By Reason, by Reflection, by Everything

by P. O. Dixon

  Half smiling, Elizabeth stood on the tips of her toes and kissed her father’s bearded chin. “Thank you, Papa. I really believe it is better this way.”

  Some hours later, after the Bennets’ belongings were loaded on the carriage, Darcy arrived on horseback. From the look of things, he had been riding with a fair amount of urgency. Jumping down from his stallion, he first approached Mr. Bennet. The two exchanged words. Elizabeth stood too far away to hear any part of the conversation, but their discourse seemed cordial enough.

  Then it was Elizabeth’s turn. He approached her tentatively. “Miss Elizabeth,” he said, bowing – his voice questioning.

  Without meeting his eyes, Elizabeth curtsied. “Mr. Darcy.”

  “If I may, I would have a word with you.”

  Not wanting to remember why she was ever drawn to the new master of Pemberley, Elizabeth summoned her courage, attempting to avoid making eye contact with him. Having committed every word of the letter to heart, it pained her thinking of how she once thought she knew this man.

  “I think you have said enough already.”

  “Elizabeth,” he said in a voice meant only for her ears.

  “I thank you to refer to me as Miss Bennet, sir,” she said coolly.

  She then ascended the carriage stairs, refusing to look anywhere but forward. In a shorter space of time than even Elizabeth had supposed possible mere hours earlier, the carriage was on its way. As it drew farther and farther from the manor house, she never once looked back. If she had, she would have seen Fitzwilliam Darcy, the young master of Pemberley, still standing there.

  Confounded, at length Darcy returned inside the house and was immediately met by one of his servants bearing a silver salver. There upon was a letter. Taking it, he nodded his gratitude to his servant, and then went to the library to read it.

  Immediately upon tearing open the seal, he quickly perused the words and discerned the letter was from Elizabeth.

  Perhaps, she explains in this letter the reason for her hasty leave-taking as well as her lack of civility when saying goodbye.

  Without the slightest expectation of pleasure in light of Elizabeth’s refusal to even look at him, he did not bother to sit. Pacing the floor, he read what she had to say in deeply perturbed silence.

  Abruptly halting his steps, he read a part of the letter aloud.

  I listened in disgust coupled with disdain as Mr. Wickham – a true gentleman in every way, despite your repeated attempts to convince me otherwise – conveyed numerous accounts of your callous treatment of others, and most especially those whom you believe are beneath you in consequence.

  Try as I might, how could I dismiss his words even as I suspect that my own sister may have been the latest in a long string of unfortunate young women whose sensibilities and innocence you abused merely for sport. I must now consider that my sister is most fortunate to have escaped what would have most certainly been a dire circumstance with a man of your character.

  Darcy ran his fingers through his hair in exasperation. And this is Elizabeth’s opinion of me. This is the reason she chose not to meet me last night after sending word earlier by way of a note expressing her desire to meet in the blue room at midnight. This is the reason she scarcely looked at me this morning.

  As if intending to exasperate himself as much as possible, he read the letter again, starting from the beginning. His disillusionment increased with every review of every line.

  Leaning against the mantelpiece with his eyes fixed on the harsh words written on the page in his free hand, a sudden awareness overtook him.

  Time and time again, I have warned her about this man, and yet she refused to heed my advice.

  The rest of the letter, he commenced reading in silence. At length, he folded the missive and tucked it into his pocket.

  Though I am not fully able to comprehend the feelings that inspired Elizabeth to write such a stark rebuke of my character based on Wickham’s testimony, no less, I am most certainly ashamed, beyond a shadow of a doubt, of what my own feelings have been.

  Chapter 30

  Wholly Unconnected

  During the next several months, Darcy spent his every waking hour attending his responsibilities as the new master of Pemberley. Any grief he suffered was largely in privacy, away from the empathetic eyes of some and the compassionate concern of others. He did not make time for anything that did not involve his new duties, save a weekly trip to Matlock to visit his sister, who remained with his aunt and uncle. His late father had made Darcy and his cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam young Georgiana’s co-guardians. Between the two of them, it was decided that being with the earl and the countess was best for the time being, as Darcy weighed the prospect of forming an establishment for her in London.

