Chapter IV
Impatience clawed at Darcy’s heart as he waited for Bingley’s return.
It was not, he supposed, the desire to move against his nemesis that provoked his edginess, though he allowed that was a part of what he was feeling.
More than that, it was the sense of paralysis, of waiting to move while the tension built, and beyond that, the concern that Wickham would slip away while he dithered.
Darcy was a man of action, one who did not hesitate when he decided to proceed.
He had always been a careful man, one who considered every facet of a decision, but once he made it, he allowed no hesitation, no second-guessing to weigh him down.
Darcy’s father had always taught him of the uselessness of waiting once he had reached a decision, and Darcy knew him to be correct.
That was why this waiting irked him, for he wanted to move against Wickham, yet had told himself that he owed Bingley an explanation before he departed from London on another errand.
According to his information from the man’s butler, Bingley and his family were expected back in only a few days, so Darcy steeled himself to wait.
Added to his growing sense of frustration was the certainty that he would need to contend with Miss Bingley.
She would not appreciate Darcy’s determination to tell Bingley all, would abuse him for ruining the Bingley family’s prospects in society by directing her brother’s attention to Miss Bennet again, as if the family had any hope of climbing to the heights she dreamed of attaining.
Of course, Darcy had no intention of pointing Bingley back to Hertfordshire; all he intended to do was confess his misjudgment of Miss Bennet and inform him of her presence in London that winter.
What Bingley did from there was his own business—Darcy would not advise further, for it was Bingley’s concern and his alone.
The season afforded him no distraction. Never having enjoyed the trappings of society, the dance of obligation and association that characterized it, Darcy’s growing pique at the delay rendered him unfit for company.
While Fitzwilliam, if he learned of it, might accuse Darcy of using his restlessness as a convenient excuse to avoid all society—and he may be correct—Darcy considered it better to remove himself from the company of others.
He already had the reputation of aloofness, so his absence would not worsen it, while outright unkindness brought about by impatience might.
The one exception was, of course, his beloved sister.
While Lady Catherine often agitated for Georgiana to join their yearly visit to Rosings, Darcy had allowed her to beg off, knowing that she did not appreciate Lady Catherine’s brand of insolence.
How Darcy might have managed in those days, he could not say, for the solitude of his thoughts would not have been at all agreeable.
Georgiana was much engaged with her companion, Mrs. Annesley, in her studies, but the woman was not a slave driver, leaving much of her time open to spend with Darcy.
“What shall we do today, Brother?” asked Georgiana one morning as they broke their fast.
“Is there something you would like to do?” asked Darcy, his manner absent with continued thoughts of when Bingley might return.
“Perhaps we could do something simple like walk in the park, or maybe a visit to the Royal Academy would take your mind from your troubles.”
Darcy, curious, turned to regard her. “My troubles?”
“You have been withdrawn of late,” said she, her forthrightness a contrast to her lack of confidence the previous year after Wickham’s detestable attempt to seduce her.
Georgiana, he knew, had grown much in confidence the past year, though she would always be shy and retiring.
While at first he had wondered if the affair with Wickham would ruin her forever, the maturity she had displayed in recent months heartened him.
Rather than destroying her, Georgiana had used the business as a learning opportunity, growing from it in a manner he had not known she was capable.
“Is that different from my usual behavior?” asked Darcy, curious about how she would respond.
“You are often quiet,” replied Georgiana. “We both are. But lately, you have been thinking of something to excess. I do not pry, but perhaps we could do something together to take your mind from whatever bothers you.”
Darcy smiled and reached out to grasp her hand. “There is no need to use such excuses to promote activities we both enjoy. I am happy to spend time with you whenever you wish.”
“Then shall we go out?”
That day provided a distraction for Darcy, and one that proved more efficacious than anything he had attempted before.
In the ensuing days, they visited the Royal Academy, took walks in Hyde Park, explored Kew Gardens, and indulged in any diversions that interested them.
It was beneficial, Darcy supposed, for it not only gave him occupation, but Georgiana blossomed with his attention, her manner easing, her laughter more open.
