by Rowland Jann
“Your father’s responsibilities?” asked she.
“The House of Lords,” replied Colonel Fitzwilliam in an almost offhand manner. “My father is the Earl of Matlock, you see.”
Mrs. Bennet’s eyes widened, and she stared at the colonel, seemingly awestruck at the thought that she was speaking to the son of an earl in her very own sitting-room. “But . . . but . . .” She swallowed thickly and managed to say: “I would never have thought so illustrious a personage would be so . . . amiable.”
It was all Elizabeth could do not to bury her face in her hands, her mortification was so severe.
Colonel Fitzwilliam, however, only smiled, clearly diverted by her mother’s thoughtless words. “Perhaps you might be correct, for most of high society. I know some rather high and mighty barons, to say nothing of the higher levels of the aristocracy.
“But my father has always struck me as an amiable man, and he has taught us to be cognizant of our position, but not to hold ourselves above our fellow man. I have seen much in my life, and I understand nobility is determined by one’s character, not by the accident of birth.”
“That is a credit to your father for his liberality and to you for accepting his teachings,” said Mr. Bennet.
Elizabeth noticed a certain timbre in her father’s voice, which informed her that he was about to make a clever observation. In fact, he turned and winked at her, which she thought no one else could see, before he turned back to his wife.
“In fact, Mr. Darcy’s cousin is Colonel Fitzwilliam, Mrs. Bennet. Is it not grand that a son born into such privilege would put it all aside to serve his country in a time of war?”
“Colonel?” cried Lydia before Mrs. Bennet had a chance to respond.
Lydia, looking on Colonel Fitzwilliam with renewed interest, sidled closer to him from where she sat on the sofa, Kitty close by her side.
“You are a colonel?” asked she.
“In the militia?” asked Kitty at the same time.
“In the regulars, actually,” replied Colonel Fitzwilliam. He seemed to sense the thrust of Mr. Bennet’s comment, and he flashed a grin at the Bennet sire. Mr. Bennet merely watched him with amusement, curious as to how he would handle Elizabeth’s less than decorous sisters.
“Then why are you not wearing your regimentals?” demanded Lydia. She seemed affronted that he would be clothed in a gentleman’s suit, rather than the scarlet and white of the army.
“Because, Miss Lydia,” replied Colonel Fitzwilliam, “I am not on duty at present. In fact, I have several weeks of leave which I have taken in order to be here for my cousin. I dare say, you shall not see me in regimentals while I am present, for I am quite at my leisure.”
It was clear from Lydia’s face that she was not impressed with his declaration, though Kitty appeared to be much more forgiving of his foibles.
“Can you tell us of your experiences?” asked Kitty in a rather diffident tone.
“I believe some of it would be distasteful, Miss Kitty. But I would be happy to share some of my less objectionable experiences.”
Thus began a rather amusing game of cat and mouse. Colonel Fitzwilliam, when he was visiting at Longbourn and was not with his cousin, was almost exclusively at the disposal of Longbourn’s youngest two daughters. Kitty and Lydia pestered him for accounts of his doings in the army, and Colonel Fitzwilliam turned out to be a master storyteller, regaling them with tails of his exploits, some of which Elizabeth thought might even be true!
But he was assiduously proper and adhered to the constraints of what would be acceptable for young and innocent ears to hear, and though Lydia, in particular, harassed him for the more . . . heroic aspects of his livelihood, he proved adept in putting her off, and telling her as much as he thought her sensibilities could withstand. Kitty listened with rapt attention to anything he said, but after a time, Lydia became surly about his continued ability to sidestep her demands.
Other than the colonel and Mr. Bingley, the rest of the Netherfield party stayed away, except for one occasion when Mr. Bingley brought both his sisters and his eldest sister’s husband—a Mr. Hurst—to visit. The way they entered, looking about them with squinting eyes and pursed lips, told Elizabeth that it had most likely been at his insistence that they attended them. Mr. Hurst was a dull man with little to say, and Mrs. Hurst was quiet, often allowing her younger sister to speak for them both.
