A Duel in Meryton

by Renata McMann

“He’s not quite as good as he appears,” Mr. Darcy said. “Mr. Collins is a tall man and long arms help, allowing him to win more often against a shorter man.”

  “Still, you cannot deny his hard work begins to pay off.”

  Mr. Darcy nodded. “He has improved more than I would expect anyone to improve.”

  “He asked my father for advice,” Elizabeth said, feeling a touch of pride in both men. “My father isn’t up to fencing, but he gave Mr. Collins some exercises to do, which he performs diligently.”

  “Exercises help,” said a voice behind them.

  Elizabeth turned, Mr. Darcy alongside her, to find Mr. Pratt, a lieutenant in the militia, who was not in uniform. She frowned at him. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mr. Darcy mimic the expression.

  “You are wondering what I am doing here,” Mr. Pratt said.

  “Spying?” Elizabeth suggested. She hoped he hadn’t overheard Mr. Darcy’s statement that Mr. Collins was not as good as he seemed.

  Mr. Pratt shook his head. “The Gouldings invited me, so I came. I’m not trying to take sides.”

  “So, you will report nothing that you’ve seen here to Mr. Wickham?” Elizabeth didn’t hide disbelief from her tone.

  Mr. Pratt shrugged. “That’s not why I’m here, but I suspect Wickham will ask me, and I won’t keep secret what I’ve seen.”

  “That makes you a spy,” Mr. Darcy said.

  Elizabeth cast him a quick look. Must he always sound so sure? “Not if he’s open about it.”

  Mr. Darcy turned his frown on her.

  Mr. Pratt gestured to the dueling men. “Mainly, I’m here because this is a very unusual form of entertainment.”

  Mr. Darcy still frowned, but Elizabeth knew that Lydia talked to members of the militia. The two opposing camps already shared information. Mr. Pratt reporting that Mr. Collins had scored a few hits on Mr. Fitzwilliam couldn’t hurt Mr. Collins cause.

  “You do not care for the other entertainments Hertfordshire has to offer, Mr. Pratt?” she asked, endeavoring to be civil.

  “Fencing is an entertaining change from listening to music.” Mr. Pratt offered an apologetic grimace. “I’m tone deaf.” He gestured toward the practice area. “Mr. Fitzwilliam won.”

  Elizabeth turned to see Mr. Fitzwilliam, Kitty and Mr. Collins headed their way. Kitty scowled at Mr. Pratt, but both men wore neutral expressions.

  “Pratt,” Mr. Fitzwilliam greeted. “Come to evaluate our champion?”

  Mr. Pratt looked Mr. Collins up and down. “Not specifically. I’ve come in hope of a bout.”

  “Mr. Collins is escorting me to get punch,” Kitty said firmly. With another glare at Pratt, she clasped Mr. Collins’ arm.

  Elizabeth hid a smile.

  Mr. Collins didn’t protest Kitty’s treatment of him, instead offering a stumbling bow as Kitty dragged him away and muttering, “Excuse us.”

  “I’ll square off against you, Pratt,” Mr. Goulding called.

  Pratt nodded, offered them a bow of his own, and headed away just as Charlotte appeared. Elizabeth didn’t miss that Charlotte had reached the practice area just after Mr. Fitzwilliam’s bout ended, or that she walked up to stand beside him where he stood to one side of Mr. Darcy, not beside Elizabeth on the other. As one, all four turned to watch Mr. Pratt fence with Mr. Goulding.

  “I’m surprised Mr. Collins did so well against you,” Mr. Darcy said in a low voice to Mr. Fitzwilliam.

  “It speaks well of your skill as a teacher,” Charlotte said.

  Much as Mr. Darcy had, Mr. Fitzwilliam spoke softly. “His first bit of success was legitimate. Then I saw Pratt circling the field and let Mr. Collins win again. It doesn’t hurt to have Wickham more worried and Mr. Collins more confident.” He gave a shrug. “Although it may not help. Wickham thinks I’m Walter.”

  “Who’s Walter?” Elizabeth asked, a touch chagrinned to find Mr. Darcy in the right. Mr. Collins was not, indeed, as good as he appeared.

  “Mr. Fitzwilliam’s twin brother,” Charlotte said, eliciting a startled glance from Mr. Darcy.

  Elizabeth looked at Mr. Fitzwilliam in surprise. “You have a twin?” Was Walter as amiable as Mr. Fitzwilliam?

