Resolved to do her duty by the Lucases, Elizabeth informed Miss King she would have the side of the bed near the wall, then went to request water and seek a change of clothing for the girl. Together, the women of Lucas Lodge found the necessities for Miss King, taking her clothing down to be washed on the morrow. Eventually, the household returned to a rather late dinner, though the youngest Lucases had already eaten and gone to bed.
Later that night, her new bedfellow dressed in a nightgown supplied by Charlotte, Elizabeth lay listening to the almost-snore of the young woman beside her. As she contemplated how happy John Lucas and Mary King seemed at dinner, Elizabeth wondered what she wished for in a husband. Clearly, Mary King wanted someone who would ride across England and suffer her uncle’s ire.
When Mr. Darcy proposed to Elizabeth, she told him he was the last man in the world she would consider marrying. Reflecting on those hasty, perhaps too-cruel words, she realized she’d never considered marrying John Lucas, and she’d known him for years. In truth, there were many men she’d never thought of in that light. Yet, though she’d disliked him almost upon meeting him, Elizabeth’s mind now frequently touched on what it would be like to marry Mr. Darcy.
She didn’t think of herself as fortune seeking, and so didn’t believe it was his wealth that put such thoughts in her head. Indeed, when she thought of him, she didn’t picture the trappings of his circumstance. She pictured lively discussions, and being frequently vexed. She pictured his tall, upright form and his even features. Being honest with herself, an image of him was in her mind more often than it ought to be.
What was it about Mr. Darcy that engaged her mind so? When she first saw him, it was her anger. The cruel words she overheard him say at the assembly when he told his friend, Mr. Bingley, that she wasn’t attractive enough to dance with, had been on her mind often in the earlier days of their acquaintance. Mr. Wickham’s lies had only fueled her dislike, as had Mr. Darcy’s obvious disdain for her family, visible even before he proposed to her.
Being honest with herself, Elizabeth could admit she’d lost most of her antagonism toward him, even for Jane’s sake. Her father’s death, Mr. Wickham’s lies and Lydia’s rashness had overshadowed anger toward Mr. Darcy. As the tumult and heartbreak receded, her fury didn’t return.
She turned on her side, frowning into the darkness. An image of Mr. Darcy formed in her mind, easy to call up from repeated use. Elizabeth contemplated it, seeking answers.
Mr. Darcy didn’t shine on the dance floor or in the drawing room. He was quiet on walks and seldom added humor to a situation. He was severe, even cold.
Yet, his care for Charlotte had been extraordinary and he was pleasant during their trip from Kent. He had a sister he obviously loved. He did charitable works without seeking credit.
What kind of man was he?
Elizabeth rolled onto her back, staring up into the darkness enfolding the room. Whatever sort of man Mr. Darcy was, she resolved never to misjudge him again. The next time he did something like give only a shilling to repair a roof, she would seek out all the facts for herself before forming a conclusion about his behavior.
That was, of course, assuming she ever saw Mr. Darcy again.
Elizabeth slept fitfully that night, and the next. Something about the longing, loving looks John Lucas and Miss King exchanged unsettled her. At first, Elizabeth thought it was the seriousness of her role as chaperone weighing on her, but it soon became clear one wasn’t really needed. Lady Lucas extracted promises that John Lucas and Miss King would behave, and allowed the couple private conversation as long as they were observed and not touching each other. Both seemed so grateful for even that, they didn’t attempt anything more.
Sir William sent Miss King’s uncle a letter, explaining what had happened. Her uncle responded that he’d tried to rescue his niece from an improvident marriage, but her three day, cross-country trip hopelessly compromised her. If John Lucas was willing to marry her, Miss King’s uncle would give permission, since he doubted anyone else would have her now. Undaunted by the implicit reprimand, the couple was overjoyed and the banns were read.
Chapter Fourteen
So, instead of her possibly being unhappy, you definitely are.
