Darcy and Elizabeth What If? Collection 4

by Jennifer Lang

  ‘Something must be done,’ said Colonel Fitzwilliam.

  ‘I agree,’ said Mr Darcy. ‘But what? If I tell her the truth, she will not believe me. She already thinks me the worst monster who ever lived.’

  Colonel Fitzwilliam was thoughtful. He stood up and went over to the sideboard, where he poured himself another glass of port. He waved the decanter in Mr Darcy’s direction. The gesture was clear: would you like another glass of port? Mr Darcy shook his head. Colonel Fitzwilliam poured himself a glass and then returned to the table.

  ‘I have seen Miss Elizabeth taking a walk each morning,’ he said. ‘I will see if I can come upon her tomorrow and, if the opportunity presents itself, I will tell her the truth about George Wickham.’

  Mr Darcy looked up in concern.

  ‘Not the truth!’ he protested.

  ‘Never fear,’ said Colonel Fitzwilliam. ‘Not the whole truth. I will not reveal that he attempted to elope with your sister. But I will tell her enough to make her aware that he is not the man she thinks he is, and that you are not to blame for depriving him of his living.’

  ‘That is good of you,’ said Mr Darcy. He added with a self-deprecating smile, ‘If I am to change Miss Elizabeth’s opinion of me, then I will need all the help I can get.’

  If Elizabeth had seen that smile, she would have been astonished, for it showed that Mr Darcy was not the arrogant and conceited man she believed him to be; in fact, that he could show humility.

  But she did not see that smile. Back at the parsonage, believing herself to be married to the worst man in the world, she spent a very restless night.

  Elizabeth woke early, after a troubled sleep. She washed and dressed, then went downstairs where she took an early, and solitary, breakfast in the parlour. Then she donned her pelisse, boots, bonnet, cloak and gloves, and went out into the sunny morning. There was an easterly breeze blowing, so that, despite the sun, it was cold, and she wrapped her cloak more firmly around herself as she walked.

  She had not gone far when she saw Colonel Fitzwilliam walking through the fields a little way ahead of her. He turned round as he heard her approaching and he made her a bow.

  ‘Mrs Darcy,’ he said.

  ‘Do not use that name, I pray you,’ she said with a shudder. ‘I do not want it and I do not deserve it.’

  ‘I beg your pardon,’ he said. He added, ‘Perhaps you do not want it, but I assure you, you deserve it. You would grace Pemberley, if you were to allow the marriage to stand.’

  ‘Allow it to stand?’ cried Elizabeth. ‘What you suggest is impossible, and I can assure you that Mr Darcy wants it no more than I. A marriage entered into in such a way, with neither party intending it, cannot prosper. I am surprised you would even suggest it.’

  ‘Many marriages are conducted in less than perfect ways, for less than perfect reasons, and yet they turn out to be happy,’ he said mildly as he fell into step beside her.

  Elizabeth nodded in acknowledgement of the fact, but she pointed out, ‘They are entered into with the full knowledge of the man and woman involved. Those people make a choice to enter into the marriage. There was no choice in this case. And so I am adamant that it must be dissolved. But please, let us talk of something else. You are a gentleman, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and I know you would not wish to distress a lady, so let us talk of other things.’

  ‘Very well. Of what do you wish to talk’ he asked.

  ‘Anything!’ she said.

  ‘Anything?’ he asked with a smile. ‘That is a very wide choice.’

  She returned his smile.

  ‘Yes, it is. Very well then, let us talk of art, or music, or books,’ she said.

  ‘You still leave me a wide choice.’ He thought for a moment and then said, ‘Let us talk of music. I am not musical myself. However I am very fond of music. My ward, Miss Georgiana Darcy, is an excellent pianist.’

  Elizabeth’s attention was caught. She had heard a great deal about Miss Darcy from Mr Wickham, and none of it good. Miss Darcy was as proud as her brother, or so Mr Wickham said. But it was evident that Colonel Fitzwilliam did not find her proud. He sounded affectionate when he spoke of her. Little by little, Elizabeth drew Colonel Fitzwilliam out on the subject of Miss Darcy, and the things he said surprised her. He told stories of Miss Darcy’s childhood which made Elizabeth smile, and he spoke of Miss Darcy’s more recent life with warmth and obvious liking. He said that she was now sixteen years old and developing into an accomplished and delightful young lady.

