A Merry Darcy Christmas, page 9
“But I don’t see what can be done about it. It’s up to Lady Catherine how Rosings Park is managed.”
“She will not see reason,” Darcy said. “Perhaps McGinty could be made to see it.”
“Oh, you’ll not get anywhere with him. If the organ grinder will give you no satisfaction, you’ll do no better with the monkey.” Northover chuckled. “Why don’t you press your suit with her Ladyship? I take it you’ve tried that, but just press her harder.”
“I will appeal to her better nature, and give her my opinion,” Darcy said. “I do not know what more I can say to her than that, although I am open to any suggestions.”
“Well, you have more influence over her than you think, dear boy,” Northover said reflectively. “She has great plans for you, as you doubtless know. I’m surprised she doesn’t do your bidding without protest.”
“How do you mean?”
“Why her daughter Anne, of course,” Northover said. “She has her heart set on you marrying Anne, and given that you have a say in that, I should think you could hold her toes to the fire.”
Darcy laughed. “More likely she will hold my toes to the fire. I have no intention of marrying Anne, and I do not intend to use her as a bargaining chip.”
“It may be the only chip you have.” Northover took a long pull from his flask. He dabbed his mouth with his handkerchief, coughing slightly. The beaters had fetched the downed pheasants and McGinty was displaying them to Bingley and Pettigrew. Soon Darcy would have his chance.
“Nevertheless, I will not play it,” Darcy said, beginning to compose a plan to get McGinty alone. He would say he wished to have a word with him about—no, that would not do; he would be frank with the man, he would plainly state his position.
“Did you know that your aunt has made me a very singular offer?”
Darcy remembered that Northover had mentioned something at their dinner in London about a financial arrangement that Lady Catherine had proposed in her letter to him. It had slipped his mind since arriving at Rosings Park. Elizabeth Bennet had dislodged every thought other than thoughts of her, and that of the need to keep the common from being enclosed.
“What was the nature of her offer? I’d meant to ask you.”
“Well,” Northover said smoothly. “The offer concerns a lady whom I noticed you have some interest in. One Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
Elizabeth Bennet? What could Lady Catherine possibly offer Northover in respect of her?
“Go on.”
“Her Ladyship has offered to come to my financial assistance—to make my financial problems disappear as she put it—if I can secure the affections of Miss Bennet, and gain her hand in marriage.”
“What? She wishes you to marry Miss Bennet?” Darcy could not believe his ears.
“She not only wishes it, but she is prepared to pay handsomely for it,” Northover replied. “She knows how much I need money and that I shall have to sell yet another piece of Hardwick to get it. If I succeed in marrying Elizabeth Bennet, she will put an end to my financial problems, and permit me to preserve Hardwick in its entirety.”
Darcy was astounded. “Why should she wish you to do that? How does she benefit if you marry Miss Elizabeth Bennet?”
“How indeed,” said Northover, “that is the question. Do you not see, Darcy? Do you not see why she wishes Miss Bennet to be married?”
Darcy suddenly saw it clearly: Lady Catherine wished Elizabeth Bennet to be married so that she could not marry him. He would then be free to marry Anne, untroubled by any notions of marrying for love.
Darcy was so shocked that he sat down beside his friend and wordlessly accepted the proffered flask.
“I’m sorry,” Northover said. “I intended to tell you, but the time never seemed quite right.”
“Do you intend to go through with it? Do you intend to seduce Miss Bennet?” Darcy said after a time, still in shock.
“It would solve my financial woes,” Northover said. “And Miss Bennet is uncommonly pretty. Too lively, though, for me. Still, you’ll agree it’s a tempting offer if I could pull it off.
“And if you marry Anne, you can do what you like with the common. It would solve both our problems.”
As his friend spoke about how sensible it would be to oblige Lady Catherine, Darcy felt a flood of emotions course through him like an angry swollen river. Rage at his aunt, raw anger towards a woman so controlling that she would stoop at nothing to achieve her ends, outrage that Elizabeth was a pawn in so craven a scheme, and dismay that his position was such that he was powerless to effect a remedy.
