by Leenie Brown
“I did.” Lucy arranged her skirts around her legs. She and Elizabeth had spoken in confidence, but after a time of consideration, she had decided that it was better to share what had been said with her husband than to keep it to herself. Philip was not one to tell tales, and he was a good friend of Darcy’s.
“We spoke of Wickham.” She knew it was not exactly the softest way to begin this conversation, but then, why try to speak softly of a man such as Wickham? Philip knew as well as she did the sort of man Wickham was. “And my uncle,” she added.
Philip’s eyes grew wide.
“Your cousin has arrived, and he and Mary Ellen called on the Abbots.”
Philip’s brows furrowed as he attempted to piece together the puzzle of information his wife was presenting.
“It seems Wickham is in the militia.”
Philip nodded slowly. Now it was beginning to make a modicum of sense.
“His unit was stationed for the fall and winter in Hertfordshire.”
Philip nodded again. “I believe one of Darcy’s letters mentioned having seen the man.”
“He befriended Miss Elizabeth.”
Philip expelled a slow breath. Not only was the reason for Miss Elizabeth’s visit becoming understandable, but several comments from Darcy’s letters were also gaining clarity. “He told her lies about Darcy.”
Lucy nodded. “And she believed him. She feels dreadful about having done so.” She peeked up at her husband. “Darcy has forgiven her, of course.” She considered telling him about Elizabeth’s tale of Darcy’s failed proposal and the letter he had written her but decided it was not necessary as Philip quite likely already knew of those details. And from the look of understanding on his face, she guessed that her theory was correct.
“That is not the reason she wished to speak of Wickham, however. As you know, Miss Elizabeth has several sisters.” Her husband nodded his agreement. “The youngest, Miss Lydia, is sixteen and quite taken with Wickham.” When she had heard it from Elizabeth, Lucy had felt as if someone has tried to steal her breath, and she saw that same look on her husband’s face. “Miss Lydia has gone to Brighton with her particular friend, who happens to be the wife of the colonel in charge of Wickham.”
Philip sank back into his chair and shook his head. “Who would send one so young to such a place as Brighton?”
“Miss Elizabeth said she tried to convince her father that it was not a good idea, but she could not give him her full reasoning as she did not wish to betray a confidence.”
“She knows of Georgiana?”
Lucy nodded. “She does, and your cousin has made her aware of a continued flirtation between Miss Lydia and Wickham.” She drew a deep breath and expelled it. “I have given her permission to mention some of what happened to me to her father. She will not name me but will provide general details of what she has heard of Wickham. She is hopeful that in so doing, her father might find it necessary to have Miss Lydia returned to Hertfordshire.”
They sat quietly for a while — Philip drumming his fingers on the desk as he thought and Lucy watching him. Finally, Philip rose from his chair. “I believe we must visit my cousin, my dear. I am surprised he has not come to call already.” He came around to the front of the desk and extended his arm to Lucy. “And then, I must write Darcy a letter informing him of Captain Harris’ arrival.”
“You must?” Lucy asked in surprise.
Philip chuckled. “I promised I would write if any new gentlemen arrived in the area — not that I fear my cousin will persuade Miss Elizabeth away from Darcy. However, I should not like to be on the receiving end of Darcy’s displeasure should he hear that Harris is here, and I did not inform him.”
Lucy laughed. “I doubt there is anyone who could steal Miss Elizabeth away from Darcy.”
“Yes,” agreed Philip, “but having almost lost her once, he is unwilling to take the risk once again.”
Lucy collected her bonnet from the table in the entry as Philip requested his curricle made ready. “So, it is as I expected?”
He opened the door and allowed her to exit before him. “Indeed, if all goes well in Hertfordshire, we shall soon be adding Miss Elizabeth to our numbers here in Derbyshire.” He looked down at his wife’s beaming smile. “But,” he cautioned as they stood waiting for the curricle to be brought around, “we are not to know.”
Chapter 7
Hertfordshire
Mr. Bennet gave the gentleman who entered his study an inquisitive look. “It is a surprise to see you, Mr. Darcy.” He motioned for him to take a seat. “Is this a social call?”
