Page 4 of Mr. Darcy and the Mysterious “Miss B”

Darcy

T he fire crackled in the drawing room at Netherfield as Darcy poured himself a brandy and settled into his chair.

Across from him, Bingley sprawled in his own seat with obvious contentment, his cravat loosened and his normally impeccable appearance decidedly rumpled.

The evening’s events had left his friend in high spirits—too high, perhaps.

“Darcy, my good fellow,” Bingley said, raising his glass with a flourish that sent amber liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim.

“Did you see how radiant Miss Bennet looked tonight? Like an angel in lavender silk. By Jove, when she smiled at me during that first dance, I thought my heart might stop altogether.”

Darcy took a measured sip of his brandy and studied his friend with growing concern. Bingley had consumed rather more wine than usual during supper, and the effects were clearly evident in his effusive praise of the eldest Miss Bennet.

“She danced very gracefully,” Darcy agreed diplomatically.

“Gracefully!” Bingley laughed, the sound carrying more volume than discretion.

“My dear Darcy, you speak as though she were merely competent. Miss Bennet moves like poetry in motion. Every step, every turn—absolute perfection. And her conversation! So intelligent, so thoughtful. Did you know she has read Richardson’s entire collected works? Twice!”

Caroline Bingley entered the drawing room at that moment, her silk skirts rustling as she moved to the sideboard to pour herself a glass of ratafia. Her countenance suggested she had been listening to her brother’s rhapsodies from the corridor.

“Charles, dear,” she said with obvious patience, “perhaps you might moderate your enthusiasm just a touch. One would not want to appear too eager.”

Bingley waved a dismissive hand. “Eager? Caroline, I am beyond eager and well into besotted. Miss Bennet is everything a gentleman could want in a wife—beautiful, accomplished, gentle, kind. In fact, I would like you, Caroline, to call on her and invite her for tea this week. What say you, Darcy? Surely you could find no fault with such a plan?”

Darcy set down his glass with deliberate care. “Charles, whilst I admire your… enthusiasm, perhaps you should consider moving with greater caution. You have known Miss Bennet for all of two conversations.”

“Sometimes That is all it takes,” Bingley replied with the confidence of a man slightly in his cups. “My father always said he knew he loved my mother the moment he saw her. Love does not follow a schedule, Darcy.”

Caroline settled herself on the sofa with obvious frustration. “Charles, you must listen to reason. I overheard several conversations tonight that give me pause about the Bennet family’s circumstances.”

“What sort of conversations?” Darcy asked, though he suspected he knew the answer.

“The vicar’s wife, Mrs Long, was speaking quite freely about their situation,” Caroline replied, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

“Apparently, the estate is in e trouble. The new owner—some elderly relative—could turn them out at any moment. The family hasn’t a sixpence to rub together, from what I understand. ”

Bingley’s face lost its seriousness. “Indeed?”

“Financially ruined,” Caroline continued with obvious relish. “Mr Bennet left considerable debts, and there is talk of creditors circling like vultures. Five unmarried daughters and no male protection makes for a very precarious situation indeed.”

Darcy watched his friend’s face, noting the way Bingley’s romantic enthusiasm began to war with practical concern. This was exactly what he had feared—a family of fortune hunters setting their sights on his guileless friend.

“That doesn’t change who Miss Bennet is,” Bingley said, though his voice carried less conviction than before. “She can’t be held responsible for her father’s financial management.”

“Of course not,” Caroline agreed smoothly. “But it does explain why she might be particularly receptive to the attentions of a wealthy gentleman. A family in such straits would naturally encourage any daughter to secure an advantageous match.”

Darcy remained silent, but his mind raced through the implications.

If the Bennet family was indeed facing financial ruin, it cast their behaviour at the assembly in an entirely different light.

Miss Bennet’s gentle encouragement of Bingley’s attention, Elizabeth’s quick response to his slight—both could be calculated moves in a campaign to ensnare wealthy husbands.

