by Jennifer Joy
Wickham had stayed behind — Darcy suspected to continue in his attempts to woo Miss Bingley, who wanted nothing to do with him. When Darcy and Bingley entered the drawing room, she was blocking her view of Wickham with a book, pretending to be enraptured with its contents. As soon as she saw them, she snapped the book shut.
“It is dull without any entertainment. If we were in town, we could go to Gunter’s Tea Shop for ices. We could go for a drive in Hyde Park. There is always so much to be seen there,” she said.
Bingley replied, “You are free to go for a drive here. The ground is damp, but it is not raining.”
Miss Bingley scoffed, “And what would I see besides birds and endless fields spotted with the occasional laborer working them? I am dying to see the cuts of Mrs. Harrison’s new gowns. She always renews her wardrobe at the end of the year. I am stuck in the country while all the other ladies will have had ample time to copy her designs for their own gowns.”
Wickham said, “What is the plumage of a bird compared to Mrs. Harrison?”
Darcy snickered, but Wickham’s joke was lost on Miss Bingley, who said, “Precisely my point! I shall be at a tremendous disadvantage when we return to our townhouse.”
The clock chimed, and Mrs. Hurst groaned. “Do not forget we are obliged to call on Lady Lucas today.”
Miss Bingley rolled her eyes. “Such a tiresome family. Sir William speaks of nothing but St. James, and his wife and daughters are as boring as they are plain.”
“Caroline! Do not mock a good family when you could benefit from their company. While Sir William has been granted a knighthood, he does not give himself airs. His wife and daughters are sensible creatures who happen to be close friends with the eldest Bennets, and I will not hear anyone in my house mock them,” Bingley said in as cross a manner as Darcy had ever witnessed him use. Now that Darcy thought about it, he could not recall any other occasion in which Bingley had ever corrected his sister. Darcy was happy to see it.
With a huff, Miss Bingley smoothed her skirts, following Mrs. Hurst to dress for their call.
As soon as they left, Bingley asked, “Is it too soon to call at Longbourn?”
“Miss Bennet only just returned to her family this morning,” Darcy pointed out.
Bingley paced in front of the fireplace, tugging on his ginger hair until it stood out at odd angles. “I know it, Darcy, but…” He stopped, turned to face Darcy with his shoulders slumped in defeat, “… I think I love her. I feel that a part of me is missing, and I must get it back.”
Wickham cackled. “You are caught, sir. And to a lady with no fortune and little else besides her beauty to recommend her. You are doomed to a life of jealousy.”
Bingley’s eyes widened. “Why must I be jealous?”
It did not occur to Bingley to doubt Miss Bennet’s devotion. If she was as steadfast to him as he would be to her, then there would be no need for jealousy.
Wickham grinned roguishly. “If you cannot see it, then I would rather not explain how these things work.”
Darcy snapped, “There are individuals who live by higher values than you do.”
Wickham shot him a look, but he held his tongue.
To Bingley, Darcy said, “Are you certain of her attachment to you?”
“The last two days have convinced me. She is not a flirt, but I saw her interest in small ways. The flutter of her eyelashes, the color of her cheeks, how she did not draw back when I sat a little too close…”
Darcy hated to spoil Bingley’s hopeful optimism, but he did not see anything extraordinary in Miss Bennet’s reactions. Too many times he had seen the same reactions in Elizabeth, and only a week ago she had despised Darcy.
Wickham shook his head and clucked his tongue. “You never can tell with these shy country maidens. If she is sincere and only very shy, then your observations and the conclusion you have drawn are sound. If, however, she is not sincere, then you are nothing more than a pawn she can move on a whim.”
Darcy could not place Miss Bennet in the same category of the more scheming of her sex. She was reserved and calm, perhaps shy. But he could not call her insincere or dishonest. Her mother, however…
“Any advances from you will be manipulated by Mrs. Bennet. She could arrange a compromise and trap you for her daughter before you are certain of Miss Bennet,” Darcy pointed out.
Bingley sighed deeply. “I would not mind being trapped with Miss Bennet, but I would like some assurance she felt the same as I do.”
