Pride and Pursuit: A Pride and Prejudice Variation, page 21
“Despite having absconded with you in a most impolite manner, he has brought you safely to this house, and at some cost to himself, and for that, I supposed, we must forgive him. He will, in time, become somebody you can like.”
I do not like him, I love him! she wished to cry out, but that would not do, not here with the colonel staring at her in his inscrutable way. Instead, she nodded again and shifted ever so slightly closer to Will’s side. “I believe we can expect happiness.” Such mild words, so weak and damning, but the only ones suitable for the ears of others.
“Very good, my girl. Mr Darcy, we must talk terms, but the good colonel here says we can expect the town parson here in the morning, that the chapel in the village is still a consecrated church.” Colonel Fitzwilliam nodded. “You shall marry tomorrow.”
“What? Tomorrow? How can that be? This is not Scotland, sir,” she exclaimed. Tomorrow was so close, and rather than trepidation, her concern was that they had not time to call the banns. How had it come to this, that she was worried that a wedding might not take place?
But her father could not hear her thoughts.
“We made a trip, the colonel and I, whilst he was engaged with his business at Oswestry, and made our request to the archdeacon.”
“An old family friend,” the colonel supplied.
“Colonel Fitzwilliam vouched for you, Mr Darcy, and I for you, Lizzy. We have a licence. It will all be perfectly correct. It appears, my girl, that tomorrow you will be a bride.”
The rush of dread she expected at these words never arrived. Instead, she caught a glimpse of Will’s serene smile as he sat next to her, and he squeezed her hand once more, a gentle and assuring gesture. Her father’s eyes alighted on their joined hands and his brows rose toward his receding hairline.
“Mr Darcy, shall we? Colonel, is there a library or study we may use?”
Will stood, urging Elizabeth to rise beside him. “I am more than pleased to offer a generous settlement, but this is Elizabeth’s future we are to discuss. I insist she join us.”
The brows rose again. “It is most unusual, sir.”
“Perhaps, Mr Bennet, but Elizabeth is a most unusual young lady, and I would have her no other way.” He turned soft eyes to her. “You will join us?”
“Thank you.” This gesture, as much as anything else he had done, convinced her that he was the best sort of man in the world. If only he could grow to love her.
Jane ambled along the paths that threaded through manicured hedges and decorative shrubbery, feigning deep interest in the varieties of roses that grew in this part of Wales. She looked at the grass, at the flower beds, at the stones along the side of the small pond that formed the centre of this garden—everywhere but at the man walking beside her. Why now, after having been in company with him for so long, could she think of not a single thing to say? And Mr Bingley, likewise, had been uncharacteristically silent.
They had spent that pleasant afternoon in Wolverhampton, strolling down the high street, and then the entire day at Oswestry, with the parson or his wife as company, but now things felt different, somehow. What was it? The answer taunted Jane, but like a flitting butterfly, danced around her but constantly evaded her grasp.
How odd, to finally have the time and opportunity for real conversation, and not have the words. It was almost as if her father or the colonel’s looming presence, whether real or imagined, had been the key to their previous solidarity. Two souls, at odds with—
She took in a short gasp. Of course!
“A penny for your thoughts, Miss Bennet?”
Mr Bingley’s voice brought her out of her ponderings.
It was too soon, perhaps, to say out loud what she had just realised. It had been deliberate! The colonel, she now understood, had been taunting Mr Bingley on purpose. His goal had never been to secure her affections at all, for now that they were here and with other matters to deal with, he had all but forgotten about her.
How ungentlemanlike.
How very strange.
But why? Had the colonel been baiting Mr Bingley deliberately? Could it have been at her father’s request? What a ridiculous notion! But still… Surely her father was not trying to test their new neighbour’s mettle. Not even he would resort to such a thing. It was most perplexing.
She could hardly discuss this thought with the young man walking beside her. She would have to ponder it later. Instead, she turned to her companion and smiled in that way that Lizzy always told her looked too practised, despite her assurances that it was sincere.
