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Darcy’s days fell into a pattern. Weather permitting, and it usually did, he rode with Bingley in the mornings, during Mrs. Bennet’s daily visits. Though the countryside was picturesque and riding one of his more preferred pastimes, the activity wasn’t as enjoyable as he could have wished. To avoid the notice they’d garner, Darcy had left his horses in Pemberley. In their stead, he’d acquired two mismatched elderly geldings, to go with the somewhat rundown carriage. Mr. Wickham, he knew, would be searching for a rich man, not one who barely deserved the titled of gentleman.
Darcy made sure not to show his ambivalence for the horse Bingley lent him. The animal was Bingley’s second best, and it would be an affront to his friend to even hint it wasn’t up to Darcy’s standards. Besides, the rides were still taken in excellent company, Bingley’s, and they gave both men an excuse to avoid Mrs. Bennet.
In the afternoons, Bingley conducted his business and made calls on neighbors. Darcy stayed at Netherfield during that time, not wanting to intrude too greatly into his friend’s affairs. As Georgiana and Mrs. Bingley took to spending all of their time together, becoming good friends during long private discussions about pregnancy and childcare, Darcy often found himself virtually alone with Elizabeth.
He knew he should be spending his free hours on his own business affairs and searching out a place to move Georgiana to, but she couldn’t travel any distance until after the baby was born, so there was no great hurry. At least, a lack of urgency was what he tried to convince himself was behind his inactivity on that front. Certainly, it wasn’t so that he could while away his days in the company of Elizabeth’s quick mind and beguiling features. After all, he’d already established that she was not suitable to be his wife, coming from such low connections as she did, and with such atrocious relatives as she had.
Unsuitable or not, Darcy very much enjoyed their time together. They often took long walks, or sat discussing books or news of London and the world, which reached them somewhat slowly in Hertfordshire. Other times, they played cards or backgammon. She was particularly fond of chess, he found. Of course, there was also the delight of listening to her playing. Yes, afternoons spent with Elizabeth passed amicably indeed.
One such afternoon, a day on which he’d promised himself he’d finally spend his free time writing letters inquiring about various locations he was thinking of for Georgiana, Darcy found his feet instead taking him to the drawing room. Before he knew it, he was in the doorway, and Elizabeth was looking up at him from the sofa, smiling. He couldn’t leave, he realized. She would construe it as meaning he hadn’t wished to see her if he made his excuses and returned to his room.
“Would you care to play cards? Chess? Backgammon?” he asked instead, coming in to sit on the other end of the sofa.
“Chess today,” she said, predictably.
If allowed to choose, Elizabeth nearly always selected chess. Interestingly, it didn’t seem to be because she had greater skill than he at the game. They were rather evenly matched. He supposed that was why she enjoyed the challenge of it, as did he.
“Chess it is, then,” he said, reaching for the board, already set out on the low table before them.
They played four games. Elizabeth won the first, and he the second. They drew the third. To his chagrin, she claimed the next match. He’d been sure he’d lured her into too aggressive a stance, one that should have cost her the game, yet somehow hadn’t.
“You should have played for money,” he said, a bit annoyed she’d won a game that he thought he’d played well.
“I wouldn’t want to do that, Mr. Harvey,” she said. “I know it isn’t at all my place to say, but I realize you must be using every last coin to set up a home for your sister.” She’d lowered her voice, leaning nearer him. “I applaud you for your dedication. I shouldn’t be able to concentrate on winning if I thought I was depriving Mrs. Smith of even a modicum of comfort.”
She’d drawn quite near him, whether to improve his ability to hear her softly spoken words or unconsciously, he didn’t know, but he found her nearness muddled his mind. He took in the sincerity in her eyes and realized the heartfelt nature of her words. Did she really think him as poor as he pretended to be? He cast his mind back over their interactions in Rosings and since he’d arrived in Netherfield. It hadn’t occurred to him that Elizabeth would so completely believe the station he’d assumed.
How could he correct her without sounding boastful? He looked about, seeing no servants near. Perhaps he should simply tell her how much he was worth.
