Chapter V

T he Darcys of Pemberley's acquaintance with the Bennets of Longbourn and then Woodborough, existed since the time of Fitzwilliam Darcy's grandfather. While the acquaintance might have existed before, the current members of the family pointed to that time as the beginning of their friendship. The current Mr. Darcy's grandfather had been a university friend and confidante of Mr. Bennet's father, their friendship persisting through the Bennets' downfall. When Mr. Collins had acted to secure Longbourn, the Darcys had been of much succor to the Bennets, a service neither Henry Bennet nor his father had ever forgotten.

? The matter was, perhaps, a curious one to those who were not familiar with the two families, for prominent and ancient families possessing connections to the nobility rarely associated with minor gentlemen of other communities, and even less with parsons not attached to their estates. The relationship was not as close as it had been, for while the original friendship had been strong, a widened gulf had separated them. Henry Bennet, though he was familiar with the Darcy family, had been less a friend and more an acquaintance, though his family had kept in contact with the Darcys over the years.

? Again, to a distant observer, it might be a matter of some curiosity that the current families did not approximate the ages of their counterparts in the other. Henry Bennet was perhaps fifteen years the current Mr. Darcy's elder, and much younger than his father, Robert Darcy, had been. The reason was Henry's father had married late, unwilling to subject a wife to the life he had assumed when disinherited, until a woman, many years his junior, had convinced him to abandon his bachelor state. Henry was the result of that union.

? Of greater importance to the Bennets' fortunes, it had been the Darcys who had succored the cheated Mr. Bennet, accepting him into his home when he had no other place to go, arranging for him to attend the seminary when he determined to pursue the church as a profession. That might be another reason the elder Bennet had declined to take a wife for so long, for he had determined to repay his friend's charity, holding to his commitment in the face of Darcy's insistence it was unnecessary until he returned every farthing spent on his upkeep and schooling.

? The present patriarchs of the Bennet and Darcy families were perhaps closer than Bennet had been to Darcy's father. Bennet had been much younger than Darcy's father, which must account for some of the distance, and while he was no closer in age to Darcy than he had been to his father, Bennet found himself more comfortable with Fitzwilliam Darcy than he had with Robert, his father. This did not mean they were often in each other's company, but it allowed Darcy to accept Bennet's plea for help with little thought, for he had always esteemed the son of his grandfather's friend.

? Little of the family's history crossed Fitzwilliam Darcy's mind as he sat in the sitting-room of the house in Ramsgate, holding his weeping sister to his breast. That spring, having left the school she had attended and put in the care of Mrs. Younge, her companion, Georgiana had come to the house for a bit of a holiday, a reward for the efforts she had put into her studies. What Darcy had not told her was that he intended to join her as a surprise. It was fortunate he had not informed Mrs. Younge of his intention.

? "What is the meaning of this!" Darcy had demanded when he entered the room only thirty minutes earlier, seeing his sister and Mrs. Younge in the company of the detested George Wickham, the man Darcy considered the bane of his existence.

? Of the three, only Georgiana had found the ability to respond, for one look at her brother and her utter joy at seeing him had manifested itself in the wide smile she showed him. Darcy accepted her embrace, though he was feeling little of the usual happiness upon seeing his dear younger sister. Instead, his focus was on the ashen countenance of Mrs. Younge, and the anger displayed by Wickham; and in that moment, Darcy had known. The pair of them had some connection to each other and had conspired between themselves to impose upon his sister's tender heart, no doubt to steal her dowry.

? "Darcy!" exclaimed Wickham, the false joviality in his voice easy to detect. "Your coming is most fortunate, for Georgiana and I have wonderful news to share with you."

? "Wonderful news, is it?"

? Even Georgiana in her joy at seeing him heard the note of utter contempt that filled Darcy's voice. She pushed away from him, peering into his face with confusion. Wickham, however, was not slow of thought, for he rose at once, his intention clear in his determination to align himself with Georgiana.

