A Vision of the Path Before Him

by Elizabeth Frerichs

  Darcy glowered at her. This girl had been the cause of the Bennets’ ruin. Brazen, with little but her looks to recommend her.

  Bingley smiled kindly. “I am perfectly ready, I assure you, to keep my engagement; and when your sister is recovered, you shall, if you please, name the very day of the ball. But you would not wish to be dancing while she is ill.”

  “Oh! Yes, it would be much better to wait ‘til Jane is well, and by that time most likely Captain Carter would be at Meryton again. And when you have given your ball,” she added, “I shall insist on their giving one as well. I shall tell Colonel Forster it will be quite a shame if he does not.”

  Darcy’s glower relaxed. This girl was wild—not vicious. Any party appeared to be cause for celebration. Though obnoxious, she had an innocence about her. And she already possessed an interest in officers; Wickham’s uniform and smooth words would appeal to her. How could he help her see the course she pursued led not to more gaiety but to heartache and poverty?

  Mrs. Bennet and her daughters departed. Elizabeth, still coloured with a lingering blush, fled the room, ostensibly to return to Miss Bennet.

  Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst immediately began to denigrate Elizabeth’s behaviour and her family’s. Elizabeth was “shockingly impertinent,” and they agreed with Mrs. Bennet’s censure in the same breath as they laughed at the woman’s ill-breeding.

  Darcy, refusing to countenance any of their remarks, suggested Bingley join him in the study so they could continue going over estate books. Both men left the women to their venomous humour.

  Chapter 6

  By dinner, the twinge in Darcy’s head had morphed into iron-shod hoofbeats that resounded through his head and neck in time with his heartbeat. The youngest Bennet girl needed a firm hand—a companion if not schooling. How to get her one, however, appeared to be beyond his capabilities. If Elizabeth were to marry him, he might have some slight say in the matter, but he could not do so now. And later might be too late. He did not know the timeline he was working with—nor if Wickham would speed up the process were his wedding to Elizabeth on the horizon.

  Netherfield’s butler, Merriman, entered. “An express for Mr. Darcy,” he announced.

  Bingley nodded to him.

  “Thank you, Merriman,” Darcy replied. He excused himself and took the letter to the library.

  It was from Fitzwilliam in answer to Darcy’s express. Much of the substance of the letter was taken up with imprecations against Wickham and vows of vengeance. Fitzwilliam did say, however, that he would arrange a visit to the militia at Meryton if Darcy saw a hint of Wickham. If the man did indeed slip his head into the noose of military regulations, Fitzwilliam would be there to see justice served.

  Darcy grimaced. The “rumours,” as he had told Fitzwilliam, of Wickham’s impending arrival were certain—as certain as every other part of his vision had proven to be. However, Fitzwilliam might be just as harmful as he was helpful. It had taken every argument in Darcy’s arsenal to prevent Fitzwilliam from duelling Wickham after the blaggard had taken advantage of Georgiana. But he needed an ally.

  Bingley too could prove useful. Darcy had not given him specifics Before, merely stating that Wickham was a scoundrel who left a mile-wide trail of debts and bastards behind everywhere he went. It was a miracle no angry father had caught up to Wickham yet.

  But no longer. Darcy could not leave his boyhood friend free to terrorise anyone else.

  Bingley knocked on the doorframe as he entered. “Darcy? Are you coming back to dinner?”

  Darcy grimaced. He had been doing little more than moving the food around his plate like a picky child. His stomach continued to churn as thoughts of Elizabeth’s family in ruins and Bingley left desolate bubbled through his mind—not to mention his own horror and grief at the loss of the woman he loved.

  “Is something wrong?” Bingley asked quickly.

  Darcy almost laughed aloud. So many things were wrong, and he had the key to none of them. How far into his confidence should he take Bingley? He stood up and closed the door, glancing down the hall for potential eavesdroppers. He led Bingley further into the library, away from the door. “Bingley, do you believe in visions?”

  Bingley looked taken aback. “Visions?”

  “Yes. Premonitions, if you will. A sense that something will happen followed by the event taking place.”

  Bingley frowned. “I know there are those who profess to tell the future—gypsies and such . . . .”

