Fitzwilliam Darcy, Traitor Read online

  “I do not want another spiritless mistress. One thousand pounds says I will be the first gentleman to make love to Miss Watson. She stands to benefit greatly from my patronage,” the marquess added with a chilling chuckle.

  “Will you act honorably and make an offer for her?” Darcy asked.

  The marquess chuckled again. “Make an offer? For her? Are you mad? Her fortune is not enough to tempt me.”

  “And yet you would ruin her reputation? Deprive her of all prospects of a respectable match once you have had your way with her? Does her future mean nothing to you?” Darcy repeated the same questions he had thrust at Wickham three months before.

  Richard clapped his hand around Darcy’s forearm, a reminder to control his tongue … and his clenched fists.

  Darcy counted as he inhaled, calming the fury threatening to overpower him. He was a Darcy. He would do what was right by the young lady and accept the consequences if it came to that.

  Marquess Malbrooke said haughtily, “Miss Watson will be honored I should condescend to attend to her at all. She will brag about it for the rest of her life.”

  Lord help him. Richard could squeeze Darcy’s arm until he crushed the bones under his grip, but it would change nothing. Right was right, and Darcy could not allow a lady to fall prey to this man — royalist or not — when it was within his ability to prevent it.

  Darcy stepped forward. “Then know I will do what I can to prevent you from winning your thoughtless bet.” He would call on Mr. Watson that same day to warn him of the danger to his daughter.

  Marquess Malbrooke roared in laughter. “You would stop me from getting what I want? I should like to see you try, Mr. Darcy. In fact,” he said as he scratched another entry in the betting book and signed his name beside it, “I wager an additional five thousand pounds you cannot. Now, if you do not intend to join in our diversion, I suggest you be on your way.” With a sneer, the marquess turned to accept the cheers and accolades of his followers.

  Darcy marched out of White’s, Richard scurrying to keep up.

  “Where are we going?” Richard asked.

  Darcy turned to him. What a stupid question. “To the Watsons, of course.”

  Richard nodded slowly. “I applaud your honor. You bend before no one in defense of a noble cause, but could you not have done so without publicly shaming Marquess Malbrooke?”

  “A man must have a conscience to suffer shame.”

  "You called him out in front of a crowd!" Richard pulled on his side whiskers.

  "If it keeps him from preying on other young ladies, I would do it again. Miss Watson will not be his only conquest unless he is stopped."

  "And you have to be the one to stop him? Did you not consider how they might misconstrue your words? Even the marquess called them a threat and wrote a wager against you in the betting book where anyone can see it. It is bad. It is very bad. It is a disaster!" Richard rubbed his hand over his face and paced.

  “I spoke clearly. Even the simplest of the gentlemen present understood my meaning.”

  Richard heaved a forbearing sigh. “Let us hope nothing comes of this. The last thing you need is to draw the attention of the Prince Regent. You are proud enough, I do not doubt you would defend your stance before even him.”

  “I will act as honor binds me. I could not live with myself any other way.”

  “And damn the consequences?”

  “I am not the individual seeking to ruin an innocent. Marquess Malbrooke is the one who should concern himself with consequences.”

  Richard shook his head. “It is a good thing you are quitting London for Hertfordshire on the morrow.”

  "All the more reason to call on Mr. Watson hastily. There is no time to waste."

  Richard eyed him as they waited for the hackney. “You take the future of Miss Watson seriously. It occurs to me that you could offer for her. She is handsome, meek, and possesses a large dowry.”

  A chill of repulsion ran down Darcy’s spine. How could he marry a lady so similar to his own sister?

  Miss Watson was not at all the sort of lady to inspire tender thoughts from him or provoke the intense passion he desired to feel for the woman who would be his wife. “The future Mrs. Darcy would not need my assistance to fend off men such as Marquess Malbrooke. She would see his evil intentions, being a clever judge of character, and she would wisely extract herself from his company.”

  Richard arched his eyebrow. “I suppose she will have to be as clever as you? With most ladies denied the education you require, I daresay you will die a bachelor unless you are willing to marry a bluestocking with no fortune and few social connections.”

