A Vision of the Path Before Him

by Elizabeth Frerichs

  Elizabeth nodded.

  Tearing his eyes from her face, Darcy strode off towards his rooms, trying to recall why he had decided to leave. Strands of longing clung to him, tying him to where Elizabeth stood, and it was only with the greatest of effort that he left her.

  Chapter 3

  In his room, Darcy found Penn standing at attention. Despite Darcy’s precipitous return, his valet was, as usual, prepared.

  “Hot water is on the way, sir, and I have laid out clothes for breakfast.”

  “Thank you, Penn,” Darcy said. He lowered himself into a chair as though any chance wild movement might disturb the beautiful phantasmic reality he currently occupied and allowed Penn to remove his boots and help him with his coat. “Is there news regarding Miss Bennet’s health?”

  “No, sir. Mr. Bingley spoke of sending to London for a doctor but was persuaded to wait for the young lady’s parents’ opinion.”

  Darcy suppressed a snort. Of course Bingley wanted to send for a doctor from London over a cold—although, perhaps it was serious. “Has she shown additional symptoms?”

  Penn shook his head. “No, she is believed to have caught a chill. The young lady was—caught in the rain on her way to visit Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst.”

  “Caught in the rain?” Darcy asked slowly.

  “She rode a horse here.”

  Darcy frowned. Miss Bennet had been ill last fall for the same reason. One might have thought she would have learned better. Or perhaps she had, and this was the result: she knew she could trespass on the Bingley’s hospitality under certain circumstances. Certainly Bingley was unable to say “no” to her—just as he would not test himself against Elizabeth.

  He grimaced, realising he had once more jumped to believing ill of Elizabeth’s favourite sister. Had he learned nothing? He would wait for more information before condemning Jane Bennet, even in his thoughts.

  A knock sounded at the door, and a manservant carried in two buckets of steaming water. Penn directed him to the basin behind the screen.

  After the servant left, Darcy stood in the basin and soaped himself. Where had he been the past six weeks? Why had Bingley returned to Netherfield, and why in God’s name had he accompanied Bingley? He couldn’t have known of Elizabeth’s spectre’s appearance. Only in fairy tales did anyone expect magic such as he had witnessed this morning.

  Darcy completed his ablutions and dried himself. “What have you heard of the Bennet girls?”

  “The servants are very protective of them. Many will not let a cross word be heard about the elder Misses Bennet. The younger Bennets are less respected.”

  “As it should be,” Darcy murmured. Guilt smote him. Their father had not protected the youngest Bennets nor taught them proper behaviour. Without protection, without his protection from Wickham, the youngest had fallen into the same trap Georgiana only narrowly escaped.

  Penn began to assist Darcy into his clothing. “The elder Misses Bennet have visited Netherfield’s tenants—”

  Elizabeth’s charity once again put him to shame. He had looked to his own estate, his own concerns, with no view towards helping his neighbour, and Wickham had taken advantage.

  “What of the youngest Bennet daughter?” Was her name whispered about still or had the scandal blown over in all but the minds of the most stringent, such as Mr. Collins?

  “I have heard she is very—spirited,” Penn said delicately.

  “What of the Collinses and Longbourn?” Darcy asked. He had every intention of avoiding Mr. Collins lest his rage with the man’s lack of charity and overwhelming self-importance cause him to lose his temper with physical results.

  “The Collinses, sir?” Penn asked. “I have not heard of any such name connected with Longbourn. I have learned that the estate is entailed on a distant relative, but, as it is unlikely he will inherit any time soon, no one appears to know his name.”

  “A Mr. Collins,” Darcy said with a frown. Surely the Collinses had taken their place in society? Bingley would know. In the meantime, he intended to avoid Longbourn assiduously. “Are the Bingleys awake?”

  “Yes, sir. The servants have been instructed to serve breakfast in 10 minutes.”

  “Very well. I shall join them for breakfast.”

  Penn nodded and began to tie Darcy’s cravat.

  Darcy hesitated outside the door to the breakfast-parlour. Elizabeth’s voice floated out along with Bingley’s enthusiastic tones.

