Nothing to Be Gained

“Well, Lizzy?” Mr. Bennet looked up smilingly from his book. “Have you come to share my solitude for an hour or so?”

Elizabeth came slowly into the library. “I wish to ask your opinion, Father.” It was odd this, seeking his advice. She hadn’t done so for years, but it was just so very hard to know what to do, and Jane had been little help.

“My opinion?” He set down the book, and looked her over closely. “This is a new start. What matter troubles you so much that you should seek my opinion on it, eh?”

She twisted her fingers together. “Father, if you had knowledge that some… some person of your acquaintance was not of good character, but that person was soon to depart from the area in any case, would you feel it your duty to share your knowledge with society generally?”

Mr. Bennet frowned. “And is this person’s, er, ill character, of the sort likely to inflict itself on others?”

Elizabeth thought of Mr. Darcy’s young sister. “Perhaps. Yes. Not always.”

“Not always? Are we speaking of Mrs. Long’s tendency to collect other people’s silver spoons, or something more sinister?”

She smiled a little. “More sinister, without a doubt.”

“But he is to leave the area soon?”

“Yes, very soon.”

For several moments his shrewd gaze studied her face. “Has someone been telling you stories about the officers, Lizzy?”

She jumped a little at his quickness. “Only one.”

“Ah, well…” he squirmed a bit. “I do not like to tell you this, but it is a fact that perfectly respectable men may sometimes engage in behavior which would sound shocking to a girl such as yourself. I advise you not to listen to such talk, or to put a great deal of stock in it.”

“Father, no!” She blushed furiously. “It was not that sort of story. There was no titillating gossip. My source was very reliable, I assure you, and the charge very serious. It involved a gentlewoman.”

His brows rose. “One we know?”

“No, and I could on no account reveal her identity—or tell the whole story, even. It was told me in the strictest confidence, and to even name the person who related it to me would be a betrayal of trust. But as for him—the officer—is it right that he should continue in good society without anyone understanding his true character?”

“Perhaps not right, but inevitable, I’m afraid, if you’re unable to say any more. Ruin a man’s reputation because a person you cannot name accused him of offenses you cannot name against a lady you cannot name? Really, Lizzy, you must do better than that.”

She sighed miserably and twisted her fingers more tightly. “His general habits were described as vicious and profligate.”

“Not so uncommon among officers, I am afraid.”

“He slandered an innocent man.”

Again his gaze grew penetrating. “Is that man likely to suffer from it?”

Instantly, she saw again his face as she had berated him for misusing Wickham. “I think he has already suffered from it,” she said in a low voice. “But I do not know that the continued ill opinion of the populace here is likely to disturb him.”

“Then I do not see the benefit that could come from exposing this officer who is, as you say, leaving the neighborhood in a mere fortnight. Particularly if he is an, um, well liked fellow, you’ll appear more like a spiteful gossip than anything else, telling everyone that he is a drunkard and a seducer, yet without any specifics.”

“Yes… yes, I suppose you’re right.”

“Of course I am. I honor your conscience, my love, but really, there is little to be done in most of these cases, and so long as he does not pose an immediate threat anyone’s daughters, little purpose in attempting it. And you wouldn’t want to appear merely disappointed in love now, eh?”

So he had guessed right again. She smiled wryly. “I am not disappointed, or in love.”

“Perhaps, but that makes you a less interesting subject, does it not? No, Lizzy, I think if you were to decry his character at just this time, the resulting gossip would be more likely to center on you than him.”

Elizabeth doubted the veracity of her father’s argument, but felt his point was correct: there was nothing to be gained from attempting to expose Mr. Wickham now. She was relieved. It would not have been a pleasant task. Yes, she thought as she left the library, remaining silent was undoubtedly the best course of action. Soon enough he would be gone out of all their lives forever.

The Dubious Satisfaction of Telling the Truth

Ever since Miss Bingley had told him about Miss Bennet being in town, Darcy had been mulling over the best course of action. He had agreed with her, initially, that it would be better if Bingley did not meet the lady. The fellow had never entirely gotten over her; although he was cheerful most of the time, Darcy could see the difference.

Yet… it did not sit well with him. He hated disguise; he had always said it proudly. He hated arts and deceptions and conniving. In honesty lay clarity and honor. That did not mean that it was incumbent on him to always say everything that could be said, to expose his own private dealings to the world, or to share his inner most thoughts and feelings with those who had done nothing to earn such a confidence. He did not even always confide in his best friends, not when it came to most delicate parts of himself. Darcy did, after all, have his natural pride and reserve to guard him. However, this was not such a case. This was  a case, rather, of deliberately keeping information from a friend, of avoiding the subject at the very least, and it might require outright prevarication. He did not like it. He did not like it at all.

By the time that Bingley returned to the house that evening, Darcy had made up his mind. It was a basic matter of respect, and of honoring the trust that Bingley placed in him. The man deserved to know, and that was that.

He went out into the hallway and invited his friend to come into his study for a drink before retiring. Bingley was happy to do so. They shared a brandy before the fire, sipping at it and chatting idly about the people Bingley had seen while he was out. Darcy had spent the time dining with his sister.

