Friends and Enemies

by J Dawn King

  “Thank you, Barton. I will show myself in and see Miss Darcy after.”

  As he drew closer, he heard the women talking. When he heard his name, he stopped. He knew better than to eavesdrop, but he quickly excused his bad conduct. If he happened to learn something which might help him win Elizabeth’s heart, he would violate every rule of decorum if he had to.

  “What is it about Mr. Darcy you do not understand?” Mrs. Gardiner asked. “He seems very forthright to me.”

  Darcy wanted to hug Elizabeth’s aunt and gift her with his entire fortune for her positive words about his character.

  “True, he has changed drastically since his residence in Hertfordshire and is far more open with both his sister and myself than I ever would have imagined him capable of being.”

  “Then I do not understand your concerns, Lizzy. Do you doubt his offer as being genuine?”

  “Not at all. In my opinion, which may mean little, he seems convinced we would be a good match.” He heard her sigh. “Aunt, had I not grown up in my household, exposed to a marriage where both partners are clearly unhappy, I might not give so much weight to my concerns. However, I did grow up watching my parents suffer each other’s company. Papa confided to me that he lost respect for my mother within weeks after their marriage, learning she had used arts and allurements to pretend to be more intellectually inclined than was the truth. For Mama, her continued disappointment over not bearing a son has created in her an overwhelming fear. Having my father so many years older than she is, and his making no effort to manage the funds from Longbourn more stringently, intensify those fears daily. How does she respond? By foolishly spending money she does not have to appease her concerns. She calls it artful shopping, while I call it foolish. The momentary relief and pleasure she gets at the time of purchase is soon followed by regrets as the reminders press in on her.”

  “Yes, dear,” Mrs. Gardiner agreed. “This adequately describes what I have known of your parents’ living conditions. But, this does not mean you would have the same relationship with Mr. Darcy. He is not your father. He is responsible and generous. His kindness to his sister is exemplary, do you not think?”

  Darcy wanted to rush in and wrap Mrs. Gardiner in a tight embrace. I wonder if she would like Pemberley? Perhaps I could divide it in half and gift it to her?

  “Yes, his kindness is exemplary.” Elizabeth paused, and Darcy could not help wondering what was on her mind because he felt an insult would soon follow. He was correct.

  “Then why do you hesitate?” Mrs. Gardiner asked. “Before you answer, be aware I am not attempting to push or pressure you into changing your mind. I respect your thinking too much to eagerly overlook your concerns. Nonetheless, might I enquire what has you unsettled about the man?”

  Darcy leaned closer, wishing the door he was standing behind was opened a bit wider.

  The breath whooshed from Elizabeth and he knew, then, he would finally learn her deepest reasons for rejecting him.

  “Do you not see how alike Mr. Darcy and Papa are?”

  He was flummoxed. Did she truly believe what she was saying? Mr. Bennet was an indifferent landowner and careless with the future of his family. Under Darcy’s personal guidance, his holdings were prospering like they had rarely done. His coffers were overflowing from his wise investments. He had legal papers in order to care for Georgiana’s future no matter the circumstance. How in the world could she believe the two men had any similarities at all?

  “I am sorry, dear. I do not know of what you are speaking.”

  “My father has done little more than the basic tasks expected of him to care for the future of his wife and daughters. His indifference has left all of us vulnerable. Unless Jane or I make a good match, there is little hope for Mary, Kitty, and Lydia. Mary is ignored, while my youngest sisters are unrestrained, let loose to follow their own immature desires. This situation is in every way intolerable to me. Rather than enjoying my youth, I have spent hour upon hour fretting and using every opportunity within my power to enforce changes. Yet, even in this I have no parental support. Our circumstances are grim.”

  “But you cannot compare your father to Mr. Darcy. He obviously cares for his own.”

  “He does not!”

  Darcy was stunned. How could she think this when the evidence was to the contrary? Her inherent wisdom should have offered clarity. He wanted to barge in and shake some sense into her and barely restrained himself from doing so.

  Elizabeth continued, “It is my understanding that he has known of the wicked inclinations of a former friend for years, possibly a decade or more. Instead of responsibly taking steps to expose this man so innocent young women and small businesses would be protected from his rakish behaviour and gambling, he has, instead, chosen to hide the man’s sins and cover over the wrongdoing. Rather than taking this man to task, when he was in a position to do so, he has indifferently pushed aside his responsibilities, allowing others to bear the burdens this evil man leaves behind. He has shown no more concern for others than my father has done. In point of fact, this man continues to wreak havoc on the good citizens of Meryton as we speak, including my own sisters.”

  Darcy was having a hard time getting his breath. What? Wickham! She was bringing Wickham into this?

