Page 24 of What Comes Between Cousins

P ERHAPS IT WOULD BE best to simply return to Netherfield, but Darcy found he had no desire to do so. Netherfield was the last place he wished to be at that moment, and it was not only because it was the location of that viper, Miss Bingley.

So Darcy left the colonel’s office, and finding that Fitzwilliam had not followed him, he took the opportunity to leave without his cousin, avoiding any unpleasantness between them. As he rode down the street and away from the town, Darcy had no thought in mind as to a destination. Though early December, the air was not chill enough to penetrate his great coat, and he thought a little exercise atop his trusty mount would not be amiss. It was some time later before he reined his blowing horse in before a manor house beside a tiny hamlet. It appeared his subconscious had a destination in mind all along.

There was little else to be done, so Darcy swung his leg over the side of his horse and patted it with affection when he was standing on the drive. A stable hand appeared from around the side of the house and greeted Darcy with deference, accepting the reins passed to him.

“Shall I stable him, sir?”

“No, I do not think I shall be here long. A little water and some oats, if it is not too much trouble.”

“Of course, sir,” replied the man. He knuckled his forehead and led Darcy’s stallion away, while Darcy presented himself at the door. In short order, he was shown into the sitting-room where the ladies of the estate awaited him. Their greetings were all he had come to expect from this family, but Darcy found he had little patience for them. The youngest girls were giggling about something between them, and while Mrs. Bennet had proven to be more tolerable than Darcy had ever imagined, still her voice was a little shrill and her welcomes, while he appreciated them, grated on his nerves. Darcy had not the slightest notion of why his footsteps had directed him here, but he was not about to squander the opportunity which had been presented.

“Thank you for your welcome, Mrs. Bennet,” said Darcy at the first opportunity. “But the day is fine and I have no doubt Miss Elizabeth has found being inside chafes at her nerves. Perhaps she—and her sisters, of course—would appreciate taking a turn around the gardens?”

“What a splendid idea, Mr. Darcy,” replied Mrs. Bennet, with only a hint of the exuberance she had shown at their first meeting. “I am certain Lizzy will be vastly pleased to oblige you. As for my other daughters . . .” Mrs. Bennet frowned as she looked around the room.

“I shall not go,” said Miss Lydia in a loud tone. “This blasted ankle still won’t allow it.”

Though the girl was far forwarder than she ought to be, in this instance Darcy was grateful for her lack of manners. Since she would not go, of course, Miss Kitty declined, as did Miss Bennet. Miss Mary, however, shared a look with Miss Elizabeth before speaking up.

“I would be happy to accompany you,” said she.

Mrs. Bennet appeared like she was about to object. But she paused, looked on them all with a critical eye, before she nodded her head, though slowly. “Yes, I suppose that would be for the best. Be sure to wear your fur-lined pelisses, for it is cold.”

The girls assured her they would, and they all left the room to gather their accouterments before proceeding out the front door. It seemed an unheard communication passed between the two Bennet sisters, for while Miss Elizabeth took Darcy’s offered arm, Miss Mary declined, instead hanging back to look at, in Darcy’s opinion, some uninteresting bit of the ivy climbing Longbourn’s outer wall, before falling in several yards behind them.

Had Darcy been in any mood to consider such things, he would have commented to the effect that Longbourn’s back lawn was a pleasing bit of space. It was not large and spacious, teeming with gardens, topiaries, and hedge mazes like one might have seen at Rosings or even, to a certain extent, Pemberley. But it was pleasing, with several benches scattered about the paths and several flower gardens, including one large plot full of rose bushes, which he imagined the Bennet sisters lovingly caring for during the warmth of the summer months. All this he took in with an absent sort of detachment. In reality, Darcy was struggling to find the words to say what he wished. In the end, it was Miss Elizabeth who spoke first.

“I had imagined when you first came in the room and then so precipitously lured me out of doors that you had something you wished to discuss. If you only wish to see our gardens, I invite you to return in July, for they are quite pretty at that time of the year.”

Darcy made the only response he could—he chuckled, all the while marveling at the ability of this woman to put him at ease with only a light jest.

