Fitzwilliam Darcy, Traitor

by Jennifer Joy

She was eager to leave, already packing her trunk in her mind. A visit to their London relatives was always a happy occasion.

  Her mother grinned. “I never said your aunt Philips would convey you to London.”

  The room fell silent. If not Aunt Philips, then whom?

  Papa set his book on the table beside him to look inquisitively at his wife.

  She fanned her face exuberantly, pleased with herself. “Mr. Bingley has kindly offered our Jane a place in his carriage on the morrow. He and Mr. Darcy will be here at first light. Now, Janey, you must not waste the opportunity I have arranged for you. I expect you to be engaged before you reach London.”

  Elizabeth’s jaw dropped. Words failed her. Such a mixture of mortification, anxiety, and shock surged through her body, she could only sit and gawk at her mother. She could only imagine what Mr. Bingley must think. Would he wish such a bold woman for a mother-in-law? Then again, he had agreed to it…. Oh, no! What had Mama said to get him to agree?

  Elizabeth chewed on her lips and picked at her fingers. This was the worst news.

  Mr. Darcy did not hide his reproach toward her family with his condescending glares and superior views. What would he think of them now? He would believe himself fully justified to intervene before his friend married into a disadvantageous family.

  Elizabeth was about to point out the flaws in Mama's plan when a succession of coughs and moans proceeding from upstairs reached her ears. Mr. Collins.

  Hours in a carriage with disapproving Mr. Darcy or weeks in boorish Mr. Collins' company? The chance of making a happy match or endless days of monotony?

  She decided.

  Elizabeth would suffer Mr. Darcy’s contempt and the embarrassment of her imposition on the gentlemen for the weeks of freedom it granted her. She would make the best of it.

  Anything was better than Mr. Collins. Even Mr. Darcy.

  Chapter 5

  “You agreed to what?” Darcy shook his head to clear his ears. He must have heard wrong.

  Bingley repeated, “I said we would be happy to convey Miss Bennet to her family in London. Only, you do not sound happy.”

  “In my carriage? No, Bingley, I am not happy,” Darcy exclaimed.

  Had Bingley consulted him as he ought to have done, Darcy never would have agreed. It was audacious, completely lacking in decorum, and thoroughly Mrs. Bennet’s doing.

  Bingley had the grace to blush. “It will not happen again. However, do you not see how it is the perfect occasion for me to get to know Miss Bennet better? And you will be present to witness it!” he said happily, as if Darcy’s sole purpose in life was to watch his friend made a dolt of himself.

  Darcy ran his fingers through his hair. “Do you not see how Mrs. Bennet has manipulated you? She will stop at nothing until you are engaged to her eldest daughter. I would not put it past her to arrange for a compromise.” He had intended to ride his horse to London. He resented being reduced to the role of a chaperone.

  “I am not so muddleheaded I did not realize how Mrs. Bennet manipulated the situation for the advantage of her daughter — who I am equally convinced knows nothing of her mother’s actions or else she would have prohibited her call just as you would have done.”

  It was true. Darcy could not imagine a lady as delicate as Miss Bennet agreeing to her mother’s scheme. She would have put a stop to it, and no doubt it would mortify her once she heard of it … as it ought to.

  Still, it was not a promising beginning, which Darcy was quick to point out. “If you allow a woman such as Mrs. Bennet to manipulate you now, she will only grow bolder as time progresses.”

  Shrugging his shoulders, Bingley said, “So long as it is done for the benefit of her daughter, I see no harm in indulging her. After all, this trip to London was initially your idea. Would you say you manipulated me to suit your own means, or do you truly hold my happiness in such high regard?”

  How dare Bingley compare him to Mrs. Bennet! “I acted as necessity bound me,” Darcy growled.

  Bingley held up his hands, signaling peace. “I am only going along with your plan because I am determined to marry for love. If you are wrong — if Miss Bennet does return my affection — I will return to propose to the woman I love no matter what you think of her family.”

  Bingley was a fool of the first order.

  A light knock on the door prevented Darcy from uttering the retort on the tip of his tongue.

  The housekeeper, Mrs. Holton, slipped quietly into the room. At Bingley’s invitation, she joined them.

