The Darcys and the Bingleys

by Marsha Altman

  “Darcy,” Bingley said calmly and in the most soothing tone he could manage, “I did not mean to imply that. I was merely stating the fact. Any moment now a letter could arrive—”

  “I am sick of ‘any moment now’! It is all your wife writes to me!” Darcy shouted, bringing immediate silence to the room. He used an occasional stern voice, but Mr. Darcy never shouted. “I am sorry,” he said quickly. “I feel I must retire, and do . . . something.” He did not want to explain himself. He wanted to find somewhere else to fret about Elizabeth. He stormed out of the Gardiners with barely a cursory bow and apology.

  “Brother!” Georgiana, who had been playing with the Gardiner children, followed him in concern.

  He did not speak for the whole carriage ride to their townhouse, and she did not ask him to. He was too focused, too upset, and too desperate not to show it. When he stepped out of the carriage at last, the cold late November air did him good, and only then was he shaken from his trance and noticed the unfamiliar horse being handled by one of his servants. He practically kicked in the door to find Elizabeth having her extensive winter garments removed by the servants. “Elizabeth!”

  She turned to him, her face without colour, and she promptly swooned into his arms.

  Chapter 6

  Mrs. Darcy Rides Again

  Her face was freezing. Darcy called for everyone available to assist him in getting her to bed, even though he carried her himself right up the stairs without any aid. Georgiana fetched the warm water and brought a cloth to her forehead as quickly as she could.

  “Darcy,” Elizabeth whispered.

  “Elizabeth,” he said, his voice almost cracking as he stroked her cheek, “are you hurt in any way?”

  “I am very sore,” she said, “but that will pass. I am . . . sorry for the spectacle.”

  He gave her a supportive smile. “I would expect nothing less from you than some sort of memorable entrance. Next time, try not to let it involve your health.”

  She smiled and kissed his hand as it passed. Her lips at least were warm, even if they were still a bit blue.

  “I take it—you rode here? Some long distance?”

  She nodded.

  “How long?”

  “All of it.”

  “From Scotland?”

  Again, a nod. “There are documents . . . from Lord Kincaid, the brother of this man Miss Bingley wants to marry.” She coughed and then straightened herself on the pillow. “He is married. I have a copy of the contract.”

  “What?” Georgiana, the first to respond, nearly dropped the bowl where she was standing.

  “Lizzy, this is true?” he said, taking her hand. “He is currently married to a woman in Scotland?”

  “And he refuses a divorce.”

  “Damning evidence indeed,” he said. “Our suspicions were correct, then. I confess, we achieved here in Town not half of what you did, and we even had Mr. Gardiner aiding us. But surely, could you not have sent a courier?”

  “Are you implying . . . you would rather see a courier . . . than your own wife?”

  “Lizzy,” he said. “You will send me to Bedlam yet.”

  “Always my intention.”

  Georgiana interrupted, “Should I send for someone? Mr. Bingley maybe?”

  But he could not think of Bingley at the moment. “In time. Unless Miss Bingley and Kincaid are somehow by magic at Gretna Green right now against his wishes, there is no rush. And if they were, then nothing can be done anyway. Please, we should let Elizabeth rest, and then she can tell us the whole story, and then we can go to Bingley.”

  Georgiana knew enough not to argue with him and excused herself. A nurse was called in and, after a quick inspection, decided Elizabeth merely needed rest. Darcy shooed her and the other servants away, closed the door, and lay down on the bed beside Elizabeth, above the covers, without even removing his boots. It was now midday, but he was in no mood for luncheon. In fact, he found he was exhausted himself, and now that his wife was beside him, he drifted off to sleep and did not realise it until he woke some hours later to find Elizabeth staring at him with some amusement.

  “I rush here from Scotland,” she said, her voice having regained much of its strength, “and the first thing you do is take a nap.”

  He smiled and kissed her. Her body heat had returned. “Worrying about one’s wife can be quite exhausting.”

