by Jann Rowland
“If I knew that,” said Arundel, “I might have some hope of curbing Lydia’s behavior. It seems to me there might be some interest in each other, perhaps some lure of the forbidden.”
“Interest?” asked Mr. Darcy, his brow furrowing in surprise. “Do you suggest there is some attraction between them?”
“It is possible there is some understated interest,” replied Arundel. “But I do not think they have been together enough for it to have developed into anything more. Mayhap, when the time comes, we should allow it to flourish if there is anything there.”
The surprise with which Mr. Darcy regarded him was enough to provoke Arundel’s amusement. “Do you suggest we encourage them to marry?”
“At present, Lydia is too young,” replied Arundel. “However, if you think about it, history is littered with conflicts resolved by means of a strategic marriage.”
“That is true,” replied Mr. Darcy. Though he was clearly thinking of the matter, he shook his head a moment later. “But you are correct—now is not the time. At present, it would be best if we stepped back and allowed the tension to ease.”
“I agree.”
“There is one more matter,” said Mr. Darcy. “That of your brother.”
“Do not concern yourself for Gardiner,” said Arundel. “He considers it his duty to be a protector to my daughters, but he is a good man. As long as we can separate our children and he does not think your son is importuning my daughter, he will desist. I shall speak with him and inform him of our resolution.”
Though Mr. Darcy stared at Arundel, wondering if his words were a slight against his son, he came to the correct conclusion. Then he stood and offered his hand, which Arundel took with only the barest hesitation.
“Then we agree.”
“It seems we do.”
With a bow, Mr. Darcy departed, leaving Bennet to his thoughts. In some ways, the conversation had been a surprise, for while the insults and ill feelings had simmered under the surface, that they had come to an agreement about their children was not an insignificant achievement.
At length, Arundel sighed and rose to his feet. Lydia, he knew, would rail against the unfairness of his instructions, for no other reason than it would curb her activities. The girl was obstinate and little enjoyed receiving instructions from anyone. It would not be an easy discussion.
No one in the family had known of Mr. Darcy’s visit to Longbourn. Thus, when Lord Arundel gathered them in the sitting-room after the fact, going so far as to summon their uncles to an impromptu meeting of the family, the surprise they all felt was unmistakable. Or at least it was in most of them—Lydia, it seemed, had taken it into her head to be angry, and with her father most of all.
“Lydia,” said he for what seemed like the tenth time, “what has been happening between you and the youngest Mr. Darcy? And before you attempt to dissemble,” warned her father as she opened her mouth to speak, “remember we have found you in his company three times now, and I know not if there have been more occasions outside of those instances of which we know.”
Lydia’s response was a mulish glare; Elizabeth shook her head, knowing the girl’s willful defiance would not serve her well, though she was too pigheaded to see it. The girl folded her arms and directed a cross glare about the room, daring any of them to ask her any further questions. When she did not respond, her father again questioned her.
“Has Mr. Darcy importuned you or has this been a willful bit of disobedience on your part?”
“Upon my word, you are eager to convict him!” cried Lydia. “There is nothing the matter with Mr. Darcy, for he has been nothing other than friendly and respectful to me.”
“That is good to hear, Lydia,” said Lord Arundel. “Of issue, however, is the tension it is creating between the families and your willful disobedience in the face of my express wishes. What have you to say for yourself?”
“There would not be any tension between us if we all let go of this ridiculous dispute.”
“You may be correct,” said Lord Arundel, his voice rising in sharpness. “At present, however, the situation is what it is. I can foresee a hint of softening in our relations, Lydia, but these things take time. Your intractable insistence on pushing matters will only make it worse—you must see this!”
Though it was clear to see Lydia wished to protest further, she remained silent, her mouth a thin, straight line of displeasure. When her father realized she would not speak again, he sighed and shook his head.
“Though I must wonder if you are hearing anything I say, I must repeat myself, it seems. From this point forward, you will not speak with Mr. Darcy again, is that clear?”
