by Meg Osborne
Elizabeth had no answer to this and was too tired to think one up. Instead, she passed an arm around her sister, and the two girls walked on, arm in arm, each puzzling over the matter in silence until they drew within sight of Gracechurch Street.
“Lizzy!” Lydia clasped hold of her sister, tightly, her voice barely a whisper, and choked with unshed tears. “I know I am a dreadful trial to you, and Kitty, too, but please! Please do not send us away. Please do not leave us. I want - I want for us to stay together, even if it means us moving ever so far away.”
Lizzy smiled, patiently, and patted her sister on the arm.
“Don’t worry about it, dear. We are not beaten yet! It will all work out, I am sure of it.”
She sounded sure, at least, and that was solution enough to optimistic Lydia, who could not be kept down by anxiety for long. But later that night, once the house was silent and all she could hear was the soft snore of her sisters in the bed next to her, Lizzy lay awake, puzzling over their circumstances and praying for a miracle.
Chapter Six
“You are saying that I need a miracle,” Darcy grumbled.
“Not a miracle,” Mr Baker, his solicitor disputed. “An opportunity. Favourable circumstances. Providence. Some...heretofore unseen solution.”
“A miracle.”
Mr Baker sighed.
“Something like that, yes.”
Darcy massaged his forehead, forestalling the headache he could already feel forming. He had barely touched a drop the previous evening, but the sheer cost of spending his time surrounded by strangers had had enough of an effect on him that he felt exhausted even before his planned visit with his agent. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs at the ankle and regarding his agent with curiosity.
“I always prided myself on my ability to manage the estate my father left me. Have I been living in deceit?”
The man before him hesitated.
“You have known me since I was a child, Baker. Do not withhold your true opinion from me now.”
“It is nothing you have done or not done, sir.” Mr Baker blurted. “Your estate requires a good deal of upkeep and at present, the financial requirements for investment exceed your available funds.” He smiled, warily. “It is a simple matter of cash flow, nothing more.” Reaching for the ledgers, he flapped a page. “There are ample opportunities for profit if you consent to taking on some debt, and I am personally aware of several schemes -”
“Schemes?” Darcy arched an eyebrow. “If you mean speculation, Baker, then say so and do not paint it as a respectable investment when it is anything but.”
“The profit is practically guaranteed.”
“A practical guarantee is not the same as a certain one,” Darcy said. “No, I will not gamble my future or Georgiana’s no matter how good my odds at winning even greater wealth than I currently possess.” He sighed. “If I must sell some land -”
“Sir -” Baker paused. “I believe it may not even come to selling. If you could but lease some land.” He leaned over to the desk, drawing Darcy’s attention to the map unfurled before him. “These fields, here, which border Hamilton land, might be leased to him at cost, and bring in some additional income at very little effort to yourself. Then there is Rose Cottage -”
“The cottage!” Darcy nodded. “I had forgotten that. It has stood empty this past year since Mr Cuthbert’s family moved away. Indeed, it will not fetch much in the way of rent, but it will add a little.”
“It will.” Baker nodded. “And in being occupied it will save you the trouble of maintaining it. Some of the furnishings might need repairing but you ought to recoup any minor investment in its very first quarter, providing you find suitable occupants. Do you have anyone in mind?”
A name, a wisp of a memory floated through Darcy’s brain, but he batted the thought away.
“No, not at present.”
He turned back to his ledger, naming his existing assets and gradually, the two men worked together a plan that would prove an adequate solution to Darcy’s dilemma without the need of any outside intervention, heavenly or otherwise. The morning wore on, and at last affairs were settled such that Darcy was able to bid his agent good day. He dashed off a note to Georgiana, informing her that his business had been swiftly and successfully concluded and that he would be returning to Pemberley within the next day or two. He had debated inviting her to join him but despite the solution letting the entire Pemberley estate might offer to his current problem, he could not sit content with the notion f strangers in his family home. No, better to stay there himself, close up the townhouse, let out what could be let out, and allow his books to right themselves slowly, over time. Economy might be his watchword, but that did not mean giving up his home.
