A Duel in Meryton

by Renata McMann

  Darcy clamped his mouth closed.

  “A local gentleman’s daughter.” Richard took no notice of Darcy’s glare. “She’s lovely and intelligent but has no dowry, a smattering of ill-mannered relations, and some relations in trade. So, no connections to speak of.”

  “Darcy doesn’t need any additional connections or funds,” Walter said.

  “And Bingley seems sure to propose to Miss Bennet, so Miss Elizabeth does have connections,” Darcy added.

  Richard regarded him shrewdly. “Ones you already possess.”

  Darcy knew Richard was testing him, prodding to discover the depth of his interest. He glowered and asked, “What makes you think I’m interested in her?”

  “Aren’t you?”

  Darcy wouldn’t lie, even to himself, but a mixture of feelings swirled inside him. Foremost shone Elizabeth’s bright eyes. He easily conjured her elegant form and often-wry tone, but behind that Mrs. Bennet screeched and Miss Lydia giggled, drawing Georgiana into worse and worse behavior. Instead of answering, Darcy stated, “I haven’t seen you interested in anyone.”

  “Miss Lucas,” Richard said.

  “But she…” Darcy didn’t want to voice that she was usually the least attractive woman in the room. He didn’t need to. He suspected Richard knew what he was considering saying.

  “Let’s face it Darcy, my face is no prize.”

  “Hey,” Walter protested with a chuckle. “We aren’t that bad looking.”

  Richard spared him a half smile before turning back to Darcy. “I am of average looks. I know that. I also know that Miss Lucas isn’t ugly. She’s simply plain, meaning ordinary. Bingley may go after beauty. You may go after liveliness and wit. Miss Lucas is sensible. Pleasant. Competent. And I love her.”

  “What’s stopping you?” Walter asked.

  “The very sensibleness that I esteem.”

  Darcy nodded with understanding. He’d faced the same quandary his whole adult life. “She would accept you even if she did not love or respect you.”

  Expression dour, Richard nodded. “I think she is in love with me, but I can’t be sure. I wouldn’t mind so much, except I want her to at least like me.”

  Walter sat forward on his sofa. “I would like to meet these women, and to get to know Miss Bingley better.”

  “You would marry her for her dowry?” Darcy asked.

  “Probably. If she’s acceptable, as Richard said.” Walter frowned. “Oakhall Manor isn’t grand. It isn’t Pemberley or Rosings. It’s not even Netherfield Park. I grew up in a grander place, but Arthur has two sons, so I’m not going to inherit. I don’t mind. Oakhall Manor is my home.” He grimaced. “But I’ve had some very bad luck the past few seasons. A hailstorm destroyed most of my wheat and that of my tenants. My stable was struck by lightning and it burned down, killing nearly all the animals in it. One of my most valuable tenants got sick and died. As a result, half of his spring planting didn’t get done. His widow left with the children. I don’t blame her, because she had relatives to take her in, but the timing was bad. I couldn’t charge the new tenants very much because of the missed planting.”

  “You didn’t write about all of that,” Darcy said, taken aback. He may have offered different advice in his letters to Walter if he’d known the extent of the difficulties.

  “I didn’t want you to realize how badly I’ve bungled things,” Walter said with a grimace.

  “You couldn’t have prevented all that,” Darcy assured him.

  “I hadn’t realized how bad it’s gotten,” Richard said. “I’m sure I could find money to help you. When did the stable burn down?”

  “Last week, and thank you, but no, little brother. Arthur already offered me a loan. I didn’t take it. I don’t like borrowing money. I’m not that desperate.” Walter stood, prompting Darcy and Richard to do likewise. “But if I could add half the income Miss Bingley’s dowry offers, I believe I can recover. I would prefer not to sell or even to mortgage any land.”

  Richard shrugged. “Well then, let’s go play cards with Miss Bingley.” He turned and led the way from the library.

  As they traversed the halls of Netherfield in search of an heiress and a card game, Darcy couldn’t help but wonder if Miss Lucas harbored any affection for Richard, for he agreed with his cousin’s assessment. The lady would accept almost any offer of marriage at this point, let alone one from a former officer who was the third son of an earl and master of an estate like Rosings. Few were the women in England who had enough in their own right to refuse a man like that.

