“Just be kind,” Jane insisted. “It can’t be easy for her. She understands the full truth of what she has chosen and that she made the decision with open eyes. Don’t blame her now that it’s too late, but simply let her know you still love her.”
“Of course I will,” Elizabeth said, surprised at Jane’s vehemence. “That is, I will if she’ll let me. I daren’t love anyone these days, the way things turn out.”
“They will improve,” Jane said. “I’m sure of it. Perhaps you will meet someone at Rosings.”
“Now there’s a cheerful thought,” Elizabeth said. “Maybe Mr. Collins has a brother.”
“Girls!” Mrs. Gardiner called from down the corridor. “What are those dreadful noises? I swear, you two sound worse than my boys. If you don’t stop I’ll send to the apothecary for an emetic.”
ONLY BY THE time spring was approaching did Fitz begin to contemplate leaving Charles on his own with some equanimity. He was not quite back to his old cheerful self, but he no longer sighed every two minutes, nor had Fitz found any more poetic remnants. If Charles did sometimes gaze with unfocused eyes out the window during pauses in conversation or wander aimlessly in the park on Sunday mornings after church, at least he smiled more often and accompanied Fitz regularly to the opera and to concerts, and had regained enough address to partner eligible young ladies at balls. He was careful never to stand up twice with the same girl and showed no preference for anyone. Even a certain Miss Frances Overton, blond and buxom, who from a distance bore a startling resemblance to the eldest Miss Bennet, produced no other effect than to cause him to remark that it was strange how someone can look so much like another person but be so different in character. Fitz had heard the Overton chit had a reputation for sharpness, which no doubt explained her unmarried state at the ripe age of twenty-five.
Charles steadfastly refused to set foot in the Brotherhood of Philander, which was probably just as well. He was more receptive these days, and there were times when he was even eager again, so that Fitz was required to visit so dangerous and unwholesome an environment less frequently. On his last visit, there had been a disturbing and disgraceful incident with Monkton that had led to bruises, bloodshed, and apologies all around. A pity, really. Just when he had begun to think old Sylly a rather decent sort, it was as if the man had deliberately provoked Fitz to behavior that even a common seaman would be ashamed of. And for some reason all the others had been on hand to witness Fitz’s less than gentlemanly conduct. Even though Monkton had taken it in good part—in fact, he seemed in an exceptionally good humor about something that would have had Fitz angry enough to risk a duel—on the whole Fitz thought it was time to rusticate, as debt-saddled undergraduates would say. He could at least be sanguine in the thought that Charles was on the mend.
“You know I spend Easter with my aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, in Kent,” Fitz told Miss Bingley during one of her frequent morning calls. She always seemed to forget which days Georgiana was at home and ended up in an improper tête-à-tête with Fitz.
“But how will Charles fare without your guidance? It’s a pity he can’t stay here while you’re away, now that he and Georgiana are on such friendly terms.”
“Charles is a grown man, Miss Bingley,” Fitz said. “Not a child in need of a governor. And surely you would not wish to compromise Miss Darcy’s reputation, even to advance your brother’s interest.”
“Oh no! Of course not!” Miss Bingley did not have the grace even to attempt to look abashed. “I suppose,” she continued in her insinuating way, “that the pleasure of seeing your cousin again after an entire year outweighs any slight concern you may once have felt for my poor brother.”
“Colonel Fitzwilliam?” Fitz said. “It’s been almost two years. He does usually visit our aunt at the same time, but he was overseas last year. Yes, he’s a very good fellow, but I assure you, Miss Bingley, that your poor brother is in no danger of being displaced in my affections.”
“Oh!” Miss Bingley was visibly exasperated. “I was speaking of Anne.”
“Anne?” Fitz had a hard time bringing an image to mind.
“Miss de Bourgh,” Miss Bingley said. “You may recall her, the lady you’re betrothed to?”
“Oh.” Fitz was taken aback. “Poor little Anne.”
Miss Bingley smirked at the epithet, seeming to take comfort from Fitz’s lack of enthusiasm. “Is she still sickly, then?”