He was too overcome with emotion to speak.
“There, there,” said Northover gently. “Your aunt sees things differently than you or I. She sees position, and family pride, not as mere accoutrements or adornments to life, but rather as fundamental to life itself. They are the polestar by which she guides all her decisions. It is nothing personal, and indeed, it is as impersonal as the movement of the heavens.
“Do not blame her, and especially do not blame yourself, for we all have duties and responsibilities to which we must attend—even I, who has managed to evade them most artfully throughout the course of my life—as part of our station.”
“But surely you cannot take part in such a scheme?” Darcy said when he’d calmed down enough to find his tongue.
“Not marry for money?” Northover asked. “It’s been done you know, in fact, it’s rather the thing.
“Surely you are tempted to marry Anne in accordance with her mother’s wishes? If you do this, not only would it immeasurably enhance your wealth, but you could do as he pleased with the common at Rosings, fence it or not as you wish.”
It was true. If Darcy were to marry Anne, he could hardly be refused a say in the management of Rosings Park. He would also, by doing that, meet his obligations towards his own estate, and honor his late mother’s wishes. There was something to what Northover said in honoring one’s obligations and meeting the duties imposed by one station in life.
Family pride—when that family was such that pride was merited—was not a fault. Rather, it was the bedrock upon which society was built. He could not be faulted for cleaving to the pride which had served his family for generations.
But had he not once already departed from the path of pride? Did he not set aside his pride in the matter of Wickham and Lydia Bennet, and subjugate his own interests to preserve the respectability of the Bennet family, and the position of Elizabeth Bennet?
Although it had been hard to do, he had not regretted it for an instant. It had been the right thing to do. Just as it was the right thing for him to refuse to honor the arrangement to marry Anne which had been made when they were both children. And besides, Anne had no wish to marry him.
“It would be the prudent thing to do, and many would say it would be the right thing,” Darcy said firmly. “But it would not be the right thing for me. Nor does the lady in question wish it.”
“Really?” Lord Northover seemed genuinely surprised. “Anne does not wish to marry you?”
They were interrupted by Mr. Bingley. “I say, Darcy—what a fine covey! I’ve never seen such an abundance of pheasants, nor such lively sport!”
“I’m glad you are enjoying yourself,” Darcy said. Despite his concern over Northover’s news, he nevertheless smiled at his friend’s jubilation.
“I’ll say I am,” Bingley said beaming. “The whole day is just perfection itself. Fine shooting, good company, breathing the fresh clean air. Isn’t country life splendid?”
Darcy laughed. His friend’s mood was much improved since speaking to Miss Jane Bennet yesterday. “I have a feeling that you are again considering Netherfield as the place for your permanent residence?”
“Yes indeed,” said Mr. Bingley. “The country life is just the thing for me.”
“Are you sure that it is not Miss Jane Bennet who has raised your spirits?” Darcy asked innocently.
“Well, she is a charming girl, you have to admit. I daresay you’ve never seen a prettier one, will you admit that?”
“She is pretty indeed,” said Mr. Darcy.
“And there I must take issue with you, Bingley,” Mr. Pettigrew said. “Darcy’s sister, Georgiana, is the prettiest girl here, if not in the whole of England.”
“Before the two of you come to blows over who is the prettier,” said Northover with a yawn. “Perhaps you could let Darcy and I finish our conversation. It was just getting interesting.”
“There’s no need for us to come to blows,” said Mr. Bingley. “Why, we could take it to court. Any jury composed of twelve good men and true would surely take my side in the matter.”
They all laughed, and the two hunters followed the steward to the next copse for fresh game. The beaters soon recommenced their work, and the air was once again punctuated with the sound of shotgun blasts.
Darcy and Northover did not resume the conversation immediately but instead remain silent for a while.
