The Darcys of Pemberley (6 page)

~*~

After three days, Colonel Fitzwilliam took
his leave, promising to stop at Pemberley again on his return from
Hunsford where he planned to stay about a fortnight. In the
meantime, there was plenty of employment for those who remained.
Mr. Darcy added instigating inquiries on the Bingleys’ behalf to
his regular slate of occupations. Along with her correspondence and
normal household responsibilities, Elizabeth began her preliminary
plans for Georgiana’s eighteenth-birthday ball, set for January.
And, with their guest gone, Georgiana reverted to her pattern of
spending a good portion of each day engaged in musical pursuits.
Whenever weather permitted, the three took to the outdoors for
daily walks and rides.

Rather sooner than expected, a subdued
Colonel Fitzwilliam returned. He smiled and greeted them warmly
enough, but his eyes seemed clouded rather than glinting with their
usual merriment. In answer to the inquiries his uncharacteristic
demeanor produced, he denied that anything ailed him other than
weariness from travel. After dinner, however, he asked Darcy and
Elizabeth for a private audience.

Behind the closed doors of the library, Darcy
demanded, “What is it, Fitzwilliam? You are plainly not yourself.
What on earth has happened?” He and Elizabeth took seats beside
each other, but Fitzwilliam kept to his feet, walking up and down
as he spoke.

“Oh, nothing so very dreadful. Please do not
be alarmed. However, I do have a delicate and perplexing matter to
discuss with you both. No need to trouble Georgiana over it,
though, at least not at present.”

“Of course,” said Elizabeth. “Whatever you
think best. Now, how can we help you?”

“I beg your indulgence. I must go back and
start at the beginning.” After a deep breath and one more turn
about the room, the colonel drew up a chair and commenced his
story. “As you know, Lady Catherine has been demanding more of my
time and attention in recent months. Although I may complain, I can
tolerate the visits well enough. I had no reason to expect anything
out of the ordinary on this trip, except hopefully more liveliness
from Anne with her improving health.

“All began agreeably enough. Her ladyship was
on her best behavior – by her standards, that is – and Anne seemed
at least as strong as when I saw her three months ago. In fair
weather, she and I even took extended walks round the park,
something that would have been unthinkable in the past.

“Just as we discussed, Darcy, I was on the
watch for an opportunity to take our cousin out into society when
the very thing presented itself – an invitation to a dinner party.
Rather than objecting, Lady Catherine nearly insisted I escort her
daughter on the outing, declaring that, since it was nearby, it
would not tire Anne excessively. Of course, neither Anne nor I
objected to the relief of a little variety, so we went.

“About a dozen ladies and gentlemen of Anne’s
acquaintance were there; all very pleasant and congenial. I knew
nary a soul, but that is no hardship for me. The evening started
well enough. Then I became conscious of what struck me as some very
odd looks and peculiar remarks. It was clear that these people
thought of us – Anne and myself – as a couple. Well, I could hardly
stand up and announce to the whole company that I cared nothing for
the young lady beyond family affection, so I let it pass.

“When we returned to Rosings, Anne retired,
leaving me alone with Lady Catherine. She asked how the evening had
gone off, and, in describing the party, I mentioned what I took to
be the misapprehension of some there present concerning the nature
of the relationship between her daughter and myself. Now we come to
the point. Our aunt then explained that her friends had been given
good reason to regard us as a couple. Apparently, Lady Catherine
and my father have got it all worked out; they have agreed between
them that Anne and I are to be married.”

“No, surely there must be some mistake!”
cried Elizabeth. “Is it not at least possible that you
misunderstood, Fitzwilliam?”

Fitzwilliam returned to his feet and resumed
his pacing. “If only it
were
a mistake,” he answered. “Her
ladyship was perfectly clear about her expectation that I shall
marry her daughter. Since she could not get you for her son-in-law,
Darcy, I suppose she has settled on me as the best substitute
available.”

Darcy rose abruptly. “But this is
preposterous! She has no more right to expect that you will
acquiesce to her designs than that I should have. How did you
answer her?”

