Darcy in Want of a Wife

Chapter 7

Late February, 1812

The Darcy carriage bounced and jolted over each bump on the packed dirt road, and those inside were silently thankful for the expensive rigging that made the journey far more comfortable than it otherwise would be. The carriage wheels left a trail in the thin layer of snow on the road from the previous night, which was already beginning to evaporate in the mid-morning sun. It was cold, considerably colder than only a few days prior, and both the coachman and his passengers were bundled up in their warmest winter garments.

Mr. Darcy gazed out the carriage window, idly admiring the way the sun glinted off of the snow-covered stalks of dead grass in the fallow fields on either side of the road. Despite the chill, it was a fine day for travel, as the sky was clear and there was not so much as a trace of a breeze. Darcy imagined that he might even enjoy a horseback ride in such weather.

Darcy was traveling to Netherfield along with his valet in order to attend Bingley’s upcoming wedding. He would stay at Netherfield until the 6 th of March and then return to London following the wedding breakfast. He did not wish to intrude upon the newlywed couple, and he had a substantial amount of business that required his attention, which he was putting off in favor of joining Bingley to celebrate his marriage.

Next to Darcy on the carriage bench was a satchel which contained several documents of note regarding Wickham. Among them was a contract, signed by George Wickham, that stipulated his relinquishment of the Kympton living in exchange for a sum of three thousand pounds. This, along with the debts that Bingley would be purchasing from the merchants in Meryton, would allow them to seize Wickham and toss him into debtor’s prison.

He was still uneasy about the plan, as Wickham was well liked in Meryton, and might, when arrested, spread the news of Georgiana’s near elopement to his fellows. But Bingley was correct; the man must be stopped before he harmed another woman. Darcy could only pray that Wickham could be captured and hauled away before he could use his snaky tongue to cause the Darcys more trouble.

They would arrive at Netherfield within the hour. Darcy was not sure whether or not he would encounter the Bennets before the wedding, but the very thought of it filled him with nervous anticipation. Despite not having seen her in several weeks, Miss Elizabeth Bennet remained in his thoughts day and night. It seemed that, as the Roman adage said, absence did indeed make the heart grow fonder.

At least he was not troubled by the opinions of the general populace, though he knew that he had slighted many of them with his cold, indifferent attitude the previous autumn. As a gentleman and a landowner, the approval of a small town was trivial. The only one whose good graces he cared to remain in was Elizabeth Bennet, and he must watch himself around her; he must not allow himself to be overtaken by her charms and forget his duty to his name and his sister Georgiana.

Miss Elizabeth was, of course, a gentleman’s daughter, and thus she and Darcy were technically of the same station in society. But her uncle was in trade, her mother was a solicitor’s daughter, and her younger sisters were boisterous and flirtatious. Darcy could not allow himself to indulge his infatuation with her. Any prospective bride needed both wealth and excellent connections, and Miss Elizabeth had nothing to recommend her except her fine eyes and sharp wit and pleasing form and beauty and intelligence and... He let out a sigh as he placed his hand over his mouth and continued to stare out the window.

Elizabeth Bennet aside, Darcy knew he would enjoy spending the coming week with Bingley at Netherfield. Though he had once disapproved of the match, Darcy was now very happy for both of them and was looking forward to sharing in Bingley’s joyous occasion.

/

Study

Netherfield Hall

An Hour Later

Bingley, who was toiling away on a business letter, lifted his head to look out the window just in time to observe a carriage appear over the top of a small rise, pulled by four familiar horses. The master of Netherfield grinned and cast aside his letter, leaped to his feet, hurried out of the study, and down the long corridor to the front door, where he waited impatiently for his butler to open it.

“Darcy!” he exclaimed, surging forward with an outstretched hand. “Thank you again for coming!”

“It is my pleasure,” Darcy said, handing over his hat, cane, and gloves to a nearby footman, and then shaking the proffered hand. “I appreciate your invitation to the wedding.”

Bingley, who knew that his friend was not particularly demonstrative, was confident that Darcy was truly happy for him. “Would you like to refresh yourself in your bedchamber, or would you like some port by the fire?”

“I would like that port,” Darcy replied simply. Bingley nodded and turned to guide his friend to the Blue Sitting Room, which was less than half the size of the drawing room and thus far easier to heat. It was also next to his study, and Bingley often hid there when his sisters were in residence, as they normally did not stray into that wing of the house.

“Are Miss Bingley and the Hursts in residence?” Darcy asked in a strange echo of his thoughts.

Bingley’s generally good-humored face darkened, and he shook his head decisively. “No. I confronted my sisters about their treatment of Miss Bennet, and both of them refused to repent of their interference. I therefore have chosen not to permit them in my house, and I certainly do not want them glowering through our wedding ceremony.”

He opened the door into the Blue Room, which was, not surprisingly, furnished in shades of blue. The heavy curtains were drawn back to let in the sunlight, spilling across oak furniture stained a dark brown with plush navy upholstery. The décor had clearly not been updated in a long while, as Netherfield had stood for quite some time uninhabited, and Bingley had not made the renovations of the sitting rooms his priority.