“Confound it! I refuse to believe Miss Bennet capable of such calculation,” Bingley declared, though his protest lacked fire. “She has the most amiable disposition.”

“I am sure she is amiable,” Caroline replied. “But even the most amiable young lady might feel obligated to consider her family’s welfare when choosing a husband. It is only natural.”

Darcy studied the patterns in his brandy, considering Caroline’s words.

His own experience with those seeking advancements had made him wary of families in reduced circumstances.

Too often, financial desperation bred deception, and innocent affection became indistinguishable from mercenary interest.

“Perhaps,” he said, “it would be wise to proceed. Allow more time to assess the true nature of any attachment before making commitments. It is early days anyhow.”

Bingley looked between his friend and sister with growing distress. “You both think I am being played for a fool.”

“We think you’re being your usual generous self,” Caroline said. “And that sometimes generous hearts are taken advantage of by those less scrupulous.”

The wind whooshed in the empty fireplace as Darcy watched his friend struggle with the conflict between his natural romantic inclinations and the seeds of doubt they had planted.

“I shall still want you to invite Miss Bennet for tea tomorrow,” Bingley said at last. “But perhaps… perhaps I shall be more circumspect in my attentions.”

Caroline smiled with obvious satisfaction. “That sounds very wise, Charles.”

Darcy nodded his agreement, though something about the conversation left him unsettled. Elizabeth Bennet’s biting commentary and independence hardly suggested a calculating social climber, but then again, the cleverest hunters were often the most difficult to detect.

The evening wound down with desultory conversation about local society and plans for the coming days. When they finally retired, Darcy carried his concerns to his bedchamber, where sleep proved elusive despite his fatigue.

***

The next morning dawned crisp and clear, a welcome relief from the previous evening’s stuffy assembly rooms. Darcy had letters to send to Georgiana and his steward that he did not want to leave for the London post. Who knew when that might be collected in a town as small and insignificant as this one?

Besides, he was rather grateful for the chance to get out of the house and away from Miss Bingley’s advances. Caroline had made full use of their confined quarters and sought his company more often than he was comfortable with.

As he rode into Meryton, his thoughts kept drifting to Elizabeth Bennet and his inexcusable rudeness at the assembly.

It might not have troubled him so much if not for the fact she had just come out of mourning.

The memory of her overhearing his careless words made him wince.

An apology would require acknowledging that he had spoken of her in such terms, which would only compound the offence.

As he guided his horse through the town square, a figure near the church caught his attention. She was hidden partially away behind a tree, concealed from view. Truly, if he had been more focused on his task, he might not have noticed her either.

The young woman sat on a bench just outside the fence that ran round the church, dabbing at her eyes. Something about her posture struck him as familiar, though he could not place where he might have seen her before.

He paused, torn between propriety and compassion.

Approaching a young lady without introduction was improper, but the girl’s distress was evident even at a distance.

As he studied her, he realised this was one of the younger Bennet sisters—Lydia, who had spoken little during the introductions at the assembly.

She appeared even younger in daylight. Probably no more than fifteen or sixteen. More a child than a young woman. If Georgiana was alone somewhere, weeping in the street, wouldn’t he want someone to step in and offer aid?

Yes, he ought to. He dismounted and tied his horse to a hitching post, then glanced around. Lydia was alone. If she had come with an attendant, they were nowhere in sight.

Most irregular.

He advanced with noise to alert her to his presence. When she looked up, he could see tears streaming down her face and red-rimmed eyes that spoke of prolonged weeping.

“Miss Bennet?” he said, removing his hat. “Forgive the intrusion, but you appear distressed. Is there anything I might do to assist you?”

Lydia Bennet stared at him, her expression shifting from surprise to embarrassment. She wiped at her eyes with her sleeve and attempted to compose herself.

“Mr Darcy,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “I… I am quite well, thank you. I was just taking the air, you, see? My aunt and I went to the butchers and she was caught up in conversation, so I thought…”

Darcy reached into his pocket and withdrew a clean handkerchief, offering it to her. “Perhaps this might be of some use.”

