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It was well past midnight. On sending the carriage home, he instructed the coachman he would be very late indeed, and that none of the household but James needed postpone their night's rest. After that, he wandered through the streets, trusting that he would find himself at home eventually.
Two months ago, I would never have thought it possible ... Treating Georgie like that, when she is least to blame! But then, two months ago, so many things were different. Bingley and I seemed to be on a tour of English countryside, perpetually meeting with this agent or that, in search of a suitable house. None of us had the vaguest idea we would both...
Before him, he saw the lights of Park Lane. Some neighbours of his seemed to be returning from an evening at the theatre. A carriage rattled down the street, and shook Darcy out of his reverie. The icy November wind, cutting through the oppressing mist, and bringing the first announcement of winter, protruded through his greatcoat.
This was an entirely unprecedented occurrence in Georgiana's life. On countless occasions before, it had been she who regretted some mischief or another, until that horrible occurrence at Ramsgate when she truly believed his trust in her to be lost for good. And no wonder, for she had indeed been blind to every demand of common sense and decency.
But William was all tenderness. He never as much as scolded her. His words she would never forget, and indeed, they had been on her mind ever since the carriage door closed upon her in Grosvenor Street.
'You did wrong, Georgiana, and you know it. I shall not lecture you on the impropriety of your behaviour. Your coming to me and disclosing this ... matter shows that you are well aware of it. You have learnt something from this, I believe. Anybody who knows you, must love you as I do. Yet there are people ... men, who are not interested in yourself, lovely and good-natured you are, but solely in what financial benefit you may bring them. They would stop at nothing to ensure it. I will do everything in my power to protect you, but it is not only me who has to be on their guard. There, I shall not speak of it again.'
On that occasion, Georgiana anticipated harsh words, and her tears were ones of shame. The tears which had almost been shed a few hours before, would have been an outward expression of bafflement and utter powerlessness she had felt in face of her brother's incomprehensible treatment of her. She did not question her brother's judgment, yet she could not see where her fault lay. This had not happened before. Surely there must be something she overlooked. Perhaps he did not like her unexpected appearance at Mr. Bingley's house at such a late hour? Yet he seemed very pleased to see her, and said so. Did she upset Mr. Bingley?
Georgiana blushed with a mixture of embarrassment and anger. Mr. Bingley was not upset at all, quite the contrary. He appeared to be in very high spirits, but the things he said of William... How could he? She could not make out the meaning of his remarks at all. And she brought them about! Yes, indeed, it was her inquiry after the Hertfordshire society that had done it. But why?
She was sitting in a chair close to the fire, wrapped up in a woollen shawl and looking at the flames closely. When she heard him enter, she stood up and smiled.
"There, William. I have not fallen asleep, you see."
She moved forward to greet him, about to reach out her arms, but checked herself. She could not behave as if nothing had happened, nor did he wish her to either, of that she was certain. 'If anything is the matter, it is best to discuss it. Any problems - real or imagined - tend thus to disappear,' he always said.
Georgiana stood still and waited for her brother to live up to his teachings.
It was extraordinary, how the movement of those tiny shoulders could influence him. Smallest vexation or grief, and they would lower themselves visibly. A quiet, obedient child, much affected by the fact she was motherless, Georgiana was in fact quite similar in disposition to her elder brother. Whatever she felt, she kept to herself, but those who knew her well needed but to glance at her shoulders for the state of her spirits to be revealed to them.
Darcy still standing by the door, looking for the proper words to voice his regret.
"Georgiana," - further down went the shoulders - "I am sorry. For my own selfish reasons, without any proper grounds for it in your behaviour, I cut you short, and made you feel you had done something amiss. It was wrong of me and I apologise."
Come, Georgie, do not shrink from me. I am sorry!
As if able to hear his thoughts, his sister came closer that instant. She did not run into his arms as she had done, much to his surprise, some hours before, but she drew nearer and nearer, until her head rested on his shoulder.
He heard an unmistakable sound - a sigh of relief, followed by, "I am sorry, too. I did not mean to pry. I wish Mr. Bingley had not ... His comments seemed to give you pain."
Is this another question, I wonder? Whatever it is, it should not go past unanswered.
"I should never think you wished to pry, that would be quite unlike you. Your interest was perfectly polite and well meant. I hope you will find me more forthcoming now. Pray, ask away."
Georgiana had been perfectly still in his arms. Now she freed herself, leaned back a little and said quietly,
"What is on your mind, William?"
Georgiana turned on her heels and took her former place by the fire. She tapped the seat of the chair next to her.
"I do not pretend to be a great student of character-"
Oh but I have had my character studied lately and had it declared 'exceedingly puzzling' to my face, and Lord only knows what in private!
But the object of the study obeyed nevertheless, and took the seat assigned to him. He may have done so without exhibiting any particular enthusiasm to find himself questioned, but sit down he did, and with a small smile on his face, too.
This smile was reflected at once in his sister's countenance. Most certainly there was a change in William. Whatever brought it on, seemed to be the cause of considerable distress to him. Georgiana was determined she would endeavour to help.
"- yet I cannot help but notice you are concerned about something. I wish to help you, if I can. I do not claim to be able to advise you, but I can and will listen and tell you my opinion."
Georgie, how in the world could you help me? By cornering Elizabeth and enumerating my good qualities until dawn?
Darcy's smile broadened. Ridiculous as it was, the thought of Georgiana as his solicitor in court where Miss Elizabeth Bennet presented the judge and the jury, amused him.
He took his sister's hand in his. "That is most kind of you."
"I mean it, William. I realise you consider me but a child. This may be so; I have proven my thoughtlessness by... - But I have changed, I do know-"
Her voice broke and she fell silent. Darcy took her by the other hand, too.
"Georgiana, we shall not dwell on that. There now, look at me. I need to explain something."
The atmosphere of the room again became more relaxed. Georgiana was all eagerness. To listen to, to counsel, if necessary, her older brother, if he wished! It made her forget entirely the lateness of the hour.
"Your unexpected visit to Grosvenor Street had come at a most ... awkward moment. I was just about to enter upon a subject which was - unpleasant, to say the least. It concerns Mr. Bingley's private affairs. Suffice it to say, it was a piece of most" - Darcy was searching for a neutral word - "unwelcome news, which I felt bound to communicate. During your brief visit, he remained under the misapprehension that my communication would be most favourable. This worried me exceedingly, and I... I am afraid you witnessed the consequences of this yourself. Again, I am sorry."
And, ummm, yes, I quite forgot, dash it - I have identified my partner for life, and she hates the sight of me and prefers none other than our old acquaintance Mr. Wickham. Shocking, is it not?
He released Georgiana's hands and stood up.
This is no time to think of it. No more of this, I tell you.
His complete inability to prevent his thoughts to be completely taken over by Elizabeth the moment he let his attention lessen, frustrated Darcy. He grabbed the back of the chair before him. It was an unconscious movement, a desperate effort to settle his thoughts on the conversation with his sister rather than on the ramblings of his tortured mind.
She is safe, she must be. Colonel Forster will take good care that Wickham does not harm her - or anybody else.
The grip on the chair hardened considerably.
"I understand, William. I do hope Mr. Bingley was not too distressed. But -"
Georgiana moved in her chair. He did say he would answer her questions.
"Is that all? I mean - was that all you were concerned about?"
Not a student of character, she says.
He moved closer to the fire and turned his back on Georgiana.
For an instant, Darcy felt what a relief it would be to speak of it, to share his burden, to tell how... But what should he say? He had no right to trouble the mind of his sister with what would be looked upon by society - and in my saner moments, by myself, he thought - as a foolish passion.