  She twisted her hands in her apron, her steps hesitant until she stood before them. Strands of gray hair framed her face. Her eyes were swollen and red.

  Bingley's eyebrows furrowed in concern. “Mrs. Holton, is everything well?”

  She smiled and smoothed her hands over her apron. “Yes, Mr. Bingley. I thank you. I have already instructed the maids to pack the ladies’ trunks, and the footmen are covering the furniture in the spare rooms. We will be ready to quit Netherfield Park the day after you depart, sir.”

  “Very good, but I sense there is something else. What is it, Mrs. Holton?”

  She raised her hands in plea, then lowered them again as her face flushed. “Might I be so bold as to impose on your kindness, Mr. Bingley, and ask that you convey me to London with you on the morrow?”

  What was everyone’s urgent need to travel to London with Bingley on the morrow?

  She reached into her pocket and pulled out a letter. Her hand shook as she extended it to Bingley.

  He took it, but his eyes did not leave Mrs. Holton. “Please, have a seat,” he said, taking her by the arm and guiding her to the closest chair and sitting opposite her. “Are you in need of some tea?” he asked.

  Darcy inwardly applauded Bingley’s attention to his housekeeper. The smooth running of a household depended, in great part, on a master’s care of his servants. And Mrs. Holton was notably in distress.

  She wiped her eyes with a handkerchief. “That is unnecessary, but I thank you. I received that letter the day before the ball. My only grandson is ill.” Her voice cracked, and she pressed her handkerchief to her eyes. In a whisper, she added, “The doctor does not expect him to last much longer.”

  Bingley, who had already skimmed over the letter, handed it back to her. She pressed it to her chest as if her every hope lay within its pages.

  Moved by her need to be with her family and the opportunity it provided them, Darcy said, “Of course you may accompany us in my carriage.”

  Bingley shot him a concerned glance, but Darcy ignored it. It was his carriage. If Bingley felt free to invite Miss Bennet along, he held no qualms in including the housekeeper when she needed to be conveyed to her ailing grandson.

  Looking at Bingley, Darcy explained his greatest reason for agreeing so readily. “We will be traveling with a young lady who I am certain will be much more comfortable if Mrs. Holton were to accompany us.”

  Darcy smiled in satisfaction in anticipation of the look on Mrs. Bennet's face when she realized he had frustrated her scheme. There would be no compromises on Darcy’s watch.

  Mrs. Holton sniffed and sat up taller. “I was not aware a lady would be joining you.” Her eyes darted about the room, no doubt seeking the right words to say amidst the incredible breach of propriety designed by Mrs. Bennet. “Of course, I would love to be of service if I may, but … are you certain the young lady will not have her own companion? I … do not wish to impose.”

  Darcy smirked. “You are welcome to travel with us, Mrs. Holton. We shall be a small party — only Miss Bennet and ourselves.”

  "I consider it an honor to be of use when you are so generous with me. Thank you, Mr. Bingley. Mr. Darcy." Mrs. Holton stood, inclined her head, and departed with one hand still clasping the letter.

  Bingley rubbed the hair at his temples until it stood out. “Caroline and Louisa will not be pleased when they learn they will be without a housekeeper until their departure. But I could not have refused
her request.”

  “They will manage. It is you who concerns me, so much so I am determined to ride inside the carriage lest you do something stupid.”

  Bingley’s face burned red. “With a chaperone present? What do you think me capable of doing? I am not a rake, nor would I dare act dishonorably toward a woman I claim to adore.”

  “Calm yourself, Bingley. I do not doubt your honor. I do, however, believe you capable of declaring yourself to Miss Bennet before we reach London.”

  Chapter 6

  Darcy’s knees bounced up and down uncontrollably, and he tapped his fingers impatiently against the velvet interior of his carriage. The half-day he would spend inside the conveyance would feel like an eternity. He was tempted to hop onto the back of his sorrel gelding tied to the back of the coach, but one look at Bingley reminded him of the importance of staying by his side.

  Bingley was all smiles and anticipation. The fool. He knowingly walked into Mrs. Bennet’s obvious snare. What was worse, he looked perfectly happy to be caught.

