The Impulse of the Moment Page 5

  “I do not question you, Fitzwilliam,” said his mother with a sigh. “But your father will hear nothing against him and will not speak on the subject.”

  “Father’s blindness with respect to Wickham is obvious,” replied Darcy shortly. Georgiana once again looked at him with shock, but Darcy smiled at him and addressed his mother: “I have no notion of ever convincing Father, and thus I give it little thought. For myself, I will no longer associate with him.

  “As for his position in London, I know very well he only studied the law when Father made it clear that it was the law or the church. Even then, his studying was rudimentary, and his position at the solicitors was bought by Father’s connections, and not any virtue of Wickham’s.

  “Furthermore, I am well aware of Wickham’s expectations in life.”

  Darcy paused, bitterness welling up within him. The matter of George Wickham was the one subject on which father and son could not agree. Darcy was confident in his father’s love for him, and all of Wickham’s taunts, his claims of being the elder Darcy’s favorite, were nothing more than wishful thinking on Wickham’s part. But the fact that his father would hear nothing against Wickham dismayed and angered Darcy, especially when his father put great weight in his opinion otherwise. Even with Fitzwilliam’s support, Darcy had never been able to make his father see the truth of his favorite.

  “Do you know he disdained the offer of the Kympton living?” said Darcy at length, his words even, regardless of his desire to give in to his anger.

  “The manner in which he refused it made it evident,” replied Lady Anne.

  “It is one of the few times I have ever seen Father treat the blackguard firmly.” Lady Anne’s countenance darkened, but Darcy was adamant. “You know it is true, Mother.”

  “It is. But I would appreciate it if you would modify your tone.”

  Darcy bowed his head, but he kept his countenance even. “Wickham expected more than the Kympton living, a valuable living that one such as he would not normally be in a position to expect. For a man of his background, an income in excess of three or four hundred pounds a year is equivalent to a king’s ransom.”

  Darcy grimaced as he remembered the leach’s reaction to Mr. Darcy’s suggestion. “He was even less pleased with the offer to study the law. But he knew my father would soon learn of his proclivities should he accept Kympton, and therefore settled on, in his eyes, the lesser of the two evils. I do not know the content of his thoughts, for he would never confide in me, but I suspect he thought Father would bestow upon him a gentleman’s income. Perhaps Rosedale or Pine Bluff.”

  “Does he think he is a second son?” demanded Lady Anne. It was apparent she was growing offended. Perhaps Darcy should have shared these thoughts with her previously. Though he had no notion Wickham would attempt anything with Lady Anne—though Darcy thought there were few other women in the kingdom who were safe from him—knowing his nature was a protection against his depredations.

  “He has been treated as one all his life,” said Darcy.

  Though it was apparent his mother did not appreciate his words, Darcy knew there was little disputing them. “Your father means to refuse him.”

  “Good,” replied Darcy. “Hopefully he will continue to do so.” Darcy turned to Georgiana, who was watching them with the wide eyes of one whose previously held opinions were being stripped away. “If Father should give in to the libertine’s pleas, I would particularly suggest Georgiana take care in his presence.”

  “Surely you do not expect her to be his target,” protested his mother.

  “For her fortune of thirty thousand pounds, Wickham might risk it,” replied Darcy. “She would be his means of obtaining a life of ease, and that might be enough of an inducement.”

  Lady Anne’s eyes searched Darcy’s for a few moments before she grimaced and looked to her daughter. For her part, Georgiana looked back, more than a little fearful. Darcy watched it all with satisfaction of knowing his warning had been soberly received. While he did not wish his sister to be forever walking the path of life afraid for what lay beyond the next hill, her wariness of Wickham could only be beneficial.

  “You may be assured that I will be chary of Mr. Wickham,” said Georgiana.

  “And I shall keep her safe,” said Lady Anne. “In the meantime, I will advise your father that Wickham should remain in London. He is not that long in his position that he can leave at will for weeks at a time. Your father understands this.”

