by Jann Rowland
“You know I have never seen you that way, Anne,” said Uncle Darcy.
“I do and I thank you for it.” Anne paused, a thought coming to her. “There is one matter which I find curious, however—how did my mother come to be in Lambton when she has always disdained going there?”
“The fault was yours, Anne,” said Fitzwilliam. “Though I know you—all of us—like to think your mother is only able to see what she wishes, she has noted your frequent journeys thither of late and wished to discover your purpose.”
“As Fitzwilliam says,” interjected Uncle Darcy, “he knew of your meetings with Mr. Gardiner, but I did not. When Lady Catherine insisted on following you to Lambton this morning, he informed me of the matter and we determined to ensure she did not become aware of your actions to the best of our abilities.”
“Then you might not have bothered, Uncle,” said Anne. “I am not afraid of my mother.”
“And how do you think she would have acted, the presence of others notwithstanding? The family has been the target of enough gossip of late; I would not wish to add your mother’s behavior to the ledger.”
“Anne,” added Anthony, “I believe there are too many secrets afoot of late. There is this business of Alexander’s, your meetings with Mr. Gardiner . . .”
For a moment Anne thought he might add to that list, though his voice trailed off. Suspicious as she was about William’s activities, she wondered again about any knowledge Anthony might possess concerning Darcy’s activities.
“You are both correct,” said Anne. “I would not have wished my mother to make herself foolish in front of everyone in the town.”
Uncle Darcy gave her a tight nod.
“It seems you succeeded in diverting her, then.”
“We did,” said Uncle Darcy. “Fitzwilliam interested her in some wares displayed in the dressmakers.”
Anthony laughed. “I believe she will subject you to a discourse of the lovely fabric she found for your wedding dress, though she must have it fashioned by the most skilled modiste in London.”
“I would have expected nothing less!” exclaimed Anne, joining him in his mirth.
“Yes, well, let us come to the point,” said Uncle Darcy after a few moments of indulging them. “I wish to know, Anne, that you understand what you are doing.”
“What I am doing, Uncle,” said Anne, giving him a pointed glare, “is following my heart. Mr. Gardiner, I have found, is intelligent, interesting, gentlemanly, and not lacking in pleasing physical attributes.”
“He is also connected to the Bennet family,” said he. Though Anne searched for it, there was no hint of rancor in his statement—it was a statement, and nothing more.
“Why that should affect me, I cannot say,” said Anne. Uncle Darcy did not speak, so Anne continued, saying: “I am not affected by this dispute of yours, Uncle. As Mr. Gardiner has said himself, if the Bennet and Darcy families are incapable of resolving the conflict themselves, then perhaps it falls to others to do it for them. If I was to marry Mr. Gardiner, could you continue this silliness with the Bennets?”
“Are you thinking of marriage already?” asked Anthony, raised eyebrows showing his surprise.
“Not yet,” said Anne. “At present, I still do not know the gentleman well enough to know if I wish to marry him. However, we have spoken of the possibility, and it is not onerous to either of us.”
“And what of your mother?” asked Uncle Darcy.
“Let me deal with my mother,” said Anne. “In keeping her away this morning, you performed a welcome service, for you are correct: it would not have been a pretty scene had she seen me. I shall inform her of the truth of the matter, but I ask you to allow me to do it in my own time and in my own way.”
Uncle Darcy and Anthony shared a look, then turned back to her. “Very well, Anne,” said Uncle Darcy. “We shall trust you in this matter. Please do not allow your mother to discover the truth by chance, for I do not believe any of us would emerge from such an experience unscathed.”
“In that, I agree with you, Uncle,” said Anne. “I shall do so when the time is right.”
“Very well. Then I shall leave it to you.”
With a nod, Anne let herself from the study, soon noting that Anthony had followed her from the room. Though Anne fixed him with a curious look, she knew asking him if he suspected William of some intrigue would be fruitless. Claiming a matter of business, Anthony excused himself and climbed the stairs toward his room.
