by Jann Rowland
“But is she suitable?” asked Darcy. “What are her connections and fortune?”
“I neither know nor is it my concern, Darcy,” replied Fitzwilliam. “I cannot imagine she possesses a fortune which is even a fraction of Georgiana’s, but she is in no other way unsuitable. Besides, it is Bingley’s concern, is it not? If he does not find her situation objectionable, what can it be to us?”
“Nothing, of course,” replied Darcy. “Bingley may do as he pleases. It has long been my habit to ensure the woman Bingley admires is not some lady eager to dip her fingers into his pocketbook. Bingley has almost been taken in by a mercenary woman several times.”
“If that is all you mean to do, then go to it. Otherwise, I would suggest you do not become involved, Darcy. It would be officious if you were to do more, and you may just find yourself in agreement with Miss Bingley.”
With a laugh, Darcy acknowledged his cousin’s hit.
“And it may just be that you will find another who interests you.” Darcy fixed his cousin with a questioning glance, and Fitzwilliam obliged his unspoken query, saying: “Miss Bennet has a younger sister who is unlike any other woman I have met.”
“How so?” asked Darcy, his interest aroused.
Fitzwilliam leaned back, putting one booted foot on his desk. “For one, she is the most intelligent woman I have ever met. Have you not always lamented how young ladies can speak of nothing more interesting than fashion or the weather?”
At Darcy’s nod, Fitzwilliam grinned and said: “Miss Elizabeth Bennet does not fit that mode. Why, at a party a few days ago, she had some interesting things to say about the Luddite unrest in the north.”
“Did she?” asked Darcy, eyes wide. “Is she a bluestocking?”
“Miss Elizabeth is intelligent enough to be a bluestocking,” said Fitzwilliam, shaking his head, “but she shows no such tendencies. She gives her opinions in a sensible manner, and when she disagrees, she can argue her perspective with the best debaters at Cambridge. Though she is playful and clever and can see the foibles in others, she laces her observations with such good humor that offense is completely disarmed. And add to this, she is as pretty as her elder sister, and you have an intriguing woman, indeed.”
“And her sister, Bingley’s angel?”
“The epitome of sweetness and goodness, a woman much too good for this world.” Fitzwilliam paused and laughed. “I am sorry, Darcy—I know that sounds terribly melodramatic. Miss Bennet is an excellent woman if one is inclined toward impeccable, though gentle, manners as Bingley clearly is. Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth are the jewels of the neighborhood. In my opinion, however, Miss Elizabeth rises high above all, even her sister. The other sisters are fine in various ways, but none can hold a candle to the bright flame of Miss Elizabeth.”
Darcy regarded Fitzwilliam, amused at his cousin’s extolling of the family. “There are more?”
“Five, if you can believe it. Each quite different from the others, though the two youngest are still young and silly. Miss Elizabeth, however, can never be termed anything remotely approaching silly.”
“It seems to me you admire Miss Elizabeth,” said Darcy, never having seen his cousin act this way about a woman before.
“Oh, you know me,” said Fitzwilliam with an airy wave. “Though I possess my own estate, I must have a woman of fortune to augment my holdings. I have no interest in her. But I can well recognize a gem of the first order when I see one.”
Though the cousins sat and talked for some time, Darcy’s mind was on other matters. Fitzwilliam, jovial and easy in company though he was, could also be a difficult man to please. If he claimed this Miss Elizabeth was an excellent woman, Darcy had no doubt she was. Perhaps his time in this town would not be as dull as Darcy had expected.
“Darcy!” exclaimed Bingley when Darcy arrived at Netherfield sometime later. “It is good to see you, man. I was beginning to think you would not come at all.”
“I apologize for my tardiness, Bingley,” replied Darcy. “But I would never abandon you to the tender mercies of local society.”
Bingley laughed. “Oh, it is not so bad. There are some here with whom one may not wish to associate, but those people exist everywhere, do they not?”
“They do,” replied Darcy, thinking of what his cousin had said.