Fine example I make. Lord only knows what I had said in that letter! I wouldn't be surprised to see I had doodled hearts pierced with arrows all over it.
During these moments of silence, as she waited for her brother to produce an answer, Georgiana Darcy was thinking back of the events of some hours earlier. She could not make head or tail of some remarks uttered by Mr. Bingley. In her distress and confusion, she did not fully comprehend his meaning - but, did he not say...
"Georgiana, indeed, you are perfectly right."
Georgiana sighed as she laid her head on the pillow.
'I cannot say more of the matter at present, it is too- painful. I can only ask you to bear with me.'
She would understand it when she was older. That was a short summary of his rather unsatisfactory and stammering speech.
She had patience and forbearance aplenty. But she could do so much more than be patient and forbearing! Who or what had caused him pain? If only she could remember what was it that Mr. Bingley said... It would perhaps be in her power to do more than merely exercise her fortitude.
The scenes of the evening past exchanged rapidly before Georgiana's eyes, until the excitement of the day took its toll on her gentle frame and she slipped into a sound sleep of a fifteen-year-old.
Darcy did not exactly relish his solitude at the breakfast table the following morning. He almost called for his coat, with a good mind to set off for Grosvenor Street, until he remembered that Bingley would probably not be inclined to see him just then. In view of their recent conversation, it would be a tactless intrusion, so Darcy had resolved to stay at home when Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam was announced.
Darcy hardly had the time to stand up and divest himself of his napkin when a man of about thirty swiftly entered the breakfast parlour.
Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, the younger son of Darcy's uncle, was a dear friend. Yet truth be told, there were several instances when one of the cousins - or both - wondered privately whether they would have sought each other's company hadn't they been related.
Observing an unusually broad grin on Colonel's face, Darcy began to ponder the possibility of that morning's visit proving to be one of those occasions.
"Darcy, good to see you! How are you? My, you look rather spent! Was the country to your taste then?"
"Good morning, Fitzwilliam."
Never mind the country. Better steer clear of the subject all together. A vastly overrated topic of conversation, the country is. We have so many cities in England, after all.
"I quite enjoyed the rides. And walks."
One in particular, yes. Well, it wasn't all that much of a walk than a run, but dashing after Miss Elizabeth Bennet beats any walking, be it in Town or in the country.
Having come to that relevant conclusion, Darcy noticed he was losing the thread of the conversation. He frowned, and caught it just in time.
Country... Country... Ah, yes.
"Shooting I do not care for much, as you know. And you? You shed the shimmer and shine of your regimentals, I see."
"Yes, well... I thought I would better spare you the havoc so early in the morning, you know."
The colonel bent his lips into a self-mocking smile on seeing Darcy's slightly puzzled look.
"Your house is indeed spacious, but I doubt very much it would go down in history successful as a fortress, standing up against hordes of young ladies which tend to follow me around when I am... more formally attired, shall we say?"
At this point, Darcy readily gave in to temptation to roll his eyes by way of a reply.
The only man among Darcy's acquaintance close to matching him in height, Richard Fitzwilliam was one on whom many a lady's eye rested for longer than courtesy required, and more often than not the look was accompanied by an ample blush, for Colonel did not hesitate to cast a perceptive gaze of his blue eyes on the offender in return.
Fitzwilliam also possessed something his cousin seemingly lacked - an open manner with which he approached his superiors, equals and inferiors alike. The only distinction in his communication with the above was the degree of ridicule he subjected them to. However, none found themselves a target as often as the Colonel himself. He possessed the admirable ability of not quite taking himself seriously.
His position in society was excellent in as much he was a member of an ancient, noble family. As such - and a man whose figure appeared to no small advantage in a redcoat of His Majesty's Army - he would be deemed as desirable a match as his cousin Darcy, had it not been for the misfortune of being born the younger son of an Earl. This fact was found to be a remarkably powerful cure for the redcoat fever, a somewhat acute ailment of the period, quite an epidemic of which affected the segment of female population capable of discerning the relevant portion of the spectrum.
Not ranking particularly high on the sought-after bachelors' list had never been the smallest cause of regret or agitation. Colonel Fitzwilliam had so far not met with a lady whose admiration of his person would be based on something more substantial or lasting than a strong preference for red colour over duller ones. He was inclined to think this was none other's but the ladies' loss, and found the symptoms - as any other display of human folly - very amusing.
"As long as you are able to answer for your own safety, Fitzwilliam..."
Darcy lifted his arms in mock surrender.
"Even better, cousin. Not only shall I ensure my safety, I shall defend your virtue as well. En garde!"
There was a mischievous twinkle in the Colonel's eye as he assumed the position, his imaginary sword pointing in Darcy's direction.
One of us must be a foundling. There can be no other explanation.
"I shall sleep in peace then," Darcy retorted, "and it shall be an everlasting repose, judging by the turn of your sword. You seem determined to put an end to my suffering here and now."
Colonel chuckled as he sheathed his imaginary weapon.
"Suffering I am not quite certain about. However, I am quite resolved to put an end to this secrecy, for I can bear the suspense no longer. Let us have the exact number of the potential mistresses of Pemberley amongst the Hertfordshire ladies, Darcy."
Upon hearing this inquiry, Mr. Darcy seemed to discover a somewhat loose button on his waistcoat, which was perhaps due to intense observation of the latter. Also, the neckcloth appeared to be stiffly arranged to a degree. Whilst he was making a mental note to notify Forsythe of these shocking omissions, Mr. Darcy felt the colour of his cheek rising.
Blast, not again!
This unsettling inability of controlling his feelings had become too common an occurrence. It made him angry, and thus he blushed even more.
Colonel Fitzwilliam observed all these symptoms and briefly considered the possibility of having hit a bull's eye with his last remark before he dismissed it as impossible.
This was Darcy, after all.
Darcy had insofar shown as feeble an interest in matrimony as his cousin. He went a step further, however, by treating the members of the opposite sex with perfect indifference at best, and at worst with a bemused mixture of scorn and contempt, which caused many an attempt of engaging his affections fail magnificently. The defeat was not to be attributed to any lack of perseverance on the ladies' part, for some had developed it quite into an art form, Miss Caroline Bingley in particular.
Colonel Fitzwilliam had often mused how interesting it would be to see Darcy in love. Not half as interesting as to see the woman who would inspire such affection, though.
As for Darcy, he wished very much that she would stop haunting his every waking moment. His dreams he had long proclaimed, with a hint of something akin to satisfaction, out of his province. It was almost as if he had no will to call his own any longer.
Never again would he think himself a complete human being, separate from her, and never again would he feel more alone as he did then, when there was no hope of finding himself near her.
"I gather it was very bad then. Between ten and twenty in the least. Pray, cousin, make sure you send word next time, before you flee to Town. I pledge to relieve you of a good number of them. Will polish my boots 'specially for the occasion. Derbyshire, Hertfordshire, Sussex or Kent, Fitzwilliam to the rescue!"
His speech dissolved into a hearty laughter.
However, Darcy's clouded countenance and absent-minded look suggested that a change of subject would indeed be most welcome. Colonel Fitzwilliam was a man of good sense and for all his enjoyment of the ridiculous, he knew when to leave off; besides, Darcy was not going to give him the satisfaction of blushing again. He was apparently in a reverie of sorts.
Thus the Colonel did temporarily close the subject, only to exclaim the next moment,
"Well, madam! Is this how you welcome your devoted relation who had spent the entire night travelling only to pay his respects to you?"
Having hurried her toilette to the degree which Mrs. Annesley disapprovingly declared 'almost unladylike', just to be able to see her cousin as soon as may be, Georgiana hurried again, this time to apologise to one who had claimed himself neglected.
