The Trouble with Mr. Darcy

by Sharon Lathan

  The owner of the brash voice was a young woman dressed in a revealing gown of a fashionable style. She wore a feathered hat cocked to one side, with her brown hair curled becomingly and framing a pretty face. Rouged cheeks and painted lips lent an air of maturity to what was obviously a young face devoid of intelligence or wisdom. All of this the trained military man concluded in less than a second—observing, categorizing, deducing, and dismissing her as not the cause of his hackles being raised.

  Rather, that came from the man who trailed behind her. He traveled in her wake but strode into the room as if he owned it. Of medium height, slender-framed with a small paunch, dark blonde hair stylishly cut and curled, and dressed in a fine suit of beige wool, he swaggered in and swept the room with dark blue eyes inundated with condescension. His face was handsome but arrogant, and with a lewd sensuality inherent in the set of his full lips and half-lidded eyes. His gaze rested on Randall, noting the mass of medals and ribbons on the officer’s chest and the rank insignia on his collar before lifting to meet the older man’s return inspection. Steely black eyes pierced the blue ones that momentarily lost their haughtiness to flickers of fear. Randall noted the unease and foolishness behind the bluster in the younger man’s gaze before the haughty survey moved on to inventory each occupant of the room.

  “Mama! Papa! Oh! You are all here!” The woman clapped her hands, rushing toward Mrs. Bennet, who had already rose.

  “My Lydia! My baby!!” Mrs. Bennet sobbed, embracing her youngest daughter. “We did not know when to expect you! Oh, Mr. Bennet! Is it not marvelous?”

  “I could wait no longer, Mama. I told my Wickham we needed to make haste. We only tarried at Longbourn, briefly, so I could freshen up. I wanted you to see me looking my best! Is not this dress divine? And my hat? I told this servant here that we were expected and welcome. Such impertinence treating us so! Oh, Kitty! Look at you all grown up and getting married! An officer too. Well done, Sister, ranked higher than my dear Wickham, but I shall not be jealous! Papa! Have you missed me? I have missed you so. Devon is such a dreadfully long way away. Such a horrid journey it was, and you would not believe what we had to pay to have the coach take us out to Longbourn! As if it is so far away from the Meryton Station! Nonsense! And then we had to wait until Mr. Hill hitched the phaeton, I hope you do not mind, Papa, but I could not walk all this way! We were afraid we would miss dinner. But we clearly did not!”

  Lydia Wickham’s voice pierced the abrupt quiet that had fallen. She appeared utterly unaware of the taut atmosphere as she chattered in an endless stream. Mr. Bennet joined his wife and daughter, embracing and attempting to insert normalcy into the situation. Richard’s sunny expression settled into the rarely seen commanding mien of a colonel. Darcy’s neutral face held except for a fleeting clench of his jaw and frigid iciness infusing his eyes. Dr. Darcy’s countenance assumed an identical pose as his nephew’s, Randall momentarily interrupting his appraisal of the overall scene to register how strange it was to see anything other than gay animation on the physician’s face.

  Kitty patted Randall’s arm, drawing his engrossed attention back to her. “It is well, Randall. I have told you of my sister and her husband. I apologize again for their attendance at our wedding. Are you so distressed?”

  He smiled, face softening as his body relaxed slightly. “No dear, I was merely startled. Anything that pleases you pleases me.”

  “How gallant! You need not pretend completely, however. Nor express any great enthusiasm toward Mr. Wickham. I daresay he will receive little welcome, but you know some of that matter.” Her face shone with pride as she leaned closer. “You far outrank him, as Lydia said, and are physically superior in every way. So my guess is he will be frightened of you.”

  “Excellent! A secret, Miss Bennet, for your ears only…” He leaned to whisper into her ear. “I delight in frightening my underlings. They all think me terrifying. It is a reputation I feed as often as possible.”

  “I shall keep your secret, Major General. None but I shall know what a lamb you truly are.”

  “Come, you two lovebirds!” Mrs. Bennet interrupted. “Do not be so rude. Welcome your sister, Kitty, and introduce your fiancé.”