  There had been many attempts by desperate maidens and their mothers to trap Darcy over the years, but he had avoided them. A gentleman who exercised proper decorum and discernment would not lose his freedom so easily. Not unless he was like Bingley and wished to lose it.

  “Here we are!” declared Bingley, as if Darcy had not been looking out of the glass to see Longbourn looming ahead, its chimney smoke smudging the sleet gray sky.

  The front door burst open before Bingley had alighted and Darcy's footman had handed Mrs. Holton out of the conveyance. A procession of Bennets filed out of the house, followed by a hodgepodge of servants carrying two trunks and a rather large basket. Evidently, Miss Bennet planned an extensive stay in London.

  Mrs. Bennet swooped an enthusiastic curtsy — so enthusiastic, in fact, she struggled to return to an upright position. Her youngest, Miss Lydia, giggled and assisted her with an indelicate pull on her mother’s arms.

  Mr. Bennet did not trouble himself to notice, as was his wont. He did, however, exchange a sincere welcome along with the usual meaningless pleasantries to which both Bingley and Darcy responded in kind.

  A stupid grin covered Bingley’s face. He saw no one but Miss Bennet.

  Her hat was tied with a pink ribbon. No doubt, it was meant to compliment her complexion. Miss Bennet was lovely, Darcy owned as much, but she had as much temperament as one of the French dolls Georgiana had played with in the nursery.

  Darcy’s chest tightened at the memory. It seemed like only yesterday he could please Georgie with something so simple as a doll or a new piece of music for her to play. But she had not set foot in the nursery for many years. And she no longer played music.

  He looked away, confounded by the recent turn of events which had led him away from his sister, and locked eyes with Miss Elizabeth. Her cheeks were as pink as the roses outside his Pemberley library.

  Miss Elizabeth did not lack in liveliness or character. In fact, Darcy was inclined to think she had been blessed with more than her fair share of both. He had never met another lady who exuded spiritedness as Miss Elizabeth did. She left laughter wherever she went, and not even Bingley’s sisters’ jabs had curbed her humor during her stay at Netherfield Park.

  She had laughed at him, too. Perhaps, he ought not to think favorably of her wit and smiles when she had used them against him. He had admitted to his resentful nature, and Miss Elizabeth’s pleasing banter had lightened the gravity of his honesty so that he, too, had laughed at himself.

  Yes, humor was her weapon, and she used it effectively.

  He wished Georgiana viewed the world as Miss Elizabeth did.

  “Oh, Mr. Bingley! We cannot thank you enough for conveying our daughters to London!” Mrs. Bennet gushed, jarring Darcy back to the present with her revelation.

  Two trunks. Two daughters.

  “Daughters?” Bingley choked, pulling his gaze away from his angel to look apologetically at Darcy.

  Good grief. While Darcy was certain he could avoid Mrs. Bennet’s machinations, he had not believed her capable of involving him in her scheme. It was almost clever. Did she expect him to propose to Miss Elizabeth? He would sooner declare himself a traitor to the Crown than declare himself to any daughter of Mrs. Bennet!

  “I would never send my Jane without a companion, and so Lizzy will go along to ensure everything is proper,” Mrs. Bennet answered.

  Oh.

  Darcy would have been relieved, had Mrs. Bennet's impropriety not demeaned her second daughter to put the first in a better position to marry a wealthy gentleman for whom she held no tender regard. Darcy did not attempt to hide his disdain.

  The flush in Miss Elizabeth’s cheeks burned brilliantly. Any brighter and Darcy feared she would light on fire.

  Miss Bennet, on the other hand, blanched. She said, “I do apologize for imposing on you. I did not realize it was you who would convey us to London…”

  It appeased Darcy to hear her admit as much. He had no reason to doubt Miss Bennet’s sincerity, especially when pitted against Mrs. Bennet’s blatant ambition.

  Mrs. Bennet shushed her daughter before good sense could take over the conversation. The two youngest Bennets were quick to fill the silence with their reasons for believing themselves better companions than Miss Elizabeth.

  Darcy would rather walk barefoot through knee-deep snow with a wet greatcoat than suffer the company of Miss Kitty and Miss Lydia — a thought he had tact enough to keep to himself.

