A ladys reputation, p.11
A Lady's Reputation, page 11
The servant arrived to clear their soup and place some meats before them. Both gentlemen fell silent, Darcy eyeing Bingley rather warily as they were served. When the men were again alone, Darcy spoke.
“As I have said before, I do apprehend that my previous actions in this matter were inappropriately officious. Forgive me if I seem to urge you forward precipitously. I only wish to make amends for the months lost to you.”
Bingley was remorseful. After all, Darcy had his best interests at heart. So he was a bit meddlesome and too certain of himself; was it a crime? He opened his mouth to offer an apology only to be stopped by the appearance of yet another of his mounting problems.
Mr Alfred Staley was a minor landholder in Lancashire, near Sheffield. Bingley knew him well, their fathers having been acquainted since boyhood. At one time, they had been intimates, but things had grown strained between them.
“Bingley,” said Staley, coming near their table.
Bingley rose with exhausted reluctance. He gave his former friend a wan smile. “Staley. I did not know you were in town.”
“I left my card for you at the Albany no less than thrice. Perhaps if you are not engaged now…”
“Now?” Bingley forced an easy chuckle. “Well, certainly— Oh! But there is Sir Albert!” Staley and Darcy looked to where Sir Albert had entered. Bingley waved him over with rather frantic enthusiasm. Sir Albert grinned and made his way across the room.
Darcy, Bingley noticed, immediately looked haughtier as Sir Albert arrived, and he rose and bowed to the man to the slightest degree required by civility. Now, what? Is Sir Albert not suitable to be my friend?
He knew it would be best to be away for now. He was in no mood to tolerate Darcy this day, and Staley was nearly insupportable with his demands. Bingley was quite ready to be done with the pair of them.
“Are you taking your leave?” he asked Sir Albert. “I was just about to myself.”
Sir Albert was confused for the merest fraction of a second until he caught on to the scheme. Smoothly, he said, “I am here only to meet you my friend and accompany you to—”
“To…to…that place. Where they are having that…that thing.”
“Right,” agreed Sir Albert. “We must go now; else we shall surely be late.”
“Bingley, a minute if you please,” Darcy interjected.
“Bingley,” said Staley. “I must speak to you. I shall come to your rooms tomorrow at this time. Be there.”
“I shall be there,” said Bingley, edging away from the table, Sir Albert with him. “And Darcy, I do beg your pardon for being unable to finish our discussion now. Having a bit of trouble with my plans today it seems.”
Darcy was having none of it. “I had hoped we could fix our plans for Derbyshire this summer.”
“Of course,” said Bingley as he moved farther away from the table. Looking around the room, he saw Saye was still a distance away, and he gave him a quick wave. “Depend upon it.”
With a grin of relief in Sir Albert’s direction, he happily made an escape. Unpleasantness and confrontation were not for him.
Darcy could only frown, watching his friend depart with such a character. Returning seconds later, Saye shook his head with dubious amusement.
“What has Bingley gotten himself into now?”
“I wish I knew.”
Sir Albert Williams-Broad was known to them both. Of an age with Saye, he was handsome with light blond hair and piercing blue eyes that frequently held a certain devilment in them. He was from a well-connected family with a good fortune, but his claims to reputation were uncertain. For whatever vices and follies were common to men of their age and station, Sir Albert was rumoured to indulge in them to excess. It was said that, for every drink other men took, he took three, and if he visited a brothel, he was likely to engage four women instead of one.
According to various reports, his parties were wild orgies of indulgence in any vice to which a person held a proclivity. There was indulgence in drink as well as in potions from the Indies—or so it was said—that would make a man see visions. Of the female and male forms, there was great variety; Sir Albert did not wish to see any guest go away until their darkest wishes and lusts were wholly sated.
“I should hope Bingley has better sense than to associate himself with such goings-on as that,” Darcy said.
