Darcy By Any Other Name

by Laura Hile

“As I saw,” said Mr. Wickham. “The next time I come, he will be deprived of your company.”

  “Wickham!” Mr. Pratt’s voice was urgent.

  Elizabeth and Mr. Wickham went out into the vestibule with the others. Hill and James were assisting the officers with their overcoats.

  “Listen,” said Lydia. “The snow is noisy. Like pebbles hitting a windowpane.”

  They all fell silent and James opened the door. Pellets struck against the windows of the house and the snowy drive.

  “Sleet, that’s what this is,” said Mr. Denny, grim-faced. “It’s time we were off, lads.”

  Lydia and Kitty said all that was proper, but after the officers had gone, they flounced back into the drawing room. “All our fine plans, spoiled,” said Kitty, casting herself onto one of the sofas.

  “It was good of them to come at all,” Elizabeth pointed out.

  “It was remarkably foolish,” said Mr. Collins. He resumed his seat by the fire. He did not, Elizabeth noticed, take up the fashion periodical.

  “A pity about the weather,” said Mrs. Bennet. “You’ll have an empty church for your sermon tomorrow.”

  Elizabeth whirled to face him. “You are giving the sermon?”

  Mr. Collins’ reluctant look returned.

  “Girls,” chirped her mother, “your cousin is preaching in Dr. Bentley’s stead tomorrow. Won’t that be a fine thing?”

  Only Mary looked hopeful. “Would you care to practice it, Mr. Collins?” she said.

  Mr. Collins looked stricken. “That,” he said, “will not be necessary.”

  “Thank goodness!” Lydia said, and threw herself onto the other sofa. She began picking at the fringe of a cushion. “And we were to have such a splendid time tonight. Now what is there to do? Since we are not,” she added, “listening to sermons.”

  “Mr. Collins could read one,” said Mary helpfully.

  “I thank you, Miss Mary, but I ought to rest my voice,” he said.

  Mrs. Bennet was also looking unhappy. She sighed and found a seat. “You can ring for Hill,” she said, “to clear away those playing cards.”

  “I’ll do it, Mama,” said Elizabeth. Mr. Collins was looking her way, and she did not wish to resume her conversation with him.

  Lydia gave another sigh. “Only ten o’clock. I’ll die from boredom.”

  “Would you care to read?” William Collins held out his magazine.

  “O, lord, I’ve seen that one a hundred times. And if you mean books—” Lydia made a face.

  Silence descended. Mr. Collins got up to add more wood to the fire. Jane and Mary took out their embroidery.

  Presently Kitty wandered to one of the windows and pulled the drapery aside. The click of sleet against the glass was still audible. She stood there a long while, gazing out at the snow.

  At length she wiped at the glass with her hand. “Mama,” she said. “I do believe there’s someone outside on the drive.”

  “In all this snow and ice?” said Mrs. Bennet. “Nonsense. Who would travel on a night like this?”

  “Only idiotic officers,” Elizabeth heard someone mutter. She could have sworn that it was Mr. Collins, but he was occupied with a book. She joined Kitty at the window. “It looks like a traveling coach,” she said.

  “And the horses,” added Kitty, “See how they are sliding on the snow?”

  “But we aren’t expecting anyone,” cried Mrs. Bennet.

  Lydia jumped up for a look. “Is that James? No, it can’t be, can it? But there’s a man out there with the horses. Dear me, he’s fallen. How exciting!”

  Jane came to stand beside Kitty. “Travelers stranded by the storm,” she said. “Surely we must help them, Mama.”

  “Help them?” Mrs. Bennet rose to her feet and came to the window. “But,” she said. “But—”

  “Oh, famous!” said Lydia. “I wonder who they are.”

  “Ruffians and highwaymen,” said Mrs. Bennet. “Come to rob us and drive us from our home!”

  The tap of the door knocker sounded.

  “Lizzy, fetch your father!” Mrs. Bennet cried. “Hill, do not open that door!”

  But Hill could not hear her. Above the tattoo of the sleet came the grind of the bolt being pulled back. The main door whined as it opened.

  “Girls,” cried Mrs. Bennet, “you will remain here. Girls!”

  But Kitty and Lydia had already made a dash for the drawing room door, and they collided with Hill as she came in. A liveried servant, red-faced and powdered with snow, followed.

  “Ma’am,” said Hill to Mrs. Bennet. “A young lady and her companion are seeking shelter.”

