Page 17 of Dishonorable Gentlemen (Bennet Gang #1)

The Time Grows Short

Seated in their favored drawing room at Netherfield Park with the rest of the party, Darcy concentrated on the book he held. He refused to be drawn into conversation with Bingley’s younger sister as she paced the room, seeking distraction from waiting for the post. Days had passed since Miss Bingley penned her note to Miss Isabella Hargreaves, and each afternoon without a reply increased her level of agitation. Today, she did not even attempt to sit quietly, and had already rebuffed an offer of cards from Hurst and a dictate to go practice the pianoforte from Mrs. Hurst.

Footfalls sounded in the hallway and Miss Bingley hurried to the open drawing room door. A footman stepped in bearing a tray of letters, all of which Miss Bingley immediately seized. She sorted them with quick fingers.

With a crow of delight that caused Hurst to let out a low oath as he toppled the house of cards he’d been building, Miss Bingley tossed the remaining missives back onto the tray. “She wrote.”

“That is wonderful,” Mrs. Hurst breathed, ignoring the sour look her husband cast her sister. “I had begun to fear she would not condescend to do so.”

Bingley gestured for the footman to leave the tray and depart. Setting aside his book, Darcy went to the tray to flip through the missives. Only one was addressed to him, the familiar handwriting causing him to grind his teeth together.

Wickham.

Miss Bingley paced away from the doorway, cracking open the letter, her gaze devouring the words therein. “She writes that she and her brother are quite intrigued by the Oakwoods and asks if she might visit. She and Lord Franklin, and their younger brother Nathan, a lad of seventeen.” The face Miss Bingley raised glowed as one who had received benediction. “Lord Franklin, here. Oh, I am going to be hostess to a viscount.”

Taking up Wickham’s note, Darcy weighed the thin paper. Should he read it or burn it? It would have cost Wickham effort to track him down, for the letter was directed to Netherfield Park. Had Wickham realized that Darcy’s staff knew his handwriting as well and had been ordered to burn any missive from him, rather than forward them on?

Hurst looked over from where he was gathering up his strewn cards. “I still do not believe inviting Lord Franklin to be a good idea.”

Darcy could only agree. He’d seen little of Lord Franklin, but even their brief encounters had left a lasting dislike. His gaze dropped to the letter in his hand. Not as much dislike as he felt for George Wickham.

Miss Bingley huffed. “I have achieved a triumph and you are still worried that a gentleman kicked a pup in his youth.”

“He was twenty if he was a day,” Hurst countered, snapping the pile of cards against the table to line up the edges.

“And I cannot see how you can be so particular about him when you are members of the same club,” Miss Bingley continued over Hurst.

“We were in the same club,” Hurst emphasized, turning the cards and snapping another side down.

“You no longer are?”

Hurst shook his head as Darcy crossed to the fireplace, wrestling with the temptation to read Wickham’s words.

Miss Bingley stared at her brother-by-marriage in obvious confusion. “Whyever would you leave a club with future peers in it?”

“I told you the story about the pup. That was a single, and tame, example of the conduct there. It is a rowdy, unruly, irreverent sort of establishment.”

“Still, if being a member afforded you the opportunity to associate with a future earl, you should have been willing to endure a bit of good-humored rowdiness.”

Hurst merely shook his head and began building a new house of cards.

“If he is truly that horrible, do we want him here?” Mrs. Hurst asked, watching her husband uneasily.

Bingley turned to Darcy. “You are familiar with the man, are you not? Would you invite him?”

Darcy looked up from the letter he held. “He is only a passing acquaintance.”

“You see?” Miss Bingley interrupted before Darcy could continue. “Mr. Darcy claims him as an acquaintance.”

“But even in passing,” Darcy directed his words at Bingley, “I did not care for the man.” He cracked open the seal.

“Well, it matters not,” Miss Bingley cried. “I will not pass on this opportunity. Lord Franklin cannot be so unbearable that we cannot endure him for a week or two.”

As Darcy found most people so unbearable that he would not endure them for a day, he heartily disagreed, but it was not his place to answer. He was merely a guest. He opened the missive to Wickham’s erratic scrawl.

Darcy, please do not consign my words to the flames.

Darcy flinched slightly at that. How well Wickham knew him…and how adept he’d always been at using that knowledge to get what he wanted.

