Mendacity and Mourning

by J. L. Ashton

  Darcy exhaled and brought himself back to the moment. His sister sat beside his Elizabeth. Our happy future.

  His shoulder ached a bit from the well wishes, effusions of joy, and fainting ladies at Longbourn, so when he was certain that everyone was firmly seated in Netherfield’s sitting room, he cleared his throat and shot a look at Bingley, urging him to announce his news.

  Bingley gazed at Jane and took her hand in his. “Miss Jane Bennet has agreed to be my wife,” he said, beaming.

  To their credit, both Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst praised the engagement. Hurst chuckled. “Finally, another lady of good sense in this family. We need a toast!”

  Miss Bennet appeared unable to stop her cheeks from pinking, and Bingley seemed overwhelmed by the effusive sentiments.

  “We all are quite pleased with your brother’s happy news,” Darcy said. “Charles could not have found himself a kinder, better-suited lady.”

  Miss Bingley’s smile nearly faltered at his earnest words. “The Bennets must be quite pleased. Charles will be a wonderful husband to Jane and a comfort to them. Shall we expect more happy news soon, Eliza? Mr. Collins is likely quite impatient with his suit.”

  Georgiana gasped, too quietly and too politely for anyone but her brother to hear.

  “I scarcely think I try my cousin’s patience in any manner, Miss Bingley,” Elizabeth replied. “We have been so fortunate as to be out of the other’s company these past weeks, and I daresay, we both are happier for the separation.”

  “It is my understanding—” Miss Bingley began.

  Hurst snorted. “Understandings are often prone to misunderstanding, Caroline.”

  “I quite agree, Hurst,” Darcy said, rising and moving to stand by the fireplace. “I fear I am too happy not to encroach on your brother’s joy; I too must share.”

  He moved his eyes away from Miss Bingley’s and smiled at Elizabeth. She beamed back, and he fought the urge to wink at her. I am not Richard. I shall be proper.

  “I am pleased to tell you that I am courting…” hearing a gasp, his eyes shifted to see his sister smiling and Miss Bingley reeling.

  “…Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

  “But…” Miss Bingley croaked.

  “Hear, hear,” Hurst bellowed. “Now who is giving the toast?”

  ***

  Longbourn was in an uproar when the foursome returned for dinner. Darcy and Bingley escorted their ladies inside only to find Mrs. Bennet being assisted to her room. Kitty and Lydia were perched on the settee—flanking a weeping Mary—while an ashen Mr. Collins was being led by his host from the library. All the inhabitants looked up in hysterical relief when the group entered. Mr. Bennet urged them to be seated and then sank into his favourite chair. He announced that there was to be another engagement. “Before the gossip can begin,” he said gravely, “Mary is to wed Mr. Collins.”

  Jane flushed a deep red, shocked by her pious sister’s unexpected fate and bewildered by the tumult of emotion roiling the room. Though a touch annoyed at once again sharing the glory of what she had hoped was her day, Jane almost immediately felt shame for her selfishness.

  Bingley sighed, wishing to express his congratulations but wary of the sombre atmosphere. His sisters never cried, and he was at a loss whether to console or congratulate Miss Mary. Instead, he patted Jane’s hand and nodded encouragingly at any who met his eye.

  Darcy was struck by the irony of Collins the Gossip forced into marriage to avoid gossip. Another truth hit harder and cut deeply: I am the last man in the world to gain engagement to a Bennet. It was insupportable, but at least Mr. Bennet was aware of and approved his intentions. Now, to get Elizabeth to agree. He made a silent vow: I shall not share my wedding day. This will be the world’s briefest courtship.

  Meanwhile, Elizabeth dwelt on the reference to gossip. What had Mr. Collins done now? She was torn between joy for Mary, who had long admired their toad-eater cousin, and her anger that her sister—who had never been the object of attention or desire—would accept so meagre a man. A man who apparently had compromised her! She searched for understanding and kind words to say and found none.

  Mr. Bennet looked grimly around the room and sighed. “I believe I shall see to your mother.” He wandered towards the stairs, but instead, retreated to his library.

  Elizabeth’s eyes flared. “How did this come about?” she murmured quietly to no one in particular. Mr. Darcy took her hand and clasped it tightly.

