Coincidence

by Jann Rowland

  On a particular morning, the Bennet sisters left their townhouse in company with Mr. Darcy and his family and friends, with nothing more in mind than a leisurely stroll through the city. Kitty and Lydia were friendly with Georgiana, so they were willing to participate, though otherwise they might have called a walk a tedious waste of time. The fact that they were to visit the shopping district through the course of the morning might have improved their opinion of the proposed outing. They took the lead, walking with Miss Darcy and Mary, who had become more comfortable with each other in previous days.

  At least, Elizabeth mused, they were not demanding to go and visit with Mrs. Forster that day. Though Elizabeth and Jane had accompanied them thither on several occasions, they seemed to have finally understood that it would not be a frequent occurrence, and with all the other activities in which they indulged, Elizabeth did not think they truly repined the loss of the officers. Wickham had been present on one occasion when they had visited, but he had stayed away, contenting himself with the society of the other officers. Elizabeth had witnessed several looks between Mr. Wickham and Lydia, but as they made no move to attempt to exchange confidences, she had allowed the matter to rest.

  “You seem distracted by something, Miss Bennet.”

  Elizabeth turned a smile on her escort, something which had been becoming easier to do by the day. “I was just reflecting on how the younger girls seem to have taken to each other, though recently I think I have seen in Georgiana, a preference for Mary’s company, rather than Kitty and Lydia’s.”

  Turning his eyes to regard their younger sisters, Darcy said: “You may be right. Though Georgiana has not said much to me, I know she enjoys their company. I am also aware that she finds them to be a little overwhelming at times."

  A roll of Elizabeth’s eyes met Mr. Darcy’s statement. “I find their company overwhelming at times, Mr. Darcy.”

  A chuckle issued forth from his lips. “But Miss Mary has some interests in common with Georgiana, particularly their love for the pianoforte.”

  “But their level of talent cannot be in any way compared.”

  “I am not certain it is a matter of talent,” replied Mr. Darcy, “so much as instruction. Your sister has never had the benefit of masters, though she plays competently enough for her level of training. Georgiana has had nothing less than the best, in that regard.”

  Absently, Elizabeth regarded her younger sister. “Mary is a good sort of girl. Her penchant for Fordyce sometimes puts people off her. I am thankful for my father’s insistence that she leave Fordyce at home on this holiday.”

  They laughed together. “He did?”

  “Oh, yes,” replied Elizabeth. “He told her she was going to enjoy herself, not get caught up in musty tomes with outdated suggestions of morality and the proper behavior of women.

  “If we could convince her to take greater care of her appearance, I think she would surprise others with how pretty she is, but she insists on her severe manner of dress, and it detracts from her appearance. She rarely is asked to dance, which reinforces the opinion she has heard all her life.”

  Though Elizabeth did not mention that it was often her mother’s lamentations which led Mary to this belief, it was clear that Mr. Darcy understood her meaning. She could not quite tell what he was thinking, but she did notice that his eyes rested on Mary in deep contemplation for some time.

  “It must have been interesting, being raised in a house with naught but young girls,” said Mr. Darcy at length.

  “It was,” said Elizabeth, laughing at the many recollections which were brought to her mind. “You cannot imagine it, Mr. Darcy; laughter and enjoyment are certainly a part of it, as sisters can be the closest of friends. But we have our share of spats and disagreements, and they were sometimes loud, indeed.”

  “I believe I understand. I have nothing but respect for your father, for surely it takes a special man to withstand such constant clamor in his house.”

  “And that is to say nothing of giggling, talk of lace and other finery, and a dearth of conversation about any subjects which a man would find interesting.”

  “But I sense you would not give up your childhood experiences easily.”

  Elizabeth shrugged. “I cannot imagine any other life than what I have lived. My younger sisters are a trial at times, I confess, but they are still my sisters. We are all a product of our upbringing.”