I need you as I have never needed you before. I have borrowed funds from a very disreputable element, and I am afraid that my inability to repay them has put my very life in danger. After Ramsgate, I would not come to you were I not desperate. You must know that. If you bear me any love, or even the memory of affection, I beg you, please, I need only this one final favor, one more—

Darcy crumpled the page and tossed it into the fire. After Ramsgate indeed. Any love, or memory of affection, as Wickham put it, that he’d borne the man had died with Georgiana’s tears as she confessed how near she’d come to running off with their childhood acquaintance.

Turning back to the room, Darcy found the three siblings glaring at one another while Hurst carefully arranged cards.

“—must put to rest our speculations over who Miss Bennet’s relations are,” Miss Bingley was saying, a note of triumph in her voice as she cast a challenging gaze about the room.

“That is true,” Mrs. Hurst said slowly, nodding. “We do need answers. They should be invited.”

Bingley’s brow creased in thought.

“I will be unbearable if you do not grant me this, Charles,” Miss Bingley said.

With a wince, Bingley nodded. “Very well. Invite them, but it is on you to make them welcome. I will be but a reluctant participant in this.”

Miss Bingley clasped her hands together, almost prayer-like. “Thank you.” She rushed across the room to ring for a footman, then asked for her maid to bring her writing box.

Darcy returned to his seat and his book, trying to put Wickham’s plea from his mind as Miss Bingley began a recitation of what she would put into her letter, Mrs. Hurst offering advice. He’d become nearly as adept as he suspected Hurst of being at ignoring the chatter of the two, but Miss Bingley’s voice made an unpleasant backdrop to reading. Especially as his attention was already fragmented by thoughts of Wickham. Darcy hoped she would begin the actual penning of the missive soon, a quieter occupation than the planning of its contents.

Even through his disquiet, Darcy noted the butler’s footfalls approaching the open drawing room doorway. He lowered his book, struggling not to give in to the intoxicating hope of seeing Miss Elizabeth. During their last encounter, on the street in Meryton, he hadn’t exchanged a word with her, but she’d been stunning as she stood between her odious cousin and Miss Bennet, her shoulders back and her eyes flashing. When her anger and wit were not turned on him, they were quite beguiling.

The butler stepped into the doorway, halting Miss Bingley mid-sentence, and said, “A Mrs. Oakwood and four Miss Bennets ask if you are at home.”

The pleasure that surged through Darcy startled him.

“We are,” Miss Bingley replied promptly.

As the butler left, Darcy set aside his book, then circumspectly checked his cravat. Miss Bingley composed herself in a chair, as if she had not been pacing and ranting for half the day. Quiet settled on the drawing room. Mr. Hurst continued to carefully stack cards.

They all rose when the butler returned, Mrs. Oakwood and her four elder daughters in tow, and greetings commenced. So pleased was he to see Miss Elizabeth trail her mother and Miss Kitty into the room, Darcy nearly smiled. A strange giddiness swirled through his chest at the sight of her, but soon twisted tightly into something akin to fear when she did not acknowledge him. His unease grew as Miss Elizabeth surveyed the room, the Bingleys and the Hursts. Everything and everyone except Darcy until, finally, her gaze met his.

She smiled slightly, one fine brow raising in inquiry, and the worry that tightened Darcy’s chest eased.

Her efforts aided by Mrs. Oakwood, Miss Bingley made certain that Bingley ended up seated on a sofa with Miss Bennet. Darcy, meanwhile, employed years of practice at ensuring that he didn’t end up sitting next to husband-hunting young misses to claim a chair beside Miss Elizabeth, though Miss Mary slipped between them at one point, jeopardizing his plan. Fortunately, she passed him by, surprising him by being clumsy enough to brush against his coat. He hadn’t realized she was so much less graceful than her elder sisters.

Once they were seated and tea called for, Miss Bingley sat forward eagerly. Taking in the gleam of avarice in her eyes, Darcy wondered if Miss Elizabeth would notice. If she did, would she understand what lay behind that telling sparkle?

“Mrs. Oakwood, I was hoping you and your lovely daughters would call,” Miss Bingley began. “I have the best of news. We are to have additional guests.”

“Oh, let them be more handsome and wealthy gentlemen,” Miss Kitty cried from where she shared the settee upon which Miss Elizabeth perched.

