Page 30 of What Comes Between Cousins

A N INVITATION TO SPEND the day at Netherfield arrived the day after Elizabeth’s courtship became official, and the Bennet sisters cheerfully accepted it. Elizabeth was interested to note that the invitation had included them all, even the two youngest. But then again, the writing on the note was in Louisa’s hand, which meant that Miss Bingley had no say in it.

Kitty, who had been showing signs of ennui, as her usual companion was unable to indulge in the activities they often pursued, was eager to be gone from Longbourn, even if the activity was not one she would usually favor. Lydia complained about it, as one might have expected, but she did not see fit to refuse the invitation.

“Of course, you will all go,” said Mrs. Bennet when the news had been imparted to her. “It is very kind of Mrs. Hurst to request that you all attend, and I am certain she means to further your friendships.”

Elizabeth shared a glance with Jane and Mary, and the three hid smiles behind their hands. Louisa was, indeed, a good friend. But Elizabeth was certain she had no particular desire to forward Elizabeth’s connection with Mr. Darcy.

“Mary, you will need to attend your sisters,” continued Mrs. Bennet, regarding them all, seeming a little pensive. Her gaze found Kitty and Lydia where they were sitting together speaking quietly. “I do not suppose our youngest girls can be counted on to provide proper chaperonage.”

“Mrs. Hurst will surely agree to assist,” said Mary.

Mrs. Bennet brightened. “You are correct, of course. Please give Mrs. Hurst my regards.”

Her words, Elizabeth understood, meant they should request Louisa’s assistance. Elizabeth had no intention of doing so, and she knew that Mary did not either. Louisa was an intelligent woman—she would surely understand the need herself.

They entered the carriage the following morning and made their way to the neighboring estate. On their arrival, they were welcomed there by those in residence. Or most of them were present—Miss Bingley was nowhere to be seen.

Furthermore, Elizabeth noted the earnest inspection of her person by Lord Chesterfield, and she wondered at it. In the past days and weeks, he could be counted on to greet her and attempt to dominate her conversation as soon as he saw her. But at present, he did nothing but watch, an undefinable quality in depths of his eyes. Elizabeth could not quite make him out.

“Please, come to the pianoforte with me,” said Mrs. Hurst as soon as the greetings had been completed. “I would like to play some duets with you if you will oblige me.”

Mary and Elizabeth both agreed readily, though Elizabeth was more interested in speaking with the man who was now courting her. She turned her gaze to him as Louisa pulled her away, and she noted his smile, his nod indicating they would speak later. Soon Elizabeth and Mary were huddled around the instrument with Louisa, and they began to play, though there was as much laughter as music. Mr. Darcy was standing with Mr. Bingley and Jane speaking, while Lord Chesterfield entertained the two youngest Bennets. That did not, Elizabeth noted, prevent him from continuing his scrutiny of her.

In time, the three ladies quit the pianoforte and gathered with the rest of the company. Tea was sent for and arrived with some of the cook’s fine cakes, and the company sat down to partake. It was a merry party, Elizabeth noted, even more so because Miss Bingley was not present to spew her insults or kill the mood with her ill humor. But Elizabeth still felt the woman’s absence was odd, and even more odd was how none of the company had spoken of her. Knowing what Mr. Darcy had said about her, she determined to ask him at the first opportunity.

“I can sense your curiosity, Miss Elizabeth,” said Mr. Darcy. It was some time after they had arrived, and it was the first opportunity they had managed to speak privately together. The viscount was, as ever, watching them, while speaking with Mr. Hurst, but he still made no move to join them. Mrs. Hurst had taken Elizabeth’s younger sisters to another side of the room where they were discussing London fashion, unless Elizabeth missed her guess, and Mr. Bingley was speaking quietly with Jane.

“Then it appears I have failed, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth, injecting a mournful quality in her voice. “A young lady being courted by a man hopes to maintain an air of mystery about her to keep her suitor interested. If you have seen through me this easily, it must mean I am not nearly so successful as I would have hoped.”

Mr. Darcy chuckled. “Perhaps I am coming to know you well. From a man’s perspective, it is best to come to know your partner, so a decision may be made about whether to make an offer.”

“You do not know?” demanded Elizabeth, regarding the man with mock affront. “My failure is complete, it seems. I had hoped to make you wild with desire, force you to struggle to restrain yourself from throwing me over your horse and carrying me off to Gretna Green.”

