Mr. Darcy Came to Dinner (11 page)

Chapter 6

T
HE THIRD DAY OF
Darcy’s forced exile in Hertfordshire began like the first two — with a splitting headache. However, Darcy resolved that he had enough of laudanum, and he absolutely refused Mr. Macmillan’s offer of the potion. When challenged about his rejection, Darcy had a ready answer.

“Because I have been a damned fool on it, sir.”

Earlier that morning after he awoke, Darcy had a long conversation with Bartholomew. He had vague memories of strange things, such as singing, shouting, and white soup, and he wanted to separate fact from fiction. What he learned did not please him.

“I
sang
, Bartholomew?”

“Yes, sir.”

Bartholomew spoke in a dry, emotionless voice with undertones of condescension. It was an unfortunate affliction, and Darcy was never sure when the man was being impertinent. Bartholomew’s tone and comportment were always the same, whether speaking of Darcy’s cravat, the latest gossip below stairs, or the state of the weather. To his credit, Bartholomew was diligent and exceptionally loyal. Bartholomew could be truly frustrating to one’s peace of mind, however, as the valet proved that morning.

“What did I sing?”

“I believe it was ‘Spanish Ladies,’ sir, but I could be mistaken. Identification of drinking songs is not my forte.”

“Please tell me no one heard me.”

“That would be difficult, sir, as the entirety of the household was gathered outside. I suppose it possible no one paid attention.”

“Was Lady Catherine here?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Oh, good heavens! While I was singing?”

“No, sir. The singing occurred on the day of your injury. Lady Catherine came yesterday.”

“What did I say to her?”

“I am sure I do not exactly recall.”

“Bartholomew, tell me what you
inexactly
recall!”

“My best recollection is that you informed her ladyship you would not leave Longbourn, and you disagreed with her bringing Miss de Bourgh with her from Kent in this weather. Oh, and you would not be marrying Miss de Bourgh.”

“Good God! Is that all?”

“I cannot say. There was a great deal of shouting.”

Their conversation continued in the same vein, and by the end of it, Darcy gathered that he had insulted his aunt, told off a minister, yelled at his cousin, had his orders disregarded by his friends and family, and made a general spectacle of himself. As that sort of behavior was in every instance his abhorrence, he could only attribute this extraordinary breach of propriety to the influence of laudanum. He vowed never to use the vile stuff again, and Mr. Macmillan was forced to leave for London without dosing his patient.

Darcy suffered to take some white willow bark for his headache, but the concoction had no effect upon a new source of vexation: his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, had come to call in the company of Mr. Bingley.

“So how are you feeling today,” asked the colonel, “ready to bite someone’s head off?”

“I apologize for my beastly behavior, Fitz. I can only excuse myself by pointing out I was under the influence of a very potent drug. Good morning, Bingley.”

Bingley was annoyingly chipper. “I am happy to find you well, Darcy. Do not worry about Georgiana. With the weather still wet, she remains at Netherfield. My sisters attend her.”

Darcy did not find that news comforting in the least, knowing the Bingley sisters as he did. “Have you any word from Lady Catherine and Anne?”

The colonel shook his head. “I have heard nothing, but it is too soon for a message from either Town or Rosings. Surely, if anything untoward befell them, we should have heard. Do not fear. I am certain that Aunt Catherine has safely conveyed Anne back to Kent. You do not think a simple storm could stop her, do you? She would not permit it.”

“True. I suppose I cannot convince you to do likewise and take Georgiana away from here?”

“Odd you should mention that.” The colonel’s easy smile belied a certain tension. He addressed the valet. “Bartholomew, we would like a little privacy — that’s a good fellow.”

Darcy waited until Bartholomew closed the door behind him. “He was not happy to be dismissed, you know. He fancies himself my nursemaid.”

The colonel crossed his arms. “He must live with his disappointment. Darcy, we have to talk about Wickham.”

“I agree. That is why Georgiana must be taken back to London. I do not know what will happen if Wickham learns she is here.”