She accepted it with gratitude. “You’re kind, sir. I did not expect to encounter anyone here. The churchyard is never busy other than on Sundays.”

“Sometimes solitude is what we seek when troubled,” Darcy observed. “But sometimes company can provide comfort as well.”

“I fear my troubles aren’t remedied by company or kind words.”

“Perhaps not remedied,” Darcy agreed, “but sometimes sharing a burden makes it easier to bear. I have a younger sister near your age, and I have learnt that grief often weighs heaviest on the young.”

“Grief,” Lydia repeated, fresh tears welling in her eyes. “Yes, that is what it is. Though I suspect I’ve no right to grieve as I do.”

Darcy recognised the guilt and self-recrimination that accompanied profound loss. He had tormented himself with similar regrets after his own father’s death.

“Grief has no rules about who deserves to feel what,” he said. “Your father’s death was a great loss, I am sure. Such pain is natural.”

Lydia’s composure crumbled at his words. “But I was so horrid to him,” she sobbed. “So demanding and selfish. I took him for granted every single day, and now he’s gone and I can never tell him how sorry I am.”

The words pierced him. How many sleepless nights had he spent torturing himself with similar regrets?

It was this, the familiar feeling he had when he heard her speak that made him sit beside her and engage.

This was not the proper thing to do, he knew it, but he could not walk away.

Not when someone was caught in the same spiral of grief and guilt.

“I suspect your father knew you loved him, regardless of any immature behaviour,” he said.

“Do you think so?” Lydia asked, hope flickering in her tear-stained eyes.

“I am certain of it,” Darcy replied. “And I believe he’d want you to forgive yourself for being what you were—a young person learning how to navigate the world.”

She sat in silence for a moment, absorbing his words. Then she rose from the bench, smoothing her skirts with shaking hands. “I should return to my aunt. She will worry where I have gone.”

“Allow me to escort you,” Darcy offered.

“Thank you,” Lydia said, managing a watery smile. “You’ve been kind.”

They walked a short distance from the churchyard to the main road. Nobody looked at them oddly, which came as somewhat of a relief.

Outside of the butcher’s shop, Lydia peered into the window.

“She is not here. She must have gone in search of me,” she said.

“What shall we do?” Darcy asked.

The young woman stepped from one foot onto the other.

“My sister went to the circulating library, perhaps I can find her there and she and I can search for my aunt,” she suggested.

Sister? He stood straighter, instantly wondering which sister.

“I see,” he said. “Well, I will walk with you. It is not proper for you to be unaccompanied.”

“Nor is it proper to be walking with a gentleman,” she pointed out.

He cleared his throat. “Yes, well. I am certain circumstances permit it.”

They walked past a few houses when a voice came.

“Lydia!”

It was her. Elizabeth Bennet.

He turned and saw her rushing their way.

“Faith, Lydia. Aunt Phillips is all in a bother. What are you doing going off on your own? And you,” she rounded on him. “Mr Darcy, to be walking with a young woman in such a manner. Have you no regard for her reputation?”

What in the world was she suggesting?

He stood straight, his bristles up.

“I assure you, Miss Bennet, my intentions were proper. Your sister was quite distressed, and in public and I thought –”

“I see, you thought you would ensure she does not make a spectacle of herself. How very kind,” she said, the words more a hiss than anything else.

“Lizzy, no.” Lydia said. “My Darcy was most kind. He meant to –”

Elizabeth grabbed her sister by the arm.

“Whatever Mr Darcy meant, it is neither kind nor welcome. Come now, before Aunt Phillips calls the constable to help find you. Good day, sir,” she said and with that, she escorted her sister away, leaving Darcy with no option but to stand and stare after them, his nerves fluttering with her unkind insinuation.

To think he had meant to apologise to her.

It was preposterous. No, he had been right in his assessment both of this town and of its inhabitants.

The sooner they could depart for London, the better.