Fitzwilliam Darcy, Guardian

by Jennifer Joy

  More directly, he asked, “Do you like children?”

  Inwardly applauding Mr. Darcy’s growing boldness, Elizabeth answered in kind. “I adore children. My sister, Jane, has a way with babes which I envy, but my favorite age is when a child is old enough to begin exploring the world; when their curiosity widens their eyes with wonder and they ask all manner of outrageous questions.”

  He seemed pleased with her answer, though she could only imagine why (and already, her imagination was hard at work making sense of his strange and not entirely appropriate question.)

  Elizabeth was beginning to doubt her initial impression of Mr. Darcy. He was not shy.

  Their dance ended, and he offered to see her to the refreshment table. It was hot in the room, and her curiosity regarding the gentleman had yet to be satisfied. If anything, she wished to know more about him.

  She sipped slowly from the glass he handed to her. “Thank you, Mr. Darcy, for the dance and the punch.”

  He looked positively miserable. Not the reaction she had meant to inspire.

  Mr. Darcy was too new an acquaintance to press, and so she sipped from her glass and swayed to the music.

  “Must love always be part of the happy ending? Can not a union made for an honorable purpose be happy without it?” he asked, once again startling her. His intense gaze bored into Elizabeth as if she were the only person in the room.

  Definitely not shy.

  Not having the luxury of anticipating the sudden turn of conversation, Elizabeth replied a touch too boldly. “Is it not our purpose to love and be loved? Otherwise, why should we bother to live at all? I am convinced love is the key to happiness.”

  “You would not be content to marry for convenience or security? Most ladies are.”

  “I am not accustomed to being swayed by the values of others. On the contrary, I am convinced that nothing but the most intense love will persuade me to marry.” She held his eyes with hers, unwilling to look away before he did, lest he doubt her. She held no hope of ever seeing Mr. Darcy again after that pretty admission. Loving wives expected much of the men they married — honesty, selfless consideration, regard for their opinions, to be cherished, valued… And rightly so if they were the ones to endure childbirth, thought Elizabeth rebelliously, still holding his gaze.

  “Do your sisters share your view?” he asked.

  “Ask them if you dare. I cannot speak for them.” She was smart enough to keep her thoughts to herself when she had already said too much. Most gentlemen would run in the opposite direction.

  Mr. Darcy walked.

  Chapter 6

  Darcy liked Miss Elizabeth. Her positive outlook and lighthearted manners had made him forget himself, forget his troubles. Therein lay her danger. He had not meant to ask such a bold question, but the spark in her brown eyes had challenged him. Her answer had been immediate and definite, closing a door firmly in his face. She believed a marriage should be born from a deep love, as he did. She would never agree to a union unless it met with her requirements, and Darcy did not have the time to offer what she desired. It was a pity. Under more favorable circumstances, he would have tried.

  Darcy walked around the room, renewing his resolve. He would dance with Miss Jane Bennet next.

  A hearty laugh drew his attention over to a group gathered around the refreshment table. Miss Elizabeth smiled and conversed easily with her neighbors. He ought to have known she was the source of the gaiety.

  Farther down the length of the room, in a smaller group, Miss Bennet patiently listened while Bingley expounded passionately on his chosen subject. To be fair, Bingley rarely spoke of anything without a good deal of animation.

  Darcy made his way over to them.

  Though she clearly enjoyed her present company, Miss Bennet was too polite to refuse Darcy’s request for a dance. A lady such as she would never speak out of turn, but he would be hard-pressed to hear her true opinion … if she had one. How unlike Miss Elizabeth, who had boldly pronounced her views, though they ran contrary to his needs.

  Miss Bennet was a graceful partner and lovely to look upon, but Darcy’s frustration mounted when he was unable to delicately extract the information he required before he could make an offer. Not for fear of offense (Miss Bennet was much too complacent to be easily offended), but for the realization that her agreeable manners would make it difficult for her to refuse any offer made to her. Even an offer of marriage from a man she had only recently met.

