Mr. Darcy Came to Dinner (27 page)

The weather curtailed Elizabeth’s ramblings, but the reader should know she merely shortened her walks, not eliminated them. When she was not about her chores, she spent more time with Mary and Kitty, taking pains to know them better. She would have done the same with Lydia, but standing for hours in a dirty stable with great, smelly beasts was too much of a sacrifice even for Elizabeth’s generous heart.

So occupied was the Longbourn family with their guests that the news of Mr. Wickham’s departure for debtors’ prison in London received little notice except for Mrs. Bennet’s quip of, “Good riddance to bad rubbish! Such a hateful man! Spreading lies about dear Mr. Darcy!”

Fanny Bennet was a creature of extremes. When Mr. Darcy rudely dismissed the Bennet ladies at the Meryton assembly, she judged him the proudest, most disagreeable man in the kingdom. Now that he was a guest in her house and a potential suitor for one of her daughters, the tables were turned. No better man ever lived, she told anyone within earshot. So kind, so refined, so handsome — and rich — surely, he was worth ten thousand a year, if a penny! Mr. Darcy’s enemies became hers, and Mr. Wickham was condemned as a scoundrel of the worse sort.

What she would have said about Wickham had she known the true extent of his ill use of the Darcys could only be imagined. Thankfully, for Georgiana’s reputation and Darcy’s peace of mind, not a hint of Ramsgate ever reached Mrs. Bennet’s ears.

A few days later, a break in the weather encouraged Mr. Bingley to invite the Bennet ladies and Georgiana to Netherfield for the day. To be precise, the invitation was issued by Miss Bingley, but no one was deceived as to the real initiator of the offer. Georgiana was loath to leave her brother, but she was convinced by Darcy to go and enjoy herself. So it came to pass that Longbourn was devoid of female inhabitants when an express arrived for Mr. Darcy.

Darcy received the message in his room as Bartholomew shaved him. What Darcy read caused him to start and suffer his second shaving cut in Hertfordshire.

“Oh, sir!” cried his valet, “I must insist you be still, or I cannot guarantee your safety!”

“Never mind, Bartholomew, it was not your fault,” Darcy replied as he wiped his chin. “Finish up. I must have words with Mr. Bennet directly.”

Darcy’s conversation with Mr. Bennet was more immediate than he thought. No sooner had Bartholomew accomplished his task of cleaning the soap from his employer’s face than the master of Longbourn came into the room without so much as a knock on the door. Darcy was surprised at the breach of manners, but his indignation turned to astonishment. Mr. Bennet was red-faced as he shook a handful of papers in his upraised hand.

“What can I do for you, sir?” Darcy could see that Mr. Bennet was trying to restrain his temper.

“Mr. Darcy, I am a reasonable man. I consider myself a gentleman, and I know the expectations that come with that office, but this is too much, sir!”

Darcy had been trained from childhood to deal with all sorts of people, from tradesmen to peers. He managed the lives of hundreds between his house in London, his estate of Pemberley, and his manifold investments. An angry person was an unreasonable person, he knew. To accomplish anything, a tense situation must be placated. He calmly sat back in his chair, laced his fingers over his midsection, and spoke in a calm, steady voice. “I do not have the pleasure of understanding you. What is it that upsets you?”

“These! These bills I have just received!”

Darcy’s eyes narrowed. “I beg your pardon?”

“You have taken over my household! You treat my servants as your own, you have changed the food served at my table, and you have filled my house with your relations! And I have not said a word, much as I wished.
I
, at least, know my place as a host. You are injured, and I will do right by you even though you hurt yourself by your own thoughtlessness! But now you have gone too far — too far, sir!” He shook the papers at Darcy. “It is one thing to stable your carriage horses while you are in residence, but to expect me to feed and care for your entertainments? You take advantage of me!”

“Entertainments?” said Darcy dangerously. “Do you speak of my sister’s horse?”

“Yes, and that other nag, as well!”

“You mean Miranda, the one I provided for
your
daughter’s amusement.”

