A Vision of the Path Before Him

by Elizabeth Frerichs

  “Do you not think that I have wrestled with these same objections?” Darcy said abruptly. “I fought my attraction to Miss Elizabeth at the beginning. I believed that marrying her could only bring a stain upon my family honour—not to mention the difficulties presented by taking her family as my own. Eventually, I determined to court her anyway and require that she cut ties with her family. I believed my credit good enough to make up for the scandal. But Miss Elizabeth showed me that my pride was worthless, that I was lacking in essentials. I had wealth and status, but not character.

  “Family pride is not a virtue. It prevented me from caring about others the way I ought to. I looked down on those of a lesser status, rather than seeing them as people. I have been given a great blessing and responsibility in being born a Darcy—I will not squander it by treating others as though they are less than human.”

  “I would never advocate treating anyone like an animal!” Lady Matlock burst out.

  Darcy held her gaze. “Unless they deserve it? Aunt, you know as well as I that the ton believes there are circles of worth. We are in the first circle, but those persons who are born to the lower circles—servants, tenants, and the poor—they are treated as objects. How many of the ton see their maids as mere tools?” He shook his head. “I do not wish to marry someone that shallow. Miss Elizabeth has shown me that there is far more to life than one’s money, status, responsibilities, or accomplishments.”

  Lady Matlock raised an eyebrow. “It sounds as though the past weeks have been rather eventful.”

  “Madam, I can truly say that I am not at all the same man I was when I entered Hertfordshire,” Darcy said wryly. “And much of it is due to Miss Elizabeth’s intervention; therefore, I would ask you to spend more time with her before determining that she is unfit.”

  Lady Matlock huffed. “As though I could not determine the fitness of a woman in one call,” she muttered.

  Lord Matlock cleared his throat.

  “Very well, Darcy, we will give you the benefit of the doubt for the moment,” Lady Matlock conceded.

  “Thank you,” Darcy said. “Now, how is Cousin Frederick?” he asked, knowing that his aunt would be more than content to speak of her eldest son and wishing to end the conversation about Elizabeth before his aunt rescinded her concession.

  Chapter 48

  Darcy paced, his temper too uncertain to settle for sleep or even to risk calling Penn. What had Fitzwilliam been thinking?

  He had convinced his aunt and uncle to withhold judgement for the moment, but the sword of Damocles hung over his courtship with Elizabeth. He ran a hand through his hair. His aunt had said that Elizabeth was spirited; Elizabeth was more than capable of holding her own against any test his aunt cared to give her, but had Lady Matlock been rude? Only those who behaved poorly in some fashion were skewered on the end of Elizabeth’s wit.

  His jaw ached as he considered how wretched the next few days were likely to be. At least Georgiana had seemed to approve—though from their conversation earlier, her approval was based on his.

  A knock at the door disturbed his meditations.

  Darcy straightened himself, trying to present a semblance of equanimity, then called for the intruder to enter.

  Fitzwilliam waltzed in, holding a bottle of brandy. “You’re welcome,” he said after closing the door to Darcy’s room.

  “Pardon?” Darcy asked frostily.

  Fitzwilliam grinned wider than a cheshire cat. “You’re welcome,” he repeated, procuring a set of glasses off the end table and pouring them both drinks.

  Darcy refused to accept the proffered drink. “Why in Heaven’s name would I be thanking you right now?”

  Fitzwilliam’s eyebrows went up as he set the drink down. “Because I have single-handedly solved several of your most pressing problems over the past few days?”

  “I am afraid that is not how I see it,” Darcy said, his teeth gritted. “What were you thinking? How could you have told your parents about Miss Elizabeth before I had even proposed?” He threw his hands in the air. “Her willingness to court me is a miracle, and you have just added another obstacle.” He began to pace. “I was hoping to propose before Wickham made a mess of things, but now I have to delay until things are more settled with Miss Lydia. And, in the meantime, I will be lucky if your parents don’t convince Miss Elizabeth that marrying me is a terrible idea.”

  “Are you done?” Fitzwilliam asked blandly.

  Darcy glared at him.

