What Happened in Lambton

by Jennifer Kay

  It wouldn’t do to linger over goodbyes.

  Four

  31 August 1812

  If Elizabeth had thought two weeks under house arrest with Lydia was unpleasant, the ride to Longbourn was the icing on the cake. She sat opposite Lydia and Wickham—feeling like a chaperone now that they did not need one—and did her best to not look up from her book. They had left Gracechurch Street immediately following the wedding breakfast, and Elizabeth had bitten her tongue rather than beg to stay with her aunt and uncle. At least Lydia seemed happy to ignore her older sister, save for demanding occasionally that Elizabeth admire her new ring or call her “Mrs. Wickham.” Unfortunately, Mr. Wickham was not so inclined.

  “Tell me how you came to be in London, Elizabeth,” he said after several miles had passed. “I was much surprised to see you this morning.”

  Elizabeth gritted her teeth at the address, but he could use her Christian name freely now that he was married to Lydia. “It is a simple matter, Mr. Wickham. My aunt requested that I come to Town to help care for her children, since she was distracted by the distressing matter of locating my sister. Once Lydia was found, it was only natural that I should stand up with her.”

  Lydia grumbled something under her breath, likely that Kitty would have been preferred. “I did not think you were so close to Lydia,” Wickham said. Perhaps he had heard the entire comment, sitting next to Lydia as he was.

  “I am not,” Elizabeth agreed frankly. “But we were not overly concerned with Lydia’s preferences, only her safety and wellbeing and that of the Gardiner children. Jane was needed at home with my mother; as the second oldest I was the natural choice to assist my aunt.”

  “Phooey,” Lydia said. “Everyone knows Aunt Gardiner likes you best. Why else would she and Uncle take you on vacation and not the rest of us? You don’t even like our cousins as much as Kitty does, and I have always dreamed of her standing up with me.”

  Did Kitty like the Gardiner children? Elizabeth couldn’t say she had ever noticed, but before she could respond Mr. Wickham seized the other piece of information Lydia had offered. “You vacationed in Derbyshire, is that correct?” Lydia must have told him about the trip previously, since Elizabeth couldn’t image that Mr. Darcy would have done so.

  “We visited the Peak District. Derbyshire was one of the counties we saw.” Where was he going with this, and how much would she have to lie?

  “And how did you find it?”

  “Very beautiful,” Elizabeth responded truthfully.

  “Did you see Pemberley?”

  “We did.”

  “I wondered.” He paused, and Elizabeth hoped for another comment or question on the house or grounds. But Wickham went on, “You did not seem surprised to see Mr. Darcy. I was far more shocked when he arrived on our doorstep.” The last was accompanied by a look for Lydia and a rub of her arm that made Elizabeth blush and Lydia smile.

  Elizabeth swallowed her revulsion and forced herself to remain calm, as if the subject did not matter much to her. “Of course not. You saw me after I had been acquainted with Mr. Darcy’s involvement. I am not simple enough to be shocked by something I already knew.”

  “I wonder, did you see him in Derbyshire?”

  “Briefly,” Elizabeth said, then continued since she knew he would ask. “We spoke little; he arrived when we were planning to leave, and brought guests of much higher consequence than a couple in trade and their niece. And then of course we received news of Lydia’s disappearance and returned home in haste.”

  “How serious you are!” Lydia interjected, full bottom lip sticking out in an exaggerated pout. “Who cares about that stern man? We are not to speak of him anyway, Aunt was most severe with me on that account, and how can I remember to stay silent if you persist in discussing him? Besides, I want to think of more pleasant things on my wedding day!” She preened, and Mr. Wickham allowed himself to be distracted.

  Elizabeth returned her gaze to the book in her lap and occasionally turned a page, but the words alluded her. It was not so easy to dismiss the gentleman from her mind now that he had been brought up. Where was he at the moment—Darcy House, elsewhere in Town, or on the road back to Pemberley? What excuse would he give for his absence?