“Now, let us see you to your room before Caroline discovers your presence.” Bingley grinned again. “I believe she is speaking with the cook to ensure tonight’s dinner is worthy of a king.”
The room to which Miss Bingley had assigned Darcy was the best Caroline Bingley had available—or at least that was what the woman would say, Darcy knew. Snell, his valet, had preceded him there and had a bath ready for him, excellent man that he was. After Darcy had cleaned and dressed in a new suit for the evening, he was preparing himself for the chore of attending Miss Bingley, when there was a knock on his door.
“Brother!” exclaimed Georgiana upon entering the room at his command. “At last you have come!”
Georgiana threw herself into his arms, and Darcy held her close, wondering at the change in her demeanor. When she had left London for Hertfordshire—to Darcy’s concern, given Miss Bingley’s presence—she had been a timid, sad creature, one who said little and attempted to avoid being noticed. The girl who stood before him now reminded him of how she had been at twelve, a happy, carefree girl. Georgiana had taken their father’s death hard, and while she had always been a shy child, it was only after that she had become so inward-facing as to be mute in the company of others.
“I am glad to see you so well, Georgiana,” said Darcy. “But I shall own I cannot account for it.”
“It is wonderful here in the country!” exclaimed Georgiana. “And I have made excellent friends.”
“Oh?” asked Darcy, surprised to hear it. “You have only been in the neighborhood for two weeks. Is that enough time to have such close acquaintances?”
Georgiana blushed, returning a little to the shy girl he had known before. But then she raised her head and said: “Perhaps I have not been here long. When you have met the wonderful friends I have, you will understand. Miss Elizabeth is vivacious and friendly, just what a young woman ought to be.”
“Miss Elizabeth?” asked Darcy, interested to hear that name on Georgiana’s lips. “She is your friend?”
“Are you acquainted with Miss Elizabeth?” asked Georgiana, confused.
“No, of course not,” replied Darcy with a laugh. “It is only that Fitzwilliam spent several minutes praising her to the skies, so much so that I wondered if he was becoming enamored of her.”
Georgiana fixed him with a smile which seemed to mean much but say little. “Oh no, William, Anthony is not in love with Miss Elizabeth, though if he was, I could understand why. But she is delightful, and he can see how she has been an excellent friend to me. She is so intelligent and confident! One cannot help but feel more poised when she is near, for she imparts of her self-assurance to all around her.”
“Another member of my family praising this woman!” said Darcy, surprised once again. “I believe I shall need to make her acquaintance, for your words have intrigued me.”
“Meet her you shall,” said Georgiana. “Though I do not go to Longbourn every day, I go often. Do you know she also showed me around Meryton? Meryton is not Lambton, but they have some of the quaintest shops I have ever seen!”
For some moments as Darcy made his final preparations, he listened to Georgiana prattle on about Miss Elizabeth Bennet. The praises were so like what he had heard from Fitzwilliam, it seemed unlikely such an exquisite woman could exist.
But Georgiana’s sudden liveliness was so unexpected, so contrary to her character, and Fitzwilliam had been so adamant, that Darcy was certain there must be something to their words. Perhaps she was not an angel with furled wings and a halo over her head, but some of what they were saying must be true rather than hyperbole.
Then the memory of what brought Darcy to Netherfield retur
ned to him and sobered him, and Darcy knew he must speak with her of Wickham. Reluctant though he was to ruin her mood, Darcy needed to know what she thought of it.
“Georgiana,” said he, “I apologize for raising this subject, but I assume you are aware of Wickham’s presence in Meryton.”
The curl of Georgiana’s lip in contempt was unlike any reaction Darcy had expected. “Anthony informed me of it last night.”
“Are you not concerned for his proximity?” asked Darcy, perplexed.
Georgiana made a cutting motion with her hand and shook her head. “This news affects me not at all, Brother. Anthony promised me he would watch Wickham, and I am wiser now. Should he attempt his wiles with me again, I shall give him a piece of my mind.”
