by Heather Moll
Elizabeth could see that his mind was spinning with all the possibilities of what could go amiss. She dearly wanted to enfold him tightly in her arms and bury her face in his neck but could hardly do such a thing on the lawn in front of her home in full sight of her parents. She took his hand in hers instead.
“All will be well.” Her throat caught, and she was no longer certain who required the convincing. She was wonderfully aware of some powerful and tangible bond between them. Eventually, she felt some of the tension leave his body, and he exhaled heavily. He softly brushed his fingers against her cheek.
“Remember what I told you this morning.” She saw his expression was one of pure control, and she recognized his struggle to keep his emotions in check. All that he had said and promised did not make the pain of his leaving any easier to tolerate.
She looked towards her family and saw that her father, mother, and Jane still remained. “I find that I am suffering some momentary apprehensions of our happiness being impossible to last.”
“You are not made for melancholy. Do not allow this to dispirit you. Our potential happiness does not end with my departure.”
She saw something in his features she had not seen before. She ought to have recognized by now that he was not as invulnerable as he appeared. She attempted to speak lightly. “Then I must endeavor to accept my good fortune and learn to brook being happier than I deserve.”
This made him smile. “Write to me often? I anticipate few other pleasures in the weeks ahead.”
They both wished to say more, but all the important words and deeds had been said and done hours before. Now there was only the necessity of bowing to polite convention under the eyes of her family. Each promised to write, bowed and curtseyed when appropriate, and offered wishes for good health and happiness in their time apart. Fitzwilliam took Mrs. Bennet’s hand and promised to do all he could for Lydia and avowed that he would of course return to marry Elizabeth. He then kissed Jane’s hand, looking as if he wished he had more to say to comfort her. He inclined his head towards her father, who gruffly thanked Fitzwilliam for his efforts. In the turn of a moment, Fitzwilliam was gone, and Elizabeth was left outside with Jane.
“Lizzy, do not be so downhearted,” Jane stood on her toes to rest her chin on Elizabeth’s shoulder as she wrapped her arms around her. “He will return in a matter of weeks, and you will be mistress of Pemberley before the end of the summer.”
“Oh, Jane.” Elizabeth laughed. “This will not do! I am here to be of comfort to you. I shall not have you waste your breath trying to gladden me.”
It spoke volumes of Jane’s state of mind that she could not deny that she needed comforting. Elizabeth reproached herself for her temporary sadness when faced with Jane’s more enduring heartache.
“Shall we go for a walk? I shall divulge the many reasons why I dislike Caroline Bingley. It is good she is not to be your sister, for now I might speak plainly.”
“That is uncharitable of you.” Jane gave a restrained laugh. “Mr. Bingley was simply too afraid of a choice that would be disagreeable and inconvenient to the principal part of his family and give bad connections to those who have not been used to them.”
Elizabeth thought her sister was too generous but kept her silence. Other than Colonel Fitzwilliam and Georgiana, her betrothed’s family found his choice of a wife to be disagreeable and inconvenient, but that had not prevented Fitzwilliam from making her an offer. They walked for a while before she remembered Lydia’s parting words to Jane and asked, if it would not violate a confidence, what she had said.
“Lydia apologized to me. She said her greatest regret about running away with Mr. Wickham was that it caused Mr. Bingley to…” Jane struggled to speak, but Elizabeth spared her the necessity of continuing.
“I know you will tell me that you forgave her, but will you forgive me if I am not yet ready to do the same?”
“I was honored that she regrets my pain most of all.”
“Lydia has many things she ought to regret. Perhaps this is a start.”
Chapter 22
Horse Guards, Whitehall, London
Friday, July 17, 9 o’clock
Darcy,
I have received your last. I am dismayed to hear further proof of Mr. Wickham’s treachery. I am at liberty to call on you Monday. In the intervening time, might I suggest you search the gambling hells near Covent Garden? His two preferred vices would be in close proximity.
Fitzwilliam
On Sunday night, Darcy stared again at his cousin’s characteristically pithy letter. For a loquacious and unreserved man, Colonel Fitzwilliam’s letters were always brief and to the point. Unfortunately, he did not suggest a possibility that Darcy had not already considered. After visiting a few of the respectable clubs in town to which Wickham might have gained access, Darcy had spent Thursday and Friday enduring the unpleasant task of visiting those more sordid gambling dens that he felt safe entering alone. He encountered every variety of law-breaker and degenerate gamester but not the particular one he needed to find.
Darcy spent Saturday afternoon in an equally unbearable manner: in a hired hackney visiting money lenders amongst the destitute and squalor in Whitechapel. If Wickham was short on funds and had no friends to rely on, he would need a loan to get into a game, even in the worst gambling den. However, none of the usurers he encountered saw Wickham even after Darcy had crossed their palms with coins to loosen their tongues.
How shall I locate this irredeemable man?
