The Honorable Mr. Darcy

by Jennifer Joy

  "I suppose it is the way of young women nowadays. They are more concerned over their entertainment than of the possibility of suffering any danger."

  Such may the case of his own wife, but it chafed Darcy's sense of integrity to allow the same to be implied of Miss Elizabeth. Still, he guarded his tongue lest he worsen matters by coming to her defense. He could not protect her while still trapped in Colonel Forster’s home.

  The colonel sat in silence for some time. Each passing minute increased Darcy's nerves until he felt he might explode— like a coil held tightly in a hand and let loose.

  Finally, after an eternity of waiting, Colonel Forster rose and poured them each a drink. "I am sorry, Mr. Darcy,” he said, handing him a snifter of brandy. “I promise you that I will make inquiries. This matter is as important to me as it is to you. But I cannot allow you to leave without first consulting with Mr. Tanner, or before I can determine the extent of Mr. Stallard's involvement. I must beg your patience, sir."

  Darcy swallowed his disappointment with the amber liquid, feeling its sting in his throat. He would have to find another way.

  His only consolation was a discreet nod from Lawrence as he passed by the open doorway. He had delivered the letter.

  Chapter 21

  "Miss Elizabeth, you must allow me to assist you. Please postpone your call until tomorrow so I may go with you," pleaded Mrs. Yeats for the second time since Elizabeth had stormed into Longbourn, Lydia and Mr. Collins struggling to catch their breath behind her.

  How dare Mr. Tanner imply that Mr. Darcy might favor her! Mr. Darcy was the most insufferable man in all of Christendom— well, aside from Mr. Tanner. Granted, Mr. Darcy was more handsome than any gentleman had a right to look, and he had improved in character on further acquaintance. He had acted honorably under the worst adversity….

  Elizabeth huffed in anger at herself. She was supposed to make a mental list of Mr. Darcy’s numerous faults, not praise his virtues when she was doggedly determined not to like him. Never mind the weakening effect he seemed to have on her knees when he stood close. Or how her heartbeat raced when he whispered to her, and she could feel his breath tickling her skin.

  Angered all the more at her perfidious heart, which would have her hope Mr. Tanner was right, Elizabeth dearly wanted to extricate all thoughts of Mr. Darcy from her mind. He simply would not leave her in peace! Bothersome man!

  "I promise to be as sensible as the occasion permits,” she told Mrs. Yeats. “Jane will be with me,” Elizabeth added, as if Jane could prevent her from speaking her mind when it came down to it. “She will ensure I do not trespass decorum by asking unladylike questions."

  Elizabeth glanced at Jane, who already looked overwhelmed at the task set before her.

  Mrs. Yeats clucked her tongue. "If only your sisters had not arranged for gentlemen callers this afternoon, I would go with you. However, I will admit I trust your judgment much more than I trust theirs, and so, I fear, we must leave it at that."

  "It is settled then. You will stay here to chaperone the girls while Jane and I call on Miss Stallard," said Elizabeth firmly. Though she knew the chances of her discovering anything worthy of note was slim, nobody could convince her to change her plans. She had to try.

  "Is there nothing I could say which would convince you to delay your plans until the morrow? I am certain I could get much more information out of Miss Stallard's lady's maid than you will out of the lady herself," pleaded Mrs. Yeats yet again.

  It was a sound argument, and a valid one, but it would not do. "There is not enough time."

  "Time for whom? You speak of this as though you are directly involved when we are well aware you do not even like Mr. Darcy," said Jane, taking sides with Mrs. Yeats. "You ought not involve yourself, Lizzy, and I do not much like being dragged into this sordid affair and creating discord where we do not belong."

  Elizabeth reached out to her conflict-averse sister. "I know you only speak out of concern for your headstrong sister but, Jane, I cannot stand aside when I know I can help. I do not trust Mr. Tanner to ask the questions which must be asked, and Colonel Forster already has enough to do. Mr. Darcy is unable to make inquiries, trapped as he is inside the Forsters’ home. If I am the only one in a position to ensure justice is done, I must go.”

