A Bit of Advice

By DJ Clawson

Summary: Three days before his wedding, Bingley goes to the only man who can give him the advice he needs ... the poor, unfortunate Mr. Darcy.

Author's Note: Thank you all for your comments and well-wishing. After a minor health setback I am recovering nicely, and I revised chapter 4. I enjoy posting this story, and will be sad when it ends soon in a few chapters.

It should be pointed out that this is the most risqué chapter by far, even if nothing "untoward" actually occurs or is openly discussed.

Chapter 5 – The Book

In the morning, the weather had cleared and the various unintended guests were off in a hurry, far too much for Elizabeth's comfort. Darcy was still sleeping soundly even through the noisy breakfast, which was not like him at all, and she was eager to invent an excuse to remain at Netherfield at least until he woke, even when she had plenty to do at home on her last day as Elizabeth Bennet.

Fortunately Mr. Bennet, in his wisdom, said kindly, "Lizzy, I have some business with Mr. Darcy and I must stay until he is up and about. Perhaps you would take time from your busy schedule to spend a morning with your father before he gives you away?"

She gladly obliged. Fortunately she had done most of her packing already, for Mr. Darcy had insisted that most of his wife's possessions be sent on ahead to Pemberley so that she would not waiting for their arrival when they got there, after a brief stay in Town to break up the traveling. She saw her sisters off, and then retreated with her father to the library of Netherfield.

"And what business do you have with Darcy? If it is something you can divulge?" she said as he wandered the impressive library, glancing at the titles.

"No, no, I should not divulge it, as Mr. Darcy has asked me not to. This means I must tell you with all haste so that you may some day use it to your own amusement."

"Papa, I have no desire to vex my husband!"

"Certainly not, but he is certainly a proud man, and if anyone is to give him an occasional ribbing about it, I think it out to be you, for he is so in love with you that he would forgive you if you called him a donkey," Mr. Bennet said. "He did not make me swear on it, so I feel no oath is violated if I tell you of our business dealings."

"He insisted – "

"Yes, yes, that I owe him nothing for his generous donations to Lydia's unsalvageable honor. This has nothing to do with the matter, but still implies his generosity. It is simply that he has plans to purchase Longbourn at the time of my expiration."

While not altogether surprising when she looked at the situation, it was still rather generous and the very fact that it seemed to come from nowhere – for Darcy had certainly not said anything to her about it – stunned her briefly into silence.

"This is assuming, of course, that I live to see all of my daughters married and my widow does not with to continue living in an empty house. I say, she might do well with an apartment at Brighton, where she can admire all of the parading officers she pleases, but that is her decision. But nonetheless, it is comforting to know that Longbourn will remain on the Bennet side to some degree."

"For all of this talk of your dying," she replied, "you are quite well, papa."

"Yes, your mother has not succeeded in driving me to Bedlam quite yet. She may succeed when you and Jane are gone." He paused, as if he was almost being serious, and then he said, "Perhaps we should try to have a few more girls to liven up the place, if Kitty and Mary do not do their fair share."

"You wouldn't," she said. "And Jane will be but three miles from you."

"And you will be far more, my dear Lizzy."

"Oh, papa," she said, embracing him. "My only hesitation in this marriage is leaving my family. If I were to be an old maid, you would at least have my company until the end of your days."

"But I would not be nearly as happy as I am to see you happy with a husband such as yours," he said. "I will miss you dearly, but it does not come as a complete surprise to me that my daughters would eventually leave me for other men. It is just a pain fathers bare. Mothers, too."

"You will visit me at Pemberley, as often as you like."

"In time. When I was a newlywed, I was not much inclined to visitors for the first new months."

Before she could get his meaning, there was a knock on the door and a servant entered and bowed to them both. "Mr. Bennet. Miss Bennet. I am to inform you that Mr. Darcy is recovering quite well. The Master has gone to see to him now and he will report back to you."

"He is not sick?"

"No, marm, just very tired."

"Then let him rest all he wants," said Mr. Bennet. "He has enough to do tomorrow, I should say."

