“With the Bingleys? Business?”
He sighed. “It is not for me to understand or explain. Suffice to say, we are invited to dine at seven at Bingley’s townhouse, if you are inclined to join me, and we will meet Miss Bingley’s fiancé.”
“Oh, Lord Kincaid!” she said with no surprise, just her usual general enthusiasm. She reminded him of Bingley in many ways, this being one of them, though she had not his natural gregariousness with people she did not know intimately. As he could only think first of the trouble it had gotten Charles Bingley into over the years and the pains Darcy had taken to extricate his dear friend from it, he found this difference most pleasant. “I met him when I was walking in the park. He was with Caroline. A very pleasant man.”
“And Miss Bingley?” He realised he had to clarify. She did not know of his real reason for being here, and he did not yet want to enlighten her. “I mean to say, was she . . . happy to be walking with him?”
“Yes, quite. This is the first I’ve heard of an official engagement, but it does only seem natural, the way they walked together, that they would be now affianced.”
“They are not,” he clarified. “Or, not officially. Bingley has not given his consent.”
Georgiana frowned in confusion. “Why ever not?”
“It is as great a mystery to me as it is to you,” he could say in all honestly. “Now if you do not mind, though it is a great pleasure to see you, I must ready myself for the evening. Elizabeth, of course, sends her regards.”
“Oh, and Jane?”
“Jane is well.” He had a sudden image of his sister swollen like Jane Bingley and felt a tremor down his back. “Will you be joining us for dinner?”
“Of course! And I will not bother you further now, but you must tell me all about Geoffrey and Georgie on the way to the Bingleys. Promise me, Brother!”
At this request, he was most ready and willing. “I promise.”
***
Mr. Darcy was indeed a good brother and spent the carriage ride telling Georgiana all about Geoffrey and his various tendencies. “Once he learns to climb, we’re done for,” he commented, and Georgiana found this most amusing. She would join him at Chatton for the birth if it would not be imposing; she asked, and he answered that it would certainly not be.
They arrived a bit on the early side because he was Darcy, and he could do that without any social impropriety. Bingley was eager to have him there, looking very much the eager guest in his own home, as he was there so rarely now. “I’m so glad you’ve come. And Miss Georgiana, of course, you look lovelier every day.”
“Thank you, Mr. Bingley. I hope we are not too early.”
“No, no, of course not! In fact, you will be here for the earl’s entrance; however grand it shall be, I can’t presume. Please, come in.”
The Darcys were familiar enough with the Bingley townhouse, smaller than theirs but better used, as it was the rather permanent home of Mr. and Mrs. Hurst as well as Miss Bingley, so even Darcy had to admit that it was kept up a bit more.
Bingley, in his usual oblivious exuberance at greeting his guests, nearly slammed into a man coming down the steps whom Darcy did not recognise. He was not as well dressed, but a long coat covered respectable attire. Shaggy ringlets of wild, black hair and a pair of thick-rimmed glasses covered most of his face, and he nimbly stepped out of the way and bowed very seriously to Bingley as if it had been entirely his fault. “Mr. Bingley.”
“Shall you be back tomorrow?”
“I am afraid so,” he said in a wavering, nervous sort of voice. Darcy noticed he carried a black bag with him. “Daily treatments will continue for some time,” he said in a more hushed tone to Mr. Bingley, though not hushed enough to escape Darcy’s ears.
“Very well. Tomorrow, then,” Bingley said, all smiles as usual as his guest scurried out. He turned immediately to Darcy. “Dr. Maddox. He treats Mr. Hurst’s gout, which as of late, I understand, has become rather insufferable. I know shamefully little about it for a brother, but this one is apparently a good doctor with excellent credentials. Went to Cambridge,” he added in a quieter tone to Darcy. “He’s the fourth doctor they’ve gone through and the only one they’ve liked, so I’m inclined to keep him on for as long as they like.”
“I see,” Darcy said, and inquired no more on the matter as their coats were taken from them and they retired to the parlour, where Bingley was greeted with more fervour by his sister than Darcy could ever remember Caroline greeting him with.