  Where he ought to be gratified (Was this not what he sought?), Darcy was overcome with misgivings he tried to ignore.

  Had not Miss Elizabeth said that Miss Bennet was good with children? She would be kind and gentle with Anne. What was more, Darcy’s sudden union with such a lady would not be questioned. Society would assume her pale beauty had captured his heart as his mother had captured his father’s.

  He bowed over Miss Bennet’s hand at the end of the dance, allowing her to be swept away by the next gentleman waiting for his chance to work his charm on the lady.

  Darcy tried to recall their conversation, for he had not remained silent. He supposed she had given some reply, but for the life of him, he could not remember a word.

  Her company was tepid compared to Miss Elizabeth, but at least Miss Bennet would be agreeable. He would provide her a handsome allowance and the most beautiful estate in which to reside. He would treat her with consideration, proving loyal and honorable in all his actions. Few ladies wished for more than that. Few were like Miss Elizabeth. Thank goodness for that.

  Sir William performed his duties grandly, taking it upon himself to introduce Darcy to every lady present over the course of the evening — eligible or otherwise.

  Several times, Darcy found his sight wandering about the room to find Miss Elizabeth. Merely out of curiosity, of course. The closer he observed the family, the more certain he could be about their characters.

  She laughed, danced, and conversed, leaving a wake of joyous friends and lively discussions behind her while Miss Bennet’s subdued conversation, graceful dancing, and cool manners would have made her the belle of a society ball.

  The Bennets were everything Mrs. Bamber had claimed they would be, and by the time Bingley had danced his fill and Darcy’s feet throbbed, he had decided on his course. He would call on Mr. Bennet at Longbourn on the morrow.

  Darcy would marry Miss Bennet by the end of the week.

  “Is Miss Jane Bennet not an angel, Darcy? I admit I have never been so taken with a lady as I was with her this evening.” Bingley swirled the brandy in his glass and propped one booted foot on top of his knee.

  Darcy dropped into his chair, feeling as if the rug had been pulled out from under his feet.

  Of all the ladies present, why did Bingley have to settle on Miss Bennet? On his choice?

  While Darcy formulated a comment meant to discourage his friend, Bingley discoursed on Miss Bennet’s attributes — all of which were exceedingly fine according to him. That most of her praise was based on her character rather than her appearance did credit to his friend, and Darcy soon found himself in a quandary.

  He could not make an offer no father would refuse when his own dear friend showed a marked preference for the lady. Just because he doubted he could ever be happy did not mean he wished to deny Bingley the opportunity of making a blissful union.

  However, Bingley was infamously fickle. While he had matured in many other areas of his life, it remained to be seen if his heart had become as steady as his mind.

  “Do you mean to court her, then?” Darcy asked, holding his breath.

  Bingley colored. “You do not think it too forward of me? Too rushed?”

  Before Mr. Rochester’s letter, Darcy would have encouraged Bingley to be patient, to think and act slowly. But who was he to criticize a hasty courtship when he himself intended to skip right to marriage? He said, “I am not qualified to offer my opinion, as I am unmarried.”

  “Come, Darcy. You know me better than anyone �
�� better than myself oftentimes. I appeal to you as a friend. Am I ready? Have I matured enough to take responsibility not only for my own happiness, but for that of another?”

  Drat. Exhaling with a sigh, Darcy said, “That you concern yourself with your future wife’s happiness as well as your own bodes well for both of you, but I will refrain from saying anything else. You are not as impulsive as you used to be, and I praise you for it. However, there comes a time when you must learn to trust your own instincts.”

  Darcy held on to the diminishing possibility that Bingley would back off and he could continue with his plan.

  Bingley rubbed his fingers over his chin. “Thank you, Darcy. The troubles at my father’s mill over the past year forced me neither to take important decisions lightly nor to ignore the effect my choices have on others. But marriage is the greatest decision, is it not? I wish to choose wisely and avoid a lifetime of regret.”

  Darcy’s prospects looked bleaker. He asked, “Do you believe you would regret a life with Miss Bennet?”

