Chapter Council
Council
Fitzwilliam Darcy sat in the library of his London townhouse, staring morosely into the fire and listening to the ghost of his father trying to teach him to be a gentleman.
A man must consider his family, his tenants, his descendants… but most importantly, at any given time he must give his every attention to whoever is standing before him.
How disappointed would his father be, were he to know how low he had sunk? Had he truly made a proposal that included insulting his intended? Had he truly used the word ‘degradation’? Had there ever been a worse proposal… ever?
He was reaching for the brandy when his cousins entered.
“Anne. Richard. Welcome back.”
His distress was evident, so Anne refrained from exacerbating it, rightly assuming he was perfectly capable of doing so himself.
“Fitzwilliam, you need to speak with Jane Bennet.”
“Jane Bennet? I thought you went to enquire of her aunt.”
“I did, but only Jane was there.”
“Jane?”
“Yes, Jane! We formed a friendship, surprisingly enough. She will attend a ball with me on Tuesday next.”
“You are the only one surprised, Anne,” Darcy said, chuckling. “I am not in the least shocked you make friends once you venture out. I am delighted to see you finally escaping Rosings, and I believe you and Miss Bennet will get on well.”
“Thank you, Cousin.”
Unwilling to think much about Jane Bennet, Darcy asked, “Did you learn anything from her?”
Anne looked embarrassed. “You do realise I went in without an introduction? I believe I did well enough, but I could not betray your confidence—or Miss Elizabeth’s for that matter—so I could not tell her what occurred. You need to talk to her. She is close to her sister. She should know.”
“Yes, I believe I must—if I can but determine how.”
“Let us see. You own a horse, a barouche, a carriage, a landau, a…”
“I take your meaning.”
“All it requires is courage, but if you are not in a hurry, I would appreciate you waiting until after the ball.”
“Of course.”
Anne brightened. “I am not entirely without news. Jane and I became sufficiently intimate that she told me much more than I could reasonably have hoped.”
“Once again, no one is surprised but you.”
“Do not interrupt. She mentioned that Miss Elizabeth wrote an odd letter. It was deliberately vague but the gist of it is that she, somehow, met some new acquaintances on her return to town, instantly befriended a daughter, and has departed upon an extended trip with them. She will be back in a month or two.”
Darcy nodded. After a moment’s thought, he observed, “That sounds just like her. I imagine were you to drop her in the desert a hundred miles from the nearest river, she would find a band of nomads to take her to water within the hour. She is apparently hiding from me?”
“So it seems.”
Darcy nodded again, thinking. “I can see the sense in it. Her mother is quite the mercenary. If she intended to accept me, she would have done so. This must be her way of rejecting me without fighting her parents. She must be near her majority, so perhaps she is merely buying time.”
Richard added, “These mercenary mothers can be quite a trial, eh Darcy.”
“Yes, hers has no subtlety whatsoever.”
Anne replied, “Oh yes, I can certainly criticise Mrs Bennet freely, with my mother being so amiable and subtle in her machinations.”
Darcy winced painfully but had to allow the justice of it, wondering why he had been excessively concerned with Mrs Bennet’s manners while blind to his own relatives.
Richard nodded thoughtfully. “Oddly enough, I had a conversation on that very subject with your Miss Elizabeth the day she left.”
Darcy did not relish the sound of that. “She is not my Miss Elizabeth, Richard. I will do everything in my power to make her so, but she is not yet, and very well may never be.”
“Have a little faith in yourself. Once you neutralize your worst enemy, you will do well enough.”
They both knew who his worst enemy was, so there was no reason to belabour the point. There was, however, an item of some curiosity.
Darcy regarded his cousin closely. “How on earth did you end up discussing mercenary mothers with her?”
“Well, I had an idea that you might admire the lady, and she gave me a perfect opportunity to sing your praises. She mentioned your friend Bingley, and I told her how you saved him from a mercenary last winter—unsuitable family, and the like.”
To Richard’s shock—for the first time in their long association, even as boys—the brandy glass in Darcy’s hand flew into the fire and shattered, the spirit igniting with a burst of blue flame that scattered across the flagstones.
“You did what?”
The outburst surprised the colonel. “I merely told her of your good qualities—how you care for your friends, and so forth.”
Darcy started running his fingers through his hair nervously, muttering like an imbecile, his father’s ghost frowning in consternation from behind Richard’s shoulder.
George Darcy had a particular way of shaking his head while looking pained and disappointed, which made his son wish he used the belt more often, and the disappointed look less.
He saw his father standing beside Anne, delivering one of his favourites.
A man’s actions have consequences, yours more than most. Make sure you know what you are about. You will be a powerful man, and as Voltaire says, with great power comes great responsibility.
You would do well to start with Hippocrates. First do no harm.
Anne regarded her cousin with alarm, taking hold of his arm. “Darcy, what? What? Did you… Did you… Did you leave something out?”
Feeling the full weight of his shame, along with his father’s disapprobation—and probably his grandfather’s and great-grandfather’s while he was at it—Darcy started muttering to himself, “Selfish… Selfish… Selfish… Stupid… Stupid… Stupid…”
Richard gave a grim laugh. “Can you be more specific?”
Darcy sighed heavily. “I helped persuade him to separate from Miss Jane Bennet. I thought she betrayed no sign of affection, since she regarded Bingley exactly as she did all others; yet she showed every sign of compliance with her shamelessly mercenary mother, who boasted openly and publicly about what an excellent mistress of Netherfield Miss Bennet would make.”
Almost instantly, the brandy glass was not the only thing in peril. Anne’s hand struck Darcy's cheek so hard he feared she might injure herself. She stood inches from his face, screaming far louder than her mother ever had, but certainly no worse than he deserved.
“How could you? How could you! You of all people! You You lout! You!!”
Her message delivered, Anne fled across the study to the door, muttering, her anger mounting.
Richard shook his head and rose to follow, intent on ensuring her well-being. He reasoned she would return… eventually… maybe.
Before reaching the door, Anne turned and pointed at his chest, her tone menacing. “Do not follow me. You boasted of this… to her sister. You… you… you are as bad as he is. Do not talk to me!”
Richard watched her slam the door with gusto and stomp away like a herd of elephants, chagrined by the chastisement, though he was secretly pleased to see his cousin becoming a bit of a spitfire, hoping she might have inherited such spirit from her mother—though ideally with less disagreeableness.
Anne was entering the season now, and her boasts of becoming engaged before she returned were not without merit. He sat for a moment, appearing to muse that his little cousin had finally grown up.
Darcy, having thoroughly destroyed his brandy glass, simply drank from the bottle, handing it back wordlessly when the colonel joined him. They gave up only when the bottle lay empty.