by Gail McEwen
That afternoon, as she worked in her garden, the sound of the approaching horse caught her notice immediately, and all the dread and fear of the previous day overwhelmed her once again. Scrambling to her feet, she nearly reached the safety of her door when she saw him rounding the corner. More to the point, he saw her.
“Mrs Bishop?” Mr Darcy called, stopping his horse and dismounting before she could escape inside.
“Mr Darcy.” Elizabeth’s voice sounded strangely calm to her ears. “What brings you to Griggsdon?”
“I heard you were here. I…” he stopped at the gate, pausing with his hand on the latch. “May I come in?”
Elizabeth looked around. There were a few people about but none took any particular notice of them. It was obvious that Mr Darcy was not as well known in Griggdson as in Hunsford. Taking advantage of her hesitation, he lifted the latch and walked through.
He could hardly take his eyes off her. She looked well, very well. She had gained weight, and the glow of health and vibrancy he had so admired on their first acquaintance was returning. Her complexion was bright, and the sparkle was back in her eye.
“How did you know I was here?” Elizabeth asked in disbelief.
“Let us leave that aside for the moment.” Apparently, the usual civilities were to be dispensed with, and that suited Darcy just fine. “The more pertinent question is: why are you here? Why did you not wait for me at Longbourn?”
“Wait for you?” Elizabeth absent-mindedly wiped her dirty hands on her apron. “What do you mean?”
“And why did you do something so rash as to run off with Lucas?” Darcy forged ahead, not listening. “Granted, it was a bad situation, but surely you could have endured…or if not, you could have sent word.”
“Sent word? To whom?”
“To me, of course!”
“Why — or how—should I have sent word to you?”
“That I might have helped you. You could have reached me through the Bingleys or even my sister if you did not want to involve Jane. The two of you were acquainted in London; she would have seen that a letter found me.”
“Miss Darcy? You cannot be serious. And what was I to say to her? ‘My dear Miss Darcy, although your brother and I are guilty of a grave lapse in judgement and self-control, offending both God and good manners in the process, and although he left me alone in my shame and misery afterwards, if you would be so kind as to inform him that my family is treating me unkindly, I would be very grateful.”
“I did not leave you alone.”
“You most certainly did.”
“Not by choice. You knew I could not stay—not then. But I fully intended to come for you at Longbourn the moment I was free to do so.”
Elizabeth stared at him then swallowed hard.
“You might have told me as much.”
“I did tell you. You might have taken me at my word.”
“Mr Darcy, you gave me no word, no assurance, no promise. You simply left.”
“I most certainly—” He stopped, trying to remember his exact words to throw back at her, but found he could not. That would take more thought and composure than he possessed at the moment. “Well I…” He stammered as she stared at him with challenge in her eyes. “Well, you ought to have known that I would come. I did come. Almost the instant Georgiana was married, I — ”
“Miss Darcy is married?” Elizabeth could not help but express her surprise.
“Yes. She is Mrs Robert Franklin now. They are very fond of each other, and I believe they will be happy. Colonel Fitzwilliam is recently married as well.”
“To Miss Greyson, I presume.” She indulged in a little smile.
“Of course. And”—he decided to plunge ahead while he had the chance — “as Lady Catherine reminded me this morning, I am the only bachelor left. I have done my duty by my family and friends, and now it is time to look to my own happiness—and to yours.”
She stared at him for so long he began to wonder whether she understood him. He was on the verge of repeating himself when she at last replied, “There is no need.”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you know what I did this morning, Mr Darcy?”
“No, I do not. How could I?”
“I slept until I woke up, and I stayed in bed until I felt like rising. I made myself tea and toast for breakfast when I was hungry, and I ate it in peace at my own table.”
“I see.” He looked at her without understanding.
“I came out here to work in my garden when I felt like it, and after you leave, I might take a book and sit in the shade of that tree and read until it is time to feed my chickens, after which, I shall decide whether I fancy a hot or cold supper.
“Tomorrow, I may work in the garden again, or I may not. I may decide to sew instead. The point is—I can and shall do exactly what I wish to do without thought or worry about the wants or demands of any other person. I live quietly here in anonymity and peace. I cannot imagine ever wanting to give it up—not for anyone.”
“Elizabeth, surely we can—”
“No, we cannot,” she said quietly. “Now, I thank you for your visit, but I think you should leave.” She took off her apron and folded it as she walked to the front door. “Do not feel that you need to call again. As you see, I am fine.”
One year earlier, Darcy had approached Elizabeth Bennet with an offer of his heart and hand, fully convinced of her acceptance. One thing he had learned in the intervening months was that, when it came to Elizabeth, he could not be sure of anything. He watched her walk through her door then turned, mounted his horse, and rode back to Rosings.
* * *
For the rest of the day, Elizabeth was at loose ends. She believed without a doubt that she had done the right thing by sending Mr Darcy away, but to learn that he had always planned to come for her… Anger and frustration welled up inside of her at what might have been had she only known. Instead of feeling abandoned and utterly alone, she would have known she was valued and, yes, even loved, despite her family’s rejection.
