by Meg Osborne
Georgiana pushed her chair back, noisily, from the table and stood, gaining energy as she spoke.
“I never blamed you for parting me and Wickham. In fact, I spent much of the time after that blaming myself for the tangle, thinking I ought to have known better, ought not to have been so easily led. I thought you blamed me too, and had determined to avoid me because you could not stand to look at me. Then I discover that you have hurried into a marriage with a woman you made no attempt to hide your disdain for on account of some misplaced sense of propriety!” She laughed, a harsh, angry sound that made Darcy recoil. “We all see how miserable it has made you - and how miserable you have made the rest of the people that live here by bringing Caroline Bingley as your wife. If this is the future I have to look forward to by being becoming and proper you may keep it, brother. I have no intention of sacrificing my happiness!”
With a look towards him that was pure loathing, Georgiana stormed out of the room, pulling the door closed behind her with a slam.
Chapter Ten
The slam of the door ended Darcy’s dream in an instant and jerked him back to the present. He was in his bed again - his own bed, in the London town-house, not Pemberley - and alone, not surrounded by guests.
This time he wished for light, for he had failed to chase the spectres of his dreams away. He reached, with shaking hand, for a candle and with some difficulty lit it. The dark receded, just a fraction, taking with it the immediate effects of this last dream. Did Georgiana really hate him so very much, or was this a shadow-sister, a version of her that his subconscious had created to torment him? And to what end?
He ran a hand through his hair and willed his heart-rate to slow. A glance at the fob-watch which sat on the low table by his bed told him it had been but a few hours in all since he had first arrived home that evening, yet he had travelled miles and months in dreams. He felt as if the world as he knew it had spun on its axis. Elizabeth deceived by Wickham. Himself forced into marrying Caroline Bingley - and surely the dreadful vision of Pemberley was only a foretaste of what the future held in store for him if he ever did make so foolish a decision as to marry a woman he could barely stand. And Bingley! Entrapped into a marriage with a woman so unequal to him in character that she sought to ruin him. Darcy frowned. The Annabelle Parker of his dream had been Bingley’s equal in social standing and background, yet his friend was miserable. It might have been fantasy only, but surely some truth was there, hidden in plain sight if only he could deduce it.
Everything stemmed from his decision to leave Hertfordshire: to separate Bingley from Jane Bennet. If they had stayed in Hertfordshire, Bingley would likely be well on the way to reaching an agreement. He might be able to warn Elizabeth Bennet about Wickham’s true nature - yet why did he feel the need?
“I would not want any young lady to fall victim to George Wickham,” he murmured aloud. Yet even that was not the true root of his unhappiness. He had felt that far earlier in the dream: when dream-Elizabeth had spoken so cuttingly of him. If her true opinion of him was anything close to the one the spectral version of her had expressed then he would be sorry indeed. He was not perfect, but did he truly deserve so harsh an assessment?
“Yes,” he acknowledged, falling back against his pillow. “Yes, and again yes.” He had acted proudly and unjustly towards her and towards her family, and had no excuse to offer. He had thought himself better than her - better than almost everyone he came across in Hertfordshire, whereas Bingley had been pleasant and agreeable to all, seeing friends and potential family where Darcy saw only those who would ingratiate themselves for their own ends. And when had Elizabeth Bennet ever sought to ingratiate herself with him? If anything, she did the opposite: and was pitched to do everything in her power to rile him. Yet now...he almost felt as if he missed her combative spirit. How dreary it was to be faced with simpering Annabelle Parkers or snide Caroline Bingleys for companionship, who offered no opinion save for a reflection of his own, and could offer no wit or humour to a conversation that was not merely the repetition of unkind gossip.
And Jane Bennet! How could he have been so convinced of her cunning? She was no Caroline Bingley, and it was plain from one glance, had he ever truly spared it, that the affections Charles felt for Jane Bennet were returned in full, if concealed, as spoke of her good character.
