Friday, March 27, 1812
Gracechurch Street, London
My dear niece,
I read your latest letter with great concern. If you find the company in Kent distasteful, you are always welcome here. Jane is very melancholy, and I confess to being glad you are returning earlier than expected. The children are sick, however, so I do not think you should come for at least a fortnight.
I am thankful you have the assistance of Mr. Darcy; we must now assume he is everything trustworthy and the opposite of what Mr. Wickham would represent to us. I wonder why he would lie about the gentleman.
Yours, etc.
M. Gardiner
Elizabeth ought to have found joy in her aunt’s words. Instead, she had a strange feeling of lost potential as her time in Kent was coming to an abbreviated close.
“Is that a letter from Jane?” Charlotte asked when she looked up from her embroidery.
“No, it was from my aunt.”
“I hope all is well with the Gardiners,” Maria said. “They were ever so kind to me when we met them in London.”
Charlotte smiled kindly at her younger sister, and Elizabeth wondered what it must have been like to be reared in the Lucas household. Sir William was nearly as ridiculous as her mother, but with a knighthood bestowed by the King, one could hardly put them in the same category. Although he had once been in trade, he now firmly ranked in the gentry near Meryton. While the Lucases had a very large family and only a modest income between them, they evidently loved one another. When she married, would her father visit? Would her younger sisters miss her?
“The children are ill,” Elizabeth answered, at last. “I hope my aunt does not catch it.” It was not the most inventive deceit, but her cousins’ colds did serve as an explanation for her leaving when the time came. Mrs. Gardiner was expecting her fifth child in October and by then may wish for Elizabeth’s assistance.
“So, you have not heard from Jane?” Charlotte looked anxious. “Mama writes she is still in London.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth nodded and rather wished she had some employment. Perhaps then she could discuss threads rather than the contents of her letters. “I received Jane’s letter yesterday. Its contents contained only the usual,” she shrugged her shoulders as she lied through her teeth. “Weather reports and details of shopping excursions. With my aunt and the company the Gardiners keep, she has not even missed me at all!” Elizabeth hoped the light laugh she added convinced her friend.
“Maria, could you fetch Betsy. I believe she was in the garden gathering herbs.”
Elizabeth raised her eyebrows as Maria happily skipped off. Charlotte glanced at the closed door. “Betsy is in the village, so Maria is unlikely to return for some time. You are certain everyone is well?”
“Yes,” Elizabeth insisted.
“Good. I would not wish to distress you further with what I have to say.” Charlotte cast her embroidery aside and joined Elizabeth on the settee. “I know my husband’s anxieties, and moods, have been unfair to you, and Lady Catherine has been beyond impertinent.”
Elizabeth mutely nodded her head. It was a time when agreeing too much would be insulting.
“We will dine with Lady Catherine on the morrow. Colonel Fitzwilliam remains in London, and it has quite upset her ladyship.”
She searched Elizabeth’s face for a sign she knew of his departure or his reasons. Elizabeth steadfastly kept her face blank.
“My husband would be more upset with you being seen with Mr. Darcy yesterday if he were not confident that Darcy will marry Miss de Bourgh.”
Elizabeth shrugged her shoulders. “I surely do not know who he will marry, but I wish the lady the best of luck.”
“Eliza,” Charlotte reached for Elizabeth’s hand. “You know I think Mr. Darcy admires you. Beware, my friend. Great men often have no honourable use for ladies of our station.”
Elizabeth wrenched her hand away. “You think he would treat me so? I am surprised you do not believe Lady Catherine’s nephew above such things!”
“He is a man. They have their freedoms,” Charlotte shrugged.
“And do you think I would succumb to such an offer?”
Charlotte stood and smoothed her hands over her skirts before answering. “You can be quite passionate,” she said as she picked up her embroidery and resumed her task. “And you are sensible enough to know what he could do for your family.”
Elizabeth clenched her fists. How could Charlotte think such a thing of her! “You, perhaps better than anyone, have always known my feelings toward him. You know what reasons I have to hate him.”
