Chapter Twenty-four #2
“I spoke to Wickham, you know,” his cousin admitted, rubbing a finger along his jawline. “It seems he does not care to listen to a superior officer.”
Returning to stand near the desk by the window, Darcy asked, “What did you say to him?”
“I told him to keep his attention on his assignment.” Douglas rose and began to pace. “I could order him and the two other lieutenants back to Brighton.”
“The two young lieutenants leaving Mrs. Phillip’s house did not look to have reached their eighteenth year. I suspect they will return without any trouble. But will Wickham?”
“If he does not return, I will put him under a charge of desertion,” Douglas said grimly, “and insubordination.”
“He could be court-martialed,” Darcy mused. He raised an eyebrow. “Though, perhaps the best course of action would be to convince him to resign his commission in the militia and purchase a commission in the regulars. The advantage to us is that he would be removed from this vicinity.”
“It will cost him ￡700 to purchase a lieutenancy in a line regiment,” Douglas informed him.
“The money he receives from selling out will be sufficient for him to have money leftover from purchasing the new commission. That must be seen as an advantage to Wickham.” He nodded decisively.
“I will look after the lieutenants. You can count on me.”
“Thank you,” Darcy murmured, approaching him and patting him on the back. “And, thank you for suggesting Mrs. Inwood. I was impressed by her poise. Did Miss Bingley like her?”
“Though she has not spoken to me directly about it, I believe she did.” He tipped his head to one side.
“May I borrow your gig? I will find these lieutenants and send them on their way. I want them on a coach to London this evening, if one is to be had. From London they can catch another coach to Brighton easily enough.”
“Certainly,” Darcy said, nodding.
*
Lizzy cautiously watched Mary throughout their evening meal.
Though no one had remarked upon it, Lizzy thought her sister looked pale.
Chicken fricassee was one of Mary’s favorite dishes, but she ate only a drumstick.
She passed the mashed potatoes along the table without taking any, choosing instead to have buttered roasted pumpkin.
Is she worried that Papa will refuse Oscar?
I wish I had seen her when she came out of Papa’s bookroom.
Then, I could have spoken with her before we changed for dinner.
Papa looks perfectly sanguine. I cannot tell how he is secretly feeling either.
Lizzy glanced toward her mother. Mama suspects nothing.
If she knew anything about the potential engagement of another daughter, she would be talking about that, too. Instead, all her attention is on Jane.
“You will have your very own maid, dearest Jane,” Mama was saying, pulling Lizzy out of her reveries. “No more sharing. And your very own footman, I daresay.”
“What would I do with my own footman?” Jane asked, a frown marring her lovely features.
Mama cut a piece of chicken and swathed it in potatoes while she answered. “He will stand outside your bedchamber until you leave it, and then follow you around the house in case you need him to run an errand for you.”
“Follow me around the house?” Jane asked, incredulous. “Surely you jest.”
“She is not jesting,” Papa said, bouncing his eyebrows once.
He reached for his glass of wine. “However, you are unlikely to have your own footman. If you need one, you can ask the butler, and he will arrange everything with one of the household footmen. Bingley is wealthy, but not so wealthy or consequential to assign a footman to his wife.”
“I did not realize how much there is for me to learn,” Jane confessed.
“Mr. Bingley will show you how to go on,” Lizzy assured her.
“My advice, Jane,” Papa said before their mother finished her mouthful of chicken, “is to make friends with the housekeeper.”
“I am certain I will like her exceedingly,” Jane said.
“You like everyone, and everyone likes you,” Kitty interjected. Both she and Lydia had been almost as quiet as Mary. “I hope I find a husband with a large fortune. It would be so nice to have as many gowns as I liked.”
Jane smiled widely. “I will confess, that I am looking forward to having my first silk gown. I hope I can have a Pomona green one.”
Lizzy glanced Mary’s way. If she chose to marry Oscar, silk gowns would be an unlikely part of her future. However, Mary did not seem to mind.
“You will be able to choose whichever color you wish,” Mama told her, gushing with pleasure at her eldest daughter’s good fortune. “And a carriage for your own particular use.”
Jane blinked in bewilderment. “I do not wish to be a charge on my husband’s purse, Mama. I am sure one of the carriages Mr. Bingley currently owns will be sufficient for my needs.”
“You will see,” Mama said knowingly. She eagerly cut more chicken. Her shoulders scrunched up, and she gave herself a little shake. “I am enraptured by your betrothal, dear Jane. I cannot remember the last time I felt this way.”