But that was not to be. Indeed, it could never have been despite her feelings and his intentions. She stoked the fire and looked around her comfortable house with a hint of satisfaction, shaking off the speculation. She had a home and independence. That was enough. There was no question that knowledge of his intentions would have changed things for her while she was at Longbourn but it made no difference now. At any rate, it did not matter, for she had sent him away. She tried not to wonder whether he would comply with her request to stay away and how she would feel if he did — or if he did not.
* * *
The answer came the very next afternoon when again, at the stroke of two o’clock, there was a knock on her door. And while her heart leapt slightly at the compliment, Elizabeth could not help but briefly entertain the idea of hiding behind her bedroom drapes once more. Instead, she invited him in. It appeared that they must have it out.
“I owe you a profound apology,” he announced, his face pale and severe.
“No, truly, you do not. Will you not sit down?”
“I am a fool and the worst of villains.” He remained standing in the middle of the room. “I was offended yesterday, thinking that you blithely dismissed my promise to return, and when I left, I planned to come back armed with the exact words I told you that day. But I cannot do that. I cannot because there were none.
“Elizabeth”—he looked at her, his eyes full of pain—“I knew my intentions. I knew how deeply I loved and wanted you and how maddening it was that so many obligations kept me from you. I knew what I planned to do the moment I was free. The argument was so constant in my mind, so much a part of my every thought and action that I just assumed you knew as well — that I must have told you. But when I recalled everything that was said that day, I realised I never gave you any assurance of either my regard or my intentions. For that, I am deeply sorry. I cannot take back the pain I caused you, but I can promise to spend the rest of my days
making it up to you.”
“Mr Darcy, you forget yourself,” Elizabeth said with some difficulty. “Although I do appreciate and accept your apology, it is not necessary. I have not asked for, nor do I want, anything from you except to be left alone to live my life.”
“How can you say that? After everything…after all we have been through and all we have done to be together?”
“Exactly. After all we have done. The only reason there is any possibility for us to be together is that George is dead. Whatever I thought I wanted, how could I be with you, knowing that a man had to die to make it possible?”
“Wickham is dead, yes. But that was his doing.”
“No. His death was the culmination of many decisions and circumstances. Most of them were his, undoubtedly, but…” She walked to a small desk and opened the drawer. “But not all.”
Darcy could not help but think of the trial, of the numerous entreaties, and of his ultimate refusal to stand up for Wickham. He could have saved the man had he chosen to, and if he had, Elizabeth would have been lost to him forever. In the ensuing months, he had put that out of his mind, concentrating instead on his hopes for the future, but in truth, the guilt was never far away. Wickham was dead because he had remained silent, and he had remained silent for his own selfish purposes.
“I let him die,” Elizabeth said. “It is my fault.”
Darcy was taken aback at how closely her words echoed his own guilty thoughts.
“How can you say that?”
She turned, holding out an old, worn letter she had taken from the desk.
“Because I never gave this to you. I was supposed to…no, he wanted me to speak to you, but I could not bear the thought…” She thrust it into his hands. “I never gave it to you. If I had, you could have spoken for him at the trial. You could have saved him if only I had…”
Her words tapered off into nothing, and almost against his will, he opened the letter and read her plea for Wickham’s life.
“You did not deliver this.” He looked up from the page.
“No.”
“Why?”
“I was angry. He begged me to use every means within my power to convince you. To offer…”
“What? To offer what?”
“Myself.” She dropped her eyes.
“He said that to you? And he thought I was so easily bought?” Darcy was appalled. “The man was the worst kind of villain. He truly would have you trade your honour for his life?”
“Of course he would.” She rolled her eyes and despite the heaviness of the subject, Darcy could not help but be delighted by the spirit he saw in her.
“I was horrified and insulted by it,” she went on, “and truth be told, he was so terrible that I simply did not want to help him. I wanted to be free, and in my selfishness, I let him die.”
“No, you did not. It is I who am culpable. I had already been approached more than once, and I refused.”
“It is my turn to ask why.”
“So many reasons, but in the end, there was nothing I could say in truth to influence his fate, and I could not bring myself to lie. Not for him.”
“But for me?” she could not help but ask. “If I had asked, what would you have done?”
Thinking back on his state of mind at that time, of his doubts and questions, of the moral dilemma that tore at him—and how close he had come in the end to speaking up for Wickham out of duty—he was fairly certain that a word from Elizabeth would have been the tipping point from inaction to action. But as he saw the shame and self-loathing in her eyes, he knew what his answer had to be.
“I still would have refused.”
“Is that true?” Her relief was palpable.
“Your plea would have made no difference. As I said, I was approached more than once by Wickham himself and by those representing him. They appealed to my mercy and compassion, and my humanity. Perhaps I am lacking in all three, but I would not lie for him.”
“I did not speak either. You heard Mr Potter call on me. I must be lacking as well.”
“I think it is more that Wickham did not deserve our mercy.”