? "Thompson!" bellowed Darcy, startling them both.

? A moment later, Darcy's most trusted footman, a mountain of a man standing several inches taller than Wickham and weighing several stone more stepped into the room. He took one look at Wickham and his face lit up in a feral grin as Darcy had known it would. Wickham feared Thompson, perhaps more than Darcy, or even Fitzwilliam, who had always provoked a healthy measure of caution. One look at Thompson and his complexion turned as pallid as Mrs. Younge.

? "Brother?" asked Georgiana, her voice softer than even was her wont. "Are you not happy to see me?"

? "I am thrilled to see you, Georgiana," said Darcy, mustering a smile for his sister. Georgiana did not miss the emphasis. "What I cannot understand is this snake's presence, for I did not think even he would possess the audacity to approach you."

? "I do not understand," said Georgiana, sounding faint. "Is he not your friend?"

? "He is not," said Darcy, his response curter than he intended. Then in a deliberate attempt to soften his tone, he added: "It has been many years since I called Wickham friend, for he lost all right to my esteem."

? Wickham made to say something, but Thompson loomed over him, cowing Wickham to silence yet again. Behind Darcy, he noted movement and turned to see that Roberts had entered the room on Thompson's heels. The two of them were more than enough to handle the likes of Wickham and Mrs. Younge.

? Georgiana gasped. "But brother!" wailed she. "I agreed to marry Mr. Wickham! What shall I do now?"

? "Yes, Darcy," said Wickham, his tone mocking, his desperation compelling him to speak even in the face of Thompson's menacing glare. "Your sister and I are to be married. Can you not find it within yourself to congratulate us for our joyful news?"

? Darcy glowered at Wickham, accompanied by the sound of Thompson's growl of warning, again intimidating him to silence. In the reprieve he gained, Darcy addressed his sister.

? "You are not engaged to Wickham, Georgiana," said he in the gentlest tone he could summon. "As you are underage, you require your guardian's permission to wed, and in your case, you would require my consent and Fitzwilliam's. There is no engagement, regardless of Wickham's claims."

? Georgiana let out a long breath of relief, pleasing Darcy with her easy acceptance and how quickly she threw off whatever spell Wickham cast over her. Though her lips trembled with suppressed emotion, she smiled at him, thanking him without words. Wickham, unfortunately, did not seem to understand that he had already lost.

? "This is touching, indeed," jeered he, again finding his courage. "However, I think you do not understand the reality of the situation, Darcy. Your sister is irrevocably compromised. How do you think those of society will accept this news of her transgression?"

? Before even the sound of his sister's cry of dismay reached his ears, Darcy was moving, the suddenness pushing Wickham to back away in consternation. He sat when his legs hit the sofa behind him. With Thompson looming over his shoulder, Darcy glared down on the caricature of a man stripped of his bravado without an ounce of pity.

? "Oh, I think you will say nothing of this affair, Wickham," snarled Darcy, any pretense of civility pushed aside. "For if you do, I will call your debts to me due. You and I both know they suffice to see you incarcerated for whatever remains of your pathetic life."

? "You would see your sister ruined without even attempting to negotiate with me?" demanded Wickham, his desperation clear in his rising voice.

? "I would not see her tied forever to a bounder such as you," retorted Darcy. "Georgiana is only sixteen; if this matter becomes known to society, her name will be on the lips of those of our station, but it will be forgotten by the time she comes out. You, however, will not be on hand to enjoy what little talk she must endure, for I shall bury you in the deepest, darkest hole I can find."

? When Darcy saw Wickham steeling himself for one more attempt, he barked: "Thompson!"

? "Yes, Mr. Darcy?" said Thompson, the sight of his burly form again cowing Wickham to silence.

? "See Wickham from the house and ensure he does not return."

? "Pity," said Thompson. "I still owe Wickham a thrashing. I would like to have another go at him."