  “—most kind, Mr. Bingley.”

  “It is not a kindness to aid a friend in need, Miss Elizabeth—but a joy. Though the circumstances are not ideal, it is my pleasure to offer hospitality to your sister. And to you. Are you certain you would not like me to send to London for a doctor?”

  “I will wait until I see Jane to ascertain whether that will be needed. I do not think it necessary at this time, however.”

  “Certainly. If you change your mind, I can send a rider at a moment’s notice!” Bingley said earnestly.

  “Thank you again, Mr. Bingley,” Elizabeth replied, a smile suffusing her voice. “Now, may I be shown to my sister?”

  “Of course.”

  Darcy took a hasty step back, shifting so as not to appear to have been eavesdropping. After all, it was strategic listening, not eavesdropping—something he had gotten into the habit of doing from a very young age. If he was about to enter a den of lions, he wished to know prior to entering the room. Such justifications did not keep the heat from his face, however, as Elizabeth exited, Miss Bingley accompanying her.

  He bowed. “Miss Elizabeth. Miss Bingley,” he said. “I hope you find Miss Bennet much improved.”

  “Thank you.” Elizabeth gave him a distracted half-smile, her mind clearly occupied with her sister’s welfare.

  Miss Bingley curtsied in return and fluttered her eyelashes, her lips curved up in what she probably thought an enticing smile. Darcy had little doubt that she would return as quickly as possible now that she knew where her quarry could be found. He waited until they were out of sight, unwilling to lose even a glimpse of Elizabeth, and entered the breakfast-parlour.

  “Darcy! Come to join us mere mortals?” Bingley asked.

  Darcy hastened to the sideboard, pouring himself tea and procuring his food. If he ate quickly enough, he could avoid Miss Bingley altogether. One would have thought the months of his indifference would have cooled her ardour. However, given the look she gave him this morning, she seemed uncaring of the distance he had worked so hard to introduce between them.

  “Mortals, Bingley?”

  “Those of us who do not rise with the dawn,” Bingley said. He sent Darcy a sly sideways look. “Unlike you and Apollo, we are mere mortals.”

  “You mean those of you who keep town hours,” Darcy riposted. He nodded to Mr. and Mrs. Hurst who both nursed cups of tea, seemingly unaware of anything occurring around them.

  Bingley waved a hand. “It amounts to the same thing.”

  Darcy merely smiled at his friend and turned his attention to his plate. He was just consuming the last of his breakfast when Miss Bingley swept into the room and seated herself.

  “How was Miss Bennet?” Bingley asked anxiously.

  Miss Bingley closed her eyes for a brief moment as though praying for patience. “The same as she was an hour ago. The poor girl is miserable: she has a headache and remains feverish.”

  “Did Miss Elizabeth—” Bingley began.

  “She is settled with Miss Bennet. I am certain she will not hesitate to take advantage of your generosity should Miss Bennet require a physician,” Miss Bingley said with an edge to her voice. She turned her attention to Darcy, her hazel eyes fixing on him as though he were a fox to be hunted.

  Before she could plan the day for him, probably suggesting activities that would keep him at her side, Darcy spoke up. “Bingley, may I speak with you in the study? I believe you wanted to go over those account books.”

  Bingley gave him a puzzled look but acquiesced.

&n
bsp; Miss Bingley made a moue of disappointment. “Are you quite sure you don’t want to take a turn in the garden while the weather is decent?”

  Darcy tried to smile politely. “Not this morning.” With that, he left, drawing Bingley with him. He did not speak again until they were both ensconced in the study with the door closed and a drink in hand.

  “Port this early in the morning?” Bingley asked.

  Darcy sank into a chair, noting how lacking in comfort it was, probably because few people used the study. “Bingley—” Where should he even begin? With Bingley’s excitement over Elizabeth? With Elizabeth’s ghost? With their return to Netherfield? No, with his friend’s well-being. He fiddled with his drink. “Are you all right?”

  “Never better, why?”

