Page 8 of Dishonorable Gentlemen (Bennet Gang #1)

Complications

By flickering lantern light in the cavern hidden behind the stable, Elizabeth parried Jane’s thrust, pressing her sister back. Dropping low, Elizabeth pivoted. She brought up her blunted practice blade and swung, intent on knocking aside the knife she knew sped in her direction.

The dulled knife Mary had launched at her bounced off Elizabeth’s padded jerkin, then clattered to the floor.

Mary’s mouth fell open in shock. “You missed. I mean, I hit you.”

Elizabeth looked down at the knife where it lay on the smoothed stone. She straightened, frowning.

“Are you unwell, Elizabeth?” Jane asked, coming around her to peer at her face. “Perhaps we should not be practicing on so little sleep? We did remain at the assembly rather late.”

“I took plenty of rest.” Elizabeth winced at the note of annoyance in her voice, also unusual.

Jane regarded her with worried eyes. “But you never miss. Mary has not hit you in years.”

Elizabeth drew her shoulders back, resting the blunted tip of her practice blade on the stone at her feet, her hands folded on the pommel. “I am perfectly well.”

“You are distracted,” Mary said. “You are daydreaming about someone wealthy and handsome, no doubt.”

Elizabeth kept her face bland but Mr. Darcy’s handsome visage, determined as he strode forward to intercept Mr. Collins in conversation, filled her mind. Once he’d committed to Elizabeth’s scheme of keeping her sister away from Mr. Collins, Mr. Darcy had undertaken the task with a dedication and intensity that impressed her, and had laid to rest any worry that he and Mr. Bingley were in collusion with the master of Longbourn.

He'd also seemed, at times, to actually enjoy himself. Once or twice, Elizabeth had glimpsed mischief in his eyes, the expression delightful there. In their brief acquaintance, he generally seemed guarded and stiff. Was there anyone in his life who made certain he engaged in fun now and again?

“You were thinking about Mr. Bingley?” Jane asked slowly, agony in her voice.

Elizabeth shook her head. “I was certainly not thinking about Mr. Bingley.”

Red suffused Jane’s cheeks. “Oh. Well, that is good.” She crossed to the rack where they stored their practice swords.

Mary came forward to collect the knife she’d thrown, saying, “I did not mean Mr. Bingley.”

In the act of returning her blade to its place, Jane looked over her shoulder. “Who, then?”

Mary eyed Elizabeth. “Mr. Darcy.”

Heat raced up Elizabeth’s neck, for Mary was correct. As much as she’d meant to concentrate on their sparring, memories of Mr. Darcy at the assembly continually encroached.

“Were you thinking about Mr. Darcy?” Jane asked, turning from the sword rack.

Elizabeth shrugged, trying to make the motion casual. “I was, but not in the way Mary is suggesting.”

Mary snorted. “How many ways are there to think about a tall, handsome, wealthy gentleman?”

Elizabeth presumed there were a great many. She tried not to get lost in imagining them.

Taking up a cloth to wipe her hands, Jane said, “Oh, come now, do tell. I have already bored you nearly insensible by recounting my every interaction with Mr. Bingley.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “You could never bore anyone, but I was not thinking about Mr. Darcy like that.” At least, she’d been trying not to. “It is something he said as he was escorting me back to you all after the final set.” Her cheeks grew hot. “I do not know what to make of it.”

“Well, tell us and we will help you decide,” Mary ordered. She replaced Jane by the sword rack, lining up her practice daggers in their space below the longer blades.

“We are done sparring?” Elizabeth asked. “I will concentrate. On my honor.”

“Jane put up her sword,” Mary replied. “I assumed we were done. And do not think you can change the subject so easily.”

Ignoring Mary, Elizabeth cast a questioning look at Jane. “Are we done practicing for the day?”

“I thought I would do some mending.” Jane started on the laces of her padded jerkin.

Elizabeth was in no way fooled by her sister’s casual reply. “You want to be in the house. You hope Mr. Bingley will call.”

Jane looked down. “Perhaps.”

“A deduction that in no way tells us what Mr. Darcy said to you, Elizabeth,” Mary put in, starting to remove her padding as well.

