Part 1 Posted on Friday, 28 January 2000
Caveat: This story has a slightly risqué story line, but it is predominantly in Darcy's imagination. I would rate this PG. Enjoy!
As Fitzwilliam Darcy's carriage turned onto the main road, leaving Longbourn in the distance, he sat back and sighed. Of all the trials and tribulations I have been forced to endure in the name of love, this has to rank somewhere just below my rejection at Hunsford.
Darcy had eagerly offered Lydia the use of his carriage when her two-week visit to Pemberley drew near its conclusion. He had feared that she would want to stay longer, and the short time spent under his roof had tried his patience beyond endurance. The presence of his beloved Aunt and Uncle Gardiner had done little to relieve his frustration, nor had the arrival of his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, improved his dark mood. Indeed, Lydia had openly flirted with the Colonel, much to his amazement and mortification. And when she wasn't flirting she wandered about Pemberley enviously remarking on the fineness and cost of its furnishings and grounds. She had no scruples about asking her sister Elizabeth pointed questions about the cost of the china, silver, and works of art. Elizabeth determinedly changed the topic each time Lydia broached the subject (she couldn't have answered her questions if she wanted to--she had no idea what such things cost herself and did not care to speculate).
Of course, that did not stop Lydia from casually remarking to her Aunt and Uncle Gardiner that "Lizzy is being ever so close-mouthed about everything. I'm sure she doesn't want me to know how much her husband is really worth so as to raise our expectations. But I already know that Mr. Darcy is quite rich and our little expenses are nothing to him at all." The Gardiners raised their eyebrows and gaped at Lydia, as she calmly added, "Mr. Wickham and I are every day expecting that Mr. Darcy will provide us with an annuity so that my Wickham can leave the army and live as a proper gentleman."
When he overheard this comment, Darcy became determined to disabuse Lydia of her outrageous notion, wondering whether it had sprung from Wickham himself or her own empty head. No matter--he wanted Lydia out of his home and as far away from Pemberley and his life as possible. So as the fortnight was nearing its conclusion Darcy, much to Elizabeth's amazement, had made the offer of his own barouche to transport Lydia back to Newcastle. Lydia was sufficiently flattered to accept this honor without suspicion, stating only that she had planned on visiting Longbourn when she left Pemberley, and Darcy retired that night feeling somewhat mollified.
Lydia later regretted her ready acceptance. I should have asked to be taken to London instead, where I might have stayed in Lizzy's townhouse and do nothing but go to the best shops, and go to balls and the theater and be introduced into the best of society.
Darcy, meanwhile, found comfort in the knowledge that he only had to wait another twenty-four hours before Lydia would be gone. Elizabeth had made no comment when Darcy had offered Lydia the carriage, and hours later, as they lay in bed, she was still too surprised to comment, much to Darcy's relief. She lifted her head from the pillow and looked into his eyes questioningly. Darcy swallowed and steeled himself for what surely was to follow. Elizabeth smiled, then began to giggle. Darcy relaxed. Within moments, Elizabeth was laughing so hard she nearly fell out of the bed.
No good deed goes unpunished, however, and the next morning Darcy read an express from his relations in Surrey, begging for his immediate assistance. He had not seen these distant relations in some years, the offspring of his father's younger half-brother. Although Francis Darcy's widow, left alone and without much in the way of a fortune, had remarried and borne her second husband a daughter, her tenuous connection with the Darcy family remained. Mrs. Charleton had last written about a year ago to congratulate Darcy on the occasion of his marriage to Elizabeth. Now she had fallen on hard times, and in her desperation had sought the only person with the power, wealth, and influence to aid her. Darcy immediately arranged to leave for London to consult with his solicitors in order to assist his distant cousin in her time of distress.
Not that he was at all aware of the nature of her distress; Mrs. Charleton had been somewhat vague on that score, but the past two weeks in Lydia's company taught him to suspect the worst of Mrs. Charleton's youngest daughter. It wasn't until after Darcy had sent off expresses to his solicitor in London and to Mrs. Charleton that he realized the trap into which he had unwittingly fallen. Having already offered to send Lydia away in his own carriage, it would be unseemly to take another carriage to travel the same route. He could ride with the Gardiners, but they weren't leaving until the end of the week, and he had already requested an earlier meeting with his solicitors.
Thus, Darcy found himself in a carriage with a squealing baby and her gushing, silly mother, and not even his fiercest glower could silence the pair. His only comfort was that Elizabeth (laughing at his misfortune but nonetheless sympathetic) had invented the excuse of urgency to shorten the length of Lydia's time with Darcy from two days to one. The carriage would stop only to change horses so that Darcy's suffering would be brief, if sixteen hours could be called that. Colonel Fitzwilliam, who had earlier spoken of returning to London with Darcy, delayed his departure by a day, much to Darcy's dismay. He overheard part of Elizabeth's comment to Colonel Fitzwilliam, something about being "hoisted on his own petard, " and the Colonel's retort about "making his bed and having to lie in it." Darcy, depressed, angry, humiliated, and betrayed by his own wife and best friend, mounted the carriage and left Pemberley in a deep funk.
Lydia, on the other hand, was relentlessly cheerful. After chattering about the scenery, the weather, and her sadness about leaving Pemberley, she said to Darcy, "Well! I hope that you and Lizzy are as happy in your marriage as me and Mr. Wickham." It was all Darcy could do to stop himself from gaping as she continued.
"Lizzy and I are very much alike in many respects, so I am sure that you are well satisfied as her husband." Darcy blanched; it was impossible to mistake her meaning.
"Of course, your appetites may be very different from my Wickham's, and if that is the case, you may find that your Lizzy is too much woman for you."
Darcy turned his head and stared out the carriage window, determined not to hear another word as Lydia began to discuss, in some detail, the most intimate aspects of her love life, as she absently stroked her daughter's dark hair. The child had finally fallen asleep. Involuntarily, Darcy's mind drifted back to his own relationship with Elizabeth. An impish grin suffused his face. It was some moments before he realized that Lydia had gone silent. He turned to look at her. She was staring at him with a curious expression, apparently waiting for him to speak. Darcy's face immediately fell, and fearing that she might ask him a question, he quickly offered Lydia lunch.
"Mrs. Reynolds was so kind as to provide us with something to eat. Perhaps you'd like some refreshment," he said, adding to himself that if Mrs. Reynolds found it in her heart to lace those sandwiches with laudanum I'll triple her pension. Lydia plunged into the offered picnic basket with the same enthusiasm she applied to everything else. For a few brief moments, Darcy enjoyed complete silence. He looked down at the floor and bent to pick up the book that Lydia had carelessly tossed aside earlier, declaring it tedious and dull. He read a chapter of The Mysteries of Udolpho while Lydia ate. Did this come from my library? Darcy smiled to himself. I am going to have to tease Elizabeth about her choice of reading material.
