Darcy’s Second Chance

by Catherine Jennings

  When she was sure she more than enough, she picked up her basket and walked back a circuitous route that took her past a messy row of wild rose bushes. She found the flowers scrawny and insipid-looking, but some people liked them and she needed something to cover the contents of her basket. She was being overly cautious, she knew—nobody would have risen at this early hour. But Darcy’s reappearance had rattled her. Especially when she had accidentally said too much.

  I was a fool, she thought, for mentioning it. What was I thinking? I was shocked beyond measure by his proposal but I still ought to have kept my counsel.

  She dwelt on this all the way back to the house. What if he had worked it out? He was a clever man. What if he had noticed her reaction to those distinctive flowers? He was a keen horseman—he surely knew all about hemlock and how dangerous it could be to animals.

  If only she had kept quiet!

  She sighed. The grass seemed loud underfoot no matter how softly she tried to step. There was no wind and it was now light enough that anyone who happened to look out of their window would see her approaching the house.

  She was practically rigid with fear and apprehension when she reached the door and pushed it softly. Her heart was thumping. She was almost certain that Darcy would be waiting for her in the hallway, ready to take away her precious harvest.

  He would not understand.

  He could not.

  She did not blame him. She knew she probably would not understand if she found herself in his circumstances, but this was the only way it could be.

  She stepped inside. To her surprise, there was no-one waiting there to take her basket and admonish her for her criminal intentions. The house was as silent as it had been when she had left it, though it was brighter now.

  She held her breath as she climbed the stairs, taking care to keep her feet close to the edges of the steps to minimise the risk of them creaking.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Darcy tried to close his eyes, but they flew open a moment later quite of their own volition. He had not slept a wink that night and now it seemed like he never would. His mind swirled with the memory of her rejection. Every time he closed his eyes he could see the look of horror and confusion on her face.

  He had not anticipated that. To his mind, he had gone about things in the most sensible order. First, he had dealt with his most pressing problem, then he had returned to attend to the altogether more pleasant business of asking Miss Bennet to be his wife. He had not necessarily been assured of her answer, but he had not expected her to reject him outright.

  Of course, the reason was obvious once he had retired to his room and reflected on it. He may have solved the problem of Hardy, but she did not know that yet. Worse, she had learnt of the letter and she had assumed Darcy’s proposal was merely an attempt to protect her.

  If only she knew!

  He shook his head and sat up, accepting that sleep would not come when he was this agitated.

  Why had he not anticipated this? Of course she had learnt of the letter, which confirmed her fear that Hardy would try and seek her hand. She was a resourceful young woman and he should have known she would find out. Why had he not waited a few days until word reached Radcliffe that the Hardy problem was solved?

  He sat on the edge of his bed and stared out the window at the lightening sky. He knew exactly why he had acted with such uncharacteristic haste. He had been so thrilled to see her again that he simply had not been able to wait.

  He had been a fool.

  It is not, he reflected, her refusal that cuts me, even though it was not a pleasant thing at all to hear. Even so, this puts me in a rather difficult position. She believes I proposed merely to put her out of Hardy’s reach is one that she shall cling to. I had not wanted her to know of my involvement in the solution. Now it seems I must confess what I have done.

  His thoughts went round and round. He was further from sleep than ever. He got up and paced to the window, hoping that watching the sun’s slow rise might do something to end his despair.

  He sat on the sill, barely noticing the cold air. The fire had gone out long ago. He considered calling for a maid, but decided against it. The cold was bracing enough that he hoped it might distract him from his thoughts.

  He shivered. It was just about light to see the trees and fields beyond the house, but it would be at least another hour before the sun rose. Still, it was a view that calmed him. He far preferred the countryside to town and in some ways, the place reminded him of Pemberley.

  He froze and blinked, telling himself the thing that had appeared in his line of sight and startled him could only have been a bird. Even before he opened his eyes, though, he knew it was too large to be a bird.

  It was still too dark to make out the figure far below, but even then he knew it was Miss Bennet. He recognised her walk. He felt he would recognise her silhouette anywhere, even if she was standing in the company of dozens of other young ladies.

  He blinked again. What was she doing out there in the middle of the night? She appeared to be carrying a basket. He pushed his face against the window and groaned when his breath fogged the glass and obscured her from sight. He scrubbed it away with his cuff.

  He frowned. She had been carrying that basket earlier when they walked together in the grounds. He recalled she had dropped it in her haste to escape him. He might have picked it up and returned it to her had he not been so dismayed by her rejection.

  Had she gone out in the middle of the night to retrieve that basket? He dismissed that idea at once—why would she go out in the cold and dark when she could have waited until the morning to fetch it. It was only a basket.

  Darcy found himself consumed by curiosity. He glanced down again and saw she had disappeared from view now. She was probably inside the house. He had not heard a sound.