Elizabeth knew her sister wouldn’t relent. Once Mary focused on something, she was tenacious. Trying not to let the annoyance she felt into her voice, Elizabeth told them, “He truly did not say much. We were speaking of walking and he asked if I have taken in the view of Netherfield Park from the hills, early in the morning.”

“That seems harmless enough.” Jane sounded relieved.

“I would think so, and his voice held no inappropriate undertones, but his eyes…” Elizabeth trailed off. His eyes, though glimpsed only out of the corner of hers, had practically blazed with interest.

“His eyes what?” Mary asked.

Searching for the right words, Elizabeth said, “I cannot quite describe it, but I formed the impression that he wants to encounter me there. On the hillock overlooking Netherfield Park, early in the morning.”

“Surely not,” Jane protested, hanging up her jerkin.

Mary frowned, considering. “To what end?”

Elizabeth shook her head. “That is the question that has me so preoccupied.”

“Do you think he sought a…a rendezvous?” Mary ventured.

“He could not have.” Jane sounded quite insulted on Elizabeth’s behalf. “He is Mr. Bingley’s friend and a perfectly upright gentleman.”

Or perhaps her sister was offended on Mr. Bingley’s behalf, Elizabeth mused, and said, “He could not have been suggesting a rendezvous because he offered no date.” Giving up on more practice, she crossed to stow her blade with the others, then started unlacing her jerkin.

“But he did offer a time,” Mary said thoughtfully, hanging her jerkin beside Jane’s. “Perhaps you were meant to add a date? Maybe that was to be the next step in the conversation. What did he say next?”

“That sometimes fog obscures the view.”

“That does not sound like an invitation to a rendezvous,” Jane said firmly.

“Unless he means for Elizabeth to meet him up there the next time we have a foggy morning. ”

Jane cast Mary an annoyed look before asking Elizabeth, “Have you been going up there?”

Elizabeth hung up her padding and reached for a cloth to wipe her hands. “Not of late. Not since Mr. Bingley took up residence.” But it had been foggy the last time Elizabeth walked along that stretch of hilltop. Densely so. Later that same day, they had met Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley for what the two believed was the first time. Which made Mr. Darcy’s choice of conversation all the more curious.

“Perhaps Jane is correct about the need for mending,” Mary mused. “If the Bingleys, Hursts, and Mr. Darcy do call, you can see if he brings up walking and fog again.”

“I cannot imagine he will.” Somehow, despite his odd statements about the view of Netherfield Park, Elizabeth couldn’t picture Mr. Darcy as a rake. He seemed far too serious for dalliances. “Likely he meant nothing by his words.”

And even if he were a rake, her lack of response to his sallies about the hilltop would ensure he took such attention elsewhere. Which suited her. Elizabeth wouldn’t be the one to break up the Boney Bandits. They all knew Jane would fall in love and do that.

And if she could fall in love with Mr. Bingley, as she seemed inclined to do, and Mr. Bingley could be persuaded to purchase Netherfield Park and see that a more just man was put up for magistrate, there would be no more need for the Boney Bandits. Elizabeth and her sisters could become just like all the other marriage-minded misses.

“Mending, then?” Mary asked, looking back and forth between them.

Elizabeth folded the rag she held. “I do have a tear in the hem of my cloak.”

Smiling happily, Jane went to the door to the stable. She slid aside a small panel and peered out.

They always checked to ensure that no one had come in while they were in the cavern. It pleased Elizabeth that her sister hadn’t forgotten caution in her excitement over the possibility that Mr. Bingley might call.

Jane opened the heavy door and stepped through, Mary following her.

Elizabeth caught up the lantern, the only source of light as they hadn’t troubled to light the many candles that filled sconces set about the large space. She turned in a slow circle, taking in the rough walls of the cavern, discovered by Papa Arthur before he purchased the land on which to build their home. They’d spent so many happy hours here, first learning from Papa Arthur and then sparring together. Was all that truly about to end simply because a man had smiled at her older sister?