She reached out, laying her hand lightly atop one of his, where it rested on the table. “Don’t look so stricken, Mr. Harvey,” she said, applying a slight pressure to his hand before removing hers. “It’s not shameful, to have little other than your name. It’s to your credit that you insist on giving what you do have to your sister.”
“Don’t give me credit for that. I am not impoverishing myself to help my sister,” he said, still struggling for an eloquent way to advise her that he was, in fact, among the wealthiest men in England. He hadn’t ever suggested they play for money before because he didn’t want her to lose any.
She smiled kindly. “I think I should quit while I’m ahead,” she said. Her graceful hands began collecting pieces and returning them to their starting spaces. She cast a questioning look at him through her lashes, and he realized that, instead of helping her restore the board to rights, he was staring at her like some sort of mesmerized fool.
“You mean not to give me a chance to redeem myself, then,” he said with a smile of his own, reaching for the embarrassing pile of his pieces she’d amassed. He would find a way to tell her later. Maybe he could ask Bingley to pass the information on to his wife. “I won’t fall for the same tricks twice, as you well know.”
“I don’t need to use the same tricks,” she said, her eyes dancing. “Any number of strategies can be employed to exploit your weakness.”
“Oh?” he asked, carefully lining up his pawns. “And what is my weakness, Miss Bennet?” Aside from you, he added to himself, realizing, moments ago, he’d almost blurted out how much he was worth to impress her. A Darcy did not behave in such a fashion.
“You’re too careful with your queen,” she said, reaching over to tap his queen with one long, elegant finger.
“That did cause me to lose the last game,” he admitted. “I fell into your trap.” Though I couldn’t be any more ensnared than I already am. Why wasn’t he in his room writing those letters? Why did he insist on torturing himself with a woman who was beneath him?
“The queen is not the goal,” she said. “Sometimes, you have to give it up.” She raised thoughtful eyes to his. “Although, I admire you for not giving up on your sister.”
“Thank you,” he said. Maybe he wouldn’t ask Bingley to have Mrs. Bingley clarify his worth. It was pleasant, the way Elizabeth admired him for his actions, not his income. Many women had pretended as much, but he knew better than to believe them.
She pressed her lips together, looking nervous. He waited, knowing she wanted to ask him something and curious what it would be. “Are you sure you’re doing the right thing?” she finally said.
He didn’t need to ask in relation to what. He shook his head. “No. Not at all. But I know that doing nothing is the wrong thing.”
“Somehow, going under another name makes it seem wrong to me,” she whispered, leaning close again.
He realized she was indeed doing it on purpose, to insure he alone could hear her. He should be glad there was an explanation for her behavior that didn’t imply she was attracted to him. Somehow, he wasn’t.
“It seems wrong to me as well,” he said, his own voice low. “I don’t like it. It goes against honor, but if Mr. Wickham came to the door and demanded Georgiana go with him, I would have no right to keep her from him. Disguise of every sort is my abhorrence, but I don’t see that I have a choice. His leaving her as he did was criminally irresponsible. If that happens when she has a baby with her, they could both die.” He shook his head, wanting to dispel his pangs of conscience. “Since he has shown he can’t take care of her, I must.”
“Do you think it is possible that he’s learned from his mistake?” she asked.
“If we spoke of anyone other than Mr. Wickham, I would say yes, but he has repeatedly done wrong and repeatedly promised to reform. He never changes. I don’t think he can change. He always thinks of his own gratification before anyone else’s needs, no matter how great.”
Elizabeth nodded, straightening in her seat, but still looked troubled. She offered to play then, and he thankfully acquiesced. The gentle melody she selected washed over him, soothing his tumultuous mind as he leaned back in the sofa.
The following morning, to his dismay, he and Bingley arrived back from their ride to find Mrs. Bennet’s carriage still in the drive. Mustering up what forbearance he could, Darcy left the horse with one of the stable hands and followed Bingley inside. He supposed it was unavoidable he should have to see Mrs. Bennet on occasion, as he was visiting a home where two of her daughters resided. Darcy still couldn’t reconcile that someone as elegant, intelligent and well-informed as Elizabeth could be Mrs. Bennet’s offspring.
