The Question of Consent

By DJ Clawson

A sequel to "A Bit of Advice"

Note: If you're looking for her, Elizabeth will show up more in later chapters. Also, I'm posting this basically as fast as I can, so there are bound to be some typos. I try to keep them to a minimal, but sorry, they're usually just me using the wrong (but correctly spelled) word instead of a mispelling.

Chapter 4 – The Very Friendly Duel

Darcy arrived on time, but Lord Kincaid was already there. They shook before donning their protective gear. "I am still honored to fight the Master of Pemberley."

"Being Master of Pemberley has nothing to do with fencing," Darcy said good-naturedly (something he had to put a good deal of effort into). "If it did, I enjoy it a great deal more than I already do."

They separated to warm up and faced in each other in full armor, their face masks completely obscuring their expressions as the master watched on to make the calls. This lack of expression would be no trouble to Darcy, not as a fencer or a reader of other fencers. He was quite accustomed to the necessities of safety, and had learned long ago that reading a person's body language during a fight was far more important to their facial expression, anyway. By his own estimation, stance was nearly everything, the selection of movements a close second. He was not here to win, however much he would prefer it, but to make out this man's character, and he also knew all of the dangers of fighting an unknown fighter who knew more of his skills than he of his.

The fight was silent. Kincaid took an aggressive stance, Darcy cautiously neutral, as he was with all unfamiliar fighters. He had stamina enough and would be as aggressive as he chose when the time was right, but at the moment his interests were not in defeat but in study. He parried and counterattacked where it was appropriate, which was easy enough. They were well-matched by his early estimation, which made for an interesting match, but only if he kept his side of it. Switching into an aggressive stance, he moved forward and awaited Kincaid's response. It was of course defensive, the intelligent move of an experienced fighter for more than the logical reasons. He could remain aggressive himself, but he had not yet seen Darcy aggressive, and he did not know the ferocity with which he would be attacked. Darcy considered himself to be at the moment quiet mild, in fact, his mind admittedly on other things.

So successful was his advance, despite all of Kincaid's parries that prevented a match point, that had Kincaid nearly pushed out of bounds and the fencing master told him to take a step back. It was then that Kincaid's strategy changed, suddenly aggressive, and it was only Darcy's intuition and agility that caught it in time. Had Kincaid been drawing him out? He would have time to worry about that later. He did not have to see the hidden expression to know it. Undoubtedly, from the way the muscles in his collar and neck were tensed, Kincaid was seething that his initial attack had been parried, and he would stab until it succeeded.

Well, that could be dispatched. Darcy had not been second on Cambridge's fencing team for nothing. Having learned what he wanted, he parried the next strike, and countered to the breast, hiding the layers of cotton and leather with his tipped foil. With a real sword, it would have struck him near the shoulder and possibly killed him, but that was not that situation."

"Match point!" announced the fencing master. "To Mr. Darcy."

They saluted each other, removed their masks, and shook on it with very tired arms. Kincaid's face was a mask of congeniality – but it was a mask. "It seems you are not a good enough advocate of your abilities, Darcy."

"You are quite skilled yourself, Lord Kincaid," he said evenly. "Excellent match."

"Indeed. Would you care to join me in the lounge afterwards?"

Darcy leaned against the pillar and considered. There were reasons on both sides, and an excuse could easily be made for rejecting the offer to drink with this man. But this was not an opportunity to pass up, he decided. "I would be delighted. Half an hour, we shall say?"

"Delighted." Kincaid shook his hand again and disappeared to wherever he was going to change. Darcy, as a senior member, had his own changing room, and a bath ready for him. He barely paid attention to the servant helping him change out of his sweat-soaked clothes. He had much to think about.

Fortunately it was mid-afternoon now and even in the fencer's lounge Darcy had an excuse not to get drunk with his new fencing partner, as was the habit of many of the regulars. In fact, he was inclined to have no alcohol at all, but that could be avoided. When he appeared properly recovered and dressed, Kincaid was there to greet him again. "Darcy."

"Lord Kincaid."

"You have bested me. I insist you call me James."

"Very well then," Darcy said, but still didn't. They took seats at a small table, and Darcy ordered what he knew to be the wateriest beer in their stocks.

"I confess, I'm a Scotch man myself," Kincaid said. "It's my only nationalist indulgence. We will remain in confidence of this, of course."

"Of course," Darcy said. "Though you will not find Mr. Bingley quite the Anglophile you may believe him to be."

"My concern is of course with Caroline, primarily. You must know her habits," he said. "Not to be beat around the bush, but you were once her suitor."

"That would imply that I was pursuing her. But I had not your courage," he answered.

"You are being humble. There is no need, Darcy, if we are to be brothers, if Charles would come around. I cannot account for it."

"Nor I," Darcy said, which was actually reasonably honest.

"The point is, I am aware that it was considered a suitable match by ... her family. And Caroline herself."