Mr. Bingley was a bundle of nerves for too many reason to count without throwing himself into a fit, but the top thing on his mind was the health of his good friend. In the years they had known each other, Darcy had never failed to rise before him, and yet he slept well until noon. A local doctor was called, and made his assessment as soon as Darcy showed signs of rousing.

"He is not ill," said the doctor, and Bingley was quite prepared to wring his arm in thanks. "He is suffering from minor exhaustion. With some rest and plenty of food he should be fine for the celebrations tomorrow."

"Thank goodness. Thank you, doctor," he said, and gave orders to his servants to inform the waiting Bennets before hurrying up the stairs.

Finally, Bingley knocked on the door to Darcy's bedchamber. He felt a bit guilty about cornering him by means of Darcy's ill health, but the situation was rather desperate in his opinion. The servant Philips answered, carrying an empty platter.

"Is Mr. Darcy well?"

"He is recovering, Master Bingley."

"Good. Very good. Is he awake? Would he stand a visitor?"

"He is indeed at awares, sir." He bowed and quickly left, leaving the door open in his wake.

Bingley peered in and knocked again. "Darcy?"

A moan from inside the room. "Come in."

Bingley entered, and found Darcy alone, quite disheveled in his under shirt and propped up on a copious amount of pillows. "I came to see how you are doing."

"Yes, how delightfully obvious," Darcy said, his mood excusably lowered by the fact that he looked exhausted despite sleeping most of the morning. "I am not sick. I am just very, very tired."

"And it was raining."

"Only for the last hour or so," Darcy said, the memory dragging his voice down into a lower and angrier octave. "Very tired and soar. I will be fine for tomorrow."

"Of course." Bingley seated himself on the chair beside the bed. "Did you ride – "

"The entire way from Town, yes," Darcy said. "The carriage broke but two miles on the road. I would due to point out, in my defense, at the time I took to the horse, it was not raining." He put his head back and shut his eyes. "This is, of course, your fault."

"My fault? Are you serious?"

Darcy merely pointed to the dressing table, where there was a small package wrapped in paper and string. "A wedding present. Though it would be better for you to see it now, as opposed to after the wedding. So perhaps we shall call it a betrothal present."

"For me?"

"Bingley, just because I am not dying of a cold does not mean I am willing to listen to you stating the obvious all morning." He corrected himself, "Afternoon. Is it afternoon? I have an appointment in Meryton."

"We called for the tailor, and he is coming to Netherfield. It is being handled."

"And I am grateful for it. Now, do me the honor and make my miserable trip worthwhile."

Bingley cautiously approached the package, square but not a box. He lifted it, and it was obviously a book from the weight and shape. He cut the string with his pocketknife and removed the wrapper, and what he saw vexed him greatly. It was an old book, not ancient but certainly dusty and well-traveled, and its title was in a script he had never seen. There was no picture on the cover, but on the bottom he found in English, 'Translation by M.L. Watts.' He opened the cover, and found the first page in English, to his great relief. "Well, I'm sure Netherfield's library will certain be enhanced by this rare – " And then his voice just stopped. His brain just stopped when he flipped the page, and saw the first illustration. He was educated enough to recognize the style of artwork, but this was not the type of subject matter he had studied in Cambridge. Terrified, he flipped quickly through the thick book and found page after page of foreign-script titles, English explanations, and illustrations that – Well, he was fairly sure his ears were so hot that they were at any moment to burn off.

Darcy, in whatever state of self-amusement Bingley had no time for, so ... taken unawares as he was, finally broke the silence. "It is from India, I am told. Or, it says so in the translator's notes. I do not know the man. I imagine such a man, who is obviously well-educated from the breadth of his research, would use a pseudonym. I believe it was published in Bombay, at the colony there."

When Bingley had recovered enough to speak – which was quite a while – he merely stuttered, "You went to London to look for such a book?"

"Not such a book, Bingley. The book. And believe me, I had to go to quite a number of shops before I located a copy. If bookshop owners are inclined to gossip, the Pemberley honor will never recover from my attempts to aid your marriage."

"The book." Bingley's mind was not totally centered on the conversation, being immensely distracted by the fascinating ... content. "So you knew of it?"

