“Years ago I began to think of him in a very different manner than my father did. The defects of his character, that utter want of principle he was able to conceal from my father, he could hardly conceal from a man his own age, who moved among the same peers.
“My father’s attachment to Wickham was so steady that in his will he particularly recommended to me to promote Wickham’s advancement in the best manner that his profession might allow. There was additionally a legacy of one thousand pounds.”
Elizabeth’s mouth dropped open at this.
“You may well be surprised, Miss Bennet,” he said, noting her reaction. “I am afraid of shocking you, but there is more which must be said if your question is to be rightly answered.” Elizabeth nodded. The Gardiners did not speak, but listened with all the attention they possessed.
“Wickham’s own father did not long survive mine and within half a year, Wickham wrote to me that he no longer desired to pursue a livelihood in the church; rather he intended to study law, and he wrote to discern whether I should see fit to discharge my father’s gift to him in a manner that would aid him in that direction. I wished, rather than believed him to be sincere. He resigned all claim to assistance in the clergy, should he ever pursue that avenue, and was granted instead the sum of three thousand pounds.
“Any connection between us seemed entirely dissolved. I knew too much, and thought too ill of him to receive him at Pemberley, or to receive him in town, which is where I believe he chiefly lived. For about three years I heard very little of him, until he wrote again. His circumstances had become exceedingly bad. He had found the law most unprofitable and was now resolved on being ordained; if I would present him with the living in question, as detailed by my good late father. I declined.”
“One could hardly blame you for refusing to comply with such a request,” she said. “You satisfied your father’s wishes to him long before that.”
“Wickham did not share that opinion. He was resentful, to say the least. I have no doubt his abuse of me to others was at least as violent as his reproaches to myself directly. Every appearance of acquaintance between us was dropped; I know not how he lived, until he reappeared last summer.”
Darcy stopped, pausing for so long Elizabeth began to think he would not continue. She nearly questioned him on it, but at length, he spoke again.
“The events about which I am to inform you are of a delicate nature, and have caused great pain to me and those for whom I care most in the world,” he said, meeting the eyes of every person in the carriage. “I must entreat you all to secrecy, for the events about which I would speak involve more than just myself. I would not otherwise mention it at all, but as Wickham’s actions have caused you some suffering you have earned the right to all knowledge I can give you,” said Darcy.
The Gardiners nodded solemnly. Elizabeth pressed her lips together and bowed her head in assent.
“Miss Bennet, you have met my sister, Georgiana,” said Darcy. “She is more than ten years my junior. About a year ago, she was taken from school and an establishment arranged for her in town. Last summer she traveled to Ramsgate with the woman who had presided over her arrangement, a Mrs. Younge.
“Thither also went Mr. Wickham, undoubtedly by design; there later proved to have been a prior acquaintance between him and that woman. By her connivance and aid, he so far recommended himself to Georgiana that she was persuaded to believe herself in love, and to consent to an elopement.”
“Heaven forbid,” breathed Elizabeth.
“She was then but fifteen years old, which must be her excuse,” he said. “I am happy to tell you, she admitted this much to me herself. I joined them at Ramsgate a day or two before the intended elopement, and Georgiana could not bear the idea of grieving or offending a brother whom she almost looked up to as a father. She acknowledged the whole to me.
“You may well imagine what I felt and how I acted. My sister’s feelings, and the nature of the events which might have transpired prevented any public exposure. But I wrote to Mr. Wickham and he left the place immediately. Mrs. Younge was removed from her charge. Their object was undoubtedly my sister’s fortune, a sum of about thirty thousand pounds, but I cannot help but think that the hope of revenging himself on me was a tempting prospect. Had he succeeded, his revenge would have been complete indeed.”
Elizabeth heard this last with tears in her eyes, but she steeled herself against the feeling. After all he and his poor sister had been through, Darcy did not need to contend with her tears, too.
“I may have been a bit oblique in my earlier description of the events at your house in London,” she said, after they’d ridden in quiet for a mile or two.
“How so?” asked Darcy.
Elizabeth cleared her throat delicately. “Your sister was mightily abusive toward Mr. Wickham when he tried to persuade her to come along with them of her own accord. I rather think she may have boxed his ears at one point, though I did not witness it myself.”
It was small, but the glint of humor that returned to Darcy’s face sparked a flood of relief to Elizabeth’s soul. She would write to Georgiana, as soon as she was able.
“Georgiana gave me leave to impart this information to you,” said Darcy. “Have no fear on that score. Our hope is that we may stop that man from besetting himself on anyone else.”
* * *
They traveled awhile longer in silence. On stopping for the night, Elizabeth found she could not rest. Darcy’s story and the words of Anne de Bourgh clung like a damp fog to her mind.
Anne had seen what Elizabeth dared not show to anyone else in the world; her feelings must be nearer the surface than she thought. Poor Georgiana; and poor Darcy. To have borne so much after their father’s death and yet neither of them sought to lay blame, nor to vilify Mr. Wickham until they were forced to do so. Elizabeth admired them both greatly.
