by Jann Rowland
“And yet your mother behaves like one.” Darcy smiled. “Believe me, Miss Elizabeth, I have met women of much higher standing whose behavior leaves much more to be desired.”
“I thank you for your words, sir,” said Miss Elizabeth, and the way she glanced over at her mother—who was sitting with some needlework in hand but watching over her brood with a keen eye—Darcy thought she held Mrs. Bennet in high esteem. “If you had known my mother before the entail was ended, you might have judged differently.”
“Was she fearful for her future?”
Miss Elizabeth’s eyes found him, reflecting the truth of his statement within. “Terrified would be closer to the mark. Though Jane was naught but fifteen, Mama had already begun to talk about bringing her out in society, for it was Mama’s opinion that our futures could only be assured if we were married, which would, in turn, assure her future.”
The grin with which Darcy regarded her was quickly mirrored by his companion. “I would imagine that Bingley and I would have been highly sought-after commodities, in that case.”
“I cannot say you are incorrect.”
With those words, they released their mirth, though quietly enough they did not garner the attention of the room. For a moment, Darcy regarded Mrs. Bennet, wondering at her daughter’s words, trying to imagine what she might have been as a matchmaking mother and a desperate one at that. There was something about her behavior, he supposed, which suggested such tendencies, particularly the day he had met the Bennets when she had burst into her husband’s study to speak of Bingley’s arrival. But even then, she had seemed more interested than covetous, and it was difficult for Darcy to imagine it.
“And you, Miss Elizabeth?” asked Darcy, turning back to his companion. “If your mother had been intent upon marrying her daughters off to save the family, would you have been willing to marry for convenience?”
Miss Elizabeth looked away in embarrassment, though why she might feel shame, he could not fathom. It did not last long, however, for she soon turned to him, her posture filled with assurance, her tone firm when she spoke.
“When I was young, Mr. Darcy, I could see the discord between my parents. He regretted marrying her, for I believe he proposed in a moment of infatuation, and the time since their marriage had been a torturous journey in the company of her nerves. For my mother’s part, she was consumed by her fears, so much so that she rarely could spare the time to focus on their marriage.
“My father has said many times that the woman he married was returned to him when the fear of the entail was removed, and they are much happier. For myself, however, I would much rather achieve a meeting of minds and hearts with my future husband, and I had determined so almost from the time I understood something of what it meant to share my life with another. So, while I cannot be certain of the answer to your question, at present I am determined to achieve something more than what my parents have. That may be imprudent, but I have never learned to doubt my convictions.”
“It is not imprudent, Miss Elizabeth,” said Darcy, his heart becoming fuller by the moment. “In fact, I think it shows some greatness of mind.”
“Do you have a similar experience, Mr. Darcy?”
Darcy chuckled and nodded. “As always, you have seen to the heart of the matter, Miss Elizabeth. The situation of my parents, while different in essentials, was not that dissimilar.
“My father was a creature of duty, his every action guided by the desire to honor the family name and increase our consequence. As my mother was the daughter of an earl, as she brought a handsome dowry and connections to the peerage to the union.” Darcy paused and smiled. “My mother was not my family’s first connection to the peerage, but my father felt he was living up to the legacy of those who had gone before.”
“Were your parents unhappy together?”
“Not unhappy, no,” replied Darcy. “But my father was too immersed in his obligation to the family legacy to possess much ability to declare his feelings. My mother, I believe, loved my father, but forever lived without the knowledge of his feelings, which were profound, I suspect. My father’s distress upon my mother’s passing was deep and abiding, and I believe he never recovered from the sorrow. Thus, I can state that my own wishes regarding my future felicity align well with yours.”
