The Darcys and the Bingleys

by Marsha Altman

  “It is good to be upright, I admit, but I will feel better when we can say the same about Darcy.” But they didn’t need to dally on that, for their concerns were wearing on them enough as it was about the man sleeping in the next room. “I’ve no news of the outside world. You must update me.”

  “Jane has posted that your father is safely back in Chatton. I decided to write him instead and have him deliver her the news about . . . well, everything, especially Darcy.”

  Bingley always surprised her with his good sense. “Thank you.”

  “Anything for Jane. But besides that, our Lord Kincaid is in jail, and I hear his brother has arrived to see to the matter further, but so far, our family has not been implicated. Though, that is not what concerns me.”

  “And Miss Bingley?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She blinked. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

  He shrugged in that hapless way of his. “I mean, I went straight home and told her in privacy and with great care, and I have never seen her so emotionless.”

  “What did she say?”

  “Nothing. She dismissed me, but that was all,” he said. “I am not at ease with comforting my sister. Perhaps I should have done a better job . . . but I assumed . . . I don’t know.” He scratched his head, further mussing up his hair in the process. “Maybe she wanted to be alone. And I was so distracted . . . and she has Louisa.”

  “Who I doubt has ever given her any good advice,” Elizabeth said. “Perhaps I will speak with Miss Bingley—when Darcy is recovered.”

  “Yes.” He looked a bit shook up at the discussion of his sister’s welfare. “Now that there is nothing pressing . . .”

  “You know that is not true.”

  “What are you referring to—Oh. You mean—”

  “Dr. Maddox, yes.”

  “So Darcy told you. But . . . it is just suspicion.”

  “And what Kincaid said to Darcy . . . about the proposal.”

  “We have no way of knowing if that is true.”

  “I will find out,” she said with determination, “when Darcy is awake.”

  “Yes, our first concern. May I see him?”

  She led him into the bedchamber where Darcy was in his usual position, propped up on many pillows. The bleeding had ceased, but there was still a considerable chance of infection, so the sheets were changed regularly. The difference now was that, as Elizabeth approached him, his eyes fluttered open.

  “Darcy!” she cried, and rushed closer to him as Bingley hovered over. “Can you hear me?”

  He turned his head slightly to the side and said in a hoarse whisper, “I think I am leaning on a knife.”

  “You were shot. You had surgery.” She cupped his cheek. “You’re going to be all right. Bingley, get the doctor.” She didn’t take her eyes off her husband’s as she gave orders, watching the obvious pain and confusion in them. “You’re going to be all right.”

  “I love you,” he said.

  Bingley returned shortly with Dr. Maddox. “Mr. Darcy,” the doctor bowed. “I see you have regained your senses. Are you in any discomfort?”

  Darcy gave the doctor a look.

  “Of course, I’m silly for asking. Please, swallow.” He had the spoon and jar already prepared. “There we are. You’re going to feel a little light-headed in a bit. You may wish to go to sleep. It’s best not to fight it.”

  Darcy nodded and closed his eyes.

  “His colour is returning,” Elizabeth said to Maddox. “Do you think so?”

  “If he escapes infection, he should be perfectly mended in time. And I have taken every precaution that I know against it. The rest is up to God.” He pushed his glasses up on his nose again. “If he is still in pain in half the hour, please call for me, and I will give him another dose, but that is all for now. And he may not be . . . particularly lucid if you try to talk to him.”

  “Thank you, Doctor, for saving my husband’s life.”

  He blushed at her curtsey, apparently only accustomed to being told what to do and then dismissed. “It’s only my job, Mrs. Darcy.” And he quickly disappeared.

  “A bit shy,” she said to Bingley. “How ever did he approach Miss Bingley?”

  “I hardly have the details. All I know is he speaks many languages.”

  Elizabeth took up her place sitting on the bed next to him as Darcy dozed, and Bingley sat in the corner chair, apparently also unwilling to leave Darcy’s side. After some time, while the servant brought his visitors some tea, Darcy mumbled something.

