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Part VI ~ A Man Without A Fault

"Are we to be invaded by every Bennet in the country?"

Miss Bingley, as happy as she was that morning to see her dear friend better, she would now be equally content to see the back of her, thus sparing herself the intrusion of Mrs. Bennet and the two youngest of her offspring - at least the bookish, spectacled one had had the decency to remain at home!

She was not aware of it, but this was one more instance of her and Mr. Darcy seeing eye to eye. Before the fair reader should gasp Herself into a predicament from whence little but a wholesome dose of either smelling salts or raspberry fool - or, quite possibly, both - could save her, let Her be informed of the following -

That morning the said gentleman partook of a ride, and something occurred that shook his already much tried composure considerably.

But first, there was the dream.

A man can hardly control his dreams, can he? I mean ... if I wished her to arrange my neckcloth when fully awake... Now, that would most definitely be wrong, and... I would never ... Would I?

"Sir?"

Unbeknowst to himself, Mr. Darcy fiddled - yes, fiddled! - absent-mindedly with the abundance of cloth that rested peacefully enough on his all but placid breast. In such state, his valet chanced upon him.

He glanced at his own image in the mirror, and there he saw...

Love's young dream, and all that. I swear this is catching. Bingley should be quarantined. In the cellar, preferably, and kept there on bread and water until he snaps out of it.

Yet the warmth ... The warmth that had engulfed him as he thought of her would not leave his limbs.

He knew the best possible cure for the madness into which he was slipping would be to leave Hertfordshire. This healing concoction seemed to him somehow unattainable. The crucial ingredient was missing; a plausible reason to occasion Mr. Darcy's exit.

I will not be off with my tail between my legs, and all for a myriad of contemptuous glances. My head needs clearing. But not by walking outdoors. The probability of bumping into lively ladies with gleaming eyes is much too great for comfort.

A ride it was then. No young lady no matter how spirited, could outrun a horse.

Mr. Darcy spurred the animal on across the fields until the house was well out of sight. He was as yet rather unfamiliar with the country, and he hardly knew where he was going. He did not particularly care for any particular destination either, as long as the distance between Netherfield and himself increased steadily.

"Lost, sir?"

Darcy looked around him and noticed a man in his forties, dressed in a long black coat, addressing him.

"Uhm ... I hardly know, to be honest, sir. But I would be grateful if you informed me as to my whereabouts, Mr. ..."

"Bennet. You are quite near to Longbourn, the home of my family. Meryton is some miles further in that direction. And what is your destination, if you have one, Mr....?"

"Darcy."

Mr. Bennet's face became a nuance less friendly, and the congenial smile quite disappeared, as he said,

"I see."

What is that supposed to mean? He was not even there. And she most certainly did not tell him. But the mother ... Girls tell mothers things ... And Lord knows that the mother in question does not hesitate to pass them on.

"I gather from your expression, sir, that the reputation which had preceded me, could not have been much in my favour," observed Darcy hoarsely.

Mr. Bennet would not wish to start the acquaintance on a wrong footing. His slightly ironic smile reappeared.

"No need to worry, Mr. Darcy. The horse that draw most, it's most whipped, as they say."

Mr. Darcy had always believed the consolatory potential of old sayings to be much overrated. His lack of faith in the wisdom of his elders could have been reinforced in this particular case by observing Mr. Bennet slap his walking stick against the palm of his hand repeatedly.

That walking stick, Mr. Darcy concluded, could have landed as easily somewhere else.

"You will understand sir, if I say that it has been known to occur that people proclaim views which subsequently they have been heartily ... ashamed of."

Darcy spoke with deliberation. There was something in Mr. Bennet's countenance that compelled him to attempt to mitigate the effect of his ill-placed comments at the assembly. The thought of explaining himself to a perfect stranger annoyed him - and yet this was precisely what he was doing.

Much to his surprise, Mr. Bennet nodded readily enough,

"I understand you perfectly. Some other time, perhaps, we might exchange our views - and opinions - over a glass of port. For now, I bid you good day, sir. Unless you would be disposed to join my family for tea. But I imagine your friends must be wondering what happened to you."

"Yes ... Quite. Thank you. Good day."

"Oh, and Mr. Darcy, a word of warning. Mrs. Bennet and my two youngest daughters are threatening to descend on Netherfield very shortly. Be prepared."

Mr. Bennet turned on his heels, raised his walking stick by way of goodbye, and set off in the direction of Longbourn.

Mr. Darcy realised that there was more than one member of the Bennet family who possessed the ability of making him at a loss for words.

The misfortune of having this woman as a mother-in-law could be matched only by the misfortune of having actually been born her child!

Mrs. Bennet, one foot barely across the threshold, had already gone into raptures over the sweetness of the room, treating her eldest daughter's illness as a mere conversation-opener.

Bingley, although rather confused in face of one eruption after another, was determined to finish a sentence or two. His sisters sought retreat on a sofa and were exchanging numb glances of disbelief. Mr. Hurst sat languidly in the darkest corner of the room with the intent of vegetating throughout the visit.

Darcy kept his distance, perchance still under the influence of an old saying, until he became aware that his friend had just proclaimed himself more than willing to make the country his permanent residence. This by all means called for immediate attention. He quietly interposed,

"You would? You do not find the society somewhat confined and unvaried?"

"Confined and unvaried!"

Mrs. Bennet was shocked, and this complemented nicely her views on 'the tall, proud man'.

"Indeed not. The country is a vast deal pleasanter than town whatever you may have to say about it!"

Oh, no, it isn't. Oh, yes, it is! My father's carriage is bigger than yours and I have two ponies to ride! ... How can I possibly beat your overwhelming arguments? I have no intention of explaining myself to you. Hang the Bennets!

Even his splendidly effective technique of glaring people into silence seemed to have failed him this time, for Mrs. Bennet was quite able to resist it whilst consumed with her just rage. Darcy had already distanced himself from the party, when he heard a familiar voice say with an exasperated tone,

"Mamma, I do believe you mistake Mr. Darcy's meaning."

My meaning mistaken and Miss Elizabeth my champion? Quick! Fetch the apothecary again! One of us shall need his attendance before soon.

By the time Mr. Darcy recovered sufficiently from his astonishment, Mrs. Bennet was already storming against 'persons who fancy themselves very important, but quite mistake the matter'.

Darcy was appalled at first, but soon his feelings dissolved into pure boredom. He was more irritated on Elizabeth's behalf than his own; he could, after all, turn his back on Mrs. Bennet - and he availed himself of the privilege.

His interest in the conversation leaped, however, as he heard Bingley say,

"After your sister's fully recovered, Miss Lydia, we shall have a ball."

A ball? What, you mean more dancing? Is he out of his mind?

"A ball?"

Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst provided an impressively vocal echo to Mr. Darcy's doubts regarding their brother's being in possession of all his faculties.

"A ball!"

'Vocal', however, did not even begin to describe the joint squeal of the youngest Bennets, and Mrs. Bennet's ardent appreciation of Bingley's 'generosity and gentlemanly behaviour'.

Being quartered or dancing quadrille, where, I ask you, is the difference? Bingley may as likely accomplish the two in one, the way he makes himself popular.

Mr. Darcy contemplated the considerable likeness between the medieval instruments of torture and the elaborate and sophisticated variations of the same, referred to by some misguided individuals as 'the customs of modern society'.

Also, his memory obligingly came forward and reminded him of a promise he had uttered not so long ago, a promise regarding his choice of partners. He would soon be able to live up to his promise.

Suffice it to say that Mr. Darcy's heart did not leap with joy at the prospect.

Forsythe was greatly surprised to hear his master request a bath in the middle of the afternoon. It was unlike Mr. Darcy to have any unusual demands, but after five years of service, Forsythe began to observe certain inexplicable alterations in his young master's behaviour.

For one, Mr. Darcy had always been a sound sleeper. Now, it seemed, he hardly had a few hours' repose every night. Next, he had never before required that he, Forsythe, should go and require information of ladies' maids. Genteel and well mannered as ladies' maids undoubtedly were, they also as a rule possessed a very high opinion of themselves, a quality, which he heartily despised.

Then, the neckcloth. Forsythe's face fell at the remembrance. He had tied a particularly fine knot that morning, something quite new, not too restrained and far from foppish, in short, something that would ensure his young master made him proud, and what for? Only to see it tampered with in a reckless manner by the very same master to whom he had always looked up to as the model of level-headedness!

