Aside from you, dearest brother, there is but one man in the world I love. I believe him to be an angel, sent from Heaven by our dear father, who loved him almost as his own. Our attachment may appear sudden, but I assure you nothing could be further from the truth. I have loved him my entire life, I am certain of it. By now you surely have guessed his name, and I can no longer deny myself the pleasure of seeing it written here. Soon I shall be Mrs. George Wickham. Do you not remember our childhood game, Fitzwilliam? How George would make it his charge to coax a smile from me, no matter how low my mood? To this day, he has never failed. I am grinning most madly even as I write.
I should never be happy without him, nor he without me. Therefore, I see only wisdom in his desire to be married immediately. We are called to battle, each of us in our own way. George must away with the regiment to defend the Crown, and I am to face the lions of the London ton—a prospect no less terrifying to me than marching out to meet the armies of France. To be parted at this moment, not knowing when or how or if we should ever meet again—neither of us can bear the thought. Once we are married, we shall face everything together, united in the strength of our love. As dear George says with usual charm, that which is joined by God, Napoleon himself shall not put asunder. And as Mrs. George Wickham, I believe I may suffer presentation at court with some measure of self-possession, where Miss Georgiana Darcy would surely wither and faint.
Perhaps he is not the husband you would choose for me, brother. He has no title, no connections, no fortune. But I trust that you will understand my decision to value love above all such worldly considerations. I suspect you have prepared your own arguments to just this end. As fearsome as your reaction to this letter may be, I imagine it will pale in comparison to the wrath of Aunt Catherine when she learns you are to marry Miss Elizabeth Bennet! Do not deny it, Fitzwilliam—your attachment to the lady is obvious, and her admiration of you equally so. I am delighted for you beyond expression.
My dear brother, I have learned from your excellent example all my life. Your principles are always above reproach; your good opinion sought by all, but earned by few. If ever your behavior spoke a truer lesson to my heart, I cannot recall the instance. To see how insufficient are all the pretensions of pride and wealth to sway your affections from a woman truly worthy of your love—it has taught me to hope that you might greet my own love match with joy and not censure. Before long, you shall call George brother, and I shall call Miss Elizabeth sister, and in years to come we will all take tea on the veranda at Pemberley and watch our children playing and laughing together on the green. What happy times are before us!
I am heartily sorry for one thing, and that is that I shall miss the wedding of Mr. Bingley and Miss Bennet. Please convey to them my apologies and my sincere wishes for their felicity. Dear George wishes us to honeymoon by the sea, but I promise we shall return to town soon.
When next I write, I will sign a different name –but rest assured, dear brother, that I forever remain
Your devoted sister,
Georgiana
The shock that Elizabeth felt upon finishing this letter was quickly eclipsed by the weight of her own culpability in this dreadful turn of events. What had she done? She had endorsed Miss Darcy’s impulsive behavior on the day of their walk to Meryton and then allowed her to consort with this worst of scoundrels. When Mr. Darcy trusted his sister to her keeping last night, she had failed him utterly –for Elizabeth’s neglect must have afforded Wickham the opportunity to lure Miss Darcy to this ruinous assignation. Most perversely of all, to see her poorly concealed admiration of Mr. Darcy held up as an example, a justification of the whole sordid business!
Why had she not discerned the depths of Wickham’s malice toward Mr. Darcy from the moment of their introduction at Netherfield? Why, upon receiving confirmation of her suspicions, did she not decry his character to all of her acquaintance? Oh, and if only she had simply pressed Miss Darcy to play the pianoforte! She had let slip so many chances to thwart this wretched man and his scheme.
Perhaps chance would still play a role in Miss Darcy’s salvation, for it was fortunate indeed that she had written this letter, and furthermore that her brother had risen early to find it. With the regiment slated to depart this very morning, it might have been some time before anyone connected the two disappearances. As the situation stood now, the couple had only a few hours’ of coach travel to their advantage. Mr. Darcy would surely overtake them before they reached Stilton. As much as Elizabeth prayed such would be the case, the thought of Mr. Darcy confronting his sister’s would-be seducer chilled her. Wickham was desperate and dishonest—when trapped, she felt a cold certainty he could be dangerous as well.
