by Jann Rowland
Darcy could see the suspicion in his cousin’s set jaw, though his countenance was obscured in the night’s gloom. In Darcy’s mind, all appeared to be well, and he was grateful that Mrs. Younge had taken it on herself to ensure the safety of his sister. Unable to rest, however, until he checked on her, Darcy excused himself, leaving Mrs. Younge to Fitzwilliam.
Careful he did not make a sound, Darcy stepped into the sitting-room attached to Georgiana’s rooms and then hurried to the door to her bedchamber. Upon easing it open, Darcy stepped into the room, noting the light through the window from a nearby lantern. The soft sound of his sister’s breathing reached his ears, and Darcy followed the sound, stepping close and looking down into her face. Georgiana was deep in repose, her mouth slightly open, her breathing deep and even. Nothing had disturbed her sleep, not even a hint of whatever dreams she was seeing.
Relief swept through Darcy, weakening his knees and allowing his shoulders to slump. Tense and concerned the entirety of the ride, Darcy’s shoulders now felt stiff and the cramps in his legs pained him enough to cause a groan. A sense of exhaustion swept through him, rendering him drained and eager to seek his bed.
With a final look at his sister, Darcy turned and departed, careful to close the door without disturbing her. Fitzwilliam had retrieved a candle from a nearby table, which ow illuminated the hall outside the room, giving him a better sense of Mrs. Younge’s dishabille and Fitzwilliam’s stance, which was still wary, but now more relaxed as Darcy’s had become.
“I trust Miss Darcy is still well?” asked Mrs. Younge.
“She is, I thank you, Mrs. Younge. Your care of your charge has been exemplary, as usual.”
Mrs. Younge inclined her head. “It is no trouble, Mr. Darcy. I have grown fond of Miss Darcy since I came to your employment—if a short nighttime stroll will ensure her safety, I am more than happy to do it.”
Darcy nodded, already considering what must now be done. Given the uncertainty of the situation and the unpredictability Wickham had shown of late, there was no choice.
“Tomorrow, I shall return to Hertfordshire, and this time, I mean to take Miss Darcy with me, Mrs. Younge. I understand the difficulty this will cause, given the lateness of the hour, but I wish to leave by no later than nine. Can you ensure everything is prepared?”
“I will see to it.” The woman paused, as if considering her next words, and when she spoke, it was with a wealth of deference. “Excuse me, Mr. Darcy, but may I ask if there is anything amiss?”
“Mr. Wickham was seen in Hertfordshire yesterday,” said Darcy, deciding there was no reason to keep Mrs. Younge ignorant of the matter. “While we have discovered the lair he was using while he was in the district, there is some question as to his plans and some suggestion he might attempt to get to Georgiana again. I feel much better now I am on hand to protect her, and I mean to keep her with me for the foreseeable future.”
Mrs. Younge nodded. “One would think he would desist since he was so spectacularly unsuccessful the first time he made the attempt.”
“That would be a reasonable assumption,” replied Fitzwilliam, “if we were not speaking of George Wickham. His arrogance and misplaced confidence in his own abilities are such that he would think he could enter at a time of his choosing and spirit her out from under our noses.”
The look Mrs. Younge gave Fitzwilliam was devoid of emotion. “A dangerous man, then.”
“Only if you turn your back to him, Mrs. Younge.”
There was some undercurrent of the conversation that Darcy could not quite capture, though he wondered at it. But the night was late, and he longed for his bed. Perhaps he could induce Fitzwilliam to be explicit later.
“You had best retire, Mrs. Younge,” said Darcy.
“That would be best, Mr. Darcy. I wish you a good night.”
The companion curtseyed and turned to make her way back to her room, her footsteps soon ceasing altogether as the door closed behind her. When she was gone, Darcy turned an arched brow on his cousin, noting Fitzwilliam’s pensive gaze down the hall.
“What is it, Cousin?” asked Darcy.
Fitzwilliam started as if he had forgotten Darcy’s presence. “It is nothing, Darcy,” said Fitzwilliam, regaining his wits in an instant. “I believe your suggestion that we retire is for the best. I am eager to turn in after our long ride.”
