Her sister embraced her quickly and said, as she pulled back, “It is only possible for such a person as you, Jane, for you are too good to deserve anything less. Tell me all.”
“He has asked if he could court me, Lizzy; he is even now gone to our father. Can this be real? I feel as if I am in a dream.”
Laughing, Elizabeth took her sister’s arm and led her towards the house. “It is real, but if you would like, I can pinch you to make sure it is not a dream.”
Jane laughed and squeezed her sister’s arm. As they walked to the house, the sisters’ heads were in close confidence as Jane related the conversation she had had with Mr. Bingley. They entered the house and went towards the morning room to await his return.
* * *
Mr. Bennet lowered his head to his desk. The coolness of the wood soothed him. It was not in Mr. Bennet’s nature to remain melancholy, though, and soon he began to see the humor in the day’s events. This morning had been an intriguing time of discoveries. Lizzy had fallen in love. Mr. Darcy had proven himself to be less proud and more generous. Mr. Collins and Mary had proven greater fools than he had previously suspected. And he had been reminded more than once that time had slipped away from him.
With these thoughts, he laughed slightly in disbelief at the sound of another knock on his door. He grumbled to himself, “By all means, let the whole world intrude upon my sanctuary today!” Laughing humorlessly, he called out yet again, “Enter!”
Mr. Bingley opened the door, walked right up to Mr. Bennet with his usual jovial stride and offered his hand. “Mr. Bennet, I have come to ask your consent to court your daughter Miss Bennet.”
Mr. Bennet shook Mr. Bingley’s hand and laughed as once again he was taken by surprise. “You are direct, sir!”
Mr. Bingley laughed, too, and took a seat. “I apologize if my manner was abrupt. You see, sir, I have had the great pleasure on many instances of getting to know your daughter over the past few weeks. I find that she is one of the most delightful women I know. My feelings for her have grown over the course of my time in the country. I could wait no longer and have asked her permission to court her so that I may get to know her better. She has accepted, and now I come to you for your approval. I promise you, sir, my intentions are honorable. I wish to further my acquaintance with her and hope, in doing so, that she may come to have the same hopes for the future that I have.”
Mr. Bennet sat back in his chair as he listened to Mr. Bingley’s speech. What a difference it made, having a man approach him with feelings and wishes for affection regarding his daughter. Although he was sure this meant that he was likely to lose Jane soon, too, it soothed him a bit to know that theirs would be a love match. He rubbed his jaw and, with humor hidden in his eyes, looked gravely at Mr. Bingley until long after the man ceased to speak. Mr. Bennet tried to keep from smiling as he watched the gentleman become more and more ill at ease at his silence. He knew Mr. Bingley was a kind and unassuming man just like his Jane, and they would be a good match. He waited only another minute to tease the man further before giving his answer.
“Well, sir. As you have been direct with me, I shall be so with you. I consent.”
Mr. Bingley’s face radiated his sudden relief and happiness, and he abruptly stood to shake Mr. Bennet’s hand vigorously. “Thank you sir, you will not have reason to repent of this decision.” With that, he turned and hastily left the study.
Mr. Bennet stood and went to the sideboard to pour himself another small amount of brandy. He held it to his mouth and paused. Three daughters going or soon to be gone. Once again, he asked himself as he shook his head, where has the time gone? He tipped the glass and swallowed the liquid in one gulp, squeezing his eyes at the burn in his throat. With a disbelieving chuckle, he said aloud to the empty room, “The day is not yet over; perhaps before the end of it, some young gentleman will come for Kitty or Lydia.” With amusement, he placed his glass on the table and went to join the others in the morning room to inform Mrs. Bennet of the new courtship.
* * *
Upon entering the room, Elizabeth and Jane were taken aback by the suddenly advancing form of their cousin.
“My dear cousins, welcome back from your walk. We have a bit of news to relate to you.”
Elizabeth and Jane looked at each other in wonderment and shrugged as they took their seats. Mr. Collins snapped his hands together excitedly, causing his neck to jiggle. His face contorted into a greasy smile as he continued.
