Mendacity and Mourning

by J. L. Ashton

  “And books are not what lured him here for a visit.” Elizabeth dusted off the table and walked to the door. “Jane, he takes great pleasure in your company. Do you enjoy his as well?”

  “I believe you know the answer to that, Sister. He is all a young gentleman should be. I hope my father’s advice will help him see the promise of Netherfield.”

  “Agreed. His friend seems inclined to offer sage counsel as well.”

  Jane nodded “Yes, he does. Mr. Darcy seems an intelligent gentleman and a kind friend to have thrown over his mourning to aid Mr. Bingley.”

  They went out into the bright sunlight, and Elizabeth shook her head. “I did not detect any signs of grief. He appeared put out by our cousin’s comments.”

  At her sister’s silent, reproving look, she continued. “Jane, Mr. Collins annoys most people, and his words were rather impolite.” In fact, he is a positively pompous panjandrum. Elizabeth bit her lip before she could laugh aloud.

  “They were indeed ill-timed. Do you believe Mr. Darcy might be of service to Mr. Bingley?”

  Stealing a glance at her older sister, Elizabeth smiled and slipped her arm through Jane’s. “I believe Mr. Bingley will be eager for advice from both his friend and my father. His friend is close by, but I believe all the enticement is at Longbourn.”

  Jane blushed, and in a soft voice, she said, “He is coming here in two days to walk the gardens and see what blooms we have that he might grow at Netherfield.”

  “Ah. You know, Jane, flowers must put down roots.”

  ***

  Church service revealed Mr. Darcy as a sturdy tenor and a steadying influence on his friend’s attentions to both the sermon and his handling of prayer books. Elizabeth noted Mr. Darcy’s focus on Rev. Miller’s words and Miss Bingley’s focus on him. The lady’s behaviour puzzled her. Miss Bingley had known Mr. Darcy for a number of years, and she was aware of his engagement and his heartbreak, yet she spoke almost caustically of the arrangement and quite carelessly of Miss de Bourgh’s death. Had there been bad blood between the two women, or was Miss Bingley simply seizing a new opportunity to win the prize she so obviously wanted? There were so many layers to peel away from the enigma who had arrived at Netherfield.

  Darcy, while not listening to a sermon he found rather too influenced by Fordyce, added a few more lines and shading to the mental portrait he had been sketching of the Bennet household. He noted that their party included the two little boys he had seen earlier with Miss Elizabeth, as well as a sister he had not met at Longbourn. A plain, narrow-nosed girl, she kept her head bowed to her prayer book and sang with a great enthusiasm that reduced one spoony sister to less than saintly eye-rolling. The other kept stealing furtive glances towards Miss Bingley. They were a decidedly ill-behaved, odd pair of girls.

  Further, he saw that Mr. Bennet was not in attendance nor was the boys’ father. Miss Elizabeth’s betrothed. Idly, it occurred to him that he needed to ask Bingley about the man. Why is such a lively young lady to marry a man nearly twice her age? Is he a local or a Londoner? Is it possible she—?

  No! None of this was his concern, and he bit back his curiosity. Mayhap, it could arise more naturally in conversation.

  The lady’s gown was a lovely shade of blue, rather like the colour of this morning’s nearly cloudless sky. The collar of her yellow spencer created a palette for the dark locks of hair peeking through her matching bonnet. In spite of the dullness of the service, her eyes shone brightly, as though amused by the grave piety of the parson’s words. Darcy wondered whether her boots were freshly muddied. It took the loud smack of a prayer book hitting the floor behind him to bring him to his senses and pull his eyes away from the young lady. When Miss Elizabeth was not leaning over to listen to the concerns and complaints of one boy or the other, the object of his attention kept her eyes straight ahead. Observant though he was, Darcy failed to note how her neck blushed under his notice.

  When the service ended, Mr. Collins moved to speak with Rev. Miller on his interpretation of Corinthians. The Netherfield party waited outside for the ladies of Longbourn and their two young charges. The boys tumbled down the stairs with Miss Catherine, ready to race ahead until Mrs. Bennet and Miss Mary each seized a hand. The older woman bent over and said something to the youngsters, who squealed in delight. Miss Catherine called over, “Lizzy! We are taking Thomas and Henry to Aunt Phillips’s house to say their goodbyes.”

