by Nora Kipling
“You are much changed, Mr. Wickham, and I cannot say that I care for it. I shall leave you to your luncheon, and I wish you the best,” Mr. Darcy said, biting out the words in as neutral a tone he could muster before stepping away. Wickham waved at him, giving a small laugh.
“Best of luck with your upcoming nuptials, if you manage to convince a girl to meet you at the altar,” Wickham said in a teasing lilt, and Darcy turned to look at him. It sounded as if Wickham knew something more. He was about to question the man, descend upon him with the full weight of his fury, when Bingley returned to his side.
“Mr. Darcy, we must return to Netherfield,” Bingley breathed out, his face flushed. What could have possibly happened? “Your father, he has arrived unexpectedly.”
In that moment, Mr. Wickham was forgotten behind him and Mr. Darcy strode out of the inn. He needed to return to Netherfield.
Chapter 12
Elizabeth Bennet
Longbourn, Hertfordshire
Meeting Mr. Collins had been just as awful, if perhaps not even more so, than Elizabeth had imagined. Although, even in her worst dreamings she had not visualized him for what he was, an unctuous young man, stooped, with greasy hair and a slick, shining round face. His visual appeal, lacking as it was, would not have been an issue if he’d had a kind and open heart, but he did not.
From the moment he entered Longbourn, he practically had Mrs. Bennet in vapors as he surveyed the house with a hawk’s eye, implying with just a look and a few words that he was pleased the house had been kept up so well for him as he would be inheriting it sooner rather than later.
Elizabeth had never met so mean-spirited a man in all her life, and if it had not been for the way she clenched her hands until her nails bit into the soft flesh of her palms, she would have slapped him. Her mother may have often been insufferable, yes, but that did not mean he had to torment the woman so with the impending death of her husband and the loss of her home. Mr. Collins frequently mentioned the future, and poor Mrs. Bennet had been nearly reduced to vapors.
Perhaps, perhaps, Elizabeth could have given herself to attempting to love the man if he had been even remotely polite, distantly cool and removed. But he was none of those things, slavering over Jane until Mrs. Bennet made it clear that she was off the market and as good as asked for. Mr. Collins had then gone about switching his attentions in the next breath to Elizabeth, praising her quiet and meek nature (this comment caused her father to cough so loudly that they had all been convinced he was choking - and Mrs. Bennet had near melted into a fit at the thought she might lose her husband right at the dining table).
Elizabeth thought that Mr. Collins was a mean, weak-spirited man, and to top it off he was entirely ridiculous. So when he requested, from her father, an audience from her alone, she made as if she had a sudden urgent feminine business to take care of, and exited the house as quickly as possible by way of the back garden gate. She ran down the path through the herbs that pushed up towards the sky, and out to her favored copse of trees.
There she hid behind a large and friendly oak, breathing hard. She had just let her eyes close to rest for a moment when she heard a rustle in the brush.
“My pardon,” came a gentleman’s voice, and she stood up straight, startled and for a moment feared that Mr. Collins had followed her there.
Instead a young gentleman, of perhaps five and twenty, stood across the clearing from her, dressed in a morning suit meant for walking. He was handsome, quite a bit more striking than men were wont to be, and he had dark hair the color of honey, and a set of dreamer’s blue eyes. Such a contrast from the villainous Mr. Collins in his demeanor as well.
“I did to mean to startle you,” he began, as she spoke at the same time-
“I was just enjoying the fresh air-“ she explained. They both fell quiet, and he gave a low chuckle.
“It is perhaps not the best way to introduce oneself to a lady, but as there is none of your family about for me to make proper greetings to…” He doffed his hat and approached her, giving a low bow. “Mr. George Wickham, recently of Kent, at your service.”
His manners were so very pretty that she felt an odd sort of flush come over her cheeks, but it may have at the same time been from her running escape from Longbourn’s walls and Mr. Collins presumed offer of marriage.
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet, of Longbourn, just by the creek up the road,” she said as she curtseyed. “Where in Kent, then, Mr. Wickham?”
