by Lory Lilian
“If you will be so kind as to excuse me now, sir, I have to join my sisters and spend a little time with them. Lydia will leave tomorrow, and I have hardly spoken to her at all.”
The rest of the evening, Elizabeth could do nothing but consider the extraordinary information she had discovered. That night, she wrote a long letter to her aunt, asking for all the details of Mr. Darcy’s presence and his meetings with Mr. Wickham. The letter was sent the next morning, and Elizabeth began to count the hours until Mrs. Gardiner’s reply might arrive.
***
A week after the Wickhams left, Mrs. Philips barged into the house, her impatient voice resounding in every corner. Netherfield was re-opened, and Mr. Bingley was expected back, together with a large party of friends.
From that time, Jane began to blossom. She would not admit that her changed state had anything to do with the long-expected return of a certain neighbour, but her beauty and the light in her eyes spoke more than her words. Jane was happy and hopeful and so was Elizabeth —not for herself but for her sister. If Mr. Bingley had decided to return, then Jane must be the reason for his decision. At least she would be happy.
Mr. Bingley’s party finally arrived, and the news reached Longbourn just before dinner; Mrs. Bennet’s agitation was unbearable, and dinner turned into a noisy argument. Mr. Bennet strongly resisted his wife’s demand that he visit Mr. Bingley first thing the next morning. His refusal made Mrs. Bennet more impatient, and her nerves overwhelmed her appetite while she insisted—with no success—that Jane and Elizabeth support her demand.
As she did so many times before during those weeks, Elizabeth resisted sleep that night. She wondered continually about the identity of the other members of the Netherfield party, and she dared not allow hope to envelop her heart. Even if he had come with the others, surely his intentions toward her had utterly changed. No matter how strong his feelings for her at Pemberley, they could never overcome a sentiment as natural as abhorrence for a relationship with Wickham! Every kind of pride must revolt at the connection. No, there was no hope that her mind could admit.
The next morning, Elizabeth woke with the sun after several hours of restless sleep. She needed fresh air to breathe and solitude for her memories.
As she left the house, her steps took her along old and well-known paths until her home was far behind and the beautiful prospect of Netherfield appeared before her. She stared at the big house until her eyes hurt, though she knew it was not possible actually to see anyone. Upset with her own foolishness, she turned and walked back as quickly as she could.
She closed her eyes as the wind caressed her face and took off her bonnet, allowing the breeze to play in her hair. Her soul was still heavy, and her heart still a prisoner of her grief—but at least she could breathe. And she could dream in the daylight, a dream so real that she could feel his presence behind her; she was still convinced she was dreaming when she heard his voice softly calling her name.
“Miss Bennet…I have been walking in the grove some time in the hope of meeting you.”
Chapter 10
Three weeks had passed since Colonel Fitzwilliam left her home following his astonishing proposal, and Lady Cassandra could scarcely believe it happened. Colonel Fitzwilliam—to have such deep feelings toward her and actually propose to her?
Not for a moment did she doubt his words; not for a moment did she presume he only pretended to possess tender feelings for her to induce her into matrimony. She knew him to be a deeply honourable man, and she trusted him enough to be certain he would never try to deceive her. He would never declare a love he did not possess. But to love her? After all those years? After a lifetime of friendship? How could that be?
The more she thought about it, the more her turmoil increased and the more she fought the undeniable evidence; her heart was not stone even if she wished it to be. Or at least it had not hardened in front of the younger Fitzwilliam son.
Yes, it was a lifetime of friendship, but not the kind of friendship she and Darcy had shared.
She had not met David Fitzwilliam as much or as often as she had met Darcy nor had she spent more than a couple of months of each year on the same estate. However, when they met and were in each other’s company, he had always been the one who knew how to treat her and make her stubbornness as a spoiled girl disappear instantly. Even when she was very young, no one—not her governess, her parents whom she loved deeply, the Darcys whom she cared for as much as her parents, or even her best friend, the young Fitzwilliam Darcy— succeeded in their attempts to temper her, control her, or scold her without opposition in the manner David Fitzwilliam could do. He was the only one she listened to without argument when she was a child; he seemed always to know what she should be allowed to do without putting herself in danger or feeling restricted. And she had always accepted his advice.
Lady Cassandra smiled again at the remembrance of her childhood. Oh dear, my poor, beloved mama—what she had to go through with me. She shook her head in a tender scolding against her past behaviour and went to the wall where the miniatures of her parents smiled at her. She caressed the pictures with trembling fingers as she wiped her tears. Even now, all these years later, she still could not think of her parents without being overwhelmed by emotion.
She had been a difficult child—she knew that—and all because her parents and their friends the Darcys were overly kind and indulgent with her. Fathers did not involve themselves in their small children’s education, especially the girls; her father and the late Mr. Darcy were no exception. If they were preoccupied with anyone’s education, their interest seemed to be the young Fitzwilliam. Now she understood that, in all likelihood, both fathers shared the hope that she and Darcy would someday marry, and he would take the responsibility of both estates. She often felt neglected and a bit envious of her dear friend for all the attention he received.