Glancing towards the window, he noticed the sun struggling to shine and decided he had had too much of ledgers and books that day: in short, he wished to be out of doors. London was no Derbyshire, and the confines of St James Park could hardly be compared to the grounds of Pemberley, bordered with the blue peaks of the Pennines, but it would soothe his spirit better than sitting indoors and brooding over his failures as a manager. It is no fault of mine, he reminded himself. It is Providence, the markets, unexpected expenses... he grimaced. At least one of those “unexpected expenses” had a name: George Wickham. How many debts had been underwritten on his old friend’s behalf? Yet still, Darcy found himself unable to stop from sweeping up after the man, clearing up his messes, righting his mistakes. His father had charged him to see George right, and, that being one of the last promises the younger Mr Darcy had made to the older, he could not break it, even now, and even when at a cost to his own finances as well as his pride.
His concentration on walking allowed peace to reign, mostly, in his cluttered mind, and with every stride he walked towards the park he felt his anxieties recede, along with his headache. Perhaps he would call on Charles again if he planned to return home sooner than intended. He had feared being trapped in town seeing to business for days without end, but his manager had been surprisingly astute and prepared for their meeting so that what he had anticipated taking days had been but hours. There was one small mercy to be glad of. Charles would be disappointed to see his friend leave again, so soon after arriving, but that could not be helped. Darcy would not endure London any longer than necessary simply to soothe Charles Bingley’s ruffled feathers. In any case, if his friend’s enjoyment the previous evening was anything to judge, he would flourish quite as well without Fitzwilliam Darcy by his side as he did with him. He recalled his friend’s almost immediate affections for the eldest Miss Bennet with anxiety. Ought he to abandon his friend so completely, to such a young lady? He had thought Miss Bennet quite pretty, and easily as amiable as her sister, but the snippet of conversation he had overheard plagued him still. Surely he was leaving Charles to his fate if he did not at least warn him of Miss Bennet’s likely designs upon his wealth. Darcy blinked. Would Charles even care? He was generous, too generous, that had always been his fault. Surely he would embrace the family as well as the young lady, even if it ruined his prospects and his property!
Darcy’s agitation drove his pace so that he stalked around the park paying barely any notice to those who passed him on either side. It was at least as shocking to him as it was to one particular young lady when they came close to a colliding, saved only at the last moment when she chanced to look upon him, and exclaim.
“Why, Mr Darcy!”
“Miss Elizabeth!” He drew up short, surprised to see her. He glanced away almost immediately, torn between a desire not to appear rude and the pressing need he felt to be away from her, lest he succumb, as Charles had, to a pretty face and an unenviably quick mind. “You must excuse me, Miss Elizabeth, I am in quite a hurry, and I -”
He looked at her properly as he spoke and was surprised to see not only shock but anxiety darken her features. She blinked rapidly, and her hand darted to her eyes almost too quickly for him to register. Recogni
tion dawned. She had been crying! Some concern he could neither explain nor dismiss overrode his usual awkwardness, and quite unbidden he found words tumbling from his lips quicker than he could halt them.
“Is something the matter, Miss Elizabeth? Here, there is a bench. Please, do sit a moment and rest.” He glanced around. “You are alone?” His brows knit. “You ought not to be alone. Is there someone I might fetch for you?”
“No!” Her response came quickly, sharper than she intended, and she smiled in an attempt to soften it. “No, I am quite alright, Mr Darcy.” She swallowed. “But I thank you for your concern. Good day.”
Mystified by her sudden appearance, and even more so by her state of evident disquiet, Darcy stood quite motionless as the trim figure ducked her head and scurried away. It was some time before he moved again, and when he did it was sluggish, his mind so running with possibilities that his feet could do little but shuffle forwards a pace at a time. Surely if Miss Elizabeth Bennet had intended on scheming her way to a husband, she had just made a miscalculation. He had, for reasons he still could not discern, shown his hand. He had offered her his notice, his assistance, his time, and she had rebuffed him, almost entirely. Instead of using her tears to her advantage, she had seemed embarrassed at being observed in any measure discomposed.