Though Fitzwilliam attempted to move away toward his usual room, Darcy reached out a hand to grasp his arm. “What were you saying to Mrs. Younge?”
“Nothing in particular,” said Fitzwilliam with an insouciant shrug. “I questioned her to see if she had any more information, any odd happenings of late. However, it seems London has been dull, for there has been nothing but lessons and visits with my mother.”
For a moment Darcy was uncertain if his cousin was telling the truth or prevaricating. Then a wave of exhaustion once again swept over him and turned his thoughts to his bedchamber. Should Fitzwilliam deem there was something of importance he needed to know, Darcy was certain he would do so at the earliest opportunity. As such, he wished his cousin a good night and made his way to his room.
Chapter XXXI
Mr. Bingley’s visit the following morning carried an eerie similarity to a visit to Netherfield only a few days before. Both imparted news of the sudden departure of a member of their party, and while Mr. Bingley did not mean to sow confusion and doubt as his sister had, it was still a matter of some concern. Elizabeth had not considered the possibility of Mr. Wickham making another attempt on Miss Darcy, and the thought sent a chilling sensation through her
“Do not concern yourself, Miss Elizabeth,” said Bingley when he saw her worry. “There is no doubt in my mind that Darcy and his cousin will head off whatever Wickham plans. We expect them to return this afternoon with Miss Darcy in tow, for Darcy will not wish to allow her out of his sight until Wickham is no longer a threat.”
“What a wicked man this Mr. Wickham is!” exclaimed Mrs. Bennet. Had Elizabeth not possessed the memories of her mother’s former behavior, she might have termed her mother’s tone a wail. “It is difficult to fathom how such a man can exist! And Mr. Darcy, who was raised in the same house, is everything gentlemanly and obliging. How can a man as evil as Mr. Wickham be worked upon?”
“I do not believe there is anything left to work upon,” replied Mr. Bingley, his manner colder than Elizabeth could ever remember from the genial gentleman. “When we capture him, the best he can hope for is prison or Botany Bay. In my opinion, the gallows might be best for him.”
“Well, I wish Mr. Darcy well,” said Mrs. Bennet. “When he returns to Hertfordshire, you must inform him that he is welcome to bring his sister to meet us whenever convenient. It would please my girls to make her acquaintance.”
“Believe me, Mrs. Bennet,” said Mr. Bingley, though he directed a sly glance at Elizabeth, “I suspect no such admonition is needed.”
Mrs. Bennet did not miss his glance, nor did Elizabeth, though she thought she weathered it well without a hint of embarrassment. Given the reports of the young woman, Elizabeth was very much anticipating making her acquaintance.
“The crux of this matter,” said Mr. Bennet, “is that Wickham is a danger—we are all now well aware of the threat he poses. Thus, we must not allow him the opportunity to make his move, if that is what he plans. We must continue to ensure there is no walking the paths of the estate, no walks to Meryton, or even to Lucas Lodge until he is brought to justice.”
“For my part,” said Elizabeth, knowing her father’s words were directed toward her, “I am eager to avoid being Mr. Wickham’s target again. You need not fear I will disobey.”
“Thank you, Lizzy,” said Mr. Bennet. “I appreciate your willingness to restrain yourself, and those hairs on my head which will not turn prematurely grey thank you also.”
The company laughed, and the subject of Mr. Wickham for other matters. By other matters what happened was that Mr. Bingley fo
cused all his attention on Jane as was his custom, and only a few comments from anyone else were enough to capture his attention. Elizabeth watched this all with interest and appreciation, for Jane, she knew, would attain her happiness with a man she esteemed. Elizabeth was not the only one to recognize this.
“Jane has had a time of it, has she not?”
Elizabeth turned to Mary, who had spoken, and grinned. “I suppose she has. After the insincere flattery and utter wickedness of Mr. Wickham and the silliness of Mr. Collins, I would not have expected her to find another man with so little trouble. Then again, she is Jane and has been the focus of attention since she was fifteen. I suppose sooner or later one of them must prove himself acceptable.”