“And yet, do they matter?” Charlotte said without looking up. “Jane has been in London for months, and I gather she has not seen Mr. Bingley. You cannot blame Darcy for all of that, especially while he has been here.”
Elizabeth bit her tongue to keep from disabusing her of her assumption. However, Jane would not appreciate Elizabeth sharing her feelings with the world.
Charlotte continued, “And Mr. Wickham is not here. Nor is he enamoured with you, Maria tells me.”
“Pray, tell, what else do you know? I did not know you had spies in London and Hertfordshire. Perhaps we should put you to use against Napoleon,” Elizabeth attempted to add a teasing quality to her voice but could not hide the acerbic meaning.
“There is no need to be so defensive,” Charlotte said coldly. “You may have your flirtation. I am not oblivious to the reason for your walks and your avoidance of Rosings, but know when to end it,” she added firmly.
Elizabeth’s mouth dropped open. “Charlotte — I — You misunderstand — ”
“Elizabeth Bennet at a loss for words? Oh no, I understand all too well.” She put aside her sewing again and stood. “If you will excuse me, I must discuss a matter with Cook.”
Charlotte curtsied and left. Elizabeth surged to her feet. Grabbing any bonnet and taking Maria’s gloves by accident, she quit the house. She knew her feet would carry her to the grove, but she would not avoid it out of fear of Charlotte’s false assumptions. Anyone could happen upon them, and while they might report she was a hoyden and argued with a man of such wealth and prestige, there was no evidence whatsoever that she was his doxy.
As if Darcy were even capable of such extreme passions! Elizabeth snorted at the thought. Mere days ago, Mr. Collins accused Elizabeth of entrancing Colonel Fitzwilliam. Now, his wife believed she had designs on Darcy! Charlotte may fancy herself cleverer than her husband, but she had been just as offensive — although she used none of the same reasoning or words.
Despite her cousins’ illness and Jane’s depression, Elizabeth rejoiced at her aunt’s letter. Soon, she would leave Kent and everyone in it behind.
*****
When Darcy’s feet touched the floor in the morning, his mind was consumed and focused on one thing only: giving Elizabeth his letter and hoping they could begin again. Noticing the sky, he cursed the infernal rain that typically did not plague Kent but, by a cruel twist of Providence, did so during this most important of visits to the area. He had heard France was far more liberal in…well, everything, but especially morals including courtship. He could hardly help wondering if it were because it was far more conducive to meet with ladies in the sunshine and balmy weather rather than rain and chilling breezes.
In the breakfast parlour, Lady Catherine intoned about the evils of going out of doors in such weather. She insisted that Anne remain by the fire all day and ordered the butler that her daughter was not permitted to use the phaeton or ponies. Darcy blushed for his cousin’s sake at her mother’s treatment. Poor Anne was treated like a child rather than an adult. Next, her ladyship turned her commands upon Darcy.
“You will see to Anne, Darcy,” she said and snapped her fingers for a servant to refill her tea. The footman raced over.
“I will surely do my duty to her,” he said, and Anne winked at him.
“Good, good,” Lady Catherine said and slathered butter on bread. “It is
well past time for you to wed. You are hardly growing younger.”
“If I am not mistaken, Mama,” Anne said, “you were even older when you wed.”
Her ladyship narrowed her eyes and then sniffed. “It was the way in my family. All that bluestocking nonsense. You,” she wagged the knife in Darcy’s direction, “ought to know better. Your mother also listened to that crazed woman, and you see what she got?”
Darcy took a sip of coffee before replying. “Marriage to a man she loved and children? She is hardly the only one to die in the childbed.”
Lady Catherine frowned, and for a moment a hint of genuine remorse flickered in her eyes. “George Darcy had never deserved her.”
“I think if a family truly loves any of the ladies in its care, no one will seem worthy of her,” Darcy said. “I firmly believe as much for Georgiana. Do you not feel similarly about Anne?”
Lady Catherine paused with bread half way between her mouth and plate. Darcy inwardly sniggered as he could nearly see the wheels of thought working furiously in her mind.
