For her part, Miss Bingley seemed aware of the line she had crossed, even though no member of the party was willing to outwardly call her out upon it, and remained quiet for the rest of the visit. Despite the reasons for it, Elizabeth was glad for it. She had spent a considerable amount of time fortifying herself mentally for Miss Bingley’s snide remarks to be directed at herself, as well as sneering questions that were meant to ascertain the status of her and Mr. Darcy’s relationship.
It was for that reason that Elizabeth had not looked forward to the visit, and had almost privately hoped that Mrs. Hurst had been lying when she had promised to call the next day. She was just beginning to relax within herself, and Miss Bingley’s ugly attitude did nothing to improve her own.
***
That evening, as Elizabeth prepared for bed, she could not help but go back over the interaction between Mr. and Mrs. Hurst. It was obvious, in her mind, that Mrs. Hurst had covered up the fact that she knew nothing about Mr. Hurst’s business ventures. However, that in itself was not odd. She knew her mama knew next to nothing about how the farm worked, and had stopped demanding explanations as to why she had only been allocated a certain amount of money for new gowns. A wife who knew nothing of her husband’s business ventures was not surprising.
So why should Mrs. Hurst feel embarrassed that she had not?
Why had her own sister publicly embarrass her over the matter?
Perhaps due to her apparent lack of interest in driving away her brother from Jane? Or was it when she wrote directly to Elizabeth, when she was engaged to Mr. Darcy, a man whom Miss Bingley had obviously set her cap on.
Either way, Elizabeth was glad that Miss Bingley was not her sister. However wild and ill-mannered Lydia and Kitty were, they would never have publicly cut their own sister.
She attempted to close her eyes and go to sleep. But every time she closed them, all she could do was picture Mr. Hurst’s hand, barely touching Mrs. Hurst’s within her lap. A small gesture that apparently meant something, where there had been nothing.
She and Mr. Darcy should be so lucky.
Chapter Fourteen
As Fitzwilliam stepped from his carriage, he realised that he had never been so glad to be back at Pemberley. Over the years, he had come to realize that Pemberley was not only where he truly felt he could be at ease, and himself, but also a place where he could draw a source of comfort. Not simply from the people that he had known all of his life, such as his housekeeper, Mrs. Reynolds, but also the estate itself. More than a hundred years worth of generations of Darcys had inhabited Pemberley, and every master, every family member had left their indelible mark on the estate. When Georgiana had been born, when both of their parents had fallen ill and died, it had been from Pemberley that Fitzwilliam had drawn most of his strength from. There was a difference; he was different, when not at Pemberley.
He had ordered the carriage to stop at the very beginning of the road into his estate, so that he might take a short walk, in order to stretch his legs. He had been stuck in the carriage for going on four days, stopping only for a few hours at night in order to allow the horses and their driver to gain some much-needed rest. Otherwise, both the passenger and driver had subsisted off of sandwiches that had been packed by the innkeeper’s wife, on each late night stop.
During his journey, he had used the time to think. Of course, he had brought a few pocket books, as he was well used to travelling long distances in the carriage, and often brought reading material to amuse himself. But each time he opened one, he could not get more than a few pages in, without his mind drifting back to Miss Elizabeth. When he had first seen Miss Elizabeth, she had been introduced to him. She had been flanked by her mother and her beautiful elder sister, and he had already felt a headache, with the way her lady mother was eyeing him and Bingley. Society Mamas made up every dance, no matter where he went. Except, he quickly reminded himself, that Mrs. Bennet was not a Society Mama.
No matter what Meryton or London would say, she had not pushed her daughters at any and every eligible gentleman, else he was sure that he and Miss Elizabeth would have been compromised much sooner. She was merely a mother, who wished to take care of her daughters in the only way that she knew how. Even though he had previously judged her to be little more than a shrieking harridan, he could not deny that she loved her daughters fiercely.
He would have known, had he cared to see it.
Fitzwilliam remembered feeling annoyance at the way Miss Elizabeth’s dark eyes had glanced in apparent humour over him. She had laughed at him. Except she truly had not. It was simply that look, that look of someone enjoying his churlishness, his ill-temper, and he had lashed out. Thankfully, it had only been Bingley who had heard him, Bingley who would understand him better than any man in England, save his cousin, the colonel. His humiliation would have been complete had anyone else overheard, especially if it had been Mrs. Bennet. He doubted that he would have survived the evening, had she listened to him.
Even walking reminded him of Miss Elizabeth, Fitzwilliam thought ruefully as he loosened his cravat and shucked his long overcoat over his arm, as he was growing rather warm from his exertion. At one point, not quite so long ago, he had enjoyed imagining her various reactions as different parts of Pemberley would be exposed to her. Now he knew that he would never be greeted with such a sight, as he had already tainted whatever joy or contentment she had expressed at marrying him.
