by P. O. Dixon
Not that there would ever be a possibility of George Wickham behaving so familiarly with either Miss Bennet or Anne, Darcy supposed. In Miss Bennet’s case, his friend Charles rarely strayed from her side, which suited Darcy’s purposes quite well, for that meant the young woman, whom Darcy was beginning to think smiled much too much, was certain to be diverted. As for Anne, Lady Catherine would have George Wickham’s head if he even looked in the direction of her only daughter and the heir to Rosings. Like Darcy, her ladyship was quite attuned to George Wickham’s vile propensities. How she knew the things that she knew was anybody’s guess. Darcy only wished his father was privy to that same intelligence.
My father, Darcy considered with some degree of sadness. He grows weaker each day. If he does not openly confess what is about to befall him to me soon, I shall take it upon myself to broach the subject. He needs to know that I will be here for him, ready, willing, and able to do his bidding. As much as Darcy hated that George Wickham was there at Pemberley, for his father’s sake if for nothing else, there was nowhere else that Darcy wished for Wickham to be.
Regardless of my own view of the matter, my father loves Wickham very much. Certainly it must mean something to him to have his godson here until the very last.
If only Miss Elizabeth were not so impressed with Wickham, I would have no cause at all to feel discontented about his presence.
Having sufficiently calmed himself to once again assume his place among polite society, Darcy straightened his cravat, gave his waistcoat a sharp tug, and turned to go back inside.
How amazed he was to see Miss Elizabeth Bennet standing on the opposite side of the balcony. How long has she been standing there? Is it possible that she and Wickham have made a secret pact to meet each other alone? Is she even aware that I am here?
Hidden by the shadows, he supposed it was entirely possible that the young lady knew nothing of his also being outside on the balcony at that particular moment.
I must make my presence known to her.
Not willing to waste a moment in further contemplation of what he would say, Darcy walked closer to where she stood looking up at the night’s clear sky.
What a vision. That thought that simply would not go away reclaimed his mind.
How would it be if she were mine?
Flashes of the dream he had just the night before of holding her in his arms would not be repressed. What a danger she was to his manly sensibilities as his thoughts that no gentleman ought to entertain of a proper young lady threatened to overtake his command of his own body.
Against his will, he inhaled and then exhaled deeply, catching the young woman completely off guard and thereby startling her.
Elizabeth spun round. “Mr. Darcy,” she exclaimed with some energy, placing her hand to her bosom.
“Forgive me, Miss Elizabeth, for interrupting your solace. Are you—are you expecting someone?” he asked tentatively.
She smiled a bit nervously. “No, sir. I was simply in need of a breath of fresh air. When I could, I made my escape, undetected.”
“Are you quite certain you were not observed? I saw you earlier with George Wickham. I will not be surprised if he soon misses your company and decides to come in search of you.”
“Mr. Darcy,” she said, “if I did not know you so well as I do, I would say you seem a bit jealous. However, I do know you - at least I think I do, and for that reason, I feel I owe you some explanation of what transpired in the drawing room earlier.”
Darcy held up his hand. “I assure you that no explanation is needed, for I know George Wickham well enough to know precisely what transpired.”
“Oh, but you do not know me, sir, for if you did you would know that I would never pay so little heed to your opinion of the gentleman and forget what I am about. Trust me, sir, I am in no danger from Mr. Wickham.”
Darcy took Elizabeth’s hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze. “You cannot possibly know what it means to me to hear you say that.”
How he wanted to do more than hold her by the hand. He wanted to pull her into his arms, to kiss her on that soft spot where her long slender neck met her shoulder. He could not. It was untoward enough that he was still holding her hand after so long a duration. He released it and clasped his hands behind his back as a means of restraining a passion that was in danger of plowing through the carefully crafted facade he had erected for her protection as well as his own.
“Oddly enough,” she began, peering deeply into his eyes as if seeing through all his pretenses of being unaffected by her, “I do know what it means, sir. Pray, I am not too bold in stating just how much your good opinion means to me.”
Here, Elizabeth bit her lower lip — a seemingly innocent gesture, but oh how it affected him. She said, “Surely any future that might exist between you and my sister depends on it.”
“Miss Elizabeth,” Darcy began, his voice tentative, owing to what he could no longer resist confiding in her, “regarding the future, there is something I must tell you—”
His speech was immediately halted by the piercing voice of one of the last people he wanted to see in that instance: Miss Bingley. After tossing an aggrieved glance in the direction of the impending addition to their intimate party of two, Darcy looked back at his desired companion apologetically. “Pray, forget what I was about to say, Miss Elizabeth.”
“Here you are, Mr. Darcy,” Miss Bingley said, lacing her arm through his and coaxing him away. “The tables are being set for cards, and you promised you would partner with me. You do remember! The two of us make a most formidable pair.” Throwing a confident glance over her shoulder at Miss Elizabeth, who remained standing in the same spot as when she and Darcy were all alone, Miss Bingley continued, “Everyone who knows the two of us knows exactly how we are—a perfect match!”