  Mr. Darcy did not say anything to that. Elizabeth peered at him with curiosity. “I assume that your upbringing was quite different? Your station is, of course, different, as you count members of the peerage as close connections. But given how you only have one sibling, it seems you must have a much different story to tell.”

  “You must recall, Miss Elizabeth,” said Mr. Darcy, “that not only do I have only one sibling, but for the first twelve years of my life, I was the only child. Fitzwilliam and . . . Wickham were close, though it was not long before I began to see Wickham as he was. But I had no siblings, and as such, I was the sole focus of my parents, whom I loved dearly.”

  “Did you resent Georgiana when she was born?” asked Elizabeth with open curiosity.

  “At first, I confess I might have taken it into my head to do so,” said Mr. Darcy. “But it was not long before the protective instinct of a much older brother gained sway, and she became my beloved younger sister.

  “We are all protective of her, Miss Elizabeth. She is the youngest of us, both of my family and my uncle’s family.”

  “Have you no other close family?” asked Elizabeth.

  “It is just Georgiana and myself, Miss Elizabeth. The Darcy family has never been large, but in recent years it has dwindled to just we two. The closest relations we have on the Darcy side are several generations distant, with whom I share only a passing acquaintance.”

  For an instant, her old opinion concerning Mr. Darcy reared its head and Elizabeth wondered if they were not close due to their not being high enough for the family any longer. The uncharitable thought angered Elizabeth, as she was truly attempting to overcome her previous prejudice for this man.

  “I am certain you must have some interesting tales to tell of your youth,” said Elizabeth, attempting to cover up her sudden thought. “Your cousin in particular strikes me as a man who would have been a terror as a child.”

  It was gratifying that Mr. Darcy laughed; Elizabeth was certain he had missed her brief internal discomposure. “It seems like you truly have the measure of my cousin, Miss Bennet. Though we were not together always, due to my uncle’s estate being some distance away, whenever we were together, we were in much trouble, all at his instigation, of course.”

  Elizabeth returned his laugh. “Perhaps Colonel Fitzwilliam’s account might be different?”

  “Perhaps,” replied Mr. Darcy, amusement shining in his eyes. “But I am far more trustworthy than Fitzwilliam.”

  Elizabeth laughed along with Mr. Darcy, delighted that he was being so open. “Then you have my full attention, Mr. Darcy. I would dearly love to hear what mischief two young boys might have indulged in.”

  “If I am to do so, I must insist upon being obliged in return. I cannot imagine that a young Elizabeth Bennet did not find her own share of mischief.”

  “I can neither confirm nor deny such an accusation. But I might be induced to do so if you share your adventures with me.”

  And so, Mr. Darcy did, and throughout the entirety of their walk, they stayed deep in conversation, hardly noticing when the others left them to their own devices and entered the shops in the shopping district. Elizabeth learned much of Mr. Darcy that day, and to her delight, she found that the man was open and engaging, his words interesting, and yet he maintained propriety and showed his respect for her with every word and action.

  Their interactions did not go unnoticed, Elizabeth supposed, but she found that she did not have anything to regret. It was not as if Mr. Darcy’s attentions were a secret, after all.

  Elizabeth Bennet and Fitzwilli
am Darcy were not the only courting couple on the streets of Brighton that day. As a point of fact, it was the other courting couple—the acknowledged couple—that was more likely to draw attention. Jane Bennet did not particularly like the attention, but in some respects, she did not mind it. For one, there was less chance of Mr. Bingley once again taking himself away without a word when there were many eyes watching.

  That was not the best reason to continue a courtship, Jane knew, but she was relieved to know that if matters did not proceed as she wished, it would not be the man’s sisters convincing him in not to pursue her.

  Jane had attempted to rein in her feelings and hopes. The problem was that Mr. Bingley was just as good and happy as she remembered him, and it was impossible to avoid being charmed by him all over again. He was, in a word, the perfect match for her—a better match she could not find if she searched for a thousand years.

