Stronger Even Than Pride

by Gail McEwen

  * * *

  Not since his sister’s thwarted elopement had Darcy felt so powerless in the face of so much pain. Georgiana had wept that day in Ramsgate as Elizabeth wept now, and he had felt just as helpless then, unable to do anything but hold her tightly and pat her on the back ineffectually. He had assured her that everything would be well, but he had been powerless to alleviate her pain and truly unable to understand the depths of her heartbreak.

  Loosening his hold on Elizabeth, he lifted her chin and wiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. As she looked at him with swimming eyes, he knew that he now understood it fully.

  “Saying it is not enough.” Her voice shook. “But saying it is all I can do. I am sorry—for everything.”

  “What are we to do?” he asked, as much to himself as to her.

  She closed her eyes, spilling more tears as the lids squeezed shut, and shook her head. She had no answer.

  He tried to pull her close again, but as much as she wanted to let him, as much as she wanted to feel that sense of safety and protection again, she knew that it was too dangerous, and she resisted. He let his hands drop.

  “At least consent to go to Netherfield. Let me take you back to Bingley’s tonight. Please let me do this for you.”

  “No, I must stay and see this through. I thank you for your kindness and compassion, but truly, Mr Darcy, there is nothing anybody can do for me.”

  “You should not be alone.”

  “And you should not be here.”

  She walked slowly to the door. “Please go. Now, before anyone notices your presence.”

  Darcy strode to the door and closed it firmly.

  “I cannot leave you like this.”

  “People will talk… We should not be here alone like this… There will be gossip.”

  “There is gossip already.” Darcy tried desperately to sound calm and in control while feeling the absolute opposite. “Right now we must—”

  “Gossip about me, yes,” she interrupted. “Gossip about George. But not about you. Not us. Not yet.”

  “Elizabeth, I am not concerned about gossip. I am concerned about you.”

  “Then do as I ask. Accept my apology for my monumental stupidity, wish me well, and leave me. Truly, there is nothing I want more than to be left alone.”

  Somewhere behind the tears and sadness, he saw a brief flash of stubborn life in her eyes, and he could not help but smile just a little.

  “Very well,” he said when she once again opened the door. “I will go, but be aware that I fully intend to…” He paused, at a loss for how to continue. What did he fully intend to do? It was impossible to say, so he left the thought unfinished.

  * * *

  “Where to, sir?” his driver requested.

  A quick check of his pocket watch told him that he was expected at his sister’s soon.

  “Miss Georgiana’s, please.”

  He nodded to the footman closing the door, and the carriage lurched as the driver urged the horses forward. Before he was ready, the coach stopped at Georgiana’s door.

  Fitzwilliam met him in the parlour with a smile. “It is about time you got here, Darcy. Georgiana has been waiting since… Hold on…” His cousin narrowed his eyes. “What the devil have you been up to?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You look as gloomy as a thundercloud. You have been to see Mrs Wickham! That is hardly proper under the circumstances, would you not say?”

  “Enough!” Darcy growled.

  “I agree.” Fitzwilliam smiled tightly. “For now.”

  Darcy changed the subject. “Do you know why we were summoned here?”

  “I suspect it has to do with the visits you and I received yesterday from a certain young man. And if that is the case, considering the disposition of his family, you should be especially careful with your indiscretions.”

  “Fitzwilliam, please, I am in no mood for a lecture on morals from the likes of you.”

  “Your morals are your business; I have no lectures to give. I merely counsel you on prudence and a sense of timing. I would hate for any inconvenient rumours or scandal to ruin Georgiana’s chance at happiness.”

  He realised that both Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth were right, and although he told her he did not care about rumours, the truth was that he ought to care very much. His part in the sorry affair of George Wickham had already been broadcast far and wide. He must be careful for Georgiana’s sake to minimise his family’s exposure to any further scrutiny in that direction.

  “Duly noted.”

  Georgiana appeared in the doorway. “Come, gentlemen! You are late for tea!”

  They followed her into the small parlour, exchanging indulgent smiles as she ushered them to their seats on the sofa before busying herself with the tea tray and small talk.

  “Are you going to come to the point”—Fitzwilliam finally interrupted her nervous chatter—“or shall I do it for you?”

  “Point?” Georgiana blushed.

  “Mr Franklin.”

  “Yes. You are right. Mr Franklin.” The blush deepened, and her busy hands stopped moving. “You will think I am forward, but—”

  “Georgiana,” Fitzwilliam smiled, “there is no — ”

  “No.” She held up her hand. “Please let me speak. I like him. I like him very much, and I think…no…I truly do believe that he feels the same about me, and that makes me…happy. And I know that the two of you worry about me, and I am so grateful for all the care and understanding and protection you have given me, but — ”

  “Georgiana — ” Darcy tried.

  “No, please! Let me finish!”

  The cousins sat back, exchanging amused looks, and waited.

  “I love and appreciate your care,” she repeated in a rush to get the words out, “and I am so grateful, so very grateful, but…I like Mr Franklin very much, and if he should come to you… That is… Miss Franklin says he will certainly speak to you before approaching me, and he is a good man, and I like him, and…”

  She squared her shoulders and looked them each in the eye in turn.

