Page 36 of Mission to Meryton (Pride and Prejudice Variation #25)
“If they need such a thing, then you are the one to provide it, Mr. Collins. You could journey to Conford once a month and meet in the chief house in the village, if you like.”
Mr. Collins shook his head firmly. “I would not be willing to do so, Madam, with Mrs. Collins nearing her time, and Mr. Fitzroy is quite correct that the people deserve a curate of their own.”
Lady Catherine let out a whimper of exasperation and rose to her feet. “I see that none of you are willing to see reason. Since my suggestions are to be ignored, I will return to the Dower House.”
“I will see you out, Lady Catherine,” Mr. Fitzroy responded courteously, rising to his feet and escorting his exasperating mother by marriage out of the room.
“Thank you for your support, Mr. Collins,” Anne said. “May I ask if Mrs. Collins is well enough for visitors?”
“For you, Mrs. Fitzroy, most definitely,” her clergyman declared, his face taking on the besotted look which he always wore when thinking of his beloved wife. “It will do Charlotte good indeed. She is finding these last weeks difficult, as she is used to being more active in the parish.”
“The end of a pregnancy can be challenging,” Anne agreed, thinking fondly of her six month old son sleeping above stairs, “but of course absolutely worth it all.”
/
Netherfield Hall
Hertfordshire
“Mr. Bingley,” Baron Dacre declared, “I am honored to inform you that I have spoken to your sister, Miss Bingley, and have her blessing to ask you for permission to ask for her hand in marriage.”
Bingley was aware of a throb of relief mixed with astonishment.
Caroline was now two and twenty and had turned down three offers of marriage; he knew she was ambitious and very much wished to marry a peer.
It appeared she had finally found one who was willing to wed the daughter of a tradesman.
He had heard of Baron Dacre and knew him to be a widower without children, and a full decade older than Caroline.
“You have my permission, of course, though in truth, Miss Bingley is two and twenty years of age, and thus does not technically need my consent.”
Dacre hesitated briefly and then nodded gravely. “I am aware, but in truth, I wished to speak to you before I made a formal offer to Miss Bingley.”
Bingley felt the hairs prickle at the back of his neck. There was some kind of trouble associated with this offer, he was sure of it.
“What do you wish to speak to me about, Lord Dacre?”
“I must know whether Miss Bingley’s dowry of twenty thousand pounds is still available and intact.”
Now Netherfield’s master was bewildered more than anything else. “Her dowry? Yes, of course it is. Why would it not be?”
“My apologies, sir, but at times, a brother or father finds himself dipping into the dowry of his female relations ...”
“That is not the case here, I assure you,” Bingley said rather haughtily. “I have the funds in hand and will turn them over to you as soon as you are wed.”
“Very good, sir,” the man responded, rising promptly to his feet. “I believe we will be married within a month, and I hope you and Mrs. Bingley will attend.”
“I look forward to it, and I hope you and Caroline will be happy together,” Bingley said, deliberately infusing warmth into his words. On the one hand, the Baron seemed a cold fish. On the other hand, his younger sister had always wanted to marry into the nobility.
Baron Dacre looked startled for a moment and then smiled superciliously.
“Your sister mentioned that you were something of a romantic, Mr. Bingley. My marriage to Miss Bingley is largely a business arrangement; she is beautiful, well connected, wealthy, and an accomplished hostess, which suits my needs as I am planning to enter the political scene shortly. She wants to marry into the peerage, and I am providing her that. I expect we will have a successful marriage, which will make me happy. So yes, we will be happy together, thank you.”
“I am glad that Caroline meets your exacting standards,” Bingley returned with an edge to his voice.
“She does, and she has you to thank for it, sir. I can find plenty of wealthy, beautiful, educated daughters of tradesmen in London, but few are related by marriage to the Darcys and the Matlocks. It was quite an accomplishment for your wife’s sister to marry Darcy of Pemberley.”
Bingley’s lips tightened. “Mr. and Mrs. Darcy love one another, just as I love Mrs. Bingley.”
The Baron rose to his feet and shrugged. “It matters not why the marriages took place, only that they did. Good evening, Mr. Bingley. Thank you.”
Bingley rose to his feet and bowed. As soon as his visitor had departed, he found himself rushing out of his study, up the stairs, and into the nursery where Jane and his one year old son were playing with wooden blocks on the floor, each with a letter of the alphabet carved onto it and then painted in one of several bright colors.
He smiled at his dear wife and sat down on the floor next to her, and the adoring parents watched as the baby placed three blocks on top of one another, knocked the wobbly tower over with a shriek of laughter, and then grasped two blocks and banged them together enthusiastically.
Bingley gazed upon his little boy, then on his smiling wife, and felt his heart thud with gratitude. How he loved them both. How thankful he was that his marriage was one of affection and respect, not ambition.
/
“This way, Wickham,” Mrs. Younge murmured, guiding Wickham upstairs and around corners and through halls until they reached the family wing of the Boyle residence in Brighton.
“I have already searched Everett Boyle’s room and found nothing,” Mrs. Younge murmured softly. “It seems unlikely that he would hide papers in his father’s room, or his mother’s, but that leaves his four sisters’ bedrooms and sitting rooms as possibilities.”
Wickham nodded briskly. “I would guess a desk is the most likely place of concealment, or under a mattress perhaps. Does he have close ties to any of his sisters?”
“Yes, to Miss Isabella, the sister closest to him in age.”
Wickham growled softly under his breath. “Young Everett is a complete fool. Blackmailing an earl’s son is risky business, and if he has drawn his younger sister into this mess …”
“I believe young Boyle to be entirely selfish,” his compatriot agreed, opening the door to Isabella Boyle’s room. “Shall I search the sitting room while you search the bedroom?”
“Thank you. You are certain we will not be interrupted?”
“I am confident, yes, as the entire family is attending a dinner party tonight and most of the servants have been given a half day and are either in their quarters or in town.”
“Good. In this case, retrieving the blackmail material will be good not just for the government, and not just for the Earl of Winstock, but the Boyles too. It is hardly safe to move against the Winstocks.”
“As you said, young Boyle is a fool.”
/
December 15th, 1813
Fitzwilliam Darcy found himself sobbing with gratitude, delight, and relief. Elizabeth’s labor had been long but without complications, and now he sat gingerly on her bed, his gaze fixed on the tiny, red-faced boy wrapped in blankets who was nestled in his mother’s comforting arms.
“Is he not beautiful, Fitzwilliam?” Elizabeth asked softly, her throat thick with emotion and fatigue.
“He is the most beautiful baby in the world,” Darcy replied, leaning over to give her a kiss on the brow. “And you are the most beautiful woman, my dear wife.”
Elizabeth Darcy smiled down at the little boy in her arms. “Welcome to Pemberley, little Timothy. Welcome to the world.”