  Darcy responded with a curt nod. “If something happens, let me know. Or Anthony can intervene if he is nearby.

  The subject was then dropped. Though Darcy had no notion that Wickham considered Georgiana a target, he also knew the man was an opportunist. Should he ever entertain the notion of attempting to woo Georgiana for his own gain, he would find his wheel well and truly spiked.

  Chapter III

  Longbourn Estate, near Meryton in Hertfordshire, was a respectable estate, and one of the two largest in the neighborhood. It had not always been so, having been much smaller only two generations earlier. But an unexpected and sizeable inheritance had allowed the master at the time to make extensive purchases of land, including one small estate in full, whose master decided to move his family to the Americas in search of a better life.

  As a result, the manor house was an odd mixture of older sections intermingled with a newer, more modern wing, which boasted a ballroom for entertaining. It was not so imposing as the house at Netherfield Park, that building having been constructed as one single entity, standing tall and handsome amid groves of trees. Longbourn was a more rambling house, seeming smaller and humbler on first glance, when in fact it was the larger of the two.

  The current master of Longbourn, Mr. Henry Bennet, was a retiring man past his fiftieth year and had been master of the estate since not long after his son was born. Having been born a younger son, Henry had been destined for academic circles, having eschewed the traditional professions most younger sons pursued. When his elder brother had perished in a riding accident, he had returned to the estate and taken up the reins of management. But whereas his brother was perfectly suited to be an estate’s master in temperament and talents, Henry was much more at ease with others of his collegial interests. In short, his interest was more in books and learning, than estate accounts, tenant concerns, and the intricacies of crop rotations.

  While Mr. Bennet had managed the estate successfully in the years he had been its master, his penchant for the written word had drawn him to his bookroom more often, meaning his management was often indifferent. A good steward had made this lack less severe than it might have been. Lately, his only son, Thomas, had largely taken over the reins of the estate, allowing Mr. Bennet to settle further into his retirement. This seemed to suit both gentlemen, for Thomas was much more interested in the workings of their holdings, yet his father was available should he require assistance.

  Of Mr. Bennet’s status as a widower there was not much to say. An oddly matched couple from the start, it had been assumed by many that Mr. Bennet had not possessed much affection for his late wife. This assumption was incorrect, however—for all that Mrs. Bennet had been a flighty woman of indifferent intelligence, she had kept his home for more than twenty years, provided him companionship, and borne his children. Whatever she lacked in cleverness, she had more than made up for in her ability to manage a house and entertain guests, though Mr. Bennet was not at all one who enjoyed a great deal of society. He missed her a great deal, but his philosophy, that change was inevitable, and all were destined to meet their maker someday, allowed him to endure his loss and take comfort in his children and his books.

  As has been previously noted, the Bennet family of Longbourn had long been close with the Bingleys of Netherfield. Their sons and daughters were of similar ages, often in company with one another, and the parents enjoyed cordial relations. In the case of Mrs. Bingley and Mrs. Bennet, they had been excellent friends until the un
timely loss of the latter. The existence of the assumed matches between said sons and daughters was not in any way an impediment to their shared felicity. Indeed, it was widely thought in the neighborhood that Miss Caroline Bingley would likely already be married to Mr. Thomas Bennet, had Mrs. Bennet not suddenly passed the previous year.

  The couple was now engaged, however, with the date of their wedding rapidly approaching, while the younger couple of Mr. Charles Bingley and Miss Jane Bennet appeared well on their way to joining the aforementioned in their state of engaged bliss. While the Bennet sisters’ mother was no longer present to put her stamp on the coming wedding celebration—and it was well understood in the neighborhood she would have stood for nothing less than a fête the likes of which the town had never seen—her daughters stepped into the void, planning their brother’s wedding alongside Mrs. Bingley with a will. The exception being, of course, Elizabeth, who was currently away touring the lakes with her relations.

