"You think the rumors true?"
"Nothing could convince me they are mere acquaintances. The way he stares at her in that worshipful manner—as if she were a goddess, I would not be at all astonished if he had an altar to her secreted in his dressing room. He means to marry her and Lady Matlock is trying to get her established into their social sphere before the engagement is announced. That is certainly the truth of it."
"I meant the other rumors."
"That she was his mistress? No, I do not think that at all likely. Malicious tripe based on her sister's indiscretions I suppose. No one could speak to her and truly believe it."
Emma nodded in agreement, deferring to Eugenia's superior understanding of people. Before she could stifle it, a yawn slipped out.
"Come to bed, Emma. I will take over the watch duty. I promise I will not let Lady Celia get past me."
"I am fine."
"You are exhausted. Let me take over. I am much hardier than you," Eugenia teased, "I can stay up all night without ill effect."
Emma reiterated her refusal. She felt quite smug about her own hardiness when Eugenia began snoring softly a few minutes later. She smirked to herself knowing she would not fall victim to Hypnos sitting here in this stiff, unforgiving chair.
A silent quarter of an hour passed and she was less self-satisfied, her eyes closed of their own volition as she nobly fought off sleep. She lost. The clatter of her pencil as it bounced against the hardwood floor was not enough racket to wake her.
Darcy locked the door behind Simon. He did so not out of any any paranoia concerning Lady Celia, but simply because it was his natural habit. The hour was still early. He had retired before the other men citing fatigue—an excuse his cousin had been quick to mock thoroughly—but it was more a lack of patience that caused his eagerness to return to his chambers.
He had hoped to find some communication from Elizabeth waiting for him in his room. No, he had hoped to find Elizabeth waiting for him in his room, but he had expected to find a note from her at the very least. Neither materialized. All he had gotten was his valet who had clucked at him over creases in his coat and had no news of Elizabeth or Bingley.
Darcy had expected some form of communication from his old friend as well. It was very unlike Bingley to break an engagement and not send an excuse. Darcy was more than a little worried.
He considered returning to the study. There he could at least distract himself from worry by watching Richard and Mr. Madigan conspire to get Lord Matlock utterly soused. However, he had already imbibed too much himself and was feeling a bit ill as a result—going to bed would be his best choice.
Getting in bed was easy enough, going to sleep proved another matter entirely. First he worried. He was very good at it, he had years of practice. Then determining (again) there was nothing he could do about Bingley at present, he tried to decipher what Elizabeth had wanted to tell him. She had been trying all evening to find a moment when they were alone to tell him something. He did not think it was bad news—she had seemed excited, nervous perhaps, but not sad—but he had no idea what it might be which was why he had been so disappointed to find no note from her.
It was tempting to sneak to her room, but it was too risky and he did not know which room she was in. He spent a few minutes imagining what he would do if he could find his way to her room but promptly stopped when he realized his thoughts were not aiding him in finding rest, in fact they had left him rather restless and hot. To remedy this he opened the window letting the cool air rush in before shucking his nightshirt and crawling beneath the bedclothes once more. At some point he fell asleep.
The lock gave way with the faintest of clicks. It was laughable how easy the key had been to obtain, just a wink at the right footman and it was in her hands not an hour later. Lady Celia eased the door open a crack and finding Mr. Darcy asleep darted into the room and quietly shut the door.
Fearful that her light would wake him she extinguished it, though she need not have bothered, Darcy was the sort of person who once asleep was most determined to stay in that insensible state for as long as possible. She tarried at his bedside as her vision adjusted to the darkness. The curtains were not drawn and the sliver of moon in the sky provided just enough light to make out Mr. Darcy's outline.
She slid into bed next to him. Darcy, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, turned towards her and pulled her into his arms, curving his body around her.
Celia let out a little gasp. For all her talk of extramarital lovers she had been sensible enough to protect her most valuable asset, she was a virgin and thus unaccustomed to being embraced by naked men. Darcy, still mostly asleep and very much unaware of who was in his arms, exultantly whispered, "Elizabeth," and began kissing her most passionately.
