Mendacity and Mourning

by J. L. Ashton

  Darcy’s head dropped to his chest. “My lord. Elizabeth, I have much to tell you. My family is rather complicated.”

  “Do you mean to warn me away from you, that I have not the courage to accept a cupboard full of relatives akin to Colonel Fitzwilliam?”

  Darcy smiled and quelled the flutter her words had stirred in him. How he loved her! Her beauty, sensibility, and wry sweetness were as necessary to him as air to breathe. How had it taken so long for him to understand that he needed her, how well they fit together as perfect lovers and companions? There was so much he needed to say to this woman. He shook his head and cleared his throat.

  “How do you make light of such things? Will it frighten you to learn that Richard is my favourite cousin and often in residence at Pemberley or Darcy House? That in spite of his oft-embarrassing jokes, he was the champion of my admiration for you?”

  She laughed lightly and gave him an arch look. “I had assumed he admires nigh every lady he meets.”

  Darcy raised his eyebrows. “Perhaps, but he knows that I do not.”

  Elizabeth turned her eyes from him and sighed. “You have met my family. None are yet hidden in the cupboard. I have two silly sisters and a gossiping mother. My father is often disinterested, and my vainglorious cousin is soon to be my brother. Pray, how can you best me?”

  He stopped their progress, chuckled softly, and lifted her chin. “Elizabeth,” he said, willing her to meet his eyes and seeing the vulnerability in hers. “I like your family. I like mine as well in spite of the difficulties their behaviours create. I told you a little of it while we were in London and in my letter.” Darcy looked at her in earnest. “Now I think I must tell you the long and twisting tale of my aunt, to whom I have no allegiance; my cousin, to whom I was never betrothed; and her whisk of a husband.”

  At her nod, Darcy pulled Elizabeth closer before leading her on the path nearer the trees. Under the warm autumn sun, he took a deep breath and began his tale. Even while losing his thoughts many times whilst staring into her laughing eyes, he remembered to include the story of his sister and the now-somewhat-heroic footman, which Elizabeth—as he knew she would—found endearing.

  ***

  Elizabeth had exhausted herself of questions when Darcy ventured the one he had neglected to ask Bingley “How soon will the first wedding take place?”

  “Both of my sisters will marry before year’s end.”

  “That is a generous amount of time. If Collins and your sister are first to wed, it would matter little to Bingley. I believe he would share his happiness with any bride and groom as long as your sister graced his arm and took his name.”

  “Your friend is a good man. He sees all that is good and happy with the world, as does Jane.” Mostly. She recalled her sister’s impatience but a day ago. Jane had offered sincere and happy congratulations on Elizabeth’s courtship, but the topic of Mr. Collins’s bride had not been broached between the sisters. Elizabeth did not want to appear missish, but she had had to temper her desire to show off Mr. Darcy and remind Jane that an intelligent, handsome man of ten thousand a year could appreciate her worth.

  “Such optimism is an enviable trait, though one that requires caution equal to its application.” Darcy smirked. “My approach to the world is often remarked upon by Bingley as quite the opposite.”

  Elizabeth touched his arm. “I have seen little that is disagreeable in you or your approach, Mr. Darcy.”

  “Fitzwilliam,” he said softly. “You could, if you are so inclined, use my Christian name.”

  “Oh.”

  “When we are alone,” he said, his voice low, “or with your sister and Bingley?”

  “I would like that, Fitzwilliam.” Elizabeth watched his eyes darken and his face light up with happiness. She said it again, this time more playfully. “Fitzwilliam.”

  He smiled at her. “Forgive me; I am rather stupid at the moment.”

  “Oh dear. Will you burst forth in poetic raptures, or shall I recite a psalm to soothe your nerves? Mr. Collins has been quite helpful in broadening my knowledge of verse.”

  “He is a learned man,” Darcy replied solemnly. “And, as of yesterday, a romantic hero.”