Anne put him from her mind, turning to the task before her. Lady Catherine was sitting with Georgiana at the moment, and she would not make her young cousin uncomfortable. Anne knew she would need to make the communication soon, but years of handling her mother had informed her an opportunity would present itself. Patience was required, as it would minimize her mother’s eruption when she learned of the matter.
Chapter XXVII
After the delay of a full day spent in deep thought, Elizabeth lost no more time in acting on her decision. Rather, she acted in a manner that would free her from any obligation to continue to keep her secret. As she was not the only one involved, Elizabeth rationalized she should not decide without consulting the other principal in the matter.
It was, she knew, something of an excuse to delay informing her father as she was now convinced she must do, for William had already stated his opinion. That Elizabeth had been the one to urge continued secrecy was now a matter of shame—an honest woman, Elizabeth had always prided herself in her integrity, honor which she felt had tarnished by her recent behavior. An excuse it may be—and she confessed it to herself—but she remained uncomfortable about going to her father without William’s concurrence. Thus, her present errand.
“Where are you bound, Lizzy?” asked Uncle Gardiner when he witnessed her preparations to depart that morning.
“To Lambton to visit Aunt Madeline,” replied Elizabeth.
When her uncle fixed her with a look of contemplation, Elizabeth laughed and said: “You may ask her later if you wish, but I promise I will do nothing more than ride to Lambton, visit with her for a time, and then return home.”
A slight smile was his response. “I hope you do not find my recent actions officious, Lizzy. It is nothing more than a sincere desire to protect you all.”
“I understand,” replied Elizabeth, giving him an affectionate kiss on the cheek.
“Lizzy has your trust, yet I do not,” came Lydia’s petulant voice.
The girl had shown little improvement since being taken to task by her father, though the news of Mr. Alexander Darcy’s departure from Pemberley had allowed Lord Arundel to relax some of the strictures on her movements. Lydia was calmer now, though they were all still subjected to petulant outbursts from time to time. Uncle Gardiner looked heavenward and turned to his youngest niece.
“When you can prove yourself worthy of being trusted, we will trust you.”
“Come, Lydia,” said Lady Margaret, cutting off an argument before it could begin, “let us speak of happier subjects.”
Lydia acquiesced, seeming to care little. Elizabeth took the opportunity to flee. The past day of reflection had not been kind to Elizabeth’s perception of herself and her behavior these months. In particular, Elizabeth was feeling the effects of hypocrisy, of engaging in the same behavior for which she had disparaged Lydia, and to a much greater extent! It was Elizabeth’s hope that Mr. Darcy would respond in a timely manner, leaving her free to speak with her father.
The ride to Lambton was much the same as it always was, though on this day she saw little of the scenes which so often delighted her. She thought the journey took much longer to complete than usual, plagued as she was by thoughts of how absurd she had been. When the church and parsonage came into sight, Elizabeth found herself relieved.
“Lizzy,” said Aunt Madeline when she entered the room. “I am surprised to see you today.”
“It astonishes me to hear it, Aunt,” exclaimed Elizabeth, a storm of emotions well
ing up within her breast. “Your persuasions were of such a forceful variety that I would have thought you would expect me on your doorstep at first light, begging your forgiveness.”
Seeing Elizabeth was on the verge of tears, Aunt Madeline gathered her close and led her to a nearby sofa, all the while clucking to her in soothing tones. When Aunt Madeline had Elizabeth seated by her side, her eyes found Elizabeth’s, searching for answers which the younger woman was all too willing to provide.
“I have thought of nothing other than your words since you departed yesterday; while the process of understanding myself was painful, I have come to understand you are correct. Informing my father is long overdue, something I ought to have done long ago. However, there remains an obstacle to making my communication.”
“Mr. Darcy?” asked Aunt Madeline with a knowing smile.
“Yes,” said Elizabeth. “As this matter involves Mr. Darcy, I cannot speak to my father without first obtaining his consent.”
“I believe,” said Aunt Madeline, “Mr. Darcy would understand and approve of your determination, my dear, especially if he loves you as much as he claims.”
