Page 9 of A Good Memory is Unpardonable (Frolic and Romance #2)

Eight

I have written very little of the Bennet family since my first impressions of them.

It would, therefore, be easy to assume that I had little exposure to them, but that is far from the case.

Mrs. Bennet seemed to think of Netherfield as nearly her own home, as her daughter was in residence as its hostess.

She called nearly every day, and never without at least two more daughters—one for Bingley and one for me, I imagine.

Mr. Bennet frequently came as well, but he confined his visits to the library.

Sometimes he only wished to borrow a book, but once he discovered that his shelves at Longbourn were better stocked, he would bring his own book and lapse into a near-comatose state in a sunny corner.

Occasionally, I would flee the drawing-room and its occupants by challenging him to a chess game, but no matter his occupation, he seldom left the library when he came.

Mrs. Bennet was less discrete. No room in the house was safe from her purview, and at first, I wondered at Elizabeth permitting her mother so much freedom in what was rightly her domain.

She would allow her mother to take her and her sisters all through the kitchens, the washroom, still room, even the hen coop, while Mrs. Bennet surveyed and admonished her daughter on the proper keeping of the house.

It made no sense to me because Elizabeth usually had no trouble holding her own when someone got high-handed with her (usually me).

Moreover, she was an exemplary mistress, despite her less than stellar pedigree and minimal early training.

(She will make me pay for that remark, but I will enjoy making it up to her.) However, I never saw anything amiss, and the help all obeyed her without question.

I think they were privately thanking their stars that Miss Bingley was not their mistress.

Whatever her magic, Elizabeth certainly needed no advice from her mother.

Then, one day by sheer luck, I discovered her design.

There was yet another person who now came from Longbourn when they called.

He was a distant cousin of Mr. Bennet, and it was him to whom the estate would fall upon the latter’s decease.

Collins was his name, and Elizabeth could not abide him.

Neither could I, particularly when he took care to remind me almost daily that he had been awarded his curacy by my least agreeable aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

It seemed the rest of the family thought little of him as well, but they had not the luxury of sending him away at night as we at Netherfield could.

The ladies usually abandoned him as soon as they arrived, and he always found some other way of making himself a nuisance.

I was at my leisure one afternoon, unaware that the Bennets were calling, and I happened to walk by the music room, looking for Georgiana.

Oh, very well, I was looking for Elizabeth.

But she was most often found with my sister, having sworn me a vow to be a friend to her and then faithfully upholding it.

Even Caroline was beginning to see the futility of wedging between them, for they had become nearly inseparable.

But that detail matters little, for it was neither of them I found.

Jane Bennet had made the mistake of straying from her family party, wherever they had gone.

And, for whatever reason, I later learned that Mr. Collins had left off harassing Bingley in the billiards room.

When I looked in, Miss Bennet was seated on a divan, her scarlet face averted, and Collins was half-kneeling before her. Both started in surprise at my entry.

“Oh. Excuse me,” I said, slowly backing away.

“No, Mr. Darcy, there is no need for you to go!” the lady cried. “Is there, Cousin?”

Collins stood, straightening his lapels and offering me a simpering bow. “Far be it from me to deny my fair lady’s wishes.”

I shot Miss Bennet a curious look and learned all I required.

Elizabeth had confided to me that the man desired to marry one of the Bennet girls.

The only person in favor of the scheme was her mother, who declared Mary Bennet a proper choice for him.

Apparently, he had his sights set somewhere higher, and a careful inspection of the eldest sister’s countenance informed my next actions.

I could do no less for my friend Elizabeth than to protect her sister as she had mine.

“Ah, Collins, I was hoping to find you,” I lied. I never lied, but for this one, I meant to extract payment from a grateful lady someday.

He flushed with pride. “Indeed, sir! Naturally, Mr. Darcy, I am ever at your disposal.” In truth, he said a good deal more than that, but my stomach cannot withstand the retelling of it all in my own journal, so I shall leave the rest to the reader’s imagination.

I invented some tale about seeking spiritual guidance and escorted him from the room.

We passed by Bingley as we walked out, and I made a gesture that only he saw, asking him to look in on Miss Bennet after our departure.

His eyes brightened like a dratted puppy, but I suppose he had his reasons for it.

He had all the pleasure that afternoon, for I suffered over an hour for my gallant deed.

However, the last laugh was to be mine.

It was later that evening, after dinner and music and port. The Bennet party were long gone, and the ladies had retired upstairs. Bingley was poking the fire, his face glowing from more than the warmth of the flames. “She is an angel,” he sighed at last.

I did not need to ask whom he meant.

