Other Mr. Darcy

by Monica Fairview

  She was in the parlour with Louisa when he returned. Louisa was embroidering, while Caroline sat at the writing table, trying to make sense of the ledger, and sifting through a bewildering collection of Charles’s bills. Mr Darcy bowed politely and informed them that he had been gathering information for their journey, since on the way to Netherfield, it was his cousin’s coachman who had guided him.

  “You need not worry yourself about it, Mr Darcy,” said Louisa. “After all, as a stranger in our country, you cannot be expected to know these things. When Colonel Fitzwilliam arrives he will be more than capable of arranging the journey for us.”

  “I prefer to know as much as possible when I travel, Mrs Hurst,” said Mr Darcy. “I am possessed of a strange independence of spirit, and a curiosity that drives me to learn what I can about any project in which I am engaged. And I am eager to discover what I can about England. Besides, it is by no means certain that Colonel Fitzwilliam will be spared from his duties. Have you received word?”

  “He may ride over without sending a message,” said Miss Bingley. “Especially if he sets out today from London.”

  “I can only hope he is able to come,” said Mr Darcy. “For I feel you will be disappointed if he does not.”

  Caroline smiled civilly. “I do indeed hope he will come.”

  “In any case,” he said, “you need not worry if he doesn’t. I have consulted Paterson’s and feel quite comfortable selecting our route. I have decided to take the Great North Road.”

  “The Great North Road?” said Louisa, frowning a little. “It is not our usual route to Pemberley. Are you sure it is the best way?”

  “It is the post-road to Edinburgh,” said Robert Darcy. “And it is the way Darcy suggested on the way down.”

  Louisa shrugged. “If Mr Darcy suggested it, we cannot go wrong,” she conceded. “We always travel on that road to Scarborough. We stop at the George in Stamford, and we purchase cheese at the Bell Inn in Stilton.”

  “Stilton?” said Robert Darcy, wrinkling his nose. “It has an odour, and a rather strange colour. And it tastes—well, the less said, the better.”

  “Stilton is an acquired taste,” said Louisa, stiffly, “I would not expect it to please just anyone. It is not a common cheese.” She gave a disdainful laugh.

  “If we do go by the Great North,” said Caroline, “we will stop for the cheese. However, Old North Road might be preferable.”

  “We can consult the strip maps together, if you wish,” said Mr Darcy. “I have no objection to taking another route.”

  Caroline had more urgent things to do than pore over maps in Mr Robert Darcy’s company. She shook her head. “When Colonel Fitzwilliam comes,” said Caroline, “I am sure he will give you the benefit of his experience, since he has travelled these roads numerous times.”

  “I bow then to his superior knowledge, in that case,” said Darcy, quite cheerfully. “If he appears on the scene.”

  “Then it is settled,” she said.

  Mr Darcy rose. “If you will excuse me, I will withdraw to the library. I have seen one or two books here that interest me, and would like to take the opportunity to explore them. Your brother keeps an excellent library.”

  Caroline accepted the compliment with a condescending nod of the head.

  As soon as the door closed behind him, Louisa came quickly to sit by her sister. “How little he knows! Such ignorance! He has no breeding at all. As if anyone with taste could not like Stilton!” She mulled over this incomprehensible idea for some time. “And did you notice how helplessly windblown his hair was?” she added, as though that clinched the matter.

  “He does not seem very concerned with his appearance,” responded Caroline, mildly.

  “And what impertinence on his part to plan the journey for us!” continued Louisa.

  Much as she objected to Robert Darcy’s presence, Caroline found herself coming to his defence. “In all fairness, Louisa,” she said, “it is nothing more than I would expect. Surely you do not want to take care of the travel arrangements as well as the household tasks? And in the event that Colonel Fitzwilliam is unable to escort us, I would be very glad to know that he was well enough informed about the roads and would not lead us astray.”

  “Phew!” said Louisa. “The coachman can deal with all that.”

  Though Caroline agreed that his conduct lacked a certain polish, she could not help feeling that Louisa was in danger of going too far. Her remarks to him were designed to give offence, and that would not do.

