Insist on Being Satisfied
Frustration was the order of the day, and not all of it was due to the situation. That was a big part of it, of course, for the searches led by Darcy’s cousin were as fruitless as that he had conducted the day after Elizabeth had seen Wickham. While Darcy was frustrated, Fitzwilliam was fit to be tied; it seemed an affront to his intelligence that Wickham continued to elude him even after he had given himself over to the search.
“It is as if he has gained an ability to know how we think,” complained Fitzwilliam a few days into his stay at Rosings. “That is unusual, for Wickham has never been one to think ahead to any degree.”
“The longer he remains out of reach,” said Darcy, “the worse the reckoning will be for him when we finally lay our hands on him.”
“Bravo!” said Fitzwilliam, slapping him on the back. “It is about time you thought of Wickham in such terms. Would that you had done it years ago.”
Darcy decided against a response, for it was a common refrain for Fitzwilliam to speak concerning his opinion of Darcy’s handling of his erstwhile friend. “At least there are many of us here, enough to distract Elizabeth.”
“Oh?” asked Banbury with interest. “Does your lady require distraction?”
“Not as such,” replied Darcy. “Elizabeth is fond of walking, and this forced confinement because of Wickham’s actions must be chafing. She is, as you must have seen, something of a forceful personality, one that does not like to be restricted in so unjust circumstances as these.”
While Banbury did not respond, Darcy saw a flicker of something in his eyes, gone as soon as it appeared. “Perhaps Wickham is a coward,” posited he, taking Darcy’s thoughts in another direction. “Maybe he has fled. It makes no sense that he allowed Elizabeth to see him at all. Whether she would recognize him is immaterial; seeing such a suspicious character about would put us on our guard.”
“I suspect,” said Fitzwilliam, “that Wickham did not mean for her to see him. One of his greatest failings is his towering confidence in himself, and his reliance on his cleverness. I suspect he was watching her for an opportunity to take whatever action he means to take, and the connection to Darcy caused him to forget he wished to remain unseen.”
“Such a man cannot be such a threat,” observed Banbury. “Sooner or later his confidence will impede his rationality and he will overextend himself.”
“Of that, we cannot be certain,” disagreed Darcy. “While I will grant you that Wickham is a coward, he has gone further in this crusade to interfere in my affairs than I ever would have imagined. Would he put all this effort into it only to flee?”
“What does he have to gain?” asked Bennet, who had observed them in silence to that point.
“That is a good question,” said Fitzwilliam. “Wickham does nothing that will not benefit him.”
Darcy paused and considered the truth of his cousin’s words. “Could that have been why he was here? Might he have expected to abduct Elizabeth and hold her for ransom or some such mischief?”
“It is possible,” said Bennet. “But that does not match his behavior in Meryton. Spreading rumors about you accomplished nothing more than to drive you from the neighborhood and call your reputation into question. Such a rapacious man as you describe must have wished for something more than ruin your standing in society.”
“His behavior since the beginning has been fraught with inconsistency,” said Fitzwilliam. “At present, I find it difficult to predict what he might do. It is unfortunate, but we may have no choice but to wait for him to act.”
“Which gives him the advantage,” said Darcy.
“If it drags on too long, yes,” said Fitzwilliam. “But the longer he waits, the more desperate his situation becomes, for I cannot imagine he is living in the lap of luxury. I expect his circumstances become more difficult with each passing day. In this instance, I believe we may wait him out.”
“The thought of Wickham living in squalor does not distress me at all,” said Darcy, giving his cousin a grin.
“Nor I, old boy. Keep the ladies close to home for the next few days. Then we will see if he makes a mistake; if he does, we will have him.”
The other matter of some vexation to Darcy was the behavior of his cousin. While Darcy had always been close to his Fitzwilliam cousins, and the colonel, in particular, he often found his flippant manner exasperating. This was why it was a surprise to see that in this situation Fitzwilliam was far more serious than usual, and it was not his younger cousin who annoyed him.
