Mendacity and Mourning

by J. L. Ashton

“Oh no, Darcy! Not that woman. Anyone but her,” Lady Matlock gasped.

  “Anyone?” Richard smirked. “Oh, such a list I can make.”

  Darcy sighed. “Caroline Bingley will never be my wife.”

  “Is there someone else? Darcy?” When her nephew did not answer, Lady Matlock tapped her son on the arm. “Richard, tell us what you know.”

  He shook his head, stood, and followed his father’s path to the spirits. “Mother, can Darcy not have a private life?”

  “No,” replied the earl. “Anne did, and see how that turned out.”

  Richard and Darcy stared at each other. The former shook his head in disgust, while the latter shrugged.

  “I am not interested in, nor in the habit of, shopping for a wife,” Darcy said quietly. “Ladies are not merchandise to be handled and picked over and compared. For years now, I have been placed in that position, and these past weeks have soured me on the exercise. I need time away from it.”

  He cleared his throat. “I wish to spend time with Georgiana. I shall retreat from society’s marriage market, but I promise you, Aunt, I shall do all I am able to be happily wed next year.”

  Richard smirked at his cousin’s clever wording. Both watched the earl warily; one of his hands was clenching his glass, the other flexing into a fist. Surely, a violent outburst was due. Instead, Lord Matlock surprised them with his controlled manner.

  “I am disappointed, Darcy. The family should not like to wait so long. No one in town will miss your aunt or cousin, but we need some happy occasion to overshadow recent events.”

  “Oh, think bigger than a mere wedding, Father,” Richard replied as he took his seat. “Perhaps Robert and Harriet might make good on that promised heir, or mayhap I shall take down old Bony by myself.”

  “Richard, no talk of war or your brother’s…troubles!” Lady Matlock swatted her son and turned to her nephew. “I am not pleased, Darcy, but I shall not take on Catherine’s role as judge and jury of your actions.”

  “Thank you, Aunt.” Darcy gave her a small, pleased smile. His mother had always preferred the company of her brother’s wife to her own sister. All her quiet admonitions about Catherine’s bad temper and Martha’s kindliness had come to fruition.

  “However, I shall count on you to be present during the Season next spring.”

  Ah, kindly, but she still holds expectations.

  “Yes, ma’am.” With Elizabeth on my arm.

  The arrival of tea, accompanied by a happy and excited Georgiana, stilled the conversation. The party of five—one amused, one relieved, two confused and irked, and one effusive and impatient—enjoyed polite conversation until it was time to leave.

  Richard and Darcy lagged behind their relations as they walked out.

  “Andrews knows little of Wickham,” Richard said quietly. “Our old friend helped secure him an interview for the position, but it seems to be only as Andrews said: Wickham wished to improve his standing with the uncle who is guardian to a young lady who has come into some wealth.”

  “Of course.” Darcy bit back a curse. “Wickham would plan to call in that favour.”

  His cousin nodded. “Yet Andrews’s presence at Pidock’s appears to have been a coincidence on a rare day off from his duties. He knew from his cousin in Meryton that Miss Bennet had enjoyed a visit there.”

  “A fortunate coincidence,” Darcy replied. “How did he know of my aunt’s plans?”

  “Within days of his arrival at Lady Catherine’s home, he had taken her measure and possibly cleaned up a thrown vase or two. As you learned at Pemberley, Andrews is quite observant, if naïve. He knew your sister was lonely… I believe we have concluded his intentions there were honest?”

  Darcy nodded in agreement.

  “He knew Georgiana feared my aunt,” Richard continued, “and in the past weeks, he heard the old bat’s angry rants about Anne. Thus, when a housemaid mentioned orders to prepare a room for our girl, he feared the worst and wished to protect his friend.”

  Darcy glanced down at his boots and then up at Richard. “’His friend?’ He is certainly mistaken and must be dissuaded of such a notion. Georgiana is his superior, the mistress of Pemberley and Darcy House.”

  “Knife it, Darcy. He knows that. Apparently, she reminds him of his younger sister.” Richard adjusted his cuffs and eyed his parents walking ahead with Georgiana. “I do not fear his intentions, Darcy. He is no Wickham, nor is he under that blackguard’s sway.”

