9 • Nuisance

To say Mrs. Bennet shared in her neighbors’ happiness would have been a laughable falsehood. She most certainly interpreted the matrimonial announcement as not only an insult, but an injury due to the method of its unveiling.

Mr. Collins at long last bid his farewells, but not without foretelling his return. Mrs. Bennet had little time to astound at his forthrightness as, similar to the Philips coming the with news of Netherfield’s occupancy, Sir William and Lady Lucas came by the house for luncheon and unguardedly shared their news. Lydia, always unfiltered and often uncivil, boisterously exclaimed, “Good lord, Sir William, how can you tell such a story? Do you not know that Mr. Collins wants to marry Kitty?”

It was a credit to Sir William’s breeding and his knowing Lydia since her birth that he weathered such a reaction. Mrs. Bennet, however, was statuesque despite her growing colour. Also similar to the Philips’ meeting, Jane and James left early, leaving the family to sort out the news by themselves.

Despite James’ initial reservations of the match, he found himself looking forward to the winter wedding, though he dared not voice such a thing in his house. Between his mother’s glares and Lydia’s incessant reminders, the family could not rest in piece before the imminent return of Collins.

There were still some days until such a time, although James awoke early to feel their home in the grips of winter. Frost glittered in the grass and the overgrown foliage of their garden as he took a steaming pot of tea and a book on seasonal flowers outside. He sniffled in the golden morning, sitting upon a stone wall which had been built and neglected long before his time. His nose was red but the sun was warm through his coat, as the wind had not yet awoken.

Jane joined him, then, the sound of paper crinkling drawing his thoughts. Only a glance told him whom the letter was from. “Another one?”

Jane’s sigh fogged before her face. “Do you want to read it?”

James answered as he read his own pages, “If she’s only going on about Miss Darcy, I haven’t any interest.”

Jane drank from his cup, her pale fingers pushing the letter open. “She says they’ve moved from London to Darcy’s home for some weeks. She writes with great pleasure of Charles being an inmate of Darcy’s house, with some of her own plans regarding the furniture…”

“It sounds as if she is trying to mark her territory by tyrannizing Darcy’s decorating,” James returned bluntly. “It is unsurprising at this point. She speaks so highly of the place and then tries to make her own changes to it. To be the dog on the rug in that house to watch her failures would be greatly amusing.”

He took the letter from her, if nothing else than to take her eyes off it, before he noticed, “Jane, this letter is a week old.”

“Yes,” Jane dismissed, her gaze far away.

James did not want to read it. He cared more for the distance in his sister’s eyes and her reluctance to share her current fears with him. He knew she could think of nothing else, yet whether Bingley’s regard had really died away, or was suppressed by his friends’ interference…was of no question to him. Charles loved her even if he was ignorant of it, but because of this James began to fear of Charlotte being correct. Whether Bingley had been aware of Jane’s attachment or whether it had escaped his observation entirely was something James scolded himself for not considering sooner.

Whichever was the case, his sister’s situation remained the same, and her peace was wounded.

“Jane…”

“I’m fine,” she said a bit too quickly. She sniffed, shaking her head to move the hair out of her face. “I am only harmed by mama’s continual reflections on him. But I will not repine. It cannot last long. He will be forgotten, and we shall all be as we were before.”

“What happened to ‘anything may arise in six months’?”

“You doubt me,” Jane bristled. “Indeed, you have no reason. He may live in memory as the most amiable man of my acquaintance, but that is all."

James’ eyes were deadpan and dubious, but he was not one to stop her from convincing herself.

“I have nothing either to hope or fear, and nothing to reproach him with, thankfully. I have not that pain. A little time, therefore…I shall try to get better. I have this comfort immediately: that it has not been more than an error of fancy on my side, and that it has done no harm to anyone but myself.”

He poured into their cup, his eyes lifting heavily as her sigh trembled. “Jane, this is not fair. You wish to think all the world respectable and are hurt if I speak ill of anybody. I only want to think you perfect and you set yourself against it. Either Bingley is a blind, impressionable fool, or you are the one at fault. This is your logic.”

She turned to him finally, her eyes red. “And if it is both? Were he and I so unlikely from the start?”

He could not meet her pain, so he occupied himself with returning the cup to her hands. “You know my thoughts already.”

