by Jessie Lewis
Georgiana grinned. “Aye, very well. Would that you could accompany me. You dance so beautifully.”
“Not these days, I assure you. I am all clumsiness and inelegance.”
“You judge yourself too severely. You are still remarkably graceful. If you will pardon my frankness, I have seen ladies far more unhappily altered by their increase than you. Your condition becomes you very well.”
“She speaks true, Lizzy. It most certainly does.”
Georgiana jumped. She had not heard Mr. Bingley come in.
“Our sanctuary is compromised, Georgiana!” Elizabeth cried, one hand held to her breast in feigned dismay. “The men have discovered us!”
“I come alone,” Mr. Bingley protested, holding his hands up in surrender. “And I swear Darcy will not learn of your hiding place from me.”
“Oh, my brother knows we are here. He had business in Kympton, or he would have joined us.”
“Kympton this day, is it? I declare I have never known a man with more business than Darcy. He is scarcely ever at home.”
Georgiana rather thought that, if Mr. Bingley troubled himself to rise earlier in the day, he would see more of his friend. Elizabeth was kinder in her response, gesturing for him to join them as she agreed that Darcy had many demands on his time.
“You are singularly forbearing not to demand more of it for yourself,” he replied, choosing the chair nearest to Elizabeth.
“Come, you of all people know he would never neglect his responsibilities on my account.”
“No, I do not suppose he would.”
“Besides, he is not absent as often as that implies or so very far away. It is not as though he is gone off to another country, never to return.”
Mr. Bingley paled. “Darcy told you?”
“He did,” Elizabeth replied.
“Shall I call for another cup?” Georgiana said hastily, eager to remove herself from what suddenly promised to be a most awkward conversation. Her escape notwithstanding, the orangery was not so large that the distance to the door took her out of earshot.
“Are you angry?” she heard Mr. Bingley enquire.
“No, I am not angry,” Elizabeth replied. “I am sad. I wish you did not feel you had to go.”
“Forgive me. The last thing I would wish is that my leaving should cause you any distress, yet I know not how much longer I can live in this ghastly suspension.”
“It distresses me to see you make a decision so evidently contrary to your happiness.”
“It will be inconceivably hard to leave, I grant you.”
“Then why do you not stay? At least until you are more certain of your feelings?” Elizabeth said gently.
Georgiana reached the door, but waited, curious what he would answer.
“I am in no doubt of my feelings, Lizzy, but I cannot countenance making you unhappy. I shall not go just yet. I shall tarry a little longer.”
Satisfied, Georgiana opened the door and requested more provisions of the footman waiting without. She took her time walking back, vastly undesirous of obtruding onto aught delicate.
“I feel in part to blame,” Elizabeth was saying. “Had I not argued with her—”
“We were discontented long before that.”
“Aye, and had I not championed your suit with her so single-mindedly, regardless of the changes in her character or your regard, she might never have acted as she did, and you would never have suffered as you have.”
Through the plants lining the path, Georgiana could see that Elizabeth was measuring out more tea from the caddy and seemed oblivious to Mr. Bingley’s drawing closer to her, seemingly captivated by her every word.
“Had I not dithered in coming to know my own heart,” he replied, “neither of us would have suffered as we have.”
“Ah, good. You are still here.”
Georgiana jumped for a second time. “Brother!” she exclaimed, turning to see Darcy come through the door.
“Forgive me, I meant not to startle you.” He looked wholly unrepentant as he bowed to kiss Elizabeth’s fingers. “How have you all been amusing yourselves?”
“Merely talking, Darcy,” Mr. Bingley said. He had abandoned his chair and was examining whatever plant it was that clung to the back wall.
“Lizzy has been persuading me to accept Henrietta’s invitation,” Georgiana said. She chose to feign ignorance of Darcy’s baffled glance at Elizabeth, as well as her mouthing Miss Castleton to him in return, thinking it a rather sweet exchange. “Her father has engaged a very fine dancing master in preparation for her coming out and allowed her to invite all her friends to partake in his instruction.”
“That is exceedingly generous of him.”
“It is a shame Lizzy will not be able to join me, though.”
“I shall be sorry to miss it, Georgiana, but there is little hope of my dancing elegantly enough at present to do justice to such a master.”
“What has your present inelegance to do with the matter?” Darcy enquired. “You were not heavy with child when you knocked Tobias onto the floor.”
“He is right, Georgiana. Hornscroft Hall is too full of ornament and finery to be safe from me. It is for the best that I do not go.”
Georgiana listened with but half an ear, her attention instead fixed upon Mr. Bingley, who observed this exchange with a rapidly deepening frown. She could not blame him for his disquiet; from his vantage, he could not have seen Elizabeth’s broad grin, only Darcy’s severe expression.
Such was always the way with her brother, she had learnt. Whatever joke he made was made with impenetrable solemnity, so that it was impossible to tell whether he spoke in jest unless one knew him to be stating an opinion not his own. It was an aspect of his character with which she had been wholly unfamiliar until Elizabeth came to Pemberley. Though her new sister certainly did not treat him disrespectfully, she yet wielded a mysterious and unashamed sort of power over him, daring to tease him, and in return, provoking him to some decidedly surreptitious teasing of his own.