He kept at it quite some time until his hand found its way to her breast. Finding what ought to have been charmingly small, luxuriantly full, his mind jolted alert realizing with sudden horror everything was all wrong. Overpowering gardenia perfume instead of the hint of lavender soap. Blonde hair glinting in the moonlight. Darcy scurried away, hitting the floor with a great thud.
Lady Celia screamed piercingly, incoherently and then when her vocal cords were about to give out she ceased screaming and started shouting, "Rat! I saw a rat."
The door burst open, but instead of the Earl of Matlock asking, "What is the meaning of this?" as she expected, she heard only an enraged little cry before someone slammed into her bodily, pushing her off of the bed and onto the floor where Darcy was still trying to make sense of things.
The next few moments made even less sense than the previous. Someone, well two someones, two female someones, appeared to be wrestling beside him. One he was fairly certain was Lady Celia the other was small and fierce and—he observed as moonlight caught the frames—bespectacled. Miss Tulley. This was confirmed a moment later when Mrs. Copeland entered the room, light in hand.
The light made Darcy aware of his predicament and he covered himself as best he could with the bedclothes but the ladies were tangled in them making his task difficult.
"Emma, I think you have her in hand," Mrs. Copeland said as Miss Tulley pinned Lady Celia to the floor. She spoke too soon however for the second Miss Tulley looked away Lady Celia freed one of her arms and swiped the other woman's spectacles from her face. They skidded under the bed out of reach.
With Miss Tulley all but blind, the match turned in Lady Celia's favor. Mrs. Copeland was debating involving herself when Major Whitmore wobbled into the room, obviously still more than a little inebriated. He cocked his head to one side like a confused terrier and asked, "Whasgoingonere?"
Mrs. Copeland, not certain herself and knowing Major Whitmore was very unlikely to remember any of this in the morning, merely shrugged. He nodded as if that were the most sensible answer and then leaned against the wall. His continued presence had less to do with his interest in the outcome of the tussle and more to do with his uncertain ability to find his way back to his own room now that he had left it.
Much to Mrs. Copeland's distress another gentleman wandered in, fortunately he seemed just as coherent as Major Whitmore. She was about to forcefully separate the warring ladies when Miss Tulley popped up and declared, "Oh, Lady Celia I'm so glad you came to rescue me."
Realizing with a nude Mr. Darcy on the floor she probably should elaborate on what she needed rescuing from she pressed on, "I lost my spectacles so I asked Lady Celia to come down to the drawing room with me to search for them, only they weren't there. And then we met Mrs. Copeland on the stairs—she had gone out to look for me for she was quite concerned by my empty bed—and we were all so distracted—gossiping you know—we came down the wrong corridor.
"And somehow I thought this room was my room—only it isn't, obviously—and when I saw something move in the bed I was sure it was a rat—only it wasn't, obviously. I was so frightened I screamed and screamed and then I tried to attack it and I'm sure I've frightened this poor gentleman
out of his wits—"
"That's Mr. Darcy, Emma," Mrs. Copeland provided, getting into the spirit of the act.
"Is it? You know I cannot see at all without my spectacles. I'm so sorry, Mr. Darcy. I do hope you will forgive me?"
"Of course," said Darcy with as much gallantry as he could muster.
"So good of you. Anyway, when I realized it was a man and not a rat I fear I went quite out of my head. I tried to run away but I went the wrong way entirely and I fell over the bed and when Lady Celia came to help me I was still quite hysterical and I may have attacked her. Most unladylike of me. I am such a fool. I do not think I shall ever live this embarrassment down."
Her performance at an end, she hung her head looking very much like the silly spinster she had just proclaimed herself to be. Darcy had never seen better acting on stage. He had to stop himself from applauding.
A large audience had assembled during Miss Tulley's explanation. Now they parted, making a path for Lady Bennington whose knifelike glare hastened the process considerably.