And now, a bath in the middle of the afternoon. How peculiar!

Warm water splashed over his bent head. For a moment, it swept away all unsettling thoughts. Darcy leaned back closing his eyes.

The valet hovered unobtrusively in the background.

"Your robe, sir?"

"Yes, please."

A moment later, the master of Pemberley emerged, swathed in a dark green robe, his dark curls dripping slightly. As Forsythe swiftly went about fetching a change of wardrobe, Mr. Darcy walked towards the window, towel in hand. Removing the curtain slightly, he raised his hand to dry his hair. He stopped midway, his gaze fixed at the sight which offered itself in the lawn below.

Miss Elizabeth Bennet was absorbed in a tug-of-war with one of Bingley's dogs. Which of the two derived more enjoyment from their activity was doubtful, for the dog was about to trip over its own paws in enthusiasm, while the lady's cheeks glowed with that same healthy shade of red as the morning before.

He stood motionless and held his breath as if breathing would betray him.

"E-hem!"

Darcy instantly pulled away from the window and buried his head in a towel.

Forsythe must think me mad ... Blushing like that! And suppose she looked up and saw me. Yesterday without a coat, today ... Fine progress, Darcy. Now, if her father knew about this ... I would not need to be concerned about an excuse to leave Hertfordshire any longer.

The sight of his crop on the dressing room chair further disturbed Mr. Darcy's peace of mind. He bent over hastily and threw it into the open closet, missing Forsythe, who had been diligently employed in unfolding a shirt, by inches.

The hard-tried valet flinched, but held on to the shirt. Shocked as he was, the valet knew cold-bloodedness was vital in his line of work. Not that he had often needed it before in Mr. Darcy's employ. Was the daily strain of his post, increased twofold of late, about to be complemented by violence?

His employer did not register Forsythe's anxiety, nor, it seemed, its cause. He was, under the perplexed eye of his valet, sitting down on his bed, in his robe still, bent on putting his boots on his bare feet.

Forsythe was certain that a whipping would have given him much less injury than witnessing such abandon.

"Miss Eliza Bennet, let me persuade you to follow my example and take a turn about the room. It is so refreshing!"

He had turned a deaf ear to all her previous endeavours. But now, he raised his head from his book and eyed her with what appeared to be interest.

Miss Bingley immediately appealed to Mr. Darcy to join them.

One wheel too many to this carriage already.

"Gladly, but I am afraid that would defeat the object," was thus her answer.

Miss Bingley of course insisted to know his meaning. To conjecture about Mr. Darcy's behaviour in any other matter than his affairs of heart was, sadly, beyond her.

"I conclude that this sudden desire for a refreshing walk stems from the knowledge that your figures must appear to best advantage when walking. In which case, as much as I value your company, I may best admire them from my present position, thank you."

Steady on, Darcy! I did use plural there, didn't I? Apparently so, since Caroline is not beating me over the head with a poker. Yet.

Now, was that a Compliment or was it a Compliment? The fact that it deserved, in Miss Bingley's opinion, to be included in an anthology of Great First Occasions*, deafened her a little as to the grammatical niceties Mr. Darcy had been so concerned about, but who could blame her?

It was now imperative that this promising mode of conversation should be kept up. Thus she propelled, by the forearm, her unfortunate companion closer to the surprisingly eloquent gentleman.

"How should we punish him for such a shocking statement, Miss Eliza?"

Elizabeth Bennet who felt rather uncomfortable participating in such a parade, and had agreed to it for the sake of mere curiosity - which was gratified the moment she saw Miss Bingley's eye stray in Mr. Darcy's direction - now detected, at last, some possibility of amusement in her present situation.

She smiled and assured Miss Bingley that nothing could be so easy as punishing Mr. Darcy.

Mr. Darcy leaned back in his chair in anticipation.

"Tease him ... Laugh at him."

I wonder ... Have I not bitten off more than I can chew here?

Nonetheless, the prospect of breaking a lance with Miss Elizabeth was strangely alluring.

Miss Bingley dismissed the suggestions by looking admiringly at him,

"Laugh at Mr. Darcy? Impossible!"

I should think not. You steer in the right direction for it to become more than a mere possibility.

"He is a man without a fault."

Dear Lord!

Darcy sat bolt upright in his chair now. The room was quiet. Miss Bingley held her head high, a most possessive look in her eye. 'This man is mine,' was stamped on her every feature. Her sister and brother could be seen catching their respective breaths. This was bold even by Caroline Bingley's standards.

The slight curling of the lip and the mischievous twinkle in the eye betrayed that Elizabeth Bennet alone saw the situation as highly entertaining, and had no scruples in capitalising on it.

Darcy gathered it was high time he regrouped his fleet prior to the onslaught, which was sure to follow.

"That is not possible for anyone ... But it has been my study to avoid those weaknesses who expose strong understanding to ridicule."

Not that it had helped me much around you.

Darcy's throat was dry; he was confident he would not be able to speak another word, much less any word of sense. Any 'good understanding' he might have possessed, he would at that moment gladly trade for the opportunity to explain himself to her who stood before him, a slight smile on her lips.

Would it really be so hard? He looked up at her. Had it only not been for that wretched observation, spoken in haste, and much, much regretted since! That out of the way...

His breathing was shallow and quick; his face grew animated. Could this be his chance?

Elizabeth was now standing quite close to his chair, fully facing him. The clear, self-possessed tone of his voice overpowered her momentarily - had she had a glimpse of a chink in the armour? She had hitherto believed there had been no armour - merely an obligatory moat protecting the pretentiously high keep in which there was nothing to defend.

This was intriguing; but she caught herself in time, and dismissed the thought. She could not have been so wrong in her assessment of his character - his every word bore the mark of pride and his porte-parole had only voiced the opinion he held of himself. Any further consideration of what he may or may not feel was quite superfluous. She would more than happily suggest the likely candidates for the weaknesses he spoke of.

"Such as vanity, perhaps ... And pride?"

Enough is enough! This is beyond ... I do not deserve it!

Darcy's cheek glowed crimson. He flinched, but checked himself. Before him, Miss Bennet's countenance lit up with the satisfaction of having hit home.

So, I am proud and vain; a delightful combination. Very well. Shall we take this discussion of human failings a little further?

There was to be no explanation or a disguised apology in a room full of people. But at least there could be a discussion.

Darcy thus set out, as calmly as he could, to answer seriously what was uttered half - or so he hoped - in jest.

"Yes, vanity is a weakness indeed, I grant you, but pride..."

Miss Bennet lifted an eyebrow in expectation. He could not be serious! Darcy refused to be influenced by her reaction, and stated with conviction,

"Where there is a real superiority of mind, pride will always be under good regulation."

Elizabeth Bennet remained silent. Her head was bent slightly to one side, her countenance bore an expression of mock deference.

Say what I may, your mind is made up, is it not? So be it.

Lacking a proper response from her, Darcy's uneasiness mounted. It seemed that everyone in the room hung upon his every word, but the one whom they were addressed to. She eyed him attentively, and he detected what he thought was triumph in her countenance. He felt exposed; the true extent of her triumph, he believed, was clear to everybody present.

"I have faults enough, Miss Bennet, yet I hope not of understanding," he said impatiently. As an afterthought, he added,

"My temper I cannot vouch for. I might be called resentful. My good opinion once lost is lost forever."

Elizabeth had become as absorbed by their conversation as the gentleman himself. She, too, had grown oblivious to the surroundings. She replied,

"That is a weakness indeed. But you choose it well, for I cannot laugh at it."

Darcy cast a sideways glance at her. Her smile was quite gone; she had grown very serious and grave.

Every amount of ridicule is better than this! Was it my wretched tongue again?

He ventured, in a spirit of reconciliation,

"I believe every disposition has a tendency to some particular evil."

Shall she make peace? - Evidently not, for there is that smile again! Oh good!

"And yours is a propensity to hate everyone!" she proposed quickly.

Her smile was mirrored in his. All was well. As well as it could be under the eye of the entire Netherfield party.

"And yours is willfully to misunderstand them."

I do not believe any misunderstanding is possible now, not on one point in the least. Do you?

Darcy looked at her intently, smiling, seeking her approval - or disapproval, it really did not matter to him at the moment which.