  Darcy knew the qualities he desired in his own wife. He had pondered the question a good deal, knowing himself incapable of marrying aimlessly.

  The lady he would wed must be intelligent — witty even. He had no patience for silly females.

  She would be a loyal sister to Georgiana and a devout friend to those who earned her respect.

  She would courageously stand up for what was right and fiercely defend the values that defined her character.

  Darcy prayed such a woman existed. If he was fortunate enough to find her, if she could look past his wealth and status to love him for who he was, he would marry her without hesitation — whether she lacked a fortune or connections.

  Chapter 1

  Two months later

  Elizabeth Bennet took the brush from Jane, standing behind the cushion where her eldest sister sat in front of the mirror. She ought to see to her own toilette, but there was nobody Elizabeth sought to impress at the Netherfield Ball.

  Jane fiddled with her fingers and chewed the inside of her cheek.

  “Eager or nervous?” Elizabeth asked, stroking her sister's golden locks into a soft sheen before Betsey came to twist and braid her hair into the latest fashion.

  Nerves aside, Elizabeth envied her. Would she ever meet a man who set her nerves on fire and filled her stomach with butterflies like Mr. Bingley did to Jane?

  “Both. I have never met, nor shall I ever meet, another man I admire so much as Mr. Bingley.” Jane paused, looking dreamily at the wall where Elizabeth was fairly certain she saw an image of said gentleman rather than the faded, flowered paper.

  They had known Mr. Bingley for a month and already Jane was certain she would enjoy a lifetime of happiness with him. Elizabeth was certain of it too.

  Jane’s smile faded, and she met Elizabeth’s gaze in the mirror. Softly, she asked, “What if his regard for me is not so strong as mine is for him?”

  Elizabeth’s inclination was to alleviate Jane’s apprehension with a witty retort. But now was not the time for humor. Her sister was serious.

  She replied, “No one who sees how Mr. Bingley looks at you would doubt the strength of his affection. He loves you. I am certain of it. So certain, in fact, I would wager my prized necklace over it.”

  Elizabeth ran the glass pearl teardrop back and forth over the gold chain around her neck. It was her most cherished possession, not for its value (which, sadly, was not much at all) but for the sentiment with which it had been bestowed upon her. The smooth touch of the single pearl never failed to bring her cheer, and for that, it was priceless.

  Jane looked down at her hands, twisting her fingers.

  It pained Elizabeth to see doubt torment her sister. Sweet Jane’s face was made for smiles.

  If proof was what Jane required, then Elizabeth would provide it … along with a dash of humor. Humor made anything bearable. She added, “Nor would anyone deny his regard who witnessed the care he extended to you during your fortuitous illness at Netherfield Park.”

  Jane laughed. “Fortuitous, indeed! I was embarrassed to impose on his hospitality, but Mr. Bingley and his sisters welcomed me so warmly I soon felt at home. I could not have had better care had I been here at Longbourn.”

  Elizabeth did not share Jane’s favorable estimation of Mr. Bingley’s two sisters, Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley. T
hey were conniving and condescending. However, they had taken exceptional care of Jane, so Elizabeth overlooked their snubs. Forgiven, but not forgotten.

  Contemplating the residents of Netherfield Park, Elizabeth’s mind naturally led her to Mr. Darcy. She crinkled her nose.

  Elizabeth doubted there existed a man in all of England prouder of his superiority than he.

  She forced her mind to return to the more pleasant Mr. Bingley. Why had Mr. Bingley befriended such a disagreeable man as Mr. Darcy … about whom she ought not waste her time thinking?

  “If Mama’s influence on our prospective marriage partners is as significant as her uncanny ability to predict the weather, then I declare you shall be engaged by the end of the month,” Elizabeth teased.

  Jane smiled tenderly, one hand reaching up to fiddle with the lace on her bodice. “Mr. Bingley is everything a gentleman ought to be. He is kind. He is charming and attentive in conversation. He is thoughtful toward others.”

