Chapter Three

Clang!

A servant dropped a set of silver tongs on the floor of the breakfast room, but it was as loud as a church bell to Darcy. He started, dropping his fork on his plate and producing another painfully loud clatter. Delightful.

Darcy massaged his temples. Those glasses of brandy—how many had it been?—had seemed an excellent idea the previous evening after he had escaped the debacle in the library. However, his throbbing head and queasy stomach now told him that he should have been more abstemious. He could not help reliving last night's disaster over and over. How had it happened? While attempting to escape one Bennet sister, how had he ended up engaged to another? Surely it was some horrible nightmare.

Foolishly, his mind insisted on repeatedly recollecting the expression on Elizabeth Bennet's face when she thought Darcy had debauched her sister. It was absurd. Given the terrible circumstances, Elizabeth's estimation should be the least of Darcy's concerns. But his memory insisted on producing again and again the image of her horror and disgust. If only I could explain the circumstances to her! Help her see the truth! But it was a hopeless wish; he was not liable to see Elizabeth again in a setting which would allow personal confessions. And it was not an easy subject to broach. By the way, I know you believe I molested your sister, but she actually allowed a different man to unlace her bodice.

Darcy pressed his palms to his eyes. What was he thinking? He did not desire Elizabeth's good opinion, and it was fruitless to hope for it now. He had far greater problems to resolve—such as how he could rid himself of Miss Lydia's claim on his hand. I have made a complete mull of this. He stared down at a plateful of breakfast, which made his stomach churn.

Bingley regarded him sympathetically from across the table but had said little to him since Darcy had come down. What was there to say? Darcy thought Bingley believed him about the other man in the library, but it did him no good.

Hurst concentrated on shoveling eggs into his mouth. Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst had just seated themselves. "Charles told me of the events in the library," Miss Bingley said. "It is a complete travesty! You must not allow it to stand."

Darcy nodded wearily but did not respond. While he was grateful for the outrage on his behalf, it would mean more coming from a woman who was less interested in his fortune.

"You would never run off with a fifteen-year-old country chit. Anyone acquainted with you would know that," she drawled.

Darcy felt damned by faint praise. Perhaps Miss Bingley thought him capable of such despicable behavior with someone slightly older and of a better family.

Any reply he made would not be civil, so he held his tongue.

"It is horrible!" agreed Mrs. Hurst. "I am certain it was all a scheme. Those Bennets probably planned it all. And you fell right into their trap!"

Darcy bristled; he would never have agreed to a betrothal if he had believed the Bennets were entrapping him. "It was not a deliberate trap. There was a man in the library who escaped out the garden door. I did not see his face."

Miss Bingley and her sister exchanged knowing looks. "Whoever he was, he probably colluded with the Bennets in their scheme!"

Feeling thick-witted and disinclined to speak, Darcy was not equal to the task of explaining to Bingley's sister that nobody could have possibly known he would enter the library. Nor did he bother describing Lydia's utter dismay at the prospect of their engagement. That makes two of us, he thought darkly.

"I never trusted those Bennets," Mrs. Hurst declared.

"Neither did I, Sister. Neither did I!" Miss Bingley agreed. "You cannot allow this betrothal to stand, Mr. Darcy. It happened under coercion and false pretenses. You must free yourself from the entanglement with all haste and immediately attach yourself to a more suitable young lady."

Her attempt at a coy smile gave a not-so-subtle hint of which young lady she had in mind. Darcy stared at his uneaten food, wondering whether Caroline Bingley would be a better choice than Lydia Bennet. Perhaps I should emigrate to America.

Then Miss Bingley turned her cool, appraising gaze onto her brother. "Charles, I think you should take Mr. Darcy's misfortunes as instructive."

Bingley, who had been staring out of the window, blinked in surprise at his sister. "Caroline?"

Miss Bingley spoke slowly as if to a small child. "I know you like Jane Bennet, and she is a sweet girl. But look what her family is capable of! Why, even now they may be scheming how they can ensnare you into marriage!"

"Hmm." Bingley appeared not to mind the idea of being ensnared by Jane Bennet.

Miss Bingley was working herself into high dudgeon. "It is insupportable! You must be free to choose your own wife. And it cannot be Jane Bennet. You should not let another tell you who to marry." Darcy managed not to laugh at the irony.

Miss Bingley gestured forcefully with her fork, sending bits of egg flying all over the table as she addressed her brother. "If you do not care about yourself, at least think of your family! A forced marriage—particularly to someone from that family—would be a disgrace."