Elizabeth was about to retort, when Miss Bingley, who could no longer conceal the alarm at Mr. Darcy bearing with Miss Bennet's impertinence so long, suggested, with a touch of panic in her voice, they should have some music and bustled over to the piano, her eye on them still, as fearing her intervention should be in vain.

She need not have been anxious; her words achieved their purpose. The spell was broken; he suddenly distrusted himself. Where was all this leading?

He needed some time to reflect.

*Borrowed from Dorothy L. Sayers, Gaudy Night.

Part VII ~ Red, White, and A Touch of Ivory

"Darcy, get on with it, man, you have been at those eggs for at least half an hour! I want to be off!"

Mr. Bingley tapped the table with his fingers. Really, how could one think of food under such circumstances!

"I fail to see what my finishing the eggs or not has to do with your immediate departure," said Mr. Darcy with the air of a man who has finally found something solid and straightforward in his life, and was not prepared to simply let it go for the sake of another man's equanimity.

"It has to do with our immediate departure! Hurry now, or the Miss Bennets will dash off to Meryton or Oakham Mount or wherever!"

"Bon voyage," muttered Miss Bingley from above her scone. She took a nibble, and glanced sideways at Mr. Darcy. He seemed but little impressed by the prospect of Miss Bennets' hiking expeditions in the neighbourhood, so Caroline Bingley felt quite revived.

"Well, we will not see them here, I suppose. How nice it is to have one's house to oneself!"

Mr. Hurst mumbled, "One would expect to get one's share of sport, though."

Nobody deigned to give him any notice, so he concentrated fully on his kippers again.

"But I fear Mr. Darcy is mourning the loss of Miss Eliza Bennet's pert opinions and fine eyes..."

Mrs. Hurst and her sister shared a knowing look.

Well, that does it.

"Quite the contrary, madam. I am as far from mourning as can be. I'm looking forward immensely to crossing swords, as it were, with Miss Bennet. It is so refreshing to able to speak one's mind, is it not, and one must avail oneself of every opportunity of doing so. Bingley, shall we? Ladies, Mr. Hurst. Good morning."

The ladies sat agape, as the breakfast-room door closed on Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy.

Their path led them through Meryton. It had been Mr. Darcy's idea. Determination was all very well, but some degree of preparation prior to facing Miss Elizabeth - and, indeed, the rest of her family - was necessary. After their drawing-room discussion he had every reason not to trust himself around her.

Still, if I am destined to behave like one moonstruck, it might as well be for a proper reason.

Bingley, who needed no preparation of any kind, kept hurrying his friend along. Nonetheless, they could not ride through the town at a full gallop - as even Bingley, for all his keenness, recognised the necessity of avoiding appearing before his lady in a cloud of smoke and dust - so they slowed down their pace accordingly, with Bingley's horse a few steps in front of Darcy's, and its rider eyeing Darcy impatiently.

"Darcy, look!"

By the side of the road, in front of the milliner's, there was a group of people conversing. For a few brief moments, the gentlemen from Netherfield were oblivious to all but to their former houseguests who were accompanied by their sisters and three gentlemen, one of them in his regimentals.

The ladies had apparently spotted Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy, for there was a demure smile on the face of Miss Bennet. Elizabeth's lips were also curved in a smile, but she was not facing the new arrivals. Her face was turned towards the man in the uniform and his companion, and it bespoke great animation.

Bingley was off his horse, and was already dragging the bewildered animal, which had hitherto mistakenly believed it was its task to transport its master, and not vice versa, behind him, as he exclaimed,

"How very fortunate! Do you know we were just on our way to Longbourn to ask after your health?"

Miss Bennet blushed most becomingly as she replied,

"You are very kind, sir. I am quite recovered, as you see."

At this point the other two gentlemen present turned to see the newcomers who dared invade their territory. There was that Denny character, and...

What is he doing here?

The other man touched the rim of his hat slightly. His face bore a slight trace of a smile. He reddened, though, as soon as he saw Mr. Darcy look through him.

Darcy, in turn, was dead pale.

D-n the blackguard! I don't need to countenance this. I shall not countenance it!

His hands seized tightly at the reins, and he rode off, leaving behind a confused Mr. Bingley.

"Darcy, for God's sake, wait!"

Mr. Bingley received no response to his entreaties. As he finally caught up, he observed the ghastly pallor of his friend's face.

"What is the matter? Darcy, were you taken ill? What came over you?"

Darcy shook his head. He lifted his right hand slightly as if to stop Bingley from saying more.

"You met Wickham, I take it?"

"Yes, quite a good-natured chap, I thought. Give him a red coat, and he will out-swagger us all, as Danny said. He has already charmed all Miss Bennets, except..."

Darcy could not listen any longer. He pulled at the reins and made his horse stop.

"Bingley, you must have noticed the cold manner of our greeting. I have known him all my life, and you may rely on me when I tell you he is no gentleman. I cannot disclose the particulars. I had hoped never to lay my eyes on him again during the course of my life, and I fully intend not to in the future, if it can be at all helped."

Bingley looked a little overwhelmed. But if Darcy said that the man was no good, this had to be the truth.

"But should not we somehow warn the people of Meryton as to his dubious reputation?"

"Bingley!"

Darcy was rapidly running out of patience.

"We could not possibly make Wickham's character known without relaying the circumstances, and that is quite out of the question. The people of Meryton can look after themselves, I am sure of it!"

And so can the ladies of Longbourn.

The subject was therefore closed. Mr. Bingley, however, privately resolved to keep an eye on Wickham's doings, in particular on his behaviour towards Miss Bennet and her sisters.

The remainder of their journey passed in silence. In fact, after his last communication, Mr. Darcy spurred his horse on - in the direction of Netherfield, much to Mr. Bingley's disappointment.

A week later

A few minutes to eight o'clock saw Mr. Darcy firmly applied to pacing up and down his room at Netherfield. At the back of the house the clatter of carriages, which have already disposed of their burden and were settling down to await their owners' return, was overwhelming.

Bingley in his usual good temper and hospitality must have invited half the county, and would have invited the other half, too, had there been room enough to feed and dance them all.

All the officers had been invited as well. Bingley had approached him reluctantly about it, stating the obvious, namely, that he had to invite the officers, and could not exclude any one without stating the reason for doing so. Darcy knew that as well as Bingley himself.

He had been ready to descend into the ballroom for quite some time, having dressed early in the earnest desire to get everything over and done with as soon as possible. But the general public did not seem to share his wish, or so he concluded from the jovial calls heard outside. Darcy sighed and headed downstairs.

A carriage had just driven in front of the entrance. The door opened and a myriad of colours, cloaks, ribbons and feathers flooded the steps.

Darcy stood by the window. His motive was to observe whether Wickham would have the decency to stay away; but as he observed the lively group, which had only a little while ago inhabited the lately arrived equipage, he became keenly aware of another motive - and it did not dishonour him.

Standing out from the newly arrived guests were two figures, one dark and one fair, holding each other by the hand, smiling expectantly. The former happened to glance at the front of the building and caught a glimpse of a silhouette of a man standing in one of the first floor windows. He could not make out the expression of her face, yet he could well identify the curve of the figure and the posture of the lady.

Darcy resolved to seek retreat and composure in the ballroom itself. This, perhaps, was not the best of choices, as the room was already half full, and well, the musicians were tuning in their instruments, but a man cannot be blamed for trying, and it has to be noted that Mr. Darcy had brought the art of simply vanishing in a crowd to perfection.

Nothing quite like the prospect of being cornered by a Young Lady's Mother to teach a man to blend in with the surroundings.

He would stand there, his back turned upon the entrance, until he was perfectly sure of her actually being in the room and then he would try to...

See if Wickham is around. Invite him for a little rendez-vous? I'm sure the smell of powder would convince him that a permanent residence outside England would be a healthy option.

Momentarily possessed by the wish to collar that gentleman, his eyes scrutinised the faces in the ballroom. They fell upon the entrance, and ... He saw Elizabeth Bennet walk in on Bingley's arm.

A half-hearted attempt had been made by a frustrated lady's maid to subdue the playful curls, and an array of small white flowers was employed to this purpose. Her figure was embraced tightly by an ivory gown, which made her skin glow by candlelight. Darcy smiled to himself. His impatience for the evening to be over quite faded away.

There was another difficulty, though.

How exactly does one go about asking to dance someone whom one has vowed never to dance with, and go about it without being observed in a room full of people? Well, there's a conundrum for a rainy Sunday afternoon. Still, why should Bingley have-? Who is this funny little man drooling all over her? - Good God, she'll dance with him! But I suppose she must. What a ridiculous character!

