by P. O. Dixon
Whatever was to be the outcome, Elizabeth’s greatest wish was that the truth would be delayed as long as possible. Not that she feared her sister might hate Mr. Darcy—for her dear sister was incapable of such severity. Elizabeth could envision no benefit coming from such knowledge.
Caroline opened her mouth in protest, but closed it just as suddenly when the doors were opened and in strolled Mr. Darcy. His attire bore no signs of travel. Elizabeth began to wonder how long he had been in residence.
She watched in amazement over the manner in which both Bingleys greeted him.
Slapping the larger gentleman on his arm, Bingley said, “I say, Darcy, I had no idea to expect your return this soon.”
Caroline intertwined her arm through Darcy’s. “Nor I, to be certain, but that in no way takes away from the pleasure of your being here. I, for one, could not be more delighted.”
Darcy nodded at Caroline and spoke to Bingley. “I said I would return as soon as my business was done. Here I am.”
“So you did. Come—have a seat. We have guests—Miss Bennet is here and her sister—”
Their eyes met. Darcy said, “Miss Elizabeth.” Detaching himself from Caroline, he strode to Elizabeth and grasped her hand. Bowing just enough, he raised it to his lips and brushed a soft kiss across her knuckles.
Elizabeth gulped. He had singled her out, and now all eyes were upon her.
*
Elizabeth certainly did not waste time in the drawing room after he walked in. In fact, she seemed eager to be away. Darcy had not meant to single her out to the exclusion of everyone else in the room. Had he known she and Miss Bennet were visiting the Bingleys, he would not have dallied about in his apartment after his arrival. He had wasted enough time being away from her whilst in London.
Bingley and Miss Bennet were sitting by the fire talking. Where had Elizabeth run off to? He planned to find out—as soon as Miss Bingley paused long enough for him to seize the conversation and make his excuses. Wherever Elizabeth was, is where he planned to be.
The timely entrance of Bingley’s housekeeper afforded just the opportunity Darcy sought. When she signalled her need to speak to Miss Bingley, Darcy quickly excused himself.
Finding Elizabeth in the library, he wasted no time in picking up where their conversation had left off in the drawing room—before her hasty exodus. “How are you?”
“I am as well as can be expected, Mr. Darcy.”
“Your family—I trust everyone is well.”
Elizabeth smiled, but remained silent.
“How does your sister get along in Brighton? I trust she is enjoying her visit.”
Elizabeth nodded. “I believe she is, though I have not heard from her. She does not answer my letters. I believe she and Kitty correspond regularly.”
Darcy decided if they were going to engage in small talk then Elizabeth must take the initiative. He was perfectly content to stare into her amazingly bewitching eyes. How he had missed her.
After a moment, Elizabeth said, “How does your family get along in town?”
“I left everyone in good health as well as in good spirits.”
“I was sorry to learn your cousin Anne was unable to attend Lady Victoria’s ball—she wrote to say her health would not allow it.”
“Neither Anne nor Lady Catherine was in attendance.” Now was the time to broach the topic weighing heavily on his mind—the letter to his cousin.
Before he could speak, Elizabeth said, “What of your sister, Miss Darcy? Did she attend the ball?”
“My sister is not yet out in society, thus she was unable to attend. Although, she would have loved to have been at the ball, I am sure.”
“You are rather protective of your sister, Mr. Darcy.”
Darcy clutched his hands behind his back. “I am afraid I failed her in allowing her to travel to Ramsgate at such a tender age. One might say I am overcompensating as regards my protectiveness. One cannot be too careful.” He hoped he did not appear to be critical of her father’s supervision of his young daughters. “Forgive me, Miss Elizabeth. I did not mean to suggest—”
“You need not apologize, Mr. Darcy. You have good reason to be a bit protective. I only wish my own father exercised as much caution as regards Lydia and even Kitty, for they are both so young—not to mention naïve.”
