Page 10 of Dishonorable Gentlemen (Bennet Gang #1)

The Walled Garden

Elizabeth contemplated the man before her, his dark eyes far more serious than the situation warranted. Her hand twitched, the sudden renewed desire to smooth the lines of worry from his brow startling her. He need not look as if the fate of England rested upon his broad shoulders, nor employ such dramatic language. Ruse? Spying? Fleeing? Mr. Darcy made their escape from the drawing room sound terribly dramatic, as if their little deception wrenched apart the very fabric of civilized society. Perhaps for someone as stiff as he was, it did.

She couldn’t help but smile, and was rewarded by a confused easing of the worry on his face. “Be at peace, Mr. Darcy. Our ruse is of the simplest nature.” Although she kept her tone light to convey a lack of gravity, Elizabeth also spoke softly, hoping Jane wouldn’t hear. Her sister did not care to hear the name Collins. “Matthew was set to watch for Mr. Collins’ carriage. We simply continue the game of last night. Sparing Jane his company.”

“Then your youngest sister has suffered no sprain?”

“I will be shocked if she has.” Elizabeth stepped through the doorway into the autumnal sunlight.

Mr. Darcy did not immediately follow.

She turned back, raising her eyebrows in question.

With a frown he joined her, his gaze going to where Jane now walked beside Mr. Bingley, a hand on his arm as they followed Matthew at a more sedate pace than they’d taken through the house. His reluctance palpable, Mr. Darcy came to Elizabeth’s side, but did not offer his arm.

Which didn’t sting. Why should it? She had no designs on the man.

“Do you often mislead your mother?” Mr. Darcy asked as they fell in step to follow the others up the garden path.

Elizabeth contained a wince. “Only when necessary.”

“And how often do you consider such subterfuge necessary? ”

Elizabeth assessed Mr. Darcy’s stern demeanor. “What precisely is troubling you, Mr. Darcy?” she asked, suddenly certain that he hadn’t meant his words about walks and the view from the hills as an assignation. The man lacked the subtlety. Undoubtedly, if Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley wanted something, he would simply ask. Or, more likely, decree it to be so, as when he’d attempted to state that he and she would dance.

“I do not care to be a party to lies.”

“But you did not lie. Only Matthew did, and I will speak with him about doing so.” And congratulate him again on playing his part well, Elizabeth added to herself. “In truth, we have yet to establish that a lie has been issued.”

Mr. Darcy’s frown deepened. “You moments ago confirmed my suspicion that your sister has sustained no injury.”

“I believe I said that I would be surprised if she has.” Elizabeth couldn’t contain a grin as she added, “Do you wish me to understand that you will only be pleased if Lydia has indeed come to harm?”

He answered that with a startled look.

Elizabeth held back a chuckle. “If you are truly so perturbed by what we have done, then I give you leave to return to the drawing room and confess our sins to my mother. I absolve you from any retribution or ill feelings.”

“I would not betray your confidence so,” he replied with considerable affront.

Elizabeth raised her open palms, expressing her lack of ability to provide him with an option to his liking. “You do not want to be a part of our ruse. You do not want to betray our trust. I am uncertain how to aid you, Mr. Darcy.”

“You may aid me by not putting me in such a position as this in the future,” he rumbled, his words kept so low as to make them nearly a growl.

A shiver went through her at the sound, though she felt no fear of the man. “If you did not wish to be in this position, why did you join us?” Elizabeth asked, lowering her voice again so their words would not reach Jane and Mr. Bingley, on whom they were gaining. The two appeared to be in cheerful conversation as Jane gestured to a fountain made of four flying doves, their wings spread wide and their beaks raised as if in song. One of Papa Arthur’s favorites, and lovely even dry for the winter. Elizabeth slowed her pace, not wanting to overtake the two.

“Because I do not want to see Bingley trapped into a union,” Mr. Darcy replied in low, clipped words.

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows at that. She thought they had established last night that Mr. Bingley did not require any help in the matter. “I believe I already explained to you that he, with his unsubtle inquiries, has done more to trap himself than anyone, especially Jane, has done to snare him.”

“We could not help but overhear your mother as we approached the drawing room,” Mr. Darcy stated, the quiet of his voice in no way hiding his censure. “She speaks as if a match between the two is a set thing. Bingley is certainly not responsible for that.”