  Darcy sighed. Perhaps this had been a bad idea. But no, Bingley’s future was equally at stake, and he would have told the older Bingley of Before. He squared his shoulders. “I do not know how it has occurred. Perhaps it was Heaven-sent. But I have experienced such a vision of our future.”

  Bingley started. “Our future? How do you know? Perhaps it was just a dream?”

  Darcy’s lips quirked up. “Had I not been the one to experience it, I would have agreed with you. As it is, events appear to be unfolding precisely as they happened Before.”

  Bingley leaned forward. “As they happened before? Darcy, you are not suggesting some kind of—time travel, are you?”

  Darcy hesitated, his gaze shifting to the window. Time travel? Trust Bingley to come up with some ludicrous explanation—the man paid far more attention to items of entertainment than items of education. But no, his scar was missing. He had not travelled back in time. There was no alternate, younger version of himself strutting around. He returned his attention to Bingley who was looking confused and concerned. “No. I ought to have said that events appear to be unfolding as they occurred in my vision. Most of it is not pertinent to you, however, one large event—” Damn! He would have to confess his interference in Bingley’s love life yet again.

  “Does it have to do with the Bennets?” Bingley asked.

  Darcy flushed. His friend could be astute. “Yes.”

  “That’s why you were confused yesterday morning.”

  It wasn’t a question, but Darcy nodded anyway.

  “What happens to the Bennets?” Bingley asked hoarsely.

  Darcy sighed with relief. Bingley had accepted his vision without question—at least for now. “You are aware that Longbourn, their estate, is entailed upon a distant cousin, Mr. Collins?”

  Bingley nodded. “I did not know the man’s name, but I am aware of the entail.”

  Darcy took a step closer. “The youngest Bennet daughter ran away with a soldier sometime after April. Mr. Bennet died. Your angel married a clerk in her uncle’s law office.”

  “What? Why did I not assist them? I would marry my angel today if I could!”

  Darcy smiled down at the younger man. He would indeed. It was a miracle Bingley hadn’t ended up leg-shackled to a fortune hunter previously. He fell quickly into love and was ready to propose mere days (sometimes hours) into the acquaintance. Only his love for Miss Bennet had stood the test of time. Then he sobered, recalling that he had separated his best friend from said angel. “I am afraid you were in London at the time. Or perhaps in the north visiting your relatives. Or perhaps at Pemberley.”

  “But I left her without a promise?”

  Darcy’s gaze dropped to the carpet, tracing the elegant lines of blues and browns. “You did not intend to stay away. However, your sisters did not wish for the connection and, to my shame, I agreed with them.”

  Bingley’s mouth fell open. “You agreed with them? But you said you would support me!”

  “Yes, and I will.” Darcy took a deep breath. “Bingley, I owe you an apology. I believed that since you have given me input into your life, I had the right to make decisions for you. I cannot believe my arrogance in this, especially with regards to whom you love.”

  Bingley frowned. “Darcy, I know that I—rely on your experience. If you have something against Miss Bennet, then—”

  Darcy held up a hand. “I am sorry I have led you to believe your lack of experience should prevent you from making decisions. After all, how can one ga
in experience without making decisions and learning from one’s mistakes?” His lips quirked up. “Life takes practice.”

  Bingley studied him. “You’ve changed.”

  Darcy nodded. “I certainly hope so. I have worked to become a better man over the past several months.”

  Bingley appraised him shrewdly. “What happened?”

  Darcy hesitated. “Miss Elizabeth told me exactly what she thought of me.”

  Bingley shot him a look of dawning wonderment. “You love her?” Then without waiting, he continued. “I have seen how you look at her—as though she is your world.”

  Darcy smiled mirthlessly. “Perhaps she is.”

  “But you have not—”

  “She died,” Darcy blurted. “In a carriage accident. And, just as the loss of Jane Bennet left you a shell of your current self, I was—devastated. I cannot bear to lose her again.”

  “You will offer for her?”

  “I—I do not know. The soldier who absconded with the youngest Bennet—”

  “Miss Lydia,” Bingley interjected.

