Mr. Darcy's Indiscretions Page 10

  “You did what?”

  “I am sorry,” said Darcy. “It was all such a long time ago.”

  “When did she come to London?”

  “Er, right on the heels after you quit Netherfield, I believe. She called on your sister, but we decided not to tell you. I realize now it was not my place to interfere in such things. I truly am sorry.”

  “Oh, this is dreadful,” said Bingley. “Quite dreadful. All of it. Why, you…” He gave Darcy a horrified look. “I’m sorry, I must excuse myself. I have to admit that I don’t feel as though I can continue to speak with you. I am rather incensed, if you must know.”

  “I really must apologize again.”

  “No, don’t. I can’t bear to listen to you speak.” Bingley straightened his jacket and stalked off.

  Darcy’s shoulders slumped.

  And then, suddenly, Bingley turned and walked back to him, his gait stiff.

  Darcy straightened. “Mr. Bingley?”

  “You said they were staying in a dreadful place?” said Mr. Bingley. “Where, pray tell, might that be?”

  * * *

  Jane was sitting by the window working on a bit of sewing. She and Elizabeth used to do it together, cleverly patching their garments so that they could continue to wear their dresses even after they had been worn through or ripped.

  Now, Elizabeth insisted it wasn’t necessary, that there was enough money to buy new clothing for everyone. Jane had seen the accounts. Elizabeth was putting money into them whenever she could. But Jane refused to draw on the money. It was all too much for her.

  It had been one thing when it was Lydia. She loved her younger sister dearly, but Lydia had always been bound to fall into some mischief or other, and it was bearable to think of using her money, which they did sparingly, anyway.

  There was some money for each of them that they had inherited. Very little, of course, but enough to scrape by. So, they did not need to always depend on Lydia. Anyway, Jane could stand taking Lydia’s money. But knowing that Elizabeth had fallen to, it was too much for Jane.

  How long would it be until they all teetered over the edge?

  Jane knew of Elizabeth’s life now, all the dancing and the dresses and the house with servants. It tempted her, a life like that. She knew that it must also tempt Kitty. Even Mary might be swayed towards it if she had no other options. Jane thought of their father, and how it would grieve him to know what his daughters had come to.

  Suddenly, she sat up very straight, leaving hold of the sewing in her lap.

  That… that could not be. There was no way that Mr. Bingley was walking up the street toward their house. She must be seeing things.

  But as the man grew closer, she realized that it was him, after all. He was much the same as he been those years before, although there were perhaps a bit more lines on his face. He was not smiling, the way he had always seemed to be doing in those days. He looked grim.

  He came straight to the door and knocked.

  Jane felt mortified. They had no servant today, and truly, their maid was usually too busy deep in cleaning or cooking to answer the door. They never got visitors. But how embarrassing to have to answer one’s own door. What would Mr. Bingley think of her?

  Oh, did it matter? He had never thought well of her, if the opinions of his sisters could be any indication. Jane set down the sewing and went to open the door.

  Kitty and Mary were there in the hallway, looking eager.

  Jane sucked in a breath, touching her hair. Oh, my, she looked a fright! “Kitty, we have a visitor. Please put on some tea.”

  “Yes,” said Kitty.

  “And Mary,” said Jane. “Bring out the biscuits leftover from Elizabeth’s last visit.”

  “But we were saving those for Sunday dinner,” said Mary.

  “We have a guest,” said Jane, and then she flung open the door.

  Bingley stood in the doorway.

  Her heart stopped.

  “Miss Bennet,” he said, looking at her. And then, suddenly, he did smile, and he looked just as he used to. “Why, you are as lovely as ever. I… oh, I must apologize for letting so many years pass without any word. I am a wretch. You must think quite ill of me.”

  “Don’t be silly, sir,” she said, and she could not help but smile too. “Please, come in.”

  “Oh, yes,” said Mr. Bingley, laughing. “Indeed.” He stepped over the threshold.