“Miss Elizabeth,” said Mr. Darcy, leaning close to her and speaking in a husky voice, “there is no need to tempt me further, for I would do just that with little provocation. You must have mercy on your poor, besotted suitor!”

His tone of voice told Elizabeth that he was not completely teasing, as did the fire in his eyes. Feeling rather proud of herself, Elizabeth showed him a contrite expression. “You have my apologies, sir. Even though I must revel in my success.”

Catching one of her hands in his own, Mr. Darcy brought it to her lips and left a lingering kiss on its back. “You are uniformly charming, my dear. But I do ask you to have mercy on me. I am like putty in your hands.

“I believe, however, I was about to answer your unspoken questions. You have noted something different today, have you not?”

“I have,” confessed Elizabeth. “Miss Bingley is not present, which leads me to suspect something might have happened. And your cousin has not approached me.”

She saw his eyes dart to where Fitzwilliam was still speaking with Mr. Hurst. Then he once again returned his attention to Elizabeth.

“You are correct on all fronts. Miss Bingley did, indeed, make her attempt last night. She was thwarted by her brother and sister, but they were not, unfortunately, able to keep the incident from Fitzwilliam’s attention.”

“Hence Miss Bingley’s absence.”

“Bingley has decreed that she is to go to his aunt in Scarborough, and he refuses to support her any longer. He received word just this morning that his aunt was prepared to receive her. You will likely not be surprised to hear that he has considered this course for several days and sent word to his aunt when he first heard of Mrs. Hurst’s concerns. She is to depart tomorrow for the north.”

Elizabeth sighed. “It is unfortunate, but understandable.” Her eyes found Jane, where she was speaking closely with Mr. Bingley and, unless Elizabeth missed her guess, was hearing the same communication as Elizabeth was receiving from Mr. Darcy. “I must own that I am relieved for Jane’s sake. Jane is such a . . . trusting soul. She believes in the inherent goodness of those about her. I shudder at the ways which Miss Bingley might mislead her if she had Jane’s trust.”

“It has been coming for some time. Bingley has long been frustrated with his sister’s actions. Though in the past they have been directed toward me , attempting the compromise of a peer is a matter he cannot ignore.”

“What was Lord Chesterfield’s reaction?” asked Elizabeth.

“Bewilderment, if you can believe it.” At Elizabeth’s questioning glance, Mr. Darcy shook his head. “He was so caught up in his rivalry with me and his fascination with you that her plotting completely escaped his attention. I will own that I directed a few . . . choice comments in his direction last night.”

“Oh, Mr. Darcy.”

Still holding her hand, Mr. Darcy began to caress the back of it with his thumb, his ministrations somehow soothing. Elizabeth wondered if he should not be soothing him instead, given his troubles with his cousin.

“Fitzwilliam needed to hear what I had to say,” said Mr. Darcy. “I informed him where I thought his behavior was deficient and exactly what I thought of it. He was shocked—in fact, I believe he was not even aware of how his manners had changed.”

“I hope you will not lose your closeness with your cousin because of this.”

The tender smile Mr. Darcy directed at her threatened to turn Elizabeth’s insides to jelly. He raised her hand once more to his lips, lingering there before lowering it again. Elizabeth noticed that he did not release her.

“I believe our former closeness may be restored, but it is now up to Fitzwilliam. If he can release this fascination with you and regain his old joviality, I believe all will be well. He spent most of the day yesterday in his chambers. I hope his ponderings have borne fruit. I do not know why he felt compelled to compete with me for your hand, but I will not have this competition continue any longer.”

Mr. Darcy directed a level look at her, and Elizabeth felt her lips curling upward in response. “I know it is naught but a courtship at present, Miss Elizabeth, but I consider myself engaged to you, even though I have not made an offer. I will do my utmost to convince you I am a good risk to take, and as such, I believe it is only a matter of time. Fitzwilliam needs to accept this.”

“Then I hope, for your sake, he does,” replied Elizabeth. “And if you mean to convince me, then you had best begin. I should warn you: I am reputed to have a stubborn, ungovernable temperament. I may be difficult to persuade.”

Mr. Darcy raised her hand to his lips again. “I would have it no other way, Miss Elizabeth.”

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“M R. WICKHAM! MR. WICKHAM !”

Wickham cursed and ducked in behind a building when he heard the wild tones of the parson’s voice calling out his name. What did the fool think he was doing? Wickham had an interest in keeping his acquaintance with the man quiet until they struck.

