Darcy’s Second Chance

by Catherine Jennings

  “Then I am sorry for you.” Hardy sighed and leant back in his chair, signalling that he would say no more on the matter. The ancient wood creaked as he moved.

  It was a strange room, much like the rest of Hardy’s home. The house was far grander than Radcliffe House—or indeed any house that Elizabeth had visited. She could hardly claim to have great wealth and taste herself—as a spinster, she was still reliant on her father’s income and her sisters’ generosity. Even so, it was clear to her that the furnishings had been chosen for their grandiosity rather than their comfort. Taken together, it made the place look more like a museum of treasures than a home. It was certainly not a place of relaxation.

  She looked up to find Hardy’s attention back on her. She forced herself to meet his gaze even though it was difficult. She had never before seen a look of such menace. His eyes all but shone with ill-will and bad intentions.

  “Mrs. Bingley, you will heed what I say now, will you not?”

  “You have said a lot, Mr. Hardy. What is it you would like me to heed?”

  His expression darkened and he glanced over at Bingley. “Do you allow your wife to speak like this to a gentleman? My dear man, if you allow such impudence to go unpunished, it will only get worse. I suppose you consider yourself too genteel to take your cane to her!”

  “That is quite enough!” Darcy snapped. “I am sure the ladies wish to relieve themselves of our company and become better acquainted.”

  Silence fell over the table. Elizabeth looked around in dismay. She did not know how much more she could take. She cleared her throat delicately. “I am sure you have much to show us, Mrs. Hardy.”

  The other woman did not react. She did not even look at Elizabeth.

  “Catherine!” Hardy roared, causing them all to start.

  The girl looked up, eyes wide with fear. “Yes?”

  “Leave us! Go!”

  Chapter Four

  Just like the dining room, the drawing-room was exquisitely furnished—but in a manner that suggested the pieces had been chosen for appearances rather than comfort. This was confirmed as soon as the ladies had seated themselves. The chairs and sofas were rigid and uncomfortable, despite their fine silk coverings.

  Mrs. Hardy did not seem to notice her guests’ discomfort. In fact, she paid them little attention. She sat close to the fire and stared at it.

  Elizabeth looked away, chiding herself for thinking so critically of the girl. It was not her fault she had married such an awful man. Still, it was difficult to know what to say—and that was strange for Elizabeth, for she rarely found herself speechless. For the first time that evening, Elizabeth wished Jane was present. Her kindly manner would no doubt draw the girl from her shell.

  She had not expected her to be so young. The girl was barely twenty when Hardy must have been at least as old as Elizabeth’s parents. It was odd—now that they were alone, she did not seem particularly nervous or shy. It was as if she had no interest at all in speaking to them.

  Elizabeth glanced at Mary, who was perusing a volume she had found on a table and steadfastly ignoring her companions. If anyone was to initiate conversation, it would have to be Elizabeth herself.

  “You have a beautiful home,” she said quietly, looking around as if she was fascinated by the gaudy paintings that lined the walls.

  The girl did not react.

  Elizabeth looked at Mary, who appeared not to have noticed. “Mrs. Hardy,” she said, louder this time. “I said you have a beautiful home.”

  The girl shot her a look of utter contempt. “Thank you. It is so very kind of you to say.” It was evident from her tone that she did not mean a word of what she had just said.

  Before Elizabeth could respond, the girl had summoned a maid and ordered her to bring them some wine. Elizabeth, who had had a glass with dinner and who wished to stay as clearheaded as possible, declined politely and asked for a cup of tea.

  She looked around. Aside from the expensive furnishings and gaudy paintings, there was no sign that the room had ever been put to use by the mistress of the house. Either that or she had tidied away her things, but to Elizabeth’s mind there was an air of neglect about the place.

  Mrs. Hardy gulped back her wine and her class was empty before Elizabeth’s tea had even been brought. The maid filled her glass again and Elizabeth smiled politely when the girl’s gaze turned to her.