  “Now, now. We must not mock my cousin-turned-brother.” Elizabeth paused, fully realising what her family had gained. Last evening, as Mr. Collins packed his valise for his move to the Phillipses’, Lydia had congratulated Mary on her service in moving their cousin into matrimony and out of their house. Elizabeth had done little more than frown at her youngest sister and hope her concurrence did not show in her expression. The knowledge that Mr. Collins would be her brother—and brother to the man she would marry—had created a brief flare of fear in her as she lay abed, sleepless in the long, still hours. This man she loved already had a difficult family tree. Could it be weighed down by one more twisted branch?

  “I apologise,” Darcy voiced.

  She gave a little shake of her head. “No, no. All is well. Truly, Mary is quite pleased with the turn of events. As for my mother, little needs be said. ‘Two daughters married.’”

  Darcy bit his lip. “Your sisters are to be married, but I hope you are happy as well.”

  “Of course, I am very happy!” she exclaimed and squeezed his hand. She rather liked this careful, shy version of Mr. Darcy. Courting was full of unexpected pleasures; she wondered how she might inspire him into more kissing. They had at most ten minutes before she would need to return to Longbourn.

  “Good. I am happier than I can ever recall. I fear, though, that I have neglected to ask whether you wished for a long courtship or a short one.”

  “Fitzwilliam, we have only minutes left before my mother sends one of my sisters to seek me out. In less than two days, she has had two daughters betrothed and has seen me being courted.” She bit her lip and looked up at him. “I fear she cannot bear more happiness before breakfast. If I could, I would flee it.”

  He closed his eyes and said quietly, “Pemberley has hundreds of acres to roam and rooms in which to hide.”

  She stared at him. When he had whispered in her ear two days earlier, she had been so intent on the sensation of his lips and the thrumming feeling it created that she had barely been conscious of his words. It was not until later than night in her bed that she had been able to consider them.

  “I cannot wait to show you Pemberley.”

  “It sounds wonderful.” She steeled herself, recalling something else he had said. “Are you…you just arrived…are you to go to Pemberley now on family business?”

  “Until a day ago, I thought I must head north and attend to my duties there. Elizabeth, I despise the thought of it. I am so tired of traversing the countryside away from you.” He sighed heavily. “A fortnight in Pemberley is beyond my patience. My steward and housekeeper are intelligent and capable. My business can be conducted by letters and messengers, and by a short trip to London. The weather will turn, however. We must go before the snows.”

  “Oh, I see.” She knew she sounded miserable. “Will you and Georgiana depart directly after the wedding?”

  “No. Not without you.”

  She looked up sharply.

  “Elizabeth, do you not understand?” Darcy shook his head, grimaced, and looked down at their joined hands. “I am courting you and cannot leave unless I carry your promise with me.”

  Oh my. Elizabeth felt warmth spreading through her. She was sure her cheeks were flaming; she knew her heart was.

  “I do not wish to return to Pemberley without you.” He lifted her hands to his lips and gently kissed her fingers. “I wish to marry you. I love you.”

  Everything around them—the air, the trees—was still. Darcy took a deep breath, and Elizabeth tightened her grip on his hands.

  “I am not a perfect man,” he said haltingly. “But I am a man of hono
ur. And my heart was pure and untouched until you.”

  Elizabeth looked up into his dark, pleading eyes. “As was mine,” she said, resting her hand on his heart.

  “Marry me.”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “I shall.” Her hand drifted to his cheek and pulled him down, nearer to her. She kissed the wound given him by his aunt and left her own mark there. “I love you.”

  “Elizabeth,” he murmured in a tender voice before capturing her lips. His hands clasped her close while her arms curled around him.

  Neither a sister nor a wandering sheep interrupted them.

  ***

  The afternoon wore on as two blissful lovers—and one man’s joyful sister—paid calls at Longbourn, where the Bennets and their neighbours were happy to greet them, feed them, and assess the changes soon to be forthcoming. The three who were left behind at Netherfield stared at walls and unfinished needlework, leafed through magazines, and plotted billiards tournaments. The Hursts found separate pursuits while the Highly Tormented Caroline stared forlornly out the window.