More? Amusement washed through Darcy as he realized that meant that he was the first ‘handsome and wealthy gentleman.’ He slanted a look at Miss Elizabeth. Did he detect a faint blush at her sister’s words? But out of mortification or in agreement?

Ignoring Miss Kitty, Miss Bingley fixed her attention on Mrs. Oakwood. “I have been corresponding with my acquaintance, Miss Isabella Hargreaves, and—”

“Miss Hargreaves?” Mrs. Oakwood cut in sharply.

“Why, yes.” Miss Bingley scrutinized the matron. “Are you acquainted?”

Mrs. Oakwood gave a vigorous shake of her head, gray-streaked curls bouncing. “Most certainly not.”

“Yet, you reacted so strongly,” Miss Bingley pressed.

Mrs. Oakwood pressed her mouth closed, for once silent.

Miss Elizabeth exchanged confused looks with her older and next younger sisters.

“Mrs. Oakwood?” Miss Bingley made the name into a question.

“Mama is only upset because you have invited a lady.” Miss Kitty accompanied her words with an uncertain, worried look at her mother. She gestured with the fan she’d brought, as if Bingley kept his home overwarm. “We have more than enough ladies about.”

Regarding Mrs. Oakwood intently, Miss Bingley asked, “Is that the trouble?”

Mrs. Oakwood drew in a huffing breath, then nodded. “More ladies are not what is required.”

“Then never fear.” Miss Bingley smiled sweetly, still studying her prey. “Lord Franklin, Viscount Scathelock, and the younger brother, Mr. Nathan Hargreaves, will also visit. That is two more gentlemen, one titled, wealthy, and I am certain handsome, albeit the other is only seven and ten years of age.”

Mrs. Oakwood offered a strained smile. “How lovely for my girls. How kind of you to invite such good prospects into our neighborhood, but I am certain you must have your eye on Lord Franklin, Miss Bingley, and will not have cause to share him.” Mrs. Oakwood fluttered a hand as she spoke. “Understandable, to be certain. Unavoidable. My girls do not poach.”

“But I want to meet Lord Franklin,” Miss Kitty groused. “And I am certain Miss Bingley, as our dear friend, will share him. Who is his father?”

Watching Mrs. Oakwood closely as she spoke, Miss Bingley replied, “His father is no longer with us, but Lord Franklin is heir to the Earl of Pillory in Nottinghamshire.”

The matron paled.

A strange reaction indeed, but Darcy was far more interested in the increasingly confused looks exchanged by Miss Elizabeth, Miss Bennet, and Miss Mary. Whatever troubled their mother, he was certain they knew nothing of it. How singularly odd, and not at all the reaction he’d expected to Miss Bingley’s news.

Bingley, who had been doing his best to catch Miss Bennet’s eye, said loudly, “We will hold a ball, I should think. Show these Hargreaves how grand Netherfield Park may be, and how superior the neighborhood.” He smiled at Miss Bennet. “And the neighbors.”

“A ball,” Miss Kitty cried, clapping her hands together in glee. “Oh, how marvelous of you, Mr. Bingley.”

Bingley grinned at Miss Kitty for a moment before turning to seek Miss Bennet’s reaction.

She met Bingley’s eyes briefly. Sorrow overtook her features. She gave the barest shake of her head and dropped her attention to her lightly clasped hands.

Bingley stared at her in surprise. A line cleaved his brow. Mrs. Hurst looked back and forth between the two in confusion.

“I believe you promised our youngest sister a friendly gathering, rather than a ball,” Miss Elizabeth noted.

“Did you, Charles?” Mrs. Hurst asked.

Bingley shrugged. “Well, yes, there was talk of a gathering of some sort that Miss Lydia would be welcome to attend.”

“Oh, but a ball would be much more the thing,” Miss Kitty cried. “And you do not want Lydia here. She ruins everything.”

“I see no reason we cannot have both a friendly gathering and a ball,” Miss Bingley said, still studying Mrs. Oakwood.

“Yes, well, we must see when this ball is, to be certain.” Mrs. Oakwood nodded along with her words. “We are very busy. The Yuletide approaches. Very busy indeed.”

Miss Kitty turned a surprised look on her mother. “Nonsense. November has only now begun, and we have no obligation we cannot put off to attend a ball here at Netherfield Park.”

“Yes, well, we will see,” Mrs. Oakwood said with surprising firmness.