“You would do better not to marry so soon,” I advised him.

“That is just what Elizabeth says. I thought she would hope for me to court her sister, but she keeps telling me to settle into my new role for a year or two before I look around.”

“I confess myself surprised, but I agree with her. I would hate to see you make an impulsive choice that you will later regret.”

“How could I regret it? Through Elizabeth, I know Miss Bennet’s character is trustworthy and everything I could want. We get on easily, and I am never so comfortable around any lady as I am with her.”

“Bingley, you have often come to me for advice. I like to think the reason is not merely because I was Andrew’s friend.”

“Of course not. No, Darcy, I should always value your opinion, for your wisdom and experience are so much greater than mine.”

“Then do not rush to the altar unless you are sure of your own hopes and secure of the lady’s affections. Yours is not a character that will be suited by a wife who desires only your fortune or protection.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “What you say is true, but I believe Miss Bennet is genuine. It is true, she is very modest, but does it not seem that she prefers me?”

“If I knew less of her than I do, I would say that hers was a heart not easily touched. However, this afternoon I was able to see her reactions to a man who does not please her, and you receive decidedly different treatment from her.”

“I thought so! Yes, she is the right sort to suit me. As far as my sister in law goes, I do not see why she would advise me to wait. If I did not know better, I would think she found me not good enough for Miss Bennet. But would not Elizabeth be best pleased if the woman I chose was her dearest sister?”

I sighed and shook my head. “There, you make the mistake of choosing your bride to suit others. Your sister in law may well marry again someday and leave you. Have you considered that?”

He paled slightly. “No, I had not. Why, it is true that she is still quite young and some man will find her widow’s portion and looks too appealing to ignore, but… no, I had quite come to depend on her these last months. I had not thought she would marry again.”

“I suggest you assume it as a probability. It is time for you to become your own man, Bingley.”

He turned back to the fire, his brow furrowed. For once, he did not try to laugh off my more serious tone, and I fancy he took my words to heart as he seldom did.

I decided to leave him to his musings and informed him that I meant to retire. I had not got three steps from the room when a hand shot out to catch my cravat and dragged me aside.

“Elizabeth?” I gasped in astonishment. Or, that is what I meant to say.

I think I truly only got out the first syllable before she shut my mouth with a firm, and not at all friendly, kiss.

My head might well have exploded for all the good it did me.

Like a sheep-brained idiot, I just stood there, my body rigid, my eyes wide, and my arms limp as she plied my lips with her sweet mouth.

When she released me, my knees were jelly, and my heart had puddled somewhere below my spleen. She, however, seemed magnificently unaffected, standing there with a serene smile and her hands folded innocently before her.

“What was that for?” I think I got those words out. I probably sounded somewhat less articulate than that. Actually, I might have only barked out a startled, sputtering sound.

“A simple thank you, that is all.”

I coughed. “For what?”

She lifted her hand to tick off her fingers.

“For preventing Jane from becoming accidentally engaged to Mr. Collins. For keeping him occupied for better than an hour so I could be less on my guard for my sisters for a bit. For advising Charles like a true friend this evening—yes, I overheard—and for not insulting anyone all day.”

I was fumbling with my cravat, trying to loosen the knot she had choked down on my neck so I could breathe properly. “Do I often insult people?”

“Not so much anymore,” she replied, with a thoughtful tilt of her head. “In fact, I think it has been more than a fortnight.”

I raised a brow. “So, do I get a kiss for each of those days, too?”

She swatted my chest. “Do not get greedy, you. That was only a gesture between friends, and you know it.”

“In that case, why does Charles not kiss me, too? I think he owes me more than you do.”

“Shall I call him out here?”

“No!” I almost yelped. I had no doubt she would do it. “Another from you would suffice.”

She set a hand on her hip. “The very idea! I am not the sort of widow who is free with her favors, Fitzwilliam.”

“But you just kissed me!” I protested. “What am I to make of that?”

“That?” She waved. “Nothing at all, I promise. Merely a sign of my gratitude. Next time I will simply bring you a brandy, and that will be the end of it. Honestly, I’d no notion you would make a fuss over a little thing like that.

I thought society gentleman received far more liberal favors for even less cause than a heartfelt thanks. ”

“Of course, but not from ‘ladies.’ Not unless they mean something else by it.”

“Well, then! I shall take care not to offend you again.”

I cleared my throat. “I was not precisely offended.”

She smiled, and my heart was mush all over again. “Good. I would hate to run you off when you are such a useful fellow. Good night, Fitzwilliam.”

I stood... wobbled, actually... watching her leave. That was the moment I decided to look for ways to inspire her gratitude daily.