Chapter VI #2
“That is beyond a customary measure of dissipation,” said Bennet, eyebrows raised.
“It is,” agreed Darcy. “Yet, when the living fell vacant a year ago, Wickham dared to approach me for the preferment, and this even when he was not an ordained minister.”
“If I did not know how truthful you are,” commented Hurst, “I might wonder if you have embellished this account.”
“Trust me, Hurst,” replied Darcy, “if anything, I have understated George Wickham’s sins.”
“That is all well and good,” replied Bennet, now coming to the point, “but I have one question. Did you never think to warn the neighborhood about the viper in our midst?”
When Darcy roused himself to protest, Bennet held up his hand.
“There is no need to say more than you must, Darcy, and I understand your aversion to this man. Yet you could have at least given us a warning. This Wickham has been in Meryton for a month now—there is no telling how much debt he has or how many women he has importuned. If you recall, I have five daughters I must protect.”
“I mentioned the matter to Miss Elizabeth,” said Darcy, though Bennet could hear the defensive quality in his response.
“Oh? Then it did not take root; Elizabeth said nothing on the subject. What did you tell her? It is not like Lizzy to keep something like that to herself.”
Darcy appeared embarrassed. “The subject arose at Bingley’s ball. When she accused me of blasting Wickham’s prospects, I told her to take care, as Wickham’s friendships never last long.”
Hurst regarded Darcy with the incredulous stare that Bennet knew adorned his face. “Do you call that a warning, Darcy? It seems Miss Elizabeth already believed Wickham—do you suppose that was enough to put her on her guard?”
The justice of the charge appeared to reach Darcy, as he grimaced. “Again, I must blame my disinclination to have anything to do with Wickham’s intrigues for my actions. Perhaps I might have thought better and offered a more substantial warning.”
“Then what should we do about him?”
“Inform the colonel and let him handle it,” opined Hurst. “Darcy is correct—Wickham is not his responsibility.”
“That would be for the best,” said Darcy, nodding to Hurst. “Should Wickham’s actions have caused trouble with the merchants through my inaction, I shall clear his debts once more—but I shall not do so again.”
Bennet eyed him, knowing even this much was difficult for Darcy to extend himself. With any luck, should Wickham have accumulated debts in Meryton, the colonel could discover it and send him to debtor’s prison. Then they would be rid of him forever.
“Very well, I agree,” said Bennet. “Let us hope the damage he has done is minimal.”
Then Bennet turned to Bingley, who had remained silent, likely eager to stay beneath Bennet’s notice.
The man flinched when he saw Bennet’s eyes on him, but he stiffened his spine and returned Bennet’s gaze without looking away.
Given what Bennet suspected of the man’s sister, that was an encouraging sign—Jane, though confident, was not one to take the lead, which meant her husband needed to be capable of firmness when the situation demanded.
This was even more important when faced with a sister who was of a forceful disposition.
“Now, let us speak of your sudden return, sir.” Bennet glanced at Hurst. “I understand Hurst here lured you to Hertfordshire again.
I shall not inquire into the reasons for your absence, as I do not think they signify.
What you should know is that Jane has been miserable this past month, and I will not have her peace of mind destroyed again.
“Let me be blunt, Bingley—if you are here to toy with Jane’s feelings, you can get in your carriage and return to London.”
“Mr. Bennet!” gasped Bingley.
Then he thought better of it, for he paused and calmed himself before making a response.
“No, I should not protest your understanding of my character—you have no reason to think well of me, given my disappearance.
If you will pardon me, the fault is not entirely mine, as some circumstances led me to believe my presence was not so welcome as I thought.
Now, however, I have a complete understanding of the situation and shall not be moved from my purpose.
“If you do not trust me, I do not blame you, Mr. Bennet. I should like a chance to prove myself worthy of your eldest daughter.”
“You are free to visit as often as you like,” replied Bennet. “I shall not stop you, and my daughter would not forgive me if I did. Know, however, that if you pay attention to Jane like you did in the autumn, I shall expect a proposal to follow.”
“I understand, Mr. Bennet.”
“Yes, I hope so. Your honor was nearly engaged last time—I dare say it will be engaged much sooner if you follow the same path.”
“I understand the situation. I have no qualms about it, as I shall not raise expectations I do not mean to meet.”
“Very well,” said Bennet. “Then we may return to the sitting-room and the ladies.”
DARCY THOUGHT THAT both he and Bingley had escaped not only with their dignity intact but with an easier outcome than he might have expected.
Mr. Bennet would have been well within his rights to not only ban Bingley from Longbourn altogether but also take Darcy to task for his oversight regarding Wickham.
Mrs. Bennet was as she had been before they departed the sitting-room—manic in her desire to pair Bingley with her eldest daughter, but she might as well have left them alone.
Miss Bennet was not averse to Bingley’s presence, and Bingley was eager to make up for lost time.
Darcy watched them, wondering whether his estimation of Miss Bennet had been mistaken.
The situation now was beyond any advice he would attempt to offer his friend.
Darcy had already given his opinion; now it was Bingley’s responsibility to proceed or withdraw, his current behavior confirming he had chosen the former.
If it was a mistake, then Bingley would need to endure it—Darcy had done all that he could, had overstepped by some estimations.
With that decided, Darcy turned his attention to others in the room.
The youngest Bennets were sitting together in conversation, for once not consisting of giggles, while the middle daughter, Mary, had a book in her hands, though Darcy did not think she was reading.
Bingley and Miss Bennet were together, of course, speaking with as much animation as they ever did.
Miss Elizabeth was the nearest to him, quieter than Darcy could ever remember.
As she was not engaged with anyone, and Darcy was far more comfortable speaking with her than anyone else in her family, he considered what he might say to command her attention.
