Darcy and the Wrong Miss Bennet

by Jane Grix

  “It is the poor condition of my hand,” he joked. “You will win again.”

  Georgiana sighed. “I understand that you don’t wish to tell me all about your life, but I am not a child. You can tell me things. I would like to be a comfort and solace to you as you have been to me.”

  He looked at her. Georgiana was a sweet girl and she meant well. He said, “There is nothing to say.”

  “Nothing you wish to say,” she muttered.

  “What is that?”

  “You are like Father,” she accused.

  “I see that as a compliment.”

  “You have often told me of his wisdom and his excellent qualities, but I did not see it myself. He was a quiet man, rarely saying anything to me except to comment on how tall I was growing and to tell me to be a good girl.”

  “You were quite young. He did not know what to say to girls. I am certain he would have spoken to you more as you reached adulthood.”

  “When I became more rational, you mean?”

  “Yes, if you must.”

  “Did he speak more to Mother?”

  Darcy looked at her sharply. “Of course, he did,” he said but then realized that as he was growing, he had observed few conversations between his parents except for commonplace observations. They had talked about meals and company and plans for future visits. There had been no conversations about books, politics, or religion. He remembered some conversations about new covers for the dining room chairs, but had his father ever shared details about his plans for Pemberley with his wife? His father had spoken often about such things to Darcy himself, but then it was part of his training so that one day he could maintain the estate.

  Good Heavens, he wondered now if his father had loved his mother. Darcy, with the ignorance of youth, had always assumed that it was so, but had they merely been polite strangers? His mother had died when he was eighteen, and he lost his father when he was twenty-three.

  Georgiana said, “When you marry, I hope you are more forthcoming with your wife.”

  His future wife. Lydia Bennet.

  He frowned and said coolly, “I will treat my wife as I see best.”

  “I am sorry,” Georgiana said. “I did not mean to offend or to school you in your manners. It is just that I remember hearing Mother cry sometimes, and I would want a better life for you and your wife.”

  Darcy was astonished. His mother had cried, and he had not known of it? Perhaps that was when he was away at school. He looked at Georgiana as he had never done before. He was accustomed to thinking of her as a child and suddenly she was an adult. He said, “Every life has some hardship and sadness.”

  “Yes, but I think talking about things can help.”

  “Sometimes that is true,” Darcy said. “But not always.”

  Georgiana respected his reserve and did not pester him further. They played cards in silence until it was time to go to bed.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The Gardiners invited Jane to come with them to London in January and to stay several months. Mrs. Bennet was pleased because she was certain Mr. Bingley would call on her there. “Be sure to write to Miss Bingley and let her know you are coming to Town,” she said to Jane at least a dozen times.

  “I have already done so,” Jane assured her.

  Mrs. Gardiner offered to host Mrs. Bennet as well so she could go shopping, but Mrs. Bennet declined. “No, I will go later. First, Lydia and I must go to Pemberley.”

  Elizabeth was startled to hear of these plans. “Did Mr. Darcy invite you?”

  “I don’t know why you are so astonished, Lizzy,” Mrs. Bennet said quickly. “He wrote to Lydia.”

  Given their conversation a few weeks earlier, the invitation seemed conveniently timed.

  Later, Elizabeth spoke privately with Lydia. “Are you corresponding with Mr. Darcy?”

  Lydia looked guilty. “Why do you ask? He is my fiancé so naturally he can write to me.”

  “Yes, but I was merely surprised because I hadn’t heard of any letters arriving.”

  Lydia shrugged. “It must have come one day while you were walking.”

  Elizabeth did not believe her. The next day, she spoke to her father in his library. She closed the door behind her and sat in one of the large upholstered chairs. He said, “What is it, child?”

  “I am concerned about Lydia’s trip to Derbyshire. Do you think it is wise for her to go?”

  “What do you mean?”

  She clutched her hands together as she said, “I hate to ask, but did you actually read Mr. Darcy’s letter?”

  Mr. Bennet said, “I see what you are thinking. No, I did not. Lydia said she burned it.”