When Darcy reached his house again, his thoughts were no clearer than they had been at his leaving, although he was now concerned entirely by the matters of a family other than his own. Elizabeth Bennet was more a mystery than she had been the previous evening, and he contrived, while he remained in London, to discover her true intentions. I will consult Charles, he thought, already setting his stock at calling upon his friends that very afternoon. His friend might easily be encouraged to speak of Miss Bennet and her family, and perhaps, from his innocent ramblings, Darcy might distinguish a few pertinent facts. He might at least be able to judge for himself how much at risk his friend’s heart, and thus his fortune, was. His mind taunted him with the memory of Elizabeth Bennet’s hasty, tearful retreat, and he blinked to clear the image. His friend’s future was not the only one at risk.
WHEN ELIZABETH REACHED the doors of the exhibition hall, it felt like a refuge in more ways than one. The museum had been her intended destination, it was mere chance that she decided to take a detour through St James’ Park and admire the greenery before finding her way into yet another building. Her uncle was right, after so long in London she rather craved nature, and would take what she could get of it, even if that consisted solely of manicured lawns and cultivated flower borders. She had not imagined that stumbling over a plant that had been a particular favourite of her father’s would so quickly and completely overwhelm her, and she had certainly never imagined stumbling across an acquaintance when she was so upset.
She drew a shaky breath and dabbed once more at her cheeks, reassuring herself that her tears were gone. Well, at least today was my opportunity to run from Mr Darcy, she thought, remembering with a rueful smile his own speedy departure after their dance at the assembly.
Drawing in a fortifying breath, she skipped up the steps and prepared to lose a happy hour amongst ancient artefacts and blessed quiet: a state which was never available to her in Gracechurch Street. The only sister she had told of her plan that day was Jane, who had offered almost immediately to accompany her, but before both girls could make their escape, Mrs Bennet summoned Jane to her side to quiz her still more thoroughly on this charming Mr Bingley who had come to her ear. Lizzy had seized her opportunity and snuck out while her mother and sisters were fully occupied and eschewed the offer of an escort from any other member of the household. She bristled a little at her aunt and uncle’s insistence that the young ladies go everywhere in company, for to Elizabeth, the freedom to roam as she chose, alone if she chose, was something as necessary to life as the air she breathed.
She smiled a polite greeting at a group of older ladies who lingered in the entryway deep in discussion, and found her way into the main exhibition hall, grateful that none of her sisters professed even a passing interest in history, that she need not feel guilty about not inviting them to accompany her.
Her interest was fully absorbed in the exhibits and accompanying information, learning of far off places and long-dead people so that her mood was considerably cheered as she reached the end and found her way back out onto the street. There was even some spring in her step as she took the swiftest route home, eager, now, to see her family again and relieve Jane from the burden of bearing all of her mother’s questions unaided.
“Lizzy, is that you?”
She had barely crossed the threshold when her mother’s call reached her.
“Yes, Mama. I -”
“Come here at once!”
Such a direct request given in Mrs Bennet’s unusually calm voice caused Elizabeth’s heart to beat a little faster, and she hurried to see what the matter was. Reaching the parlour, she was reprised and pleased to see Mrs Bennet sitting comfortably, surrounded by her daughters, clutching tight hold of Jane with one hand, and a small card with the other. This, she thrust at Elizabeth.
“Look!” she crowed. “I told you it was a good idea to attend the assembly last evening.”
Smiling, but not altogether understanding, Lizzy turned the note over, realisation dawning as she read the careful script. Mr Bingley and Miss Bingley would like to call on Mr and Mrs Gardiner, Mrs Bennet and the Miss Bennets at their earliest convenience...”
