Chapter Six

Mr. Bennet could not believe his eyes. His eldest, married? And to a man wholly unknown to him—or to her?

He called his second eldest daughter to his study. "Jane has written a letter, and enclosed a note for you, Lizzy. It arrived nearly a full three weeks ago, and I have only just found it again now. Please read it here—I have not yet told your mother."

Elizabeth tilted her head curiously, her eyes aglow—but her father's expression remained inscrutable. Could Jane have met Mr. Bingley? Was all happiness restored between them? She curled her feet up underneath her in the chair and unfolded the letter her father had handed her. A few moments later, the letter dropped to her lap.

"Married? To a Colonel Fitzwilliam? Who is he, and what has happened to Mr. Bingley?"

"I hardly know. Not four weeks ago, she was pining for Mr. Bingley, and now, not a mention of him! Is she out of her senses, to be marrying this man?" Mr. Bennet gestured to his letter. "All she writes is that he is good and kind, and most truly a gentleman. That is Jane describing half of England—and the rest of us know what that half of England is really like!"

"I cannot recall her ever writing about a Colonel Fitzwilliam," Elizabeth frowned. "I hope she has not accepted him out of disappointment—their courtship must have been very fast. It is not at all like Jane! Has she told you anything more?"

Her father shook his head. "She mentions not the circumstances of their meeting, other than to warn that if we should hear any gossip, not to listen to it until she has come to explain all. This is what concerns me. But they promise to visit as soon as they are able after the wedding, so I expect them any day now, perhaps even tomorrow. The wedding was yesterday." He removed his spectacles and rubbed his face wearily. "What am I to tell your mother? What gossip does Jane think might surround this marriage here? If there is nothing, your mother will create it all on her own!" He sighed. "I must wait. I must wait until Jane—Mrs. Fitzwilliam, now—and her husband arrive, and hope your mother thinks it is all a very fine joke! If she does not, at least I can count on your sisters."

Elizabeth looked to the window and said nothing for a long moment.

"I had been growing worried when she did not write, but thought my aunt and uncle must have been keeping her busy. She must have been worried that we did not reply to her letter. She must now have some concern for her reception here."

Mr. Bennet shrugged his brow. "Well, I will receive her—I have no known reason not to. My brother has written a note to accompany Jane's letter as well, and he says nothing but that the marriage will happen, and that he will act for me unless he hears otherwise. He added that he has no complaints whatsoever about the man, and thinks they may even suit rather well."

A furrow appeared in Elizabeth's forehead. "But what about Mr. Bingley?"

Her father blinked. "Until this very moment, I had seen little resemblance between you and your mother."

She frowned at him.

"It seems," her father continued, "that Mr. Bingley is quite forgot—and perhaps we ought to be thankful for that, at least."

"I am not so sure," sighed Elizabeth, hugging her knees up against her.

The Gardiners held an intimate wedding breakfast for the joyous couple immediately after the wedding, with only a few friends from the neighbourhood. Soon after the celebration, Colonel and Mrs. Fitzwilliam departed in a hired carriage for the house of a cousin of the colonel's. Fitzwilliam had chosen not to inform him of his nuptials earlier, not because he believed himself capable of being talked out of it, but because he did not wish his cousin to make the attempt, lest it test their relationship. His cousin had recently prided himself on separating a friend from a lady of a most unsuitable family, and while the colonel had no problem with his wife's relatives in trade—for they were quite fashionable and genteel—he did not know how his cousin would feel about them. He told his wife nothing of his reasons for waiting to tell his cousin about her, and she appeared to think nothing of it, so neither did he.

"I say," Fitzwilliam said as he rubbed his thumb across the back of Jane's hand after, in the privacy of the carriage, he had expressed himself for quite some time as a young man who is violently in love ought to do, "I cannot wait to see the look on Darcy's face when I tell him such a beautiful woman has condescended to marry me—and has even professed some fondness toward me." He leaned toward her again, but did not receive the reaction he had expected.

"Darcy?" said Jane sharply.

