By Consequence of Marriage (A Pride & Prejudice Novel) Page 7

  Finally making it to her own bed after a month of staying at Netherfield, Elizabeth was relieved by the familiarity surrounding her. Kitty wasted no time in finding Elizabeth a clean dress as her current one was horribly dirty from travel and crawling around on the floors. "Is Netherfield as grand upstairs as it is down? I wish I had been invited to come stay." Kitty said wistfully, helping her sister to dress.

  As the dress came over her head, Elizabeth spoke. "I was not particularly invited, myself. Miss Bingley made no attempt to hide her contempt. Poor Jane suffered most acutely, I'm afraid."

  "Still, you attended lovely dinners and dancing. Is it true Mr. Bingley keeps a quartet of musicians employed?" Lydia tittered about the room.

  "I cannot walk, let alone dance. There was no dancing, I assure you." Elizabeth allowed Kitty to help her to her bed, and prop herself up on her pillows. Marcus appeared with Elizabeth's trunk, then disappeared with haste. Waiting for him to leave, Elizabeth dropped her voice to whisper. "Tell me about home. Who is this Mr. Collins? Is he amiable?"

  "Amiable if you're Mary!" Lydia giggled.

  "Mary? Mary with a suitor?"

  "Heavens no, she wishes Mr. Collins would acknowledge her. But so far all he's done is count the silver and follow Papa around. He's our cousin to inherit from the entail." Lydia flopped on Elizabeth's bed, the sudden weight upon the mattress causing a pain in her foot.

  "Lydia, have a care!" Kitty called, to which Lydia stuck her tongue out.

  "It is endurable. I bump my own foot half a dozen times a day!" Elizabeth attempted to show good cheer. "What kind of man is Mr. Collins?"

  "Boring. Smelly. Annoying." Lydia responded, staring up at the ceiling. Elizabeth pressed her lips together to keep from laughing again.

  "You do not like him, that much is clear. Kitty?"

  The second youngest Bennet sister shrugged. "He is a man of black, and I do so prefer red!" Kitty's jest stirred Lydia from her prone position just as Marcus brought up the last trunk from Netherfield that was Jane's.

  "Where is Mary?" Elizabeth asked, trying to move away from the topic of Mr. Collins.

  "Must you know where everyone is? I thought you required a rest." Lydia pouted, worn from the game of filling in her older sister with details she had missed. "I want to go downstairs and ask Mr. Bingley to hold a ball!"

  "Oooh, a ball!" Kitty echoed.

  Exasperated, Elizabeth dismissed them with a sigh and a shrug and the two younger girls ceased to wait for further encouragement. As muffled voices wafted up from below, Elizabeth found herself restless as she was not yet tired. Leaning over to reach under her bed for her thoughtfully placed trunk, she lifted the lid and dug deep into the bottom. Her fingers found the smooth, malleable leather cover and she grasped on to pull the book out.

  Nestling herself down into her bed, she rolled to her side and opened the richly bound, gold-trimmed copy of Shakespeare's Sonnets. Inhaling what she imagined to be that musky mix of sandalwood and spice that she detected last night, she traced the name on the inner book plate: Fitzwilliam Darcy. Carefully, with plans to return the book to the man at her next opportunity, she turned to a sonnet that now meant more to her than ever.

  Take all my loves, my love, ye take them all . . .

  Chapter Sixteen

  Vexed with Charles, but understanding of his friend's care, Darcy had mounted Alexander as the first rays of sun streaked the horizon. Three hours of steady riding allowed him to dwell in his thoughts. Alternating between joy over Georgiana's rescue, yet admitting the pain of leaving the company of Elizabeth Bennet, the journey to London proved to exhaust his emotions. It was not until both he and the horse felt the taxing twenty-five miles of decent road that Darcy had reached the outskirts of London.

  The morning bustled with merchants and errand boys scurrying about with their wares in the street. Darcy slowed Alexander to a mere trot. His bones ached from a lack of sleep and the early morning ride as he maintained his posting with each step. Within city limits, there was no telling who might see him arrive and he couldn't appear to be distressed.

  Before rushing into his town home, Darcy made sure to pat his trusty steed and thank the Lord for his safe passage. The master's boots tread heavy on the entryway wood and Mrs. Potter hurried to the door, wiping her hands on her apron as she bustled his way.