  Jane crossed her arms in the most dramatic display of disapproval in her possession. “This is your pride speaking, Lizzy, and you know it. Had Colonel Forster and Mr. Darcy not forbade you from poking your nose where it does not belong, you would not be so…,” she took a deep breath, “so… stubborn.” Jane’s face flushed, and she covered her mouth. “I am sorry. I should not have spoken so plainly.”

  “Oh, Jane, do not be ashamed of speaking to me so. Sometimes I think you know me better than I know myself. Would you rather stay behind?”

  “And let you go by yourself? Certainly not! I cannot offer much in the way of protection, but I scream louder than you do.” Her eyes widened. “You do not think he will attack us, do you?”

  Even Elizabeth, bold as she felt at that moment, would not call at the Stallards if she thought the master of the house would be at home. “I am not so foolish as to put myself and my own, dear sister in the way of danger. Do you not remember what Mr. Tanner said? That Mr. Stallard will not be at home until well into the evening? We will not see him, and I doubt our visit to Miss Stallard will be so significant she would tell him about it.”

  Mrs. Yeats watched them, her sharp eyes noticing everything. Her piercing gaze focused on Elizabeth, causing her no small amount of discomfort. "Your motive in helping Mr. Darcy, you claim, is merely in the service of justice? Your aim is to help one who is, albeit temporarily, defenseless?"

  "Of course," Elizabeth snapped, wishing she could hide behind something when she felt her cheeks and ears burn.

  Exasperated that her body betrayed emotions she adamantly refused to admit to herself, she forced her thoughts away from Mr. Darcy yet again and to the conversation before her. She would have to find out what she could from Miss Stallard, a lady with whom she had never enjoyed the intimacy of friendship. It would be a challenge.

  She turned to put on her coat to distract Mrs. Yeats from noticing her complexion, though she was certain Jane had already seen it.

  "We will not delay long," she said, pulling Jane with her out the front door.

  Elizabeth planned questions— some discreet, some… not so discreet— in her mind, while Jane distracted herself from the unpleasant task before them by speaking of the Bingleys.

  Mr. Bingley was everything a gentleman ought to be according to Jane.

  They had reached the edge of the Stallards’ estate when Jane stopped, wrapping her hand around Elizabeth's arm. "Lizzy, are you certain this is a good idea? How do you possibly hope to extract the kind of information you seek from Miss Stallard?" She lowered her voice. "She has never liked us. She considers our family beneath hers. It will take a miracle for her to confide in us."

  Elizabeth knew it. It was why she had encouraged Mr. Collins to stay at Longbourn. If she had any hope of loosening Miss Stallard’s tongue, it could not be done with him in the room. "I do not know, Jane, but I will hate myself if I do not try." She tugged Jane's arm, and they resumed walking.

  When the gray stones of the Stallards' stately home with its harsh, symmetrical landscape came into view, Elizabeth linked her arm through Jane's. "Perhaps we should do as Mary would advise us to do, and pray."

  Jane bowed her head immediately. After some seconds of silence, she lifted her head and nodded. "All right. If we are to do this, then let us go."

  Gaining entry through the gate which kept unwanted visitors out, they walked down the footpath enclosed on either side by strings of poplar trees and up the steps to the front door. A doorman opened the door before they could knock. He left them waiting while he checked to see if Miss Stallard was in and receiving callers.

  "Miss Stallard is in the drawing room with some other callers, but she will see yo
u," he said in a monotone.

  Drat. Just what she needed. Elizabeth left all of her meticulously prepared questions and leading comments outside as she and Jane went into the drawing room.

  Miss Bingley, Mrs. Hurst, and Miss Stallard sat at a table encumbered with refreshments. Miss Stallard, acting the part of a gracious hostess, asked for a fresh pot of tea to be brought in for her newly-arrived guests.

  Taking the gesture to be a promising start, Elizabeth pasted a smile on her face and joined the vipers at the table. Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst looked as happy to see her and Jane as she felt at seeing them.

  "Please join us," said Miss Stallard, opening her hand to the two empty chairs opposite her at the table.

  "Thank you. You are very kind," said Jane smoothly. "The weather has been so dreadful of late, has it not? Elizabeth and I felt the need for some good company, and so we decided to call here. How fortunate we should chance upon Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley as well."

