Chapter 19

Library

Netherfield

Morning

14 th December, 1811

Darcy accepted the pile of mail from the servant, set aside all but one letter, carefully broke the wax, spread it open so that the morning sun illuminated it, and began to read.

Matlock House

12th December

Darcy,

I daresay this letter will arrive along with one from my father. Lord Matlock will be extending an invitation to you and Georgiana for Christmas Day dinner at Matlock House. That in itself is innocuous enough, but unless I am very much mistaken, he will refrain from informing you that Lady Catherine and our mutual cousin Anne will also be at dinner; indeed, they will be staying at Matlock House for two full weeks starting on 20th December.

I also understand that Lady Catherine is feeling quite disturbed at your failure to make an offer to her daughter. I therefore suspect that the Christmas dinner will be fraught with dissension. Since I am a colonel in the army, I am used to both verbal and physical battles, but I believe you and Georgiana would be less pleased with the experience.

You have been warned!

Your most devoted cousin,

Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam

P.S. I am sorry I was not there to see the serpent hauled away in bonds, but you have my heartfelt congratulations and thanksgiving. It is pleasing to envision Wickham climbing a mast while the waves cause the ship to toss and turn.

Darcy read the letter a second time and then folded it, set is aside, and leaned back in his chair, frowning heavily

“Fitzwilliam?” a timid voice asked from the direction of the door. He turned hastily and forced himself to smile at Georgiana, who was standing a few feet away, a nervous expression on her face.

“Georgiana, you are up early!”

“I tend to wake early in the country thanks to the roosters crowing. I like the sound, unlike some of the other occupants of this house.”

“I like the sound as well,” Darcy said with a chuckle. He well remembered Miss Bingley’s request that someone wring the necks of the roosters on the estate; apparently the lady was entirely capable of sleeping through the noise of street sweepers and rumbling carriages but was awakened instantly by a rooster crowing.

“Is it bad news?” Georgiana asked, glancing at Richard’s letter sitting on the small table next to Darcy.

“No!” Darcy replied and then, with a sigh, continued, “Yes, but it is nothing serious. No one is ill. Do sit down, my dear.”

Georgiana obediently took a seat on a chair nearby and waited with an uncertain countenance. Darcy, after a moment of consideration, picked up the letter and handed it over. “Go ahead and read it.”

She did so, and he could tell when she read the part about the de Bourghs coming to London, because her face twisted into a surprisingly fearsome scowl.

“Oh Brother, must we attend Christmas dinner at Matlock House?” she asked, lifting her face to gaze at him piteously.

Darcy blew out a breath and said, “I fear that it would be the height of incivility to avoid Matlock House when we are residing only a few miles away at Darcy House, though I do not look forward to Lady Catherine haranguing me about my supposed engagement to our cousin.”

“We could stay here, perhaps?” Georgiana suggested. “If Mr. Bingley and Miss Bennet do not mind? They will be married by then, I know, but I would like Christmas dinner with friends, not our irascible aunt.”

Darcy regarded her with wonder. Bingley would gladly host the Darcys for as long as they liked, but Georgiana rarely made proposals of this sort, especially since he now knew that she did not like Miss Bingley at all. It must mean…

“You like the younger Misses Bennet very much, then?”

“I do,” Georgiana said. “I like them all, in fact. Miss Bennet is kind, and Miss Elizabeth is clever and cheerful, and Miss Mary enjoys music, and the younger two are very friendly towards me.”

He was certain that his own color had heightened at the mention of Elizabeth Bennet, but he merely said, “I am glad.”

“Do you like them as well?”

Darcy said, in what he hoped was a noncommittal tone, “I like them well enough; the younger two were rather too … expressive when I first met them, but they seem to have quieted down, perhaps due to your fine example.”

Georgiana cast her eyes heavenward, either praying or in exasperation, and then bent an intent stare on her brother. “What of Miss Elizabeth? Do you like her?”

He swallowed. “Yes, of course.”

“Even though you thought her not handsome enough to dance with?”

Now his face was aflame, and he found himself cringing slightly at the martial light in his sister’s usually gentle eyes. He wondered where she had heard of his incivility at the assembly, but he remembered that she had been spending considerable time with the younger Bennets and had doubtless come by her information that way.

“It was a horrible thing to say – rude, unkind, and patently false,” he said meekly. “I apologized to Miss Elizabeth, and she forgave me.”

Georgiana nodded slowly, although there was still a slight frown on her usually smooth forehead.

“I hope that Miss Kitty and Miss Lydia do not despise me,” he said. Truly, he did not care much what they thought of him, but it seemed that Georgiana had, incredibly enough, developed a friendship with both young women.

