Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
When the gentlemen left Longbourn, Darcy accompanied the earl and Colonel Fitzwilliam in the direction of Netherfield; yet just before they reached the manor, he offered a hasty farewell to the others and turned his horse across the fallow fields towards Millwood Cottage.
He had little desire to see Bingley at present and after learning of the calls Miss Bingley had paid, he felt even less inclination to encounter her, should she still remain in residence. That she would go so far as to suggest Elizabeth had behaved improperly—
No, he would wait and learn what Lord Granfield discovered, and from that knowledge determine his own course. Anything else would be premature, and Darcy had already paid dearly for acting before his judgement had fully matured.
The brisk pace of his ride did little to still his thoughts. If anything, the steady exertion merely gave them room to range more freely, and they soon returned—inevitably—to Elizabeth Bennet.
He wondered, not for the first time, whether she regarded him with anything beyond civility, and whether the warmth she had lately shown him signified a true softening of feeling or merely the kindness of her disposition.
She had accepted his apology, and she had done so without reserve; yet whether she might one day accept him as her husband was a far more delicate question.
He found himself considering—cautiously, almost unwillingly—whether he dared to hope she might, in time, look upon him with favour.
That hope, however, was tempered by other, graver considerations. Elizabeth’s altered circumstances could not long remain entirely unknown in the neighbourhood, and if Wickham were to learn of her inheritance, Darcy could not doubt the danger it would present.
It did help that few people seemed to remember, but still, he knew Wickham too well.
He knew Elizabeth would not fall for his lies, but the thought of her exposed to such designs stirred in Darcy a sharp, unwelcome sense of urgency.
He could not allow her to be harmed, and despite her grandfather’s edict that she remain well protected, he wondered if she would not chafe under the restrictions.
Nor was Elizabeth the only one whose safety occupied his mind. His concern for Georgiana was ever-present, and although Wickham no longer had a hold over her as he once had, Darcy had learnt the folly of believing his sister beyond reach of injury.
Should Wickham impugn her reputation it would be difficult, if not impossible, to be restored, and Darcy resolved—yet again—that no opportunity should be given for Wickham to approach her or even learn of her being in the village if he could help it.
Of course, with her and Elizabeth visiting several households, her presence would be difficult to be contained, but he would do all in his power to protect her.
These reflections led him, inevitably, to another difficulty: Lord Granfield.
The earl’s objections to him had been plainly stated, and Darcy could not dismiss them lightly.
That the man believed him ill-suited to Elizabeth rankled more than he cared to admit, particularly as the judgment had been delivered with such calm certainty.
Yes, both he and his father before him had declined the suggestion of a title, but even marriage to Elizabeth would not alter that fact.
Instead, it would place upon him a different responsibility altogether.
Their first born son would stand to inherit Granfield Park, not Pemberley, and Darcy found the notion oddly disconcerting.
The idea that his eldest son might bear another estate’s obligations—and another name’s expectations—sat uneasily with him.
To Elizabeth, he suspected, it would matter very little. Wherever she resided, she would make a home of it; and wherever she went, her happiness would depend far less upon titles or estates than upon the character of the life she was asked to share.
How he might prove himself worthy—both to Elizabeth and to her grandfather—was a question he had not yet resolved.
So absorbed was he in these reflections that he was faintly surprised to find himself arriving at Millwood Cottage only a few minutes before the other gentlemen. Their call at Netherfield must have been brief, he thought, as he watched them approach from where he stood at the front of the house.
“Bingley is not at Netherfield,” the colonel said almost as soon as he dismounted and the reins were placed in a servant’s hands.
“Mr and Mrs Hurst were there, and they offered a brief apology for their brother’s absence. Miss Bingley was not mentioned at all; I nevertheless gathered readily enough that his absence has everything to do with her.”
He sighed heavily, removing his hat as they all moved into the house.