  He nodded. “I do, and Wickham believes me to be him. Wickham saw me riding through Meryton a few days past and called me Walter. I turned to look at him and he touched his hat. As I am not Walter, I declined to return the salutation.”

  There was an uproar alongside the practice field. Elizabeth turned to see a group of men congratulating Mr. Goulding.

  Mr. Pratt, expression rueful, wandered toward them. “I said I liked to watch fencing. That doesn’t mean I’m good at it.”

  “I guessed as much and bet against you,” Mr. Hurst said, following Mr. Pratt over, Miss Bingley trailing behind. “I set some pretty steep odds, too.”

  “Who had such unjustifiable faith in me?” Mr. Pratt asked.

  Mr. Hurst chortled and nodded over his shoulder. “Miss Bingley. I don’t mind taking a bit of money from my wife’s sister, especially as I lost to her at cards last night.”

  “I should not have bet, especially at such odds,” Miss Bingley said, joining them. “But I thought a soldier would be better at fencing.”

  “Not all soldiers are good fencers,” Mr. Fitzwilliam said.

  “Apparently not,” Miss Bingley said, sourly. “You seem to fence well enough, Mr. Fitzwilliam.”

  Mr. Fitzwilliam chuckled. “I’m more interested in the fencing on a farm, the sort I need to keep my livestock from running off, although this is entertaining enough.”

  “You own a property?” Mr. Pratt asked. “I’m surprised you aren’t there at this time of year.”

  Elizabeth was impressed that rumor of Mr. Fitzwilliam’s inheritance hadn’t reached the officers yet. Then again, he’d told Charlotte, and she’d told Elizabeth, who knew how to keep a confidence, not Lydia or Mrs. Bennet.

  “I have someone managing my property who knows more about farming than I do,” Mr. Fitzwilliam said. He cast Charlotte a sidelong look. “My property brings in a good income, but circumstances have made it so I’m short on funds. I’m happy to maximize my profit by not interfering with those who know what they’re doing.”

  “You are lucky,” Mr. Pratt said. “My income is dependent on my father’s whim.” He flexed his hand, as if it hurt, and Elizabeth wondered what she’d missed by not attending to the bout. “If you’ll excuse me?” Mr. Pratt bowed, and left.

  “What do you wager he runs and tells Wickham everything he heard and saw?” Mr. Fitzwilliam said.

  “Not much,” Mr. Hurst replied. “Terrible odds that he won’t do that.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Mood light, Darcy, flanked by Richard and Bingley, strode up the steps to Netherfield. The three of them had been for a ride. Not fencing. Not to a luncheon. Not dancing, to a garden party, or any other such activity. Simply an afternoon with two of Darcy’s most esteemed companions, spent riding about countryside that in its own way was nearly as lovely as Derbyshire.

  The moment they entered, Bingley’s butler, Andrews, stepped forward and cleared his throat, the sound the antithesis of Darcy’s cheerful mood. “Sirs, there is a gentleman to see you, all of you.” The butler’s gaze lingering on Richard. “He claims extreme urgency.”

  “Did he give a card?” Bingley asked.

  Andrews shook his head. “He said you would know him, sir, and I had a reason not to doubt him.”

  Bingley frowned, but nodded.

  Darcy stripped off his outerwear, mind going over possibilities. A disgruntled officer, upset they’d sided with Mr. Collins? Worse, a disgruntled father? From Elizabeth, Darcy knew that Mr. Bennet was well enough to go about by carriage, but not to ride, though he improved daily. Was he now feeling up to a confrontation over Bingley’s unsubtle attention to his eldest daughter?

  They all followed Andrews not to one of the small front parlors, but the larger back one where the ladies liked to pass their afternoo
ns. Standing near the fireplace, flanked by Miss Bingley seated to one side and Georgiana to the other, Walter waited within. He strode forward to meet them, then bowed.

  “Walter,” Richard greeted warmly.

  Bingley looked back and forth between them, expression surprised. Darcy came forward to clasp Walter’s hand in greeting.

  Richard turned to wave Bingley nearer. “You know I have a twin brother.”

  “I do, but we’ve never met.” Bingley extended a hand. “The resemblance is uncanny.”

