by Rowland Jann
“Well, well,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam. “It looks like our Wickham has finally gone and done something unforgivable. If desertion was not enough, theft of money and a horse will all but seal his fate, should he ever be found.”
“If he is found,” said Mr. Darcy. “If I know Wickham, I expect his destination will be Bristol, or one of the other western ports, where he will sell the horse and take a ship for the new world.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam nodded his head, seemingly uncaring. “I expect so. Either way, the man will finally be out of your hair, Darcy. I would think you would rejoice that he is finally gone.”
“I am not sorry to see him go,” replied Mr. Darcy, a sigh accompanying his words. “But I am sorry that my father’s support of him has ended in such a way.”
“Save your pity for one who deserves it,” growled Colonel Fitzwilliam. “Wickham does not, and never has. He has been nothing more than a millstone around your neck since you inherited and even before, given your father’s investment in his education, for which he will never be repaid.”
“My father never expected repayment,” replied Mr. Darcy, his tone reproving.
“Nor should he have,” replied Colonel Fitzwilliam. “But there are more forms of repayment than the return of money. Wickham using the education he might have earned, had he had anything other than gambling and other less savory activities on his mind, would have been repayment enough. But Wickham did not even give him that.”
“I know,” was Mr. Darcy’s simple reply.
Elizabeth looked on with interest, the exchange providing an insight into both men. Colonel Fitzwilliam was a jolly, happy sort, one who was quick to laugh, amiable, and personable. But when his anger was roused, it was implacable. He had little patience for poor behavior, and even less for those who took advantage of others.
By contrast, Mr. Darcy tended to be quiet, thoughtful, and serious, one who felt most comfortable with those acquaintances of longstanding and who did not mingle well with others. Yet underneath, his soul was one who strove to do good, to support those around him to the best of his ability, and one who felt deeply. His continued concern for this Mr. Wickham was evidence of his good nature; no one would have blamed him had he washed his hands of the man long before, but he had supported him far longer than the man had deserved, all due to his father’s esteem.
“The thought of Wickham being gone for good does much to sustain me,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam. The air of satisfaction about him was unmistakable. “I do not mean to think of him any longer. Not when there are other, pleasanter things of which to speak.”
And the colonel turned to Kitty, who had been sitting by his side, and began to speak to her. Kitty had been watching the exchange with astonishment, but she soon responded to the colonel, and thereafter she was composed, speaking with animation, which did not seem to extend to too much enthusiasm. Lydia, who was never one to allow her elder sister to outshine her, leaned in close and demanded her share of the conversation, and the colonel agreed with aplomb, including them both in whatever he was saying.
Elizabeth looked at them with a frown. “Your cousin’s attentions have been good for Kitty, I dare say,” said she as an aside to Mr. Darcy. “But I wonder if she is becoming attached to him. I have never seen her this way.”
“Do not be concerned, Miss Elizabeth,” said Mr. Darcy. “Fitzwilliam knows his limits, and he will care for her sensibilities.”
Flashing him a quick grin, Elizabeth said: “I have no doubt of his kindness. But the hearts of young ladies are not governed by sense. My younger sisters have often spoken of officers, even before they met any! Your cousin was certain to attract their attention. But I have always thought that Kitty was a little more prone to deep feelings than Lydia, and I wonder if she feels more for him than she ought.”
Mr. Darcy was silent for a few moments, seemingly deep in thought. “Perhaps that is why . . .” murmured he after a few moments.
At Elizabeth’s questioning look, Mr. Darcy smiled and shook his head. “It is nothing, Miss Elizabeth. I was merely thinking of what you said. I shall speak with Fitzwilliam and ensure he knows what he is about.”
“Thank you, Mr. Darcy. There is no need to berate your cousin—I am just concerned for my sister.”
“That is completely understandable.” Mr. Darcy paused and turned to look at her. “Perhaps we should arrange some occasion for you to meet some other members of my family. They are not all like Lady Catherine, you know.”
