by Jann Rowland
“Of course, Charles. I shall see to it directly.” Miss Bingley turned to Fitzwilliam and gave him a credible smile, though its effect was undone by the hardness of her eyes. “Welcome, Colonel Fitzwilliam, to my brother’s estate. If you gentlemen will excuse me, I shall instruct the housekeeper regarding Colonel Fitzwilliam’s room and retire to my chambers to prepare for this evening.”
The curtsey she dipped at the gentlemen was perfunctory, matched by Fitzwilliam’s rather insouciant bow. It was with pursed lips the woman departed, leaving the room and lightening the atmosphere all in one fell swoop. Fitzwilliam, as was his wont, greeted her departure with little gravity.
“It seems your sister still does not care much for me, Bingley,” said Fitzwilliam with a sigh. “It is unfortunate, as she possesses a dowry almost enough to tempt me into matrimony, and she is a handsome woman besides.”
“I would be willing to augment it, should you wish to take her off my hands.”
Fitzwilliam’s roar of laughter informed them both his views of the offer. “Unfortunately, I will have to refuse your kind off. Your sister is fixed on my cousin, here, and I doubt she would take kindly to my competing for her attention.”
“But Darcy is not interested in her,” was Bingley’s plaintive reply.
“Then perhaps you should ensure he is married off. She can hardly pursue a married man.”
Bingley muttered something which sounded suspiciously like disagreement, but he did not respond otherwise. This allowed Darcy to change the subject, much to his relief.
“I had not expected you to come here so soon, Cousin. To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?”
The shrug with which Fitzwilliam responded was so like him. “There is little to hold me in town at present, and I am interested to see if I can discover anything about our friend Wickham.”
Fitzwilliam turned a baleful eye on Darcy. “From what your letter said, I suspect you allowed him to escape.”
“There were others involved,” said Darcy. “I came upon Wickham accosting three sisters. Given his belligerence and the raised voices, I thought it best to ensure their wellbeing and protection rather than chasing after Wickham. I thought I could cut him off before he disappeared again.”
“With you in the area,” grumbled Fitzwilliam, “I doubt he remained after he escaped from you. He would run as far and as fast as his legs could carry him.”
“In my discussions with Colonel Forster, it seems likely he was already prepared to decamp,” replied Darcy. “Be that as it may, I could not do other than what I did.”
“Perhaps not. But it complicates the situation. For myself, I should as soon put a bullet in his head as capture him, for I have not your attachment to him.”
It was the cold and casual manner in which Fitzwilliam spoke of killing Wickham which reminded Darcy that his cousin, though everything gentlemanly and good, was an implacable enemy. Darcy did not think his cousin would murder Wickham without a second thought, but if he should have the opportunity to face him across a field of honor, Darcy knew Fitzwilliam would have little compunction in ending the man’s life. Bingley, it seemed, was shocked, for his stare showed the whites of his eyes.
“Do not worry, Bingley,” said Fitzwilliam, noting Bingley’s consternation. “I shall not descend to murder, even for the worthless likes of George Wickham. But he shall not escape me—if it takes me the next fifty years, I will find him and see he pays for his crimes.”
“And I cannot blame you,” replied Bingley.
“Then I shall go to the town tomorrow and speak to this colonel of the regiment.” Fitzwilliam turned to Darcy. “Do you know if Wickham had any confederates in the corps?”
“There are three men with whom he was friendly,” replied Darcy.
“Wickham does not have friends,” said Fitzwilliam, his tone ominous. “He has nothing more than those he uses and then discards when they are no longer useful. Though these men might have considered themselves to be his friends, I am certain he left gaming debts among them. I doubt they understand how he used them.”
“I do not disagree,” said Darcy, knowing his cousin’s assessment was accurate. “The colonel will inform you of what he has learned, but I doubt you will pull much more from them.”
“In all honesty, I doubt it myself,” said Fitzwilliam with a shrug. “All it costs me to make the attempt is a day’s travel and a little time with bland militia officers. If there is any chance it will lead me to Wickham, I will seize it.”
