by Jennifer Joy
“A woman, Bingley. A woman who saw me for what I really was and had the audacity to call me out on it.” He chuckled. “Of course, this same woman has faults of her own which I can clearly see, but I love her all the same. I would not change her for the world.”
“Yet you willingly change for her?”
“Therein lies the irony. She has never suggested that I change, nor, I am certain, would she ask me to do so. However, I find that I crave her respect like nothing I have ever desired before, and I will do anything to win her favor. I came here in search of you so that I might convince you to return to London, and if your feelings are still claimed by Miss Bennet, that you might make her happy again.”
Bingley started, tripping over the fire poker he stood near. “You do not mean…?” he asked, unable to finish the question in his astonishment.
Darcy nodded. “I love Elizabeth Bennet, and the greatest gift I could think to give her is her sister’s happiness.”
Righting himself and deciding it best to sit, Bingley once again attempted to shove his fingers though his hair with similar results to his previous attempt.
“Presley,” he shouted to his valet, who appeared within seconds.
“Presley, I will need a haircut tonight.” Feeling the stubble on his cheeks, he added, “As well as a shave.”
The valet’s years of training prevented him from sighing with relief or jumping with glee. He responded with a straight face and level voice, “Very well, sir. Do you need anything else?”
Bingley sat forward in his chair. Looking to Darcy, he said, “Were it up to me, I would leave this moment.”
Darcy understood. There was nothing he wanted more. But his friend was in no condition to travel at that moment.
“While I share in your enthusiasm, I think it more prudent to partake of a hearty dinner and enjoy a good night’s rest— after a hot bath and shave. You will feel better, and you will provide a more pleasant aspect when you do see your Miss Bennet. You do not want her to think that you have fallen ill, do you?”
Bingley stood and looked at his reflection in the mirror over the mantle of the fireplace. He grimaced at what he saw.
Turning back to Presley, he said, “We will leave as early as we can on the morrow by horse.” To Darcy, he said, “Really, I would not have the patience for a carriage,” in explanation.
Darcy held his hands up. Traveling by horse was perfectly acceptable to him— especially under the circumstances.
Dinner was a happy meal of which Bingley partook with delight. They talked of their goings-on and any bit of news which had caught their eye. They talked a great deal about the Bennet sisters.
“Did you hear about the uproar when Mr. Andrich’s bank closed?” asked Bingley, between bites. “I do hope that you did not have any money invested there. It seemed like such a sure investment, and had I not been away from London, I daresay I would have invested a small sum in the establishment.”
Darcy put his fork down, unable to take another bite, though his plate was far from empty. He did not understand his unease. Nonetheless, his thoughts took a dark turn and instead of imagining Elizabeth dancing and enjoying the entertainments the Season had to offer, he now imagined her cold and homeless. No rational reassurance he repeated to himself could shake off the presentiment that something was dreadfully wrong.
“We will leave at first light,” said Bingley, standing from the table.
Never before had his friend spoken with such sensible certainty.
Chapter 34
Sophia was not in. Or so she had her butler tell Elizabeth.
Returning home, Elizabeth soon found the spring in her step once again as she thought of the good fortune of the day. Mother’s debts had been covered. The bill at the dress shop had been paid in full. Elizabeth believed it to be the work of a kind benefactor more than ever. That Sophia knew who was responsible was not in doubt. Sophia made it her business to know everything.
She marched straight to Father’s study and pulled out the ledger stowed away in the top drawer of a small table he used as a desk. Drawing her finger down the page, she found the entries she searched for and scratched them out jovially. The list did not seem as overwhelming with two solid black lines piercing it through.
With a light heart, she subtracted the sums from the total, humming as she did so. Until she saw the figure. Then, she stopped humming and subtracted the sum once again. Mathematics was not her strong suit and she might have made a mistake. Only, she got the same answer again. And again.
Dropping the pen with a thud on the paper, she curled up in Father’s chair and stared at the ledger. It was still not enough.
Father found her there some time later. Elizabeth paid no mind to the hour. It was not as if she had anywhere to go anyway. No dinners, balls, or soirees to attend. No friends to pay a call or invite her for an evening out. Not that she would be able to enjoy polite company. She felt miserable and would only make everyone else partake of her misery, thus deepening her own dismay. Was this how Mr. Darcy felt the night of the Meryton Assembly?
“There you are, Lizzy,” said Father.
She made to rise from his chair, but he held his hand out. “Stay where you are. I daresay that this chair here,” he pulled up a tapestried chair next to her, “will be just as comfortable.”
He sat, shifting his weight first to one side. And then to the other.
Elizabeth tried to stand again, but Father was insistent. “No, I am settled now. Your uncle Gardiner has been sharing some of his insights with me, and since I know you to be interested in the topic, I thought it best to share it with you.”
She sat up and rested her elbows against the table, ready to listen. “What have you and Uncle been scheming?” she asked as lightheartedly as she could. She tried not to look at the ledger in front of her or risk losing what little cheer she could conjure.
Father flipped the ledger around to face him, grimaced, and closed it shut with a slap of the pages. “It is still too much, but we will do our best.” He bunched his cheeks up and leaned forward against the table as if he needed its support.