  She brought him into their parlor, such as it was. They drank tea and ate biscuits, and he talked to them of the weather and his sister’s wedding and her letters from her honeymoon. And then, after a time, he fell silent.

  And they did too. What was there to speak of?

  “Listen, I… your sister, Miss Elizabeth?” said Bingley.

  Jane felt all the blood drain from her face. “Mary, Kitty, if the two of you wouldn’t mind—”

  “We shan’t leave you alone,” said Mary. “It wouldn’t be proper.”

  “Miss Mary, I assure you, my behavior toward your sister will be above reproach,” said Mr. Bingley. “I am not like my friend Mr. Darcy.”

  “Out,” said Jane to her sisters. “Out now.”

  They left, looking sullen.

  Mr. Bingley cringed. “I take it they do not know about your sister’s, er, position.”

  “They do not,” said Jane. “She tried to keep it from me, too, but I was able to guess it. It does grieve me. I had hoped that it would not become public knowledge—”

  “Oh, it is not,” said Bingley. “I will not say anything. You can rely on my discretion. I would not do anything to harm you, not for the world, Miss Bennet.”

  “What a fine sentiment,” she said, sighing, thinking to herself wryly that he had hurt her plenty as it was. “But I am pleased to hear that none else know about Lizzy. I suppose it is ridiculous to harbor hope for my other sisters to make a decent sort of marriage someday, but I do not wish their reputations tarnished worse than they are.”

  “I completely understand,” said Bingley. “And you are in dire straits. I see why you must think that you must descend to… to the depths of depravity. But truly, it is Darcy who is most despicable in all of this. How could he do such a thing to your sister?”

  “Well, we have sunk rather far, sir.”

  “Not so far as that,” said Bingley. “I had thought Darcy a different sort of man. But then, after the death of his wife, he has changed. I know he would not hear of my forming ties with your family, so I can see why he would not offer for your sister and instead engage in such shameful behavior. He is a proud man. Too proud to lower himself.” Bingley shook his head.

  “Well… there is Lydia,” said Jane. “I think he knew of that, and perhaps that swayed him.”

  “Lydia?”

  “My youngest sister. She is a bit notorious. You may know as Miss Lydia Swan.”

  “Oh,” said Bingley in quite a different voice.

  “As you can see, sir, we are all on the road to ruin here.”

  “No,” said Bingley. “No, I won’t allow it.” He reached out and seized her hand.

  She was shocked at his touch. She almost recoiled. But it was nice to touch a man’s hand after all these years. She allowed it.

  “Miss Bennet, I should have asked years ago, but I didn’t. I ask now. Will you marry me?”

  Jane could not breathe.

  “Miss Bennet?”

  She snatched her hand back. “I… I could not.”

  “No?” He pulled back, surprised. “But why not? I will take you away from all of this. I will help your sisters, including the ones who have ruined their reputation, if they will accept my help. I will—”

  “Sir, forgive me, but I do not think of you as a man who is very constant.”

  “Constant?”

  “You seemed to have deep affection before, but then you disappeared, and I never saw you again, and you seemed to lose all interest. And now, here you are, back again, as if nothing has passed between us, and I’m afraid that
is not the behavior that makes me think you would be a particularly attentive husband.”

  “Well, yes, but there are circumstances, Miss Bennet. If I could explain—”

  “You are changeable,” she said firmly. “Not only that, you don’t know what you are taking on. I would be a wife who would do no favors to your social standing even without my fallen sisters’ reputations, which is why you did not offer for me in the first place.”

  “Indeed, that is not the case. It was Mr. Darcy. He told me—”

  “And so Mr. Darcy decides who you will and will not marry?”

  “No, of course not, but… well, I was young then.”

  “Your sisters did not want us associated before. Now, they would be destroyed if—”

  “Hang my sisters! I don’t care about them. I’m here because I care about you. I let you get away, and that was a mistake.”