  ‘This is a very different view of Miss Darcy,’ she said.

  ‘Oh?’ Colonel Fitzwilliam sounded surprised. ‘Who can have given you another view? Not Lady Catherine or Miss Anne, I am persuaded, for they both love her as much as I do.’

  ‘It is no matter,’ said Elizabeth.

  ‘Forgive me, but I think it is,’ said Colonel Fitzwilliam. ‘Miss Darcy is my ward and if someone is speaking ill of her I need to know about it.’

  Elizabeth felt embarrassed. She had not meant to cause trouble, and she did not wish to betray Mr Wickham, and yet she could understand that Colonel Fitzwilliam felt protective towards his ward. She replied, therefore, in a light manner.

  ‘I dare say there was some mistake,’ she said. ‘A gentleman by the name of Mr Wickham told me that she was proud. I dare say that, as he is the son of her father’s late steward, she thought it right to behave towards him in a haughty manner.’

  ‘Miss Darcy is incapable of haughtiness,’ said Colonel Fitzwilliam firmly. Adding, ‘She is not like her brother. She is shy and retiring. I am persuaded you would like her if you met her.’

  She was not willing to abandon her initial view of Miss Darcy, since she suspected that Colonel Fitzwilliam was biased in Miss Darcy’s favour. However, she acknowledged that he must know the young lady well – better than Mr Wickham – and as he was a sensible man, his opinion counted. Therefore she replied in a conciliatory fashion, saying, ‘Perhaps I would.’

  They here came to a stile which was set in the middle of a hedge and connected one field to the next. The low wooden step was there to prevent livestock moving between fields but enabling people to do just that. The stile presented no challenge to Elizabeth, who was an active young lady, but in a gentlemanly fashion, Colonel Fitzwilliam gave her his hand to help her across.

  Elizabeth could not help noticing that there was no tingling in her hand when Colonel Fitzwilliam took it. Whenever she took Mr Darcy’s hand, in a dance or anywhere else it was unavoidable, then, even through her gloves, she felt a tingling sensation.

  Once across the stile, they continued to walk through the next field. The weather had been good so the grass was dry and pleasant to walk on.

  ‘If I may give you a word of advice,’ said Colonel Fitzwilliam. ‘Do not believe everything that Mr Wickham tells you. He is very handsome and very charming and he makes friends easily, but he does not find it so easy to keep them. He is not always to be trusted. In fact, I know that his dealings with Mr Darcy have been dishonourable and that his words about Miss Darcy are designed to hurt her brother.’

  ‘Oh?’ Elizabeth could not help being interested.

  ‘I cannot say too much, but this I can say: Mr Wickham was beloved by Mr Darcy’s father, who left him the living of Kympton, provisionally, in his will, if Mr Wickham decided to take holy orders. Mr Wickham decided he liked loose living better than the church and in consequence he asked Mr Darcy for a considerable sum of money in lieu of the living. This Mr Darcy gave him. Mr Wickham continued to live a dissolute life and continued to petition Mr Darcy for money, until at last Mr Darcy refused to give him any more. Then Mr Wickham repaid Mr Darcy’s generosity by blackening Mr Darcy’s name. I tell you this to show you it is a mistake to believe everything Mr Wickham says.’

  ‘I am surprised,’ cried Elizabeth. ‘Are you sure this is true? It is not some story put about by Mr Darcy?’

  ‘I know it for a fact,’ said Colonel Fitzwilliam.

  Elizabeth fell si
lent. This was indeed a shocking piece of news, but it could not be discounted. Colonel Fitzwilliam was an honourable man and it was very unlikely that he would invent such a story.

  But Mr Wickham, too, seemed like an honourable man, and it seemed equally unlikely that he would invent his own story. According to Mr Wickham, the living had been left to him outright, not conditionally, and he had not asked for money in lieu of it. According to Mr Wickham, Mr Darcy had simply refused to give it to him out of spite.

