Elizabeth scurried away, back to Netherfield. She had to tell Bingley. He could seek out Mr. Wickham and force him to marry Caroline. It wouldn’t be the life that Caroline had wanted with Mr. Darcy, but it would be quite better than being an unmarried woman with child.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
When she arrived back at Netherfield, however, Bingley was closed in his study and would receive no one, not even Jane, who said he was in a black mood, and it was best not to disturb him.
So, Elizabeth told all she had seen to Jane, who admitted that it could be so, that Mr. Wickham might have done as Elizabeth had said. But she was hesitant to lay blame at the man’s feet, because she didn’t want to think badly of him.
Elizabeth told Jane about the letter Darcy had written her, about what he claimed Wickham had done to his sister.
But Jane said what Elizabeth had said, that Darcy was blaming Wickham for his own sins, that he was the one who sought to ruin ladies of gentle birth.
Eventually, Caroline came back, looking disheveled and tired. She retired to her room without a word.
Not ten minutes later, Wickham galloped up the road and came up the steps of Netherfield.
“What is he doing here?” said Elizabeth.
“I don’t know,” said Jane.
They crept to the top of the stairs so that they could listen to him speak to the butler. Wickham asked to see Mr. Bingley.
The butler said that Mr. Bingley had professed to be indisposed that day, but that he would ask Bingley if he would greet a guest anyway. He sent Wickham to the parlor to wait.
Jane pointed across the hallway. “That room there,” she whispered. “It shares a chimney with the parlor. The sound comes straight through. We’ll listen in.”
Elizabeth and Jane scurried into the room and shut the door behind them. They sat down directly in front of the fireplace with their ears facing it.
A few moments later, they heard the butler announcing Mr. Bingley. His voice wafted up through the chimney. Then Mr. Wickham and Mr. Bingley exchanged somewhat stiff greetings.
“I shan’t waste time, then,” said Wickham, who sounded to be in great spirits. “I am here about your sister Miss Bingley.”
“My sister?” said Bingley. “What is it that you have to say about my sister?”
“Well, sir, I am hoping to secure your permission and blessing to make her my wife.”
Bingley sputtered. “You! But…” His voice choked off.
“Oh, yes,” said Wickham. “Well, shall we be polite about all that or shall we simply speak openly, since all is known? It may be that your sister and I were, shall we say, carried away in our affections toward each other. And yes, certain liberties may have been taken. But I am confident that she couldn’t be farther along than but a few weeks, and it shall never be known by anyone. Besides, who truly cares about such things? Shall we discuss financial considerations now? I am given to understand that your sister’s dowry is quite generous.”
“You… you…” Bingley seemingly was having trouble forming words. “But I thought that Darcy—”
“Oh, yes, Darcy,” said Wickham, laughing softly. “You may know that I have some acquaintance with him. But this is a settling of debts between us, I suppose. He has taken much from me. Now, I have taken his fiancée. You do agree to the match, do you not? You could hardly deny it, not under the circumstances.”
“No, I suppose I could not,” said Bingley. “I could not indeed.”
* * *
Darcy fidgeted in the parlor at Netherfield. He had not gotten far before a rider from Netherfield had overtaken him with a letter from Bingley. He’d read it, and then turned around and ridden back. But now, he was waiting for his friend and feeling nervous.
The door burst open and there was Bingley, no butler in sight to announce. “Darcy!” said Bingley and strode across the room toward him, hand outstretched. “I owe you an ocean of apologies. I have been dreadful to you.”
Darcy felt a knot unravel that he hadn’t realized had been tangled up in his gut for quite some time. He seized his friend’s hand and they shook. “You had to protect your sister. I did understand.”
“But I know you, and I wouldn’t listen to you. All this time, your story has not wavered, and I thought you were lying. I feel wretched, I must tell you.”
“No more wretched than I have felt, having lost you.”
“But you forgive me? I daresay I don’t deserve it, but I ask it anyway.”
Darcy moved his hand from his friend’s hand to his arm and braced him there. Bingley did likewise. “It is forgotten. We shall let it go.”
“Thank you, old friend.”
They smiled at each other and held on for a moment.
And then they dropped each other’s arms and both made a show of straightening their cravats.
“Well, so she is to be married to Wickham,” said Bingley. “And soon. There will be a special license, and the marriage will be performed with all haste. I am not pleased about it, but I can’t help but think that she has naught but herself to blame for this match.”
“She did make bad choices,” said Darcy. “Who knows but that she and Wickham are not made for she other? They appear to be cut from the same cloth.”
Bingley sighed. “Yes, you may be right. You will stay here, won’t you? At least until the wedding?”
“I will,” said Darcy.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The wedding was delayed only by two days, and during that time, Darcy did not see Elizabeth, for she was called back home on a matter of joy within her family. Apparently, her youngest sister Lydia was to be married to one of the other officers in Meryton, a Mr. Denny. Darcy did not know who he was, nor was he party to understanding why Lydia’s marriage must also be undertaken with such haste. But knowing a bit about the girl, he supposed it was not difficult to imagine why or how such a thing had come to be.