Fitzwilliam then clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “Now, what is this I hear about a function of some kind tonight? And what of these sisters of whom you spoke? Are they pretty? Possessing huge fortunes? Desperately in need of a dashing husband?”
“Well, if they are, they would not be looking for you.”
Bingley guffawed at Darcy’s jest and Fitzwilliam grinned. “Oh, I do not know. Give me a moment or three in their company, a few tales of my exploits, and I shall have them eating out of the palm of my hand.
“As always, you are far more confident in your charm than you should be,” replied Darcy.
“I could send a message to Longbourn to inform them of your presence,” supplied Bingley helpfully. “They would readily include you in the invitation, I am sure.”
“Excellent!” cried Fitzwilliam. “An evening in lovely and charming company is just what I need to fortify myself before braving a bunch of dull militia officers tomorrow. Send word, Bingley, and I shall attend.”
Fitzwilliam then excused himself to wash, and Bingley sent a note. As they had expected, the Bennets included Fitzwilliam in their invitation without delay. Thus, when the time arose, the four residents of Netherfield—one unhappy about the presence of the fourth, which she thought would restrict her struggle to attract the notice of the third. The fourth, however, paid no notice. Instead, he regaled them with tales of his exploits the entire three-mile distance to their neighbors’ home, prompting daggers from Miss Bingley and ill-concealed hilarity from the remaining two.
Chapter XVI
Colonel Fitzwilliam of the dragoons was a man larger than life. Mr. Darcy had spoken of his cousin, but his words had consisted of little more than a mention of him. Elizabeth might have expected to meet a man much like Mr. Darcy in essentials given their close connection, but it was evident within moments of his arrival that nothing could be further from the truth.
The Netherfield party arrived, and those who had not been introduced were soon acquainted with each other. Mr. Bingley was, as Mr. Darcy had described, an amiable man, eager to meet, to converse, to approve and be approved of in turn. His sister, Miss Caroline Bingley, was a large contrast to the gentleman, being both superior in attitude and condescending when she spoke. The difference between siblings was striking.
“Mrs. Bennet,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam expansively when they were all known to each other. “I wish to thank you for including me in your kind invitation on such short notice. It is an imposition, I know, but I was not anticipating the wait for my cousin and my hosts while they enjoyed your hospitality this evening.”
“It is no imposition, Colonel Fitzwilliam,” said Mrs. Bennet, flattered by his pretty words. “There is no difficulty in setting one extra place at dinner, and to be introduced to any of Mr. Darcy’s relations is our pleasure.”
The quiet snort with which Miss Bingley greeted Mrs. Bennet’s words was politely ignored by them all. Then Kitty and Lydia made their presence known, for an actual colonel in their mother’s sitting-room was all they had ever wished.
“Are you a real colonel?” asked Lydia, appraising the man as frankly as any woman of twice her age. “My sisters have told me of Colonel Forster, but I suspect he is a stuffy man, and I hear he is ancient!”
“I am, indeed,” replied Colonel Fitzwilliam, not put off at all by her forwardness. “And though I do not know this Colonel Forster, I can assure you that I am not ancient by any means. And, w
hereas he is merely of the militia, I have fought for king and country.”
The girls could not reply, staring at him with wide eyes, which Colonel Fitzwilliam seemed to enjoy if Elizabeth was any judge of the matter. Though he did not need to focus on her sisters’ amusement, Colonel Fitzwilliam led them to a sofa nearby, saying:
“Come, ladies. I shall regale you with tales of my exploits, though I warn you that not all of soldiering is adventure and romance. But I shall do my best to avoid injuring young ears with my tales.”
The two girls went willingly, and for a time they were quiet, except for the occasional gasp or giggle his words elicited. Elizabeth, though curious to know what he was telling them, decided it was best to leave well enough alone. Besides, there were other interesting conversations to be had and other events to witness.
