"Lizzy! It is you! What are you doing here?"
Before Lizzy could even think to reply, Lydia was speaking again. "I've never much liked riding, but I do love riding habits, I think the cut is so very flattering what do you think?" She asked modeling her attire as if she had not been nearly thrown from a horse mere moments before. Her companion was now attempting to calm her mount as he steered it out of the lane. She gave him as little of her attention as he had previously paid her.
"Oh, Lizzy what are you wearing? It is dreadful, have you had no new things since Mama died?"
The stranger interrupted Lydia before she could ask any more questions whose answers she would not wait for. "Miss Bennet are you going to introduce me to your brave but foolish friend?
"Linton it will never do for you to be looking at her that way, my sister is far too high minded to succumb to your charms. Lizzy this is Linton, he is the worst vingt-et-un player in all the land and an earl though you would never know it from his miserliness." Though her words were insulting, Lydia's tone was coquettish.
"When the Duke finally breathes his last I will come in to my fortune and I intend to enjoy all of life's luxuries," said the stranger with much insinuation.
As Lydia chortled Lizzy came to the horrifying realization that she was not only in the company of her disgraced younger sister but also the reprehensible Earl of Linton, natural father of Lewis Darcy. Her desire to make her escape became even more urgent.
Lydia caught her by the wrist just as she stepped away. "Where are you going? I haven't seen you in years! You cannot escape me so easily."
"I must return to my mistress."
"Ugh, yes. Jane told me you had taken a position as a companion. How very tiresome."
Lizzy had not known Jane had still been writing Lydia. It should not surprise her. Jane could forgive anything.
"Bring the old bag out," Lydia advised, "She will want to meet Linton. Everyone wants to meet an earl. You might as well. You cannot get through until the road is cleared. Linton, what on earth were you lot doing?"
"We were having a race until these fools lost it at the curve," said Linton gesturing to the scene beyond them. The horses had been freed from the wrecked curricle, but the injured beast still refused to rise. Darcy's coachman had descended from his post to assist.
"I see you are here with Dalton," Linton said to Lydia. Lydia's grin was catlike. Taking interest in her companions was the first step to jealousy.
"He cannot afford me, but he is good for a laugh."
"Does Bancroft know?"
"Bancroft is not my keeper."
"Forgive me, my dear, but I believe that is exactly what he is."
"For now."
"You plan to abandon him?"
"When the Duke breathes his last."
During this flirtatious exchange Lizzy had separated herself from the group and was cautiously making her way back to the carriage. If Miss Darcy had not been so terribly visible from the carriage window she might have dashed to the chaise and climbed in, but she did not want to call attention to the lady who had thus far escaped notice.
Miss Darcy's eyes were fixed not on Lydia and Lord Linton but on the poor injured horse. Lizzy could see that the animal was doomed and indeed as soon as the thought occurred to her one of the gentleman produced a dueling pistol and leveled it at the horse's head. He was a young man and his hand shook violently, it was likely he had never killed anything larger than a partridge. Lizzy thought his hesitation rather useless at this point. If he had felt no compunction about racing down a lane so narrow two carriages could hardly safely pass, he should be willing to stomach the consequences of his recklessness.
Lizzy had made it to the carriage and was contemplating how she might gracefully enter without the steps in place, when the reckless youth finally pulled the trigger. Miss Darcy released a startled yelp upon the pistol's report, garnering the dreaded Lord Linton's attention. Lizzy watched as recognition cross his features, something cunning alit in his eyes.
His attention was quickly deflected, however. The foolish youth had somehow managed to miss his mark and instead had hit the horse in the flank. Darcy's coachman let out a stream of invectives, shucked his liveried coat, and then pulled a wicked knife from his belt. Lizzy scrambled into the chaise not caring how graceless she appeared; this was not something she wished to witness.
"Look away!" Lizzy commanded Miss Darcy who seemed enraptured by the horrifying scene. She reached out to shake her from her stupor and the girl suddenly came to life, diving into Lizzy's arms as if she were a child. The horse screamed its last and then was silent, its misery finally at an end.