Halfway, she was interrupted by a grave salute, which made it quite impossible for her not to laugh. The cousins shook hands and proceeded to an exchange of latest news.
And so the lowest of all whispers was never heard,
"One. Only one."
*Sergeant Troy from Hardy's Far from the Madding Crowd; he charms Bathsheba Everdene with a sword-exercise on a clearing in the woods. Yet another victim of the redcoat fever, I am afraid.
The weeks following the Darcys' arrival to town were full of engagements. Between all the calls, visits to the theatre and the opera, and countless hours spent with either his solicitor or his steward, Mr. Darcy was certain to find himself much occupied.
However, Miss Elizabeth Bennet developed a disobliging habit of seizing his attention the moment it was not wholly engaged by anything or anyone else. All resistance seemed to be futile. A man can strive to occupy his every waking moment, to be sure, yet there will always be obstacles to be faced. A horse will invariably need shoeing just as one was determined on a ride. The carriage will be required by one's sister, whom one would not deny it for the world. The classics, once possessing such a soothing effect on one's mind and soul, will be discovered to present a strain on one's eyes, for the library candles shall be either too great or too small in number.
Indeed, the fates were not kind to Mr. Darcy. He thus settled on a drastically different approach altogether. The simplest manner in which this remarkable technique is to be described is as follows - Mr. Darcy gave in.
The countenances of both Fitzwilliam and Georgiana Darcy betrayed feelings of agitation that morning.
On her side, they were the feelings of barely controlled panic. A hostess to such a large party! Her stomach in a knot, she could scarcely look at the desolate piece of toast on the plate before her.
Her brother, however, had eaten four slices already, and was bent on destroying the fifth, his eyes fixed on the tablecloth throughout.
It was Mrs. Annesley who tried to introduce polite conversation into the silence of the breakfast parlour. Her attempts were met by nervous smiles on her left, and by monosyllables on her right. Eventually she, too, fell silent.
"Mr. Darcy, could I speak to you for a moment?"
Mrs. Annesley approached him in the hall as he was on his way to shut himself in the library yet again. This seemed to be the primary employment of Mr. Darcy's in the mornings. Nobody really knew what kept him there. It could not be business, for anybody who came to the house for that express purpose, stayed for a quarter of an hour, and then appeared again, more often than not with a perplexed expression on his face. The steward had been given a carte blanche, and Mrs. Fryers, the housekeeper, was instructed to seek an audience with Miss Darcy in any case of a domestic crisis.
This was all very well, for Miss Georgiana would be a mistress of a house once yet there was no need for her to be thrown in at the deep end!
Such was Mrs. Annesley opinion, and she was determined to speak it.
"Mr. Darcy, if I may be so bold... A young lady needs some time to become accustomed to the duties of the mistress of a house. I believe Miss Darcy has taken her task very seriously, as she would any task you would lay before her, sir. However, I cannot help but notice that perhaps it is all a bit too much for her. Not the preparations themselves, that has been all seen too most faithfully. I am referring to the strain, the burden of responsibility. And with today's announcement of-"
Mrs. Annesley looked at Mr. Darcy in anticipation.
My Aunt's superb sense of timing. One of her most endearing qualities.
The gentleman appeared to be, at last, getting a grasp on the meaning of her words. It was not in Mrs. Annesley's nature to speak so directly, and she would not have done so had she thought there was any other course of action available. Indeed, it was highly astonishing that one should remind Mr. Darcy of his obligations. Yet, Mr. Darcy had not been himself of late.
The good lady is perfectly right, of course. I have put my irrational delusions before everything else, and completely disregarded Georgiana's distress.
It was a disturbing revelation, and it struck an unpleasant chord. It reminded him of his behaviour towards Bingley. Darcy had been struggling with a strong feeling he had somehow failed his friend by his intervention. Their friendship was as strong as it had ever been, yet with Darcy absent-minded for most of the time, and Bingley uncharacteristically uncommunicative, the two gentlemen went on spending much time together, during which they hardly spoke, each engrossed in his own thoughts.
What was I thinking? Thinking? Hardly. I have not been possessed of a rational thought in weeks.
"Thank you, madam. I regret having put you in such a position, and I assure you I shall do what is right. Immediately."
With that, he was out of the room.
After a thorough search of the house, Mr. Darcy was about to turn to Mrs. Fryers to help him discover the whereabouts of his sister when he heard a muffled cry from the dining room.
He peered inside, and saw his sister wrestling with a giant stack of mistletoe sprigs, which were quite hopelessly intertwined. This sight somehow lifted an enormous weight off his heart.
Darcy tiptoed across the room, and as he progressed towards his sister, he observed there were some small sprigs lying abandoned on the floor of the dining room in the manner of fatal casualties on the battlefield. With his eyes on Georgiana's back, he bent over to pick one in his hand, proceeded noiselessly - there was only the rustling of noncompliant greenery and Georgiana's sighs to be heard - and when he was only a step away, whispered as he raised the sprig over her head,
"Well?"
The mistletoe fell onto the floor the next moment and Georgiana let out a shriek.
"What, wh-? Oh, dear me, William!"
"Shhh, Georgie, do not upset yourself! I am sorry if I startled you. No, I am not, to tell you the truth. It was too good an opportunity to miss, really. Come now, shall you leave me waiting much longer? My arm is getting sore, you know."
"I do not think you deserve a kiss."
Georgiana furrowed her brow as she observed the tactically positioned mistletoe.
"Not presently, I agree, yet I shall endeavour to be more deserving in the future. I promise to begin directly. Well now!"
His wish was granted, and the sprig quickly found its way back to the polished floor of the dining room.
"Where are you taking me? The party is tomorrow, this must be done today."
Georgiana protested feebly as her brother took her by the hand and steered her towards the breakfast room.
"And so it shall, do not worry. But first, something more important. Ah, Mrs. Fryers. We decided to have some more breakfast, could that be arranged? Thank you."
The astounded housekeeper made haste and another morning meal was spread on the table before them.
"My dear sister and the extremely capable mistress of my house, I do believe you have not eaten properly in days. We shall rectify this."
Georgiana looked at him in astonishment. She had no idea he had noticed, being seemingly oblivious to all that transpired around him. Before she could utter as much as a word, though, two buttered pieces of toast found themselves on the plate before her, and her teacup was filled to the brim. This was clearly no time for objections, and, to be truthful, she was feeling some pangs of hunger...
Mr. Darcy smiled as he observed his sister help herself to toast, and leaned forward to butter another piece for her.
For the rest of the morning, the Darcys' town house resounded with laughter and mirth, the source of which was to be found in its dining room. The latter was decorated by Mr. and Miss Darcy themselves. Mrs. Fryers was so bold as to offer help, but was politely refused. Mrs. Annesley came downstairs, intrigued by the noise, and was seen retreating to her chambers minutes later, with a smile on her lips.
At last, the much-dreaded day arrived. The maid had just finished placing blue silk flowers into Miss Darcy's hair when there was a light knock on the door. The maid opened it, and the master of the house swiftly entered in full evening attire.
Georgiana turned around and said, "Well, William?"
"Well, I shall burst of pride, that is one thing that comes to mind. No, no blushing, I beg you, it only makes you prettier. Fortunately, we are only a family party, or I would be inclined to lock you in the room for fear of-"
No entreaties would have helped then. Against the light blue silk of her gown, her face and neck appeared not pink, but crimson.
"What I wished to say is, no matter what happens - not that I believe anything unpleasant shall happen - I am extremely grateful and proud of you for having single-handedly prepared everything for this evening's party, with no help from your unthinking brother. No, I do not believe that last-minute assistance with decorating counts as much. Well done, Georgie, and again, my apologies."
