by Jessie Lewis
“But you will miss the remainder of the Season!”
“You share Caroline’s outrage, I see. Be assured, Hertfordshire has far pleasanter diversions than Town, as your brother reminded me just this week.”
“He did? Might I enquire: Did he enjoy his time there, do you think? He has seemed somewhat distracted since he returned.”
Mrs. Annesley cleared her throat. Miss Darcy glanced at her, as did Bingley. He thought he caught a glimpse of a firm shake of her head, but neither lady said anything more; thus, he could not be certain.
“I had not thought him much enamoured of the place while we were there,” Bingley replied, “but he has since assured me otherwise.”
“What made you think he was displeased?”
“He was forever squabbling with Miss Elizabeth, for one.”
“He argued with a lady?” Georgiana cried, sounding horrified.
“Frequently and fiercely!”
“That is quite shocking! She must have been frightfully disagreeable, for I cannot believe he would have been uncivil without good reason.”
“On the contrary, she was a perfectly charming houseguest.”
“Oh! Was it she who fell ill at your house?”
Mrs. Annesley cleared her throat again, this time with the effect of making Miss Darcy look rather contrite.
“No, that was her sister, Miss Jane Bennet, another wonderful young lady. Miss Elizabeth Bennet stayed to nurse her well again.”
“Then my brother has mentioned her in his letters. She was in Kent when he visited our aunt recently.”
“Yes, so I understand.”
After a surreptitious glance at her companion, Miss Darcy leant forwards and enquired, “Is Miss Elizabeth very handsome?”
“Miss Darcy!” Mrs. Annesley interrupted. “I think it high time you called for tea.”
Bingley judged it best to say no more, but as the ladies busied themselves ordering refreshments, he reflected that the answer to the question was very simple: Yes, she is.
***
“Touche!”
Colonel Fitzwilliam stepped back, tugging at his shirtsleeves where they stuck to his arms with perspiration. “Father wishes you to join his dinner a week on Thursday.” Darcy was engaged in wiping his brow on his sleeve; thus, much of his face was obscured. Fitzwilliam nonetheless observed his grimace. “Come now, it ought not to be too dire. Only a few sundries in attendance.”
The director called, “En garde,” and both men resumed their positions.
“Ashby will bring Lady Philippa, of course. And she will no doubt bring Lady Daphne.”
“Rapture.”
“Prêt! Allez!”
He lunged immediately, but Darcy parried, closing the distance between them. Fitzwilliam scrambled to retreat, but in lightening tempo, his cousin executed a sharp beat to his sword, feinted an attack in sixte, disengaged, and thrust in the opposite line.
The director called it. “Touche!”
“Damn!”
“En garde!”
“You will never guess who else will be there,” Fitzwilliam said, ignoring his aching sword arm and resuming his position.
“Prêt!”
“Wellington?” Darcy said flatly.
“Allez!”
Again, Fitzwilliam lunged first, attempting to catch him off guard, but it was a weak attack. Darcy must have seen it also, judging by the speed and angle of his riposte.
“Touche!”
He wondered, on occasion, why he bothered taking on Darcy at all. He brought his feet back under him and stood straight, pushing his damp hair from his face. “Better than that. Guess again.”
“Byron.”
“No.”
“Prinny.”
“A sensible guess, if you please.”
“I have no idea, Fitzwilliam, as well you know.”
“You only dissemble because you believe it will be some God-awful sparrow father is promoting.”
“En garde!”
They crouched.
“Fear not!” he continued, grinning. “Who better to protect you from all young ladies seeking to distinguish themselves by breaking your heart?” He swished his sword about in front of him to demonstrate his readiness to defend his cousin.
“Prêt! Allez!”
The next assault began explosively as Darcy came at him with a fierce attack. He parried frantically and retreated a step—and another—before Darcy’s remise faltered, and he seized the opportunity. Parrying on the advance, he lunged forward, executing a glissade that saw his foil scrape down the length of Darcy’s blade and land a hit on his flank.
