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Darcy eyed Mrs. Bennet, trying to formulate how best to put to rest the rumor that Mr. Smith was dead without inviting questions he didn’t wish to reply to. He’d planned to simply refuse to answer any such inquiries, but that would seem exceedingly odd if he first introduced the subject. Still, he couldn’t sit by and let such a lie stand. It was dishonorable.
Before he could muster the right words, Mrs. Bennet once again launched into a discussion of her daughter Lydia. She addressed Mrs. Bingley, whose eyes took on a glazed expression, but the volume and fervor with which she carried on made any other discourse at the table impossible. As soon as he could avail himself of the opportunity, Darcy asked Bingley if he would care to ride. He knew he was taking the coward’s way out, and that he must address the lie of Mr. Smith’s death eventually, but he simply couldn’t abide being in Mrs. Bennet’s presence any longer.
Bingley agreed immediately, belatedly casting his wife an apologetic look. Mrs. Bingley gave him a sweet smile, and he stood from the table. In short order, the two of them were free of the house, stretching their horses’ legs in the fine Hertfordshire countryside.
Bingley didn’t speak, whether of his own desire or out of knowledge that Darcy didn’t care much for idle conversation, there was no way to know. Be it either, it suited Darcy. He had much to think over, not the least of which was where to take Georgiana. They couldn’t impose on Bingley forever.
Instead of working out his plans for his sister, Darcy found his mind on breakfast. It amazed him that two such fine natured and elegant women as Miss Bennet and Mrs. Bingley could be the issue of the woman who’d foisted herself on them that morning. He could only conclude they took after their father, who must have been in a foolish state to have taken such a woman to wife. Miss Bennet’s and Mrs. Bingley’s younger sister, from the sound of it, unfortunately took after their mother.
He regretted what he’d said in front of Georgiana, not realizing until he saw the reprimand on Elizabeth’s face that he’d insulted her in front of near strangers. He would have gone on to say that, as Miss Lydia’s mother, it was Mrs. Bennet’s responsibility to help her make reasonable decisions, but he’d realized there was nowhere good the conversation could have gone, had he prolonged it.
He wondered if he should find the opportunity to apologize to Georgiana. He shook his head, casting the idea aside. What he’d said was true, so there was no need to apologize. Surely, she must realize the honesty of his statement. He saw no way his sister could look back on her elopement with Mr. Wickham as anything but a mistake.
Eventually, they turned back. Darcy was relieved when they rode up to find Mrs. Bennet’s carriage no longer outside. He didn’t know how Bingley could endure living so near the woman. If Mrs. Bingley weren’t quite as lovely as she was, her sweet temper one jot less perfectly suited to Bingley’s, Darcy would have counted the marriage a mistake. As it was, his friend’s delight in his wife was obvious, and Darcy could only conclude Mrs. Bennet’s visits were a small price for such happiness.
Fortunately for him, Darcy thought as he and Bingley entered the parlor to find Elizabeth, Georgiana and Mrs. Bingley sewing baby clothes, he already had a country residence and it was not in the nearby vicinity.
His gaze on Elizabeth’s face, Darcy reminded himself that now was not the time for such musings. It could take him months, perhaps even years, to settle Georgiana properly. She and the baby had to be his priority. His lax guardianship had allowed this to happen to her, and he would set it right. As their parents had long since left them, it was his duty to do all for his sister that a father could do. A Darcy did not shirk his duty.
Especially not for a pretty face and a fine, beguiling pair of eyes. Even if those eyes had haunted him every night, for months, ever since his last visit to Rosings.
Elizabeth gave him a vague smile and returned her attention to her work. Not for the first time, Darcy cursed his inadequacies, belatedly remembering to bow in greeting. In Rosings, he’d been forced to endure watching his cousin Fitzwilliam flirt with Elizabeth Bennet, luring out her laughter. Darcy, lacking in the practiced social niceties his cousin employed, had only been able to look on and endeavor not to glower at them in an unbecoming fashion. He’d managed to walk with her one day, but had rejected every topic that came to him.
“Mr. Harvey,” Mrs. Bingley said, breaking into his musings. He noticed she colored slightly every time she addressed him by that name. “You’ve received an invitation for tomorrow from Lady Lucas, who was kind enough to bring it over herself. You’ve only now missed her.”
