B00CO8L910 EBOK

by KaraLynne Mackrory

  My only hope at regaining your esteem for my brother is to lay before you the whole of Wickham’s connection to my family. I am unaware of what part of this you may already know, of what my brother may have related, so forgive me if I recount parts with which you are already acquainted.

  Elizabeth shook her head, confused further. “Regain my esteem? It cannot be that Mr. Darcy should doubt my affections for him. And what had Wickham to do with it?” Elizabeth whispered aloud before returning to the letter, hoping to find clarity for her confusion.

  Elizabeth then read a repeat of everything Darcy had related to her in his library at Pemberley regarding Wickham’s history with their family. Then to Elizabeth’s astonishment and horror, Georgiana began to relate an entirely new part of that history — a part that left Elizabeth in tears, this time with compassion for her young friend.

  Last summer, he once again most painfully intruded upon our family’s notice. I must now mention a circumstance about which I would wish to forget myself and which no obligation less than the present should induce me to unfold to any human being. Having said this much, I know I can be assured of your secrecy. I have been left under the guardianship of both my brother and my cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam. About a year ago, I was taken from school in London and, with my companion at the time, a Mrs. Younge, left for the seaside resort of Ramsgate. Hitherto also went Mr. Wickham, I know now by design. He and Mrs. Younge, in whose character we were most unhappily deceived, seemed to hold a prior acquaintance — a fact that, as you must realize, my brother and cousin knew nothing. Mr. Wickham began calling on me with the permission of my companion, and through the memories of his kindness to me as a child and with my natural diffidence, I was persuaded to believe that I was in love with him. It was his design that it be so. It was through this belief that I consented to an elopement with him.

  My brother, who happened to surprise me at Ramsgate a day or so before the intended elopement, knew nothing of our plans. I could not bear the thought of paining a most beloved brother, and so I divulged to him all our plans for the elopement. You may imagine how he felt and how he acted. Mr. Wickham’s design, it seemed, hinged on obtaining my fortune, being thirty thousand pounds.

  And now I come to the reason for telling you all of this. William’s regard for my credit and consideration for my feelings prevented him from any public exposure of Mr. Wickham in Hertfordshire last autumn.

  Elizabeth was stunned beyond belief and had to reread the account twice before she felt she comprehended it all. All proper feeling went out to Georgiana in her distress and for the mortifications she had to endure to share such a personal narrative with her. Suddenly, she remembered a moment with Mr. Darcy on their ride back to Longbourn directly after Lydia’s death. He had told her then he approved of their correspondence because of his belief that Elizabeth would be helpful to Georgiana. He had hinted only at a painful experience the girl had recently endured. Elizabeth covered her mouth with her hand, realizing that he was then referring to Ramsgate. The old acquaintance he mentioned would then have been Mr. Wickham. Still, she could not understand what Georgiana’s history had to do with her own situation with Mr. Darcy and had yet to determine with what offense she felt Elizabeth had charged him.

  You see, dearest Elizabeth, that it was with the hope of protecting another’s secret that he did not expose Mr. Wickham to your society. Please consider my words and do not persist in holding my brother accountable for the tragedy your sister has encountered at Mr. Wickham’s hands. I know that he carries all the guilt on his shoulders, and I realize that, if he had exposed the man, Wickham could not have imposed on your family, especially your sister, in such a way. If anyone is to blame, it is I, whose history with him prevented others from knowing his true character. Please forgive my brother, Elizabeth.

  Georgiana’s plea was so sincere and heartfelt that Elizabeth nearly wept again. She retrieved Mr. Darcy’s handkerchief from her pocket and dried her eyes. So this is what he thinks? A small hope began to spring within her chest. She had never considered blaming Mr. Darcy for anything regarding her sister and Mr. Wickham! But there was more, and she returned her eyes to the last page.

