A Duel in Meryton

by Renata McMann

  Lydia yawned and looked about the table. Elizabeth could see her youngest sister was becoming bored with the story, now that talk of elopement and dowries had been replaced by French, Italian and letter writing. A glance confirmed Mrs. Bennet had returned to eating her meal, vacant expression angled toward the wall. Lydia reached for another roll.

  Elizabeth, in contrast, was increasingly intrigued. “How did you get the ‘un’ into the letter?”

  Miss Darcy offered a smug smile. “I bribed a maid with a bracelet. I arranged that when I coughed three times in a row and then once, the maid would head into the adjoining room and knock something over.” Miss Darcy’s smugness grew. “As soon as Mrs. Younge finished reading the letter, I coughed. Before she could seal it, something smashed in the next room. She went to investigate. She even lectured the girl for several minutes. I had more than enough time to add a couple letters.”

  “She didn’t look at the letter when she returned?” Elizabeth asked.

  “She looked at it, but not carefully enough,” Miss Darcy said. “After that, there was no more mention of letters. Mrs. Younge pretended I hadn’t received any from my brother.”

  “Why?” Jane asked.

  “My brother must have said something,” Miss Darcy said. “Not only didn’t Mrs. Young give me any more letters or insist I write any, Mr. Wickham increased his insistence that we elope.”

  Lydia perked up, turning back their way. “But you must not have eloped.”

  Sympathy welled in Elizabeth. “How did you put him off?” She hadn’t yet met this odious Mr. Wickham, but it must have been difficult for a young woman, a girl really, to fend off the advances of a grown man.

  “At first, I pretended I had no idea what Mr. Wickham wanted.”

  Jane nodded, obviously approving of the strategy. Kitty watched with a worried look, which increased Elizabeth’s respect for her younger sister. Usually, Kitty and Lydia couldn’t be bothered to have empathy.

  “Later, when Mr. Wickham persisted, I said I would wait for him,” Miss Darcy continued. “That if he still loved me when I was twenty-one, I wouldn’t need my brother’s consent.” She grimaced. “That didn’t suit him at all. He went on and on about how wonderful it would be if we eloped.”

  “And you still didn’t?” Lydia breathed, eyes dreamy.

  Elizabeth wondered exactly how handsome Mr. Wickham was. She glanced at Jane. Even her older sister had labeled him of fine mien. Normally, Jane spoke only of a person’s nature, not their countenance.

  Miss Darcy’s expression firmed. “Even if I desperately loved him, I wouldn’t have eloped. I would never hurt my brother and cousin that way.”

  “I should think they deserve to be hurt after hiring such a despicable governess,” Mrs. Bennet said, alerting them to her renewed interest in the conversation.

  “My brother hired her,” Miss Darcy said. “My cousin was on the Continent.”

  “At war,” Lydia said, tone even more enamored.

  “I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting your cousin,” Mr. Collins said. “Or your brother.”

  “My brother? He is perfect. Just ask Miss Bingley,” Miss Darcy said.

  “Mr. Darcy is a singularly upright individual,” Elizabeth cut in. She didn’t object to Miss Darcy mocking Miss Bingley and could appreciate that Miss Darcy felt the right to make light at her brother’s expense, but she worried their guest didn’t realize how fully her mother and younger sisters would repeat her every word. With Miss Darcy’s tale of Mr. Wickham and her time spent unchaperoned in his company, enough damage had been done without Mr. Darcy hearing he’d been mocked behind his back by his sister, although Elizabeth privately reserved the right to mock him to his face.

  Miss Darcy cast Elizabeth a measuring look. She turned back to Mr. Collins. “My brother is always pleased to meet a member of the clergy, as is Mr. Fitzwilliam.”

  “If Mr. Fitzwilliam was so far away, it’s possible Mr. Wickham felt you would be easier to suborn, since you had only one guardian nearby,” Mary said.

  “Maybe,” Miss Darcy allowed. “Mr. Wickham dislikes my brother, but he’s afraid of my cousin.”

  “Afraid of Mr. Fitzwilliam?” Elizabeth was startled into asking. “He’s the most convivial of men.” Mr. Darcy appeared much more formidable, with his endless glowers. Then again, Elizabeth knew no intimidation when it came to him. What more could he do? Insult her publicly again?

