Page 24 of Dishonorable Gentlemen (Bennet Gang #1)
The Promise of a Courtship
Elizabeth didn’t know what possessed Lydia to send a maid to warn them of Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley’s arrival, but she would have to thank her little sister later. Fortunately, Mary took note of the girl in the stable calling for them, for Elizabeth and Jane had been too busy fencing to notice. They’d cleaned up as quickly and best they could, checked to be certain the maid had given up looking in the stable, and made their way to the garden.
Jane had never before been so fierce an opponent as she was today. Elizabeth knew her sister’s desire to sink into a bout came from her anger and worry, and a few times Jane had been nearly savage enough in her attacks to warrant ending the match. But Elizabeth was the more proficient of the two, and had withstood her sister’s fury. She would have endured worse to help Jane through her tumult.
Now, her face serene, Jane sat on a bench in the center of the garden, weaving a rough basket for transporting flowers and vegetables in the spring.
Elizabeth was not fooled for a moment by her sister’s composure.
Mere minutes after they were settled into their task, Lydia’s prattling voice reached them, followed moments later by her appearance through the southern gate as she led both of their brothers, Mr. Darcy, and Mr. Bingley into the garden. The group, nearly twice the number Elizabeth had expected, surprised her, but what surprised her more was the warm smile on Mr. Darcy’s face as he met her gaze over the heads of her siblings. Struck by how engaging the expression made him, Elizabeth’s breath caught. She smiled back, unable to resist such a delightful expression. Mary, seated on one of the benches that faced north, cast Elizabeth a questioning look, in answer to which she shook her head and schooled her features, for this would not be a joyous meeting.
“Weaving baskets again?” Lydia asked brightly, reaching them. “Are those the same ones on which you’ve been working? You haven’t got very far.” She smirked at Elizabeth, Thomas and Matthew coming to stand with her in the open center of the garden about which the benches stood.
“Sometimes we get to talking and forget to weave,” Elizabeth replied blandly.
“I do not,” Mary announced. She held up a completed basket for all to see.
Elizabeth struggled to hide her surprise, uncertain how Mary had found the time. Had she been weaving in the cave while Elizabeth and Jane fenced?
“Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth, Miss Mary,” Mr. Bingley spoke their names in hurried greeting as he came to stand before Jane. He bowed. “Miss Bennet, may we walk?”
“I believe that is advisable,” Jane said with a certain amount of firmness in her voice, rising.
Mr. Darcy bowed as well, doing so from the head of the path so as to include them all in the gesture. Even as Elizabeth took note of that careful courtesy, he straightened to ask, “Miss Elizabeth, if it would not be an imposition, would you care to join me? I am desirous of walking as well.”
Intrigued, Elizabeth stood. “Certainly.” She looked to Jane, but her sister was entirely focused on Mr. Bingley as he extended his arm and they started up the path in the direction of the stable.
“I suppose I get to just sit here and watch,” Lydia groused as Elizabeth crossed to Mr. Darcy. Her expression already portraying boredom, Lydia plopped down on the bench Jane had vacated.
“You can finish Jane’s basket,” Mary said crisply.
Elizabeth glimpsed her youngest sister pulling a face, and Thomas and Matthew taking benches opposite one another, before Mr. Darcy turned her down the path up which they’d all come. She wondered if Mary would actually succeed in getting Lydia to weave.
But she wondered more what news Mr. Darcy brought that had him smiling so appealingly earlier. “Dare I hope you have come to report that the duel has been called off?” she asked as they meandered away from the others.
His expression firmed into disapproval. “No, you may not. Bingley is determined to avenge your sister’s honor.”
Elizabeth let out a sigh. “I had so hoped that news was the source of your happiness as you approached.” She shook her head in annoyance. “Mr. Bingley will not heed our uncle’s warning?”
“He is of the firm opinion that Miss Bennet concocted the story and used her charm to persuade your uncle to bring the tale to him.”
“He accused Jane and Uncle Phillips of lying?” Elizabeth demanded, indignant.
“He accused Miss Bennet of being capable of going to any length to, as she must see it, spare him the fate that befell your stepfather, and your uncle of being unable to resist her undeniable charm.”
