Fitzwilliam Darcy, Poet

by Jennifer Joy

  A swish of silk skirts indicated Darcy had tarried too long.

  “Mr. Darcy, what a surprise to see you here,” Miss Bingley said.

  A surprise? No such thing. Miss Bingley was not known to frequent the library, which had been Darcy’s principal motive in seeking out the room. It was a sanctuary of sorts.

  He did not dignify her comment with a reply when a curt nod sufficed.

  She crossed the room and pulled a tome from the shelf, opening it as she settled in a wingback chair near the fireplace. “How pleasant it is to spend a dreary morning in this way. I declare, after all, there is no enjoyment like reading. How much sooner one tires of anything than of a book.”

  Darcy could have pointed out that the enjoyment of which she spoke was only found in actually reading the contents of a book. Miss Bingley seemed content to hold it in her hand, pontificating about the benefits of reading to make herself sound more enlightened than she was. Had literature been of greater import to the lady, she would have ensured her brother’s shelves were well-stocked before agreeing to take up residence in his newly leased estate.

  Darcy was about to excuse himself from the room when Miss Bingley heaved a sigh and added, “Dear Jane has taken ill. Poor thing. I do not wonder when she came here last evening riding on a horse in the rain. No doubt it was her mother’s doing. Mrs. Bennet is a conniving one who will see her daughters married well by any means necessary — even to the ruination of their health, it would seem.”

  He bit his tongue. He had strong, unflattering feelings about Mrs. Bennet, but he would not add fuel to Miss Bingley’s fire by expressing them to her.

  “I insisted she stay until she is recovered, and the poor thing was so distressed at the imposition, I had to take great pains to assure her she was most welcome.” Miss Bingley watched Darcy from under her eyelashes.

  Her intention in sharing this information could only be to show herself in a positive light, to emphasize a generous and caring nature.

  A truly caring lady would not need to point out her thoughtful consideration for others to notice. Her deeds would speak for her.

  “Have you informed Miss Bennet’s family?” Darcy asked. He did not wish to be present when they paid a call, but he also did not wish for Miss Bennet to suffer without someone to give her comfort. Whatever sympathy Caroline Bingley could offer would cease the moment she grew tired of seeing to her ailing guest.

  “I only came to the library after writing a note for the footman to deliver to Longbourn. I daresay the whole family will fall upon us shortly.” Miss Bingley slumped in her chair and set the book down on the table beside her, proving what little pleasure she found in such droll entertainments. She added, “Poor Dear Jane.”

  If she called Miss Bennet “Dear Jane” as if they were lifelong friends once more, Darcy was sorely tempted to open Miss Bingley’s eyes to the very real possibility that her brother might choose said lady as his wife. There would be no endearments from Miss Bingley then.

  But Darcy held his peace, returning his gaze out of the window. A shaft of sunlight pierced through the clouds, shining over the water of the pond below the gardens, turning it into a field of sparkling diamonds. Instantly, Miss Elizabeth’s lively aspect invaded Darcy’s mind. Her rosy cheeks in high color, her eyes as vibrant as the sun-sparkled water, her lips as red as a spring rosebud, her laughter as light as her feet had been at the assembly. He had taken great care not to dance with her.

  Footsteps in the hall helped Darcy control his thoughts, and he turned to the doorway to see the butler appear. “Mr. George Wickham is here to see you, Mr. Darcy. He is waiting in the front parlor.”

  Darcy gladly received Wickham's unexpected call. It was a welcome reprieve — from Miss Bingley and from Darcy’s own thoughts.

  Wickham was perennially agreeable in manners and incessantly charming, traits he often used to his advantage. His flirtatious nature was the primary reason they had mutually agreed that a career in the church would never suit as Darcy's father had intended.

  Five years before, Wickham had sold the value of his living for a suitable sum, and since then he had maintained a gentleman’s existence through his own means … whatever those means were. Darcy did not know, nor did Wickham give him cause to investigate his affairs.

  Bingley was already in the parlor when Darcy entered, preceded by Miss Bingley.

  "What a pleasure it is to see you, Wickham! What news have you from town?" Bingley asked cheerily.

