by Leenie Brown
Darcy released the breath that he had been holding as he had awaited her reply. “I do not know what stories Wickham has told you, although I am certain they did not paint me in a favourable light.”
She smiled sheepishly at him. “They did not.” A sinking feeling began to settle in her stomach. She thought of how Jane had cautioned her about believing Wickham’s tales.
“He told you that he has a long connection with my family?”
She nodded. “His father was your father’s steward?”
“Indeed, he was and a good man. Did he tell you that he was also my father’s godson?”
“He did.”
“And that my father preferred his company to mine?”
She heard the underlying pain in the question and gave him an apologetic look as she nodded.
“He told you that my father left him an inheritance?”
She looked at the ground. “He said you had refused to give it to him.” She heard him draw in a breath, release it and then draw in another.
“I refused him nothing at first, although I did not see him as fit for the church. Wickham was careful to conceal his want of principle from my father but not from me. My father wished to see him advanced in his career as far as he was able and made me promise to see his wishes fulfilled. He desired for Wickham to have a valuable family living when it became vacant and a legacy of one thousand pounds. Wickham’s father did not long survive my own. Not long after these events, Wickham made me aware that he had decided against taking orders and had some resolve to study the law instead. An agreement was reached wherein he resigned all rights to the living and instead accepted a settlement of three thousand pounds. I did not hear from him again for about three years when he petitioned me for the living that had recently become vacant. The law had not been profitable for him, and he had decided to take orders if I would present him with the living. I refused, and as you can well imagine, he was not pleased.” He stopped walking and turned to look at her. “Did he tell you anything more than this?” There was an urgency to his voice.
She shook her head slowly. She was beginning to feel quite ill at the realization of how she had been duped. “He only told me half what you have related to me.”
Taking in the paleness of her face and the tears that clung to her eyelashes, he sought a place for her to rest. He continued his story as he led her off the road to a stile in the hedgerows. “My sister, Georgiana, is much younger than I. When my father died, she was placed in the care of myself and my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam. Earlier this year, my cousin and I removed her from school and hired a companion for her. This past summer, Georgie and her companion, Mrs. Younge, travelled to Ramsgate. Wickham followed, I suspect by design since we later learned he had a previous connection with the lady.” He brushed whatever dust there may be from the stile before allowing Elizabeth to take a seat. “Georgiana only remembered the kindness Wickham had shown her has a child. He, knowing she had an affectionate nature, played upon it and soon convinced her that she was in love. His persuasion was such that she consented to an elopement.”
Elizabeth gasped, and the tears which had threatened began to slip down her cheeks.
Darcy took out his handkerchief and, stooping down, handed it to her. “I prevented the elopement. She is well, save for an injured heart.”
Elizabeth’s hand rested on her heart. “And this is why you did not wish to dance?”
“It is.” He knelt beside her. He longed to dry her tears for her as he had for Georgiana when she had come to realize that Wickham did not care for her as much as he cared for her money. His heart ached now as it did then. “I had just travelled a great distance away from where my heart desired to be. My sister’s unhappiness at my departure was not far from my mind.”
Elizabeth’s eyes were on her lap where his hand covered hers. There was a comfort in the gentle touch. She knew what it was to care so for a sister. She would not be happy to be away from Jane if she were injured. “Why is your sister not with you?”
“She is with her aunt and taking lessons from the masters. I did not wish to interrupt her education.” He smiled slightly, and there was a twinkle in his eye. “And she did not wish to spend time with Miss Bingley.”
Elizabeth’s eyes grew wide. “But Miss Bingley led me to believe she and Miss Darcy were close.”
“She knows how dear my sister is to me, so I believe she says it so that I will think she would make a good sister for Georgiana and, therefore, a good wife for me.” He stood and extended his hand to Elizabeth. “She is mistaken if she thinks I would ever consider her for a wife.”
“Because she is from trade?” asked Elizabeth as she placed her hand in his.
