Chapter 13

Darcy’s best carriage rolled its way toward the vast estate of Rosings, where Lady Catherine de Bourgh, his aunt, and Miss Anne de Bourgh, his feeble cousin, lived.

From his seat within, Darcy stared absently out of the window, eyes following the path of the white puffball clouds sailing through a sky of glorious blue. His gaze dropped as they passed a field, where a distant farmer was visible behind a plow harnessed to a rather nice pair of chestnut Suffolk sorrel horses. For a moment, all the view was obscured by a dark and thickly-leaved hedge before the carriage emerged into wider lands once more.

He disinterestedly observed a house they were passing, perhaps the seat of some small country squire. Red brick, simply and sturdily built, with three pink cherry trees in full bloom before the front windows. His eyes drifted past it to the fields beyond as the carriage rolled on.

“What is wrong, Darcy?”

Darcy jerked in surprise and turned toward his cousin and friend, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam of his Majesty’s Regulars and said, “Nothing is wrong.”

The colonel shook his head. “Nonsense, Cousin; I have known you a very long time, you know, and while you might fool most people, you will not fool me. Something is wrong, and I insist on knowing the truth of the matter. Is it Georgiana?”

“No, no, it is not Georgiana,” Darcy replied unguardedly, and then grimaced at the sight of Fitzwilliam’s knowing smile. He admitted “Oh, very well. I confess that I am rather perturbed in my mind, but there is nothing to be done about the matter, after all.”

“Do tell me,” Richard said in his most persuasive voice. “I am, after all, older and wiser than you are. Perhaps I can come up with a solution.”

Darcy chuckled at this. “I will admit to being two years younger than you, but I will not allow that you are the wiser one.”

He hesitated and decided that, after all, he did wish to speak of this fire in his heart and Richard was entirely safe…

“Do you remember my friend Bingley?” he asked.

“Of course I do,” the colonel said, leaning back in his seat and crossing his ankles neatly. “Is he in some sort of trouble?”

“I thought he was, and then realized I was wrong, that he was not,” Darcy returned, not very lucidly. This, not surprisingly, provoked a confused look on his cousin’s face, so Darcy proceeded to describe Bingley’s decision to lease Netherfield Hall in Hertfordshire, his meeting and courting Miss Jane Bennet, whose father was an eccentric country gentleman and mother the vulgar daughter of a solicitor, of Darcy’s own concerns about the relationship, followed by his successfully encouraging Bingley to decamp permanently to London in late November. Then the meeting in Hookham’s Library in February, and the visit at the Gardiners’ home, and the ice skating party, and the engagement, and the marriage.

Richard Fitzwilliam, second son of the Earl of Matlock, listened to this recital with a wrinkled brow and an intent expression on his face.

“So Bingley is angry at you for your interference?” he hazarded.

Darcy shook his head. “No, no, Bingley is kindness itself, and once I apologized for my actions, he forgave me readily enough. Interestingly, he has taken a very hard line with Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley, but since their desire to end Bingley’s courtship was based on selfish desires, and mine was not, perhaps that is reasonable enough.”

“Are you worried that the new Mrs. Bingley will ruin Bingley’s place in society, or will impoverish him, or…”

“No, not at all. Well, the marriage will not help Bingley socially, but I realize that matters not, as Bingley does not care particularly about being accepted by the haut ton. Mrs. Bingley is a charming lady with a gentle disposition and respectable habits, and her affection for Bingley is genuine.”

“Then what is the problem?” Fitzwilliam demanded with pardonable bewilderment.

Darcy leaned back against the squabs of his seat, groaned aloud and lifted one unquiet hand to ruffle his dark hair.

“I am in love with Mrs. Bingley’s next younger sister,” he said baldly.

Richard Fitzwilliam stared, his mouth drooped slightly open in his incredulity, before repeating, “You are in love with…”

“Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” Darcy answered, his eyes taking on a fervent light that Richard had never before seen in his cousin’s dark orbs.

“The daughter of a country gentleman, whose mother’s father was a solicitor, who has no dowry, no connections…”

“Exactly,” Darcy said despondently. “Exactly. It is absurd to think that I could make her my bride. I have my name to consider, and more than that, I owe it to Georgiana to marry a woman who can assist her when she is of age to enter society.”

He lapsed into sorrowful silence and his cousin tapped his lips as he considered this remarkable situation.

“ Why are you in love with her?” he asked finally. “Is Miss Bennet a beauty?”

Darcy blinked and shook his head, then changed his mind and nodded. “She is very handsome, though from a purely intellectual point of view, I have met other eligible women who were even lovelier. But yes, Miss Bennet is very pretty. But you know my situation, Richard; I have been exposed to every beauty in the Marriage Mart for the last seven years, and I have never felt even a modicum of true attraction, and certainly not love, for any of them. Miss Bennet is … oh, she is intelligent, and lively, and vigorous. She does not truckle to me in the least, unlike most ladies. She debates with me, and once she refused to dance with me, and … I have never met a woman like her. I have never wanted something so much as to ask her hand in marriage, but it is impossible.”

The colonel heaved an exasperated sigh. “Why is it impossible?”

