The Goodness of Men

by Anngela Schroeder

  “I should hope—”

  She was interrupted by footsteps coming behind her. “Elizabeth Anne Bennet, what do you do here? In Mr. Darcy’s room?”

  “Aunt Madeline?” she asked, turning back to her own room where Mrs. Gardiner was coming through the door. “This is not Mr. Darcy’s room!”

  “Mr. Darcy!” Aunt Gardiner gasped. “Lizzy, you must return to your room! I shudder to think what might be said if anyone were to come upon you here!”

  “Why is Mr. Darcy in your room?”

  “Lizzy, come with me at once.” Mrs. Gardiner walked towards her, clasped her hand, and nodded to Mr. Darcy. “Sir, I look forward to being introduced to you at dinner.”

  “And I you”—and he bowed elegantly despite his appearance. The impudence of the man!

  Elizabeth closed the door but not before hearing a low, rumbling chuckle and then the latch lock behind her.

  “What is the meaning of this?” she asked, her head pounding with the sudden movement and the blood pulsing through her. “Why is Mr. Darcy in your room?”

  “No, my dear,” her aunt began, stopping as the young maid came through the door.

  “Thank you, Sarah, I am feeling much improved but I will not require your assistance. My aunt will attend me. You are excused until after dinner.”

  “Very well, miss.”

  Elizabeth and her aunt waited for the girl to leave before continuing.

  “After you had gone to bed with a headache, dearest, we were informed the room Mrs. Anderson wished for me to occupy was ready and my things had already been moved. Apparently, the room I have been occupying is the room given to Mr. Darcy whenever he stays at Chenowith.

  “I must say, though, Lizzy. He certainly was much more handsome than you portrayed him.”

  She felt her cheeks begin to heat at the thought of him so informally attired, but then her ire rose. “Handsome or not, he has wronged me as well as Jane and Mr. Wickham. No, Aunt. As Mary would say, remember Matthew 7:15. ‘Beware of false prophets, which come to you in sheep's clothing…’ I fear we must not let our guard down with Mr. Darcy.”

  Aunt Gardiner could hardly hide her amusement as she helped her niece dress. “Lizzy, I believe Mary’s sermonizing would only hold true if we followed the scripture to its literal meaning. And, my dear, Mr. Darcy wore very little clothing.”

  He knew he was staring too much but was unable to draw his eyes from her. It had been above eight months since he had last seen her but only hours since she had danced through his thoughts. That’s a lie. It has been mere minutes. Every thought is of her, no matter how hard I try to concentrate on my books, my estate, Georgiana… Nothing removes her from my mind. And here she is. He reached for a glass from the footman and sipped it thoughtfully.

  Although Darcy could see Turner was enchanted by her, he thought he caught her peaking at him with a teasing look.

  “Mr. Turner,” Miss Elizabeth said, leaning towards her host and pretending to whisper. “Your friend continues to glare at me. Do you not think he can hide his disapproval in company?”

  “Disapproval? What does Darcy have to disapprove of you?”

  Elizabeth smiled, arched her brows, and leaned in. “Oh, a great many things, Mr. Turner. I am not what he would call accomplished. I do not ride, have no gift for drawing, and only know French and a little Latin. Hardly the claims of a well-bred lady. No, his opinion of me is already set.”

  “You imagine so.” Turner laughed. “And how, might I ask, should you like Darcy to think of you?”

  She smiled at Darcy. “Please do not suppose I asked that question hoping for a compliment. Oh, no. I know Mr. Darcy to be truthful to a fault.”

  “Do you believe”—Darcy walked over and stood next to her chair—“that honesty is a fault and not a virtue?”

  “I say, sir, you would paint me in a most unpleasant light in front of our host. No, Mr. Darcy. If anything, honesty should be commended. However, I find that sometimes people imagine their actions always speak of their honesty and integrity, but in truth, they do not. Instead, they might be the actions of a misguided individual.”

  “Misguided?” Turner interrupted before Darcy could reply. “I have never seen Darcy misguided about anything, and I have known him for years.” After a moment, he added, “Well, maybe with this field work.”

  “Field work?”