Darcy did not miss the skeptical tone of Mr. Bennet’s question. “I am not fond of social calls,” Darcy admitted knowing that such a comment was bound to earn him a chuckle at his own expense — which it did.
“I find them tedious myself,” Mr. Bennet replied. “So if it is not social, I must assume we have some business to discuss, although I cannot say I have any inkling as to what business we might have.”
“I have been in Derbyshire,” Darcy began.
“You have seen my Lizzy? Does she send news?”
“I have, and she does.” He took the letter Elizabeth had written to her father out of his pocket and handed it to Mr. Bennet.
“You could have left it with Hill.” Mr. Bennet took the letter. “Were you instructed to await a reply?”
“I was not instructed,” said Darcy, “but I will need a reply.”
A look of skepticism mixed with intrigue crept across Mr. Bennet’s face. “Elizabeth has been in Derbyshire for some weeks now. Have you been there with her that whole time?”
Darcy wished the man would just open the letter instead of plying him with questions. “No, just the past week and not even all of that. I was in town but travelled home to accompany my sister on her return there and to check on my tenants at Willow Hall.”
“Willow Hall is yours?”
“I purchased it last year before I travelled to Netherfield with Bingley.”
Mr. Bennet nodded and looked thoughtful. “So Sir William was not exaggerating when he said you owned half of Derbyshire?”
“I would not say half, but I do own a significant portion,” Darcy admitted.
“Sir William can get carried away,” explained Mr. Bennet. “The sky is always sunnier than it truly is, so to speak. He is a very pleasant sort of fellow and a true friend with a kind heart, but his version of reality is always slightly better than it is, or so I find.” He turned the letter over in his hand. “I assume you wish me to read this before you divulge your reason for being here.”
“I thought it best to let your daughter have her say first.”
Mr. Bennet’s lips twitched. “A wise man,” he said as he broke the seal.
Darcy chewed the inside of his cheek while Mr. Bennet opened the letter that Elizabeth had sent. Breathing had never felt like such a task before this moment. Darcy’s fingers itched to loosen his cravat, but, with no small amount of effort, he held them still in his lap except for one thumb that tapped against the inside of his knee.
Mr. Bennet pushed his round spectacles up the bridge of his nose slightly before turning his attention to what his daughter had written.
Darcy knew what it said, for Elizabeth had shown it to him — not that he had asked to see it. No, he would have delivered it without knowing an ounce of its contents, but Elizabeth was determined that there be no secrets between them. He shifted slightly in his chair as Mr. Bennet made a slightly startled, chuckling sound. Finally, the gentleman placed the letter on his desk, removed his spectacles, and leaning back in his chair, studied Darcy.
If having to wait for the man to read the contents of the letter was uncomfortable, being the object of that man’s scrutiny for a period of several minutes was nigh unto torture. Darcy wished to have the ordeal over, but he would not speak first.
At length, Mr. Bennet leaned forward once again, replaced his spectacles, and picked up the letter for a second perusal. “I
t seems, Mr. Darcy, that my daughter has taken a liking to you after all.”
“She has, sir.”
“She is not one to change her opinion of a person once it has been firmly made,” he peeked up at Darcy, “unless she has been proven wrong, and the evidence would have to be nearly irrefutable. She is nearly as stubborn as her mother.” He chuckled. “Do not worry, Mr. Darcy, she has far more sense than her mother. Your life should be decorated with fewer flutters of nerves than mine ever has been.” He placed the letter on the desk. “I suppose we should consider the particulars of the arrangement, but I will not deny my daughter her wish so long as the details are agreeable. So,” he waggled his eyebrows as he placed his spectacles on the desk next to the letter, “you may breathe now. I am really not so formidable.” He sighed as a raised voice and a slamming door were heard above them. “If I were, I am sure my house would be more serene.” He settled back in his chair, propped his elbows on the arms of the chair, and tucked his fingers into the small pockets on his waistcoat. “I do suppose I should do the proper thing and hear your reasons for wishing to marry my daughter and into this family.” His eyes narrowed slightly and his tone was serious as he said the last few words.