“Have I said something to disturb you?” Mr Bingley asked. “You seem somewhat out of sorts today. Or have I done anything foolish? I do hope I have not, although I fear that it is my lot. My sisters are always chiding me for not behaving as they believe a gentleman ought. They say I am not serious enough, not sufficiently discerning.”
Jane stared harder at the ground. How was she to respond to this? It was an intimacy she had not expected, far beyond their cautious conversation over hats and ribbons. Could Mr Bingley also wish to talk about the colonel’s strange behaviour? She screwed her forehead, trying to think of a response, but Mr Bingley continued before she could find the words she wanted.
“Even my friend Darcy complains that I am too gullible, too eager to be pleased by everything. But I do not consider that too serious a fault. Is it?”
So plaintive was his voice that Jane had no option but to look up at his face. His expression was confused, almost hurt, and she was struck by the urge to comfort him.
“No, I do not believe it a failing at all. To call somebody gullible is merely an acknowledgment of a generous nature, which seeks the best in everybody. And why should one not be pleased with the world, unless there is some reason to find it otherwise? A happy attitude can only bring one satisfaction, and what more can one wish than to be at peace with oneself?”
“Oh! Do you really believe so?” His shoulders straightened at her words and his large eyes shone. “How extraordinary! My sisters always feel they are missing something, and no matter how much they have, it is never enough for them. I would not wish—”
“No! I cannot imagine a life marred by constant envy or unhappiness.” Jane pinched her lips. “Do you mean your friend Darcy is that way inclined as well, always seeing ills that are not there? It seems he is to marry my sister, and I would not have her be unhappy all her life. It is not too late to stop the wedding.”
Mr Bingley paused in his steps. They were now about as far from the house as the perimeter of the garden would allow, just steps from the tall iron fence that enclosed the area. The forest encroached upon the gardens here, much like the area near the outbuildings where Lizzy and Mr Darcy had entered the day before, if not quite so close. The gate in the fence was closed now, but the pathway on the other side meandered through some low and sparse bushes to where the stream poked its watery way out of the wood for a moment, before darting back into the deep shade. A stone bench backed against the fence near the gate, and that is where Mr Bingley gestured, inviting Jane to take a rest.
They sat quietly, and for a moment all Jane could hear was the breeze ruffling the leaves and the calls of distant birds. It was rather pleasant.
“Darcy is most unlike my sisters,” Mr Bingley said after a pause. “They were raised to look higher than their station, I believe, and so will never be pleased with what they are allotted in life. Darcy is quite the opposite. He has nowhere to climb, and has no such aspirations. His faults, if he is permitted any, are of pride, and in expecting the world to live up to the same lofty standards he sets himself.”
Jane could not suppress a giggle. “He did not look so very lofty yesterday when he arrived, all filthy and unshaven, in ripped clothing not fit for a vagabond.”
“Indeed not.” Mr Bingley smiled at her and then began to laugh as well. “Perhaps the experience will have been edifying.”
The leaves rustled again…
But no! That wasn’t the breeze.
“Sir!” Jane’s voice caught in her throat. “Do you hear that?”
Mr Bingley was already on his feet, staring out over the fields towards the trees.
“Get down, Miss Bennet!” He all but pushed her to the ground before the stone bench.
“Oi, there! You in the woods… show yourself!” he yelled, his voice far louder than Jane had expected.
She dared a glance upwards. Something was definitely glinting in the trees. A spyglass? A pistol? The sun was reflecting off some object that most assuredly was not a bird.
“What is it, Mr Bingley?”
“I cannot… I do not know… You there, show yourself!”
But he was answered only by the sounds of somebody retreating quickly through the thick woods.
“He is gone.”
Jane’s pulse thrummed in her throat. “What was it? Was that really somebody watching us from the woods? Or was he trying to get into the gardens?”
Already, Mr Bingley’s cries had summoned a small army of large footmen, whose presence would have sent any miscreant scrambling for safety.