Darcy took in the room, wondering what transpired before him. Everyone seemed . . . off. Mrs. Oakwood obviously did not care for the idea of their additional guests. Miss Elizabeth and Miss Mary appeared as flummoxed as he was. Miss Bennet studied her hands as if they contained the secret to eternal life, her shoulders slumped forward and her demeanor quite miserable.

Mrs. Hurst looked to her husband, who shrugged his lack of understanding, that confusion echoed in Bingley’s dejected face. Her voice pitched with considerable cheer, Mrs. Hurst said, “The weather is holding so well for this time of year.”

That set off a flurry of benign conversation that carried them through tea. Bingley rallied, but each attempt to engage Miss Bennet was rebuffed, sending him back into misery. Darcy contributed little, content to observe the others. Especially Miss Elizabeth, who sent him amused, assessing looks each time her mother or Miss Kitty said something particularly silly. Miss Mary spoke not at all, watching everyone with keen eyes.

Finally, with conversation about them on a normal, even keel, Darcy leaned a bit closer to Miss Elizabeth and dared to say, “Not all of your party seem their usual convivial selves.” He did not trouble to glance at Miss Bennet. Miss Elizabeth, with her keen intelligence, would know who he meant.

Miss Elizabeth met his gaze with intent, gleaming eyes. “I believe, given the time, the reason for that will become clear to you.”

Darcy frowned. “Given the time?”

Miss Elizabeth nodded.

Did she not mean, ‘given time?’

“Why, Miss Elizabeth, whatever have you said to make Mr. Darcy glower so?” Miss Bingley asked with a laughing lightness that did little to mask the annoyance beneath. She looked about the room. “I cannot comprehend how four such fair misses have made both my brother and our dear guest so displeased.”

Miss Bennet’s cheeks pinked.

“I? Displeased?” Darcy shook his head. “Miss Elizabeth merely presented me with a riddle. Far from displeasing me, it leaves me intrigued. ”

“Do share it,” Miss Bingley urged.

Miss Elizabeth’s expression went blank, yet somehow Darcy could sense she didn’t particularly care to have her words shared. Her gaze darted once to her mother, then back to him.

Everyone watched him now. Darcy mustered something akin to a smile. “I will ponder it a time first, lest anyone beat me to the solution.”

Miss Bingley engaged in a pout. “Oh, how ungallant of you.”

“Elizabeth is forever making up nonsense,” Mrs. Oakwood said, waving a hand dismissively at her second child.

“There likely is no solution if it is one of her riddles,” Miss Kitty added. “I daresay she invents them simply to cause consternation.”

“Because you can never find a solution does not mean there is not one,” Miss Mary said, speaking for the first time since greetings were exchanged.

Miss Kitty tossed her curls. “You would defend her. You think clinging to Jane’s and Elizabeth’s skirts makes you as pretty and sought after as they are? Because it does not.”

“Kitty,” Miss Elizabeth snapped.

“Girls.” Mrs. Oakwood stood as she uttered that single, condemning word. “I believe we have remained quite long enough.”

“Yes, Mama,” the four chorused, rising as well.

Indeed, tea had been served and consumed, and it was obvious that Miss Bennet, at least, was relieved to quit their presence. Farewells were made, and promises to call issued, though Darcy was uncertain if they were meant on either side, and their guests began to file out. On her way past him, Miss Elizabeth murmured to Darcy not a farewell but a reiteration of, ‘the time.’

Darcy watched them leave with the feeling that he’d missed something important. And why this emphasis on the time? His gaze went to the mantel clock but the afternoon hour read as he expected. Could the timepiece be off in some significant way? He reached for his pocket watch, to check.

His fingers encountered a folded page. Darcy pulled it free in astonishment. How had a note come to be in his watch pocket without his knowledge? That seemed impossible, yet he held the evidence.

“What an odd visit,” Miss Bingley said, retaking her seat. “I am certain Mrs. Oakwood recognized Lord Franklin’s name, but if so, why did she react so poorly?” She reached to pour more tea. “I am having a second cup, if anyone would care to join me.”

“I don’t understand.” Bingley stood near the empty doorway, gazing down the hall like a forlorn pup. “She would not even speak with me.”

No one needed to ask who ‘she’ was .

“What have you there, Darcy?” Hurst asked as he crossed back to his card table, a plate full of sweets in hand.

“A note.” Darcy studied the tightly folded square.