“I am not to be cousin to you any longer; indeed, I am to be something much more dear.” At the look of astonishment on their faces, his smile grew wider and he looked towards Mary and gave her a small wave of his hand. “I can see your surprise, but I shall not keep you waiting. I am to be called brother to you now. Your father has given his consent, and your sister, my dear Mary, and I are to be wed at the end of the week!”
If their astonishment was great before, they were perfectly frozen now at the news their cousin related. Numbly looking at Mary, Elizabeth’s eyes grew wide upon seeing her sister nod her confirmation. Jane was quicker to recover and offered her congratulations to the couple. After a moment, Elizabeth was stirred out of her disbelief by the slight nudge from Jane’s elbow.
With a voice devoid of emotion, she replied, “Congratulations. I wish you joy.” Nothing else needed to be said, for Mrs. Bennet then began to extol again and again her joy in seeing one of her daughters find such an excellent match. This allowed Elizabeth to recover herself just in time to see Mr. Bingley enter the room, followed after a few minutes by her father. While Mr. Bingley was informed of the news, Elizabeth glanced to see how her father bore it. She could tell that he was slightly distressed at something, even though he looked at the couple with amusement. When he turned towards her, he smiled sardonically and slightly shook his head. All she could do was shrug her shoulders.
After extending his congratulations to the newly engaged couple, Mr. Bingley went directly to claim the seat next to Jane. He leaned over to her and spoke softly. “So there is to be a wedding in the future,” he said, his voice heavy with suggestion.
Jane looked sweetly at him. “So it appears, sir.” If she noticed the implication in his words, she did not show it.
He winked at her then and proclaimed with a broad smile, “Your father gave his consent.”
When the excitement of the engagement calmed down a bit, Mr. Bennet announced to the room that Mr. Bingley had asked for his consent to court Jane, and he had granted it. This news caused Mrs. Bennet a new wave of excited fits, and Mr. Bennet took the opportunity to exit the room and return to the peace of his study, but not before whispering to Elizabeth that he would not be walking with her that day. She understood his feelings from the expression in his eyes and nodded her acceptance. Once back to the solitude of his favorite room, he locked the door and sat down. He had much to think about.
Chapter 8
Mr. Darcy rested his head against the tall frame of an armchair in the Netherfield library. He propped one of his Hessian boots across the other leg and began absentmindedly brushing the tassel with his fingers. His forgotten book lay on his lap. The more he thought about the letter he received from Georgiana that morning, the more he worried about her. He could tell she was trying to sound cheerful in her accounts of her studies, progress with the pianoforte and outings with Mrs. Annesley, her companion. The letter was just too calm, too perfect. It was not right. Georgiana never hesitated speaking her mind in the past, and those letters usually portrayed a combination of moods. Her most recent ones were mostly insipid, dull accounts of nothing.
Groaning, Mr. Darcy dropped his leg, leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and rubbed his face. His heart pained him every time he thought about the broken spirit of his sister. He felt partially responsible for it. If only I had been more careful about checking the references of Mrs. Younge before hiring her as Georgiana’s companion. Instead, he had given her papers only a cursory inspection before approving her. He
had been in a hurry to get on his way to Cambridge to meet with some former classmates for a few days. In her character, he was seriously deceived, and he blamed himself for not discovering her connection to Wickham.
For six months, she and Georgiana seemed to get along nicely, and he had prided himself in having done well. When Mrs. Younge approached him to suggest that Georgiana could benefit from a holiday away from her studies and perhaps a visit to the seaside would be pleasing to her, he had agreed. He was in the habit of indulging his younger sister.
He anticipated surprising her a week after she arrived in Ramsgate. He had just finished a meeting in Kent with his Aunt Catherine’s steward, and as the business had gone well, he was able to leave three days earlier than he intended. As he had frequently since that day, Darcy lifted his head in a solemn prayer of thanks that he arrived when he did, for it was but a day before the planned departure to Gretna Green. Wickham, with the help of Mrs. Younge, had convinced Georgiana that surprising her brother with their marriage fait accompli would bring him such joy, especially as it was to an old, dear, childhood friend.