“Then I surely shall, Miss Elizabeth. It is clear they have been tended with great care, for it is easy to see the imprint of your family’s love for your home on every leaf, branch, and stone which comprises Longbourn’s walls.”

Though she considered him for a moment, Miss Elizabeth said at length: “We do love our home, Mr. Darcy. But I hardly think you came here in all this state to pay such compliments to us for our home.”

“In all this state?” asked Darcy, amused at her insight.

Miss Elizabeth fixed him with a long look. “It appeared you were . . . agitated when you arrived, sir. Is there something amiss?”

All levity fled Darcy’s mind, and he was instantly back in the state in which he had arrived. The fact was that he did not know what he wished to say, nor even why he had sought her out. He only knew that he esteemed this woman—was in a fair way to being in love with her. He could easily see that whatever her experience with Wickham had been, she was unharmed and happy. Her resilience was one of the things he admired the most about her. But he had to know . . . What he had to know he was not certain, but the need was there regardless, pawing away at the walls of his mind with a desperation he could not ignore.

“I wish . . . I would like to . . .” Darcy paused, cursing his lead tongue for its inability to decipher what he wished to say.

Miss Elizabeth only looked at him, her amusement overflowing from her eyes. “It is clear you want something, sir. Should I guess what it is? There seems little chance of my discovering it by any other means.”

“Is it your practice to jest always, Miss Bennet?” asked Darcy. “One might think it the product of an unserious mind to turn everything into a joke.”

“I hope not, Mr. Darcy. But it seems as if such banter as this is much easier for your current sensibilities. Perhaps we should continue in such a fashion to lighten your mood, so this other communication loses some of its intimidation.”

Darcy shook his head and chuckled. “I have nothing of which to inform you. I merely wish to ascertain my chances.”

“Chances?” asked Miss Elizabeth, clearly confused. “I have not the pleasure of understanding you, sir.”

Darcy stopped and turned toward her, catching the hand which had been settled in the crook of his arm in one hand. “Yes, chances. You see, Miss Bennet, I find myself in a unique position in my experience. I have never found any woman who has intrigued me as you do, and it has quite left me bereft of my wits.”

“All of this you explained to me at the ball, Mr. Darcy,” said Miss Elizabeth.

“Perhaps I did,” replied Darcy, feeling no more assured of her regard than he had before. “But . . .” Darcy paused, struggling to find the words to say. “I have informed you that I will not see you as a prize to be fought over with my cousin. It seemed like you were receptive to my advances, but I am still unsure.”

Darcy stopped and let out a heavy breath. There was nothing to be done but to put his heart on the line, for this woman was worth it. If she crushed it with her answer, at least he would know. He did not think she had it in her to be cruel.

“Miss Bennet, I know you will not trifle with a man’s heart, and as such, I will bare it to you. I am not an eloquent man. At times I have been called distant and fastidious, proud and disagreeable. I am not articulate, nor am I prone to displays such as will amaze those watching us with the force of my regard for you.

“I have often found myself . . . overshadowed by my cousin, though we have long been the closest of friends. Fitzwilliam is everything I am not—he is gregarious, always knows when to make a jest or drop a compliment. I have never had that talent. But when I feel, I do so with all my heart. I have informed you of my interest in you, of my wish to know you better, as a man and a lover. But I have found myself wondering why you would take a taciturn and awkward man such as myself when you have attracted a bright, amiable man such as my cousin. I suppose . . . I hope you will tell me if I am . . . hoping in vain. There is not much of my heart left which is not yours, but I wish to guard what there is to protect it from completely shattering should you refuse me.”

“I had not the slightest notion that you looked on me quite that way, sir.”

It was a reflexive answer, Darcy was certain, but no less true regardless. She looked at him with wonder unfeigned, and he thought he saw the beginning of warmth appear in her countenance. And her eyes—her glorious eyes—flowed with the admiration of a woman who knew, for the first time, that she was cherished, even loved. Darcy could not help but squeeze her hand, still held in his own, and he was gratified when she returned the gesture.

“May I take that as an acceptance of my regard, Miss Elizabeth?”

