Twixt Two Equal Armies (2 page)

Sighing, she stopped her hands as her mind turned to that unexpected visit by Lady Catherine de Bourgh just a few days earlier. She had played that encounter over and over in her mind a hundred times already and she still did not understand it. What had possessed her? Why had she fought like a tigress to keep from giving one inch to a woman she had no interest in? Why had she defied all laws of common courtesy due an older and more distinguished woman from a young, unmarried, provincial slip of a girl?

Pride. That was part of it, of course. She possessed pride in abundance, but not even that could completely explain why she should feel the need to stand so stubbornly against Lady Catherine’s demands. She sighed. It was because of him. With such conflicting memories now, how could she be certain of anything? And without certainty, how could she make promises? He was kind — he was mortified, he sought her out — she repelled him. He had done so much for her family — all was true and yet nothing could fully explain how she had answered his aunt’s accusations. What was it about him? Was her determination a credit to herself, or more of what she had so readily accused him of — vanity and pride?

Soon, however, the thoughts that had been forced to flow back and forth in her mind in screaming silence for so long would finally be able to be articulated freely. She could tell her aunt and she could tell Holly. Everything and anything. And they in turn would be more understanding than Jane could be; they shared her pride as well as her doubts and disappointments with human nature. Asking just the right questions, following her own faltering thoughts, they would be more sympathetic than her father would be; they were women with lives lived behind them. Oh, how she had practiced at that exchange with them! It was all she could do to keep from saying it aloud here and now.

Soon the Borders, then the Southern Uplands, then Clanough village and then Rosefarm Cottage. And then her aunt and cousin and the society of women who would challenge her, but at the same time let her rest in who she really was as a person.

M
R
D
ARCY SAT AT HIS
writing desk in the library looking out at the London street beneath his second floor window. The noise outside barely penetrated his consciousness as he sat straight in his chair with his eyes fixed beyond the immediate view. He was perfectly still and to the chambermaid, who in her error thought the room empty and came to remove the ashes from the grate, he seemed asleep. She quietly tip-toed out again and her Master never blinked an eye. He simply had not noticed her. His body might be motionless, but his head was swirling with thoughts and plans.

On the desk in front of him lay a letter from his aunt. He gave it a glance and set his lips in an even firmer line. The letter had reached him at Netherfield but he had not dealt with it there. He had simply done what he had set out to do and then left Bingley to it.

His jaw relaxed slightly and a crooked smile crept over his features. Yes, he was certain Bingley would have some very happy news to share upon his return to Hertfordshire. His friend had been quite touching in his reaction to his confession and opinion. At first incredulous at Darcy’s motives and actions on his behalf, he was quick to understand, forgive and dismiss.

Darcy moved his gaze closer to rest on his right hand, still lying on the letter. Bingley was a good man and perhaps he was right. If there is a chance at happiness, one should perhaps just grab it and not question. Impulses do not always have to be rationalised. Feelings are not always by default inferior to reason. In fact, reason often encourages the very feelings it seems to be at odds with. So here he sat, contemplating whether he should allow his feelings and impulses to guide him to where his reason was telling him there were possibilities for success.

His aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, had come to see him, not only to emphasise the indignity of the rumours she had reported in the letter before him, but aghast at the response from the young lady who, along with himself, was the subject of those rumours. But she brought stronger ammunition as well, or so she had thought. When she stopped over at Longbourn to give Miss Elizabeth Bennet a piece of her mind, a piece which was promptly returned to her ladyship by the said Miss Bennet, she discovered that on that very morning, Miss Bennet was preparing to leave for an extended visit to relations who, once they were known to Lady Catherine, shocked her greatly. As she later spelled out to her nephew just exactly
which
relations Miss Bennet was visiting, Mr Darcy was certain he did not look quite as repulsed as she expected. Her response lit a hope and a suspicion in him quite contrary to the one Lady Catherine had intended or his own reason for so long told him he had no right to entertain.

Miss Bennet was leaving to visit her relations, scandalous relations according to Lady Catherine, but what interested him more was that these relations lived in Selkirk, Scotland. Providence had thrown him a circumstance and he impulsively decided, right then and there, to take advantage of it. He now smiled to himself. After having regretted his decision to interfere on Bingley’s behalf because of reason, he was now planning how to do the exact thing again to another friend because of instinct. For perhaps the first time in his life, he would take a chance that was not calculated, but that would push his interests towards what his heart told him was right and might just work out to his undefined advantage.

As for that friend, despite his earlier mistakes with Bingley Darcy believed his interference could not help but be beneficial. When Lord Baugham was bored, he was apt to play such games as Darcy had no stomach for himself, therefore he always strove to distance himself from the intrigues and amusements his lordship tended to surround himself with in while in Town. That he happened to witness the rapidly escalating situation between his friend and the two present ladies of his particular attention a week ago at Wellstone Manor had surely been providential. A quick word in a willing ear and his lordship would surely see the wisdom of withdrawing rather than playing the game to its natural, stormy conclusion. This time he was right to interfere. For both their sakes.

The opportunity for such an intervention came sooner than he anticipated, but it was not entirely unexpected. That very evening he found his friend in perfect time for dinner, in his hall, ridding himself of his outer clothing and throwing them at his butler.

“I happened to pass by and thought I’d see if I should find you at home!” Lord Baugham grinned up at him. It was an infectious smile and quite successful in hiding the impertinence of his action. But then, it was the result of a lifelong study and had served his friend very well in the past, and not only when scrounging dinners he could very well afford to give.

