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.

Chapter 7 – The Long Night

Darcy did not have to endure another impromptu drunken sermon by Mr. Collins, at least not at the dinner table. There were simply so many guests and so much chatter that one could be easily ignored, and since he was not able to mention Lady Catherine without provoking Darcy's considerable anger, that cut his conversational abilities in half.

But Darcy was not inclined to be angry, at least from what Bingley could tell. If Darcy was not returned directly to his left he could not tell anything, because he could hardly hear anything or make out any conversation a few seats beyond them. Though he was want to say it, was fortunate that Lady Catherine had not attended, for she would have insisted on the traditional formalities that a twelve-course meal demanded, while Bingley was more inclined to let his guests revel in the pre-wedding festivities. For matters such as this he usually referred to Darcy for his expertise, as it was only under Darcy's subtle hand had he been schooled in being master of Netherfield, but both men were busy with other things and quite content to let things fall where they may.

Despite the variety of food unusual even by his considerable standards, Bingley found himself eating little, his stomach not the least bit settled, he assumed out of nerves. He instead contented himself with partaking in the socialization or merely observing it. There was a certain triangle amount of his adjacencies, as Miss Bingley put up a considerable show to appear to like her new sister a great deal, and Bingley was quite sure he could Darcy occasionally smirking at the flagrancy of the act. It was some relief to Bingley that no longer would Darcy have to fend off Caroline, though he was unsure if the matter had ever truly vexed him. Certainly if it had, Darcy would have said something or made his feelings known by less readily spending time at with the Bingleys, and yet he was his closest companion.

There were toasts, to their host and to the two couples, and the glasses were raised quite a few times before it was over. Mr. Collins was about to stand up when his wife found herself overwhelmed by either the food or the atmosphere – that could not be determined properly – and insisted that he escort her outside for fresh air. Elizabeth whispered something in Darcy's ear, and he waited until there was a moment when chatter had resumed to say quietly to Bingley, "You owe a great favor to Mrs. Collins."

Bingley held himself back from proposing a toast.

Time was pressing, and the dinner was brought to a conclusion at a decent time, so that the various guests could retire and the Bennets and Gardiners could return to Longbourn in good time. As it would be the last time he would see his bride before she stood in church, Bingley was a bit emotional, and looked to Darcy, who undoubtedly was doing quite well at hiding any emotions he felt – but Darcy could not be found. Darcy and Elizabeth were missing as the crowd gathered around the carriages, and reappeared only moments before they set off with no proper explanation. Everyone was too busy to apparently notice this, but the carriages could not leave without Elizabeth Bennet, so their timing was impeccable. "Till tomorrow," Bingley said with no lack of enthusiasm as he waved good-bye.

That left them with their Netherfield guests. The women mainly retired, or took to the drawing room, and the men to the parlor. "Bingley," Darcy said from behind him, ever the mysterious man. "I fear Mr. Bennet was left behind. He is in the library."

"Oh no, he said he wanted some more time to think and wouldn't get a moment of it at home. He will take a carriage later this evening," Bingley explained. "Shall we share a glass of port?"

"Yes. I desperately need something to settle my stomach," Darcy admitted, and then rejoined the other gentlemen in the study.

"Goodness, Darcy, are you all right?"

Darcy gave him a cold glare of a man tired of being asked that question.

Bingley decided to continue as if it had not occurred. "So then. The port."

"Indeed."

He opened the double doors that lead to the parlor, and was greeted by a rousing cheer from his male company at their appearance. Bingley looked at Darcy, who merely covered his forehead with disgust.

Elizabeth's shared room with her sister was practically empty but for the furniture. Her things were packed and on their way to Pemberley or in trunks downstairs. She barely had her nightgown and a brush. Jane, with less of a distance to be traveling, had nonetheless quite prepared herself for no longer being a resident of Longbourn, and they were quite alone but for the bed and each other – and soon, they would be without both.

Nonetheless, a generally giddy atmosphere pervaded even when they were finally left alone, with their mother telling them to get a good rest. Clearly, there would be none of that. They were far to excited. Anxious, too, but it was better not to think of it.

"I am quite sure of it now," Elizabeth said. "You can die of happiness. They have to prop my corpse up for the wedding."