  Everyone but the oblivious Mrs. Bennet felt the undercurrents, but few knew the entire tale of Wickham. In fact, only Darcy, Richard, George, and Lizzy knew all of the history from childhood on to the present. Georgiana knew of her own travails with the scoundrel, but only hints of his past interactions with her brother. Lord and Lady Matlock knew of Georgiana’s narrow escape, of Wickham’s wild ways during University, his squandering James Darcy’s honest inheritance, and the attempt to swindle Darcy later, but nothing of his youthful mischief or the seduction and subsequent forced-marriage to Lydia Bennet.

  Mr. Bennet knew the entire tale of Wickham’s seduction of Lydia and Darcy’s rescuing of her in London, but only vague fragments of Darcy’s past connection to him. Darcy had never shared his information regarding Lydia’s marriage and life in Newcastle with his father-in-law, seeing no profit in worrying him further. Kitty knew some of it, but from Georgiana’s point of view and via whispered conversations between her parents, the bulk of which she had passed on to Randall.

  The remainder, no matter what tidbits they may have gleaned over the years, instantly sensed the tension as well as cringing at the abrasive manner of Lydia. Where Mrs. Bennet was tolerated by the more refined members of Darcy’s family, as long as contact was minimal, Lydia’s crass words chafed. Darcy had anticipated this, even if he was not prepared for the contact to occur when the entire wedding party was amassed in his temporary home with him as host. Nonetheless, his impeccable breeding and need to establish firm ground with Wickham overcame his chagrin. “Mrs. Wickham.” He bowed, stepping into the fray urbanely. “Welcome to Netherfield. Indeed you are in time for dinner. Setting for two additional diners is not in any way troublesome. Please, make yourself comfortable as you surely must be wearied from your journey.”

  He gestured to the sofa, briefly meeting Lizzy’s eyes in silent communication. His wife nodded, grasping Lydia’s elbow and steering toward the middle of the room, the Bennet clan following.

  Richard and Dr. Darcy sidled over as Darcy turned to face George Wickham. Randall remained behind, curiously observing the changing expressions while his own internal alarms yet rang.

  “Wickham,” Darcy stated flatly, eyes flinty and piercing his old playmate. “You are welcome to Netherfield as well. Miss Bennet’s happiness is of the utmost concern. For her sake you are accepted, but you will be watched, have no fear of that.”

  Wickham inclined his head, cocky smile fixed in place. “No need for threats, Darcy. I come in peace, and only at my wife’s urging, I assure you. Hertfordshire holds no happy memories for me, nor do you frankly. Colonel Fitzwilliam, I understand congratulations are in order?”

  Richard nodded curtly, not replying.

  Wickham nodded as well, feigned sadness touching his eyes. “I see. And you must be Major General Artois? I will assume you know of my unfortunate history with His Majesty’s Army, so I will not pretend that being surrounded by officers is all that appealing to me.”

  “I suppose in that regard we are on equal footing, Mr. Wickham, as I do not find being in the company of insubordinates all that appealing either. But for the sake of my fiancée I will manage to overcome my repulsion.”

  Wickham inclined his head politely, smile in place. “Understood. Congratulations to you as well, Major General. Miss Bennet has matured nicely, I daresay, from the girl I last saw. But it is oddly comforting to know not all has changed, such as her preference for military men. I am certain Mrs. Bennet is delighted at her daughter’s… resourcefulness and has welcomed you into the fold with lavish praise.”

  His eyes turned from the stiffened Randall to Darcy. “More congratulations are in order, I see. Mrs. Darcy appears every inch a Mistress of Pemberley, to the point of speedily presenting you with not one, but two male children! A
mazing development and how proud you must be. Your heir is a handsome lad, without any doubt your son. This must be a comfort to you.”

  “Is this your idea of coming in peace, Wickham?” Darcy growled.

  Wickham shrugged, spreading his hands. “Just getting the insults out of the way, Darcy. Then we can have it done with and move on to the happy event. Should I complete your expectations by remarking on how lovely a woman Georgiana has become?”

  Richard took a step closer, his face ruddy with anger. “Be careful, Wickham. You are not among friends here.”

