A Certain Something

by Cassandra B Leigh

  That was true enough, but since nothing would ever come of it, he need not admit anything. “She has no fortune.”

  “Why should that matter? You have never mentioned any other lady in your letters before, so you must like her.”

  “The family would object.”

  “Not I.”

  “No, but our uncle would find her circumstances unsuitable. He has lectured me these past four years of my duty to the family.” Since his father’s death, the earl had repeated the same speech at every visit.

  “If you have your mind set on her, I do not see why Uncle Matlock would raise the smallest objections.”

  Unfortunately, Darcy’s mind had never been more unsettled. “You do not understand these matters, Georgiana. Every possibility must be considered; even your own match depends on my making a stellar alliance.”

  She sighed softly but pressed the issue no further. His naïve sister, while inquisitive and intelligent, was far too young to comprehend the importance of making favourable connections. As his uncle had frequently reminded him, in these matters, wiser heads must prevail.

  ***

  Friday morning, Darcy entered his study, determined to apply himself to estate issues for the next few hours. He sorted through the stack of mail and determined which needed his immediate attention. Taking pen to paper, he addressed the most pressing issue, signed and sealed the letter, then moved on to the next.

  The sound of a Scottish air wafting from the music room diverted his thoughts back to Netherfield, and his dances with Elizabeth. Her expressive eyes, her flowing movements, and her shapely figure all returned to the forefront. Closing his eyes, he could hear her mellow voice and smell her floral scent. What is she doing right now? he wondered. Does she ever think of me?

  Then, as he recalled his last visit with her at the top of Oakham Mount, a pang of guilt beset him. She had appeared blissfully content, smiling serenely and chatting comfortably—until he announced his return to town. Her high spirits had vanished in that instant and never returned. Although he had been downcast himself, he had made sure to display no sign of emotion. Perhaps it was due to force of habit; even as a child, he had always kept his feelings hidden. His late father had taught him that a man did not survive in the world by tipping his hand or revealing his secrets. Emotions made you vulnerable and gave your rivals an undue advantage. While Elizabeth was not his opponent, allowing expectations where none could be realised would be not only unwise but cruel.

  The hall clock struck the hour, reminding him that he ought to get back to business. Allowing such interruptions when important matters needed his attention served no purpose.

  Thirty minutes later, his peace was disrupted when Charles Bingley stormed into the study, ripping off his gloves, still wearing his coat and hat and disregarding the butler’s attempts to relieve him of them. “Darcy, why did you not wait for me at Netherfield?” he said, his face red and his eyes fierce.

  “I’m sorry, Bingley, but your sisters insisted. I could not keep them there against their will; nor could I stay there alone.”

  Grumbling, Bingley tore off his hat, dumped his gloves inside, and handed it to the butler, who then took his overcoat and quietly withdrew. Raking a hand through his hair, Bingley paced to and fro. “I tell you, Darcy, my interfering sisters shall be the death of me. You should count yourself fortunate that you were not there to witness our quarrel when I discovered they closed up Netherfield against my wishes.” Clenching his fists, he continued to pace. “Am I not the head of the family? To be usurped by a pair of conniving females—I was never so livid.”

  Although relieved that Bingley had finally confronted his troublesome sisters, Darcy made no mention of it. He gestured to a chair and poured a cup of coffee for his friend. “Perhaps it is for the best.”

  Bingley came to an abrupt halt in the centre of the room. “How can you say so? I never enjoyed myself more than I did at Netherfield. My own estate, the comradery, the ball…” He paused for a moment, then lowered his voice to a whisper. “Jane.” His shoulders relaxed, and his eyes glimmered with that faraway gaze that Darcy had seen many times before.

  “So, you are in love—again,” Darcy said, offering the chair a second time. Bingley finally sat, allowing Darcy to do the same.

  “Have you never been in love, Darcy?”

  He shook his head, unable to recall any woman who had affected him as much as Elizabeth Bennet. “Not as often as you have, I daresay.”

  “Yes, I may have thought myself in love many times in the past, but they were nothing like Jane. I cannot imagine my future without her. I swear, I would move heaven and earth to be near her again.”