  “I am ready for care and understanding and protection of a different sort. If he should come to you, I want you to give him your blessing.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes,” she said, not quite defiantly.

  “Well then. He has,” Darcy said.

  “He has?”

  “Yes. And we have.” Fitzwilliam grinned.

  “Oh!” Georgiana beamed. “Thank you! Thank you so very much!”

  Then, apparently overwhelmed at what she had just done, she collapsed into a chair. After a few more rounds of gentle teasing, Darcy offered to extend an invitation to the Franklins to dine the next evening at his townhouse, that the families might become acquainted, and Georgiana was sure—oh, she was very sure indeed—that the Franklins would be delighted to accept.

  * * *

  “I would follow you home and continue to berate you for your behaviour,” Fitzwilliam said as the gentlemen stood next to Darcy’s carriage, “but I am expected at the Greysons’.”

  “She is still speaking to you, is she?”

  “Very much so.” His cousin grinned. “I called on her yesterday, and I believe her very words were, ‘gallant,’ ‘forceful,’ and ‘commanding.’”

  “All that and the son of an earl besides. What more could a young lady want? When am I to congratulate you? Or should I save my good wishes for your father?”

  “You may congratulate us both fairly soon. Father will be pleased; he has encouraged the match, shall we say, vigorously, but I am not opposed to Miss Greyson. She is pretty enough, and I am growing old enough to long for the pleasures of my own home and hearth.”

  “Have you spoken to her father?” Darcy asked to prolong the conversation. He was not anxious to return to an empty house and the inevitable long night of endless thought.

  “I shall not approach her father until after this Wickham business is behind us. We m
ust both take care, you know. No doubt at least one of us will be called to testify, and the less sound and fury surrounding the trial, the better, for Georgiana’s sake. If I were newly engaged to the current belle of society, and considering that the murder occurred at her ball, it would certainly draw more attention. There will be plenty of time to shackle myself for life after he is hanged.”

  It jarred him to hear Fitzwilliam speak so casually about Wickham’s fate.

  “You are confident, then, that he will hang?”

  “I have no doubt. The whole affair was badly done. But until then, we must not attract any more attention than we have already.”

  The horses pawed restlessly at the street.

  “I agree.” Darcy ignored the sidelong glances from his driver. “Georgiana is doing so well, I would not have her distressed by the publicity.”

  “It is the Franklins I am concerned about distressing. The old man would not appreciate any notoriety connected to the Darcy name; so, if rumour tied you to Wickham’s pretty wife, it could prove to be disastrous.”

  Suddenly Darcy was anxious to be off after all. He opened the carriage door before the attendant could take a step in his direction and climbed in.

  “As I said earlier, your concern is duly noted.” He slammed the door shut.

  Chapter 16

  Darcy’s long night of reflection started before the coach turned the corner of Georgiana’s street. Once home, he notified Peters to send out invitations for a small dinner party the following evening, and when that duty was dispensed, he went directly to his study, poured a strong drink, and sank into a chair in front of the fire for a solitary session of uninterrupted deliberation. He had not two hours before boldly claimed that he was not concerned about gossip, but Fitzwilliam was correct; his sister’s future happiness depended on his discretion, not just regarding Elizabeth, but in everything surrounding the Wickham affair, and he swore that he would do nothing to jeopardise Georgiana’s prospects.

  He could not keep Elizabeth off his mind, however. His thoughts endlessly returned to that afternoon and the feel of her in his arms, so small and full of despair, but it was not just that. It was the expression in her eyes when she looked up at him—not simply regret and unhappiness, but love. Hopeless, futile and much too late, but nonetheless, she loved him—as he loved her, just as hopelessly and futilely. His stomach clenched into a hard knot.

  He emptied his drink and tried to turn his thoughts to other things—Georgiana’s surprisingly forceful behaviour for one. He managed a smile, pleased that not only had she found someone who could make her happy but that the stubborn little girl he remembered had made a return. Growing up, she always knew what she wanted and always knew how to get it. He used to tease her about being a wilful brat, but she had simply always known her mind. That tendency was what had gotten her into trouble in Ramsgate, of course, once Wickham convinced her that he was what she wanted.

  Darcy tried to take satisfaction in the recollection of Wickham’s degraded appearance in the warden’s office the previous day, but he only heard that smug voice saying, “I know your feelings for Elizabeth.”

  Staring into the fire while the room grew dark, he wondered what she was doing at that moment.

  You should see about her.

  She was so despondent when he left. The look in her eyes when she said she was sorry… He wanted very much to go to her, to hold her and assure her that somehow everything would be well.

  Then go.

  But how would it be well? What could he possibly do or say to assure her of what he was not sure of at all?

  You must try.

  Once the idea entered his mind, he could think of nothing else. His decision was made in an instant. He left the study and walked deliberately to the front door, grabbing his overcoat and hat, brushing off all assistance from the bewildered staff. Without a word, he left them still frantically offering to call for his coach, and disappeared into the darkness of the winter night on foot.