  Forgive me if I offend you by being too forward, but I know that my brother loves you. Concern that he has lost you has driven him to depths I have never seen him suffer before. Immediately upon reaching London, my brother sought out the whereabouts of Mr. Wickham and, together with my cousin, was able to get him to confess his violence against your sister. My brother’s love for you and his consideration for your feelings as well as the wellbeing of your family alone prevented him from turning Wickham over to the magistrate immediately. Instead, they hastened a court-martial for Mr. Wickham’s desertion from the militia and brought about his passage to Australia, thus ensuring that he would never again be able to cause your family or mine pain again. If this does not prove his unaltered affection for you, I do not know what may be said that will. With an urgency that I know you will understand, I shall endeavor to put this letter into your hands as soon as may be by sending it express. I will only add,

  God Bless You,

  Georgiana Darcy

  Elizabeth’s fingers went numb as she sat shocked, grieved at Georgiana’s final revelation. Words from it kept crashing through her mind unaccountably. ‘Violence against your sister.’ ‘The magistrate.’ Elizabeth could feel her head ache as the realization began to dawn on her. Suspicion was not in her nature, and detection could not have been in her power. That her sister’s death was not an accident had never occurred to her and inflicted upon her a new wave of grief. Unable to contemplate anything more, Elizabeth sank under her blankets and tried to summon sleep to relieve her mind.

  Some hours later, she awoke clutching Darcy’s handkerchief in her hand. Sleep had aided in healing her heart and mind. Somehow, the nature of Lydia’s death did not pain her further, for it did not change that she was gone. Her thoughts about the man whose hands were responsible only caused her to think of the great kindness Mr. Darcy had done in saving her family the humiliation of a trial. She was relieved that Wickham was gone and felt satisfaction in knowing justice had served Lydia. There were many who could have prevented Lydia’s death beyond Mr. Darcy and his reticence about Wickham; she decided harboring guilt would not change history, and it resolved nothing. She concluded Mr. Darcy should not hold onto his guilt if she did not.

  Elizabeth turned and reached for the well-loved leather book resting on the side table near her bed. It was her mourning book from Mr. Darcy. As she held it in her hands, the pages opened naturally to where she had placed a few flowers for pressing. They were bluebells from her trip to Pemberley. Gently tracing her fingers across the tissue-soft petals, she was transported back to that field. A feeling of warmth surrounded her as she recalled the tenderness she felt from Mr. Darcy and the recognition of his love that she discovered standing amongst the bluebells. It was a bright spot, an ethereal moment of beauty in the dark months of mourning for Lydia. Think only of the past as its remembrances give you pleasure. Elizabeth realized then that, although Lydia’s death was a terrible tragedy, a preventable one perhaps, it had been the catalyst for “bluebell moments” in the lives of many in her family. Jane and her Mr. Bingley were reunited where there had been no hope. Her parents’ affection for each other had been reborn through their sorrow as well. All that was left now was for Elizabeth to find a way to reconcile with Mr. Darcy.

  Although Elizabeth was worried about his reaction, her mind began to formulate how she might signal to Mr. Darcy her true feelings while allowing him to decide whether he still wanted her and her connections. Leaving her bed, Elizabeth went in search of the first thing she would need to accomplish her task — a needle.

  Chapter 19

  Darcy was at his desk, attempting to keep his attention on the business before him. He would not allow himself to think of Elizabeth, though it took great effort. When Richard had burst into his bedchamber a few days prior and be
rated Darcy for what his cousin believed were misinterpretations regarding Elizabeth’s feelings, he had at least succeeded in getting Darcy to leave his room. His heart still ached, but to everyone else he was a master under good regulation. If he dedicated more time than was usual to estate business usually left to his stewards, then so be it. Most of the time, these distractions succeeded in keeping him from losing himself in regret.

  Darcy rubbed his eyes and shook his head to return his thoughts to the paper before him. When he heard a knock at the door, he was grateful for the interruption. “Enter.”

