Mr and Mrs Darcy 02 Suspense & Sensibility (16 page)

Kitty sank
back onto the sofa. "Lizzy, whatever can this mean?" Her voice
trembled.

"It
means nothing," Elizabeth responded vehemently.

"But
Mr. Dashwood's behavior - "

"We
have no assurance that these tales even involve Mr. Dash-wood. We have never
seen him in anything but up-to-the-minute attire. Whatever would he be doing
going about dressed that way? More likely, Lady Pendleton and Mr. Sutton saw an
actor who bears resemblance to Mr. Dashwood. And even if the gentleman in
question were he, the only crime he stands accused of is going out in public
unfashionably dressed. Howsoever that may constitute a hanging offense among
the
beau monde,
within our own circle, I think we can forgive it."

"But
what of his rudeness to Mr. Middleton?"

"All
London has been cloaked in fog for the better part of this week. Perhaps Mr.
Dashwood simply did not see his friend. Regardless, you should ask Mr. Dashwood
himself about these incidents the next time he calls. He will soon be your
husband - you owe him the opportunity to explain himself, and he may reveal
information to you that he would not share with others."

She sagged in relief. "Of course you are right. Either his friends
are mistaken, or there is some reasonable explanation for his conduct that will
make perfect sense once we hear it. I only needed you to say aloud what I
secretly hoped."

"Mr. Dashwood is a good man, Kitty. You could not have fallen in
love with him otherwise."

Darcy, having left the townhouse before Lucy's arrival, missed the performance
she gave the ladies, but he, too, heard news of Mr. Dashwood that day. He
arrived early at the fencing club for his standing appointment with Lord
Chatfield. While Darcy waited for the earl, an older gentleman enquired whether
anyone in the room knew the present whereabouts of Mr. Dashwood. Darcy said he
did not, but that he anticipated dining with him that evening and would be
pleased to convey a message.

"Tell Dashwood that Felix Longcliffe doesn't appreciate being stood
up. We were to match swords today."

"Perhaps there has been some confusion about the designated time,"
Darcy suggested by way of apology.

"He seemed perfectly clear about it at the Pigeon Hole last night."

Darcy hoped he misunderstood Longcliffe. "The Pigeon Hole?" He
had heard of the notorious hell in St. James's Square. In addition to being a
seedy gaming house that catered to a low clientele, it was said that one of the
owners also operated a house of ill repute.

"Tumbled in with a bunch of rowdies, after they got tossed from one
of the clubs," Longcliffe said. "A pretty high-flying crowd. Most of
them were too foxed to hold on to their money long."

"How did Mr. Dashwood do?"

Longcliffe's brow creased. "I don't think I saw him actually play.
Perhaps he was already cleaned out when he arrived.

Anyway, he
and his friends were obnoxious, even by the standards of that establishment.
When I suggested their conduct interfered with the pleasure of other patrons,
he informed me in most impolite terms that none but his own pleasure was of
consequence to him. I thought he was going to challenge me to an affair of
honor, but then he looked at me closely and said, 'I know you - Felix
Longcliffe.'
"How he knew my name, I cannot fathom, as I knew his only from hearing
his companions bandy it about. It caught my ear because I knew another Dashwood
years ago. Well, he stood there staring at me until he finally says, 'You've
grown old.' 'I'm two-and-sixty,' says I. 'And still agile enough to cross
swords with a young whelp who needs to learn a thing or two.' He said he
wouldn't engage in an affair of honor with a man my age, but he would meet me
for a sporting match if I named the place. So here I am, and he is nowhere to
be seen!"

So troubled
was Darcy by Longcliffe's account that he could not concentrate on his own
match with Chatfield. The earl easily bested him in half the time of their
typical contests.

"Care
to try again?" Chatfield offered.

Darcy shook
his head. "I have a dinner guest coming this evening for whom I need to
prepare."

The earl
regarded him quizzically. "Are not such matters Mrs. Darcy's province?"