  With their father in retreat and their mother absent and unable to speak beyond calling for her salts, Kitty and Lydia took turns unspooling the tale for a reluctant though rapt audience.

  “After all of you left for Netherfield, we walked to Meryton to buy ribbon and share the happy wedding news,” Kitty said breathlessly.

  “And courtship news,” Lydia interjected. “Mr. Darcy is a bit slow exhibiting his adoration of Lizzy, I think.” Her attention focused on her storytelling; she overlooked Mr. Darcy’s flaming cheeks and Mr. Bingley’s quiet chuckle.

  “Mary and Mr. Collins walked with us,” Lydia continued. “He was bothering Cook about her berry tarts, and Mama hoped to distract him from his earlier worries over Lizzy’s disreputable courtship with Mr. Darcy.”

  “Disreputable?” Mr. Darcy murmured angrily. “‘He who has a head of glass should beware of any hostile stones that pass.’”

  Mr. Collins slumped further in his seat and moaned, “No, my good sir. Those worries were at an end. All has changed…”

  Elizabeth smiled a little in spite of herself at Mr. Darcy quoting from Chaucer.

  Lydia began speaking again, but Kitty shushed her. “As I was saying at the beginning, we went to Meryton, where we found delightful red ribbons. Charlotte and Maria joined us, and we shared the happy news. They determined to return with us to Longbourn and congratulate Lizzy and Jane.”

  Lydia sniggered. “Maria had bought herself a nice piece of blue lace to trim her bonnet, but it would better suit me as it would set off my lovely eyes.”

  Mr. Darcy cleared his throat, and Kitty resumed the story. “As we left Meryton, we saw Mr. Wickham! Lydia was so pleased until—”

  “Let me tell it, Kitty! It happened to me!”

  “No, it did not! It happened to Mary!”

  “But I was a witness,” Lydia cried, stomping her foot. “The very first witness!”

  Elizabeth could feel the tension radiating through Mr. Darcy. She glanced at Jane, who appeared frozen in shock, and then observed Mary, who stared wide-eyed at her pale-faced betrothed. Hill entered and set down the tea tray.

  “Girls,” Elizabeth said quietly, “is this a story that should be told here?”

  Her youngest sister glanced past the empty doorway to their father’s library and nodded briskly. “Wickham is always so pleased to see me although his misrepresentations about Mr. Darcy have made me less pleased to see him.” Lydia gave the slandered man a fond look, prompting a rather nervous half-smile in return. “But today, he looked cross. He was walking from the Nortons’ little milk house, and their kitchen girl, Amelia Brown, was behind him. Wickham was buttoning his waistcoat.”

  Kitty shook her head. “Oh, his face was quite red. His lips were swollen, like all of yours were this morning.” She nodded smartly at her sisters and their suitors. Suddenly aware of her error, Kitty cringed and averted her eyes. No one took notice as all eyes were occupied in the canvassing of walls, floors, boots, and lace trimmings.

  “Amelia is an ugly girl,” Lydia assured them. “And there she was, having her way with Wickham. He is pleasing to look at, but he behaved so badly!”

  “When he heard Lydia scream—”

  “Gasp, Kitty. I gasped.”

  “When she gasped, Mr. Wickham became quite angry,” Kitty said, a bit irritated at the interruptions. “He did not run aw
ay but walked towards us without even the courtesy of a greeting, Mr. Wickham asked whether the rumours were true about Lizzy and Mr. Darcy.”

  “There have been so many rumours, as you know,” Lydia said. “So I asked him to be more specific in his enquiry.”

  In spite of her consternation, Elizabeth felt a small glimmer of pride at Lydia’s comedic sense of propriety.

  “He demanded to know whether Lizzy was to marry Mr. Darcy. I am not a liar,” Kitty assured her audience, “so I told him they were merely courting. Nevertheless, Mr. Wickham was not pleased.”

  “His eyes swept across all of us, from Charlotte to Maria to Mary to Kitty to me. He was looking at me in an odd way,” Lydia whispered. “In a delicate place. At my neck.”

  Jane and Elizabeth gasped. Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy growled.

  “Mr. Collins asked him to remove his eyes from my person, and he attempted to step in front of us. Then he tripped and fell onto Mary, who tumbled into Wickham’s arms.”

