by Jann Rowland
The way his father’s lips contorted suggested to Darcy that he had thought to use the time of the courtship to attempt to convince Darcy against Elizabeth. Whether his conjecture was true Darcy did not know, but he decided against pursuing the matter. There had never been any chance of success, and now events had proceeded too far to be recalled, regardless.
“I suppose you must be correct,” said Mr. Darcy at length, ceasing his pacing by throwing himself into his chair. “When Alexander gets back, I shall give him a piece of my mind, and see if he possesses the stomach for it.”
“Darcy, my friend,” said Lord Arundel, still displaying that measure of jollity Darcy had noticed before, “I believe you are not considering the implications of these events.”
Though his father frowned at the baron’s use of the term “friend,” he appeared intrigued by his words. “What do you mean?”
“Why, that this business between our families has been settled with very little effort on our parts. We cannot continue to be at odds if there are two marriages between our families.”
“Perhaps three,” interjected Darcy. When the elder men looked at him, he shrugged and said: “Remember the matter of Anne and Mr. Gardiner.”
Three months ago it could not have been contemplated, but on that morning the two gentlemen looked at each other and laughed, Lord Arundel exclaiming: “Yes, this matter of Gardiner and Miss de Bourgh is intriguing! Since he has always considered himself to be my daughters’ protector, I can only conjecture he thought to resolve our conflict himself.
“In that case, there is only one thing we can do—let us celebrate the end of our feud with a drink or two. And should you run out of brandy I have a fine French vintage at Longbourn waiting for us.”
Again Mr. Darcy laughed and rose to his feet, going to the decanter. “You do not think my cellars are so poorly stocked, do you? I must own that I am scandalized—a peer of the realm in possession of illegal French brandy?”
“One of the perks of the position,” said Lord Arundel with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I have a very good man of business who gets me a case occasionally.”
“Then let us toast to our future,” said Darcy’s father, pouring brandy into the three glasses, while producing a fourth for Bingley.
Darcy, while he was feeling ebullient at the direction matters had proceeded, was not eager to stay with his father and his future father-in-law while they became soused on French brandy. It seemed Bingley was of like mind. Thus, after a single drink, the two younger men excused themselves, leaving the elder to their revelries, the intake of spirits and the shocking news having lowered their inhibitions toward each other.
“Shall we go to Longbourn, Darcy?” asked Bingley when they had exited the room. “I am eager to see my betrothed, and I cannot but suppose you are impatient to see your own.”
Correct though Bingley was, Darcy had a sudden notion that Longbourn was not the most probable place to find Elizabeth. “You go on ahead, my friend,” said Darcy. “Before I may depart, I believe I should like to have a word with my sister.”
Whether Bingley understood his meaning Darcy was uncertain, but he was not about to delay. After a quick farewell and a hearty slap on Darcy’s back, his friend made his way to the door with a spring in his step. Though Miss Bingley would not appreciate the upcoming acknowledgment of his engagement to Elizabeth, Bingley, it seemed, was eager to have him for a brother. Darcy was scarcely less eager himself.
It was a merciful bit of serendipity that Darcy found his sister together with his cousin; Lady Catherine nowhere in evidence. There was little doubt in Darcy’s mind that the lady had sequestered herself to invent some stratagem to realize her wishes. Anne regarded him as he entered, her slight smirk suggesting she knew something of what had occurred, while Georgiana looked at him with curiosity for his cheerful state.
“You appear like the cat who has gotten into the cream, Cousin,” said Anne. “As my mother has retired to her room for the afternoon, there is no reason for circumspection.”
“What do you know of the matter?” asked Darcy, a mild amusement welling up within him.
“Only that Mr. Bingley arrived a short time ago appearing like a pack of wolves were nipping his heels,” replied Anne. “Now, what has you in this uncharacteristic mood?”
“We have just learned of an event of some significance,” said Darcy, as he proceeded to explain what Bingley told them. Georgiana, it appeared, was shocked, though all he could see in Anne’s reaction was mirth. Then he explained their conjecture and the reason they had decided not to pursue the illicit lovers and informed them of his father and Lord Arundel’s situation in his father’s study.
“That leaves the field clear for you to marry your own Miss Bennet,” said Anne with a grin.
“And leaves the field open for you and your Bennet relation,” rejoined Darcy.
“That is yet premature, Darcy,” said Anne with an airy wave.
“Bennet relation?” squeaked Georgiana. “Of what are you talking?”
“It is my understanding,” said Darcy, winking at Anne, “that Anne has become comfortable with Mr. Gardiner of late.”
“And yet we are not even courting yet,” said Anne.
Darcy laughed. “Yes, for that to happen, I suspect we must send your mother back to Kent with all haste.”
“And you mean to marry Miss Elizabeth?” asked Georgiana.
“We have already been engaged for some days,” replied Darcy. “Now, having no other choice, our fathers have agreed to sanction our marriage.”
“I am happy for you, Brother,” said Georgiana. A shy smile came over her and she added: “When we met Miss Elizabeth, I liked her very well. I shall like to have her for a sister.”
