Darcy and Elizabeth What If? Collection 4

by Jennifer Lang

  At this, she burst into tears. Her weakness and her humiliation prompted the tears and for a moment she was helpless. Mr Darcy, however, was not. He crossed the room to the drinks table and poured her a small glass of medicinal brandy which he handed to her with an instruction to drink it. She took a tiny sip, pulled a face and put it down. But it had done its work. She was able to gather herself and her tears dried.

  ‘And now you may say ‘“I told you so”’, she said to Mr Darcy.

  ‘I will say nothing of the kind. I am shocked you can think it of me – although when I remember that letter, I am not surprised you think so ill of me. But enough of that. I had heard that your sister eloped with George Wickham —’

  Here she looked at him in helpless misery and he paused mid-sentence.

  ‘Ah, I see,’ he said in a heavy voice.

  ‘So you see, everything you said in your letter was true. My sister ran away with George Wickham but she is not married. And now she has a child.’

  She waited while the full import of this sank in.

  ‘I did everything I could to curb her wild ways but it was not enough. And now, Mr Darcy,’ said Elizabeth, rising steadily to her feet and facing him with the most elegant refinement and the most courageous bravery, ‘I must ask you once again for the use of your carriage so that I can rid you of my presence. I have been here under false pretences, for you did not know the truth about the baby you so kindly sheltered, nor did you know the truth about my sister or my reasons for being in Derbyshire.’

  ‘Pray, do not speak of it,’ he said gently. ‘You are not well enough to travel. Indeed, I forbid it. But your family must be concerned about you. You are not here alone, I am sure. Are your parents staying at the inn?’

  ‘No. Mama is not well and Papa has forbidden any mention of Lydia’s name. I wrote to my aunt and I am sure she will reply as soon as she is able, but she is not here.’

  ‘Then you came to Lambton alone, with only a maid for company?’

  She flushed.

  ‘Yes, I did. So you see, it is not only my sister who has behaved badly. My own behaviour has been unseemly. But my sister’s letter sounded so desperate . . . we had heard nothing from her since she ran away . . . I did not want her to be alone at such a difficult time. You know what Mr Wickham is like. He is not to be relied upon, and the thought of Lydia having nowhere else to turn blinded me to the impropriety of my actions. Or should I say, not blinded me, but caused me to ignore it.’

  ‘I was not upbraiding you, I was admiring you,’ he said. ‘There were very few people who would do what you have done. Loyalty is something I greatly admire, and love for a sister is something I can understand – even when that sister is under the sway of George Wickham.’

  ‘Of course!’ said Elizabeth, with a sense of relief. ‘I might have known you would understand. Your sister ran away with Mr Wickham – or, no, she did not run away with him,’ she finished with a sense of chagrin.

  ‘Only because I arrived unexpectedly. Otherwise she would have done. Both Lydia and Georgiana are very young and Wickham used that fact shamelessly to his own advantage.’

  ‘I am surprised you will mention your sister in the same breath as mine,’ Elizabeth said despondently.

  ‘I have changed these last few months. I have grown less proud, I hope, and less arrogant, though I cannot pretend I approve of your family.’

  Her spirits sank. He did not approve of her family. Of course, she could not expect it, but to hear it said out loud made her realise how impossible it was there could ever be a union between them. She had come to hope that his feelings for her could overcome any obstacle, for there was no mistaking he had feelings for her, but he was still Mr Darcy of Pemberley. Less haughty, perhaps, and less arrogant; more understanding and compassionate. But still a man of enormous social standing, who would not unite himself with such a scandalous family.

  ‘If you will excuse me, my headache is worse. I would like to retire to my room,’ she said in a small voice.

  ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I will ring for your maid.’

  Elizabeth was relieved when Sally arrived to escort her to her bedchamber. Everything had been going so well. But then George Wickham, not for the first time, had ruined everything.

  Chapter Eight

  As Elizabeth retired to her bedchamber and Mr Darcy headed for the library, a different scene was unfolding in Gracechurch Street, at the London home of Elizabeth’s aunt and uncle, Mr and Mrs Gardiner. They had just finished luncheon. Mr Gardiner was studying the newspaper and Mrs Gardiner was looking through the mail. It had been brought in by the servant on a silver salver which lay next to Mrs Gardiner’s tea cup and saucer. She had been away for a few days, visiting her sister, and she had not yet had chance to look at the mail which had been delivered in her absence.