She heard in the distance, the sound of someone, likely her mother, calling her name. She ignored it. She would not marry Mr. Collins. She would not allow him to even propose to her. The thought was reprehensible. Let Kitty, or Mary, take on the task of turning him into a manageable husband. Mary had given the man many a long, moon-calf look, taken in by his religious nature and not seeing past it to the small-minded shriveled-hearted old-cork of a person he was.
“Ah, my father was, until recently, the steward at Pemberley, and I have, at his last requests, gone on travel to see the country so that I might better learn about the different ways in which people live,” Mr. Wickham said. She felt a pang for him.
“Did you lose your father then, quite recently, Mr. Wickham? I am so sorry for your loss.”
“It is a time that comes to us all, when we lose our parents, beloved to us or not,” he said sagely, looking down at the ground. He mourned still, that was clear, despite his otherwise cheerful nature. She heard another call of her name, closer this time.
“Have you seen Meryton, Mr. Wickham, if you have made your travels here? I promise you, that your visit will not be complete until you have explored Meryton fully,” she said, pushing herself away from the tree and not bothering to worry about how very forward she was being in that moment, with her only thought to be away from the house, and away from where Mr. Collins could corner her to ask his dreaded question.
“Ah-“ a flicker on his face almost made her stomach drop, as she thought he might call her out on the inappropriateness of her question, and the implication that she might be the one to show him around- but then it faded. “No, I have not been to Meryton,” he said with a shake of his head. His eyes flicked past her, in the direction of the voice that called for her a third time. “Perhaps you would like to show me?” he asked, and in that moment where he did not point out that someone was quite clearly looking for her, he became a greater man in her immediate esteem.
“Yes, I would adore the very thought,” she breathed, stepping towards him and off to the path he had come by. “It is not very far, a short walk. Let us go. Now.”
He offered her his arm, and she resisted the urge to look behind her as they left the clearing, and Longbourn, behind.
Chapter 13
Fitzwilliam Darcy
Longbourn, Hertfordshire
“Oh, I do apologize, Mr. Darcy, that all of my daughters were not here to greet you,” Mrs. Bennet said the exact same words in a slightly different order at least five times since he and his father had come to sit in the Longbourn drawing room. A mere day after his father’s arrival at Pemberley, and the man had insisted on bringing him to meet the Bennet family, and have a look at the girls, one of whom would likely become his future wife. The entire exercise was unnerving, even more so still as their arrival had been precipitated by one of the girls running off on an errand that was ‘unforeseeable’, so he was left with Jane Bennet (already the apple of his best friend’s eye), and the two younger sisters who were out, Mary Bennet (a plain and very quiet girl of only seventeen years), and Catherine Bennet (a giddy girl of fifteen barely kept in check by her father’s quelling looks). Jane gave him several pained glances, which he did not return although he wished to. For the moment that he had stepped foot in the house he had realized who the missing daughter was.
Elizabeth Bennet. From the Assembly. The one he had so grossly insulted. The one who had captivated him and who had haunted his dreams every night since with her large eyes, and slight curving figure, as well as t
he kiss of sun-freckles across her nose and cheeks that spoke of many walks out of doors.
She was the absent daughter, and from the noises that her cousin, one rather petulant Mr. Collins, had made, the most beautiful of the three remaining available daughters.
Mr. Darcy had rather felt like he’d walked into some sort of wife auction of sorts, or that perhaps the girls were like puppies from a highly prized litter, and there he was, jostling to get the best hound, but in this case, woman. The very nature of it, and the shrill way that Mrs. Bennet was advertising her daughters’ many charms chilled him right to the bone, and when he looked at his father he was surprised to see no disgust there.
No, no, there was eagerness on his father’s face, and shortly he retired to the study with Mr. Bennet to ‘discuss matters’, along with Mr. Collins. The three men left Mr. Darcy at the mercy of the women.
