
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/8862334.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Pride_and_Prejudice_-_Jane_Austen
  Relationship:
      James_Elizabeth_Bennet/Fitzwilliam_Darcy, Jane_Bennet/Charles_Bingley,
      Catherine_Bennet/Georgiana_Darcy
  Character:
      James_Elizabeth_Bennet, Fitzwilliam_Darcy, Mr._Bennet_(Pride_and
      Prejudice), Mrs._Bennet_(Pride_and_Prejudice), Charles_Bingley, Caroline
      Bingley, Jane_Bennet, Lydia_Bennet, Kitty_Bennet, Mary_Bennet, George
      Wickham, Charlotte_Lucas, Lady_Catherine_de_Bourgh, Mr._Collins,
      Georgiana_Darcy
  Additional Tags:
      Elizabeth_is_James, He_Goes_By_Jamie_or_Lizzy, Bisexual_Charles_Bingley,
      Slow_Build, More_Graphic_Than_Canon, Explicit_Sexual_Content, Sexual
      exploration, Mr._Collins_Is_Still_a_Shit, Angst, Asexual_Mary_Bennet,
      Lesbian_Kitty_Bennet, Canon_Era, Anxiety, Anxiety_Attacks, Violence,
      Heartbreak, Genderbending, Other_Additional_Tags_to_Be_Added
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-12-16 Updated: 2018-03-12 Chapters: 15/? Words: 86076
****** Prejudice and Pride ******
by SCD07
Summary
     Second son of a house full of women, James Elizabeth Bennet is as
     devoted to the women in his life as their mother is to getting them
     married. Being the only male sibling gives him the entitlement of
     starting mischief as well as ending it, until the local estate for
     rent is finally claimed by a wealthy Charles Bingley alongside his
     sisters and a guest by the name of Fitzwilliam Darcy.
     As the middle and wealthy classes combine, old agonies resurface
     within both parties, alongside current and forbidden needs. For one
     such as Jamie, though, as marriage becomes a very real aspect in his
     sisters' futures, loneliness becomes a more present element of his.
Notes
     Welcome! For those of you who are die-hard Austen fans, please do not
     expect the 19th century language to always be present. While many
     lines are directly from the text, I am not putting that kind of
     pressure on myself for the pieces I add in.
     I hope you enjoy!
See the end of the work for more notes
***** Newcomers *****
It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a
good fortune must be in want of a wife.
At least, this was Mrs. Bennet’s claim while the family gathered in the foyer
to wish Mr. Bennet safe travels. Straightening his coat lapels, she kissed the
whiskers of his recently shaven face while simultaneously ushering him out the
door. “Netherfield Park is let at last and it is hardly two kilometers down the
road. Off with you!”
“My dear, you’ve hardly given reason,” he stated mildly. His stark bluish grey
eyes flicked to his second offspring’s while his wife was occupied.
“Oh but I have!” she defended.
“And what is his name?” Mr. Bennet guessed.
“Bingley!” she chimed.
“Is he married or single?”
“Single, to be sure!”
“I can never be sure, dear.”
She swatted his chest. “He is for one of our daughters, certainly. A single man
of large fortune: four or five thousand a year! What a fine thing for our
girls.”
"Not all of them at once, I hope?" her husband remarked.
“I hope you don’t mean to insinuate young men are collectible things, mama,”
James Bennet intercepted from where he leaned against the parlor doorway with
the eldest, Jane. Mr. Bennet smiled softly.
She gave him a smirk. “With four daughters to take care of, my Lizzy, I will
collect as many as I can.”
She turned back to her husband while he asked, “Is that his design in settling
here?”
“Design!” she huffed. “Nonsense, how can you talk so? But it is very likely
that he may fall in love with one of them, and therefore you must visit him as
soon as he comes.”
“I see no occasion for that,” he harrumphed mildly, wielding his walking cap.
“You and the girls may go, or you may send them by themselves, which perhaps
will be still better, for as you are as handsome as any of them, Mr. Bingley
might like you the best of the party.”
James and Jane exchanged smiles while the youngest, Lydia and Katherine giggled
profusely. The middle daughter, Mary, sat in the window seat reading and giving
all appearances of ignoring them albeit for her occasional glances.
Their mother fanned herself against the late summer heat. “My dear, you flatter
me. I certainly have had my share of beauty, but I do not pretend to be
anything extraordinary now. When a woman has five—I mean four, sorry Lizzy,
love, your middle name is a curse upon you.”
James cast his grey eyes to the ceiling, gently shaking his head while his
mother continued, “When a woman has four grown-up daughters, she ought to give
over thinking of her own beauty.”
"In such cases, a woman has not often much beauty to think of,” Mr. Bennet
commented dryly, earning snorts of mirth from his eldest children behind their
hands.
Mrs. Bennet’s mind was on a singular track. “But my dear, you must go and see
Mr. Bingley when he comes into the neighborhood.”
“It is more than I engage for, I assure you,” her husband smarted.
“But consider your daughters! Only think what an establishment it would be for
one of them. Sir William and Lady Lucas are determined to go, merely on that
account, and you know they rarely visit newcomers. You must go or it will be
impossible for us to visit him otherwise.”
“You are over scrupulous surely. I daresay Mr. Bingley will be very glad to see
you; and I will send a few lines by you to assure him of my hearty consent to
his marrying whichever he chooses of the girls. I’ll even throw in a good word
for our Lizzy. If Mr. Bingley has a half-penny of humour worth exploring, he
will enjoy the scheme.”
Color rose in Mrs. Bennet’s cheeks. “I desire you will do no such thing. Jamie
is not a bit better than the others, and I am sure he is not so half so
handsome as Jane—”
“Thank you for thinking so highly of me, mama,” he quipped. His fair sister
Jane rubbed his arm.
Mrs. Bennet spared a consoling glance over her shoulder. “Oh my love, you know
you are precious to me but this is a matter of four against one.” She turned
back to her husband. “And no one is half so good humoured as Lydia. You are
always giving him the preference. Did I marry such a typical Englishman?”
Mr. Bennet tucked a flyaway curl of ash brown hair behind her ear. “I fear
there is everything typical about me, my dear, as there is with my children.
They have none of them much to recommend them. To the urban breed, they are all
silly and ignorant girls. It should be a light to our lives that Jamie has
something more of a quickness than his sisters. I haven’t any idea from where
he got it.”
“Mr. Bennet, how can you abuse your own children in such a way? You take
delight in vexing me. You have no compassion on my poor nerves,” she exclaimed
while slapping the cap upon his head.
“You mistake me, my dear. I have a high respect for your nerves. They are my
old friends. I have heard you mention them with consideration these twenty
years at least.”
“Ah, you do not know what I suffer!” she proclaimed. Her son leaned his head
against the doorframe behind her, and Jane put her own upon his shoulder.
Mr. Bennet opened the iron-ribbed door to allow a fresh breeze into the room.
“But I hope you will get over it, and live to see many young men of four
thousand a year come into the neighborhood.”
“It will be no use to us if twenty such should come!” she retorted. “Since you
will not visit them!”
He straightened his cap. “Depend upon it, my life-love, that when there are
twenty, I will visit them all, as I already have this one.”
Wife and daughters perked their heads up. James smiled softly while Mr. Bennet
grinned, the man so odd a mixture of quick parts, sarcastic humour, with
reserve and caprice that the experience of three and twenty years had been
insufficient to make his wife understand his character. “When is the next ball
of Meryton expected, Lizzy?”
“Tomorrow fortnight,” was the reply.
With glistening eyes she pulled him in for a kiss before just as quickly
slapping his chest. Her mind was less difficult. She was a woman of mean
understanding, little information, and uncertain temper.
Once their temperaments had been set to rights, Mr. Bennet stood straight and
announced to his family, “Well who would join me for a stroll into town, since
I’ve been swept from my own home?”
Even Mary rushed to find her shoes.
***** Bees and Flowers *****
Chapter Summary
     The Meryton Ball.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
“Don’t keep coughing so, Kitty, for heaven’s sake! Have a little compassion on
my nerves. You tear them to pieces.”
“I do not cough for my own amusement,” replied her second youngest in the
darkness of their chaise.
Mrs. Bennet’s fan moved fretfully in the air, bidding the excited heat of the
evening away. “Your father has dealt a treacherous hand! Had Mrs. Long come
back a day earlier, we would have depended upon her to introduce him to us!”
Mr. Bennet voiced his presence as he peered out the window. “Then you may have
the advantage of your friend, my dear, and introduce Mr. Bingley to her. As the
cards hold, the party in question has not arrived prior to us. I do not see a
carriage befitting their station.”
“Impossible, Mr. Bennet,” his wife declared as if it were obvious. “Impossible,
when I am not acquainted with him myself! How can you be so teasing? Besides
the point, the wealthy have fashionable deadlines which are of course later
than most.”
James and Jane exchanged looks. The queue of carriages rocked forward and it
was finally their turn to leave the stuffy chaise. Before they could escape
inside, Mrs. Bennet heralded her children around her to establish a meeting
time at the end of the evening as well as to voice a final complaint toward her
husband’s negligence.
Mr. Bennet countered, “The past weeks have hardly been an exercise in
negligence. A fortnight’s acquaintance is very little. One cannot know what a
man really is by the end of a fortnight, therefore I thought to not strain my
beloved’s nerves more than necessary. As to your concerns of Mrs. Long, she and
her nieces must stand their chance; she will think it an act of kindness, your
standing aside until this evening.”
Mrs. Bennet made an indignant sound along with, “Nonsense! Nonsense!”
Mr. Bennet smarted, “Do you now consider the forms of introduction, and the
stress that is laid on them, nonsense? What say you, Mary? You are a young lady
of deep reflection.”
Caught unaware, Mary wished to say something sensible and awe inspiring but
knew not how. Her mouth opened only to hang open.
“While Mary is adjusting her ideas,” Mr. Bennet continued, “let us return to,
or should I say begin with, Mr. Bingley.”
His wife let out an exasperated sound. “I am sick of Mr. Bingley.”
He was hardly bothered while he ushered his family to the doors. “I am sorry to
hear that, but why did you not tell me so before? If I had known as much this
morning, I certainly would not have called upon him a second time. He seemed
quite thrilled for tonight’s festivities. We shall now make a very awkward
acquaintance when he arrives.”
The astonishment of the ladies was just what he wished, that of Mrs. Bennet
surpassing the rest; although when the initial tumult of joy was over she began
to declare it was what she had expected of her husband all the while—
Kitty’s handkerchief flew up to catch her cough, but her brother wasted not a
second. Curling his arm through hers while Jane was on her other side, the
eldest siblings rushed her through the doors before their mother’s wrath was
further incurred. “Let’s get some tea into you,” James declared.
“Tea?” Kitty whined. “But Jamie, Mrs. Lucas said there’d be wine.”
“Not a drop of it until you’ve had a cuppa,” Jane retorted.
“Ugh,” Kitty growled indignantly. “I’ll need to make my own tea every half
hour!”
James leaned close for her ears alone, “Try to contain your vulgarity. This
evening means a lot to our mother.”
“And wine passes through the system as quickly as tea,” Jane concurred as they
arrived at the refreshment table. “Behave yourself.”
They took steps to leave Kitty to her fate but their mother and Lydia arrived.
“Lydia, my love, though you are the youngest, I daresay Mr. Bingley will dance
with you at this ball.”
Oh!” Lydia exclaimed stoutly. “I am not afraid; for though I am the youngest,
I’m the tallest.”
James grimaced over his shoulder. “What’s that to do with anything? Can we tell
people you bump your head too much on doorways?”
“Lizzy!” their mother all but screamed while Lydia tried to strike him but he
was swift. Lydia chased him through the crowd before growing distracted by a
young man asking her for the first dance. James met with the Bennet’s neighbor,
Charlotte Lucas, and with her they rejoined Jane who had been ensnared by Mrs.
Bennet and Charlotte’s own mother, Lady Lucas.
“You’ve met him!” Mrs. Bennet exclaimed. “Well go on! Tell all! My husband
refuses to provide a satisfactory description of Mr. Bingley, no matter how we
interrogate him.”
James murmured between Charlotte and Jane, “By we, she means herself and
Lydia.”
The ladies chuckled, the latter seconding, “Poor Kitty gets swept within
Lydia’s excitement as well.”
James saw a dark glimmer in Charlotte’s eye, then, and let himself be pulled by
her away from their mothers. Jane had seen it too, and followed. “I’ve seen
him,” Charlotte revealed.
“Please tell me he’s appalling,” he japed. “Warts and thinning hair, the
works.”
Jane laughed but scolded. “If mother has her way, one of us is to marry him!
Don’t curse us so.”
Charlotte held Jane’s arm within her own as the three of them made a lap around
the assembly. “He’s quite attractive, truly. His hair is the color of copper
and he wore a fine blue coat atop his black horse.”
Jane’s brows lifted. “He must have come to have tea with you?”
She nodded. “With papa, yes, but he was perfectly lovely to me. He’s quite
young. He can’t be much older than you, Jane. And he loves to dance, he said
this to me directly. We shan’t wait much longer before we see him here.”
Jane wondered, “Do you know how many will be in his party?”
“Oh,” Charlotte’s brows furrowed while she recollected. “I can’t be sure. As
soon as he left us he rode back to London to bring more people to Netherfield.
Twelve ladies, and seven gentlemen was what I heard but I truly doubt these
numbers. Charles spoke specifically of his sisters and perhaps a cousin.”
“You are on a first name acquaintance with him,” Jane laughed. “Do not reveal
this disclosure to our mother. How large is his family?”
“There are six. He and his five sisters. I know nothing of the cousin.”
“Oh!” Jane smiled. “He is quite like you, Jamie. If only your hair had more
assam instead of honey in it.”
He shrugged, sharing her smile. “One sister more than me. He has me beat.”
Jane reached behind Charlotte to rake her fingers through his honey brown hair,
the silken, floppy tresses long enough to tuck behind his ear but short enough
to fall back around his face. He felt Charlotte’s hand between his shoulder
blades. “Well if the rest of the Bingleys are like the Bennets, the rest of us
will be blinded by your beautiful families.”
James guffawed. “A set of bumpkins among London’s glossy breed. I think we
should place our wages to how long it takes them to kick dirt up in their haste
to leave us.”
“Lizzy,” Jane scolded. “Why would you say that? We haven’t even met them.”
“But papa has.”
“That means nothing,” she countered. “He is an old man who prefers the solitude
of his library than the science of truly studying and understanding people.
Anyhow, both he and the Lucases seem to think well of Charles Bingley.”
“Out of the seven of us, he is the only one who has been to London,” James
reminded. “Perhaps his observations and studies have driven him to the
library’s solitude.”
“Oh Jamie,” she sighed, and gently shoved his head. “You’re speaking like an
old man too soon. Let us be children one more night.”
Charlotte concurred. “I may see the end of my twenties more clearly than either
of you but I will drink to that. Let’s find the wine.”
The gentleman standing sentinel beside the wine poured a sweet red for James
while Jane and Charlotte preferred a crisp white. James lifted the crimson
fluid to his lips, the glass edge indenting his flesh, and it was in this
moment the doors to the assembly opened. Heads lifted from wine and
conversation. No one could have said whether music still played or not, so
invested were they in who was arriving last.
Charles Bingley was easy enough to select from the rather small group. Out of
Charlotte’s numbers, it appeared only three men and two women were apart of the
party. James heard Charlotte whisper to Jane, “His two sisters, the husband of
the eldest, and…I do not know the other man.”
As befitting their station, a herald announced, “Mr. Charles Bingley,
accompanied by Lord Fitzwilliam Darcy, Miss Caroline Bingley, and a Mr. and
Mrs. Hurst.”
“Lord?” Mary voiced, suddenly on James’ other side. “The Darcy fellow is a
lord?”
“A small one, surely,” Jane supplied. “Otherwise we’d know of him?”
“Oh...he is heir of Pemberley,” Charlotte remembered quietly, and the group of
them fell silent. Pemberley was one of the most prominent estates in England.
Even they in their rural ignorance knew of the Derbyshire home which was only
small against the castles of kings.
James felt his sisters’ hands on the back of his tucked shirt, grounding
themselves. He had removed his waistcoat in the heat of the room and he was
certainly not the only gentleman to do so, but this contrasted highly with the
layered, lustrous fabrics of the newcomers. Mr. Bingley wore the telltale blue
coat, glimmering slightly in the chandelier’s glow. He was good looking and
gentlemanlike with his copper hair that matched his sisters’; he had a pleasant
countenance and easy, unaffected manners. James could see that immediately in
how he grinned and shook the assembly manager’s hand, the very image of old
friends despite this being their first meeting.
The brother-in-law, Mr. Hurst, appeared a typical gentleman along with his
wife, whose hair was only slightly more auburn than the brilliant copper of her
unmarried siblings. Overall, the Bingley sisters’ attire was fine and decidedly
fashionable in their contrast to the rest of the women present.
But Mr. Darcy soon drew the attention of the room. Like bees and flowers, the
Bennets were drawn to one another since James heard his mother whisper behind
his shoulder, “My word, his height...but what handsome features.”
James could not say he disagreed. Mr. Darcy gripped the attention of the room
by his fine, tall stature, noble mien, and by the report which circulated the
venue within five minutes, of his having ten thousand a year.
“Is his hair a bit long? Is it fashionable?” Mrs. Bennet queried to Charlotte.
“It’s a slight unruly, isn’t it? Oh, but I suppose it is quite rugged…”
James analyzed the man of which his mother was having difficulty developing an
opinion. The hair was nearly black, or a rich brown that reminded him of a
Christmas Mr. Bennet had brought home chocolate for the family. It had been
bitter but sweet, and he had been the only Bennet to enjoy it enough to finish
the parcel. As far as James could tell, the man had quite straight hair, but
the late summer’s humidity had pulled it into soft waves. The tresses on the
nape of his neck were perhaps too long but instead of the hair falling messily
over his forehead, it was combed neatly to one side. Unlike Mr. Bingley’s,
Darcy’s hair pushed off his scalp with quite a bit of volume.
Mr. Bingley had soon made himself acquainted with all the principal people in
the room. He proved lively and unreserved as he appeared determined to dance
every melody struck up by the orchestra. After his first dance with Charlotte,
however, Mr. Bennet succeeded in drawing him over to meet his family. Mr.
Bingley’s own joined them.
Mr. Bennet introduced, “It is my pleasure to introduce my Mrs. Bennet, and our
five children. The eldest, Jane, James, Mary, Katherine, and of course Lydia.”
“Charles Bingley,” he smiled with a hand on his chest. “Charles, please.”
He kissed Jane’s hand first and then shook James’s while the members of his
party chose to introduce themselves individually. Mr. Darcy noticeably remained
on the outskirts of their circle, silently watching the ballroom’s goings on.
Mrs. Hurst was kind but collected whereas Caroline’s hand felt limp and ready
to be pulled back when James bowed to kiss its surface. Her hand parted from
his without contact of his mouth as if they had silently agreed upon it. Her
topic of conversation afterward cemented his disinterest.
“It is quite dark and stuffy in here. Has no one thought of rebuilding the
place with less wood? You are brave folk to have so many candles in such a
place. You can see the tails of smoke among the rafters.”
He smiled kindly and left her in favor of Bingley’s company, which was
diametric. “This is extraordinary!” he all but sang. “There is never anything
like this in London. You’re even free to remove your waistcoats here!”
His blue eyes landed on James, who also felt Darcy’s dark gaze turn toward him
in the corner of his eye. He laughed congenially. “It is hardly proper, I
assure you. Give my mother a moment to notice and she will scold me.”
Charles’ grin never faded. He leaned forward to say as if in confidence, “I
shan’t catalyze your punishment. Simply allow me to voice my jealousy.”
James felt his lips matching that smile. Charles was making it difficult to
find a fault in the man—
Mr. Darcy said, “A punishment is hardly what one would receive at a London
engagement. Lacking the appropriate pieces of attire would bar the individual
from entering the assembly entirely.”
James’ brows reached for his hairline as he brought his glass to his lips to
hide his expression. He twisted on the ball of his foot, giving a silent good
luck to his sisters as he gently pulled Charlotte with him under the excuse of
a dance.
To his surprise, Charles and Jane lined up next to them as the music began. Not
a minute must have passed but they exchanged nods and the music commenced. It
started with the four of them each grasping hands to turn in a circle. Charles
made a point to say, “I apologize for him.”
The four broke into their separate pairs but when they rejoined, James
inquired, “You needn’t give apologies for others who are unwilling. I cannot
say I am surprised anyhow.”
Charles guffawed but was unable to reply until their next joining. “Are you so
skeptical of us? What reputation has London citizenry created for its self?”
Charlotte cut in with a warning look to James, “Not an altogether negative
impression, I assure you.”
Charles impressed James by shaking his head. “I don’t buy that for a moment,
but I will have to scold my companion later tonight. He is not even native to
London. He hasn’t any excuse.”
“I suppose everyone has some excuse,” James supplied.
Charles beamed as they broke apart but the dance ended a moment later. “You are
compassionate to say so but I wish you good fortune wriggling it out of him. If
Darcy was not staying with me in Netherfield, I doubt he would have come
tonight.”
“I hope I do not darken your impression of me,” James laughed, “but I haven’t
any desire to discover anything more from the man.”
Even in this, Charles’ smile did not tarnish. If anything, it shined brighter.
“Coming to Netherfield is proving deliciously refreshing with every moment. The
air is rich and I far prefer your wicked honesty. As if London’s elite did not
have enough money, they flock around Darcy like insects in this heat. Speaking
of, how aren’t there any flies?”
Charlotte tapped her nose. “Smell the cedar? Mosquitos loathe the odour.”
“I did not see any bonfires outside, though,” he voiced.
She turned to point at the large tapers as thick as a man’s arm on either end
of the room as well as beside the entrances. Charles’ eyes widened with
curiosity. “You mean, those candles have the scent within the wax?”
“Yes,” Charlotte smiled and gestured to James—
“Charles.”
The quiet yet smooth baritone took James by surprise as he and Charles turned
to face Mr. Darcy. “A word,” he requested tersely.
He clearly expected for Bingley to follow since he turned and they watched
those dark shoulders silently part the crowd. Bingley squeezed Jane’s hand
consolingly and leaned towards James. “He hates being left alone, especially
among people.” He winked, and left them.
Lydia appeared beside Jane, then. Her mouth opened, and then closed, clearly
not seeing the intention of her arrival. “Where’s he gone?”
“Mr. Darcy wished to have a word,” Jane provided.
“Oh him,” Lydia scoffed. “Such a waste in qualities.”
Jane laughed, “Whatever do you mean?”
“Well he is handsomer than Bingley,” she stated as if it was obvious, “but his
manners have turned the tide of his initial popularity. He is quite a
disgusting man.”
James’ brows lifted. “Tell us your true feelings, Lydia.”
Lydia gripped his arm in earnest. “Did you not see his behavior during our
introduction? He did not shake papa’s hand or introduce himself!”
“You didn’t either,” Jane interrupted. “Father said your name and you ran off
to dance with the Longs’ boy.”
“I won’t stay where I am unwanted,” Lydia proclaimed. “Bingley’s already set
his sights on Jane, and Darcy is so unbearably proud I shan’t waste a moment on
him.”
James laughed darkly while Jane retorted, “Do you hear your own words?”
Lydia rested her chin on James’ shoulder. He felt the sweat of her cheek
against his own and gently leaned his head back against her curly hair. “All
I’m saying is Darcy is above our company and above being pleased. If you can
prove me wrong then I will delight in your nuptials, since Darcy will surely be
among Bingley’s groomsmen.”
She nuzzled against James and whined, “Lizzy, will you let me taste your wine?”
He turned his head to kiss her hair. “No.”
She pouted, “Why? Kitty’s but a year older than me and she has a glass.”
“And it is one of the few occasions she has something before you. Mother is too
lenient with you.”
He grimaced against the wet raspberry she kissed against his cheek. “Why
shouldn’t I be pampered? I’m the youngest.”
“Congratulations, you were born when our parents were too tired to provide
proper enforcement.”
She giggled and hugged his middle while he drained the glass. “Is it difficult
being the only boy, Lizzy?”
He inhaled slowly for a long sigh, and then, “It’s only difficult being your
brother, Lydia. Your hair takes up too much space.”
“OH!” she growled, her hands curling to tickle his sides but her arms loosened
and he took off through the assembly with her on his heels.
“Lizzy! Lydia!” they heard Mrs. Bennet screech, however a new song was striking
upon the orchestra’s strings. James stopped instantaneously and caught his
sister’s momentum to turn it into the first motions of the dance. To his
surprise, Charles had returned and asked Jane for a second dance, and further
along the line, was Mr. Darcy with Mrs. Hurst.
“What a surprise,” Lydia commented when she noticed where his eyes were. “Mr.
Bingley is getting on well with Jane, though.”
This was an understatement. As James observed the pair from the corner of his
eye, he had never seen his sister laugh so freely, nor danced as readily. He
supposed Charles had this contagious quality to his character, but he knew Jane
better than anyone.
When the dance was finished Lydia hugged him but scolded. “Not another one!
There are so few gentlemen here I must spare them each a dance.”
“Thank you for taking me into such brief consideration,” he scoffed, but lent
her his handkerchief for her to wipe her face while he departed for a fresh
glass of wine. A low voice drew his attention to the end of the table, where
Mr. Darcy had pulled Bingley aside once more.
“Won’t you dance with us again?” Charles insisted.
“I will not,” his companion refused.
“Come, William,” he said with more urgency. “I must have you dance. I hate to
see you standing by yourself in this stupid manner. Much better to dance and
play at merriment. You may well surprise yourself by actually enjoying
yourself.”
“You know I think too highly of you, Charles, to lie in such a way. I yet
refuse. You know I detest it, unless I am well acquainted with my partner. At
an assembly such as this, it would be a punishment to me to stand up with any
other woman in the room.”
Bingley scoffed, “Upon my honour, I never met with so many pleasant girls in my
life as I have this evening; and there are several you must agree are
uncommonly pretty.”
“You are dancing with the only handsome girl in the room,” Darcy replied. James
peeked at the gentlemen to see them looking at Jane, who was currently with
Mrs. Bennet.
Charles agreed wistfully, “She is the most beautiful creature I ever beheld.”
“Then you had best return to her and enjoy her smiles, for you are wasting your
time with me.”
Charles caught his arm before he could turn away fully. “Disagree with me all
you like, but I brought you here for your betterment. You must interact with
the waking world. This is an invigorating change of people, I promise you.
Please. If not the women then perhaps the second Bennet?”
Darcy recoiled somewhat. “You mean I should dance with a man?”
Charles guffawed. “Perhaps at the end of the night when the wine barrels have
emptied, but I meant for you to appeal to him for conversation. His tongue may
prove as sharp as yours. You could use the competition.”
“Mr. Darcy.”
The pair perked up for Caroline Bingley’s interruption. “Won’t you share a
dance with me?”
Darcy seemed to consider it and then answered, “Of course.”
Charles made an exhausted sound and exhibited the first amount of annoyance
James had yet seen. “Acquainted enough, are you?”
“Charles—”
“No, no,” he waved them away. “Far be it for me to wish my friend real
happiness.”
He moved to make his way along the trestle able, and James rotated quickly so
to not appear the eavesdropper, although he soon felt a hand on his shoulder
blade. “James!” Charles greeted with a fresh breath. “You are not dancing? I
estimated more ladies than men present. We are needed.”
James was impressed by the man’s gallantry, then, as he was pulled forward
toward his own mother. Charles asked Mrs. Bennet for a dance, which had her
floundering and only too eager for the music to begin. James invited one of the
Long's neices for the dance to appease Charles’ insistence. He could not help
but observe his and Darcy’s forceful neglect of each other during the music.
Afterward, James drew Charles toward the entrance for some fresh air. “Is my
face horribly red?” he laughed, sipping the crisp white wine.
“Yes,” James laughed, “but it should be cooler at this time of night.”
Charles gasped as the night air encompassed them like a cloak, all darkness and
muffled silence from the noise within. “I needed this. Thank you, James. Why
does your family call you Lizzy? If I may ask.”
James sipped his red with a shrug. “My middle name is Elizabeth.”
“Ah!” Bingley laughed merrily. “That explains it. I suppose Mrs. Bennet would
have named you this if you were a fifth daughter.”
“Undoubtedly,” James confirmed.
“Walk with me,” Charles requested, gently holding James’ arm to steer him
toward a path past the carriages. “I hope you do not misunderstand. I love my
family dearly, but you are blessed in the quality of yours.”
Without really thinking about it, James let his arm fall within the crook of
Bingley’s. The two of them were of the same height and strolled easily past the
mares and stallions. When they came upon a glistening black horse, Charles
stroked its cheek and snout. The creature had the calm of one familiar with its
master. “Darcy gave this one to me,” he said.
“A fine mount,” James provided.
For whatever reason, Charles laughed. “A stubborn beast, like the master who
bestowed him to me. Caroline is infatuated though.”
“A fine match,” James returned.
Charles looked him full in the face and accused cheerfully, “I’m boring you! I
can tell!”
James let the giggle escape his throat. “I am not as knowledgeable in these
things. I’m not the one you should converse such matters with.”
But Charles surprised him with, “Good. This small talk is exhausting,” and
pulled him with renewed vigor along the path. “Where does this lead?”
“Out of Meryton,” James answered. “Eventually to Netherfield.”
“Ah,” Bingley hummed, and turned them back toward the assembly. “I would never
hear the end of it if I were to leave without my sisters. Darcy would hardly
care. That is both a treat and a nuisance of his character.”
“Are you sure? You are the reason for his being here.”
James realized his blunder too late. Charles’s shoes scraped the gravel in his
halt. “Aha! I knew you were listening to us,” he beamed. “What a treat. You do
not waste breath on pointless words, so I did not anticipate finding a fault in
you.”
“I have four sisters, Mr. Bingley,” James reminded. “I can’t afford to waste my
breath. I did not have malicious intentions—”
His words were waved aside. “Peace, please. I have sisters, myself, don’t I? I
know how curiosity and eavesdropping become second nature. Call me Charles,
James…or do I have the liberty to use Lizzy?”
Laughter burst from James’ mouth as they strolled around the assembly building.
“I can’t say whether my mother would be livid or beside herself if you choose
the latter.”
Charles inquired, “Is it reserved for intimate family?”
He shook his head. “Charlotte Lucas may as well be my fifth sister and she
often addresses me as Lizzy. But she just as easily calls me Jamie.”
“Jamie it is,” Charles decided. “Why would Mrs. Bennet be livid?”
“I cannot say.”
“Jamie,” Charles gave his best attempt at scolding. “It has been only an
evening but I sense a keen friendship in you. Why can’t you tell me?”
“Well, it involves a friend’s future courtship,” James said bluntly.
Charles blinked and fell silent suddenly. “I see…”
James stopped walking, bringing both of them to a halt. “I didn’t mean to be
untoward. I just…surely you suspected…?”
His breath paused in his throat as Charles’ fingers dusted over his cheek. “Of
course I suspected, yes. I must always suspect. It is the consequence of my
station in life.”
“How torturing.”
Charles bowed over with his laughter. “Yes! Please don’t misunderstand,
and—god—I sound silly with what Darcy puts up with.”
James suppressed his sigh and instead consoled, “He is not here right now. Is
marriage not an immediate goal of yours?”
Charles’ weight leaned to and fro as he finished his wine. He set the glass on
a windowsill as he said, “It is neither immediate nor far off. I only…” His
words faded as if he was contemplating whether to reveal his thoughts. “I
suppose I decided a long time ago I already had the money and prestige because
of my family. I would want the love for myself. I wanted this much to be within
my own control. Do I sound mad?”
“No,” James replied calmly. “You sound brave.”
Charles raked his hair back into place with a strained laugh. “Jamie, you sound
so hopeless!” he exclaimed while his weight heaved.
James gripped Charles’ upper arms to help him stand. He only meant to hold
Charles steady, but he felt the pads of fingers beneath his chin, and then
James realized there was a faint dusting of freckles on Charles’ nose.
His lips were soft, and he tasted like white wine. From his hair came the
scents of jasmine and lemon rind. The kiss was long and soft, but before James’
mind could catch up, Charles’ forehead rested against his and he was speaking.
“There is a difference between realism and cynicism, Jamie. Don’t let the
latter overcome the former. Let people surprise you for the better.”
He leaned back, then, as if he remembered something. “Caroline will be needing
me. It will be near time for us to retire as well.”
He left Jamie in the darkness beside the window. The ghost of lips against his
own and the aroma of his hair rooted James in place…and ever so faintly, Jane’s
lavender perfume from his jacket. The summer night was oddly cold against his
skin as he made himself tread back inside. James returned Charles’ glass to the
trestle table while he refilled his own, if nothing else than for something to
hold as he came to stand between his mother and Caroline Bingley. He could not
say what they were discussing until he heard Lydia’s shriek of laughter from
the current dance. Peering around himself, he realized he was alone with the
Bingley sisters, Mr. Hurst, and Mr. Darcy.
“That girl certainly is…loud in her glee, isn’t she?” Mrs. Hurst voiced as if
he was not there.
Caroline remarked, “And her stature…as if her voice wasn’t enough on the ears,
you cannot hope to escape from such a long-legged thing.”
A wet snort jerked their attention to James, who was forced to set his wine
down. Caroline stood appalled by the spectacle, but Jamie knew he was
officially drunk enough to not regard her opinion so highly. He set his glass
back on the table, and took it upon himself to excuse himself from the assembly
altogether.
Chapter End Notes
     Charles puts the Bi in Bingley. <3
***** Wings *****
James felt the mattress move beneath him and the rustle of the covers as Jane
slipped beside him. He had not been asleep long but he rubbed sand from his
eyes as he turned over to face her.
“You left early,” she whispered, shuffling close to his warmth. Her cold
fingers interlaced with his and he felt her breath on his knuckles. “Are you
feeling all right?”
“Too much wine,” he breathed, his eyes closed. “But I’ll be fine by morning.”
Her silence opened his eyes. “Did you want to talk?”
“It can wait for the morning,” she hummed.
“I’m listening,” he coaxed, unconsciously playing with her fingers.
After a long moment she said, “What do you think of him? Of Mr. Bingley. You
spent some time with him, I saw.”
“You first,” he prompted.
“Well he is just what a young man ought to be, I suppose,” she said. “Sensible,
good humoured, lively; I never saw such happy manners. So much ease with such
good breeding.”
Jamie smiled with his eyes closed. “Breeding is a happenstance. His manners are
learned and chosen.”
“Then you like him?” she pressed.
“He is handsome,” James agreed. “His constant smile would be difficult to look
at otherwise.”
“Jamie,” she giggled. “Be serious.”
He opened his eyes and absorbed her messy, pale blond hair. It was straight and
floppy like his own but her skin was fair while his was warmed by the sun. “I
like him,” he confirmed. “Between your criteria and mama’s, his character is
complete.”
“I do not care about his wealth, you know that.”
“Well that’s good,” he declared. “Because there isn’t enough to induce one to
extend such feelings toward his family.”
Her eyes crinkled with her mirth. “Were they truly so unbearable? The Hursts
seemed like a fine pair.”
“Diluted waters,” James responded.
Jane pinched his nose. “You’re cruel, Lizzy. They were strangers in a strange
place, forced to meet everybody at once. You wouldn’t enjoy the situation if
you were in their place.”
“You’re right,” he granted. “But you enjoyed tonight?”
“I was very flattered by his asking me to dance a second time,” she confirmed.
“I did not expect such a compliment.”
“Only a second?” he held her gaze. “Jane. He could not help seeing that you
were about five times prettier than every other woman in the room. No thanks to
his gallantry for that.”
“Lizzy…” she avoided.
“Compliments always take you by surprise, but never me,” he countered. “He
certainly is agreeable, and I give you leave to like him.”
She laughed, “Well thank you, I needed it.”
“I know,” he smirked. She pinched his chin as he added, “Besides, you have
liked many stupider people.”
“Lizzy!”
The bed crunched softly against their laughter. After a time, James’ mirth
faded against the inquiry, “What did you two discuss outside?”
His lashes were heavy as he blinked, examining her features before he replied.
“He kissed me.”
He could see the visible pause in her thoughts. Then, “Oh. Do you think…?”
“No,” he said, pushing her hair behind her ear. “At least, not entirely. If
your heart is open to him, let it remain so. I do not think he was aware he did
it. These city folk are weak to our wine.”
A smile flashed on her lips but quickly faded. Her fingertips tickled along the
edge of his jaw. “Were you all right?”
“Fine,” he chimed softly. “He smells like jasmine and if the kiss was any
indicator, he will be a considerate lover. You’ll enjoy him.”
The hand left his face to press against her own embarrassment. He chuckled, “I
thought you ought to know. You never see a fault in anybody. All the world is
good and agreeable in your eyes. I’ve never heard you speak ill of a human
being in my life despite many who deserved it. Even myself.”
“I’ll never think or speak ill of you, Jamie,” she hushed, her cheeks rosy. “I
owe you too much.”
“You owe me nothing,” he finished darkly, but just as quickly lightened, “I
just wanted you to know he volunteered his lips for a taste. You have my
approval.”
“The wine is still in you,” she accused with a smile.
He wiggled gently, adjust his place on the bed. “If that is your strongest
effort toward an insult, you’ll have to do better.”
“Tomorrow perhaps,” she laughed breathily. “Once we hear the full assault of
mama’s retelling of the ball.”
He exhaled heavily. “Good night.”
“Night,” she concurred.
Their eyes closed together, and opened in what felt like minutes despite it
being the following morning. Mrs. Bennet’s voice could be heard singing through
the walls. James only sighed as he held Jane’s gaze. Lifting onto his elbow, he
kissed her forehead and warned, “I’ll bring you tea, but I can’t withhold
mama’s summons for long.”
He tucked the covers so none of the heat escaped and carefully went down the
narrow servants’ staircase to the kitchen. A kettle was already on the stove,
which he poured into a small pot and loaded a tray with a cup, sugar, and lemon
so Jane could have her earl grey in peace. After dropping off the tray, he
descended the main stairs to where his mother was arranging a fresh bouquet in
the dining room.
“Good morning, dearie,” she sang when he kissed her cheek. The hand on his nape
smelled of the lavender branches she was handling.
“Morning, mama.”
“Where is your sister?” she beckoned while fixing his hair. “The two of you
normally rise together.”
“She’ll be down soon,” he promised, leaning away from her ministrations. He
sniffled against the aromas of bacon and rosemary-spiced eggs.
“Lizzy, are you feeling ill?” she worried. “You shouldn’t have walked home last
night.”
“I’ll be fine,” he disregarded, lifting a piece of bacon to his teeth.
His mother slapped it back onto the platter. “Not before we’re gathered! We’ll
break our fast like a proper family. Where is your father? Fetch him, would
you? Wear your coat, the morning still has its chill.”
“The wooly thing?” he complained but she was pushing him in the direction of
the back door coat stand.
“Not a word,” she hushed. “It does its occupation well enough. I do not care
how it itches.”
He stepped into the worn boots that stood nearly to his knees as he shrugged on
the faded black garment. The collar stood against his nape but it was welcome
as the cold fog encompassed him. The moisture glowed yellow with the morning
light as he found Mr. Bennet on his way back to the house with a brown wrapped
parcel he immediately handed to James. “Look what I have. It’s ready for
autumn. These will make lovely additions, yes?”
James pulled the twine and found cinnamon bark and various dried herbs. He
lifted them to his face and inhaled. “Mmm,” he hummed. “Mama will want these
for her pies,” he said, holding up one of the cinnamon pieces.
“There’s more where these came from,” he assured. A large weathered hand pushed
the hair off of his son's face and slid down his neck to the coat collar. “This
old thing? Are you feeling unwell?”
“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” he disregarded. “Mama’s just worrying.”
“Ah, well. You know she loves you. This comes through in many forms, some of
them overbearing. I suppose breakfast is ready if she’s sent you to fetch me.
Save one of those rosemary bits for your tea.”
James did so, holding the sprig between his teeth while he retied the parcel
and set it on the stairway upstairs before he rejoined his family at the table.
He dropped the rosemary in the cup Jane was pouring for him and they proceeded
to listen to the predicted dialogue:
“We have had a most delightful evening, a most excellent ball. Jane, you were
so admired, nothing could be like it. Everybody said how well you looked and
Mr. Bingley thought you quite beautiful. He danced with you twice!”
“She was present for them, mama,” James reminded.
She disregarded him. “But twice! Only think of that! She was the only creature
in the room he asked a second time. I was so vexed to see him stand up with
Miss Lucas, however he did not admire her at all; indeed, nobody can, you know,
and he seemed quite struck with Jane. Then he danced with Miss King, and the
fourth with Maria Lucas, and of course myself, and then that Boulanger—”
Mr. Bennet put a stop to this. “For god’s sake, say no more of his partners;
should that he had sprained his ankle in the first dance.”
James and Kitty snickered into their toast while Jane patiently weathered her
mother’s recollections. She proclaimed, “I am quite delighted with him. He is
so excessively handsome and his sisters are charming women. I never in my life
saw anything more elegant than their dresses. The lace upon Mrs. Hurst’s gown—”
Here again Mr. Bennet refused any description of finery. Barred from her
preferred topics, she then fell to Mr. Darcy. “So much bitterness of spirit and
shocking rudeness,” she exaggerated. “I can assure you all, we do not lose much
by not suiting his fancy. He is a most disagreeable, horrid man; not at all
worth pleasing.”
“You make it sound as if it were our duty to do so,” James challenged.
“Well certainly not anymore!” she declared. “So high and so conceited was he
that there was no enduring him! He walked here, and then he walked there,
fancying himself so very great!”
“Could this not be the same as boredom?” Mary suggested quietly. James refilled
her teacup easily with one hand, a finger holding the lid in place.
“Bored at a ball!” she bristled. “Such assemblies are not exclusive to us
country folk; he hasn’t any excuse! Bless Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst for
tolerating him; he is not handsome enough to dance with. I wish you had given
him one of your set-downs, dear,” she addressed to her husband. “I quite detest
the man.”
“Far be it for me to intrude upon Jane’s courtship,” Mr. Bennet refused. “Mr.
Darcy and Bingley have established their friendship and you must navigate
around it.”
“Well,” she continued while buttering a scone. “None of the lot’s manners are
equal to dear Charles’, but the majority are very pleasing when you converse
with them. Miss Bingley is to live with her brother and keep his house. I am
much mistaken if we shall not find a very charming neighbor in her.”
Jane and James exchanged looks but listened in silence.
However it was one of the occasions their mother saw. “Lizzy, what think you of
the Bingley sisters?”
“Mama, would you pass the strawberry—” Jane tried to distract but she waved
Jane’s voice aside.
“Lizzy?”
He held his mother’s gaze while he finished chewing his bacon and spared a
glance to Mr. Bennet before proceeding, “They were fine ladies, sure. Neither
was lacking in good humour when they were pleased and both held the power of
being agreeable where they chose it. But they are proud and conceited. No
amount of handsome qualities or rightly places freckles can forgive their
unbearable characteristics.”
“But Jamie, they are highly educated women, and Caroline has at least a fortune
of twenty thousand—”
“Indeed,” he curtailed. “They are handsome, have been educated in one of the
best private seminaries, are in the habit of spending freeing without concern,
and of associating with people of rank. Therefore in every respect they are
entitled to think well of themselves, and meanly of everyone else. I am not
disillusioned by their fine fabrics. They are a northern family otherwise as
bumpkin as us; the only difference is they earned a fortune in trade.”
His mother parted her lips but Mr. Bennet finished, “My love, this is the last
we will hear of it.” His tone brokered no argument.
She sighed but ate her scone and continued without an ounce of missing energy.
Apparently she had done her duty in reconnaissance the night previous for she
unfolded a series of details about the Bingleys: their father had passed away
before establishing a family estate but left behind one hundred thousand pounds
which Charles intended to use for such a purpose. He was renting Netherfield
with this prospect in mind, much with the encouragement of his sisters.
She seemed to have also deduced, or at least convinced herself she had, the
reasoning behind his and Darcy’s friendship. “Charles’ easiness, openness, and
ductility of his temper,” she insisted. “Despite the greater contrast between
them, on the strength of Darcy’s regard, Bingley has the firmest reliance. He
considers Darcy’s judgment of the highest opinion. In understanding, Darcy is
superior, of course…”
“Careful, mama,” James teased. “It might almost sound as if you approve of the
man.”
“We must hope for some of his education to come through,” she said over a long
sip of tea. James saw she had finished the milk for her tea and passed the
second small pitcher over for her to replenish her cup. “Bingley is by no means
deficient, but Darcy is clever. This hardly excuses him of his haughty,
reserved and fastidiousness, his manners…I find myself agreeing with you,
sweet, if not about the Bingley sisters. Though well-bred, he is not inviting.
Yes, Charles far has the greater advantage. Bingley was so sure of being liked
wherever he appeared last night. Darcy was continually giving offense.”
“Mama, how often did you witness him speak?” Jane challenged.
She patted her eldest’s hand. “It matters not how many times one’s lips part,
but what passes when they do—Lydia.”
Her youngest had belched, much to the disgust of Mary beside her. James
guffawed with a hand over his mouth while Kitty joined his mirth despite their
mother’s chagrin. “Oh, Lizzy, you delight in anything ridiculous. Don’t
influence your sisters so.”
Mr. Bennet hardly stifled his own chuckles. “How odd, to cast the blame on
someone other than she who belched. It seems Lydia can do no wrong.”
Lydia was the picture of innocence and the table was officially in an uproar.
Once breakfast was finished, Mrs. Bennet announced her intention to visit the
Lucases, and insisted upon James’ company. “You know how their younger children
adore you. I need you to keep them company so Lady Lucas and I can speak
properly. Charlotte will rejoice in your company too.”
“Only so someone else can play governess to her siblings,” he teased, but
nonetheless went to wash his face and dress himself appropriately.
“She is twenty-seven,” his mother said beside him, using the mirror to add a
bit of red pigment to her lips. “She may well be a governess to somebody soon.”
“She is educated and level-headed enough,” James commended.
His mother’s head tilted as if she had either been distracted or not expecting
this from him. “Yes, yes, of course. Now don’t forget your coat. The last thing
I’ll be able to bear is you falling ill—oh, Jane! Are you joining us?”
James reentered their shared room where she was tying a sunhat atop her loose
blond braid. He reached over her shoulder for his own but…”Where is mine?”
“I think Lydia borrowed it,” Jane supplied while their mother helped her tie
it.
“Lydia doesn’t borrow anything,” he complained and went in search of her. It
proved easier to simply take it from her and Kitty’s room without direct
interaction, and before long, the three of them were walking through Longbourn.
That the Miss Lucases and the Miss Bennets should meet to talk over a ball was
more than friendly custom: it was absolutely necessary. Since the latter had
worn out the topic amongst her family, Mrs. Lucas and Charlotte were her last
resources.
“You began the evening well, Charlotte,” she commended when they finally sat
themselves to tea. Charlotte of course said something pleasantly self-demeaning
in favour of Bingley’s liking of Jane, to the delight of Mrs. Bennet.
“Oh—you mean—because he danced with her twice…”
James took his leave, then, to carry as many smaller Lucases outside since they
had already climbed atop him.
“Jamie! Catch me!” one of the boys sang, and James turned to catch him at the
bottom of the stairs between the porch and the ground.
One of Charlotte’s sisters tugged on his arm. “Jamie, our radishes have
sprouted! Come see!”
“Am I to be neglected?” Jane laughed, making her escape from the discussion
within. The children sang their jubilation and drew the Bennets into the garden
where Sir William Lucas welcomed them and waved aside their apologies of
intrusion. Together they picked the radishes and the Bennet siblings ushered
the children to wash their hands while Charlotte joined them.
“They have moved on to the topic of Lord Darcy, now,” she informed.
“Predictably,” James shared a smile with Jane while petting the Lucas’s hound.
Charlotte sat beside Jane on the stairs, “Lizzy, you didn’t say he had been
rude to you. Mama said she overheard Charles suggest to Mr. Darcy that he
should converse with you and he outright refused?”
Jane quickly said, “Miss Bingley told me that he never speaks much unless among
his intimate acquaintance. With them he is remarkably agreeable.”
“I understand shyness or hesitancy,” Charlotte remarked, “But I wish he had not
snubbed Jamie so. A bristled tongue he may have but Jamie is endearing to all
those deserving of his kindness.”
Jane cast a worried glance to her brother, who merely gave her a smile while
the hound’s tail wagged with frenzy. “Another time, perhaps.”
Charlotte sighed. “His pride does not offend me so much as vanity often does,
because there is typically an excuse for it. For him, one cannot wonder how so
very fine a young man with family, fortune, everything in his favour, should
think highly of himself. If I may express it, he does have a right to be
proud.”
Jane scolded, “I beg you would not put it into Lizzy’s head to be vexed by his
ill treatment. We shan’t handle his company more than necessary, so Mr. Darcy
need not make excuses for himself at all.”
James tugged on her earlobe to calm her. “I’m afraid I agree with you this
time. Why should I think ill or highly of somebody who has yet to speak to me
directly? You know I’ve never cared much how others view me; more so how their
opinions affect my family’s happiness.”
“Pride,” Mary Bennet surprised them by appearing in the house’s doorway, “is a
very common failing, I believe. By all that I have read, I am convinced that
human nature is prone to it. There are very few of us who do not cherish a
feeling of self-complacency for some quality or other. Vanity and pride are
different things, though the words are often used synonymously. A person may be
proud without being vain. Pride relates more to our opinion of ourselves, while
vanity is what we would have others think of us.”
In the wake of their silence she came to sit between her siblings. James set
his sunhat atop her head to protect her pallor; her complexion was quite red
from the walk to catch up with them.
Suddenly one of the young Lucases declared, “If I were as rich as Lord Darcy, I
would not care how proud I was! I would keep a pack of foxhounds, and drink a
bottle of wine everyday!”
The elders laughed heartily. Charlotte drew her brother into her lap and
warned, “Then you would drink a great deal more than you ought, and if I were
to see you at it I should take away your bottle directly.”
The younger seemed determined to deny this and press his point until Mrs.
Bennet declared herself satisfied from her discussion. The following day Mrs.
Bennet made a different pronouncement: they were to call on Netherfield.
“James! You are being unreasonable,” she lamented as the chaise was prepared.
The summer’s heat had made a reappearance so the roof was folded down.
“I disagree,” he said patiently albeit tersely.
“It will be considered an offense if you do not join us in welcoming them to
Netherfield.”
“What was the Meryton ball?” he questioned.
“The ball would have happened with or without them,” she reasoned. “Now that
they have recovered from the festivities, we must play hosts of Longbourn and
Meryton.”
He walked her outside where his sisters were already waiting. “I respect the
responsibility you have volunteered for but I have my reasons for choosing
exclusion.”
“Name them,” she challenged.
“Autumn is upon us and I have errands to attend to. Mr. Robinson asked me to
cast more candles for the winter assemblies, as have Mrs. Long and Lucas but I
must collect the bees wax from Sir William first. And lastly, papa’s not going,
so the need for every Bennet’s attendance is clearly not dire.”
“We were at the Lucas’s yesterday,” she chided. “Why did you not speak with Sir
William while we were there?”
“I need to visit the market for more supplies and I thought to visit Sir
William on my way back. It is too much of a burden to carry that much wax all
over Meryton and Longbourn. I didn't think to get the wax yesterday.”
“Well your chores do come in handy, don’t they?” she finished with a tug on his
wool cravat for a kiss on his cheek. He offered his hand to assist her into the
carriage while she gave a parting warning: “I best see twenty tapers as tall as
the kitchen table when I return. Mr. Bennet’s age may be his excuse but not
yours.”
“Then what a joy it will be to grow old,” he called as the chaise started
moving. “I may never see the world again.”
“Then I shall be forced to live forever and grip you by the ear!” she answered.
He laughed and waved until the carriage was gone within the thicket of trees
which extended into the forest they shared with Netherfield Park. Of course
Mrs. Bennet’s demands were impossible as he only just managed to finish his
errands by midafternoon when he heard the chaise return. He was sitting in the
garden beside an old stump, using a nail in the wood to braid thread for wicks
when his mother placed a kiss atop his head and was aflutter with old news.
“Positively lovely gentleman! Where’s your father?”
“His study,” he murmured.
“Of course he is,” she huffed as she rushed into the house. Jane, Kitty, and
Lydia took her place, the first draping her scarf on his nape where the sun had
warmed it red.
“You missed a perfect luncheon,” Lydia said as she landed beside him. She
plucked her finger across the wick to garner his attention.
“I think my opinion of perfect varies widely from yours,” he chuckled, “but do
tell.”
Kitty supplied while she lounged over the long grass, “At first we feared the
worst—”
Lydia finished, “That Darcy bloke was present so clearly we had made every
offense just by breathing.”
“Kitty, you’ll stain your dress,” Jane chided mildly. “You’re being over
dramatic, Lydia. Mr. Darcy was there to make initial greetings but he left soon
after.”
“Yes!” Lydia stormed. “He left! What elevation of disinterest must you have to
leave in the middle of luncheon?”
James reminded sternly, “That bloke is a lord, bumpkin. He likely has a slew of
priorities even your fluffy head cannot encompass.”
“Well,” she uttered, in a tone which made him know a jape was coming. “Caroline
made a comment on your hair when mama made apologies toward your absence. ‘His
hair…it is quite asymmetrical, is it not?’ Didn’t she say that, Jane?”
