CHAPTER FIFTY
“I am quite disappointed to hear that you will be attending my benefit for Thomas Clarkson next Thursday. Whatever are you doing here in London?” Abby admonished Darcy as she took a seat opposite his writing table.
He laid down his pen to attend to his guest. “I would simply respond ‘on business,’ but I detect the tone of your question is reminiscent of an accusation.”
“Indeed, it is! And I will not concede that you are in London merely ‘on business.’”
“Now you accuse me of lying.”
“I am accusing you of a half-truth.”
Darcy took in a deep breath. There was only one other woman from whom he would have accepted such abuse.
And though Abby had once more proved herself one of the most discerning individuals he knew, he was unwilling at present to accommodate her.
He returned his gaze to the letter he was writing to Charles informing his friend that he would be in London longer than anticipated.
“And cowardice,” she added when she saw he would not budge.
He glanced up sharply. “You have arrived in London but less than a day and have made your first order of business my provocation?”
She tossed her golden hair. “As only a dear friend would!”
“You have a strange way of showing your friendship,” he murmured. “My enemies would be less inciting.”
“Your happiness is my motive.”
“Forgive me if I fail to see how attacks upon my integrity and manhood should make me happy.”
“Ah, Fitzwilliam! You abound in such noble qualities as I can only aspire to. But I know that if I felt the love that you do, I should not be hiding in London.”
A muscle tensed along his jaw. “Pray, what other complaints do you wish to hurl my way? Let me receive them all at once.”
“You would make a liar of me.”
He looked quizzical. “Forgive me. I had not done it intentionally.”
“You may yet save me from perpetrating a lie. Cease your stalling here in London and take yourself to her.”
Ignoring her last statement, he asked, “What lie?”
Abby pursed her lips. He could not tell if she were smug or abashed.
“My curricle happened to pass the carriage of your esteemed aunt the other day,” she said.
“Having had news of Bingley’s engagement to Miss Bennet, I was certain yours would be upon the heel of his.
I congratulated her on the pending nuptials.
I confess it was devilish on my part. I simply could not resist meeting her sneer at me with happy tidings. ”
He frowned. Lady Catherine would not have received such a jest in good humor.
“But you see how she will add the telling of falsehoods to her list of complaints against me.”
He could not help reply, “It is of such a length that the addition of one more grievance will make no difference. And I would have more sympathy if I knew you to attend any part of what Catherine thinks.”
“Touché. But what of your own self-interest? Have you no wish to be happy? I know your love for Miss Elizabeth has not diminished. What you did for her sister and Wickham proves it. Why are you not now in Hertfordshire making love to her?”
He rose from his chair and went to the window overlooking the square
“Because I have received no encouragement to do so,” he said after a pause. “I was twice at her house. She could barely meet my gaze and spoke not four sentences to me.”
Abby knit her brows. “I cannot account for her behaviour, but I think you read too much significance into it. How can her feelings not be enhanced by appreciation for what you have done for her family?”
“Because she knows nothing of it. I swore her aunt and uncle to secrecy. I have no interest in cultivating her gratitude and derive no satisfaction if she were to accept my hand because she felt obliged to. You had stated in your letter that, though her opinion of me had improved, her feelings had not elevated to affection.”
“But that was some time ago.”
“Have you received a more recent communication from her?”
“No.”
“And your friendship is of a kind in which she would have confided her honest feelings to you?”
“I think so.”
“Then I have no reason to think that I have any more hope of winning her heart to-day than I did before.”
“You were not prevented from pursuing her in Derbyshire.”
“I did my utmost to convince her that I could be a man she could respect and love. Apparently I was not successful.”
“Are you despairing so easily? For shame, Fitzwilliam! The fair sex delights in the pursuit.”
“I did not think Miss Elizabeth one to play the coquette or employ such arts as to keep a man in unnecessary confusion.”
“I agree, but perhaps she has taken advice that the manner to strengthen a man’s ardor is to deny him. It is an effective strategy with many men.”
Darcy contemplated the possibility. “I would not want to grasp at false hopes.”
“You cannot know till you have confronted her.”
“Ironically, I think she would sooner wed her ‘mentor.’ But if her feelings are not decided in my favour, my revelation would be most unwelcome to her.”
On this, Abby could say nothing. She tried another course. “You did not want enticements from her before proposing to her the first time.”
“My arrogance led me to believe that she would accept my offer. Given the circumstances, she had more reason than most women to wed, and still she refused.”
“You will not convince me, Fitzwilliam. Will she not make you happy?”
“Beyond measure!” he cried.
“Then short of her spoken refusal, that she would sooner kiss a sow than receive your touch, I will persist. If you do not make every exertion to win her hand and secure your own happiness, you will live to regret it.”
He had no reply.
Abby rose. She had anticipated a short visit and still had her bonnet and gloves upon her.
“I will happily take a donation of funds on behalf of Mr. Clarkson,” she said, “but I sincerely hope not to see you in attendance.”
Crossing to him, she stood upon her toes and planted a kiss upon his cheek.
“Go to her,” she said.
Her earnest look melted him. He could not stay angry with her for long and took her hand in his. “I have been blessed in my life to know at least two remarkable women.”
She arched a brow and teased, “I hope you are not denigrating our sex, for there surely number far greater than two remarkable women.”
“There are many who can command respect and affection, but there can be but one Abigail Trenwith.”
“On that I will agree. And you may search the rest of your life, but I hazard to guess you will only find one Elizabeth Bennet.”
