The Impulse of the Moment

by Jann Rowland

  “Oh?” asked Lady Anne. “This signals a change in your previous unbending opinion. Has making her acquaintance won you over?”

  Robert’s sour look spoke volumes. “There did not seem to be much of a choice. I am not convinced of the wisdom of elevating the girl, but seeing him so determined, I had no option but to give him my support. At the same time, I did ask him to ensure he knows what he is about—though it is a faint hope, it will be no hope at all if everyone about him continues to extol the girl’s virtues.”

  “The girl is Miss Elizabeth Bennet, Robert,” said Anne. Sensing he needed her support, Lady Anne approached her husband and laid a hand on his arm. “I understand your hesitance, Robert, but I believe it best you become accustomed to referring to her by name, for there is no doubt in my mind she will one day be our daughter.

  “And to be frank, I do not think Fitzwilliam could find a better woman in the home of the Duke of Devonshire himself! Please give her all the benefit of her character, Robert, for she is truly a gem. I am happy Fitzwilliam has found her.”

  While it took no great insight to see Robert’s disagreement, he nodded and allowed the subject to drop. Anne was under no illusion that he had overcome his objections, but as long as he did not continue to voice them, it was enough. They prepared to retire, and when the candles had been snuffed, Anne settled in unfashionably beside her husband, like she had most of the nights of their marriage. Not for the first time, she thought with amusement how the ton would gasp and look in horror if they knew how unfashionable the Darcys of Pemberley were.

  Before sleep took her, a thought occurred to Anne, and she voiced it without thinking. “Georgiana is becoming a lovely young woman. It will not be much longer before she will be in society—can you imagine the swath she will cut among the young men?”

  Robert groaned. “Do not remind me.”

  In the cover of darkness, Anne smirked. Georgiana was the light in Robert’s eyes. While he knew she would one day leave for her own home, the thought was hard, as it must be for any parent who cared for a daughter. But Anne could use that, for it was about time Robert learned a few truths.

  “She is already receiving attention when she leaves the house. Why, I saw one young gentleman looking at her with obvious appreciation at the last inn we stayed at on our journey here.”

  “Georgiana is naught but sixteen,” replied Robert. “I will not tolerate anyone playing with her affections.”

  “And yet she will have admirers. Some closer than you think.”

  Robert did not respond, and Anne was content with her work that evening. While Robert might not notice it immediately, she had planted the seed of the possible attraction young men would begin to show for her daughter. If Wickham continued his charming ways—and Anne had no reason to suppose he would not—he would draw Robert’s attention. Regardless of his fondness for the boy, Anne knew he would not countenance any admiration for Georgiana on Wickham’s part. Perhaps he might even see what Wickham truly was.

  Chapter XXVII

  Autumn in Hertfordshire was a risky proposition at best. At times, the residents were treated with warm winds, beautiful sunlight, the vivid colors the trees assumed when readying themselves to shed their summer glory, and a lessening of the summer heat. But autumn could also be fickle, with wind and rain, the appearance of muddy paths and grey, dreary days, with the promise of winter looming on the horizon.

  The autumn of Elizabeth’s courtship with Mr. Darcy saw a mixture of the two extremes and very little consistency, for it seemed that one day might be bright and warm, while the next saw the patter of rain against the window and the roiling of clouds above.

  In other circumstances, Elizabeth thought she would consider the weather with considerable annoyance. Walking had ever been a favorite pastime, so much so that she often indulged three of four times a week. Being denied such escapes more days than not—for even if a day dawned sunny, if it had rained the previous day, the paths would not be fit for her to walk—would be more than she could bear.

  But Mr. Darcy removed that concern. Though the gentleman did not venture forth to Longbourn—or the Bennets to Netherfield—on a daily basis, they were in each other’s company more than they were without it. As Elizabeth was coming to esteem the man more as time passed, she began to crave his presence. That Lady Anne and Georgiana were quickly growing in Elizabeth’s affections rendered them a welcome presence also. Mr. Darcy was not nearly so agreeable, but as he had made no objections, Elizabeth decided to endure his scrutiny and respond whenever he deigned to speak to her.

