the pattern continued. Anthony continued to make little digs at his cousin, though outside his uncle or aunt’s hearing, and while Darcy appeared annoyed at first, soon he seemed to decide it was nothing more than Anthony’s continued teasing and began to respond in kind. Anne did not miss the fact that Darcy continued to ride out on a near-daily basis, sometimes staying out for hours at a time.
It was clear questioning Darcy on the matter was akin to speaking to Pemberley’s cornerstone and expecting an answer. Likewise, approaching Anthony would see her inquiry treated as nothing more than a joke, and Alexander was little better, even if he knew anything of the matter. She could not approach her uncle or mother for obvious reasons, so Anne determined to see if the one other member of the party knew anything, little likely though that seemed.
The opportunity presented itself a few days later. Miss Bingley was still a frequent visitor, despite Lady Catherine’s words the day of their arrival, and while Anne knew Georgiana tolerated the woman and knew she visited to be in William’s company, Anne also saw in her a genuine affection for Georgiana. If she came to see William, her ploy was an abject failure, so much was he absent those days. Lady Catherine was almost always present, her manner one of watchful vigilance; it was fortunate she did not say much, for Anne knew anything she deigned to say to Miss Bingley would be an embarrassment. On the day in question, Miss Bingley departed after her visit and Lady Catherine retired to her rooms, and as the gentlemen were all elsewhere, Anne was alone with Georgiana.
“I am sorry if my words are offensive,” said Georgiana with a sigh of relief, “but hosting Miss Bingley when your mother is present is more than a little trying.”
Anne fixed her young cousin with a grin. “Is my mother that fearsome?”
“Not at Pemberley,” replied Georgiana. “But I know she is waiting for any pretext to condemn us and see Miss Bingley dismissed from the house. And Miss Bingley, though I believe she is a good sort of person, wishes to see my brother more than she visits me. It is all so vexing!”
“I can see that it is,” replied Anne. “Perhaps if your brother were to marry, these visits from Miss Bingley would cease. Or at the very least you would have someone here to assist without having to deal with the woman yourself.”
“Oh, do not misunderstand me,” said Georgiana. “I like Miss Bingley well enough. But I can see the ulterior motives in her actions. Is it too much to ask that those who visit me do so from a desire to speak to me rather than impress my brother?”
“No, Georgiana,” replied Anne. “it is not too much to ask at all.” Anne paused, considering how to best phrase her question, before saying: “I suppose there is nothing to Anthony’s teasing of late? Do you know if your brother is interested in a woman?”
“I do not,” replied Georgiana, dashing Anne’s hope of obtaining answers to her questions. “But I should like it very much if he would marry, for I have always wished to have a sister. Brothers are excellent for providing protection and carrying one on their shoulders, but I have long outgrown such frivolities and wish for a woman to whom I can talk.”
“Yes, I can imagine that. But you must own that your position is so much better than my own; why, I have no siblings upon whom I may rely!”
Georgiana laughed. “I suppose I must be grateful for those blessings I have received.”
Though it was clear Georgiana knew little of her eldest brother’s activities, Anne was convinced there was something to Anthony’s teasing. The question was, how to discover the truth. No answers presented themselves, but an invitation to a ball arrived a few days later and provided a distraction.
“The yearly ball at Lord Chesterfield’s estate,” said Mr. Darcy when he inspected the invitation. “I had wondered if they planned to hold it this year.”
“Why should they not, Uncle?” asked Fitzwilliam. “Lady Charlotte has been hard at work of late preparing for it, and I have given her some little assistance.”
“Oh, is it to be your engagement ball?” asked Georgiana, nearly jumping in her seat with excitement.
“Nothing so lavish,” replied Anthony, grinning at his cousin. “However, I believe it will be an event of some interest this year, not least of which is that it is the first ball since our engagement.”
“It is always the social event of the neighborhood,” said Uncle Darcy. “It also signals an exodus of the neighborhood families for London and the season, for most do not depart without first attending the earl.”
“Are we to go to London this year, Uncle?” asked Anne. “It was my understanding we were to be here most of the spring.”
“If you were to canvass my opinion,” said Alexander, “I should prefer to stay in Derbyshire this year.”
“You wish to stay in Derbyshire?” asked William with clear disbelief.
“You forget, Brother,” replied Alexander, “I have just returned from spending six months in London. At present, I am content at Pemberley and have little desire to go to town.”
That was out of character for Alexander who had always clamored to go to London as soon as possible. Though most of the family regarded him with curiosity, he showed no signs of being aware of it. Uncle Darcy rescued him by shrugging and turning back to the subject at hand.