Mr. Darcy walked along the set, with his eyes constantly on Elizabeth Bennet and her partner, who seemed to be doing everything in his power to trip over his own two feet and tread on as many toes in the process as possible - the toes in question not necessarily belonging to those same feet.

This is quite a spectacle. He could seek employment with a travelling show.

At some point Darcy could not withhold a smile any longer. He regretted it the very next moment, for Miss Bennet turned and eyed him with an unmistakable expression of fury on her face. Darcy moved on.

No use wishing for the thunderbolt to strike me, my dear Miss Elizabeth. It must be painful to see the tables turned for a change... But it was you who chose your partner, not I.

The first dance was over and Elizabeth's relief was evident. Once released by Mr. Collins - who promptly went on to honour his eldest cousin with his hand - she took her place next to Miss Lucas. Apparently, they had much to discuss, and Elizabeth looked quite upset.

No wonder, after such an exhibition. I wish to God the man had twisted his ankle.

I should not make so much of this. I shall go and ask her. She cannot say no after dancing with this half-wit. Now. - No, she has just turned her back towards me. I will wait. But if I wait too long... Bingley will be there before me. Or some bosom friend of Wickham's. Oh just get on with it! Go!

He strode across the room.

"...such conceit, it is -"

"Lizzy!" Miss Lucas caught the sight of Mr. Darcy approaching.

Conceit? Conceited? Who?

Darcy bowed stiffly.

"If you are not otherwise engaged, would you do me the honour of dancing the next with me, Miss Bennet?"

All right, bow again ... And be off. Oh, her answer. Have to stay around to hear it, I suppose. Well, what are you waiting for? One syllable, madam, one syllable!

"Why ... I ... had not ... I thank you, yes."

Elizabeth blushed slightly and looked as surprised as angry. Darcy hardly registered this. He could discern, however, the syllable he had been longing for, and having accomplished as much, he walked away, utterly disregarding the sounds of instruments being tuned up, a positive sign the dance was about to begin. He could not stand still.

Before he was in any serious danger to make Mr. Collins look like a highly proficient French dancing master though, he collected himself enough to wait for his partner half-way to the set and lead her there. It seemed an easy enough task to perform, yet Mr. Darcy was having some difficulty to co-ordinate walking, holding his partner by the hand, and suppressing the wish to hold her yet closer.

Miss Bennet appeared to be perfectly capable of reaching their place by herself, and was radiant with good health, thus his wish could not be granted.

I'd better not look at her. Search for a crack in the panelling and concentrate on that, rather.

He glanced down the set, only to see Bingley smiling to Jane Bennet, who smiled back.

Someone is going to wake up with a sore jaw tomorrow morning by the look of things. Whilst I am trembling as if I were at death's door, and not about to dance with the most beautiful woman I have ever...

The music began.

Darcy bowed. Elizabeth Bennet curtsied.

Their hands met, henceforward never to be strangers again.*

During the first few minutes, Mr. Darcy was perfectly content. He hardly noticed Miss Elizabeth's slightly puzzled look, but he detected that almost everybody in the room - save Bingley and Jane - persistently observed himself and his partner.

Whatever are they staring at? I haven't got a speck of dirt on my chin, have I? Impossible! I checked.

Darcy grew more nervous. His own feelings were such as rendered him far from calm to begin with, but to be under such close scrutiny, dancing with a lady with whom he publicly professed never to stand up with, and privately, that he should and would, by God, dance with her regardless, was hardly soothing. He was in midst of a desperate attempt to appear aloof, as Miss Bennet said with a sigh,

"I believe we must have some conversation, Mr. Darcy. A very little will suffice."

Darcy was caught by surprise.

What, I am supposed to talk as well? Really, the demands on one in the present day society ...

"You talk by rule then, while you are dancing?"

Ha, a question for a question. Not bad!

"Yes, sometimes it is best. So we may enjoy the advantage of saying as little as possible."

Darcy gave her a quick look.

Well, make up your mind, madam. Do you wish me silent or not? And pray adopt less of a schoolmaster's tone, I feel like I am about to have my ears boxed.

"Do you consult your feelings in this case or seek to gratify mine?"

While I hold your hand, I persist in some vain hope of the latter.

Miss Bennet seemed to be quite amused by this inquiry.

"Both, I imagine. We are both of an unsociable, taciturn disposition and unwilling to speak unless we expect to say something which will amaze the whole room."

To answer a question with a question has not, perhaps, been the wisest choice of strategy. What, in Lord's name, possessed me to ask her to dance?! I must have been mad! Well, you've made your bed, Darcy, now lie in it.

He drew in breath sharply,

"This is no striking resemblance to your own character, I am sure."

There was no reply. Darcy felt a mixture of anger and frustration. The hand which felt so pleasantly warm only moments before, now burned against his skin. He wished to clasp her hand and its sister hand in his and transport himself and their owner to some quiet place to ... He did not know what would his course of action be. He dared not think, for fear of repeating her previous partner's performance.

He tried to avoid her eye for the very same reason. When he finally looked in her direction, he observed she looked slightly bored, as if she were burdened with a tiresome chore.

Ah, yes, I'm required to speak.

"Mmmm ... Do you often walk into Meryton?"

If that's the best you can do, Darcy, you might as well be dusting the aspidistras.

Evidently, Elizabeth, too, was impressed by his rhetorical tour de force, for she looked at him pityingly, and assured him this was indeed the case.

Well, brevity is the soul of wit. Doubt that Shakespeare had this sort of thing in mind though.

Apparently, the lady cared not for brevity as she followed up on her remark with a hopeful,

"When you met us there on Tuesday, we were just forming a new acquaintance."

It had almost made Darcy stop mid-turn. He felt his entire body stiffen.

I see - why box my ears, if you can go right at the jugular?

His movements became rather automatic, and he declared, with every hope of putting end to the topic,

"Mr. Wickham has the happy manners that enable him to make friends. Whether he is equally capable of keeping them, is less certain."

I wonder - has he made another friend?

The coldness of his statement was even more pronounced as he was in fact on a good way to boil over with frustration. Elizabeth refused to restrain her own feelings; she declared,

"He has been unlucky as to lose your friendship in a way that he is likely to suffer from for the rest of his life."

Suffer indeed! I wager he suffered indescribably whilst crying on your shoulder, the b-d!

Her look followed him constantly. Her eyes pierced him, and made him feel as if he were guilty of the charges implied.

Well, I take it your mind is made up. That good-for-nothing liar has outdone himself. And there's precious little I can do about it. Accuse me openly, do!

Their reaching the end of the set seemed to present an excellent opportunity to compliment Mr. Darcy on his superior dancing skills and the beauty of his partner, or at least it appeared so to Sir William.

Had Mr. Darcy heard any of his utterings, he would have doubtlessly thought that the first one was a lie, and the second hardly something he should be praised for. As it was, Sir William Lucas's tributes were lost upon him, until that effusive gentleman ventured,

"...Especially when a certain desirable event takes place. What congratulations will then flow in, eh?"

Sir William winked in the direction of another couple.

What?! Bingley? Marriage? Has it come so far as to mention so casually! I was too wrapped up in my own folly - whilst Wickham has been crying on her shoulder - figuratively speaking, I trust...

It was their turn to dance again, and Sir William finally retreated. But Elizabeth wasted no time. The scowl Darcy had bestown in her sister's direction before he coaxed himself into performing the required figure, added to her determination to discomfit her partner as far as propriety would allow.

"I remember you saying that you hardly ever forgave, that your resentment once created was implacable. You are very careful, are you not, in allowing your resentment to be created?"

Careful, indeed! Resentment! I should have shot him on the spot!

"I am," was the curt reply.

"And you never allow yourself to be blinded by prejudice?"

One of us is indeed blind - how can you attribute any worth to his claims - where is your evidence? Ask yourself this before you put me in the dock, madam.

Darcy could not conceal his indignation any longer.

"I hope not," he said, and then, more gravely, "Miss Bennet, may I ask to what these questions tend?"

Elizabeth sensed that she had perhaps gone too far. There was something unsettling in the glance he cast on her; had it only been annoyance, or anger, she would have been content. But there was some other feeling, which she could not identify, but it was sufficiently compelling to make her smile against her will, and state she merely wished to illustrate Mr. Darcy's character. She claimed she did not get on at all.