When Mr. Collins followed him, Wickham rounded on him. “Silence, Collins! Do you wish the entire town to know of our association?”

“What care I for such secrets, now of all times?” The fool was so distressed he was wringing his hands. Not for the first time, Wickham wished he had been given a little more to work with in a confederate. Collins was useless. The man did not even breathe unless instructed to do so by Lady Catherine, and his ideas concerning how they might deal with the situation were laughable.

“What has changed?” demanded Wickham, feeling he was close to simply planting a facer on the man and leaving him behind as a bad investment.

“Oh, it is a disaster! I know not what Lady Catherine will say? She will be so angry, her sensitive feelings injured to death by the news that I bear!”

“Mr. Collins!” yelled Wickham, grabbing the parson by his shoulders and shaking him. “What has happened to put you in this state?”

The parson focused on him, though his eyes were still wild enough that Wickham could see the whites. “I heard in town this morning that Mr. Darcy has offered courtship to my cousin and been accepted!”

“Is that all?” asked Wickham. Inside he was filled with glee. Darcy had actually asked for a courtship from a country miss! The irony was delicious, given how the fastidious man had spurned ladies as high as the daughters of dukes.

And this would make Wickham’s revenge that much sweeter, indeed! If the sanctimonious bastard truly possessed feelings for her in that cold, shriveled heart of his, taking her away from him and making her unmarriageable would hurt him that much more.

And then such thoughts caused Wickham’s outlook to shift. Perhaps there was another way which would not require him to leave the place of his birth. For if Darcy was disappointed in love, made to be miserable, perhaps Wickham could swoop in and relieve him of his sister and her dowry while he was distracted. He had wished to do it earlier that year, but Darcy had not hired his confederate as Georgiana’s companion, and Wickham’s schemes had gone unfulfilled.

“Whatever shall we do, Mr. Wickham?” whined Mr. Collins.

Wickham turned back to Collins, noting with disgust that the man was on the verge of falling apart. For a moment, Wickham thought of severing their agreement, but he restrained himself. He could still relieve Lady Catherine of her money, even if he now had his eye on greater possibilities. Besides, the parson may be of some use.

“Calm yourself, Collins,” said Wickham in as soothing a tone as he could muster. “This changes nothing.”

“Changes nothing?” cried Mr. Collins. It was very nearly a shriek. “How can you say such a thing? It is in every way disastrous!”

“No, it is not,” said Wickham. “Darcy may still be detached from her.”

A maniacal gleam entered Mr. Collins’s eyes. “Yes! That is it! I must go to Netherfield now!”

“Do not be a fool, Collins! Darcy will throw you out on your ear, should you importune him concerning such a matter. And you will ruin all of our plans.”

“I shall not speak with Mr. Darcy,” said Mr. Collins, casting his gaze about. “The Bennet sisters are at Netherfield today—I saw them passing through Meryton this morning in the Bennet carriage. It took the Netherfield road.”

“Foolish man!” roared Wickham. “Did they see you?”

“Of course not! I hid myself. But now that I know what is to be done, I shall not hesitate. Lady Catherine is depending on me, and I shall not fail her!”

With that, Collins turned and sped out of the alley, Wickham close on his heels.

“Do not be a fool!” called Wickham after him, but short of resorting to that facer Wickham had contemplated earlier, there was no stopping the man. He hauled himself up on the horse he had been using to travel to Meryton, and the beast began to lumber away, Collins swaying on its back like a sack of grain.

Cursing the silly man, Wickham looked about for his own means to go to Netherfield. The time for secrecy had passed, it seemed. He needed to make his move before Collins ruined everything.

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F ITZWILLIAM WAS BEGINNING to feel like a fool for not seeing what existed between Darcy and Miss Elizabeth, and having it pointed out by a man he had not, perhaps, treated as he should did not make the situation any better. But so it was, and there were times, he knew, when a man must accept his share of the blame and do his best to make amends.

When the Bennet sisters arrived that morning at Netherfield, Fitzwilliam felt the urge to approach Miss Elizabeth as he usually did. The thoughts which had been coursing through his head since he learned of Miss Bingley’s attempt caused him to hesitate, and instead of imposing on her, he sat back to watch, nominally listening to Hurst as the man spoke about inconsequential matters.

He watched as they spoke, knowing that Darcy was likely informing Miss Elizabeth of Miss Bingley’s attempt, an uncomfortable feeling of how he might be portrayed in such a tale running up his spine. He forced the feeling down, knowing that Darcy was unscrupulously fair and would not make him out to be worse than he was to Miss Elizabeth.