The ladies stayed only as long as propriety demanded and then went away, and the Bennet ladies returned the visit only two days later. And given the way the sisters received them, Elizabeth was glad that the visit was not repeated.
“What charming sisters you have, Miss Elizabeth,” Miss Bingley said in a soft voice during their visit to Netherfield. Lydia was laughing louder than she should, as was her wont, and Miss Bingley was looking at the girl as if she were diseased.
“They are high-spirited, indeed,” said Elizabeth with lofty unconcern. “But I have no doubt that with our tutelage and more experience in life, they will acquit themselves tolerably well.”
“I see you have high hopes for them,” replied Miss Bingley. “It is good that you are so positive in the face of such uncertainty. They, unfortunately, have many obstacles in their paths.”
“To what obstacles do you refer?” asked Elizabeth, though she knew very well the thrust of Miss Bingley’s attack.
“Perhaps it is best to be silent,” said Miss Bingley. Her tone was sneering, though her words were conciliatory.
“Indeed, I believe that would be for the best,” replied Elizabeth. The woman’s countenance darkened, but Elizabeth took no notice. “Whatever obstacles there might be, my sisters are good girls, as they are kind to all and they do not disparage others, regardless of their situation in life. And they are daughters of a gentleman. I believe all shall work out as it should.”
And with that, Elizabeth turned her back on Miss Bingley and began a conversation with Mrs. Hurst. The other woman, it appeared, had not missed Elizabeth conversation with her sister, and the look she directed at Miss Bingley was quelling. Miss Bingley was silent for the rest of the visit, though Elizabeth often thought she felt the heat of the woman’s gaze upon her.
When they went away, Elizabeth was determined not to visit again. There was much more pleasant company to be had at Longbourn, and she would not put herself in the position to be the target of Miss Bingley’s attacks again.
Chapter V
After a week had passed, the apothecary allowed Mr. Darcy to exit the guest room and join the family in the sitting-room under several conditions. The first was that he would not stay long—tiring himself in his eagerness to leave his room would only set back his recovery, he was informed. The second condition the apothecary imposed was that upon his return to his room, Mr. Darcy would sleep for a time in order to recover his strength. Mr. Darcy had never complained about his situation within Elizabeth’s hearing, but she thought his eager consent indicated an urgent desire to leave the confines of his room.
The first time he descended, Mr. Bingley and Colonel Fitzwilliam were both present—no doubt, Miss Bingley would have braved the contamination she might have received at Longbourn, had she only known what was to occur that day. The Bennets all welcomed him with enthusiasm, and Mr. Darcy appeared embarrassed to be the focus of their attention. Mrs. Bennet clucked and fussed about, making certain Mr. Darcy was comfortable, and this attention only seemed to disconcert Mr. Darcy even more.
“Is the fire warm enough for you, Mr. Darcy?” asked she for the third time since he had come to the room.
“I am quite comfortable, Mrs. Bennet,” replied he. Indeed, he had been situated so near the fire that Elizabeth wondered if he might not be uncomfortably hot.
“And have you enough cushions? I will send for more, if you require them.”
“There is nothing more I require, Mrs. Bennet,” replied Mr. Darcy, though with exaggerated patience.
“Your hospitality is e
xceptional as always, Mrs. Bennet,” added the colonel. “I will watch over my cousin and inform you should he appear to be lacking for anything.”
“Very well,” said Mrs. Bennet. She still appeared uncertain and likely wondered why a man of Mr. Darcy’s stature would not be more demanding. But she subsided regardless, settling into her own chair and keeping watch over the room with a keen eye. Elizabeth knew well that her mother was alert for any hint that the gentlemen present showed an interest in any of her daughters, though, as Mr. Bingley’s attentions had already been quite marked, she spared little attention—other than the occasional satisfied nod—for him.