Shouting ensued almost immediately. Apparently the young man with poor aim felt his honor had been bruised by the coachman's interference. The coachman felt the young man was a great stupid nob who ought to never be allowed around horseflesh again.
Lord Linton spoke before it could come to violence. "Malcom, calm yourself. You must not let this man get you in a state. He is of Darcy's stables, you know. Darcy is so high and mighty even his servants have airs." The others laughed and Malcom was persuaded to release the coachman.
"Your master will hear of this," the fool yelled out as the driver took his seat.
The coachman mumbled darkly to himself, "I'd like to see you tell him."
It took some minutes before the road was cleared enough for the carriage to pass, during which time Miss Darcy regained enough of her composure to sit up and dab her eyes with a handkerchief, but not enough to speak for which Lizzy was grateful. She did not think herself ready for the conversation that must come.
After a loud debate with a much chagrined Dalton, Lydia decided she would allow Lord Linton to escort her home in his curricle rather than risk another ride on the "devil horse." She shouted her farewells at Lizzy who replied by shutting the curtains on the carriage window.
Miss Darcy spoke once the carriage was in motion. "You are Elizabeth Bennet."
"Yes." Lizzy wondered what the lady knew of her. From the awestruck look on her face Lizzy supposed it must be quite a lot.
"Your sister is a courtesan."
"Yes."
"That is why you did not wish me to be seen with you?"
"Yes. I am sorry . . . I fear what this will do to your reputation."
"I am not concerned about it," said Miss Darcy. For someone who generally seemed to weigh every word before it crossed her lips this was a rather flippant sentiment.
Lizzy observed the lady critically. Perplexingly Miss Darcy's words aligned with her demeanor, she did not appear concerned. In fact she looked . . . thrilled. Lizzy could not imagine what could possibly excite her so. Miss Darcy struck her as childish in some ways, but she did not seem the sort of person to delight in the scandalous, particularly when it pertained to herself.
However, Lizzy had no time to work out the mystery of the young lady's strange reaction. She had but a few minutes to prepare herself for the quarrel that was soon to come. Mr. Darcy's disappointment in her would be acute. And very much deserved. Oh, how will I ever explain myself? How will he ever forgive me?
As soon as the music reached her ears Lizzy thought she had entered the wrong house. But then no, here was the cheerful little statuette in the foyer, there were the familiar curtains in that unfortunate putrid green color. This was the correct house.
If she had formed any idea at all as to whom the mysterious pianist might be as she crept up the stairs to the drawing room she would have been proved horribly mistaken for she never would have guessed. As it was, her mind was in such a muddle from that afternoon's debacle she was in no state to form any ideas at all.
She of course had known there were gentlemen who were musical, but she had never suspected Mr. Darcy was one of them. Her fears lost their importance as she watched him from the doorway. Darcy was unaware of his audience, his concentration absorbed by the music. He was less proficient than Lizzy's initial impression. His fingering unsure, he stumble
d through a difficult passage, yet, despite his faltering, he lent emotion to the melody, the mark of a true musician.
He suddenly halted his performance, dropping both hands upon the keys creating a discouraged cacophony. Added to the jarring sound was his disgusted sigh. He is so severe on himself, Lizzy thought, it is really no wonder he held such agonizing guilt for so long.
As if sensing her concern he glanced up, meeting her eyes. He rushed to his feet and barely stopped himself from bowing. She did not tease him for the odd little movement. She understood him now; formality was his natural defense when he was uncomfortable. A small smile, however, was unavoidable.
"Ah, you've returned." He tried to sound casual. He was terrible at it. An unsubtle blush spread across his face, adding crimson to the purples and blues. He blushes easily, thought Lizzy. If all those years ago I had but seen the proud Mr. Darcy color up like a schoolboy, I would have loved him instantly.
"I didn't realize you played."
"I don't."