Fitzwilliam Darcy bowed to his sister, and offered her his hand. The hostess and host then proceeded to the drawing room to await their guests.
Georgiana stood as far away as possible from the blazing fire. She could not perceive neither cold nor warmth at that moment, her senses were quite benumbed by the feeling of fearful expectation. There were voices in the hall, a great number of them, it seemed, and Georgiana felt a slight touch of her brother's hand on her shoulder, and heard him murmur,
"All will be well."
The door opened, and the servant announced the first to arrive.
"Sir William Lucas, Miss Charlotte Lucas and Mr. William Collins."
The scene, which presented itself next, was as follows - an elderly gentleman, somewhat bulky in figure, appeared in the doorway, accompanied by a young lady. On catching sight of his hosts, he suddenly came to a halt, thereby tugging mercilessly at the lady's arm. She had hitherto carried herself with an air of serene composure, which was replaced momentarily by an expression of perplexed confusion.
A most inconvenient commotion ensued, as the abrupt stopping on the part of Sir William seriously interfered with the inspired strut of the gentleman who was following them. Also... The doorway of the drawing room was perfectly capable of admitting two people at once. A party of three, however, presented a difficulty.
Briefly, it did indeed appear that Mr. Collins would attempt to overcome the obstacle before him in the shape of his fiancée and her father, somehow - proceeding either above, over, or, circumstances requiring, through them. For it was they and they only that stood between him and Mr. Darcy!
Had this gentleman been able to bring himself to meet Mr. Collins' eye then, he would discern in it the momentum of determination to pay respects to the nephew of Mr. Collins' most eminent patroness, the man who had shown a humble servant of the Church of England, such affability and condescension as to extend to him an invitation to a family dinner at his Town house!
Fortunately, Miss Lucas possessed the presence of mind to prevent, by propelling her father gently forwards, her future husband from taking any drastic measures in order to gain access to Mr. Darcy and bestow upon him the honour due to his person.
Oh for pity's sake! Can't we bring this display to some sort of an end?
In the spirit of this thought, Mr. Darcy went forth with the introductions. Sir William, being as much in awe of his host as of the situation he found himself in, bowed and did not raise his eyes above the hem of Miss Darcy's gown. His daughter perceived that the hostess was hardly less ill at ease herself. Therefore she expressed her delight in the acquaintance in a subdued tone, but with a reassuring smile. The beneficial effect of the latter came to naught as Miss Darcy was immediately afterwards subjected to Mr. Collins' raptures.
The gentleman from Kent was 'honoured beyond words', yet words miraculously appeared on his lips in abundance. No one present interrupted his monologue. Sir William was only too happy he needed not contribute to the conversation, Miss Lucas knew it would be of little avail, Georgiana was dumbfounded in the face of such loquacity, and Mr. Darcy did his best to appear indifferent. He was quite successful, until...
Until Mr. Collins introduced the subject of the Netherfield Ball.
The thought of her hovered at the back of his mind almost constantly. Darcy had begun to lead a double life to an extent; it was as if he were consulting her on all matters pertaining to his life. It had become the most normal thing in the world, to ask himself, 'What would she think - say - how would she look - if she were present?' He did not have the strength to fight it any longer, nor did he feel any wish to do so. After all, it was highly unlikely that his and Miss Bennet's paths would cross again, and why should he not be entitled to hold her still in high regard?
But to hear her name mentioned by others, in his presence, that was quite another matter.
"Such superiour dancing is rarely to be seen! An exceptional treat, and a great honour to the assembled company. No small privilege to my cousin Elizabeth, sir, and to the family whose most proud member I find myself to be. It is most gratifying, to see one's relation distinguished, and in such fine an assemblage, Mr. Darcy, I thank you."
The gentleman bowed enthusiastically, almost toppling over in the process.
What would he do if he knew she refused to dance with me once, and teased me mercilessly the one time she did accept? We are centuries away from sacrificing people to the gods, yet I think Mr. William Collins would be willing to restore that ancient custom especially for the occasion.
Mr. Darcy shuddered as he remembered accidentally overheard hints of Mrs. Bennet regarding her second daughter and Mr. Collins.
It is all forgotten, it seems, and he is to wed another. Poor Miss Lucas! Did he ever propose? I wonder.
There was an ample comfort in the fact that it was Miss Lucas whom he was to pity, and not her best friend. The relief was but temporary, for he was reminded that the pompous clergyman might have given up his suit in face of a favoured opponent. Mr. Darcy's brow darkened as he thought of the possibility.
It would be strange if I were not to enquire about her... her family, I mean. There was a degree of acquaintance that-
It was not an easy task that Mr. Darcy found himself before. He was not certain of Miss Lucas' response, then Georgiana would perhaps...
But above any other reaction, Mr. Darcy feared his own.
Fortunately for him then, that the rest of the party arrived just as Miss Darcy and Miss Lucas established that the Christmas two years before had in fact brought some snow - a conclusion corroborated by the vigorous nodding of Sir William.
The fifteen minutes, which appeared much closer to fifty, were at last over.
There were some further introductions to be made, as Colonel Fitzwilliam had been out of Town, attending to some business in the north, and had not had the pleasure of meeting the Hertfordshire party before. He had extracted some information concerning them from his parents, who had been instructed by Lady Catherine to
'...pay them some civility, but not too much. I should like a report on Miss Lucas, what kind of a young woman is she, pray? It is a most hurried business, quite unheard of- But so it is with the lower classes...'.
Colonel Fitzwilliam saw his Aunt's letter, and was moderately amused by it, his amusement to no small extent originating in his curiosity how precisely was his cousin Darcy to handle the fact he was, on his Aunt's orders, to entertain not only an insignificant clergyman from Kent, but also his Hertfordshire bride and the bride's father.
Miss Bingley's enthusiasm for a Christmas at Darcy's house in Town was undiminished. Her sister turned up her nose at the news they were to share dinner with that Kentish nonentity, and the Lucases, of all people, but Miss Bingley was ready to sit down to dinner with Beelzebub himself, provided Mr. Darcy would be of the party.
Their brother, however, harboured quite a different feeling towards the unexpected guests. Mr. Collins being her cousin, and Sir William and Miss Lucas her neighbours, he was in the best possible position to find out some news of Miss Bennet. Hearing about her, he thought, was the very next best thing to actually meeting her! His woe quite forgotten, he behaved as any other lover would - changed his coat four times - as if his beloved was to be present that evening - undid his neckcloth as a result of trembling hands and lack of proper occupation, and sent for the carriage an hour too early. (The carriage was then used to fetch an arrangement of exotic flowers, which he had sent to the Darcys', including no card whatsoever, and thereby frightening Darcy into believing some unworthy young rascal or other was paying his addresses to his sister in that presumptuous manner.)
The last of the guests from Grosvenor Street was only slightly less expectant of the evening as the former, for Darcy's cook had never let Mr. Hurst down yet, nor did the butler or the contents of the decanter.
The arrival of such excellent company, the Lord and Lady Matlock, their younger son, the Honourable Richard Fitzwilliam, and his old acquaintances, the Bingleys and the Hursts, took some wind out of Mr. Collins' wings, though by no means all. He temporarily limited himself to putting a great strain on the muscles of his lower back and neck, by bowing most conscientiously in every direction, whilst in his mind arranging little compliments most suitable to the occasion.
