by Jann Rowland
His jaw working in anger, Mr. Bingley took a moment to master himself. “I am aware of my sisters’ actions. They have not joined us at Netherfield and will not be welcome in my home until they have made amends.”
“Then we will not belabor the point,” said Bennet. “The matter of your future intentions, however, is still very much at issue.”
“Then let me respond, Mr. Bennet,” interjected Mr. Bingley. “I know I have made mistakes which have not reflected well upon me. Let me be clear, however, that I have returned to rectify those mistakes. At present, I intend nothing more than to show your daughter my regard in a manner which cannot be misunderstood. If she will have me, I intend to propose to her and to stand with her and support her all the days of my life. No one—not even my sisters—will divert me from my course.”
In spite of himself, Bennet found the gentleman impressed him. Mr. Bingley was still a young pup, inexperienced and uncertain. He had just given a speech as creditable as any Bennet had ever heard. As such, he was inclined to grant the man his permission.
“Very well, Mr. Bingley,” said Bennet, rising and extending his hand, which Mr. Bingley caught up in a tight grip. “It is well you have convinced me, for I did not relish the thought of gathering a pair of stout lads and warning you off my property with my hunting rifle. Do well by my daughter, and all will be forgiven.”
The nervous laugh Mr. Bingley released indicated he was uncertain whether Bennet was jesting. In the interest of ensuring his good behavior, Bennet decided it was best to leave the matter ambiguous.
As her father left the sitting-room with Mr. Bingley in tow, Elizabeth watched them, uncertain what to make of it. Rarely had her father involved himself in his daughters’ affairs, yet the excuse he had given seemed more than a little hollow. Mrs. Bennet glared at the retreating form of her husband, no doubt unhappy he had interrupted the conversation, though Jane appeared relieved. Now that Mr. Bingley had left the room, Elizabeth left Jane in the capable hands of her aunt and moved to assuage her curiosity.
“Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth in a soft voice, almost laughing when the gentleman looked up at her with gratitude. It embarrassed Elizabeth to approach him, after what had passed between them at Hunsford, but there seemed to be no one in the room with whom he could converse easily.
“Miss Elizabeth.”
It was not the way his mouth caressed her name which informed her, though that played a part—rather it was the look in his eyes when he regarded her, the relaxing of his countenance into a look at once tender and interested. Mr. Darcy, whom Elizabeth had thought would avoid her as his worst enemy, still admired her, though Elizabeth could not quite comprehend why.
What she should do with this information, Elizabeth could not. It was too much to consider in a rational manner. So, Elizabeth shunted it to the side in favor of her present design.
“I am curious, Mr. Darcy,” said she in a low tone to avoid being overheard.
“Of what?”
Elizabeth sat nearby and fixed him with a stare she hoped demanded an open answer. “Mr. Bingley’s return was quite unexpected—why, there was not even any gossip of your coming presence at Netherfield in the village! I am uncertain how to account for it.”
“Bingley is, as you know, an impulsive fellow.” Mr. Darcy paused, seeming more than a little uncomfortable. “Once he decided to return, nothing else mattered. He did have the presence of mind to send a note to his housekeeper, though I am certain the woman will be little pleased to have us appear on the front stairs with so little warning.”
“But that does not explain why he decided to return after so long away.” Mr. Darcy looked away, and Elizabeth decided a more direct approach was required. “Mr. Darcy, are you responsible for Mr. Bingley’s return to Hertfordshire?”
“I shall by no means take credit for it, Miss Elizabeth,” said Mr. Darcy, fixing his gaze once again upon her. The sensation of being embraced by his look was once again upon Elizabeth, but she forced the notion aside. “I made the communication to my friend of my error regarding your sister’s feelings and, more particularly, of my keeping her presence in London from his knowledge. But the decision to return to Netherfield was Bingley’s alone.”
“And here you are.”
A slight smile crossed the man’s face. “Indeed. Once he had recovered from his anger—which with me was of short duration—he at once suggested we return and asked for my attendance. As I felt I owed him my support, I agreed to it at once.”
