Beginning, Section II
Prologue
"Nothing is more deceitful," said Darcy, "than the appearance of humility. It is often only carelessness of opinion, and sometimes an indirect boast."
"And which of the two do you call my little recent piece of modesty?" asked Bingley.
"The indirect boast; for you are really proud of your defects in writing, because you consider them as proceeding from a rapidity of thought and carelessness of execution, which if not estimable, you think at least highly interesting. The power of doing any thing with quickness is always much prized by the possessor, and often without any attention to the imperfection of the performance. When you told Mrs. Bennet this morning that if you ever resolved on quitting Netherfield you should be gone in five minutes, you meant it to be a sort of panegyric, of compliment to yourself-and yet what is there so very laudable in a precipitance which must leave very necessary business undone, and can be of no real advantage to yourself or any one else?"
"Nay," cried Bingley, "this is too much, to remember at night all the foolish things that were said in the morning. And yet, upon my honour, I believed what I said of myself to be true, and I believe it at this moment. At least, therefore, I did not assume the character of needless precipitance merely to show off before the ladies."
"I dare say you believed it; but I am by no means convinced that you would be gone with such celerity. Your conduct would be quite as dependent on chance as that of any man I know; and if, as you were mounting your horse, a friend were to say, 'Bingley, you had better stay till next week,' you would probably do it, you would probably not go-and, at another word, might stay a month."
"You have only proved by this," cried Elizabeth, "that Mr. Bingley did not do justice to his own disposition. You have shown him off now much more than he did himself."
"I am exceedingly gratified," said Bingley, "by your converting what my friend says into a compliment on the sweetness of my temper. But I am afraid you are giving it a turn which that gentleman did by no means intend; for he would certainly think the better of me, if under such a circumstance I were to give a flat denial, and ride off as fast as I could."
"Would Mr. Darcy then consider the rashness of your original intention as atoned for by your obstinacy in adhering to it?"
"Upon my word I cannot exactly explain the matter; Darcy must speak for himself."
"You expect me to account for opinions which you choose to call mine, but which I have never acknowledged. Allowing the case, however, to stand according to your representation, you must remember, Miss Bennet, that the friend who is supposed to desire his return to the house, and the delay of his plan, has merely desired it, asked it without offering one argument in favour of its propriety."
"To yield readily-easily-to the persuasion of a friend is no merit with you."
"To yield without conviction is no compliment to the understanding of either."
"You appear to me, Mr. Darcy, to allow nothing for the influence of friendship and affection. A regard for the requester would often make one readily yield to a request without waiting for arguments to reason one into it. I am not particularly speaking of such a case as you have supposed about Mr. Bingley. We may as well wait, perhaps, till the circumstance occurs, before we discuss the discretion of his behaviour thereupon. But in general and ordinary cases between friend and friend, where one of them is desired by the other to change a resolution of no very great moment, should you think ill of that person for complying with the desire, without waiting to be argued into it?"
"Will it not be advisable, before we proceed on this subject, to arrange with rather more precision the degree of importance which is to appertain to this request, as well as the degree of intimacy subsisting between the parties?"
"By all means," cried Bingley; "Let us hear all the particulars, not forgetting their comparative height and size; for that will have more weight in the argument, Miss Bennet, than you may be aware of. I assure you that if Darcy were not such a great tall fellow, in comparison with myself, I should not pay him half so much deference. I declare I do not know a more awful object than Darcy, on particular occasions, and in particular places; at his own house especially, and of a Sunday evening when he has nothing to do."
Mr. Darcy smiled; but Elizabeth thought she could perceive that he was rather offended; and therefore checked her laugh. Miss Bingley warmly resented the indignity he had received, in an expostulation with her brother for talking such nonsense.
And so the night wore on, and no one thought any more of the words there spoken. But it was to come true all too soon...
Chapter 1
He is the very pineapple of politeness!
~Richard Brinsley Sheridan
Lucas Harding looked up at the sky with a groan. The large dark clouds that he had seen off in the distance nearly his whole ride from London were finally catching up to him. And he still had a few miles left to go. He dug his heels into his horse's sides and resumed his ride.
He hadn't even thought of coming to Hertfordshire a few days ago. After all, London was great this time of the year. Most people wouldn't think so because there weren't any balls or parties during the off-season. But for Lucas, that was the reason he liked this time of year. It wasn't that he was unsociable. He just didn't enjoy spending most of his time dodging crafty old matrons with little better to do with their time than to catch an "eligible."
The only reason they wanted Lucas was because he was a viscount, and more importantly, in line to be the next duke of Kilroy. And to top it all off, he was rich as Croesus. And that wasn't including what he would inherit from his grandfather when that old bugger passed away. But don't take that seriously-Lucas was fond of his "grandpops," and had no wish to see him dead anytime soon. So only being a viscount was good enough to suit him.
Lucas had been a viscount since he was six, when his father had died in a riding accident. His mother had died at his birth, and so at six years, he was an orphan. After the accident and the funeral, he was sent to live with his grandfather at the Kilroy estate. Grandpops, as Lucas had dubbed him at an early age, was an intimidating man to those who didn't know him well enough. He was tall, with a full head of white hair and strong, stern features. His eyes, which Lucas had inherited, were an intense, steely grey.
But Lucas looked nothing like his grandfather, either now or when Granpops was younger. His hair was dark brown-almost black-at contrast with his grandfather's old blond hair. His skin was slightly darker than his grandfather's was. His features were softer and more ruggedly handsome. The only thing they had in common, except for the eyes, was their build. Lucas was also tall, with broad shoulders and strong calves that had no need for padding. He was well built and handsome. Putting into consideration his wealth and title, Lucas was a maiden's-and even widow's-dream come true.
Not that he really cared. He didn't like all of the glitz and glitter of the haut ton. He scorned the emptiness and hypocriticalness of the fashionable ladies and gentlemen, the double standard of honour and nobility. He hated it all.
His grandfather understood his sentiments exactly. Grandpops had never cared for the haut monde, and had always made it a point to live outside of the rules. That is why he supported the friendship between his grandson and Lucas' two good friends, Charles Bingley and Fitzwilliam Darcy. The two were far below a viscount's standards, and even further from a duke's-Bingley probably more, due to his connection with trade. But they were good friends despite this impediment.
They had met at Eton, and had remained friends later on at Cambridge. The three were not inseparable, yet they held a firm and close relationship through the years. They were bachelor buddies-even Bingley had taken the vow to remain a bachelor forever, though he was reluctant. They often sat in Whites and drank themselves into stupors, laughing and joking the whole time. If possible, they would then stop off at a bawdy house until the wee hours of the morning, when they would stumble back to their own beds. The other two weren't as fond of this last part as Lucas usually was, but then, they had had different upbringings than he.
And so here he was, on the way to invite them back to London. It had only been a few weeks since the two had left for Bingley's new country house, but Lucas already missed their company. The other two brought so much fun to London: Darcy, with his uptight morals, and Bingley with his mindless wonderings. And Bingley was hilarious when he was drunk.
Lucas passed through a small village. Meryton, he would guess by the name on the sign for the inn. He saw the people look curiously out of windows, and he smiled and winked at a few young girls walking down the road, who giggled and ran past him with flirtatious glances. He chuckled softly to himself, then stopped at the inn quickly and asked directions to Netherfield. He received some curious glances, but ignored them for the most part. Then he left the inn and, after tipping the stable boy for holding his horse, continued on his way.
When he reached the drive to Netherfield, he stopped and gazed down the path towards the house. It was impressive, though nothing compared to even one of Lucas' smaller estates on the Scottish border. Lucas shrugged philosophically and spurred his horse onwards. When he reached the house, he dismounted and waited for the groom running full speed from the stable.
"I'm so sorry, Sir," panted the groom. "We had not known anyone was to arrive."
"Don't trouble yourself," replied Lucas. "Just be sure he's rubbed down nicely."
The groom nodded emphatically, and Lucas turned away and walked up the steps to the front door. The butler opened before he even knocked and looked out at him. "Can I help you, Sir?"
