Chapter 5
DRASTIC MEASURES
Havers returned to Netherfield a little after eleven in the morning.
By the time he entered, sober-faced, into Darcy’s chambers, it was obvious that he had heard all there was to hear—which meant that every servant in the place, and soon every person in the country, knew what had happened, or at least what they thought had happened.
Until his valet, no one had entered his chambers, no servant nor Bingley.
Within an hour of the incident, from his window overlooking the drive, he had seen Bingley’s chariot pull up, and Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth helped into it.
He could not see the expression on Elizabeth’s face, but he could imagine it.
His head ached, a throbbing pain that made his gut roil.
“I am sorry that I was not here last night,” Havers said in his gravest tones. “I feel I could have prevented…the accident.”
“What is being said?” Darcy asked, stone-faced.
“The Bingleys are united in their insistence that you wandered whilst sleeping, and that it was all a harmless mistake.”
He gave a mirthless laugh. “That is as good an explanation as anything. Does anyone believe it?”
“I do, sir,” the man said at once. “You are not a man who would behave dishonourably.”
“No, I would not,” Darcy said quietly. “Does anyone else believe as you besides the Bingleys?”
A long silence greeted him. “A few,” he said finally.
“That is what I thought. I need to be shaved and readied, and at once. Dress me in my finest—I go to Longbourn to make a proposal of marriage.”
“Allow me to be the first to congratulate you, sir,” Havers replied earnestly.
“Save your congratulations until she accepts me, Havers. At the moment, I feel I am far more likely to be greeted with a sword at my throat.”
Darcy managed to depart Netherfield without having to speak to another soul beyond his coachman, Frost. He wished he could ride to Longbourn, but it was paramount that he look his finest, without a hair out of place.
Part of him was furious; yes, he had seriously considered, almost decided to make Miss Elizabeth his bride.
However, to be forced to do so was not in his plans, and he had not been fully convinced of the idea’s wisdom.
The idea of being treated with contempt by her father was a difficult pill to swallow.
It was a temptation to make Bennet an offer of payment instead.
Nevertheless, Elizabeth was not some country chit to be dismissed with a sum of money. She was special, and he would not have her tarred with the brush of gossip. Truthfully, it was her good fortune that hers was the room he had wandered into, and soon she would know it.
He had visited Longbourn with Bingley before; always, the house had been noisy and, yes, cheerful.
It was not, today; it was so deathly quiet, he half-expected crape to be hung about the place.
A neat maid answered the door, and he was shown to Mr Bennet’s book-room.
There he waited…and waited, and waited. He understood that he was being scorned, but he clamped his mouth shut against insult and counselled himself to patience.
Mr Bennet finally appeared, matching Darcy for grim expressions.
Darcy stood, bowed. Mr Bennet only looked at him, saying nothing.
Mr Bennet remained standing; it was plain that he did not intend that Darcy should sit.
It was the outside of enough, that this man, who allowed his youngest daughter to make of herself a silly flirt, should be looking down upon him as some sort of despoiler of innocents.
The apology he had intended withered on his tongue.
“Obviously, sir, you have been apprised of the events of early this morning. I hope you are rational enough to realise that it was all a misunderstanding, and that neither your daughter nor I would ever knowingly behave so unspeakably. I am not so na?ve as to expect, however, that the gossips will arrive at the correct conclusions, and have decided that in good conscience, I cannot allow her reputation to be brutalised as a result of my error. I have come to offer Miss Elizabeth my hand in marriage.”
Mr Bennet opened his mouth as if to speak, then shut it again.
He stared at Darcy for some moments, his countenance harsh, his hands balled into fists.
For a moment, Darcy thought he might just refuse out of hand as his jaw clenched, his eyes narrowed, his body tensed.
Then, with obvious effort, he unclenched it.
His expression changed from furious to bleak.
He nodded, and spoke for the first time.
“I will expect you to procure a licence, and make arrangements for the marriage to take place immediately,” he demanded.
“I will apply for one in St Albans at once. Will Monday do for the wedding?”
Mr Bennet’s jaw firmed once again. “You will give her a few days to become accustomed to the idea. Let us say, Wednesday.”
It was an insult, an implication that Elizabeth would require negotiation, an inconsolable daughter being abandoned to an inhospitable fate. It was Darcy’s turn to grit his teeth, but he forbore to comment.
“May I speak to Miss Elizabeth?”
It was as though he had poured ice on the man. “She will see you on Wednesday,” Mr Bennet said coldly.
Darcy nearly insisted; he had explanations, such as they were, apologies, due to her and only her, and a proposal to make.
But the man had decided on a course of belligerence, and the headache Darcy had woken with flared even more sharply at the idea of an appalling scene.
He would speak to Elizabeth, but he would not beg her intractable father for the privilege.
It was a temptation to stalk from the room without another word, but simply because Mr Bennet had forgotten how to behave as a gentleman, Darcy had not. He was Elizabeth’s father, and Darcy would accord him the respect that his future wife deserved, if not the man himself.
“I will bid you good day then,” he said, and bowing, turned on his heel. He was nearly to the door when Mr Bennet’s voice stopped him.
“Mr Darcy—my daughter is most precious to me. I shall expect her to be treated with all the care and consideration you have hitherto neglected.”
Angry words wanted to escape. Just how did the man expect him to treat his wife?
Had Darcy not, with his own ears, heard Mr Bennet respond to Mrs Bennet with biting, excessive sarcasm and mockery?
And what did he believe he could do about it if Darcy did not?
Calling upon all his patience, he merely nodded, and walked out.