Darcy prowled his library with nothing to do and too much to think about. His mind wandered, as it often did, back to Elizabeth. The clock struck nine o’clock and interrupted his self-indulgent reverie of the last time he saw his betrothed alone. After rubbing his hand across his tired eyes, he saw yesterday’s unread Times on his desk and decided to spend what remained of his prolonged Sunday evening in a more productive manner. He examined an article that relayed news of the battles of the Peninsular War. Darcy knew it was only a matter of time until his cousin’s fashionable, London-based Royal Regiment of Horse Guards would be called to serve.
Darcy then perused parliamentary reports and theatre reviews. He skimmed over the gossip and announcements then tossed the paper aside. The Bennets’ scandal would never make the gossip pages, to be sure, but that did not mean his sister-in-law’s sad affair with Wickham would not eventually be talked about in London. Between Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst, and possibly even Bingley, there was no way to hope the scandal would remain in Hertfordshire. Darcy could also easily imagine the gossip of the Bennet family’s misfortune spreading like a plague from Lucas Lodge to the Hunsford parsonage and then on to Rosings Park. Soon a condescending letter would arrive from Lady Catherine—or worse, a personal visit from her ladyship. After he put the Times aside, Darcy realized that he might have seen a familiar name after all. He snatched the paper and held it close to the Argand lamp on the table so he could read the marriage announcements more clearly. There it was; he had not been mistaken after all. Darcy felt light-headed. There was no denying the words printed in front of him in cold, black, undeniable ink.
On the 10th inst., George Wickham, Esq. to the Honorable Miss Catherine Hareton, niece of Lord Hindley, of Gimmerton, Yorkshire.
***
The loss of her youngest daughter made Mrs. Bennet dull for several days. The business of her life was to get her daughters married; its solace was visiting and gossip. Now that Jane was a jilt and Lydia hidden from public view, Mrs. Bennet was miserable. Only one daughter, her least favorite, was to be married, and she could not even gloat of that success. The enjoyment of gossiping with her neighbors was now curtailed due to the shame and discredit brought upon them by the daughter whose absence she now lamented.
“I often think there is nothing so bad as parting with one’s friends!”
Elizabeth sighed. “You m
ust acknowledge that Lydia’s departure was necessary.”
“Well, I can focus my hopes on Darcy certainly finding Wickham and making him marry Lydia so she can return home!” Elizabeth then had to listen to her mother ask repeatedly when she expected her “tall and handsome man” to write with news.
Her intended had not been gone a week, yet it felt like she had been alone for months. Several families stopped calling and refused to admit the Bennet girls into their homes. Dining engagements were canceled, and ladies’ voices quickly silenced and heads turned away when Kitty and Elizabeth ventured into Meryton to call on their aunt Philips. Later, when Elizabeth had railed against the fickle hearts of their neighbors, Jane attempted to pacify her.
“Lady Lucas has been very kind, Lizzy. She walked here on Thursday morning to condole with us.”
“She had better have stayed at home! We both know Lady Lucas to be a self-satisfied woman. Let her triumph over us at a distance.”
Jane still cherished a tender affection for Mr. Bingley and cried herself to sleep for several nights in a row. Such violence of affliction could not be supported forever; it sunk within a few days into a calmer melancholy. Elizabeth wanted to tell her that Mr. Bingley was not worth her tears and she would find a worthy man to love her. But Jane was not ready to hear such things. However much Jane might now regret it, the relationship had existed, and she could not comprehend a rapid recovery from the awful idea of its being permanently dissolved.
“I do not know how she could have released him,” Mrs. Bennet wailed to Mrs. Philips. “What a silly notion for a little thing like Lydia and her child to get in the way of Bingley marrying Jane. The man had four thousand a year!”
Elizabeth threw down her work and prevailed upon Jane to go out of doors for the first time in days. Jane did not share Elizabeth’s great enjoyment in being outside but agreed if they could walk in silence. She and Jane went to the gravel path along the shrubbery, and Elizabeth’s mind wandered as she walked arm in arm with her unhappy sister…
The tenant cottage was as dusty as it previously had been, but she was happily seated across Fitzwilliam’s knee and could not care. Unnecessary waistcoats, hats, spencers, and gloves were tossed aside, and he absently stroked her legs carelessly thrown across the couch, her skirt pushed back to her knees. Elizabeth leant to the floor to pick up a small box from her reticule and handed it to Fitzwilliam with a shy smile.
“My aunt and uncle Gardiner undertook a commission in town on my behalf since I could find nothing in Meryton that would suit. I had not planned to give these to you so soon, but I want you to have them before you must leave me again.”
He gave her a bemused look before opening the box to see the four bright-green oval sleeve buttons set in silver. He picked up one linked pair and held the delicate stones between his finger and thumb.
“I insisted my aunt not leave the jeweler without something green, and when he told her that moss agate represented good luck and a long life, she thought it a perfectly appropriate present for one’s betrothed.” Fitzwilliam’s eyes adhered to the sleeve buttons. His countenance showed he felt some emotion, but Elizabeth struggled to name it. “My uncle teased that he could remember reading that, in ancient times, moss agates were thought to protect warriors from harm, but I said that all you needed protection from was the cuff of your shirtsleeve opening by accident.”