Knowing that Elizabeth was safe from the dastardly George Wickham gave Fitzwilliam Darcy a great deal of relief. Not that he would relax his guard or dismiss the task he had assigned to one of the male servants to keep watch over her when she was rambling about Pemberley Woods, for he still did not trust George Wickham. Having seen the way that man looked at Elizabeth and comparing it to how Wickham had often looked at other innocent young women, Darcy dared not leave anything to chance.
Some hours later, the events of the evening behind him, Darcy was now alone in his room. He had chosen a new book to delve into from the library earlier that day, and despite the lateness of the hour, he felt that it was as good a time as any to embark upon a new reading discovery. Anything to take his mind off the one woman in the world who occupied his every waking moment, or so it seemed. Reading so late at night might provide fodder for dreams of something else - anything else but what it must be like to be with her, in that exact place, at that very moment.
How ironic indeed that Miss Elizabeth Bennet had come to be the one woman he desired above all others. How ironic that Miss Jane Bennet, his cousin Anne, and his friend’s sister Miss Bingley combined could not compare to the one woman he could not have.
Despite what Darcy suspected was his friend Charles Bingley’s growing admiration for the elder Bennet daughter, he knew his friend well enough not to doubt his constancy. He suspected that despite her willingness to bask in his friend’s unabashed adoration of her, she would no doubt accept Darcy’s hand in an instant, knowing that her family expected it of her. This conviction he held rather strongly, despite having done nothing himself to garner such willingness on her part other than spending the requisite time in her company. He could not rightly say that the two of them ever carried on a single conversation beyond threadbare topics such as the weather and the like that did not also include his friend Bingley.
Then there was the matter of his cousin Anne, whom he had known all her life. How could she possibly entertain the hope of an alliance between the two of them? Other than familial affection, he had never displayed the slightest symptom of admiration for her that might encourage the hope of something more meaningful bet
ween them. As with Miss Jane Bennet, Darcy was certain that his cousin Anne would accept his hand in an instant if given a chance. He never would, despite it being the favorite wish of his dearly beloved mother, Lady Anne, and his aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh.
Alas, no contemplation of the current prospects for marriage would be complete without stumbling across the unlikeliest possibility of all: Miss Bingley. He closed his eyes to block such a vision. Not that the lady did not enjoy manifold attractions. She was a comely woman indeed. He simply felt nothing for her. He could imagine her coming into his room stark naked and having not the least bit of impact on him.
Darcy laughed a little despite himself. He was a hot-blooded man after all. Surely such a prospect would arouse some level of interest in him. He was not beyond temptations of the flesh. Thankfully she was not the sort of female who would do such a thing as allow herself to be compromised in the hopes of a proposal of marriage that may or may not unfold as a result. She enjoyed playing her games well enough, but she knew when to stop. Or rather he hoped she did. He had never truly allowed for a situation to develop with the young lady that might test his belief. Nor would he.
His thoughts tended back to Miss Elizabeth Bennet. How she tempted him, unknowingly of course. A part of him was glad for Miss Bingley’s interruption earlier that evening. He had almost confessed to her that her sister was not the object of his desire—that her wish for an alliance between the Darcys and the Bennets by way of his marrying her elder sister would never come to be.
Had I done so, would she still desire my good opinion? What then would have been her opinion of me?
Upon her return to the drawing room alone, Miss Elizabeth had gone directly to her sister’s side, and there she remained until the end of the evening. Darcy rightfully suspected that Miss Elizabeth valued her sister’s happiness even more than she valued her own. No doubt, she would be furious with him if she learned the truth—that he never really intended to give full consideration to a possible marriage to her sister—that his mind was made up even before he first laid eyes on her and nothing that she might have done - nothing that anyone might have done, for that matter, was bound to change his resolve.
He was simply not ready to choose a bride. What with the looming situation with his father’s failing health, he did not know when he would ever be. A thought then came over Darcy that should he ever be interested in marrying there was only one woman of his acquaintance whom he would consider, the one woman, owing to this uncanny unfolding of events, he would never have.
Longing for relief from the growing desire the very thought of her inevitably inspired in him, Darcy shut his book and blew out the candles on his bedside table. Drawing a deep long breath, he knew he had failed miserably in his quest to redirect his dreams. Once again, his nighttime would be spent satiating his yearning for the bewitching young woman who slept some ways apart from him.
In time, sleep would come and he would find himself making love to Elizabeth in all the ways he desired, but as for his immediate, more pressing longing, he saw no reason at all to suspend his pleasure right then, right there in the privacy of his own bed.
Chapter 20
Entirely Persuaded
Elizabeth awakened early and was moments away from quitting her room for a morning walk when her maid entered the room.
“A letter for you, madam,” said the young woman.
Recognizing the handwriting even from where she stood, Elizabeth seized it and tore it open. Not intending to come across as being rude despite her heightened curiosity, she looked at the servant apologetically. “Thank you, Hannah.”
“It is my pleasure. Is there anything that I might do for you?”
Eager to attend her missive, Elizabeth hastily replied, “No!” Remembering herself, she said, “Pardon, that will be all I require this morning.”
