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 12 – The News
As fall approached, Netherfield Hall had fallen into an easy rhythm, uninterrupted by the London summer season, which the Bingleys did not attend. As the air began to chill, Charles Bingley decided to take pleasure in every remaining burst of warm air and slipped out for his morning constitution with exceptional diligence. Sometimes his wife accompanied him, but she usually preferred the bed at that hour, and he was not want to push her into something she had no wish to do.
Sometimes he walked to Meryton, sometimes in the direction of Longbourn, but never reaching either direction. It was nature he admired, and was content to occasionally wander rather aimlessly, getting lost and showing up hours later with a coat torn by thorns. And Jane would go, "Oh Charles," in such an adorable way that it would make any following admonishments worth it. But he was very determined to inspect every inch of his property, now that he was considering relinquishing it.
Sisterly affection had not waned with marriage, and Jane and Elizabeth corresponded to such an extent that the courier was positively exasperated. And then there was Darcy, who was like a bird in his nest at Pemberley, content never to leave if he did not have to. As much as he liked Netherfield, Bingley was not ready to rule out the rest of England as being bereft of suitable places to live. In fact, with the renovations done for his purchase, Netherfield's worth had increased considerably, and there were buyers at the ready to his advantage. He had a list of places closer to Pemberley, but this was not something to be done in haste, not when he was uneager to rock the calm waters at home. Jane was open and even eager to the idea, but it was something to be done with great care and they both knew that, so it was not a topic that was discussed with any immediacy.
His only immediate concern, at the moment, was getting back to his manor, now with an overcoat thoroughly soaked by morning dew and a growling stomach. Despite the fact that breakfast was on the table, Jane was not downstairs, and when he inquired as to why this was, the maid merely shrugged.
Always one to take the initiative no matter how ridiculous it made him look, he leapt up the stairs and knocked on her bedroom door. "Jane?"
To his surprise, Jane's attendant answered the door, looking proper but out of sorts. "I'm sorry, Master Bingley, but the Mistress is not available."
"Not available?" He blinked, and tried to imagine why. "Is she ill?"
"Only in a very minor way, sir," she said, apparently knowing the words 'Jane' and 'ill' would immediately send him into full panic mode. "I will ask her if she wants a visitor."
"Has someone sent for a doctor?"
"It may not be necessary."
"Necessary! A doctor must be sent for right away! And not some Mertyon quack. Town!"
She rolled her eyes and disappeared back into the bedchamber, shutting the door behind her. Bingley turned to his manservant, who had the good sense to appear immediately, and listened to his careful instructions. By the time he was finished, the door reopened, and to his surprise it was in fact the housekeeper, Mrs. Eddings, who curtseyed to Bingley and shuffled out.
"Jane?" he called as he entered, and found her on the chaise lounge, sitting straight up and looking very pale. There was an empty bucket beside her. "Jane!" he practically shouted, and rushed to her side. "Are you all right?"
"I am better," she said. "It is nothing serious. I was ill, and now I feel better." She leaned on his shoulder as he sat down next to her, wrapping an arm across her shoulders.
"Was it something you ate?"
"That was my inclination – about a week ago."
"This has been going on for a week?" How did I not notice it? Was the greater question. He was a terrible husband, filled with guilt, not to notice an ongoing illness.
"It is only in the morning, and you are often out."
"Then I will not be out anymore. I have sent for a doctor from Town."
She smiled, but it was an odd sort of smile, and took his hand. "Mrs. Eddings has informed me that it will not be necessary."
"So you are fully recovered? To be plain, you do not look it. You are obviously in must distress and I will not have it."
"Charles," she said very slowly and carefully, as if he were a child. "I am not ill. I am pregnant."
To this, he had nothing immediate to say. All of his mental energy was taken up by gaping. Jane very politely closed his hanging mouth, and kissed him on the cheek. "I would prefer a doctor to confirm it, though, but apparently this illness is the first sign. That and the lack of certain feminine affliction when it was due." She looked at him oddly, "Charles, say something."
Apparently he had to, but first he had to break himself from his shocked stupor. "P-pregnant?"
"Yes."
Pregnant. With child. It meant a confinement, and with heaven's help, a baby in ... the early spring, maybe late winter. A child, a Bingley heir, to welcome into their lives. His life complete, as if he was not happy enough with Jane. He laughed with joy. "It's wonderful. Jane, it's so wonderful." He was not sure whether he was referring to this new prospect or life in general.
"Should I ring the bell?" he asked, wiping his tears, realizing now he was quite uncertain what propriety called for in the case of announcing pregnancy. Confinement, yes, he was familiar enough with, but should they wait?
"Perhaps not until the doctor has come, if he is coming anyway. And I would prefer to not have everyone treating me like fine china just yet," Jane admitted. "But I must write to Lizzy."
"Perhaps you will give her leave to tell Darcy herself, as I have just posted to him earlier this morning, when I did not have this wonderful news."
"Of course, dearest," she said, and kissed him on the cheek. Yes, she would be the one to tell Darcy, and he would be content to quietly bask in his accomplishment until he saw Darcy next – something he was definitely looking forward to.
When the postman finally arrived at Pemberley, he was quite nervous. Mr. Darcy was rather benevolent for a landlord, but even he was not necessarily about to excuse a considerable delay, no matter how bad the rains. Fortunately for him the Master of Pemberley was rather distracted by other business and merely took the considerable stack of mail and disappeared with it.
Mr. Darcy headed into his study, and was not the least bit surprised to see Elizabeth at his desk, no doubt composing a letter to her sister or to Georgiana. One day Elizabeth had apparently decided that when it was vacant, his writing station was the most preferable one in the house. The only way to solve this was of course to get her one of comparable size and expense, as – even though she had said nothing – she would not be satisfied by a simple feminine writing desk. If the servants had anything to say about the usurpation of his sacred male temple of business, they did a good job of keeping it beyond his ears.