She wanted to tell him something to ease his guilt, but what could she say without minimizing the problem or relieving him of the responsibility he had shirked for so long? So, she kept silent and listened.
Continuing, Father said, “When we arrive at Longbourn, I will consult with your uncle Phillips. You may not be aware of this, but he came from a large estate. His elder brother had no interest in managing it. Your uncle, however, loved the estate and as is the nature of one who loves something, he learned how best to manage it.”
“How unfair that he should lose out merely because he was born second.” Elizabeth rested her cheek against her hand and sighed. “Although it is no more unjust than the position of a poor gentleman’s daughter. What choice do we have but to marry? We cannot make our own living as men do.”
Father peeked at her between his spectacles and his bushy eyebrows. “A point I would enjoy discussing with you further at a future date, my dear. For now, I fear that I have deviated from the matter at hand by sharing some of your uncle Phillips’ history. My intent in sharing that with you is to thus impress on your mind his qualifications to improve our property, and in doing so, improve our income.”
Elizabeth felt like jumping for joy! For years, she had wished that Father would take more of an active interest in Longbourn— and that was before she understood how fit Uncle Phillips was to guide him. “It is a splendid idea. I only wish that Uncle would allow me to be present during your discussions.”
Father nodded. “I promise that I will remember every detail so that I may keep you informed. You can help hold me accountable, for I know my habits too well. The peace and quiet of my study will be a tremendous lure for me on most days, and I will need someone to put me to task.”
She twined her fingers together and rested her chin on them. “I am up to the task,” she said happily, once again, her hope restored b
y the sheer knowledge that action was being taken. Action meant progress. Though it be slow, it was much better than nothing.
Their business concluded, they departed from the study to prepare for dinner. A small table from the parlor served as their table, and Elizabeth liked the closeness of it. It brought them together.
She walked down the hallway, which was littered with trunks and boxes of what little possessions remained after everything else worth selling had been sold or returned to minimize their debt. They would leave London tomorrow after luncheon.
The following morning was a scramble. Father, Jane, Elizabeth, and even Kitty, had stowed everything away to wait in trunks in the entrance hall. Mother and Lydia pulled dresses out of hiding places. Jewelry they had hidden away was miraculously produced where days before they could not be found. Of course, that did not go over well with Father, who now had to make separate trips to different jewelers to replace the items in exchange for a lowering of their account.
Lydia stormed into her room and refused to open her door unless her adornments were returned. Mother had more sense, but she still cried and complained of the injustice of it all.
“Do you not realize what is at stake?” Elizabeth asked Lydia. “Time is running out, and we could all end up in debtor’s prison. Is that what you want?” She reached up to fiddle with her earrings, but they were not there. They, too, had been sold.
“Just because you sold your jewelry does not mean I have to sell mine!” Lydia replied.
Mother stepped into her room. “What is this? Are my girls fighting?”
Pointing her finger at Elizabeth, Lydia said, “She says that we could all end up in debtor’s prison if I do not give up my jewelry.”
“Lizzy gave up her grandmama’s earrings. And I finally gave Mr. Bennet the last of my jewels.” She reached up and caressed Elizabeth’s cheek. “We must all make sacrifices for the good of our family. We must make the best of it— no matter how displeasing it is.”
Elizabeth pressed her hand against her mother’s. “Thank you, Mama.” Mother’s acknowledgment of her sacrifice took the sting out of it. She had noticed.
Mother patted her once more, then said, “Do hurry, Lydia. We must leave today. Your father sold the carriage and it must be delivered to the gentleman tomorrow.”
Elizabeth saw the maid come toward her, the last of their servants who would return with them to Longbourn because she had nowhere else to go. “Miss,” she said, “Miss Kingsley is here to see you.” She wrung her hands together and looked around at the empty space surrounding them. “I showed her into the parlor.”
“You did well, Molly. Take her out to the garden. We can sit on the bench out there.”
She went outside and sat on the wood bench near a bed of sweet blooms. Nobody wanted the roses budding in the garden or else they too would have been sold to reduce their debt.
Father must have been spending his spare time in the small patch. Nary a misplaced leaf, unwanted weed, or dried up bloom could be found. Elizabeth closed her eyes to hear the humming of bees, the chirping of birds, and the rustle of the breeze, but their welcome sounds were drowned out by horses’ hooves clattering against flagstones, carriage wheels, and high heels coming down the hall. She opened her eyes in time to greet Sophia.
Elizabeth smiled through her misgivings.
Sophia looked around her with wide eyes. “You are leaving?” she asked.
“We have no other choice.”
Silently, Sophia sat beside Elizabeth. “I do not know what to say,” she said.
“We have a benefactor,” began Elizabeth.
Sophia looked away and preoccupied herself with the embroidery on her skirt.
“You know who it is, do you not?” pressed Elizabeth.
Sophia’s dark eyebrows knit together, and she started and stopped speaking several times before she finally blurted out, “It was never my intention to like you. You were supposed to be pompous and full of airs like Miss Bingley or a dreadful bore I could easily outshine.” She stopped abruptly, her cheeks in high color.