  “Thank you, Kitty. Boys, mind your manners, please.”

  “Yes, Lizzy!” they cried in unison, spinning in circles and nearly toppling Mr. Collins as he approached the group.

  “The sky is most beautiful today, is it not?” Bingley said cheerfully.

  “Cerulean, I believe,” Darcy agreed. “And nary a cloud.”

  Miss Elizabeth smiled. “All the better for keeping my eyes to the ground.”

  Miss Bingley peered at her. “One should observe one’s environs, Eliza, and take in nature’s beauty.”

  “And its dangers,” Hurst added drolly. “One never knows when there might be a snake in the grass.”

  Miss Lydia snorted, diverting Bingley from his perusal of the sky. He offered his arm to Miss Bennet, and together they led the group towards their respective homes. Darcy cringed as Miss Bingley seized his reluctant arm and began tugging him to follow her brother.

  With Miss Lydia’s unwilling arm already captured by Mr. Collins, Darcy offered his spare arm to Miss Elizabeth. She smiled and accepted.

  He sought to take advantage of the opportunity to converse and sate his curiosity. “Those are lively young men who escorted you today, Miss Elizabeth. But they were quite well-mannered in church.”

  “Yes, they are wonderful boys. They are excited that their father returns tomorrow.”

  Darcy’s smile slipped. “You must be happy as well.”

  “Relieved, I would say.”

  “‘The just man walketh in his integrity; his children are blessed after him,’” Mr. Collins intoned.

  Miss Lydia scowled. If one strained one’s ears, she could be heard muttering, “Beetle-headed vicar.”

  “’Tis true. Children should be seen and not heard,” Miss Bingley said. “Louisa and I were terribly accomplished at sitting still and listening to our elders. Charles was indulged by my mother and aunts.”

  “It was those curls, Caroline,” Mrs. Hurst replied. “My mother loved his curls.”

  Darcy saw Miss Elizabeth glance at the sisters’ wisps of dull brown hair escaping their Sunday bonnets then turn to espy Mr. Bingley’s dark blond curls peeking out from under his hat. When she looked up at Darcy, her eyes sparkled in shared amusement of the picture the sisters painted of a beloved but envied younger brother.

  “Mr. Darcy, have you been reading the volumes left you in Mr. Eggleston’s library?” she asked.

  “Not those left behind, no, Miss Elizabeth. I unpacked a box of my own books. In honour of those lost to the flames, I am re-reading Milton.”

  “Paradise Lost?”

  “Of course.”

  She smiled. “Will these volumes find a permanent home in Netherfield’s library?”

  He returned her smile and replied in a solemn voice. “And chance a cold night and another man desperate for warmth? I think not.”

  “Mr. Darcy, my brother would never burn your books!” Miss Bingley cried. “Eliza, you must not be so impertinent. Mr. Darcy has a library to be envied at Pemberley, with hundreds, mayhap thousands, of books housed floor to ceiling.”

  “Oh, that is to be envied and admired,” Miss Elizabeth replied. “When I have a house of my own, I shall be miserable if I have not an excellent library.”

  “‘A room without books is like a body without a soul,’” Darcy said.

  “Yes, Cicero had it right,” she responded brightly. Darcy stared at h
er and nearly guided Miss Bingley on his other side into an overgrown buckthorn bush. “Some say that eyes are the window to one’s soul,” Miss Elizabeth concluded, “but I suspect that books provide another view in.”

  “Cousin Elizabeth!” Mr. Collins looked affronted. “Mr. Darcy, please forgive my cousin. She has forgotten Matthew 16:26. ‘For what is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?’”

  Darcy rolled his eyes. “Mr. Collins, I believe that Miss Elizabeth meant it as a metaphor.”

  Miss Lydia snorted. “Perhaps it went over his head.”