Darcy wanted more than anything to find out if the letter he had written to Anne had made a difference. Had she finally confided in Elizabeth that she no longer held fast to the notion of marrying him? He was about to take Elizabeth by the hand and encourage her to sit and talk with him when the library door swung open, and Bingley’s sister sashayed into the room.
“So this is where the two of you ran off to—I had no doubt of finding you in the library, Miss Eliza. Mr. Darcy, I rather supposed you would be in the billiards room.”
Elizabeth said, “I wished to secure reading materials for the afternoon, and Mr. Darcy—”
“I wandered in here in search of a book I thought I had left behind and found Miss Elizabeth perusing the stacks,” said Darcy. “I found it impossible not to offer my assistance.”
As though intending to afford him a view of her décolletage, Caroline leaned forward. “Perhaps you will find it equally impossible to resist coming to my aid as well.”
“Then, I shall be on my way back to the drawing room.” Elizabeth quickly walked away, leaving Darcy to fend for himself against Caroline’s not too subtle advances.
Caroline twisted her pearls in a tight knot. “And here I thought the purpose in our returning to this dreadful place was so Charles could saddle himself with that awful Bennet family, when, in fact, I believe I should be wishing you joy, Mr. Darcy. Oh, what a happy couple you two shall make. I am sure no other love will compare.”
Darcy fixed his eyes upon hers. He uttered the last thing she might ever wish to hear. “From your lips to God’s ear.”
Chapter 16
A firestorm of confusion erupted in the Bennet household—kindled first by an early-morning visit from Colonel Forster and second with the discovery of Kitty’s letter from young Lydia. What Lydia described as a dream come true gave birth to Elizabeth’s worst nightmare. Lydia and Mr. Wickham had eloped!
Elizabeth had never suffered such powerlessness. Her father and the colonel had headed out straightaway in valiant pursuit of the young girl and the wretched man who had persuaded her of his honourable intentions. Even now, the hard lines that etched across her father’s face scared her as surely as it had unnerved her already excitable mother. Mrs. Bennet took to her bed with lamentations of the family’s ruin—loud enough for all of Longbourn, perhaps all of Meryton, to hear.
Poor Jane and Mary had their hands full trying to console her mother, so Elizabeth decided to look in on Kitty. She found her sister in a state much the same as her mother’s. Elizabeth hurried to her sister and embraced her.
Kitty unleashed a torrent of guilt-ridden tears. “Oh, Lizzy, everyone blames me for Lydia’s misfortunes.”
“No, Kitty, no one blames you.”
“But I might have prevented all this had I shared Lydia’s confidences earlier.”
“You had no way of knowing things would turn out this badly.” Elizabeth espied the papers in her sister’s hand. “Is that Lydia’s last missive?”
Kitty nodded her head.
“May I read the letter?”
“Yes—take it. I only wish I had shared her letters sooner. Now it is too late.” Kitty raced across the room she had shared with her youngest sister all her life and threw herself on the bed, her sobs echoing her misery.
Elizabeth placed the letter in her pocket for later perusal and followed her sister. She picked up a blanket from the foot of the bed and covered her, then leaned down and kissed Kitty’s forehead. “You must not worry. Things will turn out well—I am convinced of it.” In truth, Elizabeth was convinced of anything but. “Lie here and get some rest.”
The letter in hand, Elizabeth headed downstairs to the west parlour
. There, she curled up in her favourite chair. As she read Lydia’s missive, a specific part stood out from the rest—
What a good joke it will be! I can hardly write for laughing.
Lydia’s words pained her. Her woefully naïve sister—her innocence lost forever. To Lydia’s credit, she believed Mr. Wickham’s intentions were honourable.
Elizabeth wanted to scream! If Papa had listened, none of this would be happening. Elizabeth wiped away a single tear. She would not cry. Let the others cry. She had seen this disaster coming. Yet, her admonishments had been downright disregarded and ridiculed. She would not gloat. She needed to be strong for her family—her ruined family.
The chiming clock drew her attention. She and Jane had made plans for a carriage ride with Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley. The gentlemen would arrive any minute. She hurried to the mirror on the wall above the fireplace and studied her reflexion. She panicked. One look at her and Mr. Darcy would know something was amiss. He must not see me this way!
