A Vision of the Path Before Him

by Elizabeth Frerichs

  “That is perfectly understandable. It was some time after my sister’s experiences with Wickham before I was able to regain my equanimity.”

  Mr. Bennet raised an eyebrow. “If you believe that to be comforting, you are sorely mistaken.”

  Darcy hesitated. “I believe I am trying to convey that it would be only natural to take some time to process the events of yesterday.”

  “How did your sister respond to the events you refer to?”

  “She was angry with me,” Darcy said baldly. “She believed that my falling out with Wickham had caused his behaviour, rather than that he was using her to effect revenge upon me.”

  “Ah.”

  “It was difficult. Later, she came to accept that Wickham had lied, and then she felt great grief and guilt over her behaviour. I am hopeful that she is making strides towards recovery now, however.”

  “Oh?”

  “She has been staying with our aunt—”

  “Lady Catherine de Bourgh?”

  Darcy suppressed a shudder at the thought of what Lady Catherine would say to Georgiana should she discover the events of the summer. “No, my Aunt Matlock, Colonel Fitzwilliam’s mother. I believed Georgiana needed a woman’s perspective, and, as much as I have tried to be a father to Georgiana, I cannot be a mother to her.”

  Mr. Bennet nodded, then fell silent as though pondering Darcy’s words. After some moments, a deep sigh escaped his lips. “I can only hope that her sisters may be able to assist Lydia in coming to terms with her own escapade. I am afraid that she herself seems to believe the story we have given my wife.”

  “I am confident that the Misses Bennet are up to the task,” Darcy said firmly. “However, if you are concerned, you could look into hiring a companion who might provide an outside opinion on how best to manage Miss Lydia.”

  Mr. Bennet looked thoughtful. “The estate has never been able to support such an expense, but I suppose if I am to overhaul the estate, I may be able to manage it.” He sent Darcy another sardonic look. “If you are not careful, Mr. Darcy, you may succeed in reforming my entire life.”

  “I would be a poor recipient of the reformation someone gave my life if I did not pass it along to others. Still, if I have overstepped, I apologise.”

  “Not at all,” Mr. Bennet said lightly. “If nothing else, I believe I shall be able to look back and laugh about this whole experience one day.”

  Darcy did not know what to say to this sanguine opinion as he rather hoped Mr. Bennet would be able to look back with gratitude rather than entertainment, eventually. Before he could devise a response, however, Mr. Bennet called Miss Mary back, and the rest of the walk was spent conversing with the group as a whole.

  Chapter 46

  Darcy stared at the paperwork strewn across the library table. Bingley was working in his study this morning, so Darcy had appropriated this room for estate business. He picked up a report from his steward and then set it down, unable to settle enough to read it.

  His nerves sang with anxiety: Lord and Lady Matlock, Fitzwilliam’s parents, had sent an express the day before, stating their desire to visit him at Netherfield, along with Georgiana. Bingley had, of course, offered lodgings, and now they would be arriving today. Their haste spoke of urgent concern, and Darcy was afraid he knew what that concern might be.

  Though generally kind and far more open to new ideas than many of the ton, the Fitzwilliams had a great deal of family pride, much as Darcy himself had once had. They supported his friendship with Bingley, else they would not have agreed to stay at Netherfield, but they would never truly accept a tradesman’s son into the ton. More importantly, he doubted they would support the union of a half-Fitzwilliam to the penniless daughter of a country gentleman—particularly after they had met Elizabeth’s mother.

  If Fitzwilliam had told them about Elizabeth, or even worse, about Miss Lydia’s escapade, they would make things very difficult. If only they had waited until after he and Elizabeth were engaged! Then their family pride would be more likely to insist that he keep his word, or at least it would be a significant factor; a courtship was easily broken with no dishonour attached to either party.

  Though they would not convince him to relinquish Elizabeth, they might make things very uncomfortable for her. On the other hand, if he could convince his aunt to defer judgement until she had gotten over the fact that she had not chosen Darcy’s bride, and that said bride was not of the ton, he believed she might appreciate Elizabeth’s merits and support their marriage. In the meantime, however . . . .

