by Gail McEwen
“And Mrs Wickham?” His heart pounded. “I expect she is happy and relieved to be home among her loved ones, but if I may be so bold, I hope she is recovering from her terrible ordeal?”
To his surprise, the Bingleys exchanged uneasy glances before Jane answered carefully.
“She is recovering nicely, thank you.”
“It must be a comfort to you—indeed, to all her family—to have her safely back at Longbourn. Do you see her often?”
“She is… That is, she is not…” Jane began then sent a pleading look to her husband.
“Mrs Wickham is not at Longbourn,” Bingley said. “I am sorry to say she was not welcomed back.”
“Not at Longbourn? Not welcome?”
Bingley shook his head sadly. Standing abruptly, Darcy left the table and strode to the window.
“Then where is she?” he demanded of the falling rain. “If not at Longbourn, why is she not here at Netherfield?”
“We begged her to make her home here, but she would not consent to more than a short stay.”
“Where is she?” Darcy repeated, unable to stifle the feeling of disappointment mixed with panic roiling in his stomach.
“I am sorry, but I cannot say.” Jane dropped her eyes.
“Why not?” he insisted, manners be damned.
“I swore to her I would not.”
Mrs Bingley appeared so distressed that a significant look from Bingley made him drop his line of questioning and return to his breakfast although he had lost his appetite. What happened when Elizabeth arrived at Longbourn with her uncle? And more importantly, where was she now?
* * *
The rain let up around mid-morning the following day, and by that time, Darcy was beside himself with shock and worry, and heartily tired of the inquisitive glances Bingley sent his way whenever he would sigh with impatience or wander the halls in agitation—two actions that, although bringing unwanted attention, he could not seem to control. When the afternoon clouds broke up enough to allow the sun through, he muttered an excuse about wanting to enjoy the fresh air. He left Bingley sitting in his study and following him with yet another questioning look. Darcy bolted through the door, clattered down the steps, and struck out across the fields of Netherfield Park.
Unbeknownst to him, he took nearly the same path in reverse that Miss Elizabeth Bennet had taken two autumns before when she set out for Netherfield to enquire after her sister’s health, and as he rounded a bend, he found himself facing Longbourn house. His first impulse was to march up to the door, ask for Mr Bennet, and demand an explanation as to the whereabouts of his second daughter, but that was ludicrous. He had no business, no relationship with the family to presume the right to demand anything. Yet, he must know where Elizabeth was, whether she were well, and most importantly, when or if she planned to return.
As if he hoped a reason to approach her father would magically appear from the air surrounding the house, he loitered about the park, staring at the walls, and wondering which room had been Elizabeth’s. As he lingered, he imagined he could see her sitting by the window, gazing into the distance.
He then realised it was not the Elizabeth of his imagination staring out the window; it was the reality of Elizabeth’s younger sister. He stepped into the open, making her jump slightly in surprise when she saw him; then he thought he saw the flash of a smile. He raised his hand in a half-wave, and suddenly the girl slid off the bench and disappeared behind the draperies.
Hoping he had read the signs correctly, Darcy faded back into the shadows of the trees and waited. Sure enough, a few moments later, the door opened slightly, and Kitty Bennet slipped out.
“Who is there?” she asked, shading her eyes with her hand.
He stepped out.
“Mr Darcy? Whatever are you doing here?”
Thinking quickly, Darcy gave her a disarming smile.
“I am in search of a friendly face, Miss Catherine.”
“Anyone in particular?” Her eyes narrowed. “If you are looking for Lydia, Papa says she is not allowed—”
“No, no, not at all. I am delighted to have found you.”
“Is that so?” She dimpled. “In that case, what can I do for you, Mr Darcy?”
“I am here on an errand for my sister.” He was surprised how easily the lie slipped off his tongue. “She and Mrs Wickham grew to be good friends when they were both in town this past winter, but she has not heard from your sister in months. When she found out I would be in the neighbourhood, she begged me to learn any news. Can you tell me?” His voice grew tight in sudden eagerness. “Where is your sister Elizabeth?”