Darcy laughed. “No, because she is annoying and rather dull.” He tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and kept it covered with his own. “I have always wished for a companion in a wife. Someone with whom I can have discussions. Someone who has read extensively and has a quick wit. I wish for my sister to have a sister who is compassionate and caring as well as intelligent and strong.” His steps faltered slightly at the realization that dawned on him. “I believe…” he paused. “I believe I have been looking for you.”
“Me?” The word had leaped from her lips before her mind had fully processed what she had just heard. Darcy stood looking at her with a look of shock on his face that matched her feelings exactly. “Surely, you could not have been looking for me.”
He smiled as the realization of what he had just said settled happily in his heart and mind. He was to marry a woman who not only touched his heart but was well-suited to him. “Yes, you.” He felt a lightness filling him.
She shook her head. The world seemed to be spinning oddly today. Indeed, it had begun to spin so last night when he had asked her to dance. Things were not as they should be. He should be pointing out her deficiency, not claiming her to be his choice for a wife. No, the choice had been removed when Aunt Philips had flown loudly down the hall in search of her father. He merely wished to see what he wanted to see.
He knew he was grinning quite foolishly. “You are perfect,” he said softly. “Beautiful, intelligent, compassionate.”
Elizabeth was sure her face had never felt so warm. “I am not perfect, nor am I beautiful.” She was quite certain that Mr. Darcy was not in his right mind when a laugh bubbled out of the normally dour gentleman.
“For me, to me, you are.” He squeezed her hand. “Truly, you are.”
Elizabeth blinked at him and shook her head once more. “I do not see it.”
“But you will.”
She bristled at the sound of such assurance in his voice. She was not wrong. She knew she was not beautiful. Had not her mother said so many times? She also knew she was not perfect. She had just been presented with a glaring example of how she had been willing to believe the worst of Mr. Darcy with no more proof than the words of another agreeing with her feelings of dislike for the man. It was more than she felt she could countenance for one day, and yet the day was not more than half over. She absently rubbed the space between her brows.
“Are you well?” There was the uncertainty in his voice again, but this time she understood it.
“Merely overwhelmed, Mr. Darcy. ” She gave him a reassuring smile. “There is no need to fret.”
He laughed lightly. “Ah, but I will. I am afraid it is a well-developed fault.”
Seeking to change the direction of their conversation, she asked, “Has it been a fault all your life?”
“I am afraid it has. My mother’s constitution was not strong. She was often ill, and never fully recovered from her illness after my sister was born. I believe, I was prone to ponder things more than needed, but when one’s mother is ill…” His voice trailed off.
Elizabeth chided herself for bringing up such painful thoughts.
“She was quite wonderful. I believe I got my love of poetry from her. Both my father and mother were avid readers, but my father’s tastes tended more to the
academic where my mother’s were more imaginative. ” The look on his face softened and the corners of his mouth turned up slightly. Elizabeth was so taken with the expression since it was the same he had given her this morning that she nearly forgot to listen to what he was saying. “She would take me up on her lap or, later, next to her in her bed and read a poem to me and then discuss the images created with the words.”
“Oh, how lovely,” said Elizabeth. “The scenes that can be painted by the few words of a poet are indeed inspiring.”
He smiled down at her. “The economy of words my mother called it. You would have liked her. Everyone did. Mrs. Reynolds still speaks of her with such fondness.”
“Mrs. Reynolds?”
“My housekeeper at Pemberley.”
A sudden jolt of panic gripped Elizabeth’s heart. Her thoughts had been so tangled with her feelings or lack of feelings for Mr. Darcy that she had forgotten to consider the estate of which she was to be the mistress. She was certain her knowledge of the running of an estate was not equal to the task that lay before her at Pemberley. She wrapped her arm around her middle in an attempt to keep her insides from fluttering.
“Are you well?” There was a greater note of concern in his voice now.