Annoyance flared in Elizabeth, though for Mr. Darcy’s tenacity or her mother’s imprudence, she didn’t know. Nor did it matter, as Mr. Darcy walked beside her and Mrs. Oakwood did not. “My mother is a wealthy widow with five unmarried daughters. To be certain she will form such speculations. Why should she not?”

Mr. Darcy’s features slackened with surprise and Elizabeth wondered again how often anyone refuted the man.

“Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth, you’re falling behind,” Matthew called.

Elizabeth looked up the path to see that the others had reached the walled garden. With a final frown for Mr. Darcy, she lengthened her stride, leaving him to follow or not, she did not care which.

She entered the long, narrow walled garden, one of Papa Arthur’s greatest achievements and one of Elizabeth’s favorite places, on the heels of her sister and Mr. Bingley. With rows of low braziers and tall walls to keep out the wind and hold in the heat, the garden was where they grew the more delicate flowers, herbs, vegetables, and fruit trees. Inside the walled space, it was always warmer than without, sometimes even stifling in summer when the braziers were cold and many of the plants required frequent watering.

Today, halfway up the garden, in the center where practicality gave way to simple green lawn for the purpose of enjoyment, Lydia and Thomas waited, a picnic spread out about them. More than a picnic, Elizabeth realized as she drew nearer, still following Jane, Matthew, and Mr. Bingley. Tea. Insofar as Elizabeth could ascertain, Lydia had procured a helping of everything that would, even now, be served in the drawing room.

Her youngest sister jumped to her feet, Thomas rising more slowly as he took in the extent of their party. “You see?” Lydia cried. “I told you Tommy, Matty, and I could help.” She looked about at them, preening. “And how clever of you, Jane, to free Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy from our cousin’s company as well.” She dropped into a curtsy.

A glance showed that Mr. Darcy had, indeed, deigned to follow them into the garden.

Beside Lydia, Thomas bowed. “Mr. Darcy. Mr. Bingley. ”

Mr. Bingley returned the gesture, Mr. Darcy adding his own greeting, though Elizabeth felt he did so grudgingly.

“Have tea with us?” Lydia asked, plopping back down.

“Your ankle seems to have improved markedly since Matthew summoned us,” Elizabeth observed. She couldn’t help but slant a look to take in Mr. Darcy’s pinched features.

Lydia stuck a leg out from beneath her skirt, smirking. “My ankle is much improved.” She wiggled her foot. “Although I am certain I will be limping when next I see Mama.”

“Oh, but Lydia,” Jane said even as she sank down onto the blanket beside their sister. “You ought not to have lied.”

“I didn’t lie. Matty did.”

Mr. Bingley folded to sit with Jane and Lydia, Thomas dropping back into his place and Matthew joining them. Elizabeth looked at Mr. Darcy, cocking an eyebrow in challenge. Would he sit with them, loom awkwardly, or depart the garden?

“That is true,” Matthew said gravely. “I am the only one who lied.”

His expression dire, Mr. Darcy lowered his tall form to the blanket.

“And I will lie too, if need be,” Thomas said firmly. “I’ll lie to Mama’s face. I will not have my sister endure that odious lout whose father shot our papa.”

Shocked stillness radiated through Mr. Darcy. Mr. Bingley cast a startled look his way. Elizabeth dropped to the blanket to sit, suppressing a sigh. She imagined it was inevitable that the two gentlemen learn of their family’s tragedy.

“Mr. Collins’ father shot yours?” Mr. Bingley asked, turning his head to take in the Bennets and Oakwoods around him. His gaze came to rest on Jane. “Is that how your father died, Miss Bennet?”

Elizabeth’s sister studied the blanket on which she sat, an idle finger tracing the carefully stitched design. Just when Elizabeth was about to reply for her, Jane looked up, meeting Mr. Bingley’s gaze. “Yes, that is how Papa Arthur died. He and Mr. Collins Sr. dueled.”

A quick look assured Elizabeth that Mr. Darcy did not approve. His mouth was pressed flat, his squared jaw clenched.

“They dueled for Jane’s honor,” Lydia supplied into the strained silence.

“My father won,” Thomas added.

Matthew looked from face to face with worried eyes. He’d known his entire life that they weren’t to speak of the duel, but likely had little notion of why, other than that it made their mama wail and flap her handkerchief .

“What, precisely, happened?” Mr. Darcy asked.