  Perhaps, she thought, the wine will work to my advantage and make her more talkative.

  “Do you enjoy needlework?” she asked, determined to make conversation. Anything was preferable to sitting in silence and wondering what the men were discussing.

  A look passed between Elizabeth and her sister, but Mary soon returned her attention to the volume in her hands. She was too far away for Elizabeth to read the title, but it did not matter. She had not turned the page in several minutes, leading Elizabeth to assume her fascination was entirely put on.

  “Perhaps you are more interested in the outdoors.” Elizabeth reminded herself that she ought to feel sorry for the girl. It could not be easy to be married to a man like that. No wonder she was sour. “Walking and the like.”

  “Not if I can avoid it.”

  It was impossible! Elizabeth pressed on, determined to draw some conversation out of the girl. “How long have you resided here?”

  Mrs. Hardy looked up and frowned. “I cannot recall.”

  Elizabeth smiled. It took some effort. She had never been so uncomfortable in her life. Not only that, but she expected the men’s negotiations would take some time. They would be stuck here for some time.

  She sighed and took a sip of her tea. All she could think about was the way Hardy had asked about Miss Bennet. There had been such glee in his voice that it made her shudder to recall it.

  She tried to reassure herself that it was not cause for concern. After all, he was a married man. She closed her eyes and told herself to be calm. As much as she loathed Darcy for telling Hardy the truth, it did not matter. Darcy was shrewd and he would find a way to deflect Hardy’s attention away from her. If a solution was to be reached, she felt sure Darcy was the man to help them find it.

  She looked around the room once more. It was clear the lamps were new and the paintings were also recent. The largest one hung above the mantle and showed Hardy atop a huge stallion. It was clear the artist had taken liberty with the man’s height and girth, which in reality were far closer to each other. In the painting, he was taller, slimmer and younger.

  “That is a fine painting of your husband. Was it painted long ago?” It was an attempt to break the silence more than anything else. She could already tell that it was recent from the style of his dress.

  Mrs. Hardy looked startled at first. Then she followed Elizabeth’s gaze and tittered.

  “Is something amusing?” Elizabeth’s indifference was momentarily replaced by curiosity. What an odd reaction!

  “No, not at all,” the girl said, slurring slightly. Her glass had been filled a third time. “I laughed because you called him my husband.”

  Elizabeth frowned at Mary, who had by now dropped the pretence that she was not listening. Mrs. Hardy must have an unsound mind. That was the only possible explanation. Mary looked away without saying anything.

  “What else would I call him?”

  Mrs. Hardy appeared even more perplexed. “Hardy, I suppose. Or Mr. Hardy. He is not my husband. It is funny you thought he was.”

  “What a wicked thing to say!” Mary cried, slamming the volume closed and shrinking back into her chair.

  Time and marriage to Mr. Collins had turned Mary from a pious and serious girl to a thoroughly severe woman. Elizabeth glared at her and silently begged her to be quiet. They were not in a position to offend the woman, no matter how strange and impertinent her behaviour. Nor did she want Hardy to come and investigate why the ladies had raised their voices.

  The girl rolled her eyes. By now her lips were stained a deep claret. “How is it wicked? We are not mar
ried. How can he be my husband if we are not married?”

  “He introduced you as Mrs. Hardy.” Mary stared at her elder sister. “He did, did he not? I heard him.”

  Elizabeth nodded slowly. She had heard it too. Hardy had certainly introduced the girl to them as Mrs. Hardy. She was in no doubt about it.

  The girl pulled a face. Elizabeth regretted ever hoping the wine might make her more talkative, because it certainly had not made her more agreeable. “I suppose he thought it was amusing. A joke.”

  “A joke?”

  “Yes.”

  “But…” Mary’s face had turned red and she seemed on the verge of an attack of the nerves. Elizabeth stood and moved closer to her because of the very strong likelihood that she might faint. Elizabeth herself—and she did not usually suffer from her nerves—felt a little faint and queasy herself.