  The liveried servant murmured something to Hill.

  “And the lady’s physician,” Hill added. “They are bound for Netherfield Park, ma’am, but the distance is too great. The roads are coated with ice.” She presented a calling card.

  “Take it, Lizzy,” Mrs. Bennet said, gasping. “I am too agitated to read.”

  The card was of excellent quality. “The Honorable Miss Anne de Bourgh,” Elizabeth read aloud. She glanced wonderingly at Mr. Collins.

  The liveried servant stepped forward. “Of Rosings Park, ma’am,” he added. “A right venerable family.”

  All eyes were fixed on Mr. Collins, who was now on his feet. “Anne de Bourgh, here?” he sputtered. “But that’s impossible.”

  “It is all too possible,” said Mrs. Bennet.

  “But why would Ann—er, Miss de Bourgh come to Netherfield?” he said.

  “Why, to see Mr. Darcy, of course,” said Mrs. Bennet. “She is, after all, his cousin, is she not? I daresay the family expects the worst.” She turned to the liveried servant. “Please tell Miss de Bourgh that we will be delighted to offer shelter.”

  And as soon as Hill had gone out, Mrs. Bennet gave a withering look to Mr. Collins, who was plainly flummoxed. “Mr. Collins, please,” she hissed. “Do mind your manners.”

  12No Humor at Present

  From habit Darcy rose to his feet, his eyes fastened on his cousin’s wan face. There was no mistake, this was Anne. Jaunting about the countryside on such a night, with no one but that fool of a companion for protection!

  Mrs. Jenkinson was her usual mousy self, Darcy noted, if mice could be meek and stooped. Her tentative smile never seemed to reach her eyes. But there was nothing new in that.

  And the person with them? A so-called physician, though Darcy had his doubts. The man was sandy-haired and thin. Mr. Bennet came into the drawing room; Darcy’s eyes narrowed as he listened to the introductions. Fleming was his name. The question was, how well did Fleming know Collins?

  Darcy knew the best thing to do would be to scuttle off to bed. But he had become accustomed to remaining unseen, and besides, observation was useful. Ten to one Anne would not notice him.

  Collins himself would have come surging forward to greet Anne and gabble compliments. Darcy remained by the fire. If Anne looked his way, he would bow and then wash his hands. But she did not.

  “My dear,” said Mrs. Bennet, taking possession of Anne’s arm. “What a night to be out! Do come and sit by the fire. Mr. Collins,” she called, “you must surrender your seat.”

  So much for remaining inconspicuous!

  “Miss de Bourgh,” he said quietly. He unfolded the lap robe he had earlier cast aside and held it at the ready.

  Mrs. Bennet led Anne to the fire, clucking and fluttering. “A frightful night, unfit, as they say, for man or beast. Never fear, you are among friends, Miss de Bourgh. Mr. Collins, whom I daresay you know very well, is our relation.”

  The look Anne gave him was not encouraging.

  Darcy knew he ought to smile and say something. A single nod was all he could manage.

  Though travel-worn, Anne’s hair was crimped and braided elaborately. Mrs. Bennet’s sign of admiration was audible.

  And of course, Mrs. Bennet must fuss. “What were you thinking, to be out in such a storm?” she said, bringing a cushion for Anne’s feet. “
For you have been traveling some little distance, if you’ve come all the way from Hunsford.”

  Anne stretched her hands toward the fire. “Coachman John said it was fifty miles,” she said. “And Mr. D-Darcy—” She broke off speaking; her face puckered. Darcy wondered whether Mrs. Bennet would interrupt.

  Anne drew a long breath and rallied. “And Mr. Darcy,” she said at last, “thinks nothing of fifty miles of good road. In fact, he, he—” She broke off speaking and burst into tears.

  At once Mrs. Bennet surrendered her guest to Mrs. Jenkinson and went to Jane’s side. “Oh dear,” Darcy heard her whisper. “What are we to do?”

  “Poor Miss de Bourgh,” was what Jane said. “She feels Mr. Darcy’s injury deeply.”

  Mrs. Bennet blinked. “Er, yes, of course. But what I mean, Jane, is that Mr. Collins has the guest room.” Mrs. Bennet gave Darcy a look.

  “And what is to be done?” she continued. “Where shall we put Miss de Bourgh? And that other gentleman? Gracious, and the companion? Although,” Mrs. Bennet went on, “she can share with Hill easily enough.”

