Darcy and Elizabeth What If? Collection 3

by Jennifer Lang

  He left the ballroom and, once in the hall, he did not have to deal with the congratulations that had been showered on him within its lofty precincts. There were no guests here, only a few servants going to and fro with trays of glasses.

  At the other side of the hall, he glimpsed his father’s coat tails disappearing into the library.

  He strode angrily across the hall, but his way was barred by his mother, who appeared before him and said, ‘You cannot pass.’

  ‘Step out of my way, Mamma,’ he said with a determined air.

  She opened the door of the room next to the library and said, ‘Not until you have heard me out.’

  ‘I know what you are going to say,’ he replied. ‘You are going to say it is time I was married; that I declared my interest in Miss Bent and so I have no reason to reproach my father.’

  Nevertheless, he went into the indicated room, for he knew that his mother was determined to speak to him and he also knew that the sooner he listened to her, the sooner he could proceed to speak to his father.

  ‘I expected better from you,’ he said. ‘You knew I did not like Miss Bent when you saw us together. You guessed there had been some mistake and yet you allowed my father to announce our betrothal.’

  ‘We are not like other people, Fitzwilliam. You know that. We cannot do as we please in these matters. We have to ensure the prosperity of the estate and the continuance of the family line. We have a duty to perform.’

  ‘Noblesse oblige. I know,’ he said. ‘You have told me about it often enough.’

  He was not himself noble, but he was of noble blood, for his mother was the daughter of an earl, and she had brought him up from an early age on the motto noblesse oblige – nobility has obligations. Obligations to family, obligations to the tenants, obligations to the servants . . . As he thought of it, he felt those twin pillars of his heritage, obligation and duty, tightening like vices around his heart and squeezing the life out of him.

  ‘I will not do it,’ he said rebelliously.

  ‘Was there someone else?’ she asked him. ‘Someone you thought was Miss Bent?’

  He nodded.

  ‘I am sorry for it, but it is too late to do anything about it now. You must forget her. You are betrothed to Miss Bent and you will marry her as soon as the wedding can decently be arranged.’

  ‘I will do nothing of the kind. My father is mad to expect it. I will tell him so at once,’ he said, heading towards the door. ‘He is —’

  ‘Ill, Fitzwilliam,’ she said. ‘Your father is very ill.’

  The words hit him like a hammer and stopped him in his tracks.

  ‘Ill?’ he asked disbelievingly, for it had come out of the blue.

  ‘Yes. He has not been well for some time. He refused to see a physician but at last I managed to persuade him to call in the leading practitioner in London. The news was bad. Your father has been pressing you to marry because he has only a few years to live. He wants to see you married and with a son of your own before he dies. That is why he announced your betrothal tonight.’

  Mr Darcy felt a lump rise in his throat. He was not a demonstrative man. His upbringing had taught him to hide his feelings, and he had learnt that lesson well. But now he could not prevent tears from springing into his eyes.

  ‘I cannot believe it,’ he said at last.

  ‘No,’ said his mother. ‘Neither could I, to begin with. But I have spoken to the physician myself. It is true.’

  She sank into a chair and she looked old. For the first time he realised his parents were mortal. They had always seemed invincible to him. And yet here they were, as powerless as anyone else when faced with the certainty of disease and death.

  ‘What is the cause of it?’ he asked sorrowfully.

  ‘His heart,’ she said. ‘It will not last much longer.’

  ‘Does Georgiana know?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Your father does not wish her to know, either,’ said Mrs Darcy. ‘So you must promise me not to tell her. She is only sixteen. Let her enjoy her childhood whilst she can.’

  ‘Of course,’ he promised.

  Her mother lay back in her chair.

  He looked at her hand, which lay on the arm of the chair, and he saw that it was lined and the veins were clearly visible. He took it and held it.

  She would have usually admonished him for such a sign of emotion, but instead she squeezed his hand in gratitude.

  ‘Can nothing be done?’ he asked.