  “As long as he is our guest, Louisa, we are obliged to be civil at least.”

  Louisa took up the cushion she was embroidering and focused her attention on her stitches. “Sometimes, Caroline,” she said, “you are too concerned with the niceties. I do not think we have any obligation towards him.”

  Mr Darcy chose that moment to return. It was clear he had overheard Louisa’s remark.

  “I hope you are not speaking of me,” he said, cheerfully, “for I must say I agree with your sister, Miss Bingley. You must not feel yourself obliged to me in any way. I dislike above all else to be thought an obligation.”

  “There are social rules, Mr Darcy, and I prefer to follow them, even if you are little inclined to do so,” replied Caroline. “Shall I ring for some tea?”

  Mr Darcy settled himself on one of the upright white and gold striped armchairs. “Yes, that would be delightful,” he replied.

  With tea requested, Caroline went back to her ledger, only to be interrupted by Mr Darcy.

  “I have found something that I have wished to read for some time,” he said, tapping his book with the satisfaction of a ginger cat that has caught a bird. “Edward Gibbon’s Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire,” he said. “It is in several volumes. I hope you have no objection to my borrowing the first of them? I will, of course, return it to you in Pemberley.”

  “You may borrow the whole library if you wish,” said Louisa with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Charles never reads, and I find its contents quite tedious. I wish he would replace all those dull old books with newer ones. My father bought the collection from an earl whose fortunes were in disarray, and I believe the earl bought a race horse with the money. He had the better end of the bargain.”

  “Did the horse win any races?” asked Robert Darcy, all innocence.

  “Not that I know of,” said Louisa, with a quick laugh.

  Caroline poured Darcy the tea, suppressing an urge to giggle. He took it from her, leaned back in his seat, and threw her a mocking glance. “No sign of Colonel Fitzwilliam yet, I see,” he remarked.

  Caroline’s back stiffened. “Perhaps he will be here tomorrow,” she said lightly, determined not to allow him to rattle her, though why she should be rattled by the mention of Colonel Fitzwilliam she could not imagine.

  He grinned in response. “I am eagerly awaiting his arrival,” he said. “I cannot wait to benefit from his superior experience.”

  Caroline did not dignify the jibe with a response. But it occurred to her that it was by no means certain that Colonel Fitzwilliam would be able to take time off from his military duties, and it was quite possible that they would be travelling to Pemberley with only Mr Robert Darcy as company.

  As nightfall approached, in fact, she began to doubt that the colonel would join them. He had sent no word. Very likely he had been posted somewhere with his regiment, and had not even received her brother’s letter. She resigned herself to the idea that their journey would be uncomfortable. Despite Mr Darcy’s confidence, there was more to travelling than which road to take. Some of the inns along the way had inferior horses, or provided inferior service or were very slow. Their journey in such situations could be considerably lengthened. Still, as long as they were able to stop at the George in Stamford, they were at least guaranteed one night of comfort.

  But just when she had accepted the inevitable, a commotion in the courtyard suggested the colonel’s arrival. Caroline did not wait for him to be anno
unced and hurried immediately to the doorway. She welcomed him warmly as he dismounted, taking him by the arm and drawing him into the house in a manner that seemed to please him. It took only Louisa’s remark that he had come to save them to make him feel that his fast gallop from London was well worth his while, and he was soon comfortably installed in their presence, with Mr Darcy quite sadly neglected. Though one would hardly suppose he noticed, as he was so engrossed in the book he had found.

  ***

  For the first time in weeks Louisa suddenly came to life at the dinner table. Caroline realized, watching her, how much her sister suffered from her forced retirement to Netherfield, with only the village of Meryton close by. Louisa did not fare well in the country. She was too engrossed in London society to be happy away from it. She seized on Colonel Fitzwilliam’s presence to deluge him with questions about friends and acquaintances she had not seen since they left.

