The Darcys and the Bingleys

by Marsha Altman

  When he awoke it was daylight, but as it had been daylight when he went to sleep, that held no significance to him at all. He reached for his glasses and his watch and found the time to be late in the afternoon.

  It dawned on him after a considerable panic that, if he had been needed, someone surely would have roused him earlier. Instead he was alone in a rather large and fine room in complete peace on a perfectly quiet Christmas afternoon. (He had to assume it was the same day.) He found the adjoining chamber ready with a copper tub and warm water set aside and quickly washed himself.

  His shuffling around in a daze must have made some noise, for the same servant appeared, bowed to him, and began to offer him a large selection of dress, as Christmas dinner would be happening soon, and he was expected to be there when the bell rang. It only then occurred to him that his usual clothing, which was probably once suitable or could be made to look suitable with the right cravat many years ago, was probably ratty and inadequate for the Bingley dinner table. So for reasons he could not understand fully, he found himself standing on a dressing stand being semilectured by a manservant. “We have a selection of clothing that is available. Mr. Bingley, as I’m sure you are aware, is very much in favour of bright colours, but I believe you are closer to Mr. Darcy in general measurements, though he is—if I can say—a bit dour in his choice of colours. And Mr. Hurst has some collection, but I don’t think it can be fitted in time.”

  “Ah, hmm . . . something of Darcy’s would be fine,” he mumbled.

  “Very good, sir.”

  He knew how to tie his own cravat, but that option was not given to him, and the level of compliance that was expected of him also prevented him from doing it himself. A little overwhelmed but not of the wits to say it, a more presentable Dr. Maddox finally emerged into the hallway, which was strangely quiet and empty for the middle of the afternoon. He conjectured that many important members of the household were either still sleeping or were inclined to lay rather low after a long trip and an exhausting birth.

  But he was not, it seemed, entirely alone. Around the corner and with amazing speed crawled a small child with dark brown hair. When he hit Maddox’s legs, he grabbed the trousers by the knees and attempted to stand up, giggling all the way. While the Chatton floors looked perfectly clean, he thought it best that an infant not be loose on them, and he picked up the boy who squealed with delight. “Da!” Maddox judged him to be nearing his first birthday, by weight and development.

  “And who are you?” he said, but the most obvious answer was that he was the Darcys’ son. He knew very well that Charles and Jane had a daughter named Georgiana, after Mr. Darcy’s sister, and that the Darcys were themselves parents, but he could not properly recall the name of the boy.

  “Da!” said the boy. “Yeff!” With his arms now free, he immediately went for the most interesting thing in reach, which were the doctor’s glasses.

  “No, no, I need those,” he said, as the world—except for what was very close, in this case, young Mr. Darcy—became a blur. But they would not be so easily wrestled from the child’s hands. Like his father, he had a rather strong grip. “I am being very serious.”

  There was laughter in the distance, and he looked sideways and saw only the vague outlines of a figure, but the voice was recognisable enough. He smiled. “Caroline.”

  “Let me help you,” she said, approaching him and pulling the item in question from the boy’s hands with a strong yank. “Geoffrey, no! Those are not yours!” And she handed them back to him—or at least, he felt her do it—and he replaced them on his face, this time holding the boy out at a considerable distance after doing so.

  It was then that the nurse appeared, running down the hallway in their direction. “Master Geoffrey! Oh, thank God!” Her accent was distinguishably local or maybe lowlander. She quickly took the child tightly in her arms and curtseyed to both of them. “I’m so sorry. I swear, I never lets ’im out of my sight and yet ’e gets away!”

  “No harm done,” Dr. Maddox said with a reassuring smile, and she scampered off, taking the squealing child with her.

  “He’s a sweet boy,” said Caroline, turning back to him. “But he refuses to stay still.”

  “Much like his father,” Maddox observed.

  “Are you insulting one of your patients?”

  “Hardly insulting,” he said nervously, which seemed to make her smile all the more.

  “You look quite dashing, Daniel.”

