Chapter 12
Darcy’s stance towards Elizabeth’s sisters in relation to his attitude towards Georgiana bothered him, keeping him up most of the night.
It was only natural that he would feel more protective of the latter.
He was, after all, more than her older brother; he was her guardian.
He thought of himself as a father as much as a brother, whereas Elizabeth’s sisters, well—he hardly knew them at all.
Given his first opportunity to make their acquaintance all those months ago at the Meryton assembly, Darcy had gone out of his way to avoid it.
He was revolted by the spectacle the younger girls had made, standing before his friend Bingley and jousting for position to see which would be favoured with Bingley’s attention.
Darcy had once thought them the silliest creatures in the world—uncouth and uncivilised.
Was his marriage to his beloved Elizabeth meant to change all that?
Knowing he had to do better, he decided that he would make an effort to be more of a brother to the younger Bennet sisters, Mary, Kitty and that wild Lydia.
He owed it to his wife to try, at least, did he not?
He vowed to head over to Longbourn first thing that morning and speak with Geoffrey Collins about the younger girls’ propensity to admire George Wickham.
He would strongly advocate that Collins, in his self-appointed capacity as head of the Bennet family in his father-in-law’s stead, take control of the situation.
He certainly did not look forward to that, for although he and the gentleman were civil, their mutual cordiality could be described as tenuous at best.
Upon his arrival at Longbourn, Darcy paced outside the library. Collins had the audacity to keep him waiting for a private audience. How dare he? Once they were seated face-to-face on opposite sides of Mr Bennet’s desk, Darcy wasted no time in addressing his purpose in being there.
“Collins, I have a matter of a rather delicate nature that I wish to discuss with you. It has to do with the youngest Bennet daughters,” he cleared his throat, “our sisters.”
“I think I know what you are about to say, Darcy. It has not escaped my notice that the younger girls suffer the mischief of neglect and mistaken indulgence, but I believe I have already taken measures to rein them in. I have two young daughters of my own, and I am not at all pleased by the example the younger Bennet girls set.”
“It seems that finally we have something we can agree upon.”
“I would not go as far as that, but I will hear what you have to say.”
“My immediate concern has to do with their wont of cavorting with the militia, specifically the officer named George Wickham.”
“George Wickham? I do not believe you could be more mistaken.” Collins leaned back in his chair.
“If you mean to persuade me against him, you will meet with no success. The lieutenant is a decent, upstanding fellow who has been dealt an unfortunate injustice.” Reaching for his pipe, Geoffrey Collins cleared his throat.
“The gentleman and I embarked upon a lengthy discourse on his travails. I am certain I do not need to say more, for as intimate as you are with the gentleman, you can have no doubt of the nature of his grievances.”
“I admit it does not come as a surprise to me that George Wickham would tell his version of our history to anyone who is gullible enough to believe what he has to say.”
“It is not very hard to believe him when I have been the direct recipient of your displeasure myself.”
“Pray, you are not clinging still to the notion that I am the reason you failed to secure Elizabeth’s hand in marriage.”
“Actually, all that is neither here nor there. All I am saying is that what Mr Wickham related is entirely in keeping with the man whom I know you to be. Hence, I will not listen to a word you have to say against the gentleman.”
“I am sorry to hear you say that, for you have appointed yourself as head of the Bennet family, and along with that distinction comes the responsibility of protecting the younger girls, does it not?”
“I will not argue your point, and, as I have said, I have given this matter some thought. I assure you I have the situation under control.”
“How so—if you do not mind my asking?”
“To be honest with you, Darcy, I do mind your asking. This is Longbourn, not Pemberley, and I will not be second guessed.”
“It is a shame to hear you speak this way. We need not be adversaries, especially when it comes to a matter such as this. The girls’ comportment is just as much of consequence to me as it is to you.”
“And there is the point. What concerns you most is that Longbourn House might bring shame upon the hallowed Darcy name. How it must vex you not to be in control of every detail of your otherwise perfectly arranged life.”
Of course it bothered him. Scandal of any kind was Darcy’s abhorrence. The prospect of some disgrace that might befall either of the youngest Bennet daughters, bringing shame upon his family and affecting Georgiana’s chances of marital felicity, was too much to hazard.
Darcy stood and prepared to take his leave.
“I had hoped to find you reasonable. However, I see now that your own pride makes that impossible. You ought to know that I will be keeping watch over this matter. I will take whatever action I deem necessary to protect my family, regardless of anything you have to say.”
Darcy might have known he would have no success at all in dealing with Geoffrey Collins, but it could not be said that he did not try. Although his mood was much darker when Darcy descended the front stairs and made his way across the paddock, the burden on his conscience was lighter by far.