by Nia Farrell
“Mr. Darcy,” Miss Bennet blurts. “We were about to go upstairs and dress for dinner with new acquaintances that we have made.”
Georgiana has counseled me to keep my passions in check (and thus my speech clear). Taking a deep breath, I strive to release the envy felt toward those who have a prior demand upon Miss Elizabeth’s company. I should apologise. We are intruding. However rude that may be, I cannot say that I am sorry, when the two most important women in my life are finally to meet.
Composing myself, I seize the moment and perform the introductions. “Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, Miss Bennet, may I have the pleasure of introducing my sister, Miss Georgiana Darcy? Georgiana, this is Mr. Edward Gardiner, Mrs. Gardiner, and their niece, Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
My sister has poise beyond her years and greets them with all elegance and grace. “Good morning to you all. I am so very pleased to make your acquaintance. My brother has spoken of you fondly. I hope that we shall be friends, too.”
Clever girl. She smashes the social barriers and extends an invitation of friendship, clearly aimed at Miss Elizabeth, in one fell swoop. I have seldom been prouder of her.
Somewhat taken aback by my sister’s kindness, Miss Elizabeth studies her demeanor and appearance, no doubt measuring her against Caroline Bingley’s stick. Georgiana is tall, and on a larger scale than any of the Bennet sisters. A full figured and handsome girl, there is sense and good humour in her face. Her manners are unassuming and gentle—good traits to possess when dealing with anyone skittish, as Miss Elizabeth has proven to be a time or two.
Although I do not think she will bolt, I keep my place between her and the door. Effectively trapped, Miss Elizabeth studies my sister and myself, no doubt cataloguing our resemblances with Latin footnotes.
I face the window, watching for Charles and listening to Mr. Gardiner enlighten us with the tale of how they met their dinner companions, fellow travellers discovered on a recent adventure.
“Miss Elizabeth,” I interject when Mr. Gardiner is at a point in his story where I may do so, “Mr. Bingley is here.”
“In Derbyshire?” she asks, striving to sound as if it matters not.
“Here,” I say. “In Lambton.”
No sooner have the words spilled from my lips than footsteps sound, the door opens, and Charles enters the room.
“Miss Elizabeth!” he croons. “How marvelous to see you again! Your family, are they well?”
“Why, yes,” she answers. “Yes, they are. And your sisters? Are they well? Are they with you?”
“Two are here. The young ones are in Scotland, staying with a cousin, learning the local history and traditions and expanding their musical repertoire, so I was told. I do not believe that Marissa is enamoured enough of bagpipes as to learn to play them, but she was tinkering with wooden whistles when I left.”
Although the Gardiners are eager to meet Bingley, having heard of him from Miss Jane, I eventually manage to lure Mr. Gardiner away with fishing stories. Georgiana talks bonnets with Mrs. Gardiner, leaving Bingley with Miss Elizabeth. Soon the two of them draw a little ways apart in quiet conversation, yet are close enough that I am in a position to hear.
When Charles speaks again, his voice is full of regret. “It is a very long time since I have had the pleasure of seeing you,” he tells her. “It is above eight months. We have not met since the 26th of November, when we were all dancing together at Netherfield.”
Jesus God. Charles remembers the exact date. Coming from a man who must be reminded of his siblings’ birthdays, it is surely a sign.
“Your sisters?” he asks, clearing his throat. “Are they…are they all at Longbourn?”
“Three,” she says. “My youngest sister Lydia has gone with her friend Harriet—Mrs. Forster—to Brighton, sent with the admonishment to refrain from teasing anyone whilst she is there.”
She dares to meet my gaze then. The soft, yearning look in her eyes gives me hope.
We stay a good half-an-hour. Eventually Charles asks Miss Elizabeth about Miss Jane. Everything about the exchange confirms his interest in her.
I call on Georgiana to join me in expressing our wish of seeing Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner and Miss Bennet to dinner at Pemberley before they leave the country. My sister readily obeys. Our invitation is accepted, and the day after next is fixed on.