When presently the footman arrived and they all convened at the table for refreshments, Mr. Bingley appeared to be struggling to conceal his confusion. Though it was a little ungenerous, Georgiana triumphed to see him suffering under the same misconceptions she once had, happy in the knowledge that she, at least, was no longer a bystander to her brother and sister’s repartee.
***
Sunday, 21 February 1813: Derbyshire
Bingley threw aside his covers and scrabbled at the bed curtains in an attempt to find the join. They opened a yard to the left, courtesy of his man.
“Are you well, Mr. Bingley?”
“No! No, I am not well!”
Indeed, he was exhausted, having been unable to sleep a wink for recurrent nightmares of succumbing to the temptation to kiss Elizabeth—and then being murdered on the spot by Darcy. It was outside of enough! Could he expect his feelings to ever subside while he remained in such close proximity to her? Could he expect Darcy would not truly run him through if he ever came so close to exposing his desires as he had yesterday in the orangery? No, regardless of Elizabeth’s plea, he must leave this place and soon! Snatching his dressing gown from Banbury’s grasp, he seated himself at the desk in the corner of the room and pulled out a sheet of paper.
“Perhaps some breakfast would restore your humour, sir?”
Bingley answered distractedly that breakfast would be most welcome, and Banbury must have left to fetch it because, when he stopped to dip his pen, the man was no longer there. By the time he returned with a tray, Bingley was done. He handed him the three letters he had dashed off and sat down to eat.
“I cannot find my blasted address book anywhere, Banbury,” he said, slicing into a hunk of gammon. “Be a good fellow and see to it they are addressed
properly, would you?”
“Certainly, sir,” Banbury answered. A moment later he added, “Mr. Forsyth, sir?”
Bingley looked up to discover him peering dubiously at the uppermost letter. “Netherfield’s freeholder,” he explained around his mouthful.
Banbury bowed slightly, and though he said no more, he did raise both eyebrows. It made Bingley nervous. The man knew far too much of his private affairs, which made him wonder what conclusions he was drawing. He forced his mouthful down before he had properly chewed it and choked out, “Why I write to him is no concern of yours.”
“Indeed, I made no enquiry, sir.”
“You did—of a fashion. You are doing it again now. Your eyebrows are all up in the air.”
Banbury apologised and frowned.
“No, no, I do not require you to scowl. Leave your eyebrows where they were.” He sliced some more meat and added sullenly, “I am enquiring about purchasing it if you must know.”
“Indeed, there is no obligation for me to know, sir,” Banbury replied coolly as he shuffled the letter to the back of the pile and regarded the next no less disdainfully than the last. “The harbour master, sir?”
“Yes, the harbour master!”
“Which harbour, might I enquire, sir?”
Bingley threw down his knife and fork. “Blast it, Banbury, that is not your business, either!”
“Undoubtedly not, sir. Though if you were to make it so, it would be much more likely that I should address it correctly.”
Damnation! “Right.” Breakfast had lost its appeal. He pushed the plate away. “Send it to Liverpool, if you would.”
“Very good, sir.”
Bingley watched closely as Banbury flicked to the last letter in the pile, anticipating a raised eyebrow, a frown, a sneer, a twitch, some indication of disapprobation, yet the man was taking his own good time peering at the addressee.
“My cousin, before you ask.”
“I would never be so impertinent, sir.” He pursed his lips and slipped the letters into his pocket.
“Dash it all, Banbury, I mean to settle in Nova Scotia, and that is all there is to it.” In truth he had absolutely no desire to live out his days in a foreign country, yet trial and error had proved nowhere in England was far enough removed to keep him away from Elizabeth for long, thus abroad he must go.
Banbury inclined his head. “A shrewd decision, sir.”
“Shrewd?”
“Certainly, sir. At such a great distance there is almost no possibility your troubles in Hertfordshire might follow you there.”
Bingley felt himself colour. “Just dress me for services, would you?” he muttered, hauling himself to his feet.
“Services are over, sir.”
“What?” Bingley whipped about to look at the clock. It was gone midday. “Upon my word, why did you not tell me the time when I sat down to write those letters?”
“I would never have presumed you could not tell it yourself, sir.”
Bingley narrowed his eyes at him. He swore Darcy never had this much trouble with his staff. “Very well, dress me as you see fit. Only get to it, that I may be left in peace.”
Banbury did as he was bid with mercifully little more impertinence and made to depart.
“Ah, Banbury, one other matter before you leave. I would have you take those letters to the receiving office in person. Entrust them to nobody else. Mrs. Darcy is not to get wind of my plans. I shall not have her distressed.”
They parted ways after that, Banbury to wherever it was he went when he was not attending Bingley and Bingley to escape into the park to reflect, with no little alarm, upon the very great moment of the course upon which he had just resolved.
***
Wednesday, 24 February 1813: Derbyshire
“There you are. I thought you meant to join us in the library.”
