"It was this," he said, interrupting her dispiriting deliberations.
Darcy observed her confusion from the crease that formed between her brows. "When I wrote that letter it was not only base pleasures I hoped to obtain. I wanted these private moments, to see you as you are amongst your intimates, to know the things I might have known—," had we wed he almost said, but he broke off knowing those words would incite her wrath.
"I know you do not wish me to speak of sentiment but I must tell you—it was this."
Perhaps his charm was instantaneously disarming for all the warnings Lizzy had just given herself flew straight out of her head.
Chapter Twelve
As Lizzy ambled carefully over the uneven ground, she was heartily glad for her wide, if unfashionable skirt which allowed her legs the full range of movement unlike poor Miss Darcy's form-fitting walking dress which, while beautiful and in the current style, seemed to be a considerable impairment to its wearer.
Once again the young lady stumbled, nearly toppling into the high grass as she flailed wildly before regaining her balance. Lizzy sighed in relief. She was following some distance behind her quarry. Thus far she had not been discovered, but she felt certain at any moment Miss Darcy would fall and she would have to come to her aid.
No excuse could be made as to why she was here in this particular part of the park. She had no reason to come this way. No one had reason to come this way, so far off the foot path. No one except someone on her way to an assignation.
Lizzy could not know with certainty what had compelled Miss Darcy to leave the path, but given early hour and the fact all manner of clandestine activities were said to occur in the shade of Hyde Park's trees, she felt it likely a tryst was planned.
I must be Fortune's fool to be so uncommonly prone to meet with Darcys in unlikely places, thought Lizzy as she navigated the uneven ground. She had ventured out as soon as the sun had begun to rise with hopes of encountering as few people as possible upon her walk. The tromp to the park had been an expedition in itself, and she had intended to continue just briefly down a foot path before returning home, but as she came upon Grosvenor Gate she met with a familiar young lady entering the park at the same time.
At first glance Lizzy had assumed her thoughts of Mr. Darcy had been so consuming they had led her to see his face everywhere. However upon closer inspection, she had found it was not a trick of the mind. She was indeed seeing Mr. Darcy's face. Femininity had softened the rugged jaw and made full lips fuller still, but those were the same distinctive dark blue eyes, the same elegantly arched brows, the same guarded expression that haunted Lizzy.
Georgiana Darcy was perhaps not as pretty as her brother was handsome, but there was a loveliness to her that went beyond her appearance, a certain fragility that hinted at her artistic nature and sensitivity. Or perhaps Lizzy only imagined these things because of what she knew of the lady. Whatever the cause, Lizzy felt instinctively protective of her.
She had paused too long staring stupidly at the lady not to make some sort of greeting so she had bobbed an clumsy curtsy and mumbled a "Good morning". Miss Darcy had returned the gesture with wary hesitation.
Lizzy had allowed the younger woman to walk ahead of her and had taken first divergence of the path leaving Miss Darcy to walk alone. Or at least she had appeared to split away. In truth she had lingered to the side out of view for a few minutes before following discreetly behind Miss Darcy.
The groundskeepers kept vagrants from making camps in the park so it was unlikely Miss Darcy would meet with any trouble of that kind upon her walk, and it was just as unlikely Lizzy would be able to do much of anything to defend her if she did. It was the danger to her reputation Lizzy sought to protect her from.
Lizzy was not certain what she planned to do. Allow the tryst to transpire? Grab Miss Darcy by the ear and drag her away, scolding all the while? Any attempt at prohibition would be hypocritical as she herself was guilty of more than a surreptitious dalliance in the park, but if it were Kitty sneaking off to an assignation Lizzy would have already put a stop to it, hypocrisy be damned.
But this was not her sister and any interference on her part would require an explanation as to why she felt responsible for Miss Darcy at all. So Lizzy decided she would wait, she would watch, she would try her best to prevent any harm from befalling Miss Darcy.
