Page 10 of The Same Noble Line (Darcy and Elizabeth Happily Ever Afters)

“ D arcy!” Bingley’s voice rang through the doorway, cheerful and exuberant. He entered the room with a wide grin, his energy almost tangible. “It is done! Miss Bennet has accepted me!”

Darcy was standing by the window in the library at Netherfield, his hands clasped behind his back as he gazed out over the frost-covered grounds and contemplated his precarious position. He had anticipated this moment since Bingley had insisted on returning to Netherfield with them, and yet the speed of the event had still caught him unprepared. They had first visited Longbourn only two days ago.

He and Fitzwilliam had spent the better part of an hour speaking with Colonel Forster about Wickham, though the reprobate denied it all. Once he had sent Wickham back to his duties, Forster had promised to investigate. Darcy was not hopeful.

Bingley’s news was a very welcome diversion from that business. Darcy turned from the window, allowing himself a small smile as he approached his friend. “Congratulations, my friend,” he said, genuinely pleased. “You could not have chosen more wisely.”

Bingley’s smile only widened. “Thank you, Darcy. She is an angel among mortals.” His words came quickly, tumbling over one another in his excitement. “I can hardly believe it myself. I have secured the happiest future a man could hope for.”

Georgiana was standing in the doorway, having followed Bingley in. Her face brightened at his enthusiasm. “You have proposed?” she asked with a delighted smile.

“I have!” Bingley exclaimed.

“And she has accepted?”

Bingley’s chest expanded so far it was a wonder the buttons on his waistcoat remained in place. “Indeed she has, Miss Darcy. You see before you the happiest of men.”

Georgiana stepped forward with her hands clasped together. “Congratulations, Mr. Bingley. Miss Bennet is everything you deserve, and I know she will make you very happy.”

“She will,” Bingley said with conviction. He glanced at Fitzwilliam, who had said nothing as of yet, and then back at Darcy. “I hope you will all join me in celebrating this evening.”

Fitzwilliam nodded and stepped forward. “Of course, Bingley. It would be unthinkable not to toast to such excellent news.” He clapped Bingley on the shoulder. “I imagine you have already planned the next ten years of bliss in great detail.”

“Not quite,” Bingley said with a laugh, “though I confess I have spent some time considering the wedding.” He straightened, his expression growing more serious. “But for now, I must attend to practical matters. The marriage contract requires attention before I send it to my solicitor in town. If you will excuse me, I shall see to that now.”

Darcy knew Bingley well enough that he suspected the man had been about to say he was anticipating his wedding night . Fortunately, he had recalled Georgiana’s presence.

“Congratulations, Mr. Bingley,” said Mrs. Annesley, who had followed behind Georgiana. “I wish you very happy.”

As his friend departed, Georgiana turned to Darcy, her smile softening. “I must say, Brother, I am relieved. You and my cousin have done your duty by Mr. Bingley, and it is clear he has made the correct decision.”

Darcy inclined his head slightly, though he said nothing. Bingley’s new connection to the Bennets would be a complication for him.

“Miss Darcy,” Mrs. Annesley said gently, “you will be wanted upstairs to prepare.”

Georgiana smiled at her companion. “Thank you, Mrs. Annesley. I shall be up shortly.”

Mrs. Annesley nodded and turned to take the stairs.

“Now,” Georgiana said, a playful lilt to her tone, “I must remind you both that we are all going to Longbourn for dinner tonight. It might be an excellent opportunity to speak with the Bennet family.” She directed the last remark at Darcy, her brow raised ever so slightly.

Darcy stiffened but managed a curt nod. “Indeed.”

Satisfied, Georgiana announced that she must tend to her gown and toilette for the event. As her footsteps receded, Fitzwilliam leaned against the edge of the table, arms crossed over his chest, watching Darcy steadily.

“’Speak with the Bennet family,’” Fitzwilliam repeated, his tone mockingly serious. “Do you suppose she meant you or me?”

Darcy did not respond immediately, his mind too preoccupied with the implications of Bingley’s marriage. Depending upon what they learned—and how he acted—their very steady friendship might be lost. It would be a greater hardship for Darcy, for though Bingley made friends wherever he went, his own direct manner more often gave offence. Perhaps if he—

Fitzwilliam groaned and slouched back in his chair. “Good Lord, Darcy, must you exercise your strategic acumen in every interaction? You are more deliberate than the men at Whitehall. Meet with Bingley at your club if need be.”

Darcy frowned. “What is our plan for tonight, then?”

“Did I not just say—”

“You prefer I walk in blind?”

“I prefer a plan that does not collapse under the weight of its complexity,” Fitzwilliam countered.

Darcy folded his arms. “And what, precisely, do you suggest?”

Fitzwilliam’s grin turned positively wicked. He lifted an imaginary glass. “In vino veritas, cousin.”