I have injured myself in her eyes quite well enough on my own , thought he, feeling the moroseness of the situation.

They continued to speak, and when they laughed, he felt his spirits rise, and when Miss Elizabeth sighed, he felt them fall. When Darcy took her hand and kissed it, and then continued to hold it, Fitzwilliam noted his posture and knew that had he been allowed, Darcy would have held her in his arms like the precious jewel she was.

“I believe this is more difficult for you than it needs to be.”

Surprised, Fitzwilliam turned, his gaze falling on Bingley. A look about the room revealed that Miss Bennet had joined Mrs. Hurst and her sisters, as had Hurst himself. While he could not determine what the man was saying, he was speaking to the assorted Bennet sisters, and Fitzwilliam noted more than one laughing in response. Wonders never ceased—Fitzwilliam had never considered Hurst to be the kind of man who could induce young women to laughter.

“Perhaps it has been,” said Fitzwilliam after a moment, realizing he had yet made no response to Bingley’s words. “But I . . .”

In the end, finding the words to say was more difficult than Fitzwilliam had ever imagined they would be. Rare was the time when he had been so afflicted. Words had always come easily to him. Perhaps at times, they had come too easily.

While he was thinking, Bingley remained silent, for which Fitzwilliam was grateful. They were much alike, Fitzwilliam thought. With Bingley’s recent maturation, perhaps they were much more alike than they had been before. Fitzwilliam had always considered himself to be superior to the other man, with his infatuation for every pretty young lady he met and his, at times, lack of direction in life. But that was all changing.

“I hope you do not think my interest in Miss Bennet was not genuine.”

Bingley raised an eyebrow, an action reminiscent of Darcy. “I never thought anything else.”

Fitzwilliam suppressed a sigh of relief, suspecting that Darcy had never told Bingley of Miss Elizabeth’s suspicions at the ball. Fitzwilliam still could not fathom how she had thought such a thing, but he was thankful no one else had been informed.

“It seems, however, that I have not gone about it the best way.”

“Perhaps not,” said Bingley. “The true question is, what will you do about it now?”

“I am not certain.”

“Then allow me to give you some advice. It seems to me that you and Darcy have always been closer than brothers. If I am not very much mistaken, I think you were closer to Darcy than you were to your own brother.”

“You are not mistaken,” said Fitzwilliam. The good times they had often shared flashed before his eyes. Even the early part of their visit to Netherfield had been marked by their continued affection and association.

“Then you would be a fool to throw that away.”

Fitzwilliam turned and fixed Bingley with a wry smile. “Even over a woman? I thought the one thing which might cause us to come to blows was an interest in the same woman.”

“It appears you were correct.” Bingley’s reply was equally dry. “But I think if you look at them, you will note that there is no longer any rivalry. Darcy has Miss Elizabeth in the palm of his hand—or perhaps it is more accurate to say that she has him . Either way, I doubt anything can come between them.”

“At this point, I would not even wish to try,” replied Fitzwilliam. He surprised himself by meaning it—Miss Elizabeth was a fascinating creature and had the situation been different, he thought she would have made an excellent wife and countess. But he no longer burned to make her his.

“I . . . wonder if Darcy will be so forgiving,” said Fitzwilliam. “He does not forgive easily.” Fitzwilliam laughed, though he felt no mirth. “He has always claimed that when his good opinion is lost, it cannot be regained.”

“There is only one way to discover it. I doubt Darcy feels that way about you and your friendship. And he is not so fearsome as he seems.”

With those final words and a genuine smile, Bingley rose and walked away, joining the group on the far side of the room. Fitzwilliam continued to watch Darcy and his lady for several moments before he rose and joined them. He would never have thought that Bingley would dispense such excellent advice.

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W HEN THEY HAD BEEN at Netherfield for some time, Elizabeth suggested they all go walk in the back gardens. Though it was getting late in the year, the drive to the estate that morning had informed Elizabeth that the weather was mild, with a hint of warmth in the air, more than enough for a hardy soul, as she considered herself, to brave the elements and breathe the fresh, crisp air. Of course, not everyone was so eager as Elizabeth was herself.

“Oh, Lizzy!” exclaimed Lydia.

By her side, Kitty only smirked. “Trust Lizzy to wish to walk in the dead of winter. I declare not even a blizzard would deter her.”

