Mr. Darcy's Letter

by Abigail Reynolds

  She checked the fabric again. Better, but telltale splotches still remained. She scrubbed at it more vigorously, wishing she had some of the strong soap used in the laundry.

  The door clicked open behind her. Startled, Elizabeth jerked her head around to see the intruder. It was Jane, bearing a tea tray. “Lizzy, I thought you might like some tea.” She set the tray on a side table, then looked over Elizabeth’s shoulder at the bloodstained shift. “Did your courses come early, then? No wonder you are so tired.”

  Elizabeth bent her head but said nothing. She and Jane knew each other’s cycles well, and it would not take Jane long to realize that her courses could not possibly be this early.

  “Here, I will take care of that. You should have told me you needed help.” Jane took the wet shift from Elizabeth’s hands. “You should rest.”

  Fighting the urge to snatch the shift away from Jane, Elizabeth quietly sat on the bed, feeling terribly exposed. Jane hummed softly as she wrung the fabric through the water. Elizabeth could not decide whether she hoped her sister would guess the truth or not. It suddenly seemed a terrible sin to try to disguise the truth.

  She said in a low voice, “I am not having my courses.”

  “Did you injure yourself, then?”

  “No.”

  Finally Jane looked over her shoulder with a puzzled air. “I do not understand.”

  Elizabeth essayed a teasing smile, though she suspected it did not quite reach her eyes. “I was alone with Mr. Darcy in his study for some time.”

  It was a moment before Jane’s eyes grew wide. “Do you mean that… oh, my dearest Lizzy!” Her cheeks reddened and she looked away, scrubbing ferociously at the shift as if trying to wash out her new knowledge.

  “I am afraid so,” Elizabeth said lightly. “Will you ever forgive me?”

  Jane’s hands stilled. “Of course. There is nothing for me to forgive, is there?”

  “It was not something either of us had planned.”

  “You need not explain to me. After all, you are engaged to be married.”

  “Dearest Jane, you are far too good, but I appreciate your efforts to think well of me despite the circumstances.”

  “Is this why he left?”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “No, he truly had urgent business to attend to. He did not wish to go. That is how it began – we were both unhappy to be parted, and one thing led to another.”

  “Does it distress you?”

  Elizabeth knew her sister was not speaking of Darcy’s departure any longer. “Yes, and at the same time no.

  It is strange. I am both shocked and astonished, and yet I cannot help thinking that perhaps it was better this way. Now my wedding night holds no fear for me. Had we waited, my nerves might have been as bad as our mother’s by the time we were married!”

  “It is not so terrible, then?”

  “Not terrible at all, I am happy to report.”

  Jane looked up with a weak smile. “Well, then, it must have been for the best.”

  ***

  Darcy was in no mood to sit in a carriage, so he rode ahead on Bucephalus while his valet followed with his luggage. On a clear stretch of road, he spurred his horse to a canter, despite the risk if he suddenly overtook a vehicle. Bucephalus would be able to stay clear in any case; Darcy had trained the stallion himself. The wind rushed past him as Bucephalus half-flew down the road.

  He ought to be feeling shame for seducing Elizabeth. He ought, at the very least, to be devastated by their separation, though he supposed at some level that he was disturbed by it. He certainly ought to be filled with rage and outrage toward George Wickham for approaching Georgiana, but instead he felt elated, almost exhilarated.

  The long months of loneliness, rejection, and uncertainty were over. Elizabeth had committed herself to him in the most basic way possible, and there could be no going back. No more concern about whether she might change her mind, or that she might wish to have nothing to do with him, or agonizing late into the night about whether he had forced her into an engagement she did not wish for. No, by God, she had shown that she cared for him, and if she did not feel the deep and passionate love he did for her, perhaps that might yet come.

  Regardless, she was finally his, as he had been hers for more than a year. All would finally be well.

  No pricks of conscience disturbed him. They were engaged, after all, and would be married in a month.

  She had been willing and seemed untroubled by the event. She knew he would never abandon her to her fate, as some men had been known to do, so there was no cause for alarm. Indeed, he could not bring himself to have the least regrets. Elizabeth was well and happy, it made no difference to their future, and now he was spared weeks of worry about what might come between them. He felt on top of the world, all powerful, unconquerable.

  Soon he would have to put his mind to how he would locate George Wickham, but there would be time for that when he reached London. For now he would simply glory in the knowledge that Elizabeth was his forever.

  ***

  Dinner at Longbourn seemed to last forever to Elizabeth. Although there was no sign of anything amiss apart from Jane’s occasional worried glances, she felt as if she must have a brand on her forehead signifying her guilty action. What would the rest of her family think if they knew?