  “So, I’ve been told,” Walter said. “Please excuse my presumption in arriving unannounced. I’m afraid it’s a matter of urgent, private family business. I don’t mean to be an imposition.”

  “Not at all,” was Bingley’s predictable reply. “Do you wish to stay? Caroline can have a room made up.”

  “I would appreciate that,” Walter said.

  “What sort of family business?” Georgiana asked.

  “Nothing to concern you, Cousin.” Walter’s tone was firm.

  Georgiana frowned.

  “No?” Richard looked between his brother and Georgiana.

  “No. Especially not after the stunt she pulled,” Walter said. Darcy raised his eyebrows, but before he could speak, Walter added, “If we could adjourn?” His gaze rested on Miss Bingley for a moment, then moved to Bingley. Walter ignored Georgiana’s pout. “Please excuse my ill manners, but I really must speak with Richard and Darcy. Alone.”

  “Of course.” Miss Bingley offered a brighter than usual smile. “Hopefully your business will be rapidly concluded. I should very much enjoy testing which of the two of you is better at cards.”

  Walter returned her smile. “That would be me, Miss Bingley. As the older brother, I am better at everything.”

  Richard snorted. “Hardly.” He looked to Bingley. “May we monopolize your library?”

  Bingley nodded. “As much as you like. I’m off to change.”

  Walter and Richard both bowed to the ladies. Georgiana’s pout didn’t waver. Darcy gave his sister a hard look, bowed to Miss Bingley, and followed the twins out.

  They traversed the halls of Netherfield in silence, but as soon as the library doors closed, Darcy asked, “What did Georgiana do?”

  “Bingley’s butler let me in, likely thinking I was Richard,” Walter said, taking a seat on one of the sofas that dominated the small library, Richard going to the one opposite him. “Miss Bingley and Georgiana were coming down the stairs, and Miss Bingley suggested I join her in the parlor for cards. Before I could correct her, Georgiana recognized me but called me Richard. I corrected Georgiana. I don’t approve of deliberately trying to fool people, even if I fooled the butler accidentally.”

  Darcy nodded, taking a nearby chair. Perhaps he shouldn’t have forgiven his sister for her lie about elopement so readily. Her return of spirit, coupled with the influence of Miss Lydia Bennet, seemed to be rendering her overly saucy.

  “What business brings you?” Richard asked his brother.

  “It’s about Wickham.” Walter’s expression darkened. “And George Blackmore.”

  “George Blackmore?” Richard repeated, surprised.

  “The man Richard saved Anne from three years ago?” Darcy added, in case there was another George Blackmore with whom the brothers were familiar.

  “Yes, the George Blackmore that Richard killed.”

  “Defended himself and Anne against,” Darcy corrected. “Richard was cleared of any wrongdoing.”

  Walter nodded. “He was. With two witnesses saying he attacked Richard with a sword,” he nodded at Richard, “while you were unarmed. The magistrate could hardly do otherwise.” Walter pushed a hand through his hair, a nervous habit picked up from the earl, but which Richard had long since shed. “Blackmore had a sister. She inherited what little he had.”

  “I know,” Richard said. “She wrote me asking for money. I refused. She wrote me a second time when I inherited Rosings. I threw her letter into the fire and resolved not to pay to receive another from her.”

  “She sent me a package,” Walter said. “Her brother’s account book. She directed me to a page dated a couple of weeks before Blackmore presented himself to our aunt as a relative. There is a payment to G. Wickham for thirty pounds. Blackmore’s sister said I should pay her whatever I think the information is worth.”

  Darcy frowned, trying to call Blackmore’s letter from Sir Lewis to mind. The salutation had been penned, familiarly, to George, but the address had been somewhat obscured. “Have you paid her anything?”

  Walter shook his head. “Not yet. I will pay her something though, because her information explains how Blackmore knew about Rosings. It also explains Sir Lewis’ letter.”

  “So, Blackmore was never a relation.” Darcy scowled. He should have followed his first instinct and had the man thrown out, no matter what Lady Catherine said. “Wickham described the Rosings of our youth and gave Blackmore that letter.” That Wickham would trade a letter from a man who’d shown him care for a quick thirty pounds added to Darcy’s ire.

  “I’ve always wondered about that,” Richard said. “Mystery solved.”

  Walter pressed a hand through his hair again. “I don’t understand what Blackmore meant to accomplish.”