"Oh, yes." Fine, if Kincaid was going to be flippant, so would he. "And Bingley would marry my sister, and our families would be so ridiculously connected that no one would be sure who could marry whom after several generations. But life often turns out quite differently. And besides, had I not ... to 'be blunt about it,' not further engaged Miss Bingley in pursuit, then we would not be sitting here and you would have to find another beau."

"Then I am a lucky man indeed."

Darcy took a long drink. "Indeed." He was trying to imagine what this man's scheme was, because there had to be one. What would he possibly see in Caroline Bingley? All he could think of in her defense was that she had a nice brother. Perhaps he was being a bit cruel, but what was warranting this rather thorough investigation of this man, anyway?

"I will confess something to you, Darcy, if you would have it."

Darcy raised an eyebrow. "If you are so inclined."

"I know very well that my sudden appearance and pursuit of Caroline must all seem a bit hasty and alarming. Perhaps that is why her brother is so reluctant to grant his consent. I know I have not proven my worth yet, have no reputation, et cetera ... but three long years in Australia, in the desert searching for gold with the natives, can really put you in want for good company." He stuttered, "I just don't mean female company to be crude about it. Sophisticated female company. And you must admit, Caroline is a sophisticated woman."

"The very model of it," Darcy found himself saying it. "I believe she knows ... four languages. Is that correct?"

"Yes."

"She surpassed me in this endeavor. My French is barely tolerable and my Latin his disappeared entirely over the years. If those are her requirements for a husband, I have no idea what she saw in me."

"I am not such a scholar either," Kincaid admitted, "but I do know French, which is all the rage in Scotland of course, practically a second language among the nobility. And some Italian. And I confess to having picked up quite a bit of the 'Aboriginal' language – lot of good it will do me here, though."

Darcy had to assume he meant the Australian native tongue. "Perhaps you could write a book of your observations of the culture and language."

"Perhaps. It would be a pursuit. I am so accustomed to being overworked that I haven't the faintest idea of what to do with my time now. But I suppose Caroline will keep me busy for long enough," he said with a sly smile that made Darcy's stomach churn. Caroline was a beautiful woman, but she looked too much like her brother. He had always tried to ignore the occasional creeping thought that relations with her would be like jumping a female Bingley.

"But I am too crude for a gentlemen's club." Kincaid slapped Darcy on the shoulder. "Too long in the wilds of the Outback."

"Well, if you want proper English society, you've found it," Darcy said, raising his mug. "Cheers."

Their glasses clinked. "Cheers."

Darcy was changed and back at the Bingley's on his usual early schedule for dinner. There was nothing complicated about his dinner dress, but he had spent some time in his room, pacing and pondering while the manservant gave him a queer look. James Kincaid did not appear to be an overly complicated man, and in fact gave every indication that he should be worth liking. Darcy could not account for his uneasy at all, but he fairly confident in his own instincts, and certainly if he shared them with the usually unobservant Bingley. Whether Kincaid was deeply in love with Miss Bingley was still a question on the table, but he certainly presented himself as someone who cared about her enough to marry her.

He could only point a finger in one direction, vague as it was. As much as he wanted to know Kincaid, Kincaid wanted to know him. Fencing and drinking with him had told him that. He was as suspicious of Darcy's sudden presence as Darcy was of him, and he wanted desperately to be liked by this mysterious relative who had even once been Miss Bingley's ideal match (and might very well still be). Everything in his fencing moves said – I can match you. I can play this game.

It unnerved him that it was a game indeed.

On his way to the Bingley townhouse he made a mental inventory of the things that still needed investigating. Kincaid's finances, his plans for the future. What Bingley what thinking. What Miss Bingley was thinking. Was he actually going to have to talk to her? About this? Surely Bingley could handle that?

Georgiana had another engagement and had not joined him. Only Mrs. Hurst was in the parlor, and he had no desire to make any discussion with her, so he went looking for Bingley instead – he was a regular enough fixture to make his own way about the place without anyone hassling him. He was about halfway up the stairs when he saw a flash of orange hair from the person on the second story landing, but it was not Charles Bingley. Partially to avoid her and partially because he found himself rather enjoying his sudden career in sleuthing, he ducked behind the stairwell as she descended.

"Mr. Hurst is - ?"

"Doing quite well, actually."

"So you – "

" – will be finished with the treatments soon. Not that I can cure him, but certainly get him out of this flare. And then I'll be out of your way."

He could see the two of them, now at the bottom of the stairs, as she curtseyed. "Daniel."

"Caroline."

He walked off, and out the door in a nervous shuffle. Miss Bingley was entirely stationary for some time, perhaps an unnecessary among of time to just stand there in the hallway, before disappearing in the parlor, presumably to join her sister. It was only in relatively safety that Darcy emerged from his hiding space, only to find yet another Bingley coming down the stairs, this one the one he wanted. "May I speak with you?"

"Darcy, you're here! Of course." They quickly retired to his study. "I see you survived your match with the earl. I hope you weren't too harsh on him. In other words, I hope he's still alive."

"Please!" Darcy said, shutting the door behind him. "The only man I've stabbed – that was completely by accident! The tip broke! And it was just a flesh wound."