“Not to mention Miss Lydia,” said Anne. “And there are three other sisters, too.”
“Do not concern yourself, Georgiana,” said Darcy, amused by his sister’s sudden trepidation. “I suspect they will welcome you with open arms.”
At that moment, the housekeeper arrived with a visitor in tow, a woman Darcy wished to see as little as he did his aunt—it was, perhaps, late for a social visit, but that had never stopped her before. Miss Bingley, sensing the good cheer in the air, glided toward them as if she suspected she was the subject of their ebullience. Then Anne, who had become Darcy’s favorite cousin, took pity on him and addressed Miss Bingley in his stead.
“Thank you for visiting us, Miss Bingley. Come and sit with Georgiana and me, for I believe my cousin has an urgent errand to which he must attend at present.”
“Yes, I do,” replied Darcy, favoring his cousin with a grateful smile. “I believe I must be about it at once.”
Miss Bingley, it seemed, was not willing to give up his company. “Mr. Darcy, I hurried here at once when I learned of your heroic actions to save young Master Bennet from certain death! Of course, I would have expected nothing else from a man of your quality. The circumstances which led to your presence there are a mystery, but I commend you for your actions.”
The searching quality in her question was not lost on Darcy, but he was not about to allow her visit to keep him there against his will. “It is nothing more than any man of conscience would do, Miss Bingley,” said Darcy, ignoring her comments about his presence there. “I would act the same in any such situation. Now, if you will excuse me, I must depart.”
Though Miss Bingley opened her mouth, Darcy turned to stride from the room. As he departed, he heard Anne’s voice addressing Miss Bingley:
“Come, Miss Bingley,” said she. “It appears there are a few matters we must discuss, for it has been an eventful day.”
Darcy made himself a mental note to be Anne’s most fervent supporter whatever she decided with respect to Mr. Gardiner. Taking upon herself the duty of informing Miss Bingley of his engagement to Elizabeth was a bit of kindness for which Darcy would always be grateful to her.
Now was not a time for such thoughts. There was a young woman Darcy was cer
tain was waiting for them in their personal bit of heaven, and Darcy meant to join her as soon as may be.
To Elizabeth’s great delight, she had predicted William’s actions with perfection. As soon as they discovered her sister’s flight and Mr. Bingley departed to inform her father, Elizabeth knew there could be no further impediment against her own marriage, regardless of how obstinate their fathers chose to be. It was a simple leap from that realization to expect William to depart from Pemberley hoping to meet her, and she was certain he would check the meadow before proceeding to Longbourn.
When he came charging toward her on his tall stallion, Elizabeth’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of him. Soon she found herself in his arms, reveling in the freedom they would now have to express their affection, the future which had seemed denied to them now released. After their usual greeting, which consumed several long moments, they sat on their usual rock to speak of the matter.
“I suppose it would be customary to express regret for the actions of my imprudent sister,” said Elizabeth.
“What of my imprudent brother?” asked William, to which they both laughed.
“Yes, I suppose his part in this is a match for my sister’s,” replied Elizabeth. “But even though I am a little vexed with Lydia for acting with such precipitous rashness, I cannot but be pleased with the result.”
“It makes our own situation that much easier,” agreed William. “Even my father is not so set against us now, though I should not have concerned myself with his opposition if he was.”
Elizabeth turned to regard William, curious as to his father’s behavior. “He still protests against me?”
“It is a little more complicated than that, I believe,” replied William.
He proceeded to inform her of what had happened at Pemberley that day, the discussions before and after Mr. Bingley’s arrival with the shocking news. Elizabeth laughed when he informed her of their state as he had left them alone and opined that her father would return to Longbourn a trifle disguised. Perhaps they were on their way toward friendly relations—she hoped so, for she wished to be cordial with her future father-in-law at the very least.
“I believe there must have been some cooperation from Lydia’s maid,” said Elizabeth as they spoke of how their siblings had kept in contact. “Hettie has often been a friend to Lydia as much as a servant. It is possible she was tasked with carrying messages to and from her mistress. My mother might have suspected it, but she will say nothing. Now that Lydia is to be married, I suspect Hettie will go with Lydia to her new home.”
“That is likely for the best,” agreed William. He paused, appearing pensive, and then said: “I can only hope that they will do well together.”
“Lydia and Alexander?”
“Yes,” replied William. “Alexander has often been unserious; forgive me if I am speaking out of turn, but your sister seems rather immature.”
“You are not incorrect,” said Elizabeth with a sigh. “Perhaps they will learn responsibility together, though I cannot imagine they will manage it without some effort.”
“I have noted Alexander’s improvement since he returned home,” mused William. “It may be the demands of a wife and the care of managing his own estate will provoke him to become a better man.”
“That is my hope,” replied Elizabeth. Then she turned to him and said: “Now, enough of our siblings, for I had much rather speak of our future. Do you believe your father will still require us to wait six months before we can marry?”
William laughed and kissed her. “Given your father’s opinion that an immediate announcement would be best to take the focus of the gossip away from our siblings, I cannot imagine he will not see sense.”