  Unbidden, Elizabeth’s visage rose in Darcy’s mind. Would Elizabeth refuse where her heart was not engaged? She hadn’t deigned to dance with Darcy after his insult, but a dance was far from the offer of a lifetime of comfort and security. Still, mad as it might seem, Darcy had the unsettling suspicion that Miss Elizabeth Bennet was one to refuse any man she didn’t hold in high esteem, no matter his standing or wealth.

  And that idea terrified him.

  Chapter Twenty

  Two days before Kitty’s wedding found Elizabeth heartily sick of sewing. They’d all come together to help Kitty with her trousseau, but they still weren’t done. In general, the five of them, along with their mother, father and Mr. Collins, had spent many convivial afternoons together in the parlor, but with the wedding nearly upon them and a fair amount of work left to do, tempers were shortening.

  “Ow.” Mary stuck a pricked finger in her mouth.

  “Did you bloody the fabric?” Jane asked, leaning over to look from where she sat on the other side of the same sofa, sewing the other end of the seam.

  “I don’t think so,” Mary said around her finger. “Not this time.” She offered Kitty a grimace. “I’m sorry. I know I keep stabbing myself.”

  “If Kitty had worked on this as she should have, we wouldn’t have to do it,” Lydia complained before Kitty could reply.

  Kitty turned an overly sweet smile on Lydia. “Is your trousseau finished?”

  “No.” Lydia tossed her curls. “But I’m the youngest and it is logical that I get married last.” She let out a huff of air. “I should have liked to get married first, but with us not being able to attend parties with the officers, I’m not meeting anyone.” She leveled a glare at Kitty.

  Elizabeth rolled her shoulders to loosen them. There was no use complaining either about the sewing or the lack of officers.

  “If you are bored, Lydia, I’m certain Mr. Collins can be prevailed upon to read to us,” Kitty said.

  Mr. Collins looked up from the bible he studied, expression enthusiastic. “Yes, certainly. I should be more than pleased.”

  Lydia let out a groan.

  Mr. Bennet lowered his paper. “Perhaps you can accompany me on a walk to Meryton, Lydia. I’ve indulged myself long enough. I’m still annoyingly weak, but I believe I can ride, and you can walk.”

  “All right.” Lydia’s tone held an undisguised sullen note.

  Elizabeth exchanged an amused look with Jane. A trip to Meryton with their father wouldn’t offer Lydia the chance to flirt with officers anywhere nearly as much as she wished.

  “You never invite me on outings to Meryton,” Mrs. Bennet groused. Unlike her daughters, Mrs. Bennet did not work on Kitty’s trousseau. Having declared, ‘the strain Kitty marrying a man who lives so far away is much too great,’ Mrs. Bennet spent most of her time reclined on a sofa with a handkerchief over her eyes, napping.

  Mr. Bennet folded his paper and eyed his wife. “Would anyone else care to join us? Mrs. Bennet? Mary? Kitty?” He turned to Elizabeth, expression slightly beseeching. “Lizzy?”

  “I should be pleased to, Papa,” Elizabeth said, aware her father didn’t fancy an entire outing with only Lydia’s chatter in his ears.

  “And while you are gone, Mr. Bennet, since I will not be disturbing your reading of the paper, I can read psalms to the remaining ladies.”

  “Actually, Mr. Collins,” Kitty said with a pleasant smile, “I believe it wou
ld do you good to stretch your legs. You’ve improved so with your practicing, and I realize you’ve done your routine for the day, but you haven’t had a walk in some time. Walks are paramount for good form. Don’t you agree, Papa?”

  Mr. Bennet shrugged. Lydia scowled at Kitty.

  Elizabeth set aside her sewing and stood saying, “Lydia, shall I fetch your bonnet?”

  Soon all was in readiness and they made their way outside. Mr. Bennet had to use the mounting block, which he never had before. Elizabeth supposed it wasn’t surprising, since he’d spent weeks in bed, but she didn’t care for the stark reminder that he wasn’t yet completely recovered.

  The journey went more amiably than she expected. Mr. Collins and Mr. Bennet engaged in a debate about history. Lydia decided not to speak to any of them, presumably as some form of censure, which allowed Elizabeth to listen to the two men and insert occasional comments, to which both men attended and replied.

  As they entered Meryton, Elizabeth’s attention caught on four riders. She easily picked out Mr. Darcy, and she suspected two of the others were Mr. Bingley and Mr. Fitzwilliam, but, from afar, she didn’t recognize the fourth gentleman.