  “Did you consider that I had reasons for telling my parents about Miss Elizabeth?”

  “Other than your desire to meddle for the sport of it?” Darcy shot back.

  Hurt crossed Fitzwilliam’s face before he wiped it away.

  Darcy sighed. “I am sorry, Fitzwilliam. I have been on edge for the past few days, but that is no reason to take it out on you.”

  “Yes, well, I suppose, from a certain point of view, you could call my interference ‘meddling.’ But it was well meant.”

  Darcy merely stared at his cousin, trying to master his exasperation and waiting for a more complete explanation.

  “You know my mother: she has thrown every last unattached female of the ton at you over the past few years. She’s desperate to get you married.”

  “And?”

  “If you had waited until after you were engaged, she would not have been able to meddle,” Fitzwilliam said as though speaking to a child. “And, therefore, she would have had no part in your marriage. Now, after we convince her that Miss Elizabeth is her best bet at securing little Darcys and preventing you from being taken in by a scheming wench who will drain your coffers, she’ll be able to convince you to marry Miss Elizabeth. If she has a hand in the matter, not only will she support your marriage to the rest of the ton, but you will not have to deal with her complaints for the rest of your life.”

  Darcy considered. His cousin was correct that Lady Matlock desired to have a hand in choosing his future bride—he was almost certain that she merely considered his bride a battle to wage in her constant war with Lady Catherine. If he had waited to introduce Elizabeth until after they were engaged, Lady Matlock could not have any part of bringing about their marriage. Unfortunately, much of Fitzwilliam’s plan seemed to depend on convincing Lady Matlock of things she would fight at every turn. A slim chance was better than none though.

  Darcy grimaced. He only hoped Fitzwilliam’s “help” was rather more productive than his attempt to “help” with Elizabeth by telling her of Darcy’s rescue of Bingley from Miss Bennet Before.

  “See? I had your best interests at heart.”

  “But what if they convince Miss Elizabeth to terminate our courtship instead?” he demanded, his thoughts immediately jumping to the consequences of Fitzwilliam’s intervention Before.

  “Then she’s not the woman for you,” Fitzwilliam said dryly. “If she can’t handle your relatives’ scrutiny, she certainly won’t be able to bear the ton.”

  “I had not considered that.”

  The grin spread over Fitzwilliam’s face again. “That’s why I’m the brains of this operation.”

  Darcy rolled his eyes.

  “I have managed to secure Wickham’s future and provided you the means to gain my parents’ support of your marriage and that’s all I receive for my trouble?” he complained. “Is a little gratitude too much to ask for?”

  “Thank you, Fitzwilliam.”

  “You are very welcome, Darcy.” He offered up the glass again, and this time Darcy took it. “I shall expect you to name your first child after me.”

  “And if we have a girl?”

  Fitzwilliam shrugged. “Richenda? It sounds like a foreign name. You could say it’s French.”

  “I doubt that would be an adequate ruse. Besides, I would not dare saddle my hypothetical daughter with a name guaranteed to be mocked.”

  “Fine, although you have to admit it would build character.”

  Darcy chuckled before returning to their origina
l topic. “I am very grateful for your assistance, but how exactly do you propose to convince your mother that I am in danger of becoming an eternal bachelor or falling prey to a fortune hunter?”

  “Did you not already threaten her with eternal bachelorhood today?”

  Darcy’s eyes widened. He supposed his argument regarding leaving Pemberley to Georgiana could have been taken as a threat, though he did not intend it as one.

  “I overheard Mother complaining to Father when we were walking down to dinner—”

  “You mean when you were following them at a discrete distance,” Darcy corrected.

  Fitzwilliam shrugged. “Better to know the lay of the land before I step in it, eh?”

  Darcy snorted. Fitzwilliam had a healthy respect for Lady Matlock, despite all the ways he teased her. Listening carefully to her had kept him out of hot water many a time.

  “Regardless, Mother was complaining that she never thought you would be so lost to your duty that you would refuse to marry. Father is convinced that Miss Elizabeth must have persuaded you somehow—”

  Darcy glowered, unhappy with Lord Matlock’s implications.

