Page 22 of Elizabeth is not a Bennet

Drawing Room

Netherfield Hall

Darcy gazed up at a leaden sky through glass already cold to the touch, heavy clouds scudding across it in a wind that stooped all the way down to the earth to toss leaves and fling loose items to and fro. The trees beyond the drive bent and whipped before standing upright to shiver in anticipation of the next gust.

Darcy’s thoughts were on a distant, dusty road. He wondered if Miss Stowe and her party were encountering the same ill weather or if they were far enough now that the clouds and the wind did not touch them. He thought wistfully of Miss Stowe’s unflagging good cheer, her bright eyes and sweet smile. Truly, it seemed as though she had taken the sunshine with her, but it did not matter as long as she was safe. And she would be safe at Pemberley.

Miss Bingley’s strident voice broke through his wistful reflections.

“Oh Charles,” Caroline Bingley complained, “surely we do not need to attend the party tonight! Sir William and Lady Lucas are vulgar and tedious, and as for their neighbors, well! ”

“You need not come if you like, Caroline,” Bingley responded and then added sharply, “Indeed, if you have no intentions of being pleased by your company, I recommend you stay home. I most certainly will go – the Bennets are invited as well, and I am eager to see Miss Bennet again.”

Darcy turned away from the window in time to see the grimace on Miss Bingley’s face, which disappeared as she met his gaze and produced an artificial smile. “Mr. Darcy, would you care to remain at home with me tonight? I am certain that you would prefer a quiet evening here at Netherfield Hall.”

Darcy was long experienced in keeping his expression blank. “On the contrary, I have every intention of attending the dinner this evening and expect to enjoy it.”

“Ah, but of course,” the lady simpered, “you are doubtless enthusiastic about admiring Miss Stowe’s fiery locks.”

“Miss Stowe left this morning with her sister Mary, and my cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam, for Town,” he said. “So none of us will see her there tonight.”

Miss Bingley’s obvious irritation gave way to open delight. “Did they? I did not realize that they were leaving this morning. Well, I hope they have a pleasant journey, though they should be there already if they left early.”

Darcy only bowed, even as the melancholy he had been holding at bay swamped him. He missed her already, missed her so very much that it was a physical ache. Part of him mocked himself – he had always looked down on his fellows who had fallen head over heels in love with a pretty face, and now he was in that very position.

But no, it was not that, not really. Miss Stowe was lovely in his eyes, but she was not a great beauty. It was her heart and mind and soul and courage and strength and intelligence and honesty that drew him to her like a moth to the flame.

He blew out a slow breath. He would join her in a few weeks at Pemberley. It seemed like forever.

/

The Library

Longbourn

Late r

George Wickham stepped into the front foyer of Longbourn and sighed happily at the welcome warmth. The day was a chilly one. The walk from Meryton was only a mile, and the trees were lovely in their garments of flaming leaves, but he had never been particularly interested in nature, and he had never liked being cold.

“This way, sir,” the butler said and guided Wickham down two corridors to the library. He was disappointed at not being led to the drawing room where the ladies were probably sitting; he always appreciated beautiful women, and Miss Stowe had, not surprisingly, been isolated at Longbourn ever since her injury. It seemed unlikely that he could attract an heiress who knew so much about him, but on the other hand, he had, perhaps, saved her life in uncovering Denny’s role in the murder attempt.

The butler opened the door to the library, gestured for Wickham to enter, and then closed the door behind him without entering. Wickham was startled at not being announced, but then his eyes fell upon Mr. Bennet, who was seated at his desk with a pile of coins carefully stacked on the polished wood. He could not help the jolt of excitement that ran through his body. He needed money, quite desperately, and to see that much.. .

“Thank you for coming at my request, Mr. Wickham, and please sit down,” Bennet said, gesturing to the seat across from the desk.

Wickham did so, working hard to keep his expression calm and his gaze fixed on his host instead of the money.

“This is yours,” Bennet said with a gesture at the coins. “Twenty pounds, in gratitude for your assistance in uncovering Denny’s attempt on my niece’s life.”

Wickham found himself simultaneously pleased and disappointed, an odd juxtaposition of feelings. He wanted that money – oh, how he wanted it – but had hoped for more. Twenty pounds would not last long.

“Before I give it to you, however,” Bennet said, “I wished to ask you a question or two.”

“Yes?” Wickham asked, a trifle uneasily. He was typically adept at understanding people, but that was not true of Bennet; the man was obviously intelligent, and sardonic, and difficult to interpret. He apparently lived much of his life in his library reading books, but he was no absent minded intellectual. His brown eyes were keen, and his attention unnerving.

Bennet nodded, rose to his feet, poured brandy for himself and his guest, and handed one glass over before taking his own place behind the desk .

“Mr. Darcy informs me that only four years ago he gave you four thousand pounds; one thousand pounds from his father’s will, and an additional three thousand pounds in return for giving up a valuable church living. Is this true?”

Wickham took a nervous sip and said, “Yes.”

“And now, based on the way you greedily eyed those coins, you are poor?”

“Yes.”

