AUTHOR'S NOTES:Wow! Once again, I am overwhelmed by the response this story is receiving, and I'm deeply appreciative for all your feedback.
This chapter is a short one, that's problably been written for well over a month at this point. I have another chapter nearly complete, but this section and the next simply did not connect the way I needed them to, and was rushing the already tight time line of this story. My plan is to have the next chapter up before the end of April. I imagine that in the future I will probably revise this section and the next to piece together more neatly, but for now I decided my readers had waited long enough for an update - and having this section out of the way may help clear out some of my writer's block. I know exactly where I'm taking this story and how it will conclude, but sometimes getting the individual scenes out to take us to that point is difficult.
As always, thanks for reading! All feedback is welcome.
Also, this story is solely the property of the author MRNON. It is at this time, only published on this platform. If you see this story anywhere else online, it has been plagiarized.
Be not alarmed, madam, on receiving this letter, by the apprehension of its containing any repetition of those sentiments or renewal of those offers which when last we met, were so disgusting to you. I write without any intention of paining you, during an already difficult time, by dwelling on wishes which, for the happiness of both, must remain forgotten. The effort which the formation and perusal of this letter must occasion, should have been spared, had not my character required it to be written and read. I hope that upon reading you will find it within yourself to forgive the breach of propriety I have taken to deliver this missive to your hands. I have entrusted the delivery of this note to the care of Colonel Fitzwilliam, as I have been informed of your renewed acquaintance. He has been informed of the contents within, and has been granted the authority to act as an agent on my behalf, should you have need of him.
"You write uncommonly fast."
With a subtle groan, the author of the letter being remarked upon lifted his eyes from the page before him. Though the rain of the early morning had stopped, the skies of Hertfordshire remained foreboding. Fitzwilliam Darcy glanced at the sodden fields through the window panes of Netherfield's drawing room with longing. He was rapidly learning how very tiring it was to be a guest in a friend's home when all were trapped indoors for several long days. His good breeding compelled him to reply to his hostess, though he took no pleasure in the dialogue.
He answered flatly, stating, "You are mistaken, I write rather slowly."
The drawing room was presently filled with nearly all of Netherfield's occupants, though Mrs. Collins had returned to her room for further rest after sitting vigil with her step-son through out the night. Her sister sat with them for a few moments of respite, a well worn Bible open in her hands.
The somber atmosphere of a house hosting an invalid in combination with the relentless tide of grey skies that had assaulted the neighborhood did little to induce cheer and conversation amongst the residents. Miss Bingley was understandably listless. She had spent some moments meandering through out the room, as is searching for some entertainment that could not be found from the settee. Darcy was not wholly unsympathetic to the lady's plight, and willed himself to address her in a more gentleman-like manner, when she replied, saying, "How many letters you should have occasion to write within the course of a year! Letters of business too! How odious I should find them."
You are a gentleman of good breeding, was his silent reprimand, a gentleman is always civil to his hostess, if he can not be galant. Steeling himself, he smiled thinly at the lady. "It is fortunate that they fall to my lot instead of yours."
From the little wing back closest to the fire, came a small chuckle. Mary Bennet's cool blue gaze remained fixed on the page before her, however her pink lips trembled slightly, suppressing a smirk. Darcy watched her unabashedly, his mind turning toward another woman who would find such an exchange amusing. Miss Bennet did not deign to meet his eyes, though Darcy was sure she laughed at his expense. Did nothing escape the young lady's notice?
No simpleton, the mistress of Netherfield saw the direction of her guest's attention and watched it with annoyance. She had wished to draw Mr. Darcy into conversation with herself, but in his increasingly typical fashion, it was the small and solemn Miss Bennet who captured his interest. That such a common sort of girl could attract a man like Darcy was a notion not to be borne. Miss Bingley moved through the room with as unstudied an air as possible, and happened to find herself in the direct path of his gaze, effectively blocking the object of his contemplation. " You have stopped writing, Mr. Darcy. I am afraid you do not like your pen." she said sweetly, moving toward him, "Let me mend it for you. I mend pens remarkably well."
Swallowing a grimace, he responded cordially saying, "Thank you - but I always mend my own."
A bored and jealous Miss Bingley was not to be gainsaid. "Will you give my regards to dear Georgianna? Tell her how delighted I am with her designs for the little table."
"Forgive me, but I have already finished writing to my sister at present. I am currently engaged writing a note of condolence to a friend."