  “I despise it here, Louisa. The people, the food, the deceit…”

  Her sister sighed. “Caroline, those are the same things you love and despise in London. You must quit this pouting over Charles’s engagement. Jane will be a kinder, more generous sister to you than many would be.”

  “I know that,” Caroline snapped.

  “Then what distresses you? Mayhap, you miss the inquisitive company of her younger sister Kitty?”

  “That girl was a hopeless case. Her attention wandered just as her mind and her fashion were showing signs of improvement.” Caroline turned and stalked over to a chair. She stopped and stared down at it. “This is a hideous shade of blue. Look at the pattern. It must be replaced.”

  “Leave the chair be, Caroline. You resent Eliza Bennet and regret losing your chance with Mr. Darcy.” Louisa gave her sister a sympathetic smile before returning her attention to polishing an errant spot of spittle off her bracelet.

  “That clergyman was supposed to marry Eliza, not her squinty-eyed sister. I do not understand Darcy’s attachment to her and her country manners. Mayhap, it is all just another rumour.” Caroline saw she had lost her sister’s attention and briefly wished Kitty would visit and elucidate the details of the awful arrangement of couples. She cleared her throat.

  “You are altered, Louisa. You think yourself so clever and so settled with your own marriage. Do you think I do not recognise the reason for your titters and sighs and teasing ways?”

  Louisa froze.

  “It is those…Thursdays. Do you think I am stupid? I know why you retire early those evenings,” Caroline sniffed. “What I do not understand is why you continue to allow such attentions when they do not produce a child. How do you tolerate it?”

  Her sister stared at her, a tense smile on her face. “I tolerate many things, Caroline, and suffer the attentions of many people; however, Cornelius is not among them. I long ago ceased closing my eyes and humming hymns, and I have discovered he is more than a dutiful husband.”

  Caroline sank into the hateful blue chair. “Yes, I understand husbands are quite in fashion now.”

  She looked up at the sound of footsteps and laughter in the hall. “They are returned,” she said quietly, her fury and frustration seeping out.

  ***

  Georgiana took a deep breath. These two days spent with Elizabeth and her family had been exhausting yet exhilarating; there were five sisters, and the two nearest her age—out yet unclaimed—were full of observations, witticisms, and questions that left her breathless. Her cheeks hurt from nervous laughter and genuine smiles, giving her confidence enough now to walk into a different kind of atmosphere.

  How was it that Kitty referred to our host? “Poor Miss Bingley, alone with her bitter beauty.”

  Georgiana appreciated her new friend’s sympathy for the aging yet fashionable lady and commiserated that Miss Bingley would be sister to the Bennets when Charles married Jane. Georgiana wished for sisters, but her desires were quite specific and verging on impatient. In two days, they were to Pemberley; would Elizabeth be promised to Fitzwilliam? Would she accompany them north? Or would more time pass before their happiness, and hers, was assured? Selfish girl, she scolded herself. She knew her brother wished to wed Elizabeth. If he had secured her hand, he would tell his only sister, would he not?

  We cannot go to Pemberley, not without Lizzy.

  Georgiana was heartened by the thought. Her brother’s affections were deep and true. Nothing could stop his attentions to Elizabeth or affect his pursuit of her hand. It would be so terribly unfair. After all, Anne had married her true love, and rather than compelling the rest of the family to make more distinguished marriages, did it not instead free them to follow their hearts? It must, she concluded, unless it meant a footman or a soldier…or another painter. Peregrine Dumfries. In spite of Richard’s jokes and Lady Matlock’s pained expressions whenever the name was raised, Georgiana looked forward with great anticipation to her first meeting with Anne’s husband. She had never seen a man with a beauty mark.

  For now, however, she lingered in the hall outside the drawing room, looking back over her shoulder at her brother, bright-eyed, red-cheeked, and reading an express. Mr. Bingley hovered nearby, smoothing down his hair as he spoke to the butler. They were happy men, and she so hoped to learn that her brother’s happiness soon would be permanent.