“Bingley is young,” Saye opined. “Young, wealthy, and easily persuaded. ’Tis a dangerous combination.”
Although Bingley did his best to evade him, he was forced to receive his friend Staley at his place of residence only a week after seeing him at his club. He received word the man had called and, as he had done in the days prior, returned word that he was not presently receiving. Staley then returned word that he would wait. Bingley said it would be some time. Staley said he awaited Bingley at his leisure. With a sigh, Bingley went to meet him.
Staley stood, holding himself stiffly as Bingley entered. Bingley moved to bow in polite greeting, but Staley stepped forward, embracing him. Bingley smiled and embraced him in return. He supposed Staley expected the privilege and familiarity of kin.
The gentlemen sat. “Millicent sends her regards,” said Staley.
“How is she?”
“Very well. Her studies are advancing, and her governess says she is unequalled in her ability to draw landscapes.”
“That is welcome news.”
There was an uncomfortable pause, though Bingley suspected it was only uncomfortable to him. Staley appeared ready and able to sit quietly for a decade if need be.
The two men sat in silence, staring at each other until Staley said, “You must understand, Bingley, when I came upon you both, it was quite alarming—”
“She is a child,” Bingley replied heatedly. “A child who wished to show me her drawings in the nursery.”
“You and I both know very well that she neither looks nor acts like a child.” Staley frowned at him. “From what I saw, you were not looking at her with the interest of an elder.”
“I did nothing—”
“But there is talk,” Staley replied. “Pray, let us keep this amiable for the sake of our fathers’ friendship.”
Bingley had loved his father and knew it was his dearest wish for his son to be a gentleman both in title and in action; thus, Staley’s charge silenced him. He certainly did not think himself obligated to Miss Staley, but evidently Staley felt differently.
Staley, with a smile on his lips that seemed a bit triumphant, summoned a manservant and asked for his hat to be brought. The servant did not tarry. Staley rose, donning his gloves.
“Some men do better for themselves if they settle early.”
Bingley met his gaze squarely. He thought Staley had rather unpleasant eyes—a watery shade of blue that suggested a sort of slyness. “Other men do best to have had their amusements before the responsibilities of home and family.”
Staley studied him. “Some men are far too given to their amusements.”
They stared at each other, neither willing to concede the point. Finally, Bingley said, “Say there! Why do you not come to a party with me tonight? There is a splendid group of fellows whom I have—”
“No.” Staley was reproving. “No, Bingley, your parties do not interest me. I have heard—” He stopped.
Bingley watched him with some confusion. “What have you heard? I assure you, there is nothing amiss in my friends or their parties.”
Staley rolled his eyes and snorted, wholly disdainful of his friend. “Someone needs to take you in hand,” he said witheringly.
10 June 1812, London
Darcy was made increasingly uneasy during his weeks in London by the fact that he remained unsuccessful in his endeavours to pin Bingley to a time to go to Pemberley. The underlying contentiousness that pervaded their recent interactions seemed to have dissipated if only because Darcy rarely saw his friend. Bingley was excessively occupied by his new circle, but when the two gentlemen did meet, he was as amiable as ever.
Finally, in early June, they were together at the dinner and theatre party of Lady Barton, and Darcy contrived to sit with Bingley. His hope was that the arrangements for the visit to Derbyshire would be settled—firmly settled—this very night.
“You are not an easy man with whom to gain an audience these days,” he remarked as they met in the drawing room after dinner. The room was rather warm, and they sought fresh air by the windows.
“I had always imagined the Season would be less fatiguing once Caroline was settled,” admitted Bingley.
“So your sister has accepted her suitor’s offer?”
“She has. Marston of Elmar House in Herefordshire.”
Darcy thought about that for a moment, trying to recollect what he knew of the man. A good match, he supposed; the family was old with a respectable fortune. Mr Marston was older than himself, perhaps thirty-five or so, but handsome and fashionable. He was not one of the pinks, but Darcy suspected he might like to think himself one. A gossip, Darcy recalled, sometimes a bit mean but, on the whole, easy enough to ignore. In short, he was a male version of Mrs Hurst.