Good, Darcy thought. He had no desire to make any more local acquaintances. “No, thank you,” Darcy said. “I think we’ll remain here.”
“Mr. Harvey,” Elizabeth said with a great deal of emphasis on his name. He turned to find her leveling a pointed look at him. “Perhaps you and I should go on a walk before you decide.”
Darcy doubted there was anything she could say which would change his mind on the matter. In truth, he was surprised she was inclined to debate the point. Still, a walk with Miss Bennet wasn’t to be declined, so he nodded his assent.
As they walked through the manor, seeking the outdoors and the stretch of lawn they’d trod the previous day, Darcy was aware of several servants exchanging knowing looks. He was struck by a momentary alarm before he realized they must think he was courting Elizabeth Bennet. That more obvious suspicion was, of course, what he wished them to think; not that he and Miss Bennet were colluding about his false identity.
He clasped his hands behind his back as they walked, a habit he’d adopted to keep them firmly under control. They had a mind of their own in her presence, he’d found. They often seemed almost to twitch with the inclination to clasp her hands, or to reach out and smooth a wind-blown strand of hair from her cheek, to know if she was as soft as she looked.
“Sir William and Lady Lucas will be coming for dinner in less than a week,” she said, reminding him that she had a reason for their walk. “You can’t avoid meeting them.”
“Then I will see them at dinner. I don’t have to meet them beforehand.”
“Then, in her weekly letter to her daughter, Mrs. Collins,” she emphasized the name and Darcy realized he’d met the woman, and where, “Lady Lucas will write that a tall, well-favored, taciturn stranger is staying here. People are sure to be searching for you and your sister. I’m not saying Mr. Collins will make the connection, but he very well might mention it to Lady Catherine. From what I recall, Mr. Collins was wont to share every detail of every correspondence he or his wife received with your aunt.”
She thought him well-favored, did she? Darcy suppressed a smile. “It is unlikely my Aunt Catherine will recognize me from that description.”
“Unlikely, but not impossible,” she said. She wasn’t looking at him, but he noted the faintest, most intriguing hint of a blush touching her cheeks. “If you weren’t of such stature or distinction, it would be unthinkable. A written description of a man such as Mr. Bingley would apply to many other men. I worry, though, that a detailed enough recounting of you will be apt to rouse suspicion.”
Wanting to grin was a foreign feeling for Darcy, especially of late, so it took a moment for the desire to register. So, Miss Elizabeth thought he had stature and distinction, on top of being well-favored. In spite of the fact that they were, in essence, disagreeing, he was quite enjoying their conversation. He clasped his hands more tightly behind his back.
“That is your selfish reason for going,” she said. “There is an unselfish one. I know your goal is to avoid being seen, but that isn’t how your actions will be perceived. Mr. Bingley has many friends who have visited and will visit here. If any of them were to act as if they think they’re above the company, it will reflect poorly on him.”
“Surely, his reputation can stand a guest who isn’t gregarious,” he protested, glad she didn’t realize that he did, in truth, think himself above the company thereabouts. He had the feeling she wouldn’t find that endearing, whatever she thought of his looks.
He glanced at her, still not in agreement that he needed to appear at the event. It seemed a risk, attending outings when he didn’t wish to be recognized, even here in Hertfordshire. Then it occurred to him that she may not be as convinced as she pretended. Could it be that Elizabeth desired his company on this outing? That notion inclined him to go more than any of her arguments thus far.
“Yes, of course his reputation can withstand your aloofness, but you’ll be putting a little chink in it. He’s doing you a favor. Don’t make it harder for him. My sister Lydia’s escapades are also affecting Mr. Bingley and Jane, though they’re too kind and polite to say so. You should go and be friendly. Don’t add to their burden.”
She really wasn’t asking very much, Darcy realized. It was very unlikely he would meet anyone there who would recognize him as Mr. Darcy. That was one of the reasons he’d selected Bingley to seek help from. Neither he nor Georgiana had stayed in Hertfordshire before, except for stopping for refreshment on the road to London, and Bingley had already taken the only home in the area any of their acquaintances would deign to reside in.