"Yes, Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley, Derbyshire." When his wife paled, he was quick to ask, "I now recall he was recently in Hertfordshire. Jane, he was not the gentleman who—"

"No, not at all," said she, now blushing. "But my sister disliked him most violently."

Fitzwilliam let out a laugh mixed with relief. "This is a story I must hear!"

"There is something I ought to tell you, though," Jane began quietly, staring at their entwined hands.

"About Darcy?"

She shook her head.

"Then it must wait until after," he said as the coach slowed and then halted, "for we have arrived."

He bounded out of the carriage as soon as the door had been opened, and reached back in to help Jane out. She came out slowly, and took his arm as he led her to the door. When the butler answered, Fitzwilliam inquired after the master of the house.

"Is Darcy in his study?"

"Yes, Colonel Fitzwilliam, but—"

"Brilliant. We will announce ourselves, Fletcher."

"Very well, sir, but—"

His sentence was never finished, as Fitzwilliam led Jane off down a corridor to the left. They stopped in front of a large oak door, and he bade her to wait in the hall until he called for her. She acquiesced; he knocked and was granted entry.

Fitzwilliam's pace slackened as he spied Darcy was not alone—his friend Mr. Bingley was there, and they had been drinking. He greeted them both, and said, "A bit early for all that, is it not?" He glanced at the nearly empty decanter. "What if I had brought a lady with me?"

"We are not that far gone yet, Fitz," said his host. "We are still presentable."

"Excellent—because there is someone I should like to present you to."

He called out, and Jane walked tentatively into the room. She went white as Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley leapt to their feet.

"Miss Bennet!" they cried together.

"She is Miss Bennet no longer," Fitzwilliam beamed. "Darcy, Bingley—I should like you to meet Mrs. Fitzwilliam!"

Bingley blanched, and took several moments to recover, but he was the first to speak. "I congratulate you, Colonel and—Mrs. Fitzwilliam."

Upon receiving their gratitude, he turned to his host. "Darcy, I beg you would excuse me. I'm afraid I am still—feeling out of sorts."

"Er—yes, I am sorry that my port would have such an effect on you," Darcy hedged.

"Fitzwilliam…Miss—Mrs. Fitzwilliam," Bingley bowed stiffly. "I wish…you every possible happiness. Good day."

Once he had left the room, Darcy turned to his cousins. "May I offer my congratulations as well? I must say, this is a surprising turn of events; I was not aware that we had this acquaintance in common, Mrs. Fitzwilliam."

Jane shared a glance with her husband, and Darcy caught it.

"May I speak to my cousin alone a minute, Mrs. Fitzwilliam? There is a small sitting room two doors down," he said. "I shall have some tea brought to you."

"Thank you," said Jane, with a quick smile to her husband. As she was closing the door behind her, it was suddenly pulled out of her hand and Fitzwilliam came through it swiftly.

"You forgot something," he said. He kissed her soundly, grinned at her, and returned to the study as quickly as he had exited it, shutting the door behind him. A blushing but smiling Jane turned around and, to her surprise, found a red-faced Mr. Bingley standing not seven feet behind her.

Chapter Seven

"Mr. Bingley!"

That gentleman stammered a response, and they each looked away from the other. They stood silently for a moment before Mr. Bingley spoke tentatively, and drew Jane's attention back.

"Darcy and my sisters thought you did not care for me. You did not show any such feeling, they said. I knew myself not to be impartial—as I was wishing for your affection—so I believed them. It appears they were right. I am glad to know it."

Jane took a deep breath. "They were notright. I did…care…for you, Mr. Bingley. I told you as much as I was able. Had I done more, I would have been censured for it. It was in your power to ask, not mine."

Mr. Bingley raised his eyes. "You cared for me? You would have married me, had I asked, for myself and no other consideration?"

"I would have, then. But then you left, and I followed—foolishly, it seems, for I found your sister in raptures over you with Miss Darcy, and no longer wishing to continue the connection with me."

He was taken aback. "You followed me? —to London?"

"Yes."

"Saw Caroline? She said I was with Miss Darcy?"