  Elizabeth said, “That is odd.”

  “Very odd, indeed,” Mr. Bennet agreed. He did not call Lydia a liar outright, but they both knew that she was capable of telling fibs as she called them. He added, “But I couldn’t very well write to Mr. Darcy myself to ask him if he had invited her.”

  “No, I suppose not,” Elizabeth said. “Do you think it would be better if you accompanied them?”

  “Absolutely not,” Mr. Bennet said. “Darcy knows his duty and I’d rather not have the headache. You know I hate travelling.”

  Not for the first time, Elizabeth wished that her father was not so indolent. She sighed. “Then I suppose there is nothing more to be done.”

  Mr. Bennet said, “I don’t envy Mr. Darcy. I don’t think he and Mrs. Bennet will get along, but he should have considered that before he proposed to one of her daughters.”

  Elizabeth flinched. Darcy had intended to propose to her.

  Her father added wryly, “But I am certain he has a fleet of carriages, and he can send Mrs. Bennet and Lydia back to Hertfordshire whenever he wishes.”

  Elizabeth did not know how her father could be so sanguine and treat the matter as a joke.

  He added, “But if you think it would help, I will send you as well, to be a voice of reason.”

  “Me?”

  “Perhaps you can temper your mother.”

  Elizabeth thought that unlikely. “I think that might be even more unwise.”

  “No,” her father said. “I think it is an excellent idea. In fact, I will insist upon it. Go to Derbyshire, and you can tell me all about Pemberley when you return, for I will trust your descriptions.”

  Elizabeth wished that she had kept her concerns to herself.

  THE DAY BEFORE THEY left for Derbyshire, they dined with the Philips’ again. Wickham was there with many of the officers, but Miss King was not present.

  Mrs. Philips whispered that Miss King’s uncle had come from Liverpool to take her away to stay.

  “Are they still engaged?” Elizabeth asked.

  “No one knows,” Mrs. Philips answered.

  Elizabeth watched Wickham and thought that he did not look broken-hearted. Instead, he was at his most convivial. He played cards and conversed with the other guests as if he did not have a care in the world.

  But later, when they were drinking coffee, Wickham sat beside her. “I never realized you were such a jealous cat,” he said quietly in low tones that only she could hear.

  Elizabeth frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Don’t act so innocent. I know it was you who wrote to Miss King.”

  “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

  His eyes narrowed as he looked at her and then he said, “Forgive me, Miss Elizabeth. For a moment, I thought you were Miss Lydia.”

  He excused himself, bowed, and walked over to where Lydia was sitting. He spoke to her as well, but Elizabeth could not hear their exchange.

  When Lydia heard him, she laughed and tapped his arm with her fan.

  He leaned down to whisper in her ear, then walked away quickly. Lydia smirked as if she were well satisfied.

  Later that night, Elizabeth knocked on Lydia’s door. “Can we talk?”

  Lydia was still dressed when she opened her door. “What is it?”

  “What
is going on between you and Wickham?”

  “Nothing.”

  “It does not look like nothing. He thinks you wrote to Miss King.”

  Lydia said, “What if I did?”

  “But why?”

  “I thought that if she was going to marry him, she should know what kind of man she was getting.”

  “And what is she getting?” Elizabeth asked.

  “He doesn’t love her. How could he? He only wants her for her fortune.”

  As Lydia wanted Mr. Darcy for his fortune.

  Elizabeth said, “Did you tell her that he met with you in secret?”

  “Of course not. I told her of his debts.”

  Elizabeth sat down on Lydia’s bed. “Mr. Wickham has debts?”

  Lydia said, “That is why he wants to marry her. He has too many debts to marry me.”

  “What kind of debts?”

  “Gaming mostly, although he owes some tradesmen as well.” Lydia noticed the look of distaste on Elizabeth’s face and said, “All the officers gamble, Lizzy. It is expected. And Wickham has had a run of bad luck.”

  Elizabeth thought it strange that Lydia was defending him. “How do you know all this?” she asked.

  “He told me because he loves me.”