  “The point is: whatever you said, you’ve already got Mother thinking along those lines.”

  “Unintentionally, I assure you.”

  Fitzwilliam gave him a look of disbelief. “So you didn’t say you’d rather never marry and leave Pemberley to Georgiana than marry one of Mother’s favourite debutantes?”

  Darcy fidgeted. “I did, but not as a threat. I was merely trying to express the seriousness of my intentions towards Miss Elizabeth.”

  “Well, you succeeded.” Fitzwilliam leaned forward. “Don’t worry, old man, I spoke with Father tonight, and I’ve already half-convinced him that Miss Elizabeth is the perfect woman for you. We’ll talk Mother ‘round.”

  “I hope so. Now, about Captain Archer—”

  Fitzwilliam held up a hand. “I know your concerns, but you do not need to worry.”

  Darcy merely stared at him.

  Fitzwilliam threw up his hands. “Did you want me to find a different captain who would go easy on the blackguard?”

  “Not at all. You need merely assuage my concerns that you and Archer have conspired to torture Wickham.”

  “You always jump to the worst conclusions. I highly doubt Archer will torture Wickham. He’s not known for keelhauling anyone, as far as I know.”

  Darcy remained silent.

  “He’ll just—ensure Wickham can’t run off. And he’ll warn the men against gambling with him. And he’ll probably give him the dirtiest, most uncomfortable jobs, and lash him if he refuses to work or gets out-of-line,” Fitzwilliam added in a rush. “But, Darcy! Hard work is character building. Don’t you want Wickham to improve himself? I thought that was why we put him in the Navy instead of killing him! Besides, Wickham has to start at the bottom—he doesn’t have any seafaring experience, and the bottom man always gets those sorts of jobs, regardless of how the captain feels about him.”

  “And the difficulties your father spoke of?”

  Fitzwilliam flushed. “Nothing I couldn’t handle. Wickham was merely being his usual charming self. In addition to his constant carping, he nearly convinced one of the chambermaids to help him escape.”

  Darcy sighed. Wickham was wilier than a mother killdeer. He swirled the liquid in his glass, contemplating what exactly he had desired: for Wickham to change. He just wished it wasn’t such a difficult endeavour. His lips quirked up. “It may have been much simpler to help him build character if we’d had his name changed to Richenda.”

  Fitzwilliam, mid-sip of brandy, choked on his swallow and began coughing and laughing in equal measure. Darcy, grinning, joined him.

  As they recovered, Darcy said earnestly, “You have done well, Fitzwilliam.”

  Fitzwilliam bowed extravagantly, the cocky grin once more in place. “As always.”

  “I am very grateful for your help—truly, I don’t know what I would do without you.” Darcy gripped his cousin’s shoulder, trying to convey his sincerity with a look.

  Fitzwilliam cleared his throat. “Of course.” He moved to settle himself in a chair. “Now, what is this about Miss Elizabeth? Why have you not seen her?”

  Darcy sighed, pulling a chair opposite and seating himself. “Her father requested we no longer cross paths without a chaperone. Which is, I hate to admit, a reasonable request.”

  “I suppose I would require such a thing for Georgiana’s courtship,” Fitzwilliam agreed.

  “That was my thought as well.”

  Fitzwilliam leaned forward. “Seems a bit out of character coming from him though,” he said, eyeing Darcy.

  “I may have spoken to him regarding his detachment.”

  Fitzwilliam chuckled. “Of course you did. You seem to be on a crusade to reform everyone you come into contact with. I’m surprised you didn’t give a sermon to Wickham’s men before we left.”

  Darcy took a deep breath. “I owe a debt to Miss Elizabeth and to Providence for my own character reformation. How could I do otherwise than to help my fellow man?”

  Fitzwilliam squinted at him as though trying to see into his very soul. “You really believe that, don’t you?”

  “Yes. I was—I was miserable, and I didn’t even realise how miserable I had become.” He swirled his brandy again, studying the way it caressed the glass, smoothly rising and falling like ocean waves. “Georgiana said today that she has never seen me so happy.”

