"I hope he will like Miss Madigan for more than her ability to provide an estate."
"As do I," Darcy said, running a hand across his weary brow, "But I fear . . . I fear . . .I fear everything—nothing—I don't know. I have lost my thought."
"I think it is time for you to sleep, Mr. Darcy."
"You called me Fitzwilliam this morning. Do not revert to formality. My Christian name is all I would ever have you call me."
"I must be permitted another variation from time to time. I think Fitzwilliam too much a mouthful for some situations. When I am extremely angry, for instance. You can hardly expect me to dedicate three whole syllables just to your name when my energy would be better spent elucidating how wrong you are."
"The solution is very simple: I shall never make you angry again."
"Oh yes, that seems likely. But what of other forms of passion? The 'William' would perhaps not be too difficult but with the addition of 'Fitz' it makes for too discordant a name to chant when one is being brought to ecstasy."
"You will have to try it. You may find the name more melodic in practice," he said, then remembering he had promised himself he would not bed her until they were properly wedded, he cleared his throat and promptly sought a safer subject.
"What would you have me call you?"
"You could call me Lizzy."
"I cannot," he replied with fervency. That name could not be separated in his mind from the unfortunate girl at the Rose Red.
"Charlotte—Mrs. Collins called me Eliza. You might use that sobriquet for she never will again."
Lizzy tried to force a careless smile but her eyes still held the sadness her statement caused. To cheer her, Darcy said, "Richard calls me Will on occasion though I do not care for it."
His effort was successful, a mischievous grin lit her features. "Then that is what I simply must call you."
"I supposed it would be."
His eyes felt heavy and he knew he would be sent to bed if he did not keep the conversation going. "I made my sister cry."
"She must be a most sensitive individual, your face isn't that frightening."
Darcy indulged her with a sardonic laugh.
"My own confessional alleviated my burdens so effectively I became a little too enthusiastic for everyone else to experience the advantages of admission, I pressed her though you warned me against it.
"Georgiana tearfully explained her reaction to the letter. Friedler has ended their affair, as you expected. He is engaged and she is, of course, inconsolable. You will be proud to know I made up for my incompetence by utilizing your teasing strategy. By the end of our interview her spirits were somewhat improved but by no means recovered."
"So it is truly all over between them?"
Darcy nodded once.
"Then I am sorry for them both."
"I feel equal parts relief and sorrow. I am relieved she will not be exposed to society's scorn, it would have been worse than I believe she realized. Yet I cannot say I like for her to experience such a hopeless sort of disappointment. And then of course there is the uglier, selfish part of me which had thought if Georgiana had married a Jew my marriage to the sister of a courtesan would be almost unremarkable."
"Yes, I had considered that as well," said Lizzy with a sad smile.
"I will find a way," Darcy said. Her sad smile remained.
"You do not believe me."
"I believe you believe the words you speak and I believe you will do everything in your power to make them true."
Darcy opened his mouth to argue but produced only a yawn.
"Go to bed, Fitzwilliam. I will ensure you wake again."
Lizzy heard the rap at the front door and dismissed it without alarm. It would be Darcy's valet come to bring clothes and await his master's command. Her attention returned to her embroidery, or at least as much of her attention as she had been giving the task prior to the interruption.
As the sound of the heavy door opening carried up the stairs, it occurred to Lizzy the valet would use the servant's entrance. No matter, she thought, it is a mistaken address—a nosy neighbor.
The unexpected visitor was speaking now. Lizzy could not make out the words she spoke, but there was something familiar in the elegant softness of her voice. Lizzy put her embroidery down as Mrs. Walters trundled up the stairs to the drawing room.
"A Miss Darcy is at the door, ma'am." Lizzy immediately understood the cause of the housekeeper's discomfiture. It must be as plainly clear to Mrs. Walters as it was to everyone else the relationship between Miss Darcy and the man currently sound asleep in Lizzy's bed.
"She is here for her brother?"
"No, madam, she wants to see Mrs. Smith."
Lizzy nodded distractedly. She searched her mind for what to do.
The silence made Mrs. Walter's anxious. "Have I done wrong? Should I have sent her away?"
"No. I will see her." She was thankfully already presentable, having revolted against the slothful habit of informality she had allowed herself to fall into of late.
"I do not think the lady ought to attempt the stairs, she has crutches."
"No, indeed. The dining room should serve well enough."
The young lady wobbled dangerously as she tried to stand.
"Miss Darcy, no, please do not stand on my account. Tea?"
Miss Darcy shook her head vigorously in reply.
"I am glad to see you are recovering, though I must say I am most surprised to have the honor of receiving your visit," said Lizzy with not-so-subtle reproach.
The younger woman blushed guiltily, but was not cowed. "I had my maid follow you from my house and then I hired a messenger boy to pretend to have a package to deliver to this address in order to get your name . . . or rather your employer's name as I thought you were in service," said Miss Darcy with reproach of her own.
"I am not in service . . . exactly."
"Why did you tell me you were? Why did you pretend not to know my brother?" Miss Darcy asked with the severest outrage she could muster. She had very little talent for outrage and none at all for severity.