“Which is a very pretty way of saying, ‘lying.’”
Mr. Darcy cast her a quick, assessing look. “It is a polite and understanding rendition of Bingley’s reasoning and, if true, can be viewed as a strong testament to your sister’s regard.”
“You maintain that by accusing Jane of lying, Mr. Bingley is acknowledging her affection for him?”
“If it pleases you to come to that conclusion, it is near enough to Bingley’s own.”
Elizabeth enjoyed this, this bantering with Mr. Darcy. She’d once thought him haughty beyond bearing, but had quickly realized the impression stemmed from a correctness of character that could only be applauded. He was, upon first acquaintance, quite reserved, but was it not better to be so, and to come slowly to true friendships, than to rush into relationships that may not have the common ground and respect to last?
She would miss this. If any ill befell Mr. Bingley tomorrow, not only would that be tragic in and of itself, but Mr. Darcy would undoubtedly depart Hertfordshire, and Elizabeth would miss him.
Realizing her silence had gone overlong, she mustered a weak smile. “I believe you and I have formed a good understanding of the situation, but I do not envy Mr. Bingley if that is what he is attempting to convey to Jane.” If Mr. Bingley was under the impression that Jane’s kindness equated to a lack of resolve, he was likely even now being set straight.
“Perhaps she will quibble less with his choice of words and instead agree to his sentiment.”
“Is that what I do?” Elizabeth’s smile became slightly more real. “Quibble?”
“You insist on correct and precise understanding. That is laudable.”
It came to her that she could protest the implication that if her way was laudable, Jane’s agreeableness perforce was not, but she did not in truth want to quibble, as Mr. Darcy chose to define her tendency to contrariness. She wanted to know the source of the engaging, breathtaking smile he’d directed at her upon entering the garden. “If not to impart the happy news that there will be no duel, how do you explain your pleasant demeanor when you arrived?”
He slanted a look at her. Their slow steps brought them to the end of the garden, the path and house visible through the arched stone gate. Withdrawing his arm, Mr. Darcy turned to face her, rather than stroll back up the path to the center, and Elizabeth’s siblings. As she met his gaze, she was aware, from the corner of her eye, of her younger siblings chatting and, beyond them, Jane and Mr. Bingley speaking with far more rigidity of stance than either usually evidenced.
“The morning after we arrived in Meryton for the first time,” Mr. Darcy said, his soft words claiming her attention, “I was directed to the hill overlooking Netherfield Park’s manor house.” Unlike his words, his eyes gleamed with intensity, searching hers. “The fog was some of the densest I’ve ever seen, and the house invisible, but what I did see…” His gaze raked her face.
Elizabeth stared back, recalling that morning well. She’d walked early, because of the fog. She enjoyed how it enveloped her. How it made the world feel unreal. Magical, and full of potential, as if, if she wished hard enough, when it cleared, everything might somehow be different. Papa Arthur alive, or the gentlemen of the region proper and good landholders, or even, perhaps, her father would be there, if only for an imagined, mystical moment.
Mr. Darcy’s words the night of the assembly returned to her, bringing clarity. “You were there that morning, in the fog,” she realized. Once, she’d thought she heard a horse, but the sound had echoed about the hills and she’d been unable to place the source. She’d hurried back then, down the cleft she used like a stairwell, into the shallow dell, and through the trees to the entrance into their cave that hid beneath Oakham Mount.
“I glimpsed a woman,” Mr. Darcy said. “Not well enough to see her face. Hardly well enough to guess her height, but there was such a presence to her. Such grace to her movements. And then she vanished.” He shook his head, bemused. “At times, I have doubted the reality of her. At others, I have been certain she was you. Regardless, when we met later that day before the magistrate’s office, I felt such a keen sense of recognition. As if you and I were destined to meet.”
“I did walk the hilltop that morning,” Elizabeth said softly, but she doubted a glimpse of her in the fog was the source of Mr. Darcy’s certainty that they’d met. She recalled how he’d looked at her that morning. How she’d feared him halfway to accusing her of being Azile. Mr. Darcy felt they had a connection, and they did, but not the one he so obviously lauded.