  “His clutches!” cried Kitty.

  “Mr. Wickham seized my person, and laid his lips upon mine,” Mary said meekly.

  “He…oh! The scurrilous cur!” Mr. Bingley cried. “Oh, pardon my language.”

  Jane’s hands flew to her heart. “Oh, Mary.”

  Mr. Darcy said nothing but sat very still. His hand fell from Elizabeth’s and folded into a fist. Elizabeth looked from Mary’s drawn face to his hard, impassive one. She leaned into his shoulder, awakening him from his fury. He regained her hand and held it between his own larger ones. It was not the caress of lovers but of repressed anger and anguish.

  Lydia sighed. “Poor Mary. Her first kiss came from a handsome man, but he is wicked.”

  “He smelled of spirits. I believe that, in his deluded state, he supposed I was Lydia.” Mary closed her eyes and drank her tea.

  Kitty patted her shoulder and resumed the tale. “’Tis true, I think. Suddenly, Mr. Wickham began shouting, and he pushed Mary back into Mr. Collins and they tumbled to the ground. Mrs. Goulding and Mrs. Norton came from the house and saw us all.”

  “And Mr. Wickham claimed our cousin had compromised poor Mary?” Jane asked quietly.

  “Oh yes,” Lydia said. “He called him a ‘sinful spreader of seed!’”

  “Lydia!” Elizabeth cried. “Hush!”

  “Lydia, mind yourself and stop upsetting your sister!” Mr. Bennet roared. His appearance in the doorway, brandy bottle in hand, stifled the uncomfortable coughing and throat clearing. Looking rather bleary, he strolled into the room.

  “From the looks on your faces, I should assume there has not been talk of ribbons, lace, and weddings.” His gaze settled on his youngest, still unclaimed daughters. “I expect you two have made everyone privy to the details of Longbourn’s latest news?” he asked in a tired but angry voice. “Even as we rejoice in the engagement of such a like-minded pair, this is not a tale that bears repeating. Ever. And certainly not outside this house.

  “I believe we are all family here,” he added, prompting Mr. Collins to cringe, Mr. Bingley to nod gravely, and Mr. Darcy to tighten his grip on Elizabeth’s hand.

  Mr. Bennet took his seat after pouring a generous serving of brandy into Mr. Collins’s tea. After a moment, he added a few drops to Mary’s cup and then to his own. Mary’s upper lip quivered. Mr. Collins drained his tea and sighed heavily.

  “Poor Mary,” Jane said. Mr. Bingley gave her a sad smile that showed his unwillingness to embrace the sadness and drama of the day.

  ***

  Darcy held himself in check. He had questions to ask and a man to hunt down and send to debtors’ prison—after he had damaged his face once or twice. Damn it. A few hours. Elizabeth and I had but a few hours to savour our understanding before that worthless ass had to involve himself in our lives by ruining Elizabeth’s sister. Had he wanted to tie himself to me as family? He grabbed the wrong Bennet and tossed her to a different fate.

  “There is more to Mr. Wickham than we know, is there not?” Mr. Bennet asked, his attention focused on Darcy.

  He nodded. He had thrown Wickham from the Darcy properties before he could become a thief; he had supported the children he knew Wickham had thoughtlessly spawned; he had done his father’s bidding and paid Wickham the promised three thousand pounds. Wickham had skirted the law and common decency for too long, and he was not good enough for the uniform. He soon would be a desperate man without recourse. His wiles have been dulled by drink and dissolution.

  “Wickham may pretend, but he has never been a gentleman,” Darcy said in a cool voice. “I am sorry for the pain he caused you, Miss Mary. I did not know he remained in Meryton.”

  “He knew much about you,” Miss Catherine averred. “All lies, I believe. He is a gossip and inventor and spreader of tall tales.”

  “One among many,” Mr. Bennet said, his eyes resting on the man who would soon be his son, the trembling heir to Longbourn.

  “Wickham saved himself and doomed my sister,” Elizabeth murmured.

  “Poor Mary,” her elder sister said quietly.