Lucas tried his best to act snobbish and serious. "Yes, you may." He pulled out a calling card and handed it to the butler. "Is Mr. Charles Bingley in?"
The butler's eyebrows went up slightly upon reading the title of the man before him, and opened the door to allow him through. "If you would be so kind as to wait in the drawing room, I will see if Mr. Bingley is at leisure to see-"
"Harding? Is that you?" cried a voice from down the hallway. Charles Bingley looked out from a doorway, and upon seeing his friend, rushed enthusiastically towards him. "It's great to see you! What are you doing here? Have you just arrived in Hertfordshire? How is the Duke?"
Lucas smiled and held up his hand. "Woah! One question at onc-"
"I should go find Darcy. I am sure he'd be delighted that you are here!" cried Bingley, interrupting his friend. He turned around and was about to walk away, when the door opened to a nearby room, and Darcy himself appeared.
"I thought that was your awful voice, Lucas," said Darcy with a smile, leaning against the doorframe. "What ill wind brings you to Bingley's doorstep?"
"I'm not sure, but I'm sure glad it came with me, because the stench you emanate..."
Darcy laughed and straightening, approached his good friend and clapped him on the back. "Well, you look well. You don't look the worse for wear from weeks of drinking and debauching. I would assume that's what you've been doing...can't think of anything else you'd be good at."
Lucas shrugged. "Actually, not much. It's no fun in London without the two of you."
"It's no fun in London with you," replied Darcy without hesitation.
Lucas acknowledged the hit with a nod and a chuckle. He strolled around the foyer, glancing around at the pictures, stopping in front of a mirror to assess his appearance. He then turned and looked at Bingley, who was still standing in the same place. "But couldn't you just pack up here and return to London with me? I am sure your sisters wouldn't mind, Bings. What could they find to do out here in the country, anyway, except complain and terrorize Darcy?"
Darcy mumbled something indistinct, but before Lucas could question him, Bingley shook his head. "I can't return to London just yet," he said.
"Why not?" asked Lucas questioningly, trying to understand his friend's sudden decisive tone.
"I'll explain later," Darcy said in an undertone. At Lucas' questioning brow, though, he said reluctantly, "It has something to do with a lady, though."
Lucas shook his head. "Oh, come on, Bingley. We could have so much fun in London at this time of the year. We'd have the whole place to ourselves. Think about it. Forget this little ladybird of yours. I am sure there are some scrumptious actresses just looking for a man to-"
He was interrupted by a sudden coughing fit behind him, followed by muffled laughter. He turned around in surprise, and when he saw the young woman at the bottom of the stairs, he flushed deep red. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, realising his blunder. It seemed he had at least a bit of society's conscience in him. Bingley, behind him, must have been as embarrassed as he, for he said not a word. Darcy, it seemed, suffered from no such mortification, for he approached the young woman after a short hesitation.
"It is good to see you down so early, Miss Bennet," he said with a short bow. "I hope you would forgive our conversation."
When she finally managed her laughter, she shook her head with a smile. "No need, Mr. Darcy. In fact, I found it highly amusing."
Darcy's mouth curved into a rare smile of acknowledgment as he turned towards Lucas, who was rather surprised and suspicious to see his friend so amiable. "This is Viscount Harding. He has just come from London. Harding, this is Miss Elizabeth Bennet from Longbourn."
As Darcy was introducing the woman, Lucas looked her up and down. Her gown was in good condition, though not of the highest quality. Her figure seemed good, with a small waist and a high bust. Her neck was graceful and her skin a healthy hue. Her complexion seemed clear, and her features soft. But her eyes were what captured him. They were beautifully shaped, and the colour of amber. But as they made eye contact, she raised an eyebrow in challenge, and he smiled wickedly at her. He approached and with a flourish, kissed her hand. He heard her small laugh, and quirked an eyebrow at her.
Darcy called them back to attention as he cleared his throat pointedly. Lucas glanced over at his friend and saw the warning in his eyes. He didn't say a word in response, merely smiled slightly. "How is your sister today?" Darcy asked.
"She seems slightly better, I think," Miss Bennet replied.
"That is very good," Darcy said. "At least she is on the road to recovery."
"May I inquire as to your sister's illness, Miss Bennet?" asked Lucas.
Miss Bennet smiled. "Yes, you may. She fell ill with a cold upon getting caught in a rain storm while riding here for a dinner engagement."
Lucas nodded. "Then might I also extend my wishes for her full recovery?"
"Thank you very much. I am sure if she were better, my sister would thank you herself for your thoughtful consideration." She paused and looked away. "But would you please excuse me? I was on my way to the library. And I am sure you have other more, uh, interesting things to discuss than my sister's health. I will leave you to your own company."
Lucas smiled, watching the gentle sway of her hips as she walked away. He was interrupted in his musings again by Darcy's continually problematic throat. He looked up and smiled wickedly. "She isn't taken, is she?"
Darcy looked at him sternly. "No, she isn't. But neither is she one of the actresses you are so fond of. She is a lady."
Lucas scoffed. "Then what is she doing here in a household with two gentlemen? Her sister's presence wouldn't count for anything in the way of securing her reputation."
"My sisters are here, also," Bingley said from behind him.
Lucas turned slowly, a look of horror on his face. "Your sisters? As in Caroline and Louisa? They're here in this house now?" He groaned. "Well, it seems I'd better get back on my horse and ride for London. I am not staying here with them."
As he looked into Darcy and Bingley's faces, he wondered what he had said wrong. It wasn't until he heard the voice behind him that he realised what they were so embarrassed about.
"What is so wrong with my sister and me?"
Lucas grimaced as he turned around again, this time to face a slightly peeved Miss Bingley. He quickly twisted his face into its most charming and smiled at her. "Nothing. But you see, you are simply so lovely and sweet that I wouldn't be able to take my eyes...and hands...off you." He smiled wickedly, but tried to hide his grimace when he heard the sound of mocking laughter a short distance down the hall.
Miss Bingley's features softened. "I suppose I may forgive you this time, Lord Harding, but don't be thinking that I'll let you off easily every time." She paused and walked-or stalked, Lucas thought snidely-towards him a bit. She put her hands out to him and, clutching his lapels, looked up into his face as sweetly as she was able. "So what brings you to Netherfield, my lord?" she asked softly.
Lucas thought he heard Darcy chuckle, but he didn't take his eyes off the woman practically glued to him. "What if I told you that I came here to tell my friends of my engagement?"
Miss Bingley released him instantly and backed up a step. She scowled slightly. "You're betrothed?" she asked disbelievingly.
Lucas dusted off his jacket and then looked back up at her, his face a mask of innocence. "No, but I didn't say that I was, did I?"
Miss Bingley thought for a moment, her eyes narrowing slowly. With a final, dark glare, she scoffed, tossed her head, and stalked away. Lucas turned to look again at his friends. Darcy was grave as usual, but Lucas recognised the hint of amusement in his eyes. Bingley was completely shocked, probably more at his sister's behaviour than Lucas'. "So, how was I?" he asked with a grin.
Darcy's shoulders began to shake in mirth. "Your usual charming self, Lucas. I still cannot figure out why the ladies still flock to you, especially after that performance."
"It's my stunning good looks," Lucas said, putting his nose arrogantly in the air.
Darcy doubled over in laughter. Bingley still looked slightly lost. Lucas sighed and, throwing an arm around his friend's shoulders, said, "Let's adjourn to the library, shall we? I crave another sight of that delectable Miss Bennet."
Chapter 2
In the main there are two sorts of books; those that
no one reads, and those that no one ought to read.
~H.L. Mencken 'Prejudices' (1919)
Elizabeth sighed. There was no way she was going to find a decent book to read in this mess. There were dozens of books on the tables, and when she glanced at the shelves, she saw that they were in no order whatsoever. And from what she could tell, there were no novels. Not a single one.