Derbyshire contained some of the finest woods in England herself, and each Darcy owner had maintained their part of the land, not allowing their farmers to over-cut the trees. The last five miles leading up to Pemberley were surrounded by some of the tallest and lushest greenery that Derbyshire had to offer tourists and locals alike. He imagined that he would have been able to have their carriage slow down, in order to point out the various walking trails that had been put in place by his father over twenty years ago. The drive itself was another mile, and contained a circuit that Georgiana often walked, as she had never been allowed into the woods by herself, and had never had a companion inclined to walk in the woods.
Perhaps Miss Elizabeth, as his wife, would have altered his sister’s routine. With her natural charm and sisterly disposition, Fitzwilliam could not imagine that his new wife and sister would not have become anything but the best of friends. After that business with Wickham, Fitzwilliam had realised how lonely his sister had been. It was somewhat of a Darcy curse, to be one step above a reclusive hermit, in terms of temperament. It had not been until his last year at school, when he had arbitrarily volunteered to help a new, first-year student study for his first exam, that he had made a true friend. Georgiana was barely sixteen, and her year away at school had been her first. Her trip away to Ramsgate had been meant to expand her horizons in a safe manner, yet the end result had led to her withdrawing herself even from him.
Miss Elizabeth, with her vivacity, would have breathed new life into the halls and woods of Pemberley, had he allowed her to.
Try as he might, Fitzwilliam could not help but reflect on all that had happened between himself and Miss Elizabeth; what could have happened between them.
How had his arrogance blinded him for so long?
He had prided himself on not being a man given to many vices, vanity and pride being the chief among them. He had been glad to see that she had not been eager to wed, due to the circumstances of their engagement. Yet he had not even stopped to consider that because of the slur on her reputation, marriage was a necessity, not a boon that Miss Elizabeth had won. He may have been receiving his wildest dreams; but had she? Even if she had cared for him, it was his arrogance that led him to that conclusion
Fitzwilliam glanced around. He could see the estate now, in all its majestic, natural beauty. All that he was, all that he could be, was laid in the foundations of Pemberley. He could not be anything, but what he was. Sometimes he had forgotten or ignored where his foundations had been laid, but now he had been reminded.
His de-facto
father-in-law, indolent he may be, knew where he was most needed. Fitzwilliam had not received a scolding that left him feeling raw and bruised since he was a boy of ten and had been caught stealing apple tarts from the cook. Shame had engulfed him then, for like Mr. Bennet, his father had only had to give him a weighted look that conveyed his disappointment for several, long minutes. Fitzwilliam was now ashamed that he had not spoken to the man until after the rumours had spread throughout Meryton, and he had ridden straight to Longbourn. He had been brought to Mr. Bennet’s study, and the man had gotten up and shook his hand with a surprisingly firm grip, his gaze never leaving Fitzwilliam’s person.
Fitzwilliam had gained some measure of respect from the man at that moment, he knew, although at the time he had not cared. And now that respect, what little of it he still possessed was all that he had. His own betrothed did not respect him, let alone like him. He knew his duty, as did she, and yet he had thought he knew her mind. That their interactions at Netherfield and parties had hinted at the regard, she felt for him.
He had been certain.
Fitzwilliam did not know if Miss Elizabeth would ever love him, as he loved her, but he was ready to do his part in making the marriage work. For as long as he lived, he would never forget the conversation he had with Mr. Bennet, whose words had pierced him deeply, and caused him to question, although he had not wished to admit it at the time.
Now he had to. Even now, he was ashamed to admit to himself that he had offered her no reassurance. Just a short, terse note. But he could not contain his feelings, and he did not believe she wished to be confronted by them.
***
“Fitzwilliam!” his sister, Georgiana, called out to him as he entered Pemberley’s threshold. She rushed towards him, and Fitzwilliam swept her into a hug, with his chin resting comfortably atop her head. Fitzwilliam maintained their embrace almost awkwardly long, but Georgiana did not comment on it. He had not seen her in over three months. It had been too long, for the both of them.
“Come, Brother, Mrs. Reynolds has set out tea and your favourites in the music room.” Georgiana led her brother by the arm, chattering the entirety of the way. While in company, she could do little more than manage the barest of courtesy, especially when surrounded by new acquaintances. It had taken nearly a year for Georgiana to relax while in the presence of Charles, or either of his sisters. And, in spite of all that had happened with Georgiana and Wickham, he was glad that his time away from Georgiana had not dimmed her spirit. Immediately after they had return from Ramsgate, when all had been revealed, and Georgiana had realised the truth of Fitzwilliam’s words, she had fallen into a deep sadness. She withdrew into herself, in the same manner as she had been when their father died, and Fitzwilliam was forced to come back to Pemberley and become its master. It was one of the reasons he had been hesitant about joining Charles at Netherfield, as he had not wished to leave her. But she had insisted he go, and had shown great spirit and familiarity in the the days leading to his departure.
When they had reached the music room, Fitzwilliam paused, and brushed a kiss onto his sister’s cheek. He beheld her with a soft gaze, “I am glad that you are well, Georgiana. I had feared--.” he paused, not wishing to open up old wounds, as her gaze turned from happy to questioning, “Never mind, sister. Come,” he said, gesturing to the pianoforte that lay next to the window, “play for me while I recover from my journey.”