  Caroline and her sister had spent part of the season in town. But Louisa’s mourning confined them to a small circle of friends. And though Caroline herself was not in mourning, she was constrained by her sister’s circumstances. She could not hold dinner parties or evenings in the Bingley town house, and eventually felt embarrassed accepting other people’s invitations when she could not issue any of her own. Moreover, it became more and more difficult to be merry when her sister was so plainly discontented. So they had left town at the end of June, just after the height of the season, and resolved to settle in Meryton until Louisa was in half-mourning. It had now been three months since they had been in Town.

  The colonel replied to Louisa’s questions with good humour. But when it seemed that they would never come to an end, Caroline was forced to intervene.

  “Oh, do give Colonel Fitzwilliam a chance to take a breath, Louisa. You have plied him with queries the past half hour at least. You are depriving him of his food.”

  She smiled sympathetically at Colonel Fitzwilliam, who smiled back warmly. “Oh, I do not mind at all,” he said, handsomely.

  “I am sorry, Caroline, to have seized the conversation,” said Louisa, slyly. “I am sure you have enquiries of your own to make.”

  Caroline flushed. She could not correct her sister in public, but she did not know how to put an end to her lack of discretion. She did not wish Mr Darcy to know anything more about her private concerns.

  It was time to change direction. For in the midst of Louisa’s thirst for gossip, Mr Darcy had been completely neglected. No one had addressed a single word to him since the beginning of dinner.

  “My enquiries can wait for another time,” said Caroline, smoothly. “I was rather more interested in knowing the latest news of Napoleon.”

  Colonel Fitzwilliam nodded approvingly. Mr Darcy, who looked like he was ready to slide under the table, sat up straighter in his chair and paid immediate attention. “Ah, yes,” he said, “I am very eager to hear the latest news, for I have been unable to obtain a newspaper in Meryton.”

  “There is nothing new, in fact. Napoleon is licking his wounds after the defeat in Berlin, and is struggling to retain control of his supply lines by withdrawing to Leipzig. He has sustained heavy losses, and his army has dwindled. The next few weeks should be decisive. Who knows, perhaps the war will be over sooner than we think.”

  Louisa shrugged. “I find this talk of war too dismal,” she said, peevishly. “Napoleon is much too far away to attack England, so his movements are of no concern to us, surely?”

  “I am afraid they are of vast concern to me,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam, “for if the war does not end soon, it is likely my regiment will be sent to fight. But you are right. Military matters hardly constitute suitable conversation for ladies’ ears.”

  Caroline, who would have liked to learn more about the latest events of the war, would have protested, but by the time she began to speak, Colonel Fitzwilliam was entertaining them with the latest news about London theatre.

  “The talk of the town is Delpini’s Don Juan, though it is but a pantomime, and plays at the Lyceum. I have not seen it, but those who have are showering it with praise. Otherwise there is little of interest at the moment.”

  “Oh,” said Louisa, her eyes shining, “you cannot mean that. The theatre is one of the things I miss most in London. Why, it was just a year ago that the new Drury Lane Theatre opened its doors, with Robert Elliston performing Hamlet. I am sure no one spoke of anything else for days. Do you recall the occasion, Colonel Fitzwilliam?”

  “Of course,” replied Colonel Fitzwilliam readily. “Elliston was all he should be. He cannot hold a candle to Kemble, for he lacks the necessary decorum. But he plays a tolerable Hamlet.”

  Caroline turned to Mr Darcy graciously, noting that he had not contributed a word. “Are you fond of Hamlet, Mr Darcy?” said Caroline, in her role as hostess.

  “I suppose it is a good kind of play,” said Mr Darcy, “if you like graveyards and skeletons.”

  Louisa gave a gasp of outrage. “How could you, Mr Darcy? When it is the work of the great Mr Shakespeare!”

  Colonel Fitzwilliam turned to her. “Perhaps in the colonies they do not venerate Mr Shakespeare as we do, Mrs Hurst.”

  But Caroline had noted the gleam in Mr Darcy’s eyes. “I do believe he is teasing us,” she said. “For I have read that, in the United States of America,” she paused to emphasize the words, “there is a lively tradition of theatrical performances, and that Shakespeare is very much in vogue.”

