Darcy and Elizabeth What If? Collection 4

by Jennifer Lang

  ‘There’s been something wrong with him since Easter,’ said his wife, who was the local seamstress. She put several more stitches into the gown she was making. ‘I saw it when I went to Pemberley over the summer to make some new clothes for Miss Darcy. Not the same, he wasn’t. He was different somehow. He looked more human, if you know what I mean, not like the lord of the manor but like a man.’

  ‘I do know,’ said Mr Carter. He puffed on his pipe thoughtfully. ‘He’d lost some of his haughtiness when he came back from Lady Catherine’s.’

  ‘Do you think she gave him a set down?’ asked his wife, putting her sewing down on her lap and looking at him.

  Mr Carter shook his head.

  ‘I don’t see why she would. And I don’t see why it would bother him if she did. He’s known her a long time and she’s never bothered him before,’ he said. ‘But whatever the reason, I don’t like to see him like this. And I don’t like . . . ’

  He broke off suddenly.

  ‘What is it?’ asked his wife, as she picked her sewing up again and began to stitch.

  ‘I don’t like to think of the east wing being shut up instead of being repaired.’

  ‘What?’ asked his wife in surprise. ‘He’s not going to repair it? But he always keeps the house in good repair. That house is his pride and joy.’

  Mr Carter said nothing.

  ‘What is it?’ asked his wife.

  ‘What’s what?’ he prevaricated.

  ‘You know what I mean. There’s more you could tell me, if you would. Out with it Thomas Carter.’

  ‘Don’t know if it’s for me to say,’ he said with a frown.

  She looked at him reproachfully.

  ‘You’ve never kept things from me before, Thomas,’ she said.

  ‘No more I have. But this isn’t my secret to tell.’

  ‘Secret?’ she asked.

  ‘Something that shouldn’t be noised abroad at any rate,’ he said.

  ‘Well of all the nerve, Thomas Carter! Are you accusing me of being a gossip?’ she demanded.

  ‘No, Meg, I’m not doing that, you know I’m not. But the master wouldn’t want it talked about, for all that.’

  ‘Then you’d better not tell me,’ she said.

  He puffed on his pipe and stared into the fire. At last he said, ‘This mustn’t go any further, Meg, but he’s lost his fortune.’

  ‘What, all of it?’ she asked.

  ‘All of it. There isn’t any money to pay for materials or hire extra men for the repairs.’

  She gave a sharp intake of breath as she thought about the enormity of this. The pair of them fell silent. Only the ticking of the clock marked the passing of the hour. But gradually, Mr Carter realised that his wife’s silence was more thoughtful than usual and when she at last spoke, he listened with particular attention to what she had to say.

  ‘He’s been good to us, Mr Darcy,’ she said.

  Her husband nodded.

  ‘I was thinking just the same. That time when young Harry fell from the tree and broke his leg . . .’

  Mrs Carter shuddered at the mention of her son’s accident, but then gathering herself together, she said, ‘Yes. If Mr Darcy hadn’t sent his own physician to set the bone, who knows what would have happened? Harry would’ve been crippled for life, most likely.’

  ‘And then there was the time you had the putrid sore throat. All the dainties he sent over from the hothouses to tempt you to eat when you were on the mend.’

  ‘And the time you fell from your horse and couldn’t work for three months. He found you something else to do, when other masters would have turned you off. And then there’s the way he buys things in the village. Take Miss Georgiana’s gowns. Oh, I know she has the best ones made in London, that’s only to be expected, but her everyday gowns are made right here by me, and a pretty penny he pays for them. Not every gentleman does the same.’

  Mr Carter looked at his wife, and his wife looked at him.

  ‘You’re right, wife,’ said Mr Carter. ‘He helped us when we needed it. Now it’s our turn to help him.’

  ‘But what can we do?’ asked his wife.

  ‘We’ll call a meeting,’ said Mr Carter. ‘There are plenty more in the village who owe Mr Darcy their health and prosperity. They’ll lend a hand with the east wing, I’m sure of it.’