  “Oh, yes.” He squirmed in his cravat. “Thank you. It’s, um, borrowed . . . for the feast. When is that, by the way?”

  “No one has any idea, as no one’s seen my brother all day,” she said. “When did my sister deliver?”

  “About four in the morning.”

  “You are a hardy man, Dr. Maddox.”

  He smiled. “I am when I want to be.”

  ***

  The request of the Darcys, both still in convalescence, to see their son was met with a stream of apologies by Nurse that he had been wandering around and was not fit to be presented to his parents. Elizabeth had to stop her in midsentence to get the word in that she had barely seen him the day before, and he would take his nap with his parents, thank you very much. And thus a hastily scrubbed Geoffrey Darcy was brought to the bedchamber, and Elizabeth took him from the nurse and put him between herself and Darcy on the bed. “And how is my favourite little darling?”

  “He’s fine,” mumbled a half asleep Darcy, and Elizabeth swatted him as her son attempted to climb over her.

  “You apparently have been naughty,” she said.

  “Yeff!” he said, putting his fingers in his mouth. Elizabeth looked over at her husband in horror.

  Darcy didn’t even open his eyes. “Doesn’t count. When he says the ‘G’ properly I will relent.”

  “Knowing the Darcy heritage, that may be years from now.”

  Darcy smiled and pulled his son over to him, picking him up and holding him over so they were face to face. “Say it. ‘Father.’”

  “Yeff!” Geoffrey squealed. “Da!”

  “I believe that is Scottish for ‘Father,’” Elizabeth said.

  “I will not settle. Recent events have not endeared me to the north.” He said to his son, “Dar-cee.”

  “Dabby!”

  “Getting closer.” He put his son down so he came to rest on his chest. This time, though, Geoffrey did not squirm his way off but settled into his father’s night shirt. “I fear we have been very negligent parents.”

  “Yes, next time we must prevent a marriage, we will be sure to take him with us.”

  “I have decided to do all of my marriage preventing at home from now on. Georgiana’s suitors will simply have to come to Pemberley.”

  “And you will be smart enough not to turn your back on them.”

  “Are you attempting to make me cross?”

  “Am I succeeding?”

  He turned to her, and they looked into each other’s eyes for a moment and then broke into laughter. This did not rouse their son, who was now already asleep on his father’s chest. Elizabeth leaned over and kissed him on the head, which did not wake him either. “Perhaps the next one will inherit your dourness. That at least will keep them calmer.”

  “I’ve been meaning to speak to you about that,” Darcy said. “We need to have triplets. Can you—”

  “Darcy!” she said. “If Geoffrey was not sleeping so conveniently, I would thrash you, injury or not! Besides, you know very well I have no control over it, and after last night, I am not particularly inclined to have any more children at all!”

  Elizabeth fell into a huff on her side of the bed. Seeing her discomfort but being limited in movement, he reached over and stroked her stomach. “I love you.”

  “I do hope so.”

  “Please know that I would ravish you right now if not for—well, several factors.” He gestured in the appropriate direction.

  “I will be very invasive and annoying, as is my right a
s your wife, and ask you how you are actually feeling.”

  “Tired and sore but not in a great deal of pain. I know you are very close to your sister, but may I assume we will escape to Pemberley as soon as the year is up?”

  “Why does it seem ages since I was there?”

  He thought before answering, “Because when you were last there, almost every member of our very large family was in a decidedly different condition.” He blinked. “Was that part of my opiate haze or did Miss Bingley accept the proposal of the doctor who patched me up?”

  “Unless something has changed in the past few hours, they are still affianced—and very much in love.”

  “Well, then,” he said, apparently lacking much else to say. “He’s a good man, but not exactly what I was expecting. And he must get used to all of this intolerable high society.”

  “I seem to recall you telling me he was raised in a family of fortune.”

  “Did I? Oh, yes,” Darcy said. “Still, if he is to have a serious income, he must get some kind of high commission. I suppose the best thing to do would be to shoot the king in the back.”

