Fitzwilliam Darcy

by Cressida Lane

  Darcy nodded. Every other person in the room gasped.

  “Yes, Mr. Hurst, that is correct. On receiving notice from one Mr. Weatherby of London this afternoon, I have indeed become Matlock.”

  The room erupted in noise – everyone began talking at once, except for Miss Jane Bennet. She gave Darcy a small smile and inclined her head, acknowledging his loss and his simultaneous gain with a small, eloquent look.

  Mr. and Mrs. Hurst had begun arguing with each other; he couldn’t discern the subject. Miss Bingley was talking to him, but Darcy couldn’t make it out over the din. Miss Elizabeth Bennet was speaking quietly to Bingley.

  The cacophony continued for several minutes until finally Bingley stood, his glass in hand. For the second time in a few moments the room went silent.

  “Dear friends and neighbors,” said Bingley with a clear aim at showmanship. It was not among his natural gifts. “I want to thank you all for being here this evening. These last few weeks, being our first at Netherfield, have been memorable. I cannot tell you how glad I am to have come here.” He smiled broadly. Darcy fancied his gaze lingered in Miss Bennet’s direction. “And I think that in light of the news we’ve just received, we owe it to our new neighbors to throw a ball here at Netherfield! Darcy, my lord, you’ll be the guest of honor, of course. An evening of celebration for us all.”

  This proclamation drew mixed results; Miss Bingley was eager to impress upon Mr. Darcy her avowed support during this trying time, but she all but sneered at the thought of spending another evening in company with the people in the neighborhood. Mrs. Hurst was of a similar mind.

  Mr. Hurst didn’t mind a ball, for Bingley kept an excellent chef.

  “And now,” cried Bingley. “I would ask you to please raise your glasses with me to toast our most honorable friend, Fitzwilliam Darcy, the new Earl of Matlock!”

  They toasted, and Darcy toasted them back and drank deeply. He did not much care for wine, nor its effects, but today was proving to be a day for novelty. Perhaps the beverage would grow on him if he persisted.

  Miss Elizabeth Bennet was smiling.

  “Why do you smile?” he asked her.

  “You have a very good friend in Mr. Bingley, Mr. Darcy,” she said. She blushed. “Excuse me, I mean to say, my lord.”

  “Nonsense,” he said, banishing the attribute with a wave of his hand. She was correct in her address, but Darcy was not entirely ready to accept it as his. Moreover, he would not see her made uncomfortable. “You are right about Bingley, of course. But what makes you say so?”

  “He made that toast to get everyone at the table to leave you be. Did you notice?” she asked. “They’ve all gone back to their own conversations rather than trying to drown you in inquiry.”

  Darcy had not noticed, but did so now.

  “Very observant of you, Miss Elizabeth,” he said, setting his wine aside. His dinner companion was a more effective distraction, particularly when she blushed. “But I did see you talking with Bingley right before he made his grand announcement about the ball. Do I detect a hint of mischief-making?”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it, my lord,” she said, but her eyes shone with humor. “I would not presume to suggest Mr. Bingley throw you a ball.”

  “You know that is not what I meant.”

  “In all seriousness,” she said, quieting. “I am sorry for your loss, and your family’s.”

  “I thank you,” he said. “But my uncle and I were not close.”

  “Perhaps you’ll be spared the pain of much grief, then,” she said. A few moments passed as they ate in silence.

  “He missed his wife and youngest son very much, these last couple of years,” said Darcy. “I rather think old Matlock is happier where he is.”

  “Then I shall speak no more of grief,” said Miss Elizabeth. “I imagine the sudden appearance of a family title means you have a great deal to do.”

  Darcy accepted the change in subject with gratitude for he would indeed grieve his uncle’s loss, as well as that of Lucius and his family, but at dinner with guests was not the time to indulge his feelings.

  “You imagine correctly,” he said. “My aunt – Lady Catherine who I told you about the other morning – she has already written regarding the most pressing social engagements, along with the duties of the office itself.” The prospect was a bit daunting, but he felt more equal to the task than he had an hour ago.

