Page 15 of Some Natural Importance (Pride, Prejudice and Romance #3)

The Bennet sisters did not let more than a day or two go by without a walk into Meryton to visit its shops.

The laces and ribbons on display were nothing to those in London, but Lydia, annoyed that she would not enjoy a fortnight in town, felt the need to press her opinion on every ribbon, hat, lace, and button.

The youngest Bennet’s pique fled when she espied red coats, whose company, being forbidden by Mr Bennet, was all the more delightful.

She cried out the names of her favourites, who soon joined the sisters on the path back to Longbourn .

Mr Wickham came over immediately with cheerful greetings.

“We have not seen you about Meryton of late.”

The man smiled, clearly pleased his absence had been noticed.

“Alas, my superior officer, Colonel Forster, required my services elsewhere,” he replied easily. “Terrible timing. I understand the assembly was well attended and highly enjoyable?”

“There were not enough gentlemen to partner the ladies,” cried Lydia. “And too many who did not do their steps correctly.”

“Ah,” he chuckled. “I do know my steps. I learnt my dances whilst growing up at Pemberley with my old friend Darcy.”

“Oh, that stodgy man! He is always with my father. Lizzy hates him.”

“Lydia!” Mortified by her sister’s rudeness, Elizabeth explained, “I do not hate Mr Darcy. I worry he overtaxes my father’s energy.”

“’Tis true,” Kitty added.

Wickham laughed before pointing out to the younger girls that Mr Denny, their true favourite, was attempting to gain their attention. When Kitty and Lydia flounced off to take Denny’s arm, Elizabeth was grateful for a moment alone with the handsome officer.

“You were raised with Mr Darcy?”

Wickham’s expression sobered quickly. “I was raised alongside the future master of Pemberley, although I was the son of the steward.”

As they ambled along, he added, “We are no longer friends. I am not of his family, nor share their station, thus he has tossed me aside.”

Offended on his behalf, Elizabeth replied, “He is a gentleman, you are a gentleman. Is that not enough? ”

“Is it ever?” Wickham sighed heavily. “How unfortunate that he is here.”

Elizabeth said nothing, curious and eager to know more.

“I suppose he has little choice but to follow his friend.” Elizabeth felt his eyes on her and returned a compassionate gaze.

“Have you not wondered why Darcy is here, Miss Elizabeth? Not at his estate, nor in London? He is avoiding the bill collectors. Clever man that he is, he is also profligate with his funds. Five years ago, he thought to improve his situation by marrying his wealthy but sickly cousin. She died soon after, followed weeks later by her mother. Their estate is now his, but rather than a windfall, he is only further in debt.” He paused, watching her expression. “A convenient irony, is it not?”

Her shock and incredulity were so vast she almost missed the sneer underlying his simpering smile. Instead, she misread it.

“This is?—”

“Scandalous? Yes,” Wickham agreed with the sentiments he supplied her. “With two estates and a house in town, Darcy cannot pay his bills. He is residing now with his friend as he sells off his family holdings and considers new sources of income.”

“But—” she began, not knowing what she would say.

“But what, Miss Elizabeth? You are a fine judge of character and you do not like him. Clearly, you sensed something distasteful in Darcy before even knowing the facts.”

“So I did,” she replied weakly.

It was a tremendous amount of information to take in.

Mr Darcy, reckless and bankrupt and scheming.

And widowed! Not from a love match but from a mercenary marriage of convenience.

All that he presented a charade, his fine clothes and those perfectly tied silk cravats nothing but a reflection of vanity and extravagance.

Scandals behind him, his estate in arrears, yet he dallies at Longbourn . She must warn her father .

“Your move, sir.”

“This has not been your best match, Mr Darcy,” Mr Bennet said with a chuckle. “Your knights have fallen.”

“As has your queen.” The younger man leaned forward and studied the board. He pushed his second knight forward. “Sir, may I ask an indelicate question?”

“Be it of Byron? That could be indelicate.”

Bennet was disappointed that his joke did not earn a smile.

His guest was especially serious today, entering Longbourn ill at ease next to his smiling friend and frowning at Bingley’s eagerness to carry letters to the Bennets’ London relations.

After Bingley rode off with two letters tucked in his pocket and Bennet invited Darcy in for a quick chess match, he had not missed the dark look exchanged between him and Lizzy.

His favourite daughter had not been happy these past days, and while he knew she yearned for Jane, much of her missishness was centred on Mr Darcy.

It was, on the whole, rather exasperating.

Few people ever interested him, and here were two of them with so much in common, yet they could not see it.

Of course, he reasoned, if they did, and confirmed the attraction he suspected on one side, he would lose the company of them both.

It was bad enough Lizzy was on the verge of leaving for London.

He cleared his throat—his chest felt thick today and he remained winded from their recent excursions—and waited for Mr Darcy to speak.

“Mr Bennet, are you well?”

The sincerity of the question startled him, and he responded with his chosen weapon: levity. “Mr Darcy, is this your strategy to throw me off my game? It is your queen who sits in peril.”

“The cough.” Darcy tilted his head. “Your pallor. Did yesterday’s shooting tax you in some way? ”

Mr Bennet, always prepared to observe another’s failing, was wholly unready to defend his own weaknesses.

His wife had accepted his complaints that tallow candles and stale air were responsible for his cough.