  He worked hard every day to the point of exhaustion with the hope of succumbing each night to dreamless sleep. Sleep so deep that he would not dream of her. It angered him still that she thought so little of him—that she would leave Pemberley without a proper goodbye when he had nearly given her everything the female heart desired.

  Having welcomed his friend Bingley and his wife to his home with open arms, Darcy looked for some hint in the latter that might lend insight into her sister’s heart. Still, he never asked about Elizabeth, and her sister, perhaps following his lead, perhaps not, likewise provided no clues.

  Leaning back in his chair, he rubbed his hands about his face. Why is it that the more I try not to think of Elizabeth, the more I find myself thinking of her? Longing for her? Dreaming of her?

  The one dream that would not fade crept into his mind. The touches, the looks, the sounds of making her his woman for the remainder of all time: each kiss more stirring and more passionate than the last, every whisper of what was yet to come more promising than that.

  Opening his eyes, Darcy sighed. I must and I will conquer this. But until such time, I would rather spend my nights dreaming of her than spend my waking hours pretending she did not bewitch me, body and soul.

  Moments later, his valet entered the room, effectively recalling Darcy to the estate ledgers begging his attention.

  “What is this?” Darcy asked, accepting a proffered letter.

  “It mysteriously found its way into my possession, Sir. I thought you might find it intriguing.”

  Intriguing indeed, Darcy silently considered as he perused the missive. The handwriting was much the same as Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s.

  How did a letter from Miss Bennet find its way into my valet’s possession?

  Upon further scrutiny, he espied the last words on the page: Caroline Bingley.

  Aiming to mask his growing intrigue, Darcy said, “Thank you, Waters. I shall hold on to this letter for now.”

  Once the valet quit the room, Darcy went over to his desk, opened the drawer, and retrieved the letter he had received from Elizabeth.

  He placed the two letters side by side. At length, he muttered, “The handwriting similarities are too close to be merely a coincidence.”

  Moments later, the sound of someone entering his study drew Darcy’s eyes away from the letters. The fact that his guest had not waited to be announced before entering was sufficient to inform him who it was. “What are you doing here, Wickham? I rather supposed you were in London,” said Darcy. “Whittling away the fortune my excellent father bestowed upon you,” he added derisively.

  Indeed, in addition to a legacy of one thousand pounds, Darcy’s father particularly recommended to his son to promote Wickham’s advancement in the best manner that his profession might allow, and if Wickham took orders, Darcy’s father desired that a valuable family living in Kympton might be his as soon as it became vacant.

  Darcy recalled how he had stifled his dismay upon seeing his father’s last will and testament. As if someone with Wickham’s immoral character ought to be a clergyman.

  Alas, my father’s attachment to Wickham remained steadfast to the end. Wickham with his engaging manners and his masterful ability to conceal hi
s vicious propensities and want of principle from his best friend and benefactor. I suppose it is just as well that my father never realized the truth, for surely it would have broken his heart—he loved his godson that much.

  Wickham held out his hand as though he expected Darcy to reciprocate the gesture. He did not.

  “Is that any way to greet an old friend? Pemberley is my home after all, just as my beloved godfather intended.”

  Darcy scoffed. “Please do not remind me.”

  Wickham strolled casually to where Darcy stood huddled over the letters. The latter hurriedly attempted to cover them. Too late, it seemed, were he to judge by Wickham’s sly smile.

  “I see Caroline Bingley’s letter found its way into your possession.”

  “What do you know about a letter from Caroline Bingley?” Darcy asked, slipping both letters into the desk drawer and turning the key.

  “A great deal, in fact. The details of which I will gladly share with you—for a price.”

  Standing straight and tall, Darcy folded his arms, one over the other. “Have I not given you enough money already?”