  Mr. Bennet, however, did not show the same restraint when a witty retort could be made at the expense of his own offspring. “No gentleman with a lick of sense would wish to suffer such a fate,” he teased.

  Darcy did not return Mr. Bennet’s smile. Nor did he trust himself to make an inoffensive reply. He clamped his mouth shut and tried not to look at Miss Elizabeth.

  Bingley deftly returned the degenerating conversation to a more acceptable topic, saying, “Please do not concern yourselves. We…” he peeked awkwardly at Darcy, clearing his throat before continuing, “…yes, well, I would have it no other way, and Darcy has generously offered us the use of his carriage which is more spacious and comfortable than mine.”

  “How convenient for my girls,” exclaimed Mrs. Bennet, greedily looking over the coach. She was not pleased to see the two horses tied to the back, and Darcy said nothing to assure her that they did not intend on riding the horses to London. Let her fret.

  “In fact,” Bingley added hastily, “Mrs. Holton also wishes to visit family in London and has offered to serve as a companion to Miss Bennet during the journey. So you see, there is no inconvenience at all. We shall all travel quite comfortably together.”

  So much for allowing Mrs. Bennet to suffer. Before midday, all the inhabitants in and around Meryton would hear of her daughters’ good fortune in being conveyed to London in style and in the company of two marriageable gentlemen.

  Darcy felt the heat of Miss Elizabeth’s glare on him as she lifted her chin and addressed Bingley. “How thoughtful of you, Mr. Bingley. We are grateful for your reassurance, though, under the circumstances, we are in no position to expect it.”

  “It is nothing,” Bingley insisted.

  “To the contrary, sir,” she insisted. There was an edge to her tone when she continued, “Consideration is too often belittled by those who believe themselves above such common traits. A true gentleman anticipates the needs of those around him and acts in their favor willingly, out of the goodness of his heart.”

  The jab was directed at Darcy, though he could not fathom why. They would travel in his carriage, and the presence of Mrs. Holton had been his doing.

  Mrs. Holton smiled. “Mr. Bingley is consideration personified, miss. It is no wonder when he keeps such exceptional company.” She looked at Darcy, and he nodded in acknowledgment of the compliment.

  Miss Elizabeth arched an eyebrow, the corner of her lip curling up. Did she find Mrs. Holton’s praise laughable?

 
The impertinence! Had Darcy not known better, Miss Elizabeth’s expression would lead him to assume she disapproved of him — a Darcy!

  As much as Mrs. Bennet seemed to enjoy basking in the warmth of her success (the only warmth to be found that brisk morning), she was eager for them to enter the carriage and be on their way. No doubt, she planned to fill her days selecting frills and fripperies with which to adorn herself and her offspring while gloating about the imminent increase to her eldest daughter’s pin money once Miss Bennet became Bingley’s wife.

  Darcy shivered at the horrific image of Mrs. Bennet as a mother-in-law, his motive in separating his friend from such an evil fate fully justified.

  They settled into the carriage, much cozier than Darcy had planned with the addition of Miss Elizabeth.

  Before the footman could close the door, Mrs. Bennet rushed forward. “Oh, no! The picnic hamper cannot go with the luggage. It must go inside.”

  That cumbersome thing was a picnic basket?

  The baffled footman tried to explain there was no room for the oversized basket; that surely, it was more reasonable for the inanimate items contained within the woven reeds to ride in discomfort rather than the travelers inside the coach.

  Reason did not persuade her. When Mrs. Bennet's chin quivered, and she fluttered her fan in front of her face, Miss Elizabeth reached her arms out, saying, “I will hold it, Mama.”

  “Thank you, Lizzy. You know how important the contents are. We cannot have you fall ravenous with hunger during your journey,” Mrs. Bennet said.

  Darcy watched in astonishment as the servant hefted the large picnic basket into his arms, the veins in his neck showing the effort required to carry the load he deposited with a regretful look on Miss Elizabeth’s lap.

  The ruddiness in her cheeks displayed her shame, but her humor shone through. “Mama, an army would not starve for a week with the provisions you have sent.”

  Mrs. Bennet waved, too pleased with herself to acknowledge the discomfort Miss Elizabeth could not hide.