“Charles! How is Jane? Is everything all right?”
Darcy realised, of course, that a string of lies had been involved in Bingley’s escape to the north, no doubt involving something about Jane’s health. He did not interrupt, and as Georgiana at his side made no indication of being aware of anything conspiratorial, he did not impede her from doing anything at the moment.
“Jane is fine. It was merely a fright over nothing,” Bingley explained. “I apologise for my sudden absence at such a crucial time in our family.”
“Of course. Anything for my sister’s health,” Miss Bingley said, and turned to Darcy. “Mr. Darcy. Miss Darcy.”
“Miss Bingley,” he said. “It is a pleasure to see you again.”
“I hear you are here on some business. How detestable to be dragged to and fro across the country for things that could perhaps be settled on paper. But at least we can offer you a pleasant meal and some entertainment.”
“I have no doubt.”
“And surely you have heard the news from Charles? I cannot imagine my brother containing anything.” Clearly, love—if that was the case—had done nothing to decrease her dry wit. “Or perhaps your sister enlightened you. She came upon us in the park.”
“Yes, I’ve heard now two accounts and am eager to meet the man in person who is so highly regarded by everyone he meets,” Darcy replied.
“Oh, I think you will like him, even with your very discerning tastes, Darcy,” she said. “He is quite a fencer, I hear.”
“Is he?” he said.
Further conversation was interrupted by the entrance of Louisa Hurst, followed by her husband who hobbled with a cane. “Do not be alarmed,” he said, shaking Darcy’s hand. “’Tis the best I’ve done in months—all thanks to that doctor, a miracle worker, I tell you.”
“We were lucky to find him,” his wife added. “So, Mr. Darcy, what brings you so suddenly to Town?”
Before he could answer, the door opened, and Mr. Bingley rushed to warmly invite the apparent lord into his house. “Lord Kincaid,” he said, bowing. “Welcome.”
It was only when James Kincaid stepped fully in, having the servants remove his decorous coat, did the Darcys get a full view of the man. He was not particularly tall but of good stature for a man and pleasingly stout. He was dressed, not in the ornamentals of his rank (or the pleated skirt of his ancestry), but in a waistcoat of exceedingly fashionable London, and his reddish-brown hair was combed down carefully. His face was full of smiles as he greeted his host and then, of course, Miss Bingley, who curtseyed to him as propriety only allowed.
“And please, let me introduce Mr. Darcy,” Bingley said turning toward them a bit.
“Yes, of course,” said Lord Kincaid, and bowed to both Darcys. His accent was undeniably Scottish but hardly the thick burr of the Highlands. Instead, it sounded more of a strange English drawl, like someone from very far north or most of Darcy’s servants, though more respectably intoned. “Mr. Darcy, Miss Darcy, I understand you are both connected to Mr. Bingley by marriage.”
“Yes, for almost two years,” Darcy answered.
“Married two sisters, I believe. Forgive me; I am merely trying to recall what I was told. And Miss Georgiana, it is very nice to see you again.”
“And you as well,” she said, curtseying. Darcy said nothing.
“Well,” Bingley said, “seeing as we’re all here, shall we begin the meal?”
And a meal it was. The Bingleys were never stingy on food for thei
r guests, and in his bachelorhood, Darcy had shamefully found one excuse or another to stay with the Bingleys when he was feeling particularly peckish but not interested in having to figure out a complicated meal plan for himself at Pemberley. That he was quiet and observant at dinner was no surprise to anyone, as was his normal habit— or so he assumed that it came as no surprise, and there was no clandestine reason for this surprise dinner party. Lord Kincaid directed most of his attention to Mr. Bingley, whom he was obviously most wont to impress (and for the most obvious reasons that they were hardly worth even thinking about), but there were passing glances across the table to Miss Bingley, and Darcy took great pains not to miss one of them.
“I have heard you are quite accomplished in the areas of literature,” Darcy said after a long period of silence. “Where did you study, if I might ask?”
“Certainly. St. Andrews. I know it’s nothing to Cambridge or Oxford, but my family has a long history there, one that could not be avoided. And parts of the area, I will admit, are very lovely.”
