Chapter 13
Drawing Room
Longbourn
The Next Morning
It was a pleasant, sunny day outside, and there was plenty of light coming through the window to clearly illuminate Elizabeth's needle and thread and the swathe of cotton through which she was plying them.
Jane was relaxed on the sofa nearby, a book from the library open in her hands and sunlight falling full on the page.
Kitty and Lydia were seated at the table in the far corner, their heads bent close together as they pored over the fashion plates in the latest copy of the Ladies' Monthly Museum, which had arrived at the local subscription library a few days ago.
Elizabeth glanced towards the fire where her mother, Mary, and Mr. Collins were sitting.
Mrs. Bennet had been cast into transports by the news that one of her daughters was to marry their cousin and one day be mistress of Longbourn.
Though her ecstatic shrieks of joy had mercifully abated in volume, her delight had lost nothing of its fullness.
She was, perhaps predictably, full of plans for Mary's new wardrobe, which consisted of a dozen new hats and bonnets, nearly twice that many gowns in colors that would befit a married woman, fine new petticoats, and multiple pairs of gloves, stockings and shoes.
Mary was patiently discouraging all of these fanciful plans, reminding her mother that she was, after all, going to be a simple parson's wife and would need but a few practical gowns and a hat or two. Mr. Collins only rarely had to interject a prudent, soothing comment, and mainly sat in admiration of Mary’s skillful opposition to her mother's extravagance.
Mrs. Bennet was not daunted, but she accepted the rejection of her plans for her daughter's bride-clothes with equanimity, only to immediately produce new ones from her fashionable imagination.
Elizabeth stared down at her sewing, checking the set of her stitches, shifted her fabric, and then looked again at the grouping around the fire.
Mr. Collins was smiling kindly at Mary, and perhaps even affectionately.
He was, Elizabeth recognized, genuinely a man of good sense.
Poor Mary was not accustomed to receiving the attentions of gentlemen above her prettier sisters, but Mr. Collins, like the Truth he preached, had seen past her plainer exterior to her good, loyal, dutiful, kind heart.
Elizabeth applauded his wisdom in selecting Mary to be his bride rather than pursuing the beautiful Jane or her own self.
Mary would make him a good wife. Her sober-minded disposition would be excellent for serving parishioners, and her piety was the greatest among the sisters.
Elizabeth was truly happy that Mary was to be wed and the mistress of her own home.
Mary's own face was aglow, her smile brilliant when she looked at the man who was to be her husband.
“When do you think you will wed?” Mrs. Bennet asked eagerly, her eyes shining.
Mary and Mr. Collins exchanged glances, and he said, “I would like to marry as soon as possible, but I need to return to Hunsford to make arrangements for Mary’s arrival at the parsonage. Perhaps in the middle of December?”
“Oh, that would be marvelous! We will be able to purchase the appropriate wedding garments, and yes, I understand that you need practical clothes, but we will … in any case, that will also allow me to plan the wedding breakfast. Oh, Mary! Mrs. Collins, how well it sounds!”
The door opened at this moment to reveal the Bennets’ butler with three members of the Netherfield party at his heels.
“Miss Bingley, Mr. Darcy, and Mr. Bingley,” the man intoned, and then retreated.
As happy as Mrs. Bennet was at the newly formed engagement, she was not the sort of woman to lose sight of the fact that Mr. Bingley was a possible husband for Jane.
“Come in, come in!” she cried hospitably. “I hope you are all well today?”
“We are very well, yes,” Mr. Bingley said cheerfully. “How are you?”
“Oh, we are very well indeed,” Mrs. Bennet said. “I do not know if you heard that Mr. Collins is engaged to Mary.”
“I had not!” Bingley said, turning a cheerful look on Mary and her betrothed. “Congratulations to you both!”
“Thank you,” Mary said shyly, and Mr. Collins chimed in, “We are very happy.”
“But sit down, please,” Mrs. Bennet said.
The party did so, and Elizabeth was gratified when Mr. Bingley, as usual, made his way to Jane’s side.
Caroline Bingley had only barely settled into her own chair before she said, “We are planning to host a ball at Netherfield in the next week or so.”