  “Aunt, this man has caused irreparable harm to someone close to Mr. Darcy, yet he still does nothing. Why? Possibly he thinks himself too far above such a miscreant to take him to task personally? Or perhaps, like my father, he genuinely cares more for his own comfort than for those he holds in little respect? I do not know.” She stopped, briefly. “What I do know about Mr. Darcy from the way he responds to this man is that I could not rely on him to protect me or any children borne of marriage to him. I do not trust that he would put the interests of his family ahead of his own. Every day he allows to pass in his own comfort while this man is left to prey on others is a black mark against the Master of Pemberley. I do not know whether this is possible to ever be erased.”

  “Those are serious charges, Lizzy,” Mrs. Gardiner offered softly. “I do not know what to think. I would say he is a responsible man and trust it is true. With that said, if he only cares for tasks pleasant to him, what does this truly say about his character? Hmmm!” She paused. “I think you are in the right to use this information to weigh against Mr. Darcy, to balance the good we know of him. If you cannot respect him, you should not marry him.”

  What? Mrs. Gardiner was the worst sort of traitor. He clutched the fabric at his chest, leaning back against the wall outside the drawing room. And this is what they thought of him? He was incensed. He was not Wickham’s keeper. George Wickham was the son of his father’s steward. Nothing else. He was not Darcy’s responsibility and never had been. How dare those two women condemn him for something beneath him that was not his to fix.

  Angrily, he stomped to the vestibule and gathered his things. Not waiting for Barton to open the door, he left the Gardiner house and cared not if he ever saw either woman again.

  ***

  Richard, the one man he knew would give him needed sympathy, was in his study sipping his finest brandy.

  “What should I do about Wickham?” Darcy had pondered what Elizabeth said the entire journey from Gracechurch Street to his home in Grosvenor Square. His anger had little abated. She knew not of what she was speaking!

  “Whatever do you mean, Darce? You never do anything about him except occasionally cover his sins.” Richard rose and filled another glass for the both of them. “Why are you asking now?”

  Darcy stood in the middle of the room, feeling like every morsel of warmth drained from his body, puddling about his boots.

  “And this is what you think of me?” Niggling doubts added to the simmering anger filling his chest. His admiration for his cousin knew no bounds. He moved to one of the chairs in front of the desk and dropped into it.

  “I can see I have disconcerted you, and I apologise for so doing,” Richard began, and then stopped. “No, I am
not sorry. You have willfully disregarded the consequences of not sharing your knowledge of Wickham’s crass acts with his father, your father, and the people with whom he comes into contact. For this, you share in his sins. At any time you could have called in his markers and had him spend the rest of his sorry life in debtor’s prison, yet you choose not to do so. Even after you learnt of Georgiana, you have allowed him to continue on his course with little more than a threat.” The colonel sat in the chair next to his cousin. “As I see it, Wickham is your greatest flaw.”

  “Why, for the love of all things holy, have you not said anything before? Surely, I would have acted had I known?”

  “Are you so certain?” his cousin asked, enunciating each word clearly, scepticism in his tone.

  “Richard!” Darcy sat erect in his chair. “I cannot believe that you, my closest friend, do not know me better. How could you think—”

  “Stop right there!” Richard held up his hand, very much in command of the moment. “I have brought this to your attention many times, and you always came back with a reason to do nothing—you did not want to hurt Wickham’s father or your own. You did not feel it was your responsibility to clean up all of his messes; that others could take care of their own.” His cousin stood and paced in front of him as Darcy’s anger continued to boil. “You, my friend, are far more culpable in what happened to Georgiana than she is.”

  “You share guardianship. If I am to be held to account, then so should you,” Darcy challenged.

  “You are wrong, Cousin. Had you not stopped me, I would have acted with justice after Ramsgate. Wickham would have paid for his sins at that very moment, and I would have been within my rights to see him dead or imprisoned.” Richard pointed his finger right at Darcy’s chest. “You stopped me. Your reason was that he was your father’s favourite, so I followed your lead, again, and did the same as you—nothing.” He spat out the last word.

  “He was my father’s favourite, there is no doubt.”

  “Ha, Darcy! You condemn my father for acting the same with my irresponsible brother, indulging his base conduct because he is the favourite. Shame on you for this hypocrisy.”

  “I…I…” Darcy’s head was spinning. Had he done this? Could his cousin possibly be correct? Closing his eyes, he quickly considered his disapprobation with his uncle’s actions and his own with Wickham. Resting his head on the back of the chair, he slumped deep into its leather cushions. He wished the fabric would creep around his torso, enfolding him, coddling him. He was in the wrong. Leaning forward, he rested his face in hands, his elbows propped on his knees. “Holy heavens! You are, indeed, correct.”

  He felt bruised. Battered. Beaten to a pulp. Harsh criticism had never in his lifetime come his way in wave after wave of blame. He had been the prince in his father’s household, the king of his own domain.

  “What am I to do now?” he mused. For the first time as an adult, he questioned his own judgement.

  “I’ll not answer that, Darce, as I have no doubt you will eventually decide what is best.”