“Good,” said Elizabeth. “For I would not wish to defy him and create a greater scandal by setting off for Gretna Green this very afternoon.”
With a delighted laugh, William exclaimed: “Yes, that would be unfortunate, would it not?”
“Unfortunate in the extreme! But I should not hesitate if they proved intractable.”
“The question is, how to manage all these weddings,” said William. “Unless I am mistaken, I believe two of your sisters are already engaged, are they not?”
Elizabeth confirmed his words by saying: “Mr. Collins plucked up the courage this morning while the rest of us were picnicking.”
“I should not wish to wait until your other sisters marry before taking you to the altar.”
“Then we shall have a multiple wedding,” said Elizabeth, shrugging as the matter was of no consequence. “Mary and Jane will, I am certain, be happy to share their wedding day with me. Jane and I have often spoken of how wonderful it would be if we married in the same ceremony.”
“Bingley would not protest,” replied William, “though I have no notion of how Mr. Collins would react.”
“Mr. Collins would agree,” assured Elizabeth. “In fact, I believe he would consider it a great honor.”
“Then it is settled,” replied William. “If your sisters are agreeable, we shall marry together.”
For some time after, the couple sat and spoke in soft tones, the blanket Elizabeth had set underneath them providing comfort. While she could not like the way it had come about—and determined to press Lydia and new husband to account for their behavior when they returned—Elizabeth was grateful the last vestiges of resistance to their union were at an end. Their conversation was thus characterized by those little confidences shared between lovers. Not that there was no serious conversation between them.
“Uncle Gardiner and Miss de Bourgh,” said Elizabeth when William spoke the possibility another marriage between the families. “I had heard nothing of a connection between them.”
“It is ironic, is it not?” said William. “With three connections between our families through marriage, there will be no choice but to allow the matter between us to rest.”
Elizabeth considered the matter for a moment before saying: “Yes, I suppose that must be.”
“I hope they find happiness together,” said William. “I was surprised how resolute Anne was against her mother’s anger, and she will still need to face the prospect of enduring Lady Catherine’s complains, for the lady will not give in without a fight. If Anne is determined to have Mr. Gardiner, that will prevent Lady Catherine from using her to arrange a stupendous marriage to spite me.”
“While I would prefer to suppose you are jesting,” said Elizabeth with a sigh, “I can imagine your aunt doing so given what I have heard of her.”
“Oh, yes,” replied William. “Lady Catherine is capable of that and much more.”
“Is that not what landed our families in this predicament in the first place?” Mr. Darcy turned a questioning glance on her. “It seems to me,” said Elizabeth by way of explanation, “much might have been avoided had this grudge not been passed down through generations. Perhaps our troubles began with a similar situation, a lover jilted or the interference of a domineering relation. You have my apologies if I am speaking out of turn, but I would rather those such as Lady Catherine mind their own concerns rather than cause trouble for all about them.”
Mr. Darcy appeared amused. “Some might say that her daughter’s future prospects are Lady Catherine’s concern, the lady foremost among them.”
“Perhaps they are. However, it strikes me that Lady Catherine’s motivations are selfish.”
“In that, you are correct, though I will not suggest you are sagacious for seeing it. The lady is nothing if not transparent.”
With a grin, Elizabeth turned a playful look on William. “In the future, I hope you will check me, should I behave in so unreasonable a manner with our children.”
“I assure you, my lovely future wife,” said William, murmuring around a kiss he planted on her lips, “that I shall be your conscience and your best advocate.”
Elizabeth might have responded, but at the moment she was much more agreeably engaged. It was some time before either said anything again
.
Three days later a man stood in Gretna Green, watching the ebb and flow of humanity as they moved throughout the small town. It was a comely place, he supposed, though he did not see much of it, as his focus was on something else. Gretna’s infamous blacksmith lay across the street, squat and dependable in the center of the town.
The trail had led to this place, over three days of travel, which might have been covered more quickly had the weather cooperated. The trail had been growing warmer as he traveled, so much so that his inquiries in the last town on the English side of the border informed him that his quarry had passed through less than an hour before. A quick pace set by the driver had given rise to the hope that he would be in time to catch them, but when Gretna had arisen on the horizon with no sign of them, he knew he was too late.
As he waited for them to emerge, David Gardiner considered the events which had led him here. A visit to his sister’s home the afternoon of the event had revealed it to be in uproar because of the missing daughter, and while he might have awaited their return as he was certain Lord Arundel had done, something in Gardiner’s character would not allow it. Lydia had never been his favorite niece, though he was fond of the girl—a part of him did not trust the younger Darcy, which had led to this long pursuit across the country. If he had set out even an hour earlier, he might have caught them . . . .
Now there was nothing to do but wait until they emerge and confront them. Even if he had succeeded in retrieving them before they eloped, he supposed it would not have stopped the inevitable. All he wished now was to determine if Lydia had done this of her own accord, with no undue influence by her paramour. If Alexander Darcy had pressured her, there would be a reckoning—this Gardiner pledged.