"I hear such different accounts of you as to puzzle me exceedingly," she added.

It was impossible to say anything further, as at that moment, the music ceased and the dance was over. In silence, Darcy led the lady away from the set. He bowed, and said quietly,

"I wish, Miss Bennet, that you would not attempt to sketch my character at the present moment. I fear the performance would reflect no credit on either of us."

She protested,

"But if I do not take your likeness now, I may never have another opportunity."

Is this your way of saying you do not wish for my company in the future? That, too, can be arranged.

He bowed.

"I would by no means suspend any pleasure of yours."

*Echoing the sentiment of Louis Moore in Shirley, "Her fingers and mine can never be strangers more - having met once, they must meet again."

Part 8a ~ In The Middle of It

"This impertinent girl will do anything, I tell you. Honestly, Mr. Darcy of all people! There is plenty of her class of people about. He danced only one dance, and with her! I have known him for years, and never once had he so singled me out - Louisa, stop tugging at my sleeve!"

"Mr. Darcy, where have you been? We were quite desolate without you. Charles has left us, and there is hardly anyone we could talk to..."

"How fortunate then that you should have each other's company, Mrs. Hurst."

Caroline will demand Miss Elizabeth's head on a silver platter any minute now. But as the latter clearly does not give me any thought that is not immediately connected with that liar, I need hardly heed that.

"Excuse me."

Darcy proceeded alongside the dinner table to an empty seat next to Bingley and Miss Bennet. Those too at least were much too wrapped up in each other to attempt to include him in the conversation.

"-cannot produce any other information, I am afraid. I would advise your sister to be careful. I rely on Darcy; he would never say anything of the sort about anyone if he had not proof."

What, what? She wishes to know about Wickham, I see. No need to wonder why ... - Well, that at least shows good judgment.

He rather wished than believed it to be Miss Bennet's motive.

"Ah, Darcy, my man, we had you dance after all. But why so gloomy? Ah, I see," Bingley glanced to the table where Elizabeth sat, "Miss Bennet, your sister and my friend here are formidable antagonists. I wager he received a piece of her mind at every step he took on the floor!"

Bingley seemed to find much amusement in this idea of his, while in Darcy's mind an image formed of Elizabeth Bennet leading him down the set, not by the hand, but by the ear.

A very likely turn of events if I ask her to dance again. Not that I shall.

Miss Bennet ventured,

"You must not mistake my sister's lively manner, Mr. Darcy. She teases everyone."

Miss Bennet saw something akin to encouragement in the eye of Mr. Bingley's formidable friend. Her voice was reduced almost to a whisper when she continued,

"I believe that Li-... my sister is hardest upon the people she likes. She... I should know, I'm her constant victim."

This speech was almost too much for Miss Bennet. Her face became of a nice pink shade. Bingley gazed at her lovingly, so he did not see how his self-possessed friend clutched his fists and blushed crimson whilst saying in a hoarse voice,

"Thank you, Miss Bennet. That is most informative."

"Shall we have some music?"

Bingley resumed his duties as the host, stood up from the table and looked at his sister.

"Caroline, can we persuade you?"

Whether the assembled company's powers of persuasion would have affected Miss Bingley to a degree sufficient to bring about a demonstration of the fruit of her music master's labour and toil, remained unknown, for a short, spectacled figure swooshed past them all and sat behind the instrument with an air of determination.

Bingley managed to murmur with perfect politeness,

"Miss Mary Bennet! I see you have anticipated me."

Mr. Darcy was firm in his resolution that he would spare Miss Elizabeth Bennet the tediousness of his company. He considered this best accomplished by sitting himself with his back towards her, and trying to engage in a conversation with Colonel Forster.

Both tasks, however, proved unexpectedly difficult. The former, because Miss Elizabeth Bennet persisted in being sociable in the manner that invariably brought her into his field of view, and the latter, as Mrs. Forster kept exclaiming for her husband to comment on this and that. She was accompanied on these occasions more often than not by one or the other of the youngest Bennets, whose squeals of enjoyment were unfortunately the only sound able to smother their sister's evident lack of musical skills.

Once again shifting in his chair in an attempt to avoid looking at Miss Elizabeth, Darcy suddenly became aware of a small, stooping figure on his right who appeared to have trouble breathing.

"Mr. Darcy," panted the man, "I have made a remarkable, I must say, an amazing, discovery. I understand you are a nephew of Lady Catherine de Bourgh of Rosings Park-"

Which circle of hell am I presently in, and why is it that I seem to descend further down by the minute?

Darcy recognised the man as the self-shrinking individual who was present at his and Bingley's meeting in Meryton with the ladies of Longbourn.

"-Well, Mr. Darcy, I am in a most happy position to be able to inform you-"

...that my aunt has emigrated to the New World?

The man stopped to wipe his forehead. That accomplished, he bent closer to Mr. Darcy.

Someone really should tell Bingley's cook to go easy on the onions next time.

"-that her ladyship was in the best of health eight days ago."

Well, I thought the New World was a bit far fetched, if appealing, idea. Pity. Still... He shows no sign of extricating himself out of my breast pocket, so I must take appropriate measures myself.

"I am very happy to hear it."

Darcy stood up, looming over the gentleman who claimed his aunt's acquaintance.

"And what is your name, sir?"

The man stood there, wide-eyed, obviously prepared to faint or be consumed by palpitations, whichever came first.

"Wi-William Collins. Mr. Darcy, I have very great honour..."

But Mr. Darcy was already gone.

Suddenly, the music stopped. Mr. Bennet had stepped in, unfortunately at a somewhat inappropriate moment. His unmusical daughter looked devastated. Mr. Collins found himself utterly unable to keep to his seat. The elation he had experienced in locating a nephew of his distinguished patroness in the very same room as his humble self, had affected him deeply. He moved backwards to the instrument, taking the advantage of the momentary silence, and declared at the top of his voice he should have great pleasure to oblige the company with an air.

Darcy lifted his eyebrows in disbelief.

No wonder her eyes are glued to the floor! - And she despises me! Well, so much the better. I am spared much trouble and mortification, so I may congratulate myself. Yes, I have had a lucky escape. But Bingley - something must be done there.

"-has taken quite a fancy to Lizzy. And I don't think he could find a better wife."

Mr. Darcy, for one, found it virtually impossible not to hear this comment of Mrs. Bennet's, lest he should cover his ears and take refuge in the hallway. But, as the fair reader knows, the hallways tend to be extremely draughty and it would be positively reckless to stand in one. It is highly doubtful whether this objection should have stopped Mr. Darcy; yet when Mrs. Bennet mentioned her second daughter, somehow the hallway's charms had lost their appeal.

"He favoured Jane at first, but Bingley was there before him. Now that will be a great marriage! And of course, it will throw the younger girls into the paths of other rich men. Mr. Collins is not so wealthy, perhaps, yet his connections-"

Collins! I don't believe it. She will have her daughter sold - for there is hardly a better word for it - to that perspiring toad who has nothing in the world to recommend him but the fact that my aunt chooses to scold him at her heart's content. Positively sickening!

For a man who had had a fortunate escape, Mr. Darcy's features expressed an astonishingly small amount of relief and satisfaction.

"A remarkable evening, was it not? Caroline, Louisa, I cannot thank you enough. Everything was perfect! Everybody said so. I enjoyed myself tremendously, and so did everybody else, I am sure. I say, Hertfordshire begins to feel more and more at home to me! Time may come- But I wish I did not need to go to London tomorrow! I promised to call on Miss Bennet... Darcy, must I go to town?"

Mr. Darcy, at that moment still under influence of the blow delivered to him by Mrs. Bennet's last speech, had a rather good idea where Bingley should go. The Orkneys, for instance, looked promising as regards putting as large a distance between the said gentleman and Hertfordshire as possible. And he would gladly keep him company were it not for...

The image of Elizabeth as he took her hand, gazing at him with a mixture of playfulness and the resolve to make him speak against his inclination, took turns with seeing her standing at the altar next to Mr. Collins. Darcy shuddered at this and shook his head to rid himself of this horrifying apparition.

"Oh! Yes, exactly what I thought. It is far from necessary. I shall send a letter. Surely Robertson can..."

Fortunately, the ever-alert Miss Bingley was close by.

"Why should Charles not go to London, Mr. Darcy? Are you taking us to Pemberley for Christmas? Oooh!"