Elizabeth sighed. She did not want to be like every other marriage-minded miss. She wanted to be a part of Papa Arthur’s Bennet Gang, even if the Boney Bandits must lose Jane.

“Elizabeth, are you coming?” Jane called back. “We need time to make ready before they call.”

Elizabeth lowered the lantern. No, not because a man had smiled at Jane, for many had over the years. Because the right man had. Mr. Charles Bingley.

Suppressing her sorrow in view of Jane’s happiness, Elizabeth slipped through the secret door, following her sisters.

After extinguishing the lantern and returning it to a shelf set just inside the door, they closed it, rendering the passageway invisible in the stacked stone wall. They helped each other check that their gowns and coifs were in order, then exited the stable to find Lydia coming out of the walled garden. Sighting them, she brightened and hurried up the path. “There you are. I was worried you’d gone riding. Jane, Mama says you must come in and ready for callers.” Lydia looked from their eldest sister to Elizabeth and Mary. “She didn’t say anything about you two.”

Elizabeth exchanged a wry look with Mary. No, Mama wouldn’t care where they were. Only that Kitty and Jane were available, and the latter was a new concern. Before Mr. Bingley’s marked attention the evening before, Mama wouldn’t have shown interest in where Jane was, either.

Not seeming to note their amusement, Lydia prattled on to Jane, saying, “Mama is certain Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy and Mr. Collins will call, and she says she does not care which of them you marry so long as you marry one and Kitty the other, and Kitty said she wants to marry Mr. Collins and have Longbourn, but Mama said she should want to marry that Mr. Darcy, because he is worth ten thousand a year, even if he did not dance with her. Mama said she was certain you, Jane, had squandered any opportunity of happiness after ruining your chance with Mr. Collins all those years ago, but that now you might make up for your bad behavior by securing a wealthy gentleman.”

Jane halted, drawing the rest of them up short.

Taking in her sister’s white face, Elizabeth asked, “Jane? Are you unwell?”

“You do not truly believe that Mr. Collins will call?” Jane said quietly.

Lydia scrunched up her nose. “I know his papa killed Papa Arthur, and Papa Arthur killed him, but it was so long ago. And Mama says Mr. Collins had nothing to do with it. She says we must forgive him because there are five of us and we all need to marry.”

“He had everything to do with it.”

Jane spoke with such low ferocity that Lydia, her eyes going wide, stepped back from their older sister. Lydia swallowed. “H-he did?”

“If he calls before Mr. Bingley, you can say you have a sore head and leave,” Elizabeth said quietly. “You cannot forgo the opportunity to see Mr. Bingley simply because of our horrible cousin may also call.”

“And if Mr. Bingley arrives first, we can suggest a walk,” Mary added.

Jane shook her head. “Mama will not allow it. Not knowing there might be more callers.”

“I can help.” Lydia looked eagerly from one to the other of them. “I can keep talking about a walk no matter what Mama says. I can wear her down.”

Jane cast her a grateful look but said, “She will likely send you and Matthew to your schoolroom. Maybe even Thomas.”

Lydia stamped a foot against the stone of the walk. “I wish I were older. I want to help.”

“You will be sixteen soon,” Elizabeth said soothingly. “Mama let Kitty be out when she was sixteen.”

“She made the rest of us wait until we were eighteen,” Mary said.

Elizabeth cast her a quelling look.

Jane sighed. “None of that will be decided by lingering here.” Squaring her shoulders, she resumed walking, though with a hint of a gallows’ march to her steps.

Elizabeth exchanged a worried look with Mary, then they all followed.

They entered through the kitchen and went up to their rooms via the maids’ stairs, avoiding the front of the house where they might encounter callers. None of them spoke as they slipped into their rooms to change.

Elizabeth had hardly closed her door when a soft knock sounded.

“It’s only me,” Lydia’s voice said.

“Come in,” Elizabeth called back.

Lydia entered, then closed the door firmly behind her before meeting Elizabeth’s inquiring gaze. Lydia raised her chin, her expression mulish but her voice soft as she said, “I want to know what happened. I want to know why you and Jane and Mary hate Mr. Collins so much.”