  "What a bore, Charles, when we would much rather hear of Miss Darcy," Miss Bingley said as she curtsied to their guest and rang for tea. Arranging her skirts as she sat on the settee, she eyed the empty space beside her suggestively, her vision flickering between it and Darcy.

  He had no option but to root himself by the fireplace. It was safer.

  Miss Bingley’s lips pinched, but she was not easily discouraged. She said, "I absolutely adore Miss Darcy. She is a credit to all accomplished females, and I am proud to include her amongst my dearest friends."

  Apparently "Dear Jane" was to be forgotten when Georgiana was the subject of the conversation.

  Miss Bingley’s empty flattery was not lost on Wickham. With a mischievous gleam in his eye, he handed a letter to Darcy and sent Miss Bingley into a fluster when he took the seat she had intended for Darcy.

  Darcy would thank him appropriately at a later time.

  The letter was from Georgiana. Its thickness declared she had much to tell, as she usually did when she stayed with their uncle and aunt Matlock in London. They had a daughter of the same age, and Aunt Matlock delighted in reliving her youth by accompanying them in the usual entertainments available to young ladies of fortune and good families.

  Darcy did not have the patience nor the clemency required to endure the season. Too often, he wished to punch the young rogues circling around his sister like sharks smelling fresh blood. His aunt had been the one to suggest he leave for the country when Bingley had panicked after impulsively signing a lease for a property he was unprepared to manage. Wickham had offered to keep an eye on Georgiana while Darcy was away and Richard (Darcy’s cousin and Georgiana’s co-guardian) was with his regiment on the coast. It had not been a difficult decision for Darcy to make.

  "I understand your presence here to mean that all is well with my sister," Darcy said, tucking the letter inside his pocket. He would read it later in the privacy of his room, out of the watchful stare of Miss Bingley, who assumed an imaginary intimacy with Georgiana.

  "She is as well and happy as I have ever seen her with her cousin and your aunt Matlock. You did well to depart when you did, Darcy. Your sense of duty would have made you miserable, obliging you to attend an endless stream of social events you would rather avoid. And for what? To ensure the happiness of your sister. You are a better brother than I could ever be. I could never sacrifice my pleasure for another as you always do."

  Darcy chuckled. Wickham knew him well.

  Georgiana did not have the benefit of loving parents to guide her as Darcy had had. Her guardians were himself and Richard, their cousin and the second Matlock son. Two unmarried gentlemen. Darcy knew what Father had been thinking when he had arranged it — to give his precious daughter two capable protectors. However, while their father had shown the utmost consideration for Georgiana's protection, he had failed to consider how two such defenders would ever allow for their sister to develop into a young lady who would wish to establish a household of her own someday. Darcy shivered.

  Wickham grinned. He, too, was like a brother to Georgiana and understood Darcy's difficulty.

  Abandoning his perch beside Miss Bingley, Wickham retrieved a pile of books sitting on a table beside the doorway. He handed them to Darcy. "I know how much you love to read as well as how unlikely it is that Bingley's library is stocked to satisfaction, having only recently taken up residence at Netherfield Park," he directed a bow to Bingley, who inclined his head in acknowledgment.

  "How very good of y
ou, Wickham, to think of my friend's comfort. I will admit I have overlooked the library. The temptation of the countryside offers such a tantalizing distraction," Bingley owned good naturedly.

  "And who would blame you when Netherfield Park is so well situated? I daresay I would be out riding every day were I to live here. The hunting must be excellent, too. The estate has not been occupied for some time, from what I understand, and the pheasants left at peace for far too long," Wickham replied.

  Bingley laughed. "Indeed! It is just as you say. If it were not for Darcy’s assistance, I would be entirely lost."

  Miss Bingley huffed, as was her wont when she was not at the center of their conversation.

  Wickham returned to his spot beside her. "I apologize for bringing up the barbaric activities with which most gentlemen occupy themselves. I fear I did not provide books suitable for a lady to read. That is, unless you are interested in irrigation systems and ditch digging."