  “Oh, how well I know, Colonel. But I do not think either of you want to start a brawl here in the parlor. Mustn’t upset the delicate females. That would be highly improper. Frankly, I am outnumbered, so am counting on the famous Darcy restraint to persevere. If Darcy truly wanted to harm me he has had plenty of opportunities to do so before this one.”

  “Fitzwilliam.” Lizzy fortuitously interrupted the escalating scene, touching his sleeve. “Dinner has been announced.”

  She sternly held his gaze, finally hearing a deep inhale as his face resumed its typical controlled seriousness. “Of course. Thank you, Elizabeth.” He offered his arm, Lizzy taking it with relief, both turning their backs on Wickham as Darcy’s elegant voice rang out in formal announcement. Richard and Randall left to claim their partners, none noting the smug expression that crossed Wickham’s face before it settled into its usual arrogant lift as he escorted a babbling Lydia into the dining room.

  ***

  When Lizzy entered their bedchamber that evening, after nursing Michael and putting him to sleep, it was to a familiar sight. Her husband stood before the fireplace staring into the flames with one elbow resting on the mantel and the hand fisted against his mouth. The other arm hung at his side with fingers twitching. Jacket and cravat were discarded, negligently tossed over a chair, and shoes and stockings were piled on the floor. His hair was ruffled, sticking up in places, and his thick brows were furrowed with creases deep in between. She could not see his lips under the fisted hand, but she knew without a doubt that they were harshly pressed together. Even without additional evidence, such as the steady tic in his rigid jawline, she would have known the state of his emotions, as his entire posture was common when he was extremely agitated or angry.

  Tonight she was not sure which it was. Agitation? Anger? Both? She entered quietly and curled up into the chair opposite his stiff body. She watched him for a few moments but could not bear it, so assumed her own contemplation of the fire.

  Time passed. The only sounds were the crackles of the flames and Darcy’s heavy breathing. The only movements were the occasional shifting logs and his hand that continued to fidget and rifle through his hair.

  “I am sorry, William,” she finally murmured into the silence. “Your anger is understandable and I wish I could alleviate it. Having to deal with Wickham… having him as… family is…”

  “I refuse to listen to you apologizing for this again, Elizabeth,” he snapped, not moving or looking away from the fire. “This has nothing to do with you, or at least not in the way you persist in seeing it. You are my wife and he is my brother-in-law. That is the fact of it and I would not choose otherwise, so please desist in the self-recriminations! I cannot deal with your misplaced guilt at this juncture.” He inhaled vigorously to calm the anger and jerked away from the mantel, pivoting toward Lizzy. “I would prefer if you put aside your foolish guilt and use your intellect to help me figure out what his motives are!”

  “And I would prefer, Mr. Darcy, if you lowered your voice, got control of your emotions, and quit glaring at me. You want me to tell you what I think Wickham’s motives are? It is this! He wants you raging and distressed, and flaring angrily at your wife. He desires discord among the family. You are allowing him to win, William, and you cannot do that!”

  He stared at her for a few seconds and then began pacing, the other typical attitude when he was agitated or angry. She was angry as well, but his rudely spat words had done the trick of finally dissolving the residuals of her guilt. She would never again doubt his love for her—never—and knew beyond the tiniest shred that he counted any difficulty worth being her husband. Goodness, he tolerated her mother! What more proof could she possibly require?

  Besides, she well knew that this was not a result of wishing, however remotely or unconsciously, that he did not have to deal with Wickham. The sad truth was that Darcy believed that Wickham would always have been a thorn in his flesh, Elizabeth or no Elizabeth. When would he have to again encounter his lifelong adversary and how would the threat arise? His bravery or mastery was not the question, but the stakes were increased due to his love for her and their children. His anger and agitation arose at the unknown possible harm to those he was sworn to protect.

  Lizzy had been married to this complex man long enough to know it was best to allow him to expend his passionate irritation. It never lasted too long. Darcy was not a man, in general, who wallowed in his emotions. He was zealous in apportioned allotments and in appropriate situations, such as their bed, but was predominantly a man of superior restraint and vast intelligence. To him it was illogical and foolish to waste time and energy on fits of temper, thus he always rapidly gained control over his baser drives.