She scanned the letter once more as she walked back toward Longbourn, searching for reason to expect a more pleasant outcome than her imagination foretold. Her only discovery, however, was the acute pain Mr. Darcy must have experienced at reading each innocently ominous line. I believe him to be an angel, sent from Heaven by our dear father… Poor, foolish girl, to be so deceived! In years to come we will all take tea on the veranda at Pemberley and watch our children playing and laughing together on the green … A vile image, indeed. Were the shades of Pemberley to be thus polluted?
George wishes us to honeymoon by the sea, she read as she reached the letter’s close.
“Oh yes,” Elizabeth muttered bitterly. “God forbid the villain should once more miss his seaside holiday!” She recalled his longing for the ‘bracing breezes of the sea’ when they had danced at Netherfield. I had planned a journey to Ramsgate this summer past, but circumstances necessitated its cancellation. What a tragedy for him, to be denied Ramsgate one year and Brighton the next! She kicked aside a small stone in the path, sending it skittering into the grass.
Then she halted in the lane, stone still. Ramsgate!
Miss Bingley’s words filtered to her consciousness from a memory many months past, in the Netherfield drawing room. What a disappointment for Miss Darcy, to take ill and miss traveling to Ramsgate. Then Wickham’s statement in the same home, scarcely a month later…
A sick sensation of alarm grew in Elizabeth’s stomach, and her heart pounded wildly as she attempted to force these memories into a coherent understanding. Miss Darcy was to have summered in Ramsgate, and there Wickham would have followed—undoubtedly by design. It seemed an inescapable conclusion that this morning’s elopement was not the product of reckless impulse, but the result of persistent calculation spanning many months, perhaps years. The uncertainty lay in the source of the scheming—was it only on Wickham’s side, or was Miss Darcy a willing conspirator? For Mr. Darcy’s sake, Elizabeth hoped desperately for the former. How he would bear such a betrayal from his sister, she could not imagine.
It was impossible to know how to apportion the blame, but in either case, Elizabeth felt one conclusion increasingly certain. Miss Darcy and Wickham were not bound for Gretna Green at all.
Wickham cared no more for Miss Darcy than he did for Kitty or Lydia, of this she was certain. Neither did she credit Mr. Darcy’s assumption that he sought only a large dowry. Certainly, he could have applied his charms to some rich widow or dimwitted heiress long ago. To Elizabeth’s mind, Mr. Wickham’s aim was revenge. He desired whatever he could obtain at the expense of Mr. Darcy’s fortune or family honor, and the seduction of Georgiana Darcy would deliver on both counts.
Then why would a man of such shrewdness delay a full year to accomplish this evil objective, only to follow the most predictable, well-worn route of lovers? Even with an advance of a day or better, a journey to Gretna Green by coach would consume the better part of a week. Considering the resources within Mr. Darcy’s power to dispatch, the couple’s chances of arriving in Scotland undiscovered would be slim at best.
Elizabeth hastily folded Miss Darcy’s letter, picked up her skirts, and sprinted the remaining distance to Longbourn. She entered Kitty and Lydia’s room to find both sisters still abed, no doubt dreaming girlis
h fantasies of soldiers and balls.
“Lydia!” Elizabeth hissed, shaking her sister firmly. “Lydia, wake up!”
Lydia turned over, shielding her eyes with her forearm. “Lord, Lizzy! Whatever can you want at this hour?”
“Does Mrs. Forster depart this morning for Brighton?”
Lydia yawned. “Yes, I suppose.” She rolled away from her sister and drew the coverlet over her head, but Elizabeth only shook her shoulder more violently.
“Lydia! You must rise at once! For you, most undeserving of all girls, this is a fortunate day. You may accompany Mrs. Forster to Brighton after all, but you must get out of bed immediately and send word to her. Quickly—write a note and tell her we will meet her in Meryton in an hour’s time.”
She went to the closet and retrieved a small valise, which she deposited at the foot of Lydia’s bed. “Pack only what you can carry the distance to Meryton. The rest of your things will be sent along later.”
