The Road to Pemberley (56 page)

“Maybe he felt sorry for the girl,” Hattie suggested. “Maybe he knows her family…”

“Well, he is such a good, unselfish man. I'm sure he had his reasons,” Jenny declared firmly.

But Mrs. Watson was far from satisfied. “Perhaps the father of the girl came to him for help,” she mused. “There has to be a practical reason for it.” Turning her gaze upon Preston, who was polishing a pair of riding boots, she asked, “What do you think, Preston? You see more of him than we do. Why would Mr. Darcy interfere in Mr. Wickham's affairs?”

“I'm sure he wouldn't confide in me, madam,” Preston answered, rubbing harder at a smudge on the left boot toe.

“I heard her name was Benton or something like that,” Hattie reported as Jenny handed her a bundle of clean linens to fold.

“Well, it hardly matters what her name was,” put in Tilly brightly. “She is Mrs. Wickham now.”

“Imagine being Mrs. Wickham,” Jenny marveled, applying a heated flatiron to a dampened shirt.

“I always thought he was most handsome,” said Hattie.

“What about what he did to poor Miss Georgiana?” Jenny chided her. “Why, the man's incorrigible.”

Hattie frowned. “What exactly did he do? I don't recollect hearing any details…Just that he tried to take advantage of her position somehow…”

“And that is all any of us need to know,” Jenny said firmly as the pressed shirt was replaced with another. “Mr. Wickham's always been out for whatever he can get, and fortunately, Mr. Darcy has trimmed his sails for him.”

“Yet again,” Mrs. Watson said and chuckled as she stood up to peek beneath a towel concealing a rising mound of bread dough. “So long as Mr. Darcy's around, Mr. Wickham doesn't stand a chance. Bert!” she called, “have you seen that lazy lout Nigel? I need those hares cleaned and dressed for supper, and he's made himself plenty scarce.”

No, it was unlikely that Preston would ever discover the details of the affair, but he could at least be satisfied that his master had been in the right.

As summer waned, he fully expected Mr. Darcy to remove himself and Miss Georgiana to Derbyshire, but he heard nothing of such a plan. Instead, one afternoon, Preston was informed that a party of gentlemen would be organized to accompany Mr. Bingley to Hertfordshire for the hunting in that neighborhood, and that they would remain for several weeks.

Mr. Darcy did not mention an intent of seeing Miss Bennet while in the country. Although no hint was dropped, Preston could not help feeling that there was more than a single motive for the excursion. Netherfield appeared much as it had nearly a year earlier. Because Mr. Bingley's sisters were absent, it was far less inflexible in schedule.

Mr. Bingley's valet, Roster, was five or six years younger than himself, and seemed a friendly young man who did not mind advice from someone with greater experience. On the other hand, Underwood, the valet employed by Mr. Hurst (Mr. Bingley's brother-in-law), was somewhat older, more close-mouthed in company, and not much willing to exchange even pleasantries.

In the pursuit of sport, the gentlemen—Mr. Darcy, Mr. Bingley, and Mr. Hurst—fell into the habit of leaving the house each morning before full sun (accompanied by several baying hounds and enough servants to fetch the multiple kills), not to return until almost luncheon.

On the very first afternoon of their being in Hertfordshire, Mr. Darcy reluctantly submitted to escorting Mr. Bingley as he paid visits to several of his nearest neighbors. And because those neighbors were so pleased to have such distinguished guests, they could take their leave only after partaking of a substantial evening meal, followed by musical exhibitions given by any marriageable daughters of the household.

On the fourth day of this arrangement, Mr. Bingley must have suggested that they make their way to Longbourn, the Bennet home, for, as Preston assisted him in his usual morning routine, Mr. Darcy appeared to be in a state of no little distraction.

Several times he would begin to speak, and then stop himself before the sentence could go anywhere. All the while, he stared out the window at what appeared to be nothing of particular interest.

Finally, just as he was handed his hat and gloves, he said aloud, “In spite of the sense that I am entering the lion's den, every nerve, every thought is alive in anticipation of it.” Then, with a bemused lift of one eyebrow, he added in a voice almost unintelligible, “There can be little doubt that I am the most shameless of frauds.” Turning away, he gave his head a slight shake. “Yet any remorse I ought to
feel is overcome by feelings far more powerful than that. Whether I am prepared or not, today may very well be the end of everything for me.”

Later, Roster verified Preston's supposition.

“Mr. Bingley has said that he is eager to renew his acquaintance with Mr. and Mrs. Bennet,” he supplied blithely.

“Oh?” Preston answered, looking up from a book on ancient Greece, which he had borrowed from the rather limited Netherfield library. “Then that was their destination this afternoon?”

“Oh yes,” replied the younger man. “In fact, so far as I am aware, the Bennet estate was to be their only object today.” He paused for a moment before confiding, “Mr. Bingley also anticipates meeting the eldest Miss Bennet again.”