“As far as I know,” Fitz said. “She suffers from a chronic and incurable condition. Very sad, but nothing anyone can do anything about. That is, not within the boundaries of Christian morality.”
“Really?” Miss Bingley said in a hushed whisper, leaning forward on the edge of her chair and bending at the waist until her face was uncomfortably close to Fitz’s crossed knees. “What is it? Was it—that is—did Sir Lewis—Lady Catherine’s husband? Do the physicians have any hope?”
“Nothing like that,” Fitz said. “I must say, Miss Bingley, you have a wicked disposition.” His lips curled in one of his rare smug smiles. He felt almost in charity with Caroline today. Perhaps it was the near prospect of escape to Kent. “No, until her mother expires, which, given her robust state of health, appears to be a distant event, I’m afraid Miss de Bourgh is condemned to a shadow existence as Lady Catherine’s only child.”
“Goodness, you’re cruel,” Miss Bingley said in delighted tones. “Quite as catty as a woman.” She clapped her hand over her mouth on catching sight of Fitz’s expression. “I’m sorry, Mr. Darcy, I only meant—”
“Yes, Miss Bingley,” Fitz said, rising from his chair. “I understand completely. Perhaps it’s best if you take your leave. I don’t wish to be rude, but as my sister is, in fact, not at home today, this imprudent visit of yours could cause some damage to your reputation.”
“Oh, pooh,” Miss Bingley said. “No one keeps count of my every coming and going—except you, it seems.”
“Then,” Fitz said, “I am forced to say that I have business to attend to, and will look forward to receiving you another time when Miss Darcy is here also. Good day, Miss Bingley.” He rang for the footman and saw his caller and her maid safely out.
Goodness, as Caroline might say. What a sorry state he must be in, when a visit to Rosings seemed an improvement in his situation.
THE DRIVE DOWN to Rosings Park was a deceptively pleasant introduction to the trials ahead. Fitz shared the carriage with Colonel Fitzwilliam, who had recently arrived in town, on leave from his duties in Spain. He was a childhood friend, a couple of years older, whom Fitz had always looked up to. Now, the passing of time having put them on an equal footing, he proved to be a sympathetic listener as Fitz related the story of his rescue of Charles—naturally concealing most of the particulars. “He still doesn’t quite see it,” Fitz concluded, “but someday he’ll thank me.”
“Sounds rather highhanded, Darcy,” the colonel said. “I wonder your friend didn’t put up more of a fight.”
Fitz shook his head. “Charles is very modest,” he said. “He has a tendency to, as he would put it, fall violently in love, merely because a pretty girl smiles at him or stands up with him at a ball. Now, after almost two years of our friendship, he has begun to recognize the limits of his youth and inexperience, and the prudence of relying on my wiser judgment, especially in so serious a matter as marriage.”
“How old did you say he is? Twenty-two?”
“Just turned twenty-three.”
“Old enough to make up his own mind,” the colonel said. “In my regiment, he’d have his own company. With any initiative, and assuming he’d entered the service at the usual age and had a good five or six years’ experience under his belt, he might even have won his major’s commission by now.”
Fitz felt his color rising. “I think you met him once or twice, did you not? Charles Bingley isn’t cut out for the military life. He simply needs a few more years in London society; by then he’ll see the advantages of marrying within the family, so to speak
.”
“Oh yes, I remember. Very pleasant young gentleman, but you’re right. Not really regimental material. Have him marked out for Georgiana, I take it.” The colonel glanced sideways at his cousin. “You know, Darcy, she’s a lot like you. She’ll want to choose for herself, and nothing you say will alter her opinions. Like the unfortunate business of last summer. You’re so used to having your way with your friend, you forget that women—yes, even your sister—have minds of their own.”
“I’m unlikely to forget it,” Fitz said, scowling at the memory. “Actually, they all seem to be of one mind—that George Wickham is the most charming, delightful creature ever to appear in a red coat—and with the added and irresistible distinction of being the prodigal son.”