Perhaps it was a statement Darcy should not have made. The acquaintance with Miss Elizabeth was far too new for any declaration to be possible. It nevertheless felt right in saying it, as if it was something that was meant to be, that a higher power had declared that he was destined to find a bride in this, the most unlikely of places. It was as if he already knew he would offer for Miss Elizabeth, as if fate had drawn them together. Darcy could not state with any surety that any of these fanciful thoughts were the truth, but he could not say the opposite either. Soon, however, he hoped certainty would come.
As time passed, Elizabeth experienced her own heady feelings and stirrings deep within her heart. It was not long before she thought Mr. Darcy to be the best man she knew, and not long after that when she began to realize he was exactly what she wished for in a husband. Though a romantic young woman by nature, she had never expected to meet a man and develop an attachment with such swiftness. Before long, however, she began to long for his presence at all times, though she knew it was irrational.
Through these near-daily meetings, Elizabeth was quick to notice that Mr. Bingley was taking an ardent interest in her eldest sister. It was likewise important that Jane was not at all averse to the company of the gentleman. If Mr. Wickham or Mr. Collins had seen even half the enthusiasm for themselves as she was now showing for Mr. Bingley, they might well have proposed on the spot! What was even more gratifying was Mr. Darcy seemed to welcome his friend’s interest in Jane.
“I have often seen Bingley’s infatuation, Miss Elizabeth,” said he on one occasion, giving rise to Elizabeth’s fears. “One common thread to every other time I have seen him in such straits was my disapproval of the woman on some grounds or another.”
“And have you set yourself judge over Mr. Bingley’s future matrimonial prospects?” asked Elizabeth archly, prompting mirth from her companion.
“No,” replied Mr. Darcy. “Bingley is his own man and capable of making his own decisions. I have never spoken to him or tried to interfere. It is to Bingley’s credit he came to the same conclusion, as for some his wealth was their primary interest, for some he was a pleasant diversion, and some were not interested in him for whatever reason. Your sister, however, is different, for not only is there nothing of artifice in her, but she seems to have a true affection for him.”
“And now you have shown your discernment, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth. “There is nothing of pretense in Jane, and she will not show an affection she does not possess. What you see is the true Jane.”
“I am glad to hear it.” Mr. Darcy edged a little closer, and when he spoke, there was something of secrecy in his manner. “Bingley and I have always spoken of the possibility of being brothers, but it has never seemed possible, given my lack of interest in his sister and the youth of mine. Now, however, I begin to wonder at the prospect.”
Though Elizabeth felt the thrill of his words set her heart to fluttering, she stifled it, knowing it was still premature, despite his words. Instead, she smiled to let him know she was not at all averse to the notion and said with a voice full of irony:
“Poor Miss Bingley.”
Miss Bingley was, indeed, a problem. The woman was no friend to her brother’s interest in Jane, but she was certain Miss Bingley was even less of a friend to Mr. Darcy’s attentions to her. While the woman often came to Longbourn when the gentlemen visited, she said but little and maintained a close watch on every interaction between Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth. And she never visited herself, though the Bennet sisters often visited Netherfield, and a return visit would have been nothing more than politeness.
Until, that was, one day more than two weeks after the Bingley
party’s arrival in Hertfordshire. On that day, the Bennet sisters had been at home, Elizabeth having entertained Charlotte for a time, and when the Bingley carriage arrived and Miss Bingley entered the room, it was revealed to the surprise of them all that the gentlemen had not come.
“A matter arose on the estate,” said Miss Bingley, her manner making it clear she knew little of the problem and cared less. “As Mr. Darcy and my brother rode out to investigate, I decided I should like to come to know our dear friends better. And here I am.”
As Miss Bingley had directed her words toward Jane, Elizabeth had the opportunity to look on the woman without being observed. There was a shifty look about her, one suggesting she had come for a different purpose than she had stated and was attempting to obfuscate.