  Darcy did not notice when his cousin left the room and, eventually, Darcy House. He stayed alone in his study until his staff came in to close the draperies and light the candles. Even then, he sat, meditating on all he had learnt about himself. It was no wonder Elizabeth did not like him. At the moment, he did not like himself either.

  CHAPTER 16

  How could his closest friends hurt him more than his worst enemy? Their words were more painful than any physical injury he had suffered in his lifetime. None of them, Richard, Bingley, or Miss Elizabeth were mean-spirited. All of them, Miss Elizabeth included, wanted him to succeed.

  Darcy had never liked the human inclination to excuse one’s conduct, to be far more forgiving to oneself than he would be to others. However, it was what he wanted to do more than breathe. To slough the weight of the criticism off his shoulders and move forward with little regard for the opinions of others. To grab his sister and hide within the safe walls of Pemberley, licking his wounded ego.

  Resting his chin on his cupped hand, his fingers covering his mouth, he pondered his choices. On the one side of the issue was the apparently massive weight of his own self-importance. How valuable, really, was it? Who had that same attitude, and what did he think of them?

  Ha! Lydia Bennet was the first image who shot through his mind, closely followed by Caroline Bingley, and Lord Sternhaven. Ugh! Being grouped with those three was an insult.

  Did Richard appreciate the company of those individuals? Even though he did not personally know Miss Lydia, having been in her company briefly in Meryton, it was easy to imagine his cousin running for his life upon an introduction. Richard also actively avoided both Miss Bingley and Lord Sternhaven.

  What of Elizabeth? While she loved her sister, she sought to guide and correct her towards a different course. He could not recall one time when Elizabeth sought Miss Bingley’s company during the days she stayed at Netherfield Park. And her set-down of Lord Sternhaven the night of the opera was legendary.

  Even Bingley looked for ways to avoid both Lydia Bennet and his own sister.

  Nobody Darcy admired liked self-important people. Why had he not worked that out before?

  On the other side of the issues were individuals who had qualities he admired. He had surrounded himself with approachable, adaptable individuals who did not insist on their own way, and who seemed to like him despite himself.

  Was he important? Certainly. But to whom? To his tenants as a landlord. To his sister as a brother and guardian. To his servants as a master. To his cousin and Bingley as a friend.

  Darcy considered getting up and pouring himself a drink. Why not the whole bottle? It would dull the ache in his chest and fog his brain until he could let this go and slip into the comfortable cocoon of his own arrogance and pride.

  He would not!

  Was he important to Elizabeth? He thought so. He hoped so.

  Reflecting on the overheard conversation, he became aware of a salient point, one he had almost missed. Elizabeth Bennet had given consideration to him as a husband. He could not keep from smiling, from feeling a minute particle of glee that she had spent some part of her day thinking of him. Surely, her thoughts had not been positive, but she had thought of him.

  He frowned. In truth, would he have pursued her if this had not happened to Georgiana? He sucked in a breath. Oh, Lord! He would not have. He had left Netherfield Park to get away from her, her family, her neighbours, and Wickham. He had thought to never see her again. As he recalled, the only reason he had been pleased to travel away from England with Georgiana was to get away from her memory. Was that the action of a man in love? No, it was not.

  Was he rushing her to the altar? Beyond a shadow of a doubt. Why? He groaned. He had wanted her capable hands holding his as he made the tough decisions for his sister’s future. He had not wanted to be alone. The more he had given consideration to the potential marriage of Georgiana, the more desperate he felt to attach himself to someone lively, someone who would take away the lonely ache that had infiltrated his thinking when he thought of the years ahead.

  Was he sure he knew what heartfelt love between a man and as woman was? He wanted her, but did he truly love her? Had he allowed enough time for feelings other than passion and desperation to be outpaced by affection and care?

  Why had he been in a hurry to announce his innermost feelings to anyone who would listen? Was it because he actually felt the emotion, or was he trying to convince himself it was love by telling everyone it was?

  What if he did not really love her? He was caught. He was committed. Trapped!

  He was going to go crazy if he did not stop this.

  What had she said? “I do not know you.” Did he know her?

  Taking in a deep breath, he resolved to be completely honest. No, he did not know her, not well enough. What he did know, he liked. He easily admitted to himself that he admired many aspects of her character. And her physical
form.

  He scoffed at himself. He acted the man.

  Over time her form would settle to a softer version, her hair would grey, and lines would mar the smoothness of her skin. Would he still admire her? He smiled. Again, beyond a shadow of a doubt.

  He liked her. His declaration of love was precipitate.

  What about Wickham? Were they right? Yes. Absolutely, positively yes!

  “Mr. Darcy, sir. Are you at home to Colonel Fitzwilliam?”

  He had not heard his butler’s tapping on his door, nor was he aware of how quiet the house was outside the light of the candles and the glow of the few embers left in the fireplace. Why was he announcing Richard? His cousin had forever barged in, completely ignoring the niceties.

  Before he could respond, his cousin peeked his head around the doorway. “Is it safe for me to come in?”