Darcy found it a relief when Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst left the men to their port in Darcy’s London home. Before meeting Elizabeth, Darcy hadn’t realized what dull conversationalists the two women were. That, added to Miss Bingley’s less than subtle attempts to ensnare him and Mrs. Hurst’s acrid tongue, made it all Darcy could do to sit down to dinner with them of late. He’d grown so restive with their company, he was contemplating retiring to Pemberley to avoid it.
Knowing the drinking habits of Hurst and Bingley, Darcy poured only a small amount for each of them, but left the bottle within reach of Hurst, who would sometimes refill his glass, before taking a seat. Much of the conversation at dinner had been about a certain viscount who’d put his London house and much of his unentailed land up for sale to pay off his creditors. Darcy was slightly bored with the subject, but couldn’t think of a conversation to start that didn’t pertain to Hertfordshire or the Bennet family, so remained silent.
“Rockledge had to put aside his mistress as well,” Hurst said, continuing the dinner conversation as he lounged on a deep leather couch. “You know a man is in deep when he gives up his mistress. For some, it’s the only solace they have.”
Darcy was amused Hurst had kept that point to himself until the women left, for he would wager Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley were discussing the same point even now.
“I would give up a mistress long before I sold off my holdings,” Bingley said, propping his feet on a footstool.
“That’s because you’ve never had one,” Hurst supplied. “You or Darcy. Shamefully upright, the both of you.”
“You don’t have one,” Bingley pointed out.
“That’s because I’m cheap.”
Bingley chuckled. “Still, it’s a shame about his townhouse. I’m not in the market, or I’d buy it.” He frowned. “I could give up Netherfield, I suppose.”
Darcy wanted to protest severing that link to Hertfordshire, but kept his mouth closed over the too-telling words.
Hurst shook his head. “Lovely as Rockledge’s townhouse is, I don’t consider it worth the price. I wish he’d wagered it. Then I would have taken it off his hands.”
“Did he lose much to you?” Bingley asked.
“Fifty-three pounds and eight shillings total in the last year,” Hurst said. “But fifty-three pounds didn’t bankrupt the viscount, so don’t look to me.”
“You remember so exactly?” Darcy asked, surprised by how specific the number was.
“I keep track.” Hurst took another sip of his port. “Sometimes I’m required to give assurances. When I first married Louisa, she thought I lost money. I thought I didn’t, but promised her I’d keep track.”
“That sounds like my sister,” Bingley said. “Worrying about how much you spend, but not how much she spends.”
Darcy suspected that was an accurate description of both of Bingley’s sisters.
Hurst turned his glass idly in his hand. “I’m in the habit of winning. Not every day, or even every week, but every month I come out ahead.”
“I can’t imagine it matters much either way,” Bingley said. “I thought you played for small stakes.”
“I do,” Hurst said. “I don’t like to walk away from a game more than five pounds ahead, and if I lose that amount I complain.”
Bingley nodded. “As I said, small stakes.”
A sly smile flittered across Hurst’s face. “I’ll tell you how much I win if you promise to keep it to yourselves.”
Darcy nodded his assent, Hurst’s smile making him curious.
“I won’t breathe a word,” Bingley said. “Especially not to my sisters.”
Hurst’s smile widened into a grin. “I win a bit over four hundred pounds a year. Louisa thinks it’s much less, of course
. I’ve been banking my winnings.”
Bingley’s feet dropped to the floor as he sat up straight. “How can you win that much?”
“I’ll play at my club in the afternoon and at someone’s house in the evening.” Hurst shrugged, reaching to refill his port. “If I lose three pounds at my club, I can make it up by winning four in the evening. My winnings are small enough so people don’t often notice.”
“I hadn’t,” Darcy confessed, impressed.
“How do you keep winning?” Bingley asked, still sounding surprised.
“I pay attention. For example, when you play whist, you sort your suits the same way, red suit, black suit, red suit, black suit. Your high cards are to your left.” Hurst looked at Darcy. “You sort by suit, but not by number, so when I watch you play, I have less information.”
“And you don’t sort at all,” Darcy said. “You give away no information, and can spend your time watching people sort.”
Hurst nodded. “I notice things. It helps me win.” He held up his glass of port. “And I drink moderately when I play.” He took a sip and set the glass down.