  “Likely, a legal, approved, marriage.” Darcy’s voice was flat. “Fortunately, Anne rejected his advances.”

  Richard’s eyes glinted with suppressed anger. “She told me that she thought Blackmore meant to abduct her. That she almost escaped, but he caught her sleeve.” He glanced at Darcy. “I never troubled you with the details, but I later discovered a carriage had been waiting nearby. One of the tenants saw the driver question the maid you sent out, and then leave rather quickly.”

  “Was he planning to take Anne to Scotland?” Walter asked.

  Richard shrugged. “We’ll never know if that was the plan or he only wanted to hold her for ransom. I attempted to locate the driver of the carriage but wasn’t successful.”

  With his money, Darcy might have been more successful. He turned his frown on Richard. “You should have—”

  Richard held up a staying hand. “I had resources enough. The man went to ground. The one thing I did get was a general description of the driver, from the same tenant. Enough that I can assure you now that the driver was not George Wickham.”

  Silence filled the library as they reflected on that possibility. Darcy hadn’t considered that. Apparently, Blackmore, quite sensibly, hadn’t trusted Wickham enough to have him drive the carriage. Or, Darcy grudgingly postulated, Wickham hadn’t been low enough to participate in Anne’s abduction. Low enough not to warn them, but not so immoral as to assist.

  “I’ve always wondered, what was Anne doing in her father’s office?” Walter asked.

  Seeing no reason to go into three-year-old details of Anne’s fears, Darcy said, “If you remember, Sir Lewis had been dead for about a year then. Anne was very close to him. She sometimes came downstairs to his office and curled up in his chair. Especially, when she wasn’t feeling well.”

  “You should have written me in more detail,” Walter said to his brother.

  “Thanks to our father, I was sent to Spain very quickly after that. There was enough of a scandal that he wanted me out of the country.” Richard smiled wryly. “He changed his mind when I was wounded.”

  “Does that make Wickham responsible?” Darcy asked.

  Richard and Walter exchanged a long look. Walter pulled out a guinea and put it on the table. “My estate is not pulling in as much money as I could wish. I would like to marry, getting both a housekeeper and an heiress. Please tell me about Miss Bingley.”

  Richard picked up the coin and pocketed it. “Miss Bingley has twenty thousand pounds, which come from trade. She was educated in an exclusive private seminary and has manners that will allow her to pass in the best circles. She can be pettily nasty toward people she dislikes, but she is sufficiently awed by rank as not to create problems within our
family. She plays the pianoforte quite well and has a fair singing voice. You’ve seen her, so I don’t need to give a physical description. Her relatives will not cause you grief. In specific, her brother is a good connection to have, since he’s universally liked. The Hursts have decent connections but have barely enough money to support their lifestyle and so may slightly impose on you.”

  Walter turned to Darcy. “Did either of us do anything wrong?”

  Bemused by their demonstration, he said, “I suppose not,” then turned to Richard. “Are you going to keep the money?”

  “Yes.” Richard ginned, but then his expression sobered. “I think it was a bit different when Blackmore tried to pass as a relative. He wanted more than simple information, all of which is publicly available.” Richard shook his head. “Wickham must have known or guessed what Blackmore intended, and he obviously provided the letter.”

  “Perhaps,” Darcy said bitterly. “Wickham will claim he sold information because he thought Blackmore was after a proper courtship. If pressed, he will probably claim that Blackmore stole the letter. There’s no one to refute that.” He turned to Walter. “Are you really interested in Miss Bingley?”

  “Are you?” Walter replied.

  Darcy’s eyebrows shot up. “Heavens, no.”

  “Good. Heiresses are hard to come by. Especially those who are young enough to have children and would be acceptable to my family.” Walter looked to Richard. “This isn’t the woman you’ve hinted at being interested in, is it?”

  “No.”

  A pang of jealousy hit Darcy. He readily conjured the easy way Richard and Elizabeth laughed together, and the way Richard sought her company twice at every gathering.

  “Is there a problem, Darcy?” Richard’s voice and expression were bland.

  Darcy tugged at his cravat, suddenly too warm. “I beg your pardon?”

  Richard exchanged another look with Walter and grinned. “It’s not Miss Elizabeth.”

  “I didn’t say—” Darcy halted his words even as Richard raised a hand to cut him off.

  “You don’t need to say.”

  “Who is Miss Elizabeth?” Walter asked, expression eager.