Chapter 5

“W ell?” the colonel asked eagerly of Mrs Barstow. Early in the morning, they met like two conspirators in the sitting room of Mrs Barstow’s apartment, far from the prying ears that had a knack for capturing secrets within the confines of Rosings—and far from Mr Darcy.

“You were right! She is delightful, intelligent, and pure! And he is quite taken with her,” she replied, a spark of exhilaration in her eyes. The colonel clapped his hands with satisfaction.

“I told you so! I received at least three letters in which he could not help but express his admiration for a certain lady. In his typically reserved manner, he described her as the most accomplished young lady he had encountered recently.”

“Oh yes, we make a fine pair when devising battle plans. It was relatively easy to find out her name.” Mrs Barstow tittered, recalling their conversation shortly after Darcy had arrived from Hertfordshire, when Elizabeth’s name had been uttered with an air of regret.

“But what about her? Does she…like him?” the colonel asked, eager to learn more.

“My dear Richard, gaining a lady’s trust is no simple feat. She possesses a keen intelligence that would not easily be deceived. However, I observed her showing a distinct interest in him during dinner, and when he appeared in the music room…there was a certain spark between them.”

“Oh! How angry I am!” the colonel exclaimed in his usual forthright manner. “If only that scoundrel Wickham had not made his appearance in the county, Darcy’s journey to Hertfordshire might have had a different result. You could have accompanied Georgiana there, and I am confident that spending a few days near Miss Bennet, you would have made them see what they ought to see!”

“But I still do not understand what Wickham was doing there.”

“He joined the militia, and his regiment happened to be stationed in Hertfordshire for the winter.”

“A dreadful coincidence! I can only imagine what Fitzwilliam felt when he encountered him again. Do you recall our efforts during the summer to prevent a duel between them?”

The colonel nodded, his expression sombre. Those had indeed been trying times, with Wickham, aided by Georgiana’s companion, Mrs Younge, attempting to seduce Georgiana.

Mrs Younge had been engaged as Georgiana’s companion by Darcy after she left school, but he had been grievously mistaken in her character, discovering too late that she had a prior association with George Wickham. During a summer visit to Ramsgate, with Mrs Younge’s connivance and assistance, Wickham had tried to convince Georgiana to believe herself in love, with the intention of eloping and securing control of her substantial dowry, all while seeking revenge on Darcy. However, when Darcy had unexpectedly arrived, Georgiana had confided in him, viewing him as a father figure.

“How did you come to realise that Mrs Younge could not be trusted?” the colonel asked; until then, they had refrained from delving into the painful details of the entire ordeal.

“I simply had a feeling. I visited them shortly after Mrs Younge’s was employed. Instead of welcoming me, she took great care to keep me at a distance from Georgiana, which struck me as peculiar. Furthermore, in an informal conversation about Derbyshire, she inadvertently mentioned her acquaintance with George Wickham. When I learnt that she had taken Georgiana to Ramsgate, I implored Fitzwilliam to make the journey and bring her back.”

“What fortunate intuition! I am grateful for your vigilant care of her. When Darcy informed me of the situation and your decision to stay with Georgiana for as long as necessary for her recovery, I finally could calm my fears. And just when he appeared to be improving and even showed an interest in a lady, Wickham reappears! What wretched luck.”

“Did he leave the country because of Wickham?” Mrs Barstow asked.

“No, he told me that Bingley made a poor choice, falling for a woman who was only interested in his wealth.”

“Oh!” Mrs Barstow exclaimed, then continued with a touch of malice, “I am delighted that he recognises the perils his friends face, while he remains far too confident that such perils could never befall him.”

“What do you mean?”

“What do I mean?That Lady Amelia—”

“What about her?” the colonel asked with keen interest.

“What about her?” Mrs Barstow asked, surprised that men didnot see such obvious things. “She has been quite persistent in pursuing Darcy since the beginning of this year, and she is not the most suitable match for him.”

“But Darcy has no intention of marrying her.”

“Are you certain? Or, let me rephrase that. Marriage is not always solely a gentleman’s decision.”

“No, Mrs Barstow, no. Darcy is well-versed in such matters and unlikely to fall into any traps.”

“My dear, I doubt any man is entirely immune when faced with such a lady.”

“At least I am safe, as no lady of that ilk would ever see me as a target!” the colonel remarked with a tinge of sadness.

“Do not be so sure. Money is just one incentive, and you belong to a prestigious family, highly regarded in society. That alone could be reason enough. But Darcy is now safe with Miss Bennet on the scene.”

“That is why you left Georgiana and came here!” the colonel exclaimed, his satisfaction evident .

“Georgiana is in safe hands with her former nanny and a tutor, and the servants have been warned not to allow that scoundrel anywhere near the house. But our dear Fitzwilliam is currently in peril, and the only way to help him is to guide him to follow his heart, not merely his masculine instincts.”

“You know I adore you,” the colonel said.

“I shall not marry you, Richard!” Mrs Barstow teased.

“Oh, what a pity. I believe you would be the perfect match for me. I provide the strength, and you supply the intellect,” he replied in jest, and they both shared a hearty laugh. “Now, what is the plan?”

“I shall speak to Fitzwilliam and discover his feelings—and plans if possible. You must take your cousin on a daily walk in the park, visit the Parsonage as often as possible, and then one day, not very far in the future, you will invite Miss Bennet to accompany you on a stroll. Befriend her and present your cousin in the most favourable light, with subtlety.”

“Do you truly believe I have such finesse?”

“Yes, you are quite capable of doing anything for your cousin, just as he would be for you. He needs to be in her company for as long and as often as possible, and I hope that eventually he will make the right decision.”

