Page 15 of The Heroic Mr Darcy’s Bad Manners

The next morning.

“Perhaps we should invite your family to town for Christmas?” Grandmother Bennet mused during breakfast.

“Mr and Mrs Gardiner have spent every Christmas at Longbourn since they married. I fear the children would be terribly disappointed if they could not go this year,” Elizabeth informed her cautiously. It was not that she was opposed to the idea, it was just that she had become accustomed to celebrating the festive season with the Gardiner family.

“I am not so high in the instep that I cannot invite your mother’s family to join us. I have accepted your mother, and when one can tolerate that lady’s fluttering nerves and fancies, one can very well manage the genteel and proper Madeleine and Edward Gardiner.”

Her grandmother sounded miffed, and Elizabeth hastened to mollify her. “Of course. Yet, I could not suppose before you extended the invitation. It is my father about whom I am most concerned. You know he hates town…”

“Of course, he has not been since… Well. Never mind. It is best to leave old grievances behind and only think of the past as it gives you pleasure. Your father will have to rally his courage and overcome what has possessed him to avoid London’s society so judiciously. He has no choice in the matter as it is his duty to take his place in the House of Lords. It can no longer be delayed as he is now the Earl of Glentworth and you, a leanbh , are Lady Elizabeth.”

“I am,” Elizabeth acknowledged. “And Lady Elizabeth is very much anticipating a jolly Christmas with all my dear family. Thank you, móraí .”

She rose and hugged her grandmother. “Shall I write the letters?”

“Yes, if you would be so kind, I shall be very grateful. These old hands are prone to cramping when I write several letters at once.” Her grandmother reached for the morning gazette and leafed past the war news to the gossip columns.

“Think nothing of it,” Elizabeth replied graciously.

“Heaven forfend!” Grandmother suddenly cried with her nose in the newspaper. “Well, I never…”

“What is the matter?” Elizabeth asked, concerned.

“You are mentioned in the gossip column. Let me read it to you. At Lady C’s ball the Earl of G’s daughter was introduced to superior society. Lady E was quite the rage and in demand as a desirable partner. She danced with Mr B, Viscount C, and the Lord W, to mention a few, and they all seemed delighted by the petite Grecian goddess with dark curly hair and bright green eyes. Could she be this coming Season’s incomparable? This author waits in delightful suspense.”

Elizabeth was stunned speechless for a mere moment before her faculties returned and she laughed outright. “Imagine what they will write when Jane is introduced. I predict the accolades will be even greater. She is the indisputable angel.”

“Do not disparage yourself, Elizabeth, it is not becoming,” her grandmother retorted. “Jane is beautiful, but so are you in your own right.”

They were interrupted by the butler, who chose that moment to enter with a stack of letters on a silver salver. Elizabeth accepted the tray and passed the invitations to her grandmother, discovering two envelopes beneath them addressed to herself.

“Finally, a letter from Jane. Or rather two.” She smiled at her grandmother. “I was worried I had not heard from her, but now I understand perfectly. See!” She showed the first letter to Grandmother Bennet. “She has written the direction remarkably ill. It is not strange it was missent elsewhere. Do you mind if I read Jane’s letters before I write the Christmas invitations?”

“Indeed, read your letters,” her grandmother allowed. “I admit I am curious as to what she has to say about Mr Bingley.”

“The first was sent on the day I left for town. How strange…” Elizabeth mused. “Jane writes that Mr Darcy, Mr and Mrs Hurst, and Miss Bingley came to bid the family farewell as they had decided on a whim to join Mr Bingley in town. Miss Bingley then implied that there was a connection between Mr Bingley and Miss Darcy. Mr Darcy was unaware and opposed it vehemently, but that is not what concerned Jane. Miss Bingley was unpleasant and patronising for most of the visit, but when she realised that Father had become the Earl of Glentworth, she completely reversed her sentiments and dearly wished to continue the acquaintance. Jane is remarkably sceptical towards her overtures, and I shall give her leave to doubt Miss Bingley’s sincerity. She is a great deal too apt to believe people in general, you know. I heartily commend her new-found wariness, especially when it concerns Miss Bingley. I dare say she is a parvenu who thinks of nothing but clawing herself to the highest possible standing in society.”

