The Impulse of the Moment Read online

  What was not so easily banished, however, was the remembrances of “Lizzy” that the events of the previous day had prompted. Indeed, though it had been nearly four years since his visit to Bingley’s home, it seemed a rare day when memories of the young woman did not intrude upon his senses. She had been a diminutive sprite of a girl, beautiful dark eyes, slightly plump cheeks, still carrying a hint of the child she had been. Miss Elizabeth had been sixteen at the time—Darcy could not help but wonder if the promising prettiness she had displayed as a young girl had blossomed into true beauty now that she was a woman. Given her sister, Darcy suspected it likely that he would be rendered stunned should he see her now.

  A gust of wind nearly knocked Darcy’s hat from his head, and he reached up to fix it in place. His steed, a trusted animal Darcy had ridden for the past five years, nickered and lashed his tail to and fro. Darcy patted the beast, earning another whinny in response, and he settled once again into the rhythm of man and beast, the swift canter eating the miles which remained between himself and his uncle’s home.

  The problem was, Darcy thought to himself, the incident which had occurred between them the last time he had laid eyes on Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Charmed by her manners and exasperated by her continual teasing, Darcy had allowed his baser nature sway, stealing a kiss in a most ungentlemanly manner. His father would not be pleased should he learn of his son’s behavior, and rightly so. He had been taught better.

  It was for that reason Darcy had not visited Bingley again. Bingley’s invitations had been plentiful, but Darcy had found a reason to refuse every time. In the interim, Bingley had even visited Pemberley, not that Darcy’s father had appreciated the visit. Oh, he had been civil and respectful. But Mr. Robert Darcy had definite ideas about the proper acquaintances for himself and his family, and he was not at all a friend of his son’s association with the likes of Charles Bingley. That he recognized that Darcy, as a man in his own right, possessed the ability, intelligence, and will to choose his own friends was the only reason why Darcy’s friendship with Bingley had not become a source of strife between them. But his father did not approve, and Darcy was certain he never would.

  An invitation had arrived again—it was among Darcy’s correspondence which had been held for him at Pemberley. As he always did, Darcy had immediately begun to search for ways to avoid attending Bingley in Hertfordshire. He would have to face her if he allowed himself to be lured there, and while a part of him would like nothing more than to see her again, the scene of his shame was one to be avoided.

  At least Darcy thought this way until memories of the conversation with the Gardiners had surfaced, with mentions of Lizzy. Again and again he reminded himself that there was nothing attaching her to them. The Lizzy they had mentioned was almost certainly a different person entirely.

  But in Darcy’s breast had been awakened a desire to see her again, to judge for himself if what he suspected of her beauty was correct. And perhaps even more importantly, he wished for the opportunity to gage whether he might make an apology to her for his actions. Even if she was not injured by them, his honor demanded he offer it, regardless. The notion to go and see her was nigh overpowering.

  By the time he could see Snowlock rising through the trees, its façade open and welcoming, Darcy had convinced himself to go, alternately talking himself out of it, more than a dozen times, it seemed. Eager to put such thoughts behind him, Darcy consigned his steed to the care of a groom and climbed the stairs two at a time, eager to be with his family again. Surely, they would provide a respite and a distraction from his thoughts.

  “Fitzwilliam,” intoned his father as he entered the sitting-room upon making himself presentable. “Sit with me and tell me of matters at Pemberley.”

  Knowing his father would demand an accounting of him, Darcy sat close to his father and informed him of his actions. The problem had not been a difficult one—a particular pair of tenants had a history of disputes between them, such that Darcy was certain their current strife was more a matter of habit than true disagreement. Darcy had soothed ruffled feathers and restored peace between them—amity was too much to ask for.

  When the explanation was complete, Robert Darcy grunted. “It is well that Stearns and Cooper will be turning their farms over to their sons before too many years have passed. Their constant petty rivalry is grating on the nerves.”