“While I would not dispute your assertion,” said Elizabeth, “I do not feel comfortable informing Papa without Mr. Darcy knowing. Please indulge me in this, Aunt—I would not feel right unless he has offered his explicit consent.”
“Which is why you have come to me,” said Aunt Madeline, displaying her understanding of the situation. “You would have me send a letter to Mr. Darcy?”
“Yes,” said Elizabeth, handing her a single sheet of paper folded and addressed to her love. “In this, I have explained my reasons for wishing to speak to my father. If Mr. Darcy agrees, I have asked him to tell you so you may inform me.”
Aunt Madeline reached out and accepted the letter, though not without hesitation. For a moment she looked at it as if attempting to see through the paper to the words contained within. Should she ask, Elizabeth would give her consent to her aunt reading the missive. Aunt Madeline did no such thing, however, her eyes rising to Elizabeth filled with compassion.
“I will send Mr. Darcy this letter, Lizzy. However, I wish to inform my husband of the matter with your blessing.” Elizabeth felt a hint of panic, which her aunt acted to relieve. “Your uncle, as you know, believes this dispute must end, Lizzy. Though knowledge of your actions will surprise and disappoint him with his aid we can carry word to Mr. Darcy more quickly. In particular, Edward could engage someone in the village or our manservant to ride to Mr. Darcy’s estate and return with an answer. If I send it post, there is no telling how long it will be before we receive a response.”
“If you think that is for the best,” said Elizabeth, noting that while her words portrayed bravery, the fear of her uncle’s response settled in her stomach, inducing it to roil and turn over in anxiety.
“I do,” said Aunt Madeline. “Please wait, Lizzy, for your uncle is in his study researching for this week’s sermon. I shall summon him.”
While she had feared for her uncle’s disappointment, the matter proceeded as her aunt had suggested it would. The few moments her aunt was absent from the room were awful to Elizabeth’s nerves, the minutes passing like hours while she waited and fretted. Her uncle’s return saw him greet her with much less than his usual heartiness, as he either sensed something was amiss or his wife had told him something of the situation.
It was to Elizabeth’s great relief that Aunt Madeline related the details of the matter as she knew them to Uncle Edward while he listened, a gravity about him he reserved for when he was acting in his official capacity. When Aunt Madeline had the matter before him, he asked a few questions of Elizabeth. He focused on Elizabeth’s regard for Mr. Darcy, and the matter of him asking her to marry him. Then, when he had asked all his questions, he sat back in his chair and sighed.
“There is no need for me to take you to task for your behavior, for I believe you already feel it. I have one further question for you, Elizabeth—is there any particular and . . . pressing need for you to wed Mr. Darcy?”
For a moment Elizabeth did not understand. Then her uncle’s meaning bloomed in her mind, and while she could not see herself, her cheeks were hot enough that she thought she must resemble a ripe apple.
“No, uncle,” said she, resisting the urge to protest with more vigor. It was a logical question for him to ask. “Not only have we met out of doors in conditions and seasons not conducive to such . . . activities, but I would never act in such a way, and neither would Mr. Darcy.”
“Very well,” said Uncle Edward. “I hope you understand why I needed to ask the question.”
“I do,” was Elizabeth’s simple reply.
“By all rights,” said Mr. Gardiner, “I should speak with your father about this. But I shall not if you promise me you will do so yourself.”
“That is the purpose of my letter to Mr. Darcy, Uncle. I believe he will agree with my decision, for he has suggested it in the past.”
To Elizabeth’s relief, Uncle Edward seemed to realize Elizabeth required this assurance from her lover.
“Then we shall send the message to Mr. Darcy. As your aunt has suggested, I believe it would be best to see to it with all haste. If I engage our manservant, we may have an answer from Mr. Darcy by tomorrow. I shall not allow him to return your letter and will make that stipulation plain in my letter to him. But I will pass any answer he gives to you.”
“Thank you, Uncle,” said Elizabeth, tears again welling in her eyes. Then she turned to her aunt and said: “I apologize for bringing you into this situation, Aunt Madeline. It was not my intention to foment discord or put you in a difficult position.”