"I did not pretend. I believe I acknowledged the acquaintance when I explained how I recognized you."
"You implied the acquaintance was severed."
"It was later resumed."
Miss Darcy emitted a most unladylike sound, a vindicated, "Ha." Embolden by her victory of truth, she said, "You told my brother what you saw. There is no sense in denying it, he as good as confessed it to me."
"I did."
"You promised you would not."
"I did."
Lizzy's unexpected honesty deflated her righteous indignation considerably. "Well . . . well, I've decided I am very angry with you."
"You are angry I assisted you when you were injured and told your brother—and no one else—about your illicit letter and the apparent distress it caused so he would not worry about your sudden melancholy and you would not be alone in your grief?"
Lizzy now seemed to Miss Darcy every bit the governess she had at first assumed her to be. She fully expected to be given lines to write after such a scolding. However, she had called with a purpose and she was determined to see that purpose through.
"I am angry you invaded my privacy by following me and reporting my movements to my brother."
"Would not your anger be better directed at Mr. Darcy? And would I not have reason for anger as well? You invaded my privacy by having me followed, and, might I remind you, at the time all you had to accuse me of was being a Good Samaritan."
"I—I wanted to thank you properly, to speak to you again . . . so few people are kind without other motives. I thought we might be friends. Now of course I realize your motives were not entirely unselfish. Tell me, what does my brother pay you to spy on me?"
"Mr. Darcy does not pay me to spy on you. Your brother and I are . . . friends. I felt it necessary to reveal to him what I had discovered, for that I beg your forgiveness."
Miss Darcy’s
anger deflated."Oh. Well . . . all right then."
"Is there anything I can do to make amends?"
"Yes!" said Miss Darcy with far too much enthusiasm. This was exactly what she had been hoping for. "I mean, yes," she repeated demurely. "I need you to get my letter."
"Your letter?"
"The one I left in the tree. I do not think my correspondent will think to look for it, therefore it must be fetched lest someone else find it. I would send one of the servants but none of them would know where to look and it would be impossible to explain."
Lizzy thought this reason was precisely why it would never be found by anyone, but she could see Miss Darcy had the kind of anxious disposition that could imagine all manner of catastrophes.
"I can get your letter for you. I will go tomorrow morning. You can expect it returned to you by messenger before noon."
"No."
"No?"
"No, I would like you to get it presently."
"Presently?"
"Immediately."
"Immediately?"
"I want to go with you. That way I will know you will bring it to me and not my brother."
"You cannot be seen in my presence, Miss Darcy"
This information did not appear to discourage Miss Darcy. "I have a closed carriage. There is absolutely no reason why anyone would see us."
Lizzy did not possess the kind of anxious disposition that imagined all manner of catastrophes, nonetheless she immediately thought of ten ways Miss Darcy's proposition could go very wrong. Yet Miss Darcy's desperate countenance swayed her.
"Fine," she said hoping she would not have cause to rue disregarding her better judgment.
Chapter Eighteen
The two young ladies halted and observed Lizzy with obvious shock as she trudged her way back towards the path. Miss Darcy's letter had been just where it ought to have been though it had taken Lizzy longer than she had expected to locate the proper tree. She was exhausted and in no mood to endure the ladies' judgmental expressions as she approached them, yet endure them she must as they did not seem inclined to move on.
"Lovely afternoon for a stroll, is it not?" Lizzy said as she took a final step out of the wilds onto the path.
The ladies did not reply. She had not expected them to do so. They continued to stare at her in horror, eyes raking over her person. She knew they must be seeing her out-of-fashion dyed black dress and her unbonneted, blowsy hair and thinking her a dangerous madwoman. Well, perhaps not dangerous, she thought, as the ladies began tittering. They turned away from her and resumed their leisurely promenade, blithely twirling their parasols.
"And of course, I have leaves in my hair," Lizzy said to herself as she removed the offending vegetation. At least I did not know them.
Lizzy made her way back to the carriage without meeting with anyone else and was most grateful to be at the end of the ordeal. She offered up the epistle as soon as the coachman had closed the carriage door.
"Thank you." Miss Darcy gave the sought-after letter barely a glance before stowing it in her reticule.
"Will you take me home now?"
Miss Darcy glanced away guiltily. "I thought we might take a tour of the park. There is something I wanted to ask you."
Lizzy nodded her acquiescence. As the carriage had begun down the lane deeper into the park as soon as she had settled herself in her seat, she hardly thought disagreeing would do her any good. She might have been annoyed by Miss Darcy's high handedness if it had not been for the desperate look in the young woman's eyes.
They traveled in silence as Miss Darcy worked up the courage to ask her question. "Have you ever been in love?" she finally asked, but then as soon as the words had left her lips she produced her own answer, "Oh of course you have, you are married."
"I do not think love can necessarily be assumed in marriage. And I am not married."
"Is it your husband you are in mourning for?"
Lizzy glanced pensively out the carriage window. She was a poor liar and she particularly did not wish to lie to a lady who seemed to be so urgently searching for truth. "I am no longer in mourning and I have never had a husband."