“Bingley,” said Darcy at last, “I thought you ought to know. Miss Jane Bennet is in town.”

Bingley took a rather larger gulp of the liquor than he had intended, and choked a bit as it went down. “Jane—ah, Miss Bennet? What is she doing in London? And how,” he added with sudden surprise, “did you learn of it?”

“I believe she is staying with the family of her uncle, her mother’s brother who resides near Cheapside and is in trade.” Darcy emphasized the family’s situation slightly. “Miss Bingley told me of it.”

“Caroline told you?” he repeated. “She said nothing to me about it.”

“Well, you could hardly expect her to, after everything that happened. Of course she would be concerned that such knowledge would only pain you.”

“Well what in blazes was she doing confiding in you about it?”

“She wanted my advice on how she should proceed,” said Darcy tactfully. “I had not much to give her at the time—I did share her concerns—but I have been thinking about it and I have reached the conclusion that you ought to know.”

“Well of course I ought to know,” Bingley muttered, staring down at his warm liquid. “How long did you say she’s been here?”

“I am not precisely certain, but I believe about two weeks.”

There was silence for some time after that. Darcy leaned back in his chair, content to let his friend process the new information, glad that he could be there to help temper whatever reaction he might have.

“I ought to call on her,” said Bingley at last.

“You are not obliged to do that.”

“Well, but… for my sisters to know about her being here, she must have written to them, or called on them.”

Darcy did not feel it wise to answer that.

“She clearly still considers herself a friend of our family, and why should she not? Louisa and Caroline both liked her very much. And I hope…” his voice trailed off momentarily, “I hope that she still considers me her friend. It would look excessively rude if I didn’t call on her.”

“Or perhaps excessively pointed if you did.”

“Oh, hang it all, Darcy, I can call on an acquaintance without offering marriage, can’t I?”

Darcy looked at him skeptically. “Ordinarily, yes, but Miss Bennet is not just any common acquaintance. When you left Hertfordshire there was a general expectation in the neighborhood that you would offer for her before long; the very reason you could not return was to squelch it before it affected your reputation or hers. If you call on her now, in London, it will appear as exactly the sort of particular attentions which you most need to avoid.”

Bingley frowned. It was an unusual expression, for him; it made it him look older. “You were reluctant to me the truth about her location because you were afraid that I would simply run off after her like a lost puppy, weren’t you?”

“Ah—” Darcy was taken aback.

“There’s no need to deny it. I know I’ve not been the most constant of fellows where my affections and purposes were concerned. Yet it’s not the same, this time.” He stood up suddenly. “She’s not the same, this time. I really love her, Darcy. I’ve thought about her constantly, ever since I left Netherfield. It’s like… it’s like an ache inside of me that can never quite be healed. I know that she doesn’t love me, but if there was the slightest chance that I could make her love me, that I could win her, fairly, like a man—“ he stopped and drew a deep breath.

“A man like you should not have to win a woman like Miss Bennet,” said Darcy testily, his alarm overriding his tact. “If she cannot see the man that you are—if she was not capable of appreciating your merits and loving you from the first, then she does not deserve your devotion.”

“But Darcy, any good woman is worth winning!”

“Come now, Bingley, let’s be realistic. As charming and handsome as Miss Bennet undoubtedly is, she is simply not the warm, loving type of woman. She has no passion, no spark, no fervor! I daresay you may engage her affections as far as they can be engaged, but what is that, compared to the feelings you carry for her? She is a poor match for you in every way, and you are far and away superior to any match she has a right to expect! She will never be able to deserve you!”

Bingley stared at his friend in shock, his face reddening. “You’re wrong,” he said at last, slowly, as if the words were strange. “Miss Bennet is not what you  say she is… and the fact that you think that makes me believe that you have never understood her at all.”

“Bingley—”

“No, no! You shall not convince me otherwise. I have always trusted your judgment, Darcy, but this time you are simply wrong. Miss Bennet is tender-hearted and devoted and caring. She does feel things deeply, I know it.”

“I observed her most carefully and—”

“Yes, yes, I know what you observed! And perhaps you are right that she cares nothing for me especially, although now I doubt that too. But she is worthy of me—more than worthy! It is I who am not worthy of her, of such excellence and goodness and beauty and sweetness—and yes, tenderness. Tenderness such as she showed to all her family, her sister Elizabeth most especially, but also to her mother and her father and her other sisters, no matter what they were. If she loves them so much,” he began to pace in his excitement and agitation, “even though they are everything that you said they are, even though none of them are anything like her at all, if she loves them with such devotion, why should she not love me? Her heart is ready, eager to love, Darcy! She thinks well of everyone, and truly means it. She is attached, most sincerely attached to all her family and friends. I have a chance—I am sure that I must have a chance to win her love, and if were so fortunate to do so, I should never repine, Darcy!”

“Her family—”

“I don’t care about her family! Don’t you understand that?”

“Your sister—”

“Will not suffer unduly if I marry Miss Bennet. After all, who are we? Our family fortune was acquired in manufacturing and trade. And she likes Jane, of course she does.”

