by Jann Rowland
Knowing that she had lost the battle—but vowing the war was still to be fought—Elizabeth snatched the quill and scrawled in the indicated space.
This was not over. She had not even begun to fight.
Chapter XVI
It was with high spirits that Darcy arose that morning and prepared for the day. Though he had at times been somewhat confused at the rapid progression of his feelings and had wondered if he was doing the right thing in offering for a penniless country miss with connections to trade, it simply felt right to be near her and to offer her his heart. And thus, he dressed in his best trousers and coat, as befitted such an auspicious day.
The life of Fitzwilliam Darcy had not been an easy one. There were undoubtedly those who would scoff at the thought that a man who was in possession of vast earthly resources should consider his life to be hard. But they did not know the true man. Possessing a naturally serious and sober disposition, Darcy had never found it easy to do many of the things that others took for granted, and he was further pressed by the fact that he had been left with a great family estate and the care of a much younger sister at the age of two and twenty. Both of these responsibilities were great ones, though in different ways, and both constituted an immense weight on his shoulders.
Even if he had not been made master of Pemberley at so young an age, Darcy would not have been one of the coxcomb dandies caught up in the web of their own selfish desires. Still, at an age when those of his acquaintance would have been engaged in hunts, house parties, balls, and other engagements, Darcy had been learning to manage his estate such that he could live up to the legacy of past Darcy masters. And though he had grown to enjoy the duties therein and to take pride over the stewardship he had inherited, there had still been times when he had wished that he was at liberty to enjoy his life a little more. It was only recently when he had begun to appear more in society, and this was only at the insistence of his uncle and aunt, the earl and countess.
As for his sister, God could not have created a gentler and more loving creature than Georgiana, and Darcy was proud of her and her accomplishments. Unfortunately, she had been cursed with a disposition even more reticent than his own, and he had at times struggled in trying to coax her from her shell. His cousin Fitzwilliam helped in that regard, as he was naturally more gregarious, but due to Colonel Fitzwilliam’s duties in the army, Georgiana’s care fell to Darcy more often than not.
This was one of the foremost reasons why he had been so drawn to Miss Elizabeth Bennet. She was naturally lively, yet she possessed a sense of calm confidence that he had never before encountered in a woman so young. Darcy foresaw a close and loving relationship between his younger sister and the woman he was courting, and he was confident that if anyone was able to assist Georgiana in gaining more confidence, it was Miss Elizabeth.
But he would not marry a woman simply because he thought that she would befriend his sister. There was something positively magnetic about the young woman, and he had not known her an hour before he had started to feel the pull of her attractions. She was intelligent and learned, could hold her own in any debate, played and sang like an angel, and was beautiful to round it all out. The thought of being unaffected by her charms beggared belief.
So as soon as he was at liberty—a matter of the Netherfield tenants had arisen that morning to delay his departure—he ordered his stallion saddled and made his way toward Longbourn, intent upon soliciting Mr. Bennet’s permission for his courtship of Miss Elizabeth. He had no great opinion of the master of that house, but he knew that any father in England would be happy to give his daughter away to a man who possessed a reported ten thousand a year. A man of Mr. Bennet’s standing and situation in the world should be falling all over himself to grant his permission.
These thoughts played in Darcy’s mind as he rode up to the front of the house, where he was met by a tall stable hand who took the horse’s head and steadied him while Darcy dismounted.
“I am uncertain how long I will be here,” said Darcy to the man’s unspoken query. “For now, please rub him down and give him a few oats to eat. I shall give you further instructions as required.”
The man pressed his knuckles to his forehead and led the animal away while Darcy focused upon the house. Having been here several times, he knew that it was a modest yet comfortable house, and though it was certainly nothing to Pemberley, it was not dissimilar to those owned by some of his own neighbors in Derbyshire.
He strode forward to knock on the door, and while he waited, he noted that there was something . . . different about the house, which he could not quite place his finger on. It was nothing physical that he could detect; everything seemed to be in place, and nothing about the structure itself had changed. It was more intangible, almost as if the entire neighborhood was holding its collective breath.
A moment later, the door opened, and the elderly housekeeper stood in front of him. The moment she saw him, her face blanched, and she looked down, causing Darcy no small amount of confusion.
“Good day,” said he, handing her his card and trying to ignore the ominous presentiment which was welling up within him. “Will you ask Mr. Bennet if he can spare a moment of time for me?”
The housekeeper acceded in a quiet voice and asked him to wait while she spoke with the master. While he waited in the entrance hall, he noted that no one else in the house was in evidence; the entire house was silent.
And that was when it hit him. He had been to Longbourn on several occasions, and never had he seen the place as quiet as it was that day. There were always servants bustling about, giggles from the younger girls, or the loud voice of the mistress to clutter the air and assault the ears with its tumult. This morning, however, the place was quiet as a grave. The sense of foreboding deepened and tugged at his consciousness, and he wondered what had happened.
“Mr. Darcy,” called the housekeeper, interrupting him from his thoughts, “the master will see you.”
Nodding in thanks, Darcy allowed himself to be led to the master’s study. What he found there was not what he expected.