“Many things were said,” Jane disregarded.
“It was, I remember it perfectly, because this was right before Darcy left.”
Kitty complained, “He did not say why he left.”
Lydia concurred, “I keep telling you he is the rudest man! But anyhow, Caroline
finds great amusement in your hair—”
“Lizzy likes to part his hair on the side. Her own brother does the same, as
does Mr. Darcy,” Jane hushed. "Just because Lizzy's hangs lower on one side
does not make it wrong."
“He makes so much fun of my hair, can I not do the same?” she pestered.
“I’m not sure how you can,” Kitty retorted. “Jamie and Jane have the best hair
of us all. It’s like all of mama and papa’s good attributes were stored up for
them.”
“This isn’t true,” Jane exclaimed. “Mary has beautiful ebony hair.”
Lydia snorted, “And where in the family did she get it? We all have brown or
light hair—erh—ERH!”
She flailed against James suddenly clenching her nose between his knuckles.
“What are you implying?” he uttered darkly.
“N-Nothing! Ow, Lizzy!”
“Do you not remember mama’s sister? Her hair is like Mary’s. She gets her hair
from our grandparents. The only thing setting her apart from us is how a
contemplative mind such as hers could have been crafted from the same womb that
made your feather-light head.”
“Jamie…” Jane whispered the same moment Lydia dislodged his hand and rose up
enough to slap him across the cheek.
“Are you trying to suffocate me?” she erupted.
“This is what I mean,” he growled. “You don’t think. You spend too much time
using your mouth to talk, it never occurs to you to breathe through it. Watch
your bloody tongue or it will bring us all to ruin, and it will be from
something as ludicrously simple as disrespecting your sister. The rest of
Longbourn knows us well enough but if you’re not careful, these newcomers will
believe something you say, not understanding that you're joking.”
“You’re one to speak of disrespect!” she exclaimed, standing and brushing off
her skirts. “You and Mary are of a kind; she abhors anything entertaining and
you speak as if you are above us! You ought to join us next time and take Darcy
off our hands. The two of you may get along, yet. You’re so very proud for
being so very poor.”
She left them, her loose curls bobbing behind her. James tied off the wick by
crimping a metal wire around it, and started a new one as if his cheekbone was
not blooming scarlet. Kitty shuffled close to him, one of her knuckles lightly
brushing the wound—
“KITTY!” Lydia yelled from the house.
She floundered slightly, glancing over her shoulder and back at James, but his
lack of response spurred her to rush to the house. Jane was silent for a long
time. Then, “You didn’t have to say it quite like that.”
“Was I wrong?” he countered quietly.
She sighed, “No, but to force the issue will only make Lydia believe she is
more correct.”
“Then we are all to watch her fall into her own ruin, is that it?”
“Do not attack me,” she almost whispered.
His hands stilled and his head finally lifted. His eyes closed heavily. “I’m
sorry.”
He felt her weight fall against him, her head finding the familiar bend of his
shoulder and neck as her arm came around his waist. “I know you mean well, I
do. I don’t know how to watch over Lydia any better than the rest of us already
do.”
“There may be nothing we can do,” he uttered, turning the threads once more,
“except let Lydia dive over the cliff’s edge.”
“You don’t mean that,” she said against his hair.
“Well I haven’t any better ideas,” he huffed. He set the braid down and rubbed
his eyes. Turning his head, he kissed her hair and tried to say on a lighter
note, “So, Bingley? Has he fallen in love with you again?”
This drew a laugh from her. “Hardly. Quite the other way around…his patience
with mother and our sisters is incredibly admirable.”
“We already knew this,” he said, leaning his weight against hers.
“It’s different now, without the wine or the comfort of strangers. Nothing has
changed in him. He’s invited us to dine with him again this week.”
“Then you have a dress to iron,” he proffered a smile.
“You won’t be coming?”
“I’ll only be in the way.”
“I don’t think so,” she urged.
He rubbed the arm that was on his waist. “You’ll be marvelous without me. You
needn’t even try. Charles Bingley is already smitten.”
And so with his comforting words, Jane and Mrs. Bennet dined with the Bingleys
two nights afterward, and then collected three more evenings so a fortnight had
passed with it seeming like they were at Netherfield every other day.
The air had officially turned with the changing of the season despite the
summer’s enduring heat during midday. Charlotte Lucas had come to the Bennet’s
home with a delivery of extra bees wax as well as to aid in his craft. The cook
and kitchen aid had taken the day off to allow him the room’s use. Charlotte
plucked the stems off of sage leaves while remarking on the current events of
Mr. Bingley.
“I must admit, our opinion of his sisters has gone up. Their kindness toward
Jane cannot be ignored. He does admire her, after all, but I daresay Jane is at
a disadvantage of being so guarded.”
“What do you mean?” he said from the stove, stirring the pale wax with a wooden
spoon’s handle. He waved his hand in the air, bringing the aroma to his nose
before dispensing two more drops of oil and a stick of cinnamon into the pot.
“Well there are very few of us who have the heart to be really in love without
encouragement. For all his smiles, Charles is reaching into thin air. Jane must
show more affection than she feels—”
“More than she feels?” James grimaced with perplexity. “She feels enough for
the man. Just because she does not throw herself at him like Lydia might does
not mean she is without love for him.”
“I only mean,” Charlotte reiterated, “that he might never do more than like her
if she does not help him on. Bingley does like her, undoubtedly; I was there
for the past two dinners, but he does not know her as well as we do.”
“She displays her affection as well as her nature allows,” James said, joining
her at the central counter to pull rosemary leaves off the branches. “He must
be a simpleton to not see it.”
“Please hear me,” she pestered. “He is not the same as you, Lizzy. Despite
having five sisters he only brought two with him here; one of whom is married
and likely does not spend the full year with him, while the other spends more
time dictating her brother’s thoughts instead of knowing them. You have spent
your entire life with Jane, Mary, Kitty, and Lydia, with no barriers to stop
each other from knowing your true characters or how you display affection.
Perhaps Charles will learn Jane’s affections if he spends enough time with
her…but it is never alone. They always see each other in large, mixed parties,
so it is impossible for them to truly learn about one another; to have the
leisure of falling in love.”
“Given his status, I doubt this will happen,” James uttered. “Especially with
Caroline and mama in attendance. Perhaps the latter will allow it but Caroline
won’t let her brother out of her sight. Even when he managed to escape her at
the Meryton ball, it was only for a few minutes.”
“You enabled this, didn’t you?” she remembered, handing him the sage while he
returned to the stove. “Could you not spare an evening to help her?”
“I best not.”
“Why not?” she demanded tiredly.
“I won’t be another Caroline in her life,” he could not help but laugh. “When
all is said and done, Jane will be married to Charles, not Caroline, no more
than Charles will be married to me.” He paused, if nothing else than to stir
the second pot of wax. “Jane is everything she needs to be for Charles to love
her, and if he does not, if Caroline affects him to the point of changing his
heart, then he was never worthy of her in the first place. I cannot meddle now
or else I will be forced to meddle forever.
“And why shouldn’t she be hesitant if she is concealing her feelings?” he added
suddenly, turning back to her. “This is a lot of fuss over a fortnight whereas
the consequence lasts for a lifetime. She is more than logical to be hesitant.
Some dances and a handful of dinners are not enough to make a person want to
marry the other.”
“They’re hardly just eating food together,” Charlotte argued, whipping the tail
of a tea towel against his hip. “An evening can do a great deal in learning
one’s mind, and they have had four. Four evenings can do a great deal.”
“It has been enough for him to keep inviting her,” James returned.
Charlotte sighed, “I wish Jane success with all my heart, then. And if she were
married to him tomorrow I would think she had as good a chance of real
happiness as if she decided upon it after a year of study.”
James set the spoon down and met her gaze. “You feel strongly in this? They
could really be happy?”
“Well,” Charlotte replied guardedly. “Happiness in marriage is often a matter
of chance, but when the individuals match so well together as Bingley and Jane
do, there is a positive outlook. However now is the time to act, not wait. The
better to grow together so you suit one another down the road instead of
discovering faults which cannot be overcome. In fact it may be better to know
as little as possible of the defects of the person with whom you are to pass
your life.”
James stared at her, waiting to see a break in her expression. When none came
he guffawed anxiously. “You make me laugh, Charlotte, but I would never wish
such a fate on any of my sisters. I prefer to know someone thoroughly to avoid
wasting my time on them. I thought you and I shared this.”
“Yes, and it has made me a spinster,” Charlotte grumbled. James smiled
consolingly as he moved one of the pots to the central counter. Charlotte
aligned the glass jars otherwise reserved for jams and marmalades for him. With
the wicks tied along another wooden spoon, she dipped the braided threads into
the wax and set it above a sheet of paper to catch the drips. He had already
prepared several large taper molds, though, which rested on the floor.
“Ready?” Charlotte prompted, holding the wick up, and he carefully poured wax
into the tin cylinder.
“Let it solidify some and then you can let go of the wick,” he instructed.
She held the next wick for him while he poured. “How do you do this on your
own? There are six more molds.”
He pulled the waiting wicks out and revealed the ends had been tied to wooden
skewers, which he then laid across the top of the cylinders. “Like so.”
“All right, sir, don’t be keen,” she retorted, making him laugh. “Tie these as
well so I won’t have to hold them, then.”
He set the large pot down and did so. Charlotte huffed a breath and shoved her
fringe out of the way. “So if a wooden stick can take my place in even this,
what am I to do?”
His expression was apologetic as he set a mortar and pestle on the counter.
“You can grind the herbs, if you like.”
She took up the task with gusto. “Would that my mother had shown as much relish
in pairing me off as yours does for your sisters.”
“You must not think this way,” he consoled. “Marriage may grant wings to some
but it just as easily binds them to the earth. You could avoid the gamble and
fly on your own.”
“It’s not about liberty or money, Lizzy,” she sighed. The corners of his mouth
lowered as her tone became heavy with fatigue…sadness. “Sky or earth, I don’t
care which. But I can’t bear to be there alone. Eventually my siblings will
stop being little ones and will succeed where I have failed.”
He stood against the counter for a long while, and in the end did not say much
more throughout the afternoon. Not until he lay alone with Jane in their room
and retold the conversation to her.
“Seven and twenty is a frightening age for a woman,” Jane agreed with a laugh.
“You have the liberty to be a bachelor your entire life, but society does not
think it seemly for a woman to follow the same path.”
“All for the sake of having children,” he scoffed. “What if Charlotte does not
want children?”
Jane giggled. “The way she adores her siblings, do you really think she
doesn’t? A woman’s body is a clock winding backwards.”
“Mama had Kitty and Lydia well within her thirties, though,” he said. “She did
not have you until she was twenty-seven, herself.”
“But she was married to papa for a number of years first,” Jane reminded. “The
only reason we did not each arrive sooner was because of his travels. And they
had already courted one another. You can’t expect Charlotte to meet and
consummate a husband all before her next birthday.”
He had to relinquish this point. The pad of her finger tapped his jaw. “You are
good to worry for her.”
“She is another sister to us. You know that.”
“I do,” she smiled softly. She changed topic. “The last I saw Mr. Bingley, he
asked for you. He wondered why so many Bennets had been to see him, all except
you.”
James was silent a moment. “He shouldn’t want to see me again.”
“Why shouldn’t he?” she wondered. “Jamie, you haven’t any friends besides
Charlotte.”
“He shouldn’t desire my company over yours,” he said more adamantly.
“And what makes you think he does?” she interrogated mischievously. “He could
have simply been polite in desiring your attendance. He’s asked for you but
once. According to mama, the numbers matter greatly.”
He smirked gently as his eyelids grew heavy. “Greatly.”
“Lydia and Kitty are planning to go into town tomorrow to see our aunt and
uncle. She will be reminded of Aunt’s dark hair soon enough.”
He chuckled, “You’re still worrying over that? I am not expecting
acknowledgement from her. Lydia will be too consumed with Aunt’s hat shop to
notice whatever color her hair is.”
Jane giggled the same moment the family’s cat made its appearance on their bed.
It jumped up with a slight hush of sound, her blue eyes aglow as she silently
found her place on Jamie’s chest. He stroked the white fur and pale grey ears
while slumber consumed him.
The rest was much needed, for the next morning Lydia and Kitty set off early
only to return with fervent news: the regiments were in Meryton. James’ head
sagged on his shoulders, already exhausted by Lydia’s chirping but he had to
admit, “At least her energies are focused on something.”
Lydia was harping on a certain Colonel Forster or a Captain Carter—James
preferred his cauliflower stew to either—when she was interrupted by a letter
arriving for Jane. Mrs. Bennet had not so much a glimpse of the sender address
before she ushered, eyes glittering, “Well, Jane, who is it from? What is it
about? What does he say? Jane! Make haste and tell us. Make haste, my love.”
“It’s from Miss Bingley,” Jane calmed, and read aloud:
“My dear friend,
“If you are not so compassionate as to dine with Louisa and me, we shall be in
danger of hating each other for the rest of our lives, for a whole day’s tête-
à-tête between two women can never end without a quarrel. Come as soon as you
can on the receipt of this. My brother and the gentlemen are to dine with the
officers.
“Yours ever,
“Caroline Bingley.”
“How is an extra woman going to stop the other two from arguing?” James
puzzled.
“With the officers!” Lydia exclaimed instead.
Mrs. Bennet, however, frowned. “Dining out…that is very unlucky.”
“Can I have the carriage?” Jane requested. James peered outside, where the sky
had been heavily overcast all morning.
“No, my dear,” Mrs. Bennet answered. “You had better go on horseback. That way
you will have to stay the night.”
James’ head whipped back in her direction. “Horseback?”
“Yes, Lizzy. I cannot speak for everyone but I believe it is when one rides on
a horse’s back.”
He disregarded that and replied, “Will they not offer to send her home
afterward?”
“But they cannot,” Mrs. Bennet chimed sweetly, “if the men are in their own
carriage at Meryton.”
“With the officers,” Lydia grumbled jealously.
Jane’s eyes were on the sky outside as she interrupted, “I would much rather go
by coach, mama.”
“Even so, the horses cannot be spared from the farm, can they, Mr. Bennet?”
Their father was in the midst of rising from the table to return to the very
work about which she inquired. “We must finish before the rain falls so we
cannot do without the horses. I’m sorry, Jane. We can spare one for you, but
not enough to pull the chaise.”
Jane exhaled quietly, folding the letter back to its original state whereas
James declared, “Here’s a savage concept: don’t go.”
“James!” Mrs. Bennet had never appeared more appalled.
“If the Bingleys are so esteemed to need Jane’s company on a day like today,
they can ride their own purebreds over here.”
Mr. Bennet chuckled. “And they can all listen to your silly sisters twitter
about the regiments. It is almost better to let Jane go.”
This was all Mrs. Bennet needed. No sooner had Jane left then the sky unleashed
upon them. Jane did indeed stay the night, and it was approximately the same
time the next morning when another letter was delivered, this time for James.
The messenger waited patiently for a reply, nearly soaked through by the rain
that had yet to end.
James tore through the letter furiously, his eyes absorbing every word as Mrs.
Bennet gave the messenger a hot cuppa to warm himself.
“I find myself very unwell this morning,” he read, “which, I suppose, is to be
imputed to my getting wet-through yesterday. My kind friends will not hear of
my returning home till I am better. They insist also on my seeing Mr. Jones—”
He looked up at Mr. Bennet. “Isn’t that Meryton’s apothecary?”
“Oh love,” Mrs. Bennet hushed, reading over his shoulder. "She says just here,
that she is only including this information since we are likely to hear of it
somehow, and she wishes us not to worry. Nothing but a sore throat and a
headache.”
The spoon of Mr. Bennet’s tea chimed loudly as he lifted the cup to his lips.
“Well, if our daughter should have a dangerous fit of illness and die, it will
be a comfort to know it was all in pursuit of Mr. Bingley, and under your
orders.”
Her lips pursed. “People do not die of trifling colds. I am not at all afraid
of her dying—oh, Jamie.”
He had thrust the paper into her hands and rushed into the kitchen for
essential items. He reappeared in the dining room just as swiftly. “You can’t
mean—how can you be so silly in all this mud! You will not be fit to be seen
when you get there!”
“I will be fit enough to see Jane,” he snapped, shoving his arms through the
woolen sleeves of his coat. He pushed past the stunned messenger, the door
clattering against the house in his haste.
“So would I, if I could have the carriage,” she complained to no one.
***** Six Inches *****
Chapter Summary
     While Jane recovers, James spends time in Netherfield.
Chapter Notes
     Charles Dickens is briefly mentioned in this chapter. Realistically,
     he was at the end of the 1800s while Austen was at the beginning, but
     I had Christmas vibes. Just pretend I uploaded this in time for the
     holidays~
See the end of the chapter for more notes
James had never been to Netherfield House. At least, not under invitation. As a
boy he would pull Jane onto the estate grounds during the day—when there was no
one renting it, there was no one to say otherwise. The gardeners held no qualms
over two children playing; if anything, their laughter was welcomed, and in the
darkness of night the single guardsman was easily avoided during their
explorations. No one cared whether two children wished to see the luxury they’d
never themselves have.
All that seemed far away now, another lifetime as James leaped clear over a
brook and felt a puddle’s splash soak into his trousers. He kept running,
seeing the pale façade appearing through the trees until his boots tread over
fine gravel instead of mud and grass. The fingers of branches reached for his
hair and coat but he was soon clear of them as the rain finally began to ebb.
By the time he took the curved, white stairs two at a time up to the double
doors, the servants had already dried off the terrace banisters.
The footmen took in his appearance with a critical and dubious eye, however the
doors parted for James without a word. The memories of this place drifted to
the forefront of his mind, calculating the house’s recipients to be breaking
their fast in one of the main parlors instead of the large dining room…
Again, the footmen opened the path for him, and James rounded the columned
entrance of the room in his filthy and dripping state, much to the shock of the
butler and maids present—
Of the people sitting at the table, Mr. Darcy was the one who shot to his feet.
James could only imagine how he looked: the worn black coat fell to his mid-
thighs while the collar lying high on his neck must have given him the visage
of a beggar. Though his trousers were tucked within his boots he had been
through kilometers of mud and grit; he did not know whether his sodden hair
rested flat against his cheeks or stood in frizzy licks. And after running all
the way here…he must have appeared every bit a mad man.
He realized, suddenly, that his jaw was stiff and trembled slightly from the
cold. He steeled himself to say, “May I see my sister?”
Charles Bingley glanced between him and Mr. Darcy, his mouth unsure whether to
gape or stay shut. Finally he settled with, “Yes, of course. Show him to Miss
Bennet’s room, please.”
The butler appeared to be the least willing person to allow James anywhere else
in the house, but he complied. As soon as he was out of the room, Mrs. Hurst
uttered, “Is he here before the messenger’s returned?”
“That hardly matters,” Caroline declared. “His boots look as if they’ve been
six inches deep in mud! Darcy?”
The man blinked, and found his seat once more.
“Do take care to walk along the marble and not the carpets,” the butler
requested stiffly. James did so but more as a second thought as he was nearly
walking ahead of the butler in his haste to reach their destination. It was
some consolation that Jane’s door looked out over the vast foyer on one side
and her room opened to a terrace on the other, so it was well ventilated. But
no sooner had the butler turned the knob then James swept inside, startling a
frighteningly pale Jane.
“Jamie!” she gasped, but with immense relief, as if she had been waiting for
him. She struggled to sit up but reached for him. “Oh Jamie…your hands are ice.
You look like an absolute fright.”
One of his hands parted from hers to feel the moisture on her temple and
throat. “You’re feverish, Jane.”
“I didn’t wish to concern you or everyone else,” she admitted as he eased her
back onto her pillows. “I suppose I failed any how. Now I’ve gotten you ill as
well. Take off that sodden coat.”
He looked to the fireplace, whose embers burned low. “And hang it over what
fire? Have they done nothing for you?”
She laughed tiredly as he set to work over the embers. “They’ve done a great
deal for me, Lizzy—Lizzy! Your boots and trousers…”
From his wet pockets he dispensed various parcels and jars, one of which he
unloaded into the growing flames. The room filled with the aroma of piney
rosemary and eucalyptus. He stood to plunge dried mint leaves in the metal
kettle on the bedside dresser for her tea.
“Your shirt too,” Jane urged. “Jamie, I can see your shoulder blades, take the
thing off! You’re fit to keel over any minute.”
Mechanically he did as she bid, but he did not pause until the room was fit to
his standards. From the pitcher of water he dampened a cloth for Jane’s
forehead to remain cool while her body sweated through the fever. By her
request he had finally removed his trousers and boots which were surely caked
in mud. Left in his pants, he stopped for breath, and voiced, “Mama said
Netherfield was only two kilometers…”
Jane laughed over her tea. “Yes, I discovered the same. It seems Netherfield is
closer to five kilometers’ distance. Mertyon is what’s two kilometers away.”
“Huh…” he voiced softly. Jane managed to flip the covers on the other side of
the bed open for him to fall into, and he slept.
When he awoke, the sunlight had changed and Jane was picking leaves out of his
hair. “You’re a mess,” she whispered.
He blinked heavily, observing the indigo shadows around her eyes. “You have not
slept enough.”
“No, but my fever’s broken, thanks to your stubbornness,” she smiled. “Thank
you for coming.”
He sniffled only to find his sinuses quite full. “There was no way of you
getting better here. You need a touch of home to heal.”
She huffed, “It does smell like it now, with the rosemary. All that’s missing
is mama’s lavender. This house is so minimally used it only smells of paint
and…” She yawned, “Things I do not recognize.”
“Gold leaf and silk,” he teased.
“I have yet to see either of those things,” she rebuked. “Charles visited while
you slept.”
James’ eyelids drooped to half-mast. “And that is why you haven’t.”
She smiled guiltily but then revealed. “Lord Darcy came too. You must have
given them such a scare at breakfast.”
“Have they taken my boots away for burning?”
Her eyebrows lifted as she shook her head. “No one’s touched your raiment. On
the contrary, Charles brought his own garments for you to wear to dinner if
you’re feeling well enough.”
He sighed raggedly. “I must dine with these people…if nothing else than out of
courtesy for letting you stay here.”
“I am not so much of a nuisance,” she defended, “but yes, you must. Charles
said dinner was at five o’clock.”
“When is that?”
She leaned high enough to see over the mountainous covers at the clock on the
mantle. “Twenty minutes.”
“Ugh,” he groaned, flipping the covers over his head. He roused a moment later,
though, and put more eucalyptus leaves over the fire to clear his and Jane’s
sinuses while he dressed. “Cotton,” he remarked upon sliding his arms through
Bingley’s dress shirt. “How middle-class of them.”
Jane peered at him from where she rested upon the piled pillows. “You’re not
going to be this way during dinner, are you?”
“An arse, you mean?”
“If I was inclined, yes,” she confirmed.
He laughed and finished buttoning the soft material to his throat. Bingley’s
dark green breeches were a material James could not identify; a luxurious blend
of some sort which he buttoned around his hips. After tying the satin cravat of
blue and green paisley design, he sat down to clean his boots. Enough cloths
had been provided for Jane’s fever, so he used them now to scrape and collect
the clumps from the worn riding boots. One of the kerchiefs was enough for this
purpose, and then a second with oil removed the last of the grit. When Jane was
not looking he tossed them behind a log to burn into nothing.
“Now then?” he requested. He stood straight for her inspection.
She smiled. “You look like a lord.”
His shoulders slumped. “Be serious.”
“What makes you think I’m not? All you’re missing is the waistcoat, but I think
they will excuse it.”
“Well according to Mr. Darcy, lacking all of the pieces can get one eliminated
from an assembly,” he remembered while straightening the cravat.
She breathed for patience. “Give them another chance, Jamie. Please?”
He ceased fiddling with the cravat and leaned over to kiss her forehead. He
felt her hand on his chest. “Send for me if you need anything. Anything, Jane.”
“Yes, yes,” she pushed him toward the door. “Currently I need you to thank our
hosts for their hospitality.”
He shut the door behind him and the butler was waiting for him at the end of
the corridor. To James’ surprise, he was led to the original breakfast parlor.
The room was aglow with the late sun’s orange light while the maids were
lighting the first candles for the evening. This time Charles sprang to his
feet.
“Jamie! I’m so pleased to see you on your feet. You seemed fit to fall off them
last I saw you.”
Charles shook James’ hand with both of his own, his skin cool to the touch.
“You clean up remarkably well!”
James laughed. “I owe everyone my apologies.”
“Hush,” Charles assured, moving his hands to James’ arms. “There is nothing to
forgive.”
“Especially in such fine colors,” Caroline said from the table. “Your cravat
certainly does suit him, Charles. It softens the severity of his eyes.”
James blinked. Severity?
He then had the acute experience of having Charles’ blue eyes trained on him.
“Severity? Caroline, you sound as if you’ve never seen grey eyes before.”
“Grey eyes, assuredly,” she commented. “But none quite so pale.”
Charles’ mouth formed an upside-down crescent. “Pale on occasion, perhaps, but
not so now. Darcy? What say you?”
Charles stepped aside and revealed Mr. Darcy not a step behind him. James could
hear his mother’s voice in his head. My word, his height...but what handsome
features. The evening light shined through the man’s eyes, which saw from a
view a head taller than either James or Mr. Bingley, revealing them to be far
from a dark color; they were a rich amber, molten gold if the light had not
cast them an orange hue.
“They were brightened by the exercise,” he said in his soft baritone. And that
was all.
James blinked, and looked to Charles, who laughed. “Come, I know you’re
famished.”
James found himself seated between Charles and Mr. Hurst. The ovular table lent
a far more casual atmosphere than he expected; James sat opposite Mr. Darcy,
with Caroline and Louisa to the left and right. James mutely watched a
selection of dishes being set down: broccoli and cheese stew, ragout, lamb
cutlets, and glazed pears. James dipped his spoon into the stew and was
relishing the creaminess with a unique, salty tang of cheese when Charles
asked, “How is she?”
He was caught with broccoli in his cheeks but quickly swallowed to say, “Her
fever’s broken but she needs vegetables. Dark ones, preferably…like this
broccoli.”
He shoveled more into his mouth. His eyelashes swept up to see Charles call the
butler to him and assure Jane had such requirements for her own supper. Mrs.
Hurst gripped his attention, “You like the soup, Mr. Bennet?”
He chewed quickly, covering his mouth just in case. “I do. It’s delicious,
thank you.”
“I’m curious,” Charles voiced, “why you specified dark vegetables.”
“I’m hardly an apothecary or botanist,” James admitted, “but lighter ones seem
to be only water and fiber. When we were ill as children, our mother always fed
us the darkest vegetables she could find, and we were better within a short
number of days.”
“Mrs. Bennet?” Caroline chimed. Her smile gleamed like a cat’s after achieving
the mouse. “How wonderful that she attended you all in place of a governess.”
James chose not to respond to that, and did not need to for Charles spoke next:
“What else would you prescribe? I’ve sent for Mr. Jones and he should be here
on the morrow.”
Caroline stated, “I don’t understand why poor Jane should wait till tomorrow.
Is everyone in Longbourn and Mertyon ill? I told you we ought to send for a
proper physician in London.”
“Then I should think we would be waiting a week instead of a day,” James
chuckled.
Caroline was without mirth as she inquired coolly, “What would you say Mr.
Jones’ credentials are, since you are familiar with the man?”
James had to think back to when he had last interacted with the man. “I would
say his specialty is children’s maladies. He is quite passionate for falconry
and is thus skilled at setting fine bones, such as within hands or when
children’s energies result in dislocations or fractures.”
“The injuries of farmers,” she surmised. “Not the ailments of the weather.”
James reached for a bread roll so he would not be required to speak. Charles
continued to voice his joy that he had come, though, and that he was sure
between he and Mr. Jones, Jane was sure to feel better soon.
“Are you often in Meryton?” he asked after a time.
James nodded. “My mother has a sister there. She and her husband are the
Philips. She owns a miller’s shop while he is an attorney.”
“A hat shop!” Caroline brightened. “What a charming enterprise.”
James was caught off guard by Mr. Hurst. “You do not like the ragout, Mr.
Bennet?”
He stared at the man for a blunt moment before he looked at the abandoned
portion on his plate. “It is not to my tastes, no, but I much prefer stews…”
Mr. Hurst had looked away halfway through is answer. James wanted to explain
how he simply wanted more cumin in the dish but his wife reclaimed his
attention.
“Have you any family in the city?” Louisa asked.
“My other aunt,” he nodded, reaching for his cup. “She and her husband, Mr.
Gardiner.”
“Whereabouts?” she furthered.
James much preferred when the sisters were worrying about Jane. “Cheapside,” he
finished, gulping his water.
Silence. Then Caroline changed topics, providing James with the quietude he
needed for the rest of the meal. The glazed pears were delicious but when
everyone stood at supper’s completion he found himself already at the door when
Charles called, “Jamie! Won’t you join us for coffee in the library?”
“Have you tasted coffee?” Caroline asked while rounding the table. Her fingers
slid along its surface until she crossed behind Mr. Darcy to take his arm. “It
is an acquired taste.”
“Hardly,” Charles laughed as he approached James. “It is bitter, but nothing a
little milk won’t cure. If nothing else, assist me in picking a volume or two
to bring up to Jane.”
Unable to argue, James felt himself drawn into the next room: a rectangular
space he originally thought to be oddly small for such an estate, smaller still
with furnishings. The walls were paneled with lush wood while numerous windows
provided natural light during the day. A number of bookshelves had been added
which stood approximately to his hip, their tops performing as a platform for
bouquets which added a floral aroma to the burning wood in the fireplace.
James noted how Caroline preferred a glass of sour wine as the butler poured
coffee for the others. She broke from Mr. Darcy to direct his attention to the
nearest bouquet. “How do you like them? Are you familiar with this bloom?”
“Paeoniaceae,” he murmured, more so under his breath than for her ears. Louder
he provided the answer she sought, “This is a bulb flower. They are not in
season.”
“Peonies. We acquired them from a green house in the area,” she chimed. “The
flower can be fooled to behave out of season if the temperatures and humidity
are manipulated properly.”
“How cruel,” he said, quieter still. She peered at him as if she might have
heard him or thought him odd for mumbling but he lowered himself in order to
read the spines.
He heard the conversation behind him as if a wall divided them, until the
benevolent charm of Charles’ voice broke through his reverie. “You’re acquiring
quite a pile. You’re welcome to borrow them, but I do hope the state of Jane’s
malady has not made you grab so many.”
James peeked up to see a cup lined with copper being held out to him. Standing
up, he accepted it and smelled an aroma of which he had never the pleasure of
breathing. “This is coffee?” he exclaimed in an awed hush.
Charles laughed. “I went ahead and added milk to cut the acidity,” then he
leaned close enough to whisper, “I quite prefer it with sugar.”
“What is it made from?” James queried, too busy enjoying its smell to taste it.
“Beans,” Charles grinned. “Well, berries, actually. However they must be
roasted before they are ground up and put to hot water similar to tea.”
Jamie uttered wistfully, “This would be such a nice smell in the candles.”
The copper head tilted to one side slightly, before realization dawned in those
blue eyes. “You made those? The cedar tapers from the assembly?”
He took the cup from James’ hand and set it on the bookshelf before he was
pulled from the room by the wrist. “I’ll have a parcel sent to you! How much do
you think you will need?”
He neglected Caroline’s urgent summons and led James through an alternate set
of doors than those returning to the breakfast parlor. Outside of the library,
Charles said to a maid, “Bring up some of the coffee beans for Mr. Bennet to
examine.”
James was observing the tranquil darkness of the room in which the grand
staircase climbed the walls above their heads. A cup not unlike the vessel
James never managed to taste arrived, and he held one of the unique spheres
while Mr. Darcy emerged from the library. “Charles—”
James put it in his mouth, arresting Bingley’s attention entirely while he
chewed. “Hm!” he chimed.
“It’s good?” Charles said incredulously.
“It’s…grainy,” he elaborated. “I wish I had the chocolate my father brought
home long ago to pair with it. You said it can be steeped like tea?”
Charles grinned like a fool as he took James’ hand again. “Let’s just watch
them brew another pot!”
“Charles,” Darcy uttered firmly. He turned to face his friend, who said, “Now
is not the time. You are the host here.”
“And I’m hosting,” he replied cheerily, but James felt the stiffness pushing
the words out. “Caroline is older than me, so she is already trained to last
through a good deal of time without me.”
James cut in, “I do not want to be the ignition of a dispute. I meant to retire
any how.” He handed the cup back to Bingley and lifted the stack of books under
his arm. “Thank you for indulging me as well as letting me stay in Jane’s
company. I’ll have these returned promptly—”
“There is no rush,” Bingley insisted. “Let me see you to the terrace. A set of
stairs will take you directly to the upper veranda and to her room.”
“Charles, no,” Darcy counteracted.
Bingley’s steps halted once more as he looked back, silently pleading. Darcy
was immovable. He turned back to James, and gently held his forearms. “Just
outside and to the left. You will find your way.”
His demeanor was sullen but resolved as he returned to Darcy and continued on
through the library’s doors. James turned toward the doors of the terrace
Charles had directed him to, but Darcy’s prolonged presence gave him pause. He
turned back, but the dark shoulders were to him and were passing through the
library doors.
James turned once again to the terrace, but his own name held him in place. “I
do wish you would stop this, Charles. Mr. Bennet has nothing to recommend him
of our company.”
“Except being an excellent walker,” Mrs. Hurst joined her sister with a brief
laugh.
Mr. Darcy spoke next, “I do not believe he walked so much as ran.”
Caroline’s mirth was high pitched. “He did indeed, Lord Darcy! I could hardly
keep my countenance this morning! It was very nonsensical to come at all! Why
must he be scampering over the country because his sister has a cold. My word,
his hair was so untidy, so blowsy!”
“It was a bit more than a cold, Carol,” Bingley voiced. “Jane had a fever all
of the evening she came and all night. It only ceased once Jamie arrived.”
“Jamie,” Caroline scoffed. “Your familiarity with him is distasteful, Charles.”
“Never mind,” Louisa intercepted. “I can understand his need for haste but the
state of his attire… He was absolutely oblivious.”
“This is all lost upon me,” Charles declared. “I thought Jamie looked
remarkably well when he came into the room this morning. The state of his boots
or hair escaped my notice.”
“To walk the three kilometers, or four kilometers, or five, or whatever it is,
above his ankles in dirt, and quite alone! It seems to be to show an abominable
sort of conceited affection or some other which is indifferent to decorum.”
“It shows an affection for his sister that is very pleasing,” Charles defended.
Caroline said, “You observed it, Lord Darcy. You seemed quite in awe of his
visage when he arrived. After some reflection, I am inclined to think you do
not hold the same regard of Mr. Bennet’s fine eyes as you once did.”
“You are wrong,” James heard him say. “There is a unique pleasure a pair of
fine eyes give when set within a pretty face. It is a shame the eldest Bennet
does not share her bother’s eyes.”
Caroline was decidedly silent. Until, “Well there we have it then, Charles. If
nothing else, the eldest and least obnoxious Bennets have earned a modicum of
regard. When shall we wish you joy?”
Darcy answered first, “That is exactly the question I expected you to ask. A
lady’s imagination is very rapid. It jumps from admiration to love, and from
love to matrimony in a moment. There is no reason to wish anyone joy.”
“Nay, I shall consider the matter as absolutely settled,” Caroline teased with
bristles on her tongue. “Charles, you will have a charming mother-in-law,
indeed, of whom you may always expect to be wherever Jane is.”
Mrs. Hurst sighed. “I do have an excessive regard for Jane. She is a very sweet
girl and I wish with all my heart she were well settled. But with such a father
and mother, such low connections, I am afraid there is no chance of it.”
“With one uncle working as an attorney in Meryton and another doing who-cares-
what in Cheapside?” Caroline all but barked. She and Louisa chortled.
James left them to their ramblings. The night air along the terrace was fresh
from the rain as he jogged up the stairs and identified Jane’s door. Jane was
asleep when he carefully opened the French doors and set the books on the
coverlet in order to attend the fire. He stoked the embers up into small,
sustainable flames—
“How was dinner?” He turned to find her gazing at him. She smiled, “The stew
was good, I thought.”
Instead of replying he came to sit beside her, feeling her forehead…and throat…
“Jane. You’re burning up.”
“Mm hm,” she uttered weakly.
“Why didn’t you send for me?” he growled, tearing at the knot of his cravat as
he sought his wool coat. Rummaging through the pockets he found what he was
looking for: a jar of vinegar with lemon rind and basil leaves infused within.
Jane grimaced. “Not the vinegar.”
“Yes the vinegar,” he said firmly while stuffing the copper kettle from her
bedside into the embers. “You’ve brought this upon yourself. I could have kept
the fever at bay.”
“I didn’t want to disrupt your evening,” she murmured softly, her face
glistening.
“You wouldn’t have been disrupting anything that oughtn’t be interrupted,” he
huffed, pouring more water from the pitcher into the kettle. As steam began to
wind its way out of the spout, Jane noticed the books on the bed.
“Will you read for me?”
He made a sound in his chest as he opened the glass jar and let the contents
splash into the kettle. Jane’s nose wrinkled as he pulled the kettle from the
fire and poured a cup for her. “You’re to drink this all before you sleep
again.”
“The pot?” she gaped, her pallor giving her a horrified visage.
“The pot,” he confirmed, holding out the cup. “Best get started.”
He draped another cool cloth over her forehead and removed his boots, socks,
and trousers before climbing back in beside her. She began to move near him,
inducing him to retort, “Don’t come over here when the pot is on your side!”
“Then nestle it within the covers,” she responded. Her voice was growing weaker
with every sentence she spoke. James did just as she said, the kettle nestled
beside his hip while Jane moved to recline against his chest. “What are we
reading?”
He showed her each of the covers. “I have a pair of volumes on botanicals…”
“Oh, Jamie,” she huffed with mirth. “Four daughters, and you were the one papa
would find with flowers in his hair. He would have to carry you back because
you had fallen asleep in the lucerne fields, do you remember?”
Jamie sighed and set aside the books while holding up the rest like playing
cards for her inspection. “This one seems to be a record of discussions in a
French salon, a few penny dreadfuls, and a novel of some sort. Do you know
Dickens?”
Her hair was soft against his chin as she shook her head. “Mary might know.
Read it.”
The tight leather binding creaked when he opened it as if it had never been
read. He read the title page and its dedication, the way Jane liked before he
began. “Drink your tonic,” he chided while refilling the two sips she had
taken.
“Yes yes,” she hummed pleasantly. “Go on.”
So he did, reading the first part and nearly the second but a knock sounded on
the glass doors. The siblings looked up and Jane waved for Charles...and Mr.
Darcy to enter behind him. “Sorry to disturb,” the former greeted. “Caroline
and Louisa have retired to bed but they insisted I check—I mean, of course I
would have anyway, but—well—are you well, Jane?”
“I’m afraid my fever has made an energetic return,” she said apologetically.
Charles appeared crestfallen as he looked between she and James. “I shouldn’t
have insisted you come to dinner. I am so sorry.”
“You couldn’t have known,” James disregarded, “but if you were preparing a
separate room for me, I must stay here.”
“Of course!” Charles exclaimed. “Far be it for I to take away the closest thing
to an apothecary we have. Am I furthering the malady by imposing upon you?”
“No, you could never, Mr. Bingley,” Jane said, a smile in her voice.
He was visibly warmed by her words. “How often have I asked that you call me
Charles? Which of the books did you settle on, Jamie?”
“A Christmas Carol, by Charles Dickens,” he answered, holding up the cover.
“We’ve nearly finished the first stave.”
Darcy’s lips frowned. “It’s quite out of season.”
“Nonsense!” Charles sang. “I tormented my governess by having her bake me mince
pies all year round. A dose of festive cheer may be just the thing we all need.
May we join you?”
The way James’ innards plunged, he wondered if Jane had accidentally elbowed
his abdomen. “I am by no means a good reader.”
Jane perked up, “I don’t think so.”
“I mumble.”
“Articulately,” she countered, and waved a gentle hand. “By all means, Mr.
Bingley, my lord,” she added for Darcy.
Charles all but dashed out of the room to personally carry two chairs for
himself and Darcy. When they were seating themselves, James wondered, “You seem
knowledgeable of the story, Charles?”
“Oh yes!” he sang. “It was my favorite as a child.”
“But this volume has never been opened,” he elaborated, fingering the tight
leather over the spine.
Charles appeared crestfallen. “Yes…it is a new edition of the tale. My sisters
insisted upon finer volumes for the family library instead of the ragged
paperback we pored sleepless nights into. I…I am not even sure where it has
gone, what with my parents’ deaths and our constant travels.”
“Then you’ll just have to read this one ragged,” Jane supplied. “Consider it a
proper homecoming. For a lover of stories, nothing warms a home like well read
tomes.”
James watched those blue eyes glitter in the firelight as a grin blossomed
across his lips. “I believe you’re right…Jane.” He recovered himself and
cleared his throat. “Please, Jamie, read for us? No, no—” he corrected when
James began turning back the pages. “—right where you were. You needn’t start
over.”
So he returned to his former place and started softly, his comfort growing as
he read, “Scrooge closed the window and examined the door by which the Ghost
had entered. It was double locked, as he had locked it with his own hands, and
the bolts were undisturbed. He tried to say ‘Humbug!’ but he stopped at the—”
Jane splayed her fingers over the page. “Say it like you used to read; give him
a voice here—do an impression of father when he’s cross.”
“Oh my,” Charles laughed. “Are we worthy of such a peek into domestic life?”
Jane giggled. “Jamie used to call it his 'dragon voice' when we were small.”
Charles was the epitome of curiosity and glee. “Well go on then! I never
thought I’d be so lucky as to hear a dragon in Netherfield!”
“It strains my voice,” he uttered quietly.
“Then I ought to oversee you practice,” she said. “Perhaps Lydia will hear you
better.” She reached back to poke his cheek, causing his lips to pout.
She lifted with the rise of his chest as he breathed, and then he growled,
“Huummbug.” It rumbled in his chest and scratched his throat like swallowing
embers, but Jane giggled profusely. Her mirth turned into full heaves of breath
which then evolved into coughs. Jamie was ready with a handkerchief as well as
her tonic.
Charles was half risen from his seat when she laid back once more on James’
chest. “Are you all right?”
“On the contrary,” she grimaced around vinegar as the red in her cheeks faded.
“The phlegm has finally broken from my ribs—” Her features opened in horror.
“I-I’m sorry. That’s—oh, it’s disgusting—I’m so sorry.”
It was Charles’ turn to guffaw. “Rest assured, I am not disillusioned enough to
think women are not subjected to the same fluids as men. ‘Jolly boys make for
jolly old men,’ so they say, because laughter is the best medicine.”
He looked to James, then, “I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad to see Jane smile and
laugh despite her fever. I hope you will forgive me for being forthright, but I
thought you were avoiding me.”
Truth and a ready lie clashed in Jamie’s throat, leaving his mouth open. Jane
supplied, “He was.”
The betrayal was keen. “I wasn’t,” he countered, pinching the back of her arm.
“Your leisure time has overlapped with my occupation, that’s all.”
The moonlight coming in sideways cast a unique glimmer over Bingley’s blue
eyes, and shadows over Darcy’s brown ones. Charles said, “I am eager to hear
more about this occupation. We’ll have more time tomorrow? I can see we’ve
imposed ourselves enough.”
James glanced down at his sister, seeing her pale lashes resting on her cheeks
more often than they were lifted. “Yes,” he acquiesced, “tomorrow. Thank you
again for being hospitable to us—”
Charles stood while waving his hand. “It’s a pleasure, a pleasure. I only wish
there was more time. Sleep well, Jamie, and you, Jane. I hope the morrow brings
you better health.”
“Thank you, Mr. Bingley. Lord Darcy,” she smiled weakly.
Darcy leaned forward slightly in a bow and followed Charles out with their
chairs. As the door shut behind them, James placed the volume atop the others
on his bedside table while Jane shifted to lie on his shoulder. The nearly
empty pot joined the books as she spoke.
“Two sightings of Mr. Darcy in one day.” He heard a smile in her breathy voice.
“Aren’t I lucky. He must have come because you’re here.”
James breathed in the familiar scent of her hair and meant to close his eyes,
but something in his peripheral vision made him turn his head back to the glass
doors. Darcy and Bingley finished returning the chairs to the other room, and
their shadows were leaving the veranda.
Chapter End Notes
     I hope you all had a safe and delicious holiday!
***** Good Opinion *****
Chapter Summary
     James' time at Netherfield gets extended.
Chapter Notes
     I can't tell if this chapter is boring or simply long *_*
See the end of the chapter for more notes
James awoke to sounds in the room. Jane was out of bed, and just from her
manner of movement, he knew she was feeling better. The first rays of sunlight
were swords lying across the coverlet. She came around the bed while pouring a
cup of tea; she glanced over the rosemary sprig to see his squinting eyes and
smiled. “Good morning,” she almost whispered.
“Mmh,” he sighed, watching the cup balance on his chest. He could feel its heat
seeping through the plush down while he heard the sound of a tin container
opening. A salve smelling of eucalyptus was rubbed under his nose. “Forgot I
brought that.”
She laughed softly. “My ailment was in my chest, but yours is in your head. Can
you breathe through your nose?”
He shook his head while wiggling to sit up enough to drink his tea. She
informed, “Richard brought basins for us to wash.”
James’ eyes had already closed once more. “Richard?” he heard as if from a
dream.
“The butler,” she informed while dragging her hand back and forth over his
chest. “You must wash,” she coaxed. “You’ll feel better. Come on.”
Heaving himself up, he drained the cup and first washed his and Jane’s
underthings in one of the basins. While they dried over the fire the siblings
washed during pieces of conversation before Jane exclaimed, “Jamie, what’s
this?”
He looked up at Jane’s bare breast pulled to the side. He squinted and stepped
out of his basin for a better look at her sternum. He laughed, “It’s only a
spot. Wash thoroughly.”
“I thought I was past getting spots,” she complained mildly.
“It’s because you’ve been in bed for a few days,” he supplied while washing his
face. “Consider it an unexpected advantage you do not own one of the
fashionable London gowns that would otherwise reveal your treachery,” he
laughed.
Jane frowned. “Their gowns are not cut so low.”
He had wrapped himself in a towel and knelt over the basin to finish. “It is
hardly within me to care one way or another how low a woman’s dress is
cut…unless it’s Lydia.”
“I think the larger concern would be Lydia’s swollen pride at owning such a
thing, and less how others reacted to her bosom,” she voiced. “Let me wash your
hair. Your sinuses must ache.”
They did. Leaving his face wet, he heard her towel move around her body and the
felt her fingers push into his hair. After suds had been made Jane poured water
over his hair and he did the same for her. Once they had finished she said
pleasantly, “I think I’ll have a spot of breakfast. Will you join me?”
He nodded and buttoned the last holes of his shirt. They were informed their
hosts had already dined and were out on the terrace awaiting them. James’ own
cold had taken hold, eclipsing his appetite, but it was a relief to see Jane
famished. She managed to push apple slices and a bite of toast into him but
beyond that he excused himself as she was finished her last cup of tea.
He exited the French doors leading to the terrace which wrapped around the rear
of the house but a footmen gestured around the corner where the family would
have a view of the lake. James thanked him, and as he rounded the corner, he
paused upon hearing their discussion.
“An uncle who is an attorney is all fine and good, but another in
Cheapside!”The voice was unmistakably Caroline’s.
“That is capital,” Louisa chortled.
Charles cut in, “If they had uncles enough to fill all of Cheapside, it would
not make them one jot less agreeable. You lot hold too much emphasis on
material wealth.”
James neared the corner, pressing his shoulder to its edge. He let his body
roll over it so he was in view of the family, or rather, they each faced the
view of the lake where Mr. Darcy leaned against the banister. But Darcy’s gaze
locked with James’.
“Charles,” Louisa said measuredly, “we have our wealth thanks to material
goods.”
Caroline concluded, “And their lack thereof materially lessens their chance of
marrying men of any consideration in the world.”
Darcy held James’ eyes with his own, but if there was any emotion there, James
could not read it. Richard the butler arrived with coffee, of which Darcy
appeared uninterested, but James was thankful for the conversation change to
announce himself. “My sister feels well.”
Caroline and Mrs. Hurst perked up, ignorant of his being there all the while.
“What lovely news!” the latter sang.
“Is she with you?” Caroline asked.
“She finishes breaking her fast as we speak,” he confirmed. “She will be with
you shortly.”
He began to shift back the way he'd come, but Charles exclaimed, “You will
remain as well? Share the morning with us?”
James smiled and assured, “I am going to retrieve your books. I’ll be back
momentarily, excuse me.”
James delicately pinched the bridge of his nose as he walked to the opposite
set of stairs. Just the press of the pads of his fingers elicited aches, and
the sun was too bright on his eyes. Nonetheless, he collected the borrowed
volumes and returned to find Jane conversing with the Bingley sisters. James
silently found a cushioned settee and continued the novel he had started the
night previous while the others played a game of loo.
He could not go ignored for long, however. Mr. Hurst looked at him with
astonishment. “Do you prefer reading to cards? That is rather singular.”
“Mr. Bennet,” said Caroline, “has been shown to despise cards, or at the very
least he is a great reader and has no pleasure in anything else.”
Jane’s smile began to evaporate. “That’s not true—” she began but James’ voice
covered her own.
“I deserve neither such praise nor censure. I am not a great reader and I have
pleasure in many things.”
Charles agreed, “In nursing your sister you have great proclivity! Look how she
glows!”
He swiftly bloomed red at his own exclamation but James was glad for the leave
to look back at the pages. Until Bingley sat beside him.
James’ chin remained lowered whereas his lashes swept up upon hearing Bingley’s
charge: “I wish my collection were larger for your benefit and for my own
credit; but I am idle when it comes to book collecting. Though I have not many,
I have more than I ever look into.”
James opened his mouth to speak but Caroline claimed the air. “I am astonished
that our father left so small a collection. What a delightful library you have
at Pemberley, Lord Darcy!”
“It ought to be good,” the man himself put forward. “It has been the work of
many generations.”
“And you have added so much to it yourself; you are always buying books!”
“It hardly matters how many you have as long as you enjoy them,” James sighed,
if nothing else than to get the sentiment out, but he realized Charles had
heard him. Bingley leaned into him so their shoulders touched, and James peeked
up to see a kind gaze meeting his.
However Charles’ head swung the other way upon Darcy saying, “I cannot
comprehend the neglect of a library in such days as these.”
“Neglect!” Caroline said. “I am sure you neglect nothing that can add to the
beauties of that noble place. Charles, when you build your house, I wish it may
be half as delightful as Pemberley.”
“I wish it may,” he admitted.
Caroline proceeded, “But I would really advise you to make your purchase in
that neighborhood, and take Pemberley for a kind of model. There is not a finer
county in England than Derbyshire.”
“With all my heart; I will buy Pemberley itself if Darcy would but sell it.”
James’ eyes found Jane, who remained silent despite the storm of worry he
recognized in her eyes, the set of her mouth. Caroline too easily pulled
Charles in a different county altogether despite being right beside Jane. It
was an odd relief that Caroline herself then canceled the notion.
“I am talking of possibilities, Charles.”
Bingley laughed, “Upon my word, Caroline, I think it more possible to acquire
Pemberley by purchase rather than imitation.”
The conversation faded from James’ attention in favor of monitoring Jane. He
could not say when exactly she had learned the skill of silence within a social
setting, but she had mastered it, being able to hold her space while saying
very little. James realized that Charlotte was right: Jane and Charles needed
to be alone. Jane needed the relaxed space and comfort to speak freely, and
beyond that Charles would undoubtedly be irrevocably attached to her.
“Has Miss Darcy grown much since the spring?” Caroline asked at some point.
“Will she be as tall as I am?”
“You are already of a common height,” Darcy provided. “Therefore she will be
taller.”
James was reminded of Lydia, however Caroline proclaimed wistfully, “How I long
to see her again! I never met with anybody who delighted me so much.”
Hell, woman, you’ve forgotten one of my sisters only to insult the one sitting
beside you! he thought angrily.
“Such a countenance, such manners!” Caroline praised. “And so extremely
accomplished for her age! Her performance on the pianoforte is exquisite.”
“It is amazing to me,” said Bingley, “how young ladies can have the patience to
be so very accomplished as they all are.”
Louisa returned as if from a reverie. “All young ladies, Charles? What do you
mean?”
Bingley pressed on, “Yes, all of them, I think. They all paint tables, cover
screens and net purses. I scarcely know anyone who cannot do all this, and I am
sure I never heard a young lady spoken of for the first time, without being
informed that she was very accomplished.”
He and James looked up as Darcy joined, “Your list of the common extent of
accomplishments has too much truth. The word is applied to many a woman who
deserves it for nothing more than netting a purse, or covering a screen. But I
am very far from agreeing with you in your estimation of ladies in general. I
cannot boast of knowing more than half a dozen, in the whole range of my
acquaintance that are truly accomplished.”
“Nor I, to be sure,” Caroline was simply too quick to agree.
But James swiftly cut in, “You must comprehend a great deal into your idea of
an accomplished woman.”
Darcy’s pause could not have been long, but the way he held James’ gaze, it was
like a short eternity passing before he answered, “Yes, I do comprehend a great
deal in it.”