“Oh! Lizzy?” Kitty’s eyes sparkled. “We are not allowed to speak her name around here!”
“Why not?”
“Scandal,” she whispered with relish. “Scandal upon scandal, in fact.”
“How can that be? I thought…that is, my sister told me Miss Elizabeth intended to make amends with your family. That was her purpose in coming back here, was it not?”
“Oh, they would have none of it! You must know the shame she brought upon us by her marriage to Wickham! And then, to have him hanged for murder like a common criminal! Mama says it is a good thing Jane managed to marry Mr Bingley before all that happened, for without that connection, Lydia, Mary, and I would never be able to find husbands, and I don’t want to die an old maid.” Kitty pouted.
“Yes, that is fortunate.” Darcy swallowed his irritation at her self-serving attitude and pressed on. “But what happened?”
“Well, you must understand that they came here, Lizzy and my uncle, with no warning—just showed up one evening as we were sitting down to dinner. We had no idea who had driven up until Hill shouted out. Papa’s face turned white, angry that my uncle gave no notice, and he said in as many words that he had no intention of ever letting Mrs Wickham back into this house, and neither my uncle nor Lizzy should have presumed anything different without speaking first to him about it.”
Darcy cringed at the image. “That must have been terrible for…all of you.”
“Oh, it was! And Mama, who does not like surprises, was beside herself and had an attack of nerves.”
“But your father did, at last, agree to let her stay, did he not?”
“Yes. He and Uncle went to the study and argued for what seemed like hours while Lizzy sat stone-faced in the parlour—still as a statue. When they came out, Father had agreed, but it was plain he was not pleased.”
“And they never made amends?”
“Not that I could see. She scarcely spoke to any of us, just stayed in her room and wrote letters.”
“She wrote letters? To whom?”
“I am sure I do not know. She never would say, and she always walked to the post office by herself and kept everything close, and then suddenly, one day she was gone. Well, she and Jonathan Lucas.”
“Jonathan Lucas?”
“Yes! They ran off together, and we have not heard from either of them since.”
“That cannot be!”
“But it can. And I always thought he was sweet on me. But we woke one morning and all her things were gone. It was the same at Lucas Lodge — no note or anything! Sir William will not even speak to us, while Lady Lucas talks about us all over town, and Maria is forbidden to come anywhere near Longbourn. Mama and Papa are furious, and they say Lizzy is not their daughter anymore, and that is why we do not speak of her, though you may tell your sister what you please. I do not see that it can hurt anything more at this point.”
The sick feeling grew, and Darcy was barely able to gasp out a feeble thank you before he bolted, leaving Kitty to stare at his disappearing back in confusion.
* * *
“Bingley!”
He hardly had gotten through the door before bellowing out his host’s name, startling a solitary downstairs maid carrying an armload of clean linens. Somewhere upstairs, an infant cried, but Darcy was too agitated to feel any remorse at waking him.
“Bin
gley!” He threw open the door to the study and found his friend sitting just where he had left him.
“Darcy. You went to Longbourn?” And without waiting for an answer, he continued, “And you heard something regarding Mrs Wickham that upsets you. I think I must be slow, because I am just now putting together why it should upset you. Are you in love with her?”
“No!” Darcy snapped. “Absolutely not!
“Absolutely not,” he repeated, as if the reiteration would make the words true. “I have merely been mistaken about her—gravely mistaken. I should have believed the evidence of my own eyes. Instead, I overlooked affront after affront, imagining I saw something different about her. But in the end, your sisters were correct in their assessment; she shows nothing but an abominable conceited independence and a most country-town indifference to decorum.”
Bingley listened to the painful denial with sadness, shaking his head slowly.
“Very well. I will not argue with you over something about which I admittedly know so little. But I shall say this: it is not what you think.”