  Miss Darcy set down her third piece of toast and leaned forward. “My cousin,” she said, voice lowered, “is rumored to have killed a man in a duel.”

  Gasps sounded around the table, Elizabeth’s among them.

  Of course, Lydia and Kitty wanted to know about that. Miss Darcy firmly held everyone’s attention once more. As Elizabeth watched her speak, she realized two things. One was that Miss Darcy didn’t really know much about the purported duel. The other was that their unexpected breakfast guest enjoyed being the center of attention.

  After nearly two hours, Miss Darcy seemed to run out of stories to tell. Breakfast finally broke up. Mr. Bennet sent Simmons to ask if any of his daughters felt enough gratitude to him for giving them sustenance and shelter to read to him, a duty for which Jane promptly volunteered. Kitty, to Elizabeth’s surprise, cajoled Lydia and Mary into listening to Mr. Collins read while they did mending. As much for Miss Darcy’s company as to avoid that, Elizabeth offered to walk their guest home. She led Miss Darcy outside, proffered her arm, and angled them toward Netherfield.

  “This isn’t the way I came,” Miss Darcy said as they walked across a meadow arm in arm. “I followed the road.”

  “No wonder you arrived famished.” Elizabeth smiled. “That way is nearly three miles. This will be quicker.”

  “But, were it early morning or right after a rain, our hems would become much damper,” Miss Darcy noted with a smirk.

  Elizabeth chuckled. “Aye, they certainly would, to our enduring shame, I’m sure.” She sobered, casting Miss Darcy a sidelong look. “I could think of no way to warn you at breakfast, but you should be aware, my mother and youngest two sisters are terrible gossips. They will repeat your tale.”

  Miss Darcy nodded. “I suspected as much.”

  “Yet, you spoke regardless.” Elizabeth couldn’t fathom why.

  “Mr. Wickham is a liar and a cheat, and not to be trusted. Everyone should know.”

  “Even if it impugns your reputation?” Elizabeth asked.

  Miss Darcy threw back her shoulders, chin high. “I did nothing wrong. Besides, stories are bound to get out, eventually. I’ve lived my whole life as a Darcy. I know how the ton works. You cannot hide these things.”

  Elizabeth nodded. Stories did always come out. If not Miss Darcy’s version, then another. Mr. Wickham, from what Elizabeth had already gleaned, enjoyed spreading tales. He’d been very free with his accusations that Mr. Darcy had cheated him, and that Miss Darcy was a snob. He would likely be free with other stories as well.

  Miss Darcy’s reply satisfied Elizabeth as to the source of her unexpected frankness at breakfast, but Elizabeth was still troubled by one aspect of the tale. “Your brother came simply because you said you were unhappy?” Elizabeth tried to reconcile such behavior with a man who had openly insulted her, likely lost a wager concerning her and Charlotte, and had hardly spoken to her at Netherfield.

  “Yes.” Miss Darcy nodded. “I knew the moment my brother read that I was unhappy, he would set out for Ramsgate.”

  Elizabeth frowned, still filled with mild disbelief. “What happened when he arrived?”

  Miss Darcy let out a sigh. Their skirts brushed through the tall grass, seeming to echo the sound. “He was very angry.”

  “With you?”

  “With me. With Wickham. With Mrs. Younge and the rest of the staff. It’s difficult to say, and I didn’t want lengthy discussion or an argument with him.” She angled her face toward the bright blue of the sky. “He can become very unreasonable and dig in his heels and I wanted to
get out of there. I speak lightly of it now, but it was terrible, the weeks of Mr. Wickham pressing me, every hour of every day. It wore on me.”

  Elizabeth squeezed Miss Darcy’s arm. She could imagine how awful it must have been.

  “I told my brother that I had agreed to elope with Mr. Wickham and had changed my mind, so he would take me away immediately,” Miss Darcy continued. “I thought that if I tried to explain everything, my brother would spend days endeavoring to assign the exact amount of proper blame to everyone. He tends to be very meticulous.”

  “You mean, Mr. Darcy believes you meant to elope?” Elizabeth cut in. “I thought you didn’t wish to hurt him.”

  “His sensibilities aren’t that tender,” Miss Darcy protested. “Thinking of eloping and actually eloping aren’t the same at all.”

