by Nora Kipling
Elizabeth stared down at her hands and then pulled her blanket tighter around her shoulders. No, Jane could not marry Mr. Collins.
“But what of Mr. Bingley-“ she tried, but he interrupted her yet again.
“He has not come to even speak to me. They shared a few dances, Lizzy, that is not the basis for a full proposal, and as young as you are, you still should know that.” Mr. Bennet walked to the window and looked out of it.
“Mr. Collins will be at me again in the morning, and he wishes to make a wife of one of my two eldest girls. Since you will not have him, then Jane remains his open avenue. He will offer for her, and there is nothing I can do to stop it.” Mr. Bennet’s hands went to grasp the window sill, his fingers going white with the pressure he exerted. Elizabeth had never seen her father so angry, it was unusual for him to be anything other than mildly displeased or perhaps distracted by some new book he had acquired. But now he seemed to be distressed, his feelings boiling over as if they could not be contained by his skin.
She stood and went to him, pressing up into his side. He looked down at her, surprise lining his face.
“Papa,” she said, and then fell silent, opening one of her arms to wrap the blanket around him. His frown melted away and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head, his own arm coming to curl around her shoulders.
“Ah Lizzy, I am pleased you did not accept Mr. Collins, as much as your mother rails at me for it,” he said softly. “I could not stand to lose you so soon.”
She inhaled the soapy scent of his clothes, and the bitter gall of ink that clung to the edges of his smell.
“Jane will see sense, and not marry Mr. Collins either,” she said in a small voice, although she did not half believe her words.
“Your mother will lay abed for days, moaning that fact if it comes to pass,” Mr. Bennet commented and then he let out a great breath, his chest deflating under the thin band of her arm. “But Jane is sensible, and so she will marry Mr. Collins and put paid to any hope of love in her future. No, my dear, I fear for my daughters, every one of you, that sense will prevail and you will choose the path of least resistance.”
“And what of you, did you choose sense as you think we would, or did you choose your heart?” Lizzy asked, feeling indignant that he thought so little of their strength, looking up at him. He looked out of the window, his throat tightening as he swallowed.
“I followed my heart, perhaps while I have many regrets, the produce of my choice… you, your sisters? I do not count you among the disappointments of my life’s efforts.” He blinked for a moment, and she felt her own heart squeeze at this rare display of affection and pride in her father.
“Papa,” she said and felt the urge to blink back tears as well. Seeing the moisture gather in the corners of her eyes, he sighed, turning her into his chest as he hugged her tight.
“It will be well, my sweet girl. Perhaps I am wrong. Perhaps you will choose your hearts, each and every one of you, and I shall go to my peace knowing that you are at the very least loved and loving, if not warm and safe,” he said with another sigh. She tucked her head up under his chin and wondered why it had to be one and not the other, why she could not be both safe and loved all at once.
She stared out the window, across Longbourn’s fields, but could find no answers there.
Chapter 15
Fitzwilliam Darcy
Netherfield, Hertfordshire
Mr. Darcy lay in his bed, unable to sleep. Bingley had been mooning about Netherfield for several days, since the senior Mr. Darcy had made it quite clear aloud that the younger Mr. Darcy was to pursue and ask for Miss Jane Bennet’s hand in marriage. Nothing would convince Bingley otherwise than to step aside in the face of his closest friend’s happiness.
Nothing, not even the fact that Mr. Darcy did not actually desire Jane Bingley for a wife. She was lovely enough, perhaps one of the most handsome women he had ever set eyes on, but he was not interested in her. She had all the desirable qualities that men of his standing wished for in women- rather unsuitable family relations aside, but that was not enough for Mr. Darcy. He did not see in her the same spark that Mr. Bingley did, and she did not captivate him like other, darker-haired and more mercurial beauties did.
No, he thought miserably to himself, he would not shackle himself to a lovely if loveless marriage with Miss Jane Bennet, and simultaneously doom his friend to heartbreak and ennui along the way. He had no choice but to stand up to his venerable father and tell him, under no uncertain terms, would he take Jane Bennet for a wife. No. He would look to one of the other girls, although even if they had all been equals in his eyes he would have wanted nobody but Elizabeth Bennet.