“I interfered as well,” Darcy confessed, taking a seat next to the fire, which obviously had been lit very recently. Likely, a servant girl had overheard her master’s invitation to Darcy and hurried over to start the kindling.

“Yes, but you had good intentions; you genuinely believed Jane did not care for me. You were wrong, but at least you were seeking to protect me from a loveless marriage. Based on my conversation with my sisters, I am certain that they care only that I am marrying a country girl without meaningful connections. They are indifferent to my happiness; their ambition for social success is all they care about!”

“That is, regrettably, a common view among the ton,” Darcy remarked, stretching out his hands toward the now exuberant flames.

“I suppose it is the tradesman in me,” Bingley mused, “but it seems a foolish way to live. To marry someone who will share your bed, who will bear your children, and not care about her in the least? How does that bring happiness?”

Darcy winced at these words, his thoughts flashing again to the pale face of his cousin, Anne de Bourgh, the heiress of Rosings in Kent. Darcy’s aunt and Anne’s mother, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, insisted that Darcy and her daughter were destined to be joined in marriage. The combination of two great estates would make the Darcys one of the wealthiest families in the nation, and Darcy still felt slightly guilty that he was so unexcited about the prospective union.

The reality was that he did not really like Anne much. He did not dislike her either, but she was a frail, sickly woman and very quiet. He was also quiet, and generally withdrawn in company. How would two such reserved people do in a marriage? He suspected they would speak little and avoid one another, not out of antipathy, but because they had nothing to say.

It would be, as Bingley suggested, a sad way to live.

No, he would not marry Anne.

“I am sorry, I did not hear that,” he said, abruptly realizing that Bingley had been speaking, and he had been too deep in his own thoughts to hear.

“I said that I have been visiting the various shopkeepers and merchants in Meryton,” Bingley repeated, “warning them about officers who do not pay their debts. I suspect that Wickham is feeling the pinch now.”

Darcy’s dismal reflections about marriage gave way to an enthusiastic smile. “I am certain he is, yes. When do you intend to buy up his debts?”

“Today. Would you care to join me?”

Darcy hesitated and then asked, “Do you think I should? I have not made myself popular among the people of Meryton.”

“You know of Wickham’s past behavior, and I do not believe the lower classes will care,” Bingley replied. “You may have insulted Elizabeth Bennet, but you have always been courteous to servants and tradesmen. Moreover, in my experience, such individuals are generally less concerned about manners and more about money. They do not care for those who will cheat them of their hard earned coin.”

Darcy had listened to this with growing confusion, and he said, “Insulted Miss Elizabeth? What ... what are you speaking of?”

Bingley stared at Darcy in astonishment and then rolled his eyes heavenward.

“ She is tolerable ,” he quoted, “ but not handsome enough to temptme; and I am in no humor at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men. ”

For a full thirty seconds, Darcy was flummoxed, and then the memory returned of the assembly at Meryton the very day he had arrived in Netherfield, of his bad humor, of his ... yes, he had said that, but certainly...

“She did not hear me, surely?” he said anxiously.

“Of course she did!” Bingley said in exasperation. “She was sitting close by, and you did not lower your voice.”

Darcy suddenly felt sick. He had ... he had insulted the woman whom he...

“But she must have forgiven me?” he suggested feebly. “She was friendly enough when here at Netherfield, when Miss Bennet was ill.”

Bingley stared at Darcy in astonishment. “Friendly? She argued with you, and refused to dance a reel with you, and avoided you as much as possible. She is a charming young woman with excellent manners, but she was not friendly .”

Darcy gulped hard. “You believe Miss Elizabeth does not like me.”

“I am confident she does not,” Bingley replied, “especially since I told Jane of your role in keeping us apart. But come, what is this? I know you have overcome your resistance to my marriage in an estimable manner, but you have never had much use for the Bennets.”

“The mother and younger girls, no, but Miss Elizabeth! She is intelligent, and clever, and arch, and...”

He trailed off at the dumbfounded look on Bingley’s face. The younger man stared at him in astonishment and then asked, “Darcy, is it possible you have a tendre for Miss Elizabeth?”

“No,” Darcy replied instantly and then shook his head. He could not deceive his friend.

“Yes, a little,” he confessed, “but she is not a fitting bride, so I could not, of course, make her an offer.”

“Can you not?” Bingley asked drily.

“The want of connection is not as serious for you,” Darcy said quickly. “Indeed, Miss Bennet, as the daughter of a landed gentleman, is technically your social superior. But my family, my friends, all of society expects me to wed a woman of fashion, fortune, and excellent connections.”

“I see,” Bingley replied, looking unimpressed by Darcy’s words.

Darcy, gazing worriedly into his friend’s face, said, “I hope that does not sound insulting?”

“It sounds sad,” Bingley said bluntly. “I have never regretted being the son of a tradesman as opposed to the son of a gentleman, but now I am overjoyed as it allows me to offer for a woman I truly love, who loves me in return, without worrying about something as uninspiring as connections.”

Darcy, to his astonishment, felt a strange twinge of envy in his chest. His friend had a point; it would be wonderful to marry based entirely on attraction and compatibility. But alas, such a union was not for Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley.