You touched the ring and made yourself known. And now that we are once again joined with my son, we also know his mind.
“Which is?”
Come. Walk with me.
Well, this was not at all odd. A stroll in the middle of the night with the spirit of a princess who was once the mother of Darcy. Not odd at all.
You did us a great service. Wickham is of our blood, from a distant distaff line. He sought to harness the power of the ring.
“It is more likely he sought to sell it.”
Again, the feeling of amusement. Anne paused, turned to Elizabeth. I’m pleased. I’ve seen William’s memories of you. And I offer you this. Bingley will come to call upon your sister tomorrow and offer her his hand in marriage.
Elizabeth blinked, stomach lurching. “How do you know this?”
A small smile curved Anne’s lips. We have some small influence on matters outside of our own, wherever my son’s influence also treads. Bingley will come. And my son.
Anne faded, and with her disappearance came Elizabeth’s common sense. Every hair on her body stood at attention and she gasped. Had the shade placed some kind of calming spell over her mind? She picked up her robe and ran home.
If Jane thought it odd Elizabeth insisted on a wearing these ribbons with that dress and styling her hair just so and keeping ahead of the clutter in the drawing room for once, Jane said nothing.
Mary noticed, however, and was slightly more critical. “What is wrong with you, Elizabeth? You have been on edge all morning.”
“Bingley will call today,” Jane said. “She is merely excited for his arrival.”
Mary looked up at the ceiling. “Is he not yours? I swear, Elizabeth, you need to develop your own pursuits. You live vicariously through Jane.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Whatever will you do once she is wed?” Mary’s dark eyes mocked Elizabeth. “Become governess to a hoard of little Bingleys?”
Elizabeth refused to be baited. “There are worse fates.”
“And that fate will not be yours,” Jane said firmly. “Mary, you are unkind.”
Jane’s statement unconsciously echoed Darcy’s. Anne’s words the previous evening haunted Elizabeth. Haunted. . .poor choice of word, perhaps, though spirits were not at all the same as haunting ghosts. Thank god.
Adelaide stepped into the room, expression flinty, accompanied by the clop of hooves coming towards their house at a walk. Elizabeth glanced at Jane, rose, and went to the window.
“My, look who it is.”
“So it seems everything is back as you would have it, Elizabeth,” her stepmother said.
Elizabeth turned, and their gazes clashed before Adelaide looked away. “Let us welcome our callers.”
Jane stood, then sat down again, placing her hands in her lap and then reaching for her embroidery hoop. Elizabeth hid a smile and remained by the window as the gentlemen entered the room.
Darcy’s presence did not surprise her because he had said he would accompany Bingley the next time he called. Their gazes met before hers lowered, glancing off the ring on his pinkie.
The men bowed, and the sisters made their curtsies.
“Well, neither of you came to see me,” Mary said. “I shall be off, I think.”
Darcy gave Mary an oblique look, then turned to Elizabeth. “Would you care for some fresh air?”
“Mrs Bennet,” Bingley said, “if I might beg your permission to speak with Jane alone?”
“An excellent idea, Mr Williams,” Elizabeth said. “Why don’t we take a turn in my garden? Stepmother?”
Adelaide left with them, splitting off before Darcy and Elizabeth got to the front door.
“I suppose we will have good news,” Adelaide said as she disappeared up the stairs.
“Will we have good news?” Elizabeth asked Darcy as they left the house. “Are you here to provide Bingley with moral support?”
“It is not every day a man asks a woman to marry him.”
“But surely this man is certain of this woman’s answer?”
“Surely he is not.”
“Well, at least he will not take her for granted.”
“No, that will come after a few years of marriage, I suppose.”
Elizabeth led him to a patch of carrots.
“The plants look very healthy,” he noted.
“I enjoy growing them.” She knelt, fingers trailing lightly through the soil.
“You are a natural caretaker.”
She looked up at him. “Will there be any repercussions?”