“There is only one reason, sir. I love your daughter and always shall.” He felt the flush that such admissions might necessarily bring creep up his neck and warm his ears. “I know that my behaviour when I was last in Hertfordshire was not what it should have been. I was dour and disagreeable. I said things that were both unpleasant and untrue. Neither my words and actions were gentlemanly, and I must apologize.” He held Mr. Bennet’s gaze. “They cost me dearly.” He swallowed and drew a breath before continuing. “Your daughter refused my first proposal of marriage.”
“First?” Shock suffused Mr. Bennet’s face.
“Yes, sir. I offered her my heart and my hand when she was visiting her cousin in Kent.” He smiled wryly and shook his head. “I assure you I was most handily and heartily chastised for my prior behaviour.”
Mr. Bennet chuckled at the admission. “She has a sharp tongue and a temper, that, although it is not quick, it is fearsome.”
“That she does,” Darcy admitted. How her words had cut him and flared his own indignation! “Her anger was not unjust.”
“It will be part of what she brings to your marriage,” Mr. Bennet cautioned.
Darcy nodded. “Of that I am aware, but I believe we have come to understand each other better since that day, and such knowledge might save me from earning her displeasure too often.”
Again, Mr. Bennet chuckled. “So you are wise enough to know that yours will not be a marriage without argument?”
“I hope I am.”
“Very good.” He cocked his head to the side and studied Darcy once again. “Perhaps I should hear the facts that swayed my daughter to alter her opinion of you.”
“You will not withdraw your consent?”
“My Lizzy is no fool, Mr. Darcy. If she finds good in you despite whatever it is that you are reluctant to share, then there is good in you. My consent shall stand.” His eyes twinkled. “However, if it is of a very distressful nature, I may require you to stay for dinner with my wife and daughters.”
Darcy grimaced as he knew that what he had to say was not flattering. “You might wish to inform your cook there will be an extra plate at dinner.”
Mr. Bennet’s brows rose.
“I was not lying when I said I behaved poorly,” explained Darcy. “There were several charges laid at my feet by your daughter. One of those charges has to do with my friend.”
“Ah, so you did separate them.” Mr. Bennet’s lips were set in a firm line, and his eyes lacked any merriment.
At such a response that confirmed what Elizabeth had said of Jane’s despondence, Darcy felt the guilt he had carried over such actions grow. He would not be pleased with anyone that caused such heartache for his sister. Nor, if he had several sisters or daughters to see well-situated, would he willingly forgive that person for possibly dashing the possibility of a good match. He hoped that Mr. Bennet would be less reticent. “I did. I had not observed a strong attachment on Miss Bennet’s part, but I had seen enough to know that my friend’s heart was in grave danger of being seriously injured if she did not return his admiration.”
Mr. Bennet sat quietly for a moment before saying, “Yes, yes, Jane is far too calm for her own good. I wish she had just an ounce more of Lizzy’s pluck.” He shook his head. “It is not a flattering admission, but not being of the female gender, I find I can understand the decision better than my Lizzy would. She and Jane are quite attached, as I am sure you are aware.”
“I am,” Darcy admitted. He drew another deep breath. Confessing to one’s follies was not easily done. “At Easter, when I proposed to Miss Elizabeth in Kent, I explained my feelings to her by telling her about the many obstacles I had to overcome before I could follow where my heart led.”
Amusement played at Mr. Bennet’s mouth. “She does not have the connections a family such as yours would welcome.”
“Indeed.”
“That was badly done,” muttered Mr. Bennet.
“Indeed,” repeated Darcy. “I am ashamed to say that I spoke ill of your family.” Again, as a shadow of sadness passed over Mr. Bennet’s face, Darcy felt the shame of his words deepen in his chest. “It was wrong. My family is not without fault and to hold others to a standard that my family does not even meet was pure arrogance.”
“Is that all?” Mr. Bennet asked.
Darcy shook his head. “I wish it were, but it is not. However, before I relate the rest, I must have your assurance of secrecy as part of the tale involves both a friend and my sister. I have told Miss Elizabeth the portion of the tale as it relates to my sister, but not the part about Miss Tolson. I had not thought to tell her about that, but I understand your youngest daughter has gone to Brighton.”