  “—with Miss Lydia is—was a member of my father’s household.” Darcy sighed. Though he believed Bingley would be a valuable ally, it was proving more difficult than he imagined explaining the situation. “George Wickham was the son of my father’s steward and a great favourite of my father’s. My father paid for his education, sending him to the same schools I attended. In my father’s presence, he appeared to be all that was good. Outside of it, however, he showed a penchant for every sort of vice. Upon my father’s death, he received 1,000 pounds. In addition, my father recommended him for the rectory at Kympton upon him taking orders.” Darcy began to pace. “I knew he ought not to be responsible for anyone’s spiritual health. Therefore, when he requested the sum of 3,000 pounds in lieu of the living, stating that he intended to go into law practice, I immediately acquiesced.”

  “That seems responsible of you—just the sort of thing you would do,” Bingley said.

  Darcy halted. “But was it responsible?” He shifted to face Bingley. “Was it responsible to give him money when I only wished he would use it well? When I knew the sort of person he was? He leaves a mile-wide trail of unpaid debts and out-of-wedlock children. I would not wish him on anyone, yet I did nothing.” He fidgeted with one of the books on the shelf, aligning it with its fellows and then pulling it forward and back. “I suppose I had gotten into the habit of protecting him for my father’s sake. As boys, I regularly ensured his indiscretions remained hidden lest they hurt my father.”

  His brow furrowed as he recalled how much Elizabeth’s rebuke had changed him. She had refused to overlook his pride, calling it what no other had dared to do. Though he had raged against her words and, at times, nearly hated her, he was now eternally grateful for the person she had required him to be. She had refused to accept anything less than a better version of himself. And working towards that better self had made him infinitely happier. If he had behaved similarly towards Wickham . . . .

  “If I had allowed him to feel the consequences of his actions when we were younger, might he have changed? Perhaps I have hurt him nearly as much as he has hurt me.”

  “Darcy, I am certain you did what you believed to be best at the time. Can any of us do more than that?”

  Darcy nodded. “You are right. Forgive me, Bingley. I have lately learned the value of a well-placed rebuke. It is why you see the changes in me. I wish I had given the same kindness towards Wickham.”

  “You are not responsible for anyone’s actions—not mine and not his. Didn’t you just tell me that?” Bingley said earnestly.

  “Yes. And I meant it.” Darcy sighed. “Wickham left with his 4,000 pounds and I did not expect to see him again—I had no intention of seeking him out. But three years later, the living at Kympton became vacant and Wickham immediately arrived, intending to fill it. I told him I was under no obligation to give it to him as he had already signed it away for 3,000 pounds.”

  “Good for you!” Bingley exclaimed.

  Darcy grimaced. “I believed all communication was now at an end between us as he was—vocal in his recriminations and bitterness. According to him, his circumstances were very bad, which, as I knew of his previous lifestyle, I had no difficulty believing. I did not see him until this past summer when he intruded painfully upon my notice.”

  Bingley frowned. “Weren’t you at Pemberley this summer?”

  Darcy nodded. “Georgiana went with her companion, Mrs. Younge, to Ramsgate. She had been ill, you remember, and the doctor recommended sea air. I ought to have taken her myself,” he said bleakly. “But I was too busy—or so I told myself and her.” The muscles in his jaw rippled. “Mrs. Younge conspired with Wickham. He was to woo Georgiana, elope with her, and gain control of her dowry—which as you know is considerable.”

  Bingley blanched. “He did not succeed though?”

  “No. I arrived on a whim the day before she was to have eloped. She met me, glowing with happiness. Believing Wickham’s tale of our falling out, she determined to play the peacemaker between us so they could marry with my blessing.

  “The world has not been the same for Georgiana since that day. She would not believe me.” Darcy’s chest tightened as he recalled her earnest defence of Wickham. If he had not succeeded in convincing her to remain hidden as he confronted Wickham . . . . His eyes slid closed as he contemplated the loss of his dearest sister. “She did, however, believe Wickham’s vicious description of her when he spoke to me, believing her to be elsewhere. Though she did not elope with Wickham and she has assured me that nothing untoward occurred, it would ruin her reputation should he choose to make the knowledge of her misstep public.” Darcy swallowed hard. “That is why I did not dare confront Wickham when he arrived in Meryton.”

  Bingley sprang up, looking around wildly. “The cad is here?”