"The post has finally arrived," he announced, and set it down across from her on the desk. The stack was considerable. Elizabeth looked up and stopped writing as he began to sort it. "Most business letters ... business ... business ... Netherfield." He passed it to her, and she immediately opened it and went to reading the several-page letter from her sister. "Oh, and Longbourn."
"Mother's handwriting or father's?"
"Mrs. Bennet."
"Oh," she said without looking up from her letter. "It must be her monthly inquiry to see if I am yet pregnant. Will you do me the favor of writing her a quick response that I am, and she should stop asking?"
"Anything you – What?"
"Yes," she said with a nonchalance he thought only he was capable of. "I am with child. This will please her to no end, especially if it is a boy."
He was stuck in place, holding the letter from Mrs. Bennet, his mouth frozen for some time before he could say, "How long have you known?"
"It was confirmed a few days ago. The nurse who visited briefly?"
He puffed himself up with considerable partially-mocking disgust. "And this is how you chose to tell me?"
"I did deliberate over it for some time about the best way, and then decided that if I am to suffer nearly a year of soar muscles, stomach pains, and ballooning to a bovine, then I should least have the pleasure of seeing that adorably miffed look upon your face just once more."
Her voice was perfectly serious and dismissive, the exact way she obviously wanted it, and when he realized the joke was on him, the tension fell away from him and he ran around the room and picked his up his wife, twirling her around. "You will drive me to Bedlam!"
"And then I will have Pemberley and Derbyshire all to myself! My plan all along! Oh no, you have discovered it!" She kissed him. "But please, as much as I do love you holding me, another twirl and I will be ill. Which is your fault."
"I thought it was those bad clams I insisted on you trying."
"For two weeks?"
"Perhaps I am not the most observant husband."
She kissed him again. "You will do."
She giddily returned to her letter, and he went back to the pile of mail, opening the letter from Mrs. Bennet and composing a hasty reply. He was only interrupted from his assignment when Elizabeth said, "Oh!"
"What?"
"It seems I am in good company, as Jane is also expecting."
"Wonderful news!" he said, then thought on the matter. "Did she give a date for her confinement?"
"She estimates it should began sometime after new year's. Why?"
"And the date for your confinement would be –"
"Sometime after new year's."
He bit his lip. "So, we don't actually know who – "
"Darcy! It is not a competition!"
"No!" he said appropriately quickly. "No, of course it is not." And he returned hastily to the letter, to give the appearance of his mind being on other things.
"Darcy," Elizabeth said as he stamped the wax on the letter to his mother-in-law. "There is a package beneath the other letters."
"Really? I did not notice it." He returned to the desk, and tossed the other post aside. The reason the pile was so high was that at the bottom was a small package sealed with string, small in size and weight but bigger than an envelope. "It is from Bingley." It said Netherfield, but he recognized the script. "The knife in the drawer on your left, if you would." She handed it to him, and he cut loose the strings and removed the wrapping paper to reveal a dusty brown book.
"What is it?"
"I don't know." He frowned, and read the title. "The Ananga Ranga." At the bottom was printed in tiny letters, 'Translation by M.L. Watts.'
"Bless you."
"That is the title." He opened it, and found a note from Bingley.
Dear Darcy,
I apologize for the delay in returning your considerable favor, but it took me some great time to locate a book that would be even remotely comparable to the one you have provided me with. I do not know much about it, but I did peruse it when it arrived with the East Indian shipment, and suffice to say, you may be the only man in England who owns it. I apologize for a lack of illustrations, but this was the only English edition I could find.
CB
He did not need to open past the table of contents to know precisely the nature of the book.
"Pray, what is it?"
Very calmly, and with the best monotone he could muster, he told his wife as he put the book behind his back, "Merely a book on shipping I have been inquiring about. The title is a bunch of nautical terms, I believe."
"Oh," Elizabeth said. Yes, he was in clear! With his letter to Longbourn finished, he took his leave to post it. He was halfway out the door when she said, "You are lying to me. This may make me very annoyed, which would be bad for the baby. Surely you know that."
In the doorway, Darcy silently cursed, then turned around and put on his best smile. "You know me too well."
Elizabeth merely crossed her arms in expectation.
"It is really noth – "
"The book, Darcy."
"I could not betray Mr. Bingley's confidence."
"So he told you in the letter not to mention a word about this to me, on pain of death? What does it contain, an entire sordid history of his own family? Surely they would not bind that and give it such an obscure name. Anyway, if you are just to put it in the library, then I will eventually find it."
"I will not put it in the library," he responded.
"Then you will put it in the false bottom of this locked drawer." She motioned to her right. "The one with the lock that matches the key you keep in the dresser by the bed stand?"
Very few people could render Darcy speechless. Elizabeth was one of them. No, in fact, she was the only one. Unfortunately, he had married her. "You have me at your mercy," he said at last.
"Then give me the book."
"Allow me to at least read it first."
"Fine. I will wait in the drawing room while you peruse it."
He sighed, and decided it was time to give up this game. "Very well." He placed it on the desk before her, and she scooped it up with entirely too much interest.
Elizabeth Darcy put her hand over her mouth to hide her expression. She had, it seemed, some propriety left. "My goodness."
"I cannot account for – "
She slammed the book shut. "You do not need to account for it." With that, she stood up, taking the book and the letter from Jane with her. "If you need me, I will be in the library." And with a quick kiss on his cheek, she added, "Reading."
To this, he could form no proper response before she was gone.
... Next Chapter - The Visitor