  “Do you wish to enter the haberdashery?” asked Mr. Bingley as they walked past the shop in question.

  The enthusiastic squeal from her youngest sister informed them both that Lydia had seen the shop, and, dragging her sister and Georgiana along behind, Lydia went inside, chattering as she went. Though this further evidence of her sister’s lack of restraint should, perhaps, have embarrassed Jane all over again, she only smiled indulgently after the girls. Mr. Bingley, she knew, found their exuberance charming, and though Lydia was still much as she had ever been, at least she had been reined in to a certain extent by her father’s insistence on better behavior while in Brighton. Jane could only hope it lasted, though she knew better than to expect it.

  “I have no need to go inside,” replied Jane.

  Though it was clear Mr. Bingley agreed with her, he looked about in seeming caution, and Jane immediately understood. Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth were caught up in their own world, standing and laughing together, and Colonel Fitzwilliam and Miss de Bourgh—though they likely thought they were being discrete—were not much better.

  “Mary has followed and will watch over them, Mr. Bingley,” said Jane, favoring him with a soft smile. “We will all be nearby, so I do not think there is anything to worry about.”

  Gesturing to a nearby bench, Jane said: “Shall we not sit and talk for a few moments?”

  His eyes darted to the bench and he seemed to become suddenly nervous, but Mr. Bingley agreed readily enough. He escorted her there and sat her on the bench, taking the seat beside her after some hesitation. His behavior had been similar ever since their coming to Brighton; he seemed to be afraid of making a mistake, certain that she would turn him away if he put so much as one foot out of line.

  “You wished to speak?” asked Mr. Bingley once they had settled. Jane could see the nervous energy in his countenance, and the bouncing of one leg. His hands were situated on his knees, but Jane could see how he pinched at the fabric, twisting it here and there, as if unable to control himself.

  “I did, Mr. Bingley,” said Jane. “I . . .”

  Jane paused. It was not in her nature to begin a discussion like this. She was the quiet, watchful sister, the proper sister who did not put herself forward. But she knew that Mr. Bingley would not broach this subject, and it seemed they would soon find themselves at an impasse if she did not speak up. So she did.

  “I only wished to inform you how much I have enjoyed these days in Brighton.”

  The bouncing of his leg stilled, and Mr. Bingley turned a surprised look on her. “You have?”

  “Yes,” replied Jane. “I took pleasure in our interactions in Hertfordshire last autumn, but there has been something . . . I am not sure I can explain, but it’s been better in Brighton—more . . . substantial.”

  It was unfortunate that Mr. Bingley latched onto her first words, seeming to completely miss what she had said after. “I cannot apologize enough for my behavior, Miss Bennet. I know it was completely wrong of me, and I wish that I could make it up to you. I swear to you that I will never, ever behave in such a manner again; you will always be my priority, I promise you, until the end of our days, I hope.”

  “I know, Mr. Bingley.”

  Her quiet statement, interrupting Mr. Bingley, silenced his rambling, and he looked at her through wide eyes, his mouth open in apparent stupefaction.”

  “You know?” managed he, though his words cracked, as if spoken through a dry throat.

  “I do.” Jane smiled at him, willing him to see the depths of her feelings in her eyes. A slow smile spread over his face. “Do you think I did not know your willingness to make amends, or the way you protected my family from your sister when she appeared? Have I been insensible to the ardent attentions you have paid me since we were reunited?”

  “No, Miss Bennet, I would not have thought you unable to see these things. I just . . .”

  “I know, Mr. Bingley. I understand your hesitation. But you need be hesitant no more. All is forgiven. I would not wish to dwell on it.”

  His face now overspread with the widest of grins, Mr. Bingley nodded eagerly. “I agree. We should put it in the past where it belongs.”