However, she really could not complain about a lack of attention from either parent. Her father had two weaknesses—his wife and his daughter — and Cassandra learned that fact early and took every advantage a child could gain from it.
Sometimes, her parents did not allow her to do things that could prove dangerous for a little girl; on the other hand, they never forced her to do anything she did not wish to do. She had grown free and unrestrained by anything except a good, healthy education based on fair principles, applied with the generosity she inherited from both her parents. Some people might have called her a wild girl, and Lady Catherine de Bourgh did so — many times.
When Cassandra was seven, her parents offered her a beautiful horse instead of her old pony but did not allow her to ride with her much older friends—young Darcy and the Fitzwilliam siblings. She had cried, feeling disappointed and certain everybody was unfair to her, and she refused a meal that day.
A couple of days later, Lord Russell presented her a compromise: she could ride with the boys only if she remained close to David Fitzwilliam, who was seven years older than she and kindly offered to supervise her. She immediately argued that she was an excellent rider and did not need supervision, but David, with his happy disposition and ready smile, assured her they trusted her riding abilities, but they did not trust the horse well enough and wanted to be certain the animal would behave. That seemed a reasonable explanation, and she accepted it happily.
From that moment, Cassandra concluded that David Fitzwilliam was—next to her friend Darcy—the nicest and the wisest young man in the whole of England, and she retained that opinion until she turned seventeen and things changed for her.
From the age of eleven, she rarely saw David Fitzwilliam who, like Darcy, had been sent away to school. She saw him once when Lady Anne passed away and twice in the next few years. He joined the army, and she heard little about him; Darcy mentioned him from time to time in the regular letters he sent her.
She met David Fitzwilliam again the year she turned seventeen; her mother had arranged a sumptuous ball for her coming out.
Lady Lav
inia was much more excited about the event than Cassandra herself and certainly more pleased with it. Cassandra did not wish to have a ball; she did not truly wish to be “out” either. She was content to spend time with her family and the Darcys, riding through the fields and playing with Georgiana. Who needed to be “out”? Not she, that was certain!
However, her mother wanted the ball, so she did everything she could to appear pleased with it. In truth, however, she felt bothered and nervous about the ball. She did not know many people among the guests and did not feel comfortable in the midst of so many strangers.
When David Fitzwilliam had approached her, she had been startled with surprise and relief. He looked utterly different in his uniform, different than she had last seen him and different from the other gentlemen in the room.
He stayed with her and Darcy for quite some time, asked her about everything that happened during the past years, and declared more than once that he would certainly not have recognised her if they had met by chance, and that she had grown into a beautiful young lady.
She remembered how she had blushed at every word and was shocked by her own reaction. She knew she behaved childishly, and she was afraid she had made a fool of herself. As for David, he had acted as always: friendly, open, and kindly. He was not flirting with her, no indeed; even she—with her lack of experience in the matter—could tell that. He simply stated his opinion of her, about how she looked and about the entire event.
And then, with his friendly voice and open smile, he had asked her for the favour of the first set. For the first time in her life, Cassandra had felt her stomach turn into an icy hole and her heart race wildly. Furious with herself and fighting to understand what was happening to her, she had managed to formulate a reasonable acceptance.
The dance—the whole evening—had been lovely; David, together with Darcy, offered her his full attention, being discreetly around her all the time. She had felt better than ever and, as the hours had passed, had begun to realise that what she was feeling in David’s presence was different from anything she had experienced before. Her gaze followed him around the room, and when their eyes met, he smiled at her. From time to time, he had sneaked near her and whispered something, making her laugh and blush. He had asked her for yet another set, and during supper, he talked to everybody around him but had turned to look at her more than once and even winked at her in a barely noticeable gesture. Yes, at her coming out ball, Lady Cassandra’s innocent heart had been touched for the first time.
The next morning, after barely sleeping from excitement, she allowed herself countless speculations. She admitted that David had turned into a handsome and charming gentleman and that she enjoyed his company exceedingly. She also had been certain he was not indifferent to her, either. And she remembered that, as the second son of an earl, he must be careful in his choice of a wife. What better choice than herself, the heiress of a great fortune from a noble, titled family? That indeed should have been a marriage to the advantage of both.
However, her dreams shattered painfully the next day when she saw David at the theatre in the intimate company of a young countess who was a recent widow.
He was staying in the countess’s box, which was quite near her family’s, and he behaved as he had at the ball: he came to greet them, complimented Cassandra for the ball and whispered to her that everyone in Town was talking of her, and all the eligible bachelors were vying for her attention. He added that he was as proud of her as he would be of his own sister. Then he returned to the countess with whom he had indeed been flirting, and there was no doubt about the intimate nature of their relationship.
That night and for many nights that followed, Cassandra had wet her pillow with the bitter tears of her dashed, first romantic hopes. For a few months, she avoided seeing David Fitzwilliam as much as she could; then, finally, her mind and senses overcame her disappointed heart, and she understood that her sudden and strange change of feeling could not force his to change as well.
He had remained the same as he ever was—her dependable, trusted friend—and he would no more consider a marriage arrangement with her than she would want a marriage with Darcy. It was a fact she learned to accept, forcing herself not to allow it to affect their friendship.