  What if they convinced Elizabeth that marrying him was more trouble than it was worth? What if they harangued her into promising never to marry him?

  On top of the stress of his aunt and uncle’s impending arrival, he missed Elizabeth like a physical ache. He had barely spoken to her in days. After talking to Mr. Bennet on Thursday, he had been unwilling to break his word by “encountering” Elizabeth on her morning ramble on Friday or this morning. Both days Apollo had sought to take them to see her, and Darcy had fought both his horse and himself as he turned them northward, galloping through the fields of Netherfield and throwing himself into estate business with Bingley.

  Fortunately, Bingley had been adamant that they call on the Bennets daily and their valets had been able to conceal the evidence of their injuries. Unfortunately, Mr. Bennet seemed determined to test his love for Elizabeth (or perhaps torture Darcy) by remaining in earshot of any conversations they had and dragging Darcy off to his library to speak of estate business at the first opportunity. And, as Darcy was resolved to strike while the iron was hot, he had allowed himself to be drawn into endless conversations about the history and current status of Longbourn. He and Elizabeth had been forced to content themselves with hand clasps in greeting, longing looks, and smiles.

  It wasn’t enough, and his relatives’ impending arrival would steal even that little from them today while Darcy was trapped at Netherfield, waiting to welcome them.

  His valet’s patterned knock sounded on the door.

  “Come,” Darcy called.

  Penn entered, a slight furrow between his brows. “Mr. Darcy, sir, Lord and Lady Matlock, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and Miss Darcy have arrived.”

  Darcy started. Though they had written their intent to arrive today, they would have had to leave London quite early to have arrived this soon. “Now?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Darcy stood, brushing nonexistent dust from his person in an attempt to feel more prepared.

  “They are waiting in the drawing room.”

  “Very well.” Darcy swallowed hard, trying to remind himself that he was a grown man, facing down his aunt and uncle as an adult—not a small boy trying to justify his choices before those who held power over him.

  “If I may say so, sir, they do not look unduly distressed.”

  Darcy forced a smile. “Thank you, Penn.” Heart hammering, he dragged himself forward to the drawing room, hoping his valet was right.

  The moment he stepped through the door to the drawing room, Georgiana flew into his arms. Darcy caught her, only now realising how very much he had missed her.

  “Will, I was so worried,” Georgiana cried into his chest. “When Richard said—he said you were uninjured, but that you had fought Wickham and I—I am so glad you are all right.”

  Darcy crushed her to his chest. “I am fine, sweetling.”

  Lord Matlock, a solid-looking man with a misshapen nose, cleared his throat from across the room. “It sounds as though it was a regular turn-up. We are all glad you boys came out on top.”

  Fitzwilliam scoffed. “As though there were any chance of another outcome!”

  “From the little I gathered, it sounded as though an alternative outcome was perilously close to occurring,” his mother said severely. She smiled at Darcy. “I am glad that you are well, Nephew.”

  Darcy drew Georgiana over to their relatives and greeted them more properly. “I am quite well, Aunt.”


  A faint grimace crossed Lady Matlock’s aristocratic mouth. “So I have heard.”

  Darcy forced a smile and turned to Fitzwilliam. “How did your charges behave, Fitzwilliam? Were you able to get them all safely away?”

  “Without a hitch!” Fitzwilliam proclaimed expansively.

  His father harrumphed. “Do you mean to tell me that I listened to all that grumping, and it was about nothing?”

  A blush climbed up Fitzwilliam’s cheeks. “It was fine, Father. I will admit that Wickham’s complaints taxed even my patience—”

  Darcy chuckled at the idea of Fitzwilliam having any patience, especially with Wickham.

  “But,” he continued firmly, “in the end, I was able to secure passage for both his men on colony-bound ships—one to India and one to South Africa—and to secure a suitable position for Wickham.” He grinned in malicious glee. “And Captain Archer was more than pleased to take on Wickham.”

  “Good!” Darcy said, hoping he had made the right choice. Captain Archer’s sister had been one of Wickham’s admirers who had been brokenhearted when he moved on after being warned off by her brothers.

