“Oh?” asked Georgiana, now curious. “Has Miss Elizabeth offended her?”
“Rather, I think Miss Elizabeth’s existence offends Caroline. Though I do not know the genesis of her antipathy, I suspect Caroline does not believe that Miss Elizabeth shows her the proper deference—that is silly, of course, as Miss Elizabeth is a gentleman’s daughter.”
As it happened, Darcy understood the reason for Miss Bingley’s feelings, but he would not say so at present. Perhaps he would not even if, through some miracle, he could ever announce his regard for her.
“I apologize, Mr. Bingley,” said Georgiana, “but I have never agreed with your sister’s focus on matters of class and standing.”
“That is to your credit, Miss Darcy,” said Bingley warmly, as Mrs. Annesley looked on with pride. “I have never felt like you or your brother look down on me for my origins. Caroline’sopinions on this matter are founded on fallacy—ifsuch things are important, she would not enjoy the position they put her in.”
“Miss Bingley thinks only of her dowry and tries to forget her descent,” said Darcy, knowing he would not offend his friend.
Bingley sighed and nodded. “Yes, Darcy, you have the right of it. I suppose it is not a surprise that she does so, but it has always distressed me. My father cared for nothing of standing—he wished me to purchase an estate, but he was not so foolish as to suppose we would become acceptable because of it.”
“The way you speak of your father, I wish I had known him, Bingley.”
“As I wish I had known yours.”
Thereafter, they fell into more desultory conversation, and eventually Georgiana began to nap, leaning against the side of the carriage, Mrs. Annesley watching over her. Bingley occupied himself by looking out at the landscape they were traversing, while Darcy pulled out a book. That was a miserable failure, as he did not turn a single page in thirty minutes before deciding to put it away.
The journey progressed as most did, through the outskirts of London, and thence to Watford, where they stopped for a brief break. As Darcy had designed, they sighted Meryton through the trees about four hours after they departed Bingley’s house, just a few minutes before noon.
When the carriage pulled into the town and made its way along the dirt road, Darcy noted a measure of unusual activity.
“I say, Darcy,” said Bingley, “it appears something has occurred. Look at the crowd gathered down the street.”
Bingley was correct, of course. But Darcy saw what he had not yet. There, beyond the crowd, were Mr. Bennet, Miss Bennet, and Miss Elizabeth. Then, to Darcy’s surprise, Wickham appeared from a nearby alley and approached the Bennets, his posture one of confrontation. An argument ensued.
“Stop the coach!” ordered Darcy, stepping out when it drew to a halt, Bingley following.
Chapter X
Lydia was no more resigned to her situation the following morning than she had been the previous night, but Mr. Bennet was not in the mood to allow her silliness. That morning at breakfast, she pushed food around her plate, more engaged in casting resentful glares at her family than in eating her breakfast. To say that her displeasure had little effect was not doing the word “understatement” any justice.
Elizabeth, who was the primary recipient of Lydia’s glares, was unconcerned, consoling herself with their success in preventing Lydia’s ruination of the family. Jane was thoughtful, and Mary self-satisfied, and even Kitty, who had lived in Lydia’s shadow for years, did not concern herself with Lydia’s anger. Mr. Bennet watched his daughter as if trying to determine how much effort it would cost to reform her, and even Mrs. Bennet, who now comprehended some of the danger posed by an unchecked Lydia, was not paying her youngest any heed.
“Do you mean to go to Meryton today?” asked Mrs. Bennet, the first words spoken.
“I must,” replied Mr. Bennet. “The question of Wickham’s debts is still not answered, though I have little doubt what we will find.”
Lydia huffed, but everyone ignored her. Mr. Bennet continued as if she had not just made her displeasure known in the manner of an unruly child.
“Jane and Lizzy have asked to accompany me, so I will leave Longbourn in your capable hands. Though I judge it unlikely, should Wickham appear here while we are absent, do not let him in and let John and the stablemen deal with him.”
“Of course, Mr. Bennet,” said his wife.
“Papa!” whined Lydia. “I want to go to Meryton too!”
Seeing the look her father fixed on her, Lydia tried to remain firm, but after a few moments, she looked down, a far cry from her usual boldness. Elizabeth was reminded that though her father rarely chose to exercise his authority, Lydia was not inclined to defy him openly.
“Tell me, Lydia,” said he, “why do you suppose I would allow you any closer to Meryton than Longbourn’s front door?”
“I want to see for myself what is happening,” insisted the girl. “You have all branded Mr. Wickham as the worst of men—if he has debts, then I want to know.”
“And know you shall—the moment we return, you will learn everything that we discover.
“No, Lydia,” said Mr. Bennet, his tone unyielding, “I shallnottake you to Meryton this morning. Your escapade last night has informed me that you cannot be trusted. You will remain here with your mother, Mary, and Kitty.”
“Papa!” cried Lydia again.