“Ah ha, a hit! Got you!”
Spinning away, Darcy raised his sword arm, circling it around once, twice, but on the third revolution, he slashed his sword downwards in an uncommon show of pique. The colonel grinned, gratified to have riled his usually imperturbable cousin.
“En garde!”
“Perchance it is not protection from the ladies you require?” he said, raising his sword. “Mayhap you ought to accept one of Father’s suggestions after all—scratch that itch of yours.”
“I shall not dignify that with a response.”
“Prêt!”
“Better yet, take a leaf out of Bingley’s book. Choose a girl and fall in love!”
“Allez!”
Fitzwilliam won the next assault with uncommon ease, his cousin’s usually flawless execution distinctly off kilter.
“Touche!”
“Who is it, then?” Darcy enquired tersely, which was stranger still, for it was unlike him to be a poor sport.
“Who is what?”
“Your father’s secret dinner guest.”
“‘My grandmother, Mrs. Sinclair.”
“I thought she was dead.”
“She very nearly is. She is eight-and-seventy!”
The next assault began with a rapid flurry of feints and retreats but ended abruptly when Darcy launched himself forward in a perfectly executed flèche, landing a hit on Fitzwilliam’s shoulder. Someone behind him applauded.
“A hit!” Darcy said with an infuriating smirk.
“Very flashy!” Fitzwilliam panted.
“Display is not your prerogative.”
“I should hope not! What a dull place Angelo’s would be were it not for the glut of pageantry.”
The clock struck twelve, and the director called time, signalling for a man to take their practice foils and another to bring their coats. They bid him good day and weaved their way through the crowded halls to the stables.
“What brings Mrs. Sinclair to England?” Darcy enquired.
“One too many arguments with my cousin’s wife. She has forsaken Ireland forever and sworn never to return unless Niamh dies before she does. Only she arrived to discover her townhouse fallen into disrepair, so she has imposed herself on my father until it has been renovated. My father, who despises nothing in this world more than Sinclair women!” he ended, chuckling at his father’s vast displeasure.
Darcy did not join him in laughing. Looking at him, Fitzwilliam suspected he had not listened to a single word he said. “Not on top form today, Darcy?” he ventured.
It took a moment, but at length the words roused his cousin from his reverie. “By all means blame me if it will make losing more tolerable.”
Fitzwilliam wasted no more time attempting to extract his secrets. He was a man grown. He would speak up if there were aught serious troubling him.
“May I tell my father you will come?”
“I have a prior engagement that evening.”
“That is clearly a lie.”
Darcy smirked. “What of it?”
Fitzwilliam rolled
his eyes, but after a little further persuasion, namely the inducement of watching Lord Matlock suffer the lamentable presence of his almost-dead mother-in-law, he extracted his cousin’s word that he would attend.
***
Darcy arrived home to find Georgiana and Bingley awaiting him. He agreed with his sister that she would stay for the remainder of the day, but left her with Mrs. Annesley while he braved the inevitable discussion of Hertfordshire, eager to put it behind him. Despite his fears, however, Bingley began not with a discussion of that place but a wholly unexpected locale.
“Nova Scotia?” he said after his friend’s haphazard account of his cousin’s venture in the New World was done.
“Yes. This is the third time he has written to me. He seems determined to persuade me to his thinking.”
“Is he having any success?”
“Not a jot! I should not like to be anywhere nearer than Land’s End if the war were to make it that far north.”
“Must you oversee the project? Could you not simply invest and remain in England?”
“That is what I wished you to tell me.”
“I can certainly enquire of Irving whether he knows of any attorneys with the relevant experience.”
“Capital! I knew I could rely on you.”
The conversation moved naturally to the possibility and implications of a war with America. Inevitably, however, it came around to the matter that one party was eager to discuss and the other was eager to avoid.