“What is not what I think? Are you saying that it is untrue? That she did not run off with Jonathan Lucas?”
“No.” Bingley grimaced. “I am not saying that. I am saying that what you have heard about her today is not the full story.”
“Do you know the full story?”
Bingley stared at him for a moment before he sighed.
“I do not, but Jane does. Elizabeth confided in her before she left, and Jane is satisfied. She swore to keep the confidence, and out of respect for that oath, I have not pressed her for details. But I repeat, Jane is satisfied with her sister’s actions, and that, to me, is enough to acquit her of any wrong-doing.”
That assurance gave Darcy a brief moment of hesitation, but remembering both the Bingleys’ tendencies to see only the good and believe only the best of everyone, he put aside that doubt as quickly as it came. The time for second-guessing was over. He had initially planned to spend several days in Hertfordshire before leaving for Surrey and Fitzwilliam’s wedding, but he found that he could not bear the thought of staying in the neighbourhood another day. He thanked Bingley for his reassurances, then went directly to his room and informed his man to start packing; they would leave first thing in the morning.
Mr and Mrs Bingley, of course, protested vehemently when he told them his plans at dinnertime, but it was clear they were not excessively disappointed to be spared his erratic behaviour and moods. He resolved to return and make it up to them at a later date, but at the moment, he was scarcely able to control his thoughts and emotions. It was much better for everyone that he go.
* * *
Mercifully, the weather remained fine. As he travelled further south, the roads grew drier and more passable, and he reached Surrey without incident. In no particular hurry, he took his time, turning one long day of travel into two shorter ones and arriving two days before the wedding. Darcy’s mood was grim, but he was happy to see that a letter from his sister was waiting for him at the inn in the small village of Turnbull near the Greyson family estate. He was not quite as pleased once he read it. It seemed that the newlyweds had come upon Miss Bingley and the Hursts in Scarborough, and the ladies were eager to share the latest rumours regarding their mutual acquaintance Mrs Elizabeth Wickham. They appeared to know nothing more than what Darcy had already heard from Bingley and Kitty, and Georgiana was distressed to repeat the gossip, but she wrote that she thought he should know.
He slept fitfully, trying not to think of Elizabeth and Jonathan Lucas as he had done since first hearing the devastating news from Kitty Bennet. The next day was taken up with family concerns. At loose ends, Colonel Fitzwilliam spent the day at his side, and they wandered the picturesque village and its surroundings in near silence, each occupied with his own thoughts. Lady Catherine and Anne de Bourgh travelled up from Kent in the late afternoon, and once they had gotten the ladies comfortably settled into their rooms, which was no easy undertaking, the gentlemen retreated to the tavern downstairs to pass away the evening.
After dinner, the conversation at last began to flow along with the bottle of Scotch they ordered. Fitzwilliam was thoughtful as the reality of his upcoming nuptials approached.
“I am not having regrets,” he hastened to assure Darcy. “It is just that ‘till death us do part’ has the potential to be a very long time.”
With nothing to say to that, Darcy simply nodded and shrugged.
“It will be fine.” Fitzwilliam stared at the dancing flames in the fireplace. “I am sure it will all be fine. But what about you?” His face brightened with interest. “What scandalous or notorious things have you been up to? You must tell me everything that happened in Hertfordshire.”
At the bottom of the third glass, Darcy’s story came out—full of pain, anger, recriminations and self-reproach—and it was Fitzwilliam’s turn to nod and shrug helplessly.
“I am stunned,” he said halfway through the fourth Scotch. “I wish there was something I could say to…”
Darcy rebuffed the offered sympathy with a wave of his hand.
“So, what will you do now?” the colonel ventured after a time.
“I do not know,” Darcy mumbled. “I do not even know where I will go from here. London holds too many remembrances of Elizabeth; Pemberley is filled with reminders of Wickham. Netherfield is impossible, the seaside is unbearable…”
“So that leaves you with only one option.”