  “Yes, Miss Bennet. Darcy and I were out in the fields these last few days working alongside my tenants…”

  “Mr. Darcy working alongside laborers in the fields? I was under the impression…I did not know you labored.” She turned an appraising eye to Darcy.

  He said nothing but studied her face as she seemed to consider him.

  “I was surprised as you, Miss Bennet, to come upon my good friend here toiling in the dirt. He claims he likes the work. To clear his mind. And, I believe,” Turner continued, “we saw your carriage arrive yesterday morning.”

  At those words, Miss Bennet’s face flushed and her eyes’ broke away from their scrutiny. Turner turned to Darcy and said, “I am grateful, friend. Without you forfeiting your time with Georgiana and delivering your workers and tenants from Pemberley, my crop might have been lost.”

  “Yes, well”—was all the reply before Darcy walked to the window to look out at the moon.

  “That was quite generous of Mr. Darcy to have brought in his people to help with Mr. Turner’s crop,” Aunt Gardiner said while the maid unpinned her hair.

  In her aunt’s new accommodations, Lizzy sat on the bed with her legs tucked comfortably beneath her and said dismissively, “Yes, well, I am sure it is what any man would do to help his fellow landowner.”

  “And your father? Has he ever done that to help Sir William Lucas?”

  “He has sent Mr. Hill.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Aunt! My father is years older than Mr. Darcy. He does not have the physical abilities nor the strength.”

  “Yes, his strength. I believe we did see them working in the fields yesterday, did we not, Lizzy?” Elizabeth blushed at the thought of the tall, strapping laborer, who she now knew to be Mr. Darcy, toiling in the field.

  “Yes,” was all she could utter.

  “I wonder if the light Mr. Wickham painted his old friend in was truly fair to Mr. Darcy? I have listened to Amelia regale his character, and truth be told, Lizzy, it sounds nothing like the man Mr. Wickham has mentioned.”

  Elizabeth quietly picked at the counterpane. “Mr. Wickham also spoke of Darcy’s ability to behave in a more gentlemanlike manner when surround by those he feels are his equals.”

  “His equals?”

  “Yes, his equals. It is no wonder he is so kind to Mr. Turner and Mrs. Anderson. They are of his standing.”

  Mrs. Gardiner snorted. “Amelia? My friend Amelia, whose husband has warehouses in Cheapside? And her brother who also inherited his fortune from his own father’s warehouses? The son and a daughter of a tradesman, the same social standing as the grandson of an earl? No, Lizzy. I believe we might have been mistaken. But for what reason, I am unsure.”

  Elizabeth remained quiet, unwilling to challenge her aunt’s ideas and hard pressed to deny the logic in them. Yet, she could not, no, would not, allow her feelings on the subject of Mr. Darcy to be swayed. There was, after all the improper treatment of Mr. Wickham to take into account, as well as her belief he influenced his friend Mr. Bingley to abandon her most beloved sister, Jane.

  “It is of little consequence. And now, we must go to bed, my dear. We have another day filled of adventures planned by Amelia.”

  “Well then, goodnight.”

  Her aunt began to blow out the lights before stopping. “Oh, Elizabeth?”

  “Yes?”

  “As Mr. Turner was speaking of Mr. Darcy’s assistance to him, another scripture came to mind that I wonder if we must attend. Matthew 7:16. Goodnight.”

  Elizabeth softly snorted and shook her head. “Good night, Aunt!” She walked down the h
all to her room shaking her head. You shall know them by their fruits.

  Chapter 4

  July 4, 1812

  George Wickham smirked at the picture his young charge made squealing in delight at the Punch and Judy puppet show. Lydia Bennet was a good sort of girl—well, for certain things. She was not averse to a few kisses or sneaking out with him to raise his spirits after losing at the tables. But, in the last month, he was becoming tired: tired of her hesitancy for moving beyond the title of maiden, tired of her incessant whining, and tired of her constant need of flattery.

  I am a man, for heaven’s sake. Not a nurse maid!

  “Wicky,” Lydia said, grabbing his arm and breaking into his thoughts. “Harriet and I wish to go to the sweet shop. Lend me some money, for I have left all mine at the Forsters’.”