“What of Mr. Bingley’s sisters?”
The shadow fell over him like a cloud passing before the sun. “His annoyance with them remains unabated, and I must own that mine is of equal intensity.” When Elizabeth regarded him curiously, Mr. Darcy did not hesitate to explain. “My confession came at Bingley’s townhouse. When he had heard all, he bade me follow him to the sitting-room where he confronted his sisters. The clash was . . . not pretty in the slightest.
“Not only did Miss Bingley—and to a lesser extent Mrs. Hurst—refuse to acknowledge she had done anything wrong, but she was also insulting to your sister.” Mr. Darcy paused, and he looked directly at her. “Miss Bingley was also insulting toward you.”
“Me?” asked Elizabeth, curious as to his meaning. “Why should Miss Bingley care two figs about me?”
“Because, Miss Elizabeth, she considers you a rival.”
Elizabeth was not surprised to hear him say as much, though she had not considered the matter at any length. It was surprising that Miss Bingley should show such powers of observation, though Elizabeth supposed that when the subject was Mr. Darcy, the woman must be sensitive to any other lady of marriageable age.
“Of course, for her to think herself a rival to you in any way is a patent absurdity,” said Mr. Darcy, his tone conversational. “Though she has long considered me the perfect husband, I informed Bingley soon after first making her acquaintance that I would never offer for her. It is a mark of her delusion she will not listen.”
“Then she will not be coming to Netherfield?”
“Not in the foreseeable future,” said Mr. Darcy. “Bingley was so angry with her he informed her she would stay with the Hursts or return to York, if her sister would not have her. Since she will be five and twenty soon, he will have the option to release her dowry to her control, and at that point she may find it necessary to set up her own establishment.” Then Mr. Darcy grinned. “I do not think it will come to that. Hurst is an easy man to live with, for as long as he has his port and his cards, with a bit of hunting here and there, he remains content. But he will regret the loss of my company because he enjoys my cooks and my brandy. His displeasure will cause Miss Bingley to come groveling sooner rather than later, I suspect, if her desire to throw herself at me does not do the trick first.”
“I see.” Elizabeth paused, considering the matter before turning her attention back on her companion. “That is well, then. Though I know Jane’s feelings for the gentleman, I would not wish her married to a man who will always defer to his sister.”
“There is no need to fear.” Mr. Darcy paused and seemed a little uncomfortable. “If not for my assurances of your sister’s indifference, Bingley would have ignored his sister’s arguments. He has never listened to them.”
“Then I thank you for correcting your error, sir,” said Elizabeth, eager to put him at ease again. “I suspect I shall need to thank you for my sister’s happiness before long.”
What Mr. Darcy might have said in response remained unsaid, for the door opened at that moment, allowing Mr. Bennet and Mr. Bingley to enter. A few moments of general conversation ensued after which Mr. Bingley indicated their need to continue on to Netherfield and see to the disposition of the house. But whatever had passed between the gentleman and her father in the latter’s study, it was clear Mr. Bingley had no intention of leaving without giving them the assurance of his return.
“Thank you for receiving us, Mrs. Bennet,” said he, paying his deference to the mistre
ss of the estate. “My friend and I must depart now, but we shall return on the morrow.”
It was obvious he intended his words to be a promise to Jane of his constancy. Everyone understood his words for the assurance they were, except Mrs. Bennet, who paled at the thought of his going away again. She thus attempted to keep them at Longbourn for as long as she was able.
“Surely there is nothing waiting for you at Netherfield, Mr. Bingley. Please stay and dine at Longbourn tonight, for you are a meal in our debt, as I recall.”
“Thank you for the invitation, Mrs. Bennet,” said Mr. Bingley, his voice ringing with a hint of firmness. “But there are matters which require my attention today. If you will amend your invitation to another evening, Darcy and I shall be happy to accept.”
