Other Mr. Darcy

by Monica Fairview

  It could only be a trap.

  He had told her at the beginning that he would not continue the engagement. And he had given her very clear reasons. She would not lay her pride on the line by answering wrong.

  “I would say you are forcing me to play blind, for I do not know which cards you are dealing me,” she replied, firmly. “I would say Brag is a gentleman’s game, not a lady’s, which gives you an unfair advantage, for I have never learned to bluff. And I would say that your stakes are too high.”

  She shrugged, abandoning that particular game.

  “If you must have a response, I would say you are gambling that I have forgotten what we agreed upon at the very beginning. But I have not.”

  His lips curled upwards, but his eyes were opaque stones. “Then I would answer that you do not know me at all,” he said. “You have forgotten that I do not like to gamble. I would certainly never gamble with my life.”

  And with that he moved to the door and opened it.

  Frustration lanced through her. “For one who advocates openness,” she called out to his retreating back, “you are remarkably good at hiding behind your words.”

  He did not look back.

  ***

  Caroline was given very little time to determine the meaning of his strange challenge, for barely a half hour later, Colonel Fitzwilliam came to the door.

  George Wickham had breathed his last.

  Chapter 22

  Caroline wanted badly to speak to Robert, but the circumstances made it impossible.

  For one thing, he moved from Berkeley Square to private rooms of his own, and the Bennets moved in.

  Which left Caroline with a dilemma. Now that there was room for her at her brother’s house, she should return there. Indeed, she would have preferred to. And it made perfect sense to rejoin Jane and Charles rather than stay with the Bennets. Surely it was time to start slowly picking up the threads of her life again.

  However, she could not feel comfortable abandoning Eliza to her own devices, with a houseful of people and the funeral feast to plan for. Nor could she be certain that Mrs Bennet would shoulder the burden. She could not come to any conclusion, for she could ask neither Eliza nor Mrs Bennet without seeming indelicate. And as long as she could not reach a decision, she could not leave.

  One more thing prevented her. Robert Darcy. Their last conversation had thrown her into turmoil, and the only way to set her mind at ease was to talk to him. But her only chance of meeting him was in Berkeley Square, for surely he would come to call on his cousin?

  It was really quite exasperating, for Robert’s question would not leave her head, and she slowly grew obsessed with the need to ask him what he had meant. Now that the words had been spoken, they clung tenaciously to life, and gripped onto her so powerfully she could not shake them off.

  Why had he said what he said? If it was to tease her, he had certainly fulfilled his goal. He had certainly proved that she did not know him. Or was it to mock her lack of resolution in bringing an end to their engagement? Was he ridiculing her cowardice?

  And then there was that half whispered thought: what if he had meant what he said? What if he meant everything he said, even that night when he was drunk? What if he really did not wish to end the engagement?

  Then, if that was the case, why could he not have simply stated it outright? Why present it like a riddle and force her to try and puzzle it out? She had always hated charades. She did not enjoy riddles.

  Oh, why had she not stopped him right then and there and asked him to explain himself?

  ***

  “I so detest black,” said Lydia, examining herself critically in the library mirror. “It is the least becoming colour in the world. And in the candlelight, I might as well disappear.”

  “It is not meant to be flattering,” said Kitty. “These are widow’s weeds, Lydia. You are in mourning for your husband and will remain in full mourning for a year, so you might as well get used to it.”

  Kitty lost Lydia’s attention before she even completed her sentence, for just then Colonel Fitzwilliam arrived, and Lydia ran to receive him. “Is it true, Colonel Fitzwilliam, that your regiment is leaving for France?”

  Colonel Fitzwilliam, who had come prepared to offer his condolences, was taken aback, but he answered, quite civilly, “Yes, we are indeed leaving. We expect to depart on Monday.”

  “Oh, I am glad,” said Lydia. “For then you can attend poor Wickham’s funeral on Sunday. Perhaps if you bring some of the officers with you, I will have a chance to say good-bye to them. Though I would have much preferred to wave them off.”