Jane raised beseeching eyes to Elizabeth. “I do not care to speak of it. Perhaps Elizabeth will explain.” In a swirl of elegant motion, Jane rose, turned, and strode deeper into the garden.

Mr. Bingley looked after her, then at Mr. Darcy, who shook his head in the negative. His expression mutinous, Mr. Bingley came to his feet and followed Jane. There was nowhere in the narrow garden where they could go that they couldn’t be seen, so Elizabeth made no move to follow.

“Why did Papa and Mr. Collins duel?” Matthew asked quietly, looking about at his siblings.

Thomas shrugged, likely knowing little more than Matthew did, or than Lydia had until today.

“If you do not tell them, I will,” Lydia stated. “Everyone should know how horrible Mr. Collins is.”

Elizabeth raised a staying hand to fend that off. Better she should choose the words her brothers, and Mr. Darcy, heard. “It is a simple thing, really.”

“What is?” Thomas leaned forward, eager.

“Mr. Collins wanted Jane’s affection,” Elizabeth said, not daring to look at Mr. Darcy, for fear he would read more in her eyes than she wanted to tell. “Jane had no affection for him. Hurt, he started a rather vicious rumor about her, which was petty of him, and wrong. Papa Arthur had no choice but to challenge him.”

“But Mr. Collins is a coward and made his papa fight for him,” Lydia put in.

Elizabeth cast her a quelling look. Perhaps she shouldn’t have given in to Lydia’s pleading earlier. Now that she knew the story, Lydia’s active mind was obviously embellishing it. “Mr. Collins Sr. stood in for his son, rather than permit our cousin to face Papa Arthur. They dueled and Mr. Collins’ father was shot dead, and Papa Arthur was wounded. Jane’s honor was restored, and Papa Arthur died a week later.” Elizabeth cleared her suddenly tight throat. A wave of pain assailed her. How much different life would be if Papa Arthur were alive.

She certainly wouldn’t be hiding in the garden having tea with Mr. Darcy and her younger siblings while Mr. Collins sat in the comfort of their drawing room being doted on by her mother and Kitty.

“I’ll fix the tea,” Lydia said brightly. “Thomas, hand it here. Be careful. It’s hot.”

Elizabeth looked to see that a metal grate had been placed over one of the braziers, a teapot atop. Thomas scrambled to his feet to retrieve it .

Lydia accepted the teapot from their brother. “Mr. Darcy, how do you care for your tea?”

“Black,” he said shortly, his expression dour.

Undaunted by his dire tone, Lydia fixed the tea and served him, offering him a plate of small sweet and savory treats as well. She next served Thomas, then, to Elizabeth’s amusement, Matthew, before serving Elizabeth. All the while, Lydia chattered about the weather and the theater, although Elizabeth’s sister had never set foot in London. Everything she knew, she gleaned from the newspapers that were still delivered, even though Papa Arthur was no longer alive to read them.

Elizabeth read them, however, often securing articles on Britain’s current and former colonies, and about various wars. Mary, she knew, enjoyed reading about finance and business ventures. Jane and Kitty were indifferent to the paper, but Lydia practically devoured anything pertaining to society or fashion.

Elizabeth kept half her attention on Jane and Mr. Bingley, and was relieved when they returned to join the picnic. No one mentioned Jane’s momentary disquiet, though Mr. Bingley cast many looks Mr. Darcy’s way, seeming ready to burst with news.

“Now, who wants a second cup?” Lydia asked after Jane and Mr. Bingley had both finished their first.

“We truly cannot remain here all afternoon,” Jane said quietly.

Mr. Bingley’s hand reached out, as if it might cover hers where it rested on the blanket between them, but he drew it back and said staunchly, “We can if you like.”

Jane cast him a wan smile.

“Matthew, would you mind checking if our cousin’s carriage is still here?” Elizabeth asked.

Nodding, he came to his feet, then stuck a hand in his pocket to pull free his collapsed spyglass. “I don’t even need to get close to the swine.”

“You should not refer to Mr. Collins that way,” Elizabeth said firmly.

Matthew gave her a willful look reminiscent of their mother. “He lied about Jane. When I’m old enough, I’m going to duel him.”

“Oh.” Jane pressed her palms to her cheeks.

“Papa Arthur already avenged Jane’s honor,” Elizabeth reminded her brother.

“Not well enough,” Thomas muttered. “And you cannot duel him, Matthew, because I will first.”

