Fitzwilliam Darcy, Traitor

by Jennifer Joy

  He would have preferred for Miss Bingley not to be present as he made his arguments, but she was adamant in protecting her brother’s happiness (or, more likely, her own social aspirations).

  Darcy started with the more obvious disadvantages. “Mrs. Bennet is presumptuous. Already, she has boasted of the success of her eldest daughter’s conquest when you have yet to make a declaration.”

  Bingley shrugged his shoulders. “What do you expect from a woman with five daughters and little enough to offer in the way of enticement to an eligible gentleman? Are her daughters destined to marry poorly because of her enthusiasm?”

  “Charles, she is brash and vulgar!” Miss Bingley gasped.

  Darcy added, “She will chase more gentlemen away from her daughters than she will attract with her manners. If her goal is to see them happily settled, she has a unique way of going about it.”

  Bingley shook his head. “Have you no sympathy for her plight? Mr. Collins is to inherit her husband’s estate. Can you not imagine the additional burden Mrs. Bennet must feel every time she sees Mr. Collins? He is a daily reminder of what she and her daughters stand to lose should Mr. Bennet die before they are properly settled. They would lose their home. I admit her manners are desperate, but can we not extend her a modicum of understanding? She is a dedicated mother, concerned with the futures of her daughters as any good mother ought to be.”

  Miss Bingley gasped. "I suppose you would defend Mr. Bennet, too?"

  "He was one of the first gentlemen to welcome us to Hertfordshire. He is a man of many ideas, and I find his conversation interesting."

  Miss Bingley huffed and rolled her eyes.

  Darcy was perplexed. How could Miss Bingley, a lady whose sole focus was her own selfish ambition, see what her brother could not?

  Did Bingley not realize how Mr. Bennet’s carelessness and poor management of his own daughters’ affairs worsened their predicament?

  “What of the unladylike conduct of the other Bennet sisters and the indifference of Mr. Bennet?” Darcy asked.

  Bingley scoffed. “I do not intend to offer for them.”

  “Do not be absurd, Charles,” his sister scolded.

  Lowering his crossed arms, Bingley asked in a more serious tone, “Tell me, Darcy, were you to separate Miss Bennet from her family, would you not praise her as an ideal lady?”

  “I find no fault with Miss Bennet’s conduct,” Darcy admitted. No one could accuse her of being a flirt. To the contrary.

  Miss Bingley’s cheeks flushed. “Her family would bring shame upon us! We do not belong in the same circles!”

  Bingley answered calmly, "Then maybe we have set our sights too high, Caroline."

  Miss Bingley swooned, and her brother was quick to assist her to the nearest chair. She peeked through the slits in her eyes at Darcy, but that deception was too common for him to fall prey to it. A real lady did not feign a swoon.

  Once she was settled on the fainting couch, Bingley added, "If the woman I love is not welcome in our society, then I prefer to make new friends with people who would accept her."

  His words intrigued Darcy. Bingley was willing to give up his status — a respected position Darcy knew Bingley had struggled his entire life to attain — for Miss Bennet. His was no passing whim.

  It made what Darcy had to tell him so much harder … and all the more urgent. Bingley’s affection would not be enough. It could only lead to bitterness and disappointment. He must see the faultiness of his attachment before it ruined him.

  Speaking firmly, Darcy said, “You speak of love, of making an offer. Are you secure in the lady’s affection?”

  “I am prepared to endure all the obstacles you have taken care to mention if she loves me as I love her. I thank you for being a true friend in pointing them out. I do not wish to act blindly on the urges of my heart just as I do not wish to deny myself a happy, loving marriage merely because my lady’s family is far from perfect.”

  Confident in his discernment, Darcy said, “I have reason to doubt Miss Bennet's attachment to you.”

  Miss Bingley sat upright on the couch, recovering admirably well from her swoon. “I do too! Miss Bennet is a dear, sweet girl, but her country manners would only reflect poorly on us when we return to town,” she said condescendingly.

  Darcy interrupted before she could continue. While he doubted Miss Bennet’s affection for Bingley, he did not wish to insult her. “Can you in confidence declare that Miss Bennet showed more preference to you than to any other gentleman in attendance at your ball?”

