A Fortunate Alliance

by Beth Poppet

  She asked if Elizabeth had seen him upon entering the house, whether or not he was looking particularly handsome at the time, and if Lizzy thought she should spend many evenings in his company.

  “You might as well say it outright, Jane, as you are not very practiced in being sly,” Lizzy chided fondly. “Mr Darcy is handsome to be sure, but there’s such a stiffness and reservation about him that guards his behaviour most days. I don’t know that we suit very well at all. I can hardly tell if he is persistently disapproving or merely circumspect.”

  “Tis true, he is not so eager to please as other young men of our acquaintance, but his reserved nature compliments your open temper, Lizzy. And I will not deny that his relations are conveniently situated,” she said with a partially lowered head, as if confessing something naughty. “You know his aunt is Lady Catherine de Bourg who lives but a hedgerow away from Mr Collins. If you were to marry Mr Darcy, he could make the obligatory visitations to his aunt while you spent all your time with me.” This had the twitching of a smile play at the corners of Jane’s mouth.

  Lizzy gasped in mock astonishment. “Is this selfishness I hear from Jane Bennet?”

  “You know I am not a perfect creature,” she smiled back.

  “And yet even your selfish inclinations are wound up in the desire for others to be happy.” Lizzy shrugged her shoulders in a little sigh. “Whatever am I to do with you, Jane?”

  “Marry Mr Darcy for me and enjoy every bit of your life of wealth and finery.” Her brow furrowed in concern. “Although I am told that his aunt has every intention of marrying him to Miss Anne de Bourg, who is, as I understand, quite frail and hardly able to come out of doors, the poor girl.”

  “Mm,” Lizzy smirked. “I recall the description we had of her from Mr Collins. ‘The court is deprived of its brightest jewel,’” she imitated, producing a laugh that turned cough from Jane.

  “Oh, Lizzy!” She took a little water that Lizzy brought her, and once she regained her ability to speak properly, she said, “You must consider that this was a match made during their infancies, and there is no way to tell how seriously Mr Darcy takes such an understanding.”

  “Poor Miss Bingley,” she shook her head.

  “Why, ‘poor Miss Bingley?’ What do you know, Lizzy?”

  “Oh, nothing for certain,” she said mysteriously, eyes twinkling with mirth. “Only that Caroline Bingley is excessively disagreeable towards me whenever Mr Darcy is present and does not seem to like when he addresses me, unless it is to agree with her on any given subject.”

  Jane’s features softened into one of utmost compassion. “Do you think Caroline is in love with Mr Darcy?”

  “I think she is very much in love with his status and his ten thousand a year,” Lizzy surmised, “though beyond that, I cannot say.”

  “She is not so mercenary as that, I am sure,” Jane defended her friend adamantly. “Her brother will take sufficient care of her whomever she marries. And as she will receive her own handsome dowry upon her marriage, she may chuse to marry for the sake of love if so desired. No, I cannot believe her to be solely interested in his status and wealth,” she decided with a slight shake of her head. “She must truly like him, then. Poor Lizzy.” With this, she reached a hand outward to console her sister, earnestly desirous of giving comfort where she believed it was required.

  “Oh, no! You’ll not ‘poor Lizzy’ me!” she cried, pulling her hand back from the attempted touch of consolation, and laughing away Jane’s troubled look. “I admit, I am fond of my sparring with Mr Darcy, and I take a wicked delight in seeing Miss Bingley flustered and challenged by our every interaction, but I am in no danger of falling in love, I assure you. Miss Bingley and Miss de Bourg may fight for the affections of Mr Darcy as much as they wish, but such a dispassionate man is not for me. I feel neither warmth nor coldness towards him, and courteous indifference is hardly a way to begin a great romance. No, Jane,” she despaired teasingly, “I fear I require so much in a man that I am doomed to live an old maid and teach your ten children to sew their cushions and play their instruments very ill indeed.”

  Though the prospect of children was of itself a cheerful one, the consideration of who their father was destined to be cast a shadow on their merrymaking. Neither spoke aloud of the pang they felt over the thought, but their laughter was not so lively as it might have been otherwise.