  And she had told Miss King in a fit of pique or revenge. Elizabeth sighed. “I think it is best that we are leaving Hertfordshire. Mr. Wickham is not a good influence on you, Lydia.”

  “Don’t you worry about me. I know what I am doing.”

  PEMBERLEY WAS A LARGE, handsome stone building standing well on rising ground and backed by a ridge of high woody hills. “Oh, Lydia, look at that!” Mrs. Bennet said happily. “What a lucky girl you are.”

  They travelled with Jack, one of their grooms, who sat up top with the driver, and Rose who sat with them inside the carriage.

  Lydia, who had grown quiet as their journey progressed, looked nervously at Elizabeth. “I wonder what Mr. Darcy will say when he sees us.”

  Elizabeth wondered as well.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “Sir?”

  Darcy glanced up from the account book he was reviewing to see one of his footmen in the doorway.

  “Yes? What is it?” His servants knew that he disliked being interrupted when he was doing sums.

  “Mrs. Reynolds says that there are some guests and she wants to know if she should send them away.”

  “Why? What is the problem?”

  “There is a woman and two daughters. A Mrs. Bennet. And she says that one of them is your fiancée.”

  Darcy felt as if he had been doused with cold water. Miss Lydia was here, and Pemberley was no longer his refuge.

  “Very well. Tell Mrs. Reynolds that I will join them shortly. Where are they?”

  “In the front hall, sir.”

  “Have them wait in the breakfast parlour.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He rose from his chair and put on his coat that was lying on another chair, taking the time to compose himself. He then walked quickly to the breakfast parlour. Mrs. Bennet and Lydia were there, as he expected, but Elizabeth was there as well, dressed exactly as her twin sister, looking embarrassed.

  His heart leapt when he saw her and he felt as if he were the one who should be embarrassed, for at a critical moment he had mistaken her inferior sister for her superior self.

  He expressed his surprise at seeing them and asked how long they planned to be in the area. “As long as you wish us,” Mrs. Bennet answered. “It may have been years since Mr. Bennet and I were engaged, but I know that young lovers do not want to be separated.”

  “I shall have rooms prepared,” he said with cool politeness. There was no point in expressing his annoyance, for Mrs. Bennet would be his mother-in-law.

  DARCY’S HOUSEKEEPER, Mrs. Reynolds, was an amiable, elderly woman. She provided light refreshment for them and then showed them to their rooms where they could change out of their travelling attire and prepare to meet Miss Georgiana.

  Mrs. Bennet exclaimed over the fine furniture and lofty ceilings as they walked upstairs.

  Lydia seemed impressed as well. “It is certainly a very large house,” she said with a laugh. “I will have to pay attention so I don’t get lost.”

  Once in her bedroom, Elizabeth took time to look out the window at the beautiful grounds. Pemberley was as grand as Miss Bingley had said. Elizabeth felt a twinge of envy, thinking that of all this, she might have been mistress.

  But that was foolishness, for if Mr. Darcy had proposed that fateful evening, she would not have accepted him.

  She did not like him, and it should not matter that he had a most elegant home, tastefully furnished.

  Elizabeth had not known what to expect of Miss Darcy, and when they met, she immediately saw a family resemblance. Miss Darcy was tall with similar eyes to Mr. Darcy. But unlike her brother, her manners were warm and friendly. She seemed delighted to meet Lydia and exclaimed that she had always wanted a sister. “Tell me how you met,” she said happily. “For my brother has kept you a secret.”

  Lydia glanced briefly at the solemn faced Darcy, and then launched into a convoluted tale of their brief interactions.

  Elizabeth, not wishing to hear Lydia’s lies, walked over to a small table where there was a chess set. She picked up one of the pawns, admiring the ornate carving.

  “Shall we?”

  She saw that Darcy had joined her.

  “Why not?” she answered. “And I hope to beat you this time.”

  He smiled at her comment but said nothing.

  As they began to play, she said quietly, “I must apologize for my mother and sister. It is clear that you did not expect our arrival.”

  “No, I did not, but considering their natures, I should have anticipated it.”