“That is ungenerous, Eilís .”

“Indeed, but it is also true,” Elizabeth replied with a smile, and her grandmother could not conceal the tugging at the corner of her mouth that quite ruined her admonishment.

The behaviour of Miss Bingley did not reflect on the lady’s brother, who had not been present and was therefore probably both ignorant and innocent of his sister’s machinations. He had not been apprised about their elevation in rank when he had courted Jane and therefore must be acquitted from having a mercenary motive.

It was suspicious that the entire Netherfield party had left after the ball when it was only Mr Bingley who had business in town. It might even explain why Mr Bingley had not returned to Meryton. She would not put it past his sisters or his friend to join together in nefarious scheming for their own inexplicable purpose.

Elizabeth turned the page and found a short postscript from her father.

Mr Darcy begged for a moment of my time and wanted me to convey his sincerest apologies for insulting you. As you are not a vain creature, I assured him you would accept. I cannot tell you about his other errand in this letter, but I believe that under the austere exterior he is a decent man who takes prodigiously good care of his sister.

Elizabeth huffed and tried to fathom what Mr Darcy could have related to convince her father. But it was a futile endeavour. Instead, she opened the second letter, where Jane’s marked dismay regarding Mr Bingley’s failure to return for their mother’s dinner was uncharacteristically notable.

“How is Jane?” Grandmother enquired after a long silence.

“I hardly know,” Elizabeth muttered. “She is unhappy due to Mr Bingley’s failure to return to Netherfield.”

“It is clear that Mr Bingley has no intention of honouring his promise to return. What say you we invite Jane to join us in advance? We can assert that she is needed for the preparations before Christmas, and I am certain that a change of scenery will be just the thing.”

“I think it is a splendid idea.”

If Jane were here, it would be easier to determine her frame of mind and entertain her, should her spirits prove to be low.

#

Darcy

Darcy decided to pay Bingley a visit after the spectacle he had made of himself at the theatre. If he was still determined to pursue Lady Jane, he should avoid embarrassing himself in front of her relations. Although he doubted Bingley knew the marquess, he should have recognised Lady Elizabeth. The hypocrisy hit him at once. He should allow Bingley the benefit of the doubt.

The butler announced him in Hurst House’s parlour. Bingley looked as though he had barely slept and was still half in his cups.

“Mr Darcy!” Miss Bingley exclaimed, clutching his arm as usual. It was a vexing presumption he had yet to disabuse her of. If it had been Lady Elizabeth who behaved in a likewise manner, he might not find it so tiresome.

How had Elizabeth perceived Miss Bingley’s overfamiliarity? The latter had acted with impudence quite often at Netherfield. It was to be hoped Lady Elizabeth had not supposed he welcomed Miss Bingley’s advances. A critical voice in his head reminded him that she could only know what she observed, which was that he did nothing to discourage the harpy, whilst she was not privy to his private thoughts on the matter.

“You have abused us abominably by waiting for so long to see us.” Miss Bingley pouted in a most unbecoming way.

Darcy startled. When had his obligations included the duty of visiting Bingley? “It has been but a week, or two at the most,” he protested.

“Yet, it has been too long for some.” Miss Bingley fluttered her lashes. “Dear Charles has been so occupied with his friends that he has had no time to return to sweet Jane. I am in desperate need of your counsel. Should I send her a letter to assure her she is not forgotten?”

“I cannot advise you on that. Your own conscience must guide you.” If this had been a few days ago, he would have had much to say, but his recent epiphany had made him doubt his astuteness. “Bingley!” he exclaimed loudly to awaken the gentleman who had managed to fall asleep during his tête-à-tête with his sister.