"Yes, my father owned a copy, and like everything else at Pemberley, it passed to my guardianship after his death. Sadly, I could not have it sent for in time, because I am the only one who knows where to look for it."

"You – you keep this – this work – in the hallowed libraries of Pemberley?"

"Certainly not! I keep it where my father left it, in a false bottom to a locked drawer in the desk in his study. You may wish to exercise the same discretion."

"Of – of course," he said, feeling like his hand was going to burn from just holding it. But on the other hand, he was perversely fascinated by its contents.

And perversely was definitely the right word.

"So – you are familiar with it?" Bingley said.

"I cannot say I have mastered it," Darcy answered. "I cannot even pronounce the title. But let us say that the copy at Pemberley has been ... much perused."

"In privacy, I'm assuming."

"I have gone through great lengths to keep it from Georgiana and the servants, and I will go through even greater lengths to render you crippled in some fashion if you ever reveal a word of this to any of them."

Bingley didn't doubt it. Darcy made no further comment, apparently falling back into a more resting state, and Bingley found himself ignoring his ailing friend entirely, utterly fascinated as he was. There was no way – there was no way he could ever – that Jane would ever – were these just flights of savage Indian fantasy? He could not think, despite his athleticism, of a way to even get in most of those positions. And surely the church would frown on this. Surely he was damned to hell for just reading this book, right now in Darcy's room. He imagined John Calvin descending from heaven, with his black robes and long beard like the picture in his father's study, to point at him and scream at him about the unholy hellfire that awaited him.

"Darcy –"

Apparently brought out of a mild sleep, Darcy did not hide his annoyance. "What?"

"Please forgive my intrusion on your ill health, but – uhm, is this even possible?"

"Is what even possible?"

Bingley was obligated to bring the book forward, sitting down on the edge of the bed, and holding up the very graphic and bizarre picture. Darcy squinted. "Oh, yes. Very difficult, though. Takes some practice."

And now, Bingley was quite sure, they were both going to hell. Well, if that notion entered Darcy's mind, it didn't seem to perturb him, and there was a mind inside that tired head so full of knowledge Bingley was desperate to mine.

"How about this?"

"Give it here." Darcy took the book into his hands. "I confess, I do not believe every method proposed in this book is physically possible, unless the Indian locals are somehow differently built than us."

"I did suspect such a thing."

"Perhaps if I were double-joined," Darcy mumbled, flipping casually through the tome as if it was a local newspaper. There was something almost ... studious about his posture, as if he were looking at a very uncomfortable subject very academically, weighing options and opinions. "Here we go. This one." He passed the book back.

There was so many, Bingley had not seen them all. He was quite flummoxed by the illustration, and read the description several times before finally saying, "This cannot be very gentlemanly."

"But it does work. Quite well." Darcy was so at ease – was he basking in the glory of watching Bingley squirm and blush so heard he might pop out of his skin at any moment? Or was he recalling fond memories of the past? "There is even a Latin name for it, I believe."

"I cannot possibly – "

"You asked for my advice, Bingley, on the very delicate manner of pleasing your wife. I have gone through great lengths to make sure that you at least have some source of reference to do so beyond the wisdom you received from tavern chatter. It is your turn to use it wisely. And of course, to never speak of it with me again."

"Of course," Bingley said, trying to recover. "Of course. You are truly a wonderful friend, and I am grateful for it. Now, I cannot inconvenience you further by having you ill for the wedding." He stood and bowed.

"You sound like our mother-in-law," Darcy merely said, and rolled over, presumably to go back to sleep.

"I am afraid to remind you that you have some business with Mr. Bennet this afternoon, and Miss Elizabeth is quite eager to see you."

At 'Elizabeth' Darcy sat up. "Please have a servant bring me some decent clothes at once, and Bingley nodded in complete understanding.

As Bingley left, he took a great effort to hide the book in the inner folds of his jacket until he could dash into his room, where he dismissed the servant and was free to fret about the best hiding place for his wedding present. When he felt that it was thoroughly hidden between the mattresses, he heard the bell for lunch, and quickly collected himself, splashing water on his still-hot face. Only when his normal natural paleness (due to a partial Irish ancestry no one would admit to) had returned was he willing to make an appearance. At the top of his steps, he looked down and saw at the bottom his Elizabeth Bennet, clearly waiting for some news of Darcy's health.