  Although Darcy understood that sentiment, he merely nodded, admitting nothing. “If you are certain that she would not accept you for your fortune…” He did not continue, nor did he need to explain.

  Bingley’s contentment vanished, and he furrowed his brow. “No, Darcy, not Jane. There is no falseness about her. You forget, I have a sister with lofty pretensions. As you are well aware, Caroline has made no secret of her ambitions where you are concerned.”

  Yes, he was fully aware of her schemes, even so far as to involve Georgiana. Not unlike Mrs Bennet, Caroline would stop at nothing to realise her objective. “But her mother, Bingley; you did not hear her spouting off at supper about her daughter soon being installed as mistress of Netherfield.” Even now, the memory revolted him.

  “Did she?” Bingley chuckled lightly. “I admit, I should like nothing better.”

  Darcy found no amusement in such presumptions. “Perhaps, but she also mentioned my attention to Elizabeth.”

  Bingley merely shrugged. “Well, you did pay attention to her, so you only have yourself to blame,” he said, scooping up a pastry from the tray and taking a bite.

  “Charles!” he said, now out of patience. “Their mother is vulgar and absurd. She should not have presumed anything about my intentions.”

  Unaffected by his outburst, Bingley sipped his coffee and leaned back in his chair. “I agree, she should not have done so, Darcy, but do you not see? Mrs Bennet’s prattling does not bother me in the least; Jane is all that matters.” Darcy released a groan. “I will not give her up simply because her mother loves to gossip.”

  Observing the sincerity and determination in Bingley’s expression, the will to dispute him faded. Although Darcy disagreed with his friend’s dismissal of Mrs Bennet’s many shortcomings, he could well understand Bingley’s desire to return to Jane.

  “The house is closed up, and the holidays are nearly upon us, but I shall go back to Netherfield as soon as I can arrange it.”

  “Are you certain Jane returns your affections?” Darcy inquired, wishing he had observed them together that night.

  Bingley crossed one leg over the other. “If she does not, I shall prove myself worthy of her.”

  Darcy scoffed at the absurd suggestion. “Worthy of her? The daughter of a man of small fortune, with relations in trade and unenviable connections?”

  Bingley’s smile faltered. “Have you forgotten that my father was a tradesman? Mr Bennet is a gentleman.”

  Already regretting his unintended slight of Bingley’s father, he immediately apologised. The late Mr Bingley had worked hard to provide for his children, and Darcy had no cause to disparage him.

  After taking another bite of the pastry, then washing it down with coffee, Bingley leaned forward. “What will you do about Elizabeth?”

  Darcy had no answer. He could not decide which he wanted more: to follow his own inclination or keep peace within the family. Unfortunately, no matter what he decided, someone was bound to disagree. “If you do decide to return to Netherfield—”

  “Make no mistake, Darcy, I shall return,” Bingley said with more determination than Darcy had ever witnessed.

  “Well, then, please give Elizabeth my regards.”

  Bingley broke into a wide grin. “With the greatest pleasure in the world.”

 
Witnessing his friend’s exuberance at the prospect of returning to his favourite made Darcy wonder. If he followed his heart, would he enjoy the same happy outlook, or would he regret defying his family? Then again, perhaps he ought not compare himself to his friend. Unlike Bingley, a tradesman’s son, with no relations other than his sisters, Darcy’s family of noble lineage expected him to make a brilliant match. Certainly, no one of his station could value a connection to the Bennets of Longbourn.

  Unfortunately, long after Bingley had taken his leave, these conflicting thoughts continued to torment Darcy. Not only had he come to no conclusion about his future, he had also made little progress on several business issues awaiting his decisions. He would have to devote several more hours to resolve those issues. At least he was well versed on solving estate matters; delving into affairs of the heart was more like sailing into unchartered waters.

