So Long, Sentiment

by Amber Allen-King

  "Caroline, we are to see Darcy this evening at the theatre. We cannot monopolize all of the man's time." Miss Bingley's pout returned; she stood regally and swept out of the room.

  It was now safe to smile again, but Mr. Bingley was worried. The last thing he needed right now was a few hours in Mr. Darcy's company. If dodging his sister had been difficult, this would be an ordeal. Mr. Darcy's powers of observation were easily twice those of his sister's. Mr. Bingley carefully arranged his features in a mirror. How many times had he heard Mr. Darcy say that he could read his face like a book? Mr. Bingley adjusted his hat and sighed. He could not avoid the appointment. But under no circumstances could Mr. Darcy be told of Miss Bennet's presence in town. If she does not love me, I at least now have the opportunity to win her affections. And, by George, I will. I must! He reached for his walking stick and turned toward the door. I won't let Darcy or my sisters deter me this time. I will win Jane Bennet to my suit and they shall not interfere.

  "Might as well grab the bull by the horns," Mr. Bingley mumbled as he made his way to the carriage. To the coachman he ordered, "To Mr. Darcy's townhouse."

  • • •

  Elizabeth gaped at Colonel Fitzwilliam in disbelief. His meaning was unmistakable. Elizabeth felt her cheeks burning. She could feel rather than see Olivia watching her every move. She blinked and looked down at the cup that sat forgotten in her hands. She carefully placed it on the table as she struggled for composure. Had Mr. Darcy spoken of Elizabeth in his letters? She refused to credit it--Colonel Fitzwilliam was apparently teasing her. Yes, she decided, it was some sort of joke. If the Colonel knew the true nature of our relationship he would have picked a more likely target for this charade. I could never be mistaken for the object of Mr. Darcy's affection! And Olivia Crenshaw--surely she did not believe such nonsense! But Elizabeth knew that Olivia had no reason not to believe the Colonel. She determined to set the matter straight.

  "Colonel Fitzwilliam," Elizabeth said with a playfulness she did not feel. "Are you always such a terrible tease? You will have Olivia believing that Mr. Darcy and I shared a grand amour when in fact, we scarcely knew one another."

  "Am I?" the Colonel replied, quite amused. This is most revealing! "I do not recall mentioning any names, Miss Bennet." The Colonel's eyes twinkled, and Elizabeth wanted to scratch the sparkle out of them as her cheeks reddened again. He had trapped her and she knew it. She stole a glance at Olivia who was sharing a knowing glance with the Colonel. Elizabeth gasped. The Colonel and Miss Crenshaw--her dear friend-- were obviously conspiring against her! Elizabeth was shocked.

  Olivia rose and fussed with the teacups, purposefully breaking the tension. Elizabeth didn't know where to look, so she rose and went to the window. As soon as she reached it she caught herself and turned instead to the pianoforte in the corner. The Crenshaw's townhouse--although spacious and comfortable--had no proper music room; their evenings in town, therefore, were often spent listening to music in the parlor. Elizabeth sat on the bench and began leafing through the sheets of music. She knew she was being rude, but she felt unequal to returning to her companions at the moment. Olivia asked Elizabeth to play something, and Elizabeth gladly complied. While she played, the Colonel pulled Miss Crenshaw down on the settee beside him.

  "Miss Crenshaw," he whispered, not turning his eyes from Elizabeth, "What are you up to?" Olivia was genuinely surprised by the question.

  "Whatever do you mean, sir?" Colonel Fitzwilliam did not reply immediately. He waited until the adagio was completed, and spoke again when Elizabeth began a light, lyrical piece with sufficient volume to mask the sound of his speech.

  "You practically accused Miss Bennet of luring Darcy into a trap. You know as well as I do that Darcy's accident was no more her fault than it was yours or mine!"

  "What am I up to?" Olivia's voice rose as she colored. " You--. " The music stopped. Elizabeth was looking at the couple quizzically.

  "I apologize, Miss Bennet," the Colonel said, rising. Olivia also rose, sheepishly staring at the floor.

  "Is something wrong?" Elizabeth asked her conspirators. They glanced at each other, uncertain of how to respond. Elizabeth took pity on them. "I am afraid I must be leaving," she said as she closed the pianoforte and crossed the room. "Aunt Gardiner is expecting me to return early. I have to pack for my trip tomorrow, and then get ready for the theatre tonight." Colonel Fitzwilliam immediately offered Elizabeth the use of Darcy's carriage, hastily inviting Miss Crenshaw to join them for the ride. Elizabeth chose to walk, however. She craved fresh air and solitude. She hastily took her leave, perplexed by the scene she had just witnessed. She shook her head and started for Gracechurch Street.