Darcy flinched and closed his hands into fists as he remembered his arrival in Ramsgate, finding his sister on a settee with Wickham — and Mrs. Younge nowhere to be seen. He had opened the door to the sitting room himself, asking not to be announced as he wanted the full effect of his sister’s surprise upon his entrance. Instead, his chest clenched and his eyes narrowed in horror at the sight of that blackguard holding his sister’s hands.
“Georgiana.” His voice was fierce and hard as steel.
Georgiana snapped her head around at the sound of her brother’s voice and jumped up from the settee to run into his embrace. Her happiness at his appearance was so evident in her features and her surprise so great that she did not immediately comprehend his hard expression or tone of voice.
“Brother! What a lovely surprise!” She stepped back from him and, in an attempt to appear less like a child and more ladylike, began again. “William, this is such a delight. You remember our friend, Mr. Wickham. We met quite by accident last week and he has been so kind as to visit with me several times.” She was confident her brother would be pleased to see his childhood friend and she turned her beaming countenance to her beloved Wickham. Her smile drooped at the stricken look on Mr. Wickham’s face as he stared, dumbfounded, at her brother.
“Wickham! What brings you to Ramsgate?” Darcy’s voice held an eerie calmness that Wickham recognized as more dangerous than it sounded. He fidgeted with his coat sleeves as he thought of what to say.
Georgiana puzzled at the tension she was now detecting between her brother and Mr. Wickham. As she could think of no reason for it, except perhaps the shock of seeing his friend after such a long time, she turned excitedly towards her brother. “William, as you have surprised us with your arrival, I must share a surprise with you that Mr. Wickham and Mrs. Younge were certain you would like.” She paused briefly as her attention was drawn to Mr. Wickham, who had cleared his throat loudly and was giving her a pointed look she did not understand. “You see, we were going to leave for Gretna Green tomorrow, brother. Mr. Wickham loves me and wants to marry me!” She put a gloved hand on her brother’s arm and looked up expectantly for his happy reaction to her news. Instead, the guttural sound that came from him made her step back in shock.
“What! Georgiana you cannot be serious!” Darcy blared at her, his displeasure evident all over his face.
By that time, Wickham had recovered from his shock and disappointment at Darcy’s unexpected appearance. With feigned calm, he strolled lazily to stand next to Georgiana. She had taken several steps away from her brother, stunned by the sting of his displeasure.
“It is true. My dear Georgiana has agreed to make me the happiest of men,” he pronounced, his conceited charm radiating around him.
“Mr. Wickham, let me be clear. Should you marry my sister, you will never see a shilling of her dowry — not one pound of her thirty thousand. What say you now?” Mr. Darcy’s glare was ice and his voice even colder.
“Now Darce, that is not fair! As her husband, that blunt should be mine.”
“You will get none of it!”
Unsuspecting, Mrs. Younge strolled into the room. “Here I am, Georgiana, returned with that embroidery thread I told you would look nice for your stitch —” Her voice died at the sight of her employer’s heated glare descending upon her.
Mr. Wickham looked from Darcy to Mrs. Younge to the pale chit next to him. He knew that Darcy would not budge, and Georgiana’s charms were not enough to induce him into a penniless marriage. His charming façade transformed into one of wicked amusement.
“Well played, my friend. You are a lucky bastard for coming when you did. You can keep your thirty thousand and the insipid wench. I care nothing for her.”
Georgiana started at his words. “George, why are you saying such terrible things? You said you loved me.” Her voice faltered at the last as her eyes began to swim with tears.
“Oh, hush, girl! Nobody likes a watering pot. If Darcy will not grant me my rights as a husband to your scratch, you are not worth being leg-shackled to for the rest of my life.”
Darcy saw the hurt register in his sister’s glassy eyes and watched as she slowly took a seat. His anger flared, and he turned first to Mrs. Younge, who was still standing dumbstruck at the doorway. “Mrs. Younge, you will return to your rooms, remove all your belongings and quit this house and my employ in fifteen minutes’ time or you will see yourself relegated to the magistrate for breach of contract. Do I make myself clear?” His voice was nearly a shout, and the woman physically fell backwards with the force of it, hastily nodding and exiting the room.