  “If you are certain Mr Darcy is not for you, I will not pester you anymore,” Jane promised, and with a lingering laugh and departing kiss, Lizzy began the preparations of her toilette to go down and mingle with the family. She was informed by a servant that those who remained in the house were in the drawing room, for Mr Bingley had an errand that had taken him out for the day. Elizabeth, rather than resign herself to the civil taunts and haughty remarks of Mr Bingley’s sisters, made her way out of doors, and was once again met by Mr Darcy.

  “May I enquire after your sister?” he said, a little stiffly, but with sincerity enough. She wondered if she would be so forgiving if he had not confessed his difficulty in adhering to social niceties.

  “She is a little better, I think. Thank you for enquiring.” Aware that a silence would linger between them unless she took the burden of conversation upon herself, she asked, “Have you any sisters at home, Mr Darcy?”

  “Only the one.”

  “Ah.” He gave no further comment, making Elizabeth prickle with irritation. “And is this sister of yours yet to be christened?” she put mischievously. “Or is the confirmation of her existence all I am to receive?”

  “Her name is Georgiana,” he stated brusquely. “She is an accomplished pianist, has tidy features, a full head of hair, and is wary of strangers pressing into her private affairs, as am I.”

  Bristling, Elizabeth tried to remain gracious in speech. “I merely enquire after the nature of your relations the better to ascertain the nuances of your own character. I mean no insolence by it. You may just as soon refuse to answer me if I overstep. Besides, I had thought us beyond the sphere of mere strangers, now. We have danced after all, you and I.” He could not know it, but that act alone on a night so severely lacking in sufficient dance partners was enough for her to think at least a little kindly of him. “Perhaps you would not consider us good friends, but might we at least be friendly with each other, Mr Darcy?”

  “You are right,” he said, softening a little. “We are not entirely strangers, and I might have been gentler in my response. I confess, you have caught me deep in thought on a serious matter of great urgency, but one I will not share with you,” he added with a slight dip of his head, “you’ll forgive me.”

  “There,” she smiled winsomely, “That was not so very painful to refuse me, was it?”

  “I should never suspend any pleasure of yours, Miss Bennet,” he replied without irony.

  “If that is the case, will you be so good as to show me to the kennels tomorrow?” Elizabeth suggested. “I have a mind to become better acquainted with my four-legged neighbour who left such an impression on me before. Mr Bingley promised to take me, but I believe he has some business which has taken him away for the afternoon.”

  “Let me take you there now, if it pleases you,” he said obligingly.

  “I will accept and happily. But only if you promise to forgive me for offending you just now. I fear my sharp tongue has caused trouble again. I dearly love to laugh, you see, and I confess a great deal of my amusement is had by finding fault with others and making light of their follies. Amongst good friends, it may be acceptable, but between friendly acquaintances, such as you and me…”

  “There is nothing to forgive, I assure you,” he interrupted. “I am very careful with my sister and her acquaintances. Even more so than my own. She is young, and impressionable. It is my greatest desire that she be always protected and cared for.” He said this with a tone akin to remorse, and not for the first time Elizabeth wondered what more there was to his sister’s history that was the source of such a paine
d expression.

  “There is nothing to laugh at in such a declaration, but I am glad of it,” she answered with feeling. “Were my father blessed with sons, I would have hoped for brothers as good to us as you and Mr Bingley are to your sisters.”

  “But instead, you will have to get husbands,” Mr Darcy uttered, unthinking.

  Elizabeth turned a deep crimson and pretended to take an interest in the greenery about them so that he was less likely to notice her blush. “I did not mean to turn the subject to husbands. But it is true; we shall each have to marry our protectors.”

  The rest of their walk to the kennels was strained. Elizabeth was hesitant to ascribe meaning behind a stray comment Mr Darcy had made, and Mr Darcy was not predisposed to much idle chatter as it was. Without Miss Bennet to prompt or pester, he had little to say that he suspected might interest her, and so he kept silent, suffering none of the discomfort from it that his companion did.

