A Visit to Scotland

by Meg Osborne

  Just an hour or two more, and we will be together, she promised herself. I only hope we will not be unwelcome...

  Chapter Six

  Darcy still had not heard from his wife. Even with the distance, the letter had to travel, he longed for a reply. Receiving none, he felt still more alone and wondered if Elizabeth, now, punished him for his angry dismissal upon their parting. Their friendship, their marriage, was still so new that he feared such a separation could not serve them well and cursed his fierce temper yet again for their leaving on anything other than good terms. He had attempted to smooth it over at the time, but it had been a poor effort, for he was not adept in speaking of his true feelings, as his wife was. If only she were here!

  And then, it was as if his thoughts had conjured her before him, for he saw some sprite of her bearing and colouring not a hundred feet yonder, walking beside a man who strode along with purpose, pausing only to question people as they passed. He blinked. Another lady trailed behind, tall, like the gentleman, but dark-haired like his own Elizabeth. He blinked again. It was his own Elizabeth, with Charles Bingley and Caroline, the latter being all proof he needed that this was not a dream but reality. His lonely mind would never have conjured up a spectral Caroline Bingley, though it may have taunted him with images of his wife.

  “Bingley!” he called, striding towards the small party at a pace. “Elizabeth - it cannot be -”

  “Darcy!” Charles’ relief was tangible, even before he grasped his friend’s hand and squeezed it warmly. He retreated almost as quickly, allowing Darcy to greet his wife, which he did, dropping an affectionate, if confused, kiss on her cheek.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Do you mind it?” Elizabeth was shy, suddenly looking away as if she feared to meet his gaze. Darcy contrived to catch her eyes with his own.

  “Mind it? I can hardly believe it to be true.” He reached a hand to hers, threading their fingers together covertly, grateful to assure himself of her physical presence. He repeated his exclamation in a lower tone. “What are you doing here?”

  “A fine question,” Caroline Bingley offered, her voice sharp and her feelings undoubtedly hurt at being thus far overlooked by the gentleman they came to see.

  “Miss Bingley.” Darcy released Elizabeth’s hand and turned to bow a formal greeting to her friend. “I am grateful to you in accompanying my wife so far north. Truly, I am indebted to both you and your brother. Come, you must be weary from travelling. Let us take some refreshments, and you must tell me all of your journeys, and what contrived to bring you here.”

  “You may well ask!” Bingley laughed, as he offered his arm to his sister, and Elizabeth’s hand nestled familiarly into the crook of Darcy’s elbow. “And the answer walks alongside you. Elizabeth was perturbed, for, wanting to be by your side as any bride might in times of trial, she found herself without an escort, and it was the least I - we -” he cast a deferential glance towards his sister. “The least we could do to oblige.”

  They reached the inn and Darcy secured them a table in a quiet corner where they might speak freely without fear of being overheard. Thus seated, he turned once more to Elizabeth.

  “You came all this way.”

  “I could hardly sit still and wait for news,” Elizabeth said, fidgeting in her seat as if to underline her point. “Tell me, have you found them?”

  Darcy glanced surreptitiously towards Charles, who feigned ignorance, and Caroline, who was only too eager to hear his response. His friend, sensing Darcy’s discomfort, muttered some suggestion to Caroline that they enquire about some refreshments, and Darcy addressed Elizabeth directly.

  “Perhaps we might take another turn about the square, Mrs Darcy, and allow brother and sister some respite from their travels, for surely they have earned the right to a rest!”

  Bingley smiled, and accepted, suggesting that they would order food upon the Darcys return, and enjoy a few moments’ peace until that time. Caroline was eager to accompany them, Darcy noted, but that her exhaustion was not merely feigned, but genuine, and she could barely summon the energy to suggest moving from her seat.

  He and Elizabeth escaped the inn for the quiet town square, and he turned to speak to her, but before he could open his mouth she began.