  "A concussion?" Mr. Bingley appeared shocked. "How on earth did Darcy get a concussion, Harris?"

  The butler explained as he showed Mr. Bingley to the reception room. "It is not very serious sir, but the doctor did prescribe bed rest."

  "Well, is he allowed visitors?" Mr. Bingley asked. His look of worry moved the butler to make inquiries. While he waited, Mr. Bingley tried to take it all in. He himself had been in the park yesterday afternoon. To think that while he was enjoying a pleasant chat with Elizabeth Bennet, his closest friend was lying injured not far away.

  "He will see you, sir," Mr. Harris said in his distinctive grave tone. He led Mr. Bingley to his master's chambers and opened the door, at Mr. Darcy's request, without knocking.

  "Darcy! This is dreadful news. Most dreadful!" Mr. Bingley said as he swept past the butler and claimed a chair by the bed. He looked into Mr. Darcy's pained eyes. "Good God, man!" he said in a softer tone. "You look awful!" Mr. Darcy winced, a gesture that could as easily have been mistaken for a smile, however brief. Mr. Bingley sat back, a bit relieved. Mr. Darcy did look haggard. His face was wan, his eyes slightly puffy from sleep, his hair in disarray. He turned his face away from his friend.

  "How are you, Bingley," he said quietly. Mr. Bingley patted him on the shoulder.

  "Very well, my friend, very well. And so shall you soon be." Mr. Bingley sat quietly by the bed. Within a few minutes, however, Mr. Darcy's spirits began to rally and he and Mr. Bingley made light conversation. "I suppose I will have to tell Caroline about this," Mr. Bingley teased. "When you don't appear at the theatre tonight she'll demand an explanation." Mr. Darcy groaned audibly.

  "Can you not just tell her that I was unavoidably detained by some matter of business? If you tell her that I am ill, I will never--."

  "Are you suggesting that I lie to my sister, Darcy?" Mr. Bingley tried to appear shocked. "Perhaps I should tell her that you were out booking passage for America," he laughed as he began to contrive elaborate excuses to try on Caroline. Mr. Darcy listened and was quite amused. He turned to look at Mr. Bingley. Surprised at what he saw in his face, Mr. Darcy struggled to sit up and confront his friend.

  "What has happened to you Charles?" You are as giddy as a schoolgirl! What have you been up to, man?" Mr. Bingley's face immediately fell and he cursed himself for letting his guard down.

  "I am sorry, Darcy. I did not mean to be disruptive. You just seemed so depressed when I came in, I thought to try and cheer you." One glance told Mr. Darcy that the story was a falsehood.

  "What have you been up to, Bingley?" Mr. Darcy repeated, his own pain forgotten. He thought back to his late meeting with Charles Bingley but a few days ago. The man before him bore little resemblance to the quiet, forlorn creature Mr. Bingley had become since his return to London. He has seen Jane Bennet! It must be so--nothing else could rouse him to this degree. Mr. Darcy ran a hand through his hair. He could not ask Mr. Bingley; to do so would reveal his own duplicity in the scheme to keep Jane Bennet and Charles Bingley apart. Mr. Darcy tried to calm himself. He lay back on the pillows and watched Mr. Bingley closely.

  Mr. Bingley, for his part, immediately recognized the danger signs. He knew that Mr. Darcy was onto something and that he would hold onto it with the tenacity of a fish swimming upstream. He decided to take a
calculated risk. It could blow up in his face, but it might buy him the time he needed. If Fitzwilliam Darcy knew his weakness, Mr. Bingley certainly knew Mr. Darcy's. He looked Mr. Darcy in the eye.

  "You will never guess whom I met in the park yesterday afternoon," he said, flashing the full radiance of his smile.

  "Why are you changing the subject, Bingley?" Mr. Darcy asked smugly. He folded his arms across his chest and peered at the younger man. If he expected Mr. Bingley to crack, however, he was disappointed. Mr. Bingley casually got up and began to stroll around the room. "Quit stalling, Bingley," Mr. Darcy intoned from his bed. Mr. Bingley continued to smile as he scanned a pair of fine hunting prints hung near the large mahogany bureau. Then he stopped at the bureau and began to pick up and examine each object on a silver tray containing Mr. Darcy's personal effects.