“As I said before, Mr. Darcy, I have not the pleasure of understanding my feelings on this subject. But I can tell you that I am not unmoved. It is, perhaps, still early, but I know without any doubt that I feel I can return your regard.”

“Thank you, Miss Bennet,” said Darcy, his heart soaring. She was not his yet, but he now thought it more likely than ever that she would be.

“I am curious, however,” said Miss Elizabeth. “Why would you think that I have an interest in your cousin?”

Darcy turned, tucked Miss Elizabeth’s hand in the crook of his arm again, and began walking again, noting that as a chaperone, Miss Mary was efficient, yet not intrusive. He knew with an instinctual surety that should he cross a line she deemed improper, she would interfere with alacrity. As it was, the girl hung back and watched her sister with happiness shining in her eyes, allowing them enough privacy for their conversation. He smiled at her and nodded, letting her know he would not abuse her trust.

“In matters such as these,” said Darcy, turning his attention back to Miss Elizabeth, “I have always felt myself at a disadvantage, for reasons of which I have already spoken. It seems only natural to me that a woman such as you would prefer my cousin to me.”

“If one only wanted an unreserved companion, you might be correct. But a discerning woman wishes for more than a man who makes a joke about everything in life.”

Darcy regarded her, noting the passion in her response. “Can you elaborate?”

“Of course,” replied Miss Elizabeth. “I have always had the impression that your cousin is a good man. He is as you have stated: amiable, open, and not appearing to give the impression of thinking himself better than anyone else for the simple reason of his elevated status.

“But whereas you speak to me as an equal, debating or bantering with no hint that you think my opinion inferior because I am a woman, your cousin, especially of late, flatters excessively.” Miss Elizabeth paused and colored. When she spoke again, it was in a voice which Darcy had to strain to hear. “At Mr. Bingley’s ball, I actually began to wonder if he was attempting to let me know he wished to make me an offer . . . of another kind.”

She spoke the final few words in a rush, and Darcy could do naught but gape at her. “I assure you, Miss Bennet, in the strongest words possible, that Fitzwilliam had no such meaning. I beg you do not consider such a matter for another instant!”

“I understand now , Mr. Darcy,” said Miss Elizabeth, hastening to reassure him. “I realized what he was about later that evening when I informed you of my desire to avoid being fought over by warring parties.”

A sense of relief fell over Darcy, but he was still unable to fathom what she was saying. “It is still unbelievable you thought that of him.”

“What would you think?” Her tone was defensive. “We have all heard stories of men of high station. I have always spoken with your cousin in a friendly manner, and he always responded. But for him to suddenly flatter to such an extent struck me as odd. He did not seem serious in his interest for me—he did not behave as you did. So naturally, I assumed he was considering me for another position.”

“I can see where you might have obtained that impression, Miss Bennet,” replied Darcy. Inside he was still caught in the grips of disbelief. But at the same time, a niggling thought made itself known: Fitzwilliam had finally stepped into it with his behavior. And then he felt vindicated for all the times he had informed his cousin he should restrain his impulse to flatter and tease. Perhaps Fitzwilliam would listen to him now.

“It is of little matter.” Miss Elizabeth’s tone was firm. “I knew that evening what his true purpose was, and to tell the truth, I do not care for it. His actions speak to frivolities, to a competition between cousins. I have enough sisters, sir, to know much of vying between siblings. I have no desire to be caught up in it.”

“And my attentions?”

Miss Elizabeth turned a smile on him. “Now I think you may be attempting to stroke your vanity, sir.” Darcy grinned at her and Miss Elizabeth laughed. “I appreciate being spoken to as an intelligent woman, not as a man might speak to a dog performing tricks. I have rarely had such attention from anyone other than my father. I find that I like it quite well, indeed.”

“It surprises me that anyone could treat you differently, Miss Elizabeth.” Darcy stopped and turned to face her, His hand rose of its own volition, and he trailed a finger along one velvety cheek. “I see you as the intelligent woman you are, Miss Elizabeth. It is one of the attributes which attracted me to you. I hope I will be successful in my suit, for I believe we are well suited. To debate such topics as Milton for the rest of our lives together—could anything be closer to paradise than that?”