  “Will your new office keep you from attending a ball at Netherfield as the guest of honor?”

  “Would you be sorry if it did?” he asked. Darcy was not well versed in teasing, but Miss Elizabeth’s lively conversation and charming wit seemed to invite him to try.

  “I think I would,” said Miss Elizabeth, her humor restored. “Though we shall see if that sentiment holds when first we see you dance, Mr. Darcy.”

  Whatever reply he might have made was forestalled by the end of the meal.

  When later they had all assembled for the evening’s cards, Mr. Darcy found his dinner companion nowhere in sight.

  “If you are looking for Miss Eliza Bennet,” said Miss Bingley, appearing at his elbow as though summoned. “She and her sister have retired for the night.”

  “I was not looking for anyone,” he replied, careful to quash any sign of disappointment from his expression.

  “That’s just as well,” said Miss Bingley with a small smile. “Would you take a turn with me, Mr. Darcy? I have something to say in light of your new situation that might interest you.”

  Chapter 7

  Darcy glanced about the room. Mr. Hurst was already approaching a state of repose, his wine glass empty on the table beside him. Bingley was talking to Mrs. Hurst while she idly browsed through sheet music, looking bored.

  Whatever Miss Bingley had in mind, she did not wish to be overheard; otherwise there would be no need to walk the room.

  Darcy typically took pains to avoid the suggestion of intimacy between himself and his friend’s unmarried sister. They were thrown together often and he considered it far beneath his character to allow even the suspicion of a greater intimacy, be it the public’s suspicion or Miss Bingley’s herself. Darcy admired the woman, but there his feelings ended.

  The request was unusual, even for Miss Bingley, and so he consented.

  She waited until they had crossed the entire room before she spoke again.

  “My lord, let me just express once more my deepest sympathies for the loss of your uncle,” she began. Darcy nodded but did not reply. “You must now be facing an immense amount of pressure.”

  “Any title comes with some responsibility. It’s not much different than that of having an inheritance, or having estates to maintain.” At least not so far, he thought privately.

  “If I may be so bold, my lord, there I must disagree. The expectations of any man of fortune and breeding are high, to be sure. We are speaking now of a man who is simultaneously of good fortune, breeding, and serving as a peer of the realm.”

  “Say what you mean to say, Miss Bingley,” said Darcy, growing more tired with each passing moment. Her comments trod precipitously close to his own reflections earlier that afternoon.

  “As you wish,” she said demurely. “Excuse my frankness on the subject, my lord, but I strongly believe your new title is going to make you, quite simply, the most sought-after unmarried man in all of England.”

  Darcy felt a blush start on his own cheeks.

  “As it happens, you’re the second woman to point this out to me today,” he said, struggling to contain his irritation. “What compels you to point this out?”

  “I cannot speak for the woman who mentioned it to you first,” said Miss Bingley, looking rather put out that she wasn’t the only one to bring the matter to his attention. “When news of this gets out, Netherfield will collapse under the deluge.”

  At that, Darcy stopped walking.

  “You think I should quit Netherfield,” he said tonelessly.

  “Not at all!” she cr
ied. “On the contrary. However I do think we, all of us, will need to arm ourselves accordingly.”

  “There is no need for you or Bingley or the Hursts to involve yourselves,” said Darcy. But he was intrigued; Miss Bingley clearly had a plan. “In what manner do you propose we ‘arm ourselves’?”

  Miss Bingley steeled herself visibly, taking a deep breath.

  “I think you need to get married.”

  “That’s not much of plan, Miss Bingley,” he said, underwhelmed. “Lady Catherine suggested as much in her letter to me this afternoon.”

  “Your aunt is a woman of keen insight,” said Miss Bingley. “I mean, quite frankly, that if you wish to avoid the oncoming storm of unmarried ladies and their country mamas, every one of whom will say or do anything in their power to land you as husband, you need to become engaged. Immediately.”

  Her direction, and on such a personal matter, galled; yet she persisted.

