Page 20 of Five Gentlemen at Netherfield (Pride and Prejudice Variations)

In the Darcy Carriage

On the Road to Hertfordshire

Later in the Day

“An excellent day’s work,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said with a grin.

Darcy, who was deep in thought, turned to his cousin and said, “You are correct, of course. Wickham is now safely locked up where he will not harm anyone else, or at least not until he can pay his debts, and that will likely never happen. I still feel a twinge of guilt, but my intellect knows that this is for the best.”

“Much as I esteem my uncle Darcy, he saw Wickham rarely compared to you, at least by the time you both went to school. He genuinely was unaware of the rogue’s true character.”

“That is entirely true,” Darcy agreed with a sigh. “Wickham was always on his best behavior around my father. In any case, my dear sire is dead, and Wickham is facing the well-deserved consequences of his own actions, and I will not give way to foolish sympathy for the miscreant.”

“If you ask me, which you did not, I would say you are being overly generous with Wickham even now,” Richard grumbled. “I would have thrown him into the poorer section of the prison.”

Darcy shrugged and said, “I could not do that, not when a small outlay on my part will allow him to live– I would not say in comfort but –not in squalid horror and in fear of starvation. Besides, this gives Wickham an impetus to behave himself at Marshalsea. I warned him that if he escapes or misbehaves, he will find himself living with the desperate debtors who have no financial support at all.”

“That is reasonable,” the colonel admitted. Silence fell for a few minutes, and then Richard remarked, “I am looking forward to returning to Netherfield Hall, which, as my brother said only yesterday, is far pleasanter than London at this time of year.”

“It is,” Darcy agreed, “though I do intend to return to Town in time for Christmas, so that Georgiana and I can spend time together.”

“Do you think Bingley would be willing to have her and Mrs. Annesley visit Netherfield Hall?”

“He would most definitely, but I am not certain whether Georgiana would enjoy her time with Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” Darcy began, and then paused, and then continued.

“In truth, I suppose it would not be a problem, because Miss Bingley has turned her attention on the viscount and Sir Quinton and does not hover over me with endless compliments. I know that annoys Georgiana, but thanks to the presence of two higher-ranking individuals at Netherfield Hall, I have been gloriously free of our hostess’s attention. ”

The colonel laughed and said, “I too am free of such attention and am grateful for that, even if I do feel some self-pity at my financial situation. All four of you have substantial money at your disposal, whereas I am relatively poor.”

“You could always marry an heiress, Richard. You are the second son of an earl and currently second in line to the earldom.”

His cousin wrinkled his nose and said, “That is true enough. I could, but the thought of marrying purely on the basis of money is an unpleasant one.”

“Surely not merely money, but connections as well?”

The colonel shrugged. “There is much in Sir Quinton’s perspective, you know. To wed a lady one truly admires and likes, even loves, is a beautiful thing. I would not wed a scullery maid, but I am not prepared to set aside a charming lady like, perhaps, Miss Mary Bennet.”

Darcy turned disbelieving eyes on his companion. “Miss Mary? She is moderately wealthy, of course, but she is not the sort of woman I would imagine making you happy.”

“Why not?”

For the hundredth time, Darcy’s mind called up the enchanting face of Miss Elizabeth Bennet, her dark eyes sparkling, her mouth quirked up in an arch smile. Compared with her, Miss Mary was dull indeed.

“She is quite rich,” he said, “but she is quiet, and … and…”

“Rather plain? As I said earlier, Sir Quinton and I are not particularly handsome men. I am old enough to know that beauty is often skin deep, and Miss Mary is a serious, kindly woman with a great deal of intelligence.”

Darcy huffed and said, “You make it sound as if you are a greybeard and I am a mere boy. I will remind you that I am less than two years younger than you are!”

“That is certainly true, and given that you inherited Pemberley two years after your majority, and have done a marvelous job of overseeing the estate, I would argue you are more mature than most young gentlemen your age. I suppose the difference is that for all that I am the son of an earl, I am also a soldier and have seen some privates display more courage in the heat of battle than colonels. I do not look on class distinctions as narrowly as many gentlemen, nor do I think I will ever attract a wealthy woman of the nobility. I could probably find a penniless lady of that ilk, but my habits of expense are sufficient that I want a reasonable income through my marriage.”

This was a surprisingly long speech from Richard, and Darcy found himself deep in thought as his mind, for the one and one hundredth time, contemplated Elizabeth Bennet.

Never had he experienced such a magnetic attraction to any lady.

He had seen beauties and wits aplenty, women vivacious and serene, dark and fair, clever and dull.

None of them had ever caught his fancy for so much as an instant, certainly not in the way Miss Elizabeth had seized and held his attention and his focus.

She was lovely, but it was not simply her beauty that attracted him, despite how he instinctively contrasted her looks with Miss Mary’s.