Lizzy arched a brow.
"My mother gave me instruction when I was a child, as I got older other lessons took precedence."
It was a simple statement but it told her everything: one could be male, wealthy, have access to every privilege the world had to offer and yet duty must come first. Always. Tears pricked her eyes.
Darcy was across the room in an instant. "Was my playing truly that bad?" He jested as he embraced her.
"Fitzwilliam, I've done something awful."
Lizzy related the afternoon's distressing events. Darcy was silent for several moments, causing Lizzy to brace for the worst, but then his face broke out in an unconvincing smile.
"I see no reason for concern. There may be gossip, but what can Linton or any of the others say? Georgiana was in a carriage with Miss Elizabeth Bennet elder sister of the infamous Lydia Bennet? That is hardly interesting."
"Most gossip begins as harmless. Who knows what it might turn into? If only I had not seen Lydia. She is so outrageous—I cannot believe—I cannot stand—oh, I hate her!" said Lizzy, her anger getting the better of her eloquence.
Once she had given herself time to calm down she said, "I did not mean that. The fault is mine, really. I should have never agreed to Miss Darcy's plan."
"You never could have anticipated what occurred. And as far as my sister's plans go they are difficult to resist. She becomes fixated on things, one wants to relieve her mind whether her anxieties are rational or not."
"I'm not certain it was about the letter at all, though," said Lizzy, "I think she wanted someone to talk to."
She paused, trying to think of a way to ask her question that did not sound critical. "Miss Darcy is a little different, isn't she?" she asked finally.
Darcy nodded. "She often seems younger than her age yet she can astound you with her profundity. She feels things very deeply and is easily upset. She is not like other young ladies, it is true, but she does well enough in society. I do worry she is not close to any ladies her age. Friedler it would seem was her only true friend and now . . . .
"It might be better for Georgie if the ton would concentrate on her involvement with you rather than her involvement with Mr. Friedler. Any mention of him must be painful to her and there are those who will delight in asking her opinion of his fiancée as soon as the engagement is announced."
Lizzy was still on the verge of tears. She knew it was senseless to worry. She knew gossip was a fickle thing, it was impossible to know what tales might be spun. Perhaps no one would care at all who Miss Darcy took carriage rides with. Yet she could not discount her growing distress.
"All will be well, my dear," Darcy assured her. He spoke with such certainty he almost believed it himself.
Chapter Nineteen
Georgiana drew a deep breath. Oh, she could not say it. Oh, she must say it.
"I know about Miss Bennet," she said quickly, quietly, with obvious reluctance. No, that would not do at all. One must be very sure of oneself when conversing with Fitzwilliam. If she spoke with any sort of hesitancy he would exploit it and the subject would be changed without her even realizing it.
Practice makes perfect. She tried again, "I know about Miss Bennet." Too stern. She was not angry for goodness sake. She was pleased Fitzwilliam had finally done something for his own happiness. Of course she never expected he would do this particular thing. She felt herself blushing. Right, best if she did not think about it too much.
That her brother should prove to be just as lecherous as half the gentlemen in London should not surprise her. Yet it did. Oh, it was just so horrible. Or was it romantic? Perhaps it meant he loved Miss Bennet so much he would compromise his principles to be with her. No, no, even with her over-abundance of romantic sensibilities she could not make it romantic. That he should debase the woman he love . . . yes, definitely horrible. But that did not lessen her joy at knowing he finally had someone in his life.
Or did it? Oh, what did it matter? All that mattered was the horribleness could be easily remedied.
"I know about Miss Elizabeth Bennet." That was better. Everyone knew about the other Miss Bennet. But of course he would know which Miss Bennet she was speaking of because by now he certainly knew she knew for he must have spent the day with Miss Bennet. Miss Elizabeth Bennet. He had probably been at Miss Bennet's house while she had visited there. For some reason she found the idea disconcerting.