Curse his fickle heart! It disobeyed all logic and reason. Why it was sending him haring off of the one woman who was least likely to accept him, he had no idea.
He sat up in his bed with a groan and rubbed his hand over his eyes. It was the middle of the night, but he thought he might send down for some chocolate, to soothe his nerves. After several moments of sitting there in a state of indecision he finally rose from his bed and wrapped a robe around his body where it lay over the clothes horse. He paced to the shaded windows, and pulled the curtains.
The moon was hanging heavy and full in the sky. It lit up the grounds of Netherfield’s well manicured gardens and he felt better rested for looking upon it. Nature and greenery were always a favored view of his, and it calmed his frantic heart. No, he had little choice, he realized - he must make his apologies to Miss Elizabeth and then ask her to be his wife. Little else would matter him until he had secured her hand, and for more reason than one - he wished his father to see him as a proper man, and stop making noises about those presumed unnatural desires of which the younger Mr. Darcy truly had none.
He let out a pained groan and pushed his forehead against the glass with a sigh. He would not rest easy until his future was secure. Inappropriate as Miss Elizabeth’s family may be, with his father’s blessing there were few of the Ton who would openly sneer at him when he arrived in London with Miss Elizabeth on his arm.
London… he had not even thought of what it would be like to return to London with her. A farm girl, for a wife? He would never hear the end of it at his club. Perhaps he had best not pay attention to that though, since it was better to never hear the end of his little country wife, than to be penniless and without connections after the reason for his disowning came out.
And he had no doubt that word of his father’s reasoning would escape into the general society. There was nothing that the Ton loved so much as an excellent scandal, and the downfall of one of their own always made for an excellent scandal. His heart beat in his throat uncomfortably, and a knock came at the door.
His valet entered, looking sleepy, with a maid in tow. She set down the tray with his chocolate, and a set of rough country biscuits, before bowing and taking her leave. His valet, however, did not.
“Did you require something, Greer?” he asked, turning to the man who had been with him since he had turned sixteen and a valet had been deemed necessary by his father.
“No, sir, if I might, a moment of your time…” Greer said with a bow of his head. Mr. Darcy sat down on a chaise and took a slow sip of the warmed chocolate beverage, letting it soothe his nerves, and hopefully be a tonic to his rather fretful stomach.
“Of course, what is it?”
“Your father, sir, I am… I overheard some disturbing discussion from his room…” Greer trailed off, a look of guilt on his face. Mr. Darcy cleared his throat.
“If you think that I do not know that servants, wise servants, listen in to the master’s affairs so as not to be caught unawares… I will not fault you for this Greer, as you have always exercised discretion in all your efforts,” he said, and nodded for Greer to continue.
“It is young Mister Wickham,” Greer said, looking evermore pained. “He came to your father today, to speak to him of marriage. It seems that he has an interest in a local girl and w
anted to see if your father would give his blessing to the union.”
Mr. Darcy felt both of his eyebrows rise of their own volition.
“A local girl? Wickham? Looking to marry?” That seemed the very counter towards what he had seen of George Wickham in Meryton, but perhaps nothing should come as a shock to Darcy anymore.
“Yes, yes, he’s met a girl, one Elizabeth Bennet, and taken quite the affection for her. He asked your father’s blessing, and received it, sir,” Greer said. His words sank into Darcy as a hot brand on the sink.
“He what?” Darcy exclaimed sitting up, and nearly slopping the hot chocolate everywhere. He hissed and settled the cup, noting that Greer looked quite surprised at his master’s outburst. “I am sorry, Greer, that was… this news just simply comes as a surprise to me.” He took a deep swallow of chocolate. “Thank you, for the information.”
Greer eyed him curiously for a moment and then bowed.
