Page 33 of Mr. Darcy and the Mysterious "Miss B"
“A handful, our Lydia,” Mr Phillips agreed with fond exasperation. “Always into some scrape or another, leading poor Kitty astray with her schemes. Her poor mother despaired of ever making her behave with proper decorum.”
“And the officers. She was quite mad about them,” Mrs Phillips said but in a tone that suggested she was more amused by this than anything else.
Darcy absorbed this with growing confusion. The young woman they described bore little resemblance to the subdued girl he had come to know.
“She was always her father’s favourite alongside Elizabeth, you see,” Mrs Phillips continued. “He indulged her perhaps more than was wise, but she brought him such joy with her high spirits. His loss quite devastated her.”
“We are all quite grateful for your kindness to her,” Mr Phillips said. “That business with the handkerchief and your conversation—Mrs Phillips told me all about it. Most charitable of you to take such trouble.”
Darcy inclined his head, though inwardly he felt increasingly uncomfortable. If Lydia was typically as spirited as they suggested, what did that mean for Georgiana’s growing friendship with her? And officers? A young girl like her and already keen on officers? That was not the sort of company he wanted for Georgiana whom he hoped to find a respectable, well positioned gentleman for.
“Well, she is much less ruffled now as you said and that will bode well for her future. May she and her sisters all findsuitable matches to take the worry away from my sister,” Mrs Phillips continued with the air of someone settling in for proper gossip, “Jane has made a good start in any case. we are all quite excited about Jane’s upcoming betrothal.”
Darcy’s blood turned to ice. “Betrothal?”
“Oh yes, to her cousin Mr James Morton. The heir’s nephew, you see. Such a relief for poor Mrs Bennet, having one daughter so well settled. And with the estate being entailed as it is, keeping everything in the family seems most sensible.”
“I was not aware an attachment was imminent.”
“Well, it has been rather suddenly decided upon,” Mr Phillips replied. “But it is no surprise and very fortunate indeed. We should not tell it just yet, but my sister-in-law has not been able to keep her excitement to herself and who can begrudge her a little happiness after her loss?”
He trailed off, but his meaning was clear. Financial necessity had prompted the match rather than inclination.
“When is the wedding to take place?”
“Nothing has been announced yet,” Mrs Phillips admitted. “But James will return from London soon and we expect he will press for a swift resolution. These matters cannot be left hanging indefinitely.”
Darcy nodded, his mind reeling. Jane Bennet—gentle Jane, whom Bingley spoke of with such devotion—was to marry another man. And yet, she had given Bingley all the hope in the world for the future. Bingley was besotted with her, Darcy knew this well. How could she? Was she hoping he would make a better offer than this James Morton?
“Well, we must not keep you,” Mr Phillips said. “Please give our regards to your sister. Such a delightful young woman.”
Darcy managed appropriate farewells and continued down the street, but his thoughts were in complete disorder. Everything he had observed of Jane’s behaviour towards Bingley took on new and troubling significance.
Had she been encouraging Bingley’s attention whilst promised to another? And what of Elizabeth? Had she known of her sister’s supposed engagement when she spoke so freely with him?
By the time he returned to Netherfield, his contentment had transformed into something much darker. The foundations of his growing regard for the Bennet family seemed to shift beneath him. For he could not deny that it now appeared obvious—the Bennets were not at all whom he thought them to be at the beginning.
They were far worse.
Lydia—a girl on her way to losing her reputation thanks to some officers or other.
Jane—a fortune hunter after all. No matter if it was through necessity or design.
And Elizabeth? Elizabeth Bennet who had vexed him from the start had turned out to be an accomplice to it all.
Knots formed in his stomach at the mere idea as he climbed the stairs, aware he would soon have to sit through a dinner with Miss Bennet beside him once more, smiling as though she had not received him in the worst possible way.
Chapter 12
Darcy
The evening shadows lengthened across Netherfield’s drawing room as the last of the dinner dishes were cleared away. Darcy examined Jane Bennet’s profile as she conversed with Georgiana, noting the gentle curve of her smile and the way her eyes lit up when Bingley entered her line of sight. It was the first time she had joined them for dinner, limping and wincing but otherwise much improved. She was to depart tomorrow—unless another reason came about to cause her to stay.
Was it all performance? The thought gnawed at him throughout the meal, every gracious word and modest laugh taking on new significance. She had played her part to perfection—the injured innocent, grateful for their hospitality whilst secretly calculating which suitor offered the better prospect.
He managed to make it through dinner and followed Bingley and Hurst into the parlour while the women congregated in the drawing room. However, after Mr Hurst had dropped into an armchair with a paper, he turned to his friend.
“Charles,” Darcy said, “might I have a word? In private?”
