Chapter 24
Breakfast Parlor
Netherfield
The Next Day
The breakfast parlor was quiet as a solitary figure at the table munched through a plate full of ham and eggs and toast. Darcy was pleased at being alone, as he was in no mood for any company.
One of the reasons that Darcy was not particularly fond of balls was that they lasted into the wee hours, which meant that he could either sleep in very late or be sadly short on rest.
Darcy was by nature an early riser, enjoyed the morning hours, and had woken only an hour past his usual time, and for this reason, he was very tired. He would, of course, survive one short night with ease and was happy to have the leisure to eat his breakfast without interruption.
Not unnaturally, the previous night’s ball was foremost in his mind.
He was pleased with Serena’s conduct. She had carried herself creditably, especially for her first ball.
In London, she would have to become accustomed to late evenings and staying past the supper set, but for now in Meryton, she could practice socializing in stages and retire when it became too much for her.
He was proud of her; he knew that events such as balls were rather overwhelming for her, but she had comported herself graciously.
Yet, that was not all that occupied his thoughts.
There was another lady who drew his attention, who had even, to his mingled delight and chagrin, filled his dreams during the few hours of his sleep the previous night.
The flashing eyes and brilliant smile of Miss Elizabeth Bennet were well on their way to captivating his mind, and indeed, the memory of her slim fingers in his during their dances made his stomach swoop oddly.
It was an unaccustomed, yet welcome, sensation.
It seemed that his decision to not marry Anne de Bourgh had burst a dam of emotion that he did not know existed. He was, he realized, falling in love with the enchanting Miss Elizabeth. Such a vibrant spirit, such a sharp mind, such kindness, such beauty, entirely allured him.
On the other hand, was she worthy of a Darcy of Pemberley?
Her maternal lineage was excellent, but her paternal heritage was that of trade and tradesmen looking to increase their consequence in the world.
Though Darcy looked on some members of that class generously enough, Bingley was a close friend, after all.
He was not at all sure how his own relations would react to an announcement of a marriage with such a lady.
The Darcys were an old and respected family; would she be deemed worthy to marry into an earl’s family; a viscount’s granddaughter was not below the notice of a Darcy, but a Cit’s granddaughter might be considered to be so.
Darcy took another bite of ham and chewed slowly, considering.
Miss Bennet’s natural father was dead, and her stepfather was a landed gentleman, if a modest one.
Her mother remained alive to substantiate the more advantageous of the connections, whilst, if he understood correctly, the tradesman grandfather had left no other close living relatives to lend further awkwardness.
She was also, rumor had it, an heiress, not that he needed additional funds given his own vast wealth.
Darcy was confident that if he began pursuing Miss Elizabeth, his sisters, at least, would not object.
Both Serena and Georgiana liked her very well, and why should they not?
Miss Elizabeth was unfailingly kind to both of them, intelligent enough to keep up with Serena in conversation, graceful enough to smooth over any awkwardness or shyness from the two younger, less experienced girls, and stood on terms of easy, comfortable familiarity with them.
More than once, both of his sisters had expressed to him their appreciation of her friendship, and Serena seemed especially taken with her, having so rarely met another lady who shared her passionate love of books and learning of interesting subjects outside the normal realm of a lady’s education.
Darcy could not imagine Miss Bingley being willing, much less enthusiastic, about spending hours speaking of Egyptian history or astral ship navigation.
Now, there was someone who would not be at all pleased if Darcy obeyed the tugging of his heart and began to pursue Miss Elizabeth.
He was well aware that Miss Bingley had every intention of eliciting an offer from him, and he was equally determined to never show her the slightest encouragement.
He knew this would not deter that strong-willed lady, who was not at all accustomed to being thwarted.
And should she suspect she had a dedicated rival, she was more than capable of making the lives of all within her orbit mightily uncomfortable.
Still, Darcy had no intentions of letting the threat of vapors and hysteria deter him from his chosen course of action.
Should he decide to pursue Miss Elizabeth, he would do so, whatever strident objections Miss Bingley may make.
Another potential problem suddenly occurred to him.
He was accustomed to being pursued by matchmaking mammas and their ambitious offspring, but he had never given serious consideration of how to woo a lady who had managed to draw his interest. How did one begin to court an enchanting lady who, while friendly and cheerful, did not cast out a single lure toward him?
The door opened and the butler of Netherfield entered with a letter on a silver platter.
“An express has just arrived for you, sir,” the man said solemnly, and Darcy felt his heart rate speed up instantly. An express?
He was on his feet in a moment and reached over to take the missive from the tray. He ripped it open in haste, recognized the handwriting of his butler, and carried the paper over to the window so that the light fell on it.
18th November 1811
Pemberley
Dear Sir,
I regret to inform you that Mr. Godfrey died suddenly yesterday after a short illness. Doctor Severn oversaw his illness and subsequent decline and death and told me that he is confident that his death was not due to contagion but rather some sort of abdominal distress.
Please send us a message as soon as possible as to what you wish to do.