“I travel to Hertfordshire Friday next.”
To Darcy’s vast consternation, the mere mention of the place set his heart to racing. He perfunctorily expressed his good wishes, then stood and moved away, unable to think of aught but what Elizabeth’s reaction to Bingley’s return might be.
“Will you join me?” Bingley enquired, twisting to look at him over the wing of his chair. “Your sister informs me you have been unwell, in which case a spot of country air will do you wonders.” He broke into a wide grin. “Besides, if you come, Caroline will come, and then I shall have a hostess.”
“I am sorry, Bingley. Your sister may do as she pleases, but I shall not be there.”
“You are quite sure? You do look rather tired.”
“I am tired!” he snapped with all the exasperation of the sleep-deprived and broken-hearted. Then he cursed himself privately and added, “I cannot join you. I have business in Town. Besides, I have been away from Georgiana too long now. I would stay with her for a time.”
“Very well. Shall I pass on your regards to my neighbours?”
Darcy baulked at the notion of sending word to Elizabeth. God knew he longed to speak to her, to see her, to be with her—even more so after Fitzwilliam’s earlier teasing. Yet, she would not wish to hear from him again. He had been certain of that even before all his recent revelations.
He rubbed a hand over his face. “If you have an opportunity to do so discreetly, I should be grateful if you could make your neighbours aware that I regret my manners last autumn.”
“I really do not believe there is a need. But if it puts your mind at rest and if the opportunity arises, then I shall.”
Thus, the visit was concluded. The two friends exchanged hearty farewells as they parted ways. Quashing a potent surge of jealousy for Bingley’s destination, Darcy went in search of his sister and some measure of equanimity.
Longbourn, Hertfordshire
April 27
Jane!
You must hasten home immediately. I had it this morning from Mrs. Long—and it cannot be otherwise, for she had it directly from Mrs. Etheridge, whose housekeeper had it from her niece who is applying for work there. Netherfield is reopened! Mr. Bingley is returning!
It can only be for you that he returns; therefore, make haste and return this very day if your uncle can arrange it.
In anticipation,
Mama
2
As Though Naught Had Changed
Thursday, 30 April 1812: Hertfordshire
Their carriage had been caught behind a throng of cattle for twenty minutes before Elizabeth persuaded Jane to abandon it and go the rest of the way on foot. They were less than a mile from Meryton, the church spire already visible above the trees, and she was impatient to be home. She longed for familiar surroundings—the reflection in her own looking glass, the fire in her own hearth—anything that would return her to the simplicity of life before her visit to Kent.
“Slow down, Lizzy! I cannot keep pace with you.”
She turned to see Jane sidling around a puddle she herself had not noticed. Smiling ruefully at the mud left on her skirts by the oversight, she went back to offer her arm.
“You are as impatient as Mama.” The reproach in Jane’s tone bespoke her decided reluctance to return.
“And you are unnecessarily anxious,” Elizabeth said gently.
“Am I, Lizzy? I would dearly love for Mr. Bingley to renew his addresses, but I have mistaken his intentions before. What if he does not come for me at all? What if he comes only to fish in his pond?”
To Elizabeth’s mind, there was no doubt Mr. Bingley had returned for Jane. The coincidence of his arriving mere weeks after she informed his friend that her sister’s heart was still engaged was too great to overlook. The conclusion that it was Mr. Darcy’s doing frustrated her attempts to dislike him even more. For in so graciously redressing his error, he had demonstrated a humility far removed from the conceit of which she had accused him.
“You may as well call it fishing,” said she. “The fact is he regrets throwing the best catch back in when he was last here and has come to cast his net again in hopes of recapturing you. But it will not do for me to try and persuade you of his affections. That would make his task entirely too easy.”
She lost all appetite for teasing upon turning into Bath Street and coming face to face with a group of officers, amongst them he whom she least wished to see.