  On one occasion, not long after first meeting the Darcy family, Elizabeth had an occasion to learn from her suitor what had passed between him and his father. Elizabeth was heartened as a result.

  “His support means much to you,” observed Elizabeth when Mr. Darcy informed her of the conversation.

  “It does,” was Mr. Darcy’s simple reply. “There have been times when I have disagreed with my father. When I was young, he was perfect to me in every way, and I looked up to him, wishing to become just like him. Though I now see him with the eyes of an adult, I understand he is a good man who is worthy of emulating.”

  “It is a mark of the passage from child to adult that we realize our parents are not perfect. That you can still esteem him as a flawed but good man shows you have learned this lesson.”

  Mr. Darcy smiled and leaned forward. “There is one who is perfect—perfect for me, at least.”

  The jest prompted Elizabeth’s laughter. “I hope you are not too disappointed when you realize I am as imperfect as anyone else.”

  “Ah, but recall I qualified my statement by saying you are perfect for me,” replied Mr. Darcy, fixing her with a special smile Elizabeth thought was for her alone. “No one will ever convince me otherwise.”

  A powerful feeling welled up within Elizabeth’s breast. “I am beginning to believe the reverse might be true as well, sir.”

  Delight glowed in Mr. Darcy’s countenance. The moment, it seemed, was too flawless for words, and Mr. Darcy did not attempt to say that which could not be said. But they stayed in each other’s company for some time after, saying little and feeling much.

  Soon after that day, the Netherfield party returned to Longbourn for the promised dinner. It was a merry party which gathered, their mirth flowing freely in the warmth of their regard for one another. Elizabeth sat with Mr. Darcy as usual, but their attention was focused on other members of the party, particularly Jane and Mr. Bingley, who stood near. It appeared Mr. Darcy had been teasing Mr. Bingley of late, for his wit was unleashed again that evening, though Mr. Bingley accepted it all with nary a hint of annoyance.

  “I rather wonder at this interesting dichotomy of our changed natures, Bingley. As long as I have known you, impulsivity has been a hallmark of your character.”

  “So it has, my friend,” replied Mr. Bingley.

  “Then it seems as if you are not living up to your reputation. By my count you have known Miss Bennet for two and twenty years—” Mr. Darcy looked at Jane who nodded, a giggle unlike Jane’s usual manners escaping “—but you have yet to propose to her.”

  “All in good time,” replied an unruffled Mr. Bingley. “I merely wait for the right opportunity.” Mr. Bingley eyed his friend, his brow furrowed as if in thought. “It seems you are changed too, old man. The measured, careful Darcy I always thought I knew has been replaced with this facsimile of a man who leaps without looking.”

  “I am merely impatient, my friend. I should have thought you would be too.”

  “It is a trait our mother shared,” observed Mary.

  The sisters shared a wistful smile while Mr. Darcy looked on with interest. When the others in the room began to speak of other matters, he leaned toward Elizabeth.

  “You were close to your mother?”

  “Actually, it is Jane who was closest to our mother, though she was excessively proud of the heir she produced.” Elizab
eth smiled in fond remembrance. “Jane is most like Mama in looks, you understand, and being her eldest and prettiest daughter, neither Mary nor I could compare.”

  “Then your mother was afflicted by poor eyesight?” asked Mr. Darcy. The grin he directed at her betrayed his jesting, though there was a core of sincerity deep in his manner. “To think you inferior to your sister shows a remarkable inability to see properly.”

  “Though I thank you for your words, sir, I have no illusions as to the truth of the matter.”

  Mr. Darcy regarded her, softly smiling for several moments, then said: “Tell me of your mother.”

  “Mama was . . . a force all unto herself,” said Elizabeth. “While she was not a stranger to proper behavior, her excitable nature often led her to forget it. Mama’s father was not a gentleman, as you know, and as his own wife passed away quite young, he often did not know how to raise his daughters.”

  “And yet she raised three fine daughters.”