???

“Now, Fitzwilliam, please have a seat,” Mrs Barstow said to Darcy after breakfast as they retired to the library to write letters—the only activity Lady Catherine permitted to take place without her direct involvement.

“Now, dear aunt?” he replied with a smile, though he could not entirely evade Mrs Barstow’s penetrating gaze.

“I wish to have a word with you.”

“I am at your disposal,” he responded, still wearing his amiable expression.

After the passing of his father, Mrs Barstow had lived with them for nearly three years, caring for him and Georgiana as a loving mother figure. She had only returned to her estate in Surrey when they were in better spirits. Still, she continued to visit them regularly.

In the wake of the summer’s trying events, he had fervently begged her to look after Georgiana, recognising that his sister needed the presence of a maternal figure during that difficult phase of her life.

“I was curious why you insisted on accompanying us to Rosings,” he remarked, studying her closely. As she remained silent, he continued, “Do you recall Mama mentioning her wish for me to marry Anne?”

“Never! Such a notion is preposterous!” Mrs Barstow exclaimed forcefully, though she moderated her tone, mindful that Lady Catherine might not be far away. “Never once did she express such a wish. All she ever wanted was for you to be happy. Are you happy, Fitzwilliam?”

“What is happiness, Aunt?”

“Let us avoid a philosophical discourse. I am referring to the everyday form of happiness—the kind your parents once enjoyed or that your uncle and I did long ago when he was alive.”

“That sort of happiness implies a family…a wife,” he re plied, his words chosen carefully.

“Exactly, a wife. You are approaching thirty, my dear, and it is time to consider marriage. But not just any marriage. Not one of those women I encounter so frequently in London.”

Darcy smiled as he regarded her. His aunt possessed intelligence and subtlety, but her intent was evident today, and she made no effort to conceal her aims. She had heard rumours about him and intended learning more. Yet, he was not one to readily confide, even in someone as close to him and Georgiana as Mrs Barstow.

“I do not intend to meddle in your affairs—”

But Darcy interrupted her with a plea. “Please meddle, dear aunt!” They both smiled, looking at each other.

“My dear boy, you are the son I wish I had. And all that matters to me is your happiness. I understand that a gentleman must gain various experiences before marriage, and I believe you and the colonel have had your share. But now is the time for a wife, and you must choose her with your heart.”

“The heart can be deceiving.”

“Not in your case. Your heart possesses the intelligence to choose the right mistress of Pemberley. It is your mind that misleads you, along with your so-called social or family expectations. Be truthful with yourself and her and listen to your heart!”

Their intimate conversation was interrupted by Lady Catherine’s growing impatience as she wondered why her guests were spending time without her, and she took Mrs Barstow away. Alone in the room, Darcy approached the window. In the distance, the Parsonage was visible through the trees. And a sudden wish to visit that house overwhelmed him. But contrary to what his aunt had prompted him to do, he silenced his heart and let his mind take control.

???

The carefully laid plan appeared to require some adjustment, for nothing remarkable happened in the days that followed. The cousins made their visits to the Parsonage, on some occasions unaccompanied and on others under the watchful eyes of Lady Catherine and Mrs Barstow. They wandered through the park and often found themselves in the presence of Miss Bennet, most frequently in the quiet morning hours. Dinners at Rosings were arranged with the intent to seat Mr Darcy near Miss Bennet. Yet, to the dismay of all concerned parties, nothing of consequence seemed to occur.

“I am desperate,” the colonel confessed one morning to Mrs Barstow during their secret rendezvous before breakfast.

“I know what you mean,” sighed the lady.

“Just yesterday, when we paid a visit to the Parsonage, Darcy scarcely uttered ten words. It was as though a shadow had fallen upon his countenance when we entered the house, shrouding his usual charm and true nature. My cousin, so quick-witted, so clever, so possessed of a sharp tongue, becomes a mere monument to dullness whenever Miss Bennet is present. Yesterday, he called on her, and she was alone… I shudder to imagine what transpired. Instead of courting her with his usual wit and humour, showing her how suitable they are for each other with sparkling conversations, he likely stood as immobile as a statue, cold as marble. You have more experience in life—what is happening? Were we wrong about his feelings?”

“I fear the matter is more complicated than we initially thought. We were not wrong, but Fitzwilliam seems locked in a struggle with his own emotions.”

“But why?” the colonel implored.

“That, I truly cannot imagine. It cannot be due to any financial concerns, for he does not need his wife to possess great wealth. I am at a loss as to why he continues to reflect.”

“Then why does he not leave? Why stay here like the shadow of the man he usually is?”

“Because he is still reflecting,” Mrs Barstow replied with a heavy heart.

“I may need to leave, even though I promised to be at his disposal,” the colonel lamented.

“I know. So may I, for Georgiana has penned a long missive urging my return to London…yet, let us grant them a few more days. You still have not had that conversation with Miss Bennet—that could be our last chance to make her see what is happening and make her act in one way or another.”

“If she loves him—which neither of us can say. In this particular situation, I fear being too friendly—she might like me more than my cousin,” the colonel jestingly remarked.

But Mrs Barstow regarded him with a hint of concern, for on more than one occasion, Miss Bennet had shown that she enjoyed the colonel’s company. Considering Darcy’s sudden aloofness and complete dullness, this was a matter not to be taken lightly.

“Just yesterday,” the colonel continued, “Darcy told me that Lady Amelia sent a missive beseeching him to return to London. To my surprise, he appeared quite pleased by the message.”

“I fear that my darkest thoughts have been confirmed. He may well decide to withhold his intentions from Miss Bennet and depart for London to meet Lady Amelia, sealing his fate to our great regret.”