The coach pulled up outside Rosings’ imposing entrance. With a bit of good fortune, he might handle this as he had so many tenant disputes. Hear both sides, recommend a compromise, shake hands and share a pint—well perhaps not a pint, but a glass of sherry would be more appropriate. Still, it was conceivable that it might all be done in time to return home the next morning. He sat up a little straighter and smiled. He might even be able to see Elizabeth, albeit a little later than planned.
What a delightful thought that was. The sooner he attended this disagreeable business, the better. Why wait for the carriage steps? He jumped down, tugged his coat straight and marched up the stairs to the front door. Rosings would come to order. He would see to it.
The butler admitted him. His normally implacable countenance was lined and shadowed. Even his livery was—rumpled as though he might have slept in it. The house did not smell right. Darcy cast about. Where were the flowers? Normally every room sported large vases of cut flowers in their season and the house smelt like a garden.
“Where?” Darcy pointed to an empty table that usually held a large ceramic urn.
“Just been taken downstairs into storage, sir. We took the liberty of placing the larger items and the more expensive pieces there for the duration.”
“Duration of what?”
The butler opened his mouth, but paused, drew a breath and released it. “The current…tensions, sir.”
Oh, dear God. Darcy pinched his temples. “Take me to Lady Catherine.”
The butler took him to a small sitting room that overlooked the garden. Aunt Catherine sat at a small desk covered in documents and books. How odd, her desk never held either before.
“Darcy!” She rose, knocking a book to the floor.
Darcy entered and the butler shut the door behind him.
“I am glad you have come. Perhaps you can speak some sense into that daughter of mine.”
“For what is she in need of sense?” He sat down near the fireplace. It too should have been filled with flowers, but was dark and empty instead. That was hardly more surprising than Aunt Catherine asking anyone else for sense and good judgment. Such a request was wholly astonishing.
“Everything! She is complaining about everything—the menus, her companion, her gowns, me… If she would simply take her tonic as she should—”
“No!” Darcy sprang to his feet and towered over her. “Let us settle that matter completely now. She will not have any more of that tonic—or any like it—now or ever again.”
“But can you not see what it has done to her—she is unmanageable and out of control.”
“And you desire to control her?”
“I am her mother. I know what is best for her.” She tapped her chest.
“She is a grown woman. She may decide what is best for her.”
“But she knows nothing—”
“Because you have taught her nothing!”
“How dare you? What would you know of her education or the education of young women?” She snorted and tossed her head. “Anne demands nothing less than Rosings Park. She believes herself the owner of the estate and wishes to condemn me to the dower house.”
“Is it true?”
“Certainly not.”
“How do you know?” Why did he bother to ask?
“Because—”
“What does Sir Lewis’ will say?”
“I have no idea. Legal gibberish is best left to scholars, solicitors and barristers. The relevant point is that Anne is not capable of—”
The door flew open and slammed against the wall behind it. “I am not capable of what, Mother? Not capable of making a decision? Or today is it that I cannot know my own mind, or even form a rational thought? What is the incapacity of which you accuse me now? Surely you have something new to add to your ever-growing list.”
“Good evening, Anne,” Darcy said though his teeth.
Several of Anne’s curls had escaped their pins and bobbed around her flushed cheeks. Her eyes flashed with an energy he hoped not to have turned against him. Perhaps a lethargic Anne was not so bad—
“You see! You see!” Lady Catherine threw her hands up. “This is why she needs her medicine.”
Anne flew at him. He raised his hands and staggered back several steps.
“Is that why you are come, to force me—”
“Nothing of the sort. I would never wish to see you take that vile brew again.”
“Good, at least we need not repeat that argument, for I have already had it with Mama and would be most happy to rehash it if necessary.” She stamped and crossed her arms over her chest. “Why are you here?”
“To assist you and your mother in coming to a compromise—”
“I have no desire for compromise and indeed I will not. I will not accept anything less than what I am promised in father’s will.”
“You see!” Lady Catherine stomped to Anne and leaned into her face. “She does not care for what I have done for her—what she owes me for all the care I have lavished upon her.”
“Care? What kind of care keeps one a prisoner in her own home?”
Lady Catherine turned a dangerous shade of crimson. “Prisoner! You consider yourself a prisoner? If it was so terrible, why did you never complain before? I will tell you why: you had every comfort, everything you might desire—”
“Everything you desired, Mother, not I. You never consulted me nor cared one jot for what I wished for. And as for why I never complained—”
Darcy stepped between them. “Both of you, stop!”
They turned on him, fangs bared and claws at the ready.
“How dare you speak to me that way! Have you forgotten who I am?”
“I will not stop. I have only now found my own voice—”
Lady Catherine whirled on Anne. “Your own voice? You might learn to use it to express proper gratitude instead of complain and make ridiculous demands.”
“Ridiculous demands, is that what you call them?”
Darcy stepped back. Tenant disputes were one thing, but this—this was entirely another creature all together, one of truly mythic proportions.
He glanced across the room. Perhaps there was a simpler answer to be had. He slipped away from the warring harpies and stole to the desk.