Guilt washed through her.
“Then it was you?” he asked eagerly. “You were the woman in the mist? ”
His obvious pleasure was a knife, driving her guilt deeper. “To that I cannot swear. Only that I did walk the hilltops that morning.” Relenting slightly, she added, “And I doubt any other did.”
He leaned forward, his eyes more alive than she’d yet seen them. “Miss Elizabeth, I know this is not an auspicious time for such a question, but I would very much like to come to know you better. Is that something that would be amenable to you?”
Dryness filled Elizabeth’s mouth, her mind whirling. It would indeed be amenable to her, but how could she let him court her on the premise that they had some sort of connection, a foretold future together, when she knew the truth behind his premonition?
More than that, until such time as Jane did marry, Elizabeth was Azile. A Boney Bandit.
She looked up the garden to where Jane and Mr. Bingley still spoke with an intensity evident even from afar. If, and Elizabeth prayed it would not be so, but if anything dire happened to Mr. Bingley tomorrow, the Boney Bandits’ work would not be done. They were needed, and would be for so long as Mr. Collins and his lackeys held sway.
More than that, Mr. Darcy was not the sort to marry a woman who went about disguised as a highwayman, robbing people. Elizabeth had always assumed Jane would marry, and there would be no more Boney Bandits, and that, by the time she wed, this part of her life would be long in her past. Something she could consign there, and leave there, and never need to confess to her husband. After all, men did many things before they married, and it was her impression that their wives learned little of them.
But this was different. Her illicit deeds were fresh, and Mr. Darcy was an upright, honorable man. Nor was he Mr. Bingley, or she Jane. Elizabeth could picture her sister sweetly confessing all to Mr. Bingley, and him accepting her secrets and keeping them. She was not certain she would fare as well were she to offer the truth to Mr. Darcy, the gentleman who had used his connections to summon a militia to hunt for them.
“You have not answered me.”
Elizabeth returned her gaze to his face to find that the joy had departed. He stood stiffly, his eyes dark. His emotions hidden away from her. He looked like nothing so much as a fine work of art. A statue carved of the coldest marble.
“As you said, it is an inauspicious time for such a question.” She swallowed against the dryness in her throat, and the hard lump forming there. “If you would ask me again tomorrow afternoon? Please? ”
Twin lines appeared on his brow. “The outcome of Bingley’s duel will dictate your willingness to be courted by me?” He shook his head. “In what way?”
Elizabeth floundered, the misery she felt at crushing Mr. Darcy’s happiness robbing her of her usual quickness of thought. “It is complicated to explain.” Reaching out, seeking to reassure him, she rested her fingertips lightly on his sleeve. “Please, give me this time. That is all I ask. If all goes as we can wish tomorrow, my answer will be yes. Enthusiastically so.”
Some of the stiffness eased from him. “I cannot guess at your reasons, but if one day is what you ask, I could not call my intentions constant and not be willing to grant it.”
Relief rushed through her, dizzying. “Thank you.”
Movement caught her eye and she looked to see Jane and Mr. Bingley coming back down the walk, nearing the center of the garden. Jane’s hand rested on his arm, but they wore matching expressions of misery. Mr. Bingley raised his gaze, seeking Mr. Darcy.
“We should rejoin them,” Mr. Darcy said quietly. He offered Elizabeth his arm.
They returned to the others, not speaking, but Elizabeth made every effort not to look as agonized as Jane. After all, what was putting Mr. Darcy off for a day compared to the worry of losing Mr. Bingley forever?
Farewells were swift, Mr. Bingley’s mumbled, and the meaningful look Elizabeth leveled on Lydia fortunately had her gathering Thomas and Matthew to escort the gentlemen back to the front of the house.
Once they were gone, Mary turned to Elizabeth and Jane. “Well?”
Shrugging, Elizabeth turned to Jane as well.
Her expression miserable, she said, “He will not forgo the duel. He claims that the only way to do so and preserve my honor, and his, is to force Uncle Phillips to confess what happened to Papa Arthur, but that Mr. Collins and his allies will gainsay our uncle, and we will all be sued for slander.”
Mary frowned. “He is likely right.”