  When will he propose? Soon, I hope. Three Darcys we shall be. And they will not send me away or leave me to hide in cupboards.

  Fitzwilliam might be her brother’s Christian name, but he was a Darcy—honourable and kind rather than perverse and angry. He was the best brother and would be the best husband.

  Hearing voices through the open doorway, Georgiana was confused by the meaning of Thursdays and rather bemused to learn that Mr. Hurst carried such an imposing Christian name. Truly, Cornelius? But she felt no small sympathy for Miss Bingley’s wistful declaration on the currency of dutiful husbands. She herself knew little of marriage and had observed only that her aunt and uncle enjoyed each other’s company and her cousin Robert and his wife seemed…content.

  One could hope for far more; she had learned that in the novels hidden in her aunt’s sofa cushions. Those pages spoke of passion, lust, and forbidden desires. Truly, it was not appropriate to think of her always-proper brother in this way, but she saw how he gazed at Elizabeth. He was in love, and Elizabeth was perfectly suited to him. They would be beyond happy—already they glowed. Mr. Bingley appeared just as besotted with Jane; she supposed that his cheeks ached from his incessant grinning, bobbing, and quiet chuckling. Love was in the air, was it not?

  “Georgiana? Shall we go in?”

  Startled by her brother’s deep voice from her admittedly improper eavesdropping, Georgiana nodded. Fitzwilliam led her into the room of expectant hosts, and she smiled a greeting to the ladies of Netherfield.

  “Good afternoon, ladies. Hurst.” Fitzwilliam nodded to the other new arrival. Mr. Hurst wandered over to the settee and dropped down next to his wife. Mr. Bingley stepped into the room a moment later.

  Her brother enquired, “May I request accommodation for Colonel Fitzwilliam? He will be arriving this afternoon.”

  “To meet your lady?” Miss Bingley asked in a brittle voice.

  Fitzwilliam smiled, the full force of which the Bingley sisters had rarely seen. “Oh, my cousin and Miss Elizabeth formed an acquaintance when she and her London relations dined at Darcy House.” He did not seem to notice the shocked expressions his words elicited. “It should make for a lively evening here.”

  Mrs. Hurst sputtered, “Of course.”

  Mr. Bingley smiled. “Your fearsome cousin is always welcome at Netherfield.”

  “He can go shooting with us,” Mr. Hurst exclaimed.
>
  Fitzwilliam nodded solemnly and gazed at Georgiana. “Prepare for your cousin in full regalia. He—”

  “—is here, you dolt.” Amid a thunderous stomping of boots and jingle-jangling, the colonel strode into the room. He flashed a broad smile at Georgiana and the Bingley sisters before slapping Fitzwilliam on the shoulder. “Darcy, you would be an utter failure in the militia. The enemy would cut you down in a flash. You want for fox sense.”

  “Oh, Mr. Darcy would be an excellent soldier, sir!” scolded Miss Bingley. “The military is the lesser for not having its share of his intelligence and sense of honour. His posture too is quite impressive.”

  “Quite lofty and erect,” Mr. Hurst agreed. Mr. Bingley burst into laughter; then, glancing at Georgiana, he began coughing.

  “I believe I have lost my peace hours earlier than I had hoped.” Fitzwilliam sighed and wandered away towards the window to stare outside, a small smile on his lips.

  Richard stared forlornly at Georgiana. “How do you put up with this starry-eyed man, my dear? Must you repeat and explain everything to him? Love’s arrow is indeed sharp and dangerous.”

  Mr. Bingley chuckled. “Love’s arrow cannot pierce the clouds he and Lizzy gaze at.” Noting the incredulous glance Darcy was sending him, he protested. “It is true! It is a wonder neither of you has tumbled down the paths you walk. Jane and I cannot keep pace.”

  “Nor do you wish to, Bingley.”

  “Pot and kettle united again, I see,” Richard murmured, gazing at Mr. Bingley’s dreamy expression.

  Sighs, groans, and throat clearing erupted.

  Richard tapped the mantel. “Walk with me, cousins. I have news from London.”

  ***