She sighed again, and began her search for another book. She grimaced at the book on horticulture, and shuddered when her eye fell on The Rise and Fall of the Holy Roman Empire. The title itself was enough to make one fall asleep. She pursed her lips thoughtfully when she saw Fordyce's Sermons, and smiled ironically at the Kama Sutra directly above it. Then she saw it: a collection of Shakespeare's comedies. She dove for it eagerly and pulled it off the shelf. She brought it over to a comfortable chair near the window and opened it after settling herself in directly to the beginning of Much Ado About Nothing, one of her favourites.
As she was just getting into the first act, she heard a voice raised in a ditty most suitable for a tavern followed by boisterous laughter from several men. And they were coming down the hallway towards the library. Elizabeth looked around the room quickly for somewhere to hide. She had no intention of being found alone in the library by a group of males, especially those who, in their number, included Mr. Darcy. She seriously could not understand what chip that man might have on his shoulder, but whatever it was, she was tired of it always falling off to land on her. She would rather not receive any attention from him, even if it were complimentary.
She spied the desk in the corner of the room and quickly rushed to it. She could fit underneath it easily, she decided, so ducked under. As the door was opening, she saw the tome of Shakespeare still lying open on the chair, and nearly smacked her head for her stupidity. But perhaps they might not mark it among all of the other books lying around.
"Hmmm," said a voice, which she identified as the viscount's. "I had thought she went in here."
"Apparently not," said another voice.
"I don't think so, Bingley," said a third voice which Elizabeth recognised as Mr. Darcy's. "She said she was coming in here, and the only way to return to her sister would have been to go past us again. So unless she went into another room down this hallway..."
"Yes, I am sure that's it, Darcy," said Mr. Bingley. "Let's go check the other rooms."
The viscount laughed. "Bingley, you amaze me. Now, why would she go in any of the other rooms? What's in them?"
"Uh, well..." Mr. Bingley began. "There's a study somewhere around here. And I believe the conservatory is near here. And I think the billiard room is a few doors down."
"And why would she go to any of those? If she had come to find a book, she would have stayed in here to read it, or returned to her sister." Elizabeth heard footsteps slowly begin to walk the perimeter of the room. "Is it always so messy in here, Bingley?" the viscount asked.
There was a long pause. "Well, I don't know, Harding. I don't make the maids clean it, and I'm hardly ever in here."
"That's not surprising," she heard someone mutter under his breath, and struggled to contain her laughter.
She listened to the footsteps get closer until finally they were at one corner of the desk. Then she heard a slight creaking noise and realised that someone was sitting on the corner of the same desk she was hiding under! She held her breath in fear of discovery.
"So, how well do you know this Miss Bennet?" said the viscount, whom she then identified as the person sitting on the desk.
"Her family lives in the neighbourhood," said Mr. Darcy from across the room in a bored tone. "She has four sisters. Father is not rich, but comfortable. Uncle in trade, another an attorney. Decidedly below your station, Lucas."
Elizabeth clenched her hands in anger.
"So why again is she here?" asked the viscount.
She heard someone sigh, then Mr. Darcy resumed his speaking: "Why is Miss Elizabeth here? Well, Bingley's sisters have decided to claim the eldest Miss Bennet as what could only be termed as their friend in order to relieve their boredom. They invited her over, apparently, for dinner one night. She came on horseback, was caught in the rain, and developed a cold. The day after, Miss Elizabeth showed up after walking three miles in the mud and demanded to see her sister."
Someone laughed long and heartily. When it stopped, the viscount said, with laughter still in his voice, "Despite our short acquaintance, I think I would have expected that of her."
There was a long pause before the viscount spoke again. "She's quite fetching, isn't she?"
"Don't even think of it, Lucas," said Mr. Darcy.
"Think of what, Darcy?"
"There shall be no dallying with Miss Bennet. She's not one of your town-bronzed widows, nor especially not one of your worldly courtesans. Don't even think of it."
"Who died and made you her guardian?" the viscount said, a bit of defensiveness creeping into his tone.
There was a long silence before Mr. Bingley spoke. "I wonder who left this book open like this."
The desk creaked again, and footsteps went in the direction of the chair Elizabeth had been sitting in before. "Shakespeare? Ah! Much Ado. I love this play. Well, who else uses this library?"
"Darcy does," offered Mr. Bingley.
"Were you reading this, Darce?"
"No, I wasn't," replied Mr. Darcy. "Perhaps Miss Bennet left it there."
"Well, then I wonder where she is, because she definitely isn't in here. Shall we go search the conservatory?"
Three pairs of footsteps walked in the direction of the doorway, and as soon as she heard the door close behind them, she slipped out from her hiding place and quickly stole towards the door. She could definitely not be caught in the library after she just eavesdropped on their conversation, especially considering what the conversation was about!
She took off her shoes so as to make no noise on the floor, and opened the door silently. The three men were down the hall, looking into the conservatory, and finding no one there, they closed the door and continued down the hall to other rooms. She quickly slipped through the door and closed it softly behind her. She ran silently down the hall and up the stairs. As she closed the door to her sister's room, she leaned back against it and breathed a sigh of relief. She had not been seen.
"Lizzy?" came a soft, worried voice, startling her out of her reverie. She looked up to see Jane, propped up on the pillows, gazing at her in confusion and concern. "I thought that you were to read in the library."
"I changed my mind," she said quickly, then sighed and pushed herself away from the door. She sat down on the bed beside her sister and leaned back against the pillows. "You cannot imagine who has come to Netherfield, my dear sister."
"Does it have anything to do with the horse and rider I heard coming up the drive?"
Elizabeth looked at her sister, puzzled. "I hadn't heard anyone."
Jane shook her head gently. "You had just left the room when I noticed it. I thought perhaps it was Mr. Jones, or someone else from the village, for I had not heard anyone leave." She smiled brightly. "So, who is come?"
Elizabeth smiled slyly and looked at her sister through narrowed eyes, her brows arched. "The most handsome, worldly, infuriating man I have ever met. And the one with the grandest title, I may add."
"Oooh! What is name?"
"Viscount Lucas Harding," she said with a smile.
"What is he like?" her sister asked in awed tones. "Is he proud, or arrogant, or is he polite and courteous?"
Elizabeth sat in thought for a while. "He was not rude, but I have the feeling that he is quite a rake, and cuts a wide swath among the ladies of the ton. It wouldn't surprise me if he has a new mistress every week."
"Lizzy!" cried Jane, scandalised.
"What?" Elizabeth asked with an admonishing look. "I can talk of this to you, Jane. It is not as if we are right now in polite company. And it is quite common knowledge that gentlemen of his stature are bound to take a mistress, married or not." She paused and smiled. "And you should have seen how he had flirted with me shamelessly. It was as if Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley had not been standing right there! I was so embarrassed!"
Jane gave her sister a disbelieving look. "You, embarrassed, Lizzy? I cannot imagine it."
"Well, of course I did not let my embarrassment show. You know me better than that. And yet I was embarrassed. I cannot imagine what they think of me now, especially as I did nothing to discourage him, and probably everything to encourage him."
"Oh, Lizzy," sighed Jane.
"Oh, Jane," Lizzy said with a laugh. "I think you are disappointed in me."
Jane smiled slightly. "I suppose I am. You will promise me something, though?"
Elizabeth nodded. "Of course. I will promise you the world, Jane."
"I do not think I will require that much," Jane said with a laugh at her own quip. "But you will promise me not to become involved with this viscount, won't you?"
"You have my word, Jane," Elizabeth replied with a bright smile, recalling the conversation in the library. "You have my word."
Chapter 3
If you can tell the difference between good
advice and bad advice, you don't need advice.
~Anonymous
That evening, shortly before dinner, Lucas was sitting with Darcy in the library, sharing a glass of sherry. They sipped their drinks together without saying a word, both in opposite chairs in front of a roaring fire. Neither said anything, yet both wished desperately to know what was going on in the other's mind.
"So, do I have your support for our removal to London?" Lucas finally said into the silence.
Darcy grimaced slightly, before setting his drink down on the small table beside his chair. "I wish I could say yes, but I doubt Bingley will listen to you."
"Why? You know, you still have not told me about this interesting lady who is the reason why we cannot return to London posthaste."
"Actually, I have told you about her."