  The men adjusted their course to meet Elizabeth and her family. As they neared, Elizabeth’s guesses proved correct and the visage of the fourth rider consolidated into a copy of Mr. Fitzwilliam’s. Elizabeth looked back and forth between the Fitzwilliam twins and realized she would have difficulty telling them apart, especially if she met one without the other. The only clear sign she could pick out was that they wore their hair slightly different, but not enough to make it obvious who was who without both before her to compare.

  The riders all dismounted, including Mr. Bennet. He did so slower than he used to, causing Elizabeth to look about for the nearest mounting block. Circumspectly, she moved to stand beside him, between him and Mr. Collins, whom she couldn’t count on to notice if her father required a shoulder on which to lean. Her nervousness only increased when her father didn’t immediately release his hold on his saddle, but he straightened and offered her a reassuring smile. The gentlemen from Netherfield each sketched a bow.

  “Gentlemen,” Mr. Bennet said. “A pleasant happenstance, meeting you all. Except, I feel I have not quite met you all.”

  Mr. Richard Fitzwilliam took a half step forward and introduced everyone to his brother, Mr. Walter Fitzwilliam. During the introductions, Elizabeth darted a glance past Mr. Bingley to Mr. Darcy, to see if he approved of her father’s humor. His gaze, as was often the case, rested on her. He wore a slight frown, but she’d come to realize the expression was more thoughtful than censorious. At least, some of the time. She issued a quick smile to test his mood. His return smile sent a flutter of thrill through her. It was an oddly pleasant feeling, the realization that she could so easily evoke a smile from Mr. Darcy.

  When the introductions were over, Lydia stepped forward and turned to Mr. Darcy. “Georgiana isn’t with you?” Not waiting for him to reply, she focused on Mr. Walter Fitzwilliam. “Are you an officer?”

  Mr. Walter Fitzwilliam shook his head. “Not me. That was Richard’s ilk.”

  “Will Miss Bennet be joining you?” Mr. Bingley asked, looking past them, up the roadway.

  “She will not,” Mr. Bennet said.

  Mr. Bingley appeared crestfallen, so Elizabeth said, “She is helping Kitty with her trousseaus.” She couldn’t resist adding, “I’m afraid Jane is very marriage minded of late.”

  Far from evidencing any alarm, Mr. Bingley’s expression grew quite pleased.

  “We could walk with you,” Mr. Darcy said.

  “Certainly,” Mr. Bennet agreed.

  “Let’s stable the horses.” Richard Fitzwilliam led the way to the stable, the others from Netherfield following.

  Lydia watched with contemplative eyes. “At least he used to be an officer. That’s something. I was too angry with him for helping Mr. Collins with fencing to consider him before.”

  Elizabeth shook her head. If Lydia paid any attention to other people at all, she would realize Charlotte already owned Richard Fitzwilliam’s heart, and he hers. Elizabeth expected daily to hear the announcement of it.

  “On your previous point, Mr. Bennet,” Mr. Collins said. He turned to Elizabeth’s father and resumed the discussion they’d been having.

  Elizabeth turned to their father too, while Lydia’s gaze searched the street for anything of interest. Mr. Bennet held his mount’s reins loosely, no longer leaning on the animal for support, but his presence with them instead of the other men clearly meant he didn’t feel up to walking the animal all the way to the stable, and then returning. Should she take the gelding? Or suggest that Mr. Collins do so? She waited for a break in Mr. Collins’ monologue so she might do so.

  The gentlemen from Netherfield returned before Mr. Collins ceased speaking and Richard Fitzwilliam went immediately to Elizabeth’s father. “Mr. Bennet, allow me to take your horse.”

  “That would be appreciated.” Mr. Bennet’s tone held amusement, but no annoyance. With his insistence on risking his life for principle and his dedication to his daily training, they’d all grown in fondness for Mr. Collins and his idiosyncrasies, though Elizabeth strongly suspected only the latter point impressed her father.

  As Richard Fitzwilliam led the animal away, Mr. Collins turned red. “I apologize, sir. I didn’t think…that is, I wasn’t aware…I mean, you rode here so I assumed…” He looked about as if for help.

  “There is no need for concern, Mr. Collins,” Mr. Bennet said. “I would ha—”

  “Mr. Wickham,” Lydia exclaimed happily, pointing.