Even Elizabeth’s concern had been assuaged by gentle prevarications and distractions.

But here now, with Mr Darcy, he had put himself under the scrutiny of a mind of the first order, a man who had been in the world.

A man acquainted with death. Darcy knew to look for signs, but regardless, he too must be put off; after all, it was nearly November, and Bennet had been feeling the onset of winter for weeks now.

It was surely a passing thing, this cough.

“I slept ill,” he began, and went on to complain of the dust on his shelves.

“Mrs Hill and her girl can do only so much in this room. I lift an elbow here and push aside a paper there, and the dust resettles itself. I believe the cleaning stirs it up and into the air, and it finds a warm spot in my lungs.” He winked.

“Mayhap I should never open my door and allow the teacups and plates to pile up until my lamps have burnt out.”

He rested his cheek on his fist and awaited the other man’s response.

“Yesterday, when you were off with the shooting party, was their opportunity then,” Darcy said, his eyes drifting around the room. “Pray that the dust settles today so you are well tomorrow.”

Darcy reached for his queen and took Mr Bennet’s bishop. “Check.”

There were few options left on the board.

The older man’s eyes roved across the black and cream ivory squares.

He could stave off surrender, move his bishop and knights to better defend his king.

But his heart was in it less than usual.

Darcy was correct; he was tired. His chest ached after labouring through the night.

Mr Hill was alarmed. He knew how many handkerchiefs had gone missing and how ill his master slept.

He had sworn the man to silence, reminding him of what lay ahead if Mrs Bennet found out.

He could not trust a visit by Mr Jones would go unnoticed.

So he suffered quietly, accepting that the burning in his chest was worsening, killing him as it had his father.

A hurried knocking at the door startled both men.

“Papa.” Elizabeth’s voice carried through the sturdy oak door, which opened a moment later as she stepped into the room.

“Papa, I wish to speak to you on a most—” At the sight of Darcy, she halted her progress.

Her eyes narrowed and she strode to her father’s chair and glanced over the chessboard.

“Your match will soon be over. I wish to speak?—”

“Yes, I realise you wish to speak. First you must listen, my girl, for although my victory may not be within reach, I must speak to our guest on a matter of some importance.”

Mr Bennet patted Elizabeth’s hand, effectively dismissing her. He missed the glare she sent over her shoulder, but it pierced the attention of the man whom she had yet to acknowledge. A moment later she was gone.

Darcy stared at the closed door, taken aback by Mr Bennet’s brusqueness towards his favourite daughter and her coldness towards him .

‘We make a charming triangle’, she had said.

Indeed, rare was a visit here not interrupted, joined, or commented on by Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

This matter of some importance could not be shared with her?

“Why did you not accompany your friend to London?”

“It is a visit of short duration,” Darcy replied, pulling his attention back to his companion. “He asked that I remain at Netherfield and continue advising his new steward.”

“But Mr Bingley will dine alone tonight and for however many days until his business is settled.” Mr Bennet smiled. “Is there nothing for you in town?”

“Bingley can manage a meal alone, though more likely at his club.” Darcy paused. “Are you worried for his company, or mine?”

A dry laugh turned into a coughing fit. Darcy poured him a glass of water and thrust it at him. Bennet sat a moment, allowing the water to course down his throat.

“Sir—”

Bennet raised his hand to ward off further enquiries. “I am ill. I have no prognosis, no story to tell beyond that I ache and cough and bleed as my father did.”

“What says the doctor?”

“I have seen none. My family must not know.” He shrugged in resignation when he saw the younger man’s shocked expression.

“You have made the acquaintance of my wife. Discretion and silence are not within her ability. As vocal as she is in her worries about our daughters’ marriages, my death is her greatest fear.

My death with five daughters unwed, herself widowed by an imprudent husband, is regrettable but true. ”

“I shall send for my physician from town. He will arrive unknown to any but me, and come to Longbourn as my friend and fellow lover of books and chess. No one shall know his purpose.”

“I appreciate your offer.” Mr Bennet held up his hand to stave off Darcy’s protests.

“If I agree to be seen by your physician, will you tell me why you are truly here and not in London with your friend, your family, and your sister? Can an old man be so entertaining or is this a refuge from expectation?”

“Perhaps a bit of both,” Darcy replied quietly. “I am taking lessons from you in reclusiveness, and determining whether any of the paths that lay forward are those I wish to pursue.”

“Do any of these paths offer happiness?”

Darcy shrugged. “I think not, not for myself.”

Bennet suddenly rose, walking to his desk and reaching into a drawer. He withdrew a packet of letters and walked back to his seat. He tossed the papers on the chessboard and leaning back in his chair, rubbed his eyes.

Darcy looked at the papers, then at Mr Bennet.

“My peace, you see, shall soon be disrupted. My cousin, the son of a cousin I met but twice and for whom I held neither affection nor respect, holds the entail for this estate. The father could neither read nor write but the son, a vicar, has attained both skills, though how he puts them to use would make for a miserable debate. I fear he speaks as he writes, with longish sentences of questionable worth and grammar. As you see, he writes prodigiously of his interest, nay, his desire to visit Longbourn.”

Darcy stared at the letters. “You anticipate he wishes to take inventory of the estate.”

“I do, as offensive as that would be for Mrs Bennet. More difficult to me, I fear he will determine which of my daughters to wed.

“And that is not the worst of it.”