Bingley startled and blinked rapidly before greeting him properly.

“I had a wonderful evening at the theatre yesterday,” Bingley informed him.

“Yes, I know,” Darcy replied evenly.

“Were you there too?” Bingley cried. “I did not see you. You should have joined my party. We had ever so much fun.” Bingley grinned, winced, and rubbed his temples.

“Oh yes,” Miss Bingley crowed. “He was invited by the Duke of Argyll and joined his entourage.” She paused, presumably to add dramatic affect to that titbit of news. “It was quite a scandal how he married the duchess only three weeks after her Scottish divorce,” she gleefully informed him. “But, as he declares himself to be blissfully happy, who am I to object?” she added with false demureness, excessively proud to be associated with a duke.

However, the duchess had not been in attendance, and the duke had been surrounded by ladies of ill repute. His Grace’s affair with the infamous Harriette Dubouchet had been long and convoluted but had ended some time ago. She was now under the protection of the noticeably young Marquess of Worcester, who had disgraced himself by climbing into the duke’s box from a lower tier only last evening.

The Duke of Argyll’s infatuation with his current wife was of long standing. It had lasted almost two decades whilst she was married to another, but he was not the first gentleman to have his head turned by the beautiful and vivacious Harriette. Even the Prince Regent was reported to have sent her a letter of invitation to join him in Brighton. The flighty lady’s reply was rumoured to have demanded that if he was interested, he must come to her.

Acknowledging that his reflections were futile, and detaining him from his purpose, he chose to disregard Miss Bingley as much as possible and turned his full attention to her brother.

“I sat across from you in the Matlocks’ box. I am surprised you did not notice, but I am more concerned that you did not appear to detect that the Marquess of Limerick sat two boxes to your left.” He let the implication linger in the air.

To his advantage, Bingley grasped the consequence quickly, and a concerned expression clouded his face.

“Was Lady Jane with him?” he enquired, fidgeting with his coat sleeves.

“No, it was only the marquess, his sister, and Lady Elizabeth.”

“You should have notified me,” Bingley accused him.

His sister muttered something to the effect of, “That mousy little thing, how could one expect him to notice.”

Darcy chose to overlook the slight and to continue his conversation with Bingley. “I tried, but by the interval you had left.”

“Yes. We went to Mrs Sydenham’s for a short spell, but she served us blood pudding and called it a meal. Fortunately, I convinced them to join me here, and we had a pleasant evening of cards and games—”

“I assure you the duke was served an excellent dinner at my table,” Miss Bingley interrupted again.

Darcy fervently hoped the guests who had dined at her table were not the entire party from the theatre, but surely Bingley was not so stupid as to bring those ladies home to his unmarried sister.

“I am certain they were delighted. You set an excellent table, Miss Bingley,” Darcy responded honestly.

“The Marquess of Worcester particularly enjoyed the lamb, but Mrs Sydenham swears to blood pudding, and that you will not find at my table,” Miss Bingley huffed.

Darcy directed what he was certain was a scowl at Bingley, who had the decency to avert his eyes. He must have a serious conversation with his friend, but not in front of his sister and not until he was sober.

“Do you know dear Jane’s fortune? I have not heard a word spoken about it, and when a lady does not ensure that her greatest attribute is publicly known, I am inclined to believe it is because she has none. In Meryton, it was believed she had only a portion of a thousand pounds upon the death of her mother, which is a paltry sum indeed. It is certainly nothing to my excellent fortune.”

Darcy fixed a glare at Miss Bingley that could have made a puddle freeze over, but the lady was inured to reproach. But even worse, did she genuinely believe he was interested in idle gossip?