Much to his disappointment, dinner was served minutes after the remainder of the party's entrance. However, being struck at the sight of his lady's arm being taken by Colonel Fitzwilliam - such an honour, indeed! - Mr. Collins felt sufficiently emboldened to offer his own to Miss Bingley. No other gentleman was at liberty to save her, and so they proceeded to the dining room: Lord Matlock and Miss Darcy, Mr. Darcy and Lady Matlock, Colonel Fitzwilliam and Miss Lucas, Mr. Bingley and Mrs. Hurst, Mr. Collins and Miss Bingley, and Mr. Hurst.
"I do not presume to be an expert in these matters, my dear, but you look uncommonly lovely tonight."
Lord Matlock saw at once that his niece was to have a rough evening of it, placed at the head of the table as the hostess, and that her closest neighbours, Mr. Hurst on one side, and Mr. Collins, positioned right to himself, would not make her task a considerably easier one. Therefore he set forth to smooth her way amidst such unfortunate sitting arrangements.
His lordship needed not have been concerned on Miss Darcy's account, for he soon found out that none other than himself was to be the primary addressee of most of Mr. Collins' remarks. It was indeed a marvellous opportunity for Mr. Collins to exhibit his conversational skills in the presence of a peer of the realm.
Indeed, Mr. Darcy was quite forgotten - perchance for the fact that he was almost as far from Mr. Collins as the table would allow, with Miss Bingley, Colonel Fitzwilliam and Miss Lucas seated between them. Or perhaps, Mr. Collins was only acting in accordance with his own rules of precedence - in the presence of the nephew of his patroness and her brother, Mr. Collins knew whom to concentrate his attention on.
Meanwhile, the future Mrs. Collins was little aware that conversing with her was to be the principal object of at least two gentlemen besides her intended husband that evening.
Why did I not take my chance and ask her before? How am I ever to enter on the subject now, with Bingley and Fitzwilliam pricking their ears the moment I open my mouth?
Mr. Darcy's determination to remain a model of composure, a rock in the rough sea of hospitality for his sister to lean on, and one giving an impression of having at least a shred of good sense left, throughout the evening, was put to a severe trial. He thought of little else but of how to inquire into the well-being of the Bennet family and one of its members in particular.
"I gather your errand in London has been completed most successfully, Miss Lucas."
"Why yes, although I do not know, Colonel..."
"My mother, you see, takes care that I do not roam the world completely ignorant, and she informed me that you are soon to be married. My heartfelt congratulations."
Colonel's intention was to dispose of meaningless pleasantries as soon as the proper occasion arose, especially as he felt that in this particular case, judging by the behaviour of the prospective husband, sympathy was what was really called for.
He went on,
"You must have come to London to purchase a wedding gown though you need not think my mother such a gossip as to inform me of that. It was my own brainwave, I am proud to say. For what else should induce you to a visit of the capital in such weather? Company? We are such dull people, after all. I am sure there is much better company to be found in Hertfordshire, eh, Darcy?"
"Excuse me?"
Here's your cue. Well, what are you waiting for? Say it, 'Speaking of the Hertfordshire company...' No, too transparent. 'Are all the Hertfordshire acquaintance-' Even worse.
The tactics by which he would appear thoroughly nonchalant in his intended inquiry would have doubtlessly proved a success if there had not been yet another gentleman hanging on every word Miss Lucas had to say.
"I cannot think of happier days than those three weeks that we spent there, you know. Pray, how is everyone of our Hertfordshire acquaintance, Miss Lucas?"
Bingley... Lean forward a bit more, and we shall have to fish you out of the soup plate!
Bingley, entirely unconscious of the grave danger lurking in the depths of the soup plate, went on,
"Is everybody well? No illness, no death, no... marriage?"
He cast a sheepish sideways glance at the head of the table at the last word, mouth open, his face bearing an expression of tense expectation.
"Really, Charles, as if it matters!"
Miss Bingley was bored, and increasingly so. Her indignation at being taken in to dinner by the ridiculous parson from Kent was immense, yet she was certain all would be well once they were seated at the dinner table. That was, naturally, before she grasped that as far being close to Mr. Darcy during that particular meal was concerned, she might have sailed to the West Indies.
And as if that were not enough, her brother was making a spectacle of himself by inquiring about the country yokels they had finally managed to leave behind - all thanks to Mr. Darcy's initiative!
"I am certain it matters to the ones immediately concerned, Miss Bingley. I know I would be immensely interested should I happen to find myself at death's door, and perhaps even more, were I to march down the altar."
The Colonel was quite delighted by Miss Bingley's contribution to the conversation.
"Everybody is quite well, Mr. Bingley, thank you."
Mr. Bingley moved restlessly in his chair.
"Yes?"
What, Bingley? Ants got up your leg, or something?
"Did you make a large circle of acquaintance in Hertfordshire, Mr. Bingley?" inquired Lady Matlock.
She had foreseen her younger son's desire to utter what would invariably turn out to be a frivolous remark of some sort - dear Richard was so predictable in his unpredictability! And the Bingley girl was asking for it! - and she hastened to pursue a more good-humoured, albeit rather uninteresting, line of discussion.
No subject was as dear to Mr. Bingley, and he took it up with glee. Indeed, they had become acquainted with a great deal of charming people in Hertfordshire -
People, plural? Not lady, noun, singular, description, 'creature, most charming, beheld, have ever, I'*? Really, such generalisations will not do!
- ladies, indeed, in particular.
Ah, now you're talking, Bingley, my man! You'll see me through this yet.
Mr. Darcy silenced the thought already forming in his head, and resorted to carefully arranging the cutlery before him.
"To be sure, wearing a smock is necessary at all times. One can never be too careful, particularly when the orchard is in bloom - such fine, wholesome fruit, nothing quite like Hunsford apples! Why, I but seldom venture outside without it at that time. My smock, that is. Yes... Quite."
At least Mr. Collins was having an enjoyable evening.
A knight in a shining smock for you, Miss Lucas.
Mr. Darcy paid even more attention to the family silver. It struck him that he had not come an inch closer to reaching his objective, whilst concentrating on completely immaterial aspects of the conversation.
Come on, Bingley. Get on with it!
Suddenly, Georgiana's quiet, clear voice cut through an unexpected moment of silence,
"Yes, my brother mentioned some in my letter. A family by the name of... I cannot recollect it at present, I am sorry."
Her position at the far end of the table rendered her evening rather uneventful compared to the reception of the guests prior to dinner. She did manage to exchange a couple of words with her uncle Matlock before Mr. Collins embarked on an endless list of topics which might, in his opinion, hold his lordship's interest. She would undoubtedly, given a chance, answer Mr. Hurst's compliment to the cook - 'D- tasteful, this!', but Mr. Hurst was too absorbed in destroying the much admired meal to give her the opportunity by at least turning his head in her general direction.
Thus, the hostess had plenty of time to listen to the conversation higher up the table, and entered into it without any real intention or desire to do so.
"Bennet!"
Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy pronounced the name at the very same moment. The difference of their manner, the tone of voice, was striking.
Bingley actually half-rose from his chair, his face aglow, arms stretched out as if he were about to embrace the fairest member of the aforementioned family that instant. His voice was warm in tone, and raised to the heights Darcys' dining room was far from being accustomed to. His friend's brow was furrowed, face distressingly pallid and voice hoarse, defying his attempts to subdue it to a whisper.
The statement was accompanied by the clatter of the silver. Mr. Darcy's hand, apparently, lost hold of his knife and fork.
"Well, well..."
Colonel Fitzwilliam made a mental note to remember the name for future reference. Such a response from Darcy was far from common. Nothing but the Wickham affair had given rise to so much feeling in his cousin before; at least the Colonel had not witnessed it. Therefore, he leaned back in his chair, fully determined to savour the moment. In doing so, his glance chanced to rest on his mother's countenance.
