by Jann Rowland
Though Darcy agreed, he wondered as to his cousin’s meaning. “Why should I require distraction from the upcoming ball? For that matter, why should you?”
“Because I,” replied Fitzwilliam, his glib tone a little overdone, “shall not see Lady Charlotte until we arrive at Lucas Lodge. As for your distraction, I suspect it is because of your typical disinclination for such activities.”
“I am not against attending, I assure you,” said Darcy as his cousin racked the balls.
“If you are not,” said Alexander, entering the room, “it is the first time I have ever seen it. You have never cared for such amusements before.”
“I still do not,” replied Darcy, taking a cue from the rack. “But that does not mean I do not wish to go.”
“I am glad to hear it,” said Fitzwilliam, passing Alexander a cue before taking one himself. “For I wish the Darcy family to acquit themselves well, for Lady Charlotte and her father are to be my family.”
“I believe the earl knows of our characters,” replied Alexander with a grin. “He well knows I am eager to dance, and Darcy detests it, and he understands our father’s disinclination also. I only hope he understands our aunt, for she could try the patience of a saint.”
“Oh?” asked Fitzwilliam amused, while Darcy took the first shot. “Has Lady Catherine again made her opinions known?”
Alexander shrugged. “She is in the middle of some disagreement with Anne, though I did not remain long enough to discover the subject of it.”
Fitzwilliam snorted as Darcy lined up his second shot, sinking the ball into the side pocket with a satisfying clack. When his third bounced off the edge of the hole and out again, he relinquished the table to his cousin.
“When is Lady Catherine not disagreeing with someone about something?” asked Darcy. “To the best of my knowledge, Lord Chesterfield is acquainted with our aunt.”
“I hope he is. Then he will not hold our connection against us.”
Fitzwilliam’s snort preceded his own shot, which rolled into the hole at the end of the table. They continued in this fashion for some time after, random comments interspersed with their turns at the table. Though Darcy found himself distracted in the first pair of games which was reflected in the results, the third and fourth he found himself more at ease and did much better. When they quit the room, Darcy found himself more focused, though still missing Miss Elizabeth’s company.
“Darcy, I see you have come,” said Lady Catherine the moment the cousins stepped into the sitting-room. “You must speak some sense into Anne.”
“Oh?” asked Darcy, noting the way Anne looked heavenward at her mother’s words. “For what reason would I presume to correct your daughter?”
“Because,” said Anne, her exasperation clear in her voice, “my mother does not approve of my seeking the acquaintance of the daughters of a baron, ladies who are above me by every measure of society.”
Having some sense of what the dispute consisted, Darcy turned his gaze on his aunt, as Fitzwilliam and Alexander snickered their amusement.
“I said no such thing!” snapped Lady Catherine. “The only thing I suggested was that it was best to avoid this particular family, for their relations with our family are not at all cordial.”
“And my response,” said Anne, “was that I am not a Darcy, and do not feel bound by this ridiculous dispute.”
“The same point I have made myself,” interjected Fitzwilliam.
“You forget, Anne,” said Lady Catherine, ignoring her nephew, “that I have met the baron.”
“Indeed, I have not forgotten,” was Anne’s wry reply. “For you have informed me of it yourself at least a dozen times in the past half hour.”
Lady Catherine silenced her daughter by means of a piercing glare, but the same did not work against the gentlemen, who all thought the matter was vastly amusing. Lady Catherine sniffed and turned her attention back to Anne when her attempt to cow them failed.
“These Bennets are artful people and should receive no respect from us. The baron as a sardonic man made up of quick, biting parts, and equal measures of sarcasm and contemptuous disdain. I do not know why anyone gives them any consequence.”
“Because he is a baron, Catherine,” said the elder Darcy. “Lord Arundel has standing in society and is, in fact, higher than anyone here can boast.”
“And I am the daughter of an earl!” cried Lady Catherine.
“Yes, but you are not of the peerage yourself,” said Mr. Darcy agreeably. “When you married, you took the social level of your husband, if you recall. Sir Lewis, good man though he was, was a knight, below Lord Arundel in society. That title you hold is, after all, a courtesy.”