And so she did. Fitzwilliam sat, drinking tea and eating his favourite lemon biscuits, while listening to his sister play the first of several pieces she had mastered in his absence. Pemberley was his haven, a place of healing, and he rejoiced in it. In this moment, he would focus on what he possessed, a loving sister, and not what he did not possess, Miss Elizabeth’s heart. The entire journey to Pemberley had been mentally fraught and harrowing, but now he was home. He had his sister, and for now, it was enough.
So lost in his own thoughts, Fitzwilliam did not notice as Georgiana stopped playing, and only reacted when she moved a chair to sit directly across from him.
“I apologise, Georgiana,” Fitzwilliam hoped he had not injured her feelings, “I did not mean to ignore your playing. There have been several things on my mind of late, and it was very soothing.”
Now, as she was seated across from him, he watched as Georgiana fidgeted slightly as she poured herself a cup of tea.
“It is quite all right, William,” she stated, although her tone was hesitant and uneasy, “I will be able to play them at a later time for you, if you wish.” Her gaze was directed towards the teacup, away from him.
“Of course I wish it, Georgiana, what is the matter?”
“I am sorry, William. I do not mean to pry, and I had thought that playing the pieces for you might settle my nerves, but that has not been the case.” was her nervous reply. At his silence, she quickly looked at him and then suddenly blurted out in a rush, “Miss Bingley wrote to me about your engagement almost at the same time as you did, and-and-and--” Her words failed her, as she clearly did not know what she was speaking of, and so she opted to leave her statement unfinished.
At his sister’s words, Fitzwilliam’s jaw tightened minutely, although he took care to relax his expression. He did not wish to frighten or alarm his sister. Despite his reaction, he was not surprised at Miss Bingley’s audacity, although he knew that he could not tolerate his friend’s sister’s interference any longer. He had already made up his mind to not tolerate it from his aunt, let alone from a non-relation.
“What did she say, in her letter, Georgiana?” Fitzwilliam asked, taking care to keep his tone measured and calm. His initial intent had been to spare his sister the extraneous details from his and Miss Elizabeth’s engagement, not wishing to relay such information via letter. It would be much better if he could tell her in person, which was another factor in him wishing for their marriage to take place sooner, rather than later.
In fact, the banns had already been read for the first time, and it would be but a few weeks until they could legally marry.
The point of it was, however, that he had wished to be able to tell her of the rumours, face-to-face, after she had also met Miss Elizabeth. After observing her graceful manner, that was free of any pretensions or falsities, Georgiana would have been able to determine that such rumours were false. At least until Miss Bingley inserted herself, rather familiarly, into an affair that did not involve her.
Georgiana twisted her fingers together nervously, and did not speak.
“Georgiana, please allow me to explain. I had not informed you of the particulars of my engagement to Miss Elizabeth Bennet, because I did not wish to convey such matters in a letter. You are my sister, and I wanted you to hear of the situation from my own lips, not from any written line. I do not know what Miss Bingley has written to you, although I can guess from your manner, so I can tell you that whatever she has written is false.” he stated firmly.
At his words, Georgiana melted. “I-I had not known what to think, William. Your letter was so brief, and although you had mentioned Miss Elizabeth a few times in your letters, I had been unaware that the both of you had that...” her she stumbled, searching for the correct word, “regard for one another.” She looked at him fully, clearly distressed, “I had not wished to believe a word of what Miss Bingley wrote, but I did not know what else to think! I could not believe that you would allow yourself to be entrapped by such a woman as she claimed. You did not write very much about her, but it was clear that you enjoyed her presence. I just could not believe...” Georgiana trailed off, not knowing what else she could say. She would not repeat what Miss Bingley had written to her, although she could see that her brother knew what she was talking about.
“Is it true, William?” she asked him, after a few long moments had passed.
“Some of it is true, Georgiana.” Fitzwilliam confessed. At her silence, he continued, “As I had previously written to you, Miss Elizabeth came to stay at Netherfield when her sister fell ill,” he said, n
ot mentioning that Miss Bennet’s mother had sent her to Netherfield on horseback through a storm, “and she stayed for several days. Our interaction was the essentials of what I wrote to you. She was her usual witty self,” here he smiled, “while in company, but she spent most of her time with her sister, at her sickbed. This is where our story begins. Not long after she and her sister had been gone from Netherfield, several rumours reached us, the gist of them being that a compromise between myself and Miss Elizabeth had occurred. Of course, of that rumour, several...variations made its way through town. Undoubtedly, Miss Bingley shared a few of them with you.”
He would not repeat the substance of such disgusting talk, and he felt himself growing even more vexed that Miss Bingley had exposed them without his permission or knowledge.
“Was the source of the rumours ever found?” Georgiana questioned anxiously, wishing to know who would spread lies about her brother.
Fitzwilliam shook his head. “Charles, of course, questioned all of the servants, but they either did not know, or were unwilling to say. But the consequence was that I had to become engaged to Miss Elizabeth. I would not leave her to such a fate, for her conduct has been above reproach.”
Consequence of Jealousy: A Pride and Prejudice Variation Page 16