Pride and Proposals

by Victoria Kincaid

  “And the woman herself….” Kirkwood continued, unaware of Darcy’s inner self-castigation, “I understand why Richard loved her. She is beautiful. Have you noticed, Darcy? Those eyes—Goddamn!”

  As his teeth ground together, Darcy refrained from comment; the only words which readily came to mind were oaths.

  However, Kirkwood’s monologue needed no encouragement. “And clever. I could listen to her talk all day. She would be a wonder at running a household.”

  Darcy’s eyes narrowed. Why would Kirkwood consider Elizabeth’s abilities to run a household unless …

  “So I have decided to offer her the protection of my name!” Kirkwood’s smile invited Darcy to congratulate him. “I will visit her house tomorrow afternoon and propose.”

  Silence. Darcy realized Kirkwood was awaiting a response.

  “W-What? Sorry, what did you say?” Darcy was having difficulty processing this pronouncement.

  “I am getting married. Leg shackled. Tied down. The whole bit.” The other man grinned, taking another swig of brandy and setting the glass down on the table. He regarded Darcy with such a broad smile one would think he had invented the entire institution of marriage. “I will marry Miss Bennet!”

  Chapter 14

  Everything inside Darcy was screaming denial, shaking in horror at the thought of another man proposing to her.

  “Ah … you … she … that is … have you thought this through? The marriage, I mean?” Given the circumstances, Darcy was proud he managed a sentence that was even marginally coherent.

  Kirkwood laughed with irritatingly good cheer. Darcy wanted to force the self-satisfied smile from the lord’s face with his fist. “Thought of nothing but this for the last two days. She will make the perfect wife. Oh, I know you might not agree—”

  You would be surprised, Darcy thought darkly.

  “—But wealth and connections are not everything. I have little concern for the opinions of the ton and fortune enough.” So much for the rumors of Kirkwood’s father’s gambling debts.

  Despite his black mood, Darcy had to admire the man’s declaration. If Darcy had arrived at similar realizations before Richard’s proposal, they might now be married.

  “As my wife, no one would dare slander Miss Bennet again.” Kirkwood pounded his fist on top of the newspaper.

  Darcy’s thoughts were a miasma of disbelief, anger, and despair. But amidst the chaos, he seized on one irrefutable fact: he must prevent Kirkwood from proposing. It would be a disaster.

  But as he gazed with hatred at Kirkwood’s beaming face, Darcy could think of no means of thwarting the man’s plans. Kirkwood was in every way an eminently suitable match for Elizabeth. Not only was his family old and established, but they apparently were financially stable. Kirkwood himself did not have a reputation for keeping mistresses, gambling, or drinking. But perhaps additional investigation would yield more information …

  Darcy immediately dismissed the thought as unworthy. Kirkwood had been a stalwart friend of Richard’s and had supported Elizabeth during a difficult time. That should be recommendation enough of his character. Indeed, Darcy would have no concern about the man—if he did not wish to marry the object of Darcy’s affections.

  Darcy fought to keep panic from his face as he realized there was no obvious reason Elizabeth would wish to refuse Kirkwood’s proposal. The lord was every bit as eligible as Richard, even more so.

  However, he reminded himself, Elizabeth cared nothing for fortune, particularly since she had her own source of income. There was a glimmer of hope.

  Without mercenary considerations, Elizabeth would marry for love—or at least affection.

  But … what if she did feel affection for Kirkwood? Certainly they were friends. Perhaps her feelings ran deeper. Darcy would not pretend to understand her heart, and he could not reasonably assume she would decline such a proposal.

  Darcy felt pieces of his life slipping and sliding out of his control. He had not expected to face a rival for Elizabeth’s affections so soon.

  Belatedly, he realized Kirkwood was speaking. “I suppose Miss Darcy is concerned about Miss Bennet.”

  “We both are,” Darcy said firmly.

  Kirkwood seemed momentarily nonplussed by the other man’s tone. “Yes, well, your sister’s mind might be eased if she knows my intentions.” Darcy said nothing, and Kirkwood cast about for a means of filling the silence. “Your support for Miss Bennet is quite admirable. I know it is what Richard would have wanted.”

