Page 38 of Most Truly the Gentleman

The post-coach was at the inn yard when they arrived, fresh horses just being put to the traces. They found Wickham sitting upon his trunk by the inn door. He stood and bowed with a sardonic expression as they dismounted.

“Come to wish me well?” he asked, smirking.

“To be certain you have gone, more to the point,” Fitzwilliam replied.

“I should not have missed this coach for the world. I am more than ready to leave behind these gloomy shores for sunnier climes and new opportunities.” His swagger told Darcy more clearly than his words that Wickham had convinced himself he had come out on top of their arrangement.

“Just remember, Wickham, that part of the agreement is that you do not set foot in England again unless your regiment is ordered here. I will call in your debts, be it twenty years from now,” Darcy said.

Wickham waved a hand dismissively. “Yes, yes, that was perfectly clear. My fate and my fortune now await me in the colonies, and I am content with that.” His smile twisted into something sly. “I heard you brought your sister with you from London. I am sorry I had no opportunity to meet with her. Do give her my regards.”

Fitzwilliam went rigid, fists clenching, but restrained himself through a visible effort of will. “Recall also that so long as I live, your debts are not your only reason to avoid England.”

Wickham blanched at that and turned hastily when the coach’s driver called for passengers to board, waving for an ostler to assist in lifting his trunk onto the roof of the equipage. He had restored a simulacrum of cheer by the time he faced them once more. “Well, I am off. Farewell, Darcy. I will write to you when I have made my fortune, so you will know that your father’s favour did not fall amiss.”

“I shall look for your letter every day,” Darcy replied sardonically.

The luggage of the few passengers was quickly stowed and secured and the passengers shut inside the compartment. Within minutes of the call, it pulled out of the inn yard, bound for London.

“Good riddance to bad rubbish,” pronounced Fitzwilliam. “Come, let us ride back the long way. I could do with a gallop.”

The following week passed quietly, broken only by dinner with the officers at Colonel Forster’s residence on Tuesday evening and a handful of social calls. Darcy spent the early hours of each day with Bingley and Fitzwilliam, riding the estate, inspecting the fields and buildings, speaking with the tenants, showing Bingley what was going well on the estate and what was, or soon would be, a problem. Fitzwilliam knew something of estate management, for Darcy’s father had always been happy to have his nephew tag along while he instructed his son. These lessons had not been comprehensive, however, and were many years in the past. He followed Darcy’s instruction with great attention.

Afterwards, it was time for business or for calls. Fitzwilliam, having little business to tend, rode out often to Lucas Lodge or the admiral’s cottage, save for one call at Longbourn with Bingley which Georgiana was also delighted to join. Darcy went there with his sister and Bingley on another day, due largely to her insistence that she must see her new friends again, and on yet another he rode out to avoid a planned call at Netherfield by the Bennet sisters. He was still unsettled in his mind over the question of allowing his attraction to Miss Elizabeth to become a pursuit of her affections and her hand. When he was near her, those doubts burned away like fog in the sun, only to coalesce again when they parted.

It was inevitable that when Darcy wed, Lady Catherine would be furious, for his bride absolutely would not be her daughter. He had always expected his choice to please the rest of his family, however.

On the other hand, he doubted that anyone, save perhaps Lady Catherine, would cut his acquaintance if he chose in Elizabeth’s favour. There would be a season of coldness or mockery, and then so long as his wife did nothing objectionable, his defiance of expectations would be largely forgot. He had seen it happen, most recently when Baron Lepworth’s heir married the sister of a university friend, who had attended on scholarship as his father’s small estate brought in less than a thousand per annum. Three years on, the couple were received everywhere.

His concern that his parents would have objected was fading. The more he thought upon it, the more he felt that they would have valued his happiness above his bride’s standing, and there was also the inescapable fact that they were not present to voice disapproval. He must live his life without their advice, and without certain knowledge of what they would think of how he conducted himself.

The second day of the new week saw Darcy bound for Longbourn with Georgiana, Bingley, and Fitzwilliam at the earliest polite hour. Miss Bingley had intensified her campaign to win Darcy’s notice, and the previous evening after dinner she had arranged to entertain them with a series of games. All of these games required the participants to pair up, and she invariably claimed Darcy as her partner, however he might endeavour to avoid it.