  “Thank you, Richard.” Darcy felt relieved. “What shall we do with him now?”

  “Matlock could use a man or two. Andrews has family in Birmingham. His brother is there, made lame by a skirmish with the French but apparently quite good with horses and his hands.” He cleared his throat before adding, “Father has agreed to place them at the estate.”

  “Truly?” Darcy looked shocked.

  Richard chuckled. “All is well on these counts. Now you must attend to your business of the heart.”

  Darcy’s footsteps slowed to a halt. “I find myself forced too often to thank you for your assistance, Richard.” He swallowed. “You serve as more than Georgiana’s guardian; you are protector to us both. I thank you.”

  A deep blush crept across the cheeks of the military man. “As you do for me, Cousin. You know I need a little brother to both defend and torment,” he said in a low voice before returning to his customary gruff demeanour.

  “Now go fetch yourself a bride. Our girl needs a sister, and I wish to welcome a lovely new relation lacking both a beauty mark and a damp hand.”

  Darcy choked back a laugh. Richard clapped him on the shoulder and pushed him forward towards the waiting trio.

  “We shall see you up north next month,” Lady Matlock assured her niece and nephew before the Fitzwilliam carriage pulled away.

  ***

  As soon as they were out of sight of Darcy House, the countess turned to her son.

  “Why are they going to Hertfordshire? Tell me everything you know.”

  Richard weighed his choices. His afternoon was to be spent packing his aunt off to Scotland. Darcy House would be locked by tonight. It seemed wise to allow his mother—a clever and good-hearted but rather fearsome lady—at least some intelligence on the course of things.

  He gave her a small smile of the kind that endeared him to her as the younger son and charmed widows into inviting him over for late dinners. “Darcy and Georgiana will visit a young lady they have befriended—an intelligent, pleasant, quite handsome lady. Her family has a small estate in Hertfordshire. Charles Bingley is courting her sister.”

  “You have met this person?” his father demanded.

  “What is her name?” his mother asked.

  “Yes, I have met, conversed with, and been charmed by ‘this person.’” Richard rolled his eyes. “Her name is Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

  His parents exchanged looks. “What are his intentions?” his father growled. “To save our name by marrying some country girl? He has been bewitched by a country nothing?”

  “He should be bewitched. Elizabeth Bennet is like no lady I have met here in town. She has no disguise, no silliness about her. She is not ‘nothing.’ She is quite intelligent, and she and Darcy match wits and converse.”

  Lady Matlock looked affronted. “They converse? What does that mean?”

  Her husband rubbed his chin. “Who is her family? Tell me they bear no similarity to those loathsome Dumfries your cousin has married into.”

  “Lord, no. You have no fear of a female Peregrine,” Richard replied with a shudder, willing away vivid memories of the goatish dandyprat and his swive-mad cousin. Who knew Anne would be so eager a participant in bedroom schemes? Had her mother provided her instructional, nay enlightening, materials?

  He took a cleansing breath to eras
e the thoughts.

  “This is Darcy; there are other considerations. They talk about books and all those dull things he likes to go on about. She is his friend and Georgiana’s. They have few acquaintances to enjoy without fear of society’s expectations. Let them be.”

  He glanced between his parents and found them intent on his words. Once more unto the breach. “If he chooses to court Miss Bennet, she will bring charm, wit, beauty, and interesting conversation to our family.”

  “Court?” his mother murmured, shocked. “A courtship? This is a friendship of serious consequence.”

  “Mother…”

  His father coughed and gave him a knowing look. “Little dowry, but other considerations?”

  Richard nodded, and his father smirked in approval.

  “Oh, goodness, you two.” Lady Matlock sighed. “Can you think of nothing but the swell of a woman’s chest?”

  “Books, my dear. I meant books.”

  ***

  It would take a clever eye to notice the difference in Mr. Collins since his previous visit to Longbourn. His pomposity had shifted from praising his connection to the Great Lady Catherine de Bourgh and worrying over her grief to the personal subjects of his parish’s need for his guidance and the necessary touch of a lady for his parsonage. His bride-hunting expedition was in full swing.