Lydia did not reply, keeping her silence. “I said, am I clear?”
“Of course, Papa,” said Lydia in a simpering voice laced with disdain. “I shall sharpen my sword and run it through Mr. Darcy’s black and shriveled heart should he have the temerity to glance at me again.”
“That is enough!”
The thundered voice was unlike her father, for Lord Arundel did not often raise it to that extent. One might be excused in thinking it would cow a young girl of Lydia’s age, but it did not affect her defiant glare or posture in the slightest. It was worth noting, however, that she did not contradict him again, though Elizabeth had no expectation of the girl’s compliance.
“I will have your obedience, Lydia,” continued Lord Arundel. “Willing or no. It occurs to me that we have been a little lax in monitoring your activities of late. You are not yet seventeen, and while you might not credit it at present, you are not yet out.”
Lydia shot to her feet, her fury a living entity. “Then you will confine me to my room, bar me from society and anything in which I find pleasure?”
“If you behave like a child, then you shall be treated so!” rejoined Lord Arundel, rising to his feet to face his daughter. “The decision is yours, Lydia. You may behave yourself or I will curtail your activities until you do. At present, I require you to tend to your studies to prepare for your eventual coming out and keep your distance from Alexander Darcy. Can I trust your compliance? If so, there is no need to further restrict you. Know that I will if I must.”
“It seems I have little choice,” spat Lydia. Then she turned and stalked from the room, her voice floating back to them, an acidic: “If anyone wishes to see me, I shall be in my room studying to become an accomplished woman.”
The remaining family glanced at each other, stunned at the confrontation, while Lord Arundel sank again into his chair, resting his head in his hand. “That child will be the death of me,” muttered he, though his words were audible to everyone in the room.
“There, there, Husband,” said Lady Margaret, patting his hand. “She is an intractable child but I dare say it shall turn out well. I shall be certain to give her more of my attention and guidance, and I dare say we shall curb this recklessness which has crept into her character.”
Lord Arundel responded to his wife in like fashion before turning his attention to Mr. Gardiner, who had watched the bit of drama, impassive to what was occurring before him. Upon realizing his brother was watching him, Mr. Gardiner, unconcerned, raised an eyebrow.
“It is time for you to pull back, Brother,” said Lord Arundel.
“Do you truly suppose you have clipped Lydia’s wings?”
“No, I do not suppose it. But I also do not believe that this insanity between Lydia and the youngest Mr. Darcy to be his fault alone. It seems my daughter has had an active part in it.”
“And that is the problem,” replied Mr. Gardiner. “I have every confidence Mr. Darcy wishes to settle the rising tensions and commend him for it. The son, however, is a bird of another feather, and Lydia’s imprudence is a match for his.”
Lord Arundel fixed a steady look on his brother. “Do you suspect something more than we know?”
“I am uncertain. It seems likely they have met more often than the three occasions which have caused all the commotion, but for what purpos
e I cannot divine. Yes, I agree we should endeavor to ensure the situation does not worsen. Letting down my guard, however, would be unwise at present. I shall continue to practice vigilance.”
“That would be for the best,” replied Lord Arundel. “I shall do the same. But tread lightly. Let us allow the tension between our houses to dissipate before something worse erupts between us.”
By the time his father had returned to Pemberley, not only had Alexander arrived, his hair sticking every which way out from his head, his mount blowing as if he had been riding it hard, but Fitzwilliam had also returned. Regardless of his father’s edict to them all to avoid the Bennets, he had not required Fitzwilliam to leave Pemberley, not that Darcy had expected he would. Fitzwilliam had been largely silent and watchful when among them since that day, but Darcy did not miss the hint of sardonic amusement with which he regarded them—in particular, the revelation of Alexander’s continued interest in Miss Lydia.
“Well, Alexander,” said Fitzwilliam upon seeing Alexander stride into the house, “it seems you have kicked the hornet’s nest.”