  “The captain did not even require monetary persuasion to have Wickham assigned to his ship,” Fitzwilliam proclaimed, a gleam in his eye.

  “Fitzwilliam—” Darcy began, hardly sure of his concerns, but definitely worried already over what trouble Wickham might find himself in or cause for others. Had Fitzwilliam and Archer conspired to do more than ensure Wickham was kept busy?

  “Darcy! Archer’s a good man—he won’t take his revenge too far. He’s merely determined to ensure Wickham cannot pull his schemes on anyone else. And if Wickham does advance, it will be because he earned it.”

  A sniffle came from Georgiana.

  “Georgie?”

  “I am sorry, Brother. I do not mean to make such trouble for you. When I think that I—I have contributed to the difficulties in keeping Mr. Wickham silent . . . .”

  Lady Matlock tsked. “What have I told you, Georgiana? You must not take all the blame on yourself. Besides, a lady must not cry outside of her rooms.” She glared at Darcy. “I hope you will remember proper behaviour even if your brother does not.”

  “We will speak of this later,” Darcy told his sister, running a comforting hand down her back. “You are likely all fatigued by your journey.”

  “Oh, no, not at all,” Lady Matlock said demurely.

  “She has in her head that she wishes to accompany you when you call on a certain young lady today,” his uncle said.

  “Rupert,” Lady Matlock turned a severe eye on him. “I wish to see how Darcy interacts with this—young woman for myself. There is no need for you to plant ideas in his head.”

  Lord Matlock chuckled. “My love, Darcy was wise to your scheme the moment you arrived.”

  Darcy glanced towards Fitzwilliam who shrugged. “I told them about Miss Elizabeth—I could not avoid doing so when I was already telling Georgie about the events of the past weeks.”

  Darcy briefly closed his eyes, reminding himself that he cared a great deal for Fitzwilliam and that punching one’s cousin in the drawing room was rather bad form.

  “Mr. Bingley, Mr. Hurst, and Mrs. Hurst,” a servant announced.

  “I apologise for our tardiness,” Bingley said as he stepped into the room. “We were detained elsewhere.”

  “No apology is needed, Mr. Bingley,” Lady Matlock said graciously. “It is we who should apologise for descending on you with such rapidity.”

  “Nonsense!” Bingley cried. “Any family of Darcy’s is always welcome in my home.”

  Rather than listen to them continue to attempt to outdo one another in politeness—though he knew the sentiment was genuine on both their parts—Darcy performed the introductions, and Bingley renewed his invitation for the Matlocks and Georgiana to stay in his house for as long as they desired and apologised for Miss Bingley’s absence, citing an indisposition that kept her confined to her rooms. Mr. Hurst only muttered a grunt that might be taken for agreement, but Mrs. Hurst graciously seconded the invitation. At a significant look from Lady Matlock, Lord Matlock obediently drew the Hursts into conversation.

  “Mother was just asking whether you have called on the Bennets yet this morning,” Fitzwilliam drawled to Bingley.

  Darcy glared at him.

  Bingley started, but quickly regained his composure. “No, we have not. We did not wish to be absent when you were expected.”

  Lady Matlock smiled, the picture of innocence. “Perhaps we might accompany you then.”

  Darcy’s thoughts raced. Mrs. Bennet would be beside herself at the Matlocks’ condescension. He did not relish the thought of his beloved’s family on display: though he had accepted their foibles, he did not know if his aunt and uncle could do likewise. In addition, he had received the express from Lord Matlock after his call to the Bennets yesterday—Elizabeth did not know of the advent of his relatives, and he did not think springing the information on her in the form of a visit would be conducive to their courtship.

  “Perhaps you might prefer to have Miss Elizabeth call on you,” he suggested.

  Lady Matlock raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “Perhaps not. Georgiana, what have I told you about judging a person’s character?”

  “That it is best to see them in their native environment before making a firm judgement about the person,” Georgiana said as though repeating something oft-said.

  “Well, Nephew, do you desire us to meet this young lady, or do you have reason to hide her?”