The doorknocker clanged. Elizabeth jumped. It was too late to do anything now. She needed to make the best of things.
Seconds later, Hill entered the drawing room. “Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley are here, Miss Elizabeth. What shall I tell them, ma’am?”
Elizabeth brushed her hand against her cheek. She tucked her hair behind her ear. “Please, show them inside.”
How foolish of her in believing she could receive the gentlemen with composure, telling them as little as possible to conceal the unhappy truth and then sending them on their way before another of her mother’s desperate wailings echoed through the halls. A single glance at Mr. Darcy melted all her carefully contrived equanimity. Clutching the letter in her hand, Elizabeth sprinted from the room.
*
Darcy and Bingley looked at each other, one silently questioning the other. Darcy said, “Wait for me here.”
Darcy walked into the hall. By now, he had spent enough time at Longbourn to suppose his wandering the halls might be overlooked. There was always the excuse of attending to his comfort—one he had availed himself of on several occasions when desiring an escape from Mrs. Bennet and her youngest daughters.
So long as Elizabeth had not headed upstairs, he would suffer little trouble finding her, if not in the house, then surely by the pond or at the tree swing. The first place he checked turned out to be the last.
Standing outside the door, Darcy made out someone weeping. Elizabeth. The door was closed, but what was he supposed to do? Did he risk knocking and perhaps drawing Mr. Bennet’s attention? Surely he might overhear him, his library being but a few feet away. He pressed his palm against the panelled door. What if she is not alone?
He turned the knob and pushed open the door. He espied her sitting in the window seat, her knees cradled to her chest, her head resting on her arms folded atop her knees.
Darcy hurried inside and closed the door behind him. He crossed the room in long strides and took her into his arms.
*
Allowing herself the solace of his embrace was wrong on so many levels. To the uninformed observer she would be viewed as no better than her sister Lydia. An outsider would consider her just as guilty in this certain breach in decorum. And yet she felt comforted being in his arms. How can this be wrong?
There is a material difference between Lydia’s foolish actions and mine. Indeed. Elizabeth was nearly one and twenty and had already received proposals of marriage from two gentlemen, whereas Lydia had thrown her life away at the tender age of fifteen. Elizabeth had every reason to believe she might one day receive another offer of marriage, if not from Mr. Darcy, whom she could not accept under the circumstances, then certainly from another. On the other hand, poor Lydia’s virtue was lost—an unforgivable offence for a woman regardless of her situation.
Elizabeth relinquished his gentle embrace and wiped the tears from her eyes.
“I am sorry, Mr. Darcy.”
“No—do not apologise.” Darcy removed his handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed the tears from her cheeks. “Pray, why are you crying?”
Elizabeth took the handkerchief. She dried her eyes, and then she stood and drifted across the room. “Do you mean to say you have not heard?”
“Heard what, Miss Elizabeth?”
The tears threatened to burst from her eyes once again. “Oh, Mr. Darcy, the worst possible scheme has occurred in Brighton—just as we feared. My sister Lydia 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 to tempt him to—she is lost forever.”
“I am sorry, Miss Elizabeth—truly sorry. Is there a chance this is a misunderstanding—a miscommunication perhaps?”
“Oh, no. Lydia believed they were headed to Gretna Green. They were traced almost to London—they certainly did not go to Scotland.”
“Pray, is anything being done to recover Miss Lydia?”
“Papa has gone to London to seek my Uncle Gardiner’s assistance.” Elizabeth wrung her hands. “You and I both know nothing can be done. How is such a man to be worked on? He has likely abandoned poor Lydia by now. How is she ever to be recovered? I fear all hope is lost.”
His brow contracted, his air gloomy, Mr. Darcy stared off into the distance in silent meditation. No one needed to tell Elizabeth what his sudden change in demeanour meant. Her power had diminished—as suddenly as that. Suddenly, but not unexpectedly. How could it be otherwise? The humiliation—the shame now thrust upon her family pursuant to Lydia’s foolishness—must void all previous possibilities.