“There is no blizzard, Kitty,” said Elizabeth. “It is warm and clear, and we may not receive such an opportunity to walk out of doors again this year.”

“Well, I have no intention of walking out,” declared Lydia. “My injured ankle will not allow for it, regardless.”

The rest of the company looked on Lydia with amusement; her ankle was well healed, though it was true she had best not tax it yet. She had taken to using the injury as a crutch, to be used whenever she did not wish to do something.

“For my part, a walk sounds like an excellent thought,” said Bingley. “I would be happy to oblige you.” He turned a casual eye on Jane. “Will you do me the honor of walking with me, Miss Bennet?”

“Of course, sir,” replied Jane.

Mary soon indicated her agreement to the plan, and when the viscount and Mr. Darcy also agreed, their party was set.

“I shall stay and keep Kitty and Lydia company,” said Mrs. Hurst, as she looked on the rest of them with amusement. It was little surprise to any of them that Mr. Hurst also voiced his preference for staying indoors, though according to Mr. Darcy the man was a great hunter.

They made their way to the vestibule to retrieve their coats and gloves, and soon they were out in the gardens, breathing the fresh air, so clean in the early December beauty. Elizabeth looked about, noting the branches of the trees, bare of their summer bounty and how the flower bushes had been tended, preparing them for the coming spring which was still months away. The air was too warm for the branches to be coated with frost, for the morning sun had burned off any which had accumulated the previous night. But there was still a cold and stark beauty to be seen and in which Elizabeth reveled.

They had just exited the house and were breaking into several groups when Lord Chesterfield approached and addressed Mr. Darcy. “Darcy, a word if you will?”

Mr. Darcy weighed his cousin’s demeanor for a few moments before agreeing, saying a quick word of apology to Elizabeth.

“I shall be well with Mary for company, Mr. Darcy. Go speak to your cousin.”

With a nod, Mr. Darcy fell back and they began to speak, though Elizabeth noted that it primarily consisted of Lord Chesterfield speaking and Mr. Darcy listening. Hoping that the cousins were on the road to mending their differences, Elizabeth chose a path and began walking, Mary at her side.

“Lord Chesterfield seems . . . pensive this morning,” said Mary.

“He does,” agreed Elizabeth, glancing back at the gentlemen. “His behavior has been different from what I have ever seen from him. In the beginning, he was friendly and loquacious, then he became a flatterer. This reflective viscount is completely different.”

“It is unsurprising,” said Mary. “I do not know the full extent of what happened, but it seems as if he has had his eyes opened. I do not doubt it has been a humbling experience.”

Elizabeth regarded her sister, though she suspected that Mary had descended into her own thoughts to the extent that she did not even notice Elizabeth’s scrutiny. For a moment she considered informing Mary of the events Mr. Darcy had related to her. In the end, however, she decided against it. They had been told to her in confidence. The viscount deserved to at least maintain a little of his dignity.

How long they wandered the paths of the back gardens Elizabeth could not say, and she had quite lost track of where Mr. Bingley and Jane had gone. Mr. Darcy and his cousin were also out of sight.

“May we go in, Elizabeth?” asked Mary after some minutes. “I believe I am beginning to become a little chilled.”

“Of course, Mary. You do not need to ask.”

They turned and began to make their way back to the house when they were confronted by an obviously irate Miss Caroline Bingley.

“You!” spat the woman. “I was correct—you are here. Well, you can go back to that hovel you call a home and never darken our door again.”

Elizabeth looked at the woman with some pity. She was proud and disagreeable, and she possessed the haughtiest streak Elizabeth had ever seen. Miss Bingley was learning that she was not so high and mighty as she thought, and it made her bitter. Elizabeth had little desire to argue with her.

“If you will excuse us, Miss Bingley.”

“No! I will not excuse you. You have turned my brother and sister away from me, and you have the audacity to beg my pardon.” Miss Bingley stooped close to Elizabeth, and Elizabeth could smell sherry on her tongue—it seemed the woman had been drowning her sorrows. “If you think to attempt to trap the viscount, you should reconsider. He would never offer for a penniless little baggage like you.”

“My sister has no interest in his lordship,” said Mary in response. Elizabeth looked at her, surprised by Mary’s manner—she seemed to be affecting Miss Bingley’s haughty tones. “Do you not know that she is already being courted by Mr. Darcy? What kind of daft woman are you?”

“Mr. Darcy cannot be courting you!” exclaimed a new voice. “I will not allow it!”