  “I am sorry for coming with such company,” Lizzy said quickly. He saw then that her agitation was only in part due to her anxiety for Anne. She fears my reaction! he realised, and reached a hand out quickly, laying it warmly over hers as if such a motion might set at rest her worry. “I know you will be angry with me for speaking of Anne’s misfortune, and I promise I did not do it lightly, nor - nor in any detail.” She chewed nervously on her lower lip. “Mr Bingley stumbled upon me quite by chance, and I was so disheartened after speaking with Colonel Fitzwilliam -”

  “You spoke with Richard?”

  Elizabeth nodded. “He was my first appointment: I felt sure he would be eager to follow you north and certain I could persuade him to allow me to accompany him.” She smiled, wryly. “In fact, I am quite sure he would have beaten us here, had Mary not insisted upon his staying at home and resting. I assured them that I would not dream of forcing him to travel when he was unwell and was just turning over my own desperate options - I was close to taking a carriage alone, though I know such an admission will shock you.” She shook her head ruefully. “Mr Bingley saved me from such a spectacle, insisting that he had business to see to in the north, an assertion I now know, if I did not at the time, was merely a ruse to permit him to be of some assistance to us.” Her voice dropped. “Are you very angry?”

  “Angry?” Darcy smiled. “At you? At Bingley, who is one of my best and oldest friends - and who would, I am sure, be here in my stead if he were needed.” He shook his head fiercely. “I am not angry: or if I am, it is entirely directed at myself. I was wrong to come alone, for as I would have realised, had I spared a moment to consider it, time was already against me. Even had I ridden with the wind I was already too late.” He hung his head, delivering the news as a hammer-blow, and unable to look at his wife as he did so. “They are married.”

  Elizabeth’s sharp intake of breath was the only evidence that she had heard and understood his words. They were silent a moment.

  “Then...what is there to be done?”

  “Little, although there is one option still open to me,” Darcy remarked, drily. “I have hesitated to act upon it yet, although the thought has tormented me since hearing of Anne’s flight...”

  “YOU CANNOT MEAN TO challenge Wickham to a duel?” Elizabeth cried, her hands flying to her lips in fear.

  “Certainly I can, certainly I do.” Darcy’s voice was little more than a growl. “I ought to have done so long ago when he trifled with Georgiana.” Pain flashed across his face. “Then, my desire was for secrecy, and calling a man out would make the matter more public than I cared to.” He set his jaw. “With Anne, there is no chance of secrecy. Indeed, he flaunts his behaviour, as if he were proud of it. He does it to mock me, I am sure. That Anne should be collateral in that man’s schemes is - is -”

  Elizabeth laid a hand gently over her husband’s, and he took strength from the gesture, swallowing the rest of his sentence and dismissing any further conversation with the slight shake of his head. Nonetheless, Elizabeth persevered.

  “Do you truly think fighting Wickham will resolve anything?” she asked, gently. “If he truly is goading you, he must want to witness some reaction: most likely the reaction you are giving him in becoming so enraged as to call him out in the first place. Surely, William, if he knows you as well as he claims to, he knows how you are likely to react in any such situation. Why give him the pleasure of doing as he desires, in this instance?”

  Lizzy was watching him carefully and could see that her words struck home. Darcy’s rigid stance softened, slightly. The frown receded a fraction.

  “I cannot do nothing -” he began.

  “I certainly do not suggest doing nothing!” Elizabe
th said, punctuating her words with a slight laugh. “In fact, the thing I suggest will be rather more difficult than pistols at twenty paces.” Her lips turned down at one corner, as she perceived her husband’s likely reaction to her suggestion. “I merely suggest you might - we might - talk to Mr Wickham.”

  “Talk?” Darcy scoffed. “Ah yes, the skill I so ably possess.” He smiled, wryly, and Elizabeth was encouraged to see the faintest glimmer of humour in her husband’s countenance. “If Wickham understands me as well as you presume he does then he will know I am not one for words. He could charm a snake out of its skin: I am no match for him where dialogue is concerned.”