Darcy winced. How would he tell this story to Georgiana? Perhaps he could extricate himself from the situation before it was necessary.

Bingley shrank back into his chair as his sister leaned forward to emphasize her point. "Consider how such a disgrace would affect me and Louisa—and Mama. She might have apoplexy if such stories are spread about you!" By now Bingley had turned an alarming shade of white.

Although Darcy did not care for Miss Bingley, she was impressively skilled at manipulating her brother. If only she would turn those talents in a more productive direction. She knew Bingley would not sacrifice his happiness for his own honor, but he would avoid bringing any disgrace on his family. Darcy felt sorry for Bingley. Watching him argue with his sister was a bit like watching someone attempt to fend off a dragon with a butter knife.

He considered intervening, but on the whole, Bingley would be better off without Jane Bennet. Although Darcy could absolve the family of deliberate scheming, he was not charitably inclined toward them at the moment. With the exception of Elizabeth and Jane, they were generally vulgar and far inferior in both birth and manners to anyone in Darcy's circles. Bingley's sisters were most likely correct that he should avoid the clutches of the Bennet family.

"Yes, indeed, Sister!" Mrs. Hurst trilled on cue as if their united front against Bingley had been rehearsed in advance. "We should leave Hertfordshire at once and give those Bennets no more opportunities to scheme against us."

Bingley twisted his napkin nervously in his lap, licking his lips. "But—but—"

Miss Bingley did not allow her brother to formulate his objection. "Indeed, Louisa. That is a brilliant plan! We could pass quite an enjoyable Christmas in town. I would imagine Mr. Darcy is eager to quit Hertfordshire."

She had no idea. "Yes," Darcy said aloud. "I will leave today in any event. I must consult with my solicitor." And find a way to escape this tangle with my honor intact.

"But I like Jane Bennet." Bingley's plaintive tone suggested he had already conceded the fight.

Miss Bingley patted her brother's hand reassuringly. "We do as well. But her family is so highly undesirable. Just see how they have treated poor Mr. Darcy!"

Darcy shifted in his seat. He disliked being a cautionary tale.

"We must leave immediately!" Mrs. Hurst exclaimed. "Who knows what plots they are scheming even now? They might be planning an afternoon visit today!" Her tone was one customarily reserved for announcements of enemy troop movements.

"Oh yes, Sister!" Miss Bingley's eyes were wide with horror as she turned to Bingley. "You are in grave danger. We must depart now; tomorrow will be too late."

Darcy suppressed a snort of laughter at the ladies' theatrics. However, they were effective. "Very well," Bingley said, rubbing his forehead wearily. "I will have the carriage made ready. We shall leave today."

"Very good." Miss Bingley settled back in her chair with a satisfied smile.

Bingley mopped his brow with a handkerchief. "Perhaps I should call on the Bennets and explain—"

"No!" Miss Bingley practically yelled. "No," she repeated more sedately. "They might be lying in wait for just such an opportunity. I will write a letter to Jane."

Bingley's expression remained dubious, but he nodded. "Very well."

Elizabeth knocked on the door of the room Lydia shared with Kitty. "Come in!" Lydia's voice lilted. Well, at least she is not traumatized after her adventure last night, Elizabeth thought.

Kitty was not there, but Lydia sat in bed, eagerly devouring the contents of the breakfast tray before her. "See what Mama had Hill bring up?" Lydia beamed. "Usually I only receive a breakfast tray when I am sick!"

Elizabeth nodded, happy to see her sister in good spirits but experiencing some uneasiness nonetheless. Her hands balled into fists every time she thought of Mr. Darcy in the library with her sister. If only she were a man, then she could challenge him to a duel to avenge her sister's honor. Yet the previous night in bed she had considered the odd circumstances in the library. Mr. Darcy was rude and unpleasant, but he had not demonstrated the least interest in dallying with any woman, not even Miss Bingley, who was obviously fascinated by him—or at least his fortune.

And Lydia had appeared so horrified at the prospect of marrying him that Elizabeth wondered why she had slipped off with him at all. They were such an …improbable couple. Before last night, Elizabeth would not have been certain Mr. Darcy even knew Lydia's name.

Perhaps she could gain some clarity by speaking with Lydia. "How are you feeling?" Elizabeth asked.

"Better now." Lydia practically bounced as she nodded vigorously. "I had a bad headache when I first awoke, but Hill's coffee helped. And I had Kitty draw the drapes again. The sunshine is unusually bright today." She took a large bite from a piece of toast.