Yet that day she’d learned admiration did not describe all her feelings.
Self-deception was anathema to Elizabeth, for there was nothing in the world more foolish than a man – or a woman – who knew everything but his own thoughts or nature. And while she dearly loved to laugh, there was no humor in a flaw of that kind.
She’d been lying to herself all along. The kind Mr. Darcy of Netherfield, long before he became the Earl of Matlock, had somehow invaded her thoughts at their softest point and had planted himself in that tender place.
The knowledge did not bring her peace.
Chapter 20
Two days hence, they began approaching Newcastle. Elizabeth was no nearer to peace with herself; she knew now that her feelings for Darcy were out of the common way, and much dearer than friendship. She also knew that he had made no mention of their aborted arrangement. He had not, in fact, attempted to approach her or single her out in any fashion at any point during their trip from Derbyshire.
Elizabeth could only reasonably conclude that Darcy was pleased to have done with her; that his ostensible reason for travelling with them – to survey the holdings of Matlock – was his sole motive; and that he had no reason to resent Mrs. Gardiner for wishing to see Elizabeth matched to her nephew.
At this last realization, Elizabeth had grown rather angry. Wishing to enjoy the last of the journey with her aunt and uncle, and even with Darcy, she did not examine the emotion too closely. It would keep.
She was more effectively distracted from it by the worsening weather. The innkeeper at their last stop was deeply impressed to be suddenly in the service of an earl, even a newly minted one, and helpfully informed Darcy that word had come that same day of a snowstorm headed for Newcastle. The innkeeper had advised their party to remain another night, to delay travelling at all if they were able. Darcy had thanked the woman for her kindness but asserted that they would continue northward as planned.
The innkeeper’s information proved true. The road into Newcastle was slick with ice. More than once had the occupants felt the carriage slipping to one side or the other. The driver ha
d slowed their progress to a near crawl as they came into town, but as they approached the falling snow provided some traction and they were able to move steadily through the otherwise deserted streets of Newcastle to the home of Mr. and Mrs. Charleton.
Mrs. Jane Charleton was a beautiful woman who’d chosen her partner in life from a crowd of suitors; she was wont to say she’d chosen well. Mr. Charleton was a respectable man who’d made a sizeable fortune in textiles; he made no pretense about the fact that he was besotted with his wife, and that his judgement relied heavily on hers. Their daughters, Mary and Harriet, were both about sixteen and pretty like their mother, though they shared their father’s fondness for tea and cake. That fact and their general good humor gave them the appearance of constant good cheer.
Henry Charleton was not round like his father, nor was he entirely beautiful like his mother. If anything, he was almost exotic to Elizabeth’s eyes. Mr. Charleton had inherited his mother’s blond hair, so light it appeared white at times. His dark brown eyes drew the gaze of anyone he passed, simply for being so unlikely a sight under hair of that hue. If Elizabeth had wished to draw a face representing everything opposite the look of Fitzwilliam Darcy, Henry Charleton would be the result.
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” said Henry Charleton to Elizabeth at tea later that afternoon.
“And you as well,” said Elizabeth. “My aunt Gardiner speaks very fondly of you.”
Mr. Charleton blushed becomingly.
“Been talking me up, has she?” he asked with a smile. “I’m afraid my family are quite taken with the idea that you and I might like each other.”
Elizabeth’s smile caught when she noticed Darcy staring from across the room.
“Yes,” said Elizabeth. She laughed and returned her focus to the man before her. The mirth in his eyes seemed to encourage it, even if he seemed abashed at his family’s behavior. “Has it been a great trial to you?”
“Herculean. I am daily tasked with the arduous labor of talking with clever, pretty women. You may imagine how I suffer.”
“You poor man,” said Elizabeth. She found herself rather charmed.
“It is a burden,” said Mr. Charleton.
“I wouldn’t have thought the streets near Cambridge to be so abundant.” She knew from Mrs. Gardiner that he attended his education faithfully.
“You’d be surprised,” he said with a smile. Elizabeth could not but smile in return. “But never mind my tedious schedule. Tell me, how were the roads coming into town? I was supposed to leave on Friday but unless we see the start of a thaw, I expect I shall have to extend my stay.”
They continued on in that vein, and after awhile Elizabeth lost track of who was tending whom in the room around them. Henry Charleton was a charming conversationalist, a skill she appreciated and determined at once to exploit while they were ensconced at Byrne Hill.
The weather was an easy turn of conversation; indeed it was the talk of all the city, as Newcastle had not seen a storm like this in more than five years, or so the elder Mr. Charleton told them all at dinner.
The storm worsened rapidly; had they arrived in the city any later that day travel would have been entirely impossible. Snow piled up in drifts; from the window in her room upstairs, Elizabeth could see the mounds of it piling against the building down the street, tall as horses.
It rendered the city white, and after a full day of becoming acquainted with their hosts and a full night’s rest from travel, the representation was not lost on Elizabeth. She felt the singular impression of having become newly aware of herself, as though before this week – before the events of these past few weeks – she never knew herself.