Darcy stared at him in open bewilderment. “I told you, her mother’s family has connections...”

Richard waved an irritable hand, causing his cousin to lapse into startled silence.

“I know you, Darcy,” Richard said. “I know you as well as I know my own brother. You are a very intelligent gentleman, and frankly a peculiar one, and you would not be happy with a mere marriage of convenience. Now, I would be. I do not require a love match, which is just as well, since as the second son of an earl, I require a substantial dowry from my bride in order to live comfortably. Cousin, I have never heard you speak in such a way about a woman before, and if you will take my advice – which you probably will not because you are quite the most stubborn man I know – well, I think you should leap at the chance to marry a woman of intelligence and vitality, one who does not grovel before you and to whom you are attracted.”

“Do you genuinely think so?” Darcy demanded eagerly.

“I do, at least based on my limited knowledge of the lady. I assume you think she would treat Georgiana well?”

“Oh yes, for they met when we went ice skating, and Georgiana liked both the Misses Bennet very much and their uncle and aunt, a tradesman and his wife. In fact, Mrs. Gardiner actually grew up in Lambton and had wonderful things to say about our mother, whose generosity was much appreciated by Mrs. Gardiner’s father, who was rector in Lambton for many years. Georgiana and I were both very impressed with the Gardiners – they are intelligent and well bred, and I believe you would like them as well.”

Richard grinned at this outpouring of words from his usually taciturn cousin, but he decided not to tease him. “In that case, I believe you should marry Miss Bennet.”

Darcy’s mouth widened into what was almost, but not quite, an idiotic grin until an unpleasant thought crossed his mind, and he grimaced.

“What is it, Darcy?”

“I just remembered that there was quite an unpleasant scene at Longbourn, the Bennets’ home, the day of Bingley’s wedding. George Wickham was there, you see...”

Colonel Fitzwilliam’s posture changed from that of a languid cat to a ferocious tiger in a matter of seconds.

“Wickham? What?! ”

Darcy moaned and explained, at length, why George Wickham was in Meryton and how the previous November, Miss Bennet had obviously befriended him.

“However,” Darcy finished hopefully, “I received a mostly legible letter from Bingley only two days ago, and Wickham has been arrested for thievery and indebtedness, so I am certain Miss Bennet has realized that Wickham is a scoundrel.”

“It does not say much for the lady’s wisdom if she thought otherwise,” the colonel said drily.

Darcy wrinkled his nose and said, “I cannot fault her, for I was not particularly friendly when first we met, and Wickham – well, you know he could charm the skin off of a snake! The man is friendly, handsome, gregarious, rather like Bingley, except of course Wickham is completely immoral and selfish, whereas Bingley is a godly, honorable gentleman.”

“I suppose that is true enough,” Richard admitted. “After all, Georgiana thought herself in love with the knave...”

He trailed away and looked down at the floor of the carriage, unwilling to see the anguish in his cousin’s eyes. He knew that Darcy blamed himself for having chosen Mrs. Younge as Georgiana’s companion, as the woman (he would not call her a lady) had been in league with George Wickham. Together, the two had nearly managed to entice Georgiana into a runaway marriage across the border in Scotland.

“In any case,” Darcy said, shaking off his gloomy thoughts, “You give me great hope, Richard. Of course, I cannot pursue Miss Bennet now, since she is in Hertfordshire and we are committed to staying at Rosings for two weeks, but perhaps I can ask Bingley to host me at Netherfield when we leave here.”

He smiled and settled himself in his seat, his eyes fixed on the ceiling as his thoughts turned to a pair of fine eyes in the face of a truly beautiful woman.

“Darcy,” Richard said twenty minutes later, “we are almost there.”

The master of Pemberley looked out the window and stiffened his spine in preparation for meeting Lady Catherine, who was invariably an exhausting personage.

“Did you tell me there is a new rector in the parsonage?” Richard asked idly, his eyes fixed on the house approaching on the left hand side of the road.

“Yes, a Mr. Collins who is, oddly enough, heir to Miss Bennet’s father’s estate of Longbourn. He recently married the former Miss Charlotte Lucas, who is one of Miss Bennet’s close friends.”

“I believe I see her!” Richard said. “He is a fortunate man, as she is quite a beauty!”

Darcy crinkled his brow at this. He remembered Mrs. Collins quite well, and while she was good-natured, well-mannered, and intelligent, she was not at all pretty. He moved a little closer to his cousin and peered out the left hand window toward the parsonage, a small but well-built structure made of white stone, with cheerful green shutters and a green door.

The first sight to meet his eyes was that of Mr. William Collins, standing at attention until he saw Darcy, whereupon the man performed a ludicrously low bow.

A few seconds later, the lady standing next to Collins, who was looking down at a bed of tulips in a variety of riotous colors, turned to face the carriage, and Darcy felt his heart leap into his throat. He fell back against the squabs with an inarticulate cry, leaving his cousin gaping in astonishment.

“What is wrong?” Richard demanded as the carriage swept past the parsonage toward the grand mansion of Rosings.

“That … that is Miss Bennet!” Darcy croaked out. “She is here!”