She nodded. “I had not considered Pemberley. It must certainly be very grand.”
“It is larger than Netherfield.”
“Much larger?” She recalled hearing he owned half of Derbyshire.
“Yes.”
Oh, her heart was racing. She both needed to know and wished not to know the full extent of the responsibilities that lay before her. “And town? You came to Hertfordshire from town. I assume you have a home there as well?”
“I do. It has its own staff. Mrs. Vernon is the housekeeper there. Both she and Mrs. Reynolds are exceptional at their jobs.”
She nodded. She hoped they would also be understanding and helpful.
“Your father suggested that you and your sister Mary accompany me to town when I go to get the special license. You could meet Mrs. Vernon then and have a tour of the house. He mentioned that you would be welcomed at your aunt and uncle’s house and that your aunt would be best able to assist you in selecting wedding clothes.”
She gripped her stomach more firmly. The reality of all the changes about to take place in her life settled in heavily around her. “This is absurd,” she said. “My aunt and uncle live near Cheapside in Gracechurch Street. My uncle is in trade. My aunt is the daughter of a tradesman. My mother is the daughter of a tradesman. While my father is a gentleman, I am tainted by trade. This cannot be acceptable to your family. And my education is lacking. I have not the accomplishments necessary to travel in the circles in which you travel. Perhaps if I just go away quietly. . . if you could help me find a position as a companion, then all would be well for my sisters, and you would be free to find a wife who is more well-suited to the position of Mrs. Darcy.” A tear slid down her cheek, carrying with it some of the frustration she felt. The breeze tugged at her bonnet and flipped the ribbons against her neck.
Darcy stopped walking. “You are overwhelmed.”
“Yes, and I am unprepared.”
“Both are not without remedy.” Once again, he squeezed her hand where it lay beneath his on his arm. “We will remain in town for the season. You may begin by learning the running of Darcy House. It is not so grand as Pemberley and has no tenants on whom to call.”
“But there will be social calls to make and soirees to attend.”
He smiled at her. “You are capable. You merely fear the unknown.”
She sighed resignedly. He was obviously determined to not let her escape their arrangement. “When do we leave for my aunt’s house?”
“The day after tomorrow. Your father sent an express to inform your relations of your arrival.”
She nodded slowly.
“Miss Elizabeth,” his voice was soft but serious, “I am not unaware of the challenges before us, but you know we must marry.”
Again she nodded slowly.
“We shall face whatever challenges arise together. I have made a promise to your father that I will care for you. It is not a promise I make lightly. Beyond that, my heart would not allow it. Can you trust me enough to believe that?”
She saw the look of concern in his eyes and heard the uncertainty in his voice. That strange feeling of needing to put him at ease washed over her again. “I shall try,” she said, and then noting that the look of concern decreased only slightly, she added, “It is all I can promise right now. I shall try. I really, truly shall try.”
“Very well,” he said, the crease between his brows nearly disappearing. “You shall try to trust me, and I shall try to be patient.”
Chapter 3
Elizabeth stood looking out the front window of her uncle’s house in Gracechurch Street, watching Darcy’s coach make its way through the early evening traffic. She pulled in her lip and bit it softly as she considered the man within the coach. As she had promised Jane two days ago, she had questioned everything about him. Yesterday, she had questioned him in regards to his attention to his tenants and his staff. She had asked him of his father and of his steward. She had even dared to ask about his supposed betrothal to his cousin. He had patiently borne all her inquiries. She was beginning to run out of questions about his character, which left her in a very uncomfortable state, for she knew that she must also examine her own character, a character that seemed wanting, having so misjudged Mr. Darcy, a character which had fallen easy prey to the pretty words of a charmer. She sighed.
Mrs. Gardiner placed an arm around Elizabeth’s shoulders. “He seems very pleasant.”
“A right proper gentleman,” agreed her uncle.
“Not at all as you described,” said her aunt softly.