  They put their decision to good use, and soon they were speaking in as easy a manner as they ever had, the shadows of the past finally banished. Jane could not know how much of an affect this would have on him, but she thought he would hesitate no longer. And she appreciated that, for she was not of mind to wait any longer than necessary.

  The entire party was invited back to the Fitzwilliam townhouse after their excursion, and thither they went, eager to remove themselves from the heat of the noonday sun. They had in fact, done little shopping, though that had been their loosely stated purpose. Anne had not been oblivious to the reason, of course—she understood both Jane and Mr. Bingley, and Elizabeth and Darcy, had been less than eager to indulge in any other activity than simply focusing on their chosen companion. And Anne could not blame them, for she had found as much enjoyment with Fitzwilliam—Anthony—as had either of the other two couples.

  The courting business was going quite well in her opinion. She had always known her cousin to be a jovial sort of person, but there was so much more to discover when he focused the entirety of his attention on her. Anne liked to think that Anthony was also learning more of her than he had ever known before. That he liked what he was seeing was evident in the happiness which shone on his face when they spoke, or the appreciative glances she often saw him directing at her. It made Anne feel good to know that she could attract the attention of a tall and handsome man, and though she still possessed doubts, she was beginning to see that the life he imagined for them was possible.

  When they arrived at the house they made their way to the sitting-room, and as Anne entered the room, she was laughing at a quip Anthony had made, and she did not immediately look inside She soon discovered that it was not empty.

  “Anne Cecilia de Bourgh!” screeched a voice. Anne jumped, shocked by the sound, her heart racing with sudden fright.

  Looking wildly about, Anne soon discovered the source of the voice. There, not ten feet from them, stood Lady Catherine de Bourgh, Anne’s estranged mother and pariah in the family.

  “What is the meaning of this?” demanded Lady Catherine. She stalked toward them, her face a blazing inferno of displeasure and disapproval. “Have you taken leave of your senses? Shall you destroy your health forever, running about Brighton in the bright sun? Have you no care for the worry I have felt these past months, not knowing if my only daughter was caring for her delicate health?”

  “Mother—” said Anne, trying to gain control over the situation.

  “Not another word!” Lady Catherine barked. “I do not know with what nonsense these people have filled your mind, but I will not stand for it. You will return to Rosings with me immediately. You belong there. It is the only place you can receive the proper treatment for your ailments.

  “And you, Fitzwilliam,” growled the woman, the hammer blow of her gaze falling on Anne’s cousin. “I might have expected this of you.”

  “
Expected what, Lady Catherine?”

  Over the tumult of consternation and annoyance Anne felt at seeing her mother again, she could hear the disdainful quality in Fitzwilliam’s voice. It was clear that Lady Catherine heard it too, if the clenching of her jaw was any indication.

  “Not content with your lot, you are imposing yourself on Anne, trying to help yourself to Rosings. Well, I will not have it, do you hear? Anne and Darcy have been betrothed since their cradles and I do not mean to allow Darcy to wriggle his way out of his responsibilities.”

  Then, when Lady Catherine paused to draw breath, she seemed to notice those entering behind them, and her eyes bulged and she sucked in a great breath.

  “You!” bellowed she at the sight of Elizabeth. “I knew you had your eye on Darcy’s fortune. I knew it all along.”

  Lady Catherine stalked forward, the cane held in one hand raising to threaten Elizabeth. “You will depart this house at once. Darcy, get away from this Jezebel!”

  “Enough!” roared Darcy. He stepped forward and put himself between Miss Elizabeth—whom Anne noticed was not intimidated in the least—and his aunt. For a moment, they locked gazes, each striving for dominance over the other. It was Lady Catherine who looked away first.

  “You have once again displayed nothing more than disgusting manners in assaulting us all, Lady Catherine. I suggest you leave at once.”

  “I will not!” cried Lady Catherine, finding some well of desperate strength. “I will not depart until I have restored order. We will announce your engagement at once, and then you will leave these persons and come to Rosings with me.”