  “Need I remind you that I had every right to the thousand pounds I received?”

  “Again, I beg you not to remind me. A better question is why would I dream of paying you for information on someone so wholly unconnected to me as Miss Bingley?”

  Wickham shrugged. “It is simple. What I have to say not only pertains to Caroline Bingley. It also has to do with Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

  Darcy felt his color rising. The last thing he wanted to do was discuss Elizabeth with George Wickham, whose false accusations he had attributed as being the means of turning her against him. His curiosity, however, would not be repressed. “What is your price?”

  “I do not ask for much—just enough to cover my expenses for the next year or so while I complete my law studies.”

  Darcy shook his head. There he goes again rambling on about studying the law. I know better.

  “Do not be absurd. What might you possibly have to say that would warrant such an absorbent amount?” Placing both hands on the desk and leaning forward, he said, “I shall give you one hundred pounds and not a shilling more. Regardless of what you have to say, it is a small price to pay to have you take a swift leave of Pemberley.”

  “Double your offer and I shall tell you everything.”

  “My original offer is my final offer. I advise you to take it,” said Darcy as he proceeded to prepare the bank draft. Darcy knew his childhood friend too well to suppose he would walk away from a bona fide offer. Besides, who is to say that Wickham is in possession of intelligence that might be of use to me?

  Darcy held up the bank draft for Wickham’s inspection. When the latter reached out his hand to accept it, Darcy drew back his own hand. “Start talking,” he demanded.

  Start talking indeed. Wickham took the chair opposite Darcy’s large mahogany desk. Likewise, Darcy took his own seat and listened as Wickham rehashed the details of Caroline Bingley’s scheme.

  More than once, Darcy wanted to reach across the desk and wipe the smirk off the gentleman’s face with his fist, but each time he thought better of it.

  Wickham is just being himself, after all. A greedy opportunist who values money above all else, and one who is totally devoid of human sensibilities. No—Caroline Bingley is the true culprit. She is the person who deserves the greater share of my ire.

  That she had been lurking around unseen and listening to what Darcy had believed were private conversations with Elizabeth, according to Wickham's testimony, was an abhorrence. This woman who had always been a welcomed guest in his home. Never again.

  I have long known the lady could be jealous and spiteful, but to have gone to such lengths to remove Miss Elizabeth from Pemberley and ultimately from me. How could she possibly believe she would accomplish such a despicable feat with impunity, especially with an accomplice the likes of George Wickham?

  By now, Darcy was hardly attending a word Wickham had to say. His mind was busily engaged thinking of but one person: Elizabeth. She had left Pemberley with the mistaken impression that he did not care for her. He had allowed her to leave thinking he wanted her gone.

  He thought of how it would be if he were away from Pemberley and his obligations as its new master at such a time.

  What other choice is there? I must go to her.

  I must do everything in my power to clear up this misunderstanding. I pray I am not too late.

  Chapter 31

  Imminent Guest

  Netherfield Park, Hertfordshire

  Happy was the day that Mrs. Fanny Bennet welcomed her eldest daughter, Jane, and her son-in-law to Longbourn. Happier still, had been the news that her son-in-law had let the neighboring estate: Netherfield Park. In her estimation, Jane’s hasty marriage to Mr. Bingley was better than the prospect of Jane marrying Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, Pemberley’s new master. Far better to have a daughter so well settled as well as in such convenient proximity. Indeed, she was certain to be the envy of all her neighbors and friends who would likely never set foot in Derbyshire.

  Hardly a day had passed by that she did not call on her eldest daughter, along with her single daughters. Her second eldest, Elizabeth, practically lived at Netherfield for all intents and purposes. The scheme was in keeping with Elizabeth’s original promise to her sister to come and live with her once she was married. The only difference was that Jane had settled much closer to Longbourn than anyone had intended. That, and she had married Mr. Bingley instead of Mr. Darcy.

