Page 17 of A Cleverly (Un)contrived Compromise (Love’s Little Helpers #3)

CHAPTER 17

D arcy enjoyed dancing and conversing with Elizabeth, but the remainder of the ball was insufferable. He smiled and danced, all the while planning how to inform his family of his engagement.

He would write them that same night and send his letters by messenger at first light. They would know by tomorrow afternoon—this afternoon. Would this infernal ball never end?

His uncle Hugh and aunt Helen, Lord and Lady Matlock, would want to meet Elizabeth, and Darcy foresaw no difficulties in her passing their inspection.

However, he dreaded informing Richard. Darcy would rather tell him the whole truth of the matter, but to do so in a letter which could be lost or intercepted was foolhardy. If Darcy was not careful, his cousin would hop on his fastest horse and race to Hertfordshire. He would feel no compunction imposing on Bingley’s hospitality so he might tease and torment Darcy until he confessed the whole story just to shut him up. He must keep Richard at bay.

And there was Georgiana. Darcy could think of nothing worse than his heartsore sister arriving at Netherfield Park to see Bingley drooling like a lovesick puppy over another lady or potentially seeing Wickham. How might he prevent it?

Georgie would want to meet her new sister, and rightly so. London was a convenient distance to travel to Hertfordshire. If Darcy was not careful, his entire family would materialize here, and that must be avoided. The image of either of his aunts meeting Mrs. Bennet sent a cold shiver down his spine.

It took two reels and a cotillion before he settled on a plan which was both plausible and appeasing. He would simply beg Georgiana to return to Pemberley with her companion to ready the house for his new bride. Richard would accompany them for their safekeeping. Two birds with one stone.

As for his aunts, he would have to depend on Lady Catherine’s aversion to travel and Lady Matlock’s attentiveness to Georgie to keep them away.

Confident in the success of this strategy, Darcy slept soundly once the letters had been written and a messenger secured.

Maddeningly, he woke only a few hours later at his usual time. He lay abed another quarter of an hour past six trying to coax himself back into slumber, but it was not to be.

He had too much to think about: how to separate Bingley from the Bennets, how to prevent Georgiana from meeting Miss Bennet, how to behave like a besotted suitor…

To continue abed was futile, so he rose and dressed. A quarter hour later, he descended the stairs and out to the stables to his saddled gelding, his greatcoat fluttering behind him like a cape.

He soon found the heavily trodden path upon which Elizabeth had made her way to Netherfield during her sister’s convalescence. The day she had arrived with wind-blown hair curling wildly around her, cheeks heightened to a becoming hue of pink, her eyes bright with exercise, and her petticoats damp with mud— hardly the six inches Bingley’s sisters claimed. Elizabeth had presented an impressive figure of one who loved nature and doted on her sister.

Darcy frowned. He doted on his sister too.

While it pleased him to have something more in common with his betrothed, he also recognized the danger their conflicting ends presented.

On what errand could he send Bingley away?

A gentle slope rose before Darcy, the sun peeking over its edge piercing through the dawn.

When he reached the top of the hill, there she was, walking alone up the other side, her bonnet hanging down her back, fog swirling around her skirts. He raised his hand to wave, certain she saw him when she scrambled to don her bonnet and tie the ribbons neatly at her chin.

He wished she would not bother. He rather liked her hair.

Darcy dropped his hand and tempered his smile. He had not meant it to be so grand.

Handing his horse to the groom who followed behind, Darcy stood beside Elizabeth. He tried to say something clever, but the harder Darcy tried to focus, the more she smiled up at him, and the more scattered his thoughts became.

It was Elizabeth who finally spoke. “You are out early.”

He could have said that! “I might say the same about you.”

She tilted her head. “Do you often ride before the household awakens?”

“Yes. I need the quiet before the obligations of the day take my attention.”

“I imagine property as grand as Pemberley must demand a great deal of your time. Miss Bingley described it as a jewel among estates. She went into raptures when she described the rose garden.”

Darcy cocked an eyebrow. He had a very different memory of Miss Bingley and his rose garden.

Flippantly, she added, “Evidently, Pemberley’s gardens are beyond comparison, or my humble comprehension.” Elizabeth chuckled. She cared naught for Miss Bingley’s good opinion, a quality which would suit her well once she entered Darcy’s circle with all its pomp and presumption.

“Miss Bingley does you little justice. My mother redesigned the gardens to her liking. While I have yet to see their equal, I would never place a limit on your ability to comprehend any subject you desired to understand.”

