One Autumn with Darcy

by Rose Fairbanks

  *****

  April 17, 1812

  Darcy House, London

  Three weeks later, Darcy stood in his library, awaiting Bingley’s arrival. At last, he was shown in.

  “Good God, man!” Bingley exclaimed. “Have you been ill?”

  “No,” Darcy said roughly and motioned for Bingley to sit. Upon returning to London, he had sent Georgiana to their aunt and uncle’s and had spent most of the last three weeks attempting to drown in several bottles of brandy.

  “Caroline and Louisa are worried about growing reports of this fever outbreak. They request we leave for Scarborough early. I never thought I would see the day that Caroline wanted to miss a London season.” Evidently realizing he was rambling about something Darcy had no interest in, he changed the subject. “Did you just return from Rosings? I thought you were to remain another week?”

  “No. The plan was to stay for one week and it has been three.”

  “Oh,” Bingley said lamely. “Oh! Does that mean I am supposed to congratulate you? You seem quite morose…”

  “No, it is not that either. I actually returned the day after I had left.” Darcy walked to his sideboard and poured his friend a drink. Bingley accepted the glass. “I have something to confess and I am rather sure it will make you hate me.”

  “I could never hate you.”

  “At Rosings, I met Miss Jane Bennet.”

  Bingley immediately stood and turned red. “I trusted you, man! How dare you?” Before Darcy could react, he found himself on the floor with his head throbbing and blood pouring from his nose.

  “Are you out of your senses?” Darcy cried and reached for his handkerchief.

  Bingley stood back. “I think I must have just come to them! Curses on you, Darcy!” He turned and walked to the door.

  If his mind had been sharper, he might have made some guesses about what was going through Bingley’s mind, but as it was, he could not fathom it. “Wait! I will give you her address. Or, I suppose Miss Bingley knows it.”

  Bingley’s hand paused just before wrenching the door open. “What?”

  “To call on Miss Bennet you will need her address. If you do not wish to speak with me again, your sister visited her when she was in London.”

  “What are you saying?” Bingley turned to face Darcy. “Why would I call on her?”

  “If you are not still in love with her and angry for my interference then why did you punch me?”

  “Because I am still in love with her and angry that you have stolen her!”

  “Stolen her! Bingley, I never looked at Jane Bennet after the first grin you gave her.”

  “Then why would you think I would hate you?” Darcy held out his hand and Bingley helped him up. “Sorry,” he said.

  “I am rather sure I deserved that, but not for what you suppose.” Darcy collapsed in a chair.

  In a way, it felt good to have his body ache and draw some of the pain away from his heart.

  “You will hate me because in January I knew Jane Bennet was in Town and I did not tell you. You had resolved to give her up and I did not think you had recovered yet.” Darcy eyed Bingley warily and saw his friend’s hands tense.

  “And you are telling me now?”

  “I met Miss Bennet at Rosings. She inquired after you and it was plain to see she loves you. I was terribly mistaken in the lady’s affections and character.”

  “Is she still in Kent?” Judging by the way Bingley paced the floor, he was eager to see her.

  “Now, she should be returning to London tomorrow but was only to stay a day. I suggested that she extend the visit and hinted that you would wish to call on her.”

  “Of course, I will!” Bingley looked as though he would be off that very moment, he paused. “Why did you wait two weeks to tell me? Or even announce your return? What have you been doing for two weeks?” He glanced around the dirty room and took in Darcy’s haggard face for the first time. “You are ill!”

  “Just heartsick,” Darcy murmured.

  “You do love Jane!”

  “No!” Darcy cried.

  “Well, then… if you do not love Jane and you are not engaged to your cousin, what can make you heartsick at Rosings? Did you say why Jane was there?”

  Darcy took Bingley’s discarded drink. “She was visiting her sister Elizabeth, Mrs. Collins.”

  Bingley looked at him for a long moment. “So that’s how it goes?”

  “That’s how it goes.”

  Bingley turned to the sideboard and returned with another glass and then pulled the bell. The butler immediately entered. “Mr. Darcy needs a good dinner and bath. I’ll be staying here until further notice, my regular room will suit just fine.”