"Celia, how kind of you to assist your cousin," said the marchioness, never mind Miss Tulley was only Celia's second cousin and it was not a kinship Lady Bennington had been willing to acknowledge previously, but she had been offered salvation and was grasping it with a white knuckle grip. She knew her daughter. She knew perfectly well she had been trying to compromise herself and she had no intention of letting her embarrass herself and her family.
"Come along, girls," she said arms outstretched, offering one to her daughter who still sat on the floor trying to come to terms with the sudden unraveling of all her plans and the other to Miss Tulley who took it with only a slight show of reluctance.
"The excitement is over," said Lady Bennington, turning her scolding stare upon the gathered crowd, "Perhaps we all might return to our beds and let dear Mr. Darcy find his rest."
Chapter Twenty-Five
"An orgy! People are saying you had an orgy at Madigan's house party!" exclaimed Lord Matlock with such fervor he was red in the face. For some reason he was in Darcy's study. Darcy could not remember inviting him nor could he remember giving the butler leave to tell visitors he was at home. And yet, here his uncle was. Bloody wonderful.
"Yes, people exaggerate most astoundingly. As only two women were ever in my bed I believe the proper term is menage a trois. Mrs. Copeland was there merely as an observer. So you see it was not an orgy at all."
"How can you jest about this? An orgy, Darcy. An orgy!"
"I would beg that you to stop repeating that word, Brother." Lady Catherine was also in Darcy's study. Darcy wasn't having a good morning.
"Oh hush, Cathy. I have no time for your ludicrous sensibilities. You were the one who told me about the gossip in the first place."
"Yes, but I worded it delicately."
Darcy thought not for the first time that gossip must travel faster than the speed of light. He had arrived home from Yates Hall yesterday afternoon and already at half past eleven—gossip! He had known one could not hope to suppress such a story, but he had thought to have at least a few days to get things in order.
Specifically he wanted to speak to Elizabeth. In private. The last two days of the house party had not provided him the opportunity. The sexes had been separate for most of the activities and Lady Matlock had guarded her assiduously at mealtimes. His aunt's dedication was understandable, she wanted to protect Elizabeth's reputation and unchaperoned time with him, especially after this newest disaster, was dangerous.
"An orgy," the Earl said again probably purely for the pleasure of annoying his sister. "Action must be taken."
"I hope you are not about to suggest I marry Lady Celia again. Or perhaps you think I should wed all three?"
"I would never suggest you marry Lady Celia! The girl is obviously a tart—crawling into a sleeping gentleman's bed at night—how could you trust her? Such a woman will only bring scandal to her family. As for the Tulley girl . . . well, she is not one to inspire a man's baser inclinations, I realize, but that is hardly necessary in a wife.
"She is of a good family—though diminished in funds, I understand. And then of course she is forever in the company of that Copeland woman, a most unsuitable companion—people say she poisoned her husband."
"Undoubtedly the same people who say I took part in an orgy."
"And if you were to marry one of them it would only legitimize the gossip, wouldn't it? No, I think it best if we wait for the talk to die down then next season find you a suitable girl. Someone sensible, quiet, of good family with an impeachable reputation—that is the sort of woman you need to marry."
"I think you are forgetting that I am already engaged to a most suitable lady."
Lady Catherine made a noise of dissent but blessedly kept her mouth shut.
"It has not been announced," said Lord Matlock.
"Nevertheless there is an understanding between Miss Bennet and myself. Honor would bind me to her if love did not. Your continued refusal to recognize my engagement only strengthens my desire to wed her at once, return to Pemberley, and give up on society completely."
"Come now, Darcy, you cannot possibly expect to marry Miss Bennet when you are enveloped in scandal. The sister of a courtesan—that is the last thing this family needs! I cannot understand how Miranda could have ever encouraged you to think such a marriage acceptable."
Lady Catherine made another murmur, this one of agreement. She was strangely quiet this morning. Darcy would have thought her taciturnity a good sign if it were not so suspicious.
Darcy gathered up the correspondence he had hoped to catch up on and shoved it into the top drawer of his desk. Then he locked the drawer. He did not trust his aunt and uncle to stay out of his private papers in his absence. How sad it was, he thought, to have so little faith in one's own relation. Sadder still was that they deserved even less of his trust.