  Darcy stared at him. “Perhaps because Jane Bennet is under your roof?”

  Binley grinned at him. “I will never complain that my angel is in my house—a fortunate occurrence that. Although I hope she has a speedy recovery. Do you think I ought to send to London for a doctor?”

  Darcy shook his head. “Your angel?”

  “Of course. You cannot deny she is the most beautiful creature you ever saw.”

  “Bingley, she is lovely, but—”

  “Or that she is as good as an angel.”

  “Perhaps, but—”

  “Then I am right in saying she is an angel,” Bingley finished triumphantly. “Beauty and goodness are rarely found together.”

  “But what of her—circumstances?” Darcy asked.

  Bingley frowned. “I know Caroline has many objections to Miss Bennet. You agree with her?”

  Darcy stared at him again. Objections? What was Bingley talking about? Had the whole world gone mad? Only the night before Bingley had been inconsolable and vowed never to speak Miss Bennet’s name again. No, that had been six weeks prior. What had happened in those six weeks to so drastically change the situation? He cleared his throat, then hesitated. Bingley, who had more knowledge of the situation than most, was calling Jane Bennet “Miss” just as Penn had.

  “Bingley, you must speak plainly. I am afraid that the past weeks are—somewhat indistinct for me. Why are we at Netherfield?”

  Bingley jumped up. “Good god, Darcy! Indistinct? Do you need a doctor?”

  Darcy lowered his gaze to the wine swirling in his glass. “Perhaps. I would prefer to keep this between the two of us for now, however.” He attempted a smile. “If you could simply elucidate a few key points, it may bring things into focus for me.”

  Bingley returned to his chair, his gaze wary. “Of course, Darcy. We are at Netherfield to examine it. You suggested I lease a smaller property so that I may learn the ins and outs in order to decide if I prefer a different sort of property.”

  Darcy waved a hand. “I recall that. However, I also recall you telling me not six weeks ago that Netherfield wouldn’t suit. You intended to relinquish the lease—due in large part to events with the Bennets.”

  Bingley shook his head, frowning. “You must be mistaken, Darcy. I have made no such determination. Indeed, I find Netherfield and its surrounding society thoroughly congenial.”

  Darcy frowned.

  “I believe you said I ought to keep the property lease for a year before making my decision. It has only been five weeks.”

  “Five weeks?” Darcy repeated. He slumped in his chair, fingers coming up to massage his temples. It could not have been five weeks. He possessed intimate knowledge of the following months. Perhaps Bingley was playing a practical joke? But that was more his cousin Fitzwilliam’s style—not Bingley’s. It was an easy matter to discern the truth of. He simply had to ask someone who was not in on the joke what the date was. Or to find a current newspaper.

  “Are you sure you’re all right, Darcy?” Bingley asked, shifting to the edge of his chair as though poised to jump up and call for a doctor.

  “Merely confused. Disoriented. We arrived at Netherfield five weeks ago. As I recall, you dragged me to an assembly and since then we have dined several times with various families in the area.”

  Bingley nodded. “We had dinner with the officers in Meryton last night.”

  Wickham. Darcy clenched his jaw. “And the Bennets?”

  Bingley gave him a wide-eyed look of confusion as though Darcy were speaking Latin—a subject Bingley had struggled mightily with in school. “What about the Bennets?”

  “Tell me about them.”

  “They live at Longbourn and have five unmarried daughters of which Miss Jane Bennet is the eldest. Miss Elizabeth was here this morning—she is the second eldest after Miss Bennet. Caroline said Miss Bennet rode here on horseback in the rain and took ill last night.” He frowned again. “Are you sure I shouldn’t send to London for a doctor?” He gave Darcy a concerned look. “For you or Miss Bennet?”

  “Yes. Miss Bennet has a cold. She will be fine shortly without any assistance but the apothecary’s, I would imagine. I shall be fine once I get my bearings.” Darcy hesitated. He didn’t want to sound crazy nor to offer any further encouragement for Bingley to send for a doctor. Yet—how could this be? Was he in a dream? Had he been in a dream Before? Had he dreamed of the Bennets’ demise before?

