Other Mr. Darcy

by Monica Fairview

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, touching the edge of his hat. “Now you have hit the nail on the head.”

  She shook her head to clear it. They spoke the same language, but they were worlds apart.

  Light from the windows around the square lit up the cobbled ground in small patches. The sound of hoarse singing and drunken revelry reached her from one of nearby inns. It was incongruous, but it grounded her in reality. She returned doggedly to her purpose.

  “I cannot be responsible for what others have done. Only for myself, and I must make amends. I should not have reached the conclusion I reached. And I had no right to accuse you, having suspected such a thing, unless I had clear evidence. My wretched tongue!”

  He halted abruptly. In the semi-darkness, his voice came from the shadows, his face invisible.

  “No,” he said, and for a moment she thought he was saying he could not forgive her no matter what she said. “That at least you must not regret. You spoke your mind. If you had not, how would I have known what conclusion you had reached? It would never have occurred to me that you might think I was the source of the rumour.”

  “But I should not have said what I said. I should not have accused you of being without scruples. You were right.” She paused, hesitating to say it. “I did distrust you from the very beginning.” Then, because she could not help it, she added, “You must admit our first encounter did not go very well, so I have some justification.”

  “I concede that I should have acknowledged my presence to you that day. It was a misjudgement on my part. It did not seem important at the time.” He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender.

  “It was important to me.”

  “I know that now,” he said.

  “Still, it does not excuse my behaviour,” she continued. “Even if you were at fault—which I know now you are not—there was no call for me to say the things I did. My behaviour was abysmal. It was quite, quite unpardonable.”

  “You are once again indulging in a fit of self-accusation,” said Robert Darcy, “and it serves no purpose at all. If it makes you feel better, I accept your apology.” His shoulders had lost that coiled tension that they had held earlier, though his voice remained distant. “We have many matters to discuss, and I will take this opportunity to do so.”

  He had accepted her apology, but she felt no better. And words could not be unsaid, after all. They inhabited the space between them.

  “Very well, Mr Darcy. Let us discuss other matters.”

  “Regarding our engagement,” he said in a practical tone. “When the Olmsteads approached me, I knew there was no other remedy for the situation but to announce our engagement. I knew also that it was hardly an ideal solution. Something had to be done quickly, and nothing else came to mind. I am sorry there was no chance to warn you. But we did what we could, and now must deal with the results.”

  She nodded. “I am grateful to you—”

  “I am not saying this because I expect gratitude,” he interrupted, “but because we have a few problems ahead of us which must be resolved.”

  “I imagine there is a whole mountain of them,” said Caroline.

  “You are prone to exaggeration, Miss Bingley,” he replied, with a hint of a smile. “Let us reduce them to a few. First and foremost,” he continued, “do we tell the Darcys and your family? Do we convince them that the engagement is real, or do we reveal the truth?”

  “Do you think we ought to reveal the truth?” she asked, knowing she would hate to expose herself and her hopes to be dissected, for there was no other way to tell the truth. But she would abide by whatever he decided.

  “I think it is a better alternative than having them think the engagement is real. But I realize that you are reluctant, especially since it means revealing the truth to my cousin Darcy, so I will leave the decision to you. It is, after all, a private matter. Which brings me to the next concern I wish to raise. I am sure you have already reached this conclusion, but I prefer to be explicit. I have always believed in speaking openly to prevent misunderstandings.”

  She thought of their conversation in the garden two days before. Was it really only two days? It seemed as if weeks had passed.

  Mr Darcy hesitated. When he spoke, he sounded quite remote. “You will not like what I have to say, perhaps, but it is the truth. I want you to have no illusions about our engagement. It is not real, and never will be. I am a stranger here in England, biding my time until the war between us is over so that I can return. I do not wish to complicate my life by becoming involved with an English lady.” He stopped and passed his hand through his tousled curls. “Even though I was brought up as an Englishman, I find it difficult to accept some of society’s rules here. Odd though it may seem to you, I am not comfortable being idle. I like to work. I am afraid some New England Puritan values have rubbed off on me, despite my mother’s efforts.” There was a hint of laughter in his voice, but it quickly disappeared. “I inherited a successful business in Boston, and I intend to make sure it continues that way.”

  A long pause followed. She sensed that he was grappling with words, trying to choose the right ones. “What I say now is not intended to disparage you or hurt you in any way, so I hope you will not take it as an insult. I wish only to make things perfectly clear. If I were, by any chance, to cast my lot with someone here, it would not be with someone like you.”

  She told herself he did not mean it as an insult, but it wounded nevertheless, to hear it spoken so plainly.

  “I do not know how to say this without causing offence,” he continued, and she braced herself for another onslaught. “You and I have nothing in common. We would not deal well together. You are rigid in your opinions and have very specific notions of right and wrong. Propriety is the goal of your existence, and for you the rules of society are paramount. You have a position to maintain, and that is what dominates your life.”

  Caroline shut her eyes. She deserved all this. Even though he did not say these things with malice, there was no mistaking his undertone of disapproval. She deserved it.