“And I will spread horrible rumors about him,” Lydia added .

Elizabeth shook her head. If this was how Thomas and Matthew felt now, what would they say or do when they were old enough to learn the true extent of Mr. Collins’ terrible behavior? She should never have told Lydia or their brothers the truth. “The matter is settled. Honor is satisfied.”

“I am afraid I agree with your sister and brothers.” Mr. Bingley’s voice held a grim note.

Jane turned to him, her face suffused with worry and her cheeks pale.

“We do not have all the facts.” The calm reason in Mr. Darcy’s voice was a balm, even if Elizabeth resented his implication that her tale had been one-sided. “And, in truth, it is not our concern.”

The determined look on Mr. Bingley’s face spoke of how much he would like to make it his concern.

“Go see if he is gone,” Elizabeth reiterated to Matthew. “We can speak more of Jane’s honor later.”

His expression still stubborn, Matthew nodded and hurried away.

They sat in awkward silence then, even Lydia making no effort to break it. Instead, Elizabeth’s youngest sister nibbled on a slice of plum cake, her gaze abstracted.

Mr. Darcy stood. “Miss Elizabeth, a word.”

Though his tone of command irked her, Elizabeth came to her feet. Whatever he wished to say, hearing it couldn’t be more interminable than the uncomfortable quiet in which they sat. Gesturing, she followed Mr. Darcy to the entrance of the garden, where they halted in full view of the others. Behind them, Lydia began to chatter, sounding like her usual self once more.

Mr. Darcy studied the gravel beneath their feet for a moment, then met her gaze. “I know Bingley well enough to ascertain that your sister told him more than, ‘Mr. Collins sought my affection and started a rumor.’ I wish to know with what I will be dealing when I attempt to mitigate his anger.”

Elizabeth pressed her lips together. While she appreciated that Mr. Darcy cared for his friend, Jane’s story was not hers to tell. She darted a look at the picnickers. Jane must have a suspicion of what Mr. Darcy meant to ask, for she met Elizabeth’s eyes and gave a slight, worried nod.

“When Jane was fifteen, he attempted certain liberties,” Elizabeth said in a low voice. “Jane broke his nose, and he spread a rumor that he had done more than attempt. That is truly all there is to it.”

The muscles in Mr. Darcy’s jaw rippled. “When she was fifteen?”

Elizabeth’s brows drew together. Why did that detail seem to distress him the most? “Yes. The same age Lydia is now. ”

Mr. Darcy’s eyes narrowed. If anything, he appeared even more angry than Mr. Bingley had.

“You do mean to prevent Mr. Bingley from taking any actions, do you not?” Elizabeth asked. “My sister seems fond of him but they have only just met. If he were to do something so foolish as to challenge Mr. Collins over a years’ old scandal, it would reinvigorate the tale and put Jane in a very awkward position. She would be obliged to accept an offer from a man who championed her thusly. She would be well and truly trapped.” Elizabeth emphasized the word, one Mr. Darcy had earlier employed with such distaste, to ensure he fully grasped the potential level of calamity. If Mr. Bingley challenged Mr. Collins, Jane’s prerogative to decide who she would marry would be taken from her.

Mr. Darcy blinked, her words seeming to reach through his fury. Much of the ire drained from his features. “Yes. I will ensure that Bingley considers his actions with care.” His expression becoming rueful, Mr. Darcy shook his head. “Your family is certainly absorbing.”

“Absorbing?” Elizabeth repeated. Normally quick to comprehend, she had no idea if she was being insulted.

“We are new acquaintances, and yet have already been drawn into collusions and confidences.”

Elizabeth winced. “That was not my or Jane’s intention.”

Mr. Darcy studied her with assessing eyes, from which she did not look away. Finally, he nodded.

“Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth,” Matthew’s voice called.

Elizabeth looked to see him running up the path. As he appeared more pleased than alarmed, Elizabeth waited for him to reach them.

“He’s gone,” Matthew said, as proud as if he’d run Mr. Collins off. “And I went in to check if we’re in trouble, and Mama isn’t even angry because he had to have tea with her and Kitty and Kitty spent the whole time talking to him. But she didn’t walk them out. Mary did.”

“Them?” Elizabeth asked sharply.

“Cousin Robert called too.”