“You also remember every card,” Darcy said.
Hurst nodded. He’d never made a secret of that.
“I understand that helps at whist, but what about at vingt-et-un?” Bingley said. “Even I’ve noticed you have uncommon luck there.”
“That’s why I don’t play it often.” Hurst shrugged. “I keep track of what cards have been played. It doesn’t help much on the first round, but if most of the face cards have been played, I’m less likely to be dealt one.” He gave Bingley an assessing look. “If you don’t mind me saying, cards aren’t the only thing I notice.”
“What else do you notice?” Bingley asked.
“I pay attention to how people react to good hands and bad hands. It helps more than you’d think.” Hurst cast Darcy an unreadable look, then turned back to Bingley. “I’ve also noticed you aren’t happy, and I don’t think it has anything to do with losing at cards.”
“What?” Bingley sounded as startled by the words as Darcy felt.
“You’ve been my brother for two years now. I know you, Bingley, and I know you haven’t been happy since you left Netherfield Park. I gather Miss Bennet has made you unhappy.”
“No. Yes. Sort of.” Bingley slumped back in his chair. “I’ve tried to hide it. I wanted to marry her, but Darcy and my sisters said she didn’t love me.” Bingley stared at his glass of port. “I didn’t want to force her into an unhappy marriage.”
Darcy couldn’t quite hide his wince. Worse, he knew Hurst saw it, and read the guilt it indicated. Hurst regarded Darcy for a moment, eyebrows raised.
“That’s all very noble,” Hurst said, refocusing on Bingley. “So, instead of her possibly being unhappy, you definitely are.”
Bingley knocked back the rest of his port. “I don’t see what else I can do.”
“You could give her the choice,” Hurst said. “She seemed intelligent enough. I don’t think she would marry you if it would make her unhappy. If you had asked me, I would have said I thought she loved you.”
“Really?” Bingley asked, beating Darcy to the same question.
“Yes. I thought it was wrong of your sisters to conceal her presence in London last winter.”
“She was in London?” Anger touched Bingley’s tone.
“Oh yes,” Hurst said, casting Darcy a contemplative look, as if assessing whether he would come clean. “When she called on them, they were both upset. They went to great lengths to see that you didn’t find out Miss Bennet was in London.”
“They concealed that she called?” Bingley demanded, more angry now.
Darcy set his nearly untouched glass down. “I was also aware Miss Bennet was in London.”
“And you didn’t tell me.” Bingley glared at Darcy for a long moment. Finally, he thrust his empty glass in Hurst’s direction.
Hurst refilled the crystal snifter and Bingley took a large swallow.
“Your sisters and I agreed you were in danger of marrying Miss Bennet,” Darcy said. “We did not believe she loved you.”
Bingley took another sip, eyeing Darcy over the rim of his glass. Finally, he nodded. “I understand. I’m not happy, but I understand.”
“If you’re so unhappy, go back to Netherfield Park and see her.” Hurst said. “Don’t stay unhappy. Go to her and decide if you want to marry her.”
“She’s not in Hertfordshire,” Darcy said.
Hurst and Bingley both turned back to him.
“Mr. Bennet died over the summer.”
“How is it you know?” Hurst leveled too-perceptive eyes on Darcy.
Darcy resisted the urge to look away. Trying to sound casual, he said, “Mr. Collins, who you may or may not recall was rector in a parsonage in Kent, near my aunt’s estate, died unexpectedly. I was staying with my aunt at the time. When she made it clear she didn’t wish to act as his executor, I stepped in.”
Hurst frowned. “He married that friend of the Bennets, didn’t he? Collins, that is.”
“He did.” Darcy nodded. “It’s all grown a bit more complicated than I expected when I volunteered my assistance. Mr. Bennet died, and Mrs. Collins is with child. If her child is male, he will inherit Longbourn. If not, the former Mr. Collins’ younger brother, who is also a rector and who is known to me from near Pemberley, will inherit. I went to Hertfordshire to ensure Mrs. Collins’ interests are being preserved.”