  This was the moment of truth.

  Bingley’s shoulders slumped. “I cannot know for a certainty. It is too soon.”

  Darcy was too elated to pity Bingley.

  “But I am willing to risk my heart to find out.” Sitting forward abruptly and shoving his fist into the air, Bingley startled Darcy further when he added, “I am, and I will. Tomorrow, I will return Mr. Bennet’s call at Longbourn. He was the first gentleman to welcome me to Hertfordshire, and it would only be proper for me to pay him a call. Will you come with me?”

  Drat it all.

  There was nothing else to be done. Darcy would have to alter his plan.

  He would go to Longbourn on the morrow, but he would not go to propose.

  Chapter 7

  Elizabeth tried to enjoy the silence at Longbourn, but the pattering rain and crackling fire did not grant her the solace they normally bestowed. Nor could Lady Gwendolyn’s troubles enrapture her as they had at her first reading.

  “With the manner you keep sighing, one might think you were crossed in love,” Father said, peeking briefly at her from the top of his book before returning his attention to the page.

  Turning away from the window facing the drive to the warmth of the fire, Elizabeth heard the sound she had dreaded hearing all day — the crunch of carriage wheels on their drive.

  “That will be Mr. Collins,” she grumbled, already dreading his visit. Mr. Collins had the unique ability to suck the joy out of any occasion. “It does not bode well for Charlotte that her husband prefers to spend the final weeks of her confinement securing his inheritance here rather than tending to her at Hunsford.”

  Her odious cousin had not crossed Longbourn’s threshold yet, and already Elizabeth was in a black study. She ought to have accompanied her mother and sisters into Meryton. They had been wise to make calls rather than wait around, as she had, for the clergyman who would eventually cast them from the only home they had ever known. How she loathed him.

  Father looked up again, his mouth open to reply until his vision fixed on the window. “That does not look like Mr. Collins,” he said, surprising Elizabeth when he tidied the scattered papers on the table beside his chair into a neat pile. He never tidied anything, preferring his own system of what he called “organized chaos” wherein he could locate any item in a pile an uninformed observer would declare to be a hopeless mess.

  She turned to see what had inspired his uncharacteristic orderliness, but whoever was outside had already passed by the window. The view was too blurry to see much anyway. Who else but Mr. Collins would travel in this weather? (Besides her own mother and sisters … who had only ventured out of doors in order to avoid the nuisance.) No, it must be Mr. Collins.

  Father rose from his chair. His color was better than it had been the day before, and though Elizabeth had been listening for it, she had not heard the wheezing breath that preceded a coughing fit. The new draught was working. As hopeful as she was, Elizabeth prayed Mr. Collins would not witness any coughing episodes. He would delight in them, moving himself and his family into Longbourn in eager expectation of Father’s early demise under the pretense of offering his comfort and assistance. Then, they would never be rid of the clergyman.

  Mr. Hill appeared in the doorway, but it was not Mr. Collins he announced.

  “Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley are here to see you, sir,” he said.

  Elizabeth snapped upright, wishing she had imitated her father and tidied a bit. As it was, she only had time enough to grab Kitty’s wad of tangled ribbons and stuff them under a cushion. She would not allow for her younger sister’s slovenly habits to cause Mr. Bingley to doubt Jane’s ability to manage a household. Nor did she wish for Mr. Darcy to believe her sloppy … if he thought about her at all.

  “Send them in, Hill,” Father replied eagerly.

  Elizabeth did not have a chance to ask if he had been expecting the gentlemen callers, and he only confounded her further when he winked at her just as Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley stepped into the drawing room.

  Mr. Darcy smiled. By all appearances, he was pleased to see her when Elizabeth had been certain he would go out of his way to avoid her. Had he not ignored her for the rest of the Meryton Assembly? To his credit, he had danced with every female in the room. But he had not sought her company again, though there had been many opportunities when he might have done so, had he wished it.