"You're very handsome when you smile."
Darcy blinked. Lydia was staring at him again, little Jenny nursing noisily at her breast. Lydia had discretely covered herself with a baby blanket, but Darcy was nonetheless was discomfited. He knew that it had to be done, but he perversely wished she could nurse her babe somewhere else. He made a mental note to stop the carriage and stretch his legs the next time she nursed.
"My Wickham has the loveliest smile when he's in a mood to be pleased," Lydia continued, oblivious to Darcy's blush. "You ought to smile more, Mr. Darcy. It's quite becoming on you." Darcy tried to acknowledge the complement as best he could without smiling and without encouraging further comment. But Lydia needed no encouragement. She leaned forward and whispered in a conspiratorial tone. Darcy squeezed his eyes shut lest the blanket fall.
"I can see what Lizzy saw in you now. I didn't see it before, you know, except that you're ever so rich and well-connected." Darcy began to squirm and turned his head to the window. Maybe I could change seats with Hawkins. He's probably never actually ridden inside a barouche.
"You have the sweetest dimple just there." Darcy flinched as Lydia's hand grazed his cheek, "and the dreamiest eyes."
Blast my relations--would that my father was an only child. Would that Elizabeth was an only child...well, maybe one of two children. Darcy cautiously glanced at Lydia. She is batting her eyelashes at me! Good God! What is she thinking? Lydia expertly burped the baby. Swaddling Jenny in a blanket, she carefully returned the child to the large basket on the floor.
At that moment the carriage hit a dip in the road and Lydia pitched forward. She was prevented from falling as Darcy caught her by the forearms. Lydia unconvincingly feigned modesty.
"Why Mr. Darcy! You're ever so strong! If you hadn't caught me, I am certain I would have been grievously injured," she purred with a flutter of her eyelashes.
This...woman is pointedly flirting with me! Her sister's husband, and in plain sight of her own child... Once again the carriage was jostled, and Lydia got up and moved to sit next to Darcy.
"Maybe I'll be safer over here," she said, wrapping her arms around one of his. Darcy froze. Does she think to seduce me? Can she for one moment think that I would find her attractive or that I would stoop so low as to degrade myself by indulging her in this? Darcy was repulsed. He turned his head away, hoping against hope that Lydia would fall asleep. He felt her finger tracing along his jaw.
Startled, Darcy said, "Mrs. Wickham, please!" He removed Lydia's hand from his cheek and disentangled her other hand from his arm. He slid a bit closer to the end of the seat, as far from Lydia as he could get. He felt foolish, dodging this silly girl in his own carriage. He hoped she would not pursue him. But Lydia, who had the attention span of a five-year-old, was looking out the window on the other side of the carriage.
"Look, Mr. Darcy, an inn! Could we stop for tea?" Darcy agreed, doubting, however, that he wished to be seen in public with Lydia. No sooner had he stepped from the carriage than his worst fears were realized.
"I say, Darcy!"
The man cringed perceptibly as he was accosted by Thomas Duncan, a good friend and neighbor in London.
"Why Darcy, I thought that was you. Are you stopping for the night? " Mr. Duncan glanced briefly at Lydia, who stood a short way off looking up at the inn. That is not Elizabeth Darcy, Mr. Duncan noted. A knowing smirk appeared and disappeared on his face in the space of instant. I didn't think Darcy was the type. Indeed, if I had his Mrs. Darcy to warm my bed, I shouldn't think I'd ever have need of...
"No, no Duncan. I'm escorting my wife's sister, Mrs. Wickham, to her family in Hertfordshire and then I'm on to London this day." Darcy's mind was reeling. He didn't appreciate the indulgent look in Mr. Duncan's eye. Surely, he doesn't believe... I'm still a newlywed, for goodness' sake! As if to intentionally compound Mr. Duncan's suspicions, Lydia chose that moment to move to Darcy's side and take his arm. Darcy silently groaned, and introduced his sister. What else can go wrong, he thought, as he heard Lydia invite Mr. Duncan to join them for tea. Mr. Duncan eagerly accepted.
After a seeming eternity (in actuality only an hour), Darcy was released from his purgatory and the carriage resumed its trip. Lydia seemed to forget her previous agenda, and quickly nodded off. Thank goodness, Darcy sighed as he ran his fingers through his hair. He closed his eyes and thought back to their recent stop at the inn. Lydia had behaved fairly well, if he didn't count her running her foot along the inside of his calf midway through the tea service. At the time, Lydia had been deep in conversation with Mr. Duncan about the ball she had attended at Pemberley, and seemed so composed that Darcy thought at first that he was imagining things. After all, no woman had ever dared attempt such a blatant gesture on him before. Colonel Fitzwilliam had told him of camp followers who would use all manner of arts and allurements in order to secure the affections of the officers. And Lydia Wickham...need he state the obvious? But it had happened again. He had not been imagining. Darcy stared at Lydia. She was listening to some comment of Mr. Duncan's, and momentarily flashed him an innocent look.
Innocent indeed! Good God! What if she was doing it to Duncan, too? Darcy turned to peer at his neighbor. Mr. Duncan was hanging onto Lydia's every word, with an attentiveness that left little doubt in Darcy's mind. Well, at least Duncan won't suspect ME of carrying on with her. What am I saying? I'm travelling alone with a woman who would... He ran a hand through his hair as his mind conjured up the scandal that seemed destined to come. His thought was interrupted by the appearance of his groom, bearing the basket containing little Jenny. She had awakened and was gurgling contentedly.
"There's my girl," cooed Lydia, drawing the child into her lap. "Isn't she the very image of her father?" she purred to Darcy. Mr. Duncan looked from the dark curls on Jenny's head to those on Darcy's and his mouth fell open as if he was about to speak. No sound came out. Darcy had suddenly made a show of looking at his watch and announced that they must depart immediately.
Back in the carriage, Darcy read for as long as light allowed, then he too, drifted off to sleep. The pressure of a hand on his left thigh awakened him.
"Mr. Darcy, can we stop somewhere? I need to..."
"Yes, yes, of course, Mrs. Wickham," Darcy replied as he signaled for the coach to be stopped. Lydia stepped out of the carriage and into the dark along the edge of the road. She returned a few minutes later, and rather than returning to sleep, she seemed to be wide-awake.
"I can't seem to relieve myself often enough lately. Lizzy said it's because of the baby, but what she would know of such things? I've been married much longer than she has, and already have one babe of my own, and what would she know about being with child that I don't?" Darcy was momentarily stunned. Lydia's with child again? So soon? He rolled his eyes and considered the additional appeals for monetary assistance that would be forthcoming. Wait a minute! What WOULD Lizzy, uh, Elizabeth know about such things?