  “Might even get him knighted.”

  “Yes.” He smiled. “Treason it is then.”

  “Anything for a brother-in-law.”

  ***

  The traditional Christmas meal was much delayed that year. It took so long to get the meal ready and to properly rouse everyone that Christmas itself was coming to a close when they finally sat down at the table, minus the recovering Jane. No less than eleven people (and one empty seat left respectfully for the new mother) took seats for ham and every delicacy that could be prepared as quickly as possible.

  Bingley proudly announced the naming of his two children, or what the naming would be for the baptism—Charles Bingley the Third and Elizabeth Bingley.

  “Yes, let’s just confuse our own family even further by naming everyone after everyone else still living,” Mr. Bennet grumbled good-naturedly. “At least Mr. Darcy has some sense.”

  “No, Papa, we’ve already agreed, and if we are to have another son, he shall be named Fitzwilliam,” Elizabeth said, and gladly endured the glare from her husband and the stifled laughter from their host.

  “You may name him after me if you wish, but please do wait until I’m dead,” Mr. Bennet continued, and patted his wife on the shoulder. “Any day now, dear.”

  “Mr. Bennet! You imply that I would wish it!”

  “Well, you spent so many years talking of it, I cannot help but make the assumption.” He looked across the table at the horrified doctor. “If you have not surmised it already, this family takes great pleasure at making fun of every other member, no matter how beloved.”

  “O voi che per la via d’Amor passate,” said Maddox.

  “Hmm,” replied Mr. Bennet, “ . . . attendete e guardate?”

  “s’elli é dolore alcun, quanto ‘1mio, grave,” added Miss Bingley.

  “Something about a hat. That’s all I got,” Bingley whispered in Darcy’s ear.

  “Mr. Bennet!” said his wife. “You know Italian?”

  “Of course. How else does one read Dante?”

  “Is everyone done showing off that they know more languages than we do?” Darcy said.

  “It was not my intention, but it is a pleasing side effect,” Mr. Bennet said, and Darcy’s mood would have soured further if not for his wife’s obvious delight with her father. “Doctor, you may or may not be aware, but I have a daughter studying on the Continent, in a seminary in Paris.”

  “And what does she prefer to study?”

  “Incredibly dull religious texts, in Latin, I’m assuming.”

  “Oh,” said Maddox. “I am more in favour of incredibly gruesome medical texts—in French.” He turned to his betrothed. “Would you like me to—?”

  “No,” Miss Bingley said. “Boccaccio will do fine, thank you.”

  “I see nothing wrong with the King’s English,” Darcy said.

  “Nu farey frum thilke palacey honourabley, wharey as thees marquis shopee hees marri’ajay,” recited Maddox.

  There was a brief silence before Darcy barked, “And what language was that?”

  “English. Chaucer, to be exact.”

  “Are you sure?” Bingley interjected.

  “Quite. It is how he would have pronounced it at readings,” said the doctor.

  “Are you done emasculating my husband now?” Elizabeth snickered.

  “I think he is,” Darcy said with his usual extreme formality that came down like a wet blanket.

  ***

  It was in the days between Christmas and the New Year, 1806, that the place was properly done up for the remaining holiday, and a generally festive atmosphere prevailed, punctuated by the combined wailing of young Charles and Eliza Bingley. Georgie and Geoffrey had to be moved from the nursery to another room to get any sleep at all. Jane spent the better part of the week in bed, finally emerging under everyone’s careful watch to join the ladies in the drawing room downstairs. “Lizzy, I feel as though we are both finished with our duties, having both produced heirs. Though I do love my children, I could not imagine having another quite yet.”

  “I could,” her sister said, and whispered the news to her, as it was not being made general knowledge. “Though, it is a particularly daunting prospect.”

  “Pray it is not twins!”

  “I think Darcy will settle for nothing less than triplets,” she said as she bounced her niece on her lap, and Georgie grasped at the hem of her gown. “Fortunately, he has no say in the matter.”