“Would they come to Hertfordshire?”
“I believe they are ensconced at their estates at present. But they will return to London for the season. Surely you will need to go to London to purchase certain items at some point.”
Elizabeth knew exactly to what he referred, and she directed a severe look at him. “It would appear you have the horse in front of the cart, Mr. Darcy. Before I can purchase ‘certain items,’ I believe there is an important question you must ask.”
“Never doubt that I will ask it, Miss Elizabeth.” He leaned in closely, looking her in the eyes, and she could feel the heat of his breath upon her cheek as he whispered in her ear. “Trust me.”
And she did.
Chapter XV
All things being equal, Elizabeth might have thought the sight of Netherfield, and all its dazzling adornments might have rendered her speechless. Miss Bingley, though Elizabeth could not like the woman, was clearly a competent hostess. The estate was bedecked with boughs of greenery, wreaths, ribbons of seemingly all colors, and the soft light of candles, all artfully displayed to give the ballroom an atmosphere of romance.
It was not lost on Elizabeth that the romance the woman hoped to provoke was the one between herself and Pemberley’s master. According to Mr. Darcy, Miss Bingley had stalked him like a fox stalks a hare, putting herself before him, agreeing with his every word, displaying her talents before him at every opportunity, and all this since the first moment of their acquaintance. That he had never shown any hint of interest, Elizabeth did not doubt—she could see with her own eyes how little he wished for the woman’s constant attention. Her ability to see the slightest hint of civility on his part for an encouragement was a source of amusement for Elizabeth. But she could not help but wonder at Miss Bingley’s seeming lack of pride in this matter, for her pride was an enormous entity in others.
As Elizabeth walked into the entrance hall of Netherfield to join the receiving line, she exchanged a few words with the family as she passed them, but her mind was not on them. She noted Miss Bingley’s jealous look when she approached, but as the woman seemed equally resigned as jealous, there was no reason for Elizabeth to make an issue of it. But she could not help tweaking the woman by making an observation Elizabeth knew she would not appreciate.
“Miss Bingley,” said she in greeting. “Netherfield looks exquisite tonight. I commend you on the arrangements you have made.”
“Thank you, Miss Elizabeth,” replied the woman. Her manners made her appear more haughty than thankful.
“I hope you have an agreeable evening,” said Elizabeth. “I know your first partner has unfortunately absconded to Kent, but I am certain you will be fortunate enough to have someone else ask you in his stead.”
It may have been provoking the woman too much, but Elizabeth was enjoying herself anyway. Miss Bingley reddened slightly and chose the simple expedient of greeting the next person in line. Elizabeth suppressed a smile and continued to greet Mr. Bingley and Mr. Hurst, both of whom looked at her with mirth, suggesting that they had heard her exchange with Miss Bingley.
But Elizabeth had other things with which to concern herself, and the chief of those things stood at the entrance to the ballroom, watching her from the moment of her entrance. He was tall and handsome, dressed in a black suit, with a waistcoat of ivory. It was not a coincidence that Elizabeth herself was dressed in a flowing ivory dress, complete with elbow-length gloves and seed pearls adorning her hair. When her
mother had seen her dressed for the evening, her words had surprised Elizabeth.
“You look very well, indeed, tonight, Elizabeth.” Her mother sniffed and readjusted her neckline. “There is a lack of lace, of course, but you have always been so stubborn about lace that I suppose there is nothing to be done.”
“Thank you, Mama,” said Elizabeth. She had heard all her mother’s various paroxysms over the years and did not need to hear more. Her mother knew equally well Elizabeth’s preference for far less lace than she herself might have preferred, and though she still did not approve, Mrs. Bennet typically allowed herself one comment on the matter and then it was forgotten.
“Mr. Darcy will not be able to keep his eyes from you.”
Startled, Elizabeth looked at her mother. Mrs. Bennet only looked at her with some exasperation, before she once again adjusted the shoulders of Elizabeth’s gown.