  She wondered with an odd amusement if her mother would scold her for foolishness or praise her for making every effort to secure Mr. Darcy. Surely she had no reason to worry that Mr. Darcy would call off the engagement now that he had enjoyed her without the price of a wedding ring. After all, the announcement had been in the papers, and it would disgrace him to go back on his word. Not as much as it would disgrace her, but she knew he would avoid shame to his family name at all costs. And he had been loyal to her for so long, through trials and tribulations most men would never endure.

  No, Mr. Darcy loved her, that was certain, and he would never abandon her. That was foolish thinking. But she could not help wondering if his opinion of her might have changed. She had made no effort to stop him, as he might rightfully expect a lady to do, nor even chided him after the fact for his lack of control, which would hardly have been fair in any case as she had not objected. Would it make him question her moral character? It had seemed for a moment as if he had expected her to be angry with him, and her only thought had been to reassure him, rather than to preserve what bits of modesty she still retained. But what must he think of her now? Certainly he had doubts about her family’s character already, and Lydia’s behaviour had not helped in that regard. Would he think her like Lydia? Did he now regret offering to make her his wife, or worry about her potential influence over his sister?

  Her other concern was for Jane. She had not yet found the courage to reveal to her sister what she had learned about Mr. Bingley’s engagement, but Jane was bound to hear of it sooner or later. It would no doubt be in the papers soon, and at least Elizabeth could choose to break the news in privacy rather than have Jane discover it in public. So the following day, with a heavy heart and armed with extra handkerchiefs, she asked Jane to walk with her in the little wilderness, well shielded from public view.

  She was trying to find the courage to begin when Jane said, “Lizzy, what is the matter? You have been out of spirits ever since Mr. Darcy’s departure. Did you quarrel after, umm, when you met last?”

  Elizabeth almost laughed at her sister’s unexpected interpretation of her desire to speak privately, but the subject hardly lent itself to humour, especially when she recalled all the months Jane had grieved over Mr.

  Bingley. “No, all is well between us. But he did give me a certain intelligence that I was not happy to hear, and I suspect you will be even less pleased by it.” She paused to take a deep breath.

  Jane’s countenance grew pale. “Has something happened to Mr. Bingley? Is he injured, or ill?”

  Elizabeth bit her lip. “No, to the best of my knowledge, he is well, but he is… engaged to be married.”
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br />   She hurried through the last few words, then looked down at the ground to allow Jane time to recover.

  “I see,” said Jane, her voice colourless. “It is not a surprise; I had assumed he would not wait long to take a wife.”

  They walked in silence for a few minutes, then Elizabeth said, “Mr. Darcy believes that Mr. Bingley does not care for the lady, but rather that he accepted the choice of his sisters, since he could not follow his own heart.”

  Jane gave an odd half-cough which Elizabeth strongly suspected covered a muffled sob. She handed Jane her handkerchief. “I am very sorry to be the bearer of ill tidings, Jane.”

  “There is nothing ill about these tidings,” Jane said in a voice that might have sounded calm enough had it not been undermined by a slight trembling. “I am happy for Mr. Bingley. He needs a wife and I have no doubt that he has chosen wisely. He is such an amiable gentleman that if affection does not already exist between the two of them, it soon will.”

  “Jane, you are more generous than any other woman in your position would be,” Elizabeth said ruefully, realizing that her sister did not want sympathy.

  “It is not generosity,” said Jane with a slight sniffle. “He offered me his heart and his hand and I refused him. Why would I not wish him to be happy with someone else?”

  Elizabeth decided that it would not be the better part of wisdom to point out that her sister had not wanted to refuse him, so she kept her silence on that point. “You are very good.”

  “What I cannot bear is how people will look at me when they hear the news.” Jane’s voice held an unusual sharpness. “Full of pity and derision for the spurned woman, and all the talk about how I should have tried harder to have won him, and now I will be an old spinster. If only I could tell them that he loved me, but that could never be. I wish I never had to see any of them again, but I will have to see them, day after day, just as it was after he left the first time. I hate it.”

  “I wish he had been a stronger man, one who would listen to his heart instead of the advice of others, and then none of this would have happened,” Elizabeth said, realizing for the first time that it was the truth. She had blamed Mr. Darcy for Mr. Bingley’s first departure from Netherfield, but that had been just another evidence of her prejudice against him. No matter what Mr. Darcy had said, the fault lay with Mr. Bingley for allowing himself to be swayed. She was suddenly grateful to be marrying a man who made his own decisions without regard to the opinions of others.

  CHAPTER 21

  Elizabeth’s last meeting with Mr. Darcy might not have troubled her much at the time, but she soon found that what had happened between them hung over her, even as she told herself again and again that it was a private matter between the two of them. Whenever she sat down to write a letter to Mr. Darcy, her pen froze after a few words. She did not know what to say to him without discussing the subject most on her mind, and she did not want to dissemble by writing a falsely cheerful letter.