  ‘That will provide the extra men, but what about all the things you’ll need? And what if he won’t let you in the house? He’s not one to take charity isn’t our Mr Darcy.’

  ‘This isn’t charity. Anyway, he doesn’t need to know about it. He’ll think we’re boarding up the east wing. He won’t see all the comings and goings because we can use the garden door. It’ll take us straight into the east wing without going through the main house. As for the things we’ll need, it’s mostly wood and there’s plenty of that in the forest. As for the other things, there’s plenty in Lambton who’ve prospered because of the Darcys. I reckon they’ll be willing to help out.’

  Mrs Carter nodded and looked at the clock.

  ‘It’s too late to start now, but we’ll have the meeting tomorrow. You can arrange it with the men and I’ll see to the women.’

  Mr Carter finished his pipe and then refilled it, taking another long draw.

  ‘If we all work together, we should have the repairs done by Christmas,’ he said.

  Chapter Two

  Miss Georgiana Darcy was worried. She had never seen her brother so unhappy. He was sitting in his own world now, in the drawing-room in the west wing. There had been some activity in the east wing, following Mr Carter’s visit the day before, and there would be some activity there in the future as Mr Carter boarded up the sitting-room windows and closed off that part of the house.

  Georgiana felt a sob rising in her throat as she thought of the beautiful little sitting-room where her mother, now dead, had written her letters, and the lovely little writing desk which had been destroyed beyond repair. The fire had been such a calamity, but the failure of her brother’s investments was even worse. He had not told her about it, but she had overheard him talking to Mr Carter and she knew everything.

  She stood up and went over to the pianoforte. It was the instrument he had bought for her, and now she meant to use it to cheer him. He always liked to hear her play, and perhaps music would have the power to soothe him.

  ‘Let us have some music,’ she said. ‘What shall I play? Would you like some Mozart, or should I play a carol? It might help us to get into the festive spirit.’

  ‘No. Not a carol, Georgie. I am not feeling festive today. Play some Mozart.’

  ‘Very well.’

  She sat down and selected her music carefully. She knew just what pieces of music he liked, and she knew the pieces that would soothe him. She set her music on the music stand and then she began to play. She was a gifted pianist and she practiced regularly, so that the music emerging from the instrument was beautiful and graceful and charming. But when she looked up at the end of the piece, her brother gave no sign that he had heard her. He was still sitting, lost in his own world, wrapped in tortured thoughts he would not share with her.

  ‘Shall I play something else?’ she asked.

  Her words roused him. He managed a smile, although it was forced, and said, ‘Yes, please, Georgie. You play very well.’

  He was usually much more effusive in his praise, but she felt that her efforts were beginning to lift his mood. She played another piece, but she could tell that he was not really paying attention. She played for half an hour and then at last she said she was tired and was going to retire.

  They bade each other good night, then she took up a candlestick and went out of the room. She crossed the hall and climbed the stairs to her bedchamber but she did not undress. Instead, she went over to the writing desk which was set against one wall, and sat down. She picked up a quill, dipped it into the ink, pulled a sheet of paper towards her and began to write. Her first letter was to Colonel Fitzwilliam. She told him of
her brother’s sadness and of his troubles, asking if there was anything she might do to help. She sanded and sealed the letter, and then she wrote another one, this time to her cousin, Miss Anne de Bourgh. The two young ladies wrote regularly to one another and Georgiana told Anne all about the fire, and her brother’s sadness. She knew that Anne would send her love and sympathy, and she felt in need of both these things, for her brother’s sadness was infecting her own spirits and if something was not done about it, then it would be a dismal Christmas.

  Mr Darcy sat in the drawing-room, lost in thought. Without his sister’s loving efforts to raise his spirits, he fell back into gloom. He had heard the carpenters at work in the east wing earlier that day as they had boarded up his mother’s sitting-room, and it had filled him with a wave of sorrow. It was not only the sitting-room that had been ruined, but the desk at which she had written her letters as well. It had been completely destroyed and he mourned its loss. Many a time, as a child, he had peeped through the doorway on his way across the hall and seen his mother sitting there, writing her letters, her head set at an elegant angle and her back straight and true. The jeweled combs in her hair had caught the sunlight and her long skirts had fallen in elegant folds to the floor, where they had spilled across the rug – that same rug which had been ruined by the fire, and the attempts to control it, so that it had had to be disposed of.