What ensued would in retrospect be one of the longest days in Darcy’s memory. He and Wickham stood watch over Bingley to prevent him from doing something he would later regret.
But Bingley was not the only one suffering. Darcy spent the remainder of the day wondering what Elizabeth was doing and counting the hours until he would next see her.
He even rode over the same fields he knew her to frequent the following morning, returning to Netherfield Park frustrated when he had not chanced upon her.
And where in Heaven’s name was his groom? He ought to have been back by now. Darcy’s instructions had been simple and explicit, and yet, the man delayed.
Darcy knew he was in a surly mood when the other residents of the house avoided him — that is, everyone except Wickham. He took delight in Darcy’s ill humor. He diverted himself at Darcy’s expense until Darcy wondered why he had not expelled the pest from Pemberley and his presence after his father had died.
It was not until Darcy was neck-deep in soapy bathwater, his face lathered with shaving cream, that the butler informed his valet that the groom had returned. Instructing for him to wait until Darcy was shaved and dressed, Darcy hastened through his toilette, much to his valet’s disapproval.
The groom greeted him with a smile on his face and a newspaper in his hand. “I apologize for the delay, but your man suggested I stay a day longer so I might give you this.”
Darcy took the newspaper from his hand. It was folded to the article his man of business wished for him to see.
“Walter Wyndham to Reveal His Identity at a Public Reading” it read.
He read it again. Public reading. On Wednesday, one week hence.
Darcy’s fingers gripped the paper. This had not been part of his instructions at all! This was a disaster.
He looked at his groom, the reproof on the tip of his tongue shriveling at the man’s pleased manner and the proud puff of his chest. Darcy could not rebuke him when he thought he had gone above and beyond for his master.
Swallowing hard, Darcy forced a smile. “Thank you. You did well, as I knew you would.”
“Thank you, Mr. Darcy. It is an honor to serve you.”
Darcy nodded, dismissing the groom to read the letter his London man had sent along with the newspaper. He prided himself in treating anyone who worked for him well, and he was often rewarded when they not only performed their duties but took the initiative to exert themselves more for the betterment of the estate and everyone who relied on it for their living. Their devotion had never bitten Darcy in the backside as it did now.
His confrontation with “Walter Wyndham” had been meant to be private, not public. Darcy prayed the poet’s popularity did not extend beyond Longbourn.
Darcy’s heart dropped to his toes. What if Elizabeth saw the newspaper?
Still in a state of stunned shock, Darcy nearly jumped out of his skin when Bingley charged into the room carrying a pink ribbon.
“The maid discovered this article under a cushion in the room Miss Bennet occupied. She must be devastated wondering where it has gone. I am on my way to Longbourn to return it to her,” Bingley proclaimed.
Darcy had not noticed Wickham enter the room until he spoke, “She must be fraught with worry. How can a lady possibly survive without her pink ribbon?”
Bingley nodded in agreement, oblivious to Wickham’s mockery.
Darcy wished he had more time to think of how he needed to proceed, but Bingley had already called for his horse to be readi
ed and Darcy feared his friend would do something he might later regret unless he kept an eye on him.
Following Bingley out to the entrance hall, where he impatiently waited for his horse to be brought around, Darcy instructed for his horse to be readied as well.
“And another for me!” cried Wickham, adding as he rubbed his hands together, “This is so much more diverting than the theater. I would not miss this show for the world.”
Darcy rather wished he would.
Chapter 27
“Mr. Bingley is coming!” exclaimed Mother from her perch by the window. “Oh, I just knew he would call.”
“Father is not at home to receive him,” Mary said.
Mother dismissed her logic with a wave. “Quick! Tidy the room, straighten your ribbons, smooth your hair,” she said, pushing Kitty out of her way. She bounced over to Jane, pinching her cheeks and pushing back her shoulders to better show what Mother referred to as her “God-given assets.”
Elizabeth was relieved Mr. Collins — Father’s cousin — had accompanied her father to Meryton. Uncle Phillips was supposed to return from business in London that day, and he had promised to bring a copy of the most recent newspaper with him.