He did not pretend to misunderstand her. “I do not think so. He has remained quiet so far.” Darcy paused. “I must return home soon. I had thought to stay for Bingley’s ball, but it is perhaps best I absent myself.”
“And what about Wickham?”
“I sent round a note that should convince him to stay away from your sisters.”
“A note?”
“It was a detailed note, Miss Elizabeth, and one he will pay attention to.”
“Was it delivered from Mr Williams or Prince Fitzwilliam Darcy?” He said nothing and she stood, blowing out a breath. “I suppose there is no hope of keeping last night’s events quiet.”
“He can press no charges as he stole the ring in the first place. And you were never seen in, or leaving, his room. He will accuse you of nothing.”
Elizabeth wasn’t so certain. She feared Wickham would do something to salve his ego, but she could not imagine what form vengeance might take.
“Well, I suppose there is nothing more to be done about it.”
“You worry too much. Do not concern yourself with talk, it always blows over. The society here is inferior, in any course.”
She would fail to point out to him the inherent insult in his comment. “We have neither your status, your rank, nor your wealth. The opinions of others may well one day determine my future. If I ever choose to go into service to a respectable family—”
“Go. . .into. . . .” he spoke faintly, the horror crossing his face nearly comical. “What is this absolute foolishness you speak of?”
Elizabeth frowned. “When Jane is safely wed—and may that happen sooner rather than later, please god—then I will turn my attention to finding a suitable arrangement for myself. I fancy the idea of directing young minds. I would make an excellent governess.”
He lifted hand to his temple. “I am not hearing this. You are obviously overwrought from the excitement.”
She was not overwrought, but understood a man of his position would never have to consider the problems of life that plagued a poor, unwed gentlewoman. Best change the subject before her temper sparked. “Your mother,” she said abruptly.
“My mother?” He glanced down at his hand, the look telling Elizabeth what she needed to know.
“She came to me last night.”
His head snapped up, hand lifting in command. “Explain.”
“Your tone of voice, sir.”
“Elizabeth.”
A sister called her name. She started to turn, but Darcy grabbed her hand. “Did my mother show herself to you?”
She could not ignore the note of pleading in his tone. Turning back, it suddenly struck her, “She has never appeared to you, has she?”
He released her. “The Darcy women never do. They only appear to each other.”
Her brow furrowed. “Each other? But I am not a Darcy.” Her head tilted as she considered. “She seemed anxious at being separated from you for so long and in Wickham’s possession. Perhaps that’s why.” Drat that man’s impossible-to-read expression. If he had not been a prince, he would have been able to make a fortune at cards.
“Perhaps,” he said. “What did she say?”
“She thanked me for aiding you and warned me that Bingley. . . .” Elizabeth paused. “You know, I think the event has already happened. We should return.”
“I do not think I have ever met a woman who can so casually speak of being
visited by a spirit one moment, and then desire to join her sisters for tea the next.”
“Well, there is only one Elizabeth Bennet.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Darcy turned at the clap of feet hurrying down the hall. The door flung open, revealing a wild-eyed Charles.
“Darcy!”
“It went well, I take it?” He had excused himself after the announcement at the Longbourn home. They had invited him to stay along with Charles, but if his own plans were to be put in place, there was correspondence to take care of. Besides, he had sensed Elizabeth’s tension, observed her withdrawal after signs of a frayed temper. He was coming to know her, learning to understand when it was time to press his suit and when it was time to allow her to retreat.
Bingley rushed across the room, a golden Adonis with the disposition of a happy puppy. Truly, it was amazing a man with his wealth and position lacked even the barest trace of arrogance. Charles was as one saw him. Open, warm, utterly pleased with the world and now brimming with joy.
“You are beside yourself,” Darcy said. He clapped his friend on the back. “What next?”
“Next we wed! Darcy, I thought there was no hope—”
“I told you that was not true.”