  Elizabeth favored the gentleman with a smile. “Thank you for saying so, Mr. Darcy. Mama had help in this respect as my father insisted on a governess. She had her own trials in behaving properly, but she was a loving mother, unstinting in her displays of affection for us all.”

  “Mrs. Bennet was a wonderful woman,” said Mr. Collins, who was sitting nearby. “The welcome I received when I came to this house after my father’s death was warm and inviting, and she treated me like I was one of her own children. I am grateful to both Mr. Bennet and his late wife, for I should have been forced to shift for myself otherwise.”

  “It was my mother’s pleasure to welcome you, Mr. Collins,” said Elizabeth, smiling at the awkward young man. “She had a protective instinct which she extended to anyone within reach of her influence, and in you she saw a boy, eager to please and possessing so much potential. It is well known to us all that she was very proud of what you have become.”

  The beaming smile that was Mr. Collins’s reply showed his appreciation. Then Mr. Collins turned to Mary and allowed Elizabeth her relative privacy with Mr. Darcy.

  “One regret I have,” said Elizabeth, “is that my mother’s early passing did not allow her to realize her greatest dream in her lifetime.”

  “Oh?” asked Mr. Darcy. “And what was that?”

  “The marriage of all her daughters,” said Elizabeth with a laugh. “Mama always said it was a woman’s primary duty to see her daughters disposed of in respectable marriages. We all knew that Jane would marry Mr. Bingley, and Mama anticipated it, intending to plan a celebration such as this neighborhood has never seen. It would have been a sight to behold.”

  “She would be proud of you,” replied Mr. Darcy. “It is clear your sister is on the cusp of a proposal from my friend, and you must know I will do the same at the first indication it will be accepted.”

  “Then it is well I am the sensible one of us,” said Elizabeth, shyly lowering her eyes to the floor. “There is no need to rush, Mr. Darcy. There is plenty of time, and I would prefer to know more of you before taking such a step.”

  “That is why I have not proposed yet. But I will. Of that you may rest assured.”

  Had Elizabeth any doubt concerning the matter, his heartfelt declaration would have put it to rest. The feeling of being cherished fell over Elizabeth, and she smiled with as much poise as she could imagine. At that moment, however, she rather felt like soaring over the trees like an eagle in flight or bursting into tears, overwhelmed by it all—she did not know which. In the end, she contented herself with smiling at Mr. Darcy and leaning toward him. Their confidences continued long into the evening, neither possessing the ability to pay attention to any other.

  William Collins had not been blessed with great intelligence. It had been a source of much anguish when, as a young man, his abusive father had used such slurs to make him feel useless. The years Collins had spent with the Bennets had done wonders for his confidence, imparting him with a sense of belonging and a greater confidence in his own abilities. Greater confidence or no, Collins still felt the effect of the limitations nature had put on him, leaving him often quiet and contemplative in company.

  But it would take a truly stupid man, indeed, to misunderstand what was happening in that very drawing room. Mr. Bingley and Jane were unremarkable, as their union had long been expected. Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy, however, had been like a bolt of lightning out of a bright blue sky. Seeing them now, however, sitting, heads together, the attraction unmistakable, was becoming commonplace.

  The pang of unrequited love no longer pained his heart within his breast to the extent it once had, and Collins attributed this to the kindness the woman had always bestowed on him. But while his resignation was real, Collins was still intent upon seeing her happy in life. That happiness would come with Mr. Darcy was no longer in doubt. What was also not in doubt was that their closeness was attracting other attention. The father might be a concern, but Collins was certain he would give way when confronted with his son’s happiness. It was the other member of the party that worried him.

  “I understand you are connected with the Darcy family.”

  The chance to speak to the man related to none of them presented itself, and Collins jumped at it, determined to discover something about him.

  “Yes,” replied Mr. Wickham, turning a charming smile on Collins. “My father, you see, was Mr. Darcy’s steward until his untimely death. As Mr. Darcy is my godfather, he took it upon himself to provide for my future.”