Colonel Fitzwilliam knew an order when he saw one, and Lady Matlock's raised left eyebrow spoke as plainly as her ladyship would have, had she been at liberty to do so - 'Richard, stop this nonsense at once!' Like a dutiful son, he held his tongue and took firm hold of his wine glass lest a comment should nevertheless escape him.
Miss Lucas's eyes were flying between her host and his best friend. It was very clear to her that perhaps herself and her intended were the closest to entering the matrimonial state, however, they were far from being alone in this. Mr. Bingley was ready, willing and able to 'have and to hold' Miss Bennet that very moment, and Mr. Darcy ... Most interesting.
Miss Bingley was in state of complete dumbfoundedness. Her hands froze in motion, fork and knife clutched so hard that her knuckles were becoming quite devoid of colour. Bennet? Bennet? Was there no escaping that wretched name?
Across the table, Mrs. Hurst was glancing at her brother with horror in her eye - could it be that Charles had bats in his belfry, like great uncle Theobald? Surely he was not still thinking of that girl?
Mr. Hurst decided to use the apparent pause in conversation to bring the emptiness of his glass to the footman's attention. James promptly obliged him, and Mr. Hurst proceeded to enjoy himself.
Lord Matlock was quite surprised at the display of such - well, feeling, dash it, it had to be! - but as a thoroughly well-bred man he decided to keep silent - which was far from presenting any trouble, for he had no relevant comment to offer, having never heard the name of Bennet before in the entire course of his life. As his son before him, he glanced in the direction of Lady Matlock, who remained unmoved by the situation, and decided to follow her example.
Mr. Collins, however, was right on time for his cue.
His own family - much obliged - such an honour - not escaped Mr. Darcy's notice - but then all his cousins far from being completely plain - had some notions himself - but that --- glance at Miss Lucas --- all forgotten now - he the happiest of men - everything fine at Longbourn - such a delightful village - Hunsford --- another glance at Miss Lucas --- quite as convivial - a rather superior, if he may be allowed to say so, poultry house to be sure - everybody in the finest health and spirits - are much obliged to Messrs Bingley --- bow --- and the condescension! - head almost banging against the table - Mr. Darcy! - he shall write directly - honour - quite speechless - thank you.
Let us draw the curtain of charity over the rest of the scene.**
The evening ended without any casualties, however.
Mr. Bingley found out his heart's darling was safe, sound and single. Mr. Darcy had the pleasure of overhearing that none of the Miss Bennets - 'good-natured ladies of whom the second eldest was her particular friend', as Miss Lucas enlightened Colonel Fitzwilliam, who in turn described Hunsford village to the best of his abilities to her - were married as yet.
Georgiana Darcy felt some pangs of guilt for being the more talkative of the hosts for the remainder of the evening, but her brother's reassuring small smile he forced himself into over the dessert, offered ample source of relief, sufficient enough to prompt her to perform for the guests later, though she would only play.
Miss Bingley recovered to a degree which made her willing to exhibit, too, although her eyes were restlessly hunting the corners of the room, as if she expected one or other of Miss Bennets to materialise miraculously at any given moment. Mrs. Hurst's readiness to display her skill was never lacking, and even Miss Lucas obliged the company with an air, the execution of which Mr. Collins praised amply before, during and after the actual performance. She then retreated from the piano, which was then taken over by Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mrs. Hurst, indulging in a duet.
And so the evening ended amidst, in some cases, superficial, and in other, completely sincere and unaffected cheer.
* The dictionary entry mode of expression pinched from Dorothy L. Sayers' Lord Peter Wimsey.
** Pinched, too, directly from The Adventures of Tom Sawyer- the Sunday school David and Goliath debacle.
Having been so spectacularly brought forward over the Darcys' Christmas dinner, thereby leaving the master of the house open to the attacks of well-disposed inquisitiveness on the part of his relations, the name of Bennet settled down quite comfortably in the house on Park Lane and refused to stir.
It was enough to take the fight out of a much stronger man, let alone of one whose defences had been worn down by lack of sleep, highly disturbing visions that came to him during the scarce hours of repose, and sheer eagerness with which everybody seemed to be referring to the name Elizabeth, too, bore.
"Four sisters! How wonderful! I should dearly love to have a sister."
Miss Darcy, Mrs. Annesley and Mr. Bingley sat in the drawing room one fine morning in the beginning of February. Mr. Bingley came to call on his friend but Mr. Darcy was inexplicably absent from his home, and no member of the household seemed to be certain of his whereabouts.
Had they chanced to present the dilemma before Mr. Forsythe, it would all be explained soon enough. That is, if the gentleman would be able to utter a clear word at all instead of muttering into his chin - a sort of behaviour very uncharacteristic of his usual articulate self --- something that sounded remarkably like, 'Something is rotten in the state of Denmark'.
Let it be known that Mr. Forsythe was a keen admirer of 'Will' - for Mr. Forsythe and The Bard were on first name terms as theirs was a long and intimate acquaintance. Mr. Forsythe harboured a firm belief that every line Mr. Shakespeare ever produced was capable of providing solace or insight in a particular predicament. Not that Mr. Forsythe had personally perused the aforementioned lines in their entirety, but those he did peruse, had struck him as possessing that quality.
But to return to Mr. Bingley. He came to call on his friend, and was surprised to find him away. However, this unfortunate detail did not deter the good gentleman in the least. He stayed and talked of Miss Bennet to Miss Darcy instead.
Georgiana was delighted. Her social circle was quite limited, as Colonel Fitzwilliam had returned to the North, and her Aunt and Uncle Matlock had repaired to Derbyshire. Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley made a common enough appearance in her drawing room, yet their company provoked Georgiana into extreme reticence on the only subject they seemed to care about, and that was Mr. Darcy. Therefore, the regular visits offered little pleasure to either party.
But to be able to speak to one who had so much fascinating information to impart, was a delight beyond anything! Mr. Bingley's conversation was somewhat fixed on one subject, granted, yet his voice so animated, his manner so engaging, that Miss Darcy's attention was secured throughout the accolade to a woman she had never met. It roused a substantial amount of curiosity in her. What could the woman who had inspired such affection be like?
Mr. Darcy's exact location at that moment would assuredly astonish Mr. Bingley greatly, for the gentleman was hastily proceeding in the direction of the part of the country which he was in no inconsiderable hurry to depart from some months previous. Wild horses could not drag him that way - a tug at the heartstrings might, but not wild horses - yet a missive addressed to him in a bold, daring hand, did.
Mr. Darcy inspected the post. There was a brief note from Colonel Fitzwilliam, asking him to set the date for their visit to Lady Catherine de Bourgh, together with the weekly reports from his steward at Pemberley, and Mr. Payne, his agent. Mr. Darcy quickly read them all, decided they needed not be answered until later in the day, and had a good mind to stare blankly into the library fire until some other equally compelling occupation presented itself, when he noticed another letter. The handwriting was wholly unfamiliar to him. His hand reached for it, and he broke the seal.
Dear Sir,Regretfully, I must inform you that the matter we discussed prior to your departure to London November last, has been recently brought to my attention by a clear manifestation in one of my officers of the type of behaviour you had cautioned me against.
The gentleman in question has been paying marked attentions to one of the ladies of the immediate neighbourhood. Knowing full well - and having you to thank, Sir, for this information - the extent of lowliness to which his conduct may stoop, I took upon myself the office of disclosing the gentleman's motives.