“No, they do not,” his sister replied and hesitated before saying, “they actually are hoping that you and Miss Elizabeth will make a match of it.”

He choked at these words and coughed a few times before rising to walk over to a handy tray with brandy on it. He poured himself a small amount, threw it down, and then turned toward Georgiana, who was watching him with open curiosity.

“That is ridi…,” he began to say and then stopped. He was, he realized, in love with Elizabeth Bennet. But he could not marry her, of course.

“Ridiculous?” Georgiana finished.

Darcy blew out a breath, walked over to his chair, sat down, sighed heavily, and said, “That is too strong a word, and yet it is not. I do admire Miss Elizabeth very much. Very, very much. But she is…”

“Daughter of a solicitor’s daughter and has close relations in trade,” Georgiana said, scrunching up her face to show her displeasure. “Brother, do you not see how that makes her the perfect wife for you? She is so very different from the ladies of the ton, and according to Miss Lydia and Miss Kitty, would not marry you unless she truly loves and respects you. She will not marry for money or connections.”

Darcy shook his head, though he felt his stomach twist at the thought of finding a woman who loved him for himself. “That seems most unlikely, even for Miss Elizabeth, who I will confess is delightfully unusual.”

“She rejected an offer from her father’s heir.”

Darcy’s eyes flared with genuine horror, and he blurted out, “Mr. Collins?”

“Yes, whom I understand is rector under Lady Catherine, so he must be incredibly tiresome.”

“He is indeed, along with being foolish and sycophantic. The thought of Miss Elizabeth married to him … well, I am relieved she was wise enough to reject him. He could never have made her happy.”

“And yet, this was before Mr. Bingley offered for Miss Bennet, so her refusal left the family in a precarious position. If she had accepted Mr. Collins’s offer, she and her sisters and mother would have been assured of a good home after their father’s death.”

This was true, but the prospect of that bright, vibrant beauty married to an oaf, of sharing his bed … Darcy shuddered visibly.

“I am very thankful that she did not marry him,” he said in a husky tone. Based on the look on his sister’s face, she was prepared to follow up that remark, and he stood up and said, “My apologies, my dear, but I must write to my solicitor.”

“Of course,” Georgiana replied, though the determination on her youthful face suggested that they were not done with the discussion of Miss Elizabeth’s charms.

Nor, he admitted to himself, was he quite willing to put the subject to rest himself. Perhaps Georgiana was right? Would Miss Elizabeth be a perfect mistress of Pemberley? But even if he did choose to make an offer, it appeared she would deny him if she did not love him. It was a novel experience to consider being rejected.

Novel and painful and yet also hopeful, because he wished to marry for love, as absurd as that sounded.

Yes, he wished to marry a woman he loved and who loved him in return.

/

Elizabeth’s Bedchamber

Elizabeth’s needles clicked rhythmically, a tiny sock forming under her skillful hands. Already a small pile of knitted baby booties lay beside her, neatly sorted into pairs, and several balls of yarn sat on her other side, awaiting their transformation. The knitting had become such a deeply ingrained habit that she could let her mind wander as she worked, and she dwelt cheerfully on the Darcys’ visit earlier in the day. She and Mr. Darcy had played three games of chess, and though she had lost two of their games, both had been close matches, and she flushed with pleasure as she thought of her own hard-won victory in the final game.

Even her father had been lured from the library to speak with their guests. He had lingered in the drawing room longer than intended, discussing literary works with Mr. Darcy – the classics, of course, and Shakespeare, and the latest farming manuals. Elizabeth had listened with satisfaction, surprised and charmed at Mr. Darcy’s breadth of knowledge and his courtesy toward her much less wealthy, country squire of a father.

She finished off the sock on her needles and set it aside. As she restrung her needles, the door opened, admitting her two youngest sisters.

“Good morning, Lizzy!” Lydia exclaimed, plumping herself onto the bed, causing the mattress to jiggle a little, while Kitty quietly took a seat on the chair across from Elizabeth’s.

“Good morning,” Elizabeth replied sedately, keeping her eyes on her ivory knitting needles, which flashed in the morning light from the sun streaming into the window.

“You knit with such skill, and so quickly,” Kitty said admiringly.

“It is all a matter of practice, but thank you. Now, do you need something?”

“We were talking with Miss Darcy yesterday,” Lydia said. “We are all in agreement that you should marry Mr. Darcy!”

Elizabeth coughed and choked, and not surprisingly, lost a few stitches on the blue booty in her hand.

“What?” she finally demanded.