For a time, the conversation was pleasant, proving Miss Bingley could behave in a friendly manner when she thought it worth her while. It was Jane who spoke for the Bennets, Elizabeth being too watchful and Mary not having much interest—Mrs. Bennet had greeted Miss Bingley and announced there were matters which needed her attention, surmising Miss Bingley saw her daughters. In this, Elizabeth was not certain Mrs. Bennet was correct; whatever Miss Bingley wished to accomplish, any of them would do.
After a time, Miss Bingley’s questions became more probing in nature and more intrusive. Jane, dear woman she was, noticed nothing, which played into Miss Bingley’s hands. Even Mary, who had not been paying attention, began to take notice of the woman’s inquiry.
“I have heard it said you have few relations, Miss Bennet,” said Miss Bingley, in what Elizabeth thought was the true thrust of her visit.
“We are not a large family, it is true,” replied Jane.
“Then you differ greatly from the Bingleys!” exclaimed Miss Bingley in what Elizabeth suspected was a false air of joviality. “There are so many of us—it is difficult to keep all our relations straight.”
“It has always been my opinion that a larger family would be a fine thing,” interjected Elizabeth. “Though I can understand the drawbacks as you describe them.”
“Yes, well, I suppose having a large family has its benefits.” The woman paused then looked back at Jane. “Are you close with your extended family?”
“To some, yes,” replied Jane. “On my father’s side, we have an aunt who lives in a distant part of England, and no other closer relations than a distant cousin from whom we have long been estranged.”
Elizabeth was gratified Jane mentioned nothing of the entail, nor of Mr. Collins’s recent disastrous visit. Though she spoke calmly, Elizabeth thought she detected a hint of reserve in her sister which exceeded that which was normally present. Perhaps Jane had learned something from the debacles surrounding Mr. Collins and Mr. Wickham.
“And your mother’s family?”
“My mother has one brother and one sister,” replied Jane. “There are others of a more distant nature, but they are too many generations removed to be deemed connections.”
“And where are their estates?”
Jane’s brow furrowed, for she was as aware as Elizabeth that Mrs. Bennet had already vouchsafed this information—or a portion of it at least—to Miss Bingley. Though she thought to speak again, Elizabeth waited to see how Jane handled the questions, for even if Miss Bingley did look down on their relations, the Bennets had never been ashamed of them.
“As I believe we have said before,” said Jane, as close to censure as she could ever bring herself to be, “my aunt is the wife of the town’s solicitor.”
“And a respectable profession it is,” replied Miss Bingley, the sneer evident in her voice. “What of your uncle?”
“Our uncle lives in London and owns a very successful business,” replied Jane.
It appeared Miss Bingley had found what she had been seeking, for her manner became abruptly cold. “A man of business, is he? In what part of London does your uncle reside?”
“On Gracechurch Street,” interjected Elizabeth, having had enough of the woman’s supercilious questions. “It is my understanding it has not been long since your father passed, has it? Perhaps he was acquainted with my uncle, for Mr. Gardiner is well known in London and possesses connections to all levels of society.”
Cold did not even begin to describe the look Miss Bingley fixed upon Elizabeth. However, she kept her composure, though Elizabeth suspected it was a near thing. The only words she spoke in response were:
“We are not connected to trade.”
The visit deteriorated from there and little more was said. Miss Bingley appeared to have little interest in speaking further with any Bennets, for she said little, and what she did say was perfunctory. For her part, Elizabeth did not care to speak to her again and, therefore, she made no effort to do so. Jane attempted to maintain the pretense of friendliness, but it appeared her efforts were in vain. After the requisite time had passed, Miss Bingley rose to go, her parting less than polite in her haste to depart.
“That was unkind, Lizzy,” said Jane when their unwelcome guest had departed.
“So were her intrusive questions and her arrogance after she learned of the Gardiners,” rejoined Elizabeth. “Please do not tell me you have been taken in by her.”
“No,” replied Jane with a sigh. “It appears she is no friend of the Bennets.”
“Nor of her brother’s interest in you, Jane,” said Mary.