It was Banbury who provoked the fraying of Darcy’s temper. While that was not unusual, the reason for it was. Then again, Darcy supposed he had never been engaged before, never had an interest in a woman. As it was Banbury’s actions with respect to Elizabeth that annoyed him, Darcy supposed it was no surprise his cousin had not offended him in this way before.
“Shall you not play for us tonight, Miss Elizabeth?” asked his cousin one evening not many days later, a perfect example of Darcy’s feelings. “Your playing is quite fine; I will turn the pages for you.”
Elizabeth, who had by now become accustomed to the viscount in their midst, showed him a smile and said: “Surely you would prefer to hear Mary or Georgiana, for they are both technically superior.”
“Nonsense,” said Banbury. “Though their playing is fine, I believe I prefer yours. Come, I insist.”
Left with no other option, Elizabeth consented and led him to the pianoforte, and a few moments later the strains of her song floated over the company. Darcy watched with a critical eye, noting that Banbury appeared to be a competent assistant, for he turned the pages at the appropriate times. But he also appeared to interrupt her playing with little compliments, comments designed to provoke her, and, at times, even a little understated flirting. Watching this, Darcy frowned and wondered what his cousin was about.
“Has your brother said anything . . . unusual to you of late?”
Fitzwilliam, to whom Darcy had spoken, started from his thoughts and peered at Darcy, the question penetrating his ruminations only a moment later. “Do you refer to anything in particular?”
Darcy gestured toward the pianoforte where Banbury was saying something to Elizabeth, provoking a blush in response. “Of late he appears to be . . . well, paying an overt amount of attention to Elizabeth.”
Fitzwilliam frowned at his brother. “I apologize, Darcy, for I have noted nothing out of the ordinary.”
That was unusual, for Fitzwilliam was typically the first to notice anything. It was one reason why he was such an exemplary officer, for little escaped his attention.
“Does it not appear like he is flirting with her?” asked Darcy, deciding that speaking obliquely was pointless.
Fitzwilliam gazed at his brother a moment, then a grin settled over his countenance. “Are you concerned my brother will attempt to steal her away from you?” Chuckling, Fitzwilliam shook his head. “I suppose you have a right to concerned, for James is destined to inherit an earldom which would make him a greater catch.”
“I do not doubt Elizabeth’s fidelity,” said Darcy, his response impatient. “But he gives all the appearance of a man trying to impress a woman, and I do not appreciate it.”
Still sniggering, Fitzwilliam shook his head. “Do not concern yourself, Darcy. My brother is not a rake. While he is sometimes a little playful, I dare say he has no thought of anything improper. And Elizabeth is not a woman to have her head turned by a man of greater consequence or position in society.”
“No, I do not believe she is,” said Darcy, his gaze still fixed on his cousin. “Trust me, Cousin—if you had a woman who was more important than the world to you, you would also not appreciate another man paying such attention to her.”
“I would advise you to allow the matter to rest, Darcy,” cautioned Fitzwilliam. “There is nothing improper with what he is doing. You will show only improper jealousy and potentially make a fool of yourself if you interject as if you did not trust her.”
Darcy grunted and did not reply, allowing Fitzwilliam to sink back into his thoughts. Had this been the only instance of such behavior from Banbury, Darcy would have paid it no heed. It was becoming a pattern, however, and one he did not like. Though he would hold his peace, for now, Darcy meant to reclaim Elizabeth’s company when she finished playing, and he would not relax his guard. Perhaps it was silly, but Darcy could confess to the sensation of jealousy welling in his heart. He thought it was only just.
Darcy was not the only one to notice the viscount’s behavior. It did not escape Elizabeth’s attention, nor did she miss her fiancé’s reaction to it. As Darcy did not bring it up with her, instead steering the conversation to other matters, she knew it was on his mind. When she ceded the pianoforte to Mary, Elizabeth made a point of returning to his side. It was interesting to note that Lord Banbury did not protest.