  Darcy caught and held Kirkwood’s eyes. “We consider Miss Bennet to be a friend in her own right.”

  Kirkwood blinked. “Of course, of course! She is blessed to have friends like you.” Darcy did not reply, instead focusing on not strangling Kirkwood with his own cravat. “So, I thought you would be pleased, relieved, to know I will be lending my assistance.”

  Darcy simmered with rage. Kirkwood thought to bestow a favor on Elizabeth. He had not the slightest conception how fortunate he would be to secure her acceptance. I thought similarly at Rosings, he reminded himself.

  “Miss Bennet may believe it too soon after Richard’s death to consider another betrothal,” Darcy warned.

  Kirkwood’s eyes widened, as though he had not considered the possibility. “But she cannot wait too long, or she will be on the shelf!”

  Darcy sighed and rubbed his jaw. His opinion of Kirkwood was falling rapidly. “She may not wish to marry at all. She loved Richard.”

  “Huh.” Kirkwood considered this notion for a moment. “Well, tomorrow will tell, eh?” He clapped Darcy heartily on the shoulder, while Darcy gritted his teeth. “I would do the deed today, but I have an important card game with Broad and Smallwood. Need to get some of my own back.” Darcy made no response, certain he could not refrain from the foulest language. How could he view marrying Elizabeth as less important than a card game?

  “Very well. I should be on my way.” Kirkwood stood.

  Darcy stood as well, forcing himself to shake the man’s hand. “Thank you for sharing your plans.”

  “I thought you should know,” Kirkwood repeated.

  Darcy considered what he could say without committing outright falsehoods. “I am happy to know she has such friends.”

  “Of course, you must not breathe a word of this until I have the opportunity to visit her tomorrow afternoon!” Kirkwood placed his hat on his head.

  “Please do send word of how you fare,” Darcy requested. Kirkwood gave a nod as he departed.

  Darcy sank into his chair, gulping his brandy. Damnation! What was he to do? He hunched forward in his chair, resting both elbows on the table. He recalled his feelings after her betrothal to Richard. Could he endure witnessing Elizabeth’s betrothal to yet another man? Could he survive it without going insane?

  America would not be far enough away. Perhaps India. Or China. Or the Arctic.

  He felt as if he were witnessing a carriage accident he was powerless to prevent. His mind raced, considering and discarding ways he could prevent the disaster. The truth was inescapable: he could not stop Kirkwood from proposing. Nor could he prevent Elizabeth from accepting. Nothing could stop it.

  Unless …

  Darcy’s eyes opened wide.

  Unless he proposed first!

  When he had been ignorant of Richard’s intentions toward Elizabeth, Darcy had been at a disadvantage. Many times, Darcy had wondered how he would have acted if he had known of Richard’s plans in advance. Would he have proposed first? Would he have bowed out in favor of the better man?

  Today, however, he had been given a warning. He could not prevent Kirkwood from proposing, but he could preempt him.

  Darcy pulled out his pocket watch. Ten o’clock; too late for a visit to Elizabeth that evening. But he could call on her the following morning. Kirkwood might not feel comfortable making a morning call, but Darcy had no such scruples. They had nearly become family; he could claim enough familiarity. Or perhaps he was simply desperate enough
to defy convention.

  After all, he had Richard’s permission to woo Elizabeth. Kirkwood did not.

  Yes, he would go in the morning and propose before Kirkwood was even awake. Eight was probably too early, but nine …. Would he seem too desperate? Should he wait until ten? It would be agony.

  Then a sobering thought struck Darcy; he nearly bent under its weight. What if she still disliked him? He understood little about Elizabeth’s feelings for him. He had returned from Pemberley with the goal of ascertaining the state of her affections, but he had expected to have weeks to learn her feelings and improve her opinion of him.

  Their last meeting had not been auspicious and had left Darcy with the distinct impression that Elizabeth disliked his high-handed ways. Now Kirkwood was rushing in and forcing Darcy’s hand before he knew the state of Elizabeth’s heart. What if she felt nothing more for him than the distant affection one would bestow on an acquaintance? What if she actually disliked him?