  He closed his eyes and forced himself to recall their walk. He tried to picture the route they had taken. He had not been paying as much attention to his surroundings as he might usually have, given his heightened state of agitation. He did not remember it, but he recalled her words.

  She had wished to go and pick roses. By the stream the edge of the forest. Now that he recalled that, he remembered their walk through the trees. He had spent the whole time trying to think of how he might broach the topic of marriage so he had scarcely said a word at all. No, that was not right, was it? He had talked at length about some nonsense in order to hide his discomfort.

  Then what? He could not bear it any longer, so he had stopped. She had carried on.

  Now it dawned on him that she had been abnormally insistent on picking those blooms. They had walked there many times and she had never once thought to stop and pick flowers. Which may not have been remarkable had it not been for the fact that he had seen her return to the house in the middle of the night with that basket.

  It was dark out there. Why would she have risen so early and thought to go out?

  Darcy closed his eyes and remembered the previous day. He had wanted her to stop and listen to him. She had been practically giddy. What was it? He felt sure there was an explanation for her strange behaviour if he could just recall what he had seen.

  He squeezed his eyes tighter. It was difficult to reflect on it, of course, because of the great sadness he had felt when she had turned him down. As it was, the memory of her running away from him seemed like it was etched into his memory.

  He had stood there watching her go, feeling helpless.

  He frowned. He had looked around after she disappeared. And his sorrow had lifted for a brief moment when he saw that row of hemlock, almost as tall as he was. He had lost a beloved horse because of it and ever since then he had been vigilant. He had told himself to notify Bingley at once. Then he had promptly been distracted by thoughts of Miss Bennet. He had returned to the house and not given the poisonous weeds a second thought since then.

  “My goodness,” he muttered in the darkness.

  It all made sense now. She had
tried to assure him that all was well. She had not been departing on a walk at all—she had had a very specific destination in mind.

  Of course! She had planned to pick the flowers earlier that day and had been prevented from doing so when he surprised her by proposing.

  He frowned. Not only that, but she had required those flowers so urgently that she had gone back to pick them in the middle of the night. A knot began to form in his throat.

  How could I not have seen it?

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Elizabeth deliberately lingered in her room until she was weak with hunger and she could not wait any longer. She did not want to encounter Mr. Darcy at the breakfast table. She planned to leave that day—she did not know how yet. She would have to divert his attention away while she spoke to Charles about taking the carriage. She had come too far to risk it all unravelling under Darcy’s scrutiny.

  When she finally descended the stairs expecting to eat alone, she found the Bingleys and Collinses waiting for her.

  “Jane! Charles! It is not like you to rise so early!”

  “Oh Lizzy, you are awake! Finally! I wanted to wake you and tell you, but Charles said it was better to let you rest.” Jane turned to her husband and clasped his arm. “Oh, tell her, Charles. Tell her what has happened.”

  Elizabeth looked from her sister to her brother-in-law with a growing sense of alarm. It faded when she noticed their happy expressions and relaxed demeanours.

  “It is your sister, Lizzy! I do not know how she has managed it, but Lydia has secured her freedom from Hardy. She and her children are travelling to Kent to take up a position there.”

  “A position.” She said it slowly, taking the time to look around the table.

  For all Jane and Bingley’s joy, the Collinses looked utterly unimpressed.

  “Where is Miss Bingley?”

  “That is all you can say? There is no need to worry now. The trouble has passed.”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “What do you mean it has passed? How can it be so?”

  “I mean it has passed. Do you not understand? All our troubles have been resolved with this news. Lydia has been given safe passage. They are safe; all of them.”

  “I am afraid I do not. It was such a great sum of money… He did not seem to me like the sort of man who could simply forgive a sum like that. So who has paid him?”

  “Does anyone care,” Mary said in a low voice, “where it came from? Suffice it to say that it has come from somewhere and our father shall not be troubled by the truth. Nor shall those children’s suffering mark our souls.”

  “How relieved you must be, Mary.”

  “I am simply saying, Lizzy, that we should not trouble ourselves further about this. We have spent enough time fretting over it.”

  “She is right,” Jane said almost apologetically. “Let us not think too much about how it happened, but be thankful that it is resolved.”

  Elizabeth was silent. She was tired from having stayed awake until after dawn and it made her mind work slower than usual. “How did you learn of this?”

  Jane looked at her husband. “A rider came first thing this morning.”

  “May I see the letter?”

  Jane nodded and reached into her pocket to retrieve it. She held it out.

  Elizabeth took it. It was only then that she realised her fingers were trembling. She unfolded the page.

  She was expecting to see something amiss.

  A letter that was written in handwriting that did not belong to Lydia.

  A letter written in language that Lydia would plainly not use.

  Some other indication that it was a trap or a false assurance.

  But it was not a trap. At least, it did not seem like it was at first glance. The penmanship was immediately familiar and as untidy as ever.