Sleep eluded him then, and he knew he would not return to it that evening. He threw off his bedclothes and moved to stand, fumbling in the shadowy dark for a robe, which he pulled on as a barrier to the biting winter air.
I must think. He paced as he thought, feeling with every step the solid ground beneath his feet, with every brisk lungful of cold air how glad he was to be present in this reality, and able to prevent the potential futures spelt out in dreams from coming to pass.
There is but one solution, and I can only hope it is not too late.
He went to the window, throwing open the drapes and squinting out into the darkness. Dawn would not be for some hours yet.
Well, then I will wait for the dawn. And as soon as it is light, I will set my plan in motion...
Chapter Eleven
“You wish to return to Hertfordshire?”
It was still early when Darcy called on Charles and Caroline, yet fortunately, they were both at breakfast and welcomed him to join them. He had taken a cup of tea, but no food, for he was anxious and could not countenance a morsel of food until he had spoken his plan to them and gained their agreement. Well, Charles’ agreement. He felt certain his friend would be only too happy to return with him, in spite of whatever protest Caroline was certain to mount.
“But we have only just left that dreary place!” she began, her voice already taking on a whining tone which might have been more effective, had it not been muffled by chewing.
“We left too hastily, too quickly. Surely you agree, Charles?”
“Well...”
Charles glanced at Caroline for confirmation, but Darcy commanded his attention.
“You left because we told you we must, and for that I am sorry. I confess it was not without art. I and -” he paused, wondering what would be gained him by incriminating Charles’ sister in the scheme, however much her actions had set it in motion. He still smarted from the memory of dream-Georgiana pitched so adamantly against him, and could not bring himself to upset the union of another brother and sister merely to ease the burden of guilt on himself.
“I made the decision,” he said, quickly glancing at Caroline, and away again, for she was looking at him with a combination of confusion, horror and fury that he could not bear to witness. “For reasons I must confess now were utterly wrong-headed. I wished to remove you from the influence of those I thought intended you harm. I see now how utterly misguided I was.”
“Those who intended me harm?” Charles quoted his own words back to him. “Dear me, Darcy, do I have so very many enemies?”
“No,” he said, honestly. “It is far worse. You have friends who think they know what is in your best interests.” Bowing his head slightly, he hurried out a muddled confession of his intention to separate Charles from Jane Bennet, on account of his suspicion that she sought to entrap him into marriage. “I felt certain she did not care for you - could not possibly match your feelings for her - and rather wished to wed you for your wealth instead of any real affection. You are the finest fellow I know, Charles, and deserve more than that from your marriage.”
“You deduced all this from observing us at a dance?”
“My own observation and overhearing an unfortunate comment from another guest.” Darcy grimaced. “Eavesdropping has never yet worked in my favour, either overhearing or being overheard. I hereby resign from it entirely. But I confess I was goaded into action on account of hearsay, and upon reflection, I think it entirely misguided.”
“And what has occurred to change your mind so abruptly and completely?”
Caroline Bingley had found her voice at last, setting down her meal to regard Darcy with a
glare.
“Has Jane Bennet written to you directly to implore you to return my brother to her clutches?”
“Caroline!” Bingley was shocked to hear such an unkind assessment fall from his sister’s lips, and Darcy was amused to see the shade of red that Caroline turned as she attempted to control her anger.
“I have received no letters,” Darcy admitted. “But I did have an unsettled night.” He had considered telling all about his dreams, and had even set them down on paper so that he might remember the details that most caused him to repent and change his views. As the sun rose and he read through the notes once more he thought better of the plan, however, fearing his friend would think him gone mad or turned a drunkard. He had stowed the notes safely in his case, and instead constructed a simpler explanation for his change of heart.
“I was awake with the dawn, reflecting on our decision to leave and the evening that precipitated it, and I was forced to acknowledge that I acted in haste and with good intentions but altogether unnecessarily. We were happy at Hertfordshire, were we not? And Netherfield is still yours for a time. Why not return there, and enjoy Christmas as we originally intended, with riding and shooting and peace and quiet.”