  Brutus was exceptionally eager to be taken out for a run, and Mr Darcy assured the houndsman that Miss Bennet would come to no harm while Brutus was in his care, though he had him on a short leash until they had room enough to let him go as fast as he could wish, baying all the way. They followed him a while about the grounds, Elizabeth always happy to receive him back no matter how often Brutus returned after losing the scent of whatever game he sought. With such a lively distraction, Elizabeth no longer felt it necessary to converse and for some time there was no sound but that of the natural beauty in Netherfield Park, Brutus’s coming and going, and her own laughter at his antics.

  “Your sister is to be congratulated,” Mr Darcy said abruptly. “I understand she is soon to marry Mr Collins.”

  Elizabeth drew her mouth into a thin line, wishing Brutus would return at once and knock her into the ground, rendering her incapable of reply. As it was, her scowl would not do as sufficient response.

  “It is Mama you should congratulate, for it is she who will benefit most from the match.”

  “You do not approve of your sister’s choice?” he said with some surprise.

  “Choice!” Elizabeth’s laugh was entirely without humour. “If I believed she had chosen Mr Collins in the strictest sense of the word, she would not be the beloved Jane I so admire.” Mr Darcy continued to frown in silent perplexity. “As you said, we must marry to gain our security,” she answered seriously, “and Jane has taken her part of the responsibility to quite the extreme.”

  “And why should you not admire your sister for doing her familial duty and making a prudent match?”

  He had found the subject she loathed most in all the world, and the anger in her cynical reply was nearly tangible. “Oh, yes. No one could deny that Jane has made a wonderfully prudent match. And while dear Jane’s sweet and gentle spirit wastes away for want of tenderness and any true affection, the knowledge that she made a prudent match will be a great comfort, indeed.”

  Mr Darcy was thoroughly confused by the emotions on such evident display before him. He found them unnerving and excessive. Mr Collins was by no means a wealthy nor a prestigious gentleman, but he was respectable, and when all was considered he would make Jane Bennet a proper husband. He was not an evil man; not a brigand, a fornicator, or a gambler. He was not, after all, George Wickham.

  Fumbling for the right words to dissuade Miss Elizabeth from her current ill temper, he asked, “Does your sister often suffer from low spirits?”

  “No, never before,” she sighed. “But it is not my place to complain on her behalf, though she refuses to do so herself.”

  They had gone through a significant portion of the wooded property over the course of their conversation, and Elizabeth looked about, feeling lost and a little ashamed of her unguarded outburst. She fiddled with her gloves, hoping he did not think her a fortune hunter or a fool.

  “I believe it grows late,” she said with more cheer than she felt, “and I should like to attend Jane once more before suppertime. If you would be so good, Mr Darcy…”

  “Let us return Brutus to the kennels, then.”

  When he’d returned Brutus to the leash, he held out his other arm for her to take. “The sun has gone behind the clouds and it grows quite dark. I would not wish you to lose your footing,” he explained.

  Elizabeth had a protest on the tip of her tongue, but she kept it back, unable to refuse such a courteous gesture. She might have been even more discomfited by the silence on their walk back to Netherfield, but there was a strange assurance in the steadiness of the arm she rested her hand upon. There was an amiableness in the way their gaits matched; an understanding in the unspoken promise that he would prevent her from stumbling in the dim light of the unfamiliar woods.

  Supper was a far merrier affair, as Mr Bingley had returned in time to partake with the rest of the household. The amiable nothings he conversed about kept each listener at the dining table in good spirits and a pleasant mood; a mood which carried on until afterward, when even Miss Bingley was of a mind to say more than one openly kind word about Jane. Compliments for her favourite sister soothed Elizabeth’s ire somewhat, and she was able to settle her emotions to the point of opening a borrowed work of fiction she had long meant to read. With Miss Elizabeth thus occupied, Miss Bingley soon turned her attention to Mr Darcy, who sat at a handsome writing desk and had just dipped his pen in the inkwell, presumably to begin a letter on the blank page before him.