“How very noble of you.” Hurst sounded amused.
“You should have told me you were headed to Hertfordshire,” Bingley said. “I would have offered you Netherfield, and possibly joined you.”
“Yes, Darcy, why didn’t you tell us so Bingley could offer you Netherfield?” Hurst’s tone said he suspected why and found the notion entertaining.
Darcy elected to change the subject. “Due to all of that, Miss Bennet is with her London uncle, and the rest of the family has scattered.”
“Miss Bennet is somewhere in London.” Bingley sounded excited, but his smile fell. “I would like to see her, but I would never be able to find her.”
“She’s living with a family named Gardiner,” Hurst said. He rattled off an address.
“How do you know that?” Bingley asked.
“I heard her give my wife the information.” Hurst shrugged. “I thought it might matter, so I made a point of remembering.”
“Do you think I should visit her?” Bingley asked.
“Yes,” Darcy said.
Both men looked at him in surprise.
Darcy felt a bit uncomfortable with the scrutiny, but he owned Bingley his honesty. “If you were unhappy for a month, that wouldn’t have meant much. Now, your feelings have the test of time.”
“What if you and my sisters were right the first time?” Bingley asked. “What if she doesn’t love me, but marries me for my wealth? With her father gone, she must be increasingly desperate.”
Darcy shrugged. “If she married you for security, you still might be happy. Both of you might be happy.”
“Louisa married me for my family,” Hurst said.
Darcy knew Hurst’s parents were both descended from titled people, and the current holders of the titles recognized him as their relative. Hurst didn’t have much money, but that was partially solved by Louisa Hurst’s dowry.
Bingley grimaced. “Now, you know that isn’t strictly--”
Hurst held up a staying hand. “She didn’t love me. She still doesn’t, but I’m happy with her and she isn’t unhappy with me. That’s partly because she got the connections she wished for by marrying me, and partly because we keep out of each other’s way.”
“It’s more than that,” Bingley said. “You know my father was in trade?”
“Yes,” Darcy said. He was surprised that Bingley brought it up.
Hurst nodded. “Of course.”
“Not that it’s any of my concern, but I know you’re faithful to Louisa and that’s a large
part of her happiness. People in trade aren’t as forgiving about the lapses of the married, or unmarried.” Bingley turned to Darcy. “You may laugh, but my sister Caroline isn’t just after you for your money or your name. She wants a husband who is morally upright. She hides it because she knows it isn’t fashionable.”
Darcy considered that for a moment. He hadn’t realized not keeping a mistress endeared him to Miss Bingley. He realized his thoughtfulness might be construed as consideration and hastened to clarify, “I’m still not interested in her.”
“I know that, even if Caroline doesn’t.” Bingley offered a sympathetic grin before turning thoughtful once more. “One of the reasons I fell in love with Miss Bennet was that I knew I would never have to worry about her doing anything wrong. She is genuinely good.” He looked at Darcy and Hurst, his expression still contemplative. “Would the two of you join me when I visit the Gardiners? I might change my mind when I see her again. It will look less like a courtship if I have company.”
Chapter Fifteen
He knew himself to be superior to most people.
The following day, standing before a large mirror in his dressing room as he readied to visit the Gardiners, Darcy’s mind wandered back over his conversation with Bingley and Hurst. It was odd Hurst, who seemed so casual in the way he lived, was focused enough to make money from cards. It was also, Darcy realized, strange he’d never correlated Hurst’s ability to almost flawlessly remember cards with a memory for other things, like the Gardiner’s address.
Darcy gave a murmur of thanks as his valet helped him into his coat. Hurst had mentioned thinking the Gardiner’s address might be important. That somewhat accounted for his memory of it. A man focused on what mattered to him.
Darcy frowned, adjusting his cravat. What did that say about what he found important? Darcy knew every tenant and all their family members, but when the irresponsible Viscount Rockledge was first mentioned the night before, he’d forgotten the man had a wife and children. What did it say about Darcy that he didn’t remember the people of his own class?
Believing in Darcy: A Pride and Prejudice Variation Page 11