  And it was not just the appearance of the letter. Elizabeth was in no doubt that the words had come from Lydia herself. When she closed her eyes and recalled them, she had no trouble hearing them in Lydia’s voice. She even imagined a note of triumph, reflecting her sister’s utter disregard for the stress and worry she had caused them.

  My dear Jane,

  I am writing to tell you of our reversal in fortune. The children and I will soon leave this place. I have been invited to take up a position as companion to a young lady in Kent. Her mother’s health has worsened and her previous companion has retired. In return for keeping her company and raising her spirits, she has offered us a cottage on the grounds of her estate. I hear the place is very fine indeed and close to where Mary lives with her husband. I can scarcely wait to see the look on her face when I ride past in my carriage—I shall have the sole use of the young lady’s old Phaeton, can you believe it!—she shall be sour indeed!

  Yours affectionately,

  Lydia

  Elizabeth placed the letter on the table and glanced at Mary, understanding the reason for her sister’s poor mood.

  “Well?” Jane asked with a broad smile. “Do you believe us now?”

  “Yes, of course.” The letter had clearly come from Lydia. There was no question of her having been forced to write it either, for it sounded just like her. “There is no mention of Wickham.”

  Mary snorted in a most unladylike fashion. “Are you surprised? I imagine she is pleased to be rid of him. I expect she did not give him a second thought when she found she had been offered a position at Rosings.”

  “Rosings,” Elizabeth repeated, wondering where she had heard that name before. Her eyes widened. “My goodness, that is across the park from your rectory. How did you manage to arrange it?”

  “Oh, William had nothing to do with it, Lizzy! Can you imagine? We were as eager as you were to conclude the matter, but we would hardly be so foolish as to implore my husband’s patron to bring the girl into her household!” Mary shuddered as if the thought of it was unthinkable.

  “I might have said it was fortunate, but Lady Catherine is not nearly as formidable as she once was. Ill-health has seen to that. I shall have to try and impose some discipline over the girl myself.” Mr. Collins sighed as if he had been landed with quite a burden.

  Elizabeth ignored him—she was too intrigued by the sudden turn of events. “But who arranged it then? You must know.”

  “I do not know.”

  Jane and Bingley shook their heads.

  Jane reached across the table—as much as she could reach, given her size—and took Elizabeth’s hand. “Do not think too much. Let us celebrate the fact that she and those darling children are safe and well.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Elizabeth tried to be happy for her sister—and it was true that she was relieved beyond measure—but she could not shake the feeling that something was very wrong.

  She kept her feelings to herself and excused herself from her family’s company just as soon as she had finished eating. They had been so worried in recent weeks that she could not bear to dampen their good mood.

  She left the house for the second time that day and walked in the opposite direction to the way she had gone earlier when it was still dark.

  She should have been giddy with relief—she knew that. After all, this news meant she no longer needed to carry out her terrible plan.

  She did not feel relieved. How could she when the morning’s developments did not make sense to her.

  She walked on until she reached the lake. That was a generous description. It was more like a large pond, barely higher than her knees in the deepest parts apparently. They had never bathed in it because of the thick growth of reeds that grew within. She perched on the trunk of a fallen tree. It was damp, but not enough to penetrate the layers of her dress. She would not have noticed it even if it had.

  She stared at the murky water. It might have been small and overcrowded with reeds, but the little lake was also popular with ducks. She watched them plodding around and waited for the sight to lift her spirits as it usually did.

  She thought of the previous day
; of Darcy’s reappearance. Of their awkward meeting and her puzzlement at why he had returned after travelling for several days.

  She frowned. Darcy left, but not for long enough to return to Pemberley as he had claimed. Then he returned and the very next morning, they received Lydia’s letter informing them that she was free.

  What did that mean?

  She sighed. Perhaps it was true and he had concluded that the issue in Pemberley no longer needed his personal attention. That must be it. Why would he have paid a large sum to Hardy? Bingley was his friend, of course, but they were not related by blood or marriage.

  She smiled at her outlandish theory. Because Darcy could not have been involved. After all, he had proposed marriage to keep her safe from Hardy. Why would he have done that if he had been responsible for Lydia’s freedom?

  A bird began to sing somewhere close by and distracted her from her thoughts. She was exhausted. Her eyes were dry and felt gritty. She got up off the log with the intention of returning to the house and very nearly fainted when she collided with a warm body behind her. She was seconds away from screaming for help when she realised the stranger was Darcy.

  “Good Lord!” she cried. “You frightened the life out of me.”

  “I did not mean to startle you.”

  “Perhaps you should not have crept up on me.” She clasped a hand to her chest. Her heart was still beating at an alarming speed. All of the things she had been thinking of swam around in her head. She stared at him. All of a sudden, her theory no longer seemed so outlandish. After all, they had told no-one else of their predicament and Bingley had already told her he did not have the money to pay what Wickham owed.