“I can’t believe it,” the colonel said, after learning of the man’s sudden reappearance and enlistment in the militia. “What could Wickham possibly hope to gain by tailing you? There are more heiresses to choose from in town than in a village.”
“I think he’s finally found his true calling—spoiling my every chance at happiness.”
“Never tell me you’ve lost your heart at last,” the colonel said, laughing in a rather obnoxious, incredulous way.
“It’s not entirely out of the question,” Fitz said, raising his eyebrows in his most quelling expression.
“Oh, come now, Darcy,” the colonel said, unfazed. “Don’t use that look on me. I know your views on women and their lack of any worthwhile qualities besides the obvious physical ones. Well, I suppose you have to marry, like every man of independent fortune. What’s she like?”
“Nobody,” Fitz said. “That is, the one thing I regretted about leaving Netherfield so precipitously was that it looked as if I were running away from Wickham, leaving all his loathsome insinuations unchallenged.”
“Ought to have stood up to him,” the colonel said. “Called him out or at least told him to clear off.”
“How?” Fitz asked. “No gentleman lowers himself to respond to petty gossip.”
“You made it sound as if it was a bit more than that.”
“That’s all Wickham dared do, of course, while I was in the neighborhood, traffic in rumor and innuendo. What he may have said after I left—well, you can imagine.” In a softer voice he added, “What I couldn’t bear was that she believed it.”
“She?” the colonel repeated with a smug look. “Is that she as in nobody?”
“I’ll admit,” Fitz said, “there was one lady who was something quite remarkable. I was sorry to lose her good opinion, if no one else’s.”
“Could you not take her into your confidence?” the colonel asked.
“How?” Fitz demanded. “Unless one intends to propose marriage, how can a gentleman confide in a young lady? Unfortunately, her family and background are at such an inferior level that marriage is out of the question.”
“Yet you speak of her as someone most superior.”
“Oh, she is as far above the rest of her family as the sun is above a streetlamp. But few of us have the luxury of marrying a single individual. Take a wife and you take on an entire set of connections.”
“Yes, Darcy,” the colonel said. “It’s called the way of the world. I’ve had to give a lot of thought to this matter myself, you know. Younger son. Can’t marry where I’d like. But I’m a man, with a man’s needs. Very trying, sometimes.”
“I’m sorry, colonel,” Fitz said. “I had not heard of any affairs of the heart for you.”
“No, that’s just it,” the colonel replied. “I know when to enjoy a safe dalliance and when to keep my distance. But it means thwarting one’s most natural inclinations. If I meet a lady I truly admire, one who combines beauty, wit, and virtue with open, unaffected manners, then I know—honestly, I just know it, the way I know when there are French outriders around the next bend or sharpshooters in the copse—that she’ll have no fortune, certainly not sufficient to allow me to make her an offer. But let her be coarse and buxom and bawdy, not in her first youth and known to have slipped once or twice, but nothing proved—then of course she’ll be an heiress.”
“I wonder how long it will take George Wickham to learn that lesson,” Fitz said, after they’d shared a cathartic long minute of loud laughter.
“At least another ten years,” the colonel said. “He had the beginner’s luck of starting with one of the few exceptions—your sister.”
“Not such a beginner,” Fitz said. “He’d been studying the subject for years. But I’m just thankful I had some luck on my side as well—and your reinforcement—to thwart that. You know, I resented it at first when you were made co-guardian of Georgiana, but I see now what a good choice my father made. Seems he possessed some solid judgment of character after all.”
The two men arrived at Rosings in good humor, which, like all anarchic tendencies, Lady Catherine de Bourgh was determined to put down.
THE COMPANY WAS every bit as dull as could be expected: Lady Catherine; Anne, her only child; Mrs. Jenkinson, Miss de Bourgh’s companion, a typical impoverished widow, oppressed by her dependent position and middle years into obsequious whispering; and a sparse selection of local gentry, just enough to make up a decent dinner party without having to use the entire length of the table. Under the cover of their aunt’s long opening sermon during dinner on the subject of young men’s disrespect for their elders, their lack of responsibility in general, and, in particular, their disinclination to marry before the onset of middle age, the colonel regaled Fitz with some of his war adventures.