  "I am not stalling, Darcy," he said as he read To George From Anne, 1775 engraved on a fine gold pocket watch. "I am merely attempting to answer your question." He next picked up and hefted the penknife he himself had given Mr. Darcy as a young man some years ago. "Do you want to know or not?" Mr. Bingley asked as he picked up a small square Sterling silver pillbox that had belonged to Mr. Darcy's mother. Mr. Bingley knew that Mr. Darcy always carried it. He was tempted to shake it; Mr. Darcy might use it to carry snuff but Mr. Bingley had never known Mr. Darcy to indulge in the substance. And since he had never seen Mr. Darcy ill a day in his life, Mr. Bingley sincerely doubted that it contained any pills.

  "I am in no mood for games, Bingley," Mr. Darcy said as he rolled his eyes. He immediately felt a wave of dizzying pain. He closed his eyes and lay back. As the pain subsided, Mr. Darcy opened his eyes once more and turned his head toward the bureau. His eyes suddenly grew wide with terror. Mr. Bingley was oblivious, however, as he picked up a small Sterling silver vial. Smelling salts? Darcy? Mr. Bingley instinctively glanced at his friend, who looked stricken, as if he was about to cry out but was too agitated to speak. Mr. Bingley replaced the vial and hurried to the bed.

  "Darcy?"

  "Out with it, Bingley," Mr. Darcy said tersely, trying to mask his brief panic. Mr. Bingley very nearly lost his resolve. He knew that Mr. Darcy was not well. It might not be fair to do this to him just now. Mr. Darcy, now fully recovered, sat up and silently dared him. Mr. Bingley threw down his trump card.

  "Miss Elizabeth Bennet." The three words had their desired effect. Jane Bennet was no longer a threat to Mr. Darcy's complacency. He just sat, mouth and eyes agape, his mind and heart reeling at this revelation.

  I knew it! He is as besotted with Elizabeth as I am with Jane. The hypocrite! The dirty deed accomplished, Mr. Bingley turned to leave, then thought better of it. Taking pity on his friend, he went to the chair and sat down quietly.

  • • •

  As soon as Elizabeth Bennet left the parlor, Olivia wheeled on a startled Colonel Fitzwilliam and resumed her argument. After the initial shock of the sudden attack, however, the Colonel didn't really pay attention. He was too interested in contemplating what he'd learned from Miss Bennet.

  "You are not even listening to me!" The Colonel looked down into a pair of large brown eyes. Olivia was standing on her toes in a fairly laughable attempt at being menacing as she vented her frustration. The Colonel suppressed the urge to laugh as Olivia began to totter. She raised her hands to his chest to steady herself and fell silent as the Colonel placed his hands on her waist at the same moment. The Colonel, his senses assaulted by Olivia's close proximity, gently pushed her back so that she was an arm's distance away. Olivia couldn't take her eyes from his.

  "Can we not discuss this rationally, Miss Crenshaw?" the Colonel said in a voice universally reserved for calming hysterical children. The mute lady backed away and nodded. She felt herself blushing and finally lowered her head. The Colonel, also aware of his narrow escape, began to pace the room. He stopped to examine a small portrait of Olivia on the wall as he asked, "What are we doing?" He turned to Olivia and waited for a response with his hands behind his back.

  "Excuse me, sir?" Olivia was baffled. Was he speaking about Elizabeth, or about what had just transpired between the two of them? She felt her pulse quicken. The Colonel began to pace again.

  "Why are two reasonably mature and sensible people meddling in the private affairs of two other reasonably mature and sensible people, who, I am sure, would not appreciate our interference?"

  "I never endeavored to interfere in the private matters between Lizzy and Mr. Darcy, Colonel," Olivia said, rising. Her eyes flashed. "You are the one who all but said that Mr. Darcy was in love with Lizzy."

  "I did no such thing," he replied with equal vehemence. He strode over to Olivia and found himself nose to nose (or rather, chin to nose) with her once more. He stopped and took a step back. Olivia began to redden again (rather prettily, Colonel Fitzwilliam thought) and he turned away.

  "Did Mr. Darcy really mention Lizzy in his letters to you?" Olivia asked after a few moments.

  "I never said he did. Darcy found several things to like in Hertfordshire--the hunting, the scenery, the serenity. He wrote of all these things in his letters to me. He also wrote that he had met with only one person he found remotely interesting in Hertfordshire. He never mentioned any name." The Colonel turned back to Olivia. "I do recall, however, that he wrote of spending time with a Miss Bennet at Netherfield in his letter to his sister. I remember Georgiana asking me about her. I could not answer her inquiries since I had not yet met the lady. But taken together, the evidence suggests that the only 'interesting' person Darcy found in Hertfordshire is Elizabeth Bennet."