"That fetching little package from this afternoon?" Lucas asked, sitting up straight and leaning forward. "Are you kidding? What is Bingley thinking of? She'd run roughshod over him in less than two hours of their marriage!"
"No, Lucas, not Elizabeth-"
"On a first-name basis, are we?" Lucas asked wryly.
A muscle jumped in Darcy's jaw. "Miss Elizabeth. What I was saying, though, was that it is not she. It is her sister."
"The one that is sick?
Darcy nodded. "The very one. Bingley seems to have fallen hard for her."
Lucas laughed. "He falls hard for every single girl he meets, and doubly so for the pretty ones."
"I don't think it's that simple this time," Darcy said with a shake of his head and another sustaining sip of sherry. "I think he's fallen in love with her."
"And..." Lucas said, waiting for more.
"And she's unsuitable," Darcy said, as if stating that the world was round.
Lucas burst out laughing, nearly spilling his glass of sherry on the carpeting. He quickly set it on the table so as to indulge in a long, loud bout of hilarity. In fact, it seemed as though he could not stop laughing. But after the fourth time Darcy checked his watch pointedly, Lucas wiped his eyes and struggled to maintain his composure. He choked out, "Unsuitable?"
"Highly," Darcy said seriously.
Lucas began to laugh again, and Darcy said impatiently, "What is so funny? I fail to see the joke, Lucas. This is a very serious matter."
"The joke is you, Darcy!" Lucas said with a laugh. "How can you even begin to say that she is unsuitable? Is she an old crone, twice Bingley's age, living in a cottage and practicing witchcraft?"
"No," Darcy said, visibly irritated. "But her family, though comfortable, is not rich, and is quite without manners, and she has relations in trade."
"That's it?"
Darcy looked nonplussed. "Well, yes. What else would you expect me to say?"
"Is she pretty?"
"Well, yes, but-"
"Is she kind?"
"Yes, but-"
"Is she a gentleman's daughter? Is she a lady?"
"Yes, Lucas, but-"
"But nothing! She is everything Bingley could want and more. I think I would like to meet this paragon of virtue and beauty."
"She has no connections-"
"What does she want with connections?" Lucas interrupted again. "What does Bingley want with connections? He is happy, is he not? And besides, as to her connection with trade, I beg leave to remind you that Bingley's fortune comes from trade. So technically, she is further removed from the taint of that unholy profession than he is."
Darcy was silent, glaring moodily into the fire. Lucas sighed. "Darcy, look-"
"I don't think she loves him, Lucas," he said.
Lucas raised a brow. "Not love Bingley? How could anyone of the female persuasion not love Bingley? Where did this woman get her heart?"
"Joking aside, Lucas, please," Darcy said tersely.
Lucas sighed and took another sip of his drink. "Are you sure of this? Has she shown an aversion to him?"
"No, not really," Darcy said slowly. "Not an aversion. But she seems indifferent to him."
Lucas' eyes narrowed. "And you base your opinions on..."
"On my own judgment, dammit," Darcy snapped. "Do you think me not qualified to determine whether one person is in love with another?"
There was a long silence, before Lucas exhaled in a puff of air. "Actually, Darcy, no. I don't. Perhaps you might be able to judge a man's reaction to a woman, but I do not think you quite understand the fairer sex."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Darcy said angrily.
Lucas sighed. "Fine, here's an example. "What does Miss Elizabeth think of me?"
Darcy's brows drew together. "What does she think of you?" He paused in thought. "Well, I seem to recall she seemed very taken with you. She certainly seemed rather more flirtatious than usual. I would say she liked you, and thought that you would be a good catch."
For a few minutes the only sound in the room was of Lucas' roaring laughter. "That is what you think?" Lucas asked. "And you think that you were able to determine Miss Bennet's feelings for Bingley? I think not."
"Then if you think you know better," Darcy said with righteous indignation, "what was Miss Elizabeth's opinion of you?"
Lucas smiled. "For one, Darcy, she didn't like me. Oh, she found me amusing, but she saw through me immediately. She's much smarter than she looks."
"And how would you know that?" asked Darcy. "You only had met her for about ten minutes, at most."
"I can sense these things, Darcy," Lucas replied casually. "I could see the intelligence in her eyes. I would also imagine that she enjoys finding amusement in the ridiculous. She is sarcastic. She is not cynical, but realistic. She has no need for pretense, either, which is why she told me exactly what she thought of me: a rake; a handsome rake, it's true, but a rake through and through."
Darcy was silent, the expression on his face a mixture of awe and cynical disbelief. He shook his head. "How could you even..."
"I told you, Darcy. I have a good understanding of females."
Darcy snorted. "There's the understatement of the year."
Lucas smiled. "True, true. But I am speaking of personalities and how their minds work." He paused, opened his mouth to say something else, but then closed it and gazed speculatively at Darcy, who was gazing at the sherry sloshing around in his glass. "What do you think of Miss Elizabeth, Darcy?" Darcy's head shot up, his eyes wide with surprise. They were shuttered quickly, but Lucas had caught a glimpse of the emotions there. "She's rather pretty, isn't she?"
"Yes, she has a certain charm, I'll grant you that," Darcy said guardedly.
"And though she may seem a bit impertinent, I think that it's quite refreshing, don't you?"
"Perhaps," Darcy replied, "to some people."
"And are you one of these people?"
Darcy didn't respond.
Lucas pursed his lips in frustration. "You are exceedingly tight-lipped on this subject, Darcy. It would make one think you had something to hide."
"I don't. I simply do not wish to offer my opinion on this subject."
"And yet you did not hesitate to offer your opinion on the subject of Bingley's opinion of the other Miss Bennet."
Darcy turned his angry stare on his friend. "Did you come here to provoke an argument with me, Lucas? Because if you did, it's working very well."
Lucas stood up and held up his hands in surrender. "If that's what you want, I'll leave you to the fine company of your sherry and your opinions that don't matter. Hope you enjoy yourself immensely, Darcy. I think I'll go and see if Miss Bennet has come down for dinner yet." And with not another word, he walked from the room. Darcy remained in his chair, glaring morosely at the fire.
Chapter 4
You can observe a lot just by watching.
~ Yogi Berra
Lucas was disappointed. Miss Bennet had declined coming down for dinner, instead having hers sent to her room on a tray. He was forced to dine with an angry Miss Bingley (and consequently an angry Mrs. Hurst), a sullen Darcy, a drunken Mr. Hurst, and a surprisingly thoughtful Bingley. It was not his best dining experience. His only consolation was that he had thought ahead and brought a valise with him, so that he wasn't dressed wrong.
And he gave thanks for that when, just as he had made the decision to make his excuses and retire, Elizabeth appeared in the drawing room, accompanied by another lady Lucas had never seen, but assumed to be the elder Miss Bennet. He was right in his assumption when Bingley took such pains to be solicitous, then sat her beside the fire and remained there, talking with her. Lucas watched them thoughtfully for a while, and smiled when he realised that yes, his powers of observation were indeed better than Darcy's. For he saw what Darcy hadn't-that Miss Bennet, though quiet and unassuming, was definitely either in love with Bingley, or on her way to being very much so.
He sat back smugly in his chair and would have returned to his book, had he not caught a curious glance from Elizabeth, who had just chosen a book from a pile on one table, and was now looking around for a place to sit. He glanced meaningfully at the chair beside his, and she nodded and walked over.
"Do you mind if I sit here?" she said softly to him, and he shook his head.
She sat down, but did not open her book. Instead she watched some of the other people in the room. She watched her sister and Bingley deep in conversation by the fire, and Mrs. Hurst, who sat nearby, listening to them. She watched Mr. Hurst, but for only a moment, because he was doing nothing but lounge in his chair and sleep. Mr. Darcy was reading a book in another chair by the fire, and Miss Bingley was sitting close by, reading the second volume to Darcy's book, often trying to ask him questions about his own. Then she turned to glance at her companion beside her, and was surprised to find him watching her quietly.
"Oh!" she said in a soft exclamation.
He chuckled. "What are you surprised at? That while you were so busy watching other people, someone was watching you? You oughtn't be."