Darcy gulped as he began to add up the mounting evidence in his head. Elizabeth had felt unwell several times in the last few weeks, although she had constantly denied it. She had been particularly eager for Mrs. Gardiner's arrival. Maybe she wanted to consult with a more experienced woman? He strained his memory, trying to remember the other symptoms of pregnancy that he'd heard about. Although his memory was dubious, Darcy quickly convinced himself that Elizabeth must be with child.
"And when our next baby is born, Wickham and I will bring him to Pemberley to meet his dearest relations."
Darcy had long since stopped listening, and Lydia's speech was mercifully brief. She checked the baby and soon went back to sleep. Darcy, on the other hand, could not close his eyes again that night. Well, he pretended to doze while Lydia nursed her daughter.
As soon as the first light appeared over the horizon, Darcy began scanning the countryside for signs that he was nearing Hertfordshire. He was exhausted, physically and emotionally. Darcy had thought to stop for a day at Netherfield to visit Bingley and Jane, but he had altered his plans late last night. He would conclude his business in London and return to Elizabeth as quickly as possible.
Lydia stirred as Darcy foraged in the picnic basket for something to quell the growling in his stomach. The carriage would be stopping soon to change horses and there would be an opportunity to seek a hot meal, but Darcy could not wait. Lydia immediately asked for the carriage to stop. Exasperated, Darcy accommodated her, and as he waited his mind drifted once more to Elizabeth. How would she fare during her pregnancy? Darcy suddenly felt a bit guilty about his and Elizabeth's deception. Surely it could not be good for a woman in Lydia's condition to be travelling at this pace. He wondered if Elizabeth knew of Lydia's pregnancy. Of course, she must have known, based on their conversation, if Lydia was to be believed. No matter, it would be over very soon.
Darcy finally drifted off to a fitful sleep. He dreamed that he had followed Wickham and Lydia to London after their elopement, and being unsuccessful in persuading Lydia to leave Wickham, he had offered himself to Lydia as a substitute. He next saw himself in his drawing room full of friends and acquaintances at Pemberley. Lydia--great with child--was seated between Mrs. Bennet and his aunt, Lady Matlock. As he drew closer, he could hear Lydia discussing "my dear Darcy's behavior above stairs." Lady Matlock looked up at Darcy, clearly intrigued. He could not believe his eyes as his aunt ogled him.
"La!" clucked Lydia, her eyes wide. "That's how he got me with the second and third ones. I do hope this one is a boy. That way just seems to make girls!" She snorted and the two ladies beside her giggled. Mrs. Bennet recovered herself and loudly launched into a discourse about the importance of producing an heir. She lowered her voice just a bit to tell Lydia of methods she had heard of (alas, after the birth of her own five girls) that guaranteed sons. All the others in the room seemed to be oblivious to the spectacle. Darcy stood there frozen, as waves of nausea washed over him. He looked around the room and in a distant corner he spied Elizabeth. He collected himself and walked over to her. "How are you this morning, Mrs. Wickham..." Mrs. Wickham!?! My Elizabeth? NOOOO!!!
Darcy's scream could be heard for a quarter mile and he awoke to the sound of a baby crying.
"Good lord, Mr. Darcy! I had just gotten her back to sleep. Whatever is wrong with you?" Darcy sheepishly turned his eyes to the window. He fought every inclination to nod off again.
Another hour had brought the carriage through the gates of Longbourn. Darcy had never been so glad of the site of Mr. Bennet. Finally, one of the sane Bennets. Darcy stepped from the carriage and delivered his cargo into the waiting bosom of her family. His shoulders sagged, and Mr. Bennet patted him on the back empathetically and led him to the drawing room and a restorative brandy. As tired as he was, Darcy would not allow himself to rest at Longbourn any longer than necessary. He told himself he was anxious to return to his wife. Somewhat as an afterthought, he thought guiltily of Sarah Charleton, a pretty, empty-headed girl of sixteen. He wondered if she had suffered a fate similar to Lydia's. If she has, he thought to himself as he entered the carriage to resume his journey, I'll have her transported to Australia.
Part 2 ~ A Mewl for Sister Sarah Posted on Friday, 28 January 2000
At Exton, a tidy estate no more and no less grand than Longbourn, Mrs. Charleton had all of her household in a flutter of preparation for Mr. Darcy's arrival. Everyone seemed to share in Mrs. Charleton's anxiety except her daughter, Sarah.
"Well, I don't know why he has to come here," she said petulantly. "It's not as if I did anything..." He mother's face puffed up and colored in indignation.
"DID anything? Indeed, my girl, you didn't DO anything, but that was only because..."
"And if I had, what business is it of Mr. Darcy's anyway?" Mrs. Charleton was temporarily rendered speechless by her daughter's thoughtless comment. In fact, her daughter had a point. The Charletons were no longer in the same social circle as the Darcys, and they were so far removed by both relationship and distance that Sarah's disgrace would never taint them. Sarah did, however, have the temerity to aspire to the first circles of society, although she never did confess that to her mother. Indeed, had her mother chosen her second husband as well as her first, Sarah should have already achieved her dream (notwithstanding the fact that had Mrs. Charleton not married Mr. Charleton, Sarah would never have existed). The girl perversely begrudged her mother her choice of second husband anyway, even as she continued to mourn the loss of her beloved father.
Sarah Charleton, it must be confessed, possessed neither great intelligence nor wit. As Mr. Darcy was all too soon to learn, the girl did bear a strong affinity to his recent travelling companion, Lydia Wickham. Sarah was a pretty girl in a common sort of way--the type of girl who might be declared beautiful by a lovesick young man but only tolerably pretty by anyone of sense. She was seventeen, well-formed, with eyes and hair of that indeterminate hue that some would be inclined to call hazel, golden brown, or auburn, depending on his flair for hyperbole. Suffice it to say, her eyes were neither brown, nor green, nor gray; her hair was neither blond, nor brown. It was curly to the point of wildness, giving Sarah a romantic and somewhat mysterious aspect that caused young men to speculate (improperly, of course) as to what had caused her hair to become so disheveled. Her disingenuous nature completed the picture, for those who were disinclined to seek more in a woman than a (tolerably) pretty face and wild, curly hair.
Unfortunately, Woking was full of men who were willing to settle for just that. Is it no wonder that her mother was at her wit's end; Mrs. Charleton had twice prevented Sarah from eloping with two different men in the past year. And now this! If it hadn't been for Mrs. Baxter's timely intelligence of Sarah's intention to run away to Cambridge...well, it had all come to naught. Mrs. Charleton had posted her manservant to keep a vigil, and Sarah was safe for the moment. She only awaited Mr. Darcy's assistance to assure her daughter's continued safety.