  “Darcy?” Elizabeth said, taking his hand.

  He opened his eyes but did not look directly into hers, apparently unable to focus properly. He looked instead at Bingley. “My God, you are . . . quite red.”

  Perhaps he was referring to Bingley’s hair, which wasn’t a proper red but more of an orange. Bingley stifled a chuckle. “Yes, I suppose. How do you feel?”

  “Did I ever tell you . . . wait.” He paused, and there was a gap in his thinking. “Tell me . . . something.”

  “All right.”

  “Eliza Bennet—what do you think of her?”

  Bingley had trouble keeping a straight face; Elizabeth gave up entirely and was barely muffling her laughter, which was too much to Darcy’s side for him to see. “I think she’s a lovely woman and has a very beautiful sister.”

  “No . . . I mean, yes . . . of course . . . but—she has not . . . the eyes. You know . . . the older one.”

  “Jane?”

  “Yes. Will she dance with me?”

  “Jane or Elizabeth?”

  “Who?”

  “We were talking,” Bingley said patiently, “about our wives.”

  “Oh, yes.” And then Darcy said nothing, as if the conversation were finished. In fact, he closed his eyes as if he were going back to sleep, before saying, “Where’s the carriage?”

  “What carriage?”

  “The one that rolled over me.”

  Elizabeth said, “You were shot, Darcy.”

  He opened his hazy eyes and looked in her general direction. “Oh.” He paused, moving the conversation at his own speed, and added, “How? I’m . . . very good.”

  “At shooting people in the back?” she said, with mock horror.

  “At fencing. I could beat ’im . . . just parry and—” He made a sort of motion with his right hand, but he lacked the coordination to have it resemble anything like an actual parry.

  “This was a bullet, dear husband.”

  “I could—I could parry a bullet.” He waved his arm again in that bizarre motion. Finally, Elizabeth put out a hand to stop him.

  “Darling, please, don’t tire yourself.”

  He looked at her and made great (and rather slow) attempts to focus his eyes as if he were trying to make sure she was the person he suspected her to be. “I love you, Lizzy Bennet.”

  “And I love you, Fitzers Darcy.”

  He nodded and closed his eyes. Both his guests had to leave the room immediately because they could no longer contain their laughter. They shut the door and filled the hallway with it.

  “I can’t believe you got away with that!”

  “I’m not sure I got away with it,” she said. “Oh, but it was worth it. As horrible as it is to take advantage of a man without his senses, it was worth it.”

  “Most definitely.”

  They were not quite recovered from their escapades when Georgiana appeared up the stairwell. “What are you two laughing about?”

  “Nothing,” they said simultaneously. Bingley wiped the last of the tears from his eyes.

  “And I am to believe that?” Georgiana crossed her arms with a Darcy-like look of determination.

  “Your brother is . . . indisposed,” Elizabeth said, a smile creeping back across her face. “Dr. Maddox gave him something for pain that has made him muddle-headed.”

  “Oh. Well, let me through, then. Should I not have my fair share?”

  “Georgiana—”
Bingley put up some protest, but she sideswiped him and went right to her brother’s side and took his hand, waking him from his light sleep.

  “Brother,” she said with a very serious voice.

  “Georgiana,” he smiled. “Sweet Georgiana.”

  “I am affianced. I have found the most disreputable bachelor in Town, and I will marry him at Gretna Green on Sunday.”

  This was a very long sentence for Darcy to comprehend, if he was comprehending anything at all. “All right . . . then.”

  “So you give your consent?”

  “Of course. But first I must . . . castrate him . . . before the ceremony.”

  Any pretence that laughter was going to be held in by the two onlookers was now entirely abandoned. They all had to leave the room very quickly. As they left, they missed Darcy mumbling, “Kill . . . you all . . .”

  ***

  The next greatest challenge was getting Darcy sitting up. This was complicated by the fact that, when he was finally lifted into the chair, dressed in underclothing and a robe, he refused Dr. Maddox’s medicine, saying it “dulled his senses.” He was obviously still in pain, leaning slightly to one side to take the pressure off his left elbow, but he would not hear the doctor’s protests, dismissing them with a very weak gesture.