Elizabeth’s shoulders lifted slightly and then dropped. “I may have misjudged him.” She turned sad eyes to her aunt. “I do not know who he is. I was so sure I knew, but I do not.”
“Ah, my dear. Something tells me you know more than you will allow yourself to admit.” Mrs. Gardiner turned Elizabeth away from the window. “We should get you and Mary installed in your room.” She led Elizabeth from the room and started up the stairs. “You will, of course, have to share your story of how you became betrothed to a man you were so set against. I have had your father’s version, but I would like to hear yours.” She turned to the right at the top of the stairs and opened the second door on her left. “Your uncle has brought home some lovely laces and a few pieces of silk he thought you might like. I have to say, your uncle has an excellent eye for colour. You would look lovely in all of them, so you shall have a dress from each. Mrs. Havelston has lent me her book of fashions. She knows how much you dislike spending hours in her shop choosing fabrics and patterns, and our time is limited.”
Elizabeth sat heavily on the bed while Mary opened a trunk and began the task of unpacking. “It is all too much.”
“Are you indeed your mother’s daughter?” Mrs. Gardiner crossed her arms and gave Elizabeth an amused but quizzical look.
A small laugh escaped Mary. “She has been for three days now.”
Elizabeth gasped.
“You have been a ball of nerves ever since the ball,” explained Mary.
“I am being forced to marry a man I barely know because my aunt created a scene. You would not be a picture of serenity either if it were you.”
Mary shrugged. “Perhaps I would be as distraught as you if I were to be forced to marry a wealthy, handsome gentleman who obviously cared for me, but I rather doubt it.” Mary hung a gown in the wardrobe. “Mr. Darcy is not so very bad. You could have to marry Mr. Collins.”
“Mary.” Elizabeth shook her head not knowing what else to say to her sister.
Mary stood before Elizabeth with her hands on her hips. “He had requested a meeting with Father, and he had been following you around like a lost lamb. It does not take great intelligence to know he had selected you to be his wife.
Surely, you knew.” She returned to the trunk to continue the unpacking.
“I had my suspicions,” said Elizabeth softly.
“As I see it, Mr. Darcy saved you from a dire fate, and you should be grateful.” Mary hung another dress in the wardrobe. “And I heard rumours about Mr. Wickham that would make you blush.” She turned and looked at Elizabeth. “I learn many things listening to conversations while I am being ignored.”
“Ignored?” Shock suffused Elizabeth’s face. She had never considered how little attention was paid to Mary.
“Do not mistake me. To be ignored is not a travesty to me. I much prefer to watch and listen.” Mary placed a brush on the table near the mirror before joining her aunt and Elizabeth on the bed. “As I see it, you are fortunate. He adores you. I have seen it.”
“Is this true?” Mrs. Gardiner asked.
“Oh, it is!” said Mary. “He watches her every move, and the look on his face….” she grabbed Elizabeth’s hand and spoke wistfully, “It is like Jane’s when she speaks of Mr. Bingley.” She bounced a bit on the bed as she tucked her feet under her skirts. “And do you know he thinks you have fine eyes? Millicent heard him say it to Miss Bingley. He loves you, Lizzy.” She turned to her aunt. “Did you not see how attentive he was today? He is that way whenever Lizzy is near.”
“He certainly was attentive,” agreed Mrs. Gardiner.
“But what if I do not love him?”
Mary shrugged. “Then you are a fool.”
“Girls,” Mrs. Gardiner interrupted, “before this discussion becomes unpleasant and feelings are injured, may I suggest we allow Elizabeth to tell me what happened at the Netherfield ball.”
Mary looked first at her aunt and then, her sister. “Do you wish me to leave?”
“That is entirely up to your sister,” said Mrs. Gardiner.
Elizabeth shook her head. “No, you may stay.”
Mrs. Gardiner fluffed up the pillows, propping them against the head of the bed and motioning for her nieces to join her in sitting with their backs resting against them.