"Lizzy, don't be so morbid!" "I fear the only thing keeping me alive at this very moment is that I tomorrow night I will be far away from you," she said, lowering her tone somewhat as she wrung her sister's hand. "But you shall visit."

"There is much convenience in the fact that are husbands are practically inseparable. We must make a pact that we will conspire to never allow them to fight."

"And we must make another pact that we must never allow them to find out about our pact, for they could never stand to know that we were meddling in their private affairs," Elizabeth said. "Or perhaps Mr. Bingley could, but Darcy would be quite affronted."

"Why I am the one to make this revelation, I know not, but dear sister, Mr. Darcy is affronted by everything."

Elizabeth laid back on the pillow, propping her head up with her elbow. "Oh yes. But how fortunate that he is insufferably adorable when he looks disgusted."

"So I am to be invited to Pemberley?"

"What? Why ever would you think not?"

"Because of Charles' train of sisters, of whom, your beloved is so overly fond."

Elizabeth giggled. "Who is this vicious woman and what has she done with my sister, who can only see the good in everyone?"

"I did not say I do not like them. They have been perfectly civil to me."

"Perhaps because one of them is not trying to marry you."

"Poor Miss Bingley," Jane said, sounding somewhat sympathetic. "She had such a similar method to you, and now she is a spinster. If only she had your heart behind her."

"You are not seriously comparing me to Caroline Bingley?"

"No! Not in all manners. But – will you say, honestly, that you never did anything intentionally to vex Mr. Darcy? Did you not engage him in a manner that would provoke his ire?"

"Only when he was begging for it! How could I not? And that was before – before I was even considering not hating the man!"

"Oh yes, Lizzy, I'm sure."

Elizabeth hit her sister with a pillow. Not hard, just enough to make the point that Jane was right and Elizabeth didn't care for the truth at that moment one bit.

"We are supposed to be getting our rest!"

"Yes, our 'rest,'" Elizabeth said. "While our husbands are up at all hours, enjoying their last bit of bachelorhood to no ends. We must be perfect ladies while they have the time of their lives!"

At that exact moment, Mr. Darcy was swallowing a third glass of brandy and trying to decide, honestly, whether it would be better to simply hit Mr. Collins in the face or to expel the contents of his stomach all over him. Surely, the latter would be improper, but it was likely to happen in a few minutes anyway for unrelated reasons, and the groveling vicar would surely forgive a very rich man of standing and potential future patron, but a solid hit would be so very satisfying. The gut, certainly, would shut him up without putting a bruise all over his face for the wedding or knocking one of his teeth out. Darcy, to his best recollection, had only done that once, and Wickham had whined about it for weeks afterwards. How bad could the loss of a simple back tooth be? Perhaps it explained his lack of wisdom.

Regardless, he remained in his chair opposite the prattling priest, mainly because he did not feel inclined to stand up. Instead he gave the best impression that he was listening to a word the man was saying, something he considered himself very talented at.

" – has to say about the sanctity of marriage, but I won't bore you further with the words of the great – "

Darcy could not help but roll his eyes. Fortunately, Mr. Collins was interrupted by a tap on the shoulder from Mr. Hurst, a very imposing figure when he was standing up straight. "If you would, Mr. Collins, I would like a word with my future brother."

"Of course, of course." Because Mr. Collins was quite agreeable to everything said out loud, even if he was oblivious to every subtly. He relinquished his treasured throne in front of the prone Darcy, who was doing the best to hide that he was either ill or drunk, as Mr. Hurst sat down. Darcy said a silent half-serious prayer that the chair wouldn't collapse.

"Mr. Darcy," Mr. Hurst said, with a sort of formality that put Darcy off. "I know you are a man of great standing, and a man of education. You have traveled to the continent and shown yourself to be a true master of a great estate. I am much honored to be closer in association to your family."

Darcy nodded politely.

"I cannot help but then offer my humble advice, from one man to another, in the one area in which I may have some more ... er, expertise."

Darcy sunk further into his chair.