  Now that Elizabeth thought about it, Mr Wickham’s story did not ring true. Mr Darcy was many things – rude, arrogant, conceited, disdainful – but she had not seen anything to make her think him capable of such a thing.

  Could it be that Mr Wickham had invented the story, or at least embellished it?

  But why?

  She could think of no reason, apart from a wilful desire to do Mr Darcy harm. Or, perhaps, to win Elizabeth’s sympathy and therefore her affection.

  Could it be that Mr Wickham was a manipulative charmer? The kind of man who wanted to make women fall in love with him, and who used their handsome faces, charming manners and silver tongues to do just that?

  The more she thought about it, the more Elizabeth thought that this was possible.

  Mr Wickham had confided the whole story to her when they had only just met. It had been very wrong of him to make such a recital to a stranger. She was surprised she had not seen it at the time. But she had been impressed by his handsome face and his charming manners. She had also been flattered by the fact that he had singled her out for attention. And she had been pleased to find that he had echoed her own bad opinion of Mr Darcy, making her feel justified in despising him.

  She felt a shrinking feeling.

  Had she really been so willing to believe Mr Wickham on such flimsy evidence? And had she really been so easily manipulated by an appeal to her vanity – her vanity of person by Mr Wickham singling her out, and vanity of mind by Mr Wickham endorsing her prejudices?

  She hated to admit it, but she feared it was true.

  ‘You are very quiet,’ said Colonel Fitzwilliam.

  ‘I am just . . . thinking,’ she said.

  ‘May I ask what about?’ he said gently.

  She did not tell him what she had just been thinking. Instead, she told him the new thoughts that were now going through her mind.

  ‘I am thinking that I am glad I wrote to my aunt last night and asked if I might cut short my visit to Rosings and return to London.’ She added quickly, ‘Mr Collins’s illness has put a strain on the rectory and my return to London would alleviate some of that strain.’

  He accepted her reason without question, even though they both knew that her reasons for wishing to return to London were more complicated. He showed his true gentility by changing the subject and speaking of general things: the weather, which was bright and pleasant although it was breezy; the pastoral beauty of the Kent countryside and other such matters until at last their steps brought them back to the rectory.

  Here Colonel Fitzwilliam made a bow and Elizabeth curtseyed. They parted as friends and Elizabeth went back inside, hoping fervently that her aunt would reply to her at the earliest opportunity, for she felt more in need than ever of steadfast friendship and wise counsel, and she knew she would find both of those things in Gracechurch Street.

  Chapter Nine

  Her aunt’s reply came at last, and it contained a warm welcome which made Elizabeth almost cry with relief.

  Charlotte, who was in the room with her when the letter arrived, said, ‘Good news?’

  ‘Yes. My aunt welcomes me back. My uncle will be sending a servant to meet me and I am to leave for London this afternoon. You do not mind me going?’ she asked.

  ‘No. You have need of your family. I only hope they can give you sound guidance,’ said Charlotte.

  ‘You mean you hope they can persuade me to remain as Mrs Darcy,’ said Elizabeth, with a return of some of her natural mischievousness.

  Charlotte had the goodness to smile.

  ‘I think it would be an excellent future for you, Lizzy, I cannot deny it. But I know better than to urge you, for you have always had a strong character and you will make your own decision, on this as well as every other matter. You have never been easily persuadable and I will have to accept that.’

  ‘I hope I am persuadable when I am in the wrong,’ said Elizabeth. ‘But here I know myself to be in the right.’ She stood up. ‘I had better see to my packing if my uncle’s servant is to be here this afternoon. Will you make my excuses to Lady Catherine?’

  Charlotte nodded and the two ladies parted.

  Elizabeth went upstairs and gave instructions to the maid. Once everything was in order she went downstairs again. She had just gone into the parlour when there came a knock at the front door. She heard the servant open the door and then she heard Mr Darcy’s voice. She quickly settled herself in a suitable attitude, for it was clear the servant was inviting him in.

  He entered the parlour and then stopped in surprise when he saw that Elizabeth was there, alone.

  ‘I was informed that Mrs Collins was at home,’ he said.

  ‘She is tending her poultry but I am sure she will return soon,’ said Elizabeth.