"You cannot leave!" chimed Lady Catherine as Darcy stood to go.
Darcy made no reply as he left the room. He doubted either his aunt or his uncle had new opinions to share. Both of them had made their feelings concerning Elizabeth clear multiple times since finding out about the engagement. He had no desire to hear any of it again. What he desired most was to find Elizabeth and see if his aunt could be persuaded to leave them alone for at least a quarter of an hour, long enough for Elizabeth to communicate her news.
"The gall of that boy!" the Earl declared when Darcy had closed the door behind him. "I finally get Richard in hand and then my nephew decides to run mad. He used to be so sensible. I do not understand what has happened."
"Miss Bennet has happened."
"Yes, Miss Bennet. A courtesan's sister! Not that she would be an appropriate choice of bride for him even if her sister was not a whore. An upstart if I ever saw one! If she had any respect for decorum she would have turned him down when he made his foolish offer.
"A most disagreeable young lady, indeed. And Miranda bringing her into my house—my own wife turned against me! If I gave credence to superstitious notions I would say Miss Bennet possesses some unnatural power, however, as a sensible person, I have no idea how she commands such control."
Lady Catherine was in such agreement with his rantings concerning Miss Bennet she was willing to allow his assertion that he was a sensible person to pass without comment.
"Her power is all too natural," she said, "Men are pathetically susceptible to feminine wiles, even those as levelheaded as Darcy. As for your wife, she is too soft. Every story of woe sends her reaching for her reticule or quilting blankets for the poor.
"She cannot stand the idea of anyone suffering the slightest discomfort—of course she would think our nephew should marry where his heart lies instead of where propriety dictates he should. If you had taken her in hand when you married her as I instructed you to do, things like this would not happen. But alas, feminine wiles!"
"Miranda is not the problem," said Lord Matlock sullenly. He might complain about his wife fr
om time to time but he was unwilling to hear criticism of her from anyone else.
"No, Miss Bennet is. What are you going to do about her?" Lady Catherine turned her exacting stare onto her brother. This was the point she had been hoping to get to.
He squirmed under her gaze. "Do? What can I possibly do?" he stammered. The Earl liked to bluster. Rant. Occasionally he might put pen to paper and compose a letter of complaint. That was the closest he ever got to doing anything about anything. A man of action he was not.
"Surely you have thought of something," said Lady Catherine knowing perfectly well he had not. She was counting on her brother's laziness and gullible nature to get what she wanted.
"If I had thought of something I would have already done it! The boy is decided. There is nothing else for it."
"Yes, he is decided. For now. But there are ways to make problems such as these vanish."
Her tone made Lord Matlock certain these 'ways' she spoke of were neither legal nor moral. There was a sinister side to his sister he was more than a little afraid of. Against his better judgment he asked, "What sort of ways?"
Lizzy was comfortably situated in the Fitzwilliam's carriage as it made its way to Lambeth. She was pleased to be on her way to visit her sisters after so long since last seeing them, yet she could not help but wish she could spend the afternoon with Darcy instead. She would not even need the entire afternoon, an hour on their own would be good enough. Five minutes would suffice, really.
Yesterday they had nearly escaped on an unchaperoned walk, but Lady Matlock caught them just as they were going out the door. Georgiana had been drafted to accompany them, and while she spent the entirety of the walk breaking off on her own to "look at that interesting shrub more closely" Lizzy still had not felt comfortable relaying her news to Darcy in such a public setting.
She hoped Darcy would not be upset when he finally heard. She knew it would alter their plans considerably. They would surely need to marry in haste and all of Lady Matlock's work to preserve the family honor would be wasted. Though after the events of the house party Darcy's reputation was less than pristine. While no one could truly believe he had been found in bed with three women, that did not mean people didn't enjoy talking about it as if it had happened.
The Ruin of Elizabeth Bennet: A Pride and Prejudice Variation Page 24