"Yes."

"Well, I was not! And I would have come to you, had I known," he said bitterly. "I could not have stayed away."

"But you could stay away from Hertfordshire," Jane said, watching his face, "and did, leaving me with my disappointment."

"But I thought—" he hung his head miserably. "I am sorry. Can you ever forgive me?"

"I have already forgiven you. It is all in the past."

"But now it is too late," Mr. Bingley glared darkly at the closed study door a moment. "You are married."

"I am married," Jane nodded, "and happily, at that. Richard—Colonel Fitzwilliam—pursued me, courted me, loved me, and thought it worth the risk to ask, though he was uncertain of my feelings—he earned my affection, and was granted his reward. You would do well to keep that in mind for the future." At the stricken look on his face, she softened a little. "I wish you every happiness, Mr. Bingley. One day you will find it—of that I am certain. But it will not be with me."

She held out her hand, and he took it—bowed over it, turned, and walked down the hall.

Darcy paced the width of the study, stopping every ten paces to run a hand through his hair, and then came at his cousin very agitatedly.

"How came you to be married to Miss Jane Bennet?"

"Wickham," Fitzwilliam began.

"Wickham! Have you lost your senses?" Darcy cried. "You know that wastrel rake is not a clergyman!"

"I did not say Wickham married us," Fitzwilliam stared hard at his cousin. "Why ever were you and Bingley drinking so much in the afternoon, anyway?"

"Ladies," Darcy stood and walked over to the window. "Trouble. Not I," he clarified a little too quickly, with a glance over his shoulder. "Bingley was the friend I mentioned recently from whom I separated a most unsuitable girl, and I rejoiced in my success. To my observation, she appeared to enjoy his attentions, but I could not see any deep feeling. He, however, has not been quick to get over her as he usually is with his loves. And I felt some guilt over a little deception I had to perform to keep from learning she was in town, for it would only give him pain." He threw up a hand and turned back to his cousin with a shake of his head. "This, I cannot imagine what it will do to him."

Fitzwilliam was watching his face carefully. "May I know who was the lady?"

Darcy returned his gaze searchingly. "I imagine you begin to suspect already. Your…wife."

"My wife," Fitzwilliam repeated. "My 'most unsuitable' wife?"

"Indeed. No dowry to speak of, poor connections, and most of all the vulgarity of her family—whom, I presume, you have yet to meet."

"It is true that I have yet to meet her family, but from what she has said, for all their faults, she loves them. Who am I to judge? Aunt Catherine, as you know—"

"Will disapprove most heartily."

"Any little regard I ever had for her opinion will be lost if she expresses one iota of distaste for Jane. And, lest you disparage my wife, she told me of her dowry and connections before she agreed to marry me. She was quite against it at first, but I finally convinced her."

"You convinced her to marry you? Why on earth—"

"She had reservations. She might be unhappy, but she could not make me so. She thought to become a companion."

"I meant why on earth would you even attempt to convince her to marry you! A companion?" Darcy shook his head. "Perhaps you had better start at the beginning."

"I could not let Wickham nearly—or in this case, ruin—another girl's life." Fitzwilliam recounted what had occurred in the inn between Wickham and Miss Bennet, and his conversation with Miss Bennet afterward.

"I love her, Darcy, and I think I may have the moment I laid eyes on her," he said softly. "But it was her regard for my welfare, and not her own, when she first refused my proposal that sealed it."

Darcy sat in his chair, staring at his desktop and, rubbing his lips with his fist for a long time. "I wish you joy," he finally said. "I trust you are soon going to Hertfordshire?"

Fitzwilliam nodded in the affirmative.

"Might I accompany you?"

A furrow appeared in Fitzwilliam's brow. "It is not as though I need you to perform introductions, Darcy."

"Nevertheless, I should like to go. We can take my carriage, saving you the need to hire one."

"Very well," he said slowly, "and thank you. We go tomorrow, if it is convenient for you. Rosalind is also joining us."

Darcy nodded once, distractedly, and the matter was settled.