  But it was not just the fire filling him with despondency. His failed investments were of greater concern. News of it had leaked out in certain quarters and many of his society friends had faded away. The Duke of Rochstream had suddenly remembered a prior engagement and said he could not attend the Pemberley Christmas ball, after all. The Earl of Winster had decided he must visit his sick grandmother and so he could not attend the ball either. Lord Darnmouth had developed a sudden illness and the Dowager Countess of Eshter had found that, after all, the travelling to Pemberley would be too much for her. One by one they had withdrawn from him and he had been left to reflect on the empty feelings of those who had professed friendship for him when he had been wealthy and powerful, but who removed themselves from his life as soon as that wealth and power had evaporated.

  In his low mood, all his mistakes of the last year came raining down on him. He had tried to prevent his friend, Mr Bingley, from marrying Miss Jane Bennet. He had corrected his mistake when he realised they truly loved each other, and given Bingley his blessing. But their friendship had cooled because of the incident and Mr Bingley had asked one of his brothers to stand up with him at his wedding, instead of Mr Darcy. Mr Darcy, feeling unwelcome, had decided not to attend the wedding and he had not seen Mr Bingley since.

  And then there was his relationship with his cousin, Miss Anne de Bourgh. He had been betrothed to her from his cradle and yet he had jilted her a few months ago, telling her he could not marry her. It had caused a rift in his family. His relatives had told him that, if he had not had any intention of marrying Anne, then he should have made it clear when she was twenty-one, not waited until she was practically an old maid.

  They had demanded a reason for his behavior, but he had not been able to give them the real reason for they would have thought him foolish and they would not have understood, and so he made some vague excuse. But he had told Anne the truth, because he felt it was right she should know. He had asked her not to tell her mother and she must have respected his wishes, because Lady Catherine had never heard of the real reason for his jilting of Anne. It was because he had fallen in love with Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

  Miss Elizabeth Bennet, who had seen through him from the first. She had not looked at the surface of a rich and powerful man. She had seen his inner qualities and found them wanting, as she had made clear when she rejected his proposal. Her speech had been honest and open and vehement, and he had resented every word of it – until later, when his anger had subsided, and he had been forced to recognize the truth of it, and had set out to make himself a better man because of it.

  But it had been too late to change his relationship with Miss Elizabeth. True, he had done something to repair the damage when they met again at Pemberley, but it had been too little, too late. He had tried to behave as the gentleman she deserved by saving her worthless sister, Lydia, from disgrace, but afterwards he had not seen Miss Elizabeth again.. Fate had thrown no opportunity of meeting her in his way and he did not feel he had the right to call at Longbourn.

  His face softened as he thought of her. Despite all his problems, Miss Elizabeth could still bring a smile to his face. He only hoped that somewhere, somehow, she was happy.

  Chapter Three

  Miss Elizabeth Bennet was at that moment in the small village of Hunsford with her friend, Mrs Charlotte Collins. The day was cold but fine. The two ladies were walking home through the snow-dusted country lanes, carrying baskets of provisions. Elizabeth was staying with Charlotte before Christmas, but she would return to Longbourn to spend Christmas with her family.

  ‘Thank goodness there was no more snow overnight,’ said Elizabeth. ‘It makes everything look very pretty when it is only a fine dusting, but I like to be able to walk to the village. You are lucky, Charlotte. There is plenty of fine countryside hereabouts for you to walk in.’

  ‘Yes, there is, but I am not such a walker as you, Lizzy. I only go for a walk when I have somewhere to go. I do not do it merely for the pleasure of it.’

  ‘Now that you are married to a clergyman, you have plenty of places to go,’ said Elizabeth. ‘There is always something that needs your attention.’