"If that dodgy Mrs. Baxter didn't go around listening at keyholes I would be..."
"You would no longer be any daughter of mine and there's an end of it! Now, go and change your dress. Mr. Darcy should be here within the hour." Mrs. Charleton wrung her hands and went to sit on a settee to calm her nerves. She didn't want to ring for tea just yet. She had planned to serve tea after Mr. Darcy's arrival. She contented herself with a whiff from her bottle of salts. A short while later, Mr. Darcy was announced, and Mrs. Charleton greeted him warmly.
"Mr. Darcy! It was so kind of you to come to us on such short notice. Indeed, I had not expected..."
"No, no, Mrs. Charleton, it was no trouble, I assure you," Darcy replied, feeling somehow that he had just lied. It was more than a sense of familial obligation that had brought him to Exton. He had not seen Mrs. Charleton since his own father's funeral and he missed her company. They corresponded infrequently, and Darcy felt some guilt that he had not written since his marriage the previous year. But truth be told, this trip to Exton had become a great bother to Mr. Darcy over the last three days.
The two made small talk for a short time while the tea things were procured. Mrs. Charleton satisfied her curiosity about the new Mrs. Darcy, and indeed, Darcy was eager to speak of his lady. Mrs. Charleton smiled as Darcy spoke rapturously of his bride. He caught himself and blushed.
"It warms my heart to see you so happy, Mr. Darcy," laughed Mrs. Charleton, patting him on the arm. Darcy sat back and sipped his tea. Although a bit older, Mrs. Charleton reminded him of his aunt, Mrs. Gardiner. Both ladies were inclined to be good natured, warm, and perceptive, although under the present circumstances, Mrs. Charleton required his help rather than the other way around. Darcy broached the subject of his visit.
"Where's Miss Charleton?" he asked.
"I sent her upstairs to dress a while ago. She should be down shortly; I'm sure she was told of your arrival," Mrs. Charleton's tone betrayed a slight annoyance at her daughter's failure to appear.
"Well, perhaps we should discuss this matter before she comes down," Darcy ventured, eyebrows raised in question. Mrs. Charleton nodded and leaned closer.
"Mr. Darcy, you don't know what troubles that girl has visited upon this household." Mrs. Charleton could not restrain herself from wringing her hands once more."
"If I were to tell you what she's gotten up to..."
Darcy really didn't wish to know. He reached into the pocket of his coat and withdrew a draught.
"Mrs. Charleton, I met with my solicitor in London on my way here, and took the liberty of securing a draught in the amount of 2,000 pounds for your immediate relief. Of course, should you need more, don't hesitate to..."
"Mr. Darcy!" Mrs. Charleton would have staggered and fallen had she not been sitting. As it was, she was nearly overcome. It took every effort on her part to speak, but she was determined to interrupt her benefactor.
"My dear Mr. Darcy! Your generosity is far too..."
"No, no, not at all." Darcy quickly interjected. He did not want Mrs. Charleton's gratitude. He did not want to hear the story of Sarah's downfall. He did not want to even spend the night in Exton, although in deference to his men and his horses, he felt he had no choice. He just wanted to be of use to this dear friend and be on his way home to his own bed, his wife, and the serenity and bliss of Pemberley. He, of course, was to be denied this.
"Mr. Darcy, you must let me acquaint you with my situation. I fear that your generosity, although it is greatly appreciated, is misplaced. That is, I...my daughter's situation (at this Darcy involuntarily cringed) is such that..."
Mrs. Charleton was momentarily immobilized by Darcy's grimace. This was going badly. She was mortified that Mr. Darcy might think she was destitute, for although her finances had suffered after her husband's death (he had not provided well for her, although her inheritance from Francis Darcy still afforded her a comfortable income), her situation was far from desperate. What she wanted from Mr. Darcy was something money alone could not provide. Mrs. Charleton needed Darcy's influence. She stood and paced as she told him of her daughter's aborted attempt to run away to Cambridge in pursuit of young John Percy, scion of a moderately wealthy family from a neighboring village. It seemed that only three months after the second of her two previous "grand amours" (which Mrs. Charleton discretely failed to mention), Sarah decided that she was hopelessly in love with Mr. Percy, which was not too surprising, given the fact that he was just that sort of young man to declare Sarah to be a great beauty with hazel eyes and auburn hair. Naturally, she was moved to declare her undying devotion to the besotted Mr. Percy, and the pair became engaged.
When Mr. Percy applied to Mrs. Charleton, she was understandably disinclined to give her consent, aware of both her daughter's fickle nature and her betrothed's intent to complete his studies at Cambridge. Mrs. Charleton thought it prudent, to say the least, to postpone any talk of engagement for at least a year. If Sarah and Mr. Percy still wished to marry then, an engagement would be consented to. Mrs. Charleton's caution proved to be fortuitous to Mr. Percy, for he soon learned that his father strongly disapproved of the match. Chastened by his father's ultimatum, the younger Mr. Percy returned to university undeceived of his delusions of being in love with Sarah (for indeed, she was the type of girl whose charms were greatly improved by proximity; at a distance she was utterly forgettable).
Sarah, meanwhile, being the kind of girl who would only be happy if she got her way, immediately began to scheme a means of reuniting with her beloved. Never mind that he didn't return her letters. She would run away and join "my beloved John" in Cambridge. There she would apprise him of her plans and they would then run off to Gretna Green and be married.
Sarah shared these elaborate plans for her future happiness with only one other soul, her particular friend, Miss Forrester. Miss Forrester was visiting with her aunt, Mrs. Baxter, and that was Sarah's undoing. Mrs. Baxter was nobody's fool and an excellent chaperone. The moment she overheard Sarah discussing her planned elopement Mrs. Baxter notified Mrs. Charleton and sent her niece home to Kent, where she could not be influenced by Miss Charleton's scandalous behavior. Needless to say, Sarah had been insufferable ever since.
Darcy sat politely during this tale, interested in spite of himself. He could not see, however, exactly where he fit in. Surely he was not being asked to track down Sarah's errant suitor to force a marriage. Mrs. Charleton had made no mention of any such need. He thought of Lydia Wickham and was grateful. Indeed, Mrs. Charleton was at that moment relating to Darcy her recent discussion with the elder Mr. Percy wherein she learned that John Percy had recently become engaged with a Miss Young of Oxford. (Of this, Sarah was as yet unaware.)