Thankfully Miss Bennet, dear Jane Bennet, was a kind soul, and took pity on him, speaking to him of all matter of things, and keeping her two sisters and mother mostly in check. He could see that far beyond the charms of her very pretty face, she was also a kind and sweet woman who knew that he must be in an uncomfortable situation and she was doing her best to alleviate that.
Things took a decided turn for the worse when Miss Elizabeth returned, out of breath and with two spots of color like blooming roses in her cheeks. He almost stumbled to get up so quickly to bow to her, his breath catching in his throat as Mrs. Bennet half-scolded her for taking so long on her ‘chore’.
“I am so sorry Mamma,” she said softly, while glancing at him with curious eyes.
“You do remember, my daughter, Miss Elizabeth, from the Assembly,” Mrs. Bennet said in a breathy tone, obviously pleased that the girl had returned. “You did not get a chance to dance, I do not think.”
“No,” Darcy said, staring at Elizabeth and then breaking his gaze before it became too obvious that he was overcome by her presence and not fully able to control his faculties.
He realized there were no available seats other than the one he had been occupying so he offered it to her quickly. She swallowed and then nodded, taking the divan and sitting so stiffly that a breeze might have knocked her over had there been one in the house. She kept looking at the door that lead further into the house, with a nervous expression on her face, but she answered her mother’s questions.
Miss Bennet rose from her own seat, to call for more tea, when the elder Mr. Darcy appeared at the doorway, Mr. Collins directly behind him. The shorter man’s gaze alighted on Elizabeth, and without any thought to how it might appear rude, he pushed past the elder Mr. Darcy to stand in the midst of the room. The chatter fell quiet, and Mr. Darcy stared at the insipid man before glancing back at his father.
“I would request an audience with Miss Elizabeth,” Mr. Collins said, and everything that had been nagging at Mr. Darcy clicked into place as he realized the reason for Miss Elizabeth’s earlier errand - to evade, or postpone, such a conversation with Mr. Collins that would have her emerging from it engaged and spoken for. Catherine broke out into a peal of laughter, which was quickly silenced by Jane.
“Oh Mr. Collins, of course,” Mrs. Bennet said, getting to her feet with a broad smile. “Mr. Darcy, Mr. Fitzwilliam, perhaps, would you join me- we have a beautiful looking pond in the gardens, and it is quite the fashion in London I have heard…” she said, taking up on the elder Mr. Darcy’s arm.
Darcy watched Elizabeth as she sat there, her eyes wide, her family members deserting her, and she looked as if all her hope had been lost and washed away. He ached to go to her side, to stay with her, but Jane fell into step next to him, and he automatically offered her his arm. She moved with him out of the room.
“Is he-“ Mr. Darcy started and then swallowed his words down. Jane looked back over her shoulder as the maid closed the door to the drawing room.
“Mr. Collins has come to choose for himself a wife among my sisters and I,” Jane said, a look of hesitance and regret on her face. “I believe he means to ask for Lizzy,” she continued, in her worry using the familiar nickname for her sister. Darcy ignored the misstep in propriety, for Jane was clearly nonplussed at the idea of Mr. Collins becoming a brother from whence he had been merely a cousin before.
“I see,” Mr. Darcy said as he walked with her out into the gardens. “Is it… are his feelings returned, do you think? A love match, perhaps?” he forced himself to ask, not wanting to hear the truth of it, for if she was in love with that man-
“No,” Jane murmured, shaking her head as Mrs. Bennet’s voice carried over to them where she stood with the senior Mr. Darcy by a pond. Mr. Bennet was nowhere to be seen.
The minutes seem to draw by. Then there was a shriek behind them, and Catherine emerged, giggling maniacally and holding onto the edge of the doorframe into the house.
“Kitty,” Jane hissed, to quell the young girl’s laughter, for it was highly inappropriate given the company she was in.
“She has turned him down,” Miss Catherine said, her eyes bright, as she clearly though it the most amusing of occurrences. “She has refused Mr. Collins! And Mamma, he is so very, very cross!”