  “Ah, but Husband, you forget. All is not as it was.” Her eyes flashed with determination. “When we married we became one person, under the law.” She raised an eyebrow. “And Mr Wickham is altogether less acquainted with my ability to speak well. You shall see, William, if I am not able to manage him somehow.”

  Darcy was poised to interrupt, to suggest a return to his first plan of action, and Elizabeth spoke to reassure him.

  “But, if you decide our conversation is nought but a distraction, a mode of entertainment for Mr Wickham at our expense, then I give you full and certain licence to do as you see fit.” She smiled, weakly. “Only promise me that you are a far better shot than he, William. For just having got you back, I could not bear to lose you again.” She was teasing, but there was a serious undercurrent to her words. She had read of duels in books; had heard rumours of such behaviour from her time in London. She had ever dreamed she would be discussing one so matter-of-factly with the man she had come to love almost as if he were her own flesh. She could not think of Darcy harmed: she would not. Setting her lips in a line, she decided that no matter what verbal thrust-and-parry Wickham endeavoured to use against them she would meet, and win. They must determine the truth of his intentions towards Anne. If the pair were truly married, there was little could be done to change that, but if Wickham himself could be reasoned with, all may yet not be lost. Lizzy remembered the version of Wickham she had met at Longbourn and determined to find whether any trace of that man still lingered in the figure of Anne de Bourgh’s new husband. Surely it had not all been a lie? Wickham was charming, yes, but could any man be so wedded to deceit that he might conceal his true self entirely?

  Almost unconsciously, she slid her hand through the crook of Darcy’s elbow, snuggling into his side.

  “Now, might we spare the time for a short walk before seeing to further refreshments? We have both of us travelled long to reach here, and it has been so long since we were together - truly ourselves.” She risked a glance at Darcy’s face and saw her hopeful smile reflected in his. Whatever rapport she had feared lost forever was not gone, merely shadowed by Darcy’s shock and disappointment at his cousin’s fate. He did not blame Elizabeth, no more than she blamed herself. She saw, now, that his anger was not directed at her, but at himself, for allowing Wickham free reign to harm yet another young woman.

  “It is not your fault, you know,” she whispered, meeting his gaze with her own. “This thing between Anne and Wickham...you could not have known. How could any of us have guessed their even being known to one another? Let alone that he had convinced her to elope? It is the sort of thing one reads about in books: not the sort of thing that happens in one’s own family. The coincidence -”

  “It was no coincidence,” Darcy said, flatly. “Wickham knew of my family connections. The name of de Bourgh is not so very common, and Anne said herself that Wickham had rejoiced in their connection through his “dear old friend Darcy”. No, her trouble now is at least partly my doing. I ought to have put a stop to Wickham’s mischief earlier, rather than trusting him to ever truly change.” He scowled. “I do not think it possible for such a vile - “ he stopped, shooting his wife a quick, tight smile. “But let us dwell no longer on my thoughts of George Wickham, for they will not serve either of us well and end only in annoyance for us both.” He patted Lizzy’s hand warmly and began to walk towards the door. “In truth, I regret leaving you behind, regardless of what I said in London.” He bit his lip, a momentary picture of penitence so real that Lizzy felt their reunion needed little in the way of words. They had both acted out of anxiety for Anne, there would be no need to apportion blame between them. “Tell me, have you been often in Scotland?”

  “Never.” Lizzy laughed.

  “Well, let me show you a tiny sliver of it.” Darcy smiled, wanly. “It is not an ideal circumstance for a visit north of the border, yet what in life is truly ideal? That you are here, that we are here, together, is a blessing I do not intend to ignore.”

  Chapter Seven

  “Come, Darcy, you need not be stoic with me. Now that the ladies are settled in their rooms - rooms far pleasanter than I expected from a countryside inn, I might add - let us speak truthfully. Have you seen Anne? How does she fare?”

