The Darcys and the Bingleys

by Marsha Altman

  “Conveniently, I am not a gentleman. And I will insist.”

  “If—,” but he turned and looked at his wife’s beautiful face. “You have me at your mercy. Surely you realise that. Now you are taking advantage of it.”

  “The book, Charles.”

  Bingley grunted nervously and turned back over, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Jane stroked his bare back as he reached under the bed and retrieved the book stashed beneath his blue top hat and several other books, one of them a Bible. He passed it over his shoulder before climbing back into the bed and under the considerable covers.

  “My heavens,” Jane said as she opened the innocent-looking cover. “Where did you get such a book?”

  “I have already told you.”

  “I mean, where would such a book originate?” She added, “Are these people human or monster?”

  “It is from India, and that is their style of drawing. This much I do know from my illustrious Cambridge education, though the nature of the drawings in the books there were more concerning local religious figures.”

  “It is very unrealistic.”

  “Yes, but nonetheless very instructive.”

  Jane leaned over and kissed him. “I have no complaints.”

  But she did not return the book. Instead, she put it on the table on her side of the bed.

  Chapter 10

  The Nickname

  The carriage driver for Mr. Darcy of Pemberley and Derbyshire was not accustomed to waiting. It was not that the coachman was a particularly impatient man, but years of conditioning had taught him that Mr. Darcy valued promptness and never once made his servants wait when an appearance time was set. Therefore, he could hardly believe it when Mr. Darcy’s manservant came down and said that they would be delayed a day. In fact, he didn’t believe it until Mr. Darcy appeared himself, all prim and proper, to explain himself. “Well, you know . . .” then he trailed off very uncharacteristically and went back into the townhouse. He was told by the servants to report back the next day at the same time, and when it was quietly explained to him that there was a Mrs. Darcy also in residence, he nodded with complete comprehension.

  Back in the confines of his bedchamber, Darcy hastily shed all of the complex layers of wool that he had put on just to step outside. The whole process was ridiculously long even with his manservant’s help on one end and Elizabeth’s help on the other, a notion she found very amusing. “Just to speak to the driver?”

  “I will not appear in public as a rogue.”

  “Yes, because you would look quite villainous without the proper knot on your cravat.”

  “What would Town think of me then?” he said with a smile, finally willing to laugh at his own ridiculousness. “I will not stand for it. The Darcy honour is too great.”

  “Not great enough to regulate your behaviour to your wife.”

  “And how else am I supposed to behave in front of a wife?” he said, and then frowned.

  “Darcy, what is it?”

  “Now I have the terrible image in my head of my mother and father rolling around on the bed, to be blunt about it.”

  Elizabeth lay across their wide bed as he knelt on it in front of her. “Well, considering the evidence of the existence of both you and Georgiana . . .”

  “And considering the existence of your four siblings, your parents must have been very adventurous indeed.”

  She covered her mouth. “Darcy, now you’ve done it to me!”

  He gave her that innocent look, which of course meant it was anything but innocent. “I was merely stating the obvious.”

  “Sometimes the obvious does not need to be stated! Now it will not leave my mind.”

  “Hmm.” Darcy smiled, and leaned over her. “I will have to distract you, then.” As he kissed her, she tugged his shirt off and was indeed very distracted. There would be no trip to Pemberley today, they had decided. A very long ride was a very daunting prospect when things were perfectly lovely here in Town. Not that she would be without entertainment on the road, as she had a whole number of things to wring from her husband’s mind, but some things just couldn’t be done in a carriage.

  She was right about one premarital notion—that the events would leave her quite exhausted. Which events would leave her most exhausted she was mistaken about, but they did spend much of the next day, when not otherwise engaged, sleeping soundly in each other’s arms. Trays of food were left at the door, and eventually they decided to make a ragged appearance at the dinner table, which required leaving the bedchamber for the first time in nearly a day. Even on short notice, the servants had a sizeable (and this time, more presentable) meal prepared, but there was no formality to the dinner whatsoever beyond what the servants were wearing—wigs and all.