  Georgiana walked in with a skip to her step. His eyes narrowed a little to see her looking so mischievously playful. In the past couple of days since he left his chambers, his sister had taken to avoiding him and his mercurial moods. He worried as she seemed to be on edge herself. Darcy noted she had not received any letters from Elizabeth and knew he was responsible. Suddenly he was sorry for his sister. Placing his pen in its stand, Darcy attempted to return his sister’s smile. She held something behind her back and he was then curious as to her reason for visiting his study.

  “Is there some way I can oblige you, Georgiana?”

  Unbeknownst to Darcy, she had asked Mr. Carroll to see that all her letters came directly to her rather than the silver salver in the hall with the rest of the correspondence. Georgiana smiled, thinking of the letter she had just received.

  “I hope I am not disturbing you,” she said with winsome appeal.

  Darcy’s smile returned, this time more genuinely. He loved his sister, and before him stood his only family. He sat back and laced his hands behind his head. “Of course not, my dear. Would you like me to accompany you on a walk in the park? Or is there something else?”

  She smiled and shook her head. Georgiana seemed to vibrate with excitement. “No, thank you. I came here to give you this.” She pulled a small tissue wrapped parcel from behind her back and placed it before him on his desk. He looked at her intently before reaching for the package.

  “Georgiana, this is very good of you. What is the occasion that warrants giving me a gift?” he asked as his hands closed around the small package.

  “Oh it is not from me, William.”

  Darcy looked up at her. “Oh?”

  “It is from Elizabeth.”

  Darcy fumbled upon hearing her name, and the package slipped through his fingers to his desk. His heart began to beat violently as he considered what Elizabeth could have sent him and, more importantly, why. His mind was flying. He could think of no circumstance for Elizabeth to send him anything. He realized he had not said a word when his sister spoke.

  “Well? Are you not going to open it?” Her eagerness was transparent.

  Darcy lifted his eyes from the package to her ardent face. He swallowed and looked down at the package again.

  “Eliz . . . Miss Bennet sent this to you, you say?”

  Georgiana almost whimpered with impatience. “Yes . . . well, no.” Giggling then, she continued, “I mean she sent it to me, but I do not know what it is, for her letter said it was for you.”

  “I see.” Only he did not at all. He dared not hope that Elizabeth had forgiven him.

  “William! Open it! I cannot wait a moment longer!” Georgiana was mad with curiosity. Elizabeth’s letter had indicated that she did not hold her brother accountable at all and never had. That is good news, is it not? She thought so at the time she read it. Furthermore, her letter had been full of all the right sentiments of understanding and compassion, and Georgiana no longer worried that her friend may think poorly of her for being deceived by Wickham.

  Darcy laughed at his sister’s impatience. Her levity and the budding hope springing in his chest lifted his own spirits in a way he had thought never to experience again. “Very well then, I will.”

  His fingers trembled only slightly as he reached again for the package. He carefully pulled at the cords binding the tissue together. His heart beat loudly in his ears. Hesitating only a moment, he pulled back the tissue paper and immediately recognized his own handkerchief. He did not even need to turn it over to see his initials. He was sure it was the one he gave Elizabeth at Oakham Mount when he saw her last. With that realization, his heart sank.

  “Leave me, Georgiana,” he said more gruffly than he had intended. Nevertheless, the pain of having his hopes dashed in such a way made it nearly impossible for him to control the emotion in his voice.

  “But what is it?” Georgiana started, concerned as a sudden dark shadow crossed her brother’s countenance.

  “It is nothing but my handkerchief being returned. Now leave me, Georgiana.” His voice was low but obviously pained.

  Georgiana stood there a moment, confused. Elizabeth’s letter was so positive and full of allusion as to her own dreams and wishes. She had said she was not angry with her brother and had indicated that she held him in the highest esteem. There has to be more to it than just returning his handkerchief! Elizabeth could not have been so cruel as to say such things to her in the letter, giving such hope, and then coldly return the handkerchief. Thinking there must be a note or something else hidden in the package, Georgiana reached for it.

  “That cannot be all there is!” she said with heightened emotion. “There must be something else in there!”