The words did not come, and Darcy thought after a moment that the affliction had often been present in her company, though ironically not when they were debating something.
For several moments, he thought of introducing a subject she would disagree with, just to converse with her, but something held him back.
Instead, the other two people in the room caught his attention.
Before they had gone to Mr. Bennet’s study, Mrs. Bennet had introduced them as Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, Mrs. Bennet’s relations from London.
They were the infamous couple in trade, the people Miss Bingley had derided every chance she had after Miss Bennet had confessed the connection, not seeing the hypocrisy of calling out people for their profession when the fortune her father had provided her had come from the same source. That was Miss Bingley in a nutshell.
The Gardiners, however, were not what Darcy expected.
Mr. Gardiner was a man in his late thirties or early forties, a little heavyset, but possessing sharp, intelligent eyes that Darcy thought missed little.
Mrs. Gardiner was a woman of perhaps five and thirty years, pretty and elegant, one who spoke softly and did not emulate the manners of gentlefolk.
They were both that way—exhibiting the manners he might expect of gentry with little effort, as if such behavior were natural rather than learned.
“Mr. Darcy,” said Mrs. Gardiner, seeming to sense his scrutiny, “you may not recall, but we are acquainted.”
Though nonplused, Darcy knew at once the woman was not speaking to claim an acquaintance like he had seen more times than he cared to recall. “I beg your pardon, Mrs. Gardiner, but you are correct.”
Mrs. Gardiner smiled. “It was not a close acquaintance, but I lived for some years in Lambton as a girl. My father was the rector there, Reverend Cantwell.”
Though surprised, Darcy recalled at once. “You are Madeleine Cantwell?”
“I am,” replied Mrs. Gardiner, pleased that he had remembered. “Then you remember something of me.”
“Bits and pieces only,” said Darcy. “I recall going to Lambton often in the summer. You are five or six years older, if memory serves.”
“I am four and thirty,” agreed Mrs. Gardiner with a grin. “I seem to remember certain incidents in Lambton—you were always willing to stir up trouble.”
“Not at all. It was Wickham who was more often the instigator of such hijinks.”
Mrs. Gardiner nodded, though distracted. “That is the curious part, sir—when my nieces told me about Mr. Wickham, I searched my memory, but I do not recall him at all.”
Darcy nodded, not wanting to speak of such a disagreeable subject.
The conversation turned to reminiscing about their youth, recalling certain events from different perspectives.
From there, they turned to other matters, the state of Lambton, not current to be certain, but far newer than any she possessed.
Darcy wondered at the improbable circumstances that had led to the renewal of their acquaintance all these years after he had last seen her.
The connection had never been one of close friendship, for their difference in age alone made that unlikely.
Rather, they had been acquaintances, those who knew each other by sight but possessed nothing deeper.
To Darcy’s consternation he discovered Mr. Gardiner was a match for his wife in every particular.
It was not unwelcome knowledge, but more irritation with himself for making assumptions when he did not know the man in question.
As he spoke with the man’s wife, Mr. Gardiner was attentive, making a comment or a jest, becoming a more active participant as the subject turned to business.
Darcy should have known better. To suppose that a man was a mirror image of his sister was naught but silliness—Bingley and his sister, Darcy’s uncle and his aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, and even Darcy and Georgiana were all excellent examples of siblings who little resembled each other.
Mr. Gardiner seemed to understand Darcy’s unstated thoughts, for he raised the subject himself.
“I see the disparity between Margaret and me confuses you,” said he in a shrewd tone.
When Darcy spoke to apologize, Mr. Gardiner waved him off. “Do not concern yourself, for it is nothing I have not heard before.”
Mr. Gardiner regarded his sister, who was watching her eldest daughter and Bingley, his expression a mix of exasperation and affection. “My father was the solicitor in Meryton. When my mother died young, Father left my sisters to fend for themselves and focused his attention on me.
“It was not well done,” said Mr. Gardiner with a shrug, “though at the time I thought little of it. As I was to carry on my father’s name—and for a time, he hoped his profession—I was of more consequence to him than my sisters.
I was educated at Eton and then Cambridge, while my sisters grew to become adults with no one but themselves for guidance.
They are good women, but both struggle to know how to behave. ”
“The entail makes it worse,” opined Mrs. Gardiner. “It has terrified Maggie so long that she pushes boundaries without even knowing they exist.”
“I knew about the entail,” said Darcy, understanding Mrs. Bennet a little better, “but I had not considered it from her perspective.”
Mr. Gardiner smiled. “My sister is not all ambition and mercenary interest in wealthy husbands, Mr. Darcy—there is little to support her and the girls should the worst happen to my brother, and my sister believes marriage is the path to true security for both her daughters and herself. It leads to her ill-judged behavior.”
“And yet, your two eldest nieces display excellent manners.”
The couple before him laughed. “I noticed what you did not say about the younger girls,” said Mr. Gardiner, shaking his head with mirth.
When Darcy opened his mouth to apologize, the man waved him off. “There is no need to retract your comment, Mr. Darcy, for it is nothing less than the truth.”
“Jane and Elizabeth are more naturally disposed to good behavior,” added Mrs. Gardiner. “They also stayed with us when they were young—before our own children consumed our time. Kitty and Lydia are good girls at heart, but they are still immature.”
Darcy nodded and changed the subject, knowing he had already said more than he should.
Mr. Gardiner spoke of his business and contacts, some of whom included members of the gentry, and they discussed the benefits of living in London compared to the country and other such subjects.
Darcy found he had not been so entertained by a conversation in some time—the Gardiners were excellent people, unconfined by their position in society.
When Darcy left, he did so with an interest in keeping the acquaintance.
The overture would need to come from his side, given his position as the higher in society, but Mr. Gardiner had provided his address before they parted. Darcy meant to use it.