  Elizabeth wondered if Mr. Darcy saw it that way. “Did he remove you quickly, as you hoped?”

  Miss Darcy nodded, expression glum. “He did. I was right that my lie got me out of there, but you wouldn’t believe how many lectures I received from my brother, as well as from my cousin when he returned. They’ve also talked about delaying my coming out until I’m eighteen, or possibly longer.”

  “Why don’t you admit you lied?” Elizabeth asked.

  Miss Darcy shook her head vigorously. “My brother hates liars.”

  “You must do something to mend things,” Elizabeth said.

  “I am. I am acting contrite.”

  That explained the difference in Miss Darcy’s loquaciousness when around her brother and Mr. Fitzwilliam. “Is it working, do you think?”

  “I don’t know, and it’s been very difficult.” Miss Darcy glanced Elizabeth’s way with a tentative smile. “I’m not certain of the difference between being silently contrite and being silently sullen.” Her expression grew contemplative. “Maybe you can help me.”

  “I can certainly try,” Elizabeth said, wondering how.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Darcy, dressed for the midday meal, strode through Netherfield manor in increasing agitation. It was after noon and he could not locate his sister. Nor had he seen her since the evening before. He turned into the parlor the ladies frequented during the day, and found Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley, both reading. A glance showed the room did not hold his sister.

  “Do you know where Georgiana is?” he asked.

  Mrs. Hurst looked up from her book. “I haven’t seen her yet this morning. Caroline?”

  “Isn’t she in her room?” Miss Bingley asked.

  Darcy shook his head, worry mounting. “I knocked and there was no response. She went to bed quite early. She should be up by now.”

  Perhaps he should open her door. Could she be ill? She could have contracted what Miss Bennet had. Wouldn’t her maid have thought to inform him?

  Miss Bingley frowned, face adopting the expression with practiced ease. “She went to bed early, yes, but she said she planned to stay up until she finished translating something from Italian. She is so conscientious about her studies that I assumed she stayed up late and was still asleep.”

  Darcy mimicked Miss Bingley’s expression. It wasn’t unusual for Georgiana to study into the night, or even to miss breakfast, but it was late, even for her. She should have appeared by now. His worry mounted, but he forced his frown to ease.

  “That’s likely it,” he said, not wishing to promote agitation. “Or she’s gone for one of her walks and I missed her.”

  Miss Bingley tipped her head with a thoughtful look. “I believe she keeps her cloak in her room. I will gladly check for you.” She set aside her book.

  “I will check,” Darcy said.

  Miss Bingley stood. “I’m already up. Besides, if the door is locked, you will need my key.”

  Darcy pressed his mouth into a thin line, having no civilized way to deter Miss Bingley. Together, they left the parlor and returned to the hall where Miss Bingley had given Darcy, Richard and Georgiana rooms. Miss Bingley knocked on Georgiana’s. No response came.

  “If she were within, her maid would be as well,” Miss Bingley reasoned. She tried the knob. It turned under her hand. Miss Bingley swung the door open and entered.

  Darcy followed to find the room in perfect order and the bed made. A folded paper lay on the coverlet, unsealed, but with his name readily apparent on the outside. Miss Bingley plucked it up. Darcy could read her indecision. He held out his hand. She passed it to him, still folded, eyes bright with curiosity.

  Darcy flipped the note open. I wanted more congenial company. I’ll be back early in the afternoon.

  “What does she say?” Miss Bingley leaned around him, trying to read the page.

  Darcy folded it shut, then in half, and shoved it in his pocket. He would speak to Georgiana about leaving an unsealed insult to their hostess in plain sight. “She said she has gone out and will be back by early afternoon.”

  “Without one of us?” Miss Bingley asked. “Did she take her maid?”

  “It doesn’t say.” How could Georgiana behave so irresponsibly as to leave Netherfield without informing him? Where had she gone? He schooled his features, so as not to alert Miss Bingley to his level of agitation.

  “I will ask the servants if they know her whereabouts or if anyone accompanied her,” Miss Bingley declared.

  “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary.” The last thing he wished was to involve the staff. That would only stir gossip. “I will speak with Richard. Likely, Georgiana told him where she went.”

  “He went out for his morning ride,” Miss Bingley said, “but he usually arrives back about now and changes for lunch.”