  “What sort of a joke is that? To suggest such a thing is scandalous. How could you have the indecency to allow him to say such things…?” Mary became even paler and shook her head. “So you do not reside here, I take it, Miss…”

  The girl smiled now, as if drawing pleasure from their shock and embarrassment. “Price. Miss Price.”

  Elizabeth winced and squeezed Mary’s hand. She was treading on dangerous ground now. As Mary well knew, she and her sisters were in no position to chastise anyone about their loose morals.

  But Mary would not be silenced. “It is unthinkable to me. Utterly unacceptable.”

  “Mary…”

  But she paid no heed. It was as if she had entirely forgotten what had happened to their own sister not five years before.

  “Now, Mrs. Hardy, I hope you will see reason and admit that this wicked falsehood is entirely of your invention!” By now, Mary had gotten to her feet and stood over the girl, looking down at her with a curious mixture of rage and hope on her face. “How can you tell us this? Do you not worry that we will judge you? I, for one, can only offer to pray for the redemption of your soul. Tell me it is a silly story with no truth to it.”

  “It is Miss Price,” the girl said, getting to her feet and walking slowly towards Mary. “As I have told you.”

  Elizabeth got to her feet and stood between the two women. “Miss Price, you must not pay any heed to my sister. It is a little joke of her own. We would not be so impertinent as to criticise you in your own home.” She glared at Mary as she said this, but her younger sister gave no indication of having heard her thinly-veiled plea.

  “Oh, of course not,” the girl said with a spiteful little laugh. “I know full well what went on with your family. James could not keep the amusement from his voice when he told me. He told me to watch you all this evening; to note your airs and graces. You all think you’re better than us, don’t you? Even though your own sister’s carry on was no better than that of a common harlot.”

  Mary sucked in a breath and coughed, flushing redder than ever. “May God forgive you!”

  “May God forgive your sister more like. Oh, I’ve seen what you lot are like. You sit here and you talk to me ever so slowly as if I’m thick. Well, I’m not. I just have no interest in talking to people like you who think you’re above everyone.”

  Elizabeth stared at her, astonished beyond words. “What on earth do you mean? All we have tried to do is be kind to you.”

  “You tell yourself that. I saw the look you gave me and this place. You think it beneath you.” Her eyes narrowed. “Well, I daresay you won’t think like that when my James takes the roofs from over your heads and puts those children to work down in his friend’s coal mines!”

  Elizabeth recoiled. She had thought often of Lydia’s children, but she had never truly believed any harm would come to them. “They are only children. You leave them out of it!”

  And what could this impertinent young lady truly know of the man’s plans? Surely he would not discuss his business with her? In that case, she must have concocted the tale purely to frighten Elizabeth and Mary after the way Mary had addressed her.

  But her logical mind dismissed that theory almost as soon as she had thought of it. After all, how could the woman simply create such an evil tale? There must be some truth to it.

  Miss Price smiled back at her, her eyes glittering in the light of the ostentatious lamp behind her.

  “How can you even bring yourself to say such a thing?”

  “I am simply telling you the truth. I’m doing you a favour, really. James swore me to secrecy, but I thought I had best give you a hint of what he has in store for you lot. You know, so you have time to adjust your high and mighty ways.” She smiled. “There’s no place for airs and graces in the back alleys of London with the rats and the beggars!”

  Elizabeth was about to speak when there was a terrible commotion behind them. She spun around and gasped. Mary had swooned to the floor.

  Chapter Five

  The gentlemen came rushing into the drawing-room.

  “What is this?”

  Elizabeth turned in time to see Mr. Darcy hurrying towards her and falling to his knees on Mary’s other side.

  “What happened?”

  “She fainted.”

  “Fainted…?” He shook his head and looked around the room, as if looking for the thing that might have caused it. He caught Elizabeth’s eye and she shook her head.

  “Yes, Mr. Darcy.” Elizabeth cleared her throat. “I am afraid I must have put across my opinion rather too frankly and my dear sister became upset.”