  Elizabeth turned to find not only Mr. Wickham, but also Mr. Denny, Mr. Pratt and Colonel Forster striding toward them, expressions a bit startled. Elizabeth realized they must have rounded the corner of the side street behind them and only just identified who they approached. To one side of her father, Mr. Collins’s forehead instantly shone with sweat.

  The soldiers could not turn around without appearing cowardly. Elizabeth’s group wasn’t moving at all. To walk away now would be a clear slight. Elizabeth turned slightly away from them, as did Mr. Darcy. Maybe the soldiers would ignore their group and move on.

  “Mr. Wickham,” Lydia repeated as they drew near.

  Mr. Wickham was far from the only one to grimace. He pivoted toward her and halted a few feet away, the other officers doing likewise. “Miss Lydia.”

  Lydia’s face split in a grin. “And Mr. Denny and Mr. Pratt and Colonel Forster.”

  Colonel Forster offered a nod but wore a deep frown. He stepped forward, toward Mr. Walter Fitzwilliam. “Mr. Fitzwilliam? Mr. Walter Fitzwilliam?” he asked, tone cold.

  “Yes?” Mr. Walter Fitzwilliam’s expression mirrored the confusion Elizabeth felt.

  Colonel Forster’s glower deepened. He squared his shoulders. “I understand you have been deceiving the good people of this district. You have been, subtly I admit, putting it out that you possess a large, wealthy estate. However, Mr. Wickham has informed me that your estate, Oakhall Manor, isn’t very large or very rich. Indeed, it suffers what many similar estates do, a loss of tenants to factories. I think you owe the community an apology for allowing them to believe you are wealthy.”

  Mr. Wickham turned a false smile on Mr. Bingley. “This concerns you too, Bingley. I spoke to a servant from Netherfield Park who reported that Walter has been most attentive to Miss Bingley. I don’t know how he managed to fool you, or why Darcy is permitting it, but I recommend you challenge both to a duel.”

  Mr. Bingley turned a look of confusion on Mr. Wickham. Mr. Darcy met Elizabeth’s gaze, expression grimly amused. She returned his wry smile, quickly able to guess what transpired. Peripherally, Elizabeth also noted her father’s amusement and Mr. Collins’ confusion. Lydia appeared frustrated, likely due to being so near officers and not able to converse freely with them. Mr. Bingley opened his mouth to speak, but Colonel Forster took another step toward Mr. Walter Fitzwilliam
. Mr. Denny and Mr. Pratt made a menacing wall behind him, but Mr. Wickham stood to one side, grinning.

  “Although I owe nothing to the Bingleys,” the colonel said, “I don’t believe any woman deserves to be deceived by a scoundrel. Do you admit Oakhall Manor isn’t as profitable as has been represented?”

  Mr. Walter Fitzwilliam cast Mr. Darcy a questioning, disgruntled look. “I had no idea my wealth or lack of it was the common knowledge of the community, but I will readily admit that Oakhall Manor no longer has the income it used to. In view of a recent occurrence, Oakhall is probably worth even less than you now believe.”

  Colonel Forster gave a sharp nod. “And your comments about the absence of ready funds being available were misleading at best. You have no expectation of ever making up the deficit.”

  Mr. Walter Fitzwilliam shook his head, confused. “I have made no such comments.”

  “Come now, there were numerous witnesses who reported them,” Wickham said with satisfaction.

  “I think your witnesses were speaking of me.” Everyone whirled to find Richard Fitzwilliam approaching. “My brother, Walter, arrived yesterday.”

  Colonel Forster looked back and forth between the two, expression shocked. “What is this now? Explain, Mr. Wickham.”

  “They are twins,” Mr. Wickham said. “Richard and Walter Fitzwilliam, but I am sure it is Walter Fitzwilliam who we want. He’s the one with an estate. Richard Fitzwilliam is an officer and has no land.”

  “That’s where you are wrong,” Richard Fitzwilliam said in his usual easy manner, joining the loose semicircle of men. “I now possess an estate. One with which I believe you are very familiar from your youth, Mr. Wickham.”

  Mr. Wickham narrowed his gaze, then jutted out his chin. “How would you have an estate? You can’t have Oakhall if Walter is alive. And if not to deceive, why would you go by mister and not colonel?”

  “Because I sold out when I inherited Rosings.”

  “Rosings,” Mr. Wickham gasped, jaw hinging open like a gaping trout, causing Elizabeth to stifle a laugh.