“Have you ever netted a purse, my lord?” James finished.
The silence again. “No. I cannot say that I have.”
His ever-faithful assistant came to the forefront. “No one can be really
esteemed in accomplishment unless you greatly surpass what is usually met with.
Netting purses is child’s play. A woman must have a thorough knowledge of
music, singing, drawing, dancing, and the modern languages to deserve the word.
Besides all this, she must possess a certain something in her air and manner of
walking, the tone of her voice, her address and expressions, or the word will
be but half deserved.”
Darcy agreed, “All this she must possess and to all this she must yet add
something more substantial, through the improvement of her mind by extensive
reading.”
The book had long since slid through James’ fingers to rest somewhere between
his knees. “Then therein lies the secrets of your libraries: your quest to
create the perfect woman. I am no longer surprised at you knowing only six
accomplished women. I rather wonder now at your knowing any.”
Then there it was: the first furrow of Darcy’s brow, the visage of perplexity
in those bright brown eyes. “Are you so severe upon the sex that you doubt the
possibility of all this?”
James could not help but smile tiredly. “With a sister at home I would have
thought you might have a special insight to these people you speak of in such a
detached way. I have four siblings in various degrees of what you might call
accomplishment, and I still never saw such a woman. I never saw such capacity
and application alongside elegance as you describe, united. Perhaps one or some
triumph but never all at once. On the contrary, such layers of endless study
seem to be a fit recipe for madness. My lord.”
A sewing needle might have dropped and shattered the marble beneath their feet
for all the silence that encompassed them. As if it had, Mrs. Hurst and
Caroline exploded against the injustice of his doubt before Mr. Hurst called
them to order. Only his insistence of going into Meryton quelled Louis’s
agitation, and they excused themselves from the party. To Jane’s utter relief,
Mr. Jones finally arrived and was awaiting her for her medical examination.
James was only too glad to join her, but not before Caroline said her last
remarks.
“Mr. Bennet, I’ve only just realized, did you bring a razor with you?” Caroline
asked.
He met her gaze. “No?”
A grin flashed on her face. “I had believed you not much younger than Jane, but
there is not a day’s worth of growth on your chin.”
“That’s hardly worth commenting on,” Charles intercepted. “My beard is not
quick to grow, and when it does you cannot see the blond hairs.”
James left them, too tired and uninterested to humour Caroline’s taunts. Upon
entering the house, however, James immediately recognized not only his mother’s
voice, but Lydia and Kitty’s conversing with Mr. Jones. James touched Jane’s
arm, informing her that he was going to the library to return the books.
He was expecting the library to be a source of quiet, but he considered that he
should have suspected the opposite from the previous conversation. Upon
entering the library, he discovered that the room shared the exterior of the
house by which Caroline Bingley was speaking. Then again, she had the sort of
voice that carried, not unlike Lydia.
As he set the books upon their shelves, Caroline reacted to the butler
informing them, “Mrs., Miss, and Miss Bennet have arrived.”
“Well is that all of them?” Caroline retorted. “I can hardly keep count.”
“Perhaps we should have added mathematics to the list of necessary
accomplishments,” Charles responded, much to James’ mirth.
“Richard, did you supply Mr. Bennet with a razor this morning?” Caroline
inquired.
“Carol, this hardly matters,” Charles complained.
The butler replied, “I tried, mum, but Miss Bennet assured me he would not have
a need for it when they bathed.”
“It is an advantage of which to be jealous,” Charles approved, but Caroline had
caught on something.
“Jane assured you? Why would she…they were in separate rooms, were they not?”
“No, mum,” Richard said. “Mr. Bennet attended to her throughout the night.”
“William and I saw this,” Charles declared. “Really, Caroline—”
“But Jane intercepted the toiletries?” she continued. “Why on earth would
she—my god, Richard, did they bathe in the same room?”
“I was not there to verify or confirm, mum,” the butler supplied. James peeked
through the window to see him addressing Caroline, Bingley, and Mr. Darcy, who
watched their goings-on from where he still leaned against the terrace
banister.
“Charles, how can this not matter to you? Jane is a delicate, sweet thing but
that James Bennet—”
Charles raised his hand, halting her words. “You and I have bathed together,
Caroline. I do not want to hear it.”
“When we were children!” she exclaimed. “This is hardly proper!”
Charles whirled on her. “You might have taken a moment to stop ogling Darcy in
order to notice that Jamie was barely standing when he was on his feet! He’s
spent all of his energies taking care of Jane; I am not surprised at all that
she might return the kindness in helping him wash in order to be presentable
for us. You speak so much of what’s proper—let’s go out and meet the Bennets as
our precious station dictates.”
James was both impressed and disappointed. Far from being unnerved at
Caroline’s incestuous accusations, he only wished Charles would show as much
energy for Jane instead of himself.
“Lizzy, dear? Jamie?”
He turned to find his mother entering the library. Her eyes landed on him and
she smiled—only to rush forward and take his face in her hands. “Lizzy! Lizzy,
my love…you shouldn’t have rushed into the rain as you did. You look dead on
your feet.”
“I’m fine, mama,” he said, but instead of pushing away her hands, he leaned
into them.
“The skin around your eyes is black,” she retorted, making him laugh weakly.
“No it isn’t.”
“Whose shirt is this?”
“Mr. Bingley’s.”
“Oh!” she chortled. “I must thank them—you have, of course, haven’t you?”
Without waiting for his response, she ushered him into the foyer where the
others drew them into the breakfast parlor. Mr. Jones had already deemed Jane
in fine health and was enjoying a biscuit while Mrs. Bennet thanked them for
allowing her children to stay on their hospitality. James came to sit by Jane,
resting his elbow upon the cushioned arm and simultaneously bracing his aching
brow against his hand while shielding his oversensitive eyes from the morning
blaze. “I am glad upon realizing she was too ill to be removed, you provided
every possible comfort to her.”
“Removed!” Charles startled. “I would not have thought of—it never entered my
mind! My sister, I am sure, was much the same and would not have lent an ear to
her removal.”
“You may depend upon it, madam,” said Miss Bingley with cold civility from her
place by the windows with Mr. Darcy. Mrs. Bennet was profuse in her
acknowledgements.
“If it was not for such good friends I do not know what would have become of
her, although she would have endured with the greatest patience in the world,
which is always the way with her. She has, without exception, the sweetest
temper I ever met with. I often tell my other girls they are nothing to her.
You have a wonderful room here, Mr. Bingley, and a charming prospect over that
gravel walk. I do not know a place in the country that is equal to Netherfield.
You will not think of quitting it in a hurry I hope, though you have but a
short lease.”
“Whatever I do is done in a hurry,” Charles admitted. “Therefore if I should
resolve to quit Netherfield, I should probably be off in five minutes. At
present, however, I consider myself quite fixed here.”
“I should expect so,” James said to himself, but to his constant reliance,
Charles’ ears heard him.
“You begin to comprehend me, do you?” he teased, smile flashing.
James met his disposition with mischievous eyes. “Oh yes. I understand you
perfectly.”
Charles guffawed, “I might take this for a compliment, but to be so easily seen
through is pitiful.”
“It happens. But it does not necessarily follow that a deep, intricate
character is more or less estimable than one such as yours.”
“Lizzy!” hissed his mother. “Remember where you are, and do not run on a wild
manner that you are suffered to do at home.”
However Charles was unperturbed. “I did not know that you were a studier of
character. It must be an amusing study.”
“I’ve found intricate characters to be the most amusing. They have at least
that advantage.”
He had not expected Mr. Darcy to reply. “The country,” he said, “can in general
supply but few subjects for such a study. In a country neighborhood you move in
a very confined and unvarying society.”
“I disagree,” James confronted. “People themselves have the ability to alter so
much, there can be something new to observe at any time.”
“Yes, indeed, my lord,” Mrs. Bennet bristled. “I assure you there is quite as
much of that going on in the country as in town.”
Pairs of siblings exchanged glances throughout the room, but Darcy, after
looking at her for a moment, turned silently away. Mrs. Bennet fancied she had
gained a victory over him and sought to continue it. “I cannot see that London
has any great advantages over the country, except the shops and public places.
The country is a vast deal pleasanter, is it not, Mr. Bingley?”
“I can be equally happy in either,” Bingley revealed. “When I am in the
country, I never wish to leave it, and when I am in town it is pretty much the
same. They have each their advantages, I’d say.”
“Aye, that is because you have the right disposition, but that gentleman,” she
meant Darcy, “seems to think the country was nothing at all.”
James’ patience had worn thin. “Mama, do not make assumptions as if the subject
of your criticism is not present.” He saw Mr. Darcy look at him in his
peripheral eye. “You misunderstood Lord Darcy. He meant that there was not such
a variety of people within the country as there would be in a larger
population, such as the city. You must acknowledge this to be true.”
His mother began to agree but before she could be swept away by her own words
he asked whether she had seen Charlotte of late. Indeed she had, as Sir William
and his family had dined with them just the previous evening. The redirection
succeeded until Mrs. Bennet proclaimed, “What an agreeable man, Sir William is,
Mr. Bingley. That is my idea of good breeding; and those people who fancy
themselves very important and never open their mouths quite mistake the
matter.”
James’ eyes widened the same moment he heard Jane’s intake of breath. He peeked
under his hand to gauge Darcy’s reaction: the man was as stoic as ever, but
sensing James’ gaze, those irises flicked to him. James could only bid him a
silent apology.
But she was far from finished. “The Lucases are wonderful company. It is only a
pity Charlotte is not more handsome—”
“Mama—” James tried to stymy.
“She seems a very pleasant young woman,” Charles concurred.
Mrs. Bennet progressed, “Oh, dear, yes, but you must own she is very plain.
Lady Lucas herself has often said so, and envied me Jane’s beauty. I do not
like to boast of my own child, but to be sure, with Jane one does not often see
anybody better looking.”
One of James’ fingers rubbed circles between his eyes, breathing for calm.
“It is what everybody says. I do not trust my own partiality. When she was only
fifteen, there was a gentleman—”
“Mama,” Jane exclaimed this time.
“—in town so much in love with her that my brother Gardiner and sister-in-law,
who were likewise in town, were sure he would make her an offer. But however he
did not.”
Jane’s fingers curled around James’ hand resting between their hips. He felt
her nails press into his palm. He had lost the feeling in the back of his
throat.
“Perhaps he thought her too young. He did leave town rather suddenly, which
might have given rain to sow suspicions, however he wrote some verses for her,
and very pretty they were.”
“And so ended any affection,” James concluded impatiently. His voice betrayed
the lack of strength in his throat. “An underestimated quality of poetry—its
efficacy of driving away love.”
“I have been led to believe poetry is the food of love,” Darcy wondered.
The pads of James’ fingers wandered over his eyes, feeling how thin and fragile
the skin there had become. “Of a stout, healthy sort of love it may. I can only
guess it would serve to nourish what is strong already. But if it be only a
slight, thin sort of inclination, one good sonnet will correct such illusions.”
Darcy appeared to be absorbing this, and upon reflection looked upon James with
something like piqued intrigue.
All the while the youngest Bennets had kept their heads together, whispering
until the moment presented itself. “Mr. Bingley I do remember you had said at
Meryton that you would like to host your own ball here at Netherfield.”
Charles guffawed. “Goodness, that does sound like me. Are you here to collect
the debt?”
She beamed. “Only to encourage good ideas.”
Caroline eyed her. “You are a well grown girl of…how old are you, Miss Bennet?”
“Fifteen,” she answered proudly.
“And it must have been your good humour that encouraged your mother to let you
debut at such an early age,” Caroline smiled.
“The officers are in Meryton, did you know?” Lydia pressed. “It would simply be
shameful to not invite them.”
James scolded, “He cannot be expected to invite the entire regiment.”
Lydia shot poison at him with her eyes. “Then a few select captains I have
already validated as good company.”
Charles intercepted jovially, “I am ready, I assure you, to keep my engagement.
After your sister has had a few more days to establish her health, you may name
the very day of the ball.”
Lydia was beside her self. “Oh yes! Captain Carter and Colonel Forster will
make excellent guests, and when you have given your ball, I shall insist upon
their giving one also.”
“Now, now, Lydia, you’ve convinced a good man to give his word, and we best be
off. Mr. Bingley, I do hope I may trust my children in your care a while
longer? Surely you’ve noticed my Lizzy’s condition.”
Charles’ brows reached for his hairline. “Of course!” he chimed. “It will be my
pleasure—not to say it’s a pleasure that he fell ill too—but a pleasure to
spend a while longer with him. Yes, mum, I’m only too happy to have him.”
Mrs. Bennet looked quite pleased. “And you too, Jane, must take care of him as
he did vice versa. But do take care to not trade this ailment back and forth
endlessly.”
“Mama, I’d rather go home,” James voiced, albeit quietly.
“Nonsense, my love. Mr. Jones is already here,” the man himself harrumphed at
the table, where he had fallen asleep. “I won’t hear a word about it. You
mustn’t be moved. Straight to bed with you.”
James only had a moment’s notice to witness Charles graciously escorting his
mother and sisters back to their carriage, and Caroline’s sour expression
before he found himself in bed under the examinations of Mr. Jones. A common
cold was his verdict and he supplied a ready tonic he carried with him. He left
with the order, “A good broth with lots of greens,” and that was all.
“James.”
He blinked, fighting unconsciousness.
“James, you look like an absolute horror,” Jane pressed. “Tell me what to do.”
He felt about the same, but he could not say whether it was a physical
affliction so much as a mental one. As if from far away, he felt her
fingernails dragging over his scalp. He locked onto the sensation, the tingles
seeping through his skull to hum pleasantly in his cranium.
“Leave,” he rasped.
“You know I will not.”
“You’ll be ill again.”
“Then you’ll heal me,” she said stubbornly. “Tell me what to do.”
Lifting his eyes was a heavy ordeal, like coins had been placed over his
lashes. “Lemon tea.”
She kissed his forehead and left to relay the request. James remained conscious
long enough to drink a pot, and then another in the evening. Jane put a candle
on the headboard to light the book in her hands; she was always there when his
lashes fluttered open. The next day he awoke to the soft voices of Charles
asking how he was. Upon seeing James awake, he waved happily while Mr. Darcy
stood statuesque behind him. James did not realize he had simply fallen back
asleep until his eyes opened again and Jane chuckled.
“He’s not offended. He was ecstatic you had the strength to hear him at all.”
James still could not breathe through his nose but his head and throat felt
better. “You should spend time with him instead of me.”
She giggled, sliding a finger up the bridge of his nose. “Mother’s excuse to
have me stay here is not going to plan. Bingley wishes me to stay with you.”
“But…” James began but is lashes heavily fell in time with her stokes along his
nose. “You needn’t…”
“You can’t be dictatorial if you can’t get the words out,” she hushed.
His eyes shut under her ministrations, and he did not wake again until mid-
morning, and he awoke with a hunger. He suspected Jane to be at brunch with the
family as he dressed in fresh garments provided by Charles. The maid waiting
outside the room startled from her journal and led him to a different parlor.
This one was furnished in a clean and spacious Grecian style along with
bookshelves and a writing table at which Mr. Darcy sat.
“Jamie!” Jane hopped up from the couch on which she and Charles had been
conversing and held his forearms. “Are you feeling well?”
“Ravenous,” he smiled groggily.
Charles had risen with her to grip his shoulder. “Food will be brought at once.
You slept so soundly we could not bother you to even give you the prescribed
broth. Do you have a craving for anything?” Upon James’ hesitation Charles
insisted, “Anything at all.”
“Dumpling stew.”
Bingley grinned and nodded to the maid, who left. The dish arrived quickly,
having used the broth and greens but Jamie’s spoon lifted savory dough eggs
that stuck to his teeth pleasantly. He was left to eat and listen as he
pleased, while sitting adjacent to Mr. Darcy and his pile of paper and finished
letters.
This also lent an unobstructed view of Darcy’s discourse with Caroline, who was
strolling about the room with lingering steps around the table. She noticed the
current letter’s intended recipient. “How delighted Miss Darcy will be to
receive such a letter!”
James peeked up to see, indeed, the length of the pages but Darcy made no
answer.
“You write uncommonly fast.”
“You are mistaken. I write rather slowly.”
James peered over to where Jane and Charles were getting on well on the couch.
He ladled the thick stew into his mouth while Caroline was otherwise distracted
with observing Darcy’s finished pile of envelopes. “How many letters you must
have occasion to write in the course of the year. Letters of business too. How
odious I should think them,” she chortled.
“It is fortunate, then, that they fall to my lot instead of yours,” Darcy
responded. James held his spoon over his lips to hide any traces of a smile.
“Pray tell your sister that I long to see her.”
“I have already told her so once, by your desire.”
“Your pen grows dull. Let me mend it for you. I mend pens remarkably well.”
“Thank you, but I always mend my own.”
James looked to Charles again, who was still thankfully oblivious to his
sister’s tyranny over Darcy’s focus.
“How can you contrive to write so evenly?”
Darcy was silent.
“Tell your sister I am delighted to hear of her improvement on the harp, and
pray let her know that I am quite in rapture with her beautiful little design
for a table. I think it infinitely superior to Miss Grantley’s.”
James commented, “I thought a letter’s contents were between the sender and the
recipient; just as confidential before or after the envelope.”
He let his spoon tap his lip while Caroline otherwise looked daggers into him.
Darcy did not look up from his page. “Will you give me leave to postpone your
raptures till I write again? At present I have not the room to do them
justice.”
Caroline’s tone was unperturbed as she went to the window. “Oh, it is of no
consequence. I shall see her in January. But do you always write such
charmingly long letters to her, Lord Darcy?”
January. James saw Jane’s head lift and met her gaze briefly. If the party
traveled together, there were yet many months to share.
“They are generally long,” Darcy conceded, “but whether always charming, it is
not for me to determine.”
“It is a rule with me that a person who can write a long letter with ease
cannot write ill.”
James did not withhold his grimace at her logic or lack thereof but Charles
intercepted, “That will not do for a compliment to Darcy, Caroline. He does not
write with ease. Simply with a great deal to say.”
“And you, Charles, write in the most careless way imaginable,” Caroline
exclaimed. “You leave out half your words and blot the rest.”
Bingley blushed and said to Jane as if in apology, “My ideas flow so rapidly
that I hardly have the time to express them…although this often results in my
letters conveying little to no ideas to my correspondents.”
Jane smiled and assured. “Some of the greatest minds have shown similar
reproof. Active minds often display themselves in either carnage or
meditation.”
James witnessed Charles’ eyes soften just before Darcy spoke. “Nothing is more
deceitful than the appearance of humility. It is often only carelessness of
opinion, and sometimes an indirect boast.”
James set his spoon back within the bowl. “An indirect boast?”
Darcy looked up from his letter. “For instance, when Charles claimed his
ability to be quit of Netherfield in five minutes; such an action would result
in necessary business being left undone and would achieve no real advantage for
oneself or anyone else. To insinuate such things as laudable is a sign of
foolishness, not intelligence.”
James could not help but smile. He was indeed feeling better and rose to the
challenge but Bingley defended himself first. “Nay, to remember at night all
the foolish things that were said in the morning is too much. And upon my
honor, I believed what I said to be true; one needn't leave unfinished things
behind if he is to be quit of a place. If anything, it is a testament of
efficient management.”
“And you are so capable of that,” his sister japed.
“You contradict yourself,” Darcy seconded. “You claim to be committed to one or
the other, or easily capable of forgetting something or other. If you were but
to mount your horse and a friend said, ‘You had better stay till next week,’
you would sooner comply whether the request was a week or a month.”
“You claim I am easily manipulated!” Charles exclaimed.
Well if the hair’s red, James thought bitterly but said aloud, “To yield
readily to the persuasion of a friend holds no merit with Lord Darcy, I
suppose. Be steadfast in your choices, Charles, even if they are wrong."
Darcy’s head tilted every so slightly; examining him as if to make James’
thoughts visible for inspection. “You make fun of me.”
“I delight in cheating a person of their premeditated contempt,” James
countered softly. “Despise me if you dare.”
“I do not dare.”
James blinked, having expected to have affronted him, not this gallantry.
Instead he heard the words pass through Darcy’s lips as well as seeing the cogs
slide into place behind Darcy’s eyes, the rumination slow yet deliberate. Darcy
returned to his letter, but the sharp point of his pen hovered.
Caroline observed this, and came to stand beside James’ chair. “Mr. Bennet,
will you take a turn around the room with me. It is refreshing after being so
long in one position.”
James was surprised but agreed out of courtesy, though to feel Miss Bingley’s
arm on his was an odd experience. Then her scheme became apparent. “What of
you, my lord? Will you not take reprieve from your letters?”
“I will not, and for the better. Whatever secret affairs you wish to discuss
with Mr. Bennet may be done more easily without me.”
“Oh! How uniquely considerate,” she teased. “How shall we punish him for such a
notion?”
“Laugh at him,” James said bluntly although he could not help but agree with
Darcy’s underlying sentiment: Caroline had nothing to share with him nor did he
wish to pretend at such confidence. “Laughter just as easily makes a man as it
destroys him.”
“Nay, Lord Darcy is above laughter.”
James snorted softly in his throat. “You mean he is not to be laughed at. That
is an uncommon privilege, and one I hope does not continue. I dearly love to
laugh.”
Darcy intercepted, “Miss Bingley has given me credit for more than can be
considered accurate. Even the wisest of men can be rendered ridiculous if there
is but one to laugh at them.”
James conceded, “There are such people but I hope I am not one of them. I hope
I never ridicule what is wise or good. I will admit to enjoying certain follies
and nonsense, but I suppose you are without these.”
“It has been the study of my life to avoid those weaknesses which expose a
strong understanding to ridicule.”
“I won’t ask what inspired this study,” James promised. “But it must be said
that some weaknesses are correctible while others are not. I suppose pride is
among the latter?”
Darcy considered this. “Where there is a real superiority of mind, pride will
be under good regulation, yes.”
James meant to send a smile to Jane, but met a frown on her face.
Caroline inquired, “Your examination of Mr. Darcy is over, I presume. What is
the result?”
“He owns himself without disguise. I cannot withhold that from him.”
Darcy’s gaze followed him throughout the room. “I have faults enough, and they
are sadly without understanding. I dare not vouch for my temper; it is too
unyielding. While you laugh at follies and vices, I cannot forget them, nor
offenses made against myself. My temper would likely be called resentful, and
once my good opinion is lost, it’s lost forever.”
Caroline had since left his arm to sit on the settee opposite Charles and Jane.
James returned to the table to finish his meal. “You’ve chosen your fault well,
I won’t laugh at it. You are safe from me.”
He would have happily left it at that, but Darcy inquired, “Is there not, in
every disposition, a tendency to some particular evil, a natural defect, which
cannot be overcome even by the best education?”
James was very still as he met Darcy’s eyes. What are you implying? he might
have asked if they were alone, but instead he forced a smile and returned, “And
your evil is a propensity to hate everybody?"
Then, Darcy smiled. “And yours is to understand them.”
James was not sure if he had been insulted or if he had just shared something
akin to a secret.
“Do let us have some music,” Caroline proclaimed, and the spell of the last
hour was broken. Even more so, it was a great relief that Charles granted he
and Jane the use of his carriage to leave Netherfield by the end of the
morning. Richard the butler had graciously washed and pressed James’ original
attire, allowing him to leave Bingley’s garments behind as they strode toward
the waiting carriage. And none too soon; James felt the morning’s strength
begin to leave him; the sky was overcast thankfully but he still felt his eyes
trying to squint against the light. He breathed for stamina as the last stretch
of niceties was being met.
Charles and his sister saw Jane safely into the carriage, apologizing for the
Hursts’ having been in Meryton, but they would send their regards, surely.
Charles then shook James’ hand with both of his; Caroline graced his with her
touch and that was all—
A large hand filled his, causing James to look around at Darcy—he felt the
added strength through his arm, aiding his steps into the carriage. “Thank you.
My lord.”
Darcy’s eyes stared in that characteristic way, and then he nodded once and
released his hand.
Jane arranged herself in the open carriage but pivoted quickly upon seeing
James rubbing his sternum. “Lizzy? What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” he breathed. “It’s not important. Let’s just get home.”
They rocked with the first rolling of the wheels, and then they were well down
the drive and away from Netherfield House.
“I for one,” Caroline said as they observed the carriage leaving the drive, “am
glad for only four Bennet sisters. Should James Bennet have been a woman, he
would have been one of those young ladies who seek to recommend themselves to
the other sex by undervaluing their own. And with many men, I dare say, it
succeeds. It is a paltry device, a very mean art.”
She looked up to Mr. Darcy, who realized he had been the subject of her
complaints. “Undoubtedly,” said as if without much thought, but then, “there is
meanness in all the arts by which ladies employ for men’s captivation. Whatever
bears affinity to cunning is despicable. It sours the spider’s intelligence the
fly might have otherwise appreciated.”
The pebbles beneath his boot growled as he rotated, leaving a speechless
Caroline behind him.
Chapter End Notes
     God I just want to get to the Netherfield ball already ç_ç There's
     going to be a lot of original content once Wickham shows his stupid -
     I mean handsome - face. Thank you everyone for sticking with me!
***** Family Party *****
Chapter Summary
     James meets George Wickham and learns more about Mr. Darcy.
They were not cordially welcomed home by their mother.
Their father, however, smiled warmly and embraced his children, voicing their
importance to their family table. “Our circle has been broken of late,” he
said, guiding the way past an annoyed Mrs. Bennet with his children on either
arm. His hand dragged over Jamie’s hair. “Dinner conversation has lost all its
animation, and certainly all its sense.”
He and Jane laughed, their arms overlapping around Mr. Bennet’s waist. He
kissed both of his children’s temples, sending them off but not before he
turned Jamie’s face for a proper look at him. “We’ll put the sun back into
these eyes. Upstairs, now.”
James could not reach his and Jane’s bed swiftly enough. He managed to remove
his boots but otherwise fell into the embrace of the thick covers, coat,
trousers, and all. His last conscious thoughts were hearing the family’s feline
landing on the bed, and the flexing paws against his backside as she came to
perch between his shoulder blades.
The following morning, though, James was well enough to break his fast with the
family. Lydia was telling nobody in particular the latest as to her Captain and
Colonel, before Mr. Bennet received a letter and announced, “I hope, my dear,
that you have ordered a good dinner tomorrow evening, because it seems we are
to have an addition to our family party.”
Mrs. Bennet’s curiosity was piqued but she answered, “Whatever do you mean,
husband?”
“A gentleman and a stranger,” he answered, distracted by the first lines of the
letter.
Mrs. Bennet’s eyes sparkled. “A gentleman and stranger! You mean Mr. Bingley, I
am sure. Why Jane! You never dropped a word suggesting he might be visiting,
you sly thing! I shall be extremely glad to see Mr. Bingl—”
“It is not Bingley,” Mr. Bennet answered in a monotone. “After nearly a week of
losing our eldest children to Netherfield, one can hardly call him a stranger.
The stranger I speak of is someone none of us have ever met.”
He waited several moments while his wife and daughters pelted him with
inquiries and curiosity. “About a month ago I received a letter from my cousin,
although he is so young I have more reason to think of him as a nephew. His
father and I were like brothers before our falling out but he has since passed
away.”
Mrs. Bennet’s brow furrowed with memory. “That awful man who made a great to-do
about not coming to our wedding? Why on earth should his offspring have reason
to write let alone visit us?”
Her husband withdrew an older letter from his waistcoat pocket, presumably the
first letter from their cousin. “Well if Jamie was not among us, Mr. Collins
would be the one to inherit our quaint home after my passing.”
James peeked up with his mouth full of chive potatoes while his mother set her
silverware down with finality. “He needn’t visit at all, then,” she declared
darkly. “Our home is our own. The coattails of inheritance no longer apply to
him.”
Far from perturbed, Mr. Bennet chuckled, his hand finding his son’s wrist on
the table. “Yes, yes, our Jamie has saved the family. Nevertheless, Mr. Collins
has informed me that he hasn’t any need or desire for the farm anyway, since he
has acquired a wealthy benefactress, among his own reasons.”
With both letters in hand, Mr. Bennet read,
“Dear Sir –
“The disagreement between yourself and my late honoured father always have me
much uneasiness and, since I have had the misfortune to lose him, I have
frequently wished to heal the breach in our families.”
He sent Mrs. Bennet a look. “For some time I was kept back by my own doubts,
fearing lest it might seem disrespectful to his memory for me to be on good
terms with anyone whom it had always pleased him to be at odds. My mind,
however, is now made up on the subject, for having received ordination this
past Easter, I have been so fortunate as to be distinguished by the patronage
of the right honourable Lady Catherine de Bourgh, widow of Sir Lewis de Bourgh.
This Lady’s bounty and beneficence has granted me the valuable rectory of her
parish, where it shall be my earnest endeavor to demean myself with grateful
respect towards her Ladyship, and be ever ready to perform those rites and
ceremonies which are instituted by the Church of England.”
“A clergyman?” Kitty uttered.
Her father nodded over the words, “As a clergyman, moreover, I feel it my duty
to promote and establish the blessing of peace in all families within the reach
of my influence; and on these grounds I flatter myself that my present
overtures of goodwill are highly recommendable—”
“He certainly flatters himself,” Mrs. Bennet remarked dryly.
Mr. Bennet smirked but continued, “I hope that the circumstance of my being
second in the entail of Longbourn estate will be kindly overlooked on your
side, and not lead you to reject the offered olive branch—”
“What on earth is he saying?” Mrs. Bennet bristled.
Her husband simply held up his open palm to halt her anger. “Not to insult my
father’s memory further, but it would please me a great deal if you and company
would consider me a close relative by this circumstance instead of a threat. I
dare not be the means of injuring your amiable daughters, and beg leave to
assure you of my readiness to make them every possible amends.”
“He completely ignores Lizzy and writes as if he were still to inherit the
estate!” Mrs. Bennet flared.
Mr. Bennet finished with the latest reply, “If you should have no objection to
receive me into your house, I propose myself the satisfaction of waiting on you
and your family, Monday, the first week of November, by four o’clock. I shall
probably trespass on your hospitality till the Saturday se’nnight following,
which I can do without any inconvenience as Lady Catherine is far from
objecting to my occasional absence on a Sunday, provided another clergyman may
do the duty of the day. I remain, dear sir, with respectful compliments to your
family, your well-wisher and friend,
“William Collins. And so you have it.”
“How fortunate we are,” his wife growled, “and for Mr. Collins’s reply to
arrive in such a fashion as to give us no time to spaciously ready for such an
intrusion.”
“You mean no time to refuse,” he remarked, albeit with mirth in his eye. He
folded up the letters. “Therefore, at four o’clock tomorrow we may expect this
peace-making gentleman. If nothing else, he seems a conscientious and polite
young man, and may prove himself a valuable acquaintance if Lady Catherine is
so indulgent as to share him with us.”
Mr. Bennet seemed greatly amused by his own statement but had the good grace to
keep it silent in the face of his wife’s rage. She replied coolly, “There is,
at least, some sense in what he says about making any amends. I shall not be
the person to discourage him by doing right by us.”
“That is very good of you, dear,” he affirmed.
Jane voiced, “Though it is difficult, to guess in what way he can mean to make
us the atonement he thinks is our due. The wish is to his credit, though.”
“Mm,” James seconded. “There is something to be said for a man willing to marry
and bury his parishioners.”
“Lizzy,” his mother scolded jadedly, rubbing the protruding vein in her
forehead.
“You’re not wrong, though, mama,” he said, joining his cuts of vinegar
asparagus and chive potatoes. “There is something pompous in his style; why
would he have need of mentioning specifically the entail inheritance when he is
disqualified from it?” James looked to his father. “Is he sensible?”
Mr. Bennet’s humour faded and he answered seriously, “No, love, I think not. I
have great assurance of finding the reverse. There is a mixture of servility
and self-importance in his letters, which is remarkably reminiscent of his late
father. This promises an intriguing week. I am impatient to see him.”
His wife sighed. “I had forgotten your fancy for studying people. You’ve
imparted this awful habit to our son.”
“I call it a learned intelligence, not awful nor habitual,” he refuted. He then
shared a look with James. “A week should suffice for us to dissect Mr.
Collins.”
James laughed around his mouthful, his father’s smile growing just a little
wider at the shine returning to his son’s eyes.
“In composition,” said Mary, who sat opposite James on Mr. Bennet’s other side,
“his letter does not seem defective. The idea of the olive branch is perhaps
not wholly new, yet I think it is well expressed.”
Mr. Bennet smiled softly for her, patting her hand fondly. “You’re not wrong,
darling. The metaphor holds its meaning well.”
To Lydia and therefore Kitty, neither the letter nor its writer were in any
degree interesting. Their cousin wore neither a scarlet coat nor was he likely
to have any useful connections to a regiment member. Their mother, however,
calmed over the course of the day and the following, so much so that she was
preparing to see him with a degree of composure that rather astonished her
husband and children.
“The chamomile, I think,” Jane said the following afternoon as they waited
restlessly around the house.
“Mm,” James agreed tersely, watching his mother’s movements. It was not that
tranquility was outside of her character, more so was her lack of dialogue. It
reached a point that Hill, the family’s cook and butler of sorts arrived with
lavender scones as James steeped her tea; her favorite biscuits.
“Don’t you think the windows could use a cleaning?” she said offhandedly as
James took her hand in his, massaging the tense ligaments of her fingers and
wrist.
“Yes, mama. Hill with take care of it,” he soothed quietly. She began to nibble
on the scones and voiced certain complaints or concerns, slowly easing against
her son’s touch.
“Lydia, you have a loose curl, dear. Mary, if you won’t tie it back, brush it
at least. Oh Jamie, a stain…”
“Yes, mama. I know, mama,” he said accordingly, moving to her other hand.
“Oh…what must he think of me, Jamie?” she said after a time. “Your father’s
side never much cared for me; indeed, they have not communicated with us since
our engagement. Oh…that was over twenty years ago…”
“It’s all right, mama,” Jamie hushed, pushing circles into the muscles of her
forearm. “As papa said, he may think very little, or at least not much of
consequence.”
His father came inside, then, announcing a carriage coming up the drive. James
helped his mother stand and Mr. Bennet took her arm before leading the family
outside to greet their guest.
Mr. Collins was punctual to his time and was received with politeness by the
whole family. Mr. Bennet said little, however Mrs. Bennet had regained her
confidence and said much in his stead. Her daughters were ready enough to speak
and Mr. Collins seemed neither in need of encouragement nor inclined to be
silent. A reasonably tall man of five and twenty, Mr. Collins’s gait lent to a
heavy-looking stature. A look from James silenced Lydia’s whispers to Kitty of
how skinny Mr. Collins’s legs were in comparison to his barrel-like torso.
Far from Mrs. Bennet’s previous concerns, Mr. Collins proved largely ignorant
of the roots of his father’s hatred of Mr. Bennet or the Bennets' matrimony. In
fact, the topics he chose to open to Mrs. Bennet would normally have been
readily received, except for his contradictory grave and stately manner. His
addressing the furnishings and state of the gardens was expected but his
remarks on her “fine family of daughters plus an heir,” was met with patient
silence whereas, “with no miscarriages as well,” brought color to Mrs. Bennet’s
complexion. James exchanged a glance with his father, who was stoic. James
supposed it was due to his patroness, of whom he was blatantly proud of, that
held his spine so rigid, but for Mr. Collins’s lack of sense during a
conversation, he could not discern any obvious reason.
The morning before his arrival, Mr. Bennet had pulled James aside and given him
the task of sitting on the side of the table where his mother traditionally
sat. He now understood why. He took her hand and felt her squeeze his fingers.
Mr. Collins continued, “Your robust health shines in each of them. I met the
fame of your family’s beauty upon my first moments in Meryton around luncheon.
“The people there have many kind things to say of the Bennet daughters’ beauty,
but I am glad to find their words have actually fallen short of the truth. It
must be a great anticipation to see them each disposed of in marriage.”
Disposed of?
James barely withheld his grimace as he looked at Jane. Her eyes moved but
otherwise she sat composed. James was pleased to find his other sisters
exchanging looks to one another but Mrs. Bennet had calmed enough to respond,
“You are kind yourself, sir. I wish with all my heart to have my daughters
settled, but of course there isn’t any fear of impatient settling as there
might have otherwise been.”
James watched Jane inhale deeply, her thoughts not far from his in wishing this
dinner would end swiftly. “You allude perhaps to the entail of this estate,”
Mr. Collins guessed.
Mrs. Bennet smiled sweetly, like poison. “Entail, sir? There is no entail. More
so a direct passing.”
This led to Mr. Collins’s gaze falling to James. “Quite right. An odd but
necessary practice, I must say, despite it being rather difficult to whom a
property may go to once it has been entailed. Mr. Bennet, do you enjoy the
routine of a career in husbandry?”
“I’d say I care more for agriculture,” James provided, which then led Mr.
Collins to compliment the meal they were all sharing.
“To whom of my cousins may I pay my compliments?”
James only just checked his mother’s asperity by holding her wrist down on the
table. “You may be certain, sir,” she said measuredly, “that we do keep a good
cook. None of my children find themselves in the kitchen out of poor
necessity.”
It was one of the few blunt hints Mr. Collins grasped throughout the evening,
and he proceeded to apologize for it over the next quarter of an hour. This
ended when Mr. Bennet wisely opened a subject on which Mr. Collins both
welcomed and was eager. Though Mr. Bennet spoke very little, his decision
turned the tide of the conversation.
“How kind of the Lady Catherine to bestow her generosity. You are very
fortunate in a patroness.”
Mr. Collins brightened, as far as his dull solemnity allowed. “Oh. Yes. Never
have I witnessed such behavior in a person of rank, such affability and
condescension. I have, as yet, only spoken during two Sundays, but she has been
graciously pleased with both discourses. She’s also asked me twice to dine with
her in her home, Rosings Park, and has included me at her card table just last
Saturday.
“I have met many opinions in that part of the country regarding her ladyship as
proud, but I have never seen anything but affability in her. She has always
spoken to me as she would to any other gentleman; not the smallest object to my
joining in her higher society of the neighborhood, nor even my occasionally
leaving the parish to visit my relations.
“During the last evening I spent at her quadrille table she even advised me to
marry as soon as I could, provided I choose with discretion, of course. More
so, she’s visited my own humble home and approved of all the alterations she
had once advised me upon when I first moved into the region…”
James met his father’s silent but glimmering eyes. So there it was: Collins’s
reason for visiting was to find a wife via the blind orders of his
benefactress.
“Does she live near you?” Mrs. Bennet inquired.
He nodded, “The garden in which stands my humble abode is separated only by a
lane from Rosings Park, her ladyship’s residence.”
“We heard you the first time,” Kitty murmured beside James. Her silverware
knocked against her plate when he pinched her thigh, but the family ignored it.
“I think you said she was a widow? Has she any family?” their mother
progressed.
“She has only one daughter, the heiress of Rosings, and of very extensive
property,” Collins confirmed.
“Ah!” Mrs. Bennet cried softly, “then she is better off than many girls, how
her station allows her a direct inheritance. What sort of young lady is she? Is
she handsome?”
Mr. Collins was either ignorant or chose to be in regards to Mrs. Bennet’s
insult. “She is a most charming young lady indeed. Lady Catherine herself says
that in point of true beauty, Miss de Bourgh is far superior to the handsomest
of her sex because there is in her features that which marks the young woman of
distinguished birth.”
James outright grimaced. “That’s absurd.”
Mr. Collins blinked as if water had been splashed in his face. “Pardon?”
James stated as if it was obvious, “How many monarchs have we had who were
noticeably ugly or unlucky to be born malformed? One’s station doesn’t—”
“Shut your mouth,” his mother silenced.
James’ appetite vanished but he found an odd saviour in Mr. Collins, who was
shaking his head as if confused. “No, no I…must agree with Mr. Bennet, at least
in part. The station of one’s parents cannot guarantee all advantages in a
mortal realm. The young Miss de Bourgh is unfortunately of a sickly
constitution, which has prevented her from making any progress in many
accomplishments she would not otherwise have failed in…”
James had already had this discussion on ‘accomplishments’ and did not wish to
have it twice. He sat against the spine of his chair and waited for dinner to
end. The last spot of entertainment came from Mr. Collins’s revealing, “I try
my utmost to provide the little praises which please her ladyship and which I
conceive myself peculiarly bound to pay.”
Mr. Bennet inquired, “It is happy for you that you possess the talent of
flattering with delicacy. May I ask whether these pleasing attentions are from
the impulse of the moment or are they the result of previous study?”
James’ lashes lifted, hearing Collins’s reply of, “They arise from what is
passing at the time, though I sometimes amuse myself with suggesting and
arranging little elegant compliments as may be adapted to ordinary occasions. I
always wish to give them as unstudied an air as possible.”
James could see a certain expectation being fully met within his father’s eyes.
His cousin was as absurd as he had predicted but Mr. Bennet maintained an
amused composure, with only occasional glances to his son.
After they supped, the family and Collins adjourned to the parlour where a
shelf of books arrested their guest’s attention for some time. Mrs. Bennet
asked if he would like to read for them, and he readily consented, except for
the choice in material.
“I beg pardon, I never read novels—”
Lydia startled while Kitty maintained a stunned silence, “Never! Novels?
Never!”
It was to her next and utter horror that he did find a volume that suited his
interests: a book of sermons. Lydia gaped as he opened the book and, with
monotonous solemnity, read up to three pages before she could take no more.
“Mama, do you know that uncle Philips talks of turning away Richard, and if he
does, Colonel Forster will—”
“Hush,” both of her eldest siblings scolded.
Mr. Collins, clearly offended, set aside the book. “I have often observed how
little young ladies are interested in books of a serious stamp, though written
solely for their benefit. But I will no longer importune my young cousin.”
Lydia stared wide-eyed as her family slowly dispersed, unsure whether she was
truly in trouble or if she had done a good thing by bringing an end to Collins’
reading. Either way, the night’s events came to an unceremonious end.
Later into the night, Jane stroked the cat’s throat as she and James discussed
their relative. “He does speak highly of the Lady de Bourgh.”
“Mr. Collins is an old widow’s hobby, and we are the collateral subjects,” he
said.
“It is not right of mama to ventilate her insults on him, no more than it is
for papa to use him as a source of amusement.”
James knew he could not say anything to sway her from defending the man. “The
methods may have been ill-chosen but the intent to educate a person is not
wrong.”
“Mr. Collins is educated, though. He is a clergyman.”
“You know there is a difference between being educated and actually having
sense,” James scoffed. “You cannot tell me honestly you find him sensible.”
Jane pressed her lips together, at an impasse.
The next morning Lydia had the intent to go into Meryton, and it was Mr.
Bennet’s fancy to get Mr. Collins out of his house at least for the better part
of the day, especially after he admitted to Mrs. Bennet that he had come to
Longbourn to fulfill the Lady de Bourgh’s encouragement and gotten the
matriarch in excited spirits at having the prospect of two daughters soon
married. So the Bennet siblings and Collins walked to town after breakfast.
“Keep your wits about you,” James murmured while Mr. Collins walked ahead,
pointing out various articles of foliage of which he thought he was
knowledgeable. “With Bingley reserved, Mama will pass off one of you to Mr.
Collins if you let her.”
“Ah! Sweet Peas,” Collins said before them, pausing to bend over a knee-high,
leafy plant. “It will be lovely when these bloom—”
“That’s a stinging nettle,” James corrected, striding past him. Collins
startled and recollected himself before following them. After traveling to
Netherfield on foot, Meryton felt closer than usual, and the town was bustling
with morning commerce. Lydia was immediately akin to a cat with string at the
first sight of a redcoat, but James hooked her arm with his like a proper
escort and drew them to their aunt’s hat shop.
Mr. Philips was home for lunch and came downstairs from their home above the
shop to greet them. He showed initial intrigue upon meeting Mr. Collins. “I can
only recall meeting a handful of Bennets, and that was before these children
were born,” he chuckled, gesturing to James and his sisters. “And you’re not
even a Bennet, if we consider the details.”
That set Mr. Collins off, and James could see the benevolent curiosity melting
from his uncle’s complexion. Thankfully his wife drew them back upstairs for
tea and a light lunch. Mr. Collins was all praises for her courgette sandwiches
and her choice of furniture. “The same exquisite taste as Lady de Bourgh,” he
commented. Initially put off, Mrs. Philips then learned of whom Lady de Bourgh
was and how just a mantelpiece clock cost eight hundred pounds in her
Ladyship's home; afterwards she was highly flattered and appealed to Mr.
Collins for more conversation.
James took his plate and cup o’tea to the window seat where Mary had occupied
herself with a book. He placed a wedge atop the open pages, forcing her to eat
it in order to see.
Lydia was aflutter for news of the regiments’ gossip; she did not even bother
acknowledging James when he pointed out that news and gossip were not the same
thing.
“That reminds me!” Mrs. Philips chimed, “Mr. Denny ought to be coming round
about this time—”
“Mr. Denny!” Lydia exclaimed loudly. “You’ve never mentioned a Mr. Denny!”
Her aunt chortled. “Because he is nearing his fortieth year, dear. He’s only
coming round because of certain fabric troubles the lads have been
having—that’s him, now.”
The bell attached to the shop door sang below them. Lydia, Kitty, and Mr.
Collins went downstairs with Mrs. Philips, leaving her husband to enjoy his
lunch in peace. Mostly, since Lydia’s voice carried up the stairs. Then came
the stomping footfalls of Kitty rushing up to wave Jane downstairs. “Jane! You
must see, him!”
Jane looked at James, who appeared just as vacant as to whom Kitty meant. He
left the rest of his tea to Mary and followed the eldest into the shop, only to
be confronted with the object of their sister’s fascination.
Golden hair, slightly darker than Jane’s pale blond shade, and hazel eyes
turned toward them. Mrs. Philips introduced, “My first niece as well as my
nephew, Jane and James.”
Mr. Denny greeted them first, his long silver hair tied behind him while his
tricorner was clutched under his arm. “Mr. Denny, if it pleases you. Allow me
to entreat permission to introduce my friend, Mr. Wickham. He’s come with me
from London, having agreed to a commission of being within our corps.”
“Miss Bennet,” he smiled, coming forward to kiss Jane’s hand. “Is the morning
treating you well?”
“Very well, Mr. Wickham, thank you,” she returned pleasantly. “My brother…”
She guided his attention to James, who stepped forward with Kitty practically
on his heels as he shook Wickham’s hand. The man’s stare was not as piercing as
Bingley’s, but his features did open with jubilant curiosity. “Twins?”
James blinked and met Jane’s glance. From this alone, Wickham knew he was wrong
in his assumptions. “My apologies,” he laughed. “You both share a similar face
and build. I hope I have not already worn my welcome?”
“Sensible conversation is difficult to wear thin,” James appeased, his hand
falling back to his side. “How are you liking Meryton?”
“I wish I had arrived in the spring,” Wickham voiced, “when things would be
more lush and green. Otherwise, the people have been nothing but cordial and
charming.”
Mr. Collins cut in, “Yes, indeed, the people of Meryton and Longbourn are
uncommonly welcoming to strangers. In my brief study, it must be a
characteristic or measurement of ones wealth. Those with more are more aloof
because they of course have more to protect—”
Wickham’s eyes softened as he watched Mr. Collins speak but it was solely a
mask to hide his surprise, whereas he peeked at James who grimaced openly.
Wickham laughed and drew him over to where Mrs. Philips displayed her spools of
ribbon on horizontal beams. “I was told he is your cousin?”
“Distant,” James stated bluntly. “We only met him yesterday.”
“And you already disagree with his sentiments,” he encouraged.
“I won’t speak ill of family in public, sir,” James declined but teased,
“Especially when the hours of sunlight are so limited in the autumn.”
Wickham laughed again, fingering the smooth silk of a poison green ribbon. “We
can certainly allot several days for the conversation.”
“I thought the regiment was supposed to keep you busy,” James cornered. “Don’t
tell me a soldier lives a sedentary existence.”
“Then I won’t say it,” he smiled cheekily. “After the initial training, there
isn’t much to do unless we are abroad. After all, the ocean and a naval fleet
protects the king’s borders well enough.”
“No Scottish rebellions of late, then?” James teased, leaning his elbows on the
central counter which was topped with mannequin heads wearing hats.
“None that I’ve seen, thankfully,” Wickham said as if with relief. “The great
Roman Empire stopped its northern expansion at Scotland after all. Despite the
charms of long haired sheep and haggis, I do not care to see the passions of
its people first hand.”
James laughed. “I cannot say I am an expert on cuisine cooked within a stomach
but you are versed in history. That is refreshing.”
“And you are active in current events,” Wickham nodded, joining him at the
counter. “What inspires this?”
“My father’s escapism,” James said offhandedly. “He receives regular newspapers
from London.”
“That is not so difficult to understand,” Wickham empathized. “Don’t you ever
despise the entrapment of rural society?”
James lifted a brow. “Bold talk from a man who accepted an indefinite time in
the country.”
“Regretting it less and less,” Wickham smiled, and James could only tilt his
head.
“Cheeky,” he said quietly, like a whisper.
Wickham’s weight shifted and he leaned close to directly utter near James’ ear,
“Bored.”
James’ lips had parted with curiosity but his lashes blinked heavily. His chin
dropped in a sign of refusal. Wickham read this and returned to his former
place at the counter. “Then you’ve chosen the wrong person for conversation,
I’m afraid. I am the most boring person in Longbourn or Meryton.”
Wickham smiled again. “James, I’ve met the most boring person in Longbourn or
Meryton,” he sent a look over to Mr. Collins. “You ought to give yourself more
credit.”
“You’ve known me but a moment,” James frowned slightly.
“Then allow me more moments,” Wickham petitioned, holding out his hand. “My
name is George.”
He looked at the hand and decided to extend his own. “James.”
“A pleasure, James,” Wickham smiled. “How long are you in Meryton today?”
His hand lingered in James’; he pulled away slowly, the pads of his fingers
reaching briefly for the net of veins on James’ wrist.
James shrugged. “As long as my aunt will host me. I don’t stay longer than
luncheon, usually.”
“Will you walk with me, then?” Wickham petitioned with a look to the man still
conversing with Mrs. Philips. “Mr. Denny does his best but he is not a native
of these parts. A tour would be most welcome.”
Lydia had heard. “That’s sounds delightful! There’s so much we could show you!”
Both men had turned toward her exclamation, and now James laughed softly.
Wickham’s gaze drifted over him, a soft smile matching on his lips. “All
right,” James said simply. “All right.”
Lydia, an eager hostess, donned a new bonnet courtesy of her aunt and flew out
the door with Mr. Wickham on her arm. He matched her energy, his hair glinting
in the sunlight that periodically fought through the clouds. Mr. Denny stayed
behind to converse with Mary, who had come down the stairs at the last moment.
Jane took her brother’s arm, laughing merrily as Lydia all but danced with
Wickham ahead of them. Kitty came close behind them and asked, “Can you imagine
having children with him? Golden bairns—ow! Lizzy!”
He had pulled her ear for her attention. “You sound like Lydia. And where did
you learn that word?”
“I do read!” she huffed, throwing herself against his back with her arms around
his waist. “A great deal more than Lydia.”
“That’s a relief,” he uttered. Walking was difficult like this but no one
thought to change their positions.
“You’re not as strict on her today,” she voiced, muffled against his shoulder.
His other hand rested atop her own on his stomach. Kitty was small and
curvaceous compared to their gangly and tall youngest sibling.
“She’s too distracted to be obnoxious,” James retorted.
“Jamie,” Jane scolded, but Kitty laughed.
“She does quite well with an occupation, I think,” she agreed.
“Lydia has a craving for esteem,” James reiterated. “Perhaps this comes from
being the youngest of five, but if it translates itself in doing a job well,
then all the better.”
“What about me?” Kitty asked.
James peeked at her over his shoulder. “Hm?”
She squeezed him a little tighter. “Well…Mary and I are the forgotten children,
aren’t we?”
Jane exclaimed softly, “Kitty!”
“Don’t pretend like it’s not true,” she hushed, but not angrily. James was
impressed by this. “Mary is content in her books and in her silence but I feel
like people would not notice me if I did not cloak myself in Lydia’s energy.”
James’ thumb stroked over her hand. “Hm…Lydia’s certainly loud enough for
two…who are you?”
“Lizzy!” she barked, curling her fingers into claws to tickle his ribs. He
whipped around and grasped her head to plant a loud kiss on her forehead. Her
hair was the same honeyed brown as his own, but in loose ringlets knotted over
her shoulder. His arm encompassed her shoulders and he pulled her along so they
could catch up to Lydia and Wickham.
They walked along the main thoroughfare of Meryton before reaching the edge of
town where the assembly building for balls stood. The road curved in the
distance into a thicket of trees. “Where does this lead?” Wickham asked James.
Lydia had gone to the assembly house to ask Mr. Robinson as to when the next
balls might be held.
“Into Longbourn,” James said, “and Netherfield Park. There’s a fork in the
road, and the latter is to the left…”
The sound of horses drew their notice to the bend in the distance, where two
distinguishable figures were trotting toward them. Jane brightened, “Do you
know of Netherfield Park, sir? It was being let but is currently rented by
Charles Bingley and his family.”
“Bingley,” Wickham said, but something in his tone, its quietude, turned James’
attention toward him.
The figures on horseback seemed to have recognized them as well, because the
black steed ambled forth with a grinning Bingley on top of him. “Miss Jane! How
are you? James and Lydia too! How lucky! We are just coming from your home; Mr.