  “Not here.” Darcy glanced over his shoulder, noting the practised disinterest of a fellow patron of the inn’s dining facilities. On his arrival in the small border town, Darcy had been so eager to seek information of Anne and Wickham’s whereabouts that he had not been particularly concerned who he spoke to of the matter, but now that he knew all, he preferred to keep his thoughts to himself, to ensure his cousin’s fate did not become idle gossip and, lately, to ensure his own words were not fed back to Wickham himself over the card table. “How are you rested, yourself, Charles? Might we walk?”

  Bingley insisted he was eager for some exercise, having spent much of the past days cooped up in a carriage, or on the box next to a driver, with his long legs folded beneath him, and the two men began at a pace that had them at the edge of the small town in minutes, soon surrounded by hills and with the purple ridges of mountains in the distance.

  “I have seen Anne,” Darcy said, returning to Charles’ question without the need of prompting. “And she seems well enough in spirit. She insists on her contentment with her decision, although she does at least regret their secrecy.” He groaned. “She insists she is happy.”

  Charles frowned.

  “You do not believe her?”

  Darcy shook his head.

  “I believe she thinks she is happy. At the moment perhaps she is, but how long that state of affairs may be relied upon, I do not know.” He did his best to summarize the conditions his cousin and her new husband were living in, illustrating the difference between Anne’s current state and her previous life.

  “It is not ideal...” Charles mused. “Might something not be done for them?”

  Darcy’s eyes flashed upwards, regarding his friend with suspicion.

  “What more might be done? I have attempted to appease Wickham before, in light of his misdeeds. It had little enough effect on his character if this latest scrape is anything to judge.”

  Charles sighed, turning his countenance away and regarding the distant mountains.

  “Perhaps you do not do it for Wickham. Your words, your worry, and Elizabeth’s too, has all been for Anne. So why not let your compassion for your cousin dictate your actions? If they are married -” he glanced at Darcy, whose barely perceptible nod indicated this was true. “If they are married, then there is no help for one that will not help the other.”

  Darcy snorted. He put rather less stock in helping Wickham than did his friend. What was to say, once he got hold of whatever money Darcy could quickly scrounge up for them, he would not disappear, abandoning Anne to her shame and her fate?

  “Have you spoken to the man?” Charles asked, watching Darcy’s reaction carefully.

  “He was there when I first called on Anne,” Darcy said, dismissively. “We have spoken a handful of times.”

  “Alone?”

  Darcy frowned.

  “What difference does that make?”

  “You said yourself, he is a master of deceit. You, knowing him, might recognise his falsehoods, but he is surely eager to display a certain persona to his new wife, even more so when you are
present. How, then, can you seek to determine his true intentions with Anne there? No, Darcy, you must speak to him alone, man to man.” Charles laid a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “And I will accompany you. Do not misunderstand me: I know you are angry with him, and I can see how dearly you would love to take the fellow’s head off, but that is not the way to handle such a man. Can you see what injury calling Wickham out would cause to your cousin?” He drew his lips into a line. “And think, Darcy, if the worst was to happen and Wickham be killed, t’would not solve anything, Anne would be left a widow, and still saddled with scandal, and no husband by her side to help her to bear it.”

  A small smile played about Darcy’s lips, as he regarded his friend.

  “Since when have you become so wise?”

  “Wise?” Charles shook his head. “You have called me many things, Darcy. I do not believe wise has ever been amongst them.”

  “And yet today I use the word freely. I am grateful, Charles, for your presence here, although I am sorry for the discomfort of travelling so far, so quickly.”

  “What discomfort?” His friend shrugged his shoulders, with a laconic half-smile. “It is not as if I had some special concern keeping me in London, now that Miss Bennet - that is, now that Christmas is over and done. I intended to come north in the new year, in any case, this is but a few extra miles, and that is hardly worth acknowledging when the need is so acute.”

  Darcy nodded, knowing that his friend would not thank him for any further show of gratitude or emotion.

  “I am glad you were able to accompany Elizabeth on such a journey.” His lips quirked. “And your sister, too.”

  At this, Bingley laughed, and Darcy was cheered by the sound.