Jane smiled, then turned a raised eyebrow on Elizabeth. “Nor perhaps of Mr. Darcy’s addresses to Elizabeth?”
Mary laughed. “I think that must be the greatest of her concerns, though I have seen no sign that Mr. Darcy gives her any more than the most grudging of his civility.”
“No, he does not,” said Elizabeth, not embarrassed at all by their banter. “Mr. Darcy himself has informed me he has no interest in her, not that it deters her in the slightest.”
“It does not,” replied Jane, rising to her feet. “But let us speak no further of Miss Bingley, for I would not belittle her when she is not present to defend herself.”
So saying, Jane excused herself and left the room. Elizabeth and Mary exchanged a look and laughed. “Jane is correct, I suppose,” said Elizabeth. “But there is so much material for us to use to make sport with her. It is hard to have a perfect sister, for one must always strive to live up to her example.”
Miss Bingley waylaid Darcy and Bingley as soon as they entered the house. Her actions were little removed from the truth, though had he had spoken out loud, Darcy knew some might have protested it. In fact, when they climbed the stairs, dusty from the road and still smelling of horses, the way she appeared from a side door, Darcy had the impression of highwaymen, waiting in ambush for some unwary traveler.
“You will never guess what I have just learned, Brother,” said she, her manner all triumphant.
“It is likely I will not,” said Bingley, “but I believe I should like to divest myself of these clothes before you inform me.”
“The Bennets are connected to trade!” crowed the woman, taking no heed to his words. “I have had it from Miss Bennet’s own mouth. We already knew of the country attorney,” the woman spat the words with open contempt, “but this matter of the man of business they have successfully hidden until this moment.”
Bingley eyed his sister. “Miss Bennet visited Netherfield while we were on the estate?”
“No!” cried Miss Bingley, clearly frustrated. “I paid a visit to Longbourn and was entertained, if you may call it that, by the eldest sisters.” Miss Bingley paused to titter, her dark amusement was most unpleasant. “Then again, I suppose it is correct to say I was very entertained, indeed! Imagine! An uncle actively involved in trade and not even hiding the fact. Do you know Miss Elizabeth had the temerity to suggest my father may have been known to her odious uncle?”
“What of it?” asked Bingley. “While I am sorry to disappoint you, Caroline, I could not find the Bennets any less agreeable had they tradesman uncles enough to fill all the B
ritish Isles.”
Miss Bingley glared at her brother and then turned to Darcy. “What of you, Mr. Darcy. Are you able to countenance such unsuitable connections my brother seems to welcome?”
Darcy suppressed an ungentlemanly sigh, but before he could reply, her brother interjected. “I know not Darcy’s opinion—though I can guess—but you asked me, Caroline. Why you find the Bennets’ connections distasteful, I cannot imagine, if you only remember from whence our own fortune was derived. If you think of it, we still have some relations who manage their own businesses.”
“Distant relations,” spat Miss Bingley. “Those who are closer have all disavowed all association with such improper pursuits.”
It was an overstatement—of that much Darcy was aware. Though he was not at all acquainted with Bingley’s family, Bingley had informed him of them. His immediate uncles had profited from the sale of the family business such that they were no longer active participants, but many still kept interests in certain enterprises. Miss Bingley might be aghast to know it, but Darcy himself possessed many investments, for he was well aware the future wealth of the merchant class would outstrip that which the landed families had amassed.
“Be that as it may,” replied Bingley, declining to correct her, “I see no reason why the existence of an uncle in trade should affect our friendship with the Bennets.”
“Brother,” said Miss Bingley in that tone she used when she thought he was a child who needed correcting, “for our family to rise in society, we must take great care in choosing those with whom we associate. Our friendship with Mr. Darcy has done wonders for our standing.”
The woman paused and directed a coquettish smile at Darcy, one he thought approximated an expression which might be worn by a mastiff with a stomach upset. Darcy made no response, and she turned back to her brother.