By now, Lydia was sitting upright in bed and regarding her sister with incredulity. “I am permitted to go to Brighton? But if Papa has changed his mind, why did he not tell me so himself?”
Elizabeth drew out a fresh sheet of paper and placed it on the writing table. “Lydia, do you wish to go to Brighton?”
“Oh, yes!”
“Then do not waste time on stupid questions, but come here immediately and write to Mrs. Forster.”
Lydia reluctantly settled herself at the table and picked up the quill Elizabeth had prepared. Once the note was complete, Elizabeth took and folded it quickly. “Pack your things and be ready to depart in a half-hour’s time. I will knock for you, and we will walk to Meryton.”
Kitty had begun to stir in her own bed some minutes ago, but only now proved herself to be fully awake. “But why should you go, Lizzy? Mrs. Forster did not invite you as her particular friend! If anyone is to accompany Lydia, it ought to be me!”
“I shall chaperone Lydia only as far as London. Mama has word of a district in town where champagne may be had for the wedding breakfast, and I am to make inquiries.”
“Oh, it is wretchedly unfair, that Lydia should go and not me!” Kitty’s pout suddenly transformed into a sly smile. “But Lydia may go chase the officers all she wishes, and the laugh will be on her—for her favorite will not be among them!”
“What are you on about, Kitty?” Lydia asked.
“Only that Miss Darcy is the most fortunate lady in England. I shall be too envious of her to spare a moment’s jealousy for you!”
Lydia dismissed her sister’s cryptic comment and pondered her selection of bonnet instead, but Elizabeth sat on Kitty’s bed and grabbed her sister firmly by the shoulders.
“What do you know of Miss Darcy and Mr. Wickham?”
Kitty’s eyes grew wide in astonishment. “Less than you do, it would seem! Honestly, Lizzy—all I know of it is what Denny hinted. It is not wholly unexpected.” Kitty collapsed into giggles and dove beneath the bedclothes.
With effort, Elizabeth stifled the urge to buffet the quivering mass of sheets and coverlets with her fists. There were more important matters demanding her attention. She hurried to dispatch Hill to deliver Lydia’s letter, and then she returned to her room to write a hasty note of her own, to her father. His displeasure with the actions detailed therein would be profound, but Elizabeth resolved not to think on it at present. Her father’s feelings, while no less important to her than they had been the day before, were nonetheless no longer foremost in her consideration.
Indeed, for the entirety of the walk to Meryton and the cramped carriage ride to London with the Forsters, her mind was wholly occupied with concern for Mr. Darcy and dread for his sister. The only feeling to occasionally intrude on this grim meditation was bitter regret at having failed to prevent the entire affair.
The couple must have fled to London. She had now convinced herself of this thoroughly. What their purpose there might be, she hated to imagine, for none of the options were pleasant in the least. They might go into hiding in town, or they could be bound for any destination. Wherever they landed, in London or elsewhere, the couple need only elude detection long enough to make marriage Miss Darcy’s sole alternative to ruination and social exile. Just one night spent with Wickham would leave her utterly compromised should it become known, and concealing such a scandal would be nigh on impossible. Even Kitty and Denny had inklings of the truth already, and far cleverer minds would attempt to unravel this rumor.
If there was any chance of preserving Miss Darcy’s reputation and happiness, Elizabeth knew the young lady must be found before nightfall. She had but one notion of the couple’s possible whereabouts—one thin slice of hope to sustain her through the three-hour journey until she was at last dropped in Cheapside.
Her Aunt Gardiner received her with pleasant surprise. “Elizabeth! But we had no idea you were coming!” Her welcoming smile became a look of concern as she noted Elizabeth’s serious expression. “Sit down at once, dear. I hope all is well at Longbourn?”
Elizabeth declined the offer to sit. “All is well at Longbourn, I assure you. But I must beg your assistance in an altogether unconnected matter.”
“Yes, of course. Whatever you require.”
Elizabeth silently blessed her aunt’s unwavering solicitude and embraced her in gratitude and relief. She drew back quickly, anxious not to waste a single moment of what precious time remained.