  “It is no use,” Elizabeth explained. “My husband is the most stubborn man in England.”

  “And my wife is the most stubborn woman in England,” Darcy replied, but his voice was still ragged. “So we are . . . a very well-matched . . . pair.”

  Elizabeth kissed him on the head, and Dr. Maddox took his leave as Bingley entered, and wife and friend began to update him on the events that had occurred since his trip to Kincaid’s apartment, of which he remembered very little. Even without the laudanum affecting his mind, he had trouble coming to terms with being shot in the back.

  “Despicable man,” was all he said, and had no further comment on Kincaid and seemed to show little interest in how and where he was incarcerated. “What day is it?”

  “The tenth of December.”

  It took him a long time to say anything. It was obvious he was fighting waves of pain. “My God Bingley . . . what are you doing here?”

  “What?”

  “Jane! Your wife!”

  “She is well, and Chatton is not that far of a journey. She has also refused, by letter, to allow me to leave your side until you are recovered.”

  Darcy grumbled but had no proper counter to this. “Can you send in the doctor? And . . . I require . . . some privacy.”

  “Of course.”

  Darcy said nothing as Elizabeth stroked his hair. It was not easy watching her debilitated husband, and she was relieved when Maddox reappeared with the bottle. “No,” Darcy said, “I want to ask you something . . . while my mind is clear.”

  “And then you will take your dose?”

  “Agreed.” Darcy closed his eyes, and they thought maybe he might be drifting off again, as he had developed a habit of doing, but he was instead apparently refocusing and gathering his energy so he could speak in a clearer, more confident voice when he asked, “Did you or did you not make an offer of marriage to Caroline Bingley?”

  Of course, the doctor’s terrified stance and mute response gave away all or most of his feelings, but fortunately for him, it was Elizabeth who responded, “Darcy!”

  “No, I will settle the matter—now. Kincaid told me it was so. And he was not lying, was he?”

  Maddox backed away, but he did answer, “No.”

  “I will assume her response was negative,” Darcy continued. “I am a man with some experience . . . in rejected proposals.” His head rolled to one side; he couldn’t properly hold it up anymore. “So . . . my advice . . . is to fret for a while and then try again.”

  “Thank you so much for your kindly advice,” Maddox said, and furiously shoved not one but two spoonfuls of medicine in Darcy’s mouth before leaving in a huff, nearly barging into Bingley on the way.

  “What did you say to the poor doctor?” Bingley said, and it was at that point that Elizabeth could no longer hold her laughter and nearly collapsed onto the rim of the armchair. “What? That man saved your life!”

  “I think he regrets it now,” Darcy responded.

  ***

  After Darcy had drifted off again, or was at least babbling incoherently, Elizabeth left him in Bingley’s charge and went about locating the doctor, who had hidden himself in the kitchen where his various instruments were spread out over a clean towel and he was mixing up his various ointments and medicines. He jumped a little at her entrance and bowed stiffly but realised he could do nothing to get rid of the mistress of the house. “Mrs. Darcy.”

  “Dr. Maddox, I feel you have not been thanked sufficiently for saving my husband’s life.”

  “Yes, well . . .” he trailed off and went back to his powders.

  “I apologise for my husband’s very blunt behaviour,” she said. “I would attribute it to his current state, but honestly that is the way he always behaves.”

  Maddox did smile but still said nothing. To take precise measurements, he pushed his glasses up into his hair and brought the measuring spoons up to his face, and she could see the obvious glimmer of intelligence in his eyes—and that he was nearsighted.

  “Mrs. Darcy, if you’re going to stand there, at least allow me to guess what you are thinking.”

  “You are welcome to do so.”

  “You are wondering what Caroline sees in me.”

  So, there was a problem of his self-esteem. “No, I was thinking precisely the opposite, to be honest.”