“Yes, it can be quite a tourist attraction in the summer,” said Miss Bingley, and the fact that it was neither a witty or cynical comment made Darcy take note of it, but he continued his inquiries as if nothing were out of the ordinary.
“And I hear you are an accomplished fencer.”
“Well, nothing compared to the great fencing club of Cambridge, Mr. Darcy. Do not think your legacy there has escaped my ears.”
“That was a great number of years ago,” Darcy said. “I would be wont to think that my skills, whatever they might have been, have deteriorated somewhat with time. So you may wish to consider yourself less impressed.”
“We shall have to settle it then—if you can find time, of course, if your busy schedule permits.”
“I’m sure some time between appointments can be found.”
The conversation turned to other topics, as everyone was quick to fawn over this earl, except for Bingley, who kept his usual exuberance to a minimum, and Darcy, who was too much lost in his own thoughts. As the evening ended, the gentlemen retired to the study where the time was set for Darcy’s “duel” with Lord Kincaid, who insisted upon being called James. (Darcy insisted on being called “Darcy” and rolled his eyes at Bingley’s stifled giggle.) They shook on it, and the prospective suitor rose to say his goodbyes to his beloved.
“So?” Bingley said when the door was barely shut.
“What an agreeable man,” Darcy said. “Well educated, pleasing in appearance, a good conversationalist—and Miss Bingley seems pleased.”
“But not in love.”
He did not respond for a time. He saw the looks passing between Miss Bingley and Lord Kincaid, and they were the proper looks between two people who took note at their respective situations and personalities and saw the force in uniting them, as most proper people did. Perhaps his experience was too much coloured by the passionate looks he had given Elizabeth when she had been unknowing, or the outward admiration Bingley expressed for Jane within hours of meeting her. Maybe he fancied now that all people should be so horribly in love that they make asses of themselves in company, ignoring everyone else, but he had to remind himself that that was not the way of the world, and this courtship had all of the appearances of being normal. “Well, I don’t know if you can expect that, Bingley,” he answered at last.
“So?”
“So?”
“So?” Bingley, ever full of energy, spun the globe on his desk as if it was a toy. “What do you think of him?”
“You value my opinion over your own sister’s?”
“Well, obviously.”
Darcy did not think it was particularly appropriate to crack a smile, so he held himself back from doing so and said most seriously, “He is a most pleasing person. That said, I don’t think he is to be trusted with a walking stick, much less your sister.”
“And you have a reason for your suspicions?”
“No,” he said, turning, ready to leave the room for the night. “But I am going to find out.”
Chapter 3
Mr. Bennet’s Grand Plan
All things considered, the Bennet party that arrived at Chatton was rather small. It included only Mr. Bennet, Mrs. Bennet, and Kitty, whose theoretical engagement to a Brighton officer had been negated by his being assigned to France, at which point Mrs. Bennet proclaimed a frustration with this complicated business of marrying officers who were always going to and fro, and perhaps it was better to marry a stable, civilian Englishman.
“I have suspicions of my wife,” Mr. Bennet wrote to Elizabeth afterwards, “that with Mary gone to study on the Continent, she is feeling a bit lonely and is not in such a rush to marry off the only other person in the house capable of raising the ruckus to make Longbourn seem normal.” His own sentiments he did not include in the letter.
Their arrival date had been continually put off by the bad weather as winter approached, but they did eventually arrive carrying many letters from Mary meant for her sisters. Mailing from the Continent was particularly expensive, and she had done it in large packages, all to Longbourn. Mrs. Bennet brought what seemed to be another trunk of baby clothes, most of these meant for her two Derbyshire grandchildren.
Any reservations Mrs. Bennet had for her eldest daughter moving so far away from home, when Netherfield was a decent place, were put out of her mind when she saw the newly renovated Chatton. “Is it not lovely, Mr. Bennet?” she said as they came inside. He assumed the question was rhetorical and did not answer.
Elizabeth greeted them in the hallway and was rushed by Kitty, then properly hugged by her father and mother. “Jane is in the sitting room.”