The two girls laughed together. “The odds must eventually be in her favor!” said Mary. “Heaven knows she has had the other kind in abundance, even before Mr. Wickham came to bedevil us. Do you not recall that young man who wrote poetry to her while she stayed with Aunt and Uncle Gardiner?”
“Ghastly verse it was, too!” exclaimed Elizabeth. “But it was no worse than some of the antics men of the neighborhood used to capture her attention.”
“Perhaps there is a disadvantage to having a respectable dowry,” said Mary, seeming introspective.
“Oh, aye, there most certainly is,” said Elizabeth. “A dowry gives a woman a measure of freedom to be sure, but there are always those who value the money more than the woman. A union with such a man cannot be agreeable.”
“I dare say that those in society who are more concerned with pecuniary advantages far outnumber those who do not.”
“I cannot say you are incorrect. Fortunately, though you and I will have a little money, we shall not be wealthy enough to attract the Mr. Wickhams of the world.”
Mary grinned with delight. “There are many in society who would consider us witless to suggest that the lack of thirty thousand pounds is anything other than a punishment.”
“Thou shalt not covet,” quoted Elizabeth. “I find myself content with my lot.”
“That is no surprise, considering Mr. Darcy will return and propose within a few days. I have heard it said that he is a very wealthy man.”
“So I understand. But I honor the man, not the position.”
“He is a good man, Lizzy. I only hope I am as fortunate to gain the love of a good man, no matter what his place in society.”
With those final words, Mary excused herself, and soon the sound of the pianoforte rose throughout the house, the music practiced by a skillful hand. As the morning progressed, Elizabeth watched Mr. Bingley with Jane, reveled in every word and gesture which passed between them, and contented herself with the knowledge of Jane’s good fortune. The first steps of the family’s future were being taken in the company of this good man, and Elizabeth anticipated many more to come.
When the gentleman departed, citing the expected return of Mr. Darcy to Hertfordshire, Mrs. Bennet excused herself to go to her room for a rest. As their father had taken himself to his library, Elizabeth and Jane were left alone in the sitting-room. It was their wont, in times such as these, to discuss the morning’s events. On this occasion, their conversation turned more to their expectations and hopes for the future.
“Mr. Bingley is attentive to you, Jane,” observed Elizabeth, intending no hint of a tease.
“As Mr. Darcy is to you,” replied Jane.
“Perhaps he is. So, tell me—do you think he will propose soon?”
Jane blushed and looked down at her hands. “Would I surprise you if said I hope he will?”
“That would not surprise me in the slightest,” said Elizabeth. “But do you think his addresses are imminent?”
“I cannot say,” said Jane. “He has left me in no doubt of his affection, but I cannot say when he will feel our connection is strong enough to propose.” Jane paused and turned a questing eye on Elizabeth. “What of you, Lizzy? When shall Mr. Darcy propose to you?”
“It is my opinion he might already have done so had this situation with Mr. Wickham not arisen again.”
Jane gasped. “Mr. Darcy tried to propose?”
“No, he has not been interrupted. The morning I met Mr. Wickham, Mr. Darcy had arranged to meet me, and while he did not say outright, he inferred enough to suggest that he intended to.”
“Then it seems like you are further along than Mr. Bingley and I.”
“That is not surprising,” said Elizabeth. “If you recall, when Mr. Bingley came, you were still recovering from your experiences with Mr. Wickham and Mr. Collins.”
A slow nod was Jane’s response. “That is true. At first, though I knew I liked him, I did not know if it was wise to give him my heart.”
It was Elizabeth’s turn to laugh. “And yet, he has been here only a month and already you expect his addresses. I always thought several months were necessary to know a man well enough to accept him, and yet here we are, in love and wishing to marry the men who have captured our attention. What a strange time this has been!”
“But I would not change it for the world, Lizzy—even those experiences with Mr. Wickham and Mr. Collins. For had I not had them, I might not have known a good man from the bad—I may not have been as open in my regard as I have been.”
