Page 8 of Mr. Darcy and the Mysterious "Miss B"
Caroline settled herself on the sofa with obvious frustration. “Charles, you must listen to reason. I overheard several conversations tonight that give me pause about the Bennet family’s circumstances.”
“What sort of conversations?” Darcy asked, though he suspected he knew the answer.
“The vicar’s wife, Mrs Long, was speaking quite freely about their situation,” Caroline replied, her voice dropping to aconspiratorial whisper. “Apparently, the estate is in e trouble. The new owner—some elderly relative—could turn them out at any moment. The family hasn’t a sixpence to rub together, from what I understand.”
Bingley’s face lost its seriousness. “Indeed?”
“Financially ruined,” Caroline continued with obvious relish. “Mr Bennet left considerable debts, and there is talk of creditors circling like vultures. Five unmarried daughters and no male protection makes for a very precarious situation indeed.”
Darcy watched his friend’s face, noting the way Bingley’s romantic enthusiasm began to war with practical concern. This was exactly what he had feared—a family of fortune hunters setting their sights on his guileless friend.
“That doesn’t change who Miss Bennet is,” Bingley said, though his voice carried less conviction than before. “She can’t be held responsible for her father’s financial management.”
“Of course not,” Caroline agreed smoothly. “But it does explain why she might be particularly receptive to the attentions of a wealthy gentleman. A family in such straits would naturally encourage any daughter to secure an advantageous match.”
Darcy remained silent, but his mind raced through the implications. If the Bennet family was indeed facing financial ruin, it cast their behaviour at the assembly in an entirely different light. Miss Bennet’s gentle encouragement of Bingley’s attention, Elizabeth’s quick response to his slight—both could be calculated moves in a campaign to ensnare wealthy husbands.
“Confound it! I refuse to believe Miss Bennet capable of such calculation,” Bingley declared, though his protest lacked fire. “She has the most amiable disposition.”
“I am sure she is amiable,” Caroline replied. “But even the most amiable young lady might feel obligated to consider her family’s welfare when choosing a husband. It is only natural.”
Darcy studied the patterns in his brandy, considering Caroline’s words. His own experience with those seeking advancements had made him wary of families in reduced circumstances. Too often, financial desperation bred deception, and innocent affection became indistinguishable from mercenary interest.
“Perhaps,” he said, “it would be wise to proceed. Allow more time to assess the true nature of any attachment before making commitments. It is early days anyhow.”
Bingley looked between his friend and sister with growing distress. “You both think I am being played for a fool.”
“We think you’re being your usual generous self,” Caroline said. “And that sometimes generous hearts are taken advantage of by those less scrupulous.”
The wind whooshed in the empty fireplace as Darcy watched his friend struggle with the conflict between his natural romantic inclinations and the seeds of doubt they had planted.
“I shall still want you to invite Miss Bennet for tea tomorrow,” Bingley said at last. “But perhaps… perhaps I shall be more circumspect in my attentions.”
Caroline smiled with obvious satisfaction. “That sounds very wise, Charles.”
Darcy nodded his agreement, though something about the conversation left him unsettled. Elizabeth Bennet’s biting commentary and independence hardly suggested a calculatingsocial climber, but then again, the cleverest hunters were often the most difficult to detect.
The evening wound down with desultory conversation about local society and plans for the coming days. When they finally retired, Darcy carried his concerns to his bedchamber, where sleep proved elusive despite his fatigue.
***
The next morning dawned crisp and clear, a welcome relief from the previous evening’s stuffy assembly rooms. Darcy had letters to send to Georgiana and his steward that he did not want to leave for the London post. Who knew when that might be collected in a town as small and insignificant as this one?
Besides, he was rather grateful for the chance to get out of the house and away from Miss Bingley’s advances. Caroline had made full use of their confined quarters and sought his company more often than he was comfortable with.
As he rode into Meryton, his thoughts kept drifting to Elizabeth Bennet and his inexcusable rudeness at the assembly. It might not have troubled him so much if not for the fact she had just come out of mourning. The memory of her overhearing his careless words made him wince. An apology would require acknowledging that he had spoken of her in such terms, which would only compound the offence.
As he guided his horse through the town square, a figure near the church caught his attention. She was hidden partially away behind a tree, concealed from view. Truly, if he had been more focused on his task, he might not have noticed her either.
The young woman sat on a bench just outside the fence that ran round the church, dabbing at her eyes. Something abouther posture struck him as familiar, though he could not place where he might have seen her before.
He paused, torn between propriety and compassion. Approaching a young lady without introduction was improper, but the girl’s distress was evident even at a distance. As he studied her, he realised this was one of the younger Bennet sisters—Lydia, who had spoken little during the introductions at the assembly.
She appeared even younger in daylight. Probably no more than fifteen or sixteen. More a child than a young woman. If Georgiana was alone somewhere, weeping in the street, wouldn’t he want someone to step in and offer aid?
Yes, he ought to. He dismounted and tied his horse to a hitching post, then glanced around. Lydia was alone. If she had come with an attendant, they were nowhere in sight.
Most irregular.