Miss Darcy came to a sudden stop, pulled an envelope from her reticule, and placed it in a hole in a gnarled oak. She then drew from that same oak another envelope. Unable to wait a moment longer she tore into it, her lack of a letter opener greatly hindering the process. The epistle was freed, however, and Miss Darcy's eyes hungrily began scanning the page.
The lady released a gasp Lizzy could hear from her post behind an ash tree some meters away then stood rigidly for several moments before crumpling upon herself as if she had received a blow to the stomach.
It was difficult for Lizzy to remain hidden behind the tree knowing the young lady was suffering, but if Miss Darcy was anything like her brother she would not want to know her anguish had been witnessed, especially by a stranger.
After several minutes of violent sobbing, the lady came back to herself, blotting her eyes with a handkerchief and smoothing her skirt. She set to retracing her steps through the trees. As Miss Darcy was passing by Lizzy's hiding spot, she halted. Lizzy thought for a moment she had been discovered but then, with sudden vehemence, Miss Darcy whipped the heartbreaking letter out of her reticule where she had stowed it and shred it thoroughly, letting the pieces fall to the ground before calmly continuing on.
Lizzy waited as long as her patience would allow before following after Miss Darcy. Unfortunately Miss Darcy had not made it far. Lizzy came across the young lady sitting dejectedly at the edge of the corpse of trees clasping her ankle and once again sobbing.
"Miss, are you hurt?"
Miss Darcy twisted around to look at her, wincing in pain as she tried to put weight on her injured limb.
"You were following me!"
Lizzy could think of no reasonable way to deny it. "Yes."
"Why?"
"I saw you leave the path alone. I was concerned. Shall I help you stand?"
Miss Darcy's features, which had been pinched in a look of suspicious petulance, softened at the offer of help, but then hardened once more. Now, instead of merely sullen, the young lady looked irritably haughty. If Lizzy had had any doubt as to the lady's identity that unarguably Darcy-like expression would have quelled it.
"Did my brother ask you to spy on me?" Miss Darcy asked, the waver in her voice telling Lizzy she was not accustomed to being severe.
"I assure you he did not," Lizzy replied, offering her hand.
Miss Darcy allowed her to pull her up but once she was upright she began regarding her suspiciously yet again.
"Did my aunt ask you to spy on me?"
"I promise none of your relation has employed me to spy on you."
Lizzy's expression must have been convincing, for Miss Darcy nodded.
"Now, you must lean on me and we shall make our way to your home. You do not live far from here I trust?" Lizzy knew she did not.
Miss Darcy gave her address and leaned upon her. The two hobbled along in silence for some time. Lizzy could tell the other woman was on the verge of tears, straining frightfully to hold them back. She felt she should say something to comfort her, but was afraid being reminded of her physical and emotional aches would only make it that much harder to keep her composure.
Instead she said, "Your ensemble is lovely, I do hope the wet grass has not ruined it."
Miss Darcy's midnight blue walking dress, brocade spencer in jewel tones, and little feathered cap complimented her dark hair and fair complexion wonderfully. No doubt the lady had dressed with care in the hopes she might come upon her beau in the act of stowing his letter.
"I think it will be salvageable. Marie, my maid, is very good at getting out stains."
Lizzy hoped Marie
was also very good at keeping her mistress's business to herself, damaged dresses and early morning treks in the park would cause gossip if she was not.
Miss Darcy's thoughts must have been along the same vein because a moment later she asked, "Are you going to tell anyone what you saw?"
"Exchanging letters with wood sprites is a little eccentric to be sure, but I do not think such information would be of interest to anyone nor do I have anyone to tell of it even if I wished to," Lizzy replied with a little playful smile intended to raise the young lady's spirits.
"Are you teasing me?"
"I am, but I do not mean it unkindly. Do not worry for your reputation, Miss Darcy, I will not tell anyone." Even as she spoke she knew she was lying. She planned to tell Mr. Darcy as soon as she saw him. He would wonder at his sister's misery and fret until he knew the cause of it.
"Forgive me, but are we acquainted?"
It took Lizzy a moment to realize she had accidentally spoken her companion's name.