"Why should I not be?"
Lucas smiled and let his eyes wander over her figure. When he glanced back into her face, he smiled wider at the fact that it was now beet red. "I could ask the same question."
"You are despicable, my lord."
"I know," he replied, sitting back in his chair and opening his book. "But I'm not the only person in this room who is, am I?"
"What do you mean by that?" Elizabeth asked suspiciously.
Lucas looked up at her. "I'm not the only gentleman in this room who can't keep his eyes to himself, am I?"
"I can only assume that you are speaking of Mr. Darcy," she replied in an undertone. "And if so, you are telling the truth. I wish that man would stop looking at me as if I were some pile of manure from the stables which somehow found its way into polite society."
Lucas laughed, drawing a few curious eyes from the room towards him. He merely smiled at them and then turned to his companion again. "I cannot believe he thinks so ill of you, Miss Bennet."
"Then you think wrongly, Lord Harding. Would you like me to tell you what he said of me the first time we met? And I quote: 'She is tolerable, I suppose. But not handsome enough to tempt me,'" she said in a low, mocking voice. "'I am in no humour to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men.'"
Lucas laughed again, slightly harder than before, and Elizabeth joined in. The rest of the room turned to look at them. The trio on one side of the fire was surprised and curious. Mr. Hurst merely snorted and moved his head to the other side of the chair. Miss Bingley glared at her rival, then turned back to Mr. Darcy with renewed interest. But that gentleman was still looking at the other two, a slight scowl on his face.
When Elizabeth and Lucas stopped laughing, Lucas said quietly. "I think I can help you, you know."
"Help me? How?"
"I may be able to help you convince him that you aren't so bad of a person."
Elizabeth shook her head. "Why would I wish to do that? I don't care what he thinks of me. I just want him to stop making it so obvious."
Lucas smiled. He didn't say another word, though, and began to read his book. Elizabeth watched him for a few moments, then opened hers also. Not a few minutes later, they were interrupted by Miss Bingley, who asked Elizabeth to accompany her on a walk about the room. Elizabeth glanced at Lucas, whose eyebrows were raised in surprise and suspicion, but agreed to the proposition. She set her book down, stood up and, linking her arm through Miss Bingley's, began to stroll around the room with her. Lucas laid his book on his lap and was watching the two of them walk, admiring the gentle sway of Elizabeth's hips, when he caught sight of Darcy doing the same thing. He noted the expression in Darcy's eyes as they wandered up and down her form. The voice of Miss Bingley startled them both.
"Mr. Darcy, come walk with us about the room. I am sure sitting in such a fashion must grow tedious."
Lucas nearly laughed at the grimace Elizabeth threw him over her shoulder. But he was much more interested in the look on Darcy's face. "I must decline your invitation. I can only see two motives for your choosing to walk up and down the room, and either reason it is better that I remain where I am."
Miss Bingley looked at her companion with a mixture of triumph and exaggerated curiosity on her face. "I wonder what he means! Can you have any idea? Perhaps we should ask him."
"I warn you against that," said Lucas in a loud voice. "You would not wish to delve into the workings of Darcy's mind. You might not make it out alive."
Miss Bingley threw him a withering look, while Elizabeth had to turn her face aside to hide a smile. Darcy merely smiled and said, "I assure you, these reasons are logical. Either the two of you are in each other's confidence, and have secret affairs to discuss, or are aware of the fact that your figures appear to greatest advantage in walking. In the first case, I would only be in the way, and in the second, I can admire you much better from my position here by the fire."
Lucas only smiled as Miss Bingley shot him a triumphant look. Elizabeth laughed. " I congratulate you, Mr. Darcy, on your attempt at a compliment."
"Thank you, Miss Bennet. But it wasn't merely an attempt."
Elizabeth only smiled in response.
"I think he should be punished for such an abominable speech, compliment or not," Miss Bingley cried. "What do you think we ought to do, Miss Eliza?"
"There is nothing so easy," Elizabeth said. "Tease him; laugh at him. Intimate as you are, I am sure you know how it must be done."
"Upon my honour, I do not," replied Miss Bingley. "For there is nothing to laugh at in Mr. Darcy. Calmness of temper? Presence of mind? How could one laugh at qualities such as those? We would only make fools of ourselves, laughing without a subject."
"Mr. Darcy, not to be laughed at!" Elizabeth cried. "Is he such a paragon, then? That is a very uncommon advantage, and one that I hope does not occur too often, for it would be a great loss to me to have so many acquaintances. I dearly love a laugh."
"Miss Bingley," Darcy said with a bit of chagrin, "has given me too much credit. The greatest and wisest men-no, the greatest and wisest of their actions-may be rendered ridiculous by one whose first object in life is a joke."
"There are such people," Elizabeth said with a smile, "But I hope not to be considered one of them. I hope never to ridicule that which is wise or good. Follies and nonsense, whims and inconsistencies, I admit, do divert me, and I laugh at them whenever I choose. But I suppose these are precisely what you are without."
"That is not possible for anyone: to be a man without fault. It has been the study of my life to avoid such weaknesses, though."
"Such as vanity and pride?"
Lucas smiled, knowing exactly what she was heading for, and could barely contain his laughter as he heard Darcy say, "Yes, vanity is a weakness indeed. But pride-where there is a real superiority of mind, pride will always be under good regulation."
As Elizabeth turned away to hide a smile, Lucas began to laugh. Miss Bingley turned to address him: "And what do you find so funny, my lord?"
Lucas held up a hand and shook his head. "Darcy, I suppose you are saying that you have a superiority of mind?"
Darcy looked at his friend in annoyance. "Yes, I would hope so."
"So you are a man without faults?" Elizabeth asked.
Darcy shook his head. "As I said, that is impossible. I have my faults. My temper I dare not vouch for. It is, I believe, too implacable-at least for the convenience of the world. I cannot forget the follies and vices of others as quickly as I should, nor can I forget others' offenses against myself. I cannot be swayed easily from my grudges. Some would call my temper resentful. My good opinion once lost is lost forever."
There was silence in the room for a few moments before Elizabeth said, "That is a failing indeed. But you have chosen your fault well, for I cannot laugh at it. You are safe from me."
"I believe all people have a tendency towards some particular evil-a natural defect which not even the best education can overcome.
"Yours is the propensity to hate everyone."
"And yours is to willfully misunderstand them," he shot back with a smile.
"Shall we have some music?" Miss Bingley said quickly, and moved towards the pianoforte. Lucas sat with his elbow on the armrest, his chin in his hand, gazing thoughtfully at Elizabeth and Darcy, who were still looking at each other, one with a hostile glare, the other with admiration mixed with amusement in his eyes. And Lucas smiled, realising that his job would be easier than he thought. Tonight, he vowed, would be a drinking party. The guests? Hurst, Bingley, and most importantly, Darcy.
Posted on Tuesday, 28 March 2000
"Here, here!" Hurst said and downed his whole snifter in one swallow. Lucas bit his lower lip to keep from smiling, and filled Hurst's glass again. He remained standing by the decanter and took a sip of his own glass, then looked at Bingley. "So, Bings, your Miss Bennet is quite charming."
"You think so?" Bingley asked eagerly. "Oh, I am so glad that someone else agrees with me. Darcy here will not give me a good opinion of her."
"Is that so?" Lucas said, raising one eyebrow. "I cannot believe that he is blind."
Darcy took a sip of his brandy and set it down on the table next to him. Lucas surreptitiously filled it again as Darcy was telling Bingley that he didn't think so ill of Miss Bennet. "She is very handsome, Bingley, and of the sweetest temper. I simply think she is not what you want."
"Not what I want?" cried Bingley. "I think she is exactly what I have been looking for. I think I will marry her."
The room was quiet for a few moments. Darcy took a hurried swallow of his brandy. "Isn't this a bit hasty, Bingley?"
"Absolutely not," Bingley replied, holding out his glass for Lucas to refill it. "I have been thinking of this for a while. I believe I could spend the rest of my life with her. I just...I'm not sure how to ask her."