"Oh!" the lady said with a little gasp of surprise, "My apologies, Mr. Darcy."
He dipped his head in acknowledgement, and picking up his pen once more, attempted to continue. Barely before he had transcribed another sentence to the page, his friend called out to him from his place at the card table.
"I say, Darcy, I'm terribly sorry to hear of your friend's loss. Was it anyone I am acquainted with? I know Denhue's mother has been unwell for some time now."
Darcy felt, rather than saw, the attention of the entire room turn toward himself. He was hardly a superstitious man, but with Death already looming over Netherfield, it seemed in bad taste to bandy about the topic so casually. He felt Miss Bennet's critical, intelligent eyes on him, even through the orange muslin blockade Caroline had erected between them. Keeping his eyes to the parchment, he replied in as controlled a manner as possible, "I am unsure. You were in Town very little when I frequently kept company with this acquaintance."
Bingley chuckled lightly. "You're no great lover of society, Darcy. I believe I am at the very least acquainted with all your intimate connections. Please pass along my condolences as well."
"Yes, Mr. Darcy." Caroline interjected eager to have her share, "Please do, from all our family."
The gentleman paused, unsure of how to continue. If he and Bingley were alone, he could openly state that he was writing to Adelaide Bernard, not only an unmarried woman, but an actress at that. He had no qualms in acknowledging the acquaintance to his friend. Charles had met Miss Bernard briefly, at a rather raucous dinner party, during the same time that Darcy had first made her acquaintance. The death of his father had pulled Bingley from Town very early in that season, and bereft of one of his closet friends, and not overly fond of society in general, Darcy had had plenty of time to cultivate his friendship with the lady while Charles was in the north. He knew they were often in company, but he remained unaware of Darcy's disastrous proposal from the following spring.
However, to own the connection in the mixed company present would only present a fodder of gossip for Bingley's sisters. As aware as he was that Miss Bingley very dearly wished to catch him for a husband, having such a salacious piece of knowledge of Mr. Darcy's intimacy with an actress could prove too delicious for her not to share. Mrs. Hurst, with no ambition toward his person and less amusement in her day to day life, would have even less reason to remain quiet. Darcy did not care to have his name and reputation under scrutiny from the public at large, but his concern for Adelaide was greater still. She could hardly wish to be reputed to be connected to him in any dishonorable fashion, after vehemently rejecting his honorable offer. It was an insupportable notion.
He colored and was silent for a several moments, contemplating how he should answer. Before he could reply, another feminine voice cut into the fray.
"Forgive me, Mr. Darcy, but I must beg to be recognized amongst the well wishers." Miss Bennet rose from her seat, and stood next to Miss Bingley, so that she could address the gentleman directly. "You are writing to Miss Adelaide Bernard, are you not?"
If Darcy had surprised the present company with the idea he was writing a letter of condolence, Miss Bennet's request astonished them all. Darcy looked up at the slender girl from his spot at the writing desk, his heart pounding with her question. She had been present at the breakfast table when Caroline and Louisa had read of Benito Forelli's death. He had watched her, and her sister, seeking any sign that they were aware of the pair in question. While the elder sister had seemed unperturbed, Miss Bennet's intelligent, thoughtful expression was difficult to mask to a discerning audience. Now here was the beginning of confirmation of all those suspicions! Blast this weather! If only Dr. Drummond and and Bow Street were here already!
Uncomfortable as he was, he could not bring himself to dissemble when faced with such a direct inquiry. "Indeed I am, Miss Bennet." He said, locking eyes with her in as serious a fashion as he was able.
Next to her, Caroline barely was able to mask her her shock. The arch of her brows disappeared beneath a spray of elegantly arrange curls. Only her seminary training allowed her to maintain her composure, and she spoke, saying, " I am surprised, Mr. Darcy. You said you had but a slight acquaintance with Signore Forelli. It seems rather unusual for you to extend yourself in such a fashion."
Inwardly, Darcy wanted to laugh. If Miss Bingley had an inkling of just how far he was willing to extend himself for Adelaide, her surprise would be limitless.
Miss Bennet held his gaze steadily, her eyes attempting to send a message that her lips would not dare speak. "I have been an admirer of Signore Forelli since I was girl, and my drawing master in London took me to see his exhibit of the Many Moods of Venus with several of his pupils. I am not acquainted with Miss Bernard personally, but I have followed her career since then."