“I hope you do not find my mother’s manners officious, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth in an undertone when Mrs. Bennet had turned her attention away. Elizabeth felt a frisson of excitement go through her when Mr. Darcy’s eyes found hers, but she forced herself to meet his gaze with a calmness she did not feel.
“Is it officious to care for the comfort of a visitor?” asked Mr. Darcy. By his tone and the softness of his look, Elizabeth was certain he was not displeased.
“No,” replied Elizabeth. “But to someone who does not know her ways, her motives might be mistaken for other . . . concerns.”
The smile Mr. Darcy bestowed upon her was suddenly filled with amusement. “And you do not think your mother has considered these other . . . concerns?”
Elizabeth ducked her head to hide her own smile. “It appears, Mr. Darcy, that your powers of observation have not been impaired by your illness. I am surprised that you have seen through her with such alacrity.”
“When you have been evading matchmaking mothers and their daughters as long as I have, Miss Elizabeth, you learn to understand the signs.”
Though perhaps it was not a matter about which she should laugh, Elizabeth could not stifle the giggle that escaped her lips.
“But I must say that I prefer your mother to most of the huntresses I have encountered in London,” continued Mr. Darcy.
“Oh?” asked Elizabeth, raising an eyebrow at him.
“If I had fallen in with one of them, I have no doubt they would have used the opportunity to secure me for their insipid daughters. Matters of integrity are often of secondary consideration, when compared with catching a man of fortune.”
Elizabeth feigned shock. “I am surprised, Mr. Darcy. You attribute a great deal of cunning and deceitful conduct to members of my sex. I can only wonder if I should be offended.”
“No, I believe I was paying you a compliment, Miss Bennet, as you well know. The fact that I have no such fears at Longbourn is a testament to your family’s honor. I do not think I could have fallen in with better people.”
“Then I thank you, Mr. Darcy.”
The conversation wound on from there, and Elizabeth found herself enjoying it without reservation. There was something estimable about Mr. Darcy, she decided, something she had not discovered in any other man of her acquaintance in Meryton.
It was not, she decided, that he was so intelligent, she mused as she continued to speak with him. He was, of course, far more intelligent than any other man of her acquaintance, other than her beloved father and her Uncle Gardiner. It was more that he was able to use that intelligence to make his opinions understood, but never to show her the superiority of his mind at the expense of her own. In short, he did not speak down to her as she noted that many men, whether educated or not, often did, assuming that a woman could not possess any real opinion of any matter of substance. Instead he listened attentively, complimenting her for making a good point when applicable, and contradicting with his own, if their views were not aligned.
It did not help Elizabeth’s equilibrium that she was confronted by a man who was as handsome as any she had ever met. His hair, which was dark and curly, had begun to grow the slightest bit long, so that it often fell over his forehead and brushed the edge of his collar. His eyes, as she had already noted, were clear blue and seemed to shine out from the depths of his soul.
Unfortunately, on that day when he first descended to the sitting-room, he tired easily, and it was not long before it became obvious that his head pained him and his tender stomach still served to render him unable to remain so long as he might like. Elizabeth watched as he was helped to his feet by his cousin and his friend to return to the guest room where he could rest.
“Sleep easy, Mr. Darcy,” said she in a quiet voice as he began to make his way from the room, leaning heavily on his companions. “I hope you are much improved tomorrow.”
The smile which he bestowed on her quite took her breath away, and his countenance seemed to shine, even through the dullness which ill health had forced on his complexion.
“I am determined, Miss Elizabeth,” said he. “I shall spend a little more time each day with you and your family.”
“Good luck then, sir.”
And he was led from the room, Elizabeth watching him as he passed through the door. For the rest of the afternoon, Elizabeth was distracted, her thoughts at the other end of the house, in the guest bedroom at the end of the hall. She could hardly wait until he made good on his promise on the morrow, and she had no doubt he would.