Her family, from whom the debts of honour accumulated during his brief stay in these parts could not be concealed completely, was soon convinced of his mercenary motives and voiced their disapproval in no uncertain terms. The lady herself is quite another matter. She is not to be prevailed upon by any argument; hers is a strong and passionate attachment.
I therefore take the liberty of applying to you, Sir, if you would be so kind as to put the facts of the matter, if this is at all possible, before the lady, in the manner you had discussed them with me. I would not trespass on your time had I any hopes that she was to be moved in any other way, and if you had not expressed an interest in this matter on your own accord.
Mrs. Forster and myself shall be honoured to have you as a guest in our house in Meryton, should you decide to come.
I am, dear Sir,
Yours, &tc.Geoffrey Forster
'Hers is a sincere and passionate attachment.'
The very wheels of the carriage seemed to move in tune to the fateful statement.
I would not suppose it anything less. Misplaced it may be, based on misrepresentation and persuasion of an immoral and base ... But it is not in her nature to love by halves! To be loved by such a woman, so devotedly and unreservedly -
He held Colonel Forster's missive in his hand, wishing against his better judgment that his fingers would find themselves clasped around Wickham's neck.
"She is an absolute angel!"
Mr. Bingley was not to be asked twice to describe the mistress of his heart. He would have held back in the presence of Mr. Darcy, no doubt, but as it was, he saw no reason - and had no inclination - to keep his feelings in check. The conversation which took place at the very same house some months ago, and left him quite dejected, was almost forgotten. Ever since Christmas, prevalent in Mr. Bingley's mind was the remembrance of the happy days he had spent in Hertfordshire, the charming smiles Miss Bennet had bestown upon him, and the strength of his own affection. Indeed, he privately cherished hope, nay, determination, to take whatever course of action necessary to inspire a similar sentiment in Miss Bennet.
Mr. Bingley's resolve was, however, at the moment limited to the attempts of doing justice to Miss Bennet's softness of voice, mildness of manner and tenderness of expression. Judging by Georgiana's wide-open eyes, he was doing a fine job. Could there be such sweetness and delicacy united in one human being? Apparently so.
Mrs. Annesley was mildly amused by Mr. Bingley's speeches. As long as he dwelled on the lady's fine qualities, and not on the subject of his devotion, though, there could not be any real harm in it, she concluded, and proceeded with her embroidery.
"You said Miss Bennet had four sisters. Are they all as amiable?"
Mr. Bingley, invigorated by her apparent interest, embarked upon enthusiastic praise of the Miss Bennets.
Miss Elizabeth, to be sure, was every bit as amiable as her sister, although she was considered not so charming by some. Some evidently did not include Mr. Bingley, for he praised her good looks most eagerly.
"I wish Darcy would be here, though, he could tell you a lot more about Miss Elizabeth himself. He and she did not get on famously together, but he was not inclined to disparage her beauty nevertheless. In fact, it piqued my sister to no end, hearing him praise Miss Elizabeth's fine eyes on at least two occasions. There were times I thought Caroline was quite ready to do something drastic in order not to have the compliment repeated in her presence." Mr. Bingley could not help but grin at the memory of his sister's sullen face.
Mrs. Annesley at this point resorted to a gentle cough which made it very clear to her young charge that a change of subject was indeed desirable before the conversation turned into something akin to tavern banter.
Georgiana immediately sat up straight in her chair, blushing, and said,
"Pray, how is Miss Bingley? I have not seen her or Mrs. Hurst for several days now."
That, from Mrs. Annesley's point of view, a remarkably well-placed remark, and quite unnecessary from Mr. Bingley's perspective, put sufficient damp on the conversation as to make Mr. Bingley disposed to bid farewell to the ladies.
He left Park Lane none too disappointed by not having met his friend, and every memory of Miss Jane Bennet brought a fresh hope to his heart and a more radiant smile on his lips. Yet strangely enough, it never occurred to Mr. Bingley to repair to Hertfordshire himself, and follow his resolution to win Miss Bennet's heart through. At the back of his mind, the conviction in Darcy's voice as he stated any hope in this case was virtually non-existent, still lingered. Perhaps, perhaps ... Yes, it would be better to discuss it with Darcy after all. Or wait just a little while longer ... Yes, wait.
Where was Darcy anyway?
The notion of waiting for his tea, however, did not agree with Mr. Bingley. He soon enough proceeded to his own home, as deeply in love as ever, and just as indecisive as to the course of action.
Meanwhile, some twenty-five miles away, Mr. Darcy had little choice but to wait. He had been welcomed by Colonel and Mrs. Forster, made as comfortable as someone to whom nothing mattered anymore, could be made comfortable, and bid his host to arrange the meeting with the lady as soon as possible, for he was much engaged in London. Colonel Forster was keen to oblige, and the fateful encounter was to take place late that afternoon in the presence of a female relative.
His heart beat thick at the thought of her coming. His hands were stone cold, and there was a blinding pain in his temples as he awaited the arrival of the woman he loved.
I cannot knowingly give her pain. But what should I do? If she loves him, then... If he could but make her happy ...
Strong man as he was, he was momentarily overcome by the realisation that he must ruin her happiness and peace of mind. His had been forfeited long ago.
If I am to lose her ... Lose? She was never yours to lose!
Mr. Darcy seemed to be fighting a battle against himself, and one from which he was unlikely to emerge the winner. He felt he had to reveal the truth to her, the truth regarding the man she loved - as little as he deserved to inspire such a precious feeling! Yet how was this to be achieved without at once destroying whatever hopes there may be in some distant future for her to become his own?
He was half-blinded by the persistent headache, his jealousy of Wickham, his indignation at allowing himself to become victim to such a base feeling, and the sheer despair in face of his thwarted hopes. It became clear to him, after all, that he had cherished hopes of uniting his life with hers. It all seemed futile and utterly absurd now.
I shall never see her again. I would not be able to face her, much less speak of love to her after today, and she would not have me even if I had been the last man on earth! Elizabeth, could you not see through him, could you not see him for what he is? Damn, damn blackguard!
For one brief moment, Mr. Darcy had his heart set on leaving the room, the house, the town, for he was almost overwhelmed by the joint burden of responsibility and his own pain and suffering. Yet he felt incapable of moving an inch closer to the door. The frustration accumulating in him for months was threatening to break him at last. Presently, it only hardened him and made him numb to his environs. He stood there waiting, anticipating his fate, wholly and completely incapable of action.
I will tell her the truth, the whole truth, and then ... If she is the woman I think she is, she will hate me for it, but trust my words, and Wickham shall not have her. And I shall have done my duty.
Darcy buried his face in his hands. She was lost to him forever.
"Mr. Darcy, they have arrived now."
The Colonel had taken onto himself the task of being the messenger of doom - little did he know of it, though. Darcy was stirred out of his numbness. He clasped his hands behind his back in the last desperate effort to calm himself, and nodded to the Colonel briefly.
There was a muffled rustle of skirts to be heard, and shortly after, Colonel Forster ushered into the room a pair of ladies.
As Mr. Darcy had not appeared by mid-afternoon, nor had he sent any message to his sister, as he was in the habit of doing when he was delayed on some business or other, Mrs. Annesley began to worry. She took good care to hide her unease for the sake of Miss Darcy who, for the present, did not appear troubled by her brother's unaccountable absence. However, some inquiry had to be made, and finally, Mr. Forsythe was consulted.
There is no need to report the entire conversation, let it only be stated that Mrs. Annesley emerged from the conference with her eyebrows raised, saying to herself softly,
"Well, well, well... Is the young lady to have her eager desire for a sister granted then?"