  She sighed. “It is flattering to hear you say so. I cannot deny that.” She laughed a little. “Oh, Mr. Bingley, you simply cannot do this. You cannot show up on my doorstep and ask me to marry you. It is too fast. I have not seen you in so long.”

  “Yes, but I loved you once, and I think you loved me.”

  “It is as you say, we were young. We do not even know each other anymore.”

  “So, you are saying we should get to know each other?”

  She laughed again, a helpless sound with an undercurrent of something almost joyful in it. “Mr. Bingley, how can you be here?” She shook her head.

  “I shall call on you again,” he said, standing up and bowing to her.

  She stood. “Our maid is here on Fridays, Sundays, and Tuesdays.”

  “I shall keep that in mind.” He smiled at her. “I know you think me changeable, madam, but I am not. I am solid and loyal, through and through. I’ll show that to you. You’ll see.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  It was another night, and Darcy was arguing with Georgiana about going to yet another ball. He didn’t truly want to go either, and he was struggling to convince his sister that it was necessary. The only thing motivating Darcy to go to the ball was to see Elizabeth. He could not help but want to be in her presence. She seemed so exuberant and free when they were dancing. He liked the two of them touching, their bodies moving in time to the music. It made him feel so much goodness that it seemed to spill out of him and overflow. Elizabeth was the best part of his life.

  While they used to arrived separately, he had done away with all that lately. He and Elizabeth arrived together, in his coach, and he didn’t care what anyone said about it. Everyone was scandalized. They all whispered that he should simply marry Mrs. Fieldstone, because the way the two of them were behaving was improper. Others said it must be Mrs. Fieldstone who halted the nuptials. After all, there were advantages to being a widow. Perhaps she did not wish to give them up.

  So, when the footman announced that Elizabeth had arrived, Darcy was not surprised. He had been expecting her. She would be leaving from the house with both him and Georgiana. That is, if he could convince his sister to go to the ball at all.

  Angry, he headed down to the sitting room where Elizabeth was waiting for him.

  She was lovely in a pale blue dress that was trimmed in a bit of lace. She looked like a vision, and he got the sudden desire to go to her and begin unpinning her hair, spreading it all out over her shoulders so that he could touch it. He felt hot all over, and then cold.

  Why had he signed off all claims to this woman’s body again? For the life of him, he couldn’t remember anymore.

  He crossed the room, gathered her into his arms, and kissed her.

  She was surprised, but she recovered and responded, opening her mouth to him.

  He swept his tongue against hers, claiming her. She tasted so sweet. She was his, he knew that. There must be something about what they were to each other that transcended the awful labels that society had forced upon the two of them. He loved her. He adored her. Certainly, that meant something.

  She sighed in his arms.

  He felt as if his whole body was alight, even aflame. He wanted to kiss her everywhere. He wanted to pull her dress aside and plant kisses on her shoulders, and on the back of her neck, and…

  Gasping, he pulled away from her.

  “What was that for?” she panted, gazing at him hungrily.

  “I…” He shook his head. “Forgive me. I don’t know what came over me.”

  She took a step toward him.

  He held up a hand. “Stop.” He laughed a little. “We have a ball to go to.”

  She smiled. “We don’t have to go anywhere, Mr. Darcy.”

  “Now you sound like Georgiana.” He shook his head. “She is being most difficult. Perhaps you could talk some sense into her? Convince her to get ready to go?”

  “She is not ready?”

  “She is not even dressed,” said Darcy, sighing. “She is still in a morning gown. I have to argue with her to get her to dress for dinner these days. She says she doesn’t see the point in changing one’s clothes for a meal.”

  Elizabeth shrugged. “I suppose it could seem a little unnecessary from a certain point of view.”

  “That’s the hell of it all,” said Darcy. “I find myself unable to provide her with reasons why she must change her clothes, especially since it is only her and me here dining together. It is most frustrating. But you are so good with her. She listens to you. Will you go and speak to her, please?”