Elizabeth studied her younger sister, taking in Lydia’s childish gown, which looked a touch absurd on her less-than-childish figure. Having grown a great deal in the past year or so, Lydia now towered over Thomas and Matthew, and Elizabeth as well .

“You just said I’m nearly old enough to be out.” Lydia stamped a foot in the thick carpet that warmed Elizabeth’s floor. “I need to know. I have to learn about dealing with gentlemen.”

“You have to learn to stop stamping your foot like a child about to throw a tantrum,” Elizabeth cast back.

Scarlet suffused Lydia’s face. She sucked in a deep breath, smoothing her palms along the sides of her skirt. “I am sorry. I will endeavor not to stamp my foot, but you truly must tell me.”

Lydia was right, Elizabeth decided. Even though it was more Jane’s story than hers, Lydia should know. She would need to deal with gentlemen, and Mama treated her more as a maid than a daughter, so she would receive no advice there. Not that Elizabeth ever had, either. Mrs. Oakwood’s advice was reserved for Kitty, the daughter who had brought Papa Arthur into their lives by running into the street. “If you help me ready so I need not call a maid, I will tell you.” She grimaced at her words, feeling a flash of guilt at asking Lydia to play the maid after her uncharitable thought about their mother moments ago.

Lydia nodded eagerly. “I will. Only please tell me.”

Elizabeth turned and lifted her hair out of the way so Lydia might get at the row of buttons down her back. Taking a moment to gather her thoughts as Lydia started on the buttons, Elizabeth said, “In truth, there is not very much to tell.” Yet, what there was, was difficult. Elizabeth swallowed. “One day when Jane was—” She broke off, having not considered Jane’s age at the time in light of Lydia’s age now. “When Jane was your age, in fact, she was out walking and Mr. Collins came upon her. He…” How to phrase such a thing? “He had been showing Jane marked attention of late and, finding her alone, he attempted to take certain liberties.”

Lydia gasped, her hands stilling in their work on the buttons. “But only tried?”

Elizabeth nodded. “Fortunately, Jane managed to strike him right on the nose, and that drove him off.” In truth, having been training with Papa Arthur for over five years at that point, Jane’s punch had nothing to do with luck and had broken Mr. Collins’ nose.

“Jane must have been very upset.” Lydia resumed her work on the buttons.

“She was very upset, yes. She came straight home to tell me and Papa Arthur.” Who’d become so coldly enraged that Elizabeth still shivered, recalling his face. “It may have ended there but, unfortunately, Mr. Collins had a broken nose and developed two blackened eyes as well.” Even though it had caused so much trouble, Elizabeth still savored the memory of her cousin’s damaged face. “He could have done the decent thing and hidden away until he healed, or concocted a story, but instead he started telling anyone who asked that Jane had permitted him liberties. He claimed that, once he was lulled into believing in her affection, she struck him by surprise.” That was the best Elizabeth could do in describing to her young sister the revolting tale Mr. Collins had truly spread.

“Oh dear.” Lydia helped Elizabeth from her gown, and they both moved to the wardrobe.

Elizabeth reached for the nearest tea-appropriate garment.

Lydia batted her hand away. “The yellow makes you look sallow. You should never wear it. You’ll look much prettier in the blue.” She pulled the gown free.

Bemused, Elizabeth shrugged. She had little care how she looked. It was Jane who must win Mr. Bingley.

They got Elizabeth into the gown and Lydia began on the new set of buttons before asking, “Then what happened?”

“Mr. Collins and his father called, saying that Jane and our cousin must marry, her being compromised.” Elizabeth could still recall being younger than Lydia was now, huddled with their ears to Papa Arthur’s study door, listening to the men argue. “Papa Arthur said there had been no compromise and Jane would never marry our cousin. They argued, and Papa Arthur challenged Mr. Collins, so he might prove Jane’s innocence.”

Behind Elizabeth, Lydia sighed. “That is so brave. I hope a man will fight a duel for me someday.” She buttoned another button. “But I thought Papa Arthur dueled Mr. Collins’ father, not Mr. Collins.”

“He did. Mr. Collins’ father championed him. He said that at eighteen, Mr. Collins was too young to duel.”