“I see what you’re about,” Fitz said. “By telling all these bloodcurdling stories you’re teaching me to put my minor tribulations in perspective.”
“Not at all,” the colonel said. “Just creating a diversion. Frankly, I’d rather try to hold a broken square against a regiment of the Imperial Guard than come between you and Wickham over a woman. Wouldn’t know which way to turn, whether to guard my front or my rear or both at once.” He tilted his head back to savor a thin spear of early asparagus, letting it slide slowly down his throat.
“Careful,” Fitz whispered. “You look as if you’ve had a great deal of practice at that.”
The colonel started to choke, swallowed hard, then laughed in his booming, officers’ mess guffaw, causing Lady Catherine to pause in her lecture and frown in their direction. “Pardon me, aunt,” he said. “Your turn of expression just now was very apt.”
“What, colonel?” Lady Catherine said. “Do you mean to say you found the words setting up a nursery amusing?”
“Very,” the colonel said. “Considering that I already have an extensive nursery to oversee, with some fifteen hundred inmates that I must somehow coddle through to maturity, all without losing too many to the various childhood ailments common to the infantry, such as bullet wounds, cannonballs, bayonets, cholera, and typhus.”
“Hmph. You know very well I don’t expect any such thing on your part just now. Younger son, in the military, doing just as you ought. No, it’s Darcy I’m addressing. Pay attention, nephew.”
“Yes, aunt,” Fitz said, smiling at her harsh tone. “I’m listening.”
The colonel lowered his voice as Lady Catherine resumed speaking, and leaned closer to Fitz. “Here’s a thought. Introduce Wickham to Miss de Bourgh.” He nodded ever so slightly in the direction of their cousin, whose head drooped at the end of a slender neck as she picked at her food. “See who wins that fight—although I’m betting on Lady Catherine for a knockdown in the first round.”
Fitz’s shout of laughter brought the dinner-table conversation to complete silence. He bowed his head to the table at large. “Sorry, the colonel was telling me an interesting campaign story. Please don’t let me interrupt.”
“Colonel!” Lady Catherine said. “Surely you don’t need me to remind you that such matters are not suitable for the dinner table. As for you, Darcy, I find you much altered this year, and not for the better. You would do well to attend to my words, as your situation is a gl
aring example of the deplorable state of affairs I am attempting to correct.”
“Yes, aunt,” Fitz said. “Please do continue.” He waited until the lecture resumed. “Colonel, you are wasted in the army. A man of your courage might do worse than a certain unmarried lady, the sister of a very good friend of mine. I won’t paint the picture prettier than life—she is a man-eater—but an officer who’s faced down Bonaparte’s best troops for the better part of three years should be able to handle her. And she has fortune enough, I think, to make it worth your while.”
The colonel coughed into his napkin. “God, Darcy. If I survive the Peninsula, the last thing I’ll be looking for is another campaign. I’ll want some peace and quiet, a pleasant, easygoing sort of woman. And why should you play at matchmaking? You heard our aunt. You’re the one shirking your duty—not me.”
“Just putting you on to a good thing. Miss Bingley might suit you very well. Not to my taste, but—”
“Oh no,” the colonel said. “You’re not fobbing off one of your worshipping attendants on me. Don’t know why the most ghastly clinging females always prefer the disdainful sort of man who’d as soon mount the stallion as the mare, but there it is. She’d be sorely disappointed in me, anyway. Only kind of cock I enjoy is roast fowl.”
“Darcy! Colonel Fitzwilliam!” Lady Catherine’s roar rose above the two men’s delirious laughter and subdued it. “If you can’t behave yourselves at a civilized dinner table I suggest you finish your meal at the public house.”
“Yes, aunt,” Fitz said. “Won’t happen again.” He picked up his knife and fork, crooked his little finger at the colonel, and stuck out the tip of his tongue.
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