“Enough, Cousin,” said Alexander. “I have little desire to hear about how imprudent I have been from you too.”
“On the contrary,” said Fitzwilliam, “I have no such purpose. In fact, if you are as tired of this situation as I have become, you are to be commended.” Fitzwilliam’s eyes caught Darcy’s and he added: “It seems to me the younger generation have become more aware of the silliness of what is happening than their elders can see.”
Curious though he was why his cousin would look at him, Darcy was distracted when Fitzwilliam laughed and added: “When I was returning from Lucas Manor, I chanced to come upon Mr. Gardiner and our lovely cousin, Anne, speaking in the street. There seemed to be little discord between them, I might add, for they were speaking with perfect civility.”
Darcy shot a glance toward the sitting-room, where he knew his aunt and cousin were visiting with his sister, and turned back to Fitzwilliam. “It may be best to refrain from speaking of such subjects, for it would not do to alert Lady Catherine to her daughter’s actions.”
“Had I any notion her mother’s displeasure would affect Anne in any way I might agree. Our Anne, however, has grown something of independence, though I suspect she always possessed it, carefully hidden from her mother.”
“You may be correct,” replied Darcy. “But let us refrain from adding to the discord swirling about us.
Fitzwilliam gazed at Darcy, making him feel uncomfortable. “Yes, Cousin, it would be best to avoid further dispute, for we would not wish to become the focus of such dissension, now would we?”
The frown Darcy leveled at his cousin did not alter his expression a jot, and for a moment Darcy wondered if he was speaking of something specific. The memory of the initial days of his interest in Elizabeth arose in his mind, and he recalled some pointed remarks Fitzwilliam had made to him. Had he somehow discovered Darcy’s secret?
“Do not concern yourself for me,” said Alexander, breaking the tension between cousins. “As I have said, I have heard it from you all and prefer not to hear it any further. If you will excuse me, I believe I shall return to my room and change.”
“One moment, Son.”
The sound of their father’s voice drew the brothers’ attention, turning them as one to see him framed in the doorway. Fitzwilliam seemed already to know of his uncle’s presence, for he betrayed no surprise at seeing him there.
As their father advanced, Darcy could hear his brother mutter, “Oh, Lord!” under his breath. Darcy fixed him with a glare, which he ignored, while Fitzwilliam snorted his amusement. Their father, it seemed, had not heard.
“I have just come from Longbourn.”
The announcement caught both Alexander and Fitzwilliam’s attention, though in different ways. Fitzwilliam appeared interested while Alexander was hopeful; Darcy, who had known of the visit made no response.
“It seems Lord Arundel suspects my son of ulterior motives. When considering the matter from his perspective, I cannot blame him.”
“There is nothing for you or his lordship to concern yourselves,” replied Alexander in a manner at once dismissive and careless. “I am only having a bit of fun, and I know Miss Bennet is the same.”
“And that is why we must concern ourselves,” retorted Mr. Darcy, glaring at his younger son. “In case you have forgotten, I shall remind you that Miss Lydia is the daughter of a baron; it would be unwise to behave toward her with anything other than the utmost in propriety. This cavalier attitude of yours must cease.”
“I assure you, Father,” replied Alexander, his manner everything serious, “that I have never treated her so.”
Mr. Darcy nodded, though he was not finished issuing instructions. “Though I am loath to give up your company, I think it would be best if you were to go to Thorndell for a time to allow tempers to cool.”
“You wish me to go to Thorndell?” Alexander’s response was not what Darcy might have expected. In fact, he had thought his brother would become irate at being banished once again to his estate. However, Alexander seemed more thoughtful and curious than anything else.
“I do not wish you to leave at all,” repeated their father. “For the good of us all, however, I believe that it would be best if you did.”