"So you are not Mrs. Smith."
"I am not."
"Will you tell me your true name?"
"My name does me no favors, I cannot imagine knowing it will be to your advantage either."
Miss Darcy looked has though she had been slapped. Lizzy felt the need to give her at least one answer she sought. "I can tell you that I have been in love."
The younger woman was quiet for a time. Then, "How did it feel for you? Being in love, I mean."
"Utterly awful. There can be nothing so terrifying. I do not recommend it," said Lizzy with a teasing grin. Yet she was not teasing, not completely.
"Yes—yes, exactly. That is precisely how I feel as well. I have been in love twice. Or at least I think I have been. Do you suppose a person can be in love twice?"
"I do not see why not."
"I was very foolish and very young the first time. He was not a good man. But this time . . . oh, this time it is worse because Eli—the gentleman, I mean— he is most deserving of admiration . . . just wrong. I fear I am only capable of falling in love with men who are unsuitable."
"I think that rather unlikely. You are still very young, there is plenty of time for your heart to heal and plenty of time to meet another."
"Most ladies my age are married."
"Most ladies must marry with consideration for things other than love."
Miss Darcy nodded distractedly then sighed. "Your love," she began cautiously, "Did you . . . did it work out?"
"I have never had a husband," Lizzy reminded with a wry smile.
"Oh—yes. I am sorry."
"I am not." As Lizzy spoke the words she realized they were true. In the past she had regretted her rejection of Mr. Darcy. Now, knowing their marriage would have brought her not only financial stability but also love, she ought to have felt even more rueful yet she did not. The previous four years had brought Mr. Darcy great suffering, they had humbled him.
He had made poor choices, certainly. He had hurt her and hurt himself. But the Mr. Darcy she had known before his sins had not been the Mr. Darcy she loved. Her Fitzwilliam was the product of his mistakes, his past. There was no way of knowing if she would have come to love him without them.
She could not be said to be the same person she was four years ago either. And she was glad of it. Not for the death and misfortune, no. But for what she had learned about herself. She felt like a much more capable person now than she had been at twenty.
"It has occurred to me lately that an unmarried woman, while she may be despised and pitied by society, if she has some wealth of her own and a great deal of cheek, can live according to her own wishes or as close to her own wishes as anyone can be said to live.
"Indeed, spinsterhood may be the most practical choice for a lady of independent means. However, I admit willingly, the practical choice is not always the most attractive choice."
"Are you saying you would not marry the man you love if it were possible?" asked Miss Darcy. She stared at Lizzy with an expression of fright and fascination.
"I would never suggest that I am always a practical creature."
The carriage slowed unexpectedly and Lizzy was happy for the interruption. Miss Darcy's questions were too piercing. The coachman let out a frustrated yell and brought the carriage to a standstill. Both ladies crowded at the same window trying to see the source of the disturbance.
A curricle was on its side in the middle of the lane. Another was tangled in the wrecked curricle's tackle and in danger of falling over as well. A third curricle was parked a little ways down the lane, this one had escaped unscathed.
The horses of the overturned conveyance, a beautiful pair of grays, were on the ground. One was obviously direly injured, it screamed and did not attempt to regain its feet. There were three men trying to free the horses to no avail for they were argu
ing amongst each other which only served to frighten the poor animals further.
Only adding to the confusion were two bystanders, a lady and gentleman on horseback. The gentleman appeared to be doing nothing beyond laughing at the spectacle, while the lady was struggling to control her own overexcited mount.
The woman was facing away from the carriage thus Lizzy did not recognize her until her horse suddenly swung around and reared violently. One can disavow one's sister in one's mind, but from the heart sisterly love cannot be so easily banished. Lizzy's reaction was automatic. She barreled out of the carriage and raced over to the defiant horse. It did not occur to her how foolish such an action was until she was standing before the irritated creature who looked fit to bolt at any moment.
Lizzy had never been a horsewoman. Though she would never own to it she had a fear of the animals that went back to a painful nip she had received from a testy mare, thus she knew very little about controlling the creatures.
She said, "Stop," calmly, yet firmly whilst staring narrowly at it as if it were a naughty puppy rather than a huge beast who could easily stomp her into the ground. The horse did not rear again, rather it glared back at Lizzy appraisingly. It huffed and then, just as Lizzy thought it would likely kick her in the face and bolt with Lydia still in the saddle, it lowered its head as if bowing to her.
"Get me off, get me off, get me off of this thing!" Lydia cried.
Lydia's companion, finally realizing her trouble, jumped down from his horse and grabbed the reins of her mount. At that same moment Lizzy was seized around the shoulders and guided away.
"That was an incredibly dangerous and stupid thing to do," said the stranger who had grabbed Lizzy. He released her and she whirled around.
"No one else appeared to be doing anything useful." The first thing that struck her about the stranger was that he reminded her very much of George Wickham. She did not know why. There was nothing similar in their features. He was a handsome man to be sure, but in a completely different way than Mr. Wickham had been. Her thoughts were interrupted before the mystery could be resolved.
The Ruin of Elizabeth Bennet: A Pride and Prejudice Variation Page 14