He was not invited to the youngest Miss Bennet’s wedding. Indeed, few were, in much the same way no one was invited to the wedding of Caroline and Wickham. Darcy was there, only to be there for Bingley. Even Caroline’s sister was not called back from London.
Wickham, though, was detestably happy before and during the ceremony. He went so far as to address Darcy after the ceremony, all smiles. “Aren’t you going to congratulate me, Darcy?” he said. “Or would it be too hard for you to acknowledge me at all? You have brought me so low, after all. Does it make up for the fact that your father loved me more than he loved you?”
Darcy glared at Wickham. He hated the man, but he had never been jealous of him. It was odd that Wickham seemed to spin lies for others that he then grew to believe himself. He was so charming that he was a victim of his own deceptions, Darcy supposed.
“Well, perhaps not so low in the end,” said Wickham. He leaned closer. “At first, all I thought to do was deflower your fiancée. I thought it would be a good joke, knowing that I had been there first. But instead, I have taken her from you entirely.”
Darcy decided to say nothing. Let Wickham think that he wounded Darcy in some way instead of relieving him of the worst burden of his life.
* * *
The atmosphere in Longbourn had been chaotic, which was nothing that unusual, Elizabeth had to admit, but it had been even more chaotic than normal, what with Lydia’s hurried wedding, which she had graciously decided to share with her family at the last minute, instead of eloping.
Why this was, Elizabeth couldn’t be sure, but probably because someone had put it into Lydia’s head that elopement was not respectable, and Lydia did hate being talked about behind her back. On the other hand, a hurried marriage wasn’t much better, so Elizabeth was not sure what the point of it all had been. She did think that her house was far quieter now that Lydia was gone.
Of course, her mother was nearly able to make up for that, because she kept weeping into a handkerchief about Lydia going off to Brighton at the end of the spring with the Regiment. She already had it in h
er head that the whole family should go, and she was attempting to convince Mr. Bennet of it, but he would hear nothing of it.
Kitty was in poor spirits as well, having lost her compatriot. She also seemed miffed that she’d had no offers of marriage herself, for she was “as lively as Lydia” if she did say so herself.
Mary continued as ever. In Elizabeth’s absence, she had truly applied herself to practicing the piano, and she had grown tolerably better at it. Her singing voice was still not what one might call pleasant to listen to, but she seemed to be improving in that manner as well, and she dolefully told Elizabeth that mastery was gained from dogged practice, and that she would apply herself, for it was good for the soul as well.
Elizabeth longed to go back to Netherfield for she had heard from Jane’s letters what was going on there, and knew that Wickham and Caroline had been hurriedly married. But more importantly, she knew that Darcy was still there, and she was most desirous to speak to him.
Several times, she had started to try to compose a letter to him, as she had promised that she would do, but it was hard to know what to say.
Dear Sir: As you have proposed marriage to me thrice, can I reasonably assume the offer is still open? If so, I would like to marry at once.
Absolutely not.
Dear Sir: As you are no longer engaged to another woman, and you have done exceedingly improper things with me, such as fingering my hair and kissing me on the mouth, using your tongue, I should think it is a foregone conclusion that we be married with much haste.
Decidedly not that either.
Dear Sir: I have been woken these last nights by the same burning dreams that I have been afflicted with since the first time I saw your bare skin beneath your night shirt, and I am most desirous to see you without the shirt entirely, so if you please, could you renew your proposal of marriage, because I think I shall go up in smoke else.
That, of course, was the worst thing of all.
She despaired of finding anything to say. But she couldn’t leave to go to Netherfield while her mother was sobbing all over the place, not even under the pretext of going to check on Jane, because that would send her mother into further hysterics, since her mother had grown convinced that Jane was likely to die in childbirth. It was the only thing that could come of such difficulty carrying a child according to her mother.
In all truth, it probably wouldn’t be any easier at Netherfield. It would probably be just as difficult to speak to Mr. Darcy as it was to write to him. Perhaps even more difficult, she could not say. But he would still want to marry her now, especially now that there was nothing in their way. Wouldn’t he? He couldn’t have changed his mind.
She thought of things that he had said to her before, and it made her whole body flush. I don’t want to be parted from you again, he’d said, not for any reason.
He could not have changed his mind. The universe was not so cruel as that.
But if she could not write to him, and she could not see him, what did any of it matter? Elizabeth felt certain she would go mad if nothing happened.
And then, one morning, there he was, calling on her at Longbourn.
“Oh Lord,” said her mother in disgust when she saw who was approaching. “It’s that awful Mr. Darcy. What could he want with us?”
“For heaven’s sake, he is not awful at all,” said Elizabeth. “He is just shy and awkward. And I think he’s here to see me.” Her lips broke into a smile at that, one that couldn’t be suppressed.
Darcy was announced. He stood in the doorway of their drawing room.
Her mother and Kitty were on the couch together. They had been engaged in a conversation, which was really no more than two people airing their grievances at the other with no sense that the other had even heard. Mary was in a chair in the corner, reading the bible.
Elizabeth stood at the mantle, looking across the room at him.
“It’s a lovely day today, isn’t it?” said her mother. “Quite agreeable weather.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Darcy. “Quite agreeable.”