The more he thought about it, the more sense Elizabeth made. After all, Bingley was friendly and outgoing, as were many of his friends. Darcy was more likely to be forgotten if he mimicked that behavior. It was strange enough that his sister was having her baby here. He didn’t need to make them any more remarkable, if it could be avoided.
Besides, how unappealing could an event truly be if Miss Bennet also attended? He simply had to go, and be affable enough to be unremarked on. He frowned, seeing the flaw in her plan, his nature. “How do you recommend I go about being, well, friendly?”
He felt awkward asking, for the question revealed his greatest flaw, his inability to behave in that frivolous, lighthearted manner society seemed to expect of unmarried men in his station. She cast him a smile and he wondered if she was pleased with his acceptance or amused by his difficulty? He preferred to think the former.
“Ask Sir William about his presentation at St. James,” she said. “Tell him you’ve heard of it. Ask Lady Lucas about her children. Ask my mother about her health. All of them will tell you more than you want to hear, but keep asking questions until you get the whole story.”
“That sounds boring,” Darcy said, but what he truly thought was that it sounded ghastly.
“It is, but you aren’t going to be entertained but to be entertaining. Do you plan to refute the rumor that your sister’s husband is dead?”
“I’m afraid I must, as it’s a lie,” he said. Besides which, they hadn’t been behaving as if Mr. Wickham was dead, as much as Darcy might wish it to be the case.
“Well, you’ll need some sort of lie,” she said.
Darcy stiffened, surprised she would suggest such a thing. “I do not condone lying.”
“Call it a story, then,” she said. She cast him a sympathetic look. “You’re already lying with your names.”
It was true, although it galled him. “What would you recommend?” he finally asked, realizing she must have given the matter thought.
They walked in silence for a few minutes before she answered. “You need something with enough details that people feel they’ve been told the truth, but nothing difficult to remember. I agree with your intention to refute rumor of Mr. Smith’s death. If Mr. Wickham has any sort of intelligence, he’ll be looking for rumors of new widows.”
Darcy nodded. He should have thought of that and ended the rumor that Mr. Smith had died the first he heard of it.
“I’d let out that Mr. Smith is an attorney and they were living in London,” Elizabeth continued. “One of his clients asked him to go to Canada to look at some property the man had inherited, paying enough to make it worthwhile. While Mr. Smith was gone, the lease came up on the home he and Mrs. Smith lived in and the owner wouldn’t renew as he wanted the house back.” She seemed to be warming to her story, confirming his guess that she’d already put considerable thought into it.
“She sent her things to your house, which, sadly, burned down. Your house is being rebuilt, of course, but it will be more than a year before it’s livable. There’s a cottage on your estate where you’ll live until your house is rebuilt, but it isn’t large enough for your sister and her child to stay with you.”
She frowned, seeming to organize her thoughts. Darcy watched, bemused. Elizabeth was taking her story seriously, he could tell, but then, she knew the people thereabouts and what would be best to tell them. He was gratified by her concern for his success in sheltering Georgiana.
“Considering how much it’s costing to rebuild, you don’t want the expense of a new residence where there would be space for Mrs. Smith and the baby. You’ve written Mr. Smith, after all, who didn’t know Mrs. Smith was pregnant when he agreed to travel to Canada. Mr. Smith is surely on his way back, or will be soon, and will provide for his wife and child when he returns.”
She looked at him, smiling. “Naturally, when you sorted it all out and realized you needed a place for your sister to stay for a short while, during her confinement no less, you thought of your good friend, Mr. Bingley.”
At least that part was true, as was the bit about the lease coming up and Georgiana losing all of her possessions. He was impressed, and a trifle dismayed, at how cleverly Elizabeth wove strands of truth into the lie, making sense of his and Georgiana’s state, right down to her lack of jewelry and their limited wardrobes. Darcy added intelligence to his list of Elizabeth’s attributes, not that he’d doubted it before then.
“That covers everything,” he finally said, resigning himself to the lie. His plan to refuse to answer any questions put to him probably wouldn’t have worked, but her story would. In actuality, it would likely make Georgiana and him less remarkable, at least in the ways that mattered.
“You and your sister will have to decide where you lived in London and where your house was.”