The critical inner voice that had been admonishing him frequently during the course of the last few days forced him to admit the unpalatable truth. Yes. She had reason to believe he would stoop to disparaging, belittling, and judging those beneath him in consequence. He had joined her critical abuse of the residents of Meryton for nigh on a fortnight before he had thought twice about it. He was no better than Miss Bingley. If anything, he was worse due to his education and consequence. With prominence came responsibility, and he had shirked his duty to those not so fortunate as himself. He was determined to do better in the future and decided to begin at once by defending the lady who did not deserve Miss Bingley’s censure. But she was not finished.

“I dare say that Jane will make a good match regardless of her lack of fortune. She is sweet and the daughter of an earl, but the rest of her sisters will not entice any gentlemen of notice. Particularly the dowdy Eliza. She has no beauty and no conversation to speak of. I know you found her dull company intriguing, but not even your excellent efforts could make her the least bit interesting. Especially since they do not have the protection of a brother to inherit.”

The rage was sudden and complete. It did not help that she had pointed out what would only pain him.

“The marquess’s fortune is excellent, but I know not how much of it he has settled on his great-nieces. What I do know is that a special remainder was added under the conditions of the marquessate—similar to Lord Nelson’s—where the title may be passed to male issue of sisters and daughters. Lord Glentworth is his heir, and should he not sire a son, the first-born son of the Bennet sisters will be next in line.” Lord Matlock was well informed and knew the specifics from when the marquessate was created. The earl had been vocal about his objections to the conditions Lord Limerick demanded. The marquess was fortunate that he had the support of the Prince Regent because many a lord had sided with his uncle’s loud protests. He could not begrudge the marquess his wish to continue his line, even if he had to resort to his sister’s progeny. If Darcy himself did not sire a child, the fee simple Pemberley would go to Georgiana’s son by the conditions in his will.

Mr Bingley revived from his crapulence and sat up. “Lady Jane will inherit?”

“Her son may, yes.”

Darcy cursed his temper and loose tongue. He was not at all certain that Bingley and his capricious nature would suit the beautiful and serene lady. The hypocrisy of that thought was glaringly obvious. Had he not been of a mind to warn his friend against forming an attachment to the reserved lady? With Bingley’s disposition, he would not thrive in a loveless marriage, but how plausible was it that his friend would remain constant? He fell in and out of love more often than anyone he knew. It had been unwise of him to reveal the marquessate’s unconventional patent because Miss Bingley began pestering her brother to return forthwith to Hertfordshire with the most mercenary motive in mind, and Bingley had little choice but to agree. Lady Glentworth was in favour of the match, and he was suddenly concerned that Lady Jane would submit to pressure from her marriage-minded mother and an eager suitor regardless of her own wishes. But how could he discourage the Bingleys without undue interference?

“You do not even know whether Lady Jane is still at Longbourn,” Darcy blurted out. Bingley was about to ring for his valet to pack for an impromptu visit to Netherfield, and Miss Bingley had obviously not been sincere when she promised to be a faithful correspondent to Lady Jane. “Allow me to enquire of my aunt whether Lady Jane is expected to join her sister in town.” It was a plausible excuse since Elizabeth was in London. It was to be hoped that Lady Jane would soon follow because the marquess was an astute man who would not allow his niece to be duped or cajoled.

“Lady Matlock?” Miss Bingley probed, always eager to imply a great familiarity with his most illustrious connections.

“No, Miss Eudora Darcy.” A lady who did not suffer fools and had taken an instant dislike to Miss Bingley. “She is a friend of the marquess’s sister, who would know the whereabouts of her granddaughter.”

“Very well.” Bingley smiled brightly. “I shall await your intelligence on the subject before I pack my bags.”

Before he revealed any more that was better left unsaid, Darcy bade his friends goodbye and hastened back to Darcy House.

#

Elizabeth

“Are you ready, Eilís ?” her grandmother called from the entrance hall.

“Yes, I shall be with you in a mere moment,” Elizabeth replied from above. They were returning Miss Eudora Darcy’s call, an endeavour she dreaded because there was a slight chance Mr Darcy would be present. It might be a long and tormenting half-hour before they returned home.