  He smiled his most charming smile and handed her a few coins. “Here you go, my dear.” He was tiring of the militia but reminded himself of the rewards for patience. Just a little longer and the transfer from my Cornwall efforts should be complete. Then it will all be worth it, and I can disappear.

  It had not been difficult to persuade Margaret that he loved her. It was never difficult to do that, but a certainty with both her father and mother dead. It was fortuitous that he happened upon her crying on the cliffs. Happen to come upon her? Nothing I do is happenstance! She had slipped away from Penelope for those few minutes and was ripe for the picking.

  And he had. He had done all in his power to assure her he was a generous man who had only recently come upon hard times resulting from his association with the Darcys of Pemberley.

  Ignoring Lydia Bennet’s incessant bidding from across the walkway, he pondered that the only real challenge of his entire scheme had been convincing the girl he had to leave in January. Training in Manchester was necessary to defeat Little Boney. He smirked. I have never had a woman cling to me as much as she did. But, she will survive. They always do.

  He took a deep breath and turned to meet his millstone for his remaining time in Brighton. “Yes, Miss Lydia. I hear you. Of course, I would enjoy a walk along the pier. And some of your taffy.” He sighed.

  Lydia Bennet did not see herself as a silly girl. Such would be the disbelief of those who had made her acquaintance, but it was true.

  At the moment, her sights were set, not on Mr. Wickham, but the opportunity he might provide her. She wanted more than anything to be married ahead of her sisters, to be esteemed as the mistress of her own home while the other Miss Bennets languished at Longbourn. And then I would have their gratitude and they would give me deference for saving them from the hedgerows. She looked up at her companion. His wavy, black hair, clean shaven face and blue eyes bespoke a man who in manner and disposition had no comparison. A lively grin spread across her face before she quickly concealed it. But, this cannot be done by marrying George Wickham. He is but a poor militia officer and could not provide for me the way I deserve. However, he might introduce me into the circles he once frequented.

  “Miss Bennet?” Elizabeth looked up to see the smiling face of Phillip Turner entering the library. “I knew I would find you here enjoying the splendors of the literary masters.”

  “Did you?” she asked amused, closing Cowper, and resting the book in her lap. “Pity to be so predictable.”

  He walked to the chair across from her, and sat down. “Well, it was Darcy who suggested you might be here. I found the other ladies discussing gowns for an upcoming ball in the drawing room. He suspected you would have little interest in such conversation.”

  “He is correct. I would much rather lose myself in a book or a walk.”

  He chuckled at her pronouncement. “Yes, that is what he said. If you were not discovered amongst the great writers, you would be rambling through the woods of Chenowith Park.”

  She smiled complacently. “It is a beautiful day for a walk, but I prefer to walk in the morning as it becomes so warm in the afternoon.” When did Mr. Darcy become such a studier of my character?

  “Forgive me,” he interjected. “Have I interrupted your solitude?”

  Elizabeth smiled and set her book on the table. “I assure you, sir, it is not an interruption at all. Cowper is an old friend of mine and will understand if I put him aside. I know he will await my return.”

  He seemed to be searching for a topic. “My sister said we missed you in the village yesterday. Darcy and I took my horse in to get re-shod before returning to the fields. I am grateful we did not meet on those circumstances, however. New acquaintances should never be made when one is not at their best.”

  “But one should not be judged by their appearance but their actions.”

  He chortled. “Too true, Miss Bennet, but both Darcy and I were not ourselves yesterday. You might have taken us for beggars and given us each a farthing.”

  “Sir, I am sure I would have been more generous. At least a hay penny a piece!” Her mischievous expression encouraged his grin before he changed the subject.

  He looked around the room before finally gazing upon Elizabeth. “It is an impressive room. I believe the previous owners were enthusiastic collectors.”

  “My father would be quite pleased with the corpus.” She gave him a curious look and asked, “I understand you have resided at Chenowith for three years?”

  He leaned back into the chair and rested his ankle across his knee. “Yes. Chenowith came up for sale at the right time for me. My father had passed four years ago, and I determined it was time to realize both his and my dream of joining the landed gentry. My dear sister has graced me with her presence as my hostess, and Darcy promised to come and advise me when needed as we are only half a day’s journey away.” Elizabeth nodded. “I am still a neophyte in the world of estate ownership but am so grateful for the benevolence of Darcy and his guidance.”