What if he was angry? Would he be angry? She had visited Miss Bennet without his permission. At the time of course she had not realized what Miss Bennet was to him. It had not occurred to her until some hours after returning home. Miss Bennet must think her a simpleton for not having realized immediately, but the dreadful accident in the park had deprived her of her sense. It had been too much to bear and Lord Linton had spied her . . . .
Fitzwilliam would be worried for her reputation. Would he blame Miss Bennet? Had she, Georgiana, caused a rift between them? This terrible thought stilled her.
No, she must go on. "Fitzwilliam, I know about Miss Bennet," she said enunciating each word slowly. Firm but not severe. She was ready.
The short trip from her room to Darcy's study gave her just enough time to lose her resolve. She observed the open study door with relief. He would not be there, he never worked with the door open. She would go in and wait and if he never showed up, well . . . .
Georgiana entered and found Darcy standing in the far corner of the room, staring absently at a globe, an empty tumbler in hand.
"Oh . . . Fitzwilliam."
"You know about Miss Bennet," he said without turning around.
Georgiana nodded vigorously then, realizing he could not see her, said, "I do," putting as much defiance as she could into each syllable. Darcy turned to face her, eyebrows raised in question.
Feeling particularly bold, she took the seat behind the desk and gestured for him to take the place across from her.
Darcy obliged, striving not to chuckle at her newfound authority. As soon as he was seated all mirth abandoned him. It had been a long while since he had sat on this side of the desk. His pulse quickened, his tongue felt suddenly dry, he was twelve years old again and about to receive a thorough scolding from his father after being involved in one of Richard's pranks.
"You wanted to speak to me about Miss Bennet?"
"Yes."
Georgiana struggled to continue. Stupidly she had not planned for this part at all. Finally she said, "She is . . . she is your . . . mistress," the last word was whispered so quietly it was barely discernible.
Darcy cleared his throat. "Yes."
"Well . . . that is . . .that is very wrong of you."
"I agree."
Gaining confidence in her argument, Georgiana disregarded his agreement. "She seems so . . . so very," nice was too bland a word, "pleasant," oh, pleasant was worse, but she must go with it now, "and intelligent and kind and not at all like I thought a—a lady of that sort would be. In fact, I would never have realized she was one a
t all if it had not been for what Miss Hartwell asked me last week."
"What did Miss Hartwell ask you?"
"If I knew who your—," oh, there was really no way but to say it, "mistress was."
"Miss Hartwell asked about my mistress?!" Darcy had thought Miss Hartwell a proper young lady of good family, an appropriate associate for Georgiana.
"Yes, everyone is all a twitter about it, you know, since you are known for being so very . . ." Georgiana tried to select one of the less unflattering adjectives she had heard used to describe her brother, prudish, priggish, and pompous came to mind, "proper," she finally decided, "I defended you valiantly, I said you would never do anything amoral. I told her she must be mistaken. I was most severe—well, quite severe."
"People are saying I have a mistress?"
"Yes, I daresay no one would care if it were not you."
Darcy considered how this gossip might have gotten out. Lady Catherine, Lord and Lady Matlock, and Bingley were the only ones who had known. Lord Matlock would only divulge a secret if it suited his purposes and Darcy could think of no way this would be to his uncle's advantage. Lady Matlock was not one to gossip. Bingley was above reproach. It must have been Lady Catherine. Condoling with sympathetic friends perhaps?
"It isn't like that, is it?" asked Georgiana. She had an unfortunate tendency to believe people thought exactly as she did and therefore sometimes asked vague questions.
"Like what?"
"So . . . so sordid. You still love her, do you not? I know she rejected your offer before . . . but surely she is willing to have you . . . now that you have had her."
"I fully intend to marry her."
"When?"
Darcy floundered for an answer, his mouth opening and closing in quick succession. Georgiana thought he looked rather like a confused sheep. Finding no ready explanations, he sunk back into his chair. "Soon," he said evasively.
The Ruin of Elizabeth Bennet: A Pride and Prejudice Variation Page 15