Darcy was mulling over how best to proceed when Northover spoke suddenly. “I say, Darcy,” he said, with the look of one who has just woken up. “Are you sure that Anne does not wish to marry you?”
“Quite sure.”
“That’s very interesting. I had thought, don’t you know, that she might have some small interest in me,” Northover proceeded with a diffident air. “She’s quite an engaging girl in her own way. I like the fact that she’s calm and keeps to herself. I dislike ladies who are too lively, or too opinionated. That Caroline Bingley for one sets my teeth on edge . . .”
Caroline Bingley was not Darcy’s favorite lady either, and indeed he only suffered her for the sake of her brother. He never criticized her, but at the same time, it was all he could do to remain civil to her.
“You would find Miss Elizabeth Bennet too lively for your tastes,” said Darcy. “She is very high-spirited indeed.”
“Quite,” said Northover, who seemed lost in thought.
Darcy saw McGinty returning from the field while Bingley and Pettigrew were engaged with the beaters who were displaying their fallen birds.
“Excuse me,” he said to his friend, and rose to seize his chance to have McGinty to himself.
Chapter 11, Christmas Eve
Rosings Park, 1812
Elizabeth was furious.
“I do not require your permission, Mr. Darcy,” she said, trembling with rage, “to speak to this gentleman or any other. I would ask that you kindly not interfere with my affairs.
“You may be the nephew of my hostess, sir, but you are not my host.”
There were in a room which Giselle had referred to as “the little parlor” where the guests already in attendance had retired to avoid the tumult of those newly arriving. Rosings Park was all hubbub with visitors showing up for the evening’s festivities, and the parlor was a refuge of quiet in a sea of activity.
At least it had been.
“My comment was not meant to curtail your freedom of association. I would not, as I’ve told you before, suspend any pleasure of yours. I merely wished to point out to you that Lord Northover is not a suitable match for you for reasons which I need not go into.”
Elizabeth and Lord Northover had been speaking together—they were by now on what Elizabeth felt were very friendly terms—when Mr. Darcy had, upon Lord Northover’s excusing himself to return to his room, encroached on her company with the offensive warning.
“I do not require a chaperone, Mr. Darcy, and if I did, it is you who would be unsuitable, wholly so,” Elizabeth saw that her words were leaving their mark on her target. Mr. Darcy looked shaken.
“I apologize for the intrusion,” he said stiffly. “I meant no offense.”
His apology was insufficient for Elizabeth. The words were there, but there was nothing of contrition in them.
“And yet you gave it,” she said. “That seems to be the only aspect of social interaction which you have completely mastered. I seem to recall you once managed to give offense to an entire assembly.” Elizabeth thought of the effect that Mr. Darcy had had on her friends and relations at the Meryton assembly. There was hardly a soul in Meryton who had not taken umbrage at his pride and aloofness.
“Once again, I apologize,” he bowed, so slightly that the bow was barely perceptible. “If you’ll excuse me.”
She would not excuse him, far from it. But she said nothing and permitted him to depart.
“Elizabeth, I do not think that Mr. Darcy intended any offense,” Jane said gently.
“Jane, I will not have you taking his side in this,” Elizabeth said with exasperation. Jane was always so good and willing to give others the benefit of the doubt, that she could not see fault no matter how clearly it presented itself. “Mr. Darcy’s presumption in lecturing me on who is and who is not a suitable candidate for my attention is intolerable.”
“He was hardly lecturing you, Lizzy—”
“Enough! Enough, Jane,” Elizabeth said. She needed to collect yourself and had not the energy to spare for further argument. “I need some fresh air.”
Elizabeth was going to ask Jane to join her but saw Mr. Bingley approaching. Instead, she excused herself and took her leave of the party.
Rooks bickered in the beech trees, their raucous voices shrill in the cold air. Although Elizabeth recognized the paths from her walks there the previous spring, everything looked different.