"No."
A second after she answered she a recognized she ought to have lied. It would be so much simpler to let Miss Darcy believe they had met at one of the many routs or balls she had undoubtedly attended. But then it was not a deception Lizzy could easily pull off as she was not dressed as a lady who moved in the same circles, and when asked who had introduced them she would be able to provide no names. Honesty was best, even if it led to awkward questions.
"I am so glad—that is to say it would be terrible of me to have forgotten we'd been introduced. But how did you know me?"
"I am acquainted with your brother—I was acquainted with your brother. Long ago. You bear a marked resemblance to him."
"But Mr. Darcy did not hire me to follow you," Lizzy added after a moment's pause. She thought clarification necessary given the mistrustful glance Miss Darcy turned on her upon the mention of her brother.
Her words shook the lady out of her pique. "Of course not. I must apologize, I've been so rude."
"Not at all."
"I have—holding you in suspicion and being uncivil when you've been so kind to me. I am usually much pleasanter than this, you must believe me. It is only that I feel so wretched."
"It is understandable. An injured ankle can be excruciating," replied Lizzy, though she knew it was not the sprained ankle that caused Miss Darcy the greatest distress.
As the palatial façade of the Darcy townhouse came into view Miss Darcy said, "Might I know your name and address? I would like to call on you so that you can see me in better moods and know I am not the ungrateful brat I must seem to you."
"I would be happy to receive your call but I do not think it would be appropriate given my circumstances."
"Your circumstances?"
"My employer would not like for me to receive calls."
"You are in service!"
"Your shock is gratifying though a little perplexing seeing as you accused me of being a hired spy not a half hour ago. But perhaps you thought with Napoleon soundly defeated the Foreign Office is hiring out its agents for civil cases. An understandable error. It is rather unbelievable anyone as unserious as I could be suited for the staid life of an upper servant."
Poor Miss Darcy blushed darkly, causing Lizzy to feel instantly guilty for her teasing.
"Forgive me, I shouldn't have been so surprised. That is not to say that one looks at you and immediately thinks you are in service. And that is not to say there is anything wrong with being in service. . . . I am not certain what I am trying to say."
"It is all right, Miss Darcy."
"You must forgive me, I am known for being a bit abrupt—well, I am known for being shy, but I am quiet because I am abrupt."
"I am not at all offended. In fact I find you perfectly charming."
"You really are too kind. I wish there was something I might do for you. Are you satisfied with your situation? My nephew Lewis is yet too young for a governess, but I know Lady Imogen Barlow is looking for one. Though I don't know her well enough to speak to her character. She might be unpleasant to work for."
Lizzy stumbled, nearly sending them both tumbling into the lane.
Miss Darcy, observing her companion's sudden pallor said, "Am I being forward . . . or condescending? Both, probably. I am sorry."
"No, no, it is not you—I just . . . your brother has a son?"
"Yes, Lewis . . . but he is only two . . . . Are you well?"
"Yes, I'm quite fine," Lizzy replied, forcing herself into motion once more. She could not fathom why Darcy having a child should upset her so. He had alluded to his marriage to his cousin Miss de Bourgh only briefly, the severity of his demeanor as he spoke about her was apparent enough Lizzy had felt no desire to bring up his wife again. It had never occurred to her that they might have had a child together. And it had never occurred to him to mention it apparently.
That must be what was bothering her; that he would conceal such an important part of his life. It could not be that she was jealous of a dead woman for . . . for . . . she could not even identify the cause of that sudden flash of absurd jealousy. It did not matter. She felt it no longer.
"I've offended you, haven't I?" asked Miss Darcy, misinterpreting the silence.
"No, indeed. Please do not worry yourself. I do not wish for your gratitude. Providing you assistance was no great trouble to me."
To quiet the argument she could see forming on Miss Darcy's lips, she cocked her head to the side and arched a single brow, exhibiting a challenging yet good-tempered expression that worked with some success in quashing quarrels from Mary and Kitty. It proved effective upon Miss Darcy as well and they made their way up the private carriageway in amiable silence.