  Her anxiety grew as she received no word from him. Perhaps he also did not know what to say, but her worry about when he might return and what he might be thinking was near to driving her mad. In an attempt to lay her worries to rest, she finally forced herself to pen a note reporting that she had called on Georgiana at Netherfield and that her spirits seemed improved. To her delight, a response came the very next day.

  My dearest Elizabeth,

  How odd it seems to write to you without fear of discovery or scandal. Since I cannot be in your presence, I must content myself with this. I had hoped to return to Netherfield by now, but my business has taken longer than expected. London seems very lonely when you are far away. Dare I hope that you are missing me as well?

  I paid a call to Mr. & Mrs. Thomas Wickham two days ago, and I am glad to report that your sister is in good health and seems happy in her present circumstances. Her husband is looking forward to leaving his regiment next month and has begun investigating possibilities for a permanent home for them. Your sister expressed a wish to live in Town, but he is set on finding a modest house in Derbyshire.

  Thank you for checking on Georgiana. It is a relief to know that you are there for her.

  In closing, I will say only that I treasure the memory of the recent times we spent together at Netherfield. I am forever grateful to have finally earned your good opinion, and I would not risk that for anything. Please know that I hold you in my heart every minute of the day, and that I can hardly wait for the moment when we will be together once more.

  Forever yours,

  Fitzwilliam Darcy

  Tears of sweet relief came to Elizabeth’s eyes as she read his final words, understanding the underlying reassurance about their last meeting. She told herself sternly that she had known all along that his sentiments towards her would be unchanged, but she held the letter to her heart for several long minutes, finding solace in the knowledge that his hands had touched it. For the first time since Darcy’s departure, a real smile came to her lips. She read it again until she was near to knowing the words from memory.

  She wished she could share his news of Lydia with her family, since Lydia was a poor correspondent and they had heard little from her since her wedding, but it would have been difficult to explain why Mr. Darcy would have found himself in Gravesend when he was supposed to be in London. Presumably he had thought that Thomas Wickham might have some ideas where his miscreant younger brother might be hiding. She hoped his assessment of Lydia’s happiness was correct, and that Thomas was treating her well. It was perhaps just as well that they would settle in Derbyshire where she could keep a watchful eye over her sister.

  ***

  Thomas Wickham wrinkled his nose at the odor emanating from the alley. He checked the piece of paper that bore the address in hopes he had been mistaken, but he was not. Folding the paper and dropping it back in his pocket, he began to make his way down the alley, stepping gingerly to avoid the rotting trash that littered the street. He shook off a young bit of muslin that tried to take his arm, though he could understand her mistake.

  Why else would a gentleman come into such a place?

  The alley opened into a small court. The cobblestones were slippery, and Thomas did not even want to think about why that might be. The boarding house was obvious by the cracked sign that hung in the window.

  He was not looking forward to this.

  A rap at the door summoned a slatternly wench who eyed him hopefully. “What can I do for you, good sir?”

  “George Wickham. Is he here?”

  “I think so, in his room, most likely. Probably not in his cups yet, either, lucky for you.” She pointed up the stairway.

  The stairs squeaked underfoot as he ascended. He pounded on the door the girl had indicated. George had damned well better be there. He was tired of this quest.

  He expected his brother to be as disheveled as everything else in this place, but the dapper man who opened the door had taken obvious care with his appearance and looked ready for a day at his club. He should have known; George would never allow his looks to suffer. His looks and charm were his bread and butter.

  “Thomas, old chap! What brings you here? Not that I’m not delighted to see you, of course.” With the same quicksilver smile he had always used to forestall trouble, George shook his hand heartily.

  Thomas steeled himself not to give in to that smile. “I’m here to talk about your future.”

  “My future? I’m a bit down on my luck at the moment, but I just learned of a marvelous opportunity to…”

  “Don’t bother, George. I’ve heard it all before.”

  George stepped back with a hurt look. “What’s the matter? Are you angry at me?”

  “I’m here to tell you it’s time for you to move on. Leave the country.”

  “What? You appear here after, what, three years, and tell me to leave the country? Come along, Thomas, what sort of joke is this?”

  “The most serious kind. Darcy bought up your debts, more than enough to p
ut you in debtors prison. He’s willing to settle for you leaving the country. Canada or India, whichever you prefer.”

  “Darcy? I should have known. But it doesn’t matter. He won’t do anything to me now. He’s getting married, have you heard? And his future wife has a soft spot for me. It’s going to be a whole new day. Darcy will do as I ask.”

  “If his future wife ever had a fondness for you, it disappeared after you seduced and abandoned her sister.”