“And she is pleased with the match?”
“He has pursued her for some time. I see a great similarity in their minds. In truth, all that was wanted for his success was that she should finally relinquish her hopes of being Mrs Darcy.”
Darcy winced without meaning to, hastily attempting to conceal his distaste. Bingley saw him and laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. “Of course, the rest of us knew long ago that she was without hope in that quarter! It was only Caroline who needed to comprehend it. Even her wishes could not outlast the reports of your affections for Miss Elizabeth.”
Darcy felt a bit silly for a moment, knowing he sometimes looked rather besotted when Elizabeth was mentioned, so he turned his face to the window and pretended something outside had caught his interest. Thus, he was unprepared when Bingley changed the subject.
“Do you suppose marriage will be diverting?”
“Diverting?” Darcy turned back to look at his friend.
“Fun,” Bingley said by way of clarification. He said no more, seeming to search Darcy’s eyes for the answer to something that was evidently puzzling him. Darcy hardly knew what to say, uncertain of Bingley’s intention.
Finally, he said, “I enjoy Miss Elizabeth’s society a great deal, so yes, I do anticipate a great deal of…of fun.”
Bingley sighed noisily and leaned against the wall. “It is quite different, is it not? You see people marry and then they just disappear! It is like they never knew town at all! Or else they come in for a short while, attend the theatre, a few parties…a different life, indeed.”
With a wistful smile, he murmured, “Fay ce que tu voudras.”
“Do what thou will?” Darcy asked, puzzled and growing more so by the second. There was something weighing on Bingley’s mind, and Darcy had no idea what it was but suspected it did not bode well for Miss Bennet.
Bingley chuckled ruefully. “Yes, do what thou wilt. A lofty goal to live in such a way, so freely, but so difficult for most of us to attain.”
“No one can always do as they want, Bingley, least of all, those of us who are adults with the claims of duty and responsibility upon them.” Darcy spoke with clear warning in his tone.
“So say you,” Bingley teased. “You, who have just gone against all expectations of your family and friends to marry a lady such as could barely draw your notice when we last were in Hertfordshire.”
I am tired of hearing this. “Yes, I suppose you could say I shall marry in accordance with my own wishes, but my estate will not suffer, nor will my family. Expectation is one thing, but duty is quite another.”
“Yes,” said Bingley with a beaming smile. “Precisely.”
Darcy was discomfited, feeling he had inadvertently supported whatever idea was rattling about in Bingley’s head.
Leaning close to his friend, Darcy said, “I do not understand what you are trying to tell me, but if you no longer wish to marry or even pay court to Miss Bennet, I need to know.”
“I just want to enjoy life,” said Bingley earnestly and expansively. “A life that is rich in laughter, friendship, and love, and the freedom to explore and experience new things. No restrictions, no oppression. Do you apprehend me?”
“Yes,” said Darcy patiently. “But you can do all of that and more as a married man just as well as a bachelor.”
Bingley merely looked at him.
“I am sure Miss Bennet will be eager to partake of the amusements of town,” Darcy said. “She has not been here much. Does she like theatre?”
Bingley looked oddly disappointed for a moment before answering slowly, “I cannot say.”
“What of music?”
“Hmm.” Bingley considered a moment. “Yes, I believe she must.”
“There are always so many parties. Does she enjoy them?”
Bingley pursed his mouth. “In truth, I think she finds parties rather tedious. She told me she has always preferred intimate evenings with a few close friends as she finds strangers rather intimidating.” He laughed awkwardly. “She reminds me much of you in that way.”
“They say opposites do attract,” Darcy answered immediately. “I daresay, she will awaken in you a more sober side, and in her, you may induce greater liveliness and more desire to be in town, enjoying the amusements of your youth.”