Why did she call me here? Darcy's mind began to wander. His eyes roamed around the room. Spying a portrait of Sarah, he remembered the last time he saw her. She was probably about eight years old when Darcy had encountered Mr. and Mrs. Charleton and their daughter at a museum in London. The portrait must have been painted around that time. At that precise moment, the door of the drawing room opened, and Sarah appeared. Darcy looked at her critically and concluded that the promise shown by the child was unrealized in the adult. Then he recalled himself and went to greet the girl.
Sarah had gone up to her room at her mother's insistence and changed into her prettiest morning dress. Then she had proceeded to throw a tantrum. She wanted no part of Mr. Darcy or whatever "business" brought him to Exton. She had no idea what her mother had planned for her but she would not willingly be a party to it. She finally descended the stairs determined to be as disagreeable as propriety would allow. She smoothed the front of the pale muslin gown--which did nothing to distinguish her eyes or her hair--and entered the room ready to do battle. She took one step into the room and the moment she laid eyes on Mr. Darcy she lost her resolve.
It wasn't that she was no longer determined to fight for her beloved John. It wasn't that she was suddenly ready to capitulate to any or all of her mother's wishes. The fact was, all those things were no longer important. Forgotten. The fuss about...what was his name?...became a distant memory. Sarah looked upon Darcy and could not recall the number of feet that held her rooted to the spot where she stood. Darcy smiled and bowed to Miss Charleton. She was oblivious to his civilities. After a few seconds, Darcy glanced at Mrs. Charleton with a confused expression.
"Come in here and stop gaping, silly child," she said impatiently. Sarah, her eyes on Darcy, forced herself to move. She sat on the settee, and Darcy made the mistake of taking a seat next to her. He immediately regretted his choice, though he remained insensible of the danger he incited by this simple act. Nonetheless, he attempted to draw the girl out of her stupor by recounting their last meaning. His comment was met with silence. In the awkwardness of the moment, Darcy felt trapped. Why is this girl gaping at me? Darcy rolled his eyes as he recalled Elizabeth and Colonel Fitzwilliam's teasing comments on the morning of his departure from Pemberley. He suppressed a groan.
Another one! Breathes there a girl of seventeen in the whole of England with an ounce of sense? He sheepishly recalled his own sister Georgiana, remembering, however, that she came to her sense after succumbing to her sensibility. Is this always the way with girls? I cannot imagine that my Elizabeth was ever so vacuous.
Darcy tried to return his attentions to Mrs. Charleton, who was pleasantly chatting away, oblivious to her daughter's state. Sarah was too in awe of Darcy to speak. She didn't trust herself to move. She just stared. Darcy, suddenly very tired, begged leave to rest before dinner.
Sarah returned to her chambers (it took her some moments to remember that she was responsible for the mess therein) and sat on her bed. Slowly, she reached under the mattress and withdrew her diary. She turned to a clean page and went to her writing desk.
Gods still roam the earth. Today I have seen living proof! Mr. F...she was not sure of his Christian name. Mr. Frederick Darcy arrived at Exton this afternoon, and if a more divine creature exists--nay it is impossible!(Such flights of ecstasy were not unusual to a regular reader of Sarah's diary. As that reader is not germane to this story, the housekeeper's indiscretion will not be discussed here.)
He is tall (taller than my Mr. Jones), dark and brooding, and as handsome as the most romantic hero of any novel. He has a strong jaw with a cleft in his chin (just like dear Mr. Madison's only much more beautiful). He has a sensuous mouth and deep, rich brown eyes with lashes like a deer's. His smile would set ice to boiling. His curly mane of mahogany spills ever so enticingly over his collar. Such a paragon of virility! My Frederick is perfection, and I shall die if he does not return my love...
Sarah continued for some time in this vein before she was interrupted by the maid her mother had sent to make sure she would be ready for dinner.
Mr. Darcy was the last to arrive in the dining room. He had napped briefly and his temper was much improved. He was still confused as to why he had been summoned to Exton; no that was not true. Mrs. Charleton had invited him to Exton to discuss a matter of some import concerning her daughter. He had taken it as a summons. I guess that having spent two weeks in the company of Lydia Wickham prepared me for the worst. He smugly concluded that his conjecture had not fallen far short of the mark. He decided to meet with Mrs. Charleton at her earliest convenience to offer whatever assistance she would have him render. He placed the draught in a secret compartment of his lap desk and went to join the others in the dining room..
Darcy enjoyed the dinner Mrs. Charleton had ordered especially for him. She had remembered his fondness for her cook's Beef Burgundy and he was not insensible of the compliment. He had a second helping and was quite content as he thanked his hostess. Mrs. Charleton was one of those self-effacing women who deflected every attempt at flattery. Unlike Miss Bingley's practiced modesty, however, Mrs. Charleton was sincere in giving credit where it was due--to her cook.
Now, Sarah, in a gown of pale gold that Darcy thought unfortunate--it gave the girl a decidedly monochromatic cast--had eaten little and said nothing. Her eyes were on Mr. Darcy the entire time. Her eyes caressed his handsome profile and studied his every move. She envied the glass that held his wine for it had touched those lips. She was jealous of the fork that had felt his tongue and entertained indecent thoughts about the food on his plate. Mrs. Charleton glanced sideways at her daughter, but thought her to be sulking. Darcy looked at Sarah and smiled before he bit into a piece of bread. Sarah bit her lip.
"I daresay, Mr. Darcy, that your wife keeps a fine table at Pemberley. Is Mr. Laurent still plying his magic in your kitchen?" Mrs. Charleton smiled at the memory of great feasts in Pemberley's dining hall, but before she could answer, Sarah, who had been silent throughout the meal, let out a cry.
"WIFE!?!" Sarah's shrill outburst reminded him of his relation in Hertfordshire. "Wife?" She repeated, less loudly, but in a tight, brittle voice that made Darcy blanch. Mrs. Charleton had not looked up.
"Oh, yes dear. Mr. Darcy was married last winter. He was just saying earlier that he had married the paragon of womanhood," Mrs. Charleton said teasingly, with a glance at Darcy, who did not hear her. His attention was riveted by Sarah, whose face had flushed crimson. She threw down her napkin as Darcy continued to stare. Mrs. Charleton abandoned her trifle and looked at her daughter, who stood, glared at her mother momentarily, then stalked out of the room. After looking at each other for a few seconds, Mrs. Charleton and Darcy returned their attention to their desserts. When the dishes were cleared, Mrs. Charleton casually mentioned Sarah's propensity for falling in love at the drop of a hat. She confessed that Sarah had tried to elope no less than three times, and related the events of the previous year. Darcy began to understand Mrs. Charleton's distress.
