A Convenient Marriage Volume 1

by Meg Osborne

  “Which is not always something to be despaired of!” Mrs Bennet said, with a beaming smile towards the couple she would never previously have dreamed of pairing, yet rejoiced over. The problem of Longbourn’s going to Mr Collins in the fullness of time had even receded a little in her list of cares, for what was Longbourn, when one might join one’s daughter at Pemberley?

  “Even a new acquaintance of ours has departed for London,” Lydia remarked, with a sly glance towards Darcy. “He is a friend of yours as well, it seems, Mr Darcy!”

  There was something in Lydia’s tone of voice that struck Elizabeth as a danger, but before she could warn Darcy not to persist in questioning her sister further, for surely that was what she was angling for, that she might deliver whatever verbal blow she had stored up in preparation, he had spoken.

  “Oh?” There was a slight smile playing about his features as if he believed Miss Lydia joking with him, and patiently acquiesced to her need for his interest before she delivered the punchline.

  “Mr Wickham,” Lydia said triumphantly. “He has recently become known to us through his connection with the regiment and what an agreeable gentleman he is!”

  “Gentleman?” Darcy’s voice was choked, and Elizabeth could well see the light that flashed in his eyes was not enjoyment or entertainment at Lydia’s story, but rising anger at its subject.

  “Indeed! He once escorted Kitty and I all the way back from Meryton, despite it being quite far out of his way, because he did not wish for us to carry our purchases alone and unaided! Is not that kind?”

  “I am sure it is no more than any gentleman’s responsibility,” Elizabeth interposed, fearing that, if pressed, Darcy would not manage to contain his frustration.

  “Oh, do not speak so dismissively, Elizabeth! Mr Wickham is the very soul of a gentleman, having lived such a life of disappointment and yet persisting in rising above his circumstances to make a success of himself.” Mrs Bennet explained that, upon the party’s arrival at Longbourn, she herself had insisted on his staying with them for a cup of tea, finding him to be a very agreeable, amusing individual.

  “He certainly possesses the ability to win people's hearts with considerably little effort,” Darcy ground out, keeping his gaze fixed on the ground. “But I would not take that as proof of his good character. I am surprised he acknowledged our past...connection, for it was not a happy one, I assure you.”

  “Oh!” Lydia laughed, oblivious to the seriousness of Darcy’s words. “He did not! At least, not at first. It was not until we spoke of Mary’s engagement to Colonel Fitzwilliam he confessed that he knew both of you, and that you, Mr Darcy, had been a great friend of his some time ago, but that some disagreement had left you at odds.” She shook her head. “He seemed very upset at the loss of your friendship Mr Darcy, but explained he could no longer stay in Hertfordshire, for he had pressing business matters that called him to London.”

  “And did he not have responsibilities to the regiment that would detain him in Hertfordshire?” Darcy asked, drily. Lizzy watched the interplay of shadows over his face, wondering how it could be that she knew his features so well and so little at the same time.

  “Oh, then you do not know!” Lydia exclaimed, obviously delighted to be the one to deliver this news.

  “He has quit the regiment!” Kitty broke in, ignoring the scowl her sister sent her for ruining her own announcement. “He has!” She nodded. “Yet I do not doubt it will all work for the best, for now, if he is in London too, you might have the opportunity to repair your relationship and be friends once more. Wouldn't that be a fine thing?”

  DARCY WAS GLAD TO BE on his horse and not forced to take the journey back to Netherfield on foot. He took the route at a gallop, and it was not until the wind began whipping past his ears that he felt certain he could think clearly at last.