"Now I'm sure you've had your jaunts, what with the sort of man you are, tall and proud, fending 'em off. Like Caroline. Good job on that one." He gave Darcy a gentle knock on the arm, something Darcy absolutely despised, but he hoped his groan wasn't audible. "No offense to my sister, but – well, you know. To put up with her, all those years. But to the subject at hand – yes! The bloody subject!" He raised his glass. Darcy made some effort to raise his, and Mr. Hurst continued in a lowered voice, "There is some difference, I must tell you, in having a wife and a mistress."

"Really," Darcy finally managed to say, raising one eyebrow to press the point. "I had no idea."

"You will make a jest of it if you please, but I am trying to help you, good man! There are particulars to each woman – though surely you have discovered that. But I mean long term – "

Darcy motioned to the servant, and requested a pen and scrap of paper. "Please continue, Mr. Hurst," he said as he scribbled his note and gave the servant instructions to deliver it to Bingley post-haste. "And bring more brandy, please."

On the other side of the room, Bingley was just as entrenched, fending off the attentions of Sir William Lucas and Mr. Collins, both very respectable men who seemed to be eager to remind him that he was getting married tomorrow, as if he could forget.

"Sir," said his servant, and handed him a paper. He apologized to his guests, unfolded it, and read in Darcy's precise (if a little wobbly) script, 'I will give you my half of Derbyshire to get me out of this room right now. D.'

When he looked up, Sir Lucas had gone for more refreshment, and he was left with Mr. Collins, who had quite literally cornered him against the wall. "Mr. Bingley, if I could have your ear but for a moment – "

"Yes, yes, of course," he said, holding the note behind his back.

"You will excuse me, Mr. Bingley, if I do not sound like a proper churchmen for what I am about to say, but I believe that marriage should be held in the highest regard and therefore is worthy of some low speech to make it this particular sacrament more palatable. And I might say, with all humility, that I have some experience in this area."

"Oh. Yes, of course. Of course, Reverend Collins. You have my full attention – as soon as I handle this missive," he said, and quickly motioned to the servant for a pen. Once procured, he put the note against the bookcase and scribbled on the back, 'And I will give you Netherfield to get me out. CB.' "Please, if you would, deliver this to Mr. Darcy. Now, you were saying, Mr. Collins?"

"Lizzy?"

"Mmm?"

"Who do you think our sisters will marry?"

Elizabeth sat up. "Surely you do not expect me to have names and fortunes ready."

"Throwing aside circumstance. Who do you think they would be likely to fall in love with, if they are so lucky to marry for love?"

"Now that the threat of expulsion is lost, they can take the veil for all concerned. But I do not see Kitty doing so."

"Pray, whatever do you mean?"

"She will doubtlessly fall in love with some colonel, but this time, we will do a thorough check of his social standing and background before agreeing to allow her a moment alone with him. So all will be well, when she finds one satisfactory to all of us. Oh, and gambling debts. We must look into gambling debts. I should write this down so I do not forget."

Jane giggled. "No, I mean, what is this about expulsion?"

"Oh! Well, it is supposed to be a secret between my husband and our father, which means papa told me right away, and now I must tell you right away, but you shall not tell your husband, lest it shame him for not thinking of it first," Elizabeth said. "Darcy is making arrangements to purchase Longbourn upon our father's death. I believe father will Will it to him, but in some manner that I do not understand, because we poor women did not go to Cambridge and were not given knowledge of manly business dealings. Needless to say, heaven forbid, should something happen to papa, Mr. Collins cannot turn mama and any remaining sisters out!"

Jane covered her mouth. "How very generous of Mr. Darcy! He did not tell you this himself?"

"Of course not. He is being very secretive, and I will allow him to be so – to some extent."

"To the extent you deem proper."

"Yes, of course," she laughed. "For I must allow him to have some secrets if I am to have any."

"You are intending to keep secrets from your husband?" Jane seemed genuinely shocked.

"Nothing so horrible! It is merely a matter of leaving things out. If you were to, say, tell me something in confidence about Mr. Bingley – "

" – which I would not – "

"Of course, but hypothetically, if you were to tell me something in confidence – about anything – I would not immediately run and tell Darcy. Some things shall remain between sisters."

"Of course," Jane said, and their hands tugged in a sort of unintentional handshake.