“Unless she should fall with child,” Bingley said, his glum tone not matching the felicity of such a possibility. “Then we would be tied to the country.”
“That is not true,” Darcy said immediately. “Nothing needs to change just because you have a child. You can still enjoy town and society as much as you ever did.”
“That is true,” said Bingley. He thought for a moment and then straightened himself, seeming reassured. “Yes, I believe you have the right of it there. In any case, you and Miss Elizabeth will never want for diversion. If all else fails, you can pass the time away in debating…well, whatever it is you two so often found to argue over!”
The mention of Elizabeth recalled Darcy to the task at hand. “Yes, Elizabeth is eager to meet you again at Pemberley this summer—she and her sister.” He gave Bingley a significant look.
“They are no more eager than I,” cried Bingley.
“First week of July.” Darcy pressed him on the date, seizing the advantage of Bingley’s present enthusiasm.
“Oh.” Bingley paused a moment, sagging again against the wall. “Oh, blast! I am so stupid with these things. You did send a note to me; I recollect it now.”
“You did not make another arrangement, surely.”
“I am obliged to attend a house party at West Wycombe Park in Buckinghamshire,” Bingley explained, looking uneasy. “I shall go next week and stay a week or so with my friends there.”
“Come to Derbyshire afterwards, then.”
“Hmm.” Bingley looked like such complicated arrangements were puzzling to him.
“Bingley…” Darcy spoke with a warning tone in his voice. “Go with your friends, and I shall meet you there and take you to Derbyshire. There now, we have settled it.”
Bingley thought for much longer than Darcy deemed necessary, finally agreeing to the scheme.
Elizabeth was scarcely home a day before she longed to be gone again. The time spent away from her home county had taught her to be more aware of the follies within her family circle. The silliness of her younger sisters was now intolerable, and her mother’s vulgarity seemed to exceed anything Elizabeth had previously known.
How had she not noticed the almost painful seclusion of Meryton before? All the gossip and talk was so trivial and silly, everyone saying the same things about the same people, all of which already had been said many times over. It was indeed confined and unvarying, as Mr Darcy had once observed, and she was a fool to have thought the people themselves varied enough to make country life interesting. It was not merely uninteresting; it was excruciatingly dull.
The regiment, which had provided such delightful diversion in the autumn, had quite lost its appeal for her. There was one gentleman whose charms had particularly worn thin, namely Mr Wickham. He lost no time in making several sly comments about her engagement to Mr Darcy that ranged from merely annoying to outright vexatious.
By far, however, the most difficult part of being home was her mother’s disbelief regarding her second daughter’s disinclination to marry a wealthy gentleman.
Elizabeth never meant to admit to her mother that she had no intention of actually marrying Mr Darcy. She and Jane had rehearsed several explanations for why Elizabeth was not yet prepared to plan a wedding. All of these careful schemes were lost when Mrs Bennet seized Elizabeth the moment she alit from the carriage that brought her home. Scarcely a word could be breathed before the wedding was planned. Elizabeth was only surprised the seamstress who would make her gown was not present to begin measuring.
In the confusion, Elizabeth found herself telling her mother that she should not anticipate a wedding. What followed was exceedingly unpleasant and unstinting. There were threats and harangues in abundance. Mrs Bennet promised eternal silence to her daughter on no less than twenty occasions, but unfortunately, she never held true to her word. Elizabeth endured her mother’s harangues in the same way she always had—with equal parts indifference and feigned repentance, reminding her mother and herself that she soon would be away again.
As the days and weeks passed, Elizabeth took solace in forming an acquaintance with Georgiana through the exchange of letters. It was through these letters that Elizabeth began to find a softer, more pleasing side to Mr Darcy than what she had known—or at least imagined she knew—previously.
The most recent missive she held as she strolled the garden around her home. In it, Georgiana referred to her “wild anticipation” to be at Pemberley and see a new instrument that her brother had purchased as a gift.