“I do not care if he is right.” Jane dashed at her eyes. “I care if he is alive. It is not as if we need to remain here, after all. If we were to marry, we would never need return here again, so it cannot matter what people here think.”
Sorrow so cutting it felt like anger slashed through Elizabeth. “You would leave us forever? Never return?”
Jane turned a beseeching look on her. “What else could we do?”
“But he did not agree.” Mary’s words were more a statement than a question .
Her shoulders haunching, Jane seemed to shrink with misery. “Mr. Bingley said the shame would follow us, and taint all of you.”
“He is right.”
“I know,” Jane said wretchedly.
Elizabeth gave Mary a glare for her frankness, but also applauded it. She did not want Jane to go away forever. Nor, in truth, did she want the honor of her sisters stained. What would Mary, Kitty, and Lydia do if no one would take them to wife? A small, deplorable part of Elizabeth wondered if, as well, such a blight on their family name would deter Mr. Darcy.
She did not care to believe so, yet could not quite dispel the notion.
“Well then.” Mary’s crisp words pulled Elizabeth from her desperate swirl of thoughts. “We need a plan. We already know when the duel will be fought. Jane, did you learn where?”
Jane drew in a deep breath, pulled her shoulders back, raised her chin, and managed a semblance of her usual calm expression. “I did. He did not want to tell me, fearing that I will come watch, but I dragged it from him.” She winced. “I did not enjoy doing so.”
Mary waved that aside. “Where?”
“In the valley at the base of that cleft that cuts downward from the hilltop overlooking Netherfield Park’s manor house.”
Elizabeth’s eyebrows shot up.
“Is that not where Papa Arthur and Mr. Collins’ father dueled?” Mary asked.
A shock of dread went through Elizabeth. “Mr. Collins truly must harbor the same plan as his father.”
Jane’s face was white as she nodded. “We must stop whomever he has paid to shoot Mr. Bingley.”
“It must be that fellow who returned from London with Mr. Denny.” Elizabeth knew there was something too friendly about the man. What had his name been? Wickham? He’d worked overly hard to be likable and not one bit threatening.
“Enaj and Azile must stop him, you mean.” Mary’s words were quiet and she darted a look about, as if someone might have sneaked into the garden to listen. “We will rise well before dawn. You will take up position on the hillside, with a view of both sides of the valley. There is that flat area, you know the one? It has enough large rocks and trees to hide you. I will guard the cleft, to ensure your retreat.”
“Should we not retreat through the passage under Oakham Mount?” Jane asked .
Elizabeth, most familiar with the terrain, shook her head. “We would need to descend to the valley floor. Better to come back up and over, and disappear into the forest on this side.”
“What…” Jane appeared nearly guilty as she broke off. “What if we are wrong, and the duel is fair?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “What of it?”
“Do we interfere? Do we permit Mr. Collins to shoot Mr. Bingley?”
Elizabeth exchanged a look with Mary, then said, “We cannot shoot our cousin. You do know that?”
“Not to kill him,” Jane said hurriedly. “But the Boney Bandits could interrupt. Or we could, well, shoot him in the leg.”
“And if he dies from the wound?” Mary asked.
Jane looked down, abashed.
“I believe that if the duel is honorable, we must permit it to proceed,” Elizabeth said softly.
Jane raised stricken eyes, and Elizabeth knew she was envisioning the worst.
Mary lightly touched Jane’s arm. “Elizabeth is correct.”
Jane nodded, the movement jerky.
“Enaj will need his Bakers,” Mary continued, referring to Jane’s rifles. “Both loaded and ready, in case deterring the assassin takes more than one shot.”
“We had best go fully armed,” Elizabeth said. “All three of us, even though you are not meant to become involved, Mary. You will need to don your black for once.”
Mary grimaced, for she never liked to put on the black lawn shirt and trousers of a Boney Bandit, but she nodded.
They carried on like this for some time, deciding precisely what to bring and when to move, and by the time they left the garden, Elizabeth felt better. This would be the Boney Bandit’s final mission, and their most important, and they would not fail. They would ensure that Mr. Collins did not murder Mr. Bingley, for Jane and for all of Meryton.