  So, Wickham has gone to London, he thought, grimly. I ought not to be surprised. Even without Richard’s word in the ear of his commanding officer, I do not doubt our presence in Hertfordshire would have unsettled him. But why then hasten to London, where he was more than likely to run into them once more? The matter was a puzzle, but then when had Darcy ever been able to successfully discern Wickham’s reasons for doing what he did? The man appeared to act without thought, inciting chaos wherever he went, yet Darcy fancied it was the illusion of chaos, only, for Wickham was, and had always been, a shrewd strategist. He had escaped the consequences of his actions more times than Darcy could count, a habit he had thought his friend would grow out of. Darcy tightened his grip on the horse’s reins, pulling on them to ease his pace. Instead, Wickham had only worsened with age, it seemed to him. His affairs harmed innocent people, and yet he never seemed to feel the weight of them himself. Darcy thought again of Georgiana. He had begun to soften towards the idea of reuniting with her before Christmas, and had wondered if he might seek to have her with them for the wedding, or soon after, if things continued moving at such a pace. She had been sent word of his intent to marry, but he had carefully left the details vague, certain that admitting to his sister the pertinent information of date and location would merely firm her resolve, and she would arrive without any word preceding her. Now, no matter his own eagerness to see his sister once more, and to have Elizabeth know her and be known by her, he was not about to invite her to precisely the place where she might cross paths with George Wickham once more. She had only narrowly evaded his clutches once before, at considerable cost to her health and Darcy’s pocketbook. He had extricated Georgiana from Wickham’s circle, but she had been reluctant to see the wisdom of their separation, having believed Darcy to be separating them for his own ends, out of some misplaced resentment towards George Wickham, a lie that the latter had fabricated in an attempt to keep Georgiana from confessing all to her brother before they could safely have got away. Had it not been for Richard by his side, corroborating his story and siding with him against Wickham, he did not doubt that Georgiana would have held the action against him even now, rather than taking the blame still more heavily upon herself. That had not been his intention. There was only one person to blame for the affair, and his name was George Wickham.

  Well, London is a large place, we need not associate closely, he reminded himself, turning at length towards Netherfield, having exhausted both his horse and the break in the weather. Fat raindrops attacked him from on high, and the dark clouds matched his mood, spurring his thoughts on to stormy reason, rather than the peace he had hoped to achieve with activity. By the time he reached Netherfield he was soaked to the skin, but he barely noticed the chill his sodden clothing set into his bones.

  “Mr Darcy!” Caroline Bingley must have been lurking in the hallway watching for his return, to be able to greet him so immediately he crossed the threshold. “Oh dear! I was hoping you would not be caught in such a downpour.”

  “It is nought but a little rain, Miss Bingley,” Darcy said, dismissing her concern. “I have survived worse.”

  “Yes, but -”

  “If you will excuse me, I shall retire to my room and change before dinner.”

  There was easily another few hours before their evening meal, but even if Darcy had not been busily processing the news of George Wickham’s hasty relocation to London and fearing for their reacquaintance once he himself took up residence in town once more, he would still be in no humour to make small talk with Charles’ sister. She had been punishing him, he had thought, for his engagement to Elizabeth Bennet, with woeful glances and an abundance of silence, which he might have felt deeply, had he ever cared for her conversation to begin with. As it stood, he found her pointed sighs to be a blessed relief from her continual attempts to insert herself into his conversation, his interests, his line of vision. She had, at least, chosen to remain silent on the topic of Elizabeth Bennet, when her first barbed comment had been met with sharp reprimand not only from Darcy but from Charles as well. The silence had intensified, and Darcy had counted himself fortunate.

  “Miss
Eliza will not be joining us for dinner, then?” Caroline hurried out, desperately, as he took the first two steps towards the sanctuary of his first-floor accommodations.

  “I was not aware you had invited her, Miss Bingley,” he replied. “Otherwise I am sure she would have been glad to accept, along with her sister, who, I believe, has not been welcomed in this house these past several days.”

  “Oh!” Caroline squawked. “Did she say as much? No, indeed -!”