*****
Knowing that Miss Elizabeth was partial to her mentor, Darcy had at times entertained the fantasy of revealing himself to her, but if she bore him little regard, the shock would ruin whatever fondness her Trenwith education could be looked upon.
Perhaps Abby was right to accuse him of cowardice.
He had no wish to have his heart broken twice by the same woman.
As tempting as it was to follow Abby’s urging, beneath her nonchalance for convention and quest for sensual adventure, Abby was a romantic.
It did not surprise him that she would promote the conquest of love.
He had not resolved never to go to Longbourn. The marriage between Charles and Miss Bennet would put him in the way of Miss Elizabeth frequently enough. Abby would be disappointed, but he simply saw no reason to hasten back to Hertfordshire.
He had just reached this conclusion in the latter part of the day when he was surprised by yet another visitor to his townhome. As with Abby, Catherine came unannounced.
“You will forgive the unexpected call,” his aunt said upon being shown into the parlor, “once you understand the nature of my concerns.”
He asked if she desired a glass of wine.
“No, I have been many hours upon the road to-day and mean to retire to bed as soon as I am returned to my lodgings.”
He sat down and waited for her to speak. The journey must have wearied her a great deal for he had never seen her looking so solemn, but there was vigor enough in her speech.
“You would not believe the revolting rumors that Trenwith woman is spreading,” she said.
Darcy made no reply, wondering how her complaint could warrant her coming all this way to London.
“It is a display of her ill-breeding, for I had done nothing to provoke her, and she insisted on being presumptuous.” Her nostrils flared. “It shows a great want of character, an intolerable mischievousness, spitefulness, and insolence.”
He had little patience to listen to Catherine disparage Abby, and, deciding to pour himself a glass of wine, rose to his feet.
“She has ever proven my opinions of her,” Catherine continued. “When she had opportunity to repeal her grievances, she only added to them. The woman seems to delight in being outrageous. Her true colours are obvious.”
Darcy remained at the sideboard, his features no less serious. “On that alone I will agree. She has no more affinity for the deceitful character than I.”
Catherine narrowed her eyes. “Fitzwilliam Darcy, are you defending this person?”
“I think Mrs. Trenwith a woman greatly misunderstood. I have had the fortune to know her better. She has many admirable qualities.”
“Then she has cast a spell upon you—perhaps not unlike that awful Bennet girl. My Anne has not these arts, this trickery, to fool men into thinking they are better than they are. She is honest and does not pass herself off as a fraud. She may not be considered as sophisticated as some of these more artful women, but one shall always enjoy a sense of security and trustworthiness with her. You ought take care with Georgiana. She is not immune at Ramsgate from the folly that abounds the young women of to-day. I would offer my Anne as a better companion for her and should be happy to have her at Rosings more often.”
But Darcy heard only a little of what had been said. “Bennet girl?”
“Or perhaps I should say girls, for there can be insufficient explanation otherwise for how Charles would wish to marry beneath him when he might have many superior to her to choose from, especially in light of the business with the youngest one. You must know what the family is about. I saw nothing in any of them to impress me.”
He straightened. “You have met them?”
“I came from Hertfordshire. But even if I had not heard and seen them with mine own eyes, I know enough of their circumstances that they do not deserve the situation they aspire to. The sham marriage of that Bennet girl is enough to cast them all in grievous light.”
“What persuaded you to seek them out?”
“That Trenwith woman dared congratulate me on your pending nuptials to Miss Elizabeth Bennet! I was aghast at such an allegation and went to her to confirm the nonsense.”
“Her?” he echoed, agitation rising. “You saw Miss Elizabeth?”
She detected the eagerness in his tone. “You would have been mortified by her treatment of me. Such obstinacy, such insolence! I am ashamed for her mother and father. She values nothing of honour and decency. She dared consider herself your equal. I informed her of all the obvious objections to such a match, as well as the consequences of such a union, that none of your family and friends would welcome her, that she would be ostracized, and if she had any considerateness for you, she would not wish to bring such unhappiness upon you and your loved ones. But she is a most selfish creature, and the advantages of being attached to you are too much an enticement for her.”
Darcy could barely contain an angry response to her diatribe, but her last statement perked his interest. “She said as much?”
“The insolent chit refused to assure me that she would be reasonable. She intimated that any woman, even one of her quality, should find happiness in being your wife.”
His heartbeat quickened.
She continued, her anger growing with each recollection. “She cared not a fig that you are engaged already to your cousin Anne.”
He raised his brows. “Am I?”
“Not in a formal manner, but you comprehend the prudence of such a union.”
“I do not comprehend an engagement that I had no participation in.”
For a rare moment, Catherine was silent before saying, “You must be reasonable where she is not. You were ever the nephew I could be proud of. You have always attended your duty to your family.”
“I must also be true to my heart, or there should be no happiness for myself or any wife of mine.”
She seemed to turn to stone. “Any wife? Do you mean to say you will not honour your engagement to your cousin?”
“Madam, there is no engagement.”
“Are you partial then to this Bennet girl?”
“That is my affair.”
“I am your aunt, and with only noble concern for you as my motive. I swore to my sister—your mother—that I would look after you. It would break her heart to see you married to anyone but Anne.”
“I think my mother would wish for my happiness.”
“And you have been tricked into thinking what constitutes true happiness. I promise you will think differently when Miss Elizabeth reveals her genuine self: a petty, pretentious, defiant—”
“Enough! I assure you I am capable of determining mine own happiness. And as the hour is late, I recommend your driver take the roads before night falls.”
Catherine did not move, but the determination in her nephew’s hardened countenance was incontrovertible. Reluctantly, she took her leave to do battle another day.