“Miss Bennet—and Miss Elizabeth,” Mr. Wickham exclaimed, seeming to linger over her name. “I cannot tell you how pleasant it is to see you returned. Meryton has been exceedingly dull since you went away.”
Elizabeth dipped a desultory curtsey, even angrier than she had expected to be upon seeing him again. “You flatter us, sir, but I cannot imagine Miss King would be pleased to hear you dismiss her company as dull.”
He gave an affected wince. “It grieves me to say Miss King’s family did not look favourably on my attentions. They have taken her to Liverpool.”
Elizabeth pursed her lips against an uncivil remark. Jane was more sympathetic, lamenting the interference of third parties who presume, often mistakenly, to know the depth of two people’s attachment.
“He did try to show her the depth of his attachment,” one of Mr. Wickham’s fellow officers interjected, elbowing his companion. “’Tis that what got her sent away.”
Mr. Wickham turned red and snarled at his friend to be quiet. His mortification and Mrs. Gardiner’s education on the matter left Elizabeth in no doubt of the officer’s meaning. She started in revulsion. Poor, poor Mr. Darcy, to have almost lost his sister to this wretch!
“I pray your heart mends soon,” Jane said with an earnestness Elizabeth found uncommonly exasperating, particularly when her remark appeared to convince Mr. Wickham he was safe.
“I am sure it will,” he replied, “now that you have brought your sister home.”
His smile, the same by which Elizabeth had previously been utterly drawn in, made her cringe. “Come, Jane,” she said, grabbing her sister’s arm. “We had better make haste.”
Mr. Wickham’s smile faltered. “May I have the honour of escorting you home?”
Elizabeth resolutely, and not very politely, declined and all but dragged her sister away.
“Lizzy Bennet, what on earth are you about?
” Jane exclaimed as soon as they had gone out of sight.
“Forgive me. I could not bear to be in his company a moment longer.”
“Why ever not? I thought you were friends.”
Elizabeth paused, still disinclined to burden her sister’s heart unnecessarily. Yet, with Mr. Bingley’s return, Jane’s heartbreak looked set to imminently be a thing of the past. Perhaps she might confide in her after all. She began, as all revelations of any worth ought to begin, with a sigh.
“While I was in Kent, Mr. Darcy revealed more to me of his dealings with Mr. Wickham. We have been gravely misled. He was not denied a living. He was granted, at his own request, three thousand pounds in lieu of it—money he squandered in a matter of months before asking for more. It was that he was denied.”
“Goodness—that is quite shocking. But can you be sure it is true?”
“Oh yes, there are witnesses, but that is not the worst of it. He also attempted to seduce Mr. Darcy’s fifteen-year-old sister to gain her inheritance of thirty thousand pounds. And we need look no farther for proof of that than his recent dalliance with Miss King. He is a determined shark!”
“I see what you are thinking,” Jane said in a vaguely condescending tone. “But you ought to be careful.”
“What do you mean?”
“You are thinking that, if he had been motivated by greed, it would better excuse the abortion of his attentions to you in favour of Miss King.”
Elizabeth pulled her arm from Jane’s and stood gaping at her.
“I understand your disappointment,” Jane persevered, “but you must take care not to allow jealousy to overrule your judgement. If Mr. Wickham’s regard for Miss King exceeded his regard for you, then you must accept it as gracefully as you can.”
“I shall not deny I enjoyed his attentions in the autumn, but it is not jealousy that motivates me to speak thus; it is prudence. Mr. Wickham has attempted to seduce two young girls—perhaps more—and brazenly lied about Mr. Darcy. How can you defend him?”
“Indeed I am not defending his actions, but neither am I prepared to condemn his character entirely until I know his reasons. We cannot know beyond doubt he did not love Miss Darcy or Miss King, and if he was truly attached to both, then the poor man has had his affections rebuffed at every turn for nothing more than his want of circumstances. It is too horrible. I know that pain, Lizzy!”