Darcy assumed a leisurely pose at the top of the stairs and looked down at him, but not without a smile himself.

“Dressed for dinner?”

“Well, I thought I’d make certain you wouldn’t refuse me entry because of etiquette. Are we dining alone?”

Darcy raised an eyebrow. “You don’t surprise me, you know. Not as much as you think. I was told there would be veal tonight and so I have been expecting you.”

There was a genuine laugh from his friend. “All is right in the world then, eh? One wouldn’t want to disappoint by suddenly turning unpredictable. Or is that predictable?”

Lord Baugham made his way up toward his friend after a quick wink to the butler and the assisting footman. With his long legs and quick pace it was soon done.

“And when am I to find out who, of my staff is the guilty informant on my menus?”

Baugham shrugged and walked before his host into the drawing room.

“Perhaps the delectable fumes of Monsieur Chrétin simply drift across to Berkeley Square and I pick them up. Or perhaps the downstairs maid’s sister’s son apprentices with the butcher and his cousin runs as a link boy for me occasionally.”

Mr Darcy gave him a lopsided smile and reached for the claret.

I
N THE TYPICAL MANNER OF
men, Lord Baugham and Mr Darcy would have described themselves as “the best of friends.” Had they not gone through university together, studying the same subjects, defending the reputation of the same College, competing for the same prizes and earning honours enough between them both on and off the sporting field to cause considerable notice among the tutors and masters?

Now, as adults, they attended many the same social gatherings, held many acquaintances in common, shared interest in the same pursuits and voluntarily spent a respectable amount of time in each other’s company. They were both tall and good-looking, both were men of status and fortune, and both commanded attention when entering a room. On the surface they were very much alike — how could they
not
be the best of friends?

Such an easy relationship between two such different tempers, however, might still be an enigma to those not privy to their history. Certainly there had been a fair amount of jostling and vying between them, but for two competitive minds the rivalry had so far been confined purely to sports and academia and never tried in other, more immeasurable areas of life, and so far both had felt the friendship of the other to be a great privilege, adding understanding and equality in the society between them. Not an easy thing to achieve considering the requirements of both.

Darcy now studied his friend in his post-dinner repose. They both sat comfortably in front of a generous fire with generous drinks beside them. Baugham relaxed with his long legs stretched out before him and his normally so brilliant blue eyes half-hidden behind lazy eyelids. He wore a contented smile, however, which was no more than right for dinner had been excellent. It always was, of course, but this time Darcy felt the groundwork had been laid well enough; it was time to set to work.

“I’ve had an offer from a canal building company in Stockport. They want to build a canal through the northern part of my Glossop land.”

There was a nod from his friend. “Makes sense. How much are they offering?”

“5000 pounds.”

His guest gave a low whistle. “A pretty sum of money.”

“Mm. It’ll cut the land in half. It’s grazing land, too.”

“Well, if they offered me 5000, I wouldn’t care if it cut Cumbermere right in half and buried the main drawing room under water!”

Darcy looked down into his glass. “Perhaps. But what if it were Clyne?”

Lord Baugham’s lazy eyes opened and a hint of mischief washed over them. “I’d tell them to take their offer to the devil!”

“And you’d be right, too. Not that I don’t think we will be forced to share the burden for what the industrialists are doing to the country in the name of progress and prosperity soon enough somehow.”

“Well, they’ve already made farmhands and maids a scarce enough natural resource up north. All gone to Chester to work at the mills. Not to mention all this talk about ending the Corn Laws . . . Damn it, Darcy, I thought you promised me a nice quiet evening without vexations and politics! You know how I hate being reminded of the fact that I am an indebted landowner after a good dinner. It really ruins a fine meal like nothing else.”

“I promised you no such thing,” Darcy noted dryly. “You should just be glad I restrict myself to agricultural politics, since you’ve had plenty of other sources of vexation lately — of a considerably more personal nature.”

Lord Baugham waved his hand dismissively.

“In fact,” Darcy went on, “you’ve really outdone yourself in blatant disregard of the facts and circumstances in search of some silly way to relieve boredom this time.”

“Nonsense!”

“Wellstone did not look like nonsense to me. Sisters, Baugham? What in the world can you have been thinking? No, never mind — I don’t want to know. But, may I remind you; you deemed the situation serious enough to warrant an early leave-taking and that not without some embarrassment to your hosts as well as yourself.”

Baugham’s eyes were now directed at his host and had lost all of their peace. “Are you preparing one of your lectures? If so, spare me!”

“No. You’re beyond lecturing in this, my friend.”

There was a deep grunt from his lordship.

“I think you know it, too.”

There was no protest, so Darcy bided his time, finished his drink and refilled both of their glasses before he continued.

“And I suspect you would not be sorry to come across a good way to extract yourself and end the whole fiasco sooner rather than later.”

“Nonsense!” was the answer again, but Darcy knew his friend was speaking more of his own performance in the society drama he was embroiled in, than his friend’s suggestion.

“Weren’t you going to Clyne anyway?” he said smoothly. “Couldn’t you just leave a little earlier than originally planned?”

As always, the mere mention of his lordship’s Scotland estate made Baugham smile. “Not that much to shoot yet.”

“Well, with the sorry skills of marksmanship you’ve displayed here in Town lately, I think that might just be as well.”

He received a sharp look and acknowledged his misplaced quip. “But you cannot deny it would solve a thing or two.”

“Two things, certainly,” Baugham said with a raised eyebrow.

Darcy shook his head. “I think you should go,” he said quietly. His friend gave him a long look and then sighingly sunk down even deeper into his chair.