Page 23 of Dishonorable Gentlemen (Bennet Gang #1)

A Dire Warning

Darcy stared blankly at the book he held, unable to muster the focus required to read when Bingley’s life might end on the morrow. At a table behind him, blissfully unaware of her brother’s plight, Miss Bingley muttered about the lack of sophisticated ingredients available locally as she wrote and rewrote menus for the Hargreaves’ stay. She had already exhorted the housekeeper, Mrs. Nichols, to begin preparations for making up a large quantity of white soup.

Seated on the sofa across from Darcy, Bingley made no effort at normalcy, staring with blank moodiness. Behind him, Hurst had drawn his wife into a game of cards. Mrs. Hurst’s pleased exclamations each time she won were the only sound in the room other than Miss Bingley’s muttering.

They’d been able to keep news of the duel from Bingley’s sisters, who decried interactions with the townsfolk, but Hurst’s evening games put him in possession of the information. Darcy deduced from the many worried looks Hurst cast at the back of Bingley’s head and the man’s unusually poor performance at cards that he, too, was worried to the point of distraction.

“A Mr. Phillips to see you, Mr. Bingley.”

Bingley started, letting out an exclamation, a sentiment with which Darcy sympathized. He had been too wrapped up in his thoughts to hear the butler as well.

“Really, Charles, what sort of language is that for a drawing room?” Mrs. Hurst asked.

“Mr. Phillips? Is that not the local attorney?” Miss Bingley said from behind Darcy. “What could he want?”

Coming to his feet, Bingley cleared his throat. “Ah, likely something to do with my notion of buying this place.” He turned to the butler. “Put him in the study, won’t you?”

The man nodded and turned to retrace his steps.

“I still cannot believe that such a lovely creature as Miss Bennet is related to an attorney,” Mrs. Hurst said into the silence that followed the butler’s departure.

“Soon enough we will know if she has more suitable relations to balance that out, thanks to me,” Miss Bingley replied, then returned to muttering about potatoes.

Bingley came to his feet, his movements jerky. “Darcy, care to join me?”

Relieved to be asked, to be doing anything other than pretending calm, Darcy nodded and stood.

“May I?” Hurst asked.

“Really, Steven,” Mrs. Hurst said tartly. “Are you so disgruntled to be beaten by me that you will pretend interest in my brother’s estate matters to escape? You are going nowhere until we finish this hand. I have my eye on a new bonnet that besting you will pay for admirably.”

Hurst offered them a grimace and dropped his attention to his cards without protest, to Darcy’s relief. He had suspicions about why Miss Bennet’s uncle would come to see Bingley, and the last thing the tension that roiled through the house needed was for Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley to learn about the duel.

Darcy followed Bingley out and to the room that would hold Netherfield Park’s books and ledgers, were the estate currently not overseen by a steward. Mr. Phillips awaited them there, his bow nearly as shaky as Bingley’s and tension radiating from him. After greetings were exchanged, Darcy dropped onto one of the sofas at the front of the room along with Bingley. Mr. Phillips perched opposite them.

“First,” he began, “I need to apologize for not coming sooner. I confess that my courage left me. It took a visit from my nieces to bring me around to do what is right.”

Bingley leaned forward eagerly, his worries momentarily forgotten as he asked, “Miss Bennet?”

Mr. Phillips nodded. “And Elizabeth. They came to me for answers and I am afraid that, despite vows I made years ago, I was persuaded.”

Darcy imagined that both misses could be quite persuasive when they chose.

Mr. Phillips fiddled with the knot on his rather limp cravat. “You see, what you must know, Mr. Bingley, is that you cannot duel Mr. Collins tomorrow. It is not safe.”

Darcy’s eyebrows rose. “That it is not safe to be shot at is not a revelation.”

Bingley nodded his agreement .

“Let me begin again.” Seeming unable to remain still, Mr. Phillips dropped his palms to scrub them on his trouser legs. “You must understand, I cannot have what I am about to confess become public knowledge.”

“On my honor,” Bingley vowed.

Darcy held up a staying hand, although his friend had already offered his word. “And you must understand that we cannot promise to keep a secret without knowing the implications of doing so. I will not be a party to anything criminal.” Darcy kept his voice firm, though he could feel the knowledge of tomorrow’s duel undermining his words, for what was a duel if not criminal?

Mr. Phillips studied him. “That…well, yes, that is a consideration. I am not…” He pressed his mouth closed, sucked in a deep breath, and met Darcy’s gaze. “I will impart what my nieces enjoined me to impart and then you may decide.”

“Thank you,” Darcy replied, aware of the annoyed look Bingley cast his way.

Mr. Phillips took another deep breath, then said, “When General Oakwood dueled Mr. Collins Sr., he was not wounded by his opponent. Collins hired a man to hide on the hillside and shoot the general.”

