by Jessie Lewis
If Jane had indeed condescended to despicable means to secure an offer, condemning herself to a marriage of vastly unequal affection, then Elizabeth hardly wondered that she should have grown jealous of her genuine happiness with Darcy. The injustice of punishing her for it with malice and disloyalty was insufferable. “I am very sorry for you,” she told Bingley. “I understand now why you wished to leave.”
“May I…do I ask too much to stay on a little longer?”
“You are more than welcome. You must return only when you are ready and not merely because I have forced you, no matter how my mother begs me to try.” Thinking of her mother and father, she added, “There can be nothing more wretched than being unable to respect one’s partner in life. I refuse to have any part in committing you to such a fate.”
He did not reply for a time. When Elizabeth gave up glowering fiercely at the lake and looked at him, she was surprised to find him watching her with some concern.
“Would that I could offer you such words of comfort as you have given me, Lizzy.”
How she pitied him then, for she had Darcy to ease the pain of Jane’s betrayal. He had no one. “Perhaps we can be of comfort to each other,” she offered and was pleased to see his expression lighten. Her anger was too great to accommodate much in the way of comfort at that moment, however, and she sought to end their tête-à-tête by suggesting they return to the house before breakfast was cleared away. The prospect of food persuaded him to abandon the subject, and they returned indoors without taxing themselves to discuss anything more significant than the whereabouts of the other members of the household.
“There, you see,” Elizabeth said as they came through the front door. “I can hear Georgiana at her practice still.”
“She is a good girl,” Bingley remarked. “Vastly less trying than my own sisters were at her age.”
He could not have known the very great anxiety this comment would cause her, and Elizabeth did her utmost to conceal any sign of it, but his reference to Georgiana’s steadiness of character sent her mind racing down a most unwelcome path. She excused herself on the pretext of some menial task and went to her husband’s study to fretfully await his return.
***
“And has he stopped her writing to anybody else?”
“He did not say, but that is not the worst of it.”
“Pray cease pacing and come to it then.”
Elizabeth obliged him insofar as she ceased pacing, yet she continued to prevaricate. “I am almost afraid to tell you, for I know how angry you will be.”
Darcy was already a good way beyond angry—with Jane, with Bingley, with Mrs. Bennet, and with Ashby and his bloody wife. He watched Elizabeth bite her lip and rub her temples and grew angrier still at all those who continued to obtrude on her happiness. “Tell me.”
“Jane knows about Georgiana’s near elopement.”
He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth.
“I am sorry, Fitzwilliam. I meant not to break your confidence, only on the very day I returned home from Hunsford, Jane and I met Mr. Wickham in the street. He was so vile, so charming, I could not bear to see Jane taken in; thus, I told her. But I trusted her then. I never dreamt she might—”
Darcy stepped forward and took her by the shoulders. “Calm yourself. I do not blame you for telling Jane. She is your sister. You could not have known how she would change.”
She let out a shaky breath and gave a weak smile of thanks. “But think you she will tell Lady Ashby?”
“I know not.”
“I should never forgive myself if Georgiana’s reputation were tarnished because of me.”
“It would not be any fault of yours if it were,” he said firmly, pulling her into his embrace. “Leave it with me, love. I shall deal with it.”
Knightsbridge, London
February 11
Ashby,
I am in no way surprised Darcy has written you such a letter if your wife has indeed been playing arson with his reputation, and neither ought you to be. I shall overlook the colourful rant you sent me on the assumption that you were not brave enough to direct it at him. Frankly, you ought to count yourself fortunate that his threats ended where they did and were not extended to include the removal of one or both of your ballocks.
May I presume, dear brother, that this is the reason for Lady Catherine’s displeasure? Your wife is making friends hand-over-fist, is she not? I suggest you encourage her in future to better select her enemies. The wives of men such as Darcy are not generally prudent marks.
Do not trouble yourself writing to Father. He will not intervene and neither will I, for we both dislike your wife as much as you do. Knowing you prefer an uncomplicated existence, my advice is to shake off your indignation and concede to Darcy’s embargoes. Opposing him will only cost you money and respect—and possibly a ballock.
Your younger and eminently wiser brother,
Fitzwilliam
***
Friday, 19 February 1813: Derbyshire
Darcy gritted his teeth. “Your turn, Bingley.”
“Oh, I beg your pardon.” Bingley ceased staring from the window and turned over a card.
Darcy played another of his and returned to waiting. After a minute, he cleared his throat.
Bingley turned over another card.
“For pity’s sake, that was a king!” Darcy exclaimed, tossing his hand down in disgust. This was precisely the inattention that had forced a premature end to their game of Vingt-et-un and Piquet before that, reducing them in desperation to playing Beggar-My-Neighbour.
“It was? I thought I had missed my turn again.”
“I comprehend now why you disdained the idea of foils. Woolgathering such as this would have seen you skewered within moments.”
“’Twas you who turned your nose up at billiards.”
“Thank God, else it might have been my cloth you skewered. Besides, I thought some air and exercise would do you good.”