“Who among us deserves mercy, Mr Darcy?”
“George Wickham sealed his own fate,” he said thoughtfully, “by being the man he was. Had he been a true and faithful husband, there would have been no duel, no killing. Had he been a better man, he would have had friends willing to help him. To answer your question — none of us deserves God’s mercy, but we all must live with the consequences of our actions against our fellow man.”
“Oh, you are so very right,” she gave a soft, bitter laugh. “And our actions, yours and mine, have consequences as well. What we did… We let George die because we wanted him to die. Justice and the facts made it convenient, but I cannot deny that I wanted out. I did not want him to be saved.”
“Neither did I”—Darcy sat heavily on the sofa—“for so many reasons but mostly for you.”
“What does that make us?”
“Two very flawed people who might somehow find happiness and forgiveness, and make a life together?”
“What if we have no right to be happy, especially together?”
“Whether we have a right to it is debatable, I admit, but happiness, together, is within our grasp. Why should we not try to attain it?”
“Because, even if we could get past what we have done to get to this place, there continue to be obstacles standing in the way — possibly even more than before.”
“None that cannot be overcome in short order.”
“Oh? Then where would we live?”
“Pemberley, of course.”
“And how will you introduce me to your family? To the servants and the locals? As the widow of the murdering and philandering Wickham, on whom you have taken pity? Everywhere we went, I would be an object of suspicion and derision while you would be pitied, scorned, or laughed at.”
“And why should the opinions of others make any difference to us? Let them laugh, let them scoff; what is that to us?”
“It is a lot to me. I heedlessly went forward with what I wanted to do once before, blind and deaf to the opinions of others around me, and it was the worst mistake of my life. I hated being the object of pity and scorn, and I would not wish that on you. You would quickly grow weary of it and blame me for it. As well, I am tired of being stared at and whispered about. Here in Griggsdon, I have peace, and I am once again respectable. I shall not give that up, not even for you.”
The mantle clock chimed half-past three. Darcy thought in passing that Lady Catherine would soon note his extended absence, but when Elizabeth rose and put the kettle on the fire, he sat back.
“Then I will introduce you as Mrs Bishop, the pretty and respectable widow I met and fell in love with while visiting my aunt in Kent. I can guarantee the locals and servants would be charmed by that scenario. Who would not be?”
At that moment, watching Elizabeth prepare the tea, he was himself charmed by the idea.
“Your aunt, for one,” Elizabeth called from the kitchen where she had gone to fetch a cake for the tea tray. “Your sister,” she continued, “your friends, Colonel Fitzwilliam… Would you ask them all to participate in your charade? Would they cooperate? And you, a man who abhors disguise of any sort… Could you live with the lie?”
“I am not the same man I was when I said that a year ago,” Darcy snapped in frustration at the too sensible argument. “But despite all that has happened since, it is apparent that you have not changed your opinion of me. I still seem to be the last man in the world whom you could ever be prevailed on to marry! And after all that we have been through this past year, I believe I have the right to ask why.”
“Because”—she cut the cake with savage strokes of the knife—“you seem to think that everything will work out the way you want it to just because you want it to. Well, that may be true for Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley, but for Elizabeth Bennet Wickham, life has turned out quite the opposite.
/> “Every time you appear, my life becomes complicated. I have had enough upheaval. I simply want to live out the rest of my days in peace.”
“You talk like an old woman.” Darcy jumped up from the sofa in agitation. “But you will not want that forever. There is too much life in you to be happy this way for long.”
“Perhaps you are right, but I am happy now.”
They stared at each other at a strange impasse. In her eyes was a vulnerability near the surface that touched his heart. For all her strong words, she still could be so easily hurt.
“You do not trust me,” Darcy said. “That is understandable. You have been wounded by Wickham, by your father, and by me. But I would like the opportunity to prove myself and to prove to you that my love is steadfast. May I come again tomorrow?”
She shook her head.
“No, I think not. The neighbours will begin to notice. However,” she added involuntarily as his spirits visibly flagged, “I sometimes like to walk along the market road just outside town in the early afternoon.”
“I see.” He stifled a smile with difficulty. “I find that I like to ride at about that time. Perhaps I shall see you on the road.”
“Perhaps.” She blushed and dimpled, and Darcy could not remember the last time he had been so enchanted.
Chapter 24
All morning, Elizabeth fought with herself over whether or not to meet Mr Darcy. She very much wanted to see him again, yet she badly needed him to stay away. It was clear that he would not be easily put off, and if she did not meet him, he was certain to come to the house, attracting unwanted attention from the neighbours. So when the clock struck two, she tied on her bonnet and closed the door behind her with a heavy heart, knowing that what she must do would make him stay away forever.
Once at the market road, she turned towards Hunsford and Rosings and, not five minutes later, spied a figure on horseback in the distance. Her stomach lurched, but she kept walking. In minutes, Mr Darcy reached her, reined the horse and jumped down.
“Thank you for meeting me,” he said after they exchanged greetings.