As if to illustrate his point, a carriage rattled down the street outside, and the noise of a shout broke through the quiet of the breakfast table.
“I see your true intention,” Bingley said, at length, in a tone of voice that was either annoyed or amused, Darcy could not quite tell which. “You merely wish to avoid being forced to attend any more parties this Christmas!”
Darcy laughed, feeling that with that one comment his battle was won.
“You are right, Charles. Give me solitude, that is the one gift I ask for, this festive tide.”
“Pemberley!” Caroline screeched at last.
Both gentlemen turned to look at her.
“If you desire solitude then why not remove to Pemberley? There you might have it all! Peace and quiet. Land to roam in. And Georgiana, dear Georgiana. She will be most content to meet you, will she not?”
“My sister is not at Pemberley at present,” Darcy said, calmly. “She has been lately calling on my aunt in Kent, and I have taken the liberty of writing to invite her to join us at Netherfield.” He pulled a note from his pocket and consulted Charles with a raised eyebrow. “If you do not mind it?”
“Of course not!” Charles beamed. “Yes, indeed, she must come. Will she have time to travel and be with us for Christmas?”
“I shall send this straight away and do not doubt she will be with us before very long at all.” His smile was genuine. “She has been agitating to come to Hertfordshire since first hearing we were there, and it is so long since we have spent any time together.”
“Then we must make haste and hurry back ahead of her!” Charles said, throwing his napkin into the air in celebration. “Are you packed, Darcy? Come, Caroline! We must gather our belongings. I cannot wait to see the look of astonishment on Miss Bennet’s face when we call on her! She will imagine us gone and then surprise! We shall appear again. What a fine time we shall have all together for Christmas.”
DARCY FELT A WEIGHT lift from his shoulders as the busyness of London gave way to the rolling green countryside of Hertfordshire. He was doing the right thing, he felt sure, despite the showdown with Caroline Bingley that had occurred moments before they left. He grimaced, recalling the way she had railed at both he and Charles for their insistence on returning to Netherfield immediately.
“Well, I certainly do not intend on joining you!” she cried, with a toss of her glossy head. “How can you dream of uprooting so close to Christmas? And trading all that London has to offer for...Hertfordshire.” Her words had dripped with disdain.
“Caroline, dear, you know Darcy is not fond of London society at the best of times, and I confess even I would prefer a little peace and quiet this year!” Charles had attempted to placate his sister in promising to throw another party upon their return or perhaps inviting some particular friends of hers to accompany them to Netherfield for the festivities. Both of these suggestions had been met with a dismissive snort, and eventually, even Charles’ sanguine temper had begun to fray. “Well, Caroline I am sorry to part with you, and I shan’t make you come with us, but I certainly do not intend to stay here and be miserable all Christmas. The house is plenty populated enough to credit your staying alone, and I am sure you will find adequate company amongst our friends and family. We might reunite in the new year if you see fit to return to Netherfield. As it stands, it is the property I have taken and I ought not to leave it uninhabited for so long a stretch.”
Even Darcy had been surprised to see Charles so firmly sticking to his guns, and fancied that, had he not been beside him, had the very suggestion of returning to Hertfordshire not been suggested and encouraged by him, that Bingley may well have folded under the opposition of his sister.
Speed, then, became of the essence, for to delay would mean capitulation. Hurrying Charles into the carriage, they had departed London before the hour was out, and both men had fallen into companionable quiet, each watching the passing of the scenery and nursing his own thoughts.
“Jolly good plan, this, Darcy,” Charles remarked, as they reached what could definitely be referred to as Hertfordshire. “Never did care for London much. I wouldn’t have gone in the first place, had Caroline not concocted some spurious reason for our immediate return.”