The matter in Hertfordshire still awaited him, but Darcy grew to enjoy the time he spent with his sister, knowing it was a hint of calm before the maelstrom that was coming.
One subject that did not come up between them again was the concern that had distracted Darcy and led to his sister’s overture.
Though Darcy supposed Georgiana was no longer affected by the mention of George Wickham, he was still wary about speaking of him with his sister.
That day would come sooner or later, but Darcy hoped to wait a little longer.
It was his cross to bear, and one he bore without disturbing Georgiana’s newfound happiness.
“HAVE YOU DECIDED WHAT you will do about Mr. Wickham?”
Elizabeth, who had been considering just that, smiled at Kitty, who had just entered the room. “Perhaps I have. Tell me, Kitty—what do you suppose Mary would say if I said I meant to use the predilection of our neighbors to spread stories about him?”
Kitty grinned and sat on Elizabeth’s bed. “Mary would say that gossip is wrong and that we should not indulge in it.”
“And she would be correct. However, in such cases as this, I believe it is the perfect means by which to ensure our neighbors understand the sort of man they have allowed into their lives. Do you not agree?”
With an eager nod, Kitty asked: “What do you need me to do?”
Elizabeth considered her sister, reflecting that Kitty, while a good sort of girl, though too lively for her own good, was anything but subtle. It was best to keep Kitty in check and handle communication with their neighbors herself.
“Your role will be to watch Lydia and ensure she does not get herself into trouble,” said Elizabeth. “I shall spread the account of Mr. Wickham’s behavior.”
Though Kitty appeared a little disappointed, she nodded. “You do not wish to spread too much at once.”
Grateful for Kitty’s misunderstanding, which provided her with an excellent explanation, Elizabeth nodded.
“That is for the best, Kitty. Our neighbors will become suspicious if we express opinions diametrically opposed to those we espoused only weeks ago. It is best to share a few items and let our neighbors’ loose tongues do the rest.”
“Very well,” said Kitty. “If someone asks me, I will attempt restraint, but I will deny nothing.”
“Excellent.”
“Kitty!” Lydia’s voice rang throughout the halls of Longbourn. “Where are you?”
With a roll of her eyes and a giggle, Kitty left Elizabeth’s room to find her sister.
Watching her go, Elizabeth reflected on the benefits of this conspiracy with Kitty.
While she was still silly and almost wild, perhaps Kitty could use this time to emerge from Lydia’s dominance.
That she approached Elizabeth with her suspicions was a welcome sign, and the expression she had offered to Elizabeth when departing the room suggested it was not impossible.
Thereafter, Elizabeth began to put her plan into action.
Mrs. Bennet, as a social woman who delighted in visits, gossip, and speculation with her friends, was often engaged in morning visits, either stopping at the homes of her friends or receiving them in Longbourn’s sitting-room.
This allowed Elizabeth the perfect opportunity to share those details about Mr. Wickham’s character of which they were unaware.
Elizabeth was careful to remain vague. She shared a comment here and an idea there, never enough to spell out what she knew without disguise, but enough to allow her neighbors to connect the pieces of the picture she was painting.
As much as she could, she also chose her neighbors who were most disposed to gossip to receive her comments, knowing it was the best way for news to travel about the community.
During a morning visit several days later, she made her most blatant comments yet.
The Harringtons were a family that lived on an estate to Meryton’s southwest, the mother’s fondness for gossip was only exceeded by her daughters.
Pen and Hattie Harrington were more properly friends of Lydia and Kitty, being more of an age with them, but Elizabeth had always had good, if distant, relations with them.
“How was your visit with Charlotte?” asked Pen that morning.
It was the perfect opening, and one Elizabeth had used to her advantage more than once since her return.
“Very interesting,” replied Elizabeth. “Charlotte appears happy in her situation. I dare say she has settled into life as a parson’s wife with tolerable ease.”
Pen made a face. “I am happy for her, but I cannot understand her acceptance of Mr. Collins. The man trod on my toes three times during the ball at Netherfield.”
“I have no greater fondness for him,” laughed Elizabeth.