  Darcy slammed his hand on top of the opened package atop the desk, preventing her from taking it. “I said leave me, Georgiana!” His anguished voice bellowed through his study, startling her, her hand frozen in place, extended towards the package.

  She blinked, having never been chastised in such a manner by her brother — by anyone, for that matter. Slowly she backed away, her arm still numbly extended in front of her.

  “Please.” His voice was softer then but full of pain. Georgiana lifted her hand to her mouth to stifle a cry and quickly ran out of the room. Darcy watched her leave and then lowered his head to the desk, defeated.

  He had not meant to speak in such a way to his sister, but he could not bear to hold back his feelings a moment longer. The infinitesimal bit of hope that he had allowed to creep into his heart because of his sister’s excitement had left him falling farther and harder when he saw his returned handkerchief. Why could she not have simply kept it? If she did not wish to have anything as a reminder of him, then could she not have considered his feelings and burned the cloth? But to return it felt like a slap in the face. It was cruel, and he was mortified to have been so exposed in front of his sister.

  Sighing, he rolled his head to the side, unwittingly onto the handkerchief. He heard a crunching sound. Unnerved, his head shot up, and he immediately pulled the cloth away to reveal a small note hidden underneath the linen. Darcy swallowed as he looked at the note, his name written in her beautiful script. He did not know how long he stared at the note, his handkerchief in his hand. He conceded he was ill prepared to read whatever she might wish to convey. He had not the least bit of hope the letter contained anything more than a carefully worded thank you for the loan of the handkerchief, and he was not interested in her empty sentiments just then.

  Placing the folded square back on top of her missive where he could not see it anymore, Darcy then slid the package to the corner of his desk and pulled the letter from his solicitor back into place in front of him.

  He read the first lines of the correspondence three times, each time struggling to comprehend even a word. His thoughts and eventually his traitorous eyes harassed him to read her note. Bringing his hand to his face in a fist, Darcy drew in a ragged breath. He closed his eyes and counted to five before trying again to concentrate on his business.

  Inevitably, his gaze returned to the opened package, and his eyes bored through that cloth to where he knew his name had been written — written in her beautiful script by her beautiful, slender fingers. Shaking off those treacherous thoughts, Darcy stood and walked towards the window; if he were to continue down that mental path, he was certain it would lead him to visions of her beautiful arms, neck, face, lips
. . . It was too much for any man to bear.

  Placing his hands on either side of the window, he looked out onto the square. It was a scene he had often looked upon without really seeing it. As was his habit, he often stood there when he was too full of thoughts. He bit his top lip and looked over his shoulder again, contemplating the package. Cursing, he crossed to the decanter on the sideboard to pour himself a bit of liquid courage. He knew he would get no work done until he could put it all behind him once and for all.

  Resuming his seat, Darcy nursed his drink, all the while eyeing the package. In his distraction, he spilled a splash of brandy onto his waistcoat.

  “Blast!” He instinctively reached for the handkerchief to daub at his coat, stopping himself only when it was inches from his chest. He returned the linen and grabbed the one from his pocket instead. He felt the sentimental fool. Although he accepted he must give up Elizabeth, he was not about to stain the one item he knew was last in her possession.

  Rigorously dabbing at the brandy until it had long been soaked up, Darcy laughed at himself for being such a coward. Quit stalling man. He drew in a breath; with one hand, he picked up the handkerchief and, with the other, the note. Unfolding it slowly, he looked down and began to read her words.

  Dear sir,

  I hope this gives you as much comfort as it has given me, and I hope that you do not mind the alterations I have made.

  As ever,

  Elizabeth

  Darcy chewed over her words, undecided whether he should be further distressed by the ‘sir’ or encouraged by the ‘As ever, Elizabeth’. Reading it quickly, he was intrigued by her hopes it would bring him comfort. However, he could not understand how that could be as it brought him no comfort that she had not wished to keep it. The reference to the alterations confused him further. Putting the note down, Darcy opened the folded square for the first time, turning it over in his hand.