“I will return to you if I hear any more of such matters, or any other matters regarding Mr. Wickham,” Greer said in his quiet, staid voice. “He is not… it seems he is not the same young man as I saw him raised to be.”
With that, the valet let himself out of Mr. Darcy’s room, leaving Mr. Darcy alone with his thoughts.
No, Greer… I do not think that Mr. Wickham is the man I once knew him to be… if he ever, indeed, was that man at all…
Chapter 16
Elizabeth Bennet
Longbourn, Hertfordshire
The family was gathered for breakfast, the scent of food waking a deep hunger in Elizabeth’s belly. Still, it could do nothing to soothe the tumultuous feelings that came along with the hunger, for Mr. Collins was sat next to Jane, giving the young woman long looks.
It was her fault, Lizzy thought as she sat there, watching her sister’s future fall open in front of them. She had turned down Mr. Collins, and thus he had shifted his attentions to Jane, beautiful Jane, ethereal Jane, who should be waiting on a proposal from Mr. Bingley, not fending off the advances of an awkward and insufferable cousin. Jane, to her credit, made no noise of protest and indeed did not act as if she were in any way put out by Mr. Collins’ attentions, instead smiling for him.
Elizabeth’s stomach churned, and the food on her plate no longer seemed so appetizing.
“Cousin? Is there something quite the matter?” Mr. Collins looked at her with an unkind smile twisting the corners of his mouth. He glanced again at Jane and then back to Lizzy. She stared at him for a moment to discern his meaning and then swallowed hard. Surely he could not be so cruel as to- he spoke, assuring her of his cruelty. “It has come to pass that I believe you were right to turn away my offer of marriage,” he said, voice carrying down the long breakfasting table. Out of the corner of her eye, Lizzy thought she saw her father sit up from his normal half-slumped morning state.
“I beg your pardon?” she asked, reaching for a bread roll she had no intention to eat. She just needed something in her hands, for she was fearful she might attach them around Mr. Collins’ neck if she did not have something else in them.
“I have given it great thought,” he said, and Lizzy heard her father give a low, soft snort of derision. The noise passed over Mr. Collins though, and he continued his line of speech. “Fair cousin Miss Bennet, I think, would make an excellent addition to the parsonage at Rosings. I do believe her temperament is much better suited to the estate, in all manners. So please, do not chide yourself for your maidenly shyness at having refused my offer. It has come to light to me, through the guidance of our Lord and deep contemplation, that you would not make the ultimate companion for my entire life, nor would you make me so pleased as to call myself your husband.” His words struck her like small, tiny arrows, and even though she would have been hard pressed to ever think to accept him, the insults to her person made her sit up and stare at him in surprise. Thankfully, perhaps, her father had indulged in a fit of coughing throughout most of Mr. Collins conversation, because she rather thought that the older man would have called out his nephew for such slights to his favorite daughter.
His words had not been missed by Jane, however, and she as well stared at Mr. Collins, a flush of color across her cheeks, from shame at her cousin’s behavior, or in anger at it, Lizzy could not say.
A tumultuous feeling spun in her belly, and had she not been seated so far that she could not reach, she would have been tempted to slap Mr. Collins clear across his pompous, jowled face. She felt as if she could not breathe, and her hands clutched white-pale around the bun she had grabbed just moments before.
“Mr. Collins,” Jane started, but Elizabeth made a low noise in the back of her throat, hushing her sister. Mr. Collins looked increasingly pleased with himself at Elizabeth’s silence, and while his joy at his cruelty burned her, she did not speak up against him. She would not give him the satisfaction of knowing how deeply he was cutting her.
“I am pleased that you have come to this realization, Mr. Collins,” she said, and he raised both eyebrows in what she presumed was surprise. Had he expected her to lash out at him? To tell him in plain words that he was being deliberately unkind? Then more the fool was he. She would do no such thing. He felt his pride had been wounded by her refusal, well, his very proposal had been an offense to hers.
She spread a curl of butter onto the bun that she had nearly mangled and slowly ate it with careful, deliberate bites.