Darcy looked up from his letter. Whatever Elizabeth saw in his countenance turned hers from happy to alarmed in an instant, and before he had the chance to respond, she was hastening to his side.
“What is it?” she enquired, laying a comforting hand on his arm and peering at him with the utmost concern.
He raised a hand to cover hers. Then he changed his mind, tossed the letter onto his desk and used both hands to pull her gently onto his lap.
“I am summoned to Kent.”
“So soon? Is she…?”
“Not yet, but the physicians do not believe it will be long, and Montgomery writes to beg my assistance in the preceding days.” In answer to her puzzled look, he added, “He respectfully alludes to my experience in matters of probate.”
“In other words, he does not know what he is doing and needs your help making all the arrangements.”
Darcy smiled at her turn of phrase and inclined his head. “One wonders what his attorney is doing to earn his fee.”
“Even the best attorney is no substitute for the counsel of a trusted and experienced friend.”
“Then I am grateful he has so many others to call upon.” She pulled an odd face, half frown half question. He could not fathom her confusion. “You cannot think I mean to go.”
“I cannot imagine why you would not.”
“Why do you suppose?” He spread a hand over her stomach. “I will not have you make the journey again after last time.”
She smiled ruefully. “Much though I know you love my obstinacy, I am afraid I cannot argue with that. But that does not mean—”
“And I will not go without you. Thus, we shall both remain.”
She gave him a pitying look. “I beg you would pardon me for putting this so bluntly, but it did not sound as though you would be gone more than a few weeks.” She laid her hand atop his. “I believe this little one and I might look after ourselves for that long.”
It was true; he did love her obstinacy, particularly when it was unconsciously done and she believed she was being complying. Still, he shook his head, unwilling to countenance any length of time apart while she was in so delicate a condition.
“Consider what you would be denying yourself, Fitzwilliam,” she pressed softly. “One is not always blessed with the opportunity to pay one’s final respects.”
“I have made my peace with Lady Catherine. I will not go to Rosings without you.” He did not like the way in which she regarded him and said peevishly, “Anybody would think you were attempting to get rid of me.”
She smiled at him and kissed his cheek. “I know you will regret it if you do not go.”
Of course she knew—she comprehended him perfectly—just as he knew she grew anxious despite her endeavours to conceal it. Yet, still she encouraged him to go. She was without doubt the most selfless person he had ever known. “Loveliest Elizabeth.” He held her face and ran his thumb along her jaw. “I swore to myself I would never leave you again.”
“I shall detest every moment you are gone, yet it is for but a few weeks, and it is not as though I shall be alone. Georgiana will be here for most of that time, Tabitha arrives on Saturday, and Mr. Bingley has promised not to rush off. I am sure, if you ask, he will agree to stay until you return.”
The notion of Bingley being Elizabeth’s protector in his absence sat exceedingly ill with Darcy, yet he could not deny the wisdom of it. Indeed, the enforced delay might give the man time to come to his senses and eschew his absurd plan to emigrate. He conceded with a sigh and a lingering kiss, after which she nestled against him with her head upon his shoulder.
“I shall be back in good time, whether or not she succumbs rapidly,” he said. “If I miss the funeral, so be it. I refuse to be farther from you than this room whilst you are confined.”
“I did not expect otherwise, but at least you will have said your goodbyes and helped Mr. Montgomery. Though, if you did happen t
o be there as long as three weeks, you could bring Mrs. Gardiner back with you. I am sure she would vastly enjoy three days in your sole company.”
He shook his head, smiling at her teasing, and nudged her to stand up. “What have I been missing in the library?”
“Nothing of consequence. Georgiana has given up waiting for you and gone to practice the pianoforte. And when I left, Mr. Bingley was brooding, as he is disposed to do these days.”
“Good,” he replied, taking her by the hand and leading her from the study and directly past the library door to the stairs. “In that case, our absence will not be noted by either of them.” There was much he would need to arrange if he were to travel to Kent, but if he must go, he meant for them to take full advantage of what time they had remaining before he departed.
***
Sunday, 28 February 1813: Derbyshire
The heavens were the purest indigo blue, bedizened with myriad stars and buttressed on all sides by the even darker silhouettes of the surrounding peaks. Moonlight bounced off the frozen lake, flooding the snow-frosted lawn with eerie blue light. There could not have been a more enchanting scene to behold or a more perfect vantage from which to view it.
Darcy’s arms tightened about her. “Are you cold, love? You shivered.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “How I shall miss you,” she sighed, her breath frosting the window.
“You delight in torturing me, woman. It is objectionable enough that I must leave you tomorrow without pronouncements of that nature.”
“I would not say I delight in it, though neither shall I say I am sorry. I shall miss you. Though, if you remind yourself often enough what a vexing creature I can be, you might not miss me at all. Then only one of us need be miserable.”
“That will not work,” he replied with a soft chuckle. “I decided almost from the first moment we met that you were the most maddening woman of my acquaintance. It did not prevent me from pining for you for the half a twelvemonth ’til we met again.”