  On one particular day, Jane found Elizabeth in the garden. “These flowers are beautiful,” she said, in reference to the colorful bouquet Elizabeth had gathered.

  “Indeed. I was admiring them from my apartment window, and I thought I might bring some of outdoors’ beauty inside.”

  “I am certain Mrs. Kyle would have arranged a proper bouquet for you,” Jane replied, referring to the housekeeper.

  “No doubt, but I am sure I shall enjoy them more knowing the arrangement is the fruit of my own labor.”

  “I recall gathering flowers was always one of your favorite pastimes.”

  “One of yours too, if I recall correctly, when we resided at Longbourn.”

  “Oh, Lizzy, I confess a part of me will always be of Longbourn,” Jane said wistfully.

  “Yes, but surely you would not trade being mistress of all this for anything in the world,” Elizabeth replied as she admired all the surrounding beauty.

  “Do you recall how often we admired Netherfield Park from afar when we were young girls?”

  “Oh, yes, and all the while imagining what it would be like living here one day in this glorious castle with our own charming prince.” Elizabeth pulled one of the prettiest flowers from her bouquet and handed it to her sister. “It seems dreams do come true, and in this case, I can think of no one more deserving than you, dearest Jane.”

  Accepting Elizabeth’s kind gesture, Jane smiled and said, “Pray allow me to thank you again and again for agreeing to come and live with me.”

  Elizabeth recalled her promise to stay with her sister in Derbyshire when it was widely hoped that Jane might one day be the mistress of Pemberley. The thought set off a wave of nostalgia that Elizabeth was wont to suppress. The manner of her own departure from there always made her sad, especially when she remembered the tender regard she had felt, if only for a moment, toward its new master, Fitzwilliam Darcy.

  No, it was more than a moment, she silently considered. I am sure I was half in love with Mr. Darcy—that is before I gleaned his true character by way of his appalling letter.

  Still, his hurtful words cut like a knife: “I am ashamed of what I once felt and cannot help but rejoice in having been spared the inferiority of such connections as yours. I congratulate myself on being spared of relations whose condition in life is so decidedly beneath my own.”

  At length, her sister’s soft voice interrupted her musing. “Lizzy, have you heard a
word I have said?”

  “I am sorry, Jane. I am afraid, for a moment, my mind was miles and miles away. What were you saying?”

  “Simply that I did not want to mention anything before for fear that you might worry needlessly.”

  “Jane?”

  “Oh, you need not fear that what I have to say is so serious as that. It is just that there is soon to be an addition to our party.”

  “Pray you are not speaking of the Bingley sisters, for if that is the case, I shall be compelled to take my leave of Netherfield for the duration of their anticipated state. You know how much your new sisters and I detest each other.”

  “No—no, it is not Caroline or Louisa. Even though I would not be surprised to receive them once they learn of our imminent guest.”

  “That sounds mysterious. Who is it?”

  “It is Mr. Darcy.”

  “Mr. Darcy?” she cried.

  “Oh, Lizzy, you know that Charles and I called on Mr. Darcy at Pemberley to offer our condolences on the loss of his father. Admittedly, the situation was tense at first, but by the time we took our leave, any wounds were healed.”

  Elizabeth, having been taken by surprise said, “But—”

  She did not dare utter the words she wanted to say. Not to Jane, who thought as highly as ever of the gentleman, having been welcomed into his home after what many in society might deem her heartless betrayal. Now, Elizabeth rejoiced at what her sister had done—how she had escaped the hurtful fate he had intended for her all along.

  Those telling words that lent a true insight into his character echoed in her mind again: “I congratulate myself on being spared of relations whose condition in life is so decidedly beneath my own.”

  Oh! That despicable man, she silently declared.

  “Charles was just as surprised upon receiving Mr. Darcy’s letter as was I. Granted he did write to Mr. Darcy asking him to visit when he felt the timing was right because Charles wishes for his friend’s advice on estate management concerns, he certainly never expected Mr. Darcy would accept the invitation so soon.”