  Elizabeth wondered why she could not be so easy to please. Was it wrong of her to require so much from the man who sought to win her heart? Were such qualities as intelligence, honor, loyalty, and humor so rare they were impossible to find combined in one man? The possibility such a man might exist made Elizabeth’s toes curl in her slippers. A deliciously warm sensation enveloped her like a soft blanket.

  She could settle for nothing less than the deepest love. She would rather reach her dotage as a spinster than subject herself to a loveless marriage.

  “I am so happy, Lizzy. I wish the same for you,” Jane said, taking her hand.

  Elizabeth squeezed Jane’s hand, pressing it against her cheek, then releasing it after a quick kiss. Resuming her brushing, Elizabeth said lightly, “If I were a better daughter, I would sacrifice my sanity and all hope of happiness and marry Mr. Collins.”

  Though Elizabeth teased, she still shivered. Mr. Collins was their father’s cousin, the man who would inherit their estate. He made her skin crawl.

  Jane clasped Elizabeth’s hands, sending the hairbrush clattering to the floor. “Oh, no, Lizzy. You cannot marry Mr. Collins. I cannot imagine a more ill-suited match, and I could not bear to see you forsake all hope of happiness by marrying him.”

  Guilt pinged Elizabeth’s conscience. She said, “You would have done it to keep Longbourn in the family. I praise the heavens every day for sending Mr. Bingley your way.”

  Was it so difficult to send another suitable gentleman her way as well? Elizabeth hated to impose on one so busy as God, but the subject often came up in her bedtime prayers. Perhaps Jane was a favorite.

  Elizabeth had already determined to refuse Mr. Collins should he make an offer. Her mother would call Elizabeth wicked and selfish and would surely undergo an attack of nerves, but it could not be helped. Marriage to obsequious, pompous, boorish Mr. Collins would be a living purgatory.

  Jane tightened her grip. “Then I shall pray every day for you to be spared his attentions, Lizzy. I could not bear to see you with such a man, knowing how miserable he would make you. You require so much more.”

  Jane knew her too well.

  Elizabeth sighed. “Is it too much to ask that the gentlemen we fall in love with attempt to be worthy of our hearts?” She shook her head. The conversation had taken a perilously serious turn when they should be gay like their younger sisters, readying themselves for the ball at Netherfield.

  Mary, the middle sister, plucked at the pianoforte downstairs, practicing her skills to exhibit for Mr. Bingley’s guests. Her enthusiasm nearly recompensed for the somber tones of her selections.

  Kitty and Lydia, the youngest, chased each other around the house in their search for slippers and ribbons to pilfer.

  Elizabeth’s silly sisters, whom she loved dearly, cheered her. She would not spoil their fun, nor would she spoil Jane’s.

  Freeing her hands from Jane’s grip, Elizabeth tossed her loose hair over her shoulder. “I am difficult to please, and if that is not hopeless enough, I have been declared insignificant by a gentleman whom your Mr. Bingley holds in high regard.”

  Elizabeth cleared her throat and spoke the hurtful words she could not forget in imitation of Mr. Darcy’s smooth baritone, “She is tolerable but not handsome enough to tempt me. I am in no humor at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men.”

  She would much rather poke fun at her offended vanity than feel its sting.

  But Jane knew how hurtful the words had been. Tenderly, she said, “I know why you tease, and I denounce any man who would spurn my sister. What he said was unkind and untrue, Lizzy. You are beautiful, inside and out. Perhaps Mr. Darcy requires spectacles, or perhaps he had recently received some bad news to put him in such an ill humor. There must be a reasonable explanation.”

  Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “He probably thought I traipsed through the mud to Netherfield Park for the honor of seeing his handsome face instead of caring for my ailing sister.”

  Jane arched her eyebrow. “You admit he is handsome then?”

  “As handsome as he is haughty,” Elizabeth owned. Truth be told, Mr. Darcy was the handsomest man she had seen in her twenty years. She clearly needed to widen her circle.

  “No doubt, he thought your attentiveness to be the mark of a caring, sensible sister,” Jane suggested.

  Elizabeth was not convinced. “And the mud Miss Bingley made certain to point out on my hem? A sensible lady would have ridden a horse rather than trudge through fields. No, I am quite certain he believes me to be a silly creature.”

