Compromising Mr. Darcy

by Rose Fairbanks

  She rolled over and attempted to reshape her pillow. Speculation was pointless and fruitless. He would return soon, and she would then have answers. She could not help but feel annoyed at his leaving without any word to her. If he was dealing with wedding business, why had he not met with her father yet? She almost laughed at the thought that Darcy would deserve it completely if her father refused his blessing. Before the amusement of the thought could take root, however, she was overcome with sadness. Uncomfortable with her inability to determine her sentiments and unable to make a joke of them, she determined to think no more of it that night.

  She lay awake a whole two hours telling herself so repeatedly.

  *****

  Bingley also lay awake at Netherfield. He had felt Mr. Black’s words fit his feelings towards Jane perfectly. Truthfully, he had imagined himself in love before. Attraction he had certainly known. Over the course of his three and twenty years, there was a handful of ladies he had stolen a kiss from when unescorted. He could not think of those occurrences with any ease. For each lady, he had believed himself stricken by Cupid’s arrow. He left the encounter ready to declare his intentions at the next meeting, only to find the lady in question seeking the addresses of some other gentleman of higher rank or fortune.

  Looking back, he doubted anything would have come of those matches at any rate. He was not of age, and as his parents died in his youth, his guardian was an unrepentant social climber. Bingley never cared to investigate the ladies’ circumstances or even their character, as he would now admit. His guardian would likely not have agreed to any of the matches. By the time he came of age, Bingley had learned from his youthful transgressions. He was thankful for those early missteps, for the unworthy ladies who had come before. Now he could understand the truth of what love felt like. And he knew he absolutely had an obligation to follow it.

  What he had not expected, however, was the passion he felt for Jane Bennet. Even more unexpected was her response. She was usually so shy and reserved, but it seemed she quite agreed there were better things to do than speak at times.

  He rolled over and groaned. He was on dangerous ground. His thoughts had been wayward from first viewing her, and each encounter took him further down the path of temptation. Jane’s beauty, of course, instantly enthralled him, but it was her goodness, her character that drew him in deep. She was nothing like the ladies his youthful heart felt attached to. This was a woman with whom to grow old, to have a life, to marry, and live each day passionately. In his mind, he had already taken that step; now that they were betrothed, it would be difficult to curb his impulses.

  They were not yet man and wife, and her father refused to understand the seriousness of Bingley’s peril. He had not considered before that Mr. Bennet could be as ridiculous as his wife and youngest daughters. This afternoon, he had made his case plainly, or so he thought.

  “I have admired your daughter from first meeting her and now feel such passionate feelings for her, I have asked her to be my wife,” he had told Mr. Bennet.

  The older gentleman met him with a wry smile. “It is more than as a father that I caution you to curb your passionate declarations, Mr. Bingley. Other young men have been captivated by youth and beauty. You must respect and esteem your wife to have any happiness.”

  Bingley was of a forgiving temper but shrewd enough to understand the man referenced his own marriage. “I do esteem and respect your daughter. We have very similar temperaments, and she is not so young as to give the impression of a sweeter disposition than she has.”

  Mr. Bennet had nodded his head. “Yes, but you are rather young to take a wife.”

  Bingley had felt heat creep up his face. “I have not been so sheltered from the attention of females as to be confused about my feelings. I would have requested Miss Bennet’s hand in marriage eventually in any case, but I admit I have lately considered my duty to protect her even from myself.”

  Mr. Bennet sat up straight. “Do you have a confession to make about Jane’s time at Netherfield?”

  “No! No, it is only that my mind and heart have fixed upon marriage, and my thoughts,” he raised his eyebrows and paused in hopes of Mr. Bennet understanding his meaning, “take a natural course from there. This past Sunday, I came to believe I should take the honourable route and declare myself as soon as possible.”

  Mr. Bennet had been silent for a long moment before replying. “I am pleased you would make such a consideration, but let us not be impulsive. There is no need to feel an obligation due to thoughts alone. When would you have proposed if not for this new conviction?”