“Rosings for Easter,” Darcy groaned. “Lady Catherine reminded me of it this afternoon. Repeatedly.”
“Will you go?”
“Honestly, Fitzwilliam, I am unsure whether I can bear it without your company and support.”
“Hmm…” Fitzwilliam smiled. “I have a bit of news that might sway you, though I do not know in which direction.”
“Oh? What?”
“Something else Lady Catherine mentioned in passing this afternoon. Seems her ladyship has done yet another generous favour for a friend and has hired a new stable boy.”
“Fascinating.”
“It is, actually, because the new stable boy happens to be Mrs Collins’s younger brother. Now, how will that affect your decision?”
With great effort, Darcy kept his expression under control even as his mind raced. How would that affect his decision? That was a very good question, and one he could not begin to answer just then. It would take a long night of pondering every implication and possibility before reaching a conclusion. He pulled his thoughts away from this newest development and smiled.
“Surely, we can find better entertainment on our last night together as bachelors than to revisit that old dead horse.”
“But your story is much more interesting, fraught as it is with intrigue, drama, and the lure of forbidden fruit. Mine, I am sorry to say, has been predictable and boring from the start.” Fitzwilliam sighed dramatically. “Besides, I am sworn not to seek out any better entertainment. I have promised to behave myself tonight.”
“Promised whom?”
“Oh, everyone.” He counted on his fingers. “Mother, Father, Honoria, Lady Catherine, Mr Greyson, my valet, the vicar, the downstairs maid, the pastry cook… One by one, I believe everyone in the entire village has approached me on the matter. I fear there is some doubt as to the steadiness of my character. So here I sit, starting my career as a staid, married man one day early, taking my enjoyment by living vicariously through you.”
However, Fitzwilliam was preoccupied enough, and the bottle was empty enough, that Darcy managed to deflect most of his cousin’s attempts to return to the subject of Elizabeth for the rest of the evening.
As he walked up to his rooms, he considered the differences his cousin had pointed out in their situations. It was clear that, while he was genuinely fond of her, Fitzwilliam did not love Miss Greyson, and Darcy found himself torn between pity and envy. Theirs would be a marriage of comfort and ease, if not one of great passion, and he wondered whether
the comfort and ease might not be the better alternative after all. Everything he knew about passion—true, deep, gut-wrenching passion—had led to pain, humiliation and despair.
Why should he not follow his cousin’s path, find a pleasant, pretty girl, and take her to Pemberley to live quietly and raise a family? Why did he continue, instead, to allow himself to be thrown into confusion and misery by a woman who rejected him over and over—a woman with so little strength of character that she could not wait even two months for him? She had to have known he would come when he could. But before he even had the chance, she ran off—yet again—with the first unworthy man to come along.
Oh, he would love to confront her. To look her in the eye and demand an explanation for her lack of faith and constancy. To congratulate her on being the widow of a philanderer and murderer, and the wife — or worse—of a stable boy, when she could have had so much more. He thought of all the anguish and pity he had spent over Elizabeth’s unhappy life with Wickham—all the doubts, regrets and self-blame for her misery—all wasted.
She had thought the honest recitation of his feelings the first time they met in Hunsford was harsh. Well, what would she think this time, now that those feelings had changed from love to loathing? No, he would not hold back—not one word, not one thought, not one syllable. She would hear it all.
Yes, he would go to Rosings. He would seek her out, look her in the eye, and accept, once and for all, that she was not the woman he thought she was.
Chapter 22
It happened that Lady Catherine was not fond of strange beds at unfamiliar inns, so after a splendid yet tasteful wedding and the elaborate breakfast that followed, she announced that she and Anne would be on their way home. She saw no need to linger in Surrey with Rosings less than forty miles away, and she pressed Darcy to travel along with them. That suited Darcy as he had some reflecting to do. Mercifully, he had his own carriage, and he would thus be spared Lady Catherine’s painstaking analysis of every particular of the wedding and the Greyson family during the journey.