  Most pressingly, she wondered, had he read her note? Surely he had by now, for it was scarcely longer than his had been and would require only a few moments of attention. As for how he’d reacted, Elizabeth could only guess. She’d learned the hard way that her assumptions about Mr. Darcy were not infallible. Still, she could not help herself from closing her eyes and going over the words she’d written line by line, trying to picture his face as he took them in.

  Mr. Darcy,

  I should not be writing this either, but at the moment I cannot bring myself to care. I have but two things to say, and say them I will—for you are correct, there may never be another opportunity. First, I cannot thank you enough for what you have done for Lydia. She is impetuous, headstrong, and ill-mannered, but she is my sister and I would have long mourned the loss of her if not for your assistance. You forever have my gratitude and would have that of my family as well, did they know what you had done for us. Do not fear I will go against your wishes; if my family hears of your involvement, it will not be from me.

  Secondly, your request for forgiveness is in vain, for none is required. Do not worry yourself on my account. Remember me to your sister should the occasion arise naturally, and know that I will remember you both fondly.

  E.B.

  It was not perfect by any account, saying too much in some places and not enough in others. However, after a nearly sleepless night mentally composing the words and multiple attempts on paper—started, dashed out, and burned to ash—Elizabeth had forced herself to leave the note as it was. Better to say it poorly than not at all, she reasoned. Mr. Darcy could hardly take offense at the note. He’d written to her twice, after all, and he was gone from her life after today. There could be no expectations on either side, whatever words lay between them.

  Elizabeth reopened her eyes and looked out the window. They were still several hours from Longbourn, and it would do her no good to fret for the rest of the journey. Under the cover of Lydia’s persistent giggles, Elizabeth sighed and picked up her book anew, forcing herself to actually read.

  *

  The rest of the Bennet family came hurrying out to meet them when they pulled into the courtyard at long last. Mrs. Bennet was bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet, as excited as her youngest daughter. The rest of the party was considerably more subdued. Jane looked worried, Mary disproving, and Kitty petulant. Mr. Bennet stared off towards the tree line to the south, not deigning to look at the carriage at all. He had not wanted to receive Lydia and her husband before they left for the North. Elizabeth was surprised he had come out of the house to greet them. Jane must have persuaded him.

  Elizabeth let the new couple exit the carriage first, then followed them slowly, avoiding Mr. Wickham’s help from the carriage by pretending to look for something she’d lost until he turned away. She had taken off her gloves during the ride, and although he was now her brother in name, she did not want to feel his touch on her bare skin.

  “Lydia!” Mrs. Bennet screeched as the girl’s feet touched the ground. “Oh, my dear girl, I am so glad to see you! Married, and at fifteen, I can hardly believe it. I wish you all the happiness in the world, and am sure you will have it.”

  Elizabeth missed Lydia’s reply. Then her mother turned to Mr. Wickham, greeting him as if he had not stolen one daughter away and very nearly ruined the rest.

  “Papa, are you not glad to see us?” Lydia asked, turning to her father. Elizabeth, who had been making her way towards Jane, saw her older sister freeze at the question. Mr. Bennet himself turned to stare at his youngest daughter in angry disbelief.

  “I am glad your mother and sisters were able to see you before you leave to join your husband’s new regiment,” Mr. Bennet said, recovering himself. He turned
towards the house, ignoring Mr. Wickham, and called back over his shoulder, “Walk with me, Lizzy. I would have the latest news from your uncle.”

  Shooting a look at Jane, Elizabeth hurried after her father. There would be time to catch up later. Besides, at the moment Mrs. Wickham required that all her sisters’ attention be fixed firmly on her.

  *

  It was late that evening before Jane and Elizabeth were truly able to speak, and what an evening it had been. Every word and movement from Lydia and Wickham made it clear that they harbored no remorse, and while Elizabeth had noticed many winces and blushes for the awkwardness of the meeting, not a single one came from those who had caused it. Even their eminent removal to the North—the one topic that had dampened Mrs. Bennet’s spirits—did not seem to faze them. Wickham saw new opportunities, Elizabeth supposed, with shopkeepers and officers who did not know he would never pay his debts. Lydia saw all the adventure and none of the consequences.

