by Head, Gail
“Figured what out?” Bingley stared at him blankly.
“The difficulty here! From all that we have discovered, the logical source of her ruin is almost certainly George Wickham! Wickham, for heaven's sake! Can you not see? She was partial to him for months, she was seen speaking privately with him just days before her departure – she even eagerly defended his character to me while we were in Kent!”
“Yes, but not now. Since her return, she seemed opposed to his company. Perhaps your letter did some good after all. Jane is certain her sister no longer welcomed Wickham's attentions.”
Darcy closed his eyes against the tormenting vision of Wickham and Elizabeth together. “It is evident that even if she did believe me and changed her mind about him, it was too late. The result is the same. She is disgraced, Charles – and with the man I justly despise above all others in the world! Can you expect me to simply ignore that fact?”
“I expect you to be true to your heart! But perhaps that is too much to ask.” Bingley's eyes flashed with anger. “Where are all the pretty speeches of steadfastness now? Or was that only for my benefit? Jane may have rejected me, but I love her still, and I shall not allow circumstances to sway me. If you love her sister as you have claimed, you would do the same…or do you even know your own heart?”
“I know my heart,” Darcy's icy stare into Bingley's eyes gave no hint of the searing pain he felt within. “She made her choice, however naïve, and it cannot be undone.”
“Yes, and you have made your choice. I thought you a better man than that,” Bingley's chin lifted in bitter disappointment, “and now I see I was mistaken. I cannot force your hand, Darcy; but you must know that I shall do all I can to find Miss Elizabeth – with or without your help!”
* * * *
Darcy sat staring out the window of his room at Netherfield, seeing nothing as his fingers idly stroked a length of rose-colored ribbon, waiting for the time when he could escape.
For the past three days, thoughts of Elizabeth's disgrace had sent him riding into the countryside with reckless abandon, attempting to shake off the ghostly specters of blame that haunted him. But he could not ride far enough or fast enough to keep them from returning again in the long, agonizingly sleepless nights.
Every night was the same. As he twisted and turned among the bed sheets, the questions returned again and again, slashing at his tortured mind. Was his letter of warning to Elizabeth too angry, too prideful – too late? Could he have worded it differently so that she understood the danger of Wickham's company? Worst of all, if he had exposed Wickham as soon as he discovered him in Hertfordshire and not hid the truth from the world, would he have prevented this disaster?
Every morning, with the light of day, came the horrifying realization that his pride had condemned the woman he loved to a life of ridicule and destitution. His heart would constrict with the unbearable thought of her wretched condition and his torment would begin all over again. The frenzied forays into the Hertfordshire countryside were his only escape.
This morning had dawned exactly as the others. Darcy now sat in his chair, sheltered from his pain by a protective numbness, waiting to be gone. He did not notice that Denham worked at a snail's pace to complete the necessary preparations nor did he hear the soft knocking on his door.
The knocking persisted, creating an irritating distraction at the edge of his consciousness which finally ceased when Denham moved to the door, opening it only wide enough to greet the visitor.
“Miss Darcy, good morning.”
“Good morning, Denham. May I please see my brother?”
“I am sorry, Miss. He is unavailable at the moment.”
“I insist upon speaking to him,” her voice carried a more demanding tone that was edged with frustration. “Since he has refused to come to me, I am coming to him.”
Darcy continued to stare out the window as Georgiana's voice drifted across the room, seeping into his lethargic mind. He knew he should not ignore her. He knew he should do more to help her understand his behavior. He should, but he could not summon enough energy to throw off the suffocating guilt that engulfed him.
The evening he and Bingley argued had been followed by days of icy silence. An unnatural stillness had settled over Netherfield, causing everyone to seek relief in their own way.
Bingley had busied himself making attempts to gather more information regarding Elizabeth, writing letters, and making frequent visits to Longbourn. The rare moments when they had crossed paths, there were only silent, angry looks and the rift between Bingley and himself deepened with each passing day.
He had thwarted Georgiana's efforts to intercept him as he made his daily rides. He was in no mood to face the questions he knew she would have for him. Another measure of guilt was added when she had finally given up, turning to her music for the comfort he could not give her. She played at the piano-forte every morning for hours, but this morning she had come to his room.