Those symptoms sounded familiar. "How much wine punch did you drink last night?"

"La! How would I know?" Lydia chewed more toast.

Oh, merciful heavens! Had Mr. Darcy procured punch to make her foxed? "Did Mr. Darcy find you punch to drink?"

"Mr. Darcy?" Lydia's tone suggested the absurdity of this idea. "No! It was—" Lydia clapped her hands over her mouth.

Elizabeth regarded her sister closely. "Someone else gave you the wine punch?"

Lydia waved the toast about airily. "I do not recollect precisely. The night is hazy in my memory."

"But Mr. Darcy did not get you the punch?"

"No!" Lydia said scornfully. "I drank it between sets while I was dancing. Lord, dancing makes me so thirsty! And of course I never danced with Mr. Darcy!" She made a face.

Elizabeth was struck by the truth of this statement. She had not noticed Mr. Darcy dancing with anyone at the Netherfield ball. He had observed Elizabeth herself for several minutes, and Charlotte had speculated that he might request a set of her. But then he had disappeared.

Lydia's mouth was full of toast, but that did not stop the torrent of words. "I danced with so many men! Five of them officers! Did you see me?"

Elizabeth made no reply; instead, she considered Mr. Darcy's assertion that another man had consorted with Lydia. "How did you arrive in the library with Mr. Darcy?" she asked.

"I do not recollect precisely," Lydia said with a shrug. "Really, the evening is all a blur."

What if Lydia had accompanied someone else to the library? What if Mr. Darcy had happened upon her after some other man tried to take advantage of her virtue? As much as Elizabeth disliked the idea of her sister committing such an impropriety, she was forced to admit that Lydia could have been vulnerable to a predatory man.

Elizabeth frowned as she considered the implications. The circumstances had seemed so blatantly obvious last night that she had discounted Mr. Darcy's protestations. But spiriting away a young girl from a dance did not seem…likely for Mr. Darcy. Although Elizabeth did not care for him, he seemed too proud and too aware of his family's position to stoop to debauchery—particularly in his friend's library. And he had appeared so horrified by the accusation….

But if not Mr. Darcy, then who? Lydia would not have stolen into the library with a stranger, would she? Although she was likely acquainted with a number of militia officers she considered to be "friends."

If only Elizabeth knew more! She tapped a finger on her chin as Lydia swallowed more coffee. "Did you dance with Mr. Wickham last night?"

Lydia's hand jerked, spilling coffee all over her breakfast tray and night rail. "Look what you made me do, Lizzy!"

"I am sorry." Elizabeth picked up a napkin from the tray to blot Lydia's garment.

Lydia pushed her hands away. "Never mind that. I must change clothes anyway. Kitty and I are walking into Meryton to see some of the officers and have some laughs." She stood and opened the door to her closet to peruse her choice of dresses.

Elizabeth dropped the napkin on the tray. "You cannot flirt with officers now, Lydia. You are betrothed to Mr. Darcy."

"I remember, silly!" Lydia waved away this objection as she shrugged off her night rail and donned her dress. "I shan't kiss anyone! But I must have some fun before I marry that stodgy old man."

Elizabeth was not an admirer of Mr. Darcy's, but she would hardly describe him as stodgy or old. "Engaged women must behave with greater discretion," she said.

"I can be discreet!" Lydia declared. "I shall have discretion shooting out of my ears!" Elizabeth winced at this image as she laced up her sister's dress.

Once her dress was fastened, Lydia flopped back onto her bed. "Although honestly, Lizzy, I wish I were not engaged to Mr. Darcy. I agreed to marry him because everyone said I must, but I always wanted an officer. They are so dashing and so much fun! Mr. Darcy almost never smiles and never laughs."

Elizabeth pulled Lydia into a standing position before she could wrinkle her dress. "I understand, my dear. But the circumstances last night were…quite bad. You are betrothed now, and you must make the best of it."

"That is what Mama said, and she reminded me of Mr. Darcy's fortune." Lydia sighed. "If only he were more dashing…Although I suppose I shall comfort myself with jewels and hats…"

"Yes, indeed," Elizabeth said. She hardly approved of such an obviously mercenary approach to marriage, but Lydia must not break off the engagement. Her reputation was in tatters.

"I cannot wait to tell everyone in Meryton about Mr. Darcy's ten thousand a year!" Lydia giggled.