  Elizabeth nodded. She did not know what else to say.

  They played in silence and this time, she did win, but Darcy seemed distracted by Lydia’s chattering, so Elizabeth could not take triumph in her success.

  The next morning at breakfast, Darcy announced that he had business to attend to and would not see them until dinner. He suggested that Georgiana and Mrs. Reynolds give them a tour of Pemberley.

  Elizabeth enjoyed seeing all of the rooms, but after half an hour, Lydia was bored. “I don’t care if the carpets are as old as Queen Elizabeth,” she muttered. “And all the paintings look alike.”

  And then in one sitting room, she glanced at a row of miniatures over a mantlepiece and exclaimed, “I can’t believe it. It is Wickham.”

  Elizabeth noticed that Miss Darcy startled at the name and looked pale, but she did not say anything. Elizabeth wondered if she had heard the rumour of Mr. Wickham being her half-brother.

  Mrs. Reynolds said, “Oh yes, that is a picture of a young gentleman, the son of the late master’s steward. He was brought up by the master at his own expense.”

  Mrs. Bennet looked closely at the portrait. “It is a good likeness.”

  “Are you acquainted with the young man?” Mrs. Reynolds asked.

  “Yes, for he is in the militia stationed near our home,” Mrs. Bennet supplied.

  Mrs. Reynolds nodded. “We had heard that he had gone into the army.” Her mouth was set in a firm line as if there was more she would like to say but chose not to.

  Lydia sighed. “Of all the officers at Meryton, I think he is the most handsome.”

  Even Mrs. Bennet who was often oblivious to the undercurrents of a conversation knew that this was a dangerous topic. She pointed out a miniature of Darcy that was also on the wall. “But surely, he’s not as handsome as your dear Mr. Darcy,” she said. “Look, here he is when he was younger.”

  Lydia gave the picture a mulish glance.

  Elizabeth looked at the portraits of the two young men and thought that there was a similarity. Whether they were related, she could not tell, but it was not an impossibility. She said, “And this must be you, Miss Darcy,” she said, referring to the third portrait. How old
were you when this was drawn?”

  Georgiana said, “I was eight years old.”

  “What a darling child you were,” Mrs. Bennet said. “You remind me a little of my oldest daughter Jane. Was your hair lighter then?”

  “Yes, it was. Thank you.” She looked uncomfortable and said, “I had forgotten these pictures. I am not often in this room.”

  Mrs. Reynolds said, “This was the late master’s favourite room and these miniatures are just as they used to be then. He was very fond of them.”

  He would be fond of them if they were all his children, Elizabeth thought.

  “There is another larger, finer portrait of my brother in the gallery upstairs,” Georgiana said. “I think you may like it even better, Miss Lydia.”

  “Oooh, the gallery,” Mrs. Bennet echoed with a meaningful glance at Elizabeth as if to say, Lydia is the luckiest girl. “Yes, we definitely want to see that.”

  As they followed Georgiana, Elizabeth saw Lydia surreptitiously snatch the portrait of Wickham and put it in her pocket.

  “What are you doing?” Elizabeth hissed.

  “I’ll put it back,” Lydia promised.

  Elizabeth did not believe her. In the large gallery, Lydia took one look at the portrait of Darcy and then moved onto the others.

  Elizabeth stood for a while, staring up at the picture of Mr. Darcy. In it, he had a smile that she had sometimes seen when he looked at her. She stood several minutes before the portrait in earnest contemplation, wondering if he had truly loved her.

  Mrs. Reynolds said, “You needn’t worry for your sister. He is an excellent man and he will make an excellent husband. I have never had a cross word from him in my life, and I have known him ever since he was four years old.”

  Elizabeth was surprised by this praise. She said, “There are very few people of whom so much can be said.”

  Mrs. Reynolds continued, “He is the best landlord and the best master that ever lived. He is not like the wild young men nowadays who think of nothing but themselves. There is not one of his tenants or servants but what will give him a good name. Some people call him proud, but I am sure I never say anything of it. To my fancy, it is only because he does not rattle away like other young men.”