What the viscount meant with his actions Elizabeth could not quite say. It seemed clear he enjoyed her company, for his manners did not speak to a forced jocularity or a distaste she did not think he could hide from her. On the other hand, his behavior was not improper either, for he never said or did anything to make her feel uncomfortable. However, there was a hint of flirting in the way he interacted with her, a device she would not have thought a cousin of her betrothed would employ.
“You do know that I appreciate your playing,” said Mr. Darcy when Elizabeth returned to his side.
“Or so you have told me many times,” was Elizabeth’s wry reply. “Perhaps next time you will take the office of turning the pages on yourself.”
The way Mr. Darcy smiled informed Elizabeth the gentleman appreciated her subtle way of reminding him that she was not at all interested in the viscount. “If you require it, I would be happy to offer my services.”
“It is not a question of requiring it,” replied Elizabeth, “though sometimes a page turner is welcome. I find that I cannot do without your company, and if engaging you to assist brings you into my company more often, I am happy to accept your presence.”
“Then you have it,” replied Mr. Darcy. “I wish for nothing more than to be with you as often as possible.”
The rest of the evening they spent in this pleasant manner, all thoughts of Lord Banbury’s actions forgotten. It was the same as many other evenings they had spent in this fashion, but no less cherished because of it. That evening, however, Elizabeth learned that she was not the only one who had noted the viscount’s behavior.
When they had all retired, Elizabeth readied herself for bed and then thought to join Charity and Anne for some evening conversation; Jane had claimed she was too tired for such things that evening, though Elizabeth thought it more likely her sister wished to go to sleep and dream of Mr. Bingley. As she opened the door to her bedchamber and thought to slip out, she noted someone walking down the hall, and held her door closed to avoid notice. A moment’s observance told her it was Charity.
Though she thought to speak to her friend, she hesitated long enough that Charity stopped in front of a door further down the hall and knocked. A moment later she entered the room, though she left the door ajar, the light from the candles inside illuminating the hall in one long ribbon. It was Lord Banbury’s room, Elizabeth noted, on the other side of the hall further into the family wing.
As a woman of good breeding, Elizabeth knew it was not polite to listen to conversations by open doors. But something pushed her forward, something about the determination she had noted on her friend’s countenance in the light of the candle she carried. Though she might have wished to speak of some other subject with her brother, Elizabeth suspected Charity wished to speak of his attentions toward Elizabeth herself. Thus, curiosity drove her forward, to slip out through her door and approach his lordship’s, though she took care not to look inside the room for fear he was in a state of undress and avoid drawing attention to herself.
“What do mean by behaving in such a manner, Brother?” Charity’s firm voice flowed through the opening.
“Mind your own business, Charity,” came the viscount’s voice, though it was not as short as Elizabeth might have expected such a response to be.
“I apologize if you do not see it the way I do, but it is my business. Elizabeth is my friend and Darcy, my cousin. Did you not see the way Darcy was looking at you when you flirted with his betrothed at the pianoforte? Do you intend to cause further strife?”
“Darcy was watching, was he?” The chuckle which followed raised Elizabeth’s dander. “I was focused too much on his enchanting betrothed. You must own, Charity—that Darcy has attracted such a bright young woman to him is no less than astonishing.”
“Do not be ridiculous!” Had Charity not responded in such a fashion, it was entirely possible that Elizabeth would have barged into the room and given the viscount a piece of her mind on which to feast. “Darcy and Elizabeth are perfectly suited and the love between them is almost tangible. Elizabeth will not look twice at you, and Darcy will become infuriated if you continue to behave in this fashion.”
“Charity,” soothed Lord Banbury, “I have no intention of provoking Darcy. Do not concern yourself, for I have no other purpose in mind than to come to know the woman who will be part of our family.”
Though Elizabeth was uncertain if she should believe him, the longer she stayed the greater became the chances of being discovered. As such, she stepped away, and hurried back to her room, closing the door behind her as silently as she was able, all thoughts of joining Charity fleeing from her mind.