Later that year when her mother passed away, David Fitzwilliam had come for the funeral, and his warm, gentle embrace gave her nothing but comfort and a sense of safety. He was there to take care of her, protect her if need be, and offer her support and friendship.
His help was much needed not long after that when Lady Cassandra’s soul—and the wonderful world of her childhood—disappeared forever with the death of Lord Russell. From that moment, she remained alone in the world. She had cried for days, allowing no one around her except Darcy and David Fitzwilliam, who spent more than two weeks at Pemberley, precisely to be close to her; he told her as much. Darcy and David—her closest friends in the world.
And now, after all these years, David comes to profess his love for her and to ask her to marry him! Now, when she had put all her past feelings for him aside before they managed to blossom—now, after all that had happened in the last four years; now, when she could not possibly marry him. Her world broke into thousands of small pieces again, and so did her heart!
Thank heavens she had left London—and him—behind. She was in Hertfordshire now and looking from the window of her room as Darcy rode along the hill, his horse moving at a quick pace. She smiled; she knew where he was going.
***
No—it was not a dream! He moved slowly toward Elizabeth as she moved toward him, her eyes captured by his, her steps tentative, her face pale, and her dry lips slightly opened. She heard his soft, tender voice—the voice to which she had become accustomed while she was at Pemberley—but her mind could barely understand the meaning of his words. He said something about walking out to meet her. Should she answer? And what was she to answer? He came closer and closer; she was already aware of his scent and the warmth of his nearness, and he kept moving forward—so she stopped.
“Mr. Darcy…” did she truly say the words? She was not sure, as she did not hear them. He moved a step closer.
“Sir, I did not know…I did not expect to see you here at this hour.”
“I am sorry; I did not mean to disturb you.”
“No, no…you did not disturb me…it was just…” It was just that I was thinking of you, and you just appeared. Could it be my thoughts that brought you here? The unsaid words made her cheeks redden; suddenly, her knees seemed unable to support her.
“Miss Bennet, are you unwell?” Without waiting for her answer, he instantly placed his hands on her upper arms to support her. The gesture only made her dizzier.
“I am well, thank you.” She did not dare to lift her head, as he was so close that she could feel his breath. She suddenly remembered her manners and, with her head still down, almost leaning against his chest, tried to proceed politely. “Have you travelled safely to Hertfordshire, sir?”
“Yes, we travelled uneventfully, thank you. We arrived yesterday, late in the afternoon.” His hands were still resting on her arms.
“Yes, I have heard that…I mean, I have heard that Mr. Bingley was expected to return but…I did not suppose you would join him. Is Georgiana still at Pemberley, sir? I hope she is well.”
“No, she is here as are Lady Cassandra and Mr. and Mrs. Hurst. Only Miss Bingley remains in Town.”
“You brought Georgiana, too?” she cried, her surprise making her forget the proper tone.
“Yes, I did.” They were so close to each other that their heads were almost touching. “Miss Bennet, are you displeased with our presence here?”
His voice was no stronger than hers was, and its slight tremble of uncertainty drove her finally to look at him. Did he think she was displeased to see him?
“I am not at all displeased, sir, only…I did not believe it possible that you would return to the neighbourhood after— She stopped and blushed in
embarrassment, angry with herself for perhaps saying too much. She was still not certain about his involvement in the unhappy situation that ended with Lydia’s wedding. “My sister Lydia married Mr. Wickham last week.”
Darcy’s countenance changed a little. “I am aware of that. I met Wickham and Miss Lydia in Town a few times while I visited Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner.”
His eyes were still fixed on her face, and she noticed a trace of worry in them. Daringly, she continued.
“Yes, I heard as much, and I cannot tell you how surprised I was. I imagined there was a very important matter that brought you to town so unexpectedly. When I left, you were at Pemberley among your friends.”
“It is true, you left me at Pemberley,” he answered, the emotion in his voice impossible to hide. Suddenly realizing what he said, he withdrew his hands and took a few steps away from her.
Elizabeth remained still, only her eyes following his agitated pacing. After a few minutes, she could no longer continue to witness his turmoil. “I am sorry I left Pemberley so suddenly, sir. I know it was our duty as guests to leave you a note at least, but I thought it was better for us to depart as soon as possible. Please do not blame my aunt or my uncle; it was my decision and my insistence to do so; I am the only one to blame.”
He turned to her and met her eyes again. “You are not to blame for anything, Miss Bennet; please forgive my improper words. I only admired you for your decision even more…when I understood it properly.”
His confession took her utterly by surprise, and she was speechless for a moment; her fingers felt cold, and they trembled.
“Sir, please allow me to thank you for your undeserved kindness to my poor sister. My gratitude cannot be expressed in proper words. Without your help we would never—
He frowned and averted his eyes. “Miss Bennet, I shall not deny my assistance in discovering Wickham, but my help meant nothing compared to your uncle’s efforts. Please let us not talk of that further, else we should talk first of my earlier fault in not exposing Wickham publicly. If he was able to elope with a young girl such as Miss Lydia, I must share the blame.”