“I was so surprised that I could hardly
think! I told her she must be in error, for it was the first I had
ever heard of such a plan. Her ladyship, of course, reminded me
that that she is
never
mistaken. She said I should have
understood which way the wind was blowing from her recent marked
attentions to me. At all events, she referred me to my father for
any further explanation. I left the place at first light without
even waiting to say goodbye to Anne, and here you see me, two days
later, still unable to compose myself.”

“But what of Anne? Does she desire this match
herself, do you think?” asked Elizabeth.

“I have not the least idea,” replied the
colonel. “She was cordial to me, certainly, but I noticed no signs
of extraordinary regard. It is possible that she is as much in the
dark about this plan as I myself was until so recently. Still, I
can hardly imagine that she has the courage to defy her mother … in
this or in any other matter.”

“So you will be alone in opposing the idea,”
Darcy surmised.

“Yes, I suppose so,” the colonel said
thoughtfully, stopping in place. “Such a match would never have
occurred to me. Although, now that I have had time to think about
it, I can see that from a certain point of view it makes perfect
sense. Lady Catherine wants noble blood for her daughter. If she
cannot get one nephew, then the other is almost as good. Anne has a
large fortune and does not need money from me. My lack of fortune,
in fact, becomes my inducement to accept the arrangement. What
could be more logical?” he concluded with a bewildered look.

“Surely, you
are
joking, Fitzwilliam,”
said Darcy, facing him squarely. “You cannot seriously be
considering going along with this farce.”

“I honestly do not know. I believe that is
why I am in such turmoil. Once the shock wore off, I began to think
it at least possible that I should accept the bargain. It would
obviously solve my money problems as well as satisfying my family’s
demands. With every passing year, the pressure from my father
increases. ‘You must get yourself a wife,’ he says, ‘the
right
kind of wife,’ by which of course he means ‘moneyed.’
If I must marry, I could do much worse. Anne is a sweet girl and
vastly improved of late. In any case, it would be an enormous
relief to have things settled; I could at least take comfort in
that.”

“But to marry without love, Fitzwilliam?”
questioned Elizabeth.

“I must face facts, my dear. Although I have
known many charming and attractive women, I have never come
remotely close to being in love. Perhaps I am not designed for
grand passion. I do have a certain fondness for Anne, which in time
might develop into something more. Many highly successful marriages
begin on similar terms, so I suppose we might be just as content. I
daresay we cannot all expect to be blessed with the uncommon
felicity that you and Darcy have found together.”

The three puzzled over the colonel’s dilemma
late into the night, canvassing every inch of ground backwards and
forwards and ending where they started, with no satisfactory
solution to the problem.

“At least remain and take your ease at
Pemberley for a few days, until you are rested from your journey,”
said Elizabeth at the conclusion of the conference. “Allow us to do
that much for you.”

“Yes, we will not hear of you leaving until
your mind is more at peace,” agreed Darcy.

“I thank you, but I am determined to press
ahead tomorrow. Pemberley can afford me neither peace nor rest at
the moment. I will not be easy until I confer with my father about
the question at hand.”

Fitzwilliam would not be dissuaded. However,
before the three parted for the night, Darcy secured his pledge
that he would neither decide in haste nor consent to the marriage
under duress. Yet the colonel’s sagging shoulders and hanging head
told the story; his promise notwithstanding, he bore the look of a
man already defeated.

New Neighbors

Over breakfast next day, Georgiana
necessarily contributed most of the cheer and an
uncharacteristically generous proportion of the conversation. So
occupied was she by giving their guest every possible attention,
that she hardly seemed to notice the subdued tenor of her
companions. Afterward, Fitzwilliam escorted Georgiana to the music
room, having persuaded her to play for him once more. Thus solaced,
he took his leave.

When he was gone, Georgiana returned directly
to her music.

Elizabeth continued to watch the carriage as
it receded into the distance, until the cloud of trailing dust
finally obscured it from view. At length, she said, “I cannot
believe Fitzwilliam could ever be happy in this marriage, Darcy, no
matter how rational it can be made to sound. It pains me to see him
looking so forlorn. Is there nothing we can do for him?”