  Jane pondered for a moment, then her smile returned in full glory. “You are not silly, Lizzy. Mr. Darcy would see your tenacity and determination as an act of loyalty toward a beloved sister. What gentleman would not hold in high esteem a young lady to display such admirable qualities as loyalty, intelligence, sensibility, kindness…?”

  Elizabeth laughed to interrupt Jane. She would describe Elizabeth as a saint rather than what she truly was — a young lady with faults enough, like anyone else … well, anyone except Mr. Darcy. He seemed to think he had no faults.

  “I suppose you wish for me to change my poor opinion of the offensive gentleman?” Elizabeth asked saucily.

  It was true; Mr. Darcy had insulted her vanity at the Meryton Assembly. She could easily have forgiven that, for she did not care for his opinion. What she could not overlook, however, was his unjust treatment of one dependent upon his kindness — Mr. Wickham. To deny a good man the living promised him out of spite and jealousy was deplorable.

  Jane looked at her reflection in the mirror, reading Elizabeth’s turn of thought. “I am aware of the gentleman’s dealings with Mr. Wickham. I believe all of Meryton knows of it. However, did you not tell me yourself that Mr. Darcy acted like a perfect gentleman during your stay at Netherfield Park?”

  “It was so unexpected, I found it shocking,” Elizabeth mumbled.

  “But it proves that Mr. Darcy has some good qualities. I can only hope his behavior at the assembly and his past with Mr. Wickham are nothing more than horrible misunderstandings.”

  Elizabeth hugged Jane around her shoulders. “Oh, Jane. What ever will I do without you?” She picked the brush off the floor and set it on the table when Betsey entered the room.

  “Do not say that, Lizzy. I hardly expect Mr. Bingley to propose tonight.”

  “He will if Mama has her way.” With a parting smile, Elizabeth went to her bedchamber.

  Did Jane not see how impossible it was for both Mr. Wickham and Mr. Darcy to be in the right? Theirs was no simple disagreement. One had all the wealth and influence with none of the sympathy such a position required. The other had all the goodness with no means to act upon it.

  Jane would not approve of her unflattering sketch of Mr. Darcy’s character, but Elizabeth’s opinion of the man was justified. How could she be wrong in her low estimation of Mr. Darcy when, during his short time at Netherfield Park, he had offended most of Meryton? They thought he was abominabl
y rude, and he clearly did not give a fig for their opinion.

  On the other hand, Mr. Wickham was well-liked by everyone.

  On her own, Elizabeth acknowledged the possibility of judging a man’s character incorrectly. But how could she and an entire village be wrong about Mr. Darcy?

  That, and she was so rarely wrong, she thought smugly. She laughed at herself. She had spent so much time thinking about Mr. Darcy, she was beginning to sound like him.

  Closing the door behind her, she leaned against it, enjoying the lively sounds in her home. At least she would dance tonight. And while Mr. Collins had attempted to spoil her evening by claiming the first set, Mr. Wickham had claimed the next. The evening would not be a complete loss.

  Jane had Mr. Bingley, and Elizabeth had the joy of seeing her happy. That would have to be enough for tonight. Her time would come … if the man she dreamed of existed. Elizabeth prayed he did.

  Chapter 2

  Elizabeth was thankful for the respite from the rain when her mother insisted on taking the creaky landau to the Netherfield Ball.

  The open conveyance showed off its occupants to their best advantage, which was Mama’s calculated purpose in using an otherwise inappropriate means of transport on a brisk November night. Her recent success in Jane’s week-long convalescence at Netherfield Park had emboldened her to more dramatic measures. Elizabeth feared her mother would stop at nothing until all five of her daughters had fallen ill with colds and secured the affection of five single gentlemen. It had worked for Jane. Why should it not work for the others?

  Elizabeth’s father teased that there was no more noble cause of death than to perish in the pursuit of an eligible gentleman. Morbid humor aside, he had a point.

  As for Elizabeth, she took comfort in the strength she stood to gain in mind and body if she survived her mother’s tactics.