  Darcy bit his lips together. Miss Bingley did not know if she ought to be flattered or offended, so she smiled and resorted to her usual self-aggrandizement.

  "As the hostess of this household, I have much with which to keep myself occupied. It is no small task to ensure every detail is seen to properly."

  "Of course. And I applaud your oversight. From the moment of my arrival at Netherfield Park, everything is as it should be. I would go so far as to say it meets with even Pemberley's high standards," Wickham said with an evil glint.

  Miss Bingley blushed happily, fluttering her eyelashes and trying (and failing) not to look too pleased with herself.

  Darcy would have to speak with Wickham. Miss Bingley did not need any encouragement to think more of herself than she already did, and any incitement for her to continue in her vain pursuit of marrying Darcy would be cruel. Darcy could never be persuaded to make an offer for someone as ambitious and conniving as Miss Bingley. He despised her every compliment for its insincerity, for her overreaching ambition.

  Much like Mrs. Bennet, who pushed her daughters forward with senseless praise for any eligible gentleman to admire and marry. Her crass manners and limited intelligence had rubbed Darcy the wrong way at the Meryton Assembly, and he had avoided her and her offspring since. Especially Miss Elizabeth.

  To be fair, Darcy had to exonerate her and her eldest sister from Mrs. Bennet’s influence. He had observed them when he had the opportunity — solely for Bingley's benefit as he had taken an immediate liking to Miss Jane Bennet — and had been surprised to find them distinct from their mother in manners.

  Miss Bingley’s sharp tone interrupted Darcy’s musings. She made certain to point out that she was honored to receive a friend of Darcy's under their roof while she was also diligent in the care of their ill guest.

  Wickham was as quick to praise her attention and generosity as he was clearly eager to meet Miss Bennet. His interest, however, extinguished as quickly as it had flared when Miss Bingley mentioned how Miss Bennet stood to benefit from her condescension, as those who lack fortune and connections did.

  Whatever Wickham did to enable himself to live a life of leisure, it was clear he could not afford to marry a lady without a fortune. The Bennet sisters were safe from him.

  It disturbed Darcy how the realization brought him comfort.

  Chapter 4

  A letter from Jane arrived that morning. It was brief and addressed to Elizabeth, which meant one thing.

  “I must go to her,” Elizabeth said, convincing herself, with a glance out of the window, the weather would hold long enough for her to get to Netherfield Park.

  She handed the missive to Father, who rubbed his side whiskers and frowned. “She has a sore throat and a headache,” he summarized for the benefit of the other listeners sitting around the table breaking their fast.

  Mother grabbed the note, not so much to read it as to gloat over her success. “How fortuitous! This is a pleasant turn of events! I had hoped Jane would have to spend the night, but now she will have to stay a full week! Oh, how fortunate!”

  Father removed his spectacles, tucking them into his waistcoat pocket. “Well, my dear, if your daughter should have a dangerous fit of illness — if she should die — it will be a comfort to know that it was all in pursuit of Mr. Bingley, and under your orders.”

  Elizabeth shoved her plate away. Time was of the essence. She had to get to Jane.

  “You cannot mean to leave this moment, Lizzy. Finish your breakfast. Gentlemen of fortune do not want skinny wives,” said Mother, gesturing at Elizabeth’s chair.

  “Jane is ill, Mother. I must go to her at once.”

  “How can you be so silly as to think of such a thing, in all this mud! You will not be fit to be seen when you get there.”

  Elizabeth was determined. “I shall be fit enough to see Jane, which is all I want.” If Mother thought she meant to impress anyone at Netherfield Park, she was grossly mistaken.

  Father set his teacup down. “Would you like for me to send for the horses?” he asked. “I feel somewhat responsible for Jane, and I will not have another daughter fall ill when I can prevent it.”

  Would that he had thought of the consequences to Jane before he bent to Mother’s senseless wishes the previous evening.

  “Distance is nothing when one has a motive. Netherfield is only three miles from Longbourn. I shall be back by dinner,” Elizabeth said.

  Lydia pushed her chair back. “You can walk with us as far as Meryton. Kitty and I have arranged to call on Aunt Phillips.”

