Chapter 17 #2
“But, my dear sir,” Sir William protested with earnest confidence, “Colonel Forster has warned his officers against incurring debts beyond their means, and surely that must be sufficient. Young men will be young men, after all, and I see no reason to suspect misconduct where none has yet been proven. Besides,” he added, with a knowing air, “some men in the militia have known better circumstances in the past, and it is only natural that a gentleman should feel the loss of such advantages keenly.”
The implication was unmistakable. Wickham’s rehearsed grievances had been received as credible while Darcy’s warnings were dismissed.
He held his expression steady; a cold irritation settled beneath his composure.
It was not the accusation itself that stung, but the ease with which his character had been supplanted by another man’s performance.
Worse still, Sir William appeared entirely unwilling to take Darcy’s cautions seriously, having already persuaded himself that Darcy was not the upright and principled gentleman he had once believed him to be upon his first arrival in the neighbourhood.
Recognising the futility of further explanation, Darcy declined to press the subject. He took his leave soon after, unwilling to prolong a conversation that could only confirm what Sir William had already chosen to believe.
Before he could mount his horse to depart, however, Charlotte Lucas met him in the stable yard, her expression betraying a seriousness that gave him pause.
“We thought you had left the area, sir,” she said cautiously.
“Miss Bingley told us that you had returned to Pemberley in some agitation—owing, she said, to something Elizabeth Bennet had said or done while she was nursing her cousin at Netherfield. Of course, I never believed Eliza capable of such behaviour,” she added quickly, “but Miss Bingley was quite insistent. She has been calling on several ladies in the neighbourhood, repeating the story. I believe some were inclined to credit it.”
Darcy stiffened, a tightening in his chest that had nothing to do with surprise. That Miss Bingley should misrepresent him was hardly new; that she should do so at Elizabeth’s expense stirred a sharper resentment.
He adjusted his gloves with deliberate care, buying himself a moment to calm himself before he answered.
“She is at Millwood Cottage,” he replied evenly, answering the unspoken question.
“Staying with her grandfather. He intends, I believe, to take her to Town in due course. Mr Grant met my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, on the Continent, and invited him to stay for some time. When I met Mr Grant at Netherfield, he extended the invitation to include my sister and myself. I will tell Miss Elizabeth what you have said,” he added, after a brief pause, “though you may be assured that she has already written to her cousins and arranged a visit from the two elder this very day. She mentioned intended to write to you as well.”
Charlotte received this with evident relief, and Darcy paused only a moment before asking, with studied casualness, “Have you heard anything further from the Bingleys?”
“When she was not alluding to Eliza’s supposed behaviour at Netherfield,” Charlotte replied carefully, “Miss Bingley appeared chiefly occupied with taking her leave of the neighbourhood. However, as far as anyone has heard the house has not been closed, and Mr Bingley has been seen riding and shooting upon his estate. I cannot say whether any invitations have lately been extended to him or his family, but there are several small gatherings to take place in the coming days. I will see that Millwood Cottage receives word of them so you may attend if you choose to.”
After a few more words, Darcy nodded his farewell and rode on—his earlier hope tempered, his resolve sharpened, and his patience very nearly spent.
When Darcy entered Millwood Cottage, the sound of voices drifted to him from the sitting room, and he paused in the hall longer than he had intended, listening.
He recognised the ladies at once—his sister’s voice, and Elizabeth’s—but the others he did not know as well he took to be her cousins.
Then a deeper tone reached him, unmistakably male.
Richard had returned—and was seated with the ladies.
At that moment, Darcy was in no humour to observe his cousin’s easy attentions directed towards Elizabeth, and he did not hasten his steps.
Instead, he went first to his room for a brief wash and a change of clothing, allowing himself a few moments to collect his thoughts and temper the irritation that had followed him home from Meryton.
He could not, however, seclude himself indefinitely. When he at last made his way back downstairs and entered the sitting room, his first glance corrected his assumption at once.
Richard was seated beside Miss Jane Bennet—and, much as Bingley once had been, appeared entirely enthralled.
Darcy paused just inside the doorway, unnoticed for the moment.
“I assure you,” Richard was saying lightly, “that the credit belongs entirely to my horse. I merely had the good sense to remain in the saddle.”
Miss Bennet laughed—a soft, unguarded sound that he did not think he had heard before. “Then you must allow me to admire both,” she replied in her soft voice. “It is no small thing, to trust oneself so completely to another creature.”
“A philosophy I should like to borrow,” Richard said, his tone warm. “It would serve me well in more situations than the field.”
Darcy observed them in silence. Richard sat at ease, his attention fixed upon the lady without pressing upon her, while Miss Bennet listened with a quiet animation that struck Darcy at once.
There was an openness in her expression, a ready warmth—and, what surprised him most, an engagement he did not recall seeing so clearly when she had been in Bingley’s company. He wondered at that, despite himself.
Yes, Richard was likely the more engaging man. He was also a poor choice for a lady whose fortune, by all accounts, was negligible.
For a moment, Darcy allowed himself to consider what he saw—and what it might signify. Richard required money if he were ever to leave the Regulars; that was well known. But must such security be obtained only through marriage?
It was a possibility Darcy did not immediately dismiss. Indeed, it was one he found himself inclined to examine more closely in the days to come—particularly if his cousin continued to look upon Miss Jane Bennet with the same evident interest.
Darcy stepped the rest of the way into the room and spoke at once. “Richard—I see you have returned before me. Was your errand successful?”
Fitzwilliam looked up and rose easily as he greeted his cousin. “I have not been here long, but no—my errand did not prove as fruitful as I might have hoped. Still, I have found delightful company here, and I am glad not to have missed it.”
Jane smiled, a faint colour rising in her cheeks at the colonel’s apparent compliment.
Elizabeth, who had risen as well, met Darcy’s gaze—and a brief twinkle of amusement lit her eyes before she turned back to the room. She addressed Richard with easy cordiality, but there was no softening in her manner beyond what civility required.
“The colonel has been entertaining us with accounts of his travels,” she said lightly. “Jane has been plying him with questions in a manner I would more readily have expected of her younger sisters than of herself.”
Jane laughed softly. “Only because he has answered them so very obligingly. Even you must acknowledge that his stories are very diverting.”
“Yes, and I am not altogether certain how much of his stories are to be believed, but I will acknowledge they are entertaining,” Elizabeth replied, resuming her seat with unaffected composure, her tone light but entirely unembarrassed.
Darcy inclined his head, the tension he had scarcely acknowledged easing despite himself.
Whatever he had imagined, Elizabeth’s look told him plainly enough that nothing here was amiss—indeed, that she regarded the colonel’s attentions with mild amusement rather than interest.
A quiet relief stole over him, unwelcome in its intensity, and he was obliged to school his expression lest it betray too much.
He took a seat near to the lady, his earlier irritation dulled, and found himself observing—not for the first time—that Elizabeth Bennet missed very little.