Bingley spoke up. “What is all this about Wickham? How does the presence of your late steward’s son endanger your sister?”

Darcy had forgotten Bingley’s attendance. “It is a private matter, Bingley.”

“No, it is not,” Colonel Fitzwilliam declared firmly. “I have thought this through all night and have come to the conclusion that we must deal with this matter once and for all.”

“This problem concerns Georgiana, and I will not see her harmed,” Darcy said darkly.

The colonel seemed amused. “You think you are more concerned about her welfare than I?”

“No, but I am her brother.”

“And I am her guardian. I am older and wiser than you, not emotionally entangled, and still standing on my own two feet.” He looked pointedly at Darcy’s splint. “None of which you can presently claim. Therefore, mine is the voice that carries the most weight in the current circumstances.”

“Are you enjoying yourself?” Darcy asked sourly.

“I am, actually.” He grinned widely. “It is not often I have the upper hand over you.”

Bingley spoke up. “Will someone tell me what this is all about?”

Darcy turned to his fair-haired friend. “My dear Bingley, I am sorry, but this is still family business — ”

Fitzwilliam cut in, “He needs to know, I think. He can be of assistance.”

“How?”

“I have a plan, and Bingley’s disinterested involvement only helps.” The colonel faced the other man. “Wickham has done more to Darcy than bedevil him for money that is not his and blacken his name with lies and half-truths. The reprobate tried to talk Georgiana into eloping with him last summer in an attempt to get his hands on her dowry.”

Bingley was shocked. “The blackguard! Why, Miss Darcy is not yet sixteen!”

“You can see why we are disinclined towards the man.”

“Indeed. Why has nothing been done to the scoundrel? He is dangerous!”

Fitzwilliam smiled. “Precisely.”

“What can we do?” said Darcy. “I cannot take the chance that news of Georgiana’s misstep becomes widely known. Her reputation would be in tatters.”

“We must guard against that at all costs,” Fitzwilliam agreed, “but there are other ways of ridding ourselves of Wickham. Think, Darcy! What does ole George do best besides charm young ladies?”

Darcy huffed. “He is no great card player — that is for certain.”

Bingley chuckled. “Very true! I remember tales at Cambridge of how he was always short of funds from gambling.”

“And that tells you — what?” Fitzwilliam prodded.

Darcy groaned. “You obviously have some idea. Stop imitating a Cambridge don and tell us, for heaven’s sake. My head is splitting.”

The colonel smiled. “The one thing Wickham excels at above all else is spending money. Who else could squander four thousand pounds and pile up debt besides in less than three years? How many times have you paid his bills in Lambton, Cambridge, and London? Debt is the key. I am certain that he already has run up accounts with the shopkeepers and tavern owners in Meryton during his short residence here. Let us buy them up — ”

“I swore I would not do that again after the last time,” Darcy declared.

“Yes, but this time we can have him thrown into debtor’s prison.” Fitzwilliam’s wolfish smile gleamed.

“I say, that is brilliant!” cried Bingley.

The idea of his childhood playmate in debtor’s prison was strangely painful to Darcy. “I . . . I do not know. Wickham has been foolish and greedy, but — ”

Fitzwilliam rolled his eyes. “Oh, come now, Darcy! What can be your objection? If he threatens to expose Georgiana, I can have him ‘persuaded’ otherwise while in gaol. A few pounds to the right fellows and ole George will not be in a state to talk to anyone.”

Bingley looked horrified, and Darcy narrowed his eyes. “I will not ask how you came to have such connections, but I insist that Wickham not be harmed if at all possible.” Darcy looked out the rain-streaked window. “Not for his sake or mine but because it is not something of which my father would have approved. Many do not survive debtor’s prison.”

“Bah! If anyone deserves to be locked away in a dirty, disease-filled cell, it is George Wickham!” Fitzwilliam said with some heat. “But if your tender sensibilities are offended, we can always offer transportation to the colonies. Let Canada deal with him.”

“With that stipulation, I will consider your plan,” Darcy allowed.