“Then there is little more to say,” replied Darcy, amazed by the sudden maturity his sister was showing. “It may not always be possible to avoid him—when he is nearby, I shall ensure he does not bother you. It would also be for the best if you avoided being alone, in Meryton, for example. Let us not give Wickham the opportunity to importune you with no one else in proximity. I shall assign Thompson to accompany you when you leave the house.”
The smile with which Georgiana responded was bordering on vicious. “Mr. Wickham fears Mr. Thompson, does he not?”
“He does,” replied Darcy, returning her grin.
“Then I welcome his protection. But you need not concern yourself for me, Brother, for Mr. Wickham will never dupe me again.”
“I am glad to hear it.”
Soon, the siblings took themselves downstairs, joining the rest of the party in the sitting-room. Fitzwilliam had arrived while Darcy had prepared for dinner and was conversing with Bingley and Hurst. Miss Bingley looked up when Darcy arrived, and though he could detect her annoyance at missing his arrival, soon her smile turned predatory.
“Fitzwilliam, do you not have a regiment to command?” asked Darcy, hoping to avoid Miss Bingley’s cloying attentions for a few more precious seconds.
“I do,” said Fitzwilliam, not a hint of repentance in his manner. “But the food is much better at Netherfield, and Bingley claims he is content to indulge me.”
“I am,” replied Bingley, good humor flowing from him.
“You should take care, my friend,” said Darcy, motioning to his cousin. “He will eat you out of house and home if you allow it.”
Fitzwilliam threw Darcy a mock glare while Bingley guffawed. Miss Bingley, it seemed, was not about to allow Darcy to ignore her any longer.
“Welcome, Mr. Darcy. I apologize for not being on hand when you arrived, but it seems I was not informed.”
The look Miss Bingley threw at her brother suggested he had countermanded her orders to the staff and was angered by it. If she hoped to cow him, however, it was a miserable failure, for Bingley ignored her. Miss Bingley continued as if nothing had happened.
“I hope your room is comfortable, Mr. Darcy. When I chose the room, I left explicit instructions with the staff to prepare it to your specifications. If there is anything amiss, I can assure you I shall have harsh words for the maids.”
“That is unnecessary,” replied Darcy, reflecting she could have no idea of what his specifications consisted. “Everything is lovely, Miss Bingley. Thank you for your diligence.”
The woman preened at Darcy’s compliment, but she was not quick enough to continue to monopolize the conversation, for Bingley spoke up.
“You have come at an auspicious time, Darcy, old chap,” said Bingley, the way in which he spoke suggesting some mischief or another. “We are planning a ball for next week, and I know how much you love to attend a dance.”
Fitzwilliam snickered and Georgiana giggled—even Hurst’s amused snort met his brother’s quip, though Miss Bingley looked upon him with exasperation. Darcy, however, was not about to allow Bingley to tease him.
“On the contrary, Bingley, though dancing is not my favorite pastime, I have nothing against the amusement.”
“That is well, for I wish to make a good impression upon my neighbors.”
With interest, Darcy looked upon his friend. “Having good relations with your neighbors is always an excellent strategy. But I am confused, Bingley, for I had understood there was no option to purchase—as you will only be here less than a year, do you need to hold a ball?”
“Whether or not I need to is irrelevant,” was Bingley’s firm reply. “These people have been friendly and obliging and have accepted us with open arms, and I mean to show them my appreciation. But you are correct—Mr. Gardiner, the owner of the estate, means to take up residence at the end of the lease, so I will not settle here.”
The sight of Miss Bingley’s blush caught Darcy’s attention, which he found curious, for he did not know what embarrassed her. Speaking of the matter, however, would encourage her to attempt to dominate the conversation, so Darcy addressed Bingley again.
“Where does Mr. Gardiner live now?”
“In London, or so I have heard,” replied Bingley. “It is my understanding he owns a successful business there and means to hand it off to a manager while he assumes the role of a gentleman. It is also said he has relations in the neighborhood, though I know no more than this.”
Miss Bingley’s blush deepened at her brother’s statement, intriguing Darcy even more. Could the woman know something about this mysterious owner and his relations? Interested though he was, Darcy kept firm to his intention to avoid giving the woman any encouragement.