  The butler, more pleased that someone was taking care of his forlorn master than shocked at a guest giving orders, nodded and left. The two men sat and drank in silence.

  Chapter Six

  April 21, 1812

  Hunsford, Kent

  Elizabeth anxiously awaited the arrival of the post every morning the week after Jane left Hunsford. She had been infuriated by Mr. Darcy’s suggestion that Jane ought to stay in London longer than planned and he would arrange for Bingley to meet her. Jane immediately blossomed at the news. The man delighted in trifling with the feelings of others. He would go and come as he pleased, leaving Rosings but the day after his arrival and upsetting his aunt. Of course, she needed the frequent consolation of her parson and Elizabeth did not repent his absence. With Jane’s returned cheerfulness and her husband frequently gone, Elizabeth nearly appeared her former vivacious self.

  Lady Catherine had taken such an interest in Jane that she pressed for her to stay longer. However, after hearing hints from Mr. Collins that there was a significant possibility of a match to be made for Jane in London, Lady Catherine was insistent and even offered her carriage and manservant to accompany Jane. Lady Catherine said she would like Jane to visit again and said she would leave it to Mr. Collins to determine if any husband she acquired would be worthy of notice.

  Her ladyship visited Town each year after Easter and now meant to take her daughter with her for the first time in many years. Anne had told Elizabeth how Mr. Darcy flatly refused to ever marry his cousin. Anne now despaired that her mother was set on a war-path to find a suitable husband. Elizabeth was rather certain her ladyship would not give up so easily. She knew Anne would hold firm and not marry Darcy but Elizabeth thought it would be the picture of irony if he were influenced by an overbearing relative as he had done to his friend. How amusing it would be to then hear through Anne how his offer would be rejected. If only he actually loved Anne and would have his heart broken the way he shattered Jane’s.

  At last, Jane’s letter arrived, and Elizabeth set out on a walk to read it in privacy.

  My Dearest Lizzy,

  You will not want to believe my words but do give them justice. The morning after my arrival, Mr. Bingley called at Gracechurch Street. Can you believe it? He said that he had only just learned of my being in Town before and was very happy to have the chance to make amends before I would leave again. My aunt and uncle have been so kind as to allow me to stay at least a few more weeks. They have offered to even allow me to stay until they tour the Lakes this summer, but Mr. Bingley said something about opening Netherfield again.

  On his second visit in as many days, he came with Mr. Darcy. He was more genial than I recall from Hertfordshire, but I never thought so badly of him. I suppose it was only because of more comfortable surroundings. Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner are better company than most, even than we have in Meryton and likewise, he had the encouragement of his friend instead of the bitterness of the sisters. I am to be introduced to Miss Darcy next week. Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley both speak of her as though she were a gentle lamb and I wonder how I was ever persuaded to be jealous of her.

  Mr. Bingley tells me that his sisters have gone to Scarborough as fears grow in that part of Town about the fever but something in his tone and look suggested he
was quite angry with them. There must have been concealment since he did not know I was in London in January. I am angry with them myself, but I am persuaded that when they see the happiness, our reunion has brought, they will come to a right way of thinking.

  My one regret is that I do not see you as happy. Oh! Why am I thus singled out from all of my sisters? I do thank you again and again for not letting me commit the error I had designed upon last November.

  My aunt and uncle send all their love.

  Your sister,

  J. Bennet

  Elizabeth hardly knew what to expect when she opened Jane’s letter, but she had not thought all this would be contained inside. She disliked having to amend her view of Mr. Darcy’s honour. His call on Gracechurch Street, however, proved his good humour could last more than one visit to her parlor.

  Looking through the rest of her mail, Mrs. Gardiner’s letter was a mixture a praise for Mr. Darcy and scolding of Elizabeth for ever having reported him so bad. Mrs. Gardiner could hardly contain herself at the compliment of Mr. Darcy’s prodigious civility.