  "Really?" said Olivia, as the wheels began to turn. "It may interest you to know, Colonel, that Elizabeth Bennet despises Mr. Darcy."

  "What?" the Colonel's surprise was evident and Olivia relished her coup.

  "At least she claims to despise him." Olivia now began to pace. "It may also interest you to know the real reason why Lizzy ran off yesterday."

  "Do tell, Miss Crenshaw," pleaded the Colonel with that irresistible smile.

  "She saw Mr. Darcy." The Colonel furrowed his brows. "She ran because she did not want him to see her."

  "She said that?" the Colonel stopped Olivia and looked deep into her eyes.

  "She said that she was afraid that if Mr. Darcy saw her he might try and interfere in her efforts to reunite Mr. Bingley and her sister, Jane." Colonel Fitzwilliam, who still wasn't totally clear on Mr. Bingley and Jane Bennet's history, discounted that part of the story and focused on the principals.

  "Elizabeth Bennet ran from the sight of Darcy?" He mulled it over in his head. "And yet she seemed very interested in his welfare a few minutes ago."

  "That might be out of a sense of guilt," Olivia said meekly.

  "Yes. She might feel guilty, indeed, Miss Crenshaw," he replied with a slight smirk. "But I do not think so. You saw how she blushed at my little 'disclosure.'"

  "What of it? Any woman might blush under such circumstances," Olivia reasoned as she took a seat.

  "Not if she hated the man. No, no, her blush definitely spoke of flattery, surprise. That was not a flush of anger or hatred," the Colonel said with certainty. "A woman does not blush when--."

  "Oh, and are you an expert on ladies' blushes, Colonel Fitzwilliam?" Olivia said with a batting of her long eyelashes. The Colonel bit down on his instinctive reply, and reminded himself that he was in the presence of the lady...who had an amazing ability to drive him to distraction. He tried to remain focused.

  "I know anger when I see it, madam," the Colonel managed, averting his eyes from Olivia's. "And if Miss Bennet claims to despise my cousin I think 'the lady doth protest too much'."

  "So what do we do about it, Colonel Fitzwilliam?" Olivia asked, conspiratorially. The Colonel's eyes met Olivia's.

  "That is precisely my point, Miss Crenshaw. What right have we to do anything about it?"

  • • •

  "You saw her in the park," Mr. Darcy said in a monotone. Somewhere in the back o
f his mind he knew that he should be feigning disinterest but he could only manage to keep his voice steady. He looked at Mr. Bingley. "When--uh, what is she doing in London?" he asked, suddenly curious.

  "Just passing through, she said. Miss Bennet is on her way to visit friends somewhere in the country," Mr. Bingley replied, carefully choosing his words. He knew that the mention of Elizabeth Bennet's name would arouse Mr. Darcy's interest but he didn't want to have to answer too many questions.

  "So you did speak with her." Mr. Darcy fought to keep his voice even. He wanted to ask a million questions. What was she wearing? Where did he find her? Was she alone? Where is she now? He swallowed and tried to sound casual. "Was she in good health?"

  "Oh, yes," Mr. Bingley declared. "And all her family as well." Mr. Darcy turned to peer at Mr. Bingley.

  "All her family?" The image of Jane Bennet crowded into his addled mind, but only her sister mattered to him now.

  "Yes. She said that her parents and sisters were all well."

  "She is not in town alone? She must be traveling with someone." Mr. Bingley began to feel warm, but he persevered.

  "She is traveling with Sir William Lucas and one of his daughters, Miss Maria, I think it was. She's staying with her and uncle in Gracechurch Street. Lovely people." Mr. Darcy leapt upon this bit of information.

  "You met them?" His tone was slightly incredulous. He had seen Elizabeth quite alone in the park. Where had Mr. Bingley seen her relatives?

  "Oh yes. I offered Miss Bennet a ride home and she invited me in to meet her aunt and uncle and to see my Hertfordshire neighbors," Mr. Bingley said easily, although Mr. Darcy's imperious stare, weakened by his constant headache as it was, continued unchecked.

  "She was so far from Gracechurch Street without a carriage?" Mr. Darcy was suspicious.

  "Come now, Darcy," Mr. Bingley chided, "You sound like Caroline."