“Oh dear! Why is she not in her chambers?” Mrs. Bennet said.
“Mama, where she chooses to spend her time in her own house is surely her business!”
“Besides,” said Mr. Bennet, “I have sat in many cushioned chairs in my lifetime and have found them all to do relatively the same job.”
“Mr. Bingley should insist on it!” Mrs. Bennet said.
“Mr. Bingley is in Town,” Elizabeth informed her mother, trying to keep her voice polite. “Miss Bingley is to be engaged and has asked for his consent.”
“And she could not come here? With my poor Jane in confinement! The nerve of that woman . . . but Jane! I must see her at once!”
Maybe it was age or experience or the fact that she was married now and in a different social position, but Elizabeth found her mother not quite so trying and was more than willing to show her to the sitting room. Or maybe it was her mother who did not seem so shrill, who was not actually so shrill now that the time of extreme desperation of the Bennet family was over.
But there was enough to deal with. Jane was in her armchair wrapped in a shawl (she had insisted on it, somewhat embarrassed of her girth), busying herself with some embroidery when her family entered. This situation had been carefully constructed by both sisters. Normally, she would be on the couch and have Georgie by her side, and Geoffrey would be crawling around, but the proper place for two toddlers was in their nursery under the watchful eye of Nurse, and it was decided that, for the sake of their mother’s nerves, some pretence of propriety must be preserved. Jane did not rise to greet them, again a planned event, because she and Elizabeth joked earlier that surely Mrs. Bennet would faint if she saw Jane’s size. “Mama!”
“Oh, Jane!”
They embraced what they could, and Jane put aside her needles to receive a kiss from an overexcited Kitty and then her father, who looked a bit horrified at his daughter’s size but did his best to hide it as he seated himself in a proper chair some distance away so the women could chatter. “Please bring the children,” Jane told her lady-maid, who curtseyed and disappeared as if this was a completely normal occurrence.
“I must know everything of Mary,” Jane insisted, “and, of course, all the doings in Hertfordshire.”
“And we must know of this business of Miss Bingley, if there is going
to be another wedding!”
“Perhaps not,” Elizabeth said too quietly for her mother to hear, but she was sitting close enough to her father for him to raise his eyebrows, and she returned this gesture with a very obvious “I will tell you later” glance.
“And where is Mr. Darcy?” Mr. Bennet said. “This is the first time I can recall in a long time he is not hovering about you. Miss Darcy must have some suitor that he is chasing down with a blade for him to be absent from your side.”
“He is also in Town,” she said between giggles, “on business. But it will bore poor Mama to death, so perhaps we should speak of it later.”
“I see,” he said simply, and was quickly distracted by the arrival of his grandchildren. Georgiana Bingley was handed to her grandmother at Jane’s insistence, and her new handler quickly made every attempt at combing back that Bingley hair that stood up like a flame, with no success. Geoffrey Darcy was brought to his grandfather, and Mr. Bennet was shyly beaming as he took the child into his arms.
“Baa!” said Geoffrey, and being the lively child he was, it was not clear whether he was trying to escape the grasp or merely find a preferred position.
“No, no, Grandpapa. Can you say ‘Grandfather’?”
Geoffrey mumbled incoherently.
“Grandfather.” This seemed to bring Mr. Bennet amusement to no end. “Okay, how about her? Surely you recognise your mother. Can you say ‘Mother’?”
“Don’t tease him,” Elizabeth said.
But Geoffrey would not be quiet or still. He flailed at his mother, who offered her hand, and he grasped her pinkie with his small hand and held it tightly. “Yeff!”
Elizabeth covered her mouth in horror. “Oh no!”
“Oh no?” Mr. Bennet said. “I do believe the child has said his name—or tried.”
“But Darcy is not here. Oh, Papa, we cannot tell him his son said his first word while he was out preventing another marriage!”
“Well, then we shall have to—What?”
“Yeff!” Geoffrey repeated, apparently delighted at his mother’s look of shock. “Yeff. Bah. Yeff!”
The Darcys and the Bingleys Page 17