Darcy groaned inwardly, wishing that he hadn’t said anything after all. “You must consider before you act, Bingley.”

“I’ve done nothing but consider for the last two months!”

“You cannot throw yourself away on a—”

“No more, I pray you!” He patted his coat down hastily, as if checking it, and ran his hands through his hair. “Potter! I must call Potter to bring my hat and my gloves! What street did you say?”

“You can’t go tonight!”

“What? Yes, I suppose you’re right, it’s too late. I’ll go in the morning then. First thing. Potter!” He went out into the hall. “Potter, you’ll have all my things ready for the morning, won’t you?”

Darcy sunk his head into his hands. What had he done?

Conversations Which Never Happened: The Awkward Business of the Shrubbery

I have a great fondness for writing all kinds of variant scenes of Pride and Prejudice, without always wanting to write an entire story around them. So I will be posting and collecting some of these scenes under the title "Conversations Which Never Happened." Each one represents an individual variation, and are not conneted to each other.


The Awkward Business of the Shrubbery

“… the expression, certainly, would be difficult to capture, but their color and shape, and the lashes, so remarkably fine, might be—”

Darcy’s words came to an abrupt halt as he and Miss Bingley rounded a corner of the hedge and ran smack into Mrs. Hurst and Miss Elizabeth Bennet herself, standing with her lovely eyes wide open and a look of shock on her face that left no doubt that she had heard him. He shut his eyes for a moment, feeling the blood flood his cheeks, but on opening them, happened to see Miss Bingley’s countenance, which bore such an expression of chagrin that he wanted to laugh.

“Mr. Darcy!” Mrs. Hurst moved quickly to intercede, taking his free arm. “Were you walking this way? Do let me join you!”

She steered them toward another walk, but his head turned to watch Elizabeth, now standing alone and still looking adorably confused. It was unconscionably rude for them to walk off and leave her there, and he wanted to invite her along, to suggest they go into the avenue, but his composure wasn’t strong enough. Their eyes met for a fleeting moment, then she turned and almost ran back towards the house.

Darcy spent the rest of the afternoon wondering what he should do. It all depended, he finally decided, on how much of his conversation with Miss Bingley she had overheard. If she had caught only the last few lines and somehow managed to deduce that they were about her, then he rather thought the best thing would be to say nothing. It was not so terrible if she knew that he admired her eyes; really, he had no wish to deny it.

 

But Darcy was very concerned about raising false expectations, and he had certainly been paying her a great deal of attention lately. If Elizabeth had overheard enough of the conversation to know that Miss Bingley was teasing him about the idea of marrying her, then it was quite possible that she had gotten entirely the wrong idea. For while Darcy was attracted to Elizabeth, while he admired her and enjoyed her company and was at times positively bewitched by her, and while the idea of marrying her was undeniably delightful and appealing, it was impossible. He did not have, could not have, any serious designs on her. It would be dashed awkward, but the best, kindest thing in that circumstance would be to tell her the truth.

He went to Mrs. Hurst to discover the crucial information. This lady looked astonished and uncomfortable at the question, but finally admitted that they had heard quite enough to have gotten the gist of the conversation. “I didn’t know what to do,” she said. “You were coming straight towards us, and she was quite frozen with astonishment. I would have hurried her away if I could have.”

“It’s not your fault,” he said shortly.

It was his fault. It was his fault for being so unguarded in his speech to Miss Bingley, and so obvious in his admiration. He could only imagine that Elizabeth was even now planning her wedding clothes, and while a part of him was sorry to disoblige her, it had to be done.

“Miss Bennet.” He came across her in the hallway. “I wonder if I might have a word with you?” He nodded toward the library.

She hesitated but entered, and he came after her. “What is this about, Mr. Darcy?” For the first time he had ever seen her, she seemed shy around him, and would not look him directly in the eye.

“Miss Bennet, forgive me for speaking so frankly, but I have never liked disguise, and it would serve me ill now. I know that you overheard Miss Bingley and I when we were discussing you.”

She flushed. “I did not eavesdrop by design!”

“I am not suggesting that you did. I only wish to make my position clear, lest you misunderstand.”

“Misunderstand?”

“Yes, I…” he was finding this more difficult than anticipated, and shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t wish you to take from Miss Bingley’s teasing… to suppose that her fanciful jests are reflections of my stated—or implied!—intentions—or to form any expectations because I—”

“Mr. Darcy!” Miss Bennet was beet red by now. “I assure you, nothing was further from my mind! I would never… and you especially!”

“Oh. Oh, well then… I am relieved to know that,” he said, feeling terribly disappointed.

“Now, if you would excuse me…” she moved hastily towards the door.

“Miss Bennet!” he found himself calling her.

She paused reluctantly. “Yes, Mr. Darcy?”

“Miss Bennet, in one respect the conversation you overheard was entirely accurate. You have remarkably fine eyes.”

Those eyes widened, and for several moments blinked at him, before shifting rather longingly to the doorway. She bobbed a quick curtsy. “Good afternoon.”

He continued to stare at the door even after she had exited through it. A sudden thought occurred to him. Him especially, she had said. Why him especially!?