Bennet informed us you were at your aunt’s.”
Lydia had rapidly reappeared on James’ other side, and together they bowed or
curtsied. “And good day to you, Lord Darcy,” Jane added lithely. “We were there
but we had the pleasure of making Mr. Wickham’s acquaintance…”
Darcy did not acknowledge her pleasantries. He was looking at Wickham, and vice
versa. James glanced between them and had the uncanny experience of watching
Lord Darcy change color. A brilliant red bloomed in his cheeks as if he was
holding his breath against violent emotions. Wickham on the contrary, paled.
With a brusque hand, Darcy handled the reins of his horse; it’s snow white head
turned and the last they saw of him was its storm grey croup galloping back
toward Netherfield.
James watched him go with great perplexity, until he felt Lydia turning in his
direction and met her unimpressed gaze. “I rest my case,” she uttered as if to
finish a discussion they had been having.
Bingley did not seem to have noticed what had passed. His horse fidgeted
beneath him, awaiting orders, but Charles caught James’ eye. “I apologize,
these were to be given under alternative circumstances.”
Out of view on the horse’s other side, Charles extracted two separately wrapped
parcels for him. James took them and not a moment later Charles apologized
again and rode off after his friend.
Collectively, they decided to return to the hat shop, but not before James had
unwrapped the curiously audible of the two and revealed a burlap sack of coffee
beans.
I am sorry I could not provide the chocolate, Charles had written on a note
within, along with a page he presumed was supplied by the butler on how to brew
it.
The party separated at the shop, Mr. Wickham stating that he ought to return to
Mr. Denny and the Bennets began their walk home. Mary and Kitty were intrigued
by the smell of the coffee and even liked the taste when he offered them each a
roasted bean. Mr. Collins was speaking to no one in particular over his
conversations with their aunt, until he reached Mrs. Bennet who was very
pleased to hear his good opinions of her sister.
Jane remained in the parlor but shared a look with James as he ascended the
stairs with his parcels, bidding him to be silent when Mr. Collins voiced,
“Apart from her ladyship, of course, I cannot say I have met with so much
attention in the whole course of my life.”
So instead he went to their room and set the coffee on the table by the window
in favor of his last parcel. It was heavier and sturdy, and upon opening, he
recognized the exact same volumes he had borrowed from the shelves of
Netherfield. There was not a note attached to them, apart from a silk band
wrapped around and within the Dickens cover, marking the place he had stopped
reading.
The next day they received an invitation to dinner by their aunt herself, and
the following day they rose into the Philips’ home to find Mr. Denny and Mr.
Wickham already in attendance. The pair greeted Mr. Bennet first and then his
wife, before resuming their acquaintances in their offspring. Wickham smiled at
James and shook his hand. “You look very well tonight.”
“I’ve been learning how to brew coffee,” James admitted, “and I’ve found it has
eye-opening affects.”
“Coffee?” Wickham frowned with humor. “You can stand the bitterness?”
“With a bit of steamed milk and sugar, yes.”
“Steamed milk? I’ve only ever had it with hot milk, not steamed,” Wickham
stated, suddenly intrigued.
“My mother sometimes likes steamed milk for her tea,” he explained, sitting
beside Wickham on the davenport couch.
“I can smell it on your breath,” Wickham said warmly, leaning close to inhale.
One of his hands had come to rest on the wooden trim of the couch but slid
along James’ shoulder and down the lapel of his waistcoat. “This color is nice
on you. I’m only ever allowed to wear red, black, and blue now.”
The waistcoat was a modest fabric but dyed a rich green. The back was a metal
grey with a belt-like fastener so it tapered with his waist. “You’re fortunate
those colors suit you,” James replied, causing Wickham to chuckle.
“Thank you, I have that consolation at least.”
Their attention was stolen for some time by the conversation in the room and
then a dinner of Shetland pie. Afterward they gathered in the parlour and James
met Wickham’s smile as he returned to sit beside him. Wickham offered two
glasses. “I was not sure which you would prefer.”
James picked the glass of white wine, knowing his aunt kept dry reds and sweet
whites. Wickham had already had a taste of both and lifted his brows. “You have
a sweet tooth, Mr. Bennet.”
“Do I? How would you know?”
“The sugar in your coffee,” Wickham remembered. “And now a sweet wine—wait,” he
paused, eyeing James until a smile cracked on his face and he sipped his wine
to hide it. “My word, James, you’re a flirt.”
James’ smile lingered, and then faded. Wickham’s legs pivoted toward him so
their thighs touched. “You were not expecting me to…understand, were you?”
James’ gaze lifted. Wickham appeared patient and appealing. “For most people,
there is not anything to understand.”
Wickham leaned against the back of the couch, relaxed as he said, “Only out of
ignorance or a hesitancy to understand. Gentlemen in our position are more
common than you might suspect.”
James was quite still. This was his first glass of the evening, but he felt
warmth in his ribs. “Our position?”
George smiled kindly. “I don’t have a preference in regards towards intimacy.”
The warmth faded. “Oh.”
Wickham blinked, and sighed, “Ah…you…only enjoy the male form?”
James leaned away, rolling the edge of his glass against his bottom lip. “I
suppose this makes me closed minded in the worst way.”
Wickham guffawed, catching him off guard. “So severe on yourself. I cannot
condemn you for loving men when I find you very beautiful.”
James did not have a ready response, and their discourse fell silent. Wickham
tried to salvage, “I suppose this is a wrong time to say I was hoping to visit
you in Longbourn?”
“There is not much to see in Longbourn.”
“There is you.”
James gave him a look and Wickham had the grace to appear bashful. “You said
once that Netherfield Park is near Longbourn. How close?”
“Five kilometers or so from my family’s farm,” James provided, knowing where
Wickham was treading. James had no premeditated desire to discuss the
confrontation he had witnessed between Wickham and Darcy, but Wickham seemed
intent to begin the subject himself.
“How long have the Bingleys been renting the estate?”
“Over a month,” James said, waiting until, “You said you knew Bingley.”
“Yes, well,” Wickham began, “I knew his father. His father, my own, and the
former Lord Darcy shared company.”
James hummed. “So that explains the relation. Darcy is a man of very large
property in Derbyshire, as I understand it.”
“Yes,” Wickham said with some measure of severity. “His estate there is a noble
one. A clear ten thousand per annum, aside from the lordship granted to the
ancestor of the acreage. Not a house full of historic deeds, but esteemed
nonetheless. Though lacking in titles myself, I have been connected with his
family since my infancy.”
Wickham paused to analyze James’ reaction to this. “You may well be surprised,
James, after seeing the very cold manner of our meeting the other day. Are you
much acquainted with Mr. Darcy?”
James shifted on his seat. “I have spent some days in the same house as him but
I cannot say I’ve held more than perhaps one conversation of any merit with
him. The overall opinion of him is that he is disagreeable.”
“I have no right to give my opinion,” Wickham said, “as to his being agreeable
or otherwise. I am not qualified to form one; I have known him too long and too
well to be a fair judge. It is impossible for me to be impartial. But I believe
this overall consensus of his character would astonish circles outside of this
one. It would be best to not express it quite so strongly anywhere else. Here
you are in your own family.”
James listened and frowned. “You seem more than qualified to present your
opinion if you have known the man since childhood, and this opinion is not so
much my own as it is all of Hertfordshire’s. Of humble origins we may be, but
the people here are proud of the little they have, and to be put at odds
against one whose pride is the same but whose wealth far exceeds our own, well,
the scales tip for themselves. The people here are not fond of him.”
Wickham was thoughtful for a moment, allowing James to drink his wine. “Many
men such as him should not be estimated above their deserts, however with him I
believe this does not often happen. The world is blinded by his fortune and
consequence, or frightened by his high and imposing manners. He is seen only as
he chooses to be seen.”
“He has admitted to being ill-tempered,” James said.
Wickham inhaled for a deep sigh and shrugged. “I wonder if he is to be in the
country much longer.”
“I’ve heard it said the whole party might take leave around January, if that is
too unbearable for you.”
“Oh! No, it is not for me to be driven away by Mr. Darcy,” Wickham exclaimed in
a rush. “If he wishes to avoid seeing me, he must go. We are not on friendly
terms, and it always gives me pain to meet him, but I have no reason for
avoiding him except for a most painful regret at his being what he is. His
father, James, was one of the best men who ever breathed, and the truest friend
I ever had. I can never be in company with his son without being grieved to the
soul by a thousand, even the minutest, recollections. His behavior to myself
has been scandalous, but I verily believe I could forgive him anything and
everything, rather than his disappointing the hopes and disgracing the memory
of his father.”
James’ brows had lifted slowly throughout his speech. Wickham observed his
countenance and said, “You seem dubious.”
“It is not my place to inquire further in personal affairs,” he acquiesced,
“but such a platform without evidence is difficult to argue for.”
Wickham’s jaw lifted in understanding. “Well, it was long ago and my fate has
been decided. I have made my peace with it so I will tell you.”
He looked across the room to where Mr. Denny was conversing with Mr. Bennet and
Mr. Philips. “My friend Denny tempted me toward this corps because it is the
most respectable and agreeable corps; the prospect of constant society and good
society in the country finalized my decision, for I am not meant for solitude.
My spirits will not bear it. This employment has been a blessing to me but a
military life is not what I was intended for. The church ought to have been my
profession.”
James did not conceal his surprise. “The church?”
“Oh yes,” Wickham confirmed. “I was brought up for the church, and I should at
this time have been in possession of a most valuable living, had it pleased the
gentleman we were speaking of just now.”
“Darcy?”
“Yes. The late Lord Darcy bequeathed me the next presentation of the best
living in his gift. He was my godfather, you understand, and excessively
attached to me. I cannot do justice to his kindness. He meant to provide for me
amply, and thought he had done it, but when the living fell, it was given
elsewhere.”
“How can that be?” James wondered. “I should think such a family could afford
lawyers who know how to read a proper will.”
“Indeed,” Wickham admitted, “but such a family is also…how did Collins put it?
Protective of their assets, they were. It would be only too easy to sway a
lawyer to overlook certain lines in the testament.”
“And you could not seek legal redress?”
Wickham shook his head. “There was such an informality in the terms of the
bequest as to give me no hope from the law. A man of honor could not have
doubted the intention, but Darcy chose to doubt it, or to treat it as merely a
recommendation. He then asserted that I had forfeited all claim to it by
extravagance and imprudence. When I came of age two years ago, the living was
given to another man.”
James processed this with more astonishment. The farm had always been promised
to him; the prospect of it suddenly being taken from him planted a dark seed in
his belly. He looked toward Mr. Collins who was speaking with Mrs. Philips in a
renewed light.
“Public humiliation for his deeds seems a mild punishment at best,” he voiced.
Wickham shrugged. “Some time or other, he will be, but it shall not be by me. I
have a warm, unguarded temper, and I may perhaps have sometimes spoken my
opinion of him, and to him, too freely. I can recall nothing worse for his
temper to be directed at me, but the fact is that we are very different sort of
men, and he that he hates me.”
After a pause, James said, “This is the only motive he could have for such
cruelty?”
Wickham finished drinking his wine and offered, “A thorough, determined dislike
of me—a dislike which I cannot but attribute to jealousy. Had the late Lord
Darcy liked me less, or had not ordained to neglect his son more, Darcy and I
might have been on very different terms. Sadly I believe this jealousy was
sowed early in his life and he had not the temper to bear the sort of
competition in which we stood.”
James set his wine aside, no longer caring for the taste. “I must admit, I had
not thought of Mr. Darcy so bad as this. I had supposed him to be unnecessarily
despising of his fellow creatures due to a preference for ignorance, but never
did I think he would descend to malicious revenge or injustice.”
“You intelligently spoke of pride, earlier,” Wickham nodded. “I believe almost
all his actions can be traced back to his pride, the pride his father crafted
in him. This esteem has led him to in fact be incredibly generous to all but
myself. The irony of his taking away my living has been his ample charity to
his tenants, the poor, and in all regards he is quite liberal with his money.
But we are none of us consistent, as is evident by his behavior to me. It may
also be attributed to how his pride is rooted in his family that makes me so
easily severed from his affections. Much like his love for his father, he is
well known as a devoted brother.”
“What sort of a girl is Miss Darcy?” James could not help but ask. For all the
talk he had since heard of her, he wanted more information about this legendary
character.
But Wickham only shook his head as if in great sadness. “I wish I could call
her amiable, but she is too much like her brother. Very, very proud. As a
child, she was affectionate and pleasing, and likewise extremely fond of me. I
devoted hours and hours to her amusement, but she is nothing to me now. I’ll
grant, she is a handsome girl of fifteen or sixteen now, and no doubt highly
accomplished—”
James lost interest almost immediately. When Wickham noticed, he apologized for
entering such a bitter subject, but James’ ruminations reopened the matter.
“What of Bingley? With such good humour and who is truly amiable, how does he
keep such a close friendship with Darcy? You said you know Charles?”
Wickham stared at him for a moment and then looked dejected again. “I’m afraid
I knew the father more than the son. He is good, you say?”
James confirmed, “He is incredibly sweet-tempered and charming in comparison to
the picture you have painted of Darcy. It’s as if he does not even know the man
in his own house.”
Wickham agreed, “It is possible. A gentle character can sometimes come at the
risk of observation or sense. Darcy is also trained in the ability to please
where it is useful to him.”
James frowned once more. “On the contrary, Darcy seems perfectly comfortable
not pleasing when it is an inconvenience to him.”
Wickham rose from the couch with a hand on James’ knee for leverage. “You would
certainly know the man better than I. For all the years he and I spent with the
same toys and the same education, I hardly know the man. And his aunt de
Bourgh, being as fond as she is of him, has made it certain that I have little
to no engagement with the family forever more.”
James froze, his hand catching Wickham’s wrist. “De Bourgh?”
Wickham gazed down at him. “Yes, Lady Catherine de Bourgh was sister to the
late Lady Anne Darcy. Mr. Collins’ patroness is Darcy’s aunt. Collins has not
told you?”
“I do not ask further into Mr. Collins’ life than I have to,” James blurted.
The smile returned to Wickham’s face as he said, “Well Darcy was born into
wealth and will be granted immense power before long. Her daughter, Miss de
Bourgh is of course the heiress to a great fortune and all of her parents’
connections. A union of matrimony will unite the two families; at least, it was
spoken of while I was a child and spared from adult evils.”
James had much to process. An arranged marriage slowed the cogs of his mind and
he could not help but say, “I have heard that she is sickly.”
“In health only,” Wickham said as he slowly began to depart. “She takes after
her mother: headstrong, conceited, and greatly arrogant. Birds of a feather,
that family.”
***** Demonstration *****
Chapter Summary
     The Netherfield Ball~
Chapter Notes
     Finallllyyyyy.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
James lay in bed, the cat on his chest while he pondered all he had heard. He
had felt inclined to toss Wickham’s accusations aside until he had mentioned
the Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Mr. Collins had not been silent regarding her
throughout the evening but James had the suspicion he was ignorant of the
lady’s nephew. Wickham had procured that information himself, and with such
ease as to give it credence.
“What is it?”
The cat’s paw flexed on his collarbone as if to keep him from startling and
disturbing her rest. Instead, James looked at Jane with surprise. She smiled
softly and extended a finger to wiggle between the cat’s ears. “She purrs so
loudly when you’re awake, as if she’s trying to be heard over your thoughts.”
As if in confirmation, each exhalation yielded loud dry rumbles, only broken by
a sharp yawn. Her jaws spread so far she rolled onto her side, whiskers
tickling James’ neck. Jane chortled quietly.
“Darcy is Lady de Bourgh’s nephew,” he said.
“Oh?” her tawny brows lifted.
“Wickham grew up with him.”
“Based on their confrontation, the years did not reap fondness?”
He hesitated. “No.”
Jane rolled onto her stomach, holding the pillow to her chest for leverage.
“Did Wickham tell you all this last night?”
James’ brow furrowed, but a look to the window revealed dawn lightening the
sky. “Yes.”
“Why does another family’s disputes trouble you?”
“Because Charles and Darcy have remained close, and Charles is too transparent
to cause discord.”
“Excuse you,” Jane scolded. “I may become the lady of his household.”
“Indeed,” James seconded, “which means you may have to witness these matters
firsthand. The Darcys and de Bourghs are not Bingleys, but their proximity may
erase such distinctions. I don’t want you caught within their divisions.”
She was quiet for a time before she asked, “Was Wickham’s departure from Lord
Darcy so severe?”
James relayed what had crossed between Mr. Wickham and himself. Jane listened
patiently, with astonishment and concern. When he had finished, it was not in
her nature to question anyone who revealed even a drop of good intention. This
resulted in her speaking for all parties, insisting, “They have both been
deceived, I think. We can form no idea on how, exactly. Interested people have
perhaps misrepresented each to the other. It is impossible for us to conjecture
the causes or circumstances which may have alienated them.”
James listened and voiced, “I do remember his saying at Netherfield of the
implacability of his resentments. An unforgiving temper would yield a dreadful
disposition.”
“You can’t take that as his attestation,” Jane defended. “Consider this from
Mr. Darcy’s side, to be treating his father’s favorite in such a manner—and one
whom his father had promised to provide for. It is impossible. No man of common
humanity, especially on who has such value for his character, could be capable
of it.”
“Well do exonerate everyone, will you?” James retorted. “I’ll have no one to
despise otherwise.”
She gave him a look. “His most intimate friends cannot be so deceived of him,
can they? I admit Charles’ kindness can make him ignorant but his sisters not
so.”
James huffed, the feline rising on his chest. “I am more inclined to think the
sisters see Darcy as a rare beast for capture than Wickham is able to craft
such an intricate lie. Such facts and names were given with ease, but let Darcy
contradict them if he can.”
“You’re not going to confront him about this, are you?” Jane startled. “Lizzy,
please, just leave this alone. Wickham will go wherever the king bids and Darcy
or his enemies need never enter our lives again. I certainly shan’t ask any
Bingley for their knowledge about it.”
When they might see a Bingley again was unknown until later that very morning.
James heard the commotion downstairs from his place within the cat’s fur.
Lifting his head from the soft fur, he recognized Charles’ voice bidding the
family good morning. “Oh! But where is the young Mr. Bennet?”
“The oaf is lazing upstairs!” Lydia chimed.
“Hush,” Jane’s soft voice defended. “Forgive him, he hardly slept last night.”
“My word, doing what?” came Caroline’s voice. James lowered his head back down.
He let his consciousness fade back to slumber, until he knew by the sudden
volume of his sisters that Charles had finally made the arrangements for his
ball.
When he heard the Bingleys depart, he descended the stairs to find his family
fluttering at the dining table, apart from Mary, Mr. Bennet, and Mr. Collins,
who appeared tranquil in comparison. Lydia was singing the melody of her
favorite dance before she looked upon Collins.
“Do you dance, Mr. Collins?”
He perked up pleasantly. “I am by no means of opinion, I assure you, that a
ball of this kind can have an evil tendency. I am so far from objecting to
dancing that I shall hope to be honoured with the hands of all my fair cousins
in the course of the evening. I dread neither a rebuke from the Archbishop or
Lady Catherine, and I take this opportunity to ask one of my cousins of
soliciting the first two dances of the evening.”
“First two?” Lydia huffed.
“Are you volunteering, darling?” Mr. Bennet smiled to himself from behind his
London newspaper. Lydia gaped like a horrified fish until Mary diverted their
attention.
“While I can have my mornings to myself, I think it no sacrifice to join
occasionally in evening engagements. Society has claims on us all, and I
profess myself one of those who consider intervals of recreation and amusement
as desirable for everybody.”
Lydia was truly lost for speech. Mr. Bennet chuckled and patted her hand. “I am
sure the young men will await your hand patiently for a dance.”
As for James, he listened to Lydia distracting herself by talking to no one in
particular about which members of the regiments were going to the ball. When
Mr. Collins left she hissed how she had anticipated giving those dances to Mr.
Wickham or a few other names lost on James’ ear.
“Lydia,” their mother scolded. “Just last night I heard Mr. Collins compliment
you on your wit and vivacity. And what a thought: to be the mistress of
Hunsford Parsonage, right across from Rosings Park!”
The roses in Lydia’s cheeks wilted and James coughed over his large cup of tea.
The threat of Mr. Collins’ finding a wife was suddenly a very real terror in
Lydia’s eyes, while Mary was contemplatively silent beside her.
It was an even greater dread that it rained all but constantly until the night
of the Netherfield ball, limiting the youngest Bennets’ visits to Meryton. Not
that James minded; he occupied himself in the kitchen with the windows open,
listening to the rain while wax and oils simmered on the stove. His father
helped him cast the larger candles while Jane quite liked staining paper for
labels or wrappings; overall decorating the candles for their intended
recipients.
When the evening of the ball arrived, the Bennet household was all but turned
upside-down. Ribbons and petticoat skirts hung from doorways while lost mates
of shoes were kicked aside in the corridors.
“Mama! My blue one! Where’s my blue one?” Lydia called through the walls.
James and Jane frowned at one another and then at the robin’s egg dress she had
somehow left in their room. “Don’t tell her,” James brightened.
Jane guffawed. “You’re cruel.”
“It’s the fool’s fault she left it here. Are you ready?”
She sat at the vanity table for him to stand behind her and do her hair. Baby’s
breath and forget-me-not flowers waited on the surface for him to braid
delicately into her hair. He had already combed his hair and was dressed in his
grey trousers and waistcoat though his shirt had yet to be tucked in. He could
hear through the wall that Lydia settled on her green dress instead and was
eagerly imagining what Mr. Wickham would be wearing.
“The winter dress attire or the summer?” she asked Kitty loudly. “Oh, I do hope
it’s the winter!”
“Speaking of,” Mr. Bennet was heard, “It will be a cold evening. Bring your
coats.”
“Kitty, could you find my shawl—”
“Coat, Lydia,” her father reiterated. “Surely you can bear to be seen in it for
the moment it takes to get out of the carriage and reach the cloak room.”
“But papa—”
James interrupted, “If I have to take care of you because you couldn’t be
bothered to wear proper garments, I’ll make you drink three pots of vinegar.”
The house was silent. Then they saw a coat angrily land on the banister outside
of their door, ready to be taken downstairs.
Dinner was a rushed affair, the daughters eager to taste the sort of hors
d'oeuvres a cook such as the Bingleys could afford would make. By the time they
piled into their carriage and entered the queue of guests and regimental horse
riders, James was just as eager as Lydia to see Wickham, simply for the reason
that it meant getting out of the carriage.
“Oh, there’s the Colonel! And—” Lydia was pointing out of the window.
“Do you see Wickham?” Kitty asked.
“Not yet! He must already be inside!”
James, of course, had not shared with her how one of their hosts might allow
all of the regiments in, apart from one. Thinking upon it now, he realized he
was quite eager to see Wickham for his own personal reasons. He swallowed
thickly in the stuffy carriage and waited patiently for them to rock to a final
stop.
“Goodness,” Mrs. Bennet sighed, her fan waving energetically despite the
descent of late autumn around them. “Go on girls, up you get. We mustn’t keep
Netherfield waiting.”
Lydia flew up the stairs with Kitty in tow. Mr. Collins had ridden with Mr.
Hill on the box seat, and was now busy admiring various persons he thought he
recognized from Lady de Bourgh’s card table. No one paid him much attention.
“Jane, dear,” their mother tried to usher ahead. “Why don’t you greet him with
your father?”
“I’ll stay behind, mama,” she refused kindly. This obviously displeased their
mother but they were already within the entrance of Netherfield, and Charles
stood beside his sisters to welcome their guests. His eyes brightened upon
seeing them.
“Mr. Bennet! I’m so pleased you could make it! How are you, Miss Lydia and
Katherine?”
They curtsied in unison before Lydia spoke for the both of them. “We’re
absolutely breathless at the decorations! The music within sounds divine
already. I’m so pleased you kept your word for a ball, Mr. Bingley!”
“A person is nothing without their word,” he smiled kindly, and then turned,
“Wouldn’t you agree, William?”
The family turned to see Lord Darcy coming down the grand staircase to meet
them. “I do,” he said simply.
Lydia leered slightly and reclaimed Bingley’s focus. “I am so glad you invited
the regiments! I am so eager to be reacquainted with Colonel Forrester, Mr.
Wickham, and of course, Mr. Denny,” she said, considering herself clever.
None of the Bingleys gave any reaction to the names she offered apart from
Charles. “We’ve just met Mr. Denny,” he chimed. “Your aunt and uncle Philips
arrived with him not moments prior.”
James let his eyes slide to Darcy on the step, his added elevation allowing him
to examine the heads coming through the doors, those craned to see the high
ceilings of Netherfield house, as well as ogling him and the Bingleys in turn.
“All right,” Mr. Bennet ushered gently. Lydia, Kitty, and Mary went ahead
through to the other rooms. Mr. Bennet stayed long enough to keep Mr. Collins’s
introduction brief, along with Mrs. Bennet’s. This left Jane and James to
finish.
Charles took her hand and kissed its back. “You are a vision, Miss Bennet.”
Pink roses blossomed in Jane’s cheeks as Caroline said, “You’ve dressed with
more than usual care, Mr. Bennet.”
Charles tore his gaze from Jane to see James’ cool grey trousers under his
newer buttoned, black coat. It was thin and weak against the approaching
winter, but for a formal engagement, it tapered to his waste and accentuated
his figure very well. James chose to keep his tongue dull at this moment and
remained silent. Charles smiled and reached for his hand. “Jamie, you look
well—”
James did not take his hand, causing them to look down at the canvas sack he
was offering, along with a medium sized wooden crate. “It’s rather late in the
season,” he apologized, “but for the insects.”
Charles opened the bag to see the tall column of a cedar candle. Then in the
crate, were much smaller candles of coffee, cinnamon, wine, lavender, and earl
grey. Charles picked one up at random to smell, his features flattening with
awe. “You made these for us? Jamie, you needn’t have—”
He shook his head. “It was the least I could do. Opening one’s home to
strangers is no small thing, no matter how large the vessel is. I hope wherever
you settle, these might help the transition.”
Charles was truly expressionless at this. Caroline frowned as her eyes wandered
over the personal candles. She picked up the one smelling faintly of sweet
rosé. “There is one for each of us?”
“Jane, you decorated these, surely?” Mrs. Hurst diverted with her own awe.
“Your calligraphy is marvelous—”
Charles broke through his sisters on either side of him and pulled James close
in embrace. The air startled out of James’ chest upon the abrupt contact, his
arms opening to move the crate aside, leaving them chest to chest. James’ eyes
softened, his lashes heavily fluttering over his eyes. The sensation of Charles
against him was…more than pleasant.
“Charles, this is quite inappropriate,” Caroline reminded quietly.
James felt Charles’ fist clench the back of his coat before he unwillingly
released him. “Shall we light the big one, then? Tis not the season for
mosquitos but the flies stubbornly abound.”
And so a footman took the gifts and the Bennet siblings moved on. They found
their sisters in the room with the food, decoratively piled on silver tiers.
Lydia and Kitty were eagerly pestering their aunt and Mr. Denny, the latter of
whom was looking and sounding apologetic upon the eldest siblings’ arrival.
“Oh!” Lydia exclaimed haughtily. “But he must be here! He wouldn’t dare miss
such an occasion!”
“I am sorry, my dear,” Mr. Denny said with great sadness. “I do not imagine his
business would have called him away just now if he had not wished to avoid a
certain gentleman here.”
Mr. Denny stopped quickly with a glance around them. This part of his
intelligence, though ignored by Lydia, was caught by James. It had previously
been a source of reprieve or humour, waiting to meet Mr. Wickham here, but now
the emptiness of his absence left James realizing how desperately he had wanted
to see him. After the warmth Charles had left on his coat front, James had been
looking forward to Wickham’s conversation, his wit, as well as his open
understanding. Against his better judgment, James felt a keen sharpening of
understanding regarding the displeasure shared amongst his younger sisters
towards Mr. Darcy.
It was a strange surprise when the man himself, the Bingleys, and the Hursts
joined the rest of the party, having quickly finished greeting the rest of
their guests. It was an even better surprise that Charlotte Lucas was with
them, having arrived last. She and James greeted each other immediately, the
latter drawing her away to the cloak room.
“Goodness, you haven’t tired of company already?” she teased, handing her
satin, wool-lined cloak to the footman. “This is quick, even for you.”
They exchanged jaded expressions with one another as he also transferred his
coat. As they left the room, he said tersely. “Wickham is not here.”
“Am I supposed to know who that is?”
He quickly informed her of everything that had transpired between himself and
Wickham, including the past Wickham had shared.
Charlotte listened with great patience and receptivity. “I understand your
liking and unease, but really, I’m surprised at you. Your sisters could each
experience the same event and then retell the account in vastly different
detail. To so quickly despise Lord Darcy seems a bit illogical.”
“You sound like Jane,” he grumbled.
“I should hope so,” Charlotte said with lifted brows. “She is the keenest
Bennet apart from you and your father. That is immensely flattering, thank
you.”
He could not help but laugh, and she shared in his mirth. Her gloved hand
touched his cheek. “Really, Lizzy, you were not formed for ill humour; I miss
the days when anger and sorrow did not dwell long in your spirits—”
“Charming moldings,” Mr. Collins interrupted. His head was craned toward the
domed ceiling. “Marvelous frescoes. Not as many as Lady Catherine would deem
appropriate but a charming country estate, nonetheless.”
He continued on his way, possibly not even noticing to whom he had spoken. “Who
was that?” Charlotte wondered.
“That,” James said bluntly, “is my cousin. Mr. Collins.”
“Oh,” she acknowledged.
“Mm,” he returned, watching the man interact more with the Bingleys' furniture
than people until the first dance was announced, which he clearly intended to
follow through with Lydia.
“When did he arrive?” Charlotte asked as they moved to the ballroom and watched
Lydia remarkably handle Mr. Collins’ missteps. It was likely due to Kitty and
her partner beside them that Lydia did not erupt then and there.
“A year ago? A month? It’s hard to say now.”
“What is his given name?”
“I don’t remember.”
“You’re certainly a harvest of information,” she retorted.
“I can tell you about Lady Catherine de Bourgh and her parsonage,” he returned,
which made her frown before he related the oddities of his cousin to her.
“Mr. Darcy’s aunt?” she brightened with interest. “Well they ought to know one
another shouldn’t they?”
“They don’t,” he corrected, “And I daresay I wouldn’t wish that experience on
Darcy.”
“What experience?”
They both turned toward the unmistakable voice. “Lord Darcy,” Charlotte
curtsied, and James bowed as much as the closeness of people allowed. “We were
just watching the dance. James’ sisters and cousin are in it.”
Darcy nodded distantly, his gaze vaguely crossing over the dancers. “It is
finishing.”
Indeed it was, as announced by the seething arrival of Lydia beside James. “I
demand salvation,” she all but hissed.
“How fortunate, you’re with a cleric,” he said pleasantly.
“He thinks I am to dance with him twice!”
“I remember, that is what was promised,” he nodded.
“Lizzy!” she hissed desperately.
“What am I to do?”
“I don’t know! Dance with him yourself!”
“I think that might put mama in an early grave,” he declined. “I have already
done my part in greying her hair.”
“Please, Lizzy!” she pleaded, as Mr. Collins joined them.
“I have not decided if the music is avant garde or misplaced. I should think I
would have heard the melodies of high fashion but I do understand that one’s
preference limits one’s awareness in these matters.”
“It is quite all right, Mr. Collins,” Lydia proclaimed. “An unknown melody can
misplace one’s steps a great deal. It’s the unfamiliarity, you know.”
“I do,” he nodded. “I have been credited many a time for my lightness of step
and quickness of foot.”
“I can’t imagine where,” Lydia said bluntly, and then her tone changed. James
eyed her narrowly even before she had reached her point. “Mr. Collins, I am
afraid I’ll need to gracefully decline our next dance. That is, unless I have a
proper demonstration. You know, Jamie is also known to be good on his feet.”
She cast her charming smile on her brother, whose silence held the weight of
sororicide. Mr. Collins was considering. “It would be quite unprecedented for
two men to partner for the dance, however I suppose this would not be a
coupling, so much as a teaching and demonstration. Indeed.”
James had the horror of his cousin’s gaze landing on him. “Cousin, would you do
me the kindness of teaching me the dance?”
James was suddenly jealous of water and its ability to evaporate. “I do not
think this the right place and time—”
“It is absolutely the right place and time,” Lydia interrupted sharply, her
charm fading. “Mama is with Lady Lucas in the other room along with most of the
officers. The start of the ball is the best time for a demonstration, before
the guests eat and drink their fill and come to the ballroom.”
Do this while there are so few eyes, so I needn’t be seen in your stead! she
glared silently. They stared venom at each other.
“The lesson shan’t last four minutes,” Charlotte said beside him. James looked
every bit betrayed.
James found himself in the line of dancers, facing Mr. Collins. The only
comfort was that it was a group dance in which a leader and a follower were not
determined, and Jane and Charles stood beside him. They peeked at him and he
explained tersely, “He asked for a demonstration.”
They nodded their mutual understanding as well as silent apologies.
Watching Collins dance had been a sorry affair. Being the partner to it was
something else entirely. It was a dance of mortification.
Mr. Collins, awkward and solemn, often moved wrongly without being aware of it,
despite the very obvious examples all around him. He bumped into Charles and
very nearly stepped on his feet. When it came time to walk around each other in
a counter-clockwise circle, he insisted on doing the opposite. When the dancers
held hands to form a circle, Collins was meant to stand opposite James; instead
he crossed in front of Jane, thinking he was meant to hold the hand of his
partner, not the people next to him. While some might think this romantic, it
disoriented everyone involved.
He returned to Charlotte’s side with the same absent-mindedness that had taken
him to the dance to begin with. His jaw hung open since Mr. Collins first
rejected one of his corrections, and he had never quite closed it. “Dear
Lizzy,” Charlotte giggled warily. “You look as if you’ve just returned from
war.”
He inhaled as if his lungs had been empty for the entirety of the dance. “I
wonder if this is how it feels.”
She laughed fully and pulled him into the next dance. The familiarity of
Charlotte rejuvenated James’ spirits, who then danced with a local officer’s
sister alongside her brother and Kitty. They seemed as close as he and Jane,
lending to merry and pleasant conversation between the four of them before he
danced with the Longs’ daughter beside Jane and Charles once more, with
Charlotte nearby. Afterward, the four of them went to the wine display with
laughter in their throats. James finished a glass of water before starting his
second helping of wine. He turned, intending to ask Charlotte for another
dance—
“Mr. Bennet.” Lord Darcy stood behind him instead. “Would you join me in the
parlour adjacent to the library during the next dance?”
“Alright.”
Darcy nodded slightly and left.
It was a long moment before James processed what had occurred. Charlotte stood
beside him, patiently waiting. Slowly, he looked at her. She nodded. He shook
his head in immense disbelief, “What? Why?”
Charlotte, greatly amused, shook her head in turn. “I cannot say. I daresay you
may find him very agreeable. Go, the musicians are almost ready. But Lizzy—”
She caught his sleeve, “I caution you to guard your tongue. Darcy may be the
only lord here but this does not change his station. Do not let your fancy for
Wickham mark your behavior as unpleasant in Darcy’s eye, a man whose
consequence is ten times that of Wickham.”
This left Jamie without words, so he made no answer as she gave him a little
push. James was now aware of how his raiment stuck to him after his exertions.
He made his way to the breakfast parlour, knowing it was next to the library,
but when he arrived guests were visiting the pudding table, whereas Darcy was
nowhere to be seen.
Crossing through to the library, a footman gave him a look, and James knew why
as he entered the dark and empty library. James supposed it was his previous
occupancy in this house that allowed him to pass. As he traversed the library,
James peered out of the windows at the veranda, and he knew the lack of light
shining through other windows meant he had entered the side of the house
restricted to guests.
Apart from the doors to the terrace and breakfast parlour, there was only one
other door in the library. James’ hand lingered on the knob. Should he knock?
He was invited, but it may not be the correct room…
He knocked lightly, opening the door on silent hinges. Darcy stood in the
center of an unfurnished room, beneath the bluish shards of moonlight striking
the floor from windows set within the ceiling. Dying leaves had sporadically
fallen over the glass, leaving kaleidoscopic shadows.
James shut the door behind him, and Darcy turned to him, but they stood for
some time without speaking a word. James could hear the music faintly through
the walls, and began to wonder exactly how long Darcy intended to keep him
here. Having been invited, he considered not breaking the silence, but then
impatiently fancied a sort of punishment in making the man speak.
“You asked me here, my lord?”
“Yes,” Darcy replied. Then silence.
“Why?” James drawled slowly. Charlotte might have fainted at the slight.
Darcy, however, gave no indication of insult. Or it was his request in which
James' punishment awaited: “I would appreciate your hand in this dance.”
Breath wavered in James throat as if he had not heard him. “Pardon?” he
blurted.
“A demonstration, as it was called,” Darcy reiterated.
James blinked, analyzing. “You want me to dance with you? This dance is
specifically for a man and a woman.”
“A leader and a follower, yes.”
James understood, now, Darcy’s reasons for bringing him here. “I suppose you’re
not asking me to teach you how to follow. But you’ve danced before.”
“I have, although…” Darcy wavered, “it does not bring me the sense of ease with
which your feet seem to move.”
James relaxed somewhat. “You mean your dance teachers could not find a method
to help you keep to a tempo?”
Darcy’s eyes did not move from him. “More like I outgrew their teachings
quicker than they could manage.”
James inclined his chin, understanding. It was not abnormal for young Meryton
boys to suddenly outgrow their trousers and leave their boyish grace behind.
“What would you have me do?”
“Can you follow?”
“I have four headstrong sisters, of course I can follow.”
It was a testament to either Darcy’s patience or his determination that he
simply gestured for James to stand opposite him. Darcy bowed at the hips,
inducing James to as well. The dance was well underway in the main ballroom but
the tempo was repetitive, allowing them to listen and wait for the moment the
step sequence restarted—
The immediacy of their steps falling into place was lost in the wake of Darcy’s
lack of gloves. The way he moved with James was easy, reminding him of
Charlotte but the bare skin holding his hand was far from her satin. They
stepped toward one another, Darcy taking James’ hand as they turned to walk
through the rows of dancers who were not there. The shadows of the windowpanes
above served as their markers, parting ways to walk around invisible dancers
like the curves of cloverleaves. Resuming their place in the line, they stepped
toward one another, and stepped back, the dance bringing them together and then
pulling them away.
“This is usually when you engage your partner in conversation,” James reminded
the next they came together.
“Is it,” Darcy said, not so much as a question but a reply.
James frowned slightly as they moved down the line. “Do the sisters not speak
to you when you dance with them?”
“They speak. I listen,” he answered, striding through the clover curve. James
could not help but laugh. Caroline’s courting seemed to be as effective as a
fly bouncing off a horse’s flank. Darcy’s eyes were on him. “Are you laughing
at me?”
“Not you, no.”
“What then?”
Darcy took his hand, and they walked. “No no, if you’re here to practice, it is
your turn to remark on something trivial, such as the size of the room, or the
number of couples.”
Darcy’s lips curved with a glance at the lack thereof around them. “I hadn’t
considered—do you talk by rule then, while you are dancing?”
“Sometimes. It would look odd to be entirely silent, yet for the advantage of
some, conversation may be arranged as such they may have the convenience of
saying as little as possible.”
“Are you consulting your own feelings in the present case, or do you imagine
that your are gratifying mine?”
“I am not the one disgusted by dancing with a man, my lord,” James declared
quietly.
Darcy went silent, but James could feel his gaze on him all the while. Finally,
“You were listening, then. At the Meryton ball.”
“I am capable of observing how private balls are pleasanter than public ones.
As gatekeeper, you may limit the options and choose more specifically who to
bother dancing with.”
“Your tone suggests this is a trait not to be desired,” Darcy intuited.
“That is not for me to say,” James countered. “I cannot ignore a great
similarity in the turn of our minds. We share an unsocial, taciturn
disposition.”
“You mean to insult me, James,” Darcy said, taking him by surprise. They faced
each other across the line. “We do not share this disposition at all. I have
only seen amiable qualities as to be desired in social environments.”
James was not sure how to respond, much less was he sure if Darcy had just
given him a compliment. He made no answer, and they were again silent until
James realized they had danced through silence and another song had started in
the distance. James’ step halted, his hand having lifted to take Darcy’s hand
once more—
“Do you and your sisters often walk to Meryton?” Darcy inquired, pulling him
into the next dance. This music was slower. Darcy’s palm rested against James’
as they revolved around one another.
“Yes,” he admitted, “well…we are close to our mother’s sister.”
“Mm,” Darcy acknowledged, and whether this was his final response or not was
negated by James’ step faltering. Darcy looked him over with vacant inquiry.
“I don’t know these steps,” he admitted reluctantly.
“It is a variation of the waltz,” Darcy explained.
“Oh,” James scoffed. “I’ve never danced the waltz.”
“Why not?”
James peered at him. “We country folk prefer something a bit more lively. A
ball for us is a large affair. The waltz is…”
“Intimate,” Darcy finished.
“There’s a word for it—what are you doing?”
“Teaching you,” Darcy said as he helped James stand erect with a hand on his
waist, pulling him forward. “It is an equal exchange, is it not?”
James was inclined to think not. Darcy moved with the skill of a well-taught
pupil. The only area he lacked prowess in was conversation.
“What—?”
“We waltz down the line, and then part similar to before,” Darcy narrated.
“Right foot back.”
“If a woman ever asks me to waltz, I will lose my dignity as a partner,” James
muttered, watching Darcy’s feet.
Darcy chuckled, snapping James’ gaze back up. “It is easier than you think,” he
assured, and pulled James along. Just as before, once they were down the line,
Darcy released him and they mirrored each other’s curved paths. They stepped
together, palms touching as they joined in the parting touch, and stepped back;
seemingly for the other couples to waltz past. When they rejoined Darcy
instructed, “Put your hand on my shoulder.”
James lifted a brow at that. He had a wonderful view of the man’s cravat. White
silk—
His spine shot erect as fingertips slid up his spine. “Do not slouch,” Darcy
explained. “If the idea is to converse with your partner, you must look at
them.”
“What were we even speaking of?” James all but growled.
“Your aunt,” Darcy said rather pleasantly.
James paused, his thoughts coming full circle before he ventured, “Yes, when
you met us the other day, we had visted her and had just been forming a new
acquaintance.”
The effect was immediate. A deeper shade of hauteur overspread his features.
“Do not speak of him.”
Their dance slowed. “You truly hate him so much?”
“Yes,” Darcy surprised him. “If love and hate rest within the same chamber of
the heart, he has marked his place in mine.” They stood stagnantly in the
light, Darcy stiff around him.
“Love?” James echoed with disdain. “Then he has been so unlucky as to lose your
friendship, and in a manner which he is likely to suffer from all his life.”
Darcy’s features were hard, but moonlight cut through his irises, making his
eyes appear both cold and soft, sunken within his face. “Wickham is blessed
with the happy manners that ensure his making friends. Whether he may be
capable of retaining them is less certain... Has he so captured your
loyalties?”
Yes James was ready to say, but…something…in his tone made James falter. “He
has my sympathies,” he revised.
Darcy’s lips parted, a furrow between his brows. “Then he has told you very
little.”
Air stopped in James’ throat. “What?”
Darcy was close. He spoke softly. “As one who values the study of people, I
would think prejudice beneath you.”
James blinked, unable to navigate where this was going. “I remember you saying
you hardly ever forgave; that your resentment, once created, was unappeasable…
I imagine this makes you very cautious in its creation.”
“It does,” he affirmed gently.
“Then it is incumbent for those of stubborn opinion to secure a proper judgment
at first.”
“To what purpose?”
James’ jaw angled upward to meet him. “To illustrate your character…my lord.”
“You may forgo my title. You forget it often enough anyway. Am I so difficult
to read?”
James’ features stiffened, but not out of anger. “I am trying to make it out.”
“And what is your success?”
He swallowed thickly, gently shaking his head and looking away. “I do not get
on at all. I hear such different accounts of you, which puzzle me exceedingly…”
The hand holding his let go in exchange for Darcy’s fingers to run along his
jaw, gently bringing their gazes back together. “Then allow me to make the
correction: I was not disgusted by the prospect of dancing with a man...nor in
the execution of it.”
James’s eyelashes were heavy over his eyes. He realized too late that he was
staring at Darcy’s mouth. His waist was sensitive to Darcy’s hand there, as
well as the slight pressure pulling them flush together. Darcy’s lips were soft
and full, and James’ eyes were closed before he could help it.
Darcy’s mouth was as soft to the touch as to the eye, but not as soft as the
pressure with which he applied. Light and fleeting was the kiss upon his lips,
and tremulous was the breath between them when he parted.
The hand left his waist.
James could no longer feel Darcy’s breath on his mouth.
A heel clipped on the floor, opening James’ eyes.
The last he saw of Darcy was his back as he shut the door behind him. James was
assaulted by two unavoidable thoughts: how desperately he had awaited a second
kiss, and how swiftly Darcy had removed himself from the room.
James took several moments to recover himself before he rejoined Jane. However,
upon viewing her, he saw a woman very happily settled. Standing with Charles
and others, though the others were there for him they laughed with her and
engaged her in eager conversation. Charles’ hand occasionally touched her waist
or her hand, moments of agreement and affection. She was the lady of
Netherfield in all but name.
James removed himself before meeting her, determined not to venture near her
lest he shatter the moment, and future.
Charlotte was nearby, so he joined her. She brightened at the sight of him and
tilted her head. He knew the words resting on her tongue but shook his head
sharply, denying her inquiries as to his recent dance partner. Charlotte
frowned with worry, but accepted his wishes, which was fortunate since James
realized Darcy had not gone far. The man’s gaze was on Charles, clearly
observing him but refraining from joining his intimate party. This, however,
put him right in place to hear Charlotte’s father, Sir William Lucas, address
James.
“Hello, Jamie,” he said a bit loudly, and far from sober. “Viewing the local
rituals?” he said with a blatant look at Jane and Charles. He lifted his
walking stick to gesture about the room, “Lovely venue it will be,
certainly…for a certain desirable event. What congratulations will flow in! Ah,
but let me not disturb ye young people.”
On any other occasion, James would not have minded Sir William’s banter, but as
soon as his red face passed by, Darcy’s stern and shocked one was in view. He
met James’ eyes for such a moment as might have been accidental, so sharply did
he cut his gaze to Charles as if he was just now understanding what was
happening between them.
It was a strange and wholly unwelcome distraction in the arrival of Mr.
Collins, who disclosed, “I have just found out, by singular accident, that
there is now in the room a near relation of my patroness. I happened to
overhear the gentleman himself mentioning to the young lady who does the
honours of this house the names of his cousin Miss de Bourgh, and her mother
Lady Catherine. How wonderfully these sort of things occur! Who would have
though of my meeting with a nephew of Lady Catherine de Bourgh in this
assembly! I am most thankful that the discover is made in time for me to pay my
respects to him, which I am now going to do, and trust he will excuse my not
having done it before. My total ignorance of the connection must plead my
apology.”
“You are not going to introduce yourself to Lord Darcy,” James said, both
demanding and beseeching.
“Indeed I am,” Mr. Collins nodded. “I shall entreat his pardon for not having
done it earlier. I believe him to be Lady Catherine’s nephew, cousin! It will
be in my power to assure him that her ladyship was quite well yesterday
se’nnight.”
“Your ignorance is finely placed,” James hissed darkly. “You addressing him
without introduction will be considered an impertinent freedom. Forgo whatever
compliments to his aunt.”
“Mr. Bennet,” Collins said, in what he thought was an assertive tone, “cousins
though we are, I am of a clerical office, and I consider such offices to be as
equal in point of dignity with the highest rank in the kingdom—”
Both Charlotte and James were the epitome of blunt and unflattering surprise.
Collins said a great deal more regarding clergy-this or humility-that but it
was lost on James until he finished with the insult, “Pardon me for neglecting
your advice, though in the case before us I consider myself more fitted by
education and habitual study to decide on what is right than a young farmer
like yourself.”
He watched in horror as the man so unfortunately tied to his family approached
the most prominent member of the assembly. It was a small consolation to see
the absolute shock and perplexity on Darcy’s features.
“Did he just equate himself with the king of England?” Charlotte said with a
good deal of dark humour and awe.
“As well as the stupidest gutter rat,” James rephrased. He turned to leave her.
“I’ve lost my patience with this place.”
“Jamie!”
James turned to find Charles too near to escape. “Were you going outside? That
sounds lovely. It has gotten quite stuffy in here.”
“No, I…I was leaving.”
Charles stared at him. “Leaving? Is the ball really so terrible?”
“Of course not,” Charlotte salvaged with a look to James. “Jamie isn’t feeling
well.”
“Is the heat too much?” Charles wondered eagerly. “Come, we must go outside.”
Charles grasped two glasses of wine on their way out, and thus James was swept
to the veranda, the evening appearing far from over. “I have missed you,”
Charles said, looking out over the stretch of grass, gardens, and lake, made
blue by the night. “We’ve barely spoken tonight. I feel as if I’ve barely seen
you in weeks.”
He handed a glass to James, who simply set it down for a maid to find later.
Charles’ lips on his own paused, and lifted. He joined James where he leaned
against the balcony. “What is the matter?”
He sighed, “A growing number of things.”
“That sounds dreadful,” he uttered, deadpan.
“Indeed,” James could not help but huff a laugh.
Charles’ knee bumped his thigh. “Is there anything I can do?”
“No,” James answered easily, refusing his gaze.
“Jamie,” Charles scolded mildly. “This is not how friendship works.”
“I’m not convinced you can claim much on the matter—” James accused, but
Charles’ lips cut them short. James was washed within the familiar scent that
was Charles, along with the added salt of perspiration and taste of wine. Like
an ember falling into James’ chest, a sudden, hot anger infused him. As if
sensing this, Charles pulled back slightly, silently asking why James was not
returning his kiss.
“You should have kissed me earlier,” James almost whispered. Charles thought
this an allowance to kiss him again, but James’ hand on his chest stopped him.
“Charles…whatever you are seeking to explore under the excuse of drunkenness
needs to stop.”
The blue in Bingley’s eyes was sober as he slowly leaned back an appropriate
distance away. It hurt more than James could bear to ask, “Are you in love with
my sister or aren’t you?” His voice was hoarse.
Bingley was thoughtful in his silence. “I…I feel a great deal for her. I may
even love her,” he admitted.
“Then why are you here with me?” he dreaded.
“I have never been in love, so my confidence in such matters is weak,” Charles
looked away. “I did not mean to take advantage, Jamie, I am sorry.”
“It is not me who deserves the apology,” he returned.
Fear was prevalent in Charles’ eyes. “Do you truly wish me to?”
James swallowed, but his throat was dry. “No. I want to be forgotten. I want
Jane’s happiness. If you can provide her that, then I will be satisfied.”
Charles’s chin slowly fell as he contemplated this, inducing James to add, “I
do not mean you must marry her. If the feelings are not there then they never
will be, but if something is present, then nurture it. Do not distract yourself
with me.”
“I understand,” he replied softly, nodding. “You…are a very good brother,
Jamie. I respect and admire you for it. Please do not misunderstand, I do care
for Jane very much, but I will feel amiss if our friendship comes to a close
tonight.”
“Well,” James played at a scoff. “Far be it for me to be cruel to a potential
brother-in-law.”
Charles smiled, but there was sadness in his eyes. “I am now sorry Mr. Wickham
is not here.”
Whatever cheer had been returning to James’ heart faded quickly. “Why?”
“You seemed…crestfallen when I revealed he was not here. Are you quite happy in
his company?”
James knew what Charles was really asking. “Yes. No. I mean…we haven’t—”
“I understand,” he chuckled. “I hope, if he does make his reappearance, that he
makes you very happy.”
James could feel Charles preparing to go back indoors, so he quickly curtailed,
“Does he speak of him? Darcy, I mean.”
Charles’ brows lifted. “William? No? Oh,” he tipped his head in acquiescence.
“I suppose it is no secret the Wickhams were stewards to the Darcy family until
this generation. But William seems no worse for wear without a Wickham by his
side, if that is what you mean?”
It wasn’t, but Charles had verified himself as ignorant. James replied, “I had
just heard that Mr. Wickham and Darcy knew one another. I expected he would be
here.”
“I certainly sent an invitation,” Charles provided, “but it was he who refused
to come. Wickham was already well on his way out of William’s life by the time
I entered their intimate circle, so he bore no obligation to meet me.”
James nodded and changed the subject. “I am feeling better now.”
“Once more unto the breach?” Charles teased. He opened his elbow to him, and
James curled his arm within it.
The calm established between them was short lived, however.
Upon entering the house once more, a voice singing from the piano room paled
James’ complexion. He left Charles to find Mary at the keys. It was not that
she had an unpleasant voice, but a weak one, which leant itself to uneven notes
which her lack of artistic style could not disguise.
Scanning the room, James found his father, who sensed his son’s eyes on him met
his gaze. James silently entreated him to interfere, lest Mary be singing all
night. He took the hint, and when Mary had finished her second song, approached
her:
“That will do extremely well, child. You have delighted us long enough. Let the
other young ladies have time to exhibit.”
Mary, perplexed at having been stopped, did not quite understand and sat for
some time on the seat before her father patted her hand and pulled her along.