  “It has certainly been a long time since I’ve seen you smile unless you’re with Georgie.” Fitzwilliam sipped his drink. “I rather like this new Darcy.”

  “Have I failed her?” Darcy asked meditatively.

  Fitzwilliam’s eyebrows shot to his hairline. “Georgie or Miss Elizabeth?”

  “Georgie,” Darcy said.

  “Not any more than I have. We have both done our best with her.”

  “But—she does not remember Pemberley ever being the happy place it was before Mother died.”

  “All the more reason to marry Miss Elizabeth,” Fitzwilliam said. “If anyone can breathe life back into that place, it’s her. But, even if something occurs and you do not marry Miss Elizabeth, I believe that this new Darcy can make Pemberley into a happy home even without her help.”

  “Perhaps.”

  Fitzwilliam set his glass down. “Well, I believe I shall go to bed. I’ve got paperwork for Forster to sign, and I intend to meet with him bright and early.” He gave Darcy a wicked grin. “Preferably early enough that he’ll have to be woken.”

  “What will you tell him?”

  “The truth,” Fitzwilliam said baldly. “I know you will argue that we ought to conceal Miss Lydia’s indiscretion, but I believe Colonel Forster needs to realise his misjudgment.” He held up a hand as though to stay any argument Darcy might make. “As before, I will not give names, but Forster needs to know how much of a mess he narrowly avoided or he’ll continue to be a horrible colonel. We need men who can judge character, not simpletons who are taken in by scoundrels like Wickham. The army is doomed with idiots like Forster in command.”

  “I—”

  “Besides, isn’t it in keeping with your ‘reform everyone’ crusade?” Fitzwilliam rushed on. “I thought you’d consider the benefits of Forster’s character growth, or whatever you’d like to call it, worth any risks.”

  “Indeed—”

  “And I believe I have enough leverage to ensure his silence on the matter,” Fitzwilliam said, a feral gleam in his eyes.

  “Fitzwilliam!” Darcy snapped. “I already agree with you!”

  “Oh. Well, why didn’t you say so then?”

  Darcy glowered at his cousin.

  Fitzwilliam’s stern visage dissolved into chuckles. “You are too easy to wind up, Darcy.”

  Darcy huffed. “Go to bed, Fitzwilliam.”

  “Yes, Mother,” Fitzwilliam shot back. He stood and stretched. “I do need to sleep. I am quite looking forward to r
ubbing Forster’s face in his mistakes like an errant puppy.”

  “Just don’t go overboard,” Darcy warned. “You know that excess criticism can accomplish the exact opposite. You don’t want him to convince himself that he is the one in the right just because you have made the truth too unpalatable.”

  “You’re not still blaming yourself for Miss Bingley’s behaviour?” Fitzwilliam asked incredulously, dropping back into the chair.

  Darcy’s gaze went to the window “I do not believe—I have let it go, but I have not been able to stop wondering how I ought to have behaved differently, what I could have said to penetrate her desperation and self-importance.”

  “Nothing. Even if what you said pushed her further down the path she was already travelling, that is her choice, her fault. If she was inclined to change, she would have taken the opportunity you offered her and grabbed it with both hands. It’s not your responsibility,” he said earnestly.

  “I know. Perhaps I just need to be reminded occasionally.”

  “That’s what I’m here for, old man. I’ll always jog your memory.”

  “Thank you,” Darcy said dryly.

  “What are cousins for?” Fitzwilliam stood. “Now, I really am for bed, and I hope you do likewise.”

  “Yes, Mother,” Darcy retorted.

  Fitzwilliam’s eyes widened. “Georgie is right. I like this new Darcy. Good night, Cousin.”

  “Good night, Fitzwilliam, and thank you again.”

  Fitzwilliam only nodded as he left, and Darcy rang for Penn. Fitzwilliam had helped him many times—perhaps his gambit with Lady Matlock would not be a disaster.

  Chapter 49

  “Mr. Bingley left an urgent message late last night requesting your presence in the study after breakfast,” Penn informed Darcy as he was draining the last sip of his morning coffee three days later.

  Darcy’s eyebrows went up.

  “I believe it has something to do with Miss Bingley,” Penn added.