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘Won’t you sit down, Mr Darcy?’ she said.

  She was determined to be civil, for she did not want the untoward relationship between them to lower her standards. Although Colonel Fitzwilliam’s words had given her food for thought and made her wonder if, in some respects, she had misjudged Mr Darcy, she was still angry with him for having ruined Jane’s happiness. On that subject there was no mistake.

  ‘Thank you.’ He replied in an equally civil fashion. Then he said, ‘I understand you are returning to London. My cousin mentioned it,’ he explained.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You will be saying with your aunt and uncle in Gracechurch Street?’

  There was an awkward pause as they both remembered his attitude to that part of town. For, whilst being respectable, Gracechurch Street was not a fashionable address.

  ‘Perhaps you will be so good as to give me their exact direction,’ he said. ‘There may be some matters I will need to discuss with you. Or, if you prefer, I can discuss them with your uncle.’

  ‘I think it would be better if you discussed anything necessary with me first and then I will inform my uncle,’ said Elizabeth.

  She was determined to make sure she knew exactly what Mr Darcy planned, and although she would be glad of her uncle’s advice, she did not mean to pass the matter entirely into his hands.

  How bowed his head in acknowledgement of her remark.

  Elizabeth stood up and walked over to the small table in the corner of the room, where paper, ink and quill could be found. Unbeknownst to her, the graceful fluidity of her walk drew an admiring glance from Mr Darcy, as did the elegant disposition of her body when she sat down at the table to write. Without her realising it, he noticed with pleasure the soft folds of her muslin gown, and the way in which they accentuated her curvaceous figure and revealed her well-shaped feet.

  She dipped the quill in the ink and then began to write. Having made a note of her aunt’s address, she sanded the page and then tidied the table, putting everything back in its proper place. Rising, she walked over to Mr Darcy and handed him the paper.

  He thanked her, glanced at it, and then folded it and put it in his pocket.

  Elizabeth now expected him to leave but he made no move to go. He did not seem to know what to say, however, and an uncomfortable silence filled the room.

  Elizabeth did not break it. If Mr Darcy wanted to stay, she could not make him leave, but she would not make it easy for him by providing all the conversation herself. He had insulted her most cruelly, on top of his other shortcomings, and although she had a naturally buoyant nature, his arrogant assumption that she had arranged the marriage, had hurt her.

  He sat in silence for a few more minutes and
then enquired after Mrs Collins.

  ‘Her poultry prospers?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  She folded her hands in her lap and did not give him any more encouragement.

  ‘Her sister and father are enjoying their visit?’ he asked.

  ‘I believe so.’

  ‘They are not here at present?’ he asked.

  ‘No. They have gone into the village. Mrs Collins does not like to leave Mr Collins, and so they are kindly carrying out some small commissions for her.’

  ‘Is Mr Collins any better?’

  ‘A little, I thank you, although he is still very weak and he must remain in bed today. ‘Is Miss Anne de Bourgh recovered? I believe she was struck down with the same complaint.’

  ‘Yes. She has been ill but is now much better. Her physician has recommended her to remain in bed until the end of the week.’

  Another uneasy silence fell. At last Elizabeth caught sight of Maria and Sir William through the window. They were just returning from the village.

  Mr Darcy caught sight of them, too.

  He stood up with alacrity and strode over to the door. Then he turned back and said hesitantly, ‘I wonder if I might introduce my sister to you in London? She has an establishment there and I am sure she would like to meet you.’

  Elizabeth was astonished at this unlooked-for piece of civility. However, she had no wish to see more of Mr Darcy than was necessary. She was therefore about to refuse his suggestion when curiosity got the better of her. She had heard so much about Miss Darcy from two very different sources and they differed so radically that she had an urge to see Miss Darcy for herself. It would be good to make up her own mind, and in doing so she might be able to judge Mr Wickham more accurately. If Miss Darcy turned out to be superior, then she would know that Mr Wickham spoke the truth and he would be restored to her favour. If Miss Darcy turned out to be charming, then she would know that she needed to treat the rest of Mr Wickham’s information with caution.

  She inclined her head. ‘Yes, you may.’