He was surprised, when they entered the parlor, to find Mr. Bennet also present. Darcy had rarely encountered Elizabeth’s father and never spoken more than the usual social niceties to the man. Looking about the room, Darcy realized that might change, for his choices were to sit beside Mrs. Bingley, a seat Bingley already moved to take, Mrs. Bennet, or Mr. Bennet. The latter had a newspaper firmly before his face, rendering him even more appealing to sit near.
As he and Bingley finished their greetings and the conversation resumed, it soon became apparent that Mrs. Bennet was trying to persuade Mrs. Bingley to attend a party that was coming up in a few days, without success. “You really must go, Jane. Ashworth is only ten miles away. That’s nothing on a good road. You must get out. You can’t be happy being cooped up without seeing anyone for weeks on end.”
At that pronouncement, Darcy looked to Elizabeth, who sat on the other side of her father. She met his gaze, amusement lighting up her eyes. Apparently he, Georgiana, Bingley and Elizabeth, not to mention Mrs. Bennet herself, didn’t count as ‘anyone.’
“You really should see people,” Mrs. Bennet went on. “You owe it to them to see them. It’s almost a rule, almost a legal issue, almost a social contract.”
“Not exactly the Leviathan,” Mr. Bennet murmured, almost to himself.
Darcy took in the flicker of a smile that touched Elizabeth’s lips. Across the room, Mrs. Bennet continued her barrage, turning her attention to Bingley, as if he could be made to force his wife to attend.
“I agree. It’s doubtful that’s what Thomas Hobbes had in mind,” Darcy said, stretching out his legs in front of him.
“You’ve read his work?” Mr. Bennet asked, lowering his paper a fraction to regard Darcy over the top of it.
“Yes,” Darcy said. “As, I assume, have you.”
Mr. Bennet smiled, folding his paper and setting it aside, Elizabeth immediately taking it up. Darcy and Mr. Bennet began a quiet discussion about Thomas Hobbes. As they debated some of the finer points of the nature of equality, Darcy began to understand where Elizabeth got some of her intelligence from.
To his amusement, Mr. Bennet started visiting more often after that. To accommodate him, and because Bingley was growing increasingly concerned about being away from his wife for extended stretches of time as she neared the predicted date, Darcy and Bingley shortened their morning rides. It didn’t seem such a dismaying thing, seeing the Bennet carriage in the drive, when the prospect of a stimulating philosophical conversation awaited.
“You are remarkably well read,” Mr. Bennet said several mornings later, after a long discussion about Herodotus. “From what you say, you must have a large library.”
“My father and grandfather collected books,” Darcy said, not wanting to mention how many books he’d personally bought.
“Too bad about losing them in the fire,” Mr. Bennet said.
For a moment, Darcy was going to ask, “What fire?” but he stopped himself in time and answered appropriately. Pretending to be poor posed more pitfalls than he’d anticipated. He hadn’t even considered that his discussion of so many books could allude to a degree of wealth which was inconsistent with the image he was trying to maintain. The idea of inventing a friend with a large library flickered through his mind, but the conversation had already moved on. Besides, there was no reason to compound his lies if he didn’t have to.
The midwife was sent for the following afternoon, one week before Mrs. Bingley’s specified date. As Bingley and Elizabeth both disappeared upstairs, Darcy and Georgiana were left alone. He could tell his sister, quite near her date as well, was terribly nervous for Mrs. Bingley. He tried to speak to her of innocuous things, to occupy her mind, but she kept letting her side of the conversation lapse, her gaze drifting in the direction of the stairs.
“Mr. Bingley is with Jane, do you think?” Georgiana said, still looking in the general direction of the stairwell, though it wasn’t visible from the parlor in which they sat.
“He may be,” Darcy said. Some men entered the child birthing room, but most preferred to wait without. Bingley, Darcy thought, was likely one of those who wanted to personally attend his wife.
“To see his child born,” she said softly.
Darcy didn’t answer, aware of where her thoughts were going. He frowned, watching her wrap her arms around her own girth. “Most men don’t stay in the room,” he finally said. “Women often find them to be in the way.”
She nodded, sighing.