This of course caused him to blush entirely anew. By the time he got down the steps, he must have been beet red, because he could not help but think that if Mr. Darcy was as scholarly on a certain Indian subject as he seemed to be, the future Mrs. Darcy was perhaps the luckiest woman in England.

And she had no idea as to why.

After some waiting, Elizabeth was permitted entry to Darcy's bedchambers. For propriety reasons, the servant would not be dismissed, at least not until Darcy insisted. He was dressed properly, but he came unsteadily to his feet to greet her.

"Do not," she insisted, and pushed him down on the bed. It occurred to her that this was the first time they were ever on a bed together. "You need your rest."

"I am sorry to keep your father waiting."

"Do not worry for a moment. He is quite entranced with the library and will be happy for quite some time. It is I who must return quickly to Longbourn – but I could not, before seeing you."

"I am not ill," he said, sounding like he was tired of saying it.

"You did ride to Hertfortshire from Town on horseback. Though, I heard, it was not your wildest ride, even if it was raining."

Darcy blinked, clearly having no idea as to the reference, so she went ahead and filled him in, "Your cousin told me last night of an adventure to Bath, but very strangely, he would not give me the particulars."

A look confirmed that he would have to tell this story, so he sighed and went ahead with it. "It was a foolish thing to do. I suffered grateful from it for weeks, I suppose as punishment for the reason. I assure you it was not scandalous, but it was rather stupid."

"Then you will tell me?"

"I would tell you anything," he said. "The reason Colonel Fitzwilliam perhaps did not engage the specifics is because it involved Wickham, if in a rather harmless way for Wickham to be involved in anything."

"Of course," she concluded. "Georgiana was present."

"Yes. Well, it does not reflect well on my character, or at least on my intelligence. I was stupid and Wickham was – being himself. At the time, I was sixteen and he was seventeen, and we were in competition over everything, not always the friendliest kind, as when we were boys. At that particular time, it was in the area of riding. So it was that my father had a document waiting for him in Bath, and mentioned it in some conversation, and Wickham, ever looking to get in father's good graces, told me he would ride to Bath overnight to fetch this document instead of making a servant to do it, because he was such an accomplished rider that his method would be most expedient. Being the headstrong beast that I was – "

"And still may, on occasion, be –"

He did not get angry. Instead, he sort of smiled at her. So her father's theory was correct. " – I immediately challenged him that I could make it to Bath and back with greater urgency. And so it became a private challenge, for we told my father nothing of it, intending it to be a surprise. We took slightly different routes, I suppose to not be on-edge at constantly seeing each other, and I arrived in Bath with little idea of where Wickham was. I was grateful that he had not overtaken me, but I had to wait until the sunrise for the clerk's office to open and for me to obtain the document, and I dared not to sleep. When I did obtain it, I thought nothing better than to return home as quickly as possible, I suppose to drive the point home, so to speak. I was there and back in nearly the cycle of a day.

"Wickham did not reappear for several days. It seems he got lost, and sheltered at inn, where he found some woman to his liking, and realizing that he had already lost, decided to weather there for some time before returning home to my gloating. So as to not be unseemly, I did not mention his involvement in the affair at all when I presented the document to my very surprised and confused father. I may have told Fitzwilliam at some point, but I do not remember. All I remember was spending nearly a month in bed with a terrible fever and terrible muscle pain. I did not mount a horse for another month beyond that."

"I can imagine," she giggled. "Or, I am creative enough to do so."

"Yes," he said. "So last night's exploits were really nothing in comparison. I am quite well."

"So you have explained. But you still not have explained the reason for taking off and returning so hastily."

He raised an eyebrow. "Do I need a reason? I have had much business in Town since our engagement was announced."

"I will venture a guess and say this was not a business dealing."

Darcy sighed and laid back on the pillow. "Clearly, I should not be marrying someone of such great intuition. I will never have a secret again."

"Clearly."

"But allow me a day's respite. This was a matter of ... research."

"And then you will tell me?"

"No, Elizabeth," he said. "And then I will show you."

To be continued.