  To his credit, Bingley did not immediately disregard the question. Like a man determined to make a good decision rather than trust the leanings of his heart, he considered.

  It troubled Darcy to see the doubt enter Bingley’s mind. He reminded himself that he acted in the service of a friend. Darcy only wanted to see Bingley happy. Were he in the same situation, Darcy hoped one of his close acquaintances would speak to him as honestly as he had spoken to Bingley.

  Bingley pounded his fist against the fireplace mantel. “Dash it all, Darcy. I already love her. What do you suggest I do?”

  Estate work would have to wait. Bingley’s happiness was in danger, and Darcy could not stomach another failure. He would make sure his friend was safe as he had not been able to do for Miss Watson.

  He answered, “Quit Netherfield Park. Return to London.” The sooner Bingley separated himself from Miss Bennet, the sooner he would forget her.

  “What an excellent solution,” agreed Miss Bingley.

  “You would have me leave?” Bingley exclaimed, pacing in front of the fireplace.

  His sister watched him like a hawk. She would love nothing more than to quit Hertfordshire for more fashionable London. She required constant entertainment. She would never find solace in a library or enjoyment in a long walk out of doors.

  Bingley turned to face Darcy, tapping his fingers against his chin in thought.

  Darcy waited for his decision. His own conscience was at peace. He had said what he needed to say and now only waited for Bingley to draw the correct conclusion. Time and distance would help him see the difficulties an attachment to Miss Bennet would bring.

  Finally, Bingley clasped his hands behind him and spoke. “It is a brilliant solution. If she loves me, neither time nor distance will alter her affection. Rest now, for we leave at daylight on the morrow!”

  It was not the reaction Darcy had expected, but it served his purpose.

  Miss Bingley was not so pleased. “Tomorrow? When we have not recovered from the evening’s activities? It is not sufficient time for me to oversee the packing of my gowns.”

  “You may take my carriage at your leisure with Mr. Hurst and Louisa. I daresay you shall be more comfortable with fewer occupants inside the conveyance.” Bingley looked at Darcy, continuing, “If I may presume on your generosity, perhaps you and I might leave in your carriage, Darcy?”

  It was an excellent plan. Darcy would not have to endure the company of Miss Bingley nor the snores of Mr. Hurst (who took up more than his fair share of space on the carriage cushions). They need not travel with anything more than his coachman and a footman to assist with the bare necessities his valet could pack. “We will depart in the morning,” Darcy replied.

  “At first light. Now that I am decided, I do not wish to delay,” Bingley said, rubbing his hands together.

  Darcy was nearly as eager as Bingley for the morrow to arrive. The rushed preparations would keep him occupied.

  Mrs. Bennet would mourn her loss, but she would soon recover when another gentleman of fortune leased Netherfield Park.

  The Bennets would continue about their lives with little thought for Bingley or him.

  Darcy ought to have been content. But a certain lady's dancing eyes, brightened with the flickering of a hundred candles reflecting off the crystal chandeliers, often intruded his mind while he prepared to leave Hertfordshire for good.

  Would he ever see Miss Elizabeth aga
in?

  Chapter 4

  After a few hours of sweet slumber, Elizabeth found her father perusing his favorite newspaper, The Times, over a cup of black coffee. It did not matter that the news was usually four days old by the time it traveled from London to Longbourn. He relished every page, confident that while its information was outdated, at least it was accurate.

  He peeked over the top of the paper at her. “Did you enjoy yourself, Lizzy?”

  She had enjoyed seeing Mr. Bingley and Jane together. Apparently, Mr. Wickham was wrong about Mr. Darcy discouraging Mr. Bingley toward Jane.

  After thoughtful consideration, she had decided it was for the best Mr. Darcy had not asked her to dance. No doubt, he would have made a worthy partner. A gentleman such as he was bound to be an elegant dancer. But she could never enjoy a set with a man who had betrayed his friend as Mr. Darcy had betrayed Mr. Wickham.

  “Immensely,” Elizabeth answered cheerfully. She tapped her spoon against the shell of a soft-boiled egg.