  Elizabeth was here. He had touched her, felt her gloved hand on his arm. Others had recognised and interacted with her. But subsequent (or prior?) events had been equally real. He recalled the burn of brandy as he and Bingley had attempted to drown their sorrows last night. So many sensations of the past several months had felt real. Perhaps he was losing his sanity.

  He stood and moved to the window, searching the landscape for answers. This was Netherfield. The taste of port lingered on his palate. This felt real. Which meant . . . . What? Perhaps he ought to move forward with his routine until such a time as he could ascertain what had occurred. If Bingley believed this was November of the previous year—what had they done the day Elizabeth arrived? Bingley had insisted they stay close to the house in the event Miss Bennet’s condition worsened. They had spent the morning in the study going over books—much as he’d suggested to Miss Bingley.

  Darcy turned to face Bingley. “What did you wish to do today, Bingley?”

  “You mentioned going over the books. I know we had intended to ride through the north fields again, but perhaps today would be better spent—”

  Darcy’s lips twitched. “Indoors? Where you are available should you need to send to London for a doctor?”

  Bingley gave him a relieved smile. “Exactly. I know I cannot visit Miss Bennet, and I would not risk her reputation, but if there is aught I can do to see to her comfort—well, isn’t that what any good host would do?”

  Darcy nodded seriously, then chuckled.

  Bingley looked sheepish. “Truly, you do not share Caroline’s objections?”

  “And what are Miss Bingley’s objections?”

  “That the Bennets are not a family one ought to tie themselves to—that the family is vulgar and their connections are—lacking.”

  “Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth are not vulgar. The younger girls and even their mother need a firm hand . . . .” Was there anything he could do? Perhaps—the youngest girl! If she had not yet run away with Wickham, if this were not a dream, if his foreknowledge proved accurate . . . . Perhaps Providence had given him a vision so that he might prevent the death of his beloved. Dream or not, she had certainly made him a better man. He forced himself back to the present. Time enough to think of that later. “However, their connections to trade are not as great an evil to you. In fact, Miss Bennet’s status as landed gentry would raise your status. Perhaps not as much as Miss Bingley would wish—they cannot ensure your entrée to the first circles.”

  Bingley waved a hand, laughing. “I do not need entrée to the first circles. Especially with an angel at my side.” He sobered. “So you do not agree with Caroline?”

  “I share her caution,” Darcy began, Elizabeth’s emphatic denunciation ringing in his heart as he imagined her rage if she eve
r learned he had helped Bingley reject her beloved sister a second time. “I believe Miss Bennet would not be allowed—it would not be easy for her to reject you due to your status and wealth and her own precarious situation with Longbourn entailed.”

  Bingley set his cup on the table next to him.

  “However, if you win her love, you should make your own determination of what is best.”

  “You will support me?”

  Darcy shook his head internally. How had he created such an inequitable friendship with Bingley? The man had never tired of his condescension—even requested his assistance. It was as Bingley had said the night before or whenever it had been: he valued Darcy’s greater experience but hadn’t given him the right to make his decisions. Something he vowed to uphold.

  “Do you need my support?”

  “No, but I would appreciate it.”

  “Then you have it—in this or in any other area. I shall support your decisions. They are, after all, yours to make.”

  Bingley coloured and picked up his glass once more. “Thank you, Darcy,” he said shyly.

  “It is no more than you are due, my friend,” Darcy murmured. He set his glass down. “Shall we examine the books and see where Netherfield may become more profitable?”

  With a wry smile, Bingley stood.

  Chapter 4

  Darcy held his breath as he entered the dining room, his hands clenched behind him to still their trembling. He had delayed; rather than arriving early, he was promptly on time for dinner this evening. He couldn’t bear to wait for Elizabeth’s absence. If she had left, if her phantom had vanished, he couldn’t sit and make small talk with the Bingleys and Hursts. His anguish would be visible for all the world to see. And so, if she had disappeared, he had resolved to make his excuses and flee to his room where none would witness the grief that even now weighed in his chest.