  Collins regarded Mr. Wickham, instantly dismissing the man’s charm as a façade. “That is kind of Mr. Darcy. His kindness could have been bestowed in many ways which would not have been of as much expense.”

  “That is very true,” said Mr. Wickham easily. “The measure of indebtedness I feel toward Mr. Darcy is profound. There is nothing I would not do for him.”

  “Then what path has his assistance taken?” asked Mr. Collins. “As you do not wear a clerical collar, I assume yours is a different profession?”

  “Oh, I am not suited for the church. Mr. Darcy has a gift in his possession, and he attempted to persuade me to it, but there is little desire in me to preach. Instead, I have studied the law.”

  “A respectable profession,” replied Collins. “Then you are employed at a firm, or have you set up your own practice? I must assume you are as yet too inexperienced for that.”

  “You have the right of it.” Mr. Wickham paused and peered at Collins, a hint of insolence in his manner. “With your appearance, I must assume you succumbed to the lure of the clerical collar?”

  “As you see,” said Collins, his back stiffening in response to Mr. Wickham’s tone. “My situation is similar to your own, with the exception that I am actually related to the Bennets. When my father passed, Mr. Bennet took me into his home and allowed me all the possibilities one might be afforded if born to the station. And he was not obliged to do it—you see, he and my father were estranged for many years before.”

  “How fortunate for you.” Mr. Wickham had by now assumed a haughty demeanor. “But our situations are not equal at all, sir.” Mr. Wickham dropped the tone of his voice so that only Collins could hear. “I have long been close to Mr. Darcy—more so even than his son. If I am honest with you, I suspect Mr. Darcy considers his son a disappointment.”

  It took no great insight to see that Mr. Wickham was anything but honest. But Collins feigned interest in order to see what the man would say. He was not disappointed.

  “In what way is he a disappointment?”

  Mr. Wickham shrugged. “I cannot speak to Mr. Darcy’s feelings. But Mr. Darcy has always loved me better—that much is indisputable. If it were possible, I am certain he would make me his heir. It is likely Darcy knows this and has latched onto your cousin to have some means of support should his father’s disappointment lead to action.”

  With those final words, Mr. Wickham moved to another part of the room, leaving Collins considering as he watched the
man. Mr. Wickham’s words he dismissed, though he could not quite determine what his purpose was in speaking in such a way. Did he think Collins would become concerned for his cousin and cause trouble? As it happened, Collins had the highest confidence in the younger Mr. Darcy’s character, and his cousin’s smiles with the gentleman confirmed their mutual attachment.

  The thought of acquainting his cousin with what he had heard from Mr. Wickham turned to a determination, and he searched the room, finding Mr. Bennet sitting apart from the rest of the company, watching with interest. Knowing he had to make the communication, Collins approached him.

  “William,” said Mr. Bennet with a nod in greeting. “We have not seen much of you recently. How are you?”

  “I am well, Mr. Bennet,” said Collins. “There has been much to do in the parish of late, which has consumed my time.”

  “The work of God is important, to be sure,” said Mr. Bennet.

  “That it is. But I did not wish to speak of the parish, Mr. Bennet. Rather, I find I am concerned about the presence of one of the company.”

  Mr. Bennet’s gaze found the person of the unwelcome guest in an instant, and Collins knew that he had not misunderstood. With so many protectors, Collins was certain Miss Elizabeth’s safety could be assured. No doubt Mr. Darcy would take a very dim view of any attempts by Mr. Wickham to importune the woman he loved.

  It came as no surprise to Bennet that his cousin had seen in Mr. Wickham’s manners what Bennet had noted himself. William was much more observant than many gave him credit, his awareness increasing tenfold when the subject was Elizabeth.

  The question was what he could do about it. Bennet had no compunction whatsoever in denying the man admittance into his estate. But while that would protect Lizzy while at Longbourn, it would not do anything when she was visiting Netherfield or when she went into Meryton. Furthermore, as Mr. Darcy favored the young man, he did not wish to cause difficulties when it appeared that gentleman’s blessing for his son’s pursuit had been granted.