Darcy arched a sceptical brow. “Your grand strategy is to ply the man with spirits?”

Fitzwilliam shrugged. “It has worked for centuries. A few well-placed toasts, a generous hand with the decanter, and Bennet will be offering up his entire family history before cigars.”

Darcy sighed, pressing his fingers to his temple. “This is absurd.”

“Perhaps,” his cousin said, “but you must admit, it is a far less exhausting approach than yours.”

Darcy gave him a look of mild exasperation. “These are not officers far from home, Fitzwilliam.”

His cousin poured himself a real glass of wine and took a long sip, savouring it before replying, “I am merely embracing the possibilities of the evening. Do you really want to leave Longbourn with more questions than answers? Or would you prefer to confess all and be done with it?”

Done with Pemberley, Fitzwilliam meant. Darcy sighed. Part of him did wish to simply rid himself of the deception. But even if he had been prepared to relinquish his own position or duties, he was not ready to do the same regarding his sister’s fortune.

“I would prefer not to risk unravelling everything over an ill-timed glass of wine.” Darcy’s tone was sharper than he intended. “Your strategy is not a solution; it is a gamble.”

“As is this entire enterprise,” Fitzwilliam countered. “However, consider this: if we go to Longbourn and uncover truths we would rather not know, at least we will have the solace of certainty. It is ignorance, not knowledge, that keeps you staring out that window like a caged animal.”

Darcy frowned as he turned back towards the room. “The truth might be worse than the suspicion.”

Fitzwilliam’s smile faltered, and he set the glass down with a quiet clink. “I believe that has been my stance from the first.”

This made Darcy feel guiltier than he already did. “You are correct, but avoiding the truth does not change it. It is better to confront it directly, no matter how unpleasant.”

Fitzwilliam nodded, his expression grim. “And if the truth destroys everything? What then?” His tone suggested that he knew the answer; he simply wished Darcy to say it aloud, to confirm that Darcy still wished to proceed.

“Then I rebuild,” Darcy replied, his stomach roiling but his voice steady. “I cannot live with half-truths and shadows. No matter the outcome, I must know and then act accordingly.”

“You have always been the most upright man I know, Darcy. I will not deter you, I only ask that we uncover the truth without a doubt before you make that final decision.”

Darcy did not reply. Fitzwilliam poured another glass, this time offering it to Darcy, who shook his head.

“Suit yourself,” Fitzwilliam said, leaning back against the edge of the table. “You are right, though. I do have a strategy.”

Darcy’s brows lifted in wary curiosity. “And what is that?”

Fitzwilliam smirked, swirling the wine in his glass. “What fun would it be to tell you?”

The dry humour of the remark caught Darcy unaware, and he allowed himself a faint, rueful smile. “You are ridiculous.”

“Perhaps,” Fitzwilliam replied, lifting his glass in mock salute. “But at least I am on your side.”

Elizabeth adjusted the sprig of holly above the mantelpiece in the drawing room, taking a step back to assess her work. The garland had begun to sag slightly on one side—it might not even survive until Twelfth Night—but before she could fix it, Mr. Collins’s voice intruded on her thoughts.

“Ah, my dear cousin Elizabeth, how delightful it is to see you engaged in the humble yet commendable task of preparing the household for guests.” He rocked back on his heels in a manner reminiscent of Sir William, but unlike the affable master of Lucas Lodge, his words were pettish. “Such efforts, though not strictly necessary for one in your position, demonstrate a praiseworthy diligence. It is a shame that such talents remain confined to your father’s home rather than being put to use in your own household.”

She turned slowly, her brow arching at the barely veiled barb, and answered him politely. “It is heartening to know that even the simplest of tasks can inspire such profound ruminations. Perhaps I might one day aspire to your example of industry, tirelessly occupying myself with the matters of other households in such minute detail.”

Her cousin entirely missed the irony in her statement as he straightened with a self-important air and replied, “Indeed, Cousin Elizabeth, it is a mark of true refinement to take an active interest in the affairs of one’s neighbours and relations. I have naturally assumed a sense of responsibility for the welfare of this esteemed family, particularly in light of my future position as the master of Longbourn.” He smiled magnanimously, as though bestowing some great favour.

Elizabeth gave him a smile that, though outwardly pleasant, held a faint edge. “A noble sentiment, Mr. Collins. It is fortunate, indeed, that you have found a partner as practical as Miss Lucas, one who I am sure will complement your sense of diligence. It must be a great relief to her to know that no task will ever go unremarked upon, no matter how small.”

It was a terrible farce that Charlotte Lucas—intelligent, sensible Charlotte—had bound herself to such a man. Elizabeth could not have done it, not even for Longbourn. But since the error of her own judgements had been made clear to her, she was less willing to pass it upon her poor friend, who only wanted her own home to run and to avoid being considered a burden on her brothers. It ought not be necessary, but it was, and so Charlotte had done the sensible thing, however little it was likely to bring her true happiness.