“We shall have to see, Mr. Darcy. But you have made a good start of it.’

“I hope, my dear Miss Elizabeth, I have made more than a start. Patience is not one of my virtues. Now that I know you are receptive, I shall proceed at a great pace.”

Her voice was breathless when she replied. “Then go to it, sir.”

––––––––

I T WAS WITH THE HEADY feeling of a love which might yet be requited that Darcy returned to Netherfield. His senses were full of Miss Elizabeth Bennet, such that nothing affected him on the way there; neither the chill of the wind as his steed galloped along the roads, nor the thought of what awaited him when he arrived. Miss Elizabeth was receptive to his overtures—what could possibly be of greater importance than that?

When he reined his mount in front of Netherfield, he passed the care of the animal off to the groom and made his way up the stairs two at a time. He directed his footsteps toward his suite of rooms and changed his clothes to something more suitable for an evening at home. Snell, his valet, eyed him askance, clearly seeing something in his master’s manner which differed from usual. Darcy chose not to illuminate him. Snell would discover it soon enough.

When Darcy had finished dressing, he sat at the escritoire in his room and dashed off a quick note to his steward at Pemberley to have the packet of Wickham’s debt receipts sent posthaste to his attention at Netherfield. The letter was then given to Snell, Darcy instructing his valet to send it via express. Then Darcy considered descending to do his duty to his hosts. He gave some thought to simply staying in his rooms but decided at the last moment it would be polite to be seen in their company. In the end, he wished he had simply stayed above stairs.

The house was quiet that afternoon. Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley were nowhere in evidence, and Hurst was also absent. What surprised Darcy was the fact he could not find Bingley anywhere. He did , however, find his cousin in the sitting-room, and by Fitzwilliam’s swift and unsettled pacing, his cousin had been nursing some disturbance of mind for far too long.

“You have returned,” said Fitzwilliam the moment he saw Darcy. “I found it difficult to credit how you abandoned me in Meryton when we were finished dealing with Wickham—a man who, I might remind you, is a problem created by your family.”

Fitzwilliam was spoiling for a fight, it seemed. Darcy, however, had little interest in obliging him. “You did not follow me, so I left. And Wickham might be, as you put it, my family’s problem. It may have missed your attention, but I also dealt with that problem without assistance from you.”

“I did not assist?” A snort of disdain issued from Fitzwilliam’s lips. “It is just like you, Mr. high-and-mighty Darcy, to attempt to resolve every crisis by yourself, and take the credit of it, even when others are present.”

“If you will explain to me what you did, I will be happy to extend the credit of it to you. By my account, I have sent for the man’s debts, demanded he stay away from the Bennet sisters, and threatened to see him in prison if he did not comply. Your contributions consisted of a few pithy remarks.”

Fitzwilliam’s eyes blazed with affront, but he changed the subject. “For that matter, I would like to know what you think you are doing with Miss Elizabeth.”

“What I think I am doing?” asked Darcy, raising an eyebrow at his cousin. “Are you, perhaps, accusing me of something underhanded?”

“I am accusing you of trying to insert yourself where you were not wanted!” snarled Fitzwilliam. “You could see that I was interested in Miss Elizabeth. But no—the Darcy of Pemberley cannot abide being bested by his cousin. He finds he must interfere with his cousin’s happiness and try to steal the woman out from under his nose. It will not work, I tell you!”

The angry man in Darcy longed to throw Miss Elizabeth’s words of his cousin’s behavior in Fitzwilliam’s face. But he would not behave in so underhanded a manner. “I am surprised to hear you state such, Fitzwilliam. By my account, you behaved toward Miss Elizabeth the same way you behave toward any other young woman. You flattered her and spoke with glib comments and amiable nothings. And since you have always behaved that way to any woman who crossed your path, I could not see anything remarkable in your behavior.”

“Well, there was,” replied Fitzwilliam, his tone abrupt. “If you did not see it, then perhaps you do not know me as well as you think.”

“Perhaps I do not, for this is not how my closest cousin behaves.”