  “Darcy, we look more like two ruffians who have broken in and taken our leisure of this wealthy man’s apartment,” she stated, when the servants had stepped out. As amused as she was, it was still downright bizarre.

  “If it would suit you, my dear, I would put on all four layers of waistcoat and dress myself up for a royal ball,” he offered, “but then I would have to spend quite some time taking it all off again.”

  “Quite right.”

  They retired as early as they could manage on full stomachs. She had never seen Darcy like this, though she had hints of it during his second proposal and that night at Netherfield. She decided that if this was what the illustrious Darcy of Pemberley was like in private, she soundly approved. No wonder his sister was so ready in her expressions of sibling affection. She wondered if anyone else had ever seen this side of him—perhaps his servants, but she doubted it. Bingley was an unlikely candidate, but honestly, he was the furthest thing from her mind at the moment.

  “What are you giggling at?”

  “That you are so different in the ways you present yourself, Darcy,” she said. “So, I should call you Darcy like everyone else?”

  “You may call me whatever you please,” he said. “Though I would prefer whatever nickname you invent to display some affection and not be a formality like Mr. Darcy.”

  “‘Of Pemberley and Derbyshire.’ Yes, suppose I were to call you that every single time, as if I were constantly announcing you.”

  “You would tire of it quickly, I am sure,” he said as he tickled her on the bed. “What bothers you so about ‘Darcy’?”

  “Nothing. I am merely curious as to the range I am to be allowed. I hear many stories about how you are a great lover of your baptismal name.”

  “Many stories? I know you know but one.”

  “Unless Bingley has spread that one around considerably, there must be another, because I have never heard anyone call you by your name.”

  “I think it is that more people are following in other’s footsteps on the matter.”

  “I confess I do not entirely believe you.”

  He was trying to hold out, she could tell. But she tapped him on his chest with her feet, and between that and her smile, it seemed to be enough to drag him out of whatever closed stance he was trying to enter into. “Fine. I will tell you the whole story, though it does not reflect well on either person chiefly involved.”

  “I will forgive you in advance and assume the other person is Wickham.”

  “You know me too well.” He kissed her foot, the closest available body part. “Once upon a time, I was a very small boy who could not pronounce his own name.”

  “Really?”

  “I was three, Elizabeth! I do not even remember it, but you can confirm it with Mrs. Reynolds if you wish. Apparently I found the ‘z’ particularly perplexing and went about calling myself ‘Fissers’ until my tongue was old enough to do otherwise.”

  “And what did you call Colonel Fitzwilliam?”

  “What, do you think they dressed him in a uniform and bought him a commission when he was six? I called him Richard. But that is not the point. To my father and mother I was Fitzwilliam; to everyone else I was ‘Master Fitzwilliam’; and t
o Wickham I was Fitz. I did not care for it very much, and I think Richard may have picked up on it, because he started calling me Darcy, and I decided at some point that I liked it much better. Eventually Wickham gave in, and the matter was dropped—or so I thought.”

  The Darcy she knew was brief, honest, and to the point. This Darcy was laid back on his own pillow and paused for some drama, amused at his own telling even if he did not care for the contents. Only her curling up to his side would convince him to resume his narrative. “Now we come to the part when I was in Cambridge, and Wickham’s true colours began to show. There were hints beforehand, and we were always rivals on some level, but in the area of women, I usually allowed him to soundly beat me. But there was a girl—I do not remember her name or even if I ever knew her name, but we met in a tavern Wickham insisted on dragging me to after he decided I had been ‘studying too much.’ I will fully admit now, I suppose, that I had some mild attraction to this woman. There was something in her eyes . . . Well, I am much endeared to attractive eyes.” He looked into hers, just in case she didn’t get the message. “This was, I believe, the first time I was seriously pursuing someone in front of Wickham, at least in terms of seeking her conversation and goodwill. And so he decided to usurp me by approaching me while I was sitting alone with her. Sarah was her name; that was it—and he called me ‘Fitzers.’ This brought great amusement to her and no amusement to me, so he decided to tell the whole story about my infant tongue. He even went as far as to say that I secretly loved when women addressed me as such, knowing full well that I hadn’t heard the name in years and it was likely that nothing was further from the truth. In other words, he completely ruined my chances, because I immediately lost my temper, which was his intention all the time by proceeding to flirt with her while discussing me.”