  Thus flattered, the ladies’ claws retracted, and Elizabeth would have nodded in appreciation for her sister's diplomacy could she have done so without being noticed.

  "Indeed. We would perish from boredom were it not for Miss Stallard. There is precious little society available in Hertfordshire," complained Miss Bingley, making it clear she did not include the Bennets in her definition of society.

  Miss Stallard elevated her stubby nose. "It certainly cannot compare to London. It is only at my father's request that I have remained here for as long as I have. Otherwise, I prefer the entertainments afforded in London or Bath at this time of year. My father has a home there as well, did you know?" she added.

  Mrs. Hurst looked appropriately impressed. "I did not know. How advantageous indeed!"

  “Yes, in the Royal Crescent,” Miss Stallard added importantly.

  Elizabeth blinked hard so as not to cross her eyes. A house’s coveted address was not nearly as fascinating as the state of its library or the characters of its occupants.

  "What a pity Mr. Darcy has been forced away from Netherfield Park. I daresay you would have secured Pemberley for yourself before long?" asked Miss Stallard, refilling Miss Bingley’s teacup.

  Mrs. Hurst said, “My sister is too modest to admit so herself, but I believe she would fill the role well. Such a large estate demands a mistress worthy of the task.”

  Elizabeth sucked air in through her gritted teeth. They spoke of Mr. Darcy as if he were no more valuable than his property. How odious it would be to have your worth talked about openly by ambitious ladies seeking to improve their situation and greedy mothers anxious to secure their daughters’ future… much like her own mother. Her heart sank as realization dawned. Mr. Darcy would have thought that she was no different from all the other social climbers he had avoided thus far. Had he thought her no better than Miss Bingley?

  Elizabeth’s momentary relapse of empathy was soon overtaken by her pride. If Mr. Darcy could not distinguish the difference between Miss Bingley and herself, then he did not deserve her understanding. Though it was growing increasingly difficult to continue to think poorly of him… and she did not wish for him to think too poorly of her. Drat the man!

  Miss Bingley beamed at the praise bestowed upon her. She did not blush at the mention of Mr. Darcy as Jane did every time Mr. Bingley was mentioned.

  Looking straight at Elizabeth, Miss Bingley said, "Mr. Darcy is a man of superior and demanding tastes. He would never marry anyone he considered to be beneath him. I do not consider my progress wasted."

  Elizabeth felt the challenge in her remark and refused to look away.

  Miss Stallard toppled Miss Bingley’s vain presumptions with a harrumph. "We are all ladies here. It is fortunate for you that your brother has disassociated himself from the family’s trade, or someone as highborn as Mr. Darcy would not consider you either," she said bluntly.

  Perhaps Miss Stallard was not so bad after all. Elizabeth clamped her teeth down on the insides of her cheeks to keep from laughing.

  Mrs. Hurst said in her sister’s defense, "Times have changed, and I for one am grateful for it. Many of the greatest families in England have their roots in trade, and some have even resorted to dabbling in business in order to maintain their fortunes." She tilted her head to the side and looked at them askance, as if she possessed a great secret, but would not be presumed upon to share it.

  It was tempting to allow herself the distraction of the subtle battle taking place between Miss Stallard and Miss Bingley, but Elizabeth had called on Miss Stallard with a purpose, and she would not allow herself to be distracted from it. She turned her attention to Miss Stallard, searching for anything which would denote sadness or mourning at the loss of one she held dear. And she saw it.

  Under the lace trimming on her sleeve rested a black ribbon. It was subtly placed, but it was there.

  "I am sorry for your loss, Miss Stallard," she said, infusing as much compassion as she could muster into her words.

  Miss Stallard instantly grasped her wrist, twirling the ribbon around so that a trinket became visible. It was the painting of an eye. In the second it was visible, Elizabeth noted the intensity of the brown and the thickness of the dark eyebrow framing it. It could have been Mr. Wickham's feature drawn as a remembrance of their forbidden romance.