Had Mr. Bennet been more in control of his emotions, he would have taken heed of Darcy’s calm, silky tone for the warning it was, but he was too enraged to comprehend that the windy seeds he was sowing were about to reap the whirlwind.

“I do not appreciate your attempts to buy my family’s approbation!”

Bartholomew gasped at the insult, but Darcy said nothing. He stared hard at the other man until Mr. Bennet took note of his countenance. Some of the redness in the older man’s face faded, and that was when Darcy spoke.

But it was in a voice no one at Longbourn had heard before. It was not the bored tones of a man of quality, which Darcy used when he first entered Hertfordshire, or the more natural and relaxed speech he habitually reserved for family and friends. No, this was the voice of the master of Pemberley, used by a man who could break a yeoman with a word, a banker with a glance, or a barrister with a glare.

His eyes never leaving Mr. Bennet’s, he said between his teeth, “Bartholomew, kindly retrieve the paper from Mr. Bennet’s steward and hand it to this gentleman.”

With a smirk, the valet reached into a satchel and pulled out a single sheet. With a flourish — for Bartholomew was enjoying himself — he presented it to Mr. Bennet, who took it, curiosity and apprehension growing on his face. He waited, but as Darcy said nothing more, only glared, the older man read what he was given.

“What is this?”

“Surely it is self-explanatory,” Darcy said drily.

“This is a list of figures. Why do you have it?” Bennet looked up, his anger returning. “Why is my steward giving you details of Longbourn’s business?”

“Not all of your business, only that of your stable,” said Darcy coldly. “Kindly read aloud the figure at the bottom.”

Bennet glanced down. “Seven pounds, six shillings, eight pence.”

Darcy continued to glare at Mr. Bennet. “That is the cost of stabling my horses since I came here — all of them,
including
the two additions and the feeding of Colonel Fitzwilliam’s horse during his visits, through the day before yesterday.”

“You are keeping account of it?”

Darcy did not answer the older man. “Bartholomew, immediately draw up a bank note for my signature. Seven pounds, six and eight, payable to Mr. Thomas Bennet, Esq. of Longbourn.”

Mr. Bennet paled. “Mr. Darcy, that is not — ”

Darcy shot back, releasing all of his pent-up outrage. “You have questioned my integrity. You have accused me of taking advantage of you. You have leveled great insults against me. How dare you, sir? I am not accustomed to such treatment. I have never cheated anyone — gentleman, merchant, or servant — in my life!” Bartholomew handed Darcy the paper, on which he quickly scrawled his signature. “It was my intention to settle accounts with you upon my departure, but apparently you cannot depend upon my reputation.” He gave the bank note back to the valet. “As the physician has ordered that I stay here, leaving is not an option. Therefore, we shall settle all costs thus incurred to date and begin a process of regular payments. Give him the bank note, Bartholomew. Will that satisfy you, sir?”

Mr. Bennet stood white-face and mortified. “I will not take your money. I am not an innkeeper.”

“Then you should not act like one. Bartholomew, draft a note for the household expenses.”

Mr. Bennet gasped. “You have been receiving figures from Hill, too?”

Darcy was relentless. “Bartholomew, do you have that note?”

The paper appeared before Darcy, who signed it and instructed it be given to Mr. Bennet. Within moments, a chastened Thomas Bennet stood before Fitzwilliam Darcy with two bank notes in one hand and a stack of bills in the other. Had Darcy not been so angry, he might have found the sight somewhat amusing.

“You shame me, sir,” Bennet managed.

“You shame yourself, Mr. Bennet.”

The older man’s lip trembled as he glanced at the notes. “May I sit?”

His anger slackened somewhat, Darcy nodded. Mr. Bennet half-fell into a chair, his face red again, but this time with embarrassment. “I owe you an apology. I have not been as gracious a host as I should. Indeed, I have not been any proper host to you at all. I have not taken the time to further our acquaintance. I suppose I thought you to be like many other young men from Town, inconsiderate and only interested in their own amusements.” He glanced at the notes again. “It seems I was wrong — very wrong, indeed.”