  “This may just be utter exhaustion,” Jane said, “and I do love my husband and children most dearly, but I cannot at the moment comprehend why we were so desperate to get married if this was to be the end result.”

  “We should let Miss Bingley have that piece of wisdom right now.”

  As they giggled, Jane bade Miss Bingley to join them from the other side of the room. Caroline Bingley had not undergone a complete transformation of character since her engagement and had always toned down her particular air of hauteur since Jane became the mistress of the Bingley family, but she was often found distracted and busied herself less with biting remarks. In fact, they were not to judge, for they had seen little of her since her arrival, all of them being caught up in their own affairs. She bowed to the mistress of Chatton and, when offered, took Georgie into her arms next to Elizabeth on the sofa. Other than a few scattered mumbles, Georgiana Bingley was less inclined than her cousin to try at speaking, but Nurse assured them that girls were slower to present themselves than boys.

  “They are busy gathering wisdom and insults to hurl at them,” Elizabeth had said.

  Georgie did coo and play at the lace on the edge of Miss Bingley’s sleeve, which for once, her holder did not discourage. “I see you have fine taste in clothing,” she said. Georgie did not respond.

  “Heavens,” Jane said, “if she develops an obsession with ribbons, I will have no idea which side of the family to blame. Both my mother and my husband are bemused by pretty colours and shiny things.”

  “Clearly, there is no hope for her at all,” Elizabeth said with a smile.

  “You will have to hope for the best with the others,” Miss Bingley said, and they both laughed in response. Miss Bingley passed off the child and excused herself.

  “Good Lord, did we just have a civil conversation with Caroline Bingley?” Elizabeth immediately asked.

  “I think we did. What did he do to her?”

  “As they are not to be married for three months, I hope he has been a proper gentleman.”

  “Was it decided?”

  “First thaw. The roads will be impassable shortly, and we wish to at least invite the Gardiners and the Fitzwilliams.”

  “A terribly long time to wait,” Jane said. “Or, I suppose not. I had to wait a year for Charles. You at least had yet to realise you were in love with Darcy for all but the last few months.”

  “And to think, this
whole business with Miss Bingley was wrapped up in a few weeks. How fortunate.”

  “Except for your husband.”

  “Yes, of course. But he was a good sport through it all. Especially when Mr. Bingley and I were rather bluntly taking advantage of the loss of his senses.”

  “I imagine you had to,” Jane said. “Mr. Darcy does not stand the loss of his senses very often. Best to snatch the opportunity when you can.”

  ***

  Being an overworked Town doctor, Daniel Maddox had forgotten just how much work it was to be idly rich. So much preparation went into the New Year’s festivities that even he, only a guest, felt overwhelmed and was looking forward to them being over before they began. He did not envy Bingley’s position at all, with two infants, a toddler, and an entire household full of guests to oversee. Of course, as a man of wealth he was not required or even expected to take an active interest in his children at their ages, but Charles Bingley was obviously not that kind of man and was often disappearing into the nursery or carrying his daughter around as he went about his errands.

  The doctor’s own responsibilities were extremely minimal. Mr. Hurst seemed to be recovering from his condition, and Mr. Darcy had progressed to an inevitable point where he was both sick of doctoring and well enough to have the strength to refuse examination. That left Dr. Maddox time to peruse the considerable library and figure out ways to avoid his soon-to-be relatives. Not that he didn’t care for them—in fact, he was quite pleased with them—but he was more accustomed to being the near-invisible doctor servant and not the mysterious man who had somehow won the heart of the proud woman who was Miss Bingley. He had no way to explain it so they would understand, nor did he want to explain it or feel compelled to. What she said of him, he had no idea, because now that they were affianced, he saw her only under acceptable social circumstances. This was without question but frustrating nonetheless. They needed to confer, to prepare some sort of strategy, if he was going to endure this seemingly endless assault of family. But he would not approach her about it, not when he wanted to make a good impression on the family, and so conversation was restricted to across the table and chance happenings in the hallway.