Elizabeth's righteous anger at Mr. Darcy was gradually transforming into an amorphous regret. Last night she had been so certain of his guilt, but now…if what she suspected was true, he had been wronged, and Elizabeth had helped to wrong him.

Moreover, she did not need to learn more of his character to be certain that he was spectacularly ill-suited to be Lydia's husband; most likely they would both be miserable in the marriage. Elizabeth rubbed suddenly sweaty palms on her gown. What can I do? She had nothing but suspicions and no way of confirming them without Lydia's cooperation.

"I shan't let anyone forget I have a fiancé. A very wealthy fiancé!" Lydia dashed from the room and down the stairs. Elizabeth followed at a slower pace.

At the bottom of the stairs, however, they both encountered Hill, followed by the tall figure of Mr. Darcy. He bowed to the two ladies. "Forgive the intrusion at such an early hour," he said. "But I was hoping to have a word with Miss Lydia."

Elizabeth's first reaction was alarm. Surely he was not suggesting she leave them alone! But then she recalled that they were betrothed, and it was appropriate for betrothed couples to enjoy some privacy. Although she could not imagine what two such different people would say to each other.

Lydia pouted. "I am bound for Meryton with Kitty!"

Elizabeth barely refrained from chastising her sister. How could Lydia treat her fiancé so rudely?

Mr. Darcy looked affronted. "I shall be departing from Hertfordshire within the hour."

Lydia heaved a great sigh. "Very well, I suppose I have time for a brief conversation."

"Thank you for making time for me." Mr. Darcy's tone was so dry that Elizabeth could not discern if he was being sardonic.

"I suppose I must, for I am your fiancée!" She gave Elizabeth a sidelong glance and giggled. "Isn't that such a grand word: fiancée?" Elizabeth rolled her eyes, but Lydia mistook the gesture. "Don't worry, Lizzy," she patted her sister's hand, "I am sure someday a man will want to marry you as well."

Mr. Darcy regarded the sisters with a carefully blank expression. Did he also believe Elizabeth would be lucky to procure a husband?

"You are too good," Elizabeth murmured to Lydia. Mr. Darcy made a strangled sound that turned into a cough.

"I know." Lydia tossed her head so her curls bounced. "Mr. Darcy, shall we retire to the drawing room?"

He nodded mutely.

Lydia turned to the housekeeper. "Hill, please have some tea brought in." Hill scowled at Lydia's imperious tone, but Lydia was reaching for the drawing room door and did not notice.

Mr. Darcy followed Lydia and closed the door behind him. Elizabeth lingered by the door for a moment, reluctant to leave for some reason. Slowly, she became aware of the source of her unease. When had she ceased worrying about Mr. Darcy's influence over Lydia and started worrying about Lydia's influence over him?

Lydia flopped inelegantly into a chair the moment they entered the drawing room. "Lord, I am so tired! All that dancing wore me out!"

Darcy suspected her fatigue had more to do with what she had imbibed rather than how much she had danced, but he stood by the door and said nothing. How could he broach the subjects which needed discussion?

Lydia regarded him sharply. "Will you buy me lace?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"I want my wedding dress to have real lace that was made in Belgium. None of my friends have real lace from Belgium!"

This is what she wished to discuss? "Perhaps there are shops in London—"

She did not allow him to finish the sentence. "What kind of carriages do you have?"

Darcy's hand worried the edge of his hat. He took a deep breath. "Well, there is a phaeton, a barouche, a—"

"Is your estate very grand?" she interrupted.

Darcy blinked at the rapid shifts in conversation. "My family house is Pemberley…" he temporized. Did she wish him to brag about his possessions? He found the thought distasteful.

"How many rooms does it possess?"

He rubbed his forehead. This was not how he had imagined his first conversation with his fiancée. "Two hundred and twelve."

Lydia clapped her hands as if she had received a sweet. "Two hundred and twelve! How wonderful! There should be plenty of space for my friends to visit. There is Maria and Helen and—"

Darcy disliked interrupting people, but he could not tolerate any more. "Are you certain they would all like to travel to Derbyshire to visit you?"

Lydia's eyes grew wide. "Pembleton is in Derbyshire? But that is so far away!" she squealed. "It must be closer. That is impossible!"

Darcy sighed. "Unfortunately, I cannot relocate my family's estate to a more convenient location."

Lydia waggled her head. "How vexing!" But then she sat up straighter. "Do you have a house in town?"

"Of course."

"Then I shall live there most of the year, and I will not need to go all the way to Peckerly!" she declared triumphantly.

"If you wish." Darcy silently resigned himself to years of avoiding London.