  “Where there will no doubt be officers lurking about,” Father mumbled.

  Kitty and Lydia’s giggles were reply enough to explain their frequent calls on their aunt in Meryton.

  Father chuckled, reaching for his newspaper. “Be gone with you then. Longbourn is much quieter without my youngest daughters underfoot.” To Elizabeth, he said, “Be careful, Lizzy, and send us word about Jane as soon as you can.”

  Mother gushed. "If Jane does not return home engaged, I shall be surprised. It is too bad Mr. Darcy is so ill-tempered, or I should have two daughters engaged by the end of the week."

  Elizabeth took heart that her mother did not expect her to inspire tender emotions in the heart of Mr. Darcy. She did not know if he was capable of anything pleasant, so taciturn and cold was his nature. Still, it was nice to hear her mother believed Elizabeth capable of inspiring love when she so often overlooked her in favor of Jane or Lydia.

  Lydia giggled. "He is such a bore. He hardly danced at the assembly at all! I declare I could never love a gentleman who refused to dance."

  Mother huffed, her offense at Mr. Darcy renewed. “Lizzy's prospects are not the best — she is not so handsome as you or Jane — but not even I would wish such a man for a son-in-law — fortune or no fortune.”

  Elizabeth pinched her lips together. Thank you, Mama.

  Donning her warmest wrap and her half-boots, for the roads would still be muddy from the recent rains, Elizabeth set out for Meryton with her sisters, continuing alone to Netherfield Park.

  The wind bit her cheeks, stinging them with their icy touch. Moisture seeped through her boots, staining the leather and numbing her toes. She walked faster to warm herself, jumping over stiles and springing over puddles.

  Soon enough, Elizabeth forgot the discomfort of the cold, her focus narrowed solely on getting to Jane. She had not written as much — Jane rarely complained — but Elizabeth knew how dreadful she must feel to impose on the Bingleys’ hospitality. Jane must be very sick indeed. And though she had praised the attentions Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley gave her in her letter, Elizabeth knew her sister's predisposition to be generous.

  Elizabeth looked down at her muddied hem and dirty stockings. Miss Bingley was certain to comment about them, but Elizabeth could not bring herself to care. She was certain that in Miss Bingley's critical eyes, she would always be found deficient — an opinion Mr. Darcy no doubt shared. He disapproved of everyone.

  What a burden to see no wonder
in the world when a man like Mr. Darcy could afford to travel and avail himself of all the beauty nature and commerce could afford him. Elizabeth almost pitied him.

  She inhaled the fresh air, the briskness invigorating her weary limbs. While the rain made her steps soggy, it had turned the hill a vibrant green as far as the eye could see. Birds hopped between bare tree branches, and wind gusts whistled through them in a pleasant song, pulling at the last of the orange leaves clinging to the twigs.

  The clouds were a study of gray puffs.

  She smoothed her hair as she approached the house, scuffing her boots against the gravel so as not to dirty the entrance hall.

  Brushing her skirts, she straightened her posture and lowered her shoulders. She had nothing to be ashamed of, and she would allow no one's poor opinion to affect her in the least.

  Brimming with defiance, Elizabeth walked up the steps where a footman opened the door before she had reached the landing. In no time at all, she was shown into the breakfast parlor where all the residents of the house, except for Jane, were gathered around a roaring fire. Elizabeth, already warm from exercise, stopped just inside the door.

  Mr. Darcy popped to his feet as soon as she entered. The movement was so sudden and unexpected, it startled her.

  Nobody spoke. Mr. Bingley smiled contentedly, clearly expecting Mr. Darcy to say something since he had been so quick to jump to attention.

  Miss Bingley and her sister Mrs. Hurst gaped at Elizabeth's hem. Elizabeth wondered if they would bother to wait until she had departed the room to point it out to everyone else.

  Mr. Darcy seemed to wish he had not reacted so hastily. Rubbing his palms against his breeches, he merely looked at her. It was not an unpleasant look. In fact, had Elizabeth not known better, she might have thought he was happy to see her. But she did know better. She was not tempting enough for him … as if tempting Mr. Darcy was the dream of every maiden.