  Her father looked around, folding his paper and leaning forward. “Mr. Collins looked unwell. I think your mother has carried her enthusiasm too far, and he will be the one to suffer the consequences. His nose was bright red with a cold last I saw.”

  Elizabeth knew she should not smile at Mr. Collins’ illness, but if it prevented him from making an unwanted offer, then who was she to suffer disappointment if he took to his room? She nibbled her bread, noting how much sweeter the preserves tasted without the threat of Mr. Collins about.

  Her father winked at her and chuckled. “A narrow escape, my dear girl.”

  Mama hustled into the room, smoothing her wild hair, her bonnet dangling from her arm by its ribbons.

  “Going somewhere, my love?” Papa asked.

  She answered excitedly, “Mr. Bingley is to quit Netherfield Park, Mr. Bennet!”

  “And do you aim to stop him?” he asked apathetically.

  “I cannot trust you to do it,” she countered.

  Had Mr. Wickham been right after all? Out of consideration for Mr. Bingley’s character, Elizabeth did not want to believe it. His attentions toward Jane had not been fickle. Gentlemen always had matters of business to attend to, and London was only half of a day’s ride away. That would explain it.

  “When is he expected to return?” Elizabeth asked. Surely, Mr. Bingley would not be away long.

  “It is the worst disaster! It is said Mr. Bingley is not to return. He has instructed the servants to close the house!” Mama flailed her arms in the air, smacking Papa in the face with her bonnet and spilling his coffee on the tablecloth.

  Elizabeth went numb.

  Her mother must have misunderstood. Mr. Bingley would not leave in such an abrupt manner when he clearly preferred Jane.

  “How do you know this?” Elizabeth asked in a whisper.

  Mama clucked her tongue and pulled on her gloves. “I have my ways. He is to quit Netherfield Park on the morrow.” She pinched her lips together, chewing on them as she stared into the distance.

  Elizabeth's stomach twisted into knots. Poor, dear Jane. Oh, that vile, evil man, Mr. Darcy! How dare he presume to interfere with her sister’s happiness! Who did he think he was to tell others whom they should love?

  Papa chuckled and resumed reading his paper. “What scheme will she formulate against poor Mr. Bingley now, I wonder?” He nodded at Mama and smiled.

  Elizabeth did not have the heart to return his cheer. She was equal parts disappointed for her beloved sister and infuriated at Mr. Darcy for causing the separation of a young couple who would have been happy together. Drat the man!

  She pushed her plate away, her appetite gone.

  Ignoring Papa’s question, Mama shoved her bonnet onto her head and marched out of the dining room, saying, “I have an urgent call to make.” She ordered the carriage and fussed over her shawls in the doorway.

  Elizabeth picked at the lace on the tablecloth, her mind full. Mr. Wickham had warned them, but she had not thought it possible for a man — not even Mr. Darcy — to be so presumptuous as to convince his friend to abandon such a tender-hearted maiden as Jane. Was Mr. Bingley so indecisive, he would heed another’s advice over the demands of his own heart? Elizabeth did not want to believe it or else she would have to think less of Mr. Bingley. He would be unworthy of Jane.

  Oh, blast Mr. Darcy!

  The front door clicked shut and the carriage springs squeaked. Mama was on her way to her urgent call.

  Papa unfolded his paper and poured himself another cup of coffee. “I wonder what her sister will think of this latest bit of gossip.”

  Elizabeth was eager for any information which might frustrate Mr. Darcy’s interference. “Do you think Mama went to call on Aunt Philips?”

  Aunt Philips was a constant, if not entirely reliable, source of news. She might have heard something useful.

  “I do not doubt it. Where else would Mrs. Bennet go with the information in her possession? There are few things she loves more than hearing the latest gossip before her sister does, presuming that your aunt has not already heard it. Your mother will not be deterred. No single gentleman is a match for her. I am convinced she will write to her brother this same day to inquire if Jane might stay with them in London. Mark my words, Lizzy, your mother will gain Mr. Bingley as a son-in-law yet.”

  Yes! There was hope for Jane still … if Mr. Bingley was worthy of her devotion. “I wonder why he decided to depart so quickly,” Elizabeth said. It troubled her greatly.