  “I assure you, I speak only as your friend,” continued Miss Bingley. “And with that sentiment in mind, I would like to offer my help.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I suggest we announce our engagement immediately, to stave off the coming interest in your title. Those people do not know you, my lord,” said Miss Bingley, with no small degree of fervor in her voice. “We here at Netherfield have known and cared for you for ages now. With the power of our family’s status and fortune supporting that of Darcy – and now Matlock – we can help you weather the transition.”

  Darcy cleared his throat.

  “Let me be perfectly clear on this point: You are offering to pose as my fiancée for the next several weeks or months to stave off this… supposed hoard of women who might approach me because I’ve inherited a title.”

  She nodded solemnly. “I am, for however long it takes.”

  * * *

  Darcy excused himself for the night shortly after his conversation with Miss Bingley, blaming the trying events of the day. No one challenged him, though Miss Bingley obviously wished to continue their conversation. He’d thanked her for her friendship and told her he’d consider her offer.

  His character demanded he consider it seriously, since Darcy had explicitly told her he would. He could not allow himself to lie; though Miss Bingley’s offer –this foolish idea– it was little better. Lying to the whole world to spare himself some inconvenience. Caroline and his aunt were both firm in their respective opinions that the inconvenience, the coming trouble, would be vast indeed. He was not yet convinced on that point.

  Darcy could see some merit in the idea. A public engagement to his dear friend’s sister would raise no questions. There would be little need for theatre, as they already travelled together frequently.

  But for the audacious, undeniable duplicity, Miss Bingley’s plan might actually have worked.

  Even so, Darcy could not bring himself to take the idea seriously. No; he’d simply keep his head down, attend the minimum required amount of social events, and catch up on the workings of Matlock and Pemberley until the gossipmongers had moved on to juicier fodder. With any luck at all, some other unmarried peer would arrive on the scene and society would forget all about Fitzwilliam Darcy, newest Earl of Matlock.

  The next morning started out the same as most of his mornings at Netherfield.

  Darcy breakfasted early, accompanied at the last by Bingley, who’d risen earlier than usual to say goodbye to his now-healed guests. The Bennet sisters had made an early exit, thanking their host profusely and having already extracted promises from Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley for visits at Longbourn. Darcy felt a bit bereft now that their charming, pretty companions were gone but his thoughts were quickly occupied elsewhere.

  He would have to answer Miss Bingley’s offer one way or another, and soon. She was not a woman to be put off for long. Darcy shook his head and returned to the paper, still warm from the morning’s press.

  Bingley was about to leave the room a few moments later when the sound of Darcy’s fist on the table stopped his exit.

  “Good God, Darcy. What’s happened?”

  “My aunt,” said Darcy in a voice tight with restraint. “Lady Catherine has happened.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Read this.” Darcy thrust the paper blindly over his shoulder into Bingley’s hands.

  “The whole sheet? It’ll take me ages.”

  “Not the whole sheet. This item here in the middle.” Bingley laid the papers down. Darcy found the paragraph and pointed. Bingley read it aloud.

  “F------ D----- of Derbyshire, is rumored soon to bear the name of M-----. If true it bodes well for our ladies this Season, for he must be in want of a wife.” Bingley looked up. “It doesn’t mention Lady Catherine.”

  “It doesn’t have to,” said Darcy. “She wrote yesterday to offer her help should something like this arise.” She’d also written to offer her daughter’s hand, but Darcy did not mention that. He trusted his friend implicitly but it would hardly help.

  “You think she wrote the announcement?”

  “If she didn’t, she instructed the man who did. I am sure of it.” Darcy pushed the paper away and sat back. Bingley took the chair next to him.

  “Right,” he said. “So… what do we do now?”

  “We carry on, Bingley, same as always. Lady Catherine has an agenda; this is nothing new to the world. Half-mourning or no, I have a host of things to do in the name of Matlock in the next few weeks. Have you chosen a date for your ball?”

  “I thought I’d consult you on that first, as you’re to be my guest of honor.”

  “Good,” said Darcy. Bingley deferred to him often enough, he’d been counting on this very circumstance. “Have it Wednesday next, if it pleases you. That will give me enough time to collect Georgiana and make some arrangements at Pemberley.”