“I suppose the Darcy family must make an appearance in town, but at present, I will confess I am comfortable at Pemberley. Perhaps we shall go later in the season.”
“But we shall attend the ball,” said Anne.
“O
ne does not reject an invitation from the highest-ranked family in the neighborhood,” said Anthony, though Anne could hear from his tone he was using a hint of facetious humor.
“Of course, we shall attend,” said Uncle Darcy. “The earl and his family have been friends for many years.” The gentleman paused and his mouth twisted in distaste. “I suppose the Bennet family will also be invited.”
“Though I have assisted when asked,” replied Anthony, his answer a trifle too bland, “the guest list is Lady Charlotte’s privilege to create. With such distaste as you betray at the mere notion of attending together with the Bennets, I might suppose the Bennets and Darcys cannot be in the same room with each other or they will come to blows.”
“No, we have attended together before, that is true enough. Last year the Bennets were in London early for the season, so we were not required to endure them.”
“They are still in Derbyshire this year, Father,” replied Darcy. “Though the earl is of a higher rank than Lord Arundel, it would not do to offend him by excluding him from the invitation list.”
“Yes, I understand that,” replied Mr. Darcy. Then he shrugged. “It is well, I suppose. We have ignored the Bennet family in the past—this time shall be little different.”
The exchanged heightened Anne’s suspicions. It all made sense—Anthony teasing William about some nameless paramour, his insinuation it was some woman William felt compelled to meet in secret, not to mention Darcy’s initial defensive response. Anne did not know the Bennet family at all and had only had the most superficial of contact with the eldest daughters. Could there be something to her suspicions? Could Darcy be interested in one of the Bennet women?
That was a circumstance which could prove divisive, considering what Anne’s uncle had just said about the Bennet family. Could Darcy be provoking that dragon, waking him to fire and calamity? Anne did not know. But she resolved to watch Darcy at the ball, to see if he showed an undue level of interest in a young woman, and to discover if the woman was a Bennet. Anne would not interfere—like most of the family who did not carry the surname Darcy, she thought the dispute was tiresome. If Darcy was intent upon paying his addresses to a Bennet, he would need all the support he could muster.
At Longbourn the response to the invitation was similar to that which occurred at Pemberley. The difference was that Elizabeth was not present to witness it—or at least to witness the family’s first reactions.
These past days had been wonderful for Elizabeth, for she had walked or ridden out every day—except Sunday—to meet with Mr. Darcy. Any shame Elizabeth might have felt for disobeying her father’s orders had all but disappeared. While it was not laudable to disregard her beloved sire’s instructions, Mr. Darcy’s contention that their families might be brought closer together by their association had found fertile ground, so much that the memory of her father’s wishes was fading, drifting away in a sea of contrary emotions.
It was becoming more apparent with every passing day that Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, he of the reticent disposition and proud reputation, was a man who felt deeply, but did not always know how to express those feelings. When with Elizabeth, he displayed his emotions in an understated manner, in the way he gave her his full attention when she spoke or showed his respect for her opinions. In a very real way, Elizabeth was coming to understand that Mr. Darcy was the best man she had ever known, a man with whom she could see herself spending the rest of her life.
Would he come to that same conclusion? Would he defy all their families’ enmity and propose, knowing it might set tempers to flaring? Elizabeth could not know what the future would bring. The more Elizabeth spoke to him, the more she yearned for that outcome. The feelings of heady new love were threatening to overtake her, and only the need to remain circumspect kept her in check.
The day the invitation arrived, Elizabeth had returned home, the euphoria of love’s first bloom threatening to burst forth and betray her secret. It was this, as much as the desire to play with her brother, which prompted her to suggest they take themselves outside that day.
And they had a grand time doing it. Though there were still no frogs in evidence, Elizabeth assured her brother they would be out in force that summer, allowing them to capture some as he still insisted he wished to do. Instead, they romped about, chasing after each other, inspecting the banks of the river for any sign of tadpoles, and skipping stones.
“I believe I should like to wade in the water, Lizzy,” said Thomas, as he looked with eager longing at the flowing river.
“At present, you would find it too cold,” replied Elizabeth. “It is full of winter snows flowing out from the peaks, which makes it colder than it would be in the summer.” Elizabeth paused and fixed the river with a critical look, saying: “I believe it is also flowing higher than normal.”
“Why would it do that?” asked Thomas.
“If there is more snow, then there is more to melt,” replied Elizabeth. “A heavy rain lasting for days will also affect it, for that water has to go somewhere.”
Thomas looked up at her. “Do you think it will rain again?”