  “I, on the other hand, care little for the approval of society. This has been a bone of contention between me and my mother for many years. I take after my father in that, and I am unlikely to change. But that is another matter entirely.” He shrugged. “So you see, we would not match.” The note of finality lingered in the empty square around them.

  Her first impulse was to defend herself. But it would not do. It would be tantamount to arguing that they would match. And in that he was absolutely right. Of course they would not.

  He stopped and turned to face her. “You are a striking and elegant young lady, and clever to boot. I enjoy your company. But it cannot go any further. I would not say this if we were not engaged. But under the circumstances, I must be sure there are no false expectations. You must agree to this. It is my condition for continuing the engagement.”

  “Of course,” she said, haughtily, her pride stung. “You have my word that I will not beg you to continue.”

  She started to walk quickly back in the direction of the inn, the darkness around them a shield against him.

  “I am sorry, Miss Bingley,” he said. “I have been harsh, but it is for the best.” He caught up with her easily. “I hope you do not plan to return to the inn. We still have matters to discuss.”

  “Very well,” she replied, slowing down. “The night is cold, however, and I do not wish to be out too long.”

  “I would not keep you out if we did not need to sort matters out before we reach Pemberley,” he said, in a tone that held a hint of apology. “If you decide you wish to maintain the pretence a little while longer, I am quite prepared to do it. When a suitable interval has passed, you can announce your desire to be released from the engagement. We can use the excuse that you hoped to persuade me not to return to the United States, and that when it came to it, you could not bear the idea of leaving England. I think people would understand your reasoning, even if they did not fully
approve of you breaking the engagement.”

  She must have made some sound, because he paused and looked at her.

  “You disagree?” he said.

  “No.”

  “Good. In the meantime, we will not announce the engagement in the newspapers. The less said about it, the better. The quieter we keep it, the less gossip there will be later. But I would suggest staying away from London for a few months to avoid being in the public eye.”

  She thought of Sir Cecil. There would be no chance at all of resuming that relationship.

  “I am afraid you cannot attach too many hopes to Sir Cecil,” he said, as if reading her thoughts. Were her emotions so apparent? “I am sorry for that, but the situation could not be salvaged, one way or the other. At least this way you have escaped with your pride intact.”

  He had thought about it. He had concerned himself about her, even though he did not like her. She felt humbled by his concern.

  “I am very much indebted to you, Mr Darcy. I do not know how I can ever repay you for your kindness.”

  “I am glad to be of service,” he said. His voice was still reserved, but some of the hardness had worn off. “Is there anything more you wished to discuss?”

  She took a deep breath and, bringing her thoughts into focus, considered. “No. Only that I would prefer, at least initially, for no one to know that the engagement is a deception. The alternative is too uncomfortable, at least for now.”

  “I can understand that,” he said.

  “So, difficult as it may be,” she said, surprised to find herself suddenly quite light-hearted, “we must put aside our differences for the time being and pretend to like each other, if we are to present ourselves as a betrothed couple.”

  Silence reigned. For a moment she wondered if he would refuse. “It will not be so very difficult to pretend,” he said, “since I do enjoy your company. But only if you promise not to hurl accusations at me.”

  She was glad to see his bantering manner had returned.

  “I can only promise to try my best,” she said, with a playfulness that was only slightly forced.

  “Then we will call a truce. At least for a little while.” He held out his gloved hand. She took it, not quite sure what to do with it.

  “One generally shakes hands, when offered a truce,” he said.

  “Oh.” She shook his hand, feeling gauche.

  “I can see you would rather I kissed your hand, as a gentleman should do with a lady. A handshake is perhaps too masculine for your sense of propriety.”

  He brought her hand to his lips and kissed the tips of her fingers. His behaviour was perfectly correct, but he conveyed the impression of doing something risqué. She could feel the heat of his lips through the cloth and it flustered her.

  She stood around uncertainly after he had released her hand.

  “Shall we return to the inn now?” he said. “Even though we are engaged, I do not wish to prolong our absence. We need to be careful not to give rise to gossip, since we are to part later on.”

  She flushed. He was right to remind her, of course.

  They returned silently to the inn and separated for the night. Caroline went up to the bedchamber she shared with her sister, leaving Robert Darcy behind to linger in the tap-room. She was relieved to find that Louisa was asleep. Casting her pelisse onto the back of the armchair, she sank down onto her bed, wondering where things had begun to go wrong.

  She had always thought herself very competent. She had been confident of her goals and her ability to accomplish them. Then, one by one, the threads she had woven had begun to unravel, and now she was left with nothing but a tangle.

  A scene from her schoolroom days rose up in her mind. She was in the parlour at home, engaged in some needlework. She even remembered the pattern she was embroidering, a small robin sitting on a branch and surrounded by snow. It was just a few weeks before her mother’s death when she was fourteen. She had asked her mother how she and her father had met. Her mother had not answered. Instead, she had advised Caroline about her future.

  “Never let yourself be swayed by emotions,” her mother had said. “Emotions are fleeting. They come and go. But reality stays with you forever.”

  The words had seemed so wise. So that when her mother had continued with her words of advice, Caroline had committed them to memory, following them as she would a Biblical commandment.