“We have offered every argument to show how
insupportable such a compromise would be. Other than pray he makes
the right decision in the end, I cannot think what more there is to
be done. I only hope he will not be unduly influenced by his
family’s expectations. Lady Catherine’s wishes he may ignore if he
chooses; it will be much more difficult for him to defy his
father’s.”

Since indeed nothing more could be said or
done for Fitzwilliam, they reluctantly abandoned the subject and
moved on to another. As they reentered the house, Darcy asked, “Do
you write to Jane today? If so, I will add a note to Bingley with
some news.”

“If you have news to share, I most certainly
shall write. Have you found a suitable place for them so soon?”
Elizabeth asked.

“In point of fact, my investigation brought
two excellent prospects to light.”

So the correspondence was dispatched that day
to Mr. and Mrs. Bingley and, as soon as could be expected, Jane’s
reply came.

Dearest Lizzy,

How good it was to hear from you, and to know
that the three of you are well. Not a day goes by without us
thinking of you all. Mr. Bingley and I are exceedingly pleased to
hear that your inquiries on our behalf met with more success than
our own. We hope to follow this letter very shortly, and be with
you at Pemberley inside of a week. Now that the vision of finding
our new home appears within reach, we cannot bear to delay. All
other news can wait until we see you.

Affectionately Yours, Jane

When the Bingleys arrived, Jane’s radiant
countenance immediately revealed the “other news.” Her expectant
state was soon confirmed, and a joyful celebration between the
sisters ensued. The gentlemen were more restrained in their
merrymaking; a vigorous handshake and hearty statement of
congratulations served for them.

“This looks to be a banner year for the
Bingleys,” said Darcy, “not only an addition to the family, but
possibly a new home as well.”

Georgiana joined them, and they proceeded in
to dinner. There Mr. Bingley, impatient with curiosity, pursued the
topic of his prospective future residence with impressive
diligence, asking his friend all manner of questions about the
particulars of each estate – Northam Hall to the east, and
Heatheridge House, to the west, in Staffordshire. However, since he
had never before seen either place with his own eyes, Mr. Darcy’s
supply of information was necessarily limited and soon exhausted.
Nothing more could be known until a first-hand inspection could be
arranged. So plans were then made to see the two candidates with as
much dispatch as the distances involved would allow.

When they were by themselves later, Elizabeth
asked Jane, “Have you given our parents either or both of your
important announcements yet?”

Jane’s face fell. “Yes, I finally took
courage and went to Longbourn a week ago. I told them about the
baby first, hoping that it would make them so happy as not mind the
other news so very much. But when I mentioned the move, Mama became
almost frantic. She went on and on about what the event would do to
her ‘poor nerves’ and how cruel it was to take her first grandchild
so far away. As you might expect, Papa took the news more
philosophically.”

“Oh, dear, I can just imagine what you went
through, but at least the worst is over now.”

“I tried to explain, yet Mama persisted in
taking our moving as a personal affront. I feel quite guilty,
Lizzy, for causing her such pain.”

“You have done nothing wrong, Jane, and you
have never intentionally hurt a living creature in your life. You
mustn’t allow her to upset you.”

“I invited her to come and stay with me in
the spring, when the baby is due. Hopefully that will make her
content.”

“I doubt that Mama will ever be truly
content. She always said she could not be happy until we were
married and settled, and now that we are, she bemoans the fact that
her children are no longer with her. Perhaps it never occurred to
her that the fulfillment of her wish would come at a cost.
Nevertheless, she will learn to accept this; she has no choice. No
doubt she will recover from the blow just as soon as she finds
something else to worry about.”

“Poor Mama. I do pity her.”

“On a more cheerful subject, I have news of
Charlotte to report,” Elizabeth said. “I had a letter from her a
few days ago. It seems she must quit Hunsford parsonage within the
month, when the new rector arrives. At first she thought her only
choice would be to return to Lucas Lodge, at least temporarily. But
a happy alternative has presented itself. You remember Mr.
Collins’s sister, Mrs. Sanditon, whom we met at the funeral?”