James was sorry for her but the next consequence of the evening came in the
form of his mother. He found her among her usual party, particularly Lady
Lucas. It was a blessing that Charlotte was among them, engaging Mr. Collins
with distracting conversation, but his mother was as loud as ever, and Lord
Darcy was agonizingly close enough to hear.
“Mama, if you love your children at all, you will stop talking,” he said behind
her.
“Oh Lizzy darling!” she sang. “I was just talking of how soon you are likely to
have a sister married!”
“Stop talking,” he uttered darkly. “I hear no wedding bells. You shouldn’t
speak so loudly.”
But the wine was in her and she only scolded him for being nonsensical.
“Really, darling, three or four months, and I expect I’ll have but three
daughters in the house! Perhaps less soon after! Engaging to such a fine young
man with such amiable connections might surely open other doorways…to other
chapels!” she chortled.
He rubbed his eyes. “For heaven’s sake, speak lower. You haven’t any advantage
for saying such things than to make our family a further laughing stock than we
already are.”
As much as James tried to check the rapidity of his mother’s words, the
endeavor was in vain. He was only saved by the arrival of Charles with Jane,
and his mother began her pursuit of inviting him to their house for dinner.
“It would make me so happy for you to share a family dinner with us, Mr.
Bingley! At any time! Truly, there is no need for any formal invitation, you
are always welcome!”
Charles grinned, all grateful pleasure, and he readily engaged for taking the
earliest opportunity of waiting on her.”
Mrs. Bennet was perfectly satisfied, and was ready to quit the assembly only
once theirs was last carriage to leave it. She was all a flutter with mindless
chitter of wedding clothes and new carriages for the event she was sure to
happen. James could only appreciate Charles’ pleasant tolerance of her and
ignore Darcy, who had once met James’ gaze with such a darkness as he did not
want to think about.
He was pushing his arms through the sleeves of his coat, his sisters following
their mother into their carriage when he heard Caroline remark behind him,
“Wedding satins and—is she really speaking of garters? Not only is she out of
her mind, forgetting how poor she is, but her vulgarity forgets she is still in
the presence of company. William, do you agree? I am quite finished with
tonight—”
“Her vulgarity is only comparable to your over familiarity, Miss Bingley,” he
finished sharply. “I would appreciate it if you addressed me as Mr. or Lord
Darcy.”
James did not dare turn around. Although for different reasons, he was quite
finished with this night, indeed.
*******
Not three days later, Netherfield was empty.
Chapter End Notes
     What a night. Poor Jamie. The kisses I put him through e_e
***** Madhouse *****
Chapter Summary
     Jane shares something with James and Mr. Collins makes his proposal.
Chapter Notes
     Thanks for your patience! <3
A letter arrived for Jane.
As it came from Netherfield on a sheet of elegant, hot-pressed paper, it was
opened immediately. James watched his sister’s countenance change as she read
it, her eyes lingering on passages before she recollected herself and
discretely put the letter away to rejoin the family’s conversation. But her
false cheer was a poor imitation of her true joviality, and Jamie waited for
her eyes to meet his so she would see him leave the room.
Soon she met him in their room and she silently handed him the letter. He
recognized the flowing hand from Caroline Bingley’s other notes sent to her,
though this one was considerably longer. His own mouth frowned upon reading the
first line, and he resigned himself to disliking the entirety from there:
Dearest Jane,
I do not pretend to regret anything I shall leave in Hertfordshire, except your
society, my dearest friend…
“She ought to stick to writing. She’s better at lying that way.”
Jane was decidedly silent, spurring him to read quickly, and aloud the most
ridiculous of sections.
“When my brother left us yesterday, he imagined that the business which took
him to London might be concluded in three or four days, but we are certain it
cannot be so, as these matters are never so swiftly resolved. We have
determined on following him thither, that he may not be obliged to spend his
vacant hours in a comfortless hotel…
His eyes moved quickly over the words, sparing Jane's ears from enduring the
majority of it a second time.
“I sincerely hope your Christmas in Hertfordshire may abound in the gaieties
which that season generally brings… She certainly intends to keep him for a
good while,” James remarked.
“It is evident he comes back no more this winter,” Jane agreed from her place
at their window.
James scoffed from his seat on the bed, “It is only evident she does not mean
he should.”
She sighed, “It must be his own doing, Lizzy. He is his own master, but you do
not know all. Keep reading.”
He was skeptical of that but he continued forth with an ever deepening furrow
in his brow and a darkness in his voice.
“Mr. Darcy is impatient to see his sister, and to confess the truth, we are
scarcely less eager to meet her again. I really do not think Georgiana Darcy
has her equal for beauty, elegance, and— Well now she’s just insulting.”
Jane’s chin dropped but a slight smile was on her lips. James only paused again
when he read, “Louisa and myself are heightened into a state still more
interesting, for the hope we dare to entertain of her being hereafter our
sister…. My brother admires her greatly already, he will have frequent
opportunity now of seeing her on the most intimate footing, her relations all
with the connection as much as his own…”
He understood now why his sister’s eyes had lingered so long on the letter, as
his did now. Jane asked softly, “What think you of it?” His head lifted at the
sound of tears in her voice. “Is it not clear enough? Does it not expressly
declare Caroline neither expects nor wishes me to be her sister?”
James stood and came to her, pulling her against him to catch her sobs. “She is
perfectly convinced of her brother’s indifference,” she said.
“I’ve told you from the beginning that Caroline Bingley is selfish and a
egotistical,” he said softly, without pride. “Will you hear me?”
She nodded against him. “Caroline knows her brother is in love with you. No one
who has ever seen you together can doubt his affection. She wants him to marry
Miss Darcy, for her own benefit, and she follows him into town in the hopes of
either persuading him or at the very least, keeping him away from you.”
Jane shook her head again, inducing him to squeeze her gently. “Could she have
half as much love in Mr. Darcy for herself, she would have ordered her wedding
clothes. But the case is this: We are not rich enough, nor grand enough for the
ideal she has cloaked herself and her siblings. She is the more anxious to get
Miss Darcy for her brother, solely along the thought that if she acquires one
Darcy, she may more easily secure the other. But she forgets how Miss de Bourgh
is already betrothed to Mr. Darcy, and if she has deceived herself in believing
she can go against the infamous Lady Catherine, well…we may yet witness Charles
running back to Netherfield if nothing else than to escape both families.”
Jane might have laughed if she had agreed with him. “If we thought alike of
Caroline I might be made to feel more easy about this. But I known the
foundation is unjust. Caroline is incapable of willfully deceiving anyone; and
all I can hope in this case is that she is truly deceived, though not for the
reasons you give.”
James’ chin rested on her head heavily, exhausted by her insistent need to find
good in everybody. “If only Lord Darcy were as easily swayed by artful words as
you are. You may find, one day, how liberating it is to see the evil in
somebody.”
Jane pulled away from him, finally smiling and wiping her eyes. “I will not,
rather I remain loyal to Charles being independent of influence. A thousand
things may arise in six months.”
However it was not the following months they need be concerned with, rather the
following days. The eldest Bennets kept the occupancy of Netherfield to
themselves since the wake of the ball was still felt within the house. However
the arrival of the Philips broke the family’s bliss.
“How absurd,” Lydia exclaimed, while her siblings were silent. She tried to
meet someone’s eyes, to make contact and shatter the reality, unveil the joke.
When none were willing to meet her, she turned back to her visiting relation.
“Aunt, you must be joking!”
Her aunt Philips shrugged over her tea, looking apologetic. “I’m sorry,
darling. Honestly, I am surprised I am the one to tell you, what with how close
you are to Netherfield.”
Lydia sat back in her chair as if this was a personal affront. “What reason did
he give for leaving?”
“Why, none,” their uncle chuckled. “A businessman need not give any reason for
leaving a country estate when said business is in London. We only met him in
passing.”
This was far from satisfactory intelligence but the eldest siblings left the
room alongside their father and uncle, leaving Mrs. Bennet and her other
daughters to pester Mrs. Philips with inquiries.
Mr. Collins, however, felt that in the midst of either the ball’s afterglow or
the confusion of the Bingleys leaving, he would make his address to the family
in form. Mrs. Bennet was speaking to no one in particular while the family
broke their fast, her vocal thoughts lingering on how Mr. Bingley missed his
promise to dine with them when Mr. Collins announced:
“May I hope, madam, for your interest with your fair daughter, Katherine, when
I solicit for the honour of a private audience with her in the course of this
morning?”
Silverware scraped to a halt on plates as the family stared at him. Whether it
was the superfluous formality in his manner of speaking or his choice in
Bennet, the family was shocked to stillness.
Kitty? James wondered incredulously, meeting Jane’s equally astonished eyes. He
then looked at Kitty, who looked at Mr. Collins vacantly before she quickly
turned back to her plate, her complexion paling considerably.
Mrs. Bennet was the first to recover. “Oh, dear! Yes—certainly. I am sure Kitty
will be very happy—I am sure she can have no objection! Come, Lydia, I want you
upstairs.”
She rose from her chair and bustled around the table, tearing her children from
their meals apart from Kitty. All seemed reluctant to leave for alternate
reasons, except for Lydia who seemed eager to leave lest Mr. Collins’
attentions find her again.
Kitty tried to plead, “Do not go—Mr. Collins must excuse me. He can have
nothing to say to me that anybody need not hear. I am going away myself!”
“No nonsense, Kitty. I desire you will stay where you are,” Mrs. Bennet refused
with a hand on her shoulder. “Kitty, I insist upon your staying and hearing Mr.
Collins.”
Kitty lowered back onto her seat, her eyes finding her last salvage in the
room: Jamie. He stood with his hand on the doorknob, waiting for his mother to
bustle out before he held her gaze as he shut it behind him. He remained right
where he was, listening on the other side of the door. An intimate corridor
opened up behind him, with Mary sitting on the stairs, Jane in the window seat
on the landing, and Mrs. Bennet with Lydia on the small couch against the
stairs, the former fanning herself. Mr. Bennet had taken his tea and departed
from the room at the start of breakfast, therefore blissfully ignorant to the
events occurring outside his library.
The sound of Mr. Collins’ chair skidding over the floor was heard. James could
see it clearly: poor Kitty sitting there, subjected to Mr. Collins’ high
chested proposal.
“Good morning, my dear Katherine,” Mr. Collins opened. James grimaced, glancing
back at Lydia stifling her giggles.
“You may be wondering, given my certain neglect, why we find ourselves together
now.”
James sighed heavily, his eyes falling into his palm. This was going to be
unbearable.
“Believe me, your unwillingness toward my audience is most typical of your sex
and has not dissuaded me in the least. Your modesty, so far from doing you any
disservice, rather adds to your other perfections. You would have been less
amiable in my eyes had there not been this little unwillingness…”
James leaned his shoulder against the doorframe. If nothing else, Mr. Collins
might grow winded before he ever reached his climactic point.
“You can hardly doubt the purpose of my discourse, however your natural
delicacy may lead you to dissemble; my intentions have been too marked to be
mistaken. Almost as soon as I entered the house I singled you out as the
companion of my future life, but before I am run away with by my feelings on
this subject, perhaps it will be advisable for me to state my reasons for
marrying, as well as my esteemed choice.”
The idea of Mr. Collins, with all his solemn composure, being run away with by
his feelings, would have made Jamie’s laugher echo in the rafters had this not
so involved Kitty’s own nerves.
“My reasons for marrying are first, that I think it a right thing for every
clergyman in easy circumstances to set the example of matrimony in his parish.
Secondly, that I am convinced it will add greatly to my happiness; and thirdly,
that it is the particular advice and recommendation of the very noble lady whom
I have the honour of calling patroness. Twice has she condescended to give me
her opinion on this subject, and it was but the very Saturday night before I
left Hunsford that she said, ‘Mr. Collins, a clergyman like you must marry.
Choose properly, choose a gentlewoman for my sake; and for your own, let her be
an active, useful sort of person, not brought up high, but able to make a small
income go a good way…’”
James blinked and rubbed his cheek, forcing the disgust off his face. Was this
supposed to be a seducing compliment? That one’s future husband is so easily
swayed by a rich widow?
James’ brows shot up as he heard Mr. Collins utter a sound akin to a chuckle.
“You may be wondering at this juncture, why I chose you over your more lively
sibling, as well as your more educated and beautiful sister—”
There is such a thing as censorship and you should bloody well use it.
“—both of whom would surely amuse or be approved of by the Lady Catherine. Rest
assured, I have not chosen you for your likeness of name, rather, my fair
cousin Jane has been reserved for another, while cousin Lydia is too young, and
I think myself right in saying that though she would initially be welcomed at
the quadrille table, the Lady Catherine would soon tire of a girlish spirit
incapable of maturing.”
James peeked at Lydia, who was caught between insult and relief.
“Allow me, by the way, to say that I do not reckon the notice and kindness of
Lady Catherine de Bourgh as among the least of the advantages in my power to
offer. You will find her manners beyond anything I can describe; and your wit
and vivacity I think must be acceptable to her, especially when tempered with
the silence and respect which her rank will inevitably excite. It remains to be
told why my views were directed to Longbourn instead of my own neighborhood,
where I assure you there are many amiable young women.
“But the fact is, that being as I am, the son of the relative who was so long
at odds with your father, I feel myself obligated by my position and indebted
to the patience and kindness your father bestowed upon my own to fully dissolve
the dispute with our marriage. It is, of course, no small thing, to help one
live comfortably and pass peacefully from this world despite retaining a
refined dislike of this individual…”
If she marries you, I think she will understand more intimately than anyone
should, James thought sourly.
“This has been my motive, my fair cousin, and I flatter myself it will not sink
me in your esteem. And now nothing remains but for me to assure you in the most
animated language of the violence of my affection—”
Kitty’s own chair screeched over the wood of the floor. “You are too hasty,
sir,” she cried. You forget that I have made no answer! Accept my thanks for
the…compliment…you are paying me. I am very sensible of the honour of your
proposals, but it is impossible for me to do otherwise than decline them.”
Mr. Collins sounded far from perturbed. “I am of a knowledge that it is usual
with young ladies to reject the addresses of the man whom they secretly mean to
accept, even during the second and third proposals. I am therefore by no means
discouraged by what you have just said, and shall hope to lead you to the alter
ere long.”
There was a pause. “Well your hope is rather an extraordinary one,” Kitty
responded bluntly. “I do assure you that I am not one of those ladies…if such
ladies there are. Why anyone would risk their happiness on the chance of being
asked a second time it truly beyond me, but I am perfectly serious in my
refusal. You could not make me happy, and I am convinced I am the last woman in
the world who could make you so. Nay, were your friend Lady Catherine to know
me, I am persuaded she would find me in every respect ill-qualified for the
situation.”
James took his weight off the doorframe. He did not like Kitty’s having to fall
to self-deprecation in order to dissuade Collins’ intent.
“I cannot imagine her ladyship would at all disapprove of you,” Mr. Collins
refused. “And you may be certain that when I have the honour of seeing her
again I shall speak in the highest terms of your modesty, economy, and other
amiable qualifications.”
Kitty’s tone was almost too low for James to hear: “If I am to be known by
nobility, I don’t want it to be for my modesty…”
Despite being right next to her, Collins behaved as if he had not heard. “When
I do myself the honour of speaking to you next on this subject I hope to
receive a more favorable answer so that we might skip the dalliances and
playful refuses typical of your sex. They do not suit me, though I am far from
accusing you of cruelty at present.”
“Really, Mr. Collins,” Kitty huffed with some warmth, “you puzzle me
exceedingly. I cannot understand how my replies have hitherto been accepted as
encouragement.”
“You must give me leave to flatter myself, my dear cousin, that your refusal of
my addresses are merely words of course. My situation in life, my connections
with the family of de Bourgh, and my relationship to your own are circumstances
highly in my favour; and you should take it into further consideration that in
spite of your manifold attractions, it is by no means certain that another
offer of marriage may ever be made to you—”
James’ spine went rigid, his weight strong over his legs.
“—Your portion is unhappily so small that it will in all likelihood undo the
effects of your loveliness and amiable qualifications. As I must therefore
conclude that you are not serious in your rejections of me, I shall choose to
attribute it to your wish of increasing my love by suspense, according to the
usual practice of young females—”
James swept into the room, startling Kitty, who looked ready to both fly at Mr.
Collins as well as from the room entirely. Mr. Collins appraised James and
said, “Apologies, cousin, for holding the room for so long. Did you need it?”
James silently went toward the door opposite them which led outside, moving the
table’s chairs out of the way for her escape. “Leave, Kitty,” he ordered
softly, holding the door for her.
She eagerly flew past him, exiting outside instead of being caught by their
mother in the corridor. James shut the door and rested his forearms on the back
of one of the chairs. “Mr. Collins, if you have any hope of marrying into the
female sex then you would do best not to insult them.”
Collins was clearly oblivious. “I must disagree with your interpretation, I did
no such—”
“You did,” James curtailed. “More than once. I do not know who gave you the
notion that a woman’s refusal means anything other than a refusal, but they are
an invalid source.”
“Forgive me, Mr. Bennet,” Collins countered, “but this matter involves myself,
Miss Katherine, and your mother—”
“No it doesn’t.”
“I—pardon?”
“It involves you and Lady de Bourgh, which this house has heard too much of
since you arrived. In what dream did you find it appealing to marry a man who
speaks entirely of an old woman?”
Mr. Collins began to come around the table, his self-proclaimed clergy
superiority driving him to stand near James. “I am surprised at you, sir. I
have thought highly of you and would have believed you held your family’s
happiness in the greatest esteem—”
“You are not wrong,” James finished, his patience officially leaving the room
in Kitty’s wake. “But you misunderstand us entirely. My mother wrongly led you
to believe one of her daughters would be interested in you.”
The odd sound of mirth came from Mr. Collins again. James barely restrained his
disgust. The senior Mr. Bennet would have done a better service in taking Mr.
Collins as a child and teaching him proper interpretation of social interaction
as opposed to feeding his useless father during his last years.
“Mr. Bennet, your intentions are good but it is my place in society to lead
people like yourself and your sisters in the right direction. Though it would
do young Lydia the better lesson of being married to the church, Katherine, I
think, will suit Hunsford very well—”
James stepped forward, his voice dark and irreproachable. “Mr. Collins, you are
a fool and an imbecile. You are the toy of a bored widow and you will never
marry a woman from this family. You have insulted them. You have humiliated
them. You ridicule us for being poor when we are only so because your father
could not gather the energy to feed anyone more than himself. If you owe any
debt to us, return it in the form of respect and silence, nothing else.”
Mr. Collins opened his mouth to speak but James stopped. “Get. Out. Of this
room, Mr. Collins. I’ll admit to not knowing how they do it in Hunsford but in
Longbourn, no. Means. No.”
Mr. Collins seemed to at last have a stroke of either brilliance or fear. His
eyes widened and his mouth shut decisively. His heels clipped across the wood
as he obediently left in silent contemplation.
Mrs. Bennet, having dawdled about in the vestibule, no sooner heard Collins
leave then with a quick step entered the breakfast room to accost Jamie. “Have
you lost your mind!”
“Sometimes I think I’m the only one with it,” he answered mildly, moving to
stride past her. In a great sound of frustration, she bustled after Mr. Collins
while Lydia rushed upstairs and out of sight. He made to ascend around Mary,
but upon noticing her expression, he paused and sat beside her. “Mary?”
Her head moved as if to look at him but did not quite make it. Her dark hair
was still loosely braided over her shoulder for sleep. After a time, she
voiced, “I had thought…I had thought it would be me.”
James frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”
“He and I are of a kind. Abnormal. Neither of us is overly welcomed by society.
His conversation may be dull and ignorant but he is never averse to talking to
someone, regardless of who they are. I would have thought his desire for a
prudent woman and someone who enjoys books as much as he would steer his
proposal toward me.”
James heard her and absorbed her thoughts before he took both of her hands in
his, which was rare considering most of her family touched her only sparingly
and she did not request contact. “Mary, you are inquisitive, introspective, and
artistic. You are anything but dull. Just because your thoughts vary from what
normal society deems as ‘important,’ does not make you unintelligent or less
deserving of anyone’s time. If you want to marry Mr. Collins, it should be
because you enjoy him, not because you feel obligated to be with him. He is
wrong to say one’s first marriage proposal will be one’s last… Do you know what
it means to be one’s wife?”
She nodded gently but James was not sure. “Do you…know how one has children?”
She nodded with more surety, her dark grey eyes shyly meeting his gaze. “Yes.”
“Do you want Mr. Collins’ children?”
Her lips pressed together as she shook her head.
“During his time here, have you enjoyed him? Spending time with him, sharing
conversation with him?”
Her lips parted, but as she considered this, they closed, and she shook her
head. “No…I cannot say I have. But…Jamie…If I am to never marry…? If I...do not
wish to marry...”
He startled her by standing, and kissing her hairline on his way up. “Then you
will have a home here, as you always have.”
“But, but Jamie!” she rushed as he began to leave her. He paused and met her
shocked and confused gaze. “Do you mean it?”
He grimaced a final time, but for entirely different reasons. “I’m your
brother, Mary, not your benefactor. You have just as much right to this place
as I. More, for surviving this madhouse with more patience than anyone.”
He met Jane on the landing and they continued upstairs together, leaving Mary
with a small smile on her lips.
*******
“Mr. Collins!” Mrs. Bennet exclaimed raggedly as she caught up with him. “My
utmost apologies, sir,” she breathed. “Kitty shall be brought to reason. I will
speak to her about it myself directly. Both Kitty and Lizzy are a very
headstrong and foolish. He does not know Kitty’s interest; but I will make them
both know it.”
Contrary to her hopes, Mr. Collins’ brow and lips were set in stern decision.
“Pardon me for interrupting you, but if she is really headstrong and foolish, I
know not whether she would altogether be a very desirable wife to a man in my
situation, who naturally looks for happiness in the marriage state.”
Mrs. Bennet was beside her self, uttering an involuntary, “Ha!” in her
exhausted state from running after him.
“If therefore she persists in rejecting my suit, perhaps it were better not to
force her into accepting me, because if liable to such defect of temper, she
could not contribute much to my felicity.”
He turned to continue his walk. “Sir, you quite misunderstand me,” Mrs. Bennet
cried, alarmed. “Kitty only easily takes after which ever sibling captures her
attention at the given moment! This is her only fault! In everything else she
is as good-natured a girl as ever lived. I will go directly to Mr. Bennet, and
we shall very soon settle it with her, I am sure!”
She did not give him time to reply, rather, hurrying instantly to her husband,
calling out as she entered his sanctimonious library.
“Oh! Mr. Bennet,” she huffed, her face scarlet. “You are wanted immediately! We
are all in an uproar; you must come and make Kitty marry Mr. Collins, and you
must place Lizzy into submission! For she vows she will not have him, and if
you do not make haste he will change his mind and not have Kitty!”
Mr. Bennet raised his eyes from his book as she entered, and fixed them on her
face with a calm unconcern which was not in the least altered by her
communication. “I have not the pleasure of understanding you. Of what are you
talking? What is this about Kitty and Jamie?”
“Of Mr. Collins and Kitty!” she harrumphed. “Lizzy declares he is an imbecile
and Kitty ran from the proposal!”
He blinked at her mildly. “And what am I to do on the occasion? It seems a
hopeless business. I agree, Mr. Collins is an imbecile.”
“Speak to Kitty yourself!” she shrieked. “Tell her you insist upon her marrying
Mr. Collins and when Lizzy tries to intervene, stop him! You know how
impressionable Kitty is! She will easily believe Lizzy knows best!”
Mr. Bennet stared at her for a long moment contemplatively, almost as if to
test her patience. Finally he uttered, “Let her be called down. Both of them.”
Mrs. Bennet rang the bell beside his door. Mr. Hill arrived and accepted the
task of going to find Kitty and James. When Mr. Bennet's children arrived,
James stood near the door with his arms crossed while he called Kitty close.
“Come here, child. I have sent for you on an affair of importance.”
Being the smallest of his children, she came to sit on his lap, his fingers
interlaced on her waist. “I understand that Mr. Collins has made you an offer
of marriage. Is it true?”
“Yes, papa.”
“Very well, and this offer of marriage you have refused?”
“I have, sir,” she answered worriedly.
He nodded. “Very well. We now come to the point. Your mother insists upon your
accepting it. Is not it so, Mrs. Bennet?”
“Yes, or I will never see her again!” her mother pronounced.
Mr. Bennet’s eyes glimmered as his son uttered a soft Ugh. “It appears an
unhappy alternative is before you, Kitty. From this day you must be a stranger
to one of your parents. Your mother will never see you again if you do not
marry Mr. Collins, and I will never see you again if you do.”
Kitty startled at his response. A smile flashed on her face but hesitated. “Do
you mean it, papa?”
Her mother, however, stormed, “What do you mean, Mr. Bennet, by talking in this
way? You promised me to insist upon her marrying him!”
James cut in, “While you threaten to only have four children otherwise?”
“I ought to make it three!” she fumed.
His eyelids only hung at half-mast as he shook his head. “Marrying your
children off before anyone else in the county is no achievement if they are
unhappy and despise you.”
Mr. Bennet intercepted, “Then our Jamie was right in intervening in Mr.
Collins’s pursuit of you?”
Kitty nodded eagerly and he nodded with a warm smile. “Then go on. Your last
duty of the day is to suffer the humiliation brought on by Lydia.”
She kissed his stubble and collided with Jamie to hug around his middle and
take him from the room before their mother found a reason to keep them. Mr.
Bennet picked up his book once more, only sparing a moment to tell her, “My
dear, I have two small favours to request: first, that you will allow me the
free use of my understanding on the present occasion. And secondly, of my room.
I shall be glad to have the library to myself as soon as may be.”
“This entire family is against me!” she proclaimed despite leaving the room.
*******
While the family was in the throes of this confusion, Charlotte Lucas called
upon the house to spend the day with them. She was met in the small foyer by
Lydia, who flew down the stairs to her and relayed, “I am glad you’ve come!
There is such fun here! Mr. Collins has made an offer to Kitty! Kitty! But she
will not have him, and Lizzy has made quite an ordeal over it.”
Charlotte had hardly time to answer, before they were joined by Kitty and Jamie
leaving their father’s library. They confirmed the news, and made the mistake
of entering the breakfast room for Charlotte to join them in the finishing of
their meal, but Mrs. Bennet was there and called upon Miss Lucas for her
compassion. James exchanged an apologetic look with Charlotte, who was sure to
endure their mother’s pleading her to persuade them while her own children fled
the room.
“For nobody is on my side!” they heard their mother exclaim. “Nobody takes part
with me, I am cruelly used, nobody feels for my poor nerves! See how they leave
me! Oh it is all very well that I shall never speak to them again! I have no
pleasure in talking to undutiful children. Not that I have much pleasure in
talking to anybody. People who suffer as I do from nervous complaints can have
no great inclination for talking. Nobody can tell what I suffer! But it is
always so. Those who do not complain are ever pitied…”
Charlotte, as a good neighbor and long standing member of the family would do,
listened and let Mrs. Bennet commiserate with herself with very little help
from Charlotte. Mrs. Bennet spoke for such a time as Charlotte eventually
witnessed James and Kitty alongside Jane appear outside of the window, although
they only made eye contact with her and sat upon the step outside.
It was during this time that they were joined by Mr. Collins who, upon
returning from his walk, entered with an air more stately than usual. Mrs.
Bennet immediately sent Charlotte from the room. She went as far as the others
sitting on the stoop, which was close enough to still hear what was possibly
the largest testament to Mr. Collins’ intelligence, and the last:
“My dear madam,” he curtailed before Mrs. Bennet took hold of the conversation,
“let us be forever silent on this point. Far be it from me to resent the
behavior of your son and daughter. You will not, I hope, consider me as showing
any disrespect to your family by withdrawing my pretensions to your daughter’s
favour. My conduct may I fear be objectionable in having accepted the refusal
from your daughter’s lips instead of your own. But we are all liable to error.
I have certainly meant well through the whole affair. My object has been to
secure an amiable companion for myself, with due consideration for the
advantage of all your family, and if my manner has been at all reprehensible, I
here beg leave to apologize.”
*******
Despite the rejection and his acceptance of it, Collins seemed determined to
not leave early. For the coming Saturday he was bound to leave and until the
coming Saturday he meant to stay.
The sole reprieve during this time came from the usual walks to Meryton, which
provided a change of scenery, company, and on this particular occasion, the
return of Mr. Wickham into their lives.
The Bennet siblings were looking through their aunt’s latest shipment of
fabrics and ribbons when James looked across the street to see the man exiting
a cobbler’s shop. As if sensing him, their eyes met and Wickham grinned,
looking along the avenue before he jogged across to meet him outside. Today his
hair was untied, the honeyed tresses flopping pleasantly in the sunlight.
“How lovely to see you,” he greeted, sliding an arm around James’ shoulders.
“Walk with me.”
James looked back to wave at Jane and noticed as they walked that Miss Lucas’s
civility dictated her listening to Mr. Collins along their own stroll; so he
might also enjoy Meryton without due closeness to the Bennets.
To James’ surprise, it was Wickham who entered upon the obvious topic at hand.
“I must apologize for not meeting you at Netherfield. I found, as time drew
near, that I had better not meet Darcy. To be in the same room or at least in
the same party with him for so many hours together, might be more than I could
bear. The possibility of unpleasant scenes arising between him and myself kept
me away.”
James could only sigh. “The Netherfield ball feels weeks away. I haven’t the
energy to scold you, so I will easily agree.”
Wickham gazed at him with a sympathetic smile. “Oh? Have I missed out on more
than a ball?”
James gave him the short and simply of it: of Netherfield’s occupancy and their
own domestic unrest. Wickham listened with his usual calm and at last voiced,
“Well, from two weddings to none. And yet everyone is happy apart from your
mother,” he chuckled. “This is a unique circumstance.”
They walked for much of the day, eating at his aunt’s and using Wickham’s free
day to their advantage until in the mid-afternoon he had to return and James
met Charlotte once more. She was without Mr. Collins, who left to ensure his
things were in order to leave the day after next.
“New accessories?” Charlotte asked, flicking a ribbon sticking out of one of
his parcels.
“It is the season of clove and berry,” he confirmed. “Papa’s finally given me
leave to use our fruit preserves while mama’s distracted by her own
lamentation.”
Charlotte laughed but with some sympathy for his mother. “May I help?”
“You just want a scone with jam,” he accused.
“Of course,” she smirked, “but I’ll work for it.”
With his own smile he opened his elbow to her and they strolled home to
Longbourn. It was there he stirred the wax in his pots while she revealed that
though the family was without two weddings, she was equipped with one.
James stopped his stirring and looked at her, gauging her sincerity. “Is your
Collins the same as our Collins?”
Charlotte rolled her eyes around her scone, taking a break from labeling his
tapers. “There is only one Collins in Longbourn until I marry him.”
He pivoted toward her with severe skepticism in his eyes. “Mr. Collins? When
did this happen?”
“Today,” she said, “although my receiving him has been since he first arrived.”
“Sure, but I thought you were just being kind.”
She shrugged. “I was, but with his feelings being unmet by Kitty, I thought I
might sway them in my direction.”
“Feelings?”
Her eyes rolled again. “Whatever he has. His intent is now focused on me.”
“Mr. Collins?”
She glared at him. “Jamie.”
“You are engaged to Mr. Collins! Have you paid no attention to how ridiculous
he is?”
She sighed gruffly. “Ridiculous he may be but he is not unmanageable. I am
seven and twenty, Lizzy, and the match is not unattractive from a logical
standpoint.”
“Logic,” he scoffed, returning to his herbs to rub them between his palms and
drop them into the according pots.
“Why should you be surprised, Lizzy? Did you think it was impossible for Mr.
Collins to be able to procure any woman’s good opinion?”
“He already has the good opinion of his patroness,” James countered. “Whether
Collins could be half of a happy home is less believable.”
“Jamie,” Charlotte scolded, but her tone was different. Softer. James’ head
turned over his shoulder to find her gazing out the kitchen windows. “When you
have had time to think it over, I hope you will be satisfied with what I have
done. I am not romantic, you know. I never was.”
“You never believed you could afford romance," he reiterated.
“Some of us cannot!” she rounded. “The same could be said for you. You have
your home but what about after? The entailment entitles it to Mr. Collins after
the immediate males pass on. Have you ever even considered being with a woman?”
James bristled but just as quickly paled. He had not. “I will sooner break the
entailment and give this place to Jane’s children,” he voiced quietly.
Charlotte sighed, tired. “I ask for a comfortable home only. I haven’t any
money or prospects apart from this. Considering Mr. Collins’s character,
connections, and situation in life, I am convinced my chance of happiness with
him is as fair as most people can boast on entering the marriage state. At the
utmost, I might sculpt the home to suit my needs and comforts while he
distracts himself by pleasing Lady de Bourgh’s fancies.”
They fell silent. James could only rest his pelvis against the counter as he
absorbed her sentiments. He could only gaze out of the windows as well as he
thought aloud, “Somehow this marriage predicts a loneliness greater than if you
went without him.”
Charlotte huffed a laugh. “I refuse to believe myself alone while you yet live.
I will never forgive you if you do not visit me and visit me often, James
Elizabeth.”
His shoulders lifted with his own mirth, his smile falling to the floor in
shame. “Yes,” he said, lifting his eyes to meet hers. “I will. Of course I
will.”
The tension between them eased. Her chin bobbed once, pleased and relieved.
“Good. And I fully expect you to decorate my wedding.”
His head tilted back as he guffawed, but as she finished her tea and they
poured the candles, he could not quite fathom the events of the week. The
strangeness of Mr. Collins’s making two offers of marriage within three days,
juxtaposed with his now being accepted was both commendable and unbelievable.
But what weighed heavily on James’ thoughts was how Charlotte’s opinion of
matrimony varied so widely from his own. James could not say his parents’
marriage was a happy one. Perhaps in the beginning, and in moments, but he was
witness to his parents avoiding one another more often than sharing a common
space. Previously he would have painted a marriage with Collins as a
humiliating picture, but his friend’s sacrificing happiness for social and
domestic security altered his opinions.
He had developed a strict standard of happiness for himself and his siblings,
taking for granted that how his sisters might achieve happiness did not match
his own. His sisters could achieve marital bliss, even if only for the initial
honeymoon months. He could not, and the reality of Charlotte leaving Longbourn
with the impending state of his sisters leaving as well, left Jamie feeling
wounded and alone.
***** Nuisance *****
Chapter Summary
     The Bennets find a reprieve from recent events.
Chapter Notes
     Helloooo~ We're officially in volume II of the canon story (it was
     originally published in three parts, if you didn't know). This is
     sort of a transition/intermission to the next storm of the story haha
     This chapter's short 'n' sweet because 1) I couldn't be bothered to
     edit a longer chapter (sorry u_u) and 2) the next one will probably
     be long anyways.
     Enjoy!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
To say Mrs. Bennet shared in her neighbors’ happiness would have been a
laughable falsehood. She most certainly interpreted the matrimonial
announcement as not only an insult, but an injury due to the method of its
unveiling.
Mr. Collins at long last bid his farewells, but not without foretelling his
return. Mrs. Bennet had little time to astound at his forthrightness as,
similar to the Philips coming the with news of Netherfield’s occupancy, Sir
William and Lady Lucas came by the house for luncheon and unguardedly shared
their news. Lydia, always unfiltered and often uncivil, boisterously exclaimed,
“Good lord, Sir William, how can you tell such a story? Do you not know that
Mr. Collins wants to marry Kitty?”
It was a credit to Sir William’s breeding and his knowing Lydia since her birth
that he weathered such a reaction. Mrs. Bennet, however, was statuesque despite
her growing colour. Also similar to the Philips’ meeting, Jane and James left
early, leaving the family to sort out the news by themselves.
Despite James’ initial reservations of the match, he found himself looking
forward to the winter wedding, though he dared not voice such a thing in his
house. Between his mother’s glares and Lydia’s incessant reminders, the family
could not rest in piece before the imminent return of Collins.
There were still some days until such a time, although James awoke early to
feel their home in the grips of winter. Frost glittered in the grass and the
overgrown foliage of their garden as he took a steaming pot of tea and a book
on seasonal flowers outside. He sniffled in the golden morning, sitting upon a
stone wall which had been built and neglected long before his time. His nose
was red but the sun was warm through his coat, as the wind had not yet awoken.
Jane joined him, then, the sound of paper crinkling drawing his thoughts. Only
a glance told him whom the letter was from. “Another one?”
Jane’s sigh fogged before her face. “Do you want to read it?”
James answered as he read his own pages, “If she’s only going on about Miss
Darcy, I haven’t any interest.”
Jane drank from his cup, her pale fingers pushing the letter open. “She says
they’ve moved from London to Darcy’s home for some weeks. She writes with great
pleasure of Charles being an inmate of Darcy’s house, with some of her own
plans regarding the furniture…”
“It sounds as if she is trying to mark her territory by tyrannizing Darcy’s
decorating,” James returned bluntly. “It is unsurprising at this point. She
speaks so highly of the place and then tries to make her own changes to it. To
be the dog on the rug in that house to watch her failures would be greatly
amusing.”
He took the letter from her, if nothing else than to take her eyes off it,
before he noticed, “Jane, this letter is a week old.”
“Yes,” Jane dismissed, her gaze far away.
James did not want to read it. He cared more for the distance in his sister’s
eyes and her reluctance to share her current fears with him. He knew she could
think of nothing else, yet whether Bingley’s regard had really died away, or
was suppressed by his friends’ interference…was of no question to him. Charles
loved her even if he was ignorant of it, but because of this James began to
fear of Charlotte being correct. Whether Bingley had been aware of Jane’s
attachment or whether it had escaped his observation entirely was something
James scolded himself for not considering sooner.
Whichever was the case, his sister’s situation remained the same, and her peace
was wounded.
“Jane…”
“I’m fine,” she said a bit too quickly. She sniffed, shaking her head to move
the hair out of her face. “I am only harmed by mama’s continual reflections on
him. But I will not repine. It cannot last long. He will be forgotten, and we
shall all be as we were before.”
“What happened to ‘anything may arise in six months’?”
“You doubt me,” Jane bristled. “Indeed, you have no reason. He may live in
memory as the most amiable man of my acquaintance, but that is all."
James’ eyes were deadpan and dubious, but he was not one to stop her from
convincing herself.
“I have nothing either to hope or fear, and nothing to reproach him with,
thankfully. I have not that pain. A little time, therefore…I shall try to get
better. I have this comfort immediately: that it has not been more than an
error of fancy on my side, and that it has done no harm to anyone but myself.”
He poured into their cup, his eyes lifting heavily as her sigh trembled. “Jane,
this is not fair. You wish to think all the world respectable and are hurt if I
speak ill of anybody. I only want to think you perfect and you set yourself
against it. Either Bingley is a blind, impressionable fool, or you are the one
at fault. This is your logic.”
She turned to him finally, her eyes red. “And if it is both? Were he and I so
unlikely from the start?”
He could not meet her pain, so he occupied himself with returning the cup to
her hands. “You know my thoughts already.”
“You persist, then, in supposing his sisters influence him.”
“Yes, in conjunction with his friend.”
“Mr. Darcy?” Jane puzzled. “I cannot think Lord Darcy has much thought on
others apart from being away from them…although…if his pride does extend to the
company his friends keep…”
“No,” he halted immediately. “I fear Darcy’s involvement has been a direct
result of myself.”
“What do you mean?”
“I…” he hesitated. “I fear I was tested. And I failed.”
“What?” Jane pushed. “Tested how?”
“He…knows I fancy men.”
“How?” she urged, her own fears forgotten.
“He kissed me,” he revealed quickly. “It is my own fault for kissing back.”
Jane was quite silent, and then, “Do you fancy him?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Are you sure? He is handsome—”
“No, Jane,” he curtailed. “He may be just as, if not more so, responsible as
Caroline is for your unhappiness. I do not fancy him.”
Her features softened, her eyes clear. “Jamie…he’s not—”
“Do not say his name,” he snapped.
Her breath halted, but she pressed gently. “All right. But he isn’t. This
situation isn’t like that one, and I’m not saying that time was your fault.”
“It was, Jane,” he finished, leaving the pot with her as he stood from the
wall.
“Lizzy,” she tried to halt but he only shook his head, striding away.
He considered walking toward Meryton, so his steps took him to the pressed
grass of the road, but as he rounded the house he heard his father’s voice
coupled with another. He saw none other than Mr. Wickham chatting animatedly
with his father over the balanced logs acting as a fence.
Wickham’s eyes found him, “Hello, Jamie.”
Amusement curved his lips. “What’s brought you so far so early in the morning?”
“I thought I would either invite you to breakfast or impose on you for it,” he
grinned.
James laughed. “Doesn’t the military feed you?”
His father pulled him against his strong, weathered body. James fell willingly
inside his arm. “Forgive him. His tongue is sharp when it has not been dulled
by a meal. We’re happy to have you and your company will be a welcome
distraction at our table.”
“You are sure?” Wickham asked. “I do not wish to be a complete nuisance.”
“One nuisance to replace another is sometimes a welcome change,” Mr. Bennet
countered enigmatically. He squeezed James’ arm. “Be sure Hill knows we have a
guest.”
“Hill?” Wickham said as he followed James into the house.
“Our…” James gave it more thought. “Cook. He’s more than a servant or a butler.
He has his own house and family near the Lucases.”
“Paying for help is no small thing,” Wickham esteemed. “I was under the
impression you were poor.”
James’ laughter burst from him. “Perhaps it’s your status as a regimental
without a war that makes you think that. Four unmarried girls on a farm is
looked upon by others as poor.”
“Don’t remind me of my exciting life,” Wickham grinned, taking the seat James
offered beside his customary place at their dining table. Their conversation
was trimmed short by Lydia and Kitty’s arrival for breakfast.
Mr. Wickham’s society proved to be exactly as Mr. Bennet predicted. He was of
material service in dispelling the gloom, and after he revealed to have the day
off from his duties, Wickham was welcomed to stay the entirety of the day as
well as encouraged to visit many others.
After they supped, the Bennets huddled by the road and wished him a safe walk
back to Meryton. Wickham bid them each farewell, his eyes lingering on James as
they shook hands, and then again when he was down the road and turned back to
wave.
His sisters twittered back to the house with their mother whereas Mr. Bennet
remained with James as they took a stroll in the twilight. “So, Lizzy,” he
began, “your sister is crossed in love, I find, and I congratulate her. Next to
being married, a girl likes to be crossed in love a little now and then. It is
something to think of, and gives her a sort of distinction among her
companions. When is your turn to come?”
James huffed a laugh, “Papa…”
“You will hardly bear to be long outdone by Jane,” Mr. Bennet continued, and
then paused his stride to meet James head on. “It is time, Lizzy. I will not
let my daughters fly in either real or imaginary happiness while you sink here
alone. Let Wickham be your man. He is a pleasant fellow, and I daresay he
enjoys looking at you more than your sisters.
“Or not. Here are officers enough at Meryton to disappoint all the young ladies
in the country. If it isn’t Wickham, I’ll trust your taste to not love a fool.”
He might have walked away but instead he brought his son’s hand inside his
elbow to pull him along. Jamie’s other hand was left to cover his face as well
as his embarrassment.
Chapter End Notes
     Love your comments! <3 The Gardiners and Charlotte's wedding are
     next!
***** Something Old, Something New *****
Chapter Summary
     The Gardiners arrive for the holidays and Charlotte's wedding and
     Jane leaves with them for London.
Chapter Notes
     *Comes in with BTS choreography* Guess who's back~~~
See the end of the chapter for more notes
On the following Monday, Mrs. Bennet had the pleasure of receiving her brother
and his wife, who came as usual to spend their Christmas at Longbourn. Mr.
Gardiner was a sensible, gentlemanlike man and overall more educated than his
sister, as evident by his choice in a matching wife. James much wished his
uncle and aunt could have arrived earlier so the Netherfield ladies could have
stumbled over believing how such a pair from Cheapside were as noble and
charming as they thought themselves to be.
Mrs. Gardiner, who was several years younger than Mrs. Bennet and Mrs. Philips,
was an amiable, intelligent, elegant woman as well as a favourite of all her
Longbourn relatives. Between Jane and James especially, there resided a
particular regard that brought them to visit her many times during their stay
in Meryton.
Upon her first visit, Mrs. Gardiner distracted her younger nieces with their
gifts before drawing the elders to a different room for their presents. “You
will understand momentarily my reluctance to bestow such things in view of your
siblings. Lydia and Kitty can be distracted by ribbons and illustrated
pamphlets of the latest fashions, and Mary with her music books, but the pair
of you have the care to appreciate finer goods.”
For Jane, she bestowed a new gown of modest green fabric but exquisite lace
trimmings. Jane flushed at the sight of a single pearl necklace to wear with
it. “Aunt, this is too much! How much this must cost!”
Mrs. Gardiner only laughed. “Do you think I sit idly all day waiting for money
to come in? My husband has had a successful season and not without my own
labours. Your mother has already related her grievances to me that we shall
have a wedding to partake in soon. I would very much like you to wear it.”
For James she gave a fine new dinner jacket that could withstand the winter
wind, as well as a green cravat with a pearl pin to match Jane’s dress.
Later on, however, while the rest of the family was busy with their uncle, Mrs.
Gardiner gave him a leather bound notebook with metal pen nibs, brushes, as
well as inks and colours with which to use them. He showed her his sketches of
the floral plans he was contemplating for Charlotte’s wedding, marking notes of
her approvals and suggestions.
“What think you of this matrimonial business, Jamie?” she asked. “Two sisters
almost married, I heard most thoroughly, and then none. The Lucases stride with
quite a melody in their step whenever I see them in town.”
“Better for them than us,” James said mildly. “Once you meet Mr. Collins, you
can measure the man yourself. The only sadness is Jane’s.”
“Yes, the so infamous Mr. Bingley,” Mrs. Gardiner breathed, leaning back on the
couch cushions. “It seems likely to have been a desirable match for Jane. I am
sorry it went off. But these things happen so often. A young man, such as
Bingley, easily falls in love with a pretty girl for a few weeks, and when
accident separates them, so easily forgets her. These sort of inconstancies are
very frequent.”
“A consolation it would be, aunt, if it were an accident,” he said. “Or does it
often happen that the interference of friends will persuade a young man of
independent fortune to think no more of the girl? To witness two people
violently in love and then sorely wrenched apart begs more consideration than a
common autumn romance.”
His aunt wrinkled her nose. “Violently in love? Goodness, do people still use
such context? I thought it had been hackneyed, so doubtful and indefinite are
such emotions. It is often applied to feelings which arise from a half hour’s
acquaintance and mistaken for real, strong attachment. Pray, how violent was
Mr. Bingley’s love?”
“Longer than a half hour,” James grumbled. “His attraction to her was immediate
but endured for a month and more. I never saw a more promising inclination. He
was growing quite inattentive to other people, so engrossed he was by her. It
might have saved him to notice the contrast of opinions shared among his peers.
He readily enough behaved uncivilly, whether it was in refusing to dance with
other partners or ignoring participants in conversation entirely. Is not
incivility the essence of one in love?”
His aunt guffawed, her hand coming to stroke his shoulder blade. “I should hope
love would inspire the more pleasant parts of a personality to shine through
but I cannot disagree with you. Every now and then, we find we have the
capacity to love but one person and let the rest hang. Of that kind of love I
suppose him to have felt. Poor Jane!” she sighed. “I am sorry for her because,
with her disposition, she may not get over it immediately. It had better have
happened to you, Lizzy. You would have laughed yourself out of it sooner.”
His hand stilled over the paper. “Do you think me so fickle in matters of the
heart?”
“Oh hush,” she chided. “I know you perfectly well. From your mother you have a
large heart, but from your father a skeptical mind. You do not love easily, but
when you do it is fully and irrevocably.”
He was silent for a moment before he turned back to his drawing of the church
and his floral additions. “We agree only halfway.”
“Oh?” she chimed. “Do you fall easily in love? Your mother will be over joyed.”
A laugh escaped him and she shared in his mirth, drawing more laughter from him
before she said. “Do you think Jane would be prevailed on to go back with us?
Change of scene might be of service—and perhaps a little relief from home may
be as useful as anything.”
James considered that. “We know Bingley to be traveling between London and
Derbyshire.”
His aunt was not bothered at all. “We live in so different a part of town, all
our connections are so different and we get out so little. It is improbable
they should meet at all, unless he comes to see her.”
“That is unlikely,” James said bitterly. “When I say he is guest of Derbyshire,
I mean that he is custody of his friend, Lord Darcy, who would no more suffer
him to call on Jane in such a part of London. Mr. Bingley seems to never stir
unless it is in Darcy’s company.”
“So much the better. I hope they will not meet at all. But does Jane not
correspond with the sister? She will not be able to help calling.”
“She will drop the acquaintance entirely,” James countered. This raised his
aunt’s brows but thoroughly closed the topic.
The Gardiners stayed a fortnight at Longbourn; and what with the Philipses, the
Lucases, and the officers, there was not a day without its engagement. This was
perhaps the first year that the holiday was eclipsed by another occasion, but
as weddings were so few per person, its arrival as well as that of Mr. Collins,
became the only talk of Meryton and Longbourn. With the influx of activity and
officers in the house, among which was Mr. Wickham, James had the arsenal he
needed to prepare the church for Charlotte’s wedding.
Since Caroline had first mentioned a greenhouse in the area, James had asked
around and Wickham agreed to ride with him to collect the foliage he wanted,
with the added help of Sir Lucas’s wallet. The preparations for the wedding
progressed remarkably smoothly, largely by Charlotte’s expert handling of Mr.
Collins. Charlotte gave him tasks that either amounted to nothing or which he
could accomplish and would keep him from the church or James’ handling of the
decorations.
Charlotte herself was beside herself in helping James wrap wreaths of pine and
pussy willow, green and violet being her chosen theme. Silver partridge feather
leaves made up the bulk of her bouquet with purple pansy flowers as well as
English ivy to cascade along the front of her dress. Her gown was a modest
white linen with long sleeves, but Lady Lucas had unearthed an heirloom garment
of lace that was a similar pattern to the partridge leaves. She reworked it to
make up the starched collar and chest of Charlotte’s dress, making the gown
look fit for Sir and Lady Lucas's eldest daughter.
On the day, Sir Lucas, Charlotte, and James stood in the church foyer while a
violin began to play the song Charlotte chose to announce the bride’s arrival.
James was just pinning the pansy blossom and sprig of silver leaves into her
hair before she entered the church. “I reckon you have half an hour before the
flower wilts, so finish promptly."
“Why would you get me a flower as fragile as that?” she scoffed.
“Because pansies are able to survive winter snows and even bloom outside of
spring. It’s stronger than it looks and you’re the strongest person I know.”
“Lovely recovery,” she challenged but her smirk softened as he kissed her
cheekbone.
“You look beautiful. Now go put my mother to shame.”
She laughed, doubling over to check her skirts and then took her father’s arm.
Wickham and Mr. Denny opened the doors for them and the pews creaked as
everyone stood. James waited until the bride and father were well down the
aisle before he stepped in to stand discretely in the back row with Wickham.
“She does look beautiful,” he agreed in a whisper. “You made her into a lady.”
“She already was a lady,” James disagreed as they sat and the wedding began.
“She has more dignity than this place deserves. Thank you for your help.”
“It was my pleasure,” Wickham assured. “Though my intent was selfish in wanting
your time and less than charitable for Charlotte.”
“Are you flirting with me during a wedding?” James cornered.
Wickham put a knuckle over is mouth to stifle his chuckle. “Just picked up the
mood, I suppose.”
But as James gazed down the aisle at the bride and groom, he wondered what
exactly that mood was. Charlotte was resplendent and held her ground with poise
and elegance. Mr. Collins was the same as ever, high chested and solemn, but
blissfully silent. He reckoned the Lucases were the ones setting the overall
tone of the audience; the parents proud and smiling through tears while
shushing the younger siblings’ giddy whispers and movements.
Charlotte and Mr. Collins slid silver rings over each other’s fingers and
everyone stood to file out of the church, creating a tunnel of tossed clover
leaves over the bride and groom as the new couple led the way to the assembly
building for their reception. Somehow in the throng of people queuing for the
wine, Wickham arrived beside James with two glasses. They chinked together as
he said, “To a long day of merriment!”
“Is that what this is?” James laughed, drinking his.
Wickham frowned over his gulp. He unfurled a finger from his glass to accuse,
“Mr. Bennet, I do say you are a cynic.”
“I am a pessimistic romantic,” James clarified.
Wickham guffawed. “That’s something of a contradiction. Whatever could I do to
alter such an existence?”
“Repeat whatever wizardry allowed you to fill this the first time,” James said,
handing him back the empty glass.
Wickham appraised it and pivoted to do just that. “You don’t take celebration
lightly, I respect this.”
However upon seeing Lydia engage Wickham in conversation by the wine table,
James followed him and gently snatched his glass before Lydia took it instead.
“Don’t waste a drop on her, no matter what she says.”
“Waste?” Lydia balked. “Lizzy, it’s a wedding! Surely I can drink today!”
“Make a fool of yourself at your own wedding,” James countered, “but not at
Charlotte’s.”
“You’re so sure I would!” she scoffed, but his even stare broke her confidence
and she angrily stomped elsewhere.
His aunt Gardiner smoothly appeared in her stead. “The sentinel big brother
never ceases.”