  ‘If he lives carefully he can perhaps extend his life for an extra year or two. To that end, he has decided that we will travel to Buxton after our guests have left, so that he can take the waters. The Bents are to go too, so that our two families will have some time to get to know each other. Your father would like to see you married in the summer.’

  As he comforted his mother, he realised he was leaving the last vestiges of his childhood behind him. Soon, all the weight of responsibility for his family and his estate would fall on his shoulders, and he must be ready to bear them. And he must do so whilst married to a woman he did not love, whilst the woman he truly loved was denied to him.

  What a mess, he thought. What a terrible, tangled, inescapable mess.

  Chapter Eleven

  Elizabeth did not sleep well. She was restless and was disturbed by vivid dreams. Some of them were enchanting: she danced at Pemberley, and drove round the grounds, with the handsome steward by her side. Some turned into nightmares, where all the guests started laughing at her and saying, ‘She, to marry Mr Darcy? Oh, what a joke!’

  She was having one such nightmare when she woke with a start and found herself sitting up in bed with the daylight coming in through the curtains. She was relieved to find herself in her room at the inn, with a jug of steaming hot water standing on the washstand and the familiar furniture welcoming her.

  It was early, but she did not want to stay in bed so she washed and dressed and then went out into the countryside for a walk. The servants were already up and busy and said, ‘Good morning’ to her as she passed. The stable boys were attending to the horses and there was an air of bustle as she crossed the stable yard. It helped to distract her from her thoughts.

  The wild grandeur of the moors further calmed her spirits, and the act of walking up one of the steep hills that surrounded the inn tired her physically, which further helped to calm her turbulent thoughts. So that by the time she returned to the inn for breakfast, she was beginning to feel a little better.

  She went upstairs to refresh herself and then joined her aunt and uncle in the private parlour for breakfast.

  Neither of them referred to the events of the previous night and for that she was thankful. It was in the past now, and she must leave it there . . . . even if thoughts of Mr Darcy would insist on intruding from time to time.

  She was not hungry but she made an effort to eat. She took tea and cake, and was persuaded by her uncle to eat an egg.

  ‘Good girl!’ he said approvingly.

  ‘We have decided to travel as far as Buxton today,’ said Mrs Gardiner. She handed Elizabeth the guide book she had been perusing. ‘It is the highest market town in England and it is famous for its spa. The guide book describes it as the Bath of the north. There is an assembly room and of course there are interesting shops. There is plenty to do and the scenery is magnificent. I am sure we will all enjoy it.’

  ‘It looks very grand,’ said Elizabeth, examining an illustration in the guide book.

  ‘Then it is settled,’ said Mrs Gardiner. ‘We will be on our way just as soon as our bags are packed.’

  Elizabeth finished her breakfast and went upstairs to help the maid to pack. She took up her ballgown of the night before with mixed feelings. She could feel tears pricking behind her eyes but she did not give way to them. She had had a magical evening and she must be content with that.

  At last everything was ready. She went downstairs. The luggage had already been loaded on the roof of the carriage. Th
e horses had been put into harness. It was time to be off.

  Mr Darcy could not believe that so much had happened in so little time. His world had been turned upside down not once, but twice.

  He managed somehow to get through the rest of the ball, playing the good host to his guests and the polite escort to Miss Bent, but the whole thing had an air of unreality.

  At last the guests departed and he had some time to himself. He was exhausted but he could not sleep. He could not bear the idea that the young woman of his dreams thought so badly of him. She had not been delighted to discover who he was – and how well that made him think of her! But at the same time he could not bear to think that he had made her so unhappy. Even worse, she thought it had been a joke. She thought he had been laughing at her.

  Who was she? How could he find her? And how could he make amends?

  He could ask Mrs Reynolds about her, but he could not do that until a more reasonable hour, and so he pulled off his clothes and climbed into bed.

  When he awoke, things seemed brighter. He did not despair of finding his mystery lady and so, having washed and dressed, he went downstairs and sent for Mrs Reynolds. He did not know what he was going to say, but when she stood in front of him he found it was easier than he expected. He was Fitzwilliam Darcy, after all. He did not need to explain himself to the housekeeper, nor did she expect him to. He simply asked her about the Gardiners and their niece, and she told him all about them.

