Chapter Nineteen

CHAPTER NINETEEN

MR. DARCY WAS realizing that Elizabeth took after her father in a number of ways. He thought he and Mr. Bennet might have got on under different circumstances, but there were several things counting against an easiness between them, chiefly that he'd had his hand on the man's daughter's backside the evening before and that he was probably marrying her for reasons of lust and he was very sure that Mr. Bennet was going to realize this and condemn him for it.

Of course, Mrs. Bennet herself was a handsome woman, even at her age, so maybe Mr. Bennet knew about being drawn to a woman in that way.

It was disconcerting, however. Mr. Darcy had never been affected by a woman in this way before meeting Elizabeth. The fact that she felt it, too, well, that was gratifying, but he felt vaguely ashamed of himself. He knew, given everything, the only honorable thing to do in this situation was to marry her, but he had a feeling of trepidation about it all.

It was like that line from Romeo and Juliet . "It is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden, too like the lightning which doth cease to be ere one can say it lightens."

He was no foolish adolescent like the boy-man in that play. He should know a better way to conduct himself. And furthermore, it didn't turn out well for Shakespeare's star-crossed lovers, did it?

However, what was he to do? He didn't think this sort of attraction was commonplace. He had never wanted a woman so much that he wanted her against his better judgment. He must honor the violence of the allure. It was rare, and that meant it was worth experiencing.

He and Mr. Bennet drew up the papers, and they signed them, and the engagement was all right and proper. Mr. Bennet said that Mr. Darcy must stay and dine with the family, but Mr. Darcy was eager to get back to Elizabeth, and the ride was half-a-day's journey, so he must set off now that his business was concluded. He was expecting to enter into an argument with Mrs. Bennet about it, who would say it was imprudent to travel so far in one day, and he was practicing his arguments against it, so as not to sound as though he simply wanted to get back and lust over their daughter within close proximity instead of from afar.

But when they encountered Mrs. Bennet in the hallway at Longbourn, she was in a state. She had a letter in one hand, which she had clutched in a fist she was shaking, and tears were leaking readily down her cheeks. She was letting out a noise that could only be termed a wail.

"I see," said Mr. Bennet. "I imagine that she's just found out that the sort of petticoat she likes to wear has gone out of fashion. My wife is given to extreme reactions, you see."

"Oh!" Mrs. Bennet's eyes fixed on her husband with a look of pure hatred. "You would say something like that, Mr. Bennet. I cannot abide you sometimes."

"Well, my darling, abiding is what we have pledged to do, and it is what we both must attempt to do, forever and ever. This is what you've consigned yourself to, Mr. Darcy. This is marriage."

"Here." Mrs. Bennet held out the crumpled letter. "Here."

"I thought, Mrs. Bennet, you'd be pleased to know that at least one of our daughters has been spoken for. I know you spend ever so much time worrying over their matrimonial statuses." But he reached out to take the letter.

Mrs. Bennet slammed the bit of crumpled paper into his hand and stalked down the hallway and into the drawing room, still wailing .

Mr. Bennet gave Mr. Darcy an apologetic smile. "She does take on so. Not to worry. Lizzy is the least shrill of the women in the house. You chose well." He smoothed out the letter, blinked at it, and then grimaced.

"Sir?" said Mr. Darcy. "Is it bad news?"

Mr. Bennet folded the letter up, nervous, obviously weighing what his next words should be. "A family matter, sir. Nothing to concern you. But I think I may need to ask for privacy."

"Well, I am now to be part of this family," said Mr. Darcy. "What concerns this family concerns me." A spike of something sour was working its way down his spine.

Mr. Bennet hesitated, and Darcy understood that this was of such a serious nature that he worried that revealing it might make Darcy wish to not be connected with this family. It was on the tip of his tongue to say that he had trespassed too far against Elizabeth for there to be any thought of ever getting out of this engagement, that his honor would not allow it, and then he thought better of that.

Instead, Mr. Darcy simply held out his hand.

Mr. Bennet winced. He gestured with the folded-up piece of paper. "If it's as my daughter presents it in this letter, we shall weather it, but I find it… unsettling."

Mr. Darcy took the letter, pulled it right out of Mr. Bennet's grasp.

Mr. Bennet let out a little noise, but he allowed it.

Mr. Darcy read the letter. It was from Lydia Bennet, who was the youngest. He sometimes got Mary and Catherine mixed up, but Lydia was distinctive. She said that she was on her way to marry Mr. Wickham, and that they were eloping, and that it was such a lark that she, the youngest, was to be the first married of all the sisters.