  “Do not concern yourself, my dear. Remember, once Jane’s future is arranged, it will be your turn to suffer the full brunt of your mother’s interference.”

  Elizabeth groaned. She knew what hope her mother held for her future — Mr. Collins.

  She shivered. Would it be evil of her to pray that his illness be extended long enough for her to fall madly in love with a gentleman who loved her ardently? It worked in the novels she read. If only fanciful stories could come true! Elizabeth would have an adventure with a handsome hero who would sweep her off her feet, marry her, and carry her home to his lovely estate where he would delight her with an enormous library full of books and long walks over his extensive grounds.

  If only real life was not so uneventful and dull. Such would be her future with Mr. Collins, and Elizabeth could not bring herself to accept it — even if she received no other offers.

  By the time her mother returned, everyone but Mr. Collins was downstairs warming themselves by the drawing room fire. The residents of Netherfield Park and the ball of the previous evening were under discussion.

  Jane did her best not to appear overly disappointed while Papa did his best to ignore them behind the pages of a large tome.

  Mama’s cheeks were as red as apples, and she wore an air of triumph about her like a fine silk shawl. “It is all arranged!” she declared, falling into a chair and fanning her face satisfactorily.

  “What is arranged?” Jane asked softly when no one else did.

  “You are to leave on the morrow for London. You will stay with your uncle and aunt Gardiner. It will delight them to have you.”

  “Does Uncle Gardiner know about this?” Elizabeth asked.

  Mama waved her fan. “A trifling detail. I shall write to him, and Jane can carry the letter to him herself.”

  “What if they are not at home?” Jane asked.

  “In this limb-numbing cold weather? Where else would they be?” Mama clapped her hands and grinned, adding, “How perfect it would be if it snowed on the morrow!”

  Mary lowered her book to her lap. “It would not be perfect at all if Jane were to get stuck in the snow on the way to London,” she said practically.

  Mama rubbed her hands together and called for Betsey to pack Jane’s things.

  Elizabeth peered out of the window. It looked like it might snow. It was cold enough for it. She hoped it would wait until Jane was safely installed in Uncle’s home at Gracechurch Street. She had suffered enough from their mot
her and the weather.

  Jane met Elizabeth’s eye. There was determination in the firmness of her mouth. “Wait!” Jane called, moving over to Elizabeth’s side. “I will not go unless Lizzy comes with me.”

  “Nonsense. Mr. Collins is soon to propose. You would not ruin her prospects, would you?” Mama dismissed her plea with a huff.

  Were it not such a serious matter, Elizabeth would have giggled at her mother's poor choice of words. Mr. Collins a prospect? Ridiculous!

  Jane would not be discouraged. She looped her arm through Elizabeth’s in a display of sisterly unity, and said, “All the same, I refuse to leave unless Lizzy comes with me. If Mr. Collins truly cares for her, he will wait. Time and distance would change nothing.”

  Dear, sweet Jane. She so rarely asserted her views, but when she did, she was unshakable.

  Elizabeth was convinced Mr. Collins’ ardor (if indeed he possessed such a strong emotion) would find a new target once she quit Longbourn. One could hope. She rubbed her glass pearl between her fingers and waited impatiently for an answer, the trip to London growing in its appeal.

  Mama pinched her lips together and squinted her eyes. Shaking her head, she opened her mouth to speak. She would not cede to Jane’s plea.

  Elizabeth clenched her hands together, suppressing her disappointment.

  “Would you deny Lizzy the opportunity to meet gentlemen of position and fortune in town? Why, she may even make a better match than Jane,” Papa said, lowering his book.

  At this, Lydia and Kitty insisted they ought to be allowed to go to town as well, while Mary declared the pursuit of a gentleman by a lady to be the height of impropriety.

  Elizabeth held her breath while they argued, once again reaching up to clasp her necklace.

  To Elizabeth’s surprise and joy, Mama conceded. “Very well,” she said, “But if you do not make a better match before your return, I expect you to accept Mr. Collins’ offer without hesitation.”

  Elizabeth would never agree to such a thing. She replied with a question of her own. “When will Aunt Philips arrive on the morrow to collect us?”