The distress of the elderly butler upon discovering an injured Miss Darcy at the door was so great Lizzy feared he might faint dead away and leave her with two invalids to contend with. Luckily he recovered quickly and summoned a maid who took over Miss Darcy's care with much fussing, allowing Lizzy to make her escape.
Chapter Thirteen
Darcy could feel the likelihood of his seeing Elizabeth that evening diminishing with each sip of gin that disappeared down his cousin's gullet. Colonel Fitzwilliam had arrived at Darcy's townhouse already well on his way to becoming sotted and clearly upset about something. He had bade Darcy to, "Rouse the hounds and prepare yourself for a night of debauchery," before pouring himself an unoffered glass of claret then flopping into a nearby armchair whilst wearing an expression that said he could wait all night.
Darcy had been tempted to set Lady Catherine on him and flee for the safety of Elizabeth's bed, but he knew he owed Richard better than that. Simply asking his cousin what was bothering him had never crossed Darcy's mind. Richard's response to such an inquiry was more likely to involve beating him about the face than crying on his shoulder.
Thus he had agreed, albeit reluctantly, to accompany Richard to the club he was most desirous to visit. Darcy had even sent a note to Bingley asking him to meet them there, satisfying Richard's urgings to invite others because he was, as his cousin put it, "the biggest spoilsport in all the land."
Three quarters of an hour later Darcy found himself in his own personal hell. Richard had misrepresented their destination. When he had called it a club Darcy had imagined something like White's, where the worst mischief one could get up to was to drink too much brandy or place an ill-advised wager.
There was no need of a sponsor or a distinguished name to get into the Rose Red. There seemed to be no barriers to gaining entry to the establishment at all, beyond passing through the apprising eye of the door guard who had indubitably been tasked with keeping out those who looked unlikely to afford the wares.
The Rose Red was a brothel. And not even the sophisticated sort of brothel Darcy had occasionally patronized during his university years. No, it was a raucous, gaudy hole that catered to the middle classes and seemingly only served gin. Darcy was exceedingly uncomfortable and Richard was taking great delight in his discomfor
t.
"I wonder what is unsettling you more, the tawdry whores or the fact that you might be rubbing elbows with clerks and cowherds," said Colonel Fitzwilliam with a sardonic grin. His keen observation revealed he was not as intoxicated as he ought to be given how much he had imbibed.
"Clerks certainly," Darcy replied, his eyes shifting to the table next to them where a youth, whose wrinkled jacket displayed on both elbows the telltale ink stains of a printer's assistant, sat fidgeting impatiently, "but I think I will be spared any association with cowherds tonight, even this cesspit is a bit out of their reach."
"Your snobbery is proof there are still some reliable things in this fickle world."
"What are we doing here, Richard?"
"I am going to select a lady with which to engage in sins of the flesh with while you sit here wincing after each sip of gin and casting judgmental glances about the room."
"Have I done something to you to warrant such punishment?"
"No, you're just too damn stiff and not the sort of stiff a man should be in such a place as this. I'm trying to reform you—or un-reform you, rather—while there's still some chance for you."
"I was under the impression it was you who needed rescuing this evening."
"No, I'm beyond hope. I can only temporarily alleviate the symptoms, there will be no cure for me now."
Darcy was accustomed to Richard's desolate attitudes and enigmatic allusions. The Colonel had been this way since he returned from the Continent. The horrors of war had left their mark on him and if he ever momentarily forgot his suffering he had but to shift his weight and the shrapnel in his left thigh would serve as a sharp reminder.
From across the room a middle-aged woman with a generous bosom cried, "It's been a long while since we've seen you here, Dickie dear." She navigated around men and furniture in quick steps, her eyes locked on Richard and blazing as if she had just been told she'd won a prize. Darcy guessed from the deferential speed with which the other women jumped out of her way that this was the bawd. Her next words confirmed his theory.
The Ruin of Elizabeth Bennet: A Pride and Prejudice Variation Page 9