The last time he had entered the room, he had noted the books on every surface, the furniture, and the person of the man who inhabited the room. This time, however, the man who sat in his chair across from the weathered desk dominated Darcy’s attention. He almost seemed a shell of the man Darcy had met before. His face was cast in a somber frown, and near his right hand, which trembled periodically, was a half-empty glass containing something stronger than mere port—brandy, unless Darcy missed his guess. The glass was sitting next to a tray which held several flasks of liquor, and from the bleariness of Bennet’s eyes, Darcy suspected that he had been imbibing for some time, though it was still early in the day.
But it was more the hopelessness on the man’s face, the absolute expression of self-loathing which caught his eye. This was a shell of a man, and he seemed to be shrinking at a pace which Darcy could almost see.
“Have you come with tales of phantasms and other bogeymen, Mr. Darcy?” Mr. Bennet’s voice was rough with disuse—or perhaps overuse—and he peered at Darcy, eyes narrowed in sardonic amusement. But underneath Mr. Bennet’s bluster, Darcy sensed the man’s despair as strongly as if he had shouted it out loud. “Or are you here to report some other unfortunate in the militia who has garnered your disapproval?”
“Neither, Mr. Bennet,” replied Darcy evenly. There was no particular reason to become offended by Bennet’s current behavior, as Darcy was not even certain if the man was in command of his full faculties.
“Oh? The last time you came to warn me about someone, the man accosted my daughter and was subsequently shipped off to who knows where. As the militia defends us from the French, I would not have you displacing each of them with tales of wrongdoing. We might be vulnerable to invasion.”
The man was testing him beyond all endurance, but despite how Bennet chose to act that morning, it would not do for Darcy to lose his temper. This was the father of the wo
man with whom Darcy wished to enter a courtship, and he would not antagonize the man.
“The rest of the militia is safe from me, Mr. Bennet,” said Darcy, keeping his tone measured and even. “Wickham was a special case, and I could not allow him to prey upon the people of the Meryton.”
Mr. Bennet snorted. “So you say.” The man waved him to a nearby chair. “It appears that you have something else to say, sir, so I suggest you get comfortable. I am certain you will not mind if I have a drink.” So saying, he drained the rest of his glass in one swallow.
Frowning as he took his seat, Darcy watched as Mr. Bennet reached for his brandy flask. His extended hand shook, and as he grasped the flask, the shaking became so pronounced that he almost deposited a goodly amount of the amber liquid in his lap rather than in the glass. When he finally managed to pour the sparkling liquid into the glass, he sat back in his chair, taking a healthy swig before peering at Darcy with bleary, blood-shot eyes. Eyes that were haunted, as if the legions of hell had chased him over hill and dale all night.
“Well?” said he, his tone within a hair of being overtly hostile. “Why have you come here?”
“I have come to request a courtship with Miss Elizabeth,” said Darcy, deciding it was best to come to the point.
Mr. Bennet’s reaction could not have surprised him more. The man’s eyes suddenly focused on Darcy and widened for a moment before Bennet burst into laughter. For a moment, Darcy was affronted at the fact that this small man of limited means had the audacity to laugh at his proposal.
“Well, well, who would have thought it?” said Mr. Bennet from between gasped breaths which sounded more like sobs than laughter. “I never would have imagined that you would descend from your high horse and deign to request to court one of my daughters. But you are too late. You would have been too late had you approached me the morning after you arrived in Meryton.”
“What do you mean?” asked Darcy, his affront giving away to open alarm.
“Elizabeth was married this very morning. She is on her way to Kent even as we speak, the new wife of my cousin, William Collins.”
For the briefest of moments, Darcy stared at Mr. Bennet in incomprehension, but the implications of the man’s words soon roared into his skull at the speed of a herd of stampeding horses, and Darcy instantly saw red.
“What?” asked he with deadly cold intent.
His tone seemed to sober Bennet, and the man looked at him, all laughter forgotten. There seemed to well within the man some forgotten measure of spirit as he stared at Darcy in a manner which could only be termed as imperious.
“She was married this very morning, Mr. Darcy. I suggest you look for another woman more suited to your position in life. Elizabeth would never have fit in with your set.”
Forcing aside the anger pulsing like a torrent through his veins, Darcy glared at the older man. “Miss Elizabeth could not have consented to this.”
Mr. Bennet’s eyebrow rose, and rather than being angry, he appeared amused. “I suppose she told you this?”
“Does her acceptance of my request for courtship not prove it?”
With a shrug, Mr. Bennet turned back to his brandy. “It matters little. I am her father, and I decided her marriage to my cousin was in the best interest of my family. Further discussion on this is pointless.”
“You would actually wish your daughter to be miserable, married to a buffoon, than happy, married to me? And have you not considered how much more I could do for your family than your heir could?”
“I have yet to see any evidence that she would be happy with you,” said Mr. Bennet, ignoring Darcy’s second question.
“She accepted me. I cannot imagine that she went to her fate willingly!”
“Again, it is now a moot point since she is now married.”
“What did you promise your cousin, Mr. Bennet?” demanded Darcy. The man’s tone and clear disregard for the happiness of his daughter incensed Darcy, and it was taking all of his willpower not to physically lash out at the man.