  “No, not at all!” Darcy spluttered. “I was merely thinking of your fatigue.”

  “We came from London, less than a day’s journey from here,” Lady Matlock said firmly. “And I, unlike Catherine, am not in my dotage.”

  “If you are certain you are not too fatigued, I believe Mr. and Mrs. Bennet would be glad to receive your call,” Darcy conceded.

  Fitzwilliam snorted, then turned it into a cough. “Ah, yes, I believe Mrs. Bennet will be ecstatic.”

  “Then let us change our clothing into something more suitable and depart,” Lady Matlock said.

  Bingley straightened. “Of course; I will ring for someone to show you to your rooms.”

  With a sigh, Darcy turned his attention to Georgiana and began asking about her activities for the past week since he had last received a letter from her. Before long, Lady Matlock consented to be shown to her rooms by the arriving maid and took her leave, pulling Georgiana with her to ensure her niece was “properly attired.”

  Ready in advance of everyone else, Darcy made his way to the entrance hall, waiting for the rest of the group. He had already sent a note to Mr. Bennet warning him of the impending visit and the thought of attempting to return to his estate business or to read his book was intolerable; his nerves jittered and danced as though he were waiting for a judge to pass sentence over his crimes.

  Elizabeth would be fine. They would be fine.

  If only his internal reassurances did not sound so flimsy.

  “Will!” Georgiana called some ten minutes later as she reached him.

  “Georgie,” Darcy said with a smile. The smile slid from his face as he witnessed the trembling in her limbs and her pale features. “Are you all right?”

  “I am just—I do not wish to disappoint you. What if Miss Elizabeth does not like me?”

  Darcy pulled Georgiana into a hug. “I cannot foresee any scenario where Miss Elizabeth does not like you, unless,” he pulled away and looked down, holding her gaze, a twinkle in his eye, “you are not intending to ensure that she dislikes you, are you? Do you have any frogs in your pockets?”

  Georgiana gave him a bewildered look. “Frogs?”

  “Is that not what younger sisters do when they desire to chase off an unsuitable partner in those novels you like to read? Put frogs in the pockets of the unsuitable young lady?” he teased.

  Georgiana looked scandalised. “I would never—Brother, if you believe Miss E
lizabeth to be suitable—”

  Darcy smiled at her. “I am only teasing you, Georgie.”

  “Oh, I see.” Her brow furrowed as she studied him.

  Darcy attempted to raise an eyebrow in inquiry.

  “I have never seen you so happy,” she said softly.

  Darcy froze, reminded that this was not the Georgiana of Before. After Elizabeth’s rejection, he had paid more attention to his sister and had even begun teasing her occasionally, but this Georgiana had no recollection of those events. She had told him, Before, that she never remembered him being lighthearted, something Darcy had found difficult to swallow. He had grown more and more serious after suffering the blow of his mother’s death; after his father had gone to join her, the weight of Darcy’s subsequent responsibilities had only deepened his solemnity. It was one among the many things he loved about Elizabeth—she brought a smile back to his heart and his lips.

  Having Georgiana plainly speak of his inability to be happy had made him wonder if he had done her a great disservice in his manner of raising her. Anne Darcy had brought light and fun with her everywhere she went. She was kind and compassionate, but always ready with a smile or a laugh. Darcy remembered her dancing through the halls at Pemberley and how a cloud of misery had descended on the house with her absence. Though he had believed himself past the initial horror of her death, he had not realised that he had carried that darkness throughout the rest of his life—until Elizabeth had dragged that part of himself back into the light kicking and screaming and had made him feel more than he had in all the years previous. Peeling off the insulation around his heart had been a painful process, but so worth every moment of agony.

  His lips turned up at the thought of Elizabeth. “I am happy,” he said. “I am only sorry that I have allowed us to be so melancholy. I wish that I could change the lack you felt, but I cannot change the past.” Well, most of the time. “Perhaps we shall both be happier going forward.”

  Georgiana returned his smile hesitantly.

  “Someone is eager,” Fitzwilliam teased as he walked up.