  ‘There seem to be a lot of letters from Longbourn,’ said Mr Gardiner over the top of his newspaper.

  ‘Only two, my dear. One from your sister and one from Elizabeth,’ said Mrs Gardiner, as she poured the tea.

  Mr Gardiner folded his newspaper and put it down, then helped himself to a freshly baked piece of seed cake.

  ‘So, my dear, it seems you have a choice to make. Will you read the silly missive or the sensible one first?’

  Mrs Gardiner smiled and shook her head as she put down the tea pot.

  ‘You should not speak of your sister so,’ she said.

  ‘But you cannot find it in your heart to scold me, because you agree,’ he said.

  ‘You know me too well,’ she said.

  ‘Well, which is it to be?’ he asked, as a took a sip of tea.

  ‘I think I will read your sister’s letter first,’ said Mrs Gardiner.

  ‘A wise choice. If you had done it the other way round then I fear my sister’s letter would have seemed even sillier.’

  Mr Gardiner was not an unkind man but he knew his sister, Mrs Bennet, well and he also knew how lucky he was to have a wife who could put up with her constant string of complaints.

  Mrs Gardiner opened the letter and began to read. Having finished it, she put it down with a sigh.

  ‘Do not say it is even worse than usual,’ said Mr Gardiner, as he finished his piece of cake.

  ‘I must admit I find it hard to understand - although your sister says she has pneumonia so I suppose it is small wonder her letter makes little sense.’

  ‘Pneumonia, eh?’ asked Mr Gardiner with a chuckle. ‘Again?’

  His sister claimed to have pneumonia at least once a year and the fact that she had managed to write a letter convinced him that this time was no different to the others. She had a trifling cold, no doubt, and wanted sympathy, so she dramatised the situation.

  ‘She cannot come to London because she is ill but she seems to think that Elizabeth is already here. She asks me to remind Elizabeth about her orange silk,’ said Mrs Gardiner. ‘More tea, dear?’

  ‘No, thank you. That was sufficient. I think you had better read Elizabeth’s letter. No doubt it will make more sense,’ said Mr Gardiner, picking up his newspaper again.

  ‘No doubt.’ Mrs Gardiner opened Elizabeth’s letter and began to read, but she soon let out a cry.

  ‘What is it? Is anything wrong?’ asked Mr Gardiner. ‘Do not say my sister really has pneumonia? If so, I am sorry for ever having joked about it.’

  ‘No, it is not that. Here. You had better read for yourself.’

  Mr Gardiner took the letter in surprise, but as he read his face clouded over.

  ‘So now we know what happened to Lydia,’ he said.

  He and Mr Bennet had spent months looking for Lydia the previous summer. Colonel Forster had helped them, since Lydia had been under his protection in Brighton, from where she had run off. She had been staying there as a friend of Colonel Forster’s wife and he felt responsible, and not a little guilty, for the situation. But despite the best efforts of the three gentlemen, Lydia and Wickham had not been found.

  ‘What are w
e to do?’ asked Mrs Gardiner.

  ‘This will require careful thought,’ said Mr Gardiner.

  ‘We cannot think for too long. Elizabeth is even now with her sister at Lambton, and we must not leave her to bear this burden alone. We must decide how to help her as quickly as possible.’

  ‘That is true. I think we must go to Lambton. It will be the quickest way to help Elizabeth and we must protect her reputation.’

  ‘We must help Lydia, too,’ said Mrs Gardiner. ‘She is our niece, after all.’

  ‘I am very tempted to let Lydia stew,’ said Mr Gardiner, jumping up and striding around the room. ‘When I think of all the worry she has caused —’

  ‘Very true. But we must do what we can to set things to rights, for the rest of the family’s sake if not for Lydia’s.’

  ‘If you mean we must make that monster Wickham marry her then I fear you are right, though how we are to prevail upon him to marry her I do not know. If he has not done it already then I fear he will not be made to do it, whatever I say,’ Mr Gardiner replied.