Within moments of entering the room, Mr. Bingley had commandeered Jane’s attention for his own, and soon they were seated together, speaking cordially, with Mary in attendance. The way he spoke to her, gave her all of his attention, hung off her every word, was a sight Elizabeth had seen many times in the past. A look passed between Elizabeth and Mary, one fraught with amusement and meaning. It seemed Jane had gained herself another admirer and this within minutes of his arrival.
It was unfortunate, but Elizabeth’s introduction to the final member of the party with whom she had previously been unacquainted was not as pleasurable as the others. Having heard her reaction to Colonel Fitzwilliam’s earlier words had given Elizabeth an initial insight into the woman’s character. An overheard comment from the woman further reinforced Elizabeth’s opinion of her as superior, impressed with herself, and disdainful of others.
“I know you assured me of our safety, Mr. Darcy, but I must own that I am not so convinced.”
The sound of the grating voice pulled Elizabeth’s attention to her, and as she was standing nearby, it was unsurprising Elizabeth could hear every word she said. It was a further mark against her that she did not seem to care who she was insulting.
“My brother, in particular, may be in great danger,” continued the woman, glaring at the man who sat close by Elizabeth’s sister. “I believe I shall be required to intervene to protect him once again.”
“Anyone who considers my sister a threat of any kind must not know her, Miss Bingley,” said Elizabeth before Mr. Darcy could make a reply. “She is the kindest, gentlest, most beautiful soul I have ever met in my life. As for my family, you may be assured you will escape our home unscathed—we do not bite, Miss Bingley.”
Then, not allowing the woman to respond, Elizabeth turned and walked away, joining Jane and her sisters. Elizabeth neither knew nor cared about what Miss Bingley thought of her rebuke, but as Mr. Darcy was soon standing with her father speaking, and Miss Bingley’s glare seemed to be directed more at Elizabeth thereafter, she assumed the woman had no taste for it.
The party was called into dinner soon after and they went in to partake of the meal. Mrs. Bennet had long been acknowledged to be one of the premier hostesses in the neighborhood—invitations to dine at her table were highly prized. That evening did no damage to her reputation, for by their guests praised the dinner, and conversation flowed effortlessly. If the youngest Bennets still hung onto every word which proceeded forth from the mouth of the colonel or Miss Bingley cast a pall over her part of the table, overall, it was a success, Elizabeth thought.
After dinner, they retired once more to the sitting-room, and that is when matters became a little more interesting. Mr. Bingley was not to be moved from Jane’s side, for the two sat together throughout the course of the evening. That Jane appeared to be as pleased with Mr. Bingley as the reverse was a matter which gave Elizabeth some satisfaction—many a more promising inclination had begun with less.
For her part, Elizabeth found her attention being more captured by Mr. Darcy, who seemed eager to speak to her again. That Miss Bingley did not like this attention attested to her interest in the man. It was of no concern to Elizabeth, however—as a new acquaintance, and one she found interesting, Elizabeth had no notion of anything beyond conversation and character sketching. Let Miss Bingley be offended by the man’s attention to her if she chose.
“Might I assume your cousin has come to investigate this matter of Mr. Wickham?” asked Elizabeth of Mr. Darcy.
“He has,” replied the gentleman. “Though there is to be little more that can be learned, he thinks it is worth his while.”
Elizabeth nodded. “A friend reminded me this morning that Mr. Wickham is still on the loose and may return to Hertfordshire at any time. As he blames me for his failure to attract my sister, I have resolved to be more careful in my habits.”
“Do you mean something in particular?”
“It is obvious you are new to the neighborhood, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth, directing a warm smile at him. “My love of walking is well known throughout the neighborhood. With the uncertainty concerning Mr. Wickham’s whereabouts, however, I must exercise greater care and diligence, and that means restricting my walks.”
The gentleman’s nod was followed by an oblique change of subject. “My sister is also inclined to walking, though I suspect she has not the stamina or range you possess. If you are this much of a lover of nature, you would love Pemberley, my estate in Derbyshire.”