Elizabeth opened her mouth to breathe better. “I do not understand.”
“I only allowed you to become my friend because I wanted to keep a close eye on you. I heard rumors about Darcy having his head turned by a country bumpkin— Caroline Bingley’s words, not mine— and I felt threatened. We have always been intended for each other.”
Elizabeth’s ears buzzed and her head pounded. “Do you love him?”
“It has always been understood that I would marry Darcy.” Sophia threw her hands up. “I grew up at Pemberley, for heaven’s sake. I know everything there is to know about the family and what Darcy holds important. I know all of his secrets— and Georgiana’s. People who knew her compare me to Darcy’s mother, Lady Anne, and say that I am the living image of that great lady. I have worked for years to perfect myself for him.” Her voice dropped and, for a moment, Elizabeth pitied her. Sophia did not love Mr. Darcy.
“And then you came along and interrupted all of my plans. He would have proposed to me this year— I am certain of it.” Sophia’s eyes flashed, but she did not lash out.
Slowly and without breaking eye contact, Elizabeth said, “You, more than anyone, ought to know that a man like Mr. Darcy can never be told who he must marry. He would resent interference— even from his closest friends.”
“He loves you,” Sophia spat out.
The burden on her soul floated away and the spark of hope she carried in her heart burned into a flame. Elizabeth desperately wanted to ask how she could be so certain, but she felt it best not to injure Sophia further.
“I did nothing to encourage his affections, if what you claim is true.”
Sophia rolled her eyes. “That is why he fell for you. It is the cleverest trick, and I only wish I had thought of it sooner. Pretend disinterestedness— disdain even— and he will do anything to prove himself worthy of your love.”
“Sophia, you must believe me that I am not the sort of lady to encourage the attentions of a gentleman for the diversion of it.” Why did she feel like she had had this conversation before?
Sophia narrowed her eyes at Elizabeth. “I believe that you would not do so intentionally. Unlike your sisters, you are not a flirt. Where the heart is involved, all bets are off. Can you tell me that you do not love Fitzwilliam Darcy?”
Elizabeth stared down at her clasped fingers.
“That is what I thought,” said Sophia in triumph. “I really must thank you, I suppose. Had you not ruined your chances with him, I would not stand a chance. Darcy would never attach himself to such a scandalous family as yours. When he returns to town and learns why you have left, any respect he may have had for you will shrivel up and die.”
Tears burned her eyes, but Elizabeth held them back with an iron will. “You never did tell me who the benefactor was.”
Sophia stood to leave, smoothing her skirts. “As I said before, I like you despite my efforts not to.”
“It was you?” Elizabeth exclaimed in shock. How could Sophia be both so kind and so cruel?
“I paid the dressmaker if that is what you refer to.”
She made no mention of Mother’s debts, and Elizabeth knew better than to press her.
“Thank you for your kindness.” Elizabeth stood and placed her hand on Sophia’s shoulder. “I wish nothing but happiness for you.” She meant it, much to her own surprise.
Sophia bit her lips, her eyes glistening. Grabbing Elizabeth’s hand, she kissed it. And then, she left.
Chapter 35
Lydia wailed and the occasional tear trickled down Kitty's ruddy cheeks. Jane shrunk into the cushion, her expression as blank as it had been full of hope months before when they first drove into town. Mother complained endlessly at what she had once had and, all too suddenly, lost. Father rocked back and forth with the motion of the carriage, patting Mother's hand and muttering, "Yes, dear," every so often.
Elizabeth saw them, but a cloud which
muffled sound and blurred her vision wrapped around her. Aware of her surroundings, but numb to their impact, she looked out of the window to avoid conversation. Sophia’s threats haunted her, but the flame would not die. Not until she saw William again. All it would take was a look… and she would know.
As the buildings thinned and the fields spread, Elizabeth could not help examining each horseman and carriage they passed. She tried to stop, knowing that her search was in vain.
They drove through Meryton as darkness descended over the village. Longbourn was only a short distance further.
There was no welcoming smoke from the chimney. There were no servants standing before the door to greet them home.
The coach stopped, and she looked out of the opposite window facing the house she had grown up in. Nobody spoke. Nobody moved.
Father only roused when the carriage door opened and the coachman extended his hand to assist them out. "It is good to see the old place," he tried to say cheerfully. How long would they be able to stay in it?
Lydia sniffed. She did not produce more tears, but expressed her unhappiness all the same.
They walked into the house where their longtime housekeeper, Hill, started the fire in the drawing room. It was bone-chilling cold inside and Elizabeth would have returned outside where it was warmer had Jane not looped her arm through hers.
Their possessions were brought in— as many trunks littering the hall as there had been the day they left— and the coachman made good use of the dilapidated barn to rest the horses for his return to London on the morrow.
Elizabeth had expected to find some measure of comfort in her childhood home, but all she found were the memories of dying expectations around every corner. She stood in the same place where she had convinced Jane to help her persuade Father to let them move to town. At the time, she had truly believed that money and their presence in London would solve all of their problems.