Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
A ccording to the inhabitants of Meryton, the ball was a resounding success. As far as Darcy could tell, there had been no talk pertaining to Mr Bull and Elizabeth. After some discreet enquiries, he was reassured to learn that the cad had left Meryton the next day, under the dubious excuse of attending to a family matter, and had not been heard of since. Still, he decided to extend his stay at Netherfield, sensing it was important not to leave Elizabeth unprotected too soon. To his relief, there had been no further threatening notes or mentions of his name in the Morning Gazette . As such, it was easy to convince himself that his time would be better spent in Meryton than in London—just in case Mr Bull decided to make an unwelcome return.
Not all was well with Bingley. Despite the many congratulations he received, Darcy detected a soupcon of dissatisfaction in his friend. In the week after the ball, there was a restlessness about him that Darcy had never seen before. They were alone in the study one evening, when Bingley fixed him with an earnest look.
“Darcy, I must speak to you about something, and I implore you to answer me seriously.” Bingley fiddled with the whisky decanter in his hands as Darcy took a seat opposite him near the fire.
“I am always serious, even at times when you wish I were not.” From the incessant tapping of his friend’s foot on the hearth, Darcy surmised the subject was one of great importance. It does not require a tremendous stretch of the imagination to divine the direction of this conversation.
The words spilled from Bingley’s mouth like milk from an overturned jug. “I have resolved to marry Miss Bennet.”
“What part of that statement requires a serious answer from me?”
“What is your opinion?” Bingley’s face creased with worry. “If my father were alive, he would counsel me against it. He had always hoped that I would marry well, to help raise our family’s position in society. But I love her.”
“It is strange that you would ask for my opinion, if your mind is decided,” Darcy said lightly.
Bingley’s neck turned scarlet. “What if she says no?”
Darcy held back a snort of derision. As if Mrs Bennet would allow any of her daughters to refuse a wealthy man’s offer of marriage.
“Miss Bennet has a mild disposition, which is to her credit,” he said, choosing his words with care. “But it is one that can be difficult to read with any degree of certainty.”
Bingley nodded his head fervently. “You have hit the mark. Hers is the sweetest nature, but I do not know whether she is truly happy in my company, or if she is simply being polite.”
“And, of course, there is the question of her mother,” Darcy added. “Her manners…are not all they should be.”
“Mrs Bennet is nothing but amiable!” Bingley blushed. “In any case, I intend to marry Miss Bennet, not her mother.”
“But you would be expected to spend time with your wife’s family.”
“Only a little here and there,” said Bingley hesitantly.
“There is also the matter of Miss Bennet’s lack of fortune. In the future, supporting Mrs Bennet and her unmarried daughters will become the responsibility of her family, particularly her sons-in-law. It might be a heavy burden, depending on how many of them fail to secure husbands.”
“I am rich enough, should it come to that.”
Darcy regarded him for a moment. “Then why do you delay—unless you doubt Miss Bennet’s sentiments for you?”
Bingley’s eyebrows drew together, and he slumped into his chair. He refilled his glass. “You are right, as usual. She is so kind to everyone. How can I be sure she loves me?”
A twinge of guilt shot through Darcy at Bingley’s evident pain, but he assured himself that his friend would soon forget Miss Bennet. He will find another beautiful—and more suitable—lady to fall in love with as soon as we return to London. “Given your doubts and the reasons I mentioned, are you certain you wish to propose to her?”
Bingley took a long drink and muttered, speaking mostly to himself, “I cannot help but feel that a silly mother-in-law and a meagre dowry would be worth it, if it meant marriage to a woman who loved you and whom you truly loved.”
His friend’s words provoked an unfamiliar feeling within Darcy. The image of Elizabeth returned, her dress strewn with straw and mud as she gently coaxed him back from the brink of panic. For a moment, he was back in the shadowy darkness of the garden, the pressure of her hand on his arm as she allowed him to assist her. How many times since that fateful night had he pictured her standing in the moonlight, shaken, vulnerable, and beautiful, her exposed shoulders begging to be warmed by a reassuring kiss.
When he spoke next, Bingley’s voice was tinged with bitterness, and his words were slurred. “I daresay it would not matter much to you if your wife had poor connexions and scarcely any fortune. You would do as you pleased.”