  “Maybe it is my own transparency,” he said, “but I do not fully understand why she is held in so little regard by so many of her relatives.”

  Maybe he was blind both literally and figuratively. Elizabeth was dumbfounded, so much so that it took her several moments to develop a proper response. “I do not mean to be ungenerous to Miss Bingley—”

  “But you do not care for her.”

  “It is not—” She could not find a proper way to say it without being cruel. “I cannot recall anything Miss Bingley has ever said to me that was not either outright dismissive or falsely friendly.”

  “And how should she treat a rival for Mr. Darcy’s affections?” he said, but his voice was so pleasant, so truly pure, that it was obvious he meant no offence, just idle curiosity. “What is the socially acceptable demeanour for women in that situation? Forgive a distant observer, but in my limited experiences with women, it seems that at least some of them must result to the most cutthroat of tactics even to stay in the game.”

  She could not deny it; nor could she deny that the insinuation, however unintentional, made her angry. “And you think this is a positive quality?”

  “It is a necessary quality, more of a survival instinct. Caroline Bingley must marry and marry well. To do otherwise would hurt the entire family’s social standing. This seems to be true of most families of fortune.” He looked away from her and down at his mixing bowls. “My aforementioned endeavour’s outcome is then completely unsurprising.”

  “But you did it anyway.”

  “Yes.” He would not look at her, but his voice cracked a little when he spoke. “I could not do otherwise. So I made a fool of myself and apparently now also of Caroline, as it has become known and she is sure to be a laughingstock. The latter is my only regret.”

  Their gazes finally met, and the look on Maddox’s face was immediately recognisable. He spoke of the utter despair of a man who knew he would never get what he desired and had no hope of forgetting that. She knew it because she had seen that exact look on Darcy’s face as he stood next to Bingley at Longbourn.

  But this time, the answer was not so obvious.

  Chapter 9

  Mr. Darcy’s Proposal

  When Elizabeth returned to the master bedchamber, Bingley spun around and had the expression of a child with his hand in the cookie jar. “Mrs. Darcy.”

  Sh
e crossed her arms. “What were you doing?”

  “Nothing,” he said. “Nothing at all.”

  “Were you taking advantage of my husband’s condition again?”

  “No, absolutely not. I would never, ever ask him to will his half of Derbyshire to me, and he would never agree,” Bingley said. “Right, Darcy?”

  “Happy Christmas,” said Darcy, who had been moved back into bed and was propped up on the headboard, his eyes a shade of red. “Lizzy.”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “Mr. Bingley, as much fun as we’re having, I think there are matters we should talk of.”

  “Yes, yes,” he said, wiping the tears from his eyes. “In privacy?”

  “I think we’re in privacy now, unless he is deceiving us.”

  “Elizabeth, you weren’t here when he called me Charlie Bungley.”

  “Well put,” she giggled. “Very well. There is the matter of your sister—”

  “Yes.” This did succeed to some extent in darkening his mood—or would at least until Darcy spoke again. “Did you speak to the doctor?”

  “Yes.”

  “And did he say anything interesting?”

  Now Elizabeth was completely serious. “He is completely in love with her.”

  While this did not seem great news to Bingley, it had an obvious effect on him, as he pondered for a moment before answering, “I would certainly not object to the match, whatever his own financial status is.”

  “I do not believe that is the issue.”

  “No, of course not.” He rubbed his chin. “The matter is Caroline’s own feelings, which of course have to be reciprocal.”

  “And you have no idea if they are?”

  “I have some idea. I mean, I can’t positively think of another person not of our social class that she’s given any attention to or even learned the proper name of, much less had multiple, extended conversations with. And that she continues to hide her feelings and is yet completely dismissive of him at the slightest implication—which I imagine she would be if I implied something about her and any other man—is yet another indication. But that does not make the matter perfectly clear.”

  “These matters are rarely perfectly clear,” Elizabeth said, “except of course for you and Jane, as you were practically fawning over each other at first glance. Am I not right, Darcy?”