“Why do you persist in attempting to denigrate me?”
“If you are offended, I apologize, for I intend no denigration—you mistook my meaning. I spoke nothing more than the truth. You all understand my feelings for Lord Arundel and his family, so there is no need to repeat them. But I do not make the mistake of thinking because I do not care for him that I may dismiss him without a second thought. A baron is the lowest rank on the scale of the peerage, but even that carries much influence in our society.”
It seemed Lady Catherine understood she had lost this skirmish, for she did nothing more than grunt her agreement. Having made his point, Mr. Darcy turned to Anne. “You wish to make the acquaintance of the Bennets?”
“I do,” replied Anne. “Everything I have heard about them suggests the eldest are true gems. I am also curious, for I wonder what manner of ogres these people must be to have earned the undying animosity of such a congenial family as yours.”
Mr. Darcy laughed, as did several others in the room, though Lady Catherine continued to scowl. Darcy used the opportunity to inject his opinion into the conversation.
“You must also remember that the walls are even now crumbling between us.” When his father turned to him askance, Darcy clarified: “Unless you mean to throw off Bingley’s friendship, we must accept one of the Bennet sisters into our home. From what I have heard, a proposal is imminent.”
“Mr. Bingley shall be so happy,” said Georgiana. “When I met Miss Bennet in the bookshop, she struck me as a lovely woman.”
Though Mr. Darcy did not reply to Georgiana’s assertion, he appeared thoughtful. “I am uncertain how I might have missed it, William, but you speak the truth. As I am as fond of Bingley’s society as you are, I suppose there is little we can do but accept her when he brings her here.”
“Do not sound as if Bingley is bringing a murderer into your midst, Uncle!” exclaimed Fitzwilliam with a laugh.
“Yes, well, she is a Bennet,” replied Mr. Darcy.
Everyone in the room caught the undertone of irony in his words and they all laughed, except for Lady Catherine, who huffed and glared at them all in grumpy silence. Though Darcy thought the lady was sillier than usual, he thought he understood her antipathy for the Bennet family. Lady Catherine, on general principle, was against any young lady being at all cordial with Darcy, for the simple fact that she wished him to marry her daughter, and in her mind, if there was no one else who was a potential wife, he would choose Anne. It was an inane way of looking at it, but so very quintessential of his aunt’s thinking.
Of more import to Darcy was this short conversation between his family and his father’s acceptance of the inevitability of Jane Bennet finding her way into their circle. If his father was willing to accept Bingley’s future wife, it was possible he might be induced to accept Darcy’s choice too. The hope in Darcy’s heart rose apace, for he could now imagine a future where he might acknowledge the love in his heart to his family.
Chapter XVIII
The day of the dinner with the Bingley family was witness to a significant and long-awaited event. Even Jane had not expected Mr. Bingley at Longbourn that morning, and when he arrived, full of nervous energy and excitement, Elizabeth suspected she knew what he planned.
The couple walked out to the gardens behind the house, and
when they were gone, the sisters’ excitement made itself known in their enthusiastic conjectures, for they all thought they knew what was happening. Lydia, as was her wont, was the sister who exclaimed the loudest.
“This is most unfair,” said she, “for I had always intended to be the first sister to marry!”
It was an old and worn jest Lydia had been using since she had been old enough to know what marriage was, though Elizabeth had often wondered if it was a jest. Lady Margaret hushed her youngest daughter and Lydia, though she still pouted, turned to Kitty and started whispering with her. It was not long before the couple returned, and the matter was confirmed.
“Mr. Bingley has gone to Papa,” said Jane the moment she re-entered the sitting-room.
Knowing what it all meant, the sisters gathered around her, laughing congratulations flowing between them. Elizabeth laughed along with the rest, content that Jane’s situation was now settled. It was fortunate, she reflected, that her parents possessed the characters they did, for she did not think many of their level would approve of their daughter marrying a man of Mr. Bingley’s position in society. Jane would not be denied her happiness, and Elizabeth could not be any more pleased for her sister.