Mrs. Annesley was not in the habit of conjecturing on her employer's personal matters, nor did Mr. Forsythe indulge in any theorising in that direction. As soon as the word 'Hertfordshire' passed his lips, there was hardly any need to say anything else, for that geographical entity had gained a most interesting status among the staff of the Darcys' household. James the footman could not, after all, be expected to denounce the faculty of hearing while attending to dinner guests, could he? And news, particularly of such exciting nature would spread as quickly in large as in small households.
And when Miss Darcy, evidently concerned for her brother, finally shared her anxiety with her companion, Mrs. Annesley was all cheerfulness as she assured Georgiana that her brother was away on 'a very particular business'. Further than that she would not venture, for Mr. Darcy's private affairs were indeed private, and he would disclose everything upon his return to London.
Darcy determinedly fixed his eyes on the door. His hands were still upon his back, his knuckles deadly white as he clutched his hands fiercely, without being conscious of any bodily pain. His countenance was ashen, and there was cold sweat upon his brow that betrayed the strain that was upon him.
As soon as the ladies entered, there was a remarkable transformation to be observed in him. His cheek gained a notable shade of colour, and instead of stepping forward to greet the arrivals, he stood transfixed.
Colonel Forster proceeded, very properly, with the introductions.
"Mr. Darcy, Mrs. Shaw is Miss King's aunt from Liverpool. Her husband is Miss King's legal guardian. This is Mr. Darcy, who has come to see you from London."
She is free, and unharmed! He has not hurt her, he shall never be able to hurt her!
'Relief' is hardly the word to describe Mr. Darcy's feelings when he, instead of dark brown curls, saw before him auburn ones, and encountered clear grey eyes in place of a pair of fine dark brown ones which had glittered in his direction with an alarming degree of ridicule so often before.
He had, perhaps for the first time in his entire existence, encountered absolute bliss, and it remained quite untainted by the fact that he was no closer to making Miss Elizabeth Bennet his partner in life, and indeed, had as little hope as before of doing so.
A tremendous weight had been lifted off his mind and soul, and as incapable of anything but passive involvement he appeared only moments ago, as resolved he was to act, do, officiate now.
The very existence of Miss King had been unknown to Mr. Darcy until her appearance in the Forsters' drawing room, true, but this did not hinder him in his desire to offer help and advice. Soon enough, he grasped the hard reality of the affair, aided by well-timed questions and half-sentences, which slightly confused Colonel Forster, who had suspected Mr. Darcy of taking an interest in the matter for less philanthropic and more romantic motives. Yet it appeared he knew nothing of the fact that Miss King was the sole heiress of a very handsome fortune, namely £ 10,000 - a year's income, after all, even to Mr. Darcy himself. But Colonel Forster was a man capable of great adjustment and thus he discreetly supplied all the information that Mr. Darcy required.
Miss King observed the proceedings with wide-eyed astonishment. Many a young lady had been slightly intimidated by Mr. Darcy before, including the most fearless of the species, amongst which Miss Caroline Bingley should be numbered. So it was not particularly surprising that Miss Josephine King, nineteen years of age, born in Bristol, and raised in Liverpool, should also find herself unable to meet the eye of Mr. Darcy.
She arrived at the Forsters' house that day to defy the world again, as she had done - with considerable success - on previous occasions, when her mild Liverpudlian uncle and aunt attempted to coax, cajole, and reason her out of her affection for Mr. Wickham, and when Colonel Forster hinted darkly at her heart's darling's dishonour and corruption. She would have nothing of it, no! Josephine King was a girl who knew what she wanted, and the little matter of whether she would get the man she wanted was far more likely to be settled to her liking than not.
Yet Miss King found her resolve to be weakening by the minute as it collided with that of the handsome gentleman who had come all the way from London just to talk to her. He spoke so decidedly, with such a good-humoured smile, and an earnest tone in his voice, that by the end of good quarter of an hour Miss King was willing to 'reconsider' openly, and owned it privately that Mr. Wickham was nothing compared to Mr. Darcy.
It remains doubtful whether Mr. Darcy would have been gratified by such a compliment. He was content, however, with the outcome of his conversation with the young lady. The next step was to deal with the gentleman, and Mr. Darcy was fully intent on proceeding directly to Wickham's quarters.
And so he did, encouraged by the knowledge that he was closer to Elizabeth Bennet than he had been in months. He walked in the direction of Wickham's lodgings with so light a step that made Colonel Forster suppose that he positively rejoiced in spoiling Wickham's plans, and could not wait for the moment he would do so.
This, perhaps, was not the kindest nor the most accurate portrayal of Mr. Darcy's character, for in the latter's mind there was only one thought, contributing much to the airiness of his step.
She is safe ... And she is near.
The encounter with his childhood friend was about as pleasant as it was to be expected. Mr. Darcy chanced upon a party consisting of Messrs Wickham, Denny, Pratt and Chamberlayne, and neither of them was too pleased to see him. For one thing, they had just embarked upon what promised to turn into a most enjoyable afternoon, evening, and night (and very possibly not so pleasant a morning following them), and besides, they all knew how infamously Mr. Darcy had treated their host.
However, Mr. Wickham had his reasons for not allowing whatever Mr. Darcy came to discuss, to be discussed in the presence of his loyal comrades and he bid them return later in the evening. Unwillingly, they acquiesced.
Wickham sat back in his chair, arranging his booted feet comfortably on the table whereupon a deck of cards had been discarded when there appeared on the horizon the most unwelcome interruption in the shape of Mr. Darcy.
"Well, Darcy, what is it now? Get out with it and be gone, for I am much engaged at present."
"From what I hear, Wickham, that is not the only sort of engagement that you have the desire of entering upon."
"And you have come all this way to congratulate me on my upcoming nuptials? Why, I call that positively touching!"
Wickham's face widened into an insolent grin. He was evidently enjoying himself immensely.
"I am afraid congratulations are hardly in order, sir, if the engagement has been called off."
"Called off? Ah, you mean those meddling relatives from Liverpool? As long as the lady sticks by me, they can't do a thing, can they? And Josie is my girl, so you see, you may safely congratulate me. No interfering elder brothers there, I made sure of that."
Mr. Darcy's blood boiled, yet he remained calm.
"Indeed. However, I regret to inform you that Miss King received, within the last hour, some most distressing information regarding her future husband's character and the nature of his professed affection for her. Consequently, she experienced a thorough change of heart, and is at this moment on her way to Liverpool, accompanied by her guardians."
Mr. Darcy went on,
"I shall see to it that your character be known, Wickham, if ever a report of any attempt at engaging another respectable lady's affections reaches me again. You may rest assured that I should hear of it well in time."
Mr. Wickham recovered his composure after being shaken by Darcy's announcement to no small extent. His feet were deposited on the floor now, yet he was still leaning back in his chair leisurely. It was, however, clearly an attempt to appear calm when he was in reality much agitated as a result of the utter failure of his design.
"You shall have me live a hermit's life then, eh, Darcy?"
Mr. Darcy replied in a calm, rather subdued voice, which gave fine emphasis to the words he uttered,
"The style and manner of your living, sir, are nothing to me. They concern me only to the degree they may harmfully affect others."
"How very philanthropic of you, Darcy! Yet ... I cannot but wonder-"
Wickham bent forward and squinted at Darcy. "How precisely is the exposure of my perhaps not quite flawless character to be brought about without any permanent damage to the reputation of others?"
Darcy's colour heightened.
"Before you come close to pronouncing a name entirely unworthy of being soiled by your mentioning it, let me only say that there is always room aplenty in Debtor's Prison, when you grow tired of this wonderfully commodious establishment. I believe I have said quite enough. Farewell, Wickham. I do not believe our paths need cross again, if you choose to tread yours carefully."