Part 8b ~ In The Middle of It

Miss Bingley sat up straight in expectation. Pemberley! At Christmas! Mrs. Hurst's eyes brightened. What a fine thing for her sister! The fatigue both ladies had felt only moments ago, after the last guests have left Netherfield, seemed to be quite a matter of the past.

Bingley, however, did not seem to share their feelings.

"I say, Darcy, I have been rather looking forward to spending Christmas at Netherfield. It was all of you," he glanced reproachfully at his company, "who kept hurrying me to settle somewhere, anywhere, and now when I finally have, you cannot wait to scuttle off to another part of the country!"

When, precisely, have I managed to invite Caroline Bingley to Pemberley at Christmas? And make Charles more intent than ever not to quit Hertfordshire - he actually produced sane arguments this time. Right. The end is near. I can see it through the mist... A grey, awe-inspiring building, with screams resounding from within its walls, a worn plaque looming over the entrance, stating in dilapidated letters, 'Bedlam'.

"Bingley, I had no intention of..." attempted Darcy, but Miss Bingley had a few mental images of her own.

"Oh, Charles, how can you be so stupid! Christmas at Netherfield would be charming, to be sure, but Christmas at Pemberley..." Miss Bingley stopped briefly to relish in the idea of herself disembarking a carriage in front of Mr. Darcy's home, clad in the full regalia of its future mistress.

Mr. Darcy mistook her state of enthrallment for an actual pause in conversation and hurried to continue his sentence.

"...-of denying the necessity of your going to London tomorrow. I-"

Miss Bingley, who had stumbled upon an obstacle in her imaginings - what exactly should she wear? - fervently supported the idea.

"Oh yes, Charles, indeed you must go, and Louisa and I shall very probably join you for we need to visit Madame ----. I think the occasion requires a slight addition to our wardrobe, is it not so?"

Err, something whitish, with a veil? If I get a word in quickly, I might prevent the banns being read this Sunday.

"As I was saying... Bingley, there is nothing like conducting one's business in person. In this way, you can rest assured your interests are being looked after properly."

And behaving like a man of two and twenty and the head of a family should. But that is another matter.

"As for Christmas, nothing will give Georgiana and myself more pleasure to have you as my guests-"

Miss Bingley exchanged an exultant look with her sister.

"-at my house in Town on Christmas Eve."

It appeared Miss Bingley had tripped over the skirt of her elaborate ball gown. Fortunately, a sofa which her sister had been occupying, was close by to offer support to herself and her thwarted hopes, therefore she very elegantly proceeded to collapse on it.

Forsythe had been told his services were not required, and retired with a perplexed expression on his face. He no longer attempted to find the reason behind his master's oddities. It was, it had to be a Woman!

The valet deemed his master well guarded from any endeavours on the part of the scheming feminine minds, and had himself witnessed how impossible it was for their aspirations to ever come to pass, Miss Bingley's in particular. But now...

"Something is most definitely up, mark what I say!"

Forsythe pointed his index finger at his master's tailcoat, which he had been brushing since banished from Darcy's dressing room. The garment, as if acceding to its share of the alleged blame, hung from his arm listlessly.

Meanwhile, in his bedchamber, Fitzwilliam Darcy stood with his back to the window. He had only dispensed with the coat, and dismissed his valet. He vowed to consider matters calmly and composedly, yet his current state of mind was everything but tranquil and self-possessed. He needed to think of Bingley's entanglement with Miss Bennet, and how to best resolve the situation. The lady was kind and gentle, true...

I doubt she ever spoke so much in Bingley's presence than when she assured me her sister ... She smiles and then she smiles some more. There can't be much affection there. Her sister, now, well, was that teasing?... Her touch on my hand ... The eyes were full of - censure, I presume it must have been - still, her fingers on my palm...

The myriad of sensations, all of them highly disconcerting, but far from disagreeable, felt by him from the moment he proposed a dance to Elizabeth, ran through his body.

Unfortunately, they could not be separated from all other events he witnessed that night. It was impossible for Darcy to ignore the improprieties in which the members of Elizabeth's family, save herself and her elder sister, indulged. Nor did he wish to ignore them.

I, connected to such people; never! - Not that I will ever need to consider it. She will soon be forced to think of matrimony, though, judging by Mrs. Bennet's indiscretions! But her father cannot allow it.

Darcy remembered his own meeting with Mr. Bennet well. He harboured no doubt in his mind that his, Darcy's, own suit would have as little hope of success as Mr. Collins's. Yet there was one man in Hertfordshire who might persuade both father and daughter, ignorant as they were of his true nature.

What is to be done? I cannot let her be sweet-talked into something she will regret for the rest of her life! Granted, she is more than capable of handling the situation herself; she had no scruple in making it evident - on several occasions - she found my company unpleasant!

Likewise, Mr. Wickham could by now be in no degree uncertain whether his company had been found loathsome or not.

A sneer flitted over Darcy's face.

I have come far! Jealous of -!

He endeavoured to suppress the inferior emotion. Instead, he resolved to think of all the pleasant moments he had spent in Elizabeth Bennet's company since the beginning of their acquaintance. He closed his eyes and waited a few moments. And, as he had expected, it did not last long before the sight most agreeable to him, had indeed appeared, as she was one morning merely a fortnight ago.

A snap of the wood burning in the fire interrupted the stillness of the night. Darcy hastily unbuttoned his waistcoat and leaned on the fireplace. He did not feel the closeness of the fire. His entire being had been affected by a flame, sparkled up he knew not exactly when, but blazing by now.

"Good morning, sir."

Forsythe tried not to look too astonished when he discovered Mr. Darcy had spent the night in his clothes, save for the waistcoat which had been discarded on an armchair in front of the fireplace. He attended to his master in silence. Yet he had a commission.

"Sir, if I may...?"

Mr. Darcy gave no sign of either approval or annoyance. His valet therefore ventured,

"I was instructed by Mr. Bingley's gentleman, sir, to give you this."

Forsythe exited discreetly.

It was a letter; it did not appear to contain more than one and a half sheet of paper. It was not sealed. Darcy unfolded it. In doing so, a smaller piece of paper flew out onto the floor. It was promptly picked up and read.

I am for Town, as everybody thinks I should go, but I will be back shortly. Would you mind having a look at this and telling me what you think? My hand shook throughout, why, I believe it to be still shaking now! Anyhow, I thought you would know if it is done properly. Well, not that you have had any experience in such matters, as far as I know, but two heads are better than one, and I know I can rely on you not to lose yours. I am fairly lost myself, don't mind telling you, head, heart and all the rest of it, but I'm sure you have noticed it already.

Thank you for your help, Darcy. I am in your debt, as always,

Bingley

It was still rather early when Mr. Darcy deposited his horse in Colonel Forster's stable. He was with the Colonel a few minutes later.

"Mr. Darcy, this is an unforeseen pleasure! What brings you here so early?"

"I apologise for disturbing you, sir. I have a matter of utmost importance to discuss with you."

Such a beginning intrigued Colonel Forster. He sat down, and motioned to Mr. Darcy to do the same. Yet the young man insisted on remaining standing. He also appeared to be extremely nervous.

"Sir, I possess ... That is, I have some time ago found out a very unpleasant piece of information regarding the character of one of your officers."

"Indeed? Pray, would you mind explaining yourself? This is a rather serious accusation, after all."

"Naturally. Before I proceed any further, I wish to assure you I would never speak of this were I not wholly convinced that what I am about to say is true."

Colonel Forster bowed.

"I rely on your honour as a gentleman, Mr. Darcy."

Mr. Darcy accepted the acknowledgement silently. He continued,

"I have reasons to believe that one of your officers - to name him outright - Mr. George Wickham, exhibited at least one occasion, behaviour unworthy of a gentleman. I cannot disclose the particulars, sir, as they were entrusted to me in strictest confidence. Suffice it to say that," Darcy's voice took on a sarcastic tone to pronounce the word, "Mr. Wickham had tried - and almost succeeded - to convince a young lady of a much higher social standing than his own, to agree to an elopement."

He drew in breath sharply.

"Mr. Darcy-"

"It has only been a few days since I have become aware of Mr. Wickham presence in Meryton. I hoped his character improved somewhat since our paths had crossed last. Shortly after, I have noticed signs that prove quite the contrary. I saw it as my duty, sir, to present these facts to you."

"And what are the signs that you speak of, sir?"