  "Mr. Darcy, sir, we are most relieved to see you well. Let me take your coat. Have you eaten this morning?"

  "Where is my sister?"

  Mrs. Potter's lip quivered as another loud crash could be heard from the study and an inhuman yelp of pain. "Upstairs. In her room," the housekeeper managed to explain before Darcy rushed past her.

  Darcy climbed the stairs working hard to stem his anger as he had no doubt where the villain resided. The worn green carpet of the hallway cushioned his steps and he veritably barged into Georgiana's room.

  "Geo-George? George?" Georgiana rose from the pillow she had been sobbing into, hoping to find a man other than her brother before her. Involuntarily, Darcy bit his fist to find his sister, bedraggled and thin, a mere wisp of the girl he knew last summer. He opened his mouth to speak, but could not find his voice. Before he could gather his wits, another's hand touched his shoulder.

  "Come away, Fitzwilliam. I have interviewed her." Lady Matlock's voice was strong and gentle at the same and her nephew backed away from the ghost of a girl still screaming for her beloved George.

  As the white door clicked shut in place, Darcy turned around and collapsed into his aunt's arms. The woman comforted him for moment, before making a sniffing sound and Darcy pulled pack.

  "Forgive me."

  "Whatever for? She is a shock to behold, that is for certain." Lady Matlock's observation came across in an icy tone that startled Darcy's anger back into action.

  "Now wait just a moment, she is an innocent! He took her –"

  "Cease that nonsense or so help me, I'll take her out of this house this instant. The only way this situation improves is when both you and Richard accept that the conniving trollop in there sought a man's attentions and favors all summer long without writing one word to either of her guardians. She was not taken, she absconded. She brooked no sympathy from me, and she shall not enjoy such protection from you."

  "She . . . all summer?" His aunt nodded in the affirmative. "And now she asks for him?"

  "I'm relieved you see the situation as it is for I fear my son is still laboring under false impressions. Come, let's prevent a murder from occurring in your study."

  When Darcy and his aunt entered the study, Richard was in the process of striking Wickham while the latter remained tied to a chair. Without looking at either of them, Richard growled this was no place for women.

  "Certainly not if you are going to behave like that, so I suggest you modify your behavior, son." Lady Matlock walked forward to search George Wickham up and down. "He finished school, Darcy?"

  "Yes. Just."

  "Well, that's a start." Lady Matlock stepped back with disgust and took Darcy's normal seat behind the desk. Immediately, she began scribbling. The two Fitzwilliam men shared the same visage of abject horror.

  "Now mother, this does not concern you. Darcy and I are Georgiana's guardians and we will see to this piece of rubbish."

  "And will you toss out the baby as well?" She continued to write, pausing every moment here and there to reflect before continuing her work.

  "I am to gain a child, a Darcy heir to boot?" a bloodied George Wickham spat out, leering about the room. Richard kicked his chair, causing the injured Wickham to groan against his restraints.

  "Quiet!"

  "How injured is he, son?"

  Richard shifted irritably like a young schoolboy in trouble for knocking down the sparrow's nest in his mother's garden with a rock all over again. "A few missing teeth, a number of bruises, and perhaps a dislocated shoulder."

  "Fetch the doctor."

  "But mother."

  Lady Matlock pierced her son with the
gaze he'd copied to scare the living daylights out of his newest recruits. "Are you asking me to repeat myself, Richard James?"

  "No, madame. I shall fetch Dr. Matthews."

  Lady Matlock smiled and handed a note for Richard to take. Richard shook his head at the skillful planning of his mother, but took his orders in stride. Before leaving, he made another move toward Wickham, but Darcy stepped before him. Richard frowned, wished his cousin luck in dealing with his mother, and bowed to the grand lady.

  "Fitzwilliam, sit." Lady Matlock motioned to the remaining chair in front of his desk that was not being used to restrain a man. "We will marry them in a few days, but that won't matter. On paper, they will have been married since this summer."

  "But, my sister, she's only fifteen!"

  "Yes, and others marry as young as thirteen or fourteen. Either way, our choices and what we wish are not compatible."