When Alexander did not respond at once, Mr. Darcy continued, saying: “I have achieved a détente with the baron, but at present, it is new and will not continue if you are caught found in the girl’s company. If we are ever to have peace with the Bennet family, we must take slow steps, learn to trust each other. That cannot happen if you continue to importune the baron’s youngest daughter, and that is why I believe it is best you depart.”
“Must it be my fault, Father?” asked Alexander.
“No, I would not accuse you of it. It seems to me the girl has been a willing conspirator in your recent meetings.” Mr. Darcy paused and eyed his son. “Tell me, Alexander, Mr. Gardiner has seen you speaking with Miss Lydia in Lambton twice, besides the infamous dance at Lucas Manor. Have you met with the girl on other occasions?”
“Would it matter if I had?” asked Alexander.
For a moment his father watched him, and Darcy thought he might pursue the subject further, but he seemed to decide Alexander was in the right. He shook his head.
“Perhaps it does not matter. Whatever has happened between you, however, must stop now. Will you go to Thorndell as I ask?”
“I shall accompany you,” added Darcy, drawing his brother’s gaze to himself. “If only to acquaint you with matters at the estate and help you settle in.”
“Do you mean to be my minder?” Alexander’s tone was unfriendly.
“Is a minder necessary?” asked Darcy, his pointed glare falling on his brother.
“No, it is not.”
“That is well, for I am not your guardian.”
“Very well,” said Alexander, his manner everything that was short. “Now, if you will allow it, I shall return to my rooms.”
Without waiting for an answer, Alexander turned and bounded up the stairs three at a time, eager to leave them behind. A moment later, they heard his door closing behind him. Though Darcy would not accuse his brother of childish behavior, he might have thought he would have closed the door with more force.
“What do you think of his reaction?” asked Mr. Darcy, turning back to his remaining son.
“It is obvious he little likes being directed,” deflected Darcy. In truth, he had no notion of his brother’s thoughts at the moment.
“Your sons are obdurate, Uncle,” said Fitzwilliam.
“While I rejoice that I have raised confident men,” replied Darcy’s father, “at this moment, I would prefer more tractability.” Then he turned to Darcy. “Please watch out for your brother. If he can settle in at Thorndell for even a month or two, that would improve the situation.”
With those words, his father turned to depart. Darcy could not consider the matter a
ny further, for his cousin’s teasing made itself known.
“Yes, Darcy,” said Fitzwilliam, the mocking in his voice easy to hear, “you had best watch your brother, for he might do something rash if left to his own devices.”
Before Darcy could call his cousin on his words, Fitzwilliam turned and departed, leaving Darcy wondering as to his meaning. It was becoming clear Fitzwilliam suspected him at the very least. Though the thought of not seeing Elizabeth at all did not sit well with him, perhaps going to Thorndell was best.
Chapter XXVI
Much though Darcy had always considered Lambton to be one of the most charming towns in existence, that morning he saw none of it. The hour was still early and the streets bare of traffic which would appear at a later hour, but as he was scheduled to depart with his brother for Thorndell in only an hour, there was no help for it. Making his way down the narrow cobbled street on Zeus, Darcy ignored the shopkeepers readying their wares for the day’s business in favor of his destination, the church.
The building, situated on the center of Lambton’s central hill, stood on one of the only flat places in the town not far from the smithy and the green where the town gathered for festivals and other amusements. It was a beautiful, large building, able to accommodate those of the neighborhood, the white boards comprising its walls gleaming bright and pure in the morning sun.
Upon catching sight of the church, Darcy reined his horse to a stop, wondering how to proceed. Though it was true he had spoken to Mrs. Gardiner on several occasions, those meetings had always been by chance—never by design. Speaking with the woman did not concern Darcy, but he wished to avoid any notice of his actions.
Luck, it appeared, was with Darcy that morning, for the woman herself stepped from the cottage situated just a short distance away and walked toward the church. Taking it as a sign he should proceed and with a mutter of appreciation, Darcy dismounted and tied Zeus to a nearby post. Then he stepped forward, knowing there was little time to accomplish what he must.