“Never fear, Miss Bennet. Nobody will trouble you while I am here.” His chest puffed out, although his eyes, to Jane’s glance, looked as troubled as hers.
They walked back to the house, Jane clinging a bit more tightly to his arm than civility required. She was unsure if he would present nearly as much of a challenge to an attacker as would Colonel Fitzwilliam, but she did feel better in Mr Bingley’s presence. And that, perhaps, was the answer she needed to her own unasked question.
CHAPTER 19
Taken
Darcy let his head fall back into the pillow on his soft bed as his thoughts arranged themselves in his mind.
That had not gone badly at all. Instead of Elizabeth’s father raking him over the coals and demanding everything under the sun for her in the marriage settlement, he had been polite—friendly, even—and more than pleased with what Darcy had offered. To be fair, Darcy had been more than generous. He could do nothing less for the woman he loved—yes, despite having known her for only a week, he knew she was the one for him—and for the woman who would, he dearly hoped, be the mother of his children. She deserved nothing less than what he had offered.
How could he have fallen in love so completely, and in so short a time? It was all but impossible. In the normal course of events, he would hardly have learned her name in the few days they had known each other. But, of course, he had been in her company, day and night, for a week. They had spent more time together in this short span than in a year of formal courtship, he reckoned, and without the strangling effects of social niceties and disapproving companions. He knew Elizabeth better after their week of frantic travel than he would have after months of exchanging comments about the weather in some over-furnished salon.
He had seen her at her worst, and he could imagine nothing better.
Tomorrow… Tomorrow they would be married. It seemed quite unreal, like something from a dream, or tale about another. Would he awaken in a moment and discover this was all nothing but a moment’s delusion, that Elizabeth was a figment of his imagination and nothing else? His heart shuddered at the idea. But no, it was real. Elizabeth might be the stuff that dreams are made of, but Wickham was not. Nor, Darcy realised as he felt for the spot on his ribs, still tender from where Elizabeth had attacked him with her umbrella on their very first meeting, was his bruise.
It was true. He was betrothed, and by eleven o’clock tomorrow morning, would be a married man. Married to Elizabeth. His heart soared at the thought.
But a darker voice whispered as well, one that he could not ignore. He had been generous in his settlement for Elizabeth because he loved her and wanted her to be happy and secure, but he also needed to know that if Wickham did find him, she would be well provided for as his widow. How could he even contemplate leaving Elizabeth his widow before having her as his wife? He swallowed at the lump that lodged in his throat and tried to let his eyes close against that possibility.
He pressed his head into the pillow once more and let himself yawn. It was unlike him to need a rest when the day was only half over, but the previous week’s flight had quite sapped him of energy, and he had not slept well the previous night. Not until he found Elizabeth and wrapped himself in her presence. Now that image supplanted his dread: Elizabeth by candlelight, in his arms. She, too, had declared she would rest in the afternoon, and Darcy tried not to imagine her as she unlaced the borrowed dress and pulled her long chestnut tresses from their pins before taking to her bed.
Soft skin, made golden by the sun, sparkling eyes, rose-pink petal lips, dark fanning lashes… He sucked in a stern breath, a warning to himself to regulate his thoughts. How would he ever manage to control himself if she requested a marriage in name only?
His arms ached for her.
“…farmhouse in the shadow of the forest.”
Hawarden’s voice filtered through the doorway as Darcy made his way into the parlour after abandoning his rest. The echoing murmur suggested two other men, or more, were with him. Three sets of eyes looked up as he stepped into the room.
“Ah, you have decided to join us,” Richard exclaimed. “We were telling Mr Bennet of the message we received only minutes ago. Well, are you interested in the news or not?”
Darcy nodded. “Indeed, I am. What have you heard?”
“We have word of Wickham. The men I called in, the ones from the town, have run a couple of his henchmen to ground and have them secured. Two unsavoury-looking oafs, from what I’m told. Would you know them by sight?”