Georgiana is nothing but smiles when we get into the curricle for the journey home. Charles rides beside us, reminiscing of our time in Hertfordshire, knowing that such open and unfettered conversation may not be possible once we are at Pemberley with Caroline and Louisa.
“For what it is worth, I like her.” Georgiana whispers when Charles’s horse spooks at a rabbit and he falls back to calm his mount. “Unfortunate family aside, she seems to have a sister worthy of Mr. Bingley’s interest. I do not believe that I have ever heard him speak so long, and with such passion.”
“Nor I,” I admit. “Now to win Aunt Catherine to the idea.”
Georgiana taps my sleeve with her fan. “Are you not putting the cart before the horse? Must you not first win Miss Elizabeth’s approval? She scarcely spoke to you.”
“It is her way,” I explain. “She watches. Listens. Analyzes. Categorizes. She may have spoken to Bingley more, but make no mistake. She was attuned to me. Observe her, when she comes, and watch for signs. The subtle shift in her face as she turns an ear to my conversation. Her fine eyes, kept averted, not allowing me to read what is there. She makes her interest known by pretending not to be interested. See if you do not agree.”
Back at Pemberley, Caroline is less caustic than expected. Either Mrs. Ashcroft is a positive influence, or Caroline is being careful to keep her true colours furled at this stage of their relationship. Louisa takes up the reins, lashing at the Bennet sisters as inferior, with a want of connections, impudent manners, a horrible mother, and younger sisters who chase after officers.
Georgiana lets Louisa vent, then shares her opinion. “I am sorry. I found Miss Elizabeth to be perfectly agreeable and look forward to seeing her here. I have invited them to dinner on Friday. We will understand, of course, if you do not wish to join us.”
Louisa stiffens. Caroline’s mouth pinches. Nothing more is said—at least not in our presence.
Friday seems an eternity, but there are things to do. Preparations to make. A certain room to ready, should the chance present itself to bring her down to it. I cannot do what I wish (not when she is travelling with relations who will notice how gingerly she sits and question marks left on her skin), but I have an idea or two—small, quick, easy introductions to some of my commoner things.
Mr. Gardiner is an early visitor the next morning, arriving as breakfast is finished in hopes of pursuing the offer made yesterday. As promised, I accoutre him for fishing and go so far as to provide him with companions. Because of his nieces, he is as interested in Charles as in me, and the two of us welcome the opportunity to learn more about our young ladies. On the walk to the stream, Mr. Gardiner regales us with memories of the childhoods that shaped them into the women they have become.
We are quiet, of course, when we get there. Fishing is a serious business, and Mr. Gardiner is clearly one of Walton’s “compleat” anglers. At one point, when he is unhooking another trout to tip into the creel, he mentions that Mrs. Gardiner and Miss Elizabeth should be at Pemberley by now. Following my sister’s example, they planned to return her call this morning.
Miss Elizabeth. At Pemberley.
And I am here.
Fuck.
I look at Charles, who smiles and nods. “Go on. We’ll catch a few more and return before noon. George should be up by then.”
Louisa’s husband is not an early riser on any given day, and he stayed late at the Loo table last night.
“Very well. Catch some for me, and I shall see you back at the house.”
*****
I was never so quick to clean up. My valet suppresses a smile as he helps me into my jacket and checks my hair one las
t time before going down.
I know where I shall find the ladies. The northeast saloon was my mother’s favourite for entertaining in summer. Its casement windows open to the ground, frame the landscape behind the house, and provide a refreshing view of the beautiful oaks and Spanish chestnuts scattered over the immediate lawn, with high woody hills beyond.
I step softly and listen at the door before entering. The conversation is animated and devoid of Bingley voices. Most of it is between Mrs. Annesley and Mrs. Gardiner, with help from Miss Elizabeth and an occasional remark from Georgiana.
All that changes when I enter the room.
The shift is abrupt and unsettling. They all know what has drawn me here. Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Everyone’s gaze falls unapologetically on me, judging my response to the sight of her. Miss Elizabeth is lovely. Lovely. What I would not give to name her mine.