  “Mr. Darcy seems to be benevolent towards all of his friends who are new landowners.” The statement lingered in the silence of the library for only a moment before she offered him a playful smile.

  “That is right. He mentioned you were acquainted with our friend Bingley, who is leasing in Hertfordshire. Yes, Darcy is very benevolent and not only towards those he has known for years. It is my understanding that he saved a young lady from an embarrassing situation while in your sleepy, little village.”

  Elizabeth’s ears perked up and her heart started to race. She knew he spoke of Jane, even before Mr. Turner continued on.

  “It seems our friend found himself in a pinch, and Darcy had to rescue him. They left for London rather quickly and have not returned.”

  Attempting to regulate her tone, she enquired, “Oh? I recall the Netherfield party leaving unexpectedly and not taking leave of anyone, but we could not understand why.”

  “Well, it is not my place to say as you might recognize the particulars as well as the young lady, but Darcy acted in the best interest of all parties involved. From what I understand, separation was necessary before one of the participants was trapped in a loveless marriage.”

  Elizabeth raised her chin and inhaled a calming breath. “And who is to say he had a right to determine the affections and wishes of the couple? What if he separated two people very much in love?”

  A chuckle escaped Mr. Turner’s lips. “Then that would lessen the honor of my friend’s triumph very sadly.”

  “But you hear only Mr. Darcy’s side. Maybe the young lady was shy and not able to show her true feelings. Who is he to judge on such little knowledge?”

  Shaking his head, Turner interrupted her. “No, Miss Bennet. Darcy did not separate the two for Bingley’s benefit. He was thinking only of the lady.”

  Elizabeth started and processed the information. “Are you saying that Mr. Darcy found nothing lacking in the young woman?”

  He cocked his head and thought before shaking it again. “Not that I recall him saying. He did say that her connections were not such that they alone could recommend her but that her character and manners were exemplary. No, my frien
d was protecting her from Bingley.”

  “From Mr. Bingley?”

  He stood. “Our good friend has a tendency to leave a trail of broken hearts and misunderstood affections wherever he goes. Darcy observed a slight inclination in the young woman, and instead of allowing the predictable play out, the anticipated heartbreak when Bingley did not offer for her after becoming bored with the company of your village, Darcy suggested they remove earlier than planned.”

  She could not believe her ears. “He was looking out for the best interest of the girl? Mr. Bingley would have given rise to false hopes and would have not followed through, even after making his attentions so obvious?”

  “It is not the first time, nor will it be the last. Bingley is a good sort but is charmed with the idea of being in love. He would have meant no slight to the young woman. Now, enough of this talk of Bingley and his misguided affections. If you will,” he said, extending his hand to her, “I am to bring you to the ladies to commence with planning today’s activities. Shall we?”

  It had taken all in his power to remain in the drawing room with the women as they prattled away about dresses and lace and not follow Turner on his search for Miss Bennet. Elizabeth. She has been Elizabeth to me for months now, and to see her again, only makes it more so. He had continued writing the letter to his sister, informing her of the invitation extended to the Markhams, and that he was yet undecided of his return to Pemberley, although before her birthday celebration, of course. He could not leave, not yet. Not now.

  Darcy had been in torture the last several months, wondering why he had forced Bingley to leave Netherfield. He had believed he had done it for her sister, to save her the pain of Bingley’s foreseeable rejection. However, Bingley had been most singular since leaving Hertfordshire. Could it be that he actually had true affection for Miss Bennet?

  He continued to write, not knowing what he was penning to his sister when he heard her; her laughter in the hall stopped his pen mid-stroke and he had to remind himself to continue writing. They entered the drawing room: Turner with a stupid grin and she breathless with mirth. Darcy felt his chest tighten. Jealousy was as foreign to him as the sands of Egypt. Fitzwilliam Darcy had never desired to be anyone else in his entire existence, but at that moment, Phillip Turner, the son of a tradesman, had Elizabeth Bennet, his Elizabeth, looking at him as she had never looked at Darcy.