“Oh?” Darcy turned. He had never known what Charles’ reasons for beating a hasty retreat to London had been, only been reassured by Caroline that his heart was set on departing, and being only too happy to facilitate the move, if it meant preventing what he had thought of as a very unwise match between his friend and Jane Bennet.
“She claimed Uncle Edward was unwell and wrote to request our company.” He laughed. “Poor fellow has never been fitter in his life, and whilst he was thrilled to see us and welcomed us with open arms certainly had never written demanding we visit.” He shook his head. “My sister is altogether too fond of an opportune falsehood if it secures her will being done. I don’t mind telling you it is not a trait that is becoming.” He paused. “Don’t say as much to anyone, though, will you Darcy? You know I think aloud when I talk to you. I oughtn’t to speak so freely about my sister.”
“I shall say nothing of it,” Darcy promised, feeling somewhat convicted by his own role in Charles’ rapid relocation.
“I certainly was surprised to see you so determined to accompany us!” Bingley paused, his pleasant features folding into a frown. “I hope you were not unhappy at Netherfield.”
“Tis on my account we return there now, is not it?” Darcy asked, with a sly grin.
“Right! Indeed it is.” Charles smiled happily. “Then I can only imagine you returned to London in support of me, and for that I thank you. It credits me with still more evidence of what a great friend you are.”
Darcy groaned, low in his throat. He did not feel a great friend: for, intentional or otherwise, he had been complicit in creating this situation, and if his dreams were as prophetic as they had felt to him that morning, he would not consider himself a friend to Charles Bingley until he managed, somehow, to right the wrong.
“Look! Who are those ladies walking, do you think/”
Darcy felt a strange certainty, even before Bingley spoke again, that he knew precisely who at least one of the figures would be, and did not need to look to confirm his suspicions. Indeed, it was almost precisely the moment he thought of her that his friend spoke the name aloud.
“Why it is Miss Bennet! Miss Elizabeth Bennet, at any rate, and another lady I do not recognise. Here, Darcy, shall we not slow the carriage and see if we might be of some service to them?”
“Perhaps - perhaps they would prefer to walk,” Darcy said, feeling his courage fail now that he was faced with the spectre of Elizabeth Bennet in the flesh once more. He could remember all too clearly the anger of her words when she discussed him with Mr
Wickham and forced himself to recall that he had no knowledge if she had ever actually spoken thus. It was a dream, nothing more. Even so, he did not relish the thought of seeing her again, so suddenly, and yet it was his own hand, not Bingley’s, that lowered the carriage window, and his own voice that hailed the two figures, almost before he was even aware of doing so.
“Miss Elizabeth! Good afternoon!”
“Mr Darcy?”
Darcy was quite certain that he had never seen Elizabeth Bennet so discomposed as she appeared at that moment. No, not even when she traipsed into Netherfield with six inches of mud coating her petticoat and demanded, soaked to the skin and breathless from exertion, to see her sister. Even then she had maintained her poise, the utter confidence she seemed to exude even surrounded by other people at a ball when he himself felt so out of his depth. Now, though, she was surprised, and he found himself smiling, amused to see the effect of such an emotion on her dainty features, the way her dark eyes widened in acknowledgement of the carriage and the two gentlemen it contained.
“And Mr Bingley? Surely - I believed you had gone to London?”
“Indeed, we did!” Bingley laughed. “Here, let us stop a moment.” The carriage had slowed with the wordless instruction of a thump on the roof, and now the driver slowed further, to a stop.
“And what, you found it wanting for excitement?” Elizabeth’s eyes sparkled, and she was herself once more, in control and poised to answer any observation with humour. Darcy felt the amused smile slip off his features and struggled to remain impassive.
“Alas, it possessed rather too much excitement for Darcy and myself.” Bingley beamed. “And so we are retreating to Netherfield where we might enjoy some peace and quiet.” He paused. “Yet it is providential we should be passing at the very moment you are taking a walk. Here, might we offer you a ride back to Longbourn? It is on our way, after all.”