  On a particular day in July of 1811, the younger Bennets arrived at Netherfield for a visit for the purpose of furthering the plans for the coming celebration. In actuality, Jane Bennet knew that most of the arrangements had already been made and there was little left to be done. The visit was more an excuse to gather together as their families were wont to do, and her brother’s presence—who, like his father, had little tolerance for talk of wedding preparations—suggested the more informal nature of the visit.

  As they entered the sitting-room at Netherfield, Jane watched her brother as he approached his affianced, noting the eagerness and quick step with which he left his sisters’ sides. Thomas was a kind and attentive man, but he was not given over much to frivolities. His marriage to Miss Bingley was what was important, not the flowers, foods at the wedding breakfast, or any other secondary concerns.

  “Miss Bennet, Miss Mary,” said Mr. Bingley, welcoming them as they entered the room. “How do you do today?”

  Jane felt a fluttering in her heart as she did every occasion she was in Mr. Bingley’s company. The sensation had started about the time she was fifteen years of age and had not ceased since. Though she well understood the reasons why Mr. Bingley had not yet made his addresses to her, Jane could not help but be impatient for them.

  “We are very well, Mr. Bingley,” said Mary, speaking when Jane did not immediately respond. “I see I will need to find something with which to occupy myself today. My brother’s attention shall not be pried from your sister, and I have no doubt you and my sister shall soon be lost in each other’s eyes.”

  Feeling the heat rising in her cheeks, Jane shot a censorious glance at Mary. For her part, Mary did nothing more than grin and step away to find herself a seat on a nearby sofa. Of the three sisters, Mary and Elizabeth were much more alike than Jane was to either. Mary was a little quieter than Elizabeth, more interested in spiritual matters and her devotion to her pianoforte. But they both possessed a teasing manner, one which manifested itself the most in their dealings with their family, Jane in particular.

  “Now, now, Mary dear,” said Mrs. Bingley, shooting a sly glance at the pair still standing by the door. “You shall sit with me. I would not wish you to feel left out in such a company as this.”

  “Had I any notion I was being excluded of a purpose, I might feel snubbed,” replied Mary. “As it is, I have seen their looks too many times to misunderstand them.”

  “That is a fact,” said Mrs. Bingley while smiling at her progeny. “If only your dear mother were here to witness this realization of all her hopes. I dare say she would have been so pleased and proud of you all!”

  As Mr. Bingley drew Jane to a nearby seat, she reflected on the truth of Mrs. Bingley’s words. Mrs. Bennet would indeed have been pleased as punch at the upcoming nuptials of her eldest and been eager to see Jane disposed of in marriage too. The pang of her missing mother was one with which Jane was familiar by now, but it had eased to a dull ache of longing.

  Mary, it seemed, was pleased with Mrs. Bingley’s attention, for she sat with the matron willingly, and soon they were engaged in lively conversation, which, from Jane’s perspective, seemed to consist mostly of Mrs. Bingley’s inquiries as to any beaux in Mary’s life. Jane smiled fondly at her sister—Mary had always been the awkward child, and many had been the comments of her plainness compared to her sisters’ beauty. But in the last year or so, Mary had matured, blossomed into a young lady who possessed her fair share of beauty. At this time in her life, at the tender age of only eighteen, Jane knew that Mary had little desire to be courted. In the future, she would make some fortunate man an excellent wife. But there was no rush.

  “Is your father out on the estate today?” asked Jane of Mr. Bingley.

  “I believe Father is in his study,” said Mr. Bingley. He grinned and added: “Though my father is more open in company than Mr. Bennet, it seems his tolerance for wedding talk prompts him to mirror your father in avoiding it.”

  “I believe my husband has spent too much time in the company of your father,” said Mrs. Bingley. “Wedding talk, indeed! The arrangements have been largely complete for at least two weeks!”

  “And yet Papa avoids our sitting-room when our dear friends come,” said Caroline. “Perhaps he fears an outbreak of such talk whenever we are together.”

  They all laughed at Caroline’s observation. “It may be best if you encourage him to visit Longbourn when we are here,” said Jane. “Then they may commiserate without enduring the danger of being infected by such subjects.”