"I am grateful for your offer of money, Mr. Darcy, but what I think she really needs is a distraction." Mr. Darcy, not forgetting his earlier promise to himself, wondered if Australia would provide a sufficient distraction for the girl. Sensing his friend's anguish, however, Darcy refrained from making that suggestion.
"I think her problem stems from the lack of an interest. She has been so idle that she indulges every sort of girlish fancy. I believe that if she found some occupation to keep her busy, she would not be so often imagining herself in love." Darcy suppressed a smile, imagining what idleness could cost Sarah on a lengthy voyage to Australia. " Actually, I had thought it might do her some good to travel. She has been no farther north than Middlesex, you know. I thought to write my friends in the north..." Panic gripped Darcy's heart. NOOOOO!!!! "but I think that a girl's school might be of better use."
Darcy drew breath, and sipped his brandy. As soon as he found his voice, he offered his assistance in securing admission for Sarah to the best finishing school he could find. He insisted on paying all of Sarah's expenses. The next morning, Darcy departed Exton with no regrets. He was glad to have seen Mrs. Charleton again, and was more than happy to leave her company. He headed for London and another meeting with his solicitor. He would be as good as his word. By the end of the month, Sarah Charleton would be on her way to the best finishing school in all of Europe. Darcy did not mind giving up his dream of sending her to Australia. Switzerland would be far enough.
*Get it, Clint Eastwood fans? If not, A Mule for Sister Sara is the title of a western that involved Eastwood escorting a nun (Shirley MacLaine) somewhere or another. Read the next installment to understand the nun reference)
Part 3 ~ Catch a Tiger by the Tale Posted on Friday, 28 January 2000
As the carriage pulled into London, Darcy wearily considered his next steps. He would write and send a note to his solicitor immediately to make arrangements for Sarah Charleton to be enrolled in a suitable ladies' academy. He would also send a note to the Gardiners-they should have arrived back in town and would be able to provide recent word of Elizabeth. Perhaps with proper cajoling, aided by the inducement of a splendid meal tomorrow evening, he could discover the truth of Elizabeth's condition.
Not that Darcy didn't already know the truth. He had spent the better part of his journey to and from Woking convincing himself that his bride of eleven months was carrying his child. But what if it wasn't the case? Darcy quickly discarded this unsatisfactory notion and leaned forward to look up at his home as the carriage drew to a stop. He was surprised to see that the house showed signs of activity. The butler, who informed him that Colonel Fitzwilliam was in the library, confirmed Darcy's suspicions. Darcy immediately sought out his cousin.
"Fitzwilliam! What are you doing here?" He reached out to shake his cousin's hand but instead accepted the snifter of brandy proffered by the Colonel. After a brief exchange of greetings, the two men wordlessly took seats close by the roaring fire. For a few moments they sipped their brandy in companionable silence, but Darcy's curiosity would not keep for long.
"You haven't answered my question, Fitz," he said.
"I know," the Colonel replied with an impish grin. He resisted an impulse to answer truthfully. "I left Pemberley the morning after you did, and I have been in town some days. I had an engagement in the neighborhood and decided to avail myself of your hospitality, knowing that you were to return tomorrow." He squinted at his cousin. "Why are you back early, Darcy?" Darcy shuddered imperceptibly as, unbidden, his mind recalled the scene in the morning room at Exton.
Darcy had risen early, determined to take his leave immediately after breakfast. He joined Mrs. Charleton in the morning room and they sat and chatted pleasantly over tea and toast. Darcy began to relax in spite of himself. He had awakened in a bad mood, anxious to be on the road and hours closer to his reunion with his beloved Elizabeth as quickly as possible. But sitting in the pleasant sunlit room with his old friend, Darcy let his guard down and allowed himself to enjoy his breakfast and the opportunity to discuss old times. Talk soon came to a halt, however, when Sarah Charleton entered the breakfast room.
She was attired in a somber gray gown (dug out of her chest of mourning clothes) and her hair was tied back in a severe (and most unbecoming) bun at the back of her head. Darcy couldn't help staring. Mrs. Charleton, however, well accustomed to her daughter's flights of fancy, seemed to take Sarah's odd appearance in stride. She bade Sarah to have some chocolate before it grew cold.
"I'll never have chocolate again, Mama." Her mother placed the cocoa pot on the table and returned to her sausages and eggs. "I'll never again expose my senses to anything pleasurable. I shall forego sensual caress of velvet again my skin. I'll give up my featherbed and sleep on a pallet of fetid straw. I will shun sunlight and the sound of children's laughter. My eyes will forego the beauty of a perfect rose on a clear day in June. Never again shall wine, or meat, or marzipan touch my lips..."
Darcy stared incredulously, the forkful of food temporarily forgotten in his hand, as Sarah stood solemnly behind her place at the table (presumably she would not sit because the chair was too comfortable).
"Eggs?" Mrs. Charleton offered casually. Darcy glanced at Mrs. Charleton, who had not so much as raised her head since Sarah's entrance.
"I know that you and Mr. Darcy are planning to send me away to school, but I beg you not to trouble yourselves, Mama. I would just as soon enter a convent and live out the rest of my days in penitence for my sins," Sarah intoned. Darcy's fork fell into his lap. A servant rushed to his aid before he'd even realized what had happened.
"Sarah, sit down and stop this nonsense at once," Mrs. Charleton said in a slightly bored tone. "If you don't want breakfast, so be it, but you have rudely interrupted our conversation and I'm sure Mr. Darcy is not interested in your vows of sacrifice." She concluded this speech by reaching for a scone.
"Darcy?" Colonel Fitzwilliam interrupted Darcy's reverie. Darcy, whose eyes had been fixed on the glass in his hands, looked up. "Yes?" Fitzwilliam began to repeat his question, but thought better of it. Darcy was wearing what Georgiana and the Colonel had come to know as "that look." They had first seen it the previous spring, and it was an expression that did not admit questions. Eyeing his cousin, Fitzwilliam reflected that "that look" could come in very handy for a field officer and wondered if he might be able to manage such a fierce demeanor. (Of course, all men who achieve the rank of colonel possess something of a fierce look, which often came in very handy, as Fitzwilliam suggested. He, in fact, could outglare Darcy in a heartbeat, if he were to but try. To tell the truth, it had never occurred to him to do so.) He blinked and changed the subject.
"So how was your trip south with Mrs. Wickham? Unable to suppress a smirk, Colonel Fitzwilliam busied himself with retrieving the decanter and refilling his glass. Darcy sighed loudly. He was no longer wearing that look, but he was far from comfortable with this new choice of topic.
"Uneventful," he said with what he hoped was an air of finality. It wasn't.
