Chapter XIII
Fitzwilliam’s chortling had not yet gotten on Darcy’s nerves, but if his cousin kept it up much longer, it might. He should have known Fitzwilliam would come to Meryton, if only to take satisfaction in the knowledge that Wickham had paid for his misdeeds. Fitzwilliam had been urging him to do something about Wickham for as long as he could remember—of course, he would wish to say something on the subject.
“Well, that was efficiency the likes of which my general could only dream of,” said Fitzwilliam, wiping tears away from his eyes. “I should like to have seen Wickham’s face when he learned that Miss Elizabeth had affected his downfall. Given the number of women he has used over the years, it is no less than poetic justice.”
“Though it may have been amusing had I not been so close to the situation,” allowed Darcy, “in that moment I will own that mirth was the furthest thing from my mind.”
“Oh, aye,” replied Fitzwilliam. “Tell me, Darcy—how does it feel to know that a mere slip of a girl acted with such decisive courage when you have dithered these past fifteen years at least?”
“Oh, Cousin,” scolded Georgiana, though Darcy noted she was grinning at them, “you should not be so hard on my brother.”
“Why ever not?” said Fitzwilliam, and Darcy thought it was only partially in jest. “Does he not deserve it? I have been telling him to do something about Wickham for years. Even a good beating when he was a boy might have prevented Wickham from coming to this end.”
“Perhaps that is true, or perhaps he might have become better at hiding his true character from me.”
Fitzwilliam eyed him and allowed it to be so. “Yes, that is as likely as not. Still, Darcy, Miss Bennet acted where you did not. I must attribute some strength of mind to her, and far more courage than most men under my command.”
“That is beyond dispute,” agreed Darcy. “Her approach was perfectly judged—she acted in a way that was effective, yet one that she, as a woman, could undertake and not open herself to danger.”
“Tell me, Darcy, what you mean to do about Miss Bennet?”
“What do you mean?” asked Darcy, keeping his tone deliberately bland as the safest option.
“Do not attempt obfuscation, Darcy,” said his cousin. “Many a time I thought you admired her in Kent, but you made no move to make your sentiments known to her.” Fitzwilliam snorted with amusement. “Then again, I suppose you could hardly make love to her with the dragon watching your every move.”
“If you will forgive me,” replied Darcy, “I think that I shall keep my plans to myself.”
“Hmm...” said Fitzwilliam in a posture of deep thought. “If you are too blind to see her worth, perhaps I should try my hand.”
Darcy was not at all concerned about his cousin’s teasing. “Remember that she possesses little. You have always spoken of your need to marry with some attention to wealth—she cannot give you even a fraction of what you require.”
“For a woman like Miss Bennet, I may be content with much less.”
“That is enough, Anthony,” said Georgiana, a stern glare fixed on him. “You will not tease William. Besides, I want to have Elizabeth as a sister, not a cousin.”
“Oh ho!” exclaimed Fitzwilliam. “It seems our dear Georgiana has developed a measure of fire. Perhaps it is the company she is keeping.”
“It is,” replied Georgiana, her glare never lessening an inch. “And you had best remember it!”
The rumble of Fitzwilliam’s laughter filled the room.
LONGBOURN’S SITTING-room was alive with motion and laughter as the family celebrated a most auspicious event. Jane and Mr. Bingley, the central players in the business, stood together, Mr. Bingley with a great beaming smile, though he appeared a little dazed, while Jane was only radiant. Mrs. Bennet was, surprising no one, in the thick of the congratulations, her piercing voice rising over them all.
“Oh, I knew how it must be! I knew you could not resist her, Mr. Bingley! She is the most beautiful girl alive!”
“With that, there can be no disagreement,” said Mr. Bingley. “My opinion is aligned with yours in every particular, Mrs. Bennet.”
“Of course, it must be!” exclaimed Mrs. Bennet. Then a shadow fell over her face. “Now, if only...”
The glance at Mr. Darcy was reflexive. Elizabeth might not have bothered to wonder if he would take offense—Mr. Darcy had shown no sign of it since his return, though Elizabeth had caught pained, exasperated, or bewildered expressions at various times. It appeared that Mr. Darcy was made of sterner stuff than she had ever thought—he would not allow Mrs. Bennet’s ways to drive him away.
“There is no need to concern yourself, Mrs. Bennet,” said Mr. Bingley. “My friend is not in the habit of allowing what he wants to slip through his fingers, and it is clear that high on his list is your daughter!”
The company laughed as one at his quip. A glance at Mr. Darcy revealed that the gentleman was glaring at his friend, but Elizabeth did not think he was displeased.
“That is a faithful portrayal of my brother, indeed!” exclaimed Georgiana.
“Perhaps you should worry about Elizabeth rather than my brother,” Georgiana continued, too innocent to be believed. “Heis willing—I am not so certain abouther.”