Tearing his mind away from the beautiful and unsuitable Miss Elizabeth Bennet, Darcy replied, “I suppose that if I ever fell so deeply in love, I would be unable to make a rational decision. It appears that love has the power to rob a man of his own natural caution.” He gave Bingley a sympathetic smile and quoted Pascal, “‘The heart has its reasons of which reason knows nothing’.”
“It appears my heart has been mistaken. Perhaps you shall have better luck than I.”
Darcy tipped his drink towards Bingley in a pensive toast. “We shall see.”
It was Caroline Bingley, of all people, who first alerted Darcy to the scandal. They were at the breakfast table when a strangled cough escaped her lips. She looked up from the letter she was reading, looked at Darcy, and said:
“I wish you well in your forthcoming marriage. It is a pity that all of London should hear about it before we do.”
He stared at her in shock, not comprehending her words, and demanded, “What do you mean?”
She gave him a look of disgust. “I am sure your correspondence is full of people asking you about your happy news.” With that, she stood and strode from the room, her sister following her.
Darcy watched her go, then immediately shuffled through the post. Finding a letter from his uncle, he noticed the word ‘urgent’ written near the seal. Ripping it open, he read through it quickly, dread filling him with each word, before standing and excusing himself.
Breakfast at Longbourn was interrupted by the housekeeper announcing that Mr Darcy was calling and wished to have a private meeting with Mr Bennet. There was a shocked silence as Mr Bennet left to speak to him in his book-room.
“Whatever can that vexing man want with your father?” Mrs Bennet’s eyes were wide with alarm. “Unless poor Mr Bingley has taken ill, and he has asked for Jane.”
“Then we should pray for him,” said Mr Collins solemnly. “And be thankful that Mr Bingley is of a healthy constitution and can be hopeful of a swift recovery.”
Elizabeth silently conducted her own prayer for patience. “If that were true, there would be little need for Mr Darcy to come. A servant would suffice.”
They debated the probable cause of Mr Darcy’s unexpected arrival for some time before, at last, Mrs Bennet threw her hands in the air and cried, “What else could it be? It is not as though he is asking your father for his permission to marry one of?—”
Just then, a maid opened the door and announced, “Miss Elizabeth, you are wanted in the master’s book-room.”
Bewildered, Elizabeth stood and followed the servant. Whatever could Mr Darcy want with me? Perhaps he has decided to break his word and tell Papa what happened in the garden. She attempted to quell the rising feeling of nausea as the sound of Mr Bull’s lecherous hiss in her ear returned to haunt her. Taking a calming breath, she entered the room. Mr Darcy was standing at the window, his tall, imposing figure silhouetted against the morning light. The tips of his fingers were drumming on the wooden sill. Her father was sitting at his desk, stern-faced and tight-lipped. A deep misgiving writhed in the pit of her stomach.
“Papa?”
He gestured angrily towards Mr Darcy. “I shall leave it to you to explain it all.”
Mr Darcy turned from the window and gestured to Elizabeth to sit. She did, staring at him in confusion. Discomfort was plainly written upon his face.
“I have heard a report today that a London newspaper has—” He paused, his cheeks flushing deep red. “It contains an announcement of our engagement.”
Whatever she had expected him to say, it was not this, and she laughed. “It is rather early in the morning for a jest, sir.” He made no answer, and there was no hint of amusement in his expression. Her head began to shake. “You cannot be serious. You and I, engaged to be married? I would sooner imagine the moon falling from the sky.”
“It must be an error!” Mr Bennet’s sharp voice cut through the air.
Mr Darcy said, “I do not believe it is. Someone wrote to Miss Bingley of it, and my uncle, Lord Matlock, also wrote to inform me of the news.”
Elizabeth was lightheaded, and her voice did not feel like her own. “I thank you, sir, for telling us so promptly. I-I am sure the situation can be easily remedied. We are not engaged, and we shall ask the newspaper to rectify their mistake.”
“Unfortunately, Miss Elizabeth, it is not the first article of this nature I have seen,” Mr Darcy said.
“What else has been written about my daughter?” Her father’s complexion was ashen.
“Nothing precisely. The previous notices used initials only, but they implied that I had become infatuated with a woman from Hertfordshire whose name begins with a B. This newest one is the first in which we have both been named.”