Fitzwilliam rubbed his hands together. “It is very simple. Bingley and I will call on the local merchants and settle Wickham’s accounts. Then I will approach Wickham’s commander — ”

“Colonel Forster,” injected Bingley helpfully.

“Thank you, Bingley. I will inform Forster about Wickham’s debts and ask him to investigate whether there are any outstanding debts of honor owed to his comrades. I am certain there are. Forster will see that Wickham is a disgrace to the militia and will not interfere with having the magistrate order his arrest. Wickham will be sent to London to await trial, and we can give him a choice between prison and transportation. In any case, we will be done with him forever.”

Darcy brooded. Wickham had long destroyed any affection Darcy once held for him, and there were times he could have throttled the reprobate, particularly after Ramsgate, but it was difficult to deal harshly with his father’s godson. A little corner of Darcy’s heart hoped Wickham would finally reform and become the man Old Mr. Wickham had been.

But Darcy could not afford to be merciful. Georgiana’s reputation was at stake. Besides, Wickham’s undoubted success with seduction meant that all the ladies in Meryton were at risk, even Miss Elizabeth. His sensibilities lurched at the thought of Miss Elizabeth at the mercy of Wickham. His heart hardened to the scheme.

“Very well,” said Darcy. “It will be as you say. But for the plan to succeed, you need Mr. Bennet’s aid.” At the questioning looks he received, he explained. “You are a stranger here, Fitz, and Bingley, for all his affability, is as good as one. You need a resident of long standing to earn the complete support of the townspeople. The three of you will get far more cooperation.”

Fitzwilliam was uncertain. “Will Mr. Bennet help? I must say I was not impressed with the man.”

“He will once we explain the state of affairs. One last thing,” Darcy added, “this is
my
problem, and
I
will provide the remedy. I cannot go with you” — he gestured at his leg — “but my purse can.
I
will buy up all the debts — no one else. I must insist on it.”

Bingley protested, but Fitzwilliam was resigned. “I know very well I cannot talk you out of something when your mind is made up. Are you certain, Darcy?”

“I am. I will not be dissuaded. Bartholomew will go with you to make certain my will is carried out.”

Fitzwilliam turned to Bingley. “Take no offence. His tone is often sharp when he is obstinate. He will apologize presently for his words” — he turned to Darcy — “but not his meaning.”

One side of Darcy’s mouth turned up. “Very true. I do beg your pardon most sincerely, but I
will
fund this enterprise.”

“Then let Mr. Bennet be called,” Fitzwilliam demanded. “It is time we finalized our plans.”

* * *

The ladies of Longbourn had retreated upstairs after breakfast so as not to disturb the gentlemen. To almost everyone’s relief, Mr. Collins remained in his bedroom, pleading a stomach complaint.

Elizabeth tried to concentrate on her embroidery with limited success. The previous day’s events had her mind in a whirl. Colonel Fitzwilliam’s revelations about Mr. Wickham had been disturbing — to think that a man so handsome and charming could lie to perfect strangers with absolutely no hesitation! Elizabeth could scarcely believe it.

Neither Miss Darcy nor Miss de Bourgh resembled Mr. Wickham’s description in the least. It was plain to see that Miss Darcy was not proud but painfully shy. The affection she had for her brother, and he for her, could not be doubted. And Miss de Bourgh was no belle of society. Rather, she was a sickly and somewhat strange individual with a partiality for sherry — not a lady one would expect to be the intended of one of the most eligible men in the kingdom.

The hullaballoo at the end of the de Bourghs’ visit seemed to put the final nail in the coffin of any union between Rosings Park and Pemberley. Mr. Darcy was not to marry Miss de Bourgh. Elizabeth could only wonder whether the gentleman had changed his mind, shamefully abandoning his betrothed, or whether the engagement had, in fact, not existed at all. The testimony of Mr. Collins was suspect, and as much as Elizabeth wanted to know the truth, she could not in good conscience question the colonel or Mr. Darcy about it.