"How else would you ask her except by saying, 'Will you marry me?'" Lucas said with a smile.
"That's not what I mean," Bingley said, and glanced at Hurst, who had just begun to snore. "I mean, I am not sure she will accept me."
"Why wouldn't she?" asked Lucas. "She loves you."
"Do you think so?" asked Bingley. He glanced down at his glass, then pointedly at Darcy. "He doesn't think so."
Lucas shook his head and refilled Darcy's glass again. "You put too little value on your own opinion, Bings. Don't listen to Darcy so much. Do you think she loves you?"
Bingley took a sip of his brandy and then stared into it thoughtfully. "I think so. She has been all that is kind, gentle, and sweet. She's never given me reason to believe she does not love me."
"Then ask her. Ask her father's permission. I have no doubt there will be no objection there." He looked at Darcy, who was silent, sipping his own brandy. "Do you have any objections, Darcy?"
"None at all," Darcy said coolly. "None that would matter, that is."
Lucas looked back at Bingley, who was already wearing an idiot's grin, holding out his glass for more brandy. Lucas smiled, knowing that tongues were about to start wagging. "Well, Darce, that's good for me, but what 'bout you?" Bingley's speech was becoming a bit slurred after two glasses of brandy and the three glasses of wine he had had at dinner. Bingley could not hold his liquor very well, that was for sure.
"What about me?" Darcy asked.
"Well, how's about you and Miss Elizabeth?"
"She's not for me," Darcy said.
"And why not?" Lucas asked, raising an eyebrow at his friend.
Darcy didn't say anything, but simply drank more of his brandy. At last he set it down on the table beside him (where Lucas refilled it quickly) and steepled his hands, resting them on his lips. "She's far beneath my station in life. I cannot imagine bringing her into town for the season. She's a country girl. What would she know about fashion, about manners?"
"She knows a lot, I'd bet!" cried Bingley.
"I'd have to agree with Bingley," Lucas said. "From what I have seen of her, she seems to understand the rules of society. And despite what you have told me of her family, she knows how to be refined. And do not tell me she does not know how to dress, for though she does not wear the finest silks and satins, she is dressed very well."
Darcy didn't say a word, but instead stared into the fire. Lucas sighed and took a second sip of his brandy. Darcy wasn't yet loosening up. He wondered how many more glasses it would take. Darcy had only drunk three glasses of wine at dinner, and with all of the brandy Lucas had refilled into the glass, he supposed Darcy had already drunk about four. And remembering the iron control Darcy had always had, he couldn't recall if he had ever seen Darcy drunk. This, he vowed, would then have to be the first.
"D'you remember last year?" began Bingley.
"Uh, yes, somewhat," Lucas replied, trying not to laugh.
"We had fun, din't we?"
"Very much so, Bings."
Bingley lapsed into a thoughtful silence before saying, "D'you remember that one girl?" Silence greeted his question, and he looked at Lucas. "That one girl? You rem'ber her?"
"Of course, Bingley. I remember her," Lucas said with a straight face.
"She's an angel. Yup, an angel, I said. My Jane's an angel. Didja see her halo?"
Lucas smiled and nodded, and Bingley, thinking this was sufficient, started on a litany of more of his Jane's angelic qualities. Lucas turned to Darcy, who was still staring into the fire, drinking more of his brandy. "Looks as if you've lost the game, Darce."
Darcy looked at Lucas with a malicious glare, which surprised the latter greatly. "It wasn't a game, Lucas."
Lucas held his hands up in surrender. "Look, I'm sorry, Darce. I'm only trying to make light of it."
Darcy took a large swig of his brandy and set it down next to him. This time, Lucas hesitated in refilling it. He could see plainly that Darcy was not the nice drunk he had hoped. And yet, if he was going to weasel any information from him, this was the only way. He refilled it to the top, then put the decanter down. "Miss Elizabeth is quite a saucy wench, isn't she?"
"She isn't a wench," Darcy said tersely.
"Fine; she's a saucy lady. She's got fire, that one. You know, she might be just the one I've been looking for."
There was complete silence in the room. Even Bingley had stopped talking for a second. "You?" he said clearly. "But you're a vowed bachelor, like us." He paused in thought. "Well, like I was..." A confused look crossed his face, but he shrugged it off, and began talking of Jane again to a sleeping Hurst.
Darcy was still looking at Lucas shrewdly. "You're only doing this to make me jealous."
Lucas shrugged indifferently. "Jealous? Why would I make you jealous, Darcy? And besides, how would I make you jealous? You don't even like her."
"Who told you that?" Darcy said harshly.
"Why, you did."
Darcy's brow furrowed. "I don't remember saying anything like that."
"Well, do you?" Lucas said calmly.
Darcy frowned mournfully into his glass of brandy. "She's handsome, and self-assured, and independent, and intelligent. She doesn't need someone like me. She's too good for me."
Lucas' brows shot up. He had never known Darcy to be so vulnerable. But after thinking about it for a few minutes, he realised that it was logical. The whole reason Darcy was always so serious, so uptight, so ambitious, was to hide his flaws, to assure himself that he was good enough. He tapped his lip with a forefinger and gazed thoughtfully at Darcy. "You love her, don't you?"
Darcy looked up slowly at his friend. "Yes. Yes, I do," he said again, this time, a bit confused and thoughtful. He blinked a few times, then took another sip of his brandy.
Lucas sighed, and pried the glass away from Darcy's hand. He had gotten what he came for, and now, he had better stop their imbibing. They would have enough of a headache as it was. "Come on, Darce. We'd better get to bed, eh?"
Darcy nodded sullenly, and stood up wobbly. "I'll talk to you tomorrow, Lucas."
"Uh-hmm," replied Lucas as he attempted to get Bingley's glass away from him. "Need help up the stairs, Darce?"
"No, no," Darcy said as he made his way unsteadily towards the door. He supported himself with one hand on the doorframe for a few moments, and Lucas gave up trying to get the glass away from Bingley and ran over to help Darcy. He helped him up the stairs slowly, despite Darcy's repeated attempts to throw him off, then gave him into the keeping of his valet, who seemed extremely surprised at his master's condition. Lucas rolled his eyes and shrugged off an explanation, simply informing the servant to take good care of him. Then he made his way back down to the library to find Bingley snoring in his chair, the brandy glass lying on the floor, empty. Lucas scratched his head, trying to figure out the best way to get Bingley up the stairs and into bed. Finally, he shook Bingley semi-awake and prodded him to stand and throw his arm over Lucas' shoulder. They made their way up the stairs slowly, having to stop constantly as Bingley fell asleep or they lost their balance. But eventually, Lucas carried Bingley to his room and laid him on the bed, throwing a coverlet over him quickly.
He stopped at the head of the stairs, trying to decide whether to go downstairs and carry Hurst upstairs as well, but decided it wasn't worth it. His muscles were sore already, and Hurst was probably found drunk every morning, anyway. He sighed and went to his room, feeling a bit guilty over the headaches he was sure the others would have the next morning-or actually, he thought with a grin, later that morning.
Chapter 6
The average, healthy, well-adjusted adult gets up at
seven-thirty in the morning feeling just plain terrible.
~ Jean Kerr
Elizabeth examined herself in the mirror. "What do you think, Jane?" she asked.
"Very nice, Lizzy. That colour looks very good on you."
Elizabeth spun around and gave her sister a hug. "Thank you. Since this is to be our last day here, I figured that I should make my best impression yet."
"On who?" Jane asked quietly.
"Well, I suppose on the viscount," Elizabeth started with a grin at herself in the mirror, "because if Mama heard that I did not even try for him, I would be in for the scolding of my life. On Miss Bingley, too, because for some reason, she seems extremely jealous of me. Why do you think that is?"
Jane sighed. "I know that she wishes to marry Mr. Darcy. Perhaps that gentleman has fallen in love with you."
Elizabeth spun around again, her eyes wide with shock. "Jane, have you been drinking?"
"No," Jane said in confusion.
"Then where would you come up with such an idea as that? Of course Mr. Darcy hasn't fallen in love with me. He is always looking at me in disgust and disapproval, staring at me as if he can somehow change whatever is wrong with me just by looking at me."