“I have often heard others speak of Derbyshire, but I have never been there,” said Elizabeth. “Is it much different from Hertfordshire?”
“In some respects, it is quite different. My home, you see, is near to Dove Dale and the Peaks, which can be seen in the distance on a clear day. Derbyshire is rockier and less tamed than the counties to the south, though there are many similarities. Pemberley is situated in a long valley and features long strands of trees and the fertile farmlands which comprise the bulk of its prosperity.”
Mr. Darcy continued to regale Elizabeth with tales of his home, and while he did not brag or boast, she could feel his love for it in every word, in every gesture punctuating his words. Furthermore, Elizabeth could almost see the estate in her mind’s eye due to the picture he painted, an estate she thought dwarfed Longbourn in consequence and grandeur. And while Mr. Darcy did not boast, there was another who had no qualms in boasting on his behalf.
“Are you speaking of Pemberley, Mr. Darcy?” Miss Bingley directed a thin smile at Elizabeth. “A lovely place, indeed. It is, Miss Elizabeth, the most tranquil place I have ever had the fortune to visit. Such beauty! Such sheer esthetic pleasure in every line, every stone which forms its foundation! It is, you see, accounted as one of the great estates in all the land—I dare anyone to name a more pleasing place than Pemberley.”
“Miss Bingley, of course, exaggerates,” said Mr. Darcy, appearing faintly uncomfortable. “It is a fine estate to me and my family, but it is also a home, and I regard it as such.”
“To your credit, sir,” said Miss Bingley, the coquettish lilt in her voice causing him to stiffen. “No one could blame you if you should proclaim the greatness of your estate from the rooftops, and yet you prefer modesty to conceit.”
“Have you ever been to the north?” asked Mr. Darcy of Elizabeth. Though she could not claim he was changing the subject due to his discomfort with Miss Bingley’s praise, she felt confident that was a motivating factor.
“I have not, though I should love to visit someday,” said Elizabeth. “My uncle and aunt have spoken of traveling to the north, perhaps as far as the lakes. At present, however, I have little more than the promise of such future delights to sustain me. But I have often heard of the wonders of Derbyshire, for my aunt lived there when she was a girl.”
“In what part?” asked Mr. Darcy with interest unfeigned.
“I do not know where it is situated, but the town in which she lived is called Lambton.”
“Why, that is not five miles from Pemberley!” exclaimed Mr. Darcy.
This new discovery of a shared connection made their conversation flow ever easier
, and much of Mr. Darcy’s words concerning Lambton were similar to what she had heard from Aunt Gardiner. This discussion had the unfortunate effect of excluding Miss Bingley, for though she had, by her own words, visited Pemberley, the mention of the market town provoked a rolling of her eyes—Elizabeth doubted she had never visited when she had been at Mr. Darcy’s estate.
After a few moments of this, Miss Bingley huffed and looked around the room, settling on Mrs. Bennet. It was to the Bennet matron that the woman directed her next efforts, though her opinion of Mrs. Bennet appeared set in the hardness of her eyes. Still, she put on a sickeningly sweet smile and took herself to sit nearby. For some time Elizabeth did not know of what they spoke, as she was too focused on Mr. Darcy’s conversation to pay such an objectionable woman any heed. During a lull in their conversation, however, she overheard some little part of it.
“We are from the north, in Yorkshire,” Miss Bingley was saying in response to some query by Mrs. Bennet. “But of late our residence has been in London, though it is my brother’s intent to obtain an estate of his own. Netherfield is only a temporary stop along the way—I suspect my brother will wish to purchase in the north.”
“Do you have any other siblings?”
Miss Bingley looked at Mrs. Bennet as if trying to discern if her question was anything more than the polite query it seemed. “One sister,” said Miss Bingley at length. “Louisa is our eldest sibling and is married to a Mr. Hurst, whose family owns an estate in Norfolk. Soon we expect them to join us at Netherfield.”