Mr Darcy gave Elizabeth an apologetic glance before reaching into his coat pocket and extracting a letter and a torn piece of newspaper. He unfurled the latter and placed it on the desk in such a way that it was visible to Elizabeth and her father.
Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley, Derbyshire, is engaged to marry Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn, Hertfordshire. This news will come as a surprise to many, including her relations and friends. Why they have chosen to keep their romance a secret is a mystery only they can answer. Perhaps Mr Darcy seeks to protect his young love from the inevitable discussion of the inferiority of her wealth and connexions. Or perhaps the charming Miss Elizabeth Bennet, who has claimed that only the deepest affection would induce her to matrimony, is not yet at ease with their arrangement. One can only speculate as to the seductive arts employed by Mr Darcy to secure his comely young bride’s heart. Or maybe his heart was easily persuaded by a woman intent on elevating her position in the world.
For a moment, Elizabeth could not speak, and she blinked away mortified tears. How many others had seen the news? How many others were gossiping about her, wondering how the wealthy and honourable Mr Darcy came to be ensnared by a woman of inferior birth?
Her mouth dry, she said weakly, “Such venom towards me! Do you feel it? What have I done to deserve this?”
Mr Darcy leant towards her. “You have done nothing wrong, Miss Elizabeth. The fault does not lie with you.”
“Have you any suspicions as to who might have written it?” she asked.
“None whatsoever,” Mr Darcy said.
“Do you know anything of use?” The acidic note to Mr Bennet’s voice shocked Elizabeth.
A shadow crossed Mr Darcy’s face at the insult. “Permit me to remind you, sir, that I came here willing to marry Miss Elizabeth, to offer her the protection of my name?—”
“It would appear that the Darcy name counts for very little,” her father retorted. “It did not deter the newspaper from printing lies or describing your intended bride in the most degrading terms.”
“Stop!” Elizabeth held up a trembling hand. “I cannot listen to this, it is too much.” She covered her face with her hands, choking back her humiliation, certain she had tumbled headlong into a bad dream.
From behind the fingers, she heard Mr Darcy’s clipped tones. “I understand your concern, sir. I respectfully request a private audience with your daughter.”
There was a pause before her father responded. “Very well. Do not be long. You and I have much to discuss.”
Elizabeth heard the door open and shut as her father left her alone to face her fate.
Elizabeth lifted her face from her hands. Mr Darcy was still in his chair, watching her with troubled eyes. The ticking of the bracket clock filled the silence until he cleared his throat and began to speak.
“My purpose in coming this morning was both to inform your father of what had occurred and to extend to you an offer of marriage. It will not be easy, given the circumstances and the obvious disparity in our situations, but my conscience compels me to propose to you. I daresay you will make me a worthy wife.”
Mr Darcy’s appraisal of her was so coldly dispassionate that he may as well have been discussing the best method to irrigate a field. Elizabeth was unsure whether she was on the verge of laughter or tears.
Eventually, she found her voice. “Your offer—honourable as it is—has been made under duress. I cannot accept it.”
He gaped at her. “You realise the consequences of your refusal? You are too intelligent for me to dissemble. If we are believed to be conducting a secret affair—especially one that does not end in marriage—then our behaviour will be viewed as scandalous, and you will be ruined, as will your sisters. Recall, it is not only the announcement of an engagement. Now that you have been named, people will assume the past hints about me and a lady refer to you.”
“But this calamitous event is not of your making, Mr Darcy. You should not be expected to remedy it. To accept your hand would deny you the chance to make a better marriage. I do not love you, you do not love me, and I cannot be sure that ours would be a happy union.” Her words stung him, she could see it, although she could not imagine why. She added, her voice softer, “There is nothing personal in my rejection, just as there is no affection in your offer.”
He absently rubbed the tips of his fingers across his jaw. Drops of fresh mud splattered across the bottom of his boots. His dark, curly hair was tousled, as though he had been riding through a strong wind. Given the hour, he must have left Netherfield the instant he received the news.
“Is there really nothing else to be done?” she asked after a moment of silence.
Mr Darcy leant back in his chair and regarded her. “I cannot see a way to denounce the supposed engagement without causing harm to you or your family, not when the notices suggest some sort of impropriety, especially that you might have…I am sure you do not require me to remind you what was written.” He looked as if he wished to add something more but was hesitant. When she encouraged him to continue, he added, “We could say that our engagement is true, that you had accepted my proposal a few days ago, but we delayed sharing the news with everyone until I had the opportunity to speak to your father privately.”