Sir Lewis’ will was the uppermost document. How fortunate. He sat down and lifted it into the light. What language was it written in? At first glance, it appeared to be the King’s English, but no. This was some strange alien dialect—it must be.
Legal documents were hardly foreign to him, even wills, but this…this monstrosity was in a class unto itself. He would never decipher its secrets. He needed a practitioner of the same dark arts that had drafted the tome.
Theo.
Oh, bloody hell. He should have sent Theo in the first place and remained with Elizabeth.
Something flew across the room and smashed into the opposite wall. All he could do now was separate these two until he could enlist Theo’s aid. He skirted the two women, made it to the door and called for the butler.
*****
The next day, the post brought ill tidings to Gracechurch Street and, having read the letter thrust upon her by Elizabeth, Mrs. Gardiner looked up at her niece in dismay.
“This is most unfortunate,” she said, shaking her head despondently. “More than unfortunate. What could Lydia have been thinking? Surely she must know elopement is wrong.”
“That has never stopped Lydia before,” said Elizabeth bleakly. “Most likely she thought it was more romantic and never considered the risk.”
Mrs. Gardiner handed the letter back to her. “I must send for your uncle. He will wish to know of this immediately.” She hurried out of the room, and Elizabeth opened Mary’s letter up and read it through again. Was this the third time or the fourth? Somehow she kept hoping her first reading might have made matters look worse than they were, but in this case, her first impression turned out to be true. It was hopeless. Lydia was lost fore
ver.
The repercussions were clear. The Bennets were disgraced. No one respectable would have anything to do with her family. No gentlemen would ever court Kitty or Mary. Their whole future hung on the balance. Would Mr. Bingley honor his promise to Jane? How would Mr. Darcy react?
How was she even going to tell Mr. Darcy what Lydia had done—that she had not only behaved shamefully, but done so with a gentleman he rightly despised? What would Georgiana think, after she had been so brave as to share her own experiences with Elizabeth?
She could just imagine the disapproving look that would cross his face when Mr. Darcy knew the truth, how he would draw back into himself. She could hear the cold tone he would use with her. How could he respect her after this proof of her family’s disgrace? Hot tears pooled in Elizabeth’s eyes and began to run down her cheeks.
The worry over the repercussions of Lady Catherine’s visit and the attendant anxiety of her succeeding in preventing the marriage was nothing to this… this damage! To think she had been so looking forward to seeing Mr. Darcy today!
Dropping the letter onto the table, she fished out her handkerchief and pressed it to her face. Her tears were for Lydia, of course, not for the gentleman. It would hurt when he turned cold and disapproving, but it was not as if she had ever sought his good opinion. Even if she had accepted she must marry him, it was more out of a sense of responsibility than anything else, was it not? She might like him better now than she had previously, but he was still too grave, too resentful in temper for her tastes. Heavens—he had disapproved of his own brother, who was as amiable a young man as she had ever met. She would be in good company if Mr. Darcy decided to think less of her because of Lydia’s behavior.
Elizabeth drew in a shaky breath. Yes, she must push aside this unaccountable feeling of regret, of sadness. Like her tears, they were for her lost sister and naught else—how could they be?
Instead of brooding on his disapproval, she should be turning her mind toward the best way to inform him of the present developments. Mr. Darcy, I have received grave news from Longbourn which is likely to distress you as much as it does me. No. She should not anticipate his distress. Mr. Darcy, I am grieved to inform you my youngest sister Lydia has disgraced herself by agreeing to an elopement. No, too formal. Mr. Darcy, I have received dreadful news from Longbourn…
The sound of the front door closing reached her. Perhaps it was Jane, returning from her drive with Mr. Bingley, still happily oblivious of the disaster that had befallen them. Elizabeth braced herself for the unpleasant conversation, but it was her aunt who entered the sitting room.
“Another letter from Mary,” she said, holding it out to Elizabeth.
Elizabeth quickly broke the seal and scanned the letter. This one was shorter than the previous one, so it did not take long.
“Any news?” asked Mrs. Gardiner.
Elizabeth shook her head, a tear sliding down her cheek. “None, except that Colonel Foster says he is now certain they did not go to Scotland. Apparently Wickham told one of his fellow officers he intended to take Lydia to London. It is as I said before. He has no intention of marrying her. She is lost forever.”
Mrs. Gardiner sank heavily into an armchair. “Let us not give up hope quite yet,” she said. “I have sent word to your uncle. Perhaps he will think of something.” She sighed. “Poor foolish girl! How could she have done such a thing?” She fell into a glum silence as they both reflected on this matter. “Have you thought how you will tell Mr. Darcy about this? If you would prefer for your uncle to inform him of it, I am certain he would be willing to do so.”
Sorely tempted, Elizabeth hesitated before saying flatly, “Thank you, but I must do it myself. I will simply tell him the truth and offer to release him from any obligation to me.” Her breath caught in her throat.
“I cannot believe he would accept such an offer.”
“We will know soon enough. He told me he would be calling on me at eleven.”