  “If I may interject,” Elizabeth said, “I have to say that I am very glad that he was successful in tearing you away from her.”

  He did smile at that. “This was not so romantic. Remember, I was but nineteen at this time. I cannot even recall properly now what she looked like. Anyway, I did what I suppose any uncouth, jealous, romantically driven boy would do, which was to punch him soundly in the jaw.”

  “In front of her?”

  “In front of her—thoroughly destroying my chances, but Wickham did suffer only a pyrrhic victory, because he lost a tooth in the process—one of the back ones. When he recovered, he proceeded to engage me in an all-out brawl. Now I will say, as humbly as possible, that I pride myself on having some fencing abilities, but I am not one to wrestle or engage in uncouth sports such as boxing. The first time, I merely managed what I did by surprise. Fortunately for me, we were both kicked out of the tavern posthaste, and with our dorm supervisor strolling outside, we had to separate before he could beat me into a bloody pulp, which is probably what he would have done. I was taller than him, but he was not unfamiliar with barroom and alleyway tactics. Though, I have to admit, aside from my pride, I emerged largely unscathed.”

  She had her head on his stomach, and she rolled over. “So you are saying that if I call you ‘Fitzers,’ you will strike your wife?”

  “No, of course not. I will politely say in a very respectful and quiet voice, ‘Dearest Lizzy, love of my life, if you call me that again, I will have no recourse but to annul our marriage and send you to a nunnery in Ireland.’ That should be warning enough to clear the room.”

  The shocked silence was broken by shared laughter almost instantaneously.

  After some time, when no actual comprehensible words were spoken but a lot of noises were made, Elizabeth turned to a half-sleeping Darcy and said, “I suppose we should depart tomorrow for Pemberley.”

  “Yes.”

  “And then I shall be mistress of Pemberley.”

  “Dearest Elizabeth, I am sure that it was last night that you officially became ‘mistress of Pemberley.’”

  With pseudo-indignation she said, “I am quite sure that I am a wife and not a mistress.”

  He propped his head up on the pillow. “And would you prefer to be treated as a proper wife of good standing even in private? Should I call you only ‘Mrs. Darcy’ and seek you only for impregnation, locking myself soundly in another room on all other occasions? Because I shall do anything you prefer!”

  “Now you are mocking me!”

  “I shall do my best to be an upstanding gentleman, ignoring your presence almost entirely in company, and never endeavour to gaze upon you or whisper private jokes in your ear at parties—”

  Her response was to kiss him. Well, to kiss him and to climb on top of him, the ultimate assertion of authority. “That is not what I prefer, Mr. Darcy.”

  “Then we are in agreement. I will treat you with great love and compassion in front of guests and as a wanton wench in the bedchamber.”

  To this, she could not find a reason to raise dispute.

  ***

  Mr. and Mrs. Bingley arrived in time for dinner at Netherfield. Many guests were still in attendance. Georgiana would return to the Darcy townhouse in London once her brother vacated it, and Colonel Fitzwilliam would see her there and then ride north. Bingley’s sisters would eventually also make their way to London, but their comings and goings had always been a mystery to him, and even with a new wife at his arm, he was reluctant to toss them out. They were, after all, his sisters—two of seven as Jane reminded him jokingly on the carriage ride back.