  Miss Bennet, he thought.

  So that was how the mistake had occurred.

  ‘Is anything wrong, Sir?’ she asked. ‘I hope their visit did not cause any inconvenience?’

  ‘Not at all,’ he said. ‘As you know, Mr Fielding has injured his back and I wanted to make sure that all his duties had been attended to.’

  ‘I see, Sir. You need have no fear on that score. The Gardiners and Miss Bennet enjoyed their tour of the grounds. Will that be all, Sir?’

  ‘Yes, thank you, Mrs Reynolds.’

  She went out of the room and he thought over everything she had told him. Miss Bennet was staying at the inn at Lambton with her aunt and uncle, so he decided to ride over there and explain matters in person. It would not change anything. His father was determined that he should marry Miss Bent, and with his father in a precarious state of health, he did not dare argue with him. But perhaps it might make Miss Bennet think more kindly of him and it would relieve her of the fear that he had been laughing at her.

  He sent a message to the stables, ordering his horse to be readied, and before very much time had passed he set out for the inn. The air was fresh and bracing. The trees were in blossom and there was already warmth in the sun. If he could extricate himself from his engagement to Miss Bent . . . . He stopped himself. Even if such a thing were possible, it would make no difference. Mrs Reynolds had told him that Miss Bennet was the daughter of a country squire, and he knew that his father would never allow him to marry someone from that class. But he still wanted to find her so that he could apologise to her. He hated to think that he had caused her even a moment’s pain. She was very precious to him.

  He recalled her face and the sparkle in her eyes. He thought of the conversation they had shared as they walked together in the woods. He thought of the way they had looked directly into each other’s eyes when they danced together, and he felt a huge sense of loss that he could not offer her marriage.

  He saw the inn ahead of him and rode into the yard. He dismounted and gave the reins to one of the ostlers, so that his horse could be taken care of. Then he went inside.

  The inn was busy. It was a clean establishment, serving good food, and it was always full. He called to the landlord, who came bustling over to greet him.

  ‘I am looking for Mr Gardiner,’ he said.

  He did not mention Miss Bennet’s name because he did not want to give rise to gossip.

  ‘I’m sorry, Sir. Mr Gardiner’s party left first thing this morning.’

  Mr Darcy felt cold fingers clutching at his insides.

  ‘Where did they go?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t know, Sir. They didn’t leave a forwarding address.’

  Mr Darcy noticed the landlord looking at him curiously and so he quickly recovered himself.

  ‘Never mind,’ he said. ‘It was a small matter of business, that is all. I will write to him instead.’

  ‘Very good, Sir.’

  Then Mr Darcy left the inn, and as he did so, he felt he was leaving a part of himself behind him.

  Chapter Twelve

  Elizabeth made an effort to enjoy herself in Buxton. It had been very good of her aunt and uncle to invite her on their tour and she did not want to spoil it for them by being downcast. So she made a point of going everywhere, even if she did not want to, and she found that by doing so she gradually made herself happier.

  The shops in Buxton were excellent and she bought presents for all her family. She bought a shawl for Jane, a book of music for Mary and fans for Lydia and Kitty. She admired the splendid crescent of houses, which had been modelled on the Royal Crescent in Bath, or so the guide book informed her. She drank the waters, which were so awful she screwed her face up in disgust, much to the amusement of her aunt and uncle. She went for long, invigorating walks on the moors and she attended concerts and balls.

  It was at one such ball, held at the assembly rooms, that she found herself introduced to a handsome young man by the name of George Wickham. The Master of Ceremonies performed the introduction and then Mr Wickham asked her to dance. He was polite and charming, with a good figure and a handsome face and Elizabeth accepted his hand. They went out on to the floor and they were followed by many eyes, for they made an attractive couple. Mr Wickham bowed with a casual elegance that was very becoming, and Elizabeth curtseyed.

