Page 48 of A Mismatched Compromise

“I shall gladly join you in a glass to that,” Darcy agreed with considerable feeling. “May you be proved correct.”

“We are well rid of him,” Fitzwilliam said. “I do not imagine we shall be troubled by him again.”

Darcy opened his mouth to agree, then stopped as a most unpleasant thought occurred to him. He set his glass down slowly, then turned to regard Fitzwilliam.

“What is it?” Fitzwilliam asked.

“Wickham is married to a Bennet now,” Darcy said. “He is no longer without family. He has a wife whose family has their own estate, however modest, and a matriarch who has been waiting years for a wedding and a son-in-law.”

Fitzwilliam grimaced. “Surely he would not dare go to Longbourn.”

“Would he not?” Darcy stood, pacing restlessly in his sudden apprehension. “He has never in his life declined an opportunity to install himself somewhere where he is unwanted, provided there is some comfort or advantage to himself in doing so. He has a wife whose family is obliged by every rule of decency and by their need to ensure there be as little scandal as possible to receive him and to support him in whatever way they can.”

Fitzwilliam shook his head. “Surely even Wickham —”

“Wickham,” Darcy said grimly, reaching for the bell to summon a servant, “has never once in our entire acquaintance surprised me by behaving better than I expected him to. I see no reason to believe that he would begin doing so now.”

Chapter 24

Exhaustion came in many forms, Elizabeth reflected, but the exhaustion that came from being surrounded by people taking great delight in something that you did not find at all delightful was particularly wearing.

Longbourn had been in an uproar for a week. First there had been the news of Elizabeth’s broken engagement with Mr Bingley. Her mother had cried, and her father had looked longingly at his study door while he asked her if she was sure that was what she wanted. When she had confirmed that it was, he told her he thought it a wise decision. She had left the room after the third time Mr Bennet began attempting to explain his reasons to his wailing wife.

Next had been the news of Jane’s engagement to Mr Bingley, delivered by Mr Bingley himself with such unguarded, complete joy that even Elizabeth, tangled as she was in her own worries, had felt her spirits lift at the sight of it. Her mother had cried again, and Mr Bennet had taken Mr Bingley into his study for a talk. Scarcely two days later, Mrs Gardiner’s letter had arrived: Lydia was married to Mr Wickham, who had somehow procured a commission, and the whole family could consider the matter closed.

Mrs Bennet had cried for a third time. Then the space of a single afternoon had seen her rapidly progress from hysterical relief to triumphantly practicing saying, “My daughter, Mrs Wickham,” in a display so distasteful that Elizabeth could scarcely restrain herself from saying so.

For her part, Mary had proclaimed that the whole event had been “a most instructive example of Providence rewarding a family’s patience,” but had been rather flustered when her father asked her to provide him with some examples of the family being patient, as he had noticed none.

No one wished to inquire too closely into how it had all happened, but Elizabeth could not let the matter rest. A soldier with crushing debts and no private fortune did not simply marry a girl with no fortune of her own. A commission in the regulars did not appear from nowhere. And from Mr Darcy, whom she had last seen wheeling his mount around and galloping — all right, trotting — out of the courtyard at Pemberley, en route to follow Lydia and Wickham, there had been nothing. No word, no letter, not even any mention of him in Mrs Gardiner’s letter. There was no sign he had been involved in the affair at all…but how had the bills been paid? From whence had the commission been procured? How had Wickham come to agree to a marriage?

She was considering all these unanswered questions yet again when the drawing room door opened on a caller she had not expected.

“Charlotte!” Elizabeth cried out in pleasure. She stood up to greet her friend, whom she had thought to be in Kent. “And Mr Collins,” she added, with considerably less enthusiasm as he entered behind his wife. “What an unexpected pleasure.”

“I am sorry I did not come before,” Charlotte said, hurrying forward to take her hand. “We wanted to come right away, but we were…delayed,” she said, glancing aside at her husband. “We heard Lydia had gone, then nothing for so long. Are you all right, Lizzy?” she asked. “I heard from my mother that Lydia has been married. Is there news?”

“A great deal of it,” Elizabeth said, “and I shall tell you everything, but come sit.”

Mr Collins had already installed himself in the room’s best chair. He seemed to be attempting to present himself as a man merely indulging his wife, but the pretence might have been more successful had Elizabeth not seen the avid curiosity on his face.

“I confess I was most gravely alarmed when I heard of the situation,” Mr Collins announced pompously, “for I could not help but reflect how very closely a scandal might touch my own household by connection. Indeed, when I wrote to Lady Catherine during my previous tenure in this house, regarding the situation that occurred at Netherfield Park several months ago, she expressed a concern regarding the moral conduct of this family, as you are my relations and —”

“You wrote to Lady Catherine about my family while a guest in my home?” Mr Bennet said from the threshold, in a tone of voice that Elizabeth could not recall ever having heard from him before in her life. He had come in without anyone noticing, and stood in the doorway, his head tilted as he regarded his cousin impassively.

Mr Collins’ mouth fell open. “I…that is, I felt it my duty, sir, given Lady Catherine’s position and her natural interest in moral —”

“Mr Collins.” Though Mr Bennet’s voice was quiet, it had steel in it. “You will oblige me by not discussing my family’s private affairs with anyone, of any rank, ever again. If you cannot manage that small courtesy, we will have to meet you elsewhere, at some location other than Longbourn, for these charming visits.”

The silence that followed was profound. Mrs Bennet’s mouth was open, though no sound protruded from it. Kitty looked as though Christmas had come early. Jane seemed unsure how she should feel, and even Mary looked too startled to offer a moral observation on the proceedings. Elizabeth felt a warm flush of pride as she watched her father, and he winked at her.

Mr Collins turned an alarming shade of red, opened his mouth twice without saying anything, and then announced, with as much dignity as he could muster under the circumstances, that he required air and would be out in the gardens. He did not invite anyone to accompany him, and as she watched him go, Elizabeth could manage no feeling but satisfaction.

“Well,” said Charlotte into the silence, with the bland practicality that stood her so well in moments that required diplomatic deafness or loss of memory, “shall we also take a walk? It is a fine afternoon.”

They went out to find that the garden, mercifully, did not contain Mr Collins, who had apparently taken himself down the lane in pursuit of the air that had been lacking in Longbourn’s drawing room. Elizabeth walked between Charlotte and Jane, rather more pleased than she should have been that the others had opted to remain inside.

“Now,” said Charlotte, once they were safely out of earshot of the house, “you must tell me everything, and you must tell it properly. You know I will keep your confidence, but when I arrived at Lucas Lodge this morning, my mother told me that Lydia is married, and that Jane is engaged to Mr Bingley?” she said, turning the statements into questions as she turned to look inquiringly at Jane. “And that, therefore, you are no longer engaged to him, Lizzy? I find myself extremely curious how such a rearrangement came about.”