“You did, and I will be forever grateful.” Bingley grabbed his hand. “How may I repay you for making me take up the reins of courage?”
“Just wed the woman. I have plans for her sister, but have not her sister’s undivided attention.”
Bingley chortled. “Oh, ho! Plans, eh? Maybe it will be a double wedding. . . .”
Darcy clasped his hands behind his back. “It is unlikely. When I wed, it will by necessity be in state.” Elizabeth Bennet would not be an easy woman to woo. He was convinced of it, even if somehow she might be persuaded to take practicalities into consideration. Any other woman, and he would have felt assured of her acceptance due to his wealth. Not Elizabeth.
Elizabeth desired freedom. He would have to convince her that freedom meant being his wife.
“The wedding will have to take place after the ball,” Charles said that evening. “She would be vexed with me otherwise, I think. Women want all eyes on them on their wedding day, don’t you think?”
Darcy sat in a chair, already regretting having come down for dinner. He had spent the day going through the latest envelope of documents sent to him by Grayson, and in return he had written to George as well as several of his courtiers with instructions on various matters. But as the day progressed, his energy waned. After splattering ink all over a letter with a trembling hand, he grimaced and set work aside. He might be coming down with a chill, but it was likely just the accumulation of the last several days. A prince did not catch chills.
“You are doing enough thinking for the both of us,” Darcy said, wanting to lean his elbows on his knees. He ground his teeth against an oncoming headache. “But I believe you are correct. Best to keep the two events separate.”
“But I shall waste no time! What we need to do—”
There was a knock on the door, and Caroline stepped into the drawing room, elegantly attired as always.
“Sister! You cannot imagine what jolly news I have!”
Caroline stopped, eyed her brother and then glanced at Darcy. “Any news that brings you joy is sure to bring me pain.”
She replied in droll tones, and Darcy nearly smiled. It was a pity the woman was so obsessed with rank, wealth, and social status. Under her grasping ambitions was an intelligent woman with a dry sense of humour. Well. . .she behaved like a harpy when roused. Bingley swore there were none of the creatures in their distant bloodline, but who could ever know these things for certain?
“I am to be wed to the most beautiful woman in the territory!”
Darcy felt joy for his friend but was beginning to wish Bingley would lower his voice somewhat. “Why don’t we all have a drink?” A glass of wine would soothe the man’s nerves, perhaps get him to sit still for a few moments and stop bouncing around the room.
Poor Miss Bennet. Was she not a low energy kind of woman? Had Elizabeth not said her sister was delicate?
“Who is to be your bride?” Caroline asked.
As if she did not already know. She had liked Jane Bennet well enough until she realised how her brother felt about the poor gentlewoman. Darcy rose, clutching the back of the chair when dizziness assailed him.
“Jane Bennet!” Charles exclaimed happily. “Can you imagine?”
“No,” Caroline said. “I really cannot. You said something about a drink, Your Highness?”
Darcy went to the cabinet and withdrew a decanter of brandy and glasses and poured. Once they had made a toast, he glanced at Caroline. “You will want to take Miss Bennet to London to shop.”
“A capital idea, Darcy,” Bingley said. “My sweet Jane would enjoy a new wardrobe. She deserves the best.”
Caroline set her glass down after draining it. “I came to warn you about the gossip in town, Your Highness.”
He stiffened. “What gossip, and why should it concern me?”
“Someone is spreading a tale that you and Miss Elizabeth Bennet were seen exiting the inn that quarters a part of the regiment, and that the innkeeper himself pursued you to see what you were about, but you escaped. Your honour is above reproach, of course, but perhaps it is time you cut that Bennet woman once and for all.”
“When I desire your counsel on how to conduct my affairs, I will ask for it.”
She paled. Darcy forced himself to soften his tone. She did not deserve the chill edge of his temper, even though he knew she disliked Elizabeth and was probably secretly pleased at the slander against her rival’s reputation.
“I thank you for the warning, however.”