Mr. Collins’ visit had come as a surprise. He was Father’s closest male relative and the rector of a parish in Kent. More importantly, he stood to inherit Longbourn. His patroness was a grand lady named Lady Catherine de Bourgh, who sounded every bit as pompous as her name implied to Elizabeth. Mr. Collins doted on her, so when her ladyship suggested he ought to marry, he took it upon himself to make himself available first to his cousins who already occupied the estate he would eventually inherit.
Elizabeth did not like him, and she thought even less of his beloved patroness with every speech Mr. Collins gave to exalt her.
Fortunately, she and Jane had been away and so his attentions had naturally fallen to Mary. Mother had encouraged it, suggesting that her two eldest were likely to be engaged soon — an implication Elizabeth would have refuted enthusiastically had it not placed her in line to receive any further attention from Mr. Collins.
“Mr. Wickham is with him!” exclaimed Lydia, adding, “And that other one who would not dance. Stuffy Mr. Darcy. I hope he has not come to spoil our fun.”
Mother came at Elizabeth with her fingers poised to pinch her cheeks. Normally, her ministrations annoyed Elizabeth, but today she endured them with greater cheer.
In a mad flurry of throwing cushions to hide what had been stuffed behind them, the ladies sat just as Hill showed the gentlemen into the room.
Elizabeth tried to steady her breath. Her chest heaved as if she had been caught in the rain and had to run home.
Jane met her eyes and smiled, her eyes brimming with hope.
Mr. Bingley held a ribbon out to Jane. “The maid found this only recently. I did not wish for you to be without it another day.”
Elizabeth saw Jane’s surprise out of the corner of her eye. She would have bet her favorite book that Jane had not noticed the disappearance of the ribbon, but she disguised it well.
Taking the ribbon, her fingers lingering as long as Mr. Bingley’s did around the length of satin, Jane said, “I cannot thank you enough for returning it. This pink is my favorite.”
“It suits you remarkably well,” Mr. Bingley said, finally dropping his hold on the ribbon to take the chair Mother offered him.
The look on their mother’s face was triumphant. She would have placed the ribbon there on purpose if it had been her. She would praise Jane for her cleverness later, when Elizabeth was convinced it had been an accident. Jane did not need to resort to the manipulative arts ladies often used against the gentlemen willing to fall for them.
Nor did Mr. Bingley need any help in that quarter. Elizabeth was certain his emotions were fully engaged with Jane’s.
Mr. Darcy, on the other hand, did not appear so certain. He considered Jane with suspiciously narrow eyes. Elizabeth would not allow for him to doubt her sister. She said, “It never would have occurred to us you would trouble yourself to return it when you have a household of servants to send with the ribbon.”
Jane blushed. “Indeed, though it is kind of you to see to it yourself. You are always welcome at Longbourn. I only wish my father was here to receive you. He will be disappointed he missed your call.”
Mother sent for tea. “I daresay he shall return before the gentlemen take their leave. It would not hurt to stay a touch longer than normal to await his return, especially since Mr. Collins will be desirous of meeting our neighbors.” With a deep sigh, Mother fanned her face. “He is to inherit Longbourn, being Mr. Bennet’s nearest living cousin. It is a pity for us, but fortunately, it seems all will work out well in the end. Mr. Collins has taken a fancy to my Mary, and we will not be cast out into the hedges after all. He is the rector at a grand lady’s estate. Perhaps you know her.”
“Lady Catherine de Bourgh,” Mary provided proudly.
Mr. Wickham chuckled, and while a groan did not escape from Mr. Darcy (he was much too dignified for that), it might as well have with the way he paled and his nostrils flared.
Taking a deep breath and clasping his hands together (perhaps to keep from strangling his childhood friend, who guffawed quietly beside him) Mr. Darcy said in a remarkably controlled voice, “Lady Catherine is my aunt.”
Elizabeth grinned. She could not help it. If she was right to assume Lady Catherine was as ridiculous as Elizabeth believed her to be, then she and Mr. Darcy were on more equal ground than she had known before. How appropriate! There was nothing like an absurd relation to humble a proud individual. And it appeared Mr. Darcy had such a relative. How delightful! Elizabeth would make certain to encourage Mr. Collins to go on about her ladyship just to torment Mr. Darcy.
