“I shall have to get to the bottom of this matter, Mama.” Elizabeth spoke quickly, as her mind raced to understand how the rumours had come about. It had not been a particularly exciting visit, as Jane had been sick and she was sure everyone besides Mr. Bingley could barely tolerate her presence.
And then, with a sinking feeling deep within the pit of her stomach, she saw it.
Hattie.
Hattie’s odd, shaky behaviour earlier that morning. How she had behaved so formally with Elizabeth, and would not look her in the eye. And Elizabeth had no doubt, with how wary an eye Mr. Donaldson kept on his daughters, that Hattie had gone home the night before.
But why? Why would she spread such a falsehood to her family, to the whole of Meryton?
Elizabeth did not know what to do, although she knew she had to do something.
“I shall have to send a note to Mr. Bingley and ask that he refute this rumour, and find out who spread such a story.” she stated with a tone of finality in her voice. He would be her best hope at squashing this rumour, as she had little doubt that Mr. Darcy would be so offended that he would leave Meryton as soon as the dust had settled. If he was not gone already. Most likely, Hattie had gone home last night, and so the rumour had time to make the rounds this morning before they had even left the estate.
As Elizabeth moved to do as she had promised, ignoring her dumbfounded mother and siblings, Mrs. Hill suddenly appeared at the door, with a white faced Lady Lucas, Charlotte, and Maria. Elizabeth searched out the gaze of her dearest friend, and saw the truth within them.
Lady Lucas rushed forward, a choice that brought to home even more just how serious the accusation was that was making the rounds of Hertfordshire’s drawing rooms and kitchens. Lady Lucas sat next to a still dumbfounded Mrs. Bennet, who had yet to utter a single word. Charlotte went to Elizabeth, and took her by the hand.
“Please do not tell me that you believe such foolishness, Charlotte!” Elizabeth spat out between gritted teeth.
“Of course not, my dear Lizzie.” Charlotte’s voice was soothing and calm, and for once Elizabeth wished she could take comfort in Charlotte’s tranquillity. “But,” she started, her voice taking on a tone of resignation, “that does not mean no one else will believe it, as you have ample proof. We have come to offer support, yet I believe you know what you must do.”
Elizabeth paled as she considered Charlotte’s words.
There had been no compromise, no sly seduction, or whispered words. Anyone who had met with Mr. Darcy must have hated him instantly, and Elizabeth understood that sentiment, but why should she be dragged into it?
There had been no witnesses to whatever had happened.
There was no need for a wedding. There would be no proposal forthcoming, of that she was sure.
And yet.
“Please tell me you are speaking in jest, Charlotte!” Elizabeth pleaded.
Charlotte looked at her friend knowingly. “You know as well as I do that I never jest in matters of matrimony, Lizzie.”
“It is merely a disgusting rumour, started by someone who dislikes me as much as they dislike Mr. Darcy! It shall die down soon,” Elizabeth stated confidently, though she knew it was not true, “and when it does----”
“You know as well as I do, Lizzie, that such a story will not die down, as you put it.” The ladies within the room all turned to look at the source of the voice, revealed to be Mr. Bennet, and beside him, Sir William. “True or not, the story is out there, and Sir William has heard four variations already. Something must be done.”
Elizabeth turned in dread. “Papa--” she started.
Her dear father held a hand to keep her from speaking further, but also so he would not have to hear her pleas. It broke him, to endure the expression on her face, but a father could only take so much, especially from his daughter. “It is done, Lizzie. I am on my way to speak to Mr. Darcy and get to the bottom of this. Whether or not this rumour bears any truth will not change the outcome.”
At her father’s betrayal, Elizabeth stiffened, and abruptly sat down. She was nearly one and twenty, not an insolent child that would stamp about the house when she did not receive an answer she did not like, so for now, she sat back down, hopefully, surrounded by those who were on her side. But she still had to ask.
“You do not truly believe it, Papa?” she asked softly, near tears. Said tears threatened to spill when her father repeated the variation of his previous answer.
Elizabeth glanced about the room for their reactions, perhaps to reassure herself that this was real.
Lady Lucas and Charlotte were rather pensive and calm, as she knew they would be. Nothing ever alarmed them.
Jane looked a faint shade of green, and Elizabeth could not help but be alarmed given that she had just gotten over a cold.
Mary was silent, but Elizabeth could see the silent judgement in her eyes.
Lydia and Kitty, who had been giggling before their papa stepped into the room, had stopped with a quelling glance from him, but looked as though they were simply waiting for him to leave the room.
She would not do it.
She would not marry Mr. Darcy.
She did not care what those in Meryton, Hertfordshire, or even the whole of England had to say on the matter.
She would not marry Mr. Darcy.
She would not marry Mr. Darcy.
She would not marry him if he were the last man in the world.
Beside her, Jane held her other hand, while Charlotte retained her grip on the other. They would not let her go.
Her papa started to speak, but was then interrupted by the arrival of Mrs. Hill. The housekeeper’s weathered face showed no sign of the troubling news, although Elizabeth was sure she had heard, and she was grateful to her for her discretion.