We are aware of the others, but for a long, telling moment, we see only each other. Miss Elizabeth sits a bit straighter. I marvel at how composed she looks when I feel almost scattered. When she drops her gaze and places her hands, palm up, upon her thighs, it is all I can do to not drag her downstairs and show her how it’s properly done.
As if divining my thoughts, Miss Elizabeth blushes, the colour in her cheeks deepening when she remembers where we are, and what I still intend to do with her. Bondage. Spanking. Domination. Submission.
“Mr. Darcy.” Caroline is all smiles when she addresses me. Plucking a bunch of grapes from a pyramid of fresh fruit that graces the table, she remarks upon the most recent changes in the room, wrought by my sister, and describes in detail which ones she would see copied in Grosvenor Street. Georgiana strives to steer the conversation, guiding it towards Miss Elizabeth whenever possible. I remark on subjects that my sister and Miss Elizabeth both enjoy, helping them find common ground. The more they dwell there, the sharper Caroline becomes until, in the impudence of anger, she snipes, “Pray, Miss Eliza, are not the militia removed from Meryton? They must be a great loss to your family.”
“You are correct in that they have gone to Brighton,” she says calmly. “But we manage quite well without them.”
Without Wickham.
I am relieved to hear that he is gone. I have not told Georgiana, who looks at her lap, confusion etched on her features at Caroline’s caustic tone and cutting remarks. She would have the world be friends. She accepts Caroline when others cannot tolerate her. She has no idea why Caroline is so very mean spirited today, but I can see that Caroline is trying to force my sister into choosing between her and Miss Elizabeth.
Their demeanors are diametrically opposed. Miss Elizabeth maintains a sense of collected calm that I both admire and take heart from. Caroline does her worst to demean, provoke, and denigrate. The only thing preventing Caroline from throwing Wickham in Miss Bennet’s face is that I have strictly forbidden mention of his name, without exception. She does not know the reason, of course, and it shall remain that way.
Georgiana will not look at me, blaming herself for not controlling the conversation better. But it was Caroline who attacked Miss Elizabeth. Miss Elizabeth has been the model of decorum. Even Mrs. Gardiner seems impressed with her niece’s performance.
They leave soon after Caroline’s snit. I escort them to their carriage, apologise for the unpleasantness, and bid them farewell until dinner tomorrow. I return to a veritable tirade. Caroline is on a rant, intent on criticizing everything about Miss Elizabeth—her person, her behavior, her dress.
“How very ill Miss Eliza Bennet looks this morning, Mr. Darcy,” she sneers. “I never in my life saw anyone so much altered as she is since the winter. She is grown so brown and coarse! Louisa and I were agreeing that we should not have known her again.”
Hogwash.
“I perceive no other alteration than her being rather tanned, no miraculous consequence of travelling in the summer.”
Caroline huffs. “For my own part, I must confess that I never could see any beauty in her. Her face is too thin; her complexion has no brilliancy; and her features are not at all handsome. Her nose wants character—there is nothing marked in its lines. Her teeth are tolerable, but not out of the common way; and as for her eyes, which have sometimes been called so fine, I could never see anything extraordinary in them. They have a sharp, shrewish look, which I do not like at all; and in her air altogether there is a self-sufficiency without fashion, which is intolerable.”
She should leave it at that, but she does not. She manages to nettle me. When I remain resolutely silent, she tries again. “I remember, when we first knew her in Hertfordshire, how amazed we all were to find that she was reputed a beauty; and I particularly recollect your saying one night, ‘She a beauty! I should as soon call her mother a wit.’ But afterwards she seemed to improve on you, and I believe you thought her rather pretty at one time.”
Enough.
“Yes,” I say, unable to contain myself any longer, “but that was only when I first saw her, for it is many months since I have considered her as one of the handsomest women of my acquaintance.”