Sincerely,
Mr. Isaac Reynolds
Darcy sank back down into his chair with a groan. Mr. Godfrey dead! The man had been steward of Pemberley for four years now and had done a marvelous job of overseeing the vast estate. Given that the man was not yet five and forty, his sudden death was a shock.
It was a sad end to a very fine individual, but it was also a problem for Darcy. November was not as busy a time as spring and summer, but an estate the size of Pemberley always needed someone looking after the tenants and the farms and the…
He would, he realized suddenly, have to return to Pemberley as quickly as possible. There was no other option. And that meant, of course, that he would not be able to pursue Elizabeth Bennet, at least not now.
He experienced a stab of disappointment at this realization, but his rational side wondered if this was, perhaps, for the best. He had never felt romantic attraction before, and he had to wonder if his feelings toward the tantalizing Miss Elizabeth were mere infatuation, or something deeper and steadier.
He would see her next spring during the Season, and if he was still drawn to her, well, he could court her then.
Of course, the lady was apparently an heiress, and her mother the daughter of a viscount…
If he did not pursue her now, would he lose his chance?
It was a terrifying and peculiar thought. He had always been the one being chased, not the chaser.
But he truly had no choice in the matter. He was the master of Pemberley, and it was his responsibility to oversee the estate. With Mr. Godfrey dead, he and his sisters must return to Pemberley as quickly as possible.
He could only hope and pray that if he and Miss Elizabeth were meant for one another, he would have an opportunity the following spring.
***
Lucas Lodge
11 O’clock in the Morning
Charlotte Lucas stared into the mirror gravely.
She had only slept four hours and looked a trifle heavy-eyed, but her skin was fashionably pale, at least. Her hair was boring, of course, being straight and of an indeterminate brown.
She quickly twisted it into a serviceable bun and inspected her blue day dress to be certain that it did not have any tears or stains.
Satisfied, she walked over to the window seat, which looked out over the lane, which led from Lucas Lodge to the main road. Her mother had told her that she was welcome to stay in her bedchamber until noon today, given that she had been up so late last night.
She generally assisted in the kitchen every morning, so her mother’s kindness was much appreciated, though it also left her time to wonder, hope, and yes, worry.
Would Mr. Collins come through? He was due to leave for Kent on the morrow, and … and…
And there he was, walking up the driveway!
She was on her feet in an instant, grabbed a shawl to wrap around her shoulders, and hurried out the back stairs to the side door. She rushed to the corner of the house and forced herself to slow down before stepping onto the lane.
Mr. Collins was but ten feet away, and his plump face lit up at spying her.
“Miss Lucas, how wonderful to see you this morning! I hope you are well after the festivities of last night?”
She smiled at him. “Oh yes, I am very well. And how are you?”
“Oh, I slept delightfully, though not long, of course, since we returned home quite late last night. But I cannot protest, because when one is in society, it is expected that … but come, I did not walk over here to discuss the ball, but you, Miss Lucas. I admire you greatly, and love you even more, and am confident that you are the perfect wife for me. Miss Lucas, will you accept my hand in marriage?”
She was amazed that the offer had indeed been made and pleased that her suitor had managed to do so in a remarkably cogent and concise fashion.
“I would be delighted and honored to be your wife,” she responded quickly.
“Oh, Miss Lucas, Charlotte, you have made me the very happiest of men, I assure you! Shall we ask your esteemed father and mother for their blessings on our union?”
“By all means.”
***
Study
Parsonage
Meryton
“Lieutenant Wickham,” the maid announced, and then retreated, leaving Wickham with Mr. Allen.
“Mr. Wickham, come in and sit down, please,” the clergyman said, gesturing toward a chair near the fire. “It is rather a chilly morning, so allow me to add another log.
Wickham obediently took the chair, aware of a surge of surprise. He had not bothered to attend church yet and had vaguely assumed that Mr. Allen would be an old, doddering fellow with silver hair and stooped shoulders.
Allen was, he thought, not yet five and forty years of age, and his dark hair had only a few threads of silver. The parson was also surprisingly muscular, which suggested that the man did not confine himself to sitting behind a desk studying books all day.
Allen’s ministrations caused the fire to expand pleasantly, and Wickham held out his hands towards the flames. It was a cold day.
“Well, Lieutenant, what can I do for you?”
Wickham hesitated. He was favorably impressed with Mr. Allen’s appearance, and Mrs. Bennet had recommended him as a spiritual guide, but it was difficult to admit one’s failings to a stranger.
But then again, what was the point of being here at all if he was not going to be honest?
He needed help; he knew that. The ball the previous night had been an oasis of pleasure in the midst of a dull life, but he did not truly think he could keep on without giving into the desire to drink alcohol, to play cards with his fellow officers, especially since those very same officers were already harassing him about his decision to spend most of his time in his room…
“I need your counsel, sir,” he said. “I acted the fool for many years in a number of areas, in particular regarding my spending, and am trying hard to stay solvent, but my old habits are difficult to resist…”