"He has been associated with the family, you see," said Mr. Bennet. "But not with my youngest daughter, with my oldest, Jane. I would have had no objection if he'd come to me to ask for her hand—well, for Jane's. This… switching the girls, taking her off to be married in secret… it doesn't bode well. "

"No, it doesn't," said Mr. Darcy. "You have shared this with me, and I shall tell you that I am acquainted with this man, and that I well know what he's capable of." He began to speak, laying out the particulars of everything that had to do with Mr. Wickham, speaking with candor about what the man had done with Georgiana. When he had finished, Mr. Bennet looked ill.

Mr. Bennet shook his head again and again, speechless.

"This is my fault," said Mr. Darcy. "I could have exposed him, could have materially lessened his access to the women in this family if his reputation were well known. I sought to preserve my sister's honor, however, and because of that, this has happened."

"No, you must not blame yourself," said Mr. Bennet faintly.

"When do you think they set off?"

"Well, she was here this morning for breakfast," said Mr. Bennet.

"So, they can't have gotten very far, then," said Mr. Darcy. "If we go now, we can overtake them."

"And then what?" said Mr. Bennet.

Mr. Darcy wasn't entirely sure what happened after that, he had to admit. "Whatever the case, time is of the essence. If we make haste, we can prevent his hurting your daughter."

Mr. Bennet's features tightened. "You don't have to be part and parcel of this."

"I think I do," said Mr. Darcy.

JANE HAD MIXED feelings about the fact that there were no women present in the Bingley household. Miss Bingley was on an extended stay with her sister and husband in the country, apparently because of the man who was courting her, Mr. Higgins. They had followed him to some country house in Shropshire.

On the one hand, she did not think she could bear Miss Bingley's censure, nor her sharp tongue, and she was pleased to be spared that. On the other hand, this meant that it was frightfully improper for her to remain under this roof.

She would have left, truly, setting out on foot for Gracechurch Street, as had been her original plan, but she thought perhaps that going out, all alone, on foot, through London, was foolish. She would have begged Mr. Bingley for use of his carriage, but he had gone off like a shot after Mr. Wickham, so she was prevented from asking him for it.

She consented, then, to a hot bath, which felt like heaven itself on her tired and aching muscles. She dozed a bit in the bath, and then she woke to find the water cold and got out immediately.

She was in the midst of deciding whether she should dress—one of Miss Bingley's frocks had been fetched for her—or retire to bed when she got word that Mr. Bingley was back and that he had another man with her.

Heart in her throat, she worried that somehow Mr. Wickham had weaseled his way into Mr. Bingley's good graces, and she dressed in a hurry, resolving that if she must walk, she would walk.

However, when she alighted on the first level, the man in the drawing room with Mr. Bingley was not Wickham at all, but Colonel Fitzwilliam.

Upon laying eyes on her, he hurried across the room, his countenance all solicitude and concern. "Miss Bennet, how good it is to you see you whole and safe."

"You have come here all the way from Kent?" she said.

"You must not be angry with your sister," said the colonel. "She and I spoke sometime this morning. Seems twenty years ago at this point. I promised her I would tell no one what she told me, and you have my word that I have not. However, once I knew what had transpired, I knew that I could not leave you to the mercy of Mr. Wickham, and I had to intervene."

Mr. Bingley stepped close to the both of them. "We arrived at the boardinghouse at roughly the same time," he said, "and he insisted on accompanying me here to see you. I could not refuse him politely." But clearly, from his manner, Mr. Bingley wished to have refused him. That was curious. Why didn't Mr. Bingley like the colonel? Perhaps they had some quarrel she wasn't privy too. She would do her best, she decided, to keep the peace between them.

She tried a smile. "I am, of course, rather mortified to have been in such need of rescue, Colonel Fitzwilliam. But I appreciate your attention and concern, all the same." She turned to Mr. Bingley. "And you, sir, have been very good to me, better than you likely should have been, I think."

"Exactly the right amount," said Mr. Bingley, affronted.

"I'm glad Mr. Bingley has been good to you," said Colonel Fitzwilliam. "I think, however, given the situation, we must get you to your relatives in town sooner rather than later. Though I can vouch for my own honor in this situation, there is nothing about your being alone in a house with two bachelors that appears proper."