Mr. Darcy nodded to his friend’s words but did not speak. While Elizabeth was certain her mother meant to press the matter, a slight cough from Mr. Bennet and a pointed look changed her mind.
“Then tomorrow will be just as agreeable.”
“Done,” said Mr. Bingley.
The gentlemen made their farewells and took their leave, and the Longbourn party was left to their excitement. Mr. Bennet, as was his wont, soon returned to his bookroom, and the ladies sat for some time discussing the matter. While Jane did not say much to her mother’s pronunciations concerning Mr. Bingley’s attentions, Elizabeth could see her sister was attempting to appear unmoved by the day’s events while fighting to keep her own pleasure at bay.
Matters continued in this manner for the rest of the day. No subject could have more significance than Mr. Bingley, and none of Elizabeth’s or Mrs. Gardiner’s attempts to change the subject could please to her mother, for she would not suffer another subject for long without bringing the conversation back to the gentleman.
It was, perhaps, fortunate she did so, for by the time they retired to the sitting-room after dinner, Mrs. Bennet found herself quite fatigued. As a result, she retired to her bedchamber early. As subsequent events demonstrated, it was a blessing she did so.
Chapter II
Events being, as they are, volatile and affected by human perception, they tend to quickly outrun the control of anyone who might imagine any power to do so. The situation at Longbourn was no different. For while Elizabeth might have preferred the disaster about to befall them be made known earlier, she was forced to be grateful the matter was known when it was.
After her mother retired for the evening, and Mrs. Gardiner went to the nursery to visit her children before their bedtime, the Bennet sisters were left to their own devices. As might be expected, each filled her time as she preferred. Mary played softly on the pianoforte, careful not to rouse her mother’s ire by disturbing her, while Kitty retired to her bedchamber, though what the girl might be doing Elizabeth could not quite say. Jane and Elizabeth spoke together for a time, and then they turned to their respective activities, which for Elizabeth consisted of a book which lay open at the same page in her lap. In her mind, she considered the events of the evening and the appearance of Mr. Darcy, wondering as to his continued tenderness toward her.
Elizabeth had almost exhausted herself with her thoughts and had begun to entertain the notion of retiring herself when Kitty once again appeared in the sitting-room. The sight of her sister might have been nothing noteworthy, except for the fact that Elizabeth noticed an anxiety present in the girl. Kitty was often anxious about something, and to a certain extent Elizabeth understood and pitied this, knowing she was often ignored by her parents and under Lydia’s complete domination. But this was different, somehow more concerning.
“Lizzy,” said the girl, approaching Elizabeth in a diffident manner. “Do you mind if I ask you something?”
“Of course not, Kitty,” said Elizabeth, setting her ignored book aside. “How may I help you?”
The girl fidgeted, uncertain what to say. Then, unexpectedly, she blurted what appeared to be the first thing on her mind. “Do you not think elopements are the most romantic thing?”
For a moment, Elizabeth was uncertain she had heard her sister correctly. Then the implications of what she said dawned on Elizabeth, and she glowered, provoking Kitty to step back in alarm.
“What have you done, Kitty?”
“I have done nothing!” squeaked her sister in fright.
“Then why do you ask about such things?” When Kitty seemed to grow reluctant yet again, Elizabeth grasped her by the shoulders, firmly but not violently, and said: “Why are you asking about elopements?”
Then a gasp escaped her lips. “Is it Lydia?”
A miserable Kitty nodded, reluctance written in every movement, and a moan, pitiful and downtrodden, spoke to her distress. “Oh, Lydia will be so angry with me!”
“That is nothing compared to how angry our father would be,” said Elizabeth. “And the matter would be even worse if you kept it from him and something happened. Would you prefer to be the recipient of Papa’s anger?”
Kitty responded with a vigorous shake of her head. Both of Elizabeth’s younger sisters had always held their father in awe—they were not quite afraid of him, but when he spoke in a stern tone, they were more apt to listen. In Elizabeth’s opinion, it was unfortunate her father had not used this tool more often to control their behavior.