Fitzwilliam glared at Darcy, but Darcy only returned his look with equal resolve. “Then let me be rightly understood—I intend to win Miss Elizabeth and make her my wife. Have I made myself quite clear?”

“You have.”

“Then I will thank you to retire from the field.”

“I shall do nothing of the sort.”

Fitzwilliam’s eyes narrowed in fury. “I should have known. Do you fear being bested?”

“No. I simply have a regard for Miss Elizabeth which is far above anything you can boast. I will not give her up because I know that, at least in some part, she returns that regard.”

“She will marry where her best interest lies. Why would she marry a mere gentleman when someday she might be a countess?”

“You should ask her that yourself. Believe me, Fitzwilliam, I think more of Miss Elizabeth than to think she will be swayed by riches and titles. Heavens, man, listen to yourself! When have you ever subscribed to such nonsense as this? Has your elevation to the peerage addled you? Or have you simply begun to think so well of yourself now that you can claim a high position in society?”

His cousin was affronted—Darcy could tell by the silence which ensued after his last comment. Fitzwilliam was attempting to master himself, a welcome sign, as he had done little of that in recent days. He was hardly recognizable as the man Darcy had known from his earliest years.

“I am much as I ever was,” said Fitzwilliam at length. “We have avoided open rivalry, but it seems like we have finally reached that state.”

“ You have reached that estate, Fitzwilliam,” replied Darcy. “I am not interested in being your rival.”

“Then cease importuning Miss Elizabeth!”

“I have not been importuning her. I shall not cease my efforts to woo her.”

Fitzwilliam threw his hands up in the air and stalked about in his anger. “This is beyond belief! I begin to think I hardly know you.”

“I find myself in the same situation.”

“We should simply call Lady Catherine back to Netherfield and form the engagement between you and Anne. You and Lady Catherine seem to be destined for each other, it seems, for your temperaments are by no means unalike.

Darcy could hardly believe his ears. “You wish me to marry Anne when you have known all these years how much the very notion repulses me?”

“It is your duty, is it not?”

“It is no such thing, and I will thank you not to insinuate it.”

“Did your mother not wish for it?”

“It matters not. I will inform you here and now, Fitzwilliam, that I will not back off in the matter of Miss Elizabeth Bennet. If you wish to attempt to woo her away from me, you are more than welcome to try. Let me warn you, however, that she will not be receptive to your overtures, as she finds something lacking in your manners.”

“Oh, I do hope you are not arguing about the Bennets.”

Both men whirled at the sound of the voice only to see Miss Bingley glide into the room. Mrs. Hurst trailed her, watching her sister as if she was some sort of wild animal ready to pounce. Miss Bingley just ignored her.

“Though I wonder if this incident has not informed you both what a poor influence on us the Bennets must be. Why, they are naught but an insignificant and improper family, intent upon ruining us all.”

“I hardly think anyone at Longbourn possesses such intentions, Miss Bingley,” replied Darcy. His tone was short, but the argument with Fitzwilliam had left him bereft of his usual control on his temper, and he had not the patience to listen to the woman’s poison.

“Of course, they do,” said Miss Bingley with more than a little heat. “They wish to sink their claws into two eligible men, thereby bringing themselves up to your level.” Miss Bingley huffed. “Of course, they will not achieve any such elevation. They would merely drag you down to the sphere in which they inhabit.”

Miss Bingley released a scornful laugh. “The thought of Mrs. Bennet moving in London society fills me with such hilarity. She would cut a swath through them, I have no doubt. She would be the most famous socialite within a week, though all would look on her with scorn and derision. Whether she would even understand it is debatable.”

“I must agree that Mrs. Bennet would find it difficult moving in London society,” said Darcy. Fitzwilliam shot him a triumphant look, but Darcy only ignored him. “There is a distinct lack of artifice about her, which makes mingling with those of the ton, for whom artifice is a second nature, difficult. Her manners are a little countrified, but not displeasing.

“As for the Bennet family, I will assume that you do not know them well, Miss Bingley. They are naught but country folk, but I find them estimable nonetheless.”