? "As long as he leaves," replied Darcy, "I care little what state he is in when he reaches the street."

? The resulting scuffle as Thompson manhandled Wickham from the room, the latter spewing insults at Darcy and his sister, almost resulted in Darcy exacting his own bit of revenge from the cur's hide. Comforting Georgiana was his priority, however, so he allowed Thompson to handle the matter in an efficient manner. If the sounds emanating from the street below were any indication, Darcy was certain Wickham departed the house with several bruises. It was no less than Wickham deserved.

? Now, holding his sister as she sobbed, Darcy considered the situation, alternating between blaming Wickham for being a degenerate bounder and himself for hiring Mrs. Younge. Under close questioning, the woman had revealed she had, indeed, possessed a previous connection with Wickham, and had applied for the position at his insistence. She also confessed that she had never been a gentlewoman, her husband had been a man of business who had some dealings with the gentry, the references she had presented to him forged. Darcy had confiscated the forgeries and put her out of the house, warning her that if she ever crossed his path or passed herself off as a gentlewoman again, he would press charges.

? "Georgiana," said Darcy when it seemed her sobs had lessened. "Please speak to me dearest. Did Mr. Wickham impose himself on you?"

? Darcy did not know what else to say. He did not think his sister knew anything of what happened between a man and a woman unless Wickham had taken more liberties than he thought. The very notion provoked a black rage to descend over Darcy's mind; had Wickham taken that which was most precious from his sister, Darcy vowed he would not rest until the man dangled from the end of a rope.

? A sniffle was his sister's response, though she removed her head from his breast, her cheeks tear-stained and her eyes red-rimmed. "What do you mean?"

? Uncertain how to speak of such things, Darcy fought for the words, and then blurted: "He did not... touch you improperly or try to gain entrance to your boudoir?"

? With a frown, she shook her head. "Other than a few kisses to my hand, no. He attempted to kiss my lips once, but I informed him I would allow no such liberties until we were married."

? Darcy refrained from releasing an explosive breath by the barest of margins. "That is well then. Excellent, in fact."

? Aware though Darcy was that he sounded like a simpleton, Georgiana took no notice, instead giving him a dispirited sigh. "How disappointed you must be in me."

? "No, Georgiana," replied Darcy. "It was my error for not warning you against him and for hiring Mrs. Younge. You were alone and had no friends. It was fortunate I came early."

? That piqued Georgiana's interest. "I had forgotten. Why did you come?"

? "It was always my plan to surprise you," said Darcy, giving her an encouraging smile. "How could I not wish to be in my dearest sister's company?"

? Confidence bolstered, Georgiana thanked him and asked if he would excuse her. Though concerned for her wellbeing, Darcy agreed with her intention to return to her room, watching her depart. With her state of mind, he knew he could not leave her alone for long. For the moment, however, perhaps she needed a little solitary reflection.

? One fact was certain, however—he could not commit to joining Bennet at his estate as he had promised. To do so would entail leaving her with his aunt, Lady Susan Fitzwilliam, and while the lady was everything good, Darcy had no desire to inform her of Georgiana's near miss unless he must. Thus, there was no option but to write to Bennet about the delay in his plans. Perhaps he would need to cancel the engagement altogether. Darcy did not like to renege on a promise, but his sister was the most important consideration.

? Thus decided, Darcy sat at a desk in the room to compose the letter. At the same time, he wrote to Fitzwilliam to inform him of Wickham's latest perfidy. If Darcy knew his cousin at all, Fitzwilliam would spring to action to locate Wickham and administer retribution. Darcy wrote to him with satisfaction at Thompson's account of sending Wickham on his way with his nose bloodied and an eye swollen, through which he would not see for days to come. Perhaps that would satisfy Fitzwilliam's bloodlust for the moment. If it did not, Darcy would not concern himself if his cousin gave Wickham a few more bruises.