“Did my conversation with you about Wickham prove nothing?”

Bennet shrugged. “Only that Wickham was your enemy. I should have given it greater consideration.”

Darcy was perplexed. “What have I done to deserve such disapprobation?”

Bennet looked up, disbelief clear on his face. “Mr. Darcy, really! Have you no recollection of your behavior prior to your accident?”

“How dare you question Mr. Darcy!” cried loyal Bartholomew, but Darcy silenced him with a gesture.

“Pray continue, Mr. Bennet.”

For the next few minutes, the gentleman cataloged all of Darcy’s sins against the people of Hertfordshire — his pride, his reserve, and his selfish disdain of the feelings of others. Darcy’s face was placid, but internally, his emotions were roiling. He had heard it all before from the lips of his beloved Elizabeth. While he did not doubt her dislike of his previous behavior, he was shocked that all of Meryton seemed to share her opinion. He began to wonder whether they still felt that way. He also began to think that, while he had improved Elizabeth’s opinion — or at least he thought he had — it might be for naught if all her friends thought him an arse.

By the end of his dissertation, Mr. Bennet had recovered some of his old
sang-froid
. “It seems, sir, you show two faces to the world. That you choose to do so must inure you to misunderstandings of your character, I should think.”

Darcy was displeased to hear that, but he could not dispute it. Was being more open the price to win Elizabeth? He sighed. “Well, I trust you have a better understanding of my character now, sir.”

“These notes — ”

“Belong to you.” Darcy added with a small smile, “Do with them what you will. If you will allow a change of subject, I have a matter of some importance to discuss with you.”

“Indeed?” Bennet frowned.

Darcy reached over for the express he had received. “This involves one of your servants, Sally.”

“Sally? What about Sally?”

“Read this and you will see. By the way, we shall need to talk to her mother directly.”

Bennet took the message. “It sounds as though you are planning to marry the girl,” he quipped.

“Hardly.”

* * *

It took another two hours for Sally’s mother to be transported to Longbourn and to hold a meeting with her, Sally, Darcy, and Mr. Bennet in that gentleman’s book room. It is not the purpose of this work to detail in full the manner by which both maid and mother chose to express their surprise, delight, and acceptance of the offer made to them, save that Sally’s mother, in a fit of gratitude, tears streaming down her face, knelt beside Darcy’s chair, grasped his hand and kissed it.

“Thank you, thank you, m’lord!” the old woman cried. “You are the saving of us all! God bless you!”

Darcy tried unsuccessfully to retrieve his captured digits. “You are . . . very welcome. Madam, if you please!” Gentle tugging did not serve, and the woman kissed his hand again.

Finally, Sally, her eyes wet and shining with esteem and awe, was able to disengage her mother from further assault on Darcy’s person. “You’re as good a man as ever lived, sir,” said she, “an’ you’ll be in our prayers every Sunday, won’t he, Mum?”

The old woman was beyond words, so it was left to Sally to assure Darcy and Mr. Bennet that they would be ready to leave for their new home in two days. She thanked the gentlemen again, gave the injured man one last longing look, and guided her nearly hysterical mother out of the book room.

Mr. Bennet was vastly amused by the whole exercise. “I do believe you have won admirers for life, Mr. Darcy! I would be surprised if Sally named her first boy anything other than — what is your Christian name again?”

Darcy scowled at Mr. Bennet. “It was my intention to present this offer to Sally and her mother as a joint effort. I thought we had agreed to that. What possessed you to lay the whole thing at my door?”

Bennet shrugged. “It was merely the truth, my dear sir —
your
cousin,
your
letter-writing, and
your
men helping them pack. I simply provided the deserving poor for your benevolence.”

Darcy rolled his eyes. At least he knew where Elizabeth learned impertinent behavior! As it was one of the lady’s most endearing characteristics, he should have been more tolerant of jibes from her father, but Darcy found the man annoying. He supposed that teasing from a cranky old man was not as welcome as it was from a beautiful young woman possessing a light and pleasing form, sparkling eyes, and lush lips.