"I can hardly believe that, Darcy," the Colonel replied, openly smirking now. He had struck a nerve and he meant to press his advantage. Darcy squirmed a bit. "I know Mrs. Wickham can be most...entertaining company," he began, "She must have provided some amusement in all your hours together." He leaned back and waited.
Spill, Darcy. I know you have an interesting tale to tell.
Darcy shifted in his seat. "Entertaining, yes..." That was not a word he would use to describe his ordeal with Lydia Wickham. "Yes, entertaining, Fitz," he continued, as he rose and he took his turn at the decanter. "if you can call a full day and night in a carriage with a mewling babe and, and..." He stopped himself, torn between loyalty to his wife (if not her family) and his own need to vent. Darcy knew he could trust Fitzwilliam to keep a secret. The floodgates opened.
"Good God, man! That blasted woman," he paused to gulp his brandy and immediately regretted it. It took a moment for the fire in his throat to subside. He strode to the chair and resumed his assault on Lydia Wickham's character in a quieter tone.
"I tell you, Fitz, there are times when I simply cannot believe that she and Elizabeth are related!" Darcy continued along this vein while Fitzwilliam yawned. This is old ground, Darce. I want to hear about what happened three days ago at the Golden Swan! Eventually, Darcy came around to the point.
"Do you know, Fitzwilliam, that we had barely passed through the gates of Pemberley before she began asking the most unseemly questions about my marital relations with Elizabeth," his tone and demeanor were somewhere amusingly betwixt disdainful aristocrat and gossiping fishmonger's wife. Colonel Fitzwilliam was already enjoying himself. I am so glad Mrs. Darcy suggested that I visit. I wouldn't have missed this for the world!
"She asked me if I was satisfied with my wife! She actually asked me, Fitz, as if I would answer such a query!" Darcy's voice dripped with wounded pride. Fitzwilliam began to chuckle.
"What was your reply?" This will be priceless, Fitzwilliam thought to himself.
"I gave her no answer," Darcy spat out. He got up and began to pace. "Really, Fitzwilliam! I'm shocked that you should ask such a question!"
"And did she let the matter drop at that?" the Colonel asked.
"No," Darcy mumbled petulantly. He looked into his glass and sat down. After a few seconds, he continued. "Since she and Elizabeth," here he winced involuntarily, "are so "very much alike" in many ways, she proceeded to tell me how she pleases Wickham and hinted that I should have Elizabeth do the same." Darcy again gulped at his brandy, as if trying to wash the taste of his words from his mouth. Colonel Fitzwilliam, however, shocked by Darcy's words, nearly choked on his own brandy.
"Are you all right, Fitz?" Darcy exclaimed, jumping to his feet.
"I'm fine, just fine" the Colonel replied, his eyes tearing. He was more interested in Darcy's story than he was in his own health at the moment. Darcy eyed him warily as he resumed his seat, and waited.
Colonel Fitzwilliam was about to ask Darcy to repeat himself, but at that moment the butler knocked to inform the men that dinner was served. Darcy and Fitzwilliam repaired to the dining room. After a few tastes of the food on his plate, Darcy sat back and sighed. The Colonel looked up from his plate questioningly.
Darcy pushed a slice of ham around his plate as he began to talk. His eyes never strayed from his fork. "Mrs. Wickham is either the most conniving female ever to draw breath or she's..." There was no point in debating what Lydia Wickham is, thought Darcy. He dropped the point and continued his story, a smile forming on his lips.
"She told me of her wedding night, which of course was some time after her elopement with Wickham. She also me about that, of course!" Darcy dropped the fork, sat back and resumed his tale. "After a few minutes of this, I all but forced her to eat something just to silence her." Fitzwilliam, his dinner also abandoned, smiled and shook his head. Darcy abruptly leaned forward and whispered (the pretense of the aristocrat abandoned, he was all fishwife), "Fitzwilliam, the girl actually tried to seduce me! Right there in the carriage!"
The Colonel was taken aback by this statement. He hadn't thought Lydia Wickham capable of that, for all that she had seemed bent on seducing the Colonel himself at Pemberley. But it's one thing to try to seduce the unmarried cousin of one's brother-in-law. It's quite another to attempt to seduce the brother-in-law himself! He immediately had doubts and had to hear more.
"Are you certain, Darcy?"
Darcy looked around and saw a few servants coming to clear dishes. He gestured with his head and he and the Colonel returned to the study. As they walked along, Colonel Fitzwilliam began to worry a bit. He had agreed to see Darcy at the townhouse and report everything back to Elizabeth. Knowing that Darcy would never tell her anything himself Elizabeth had enlisted Colonel Fitzwilliam as her spy. He had readily agreed, for he was equally curious. The Colonel had, of course, previously met Lydia Bennet briefly when he helped Darcy track her whereabouts in London after her elopement. But he had known her more by the few unguarded comments of her family until her recent stay at Pemberley. It was then that Colonel Fitzwilliam had come to see the true Lydia: self-absorbed, immature, and relentlessly flirtatious.
It would not surprise the Colonel to hear that Lydia Wickham had been shamelessly vulgar, or that she had flirted openly with his cousin. All such behavior fit well with her established character. But actual seduction! Even Colonel Fitzwilliam could not believe it. And what if it was true? How could he tell Elizabeth Darcy such a thing about her own sister?
Although the Colonel had initially felt a brief pang of guilt about betraying Darcy's confidence and revealing all to his wife, he knew that Darcy would enjoy the joke in the end and no harm would come of the deception. Darcy knew him well enough to know that he could be trusted with any real secret. What Darcy had begun to unfold to him moments earlier seemed like something he could not reveal to Mrs. Darcy.
The Colonel took his same seat by the fire, as Darcy took up a poker and absently prodded a log. The Colonel watched him, and waited for him to speak. After a minute or so, Colonel Fitzwilliam repeated his question.
"Are you certain, Darcy?" Colonel Fitzwilliam asked cautiously, trying to ascertain whether or not Darcy had misconstrued Lydia's "normal" behavior for something more pernicious. Darcy turned, and responded with such vehemence that the Colonel flinched.
"Of course, I'm sure!. I'm no naïve schoolboy, Fitzwilliam. I know enough of the world to know when a woman s trying to seduce me." Righteous anger flared in his eyes. Colonel Fitzwilliam, only momentarily unnerved, calmly persisted.
"Oh? And exactly how many women have tried, really tried, to seduce you, Darcy?" Darcy froze, his mouth opening and then closing with a snap, utterly stumped by the question.
"Come on, Darcy! This is Lydia Wickham we're talking about! An insignificant, silly chit of a girl who flirts with every man as easily as you twist that ring there on your finger. And I find it hard to believe that she would carry on so in front of her own child."
Darcy self-consciously dropped his hands to his sides, took his seat and firmly gripped the armrests. He lay his head back and closed his eyes.