On Saturday of that week, John, their manservant at the parsonage in Woodborough, arrived with the Bennet family's remaining possessions on a wagon. As it had been longer than expected, the family gathered around to hear his tale, which he did not hesitate to share.

? "The wheel on the wagon broke," said he with an economy of words as was his wont. John was tall and lean, all whip-like strength, with hair of sandy blond and brown eyes. Elizabeth thought some ladies might find him handsome, the sort of man a woman would look at twice. "I lost three days waiting for a repair in Cambridge."

? "Then it is well I left you some funds when we came south," observed Bennet.

? The footman only nodded and, with his master's permission, began unloading the wagon with the help of the two stable hands. In the interim, the family had not been idle, their focus not on the updates to the interior of the house alone. With Mrs. Hill's support, they had interviewed several locals and hired two maids, a gardener, and another footman, the latter of whom was to come to Longbourn on Monday to begin his employment.

? Thus, the grounds were taking shape, as the gardener cleared away the detritus accumulated under the previous master. Jane had identified a disused plot near the back corner of the house which she designated to host her beloved rose garden, and while this was happening, Mr. Bennet had hired a few laborers to clear the weed-choked drive, after which a man arrived to smooth the gravel and return it to a proper state where it could host the carriages of the neighborhood families. The ivy along the walls was trimmed and the brick scrubbed until it gleamed in the sun's light.

? Inside, the neglect was not so pronounced, for Mrs. Hill had ensured the removal of the worst of the dust. The following week, several workers would arrive to implement the changes they had designed for the sitting-room, including fresh paper and several new pieces of furniture. Some of those pieces they had determined to re-upholster because of the more modest cost. When she looked upon all these upcoming changes, Elizabeth at last felt as if Longbourn was becoming a home, some of the unsightliness giving way to more tasteful décor.

? "It is good to receive the last of our possessions," said Jane later that evening when the three ladies gathered in the sitting-room. It had become something of a nighttime ritual to discuss the day's labors and debate what still needed to be done.

? "Oh, aye," said Elizabeth. "Given how much of Mr. Collins's possessions we threw onto the rubbish heap, the sitting-room was beginning to look at little bare."

? "Papa was worried for John," said Mary. "If he had not come, I think he might have sent a man north to inquire after him."

? "All is well that ends well," replied Elizabeth. "We are now settled, and Woodborough is in our past."

? "I wonder how Mr. Connors is managing his new position," said Mary, appearing thoughtful.

? Elizabeth shared a grin with Jane. Mr. Connors was their father's curate in Woodborough, and when word came of Mr. Bennet's inheritance of Longbourn, Mr. Talbot, the man with the living in his gift, had elevated Mr. Connors to the parsonage. Of more immediate import to the subject at hand, Elizabeth and Jane had both seen some partiality for Mr. Connors from Mary the previous months. While neither thought their sister was in danger of fancying herself in love with the young and serious man, they were not above a little gentle teasing either.

? "All is not yet lost, Mary," said Elizabeth. "If you ask Papa to write to Mr. Connors, I am certain he would see the benefit of having his former superior's daughter as a wife."

? Mary directed a withering look at Elizabeth and said in a voice more than a little prim: "Perhaps I should if only to remove myself from your teasing."

? "Depend on it, Mary," replied Elizabeth, "if you marry Mr. Connors, I shall make it a point to travel to Woodborough often if only to avail myself of the pleasure of teasing you."

? Jane allowed a stifled giggle, while Mary only glared. She turned the subject, and soon they were discussing the following day, the Sabbath. As it was to be their first Sunday attending church in Hertfordshire, the girls anticipated the experience, eager to learn of any differences from their father's parish. It would also be Mr. Bennet's first Sunday where he would not deliver the sermon, a matter Elizabeth knew would be a novel experience for her father.