They arrived at Miss Darcy’s town house in mere minutes and entered the narrow entrance hall. A butler took their warm cloaks and showed them into a parlour with an abundance of stuffed animals, even stuffed birds, which she had not seen before.

Miss Darcy had a caller, but rather than Mr Darcy it was the colonel from the theatre. Elizabeth was naturally sceptical. He was the brother of the deceitful viscount and equally culpable for the wager that had prompted Mr Darcy to dance with her at the masquerade.

They greeted each other, the older people warmly and the younger with cautious reserve.

“I have not yet had the pleasure of hearing you play, Lady Elizabeth. Could you be persuaded to entertain us on my pianoforte?” Miss Eudora Darcy enquired.

“It would be my pleasure.” At the very least, it would save her from conversing with the colonel. Elizabeth looked about the room but could see no pianoforte.

“The instrument is in the next room,” the older lady explained and rang the bell.

A footman entered and opened the double doors revealing the pianoforte. Elizabeth rose, as did the colonel.

“May I turn the pages for you?”

As much as she would relish thwarting him and declining, she could not be so rude. With a tight nod of acceptance, she sailed to the instrument and began to play a light piece she knew by heart. She could not help but smile at the bewildered colonel, who obviously could read music. It spoke well of his discernment that he discovered very quickly that she was not playing what was on the sheet before her. Once the piece concluded, she allowed him his gallantry and leafed through the music at hand.

“Lady Elizabeth, I would dearly like to hear your strictures about how my cousin Darcy behaved in Hertfordshire…”

Elizabeth turned to the hovering colonel and smiled to give the impression she was about to tease, but in reality, she was deadly serious.

“Indeed. But you must prepare yourself, for what I am about to relate is very dreadful.”

The colonel barked a laugh. “I can well imagine, but do continue. I doubt that you can shock a seasoned soldier.”

He was warning her that he knew what had transpired.

She turned fully to him, the sheets of music all but forgotten in her hands.

“The first time I saw him was at a ball, and how do you think he behaved?”

The colonel shifted uncomfortably and denied having any knowledge.

“He danced only four dances with his friends, though gentlemen were scarce, and I know for a fact that more than one lady was sitting down without a partner.”

“Darcy’s reserve makes him ill-qualified to recommend himself to strangers,” the colonel defended his cousin.

“Unless he is paid,” Elizabeth remarked evenly. “I have it on good authority that his price is a mere ten guineas.” She turned to the instrument and sang an Irish air that left no room for conversation. When the song ended, she closed the instrument and returned to her grandmother’s side.

#

Darcy

A familiar knock resonated through his study.

“Enter,” he called, and it was no surprise to him that Richard came through the door.

The colonel immediately went to his port and poured them both a generous measure. The tumbler was thrust into his hand before Richard settled into a chair.

“I just called on Miss Eudora Darcy.”

A sense of foreboding settled in his stomach.

“Really. And what business had you with my aunt?”

“Nothing, but her servant had left her card at my barracks. I thought it might have something to do with you and went promptly to her house.”

The colonel was habitual, and his aunt knew that leaving her card without a message would send him expeditiously to her door.

“And what did you discover?”

“I did not have the time to enquire before additional guests came calling.”

“Who?” he growled, though his cousin’s countenance betrayed him.

“Mrs Maeve Bennet and Lady Elizabeth. I do not know how she discovered it, but she knows about the wager.”

“What wager?” he stupidly asked before he remembered the ridiculous bet he had accepted from Crawford.

“She is under the impression that you needed monetary inducement to dance with her.”

He let his head fall into his hands and sighed. Would this farce never end? Was he to be faced with his failings at every turn?

“We must try to disabuse her of the mistaken notion that you do not like her.”

“It is no use. Nothing can be done. I have seen to that with my abominable behaviour…”