"And she can find it to be very pleasing – "

Mr. Darcy did not want to know what was potentially pleasing to Elizabeth Bennet. He did want to know what Louisa Hurst found pleasing. He did not want to know a single more thought that might be contained in Mr. Hurst's mind. He would have gotten up a long time ago, but he was note quite sure he could do it without losing his dinner. It turned out that alcohol was not medicinal, and this night was the night to learn it?

He had Bingley's reply in his hand but there was nothing he could do about it. He was quite meant to suffer. Perhaps this was some divine punishment for the torture he had once inflicted upon his bride, as if he had not been punished enough by her and circumstance. Those combined left him in a stupor for half a year. He was quite ready to get on with his happy life with the greatest beauty in England, if only this man would shut up.

But it was not to be, and he had not the strength to fight it for some reason. It was only when those double doors opened that he lifted his head, assuming it was some servant to refill their glasses. G-d, that was all he needed. But he looked, and it was not.

It was Mr. Bennet.

"Good sirs," he announced quite properly. "If I may pull my two new sons away from you for a bit before I must return home, I would be a very grateful man."

As he was the father of the brides, everyone was obliging. Darcy was surprised at his own ability to stand up, though it give his stomach quite an ominous turn, one he swallowed back down and accompanied Bingley and Mr. Bennet to the library. Once they were safely inside, he closed the lock and sat down with his book and own brandy. Darcy collapsed in a chair, but Bingley just stood there, expecting something.

"...Well?" he finally dared.

"Well what?" Mr. Bennet said, not glancing up from the text. "I just supposed you might want some respite from your wonderful guests. If you're not inclined to retire quite yet, I could recommend quite a few books from your own library that do not look like they have been read in ages."

"So ... no advice?"

"Of course not. Takes all the fun out of things." Mr. Bennet finally looked up long enough to see Darcy. "Mr. Darcy, I dare say, you look rather ill."

"I fear I am," Darcy decided to admit, realizing now it was not the drink – though that certainly hadn't helped. "Bingley, could you – " But before he could finish his sentence, servants appeared to help him into the next room, where he lingered for some time before being well enough to return. If he looked any less green twenty minutes later upon his return, no one said anything.

"Perhaps some tea," Bingley offered, and Darcy nodded weakly in agreement."

"Yes. Very good for the stomach," Mr. Bennet said, turning his chair around to face them better as Bingley took a seat on the couch next to Darcy. "Well, since we're all in this room together, I might as well entertain you with a story that I have never told anyone, and all of the Longbourn staff who knew of it are long since expired, so I feel safe." He stood up, his back to the roaring fire, towering over the men he was willingly giving his daughters too – one a little dizzy with nerves and one obviously ill. "It's not a terribly long story, so don't worry. The night before my wedding, I was a nervous wreck. In fact, I was for weeks ahead of time, so that night I took great care not to eat or drink anything exceptional. It did not help one bit, and I spent the entire evening being quite ill. I showed up to the altar with barely three hours of sleep and absolutely nothing in my entire digestive system, I am quite sure. And yet we married all the same, and had many happy years together, and will continue to do so, provided I do not keel over any day now as has been so repeatedly predicted."

Neither of them had any response to this. This, too, he seemed to expect, and he continued just the same, "I suppose this does come as some surprise, but as Mrs. Bennet can be a particularly nervous and vexing personality, I cannot blame her, shouldering the responsibility of five daughters to marry off and an estate to manage while I sit in my study and read books that tell me that it is my fault we have no sons. She occupies her entire life seeing to the care of the people she loves, no matter how little care they actually desire. I would not have anyone else. Though, if you're searching for a proper Christmas gift to your father-in-law, please make it a nice pair of earmuffs. You know, those new-fashioned ones that reduce noise."

"Gladly," Bingley immediately answered, and Darcy's main reply was to rush off again. Bingley glanced in concern, but Mr. Bennet put a hand on his shoulder.

"He'll be fine. He has swallowed all of his nerves like any stoic gentleman and now they are having their revenge."

"Mr. Bennet," Bingley said, "how did you get so wise?"

"Years of living with Jane and Lizzy," he replied.

Next up: Chapter 8 - The Guest