As she settled into bed, Elizabeth considered the matter before her. She had not heard enough to suspect Lord Banbury of ulterior motives, but something in what he had said did not sit right with her. As much as she and William had endured, she did not mean to allow something like this to come between them.
The following day, all thoughts of Lord Banbury fled from Elizabeth’s mind, for shocking events were afoot. Not long after breakfast, Mrs. Bennet informed Elizabeth that she wished to speak with all her daughters, a family conference it seemed. Thus, Elizabeth joined her mother and father in their chambers, noting her sisters were as curious as she was herself about the reason for their gathering. When her mother took the lead in speaking, Elizabeth thought it unusual, for her father often spoke on such occasions.
“Girls,” said Mrs. Bennet when they were all seated about the small sitting-room attached to the bedchamber, “your father and I wished to speak to you, for we have something we wish to announce.
“As Lizzy and Jane are to marry,” said she, favoring her two named daughters with smiles, “this will affect the rest of you to a greater extent. In particular, Kitty and Lydia, there are decisions we must make concerning you and your futures. Mary, we will discuss your future as well, but as you are older, you will have more say in it.”
“Our futures?” demanded Lydia when Mary did nothing more than nod in response to her mother’s words. “Whatever can you mean?”
“If you will be silent, your mother will tell you,” said Mr. Bennet.
Peering at her father, Elizabeth noted with surprise that he appeared proud of his wife, which was a situation unheard of in her experience. While Elizabeth did not doubt that her parents were fond of each other, they were so often in opposition that for him to show pride in his spouse was something beyond her understanding. Though seeming impatient, Lydia subsided, her pointed look at her mother demanding an answer to her question.
“I can see that our resolve is not misplaced,” said Mrs. Bennet, directing a flinty look at her youngest. “Plainly put, you, Kitty and Lydia, need to learn to behave with the decorum exhibited by your elder sisters. As we have allowed you to go about in this manner, I believe it is best to remove you to an environment that will be more conducive for learning. Therefore, your father and I have decided to send you to finishing school to obtain your educations.”
For a moment, there was no response to Mrs. Bennet’s declaration, for such a declaration shocked all five Bennet sisters. While Elizabeth’s surprise was because her mother had always favored Lydia and heard nothing against her, the youngest sisters regarded their mother with horror. It was not long before the expected recriminations began.
“School?” screeched Lydia. “I do not need to go to school. What I need is to return to Meryton where I can once again be in the company of the officers!”
“And yet, we have decided school is where you belong,” replied Mrs. Bennet, her manner implacable. “The last thing you need is officers leading you to flirt and other poor behavior, such as that proposed by Mr. Wickham.”
“Not all the officers are like him,” protested Lydia, Kitty nodding vigorously by her side.
“That is not the point,” said Mrs. Bennet. “You have no ability to regulate yourselves. Though your father and I accept our culpability in this matter, it is also clear we must do something to correct your behavior. School is the best way to go about doing this.”
The conversation degenerated from there. The primary vector of protestation was, of course, Lydia, though Kitty did not appear eager to go to school herself. But Lydia had always been the more vocal of the two, Kitty more apt to allow her sister to speak for her and agree with what she said. Within moments, their wails became so strident that Elizabeth thought to flee the room.
“It is clear our decision to tell you in private was the correct one,” said Mr. Bennet at length, speaking over their protests and silencing them with his glare.
“I knew how it would be,” was Mrs. Bennet’s dismissive statement. “Your father and I knew your display would embarrass us. Behavior such as this was the reason we decided to send you to school.”
“I have no need of schooling,” snapped Lydia, leaning back in the sofa with her arms folded in front of her, a pout adorning her face. “And I shall not go.”
“You will go if we say you will go,” intoned Mr. Bennet, his countenance suggesting that Lydia should cease her protests.
“Why are you allowing Papa to do this to us?” pleaded Lydia to her mother, her voice plaintive. “Have you not always said that I am so much like you were when you were a girl?”
“If you suppose I insisted upon sending you to school,” said Mr. Bennet, his manner diverted, “you suppose incorrectly. It is your mother who came to me with the suggestion.”