Mrs. Bennet turned a beaming look on her eldest daughter and said, “Oh, we will all enjoy that very much!”
“Indeed we will,” Elizabeth agreed truthfully. She adored dancing, and the Netherfield ballroom was a lovely one.
“Will the officers be invited as well?” Lydia piped up from the corner.
Mr. Bingley directed an amiable look on the younger girls and said, “Oh yes, most definitely. I daresay all of the gentlemen will be fighting for the privilege of dancing with each of you ladies.”
“Oh, thank you!” Lydia exclaimed. “I am so excited.”
She turned toward Kitty and continued, “I only hope that Lieutenant Wickham will ask for my first set.”
Elizabeth’s gaze shifted instantly toward Mr. Darcy and watched as the gentleman’s eyes widened and his jaw clenched.
“Lieutenant Wickham?” Bingley said. “I do not remember meeting a gentleman by that name.”
“Oh, he just joined the militia,” Kitty exclaimed. “He is definitely the most handsome gentleman in the regiment, and we are all half in love with him!”
“May I inquire what he looks like?” Mr. Darcy asked stiffly.
“He has dark blond hair,” Lydia said dreamily.
“And the clearest blue eyes,” Kitty gushed.
“He is about Mr. Bingley’s height,” Lydia added.
“And has a wonderfully fine figure,” Kitty finished.
Darcy had become noticeably pale, and Elizabeth said carefully, “Mr. Wickham mentioned that you and he have met, Mr. Darcy. I believe he grew up near your home estate of Pemberley?”
“Oh!” Bingley said, appearing uneasy. “Well, I daresay I will meet him in time! Now, may I inquire as to what days would be convenient for the ball?”
He was looking at Jane, but it was Mrs. Bennet who said, “Oh, we are quite available for at least the next fortnight. Mary and Mr. Collins hope to wed in the middle of December, but that is still quite a while still.”
“Excellent,” Bingley said, and Miss Bingley rose and declared, “We will send invitations as soon as we have settled on a date.”
Bingley looked startled, but he too rose, as did Mr. Darcy, though he seemed to be moving as if in a dream, and the visitors departed.
Elizabeth watched them go with a knitted brow and a worried heart. Mr. Darcy was obviously upset at the news that Mr. Wickham was in the area. She knew him to be an honorable man, so it seemed likely that Wickham himself was not as good as he appeared to be.
***
Bingley carriage
A Few Minutes Later
Ordinarily, Darcy would enjoy the view outside the carriage.
Meryton and its environs were a charming locale, with pleasant groves of trees and fields settling down for their winter sleep.
Today, however, his eyes were focused not on the forest but on the glass of the carriage window.
He was far too stunned, distressed, and angry to think about beauty.
“Is everything all right, Darcy?” Bingley asked.
Darcy jerked in surprise and turned toward his companions. His friend looked genuinely concerned, while Miss Bingley looked eagerly curious.
“Yes,” he said immediately, and then he sighed. “But then again, no. I am most displeased to hear that Mr. Wickham is in Meryton.”
Bingley frowned. “I do not remember you ever mentioning the man before.”
Darcy grimaced and said, “I dislike speaking of or even thinking about him. His father, a very fine man, served as steward of Pemberley for many years, and my own father trusted him entirely. Sadly, his son has proven less honorable, and we have been at odds for some years now.”
“If you like,” Bingley offered, “I need not send an invitation to the man.”
Darcy considered this for a full minute and then said, “No, that is not necessary. He is, I think, a little afraid of me and will not approach me in company. Indeed, he may well not attend at all. In any case, you would find it difficult socially to exclude him, not without excluding the other officers too. It would cause talk, which is not what you or I wish for.”
“Well,” Miss Bingley said hotly, “I think it is monstrous that you should have to deal with the man, and indeed, it is most insolent of him to come here at all!”
Darcy was privately of the view that if Wickham had known of his presence in the area, he would not have dared to join the regiment at Meryton.
Truly, it was only Darcy’s concern for Georgiana’s reputation and tender heart that had prevented him from grasping Wickham by the collar, throwing him into a nearby carriage and hauling him off to Marshalsea prison for debt!
Sometimes he wished had done exactly that, but then he thought of Georgiana’s tears and her difficulty in understanding that Wickham’s tender speeches had not been due to genuine affection, but avarice.