Finally, the young girl quit the room, allowing Elizabeth some much-desired privacy. She commenced reading in silence.
My dearest Lizzy,
How odd you must think it is to be receiving this letter. At present, I can think of no other way to convey my news to you. I have no doubt that what I am writing to tell you will surely be the means of you suffering a host of conflicting emotions—sentiments ranging from surprise sprinkled with skepticism to anguish amplified by astonishment. Of all the sentiments that immediately come to mind, I pray the least of them will be anything akin to disappointment and the greatest of them will be heartfelt joy.
You see, my dearest of all sisters, I am on my way to Gretna Green. I am to be married to Mr. Charles Bingley.
Will you forgive me for suffering but this one regret—that being that you cannot be with me as I embark upon this, the most important journey of my life?
You know me too well to suspect that I have made this decision rashly despite how it must appear to the outside world.
Mr. Bingley and I are very much in love. I suspect I fell in love with him the moment I first laid eyes on him. His every look, his every word and dare I confess, his every touch, have taught me that his feelings for me are equally as enduring.
Upon recently learning of the true purpose of my being in Pemberley, Mr. Bingley’s ensuing disappointment was more than I could stand. That he had inadvertently betrayed his friend’s trust was unconscionable to him. He planned to go away from Pemberley immediately. How could I allow him to do so? How could I say goodbye forever to an honorable gentleman who had touched my heart, and whose heart I had similarly affected, for an equally honorable gentleman whose heart, I suspect, will never ever be touched? At least not by me.
As for our decision to elope, how could either of us chance being persuaded against our purpose by confiding in anyone? We could not.
Oh, Lizzy, is this not what you have always wanted for me? To be loved, cherished and adored by a decent, respectable man. I journeyed to Pemberley not entirely persuaded of what I was about, yet willing to fulfill my role as a dutiful daughter in whatever manner it might entail. As I commit these words to paper, I suffer not a shadow of a doubt that my true destiny is unfolding. Mrs. Charles Bingley is who I was always meant to be, and I could not be happier.
While I have left you with the task of conveying my joyful news to our dear father, as well as facing the derision of many of those who remain at Pemberley, I have no doubt that your courage will rise to whatever occasion that results as it always does during those times that matter most.
As I write this letter to you, my dear Charles is likewise writing to Mr. Darcy, whose counsel he has always sought—except in this, the most important decision of his life. I confess to being more confident than my future husband that his friend will not only understand what we have done, but he will be happy for him—for both of us.
Assured that my happiness is complete and my future promises to be even more so, my greatest wish is that yours will be, too, dearest Lizzy, even as I suspect such a joyous prospect is closer than you know.
I shall close this letter for now with the sincerest hope that, once we are reunited in Hertfordshire, our mutual admiration and esteem for each other will be as endearing and heartfelt as ever.
Your loving sister forever and all times,
JB
* * *
Elizabeth paced the floor. Having by now read her sister’s letter several times, she was in a fair way of committing Jane’s every heartfelt word to memory. Although distressed that her sister had not confided her plans before taking her leave of Pemberley, how could she possibly be disappointed, knowing that her dearest sister was loved and cherished—adored by a man as decent and kind as Mr. Charles Bingley? She could not. She was, however, deeply astounded that the two of them had eloped under cover of darkness as though they were doing something wrong.
Jane said that they did not want to risk being persuaded against their purposes. I cannot fault them for their prudence in that regard. Surely Bingley’s sisters would have put forth every conceivable argument against a union between their b
rother, whose ties to society were tenuous at best, save his connection with his good friend Mr. Darcy, and the daughter of a country gentleman whose position in society was less than their own. Then, too, Jane said that Mr. Bingley felt that in falling in love with her, he had inadvertently wounded his friend—had betrayed him.
What would Mr. Darcy have said had Mr. Bingley gone to him with the truth? Would he have indeed felt aggrieved, betrayed, wounded by someone whom he thought he could trust? Would he have likened Charles Bingley’s behavior in a similar vein as he regards George Wickham’s? Would he indeed have attempted to change his friend’s mind?
By now, Mr. Darcy will have received Mr. Bingley’s letter. Has he informed Mr. Bingley’s family? Truth be told, the answer to the latter question did not truly matter to her. Only the matter of how Mr. Darcy was digesting the news was of any particular concern to her.
“I must go to him.”
Folding Jane’s letter, she tucked it inside her pocket and proceeded to quit the room. She was almost at the door when she halted her steps.
What on Earth will I say to him given my sister’s behavior?
In an attempt to ward off her indecisiveness, she shook her head. Placing her hand on the door handle, she avowed aloud, “I dare not risk delaying this meeting until I know the exact words to speak just now. I ought to go about making a start. I will know what to say when I see him.”
Chapter 21
Particular Concern
At a certain point along the way, it dawned on Elizabeth that despite how urgently she wanted to speak with Fitzwilliam Darcy, it was of vital importance to speak to her father, for Jane had made it clear that she wanted Elizabeth to be the person who conveyed the news of what had happened to Mr. Bennet.