“It is February, Darcy. I have no wish to be outside—be it on a horse, on my feet, or on my arse by the lake catching frozen fish. I was quite content merely sitting here ’til you came along, resolved on entertaining me. I shall never comprehend your need to be constantly occupied.”
Darcy maintained a blank expression, keeping his exasperation well hidden. He would have been equally content to leave Bingley to his musings, had not Elizabeth’s vexation at her mother’s latest letter persuaded him this discussion could be postponed no longer. Yet, having long ago lost all taste for interference, he was presently guilty of some vastly uncharacteristic procrastination whilst he summoned the will to delve into the quagmire of Bingley’s affaires du cœur.
“Pray forgive my ill humour,” Bingley said with a sigh. “You are very good to have me here. I would not be ungrateful, only I have much on my mind.”
Darcy inclined his head.
“I have received a letter,” Bingley sullenly informed him. “From Caroline.”
“I see. She has discovered you are here then?”
“Aye, and she is displeased, to say the least. Jane is apparently gone to Farley House to escape the gossip in Meryton.”
“Indeed? Elizabeth received word from her mother that Jane was gone to Town, but she made no mention of her staying with the Hursts.” He could imagine with what delight they had received her and wondered whether Hurst might soon arrive at Pemberley seeking refuge as Bingley had done.
“Dare I enquire what else Mrs. Bennet wrote?” Bingley enquired.
Elizabeth had not shown Darcy the letter but had summarised her mother’s position with telling consternation. Jane had gone to London, allegedly fanning speculation that Bingley meant to auction her off to the highest bidder, Mr. Bennet was imminently about to die of shame, thus the Collinses were banging down Lon
gbourn’s door, and Mrs. Bennet and her other three daughters were busy packing their worldly belongings in preparation for living out the remainder of their days at Pemberley. “Suffice to say she is eager to see you soon returned.”
“Then, I am afraid she will be disappointed.”
“You do not intend to return directly?”
“I do not intend to return at all.”
Darcy tensed with the endeavour not to sit forward in his seat. “Ever?”
“Do not judge me, Darcy. It is no longer any secret that I did not wish to marry her in the first place.”
Indeed. Darcy had been significantly less astonished by the revelation of Jane’s scheming than Elizabeth. In his opinion, no despicable deed was beneath a woman content to strike her own sister, full in the knowledge she was with child. He only pitied Elizabeth her disappointment and Bingley his unenviable predicament.
Never mind that it was before noon, it was most definitely the hour for brandy. “Why did you not cease visiting Longbourn if you were decided against her?” he enquired as he poured them both a glass.
“Because of Lizzy.”
He turned around. “Elizabeth?”
Bingley looked up sharply then launched himself from his chair and stalked to the window before Darcy could make out his expression. “Yes, well…while you were off being a lovelorn arse-about-town, I was supporting her family in the wake of your friend Wickham’s attack, or had you forgotten?”
“I had not forgotten,” Darcy replied, chastened though no less perturbed.
“I could not conscionably have abandoned Jane a second time whilst her sister lay insensible abed.”
“Of course not.” It was a reasonable explanation. Darcy fought prodigiously hard to ignore the unjust flicker of wariness occasioned by the recollection of Bingley pulling Elizabeth into his arms in the churchyard.
“I see now that my lingering must have prolonged her anticipation,” Bingley mumbled. “I suppose it is what prompted Jane to act as she did.”
“Impatience is no excuse for duplicity. She was very wrong to deceive you.” Darcy handed him his drink and sat back at the card table. “But have you truly had no pleasure from the marriage? Is there no possibility that you might learn to esteem one another again? You did love her once, after all.”
“Aye, but she is not the same person she was then.”
“No, but there is every reason to hope she might improve. I did, once I was made aware of my faults.”
“You mistake me, Darcy. I have no wish to redeem the situation. Even were she to revert to the sweet girl you thought smiled too much, she would not be the woman I want.” He lifted his empty glass in query. “May I?” Darcy acceded with a nod. “Besides,” Bingley added whilst he poured himself another drink, “people do not alter as much as all that. You are no less proud than you were. Lizzy has merely learnt to tolerate it better.”
His conversational tone belied any hostility. Nevertheless, Darcy was wounded, appalled at the merest possibility of its being true. Such was his agitation that he missed what Bingley said next and was obliged to ask him to repeat himself.
“I said I plan to settle in Nova Scotia.”
Darcy stared at him, endeavouring to judge whether he was in earnest.
“You will advise against it, I know,” Bingley added, returning to the table. “But I have learnt the perils of yielding too easily to persuasion.”
“I am glad to hear it. It is a shame you have not yet learnt to yield to good sense.”
Bingley flinched. “You mean to lecture me on how the country is at war, I suppose?”
“No, I should think in that part of the country you would be as far from their army as we are from Napoleon’s here. I meant only to express my sincerest doubt that going so far and giving up so much would ever improve your situation. It is a vast undertaking, not easily undone.” When Bingley did not respond, he added more frankly, “This is not the same as hopping in your carriage and racing off to London on a whim.”