Her aunt gave her an odd look. “Are you certain he said eleven? It is nearly half past twelve.”
“That late already? It cannot be.” As she said it, Elizabeth glanced up at the small mantle clock. Her aunt was correct.
Why was Mr. Darcy late? He was always prompt, if not early, for his appointments with her, as if he could not bear to stay away a minute longer than necessary. She had teased that she could set a watch by his comings and goings. What could have delayed him so long?
Her chest tightened, and she closed her eyes. She knew perfectly well what had prevented his attending her.
“He must have heard the news already, and that is why he has not come.” Despite her best efforts, her voice trembled.
Mrs. Gardiner’s brows drew together. “Surely he would not… Lizzy, there may be a perfectly reasonable explanation for his absence.”
Elizabeth looked down at her hand, the one which would now never be graced by a wedding band. “He would have sent me a message if he had been delayed.”
Mr. Darcy could not marry her, even if he wished to—even if she wished it. It would ruin his family and spoil any chance of Georgiana making a respectable match. She could not even condemn him for it.
But the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach gave her a different message as his defection made her understand her own wishes for the first time. She had been acting the part of a resentful child who did not want to be forced into marrying him, but he was not the part she objected to. Lady Catherine’s visit had first made her realize there was more to her feelings than that, but now she began to comprehend he was exactly the man who, in disposition and talents, would most suit her. When she had first read Mary’s letter, his presence had been the one she had wished for, because he represented security, hope, and, above all, love. What a cruel trick fate had played on her, that she should recognize her love for him only when all must be in vain!
She would never see him again, or if she did, it would only be for a brief, cold meeting to formally put an end to their understanding. He would never know of her true feelings for him. It would be her secret, to suffer with in silence.
Her tears could no longer be held back. “Pray excuse me,” Elizabeth said in a strangled voice, and fled for the privacy of her bedroom.
*****
Instead of being admitted immediately to the presence of the Gardiners, Theo was directed to wait in the small sitting room. Of all the times for them to take on the airs of the ton! Impatiently, he glanced at the long case clock in between the two long windows fronting onto the street. The day was progressing far too swiftly, his plan of calling in Gracechurch Street that morning thwarted by an urgent summons to attend Mr. Garrow in his chambers. Time was of the essence, he knew; he must reach Elizabeth’s home in Hertfordshire before nightfall.
Finally Mr. Gardiner joined him, his step heavier than usual. “Pray forgive our lack of hospitality today. We are somewhat in disarray owing to some unfortunate news we have received. I do not suppose you know where your brother might be? Elizabeth was expecting him to call on her today, but he never made an appearance. I sent a messenger to Darcy House, but he came back with the information that the master was away. Elizabeth says he told her nothing yesterday of any travel plans.”
Fitzwilliam was not going to be happy about this. “He had to go late yesterday to Rosings; an unexpected family matter.”
Mr. Gardiner’s brows drew together. “So he did not decide it would be best to keep his distance?”
“I have not the honor of understanding you, sir. He went, as I understand it, to resolve a quarrel of my aunt’s making.”
“Your aunt! Yes, we have heard first hand of her views on your brother’s engagement, and then your brother failed to keep his appointment with Elizabeth, and now he is out of Town.” He wiped his brow. “Still, I suppose you would not be here if you knew anything of this matter.”
“If you are implying my brother might have changed his mind, I can assure you that is untrue.” Theo took a deep breath.
He did not want to be caught in a quarrel about Fitzwilliam’s intentions. “I was looking for him myself earlier, and came here in the hope Miss Elizabeth might be able to provide me with some information in his stead.”
“She is not in a state to receive visitors at the moment. Is there perhaps a message I could give her?”
Theo chewed his cheek. He could hardly ask about her family without an explanation. “I received some information earlier that a certain thorn in my brother’s side is threatening to make mischief towards Miss Elizabeth’s family, and in my brother’s absence, it is my responsibility to try to stop him. He is an officer in the Militia stationed near Miss Elizabeth’s home, but I do not know where her home is. I hope to gain that information from her so I may pursue him.”
Mr. Gardiner dropped heavily into a chair. “Mr. Wickham.” It was a statement, not a question. “I fear you are too late.”
*****
A coldness gripped Theo. “Too late? What has happened?”
Mr. Gardiner sighed. “I might as well tell you. It will be known all over Town quickly enough. My niece, Lydia, has eloped with Mr. Wickham. They found her gone just yesterday.”
Theo sank into a chair. “I am so sorry!” He would have liked to express himself much more vehemently, but did not wish to offend Mr. Gardiner. “Please, tell me everything.”
“We received intelligence earlier today from Longbourn. Lydia left a note hinting they were traveling to London where Wickham would be collecting a debt he was owed. Then they would be able to marry. Do you know what he is talking about?”
Theo's anger rose. “I found out only yesterday Wickham has somehow heard about my brother's engagement to Miss Elizabeth Bennet and planned a scandal and then to ask for money in order to keep it quiet.”
The Darcy Brothers Page 27