“And what then? Neither of us wishes to marry the other.”
A muscle twitched in his jaw as picked up the piece of newspaper and returned it to his pocket. “An engagement is not always followed by a wedding.”
Elizabeth’s eyebrows raised in disbelief. “That is, without question, the most ridiculous idea I have ever heard! My reputation would be ruined. Everyone assumes that when a woman is jilted, it is because there is reason to doubt her character.”
“It was not my intention that I would do the deed. You will end it at the right moment, when the ton is busy being scandalised by some other luckless soul’s alleged dalliance. I shall ensure people know it was no fault of yours, that the admiration was entirely on my part, and I convinced you to accept.”
“Then I shall be the jilt!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “Everyone will say I only accepted you because of your wealth and then I will?—”
“Marry someone else. I shall claim that you wish to meet my family to gain their approval and arrange for you to stay with my cousin in London. You are sure to meet an eligible gentleman in town. Once you have, we can explain the situation to him, quietly let it be known our engagement has ended, and after you and he are wed you can live in the country, at least for a few years, and soon enough everyone will forget you were ever thus engaged to me.”
The unexpected sharpness in Mr Darcy’s manner almost made her respond in anger. But then she caught herself. He did not have to make any offer to her; he could have abandoned her to face the scandal alone. Yet Elizabeth could not reconcile herself to his plan. “My mother would never speak to me again if I call off our engagement. I thank you, sir, but this scheme cannot work. She will expect us to be married promptly.”
He thought for a moment. “We might inform her that I wish to be married in the summer when the weather is better so that we may go on a tour of the Lakes. Surely it would not be that difficult to placate your mother?”
Elizabeth could scarcely imagine her mother’s response to the news that she was engaged to Mr Darcy, let alone the notion that they would not be married immediately. Not wishing to contradict Mr Darcy, she said, “But what about your reputation? You would allow me to cast you off and marry another man as soon as the opportunity arose? It would bring you a great deal of embarrassment.”
He held her gaze. “A rich man can weather storms that a woman of lesser means cannot,” he replied, the unfair truth of his words hanging between them. His expression was grave when he continued. “Does it not trouble you that some unknown person wishes to toy with our lives? The vindictiveness of it unsettles me deeply.”
“Of course, it does. Why you? Why me? We did not even know each other six weeks ago!”
“Whoever wrote the article shows no concern for your welfare. For all they know, I would denounce the engagement and leave you to suffer the consequences alone. Perhaps it is what they hoped, though why, I cannot say. If we continue to act as though we are engaged, I shall be able to protect you while I attempt to discover who is behind this villainy.” Firm lines deepened around his mouth. “I have the means to investigate the source of this wickedness, but it will take time. I began making enquiries as soon as the first hint was published. I will see them denounced and punished, but I fear exposing them will not materially change our situation.”
“I am grateful for your efforts. I-I am beginning to see the logic behind your—” She faltered, unable to call it a proposal. “Your plan.”
“Then we have an agreement? We shall claim to be engaged until you find someone else you wish to marry.”
Reluctantly, she nodded. Can this be real? Am I truly consenting to this supposed engagement to Mr Darcy? She looked at him, her eyes brimming with tears. “How am I to make anyone believe it—my sisters, my friends?”
She thought she detected a softness in his gaze as he replied, “Your superior knowledge of them will allow you to find a way.” He reached for her, gently covering her hand with his. “I do not know why this is happening, and I can only assume I am the target. I am sorry the person behind it has involved you. You do not deserve it, but our fates have been bound together. I must ask you to trust me, and to accept my assurances that your well-being will be my first priority.”
She saw the concern in his eyes, and it reminded her of how safe she had felt when she took his arm in the moonlit garden on the night of the ball. There was a determination about his jaw, and she did not doubt his ability to uncover who was behind this nefarious deed. I trust him. It was the only thought that entered her mind, and she hoped she was right to place her faith in him.
“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice caught in her throat. She dropped her eyes and stood hurriedly. “I shall find my father and ask him to return to you.” She hardly noticed his answer as she rushed from the room, desperate to hide her tears.