  Miss Mary found her voice, shaky though it remained. “I am not ‘poor Mary,’” she stated. “Nor am I doomed. In spite of the circumstances, I am to be married to a good man. Mr. Collins tried to defend us all from Mr. Wickham’s wicked behaviour.”

  Mr. Collins stirred, his attention moving from his empty teacup to the face of the woman to whom he would be married. Darcy caught a glimpse of his dawning apprehension of his future wife’s worth. Elizabeth, watching them closely, clutched Darcy’s hand.

  “’Tis true he would not have fallen if his coats were better tailored,” Miss Lydia agreed. “They are far too long to be fashionable or wise.” All eyes dropped to the torn hem of Mr. Collins’s flowing coat.

  “Indeed, Miss Mary is fortunate that her cousin was there to protect her and to save her name,” Bingley offered.

  Mr. Bennet stared at him and laughed ruefully. “Not everyone is the author of their own love story, but all in all, it has been a rather romantic day.”

  Miss Lydia turned to Darcy. “As my father says, we are all family here. What shall we do about Mr. Wickham?”

  Chapter Twenty

  After a Sunday of rain and separation of young lovers, Monday’s post brought timely news, but as the roads had been muddied and horses slowed down, it was not timely enough. The inhabitants of Netherfield moved slowly through the sunny November morning, save the one who rode through the muck to meet his morning maiden.

  “Mr. Darcy.”

  “Miss Elizabeth.”

  The dew was fresh, the air was crisp, and the conversation suspended while they stared at each other. A gentle pull on his horse’s reins rallied Darcy’s attention. He dismounted and tied Orlando to a fence post. Then he reached for Elizabeth’s hand.

  “I believe I prefer your hands without gloves,” he murmured.

  “Ah, but that would be most improper, sir. Just two days past, I neglected my gloves, and within sight of my own home, a handsome gentleman captured my hand with his lips.” Her voice was soft yet lilting with humour. “It was most careless of me.”

  “Do tell.” Darcy bent over her gloved hand and kissed it. He wished to kiss other things as well. In all his years in London, Derbyshire, and Cambridge, he had never before noticed how the English air could colour a cheek, rouge a lip, and brighten an eye. Elizabeth radiated happiness, health, and all that could be good and wonderful.

  Is one day enough for a courtship?

  “Pardon me?” Elizabeth was staring at him, a blush spreading across her cheeks.

  Damn, I said that aloud.

  “I wonder at all that has happened since I spoke to your father but two days ago,” he managed. “Is your mother well?”

  She smiled. “Yes, Mama is quite overcome, welc
oming two sons and a suitor.”

  “She has set aside the gossip and rumours about me?”

  “Oh yes. You surprised her most pleasingly,” Elizabeth reassured him. Her words provoked a wry smile.

  “A feat of which I am rarely accused.”

  Elizabeth laughed quietly. “Forgive my mother if her manner veers from distraction to effusion. We are quite busy at Longbourn. I am gaining two brothers, both eager suitors as it turns out. And I am being courted by a fine man who loves books but disdains gloves.”

  He glanced at her and noted her eyes were focused on his lips. His thoughts muddled. Richard is right to mock me; my brain empties of thought when I am near her. Can I just kiss her and be done with it? That would secure an engagement without tripping over my tongue…uh, words.

  He coloured and looked away. The temptation she presented was too great. He tucked her arm in his and began to walk.

  “Collins is eager, you say? How is Miss Mary?” he rasped.

  Elizabeth’s eyes brightened. “Quite well. Although my family is exultant that Mr. Collins has had to remove himself from Longbourn, Mary is most happy with the attention and pleased with her groom, on whom has dawned recognition of the Bennet bride best suited to his temperament. Though I think it ungenerous that Jane’s happy day was halved and then shared yet again, I cannot deny my younger sister’s joy.”

  “Glory to your cousin for his enlightenment,” he said in a droll tone. “Will your sisters share their wedding day?”

  “Oh. Oh dear.” Elizabeth sighed. “I am not certain of the merit of such an idea. My mother would like to see her eldest daughter marry first from home, yet with the circumstances of Mary’s engagement, her wedding is likely to precede it. Mr. Collins has expressed a wish to be wed in his own church.” She peeked at him from under the brim of her bonnet. “He wishes to have his patroness attend.”