  Yet Kirkwood was correct. Elizabeth needed protection; she was too vulnerable as a single woman with a modest fortune living alone. All manner of perils could beset her. Servants might steal from her, unscrupulous men might seek to take advantage of her, or ruffians might invade her home.

  She also required protection from the ton. They were ready to believe any gossip about a woman of no name and little fortune. But they would never dare whisper about Mrs. Darcy. Even the most vicious wagging tongue would know that Darcy would never marry a woman who had dallied with Wickham. No, their engagement itself would handily refute the rumors.

  Elizabeth was a sensible woman. He would help her recognize the advantages in their union.

  Yes, that was how to present it.

  ***

  Elizabeth set down her coffee cup and stared at the day’s newspaper lying before her on the table. She had opened it with some trepidation, but to her relief, it had contained no repetition of the previous day’s scurrilous rumors. Likely it was only a short respite. The item in the previous day’s paper was salacious enough that no doubt everyone in London was talking of it by now. She was little enough known in the first circles, but her association with the Darcys and the Earl of Matlock heightened her gossip value.

  Already, one invitation to afternoon tea had been “postponed,” and an expected invitation to a ball had not been forthcoming. For her own sake, she could certainly bear the deprivation, but she was anxious about the effect on people she cared about.

  Mr. Darcy and his sister had been most kind, and she would not want their reputations to be tarnished by association. And then there was her family to consider. The news from London might not have reached Meryton yet, but it would, and she had no doubt the entire town would be talking of it. If only she could spare her parents such humiliation, so similar to what they had endured with Lydia!

  Her eyes stung, and she blinked rapidly. She would not weep; Wickham was not worth shedding tears over.

  Throughout the night, as she had tossed and turned in her bed, Elizabeth had considered whether she should have paid Wickham, but even now the thought made her ill. And in any event, the damage was done. Perhaps she should leave London altogether. If she were in Hertfordshire, the London newspapers would have little interest in her. Wickham might follow her there, but if she stayed at Netherfield, at least he would be unlikely to pester her parents.

  Elizabeth added a little more sugar to her coffee. Yes, she would travel to Hertfordshire. It would solve many problems, and it would be good to be back with family.

  There was a knock at the front door, and she heard Grayson’s footsteps as he hastened to answer it. Who could possibly be calling at this hour?

  The door to the breakfast room opened. “Mr. Collins, ma’am,” Grayson intoned, his voice somehow managing to convey contempt in a mere three words. I must ask him how he manages that.

  She wished to tell Grayson she was not receiving visitors, but Mr. Collins himself was hovering behind her butler.

  “Thank you, Grayson.” The butler ushered Mr. Collins into the room and closed the door.

  “Cousin Elizabeth! It is fortuitous indeed that I happened to be in London today of all days!” Her cousin’s smile somehow made her feel greasy.

  Elizabeth had no idea what he meant by this but was certain she was about to be enlightened. “Indeed.” She gestured him to a seat at the table and poured him a cup of coffee. “Is Mrs. Collins with you?”

  “No,” Collins simpered. “She remains in Hunsford. I accompanied Lady Catherine on an impromptu shopping trip. We arrived just yesterday and leave tomorrow.”

  Elizabeth nodded, wondering how much spiritual advice Lady Catherine could need when purchasing lace.

  “But the timing of the trip was fortuitous indeed!” Collins clapped his hands together with delight. “When I saw yesterday’s newspaper, I knew that it was incumbent upon me to render such counsel as was within my power to give. In which opinion I am joined by none other than Lady Catherine de Bourgh herself.”

  Elizabeth seethed inwardly at the picture of Collins and Lady Catherine discussing her supposed affair with Wickham and congratulating themselves on their moral superiority—without ever questioning the accuracy of the story. She assumed her most innocent expression. “Surely you recognize that the story in the newspaper was a slanderous falsehood?”

  The man waved that concern away as if it were irrelevant. “You must take immediate steps to curtail this flood of rumor.”