  Fortunately, as all attention was fixed on the unseasonable warmth in the air, the militia’s imminent leave-taking, and the reasons behind the growing plumpness in a farmer’s large-nosed daughter, there were few clever eyes focused on the visiting vicar and his quest for a lady.

  Mr. Bennet—never a man to speculate on weather or unfortunate female predicaments—noted the man was slightly diminished. “Our worthy cousin,” he chided Elizabeth, “has likely been rejected by his true love and has returned to Longbourn only to choose a second-best bride.”

  Elizabeth smiled awkwardly. She was not certain what Collins knew but felt she was likely more familiar than he was with the intimate details of the Rosings scandal that had driven him from his parsonage. In no way did she wish her cousin to become aware of her privileged knowledge; she wished for him to feel no familiarity or kinship between them. His cow-like eyes drifted to her face and then well below often enough that she simmered in a permanent sort of indignation in his very presence. (Unbeknown to Elizabeth, her anger gave her cheeks and other exposed skin a becoming blush that easily could be mistaken as excitement. And so it was misjudged by the bachelor cleric.)

  She worried that the man’s enjoyment of attention and of the tones of his sonorous, perhaps monotone, voice might lure him to say too much. He might reveal a sliver of what he knew, and Elizabeth was sure he knew that Anne de Bourgh was not dead. Did he hold to his belief that Mr. Darcy was his cousin’s betrothed? What would occur when Mr. Collins learned of Mr. Darcy’s planned return to Netherfield? And how could she convey to Mr. Darcy how dear she held his words? How she wished to write him a letter telling him that her feelings had changed and how much she welcomed his company.

  She had one further concern. When her cousin’s eyes were not roving her person, she felt them judging her worth. Did he feel her sullied by her friendship with the man whose name he had maligned? Would he take it upon himself to rescue her from her presumed depths of depravity? Would he make her an offer before Mr. Darcy arrived? What could she say to him to fend off such a proposal? Kitty, suddenly bursting with ideas and schemes, had suggested carrying a knitting needle at all times. The idea had a touch of the dramatic Mrs. Radcliffe, but Elizabeth appreciated the suggestion. She already had discerned that hatpins were smaller and more comfortably concealed.

  Each time her cousin simpered in her direction and attempted a tête-à-tête, Elizabeth would turn the conversation to topics such as Fordyce or gooseberry jam, provoking effusions from the vicar and much comment from her mother and the other ladies. Three of her sisters, however, had had enough of the man, and they were eager to change the discussion to one more to their liking. Kitty, returning with Jane from tea at Netherfield, found a topic that diverted everyone when her whispers to Elizabeth were overheard.

  Mr. Collins looked at the girl. “Miss Catherine, did you say that Mr. Darcy is returning to Hertfordshire?”

  Mrs. Bennet rolled her eyes and waved her handkerchief. “He is not welcome at Longbourn. His betrothed dies, and he comes here and toys with our Lizzy.”

  “Mama!”

  “That is what Mr. Wickham has told us, as little as he liked to turn on his former friend.”

  “And you are quick to join him, Mrs. Bennet.” Her husband stared at her over his newspaper.

  Elizabeth had felt the stares and heard the whispers of her neighbours, and at this moment, a cold certainty swept her, confirming who had woven the tales and who had made sure to repeat them. Her mother was more than a simpleton; her loose tongue rendered her dangerous.

  “Mama,” Elizabeth whispered loudly. “I thought you understood that Mr. Wickham’s word is not to be trusted.”

  “I grant you that Mr. Darcy is a handsome man of large fortune, but we know nothing of his character.” Mrs. Bennet glanced at Aunt Phillips. “He was betrothed, he threw her over, and she died. He had another sweetheart waiting for him elsewhere, but he bided his time here, charming Lizzy and Miss Bingley until his so-called mourning was over.”

  Mr. Collins gasped and shifted in his chair to peer at Elizabeth. He nodded his head as though he finally had confirmation for his beliefs. She suddenly feared he had mistaken her for a rotten sweetmeat and turned away from him.

  Mrs. Bennet exchanged a knowing glance with her sister before issuing her final edict. “For all his riches, Mr. Darcy is not a gentleman.”