“It might if she had spent another month in the womb to develop her
sensibilities,” James said bluntly. Wickham snorted beside him but sealed in
his mirth.
“Hush,” she scolded. “She is only acting her age. What were you doing at
fifteen?”
James was definitively silent. Wickham glanced at him and offered, “George
Wickham, mum. I don’t know if James has spoken of me.”
“I am his aunt Gardiner in law,” she gave him her hand. “You are the one who’s
helped him with today’s decorating, yes? Only a military man would tie such a
knot on a bouquet.”
His chin bowed as he laughed. “Not as elegant, I admit, but I challenge those
flowers to come undone when she throws it.”
“You were born in Derbyshire, no?” she eyed him.
Wickham’s expression froze but he recovered, “Yes, mum. Born and raised. You
are familiar with the area?”
“With its people,” she nodded. “It was perhaps more than a decade ago, I’ll
admit, but I had the honour of calling Derbyshire my home for a good while. I
am sure you and I would share many acquaintances.”
“I am afraid not,” Wickham disagreed. “I left almost immediately after the late
Lord Darcy’s death.”
“Your families were close,” she recalled. “I do not remember often hearing the
Darcy name without Wickham accompanying it.”
James watched Wickham’s fingertips blanche and refill with colour as he
intermittently gripped and relaxed around his glass. “My father and next two
forefathers worked loyally alongside the Darcy family.”
Her face tilted. “What inspired the break in tradition? I hope his majesty’s
army has come through in its promise of adventurous service.”
She looked to James, who shared her mirth while Wickham smiled out of courtesy.
“I am sorry to say it was more out of necessity, as my father loved the late
Darcy so much he gave every thing to him.”
Her brow furrowed. “Then either he was a fool or he thought you would follow in
his steps and secured your inheritance with a powerful family.”
“Undoubtedly,” Wickham acquiesced, “although Darcy’s children…did not agree
with tradition.”
She gazed at him closely. “Whatever do you mean?”
“I do not like talking about it,” Wickham altered. “The current Lord and Lady
Darcy were dear friends to me, regardless of their hubristic upbringing.”
“Yes, I encountered them one day in town,” Mrs. Gardiner declared. James’s eyes
slid to her, recognizing the tone of her voice when she challenged her husband
to chess or cards. “They were lovely and remarkably behaved children. A gentle
lord and lady before their time. What happened to alter such behaviour?”
“The lack of a mother in the home, perhaps,” Wickham guessed. “Gentility is
something to be nurtured and reminded of. Without a source for it, I worry it
was left to wither, and the deaths of our fathers left our relations to do that
same. Lord Darcy was just here not some weeks ago. I would have liked your
measure of him now.”
“As would I,” she agreed. “I have heard he is remarkably tall and handsome.
Perfect for an older woman’s daylight fantasies. Or candlelit.”
James coughed on his wine but Wickham laughed. “Most assuredly. I pray you do
not let the current estimation of the man ruin them, too.”
“Oh?” she challenged anew. “What gossip is there? I do hope it is thoroughly
lascivious and venomous.”
Wickham guffawed at that. “Lascivious, no. The man is far too cold and bristled
to do any such thing.”
“I should think a certain briar in the right place does the trick,” she
remarked.
James rubbed his eyes and swirled the contents of his glass. Wickham continued,
“You are not wrong, of course, however that is simply not the sort of man Darcy
is. He would never do anything to condemn his family’s honour or so much as
hint at it. Nay, he shut the gates entirely to anyone outside of the family;
even those destined to join it.”
James and Mrs. Gardiner stared at him, the latter uttering, “You were engaged
to Georgiana Darcy?”
“You never told me that,” James said, “Just that you were meant to inherit a
livelihood. Something about service to the church.”
“Married service to the church, thankfully,” Wickham revised, “or at least it
would have been. It was not finalized, as our fathers perished beforehand. I
cannot say I am entirely denied happiness, as the proud Georgiana would have
been a dragon of a wife, although that fated connection to my inheritance has
been forever denied me. I am left to live as one of thousands of the king’s toy
soldiers and the Darcys are the richest, albeit most disliked people to ever
visit Hertfordshire.”
Mrs. Gardiner hummed to herself, pondering. Wickham added, leaning forward as
if in confidence, “I must ask you not to share my former state with the Lady
Darcy to others. I did not tell you, Jamie, since nothing came of it and I do
harbour some fear as to what Darcy will do if his sister’s story were shared.”
“Of course,” Mrs. Gardiner finished with a look over Wickham’s shoulder. “Oh
goodness, Wickham, would you be an immense help and occupy my sister in law?
She has bristled in her own way out of jealousy. Conversation with a handsome
man like yourself will be just the remedy.”
Wickham grinned. “At your service.”
He left them and James felt his aunt’s arm entwine with his own as she strolled
to more spacious, quieter areas of the ballroom. “I must warn you toward
caution, Lizzy.”
“Caution?” he repeated.
“I don’t like when people tell me to forget what they’ve immediately told me,”
she breathed. “It rings with a certain danger or untruth, especially as his
story so immediately clashed with his initial version to you.”
“It did not clash,” he corrected, “merely lacked that key detail.”
“Even so,” she continued, “his manner of speaking…he is quite the skilled
talker. I do resent age and how it fades one’s memory. I have of course heard
tellings of the Darcys’ pride but his account of the children too easily
overlaps my own recollections. And I consider myself a keen and intelligent
woman. To have my memories so fractured makes me inclined to dislike the cause
of it, not my own faults.”
“Can you be sure this isn’t your own pride?” James suggested. “We are each
privy to a certain amount of self esteem.”
“I live in London, darling,” she retorted, “and the swiftest way to ruin in
such a place, is a lack of surety in oneself. Hear me, Lizzy. You are too
sensible to take warning just because I have given it. You may analyze it as
you wish before finding a conclusion, but I would have you be on your guard. Do
not involve yourself, or endeavour to involve him, in an affection which the
want of fortune would make imprudent.”
“Fortune?” James laughed. “Neither of us has such a thing.”
His aunt continued as if she had not heard him, “I daresay I have nothing
against him. He is a most interesting young man, and if he had the fortune he
ought to have, I should think your sister could not do better.”
James frowned. “Which one?”
She gave him a look. “Lydia, of course! You have not neglected her fancy for
handsome military men. But as it is, you must not let your fancy run away with
you. Your proximity to him will too thoroughly build Lydia's bridge to him. You
have sense, and we all expect you to use it. Your father would depend on your
resolution and good conduct, I am sure. You must not disappoint your father.”
His brows reached for his hairline. “My, this is being serious.”
“Yes, and I hope to engage you to be serious likewise,” she cornered.
“Well, then, you need not be under any alarm. He shall not be in love with me,
if I can prevent it.”
“Jamie, you are not serious now.”
He finished his glass and apologized, “I beg your pardon, I will try again. At
present, I am not in love with Mr. Wickham—”
“Lizzy,” she snapped.
“—but if he becomes attached to me, I do see the imprudence of it. How the
abominable Mr. Darcy’s actions have driven Wickham toward my company and
therefore Lydia’s and—goodness—how Lydia’s ideal lifestyle in ogling military
men for the rest of her days would come to fruition.”
He wrinkled his nose and shook his head theatrically. “We can’t have that. But
in all sincerity, my father’s opinion of me does me the greatest honour, and I
should be miserable to forfeit it. My father, however, is partial to Mr.
Wickham. In short, my dear aunt, I should be very sorry to be the means of
making you unhappy, but even if Wickham is in search of a woman of fortune, he
shan’t find such a one in any of us. As to the matter of his relation with the
Darcys, they are gone, as Wickham himself is soon likewise to be. My interest
in such familial ordeals will leave with them.”
“Very good,” she resolved, appeased. “At least, during his remaining weeks
here, you should not remind your mother of inviting him.”
He looked accusatorially at her. “Who just sent him over to her?”
“Oh,” she scoffed, “two can be manipulative, and young men do so enjoy being
useful. I wanted to speak alone with you, that is all, however I see our time
has come to an end. Congratulations, darling. You make for a stunning bride.”
James looked up to Charlotte who had met them. “Thank you so much,” she grinned
with a glance down at herself. “I may finally let myself go!” she laughed.
Mrs. Gardiner laughed with her but briefly touched her arm in passing. “On the
contrary, I encourage you to always feed your magnificence. Then you may be
forever the goddess of your home while the man shrivels away.” She winked at
her, and left them.
Charlotte, mildly dazed, looked at him. “Your aunt is…”
“Something,” he smiled. “How do you feel?”
“It hasn’t sunk in yet,” she admitted, taking his hand while her other came to
hug the bend of his elbow. “Whatever will I do without your company, Lizzy?”
“I imagine a number of things,” he soothed. “Though I do not know what married
women do outside of my mother’s habits.”
“Neither do I.”
“Then you shall be free to decide yourself. Or Lady Catherine will decide for
you.”
She laughed but said seriously, “You cannot think me overly impressionable.”
“No, I don’t,” he assured.
“I shall depend on hearing from you often, Lizzy.”
“That you certainly shall,” he smirked.
“And need I remind you,” she declared, “of your vow to come and see me?”
His head bowed over his smile. “No, you needn’t.”
“Good,” she said softly, relieved. “My father and Maria are to come to me in
March. I hope you will consent to be of the party. Of course you are as welcome
as either of them at any time.”
“I know,” he promised.
The bride and groom soon set off for Kent, leaving the assembly to continue
celebrating without them. James wrote to Charlotte the following morning, both
fulfilling his promise of correspondence as well as supplying material for her
to further relish matrimonial success. His mother made it quite easy with her
“Thank heavens they’ve left!” and “The next one, Maria, is hardly out in
society.”
Charlotte’s first letters were received by himself and Jane with eagerness.
There could not but be curiosity to know how she would speak of her new
lodgings, and upon reading them, Charlotte wrote cheerfully, seemingly
surrounded by comforts, and mentioned nothing which she could not praise. The
house, furniture, neighborhood, and roads were all to her taste.
“At least Lady Catherine keeps her neighborhood pleasantly managed,” Jane said.
Charlotte went on to write how the Lady Catherine’s behaviour was most friendly
and obliging. All in all, it was Mr. Collins’ picture of Hunsford and Rosings
rationally softened. “This is good, isn’t it? Surely it can be good to be wrong
once in a while, where it counts?”
“I won’t know how far Charlotte’s optimism has stretched until March,” James
concluded.
Then it was Jane’s turn to leave. James was happy to see her excitement while
she packed, how her skirts bloomed with air when she twirled to reach for this
hat and that shoe. She was a year or more younger as she slid her loose hair
behind her ear, looking at the vanity and gauging what from it she would need.
“You needn’t worry,” James soothed whenever a wrinkle of doubt passed over her
face.
“What if I forget something?”
“You will be in London,” he hushed as he sat on her trunk and clicked it
closed. “If our aunt lacks what you need, I am sure somewhere in the great
metropolis, there will be a shop for you to explore.”
“I don’t plan to spend too much money,” she declared. “Just a refreshing
holiday in the city.”
“What is a holiday without a little spending?” he challenged and then reminded,
“If nothing else, Lydia and Kitty shan’t forgive you for lack of souvenirs.
Just don’t bring back the plague.”
“The plague,” she laughed as she collapsed next to him, “hasn’t been in London
for more than a century. I wish you were coming with me.”
He looked at her. “Why?”
She looked at him as if he had asked a remarkably dull question. “Because I
enjoy your company. Why else?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he considered. “You and aunt might mistake me for a strong
man who might carry your luggage.”
“How dare you,” she teased, “I am not cruel. And I would not let her. It would
be your holiday just as much as mine.”
He nodded, “Next time, then.”
“What will you do here while I am gone?” she asked, rising to finish today’s
attire. She sat at the vanity and James arrived behind her to manage her hair.
“Nothing out of the ordinary.”
“No adventures while I am away?” she smiled at him in the mirror. “You’ll save
them for when I return?”
He smiled as he worked. “I think we’ve had our adventures. We’ve outdone this
place.”
“That can’t be true,” her voice softened.
“People never stay at home for adventures,” he reminded. “They must go
elsewhere for new ones. Charlotte has gone to live hers as you are going to
find your own.”
“Then what of you, Jamie?” she asked. “Is it too late to beg aunt to
accommodate you as well?”
He took a deep breath, “I would not recommend it. Aunt has a mind that Caroline
will visit you and I best not be within the area.”
“Or you’ll defend my honour?” she grinned at him.
He rolled his eyes. “Yes, with my glistening sword and my ready pistols.”
“A pirate all to myself,” she giggled.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m happy,” she wiggled a little with energy.
His gaze lifted to meet hers in the mirror. “Good.”
Jane wrote to him to announce her safe arrival in London, to which he sent her
an envelope of dried lavender and lime rinds he had found in a forgotten jar.
When next she wrote to him she informed how her apartment now smelled of summer
and that she had heard of the Bingleys being in town. In her letters to
Caroline—which James had observed were getting less and less frequent before
she left—she had revealed to be traveling to town. She refrained from making
any sort of further announcement of herself for a week, but then relayed:
Out of friendly obligation, as well as aunt’s going into that part of town
tomorrow, I shall take the opportunity of calling upon Grosvenor Street.
She wrote again when the visit was paid, and had successfully seen the younger
Miss Bingley. I did not think Caroline in spirits, but she was glad to see me,
and reproached me for giving her no notice of my coming to London. I was right,
therefore; my last letter had never reached her. I enquired after their
brother, and she told me he was well, but so much engaged with Mr. Darcy, that
they scarcely ever saw him. I found that Miss Darcy was expected to dinner. I
wish I could see her. My visit was not long, as Caroline and Mrs. Hurst were
going out. I daresay I shall soon see them here to repay the visit.
James closed the letter with somber thoughts, and went to find other pieces of
home to cushion the maltreatment of London.
Jane’s succeeding letters told of her events and tours of the city, but it was
not until the end of the month that she returned to the topic of the Bingleys.
She had not seen Charles at all, and as for the sisters, even Jane admitted to
developing excuses for them as each evening arrived with no return of her visit
to them. Jane could no longer be blind to Caroline’s inattention, but when the
visitor did at last appear, her shortness of stay and altercation of her manner
did not allow Jane to deceive herself any longer.
My dearest Lizzy, will, I am sure, be incapable of triumphing in your better
judgment at my expense when I confess myself to have been entirely
disillusioned in Miss Bingley’s regard for me. Though the event has proved you
right, do not think me obstinate if I still assert that, considering what her
behaviour was, my confidence was as natural as your suspicion. I do not at all
comprehend her reason for wishing to be falsely intimate with me. Caroline did
not return my visit till yesterday, and not a note, nor a line did I receive in
the mean time.
When she did come, it was evident she had no pleasure in it. She made a slight,
formal apology for not calling before, said not a word of wishing to see me
again, and was in every respect so altered a creature that when she went away,
I was perfectly resolved to continue the acquaintance no longer. I pity, though
I cannot blame her—
James put the letter down to exhale and rub his eyes. “For once in your life,
blame somebody,” he whispered to no one.
I can safely say that every advance to intimacy began on her side, but I pity
her, because she must feel that she has been acting wrong, and because I am
sure that anxiety for her brother is the cause of it. I need not explain myself
further, and though we know this anxiety to be quite needless, yet if she feels
it, it will easily account for her behaviour to me. So deservedly dear as he is
to his sister, whatever anxiety she may feel on his behalf, is natural and
amiable.
James had to reread this section several times before he ultimately shook his
head and continued on. “You no longer make sense, Jane.”
I cannot but wonder, however, at her having any such fears now, because if he
had at all cared about me, we would have met long ago. He knows of my being in
town, I am certain, from something she said herself. It should seem by her
manner of talking as if she wanted to persuade herself that he is truly partial
to Miss Darcy. I cannot understand it. If I were not afraid of judging harshly,
I should be almost tempted to say that there is a strong appearance of
duplicity in all this.
James scrubbed a hand over his face. “Maybe I should have gone to London.”
But I will endeavour to banish every painful thought, and think only of what
will make me happy: your affection, and the invariable kindnesses my dear uncle
and aunt have bestowed me. Let me hear from you soon, Lizzy. Miss Bingley said
something of his never returning to Netherfield again. That the house was given
up, but not with any certainty… We had better not mention it, least of all to
mama. I am extremely glad that you have such pleasant accounts from Hunsford in
your last letter. I look forward to switching places, with myself awaiting your
letters and you entangling yourself in new company.
Yours, ever,
Jane
At this point, Caroline Bingley met every expectation James had of her, which
left his criticism to fall upon Charles. He could not even wish for a renewal
of his affections for Jane if he were to continue being a coward in the face of
his sisters and friend. As much as James had enjoyed his own moments with
Charles Bingley, his character sank in his review of the letter, and James even
dared to think it advantageous if Charles married Georgiana Darcy. If Wickham’s
account were to be believed, Charles would have his lifelong punishment, and
Jane would at last be free from him.
Mrs. Gardiner, of course aware of the siblings’ correspondence, sent her own
letter within the parcels Jane sent him. She reminded him of James’s promise
concerning that gentleman, and required information. James patiently assured
her that the man’s attentions had been thwarted from the Bennets, if nothing
else then for the reason of the regiments leaving Hertfordshire.
Dear aunt, your concerns fall upon an anticlimactic result. Not only has
Wickham begun packing for a new location, but he must part with a lady outside
of the Bennet home. One of the King daughters caught his fancy—she does have a
stake to ten thousand, if you are so stuck on our discussion of fortune—however
none here dislike him for it and I can assure you I am as much not in love with
him as when I first told you. As seriously as ever, I guarantee that if I were
in love with him, I would have detested his very name and not only wished him
every manner of evil, but would have endeavoured to grant him those evils.
That being said, only Kitty and Lydia feel his defection. They are young in the
ways of the world, and are not yet open to the mortifying conviction that
handsome young men must have something to live on. I am sure Lydia believes
Wickham would pluck the stars from the sky and eat them as easily as chocolate
truffles, the beautiful fool.
Look after Jane. She dwells in her own thoughts almost as much as I do.
James Bennet.
Chapter End Notes
     Mrs. Gardiner doesn't know Jamie's gay, so their conversation is
     meant to have some sort of ironic humor in it.
     Next is Jamie going to visit Charlotte~ we 'bout to get rowdy y'all.
***** Type of Company *****
Chapter Summary
     James visits Jane in London and then goes to Rosings Park.
Chapter Notes
     Theaters in London used to sell fruit before and during shows...in
     case this detail seems random when you read it.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
So passed the Longbourn family through January and February. James’ thoughts on
the impending visit did gradually alter: his promise was secure even though he
thought little of the visit. However the increasing absence of Charlotte and
Jane raised his desire to see them and lessened his disgust of Mr. Collins.
There was added novelty in the scheme as, with such a mother and sisters, home
was not entirely faultless. A little change was not unwelcome with the new
season.
The only pain was in leaving his father, who likewise began to voice his
guarantee of missing his second eldest. For Mr. Bennet’s part, as time
progressed he came to so little like James’s going that he declared he would
write to and even reply to his son’s letters.
James laughed as Mr. Bennet restlessly lingered in his bedroom doorway while he
packed. “Heaven forbid you actually use your stationary,” he teased.
Mr. Bennet sniffed derisively. “Correspondence implies a want of visitors.”
James laughed further as he reached up for a mounted shelf of books. “Then I’ll
be sure I read them privately or else others might think you welcoming.”
“See that you do,” his father ordered, reaching past him with his added height
for the volumes. “They shall be reminders for you to return safely to me.”
“The only danger lies in madness incurred from Charlotte’s husband,” James said
as he accepted the books.
His father chuckled the same moment they heard the bell on their front door
chime. “That will be a certain gentleman leaving first.”
Mr. Bennet left the room and James heard Wickham’s voice greet him in the
corridor. “Good day, Mr. Bennet.”
“And you. He’s just in there.”
“I shan’t be long. The regiment is leaving earlier than planned; subject to an
overeager lieutenant. Hello, James.”
The man himself appeared in the doorway, looking resplendent in his scarlet
uniform with his cap under his arm. “Back in your spring raiment,” James
observed.
“Yes,” he sighed, stepping forward, “before the cold has finished, however. I
think they have the idea the travel will warm us. They forget that horseback
lifts us into the wind.”
James laughed, “So your complexion will match your jacket.”
“You’re leaving as well?” Wickham looked around the room and its mild state of
unrest.
“To visit my sister in London and then further to Charlotte in Hunsford.”
“Brave soul,” Wickham teased. “You will surely come face to face with the Lady
Catherine de Bourgh if Mr. Collins’s frequency in her home is to be believed.”
“I am going for Charlotte, no one else. Even at the risk of being known as a
recluse.”
Mirth was in Wickham’s tone. “Will you refuse the lady’s invitations, then?”
“Not initially, I suppose,” James admitted as he crossed the room for clothes
in the tall dresser he shared with Jane. “Charlotte is still gaining her place
in her ladyship’s part of the country. I will not sabotage her efforts.”
“Gallant as ever,” Wickham approved from where he leaned against the wall. His
head turned as he surveyed the room once more. “Is this your room? It has a
certain…female presence.”
“Mine and my sister, Jane’s,” he clarified.
“Really?” Wickham chimed with interest. “How unusual. You haven’t another
room?”
“I told you we aren’t wealthy,” James gave him a look.
Wickham had the grace to look bashful. “You are right, of course. I cannot
remain long,” he stood from the wall. “I wanted to say goodbye to the one who
granted me his ears and patience before anyone else.”
“You sound like you’re dying,” James remarked.
Wickham guffawed. “Really, James. Not everyone would have been receptive to my
plight.”
“You seem to be doing well for yourself regardless,” James said as he closed
his own small trunk.
“I am persistent if nothing else,” Wickham smiled and held out his hand. “Safe
travels, Jamie. I hope to have left you with an ideal image of myself.”
James accepted his hand. “As an amiable and pleasant scoundrel?”
“Only pleasant?” Wickham taunted. “I must do better next time.”
“I challenge you to,” James smiled. “Do not catch your death.”
Wickham released his hand and touched his coat buttons. “So long as the
stitching doesn’t fail me. My regards to your sisters, and Charlotte, of
course.”
James’s fellow travelers the next day were equally amiable though notably less
charming. Sir William Lucas and his daughter, Maria, were a good-humoured pair
but empty-headed, the latter taking after the former and thus their discussions
faded into the rattle of the chaise. It was a journey of only twenty-four
miles, and they began it so early as to be in Gracechurch Street by noon. As
they drove to Mr. Gardiner’s door, Jane was at a drawing room window watching
their arrival. When they entered the narrow passage that led from the front
door to the foyer, Jane was there to meet them, embracing her brother and
holding his face to touch his lengthening hair. James earnestly looked at her
face, pleased to see it healthful and lovely.
Taking his hand, Jane led him further into the apartments to where a troop of
little Gardiner boys and girls stood waiting on the stairs. Their eagerness for
their cousin’s appearance would not allow them to wait for him, but coupled
with the shyness of their youth, kept them on the stairs. They had not seen him
for a twelvemonth but all it took was James commenting as he theatrically
looked around, “I was hoping to see my cousins, but all I see are stair mites.”
Thunderous little feet surrounded him and the day passed wonderfully away with
the morning in bustle and shopping, while the evening was at one of the
theaters. During intermission, Jane went with their cousins to purchase an
orange, and James took her place sitting next to their aunt. Mrs. Gardiner
savoured his company while he inquired after Jane’s time with her. He was more
grieved than astonished to hear, “Jane does struggle to support her spirits, so
there are periods of dejection. Your company has much altered this.”
Her focus soon returned to George Wickham, however. James gently rolled his
gaze. “Aunt, the man has left Hertfordshire. He bade farewell to me
personally.”
“But what sort of girl is Miss King? I should be sorry to think our friend
mercenary.”
“Mercenary or prudent motive, it hardly matters, no more than where discretion
ends and avarice begins. Even if he were trying to get a girl with ten thousand
pounds from a recent inheritance, such a sum does run out. Then he would be
left with a wife he may not be able to stand.”
“If you will only tell me what sort of girl Miss King is, I shall know what to
think,” she persisted as one of her youngest found James’s lap and climbed onto
it.
His arms easily fell around the sleepy child as he voiced, “She is a good kind
of girl. I know no harm in her.”
“But he paid her not the smallest attention till her grandfather’s death made
her mistress of this fortune,” his aunt deduced. “There seems indelicacy in
directing his attentions towards her so soon after this event.”
“If she does not object to it, why should we?”
“Her not objecting does not justify him. It only shows her being deficient in
something herself—sense or feeling.”
James laughed gently so as to not disturb his cousin’s sleep. “Have it as you
choose. He shall be mercenary twice over given his profession and she shall be
foolish.”
“I do not choose this, Lizzy,” she urged. “I should be sorry, you know, to
think ill of a young man who has lived so long in Derbyshire.”
“Really? You seem eager to think so of him. It would fit the poor opinion
already in place for men of Derbyshire.”
She chuckled with a glance to be sure Jane had not yet returned. “And their
intimate friends who’ve visited Hertforshire who are not much better?”
“Well I am going to see a man who has neither sense nor agreeable qualities to
recommend him. It seems stupid men are in vast abundance.”
“Take care, Lizzy. That speech savours strongly of disappointment. Actually,
that reminds me: how would you feel about trading positions with your sister?
Specifically for a tour of pleasure in the summer. We have not quite determined
how far it shall carry us, but perhaps to the Lakes.”
James brightened. “I would like that very much.”
“Good,” she smiled and settled back into her seat. “Very good. Adieu to
disappointment and melancholy. What are men to rocks and mountains?”
He flattened. “Have you forgotten my sex?”
“Oh,” she huffed pleasantly as she patted his hand. “You are tolerable and dare
I say agreeable. You are a different creature altogether.”
“Really,” he uttered, deadpan. “I’ve been made aware that I am sometimes
brutish, and cold.”
She beamed at him. “You are my type of company, which is the best kind.”
James convinced Sir Lucas and Maria to stay another day, the better for them to
recover for the final leg of the journey and for him to ensure Jane’s
happiness. Together they took their cousins to the park nearest the Gardiners’
home and created memories which would carry Jane for the rest of her time in
London. With all fear for her health banished and the prospect of his northern
tour with the Gardiners to look forward to, James and the Lucases departed the
next day.
When they left the high road for the lane to Hunsford, every eye was in search
of the parsonage, and at length is was discernible. The iron paling of Rosings
Park was their boundary on one side: the garden sloping to the road, the house
standing on it, as well as the various laurel hedges and trees creating places
for matching iron benches and shade. Everything declared they were arriving. As
he looked up at the mansion on the hill, James smirked at the recollection of
all he had heard of its inhabitants.
Mr. Collins and Charlotte appeared at the door as their chaise rocked to a stop
before their quaint gate and the gravel walkway between it and the house. In a
moment they were all out of the chaise, Charlotte embracing Jamie much in the
way as Jane had, hugging him and commenting on his growing hair. “Soon you’ll
be able to tie it back! Shall I braid it for you?”
“Why? So you may put me to work already?” he retorted, but pulled her back for
another hug. As for Mr. Collins, his manners were not altered; his formal
civility was just what it had been and induced James to be captive for some
minutes as he inquired after his side of the family.
After another delay of his pointing out the neatness of the entrance, they were
taken into the house where Charlotte held reign. Mr. Collins requested they
tour the garden and the two meadows that made up their grounds. Maria, however,
in the face of the white frost, had buried her proper boots in her luggage and
so the ladies stayed behind while Sir Lucas joined him. James unashamedly
remained at the house; Mr. Collins hardly seemed to notice or mind. As James
watched them pass by the windows, he heard their soles break through the crusts
of frost as Wickham surfaced in his memory, and he wondered distantly how he
fared.
During this time, James learned that Lady Catherine was home after some time
abroad, and it was spoken of again over dinner for Sir Lucas’s ears. The topic,
however, set Mr. Collins off. “Yes! You will all have the honour of seeing Lady
Catherine de Bourgh on the ensuing Sunday at church—”
Charlotte gracefully met James’ eyes, silence passing between them. “—and I
need not say how you will be delighted with her. She is all affability and
condescension, and I doubt not but you will be honoured with some portion of
her notice when service is over."
"Has no one yet told him that condescension is not a desirable trait?" James
murmured to Maria beside him. She covered her mouth to stifle her giggles.
Mr. Collins continued, "I have scarcely any hesitation in saying that she will
include you all in every invitation with which she honours us during your stay
here. Her behavior to my dear Charlotte is charming.”
James’s brows lifted as he claimed Charlotte’s attention again. My dear, he
mouthed discretely and weathered the venom in her gaze before she smirked
triumphantly. Meanwhile her husband finished, “We dine at Rosings twice every
week, and are never allowed to walk home. Her ladyship’s carriage is regularly
ordered for us. I should say one of her ladyship’s carriages, for she has
several.”
Charlotte softened, “Lady Catherine is a very respectable, sensible woman, and
a most attentive neighbor.”
James swirled the wine in his glass at that, both observing how the family’s
interactions were much the same as before the matrimony, but he also meditated
on the differences. He silently anticipated how the visit would pass: the quiet
tenor of their usual employments, the vexatious interruptions of Mr. Collins,
and the gaieties of their intercourse with Rosings.
Even a lively imagination could not settle it all, for in the middle of the
next day James heard a sudden slam beneath his room which seemed to boom
through the house. After listening a moment, he heard somebody running upstairs
in a violent hurry before he met Maria on the landing. Breathless, she huffed,
“Jamie! Make haste and come into the dining room…there is a sight to be seen.
Come now!”
Together they rushed into the dining room, where Maria planted herself once
more before the window which looked out across the lane. In a low phaeton sat
two ladies who were speaking with Charlotte and Mr. Collins. James frowned, “Is
this all? I expected at least the pigs had gotten into the garden. There is
nothing but Lady Catherine and her daughter.”
“That’s not Lady Catherine!” Maria corrected. “The old lady is Mrs. Jenkinson,
who lives with them. The other is Miss de Bourgh, only look at her. She is
quite a little creature, is she not? Who would have thought she could be so
thin and small?”
But James was recalling Wickham once more and a conversation they had once
shared. “She is either foolish or rude, then, to remain out of doors in all
this wind and to insist on Charlotte’s staying with her. Why does she not just
come in?”
“Oh! Charlotte says she hardly ever does. It is the greatest of favours when
Miss de Bourgh comes in.”
“How much of a favour can it be to accept tea and biscuits made by somebody
else?” he wondered skeptically as he observed the young lady. Her dark hair
reminded him of Mary, which stirred a longing for Longbourn inside of him, but
she was indeed frail-looking even from this distance. James found it an odd yet
fitting picture: her and Darcy next to one another, engaged in their dark
colours and somber expressions.
The Collinses stood at the gate in conversation with the ladies for some time
while Sir William stationed himself in the doorway, caught between avoiding
social obligation and wanting to use his title. He settled on bowing whenever
Miss de Bourgh looked his way until the ladies drove on, and the others
returned into the house. Mr. Collins no sooner took two steps into the abode
than he began to congratulate them on their good fortune, however he took so
long in getting to the point that Charlotte simply cut him off:
“We’ve been asked to dine at Rosings tomorrow. Miss de Bourgh is eager to meet
you all.”
It became immediately blatant that Mr. Collins considered the invitation a
triumph. The Bennets’ indifference of his patroness coupled with the
opportunity of displaying the grandeur of such a lady to his visitors inflamed
a wish he did not expect to be granted so soon. It was a unique experience,
watching Mr. Collins flutter in a mixture of excitement or agitation—it was
difficult to distinguish in the man—during his usual boasts.
“I confess,” he said, “that I should not have been at all surprised by her
ladyship’s asking us on Sunday to drink tea and spend the evening at Rosings. I
rather expected, from my knowledge of her affability, that it would happen, but
who could have foreseen such attention as this! Who could have imagined that we
should receive an invitation to dine there—and an invitation moreover including
the whole party!—so immediately after your arrival!”
“The lady is entirely insignificant since it was her daughter who made the
offer,” James said, but so only Charlotte was the one to hear. Sir Lucas only
inspired Mr. Collins with his own ramblings of elegant breeding, therefore
nothing else was spoken of for the entirety of the day and the next morning.
Mr. Collins was carefully instructing them on what they were to expect, so that
the sight of such rooms, so many servants, and so splendid a dinner might not
wholly overpower them.
When the ladies left to dress for dinner James could no longer leash his
annoyance. “We are not allergic to finery simply because we do not have it. Get
on with it.”
But this seemed to trigger another train of thought in Mr. Collins. “Do not
make yourself uneasy, cousin, about your apparel. Lady Catherine is far from
requiring that elegance of dress in us, which becomes herself and daughter. I
would advise you merely to put on whichever of your clothes is superior to the
rest; there is no occasion for anything more. Lady Catherine will not think the
worse of you for being simply dressed. She likes to have the distinction of
rank preserved.”
So I am to play the country bumpkin, James thought somewhat bitterly as he
retreated to his own room to don his green satin and pearl his aunt had given
him. However, Mr. Collins visited their doors so frequently to tell them to
hasten their pace, that Lady Catherine so much objected to being kept waiting
for her dinner, that Maria became more and more frightened. Her anxiety reached
such a height that James entered hers and Charlotte’s room to give her his
pearl pin for her hair. It would not eclipse Charlotte’s modest jewels but
would simultaneously elevate Maria’s confidence.
Though the weather was fine and the frost had melted to make their walk through
park pleasant, James’s sentiment for the gardens did not meet the raptures Mr.
Collins was desiring. James felt a subtle foreboding that this was to be a
continuous theme throughout the evening.
Though the home was exquisitely carved from light stone, the interior was
dominantly painted, papered, or paneled in deep, expensive colours. The point
was made: each detail was luxurious, but James easily decided he preferred
Netherfield’s lighter, spacious rooms which gave way to light and air instead
of dark caverns of finery.
When they ascended the steps of the entrance hall, Maria’s alarm was every
moment increasing, and even Sir William did not look perfectly composed. Far
from insuring their confidence, Mr. Collins had shattered it altogether. James’
courage did not fail him as he lifted Maria’s hand into his elbow, silently
cursing that he could not do the same for Charlotte on her first evening in
this place. Maria clutched at him, but her breaths audibly grew even.
Through the hall and an antechamber of sorts they crossed, before they entered
the room in which Lady Catherine, her daughter, and Mrs. Jenkinson were
sitting. Her ladyship, as she rose with immense dignity, was visibly night and
day to Mrs. Jenkinson. James felt foolish for having mistaken them.
Mr. Collins had of course already informed them that she was to speak first,
that it was befitting her rank to offer the opportunity of introduction. She
did so, first addressing the Collinses; it settled both James and the
Gardiners’ trepidations to see Charlotte welcomed so familiarly by the figure
of their fears. Next was Sir Lucas, who occupied Lady Catherine by his title
only briefly before her eyes detached with boredom. She transferred ambivalent
compliments of Charlotte to her sister: “You have the same complexion as your
sister and a likewise admirable posture. Your mother has taught you well.”
Maria bobbed a curtsy and thanked her but gratefully passed off her attention
to James.
“You are Mr. Bennet.” It was not a question. “I have heard curious things of
you from Mrs. Collins. You are an entrepreneur of sorts.”
James produced another bow. “I have been fortunate to find a small population
willing to pay for the fruits of my hobbies.”
“Are you being modest?” she chortled in a way that suggested both amusement and
satisfaction. She was a tall and large woman, not as a result of any obese
habits, but rather her body matched her strongly marked features, which might
once have been handsome. Her air was far from conciliating. On the contrary,
her manner of receiving them was not inclined toward her visitors forgetting
their inferior rank. Her tone dripped with self-importance. Watching her eyes
roam the present company for confirmations of her opinion and humour brought
Mr. Wickham immediately to James’ mind, as well as a sharp longing for his warm
conversation.
“Well do sit down. We have some moments before the aperitifs have finished.
Charlotte, have you resolved that matter with the poultry…”
James accepted the chance to sit and turned his eyes on the woman’s daughter.
Maria’s astonishment was not unwarranted. Perhaps Miss de Bourgh would have
looked like her mother, but her being so thin and so small denied her of this.
Further contrary to her mother, she spoke very little except in a low voice to
Mrs. Jenkinson, whose appearance was nothing remarkable; she easily remained in
the background of Lady Catherine’s grandeur. As James silently observed the
family, the lady certainly thought of herself as the planet around which her
satellites revolved, but the family dynamic was so contrary to James’s that he
daydreamed with some humour what Lady Catherine’s reaction would be to his
rambunctious sisters.
However as they were ushered into the dining room, the topic of conversation
did turn to his family. Lady Catherine seemed intent to weed out his pedigree.
After thoroughly inquiring about his father and what sort of carriage he kept,
she moved on to his wife. “What is your mother’s maiden name, Mr. Bennet?”
“Gardiner, my lady.”
“And how many siblings are in her line?”
“Herself, a sister, and a brother. Our aunt lives near us in Hertfordshire with
her husband, Philips. Her brother lives with his wife in London.”
“In a commercial district, I imagine?”
“Gracechurch Street, yes,” he consented, glad she kept her standards nice and
low; less to disappoint.
“I have not heard unpleasant things of this district, especially since certain
merchants have taken residence there—for the low rent, of course—and have quite
turned the place around,” she remarked, and then proceeded to relay every
detail of Gracechurch Street she had, regardless whether it was given to her or
derived herself. James was glad he was momentarily relieved of her attentions,
if at the risk of her basing her impressions of his relatives on a part of town
and not the people themselves.
“And how many sisters have you, Mr. Bennet?”
“Four.”
“Any of them married?”
“None, as yet.”
“Are they not handsome?”
James restrained his laughter at her privileged audacity. Charlotte saved him
with, “They are very handsome, my lady. The eldest, Jane, is well known as the
most beautiful in the county.”
“But not married,” Lady Catherine finished. “This must be attributed to either
her accomplishments or the lack of available men in the country. Do you play
and sing, Mr. Bennet?”
“A little.”
“Oh! Then surely so do your sisters. Some time or other we shall be happy to
hear you. Our instrument is a capital one, probably superior to—well. You shall
try it some day. What do your sisters favour playing?”
“One does,” he corrected. “She enjoys the piano.”
“Why did not you all learn? You ought all to have learned. The Miss Webbs down
the road all play, and their father has not so good an income as yours. Do they
draw?”
“No, not at all.”
“What? None?”
“Not one.” Charlotte shifted restlessly in her seat beside him.
“That is most strange. But I suppose you had no opportunity. Your mother should
have taken you to town every spring for the benefit of masters.”
“My mother might not have had any objection, but my father hates London.”
“He has spent much time there?”
“He lived there as a young man, earning his fortune to buy our home in
Longbourn.”
“Has your governess left you?” she switched.
“We never had a governess,” he replied with some mirth. Lady Catherine looked
momentarily appalled.
“No governess? How is that possible? Five children brought up at home without a
governess, I never heard of such a thing. Your mother must have been quite a
slave to your education.”
James could hardly help smiling as he assured her that had not been the case.
“Then who taught you? Who attended to you? Without a governess you must have
been neglected.”
“Perhaps my younger siblings were,” he acquiesced, “but if any of us wanted to
learn, we never lacked the means, and likewise could choose idleness. We were
always encouraged to read and had all the masters that were necessary. My
mother and father raised us in either a markedly old fashioned or perhaps
advanced way: by themselves. My father largely took up the task of our
education. He is the jack of all trades.”
“But a master of none,” she finished indifferently. “Your mother was surely not
idle, not with two siblings doing well for themselves?”
James was briefly stunned by the workings of her thoughts. “Of course not, but
my father and mother do their best work at different times of the day. They
balanced our education between the two of them.”
“Aye, no doubt, but that is what a governess would prevent. If I had known your
mother, I should have advised her most strenuously to engage one. I always say
nothing is to be done in education without steady and regular instruction, and
nobody but a governess can give it.”
James sighed to himself and contented himself with his soup while Lady
Catherine spoke her fill. “It is wonderful how many families I have been the
means of supplying in that way. I am always glad to get a young person well
placed out. Four nieces of Mrs. Jenkinson are most delightfully situated
through my means, and it was but the other day that I recommended another young
person, who was merely accidentally mentioned to me, and the family is quite
delighted with her. Mrs. Collins, I did tell you of Lady Metcalfe’s calling
yesterday to thank me? She finds Miss Pope a treasure. ‘Lady Catherine,’ she
said, ‘you have given me a treasure.’ Are any of your younger sisters out, Mr.
Bennet?”
His attention lifted off his food as if to clearly convey, Oh, me again? before
he said, “Yes, ma’am, all.”
“All!” she was beside herself. “What, all four out at once? How odd! And you
are only the second. The youngest out before the eldest is married? Your
younger sisters must be very young?”
“My youngest is not sixteen,” he confirmed as Lady Catherine huffed to herself.
“But really, ma’am, I think it would be hard upon younger sisters, especially
such socially inclined ones as mine, if they should not have their share of
society and amusement because the elder is still unmarried, and from such
circumstances as they may not be able to help. The last born has as good a
right to the pleasures of youth as the first. It would be unlikely to promote
sibling affection if such a hierarchy barred such interactions.”
It was to Lady Catherine’s credit that she remain silent to listen to all he
had to say. “Upon my word, you give your opinion very decidedly for so young a
person. Pray, what is your age?”
Whether James’s smile was bashful or guileful, he left it to her to decide as
he said, “With three younger sisters grown up, your ladyship can hardly expect
me to own to it.”
Lady Catherine seemed astonished at not receiving a direct answer, and James
suspected himself to be the first creature who had ever dared trifle with so
much dignified impertinence. Mr. Collins was the picture of perplexity, not
understanding such an interaction which did not involve profuse flattery of her
ladyship.
“You cannot be more than twenty, I am sure,” she decided with finality.
“Therefore you need not conceal your age.”
“I am two and twenty,” he defied.
Lady Catherine held his gaze but a new coarse arrived along with a footman with
a letter, and the conversation moved elsewhere. The lady only exempted herself
from conversation while she read her letter and complained to the footmen of
its writer being late.
“At this time of year, frost and ice are nothing, and the traveling season has
not begun, what is keeping him?”
“I cannot say, my lady,” the man murmured patiently.
“Tell our cook to check his inventories. Easter dinner as well as various
brunches beforehand…”
James was relieved of his part until dinner was finished and they were called
to her ladyship’s card tables. Thankfully quadrille required a limited number,
so James was left to play with Miss de Bourgh, Mrs. Jenkinson, and Maria. Of
course this resulted in him conversing only with the latter, but not without
his trying to engage the younger de Bourgh. Her eyes were shy but intelligent,
further reminding him of Mary, but while Mary was eager to speak when she had
something to say, Miss de Bourgh seemed adamantly silent. Only the slightest of
curves moved her lips when he teased, “Do you play at casino in rebellion of
your mother’s quadrille? As I hear it, she plays nothing else.”
He calmly waited for her to reply, but her progress was slow and Mrs. Jenkinson
intercepted the topic.
By the time the carriage was called, James did not care to admire it and
instead rode with the driver for the night to cleanse the evening. Mr. Collins
was of course in spirits as they arrived at their home, but Sir William and
Maria announced they were going to sleep, leaving Mr. Collins to his own
devices while the house settled for slumber. It was no surprise to James when a
soft knock sounded on his door and Charlotte entered as he finished stoking the
fire.
“Your patroness is predictably a piece of work,” he said without preamble.
Charlotte laughed as she shut the door behind her. “Yes, but you did your part
in provoking her.”
“You mean unlike everyone else, I checked her assault. Her late husband’s title
has given leeway to her impertinence.”
“Be nice,” Charlotte scolded, but only mildly as she came to sit on his bed.
“She may be unbearably nosy but her high standard and constant interference has
made this area a descent place to live. If any disagreement arises among the
neighbors, she attends to it herself.”
“How admirable of her,” he said grumpily as he poured two cups of tea from the
kettle resting in the embers. “She seems to enjoy you well enough.”
“It doesn’t take much for her to like you,” she granted.
“Just do everything she says and agree even when she’s wrong,” James taunted.
“That is the nature of aristocracy, isn’t it?” she threw back, accepting the
cup he handed her.
James laughed as he sat beside her. “Now who is cynical?”
“This is my life now, Lizzy,” she reminded. “You can be as rude as you like
because you’re leaving.”
“I am not so awful, but I am giving you something to talk of after I’m gone.
Shall I do my best in convincing her I am a rural scoundrel? If nothing else
you will have a reprieve from her speaking of herself.”
Charlotte guffawed but pleaded, “Heavens, no. It would be unbearable to hear
her tirade about someone I care about so deeply. I know it injured you to
weather her questions and remarks.”
He raked his hair back. “I know my family is not a picture of exemplary
puissance. I suppose I expected it but I’ve never thought anyone was quite
worthy enough to pass judgment on us.”
“Your family is closer than most and lacks the rigid obligations so many face.
But you were able to say yes to most of her queries. Why didn’t you? You’re
very accomplished.”
James’ brows lifted over his cup as he sipped. “I haven’t any pride to feed.”
Then he froze, “You have not told her I decorated your wedding?”
She smiled. “No, she hasn’t asked.”
“Good. Perhaps she’ll forget I play piano. My skills are not worth mentioning
twice.”
“Don’t be so sure,” she warned. “Her ladyship enjoys music. I think your
playing is well enough.”
He shrugged. “Mary needed someone to help her practice duets. I don’t harbor
any particular love for the instrument.”
“Did you notice the letter during dinner?” Charlotte switched.
“Sure. What about it?”
She gave him a look. “You haven’t any idea who might be arriving for Easter?”
James grimaced. “Surely the Darcys would prefer their own church compared to
Mr. Collins’s.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes. “It is a family holiday. Even you and yours have a
special meal and your traditions.”
“Ours do not include attending church,” he reminded.
“I always found your father’s scholarly atheism to be fascinating but I’d avoid
antagonizing her ladyship with it. You were positively pagan every time we went
to play in the fields and wood. You needn’t attend every Sunday. But do so
often enough to save face. We can only lie about illness or fatigue for so many
weeks.”
“You can only listen to her ladyship harp on about medicine for so long,” he
taunted. “Surely she thinks herself a vault of medical knowledge as well.”
“Indeed,” she finished and he huffed a breath of mirth over his tea. She smiled
briefly. “I’m happy you’ve come, Lizzy.”
“It’s not unbearable being here,” he returned.
“Oh!” she stormed, shoving his shoulder so he fell, laughing, among his
pillows, tea lost to the floor.
Sir William stayed only a week at Hunsford, but his visit was long enough to
convince him of his daughter’s being most comfortably settled. While Sir
William was with them, Mr. Collins devoted his mornings to driving him out in
his gig and showing him the country. And when Sir Lucas left it was a further
relief to know Mr. Collins spent the time between breakfast and dinner either
working in the garden, or within his own library. He had strategically
stationed himself in a room which faced the road, while Charlotte had likewise
claimed a back room as her parlour. James commended her choice, as the room
absorbed the morning light and thus afforded itself the warmest and brightest
place to spend one’s leisure hours.
Mr. Collins’s place in front of the road was revealed to be the obvious reason
why dining at Rosings was a biweekly occurrence. He was often heard rushing out
of his office to meet the telltale phaeton and converse with whomever was
inside. Few days passed in which Mr. Collins did not walk to Rosings, and these
were often enough that Charlotte did not think it necessary that she join him.
In this way Charlotte spared James the tiresome dinners, as refusing her
ladyship’s invitations was more commonplace than Mr. Collins had led to
believe.
Until the morning arrived in which Charlotte, her sister, and James were
lounging in her room, lethargically eating the last bites of their brunch, and
a familiar carriage was heard rattling past. But far from the usual length of
time between Mr. Collins going to meet it and his returning to the house, the
latter arrived quickly and the man himself burst into the room.
“Lady Catherine’s Easter guests has arrived! His lordship, the very same from
the Netherfield ball has come with a Colonel Fitzwilliam, both of whom are her
ladyship’s nephews. I may thank you, cousin, for this piece of civility. Lord
Darcy would never have come so soon to wait upon me.”
One of James’ brows lifted as he slowly dragged his fork out of his mouth, not
fully understanding—
The doorbell chimed almost simultaneously as a door opened in the house, but
all the house’s occupants were already in this room. “Sorry for the intrusion!
Thought we might stop by for a proper hello.”
And then there they were: a man in scarlet with a markedly broken and
repeatedly healed nose and Mr. Darcy in contrasting dark blue, black, and white
silks. James was suddenly aware of his place on the couch, lying with his
breakfast plate on his chest. He knew Charlotte was looking at him, her terror
only hidden by her head turned and down during her curtsy. He rose as smoothly
as he could and set his plate aside, the better to be rid of his embarrassment
and stood to shake the Colonel’s hand.
“James Bennet. I’m visiting from Hertfordshire. I knew I’d be playing the part
of bumpkin but I did not anticipate the role coming so easily.”
The Colonel surprised him by guffawing and shaking his hand vigorously.
“Please, the fault is our own. We’ve completely intruded without any real
invitation. I’m Colonel Fitzwilliam. Our parents shared the unfortunate thought
to name us this but my rank makes doing away with the name easy.”
He glanced at Mr. Darcy, who so visibly contrasted him in colour and demeanor
that it took several moments before James remembered that they did indeed share
a first name. “Oh…I’ve only heard the name shortened to William.”
Darcy’s eyes landed on him silently, inducing James to bow. “Good morning, my
lord.”
The man’s hand extended before him. James straightened and felt the fingers
slide past his, gently cold from the morning travel. “Mr. Bennet,” he greeted
simply.
“Maria, refreshments,” Charlotte ordered softly. Her sister gratefully ran from
the room as the Colonel took James’ plate from the couch and set it on the
table to take its place. James sat beside him and began to drain his glass of
juice, if nothing else than to excuse himself from speaking—
“So have you met my hag of an aunt yet?”
James snorted into his glass. “Um,” was all he managed as he recovered.
“That’s a yes,” the Colonel laughed. “I hope she has not ruined any chance of
us seeing you at dinner. Though the company is cumbersome, the food is divine.”
“We would be happy to join you at Rosings,” Charlotte salvaged.
“Indeed,” Mr. Collins began. “We have the familiarity of often dining twice a
week with her ladyship—”
The Colonel lithely interrupted, “Of course this would be under my invitation,
which I daresay would be more informal and allow one to excuse themselves from
quadrille if they so needed.”
He met James’ gaze with a look of knowing exactly what dinner at Rosings
entailed. James found the decision to like Colonel Fitzwilliam immediate and
easy.
“How is the health of your family, Mr. Bennet?” Darcy asked, yanking James
attention to him.
“They’re…well. They’re well,” he said more confidently. “My eldest sister has
been in town these three months. I don’t suppose you would have happened to see
her there.”
Of course he had not. Darcy shook his head and confirmed as much, and then fell
silent for the remainder of their visit. His cousin filled the conversation
with ease, informing them the Rosings house would be occupied with various
events for the following week building up to Easter, but afterward they would
surely be hosted to dinner. The men soon left, leaving the house to calm after
their intrusion.
His foretelling proved exactly the case, although the Colonel came to them
often enough. “Poor Darcy is auntie’s favourite,” he said upon his second visit
to the house. “So he must remain behind. He has the audacity to leave Georgie
behind, so to compensate, he must remain in her sights.”
“Georgiana?” James wondered.
The Colonel nodded over his sandwich. “Aunt loves music most of all, and
Georgie is the best pianist in the family. Darcy does her a great relief in
leaving her out of aunt’s clutches.”
James laughed somewhat anxiously. “I’ve yet to meet anyone other than myself
who speaks as bluntly.”
“My half of the family is rather distant, geographically,” he nodded, “and my
being in the military has roughened my tongue. You said you were from
Hertfordshire? A number of regiments were there this autumn past, I believe. I
would have enjoyed meeting you prior to now.”
“I am not so interesting, but you would have certainly had spectacles to occupy
yourself during that time.”
“Really? Darcy speaks well of you.”
James was stilled in disbelief. “What do you mean?”
“Well,” the Colonel recollected, tipping his head to the side as he considered,
“he spoke of you. Mentioned, more like, however you surely have noticed his
ineptitude regarding conversation.” He smiled consolingly. “That skill went to
me, but if you made enough of an impression as for him to mention you in this
way, it is as good as praise from him.”
“You are kind but I disagree.”
The Colonel nodded his acquiescence. “Well it’s not like the man is here to
defend himself. Charlotte and Maria, whatever do you get up to while Mr.
Collins is attending to my aunt?”
The Lucas sisters had certainly come to enjoy hosting Colonel Fitzwilliam,
though he was an easy individual to host. Intelligent but simple minded, he was
kind and refused to be any sort of difficulty. He knew exactly when his welcome
had worn thin, though this often was not until after dinner.
It was the evening before Easter that he announced, “I do believe tomorrow my
aunt will invite you all to tea or supper. You have been duly warned. Now that
I have fractured our festivities, James, I must tell you I am vexed by these
sweets. They put my aunt’s pastry chef to shame.”
Charlotte and James laughed, the former declaring, “You have fractured nothing,
sir.”
“And I highly doubt my crude truffles can stand up to her ladyship’s cuisine. I
must thank you for bringing the chocolate. It was a wonderful surprise.”
“I had expected to be the hero of the evening, but then you disappear and
return with these!” he exclaimed, waving the small orb before popping it into
his mouth.