  “I fail to see how I could possibly—”

  Mr. Collins appeared not to notice she had spoken. “Lady Catherine and I agree that you must marry the man.”

  “Which man?”

  “Mr. Wickham.”

  Elizabeth suddenly had difficulty breathing. “W-Wickham? Surely you are joking!”

  Collins smiled complacently. “You must recognize it is the only certain method to stem the tide of gossip.”

  “But he is the source of the rumors!” Elizabeth spluttered.

  Collins shrugged. “Come, Cousin, you cannot possibly have proof of that. And there must be some basis for his—”

  “He is spreading the rumors because I refused to pay off his gambling debts!”

  For the first time, she appeared to have shaken Collins’s certainty that he understood the situation better than she did.

  Grayson had silently entered the room behind Collins and began to set breakfast dishes on the sideboard. His face was mostly stoic, but his pursed lips told Elizabeth he disapproved of Collins’s suggestions, and indeed his very presence.

  Unfortunately, her cousin’s acquaintance with uncertainty was brief. He cleared his throat. “Be that as it may—”

  Elizabeth no longer had enough patience to permit Collins to finish a sentence. “And we cannot marry! The church considers us brother and sister.”

  Collins nodded in a manner he no doubt thought made him appear like a wise man of the cloth. “Lady Catherine and I discussed this impediment, but you could marry legally in Scotland. A trip to Gretna Green would not—”

  Elizabeth’s entire body shuddered with horror at the thought. “Let me make myself clear. I will not marry Mr. Wickham under any circumstances. I would sooner marry Grayson!”

  A clatter rang throughout the room as Grayson dropped a large spoon on the floor. He stared wide-eyed at his mistress. Collins choked on the coffee he had just swallowed.

  A fey spirit seized Elizabeth. “Grayson, you appear shocked,” Elizabeth said. “Do not tell me you are already married?”

  “No, ma’am.” The butler seemed scandalized to discuss even this much of his personal life with his employer.

  Elizabeth smiled broadly at Collins, enjoying herself for the first time that morning. “The problem is solved! If the scandal continues, I will marry Grayson—which will give the papers something else to write about. It is a far superior solution, since Grayson is not related to anyone in my family—as far as I know.”

  “C-cousin, I do not believe … I
–” Mr. Collins had removed a handkerchief from his pocket and was vigorously mopping his brow.

  “You can return to Lady de Bourgh and explain how you helped me devise this admirable solution to my dilemma. I am certain she will be vastly pleased with your interference.”

  Behind Collins, Grayson retrieved the spoon, a small smile replacing his look of utter shock.

  “D-do you n-not feel it is a rather extreme solution?” Mr. Collins stammered.

  Elizabeth tipped her head to one side, as if in consideration. “Well, I suppose I could wait; the scandal may abate on its own. Perhaps it would not be necessary for me to marry anyone immediately.”

  Mr. Collins removed a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his brow. “That might be for the best.”

  “Very well.” Elizabeth shrugged as if it meant little to her. She then stood, prompting Collins to stand automatically. “I will leave it to you to explain that to Lady de Bourgh.”

  She led Mr. Collins to the door before the man was aware he planned to depart. “I thank you for your concern for my wellbeing, and please extend my gratitude to Lady Catherine as well.”

  Grayson hastened to open the front door to the townhouse. Idly, Elizabeth wondered what he had done with the spoon—one of those eternal mysteries about the operations of servants.

  Collins bowed his way out with expressions of delight and promises to convey her regards to Charlotte. Finally, Grayson could close the door behind the man. He regarded his employer with a raised eyebrow. She returned an ironic smile. “Do not be concerned, Grayson. You are safe from my matrimonial ambitions.”

  “So I concluded, ma’am.”

  “My cousin is a fool.”

  “It would not be my place to draw that conclusion,” Grayson said drily.

  Elizabeth laughed. “Richard knew what he was about when he took you into his employ.”

  The butler’s eyes sparkled. “Thank you, ma’am.”

  She pivoted and strode back to the breakfast room. “Perhaps now I may eat my breakfast in peace.”