  Drawing her hand to her bosom, Miss Stallard said, "Thank you, Miss Elizabeth. I consider myself fortunate to have secured the love of a gentleman of which other ladies can only dream. It is such a pure emotion, and it really is a pity it should be denied to so many." She elongated her neck and looked down her nose at her unmarried guests, who could not make such a grand claim as she.

  With an edge to her tongue, Miss Bingley asked, “If you are so much in love, I wonder why you have not yet married?”

  Pulling out a handkerchief and dabbing her eyes, Miss Stallard said, “He met his end, and now death separates us.”

  Had her words held any warmth of feeling, Elizabeth would have pitied her. She could have offered her condolences freely and meant them.

  Jane, overcome by her tender sympathies, said, "How very tragic." Her own eyes brimmed with the tears Miss Stallard failed to summon.

  After a meticulously measured silence, Miss Stallard withdrew her dry handkerchief. “It is all for the best, I suppose. As a lady born into privilege, there are certain expectations about the sort of gentleman I should marry.”

  Elizabeth asked, "Did the gentleman have no fortune?”

  “He had an inheritance left to him by a wealthy man who looked upon him as a son. However, when he died, the man’s son denied his inheritance. No doubt, the son’s jealousy moved him to act out his revenge on one who stood to benefit from his kindness.”

  Elizabeth set her cup down before she shattered it between her fingers. Mr. Wickham had told her the same, sad story of how he had been abused by the Darcy family. He had told her in confidence. Now, hearing it from the lips of another lady, the secret felt tainted and ugly. Had it merely been a ploy he had used to manipulate the sympathy of ignorant young women? To whom else had he confided the intimate details of his past? It made her angry with herself to recall how readily she had believed him.

  Miss Bingley covered her mouth in shock. “I heard a similar account regarding Mr. Wickham. Is he the gentleman?”

  Miss Stallard dabbed at her dry eyes again and sniffed into her handkerchief, too overcome with grief to answer Miss Bingley’s direct question.

  Elizabeth took a deep breath, content she had confirmed the gossip as true. Mr. Wickham had pursued Miss Stallard romantically. The story was too similar for it to be anyone else.

  After a few dainty sniffs, Miss Stallard recovered herself enough to stir a teaspoonful of sugar into her cup, clinking the sides of the china as she did so. “Such is the injustice of life. Were it up to my father, he would have me marry Mr. Darcy.”

  Miss Bingley withdrew her hand from the plate of biscuits over which it had hovered.

  “Surely you would not agree
to a marriage of convenience when you have been loved by one worthy of your heart,” said Mrs. Hurst, her unblinking eyes fixed on Miss Stallard.

  A deep voice from the doorway sounded, sending fear rushing through Elizabeth’s veins.

  “Pardon me for the intrusion,” said Mr. Stallard as he entered the room and bowed.

  Elizabeth felt Jane’s gaze on her, her sister’s anxiety adding to her own. He was not supposed to be at home. Oh, this had been a mistake!

  Mr. Stallard exchanged a meaningful glance with his daughter. One which had her lift her chin in defiance at the same time as she shrunk ever so slightly in her chair.

  It was a good time to take their leave. Unanimously, as if Mr. Bingley’s sisters felt the tension in the room too, the ladies at the table stood, uttering empty pleasantries and making their departure.

  Frustrated she would not get any more information that day, Elizabeth tried to content herself with the one piece of the puzzle she had acquired. Perhaps Miss Stallard would be more forthcoming the next time she could arrange to speak with her. She had liked the attention. If Elizabeth appealed to her sense of superiority, she might be able to learn something of import.

  Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst settled into their pony phaeton, and Elizabeth set off down the path with Jane.

  The uncomfortable sensation of being watched put Elizabeth’s nerves on end. Jane, too, was abnormally quiet. They walked in strained silence down the gravel lane leading to the immense iron gate at the edge of the property. Elizabeth did not know what possessed her to do so, but she looked back.

  Whipping back around, she pulled on Jane’s arm and picked up her pace. Mr. Stallard stood at the top of the steps, watching them leave.

  Chapter 22

  Bingley walked into the Forsters’ parlor looking about him in confusion. He relaxed when he saw Darcy.

  "It is good to see you, Bingley," Darcy welcomed.