“It was no trouble, Lizzy,” said Aunt Madeline. “If there is any assistance I may offer to you, it is my pleasure to do so at any time, for you are so very dear to me.”
“Do not concern yourself,” added Uncle Edward with a grin. “While I might prefer your aunt had come to me sooner, I believe she has acted with the appropriate measure of guidance and thought given the situation.”
Uncle Edward rose and approached Elizabeth, sitting beside her and catching her up in an embrace. “This has been hard for you and your young man, my dear, but I believe this is the correct step. Please know we will support you, come what may.”
“Thank you,” whispered Elizabeth.
“You have become distraught,” said Aunt Madeline, putting her own arm around Elizabeth’s shoulders. “Shall you not rest in Abigail’s room for a time? In fact, I think I should like you to stay the night with us. We can send word to your family that we persuaded you to stay and ask for some of your clothing. Then you will be on hand when Mr. Darcy’s response arrives on the morrow.”
“I would like that very much, Aunt,” said Elizabeth with a smile.
Soon she was resting in her cousin’s room, as her aunt had suggested, drifting into a deep sleep her thoughts had denied her the night before. As she slipped into oblivion, the final thought she had was an image of William’s beloved face. It would not, she hoped, be long before they were reunited, never again to be sundered.
Thorndell was a picturesque estate. Situated close to the Peak District, those majestic spires of rock which presented a ghosted image across the horizon on a clear day from Pemberley rose tall and strong from Thorndell.
Given the beauty of the Peaks, the gently undulating land, combined with groves of trees and massive spurs of rock jutting up in various locations, one might consider Thorndell among the most beautiful places in England. Many considered it even superior to Pemberley.
Darcy was not one of them, for Pemberley, to him, was the most beautiful place on earth. Thorndell had been in the family for several generations, purchased by a Darcy master in excess of fifty years before. At first, it had been a small satellite estate purchased as an extension of the Darcy holdings. Darcy’s great grandfather had purchased a neighboring estate for his second son and combined them. That second son had then built a new ho
use to replace the poorer of the two houses, which had resulted in a modern manor of the time, a building about the same size as Bingley’s manor house at Netherfield.
As the second son had passed on without issue, the estate had reverted to Darcy’s grandfather and had been part of the family holdings ever since, as Darcy’s father had had no siblings to inherit. It was a good bit of land, fertile for all manner of crops throughout, producing sheep in the rockier areas, and a large stable which could be used for breeding horses.
“It is a pretty prospect, is it not?” said Alexander one day as they were riding the estate. “It is fair enough,” said Darcy. “The Peaks in the distance make the view that much more pleasing.”
Alexander nodded and kicked his horse into motion, leading the way back toward the house. They had ridden out that morning to meet with a tenant, a Mr. Travers by name, and in Darcy’s experience, the most difficult man at the estate. It was fortunate this visit had been nothing more than an opportunity to introduce Alexander again, as they had been doing since they arrived. Darcy had the sense that the tenants were relieved there was a master in residence once more, though he suspected most thought Alexander would not stay long.
As he rode, Darcy watched his brother, noting his quietude, his almost careless negligence with which he held the reins and guided the horse. Since their arrival at Thorndell, Darcy had attempted to induce his brother to speak of the matter of Lydia Bennet, but his Alexander had remained introspective. It was uncharacteristic of his irrepressible brother, and it worried Darcy, for he was still unable to say what Alexander had been about.
Darcy’s mind was also full of thoughts and reflections, matters which he could not share with his brother. A letter had arrived from Fitzwilliam the previous day, informing Darcy of his cousin’s knowledge of his activities with Elizabeth, and urging him to speak to his father on the matter. A grim amusement settled over Darcy as he had read the letter—it seemed his suspicions of his cousin had not been as unfounded as he thought. The question was, what he should do about it. Darcy had thought for some time now it would be best to inform his father, but Elizabeth’s fear for their families’ reactions had stayed his hand. Perhaps it was time to convince her of the wisdom of his conviction.