“The Hursts had not met Lord Granfield when he previously visited Netherfield. They knew only of the mysterious Mr Grant—Miss Elizabeth’s grandfather—whose presence had so offended Miss Bingley.
Nevertheless, Hurst recognised him before any introduction was made.
” Richard glanced at Granfield, who merely shrugged.
“When he realised that Lord Granfield was Miss Elizabeth’s grandfather, he turned quite ashen and at once explained matters to Mrs Hurst. She was exceedingly apologetic.
Apparently they had already been preparing to send Miss Bingley away when she took it upon herself to quit the neighbourhood and spread her gossip,” Richard concluded.
“So Bingley is at least attempting to address what she has done, after a fashion,” Darcy acknowledged. “I am glad of that, but he ought to have taken steps to counter the gossip as well. Mrs Hurst could have paid calls upon those Miss Bingley visited, at the very least.”
“She said as much and then claimed she felt she could not,” the earl interjected, his mouth tightening. “Neither she nor her sister were particularly well liked by the residents of Hertfordshire, and Mrs Hurst seemed to realise that.”
They entered the foyer, and their conversation faltered as servants stepped forward to assist them. Lord Granfield handed over his gloves with unnecessary force and waited until the doors had closed behind the servants before he spoke again.
Without looking at either man, he turned sharply towards his study.
“Come,” the earl said curtly. “I have no patience to discuss this in a hall full of listening ears.”
Once inside the study, Granfield went at once to the sideboard and poured himself a glass, delaying any offer to the others until a moment later. “Our visit was unsatisfactory in the extreme.”
A short, decisive swallow preceded his next words.
“Hurst spoke my title aloud—without thought—in front of servants who have neither history nor loyalty to restrain their tongues. Mrs Nicholls may attempt to quiet matters, but she cannot un-say what has been said. Servants hear everything, repeat everything, and embellish most of it.”
His expression darkened further. “Once my title becomes known, it will invite speculation—particularly when it has remained a secret for so long. I had hoped to keep Elizabeth clear of that a little longer, at least until I could properly introduce her in Town. Instead, people will begin to weigh her connexion to me and to calculate her potential dowry. A secret of this magnitude will travel quickly,” he added coldly, “and it will not travel unembellished.” His lip curled faintly. “Mrs Bennet alone—”
The thought went unfinished, yet Darcy required no explanation.
From what little he knew of the lady, Mrs Bennet was the sort who would delight in the connexion and would attempt to use it to enhance her own consequence, nor was she a lady inclined to resist the opportunity to solicit favours from those better off than herself.
Lord Granfield set the glass down with a controlled clink.
“I dislike being made an object of curiosity,” came the measured conclusion, “but I despise it far more when Elizabeth is made one. If her inheritance—or her family—becomes the subject of idle calculation, she will be at risk with every militia officer in the neighbourhood.”
Darcy had no difficulty discerning that the earl’s disgust was directed inwardly as much as outwardly—and that beneath it all lay a fierce resolve to prevent further injury, whatever measures that might require. He was a man used to action, unused to waiting for others to act.
“Do you think we ought to go discover where the ladies are calling and escort them home?” Darcy asked.
The earl blew out a slow breath as though seriously considering the action.
He scrubbed his hand down his face before he responded.
“No, I do not believe it is wise to call so much attention to her. The men we brought from London are there for their protection, and gossip does not spread quite so quickly that it would have reached anyone yet, particularly those in the militia.”
Darcy inclined his head in agreement and briefly considered whether this might be the moment to raise another matter—that of his wish to court Miss Elizabeth Bennet—but the thought was forestalled by a discreet knock at the door and the quiet entrance of a servant.
“Mr Darcy,” the butler intoned, “you have received a letter sent via express.”
All three men turned to look at the butler, a little startled by the news and wondering who might have sent a message in this way. Darcy stood and took the proffered letter, promptly tearing it open.
“It is from your mother,” he said, turning to Fitzwilliam. Upon hearing this, the colonel also stood and moved towards him.