“No. I did not see them, only heard their voices in the public. But they sounded like a couple of London toughs, quite out of place here in these mountains. Elizabeth heard them as well.”
“That sounds like them,” Richard acknowledged. “They are not saying much yet, but they will. When the alternative to spilling all they know is the noose, their tongues will loosen quickly enough.”
“I will be pleased when they’ve had their say. What of this farmhouse I heard you mention?”
Hawarden replied.
“Thompson, one of the local men, heard them talk of a farmhouse before they were captured, likely where Wickham is holed up.”
“Yes, it appears he is in the neighbourhood,” Richard continued, “and no, we do not yet know exactly which farmhouse he has found, but it gives us direction.”
“I propose to ride out shortly to search for the exact location. One can never know too much about one’s enemy.” Hawarden’s eyes were hard. It seemed the major had as little love for Wickham as did Richard.
“We’ll find him, Will, and soon. You can marry your lady with that weight off your back.”
Bennet exhaled at these words, his shoulders relaxing as he did so. Darcy imagined his stance echoed the older man’s.
“I am relieved. Thank you both, and thank your men. What steps are being taken?”
Richard gestured to the map that still lay on the table. “These are the locations we are searching. You can see where the woods encroach on the fields, here,” he pointed, “here, and by the bend in the river. Clifford Thompson and Owen Beddoe are going with Hawarden. They know the area well, and I trust them. Both former military men, now farmers. They respect the rank, even though we are English. I have, by your leave, invited them and their wives to join us at a wedding breakfast tomorrow.”
Darcy broke into a grin. “Of course. They are welcome and I will be pleased to know them.”
For the first time in nearly two weeks, Darcy finally felt free of Wickham’s looming shadow. He felt lighter, somehow, more so than he had in years; the candles burned brighter, and the wine that Richard procured from the cellar was richer than any he recalled tasting for a long time.
“You look happy,” Richard observed later as he helped Darcy into the coat they had found in the attic. It was, perhaps, several years out of fashion, but it fit better than the ones Darcy had borrowed. “Good gracious, that cravat looks odd with this cut of waistcoat. Better a frilled jabot than a neckcloth with it. No, no, it will have to do. I doubt Miss Elizabeth cares much whether your clothing is of the latest cut and style. She liked you enough dressed in rags and smelling of horse dung, and I imagine her clothing will be likewise imperfect.”
Darcy scowled at his cousin. “Do not malign the lady.” His brow cleared. “To me, she is the epitome of perfection. To dress her in silks and pearls would merely be to gild the lily.”
Richard rolled his eyes and gave a final tug at Will’s cravat. “You really are completely taken with her. Will Darcy in love. I never thought I would live to see the day. Mother will be surprised! I fancy, though, while your lady is more than tolerable to look upon, she is nothing to her sister.”
At Darcy’s snort, Richard threw up his hands. “You must admit it. The oldest Miss Bennet is beautiful, a work of art, really.”
“Richard!” Darcy growled. “This is no game. You begin to sound like Bingley, always falling in love with whatever angel he happens to cast his eyes on. But, cousin, you must leave your poking and prodding. Do not raise expectations that cannot be met. Jane Bennet is a beauty; any man with eyes can see that. But she is not to be toyed with. Stand back.”
“What?” Richard mimicked a hurt expression. “You believe that the beauteous Jane Bennet thinks my attentions are in earnest? No, not for a moment! I am merely playing with the pup, taunting him a bit. Miss Bennet is, if anything, exasperated by me.”
“Then why do it? You know you cannot seriously woo her, and you do not know that she sees through your game.”
“Boredom, cousin, nothing but boredom. You know my ways. Mother had such perfect manners drilled into me at so young an age, it flows naturally from me. It is hardly my fault if people cannot resist my effortless charm. You laugh!”
“I am exasperated. Must you encourage the ladies so?”
Richard had the grace to look chastised, if only for a moment.