  Bingley had answered hesitantly, “I must go to London soon for business. I was hoping to speak with my solicitor to make arrangements not only for myself but my sister as well. I was hoping to be prepared to meet with you after the New Year.”

  “And I assume a normal engagement length would have followed, putting the marriage in February.” Bingley had begun to protest, but Mr. Bennet interrupted. “I will have mercy. We will set the date for just after Twelfth Night.”

  Bingley was soon dismissed from the library and met with the shrieking of Mrs. Bennet and the giddiness of Jane’s sisters. He knew not how to survive an eight-week betrothal. He had thought to rely on Jane to keep them in good behaviour, but that now seemed like an unfair burden to place on her. His senses told him to press his case with Mr. Bennet again, or even Mrs. Bennet. Another option was to flee Netherfield for several weeks, either with Jane in tow for an elopement or to leave until the eve of the wedding. But there was a ball to host first, and he would speak with Jane there. He found himself nearly envious of Darcy, who, no matter his regrets, was assured a means to bypass Mrs. Bennet’s effusions and simply get on with married life.

  *****

  The following day, at Mrs. Phillips’ house, Elizabeth awaited the entry of the gentlemen. Mr. Wickham was certainly a handsome man and cut a fine figure. When they met him the day before, he seemed amiable and good-natured. She was still excessively curious about his reaction to the mention of Darcy, and his accent carried the Derbyshire inflection, as acquainted as she was with it from her aunt’s voice. There was still the matter of her vanity—she desired to lay that issue to rest and see whether another gentleman could affect her in the way Mr. Darcy did.

  Mr. Wickham was the happy man upon whom nearly every female eye was turned. Elizabeth was the woman with whom he chose to sit and converse.

  “Miss Elizabeth, a pleasure to meet with you again. I was delighted to make your acquaintance yesterday.”

  Elizabeth was surprised he would single her out so directly, but he was not too forward. She answered neutrally, for she did not wish to give him too much encouragement. “I thank you for the compliment, Mr. Wickham. It is always enjoyable to make a new acquaintance.”

  “It was the prospect of constant good society that was my inducement to enter the corps. Society, I own, is necessary to me. After meeting several of Denny’s agreeable friends yesterday,” here he gave her a look she could not understand, “I was duly settled on the idea of taking a commission.”

  Elizabeth smiled at his approval of Meryton and the area’s inhabitants. “I hope you will find your stay most enjoyable.”

  “I dare say I will, although a military life is not what I was intended for, but circumstances have now made it eligible. The church ought to have been my profession—I was brought up for it, and I should at this time have been in possession of a most valuable living.”

  “Indeed!”

  Elizabeth tried to quell her impudent curiosity, but Wickham had an engaging manner and made her feel that the commonest, dullest, most threadbare topic might be rendered interesting by the skill of the speaker. She could not help but compare him to Darcy, from whom it seemed rather a labour for him to speak ten words at a time. Ironically, recollections of their gaiety and laughter in the Netherfield library sprang to mind. She smiled unguardedly.

  When she looked back at her companion, he seemed on
the verge of speaking, though he looked at her a bit nonplussed. Before either could say more, they heard Lydia upbraiding Mary, who had been playing the pianoforte.

  “Mary, enough of your concertos! Play something we can dance to!”

  Mary gave her sister a cross look but conceded. “Very well, although you know it gives me little pleasure.” Soon the chords of a happy reel rang out in the room.

  Wickham smiled enticingly at Elizabeth and held out his hand. “Might I have the honour, Miss Elizabeth?”

  Elizabeth smiled in return, though she noticed Wickham’s smile lacked the beguiling dimples of another man she knew. “Certainly, Mr. Wickham.”