Elizabeth hadn’t expected that, but it mattered little. “Thank you, Matthew,” she said before turning back to Mr. Darcy. “It seems you and Mr. Bingley are free to go. Undoubtedly, we have kept you too long already and Mr. and Mrs. Hurst, and Miss Bingley, are put out with us.”

“Undoubtedly,” Mr. Darcy agreed.

“The one lady looks like she’s sucking lemons, but the fellow is asleep and the younger lady is sitting next to Mama, asking her questions about my father,” Matthew supplied.

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. Miss Bingley was oddly preoccupied with their stepfather. Like as not, she sought to discover whether her brother would gain anything through a union with Jane. Glancing back at where the two sat together conversing, Elizabeth doubted that Mr. Bingley cared about Jane’s dowry or connections one way or the other.

With Mr. Darcy’s assistance, Elizabeth broke up the picnic. Leaving Lydia and their brothers to find some of the staff, and with strict orders to assist them in clearing up, Elizabeth and Jane escorted the two gentlemen back to the drawing room. There, they endured their mother’s mild reprimand, then bade their guests farewell.

Later, as she sat at the desk in her room composing a reply to her most recent letter from Aunt Gardiner, Elizabeth couldn’t help but dwell on their afternoon. She hoped she hadn’t unleashed anything terrible by letting new life enter the sorrows of Jane’s, and their family’s, past. Looking down at the blank page before her, she attempted to find solace in the notion that Lydia and their brothers would have heard rumors of Jane’s scandal and Papa Arthur’s demise sooner or later, especially as Lydia was nearly out.

Should she write to Aunt Gardiner of her worries, or would more words, even written ones sent to London, lend more strength to the shadows that lurked in years gone by? London was far away and Aunt Gardiner was often wise. Elizabeth picked up her pen.

A soft knock sounded, not on her bedroom door, which led into the hallway, but on the one that opened into the sitting room that adjoined Elizabeth’s bedchamber and Jane’s.

“It is me, Mary.”

“Come in,” Elizabeth called, looking over her shoulder.

Mary slipped in and closed the door behind her.

Elizabeth attempted a smile but her sister’s serious mien quelled the expression before it could form. “What is wrong?”

Mary settled on the end of Elizabeth’s bed, near her desk. “I know why Mr. Collins has renewed his pursuit of Jane, and how he arrived so promptly behind our other guests. He has set some of the lads at the inn to watch for Mr. Bingley or his carriage.”

Elizabeth set down the pen she held and turned more fully in her chair. “So that he can interrupt Mr. Bingley’s calls on Jane?”

Mary nodded.

“How did you learn that?” Elizabeth knew her sister was adept at getting information, having both a string of people with whom she gossiped in Meryton and a great proficiency at reading lips, but Mary had not, to her knowledge, left the house yet today.

“Robert passed a note to me when I walked our cousins out.”

Elizabeth frowned. “Why would he do that?” He was, after all, a Collins.

“His note said he is worried about the anger with which Mr. Collins seems to regard the idea of Jane and Mr. Bingley.”

“Because he does not want Mr. Bingley to win her?” If Mr. Collins wanted Jane, he should have tried to make up for his horrible behavior years ago…not that Elizabeth wanted him to make the attempt or thought he could ever succeed.

Mary shook her head. “Because he does not want Mr. Bingley to purchase Netherfield Park. He believes Jane is why Mr. Bingley chose to let the place, and that as long as she remains unwed, there is a risk of Mr. Bingley deciding to stay.”

Elizabeth considered that. “It amounts to much the same thing, though, does it not? We still must work to keep Jane away from our odious cousin and to help her find time to spend with Mr. Bingley.” A swine, Matthew had called Mr. Collins, and he wasn’t wrong.

“We do need to keep Jane from Mr. Collins,” Mary said slowly. “I am not so certain about helping her spend time with Mr. Bingley. Robert’s description of his brother’s anger makes me fear for Mr. Bingley.”

Elizabeth hadn’t considered that, and suddenly knew why Mary had come through the sitting room. She’d wanted to make certain Jane was not there, to overhear her words. Jane would make all effort to never speak with Mr. Bingley again if she thought her attention put him in danger. Elizabeth had no notion if that meant that they should tell Jane of this fear or keep it from her. Taking in Mary’s strained, questioning gaze, Elizabeth knew she felt the same.

All Elizabeth could do was answer Mary’s worried look with one of her own.