  “Reality can be hard, but a lady is not without recourse. If she can manage the man she marries, she can manage her life. The most important thing to a gentleman is flattery,” said her mother, and the young Caroline listened intently. “If you can appeal to his vanity, he will stick to you like a burr. Gentlemen, above all, desire to feel indulged and pampered. It is their greatest weakness. And any intelligent woman will learn how to use that weakness to her advantage.”

  Caroline had always believed explicitly in her mother’s capacity to achieve what she wanted, for she had managed the family with an iron fist concealed by a fashionable, feminine glove. Had she not, after all, forged Father from a rough youth into a proper gentleman, received in society and welcomed in the very best circles? Caroline had heard the story so often, and seen the results so clearly that she never doubted it.

  Following her mother’s dictum, Caroline had entered society determined to allow nothing to sway her from her objectives. When still quite young, Charles had introduced her to Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy, and she had decided almost immediately that he was the gentleman she wished to marry. She had exerted every possible effort to win him. She had flattered him and indulged his every whim. She had praised him on every occasion. She had admired his conduct, his clothes, his penmanship, his letters, his sister, his home. And it had not been far from the truth, for she had fallen quite in love with him. But despite every effort she had made, it had not worked. Providence, in the name of Eliza Bennet, had conspired against her.

  And now, yet again, in spite of every effort on her part to fix her interest with Sir Cecil, Providence had intervened and taken him from her. Fortunately, she had not grown attached to him as she had done with Mr Darcy.

  Her mother had not spoken to her about Providence. Nobody had told her that Providence had a way of disrupting all the best placed plans.

  Certainly her mother could not have anticipated her meeting Mr Robert Darcy. Nor could she have imagined her daughter engaged to him. Nor imagined the scorn he displayed towards her daughter. For even if he had not meant it unkindly, Mr Robert Darcy had made it clear that he did not think her worthy of his interest.

  Well, one man’s meat was another man’s poison. What did it matter after all if he liked her or not? In a few weeks—perhaps sooner—their engagement would end, and she need never encounter him again if she wished.

  Meanwhile, as always, she would make the best she could of a very unpleasant situation.

  Chapter 9

  It drizzled the next morning, and Darcy abandoned his box seat to join them inside. Caroline was relieved to see that he was prepared to make himself agreeable. She did her best to reciprocate, but she was gripped by an unaccustomed sense of gloom, and despite all Mrs Drakehill’s lessons, was unable to recover her poise. Her social ineptness was so noticeable that even Louisa observed it.

  “I hope you mean to leave that long face behind when we arrive in Pemberley,” said Louisa, “for you must remember the purpose of our visit is to cheer up Elizabeth, not cast her into despair.”

  Caroline would have resented her sister’s words, except that they reminded her that she ought not to allow her feelings to be so apparent. She made a concerted effort to appear cheerful, and by the end of the journey had recovered enough that she was able to laugh at some particularly absurd comment made by Robert Darcy.

  ***

  They approached Pemberley just as the rain cleared and the sun emerged, casting an orange hue on the world around them. Caroline could not help drawing in her breath at the sight of the large, elegant building. She had hoped to be m
istress of it once. Now she arrived as a guest, but her eye still appreciated its beauty. Her spirits began to lift, for it was an old familiar place and she was glad to be there.

  Mr Darcy emerged from the house to greet them. Her heart stopped beating for a moment. He was as she remembered him. His dear brown eyes, the hair he carefully arranged over his brow, the knot of his cravat—all was unchanged. But in other ways he had changed. His expression was less haughty, his carriage looser, his expression softer than she remembered, and he smiled more readily.

  She realized the moment she saw him how strongly he resembled his cousin.

  Her heartbeat returned to a normal, steady rhythm. All would be well. There would be no unexpected emotional displays. Her humiliating infatuation was gone. The sense of relief was so strong her knees weakened and she stumbled. Mr Darcy caught her and steadied her.

  “Welcome to Pemberley, Miss Bingley,” he said.

  Then everything sprang into motion, and she turned her attention away from him. There was Jane waiting eagerly for them. And Charles, who beamed when Louisa, then Caroline, threw their arms around him affectionately.

  “Anyone would have thought I had been away for years!” he said, in his usual way. “What a fuss!”

  But he loved it, and Caroline was truly glad to see him.

  Jane stepped forward and embraced her. “I am very glad you have come, Caroline,” she murmured, close to her ear, “for I find Pemberley too large and overwhelming. I am quite terrified. I am sure you will manage the household far better than I. Everything seems quite a muddle.”

  “Then we will all just have to muddle through together,” said Caroline, squeezing Jane’s hand reassuringly.

  They were propelled inside, and there was Miss Eliza Bennet—no, Mrs Darcy—lying on the sofa in the drawing room looking pale and gaunt and quite unlike herself, her face drained of its customary vigour. Eliza’s illness had never seemed real to Caroline until now. Shocked by the sight, Caroline went quickly to Eliza’s side.

  “You do not look well at all, Mrs Darcy!” she cried. “Oh, I do hope our presence will not fatigue you. Maybe we should not have come.”