  “So can be preventing a marriage. You should have warned me in your vast experience.”

  “Vast experience? It was one . . . two times!” he laughed. “Now I suppose it will be three. Perhaps I should declare it my profession. But, my darling, whatever propelled you, who just recently learned to ride, to cross the country in November on a horse?”

  “I made a bet with Wickham. If he hasn’t appeared, I’ve won.”

  Darcy laughed into his pillow.

  “So am I to wait here all day for you to tell me what you’ve been doing in Town while I’ve been accomplishing everything?”

  “I love you.”

  “That is not an answer, Darcy—or at least not a full one.”

  Thus, very happily, he recalled all of the events since his arrival in Town, leaving out what he judged irrelevant or not important at the moment. Even though it had been a stress on him at times, in her comforting presence it gave him no angst to retell any of the events. It all seemed now something of the distant past. “And if it would not tire you further, I would very much like to hear about Scotland.”

  So she told him, and he immediately excused his father-in-law for impersonating his steward. He even laughed at parts of the story, at least until they began to seriously discuss the marriage of the would-be bigamist Lord Kincaid. “Well, the marriage is off,” he said. “I suppose she will have to finally come to her senses about the doctor.”

  “What doctor?”

  “Oh, did I leave that part out? I suppose I was trying to be prudent. It seems Miss Bingley is not above the general tendency in our now-related families for infatuations with people below their stations.”

  “Below their—Darcy!” She hit him with a pillow. “Though I suppose it did turn out well in the end.”

  He was going to respond, but she grabbed his arm very suddenly. “I am in need of a bucket, please.”

  He understood enough to get her a chamber pot and turned away as she was ill. Perhaps they would need the doctor after all. But it did break the serenity in the air of their bedchamber, and more pressing matters began to invade his mind again, even though his wife’s health was at the forefront. He called for a maid again who collected the pot. “Elizabeth—”

  “It is nothing. Probably that awful inn I stopped at last night. I should have known better, but I was starving.” She was sitting up now and looking less pale. “Perhaps we should get to the business of letting poor Mr. Bingley down.”

  “Or cheering him up,” he said.

  ***

  Bingley, when summoned and given the purpose in a note, made uncommonly good time to the Darcy residence. By then, Elizabeth had persuaded her husband to let her come downstairs into the sitting room where much tea was forced upon her, and she had her satchel brought to her.

  “Mrs. Darcy,” Bingley said, obviously relieved to see her alive and well. “We were quite worried about you. Should I write Jane?”

  “My father went straight to Chatton, so she is informed by now, but her letter must not have reached you if she wrote one. Anyway, there are other things pressing.” She opened the sack and presented him with the documents, which he sat and inspected for some time without saying anything.

  “These will hold up in court?” he finally said.

  “It is not a matter of courts,” Darcy said. “Lord Kincaid must merely be exposed, and he will doubtless be scurrying off in some direction. Though it will distress her greatly, you may take comfort that this will not break Miss Bingley’s heart.”

  “How it is to be done, though—”

  “In great privacy, for the fam
ily’s reputation—and especially your sister’s.” Darcy, as usual, already had a plan. “May I suggest you tell her in private if he does not see fit to confess it himself?”

  “And how will we convince him to do this and yet not expose his plot to all of Town?”

  “I will do it,” Darcy offered. “I have confronted him and bested him once; this should be simple enough, and I am far enough removed from you that it will complicate things less if there is a resulting scandal that must be covered up. I will take all the documents and go to his lodging at once. Now that we have proof, this can no longer stand to wait.”

  Elizabeth decided to leave out that Darcy had just lingered half a day with his wife like a newlywed. “And what am I to do?”

  They both looked at her.

  “I’m serious!”

  “Elizabeth, you have done more than both of us in less time,” Bingley said. “I can ask no more of you, other than to recover your health and perhaps write to Jane that you are here and recovering.” He stood up. “I will return to my house and pretend nothing clandestine is occurring. And if Lord Kincaid is there—which he should not be—I will send him home right away.”

