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“You have been honest, so I will offer you the same compliment. I have been banished to London. Not formally de jure, but practically de facto. I will tell you why on a later occasion, assuming that there are later occasions. My oldest sister Jane, the lady who was pregnant, is married to Geoffrey Warburton, the third son of the family.”
“I know the bank well. I do not use them personally but they are a solid and well-regarded institution. Not in the sphere of Rothschild, Hoares or Barings, but well up in the second tier.”
“Thank you for that ranking. They do not speak of it themselves, obviously. You have met Mary and Catherine at the breakfast. Mary will be joining Jane in London during the last two months of her pregnancy. And Catherine will be off to meet your aunt in sunny Kent. There is a fifth daughter, who you may have seen but are unlikely to have spoken to. Lydia is enamoured with redcoats and has little time or attention for anyone else.
“The Longbourn estate is entailed away from the female line, which is one of the reasons Catherine is marrying the heir, Mr. Collins. My parents are both still alive, again you will be aware of this from the wedding. Let me be blunt, I have no dowry. We are all to share Mrs. Bennet’s jointure upon her death but the amount is modest, £5,000, and it is decades away in the future. I sit before you with a tarnished name and no wealth to compensate.”
Darcy smiled, Elizabeth’s breath catching at his handsome, dimpled face.
“I have sat with, danced with, being hunted by, young ladies with noble heritage and substantial dowries. And my third descriptor is deliberate, I felt hunted.”
He stopped and looked at Elizabeth.
“I might as well be honest, since we are abandoning the usual verbal dance around awkward subjects. My visit here today is not to ask you to marry me, it is not even to ask to court you. But what you have told me is not going to stop me calling on you, if your aunt will allow it. You intrigue me.”
There was much to be said for being honest.
--
Darcy called three times a week and as long as it was not raining the two of them would walk to the local park, dutifully trailed by a footman and a maid. They bundled up against the weather but the advantage was they were not constrained by the approved length of time for a visit. On the bitterest of days it was just the one circuit but there were many days where it was a full three circuits before they led the tired servants back to Gracechurch Street.
Long visits, lots of talking back and forth, a level of candour that had not receded since the first call, within weeks there was precious little each did not know of the other. It could be argued they were courting already, although neither gave it that name. Then Darcy finally told Elizabeth about Ramsgate. She stopped and looked at him.
“You did not see him hanged? He was able to walk away without consequence?”
“He was my father’s godson.”
“You think that sufficient excuse?”
Darcy did not say anything.
“You have just told me that your sister, still only 15 years of age, continues to suffer from this mistake. Admittedly it is an enormous error of judgement on her part. But let me ask you two questions, one polite, one most certainly not.
“What would your father say if he learned that you chose the feelings of the godson, indeed the feelings for your deceased father, over those of your young and innocent sister?”
Elizabeth then went where precious few women dared.
“And what do you think would be the experience of your sister on her wedding night? In some cheap inn in the Scottish Borders. Do you think this Mr. Wickham would have acted like a gentleman?”
Darcy blanched at Elizabeth’s words. Not that she said them, she was a woman with forthright opinions and was never going to spare his sensibilities. But he thought of Georgiana, still troubled by her mistake. He thought of the look of horror and disappointment on his father’s face. And he thought of the smug smile of George Wickham. Elizabeth had cleaved through all his arguments like a headsman of old.
“The last two months have been the happiest of my life Mr. Darcy. I do not want your calls to stop. You may write to me through my uncle should you wish. But I do not want to see you again until you can tell me that you have put your sister first.”
Darcy had not recollection of the walk back to the house. He barely had any recognition of the journey back to Mayfair. It was time to act.
--
Lady Catherine de Bourgh took a liking to Mrs. Collins upon her first visit to Rosings Park. She might still be young but she had poise and clearly had her nephew’s seal of approval.
“Lady Catherine, Miss de Bourgh, it is a pleasure to meet you. My husband has spoken of Rosings often but his words did not do it justice.”
If you listened carefully you could hear the trace of the dig at her husband. Nothing overt, but just a reference to the fact that the Reverend Collins did like to talk. Lady Catherine approved.
“I also pass on the greetings to you both from your nephew and cousin, Mr. Darcy.”
“You know Darcy?”
“I do not know him ma’am, but I was the guest at a neighbour’s wedding and Mr. Darcy stood up with the groom, Mr. Bingley. He was kind enough to explain the connection with Mr. Collins and tasked me with passing on his greetings. He explained that he would be here around Easter, but he gave no exact date.”