Mr. Darcy schooled his features into a barely controlled look of rage as he turned then to Mr. Wickham. His voice was slow and deliberate. “You, sir, will leave this house — and this county if you have any sense at all — and you will never see Georgiana again. If you so much as think of coming near her, so help me God, Wickham, you will pay dearly for the mistake.”
Wickham’s face contorted into a look of pure hatred as he sneered his acknowledgement of Darcy’s words and, without a backward glance at Georgiana, left the house.
As the memories of that horrible day filled his senses, Mr. Darcy stood abruptly and walked towards the terrace doors. He pulled one open and allowed the crisp winter air to roll over his face and calm him. A solitary tear escaped his eye as he thought with compassion of his sister recovering slowly, day by day. After the incident, he had taken her to London. Together with his cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam they had cared for and comforted her. She had come to understand that Wickham was not the man he presented himself to be, but Darcy knew she still held herself to blame for believing his charming display and nearly ruining her family with an elopement. Together with his cousin, they had researched and secured Mrs. Annesley, who was making progress with Georgiana, but the recovery was slower than he had hoped.
Mr. Darcy reached into his waistcoat pocket and pulled out her letter. As he read it again, he thought about what else he could do. The only portion of her letter that held any feeling seemed to be her response to his latest missive about his time at Netherfield. He had written her, finally, about Elizabeth and had told her about their conversations and verbal swordplay. He was careful not to reveal his interest in Elizabeth as he was still not ready to admit his feelings in such a decided way. It was one thing to indulge in it in his mind, but to share it with another was quite different. Georgiana had asked about Elizabeth and seemed interested in knowing more about her.
The thought of Elizabeth, combined with the coolness of the breeze that blew over his face, soothed his spirit, and he was able to reflect more peaceably. His discussion with Mr. Bennet a few days before had gone smoothly. His surprise was great at the amount of enjoyment he had in the gentleman’s company. Darcy’s mouth turned upwards in a small smile. Mr. Bennet had reminded him a little of Elizabeth. He had a quick wit and a t
endency to lighthearted banter. He had not expected Mr. Bennet to be a sensible man when he reflected on his choice of wife or the rumors of the neighborhood regarding his mismanagement of the Longbourn estate, but Darcy did not find him lacking or insensible. He was intelligent, fair and understanding when he learned of Wickham.
Mr. Darcy could not say exactly why, but he felt he could trust Mr. Bennet implicitly with Georgiana’s secret. He remembered that, during the moments he spoke with Mr. Bennet about his painful history with Wickham, he had felt an unexpected nostalgia. It now dawned on him with no small amount of surprise and sadness that the feeling was a reminder of the talks he used to have with his father as they rode around Pemberley. Oh, how I miss you, Father!
Darcy closed the terrace door and walked over to stoke the fire. He was lonely and wished he did not have so many items of worry. A moment of envy washed over him as he considered his friend Bingley. Two days before, Bingley had returned from his visit to Longbourn radiant and excruciatingly jovial in his mood.
“She is an angel, Darcy! An absolute angel, and soon she shall be mine!”
“Whatever are you talking about, Bingley?”
“Miss Jane Bennet. I asked permission today to court her, and she has accepted.” Bingley laughed to himself before continuing. “I was so happy when she said yes that, for a moment, I thought I would just ask her to marry me right then.”
“Bingley, are you sure this is what you want? You could secure the hand of nearly any lady of consequence in England. Miss Bennet’s connections and wealth are below you, and you could do better.” Darcy had been asking himself the same question for many weeks now, and it felt good to voice out loud the concerns that had been assaulting his peace of mind.
Bingley turned on him and shook his head disbelievingly. “Darcy, sometimes you are such a pompous — I will not say it, but really, man, you should listen to yourself!” His mood could not be ruined by his dour friend.
Falling for Mr. Darcy Page 14