  ‘We must do what we can, however, or Elizabeth and Jane will be tainted by it and I do not wish to see them suffer.’

  ‘You have the right of it, my dear. We must consult with Mr Bennet. He is Lydia’s father, after all.’

  ‘You know he has forbidden any mention of her name?’ asked Mrs Gardiner.

  ‘He cannot forbid it any more. This situation must be resolved and I will see to it that he speaks to me. We will set out for Derbyshire this afternoon but on the way we will call at Longbourn. We will show Elizabeth’s letter to Mr Bennet and then we will go to Lambton, with or without my brother-in-law. Once there, we must endeavour to persuade Mr Wickham to marry Lydia, though how we are to convince such a hardened scoundrel to do the decent thing I do not know.’

  Unlike Mr Gardiner, Mr Darcy had great faith in his own powers of persuasion. He was in no doubt that he could persuade Wickham to marry Lydia. The only doubt in his mind was how much it would cost him.

  He went into the library and watched in disgust as Wickham lolled on the sofa. There was a glass at Wickham’s right hand and next to it was the decanter. It had been filled that morning and it was now half empty.

  ‘At last!’ said Wickham, leering up at him. ‘I was beginning to think you’d forgotten me, and that would never do. I’m not about to let you forget me, or what you owe me.’

  ‘I owe you nothing,’ said Mr Darcy, looking down at him in disdain.

  ‘I think you do,’ said Wickham. ‘If not for you I would be married to an heiress by now and living a life of ease and comfort.’

  ‘Do you want to provoke me into knocking you down, George?’ said Mr Darcy.

  He had by now mastered his emotions, and instead of speaking in anger, he spoke in a bored drawl. He had known George Wickham since childhood and he knew this air of boredom was the best way to annoy him. And at this moment, he wanted to annoy George. He wanted, in truth, to knock him down but he was determined not to do it because he would not give George the satisfaction. George loved to provoke him and then hated it when he could not.

  ‘Yes, Darcy,’ said George irritatingly, leaning back in his seat and crossing one leg at right angles over the other. ‘I rather think I do.’

  ‘Then I will have Melgrave show you out.’

  He went over to the bell but Wickham said, ‘Wait.’

  ‘Yes?’ said Mr Darcy, in the same bored drawl.

  ‘I need money, and I need it fast. My creditors are pressing and I have to escape. I thought I might go to America.’

  ‘America?’ asked Mr Darcy in amazement.

  ‘Or France, or Ireland,’ said Wickham.

  ‘Do you even know where those places are?’ asked Mr Darcy, raising one eyebrow. ‘You were never any good at geography, George. Are you sure you do not mean Scotland or Cornwall or Wales?’

  ‘Oh, very funny,’ said George, annoyed. ‘I must go somewhere and you must help me or it is all up with me. I will be in debtors’ prison by Christmas.’

  ‘It is the best place for you,’ said Mr Darcy.

  ‘You pompous ass!’ said Wickham. ‘Here you sit, surrounded by plenty, and you will not lift a finger to save me.’

  ‘You have not given me one good reason why I should,’ said Mr Darcy, sitting down in a languid manner and looking Wickham in the eye.

  ‘I was going to show you my son,’ said Wickham in a sulky manner. ‘I thought you might do something for him, if not for me, but Miss Bennet took him and goodness knows if she ever showed him to you.’

  ‘Miss Bennet ensured his safety, which is more than you did . . . if by Miss Bennet you mean Miss Elizabeth Bennet, and not Miss Lydia Bennet, whom you have unashamedly ruined.’

  ‘Oh, Lydia,’ said Wickham with a shrug. He slumped back in his seat, looking like an advertisement for a dissolute rake. His hair was disordered, his cravat was awry, his coat was soggy and his breeches were covered in mud.

  ‘Yes, Lydia. The woman who should by now be Mrs Wickham, but who is still Miss Lydia Bennet.’

  ‘There you go, like a parson,’ said Wickham in a disgruntled tone of voice. ‘How can I marry Lydia? I need to marry an heiress. All I am asking for is a few thousand pounds to keep me afloat until I can find one.’