  “Given what you have said of them,” said Darcy’s uncle in a jovial tone, “I do not doubt their sons will carry on the tradition.”

  Darcy’s uncle was a large contrast to his father, though the two men had been close friends from the days they had been at Eton together. If the elder Darcy was akin to a closed book, the earl was one which lay open. Robert Darcy was calm and rational, reticent and quiet, and while the earl was also a rational man, he was garrulous and happy, quick with a joke and kind to all. Mr. Darcy was not unkind, but he was more apt to remain silent. Silence was a term with which Jacob Fitzwilliam, Earl of Matlock, shared little acquaintance. These traits were shared to a lesser extent with his sister, Lady Anne Darcy, though Lady Anne was more likely to smile and speak with affection than laugh. With their other siblings, Darcy was not as well acquainted. The earl had one elder sister, Lady Catherine, who Darcy had never cared for, due to her autocratic manners, and two younger brothers, one a bishop, and the other, a gentleman who had inherited an estate in Wiltshire from an elderly relation.

  “Actually, Uncle,” said Darcy, “the sons are known to me. Though their fathers prefer to butt heads like the sheep on our estate, the sons are known to be friendly with each other.”

  “Then perhaps you should encourage their fathers into retirement. There are few things more frustrating than tenants who continually quarrel with each other.”

  Privately Darcy agreed with his uncle. His father, however, seemed ready to allow the subject to drop, and Darcy did so. They sat in general conversation for some time, the sounds of his sister playing the pianoforte providing the background for their conversation. His mother sat with Lady Susan, speaking of inconsequential subjects, while the men discussed their estates and the expectations for this year’s yields. The earl’s three eldest children were all gone from the estate, his son James on his wedding tour with his new bride, while his son, Anthony, had been called away to business with his regiment. Of the two daughters, Rachel was at another house party with her husband, while Charity was somewhere on the estate or with Georgiana in the music room. There was some talk that his cousin’s regiment would soon be called up to duty on the peninsula, and while Darcy knew his aunt would fret, he also knew Fitzwilliam would not consider shirking his duty.

  “Was there anything else that requires our attention?” asked Darcy’s father, turning back to him some time later. “No correspondence which must be handled?”

  “Nothing that I could see,” said Darcy. “There was, however, an invitation for me to join Bingley at his father’s estate in Hertfordshire.”

  “Bingley,” said his father, his voice flat. “Is he still importuning you?”

  “He is my friend, Father,” said Darcy, his tone a little more pointed than he had intended.

  Mr. Darcy grunted. “Perhaps he is, at that. As you have not seen him for some time, I had hoped you intended to allow distance between you.”

  “It is not to be supposed since I have not seen Bingley lately that I do not still consider him a friend.” Darcy met his father’s eyes evenly, not in challenge, but with a look which was meant to convey his firmness on the subject. “I enjoyed my stay the last time I was in Hertfordshire and mean to accept the invitation this time.”

  Although his father’s lips tightened in displeasure, Darcy was more focused on surprise that he had come to a decision in such a manner. He was now committed, he realized, though he had not been decided at all when he walked through the door. But it felt right, he decided; it had been four years since he had gone, four years of thinking, of remembering, of longing. Yes,
longing. It was time to return, to see what time had wrought. Time to consider new possibilities.

  “You know I have no issue with the man himself,” said his father, drawing Darcy’s attention again. “Mr. Bingley seemed like a gentlemanly man. But I am not convinced it would be best to encourage such a close association. The Bingleys are not of our sphere.”

  “I thought him a perfectly lovely man,” said Lady Anne.

  Husband and wife shared a look, one which Darcy had seen many times between them. Theirs was not a relationship in which Mr. Darcy, as the master and husband, dominated his wife. Lady Anne had her own opinions and was not shy about sharing them, and her husband, to his credit, was a man who listened to his wife and esteemed her as an equal. That she was more open to those of Bingley’s ilk was interesting, for the Fitzwilliams were the titled family, after all. Mr. Darcy had never attempted to impose his will on his wife, not that she would have been cowed anyway.