  “Your opinion about what?” Hardy asked, leering at them from the doorway.

  “Fordyce’s Sermons.”

  “What?”

  For a moment, Elizabeth was very grateful that her sister could not respond. “It is a book of sermons for young ladies. My sister has very strong feelings about it and I rather foolishly disagreed with her as to which one is the most resonant.”

  She glanced at Miss Price, who smirked back at her but said nothing. No doubt she would gleefully recount the real cause of Mrs. Collins’s fainting fit as soon as they left. Elizabeth did not care so long as it was not repeated within earshot of Bingley and Mr. Collins. As foolish as she sometimes thought him, she knew William Collins adored his wife and he would not react well to hearing how the awful young lady had insulted her.

  “What a terrible shame,” Hardy said, without an ounce of regret in his voice. “I suppose we shall have to resume our discussion at another time.”

  “No.” Bingley turned back to him, holding his hands out as if to placate the man. “She will be will. Perhaps we can—”

  Darcy got to his feet and put a hand on his dear friend’s shoulder. “Let us do as he says, Bingley. We must get your sister back to Radcliffe House. There now—here is the maid with the smelling salts.”

  Elizabeth stood aside to allow them to waft the little bottle under her sister’s nose. She yawned—the door had been left open and the waft of cold air made her realise just how tired she had become. The blazing fire was about the only welcoming thing in that house and now she was starting to wonder if they had stoked it up on purpose to lower their guests’ awareness.

  “Tired, Mrs. Bingley?” Hardy drawled.

  She glanced up at him. It took some effort, for it was very difficult indeed for her to disguise her loathing for the man. “It is the fire. It was very cosy indeed. Thank you for your hospitality.”

  “How gracious!” he cried. “You have a good woman there, Bingley.”

  Her skin crawled, but she forced herself to smile at him. Oh, what a dreadful situation they had found themselves in to have to bow and scrape to this vile man!

  Worse—she had a terrible feeling that he would not forget his interest in meeting Miss Bennet. And what would they do then?

  * * *

  As soon as the carriage had passed through the gates of James Hardy’s home, its occupants seemed to both relax and tense up at the same time.

  Mary was beginning to come to and her sister squeezed her hand tightly. It might have looked like kin
dness and support to the others, but that was not the primary reason for Elizabeth’s proximity.

  “Do not utter a word of what was said,” she hissed in her sister’s ear when she felt confident the men were distracted. “No good can come of them knowing.”

  Mary, who was still pale and wan, pursed her lips. “It is not right. It is sinful.”

  “Yes it is,” Elizabeth replied, keeping her eyes firmly on their companions in case they should suddenly pay attention to the two women’s whispers. “Would it not be even more sinful to distress our male relations by telling them of it? You must give me your word.”

  Mary did not say a word for a very long time. It was only when her husband launched into a passionate and scathing rebuke of Mr. Hardy that she looked at her sister and nodded.

  Elizabeth was relieved beyond measure.

  “Yes,” Mr. Collins continued. “He was so very unpleasant. I imagine that he positions himself in the very front pew at every Sunday service, without any regard to the fact that his day-to-day conduct could only be described as ungodly.”

  “With respect,” Darcy said, clearing his throat. “We have larger issues to deal with than the wretched man’s lack of piety.”

  Elizabeth winced. Darcy’s clear-headedness had impressed her, but she could not hold back her indignation at his conduct. Hardy had squeezed her hand as he helped her into the carriage—despite her insistence that she needed no help—and told her not to forget that he very much wished to meet Miss Bennet. Even recalling it made her feel weak with revulsion and it was Darcy’s fault her unwed status had even come to the man’s attention.

  “It is hardly your issue, Mr. Darcy.”

  He shifted in his seat opposite. “I shall tell you what I told Hardy. Bingley is my dear friend.”

  Beside her, she felt Mary grow tense. She must have nudged Collins with her elbow because he gasped and spoke as if he had not been awoken rather by surprise.