“I am pleased to make you happy, Mama,” Jane said, smiling at her, and then meeting Lizzy’s gaze. The corner of Lizzy’s mouth twitched in amusement.
Mama said nothing in response to Jane’s remark. Instead, she continued her joy-filled gushing. “And, you will be able to help your sisters meet eligible men!”
“When will you marry, Jane?” Lydia asked as she reached for the bowl of braised cabbage.
“In early May,” Jane responded. “I wish to carry bluebells.”
Lizzy watched her mother count out the months on her fingers. Her eyes got wider and wider as she came to the end of her simple calculations.
“Seven and a half months,” she murmured. Nodding decisively, Mama said, “that is a nice length of time to plan the wedding. We must order some cards.”
“When I marry,” Mary said unexpectedly, “I want a small wedding.”
Lizzy and the rest of her sisters stared at her. Mary blushed and looked down at her plate.
“Well, I do,” she muttered.
“A small wedding, indeed,” Mama scoffed. “That might do for you, but do you think we can only afford a small wedding for our eldest child? I think not. My brother and his family must come. My sister and her family. The Lucas’ of course…so many others.”
“Will you invite my heir, my dear?” Papa asked.
Mama snorted. “I should think not! The heir? Who is he, pray, to interfere in our celebration?”
“He is a rector,” he informed her.
“We shall have our own good vicar perform the ceremony,” Mama retorted. “He has known our Jane most of her life.”
“Oh, yes,” Jane said, glowing in the midst of the talk of her wedding, “I would so much prefer that.”
“As would I,” Mary said, nodding slowly. She frowned at their father. “How do you know the heir is a rector, Papa?”
Equally puzzled, Lizzy focused her attention on her father in time to see his lips twitch and his right eyebrow rise and fall like a shrug.
“Have you been corresponding with him?” Lizzy asked, surprised.
He shook his head. “I have not written to him.”
Mary, her eyes narrowed in suspicion, asked, “Did he write to you?”
“Yes, did he, Papa?” Kitty asked.
“I wager he did,” Lydia said with a teasing grin on her lips.
In a gesture of surrender, their father put his hands in the air.
“Peace, I beg of you. Yes, I received a letter from him yesterday. He introduced himself and wrote that he had taken a position as a rector in Kent. It was prettily written, I admit.” He pinched his bottom lip.
“I confess, however, that I have not yet decided if I should answer the letter.”
“Whyever not, Papa?” Jane asked, blinking her surprise at him.
He shrugged. “I mean to think about my response for a while. There is no need to write back in haste.”
“For my part, I think you should burn the letter and have nothing to do with him,” Mama said caustically.
“If I do that, Mrs. Bennet, you and our daughters will not meet him until after my death,” Papa pointed out to her. “Would it not be better to get to know him a little before that unhappy event?”
Mama made a face, and ungraciously said, “Oh, I suppose it is. But I do not promise to like him, mind.”
“I would not presume to dictate how you must feel toward anyone.” Papa glanced around the table at his daughters. “His name, should you be interested, is Mr. Collins. Mr. William Collins, rector of Hunsford parish.”
“Goodness,” Lizzy murmured. “Did he mention his age?”
“He is five-and-twenty,” Mr. Bennet answered. “And, before you ask, he is unmarried.”
Mama halted the movement of her fork to her mouth, staring at her husband. Lizzy’s eyes widened, and she exchanged a look with Mary.
Here it comes. I shall be encouraged to try and attach my cousin! I do not think I wish to marry a clergyman. Where would I put my animals? And then, there is Mr. Darcy. “Love, D.”, was how he closed his letter. Did he mean to say “love”?
The letter, tucked under her pillow like she had turned into a silly school girl, had caused her heart to trip as though she had been racing across the meadow with Harry. I wonder if Mr. Darcy likes to run?
“I insist you invite your heir, Mr. Bennet,” her mother said with strident fervor.
“You seem to feel strongly about this, my dear,” he said, patting the corners of his mouth with a napkin. “May I ask the reason for your reaction?”
“Mr. Bennet,” she said with clear exasperation, “how can you be so nonsensical? Your heir is single and we have four unattached daughters. I will count ourselves fortunate indeed if he should choose one of them for his wife. Then, Longbourn would not pass into the hands of a stranger.”
“He will not be a stranger, Mama,” Lizzy pointed out as she placed her cutlery on the plate and put her hands in her lap, “if Papa invites him to Longbourn.”