Charles’ brow furrowed. “Perhaps you should return to Derbyshire. I am sure the talk is nothing—Miss Elizabeth is so pleasant a gentlewoman, who could think ill of her!—but if your absence would ameliorate the talk. . . .”
“I will do no such thing.” He set his glass down with a tink, suppressing the urge to throw it across the room and watch the glass shatter into a hundred tiny, satisfying pieces. “I will squash the foul talk.” He knew who must have spread tales. Darcy cursed, lifting a hand to his forehead. “Damn him.”
Charles blinked. “You think Wickham had something to do with this?” Bingley did not know about the other night, only that Darcy had retrieved the ring from Wickham. Elizabeth’s part would remain unknown, or at least that had been Darcy’s intent.
“I know he did,” was his grim reply. Evidently his talk with Wickham the other night had not fazed the man. Now Darcy must make good on the consequences he had promised were Wickham to attempt any vengeance against Elizabeth. If he did not, then it would be known that the word of a Darcy prince meant nothing, and his house was not to be feared.
“I must go. Bingley, congratulations again.”
“What will you do?” Caroline asked.
“What I must.” He stepped forward and went crashing to the ground.
Elizabeth noticed the odd looks cast her way as she and her family entered Sir Lucas’ drawing room. She had not wanted to come to the dinner, desiring quiet instead, but allowed Lydia to persuade her at the last minute. She would not sit shut up in her rooms pining over a man.
At first, she dismissed it as residual attention from the announcement in the local paper of Jane’s upcoming nuptials. There was an edge in the looks, the whispers, that she did not like. Had word of the events that night gotten out somehow?
That would be unfortunate.
Jane was now betrothed, however, and Bingley not a man to go back on his word. Still, better to see her sister safely wed than rest on her laurels now. There was still Lydia, Kitty, and Mary to think of since Adelaide had extracted the promise from Elizabeth to help her younger sisters make suitable matches as well. Elizabeth sighed. So perhaps she should not dismiss any strikes against her reputation. Facilitating matches for the other sisters would require a
lack of blemish if she was to ride on the coattails of Jane’s elevated status. What Adelaide really thought Elizabeth could do, she did not know. Nothing would make up for a lack of dowry—not every man was like Bingley, after all, nor every woman like Jane. Their match was the stuff of heavens and lightning rarely struck twice, much less four times.
Should she warn Darcy, though? He would soon leave to return to his home—and of course, that thought did not bother her at all. Not at all.
“Elizabeth,” a voice said. Charlotte walked towards her, movements unhurried though there was a tightness around her eyes.
“Charlotte, dear,” Elizabeth said, kissing her cheek. “How was your trip?”
“Very satisfactory. I feel refreshed.” Her friend slid her arm through Elizabeth’s, drawing her aside. “Lizzy, I can tell by your demeanour that you have not heard. I returned this morning, but Maria has spent all day in town.”
“Heard what, Charlotte?”
“I am shocked, dear cousin, that you made the unfortunate decision to enter your person into the public sphere this otherwise amiable afternoon, despite the most disturbing gossip.”
Elizabeth turned, though she desired nothing more than to pretend she had not heard Collins. He and his belly glowered at her, his wispy hair ridiculous on his balding head.
“What are you blathering about, Collins?” she asked, not bothering to temper her tone.
He scowled. “I could not at first think it true, but I have it on good authority from—”
“What is being said, you odious toad?”
Elizabeth, her father had once told her, you have a fearsome temper under your smiles and humour. Best only let it out to play when all else fails.
Sorry, Papa.
Collins paled, then turned red. “It is being said, cousin Elizabeth, that you are no better than you ought to be. A Jezebel, a Bathsheba. A woman seen leaving an inn with a gentleman! And as everyone knows you are unwed and not betrothed—”
“Who did you hear this from?”
“This is what I was going to tell you,” Charlotte said. She gave Collins a look of distaste, turning her back on him.
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