Bennet leaned back in his chair and drank down a few sips of brandy, his eyes fixed keenly on his quarry.

“So I assume it was the same thing that has befallen many a young man?” he finally asked. “Wine, women, and song, along with too much gambling?”

Wickham managed a slight smile. “Indeed.”

“What will you do now? You tell me that you are anxious to reestablish yourself, but a young man cannot be a gambler with no income and not be at risk of King’s Bench Prison.”

The younger man felt himself blanch. While he tried not to even think about being sent to prison for debt, it was always a danger. In fact, if it were not for Darcy, he might have been locked up long ago; he had certainly left plenty of debts in Lambton !

“Well, Mr. Wickham?” Bennet asked. “What will you do?”

“I do not know,” he replied sullenly. “It is not that I am so unusual a man, after all; many of my fellows at Cambridge drank and gambled.”

“Ah, but you are a steward’s son, not a gentleman’s son, and do not have the income to maintain such a lifestyle.”

Wickham stood up, his face red, and said, “Mr. Bennet, if you wish to insult me, I will leave now.”

“No, no! I promise you that I have no such intention. Indeed, there is everything good about being the well-educated son of an honorable steward. Do sit down, Mr. Wickham. The truth is that I am weighing the possibility of having you work for me.”

Wickham frowned and lowered himself onto the seat.

“As in, you wish for me to take a position as a steward of Longbourn, perhaps?” he speculated.

“No, though that is a reasonable guess given my advancing years, but that is not what I had in mind. According to Mr. Darcy, you have a remarkable ability to understand the hearts and minds of those around you.”

“Truly?” Wickham demanded. “Darcy hates me! ”

“That he does! From his perspective, your abilities are dangerous because you have used your gifts in ways which he, most validly, dislikes. But I have an idea of using your talent for analyzing the desires of others and be paid well for your work.”

Wickham tilted his head, his eyes suddenly alight. “Well, that does sound enticing, Mr. Bennet. Please tell me more!”

/

Lucas Lodge

That Evening

Darcy stood sipping at a glass of lemonade, uncomfortably reminded of the dreadful London squeezes with Lucas Lodge entirely overflowing with people. The guests had filled the drawing room and sitting rooms, and many had spilled into the dining room, where a buffet was set up. Bingley was dancing attendance on Miss Bennet, of course, and Mrs. Bennet and her two youngest daughters were a strategic distance away to afford the couple a modicum of privacy. Any gaps left by missing local gentry were replete with red coats, though Darcy noted with relief that one handsome, familiar face was missing. He was already feeling dejected from Miss Stowe’s absence, and he did not feel up to contending with Wickham tonight.

A slight diversion appeared in the form of Colonel Forster. Sir William had taken care to introduce him to the Netherfield party immediately upon their arrival, though there had been little time for more than pleasantries. Now Darcy pasted on a smile as he turned to make polite small talk with the colonel. It was less onerous than he was expecting, for the officer was a sensible man and surprisingly well-read. Darcy was just beginning to relax and enjoy himself when an interruption occurred caused by a red-faced Mr. Collins.

“Mr. Darcy!” the clergyman said, “I do apologize, most profusely, for interrupting you most distinguished self, but I really must speak to you.”

Darcy sighed inwardly and looked at Colonel Forster, who excused himself and walked away.

“Yes, Mr. Collins?”

“I … I…,” Collins began, his plump face crowded with emotion, “I do not wish to … well, I was informed today that you were present when Miss Stowe was shot.”

“Yes? ”

“And that you, erm, that you carried her into the house after she was injured?”

“Yes?” Darcy repeated, more haughtily.

“I merely wished to say that, well, Miss Stowe is the cousin of my cousin, and I am heir to Longbourn, and thus I feel it incumbent upon myself to assure you that Miss Stowe will not, erm, require anything of you for your most gracious response in her time of trouble.”

“Require anything? Make yourself clear, sir.” Darcy demanded.

“As in, erm, I am certain no one would imagine that you, erm, compromised Miss Stowe in any way.”

Darcy took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“There was, without a doubt, no compromise,” he agreed evenly. “I suggest that you even refrain from saying those words, especially in a public place, as I would hate for there to be any unfortunate rumors started.”

Collins gasped and glanced around in horror and then looked back and began bobbing his head. “You are … I am so sorry, Mr. Darcy. Of course, of course! I will bid you … I must speak to Lady Lucas and thank her for this most gracious invitation… ”

He trailed off, turned, and rushed away to speak to Lady Lucas, with Darcy watching him balefully. Really, the man was an idiot.

As it was, Darcy greatly desired to wed Elizabeth Stowe, but he did not want it to be a forced thing. He wanted to marry the lady he adored because of mutual respect and love.

He glowered at Collins, who finished speaking to Lady Lucas just as the butler entered to announce dinner. When Darcy arrived in the large dining room, he was relieved to discover himself near the head of the table and Mr. Collins seated near the foot next to Miss Charlotte Lucas. He pitied the elder Miss Lucas for having such a tiresome companion at dinner, but the woman seemed entirely sensible and would doubtless manage well.