  Mr Darcy gave her an appreciative glance. “Very true, Miss Bingley. I am afraid you have quite caught me out. How could I avoid admiring Shakespeare, when the masters at my Latin School, that venerable institution, instilled it in me? How could I set aside those oh so famous words when they were drilled into my head? ‘Alas, poor Yorick!—I knew him… and now, how abhorred in my imagination it is! My gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips that I have kiss’d I know not how oft...’” He raised his glass in salute. “No, it is not something one is likely to forget.”

  Since Caroline could not decide whether he was mocking himself, his school, or Shakespeare, she thought it wiser not to respond. There was more to him, perhaps, than met the eye. However, she had no intention of coming to understand him better. Their worlds were far apart, and she appreciated her position in society too much to find interest in anyone who so clearly was not a part of it.

  Across the dinner table, Caroline eyed Colonel Fitzwilliam with approval. It was good to be with a gentleman who understood his place in the world. One knew precisely what to say to him and how to behave with him. And he was a handsome man. His chestnut hair fell over his light brown eyes in just the right way, and his shoulders filled his coat nicely. He was impeccably dressed.

  Her scrutiny returned to Mr Darcy. His dark hair—quite like his cousin’s—was arranged in fashionable waves, but the waves were irregular enough to appear wild. His clothing was elegant and well cut, but was just a little too loose on his frame, as though comfort was more important than correct fitting. As for his high standing collar, it did not reach quite as high as it ought in a gentleman who wished to be thought proud.

  But then he turned, and his gaze met hers, and she noticed that he had very fine eyes. So fine, in fact, that she found it impossible to look away. They were intensely blue. They caught the moving light from the candles and shimmered, rippling between shadow and light. For a minuscule moment, she was riveted, fascinated by the flickering shades within them. Then reason asserted itself and she wrenched her head aside.

  Flustered, she turned to request more wine from the footman.

  ***

  The following day Caroline saw little of either gentleman. She was busy with the type of household arrangements that preceded a long absence—ensuring that all the packing needs for their journey were in hand, seeing that the covers were placed on the furniture, and organizing the tasks of those servants who would follow after them. And she was spared the trouble of planning dinner, for the two gentlemen sent word that the
y would take their evening meal at the inn in Meryton, where Colonel Fitzwilliam was to meet some of his acquaintances.

  Caroline was surprised, therefore, when Mr Darcy was announced just after dinner. She had just settled down to some sewing and was looking forward to a relaxed evening before they set out on their journey. Louisa remarked, quite without civility, that she had not expected to see him tonight.

  Mr Darcy was unperturbed by this less than cordial welcome. “Oh, I have never mastered the ability to spend the night before a journey carousing. I find myself quite unable to wake up early enough, and it puts me quite out of sorts the whole day.”

  He sat down at Caroline’s invitation.

  “If you cannot hold your cups well,” remarked Louisa, “I suppose that would be the case. Mr Hurst, I recall, was quite capable of drinking several bottles of port, playing cards until the early hours, then rising after two hours of sleep and setting out on a long journey.” She sighed. “But I understand not everyone could be his equal.”

  Mr Darcy inclined his head, his face impassive. “You are perfectly correct,” he said. “I for one would not be able to undertake such a thing.”

  Caroline could not help but admire Robert Darcy’s restraint. She herself was quite tempted to say that perhaps if he had not indulged himself so badly, Mr Hurst might still have been with them. But one did not say such things, of course. She could, however, make amends for her sister’s rudeness.

  “You are perfectly correct, Mr Darcy, for you will make a poor companion if you were nursing a headache the whole day. It would be rather uncomfortable to be confined in a carriage for hours with someone who is determined to do nothing but growl.”

  “I would never be so bad mannered as to growl at you, Miss Bingley, no matter what the circumstances,” said Robert Darcy, irrepressibly. “In fact, now that I think about it, I do not believe I have ever been guilty of doing such a thing.”

  Caroline sighed. Her attempts to put him at ease seemed quite wasted. Certainly he did not appreciate them. And she had no idea if he was flirting with her or not, since his words could be understood in any number of ways. But she had no intention of encouraging him, if that was his intention.