“That was ungenerous,” I said, my anger rising.
“Perhaps, but that is neither here nor there,” my father said, then turned to Mr Darcy. “I would be well within my rights to demand you marry one of my daughters chosen at random. What say you to that?” he added with a sneer, apparently thinking he could discompose Mr Darcy with the threat of compromise. He reminded me of a pug barking at a mastiff.
“I should say, sir, that I would have no qualms. I have already requested and received Miss Elizabeth’s permission to court her properly, and I have also stated unequivocally that I hope to make her my wife. I should vastly prefer to give her time to decide I am not an ogre before a wedding, but I have confidence I can demonstrate that equally well after. My only reservation is that I despise the situation whereour failures remove her choices.”
“You keep blathering on about our failures, and I would know what they are.”
“Not now,” Darcy said, and I was glad he was not putting his sister’s reputation at risk. It was never a good idea to allow gossip to appear within half a mile of a Bennet.
He continued, “Suffice it to say my failures left these ladies in an uncomfortable position. I hope to lead Miss Elizabeth to the altar ere long, but I desire a smile on her face in the process.”
That sentiment made me momentarily give him that exact smile he seemed to desire, and I was not the least bit unhappy when he gasped in… something.
He turned back to my father. “I believe that is enough for now, and it is time to ease the gossip. Before we do that, I ask two things.”
“Proceed,” Father said, still churlishly.
“I give my word as a gentleman that I will give any lady under my protection my utmost. I should like your consent, and perhaps even your blessing, for a courtship with Miss Elizabeth… and I should also like your consent in advance for a marriage in the case that she comes to desire the union, or we are forced into it by circumstances.”
Emotions clouded my father’s face. I suspected some small part of it was his disinclination to have the two most sensible members of his family depart, which warred with his indolent appreciation of the neatness of having the fate of his family taken care of in one fell swoop. No family of Mr Darcy need have the slightest concern about the Mr Collinses of the world.
He finally grunted. “You have my consent. I will grant or withhold my blessing when events play out.”
“That is fair, sir,” Darcy said, walking quickly to the door where my father stood. They shook hands, and I tried not to shudder at the idea of how much control they had over me. I knew Mr Darcy well enough to know that it was his effort to ensure I would still have a relationship with my father when all was resolved, which was in no way guaranteed. I also knew that regardless of what wassaid, he would need my father later to sign his agreement, so he was just being practical.
On the subject of practicality, he only briefly shook Father’s hand, then made a particular tapping pattern on the door, which was answered almost instantly by his trusty valet entering. They spoke quietly for a few minutes while I tried not to kill my father with a glare (it was close), and he finally came back.
When he returned with his man, he revealed his first real glimpse of what I would call hisMaster of Pemberleylook, and freely admit I liked it.
“This is Mr Fletcher, my valet. He will assist us.”
Mr Fletcher was a man in his forties who looked trustworthy, for what that was worth. He spoke in the cultured no-nonsense attitude you would expect of a man in his position. He bowed to Jane and me respectfully, and to our father in a way that was not disrespectful, per se, but it was somehowless.
“Ladies, rumours are that Miss Elizabeth has been absent from the assembly with some vaguely defined man for the past half-hour or more. The man is alternately suggested as one of the officers, one of the local gentlemen, or someone even less savoury.”
I gasped but kept my chin up.
The man continued blithely, much as I imagined an army scout would report.
“My spies are not absolutely certain, but I believe Miss Bingley had someone tracking your movements, Miss Elizabeth. She probably could not follow you here specifically, but she knows you have been absent from the public rooms and the choices are limited. I imagine she noticed Mr Darcy’s attentions, which were not at all subtle earlier. I cannot prove it, but I suspect the idea of you meeting in a clandestine manner with my master never entered her head. Whilst I do not believe she knows who you are with, she does believe she can malign you with impunity.”
I snorted, and Jane said, “Well, since she has been doing so for the past six weeks, I suppose it is not an unnatural surmise.”
Fletcher nodded in agreement. “Mr Darcy and I have a contingency that I believe will be efficacious, and I have taken the liberty of creating my own counter rumours in advance.”
Our father grunted but mostly seemed happy to follow orders. I had the rather uncomfortable thought that it put him in closer company with Mr Collins than I would have imagined. I doubted he would appreciate the comparison if I told him—as seemed inevitable.
“Gentlemen, you should leave now. You have been playing chess for the past hour. Enter the ballroom together speaking animatedly. I took the liberty of outlining your game, so study it on the way. You are evenly matched,” he said, handing the two men a piece of paper that apparently outlined a plausible game. I did not giggle at the neatness of his organization… no, I did not.
With time wasting, Mr Darcy rather boldly took my hand and delivered a kiss to my knuckles, which I did not disparage. I imagined I could accustom myself to it eventually.
Once he was gone, Mr Fletcher turned to Jane, stepped far closer to her than was really appropriate, and said, “Forgive me, madam,” before a rip sounded a moment later. Jane and I were shocked to find him standing on her gown, which now had a sizable tear right up a vertical seam. Much to our consternation, there was also a shoe print on the bottom, which must be deliberate.
“If you would be seated, I should appreciate it,” he said, all politeness now that he had ruined her best gown.
Jane dropped into the sofa in surprise, though she did not appear as shocked as I was, so I hoped she understood what was happening better.
Mr Fletcher showed a definite penchant for efficiency over propriety when he sat down on a footstool he had somehow brought over, took out a needle and thread, and started stitching up the tear so fast I could barely follow his hands.