Jane smiled. "Are you sure you are not mistaken, Lizzy? Perhaps it is only admiration you see in his eyes, and he stares at you because he cannot take his eyes off you."
Elizabeth shot her sister a look of pure disbelief. "Yes, Jane. And there is a herd of elephants on the front lawn."
"Oh, dear. That is not good," murmured Jane.
Elizabeth hugged her sister impulsively. "I was simply funning you, my dear. Now, I shall send 'round this note to Mama telling her we need the carriage. What do you think?"
Jane smiled. "Sounds lovely. Shall you send it before breakfast?"
"Of course. And then I shall have breakfast and see if I can smuggle up some of those delightful rolls they had yesterday." Elizabeth smiled and waved to her sister before closing the door behind her.
"Well, hello."
Elizabeth turned around, startled. "Oh, it's only you, Lord Harding."
"Are you going down for breakfast?" he asked.
"Why yes, I am," she replied with a smile.
He offered his arm. "Then may I escort you down? I am going to break my fast, as well."
She took his arm, and they both walked in the direction of the staircase. They walked down silently, and when Elizabeth saw the butler, she handed him the note and asked that it be delivered to Longbourn. "What was that?" the viscount asked.
Elizabeth glanced at him, then looked away. "My sister and I feel that we have overstayed our welcome. I am sending a note to my mother to ask permission to use the carriage."
"Why do you not use Bingley's? I am sure he would lend it to you."
"I would not like to be a trouble, my lord."
"Nonsense." He called the butler back and asked for the note. The butler sent a questioning glance at Elizabeth, but handed the note to Lucas, who promptly tore it up and handed the pieces back to the butler. "You may deliver that to the nearest fire."
The butler bowed and walked away. "What was that for?" Elizabeth asked, gazing after the butler.
"I don't want you to leave. And if you absolutely must," he said, cutting off her objections with a wave of his hand, "you may use Bingley's carriage. I shall not hear another word about it."
Elizabeth closed her mouth and walked past him to the breakfast room, where she picked up a plate and began to put food on it from the buffet. "No, no. Allow me," Lucas said, lifting the plate from her hands.
Elizabeth put her hands on her hips and glared at him. "Perhaps I shan't 'allow you,' as you so elegantly put it. How do you even know what I will have for breakfast?"
Lord Harding turned to look at her. "Well, probably what every young lady likes for breakfast: a piece of toast, possibly-if they're feeling daring-a few eggs. Oh, and a few rolls to put up their sleeves for later when no one is looking. I left those on the side, so they are easy to slip away."
Elizabeth tried to scowl, but couldn't mask the smile that tugged at the edges of her mouth. "You are so ridiculous, you are funny. If this is the way you charm women, I can see why they practically fall in your lap."
"Women falling into my lap? Who has been spreading such abominable rumours?" he asked, looking around the room. "They should be ashamed of themselves. I am not a rake. I am a fine, upstanding citizen."
"And I am the queen's sister."
"Oh, then, I'm sorry, your Royal Highness. I should have bowed lower to you, shouldn't I?" He smiled and propelled her to the table, where he set her plate down and pulled out the chair for her to sit. He then went and began to fill his own plate. "But seriously, my charm is not the reason women are attracted to me. It is more my title and wealth than anything."
"Mercenary fools," Elizabeth muttered.
"Why yes, I couldn't agree with you more," Lucas said over his shoulder. "But you would be surprised. The mothers are worse than the daughters."
"Actually, I wouldn't be surprised at that. My mother is a fine example. She has similar aspirations for her daughters." She glanced at him wryly as he came and sat down across from her. "If she heard that you were here at the same time that I was, I would never hear the end of it. She would be constantly yelling at me, 'Why didn't you catch that viscount, ungrateful girl?'"
Lucas laughed. "I commiserate. I suppose I am lucky, in that way. I have never had a mother to yell at me to find a girl and settle down. And truthfully, Grandpops couldn't care less, though I am sure he would like to see a great-grandchild before he dies, to know that the dukedom will be passed down."
"Dukedom?" Elizabeth choked.
Harding laughed bitterly. "Yes, that is the reaction I usually get."
She wiped her hands on her napkin. "No, that's not what I meant. It's just...I have never actually met a duke. And you seem so...I don't know...just not a duke."
He smiled. "That doesn't matter for most people. As long as the title is attached, they wouldn't care if I had no legs and one eye. But I can see you're different. You wouldn't care if I were the king, I would still be a worthless rake."
"Now, did I ever say that?" Elizabeth asked with a smile.
"No, but you think it-don't even try to redeem yourself." He laughed at her expression. "Don't worry about it. It's refreshing to have someone look at you for who you are instead of a title with legs and a bank account."
Suddenly, they were interrupted as the door swung open on its hinges. Darcy walked in, clean-shaven and freshly clothed. He squinted as the force of the sun streaming through the windows hit his eyes. "Please, close the curtains," he said in a soft, pained whisper.
One of the servants rushed over and closed the curtains. "Headache, Darcy?" Lucas asked as he calmly put butter on his toast.
Darcy glared at him and went gingerly over to the buffet. Elizabeth raised an eyebrow at Lucas, who was trying not to laugh. Darcy sat down in the seat at the head of the table, and winced as the chair scraped on the floor.
"Darcy, do you need the salt?" Lucas said in a loud voice, making Darcy clap his hands over his ears.
Elizabeth began to giggle, and Darcy threw her a frown. Just then, the door opened, and Bingley came in, holding his head in his hands. "I feel like I've been run over by a barouche box loaded with a flock of sheep," he groaned.
"May I ask what is going on?" Elizabeth asked as she laughed.
"We had a drinking party last night," Lucas said with a smile. "A few of us drank too much."
"And why are you not affected?"
Lucas only smiled. Darcy answered for him: "Lucas didn't have anything to drink. Instead, he got us drunk so as to ply us for information. And need I remind you, Lucas," he said, throwing a hostile glare in that direction, "I do not forgive easily."
Lucas laughed. "You'll thank me some day, I swear it."
Darcy muttered something, and Lucas tsk-tsked. "That kind of language is not suitable for the presence of a lady, Darcy. I thought you had better manners than that."
"I really ought to be going, anyway," Elizabeth said, pushing aside her plate and standing up. "So you may curse as much as you like."
"Where are you going?" Darcy asked.
"I must pack if I am to leave today. Though I must write another note, as Lord Harding was so kind as to tear my other one up."
"Would you like use of the carriage?" asked Bingley as he sat down.
Lucas threw her a triumphant glance that Darcy did not fail to catch. Elizabeth only smiled and shook her head. "It would be too much trouble."
"No, nonsense," Bingley said. "How much time will you need?"
Elizabeth shook her head. "I am not sure. Perhaps an hour?"
"Make that three hours," Lucas said.
"What?" Darcy and Elizabeth asked at the same time.
"I wish to speak to her before she leaves," Lucas said with a noncommittal shrug.
Darcy looked curiously at them for a few moments, then turned his attention back to his plate. Lucas looked at Elizabeth. "Meet me in the gardens in an half hour." After a short hesitation she nodded and left the room. Lucas dug into his eggs and was about to put them in his mouth when he caught a glimpse of the expression on Darcy's face. "What?"
"How far are you going to take this, Lucas?"
"That's for Miss Bennet and me to judge, thank you," Lucas replied calmly and put the fork laden with eggs in his mouth.
Darcy scowled and drank some of his coffee. "Miss Bennet doesn't have any brothers to avenge her honour, Lucas, and if you killed her father, the family would have hell to pay, so if you do anything to her, your challenge comes from me."
Lucas' brow shot skyward. "Being a bit protective, are we?"
"One must be, with you around," Darcy replied.
"What is wrong with you two?" Bingley asked into the silence. "You never fight like this. Well, not that often at least."
"Things have changed apparently," Lucas said, shoveling more eggs into his mouth. "It seems I am poaching in Darcy's hen coop."