“Now, what have you learned about Lydia?”
From a pocket, Kitty produced a letter, one which had seen much use, though Elizabeth presumed it had arrived that day. Kitty opened it and offered it to Elizabeth, pointing to a passage about three quarters down the page.
With a trembling hand, Elizabeth reached for the missive. A quick scan of the earlier passages revealed nothing more than Lydia’s typical silliness—accounts of parties with the officers, gossip of the regiment, and an anecdote from her equally silly confederate, Mrs. Forster. The important points, however, were much more alarming.
My campaign to ensnare a husband is proceeding apace, and I am certain I shall succeed ere long. I had considered Denny or Sanderson, but there is one man in the regiment who is as handsome as any I have met. I deserve the best, do I not? He has informed me that he may leave the regiment. Though I will be saddened to leave such excellent friends behind, I shall follow him wherever he goes—he shall find another regiment more to his liking, and I have no doubt I shall be as popular there as I am here. Just think of it, Kitty! By this time next week, I may write you again, signing my name Lydia Wickham!
“Stupid girl!” exclaimed Elizabeth, much louder than she had intended. Jane, who was sewing at that moment, looked up with alarm, and Mary still situated at the pianoforte, turned around and regarded Elizabeth.
“What is it, Lizzy?”
“Stay here Jane, Mary,” said Elizabeth. “Kitty and I must see our father.”
It did not occur to Elizabeth that she had just given a direct command to her elder sister. Jane was as sweet a soul as lived, and she obeyed without comment, though her look bespoke uncertainty and, perhaps, even alarm. For Mary’s part, she only sniffed with disdain and turned her attention back to her instrument. There was no time to lose, so Elizabeth dragged her younger sister, who was not at all anticipating confronting her father, to the study door. After a short, staccato rap, permission was given to enter, which Elizabeth did, still pulling Kitty along behind her.
“Lizzy?” asked Mr. Bennet. “And Kitty? What is the matter?”
“It seems we have a situation, Father,” said Elizabeth, thrusting Kitty’s letter at him. “Lydia has been corresponding with Kitty, and if you look at the third last paragraph, you will see the reason for my alarm.”
Bennet’s first thought as he read the indicated passage was that his youngest was more foolish than he had thought. The notion she would tempt a penniless officer to elope with her, when she herself had little more than he, was preposterous. Then Mr. Bennet saw Wickham’s name at the end of the final sentence, and he paused. Though he had not given it much thought, there had been rumors of angry creditors in Meryton after the regiment�
��s departure, and Wickham’s name had featured prominently in what little Bennet had heard.
This was likely nothing more than childish fancy. Bennet looked up at his second eldest to impart his opinion, but as he did, he noted her obvious anger, the way her eyes squinted upon him as if daring him to write the matter off as nothing more than silliness. And then Bennet reconsidered. If Lydia’s ramblings did contain any truth, his lack of action could ruin his family. Prudence dictated he investigate this matter further.
“Well, Kitty,” said he, “it seems you have more contact with your sister than the rest of the family. If I am honest, it seems like more of Lydia’s silliness.”
“Papa—” said Elizabeth, but Bennet held up his hand, his nod in her direction indicating he meant to take the matter seriously. Elizabeth subsided, a hopeful light in her eyes.
“Now, Kitty, has Lydia said anything of eloping in your previous correspondence?”
Kitty glanced at Elizabeth though Bennet could not imagine why. She could hardly think she might have a supporter in her elder sister when Lizzy had been doing her best to admonish her to better behavior since her coming out.
“She has not spoken of it in so many words, Papa,” Kitty ventured at length. “This is not the first time she has spoken of it—she has said it would be a great joke if she was the first of us to marry.”
“Yes, yes, I am familiar with that bit of folly,” said Bennet impatiently. Kitty shrank away from him in fright, leading Bennet to moderate his tone to ensure the girl told him what he needed to know. “I am not angry with you, Kitty. It seems you showed more insight than I might have thought you possessed to bring this to your sister.