“We can do that,” he said. He would select those details before apprising Georgiana of the story. Elizabeth turned in the direction of the house, her pace quickening, and he recognized her signal that the conversation was at an end. “Thank you.”
She gave him a brief smile. He wished she wouldn’t always look away so hurriedly.
“I almost forgot,” she said, stopping. She turned to him, very serious. “If there’s dancing, you must dance. Bingley’s friends always dance. I know it wasn’t part of the invitation, but parties at Lucas Lodge often turn into impromptu dances.”
“I would be delighted to dance with you,” he said. Looking down at her, he hoped she knew he meant it.
She shook her head. “Only after you’ve danced with at least three wallflowers. Dancing solely with members of your own party will not endear you to the community. There’s a local heiress. You can recognize her by her red hair. If you dance with her, people may think you’re after her inheritance. It’s up to you if you wish to be seen that way. She won’t want for partners, but there will be plenty of women who do. Really, she’s considered the only desirable partner.”
Except for you, Darcy thought. She was looking up at him through her lashes, seeming to search his face. Darcy clenched his hands tightly behind his back to keep them there. Elizabeth murmured something he couldn’t hear and he leaned closer. “I don’t believe I caught that,” he said, unable to look away from her eyes.
She looked almost embarrassed. “It was nothing. I was merely going over a list of reasons... It was nothing.” She whirled away, hurrying off in the direction of the house.
Darcy didn’t follow immediately, continuing to stroll the grounds as he mulled over her hasty retreat and the lie he must tell. Putting aside thoughts of Elizabeth as much as he could, he selected appropriately unremarkable locations for Mr. Harvey’s and Mr. Smith’s homes. Then he went over the details Elizabeth had come up with several times, making sure he had them firmly in his mind.
He decided, rather than attempt to transfer the story in secret, hoping the servants wouldn’t overhear, it would be best to tell it in the open, preferably in front of servants. Georgiana would fictionally already know the details, of course, as it was supposed to be her story even more so than his. Likewise, it would be odd for him not to have told Bingley yet, who would have told Mrs. Bingley. Therefore, when they sat down to dine that evening, he turned to Elizabeth.
“Miss Bennet,” he said as servants carried in their soup. “You expressed a desire to know the details of how my sister and I came to be here.”
She blinked at him, but her surprise was fleeting enough he didn’t think anyone else had noticed. The others, unfortunately, looked confused, but Darcy pressed ahead, assuming they would soon realize what he was about.
“I’d be happy to tell you of our recent hardships, if you’ve still a mind to listen,” he continued.
Elizabeth’s lips curved into an amused smile. “I would find it vastly interesting, I assure you, Mr. Harvey.”
“Bingley,” Darcy said, looking down the table at his friend. “I know you already know the details, so I hope this won’t bore you.”
“Ah, no, by all means, carry on,” Bingley said.
Darcy could have wished for a smoother answer, but supposed that would do. With no further preamble, he launched into a telling of the story Elizabeth had imparted to him earlier. He added in his selections for where he and Georgiana had lived, enjoying Elizabeth’s look of approval.
“I’m very sorry to hear about your home,” Elizabeth said when he’d finished. “It must have been devastating to lose it like that.”
“Oh yes, how terrible,” Mrs. Bingley said.
Then she blinked, and Darcy could see her recalling that it wasn’t true. Bingley looked like he wanted to get up and comfort her, but she smiled and he settled back into his chair.
“Yes, I’m afraid it’s a truly tragic tale,” Darcy said. “I feel remiss for not imparting it to Mrs. Bennet this morning.” He looked about casually, assuring himself servants stood unobtrusively nearby. “I was so surprised by her assertion that Mr. Smith was dead that it took me considerable time to gather my thoughts. By the time I had, she was too engaged in a different conversation for me to interrupt her.”
“I was shocked, too,” Georgiana blurted.
Darcy looked at her, a bit surprised she’d spoken. He hoped she’d given her full attention to the details of his story.
“Well, I’m glad to hear that rumor is false,” Elizabeth said. “Don’t worry. I’m sure to see my mother again tomorrow. With your permission, I’ll correct her error?”
“Please do,” Darcy said. He suspected that telling Mrs. Bennet the story would get it out even faster than allowing the servants to overhear.