James apologized with mirth in his words, “The Collinses have had quite a
harvest of hazelnuts. Roasted and coated in honey and chocolate make for a
guilty sweet. My father made them for us many years ago.”
“Ahm!” he moaned dejectedly. “I would kiss the man if my threads were not
threatening to pop. I must take my leave before this happens. I trust I will
see you all on the marrow.”
And indeed they did during the morning’s Easter ceremony. It took James one
look at the unique interior of the church to decide where to sit. As churches
were usually shaped like a cross from a bird’s eye, so was this one, however
Mr. Collins’s platform was in the center of the room, presumably implying his
words came from the Saviour’s heart. Thus the seats were arranged to face this
focal point, and James sat on the outskirts, where he opened a sidedoor to let
in the fresh morning air and birdsong.
The prominent figures of the assembly sat where they could both see and be
seen; Lady Catherine and her nephews sitting near the head of the cross.
Colonel Fitzwilliam came over to shake James’ hand and to kiss the ladies’ but
soon returned to her ladyship’s side for the service to begin. Charlotte and
Maria sat in the pew in front of James, covering any view one might have as to
why he was writing so much in his book of psalms. Only the bored and wandering
child who came to sit next to him would know he was drawing wreaths he might
make later to adorn the Collins’s home.
The service passed pleasantly in this way, James placing his journal on the
child’s legs to keep him in place while they silently drew until the little one
was called back by his mother before a hymn began. As everyone stood to sing,
James slipped out of the church.
When the family returned to the house, he already had collected materials and
made a wreath for their gate and the front door; hazelnuts, grey sallow, and
various wildflowers he could find made up the bundles. Rabbits were approaching
and dashing away from his work, curious and eager for his treats as the family
walked up the walkway.
“Tea and supper,” Charlotte said without preamble.
James silently snipped the ribbon and twine he was using to tie bundles of
carrots, greens, and crystalized salt on twigs to hang from a tree to distract
the rabbits. The sisters helped him tie the treats to the saplings in the
garden as a family of deer was already visible in blue fog of the forest in the
distance. Mr. Collins was pacing excitedly around, rambling his usual praises
at receiving such an invitation.
“To be included with the intimate family on such a holiday! To share the feast!
What a immense pleasure—”
His sudden pause drew their attention to his waving at the phaeton driving
past. Various heads turned toward them in the open carriage, but James bent to
retrieve more twine instead of ogling.
At the appointed hour, they joined the party in Lady Catherine’s drawing room.
It was much as their first evening there, but with the added company rising to
meet them. Colonel Fitzwilliam seemed overjoyed to see them as if the morning
had never happened, shaking James’ hand before he had even faced the obligation
of greeting Lady Catherine.
“Happy Easter!” he said, shaking James’ entire frame from his hand.
“Hap-py Easter,” James laughed against the energy rattling up his arm. Mr.
Darcy approached, then, and they bowed to each other. If they were to speak,
they did not get the chance as Lady Catherine was foreign to being greeted
last.
Once the family was settled once more, James came to stand beside the Colonel
at the window. “I apologize in advance for your uniform.”
The Colonel turned puzzled eyes to him and then at the tin box he held to him.
His expression transformed into jubilation as his hands both reached for the
tin and gripped his nape. “You rascal! You’re not sorry, whatsoever.”
“What is this?”
James looked up at Darcy gazing between them. With complete gravity, the
Colonel pushed him to stand between them and her ladyship as he murmured, “Have
one of these, Will. Save me from myself.”
Dark lashes kissed his cheeks as he gazed into the open tin and the truffles
resting on a shred of blue cloth. He silently lifted one to his lips and chewed
contemplatively. His only response was turning to James, “Did you make these?”
“William! Come here, I must know how Georgiana is doing with her history
studies,” his aunt interrupted.
The Colonel sighed as he and Darcy exchanged looks. They parted ways, the
former excusing himself so he could put the sweets in his room, and the former
attending to his relative. He proved to be her chosen person for discussion,
speaking mostly to him and him alone unless she desired someone else’s
agreement. James observed this with something like confusion. Her ladyship all
but ignored her daughter and Darcy his fiancée. James planted himself beside
Miss de Bourgh and Mrs. Jenkinson, although the latter was engaged with
Charlotte and Maria.
“Do you have a favourite dish during the holiday?” he began. She looked at him,
and after a moment shook her head. “Forgive me if I am forward, but does your
health permit you to eat sweets?”
She blinked at him and said quietly, “Sometimes. It is not sugar which ails
me.”
“Then may I suggest bothering your cousin, the Colonel, when the craving
strikes you? He’s hiding a small trove of chocolates in his room, but he can be
persuaded to share.”
She processed this and a small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Is
that what you gave him?”
He grinned and nodded. “The quiet ones are always observant, like your
intelligence is a secret. You remind me of one of my sisters.”
Her features softened. “Which one?”
“Mary. She came after me. I’m afraid she’s been rather caught between
generations; Jane and myself inspired her literary interests, but the younger
two came too late to inspire a rambunctious spirit.”
“Are they very energetic?” she asked.
“Uh,” James laughed as he raked his fingers through his hair and behind his
ear. “I think that is putting it mildly. Our youngest, Lydia, is…her heart is
good. Her mind is lacking…in sense. Or rather, it moves too quickly to give
sense the time to judge her actions.”
A laugh of all things gently escaped her throat. “But you love her. That much
is obvious.”
James felt Darcy’s eyes move toward him from where he silently weathered his
aunt’s conversation.
“You said you had two younger than Mary?”
“Kitty,” James nodded. “Well. Katherine, but we call her Kitty.” He gave a
slight glance at her ladyship as her daughter nodded.
“I understand. What is she like?”
His brows lifted as he smiled bashfully. “I am not boring you? I do have so
many siblings.”
She smiled more easily and shook her head. “I’ve never left Hunsford but once
when I was a little girl.”
“Well that must change,” he declared softly.
She visibly closed within herself. “My…condition does not allow me the
opportunity.”
“Have doctors never told you a change of climate is good?”
“Mother does not believe any place to be superior than home.”
“Ah,” he nodded with another look at her ladyship. Darcy was clearly listening
to them instead of her. “If I may be so bold, I disagree with much she says. I
think you should be the one who decides which climate suits you best.”
Her chin lifted, her eyes filled with something like hope. “Where would you
recommend?”
He leaned back and tilted his head guiltily. “I am partial to Hertfordshire.
The sun shines through the morning mist in a way it doesn’t anywhere else. The
air turns gold. And the company is not so bad; we country folk find different
things interesting than other tiers of society. I think you would like
Netherfield Park.”
“William wrote to us from there,” she nodded. “I would like your views on it.”
He shrugged. “It is quite contrary to your home. Where you have deep colours
and dark wood, Netherfield is marble and white paint.”
“It sounds like Pemberley,” she voiced fondly. “That is the only place I have
been.”
“My aunt is fond of Derbyshire, but I have never been,” James said.
“It is beautiful.” They looked up at Darcy coming to sit in the chair adjacent
to them.
“Is Netherfield much like Pemberley?” Miss de Bourgh asked him.
“It is smaller and…perhaps rustic, but it is not without its charms,” he
granted.
“Rustic because only certain rooms were furnished during your stay,” James
reminded.
“It was predetermined we would be there for a short time,” Darcy replied.
“I thought the Bingleys were looking for a family estate,” he contrasted.
“Such things take time and searching to decide upon.”
“That depends on who is deciding,” James held his gaze.
“I imagine it is a decision between the four of them,” Darcy said simply. James
gave him a deadpan look, to which Darcy had the grace to look puzzled—
Lady Catherine cut in from her place across the room, “What is that you are
saying, Fitzwilliam? What is it you are talking of? What are you telling Mr.
Bennet? Let me hear what it is.”
Darcy exhaled through his nose, taking his time in turning his head before his
voice carried, “We are speaking of music, madam.”
James’ features opened, undeniably impressed.
“Of music! Then pray speak aloud. It is, of all subjects, my delight. I must
have my share in the conversation, if you are speaking of music. There are few
people in England who have more enjoyment of music than myself, or a better
natural taste. If I had ever learnt, I should have been a great proficient. And
so would Anne, if her health had allowed her to apply.”
James observed how Miss de Bourgh’s jaw gradually fell, her hands composed in
her lap. Eventually she felt his eyes on her and accepted his small smile with
her own.
“I am confident that she would have performed delightfully. How does Georgiana
get on, Darcy?”
“In piano or her wellbeing? In both, she fares marvelously. She is a young lady
ahead of her years.”
“I am glad to hear such a good account of her,” she proclaimed, “and pray tell
her from me that she cannot expect to excel if she does not practice a great
deal.”
“I assure you, she does not need such advice. She practices constantly.”
“So much the better. It cannot be done too much, and when I next write to her,
I shall charge her not to neglect it on any account.” James let his head sag
onto his hand, foreseeing no immediate end to her input. “I often tell young
ladies that no excellence in music is to be acquired without constant practice.
I have told Mr. Bennet several times that he will never play really well unless
he practices more—”
James lifted his head with a confused grimace on his face, earning a stifled
giggle from Anne. Darcy looked rather ashamed of his aunt’s behaviour but he
perked up to ask under her words. “Do you play?”
“It’s nothing for her to craft ideas about,” James disregarded.
“I would like to hear you,” Anne said softly. “Does Hertfordshire have its own
songs?”
He shrugged. “Some local composers were kind enough to make copies for Mary to
use for practice. I wouldn’t think them up to her ladyship’s standard.”
“That is for us to decide, is it not?” she said smoothly. He stared at her and
after a moment she giggled to herself.
“Miss Anne, you have a sense of humour.”
“My guilty secret,” she laughed.
“Protect it with your life,” he joined her mirth. “One’s humour is the first to
leave in the face of hardship.”
“Would you lessen such hardship with your playing one day?” she asked. “We have
a piano in Mrs. Jenkinson’s room, so you might play without a critical ear to
judge you.”
He smiled, “You are kind to cater to my wishes, but I do not wish to be an
inconvenience.”
“How would you be inconvenient?” Darcy wondered.
James met his steady gaze. “I imagine many sort of ways.”
Darcy gazed at him, absorbing this until it was announced to be dinner time. At
some point during the meal, the word came around to the Colonel, who approached
him while coffee was being served afterward. “I am I to expect a concert
eventually?”
“Absolutely not,” James laughed. “A meager demonstration, perhaps.”
“Are you being modest, Mr. Bennet?” Lady Catherine overheard.
The Colonel’s eyes were immediately apologetic but he was silent. “I’m afraid
not, my lady,” James said.
“Then take the time to practice here. You shan’t be a bother to us,” she
insisted. The room was silent in regards to counterarguments.
The Colonel whispered, “The better to get it over with.”
James handed him his untouched coffee and went to sit on the bench. The lid
over the keys lifted and slid back more smoothly than any piano he had played.
He could see Mary’s fingers over the keys, and from there he oriented himself.
Her favourite was a melody in which the pedals elongated the notes, creating a
sonorous story in the air. Lady Catherine listened to half of the song, and
then spoke as before to Lord Darcy until the latter walked away from her and
toward the pianoforte. James glanced up at him at the risk of missing two of
the keys, but Darcy gave no indication he had noticed or cared.
“Do you mean to frighten me, Mr. Darcy, by coming to hear me? I will not be
alarmed though your sister does play so well. I have the stubbornness that
allows courage to rise in the face of intimidation.”
“I mean no such thing,” he countered, but not unkindly. “I have had the
pleasure of your acquaintance long enough to know you do so enjoy ridding a
person of their premeditated ideas.”
James laughed as he focused on the keys. “Am I the villain to your story?”
“I think not.”
James let the notes drag and linger in the air as he rotated to say to the
Colonel behind him, “You will either learn or hear from Mr. Darcy to measure my
words with salt. I have a habit of dissecting one’s personality for my own
analysis.”
The Colonel approached the piano from where he had been leaning against the
wall. “I should like to know how Will behaves among strangers, then.”
“Would you? You may find my retellings unsavoury.”
“Oh, Darcy,” the Colonel accused. “What have you done of which I might be
ashamed?”
James looked at him as he countered pleasantly, “I am not afraid of you.” His
handsome features were as close to a smile as James had ever seen.
“Let me hear what you have to accuse him of,” the Colonel grinned.
“At his first assembly in Hertfordshire, he participated in but four of the
dances, though ladies were scarce in the room.”
“Lord Darcy,” Colonel scolded. “With how your own sister enjoys dancing, surely
you would not deny a room of willing ladies your time?”
“I had not at the time the honour of knowing any lady in the assembly beyond my
own party.”
Lady Catherine interrupted, “Colonel! I need you, come here.”
“My turn, is it?” he harrumphed, and left them with a lingering look at Darcy.
James’ fingertips roamed over the keys, no longer playing, simply feeling the
smoothness of such keys…
“Perhaps…”
He looked up at Darcy, who had not moved.
“I should have judged better…but I am ill qualified to recommend myself to
strangers.”
James’ brows furrowed over his smile. “You are a man of sense and education who
has lived in the world… It is strange you might think yourself subpar to
introduce yourself, especially to such country folk who are easy to please.”
“I disagree,” he said softly. He had looked across the room toward his cousin.
“I do not have the talent which some people possess.” He looked back down at
James. “Of conversing easily with those I have never seen before. I cannot
catch their tone of conversation, or appear interested in their concerns, as I
have often seen done.”
“If we are to take your aunt’s advice, the solution would be incessant
practice,” James provided. “But really…I’d say you are only poor at lying.”
Darcy’s eyes were soft as his lips parted, waiting for him to say more.
“As you once said, you judge critically. If one does not meet your interests,
you cannot feign delight or concern. Some might deem this small minded or
closed hearted, but I cannot fault you in being selective, what with how many
already seek your attentions.”
“Yes…” he said, and the way he said it…James felt it was a small glance inside
the man’s façade. He sounded tired. “I have grown accustomed to strictly
sifting through acquaintances.”
“And here I stubbornly sit,” James chuckled. “Defying your censorship.”
That puzzled expression came across Darcy’s face once more. “I have not thought
negatively of you, Mr. Bennet.”
James perplexed the man further by waving his words aside. “Might as well call
me James. There is a certain familiarity which comes from sharing a house and
enduring a hostess such as Caroline Bingley.”
James did not look at him during his silence. “James…” he said, as if feeling
the word on his lips. “Have…have I not heard your relations call you…Lizzy? Or
something similar?”
“My middle name is Elizabeth.”
“Oh…” he exhaled ponderously.
James peeked up at him. “How does your time with the Miss Bingley progress?”
Darcy’s features settled into indifference. “My time with her is as much the
same as my time spent with most, I would say.”
James laughed, and Darcy’s eyes seemed drawn to the sound. “How tragic for her,
to have fallen through your cracks.”
“What do you mean?”
James gazed at him almost pitifully. “Surely you must have noticed? She fancies
you.”
“Oh…yes, I have,” he admitted.
“Then there is hope for you, yet,” James teased gently.
“But I harbor no…interest for her. Though this has never seemed to dissuade her
intentions.”
James huffed a breath of mirth as he lazily began a new song. “No. Why would
it? You will fulfill all of Caroline’s monetary fantasies.”
“And what of your own?” Darcy surprised him.
James looked up, but only briefly. “My fantasies involve feeling, not money.”
“You misunderstand me, James.”
He looked up again, but Lady Catherine came into view. They fell silent as she
listened to James’ playing. “You would not play at all amiss, Mr. Bennet, if
you practiced more, and could have the advantage of a London master, though
your taste is not equal to Anne’s. Anne would have been a delightful performer,
had her health allowed her to learn.”
James disregarded Lady Catherine's unique talent for giving a compliment and
insult simultaneously to watch how Darcy reacted to the praise of his fiancée,
but neither then nor any other time could he discern any symptom of love
between the two of them. Watching his interactions with Miss de Bourgh was not
unlike his interactions with Caroline, but James supposed real love was not
often a consideration among couples of aristocracy.
Chapter End Notes
     Okay, some clarification on this timeline. Austen says the Bennets
     were married for twenty-three years, which I have included in the
     first chapter, but I’ve also put in the story that Mr. Bennet had to
     work/travel a while before he and Mrs. Bennet were able to start
     baby-makin’. SO they have actually been married for closer to thirty
     years in this story, but they’ve had their home and family for
     twenty-three. They consider his purchasing Longbourn and the birth of
     Jane as the start of their married lives. Jane is twenty-three. James
     is twenty-two. Mary is eighteen while Kitty is sixteen and Lydia is
     fifteen. *huffs out of breath.
***** Realm of Men *****
Chapter Summary
     James' time in Hunsford is almost to a close.
Chapter Notes
     Happy Christmas (:
See the end of the chapter for more notes
James reread Jane’s letter as he sat down in Charlotte’s parlour to reply,
mentally marking the items he wished to respond to alongside his own retellings
of the events since his last letter—
The bell of the house chimed, and being a guest as he was, it took him an extra
moment to realize he was the only one in the house to answer it. Charlotte and
company had gone into the nearby town for various errands, leaving James to his
breakfast and letters. As he had heard no carriage, he thought it unlikely to
be Lady Catherine, but nevertheless he pulled a blank sheet of paper over the
beginnings of his letter and was folding Jane’s as he went to the door.
Mr. Darcy, and Mr. Darcy alone stood there.
James frowned, his mind rushing to find a reason for his visit, perhaps his
having left something when he and the Colonel were here…
“Uh,” he summarized eloquently.
Darcy seemed equally astonished at finding himself there and at finding James
alone. “I…I had believed the family would be here.”
“They’re in town,” James informed, and bluntly rotated to lead the way back to
Charlotte’s parlour. It was where he and the Colonel were first hosted so it
was not an abnormal destination, but James returned to it with fresh eyes: all
of the unused and waiting pieces of foliage, wire, twine, and a cutting board
and knife scattered in various states around the room.
“I apologize for the intrusion,” Darcy said as he eyed the room and James
hastily piling things on the cutting board to seamlessly make a place for him
at the table. “Are these what you were doing when you left the service?”
“You noticed?” James said as he dusted off a seat and then looked up at Darcy.
“Well. You would, wouldn’t you?”
“I do not understand what you are implying,” Darcy admitted as he sat down.
James waved his hand in the air as if to physically remove the topic but then
his fingers leveled with the top of Darcy’s head. “You’re. Well. There must be
a tree in your genetic line.”
He turned around to avoid seeing whatever reaction that caused and continued
tidying the room until, with abrupt clarity, he was behaving like his mother
and decidedly landed on the couch against the wall.
Meanwhile Darcy uttered. “Oh. I see. Hmm…” The sound was warm and almost like
mirth, enticing James to meet his eyes again. “I trust you know that extends
past the capabilities of reproduction.”
James rolled his eyes to glare at the wall. “Of course I know. It’s a metaphor.
Didn’t you stress poetry or something once?”
“Once,” Darcy confirmed, “but you seemed to disagree with its effects, if I
remember.”
James had no idea where this was going. “I didn’t read poetry.”
“I could guess,” Darcy nodded. He did not outwardly smile but his eyes were
kind. “What did you read?”
“Whatever we had,” James remarked. Darcy’s lips parted as if to speak but James
beat him to it. “Is all well at Rosings?”
Darcy blinked, his mind processing the change in subject. “As well as can be, I
suppose… There is some ordeal on the grounds but it is hardly worth
mentioning.”
“Well that’s what conversation is,” James declared. “Elaborating upon
unmentionable things.”
“I’m…not sure that’s quite it,” Darcy replied. “Have I caught you at a bad
time?”
James could practically hear his mother scolding him and reminding him of whom
his guest was. He swallowed. “No, my lord. I…sometimes react poorly to
surprises, is all. What is happening on the grounds? Is Lady Catherine’s garden
in turmoil?”
Darcy’s lashes moved over his eyes in that contemplative way he had before he
said, “Not at all. The grounds keeper sighted creatures at dawn. They have not
yet been identified as foxes or large rats.”
James did not have much to say to that apart from, “There…is quite a difference
between a fox and a rat,” but the discussion fell silent. With nothing else to
procure, James left the trouble of finding a subject to him, and Darcy took the
hint, his eyes brightening with understanding that it was his turn.
“This seems a comfortable house. Lady Catherine, I believe, did a great deal to
it when Mr. Collins first came to Hunsford.”
“I have heard she did,” James confirmed. “I am sure she could not have bestowed
her kindness on a more grateful object.”
Darcy nodded, his eyes moving as if searching for something else to say. “Mr.
Collins appears very fortunate in his choice of a wife.”
James snorted in the back of his throat. “His friends may rejoice in his having
met with one of the very few sensible women who could have accepted him.”
Darcy seemed mildly surprised. “You reiterate it in a cruel fashion.”
James’ brows lifted. “No one has ever accused me of being fashionable. My
friend has an excellent understanding; whether I consider her marrying Mr.
Collins the wisest thing she’s done…does not matter. She seems happy. In a
prudential light, it is certainly a good match.”
“It must be agreeable to her to be settled within so easy a distance of her
family and friends,” he considered.
James eyed him. “I would not have considered the distance an advantage of the
match.”
“Nevertheless, little more than half a day’s journey, and on good road; an easy
distance, I’d say.”
“We have contrary opinions. Easy it may be, but ideal it is less so.”
“This is proof of your own attachment to Hertfordshire. Anything beyond the
very neighborhood of Longbourn, I suppose, would appear far.”
Darcy held James’ gaze, and once again James felt a sort of challenge in the
man’s dialogue. Or not so much a challenge…but the feeling of a secret or jape
held only between the two of them.
His features relaxed as he said pleasantly, “The far and the near must be
relative, and depend on varying circumstances. Where there is fortune to make
the expense of traveling unimportant, distance is no evil.”
“I am not unfamiliar with the evil of distance,” Darcy returned softly,
quickly. His head turned so his eyes could once more look over James’ tools and
the various bundles and scraps of plants. A full sprig of dried lavender and
grey sallow rested next to an unfinished wreath, which Darcy’s fingers brought
under his nose. The gesture was small, but he rubbed the soft grey pillows
against his skin. “However…despite your local attachment and your…more rural
rituals, you cannot have always been at Longbourn. You spoke of travel with
Anne.”
James scrutinized him, trying to decipher wherein lay his question. “Are you
calling me pagan?” he blurted.
Far from angry, Darcy seemed merely puzzled. “No? Although the enquiry may
arise at some point, after leaving an Easter service to make such old fashioned
wreaths.”
Then James laughed, startling Darcy further even though his eyes softened. “Old
they may be but they are hardly out of convention. I am only out of place in
its not being Yuletide. Surely you know how Christianity overwrote pagan
holidays with their own celebrations. Names change and traditions adjust but we
are creatures of habit.”
He had stood without thinking, plucking a small brass cross from the wall above
the couch as he strolled to the table. As he spoke he nestled the cross in the
center of the wreath and let the various reeds and lavender haphazardly
complete the circle, illustrating how the simple adjustment changed the
religion attached to the decoration.
He realized now how close he now stood by Darcy, whose eyes were down as he
analyzed the wreath. James ventured, “You’re not one of those sensitive God-
fearing men, are you?”
Darcy’s features gave nothing away. “I was raised to be God-fearing,” he
admitted, “but I quickly found that the realm of men gives me more trouble.”
James stared at him, and then withdrew the cross to return it to the wall. “I
am continuously finding you difficult to disagree with, my lord,” he said with
some annoyance. The chair skidded behind him and James rotated to see Darcy
preparing to leave.
“Forgive my intrusion,” he rushed, not meeting James’ eyes.
“I already did?” James wondered as the man left the house and he heard the
front door open the same moment a shriek similar to Marie’s reached his ears.
“Oh! My lord—how do you do—” Charlotte exclaimed, but James made it to the
hallway just in time to see both women move out of Darcy’s way, as he seemed
more than intent on leaving. Mr. Collins was not with them but Charlotte gaped
like a fish until she rounded on James. “Did you set fire to his heels?”
James frowned. “Why is it my fault? He left as quickly as he arrived!”
Charlotte hung her cloak and hat on the hooks before she ushered Marie off to
do some distracting task. Afterward she caught up to James binding the last of
his wreath together. He peeked up and then stared at the giddy expression on
her face. “What is the matter with you?” he feared.
“My dear, Lizzy,” she announced, “he must be in love with you, or he would
never have called on us in this familiar way.”
It was James’ turn to let his jaw hang. “I understand you’ve grown accustomed
to overzealous displays of fondness for the Lady in residence but it shouldn’t
come as a surprise if other people seek any means of escape from her
household.”
“Ah huh,” she charmed, not dissuaded in the least, “so I’m late in
understanding his eagerness to spend such escapades here? With you. Alone in
the house.”
He stood moved away from her under the excuse of disposing twigs and unusable
twine in the bin. “He expected the rest of you to be here—stop grinning.”
“I’m perfectly entitled to smile, as he is to seek your company.”
“The only reason he should have for seeking it is the same interest one returns
to an unbeatable puzzle. There is otherwise nothing to do: all the field sports
are over, within doors there is Lady Catherine, books, and a billiard table,
but these can only be interesting for so long. ”
“You are saying you’re interesting,” Charlotte cornered.
“Hardly,” he growled. “Darcy would have remained silent as he always does if I
hadn’t pushed him to converse.”
Charlotte seemed content to leave him alone about it, and he was thankfully
saved by Colonel Fitzwilliam’s arrival and inviting himself to dinner. Not that
they minded, of course; his charm quite reminded James of Wickham’s manner of
joviality and discussion.
The topic silently returned the following day and the day afterward, however,
as Mr. Darcy now frequented the parsonage as often as his cousin. Initially
Charlotte had given James a keen look before Darcy proved his ability to sit
comfortably in silence for longer than ten minutes. His lips would not open
until necessity pried them apart—a sacrifice to propriety, not a pleasure to
himself. James caught himself scrutinizing him, wondering how an animated
feeling would appear if it ever emerged from the man.
Charlotte eventually admitted to not knowing what to make of him when Colonel
Fitzwilliam came by the cottage alone. He laughed and shrugged, “Darcy is
different, to be sure. His own breed of stupid. We all have one, I reckon, and
that’s his.”
Nevertheless, she watched him whenever they were at Rosings, which had
unfortunately picked up in occurrence, as well as when he came to Hunsford. Her
examinations only yielded that he certainly looked at James a great deal, but
the expression of that stare was disputable.
“It’s a rather earnest, steadfast gaze, isn’t it?” she mused one evening upon
their return.
James silently wondered if he ought to have had another glass of wine for this.
“It is hard to tell whether there is admiration in it,” she continued.
“Wonderful. He either loves me or hates me. Frankly I think he’s used to
drowning the noise of the room out of his mind and his eyes have the
unfortunate habit of landing on me.”
“Then it is fortunate that you are attractive, then,” she teased, “or else he
would certainly despise you.” He demanded she fetch a bottle or else leave him
to slumber.
As the developing season made midday comfortably warm, invitations to Rosings
often switched to luncheon, followed by walks through the property. The park
was always open to anyone wishing for a stroll, which James came to utilize. It
was during one of these that he caught a sighting of the suspicious fox or rat:
a dirty ginger cat. It stopped only briefly to eye him and then trot quickly
past a flowerbed to its den under the bushes.
The next day, James found himself once more in the park with Lady Catherine,
Lord Darcy, Colonel Fitzwilliam, Charlotte, Maria, and Mr. Collins. Gardening,
being Mr. Collins’ preferred pastime, made her attentions devoted to him until
a gruff yet composed man approached them with a bow. “My lady, might I have a
word?”
“Go on,” she confirmed.
“The matter of the vermin seen in the gardens. It is a feral cat. She has made
her den somewhere, however she seemed to be carrying food. We suspect there are
kittens as well.”
“No no no, that will not do,” her ladyship ordered. “Remove them at once. I
will not have anything carrying disease near Anne.”
“Yes, mum. We’ve already captured the cat. Her den will be found immediately.”
He bowed again and left. The group continued on until Lady Catherine turned
around. “Darcy? Whatever are you doing? Come here—where is Mr. Bennet?”
But Lord Darcy’s gaze was fastened to James, who had since left them and was
now sprinting behind them with something in his hands; like a tablecloth or a
large jumper. Her ladyship chortled. “What on earth is the fool doing?”
Darcy watched him slow and step over one of the longer flowerbeds to lower onto
all fours, derriere high as he looked for something among the roots…
“That young man is fond of inappropriate behaviour,” her ladyship commented
dryly, but James’ arm shot underneath the shrubs, placed something in the
cloth, and then moved in long strides with the bundle in his arms. He paid them
not the slightest attention as he left the park.
“Uh—I must apologize,” Charlotte exclaimed. “I’ll go with him and make sure
everything is all right.”
Marie’s eyes widened like she was being abandoned but Charlotte held her hat
while she went to catch up with James. He was already back in their cottage,
pouring the tepid water from their morning tea into a basin. From the bundle in
his arms came an array of angry, high pitched yowls.
“You actually found them,” she laughed, removing her hat and gloves to help
him.
“One,” he corrected. “Hand me that brush.”
She did so, the short and packed bristles scraping over a bar of soap before he
wiggled it in the water and moved gentle circles over the spiked and matted
fur. Dark brown gave way to fiery orange and white paws, the creature
particularly indignant to having its white underbelly cleaned.
“Some broth with the ground meat,” James considered as he lifted the tail. “He
should be weaned by now if its mother was bringing it food…but only just. He
needs to eat now if the imbeciles killed its mother before he could eat.”
“They’re not imbeciles just because they were doing their jobs,” Charlotte
scolded as she stood to do as he bid—
“Lord Darcy!”
She had left the front door open and now the man stood in the entrance of her
parlour. James looked up but could not grant him his time as he bounced the
bundle on his arm and two ears sprang free with another annoyed yowl.
“How did you find it so quickly?” Darcy exclaimed in wonder.
“I witnessed its mother returning to its den during my walk yesterday,” James
replied briskly. He reached forward, gesturing Charlotte to slide past the man
to hand him the dish of food. “Your softest blanket in a box,” he said, and she
left once more.
“It has a mustachio,” Darcy commented.
James frowned up at him, visibly questioning why he was still there, but then
he peered down at the cat. There was a curved black patch on the side of its
nose.
“Why are you holding it like that?”
James refrained from sighing and continued stroking a soaked cloth over the
creature’s face. The bouncing calmed the creature to silence despite the angry
orange eyes glaring up at him. “Kittens catch their death faster than we do if
they get wet.”
“I was referring to the rocking,” Darcy reiterated.
James’s impatience won out. It was simply too much to explain how one picks up
these habits after raising two younger siblings and helping his father with
their calves and chickens. “It works, doesn’t it?” he snapped.
It was to Darcy’s credit that he deduced smoothly, “You’ve done this before.”
James blinked, something in him relaxing. “I have a cat at home.”
Darcy remained silent as he watched James pick off flea after flea from its
face and ears before he deemed the creature clean and placed it in the box
Charlotte procured. James returned to the fire to gather a small number of
coals for an empty tin used to hold Charlotte’s sewing needles. He made sure
the tine was wrapped well before inserting it into the hissing box.
“Last step,” James murmured, holding up a chunk of meat.
“Is this not dangerous?” Charlotte worried.
“He needs to associate me with good things,” James refused. “Give him a moment
to realize he’s comforta—”
James underestimated the creature’s hunger as the meat was snatched from his
fingers and the creature landed upon the dish. Charlotte giggled as he
recovered, “Fine, then.”
“He’s going to be beautiful,” Charlotte mused. “A right fluffy ginger. What
shall we call him?”
“Assam, perhaps,” James smirked.
Charlotte pouted, “Oh that won’t due. Your other cat has such a beautiful
name.”
“What name?”
They both looked up as if realizing Darcy was still there. “Alys…short for
alyssum,” James murmured.
“You do so employ yourself in the knowledge of flowers,” Darcy observed.
“Is that wrong?” James responded.
Darcy’s gaze was soft. “No. Not at all.” After another moment he took his
weight off the doorjamb. “I’ll take my leave.”
Charlotte bobbed up show him out, whereas James remained where he was, watching
the kitten finish its meal.
*******
It was not until Jane’s next letter arrived and James was going for a walk down
the lane that he came upon one of the neighboring party. Colonel Fitzwilliam
was waving and smiling, “I did not know that you ever walked this way.”
“You’ve found me out, sir,” James smiled.
“Are going much further?”
“No, I should have turned in a moment, before my charge awakes and desires
freedom.”
James leaned to reveal the slumbering kitten in his shirt, held up by his
waistcoat. “Then I shall impose and join you,” he chuckled.
“I would be disappointed if you didn’t,” James said as he put away his letter.
“I heard from Charlotte—well, from Mr. Collins—this morning that you are to
leave on Saturday?”
“Yes,” he nodded, “if Darcy does not put it off again. It’s been rather
strange, his putting off our departure so much this year. To be rather blunt
about it, he is not exactly eager to remain with his aunt, but I am at his
disposal. He arranges the business just as he pleases.”
“He has great pleasure in the power of choice, does he?” James remarked.
“He likes to have his own way very well,” the Colonel obliged, “but so we all
do.”
“A particularly strong family trait,” James said upon looking up at the mansion
within the park. “If my own siblings are any indication, I wonder how Darcy
fares as guardian of his sister.”
“Oh, that is a task which he must divide with me. I am joined with him in the
guardianship of Miss Darcy.”
“Are you?” James’ interest piqued. “And what sort of guardians do you make,
looking after such trouble? If she has the true Darcy spirit, surely she too
likes to have her own way.”
He laughed, however the sentiment was not shared between them. The Colonel
looked upon him with something of confusion. “Why do you suppose she is likely
to give any uneasiness?”
Gravity was so far from the Colonel’s character that James momentarily felt
himself lost for words. “I…must apologize. I did not mean offense. I confess to
have never met the lady, and indeed, have not heard any harm of her. She is a
great favourite with some ladies you may be acquainted with: Mrs. Hurst and
Miss Bingley.”
“I know them a little,” the Colonel granted. “Their brother is a pleasant
gentlemanlike sort—a great friend of Darcy’s.”
“Yes,” James agreed somewhat dryly. “His lordship is uniquely kind to Mr.
Bingley, and takes a prodigious care of him.”
“Yes, I believe he does take care of him in those points he most wants care,”
the Colonel said on a lighter note. “From something he told me in our journey
hither, I believe Bingley to be very much indebted to him—but I ought to beg
his pardon, for I have no right to suppose it was Bingley at all, for he did
not name him specifically.”
“Then speak anonymously,” James frowned. “To what debt do you mean?”
“It is a circumstance which Darcy of course would not wish to be known, because
if it were to get round to the lady’s family, it would be an unpleasant thing.”
James steeled his features to reveal nothing. “A scandal of the romantic kind.
The public does so enjoy those. You may depend upon my not mentioning it.”
“Well do remember that I have not much reason for supposing it to be Bingley at
all apart from his having been with the man up until recently. What he told me
is merely this: that he had saved a friend from the inconveniences of a most
imprudent marriage.”
“Imprudent,” James repeated. “How so?”
“I understood there were strong objections against the lady.”
James processed this and found it wanting. “Did Mr. Darcy give any other
reasons for his interference?”
“I cannot say he did,” the Colonel admitted.
Their walk fell into silence, as James made no answer. He walked on, his heart
swelling and deflating the more he pondered and reasoned, pondered and
reasoned…
“And now we are thoughtful,” the Colonel commented quietly. “I had not
suspected you would take gossip so seriously.”
“I am only thinking of what you have been telling me in regards to how your
cousin’s conduct does not suit my own judgment. Why was he to be the judge and
further, the executioner?”
Colonel Fitzwilliam’s eyebrows lifted. “You are of a mind to call his
interference officious?”
“I do not see what right Mr. Darcy has to determine and direct someone else’s
happiness, friend or otherwise,” he voiced with some warmth before he
recollected himself. “But as we do not know any of the particulars, it is
unfair to condemn him. It is not to be supposed that there was, in fact,
affection in the case.”
“That is not an unnatural surmise,” the Colonel agreed, “though it does lessen
the honour of my cousin’s triumph.”
He chuckled, having meant it as a jest, but James’ inability to partake spurred
him to change the topic quickly. James conversed easily with him on whatever
matters he proposed, but once left to reflect, James faced a conundrum he had
not anticipated. In short, he had been concerned with the depth of Darcy's
involvement, but he had quite convinced himself of Charles and Jane's
separation being Caroline’s design and arrangement. Her own proximity and
constant prattling in Charles’ ear were too easily the center of analysis while
Darcy’s quiet judgment gave away very little.
Or rather…Darcy was the prime instrument of Wickham’s unhappiness, and James
had placed a different figurehead at the bow of Jane’s. The lack of Wickham’s
company had resulted in Darcy’s crimes quite falling away from conscious
thought…
Strong objections against the lady, the Colonel had said. To Jane herself, he
was sure, there could be no objection. All loveliness and goodness, her
understanding was excellent, her mind quite equal to and her manners above the
Bingley sisters’. Any objections would have to be made to her family, who were
admittedly lesser if bank sums were to be counted. If personality were the
cause, only Jane’s mother could be a complaint, but for Darcy to weather such
as Caroline Bingley and Louisa Hurst together, Mrs. Bennet was hardly worse.
Was Darcy’s pride so fragile to require the sound material of his friends’
connections instead of happiness or sense? Then again, if he himself was so
attached to a loveless engagement, James supposed he could not rule out the man
incapable of such interference…
The agitation of these thoughts created such an agonizing headache and turmoil
in James that when evening arrived with an invitation to Rosings, he could
hardly rouse himself enough to even tell Charlotte he was not going. Her hand
was dry and warm against his forehead as he blinked heavily under her
ministrations.
“You’re dreadfully pale,” she worried. “Lizzy, what’s wrong?”
He shook his head. “Go. Enjoy dinner.”
Mr. Collins piped from the corridor, “Her ladyship shall be most displeased if
we are late or one of us is missing! Is everything quite well?”
Charlotte steeled herself and James was momentarily quite impressed with how
she handled her husband with a firm word before the house closed behind them.
When they were gone, James reopened his letter from Jane and examined it for
any hints or inclinations of suffering. There were none, but so were any sparks
or prominent threads of joviality; the cheerfulness which had once
characterized her style of writing. It became some consolation to think that,
whether the prime instrument of removing such cheer or not, Lord Darcy was to
be leaving the day after next. And still greater, in less than a fortnight he
would be with Jane again, and perhaps all language of Darcys or Bingleys could
be forgotten.
James managed to fall asleep, but the new addition to his room was quite
rambunctious the moment the first light of day made its way into his room.
Warming some broth to pour over its food, James felt its fragile spine arch up
into his hand as it ate.
It was licking the last of the broth when James peered out of his window at the
orange sunrise, as well as the dark clouds soon to eclipse the sky. “Come on,
before it rains,” he said, but upon turning around, the cat was already curled
against his pillow, consuming his lingering heat on the bed.
“You’ve moved right in, haven’t you?” he cooed, crouching to rub a finger
between those tall ears. “What shall I call you…” he breathed as a sound
reached him elsewhere in the house. Opening his door, he found Charlotte
rushing between rooms.
“Lizzy!” she exclaimed upon seeing him. “Can you get the washing from outside?
The sky will fall any moment!”
“Can I help you here first?” he wondered, observing the red in her cheeks.
“No! Now! They’re the bloody drapes for church and I will never hear the end of
it if they haven’t dried by Sunday!”
She shoved him right out the door, where he was consumed in an unseasonal warm
wind which surely was carrying the rain over his head. He ran around the house
to where the trees were able to hold the lines for washing and started filling
his arms with the first garments he could reach: dresses and underthings alike,
which he dumped onto Charlotte’s parlour couch.
The drapery was next, the long white linen reaching toward him as he felt the
first drops of rain. The largest tree had wide-reaching, thick beams which held
the lines like spiders’ thread. If the tree was full, it might have saved the
linen from the rain but as it was, James rushed to yank the fabric—
“God and Christ!” he exploded as a fabric pulled down to reveal Lord Darcy.
James clutched the fabric to his face, both to save it from the ground and to
cover his embarrassment. His body bowed slightly until he recovered.
“I am sorry,” Darcy apologized quietly. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
James straightened with his hand over his eyes, his messy tresses falling over
his knuckles…
Fingertips moved over his hand, inducing James to lower it and find Darcy
holding his hair aside. James stared dumbly at features he had never seen so
expressive. Those fingers pushed his hair behind his ear, eliciting a tingle
that made James blink heavily.
Suddenly both hands cradled James’ face and Darcy was close enough to share
breath. “James,” he heard from a husky whisper, before soft lips claimed him.
James swayed into his kiss, stumbling slightly so Darcy’s hold tightened and
James felt his shoulder blades brush against the bark of the tree. His own
hands found Darcy’s wrists, discovering his cuffs unbuttoned underneath his
jacket sleeves. The second kiss fell right into the first, James’ body warming,
reacting…
Darcy separated them but only just. James felt his gasp across his lips as
Darcy’s eyes wandered his face. “I have struggled in vain.”
James blinked, his mind slow to absorb his words until they fell upon him all
at once.
“My feelings will not be repressed. I cannot deny and must tell you how
ardently I admire and love you.”
James could only stare silently. Doubt flickered behind Darcy’s eyes but he did
not move apart from his thumb stroking over James’s cheek once. “I-I…don’t
understand,” James stammered.
“I love you,” he whispered. “What else is there to understand?”
James’s eyes closed, burning from holding them open too long. “Do…you not fear
ridicule and segregation?”
“What?” Darcy hushed. His hands loosened around him. “Because you’re a man?”
James’s eyes opened. “A man of your stature spending…how long? With another man
of poorer standing? Perhaps you are not God-fearing, but people can be far more
cruel.”
He gently removed Darcy’s hands from him. They lowered to Darcy’s sides but the
man remained immobile. “Is that what you fear? The duration of my affections
and the scorn of others?”
“Are you not engaged?” James curtailed.
Darcy blinked. “With Anne? In my aunt’s eyes, perhaps, but to she and I, not at
all.”
“What does that mean?” James grimaced.
Darcy’s brow furrowed as he tried to read him. “It means nothing. I am engaged
to no one. My affections entirely revolve around you—you’re laughing at me.”
James chin had fallen to his chest, but his breath lacked mirth entirely.
“You’ve never done this part with a man. I cannot expect you to understand.”
“I understand ridicule well enough. I have found once people tire of talking
they either stop or move on to other arguments. I would not waste my time
worrying of what others think of us any more than I would waste your time with
a distracted mind.”
It was raining fully now. The curtains lay forgotten on the earth. Darcy’s
declaration struck James in a way he had not anticipated. The backs of his eyes
ached, his throat even more so. The muscles in James’ jaw moved as he could no
longer hold Darcy’s gaze and looked elsewhere.
“A promise of total devotion…you are…I believe you mean every word you say.
Even if it were to come that you could no longer bear my company.”
“Why do you assume such an end?” Darcy uttered. “An end when we have not yet
begun?”
James shook his head. “I do not understand you at all.”
Darcy frowned. “Do you or do you not? Ask me anything, I’ve already laid myself
bare.”
“Perhaps you ought to take my rejection and go,” James warned impatiently.
“Rejection?” Darcy repeated. “Under what reasons?”
“Reasons,” James murmured. “Apart from ignoring how you dislike me as much as
you love me so as to suffer under the strain of shoving your feelings aside? No
one much likes to be told they’re unbearable even if they know it themselves.
Apart from your own superiority inducing you to think it somehow obvious I
should accept? I have never desired your good opinion and you have certainly
bestowed it unwillingly. I am sorry to have caused pain to you; it was
unconsciously done.”
Darcy’s eyes were fixed on his face, a mixture of resentment and surprise
there. “And is this all the reply I am to have the honour of expecting? Shall I
swallow my superiority and at least have the respect of being informed why I am
thus rejected?”
James sniffed, loathing his tears but he bit out, “I must first voice that I do
not understand how one could deny a friend and sister’s happiness but then so
ruefully seek his own, which would spark more scandal than such a friend’s
marriage.”
He looked up, and Darcy’s frown slowly faded. James’s eyes were a violent
silver in the red of his tears. “I speak of Charles and Jane,” he elaborated.
“I know,” Darcy said quietly, and then nothing at all.
James pushed, “Do you deny it?”
“I cannot,” Darcy admitted without shame.
James’ weight shifted on his feet. “Why did you do it?”
Darcy’s features hardened. “Because the matrimony between your families would
have hindered the advancements his family wishes to make.”
“That Caroline wishes to make,” James corrected.
“Is it difficult to believe Charles holds the same aspirations?” Darcy
wondered.
“I believe you thought he was nothing more than a fool in an autumn romance,
while my sister’s happiness remains fractured indefinitely because of him.”
“Fractured?” he said incredulously. “I never once perceived more than a liking
for him on her part; only a fondness of friends with perhaps romantic
inclination.”
“You yourself have admitted to being a poor judge of conversation,” James
erupted. “How could you think yourself right to measure such a relationship?”
“I did not do so with unsound reason,” he defended. “Jane befriended such women
as Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst, and with such sisters as your youngest two, as
well as a mother of loud mind and mouth. Was I so wrong to think it a sign of
indifference that she did not relay such similar characteristics, that she
never once voiced her opinion so strongly as the company she kept?”
James’ head shook slightly. “You’re a bloody hypocrite, my lord.” That wiped
the man’s features clean. “You’re the most silent in a room and yet here you
stand. It has taken you over six months to say anything of love to me. How can
you expect someone as shy and at such disadvantages as my sister to do any
better? And then there is Mr. Wickham.”
Mr. Darcy’s eyes brightened. “Wickham.”
“Yes, Wickham,” James spat. “Have you nothing to say of him? He unfolded long
ago the story you wrote for him."
“You take an eager interest in that gentleman’s concerns,” he declared darkly.
“Being kindred spirits of misfortune can have that effect,” James retorted.
“Yes, his misfortunes have been great indeed,” Darcy all but growled. “But as I
said, he has told you very little. Is this your opinion of me? It rests so
entirely on a rogue’s lies. Thank you for explaining so fully. These
accusations might have been overlooked had not your pride—”
“My pride?” James bristled.
“—been hurt by my honest confession. I am not ashamed of the feelings. They
were natural and just. But shall I address one crime at a time? You were
friends with Charles and closer than no one else to your sister. Why did you
not act as a catalyst for them? Why could you not clear the air for no ill
assumptions to linger and fester?”
“Because I’m done meddling in Jane’s happiness! I did so once, but not again!”
Darcy frowned. “You mean that gentleman your mother went on about at
Netherfield? The great sabotage of poetry at fifteen?”
“It wasn’t about poetry, you fool! My mother doesn’t know the man was in love
with me and not Jane!”
He did not mean to yell the last part. Perhaps he hadn’t. It was hard to tell
with his throat in such pain, with only the noise of the rain around them.
James tore his gaze away, and then explained hoarsely, “My mother’s memory is
not good. I was the one who was fifteen, and he did ask Jane to marry him, but
it was broken not minutes afterward, so she never really knew.
“He and I…well. We were involved long enough for him to have anything he wanted
of me. My body. My heart. To the rest of the family he was a friend, like any
other, so it was not abnormal for him to spend time with me or Jane or anyone
else. But one day…Jane came to me with something she was not yet ready to tell
our parents. I was confused. She and I were not close then as we are now. She
told me she was engaged. I was entirely confused. With whom could she be
engaged? She knew no one outside the family and…well there it was, wasn’t it? I
was stupid and foolish, and then I was heartbroken and livid. Because his plan
was never to love my sister.”
He looked up at Darcy, who listened in silent astonishment. “We look the same,
don’t we? Or similar, at least. He thought he could manage it. Being with a
woman…for the necessary parts. So long as she looked like me.”
James could no longer see Darcy clearly through the tears falling past his jaw.
“He thought he could have the both of us…a beautiful doll of a wife, and
whatever the hell he considered me. Needless to say I thoroughly ruined her
engagement.”
He spared a look at the drapery. It was a lost cause at this point. “You can
ridicule my sisters as much as you like, for I was not always kind to them. I
thought Jane was weak, and Mary strange. When Kitty and Lydia were born they
were nearly joined at the hip and equally ridiculous…but I proved myself the
weakest…the most foolish…and certainly the most strange. But Jane, she stayed
with me. I realized too late that I would have done anything for their honour
while my own crumbled through my fingers—but she stayed with me. She is the
strongest of us…and the bravest person I know. Charles is as kind as he is
foolish but she deserves him. She deserves everything she wants.”
He stepped forward, not truly seeing where his feet moved. The curtains were
sodden and heavy in his arms. “So you see, my lord…I haven’t any pride to make
myself interested or deserving of your affections.”
James left him, or at least, he did not look back as he entered the house and
deposited the drapery in a basket beside the door. He sensed Charlotte near him
but he heard himself say as if from a great distance, “I’m sorry. They won’t be
ready for Sunday,” and retired to his room.
Chapter End Notes
     So. Uh. Still merry Christmas? I'm so sorry to have changed the epic
     confession quotes U_U. It just...needed a little rearranging u_u
     *runs away*
     Also, Assam tea brews quite a red color, hence the name suggestion.
     Most importantly, more will come to light regarding James' trauma,
     but there is no rape tag because it's not what happened. Just in case
     anyone was worried.
     Alyssum was used in ancient Greece as a remedy for animal bites
     (rabies) so in the language of flowers, means "without rage/madness"
     as well as "worth beyond beauty." Take from that what you will~
***** The Letter *****
Chapter Summary
     Before Darcy leaves, he delivers Jamie a letter.
Chapter Notes
     Some more time line things~ I'm putting Darcy in his mid-late
     twenties. Like twenty-sevenish. So Georgiana would be sixteen now.
     Regarding the first paragraph, kittens need someone to stimulate
     their lil booties to help them go to the bathroom. That’s all :
     ) Happy Boxing Day~
The next dawn illuminated a grey world. The storm lingered throughout the
night, the last drops falling as James pulled himself out of bed, but the
winter had returned with a fierce vengeance. After James helped the kitten
relieve itself, it settled contently in his shirt while he was otherwise
wrapped in one of Charlotte’s largest blankets. With a tin cup of tea in one
hand, he meant to walk down the lane, but he did not reach it; instead climbing
to sit upon the Collins’ fence, letting the cold settle over his closed
eyelids…
“Mr. Bennet.”
His eyes opened to the familiar voice but his head only turned slightly in
acknowledgment. “I had hoped to meet you before I quit Rosings…just to give you
this.”
An envelope slid under James’ gaze. He mutely took it.
Darcy’s voice was soft as he finished, “I don’t suppose we will have reason to
meet again, therefore you may do as you like with it… I do hope that you will
read it.”
Darcy’s eyes lingered on his face before they flicked down to observe the ears
sticking up from James’ shirt, but otherwise the man left with only his
footfalls for sound.
James held the envelope within the blanket for some time; he even heard the
carriage pull out of the park on the other end of the lane and rattle away
before he pulled the pages from their confines. His eyes widened somewhat on
the two sheets covered in close lines, but they were written in a neat, even
hand, so he began to read:
I suppose at this point you are weary of my interferences in your daily goings
on, James, but be not alarmed. I have no intention of repeating those
sentiments which yesterday were so disgusting to you. I write without intention
of paining you or humbling myself. I wish only to provide what you granted me
yesterday: an explanation and recounting of events which have led me to be the
person who has had the honour of sharing your time.
Two offenses of a very different nature you laid at my charge. The first, that
I had detached Mr. Bingley from your sister, and the second, that I blasted the
prosperity and prospects of Mr. Wickham. I in no way imply these two crimes of
equal or unequal gravity; you may remain the judge of that. I will but say
briefly first that I did willfully throw off the companion of my youth, the
acknowledged favourite of my father, a young man who had been brought up to
expect a due inheritance. You have not been led astray in this regard, but
during my explanation, if I relay feelings which are still offensive to yours,
I can only say that I am sorry.
I had not been long in Hertfordshire before I saw, in common with others, that
Bingley preferred your eldest sister to any other young woman in the country.
But it was not until the evening of the dance at Netherfield that I had any
apprehension of his feeling a serious attachment. I had often seen him
infatuated before, and I think you know how his affections have never been
limited by gender. However after I was made acquainted with the prolific
expectation of marriage among the party’s guests, from that moment I observed
my friend’s behaviour attentively.
Simply put, his partiality for Miss Bennet was beyond what I had ever witnessed
in him. Your sister I also watched, but you and I have already discussed how
erroneously I judged her. How her open, cheerful, and engaging personality were
in fact drawn out by her adoration of Charles, not merely symptoms of the
company and music. Your superior knowledge of your sister cannot make your
accusations false, and if I have inflicted so much pain by such an error, your
disdain of me is not unreasonable. I can only urge you to understand that I was
never led by my own hopes and fears. I truly believed your sister indifferent,
not because I wished it.
Charles left, as I think you recall, with every intention of returning soon
after. His sisters’ uneasiness had been equally excited with my own; their own
discomforts of your mother’s family, though objectionable, was possible to
overlook. However their favouritism for propriety was too often trampled upon
by your younger sisters, and occasionally even by your father.
I beg you, pardon me. It pains me to offend you.