  Colonel Fitzwilliam was quite at a loss as to how to reply to such a clearly inappropriate remark. He frowned, but answered in clipped tones that he would see what he could do. His answer seemed to satisfy Lydia, for she went immediately in search of Georgiana, to tell her the good news.

  Wickham had been moved to Darcy’s house, and was now displayed in his leaden coffin on trestles in what was normally the breakfast room. But since he did not have many friends in London, and they had not made a public announcement, no one had yet come to pay their condolences, so the room did not see much traffic, and was kept shut.

  Mr Darcy had made a half-hearted attempt to convince Lydia that she should keep watch by her husband’s body, since it was customary. But she had protested so vehemently that he had backed down, and contented himself with advising Mrs Bennet on the proprieties.

  “I am well aware of the proprieties, Mr Darcy,” said Mrs Bennet. “But I must admit I see no call for Lydia to be shut up in that room with a coffin when there is no one to witness it.”

  Caroline could not help but agree. It did seem senseless for her to sit there, hour after hour, when she did not really mourn him. There was no sense in maintaining appearances, if they were to receive no callers.

  “It would have been entirely different if an announcement had been placed in the paper,” continued Mrs Bennet, warming to the subject, “for then everyone would have known, and we would have had people coming and going. Then Lydia would have been glad to sit with him, and to receive people’s condolences.”

  Mr Darcy said nothing more, and moved away. Mr Bennet reminded Mrs Bennet once again of Lydia’s uncomfortable circumstances. “You must remember, my dear, that we are trying very hard to avoid scandal, so it would hardly serve to announce Mr Wickham’s death to the world. And there is Captain Finchley to think of. It was he who fought the duel with him.”

  “I do believe you care more for Captain Finchley, who is a stranger, than you care about poor Wickham. In any case, he has fled the country,” said Mrs Bennet, “so why should it matter?”

  “Captain Finchley has gone to fight in France,” said Mr Bennet. “And may yet return, if he is not killed in the fighting. I am sure you would not wish him to hang, for it was hardly his fault that Wickham stole his wife.”

  But Mrs Bennet was not to be appeased. “I cannot help but think it wrong that such a handsome young man has no one to mourn him!” she cried. “It is really too bad!”

  Lydia, who had already been confined for three days in the sick room, was growing so restless that she threw herself onto the sofa, and declared herself ready to escape from the window if she would not be allowed to go out. “For here we are in London,” she said, “and we might as well be in the middle of nowhere, for I have seen nothing of London at all!”

  Kitty looked appalled. “Lydia, you cannot speak so, not when Wickham is lying cold under this very roof!”

  “I am very sorry for poor Wickham. It cannot be pleasant to lose one’s life, though a duel is surely the most romantic way to die—if you must die, that is. But he did not care for me, and now he has left me a widow, and I will be forced to wear these ugly clothes for a whole year. Oh, it is the worst thing in the world! Why is it only women have to wear mourning and forsake society and not men? It is really most unjust!” She looked round the room defiantly. “And if you really want to know what I th
ink of Wickham—I positively hate him for doing this to me!” And with that general announcement, she sprang up and left.

  Mrs Bennet came immediately to her feet. “She is taking it very badly, poor lamb,” she said. “I must go to her. It is really very hard to lose a husband when one is only seventeen.”

  They were destined to receive one visit of condolence, at least. Louisa made an appearance late in the afternoon. Though she was not really a stranger, a big fuss was made of taking her to see Wickham’s coffin, and Lydia brought down her veil over her face, and sniffed into her handkerchief. The visit did not last long however, and the household once again settled into muted restlessness.

  ***

  As it turned out, Caroline did not see Robert until the funeral itself, for, contrary to her expectations, he did not call on his cousin. A funeral was hardly a place to discuss a personal matter, but she hoped at least to set up a time to meet with him.