But Mr. Bennet simply glared at Darcy, his face screwed up in a disdainful scowl. “I must ask you to leave now, sir. This matter does not concern you.” He paused, and an unpleasant smile came over his face. “She cannot have been attached to you. She never mentioned this courtship in order to save herself from marrying Collins, and in the end, she did what she was told.”
For a brief moment, Darcy was taken aback. Why had she not told her father? But then reason reasserted itself. If she had not mentioned it, then it must have been because she knew it would not move her father. Besides, it was of little matter—Darcy was not about to let this go until Miss Elizabeth herself told him that he had no hope.
“This does concern me,” said Darcy, rising with deadly intent. “It began to concern me the moment your daughter accepted my offer of courtship.”
Directing one final glare at Mr. Bennet, Darcy turned and made his way to the door. But before he opened it, he turned back to Mr. Bennet, noting the man’s unfriendly stare, which had been burning holes in his back. To say Darcy was not intimidated by the man was an understatement. If Elizabeth should wish it, he would ruin the man once he had recovered her.
“I hope you are happy with the thirty pieces of silver you received from Mr. Collins for selling your daughter to him. As a learned man, I expect you will understand the reference.”
The man blanched at Darcy’s words.
“It seems you are already feeling the effects of your betrayal,” said Darcy with a grim smile. “May it haunt you all the days of your life.”
Before Mr. Bennet could summon any retort, Darcy opened the door and stepped through it, shutting it with more force than required.
Angrier than he had ever been in his life, Darcy stalked down the hallway to the entrance, where he found the housekeeper waiting for him with his outer wear in hand. Though he could not find a smile to thank the woman, he nodded at her, and he was surprised when she spoke to him.
“Will you go after her, sir?”
Realizing that this woman was an ally who had been witness to the happenings of the morning, Darcy nodded before drawing her outside the house, where they could speak more freely.
“Miss Elizabeth accepted my courtship yesterday. I assume she did not marry Collins willingly?”
The housekeeper shook her head and began to wring her hands, her distress a palpable entity. “I am sorry, sir. I failed to protect her.”
At Darcy’s gentle prodding, she imparted the events of the morning, from her ill-fated attempt to smuggle Miss Elizabeth from the premises the previous night to all that had happened since then; she noted Mrs. Bennet’s distress, the girls’ support of their sister, and Mr. Bennet’s decision to lock them in their rooms while he forced Miss Elizabeth to the church. At the end of it all, Darcy’s rage, which had already been impressive, had risen to such heights that he briefly considered returning to Mr. Bennet’s room and extracting some measure of payment for all Miss Elizabeth had suffered. But knowing that such actions would not help her, he suppressed the desire and turned back to Mrs. Hill.
“And was that fool Collins a party to this?”
“Only in that he married her,” said Mrs. Hill with a derisive huff. “The man is so stupid that I do not doubt that the master simply used him.”
Darcy nodded. It matched his own opinion of the matter.
“That dear girl does not deserve all this family has put her through over the years,” said the housekeeper in a pleading tone.
Not for the first time, Darcy wondered what this great secret concerning the Bennets could possibly be. But before the thought could even coalesce, Darcy dismissed it as irrelevant. Perhaps Miss Elizabeth would give him an accounting once he found her. Until then, he would concentrate on what needed to be done.
Fixing his gaze on the housekeeper, Darcy said, “Will Mr. Bennet become angry with you for speaking to me?”
The woman scowled, but behind the expression, Darcy could see a
slight flicker of fear. “It does not matter. Mr. Bennet can do as he will. I could not leave that poor girl to his mercy.”
Taking the woman’s words as confirmation that her position might be in jeopardy, Darcy smiled at her. “Mrs. Hill, I thank you for all you did to attempt to help Miss Elizabeth. Should you require it, you will always have a position in one of my homes. I shall speak with Bingley—if it becomes necessary, go to him, and he will see that you are well situated.”
“Thank you, Mr. Darcy,” said the housekeeper with a curtsey. “I will be well.”
With a bow, Darcy stepped out from beneath the portico and called for his horse, already furiously making plans.
The return ride to Netherfield was accomplished quickly, though Darcy did not gallop back as was his first instinct. It was already early afternoon by the time he left Longbourn, and as the preparations for his departure would take some time, it would be next to impossible for him to arrive at Rosings that day.
Part of him wished to race off immediately and remove Miss Elizabeth from the parsonage—for to Darcy, she would never be Mrs. Collins. But the more rational part of him was aware that regardless of his anger at Mr. Bennet, Miss Elizabeth was, at least nominally, Mr. Collins’s wife, and Darcy had no authority to simply barge into the man’s house and remove the young woman. The situation had to be handled carefully.
The one thing which kept returning to Darcy’s mind, however, was the thought that he might not be able to do anything about the marriage despite his suspicions that there were several irregularities to be found in how it had been accomplished. Though his mind shied away from the very thought of the idiotic Collins engaging in the marital act with his Elizabeth, he knew that if the man was able to consummate the marriage, then the church might very well turn a blind eye to how it had all come about.