True to his promise, Darcy did descend the next day again to sit with the Bennet family, and feeling the slightest bit better, he was able to stay a little longer. His head and his stomach were still the main complaints due to the illness, though the feeling of malaise and general weakness was a constant irksome thorn in his side. Darcy had always been an active man, and this forced inactivity was starting to wear on him. At least he was not inclined to cast up his accounts, which made the sour stomach a little more bearable.
The day after Fitzwilliam arrived, Darcy had sent a letter to his sister, hoping to avoid attracting her worry over him, and though it was a little shorter than was his custom, her reply suggested that she had not noted anything amiss. To aid their subterfuge, Darcy had given the letter to Fitzwilliam to post from Netherfield, and the response had been sent there as well. Georgiana had no need to know that he was not staying there, as knowledge of the interruption to his plans would almost certainly tell her that all was not well.
Another matter on Darcy’s mind was his wish that his indisposition be hidden from the rest of the members of his family. The earl and the countess could be informed with little trouble, but he would not take the chance that word would make its way to Rosings and Lady Catherine. Should she learn of it, there was no telling what she would do, and Darcy had no desire and did not possess the strength to enter into a protracted argument with her about the best manner in which he might regain his health. Her solution, no doubt, would be to imprison him at Rosings, where he was certain she would do everything in her power to bring about that compromise of which he had spoken to Miss Elizabeth.
The thought of that dark-haired beauty brought a smile to Darcy’s lips, and of course, it did not escape her sharp eyes. Her impertinence in commenting on it, was as delightful as always.
“I believe your health must be improving, Mr. Darcy,” said she. “Those who are truly ill would not smile in such a manner.”
“Mayhap I am simply thinking pleasant thoughts.”
“But then, if your head were truly paining you, I doubt your thoughts would be pleasant enough to banish the pain.”
Darcy chuckled and shook his head. “When you are present, such matters can have little meaning, Miss Elizabeth. You have this way about you which render such trifling matters as an aching head meaningless.”
Though Darcy had not known the woman long, he suspected that she was not one to be often embarrassed. But she seemed to have developed the propensity to blush often when he paid her compliments. At present, Darcy was not quite ready to view that as a positive sign. It was clear that she was affected by him—perhaps almost as much as he was affected by her. Darcy shied away from such thoughts at present; it would do no good to dwell on them, and it was still too early in their acquaintance for him to be
openly considering such things anyway.
As Darcy was now on the mend, and a man’s bedroom was not the place for a young lady to linger when in the company of her father or not, those times in the sitting-room were the only opportunity he had to speak with her, and he came to look upon them with much anticipation. His early judgment of her intelligence had been more than confirmed with further conversation, and it soon became their custom to be seated on the sofa nearest the fire when he descended below stairs.
The rest of the Bennets were, unfortunately, a mixture of disparate personalities, and there were times when they were not always proper. The mother, of course, was prone to loudness and seemed to have little understanding of how a woman of her class should behave, the youngest girls were quite wild, and the middle child pompous and overbearing in her self-righteous piety. Against the two eldest, of course, nothing could be said, and Mr. Bennet was also to be esteemed, though one could complain about his failure to take the less proper elements of his family in hand.
But underneath the loudness, arguments, coarse laughter, and the matron’s barely concealed matchmaking tendencies, Darcy discovered a family that loved one another, despite their disparate personalities. There was not a malicious one amongst them, and even the mother, who was rather desperate to marry off her daughters, clearly would not stoop to anything underhanded to achieve her designs.
Bingley was obviously besotted with Miss Jane Bennet, and though the young lady hid her own feelings behind a mask of calm indifference—not dissimilar from Darcy’s own reticence—he suspected that she was willing and eager to receive his attentions. If the situation had been different, Darcy might have been tempted to speak to his friend, to ensure he understood what he would be giving up if he was serious in considering Miss Jane Bennet as a prospective wife. She was a gentlewoman, to be certain, but she possessed none of the qualities which would assist Bingley in his quest to be accepted in higher society.