Darcy read the letter hastily through, then handed the letter to Fitzwilliam, who let out a shocked whistle upon finishing.
The earl looked between the two gentlemen, his brow furrowed, and then asked, “Well—what does it say?”
“It seems that Miss Bingley is in London with her brother,” Darcy said.
“Last night, she approached my aunt at the theatre and attempted to imply a closeness to me beyond that which exists. Amongst other things, she sought to learn from my aunt where I am staying, having lately discovered that I am not in London.”
He paused, pinching the bridge of his nose in evident frustration as he considered the matter.
“As I doubt my servants would have said anything to her directly, she must either have set someone to watch the house, or be hunting for information by whatever means she may. Much as she did at Netherfield, she attempted to use my Christian name with my aunt, correcting herself only after the fact. My aunt rebuked her rather firmly; nevertheless, she wrote to me so that I might know what is being said.”
Fitzwilliam’s brows shot up. “Damnation,” he said under his breath. “She has abandoned all sense. Her brother as well since it seems he did not rebuke her immediately.”
“You overlooked Bingley’s response, Fitzwilliam,” Darcy said, moving back to his seat.
He stood back up just as quickly and began to pace.
“He did pull her away and apologise, but based on what he said that last day at Netherfield and what Hurst reported to you earlier, I thought he meant to break with her or set her up in her own establishment. Her actions of late have been reprehensible; he ought not reward her with a trip to the theatre.”
“He needs to find her a husband, or a keeper,” the earl offered. “I met the man only for a moment as I departed, but he struck me as a boy playing at being a gentleman. His sister will be a millstone about his neck unless he learns to distance himself from her.”
“Yes,” Darcy agreed, settling once more into his chair.
“I wrote to your mother already, Richard, just after Miss Bingley importuned me on my last day at Netherfield. She did not say as much, but I dare say she had little good to say of the—” He broke off, his mouth tightening.
“I can scarcely call her a lady, can I? She is a—”
“Termagant,” Elizabeth finished for him as she entered the room.
All three gentlemen leapt to their feet to greet the ladies, but Darcy found himself momentarily incapable of anything but gazing at Elizabeth, a softness in his expression that surprised even him.
“How much did you overhear?” he asked.
Elizabeth blushed lightly—not merely, he thought, from having interrupted them, but from his unguarded attention upon her—and though she lowered her eyes, the smile that curved her lips lingered. For a moment, she sat smoothing her glove between her fingers.
“Only the last sentence or so,” she replied, her tone much softer than it had been when she had first spoken.
“I heard enough to know of whom you spoke and thought to suggest a word that was—shall we say—appropriate for us ladies to overhear? Knowing that two of the gentlemen present are more accustomed to the company of soldiers aboard ship, I thought we ought to warn you before you said anything for which you might later feel obliged to apologise.”
Her glance flicked back to his, quick but unmistakable, before she looked away again, the colour in her cheeks deepening rather than fading. She was plainly amused by her own wit; yet Darcy found himself lingering over that brief look and wondering whether it had been meant for him alone.
“I should have called her a harridan,” Georgiana said quietly, her eyes moving between her brother and her friend with a hint of amusement.
Mrs Annesley scolded her at once, but with very little severity.
Darcy held back his laugh; he knew Mrs Annesley had met the woman before and obviously disapproved of her.
Still, he was pleased to see her growing bolder and more assured.
His attention returned at once to Elizabeth, whose colour had not entirely faded.
Only a few weeks in her company, he reflected, and Georgiana was not merely herself again, but something more—confident—and he wondered whether Elizabeth had been equally unaware of the effect she herself produced.
He resolved to speak with Georgiana soon; but first, he must consider what to do about his cousin.
Richard had certainly begun on a wrong foot with Elizabeth, yet he had not failed to notice the growing ease between them.
Ought he to allow that friendship time to discover its own course—or was it already more than he could calmly observe?
He did not know, but neither did he wish to wait indefinitely.