Soon, Lord Arundel came out with a beaming Mr. Bingley and announced the engagement to the family, leading to the congratulations flowing even more freely. Mr. Bingley, standing by Jane, accepted them with his ebullient cheer, and when Mr. Collins came, the gentleman had some choice words for him.
“I might wonder, sir, why you have allowed me to upstage you in this matter,” said a laughing Mr. Bingley. “Shall you eventually take a similar step with your own Bennet sister, or is several years of acquaintance not enough for you to come to the point?”
It amused Elizabeth to hear Mr. Bingley’s teasing words, though it appeared Mary was not so pleased. The target of Mr. Bingley’s provocation, however, was not affected in the slightest.
“Everything in its proper season, Mr. Bingley. In the future, I believe calling you brother shall please me.”
As this was the most open statement of intent Mr. Collins had ever made, Mary blushed, though it did not seem she was at all averse to the gentleman’s declaration.
The occasion called for a celebration, and while Elizabeth thought there would be much more of that the coming evening, they could not allow Mr. Bingley to depart without acknowledging what had happened. Lady Margaret called to the kitchens for some spiced wine, and they all raised their glasses in hearty congratulations, toasting the couple’s future happiness.
It was while she was ensconced in the bosom of her family as they applauded the successful conclusion to Mr. Bingley’s courtship of Longbourn’s eldest daughter that Elizabeth felt a little envy once again creep into the corners of her heart. And just like the last time she had felt this, it was not for Jane’s good fortune, but the freedom she had to express her devotion to the man of her heart. Elizabeth longed for that freedom.
For Mr. Darcy now owned an indisputable portion of her heart. In fact, he owned all of it. Perhaps someday there would come a time when she would be at liberty to show her devotion to all. But that time was not now, and a part of her longed for that happiness Jane now experienced.
It was the knowledge that her beloved sister deserved whatever good thing came her way which allowed Elizabeth to fix her attention on the good in the situation rather than the uncertainty of her own. Mr. Bingley stayed only a short time, for the family was due back that evening. While he was there, Elizabeth allowed herself the freedom to rejoice in her sister’s good fortune. There would be time to mull over her own future in the confines of her own room.
Having successfully proposed to his angel, Charles Bingley could not return to Netherfield without informing his friend of his good fortune. Darcy had not always supported Bingley’s pursuit of the eldest Bennet daughter, but his eventual acceptance had meant the world to Bingley. The trick was to inform Darcy but to refrain from making a scene of the matter, for though Darcy had accepted Bingley’s intention to offer for Miss Bennet, Bingley was still uncertain of the man’s father’s feelings on the subject. Mr. Robert Darcy was a man Bingley respected as much as he had ever respected any man, including his own father. Bingley would tread carefully where the elder gentleman was concerned.
It was fortunate, then, that Bingley found his friend alone that morning and could communicate his good news in private. When he had done so, Darcy congratulated him and gave him a hearty slap on the back.
“That is excellent news, my friend. Now we have only to discover what Miss Bennet sees in you, for I am not convinced she understands what trials she is taking on.”
Even had Darcy meant it as a serious insult, Bingley did not think he had it in him to feel offense that day, for his mood was far too good. “Yes, well, let us not inform her too quickly, shall we? I would not wish to scare her away before the wedding has even taken place.”
Darcy laughed and agreed. “Believe me, Bingley, I shall keep my thoughts on the matter to myself.”
For perhaps half an hour Bingley stayed at Pemberley speaking of his good fortune, for Bingley was of the opinion he could never speak enough of the perfections of Miss Jane Bennet, soon to be Mrs. Bingley. Darcy, after his initial congratulations, did not say much, but it had often been this way between the friends. Bingley thought his friend’s mind was on another subject entirely, for he often stared at nothing, seeing nothing. Again, this was not out of character, and as Darcy answered in all the appropriate places, Bingley did not think much about his friend’s reticence.