  Jane showed a little apprehension about the way the servants of Netherfield greeted her. Not that they had ever been anything but of the utmost standing in their positions as servants, but she was now Mrs. Charles Bingley, mistress of Netherfield, and thus she was received in a ceremony more elaborate than she wished. Charles merely put his hand on her arm for comfort as he led her in, and that seemed to be enough.

  Seating at dinner was of course rearranged. Jane took the proper place at the table as Bingley’s wife, and her new sisters showed all respect, though there was an occasional—though accidental—“Miss Bennet” over the course of conversation, but these lapses were entirely overlooked by everyone. Georgiana was all smiles and her usual eager conversation alike with her new relative, even though she did not bother to inquire after her brother. Mr. and Mrs. Darcy had not been heard from, but this was a surprise to no one.

  Jane made a quiet comment to Charles about this in passing when they were moving between rooms to the after-dinner entertainment.

  “Maybe they are too exhausted to send a correspondence,” was all he said, and she knew very well what he meant and had to duck into a corner to keep herself from being seen with a flushed face. The implied type of activity was quite improper and odd for both of them, or perhaps would have been not two days before.

  Bingley regretted his own social obligations, but he performed them, taking a glass of port with Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Hurst as his sisters played cards. Fitzwilliam had some news of troop movements in France, and of course an impending war would be of great interest to the trade-engaged Bingley estate, so Bingley made every attempt to be interested, however noncrucial the information was at the time or however distracted he was at the moment, while Mr. Hurst snorted indignantly at the French and made occasional comments on the weather there.

  At some point when he ventured into the parlour, he noticed Jane was no longer at the card table and inquired as to her whereabouts.

  “She is retired for the night, I believe,” Louisa said. “She had some business upstairs and then announced that the last few weeks have been exhausting and very politely excused herself. I must compliment her, Charles. She is a quick learner at cards.”

  “She bested me twice,” Georgiana said. “I am not half as skilled, and I have been at this since Miss Bingley began instructing me last Christmas. I fear I am a poor pupil. Jane is so much better, is she not, Miss Bingley?”

  She had, of course, trapped Miss Bingley into complimenting Jane. “Yes, I dare say she is.” And it was hard even for Charles to tell if she
was not being sincere.

  “Well, I am glad to hear that she is under your tutelage, Caroline,” he said, most happily. Yes, he had many things to be happy for this day. The only thing on his shoulders was that as host he must endeavour to stay downstairs until his guests retired. Normally sociable and content in this duty, he did find it a bit trying but decided to take a page from the wisdom of Darcy and hide it as best he could. He was grateful when his sisters took to their rooms, Louisa practically carrying her soused husband up the stairs. Georgiana also retired, and with a slap on the back to Bingley, Colonel Fitzwilliam disappeared.

  He did give the servants instructions for the morning breakfast he doubted he would be attending. In that way, he was a very bad host, but his reputation would have to endure that attack. As soon as the room was cleared, he raced up the stairs with enough speed to nearly trip the maid on her way down with the day’s laundry.

  Officially, they had separate rooms, but he could hardly stop himself from knocking on her bedchamber door. If she was truly asleep, so be it, but to his tremendous relief she immediately answered, and he entered without reservation.

  She was not asleep, or even half asleep, as one would think of someone who had retired a few hours earlier. Multiple lamps were lit, and she was sitting up in bed, a book in her hands, pleasantly satisfied with her situation.

  “I—I did not mean to disturb you,” he quickly explained, even though the situation required no explanation on his part. “I mean, if you were tired. They said you were.”

  “I lied.”

  “Oh.”

  Surely an explanation would follow, but other things busied him for the moment, such as removing his considerable layers of clothing down to his underclothes and climbing into bed next to her.

  She, of course, beat him to it. “I am not afraid of socialising with your sisters. In fact, they have been charming to me, and Georgiana is always a pleasure. However, I had more pressing matters that did not involve them.”

  He rearranged himself more comfortably on the many pillows, and only then did he glance over at her reading material. It did look astonishingly familiar.