  Darcy felt a stab of compassion for Mrs. Hill. Apparently she had no say in the matter.

  “Miss de Bourgh may have my room, Mama,” said Jane. “I’ll share with Lizzy.”

  Mrs. Bennet accepted this as a matter of course. “I suppose that Miss de Bourgh’s physician can share with Mr. Collins.”

  This was most unwelcome, but what could Darcy do? He could only hope that Fleming despised Collins as much as he did. Given Collins’ character, it seemed a reasonable assumption.

  Meanwhile, Anne sat sniffing into her handkerchief. Elizabeth drew forward a chair. “Mr. Darcy is your relation, I understand,” she said kindly.

  Miss de Bourgh nodded but continued to weep.

  Elizabeth cast a look in Jane’s direction, and she came over at once. Darcy supposed that Kitty and Lydia would come as well, but they remained on the far side of the drawing room, whispering together.

  “We have heard nothing from Netherfield,” said Jane. “So we are encouraged to think that Mr. Darcy is improving, as surely he shall.”

  Elizabeth lifted her head and looked at Darcy. “Mr. Collins,” she said quietly. It was a summons.

  “Have you any news regarding Mr. Darcy’s condition?” In Elizabeth’s eyes was a mute appeal to be tactful.

  Anne lowered her handkerchief. This meant that there were three pairs of eyes fastened on Darcy—three opportunities to be betray himself.

  “Well now,” said Darcy, in his best Collins-like manner, and he twiddled his fingers. He could not help it, Anne was staring so. Too late he recalled his bruised and battered face. No wonder she looked surprised.

  There was nothing for it; having begun Darcy must continue. He puffed out his chest as Collins would do. “He did seem improved this morning, Miss de Bourgh. Mind you,” he added, as Anne gave a gasp, “he is a long way from being his usual self.”

  “For that matter,” murmured Elizabeth, “so are you, Mr. Collins.” But her tone was kind.

  “Er, yes,” Darcy admitted. He turned to Anne. “We were both injured during the same incident.”

  Lydia spoke up. “Mr. Collins and Mr. Darcy were hit by lightning,” she said with relish.

  “Lydia,” said Elizabeth.

  “Well, they were,” Lydia protested.

  “It was not as bad as it sounds,” Darcy told Anne. “Your cousin was able to speak a little this morning.”

  Hope surged into Anne’s eyes and her pinched expression softened. “Did he ask for me?”

  Darcy was taken aback. Not once—no, not ever! —would he think to ask for his cousin. He never thought of Anne at all.

  “I believe not,” he said gently. “In all fairness, he did not ask after anyone.”

  “And did he know you, Mr. Collins?”

  How should Darcy answer? Collins had known him all right, but not in the way Anne supposed.

  “He did,” said Darcy. “But he has been sleeping much of the time. Your, ah, mother was distressed because he did not respond to her.”

  “Oh, Mother,” said Anne. “She always twits at one. I often pretend.” She paused to sniff. “Mr. Darcy is nobody’s fool. I daresay he did the same.”

  Darcy felt his eyes narrow. This sharp observation was not what he expected from timid, badgered Anne.

  “So Mr. Darcy is your cousin,” gushed Lydia. “Just as Mr. Collins is ours.” She giggled a little.

  Anne’s chin came up. “Mr. Darcy,” she said, “is rather more than just a cousin.”

  There was a short silence, and Darcy felt a prickle of discomfort.

  A thin smile appeared on Anne’s lips. “Mr. Darcy,” she said distinctly, “is also my affianced husband.”

  g

  There was a collective gasp, which Anne apparently enjoyed, for she colored up. It was all Darcy could do to keep from gaping. Of all the bald-faced lies! For this was a lie, it had to be.

  Immediately Lydia and Kitty began gabbling nonsense about romance. Lydia came nearer and knelt before Anne’s chair. “Is he in love with you?” she wanted to know.

  “Lydia,” cautioned Jane.

  “Of course he is,” said Kitty. “Else why would he propose?”

  “Do tell us all about it,” said Lydia, and she took hold of Anne’s hand. “We,” she added, “are the soul of discretion.”

  Darcy snapped his lips shut. Another lie from Lydia. Why was he not surprised?

  He expected Anne to recoil, but she did not. Apparently the attention was too tempting. “Our engagement has been of a long duration,” she confessed.