  But it was over at last, and the embarrassment and frustration could be laid aside while Jane and Elizabeth readied themselves for bed and crawled under the covers to whisper as they had done for as long as they’d shared a room.

  “What news have you had?” Elizabeth asked, once she had exhausted the story of her time in London, save for the mention of a certain gentleman. “How was my father while I was in Town? And my mother?”

  Jane grimaced—or made a face as close to a grimace as she ever got. “My father was much like you saw tonight. He rarely emerged from his book room, and I do not have your talent for lightening a situation or framing it in a way so he can see the humor.”

  Elizabeth gave an unladylike snort. “In this case, I think the situation would have been far beyond my own skill,” she said. “I will go to him tomorrow and see what might be accomplished, now that they are married and the damage has been mitigated.”

  “I am sure you will do him good. I fear I was unable to help my mother very much, either. She did not stir from her bed until my uncle’s express arrived saying they had been found and were to be married. From then on she acted much as she always does, although of course we did not receive visitors or go on calls until they were actually married. My father was very adamant on that point.”

  “Was Kitty overly grieved?” Elizabeth asked. Their second-youngest sister had received a great deal of questioning when Lydia was reported missing, and had still been disconsolate when Elizabeth left for London.

  Jane considered before answering. “Papa became much less harsh with her once it was clear she knew nothing, and her spirits did improve. But he made it clear that rules would change in the future, and I think Kitty feels ill-used, to have all of the punishment and none of Lydia’s fun.”

  They were silent for a time, and Elizabeth had just decided Jane was asleep when her sister spoke again. “I had a letter from Caroline Bingley while you were away.”

  Elizabeth sat up in bed. “What did she say?”

  “She wrote from Pemberley, where she is with Mr. Bingley and Mr. and Mrs. Hurst. They are to spend the rest of the summer with the Darcy’s, and Caroline expects an announcement of her brother’s engagement to Miss Darcy eminently.”

  “Why that— I don’t believe the nerve of that woman,” Elizabeth hissed.

  “No, Lizzy, do not!” Jane exclaimed, sitting up as well. Elizabeth could just make out her sister’s outline in the faint light, but it was easy to imagine her earnest face. “It is better that I am prepared—”

  “For news that will never come,” Elizabeth said, cutting her off. “Jane, I know you have never believed ill of anyone, but please, dearest, do not take everything that Caroline Bingley says to heart. Do not forget that I met with their party at Pemberley, and I observed Mr. Bingley with Miss Darcy; or rather, I observed them both when they were in the same room. I never once saw them together, Jane. If they do marry—which I doubt—it will not be this year or the next, no matter what Caroline Bingley wishes.”

  “Oh—I forgot to ask when you were home previously; did you see Mr. Darcy? You must have, to encounter the rest of the party.”

  Elizabeth was suddenly glad for the dark room, so that her sister could not see the flame of her cheeks. She forced herself to lay back down, as if the subject did not matter much. “I did encounter him.”

  “Was it horribly awkward?” Jane asked, sympathy clear in her voice.

  Elizabeth forced a laugh. “No worse than this evening’s reception with Lydia and Wickham,” she said. Jane would know something was amiss if she stopped with such a short answer, so Elizabeth forced herself to continue. “We did not speak much, but he was polite and I endeavored to be the same. Perhaps there would have been more conversation, had we stayed in Derbyshire, but the news of Lydia changed all of that. Do not worry for me, Jane, truly. Now, take pity on me, for I am exhausted. It was a most trying journey today, and I have not been sleeping well. I shared a bed with our dear sister in London, and she kicks.”

  Five

  September 17, 1812

  The early morning sun turned the landscape into a fairy kingdom as Elizabeth slipped out Longbourn’s back door. She trailed her hand over a late summer flower in the garden, then set out along the path that would take her to Oakham Mount. She’d walked it nearly every day since returning home with Lydia three weeks hence, and while the walk didn’t turn back time or bring Mr. Bingley back to Jane, it did allow her to contemplate her disappointments in private—and gave her the forbearance to sit still without screaming for the rest of the day.