  “And what mysterious business had you occupied away from our company, Mr Darcy?” she enquired, “The house was quite desolate with both gentlemen gone this afternoon.”

  “It was nothing mysterious, nor was it business,” he stated. “I have been showing Miss Bennet the kennels.”

  This caused Elizabeth to look up from her book in order to assess Miss Bingley’s response. Her expression was one of shock, and perhaps thinly veiled disgust, though she rallied with remarkable composure.

  “The kennels, indeed! How singular your interests are, Miss Bennet.” She nodded to her with a condescending smile, causing the feather in her hair to ruffle. “But I daresay, one has time for such exceptional pursuits when there is so little society hereabouts to keep one engaged.”

  Elizabeth took note of her place in the book, supposing she would have to come back to it at another time now that Miss Bingley had successfully baited her away. “And there are some circles of society which make an afternoon in the kennels preferable to the company found there.”

  “Oh, shocking, Miss Bennet! You cannot mean to tell me a romp with the hounds is to be preferred above,” she waved her hand in the air gracefully, “mingling with people of taste and accomplishments. But perhaps you have no examples of such persons. Have you no accomplishments of your own to offer?”

  Undaunted, Elizabeth replied, “I have few talents, and all very poorly practiced, I’m afraid. Though I take pleasure in a great many things, I cannot say how accomplished they make me, or how they might delight an audience who was made to hear me perform.”

  “But you are splendidly accomplished, Miss Bennet!” cried Mr Bingley in his usual manner of defending Caroline’s objects of ridicule. “For I have heard you play and sing before, and it was very pretty! Upon my honour, there was nothing lacking in your performance at all! Do not you draw, and sew cushions, and decorate bonnets, as well?” When Elizabeth confirmed that such was the case, he continued to praise her. “I wager I could never come to possess such accomplishments as you ladies all exhibit.”

  “And yet,” Caroline dissented, “Cushions and concertos are hardly the sum of what makes a lady truly accomplished. There must be something in her air, the manner of her walk,” she said this as she moved from one side of the room to the other; presumably to give the perfect example, “in the way she carries herself, and speaks, as well.” She stopped behind Elizabeth’s seat, making it impossible for her to look at Miss Bingley without straining her neck. Caroline touched a finger to the air as if a revelation had just come upon her. “Dear Georgiana is one such accomplishe
d lady. How I adore her!” she raved.

  “Has she grown since we last met?” This she directed to Mr Darcy, who had paused in his occupation to listen, it seemed, to the current discussion at hand. “Is she as tall as me, now?” Caroline laughed.

  Fully aware of Caroline’s ploys, Mr Darcy replied with a nod to the person sitting below her. “She is now about Miss Bennet’s height.”

  Miss Bingley cleared her throat and moved away from the settee. “I daresay, she would not be found larking about in the kennels.”

  “No, she would not. But I would have no objections to escorting her there and explaining the history of our breeds and the uses for each as I have Miss Bennet. I would be happy indeed, if Georgiana took a similar interest in improving her mind with whatever knowledge is readily available to her. This includes the study of excellent literature; the likes of which Miss Bennet currently holds in her hand.”

  Miss Bingley was resigned to a cross silence.

  Feeling the danger of Miss Bingley’s wrath and desirous of seeking Mr Darcy’s disapproval, Elizabeth said contrarily, “I am not overly fond of this book, but I failed to find the discourses by Richardson in the family library.”

  Mr Darcy smiled knowingly. “You attempt to lower my estimation of you with your replies, Miss Bennet, but instead they prove contrary to your designs. I would rather ten words of Richardson than a hundred of Mounte’s. The reason you could not find what you sought is that I have the entire collection in my own chamber. They will be my hostage until you’ve finished the inferior book you read now.”

  This sent Miss Bingley into even greater despondency, and Elizabeth into confusion. She could not return to her book lest she seem overly eager to accept Mr Darcy’s challenge, but neither did she wish to strike up a conversation with the glowering Miss Bingley.