Darcy stared at Miss Elizabeth’s uncle, horrified. “And this was permitted to stand?”

“It was my word against that of Collins’ second,” Mr. Phillips began in a pleading voice.

He went on like this for some time, excusing his cowardice and attempting to justify compromising his honor for the price of ensuring he was there to care for the Bennets and Oakwoods. Darcy heard him out but made no pretense of understanding. Phillips, an attorney no less, had permitted some now-deceased local farmer to murder General Oakwood in cold blood. Perhaps worse, he had not impugned Mr. Collins’ name as he should. The man would never have been appointed magistrate were the truth known.

“So, you permitted Mr. Collins’ father to escape justice for his cowardly, vile behavior, and now fear his son will take like action?” Darcy stated when Mr. Phillips stopped speaking.

Mr. Phillips winced, containing his reply to a single nod.

Darcy turned to Bingley. “He is correct. You cannot duel Collins tomorrow.”

Bingley, who appeared to study his hands, did not look up for a long moment. Finally, he raised his face to reveal a blank look. “Miss Bennet urged you to come to me with this story?” he said at last.

Darcy narrowed his gaze. What was Bingley thinking?

“She did,” Mr. Phillips said wretchedly.

“I do not believe you.”

Mr. Phillips frowned. “On my honor, she all but coerced me into coming here to tell you the truth of what took place.”

Shaking his head, Bingley said, “No. I mean, I do not believe that is what took place when General Oakwood dueled Mr. Collins’ father.”

Mr. Phillips blinked several times, clearly confused. “But, that is what happened.”

“Miss Bennet swore never to accept an offer from me if I went through with this duel,” Bingley said slowly. “When I accepted regardless, she went to Mr. Collins and offered to marry him in order to prevent it.” He choked somewhat on those words, red rising up his neck.

Mr. Phillips gasped. “She did what?”

Darcy cast Bingley a glare. “If you will recall, Miss Bennet specifically requested that information not be shared with her relations.” He should have left that part out of his tale of meeting Miss Bennet before the magistrate’s office, keeping in only her declaration that she had not meant her words about refusing Bingley.

“You told her that you would not pass that information along to her family.” Bingley shrugged. “You did not.”

Darcy took little solace in that.

“She is going to marry that…that…” Mr. Phillips, his face molten, fumbled for a word.

“She is not,” Darcy assured the attorney. “He refused her. He is determined for the duel to take place.” To Bingley, Darcy added intently, “Which is surely a sign that what Mr. Phillips told you is the truth.”

“I cannot see how it is. All I see is that Miss Bennet is willing to do anything to prevent this duel, even sacrifice her every happiness, because she so greatly fears that I will end as her stepfather did, and that she is so persuasive that she convinced her uncle to come here and lie to us.” Bingley’s expression gentled. “It is understandable of her. Even laudable, but her honor is at stake, and mine. She is too tender a soul to understand the importance of that. I will not leave her to the treatment to which she will be subjected if the stain of Collins’ words is not wiped clean.”

“I swear to you that what I have told you is the truth,” Mr. Phillips said desperately.

“You could offer for Miss Bennet regardless,” Darcy urged, adding his will to that of the attorney. “Marrying you would do much to clear her name.”

“Not enough, and you know it.” Bingley held up a staying hand before Darcy could say more, adding, “And can you truly tell me that you believe a secret such as Mr. Phillips imparted could have been kept all these years? In a community such as this?”

“But it was kept,” Mr. Phillips cried. “I kept it.”

“You have my apology, sir, but I simply do not credit your story.”

Mr. Phillips stared at Bingley helplessly.

“At least let us take a score of men with us tomorrow,” Darcy urged, his mind going to the shallow dell. A location Robert Collins had suggested at his brother’s urging. “They can scour the hillsides.”

“Bring twenty witnesses to a duel?” Bingley cast Darcy an incredulous look. “So that Collins has twenty potential witnesses if I wound him and he decides to cry foul?”

Darcy began to feel as helpless as Mr. Phillips looked.

“Go speak with my nieces,” Mr. Phillips urged, sitting forward on the couch. “Speak with Jane. You will see that I am telling the truth.”

“The truth of a tale she learned only today?” Bingley asked skeptically.

“But you do wish to speak with her, do you not?” Darcy asked, seeing the brilliance of Mr. Phillips’ plan. Bingley was correct about one thing. Miss Bennet was quite persuasive. Yes, she had already tried to dissuade Bingley once but he’d been in a passion. Now, his head cool and his final afternoon before the duel waning, he would be more susceptible to her entreaties.

“I do wish to see her,” Bingley admitted.

Darcy came to his feet. “Then let us see her.” And Miss Elizabeth.

Mr. Phillips rose too, appearing relieved.