  “Miss Bingley, excuse me,” Darcy said, hurriedly bringing a stop to Caroline’s manufactured indignance. She might deceive her brother with her affectation of friendship towards the Bennets, but Darcy was not so easily led. She liked them even less now than she had upon their first meeting and he would stake his fortune on the notion that it was she and not Charles who sought to leave Longbourn and separate forever from Jane Bennet. Even Darcy had not been immune to the expression of pain in the eldest Miss Bennet's eyes at the mention of Charles Bingley, and he could only imagine that she was hurt and confused by his sudden silence, and by the news that he and his sister intended on leaving Hertfordshire just as swiftly as they had arrived. He would speak to Charles later, if he could secure a moment of his time without his sister hanging on their every word. First, though, he must change his clothing, for, now that he was no longer in motion, his garments hung heavy and sodden, and he was eager to be rid of them. “As you so eloquently pointed out, I was not fortunate enough to escape the onslaught of the weather, and I must change my clothes before I drip half of it onto your brother’s carpet. Good afternoon.”

  Before Caroline could say another word, he had made good his escape, but it was not quite quick enough to escape the frustrated hiss of air she exhaled at his departing back.

  Chapter Four

  The dining table at Netherfield was silent. Well, not entirely silent. Caroline Bingley had tried countless times to instigate conversation, turning first to her brother, then to Mr Darcy, but both gentlemen had rebuffed her in turn. Oh, not out loud. Neither of them had said “Be quiet, Caroline”, but it was evident that this was the prevailing mood of the table. To be addressed directly, either one of them would have had to lift his gaze long enough to acknowledge me at all, she thought, with a self-pitying sigh.

  “Did you ride over to Longbourn this afternoon?” Charles asked, at length.

  This caught Caroline’s ear, not only because it was the first comment her brother had made without prompting that evening, but also because the topic of his comment was Longbourn - or Jane Bennet, Caroline acknowledged irritably - and it was directed to Mr Darcy. Caroline knew, even if her brother feigned ignorance, that Longbourn had indeed been Mr Darcy’s destination that afternoon, but she was curious to see if she might read from his response his feelings on the matter.

  “I did,” Darcy replied, lifting his attention from his plate long enough to regard Charles, whose expression was rapt on his response. “I ought to have invited you to visit with me, had I the notion that you wished to.”

  “Oh! Well -” Charles glanced over at Caroline, and she shook her head, ever so slightly. His cheeks flamed, and he dropped his gaze back to his barely touched meal. “It is perhaps all for the best that I do not. Call, that is.” He cleared his throat. “One does not wish to appear too eager...”

  “Too eager?” Darcy snorted. “And since when have appearances been of any concern to you, Charles?”

  “Since Jane Bennet made her feelings for my brother perfectly plain.” Caroline spoke sharply, wishing to quickly bring the topic to its conclusion before Mr Darcy’s interference sparked her brother’s feelings back into full fervour just as she had begun to quash them. She dropped her voice. “Or rather, her lack of feelings.” This had been intended only for Mr Darcy’s ears, but Charles evidently heard her words, for his head and shoulders sank still lower towards the table. Caroline felt a flicker of guilt, then. Was she cruel, to pierce his hopes like this? And yet, no. It was all for his own good. Charles deserved someone far better than Jane Bennet, and if he was prone to allow a little summer flirtation go too far, then she must be the one to bring it screaming to a halt before things got too far out of hand. Mr Darcy had evidently chosen to seal his own fate by allying himself with Eliza Bennet, but Caroline was not about to permit her brother to make a similar mistake.

  “Oh, has she?” Mr Darcy asked, in a tone of voice that was not entirely pleasant. The look he fixed upon Caroline was equally unpleasant, and she began to wonder how she might ever have thought him handsome, when his eyes flashed so with anger, and he drew his lips together in a line that suggested he saw through her ruse and despised her, when she was, she assured herself, only acting as any sister ought.

  “Let us not speak of it at the table,” she said, lifting her chin in defiance and insisting, as they had deigned at last to speak, that she might at least steer the conversation towards a safer topic, and one in which she had rather more interest. “I trust the plans for your wedding proceed with all speed, Mr Darcy? Tell me, when do you and Miss Eliza intend on making your way back to London?”

  “Soon,” Mr Darcy said, after so long a pause that Caroline felt altogether uncomfortable. “She will stay with her Aunt and Uncle Gardiner.”