"Oh, indeed, yes," said Jane. "If I could have use of a carriage, I shall readily take my leave. But I must inquire after Mr. Wickham?" Was he dead? What had happened?

Both of the men sighed heavily. They both turned away, and the colonel ran a hand through his hair and Mr. Bingley looked down at his shoes, ruefully shaking his head.

She steeled herself. "Did you come upon Mr. Bingley killing him, because—"

"Killing him?" The colonel looked appraisingly at the other man. "Well, Bingley, you surprise me."

Mr. Bingley bared his teeth at the colonel, puffing up his chest. "You may sneer at me all you like, Fitzwilliam, but I shan't apologize for the fact that I wished to do damage to that man. He deserves it."

"Oh, no," said the colonel, laughing. "You mistake me. I should not mind it a jot if he were to simply disappear, believe me. But you don't seem to have any stake in this little drama."

"Oh, and you do?" said Mr. Bingley. "What is Miss Bennet to you?"

"What is she to you?" said the colonel .

And now the men were glaring at each other.

Oh, dear.

This was rather strange, wasn't it? Jane had never experienced anything like it in her life. It was awful, really, very terrible, and she should not enjoy or anything of that nature. She did not. Enjoy it, that is. She would open her mouth soon to condemn it. Very soon.

"Now, see here, I have been in Miss Bennet's company every morning for the past several weeks," said the colonel. "She and I have talked of all manner of things, have we not, Miss Bennet?" He turned to Jane.

She was not smiling. She really wasn't. This was madness. How did something like this happen to her, little sweet and boring Jane Bennet?

"Well, I have known Miss Bennet for some time," said Mr. Bingley. "She spent a number of nights in my house caring for her sick sister, and we had all manner of conversations about everything from the accomplishments of young ladies to moving house in a hurry."

"Oh, yes, I heard about this," said the colonel. "This was while you were making love to her sister."

Mr. Bingley glared at the colonel. "I have found that my estimations of the two sisters were incorrect upon further consideration. The more I consider Miss Jane Bennet, the more I can't seem to stop considering her." He looked at her when he said this, and something about the look in his eye made her feel a jerk of something very pleasant. "As it happens, I have already asked for her hand in marriage."

The colonel's eyes widened, and he turned to look at Jane.

"Well, that wasn't serious!" Jane was giggling.

" I could marry you," said the colonel to Jane.

Jane threw back her head and laughed in surprise and delight. What a day she was having! She was likely dreaming. Yes, that must be it. Soon, she'd wake up in the rectory at Hunsford and Mr. Wickham would never even have appeared.

To think, that in the span of so few hours, I have been proposed to thrice .

"I should say that I did propose to your sister," said the colonel. "But she refused me, and it seems Bingley and I are both on equal footing in that regard, so I don't see it should count against me."

" I never asked Miss Elizabeth to marry me," said Bingley.

"Oh, you might as well have," said the colonel. "Everyone thought you were going to."

"But I did not ," said Bingley. "As it happens, I have only ever proposed marriage to one woman on earth, and that is Jane Bennet."

Jane was still laughing.

"You know, I find the fact that she seems to think this is all a jest rather troubling," muttered the colonel.

"That's your doing," said Bingley. "She was not laughing earlier."

"My apologies," said Jane. "It's only that it's ludicrous, all of this." She took a breath, calming herself. "I am to assume that Mr. Wickham is not dead?"

"Oh, of course," said Bingley. "We don't know where he is."

"After you ran off, he left," said the colonel. "We were able to ascertain that he had gone off on horseback, he was going roughly northeast, but otherwise, we don't know anything."

"Hertfordshire is northeast," said Jane. "He is stationed there with the regiment. Perhaps he simply went home."

The colonel and Bingley eyed each other.

She put her hands on her hips. "Don't kill him."

They turned to look at her.

"Not for me," she said. "This is not some contest. Do not go back and bring me his head like some macabre play, and think that I shall reward whichever one of you dispatches him with my favor. He has his faults, granted, but killing him is not the way."

"He raped my niece and he attempted to rape you!" exclaimed the colonel.

"Well," muttered Mr. Bingley, "to be fair, it seems he has been foiled in both of those attempts. "

"I am not saying," said Jane, "that I excuse him or that I shall ever trust him again, but there is something in him. A sort of vulnerability, some hurt deep down—"

"Oh, please!" said Mr. Bingley.

At the same time, the colonel groaned loudly.

"Well, perhaps he could be reformed," said Jane.

They both simply glowered at her.