“You persist, then, in supposing his sisters influence him.”

“Yes, in conjunction with his friend.”

“Mr. Darcy?” Jane puzzled. “I cannot think Lord Darcy has much thought on others apart from being away from them…although…if his pride does extend to the company his friends keep…”

“No,” he halted immediately. “I fear Darcy’s involvement has been a direct result of myself.”

“What do you mean?”

“I…” he hesitated. “I fear I was tested. And I failed.”

“What?” Jane pushed. “Tested how?”

“He…knows I fancy men.”

“How?” she urged, her own fears forgotten.

“He kissed me,” he revealed quickly. “It is my own fault for kissing back.”

Jane was quite silent, and then, “Do you fancy him?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Are you sure? He is handsome—”

“No, Jane,” he curtailed. “He may be just as, if not more so, responsible as Caroline is for your unhappiness. I do not fancy him.”

Her features softened, her eyes clear. “Jamie…he’s not—”

“Do not say his name,” he snapped.

Her breath halted, but she pressed gently. “All right. But he isn’t. This situation isn’t like that one, and I’m not saying that time was your fault.”

“It was, Jane,” he finished, leaving the pot with her as he stood from the wall.

“Lizzy,” she tried to halt but he only shook his head, striding away.

He considered walking toward Meryton, so his steps took him to the pressed grass of the road, but as he rounded the house he heard his father’s voice coupled with another. He saw none other than Mr. Wickham chatting animatedly with his father over the balanced logs acting as a fence.

Wickham’s eyes found him, “Hello, Jamie.”

Amusement curved his lips. “What’s brought you so far so early in the morning?”

“I thought I would either invite you to breakfast or impose on you for it,” he grinned.

James laughed. “Doesn’t the military feed you?”

His father pulled him against his strong, weathered body. James fell willingly inside his arm. “Forgive him. His tongue is sharp when it has not been dulled by a meal. We’re happy to have you and your company will be a welcome distraction at our table.”

“You are sure?” Wickham asked. “I do not wish to be a complete nuisance.”

“One nuisance to replace another is sometimes a welcome change,” Mr. Bennet countered enigmatically. He squeezed James’ arm. “Be sure Hill knows we have a guest.”

“Hill?” Wickham said as he followed James into the house.

“Our…” James gave it more thought. “Cook. He’s more than a servant or a butler. He has his own house and family near the Lucases.”

“Paying for help is no small thing,” Wickham esteemed. “I was under the impression you were poor.”

James’ laughter burst from him. “Perhaps it’s your status as a regimental without a war that makes you think that. Four unmarried girls on a farm is looked upon by others as poor.”

“Don’t remind me of my exciting life,” Wickham grinned, taking the seat James offered beside his customary place at their dining table. Their conversation was trimmed short by Lydia and Kitty’s arrival for breakfast.

Mr. Wickham’s society proved to be exactly as Mr. Bennet predicted. He was of material service in dispelling the gloom, and after he revealed to have the day off from his duties, Wickham was welcomed to stay the entirety of the day as well as encouraged to visit many others.

After they supped, the Bennets huddled by the road and wished him a safe walk back to Meryton. Wickham bid them each farewell, his eyes lingering on James as they shook hands, and then again when he was down the road and turned back to wave.

His sisters twittered back to the house with their mother whereas Mr. Bennet remained with James as they took a stroll in the twilight. “So, Lizzy,” he began, “your sister is crossed in love, I find, and I congratulate her. Next to being married, a girl likes to be crossed in love a little now and then. It is something to think of, and gives her a sort of distinction among her companions. When is your turn to come?”

James huffed a laugh, “Papa…”

“You will hardly bear to be long outdone by Jane,” Mr. Bennet continued, and then paused his stride to meet James head on. “It is time, Lizzy. I will not let my daughters fly in either real or imaginary happiness while you sink here alone. Let Wickham be your man. He is a pleasant fellow, and I daresay he enjoys looking at you more than your sisters.

“Or not. Here are officers enough at Meryton to disappoint all the young ladies in the country. If it isn’t Wickham, I’ll trust your taste to not love a fool.”

He might have walked away but instead he brought his son’s hand inside his elbow to pull him along. Jamie’s other hand was left to cover his face as well as his embarrassment.