  * * *

  While Darcy had a firm notion of his intentions when he left the house, by the time he reached Castle Street, Elizabeth’s windows were dark, and he was hit by a sudden uncertainty. Conflicting desires and emotions battled within him, and unable to decide what to do, he contented himself with melting into the shadows across the street and watching her door. Raucous laughter floated out from the adjacent tavern as men and women reeled drunkenly out of the entrance to conduct whatever business they had agreed to inside—oft-times not even waiting until they reached the back alley but consummating their illicit bargains pressed against the walls and railings of not only the tavern but the neighbouring house as well. As the men stumbled away, the women returned to the warmth of the crowded pub until their services were once more engaged.

  Horrified, he watched the crude rotation for some time, wondering whether Elizabeth was aware of what was going on just outside her door, certain there was no way she could not know. Revulsion and anger rose within him, and he stepped out of the shadows to signal a passing hackney to take him home.

  But when the driver let him off at the curb before his house, he could not bring himself to go inside. Once again, he left the house on foot — this time towards his old haunt of Ce Lieu. He wanted nothing more than to silence his confused thoughts and sink into that happy oblivion he always found there. When he rounded the corner, however, he could not help but think of Castle Street. Was there any difference between those activities and the escape he sought at Ce Lieu? Aside from the location and expense, what made one more respectable than the other? And what right did he have to be disgusted that Elizabeth lived in the midst of debauchery when he willingly sought out the same?

  He turned on his heel and continued roaming the streets, far from his original purpose, but this time with no idea as to a destination.

  * * *

  A sharp knock on the door woke Elizabeth. She sat up, startled and confused at the sun streaming through the dirty window. Why had she fallen asleep on the downstairs sofa? Then she remembered.

  She had waited all afternoon in dread, fully expecting Mr Darcy to return. He was determined to talk, and she could not believe her reluctance would hold him at bay for long. During those first hours, she held herself together by focusing on the dread of his imminent arrival, trying to work herself into a state of anger at his total disregard for her feelings. As the afternoon turned to evening, the apprehension diminished, and she began to wonder that he still stayed away.

  Of course he has stayed away, Elizabeth told herself in the gloom of the deepening night. Everything that could be said has been said, and there is nothing to be done. She knew he must have seen the truth of her feelings, but that changed nothing. She was a married woman. There was nowhere for either of them to take this knowledge but to an unthinkable place. Not for a moment had she ever dared to imagine a future with Mr Darcy, but without question, their fragile friendship was at an end.

  The knock sounded again, stirring her out of her confusion. By this time, despite her newly reached convictions on the matter, she felt only relief. With no idea of what might be said or how the situation could be resolved, she threw off the old quilt that covered her and tried her best to smooth her hair and dress. Walking calmly to the door, she opened it to find a complete stranger standing on the stoop.

  “Mrs Wickham?” the older gentleman enquired.

  “Yes.” Elizabeth tried to hide the sinking of her heart in a dignified posture.

  “I am Terrance Potter. I was contacted by Mr Bingley through his attorney, Mr Claypool, in the hopes that I can be of some help in the matter of Mr Wickham.”

  Elizabeth blinked stupidly.

  “If I might come in, there are many things that need to be discussed.”

  “And who are you again?”

  “Terrance Potter,” the man repeated. “I am a barrister. I believe I have some encouraging news for you.”

  Elizabeth stepped back and allowed the man to enter. He looked
around, nose wrinkled in distaste. Elizabeth, suddenly fed up with everyone looking down in judgement of her living situation, simply stared at him, eyes flashing defiantly. Pulling out his handkerchief, Mr Potter brushed the crumbs from an area of the dining table before setting his case down and producing a sheaf of papers.

  “At Mr Bingley’s request, I arranged an interview with your husband first thing this morning, though I did not see much hope in it. As you may be aware, the law takes a dim view of duelling. While it is true that a contest involving two gentlemen may well be winked at, especially if there has been no grave bodily harm, your husband’s case is not that simple.”

  “Yes, I have been advised as much. He killed the man.”

  “He killed a peer.” Mr Potter shuffled through his papers. “Also, as the son of a steward, he is, of course, no gentleman, notwithstanding the unseemly behaviour that precipitated the contest.”

  “You said you had some news, Mr Potter?” she asked shortly.

  “Yes, well…” He looked for a place to lay his papers then settled for returning them to the case. “Mr Wickham may not have a very high standing in society, but according to him, he has friends: Mr Bingley, obviously, though I have advised him to distance himself from this matter. He is not yet far enough removed from his origins in trade to bear the notoriety without harm to his reputation and his family’s future.”

  He looked at her expectantly, but all she could think to do was nod in agreement.

  “Mr Wickham also claims a close relationship with Mr Darcy of Derbyshire. I have come to confirm that claim with you—a desperate man cannot always be trusted to be strictly truthful—and if it is indeed the case, to solicit your help.”

  “I can confirm a previous relationship, but I would not go so far as to call them close.”

  “It matters little what you would call it—as long as he is willing to speak for your husband.”

  “I do not know that he would be willing, but what if he were? What would that accomplish?”