This inquiry was not so readily answered as the previous one. Mr. Darcy took a few steps towards the window, glanced through it, and seemed to find the early morning bustle of Meryton fascinating.

With the corner of his eye, Colonel saw what he could almost swear to be a touch of red on Darcy's cheek. He cleared his throat diplomatically, as his visitor abruptly turned to face him.

"Excuse me, Colonel. I am ... slightly preoccupied. I leave today for London and-"

He collected himself.

"It has recently been made known to me, sir, that Mr. Wickham has made overtures to a certain young lady the extent of whose fortune he may have mistaken; his motives may not be of mercenary, but of libertine nature. Whichever it is, I merely wish to put you on your guard, as you are the only person I could consult. The lady herself has no reason to doubt his character. She cannot know what I- ... It is all that is in my power to do, sir."

Colonel Forster lifted his hand as to stop him.

"I am sorry if I have made you feel your - uhm, initiative is in any way unwelcome. On the contrary, I am most grateful that you have brought this matter to my attention. I have already heard reports from other sources - there have been complaints, sir, which corroborate your communication. Not that I had any misgivings about it, Mr. Darcy. I realise how ... unpleasant it must have been, as you had been told about it in confidence. Rest assured it will not leave this room."

Mr. Darcy bowed in recognition of this statement.

"However, apart from keeping an eye on Mr. Wickham, I am not at liberty to take any other action. I promise you, nevertheless, to observe his actions closely, and should the need arise, inform the lady's parents or guardians of Mr. Wickham's - unsuitability, shall we say?"

Colonel observed a change in his visitor's behaviour. Mr. Darcy remained grave, yet he also appeared relieved. He thoroughly approved of Colonel Forster's suggestion.

I could not have her be in danger of falling prey to that blackguard. At least I will know her to be safe.

He was ready to leave Hertfordshire. Yet - there was the letter still, and all the consequences that would arise from it.

Part IX ~ It Was Done For The Best

In which Mr. Darcy has a lot on his mind, amongst other things, the concern for his own mental health

Netherfield, November 27, 1811

Dear Madam,

Pray excuse my forwardness in addressing you in this manner. We have parted only hours ago, and the pleasure of your company this evening gives me the courage to write these lines. I trust to your generosity and kindness you shall read them without thinking me in any way presumptuous.

Darcy felt as if he were intruding, reading these lines, regardless of the fact he was doing so on Bingley's request. His trust once again assured Darcy of their friendship. It was in the interest of this friendship he felt compelled to act.

The content of the letter did not surprise him. It was the true, genuine feeling behind it, which affected Darcy the most. Never before had he read - or written, for that matter - any letter of such nature. His friend really and truly loved Miss Bennet.

He carefully put the letter on the desk, wishing to keep it unharmed. He wished the same for its author.

"Good morning."

"Good morning, Mr. Darcy."

Evidently, Miss Bingley had to some extent recovered from the previous night's disappointment. One festive evening, after all, may do a great deal, and her spirits rallied in anticipation of Christmas which was not even a month away.

"I wish to discuss with you a matter concerning your brother."

Miss Bingley did not wish to discuss her brother at all. There were so many more engaging subjects she and Mr. Darcy could touch upon. Mrs. Hurst, however, leaned forward with considerable interest in her eye.

"Yes?"

"I believe it did not escape your notice that he has been expressing a marked preference for one of the Hertfordshire ladies."

Mrs. Hurst smiled and waved her hand dismissively.

"Oh, Mr. Darcy, you know how it is with Charles! If one would listen to him, one would think ... But it always passes, usually more quickly than it has begun."

Yet Darcy persisted,

"While I agree with you that Bingley tends to engage his affections often, and hastily, I believe his intentions to be of serious nature this time."

"Oh, how can it be? He would never marry Jane Bennet!"

Miss Bingley, quite unintentionally, was guilty of the unspeakable: she doubted Mr. Darcy's words. Mr. Darcy, fallible? Even that, it seemed, was conceivable, when Caroline Bingley's attention was called to such trifling details as her brother's affections.

"On the contrary, madam. I have myself seen the letter, containing a proposal of marriage."

This statement, very properly, raised some sisterly eyebrows, even though the speaker's tone indicated that he could do without the full dramatic honours. Proving the ladies wrong held no triumph whatsoever for Darcy; he was most anxious to bring the discussion to an end.

Allies I need to have and as I cannot choose them...

"I presume we agree it would be a most imprudent connection. Therefore," Darcy hurried on, "I suggest we follow your brother to London tomorrow morning and place before him the evils of such a choice. I shall take on the latter task myself, you need not concern yourselves with it."

Miss Bingley could hardly contain her joy at the prospect of a journey to Town in the company of Mr. Darcy. For a short while, she had indeed succeeded in utterly disregarding the fact that her brother's marriage would not only endanger her social standing, but also bring into the bosom of her family the impertinent girl who had danced with Mr. Darcy, while she, Caroline Bingley, who should have had the privilege of his hand - in every meaning of the phrase - was left to stand by and observe that travesty!

This moment of realisation was crucial in providing Mr. Darcy with her eager support.

Oh no. I can see the image that must be forming in Caroline's head right now: She and I against the world, that is, Bingley and the wicked Bennets.

"By all means. I am sure we will be able to make Charles see reason. Come, sister, we must see that our things are packed properly. You must speak to Mrs. Dawkins. We are not likely to return to Netherfield for some time, I think."

Mrs. Hurst was already considering the practicalities of their removal to Town and had a good mind to ensure that her hopeful sister followed her example. For once, an action by Mrs. Hurst filled Mr. Darcy's breast with a feeling akin to gratitude, normally reserved for moments when either - or both - Bingley's sisters relieved him of their presence.

Claiming to have business to attend to prior to their morning departure, he gladly left the ladies to their elaborate preparations.

He glanced anxiously at the sky. It appeared to be clear, and there was at present no sign of rain, and therefore no need to vanquish his noble plan of letting the ladies have the carriage to themselves.

Thank heavens! Who knows what I might have otherwise ended up saying to Bingley upon arrival! 'Make haste and get thyself to Longbourn before the day is over' would present itself as a distinct possibility.

But Mr. Darcy did not concern himself merely with the fear of being trapped within yards of Miss Bingley for hours. He had been giving a lot of thought to how precisely he was to open his friend's eyes to the truth. His heart was heavy, and not only with the anticipation of a most unpleasant conversation.

I needed no disclosure from anyone ... It was painfully obvious.

Darcy kept telling himself that his and Bingley's situations were hardly similar.

Indeed. He was not treated with contempt. But it was well deserved, after all.

Through the sound of the hooves and the rattle of the carriage, his own words echoed - 'She is tolerable, I suppose, but not handsome enough to tempt me.'

He winced.

And to think ... I would not be averse to penning a letter to the very same purpose. But this is madness, and it cannot last long!

Bingley had recovered from the surprise at being able to greet his sisters, Mr. Hurst and Mr. Darcy in London so shortly after leaving them all behind in Hertfordshire. Charles Bingley was of a happy disposition and utterly unable to sustain himself without a range of acquaintance surrounding him. Therefore he rather quickly ceased to wonder at their unexpected arrival and accepted it as a most welcome fact.

The ladies retired to their rooms to rest, apparently having forgotten their enthusiastic support of Mr. Darcy's mission to save his friend from an imprudent marriage. Mr. Hurst, blissfully unaware of any such purpose of their sojourn to Town, decided to see whether any friends from his bachelor days were at his club. Mr. Darcy was therefore left to his own devices. He half expected Bingley to endeavour to persuade him to venture out into company - any company - as was his custom, but Bingley for once expressed no such inclination.

Instead, as soon as they were alone, Bingley turned to him and said, with a nervous smile on his face,

"So? Have you read it? Did I ...? Was it all right, you think? Tell me, man, I cannot endure this any longer!"

Just as Mr. Darcy felt his courage almost failing him, there was hustle and bustle to be heard from the hall.

First, there was a cry to be heard, then muffled conversation and the sound of approaching footsteps, and, finally, a soft knock on the library door. A head full of flaxen curls thus addressed a pair of very surprised gentlemen,

"Forgive me, William. Good evening, Charles. I did not mean to interrupt. Mrs. Annesley and I have just arrived, and I was the one who wished us here directly, William. I could not wait for you to come to the house, and I am afraid I was the cause of the commotion. Apparently, they thought I had come to stay, and started transporting the trunks from the carriage before I could stop them. I hope it did not disturb Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley."