She was keenly aware of those tender feelings she’d discovered in the carriage regarding Darcy – regarding Matlock. Elizabeth also knew that man had made no attempt to approach her in any way since they’d been brought together on the roadside in Derbyshire; not since she’d put an end to his counterfeit interest. Elizabeth was not often compelled to check her pride; her situation in life rendered her sensitive to its overabundance. But the unfamiliar condition of holding one man elevated in her mind, pride grew up unfettered as a security against that feeling. Whether it protected her feelings from him, or herself from its’ growing stronger, Elizabeth knew not.
She knew only that pride would not allow her to pursue the subject of their arrangement. Thus, she and Matlock rarely spoke at all.
Indeed, the easy conversation she knew of him, the open friendliness that had been his customary expression were gone. In their place was a man Elizabeth scarcely recognized; he was stiff, unapproachable. He spoke little and did not invite conversation. The change in him was so stark, it became possible to think of him as Matlock at last, for he bore so little resemblance to the man she knew as Darcy that Elizabeth could hardly believe her own eyes.
Such a distinct turn of behavior heightened the guard in her mind, and Elizabeth set about the task of distracting herself from it entirely. On the second day of their stay in Newcastle, she fulfilled her promise to write to her sister.
* * *
Dearest Jane,
I hope this letter finds you well. Please give my love to Mama and Papa and all our sisters.
What can I tell you that you do not already know?
* * *
Elizabeth’s pen hovered – where on earth to begin?
* * *
A great deal has happened since last we spoke. On travelling into Derbyshire, our carriage saw fit to eject one of its wheels. Be not alarmed – no one was injured, although my composure suffered more than its share as a result. We were not three miles from Pemberley, you see, when the offending instrument broke. Uncle Gardiner had gone on in the carriage before us, and the servant was sent to retrieve him. Who should arrive on scene before my uncle could return, or even the servant? The Earl of Matlock himself, riding the grandest horse I’ve ever seen and as though the world was burning behind him.
It was like a scene out of a novel, Jane. Even you would have appreciated the sight of him, I think.
The rest of my story is rather more pedestrian; I am afraid of boring you, yet I shall continue as best I may. The Earl helped us to his estate while the carriage was being mended. After making the acquaintance of my aunt and uncle, it was decided that Matlock should travel with us into Newcastle, for he’s business to attend here in the north. He and Uncle Gardiner seem to get on remarkably well.
Regarding that arrangement I told you about… he has spoken not a word about it.
I flatter myself I am possessed of no more vanity than any other woman, but I will tell you now that it is vexing in the extreme to have terminated a courtship and witness no effect upon the other party.
Dearest Jane: you’d hardly recognize the earl if you saw him now. He’s untalkative, terse, unwilling to engage anybody in conversation (except our uncle) unless absolutely forced by the barest civility. Whatever business he came here to attend must have turned out very poorly for him; I cannot imagine a reason he should be so ill-tempered otherwise.
There is a silver lining – his name is Mr. Henry Charleton. He is the son of our Aunt Gardiner’s sister, and a student of the law. He’s secured a position in Hertfordshire, of all places, once his studies are completed. He’s a rather charming sort; you’d like him, but then, you like too many people in general.
We shan’t be here long enough for me to become engaged again, I fear. Provided the weather turns, we intend to leave for Scotland Sunday next.
I shall write you again before then, if there’s anything to tell.
Yours, etc.
Lizzy
* * *
Elizabeth pushed the pages away and stared at them, dissatisfied. She should not describe Mr. Charleton so, only it would surely make Jane frown at her letter and laugh.
Personal correspondence erred better on the side of amusement than accuracy, concluded Elizabeth. She left the letter as it was, turning to answer the soft knock at the doo
r.
“Come in,” she said, turning over the pages as Matlock himself came into the room.
“My lord,” she said, a blush rising instantly to her cheeks.
She’d burn that letter at first opportunity.
Chapter 21
“Miss Bennet,” said Darcy. “I hope I’m not intruding.”
“Not at all,” she replied. “I was just writing a letter to my sister Jane.”
They took seats near the fire.
“I hope your family are well,” he said. He did not meet her eye.
“As far as I know, my lord,” she replied. “I expect to hear from Jane any day.”
“Ah, yes, of course,” he said. Darcy – Matlock – was clearly distracted and unless Elizabeth misread his expression entirely, he was upset.
“Has the weather kept you from your business, my lord?”
“It has interfered,” he replied, but did not elaborate.
“My condolences,” she said at length. “I hope the storm ends soon, for both our sakes.”
“Do you?” he asked, standing suddenly and staring down at her. “Do you truly hope that?”
Startled into stuttering, Elizabeth answered, “I- I do.”
“Because I began to suspect you’d been rather enjoying your stay here at Byrne Hill.”
“I am, my lord,” she said, her confusion rampant.
“Precisely how much has that enjoyment to do with young Mr. Henry Charleton?”
Elizabeth rose to her feet slowly.
“I beg your pardon, my lord,” she said slowly. “Are you suggesting--”
“I am asking you directly,” he said.
Fitzwilliam Darcy Page 12