“Mr. Darcy to see you, sir.” she stated respectfully, her voice low.
At those words, Mrs. Bennet opened her mouth to speak, no doubt in loud, querulous tones, when Mr. Bennet silenced her with a single look.
“I understand your feelings, my dear Mrs. Bennet,” he turned to look at Elizabeth, “my Lizzie, but what’s done is done. I shall speak to Mr. Darcy alone, and until then, I would prefer that on this day, we all behave in a civilised manner until all is settled.” Giving Mrs. Bennet a significant look that spoke of his desire for her fit of nerves to make an appearance after Mr. Darcy left, Mr. Bennet left to receive Mr. Darcy in his study.
“I shall send for you soon, my dear.” were his parting words, and Elizabeth hardly heard them, for she was in a haze of fear, illness, and disgust. At that moment, she wished to strangle whoever had spread such a bold faced lie, and then strangle Mr. Darcy next for coming to Longbourn.
He would not offer her marriage. He would not.
He, who had deemed her tolerable.
He, who enjoyed his superiority over her and her family, along with the superior Miss Bingley.
No, Mr. Darcy would display himself as the arrogant and proud man that Hertfordshire had come to know in a short time, and would leave as soon as he was able. Who in London would care of rumours from a small town, concerning a very wealthy, connected man, and the daughter of a country squire?
With a pang, Elizabeth realised Mr. Bingley would most likely go with his friend, and all would be lost.
Just as well.
Chapter Three
Although he knew that his conduct had been nothing less than gentlemanly, Fitzwilliam resisted the urge to square his shoulders as he did when he was a boy of ten, and obeyed his father’s stern tone, beckoning him into the study to receive his punishment for his misdeed. Even though it was he who came willingly, and had not been summoned. It was only due to his years of maintaining a careful mask of polite indifference, a facade, that prevented his demeanour from outwardly showing--especially to a near silent Mr. Bennet. Fitzwilliam felt trapped by the man’s steady gaze, and thought it his just desserts that it was now, under the shrewd eye of his soon to be father-by-law--God help
him--that he realised just where Miss Elizabeth had inherited her intelligent, lively eyes. Although that fact was hardly a surprising revelation, given who her mother was.
He had not caught a glimpse of Miss Elizabeth, as he had entered Longbourn, and he did not know if he was glad of it. As of now, he could barely maintain his cool composure. Her presence, with the quiet intelligence of her fine eyes would surely undo him.
Uncomfortable with the silence from the man sitting before him, Fitzwilliam cleared his voice to speak. “I trust you understand why I am here, Mr. Bennet?”
Almost bemused, Mr. Bennet folded his hands together and placed them on his stomach comfortably. “Indeed Mr. Darcy, all of Meryton knows why you are here. I am sure that the minute you were seen heading towards this house on your horse, all of Meryton was informed as rapidly as possible.”
Fitzwilliam inclined his head, acknowledging the truth of Mr. Bennet’s words. “Indeed, Sir. It seems to be a universal certainty for all villages of this size. My estate is near the village of Lambton, and one of the earliest memories I possess of my late mother involves her and the vicar’s wife discussing the validity of some rumour or other being discussed in the village involving a young boy, and whether there was enough legitimacy to the story to warrant an investigation into such a delicate matter.”
“And yet you understand that rumours of this sort do not require much authentication, do you not, Mr. Darcy?” Mr. Bennet inquired almost carelessly, as they both understood the truth in his words, understood that neither would not be meeting privately under such circumstances, if they were not acutely aware of the ramifications.
“Indeed, Sir.”
Mr. Bennet regarded the young man before him with a keen, critical eye. “Of course, Sir William assures us that he, nor any member of his family did not originate, nor spread such baseless rumours, and given that they have spread merely hours after my daughters returned from Netherfield, it is not shocking to suppose that the rumours originated from Netherfield. However, I believe that it is near impossible, as well as ultimately futile, to determine the origins of such talk. As your friend is undoubtedly learning now, country servants speak among themselves, yet are unsurprisingly tight-lipped. They understand that we shall never be able to fire them all without an uprising from their relations in the village. My advice to you sir, would be to focus on the future, and leave the past behind.”
Fitzwilliam gave a tight nod, his immediate future becoming quite clear. He was Fitzwilliam George Darcy, a gentleman and he would do his duty, and behave with honour. He would not disgrace Miss Elizabeth and her reputation by abandoning her to a life of spinsterhood and dishonour, yet he would have to define clear lines of communication between himself and the Bennets. Despite the man’s wit and intelligence, he was an indolent father, with a lax hand on the comportment of his younger daughters. He could not allow Miss Elizabeth’s low relations to besmirch his family name. Perhaps except for Miss Bennet, Fitzwilliam could not foresee a future where he and Miss Elizabeth would receive the Bennets, nor their relations in trade, at Pemberley. He would not expose his sister to such behaviour.