The most scrupulous part of Preston wanted to change the subject. But a tiny bit of him wished to be enlightened. “Have you had the pleasure of seeing Miss Bennet yourself?” he inquired in a nonchalant voice.

“Not near enough to address her, of course,” was the quick reply. “Only from a very great distance. I recollect that I was able to admire their dancing together at the ball given here in November. From the servants' gallery, of course.…My master has excellent taste, if I do say so myself.”

“Have you any idea,” Preston inquired, “why he did not make her an offer?”

“All I know is that we left the following morning in unseemly haste. Yet,” he shrugged as he leafed with little interest through an ornately embossed volume of sonnets, “one does what is expected without comment.…I had assumed, as taken with her as he appeared to be, he would return to Hertfordshire soon to do that very thing.”

Rising from his chair, Preston tucked the book under his arm to read when he was alone. “Apparently, Mr. Bingley had his reasons.”
Offering a bow of farewell to the younger man, he added, “Gentlemen such as Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy, who are fortunate enough to claim impeccable credentials, must consider any and all circumstances before undertaking matrimony.”

“Which circumstances, pray?”

“As gentlemen of those very gentlemen, my dear sir, we shall probably never know.”

When Mr. Darcy entered his apartment that evening, he said only, “We shall be returning to London tomorrow morning, Preston. I expect us to be gone by eight at the latest.”

“Yes, sir.” In spite of the impulse to inquire whether Mr. Darcy had again seen Miss Elizabeth Bennet (surely the event would have been inevitable; he'd spent the entire afternoon within the walls of her home), Preston resisted, as he knew he must.

Instead, he commenced packing the trunks, which had only just been unpacked a few days earlier.

Two days following their arrival in town, Mr. Darcy received an express from Mr. Bingley. Mr. Darcy happened to leave it lying open on his bedside table. Pretending to be replacing a spent candle there, Preston's eyes scanned the words with disgraceful curiosity.

Carefully replacing this missive in the position he had found it, Preston considered its contents as he continued his daily tasks.

So Mr. Bingley and the eldest Miss Bennet were now betrothed. Would Mr. Darcy, as his friend had so ecstatically suggested in the letter, soon follow suit?

As that week progressed into the next, however, there was no outward sign of his master's taking even a moment to ponder such advice.

Each day passed much as the one before, until one evening when the eminent Lady Catherine de Bourgh and her daughter, Miss Anne de Bourgh, came to call. Preston heard the details later in the staff dining hall when Sarah, the maid attending her ladyship, related the whole of it to the others.

“Apparently,” Sarah shared excitedly, “milady was not pleased with a young lady by the name of Miss Elizabeth Bennet.…Have you ever heard of her, Elsie?” she asked Mrs. Watson with breathless wonder.

As Mrs. Watson shook her head, Preston concentrated on his roast beef. Of course, no one in town would be aware of Miss Bennet's brief history with Mr. Darcy. Only himself, really. This realization filled him with a deep satisfaction that surprised him.

“In any case,” Sarah was going on, “Lady Catherine was scolding… actually
scolding
Mr. Darcy to make him tell her what he obviously did not wish to. Lord, you should have seen his face. I think the man would have liked to bludgeon her with a poker.”

“Sarah!” cried Peg, a kitchen maid. “Have a care!”

“I'm only telling you what I saw,” she defended herself. “Do you want to hear or not?”

No one said anything, so she continued. “Lady Catherine was carrying on something awful, saying things like, ‘This Bennet girl cannot be trusted,' and, ‘Poor breeding will always tell.' And all the while, Mr. Darcy just sat and drank his wine without answering back two words! Well, I don't know who this Miss Bennet is, but it made me feel rather sorry for her just the same.”

“What happened next?” breathed Peg.

“Well, Lady Catherine went on for quite a while in the same vein, until she said something that made Mr. Darcy look very different.”

“Different, how?” asked Mrs. Watson skeptically in the very same moment that Bess, yet another maid, chimed in with, “What did she say, Sarah? Tell us!”

“She said…” Carefully, the girl worked on recalling every word. “She said that Miss Bennet refused, absolutely refused, to promise that she would not accept an offer from Mr. Darcy if he were to give it.”

“An offer from Mr. Darcy!” repeated several of her listeners in open disbelief. “Mr. Darcy?”

“But pray,” asked Peg, returning their attention to the former statement, “how did her saying such a thing affect him?”

“Yes, Sarah,” said Mrs. Watson, frowning. “Why do you say he looked different after that?”

“I was watching him, out of the corner of my eye, of course, and I swear by all that is holy, he almost seemed to light up.”

“Light up!” said Peg.

“Yes.… What I mean is, before, when she was speaking, he looked…well, dreadful really, but when she came to that point, he glanced at her real quick, and I thought he nearly smiled.”