Elizabeth smiled, rose, and kissed her sister on the forehead. “That is the optimistic Jane with whom I am intimately familiar. Being able to see the good in all situations is an estimable skill, Jane. I have every confidence in your eventual happiness with your Mr. Bingley.”
“As I am in you with your Mr. Darcy.”
“Then we shall be content.”
With one last smile, Elizabeth excused herself to return to her room. There, she indulged in a brief rest, replete with memories of Mr. Darcy, allowing her imagination to run wild thinking of what the future might hold for them.
It was early afternoon before Darcy and his party arrived back at Netherfield, and given the travel he had undertaken recently, Darcy was eager to stay for a time with his friend, paying attention to his beloved. Mrs. Younge was a godsend, for she had managed the disposition of Georgiana’s trunks with such a level of efficiency that they had been ready to depart a half hour before the designated time. Furthermore, she had not seemed at all fatigued by her early and busy morning, for she was awake and alert the entirety of their journey, though Georgiana indulged in a nap.
Conversation, however, was sparse among the travelers. Fitzwilliam sat gazing out the window at the passing scenery, and while Darcy might not have credited the possibility, it seemed his cousin was out of sorts. What might have caused him to descend to this state, Darcy could not say, and his conversations that morning with his cousin had revealed nothing, though Darcy knew Fitzwilliam had met with those he had set to searching for Wickham, leaving them with instructions.
“What is it, Fitzwilliam?” Darcy had asked when his cousin had returned less than a half hour after leaving the house. “Is there some word of Wickham?”
The sour look Fitzwilliam turned on him gave the lie to that supposition. “No, he remains as slippery as ever. While I suspect he is in town now, once he learns of our departure, I expect he will follow us to Hertfordshire.”
“I suspect you are correct,” said Darcy with a tight nod. “Then what instructions did you give? Do you hope to leave men in wait and capture him when he follows us?”
“That is a good notion,” replied Fitzwilliam. “I have arranged it, but I suspect Wickham will be too canny to be taken in by such stratagems. When will your contingent from Pemberley arrive in Hertfordshire?”
“If they depart soon after my express reaches them, perhaps tomorrow or the next day.”
Fitzwilliam nodded, though appearing distracted. “We may have need of them, so I hope they will make good time. You mean to station them at Longbourn?”
“There are servants enough at Netherfield to ensure Georgiana and the Bingley sisters’ safety without augmenting the staff, and that do
es not even count Thompson, who will travel with us. At Longbourn, there are only two footmen, two stable hands, and the butler. An infusion of extra manservants will boost security and make me feel much better. I have already dispatched a man to Kent, as per our conversation from last night.”
A grunt was Fitzwilliam’s response. When he did not speak again, Darcy fixed him with a level look, wondering at how far he might push his cousin. Gregarious and open he may be, but when he decided to close himself off, he became difficult to read.
“Do you expect something, Fitzwilliam? It seems to me you have been out of sorts since our arrival last night.”
“There is nothing the matter with me,” replied Fitzwilliam. “I am only considering the tangled web we are attempting to unravel. Should Wickham strike—and I am convinced he will—we must consider every angle to frustrate his designs.”
Something informed Darcy that Fitzwilliam was not telling him everything, but as he had no proof and their departure was looming, he allowed it to rest for the moment. Several times during their journey, Darcy thought to speak to Fitzwilliam again, but something stayed him. Trust was something he possessed to excess for Fitzwilliam, so he allowed his cousin to keep his thoughts to himself.
As the manor arose in the distance, Georgiana, seated as she was with Mrs. Younge on the rear-facing bench, turned to catch a glimpse of it. “Oh, Netherfield is quite a pretty estate, William!”
“I believe you will find the house to be rather unlovely on the outside,” said Darcy. “But it is situated in a pleasing location with groves about and a pretty garden to the rear, though it is not what it would be in the summer.”
“How far distant is the estate of your lady?”
A laugh by his side alerted Darcy to Fitzwilliam’s return to his jovial self—or at least an echo of it. Intent upon ignoring his cousin, though he was feeling rather amused himself at Georgiana’s eagerness, he did nothing more than respond.