Caroline flinches. She clearly was not expecting such a declaration from me, but she left me no choice. I regret my earlier words, which were spoken to dissuade her. I regret saying anything that would disparage Miss Elizabeth, but it is done and cannot be undone. I can only move forward, toward the future I envision. Caroline should know that I protect what is mine. If she does not, then she is more the fool.
Unable to stand her presence any longer, I leave the saloon and head for the stream, hoping to rejoin the others. I meet them on the path, their dripping creels laden with fish that are soon consigned to my cooks. A pitcher and bowl are brought out for them to wash, but when Mr. Gardiner learns that his wife and niece are gone, he begs off and returns to Lambton to be with them.
Would that I could go, too. I console myself that however much I must tolerate from Caroline Bingley today, tomorrow I will have my reward when Miss Elizabeth comes.
Chapter Twenty-Four
I am eager to see her. Overeager, perhaps. Caroline’s slights have pushed me out the door and down the road to Lambton. I meet Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner on the outskirts of town, headed for dinner at Pemberley.
“Good morning,” I greet them warmly, as if they are already family. “Your niece is not with you. She is well?”
“Good morning to you, sir. Elizabeth should be along shortly. Letters arrived from her sister, and she wished to read them now, rather than be distracted all the day, wondering what they did say.”
I release the breath that I have been unconsciously holding and smile. “Good. Good. I shall gather her when she is done. We will catch up when we can.”
She will be alone. Five minutes, I tell myself. Fifteen at most, and I shall have her shuddering to a climax, coming apart in my arms.
Anticipation lengthens my stride and hurries my steps. The Gardiners’ manservant shows me upstairs, opening the door to reveal a Miss Elizabeth, seated at a small table, greatly distressed. Her eyes glisten, tear-smacked. Her face looks white-washed, a stark contrast to her reddened nose and far too pale for the traveller’s tan that should be showing.
She clutches a sheaf of papers with neatly penned lines, crushing them in her grip. Whatever news she has received, it cannot be good.
“I beg your pardon,” she chokes out, “but I must leave you. I must find Mr. Gardiner this moment, on business that cannot be delayed; I have not an instant to lose.”
“Good God! What is the matter?” I take a breath. Gather myself. I need to be strong for her. “I will not detain you a minute, but let me, or let the servant go after Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner. You are not well enough; you cannot go yourself.”
“John!” she calls. “John! Come back!”
She orders him to fetch his master and mistress here this instant, then collapses in a chair, knees buckling, unable to support herself a minute longer. She looks terrible. Absolutely miserable.
“Let me call your maid,”
I say softly. “Is there nothing you could take to give you present relief? A glass of wine; shall I get you one? You are very ill.”
“No, I thank you,” she replies, endeavouring to recover herself. “There is nothing the matter with me. I am quite well. I am only distressed by some dreadful news which I have just received from Longbourn.”
She bursts into tears as she alludes to it. Minutes pass before she can speak another word, leaving me in wretched suspense.
“My concern for you is above all else,” I tell her, knowing it to be true. Sadly, she is skittish as a two-year-old not yet broken to the saddle. I must be patient, or she will shut down and lock me out entirely.
At length she speaks again. “I have just had a letter from Jane, with such dreadful news. It cannot be concealed from anyone. My younger sister has left all her friends—has eloped; has thrown herself into the power of—of Mr. Wickham. They are gone off together from Brighton. You know him too well to doubt the rest. She has no money, no connections, nothing that can tempt him to—”
To marry her. The bastard.
Miss Elizabeth whispers what we both know to be true. Her sister is lost forever.
Jesus God. What a disaster. Suddenly the future that I built in my head tumbles like a house of cards. I think of how I warned Miss Elizabeth…and how I forbade her to do the same. This is my fault. Mine. If I had made Wickham’s character known, he would never have been allowed to stay in service except to muck stalls.
She grows even more agitated. “When I consider that I might have prevented it!—I, who knew what he was. Had I but explained some part of it only—some part of what I learnt, to my own family! Had his character been known, this could not have happened. But it is all, all too late now.”
“I am grieved indeed,” I tell her. “Grieved. Shocked. But is it certain? Absolutely certain?”