  “And I always thought you incapable of deception,” Elizabeth said.

  Bingley was still trying to decide whether to take that as a compliment or not when they parted.

  ***

  Unfortunately, there were no servants to greet Darcy at the door to Lord Kincaid’s lodging, and he was forced to stand in the cold until Lord Kincaid himself let him in. “Oh, Darcy, do come in.”

  Darcy entered. The place was as it had been described—grand, but lacking furniture and other embellishments. “I apologise for the state of my rooms, but I believe that can be excused, all things considered,” Kincaid said. “I’ve simply been too busy to get even the most basic things done, as you can see. Not properly English at all—I should be more attentive. Would you like me to—,” but as he turned around to face Darcy after shutting the door, he was presented with what Darcy was fairly sure was the very legal marriage contact between him and some Scottish woman named Fiona.

  “We can dispense with the pretences now, I believe,” Darcy said. Not having to force himself into being agreeable with this man was extremely relieving; he felt as if the weight was off his shoulders already, despite the utter severity of the situation. “If your banking records were not enough to condemn you, I believe this would do for any family, no matter their standing or desperation to marry off their sister. And Bingley cares for his sister a great deal.”

  “You can stop waving that in front of me; I know what it is,” Kincaid said, quickly regaining his composure. He was not at ease now and did in fact make no pretences, but he was not a snivelling villain. He stood up straight, readying himself as a fencer would for a match. “After all, that is my signature. No, Mr. Darcy, I will not deny it.”

  “Even if you agreed to divorce Lady Kincaid tomorrow, which to my knowledge you have refused to do many times despite abandoning her, it would hardly make a good impression on your intended in-laws. Nor would the nonexistent fortune you found in Australia. I do not know your true intentions, but I will surmise that they had something to do with Miss Bingley’s personal fortune. In fact, it would be best to assume that you would merely disappear sometime after you had funnelled all of it away, as you did with Lady Kincaid, and not something worse.”

  “So you are going to assume the best,” Kincaid said. “How very nice of you, Darcy. You are indeed the knight in shining armour, forever rescuing the Bingleys from their ridiculous romantic entanglements, as they have not the wits to do so themselves.”

  “As you are a deserter, a liar, a thief, and would this day be a bigamist if Bingley had granted his consent, I can only expect that you would stoop so low as to insult anyone you cared to,” Darcy snapped back. “But I will not stand for it. You do not give Mr. Bingley enough credit. It was only his fine senses that brought me here in the first place and Miss Bingley giving herself away as having no deep affection for you. Perhaps there was nothing in you to inspire great love.”

  “There is nothing in her to inspire great love,” Kincaid said. “You of all people know that. You spurned her for years, so at least on this issue we see eye to eye.”

  “Just because I did not wish to marry Miss Bingley does not mean we could ever see ‘eye to eye’ on her,” Darcy answered. “You are, once again, totally incorrect in your assumptions. She is a woman of great intelligence and dignity—everything you said to me at the club when you were pretending to be entranced. In fact, I respect her a great deal more than almost all of the other women I had known previous to meeting my wife and Mrs. Bingley.”

  “Fancy words from a man who can afford to make them,” Kincaid seethed. “I’ll admit, you’ve been a clever opponent and would see that there was more to the match than pure, deep love—whatever that is, if it exists beyond medieval romances. But how you managed to get my own marriage contract and before I broke Bingley down—that was most impressive.”

  “Credit my wife, as that is where credit is due,” Darcy said. “Even from afar, she was suspicious.”

  “Why? Because Caroline is so dislikeable that she could not imagine someone would marry her without direct sight on her fortune?”