Upon leaving Pemberley, Bingley returned to Netherfield to prepare for the evening, and while there discovered an impediment to the evening’s entertainment. Bingley spent the rest of the morning dealing with some estate business, but when he found his mother at luncheon, she communicated an unforeseen problem to him.
“Caroline sent word through her maid that she will not join us for luncheon,” said Mrs. Bingley when he sat with her at the table. “She claims a headache.”
Bingley saw through Caroline’s actions in an instant. “She does not wish to attend tonight’s dinner.”
Though his mother did not reply, Bingley was observant enough to discern that her thoughts on the matter were identical to his. For a moment, Bingley contemplated what he should do when he decided he must not allow his sister’s designs to stand. Motioning to a nearby footman, Darcy had the housekeeper summoned.
“Please instruct my sister’s maid that she is to inform her mistress to present herself here in no more than fifteen minutes.”
If the housekeeper was at all surprised by the uncompromising quality of his instruction, she did not show it. The woman went away, leaving him alone with his mother as luncheon was served. Mrs. Bingley was nervous about the situation, as evidenced in her glances and the uncertainty in her eyes.
“I would prefer you did not argue with your sister, Charles. Nothing good can come of it.”
“There will be no argument, Mother,” replied Bingley, helping himself to some of the dishes placed on the table. “I cannot allow Caroline to offend the Bennet family, and I will inform her of a certain piece of important information she now lacks.”
Mrs. Bingley nodded—Bingley had informed her of his engagement as soon as he arrived home, much to her delight—and turned to her meal. As the minutes passed, Bingley watched the clock, waiting for the exact moment when the fifteen minutes he had allotted were passed. If Caroline did not arrive within that time, Bingley would not lose any time in dragging her from her apartments. It was fortunate she entered the room as the last seconds of that fifteen minutes expired.
“Was it necessary to order me from my room, Charles?” asked his sister, sporting a cold compress on her forehead. “As I told Betty to inform you all, I have a headache today.”
A lesson Bingley had learned from the Darcy family was never to allow the servants to witness a family disagreement. Knowing this would not reflect well on any of the
m, he dismissed the attending footmen, ensuring the doors had been closed behind them, before turning his attention to his sister.
“Do not think me witless, Caroline,” said Bingley, though in a tone designed to foster conciliation. “I am well aware your aching head has made an appearance the day that we are to go to Longbourn for dinner.”
“If you believe I can command my head to ache whenever I please, you grossly overestimate my control.”
Bingley shook his head with annoyance. “Caroline, I do not understand you. I do not assert that you are shallow, but we have all known of your desire to rise in society. Will a connection to the noble family of Bennet not be a feather in our cap?”
“I have nothing against the Bennet family,” said Caroline; Bingley thought she was telling the truth. “It is my contention, however, that having been long aligned with the Darcy family, you are betraying our friendship with them.”
“It is not as much of a betrayal as you think,” replied Bingley. “Darcy himself supports me in my pursuit of Miss Bennet, and I doubt he would do that if he opposed my actions.”
Caroline looked away, but he could not mistake the thin line of her lips betraying her displeasure. Eager as she was to provoke Darcy’s interest and become the future mistress of Pemberley, she still assumed that a Bennet bride for her brother would lower her chances of eliciting a proposal from Darcy. Though he had tried to inform her that Darcy had no interest in her as a prospective bride, Caroline had never listened, and Bingley was not about to belabor that point.
“In this instance, your defiance is detrimental, Caroline, for you lack a certain piece of information which would make your path clear.”
When his sister glanced at him, suspicion in her eyes, Bingley nodded and said: “Yes, as you have likely already guessed, I proposed to Miss Bennet this morning; she accepted me. I am now engaged, and all your protests will not change it.
“Upon leaving Longbourn I traveled to Pemberley, and Darcy congratulated me on my engagement, so there is no reason to suppose he will throw off my friendship. If he were to do so, I would regret it, but it would not cause me a moment’s hesitation. I am set on my course and have been for some time. No dissent will sway me.”