The front hall filled with the sound of greetings as Sir William Lucas’s hearty voice rose above the general commotion. “Ah, Bennet! A pleasure to be here with you and your family!”

Elizabeth followed her sisters into the hall, where Sir William was beaming with delight. “Your home looks splendid, absolutely splendid!” he declared.

Mamma’s smile was gracious and welcoming.

Sir William slapped Mr. Collins on the back, pushing him forward. “And here is the man of the hour! We are blessed indeed, Bennet, that we shall all soon be family.”

Mr. Collins offered a deep bow and began to speak about his great good fortune in finding the perfect woman.

Elizabeth stepped aside as the rest of the Lucases entered. Lady Lucas moved to Mamma, and the two women immediately began an animated conversation about their children. Meanwhile, Maria Lucas hurried over to Kitty and Lydia, the trio falling into giggles and chatter as they examined one another’s ribbons and gowns.

Charlotte had entered quietly and stepped to her intended’s side, where she was now attempting to deflect Mr. Collins’s embarrassingly effusive praise. Elizabeth waited patiently for her friend to approach. As their eyes met, Charlotte gave Elizabeth a small, apologetic glance before allowing Mr. Collins to guide her away.

Elizabeth knew things would be different once Charlotte was wed, but this sign of just how different was disappointing. Charlotte had always been her wisest friend other than Aunt Gardiner, and though she was now determined not to think too harshly of Charlotte’s choice, Elizabeth struggled to reconcile her friend’s decision with what she had thought was their shared desire to marry worthy men.

“You are troubled.” Mary’s voice broke into her reverie. She stood beside Elizabeth, her hands clasped before her in her usual posture of composure.

Elizabeth offered a wry smile. “And you are perceptive.”

Mary’s gaze followed Mr. Collins as he gestured animatedly toward a landscape that hung on the wall, Charlotte nodding politely beside him. “I will admit,” she said softly, “I once wished that Mr. Collins had looked my way instead of yours.”

“Truly?” Elizabeth did not think they would suit at all. While Mary could be dogmatic and sometimes rated her own accomplishments too highly, she was still a great deal more knowledgeable than Mr. Collins in many ways. From what Elizabeth had witnessed, this included doctrinal matters, and Mary would have a difficult time hiding that.

Mary nodded, her expression thoughtful. “It was a fleeting wish, I assure you. But I understand Charlotte’s position. The prospect of a home of one’s own is tempting.”

Elizabeth reached for Mary’s hand. “I, too, wished that he had looked elsewhere, though I cannot say I would have wished him upon you.”

Her sister’s lips curled into a small smile. “In truth, I am glad he did not look to me. Charlotte will be content to let her husband go his own way, so long as she has a home and station to call her own. I do not fault her for it, but it is not what I would want.”

“I am pleased to hear it, and I hope you do find such a partner. You deserve nothing less.”

“I think it shall be a very long time before I find a man I can admire in that way,” Mary replied.

Across the room, Sir William guffawed.

“Come,” Elizabeth said with a smile. “Let us see to the guests.”

The drawing room had grown lively. Lydia and Kitty were chattering loudly with Maria, their laughter filling the space, while Sir William continued to heap praise upon Mr. Collins, who basked in the attention. Even Papa appeared to be enjoying himself as he watched them, though Elizabeth noted that he had strategically positioned himself near the decanters.

She moved through the room with Mary at her side, offering warm smiles and polite greetings to all. When at last the front door opened again, quiet fell.

The Netherfield party had arrived.

Mr. Bingley entered first, his countenance as bright and cheerful as ever. He bowed deeply to her parents before placing Jane’s hand on his arm and greeting the others. Behind him came Colonel Fitzwilliam with Miss Darcy, who offered a polite curtsy to the assembled company.

And then came Mr. Darcy.

Elizabeth’s breath caught at the sight of him, though she quickly chastised herself for the reaction. He was always dressed to advantage, but she had forgotten how handsome he appeared in evening clothes. His expression was composed, but his dark gaze sought hers immediately, fixing her with that penetrating stare she had come to associate with him. Now that she was applying Aunt Gardiner’s advice, she could say that his gaze was not unfriendly, yet it unnerved her all the same, as though he were attempting to read her thoughts. She inclined her head in acknowledgment, though she found she could not hold his gaze for long. Her heart fluttered inexplicably, and she turned her attention to Miss Darcy, who was speaking softly to Mamma.

The gathering soon resumed its boisterous energy, but Elizabeth could not shake the feeling that something had changed with the arrival of the Netherfield party. As she exchanged pleasantries with the colonel and Miss Darcy, she was acutely aware of Mr. Darcy’s presence. He was always near her, though never too close. Whatever was he thinking?