“I agree, Mr. Darcy,” said Mrs. Hurst, clearly attempting to defuse the situation. “I count the three eldest Bennet girls among my closest friends.”

“I must think you are both mad, to be spouting such tripe.” Miss Bingley’s gimlet eyes turned to Fitzwilliam, and she simpered at him. “I am thankful that there is at least one present who agrees with me concerning the unsuitability of the Bennet family.”

“I assure you, nothing could be further from the truth.” Fitzwilliam darted a glance at Darcy. “In fact, I am hoping to make them my family. Surely my interest in Miss Elizabeth has been too marked to be misunderstood.”

Miss Bingley gasped. Darcy regarded his cousin, noting the slight note of victory in his manner. If Fitzwilliam thought that Darcy would subside with nothing more than a simple declaration, he was destined to be disappointed. Mrs. Hurst seemed to sense it too, for she looked between the two men, first with disbelief at Fitzwilliam, then askance at Darcy. Darcy only shook his head—they had argued enough that day.

Into this volatile mix arrived Bingley, proving once again to Darcy that his friend was often prone to entering at the worst times. Bingley, however, was to shock them, for the ill feelings in the room were about to explode due to the news he brought.

“Good afternoon, everyone,” said Bingley, his tone more than usually cheerful. “I see you are all present.” Bingley glanced around. “Except for Hurst, of course. Well, no matter—I shall simply tell him later.”

“Tell us what, Charles?” asked Mrs. Hurst, a hopeful tone in her voice.

“I have just come from Longbourn,” replied Bingley.

“You have?” asked Darcy. “I was just there myself, but I did not see you.”

“I arrived while you were walking outside with Miss Elizabeth and Miss Mary.”

Before he could speak any further, Miss Bingley huffed and complained: “As if a visit to that insignificant speck is worthy of such a pronouncement. Really, Charles, I wish you would simply stay away from Longbourn. Nothing good can come of associating with that family.”

“Something of good has come of it, and you should become accustomed to associating with them, Caroline, for I have the happiest of news. I had a particular purpose in calling at Longbourn this morning. I have made Miss Jane Bennet an offer and have been accepted. We are now engaged.”

“What?” screeched Miss Bingley. “Charles, how could you offer for such an unsuitable woman? You will return to Longbourn this instant and inform her you made a mistake. Then we will quit this little town forever! How I wish we had never come!”

“I shall not,” said Bingley, clearly having expected this reaction from his sister. “I have asked her, as a gentleman, and been accepted. You are well aware that a man may not break off an engagement for any reason, Caroline. I love her, and I will not renege.”

“Love!” spat Miss Bingley. “You would throw away our family’s respectability on something as transitory as love? What are you thinking, Charles?”

“I am thinking of my own happiness and that of Miss Bennet. I care nothing for society.”

But Miss Bingley was not to be silenced. She screeched, screamed, demanded, and cajoled that he break off his engagement. But Darcy was surprised by Bingley’s fortitude, for he withstood his sister’s rage as a rock stands against the battering of the tide. Mrs. Hurst was agitated, attempting, in turn, to calm her younger sister and congratulate her brother. Then Hurst arrived.

“Am I to understand from all this caterwauling that you have made an offer to Miss Bennet?”

“I have,” replied Bingley.

This show of defiance only seemed to amuse Hurst. “You have not known the girl long, but it is clear you have been mooning after her since the first night of your acquaintance. Well done, I say!”

“Thank you, Hurst.”

This, of course, only served to whip Miss Bingley up into a greater frenzy. She took no heed as to her pretensions toward higher society and the need to impress Fitzwilliam, for she demanded and yelled, such that Darcy was soon tired of her antics. He congratulated Bingley in a quiet voice and excused himself. Fitzwilliam, it seemed, had a similar objective, for he did the same. But not without a glare at Darcy. He added a small comment to his words, however.

“Perhaps, Bingley, you should take some thought to controlling your sister. If she continues to behave in such a manner, your family will never be accepted by those of higher society.”

And with that, Fitzwilliam stalked from the room, never seeing the look of affront which came over Bingley’s face.