She paused, and Darcy noticed that her hands twisted against her skirts in a rare display of nerves for such a normally stoic and unflappable young woman. "I most sincerely wish to convey my warm regards, and best wishes for her health and happiness. It must be such a trying time for her, to have lost her family. I wish her to know she is beloved, no matter how far away."
It was impossible to remain unmoved. That sly slip of a country girl had poured such a wealth of emotion into her short speech that Darcy nearly felt breathless from the weight of it. Could there be any denial of the connection now? Did he need Bow Street at all?
Seeing her cheeks redden and her hands wriggle with nerves, Darcy's natural inclination toward gentleness was sufficiently awakened for him to answer. "Not so very far, Miss Bennet. Hertfordshire is only half a day's ride from Town." He said softly.
"Of course, sir." She replied, displaying a more demure manner than he had ever witnessed from her. Cool blue eyes wide and incredibly serious. "It is not such a great distance in miles, but in circumstance." She paused, and then with great energy, continued, asking, "You will convey my message, will you not?"
He held her gaze with an earnest solemnity. "I promise, I will do your words justice, Miss Bennet."
"Well Miss Bennet!" Bingley called from across the room, "I had no idea you had such an extensive education. Darcy's connection with Miss Bernard surprises me less, for his mother's family is widely known for their patronage in the arts. I believe I have seen some mention of Lady Matlock and Miss Bernard in company in the papers, have I not Caroline?" He inclined his head toward his sister as he spoke, but continued without pausing for reply, saying, "Yet nothing has been acquainted to me of this accomplishment of yours! Should you like paper and drawing materials while you remain here with us? I imagine it could provide ample distraction while we all remain so confined."
Darcy had never been so glad of his friend's congeniality as he was in that moment, Bingley's polite effusion broke the powerful hold of Miss Mary Bennet's eyes. She turned to her host with perfect civility, and began to engage with him in a conversation of her varying studies. "I thank you, Mr. Bingley, but I am perfectly content with my reading, at present. You are very kind to offer. After the death of my mother, Mrs. Collins too over the management of my education and ensured that I had all the usual accomplishments. However, we learned rather quickly that I do not have a great skill for drawing, nor the patience needed to give my hands mastery of it. I admire art, but I no longer attempt to create it."
" Think nothing of it, Miss Bennet. I am more than happy to provide my guests with any entertainment it is within my power to bestow while they remain with us."
Darcy had been thankful many times for the congeniality of his friend, but never so much as in that moment. So much had been said, and unsaid, and it was best that certain members of the party were presently occupied and unable to discern how discomposed he was. If Bow Street could but arrive at the door! Meryton was half a day's journey from London by horse back, in good weather, but by carriage with the roadways wet as they were? The good Dr and his newest apprentice travelled far too slowly to be satisfactory. And while the mystery of the Collins family gnawed at him, his concern for the heir of the family was very real.
William Collins spent his days in night in fevered sleep, laudanum and bleeding the only thing to bring him greater rest. His ankle had been declared broken by the apothecary, and Meryton did not have a surgeon in residence at present. Mr. Jones had set the bone with the aid of Darcy's valet Smyth, and the patient's screams had echoed through out the great house. It was a prodigious deal of pain for a weak and sick man to endure. The concern that the younger man would not endure it was a real and valid one. And his own father had yet to come and see his son himself. Any man with feeling would have left the state of his fields to his steward and sat vigil with his only son. It was the only natural response in the world.
Instead it was two young women who cared for him, and neither a blood relation. As the master of Longbourn's lack of feeling incensed him, the concern and care of Mrs. Collins and Miss Bennet warmed him immensely. Darcy could find Mrs. Collins to be scheming and artful in the pursuit of a husband for her sister, but she as caring as she was conniving when it came to those she loved.
Each day that had passed brought with it worsened news of the young clergyman. Darcy glanced at the window once again, cursing the state of the roads and his own helplessness. He hated that so much was out of his control - so much to be left to the Lord's design. He felt as restless as Miss Bingley was listless. He longed to act. Feeling the pen in his hand, it occurred to Darcy that there was at least one action he could take from the confines of Netherfield's drawing room. Dipping into the inkwell, he began his letter again, his mind swirling with new information.
Author's Notes: Is Bow St ever going to show up to netherfield to blow the lid off this thing? Do we need them to at this point? Stay tuned!