  “Not yet. He will join the militia in five days. I do not know what to do. His lies about my character create a wedge between Elizabeth and me—though my own behaviour was a far bigger obstacle than any Wickham put between us. He is well-liked by the gentry: his manners are impeccable, and his ability to lie so well-honed that he has every appearance of truth and earnestness.”

  Bingley frowned deeply. “What did you do before?”

  Darcy dropped his gaze to the carpet. “Nothing. I warned Miss Elizabeth that he was unable to keep friends despite his easy ability to make them. But I left him here in a defenceless town. Doubtless, he left debts and injured maidens behind when the militia moved on.” Seeing Bingley’s dawning anger, Darcy held up a hand. “You cannot reproach me more than I have reproached myself. I ought to have done something, but I did not know how to affect his removal without ruining Georgiana’s life.”

  “I would never have expected this of you, Darcy. Your sense of duty is so strong—I never would have expected you to leave such a scoundrel loose.”

  “I did not know what to do,” Darcy repeated softly. “And I was too proud to ask for advice. But I have changed, so I am asking your advice now. What do you suggest?”

  Bingley’s eyes widened. “I do not—if you have not—” Bingley squared his shoulders. “If it were my sister, I would protect her as well. So whatever we do, we must protect Miss Darcy’s reputation. But letting Wickham have free roam of Meryton and its environs is not acceptable either.”

  Darcy’s lips quirked up. “You have stated the problem admirably.”

  “I will think on it,” Bingley said earnestly. “I do not have a solution now, but I will think on it.”

  “Thank you, Bingley.”

  “Was that what the express was about?”

  Darcy nodded. “I wrote my cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam about Wickham’s impending arrival. He may be of assistance as he knows and dislikes Wickham as much as I do. He was quite disappointed when Wickham disappeared before he could challenge him to a duel.”

  Bingley frowned. “But Darcy, a duel would bring about the very scrutiny yo
u desire to avoid.”

  “Yes, that is why I convinced him not to engage in said duel. However, he has long wanted to thrash Wickham, and Wickham is aware of his antipathy. In fact, he is rather afraid of my cousin. Fitzwilliam’s army connections may also prove useful if you would not mind inviting him to stay.”

  “Of course. Anything I can do to help!”

  “Let us consider the problem and wait for Wickham’s arrival. We do not want him to vanish once more. As you said, he is my responsibility.”

  Bingley’s mouth swung open. “I did not mean that he was your responsibility.”

  “Though Wickham’s actions are not my responsibility, I can no longer allow him to roam free, damaging others,” Darcy said, his eyes hard. “I cannot allow him to ruin the Bennets.”

  A knock sounded at the door, followed by Miss Bingley strident tones. “Charles! Are you and Mr. Darcy returning to dinner?”

  Bingley and Darcy exchanged a glance and then moved toward the door, managing to return to dinner without informing Miss Bingley of the substance of Fitzwilliam’s express, despite all her prying. She did, however, eagerly second Bingley’s invitation upon hearing that Darcy’s cousin, the second son of an earl, wished to visit.

  Chapter 7

  After dinner, the party once more adjourned to the drawing-room. Darcy, unable to countenance any more of Miss Bingley’s stratagems, decided to write Georgiana as he had Before.

  Elizabeth joined them once more, this time taking up needlework.

  Unfortunately, Miss Bingley did not take any hint from Darcy’s occupation and, too late, Darcy recalled she had spent the evening interrupting his correspondence. She settled in a seat quite close the desk and attempted to read the letter as he wrote it.

  Dear Georgiana, he began. His quill poised over the inkwell, he considered what he ought to say. He had changed so very much. But just as Bingley had accepted Darcy’s folly as wisdom because their relationship had not grown along with Darcy, Georgiana might find his words uncomfortable. She had grown so much in the months since his change, finally recognising (as he had done) that she needed to change. Wickham’s interference in her life had made that clear. Indeed, it had spurred Darcy to behave differently towards her as well. He had sheltered her, treated her as a child, when knowledge would have protected her. Thus, he began to treat her as a young woman. After all, she was old enough to fall in love when he still imagined her a curly-haired moppet who begged him to participate in her tea parties.