“An exceptional gentleman deserves her hand in marriage,” she said and nodded as though that neatly explained everything and kept her from having to outright demand he marry Anne.
Lady Catherine’s gaze flicked from Darcy to Anne. They shared an amused look and a roll of the eyes as soon as the dragon looked away. Soon, Mr. Collins arrived and followed Lady Catherine from the room. Anne and Darcy retired to a small parlour.
“You will not spend all day with me,” Anne said as she settled herself.
Darcy rolled his eyes. She could not be more commanding than if she were his wife. “I had no intention,” he said.
“Good. The grove should be nearly dry. Now, about the visit to Knole Hall.”
“Yes?”
“Mother has just heard the Duke will be in residence and she is reconsidering inviting the Collinses and their guests.”
“If they are good enough for the Duchess would they not be good enough for her son?”
“Mother worries Miss Bennet might entrance His Grace.”
Jealousy tore through Darcy’s heart as he envisioned the young duke, having just turned three and twenty, blessed with good looks, charm, and wealth casting his attention on Elizabeth. Dorset was not an utter coxcomb and there was family propensity for liking pretty ladies. Would Elizabeth’s admiration for the home transfer to admiration for its master?
“Conor!” Anne called, jolting Darcy from his miserable reverie.
“You have not called me that in a very long time,” he said as thousands of childhood memories flashed through his mind.
“I did call you Darcy, but you did not hear,” Anne said with a smirk.
“Forgive me for wool-gathering.”
“I do not think Mother’s concern has any merit at all,” Anne said, and Darcy raised a brow in question. “After all, it is you Miss Bennet cannot cease thinking about.”
Darcy refused to take his cousin’s bait. “You were saying? About the visit to Knole?”
“If I can establish a friendship with Miss Bennet then Mother will not think twice. As it is right now, she does not understand why the lady does not fawn all over me.”
Chortling, Darcy shook his head. “No, Lady Catherine would never understand that.” Sobering, he added, “I will do my best to suggest she be friendlier to you, but Elizabeth is unfailingly frank and honest.”
Anne chuckled, “And that is why Mother does not like her more, they are too alike!”
“Egads!” Darcy cried. “How can you compare the two?” The image of his witty and intelligent Elizabeth behaving the same as his repulsive aunt twisted his gut.
“Only on that,” Anne said. Her eyes trailed to the clock. “Now, the Mistress of Hearts suggests you be on your way.”
“Shall I ring for Mrs. Jenkinson? Or is there anything you require, a glass of wine?”
Darcy looked at the sideboard. It housed many medicinal bottles but only a decanter with a small amount of sherry. He had never noticed before, but now that he thought about it, his aunt had few spirits in the house. When he looked back at Anne, she too gazed at the sideboard. A look of hollow hunger transfixed her and startled Darcy. Then, she shook her head and dispelled whatever thoughts had been within.
“Mrs. Jenkinson will be here momentarily, and I do not require anything, thank you.” She approached the writing desk and busied herself.
“Are you certain?” The way she gazed at the sideboard made Darcy wonder if she were ill or in pain. With Anne’s shake of her head, he said a perfunctory goodbye and walked to the door. Mrs. Jenkinson was just around the corner and greeted him with a smile but walked on to her charge.
Darcy retrieved his letter and then, much too soon, was on his way to the place he usually met Elizabeth. He attempted to fix his mind on his letter from Richard, which he had received yesterday before his disastrous encounter with Elizabeth. Richard had no more luck on reassigning Wickham. His contact was away on holiday, so even if he had been able to journey to the General’s estate, he would not have been any nearer success. The difference, however, was that then Richard could have resumed his holiday at Rosings. Instead, as his commanding officer perceived his presence in London as a return to duty, he would now be unable to leave. Richard joked, but Darcy could tell his cousin harboured frustration and a small amount of resentment.