  “As I said, I know nothing ill of the young man. But the fact that he is not of our level of society is incontrovertible. The Bingley family is new money. Their standing in society is of the second circle at best, and that only because of the wealth they brought with them when they purchased their estate. It will be generations before they are fully accepted. The consequence of the Darcy family can only be lessened in comparison when we associate with people of their station.”

  “Times are changing, Darcy,” said the earl. “While the gentry fight tooth and nail to maintain their rank in society, tradesmen amass prodigious fortunes and buy their way into the upper echelons. I know you do not like it, but I find that the contents of a man’s character are far more important to his worth in society than the matter of his birth. Take Baron Godwin, for example—though his family is lower on the societal scale than many, I would not associate with him were he the Prince Regent himself, so low are his morals.”

  Mr. Darcy grunted his agreement. He turned back to Darcy, his gaze piercing. “Will they attempt to push one of their daughters on you? I understand there are two.”

  “One is already married,” replied Darcy, “and the other is now engaged.”

  “To some local landowner, I will wager. Will she be content, or will she turn to the greater prize when you are before her?”

  “Since the marriage is to take place before I am to arrive, I highly doubt it.”

  The dryness of his reply set the earl to laughter, and even his mother and aunt smiled fondly at him. It appeared his father was no happier with his son’s intentions, but at least he appeared resigned.

  “You will do what you wish, I suppose. You always do. Is it too much to hope that you remember your place and avoid entanglements with young ladies of the neighborhood? I know too much of such local societies to think that every woman of marriageable age will not immediately set her cap at you.”

  “I shall be circumspect, as always, Father.”

  “Very well,” replied Mr. Darcy, and the subject was dropped for other matters.

  It was later that evening, when the company was together after dinner, that Darcy had an opportunity to speak with his sister. Georgiana was a lovely girl with honey blonde hair—lighter highlights due to the summer sun—a tall and womanly form, and an affectionate heart. In the past several months, seeing the woman she was growing into had aroused a protective instinct in Darcy. Soon they would be forced to allow her to spread her wings, to move in society, and soon after, she would undoubtedly catch the attention of some young man, marry, and make her own way in the world. Darcy did not know who was good enough for his beloved sister, but he knew he would be required to let her live her own life, not that he would ever dream of stepping in her way.

  When informed of her brother’s intention to visit Mr. Bingley later that summer, she appeared interested, though knowing her father’s opinion of that family, she refrained from displaying her delight. “I know how you enjoy Mr. Bingley’s company, Brother. When do you leave?”

  “Not until the beginning of August,” replied Darcy. “Bingley’s elder sister is about to be married, and I would not dream of intruding on them while they are in a frenzy of preparations.”

  “I wish I could meet Mr. Bingley’s family,” said Georgiana. “He was very kind when he visited. Are his family much the same?”

  While Darcy informed her of what he remembered of Bingley’s immediate family, the unspoken matter between them was that their father would be unlikely to allow it. In the future, when Georgiana was grown and possessed more autonomy from their parents, it might be possible. But until she came out, Darcy judged it unlikely that she would be allowed to be in the Bingleys’ company, and Darcy knew that she was well aware of this fact.

  As they spoke, Darcy could not help but notice his mother’s eyes upon them. The look she was giving them suggested she was aware of the content of their discussion. While Darcy did not think she precisely disapproved, he knew she would follow her husband’s lead concerning Georgiana ever meeting Mr. Bingley. Thus, Darcy was not surprised when Lady Anne made her way across the room.

  “Georgiana, Fitzwilliam,” said she when she joined them, sitting next to her daughter. “May I ask to be included in your conversation?”

  “Of course, Mother,” replied Georgiana, apparently unaware of her mother’s level look. “William was just telling me of Mr. Bingley’s family.”