“Oh, Jane!” Lizzy glanced happily at her sister, who was brimming with excitement. “Have you replied?”
“Of course we have!” Mrs Bennet bristled as if Lizzy’s suggestion was some slight on her manners. “And I think this Mr Bingley sounds like a charming prospect for darling Jane.” She sniffed. “What a pity you could not be a little more adroit in your interactions, then we might be looking at a card from your own suitor...”
The image of Mr Darcy flitted through Lizzy’s mind, unbidden, and she was unable to keep the merest hint of warmth from staining her cheeks. She turned away, but not quickly enough, for Mrs Bennet was eagle-eyed when it came to the notion of her daughters’ romantic endeavours.
“Aha!” She let go of Jane and leapt to her feet, reaching for Elizabeth. “I knew Lydia was not merely teasing me when she said you had a contretemps with some young gentleman. Oh, Elizabeth! Please tell me you did not embarrass us -”
“I did no such thing!” Lizzy frowned at her sisters. “If anybody was an embarrassment -” she paused, sucked in a breath, and shook off the urge to tell tales of her sisters. Indeed, she rather feared that their frolicking would not only not be condemned by Mrs Bennet, it might even be encouraged, for of the two parents it had always fallen to Mr Bennet to insist on sensible behaviour, when he insisted on anything. He was barely heeded, but he at least could be relied upon to be a pillar of good behaviour. Alas, no more. “I danced once with the gentleman Lydia refers to, that is all.”
“The gentleman?” Mrs Bennet pressed. “Surely he has a name, does not he?”
“Mr Darcy.” Elizabeth forced the name out from between clenched teeth. “But you needn’t begin to think of matching us, Mama, for I assure you he will not begin to think of seeing us again, that is -” she swallowed, recalling the concern that had fleetingly rested on Mr Darcy’s features in the park, softening them and making him appear almost kind. “I do not believe he resides in London usually,” she finished, lamely.
“Then it is provident he should be here, and at the assembly, the same time as us. He is a friend of Mr Bingley’s, I believe?” Mrs Bennet’s mind was rapier-sharp when there were gentlemen concerned, and Lizzy’s stomach clenched as she could see her mother already concocting some scheme to force the group together once more.
“Mama...” she began.
“Oh, hush!” Mrs Bennet waved her away. “Let me think...”
Chapter Seven
“Caro, is that you? Darcy is here, come and join us, won’t you?”
D
arcy had been quite enjoying the peaceful afternoon conversing with his friend, although he had been surprised to see Charles at home alone at such an hour. When the front door opened to the sound of footsteps he had braced himself, knowing that their easy manner would be all but abandoned with the arrival of Caroline Bingley. Still, he had just enough time to arrange his features into something resembling a smile, before she appeared in the doorway to the sitting room.
“Mr Darcy, good afternoon!” she said, smoothly. “I would not wish to intrude, though, for it seems to me you must prefer to spend time with my brother...” she trailed off, letting the assertion hang in mid-air. He ought to counter it, as she evidently invited him to, but he hesitated a moment too long, before clearing his throat.
“Of course, I came to visit you both, Miss Bingley. I was not expecting to find Charles alone.”
“He did not tell you I invited him to accompany me, I suppose.” Caroline glared reproachfully towards her brother but did as she was bid, selecting a seat and delicately dropping into it. “It was your loss, Charles, for the exhibition was utterly fascinating.”
“Oh?” Charles’ eyes flashed with fun as his gaze met Darcy’s. “And what was your favourite exhibit?”
“The...” Caroline paused, the colour in her cheeks deepening as she struggled to comb her memory for some example to satisfy her brother’s question. “There was...I mean...” At length, she threw her hands up in frustration. “I cannot begin to describe the whole exhibition in words enough to satisfy your curiosity, Charles.” She lifted her chin, turning towards Darcy. “But I encourage you both to visit it. Everybody seemed to be there this afternoon.”