While the girls debated their efforts in the sitting-room, Bennet was in the study, taking one last opportunity to wrestle with the estate's books. This time, however, he set them aside after only a few minutes, giving the matter up as a lost cause. It seemed there would be no understanding to be gleaned from that infernal tome, and thus Bennet needed to understand the estate's finances by other means.

? Fortunately, that means existed, for he had received a letter from Mr. Collins's banker in London, requesting he visit to discuss the accounts. While the man had not been explicit by post, Bennet had the distinct impression that all was not as it should be, though what that entailed he could not quite say. Bennet thought of pulling his daughters back from the expense of updating the sitting-room until he better understood their situation, but the thought of disappointing them was more than he could bear. Thus, he kept his own counsel, knowing the expenses there were little enough that they could weather them, even if the news he received from the banker was poor.

? It appeared there was nothing to be done but to go to London to meet with the man and discover what he could. Fortunately, while he was there, he could stay with Mr. Gardiner, his late wife's brother, a man of business Bennet had long esteemed. With Gardiner's business acumen, he might piece together the snippets of information he had to assemble a clearer picture of their position.

? In the back of his mind, however, Bennet considered the estate's steward, Mr. Sykes. Bennet had long considered himself a good judge of character, and every instinct he had informed him that Sykes was not a man to be trusted. There was a shifty look about him, the look of a man who would sell his mother to gain a penny. Sykes, to the best of Bennet's knowledge, had done little since Bennet's arrival, and what he had done appeared to be under duress, for he was a slothful man. While Bennet had thought of releasing him from his duties, something held him back, some measure of disquiet that informed him it would be best to keep Sykes where he could watch him. As Sykes showed no sign of wishing to give up his position, Bennet ignored him, wondering how he could learn what he wished to know. Then again, Bennet was not certain he knew what he should look for. That did not mean he allowed his guard to slip.

? "Your duties while with us," Bennet had informed John earlier that day, "will be much the same as they were in Woodborough. We hired another footman to start on Monday, so you will have some assistance."

? "Of course," had been John's only reply.

? "One other matter," said Bennet before releasing John to return to his room. "Watch Mr. Sykes for any improper activities—Mrs. Hill put you in the room next to his."

? John cocked his head to the side. "You suspect him?"

? "He does not behave like any steward I have ever seen," replied Bennet. "I do not trust him."

? "Very well," said John, Bennet's warning being enough for him.

? Thanking him, Bennet released him, and John departed at once, no doubt eager to rest after his long journey. Now, later that evening, Bennet considered what John might learn, deciding that if he did not discover something in the next week or two, he would simply release Sykes from his service. Darcy, he suspected, would know of a man who could take his place—any man Darcy recommended would be far more trustworthy than Sykes.

? With a sigh, Bennet took a sheet of paper and composed a letter to Mr. Gardiner. There was no reason to put it off, so he determined to travel to London early the next week. When that was complete, he snuffed out the candle in his study and departed the room to seek his bed.

? As he exited the room, he turned, noting the light from under the sitting-room door, and heard the ladies' laughter. His lips pulled up by a smile of affection, he stood there for several moments, listening to the unintelligible sounds of his daughters' merriment. It was fortunate that he had three such beautiful and intelligent ladies to share his life. The only regret he had was that Mrs. Bennet had not given him a son, though such daughters could not disappoint.

? That thought brought another, provoking a frown. With no son, the line of inheritance of the estate remained in question, though he could leave the property to one of the girls. Perhaps Elizabeth, for he was certain she was the best equipped to see to their recovered home.

? Shaking his head, Bennet turned away and made for the stairs, chewing the problem over in his mind. As he was not yet an old man, perhaps the best he could do would be to marry again, for then he would have the chance to father another son. The notion did not repel him as it would have in the weeks and months after Maggie's passing, though in truth he could not quite determine how he felt about it. That was a matter for further thought, though not at once. For the moment, he wished to seek his bed and steel himself against the morrow, where for the first time in many years he would attend church services and not play a central role in them.