A dreadful silence ensued. Elizabeth wanted to say something, but what was there to say? Surely he must fault her father for not listening to him, for practically laughing in his face. He must think the Bennets one of the most ridiculous families in all of England.
At last he spoke. “Again, I ask you to believe me when I say I am sorry for your family’s misfortunes.” He stood. “This is perhaps not the best time for my presence—mine or Bingley’s, what with this devastating turn of events. Our place is in town. I shall gather him directly, and we shall be on our way.”
Elizabeth tried to hide her dismay. “Of course, Mr. Darcy, I understand fully.”
They stared into each other’s eyes for the longest time. It was almost as heart-wrenching as the time in Kent when he regarded her so intently before taking his leave of her at the temple. Then, the painful sting of rejection had fashioned his countenance. What did he suffer now? Relief?
Before he left, he stated once again his sorrow for her distress and his ardent wish for a happier conclusion than present circumstances allowed any of them to consider. Then, with one last serious, parting gaze, he went away.
The ensuing agony was akin to a gnawing pain of her heart being sucked right out of her chest. Watching Mr. Darcy leave proved harder than she ever could have imagined. Though she had accustomed herself to the notion that their relationship would be only that of friends, she had also convinced herself of the certainty that their friendship would span many years.
Still holding his crisp white handkerchief, she wiped away a tear. She stole a heart-wrenching glance about the room. How far they had come, yet now they were farther apart than ever. Will I ever see him again?
A quarter hour later, Jane came downstairs. Her angelic countenance was anything but, for it bore the effects of the hopeless ordeal of attending her inconsolable mother.
“Lizzy, Mr. Hill said Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy were here.”
“Yes, they were here.” Elizabeth fought to fend off a repeat performance of her tears. “I am afraid they have come and gone.”
“Oh, Lizzy, how did Mr. Bingley respond to my not coming down to receive him properly? Did he seem upset? Surely he must take this as a sign of my inconstancy.”
“No, Jane. He suffered no such misapprehensions. You must not worry. The gentlemen surmised, what with all the confusion, w
e were eager for them to be on their way.”
What she dared not tell her sister was Mr. Bingley had left at Mr. Darcy’s insistence. Oh, how he must abhor her family! How he must congratulate himself on saving his friend—on his having been spared. To make matters worse, Mr. Darcy had said he was returning to London post-haste. No doubt Mr. Bingley would be going too.
Then there was Caroline Bingley. Had he and Bingley been able to hide the truth from her? Oh, what did it matter? With Mrs. Bennet’s histrionics and the servants wagging tongues, the entire countryside must by now know of the Bennets’ disgrace. One thing was certain. Caroline had gotten her wish. At last, she would be returning to town, with all her contemptuous disdain in tow.
Elizabeth took heart. I suppose that is a small consolation.
Chapter 17
Some weeks later, a confluence of good fortune intervened, thus ushering a return to the good graces of the neighbourhood for the Bennets of Longbourn. Elizabeth happened upon Jane attending to her sewing in the drawing room. She sat beside her, picked up a satin pillow and clutched it to her chest. “Have I told you of late how glad I am for Lydia and her husband’s exodus? At the risk of sounding like Papa, having the household return to some semblance of tranquillity is delightful.”
Elizabeth spoke nothing but the truth. On their way to their new home in Newcastle, the location of Wickham’s new commission, the newlyweds had breezed through Longbourn packing the disorderly chaos of gale force winds. Lydia had suffered no shame at all over the turmoil she had inflicted upon her family. She had declared herself the luckiest and the happiest woman in the world. The fact that her husband had not considered himself just as fortunate had been evident to everyone but Lydia.
“I count our blessings the situation was resolved, and our sister’s reputation is salvaged.”
“To say nothing at all of our family’s good name and our standing amongst the neighbours,” said Elizabeth.
“Of course, having Mr. Wickham as a brother must lessen our marital prospects considerably.”