"Not
tonight."

"How
intriguing. Perhaps I should drop by to see how things turn out. What is on the
menu?"

"One
young buck."

Eleven

"A
plain and open avowal of his difficulties would have been
more to his
honour."

- Elinor
Dashwood to her
mother,

Sense and Sensibility,
Chapter 15

Mr.
Dashwood did not come to dinner that night. Or the following.

Or any night that week.

He sent his regrets, explaining only that urgent business would prevent
him from enjoying the pleasure of Miss Bennet's company for at least a
se'nnight, perhaps longer.

Elizabeth often caught her sister looking out the window down to the
street, as if willing Harry's carriage to appear. Kitty maintained her belief
in Mr. Dashwood's character, but with each passing day, uncertainty pressed
more heavily upon her. Her confidence, which had blossomed in the warmth of his
regard, now withered in his absence. Determined not to doubt him until he could
defend himself, she began to doubt her own ability to hold his interest.

It did not help that each day brought more accounts of inexplicable conduct
on his part. Whatever "urgent business" kept Mr. Dashwood from Kitty
apparently did not prevent him from being sighted by everyone else all over
town. Lucy's reports
were echoed by others of a similar nature, and while none of them
accused Harry of any real harm, they combined to create an increasingly
unbecoming portrait and a most perplexing puzzle. Lucy herself figured in some
of the tales, apparently having been observed in deep conversation with Harry
on several occasions after her call at the Darcys'. News of the tete-a-tetes
confirmed Elizabeth's conviction that Mrs. Robert Ferrars schemed to alter Mr.
Dashwood's marriage plans in her daughter's favor.

The story
Darcy had heard at the fencing club constituted more worrisome intelligence.
Not only did it reflect poorly on Mr. Dashwood's integrity, but as the week
wore on it also seemed that Longcliffe's encounter had not been an isolated
incident. Rumor said that Harry visited different clubs and gaming hells each
night, and had begun to amass an odd assortment of new companions. Some were
young men like himself, some were old, and a few bordered on ancient. But all
of them were rakehells with devil-may-care attitudes and reputations Darcy only
delicately hinted at to Elizabeth. She suspected that much of what he heard, he
left unsaid to her, and to Kitty he said nothing at all.

Though
Kitty's faith in Mr. Dash wood remained steadfast, Elizabeth's and Darcy's
began to falter. Their greater knowledge of his alleged activities rendered
them even more impatient than his fiancee for him to explain himself, and his
reluctance to face them - for what else could be keeping him away? - only added
to their misgivings.

"I
declare, Kitty spent the better part of the day at that window," Elizabeth
said. She and Darcy were alone in the drawing room, she halfheartedly working a
satin stitch upon a handkerchief, he writing a letter at the comer secretary.
Kitty had retired to her chamber immediately after dinner, and Georgiana had
gone to a concert with the Gardiners.

"It is
a shame you could not persuade her to join Georgiana and your aunt and uncle."

"She did not want to leave the house. It seems to me, however, that
she stands a better chance of seeing Mr. Dashwood about town than by staying at
home waiting for him to arrive at our door."

"If he does not present himself here on the morrow, I am going to
call upon him again," Darcy said. He had gone to Harry's townhouse on Tuesday
but had been forced to settle for leaving his card when Dashwood's butler told
him the master was not at home. As Darcy retreated from the door, he'd spotted
Mr. Dashwood in an upstairs window. While he understood the servant's statement
had meant Dashwood was not receiving visitors - the
ton
drew a
distinction between being physically at home and being socially "at home"
- Dashwood's avoidance had not raised him in Darcy s esteem. Nor had the fact
that four days later, Dashwood still had not returned the call. "Perhaps
this time he will receive me."