  For the first time since her disastrous visit to Pemberley, she did not have to pretend to be enjoying herself, because she was actually doing so. Her grace and charm won admiring glances as she performed the dance, for there was an energy about her steps that the other dancers lacked. Mr Wickham was a good partner. He did not step on her toes, as some of the other gentlemen had done, nor did he bore her with dry conversation, nor yet irritate her with fatuous remarks. He proved himself to be intelligent and well informed and the dance passed very quickly.

  After the dance was over, he led her to the side of the floor and made agreeable conversation with her aunt and uncle. At last he left her, but not without arranging to dance with her again later in the evening.

  ‘I must say, he was an agreeable fellow,’ said Mr Gardiner.

  ‘Yes, he was,’ said Mrs Gardiner, with a thoughtful glance at Elizabeth. ‘He seemed to find you very charming.’

  ‘I beg you will not refine too much upon it,’ said Elizabeth. ‘He asked me to dance, that is all, and he is now dancing with an equally charming young lady.’

  Mrs Gardiner smiled.

  ‘It is good to hear you teasing us again, Lizzy,’ she said. ‘I have been sorry to see you so spiritless since leaving Pemberley, but I believe you have at last recovered.’

  ‘Yes, aunt,’ said Elizabeth dutifully.

  But the truth of the matter was that she had still not recovered from her time there. She was sometimes angry and sometimes regretful, but she was never indifferent to the memory of the man who had caused her so much joy and heartache. However, she did not want to burden her aunt with the knowledge. It was her burden, and one she must carry alone.

  There was no denying, though, that Mr Wickham made the burden seem lighter. Some well-informed company was just what she needed to make the time pass more pleasantly, and when it came with a handsome face and a good figure as well, then it was doubly welcome.

  She retired to the ladies’ withdrawing room to fetch her handkerchief, which she had left in the pocket of her cloak. To her surprise, there was a young woman there, sobbing. The young woman had her face buried in her cloak, which was hanging from a peg, and she did not hear
Elizabeth enter the room.

  Elizabeth stopped, unsure of how to continue. She really did need her handkerchief but she did not want to intrude. She went over to her cloak quietly, but the young woman heard her and looked round guiltily.

  ‘I did not mean to disturb you,’ said Elizabeth. She said sympathetically. ‘You are very unhappy. Can I do anything to help?’

  ‘No. Nobody can help,’ said the young lady.

  ‘Do you have anyone you can talk to?’ asked Elizabeth. ‘When I am unhappy, I confide in my sister and it helps. Is there someone I can bring to you?’

  The young lady shook her head.

  ‘I am an only child,’ she said.

  Elizabeth sat down and prepared to listen, for the sensed the young woman needed to talk to someone.

  ‘You must thing me very foolish,’ said the young woman, rubbing her eyes.

  ‘Not at all. I only think you unhappy,’ said Elizabeth. ‘Won’t you tell me what is wrong?’

  ‘It is Mamma and Papa.’

  ‘Are they ill?’ asked Elizabeth.

  ‘No.’ The young woman shook her head and sat down on a chair. ‘They are forcing me to marry a man I barely know.’

  ‘Oh, that is terrible indeed. Are you very poor?’ asked Elizabeth.

  She knew the difficulties of poverty. She was not terribly poor, but neither was she wealthy, and her mother was always trying to find a husband for her and for her sisters. Mrs Bennet did not pay any attention to the Miss Bennets’ opinions. She wanted to see them married and cared little about the gentlemen who courted them. And so Elizabeth sympathised sincerely with the unhappy young woman.

  ‘No,’ said the young woman, taking out her own handkerchief and dabbing her eyes. ‘On the contrary, I am an heiress, but money must marry money, or so my parents say. Otherwise, I might fall prey to a fortune hunter. But I do not want to marry a man I do not love.’

  ‘If that is the case, then you must talk to your parents. I am sure they will understand.’

  ‘It is hopeless,’ she said. ‘I have tried that already and it did no good. They betrothed me against my wishes and now I can see no alternative but to go through with the marriage. It would cause a scandal if I ended the engagement and my mother could not survive the gossip.’