“Of course,” said her mother, “perhaps one such as you, who does not enjoy the country because of the lack of variety, does not enjoy the weather either.”
“Mama!” said Elizabeth, shaking her head.
“I assure you, Mrs. Bennet,” said Darcy, looking straight at Elizabeth, “I have come to find much to admire about this part of the country after all.”
Elizabeth’s smile was back. She bit down on her lip.
Darcy strode into the room. “I wonder if I might have a word alone with Miss Bennet?”
Mrs. Bennet’s eyes were suddenly round like saucers. She leapt to her feet, her voice shrill. “Out, everyone out. Out, now!” She turned on Elizabeth. “Well, Lizzy, you might have let me know this was even a possibility,” she said, and then swept out of the room in a huff, her younger daughters trailing behind her.
Elizabeth smiled at him. “You know that they’ll all simply be listening at the door to whatever we say now, don’t you?”
Darcy smiled too, and she had never seen him look so easy and relaxed, as if the weight of the world had been removed from his shoulders. “Is that so?”
She lurched forward, pulled by a force she didn’t understand. Maybe it was the same force that made her burn for Mr. Darcy. She didn’t know. But she was next to him in moments, her hand against his cheek.
He shut his eyes. His voice was a low rumble. “Perhaps we don’t speak then.”
“Mr. Darcy,” she whispered. “That is shocking.”
His eyes opened. “I cannot seem to escape being shocking when it comes to you.” A pause. “Elizabeth.”
She shuddered. He had never spoken her name aloud thus, not in that tone, and besides, it was frightfully irregular for him to call her by her first name. Her mouth was dry.
He was kissing her.
He was kissing her right in front of the mantle in her family’s drawing room, and it was shocking, and it was also liquid heat that made her go weak and sway into his arms, that made the air seem to churn around them, as if they were being swept up in their own little world together, and none of the rules mattered anymore. This, the two of them together, this was right, and it was all that mattered.
He pulled back abruptly.
She gasped.
“Sorry,” he said, furrowing his brow. “I only, I thought before we got carried away, we should—that is… dash it all.” He cast a pained look over her head as he tried to gather his thoughts.
She giggled. That was Mr. Darcy, all right. A bit shy and a bit awkward, but underneath it, all, he was molten. And he was hers.
“I came to ask you to marry me,” blurted Darcy. “Again.”
“I wasn’t refusing you last time, you know,” said Elizabeth. “You ran off before I could get the words out.”
He raised his eyebrows. “You would have married me under such circumstances? Even if it had reflected badly on your loved ones?”
“Some things are worth the risk,” she said. She cocked her head to one side. “I can say without question that I have not been nearly as happy as I am in your presence these past months. I think I would marry you if it brought a pox down on all of London.”
He chuckled. “Really? I seem to remember a certain woman claiming she would not marry me if I were the last man in the country.”
“She was foolish and young,” said Elizabeth, smiling. “I’m older now. Wiser.”
And they were kissing again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“I think I am more nervous than you are,” came Mr. Darcy’s voice out of the darkness.
Elizabeth started at the sound. She had not even known he was there. She was lying on her back in the great bed in Pemberley, and it was late, and she would have been so tired that she had fallen asleep right away if she were not so nervous and… and excited. Inside her, her body was a storm of turmoil and sparks and anticipation.
She was married.
She was
Mrs. Darcy now. No longer would she be Miss Bennet, and no longer would she live at Longbourn. Now, she would be mistress of this great estate, and she was overwhelmed by it all, but in the most pleasant of ways. It was more than she had dreamed of, more than she had dared to even think of. She had been quite convinced that she would die an old maid. But, no, she was married.
The wedding had taken place in Derbyshire only that morning.
Though Elizabeth had arrived at her new home the day before the wedding, she’d had little time to take it all in. She had instead spent a large part of the day visiting with Georgiana, and the two of them had explored the library together. Georgiana had given her five or six books to read, saying that she could not wait to talk about them with Elizabeth.
Georgiana was excited. She said that she and Elizabeth would be like sisters now, and she had never had a sister. Elizabeth, who had too many sisters, thought to herself that she hoped she and Georgiana could have all the sweet closeness of a sisterly relationship without any of the conflict. Since they had not grown up under the same roof, Elizabeth was certain such a thing could be attained.
Anyway, the fact remained that Elizabeth had not seen even a quarter of Pemberley, and she could still hardly believe that she lived here. That she was mistress of all this.
Time could have been given before the nuptials for her to settle in, but neither she nor Darcy wished that. She knew there was something behind those kisses of his, something inexorable and inescapable, and she wanted it unleashed. Every time he kissed her, she wanted more. She craved some further plane of pleasure, and she wanted to find it.
Except now, lying here, waiting for her husband, it all seemed… well, terrifying.
“I frightened you,” he said.
She sat up in the bed. “No. You do not scare me.” Which was true. She wasn’t afraid of Mr. Darcy himself, but she was anxious, and that was only because all of this was so new. “I’m, um, I’m quite fine.”
He sat down on the bed next to her. “The first time I saw you, you took my breath away.”
The Unraveling of Mr Darcy Page 17