Darcy knew he had done the right thing in sending away Wickham and the treacherous governess, Mrs. Younge.
He had hoped never again to be within fifty miles of George Wickham, but alas, fate obviously had different plans.
***
Old Stables
Netherfield Hall
Two Days Later
Caroline Bingley’s heart beat quickly as she followed her brother and Mr. Darcy into the old stables.
She did not, of course, care much about archery for its own sake. She did care a great deal about Mr. Darcy and his potential interest in her new hobby, and she was optimistic that this would prove a powerful lure for the gentleman.
The door closed behind her, and two servants scurried here and there to light the lanterns which hung from various nails in order to make it easy to see the target.
Darcy looked around and then turned to Caroline. “I believe it is sensible for the initial distance to be quite short, since you have never shot arrows before.”
“That seems wise,” Caroline returned with a humble smile.
“Allow me.” Darcy picked up the larger of the bows, tested the draw, and nocked an arrow, pulling it back.
“Observe my form,” he directed.
Caroline was already admiring it. “How straight you are standing, Mr. Darcy!”
He let the arrow fly, and it sank deep six or seven inches from the center of the target. “Like so. Your turn, Miss Bingley.”
She picked up the bow, running curious hands along the wood.
“Now plant your feet,” he said. “Yes, good. And you nock the arrow…” He inspected her attempts to do this. “Support it there. Yes, good. Now draw it back, keeping your left arm straight.”
Caroline did so with a slow breath. Charles, watching, was of little account, but she was acutely conscious of her anxiety at attempting this unfamiliar form of exercise.
Early failure was to be expected when learning any new skill, but she did not wish to be embarrassed in front of Mr. Darcy.
Even as a small child, she had despised imperfection in her own abilities.
There was nothing for it, however, for in order to improve, she must at first fail, and she must improve in order to impress Mr. Darcy with her athleticism and determination.
She let the arrow fly and winced as it fell short and skittered across the floor behind and wide of the target.
“Well, that is disappointing,” she tittered, trying for a light nonchalance completely at variance with the churning of her stomach.
“It was quite acceptable for a first attempt,” Mr. Darcy praised. “Sometimes the arrow does not fly at all but falls to the floor directly in front of the novice archer.”
“I should like to try, Darcy,” Charles said, stepping forward and taking the gentleman’s bow from his friend.
Hiding her annoyance, Caroline stepped back so that her brother might take a turn and picked up an arrow to hold for her next turn She watched closely as Mr. Darcy coached Charles through his first shot, and she silently cheered when it was no better than her own.
She stepped up to the mark again, putting her arrow to the string and pulling her shoulder blades towards each other.
“Like this?” she asked confidently.
Mr. Darcy examined her stance with a faint frown. “Not so much. Your right elbow back more, yes, that is better.”
Caroline let fly with her next breath and lit up with excitement at the thunk of the arrow.
She had not hit the target, but even though her arrow had fallen short once more, it had at least been on target to find its mark in the wood.
She had a long road to go still, but it was an improvement and only her second shot.
She was almost cheerful as she gave way to Charles for his second shot, massaging her already sore fingers through the archer’s glove she had acquired from London.
With eagerness and passion, she stepped back up to the line for her third shot, and she cheered as her arrow stuck at the very bottom of the target.
Her further two shots went further from the mark, but Caroline accepted this with equanimity.
Charles was not developing the skill any more rapidly than was she, and Mr. Darcy was standing by looking pleased and approving.
Practice would make perfect, as with any other accomplishment.
She unstrung the bow as she looked at the target and wondered whether Charles would gather the arrows or if she needed to suggest it to him.
Darcy said, “With all due respect to both of you, I propose that we stop for now. Archery requires considerable strength, and I daresay all of our right arms will be aching tomorrow.”
Caroline cast a disappointed look at her bow, but she nodded. “It was great fun, but I suppose it would be unwise to do too much on the first day.”
“It was fun!” Charles agreed with a chuckle. “I hope you do not mind, Caroline, if I join you again some mornings!”
“Both of you are welcome any time you wish,” Caroline returned dulcetly, sporting a small smile.