She smiled softly, and Darcy fairly burst with pride at having said the correct thing. He offered his arm, and they walked. After several paces she asked, “Even you?”

It took him a moment to catch her meaning. “You wish to understand me?”

“I have observed how damaging a lack of respect and communication is in a marriage, and it is my intention to understand you so that we might at least become friends.” She twisted her hands together.

A small voice in his rational mind had feared she might wish to live separate lives—to reside in London, with a large allowance and all the city’s entertainments to spend it on, while he returned to Pemberley. It was what most ladies in society arranged.

Elizabeth was different, and his heart leapt with this confirmation of it. “What do you wish to know? You may ask me anything.”

She arched her brow. “Anything?”

The impertinent minx! He met her bold look. “I am not one to retract an offer once it is made.”

“Checkmate, Mr. Darcy. I cannot argue against that. Very well… anything.” She tapped her fingers against her chin and glanced askance at him, increasing Darcy’s suspense.

When he thought he could hold his breath no longer, she said, “I would like to hear of your childhood at Pemberley. Did you ever get into mischief?”

Relief added volume to his laugh. If only she knew half the antics he and his cousins practiced! “Quite often.”

She narrowed her eyes in disbelief, rousing Darcy’s determination to prove he was more than she presumed him to be. “My father claimed he had no gray hair before I was born.”

“I take it he had only a light dusting of gray, perhaps at his temples?”

She had guessed correctly, but Darcy would be the last to admit it. “He called me to his study at least once a week.”

“On whose authority am I to believe such a claim?”

“Certainly not my own,” Darcy teased in turn. “If Richard were here—he is my cousin, dear friend, and fellow conspirator in mayhem—he would describe some of our exploits with alacrity.”

She smiled. “I think I will like this cousin of yours.”

“Five minutes in your company will be enough to secure his loyal friendship.”

“That is either a compliment of my character or a criticism of his.”

“Oh, I never speak ill of my relations.”

“No, that is a condescension best saved for strangers at an assembly.” Elizabeth looked as though she regretted the jab as soon as it crossed her tongue.

Darcy would have none of it. He had behaved abominably, and he enjoyed her teasing too much to allow it to end. “I made you feel the brunt of my ill-temper that evening, and for that I must beg your pardon. My mother would have chastised me thoroughly, and my father would have lost no time summoning me to his study for a well-deserved lashing.”

She fiddled her fingers and chewed on her lip. After several moments of hesitation, she said, “It is a rare father who holds his own son to such a high standard. Did he not require the same of all the children in his household?”

Wickham. Father had entrusted his steward to discipline and guide his own son, and Wickham was deceptively sly.

Clenching his jaw, he looked her in the eyes. “My behavior gave you an unfavorable impression, and I pray you would please forgive me. You have had little reason not to believe the worst of me, especially in contrast with one whose manners are designed to charm and flatter.” He did not want to speak any more of Wickham, but he wanted—no, needed—to know if Elizabeth still believed that man’s slanderous lies.

She spoke slowly. “You said that there was much more to your history with him.”

Pressure built up inside Darcy. If she required the whole truth now, he would tell her.

He felt her fingers brush against the forearm of his coat. “Mr. Darcy, I am not a person for whom patience comes easily, but I shall not force your confidence. Trust takes time. I shall wait until I have earned yours.”

Darcy whooshed an exhale of intense relief.

She continued walking, and Darcy kept pace, his step lighter.

“I shall accept your apology on one condition,” she turned to him, her serious face contrasting with the devilish gleam in her eyes.

It took Darcy a moment to recall what he had apologized for. He tensed, dreading that she would attempt to take advantage of his generosity, as so many others had done. He so badly wished her to be different!

“All will be forgiven,” she continued, “if you tell me about your sister.”

His boot squished in a puddle, oozing up the side of his foot. What had Wickham told her about Georgie? Darcy would thrash him as he had wanted to do at Ramsgate!

Elizabeth added in a jovial tone, “I already have four sisters. If I am to have another one, I should like some reassurance that Miss Darcy is as serene and sweet as Jane. Truly, I cannot imagine her being any other way, but I shall attempt to be a good sister to Miss Darcy. It would help me a great deal if I knew something of her character.”

Darcy weighed his words carefully, unsure what Wickham might have told her about Georgiana. “My sister was loved dearly by our father, more so because she never knew our mother. She died of a fever only a year after Georgiana was born.”