Darcy tried to engage her in cards. He offered to fetch her a book. Finally, desperately, he suggested she should play. Georgiana refused every attempt at diversion, seeming to prefer her own thoughts. Darcy wished he knew what they were.
Faintly, a babe’s cry could be heard, drifting down the steps, growing louder. Soon, footsteps neared, two pairs, if he was any judge, and the crying stopped. Bingley came into the room, looking incessantly proud, Elizabeth by his side. She was carrying a small, tightly wrapped bundle.
“I say, Darcy,” Bingley said. Darcy was glad there were no servants about. Bingley had obviously forgotten himself in his excitement. “Come meet my son, Charles Joseph Bingley.”
Elizabeth stepped forward. “Mr. Harvey, Mrs. Smith,” she said, emphasizing the names. “Jane wants us to call him Charlie until he’s older.”
She smiled down at the bundle. Darcy stood, taking the ready excuse of turning back to assist Georgiana in order to gain a moment to conquer his reaction. The sight of Elizabeth holding Bingley’s son did all sorts of unacceptable things to his emotions. In his mind, he could see her standing like that, holding his son, their son.
He cleared his throat. Georgiana gave him a questioning look. Darcy schooled his features before turning back to Bingley and Elizabeth. He and Georgiana came forward to view the baby.
“He’s perfect,” Georgiana said. “He’s beautiful. Is Jane well?”
Bingley looked fondly at his son, who was asleep in Elizabeth’s arms. “The midwife said he was small and asked us to take him from the room. Jane seemed to be well enough. She was smiling at me when we left, telling me to call him Charlie.”
Elizabeth gave Darcy a smile, almost smug in nature, which seemed to say she knew something Bingley didn’t. At that moment, the sound of a baby crying, lustier than the first, filled the upstairs. Bingley’s face registered shock. He looked down at Charlie, who was still silent, then around at the rest of them, clearly confused.
“Twins?” Darcy ventured.
“Twins,” Elizabeth said, her smile widening.
“Twins?” Bingley gasped. He spun on his heels. They could all hear him running back up the stairs.
“I’m going to take him to his cradle,” Elizabeth said. “Bingley was very eager to show him off, but I think this little one needs some rest after the day he’s had.”
She turned away, cooing soothingly to the baby as she left, her pace much more sedate than Bingley’s had been. A short while later, she and Bingley reappeared and the scene was repeated. Thomas, Bingley’s second son, was a bigger baby. He also had darker hair, and more of it, enough that it curled. There was no confusing them.
Darcy wasn’t surprised that the new grandparents visited the next day, along with all three sisters of Mrs. Bingley and Elizabeth. He would have thought it kinder to let the new mother and her children rest for several days before being expected to deal with guests, but Mrs. Bennet didn’t seem to be of the same mind. She and her younger daughters tromped noisily up the steps, Mr. Bennet and Elizabeth trailing behind.
Eventually, apparently deeming Mrs. Bingley and the babies sufficiently viewed, everyone made their way into the parlor in which he sat. Darcy set aside his book and stood, making the proper greetings, which went mostly ignored.
“I think Thomas is going to be by far the more handsome,” Miss Lydia was saying.
Darcy retook his seat, Elizabeth coming to alight on the opposite end of the sofa with him, near where Georgiana sat in an armchair. He was pleased when Mr. Bennet sat in the chair nearest him, though Elizabeth’s father had a glazed over look on his face. Darcy had noticed this was often the case when Mr. Bennet was forced to spend too much time with his wife and younger children.
“There is absolutely no basis for that theory,” Miss Mary said. “He isn’t even a day old.”
“Well, I can tell,” Miss Lydia pronounced with a toss of her head. “You’ll see I’m right, someday.”
“I daresay Charlie will grow into a great man,” Mrs. Bennet said. “If only any of the rest of you were near as pretty and biddable as Jane, you might have babies of your own by now.”
This spurred a predictable round of protests and assertions from the younger Bennet girls, Miss Lydia being the loudest. Darcy felt his own eyes start to glaze over.
“When can we expect your sisters, Mr. Bingley?” Mrs. Bennet asked over the noise. “They ought to be here. They knew, I would assume, that Jane was near her time.”