  Aggressive stance again because his opponent knew his weakness. Darcy again had to defend Miss Bingley, the woman whom he had shrugged off even after she had spent years pursuing him. An admirable attempt, but that he believed in her faults was obvious enough by their history. Fine, he could parry. “Because my wife trusts Mr. Bingley’s instincts, which are keener than people think. It had nothing to do with Miss Bingley at all. Had I come to Town and discovered her horribly in love with you, I would not have been so eager to find fault. She is my sister by marriage, and I hope to see her happy.” No, he could not do this forever. He needed to strike, be offensive. “And though this will distress her, she will know the truth of it. You will tell her.”

  Kincaid laughed. “You tell me I am a liar and a crook, and now you expect me to be noble for no reason? Already I am beyond saving in the family’s eyes, so the matter, as far as I’m concerned, is concluded. Why should I put myself out and expose myself to that woman again? You know she can be quite the vicious snake when not being fawning and pretentious.”

  “You will not walk away from this; let me make that clear. Your brother is on his way now, and he will deal with you in whatever matter you Scots do up there; I care not. But I could make it much worse than that if you do not apologise to Caroline and beg for her forgiveness, whether she grants it or not—which we both know she shall not, and you will be at the mercy of that vicious tongue of hers. I only wish it would be proper for me to be there.” He held up the satchel. “I have not only your marriage documents but copies of notes from all of the banks whence you have borrowed money. Money I know you have no way of repaying unless your brother comes through for you, and from Elizabeth’s description of his attitude toward you, he will not be in a generous mood when he arrives, and you will quickly be in debtor’s prison—that is, unless you are allowed to make your escape.” His stance expressed his finality; the choice was before Kincaid.

  The earl merely shrugged. “I am not intimidated by you, Mr. Darcy. You are not master of London, and I assume you are here to avoid a scandal for your extended family. So I may have to face my brother, but I will not face that woman again. I see no reason to put myself in such a position. And do you really think it will make her feel better? That she will run to her four-eyed paramour?” He laughed. “Did you know he proposed to her? That spineless servant had the audacity to propose to perhaps the vainest woman in West London!”

  This, Darcy did not know, but he could not reveal it and made every attempt to hide it. He hoped he was successful. “The choice is before you. Debtor’s prison or escaping to wherever you can manage before the real Lord Kincaid gets here. Please choose, as I am a very busy man, and you are very boring.”
<
br />   “You are a bad liar; you are very intrigued by what I have to say. But I will not take up any more of your precious time, Mr. Darcy. My answer is no. I will not grovel to Caroline Bingley or any other Bingley or anyone related to the Bingley family by marriage or otherwise. That includes you. I will only grant you the small favour of leaving town before the scandal hits. Perhaps that will diminish it. I care not either way.” He waved Darcy off as one would a servant. “So you’d better get out of this disreputable house and give me my chance before all those creditors and relatives of mine arrive.”

  “That is your final answer, then?”

  “Do I stutter? Is my accent incomprehensible to you?” As their conversation had turned negative, his Scottish accent, which he usually took great pains to disguise for good London society, had increasingly slipped out. “No, Darcy. I will have nothing more to do with any Bingley or you. Now as you are a proper English gentleman, certainly more than this Scottish rogue, you will do me the honour of leaving my house.” He gave him a very stiff, mocking bow.

  “You are making a serious mistake,” Darcy said with all of the severity he could muster and then turned to the door.

  “No, it is you who are making the mistake.”

  Darcy’s hand had not reached the doorknob when he heard the gunshot. By then, it was too late.

  Chapter 7

  The Shot Heard ’Round Town

  As Darcy slumped sideways, leaning against the column as his body sunk to the floor, Kincaid had two matters immediately pressing. The first was a candlestick to his head. It was not enough to knock him unconscious entirely, but the shock and pain of it was distracting enough that it sent him sideways where his body was met with a wooden chair. Caught between two very hard places, he trembled and then fell, smashing face forward onto the marble floor.

  “Mrs. Darcy!”

  “Mr. Bingley!”

  For they were both very surprised to find the other there, each one holding an impromptu weapon, having emerged from opposite rooms.