“Eighteen is not too young to duel.”

Elizabeth shrugged. “I agree, but our cousin is a coward.”

“Sit down and I will fix your hair,” Lydia ordered.

Complying, Elizabeth continued, “So they dueled, and I think you know the rest.”

In the mirror before Elizabeth, Lydia nodded. “Papa Arthur and Mr. Collins Sr. dueled, and Papa Arthur shot Mr. Collins Sr. dead, but he was shot too. He died a week later.”

Elizabeth squeezed her eyes closed, but that in no way blotted out the memories. Their stepfather, unconscious from the shot to his head and slowly leaving them. Their mother’s wails as she begged him to wake up. “ It was a terrible week.”

“I know,” Lydia said softly. “I was only eight, but I remember. We could hear Mama crying in the nursery. Nanny Hill tried to keep us at our lessons, but Mama kept crying and crying. Did you see the duel?”

Elizabeth met her sister’s gaze in the mirror, surprised. “Ladies do not attend duels, and I was only thirteen.”

“Yes, but you are always sneaking about.” Lydia reached for a hairpin. “And you don’t do as you’re told.”

Elizabeth shook her head.

“Hold still.”

Stilling, Elizabeth clarified, “I did not see the duel. I am not certain if Mr. Collins even went, or Cousin Robert. I know that Papa Arthur was there, with Uncle Phillips as his second, and Mr. Collins Sr. and his second. Mr. Jones was there as well. Or he was nearby, at least, because he came back in the carriage with Papa Arthur.”

Lydia coiled Elizabeth’s hair and stuck in a pin. “How can Mama say that it wasn’t Mr. Collins’ fault? He accosted Jane and then spread a horrible rumor about her.”

“Mama did hate him at first.” Elizabeth remembered the ranting, the cursing of all things Collins. “But, as you said, it has been nearly eight years. She still hates the elder Mr. Collins. Mama would never stop hating the man who shot Papa Arthur. But she wants one of us in Longbourn. She wants us all married well. I think she simply eased some of the memories from her mind. Let them go, so they will not interfere with the plans she has now.”

Lydia put in another pin. “Well, I agree with you and Jane and Mary. I hate Mr. Collins. He is horrible.” She pursed her lips for a moment. “Is that why Jane never walks alone?”

Elizabeth blinked, startled by the question. Slowly, she said, “She does not, does she?” How could Elizabeth not have noticed?

“You walk alone lots, and Mary does sometimes, but Jane never does.” Lydia tipped her head to the side, thinking. “I am not allowed to yet, and Kitty doesn’t walk unless someone is escorting her, but that is because she doesn’t like walking. She likes sitting with Mama.”

“Hm.” Elizabeth would have to take more note of that. She would also bear in mind how observant Lydia was, for she hadn’t realized.

“Since I hate Mr. Collins, I will make certain Jane is not made to endure him.”

Elizabeth couldn’t help but smile at her youngest sister’s bravado. “That is very kind of you, but you know Mama will not permit you to receive callers with us.”

“I can still help. I’ll get Thomas and Matthew to help, too.”

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. “Will Nanny Hill not have something to say about that?” Their long-time nanny and mother-in-law to their housekeeper, Mrs. Hill, Elizabeth recalled Nanny Hill as always having activities to occupy them when she was in the schoolroom.

“Nanny Hill will be asleep, like usual. She takes a nap every afternoon.” Lydia gave Elizabeth’s hair a final pat. “There. You look lovely.”

Drawing her thoughts from her worries, Elizabeth focused on her reflection.

Lydia had done her hair more elaborately than Elizabeth would have troubled a maid to do. In a different, more forgiving style than Elizabeth usually wore, as well. Turning her head to the left, then the right, she concluded that she did, indeed, look lovely.

She met Lydia’s gaze in the mirror. “Thank you.”

Lydia smiled happily. “Mr. Darcy won’t be able to take his eyes off you.”

Elizabeth fought against the heat that threatened her cheeks. “You should not know anything about that, and neither do I.” Her youngest sister was such a terrible gossip.

In the mirror, Lydia merely smiled.