  The funeral went as well as could be expected, with a minor crisis occurring when Colonel Fitzwilliam arrived without the expected officers. Fortunately nothing marred the solemnity of the moment, and Lydia was actually moved to tears by the words of the officiating clergyman. Caroline was immensely relieved when it was over, for she was gripped throughout with fear that Lydia would say something entirely unacceptable.

  An opportunity to speak with Robert materialized when everyone filed out of the church. The women began to drift back to their carriages, while the men waited for the hearse to be brought out so they could continue the ceremony at the burial site. Caroline spotted Robert standing with Colonel Fitzwilliam. She started to move towards him, but Mrs Bennet called her name.

  “Did you not think this a most splendid funeral, Miss Bingley?” she asked.

  Caroline answered briefly and excused herself. By then, however, Robert seemed to have disappeared into thin air.

  There was nothing to be done except shuffle to the carriage and return to Berkeley Square, where the funeral feast awaited them, and a table with cold meat, pies, and cakes had been set up. Caroline positioned herself in such a way that she could see the door, for she quite expected Robert to walk in at any moment.

  Meanwhile Mrs Bennet exclaimed over how imposing the funeral had been. She admired the funeral procession, marvelling at such finely decorated black horses, with their magnificent ostrich plumes, and such an impressive hearse, and so many mutes and pall bearers with their batons looking very grand indeed, and such a number of hired mourners behind. And she praised Mr Darcy’s generosity, for Wickham had been buried outside London, in a country cemetery, which was so much better than being buried in a church vault in town, for she had heard such bad things about them, and how crowded they were. She continued to talk about the unsavoury conditions of the vaults for a long time, until finally Mr Bennet took her by the elbow and told her she must not continue that way, for she was distressing everyone.

  Mrs Bennet accepted her husband’s reminder, and restrained herself with an effort. She rallied a moment later, however, by saying that she was merely expressing her gratitude to Mr Darcy, for he had paid for everything, otherwise how could they have afforded such a grand funeral?

  “I have entirely forgiven Mr Darcy for not making an announcement in the papers,” she whispered to Caroline, “for he has more than made up for it by arranging such a handsome occasion. In fact, I can hardly wait to return to Longbourn, to describe it all to Mrs Philips and Mrs Long, for they are sure to be impressed, as they have never seen anything like it. I paid particular attention to everything, though I am afraid I am likely to forget some of the details, for there were so many to remember.”

  As the food in the plates diminished, and conversations turned away from the funeral to more general matters, it became increasingly doubtful that Robert was coming. Caroline’s head was beginning to throb, and she excused herself. She did not feel quite herself, so she lay on her bed, hoping a short rest would refresh her.

  She meant to rest for a few moments and then go back down, but to her surprise she fell into a deep sleep, and when she awoke she discovered it was already the next morning, and Robert had come and gone long since.

  ***

  Now that the funeral was over, there was no call for the Bennets to stay in London. With Lydia complaining insistently about not being allowed to see anything, Mr Bennet decided that the sooner they left, the better. The only objection came from Lydia. Both Kitty and Mary seemed quite content to return to Meryton, and Mrs Bennet was fairly bursting with the news and could scarcely wait to get there.

  “I can hardly believe I will see all my friends again, and my dear sister Mrs Philips. I have so much to tell them!”

  Mr Bennet shook his head despairingly. “Well, my dear, if I had thought a funeral would make you so happy, I would have arranged for one much sooner.”

  “And whose funeral would you have arranged, Mr Bennet, I would like to know? There is no one I could think of that I would not miss.”

  “Mine of course,” he said. “Then I would be able to rest and be done with all this nonsense.”

  Mrs Bennet gasped, and brought a hand to her mouth. “Oh, Mr Bennet! This is really too bad of you! You cannot possibly mean it, since we all know what Mr Collins will do if that happened. We will very likely end up in a poorhouse!”

  “Now I wish I had not joked about it,” said Mr Bennet, “for you will speak of nothing else the whole way to Longbourn, and it will be Mr Collins this and Mr Collins that. Even though you know very well that neither Jane nor Lizzy will allow you to starve.”