“Is it in some way special?” Mrs. Hurst asked from where she sat near her sister, helping herself to more victuals.

“I have no notion from where it came,” Darcy admitted.

Bingley turned from the doorway with a frown. “How do you mean?”

“I mean, I went to remove my watch to check the time, and there it was.”

Miss Bingley’s eyebrows winged upward. “Well, open it. Do not keep us in suspense.”

Darcy unfolded the page with care, for the paper was very thin. To save money, or to save space, he did not know.

Mr. Darcy,

My inquiries have found that a Mr. Denny has been prevailed upon to spy on us, to report back any meetings between Mr. Bingley and my sister. Moreover, a reliable source assures me that Mr. Collins will do, in his words, ‘Whatever it takes,’ to ensure that Mr. Bingley does not purchase Netherfield Park. We ask that Mr. Bingley no longer show an interest in either the purchase of said property or my sister, for his own safety as well as hers.

Please pardon my impropriety in writing. I do so with the knowledge and support of both elder siblings.

M.B.

Darcy looked up to find a sea of curious eyes, and so read the missive aloud.

“So that is why she would not speak with me?” Bingley cried. He crossed to drop down into a chair, his relief palpable. “Not because she has found some sudden flaw in me.”

“Spying on their land?” Miss Bingley’s words were sharp with indignation. “Surely, that is a matter to take before the authorities?”

“You mean, Mr. Collins?” Mr. Hurst said dryly.

“Oh.” Miss Bingley pursed her lips. “I do see your point.”

Bingley surged back to his feet. “I am no coward. I will purchase this estate, and I will put someone else up for magistrate. That will fix Collins.”

“She said your safety and hers,” Darcy said quietly, emphasizing ‘hers.’

Defiance drained from Bingley’s stance. “He wouldn’t harm her. He means to marry her. ”

“As the Miss Bennets are far better acquainted with their cousin than we are, we must bow to their superior knowledge.” Darcy turned the note over as he spoke, but the back was blank.

“I will not be prevented from seeing her,” Bingley said hotly.

“Nor should you be.”

Darcy turned to Miss Bingley in surprise and countered, “Caution is warranted until we more fully understand the situation before us.”

She shook her head. “There is no time for caution. Lord Franklin is wealthy and by all accounts attractive. If Miss Bennet truly is the sister of a future earl, she will be a coveted prize. Charles must fully secure her affections before Lord Franklin learns of her.”

“If you are correct in your suppositions,” Mrs. Hurst said as she studied her plate, her fingers hovering over various delectables, “Lord Franklin is no lord at all, and so will not have any more to offer above what Charles has than Darcy does, and Miss Bennet does not seem to be swayed by Darcy’s wealth and connections.”

Miss Bingley shook her head. “Mr. Darcy made no attempt to woo her, and he lacks Lord Franklin’s keen motivation. If Master Thomas is the true heir, Miss Bennet will be Lord Franklin’s best chance to recapture some small part of what Thomas Oakwood will take from him.”

Darcy crossed to the fireplace and tossed Miss Mary’s note inside, for no good would come of keeping such a missive. Flames engulfed the thin paper, none so bright as Miss Elizabeth’s eyes. Agitation roiled through him, for the circumstances of their budding relationship with the Bennets and Oakwoods became ever more complicated. Darcy did not care for complicated. He merely wished for the opportunity to come to know Miss Elizabeth better.

But why? At first, he’d wished to learn if she was his mist-woman, but he had not thought on that mysterious figure in days. He knew he could not marry a country miss. Although, if Miss Bingley’s mad notion about Master Thomas somehow being secretly the heir to an earl…at least, the notion had seemed mad. Something about Mrs. Oakwood’s reaction spoke of more.

“I am due an afternoon ride,” Darcy declared, tired of suspicions and machination. “Feel free to join me Bingley, Hurst.” With that, he strode from the room, Miss Bingley’s and Mrs. Hurst’s speculations renewing to follow him down the hallway.

Surely not all women were so mercenary. He couldn’t picture Georgiana speaking thusly, nor Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth. No, with her active mind and keen wit, Miss Elizabeth would have far more engaging topics to speak on than who must marry whom, and why. What those topics were, Darcy did not know, and after the strained nature of the call they’d just endured and Miss Mary’s even stranger note, he was uncertain he would ever have the opportunity to learn.