  She held her breath. This was just the sort of test for which she hoped. It was an informal gathering, and although she was wearing fingerless mitts due to the season, no one was wearing full gloves. When he took her hand and led her to the dance floor, she felt no secret thrill, and yet it appeared he was doing his best to provoke such sensations. As the dance went on, she could have sworn his hands lingered longer than necessary at every joining and turn, and she felt a decided irritation at his presumption.

  She could hardly comprehend it. He was handsome and charming; she ought to enjoy his instant preferment, but all the time she wished she were dancing with Darcy. He seemed to have noticed her decreasing good temper and broke their silence.

  “Come now, Miss Elizabeth. We must have some conversation.”

  “This is a very agreeable dance, although I am less inclined to like reels than my sister.” She found herself remembering when Miss Bingley played a reel one night at Netherfield, and Darcy had asked her to dance. At the time, she had thought he only desired to mock her taste, but now she hoped, she wished, that he had actually desired to dance with her.

  Mr. Wickham answered with the usual meaningless civility. Then, glancing around the room and seeing Jane standing alone, he added, “We are a merry group of couples, but I see your eldest sister is unpaired. I am surprised Mr. Bingley is not here this evening; he seemed very much taken with her yesterday.”

  Elizabeth beamed as she thought of her sister’s happiness. “Mr. Bingley did call upon us earlier, but he chose to stay home this evening to greet his friend returning from Town.”

  Wickham nodded. “A Mr. Darcy, if I recall correctly.”

  “Yes.”

  “Might he be Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire?”

  Elizabeth’s surprise was great, for it seemed Wickham already knew Darcy, confirming at least one suspicion she held since yesterday. “Indeed.”

  “How long has Mr. Darcy been in the country?”

  “About a month.”

  “And are you very much acquainted with the man?”

  Elizabeth turned her face in an attempt to not look too aware. “Who can claim to be much acquainted after a few weeks?”

  Elizabeth was acutely conscious that until only a few days ago, she firmly believed she could sketch a person’s character after a much shorter time. She had been firm in believing Darcy proud and disagreeable from observing his behaviour at the assembly alone and refused to acknowledge seeing anything that would counter it—until their night in the library.

  “You could not have met with a person more capable of giving you certain information on that man than myself, for I have been connected with his family in a particular manner from my infancy.”

  Elizabeth instinctively knew she had no desire to learn more of Darcy through this man. “Mr. Wickham, I assure you that you can have nothing to say about that gentleman that will be of any interest to me.”

  He seemed to understand she was reprimanding him. “Forgive me, madam. It was only brought to mind as we were speaking of couples, and I wondered what might take him to Town just now and thought, perhaps, it was his marriage to his cousin, Miss de Bourgh.”

  The words were ill-timed on his part, for the dance required they part just then, and he missed the satisfaction of seeing Elizabeth pale. She was able to affect composure by the time she returned to him.

  “Indeed? I have heard nothing of it.”

  “He is a man who values his privacy.”

  “Then we had much better quit speaking of him.”

  “I suppose you are correct. Tell me. Are there any other impending announcements in the area?”

  Believing he meant Jane and Bingley, she smiled a little. “Perhaps, but we had better wait for such things to become generally known.”

  “I wish you very happy with your cousin, then. I believe I heard him say Lady Catherine de Bourgh is his patroness. She is a great lady, capable of doing much for him in the church. And you must know that she is the sister to the late Lady Anne Darcy. She is Mr. Darcy’s aunt, and her daughter is his presumed betrothed. Miss de Bourgh will inherit vast wealth. Together, they will unite two great estates.”

  Her eyes narrowed at him. “You are mistaken, Mr. Wickham. Mr. Collins is quite unattached.”

  The song ended before they could say another word, and his attention was immediately seized by Lydia. Elizabeth was not sorry for it. She disliked his overly-familiar attention and the insufferable presumption he made that she was destined for her cousin. She felt no growing regard for the man at all. She had a strong intuition that Wickham was not so good-natured as he appeared, but she vowed not to make hasty judgments of people any longer, deciding to cautiously further the acquaintance. At least she had managed to realise her feelings for Darcy must be deeper than merely flattered vanity.