  “But what of the times when the Bingleys visit us?” asked Thomas. “You know Father does not like to trade the comforts of Longbourn’s library for Netherfield’s.”

  “Not to mention the fact that ours is not suitably enough stocked for Mr. Bennet’s taste,” added Mr. Bingley. “None of us Bingleys are great readers.”

  “I enjoy a book when I can get it,” said Thomas. “But there is always so much to be done on the estate. And I can never hope to hold a candle to Lizzy or Mary when it comes to the written word. I am as educated as the next man, but sometimes hearing them speak with Father, I might think the book they are discussing is in Greek!”

  “At times it is,” was Mary’s prim reply, prompting laughter among the company. “I dare say, you all would benefit from a little literature at times.”

  “Perhaps we would, Mary, dearest,” said Thomas.

  “Personally,” said Mr. Bingley, “I take issue with your claim of possessing an education. I cannot imagine that so-called university you attended can claim anything so lofty as to be able to impart an education.”

  “How dare you debase Oxford’s good name!” exclaimed Thomas in mock affront. “I will inform you that Oxford is the older, more venerable institution.”

  “Cambridge’s charter was granted in 1231,” noted Mr. Bingley. “Oxford was not granted until 1258.”

  “Ah, but Oxford was instructing as early as the late eleventh century, my dear Mr. Bingley. Cambridge did not begin offering their pitiful attempts at higher learning until the early thirteenth.”

  “Boys!” scolded Mrs. Bingley. “I shall not have you debate the relative merits of your respective universities in my sitting-room!”

  The two men only grinned, however, ignoring Mrs. Bingley and continuing to throw facts back and forth. Mrs. Bingley, accustomed as she was to their friendly debate, shook her head and turned back to Mary. Jane watched her brother and her beau with some interest. She had never felt the desire to become more educated than she was at present though she knew Lizzy would have jumped at the chance to attend either of the universities. Jane was by no means uneducated—she had learned alongside all her sisters at the instruction of their governess and had spent some time at school in Caroline’s company. But she had never craved knowledge for its own sake, which she knew Lizzy, and to a lesser extent Mary, always had.

  “Well, I shall soon have another to back me up regarding the relative merits of our educations,” said Mr. Bi
ngley, drawing Jane’s attention back to the conversation. “And I know he, at least, has the right opinion of the matter.”

  “One of your university friends, no doubt,” said Thomas, shaking his head in apparent disdain. “Given your own lack of education, I can only assume he will share the same, and he will be just as ignorant of it as you.”

  Thomas paused and looked critically at Mr. Bingley, apparently deep in thought. For his part, Mr. Bingley waited for him to speak. Jane knew he enjoyed their verbal sparring matches with Thomas as much as Thomas did himself. The men were firm friends; neither would take offense at the teasing of the other.

  “In fact, I am afraid I have proof that your education is lacking, my friend,” said Thomas at last.

  A laugh was Mr. Bingley’s response. “Please, share this insight with me. In what way has my education been lacking?”

  “Why, in the fact that you cannot even write a coherent sentence!” said Thomas, his manner suggesting triumph. Mr. Bingley laughed and shook his head. “I have had occasion to read your letters, my friend.”

  “Oh, Charles is most careless when he writes!” exclaimed Caroline, looking at her brother with unmistakable fondness. “It seems he leaves out every third word, and as the rest are blotted, it is impossible to decipher their meaning.”

  “It is a fault I will own without disguise,” said Mr. Bingley, ruefully shaking his head. “Whenever I write, I do so with the firm intention of making it legible. But my thoughts flow so quickly, my pen cannot keep up.”

  “There,” said Thomas, leaning back, his countenance alive with satisfaction. “It has been proven. You have no choice but to retire the field in defeat, my friend.”

  “Or perhaps it is simply my own personal failing. Not all men educated at Cambridge are the same. My friend, Mr. Darcy, for example, writes letters that are nothing like mine. They are clear, concise, and filled with words, the meaning of which I am only dimly aware!”