  ‘A few thousand pounds?’ asked Mr Darcy in astonishment, and then laughed. ‘You surely cannot expect me to give you a few thousand pounds.’

  ‘Why not? I am sure you would not miss it,’ grumbled Wickham. ‘I could pay you back when I find a suitable heiress.’

  ‘George, George, you do entertain me,’ said Mr Darcy, when his laughter had subsided. ‘You have been trying to marry an heiress for as long as I can remember. I seem to remember that even at eighteen you were trying to charm a widow three times your age because her husband had left her very well provided for. And here you are, ten years later, still trying to solve your problems by marrying an heiress. Has it never occurred to you that, if you had applied yourself, you could by now be established with a career, a house and money of your own? Whereas chasing an easy life, in the form of an heiress, has brought you to the edge of debtors’ prison.’

  ‘Easy for you to say,’ groused Wickham. ‘So are you going to help me or not?’

  Mr Darcy let him squirm. He had always had a difficult relationship with George. They had grown up almost as brothers, for Mr Darcy’s father had paid for George’s schooling and his university education. There had been a kind of sibling rivalry between the two boys, but the half-affectionate, half-antagonistic relationship had settled into cold hatred on Mr Darcy’s part when Wickham had tried to elope with Miss Georgiana Darcy. Mr Darcy loved his sister dearly, and the thought that Wickham had tried to run away with her for her money had given him an unshakeable disgust of the man.

  However . . . yes, however. Upstairs lay Miss Elizabeth Bennet, whose reputation would be tainted for ever if her sister remained unmarried. If, on the other hand, Miss Lydia Bennet married Mr George Wickham then her reputation would be saved.

  He found, when he searched his feelings, that he would not do anything for Wickham.

  But he would do everything for Elizabeth.

  He did not want her to suffer in any way. In fact, he would move heaven and earth to protect her. He was deeply wounded that she had reacted with horror to his proposal, but try as he might he could not stop loving her. She was everything a lady should be: brave, loyal, courageous, capable and yet also vulnerable so that she awakened his protective instincts as well as all other instincts. He had never met anyone like her and he never would again. Even if he did, he did not want someone like Elizabeth. He wanted Elizabeth herself, and only Elizabeth, for he was deeply in love with her and he would be in love with her until the day he died.

  ‘I will tell you what I am going to do. I am going to speak to the Archbishop when he stays here on his way from York to Canterbury. I am going to buy a special license for you so that you can marry Miss Lydia Bennet at once, wit
hout waiting three weeks to call the banns, and as soon as you are married, I am going to pay your debts.’

  ‘What, all of them?’ asked Wickham, raising his eyebrows.

  ‘All of them,’ Mr Darcy affirmed. ‘I am then going to buy you a commission in some far away place, and you are going to build a new life for yourself – a respectable life with a wife and child, and a career - after which you will never trouble me again.’

  Wickham pursed his lips, thinking.

  ‘What guarantee do I have that you will pay my debts once I am married.’

  ‘George, George,’ said Mr Darcy, shaking his head. ‘You never cease to surprise me. Just when I think you can sink no lower, you do it. I thought, when you spent your life drinking and gambling, you could sink no lower. Then you tried to run away with Georgiana, and that seemed as low as a man could go. But then you seduced a young lady and refused to marry her even when she bore your child, which was a low point even for you. And now you question my honour. Are you insane?’

  He asked the question in a mocking tone and he was pleased to see Wickham squirm some more.

  ‘What choice do I have?’ spat Wickham.

  ‘None,’ said Mr Darcy.

  ‘When does the Archbishop arrive?’

  ‘In a few days’ time,’ said Mr Darcy.

  Wickham grumbled and protested. He tried to persuade Mr Darcy to pay his debts before he married Lydia, rather than after. But in the end he agreed to do the decent thing, if he was paid handsomely to do it.

  He would marry Lydia.

  Chapter Nine

  Elizabeth had dinner on a tray in her room but the following day she went downstairs. She saw Mr Darcy briefly after breakfast but he simply bowed and said that he had important business to attend to, after which she saw him no more. Her spirits plummeted. It was all too clear that Lydia and Wickham had disgusted him and that he was now wishing her gone, for she connected him to George Wickham, and George Wickham was his worst enemy.