  Tiring of thinking of the man and hearing the report of her relatives of a side he never attempted showing her, she turned to letters from her mother and sisters. They never wrote often, but when they did they were always a source of amusement. Mrs. Bennet and Kitty bemoaned the impending loss of the Regiment. They were to decamp to Bath and Mr. Wickham, in particular, had become a happy fixture at Longbourn. Kitty rejoiced in the fact that Miss Mary King, who Wickham had paid considerable attention to all winter after she inherited ten thousand pounds from her grandfather, was gone to Liverpool. Kitty thought she might gain Wickham’s notice now. Elizabeth shook her head. She had not faulted Wickham for the attachment to Miss King. He did not have the independence he deserved, due to Mr. Darcy, and so, of course, he would need to find a rich lady. Kitty’s hopes were vain wishes.

  Lydia’s letter dripped with boasting and conceit. The Colonel’s wife invited her to Brighton with them and Lydia believed she would become the belle of the city and be toasted at every ball. Mary bemoaned the lack of sense from her mother and sisters and saw no reason to repine the loss of the Regiment. Elizabeth had rather wondered at her father approving of Lydia’s invitation and was surprised to see a letter from him as well, he had always been a dreadful correspondent. Fearing he was ill, she ripped the letter open. Reading that he believed it would teach Lydia, her insignificance in the world calmed her at once. Of course, he would delight in finding folly. She could not approve, but it was too late for her to say anything anyway and it was hardly her business now.

  Putting her letters away, she saw Anne approach.

  “Were those letters from Longbourn?” Anne asked.

  “Indeed. It seems weeks go without me hearing anything from them and then they all burst forth at once.”

  “You were called upon to keep the peace often, were you not?”

  “I suppose I was.”

  “Something must have them in an uproar then,” Anne said it with a smile and not for the first time, Elizabeth wondered how she could be so different from her mother.

  “Indeed! The Militia, which has been quartered at Meryton all winter, is to move to Brighton. My sister imagines herself quite in love with one of them and another has been invited by the Colonel’s wife to go with them. I expect a new letter on the morrow with Kitty complaining about Lydia’s leaving and fears that Wickham will be lost forever, although I perfectly understand he can only marry for a fortune.”

  Anne’s eyebrows drew together and Elizabeth hastened to explain. “Oh, it is not that he is a fortune hunter. He had been raised by a wealthy benefactor and expected to join the church. The benefactor’s son proved dishonorable and would not give Wickham a living intended for him. His only hope for real independence is to find a lady with some money.”

  Elizabeth had not supposed Anne would know the private disputes of her cousin, and had believed if she did not give the name Darcy, Anne would remain ignorant. Judging by the shuttered look on her face, Elizabeth wagered she was incorrect.

  With a haughty air, Anne spoke. “Pardon me, I am expected home and long past my time.”

  Foolish, foolish Lizzy! Elizabeth said to herself on the walk home. How did she think she could abuse Mr. Darcy, even without using his name, to his relations? If her scruples had lost her the one friend she had here, it would be a poor comfort.

  Several days passed before she saw Anne again. They had not been invited to dinner at Rosings in the interim and when she called on Lady Catherine, she was informed Anne was indisposed with a headache. For the first time since meeting Mr. Darcy, she was forced to wonder if she had been incorrect in her estimation of his character. Lady Catherine would persist in haughty defense of her nephew but Elizabeth knew Anne had no such pretension. If she was so affronted by Elizabeth’s words about her cousin, it must only be that Anne truly believed it to be undeserved. Neither could she claim Anne was universally kind like Jane and saw only the good in people. She had no high opinion of Mr. Collins or most of the world as she preferred to hide behind a sick facade rather than tolerate Society.

  Jane sent daily letters remarking on her happiness with Mr. Bingley’s calls. He became quite the fixture at Gracechurch Street, frequently bringing Mr. Darcy with him. Jane could not contain her delight in meeting Miss Darcy and two pages were insufficient to describe her accomplishments and gentleness. Each letter included kind civilities from Mr. Darcy passed on through Jane. Elizabeth could hardly suppose what would bring about such a change in the gentleman’s behaviour.