  Lady Anne smiled at her daughter. “I did enjoy Mr. Bingley’s company when he visited us, Georgiana, and believe he is a very good sort of man. But I hope you do not esteem him more than you ought.”

  There was an inherent question in his mother’s voice, though it was clearly a statement. But it was the subject which caught Darcy by surprise. Georgiana was no less shocked, for she blurted:

  “Do you think I admire Mr. Bingley?”

  “This interest in him is suggestive, my dear,” said their mother. “He is an amiable man, well-favored, and just at the right age to attract the interest of a young girl of your age.”

  “I am not infatuated with Mr. Bingley,” said Georgiana, her cheeks burning in embarrassment.

  “And Bingley has long been enamored with the daughter of his closest neighbor,” added Darcy. “Even if Georgiana should have some youthful infatuation for Bingley—”

  “Which I do not!” protested his sister.

  Darcy grinned at her. “Even if you did, it would come to nothing.”

  “That is well, then.” Lady Anne fixed them with a pointed look and said: “Your father would never stand for it.”

  “I am still but sixteen,” said Georgiana, her grumpy tone prompting a smile from her mother. “There is no thought in my mind for any young man when I am not even out.”

  “Good. Let us keep it this way.” Lady Anne smiled at her daughter and caressed her cheek with a light touch. “I find I am not ready to lose you, Georgiana. I would appreciate your company for some years yet.”

  “There is no reason to rush,” agreed Georgiana.

  Lady Anne took this admission as the end of the subject, and they moved to other topics, Darcy listening to the conversation, though participating little. After a time, he began to pay less attention to his family, his thoughts of his now confirmed engagement filling him. The thought, however fleeting, of how Miss Elizabeth would be received by his family flitted across his mind. His mother and sister, he thought, would love her, though his father would decry her as unsuitable. But he had spent only a few moments in her company and knew little of her—he could not be serious in his interest. Thus, he forced the matter from his mind.

  “Fitzwilliam,” said his mother, drawing his attention back to her. “There is something of which you should know.”

  When Darcy directed a questioning look at her, Lady Anne responded: “Your father received another letter from Wickham this morning.”

  Annoyed by the mention of the libertine, Darcy felt his good humor fleeing. “What does he want this time? I suppose his request was for mone
y?”

  “Your father said nothing of that,” replied Lady Anne. “But he has asked for a visit to Pemberley. Furthermore, the letter was directed to your father’s attention at Snowlock.”

  Darcy felt his scowled deepen, but that was nothing new when it came to the mention of Wickham. “I suspect he has some contact at Pemberley who is willing to feed him information concerning our movements. Or at the very least, our location when we are not home.”

  The look Lady Anne bestowed upon him was considering. “You know I am taking your account of Wickham on faith, Fitzwilliam. The sort of vices of which you have informed me have never been betrayed in my presence, nor that of your father.”

  “That is because Wickham takes great care to hide it from you,” was Darcy’s short reply. “Wickham knows my father’s character and understands that if he should betray his true nature, his association with the family would end. As I am near to him in age and have had the opportunity to see him in unguarded moments—and was in his company for several years at university—he is less capable of hiding his character from me.”

  Georgiana gasped. She had fond memories of Wickham, Darcy knew, and while he did not wish to destroy her innocence, perhaps it was best that she now understand exactly what kind of man he was. For her part, Lady Anne simply watched Darcy, saying nothing. Darcy took it as an invitation to expound upon the matter.

  “I ask you to trust me in this matter, Mother. Wickham is not a good man. Shall I show you the receipts I have of his debts I paid before I departed from Cambridge? He is too clever to allow his accounts to be in arrears in Lambton where Father would soon become aware of them, but I have little doubt he has incurred them in other places where he is not as well known. And consider his request to leave his livelihood after only a few months out of our company. Does his position at the solicitors mean so little to him?”