Chapter 28

Drawing Room

Longbourn

Three Days Later

16 th November, 1811

Bingley sat uncertainly at the edge of his chair and clutched his tea cup, the tension in the air palpable. Mr. Bennet had come down at the announced arrival of a visitor and was ensconced in the most pleasant chair by the fire, his eyes clouded, his expression peevish. Mrs. Bennet had adopted a most unusual air of fluttery anxiety, and Miss Bennet's face was drawn and nervous. Miss Elizabeth visibly bit back irritation, not looking at her father, and Miss Mary labored industriously over a list at the table in the corner, her shoulder to the room and her head bent down.

"So, Mr. Bingley, do you think Mr. Darcy will be returning from Town anytime soon?" Mr. Bennet demanded.

Bingley eyed his host uneasily and said, "Erm, I am not certain. The family business which took him to Town may take some time for him to complete."

"I see," Bennet replied and cast an irritable look at Miss Bennet, who was seated next to Bingley. "Well, that is a pity. I had hoped I would have the pleasure of soon welcoming another son-in-law into the family."

Mrs. Bennet, hitherto silent, said in a complaining tone, "I do beg you not to joke around in such a way, Mr. Bennet. You know that Mr. Darcy has no interest in our Jane. You have no compassion on my nerves!"

Bingley blinked at this whining speech from the sensible Mrs. Bennet, but a moment later, Bennet rose to his feet and said, "You mistake me, my dear. I have a high respect for your nerves. They are among my oldest and dearest friends.Now, if Mr. Darcy is not here, I might as well make my way to my library, where I can enjoy some private time with the very best friends I have, my books."

"Until later, Papa," Jane said, and the other ladies murmured their own goodbyes.

Mr. Bennet stumped out of the room, his cane tapping away on the wooden floors, and shut the door behind him.

Bingley, looking around, observed that the four ladies wore expressions of embarrassment, with Miss Bennet appearing to be the most distressed of them all.

"I do apologize for that display," Mrs. Bennet said uncomfortably.

"It is quite all right," Bingley replied, unsettled by the grave faces of his hostess and her daughters.

Miss Bennet shook her head quickly, and her voice, when she spoke, was husky with distress. "It is not all right for my father to suggest any kind of commitment when Mr. Darcy merely asked me to dance twice. It is absurd and, yes, mortifying."

Bingley stared into the lady's lovely face and said impulsively, "I fear that I am to blame for this entire problem."

"You?" Miss Elizabeth demanded. "Most certainly not, sir. It was Mr. Darcy who asked Jane to dance twice, and in public, not you."

"But he did it on my behalf," Bingley explained.

The ladies gasped at these words, and Miss Bennet's blue eyes, which had been fixed on her own clasped hands, lifted to meet his own.

"Whatever do you mean?" Miss Elizabeth demanded.

Bingley was both nervous and embarrassed, but he forced himself to keep looking at Jane Bennet. "I … I have always longed for a marriage based on genuine love and affection. But I am a wealthy man, though not, of course, as wealthy as Darcy. In London, I have met many a lovely young lady and felt the stirrings of genuine attraction toward her, while she, in turn, smiled and spoke to me with apparent enthusiasm. But I wanted to be certain, you see, whether the woman drawing my interest liked me for myself, or for my fortune."

Miss Bennet was gazing at him now with wide eyes and a serious expression.

"How did Mr. Darcy assist you?" she asked.

Bingley blew out a breath and said, "Darcy has always been a truly devoted friend to me, and we agreed, some years ago, that if I thought a woman might prove an excellent wife, that he would pay some attention to the lady and see whether she stayed true to me or turned her regard on him. He is not only far richer but is also extremely well connected, whereas I am a son of trade."

"And?" Miss Elizabeth demanded.

Bingley finally broke his gaze on the lady he loved and looked around the room, where the other three ladies were staring at him intently.

"Every time, every single time , that Darcy paid even the slightest bit of attention to a woman I found interesting, the lady would promptly transfer her focus to him instead of me."

"That must have been discouraging," Elizabeth Bennet remarked, though her eyes were narrow.

"Yes, and no," Bingley said. "I know that Darcy is my superior in every way, and any woman pursuing a husband for purely, umm … practical reasons, would prefer him."

"Mercenary reasons," Miss Elizabeth said drily.

"And I do not think that is true," Jane Bennet continued firmly. "You are your own person, and I find you far more congenial than your friend."

"Thank you, Miss Bennet," Bingley said gratefully. "You are the first woman who has ever ignored Darcy's mild overtures, and when he asked for that second dance, it was a final test, so to speak. I suppose that … I confess neither of us considered that such a request would provoke gossip in the village and lead to such problems, though perhaps we should have expected as much."

"So when he asked other ladies for two dances at a ball, it raised no eyebrows?" Miss Mary asked, speaking for the first time.

Bingley grimaced. "In truth, the other women never required more than one dance to abandon me in favor of Darcy."

"I see," Miss Bennet said, now in a rather dazed voice.

"I apologize for such a test, when it has caused you a great deal of trouble. And perhaps it was not fair to you."

"It was not," Miss Elizabeth replied sharply.

"Neither Mr. Bingley nor Mr. Darcy could have anticipated Mr. Bennet's response," Mrs. Bennet said in a soothing tone and turned her attention on her eldest daughter. "Jane, my dear, none of us know what it is like to be hunted for a fortune. Many a husband and wife have been married based on looks, or fortune, or outward charm. Mr. Darcy was, I think, trying to be a good friend to Mr. Bingley."