  “I do not wish to intrude on a family quarrel,” said Elizabeth. “I remember that when my sisters would get ideas in their heads, they were often rather emotional, and to have someone from outside try to speak to them might have been far too much for them.”

  “You are not from outside,” said Darcy. “You are like a member of the family to us. Georgiana will not mind. Please.”

  * * *

  Elizabeth wasn’t sure how to take that statement, that she was like a member of the family. It was at once thrilling and also insulting at the same time. If he could elevate her to the status of being a family member, then why did he treat her as though she was less than him?

  Well, maybe he didn’t. He had not wanted to make her his mistress. He had wanted to make his money a gift. It was her pride that had kept that from happening. Or maybe something else had led her here. Maybe some sort of curiosity, or even lust for him. She didn’t know. When she looked back at the steps she had taken to get to this place in her life, she did not know how it had happened, exactly. She could retrace the steps, but it all seemed so unreal.

  What was more, she wasn’t sure that she would have changed anything. She was as close to happy as she had been in a long time. It had been many long, long years of sadness for her, and now, things seemed to have improved a great deal.

  She rapped softly on Georgiana’s door. From within, she heard the strains of the piano playing.

  “Go away, Fitzwilliam,” called Georgiana from inside, not missing a note on the song she was playing.

  “It’s, um, Mrs. Fieldstone,” Elizabeth said quietly.

  The piano stopped abruptly.

  “May I come in?” said Elizabeth.

  The door opened. There was Georgiana, in a long-sleeved dress of pale yellow. She looked Elizabeth over. “What are you doing here?”

  “Well, I am to accompany the two of you to the ball—”

  “I am not going,” Georgiana said. “I told my brother that.”

  “He thought that perhaps I might convince you,” said Elizabeth. “May I come in?”

  “You may,” said Georgiana. “But I fear you will not be able to sway my decision to remain at home. I have been attending these wretched balls for my brother’s sake for weeks now, but I am done with them, and I will not attend further.” She stepped aside, giving Elizabeth room to come inside.

  “No further?” said Elizabeth, closing the door. “You do not wish to attend balls at all?”

  “I would not mind, I suppose, if I didn’t have to dance wi
th all those awful men.”

  “I see,” said Elizabeth. “You dislike dancing.”

  “No, I don’t mind dancing,” said Georgiana. “It’s very nice, in its way. There are steps, and everyone knows what they are. It’s easy to know what to expect. But the conversation while dancing, it’s rather impossible to predict. It makes me nervous.”

  “Ah,” said Elizabeth. “Well, it’s your chance to get to know a prospective husband, you must think of it that way. If you are nervous, take control, ask the questions, find out what you would like to know about him.”

  “But Mrs. Fieldstone, I do not wish to get married.”

  Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “No?”

  “I should think that you might understand,” said Georgiana. “I know what people are saying about you and my brother. I assumed you did not want to get married either.”

  “Well,” said Elizabeth, considering, “the truth is that I don’t think I do want to marry. But is different for me.”

  “Not so very different,” said Georgiana. “You are a widow of means, and I am an heiress. We both have money that is our own, and if we marry, that money will be taken from us.”

  “True,” said Elizabeth. “But is that why you do not wish to marry? You are frightened of what might happen to your inheritance? Because I am sure that your brother would see to it that no harm ever came to you, no matter what happened.”

  “It is part of it,” said Georgiana. “I would rather be free than to be tied to some man. My brother is agreeable to my playing, at least most of the time, but I fear a husband might put limits on how long I could spend at the piano. And I am afraid that there would be a great many duties I should have to fulfill as a wife, and I have no interest in doing those things. And finally, I do not want to have children.”

  “What? But of course you do. All woman want children.”

  “Not me,” said Georgiana. “I have never had any inclination that way. I like children, but I don’t want one of my own. It seems like an awful lot of responsibility, and I don’t want it. I have told my brother of all this.”