  A week since she last saw Anne, the young lady called at the Parsonage while Mr. Collins was away.

  “Anne,” Elizabeth began when they were seated in the parlor. “I am ever so sorry. I should not have spoken so freely and on something I know so little about.”

  “Indeed, I would not recommend it to others but do not believe that I have stayed away so long out of anger. I have information to relay, which required the consent of Darcy. After obtaining it, I knew I would be in danger of wishing to tell you as soon as I saw you next and it requires real secrecy. I would never feel free to express it if I worried about your husband hearing or interrupting.”

  Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief but soon listened in alarm as Anne detailed a different account of the matter of the living Wickham expected. He had given up any claims to it and instead received assistance from Mr. Darcy to study the law, only to have no profession or money after several years. Upon the death of the incumbent, Wickham applied to Darcy for the position. Once refused, he grew bitter and abused Darcy by name everywhere. About a year ago he designed to join Miss Darcy as she stayed in Ramsgate for a holiday. There he convinced Miss Darcy of his extreme affection for her and she consented to an elopement. Darcy put an end to it by unexpectedly arriving the day before their intended departure. His sister confessed it all to him as she decided she could not bear to grieve him.

  “So you see, he very much is a fortune hunter,” Anne said at the end. “Although I reckon he desired revenge on Darcy as well.”

  Elizabeth sat in silence for a moment as she weighed Anne’s testimony with what she knew of Wickham. She paid so little attention to him after her engagement to Mr. Collins but she did think now of his not appearing at Mr. Bingley’s ball. Before Darcy had returned to London, Wickham always said he could never defame the son out of respect for the father and then the moment they were gone he was dispersing the tale widely. Reconsidering Darcy’s behaviour toward one acquaintance made her wonder more about his treatment of Bingley and if she had misunderstood there as well.

  “I can see that you are considering my words, Lizzy. I will leave you now,” Anne stood to depart.

  “Why have you bothered to explain everything to me? Why defend your cousin to me so? It ought to have been enough from you to simply tell me I was wrong.”

  Anne gave Elizabeth a soft smile. “Do you recall that I seemed to already have a picture of
you and your family before we met?”

  “Yes,” Elizabeth answered.

  “It was not from Mr. Collins’ report, but from Darcy’s. I know he thinks well of you and Jane and would desire your good opinion. He wrote of Miss Bennet in such a way that I had rather thought he might be in love with her. I had hoped it would come to fruition while he visited but then he left right away. As she had a beau in London, Darcy’s sudden flight and despondency make sense.”

  “Mr. Darcy in love with Jane! I do not think he said more than ten words to her the whole time he was in the county. Indeed, when we were all in the same house for a week while Jane was ill, he only ever asked after her health.”

  Anne turned pale. “Jane was the one ill at Netherfield?”

  “Yes. She was invited by Mr. Bingley’s awful sisters, which even you cannot defend. I do not know how Mr. Darcy designed to keep Jane and Bingley apart in November and yet thought better of it by March, but I never saw any signs of love from Darcy for my sister.”

  “Jane in love with Bingley?” Anne now turned red and wrung her hands. “Oh, it is no wonder you despise Darcy.”

  “You are not making any sense, Anne.”

  “When Darcy learned that Mr. Collins had married one of his cousins from Longbourn and that Miss Bennet stayed in the Parsonage, he nearly tripped over his feet to call. The shock must have been far too much for him, seeing the lady he admired now married, but I suppose he will soon recover. After all, he had not inquired after you since leaving Netherfield.”

  “I understand you even less now. You think Mr.Darcy admired me?”

  At Anne’s sharp nod, Elizabeth laughed until tears streamed down her face. When she recovered, she could not keep the disbelief out of her voice. “Impossible, Anne! I know perfectly well what he thought of me before we were even introduced. I heard him say to Mr. Bingley I was tolerable but not handsome enough to dance with and was slighted by other men as I sat out.” Anne gasped. “The rest of the time in Hertfordshire he mocked me at every turn.”