“I did apprise them, yes,” Bingley said, leaning forward in his seat across from Darcy. Since Charlie’s birth, Bingley had worn an insufferable grin on his face. “And I wrote them again last night, saying the babies, twins, had arrived and that Jane is doing well.”
“So, where are they, then?” Mrs. Bennet looked about, as if Bingley’s sisters might pop out from behind the furniture.
“They’re traveling,” Bingley said. “They’d already planned a visit in a few months, so I doubt they’ll change their plans. I think they wanted to give Jane time to recover before descending on her.”
Darcy put a hand over his mouth to hide his smile. Bingley, of course, would have no idea he may have given offense. On the sofa beside him, Elizabeth coughed into her hand.
“Recover indeed,” Mrs. Bennet said. “Jane is perfectly well, and children need their families about them, I say.”
“Because crowding around babies and looking at them is so helpful,” Mr. Bennet said.
“We are a family, not a crowd,” Mrs. Bennet said.
“Have you written to the Gardiners?” Elizabeth asked in an obvious ploy to change the subject.
“I have, of course I have,” Mrs. Bennet said, instantly recovered from her pique. “I’m sure they’ll be here soon enough. Quite sure of it. They’ll send gifts if they can’t come immediately.”
Darcy looked to Elizabeth, who nodded to confirm that. As he recalled from some conversation or another, the Gardiners were Elizabeth’s aunt and uncle, on her mother’s side.
“And Mrs. and Mr. Phillips will be here tomorrow,” Mrs. Bennet said. “It was all I could do to keep them away today. Mrs. Phillips, I said, you must let Jane rest, you know. She delivered twins. Twins! Leave it to my Jane to do twice as much as she needs.”
Darcy glanced over at Georgiana, who sat in silence, looking down at her hands. As bothersome as Mrs. Bennet’s insistence on dragging her entire family out to see Mrs. Bingley and the babies was, it drove home how many people cared for Bingley’s children. Georgiana’s child would have no one but him to fawn over it and shower it with gifts. Darcy’s and Georgiana’s relatives all disapproved of Georgiana’s marriage so much that they would do nothing for her child. He realized even he didn’t feel very positive about Georgiana’s soon to arrive baby, because it was also Wickham’s. Who would spend days grinning like a complete fool when Georgiana’s baby was born? Darcy wouldn’t, and Wickham wouldn’t even know the event had occurred.
“Yes, Jane is to be commended for choosing to have twins,” Mr. Bennet said under his breath.
Before Mrs. Bennet could protest, Miss Lydia turned to Mr. Bingley and asked, “Will Jane recover soon enough for you to have another ball? It would be nice if you made it an annual event.”
“Lydia,” Miss Mary said, “that’s in about a month. I’m sure Jane is no longer interested in such frivolity.”
“Jane is perfectly well, as Mama said. The midwife said she is recovering very well, too. She should be able to dance soon,” Miss Lydia said. She turned back to Bingley. “Well, Mr. Bingley? I’m sure Jane would love the distraction of a ball.”
Darcy was relatively sure Mrs. Bingley would not, nor would she and Bingley actually wish to be distracted from their children.
“Maybe next year,” Bingley said, looking bemused.
“Oh well, January is soon enough. It’s not as if we have the officers here anymore,” Miss Lydia said.
“I don’t want to hear about officers anymore,” Miss Kitty said with a whine in her voice. “You got to spend the whole summer at Brighton. Then you got engaged to two of them and now neither of them wants you. I didn’t get to go at all, even though I’m older and would have been sensible enough to get engaged to only one of them and be wed by now. It isn’t fair.”
Elizabeth shifted in her seat and Darcy glanced at her to find mild embarrassment coloring her features. “I think Mr. Bingley means in a year and a month, not in three months,” she said.
“Oh, but that can’t be what he means. Say it isn’t, Mr. Bingley,” Lydia cried. “Jane might be pregnant again by then. Besides, a year is too long to wait for a ball. If I have my way, I’ll be married by then.”
Darcy hoped so, for the Bingleys’ and Elizabeth’s sakes.