A clap of thunder interrupted them, and they both looked skyward to a tall, dark band of boiling clouds headed their way. To further punctuate the tempest bearing down upon them, fat, cold raindrops began to fall about them, only a few at the beginning, but gaining in volume and size within a short period.
Shrieking with laughter, the two ran for the house looming in the distance, Elizabeth tugging her brother’s hand as she raced for safety. By the time they reached shelter, the rain was pouring down in thick, heavy sheets, the two intrepid explorers dripping puddles of water as they slipped in through a back entrance.
Lady Margaret had anticipated them, for she was there waiting, looking on with disapproval, her foot tapping her displeasure. Two maids waited nearby, and neither stinted in fixing Elizabeth with amused grins, even as they stepped forward with towels to dry and warm. Behind them a loud clap of thunder once again pierced the landscape, the accompanying lightning illuminating the darkened sky at irregular intervals, declaring the outside world unfit for man or beast.
“You will become ill if you persist in this recklessness,” tutted Lady Margaret as she directed the servants to take them to their rooms for a change of clothes. “Sometimes I wonder at your trying my nerves like this, for I have never seen two such disobedient children!”
“We are well, Mama,” said Elizabeth, catching her mother’s hand and squeezing. “A little rain will not hurt us as long as we dry ourselves at once.”
“Then be off with you,” said Lady Margaret, shooing them away. “There will be warm tea and chocolate in the sitting-room when you come down again.”
Thomas gave a whoop of joy and dashed toward the stairs, trailing a stream of water behind him. Elizabeth smiled at her brother and followed, though more mindful of her wet state, while her mother grumbled and walked behind. Lucy, Elizabeth’s maid, assisted her in drying, repairing the damage to her hair, and dressing in a new gown, and when her appearance was again adequate, Elizabeth collected her brother, also sporting dry clothes and wet locks, neatly combed, and they made their way to where the family had gathered. There she discovered they had received a visitor while she and her brother had been otherwise engaged.
“I see you have been causing mischief again, Master Thomas,” said Mr. Bingley, grinning as he stepped forward to greet them.
“No mischief, Mr. Bingley,” said Thomas. “Lizzy and I were playing down by the river.”
“Ah, a worthy endeavor,” said Mr. Bingley. “I remember doing the same when I was a boy. One can find great adventures when there is running water nearby.”
“Will you tell me of your adventures?” asked Thomas eagerly.
“Of course, I shall,” replied Mr. Bingley. “Let us get you some chocolate and biscuits and I shall share with you the tales of my adventures.”
As Mr. Bingley led the enraptured young boy away, Elizabeth’s eyes foun
d her sister Jane. Taking a cup of chocolate and a biscuit for herself, Elizabeth sat beside Jane and raised an eyebrow at her while sipping from her cup.
“It is fortunate Mr. Bingley arrived before the storm,” said Elizabeth.
“Yes, it is,” replied Jane, though she said nothing further. By this time, Thomas was ensconced beside Mr. Bingley listening, eyes wide and riveted to the gentleman.
“Mr. Bingley is very good with Thomas, is he not?” added Elizabeth. “One might even think he will make a good father one day.”
Jane laughed and wagged a finger at Elizabeth. “Though I cannot dispute that observation, I do not wish to speak when there is yet nothing to report.”
“There is not at this time. But it would surprise me if there is not something soon.”
With a pinkish cast to her cheeks, Jane changed the subject. “The invitation for the ball at Lucas Manor arrived while you were out with Thomas.”
“Has it?” said Elizabeth.
For a moment, an image of dancing with Mr. Darcy appeared in her mind, causing all sorts of delightful sensations in its wake. Then Elizabeth sobered, for it was not likely she would have the opportunity to dance with the gentleman—not with the continued and unresolved issue of their families. But it was a wonderful dream, and Elizabeth thought she might just indulge in some lazy fantasies when she was at liberty to do so in the privacy of her own room.
“As the invitation includes me,” said Mr. Collins, nodding to the rest of the family, “I believe I should like to take the opportunity to solicit Mary’s hand for the first sets.”
Mary, though blushing, agreed, which brought out a beaming smile in her suitor. Mr. Bingley looked up, and not to be outdone, made the same request of Jane, though he carried it one step further.
“And the supper set, if you please.”
“Of course, Mr. Bingley,” said Jane, this time with nary a hint of embarrassment.
It was at this moment that Elizabeth felt the first feelings of envy for her sisters stirring in her heart. Jane and Mary were excellent young women and deserving of the attentions of their gentlemen. At the same time, Elizabeth wished she could also enjoy the same attention without provoking a family crisis for both families. Someday . . . Elizabeth promised herself.
