Page 3 of The Gossip War (Pride and Prejudice Shorts #1)
Zooks! Talk about kicking over a hornet’s nest! Miss Elizabeth Bennet is not one for half-measures. She appeared to be a straight for the jugular type of woman.
When the lady declared that she was engaged to me, my first reaction was shock, followed by an overwhelming feeling of relief. I knew I would take Miss Bennet over Miss Bingley in a heartbeat, and I would kick myself later for not thinking of it sooner.
I had been paying considerable attention to Miss Elizabeth, since she and her sister had the distinction of being the only people in the hall I would not loathe until the end of time.
I was, of course, not engaged to her, but that was neither here nor there.
I liked her and was more than a little attracted to her, but I was not engaged.
Nevertheless, a drowning man does not criticise a floating log.
The Bingleys started shouting at once, and Miss Elizabeth took advantage of the noise to lean over close and whisper, “This is a rescue, not a compromise! Play along and all will be well.”
Of course, at that point, I would quite happily have taken it as an actual compromise with all that entails without a single qualm.
At that point, I would have chewed my own arm off to avoid a marriage to Caroline Bingley, but I had not worked out a way to do so without endangering Georgiana, who was my primary concern.
I had failed her once, and I did not plan to repeat the exercise.
George Wickham had nearly broken her spirit, and I did not want the gossips of the ton to finish the job.
I might have worked something out on the way to Bingley’s study, or over the course of the next few days or weeks, but Miss Elizabeth’s declaration made the whole point moot.
I had hoped rather than believed I could produce a plan at some vague point in the future, while she had a plan right then.
I neither knew nor cared what it was. Damn smart woman!
I raised my eyebrow to her, mimicking something I had seen her do often enough that I practised it in front of a mirror (no, I did not just admit that). She leaned forward to try to tell me something else but was interrupted by the chaos of the group.
Bingley looked panicked, and snapped, “What do you mean, engaged?”
Without batting an eye, Miss Elizabeth replied with the voice of the severest governess. “Engaged: the usual customary meaning. I think ‘betrothed’, ‘affianced’, or ‘promised’ are common synonyms if you have trouble with that one.”
Miss Bingley was sputtering and turning an alarming shade of red (not to mention shoving out her chest, which was disturbing). “Engaged! It is not possible. How? When? Where? Why did nobody know?”
Miss Elizabeth, apparently tired of doing all the work, gave me back the same eyebrow manoeuvre.
I turned back to my adversaries and gave my most thunderous expression and haughtiest, iciest, reply. “You seem to have a very grasping and proprietary desire for details of our private business, Miss Bingley.”
I said the last with a tone of voice that I thought should scare them into submission, but Bingley was as unobservant as ever. He simply carried on as if the argument were already won in his favour. “Come, come, Darcy. This sounds like a stratagem. How could you possibly be engaged?”
I growled and stood up straighter. It never hurts to show some aggression.
“Are you suggesting that, after your sister with considerable effort and guile, managed to expose herself in my bedroom looking like a low-rent streetwalker; I managed to scurry down the hall five paces in front of you, only to propose and be accepted on the spot? Without warning? I repeat! The relevant point is that I am engaged. A question was asked. An answer was given. The rest is none of your damn business!”
I was not actually lying per se (not really). A question had been asked and answered—just not the question implied, or even vaguely related.
I looked at the Miss Bennets both were looking as resolute as heroic statues.
Neither looked like they would waver in their support.
I imagined the eldest Miss Bennet thought we were engaged, while Miss Elizabeth, obviously knowing better, simply looked like she had a secret that nobody would ever know until she chose to divulge it.
Now that the cat was out of the bag, Miss Elizabeth leaned closer and whispered again, “Fear not, Mr Darcy. I have a plan.”
I had been paying so much attention to the Bennets that I had disregarded a lot of intense whispering between the Bingleys. I finally decided to take charge of the situation.
I yelled, “Bingley!” just to get their attention.
When they settled down, I calmly said, “You would be fortunate if none of the servants witnessed Miss Bingley’s supposed loss of virtue—that is, if she still had it to lose—but it would behove you to be certain the debacle was either unobserved or hushed up.”
Miss Bingley hissed like an angry snake (quite apropos, in my opinion), and started to speak, but I just spoke over the top of her.
“I suggest you keep it that way. My honour is otherwise engaged, so your plan has failed. You may need to throw some money around, but hush it up you must.”
They sputtered some more, and I was surprised when Miss Elizabeth added her two pence worth. “Might I make a suggestion?”
The incongruity of such a polite request in this situation had the desired effect. Everyone shut up.
“Emotions are running high, and we are all tired. May I suggest we retire and meet again in the light of day? Shall we say one o’clock in the library?”
Nobody had any better ideas, so we all nodded. I knew, and I suspect Miss Elizabeth knew, that this was just the end of the first battle, and the war was barely begun.
However, retiring from the field for the night seemed like the best course of action, so I replied definitively. “Agreed! We will meet you in the library at one o’clock… the other one o’clock. Do not be late!”
Bingley said, “This is not over, Darcy.”
I nodded. “I expect not, but it is over for now. For the moment, either get out of my sight or feel my wrath.”
It turned out that I could sound quite intimidating when I wanted to, and the Darcy stare was deployed with full force on each of the Bingleys individually until they all turned around to return to their own chambers.
Once they were out of sight, I was not the least bit surprised when Miss Elizabeth whispered, “I will not keep my sister among these people one minute longer. Pray meet us in the library in a half-hour.”
I could sympathise with her need for a hasty exit and quickly agreed. A half-hour would be enough for me to dress a little better, start my valet on damage control, and prepare for what was to come—whatever it was.
It was hard to think about anything but the upcoming conference in the same library where we had sat for a half-hour without a word, twelve hours earlier.