"So you kept insisting," Bingley said. "I do, however, seem to recall him calling you by a very particular nickname shortly before the match – "

"Bingley."

"Fine." Bingley took up his seat at the grand desk, leaning back into it. "My father used to sit at this desk and lecture me."

"On what?"

"Oh, everything a man who is to inherit a fortune ought to know. Surely your father did the same?"

"He did," Darcy admitted, leaning on the fireplace. "It was very odd to take his place, even with the ample warning I had. The very first thing I did in his seat was pay off Wickham. Using his check."

"I'm sorry," Bingley said. He was playing with the globe again, just an idle spin of it. "I often wonder if my father sat in here and worried about his daughters' marriage prospects."

"I have no doubt. I worry about Georgiana incessantly."

"Not about her prospects – just if she'll ever find one you'll approve of. When she turns thirty, you may have to lower your standards." He didn't give Darcy time for his cheeky reply. "You have some news."

"First, a question. A rather simple one. Almost unrelated. How long has Dr. Maddox been in your employ?"

"I suppose we could pretend he is in Mr. Hurst's employ, but somehow I imagine his bill will turn up on my books when I inspect them more carefully. I don't know – can't be more than a month. Why do you ask?"

"And he is here every day?"

"Yes, he insists that Mr. Hurst have some soak and of course my brother insists that the poor doctor stand there the whole time. As if something would go wrong while soaking your foot in some salt water. But I suppose if you don't want to be working in the cholera wards, you will put up with whatever your wealthy patients want." Bingley frowned. "Are you looking for a doctor for your employ?"

"Perhaps." For some reason, he felt compelled to lie, or at least, disguise the truth of his concerns. There would be fine for that. Kincaid was more pressing. "No matter. I am going to make some inquiries tomorrow into Lord Kincaid's fortune."

"So you doubt it exists?"

"I'm glad I'm not the first one who has thought of that!"

"Of course not, but it would be rather impolite of me to request records. That would make his marriage to my sister look like some kind of business transaction."

"Unless both families are penniless, all marriages are on some level a business transaction. Did you not receive Jane's dowry?"

"I did," Bingley said. "I gave it to her."

"The same. But the point is, money was exchanged, no matter how reluctant we were to receive it and how insignificant it was. Lord Kincaid, Earl of shire, is to inherit a small fortune upon marrying Miss Bingley, and that should not be forgotten until the check is cashed."

"I doubt my sister could live very long on fifteen thousand pounds," Bingley said. "Which of course means that if he is a fortune hunter, he is the worst kind. But we have no proof of this. Why are we so eager to suspect?"

Darcy shrugged with indignation. "You dragged me down here, Bingley! You tell me!"

"Then we are both going on brotherly instincts, then."

"Until the truth is made plain, yes. There is also the matter that neither of them are particularly in love."

"Caroline seems quite suited with the match. And she never seemed to me the type of be 'in love' with any man. She would have readily become your mistress and yet she still made all kinds of snobby comments at your expense."

"This is true," though, he added privately, quite incendiary of the usually tolerant Bingley. Maybe the dress of having to play the consenting father was wearing on him, especially with the enigma that was the in-confirmably rich, handsome Lord Kincaid.

"Well, I will go to the Gardiners tomorrow, and learn what I can of Australia, begin looking into his actual prospects," Darcy assured him. "And then we will have our answer."

"Darcy, I don't know what I would do without you."

"It was your instincts that brought me here. I am merely doing the legwork so you can remain above suspicion." He mock-bowed to Bingley. "At your service."

"And I am grateful. So grateful." Something had put Bingley in a sad mood, and if Darcy had to guess, it was worry, for Bingley did care a great deal for his sister and would not see her ill-married, no matter how well she sabotaged it with her own personality. But that was not something Darcy could intrude upon, anymore than Bingley could give him advice about dealing with Georgiana, so he bowed again more politely and left the room.

Back in the hallway, he was greeted by the newly arrived Lord Kincaid, who was more formal with Miss Bingley by his side. They were a reasonable couple – not glowing as he remembered Bingley and Jane, but Bingley and Jane were the exemption to the norm. He vaguely recalled being described as somewhat inscrutable and inexpressive at his own place at the altar, so he was not want to point fingers, and they were happy with each other. Why should he not, with no great sin uncovered, bless this couple? Even if they relied on her wealth, they could ride on Bingley's coattails as easily as the Hursts did. He and Kincaid would be sparing partners, and make inoffensive jokes, and maybe get drunk together occasionally. Was it such a terrible prospect? Her prospects were almost gone, and here was a suitable match, to minor royalty even if it was Scottish – he did not even have to be involved, and instead he was to play the private barrister into this man's affairs, apparently. So Caroline was not deep in the bonds of love – most couples weren't, and he could not imagine her acting like a lovesick schoolgirl anyway.

In fact, the only time he had ever heard any emotion in her voice was not sarcasm or false modesty – but real, genuine emotion – was half the hour before, as Dr. Maddox took his leave.

Next Chapter – North and South