"Tell me exactly what happened, Darce," Colonel Fitzwilliam said soothingly. He sat back and prepared for a good yarn.
Darcy heaved a big sigh and began his tale.
"Fitzwilliam, you must never repeat this to a soul. Lydia Wickham told me that she found me attractive and she shamelessly flirted with me. So far, this sounds like classic behavior for Lydia Wickham. Where's the seduction? "She practically threw herself at me, using some flimsy excuse about there being a bump in the road. Then she..."
"Was there a bump in the road, Darcy?" the Colonel asked innocently. He wanted facts, not the allegations of a delusional man. Darcy paused and was forced to admit that the carriage had hit a bump or two.
"Well, yes, the carriage did sway a bit, and she took the opportunity to sit next to me and wrap herself around my arm..."
"Scandalous!" Fitzwilliam cried, rolling his eyes in mock horror. Darcy shot him a look and went on, determined to vent his spleen.
"...And she began to trace her finders across my face..."
"Huh?" Perplexed, the Colonel interrupted. Darcy mimicked Lydia's gesture, and the Colonel laughed heartily. Darcy became indignant.
"I tell you, Fitzwilliam, if we hadn't reached the inn at that precise moment there's no telling what she would have done!" Fitzwilliam began to guffaw.
"I'm sorry, man, but the image of you cringing in terror of Lydia Wickham's advances is too precious," he managed as he was overcome by a coughing fit. Darcy crossed his arms and stared at the fire.
"Go on, laugh then," he pouted. "Had it been you in my place you wouldn't be laughing now."
"I'm sorry cousin," Fitzwilliam lied, shifting upright in his seat. "Pray, do continue."
Darcy glanced at Fitzwilliam out of the corner of his eye. He was not amused. Fitzwilliam managed to look very serious for a few seconds. This seemed to mollify Darcy, and he continued.
"We reached the Golden Swan, and stopped to eat and to bait the horses. Unfortunately, I immediately encountered Thomas Duncan, and Mrs. Wickham invited him to join us for tea." Colonel Fitzwilliam crossed his legs and waited for more.
"We chatted a bit before--Fitzwilliam, has a girl ever rubbed her foot against your ankle before?" The Colonel considered trying "that look," but was too near to laughter to attempt a straight face. Instead, he looked into his glass and replied with as casual an air as he could muster.
"Too many times to count."
In truth, he had absolutely no idea what Darcy was talking about. I thought I had successfully dissuaded you from venturing into this arena the last time you asked me for advice about women, Darcy! Why is it that everyone assumes I'm some heartbreaking Lothario? Just because women are constantly throwing themselves at my uniform doesn't mean I'm an expert on their tactics. I told you a sordid story last time to get rid of you; now it's your turn to spin the yarn... The Colonel was by now convinced that Darcy was just being paranoid, but he rose and refilled both snifters. He wanted to hear the whole story. Perhaps the application of additional spirits would facilitate the loosening of that tongue.
"So you were having tea..." the Colonel prompted, resuming his chair.
"Yes, and Mrs. Wickham rubbed my foot with hers!" The Colonel fought an urge to feign shock once more. He was too tired, too comfortable, and just a bit drunk. "I tell you, Fitzwilliam, it was a blatant gesture on her part, trying to lure me--"
"In the middle of the Golden Swan dining room, with Duncan and a five month old child at the table?" the Colonel interjected, for no particular reason.
"You weren't there, Fitz. Oh, and I'm sure she did it to Duncan, as well!" Darcy said, with just a hint of a slur.
"You looked under the table?" The Colonel sat up, confused, and looked at Darcy questioningly.
"No, no! But I could tell by the way he was smiling," Darcy said with a nod.
"And did he smile the same way you did when she rubbed your foot?" The Colonel leaned forward in his chair.
"I...no, I didn't smile. I gave her...you know, that "look" you and Georgiana keep talking about."
"And did it work on Mrs. Wickham?" It had certainly scared the wits out of Georgiana.
"No! That bold-faced hussy was relentless in her pursuit," Darcy declared. Fitzwilliam's mouth fell open. Either Darcy was quite inebriated or quite full of himself. It really didn't matter which. He drained his glass and sat back.
"What did you do, Darce?" Fitzwilliam asked, much in the manner that a child might ask a storyteller what the hero did when the ogre attacked.
"I tried to take my leave, of course!" Colonel Fitzwilliam sat forward again, scratching his head.
"You attempted to leave Mrs. Wickham behind?"
"No, no," Darcy answered, waving off the Colonel's ridiculous suggestion. "I wanted to get Mrs. Wickham away from Duncan." Fitzwilliam was still confused, and he wasn't that drunk.
"You wanted her for yourself?"
"Fitzwilliam! Of course not!"
"Oh. But you didn't want Duncan to have her?"
"She's a married woman, Fitzwilliam!"
"Then what made you think she was trying to seduce you? After all, you're a married man." The Colonel was growing eager to see Elizabeth Darcy again. She would relish this tale.
"You didn't hear her, Fitzwilliam. The woman was completely besotted with me!" This time the Colonel lost it, and nearly fell out of the chair laughing. Darcy drew himself up, bristling with righteous indignation. "She would not be the first, you know."
"Yes, yes, cousin. You already told me how a desperate Elizabeth Bennet pursued you across England, determined to have you at all costs!" Colonel Fitzwilliam's sides were beginning to ache. Darcy stood over him and gave him "that look," but it didn't work at all since his target was too bothered by hysterical laughter to make eye contact. Darcy put down his glass and announced that he was going to bed. Colonel Fitzwilliam pulled himself to his feet.
"Good night, cousin," he said. "I hope you sleep well." Darcy nodded tersely and headed for the door.
"Oh, Darce?" Laughter still tinged Colonel Fitzwilliam's voice.
"Yes, Fitzwilliam?" Darcy said impatiently, his back to his impertinent cousin.
"I had dinner tonight at the Duncan's. Thomas Duncan did mention seeing you the other day. He asked me to remember him to Mrs. Darcy. He said that he had meant to ask after her at the Golden Swan, but something happened that put her right out of his mind." The door slammed to and the sound reverberated through the entire house. The Colonel ran to the door and called after Darcy.
"Oh, and cousin? Duncan also asked me to remember him to your sister." Darcy turned on his heels and for a fleeting second, the Colonel thought he was going to come back and strike him. He therefore, reached for the door as he said, "Duncan said that Mrs. Wickham doesn't look at all like Mrs. Darcy, but he saw a strong family resemblance in the baby." The Colonel dove behind the door as a candlestick came flying down the hall. He collapsed into the chair once more and laughed until the decanter was dry.