  ‘True,’ said Charlotte. ‘My position as a clergyman’s wife keeps me busy.’

  ‘It is almost like having a profession yourself, but without the stipend!’ Elizabeth teased her.

  ‘There is much in what you say,’ said Charlotte. ‘But at least here I have some occupation. I know you do not approve of my marriage, Lizzy, but in Meryton I had nothing better to do than to help out in the kitchen. Here I can make a difference to people’s lives. The villagers are always in need of something, whether it is practical help or advice —’

  ‘Or scolding!’ said Elizabeth.

  ‘Or scolding,’ admitted Charlotte with a smile, for Lady Catherine frequently descended on the village and scolded any feuding villagers into peace and harmony. ‘But at least I am useful.’

  They were by this time approaching Hunsford parsonage, Charlotte’s home. In the spring, the bank outside the parsonage was covered with golden daffodils, but now it was as white as the surrounding fields. The parsonage itself was a pretty building and Elizabeth was looking forward to being indoors, for despite her enjoyment of the winter weather, she was feeling the cold. Her cheeks were stinging and she would be glad to go inside for a while, where they could have a pot of tea by the cheerful fire.

  They went inside, where they found a visitor. Miss Anne de Bourgh had called.

  Elizabeth had known for some time that Charlotte and Anne were becoming friends, for Charlotte’s letters had spoken of it. To begin with, Elizabeth had been surprised as the two young ladies seemed to have nothing in common. Miss Anne de Bourgh was sickly and cross, while Charlotte was calm and full of common sense. But a new physician had been able to help Anne’s cough and, as a result, Anne had been able to take more exercise in the fresh air. Daily walks had been prescribed for her, and daily rides in the carriage. These had improved her health still further so that now, although she was not robust, she was much better than formerly and her mood had improved accordingly. She and Charlotte had discovered a mutual interest in helping the villagers and their friendship had developed.

  After the customary exchanges, Charlotte said, ‘I hope you have not been waiting long?’

  ‘No. I have not been here more than five minutes,’ said Anne.

  ‘Good,’ said Charlotte.

  She rang for the maid.

  ‘Tea, please, Jenny.’

  The maid bobbed a curtsey and left the room to fetch the tea.

  The three ladies sea
ted themselves around the cheerful fire. Elizabeth felt her cold fingers and toes beginning to warm up, and the stinging sensation left her cheeks, to be replaced by a pleasant glow.

  Anne asked about their trip to the village and Charlotte told her of the villagers they had seen, and the state of the shopkeeper’s health. Tea arrived, and they drank it companionably as they talked of their mutual acquaintance, the weather and other sundry topics. Then Anne stood up and said she must go.

  ‘I walked down to the parsonage, and I did not bring my companion,’ she said. ‘My physician feels I should on occasion venture out alone, and Mama does not object so long as I remain on the estate. But I must confess I am a little fatigued. Miss Bennet, I know you are a great walker. Would it be too much of an imposition if I asked you to accompany me back to Rosings? I will then call the carriage so that you may ride back to the parsonage.’

  Elizabeth, who had by now warmed through from her earlier walk, and who was already feeling that another walk would be welcome, readily agreed.

  ‘I will not ask you to accompany us, since I know that you have many calls on your time,’ said Anne to Charlotte.

  ‘Thank you. I am rather busy this morning,’ said Charlotte.

  Elizabeth and Anne donned their outdoor clothes and then set off on the short walk back to Rosings.

  ‘Miss Bennet, I must confess I had a particular reason for asking you to accompany me. I have something I wish to say to you in private.’

  ‘Oh?’ asked Elizabeth in surprise. She could not think what Miss Anne de Bourgh might wish to talk to her about.

  ‘You know my cousin, Miss Darcy, I believe?’

  Elizabeth blushed, and she was glad that Anne was not looking at her, for she felt self conscious and did not wish to have it remarked.

  ‘Yes. We met briefly at Pemberley.’

  Miss de Bourgh stopped walking.