"A very good friend," Miss Elizabeth said sarcastically.

Bingley felt himself redden, and he said, "The truth is that my father helped Darcy's father a great deal some years ago, and Darcy has always assisted me as a way to repay that assistance. I have, perhaps, been taking advantage of Darcy's sense of honor. It seemed harmless before, and better for the ladies, as I truly do not wish for a marriage of convenience. I was afraid that if I wed a lady with the expectation of a love match, while she focused primarily on wealth and status, we would both be unhappy."

The door opened at this juncture, and two maids entered with tea and refreshments. The conversation grew general, and Mr. Bingley spoke with his usual ease, though his eyes kept straying to Miss Bennet, whose countenance was thoughtful. He hoped he had not insulted the lady dreadfully. The more he knew of Jane Bennet, the more he loved her, and he could not imagine losing her.

But time would tell.

/

Pig in the Poke Pub

Meryton

Three Days Later

19 th November, 1811

The church clock down the street struck noon. The yokels were coming in to take their midday meal, but Wickham, who had spent a late and pleasant evening dicing and playing cards with his fellow officers, was still breaking his fast. A half-empty plate spoke to his appetite; crumbs of toast remained, along with several bites of eggs and thickly sliced bacon. His tankard was half empty once again, the ale inside rich and brown and hearty.

Wickham was pleased with his life. The cards and dice had been kind to him the previous night, and Meryton showed considerable promise. The locals were friendly and trusting, and not one of the merchants had shown the slightest hesitation in extending credit to Wickham, an officer in a fine red coat with gentlemanly address. All the local ladies cast him admiring glances, gentlewomen and merchants' daughters and farmer girls alike. He could, he thought, be quite happy here until the regiment moved on.

He had experienced considerable unease upon learning that Darcy was in the neighborhood, but two days previously the talk in all the shops and the pub had been how the Darcys had departed Netherfield. The Darcys? Wickham had inquired delicately. Oh, yes, Miss Georgiana Darcy had been visiting as well, though she was too young to come out in company much!

It made Wickham's blood boil. Once again, Georgiana had been within his reach, albeit he was not aware of it, and once again, she and her dowry had been snatched away from him by Darcy. It was infuriating! Had all gone well, he would have been wed in Scotland a few months previously, and Georgiana would be Mrs. Wickham, her dowry given rightfully up to her husband. But always Darcy must meddle. Even now, he had whisked his delicate little sister far away from Wickham and his rakish tendencies. Though truly, it was likely just as well the Darcys had departed from the area. At this juncture, it was unlikely that he would be able to convince Georgiana to elope with him, and with Darcy far away, he was free to move about Meryton with impunity.

And move he would, freely and without fear. His fellow officers were an amiable lot, and he enjoyed their companionship and conversation. They were eager to earn his goodwill, too, as his charm and good looks would open doors for them into sitting rooms and drawing rooms where sat the young ladies of town. And there were other possible delights from the lower class women of Meryton, of course. He glanced over to where Sarah, the barmaid, stood pouring drinks behind the long oak bar. She caught his eye, and he winked, eliciting a blush and a coquettish giggle. He turned back to his breakfast with a satisfied smirk. He knew from experience that it would not be long before he enticed the voluptuous young woman into his bed, with honeyed words and trinkets assuring her of his love.

Oh yes, Meryton was pleasing indeed. Even the bells over the door chimed melodically as it opened to admit more customers for the rotund landlord.

Wickham drained the last dregs of ale in his cup and glanced at the door. Two men had entered, both dressed in red military coats, and it was a full ten seconds before Wickham recognized one of them as his commanding officer, Colonel Forster, and the other as…

His feelings of cheery satisfaction instantly gave way to fearful disbelief. His arm, suddenly devoid of strength, fell onto the table, and the mug clinked loudly on the wooden surface.

Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, who had been scanning the room, turned at the sound of the mug, and a truly terrifying grin appeared on his weathered face.

"There you are, Wickham!" he boomed, striding over to the table with an obviously uncomfortable Colonel Forster at his heels. "It is so very good to see you again, old chap!"

This apparent bonhomie did not fool Wickham in the least. Richard Fitzwilliam had despised him for many years now, and after Ramsgate, the colonel probably wanted to drive a sword through his chest.

He suppressed a shudder and produced what he hoped was a convincing smile. "It is a pleasure to see you again, Colonel Fitzwilliam. Would you care to join us for breakfast?"

"No, no, my old friend," Fitzwilliam said jovially. "I ate hours ago. In my regiment, the officers do not stay up into the wee hours gambling and carousing, you know. Come along, Wickham; we have some matters to discuss."

Fear gave way to pure, unadulterated terror.

"Certainly," he said, thinking rapidly. "I will need to finish my meal, of course. Shall we meet in the barracks?"

"You will come now," Fitzwilliam said calmly, and Forster, who had been thus far silent, said, "Come along, Lieutenant Wickham. Now."

Wickham, looking around helplessly, saw expressions of surprise and curiosity on the faces of his fellow officers, but there was no hope of assistance of any kind. It was obvious that Colonel Fitzwilliam had filled Colonel Forster's ears with all kinds of regrettable information.

Well, he would have to bluff it out.

"Of course," he said, wiping his mouth with a napkin and rising to his feet. "Please lead the way."