Nor was it solely her wit that so captivated him.

It was not only her intelligence, her lively nature, or her strong and decided opinions that intrigued him.

It was all of these traits together in a single beguiling woman, who made his heart speed up with only a flashing smile.

He had resolutely resisted his ever-growing attraction to Miss Elizabeth, but now he was considering another perspective. Sir Quinton’s and Richard’s words were full of wisdom. Might it be possible that Miss Elizabeth would, after all, be worthy to be Mrs. Darcy and the mistress of Pemberley?

Everything he had ever been taught about such matters cried out in opposition to such a thought.

His own mother had been the daughter of an earl, and her brother held the title now.

It was the expressed wish of several of his near relations that he marry Anne de Bourgh, only child and daughter of his aunt Lady Catherine, and thus unite the estates of Pemberley in Derbyshire and Rosings in Kent.

Darcy himself was not enthused about the match, but with his wealth and his connections and his standing in the world, he could reach even higher for a bride if he chose.

If he decided not to marry Cousin Anne, he would be expected to marry a woman of one of the great houses of the ton.

To pursue and court a simple country miss would be considered shirking his responsibilities, and Darcy had never been one to flinch away from what was required of him.

And yet, Miss Elizabeth affected him in ways that no other woman ever had and, he now suspected, no other woman ever would.

His heart urged him to pursue her, but his reason restrained him.

It was quite possible that with closer acquaintance his ardor might cool considerably.

Anyone could appear charming with only surface interactions, and time would show her true character.

Prudence required that he wait, bide his time and spend more of it with her, before making any decisions.

But – and here he felt a strange thrill of joy in his heart – he would not completely dismiss the possibility of offering for Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

***

Breakfast Parlor

Longbourn

The Next Morning

Elizabeth’s eyes went first to the buffet table as she stepped into the deserted breakfast parlor.

She found herself desperately grateful that the platters and bowls sitting there were not completely empty as she was too wrung out to go in search of food.

She slipped across the room on silent steps and served herself eggs and bacon and a muffin, her thoughts swirling in worried spirals.

Mr. Bennet yet lived, which was not in any way a certainty given the dangers of apoplexy.

Elizabeth had been horribly afraid when she had at last fallen asleep in the wee hours of the morning that she would wake to find her father deceased.

She had sat at her father’s bedside for many hours, reading from the stack of books beside her, or holding his hand and talking to him, or merely sitting in anxious silence and watching him sleep, with the sturdy, strong Caleb nearby.

Even in the middle of the night, she had not wanted to leave, but Mr. Hill had sent her away nonetheless, taking up her position and settling immovably down in her vacated chair.

Elizabeth had given him a wan but grateful smile and slipped back to her own room.

She had, perhaps not very surprisingly, slept long past the rising of the sun and her accustomed hour.

When at last she awoke, Elizabeth had stolen another couple of minutes to lie still and listen, icy fingers of dread wrapped around her heart.

But delaying the inevitable – learning her father’s fate – would not change anything, and Elizabeth had risen and dressed swiftly and gone in search of news.

To her relief, the maid Sally was lingering right outside her bedroom door, and in answer to Elizabeth’s look of anxiety, had reported, a hopeful note in her voice, that Mr. Bennet had survived the night, and that Dr. Stanley had been closeted with him for the last half hour.

Elizabeth had received this news with a grateful nod and then descended to the dining room.

Now she was eating rapidly, impatient to be done breaking her fast and join her family.

No appetite tempted her to breakfast, but pure pragmatism; it would do no one any good were she to go around fainting of hunger.

The smell of her ham and her muffin and her coffee was not attractive in the least, and she had to force the next bite of eggs into her mouth, but it was what practicality demanded.

She feared that practicality would not be the order of the day for the rest of the household, and she was eager to repair to the drawing room where doubtless her family awaited her.

Mrs. Bennet would need to be handled, of course.

Always of a high-strung disposition, she likely was already in a dreadful state of nerves.

The previous night had been terrible, for as soon as Jane had gently informed her of her husband’s collapse, Mrs. Bennet had started screaming in horror and consternation until it seemed as though she would suffer an attack next.

Eventually, Jane and Elizabeth had soothed her enough that her shrieks had become wracking sobs of shock and dismay, until Elizabeth, in desperation, had coaxed her into drinking a cup of tea with laudanum so that she could sleep.

Now they all awaited news and, though the prognosis would almost definitely not be good, knowing anything at all was better than this agonizing protracted uncertainty.

At any rate, Elizabeth wished to be there when Doctor Stanley spoke to her mother, for Mrs. Bennet would be too upset to understand everything, and Elizabeth wanted to hear the doctor’s words for herself without it being garbled by her hysterical mother or distraught sisters.

She drained her cup of coffee and rose, leaving an empty plate behind her as she moved on swift steps for the door.