  "But must they marry?" Darcy was close to frantic in his pain. In the span of just moments his dearest sister had changed from child to wife and he still could not grasp the new reality. "Indeed, even with a babe, we could find a family . . ."

  "Darcy, your sister chose this man. If you deny her this marriage, she will simply run again. You make her your enemy there is no salvaging the Darcy name. You make her an embarrassing marriage it's talked about, but it dies down." Lady Matlock clapped her hands with a wiping motion to show the matter would be finished.

  Darcy shook his head. A keen pounding in his ears thundered and the room shrank as if closing in. "But if we deport him, she can't follow."

  "And when she falls in love with her tutor? The gardener? The girl flouted your authority most grievously. Worse, she was a mere five blocks from this very house. Not once did she seek help. Not once did she send you a note. I sought to spare you the worst of it."

  "There's worse news than my unmarried sister, still but a child, carrying that demon's spawn?"

  "I resent that!" Wickham yelled.

  "Be quiet or I delay the doctor. Do not think for a moment I am pleased with you." Lady Matlock addressed Wickham with her years of experience raising four boys. "Richard had to recover your mother's cross from the family jeweler." Lady Matlock handed over the golden engraved cross to Darcy's hands, finding a reason to return to her letters while her nephew again struggled to remain in control of his emotions.

  After a few moments, Darcy returned to his proper posture and made a final decision. "She is truly lost."

  "It does not have to be so, Darcy. He can at least pass for a gentleman, when he's cleaned up and behaving." She emphasized the last word. "Kept on a short leash, I do believe we can salvage this as an ill-conceived love match. Your chore is to hie to Longwell and Sons and speak to Longwell Senior, no other. He will provide you with the necessary documents and safeguards we must take to protect the family's interests."

  "But I cannot leave you with this villain. Even tied up, I do not trust him."

  Lady Matlock shooed her nephew out the door. "There is not time to lose, Fitzwilliam. Go attend to the legal matters I cannot. Leave this one to me."

  "But aunt - -"

  "I brought Seamus with me, he will load that baggage into my carriage and ride with me to Matlock House. There, I am sure my sons will be more than happy to protect me further."

  "Why should he go to Matlock House? This is my burden to carry."

  "You want me to leave him here in the house with Georgiana while you spend all day at the solicitor?"

  Darcy sighed and pinched his brow just over his nose. "Georgiana. I cannot leave her."

  "She is in good hands. This last hour's interview she was tended by Mrs. Potter, who is the closest thing to a second mother as Mrs. Reynolds. Let her calm, be fed a proper meal and then you need to sit down and come to an understanding. Brother and sister, not as guardian and charge."

  Taking one last glance at his aunt and reserving a disgusted countenance for Wickham, Darcy took his aunt's letter for the solicitor. He found an enormous amount of sympathy for Charles Bingley regarding the lack of control one could wield over a willful sister.

  Now alone, Lady Matlock took full stock of Wickham's predicament and walked over to untie his ropes.

  "You're quite brave to untie me, madame. What if I hurt you to make my escape?" Wickham leered at the grand woman just as a six-foot, eighteen stone Irish footman entered the study as he was instructed to do once Richard and Fitzwilliam had gone.

  "I believe I'm perfectly safe. But please, by all means, do try and lay waste to my well-laid plans." The lady nodded to Seamus who gruffly lifted Wickham from the chair to escort him out. As he was being dragged away, Wickham made one last lame attempt at charm.

  "Wait! Before we go, may I just say how thankful I am that you interceded on my behalf? I'm not so certain that the Colonel and Darcy wouldn't have just killed me."

  Lady Matlock laughed with genuine humor, causing the great bulk of a footman to smile at his mistress' pleasure. "You shouldn't be thanking me, George Wickham. I merely commuted your death sentence to a life in prison."

  Chapter Seventeen

  Dinner in the Bennet household was a tense affair. Not only was the mysterious cousin, Mr. Collins, in attendance, but Mr. Bingley had indeed accepted his invitation. Elizabeth found herself seated next to the sweaty, irritating man that Lydia and Kitty had earlier described. The serene Jane appeared content next to Mr. Bingley and their father. Unfortunately, Elizabeth was stuck between Mr. Collins and her mother at the other end of the table.