There came a sharp intake of breath behind him, and he turned to look. Mrs. Bennet stood beside his father, pointing out some small feature of Longbourn’s property, her face pale and drawn. Then with a quick excuse, she was gone, disappearing into the house, calling Elizabeth’s name frantically.
Jane looked up at Darcy, her own face pale, lines of worry pulling at the corners of her eyes.
“What has she done?” Jane asked aloud, although the question was not precisely directed at him. Darcy, in that moment, having known Mr. Collins for a very brief period of time, felt that Elizabeth had rather made the right decision for herself, if not for her family.
“I think it best that we return to Netherfield, my son,” the elder Darcy said as he approached the two of them. He bowed over Jane’s hand, giving it a gentle kiss. “My dear Miss Bennet. It is a pleasure to see you grown, and so beautiful, just as your father had said. I hope that the events of today do not divide your family too deeply, for a refused offer sometimes can. We will leave, so as not to impose upon you further.”
Mr. Darcy stared at his father, unsure of where this now-well-mannered man had come from, having displaced the crosspatch father who had been with him up until that point. There was another shriek from the house, however, and he had no further time to contemplate it as they made their excuses and left in their carriage.
As they pulled away, his father stared out the window at the Longbourn house.
“Your wife resides under that roof, my boy, although I dare say you best pick Jane Bennet. She is pretty, and sensible, and won’t turn down all you have to offer,” he spoke as if it was already decided, and Darcy thought it prudent not to bring up the fact that Bingley was already half in love with the girl.
They rolled towards Netherfield, and Darcy’s heart sank deep in his chest. A solution to his current conundrum did not seem forthcoming.
Chapter 14
Elizabeth Bennet
Longbourn, Hertfordshire
Enduring her mother’s scoldings had been perhaps the worst part of the day, but knowing that Mr. Darcy had been there for her great embarrassment had perhaps topped it off in the most painful way. The man already did not like her, and she had appeared at much less than her best, turning down an offer of marriage of all things, in front of near-strangers.
It had only been when her father had rescued her, wrapped her in a blanket and sat her in his study for tea had she been restored to her proper self.
“I could not marry him, Papa,” she said quietly as she stared into the fireplace. “You must know that if I had thought in any way that I could perhaps be move to love him, I would have, you must know that.”
She looked up at where her father was standing by the fireplace, an impassive expression on his face. Then he nodded and sank down to his knees slowly, a groan escaping his li
ps as he did. He took one of her hands in his and glanced up at her. In his face she saw salvation, kindness, forgiveness.
“While your mother may not see it, the match of you two would never have worked. It was not to be, and I would not see my beloved Lizzy miserable for the rest of her days for the sake of a house,” he said with a slow shake of his head. Her heart skipped and she put her tea down, embracing him. He held her tightly as she sobbed, tears running down her cheeks. It was as if she were a small girl again, curling up against him after a fearful dream had called him from his bed and to her side.
“But Longbourn will be entailed away from us-“
“Hush,” he comforted her with a gentle pat on the top of her head. “Do not think of it now. There will be other answers. Jane looks to marry well, I am sure of it, and Mr. Darcy feels that his son could make an excellent match with one of you. I am no matchmaker, dressed in veils and crying out my skills at the town market, but I do know that we shall be fine. All will be well in time.” Mr. Bennet sat back and eased her down into her seat again.
“Oh how can you be so calm, in the face of all that is to happen?” she asked, barely able to get air into her lungs. He fixed her with a stern look.
“Do not vex yourself. Breathe, girl, for fretting over this will not change the position of the stars in the sky.” He sighed and stood, pacing the room.
“I feel I should suggest to Mr. Darcy, the elder, that he wait until I have Jane settled with Mr. Collins-“
“Mr. Collins!”
“Well, if she has no other offer, she will not refuse it. I cannot make her refuse it, even if it against my wishes she marry the addle-pate,” he said with a low growl. Elizabeth stared up at her father.
“Surely, Papa, you cannot think she would accept-“
“Unlike you, she carries the burden of familial duty more closely to her heart, a fact I greatly regret in this moment, I assure you.”