Mr. Bennet’s brows furrowed. “Of course, I will say nothing.” He stood and crossed behind his desk to the side of the room away from the windows. He lifted a decanter of port and with his eyes and a tip of his head inquired if Darcy would like a bit.
“Please,” Darcy accepted. He always found it easier to speak of Wickham when there was something to warm his throat and push down the bile that arose. How close he had come to losing his sister! No matter what counsel he gave himself or received from a friend, he could not discuss the story without feeling his failure — even now, a year after the incident.
Mr. Bennet refilled his glass twice over and Darcy’s once during the recital of events leading to Darcy’s purchase of Willow Hall to protect Lucy from her uncle and Wickham’s scheming. Then, as both men cradled empty glasses in their hands, Darcy shared about Georgiana’s near elopement.
Mr. Bennet tipped his glass this way and that, catching a bit of afternoon sunlight with one of the cut-out designs and separating the light into a rainbow of colours. “You have given me much about which to think.” He placed his glass on the desk. “However, that will have to wait. I believe, we have a marriage agreement to discuss.” He pulled out paper and pen for making notes. “You will, of course, be required to stand by my side when I tell my wife. That should bring us to even. You have spoken ill of my Lizzy and my family — not all unjustly, I am certain — but there must be some recompense.” He chuckled. “It will be like nothing you have ever witnessed before, I can assure you of that.”
Darcy did not quite catch the grimace that accompanied such news. This made Mr. Bennet chortle even more as he dipped his pen in the ink. “Shall we start with what Elizabeth will bring to the marriage — other than her mother.”
~*~*~
Darcy was, of course, also subjected to supper with Mrs. Bennet and her daughters as he had suspected he would be. Whether it was as additional penance for his previously poor behaviour or as a means to gain Mr. Bennet a conversation partner, he was not certain. After their meal, he made his excuses and attempted to leave, but Mrs. Bennet was not to b
e moved from the fact that travel at such an hour was entirely unwise. And so, after a time of entertainment and chatter, much of which he only marginally enjoyed, he found himself tucked into the guest room at Longbourn. It was small but tidy and welcoming.
A footman was dispatched to attend him, and then, with a borrowed book, he was left to himself. Propping a pillow behind his back and tucking the blankets about his legs, he made ready to read a few lines of poetry before attempting sleep. Down the hall, which was not so very long, he could hear the shuffling of furniture and closing of doors as the others prepared for sleep as well. A humming came from the same direction, grew louder as it passed, and faded as it disappeared, he supposed, behind the door that led to the servants’ stairs.
He shook his head. How different this was from what he had become accustomed to! This was the noise which, to Elizabeth, was familiar. He considered his evening. Yes, it had been uncomfortable, but it was not due to the Bennets. No, it was due to his own inclinations for solitude. With a smile, he opened the book of poetry. He was certain he could get used to a bit of the noise associated with a family such as this. A door opened down the hall, and there was the scurrying of feet and a good night was called from one sister to another. He grimaced slightly at the force with which the next door had been closed. Yes, he could get used to such noises, but it would take time, and he might need to take them in small doses, at first.
The book had fallen open to where it had been marked with a paper. Unfolding the paper, Darcy found a drawing entitled “What walks we take, what books we choose.” There was a rough form of a girl and her father walking along a path toward a rise in the distance. He held the picture closer to the candle and examined it carefully. The figures seemed to be carrying something, which he assumed from their square shape and the title, were books. He chuckled. It was obviously the work of a young hand. He continued to look at the picture for a moment. Finally, his eyes came to rest on the artist’s signature. “To my Papa, With all my love, your Lizzy.” With a smile, he folded the paper once again and tucked it back into the book and began to read. For a few moments he disciplined his mind to pay attention to the words that Mr. Cowper had penned, but eventually, his mind refused to cooperate, and taking one last look at a young Elizabeth’s gift to her father, he set the book aside, blew out his candle and prepared to sleep.