  “Nothing flies over my head,” Mr. Collins said indignantly. “I have a butterfly net.”

  Thus, at a metaphorical impasse, the two groups parted ways.

  ***

  Darcy sighed as he gazed on the large packet of letters delivered the following morning. Enjoy your angel, Charles. The dullness of duty ties me here. During the course of the long hours, he was distracted only a few times by wondering what topics might be canvassed during his friend’s visit at Longbourn.

  Should he have sent over that book he had discussed with Miss Elizabeth? No. It was not proper behaviour in London to forge such a friendship with a lady, most particularly one promised to another. Nor was her open friendliness to him quite right. Yes, they shared a fondness for books and the morning air, but her openness was not…done. It was neither correct nor suitable. He should maintain some distance, should he not? Though perhaps he was safe as she was betrothed and he posed no threat. Or did she eye him as a better choice? No, he would not believe that of her. She was simply a friendly sort of person: open and happy and so…fascinating.

  Good lord, she knows Cicero.

  Damn it! His head hurt. Stop thinking on it. On her. Your business is not here. This is nothing but an interlude in the country, a brief time away from responsibility.

  A knock on the door and the delivery of an express from his cousin rescued him from his musings. He was summoned to London.

  ***

  Darcy was strangely reluctant to leave Netherfield, but the express was not one he could disregard. In spite of the sympathy he felt towards his aunt, honouring her commands remained rooted in duty and obligation rather than love. The intent of the gathering laid bare similar feelings among his cousins and uncle.

  With her immediate shock diminished and her grief set aside, Lady Catherine convened a family council not to reveal further details of her daughter’s death or her burial but to have Anne’s will read and the funds dispensed. The fact that all funds would be dispensed to her was obvious, as Anne had had no close friends and would have inherited Rosings in ten days when she turned nine and twenty. Lady Catherine said she wanted to take care of the papers before facing that dreadful day.

  Her brother, Peter, and the three nephews in attendance had seen no reason to fight her wishes, though Darcy had quietly sent a letter to Rosings’s steward asking for more details on the condition of the estate amid the current situation. He was that dutiful, he reminded himself. Or at least he was more properly dutiful than his rather annoying cousin, who joined him at Darcy House after the meeting.

  “So how goes your tour?” Richard grinned slyly. “I do salute your efforts, Cousin.” He waved a glass of brandy in his beefy hand.

  “My tour?”

  “Your wedding tour—your search for the future Mrs. Darcy. That is the idea behind this parade of book boxes and pressed linen waistcoats you are leading from estate to estate, is it not? You have deserted town in search of a real girl.”

  Darcy stared across the room at his all-knowing older cousin. For a man of few handsome features and little inheritance, his cousin’s familiarity with society was impressive, and he was a clever observer of Darcy’s romantic entanglements and social life. More than once, Richard had saved the younger man from an eager seductress; Darcy still insisted that, because the first instance occurred when he was but seventeen, it was no compromise but, instead, an opportunity. And it had been his first opportunity. His bitter protests had had no effect even these ten years later. And although far from an innocent now, Darcy still wished to know what exactly it was that the Thompson girl had whispered she could do with her tongue.

  “Town is full of pretty girls with pretty ideas,” Darcy finally replied. “I wish for something different.” He poured himself a tumbler of brandy and refilled his cousin’s empty glass before sinking into a chair.

  “Is this about Anne? It seems a bit rash.”

  “Her death has affected me, yes, though not as severely as it might have in years past when we were close friends; rather, it has made me recognise the brevity of life, of the precious time we have here bearing this mortal coil.”

  Richard stared at him, his moustache twitching. “Have you been reading those bloody romance novels my mother hides between the cushions?”

  Darcy rolled his eyes. “Marriage should be more than a duty, Richard. If I am to take a wife back to Pemberley and spend months only in her company and Georgiana’s, would it not be best if we were friends with interests in common? If we talked of more than who was seen with whom at Almack’s, which family was not invited to which dinner, and whose hat featured the finest feathers?”

  His cousin cleared his throat. “I believe you are mocking my mother.”