“It is my intention to deliver the invitation to our nearest neighbors, the Bennets, in person tomorrow. Perhaps you would like to accompany us? It would be an excellent opportunity to meet some of the locals.”
“Yes, I believe I should like that,” said Darcy without thinking about it, much to Miss Bingley’s disgust.
“Excellent!” exclaimed Bingley.
“Brother,” said Georgiana, “I wondered if you will allow me to attend.”
Darcy shared a look with his cousin, but Georgiana was not about to allow them to decide without further making her case. “It is only a country event, and the people in the neighborhood are excellent. I know I am not yet out, but I should like to attend very much.”
“Perhaps we might allow it,” said Darcy.
Before he could say another word, Georgiana squealed and threw herself into his arms again. It appeared this was becoming a regular occurrence, though Darcy could not dislike it. Seeing her so happy was a balm to his soul.
“But,” said Darcy, extricating himself from his gleeful sister, “you must know there will be restrictions. You are not yet out, so we will insist on restricting your partners to close friends of the family, and you will go to bed after dinner.”
“It is well worth my agreement if I may attend. I am so excited! Elizabeth will be so pleased!”
Once again Georgiana had dropped that name into the conversation, and while Miss Bingley did not seem to appreciate it, Darcy was growing more curious by the moment. So interested was he in every word which passed his cousin or Georgiana’s lips that he quite forgot about his intention to speak to Bingley concerning this woman he was pursuing. The morrow could not come soon enough, for Darcy wished to meet Miss Elizabeth Bennet for himself.
Chapter VIII
Sometimes George Wickham felt he would have no luck at all if it was not rotten luck.
“Here, what are you waiting for, Wickham?” asked one of his fellow officers. “Will you call or fold?”
“I believe I must bow out,” replied Wickham, throwing his cards onto the table.
Another time, Wickham might have attempted to bluff his way through to win the hand, but given the current circumstances, he could not afford to lose. Funds were scarce and with Fitzwilliam watching his every move, Wickham knew he would be hauled onto the carpet if it became known he had accumulated markers with his fellow officers. Prudence was a concept unfamiliar to Wickham, but given the situation, it seemed there was no choice but to learn how to practice it.
&n
bsp; With a nod to the other men at the table, Wickham rose and flipped the innkeeper a copper for his drinks and made his way from the inn. Behind him, unbidden, came his only friend in the militia, a man whose enthusiastic words had landed Wickham in this mess in the first place. The thought caused Wickham to shake his head—it was not Denny’s fault. It was whatever cursed luck had led to Fitzwilliam, of all men, becoming the commander of the regiment he had decided to join.
“That differs from your usual practice, Wickham,” said Denny as they walked out into the night. “I have never seen you give up on a hand—or a game—so quickly in the time I have known you.”
“One simply must understand when the time comes to limit one’s losses,” was Wickham’s blithe response.
Denny regarded him for a moment, his expression searching, and then shrugged. “Then I suppose you have learned something, my friend, for you would not have concerned yourself with such things before.”
Wickham nodded, for there was no point in disputing his Denny’s point. As they walked in the stillness of the night, Wickham felt the warmth through his jacket, heard the far-off cry of a wolf, wondering if the poor animal felt as caged as he did.
The thought of running had crossed Wickham’s mind, for such a life as this did not suit him. Two truths which he could not deny held him back: the first was that he had little ready capital, no way of acquiring it quickly, and nowhere to go, and the second was that Fitzwilliam would set off after him in a trice. When Fitzwilliam caught him—Wickham was under no illusions he would escape the vengeful man’s pursuit—then he would truly be in the soup.
No, his only recourse was to endure the situation at present and attempt to discover some way out. George Wickham had never in his life had his choices so thoroughly curtailed as they were now, and the truth of that statement annoyed him to no end. But there was nothing he could do at present. Perhaps there was some lady in Meryton who would provide him with what he needed—a fortune to share and a bed to keep warm. Fitzwilliam could not hold him back if he was to marry.