  Elizabeth had been a little disappointed he had chosen to keep his distance. Mr. Darcy was nothing to her, but he was interesting. She would not have minded a few minutes more of his conversation.

  Bows and greetings were exchanged, and Father rang for tea while apologizing for the absence of Mrs. Bennet and his other daughters.

  Mr. Bingley disguised his disappointment well, but Elizabeth had been looking for signs of it. She saw the brief dimming of his countenance before his overenthusiastic attempt to cover it over.

  On the other hand, Mr. Darcy seemed relieved. His countenance was pleasant and relaxed as he smiled at Father before taking a seat opposite him. He had a pleasant smile. It softened his eyes. Beds of moss on damp earth. Or damp earth spotted with moss? Elizabeth could not decide which, but discreetly looked away before she was caught staring.

  “How are you enjoying Hertfordshire?” Father asked, nestling against his chair and crossing one leg over the other, completely at ease.

  “I am enjoying it very much,” Mr. Bingley replied. “Our neighbors are hospitable and have made us feel most welcome.”

  Father grinned. Mother had ensured he was one of the first to call upon Mr. Bingley at Netherfield Park. “And you, Mr. Darcy? I daresay we do not have the culture and society to which you are accustomed, but what we lack in variety, we make up for in sincerity.”

  “I would not trade sincerity for society,” Mr. Darcy replied, his voice deep and firm.

  “Would you not?” Father said, pinching his chin as he always did when his mind was engaged. There were few things he enjoyed more than a philosophical debate.

  Mr. Darcy said, “I have no use for people who hide what they are behind their surname and status.”

  Elizabeth looked at him askance. That was a bold statement from one born into the highest circles.

  Father was intrigued. Truth be told, Elizabeth was too.

  “Would you choose to befriend a trustworthy laborer rather than a peer known to merely distort the truth to his or her advantage without any intent to harm?” she asked.

  Mr. Darcy’s golden green eyes fixed on her, and Elizabeth felt her neck warm.

  “A person’s character is dependent on his or her values. These are made evident by one’s actions. I care not to befriend those lacking the qualities I esteem, nor would I deny myself the pleasure of association with one who does. That said, I do not make friends easily.”

  Father sat forward in his chair, his hands clasped together. “I suppose you make a study of character then before you extend your friendship to anyone?�
�

  “Of course,” Mr. Darcy said, shifting his gaze over to Father.

  “How extraordinary! It fascinates me to observe how easily the multitudes are swayed by superficial charm. I wonder how you are able to avoid being swayed by popular opinion through your analysis…”

  If Father slid forward another inch in his chair, he was in danger of falling to the floor. It was, however, good to see him fully engaged in worthwhile conversation.

  Mr. Darcy did not disappoint. “I am not easily swayed by anything when my mind is made up.”

  “A difficult accomplishment indeed when emotions get involved, as they often do,” observed Father.

  “Not when one makes a habit of thinking rationally. Like all thoughts, we may choose how and what we think. We are not slaves to them or our emotions.”

  This cold speech did not reflect Elizabeth’s impression of the man himself. She had studied the stoic beliefs on detached emotion in the diaries of Marcus Aurelius, and while she agreed that one should not allow herself to be governed by emotions, she did not wish to completely part with them. She wondered how intensely Mr. Darcy adhered to the stoic philosophy.

  Father was delighted. “While I do my best to keep an open mind, I own I see many advantages to a decisive, narrowed mind. I do not accuse you of close-mindedness, Mr. Darcy, for your very answers imply a great deal of study and thought, but I refer to the characteristics of focus and intent. I may surmise, then, that it is a true compliment to those to whom you have extended your friendship.” He smiled at Mr. Bingley.

  Mr. Bingley straightened his spine, his cheeks reflecting a merry countenance. “I had never considered how Darcy’s approval reflected favorably on me, but I see the compliment now and am honored. I have a reputation for getting on with everyone I meet, but in matters of import there are very few in whom I would confide. Darcy is one of the few, as he is with many others who rely on his guidance.”