  “You’re leaving?” asked Bingley.

  “As soon as possible.”

  A servant approached. “Yes, Milton,” said Bingley. “What is it?”

  “Visitors, sir,” said the man, looking a bit sheepish.

  “At this hour?” said Bingley. Milton set down the small tray he’d brought into the room. “Good God. That must be eight – no, ten cards. What’s going on?”

  Darcy leaned forward and took a card from the stack. A local well-to-do matron. The next was her unmarried sixteen-year-old daughter.

  “How many woman are out there, Milton?” asked Darcy tonelessly.

  “There were thirteen when I come to find Mr. Bingley, sir,” said the man. He did not so much as bat an eye at the number. “But I saw Stevens letting in some more on my way in.”

  Darcy closed his eyes.

  Chapter 8

  “What on earth is going on?” wondered Bingley as he flipped through the card tray.

  “Exactly what Lady Catherine planned,” said Darcy, his eyes still closed. “Matlock has become a celebrity. An unmarried celebrity.”

  Bingley looked flummoxed.

  “You only just found out yesterday,” he said. “How can they possibly know about the earl already?”

  Darcy opened his eyes and stood. “They evidently read their news earlier than we do.”

  “Alright,” said Bingley, standing alongside him. “I know what to do.”

  “Do you?” For the first time in a day, Darcy found himself amused.

  “Even I can reasonably assert that you may not be quite prepared for so much attention just yet. After all, you’re in mourning now.”

  “Half mourning,” murmured Darcy. “But you’re right. It should work.”

  “Use the servants’ stairway,” urged Bingley. “I’ll visit with the women. It is my house, after all. And I believe I am already acquainted with most of these women. Perhaps Caroline, Louisa, and I shall make some new friends today.”

  “And what will you say of me?”

  “If they ask about you – and you know, it is possible that you are wrong about their intentions – I will make excuses r
egarding your sudden need to visit Matlock, now that you’ve inherited. I shan’t have to lie; you said yourself that you have business to attend.”

  “That’s true,” said Darcy. His relief was profound, as was his gratitude toward his friend.

  “Then go see to your trunks, if you like. I’ll begin issuing invitations to the ball and dispense with our unexpected guests as soon as may be.”

  “Bingley,” said Darcy, stopping his friend before he could leave the breakfast room. “Thank you.”

  “Say nothing of it,” said Bingley with a smile. “The day may yet come I’ll need you to rescue me from my circumstances; we can discuss your remittance then.”

  “I’ll write you once I arrive.”

  Darcy took the servants’ stairs as directed, making his way toward his rooms as quickly as he could manage. His gait slowed as he approached the room so recently vacated by Miss Elizabeth Bennet. As the Bennets had returned home, there was nothing to be feared, nothing inappropriate by him seeing the room once more.

  Darcy quietly stepped inside, closed the door behind him and leaned his back against it. The mantle of his inheritance was becoming burdensome already, and it had only been his a day.

  He did not fear responsibility. Darcy had been raised by magnanimous parents who’d begun teaching at him a young age that their superior state in life required him both to maximize his opportunities and to provide for others as much as he was able. He understood the nature of obligation and was well prepared to rise to it.

  He suspected Miss Elizabeth Bennet knew a thing or two about obligation. Her mother and sisters must undoubtedly require a certain kind of attention. Darcy himself was not possessed of the humor that must be required daily to withstand such an onslaught of indelicacy, but Miss Elizabeth had seemed to be the very soul of grace. He wondered how she had come to bear it thus.

  His thoughts began to wander. Miss Elizabeth Bennet was beneath him, socially speaking, but Darcy had no reason to think she was any less fortunate than he. She had sisters she clearly loved, and both of her parents still lived. They were comfortable, though not of great means. Miss Bingley had not approved of the Bennets – excepting Jane, her favorite – but to Darcy’s knowledge, that disapproval was not founded in any one fact or other, stemming rather from Miss Bingley’s estimation of her own standing and how very far beneath it others must needs fall.