  ***

  The mood in the parlour was a bit subdued Friday night at the Darcy town house. Georgiana had asked about Elizabeth again at supper, but he had politely asked her to change the subject. After his earlier fruitless contemplations, he found the conflicting emotions exhausting. Having come to no conclusions about Elizabeth, he preferred to put her out of his mind for the present time. Thankfully, Mrs Annesley kept the conversation flowing during the meal and the hour passed without incident. After supper, Georgiana attempted to play the pianoforte, but she abandoned the effort after a few minutes, claiming fatigue. Instead, she quietly worked on a stitching project while Darcy read the newspaper. He had not meant to upset her, nor did he wish to repeat the same conversation.

  “Why so glum, Cousins?”

  Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam stood in the doorway, attired in his British Army regimentals. “Welcome, Richard,” Darcy said, glad for his cousin’s timely diversion. Richard’s good humour never failed to lift Georgiana’s spirits.

  While Darcy poured him a glass of wine, Richard embraced Georgiana, then settled into his chair, sampled the wine, and winked in approval. “What have I missed?”

  “Why would your father object to Fitzwilliam marrying anyone he chooses?” Georgiana inquired.

  Richard’s jovial smile vanished and his brows drew together. “Are you getting married?”

  “No.” Darcy drained his own glass and poured another. He would need fortification to get through this conversation.

  “But if he chose to marry a woman of little fortune…”

  Taken aback by Georgiana’s bold comment, Darcy interrupted, gently chiding her for speaking out of turn. She paled, then begged his pardon for her outburst. Gathering her sewing basket, she bade them good night and retired for the evening, followed quickly by Mrs Annesley.

  Richard waited until their footsteps had faded on the staircase. “What brought that on?”

  Darcy exhaled deeply, hoping he had not upset her again. “There is a woman…in Hertfordshire. I mentioned her several times in my correspondence, and now Georgiana has taken it into her head that I mean to marry her.”

  Richard raised his brows. “Well, do you?”

  “Certainly not. Besides her lack of fortune, her connections are unsuitable,” he said, hoping to put an end to the thorny topic.

  Richard nodded thoughtfully and sipped his wine. “But you mentioned her—several times, so she must be something special,” he said, to which Darcy made no answer. His cousin then assumed a knowing smile. “Ah, so she is special, but, for some reason, you left her behind.”

  “Something like that.”

  “Hmm. Tell me about her.” Richard’s smug smile indicated his expectation of instant gratification.

  Darcy groaned. “I know what you’re doing, Richard. You will have me list all of her favourable attributes, of which there are many, and then convince me that I ought to offer for her.” He had fallen for his cousin’s tricks many times in the past and was wiser for it now.

  Richard shrugged. “Since you know what I am about, then you also know that I will not relent until I know everything, so tell me at once,” he said with a snicker.

  Well acquainted with his cousin’s persistent interrogation tactics, Darcy grumbled under his breath. He had only two choices: he could allow his cousin to slowly drag the information out of him or he could reveal the entire story directly. Deciding the latter would be less painful, he began with the assembly and how he gradually came to admire Elizabeth. Richard listened in silence as he drank his wine; however, at the mention of George Wickham’s name, he became enraged, cursing and clenching his fists. “You need not worry that he will endanger anyone in Hertfordshire. I spoke to Colonel Forster, and he will ensure that Wickham is brought to heel.”

  Richard vowed to write to Forster himself, then allowed him to continue with the story, which ended with his retreat from Oakham Mount. “If I am not mistaken, your regard goes beyond simple admiration.”

  “You are not mistaken.” What man could help but fall in love with Elizabeth?

  Richard contemplated his wineglass for a moment, then put it aside. “You are correct in your assumption that my father would disapprove of the Bennets.” Unfortunately, his cousin merely confirmed what Darcy already knew. “However, he cannot prevent you from marrying where you choose, Darcy. Certainly, you must know that.”

  Although Darcy considered Richard as he would a brother and valued his opinion above all others, he could not agree. “The earl has drummed my obligation to the family into my head these past few years. I could not think of defying him.”

  “Yes, he will likely raise a storm. For that matter, so will Aunt Catherine if you do not offer for her daughter Anne, but I would hate to see you settle for some fortune hunter or empty-headed heiress when you have already found someone who suits you so well.”