At least I am at liberty with the sorts of “ladies” I enjoy, Richard had written. I wish you good luck in acquiring Miss Bennet’s hand, Anne reports there may be complications. Do not worry, I have not told her anything about what I am really doing and why I left Rosings.
Darcy had breathed a sigh of relief when Richard confirmed he had kept a tight lid on matters relating to Wickham. As Richard knew of his affection for Elizabeth, Darcy did not mind that Anne shared the status of his courtship. It was not his first intention to tell Richard that Elizabeth was less than eager for his hand, and he hoped Anne would have the delicacy to not report Elizabeth’s outright refusal in her next letter. However, Anne did not know about Georgiana’s near elopement with Wickham. While he was re-establishing his friendship with her and would listen to some of her advice regarding Elizabeth, he saw no need to inform her of an event which was not only in the past but might hurt her opinion of Georgiana. And if Lady Catherine ever knew…
Darcy shook his head. No, enough people knew of the incident. If Wickham or Georgiana’s former companion, Mrs. Younge, ever chose to smear her name, her reputation would be in tatters before her come out. As it was, he lived half in dread of blackmail. Richard, of course, was in favour of silencing him through other means, but Darcy could never encourage violence toward the man he once called a friend.
Richard now sought a letter of introduction to Wickham’s commander, Colonel Forster. However, most of his contacts were still out of town, and even if he would choose the impertinence of riding to Meryton and informing Forster of Wickham’s perfidy, Richard could not leave London. For his own peace of mind, Darcy needed Wickham far gone from anyone connected to him. Their meeting at Meryton, while he had no doubt was entirely coincidental, proved how small England was.
Perhaps Elizabeth would have a suggestion. His heart seized at the thought that she might not walk this morning. She might actively avoid his presence. What if she refused his letter of apology? He would call on the parsonage but what if she claimed illness or refused to speak with him beyond civility? Was it conceivable that she could find a way to refuse to see him until his departure entirely? Would he never see her brilliant smile on such kissable lips again? He might never see those flecks of green dance with merriment in her brown eyes again. Why had he never told her these things? His stupid pride! He had felt so proud of his self-control yesterday. He did not lay his heart before her and have it trampled, but she deserved to know he felt far more than admiration. Did she not deserve to know that, flawed as he was, there was one man on this earth that loved her with his whole heart?
Dear
C—
My congratulations to your friend, Jane, on the healthy delivery of a baby. I am sorry to hear she regrets not having a son. I have seen her sister Mary’s portrait. It would not surprise me if Tom outshined Reynolds. On the whole, between the Duchess and Mrs. Graham, I would wager the latter is happier. You may have old wounds open at the sight of friends entering marriage and having families of their own, but you may have that as well if you are but patient and hope. Already, rumours have subsided considerably.
Yours,
A.F.
Chapter Fourteen
Just after the parsonage was out of view, Elizabeth espied a familiar figure. Darcy did not hear her approach, and she took a minute to study him. He appeared no different than yesterday, and yet he did. Everything between them must be different now. She had believed he looked at her in disapproval, but he claimed he had admired her for quite some time. Had he ever truly disapproved of her? Were even his comments at the assembly on her looks his real opinion? All this time she thought she knew him, she thought she had understood him, but she had never really seen him at all.
He turned just then, his face quickly showing a variety of emotions which Elizabeth wisely chose not to presume to understand. He stood still and blinking. When he did not speak, she knew she must.
“Mr. Darcy,” she tentatively began. “I am pleased to see you this afternoon. I… I desired to discuss some things with you.” It seemed so similar to their encounter a few weeks ago and yet nothing was the same.
“I am at your leisure,” he said with perfect politeness, but all words escaped her.
They stared at each other, perhaps seeing one another in reality for the first time, and perhaps both forming a desperate resolution.
“I have brought you a letter.”
“Will you do me the honour of reading this letter?”
They spoke simultaneously, and their eyes were drawn to the forwarded envelopes. Elizabeth could only shake her head and laugh in amusement, and Darcy gave a small smile.
Mr. Darcy's Bluestocking Bride Page 15