"It will be wonderful!" Lydia clasped both hands to her bosom. "I shall host the most elegant balls in all of London. And I shan't invite anyone who has been cruel to me."

He needed to redirect the conversation. "About the—"

"And I shall have ostrich feathers for my hair!"

Darcy had never given a moment's consideration to what women wore in their hair. "If you wish—"

"And I—"

Darcy was not sure when this conversation had gone wrong, but he must regain control. She would never stop spinning fantasies in her head. "Lydia, you and I both know there was another man with you."

Lydia froze, suddenly wary. "I am sure I do not know what you mean," she sniffed.

Darcy stepped closer, deliberately looming over her. "I must know the man's identity."

"There was no man." Lydia's voice quavered as she stared straight ahead, refusing to meet Darcy's eyes.

"You did not untie your bodice yourself. Nor did I. I never touched you, save inadvertently when I fell on you." Lydia clamped her lips together tightly. Darcy raised his voice. "I agreed to a betrothal to salvage your reputation, but we cannot marry. You must marry the man who is actually responsible for your plight."

Lydia jumped up from her chair. "Mama says it will be a great scandal if you do not marry me! You cannot renege on your promise!"

Darcy scrubbed his hands over his face. Lydia was correct about the scandal, unless Darcy found the other man and persuaded him to marry her. If she jilted Darcy, it would be a minor contretemps, but if he did not keep his word, the Darcy name would suffer. He prayed that the other man was not already married—and that he would be susceptible to monetary inducement if necessary.

Lydia's lower lip protruded stubbornly. It was time for a different tactic. "Miss Lydia, please see reason. We do not suit each other."

"Of course we suit each other!" she cried. "You shall buy me jewels! And I can be very charming!" She gave him a winsome smile. Darcy shook his head, endeavoring to think of an appropriate argument if such was Lydia's notion of compatibility. "And I shall be a good hostess for your elegant balls!"

The Darcy family had not hosted a ball since his mother's death, and he had no intention of remedying that situation. He sighed. "I could not make you happy."

Lydia slumped into her chair, pouting in a most unladylike manner. "Am I not pretty enough?"

Darcy sighed. This was like arguing with Georgiana at age ten—and at her most petulant. "That is not the issue at all."

Her eyes glistened. "I know I do not have Jane's beauty or Elizabeth's eyes, but—"

"I pray you, do not misunderstand me. You are very pretty." Lydia preened. Oh, Good Lord! "You are…very young—a full thirteen years younger than me."

She shrugged. "Sir William Lucas and his second wife are sixteen years apart!"

Darcy rubbed his forehead. "Being mistress of Pemberley carries with it a great deal of responsibility…the servants, the tenants, societal obligations…"

She fluttered her hands in a dismissive gesture, a motion that reminded Darcy unpleasantly of her mother. "Who manages it now? Your housekeeper?"

"My housekeeper, and my sister, Georgiana, helps."

"A sister!" Lydia clapped her hands together in glee. "How old is she?"

"Sh-she is just sixteen."

"We are almost the same age!" she exclaimed with a bright smile. "Oh, what fun! We will have a grand time visiting dress shops and sharing gossip! Does she like regimentals, too?" Red coats were definitely not one of Georgiana's favorite subjects of conversation. I will need to keep them separated at least until Georgiana is married.

"Oh, and I may chaperone her when she makes her come out!" She clapped her hands in glee.

Lydia had all the restraint of a rabbit in springtime. She would not make a suitable chaperone for a barmaid. Darcy pinched the bridge of his nose, endeavoring to imagine informing Georgiana that he intended to wed a girl younger than she—and utterly failing. I must escape this somehow!

"You must tell me the name of the man who was with you in the library!" he demanded sternly.

"I am sure I do not know what you mean." Lydia pursed her lips stubbornly.

Darcy paced to the fireplace and back. How could he compel her to produce the man's name?

"How much longer must you visit, Mr. Darcy?" Lydia's voice had acquired an unpleasant whiny tone. "I do wish to visit Meryton. The milliner is expecting new ribbons, and if we do not go at once, all the pretty ones will be purchased."

How could I listen to such discourse for the rest of my life?

Darcy stared out of the window. Clearly she would not yield. He could achieve nothing in this visit. Upon his arrival in London, he would consult with his solicitor. Perhaps they could devise other inducements.

"I suppose we are finished," he said.

"La! Finally!" Lydia slid from her seat and scurried from the room before Darcy could utter another word.