  “He’ll know where Georgiana is,” Darcy reiterated.

  Hoping Miss Bingley believed his unworried demeanor, Darcy stepped aside and gestured for her to precede him from the room. As she set off down the hall, he crossed to knock on Richard’s door.

  The door opened to reveal Richard’s valet, his former batman. “Good afternoon, Mr. Darcy.”

  “Good afternoon, Disher. Is Richard in?”

  “Let him in, Disher,” Richard’s voice called. “Darcy’s seen me in a state of undress before.”

  Darcy entered to find Richard in trousers, in the act of donning his shirt. While Darcy had certainly seen his cousin in many states during a youth spent charging about the countryside together, he hadn’t seen Richard shirtless since before Spain. Though the white cloth dropped quickly into place, Darcy caught a glimpse of scars. He swallowed at that too-real reminder of how close those bullets had come to taking Richard from his life.

  “What can I do for you, Darcy?” Richard asked, tucking in his shirt.

  “I’m looking for Georgiana.” Darcy strove for a natural tone, rattled by both his sister’s defection and his older cousin’s mortality. “She hasn’t been seen since last night, and I found this note on her bed.” He retrieved and proffered the page.

  Richard finished with his shirt and took the paper. He unfolded it, snorted in amusement, and handed it back. “It sounds as if she’ll be home any moment.”

  “Yes, but where did she go? Why not inform me?”

  Richard turned to put his arms through the vest Disher held out, but not quickly enough to hide the look of worry that crossed his face. “Likely for a longer than usual walk.”

  “You know something,” Darcy accused, shoving the note back into his pocket.

  “Nothing about Georgiana, per se.” Richard set to buttoning his vest.

  “You will make me drag it from you?”

  Richard looked up, meeting Darcy’s gaze. “I visited the Lucases this morning. A new officer has joined the regiment stationed in Meryton. Everyone is abuzz about him.” Richard grimaced. “It’s Wickham.”

  Something quite akin to fear ricocheted through Darcy. “You think Georgiana has gone to meet him?”

  Richard returned to his buttons. “How would she know he’s arrived? I only learned this morning.”

  Darcy frowned. He didn’t know how Georg
iana might have found out, but he feared she had. “Maybe I should permit Miss Bingley to quiz the servants. She offered.”

  Expression neutral, Disher stepped forward with Richard’s cravat.

  Richard shook his head at Darcy, excepting the length of cloth from his valet. “If we make a general inquiry about when Georgiana left, it will cause concerns that would not reflect well on her. You already dissuaded Miss Bingley from investigating?”

  “I did.”

  “How? She’s generally quite tenacious, I’ve noticed.”

  Darcy shrugged. “I asked her not to.”

  Richard flashed a grin as he used the mirror to tie his cravat. “I sometimes forget that your word is law to her. Should I be jealous that she’s still chasing you?”

  That brought a slight smile, as Richard undoubtedly intended. “You should be relieved, as I am, that her attention is divided. She’s more bearable.” Darcy briefly wondered how Miss Bingley would react if he and Richard disagreed about something, but his levity fled. “If Georgiana is lying in a ditch somewhere, I don’t care what concerns are raised.”

  “She’ll likely be back any moment, Darcy. She’s not a child.”

  “Nor is she a woman grown,” he countered.

  “Um, sirs, if I may?” Disher asked.

  Startled by the interruption, Darcy turned to Disher. Richard’s valet had his gaze trained out the window. He stepped to one side and held the curtain back to give them a better view. Georgiana, arm in arm with Elizabeth, strode across the lawn toward the manor. Relief washed through Darcy.

  “Well, that answers our questions,” Richard said lightly.

  As quickly as his relief had come, Darcy’s anger flared. “I’ll go speak to her.”

  “Darcy,” Richard called as Darcy strode across the room.

  Darcy whirled back.

  “She isn’t a child,” Richard reiterated, tone mild.

  Darcy deepened his scowl and lengthened his stride. He’d prefer to meet the two in the garden, where they would have less of an audience. He had a few choice words for his sister for running off alone, and for Elizabeth for encouraging such behavior. Unfortunately, as he descended toward the foyer, Miss Bingley’s voice, gaining in clarity, alerted him that he’d failed to meet his sister and Elizabeth outdoors.