Fitzwilliam Darcy
Netherfield, Hertfordshire
Mr. Darcy lay in his bed, unable to sleep. Bingley had been mooning about Netherfield for several days, since the senior Mr. Darcy had made it quite clear aloud that the younger Mr. Darcy was to pursue and ask for Miss Jane Bennet's hand in marriage. Nothing would convince Bingley otherwise than to step aside in the face of his closest friend's happiness.
Nothing, not even the fact that Mr. Darcy did not actually desire Jane Bingley for a wife. She was lovely enough, perhaps one of the most handsome women he had ever set eyes on, but he was not interested in her. She had all the desirable qualities that men of his standing wished for in women- rather unsuitable family relations aside, but that was not enough for Mr. Darcy. He did not see in her the same spark that Mr. Bingley did, and she did not captivate him like other, darker-haired and more mercurial beauties did.
No, he thought miserably to himself, he would not shackle himself to a lovely if loveless marriage with Miss Jane Bennet, and simultaneously doom his friend to heartbreak and ennui along the way. He had no choice but to stand up to his venerable father and tell him, under no uncertain terms, would he take Jane Bennet for a wife. No. He would look to one of the other girls, although even if they had all been equals in his eyes he would have wanted nobody but Elizabeth Bennet.
Curse his fickle heart! It disobeyed all logic and reason. Why it was sending him haring off of the one woman who was least likely to accept him, he had no idea.
He sat up in his bed with a groan and rubbed his hand over his eyes. It was the middle of the night, but he thought he might send down for some chocolate, to soothe his nerves. After several moments of sitting there in a state of indecision he finally rose from his bed and wrapped a robe around his body where it lay over the clothes horse. He paced to the shaded windows, and pulled the curtains.
The moon was hanging heavy and full in the sky. It lit up the grounds of Netherfield's well manicured gardens and he felt better rested for looking upon it. Nature and greenery were always a favored view of his, and it calmed his frantic heart. No, he had little choice, he realized - he must make his apologies to Miss Elizabeth and then ask her to be his wife. Little else would matter him until he had secured her hand, and for more reason than one - he wished his father to see him as a proper man, and stop making noises about those presumed unnatural desires of which the younger Mr. Darcy truly had none.
He let out a pained groan and pushed his forehead against the glass with a sigh. He would not rest easy until his future was secure. Inappropriate as Miss Elizabeth's family may be, with his father's blessing there were few of the Ton who would openly sneer at him when he arrived in London with Miss Elizabeth on his arm.
London… he had not even thought of what it would be like to return to London with her. A farm girl, for a wife? He would never hear the end of it at his club. Perhaps he had best not pay attention to that though, since it was better to never hear the end of his little country wife, than to be penniless and without connections after the reason for his disowning came out.
And he had no doubt that word of his father's reasoning would escape into the general society. There was nothing that the Ton loved so much as an excellent scandal, and the downfall of one of their own always made for an excellent scandal. His heart beat in his throat uncomfortably, and a knock came at the door.
His valet entered, looking sleepy, with a maid in tow. She set down the tray with his chocolate, and a set of rough country biscuits, before bowing and taking her leave. His valet, however, did not.
"Did you require something, Greer?" he asked, turning to the man who had been with him since he had turned sixteen and a valet had been deemed necessary by his father.
"No, sir, if I might, a moment of your time…" Greer said with a bow of his head. Mr. Darcy sat down on a chaise and took a slow sip of the warmed chocolate beverage, letting it soothe his nerves, and hopefully be a tonic to his rather fretful stomach.
"Of course, what is it?"
"Your father, sir, I am… I overheard some disturbing discussion from his room…" Greer trailed off, a look of guilt on his face. Mr. Darcy cleared his throat.
"If you think that I do not know that servants, wise servants, listen in to the master's affairs so as not to be caught unawares… I will not fault you for this Greer, as you have always exercised discretion in all your efforts," he said, and nodded for Greer to continue.
"It is young Mister Wickham," Greer said, looking evermore pained. "He came to your father today, to speak to him of marriage. It seems that he has an interest in a local girl and wanted to see if your father would give his blessing to the union."
Mr. Darcy felt both of his eyebrows rise of their own volition.
"A local girl? Wickham? Looking to marry?" That seemed the very counter towards what he had seen of George Wickham in Meryton, but perhaps nothing should come as a shock to Darcy anymore.
"Yes, yes, he's met a girl, one Elizabeth Bennet, and taken quite the affection for her. He asked your father's blessing, and received it, sir," Greer said. His words sank into Darcy as a hot brand on the sink.
"He what?" Darcy exclaimed sitting up, and nearly slopping the hot chocolate everywhere. He hissed and settled the cup, noting that Greer looked quite surprised at his master's outburst. "I am sorry, Greer, that was… this news just simply comes as a surprise to me." He took a deep swallow of chocolate. "Thank you, for the information."
Greer eyed him curiously for a moment and then bowed.
"I will return to you if I hear any more of such matters, or any other matters regarding Mr. Wickham," Greer said in his quiet, staid voice. "He is not… it seems he is not the same young man as I saw him raised to be."
With that, the valet let himself out of Mr. Darcy's room, leaving Mr. Darcy alone with his thoughts.
No, Greer… I do not think that Mr. Wickham is the man I once knew him to be… if he ever, indeed, was that man at all…
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