  No, Darcy would not marry where he did not love, despite his family’s insistence.

  “If you are willing to risk Aunt Catherine’s ire for failing to submit to her will, certainly my father can do no worse.”

  Darcy had to admit, his cousin made a compelling argument. After receiving Richard’s assurance of support for whatever decision he made, Darcy thanked him for the advice and escorted him to the front door. His cousin gave him much to consider. He had always assumed that, when the time came, he would oblige his family. Perhaps he ought to follow his heart instead. Unfortunately, this notion was entirely foreign to him. Family, duty, and Pemberley had always been his priorities.

  As he ascended the stairs, he wondered if he really ought to consider pursuing Elizabeth. He could not forget her family, especially her tactless mother. Mrs Bennet had a habit of saying whatever came into her mind with no regard for who might be listening. How could he consider introducing such a vulgar woman to his uncle? There would be no end to the indignities that might erupt from that garrulous harpy. And the younger daughters were nearly as crass with no one at home to correct their poor behaviour. Would they one day grow into replicas of their mother, trained to allure any single man of large fortune?

  Of course, he had no such reservations about Elizabeth, who had inherited no similar tendencies. When he had last seen her, unaccompanied on Oakham Mount, she’d made no attempt to put herself forward. Surely, any number of women he knew would have taken advantage of the opportunity to ensnare a wealthy husband, but she had taken care to ensure that no one observed them together, insisting on walking home alone a distance of at least one mile. Little did she know that she had already captured a piece of his heart.

  When he fell asleep that night, Elizabeth came to him in his dreams. Unlike his waking moments, he suffered no confusion. He guided her through a tour of Pemberley and up the grand staircase. In the pale light of the master’s chambers, he suffered no hesitation and she offered no resistance to his advances. Holding her in his arms, he abandoned all restraint and made her his own.

  Chapter 15

  On a blustery December day, Elizabeth listened to the mantle clock tick away the seconds while she worked on her stitchery in the sitting parlour. E
ven though a sennight had elapsed since the night of the ball, Mrs Bennet still maintained her assertions that Mr Bingley would return, just as he said he would. “You can never predict how long these business matters might take to resolve, and even if he takes another week, I daresay, I will see him at my table erelong.” However, Mrs Bennet had repeated her opinion with such frequency in the past week that Elizabeth questioned her own view of Bingley’s intentions. Perhaps he had not meant to raise Jane’s expectations. Perhaps Darcy or his sisters had convinced him to stay away.

  While she contemplated these disturbing possibilities, a servant entered the parlour, followed by Mr Bingley. Exchanging surprised glances with Jane, they rose and made their curtsies. Their mother had been right all along—at least about Bingley.

  Mrs Bennet greeted him with a triumphant smile. “Mr Bingley, I knew you would come. You must stay for supper.”

  Bingley made his bow. “Hello, Mrs Bennet and all the Miss Bennets. I am afraid I cannot stay as I have a prior commitment,” he said, taking a seat across from Jane.

  “But then you must come tomorrow.” Elizabeth admired her mother’s determination to entertain Bingley at her table.

  He gave a sad shake of his head. “I fear I have only come to beg your pardon for going away without taking my leave of you. I had every intention of returning when my business was finished, but, as you know, my sisters have closed the house. I would not wish you to think poorly of me,” he said, his eyes fixed intently on Jane.

  Mrs Bennet scoffed. “On no account in the world, Mr Bingley. Is that not so, Jane?”

  “Have you decided to give up the lease on Netherfield, Mr Bingley?” Jane inquired, as colour rose to her face.

  The air around Bingley sparkled. “No, indeed, I mean to return as soon as I can arrange it. My sisters will not be joining me, but I hope to contrive somehow.” He never shifted his affectionate gaze away from Jane.

  “Oh, that is excellent news,” Mrs Bennet said in jubilant tones, then quickly tempered her voice. “We shall miss your sisters’ company, of course, but I suppose they prefer living in town.” Elizabeth prayed her mother would say nothing embarrassing.