  Oh, certainly! A passing remark between their mothers as they hung over a cradle! Remembered by his scheming aunt and passed on to her daughter!

  “And also,” Anne went on, “Mr. Darcy is such a kind and thoughtful gentleman.”

  Oh he was, was he? Darcy set is teeth. At the moment he was feeling anything but kind.

  “As well as rather handsome,” added Lydia.

  “I’ll say,” said Kitty.

  Anne’s blush intensified. “The Pemberley estate,” she continued, “is lovely.”

  Darcy folded his arms across his chest. What did Anne know of Pemberley? Perhaps she had visited as a girl, although he did not recall it. Hadn’t she been too sickly to travel? No, Anne’s information came from artists’ renderings of the grounds and her mother’s descriptions.

  “To be mistress of so fine a house is something,” said Elizabeth. She sounded sincere, but Darcy detected an ironic twinkle.

  He repressed a grimace. His sickly, timid cousin mistress of Pemberley? Not in his lifetime!

  “Your mama must be so pleased,” Jane said politely.

  “And so are we,” interrupted Kitty. “For the militia is quartered nearby, and the officers come to call quite often. And if you are safely engaged, why then—” Kitty hesitated. “That is to say—”

  Lydia jumped into the gap. “We greatly admire red coats, Miss de Bourgh,” she confided. “Officers are vastly amusing, don’t you agree?”

  Anne was blushing again. “Another of my cousins,” she offered, “is a colonel.”

  “Famous!” cried Lydia. “You admire red coats too! You’ll adore Denny and Pratt and Captain Carter. And Wickham. He is such a fine dancer.” Kitty and Lydia shared a look, and then burst out giggling.

  Darcy pressed a hand to his temple. The thought of Anne in the company of officers made his head ache.

  Hill brought tea, which only served to enhance the growing intimacy. Kitty and Lydia were now in full swing, battering Anne’s chilly shyness with whispered confidences and laughter. Within the family circle girls were talkative, Darcy was learning, and talk meant friendship. How long would it be before Anne was chattering and laughing with them? He studied Anne’s thin face. She was looking rather taken aback, but not at all displeased.

  Lydia slipped into the seat Elizabeth had vacated. “Do tell us about Pemberley,” she said. “We wan
t to hear everything.”

  “Oh, yes,” urged Kitty. “Is it a grand house? Is the park immense? Are there gardens and walks?”

  Even Mary came near to listen. “Is there a music room? And a private chapel?”

  As Anne launched into her description, Darcy suppressed a sigh. He had had enough of lies and half-truths. He rose to his feet and excused himself.

  g

  But Darcy had forgotten about Mr. Fleming. He found the man in his bedchamber sorting through a small traveling trunk that had been brought in. Indeed, the wardrobe was more than half filled with Fleming’s clothing.

  “Collins!” he cried and came forward. “Never did I think to meet you here!” He gripped Darcy’s hand and shook it warmly. “So these are your cousins, eh? And this is the house?”

  The smile transformed Fleming’s face. He did not appear unhealthy, but his clothes hung on him. He needed a tailor almost as much as Collins did.

  But Fleming’s smile was short-lived. “I say, you have been knocked about!” His long fingers stretched toward Darcy’s swollen forehead. “Nasty-looking knot you’ve got there.”

  Darcy pulled away. “Isn’t it just?” he muttered.

  Fleming did not press the point. “You cannot imagine my relief,” he said, “to see you here, old boy. Nothing like the face of a friend to put heart in one. I am not cast adrift among strangers.”

  So Fleming was a friend. “It has been quite a night,” said Darcy cautiously.

  “Isn’t that the truth? I thought my number was up back there at the bend,” Fleming said. “We nearly overturned, not once but several times. Old John’s a marvel, for we were sliding all over the road. All praise and credit due him.”

  Darcy pursed up his lips without realizing it.

  “Er, sorry,” said Fleming. “Praise to God as well. A pleasure to be where it’s warm.”

  Darcy’s gaze shifted to the smoking fireplace. “You are jesting, surely,” he said.

  Fleming was not at all stupid, and he took Darcy’s meaning at once. With long strides he crossed the bedchamber and added several logs to the fire. The blaze caught, and Fleming stretched his hands to the warmth.

  “Compared to spending the night in the Lady Catherine’s barouche,” he said, “or more probably, leaving it to the ladies and sleeping underneath, this is a maharajah’s palace.” His grin widened. “Mighty fine set up if you ask me.”