Elizabeth struggled to loosen a knot in her thread. "I simply
cannot reconcile these unfavorable accounts of Mr. Dashwood with the man we
know. But the longer he stays away, the more I wonder if we ever really knew him
at all." The whole matter had created dissonance within her. She had liked
Harry, trusted him, but the facts surrounding his recent conduct cast him in an
increasingly unflattering light. Had her instincts been that far off the mark?

The knot refused to unravel, and she set aside the needlework in frustration.
She hadn't really felt like working on it; she'd taken it up this evening just
to have some occupation beyond contemplating Mr. Dashwood's movements. As the
handkerchief, however, was intended for Kitty to carry on her wedding day, the
project only vexed her by reminding her of the doubts plaguing them all.

The sound of a visitor at the door drew curiosity from them both. "Who
calls at this hour?" she asked.

Before Darcy could reply, Kitty rushed into the room. "Mr. Dash
wood is here! I saw his carriage arrive."

Harry entered a moment later. The housekeeper trailed behind, belatedly
announcing him. He immediately fixed his attention on Kitty.

"Miss Bennet." An air of weariness enveloped him. His eyes were
red, with puffy circles beneath them that made them appear smaller. Faint stubble
lined his cheek. His posture, though not stooped, failed to exhibit its usual
erectness. As he beheld Kitty, however, his shoulders lost their slump.

"Mr. Dashwood." Darcy greeted him stiffly. "How good of
you to call."

Harry wrested his gaze from Kitty to acknowledge Darcy and Elizabeth. "Forgive
the lateness of my visit. I have been out of town and just now returned. I
could not wait until morning to see Miss Bennet again."

"You are indeed tardy in presenting yourself here."

Mr. Dashwood glanced nervously from Darcy to Elizabeth. Darcy was using
his most formidable tone, one that had intimidated older and more worldly
individuals than Harry. When Darcy adopted that demeanor, even Elizabeth
hesitated to cross him. She almost felt sorry for Mr. Dashwood. Almost. He
still owed Kitty - owed them all - an explanation.

"I have missed you, Harry," Kitty said. "Where have you
been?"

"In Devonshire. I visited my Dashwood relations."

"Mr. and Mrs. Edward Ferrars?"

"Yes. Also my aunt Marianne Brandon, and their mother."

Elizabeth regarded him skeptically, disliking the mistrust growing within
her. "Mrs. Edward Ferrars told me she lives three days' journey from
London. When did you leave for Delaford?"

"Friday last."

"And you returned today?"

"This moment," Harry said. "I did not even stop at my own
residence, but came here straightaway."

The cool cast of Darcy's countenance revealed his displeasure. "We
are to understand that you have not been in town these past nine days?"

"Just so."

The room fell silent. But in three minds at least, the falsehood echoed.
Too many people, including Darcy himself, had seen Harry in the past nine days.
He could not possibly be telling the truth.

Disappointment - in Harry, for Kitty - settled in Elizabeth's heart.

Harry regarded them all in confusion. "Miss Bennet, if I - "
He broke off as if suddenly understanding. "I should have told you in my
letter where I went. Forgive me. I did not mean to keep you in suspense for so
long. My plan to travel to Devonshire was formed very quickly. I departed in
haste, at too early an hour to take proper leave of you. When I wrote, I
thought only to get a letter to you as soon as it could be delivered. I should
have considered better what it contained."

"It's not that, Mr. Dashwood," Kitty said.

"Then what?"

Kitty looked deflated. A glance at Elizabeth implored her older sister
to continue.

"A great many people have seen you in London during the time you
claim to have been gone from town," Elizabeth said.

Mr. Dashwood shook his head. "I assure you, I have been in Devonshire.
Or on the road in between. These people, whoever they are, must be mistaken."

"I am one of them," said Darcy.

Harry stepped toward him. "Upon my soul, Mr. Darcy, you must have
seen someone else."

"In your own house?"

Harry opened
his mouth, but no words came out. He stared at Darcy as if trying to comprehend
him. "You saw me in my townhouse?"

"On
Tuesday."

He pondered
that a moment. "What was I doing?"