“Forgive me. I promise all will be explained in time, but let us send for Uncle Gardiner immediately. I must speak with him at once. And then, Aunt—as a matter of desperate urgency—we must go shopping.”
Chapter Fourteen
Bond Street, London
Elizabeth felt a partridge among peacocks as she and her aunt wove through the fashionable crowds on Bond Street. Her sprigged muslin best appeared positively coarse against the silks and laces that passed her in flouncing waves. But though they were hopelessly humble and plain, she was glad of her sturdy brown half-boots. Her feet were already aching from their endless march past jewelers and confectioners, and it gave her some comfort to imagine what unsightly blisters were encased by the delicate slippers of more stylish ladies.
Fatigue and despair were beginning to dull any enjoyment she had taken in this outing at its outset. They passed the glass window of a fruiter’s, where glistening pineapples, grapes, and oranges were arranged in neat pyramids, but Elizabeth took little pleasure in the impressive display. She was surrounded by all things dazzling and distracting, when what she needed most was clarity of thought and single-minded purpose.
The logic of this search, which had seemed perfectly sound on the road to London, now collapsed under the enormity of their task. Miss Darcy had left Netherfield in secret, under cover of night. She could not have carried with her a great many possessions; so much was indisputable. Despite Miss Darcy’s assertion in her letter that they were bound for Gretna Green, Elizabeth was convinced that Wickham had brought her here, to London. By whatever guise or persuasion he had lured her to town, Wickham knew all too well how to entertain a lady and stave off suspicion by liberal application of charm. To remain in his power, Miss Darcy would require diversion, attention, spoiling—and all manner of material goods. The shops, then, seemed an obvious destination. And had Miss Darcy not expressed her preference for Bond Street wares above all others?
It had seemed simple enough, then. The best hope of finding Miss Darcy before nightfall was to make a thorough search of Bond Street shops. However, Elizabeth had failed to account for a few minor complications in her haste—the shops numbered well over a hundred, and the ladies and gentlemen perusing their wares amounted to at least that number twentyfold.
In the hackney coach coming from Cheapside, Elizabeth had acquainted her aunt with as many details of the matter as she felt at liberty to disclose. Although Aunt Gardiner seemed rather skeptical of how Elizabeth’s interest in the situation should justify this rash adventure to London, the strength of her niece’s emoti
on persuaded her to provide whatever assistance she might. Unfortunately, she could be of little help in identifying Miss Darcy or Mr. Wickham in a crowd. It had been nearly a year since she had viewed their likenesses at Pemberley.
On they forged, however, peering through the windows of smaller shops and ducking inside the larger establishments to make a thorough survey, always keeping an eye toward the crowds passing in the street. With their simple attire and distracted demeanor, they conveniently drew little notice from either shopkeepers or customers.
They had just turned out of a watchmaker’s shop, having completed a cursory inspection of its wares and clientele, when Elizabeth thought she glimpsed a familiar face reflected in a jeweler’s window across the street. She drew her aunt into a doorway from which they might observe unnoticed. She spied a man and young lady of the correct height, arms linked tightly and heads inclined in intimate conversation over the window display. Elizabeth felt her flagging spirits revive instantly, and she watched with anxious anticipation for any confirmation of their identity. At last, the two lovers raised their heads from examination of the wares to regard each other, and the profiles of Miss Darcy and Mr. Wickham were unmistakable.
“Oh!” Aunt Gardiner gasped, and only then did Elizabeth realize how tightly she had been gripping her aunt’s sleeve.
“I am so sorry, Aunt!” Elizabeth released her aunt’s arm and nodded in the direction of Miss Darcy and Wickham. “It is they,” she whispered, even though the couple remained well out of earshot across the busy street. She watched in disgust as Wickham kissed Miss Darcy’s hand and escorted her into the jeweler’s shop.
“Shall we follow?” Aunt Gardiner asked.
“No, let us wait and observe.” Elizabeth knew confronting the couple on the open street could serve no purpose, other than to inflame rumor and suspicion. Miss Darcy was found; a quiet resolution to the whole affair could still be obtained, but only through cautious negotiation. “Oh, if only my uncle would arrive!”
Elizabeth and Darcy- Ardently Yours Page 14