Though Miss Bingley wisely made no insinuations when her brother partnered with Miss Darcy, Mrs Hurst had no scruple in teasing Miss Bingley about what a handsome couple she and Darcy made which—though pleasing to the lady—was quite the opposite to Bingley and both Darcys. As though to ensure that each guest had their fair share of mortification from the evening, Mrs Hurst drank more wine than was her wont and began to flirt quite blatantly with Fitzwilliam. The three gentlemen and Georgiana had retired early, pleading tiredness, and had agreed on the stairs that they should escape the house as early as they might on the morrow.

Bingley insisted that they call at Longbourn first, for he had not seen Miss Bennet since they met briefly in the churchyard after services. The Bennets had expected the return of their cousin to visit his betrothed the following day, and Bingley had reluctantly refrained from visiting so as not to intrude upon the reunion.

As Bingley claimed Miss Bennet’s attention, and Georgiana was invited to sit with Miss Elizabeth and Miss Kitty, Mr Collins leapt to his feet to greet the nephews of his patroness. He was delighted to see them, and to report that Lady Catherine was in the best of health and had entrusted to him the duty of reminding them that she expected to see them both at Rosings Park for Easter. He then turned his attention particularly to Darcy, saying with a knowing air, “And you, sir, will no doubt be happy to hear that your intended, Miss de Bourgh, is also well.”

Darcy felt himself stiffen with shock and offence that his aunt’s fantasies should be bruited around as fact. Before he could think how to reply, his cousin stepped into the breach.

“My cousins are not engaged to each other,” Fitzwilliam stated flatly.

Collins gaped at him. “But…your noble aunt… She said it was a cradle betrothal, agreed upon by the families.”

Fitzwilliam glanced at Darcy, who sighed and nodded to him to continue. Fitzwilliam suggested that they sit, and then he explained, “She did suggest it shortly after her daughter’s birth, and according to my uncle Darcy—as honest a man as ever lived—his wife thought it would be lovely if they wished to marry one day, but she agreed with my uncle when he flatly refused to enter into a contract which would obligate them. Lady Catherine raised the matter again several times over the years, only to receive the same response on each occasion.”

He regarded Mr Collins speculatively, and Darcy presumed that what he was about to relate would not be pleasing to the man. “Lady Catherine chose the day after Darcy’s mother was buried to insist upon the matter once more. My uncle Darcy cut all contact with her from that day, and I never heard of her mentioning the notion of this betrothal again until after he died. Make of that what you will.”

Mr Collins did not seem to wish to make anything of that, for he swiftly replied, “But surely Lady Catherine knew best. Her wisdom, her surpassing knowledge, must certainly have led her to understand the most advantageous course for all involved. To marry the flower of Rosings would be an honour of which most men cannot dream! There could be no greater ornament to your own great estate, sir, and you would acquire Rosings, to become the moon to Pemberley’s sun.”

“Balderdash,” pronounced Darcy, to Mr Collins’s great consternation. “Rosings is entailed upon descendants of my cousin’s great-grandfather. If we married, it would not become mine, but be held in trust for a child of hers. Surely you, who so admire my cousin, have noted that her health is very poor? Would you have her life cut short in an attempt to provide Pemberley and Rosings with an heir? For I truly do not think she could accomplish it. It is a dangerous business even for a lady in the most robust of health. Better that Sir Lewis’s cousin or that gentleman’s son inherits the place after my cousin has lived out her life in peace.”

It was clear that this assertion troubled Mr Collins deeply. “It is true that her health is delicate,” he muttered distractedly. “I cannot deny it. But I must think that a mother is the best judge of her daughter’s capabilities.”

“It may be, my dear,” Miss Mary said softly, laying a hand upon his arm, “that Lady Catherine has been a little misled by her natural partiality for her daughter into believing her more robust than she is. A tender mother’s heart cannot bear to view her own child as incapable of anything so desirable as continuing the family line, I should imagine. Of course, if such is the case, your duty of care to poor Miss de Bourgh must take precedence over her mother’s natural but sadly impossible wishes.”

“You have seen the matter more clearly than I, my dearest Mary. What a treasure you are! Tell me, do you think it would be best to attempt to lead Lady Catherine to a more clear-sighted view of her daughter’s prospects, or to allow events to unfold as they will and condole with her when the union she longs for does not come to pass?”