Our similarities of feeling were soon discovered and, I now realize, induced a
harmful chain reaction. Retrospectively speaking, there was no time to be lost
in detaching their brother, and we shortly resolved on joining him directly in
London. There I engaged him in such a discussion, pointing out certain aspects
of the match like thorns turned against the rose. Please take it as testament
of Charles’ character that I would not have delayed his return to Netherfield
in the slightest had I not finished with the topic of Jane’s indifference. Only
once convinced he would be returning to nothing did Charles give her up.
I must confess to not wearing blame for having done this much, but there is one
part in the whole affair I do reflect on with shame, for it involves my lying
to you. I did know your sister was in London, for Miss Bingley did meet with
her and was certainly concerned for her brother’s discovering as much. I kept
him ignorant that she was nearby and so returned the whole to Pemberley where
we remained for a brief time. Perhaps this concealment was beneath me, but it
is done, and it was done in only good intentions. If I have wounded your
sister’s feelings, it was unknowingly done and certainly unintentional.
With respect to the other, more excruciating accusation to my person, that
involving Mr. Wickham, I can only refute it by laying before you the whole of
his connection with my family. Of what he has particularly accused me, I am
ignorant, but of the truth I can summon more than one witness of utmost
veracity; namely the good Colonel, whose character I know you enjoy and trust.
Mr. Wickham is the son of a respectable man who had for many years the
management of all the Pemberley estates. His good conduct and trust naturally
inclined my father to be of service to him as well as George Wickham, who was
his godson. His kindness was therefore liberally bestowed without complaint or
argument. My father supported him at school and afterwards at Cambridge; a most
important assistance, as his own father, always poor from the extravagances of
his wife, was unable to give him a gentleman’s education.
My father was not only fond of young Wickham’s society, as you know whose
manners were always engaging, he had also the highest opinion of him. He had
expected and hoped the church would be his profession, intending to provide for
him everything he would need in that regard. As for myself, it has been many,
many years since I first began to think of him in a different manner.
Wickham inherited nothing so strongly as his mother’s taste for extravagance,
and with my place as a young man of similar age, I had opportunities of seeing
him in unguarded moments, which my father did not.
My father died about five years ago. His attachment to Mr. Wickham was to the
end steadfast, so much so that he included particulars in his will. My father
trusted me to promote Wickham’s in the best manner that his profession might
allow, and that a valuable family living might be his as soon as he was granted
a church over which to operate. Included in this was a legacy of one thousand
pounds.
His own father did not outlast mine, and he did not have anything of
significance to impart to his son, but Wickham wrote to me within half a year
that he had resolved against joining the church. He mentioned some intention of
studying law instead, and thusly the one thousand pounds would be insufficient
to support his pursuit of such a career. I cannot say I was surprised; as I
said, I was the one to witness…unguarded actions which would be incredulous if
they led to a life within the church. I also cannot say that I believed him to
be sincere, but regardless I followed through in my promise to my father and
granted him three thousand pounds.
My suspicions were quickly confirmed. All connections to my family dissolved
entirely, and I easily learned that his being in town to study law was but a
pretense. Being now free from all restraint, his life was one of idleness and
squandering, until such invisible tethers tightened upon him once more. The
money was gone within three years, during which I heard little to nothing from
him.
Afterward, he applied to me by letter. His circumstances, he assured me, which
this time I had no difficulty in believing, were exceedingly bad. He had found
law a most unprofitable study, and was now absolutely resolved on being
ordained, if I would but present him to the living he was granted by my father.
You may find it surprising, since knowing my own income, that I kept a close
watch over the three thousand pounds. I was not inspired to grant him his
demands. I am sure his resentment was in proportion to the distress of his
circumstances, and afterward dictated his actions.
I must now come to a part which I would wish to forget forevermore, much less
to unfold to another human being. However, simply, I trust you, as you trusted
me.
My sister, who is more than ten years my junior, was left in the guardianship
of myself and my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam. I do not know in what
circumstances Wickham lived after my refusing his demands, but about a year
ago, my sister vanished from her schooling. She had been established in London,
where she possibly encountered Wickham or vice versa, and then went with a lady
who was to be her personal mentor and teacher. Thither too, went Wickham, as we
were to discover. Whatever his living circumstances, his charm never tarnished,
and thus he led my sister’s governess quite by the nose, and in any direction
he liked. Through this connection he established a relationship with my sister,
whose affectionate heart retained a strong impression of his kindness to her as
a child.
She was thoroughly persuaded to believe herself in love, and consented to elope
with him. As you know of the naïve and sensitive age of fifteen, as well as the
knowledge and bond shared between close siblings, I managed to make out her
behaviour…but was too late. I caught up with them a day or two after the
elopement. The only gratitude I can impart to Wickham is his respect for my
sister’s apprehension and her own knowledge regarding the female body. Our own
mother never fully recovered from Georgiana’s birth, despite being of an
appropriately advanced age, and passed when my sister was but three years old.
Nevertheless you can imagine what I felt and how I acted. Upon my entrance to
where my sister, her governess, and Wickham were staying, he flew from the
place immediately. I cannot deny he was wise in that decision. The governess
was of course removed permanently from her position, and Georgiana was
distraught for months afterward for offending my trust and our family’s honour.
Wickham’s chief object was obviously my sister’s fortune, which is thirty
thousand pounds, but I cannot help supposing that the hope of avenging himself
on me was a strong incentive. His revenge would have been complete indeed.
And so, this is the faithful narrative of the events in which we have been
concerned together. Know that I do not blame you for misunderstanding Wickham’s
version, nor your own misreading of me. Any effort on your part to make
inquiries upon the subject would been deemed inappropriate, intrusive, and met
with avoidance or even lies, to preserve the secret. I am only sorry my
character had to be explained in this way, and only after such force of events.
I do hope you will acquit me of cruelty toward Wickham. You, more than anyone
else, can understand my fealty to my sister, and how the violence of our love
can astonish us.
As for you and your sister, pain is the last sensation I would ever wish upon
either of you. When I told you that you had misunderstood me, James, I had
asked about your own fantasies. Your intentions, your desires, I wanted to know
everything you wished to feel so that I might endeavour to grant them to you,
to share them with you…but I get away from myself. This letter has grown long
enough and I must prepare for the carriage. I hope its reaching you does not
incur further disdain of me.
I think you perfectly deserving of all the happiness in the world.
William Darcy
***** Rejuvination *****
Chapter Summary
     James' time at Hunsford comes to a close.
Chapter Notes
     I'm sorry for the slow updates, lovelies. It's my last semester of
     college and I'm already cheating death by giving you this lol
See the end of the chapter for more notes
“Lizzy?”
Charlotte’s voice was soft yet earnest. James could not tell how long she had
been there. He had finished the letter and had gotten lost somewhere in his
second reading, his eyes aching and seeing nothing.
“Wretchedly blind,” he said but his voice failed him, hoarse and ragged as it
was.
“What?” she asked, her hands curving over his around the letter.
He shook his head as thick tears slid free of his eyes. “How despicable am I.”
“Of all the souls in this world, yours is the last I would declare despicable,”
Charlotte scolded. “What’s happened?”
James sniffled as he slowly shook his head. “A just humiliation. I’m absolutely
ashamed of myself.”
Charlotte’s thumbs brushed the tears from his face, a palm coming to hold his
cheek. “Does this have to do with Lord Darcy?”
James swallowed thickly. “It’s my own wronging of him. It’s Jane’s happiness
being destroyed by her own relations.”
Charlotte sighed. “You always did inflict self punishment to an absurd degree.
There isn’t a thing you could do to halt Jane’s devotion to you.”
James’ face once more moved from side to side. “Everything I’ve thought…has
been wrong.”
Charlotte listened patiently as he relayed an abridged version of the letter to
her, leaving out Darcy’s sister and his confession. “My aunt was right and I
outright refused to agree with her suspicions. Wickham was leaving so I hadn’t
cared what his abrupt liking for Miss King was; that his placing himself in my
home was just his desire for a hot meal and my company, not an investigation of
my sisters and wealth.”
“Refrain from doing this to yourself,” Charlotte mildly chided. “Wickham may
have very much relished your company during his scheme. You needn’t degrade
yourself for being charmed by a scoundrel.”
“It is what I deserve,” James quietly disagreed. “I’ve been so cruel to Darcy.”
“Upon justifiable reasons,” Charlotte proffered. “He did in fact act in Jane
and Bingley’s separation, but it seems you’ve reached…something of an
understanding for one another. And I do think it is quite time you returned to
Longbourn.”
He nodded weakly. “I can’t but agree.”
“For entirely different reasons than you’re thinking, you beautiful idiot,” she
remarked, pinching his nose to wag his head from side to side. “You need Jane’s
company and your father’s. You are never unwelcome here; but I am under no
illusion that your heart can heal in a place which isn’t home.”
He swallowed again, nodding with more confidence while she combed her fingers
through his hair, rearranging it into something that had not just rolled out of
bed as the front gate clattered shut. Mr. Collins was returning to the house,
appearing highly pleased with himself.
“I’ve just come from Rosings! The two gentlemen have taken their leave and I
was most graciously allowed to impart my well wishes for their travel. It was
most fortunate I made a point to visit as I could console Lady Catherine and
her daughter, who do so exceedingly feel the loss of company.”
A grimace slowly contorted James’ features as he watched the man stroll his way
into his house. “What must it be like? Living so blissfully in ignorance?”
“Not unlike a bee bumping against a stag's arse in a field of wildflowers,”
Charlotte remarked as she held the blanket around him so he could come down
from the fence. Mr. Collins’s joviality was only stymied by their announcement
of James’ leaving. They had once more been invited to dine at Rosings, but
James could not say he was sorry to miss it.
Knowing her ladyship would insist upon Marie having a chaperone for her own
departure, it was then decided she would join him. Marie seemed hardly bothered
to leave early and by midday they were packed and approaching the carriage.
Charlotte embraced him for a long moment before it was her husband’s turn to
shake his hand.
“I do not know, cousin, if it has yet been expressed, but the favour of your
company has been much felt. We know how little there is to tempt anyone to our
humble abode. Our plain manner of living, our small rooms and few domestics,
and the little we see of the world, must make Hunsford extremely dull to a
young man like yourself. I hope you will believe us grateful of your joining
us, and that we have done everything in our power to prevent your spending your
time unpleasantly.”
James’ brows lifted somewhat, undeniably impressed. Mr. Collins’s statement was
so contrary to the first boastings they had first heard of his Rosings
settlement. James considered how even Mr. Collins had room for growth—
“We have certainly done our best and most fortunately have it in our power to
introduce you to very superior society, and from our connection with Rosings,
the frequent means of varying the humble home scene, I think we may flatter
ourselves that your Hunsford visit cannot have been entirely irksome…”
Growth in millimeters, James rewrote, while Mr. Collins went on until he was
satisfied.
Marie entered the carriage first, where she waited with his feline ward. As the
door closed and their journey rocked into motion, she exhaled, “Good gracious!
It seems but a day or two since we first came and yet how many things have
happened!”
He hummed a sound of acknowledgment but it lacked her spirit. “A great many
indeed.”
From thereon their journey was performed without much conversation, and they
arrived within hours at the Gardiner’s home. As they had left so soon, there
was no time for a letter to arrive announcing them. Regardless, Jane opened the
door as if she had been sitting at a window and embraced Jamie when he was
barely through the door.
She looked well, her demeanor only altered by her brother’s spirits. She locked
eyes with him briefly during the commotion of their arrival in the cramped
foyer, but she waited until after dinner and they were retiring for sleep to
ask him what was wrong.
James only shook his head as he dragged his shirt over his head. And then he
paused. The morning of travel and afternoon of rambunctious family distorted
time, but he realized he still had Darcy’s kiss on his lips. His confession
felt a month in the past, but his kiss reemerged, fresh and powerful across
Jamie’s lips, so he stood in silence, holding his shirt to his chest.
His head jerked toward the sound from the bed, and the ginger head staring back
at him. Jane was watching him, but said nothing as he extended an arm to cradle
the purring head before it lifted its front paws onto his forearm so his
fingers tickled that soft white chest. “I ought to call you ‘Darcy’. You barge
right into my time and thoughts…”
The sheets rustled under Jane’s nightgown as she pulled her knees to her chest,
watching him contemplatively. He glanced at her and met her eyes, but she
simply pressed her lips together in a small, patient smile, waiting for him. He
stripped his trousers so he unfolded himself under the covers. Wiggling his
fingers, the kitten waddled and pounced, playing on its side and gnawing on his
fingers when he stroked its chest and blinking slowly at Jane as she scratched
along its forehead.
“Lord Darcy was at Rosings,” he eventually murmured. He could feel Jane’s eyes
on him but he had already written this detail to her in their letters.
“He…changed my thoughts on Mr. Wickham.”
Tears leaked of their own volition into his pillow. Jane’s lips parted, her
legs finding his under the covers. He swallowed and sniffed before he continued
the rest of the tale, only leaving out Darcy’s involvement with Bingley.
“So our aunt’s suspicions were correct,” she said softly.
“Ugh!” he breathed. “Don’t tell her, she’ll be insufferable.”
Jane smiled. “You leave me and go and get heartbroken twice, Jamie.”
"You have to have a heart for it to break."
One of her brows lifted. "You have one of those, I'm afraid. A rather large
one."
It ached in his chest, and his eyes pressed shut. Hearing someone else say it
aloud… “Do I love him, Jane?”
“Wickham, no. But Darcy...I’d have to say so. Curious, but we don’t choose
these things, do we.”
His eyes opened, a fresh stream of tears soaking into his pillow. His sister
was blurry beside him, but her voice was calm, reassuring, and faintly content.
“And so we go on.”
He sniffled as he met her gaze and loosely laced their fingers together. “We go
on.”
*******
It was some days before they left Gracechurch street, as their aunt wanted time
for a letter announcing them to reach Longbourn. The time spent in London was a
welcome reprieve; the hustle and bustle shaking free James’ woes before he
returned to the quietude of Longbourn and the familiar noise of his family.
On the day they left and reached the inn that marked two-thirds of their
journey done, it was initially a lovely surprise to find Kitty and Lydia waving
at them from the inn’s dining room window. They fluttered down the stairs to
greet their siblings, Lydia informing them that lunch was already being served
while she gave fleeting kisses on their cheeks. Kitty hugged James’ middle for
a longer moment, her eyes closed as he kissed the top of her head and held her
hand on their way up the stairs.
On the table were already cold meats and a cucumber salad. Lydia flung her arm
out in gesture, “Is this not nice? We wanted to treat you both—but you must
lend us the money, for we have just spent ours at the shop out there. See our
purchases!”
James and Jane exchanged silent glances while Lydia unpacked her triumphs.
James met Kitty’s eyes across the table, her own visage somewhat apologetic yet
she was as rosy cheeked as Lydia.
“Look here, I have bought this bonnet, though I do not think it is pretty. I
plan to dismember it as soon as I get home to see if I can make it back up any
better.”
Jane’s gaze was deadpan while James outright balked, “You wasted money on
something you admit you wouldn’t use otherwise?”
“Oh, but there were two or three much uglier in the shop! And I have bought
good satin along with it; I think it will be very tolerable. Oh! But I do have
some news! Or did you already hear about Wickham and Miss King?”
The elder siblings collectively sighed, jaded as their waiter returned to
refill glasses and the table fell silent until he had gone. “What, you thought
the waiter must not hear? As if he cared! I dare say he often hears worse
things than I am going to say—but he is an ugly fellow. I am glad he is gone; I
never saw such a long chin in my life.”
“Because you’ve seen so many chins,” James snapped dryly.
“Oh fine,” Lydia remarked, “but is it not well and good that that intrigue has
passed? Wickham is safe! Though I do miss his presence since he has been moved
to Brighton.”
“Safe too, is Mary King,” James finished.
Lydia ignored this and continued, “She is a great fool for not putting forth
more of an effort if she liked him.”
Jane remarked, “I hope there was no strong attachment on either side.”
“I am sure there was not on his. I will answer for it he never cared three
straws about her. How could he about such a nasty little freckled thing?”
James could tell what expression he wore due to Kitty’s reaction of it across
from him. He caught the waiter’s arm in passing and apologized crisply, “I am
so sorry. We haven’t money to pay for this. You will have to return it to the
kitchen.”
“What?” Lydia blurted.
James never looked away from the anxious waiter. “We have been traveling and
only have enough for our last carriage. My youngest sibling seems to have spent
their last coins on meaningless things. I am so sorry for having bothered you.”
“Lizzy!” Lydia hissed as he stood from the table. Jane smoothly joined him
alongside Maria. Kitty hesitated only briefly before Lydia realized she could
very realistically be left at the table.
She was either incredibly forgiving or it was a testament of how her thoughts
moved as they piled into the carriage and she said, “Well, let us be quite
comfortable and snug, and talk and laugh all the way home. Regarding Brighton,
I do so want papa to take us all there for the summer! It would be such a
delicious scheme, but in the first place, let us hear what has happened to you
all. Kitty and I have spent a good number of evenings with Mrs. Forster and her
husband, the Colonel; I do say she considers me her very best friend! And the
mischief we have gotten up to with their lingering regimental friends during
dinner—Have you seen any pleasant men? Have you had any flirting? Being in
London, I was in great hopes you would have got a husband. Jane, you will be an
old maid soon—”
James made a point to target Kitty’s ticklish ribcage, her gleeful shriek
slicing through Lydia’s ranting.
Their reception at home was most kind and welcoming. Mrs. Bennet rejoiced to
see Jane in undiminished beauty, cupping her face in their small foyer. “Ohho!
My darling, you’re prettier every day! Or since I have not seen you, I must
have forgotten, but how terrible a mother that would make me.”
Mr. Bennet silently appeared in the doorway, but his warm smile gave him away
as he gazed at his children. His arm opened for James to collapse against him,
quickly followed by Jane, then Kitty and Lydia. Once dinner arrived he
absentmindedly raked his hand through his son’s hair, and then later voiced, “I
am glad you are back, Lizzy.”
But it was not solely a Bennet affair, as the herd of Lucases had come to meet
Maria, who had only parted with the Bennets upon reaching Meryton. The families
packed into the Bennets’ modest but sizable dining room to hear all the news
regarding the Collinses, the de Bourghs, and anything else that would elicit
great merriment. Mrs. Bennet was eager for Jane’s retelling of London’s
fashions, while Lydia’s loud voice hailed anyone who would hear her.
“Mary, I wish you had come with us. As we went along, Kitty and me drew up the
blinds and pretended there was nobody in the coach. I should have gone so all
the way, if Kitty had not been sick, and when we got to the inn, I do think we
behaved very handsomely, for we treated the other three to the nicest luncheon
in the world.”
“It wasn’t. And they didn’t,” James undermined, but only for his father’s ears.
Mr. Bennet chuckled over his glass of wine but had nothing to say on it.
“And then when we came away it was such fun! I was ready to die of laughter,
and then we were so merry all the way home, so loud that anybody might have
heard us ten miles off!”
Mary, however, voiced, “Far be it from me to depreciate such pleasures. They
would doubtless be congenial with the generality of female minds. But I confess
they would have no charms for me. I should infinitely prefer a book.”
Lydia typically listened to nobody for more than half a minute but her jaw
thoroughly dropped when Mary added in afterthought, “I can’t much see the
appeal of pretending to not exist. No one much cares about an empty carriage
passing by. And this reminds me of something I once heard some of the
regimental gentlemen say…about the…they called it the ‘female caterwauling,’ I
think. They seemed rather displeased by it.”
James snorted on his wine and coughed for several minutes while his father pat
him on the back, his own smile never diminishing.
*******
The first week of their return was soon gone, and James found himself seated
with his mother in her parlour, having gone there for the morning light and she
to speak with him.
“Well, Lizzy,” she began as she sorted through sprigs of lavender and mugwort
beside him. “What is your opinion now of this sad business of Jane’s? For my
part, I am determined never to speak of it again to anybody, but I cannot find
out whether Jane saw anything of him in London.”
“She did not. She saw Caroline, but was not wholly received with enthusiasm.”
His mother’s lips parted at this treatment before her features hardened. “Well.
They are certainly undeserving young folk. I do not suppose there is the least
chance of her getting him now. There is no talk of him or anyone coming to
Netherfield in the summer. I have enquired everybody who is likely to know.”
“I do not believe he will ever live at Netherfield again,” James confirmed.
She sighed, waving a purple strand under her nose. “Ah, it is just as he
chooses. Nobody wants him to come anyhow, though I shall always say that he
used my daughter extremely ill. I did not expect that of him. Of others, of
course. Well…hm. But Mr. Bingley did present himself too well. I am beginning
to feel melancholic at the idea that Jane may very well die of a broken heart.
She has the warmth of first attachment, but given her age and disposition, her
love of him has a greater steadiness than first infatuations usually boast.”
“She is stronger than that,” James said hopefully.
His mother’s lavender paused as if she had been lost in her own thoughts before
she heard his. He felt her soft, weathered hand cup his face, her thumb
stroking along his eye. “The Bingleys may certainly be sorry for what they have
done. They would have made a wonderful lady out of Jane, and she a wonderful
family out of them; and so too might you have had Bingley’s companionship and
an easy means of travel. You always did relish explorations.”
“I do not intend to leave Longbourn, mama,” he countered gently. “This is my
home and my inheritance. I won’t abandon it.”
She pushed his silky, roguish hair behind his ear. “You would certainly never
hear the end of it from me. This reminds me, I suppose the Collinses live
comfortably, do they? If Charlotte is half as sharp as her mother, she is an
excellent manager.”
James could not help but smile as he confirmed, “She is, of course.”
“And how was that Catherine de Bourgh? Goodness knows I feel as though I have
already met and dined and argued with the woman.”
James laughed, “She is indeed a lady to the tips of her nails, but I shudder to
think how you would put her in a place of subordination if she ever crossed
your path untowardly.”
Mrs. Bennet held her chin a little higher at that.
*******
The Brighton scheme certainly lingered in Lydia’s conversation, for she seemed
constantly determined to keep it in people’s minds until she received the
answer she liked. James was pleased for his father’s casual refusal to humour
such desires, and then further his outright refusal of the trip.
“If one could but go to Brighton!” Lydia lamented. “The sea air would cleanse
our spirits; never mind the regiments there! But papa is so disagreeable.”
James had no qualms or reservations in rolling his eyes but he went ignored
while his mother and Kitty wholeheartedly agreed.
“A little sea-bathing would se me up forever,” Kitty mused wistfully, having
never seen more than Longbourn’s streams.
Although the house’s normal amount of noise reached a new pitch in the form of
Kitty slamming a door for possibly the first time in her life. James and Jane
stared at their sister, so long aspiring toward Lydia’s likeness in behaviour
and looks, however she now stormed through the house looking far more like a
version of her mother’s rage and her own person. “What on earth’s happened?”
Jane murmured worriedly.
The news would have come from their father, who arrived in the room looking
most jaded and annoyed, however Lydia was all but singing through the walls as
she swung into the room and announced, “Mrs. Forster’s invited me to Brighton!”
“Who?” James uttered dumbly with a look to Jane, who appeared apprehensive.
“Colonel Forster’s wife!” Lydia exclaimed.
James frowned as his father landed in the chair beside him. “You mean the bloke
you harped about before the Netherfield ball? He was single, then.”
“He’s married now!” she chimed, “and these three months have been splendid!”
James was thoroughly perplexed now as he squinted at Jane. “Were we gone three
months?”
She shook her head as their father’s baritone softly intervened, “The overly
similar Mrs. Forster has shared dear Lydia’s time these past several weeks.
They are…remarkable in likeness.”
Mrs. Bennet perked up from where she sat by the window. “That sounds,
marvelous, darling! The cards seem to have been dealt in your favour!”
Lydia certain knew it, as her ecstasy demanded everyone’s congratulations,
whereas the luckless Kitty eventually entered with such a complexion that her
elder siblings knew she had been crying and was on the verge of doing so again.
Lydia was wholly inattentive to her feelings.
“I cannot see why Mrs. Forster should not ask me as well as Lydia,” she
interrupted the noise of the room. “I have just as much right to be asked as
she has. She’s asked me to everything alongside Lydia and I-I am older!”
James’ heart both swelled and ached for her; the amount of bravery Kitty needed
to finally step aside and in front of Lydia was monumental, but Lydia was still
the louder of the two.
“There is a difference in being older and favourite,” Lydia countered smugly.
Enraged and betrayed, Kitty left the room with Jane rushing after her. Mrs.
Bennet practiced some sort of damage control by ushering Lydia outside so at
least the trees could listen to her celebration. James, however, turned toward
his father. “You cannot possibly be thinking of letting her go with that
woman.”
Mr. Bennet was rubbing his temple. “Lydia will never rest easy until she has
exposed herself in some public place or other. We can never expect her to do it
with so little expense or inconvenience to her family as under the present
circumstances.”
There were very few occasions James was disappointed in his father, but his
lackluster performance over Lydia was one of them. “She will not be satisfied
even if she does! The better to keep her here or somewhere with proper company!
Insist she take Kitty! Or Jane! Or that she does not go at all! Married or not,
a second Lydia will only catalyze her ruin.”
Mr. Bennet’s eyes were tired and apologetic. “And we shall never have peace at
Longbourn if she does not go.”
James was flabbergasted. “You’re…you’ve given up on her.”
“Not at all. I daresay Colonel Forster is a sensible man. He did not marry our
Lydia after all, but an older and wealthier one. Being so positioned in his
rank, he can be counted upon to make sure Lydia does not fall to ruin, for that
will reflect badly on him, his wife, and all those under his leadership. Lydia
is certainly too poor to be given too much attention.”
“You know that hardly matters to certain people,” James uttered darkly. “Think
of Kitty, then. Lydia, who will be declared the most lascivious flirt that ever
made her and her family ridiculous, could very well ruin more than herself.
Lydia has already marked the pair of them with her own wild volatility and the
disdain of all restraint. If this is what it takes to shut Lydia up then Kitty
does not deserve it.”
“On the contrary, I find that this separation of the two may very well work
toward young Katherine’s favour, though I may be the only one who sees it.”
The chair legs creaked as he stood. “At any rate, Lydia cannot grow many
degrees worse, without authorizing us to lock her up for the rest of her life.”
*******
And so May arrived, but with it came the surprise of Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner and
their troupe of young ones. Lydia had been insufferable and Kitty sinking lower
than any of them had ever seen her. So dark were her eyes and the surrounding
skin that even her uncle remarked, “Good heavens, child, whatever has been done
to you?”
Lydia had merely overlapped any chance at a response with her accounts of Mrs.
Forster’s invitation and her endless attempts at packing. “England’s springs
are so long! I find myself packing and unpacking at least thrice a day! I
haven’t much time left to make up my mind!”
Mrs. Gardener, however, was wholly uninterested as she drew James aside and
said, “And what of your own packing, hm? Are you ready?”
“This is earlier than I expected,” he admitted, and then it occurred to him.
“Aunt…could I impose on you?”
She frowned, “I do not grasp your meaning.”
He retraced their steps so his aunt could peek at the rest of the family in the
parlour. “Kitty has been like this since we returned from London, since the
plans were arranged for Lydia to go to Brighton.”
“A blight of jealousy, then. What am I to do for a child’s envy?”
“Can she come with us?” he said plainly. He had certainly caught his aunt off
guard, and before she could process her own surprise he assured, “Kitty very
much reflects whosever company she is with. I assure you, with Lydia gone,
Kitty is remarkably intelligent and well-spoken.”
His aunt’s brows lifted. “That’s quite a claim, considering I have never seen
such a display.”
“Because you have never seen the two apart. Kitty is her own woman, but she has
never been allowed to prove it.”
“Nonsense. She’s never grasped the opportunity,” she countered.
“I am sure if you approach the subject with her, she will be most receptive of
joining us. Not to mention,” he pointed at the crowd of children around Jane,
on whose lap a tail moved, “that furry thing is my charge at the moment. I
would be glad to have a bit of help while Jane is otherwise watching your
children.”
His aunt was thoroughly dumbfounded. “You’re bringing a cat? It looks
neonatal.”
“Not as young as that but just about,” he confirmed.
Mrs. Gardiner stared at him as if waiting for this to be a jape. She huffed, “I
don’t suppose you can leave the creature behind?”
“No one in this house could be bothered to stop Lydia’s going to Brighton. I am
not counting on them to take care of my charge.”
Mrs. Gardiner appeared annoyed and resigned, but not unhappy. She went forth
into the room and sat next to Kitty, who looked every bit like she had never
anticipated having her aunt’s attentions trained on her.
James went to his room to begin packing, as his relations wished to leave no
later than the morrow’s afternoon. Lydia’s own prattling echoed in his mind as
he too wondered what ratio of winter, spring, and summer raiment was
appropriate for the three weeks or so they would be gone—
“Lizzy,” said a small voice in the doorway. He turned to face Kitty. She looked
haggard, but something in her eyes had lifted. “Can I really come?”
His expression opened innocently. “I’m not paying for this venture. Has aunt
invited you? Very good, then.”
He turned back to plop his undergarments into the trunk—
Arms slid around him as Kitty pressed herself to his back. James turned in her
embrace to hold her and kiss her head. “It’s not Brighton, but…” he said to her
hair.
“I don’t care,” she mumbled into his shirt.
*******
His uncle caught up to him while he was in the kitchen with Kitty; she was
sitting on the island counter with cold water and lemon as well as a pastry he
had made for her while packing various jars and bundles of dried herbs. The
effect of the coming trip and her brother’s attentions were slowly but
thoroughly rejuvenating her.
“Has my other half told you of the change of plans?”
James looked at him. “Regarding the trip?”
“Yes, our original intent to tour the Lakes has been changed. You see, we are
here early because otherwise my work would have put the trip off until July,
however at this time the Lakes are unbearably cold and windy. Not to worry, I
am sure we’ll happen across a good number of natural streams and brooks, as we
will be wandering a great deal through Derbyshire.”
Kitty looked at James, whose knife slipped on the wooden board. “Derby-where?”
His uncle looked puzzled at his reaction. “Derbyshire, of course. Your aunt
grew up there, you know, and it is a place many of your own acquaintances have
originated. Goodness, I have heard enough of Lydia go on and on about that
Wickham fellow; I should think you too would like to see what sort of place
makes his stock.”
“Absolutely not,” James blurted.
His uncle was unperturbed. “Nevertheless, your aunt is terribly fond of the
place, and I cannot deny its beauty. Have you all packed, Kitty, dear? Be sure
you have proper boots, as the rainy season is likely to ruin a wheel or two,
and we will be forced to walk some distances.”
He left the kitchen humming to himself, leaving James in mortification. Kitty’s
feet swung lethargically as she said, “At least with the rain I won’t have to
make any excuse for my curls.”
And so to Derbyshire, they were to go.
Chapter End Notes
     And now we will be in Volume 3 ~ Soooooo...yeah. This is where things
     get even more different from canon haha Please trust me <3
***** Pemberley *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
“When I requested peace in this house, I did not mean for half of its
inhabitants to fly off,” Mr. Bennet declared indignantly while their carriage
was being packed. James and Jane had already said their goodbyes; the latter
was doing the kindness of distracting Lydia and young Gardiners elsewhere. He
and Kitty both looked up at their father with mixtures of humour and apology.
“Are you not pleased to spend time with your nieces and nephews?” James
accused.
Mr. Bennet uttered a gruff sigh as he looked elsewhere, jaded by things not
going his way. James felt his jaw on top of his head, though, when he embraced
him, and then Kitty landed beside him. “Will you miss us, papa?”
“I am trading two of my own for twenty of someone else’s,” he complained. “This
is hardly a fair deal.”
Kitty giggled, “There aren’t that many!”
“Hard to tell when they all talk at once,” James sympathized. The three of them
separated for Mr. Bennet to shake his brother-in-law’s hand.
“I’ll have them back to you in one piece, not to worry,” their uncle chuckled.
“I’ll thank you for it with a meal upon your return,” Mr. Bennet nodded.
“Speaking of, my offspring tend to be particularly energetic in the evenings,
so plan their supper right before bed. They fade soon after. Otherwise, you’ll
find yourself woken up most rudely before dawn.”
That reminded James of the small one he was bringing with them on this journey.
He handed the kitten into the carriage for Kitty to hold while he sat with
their driver for fresh air. He looked back at the lane infrequently used by
carriages before it turned out of sight of their home. Mr. Bennet noticed and
raised his arm for a final wave, which James returned.
James had not spoken to Kitty of his reservations about entering the county he
had heard so much about. He consoled himself by reassuring that their travels
would take them quite a distance around Derbyshire before they entered it, and
then even, the residents were not alerted every time travelers passed through.
It was also extremely unlikely a certain family were even home, so much time
did they seem to spend in London.
This tactic was largely successful as they met their first natural wonder: a
lush stone bridge blooming with moss, and the trees around filled with
blossoms. It looked ancient, and despite its architects making something
everlasting, the latest frost had worn into the stone like sharp pockmarks,
resulting in their first delay. It was nothing more than a fractured spoke in
one of their wheels, easy enough to repair, but the time was well spent sitting
on the raised sides of the bridge or skipping stones over the tranquil waters
passing underneath it.
Only once did their aunt scold them. “Kitty, are you not concerned for stains
on your dress?” she voiced as the Bennets ate lunch.
James’ mouth was fully but Kitty remarked, “I don’t care much what happens to
Lydia’s dress.”
He coughed on his food, laughing after he managed to swallow. Mrs. Gardiner
frowned, “Do not encourage vindictiveness, James.”
“It is hardly my fault if cleverness is used for evil,” he defended as he
examined her dress. “You finally learned how to fix hems.”
“I can’t ask you to adjust everything for me,” she defended, “especially after
it became apparent I had stopped growing but Lydia had not.”
“Do you even like the same colours?” he queried, “Or were you just intent on
sharing everything?”
“I like the colours,” she admitted. “I look better in them than Lydia.”
James guffawed, his crossed feet dangling contently above the water. “Why on
earth would you ever hide this personality behind Lydia?”
Kitty grew solemn. “Because people like Lydia.”
He looked at her. “They’d like you too.”
When she appeared doubtful and let her chin drop, he leaned abruptly to bump
her shoulder. She shoved him back as their driver announced the wheel fixed.
Kitty visibly hesitated in getting back in the carriage, and asked when James
voiced his concern, “Could I perhaps sit with the driver?”
He did not mind at all, and when they arrived at their first stop, Oxford, he
helped her hop down from the seat, looking red cheeked and bright eyed. “That
was wonderful!” Kitty bloomed as he curled her arm with his and guided her into
their hotel for dinner, listening to her chatter.
“Our driver’s father is French and he is bilingual! He taught me how to ask for
bread and cheese as if I were in France! Oh Jamie, would you ever go there? You
wouldn’t go without me, surely?”
“Let us hope you would not discover seas sickness,” he chuckled.
“Let us just hope the rain finishes this night, let alone more water,” their
aunt intercepted as the putter of rain sang through the rafters over their
heads.
Their uncle settled down with a bottle of wine and glasses. James poured for
Kitty after a splash of water diluted her cup while their uncle said, “You
know, I cannot care much for Paris. All those narrow, crowded
streets—overcrowding is becoming quite the issue there, you know. You take a
turn down a lane and suddenly you’re lost, mugged, can’t remember the smell of
anything which isn’t a horse carcass.”
Kitty looked ghastly. She slowly set her wine down. Mrs. Gardiner laughed,
“Take care, dear, the same has been said about our London but we make do
perfectly well. Your uncle is just too English to receive other cities.”
The final dregs of the storm lingered in the morning but for the most part
Oxford was theirs the following day. James could not say he cared for the town
much; a place of collegiate learning and professional interest, it was
certainly a stop catering to Mr. Gardiner, but he and Kitty enjoyed their
explorations until their journey continued the following day to Blenheim and
then Warwick.
James could by no means claim to be a horseman, but their hosts arranged for
the next three stops, as they were so near each other, to be attained on
horseback while their luggage went ahead in a carriage. A stableman assisted
Kitty to climb behind James in the saddle and she chatted excitedly during
their lap of Blenheim before they continued on to Warwick.
Lush with spring, the village was decorated with medieval architecture and
spacious greens. All of it was easily visible in an afternoon, however
Birmingham was their next stop and it provided quite a contrast.
Like a smaller London without the rush for modernity, Birmingham was
simultaneously urban yet rural. Kitty much more preferred the variety of shops
and proved far more frugal with James holding her purse and their aunt guiding
her fashion tastes.
James kept his preference for London to himself as he strolled along the
avenues. A few start-up industries smeared the roads with black and perfumed
the air with coal or less identifiable elements, but where the city was yet
untouched, it was clean and spacious. He particularly liked walking along a
narrow part of the river. It was more like a canal as people traversed along
both sides of it or stopped to scoop water to clean their faces.
They quickly moved on, however, traveling ever further north. This was James’
favorite part. Though the hubs of humanity were lively and quaint, the smell of
the trees in spring, and the wet crush of petals underneath his feet could not
be overcome. He enjoyed the humidity which curled Kitty’s hair into frizzy
ringlets and his own into mussed waves. He enjoyed walking along pebbled
riverbanks and picking leaves out of Kitty’s hair; he had previously only
shared such experiences with Jane, so quickly had Lydia’s interests stolen
Kitty from her elder siblings.
However the destination could not be avoided and quite snuck up on James, as he
did not realize they were in Derbyshire until their aunt began pointing out
natural landmarks. James quickly evaluated with no small amount of annoyance
and shame, that the area was beautiful. By far the most lovely they had yet
seen. Rolling hills guided them into the county of stone cottages tucked within
gardens and groves. It did remind him a bit of Hunsford in regard to the upkeep
of the homes and vast grounds and fields, but there was a warmth here Hunsford
did not have. People waved to them as they rolled into town; more than one
person from their inn emerged to assist with their bags. For all of Lady
Catherine’s righteous charity, these people seemed to do it freely and happily,
without obligation or forced hospitality.
The Gardiners settled in for the afternoon, but James agreed to stroll through
the town with Kitty. They could not make it twenty paces without someone
calling “Afternoon!” or asking how they liked Derbyshire, or stopping them
altogether for conversation. He and Kitty only made it down the street where a
kind older woman let James use her garden to play with and feed his cat.
‘Oho! Please, come in! Use the garden however you like! Oh, what’s his name?”
she asked cheerily.
“I don’t think you ever told me his name,” Kitty realized as they passed
through the woman’s gate. “Have you named him?”
James looked embarrassed before he admitted, “Would you think ill of me if I
were to call him ‘Darcy’?”
The woman’s expression went blank for a second before she guffawed, “Not at
all! Oho, very good!”
Word of his ward quickly spread throughout the neighborhood and the evening
became filled with children. The woman was kind enough to host dinner for him
and Kitty while he reminded the children to be gentle and let the cat rest if
he was tired from play.
He carefully lifted the groggy creature from the lap of one of the girls and
promised to be round again the following the evening as they would be in
Derbyshire for the week. The children ran to their homes with this promise and
James slept soundly with it as well, however come the following morning, his
aunt’s intentions quickly evaporated all feelings of rest.
“Surely you don’t mean the house is open for tours?” he blanched over
breakfast.
“Why shouldn’t it be when I spent a number of years with the housekeeper?” Mrs.
Gardiner challenged. “With no residents at home, and ourselves being
respectable, she is happy to host us, and I have the pleasure of meeting a too
long distant friend.”
“I’ve seen enough fine carpets and satin curtains in Netherfield,” he remarked
bitterly, looking down at his eggs and roasted asparagus without appetite.
His aunt harrumphed, “If it were merely a fine house richly furnished, I should
not care about it myself, but the grounds are delightful and Mrs. Reynolds is
loyal to her post and so we must go to her. I doubt you will mind as they have
some of the finest woods in the country.”
Therefore after breakfast they loaded into the inn's modest phaeton and rolled
out of the village into the deeper hills of Derbyshire. James, as they drove
along, watched for the first appearances of Pemberley Woods with some
perturbation and forced calm. Simply put: he felt it an insult to Lord Darcy
for coming here, however as they entered the dark canopied, wild woods
contrasting with trimmed carpets of green fields, he could not deny his
pleasure and curiosity.
James’ spirits fluttered as their driver narrated how they had actually been in
the Park a good while, so large as it was. James’s mind was too full for
conversation, as his gaze was glued to the moss on trees and the silvery-blue
leaves of plants he had never seen. The town was in a lower valley while they
began a steady ascent into the woods and eventually exited from under the
shadow of the canopy to look out over Pemberley House on the other side of the
valley.
“I didn’t realize we were following a river,” Kitty said, and indeed, James’
eyes lowered to the ribbon of water curling back toward town before first
turning a waterwheel and rushing through a line of washing hanging over the
river.
They drove down the hill and crossed the bridge over the river to where the
road arrived at the house: a large, handsome, stone building not unlike the
cottages of the town, however at least thrice as large as the biggest one. The
valley was deceptive depending on which angle you stood. As James set foot on
the pebbled drive, he looked around at the space carved into the valley for
such a residence. He could now see how the house stood upon a raised hillock of
the valley to better look out over the river. If this was the front, he was
curious what the rear gardens were.
James turned back to look up at the house as well as Mrs. Reynolds emerging
from it. A respectable, more elderly woman, she carried herself with the air
that was fitting for one tasked with the upkeep of a Lord’s home, and yet…there
was something remarkably casual about her. As she guided them up the stairs
into the home, James peeked back over the valley, realizing it was the complete
opposite of Lady Catherine’s abode: tucked away from prying eyes instead of
situated high up for everyone to see. Inside was much the same as he met the
eyes of various servants going about their duties: the uniform was certainly of
high quality, but highly customizable.
Mrs. Reynolds led them into the dining parlour first, however the journey to
the room was not without its wonders. After surveying the servants, James’ head
was permanently craned toward the high ceilings; eventually he felt Kitty’s
hands curl around his arm for guidance, as she too gaped at their surroundings.
Chandeliers and wall sconces lined the ceiling and walls of the vast rooms,
however they were unnecessary as tall windows stood between each one, cascading
the ornate floors with natural light. Instead of expensive dark colours, the
place glowed with few, but bright materials. James reckoned the darkest colour
was the black or blue of a servant’s trousers, perhaps the green marble of the
foyer while white or peach marble were dominant everywhere else.
The dining parlour was certainly the room meant to impress: a massive portrait
hung over the fireplace tall enough for Kitty to enter, its frame gilded in
gold. “The late Lord Darcy,” Mrs. Reynolds introduced, “and just opposite him,
his wife, Lady Darcy.”
Kitty and James craned their heads back and forth, looking at the previous
generation of this house. The late Darcy was as tall as his son if his portrait
was to be trusted, along with his similarly dark hair. The Lady Darcy, however,
had given her son most of his traits. Warm eyes and a full mouth, the artist
had done her justice as well as the faintest of smiles; a sense of humour not
lost from her townsfolk.
James was glad when they moved out of the room, for it contrasted with the
luxurious airiness of the rest of the home. He unconsciously stroked between
the ears of the sleeping Darcy in his shirt, glad to have played out his energy
before coming here; Mrs. Reynolds gave his shirt several looks before she was
swept away by her narration of the rooms.
What on earth could he have intended, James wondered silently, by confessing to
me? That I might live here?
James briefly considered asking Mrs. Reynolds where her employer was, but his
courage failed as he thought better of it.
However leave it to his uncle to bring up unwanted inquiries.
James turned his back on the words which left Mr. Gardiner’s mouth, “Where is
the man? I wouldn’t bear to leave such a place for long, nor as frequently as
he does.”
James quickly moved on to the next parlour, a more intimate space with various
portraits and miniatures. He exhaled heavily, not realizing his aunt was beside
him until she asked, “What do you think?”
He looked at her and followed her gaze, with some shock, to the miniature of
none other than George Wickham on the mantelpiece. Mrs. Reynolds had since
followed them in and voiced, “Ah, he is the son of the late Lord’s steward.
Brought up by the Darcys’ own expense, in fact, but I am afraid he has turned
out rather wild.”
His aunt hummed a note of You don’t say? as she met his glare. She was smug. He
moved on.
“And this,” Mrs. Reynolds continued behind him, “is my master.”
James was almost to the next room but his heart froze as he turned back to her.
He realized with some horror that he expected the man himself to be in the
room, but she was only pointing to a different painting lying on the table
between the opposite wall’s windows. They crowded around it while she lifted it
up.
“It is perhaps my favourite, however he stubbornly always removes it from the
mantelpiece. This one is only smaller than his parents’ portraits because it
was painted at the same time as the miniatures, about eight years ago. It is
very like him. The artist is the same who painted his mother; he has a great
talent for capturing eyes.”
An immense pain bloomed in James’ chest. He could not quite hear what was said
around him, but felt Kitty’s hand on his arm. He looked down at her and
realized what expression he must have worn due to the concern on her face.
“…heard much of your master’s fine person,” his aunt’s voice drifted through
his ears. “It is a handsome face, but Lizzy, you can tell us whether it is like
or not.”
Mrs. Reynolds’ respect for him seem to grow tenfold in the second it took for
her to turn to him. “Does the young man know Mr. Darcy?”
“Uh,” he blurted dumbly. “A little.”
“A little,” his aunt snorted. “You spent some time with him while he was at
Netherfield and then again at Hunsford, did you not?”
James gaped like a fish as Mrs. Reynolds pressed, “And do you not think him a
very handsome gentleman? Though perhaps it is a strange question to ask a man;
as they are too often taught to be negligent or arrogant of masculine beauty.”
“I can’t but agree,” Mrs. Gardiner declared while her husband indignantly
cleared his throat.
“Yes,” James admitted, his voice hoarse, “he is handsome.”
Mrs. Reynolds beamed as she went to return the piece to the mantel. “I am glad
to say there is another, larger one, in the gallery upstairs. This room was
simply my late master’s favourite, and these pictures are just as they used to
be then, apart from my Lord’s stubborn removal of his own image.”
Before they could move on, Mr. Gardiner had likewise returned to the
mantelpiece, where a similarly sized portrait was raised in his grasp. “And is
this the young Miss Darcy, then? She has the colouring of her mother.”
“Oh yes!” Mrs. Reynolds chimed.
His wife came to look better at it. “Is Miss Darcy as handsome as her brother?”
“Of course, the handsomest young lady that ever was seen; and so accomplished!
She plays and sings all day long. In fact, in the next room is a new instrument
just down for her—a present from my master. As I told your husband, she is due
back tomorrow at the earliest with him to see and play it, however it is so
customary that his travels are delayed up to a week, I cannot be sure.”
James felt sick. He had to stride ahead of them but found himself in the
telltale room: a long rectangular expanse of gold and orange tones from the
lacquered wood beneath his feet. In the center of it was a matching pianoforte,
glistening with newness and he all but ran from it to the French doors to his
left.
His boots clipped over the veranda marble, his lungs expanding with a gust of
fresh air billowing in his shirt and lifting his hair. He looked out over the
carved banister at the gardens around the side and back of the house. They were
an array of uneven green spaces made intimate by the trees or flower bushes
fencing it all in, but the front of the property was deceptive of how much
space was behind it. The house was high enough for more hills to be visible
beyond the treetops.
The creature in his shirt perked up at the rush of smells around. James
squirmed somewhat against the whiskers as he strolled along the veranda that
went along the side of the house and curved around the back of it. He plucked a
long strand of silvery-green sea grass from one of the plant urns and set the
creature on the marble, wiggling the strand to occupy its time.
Through the windows he could hear faintly Mrs. Reynolds’ voice going on about
Mr. Darcy. “…best landlord and the best master. Not like the wild young men
nowadays, who think of nothing but themselves. Some people call him proud but I
am sure I never saw anything of it. To my fancy, it is only because he does not
rattle away like other young men.”
“Ugh,” he groaned. “This is a unique torture.”
“Is your master much at Pemberley in the course of the year?” Mr. Gardiner’s
baritone resonated.
“Not so much as I could wish, sir, but I daresay he may spend half his time
here. Miss Darcy is always down for the summer months, to be sure.”
Mrs. Gardiner offered, “If your master would marry, you might see more of him.”
It was the first occasion James had of hearing Mrs. Reynolds laugh. “Perhaps,
but I do not know when that will be. I do not know who is good enough for him.”
James sighed as he threw himself down onto the stone floor, eagerly climbed
over by the cat. Kitty’s voice surprised him when she giggled, “What melancholy
has inspired such a display?”
“It is a long story,” he groaned, his hands lightly wrestling the claws and
needle teeth.
“Then perhaps you might share it with me tonight?” she asked. He did not have a
ready reply and she did not demand one as she sat next to him and looked
through the balustrades to the lawns around them. “How different is the account
of a man we so despised previously. I haven’t heard a single negative thing
about him from anyone here.”
“Curious,” James agreed, and then corrected himself. “Though not anymore.”
She looked at him. “I didn’t know you met him while you were at Charlotte’s.”
“He is the nephew of Lady Catherine,” he confirmed. “He was there for Easter.”
Her features opened with surprise and then furrowed with analysis. “Is
that…expected? I mean, are they a pair?”
James did not voice his reply so much as shake his head at the sky. “No,
they’re not. They are entirely opposite. This is a home. Lady Catherine’s
estate is an untouchable statement.”
“Is she as awful as Mr. Collins made her out to be?”
“Worse.”
Kitty made an unladylike sound of disgust, which drew laughter from her
brother. He heaved himself up, feeling better as he caught sight of the stairs
leading down to the grounds. “I’m sure this one needs to relieve himself. Are
you going inside or staying with me?”
“With you,” she beamed, and trotted after him. Thankfully the cat had not yet
grown to a size that granted speed, so the two of them were able to keep track
of him while the gardeners were otherwise amused by the display. Once free of
his bowels, James quickly scooped him up before he made any lasting damage to
the fragrant blackberry bushes, whose leaves he found most enticing.
They entered the house from the back, and immediately discovered that they were
lost. James took a step through the large lobby, stopped, and turned to find
Kitty paused on the stairway going upstairs. They both laughed nervously and
looked around.
“Where’s a servant when you need one?” she queried.
James, holding the wriggling kitten to his chest, joined her on the stairs.
“Mrs. Reynolds said something about the gallery. They have likely gone there by
now.”
They rose to the next level and were two rooms deep before James realized,
“Wait, she said it was ‘upstairs’ from where we were…”
“That was the second floor, was it not?” Kitty puzzled. “This one? So we need
to go up one more—oh, Lizzy!”
The cat had finally freed itself from his grasp, and bolted from the room.
“Hell,” he cursed, running after it.
“Don’t let him claw anything!” Kitty called, running after him. “They’ll remove
us from Derbyshire tonight!”
“More like don’t let him under anything,” James corrected, lunging to divert
Darcy’s path from a room of unused, covered furniture. “We’ll never get him
out.”
“We can’t chase him forever,” she huffed behind him. “He’s running because we
are chasing!”
James agreed, “We need to trap him in a room! Here! Shut the door!”
Darcy ran into a room and James heard Kitty slam the door behind them while he
almost shut the opposite, but not before the cat slithered between his legs to
the next room.
“Jamie!”
“Stay here! Catch him if he comes back around!”
His head turned as he looked around. Thankfully, the creature had paused to
listen, his ears swiveling atop its head. James realized he heard music.
Someone was playing a piano. They must have been near the music room.
Who would be playing the pianoforte? he wondered perplexedly. Then again, it
would come as no surprise if the household had a musician for hire who could
tune any instrument whenever they liked. If the masters were to return
tomorrow, her ladyship’s gift would need to be ready.
“Darcy, come here,” James called quietly. The cat looked at him and then
scurried elsewhere in the room. It was unfortunately an office of sorts that
was clearly used often if the furnishings were any indication. The cat went
directly under a writing desk and behind the window curtains, swatting at the
gauzy material.
“No! No no no…” he quickly snatched the curtain and the cat exclaimed an
annoyed “Mrow!”
The pianoforte fell silent.
James felt mortified. The last thing he needed was a servant bringing him back
to his aunt after causing a ruckus. He would never hear the end of her ridicule
and mirth—
“Darcy! Come here! Now!” he crawled under the large table, sighing briefly in
relief at hearing another door shut; at least Kitty was being productive.
The chairs pushed in around the table gave the illusion the cat was walled in,
allowing James just enough time to scoop the creature against him before it
realized it could fit between the legs.
“Darcy—!”
“Yes?”
James’ entire form froze into a statue. That soft, deep voice thundered through
him. It was unmistakable, but it couldn’t…but it was. James’ head jerkily
turned toward the boots waiting patiently in the center of the room—
The clip of slippers and rustle of skirts announced Kitty’s entrance to the
room. In a breathless voice she exclaimed, “Jamie, have you got—oh my god.”
James clamped his eyes shut and forced himself to calmly exhale. Pushing one of
the chairs out, he climbed out from under the table, met the shocked face of
his sister, and then turned toward Lord Darcy. He looked very much the same as
any other occasion James had seen him apart from the morning of his confession.
Mr. Darcy was clean pressed apart from his hair being unruly from travel. James
could only imagine what image he and Kitty made.
He bowed and heard Kitty rush to curtsy likewise.
Chapter End Notes
     If anyone is attached to Paris, this isn't me hating on it lol
     remember that this is before the massive renovation of the city, back
     when Paris was sketchy as fuck (if you didn't know, whole blocks were
     demolished and rebuilt between 1853-1870 so that Paris could have its
     wide boulevards, more hygiene, and overall less criminal activity).
End Notes
     I have a Ko-fi page! Buy me a cyber_coffee_here~
     Or you're welcome to visit me on My_Tumblr or My_Twitter
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!