  "Mr. Bingley, you must invite the militia to your ball! They would be a lovely addition!" harped Lydia.

  Mr. Bingley leaned over his plate and turned his head to speak to the youngest Bennet daughter down the table. "I shall do just that. I believe your sister Elizabeth should be healed enough for a dance in a few weeks?"

  "For a ball, I should find myself healed tomorrow!" Elizabeth exclaimed.

  "Cousin Elizabeth, you must not place yourself in such danger. A lady of your delicate constitution must take the necessary precautions to preserve your health. Why the daughter of my esteemed patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, rests no less than four times per day. Ladies take much longer to heal than sturdy men from similar injuries," interjected Mr. Collins.

  Elizabeth dropped her fork with a clatter, her mouth open in shock. Her father, Mr. Bennet, intervened before Elizabeth could retort. “I believe it will be at least another month Lizzie before any dancing will be in your future. I'm sure we can find some activity to occupy your time.” Her father raised an eyebrow before continuing to eat his meal.

  “Oooooh, a Christmas ball, how splendid! Mr. Bennet, the girls must secure new dresses, and a trip to London, to shop for Jane's trousseau!” Mrs. Bennet began making plans aloud.

  “Careful my dear, Mr. Bingley and I are yet to come to terms. I should like to see a settlement document before any commencement of shopping. Our Jane only accepted his suit this afternoon.”

  Elizabeth gazed down at her plate and smiled. By her observations, Jane had accepted Mr. Bingley long ago, possibly not longer than a week after her accident. There was no arguing that matters had not been settled until that very day.

  “I suppose to wait a spell shall not hurt, after all, we do have four weeks until the ball. Perhaps by then even you may select a few things for your wedding, Elizabeth.” Mrs. Bennet opined, as Elizabeth choked on the mouthful of mutton she attempted to swallow.

  “MY wedding?!?!” she managed. “Excuse me, Mama, I believe you are confused. Mr. Darcy has not offered for my hand.”

  “Mr. Darcy? What is he to do with this aside from injuring you with his horse? No silly, your wedding is to be with Mr. Collins!” Mrs. Bennet took a moment to smile at their cousin.

  “Fanny, I had not spoken to Elizabeth yet about our discussion.” Mr. Bennet warned.

  Elizabeth stared at Mr. Collins who appeared to be sweating even more profusely than before. This short man she had barely spoken two words to was to be
her husband? Elizabeth's mind began to race as the room felt much smaller and numerous voices converged over the news. The cacophony reached a fevered pitch before Elizabeth found her voice once more.

  "May I please be excused from the table?"

  “I may have spoken too hastily, while I do intend to hold a ball, it is imperative I speak with my sister Caroline before any concrete plans are made. I hope you understand,” Mr. Bingley's face reddened, as he looked to Jane for support. She nodded, but Mrs. Bennet interrupted the peace.

  “You most certainly may not, Elizabeth! This is a family matter and as such may be discussed in front of your family. Although, Mr. Bingley is not family at present, I am sure he is happy to lend his support to your father and I. After all, he has his own sister to marry off, and an advantageous match does not simply fall into one's lap, Elizabeth Bennet. Tell her, Mr. Bennet.” For a woman of little sense, when it came to the marriages of her daughters, Mrs. Bennet was a brilliant tactician.

  Elizabeth glared at her father at the other end of the table, waiting for his reprieve. He had never insinuated to any of his daughters that he was interested in auctioning them off to the highest bidder. Holding her tongue, Elizabeth silently mouthed a plea for her father to stop this madness. Mr. Bennet cleared his throat.

  “While it is certain Mr. Collins is a steady sort of fellow, and we know him capable of supporting any of our girls he should so choose as a wife, let us save this issue of who may be his lucky bride for another day, my dear. All this talk of matrimony spoiled my appetite, and I do so enjoy Cook's partridge pie. Mr. Bingley, I understand your friend is lately gone from our neighborhood. Would you care to shoot tomorrow with Mr. Collins and I?”

  “All of God's creatures are indeed noble, but noblest is the creature to sacrifice for one's table; for the sustenance of the Lord be far greater than simply word and hymns.” Mr. Collins offered more of his deep wisdom, eliciting more giggles from the younger girls at the table and making Elizabeth shrink in her chair.