Bingley pulled himself up indignantly in his seat. “I am aware of that!”
Darcy regarded him intently for a moment then leant forward and began gathering up the playing cards. “What will you do with Netherfield?”
“Let Jane keep it.”
“You would purchase it for her or lease it indefinitely?”
“Er…yes.”
“Where will you live when you arrive?”
“I mean to purchase an estate.”
Darcy tapped the pack of cards into alignment on the table. “What will you do for companionship? You could not simply remarry.”
Bingley reddened. “I do not recall expressing any wish to remarry.”
He placed the cards in their box and returned the lid. “And what of Jane? Would you consign her to a life without a husband or children?”
“Let her tell everybody I have died and take another husband!”
“That would create far more problems than it would solve.”
“Blast it, Darcy! After the way she has treated Lizzy, I know not how you can care!”
“Mayhap I have learnt some of Elizabeth’s compassion.” He leant forwards with his elbows on his knees and fixed his friend with a serious look. “The imprudence of my attempting to persuade you one way or the other speaks for itself, but I must say you do not appear to have given it much consideration. I beg you would not act with your usual precipitance here. Give the idea some more thought.”
Bingley slammed his glass down on the table. “I have given it thought! I have done nothing but think on it these past two weeks whilst I have sat here watching you have everything I want and knowing I shall never have it!”
Darcy sat back, startled by his vehemence and heartily sorry for it. He was well aware of his own extraordinary good fortune and pitied his friend’s plight, for it was probable Bingley would never know equal felicity with a woman such as Jane.
“I am sorry the succour you sought here has come at such a price. Yet, you must not permit my situation to influence yours. At the risk of sounding like persuasion, I will say this: you are a very good friend, and I should be excessively sorry to see you go.”
Bingley stammered his thanks and promptly excused himself to seek out some of the air he had earlier disdained.
Darcy rubbed a hand over his face and stood up, pondering where he might find Elizabeth, that he could relay the whole of it to her—and rather uncharitably attempting to guess how much it would cost him to purchase Netherfield in the event that Bingley did not, that Mrs. Bennet’s threat of coming to live at Pemberley need never come to fruition.
***
Saturday, 20 February 1813: Derbyshire
“You must go. I absolutely insist.”
“I should feel as though I were deserting you.” The look Elizabeth gave her made Georgiana feel silly. “That is, I know you do not need—”
“Dear Georgiana,” Elizabeth interrupted, reaching to squeeze her hand, “I did not mean to imply that I would not miss you, only that you must not feel guilty for wishing to go. Miss Castleton is your friend, and her invitation is an excessively generous one.”
“It is, is it not?” she replied, allowing herself to smile at the prospect of a week’s dancing instruction from Mr. Thomas Wilson himself, alongside half a dozen of Henrietta’s school friends.
“Indeed it is! I am quite jealous, which is why you must go. Then, you may relay to me in detail all that you learn.” She fidgeted in her chair as she spoke, attempting to find a more comfortable attitude.
“Here, allow me,” Georgiana offered, leaving her own seat to help better arrange her sister’s cushions. “You poor thing! This is why I do not wish to leave you.”
“When I am grown so fat I cannot even arrange my own cushions, I shall simply give u
p sitting in the orangery and take to my bed. It still would not be a reason for you not to go to Hornscroft.”
For a fleeting moment, Georgiana felt chastened—until she caught herself and laughed instead, feeling rather pleased to have grown better used to Elizabeth’s sportive manner.
“Besides,” Elizabeth continued, “I shall not be without female company. Tabitha is coming to Pemberley.”
A week at Hornscroft Hall abruptly quadrupled in appeal. “Mrs. Sinclair?”
Her dismay must have been obvious, for Elizabeth laughed outright. “She is not so very objectionable, you know.”
“Mayhap not, but she is disposed to be quarrelsome. Ought you not to be avoiding such excitement?”
“On the contrary, I have great hopes the trouble she is bound to cause will provide a creditable distraction from any anxiety I might be feeling.”
The remark took Georgiana aback, having never before seen or heard of Elizabeth suffering any uneasiness. “Are you very anxious?” she enquired softly.
Elizabeth wrinkled her nose. “Daunted, certainly, but I think there are few who would not be. I am endeavouring not to think about it overmuch.”
“Will your mother come?”
“I am trying very hard to make sure she does not! I need my wits about me at the best of times when dealing with her, and I do not anticipate that being the case in the throes of my confinement. I shall not be alone, though, for my Aunt Gardiner has agreed to come at the end of March.” After a pause, she quietly added, “I always thought I would have Jane with me.”
Only since Mr. Bingley arrived at Pemberley had Elizabeth divulged what transpired between Jane and her at Netherfield. Georgiana could not have been more shocked or more indignant, though she had not expounded upon the latter sentiment to Elizabeth. “I am sorry for you, Lizzy. I know not what to say to ease your mind.”
“It is the most painful thing in the world, but there is nothing to be said or done. But enough melancholy,” she said, drawing herself up and leaning to pour them both more tea. “Are we agreed that you will visit Miss Castleton in two weeks?”