Elizabeth clutched the collar of her coat closer. “Losing her must have been devastating for you and your father.”

It had been. Darcy’s anger waned at the memory of his mother, but not enough to take away the bitterness in his voice. “A young lady such as Georgiana is often sought out for the advantages she can grant those she favors. My sister has suffered more than her fair share of betrayal by false friends she thought she could trust.”

Elizabeth’s hand tensed around his arm; her lips pinched. “A pox on the selfish louts who disappoint an innocent orphaned girl!”

Her spirited invective calmed Darcy’s ire. If Wickham had spoken against Georgiana, Elizabeth chose not to believe him. “I shall not allow anyone or anything to hurt her again.”

Elizabeth caught his gaze, boldly meeting it with her own. “Neither shall I.”

She meant it, he could tell. She would protect a girl she had not yet met based solely on Darcy’s word.

Would she defend her so valiantly when she realized that Georgiana was a rival with Elizabeth’s own sister for Bingley’s love? That was a conversation for another day.

Darcy craved Elizabeth’s lightness and humor. Talking about himself had caused this solemn turn, so he must shift the conversation. “What of you? Were you given to mischief as a girl?”

“In a way.” Her smile returned. “I was permitted to play out of doors, climb trees, stomp through puddles, and swim in the streams.”

Darcy imagined her traipsing around with tangled hair, scraped elbows, and muddy hems.

“When it rained, my father allowed me to read anything I fancied in his book room. At first, I read for fun. By the time Lydia was born and it became apparent that no heir would appear, I turned to more practical subjects. I spent hours poring over his tomes, convinced that if I learned enough… oh, I don’t know what I thought. In the end, I was only a girl, not the boy he needed to break the entail on our property and keep our home.”

“But you did not stop reading?” He knew she had not; her intellect was proof of extensive study and enterprise.

“Like you, I needed solace before the needs of my family demanded my attention. Having five daughters with no prospects and an estate he would lose, my father changed. He could do anything he put his mind to, but he lost the will to try. My mother became more anxious than ever before.” She shook her head and smiled. “Reading became my escape, as did my early morning walks.”

No wonder Elizabeth prized her independence. It was all she had which was truly hers.

Darcy was not ready to arrive at Longbourn, but the house seemed to have dropped down from the sky right in front of them. His mud-caked boots were the perfect excuse to avoid entering lest he sully the carpets.

He was about to beg his leave when the door burst open to reveal Mrs. Bennet. “Mr. Darcy! How good of you to see Lizzy safely home, though I am not surprised. Young people in love always find a way to be in each other's company.” She waved them in enthusiastically. “You must come in! We have cake and punch.”

Darcy looked down at his Hessians. They were beyond the help of the boot scraper beside the door.

Miss Kitty emerged behind her mother. “Hill will see to your boots, Mr. Darcy. We have cake! Cake and punch!”

Miss Lydia pushed her sister out of the way with an unladylike snort. “Only take care Hill does not lose them. He lost Mr. Collins’ boots, as you remember.” As she moved back to the house, she added, “Now, that is a reason to celebrate! Mr. Collins is gone, and we shall not have to endure his boring readings from those dreadful sermons!” She wailed with laughter.

Miss Mary looked up from her book. “It is irreverent for you to celebrate a clergyman’s departure or malign Fordyce’s sermons. I find them both edifying and instructive.”

“You would,” Miss Lydia mumbled.

Mrs. Bennet evidently deigned Mr. Collins’ departure worthy of explanation. “He left before dawn saying his patroness Lady Catherine de Bourgh required his assistance, but that is hardly an explanation, is it? He was going to propose to Li—oh, to no one in particular, but I had hoped he would propose to one of my daughters. Mary would suit a clergyman quite well, do you not agree, Mr. Darcy?”

She did not pause long enough to hear Darcy’s opinion, which was for the best. Mrs. Bennet would not have been happy with his view of the matter. With a shrug, she continued without taking a breath, “Tis no matter. You are here, and Mr. Bingley dotes on my Jane. You will dine with us tomorrow evening, will you not? Mr. Bingley accepted my invitation last night, but I do not suppose he has had occasion to mention it to you, the hour being so early.”

Drat. While he had been busy writing letters, Mrs. Bennet had undermined Darcy’s purpose before he could even create an effective plan. The longer he had to wait, the more difficult it would be to separate Bingley from Miss Bennet.