  While she waited, her own vexation cooled and she found herself wanting to smile, although she held the impulse in check. As painful as it was to observe his distress and as potentially serious as this situation was, she never failed to obtain a physical rush in watching her handsome, virile, passionate spouse display his power and masculinity. He paced with feline grace and determination, tall body erect, long strides measured, and attractive face set as he worked through the problem. Then, just as she expected, after a dozen rushed passes before her, his rhythm slowed and the words came.

  “Certainly, no matter what else he may have up his sleeve, sowing discord is one goal. That and annoying me. Damn! How could I allow him to witness my discomposure? Idiotic fool that I am! Very well then. You are correct, Elizabeth. He wants to vex me and he succeeded tonight. As humiliating as it is to admit, he won this round. I should not have allowed it, I who knows more than any other how capable at manipulation he is. I recognize that my anger is primarily at my own gullibility.” He waved his hand in the air before again reaching to vigorously comb through his hair.

  “Stop that or you will yank every last hair out and I would rather not have a bald husband as of yet.”

  He paused both his pacing and nervous gesture, looking to her smiling face. Releasing a sighing laugh, he closed his eyes and shook his head, dropping his arms with hands coming to rest on his hips. It was only a few seconds of silence before he straightened, inhaled deeply, and looked at her with his customary controlled expression in place.

  “Very well then,” he repeated, “I concede that time clearly has not healed the past wounds as much as I thought, and that my vaunted forbearance is not as well established as I bragged, at least where Wickham is concerned.”

  “Even you, my darling, are allowed to possess a few faults.” She smiled winsomely, Darcy again shaking his head and chuckling breathily. “The truth is, William, you boys cornered Wickham the second he walked in the door. Although I do not know what was said and certainly do not trust him any more than you, I can well imagine that having four men with heightened tempers surrounding would not bring out one’s best manners.”

  “Perhaps, but he did not attempt the slightest civility or show a modicum of remorse for past deeds.” He proceeded to tell Lizzy about the parlor encounter, leaving nothing out.

  “May I safely propose, dearest, that none of you attempted the slightest civility or extended a hint of grace for those past deeds?”

  He did not reply, instead pressing his lips together and holding her gaze without any apparent shame.

  Lizzy continued, “Dinner was no more uncomfortable than it ever is with such a mixed group of people. The tension level was a bit higher than normal with all
the glowering menfolk. But Wickham was fairly polite and aside from a few borderline slurs was amiable.”

  Darcy grunted, finally sitting on the sofa opposite Lizzy. “Yes, indeed. He is quite charming.”

  “That is not what I meant. I merely want to cautiously advance the possibility that he intends no harm or has some nefarious plans. We only need to get through these few days and then we will be in London and have no reason to see him or Lydia again. As long as he is pleasant and causes no trouble, I think we can survive.”

  He was staring at her, eyes dark and penetrating. “I noted that he brought a smile to your face once or twice, and a laugh at one point. His amiability and magnetism overcame your skepticism, I deduced.”

  “Oh my God, William! Are you jealous of George Wickham?”

  Lizzy laughed aloud while Darcy’s frown deepened into a surly pout. “I see nothing humorous in the situation, Elizabeth. By your own confession you once succumbed to his charm, however briefly, as well as his lies.”

  Lizzy rose, still chuckling, and sat onto his lap entwining her arms over his shoulders. “Fitzwilliam Darcy, you are ridiculous and pathetic. And somewhat insulting. But, I shall forgive your offense against my character and momentary questioning of my love and devotion to you as I understand your fragile sensibilities and vulnerability.”

  “Do not tease me, Elizabeth. I am not in the mood for lightheartedness.”

  “I shall tease you nonetheless. And make you suffer for accusing me of any unfaithfulness, no matter how slight. Furthermore, you should be punished most severely for not recognizing when your loyal, adoring wife is fulfilling her role as Mistress of Pemberley and Mrs. Darcy, paramount hostess of Hertfordshire. However, since it is Mr. Wickham, and I know how distressed you are, I shall be merciful.”