The way Lydia regarded her mother suggested she had committed a betrayal of the most acute kind. Mrs. Bennet, to her credit, ignored her daughter’s recrimination.
“It is precisely because you are like me that you must learn to behave, Lydia,” said Mrs. Bennet, again surprising Elizabeth by her bluntness. “I have learned, Lydia, that my behavior has been a detriment to our family and do not wish you to be similarly held back in life.”
“Do not speak so, Mama,” said Jane, ever the optimist.
“Thank you for your support, Jane, but it is nothing less than the truth.” Mrs. Bennet patted her daughter’s hand. “If you all are honest with yourselves, there is a difference in behavior between Kitty and Lydia, and Jane and Elizabeth. My eldest daughters will be a credit to their husband’s in society, even Lizzy, who will marry into one of the most prominent families in England. But Kitty and Lydia cannot be seen in society at present. You must make changes if you are to have any hope of following your sisters’ examples.”
“For my part,” said Mary, “I thank you for realizing this, Mama. But what is to become of me? I do not think I misbehave, but I am not yet engaged and do not have any prospects at present, nor do I think I should go to school.”
“No, Mary,” said Mr. Bennet, “you are too old for school. You do not misbehave, but you also do not take part in society as much as you should. If you prefer to stay at home that is a possibility, but it may also be beneficial for you to stay with your Aunt and Uncle Gardiner, or perhaps with Lizzy.”
“It is the custom for younger sisters to accompany their elders on their wedding trips,” said Elizabeth with a smile for Mary. “As I suspect Jane will be too busy with Mr. Bingley to go with me, perhaps you could journey with us. I am certain William would not be unhappy to have you. Then you could either return to Longbourn or join us at Pemberley—I am certain Georgiana would be happy to have you with us.”
It seemed to Elizabeth that Mary had not considered such things, for she appeared flummoxed. After a moment she nodded shyly. Elizabeth resolved to speak with Mary later and determine how to proceed.
“The only question of this all,” said Mr. Bennet, speaking before Lydia could continue her protests, “was whether we could afford to send you to school. As it is, Lizzy marrying at the end of the month and Jane following shortly after will ease the pressure on our finances. With Kitty and Lydia at their schools, and Mary potentially joining Elizabeth for a time, the funds should not be an issue.”
“But I do not want to go to school!” wailed Lydia.
“I think you are not considering the benefits,” said Elizabeth, drawing the girl’s attention to her. “Instead of regarding school as a punishment, it would be best if considered it an opportunity. You will not only learn many new things, but you will make many new friends, friends that may last a lifetime.”
The girls paused to contemplate Elizabeth’s words, Kitty thoughtful, while Lydia was dubious. What they might have said, what protests they might have made Elizabeth could not say, for their father interjected and put an end to the discussion.
“That is enough conversation for now, girls. If you think to persuade us to your way of thinking, you should know that we are determined. I have already researched viable schools for you to attend. It is my intention you will go as soon as we can arrange, perhaps as soon as when we return to Hertfordshire.”
When Lydia opened her mouth to protest again, Mr. Bennet directed a quelling look at her. “It is pointless to argue, Lydia. Someday you may thank us for this. At present, however, we do not require your agreement. Only your resignation.”
And that was that. The girls left soon after, whispering furiously between them, Jane walking after them as if to monitor their behavior. Mr. Bennet shared a wry look with his wife and excused himself, Elizabeth thought to go find Mr. Darcy, who had the most recent experience in searching for a school. Before she could depart, Mary accosted her, eager to speak of what the future might bring.
“Let us speak of it then, Mary,” said Elizabeth, fixing her sister with an affectionate smile. “Whatever we discuss William must ratify, but I think we can persuade him.”
“He loves you so much I suspect he will agree to anything,” was Mary’s shy response. “I hope I can find a similar connection with a man.”
“There is nothing to compare with finding a man who suits you in every particular,” said Elizabeth. “I hope you can find it too.”