  “No, I believe you did that earlier when you disparaged her choice in reading.”

  Richard drained his glass, sat up, and leaned towards Darcy. “So…you have planned visits to three estates. Have you had any luck at Bingley’s place…uh, Featherfield?”

  “Netherfield…and not luck, no. But I have found it to be an interesting spot.”

  “I knew you would come to your senses and steal that bedizened Bingley woman away from me!” Richard slapped his knee. “Has she been mending your pens?” He fluttered his eyelashes and rocked with laughter.

  Darcy grimaced and glanced at the nearly empty carafe of brandy. “Just how long were you in here before I arrived?”

  “Long enough.”

  “Where is your brother? I thought Robert would join us.”

  Richard’s cheeks coloured. “Today is Thursday. He must be home for dinner with his wife.”

  “They have an engagement?”

  “So to speak. Not that he speaks of it.” Richard found a thread on his waistcoat of great interest.

  “I fail to understand. He has to be home because it is Thursday?”

  “Yes, young man.” Richard sighed. “He and Harriet have a standing engagement on Thursday. At home. Alone.”

  “But you just said…” Realisation dawned, and Darcy’s cheeks reddened as well. “They arrange their…?”

  Richard nodded, a bemused expression on his plain face. “Is that not true of every couple wedded more than half a year who has not yet produced their heir?”

  “I…this is common practice? Arranging relations with one’s wife?” Darcy sat back in his chair and nursed his brandy, shock warring with sadness. Once a week? On a set date? The passion already gone?

  Richard stared at the horrified look on his cousin’s usually impassive countenance. “Darcy, can you name which day of the week you were born?”

  “Um, I believe it was a Friday,” he said after a moment’s thought. “Yes, a Friday.”

  “Most mothers and fathers also could tell you the day you were conceived.” Richard smiled grimly at Darcy’s expression. “Truly, this is news to you?” He shook his head. “You have stayed out of society for too long.”

  Oh no, I have come back too soon. Darcy sighed. “There are things I wish I did not know of society—or of my friends’ lives.”

  Richard raised his empty glass. “Some things need to be known. How many times have I saved you from the intentions of a scheming mother or maiden?”

  Darcy silenced hi
m with a dark glare. “And to think I was worried that I could cause insult to Anne’s memory or to Lady Catherine by venturing out on this—”

  “Quest for love?” Richard roared with laughter. “You are a knight in search of the Holy Grail! True love, not to mention two eyes, two hands, two breasts…”

  Darcy scowled. “You are a strange and lonely man, Richard.” He took a sip of his brandy. “I no longer think my actions offensive for their speed or their intent. I am firmer in my conviction that only a love match is worthy of making a marriage.” He laughed bitterly. “And in spite of this, I like your brother, and I like his wife.”

  “He liked her once as well. The way he was eyeing her earlier, I think he might like her twice tonight.”

  “Shut it, Richard.”

  “He needs an heir.” Richard’s eyes twinkled. “And practice makes perfect.”

  Chapter Five

  The Bennet sisters waved until the carriage pulled out of sight.

  “It was grand to meet your uncle and cousins,” Mr. Bingley said.

  Mary disappeared into the house while he and the four remaining Bennet sisters walked towards the garden.

  “Longbourn will be far quieter and our kitchen supplied more fully now that the boys have gone home,” Jane said, smiling.

  It may be quieter, but Longbourn will not be peaceful until Mr. Collins leaves as well, Elizabeth thought. A glance at Lydia proved they were of like mind.

  Jane continued, “My sisters and I are fond of Henry and Thomas, and we rarely have the opportunity to enjoy their company without their sister.”

  “Mrs. Gardiner has been hosting the ladies of her family?” Mr. Bingley enquired.

  “My uncle and cousins return to a houseful of ladies, babies, and wedding purchases,” Elizabeth averred. “I had hoped Thomas would exchange families with Kitty; she is a great lover of babies and enjoys long discussions of lace and romance novels.” Kitty’s protests went unheard as her older sister squeezed her hand. “But the poor boy wanted his mama.”