“I know I have not always spoken of my appreciation for your beauty, Elizabeth, but even you must own that Jane is the prettiest of my daughters.”
“I have never doubted it, Mother.”
“Jane has always been destined to raise our family’s fortunes.” Mrs. Bennet showed Elizabeth a rueful smile. “But though Jane appears to have done well for herself, you, with your cleverness and tendency toward playful conversation, have captured the wealthiest and handsomest man any of us have ever seen. I do not understand it, but I do not question it either. Clearly, Mr. Darcy sees you as Jane’s equal, and tonight, in that gown and with your hair piled in such an elegant fashion, I cannot say he is incorrect.”
“Thank you, Mama,” replied Elizabeth, not quite knowing what to say.
“Just keep his attention firmly fixed on you,” said Mrs. Bennet, her words and gaze pointed and insistent. “He has not proposed just yet, you know.”
Elizabeth could not help but laugh. “I will try, Mama.”
Now, as Elizabeth approached Mr. Darcy, she could see from his reaction that her mother had been entirely correct. Her natural modesty, one which the sister of Jane Bennet could not help but possess, suggested that her beauty was nothing out of the common way. But the way Mr. Darcy watched her . . . In that moment, Elizabeth had never felt more beautiful, a fact which he reinforced with his words.
“I have never seen anything so radiant as you appear tonight, Miss Elizabeth. I shall be forced to contend with every man present for your favor.”
“Thank you,” replied she, forcing her eyes to remain locked with his. “And I am fortunate to be escorted by the handsomest man present.”
“Then we shall be the envy of the ballroom,” said Mr. Darcy.
When Elizabeth took Mr. Darcy’s arm, he led her inside, where the guests were even now assembling. She watched him through critical eyes, noting that while his color appeared to be healthier, he was still painfully thin. His departure from Longbourn only a week previously had been undertaken only after the physician had approved of the move. Though he had improved, it was clear his full strength had not yet returned completely.
“You are well, Mr. Darcy?” asked Elizabeth. “There are no lingering ill effects from your illness?”
“I am well. I am certain you already know that I have not regained my full strength, but what I have is more than sufficient for this evening’s entertainment.” Mr. Darcy grinned. “Actually, my continuing recovery gives me a convenient excuse to avoid dancing too much. I am, if you recall, not fond of the activity in general.”
Elizabeth looked at the man, showing him feigned astonishment. “How shocking, Mr. Darcy. You would deprive the young ladies of Meryton of the pleasure of something as simple as a set in your company?”
“Of course not,” replied Mr. Darcy. “I am perfectly ready to perform my obligations. But you would not have me fainting with fatigue, would you?”
“I think you descend into the realm of hyperbole, Mr. Darcy.”
“Perhaps I do. But I believe that as long as I can claim my dances with you, all other concerns are extraneous.”
He was not the most sociable of men, Elizabeth thought. In fact, when speaking with those he did not know well, he could be downright taciturn, and at times, his discomfort had made him appear proud and above his company. Had Elizabeth met him under other circumstances, she might have thought that of him. He was, however, completely easy when speaking with Elizabeth or her father, and with Jane, on the occasions when she could tear her attention away from Mr. Bingley. And he was civil and attentive to the rest of her family, though they were a trial for him at times. They were a trial for Elizabeth too, so she could not fault him on that score!
The strains of the first set flowed out over the company, and Mr. Darcy turned to Elizabeth and extended his hand. “May I have this dance?”
“Actually, my first sets have already been secured,” replied Elizabeth, making a great show of looking through the crowd.
“Yes, they have,” replied Mr. Darcy, reaching down and taking her hand in his own. “They are mine, and I do not mean to relinquish it.”
“It is clear you are a jealous man, Mr. Darcy.” Elizabeth regarded him with severity. “I do not know that I wish to promote such behavior.”
“Only when it comes to you, my dear,” replied Mr. Darcy. “Only you.”