  She paused at the base of the mount to take in the view. It had been three and forty days since she’d seen Mr. Darcy at the inn in Lambton. There was no reason why she should still hear his voice and feel his hands on hers when she lay half-awake at dawn. Three and forty days. Elizabeth couldn’t help but feel slightly pathetic that she knew the number, but neither could she stop herself from adding another day to the tally each morning.

  Only on her morning walks did Elizabeth let herself consider such things, away from prying eyes that would want to know why she blushed. Besides, memories were all she could expect from Mr. Darcy now, and therefore they must be savored. Did he think of her like she did of him? Did he ever ponder what had been said about regrets, or did he consider his duty done and the matter closed now that Lydia was married to Mr. Wickham? She was almost certain he did not lay awake at night reliving their kisses and longing for more. He was a proud man who had been confronted by the worst that her family could offer—she could scarcely blame him if he no longer desired a connection with her, even if he had once professed to love her.

  “Oh, enough, Lizzy,” she told herself aloud. Thinking such things gave her a queer feeling in the pit of her stomach unlike anything she had ever experienced before, coupled with a desperate need for—something. “Damn you, Mr. Darcy,” she added. His fault. His lips, his hands, his words that haunted her. And she could not shake the feeling that he would know exactly what something she needed.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Elizabeth spun towards the voice, half convinced she had gone mad at last. She hadn’t lied to Jane when she said she wasn’t sleeping well, and the lack of Lydia’s nighttime kicking had done little to solve the problem. Her foot caught on a rock, and she would have fallen if not for the two strong hands that seized her shoulders and held her upright.

  “What are you doing here?” Elizabeth gasped. Good lord, had he heard her talking to herself? What else had she said? Had he always been that handsome?

  Mr. Darcy looked amused, but that could have been caused by any number of things. “I traveled to Hertfordshire with Bingley at his request,” he said. “I am here,” one arm released her to indicate the area around them, “because I was hoping to encounter you. Although if I’m being damned perhaps I should take myself away.”

  Dark eyes locked onto her own, and a shiver went down Elizabeth’s spine. He was here. He was really, truly, honest-to-God, standing in front of her with one large hand s
till wrapped around her arm.

  Elizabeth took a deep breath and Darcy’s eyes darkened as her chest moved up and down. His free hand came to rest on her cheek, and he tilted her face up when she would have looked away. “Do you want me to leave, Elizabeth?”

  “No.” It was a whisper, but she did not hesitate. The last thing she wanted was for him to leave. “No, do not go.”

  He caught her against him, her body molding to his, and then he was kissing her forehead, her temples, her neck, the spot behind her ear that she’d never known was so sensitive. Oh, heavens, the sensations! She could lose herself in his touch, close her eyes and go limp and just feel. Some instinct promised that it would be heaven if she just let go. Was this how Lydia had felt?

  That thought pulled her back to her senses, and she stiffened automatically.

  “What is wrong?” Darcy whispered in her ear, then kissed the lobe. “Am I damned after all?”

  She couldn’t think with him that close, his heat all the way down her front, his hands splayed on her back. Elizabeth found the willpower to pull away and looked up at him, as resolute as she could manage. “I—Mr. Darcy, I cannot help but compare my behavior to that of my sister. I am supposed to know better than Lydia—I do know better than her.” She looked away. “If I may be plain, sir, I know what you did for my sister. I do not say this to give offense, merely to explain my concern, but there is no one who could rescue me if I fall under your spell as Lydia did with Wickham.”

  She tensed, waiting for his anger—or worse, his retreat—and instead received a strangled sound that came suspiciously close to a laugh. Confused, Elizabeth looked up, frowning.

  “Oh, if you could see your face,” Darcy said. He reached out a hand and tucked a strand of loose hair behind her ear. “The things you do to me, Elizabeth, will drive me mad. You make me lose control and wish to be a better man all in one. I’ve made a mess out of this again, although hopefully a less disastrous one.” He glanced away and swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing, then looked back with a riot of emotions in his eyes. “Dearest Elizabeth, will you spend the rest of your life confusing, tempting, and loving me as I love you?” He raised his other hand so that they both cupped her face. “Will you marry me?”