They saw Mr. Phillips off and sent for their mounts, and in no time were riding away from Netherfield Park. They took the main roadways, seeing no reason for stealth. It made little difference if Mr. Collins’ spies spotted them on their way to Dovemark now.

When they reached the house, a footman came out to secure their mounts, his expression worried and closed. As they took the steps up to the front door, Darcy noted that the man made no attempt to lead their horses away.

Even before they knocked, wailing reached them. Muted though it was by walls and door, Darcy could make out little more than the sound of it, but it filled him with worry. Bingley, not appearing to hear, knocked eagerly.

The door cracked open to Dovemark’s butler. “I am afraid the family is not at home. ”

The wails raced down the broad staircase, moans and shrieks pierced by, ‘Not a duel,’ and, ‘Oh, Mr. Bingley. Oh, my poor Arthur.’

Darcy exchanged a look with Bingley and said, “Even so, we would like you to convey our desire to walk with Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth in the garden.”

The man frowned. He almost certainly knew what was to take place come morning. He must sympathize with Bingley’s desire to see Miss Bennet, if he possessed any heart.

“Who is at the door, Hector?” a bright voice asked.

The butler turned his head to say, “A Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley, asking to walk with Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth, miss.”

“Oh.” Miss Lydia’s blonde head appeared in the cracked open doorway. “Give me a moment,” she said.

The door closed, cutting off another bout of, ‘Not a duel. A duel with a Collins! Oh, my poor Arthur.’

Darcy exchanged a look with Bingley, who shrugged. They went back down the steps to wait. Darcy stoutly ignored the man holding their horses. He would realize they were remaining soon enough.

Bingley pulled out his watch, checked the time, and shoved it back away.

A gust of November wind whipped by, causing Darcy to put a hand to his hat.

Bingley dipped two fingers into his pocket and pulled free his watch again. He checked the time and put it away.

This went on for perhaps five minutes. Darcy was fighting the urge to remove Bingley’s watch from his person when the door opened and Miss Lydia and both of her brothers spilled out.

Leading them down the steps, Miss Lydia marched up to them. “Jane, Elizabeth and Mary are in the garden. I sent a maid to warn them you’re coming. We’ll show you the way.” She smiled brightly, whirled away, and started down a path that led along the front of the house.

Warn them we are coming? Darcy mused as he and Bingley followed the two lads. An odd turn of phrase. Why would they require warning? For Miss Bennet to compose herself? Like as not, she was in a rather tearful state.

“You are going the long way,” Thomas Oakwood called to his sister’s back.

“I know how to get to the garden, Thomas.”

Turning to his younger brother, Thomas groused, “She’s going the long way.”

Matthew Oakwood nodded .

“I told Thomas and Matthew that I could take you around to see them,” Miss Lydia said loudly from where she led the way around to the side of the house.

“And I told Lydia that it would not be right for her to be alone with two gentlemen,” Thomas stated.

“And I said, but we’ll be outside and I am not even out, and Mr. Bingley is practically family.”

A glance showed crimson staining Bingley’s neck.

“But he is not family yet,” Matthew said. “And if he dies tomorrow, he never will be.” He cast a quick look over his shoulder. “Ah, my apologies.”

Ahead of them, Miss Lydia tossed her curls. “Mr. Bingley loves Jane too much to die.”

“Father loved Mother very much and he died,” Thomas said quietly.

Where he walked beside Darcy, Bingley rubbed at the back of his neck, grimacing.

“But they were older,” Miss Lydia countered, raising her voice rather than turning her head to be better heard. “That was boring old people love.”

Enduring, lasting, accepting love, Darcy thought. The sort of love his parents had. What he dreamed of for himself. A love that could only grow where there was respect on both sides.

He respected Miss Elizabeth. Her wit. Her vivacity. Her surety. Why was he waiting until he knew if her half-brother was heir to an earl to court her? Did the precise nature of her relations truly matter?

He shook his head, sure that it did not. Wondering how he’d ever thought that it did.

Miss Lydia led them around the house and onto a path leading to the familiar sight of the walled garden. Darcy longed to hurry his pace, for Miss Elizabeth waited within, but he refrained from trampling her young relations out of eagerness to see her.

A giddiness built in his heart as they drew near the garden. He was decided. No matter what else took place here, he would find a moment to take Miss Elizabeth aside and state… He broke off that thought with a wince, recalling when he’d informed her that they would dance.

He would not state his intention of courting her. He would ask her permission to do so.

Later, when Mrs. Oakwood was in a better frame of mind, Darcy would beg a meeting with her and Master Thomas, but for today, he wanted to share the joy of his resolve with Miss Elizabeth. He looked forward to coming to know her better and, in the hopefully not too distant future, to entering into a union. His reservations over her relations dismissed, there existed no reason why they could not come to a happy agreement before Christmas.