They lined up across from each other and, when the music dictated, began the well-known and loved steps, never taking their eyes off the other. It was fortunate that Elizabeth knew the steps so well, for she was certain she would have stumbled horribly, had she not.
Her heart swelling within her, Elizabeth focused all her attention on her suitor. Though it seemed hardly possible that a great man such as Mr. Darcy would take an interest in Elizabeth Bennet, an ordinary country miss from Hertfordshire, she knew now that she would marry him, would spend her life with him. And nothing could ever please her more.
As Elizabeth had expected, she was destined to become Mr. Darcy’s bride, and though all who were acquainted with Mr. Darcy knew him to be a sober, careful sort of man, he proved to all that he was decisive when required. His proposal was offered before Christmas, and their marriage took place a scant two months later. As all such things must, the haste in which they arrived at the altar spawned gossip, in both Hertfordshire and London, but the fact that Elizabeth was not yet increasing—that anyone could see, anyway—by their first anniversary, put those rumors to rest.
It was soon obvious to all those who saw them that theirs was a love match, and even those who scoffed at Mr. Darcy’s taking a penniless country girl for a wife could not but acknowledge that he seemed to have gained infinitely more in exchange. Of Mrs. Darcy herself, little fault could be found. Her manners were often derided as unfashionable, but there was something irresistible in her playful disposition, and those who came to know her well found her to be a firm friend, but one who would not hesitate to defend herself and her family from those who harbored malicious intentions.
As for Mr. Darcy himself, he was often known to aver that his wife had been the making of him, and it was grudgingly agreed in society that his marriage had indeed changed him. He remained taciturn with those with whom he was not well acquainted, but he was also discovered to be more open in the company of his wife, as if her ease in society had influenced him. As a couple, they usually preferred their estate to London, though they did spend some months in the city during the season. Their presence at the various functions became much sought after, even while they were careful in accepting only those which brought them pleasure. For the approbation of society, they cared little.
Mr. Darcy’s estate was a source of awe for the new Mrs. Darcy, and as she informed her husband, she could little have imagined she would ever have been mistress of so great a place.
“You must have dozens of servants,” said she, as they drove toward the house on the day of their arrival. “How is a mistress ever to keep all the details straight?”
“Your estimate is quite accurate, Mrs. Darcy,” replied he.
“But the housekeeper is experienced and will love you dearly—if for nothing else then because of how happy you make me. The servants are all well trained and understand their roles. And finally, as I know how intelligent you are, I do not doubt it will take you little time to accustom yourself to your position. I have every confidence in you.”
They were exactly the words Elizabeth needed to hear, and she could only look at her husband with gratitude. “Then I will do my best to make you proud of me, husband.”
“There is nothing you must do,” replied he, leaning in to brush his lips softly against his wife’s. “Just the privilege of being your husband makes me so proud that I feel I might burst.”
As is the habit of young couples, their words and affectionate actions ignited a fire within them. It was with a certain impatience that the new Mrs. Darcy was introduced to the housekeeper and the butler, and if the rest of the servants were passed over with haste, no one saw fit to mention it. Thereafter, the Darcys retreated to their chamber and were not seen for the rest of the day.
Eventually children did arrive and, with them, the security of another generation of Darcys, all raised to love the land of their heritage. Mr. Darcy turned into as conscientious a father as Elizabeth had ever expected, and in Elizabeth, Mr. Darcy found a woman who raised her children, not merely shunted them off to the nurses, bringing them out at all the appropriate times to show them off to society.
Jane and Mr. Bingley were married, of course, and they brought up their own brood of children at an estate they purchased near Pemberley when the lease at Netherfield expired. Between the two families existed the most intimate relationships, which continued for the rest of their lives. But whereas the Bingleys existed in a state of almost utopian harmony, the Darcys often disagreed. But despite the differences in their relationships, they each had joy in their marriages, which they decided was all that mattered.