  “In Cheapside?” Caroline’s response was almost a squawk, so surprised was she that Darcy did not only apparently approve of the Bennet’s having such connections in London, but of Elizabeth spending time there in advance of their union.

  “I believe that is where they live,” he said, coolly. “But perhaps you will be able to confirm that for yourself, Miss Bingley, for I am informed that you and Charles have seen fit to return to town ahead of your schedule as well.”

  “Yes,” Charles said, lifting his gaze once more, and affecting a somewhat brave smile. “There is some good news at last, Darcy. With Caroline and I in London once more, we might be able to attend your wedding and call on you thereafter. I trust you and Miss Elizabeth plan on staying in town for Christmas?”

  “That is our intention,” Darcy said. “And you would be most welcome, at any time, Charles. Richard and Mary are there too, so I do not doubt we shall have many evenings together -” his voice became audibly less inviting as he turned to Caroline. “You are of course invited to accompany your brother, Miss Bingley, should you find yourself without a better choice of occupation.”

  Caroline smarted from the coldness of his address, but she plastered a smile onto her features, unwilling to admit how his dismissal hurt her.

  “How kind you are, Mr Darcy. It will indeed be so charming to spend time with you and Miss Eliza in your new home. However will she manage to be mistress of it, I wonder?”

  “I have always found her to be most able at managing, Miss Bingley, though I will ensure to tell her of your concerns.” He paused to lift his wineglass to his lips, never looking away from her as he did so. His gaze was so stern that Caroline found herself forced to break away first, returning her attention momentarily to her plate. How was it that Mr Darcy, whose good opinion she once felt certain she had attained, was so changed in his feelings towards her? Now, she felt as if he was warning her that whatever tricks she might attempt in protecting Charles from an entanglement with Jane Bennet, he would seek to undermine. How could he be so easily deceived, so utterly changed? At first, it had been he, rather than she, who warned of a potential connection between Charles and Jane. Now he was determined to route her plans and reunite them.

  The conversation turned to Colonel Fitzwilliam, while Charles made polite enquiries as to how Mr Darcy’s cousin fared in his marriage and in London, and Caroline allowed the short snippets of conversation to fade around her. She had little interest in Colonel Fitzwilliam, feeling him to be of limited use to her in terms of connections or by virtue of his own career. He is only a second son, after all, she had reasoned, and his brother was already old and married and scarcely worthy of her notice. Had Colonel Fitzwilliam been an ally in her securing Mr Darcy’s affections, well, that m
ight have warranted him her notice, but he seemed altogether more interested in bringing both he and his cousin forever into circles with the wretched Bennet family, choosing out of all of them the plainest, most insignificant of the five for his own wife. Caroline despaired of any gentleman’s ability to think rationally. She had once thought it possible of Mr Darcy alone, but even he had proved her incorrect, and she was forced to acknowledge his far inferior intellect.

  What a pity, she thought, sliding the remains of her meal around on her plate. How different I envisaged this Christmas being. She had dreams of an engagement of her own, perhaps a marriage, perhaps Pemberley, even! But all that was lost to her, on account of Eliza Bennet’s scheming. Still, she was not entirely bereft. At least she would not be forced to trail after Charles’ new wife and pretend to be happy about surrendering her position as mistress of Netherfield - or wherever her brother ended up next, for she felt sure that once they quit Netherfield for London she might easily be able to advise Charles against returning. No, provided Charles remained single, her position was safe. And if they were in London, there was every possibility she might meet and marry someone herself, in the process of finding someone more suitable for her brother to fall in love with. It ought to be managed easily, Caroline thought, for someone as clever as I am.

  Suitably cheered, she lifted her glass to her lips and drained its contents, doubts only beginning to encroach when she felt herself once more under the scrutiny of Mr Darcy’s dark eyes. This time she would not be so easily cowed and met his gaze with defiance. This time, she noticed, it was he who looked away first.

  “ARE YOU SURE YOU HAVE packed everything, girls?” Mrs Bennet followed her two eldest daughters out towards their carriage, clutching a handkerchief to her nose with such energy that her words were muffled by its soft cotton.