  “Mama!” Jane cried, her indignation finally lit. “He is Mr. Bingley’s friend, and Mr. Bingley would not place his trust in a man who acted as you allege.”

  “Indeed, he would not,” Elizabeth said bitterly. “He is an honourable man.” Her eyes, flaming with anger, settled on her father and silently pleaded with him to stop the conversation. Mr. Bennet nodded and turned to his wife, levelling a harsh look in her direction.

  Lydia waltzed through the front door and clattered into the room, laughing and swinging her bonnet. She stopped and looked around the silent group. “What is the matter with all of you?”

  “We are well, Lydia,” her mother replied in a tight voice. “Did you enjoy your walk?”

  Lydia grinned, delighted with herself and scarcely able to contain her news. “Oh yes. Maria and I saw Mrs. Forster in Meryton, and as we spoke, a fine carriage went by, heading towards Netherfield.”

  “Mr. Darcy has arrived…” was murmured by more than one occupant of the room.

  Lydia stomped her foot, angry that she had been interrupted. “He was not alone,” she said loudly, sending a sly smile towards Elizabeth. “He has a young lady with him.”

  “A young lady?” Mr. Collins gasped. His eyes narrowed and settled on Elizabeth. Noticing his intense stare and flared nostrils, she felt slightly ill. I fear he is marking me.

  “Oh yes. She is quite handsome.” Lydia laughed. “And such a fine bonnet!”

  “The lady who caused him to throw over Miss de Bourgh?” cried Mrs. Bennet.

  “Oh, he is a rake!” agreed Aunt Phillips.

  Elizabeth spoke, willing to give herself away to protect her friends. “Mr. Darcy is here to visit the Bingleys and the Hursts at Netherfield. He was to bring his younger sister with him. He is devoted to her.”

  All eyes not already boring into Elizabeth now shifted to her.

  “You know this with some authority, Lizzy?” her father voiced.

  “Yes. We met in London with Aunt and Uncle Gardiner.”

  Mr. Bennet frowned at his second daughter. “Did you?”

  “And contrary to what Mr. Wickham
has said, Mama, I have learnt that the man was never betrothed to Miss de Bourgh, and in fact has been of great service to his family, the Fitzwilliams.”

  “Mr. Darcy was never engaged to his cousin? Truly?” Mrs. Bennet’s tone betrayed her excitement.

  “No, he was not.” Elizabeth stared at her father, beseeching him to throttle Mr. Collins and demand his eyes move elsewhere. Why does he not look at the honey cakes? They are his favourite!

  Instead, her father asked a simple question. “He is an eligible man, Lizzy? Able to marry?”

  At Elizabeth’s nod, Mrs. Bennet swooped in with the Looming Query: “And with ten thousand a year to his name?”

  “Ah yes.” Mr. Collins spoke up. “I cannot vouch for his character, but he is a wealthy man. And it is true,” he added quietly, “that he and Miss de Bourgh were never formally promised to each other. There was some confusion…someone misheard my words last month.”

  “Mr. Collins!” Mrs. Bennet admonished.

  “Or you misunderstood things and misled your eager audiences,” Mr. Bennet said in a withering voice.

  “And gossiped.” Kitty waggled her fingers at him.

  “That was not very Christian, Mr. Collins,” Mary scolded.

  The cleric grumbled, “I was misled.”

  “Misled by creamy turnips,” whispered Lydia. She and Kitty broke into giggles.

  “Ah, so tell us, sir.” Mr. Bennet had folded his newspaper and leaned forward with a keen and avid interest. “In addition to being wrong about Mr. Darcy—I believe you called him the Grieving Groom—you were misled as to the majesties of Rosings, the tragic beauty of Miss de Bourgh, and the brilliant mind of her mother?”

  Mr. Collins looked rather like a gasping fish when Mr. Bennet finished speaking.

  Mrs. Bennet pulled her eyes away from the sulking man and settled her gaze on Elizabeth. “Hmm. None is as it seems. You are a clever girl, Lizzy.”

  Jane appeared vexed while Kitty beamed at her sister. “Miss Bingley thinks Mr. Darcy to be wondrous, a man among men, and she dislikes nearly everyone.”