She glanced out of the window. When would Mr. Collins and Father return?
Her impatience grew until she remembered that in a contest of scandalous relatives, she would still win. If Mr. Darcy had one such family member, Elizabeth had several more … and many of them were in the room. It would only be more noticeable when Mr. Collins returned.
She looked out of the window again, hoping their return would be delayed.
Lydia and Kitty pressed Mr. Bingley for a ball now that Jane was recovered, and he was quick to concede to their wishes.
Mr. Darcy did not look pleased, but the date was set not even a full week hence. Would he dance? Or would he snub most of the ladies by standing stupidly in a corner as he had at the assembly?
When Mr. Bingley secured Jane’s first dance as well as the dance before dinner in the forthcoming ball, Mr. Darcy’s eyes finally met Elizabeth’s. She held her breath, waiting … trying not to expect and failing. Would he ask her for a dance?
Fate either conspired for her or against her. Elizabeth could not be sure, nor did she have any time at all to ponder how the untimely return of her father and his bumbling cousin could affect the path of her life.
As soon as Mr. Collins saw the gentlemen, he tilted into a bow which would have been subservient had he not also arched his face upward to observe their company’s pleased reaction to his display of humility. Oh, Mr. Collins was everything humble … and he took great pains to ensure others noticed it.
Father bowed, saying, “Oh, people!” and proceeded to his favorite chair nearest to the fire. He had a newspaper in his hand, and he patted his pockets for his spectacles.
For a horrified second, Elizabeth worried he would begin reading the paper while they still had guests present. But, thankfully, he did not.
Instead, he opened the pages and folded the paper open to an article within, handing it to Elizabeth with a conspiratorial grin and a wink. “Your uncle Phillips did not disappoint, my dear Lizzy. Read that.”
Elizabeth heard Mr. Darcy’s chair creak and saw him sit up stiffly, but part of the title had captured her attention. She could no sooner look away from it than she could completely ignore Mr. Darcy.
Aloud, she read in o
ne breath: “Mr. Walter Wyndham’s Identity to be Revealed at a Public Reading.”
Mr. Wickham uncrossed his legs, gripping his knees with his hands. “How … wonderful … for his readers,” he said, chuckling and crossing his booted ankle over his opposite leg, adding with more humor, “I daresay few will bother to show.”
Elizabeth devoured the article in a glance, taking in the important details. One week from that day, she would finally get to meet Mr. Wyndham!
“I would not miss it,” she said, looking to her father. “I hope that your showing this to me is indicative of your approval that I go to his reading. There are so many questions I wish to ask him. If he is not too busy, perhaps I will have the opportunity to converse briefly with him. I should like that very much.”
“Me, forbid you conversation with a worthwhile intellect? Never, my dear. Of course, you may go,” he said, reaching for the paper.
Elizabeth reluctantly handed it back to him.
Mother, Lydia, and Kitty seized upon the opportunity to travel to London. They had no interest in Walter Wyndham or his poetry, but they could visit the modistes and milliners and watch the stylish ladies as they promenaded in their carriages pulled by matching grays.
Mr. Wickham laughed often — nervously, Elizabeth thought — and Mr. Darcy became quieter than normal.
Elizabeth tried to soften Mr. Collins’ presumption of friendship when the clergyman discovered Mr. Darcy was none other than his esteemed patroness’ nephew. He seemed to think their connection made them kindred friends (when, in reality, Elizabeth had never seen Mr. Darcy so annoyed.)
When Elizabeth could finally get a word in, she asked Mr. Darcy, “Will you go to Mr. Wyndham’s reading?”
She wished he would. It was foolish of her, she knew, but Elizabeth wanted the event to be as important to Mr. Darcy as it was to her. She was so happy, she could almost burst with joy.
Jane and Mr. Bingley were happy in each other’s company. Her sisters were thrilled they would get to dance as soon as the arrangements could be made at Netherfield Park. Mr. Wickham’s humor had returned, and he regaled Father with tales worthy of the interest he would have otherwise dedicated to his recently acquired newspaper. Everyone was happy, and Elizabeth’s happiness would be complete if Mr. Darcy would only stop frowning.