"That's not a very true analogy, Lucas," Darcy said coolly. "I have no 'hen coop,' as you put it. I merely do not think Miss Bennet is deserving of a quick tumble and a pat on the head."
Lucas looked sharply at Darcy for a second. "And you think that's what I'd do? You have less faith in me than I had believed. So much for friendship."
"Wait, Lucas," Bingley said as that gentleman stood up to leave. "I'm sure Darcy didn't mean that. It's just, he has a headache this morning-"
"Which is your fault," Darcy put in bitterly.
"-And is not himself. Can't we all just get along?"
Lucas smiled at Bingley. "You have too much faith in humankind, Bings. Things don't work out that way sometimes. Never fail, though. Things will turn out well in the end."
And with that cryptic remark, he turned and left the room. Darcy and Bingley both gazed after his retreating figure through the closing door then turned to look at each other. "What do you think he meant?" Bingley asked.
"I'm not sure," Darcy responded, "But whatever it is, depend upon it: he has another of his madcap plans in place and ready to be played out. I'm just worried who he set as the cast."
Chapter 7
If my mind ever listened to what my mouth said,
I'd have a lot of accounting to do.
~ Steve Allen
"Were you waiting long?"
Elizabeth jumped at the voice in her ear, a hand flying to her throat as she stifled a small shriek. She took a deep breath as she smiled. "You scared me, Lord Harding. I had not even heard you approach."
"Too involved in your own musings, I suppose."
She shrugged. "I don't know. I was just...daydreaming. Not a very good thing to be doing with you around, I would assume."
"Not unless the dream is of me," he replied with a wicked leer.
"No, that would be a nightmare," she quipped, and he laughed and sat beside her on the bench. After a few moments of silence, she turned her head to look at him. "What did you wish to speak to me about?"
"Do you remember our discussion yesterday in the drawing room? About Darcy?"
She thought for a few moments. "Of course."
"Well," he said, "I believe I now have a plan."
"A plan?"
"Of how to make him think better of you."
She wrinkled her nose. "I told you, I don't wish him to think better of me. I couldn't care less of how ill he thinks of me, as long as he refrains from intruding upon my notice."
Lucas smiled. "Well, the only way you are going to do that is to make him realise that you are not so unsuitable, so boorish-I suppose you might say-as he thinks you are. Then he will stop making it so painfully obvious what he thinks of you."
Elizabeth thought for a moment, then nodded her head. "I suppose you have a point. And so how exactly do you propose to improve his opinion of me?" She took one look at his grin, and shook her head. "Oh, no. I do not like that expression."
"It is the best way. And it couldn't hurt anyone. I will simply pay court to you for a while. Come, come. You cannot believe it would be too much of a hassle. I mean, we're already friends, I hope, right?" She nodded guardedly. "So we can continue to be friends; just make it more obvious."
"And this course of action will do what, exactly?"
"Well, this will make Darcy realise that you are a person who has worth. You see, he thinks in terms of stature and prestige. If he sees that you are wanted by a viscount, heir to a dukedom, well, he'll see that you are worthy of his respect. And this means that he will not be so condescending, and will not bother you as much."
Elizabeth's brow wrinkled in thought. "There seem to be flaws in your logic, I think. But I suppose it might work. With a little luck, I am sure it would. The only thing is, what if, instead of being condescending, he believes he ought to be around me more, because I am now worthy of his company?"
"I don't believe Darcy would do something like that," Lucas replied. "He wouldn't spend more of his time in your company simply because I find you worthy. He would only respect you more, and thus doing, accept you. He wouldn't be so disdainful or patronising."
"And you truly think this would work?"
Lucas smiled. "Everything will work out exactly as I've planned it in my mind."
Elizabeth nodded, and they sat in silence for a few moments before she asked, "And how, exactly, are you to court me? We cannot make it as if you are to propose marriage or anything so silly, because when you leave, there would be rumours abound, and my reputation would be questionable, not to mention I would be looked at with pity. And upon my honour, I cannot stand pity. It is such a false emotion."
"You have a point," Lucas said, "but I do not think you shall have anything to worry about. In fact, it might help if you did not treat me with too much favour, making it seem as though you were too good for me."
"What?" Elizabeth laughed. "You are not good enough for me? You, a viscount, nearly duke? How could I explain that one?"
"Use my reputation."
Elizabeth thought for a few moments. "I suppose that may work. But I cannot snub you completely."
"You do not have to," Lucas said with a smile. "Simply make it quite clear that we are nothing more than acquaintances. We may be friends, as far as a man and woman may be friends in this day and age, but no more." He paused, a slow smile coming across his face. "I have an even better idea. Do you know if perhaps there is an assembly or ball soon?"
"The next one I know of is the ball here, at Netherfield."
Lucas smiled, but looked at her askance. "Would you mind making a slight scene?"
"What does it entail?" Elizabeth asked curiously.
"We would have to find some place out of the way, yet still within sight of the ballroom. We would only have to spend a few minutes there, and then you slap me and storm away. That's all it would take-it would keep your reputation clean, and I would remain the rake I always am, and it would clear up any misconceptions about our relationship."
Elizabeth thought of his plan for a few moments, then smiled slowly. "That may work. Convoluted though it may be, I think it might work."
"Very good," Lucas said with a secret smile. "Very good. I think we ought to start as soon as possible. Do you think you might go into Meryton any day this next week?"
Elizabeth shrugged. "I might."
"How about Wednesday, at about two in the afternoon? I may 'accidentally' run into you while I am there."
Elizabeth grinned. "It's almost too good to be true."
Lucas smiled. "Isn't it?"
Darcy stood at the window, watching the two in the gardens. He had happened by this empty room on the third story that looked out over the gardens, by chance even into that slightly hidden alcove where Elizabeth and Lucas were sitting.
He had watched them talking, watched them laugh together, watched them smile at each other. Darcy's hands were clenched around the windowsill where he leaned, the knuckles turning white as Lucas stood up and kissed Elizabeth's hand while propelling her to her feet. He saw her smile in return, and felt an unaccountable curdling in his gut. It was an emotion he was unused to, but since the previous day, had felt often.
It was rather annoying, really. He had no connection with this woman. He didn't even love her, did he? Of course not. He wouldn't love someone who was so far beneath his own station in life. It was impossible, impractical, illogical. He would never make such a grave error.
He rubbed his brow as he watched the two weave their way through the gardens, arm in arm. He still had a headache from last night. He couldn't believe he had drunk that much, that he had let it all get to his head. But he hadn't eaten much at dinner-he had been rather distracted by his thoughts on the odd relationship between Lucas and Miss Elizabeth Bennet. He still believed that there had been an attraction between them-perhaps more on Lucas' side than on Miss Bennet's, but he couldn't be sure. Especially not when Lucas was so contradictory about it all.
But what had he all said last night? He never should have lost control like that. It was so easy, though. And Lucas' manipulations hadn't helped at all. He wondered what he had said, if any of it had been incriminating, damaging. Lucas seemed to intimate that it had. But Lucas was the master of disguise and deception. If he hadn't been of such high birth, he would have been an incredible actor; he fit into any situation. It was amazing to watch him among the ton. He mocked them all, yet did it in so sly a fashion that few even knew what he was about.
It was fun to watch him play with the matrons of society, making them believe that he actually showed even the slightest interest in the young misses in the marriage mart. He even once attended Almack's simply to make news. Rumours had been going around for nearly a fortnight afterwards, everyone trying to decide what-or who-had drawn him thither. Of course, the speculation died in the end, when the ton found a new object to focus on.
But now it wasn't so funny. Darcy felt...protective of Miss Bennet. Yes, that was the perfect word to describe it. He didn't want her to get in trouble, and with Lucas, she inevitably would. He had the duty to protect her, as he knew no one else would. He was going to put himself in the position to maintain her reputation.
What was he saying? He had no right to do something so ineffably stupid! He had no part in Miss Bennet's life, and wanted no part of it. She was not his to be protective of. He turned away from the window in self-disgust, running a hand through his unruly hair. He stood for a few minutes, breathing in slowly, and then without another look back out the window, walked from the room.