He traced a finger over one of the tiny stones but still did not speak. “You are silent, I see. I thought the smooth grain and rich shade would be to your liking. Even if it is not, you could perhaps pretend that you like them for my sake, like any good husband ought to do.”
“Elizabeth, I cannot remember the last time anyone gave me…how did you even guess my favorite color?” His astonishment was obvious.
“That was perfectly simple: you prefer a green cutaway coat when you ride and many of your waistcoats have a green stripe, brocade, or pattern. And when your carriage returned me to the Gardiners’ after I called on Georgiana, I noticed that you chose as much green wool and silk upholstery trim as good taste would allow.”
He was struggling for the appearance of composure, and rather than speak, he clasped her around the neck and pulled her closer to give her a fierce kiss. She laughed against his lips. “I assume you like them?”
“Very much.” Fitzwilliam removed the sleeve buttons that held his shirt cuff closed and pressed the new moss agate ones into place. “They are handsome, but I like them more because you thought to give them to me. Thank you.”
Elizabeth was pleased to see his delighted countenance and how he admired the glint of the small green stones on his cuffs before her spirits turned low.
“What is the matter, my dear?”
“Jane had my aunt bring a pair of sleeve buttons for Bingley,” she said quietly. As much as she wanted to enjoy being entirely alone with Fitzwilliam, they could not help but speak about Jane and Bingley. “She never had the chance to give them to him.”
Fitzwilliam sighed sadly. “I do not have the words to express my regrets at the loss of their relationship. Shamefully, Bingley is already looking forward to the distraction of sport and the Season to help him to forget Jane.”
“All Jane has to look forward to now is my mother’s constant reminder that she lost a man worth four thousand a year.”
“I do not doubt that Jane might sink into melancholy should she remain at home, but what of yourself?”
“Comfort Jane, listen to my mother’s complaints and father’s rebukes, and all the while be spurned by my neighbors. You too would suffer under such stagnation. All I can do is sit by the windows and pine for you.”
“Fear not—we shall soon be married, and I promise to put your talents to use at Pemberley. You have proven yourself to be an adept steward. If that does not occupy your time, then shall I dismiss the housekeeper so you might take over her role as well? Perhaps you would also like to be my secretary?” His eyes crinkled with good humor.
“You do well to try to tease me out of my depressed state,” she retorted. “It shows that your sense of humor is improved.” She leant her head against Fitzwilliam’s shoulder. She felt his quiet rumble of laughter and allowed herself a smile. “In a very short time, you have become necessary to my ultimate comfort.”
“As have you to mine.” He ran his fingers through her hair. “As landlord, master, and guardian, I have been unaccustomed to sharing my thoughts with anyone. I am private by nature. Having you to confide in, a wife to love me, I must admit that these are things I did not know I needed until I found you, dearest, most beloved Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth considered her own feelings of isolation amidst a household who did not understand her, and she realized that Fitzwilliam might have endured some of the same. To be a young man with so much obligation binding him and duty to uphold must have been isolating. That he had at a young age considered never marrying was equally sad. Perhaps there had been an emptiness in his life too.
“Where have you gone?”
Elizabeth’s eyes refocused on his. “Do you know that you are a good man? You bear so well the many duties before you.” She shifted her position on his lap to look directly into his face. “It must be lonesome at times.”
He shut his eyes, almost as if he were in pain. She wondered whether she had insulted his masculinity, that a man of his rank and position would not consider such a thing as being alone. Fitzwilliam steadied himself before he opened his eyes to look at her with that now-familiar sincere and unwavering gaze. “Perhaps it was,” he breathed, “but it is not any longer.”
“Your countenance informs me that you are thinking of the person whom you think the most agreeable in the world, the person who interests you at this present time more than all the rest of the world put together,” Jane said wistfully.
A blush overspread Elizabeth’s cheeks; she could say nothing
in her defense. Her purpose in staying at Longbourn had been for the sake of her sister’s spirits, and all Elizabeth could do was complain about her isolation and reminisce about a man who dearly loved her. Jane was whispered about by all of Meryton and was heartbroken. Elizabeth was ashamed and resolved to be a better companion to her sister.
***
Darcy paced his library like a caged animal on Monday. By the time Fitzwilliam was shown in, he was certain he had worn an irreparable path in the carpet. His cousin entered with his mouth set in a grim line. When Darcy snatched Saturday’s newspaper from the table, the colonel shook his head while he threw himself into a chair near the window.
“I know—I have heard all about it.”
Darcy sat across from his cousin. “How did this happen? How did George Wickham manage to ally himself with a titled family?”
“The very nearly only surviving member of that family, no less.”
“Do you know her?”
“No, but it is all over town. I know you loathe gossip, but you really ought to better acquaint yourself with what is being spoken of. I have just come from my mother’s morning at home, and all the ladies are discussing it.”
Darcy felt his patience slipping away. Fitzwilliam must have sensed it as well and explained the latest scandal to overtake the drawing rooms and clubs of London. “It seems that Cathy Hareton is to inherit an unimaginable fortune when her uncle, Lord Hindley, dies. There is no other family, so his title will become extinct, but the lady will be a wealthy woman. My mother says it must be above fifty thousand pounds.”