The pale winter sun provided no warmth, and the trees—their branches bare of leaves and covered over with ice—provided no shelter from the icy wind that chilled her to the bone.
Teasing man! Frustrating man! How could he persist so in inflaming her anger? It was as though his sole purpose in life was to insult her at every turn.
And what could his motive have been, to tell her that Lord Northover was not suitable for her? Did he think she did not know that Northover was an aristocrat, and of an old and proud family? Had not Lady Catherine told her as much?
And if Lord Northover was prepared to overlook Elizabeth’s deficits—her lack of fortune or family connection—what concern was it of Mr. Darcy?
It was all very vexing. And that his conduct should bother her when he was nothing to her, once she realized that it did, made her more angry still.
The cold air made her walk briskly, and as she walked her mood began to lift. From where she stood she could see carriages proceeding down the lane towards the manor house. It was a merry sight indeed, the carriage drivers with their tall black hats, the red-coated postilions, and the sleek prancing horses.
Elizabeth wondered who would be attending, how many sons and daughters of Earls were arriving in the shining carriages?
The thought filled her with some unease. These people were part of a society far above her and her family’s usual company. She hoped her mother would restrain herself so as not to embarrass them, realizing this hope was almost certainly doomed.
Elizabeth picked up her pace. The brisk walk through the bracing air made her blood pump as her boots crunched the snow on the path. She would attenuate her walk—it was far too cold to walk as far as she used to walk in the spring—and soon be back to warm herself before a blazing hearth. Turning the corner in full stride, she was startled by a figure approaching on an adjacent path.
She stopped by a green Yew tree, leaning her hand against its soft boughs. The figure, apparently seeing her, stopped too.
It was Mr. Darcy.
Elizabeth was as surprised as if she’d seen a ghost. She had not expected to run into anyone on a cold winter’s day, least of all him.
“I knew you would come here,” Mr. Darcy said.
So, he was admitting that he had followed her. But why? Had he not already provided her with sufficient offense for one day?
There was something about his expression though that prevented Elizabeth from speaking. He had an earnest, and concerned look -- a look of determination she decided, yes, that was it, he was determined. She looked at him expectantly.
“I wished to speak with you,” he said. His hand went to his breast pocket.
“Speak then,” Elizabeth said. “You do not require my permission.”
Her voice sounded shrill, even to her, and harsher than she had intended.
Mr. Darcy fumbled in his breast pocket as though to retrieve something. Then his hand dropped to his side, and he stood immobile, looking at her with a puzzled expression.
“Well?” said Elizabeth, though she softened her tone.
“I wanted to apologize again,” he said at last. “I spoke out of turn, and I am sorry. I will walk you back to the house if you like.”
Elizabeth was sure he was leaving something out but did not press him, and they walked back along the snowy path, making small talk about the evening’s festivities. He told her that the cupola was unusual in that it hid a staircase to a viewing platform which the manor’s balustrade concealed.
“It is from the platform that the torches will be lit to illuminate the cupola and show its gilding to best effect,” Mr. Darcy said.
“Lady Catherine has thought of everything,” said Elizabeth.
“Indeed,” said Mr. Darcy.
They were back at the house, and Elizabeth was glad to be out of the cold. She felt the warmth as soon as she entered through the door he held open for her, and warmer towards him as well. She was going to suggest that he might show her the viewing platform but before she could speak, he bowed quickly, wished her good day, and departed.
The grand dining room was full of guests. Elizabeth and her family were seated some distance from Lady Catherine. The important places near her were occupied by more illustrious persons, which included Mr. Darcy and his sister, but not, alas, Caroline Bingley, nor Mr. and Mrs. Hurst who was seated at their table.
At least, Elizabeth reflected, Jane was happy having Mr. Bingley seated beside her.
“You have a house in London, Mr. Smythe?” Caroline Bingley said, addressing the gentleman seated to her left.
“We do,” answered his mother imperiously. “And a house in Bath as well. Of course, we only go there in the season.”