  *****

  In London, Darcy sat in his library. His senses told him to ease his nerves and allow his mind rest by seeking comfort in his well-stocked wine cellars. He did not think he would indulge ever again. All of his self-control was gone, it seemed. He had never been one for drunkenness or licentious behaviour. If nothing else, he disliked moments of feeling as though he had no control over his life.

  He had arrived around noon yesterday and quickly sent a note to meet with his solicitor and another to his godfather, the archbishop. Although the Church of England did not require confessions for sins, Darcy felt full acknowledgment necessary as he pressed for a special licence, and without the written permission of Elizabeth’s father. Indeed, after receiving Elizabeth’s agreement on Sunday, he asked to meet with Bingley and explained the matter to him. Darcy rehearsed the facts over and over again, expecting at some point to feel some relief from the confession. Of course, nothing could change the truth: he had not even known himself.

  The archbishop had been more than surprised to hear the reason for his need for a special licence, even as he agreed Darcy was doing the honourable thing. His solicitor was clearly surprised to hear his plans to wed a woman of such little fortune and no standing in London. Knowing that only a few days before he felt similarly about the issue mingled with a desire to defend Elizabeth from any judgment on her character. Still, a part of him felt unabashed pride in making arrangements for her to become his wife. And at the same time, another part of him was too happy to be making this step. The realization filled him with more self-hatred, turning his stomach sour.

  He had been grateful to keep his presence in Town a secret, seeing only the two men. Even his sister was unaware and remained with their aunt and uncle. He could scarcely imagine what to say to his aristocratic relatives who had long held high hopes for his marriage, but the last thing he needed was to be delayed by their meddling and attempts to talk him out of the marriage. He presumed to know what his uncle would suggest: pay Elizabeth and the Bennets off and care for any child. It was what many so-called honourable men did, but it was not a route Darcy had never been prepared to take. Beyond all other feelings he felt for Elizabeth, he could only be thankful that he lost his mind with her and not someone truly undeserving of the Darcy name.

  The fire embers had burned low before he managed to sleep, still in the library. In the morning, he would return to Hertfordshire and begin his new life. There was no sense in contemplating how things might have been and wonder
ing about their acceptance in society or by his family. He knew his obligations, and they were to his duty and those closest to him first. Nothing and no one would make him shirk his intentions now.

  Chapter Four

  “How was your trip, Darcy?” Bingley asked once he and his friend were alone in the Netherfield study. He offered to pour Darcy a glass of brandy but was refused.

  “As you see, quite brief. I was able to draw up the settlement papers with my solicitor. I doubt Mr. Bennet will desire to make many changes. The special licence required some carefully-placed words and making the most of my family’s connections to the archbishop, but I was able to meet with him faster than most and have the licence in hand, even without Mr. Bennet’s written permission.”

  “It sounds as if everything went according to your plans.”

  It truly had. He did have some misgivings about obtaining the special licence through less than correct means, but there was no time to waste. One reason for a hasty marriage was in case a child was the product of his actions; the other was a very real need to attend to some matters at Pemberley. He had scarcely been there since the early summer, and there were affairs that needed his personal attention.

  Misgivings aside, his stay in London went well. He was an adept at feeling guilt and would, naturally, not forgive himself easily, if ever.

  Turning his thoughts, he addressed Bingley. “Have you called on Longbourn?” Bingley turned his face a little. “I have.”

  Darcy was intrigued by his reaction and levelled his friend a look.

  “I have asked Jane Bennet to marry me and sought her father’s blessing.”

  “What?” Darcy cried in confusion.

  He would have counselled his friend against it. He never saw Bingley’s attention remain on any woman for more than two months. What did Bingley even know of Jane? Their conversations were all polite discourse on trivia, such as games of whist and the superb dish served by Lady Lucas, replete with smiles in abundance. But it was too late. A gentleman did not break an engagement.