  His statement cheered her up considerably, and she began to talk immediately about how clever she was to have married her girls so well.

  Lydia, however, was not so pleased. “Jane and Lizzy have married well,” she said. “But what about me? What am I to do? I might as well not have married, for what did I get from it? And now I cannot even marry again, for who will find me appealing in this drab clothing?”

  “That does not signify,” remarked Kitty, “since nobody will see you. Do not forget that you will not be attending parties and dances either.”

  Lydia rounded on her sister. “I hope you will have to suffer a fate like mine, then you will know what it feels like.”

  “I would not marry someone like Wickham for the world,” said Kitty, “so it is unlikely I would suffer a similar fate.”

  Caroline put her hand on Kitty’s shoulder. “Hush, Kitty,” she said, soothingly. “You must not be unkind. This is a very difficult time for Lydia. For you must realize that while you will be free to come and go as you please, she will be very restricted. There is no need to make things more trying for her.”

  She thought Kitty would brush off her hand and sulk, but instead she took it and smiled. “You are right,” she said. “But it is so easy to provoke her that I cannot stop doing it. It is very bad of me, I know.” She leaned over and gave Caroline a peck on the cheek. “I used to think you a conceited, disagreeable person. I am sorry for it now, for you have been very kind. I hope I will see you soon in Meryton.”

  With that she skipped away without waiting for an answer. Caroline understood now what people meant when they said you could have knocked me down with a feather, such was the impact Kitty’s words had on her. She stood watching the young lady bound up the stairs and marvelled that so much had changed in such a short time.

  ***

  Caroline undid the stitches on her embroidery once again, for she had pulled the thread too hard and crumpled up the whole design. She sat in the drawing room with Charles and Jane. With no more reasons left for her to stay at Berkeley Square, she was now once again established in the Bingley town house. It seemed unnaturally still. She would never have expected it, but Caroline missed the clamour and clutter of the Bennets.

  Jane had brought down a basket of things to mend and was quietly intent on her work. Charles was at the writing table, struggling to add up some figures in a ledger. He was beginning to sigh and rub his cheek with
his palm. In a moment, Caroline predicted, he would abandon the task and ask her if she could do it.

  “It is strange how things have worked out as I would have wished,” said Jane. “Though not of course in the case of poor Wickham,” she added hastily. “For the fact is, I can now help you pick out your wedding dress, and you can consult me about your wardrobe—that is, if you would like to. Just say the word, and I am ready to do the rounds of the modistes. I was never happy knowing you were doing it all alone.”

  “Oh, Jane. You are so good to me.” Her conscience twisted inside her as Caroline recalled that Jane and Charles knew nothing of what had occurred between her and Robert.

  “I wonder why Robert Darcy has not called on us,” said Charles. He thrust away the ledger impatiently. “I really cannot get these figures to add up!” he exclaimed. “Caroline, you are the one with the head for figures. Perhaps you might make sense of them.”

  Caroline smiled, though she did not feel like smiling at all. “I will do my best,” she said. “I will apply myself to them after dinner.”

  For a moment, the image of herself ten years from now, having the same conversation with her brother, flashed through her mind. She pushed the image aside. Surely she would not become an old maid, just because Robert would not have her. There would be plenty of other opportunities. She would meet someone who would suit her far better, and she would form a sensible alliance.

  She did not want a sensible alliance.

  A future without Robert stretched endlessly before her, desolate as the moors on a wintry day. An icy bleakness gripped inside and squeezed so hard she felt her lungs would crack.

  It was useless to think of other opportunities, when it was only Robert she cared about.

  “Do not worry,” said Jane, “he will call on you soon, no question about it.”

  But there was a question about it. A very big question. One that she was not even sure he had asked.

  She had had quite enough. She would not let him get away with toying with her feelings in such a manner. She would speak to him, and she would know once and for all.