“It will be my pleasure, as your brother, to find for you a more suitable match,” Mr. Collins continued, needling at her, as if because he could not get beneath her skin with his earlier words he would choose other, less practiced barbs.
“I would be honored to be given such consideration by you,” Elizabeth said simply, even though she hardly doubted that she would find any match through him that wasn’t terrible - he would pick the least likable of men, and tell them that she was intractable and prone to fits… that they would have to ‘break’ her into the seemly picture of a wife. No, she would marry no one he brought forward, even if it meant she needed to find employment as a Governess. Mr. Collins had proved himself that while he shared the Bennet bloodline, he did not share the esteem or care in which they looked out for one another. Even her mother, as addlepated as she was, would never be deliberately and so exactingly cruel as Mr. Collins had been.
She finished her meal in silence, ignoring Jane’s frequent and worried looks. Instead she stared straight ahead, and so ignored Mr. Collins that Lydia had to make conversation with him. Well, Lizzy thought, it was good practice for the younger girl, since she would be out in society soon enough, and learning to converse with the most boorish of men would serve Lydia well.
Chapter 17
George Wickham
Netherfield, Hertfordshire
Netherfield was quite pretty at night, with all its windows a-glow. Truly, Bingley must have been spending an absolute fortune on candles, the idiot. George Wickham stood below, staring up at the grand structure, and wondered which room might be the young Mr. Darcy’s. He scanned the windows with a sneering gaze and took another swig of whiskey from the bottle he’d secreted along on the carriage ride. Truly, he wondered how young Mr. Darcy fared, and if he was afraid.
He should be afraid, Wickham thought darkly. The rumors of the elder Mr. Darcy’s plans for the inheritance had not gone unheard by Mr. Wickham, and he had every intention of exploiting the old man’s affection for him and his derision for his flesh-and-blood son. How the two had fallen out, Wickham would never know, but it was certainly to his entire benefit that they had.
Now Mr. Darcy, the younger, was on the edge of losing Pemberley, all of his connections, his precious London club, in favor of those grand items being passed on to Mr. Wickham himself.
Wickham could scarcely contain his glee. It had only taken a few well-placed words about Fitzwilliam Darcy’s inclination for the most unnatural of desires in the right ears, and the whips of scandal and intrigue had found themselves in the elder Mr. Darcy’s hands withi
n a month.
Foolish old man planned to marry his son off to settle an old score with a friend, the aging and doddering Mr. Bennet… well, Wickham had a plan for that as well. Again, make sure the girls were either ineligible due to prior engagement, or that they were entirely unsuitable through ruining. He had known that Mr. Darcy would want his son to marry the beautiful and quiet Jane Bennet, but she would be shortly off the market and in the hands of Mr. Collins or Mr. Bingley, whichever lucky sod got to her first.
Before then, he intended to elope with the delightful Miss Elizabeth, and make her his wife… and the elder Mr. Darcy had promised him a princely wedding gift since he was so thrilled that his good friend’s daughter and good friend’s son would be wed.
That left only pitiful Miss Mary for Mr. Darcy to wed, and she was too bookish. Either the younger Mr. Darcy would refuse out right, or Mr. Wickham would see to it that she was ruined or wed to some country clod. Perhaps Mr. Collins even if Bingley took Miss Jane Bennet first. It would only take a few nudges, and a few coins in the right hands, once he had his purse full again with wedding gifts from Miss Elizabeth’s grateful parents and the money promised from elder Mr. Darcy.
Wickham took another long, slow glug of whiskey and looked up at Netherfield’s glowing windows again.
The last girl, Miss Catherine, was barely out, and as good as a child. Wickham knew Fitzwilliam. He would never bed a girl so young, and was unlikely to accept her as a wife.
No, young Mr. Darcy was well and truly hemmed in, and yet he did not know it. Wickham looked to see him destroyed, and paid back for the sins that Darcy had done to him when they had grown together as boys… before Darcy had taken off to school and forgotten his good friend, his long time friend, back in Pemberley.