A moment later, Miss Georgiana Darcy found herself in the arms of her astonished brother.

Her impetuous decision to hasten to see him amazed no one more than Georgiana herself, as did her lengthy speech moments before. Yet she could not help it. She had been counting days until Christmas, which would bring them together again, only to receive a letter the day before which announced his arrival to Town almost three weeks earlier than it had been expected.

'William', as she called him - a habit from days when pronouncing his entire Christian name presented an unsurpassable difficulty - felt her entrance to be nothing short of a godsend. The library of the house in Grosvenor Street suddenly seemed to be the most comfortable place in the entire England.

Georgiana, although remarkably unsure of herself in company, was confident enough in the presence of her brother and his friend. She answered all his inquiries about her lessons, her painting, her uncle and aunt with whom she had stayed for the past three weeks, the kindness of Mrs. Annesley...

But then she set forth to ask questions in turn, wished to know all about Hertfordshire, and the room so much to Mr. Darcy's taste only minutes ago, became quite confining.

Hertfordshire, Hertfordshire! Can't one ever be free of it? I wish I had never set a foot in the d- place! And that wretched evening from whence all this emanates ... Which devil possessed me to set foot there at all?

"I gather from your letter, brother, that not all the society there was unworthy of your notice."

Bingley, who had been pacing up and down the room ever since Georgiana entered it, now stopped still.

"How interesting! Georgiana, I do believe you had been given an entirely different perspective of my neighbours than he condescended to share with me. Come, never mind him glaring, it's all for me, you know. Sit here, pray, and tell me all!"

Bingley leaned forward in expectation of the revelations only Miss Darcy could supply.

What letter? What? Was I writing in my sleep? ... Oh! I remember. This was the day I tried myself at complimenting her and that right after my vigorous competition with the billiard cue. At least there, I may be certain of victory; as far as woodenness went, the cue did not stand a chance. And bursting with information as the latest edition of some thing or other*, I went and presumably made myself a gossip to Georgie. Or worse!

Mr. Darcy's countenance became flushed, as he remembered a further detail.

That was my p ... petticoat phase. Good Lord.

Georgiana looked rather uneasy as a consequence of this exchange. The one and only letter she had received during William's stay in Hertfordshire - that hasty note of the previous day could not count as a rightful brotherly missive after all - was as affectionate as ever. William's letters were always about herself; there was his eager interest in the progress of her lessons, the news of music he would be contemplating of buying for her, regular lists of his latest acquisitions for the Pemberley library, and repeated questions as to anything else she might require.

She had learnt very early in life that one subject, however, would not be touched upon - that was her brother himself, his thoughts and feelings. His opinions he did not hesitate to offer, whenever she wished his advice on anything at all, but what he felt, remained undisclosed. Georgiana had never expected him to gossip; but to one who lived so secluded a life - by choice and circumstance - any information on people whom her brother met and kept company with, would have been most welcome.

All the more surprised was she, then, upon the receipt of the aforementioned letter, which offered precisely that. However, the epistle ended somewhat abruptly, and... Well, was it very extraordinary that Georgiana had presumed her brother would be as willing to talk about the lady in question as he was to write about her?

But now she saw it was clearly not so. She hardly knew which embarrassed her most - Mr. Bingley's apparent conjecture that her brother must have been withholding information ... lying, in fact - but William would never, never lie! - or William's clouded countenance.

She had done wrong. She should have been silent.

"Aha!"

Bingley was exultation itself; his usual cheerfulness had reached unsuspected heights when he made the decision to propose to Miss Bennet. Eager anticipation of his future bliss made him positively overflow with mirth, and he was more than ready to enjoy himself further by teasing his long-faced companion.

He saw Georgiana blush deeply and fix her eyes upon her lap. This was encouragement enough to proceed.

"Well, well, no need for you to blush, I am sure... Darcy, fine things you are up to, I see. Poor Caro! Poor I! This will cost me a fortune in milliner's bills."

"Bingley!"

Darcy did not raise his voice at all. The passion he had hidden, one he had acknowledged to himself only recently, something he could not restrain or remove, spoke through him. For a brief moment, he stood there, giving every impression of a man possessed.

A silence followed. Bingley, regardless of his teasing remarks, which implied otherwise, had no conception whatsoever of the extent of his friend's regard. He had always thought of Elizabeth Bennet as the lady most unlikely to engage Darcy's affections. With so little attempt at civility, and marked dislike on both sides, he even felt some anxiety on what terms would his future sister and Darcy be after his and Miss Bennet's marriage.

"Georgiana, I consider it best if you and Mrs. Annesley proceed to the house at once. You must be tired, and Mr. Bingley and I have matters to discuss. I shall see you in the morning."

Darcy regained his composure, and he escorted his sister towards the parlour, where Mrs. Annesley was waiting. The ladies of the house had apparently not been informed of Miss Darcy's arrival, so her companion sat there quite alone, waiting obligingly for her charge to reappear.

"Mrs. Annesley, good evening. I hear Georgiana showed a great deal of initiative in coming here. I fear the exertions of the day have quite overpowered her-"

At this moment, he caught sight of his sister's eyes. Georgiana was soon to be overpowered by tears as well, in addition to fatigue. It was too much for her brother to bear. Would the evening never end?

"-and I am sure you wish for rest yourself. So I suggest you take her home immediately. Thank you."

As he handed her into the carriage, he said in a subdued voice,

"Georgie ... If you will wait up for me- Then, perhaps, we could talk?"

The effect was immediate. Darcy knew that when he would finally cross the home threshold, Georgiana would be expecting him in the library, come what may.

Darcy's hand rested on the door handle.

This is it, then. Go and tell him, and be done with it.

He glanced again at the letter in his hand, and entered.

Bingley stood in front of the fire, ready to reprimand Darcy for his harsh behaviour towards Georgiana. He had but uttered,

"Darcy, why did you speak to her in that manner? She was not to blame, if I said anything amiss. Although for the life of me I cannot-", when he perceived the familiar epistle in Darcy's hand.

"I know. I shall apologise, do not worry. But I fear we have other matters to discuss."

Bingley was astonished by Darcy's choice of a word.

"You 'fear'? Then it hasn't been delivered yet? Upon my honour, it could not have been as bad as all that! I never blotted a thing out, not on this sheet! It took me hours, man. Indeed, I was only left with one sheet of paper- Which reminds me, now I must send for more if you wish me to correct anything."

Darcy forced himself to look his friend in the eye.

"There was absolutely nothing amiss about this letter, Bingley. It only does you honour, my friend. I thank you for the privilege of showing it to me. However-"

"What? Honestly, Darcy, I know I am not the world's finest correspondent, but you know, once I am with her, I trust I will present my case in a satisfactory manner."

"Bingley, I... I trust that as your friend, and one who has your best interest at heart, I must tell you -"

Darcy's voice quivered, but he nevertheless continued.

"-that it is my firm belief Miss Bennet does not return your affections to an extent you seem to anticipate. I have observed you both, and I confess I have no doubt as to your regard being ardent and honest. I have no such impression of Miss Bennet. She is, undoubtedly, a very polite and charming young lady, but, Charles, I beg you to reconsider. Her position in life is by all means such that I expect her answer to your proposal more likely to be affirmative than not and-"

Bingley had sat down and fixed his eyes on his friend intently, in a desperate attempt to fathom his full meaning.

"But Darcy..."

Mr. Darcy felt his hands tremble. He was reluctant to proceed. Yet proceed he must, truth had to be told, and he had to tell it.

"By marrying Miss Bennet, you would satisfy your fondest wishes but temporarily. Bingley, there is more to matrimony than the initial glory of acceptance. Two people joined in marriage become closest to each other, and need thus share respect and, yes - the feeling of deepest affection for their partner in life. I confess I have doubted your feelings at first - but your letter proved me wrong, and I apologise. However, I am so far convinced that Miss Bennet does not... She does not feel the same, my friend."

Bingley's head went down, and he remained silent. No heated protestations, no passionate arguments, nothing. Somehow, Darcy would have preferred any other reaction but this silent submission. He could not endure the situation any longer. At the back of his mind, Doubt was raising its voice.

Have I done what was right by Bingley or by myself?

* A small tribute to Lord Goring, who is similarly well informed. (An Ideal Husband, Act IV.)

Continued In Next Section