Miss Elizabeth, as intelligent as she was, would understand all too well his feelings. While at the Assembly, as well as Sir William’s house party, Fitzwilliam had observed her slight winces and subtle chastisement of her younger sisters’ behaviour, and that was more exertion than her own parents’ behaviour in the same circumstances.
“Mr. Bennet, I see no reason to delay the inevitable. It would be only proper to have the matter of our marriage settled as soon as possible. I will ride out to London on the morrow to inform my solicitor to draw up paperwork for the marriage articles, and arrange for the banns to be read within the month, sir.” Fitzwilliam stated seriously, already going over the instructions he would need to relay to his valet in preparation for his trip.
Mr. Bennet stood, and Fitzwilliam noticed that he was surprised, although he did not offer commentary on the subject. He offered Fitzwilliam his hand. “Good man, Mr. Darcy. I will call Lizzie in, so the two of you may speak between yourselves and make the engagement official.”
At those words, despite the circumstance he found himself in, he could not contain the burst of warmth he felt spreading throughout his chest. He had never dreamed that it would be possible, that he would marry his Miss Elizabeth. That he would be able to call her his wife. Soon, he would be able to enjoy her striking figure as she walked about the grounds of Pemberley.
With that, he left the room, and then quickly returned with a rather pale, somewhat-shaking Miss Elizabeth.
Upon observing her visage and colour, Fitzwilliam speedily rose to his feet. He had helped her into Charles’ carriage no less than three hours ago, and he had never seen her so radiant, as her cheeks were pink and her eyes had shone with wit and intelligence. Obviously, the rumours had affected her adversely, as she looked ill and as though she was moments from fainting.
His jaw clenched briefly, and he fought to relax it, to maintain his composure. Even though it was clear that she did not enjoy these falsehoods anymore than he, he could not help but respond negatively to the rumours, in her presence.
His happiness temporarily squashed, he attempted to think of the situation objectively. Today was the best and worst day of his life, as it was for Miss Elizabeth. He would need to be sensitive to her, until everything was settled.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he started, offering her his arm to escort her to the seat across from his own. Although he knew that they were engaged now, he could not help but be immensely pleased when she took his arm, the warmth of her hand leaving an indelible mark upon him.
At that moment, Fitzwilliam did not know why he had entertained Miss Bingley’s remarks about Miss Elizabeth’s family. He was not marrying her family, and Pemberley was more than enough of a way’s off to avoid them indefinitely. Of course, his aunt, the Lady Catherine de Bourgh would not be pleased, but she would not be pleased unless he married his cousin Anne. His Uncle Matlock, he could hardly believe grew up with Lady Catherine, as their personalities were at complete odds. Fitzwilliam remembered as a small child, thinking that his uncle was the fabled St. Nicholas, come to joyously deliver him presents upon every visit to Matlock House. Although he was conscious of his status as the Earl of Matlock, he would undoubtedly understand Fitzwilliam’s hasty marriage and approve upon meeting Elizabeth Bennet Darcy.
Fitzwilliam decided to give Miss Elizabeth a few moments to comport herself, for he was still in shock himself at how they had so quickly ended up in this position. His first reaction had been anger, at the gossiping townspeople, yet as he rode over, he could not help but consider the possibilities. He had learned a long time ago, that to wallow in the anger of a situation beyond his control was foolhardy and would not result in any happiness. His mother’s death had assured him of that lesson.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he started, taking care to address her as gently as possibly, given her fragile state, “as I have informed your father, I will ride to London tomorrow to settle things as soon as possible. Given the circumstances, I believe the bans should be read sooner, rather than later, of course. I will return as soon as my business is complete, and I believe we will be able to make our plans then.”
Elizabeth found herself slowly nodding, almost dumbfoundedly. Shaking her head lightly, in an effort to clear of the heavy fog that had descended, she merely replied; “Of, of course, Mr. Darcy.” A long pause followed her statement, before she swallowed weakly and attempted to explain herself, “I apologise Mr. Darcy, as you can see, I am not myself today.” She could hardly believe how understanding the mysterious, proud, and taciturn Mr. Darcy was behaving. He was not the same man she had dined with for four nights at Netherfield, that was for certain.
“I bid you good day, Miss Elizabeth.”
“Mr. Darcy,” Miss Elizabeth returned his farewell, and for a moment he wanted to insist that she call him by his Christian name, Fitzwilliam, but decided that it was
much too soon. His betrothed would have to get used to the idea of becoming a Darcy, and he would give her those few days.
Giving her a low bow, Mr. Darcy moved to exit the room, taking care to check his reaction just in the nick of time, as the moment he opened the door to the study, the two youngest Bennet sisters and their mother all jumped back from the door. It was clear they had been attempting to listen to his conversation with his betrothed. Reining back the flare of anger he felt briefly, he gave a short, barely adequate bow to Mrs. Bennet and her now hysterically giggling daughters, before leaving to return to Netherfield.
Consequence of Jealousy: A Pride and Prejudice Variation Page 3