“I beg your understanding, Miss Darcy. Mr. Darcy has left specific instructions not to be disturbed.”
“Very well,” Darcy could hear the hurt in his sister's voice. “Would you be so kind as to inform my brother that if he shall not talk to me, then he shall not mind if I accept Lieutenant Saunderson's invitation for a picnic this afternoon.”
“I shall relay your message, Miss Darcy,” Denham responded evenly and quietly shut the door.
Darcy's mind struggled to comprehend what he had just heard. Picnic? Lieutenant? What did Georgiana think she was doing? She had no business accepting invitations, least of all with an officer! He jumped from his chair with a low growl before Denham could begin.
“Denham, what was that about a picnic?”
“It appears Miss Darcy has accepted an invitation.”
“Is that right? And who is this Saunderson?”
“I couldn't say, sir.”
“Well, I will have something to say. Get my clothes and be quick about it!”
“Very good, sir,” Denham replied in the same even tone.
Within twenty minutes, Darcy was hurriedly descending the stairs. At the bottom, he stopped, calculating where he might best find his sister. Soft strains of piano music sent him in the direction of Netherfield's drawing room. Still driven by the anxious concern that had pulled him from his stupor, he marched into the room and halted next to the piano-forte.
“What is this about a picnic?” Darcy demanded harshly.
Georgiana stopped playing, her hands poised above the ivory keys as she greeted him coolly.
“Good morning, Fitzwilliam.”
“And who is Lieutenant Saunderson?”
“Lieutenant Saunderson? Whatever do you mean?” Her voice remained distant as she resumed playing very softly.
“You know exactly what I mean, Georgiana. Who is this person and what do you mean by agreeing to a picnic without my permission?”
“I am sure I do not know what you are talking about.”
“Do not pretend you were not at my door but half an hour ago talking about plans for a picnic with Lieutenant Saunderson this afternoon!”
Georgiana stopped once again, this time turning to face her brother.
“There is no Lieutenant…and no picnic.”
“But I distinctly heard – ” Darcy stammered, suddenly confused.
“What you heard was my attempt to get you to talk to me. Remind me to thank Denham for his help,” the corners of her mouth turned up in a wry smile, but her eyes held a deep sadness.
Darcy blinked with sudden understanding.
“I am sorry to have exposed you to such misery, Georgiana. It has just been so unexpected and so very difficult,” he explained as he sat down next to her, taking her hands in his. “Please try to be patient with me. There are circumstances, which I cannot reveal, that make this all so unbelievably complicated.”
“It is not your fault, you know. You cannot continue to blame yourself.”
“It is my fault! You do not understand. I failed Bingley,
Miss Bennet – everyone,” Darcy muttered as he turned from her. “She did not comprehend how perilous the situation was. I should have acted sooner. I could have prevented it!”
“How could you? You and Mr. Bingley offered to assist as soon as Miss Bennet asked.” When he hesitated in his answer, she watched him closely for verification of what she already knew. “It is not Miss Bennet, is it?”
“Of course it is Miss Bennet…and her family.”
“Admit it, Fitzwilliam.”
“Admit what?” Darcy felt himself growing uncomfortable. “There is nothing to admit.”
“There is!” Georgiana declared with assurance. “For as long as I have been old enough to pay attention to such things, I have never known you to show more than a passing interest for any woman, let alone be so passionate as when you offered your assistance to Miss Bennet.”
“If you think that I have any attraction for Miss Bennet, you are very much mistaken, dear sister. I am not in the habit of interfering in my friends' interests.”
“You know full well I am not talking about Miss Bennet. I am talking about her sister.”
Darcy escaped to the window, looking outward but not seeing anything beyond the smooth surface of the polished glass. This was beyond belief. Why did Georgiana choose now to be so perceptive – now when he was most vulnerable? The past three days of punishing physical exercise and sleepless nights had left his wounded heart raw and bleeding. To speak of Elizabeth now could very well sever his precarious hold on sanity.
“Georgiana – ”
“I am not a child any longer,” she spoke softly, coming to stand beside him. “Last summer was…was difficult; but I believe I learned something very important. Matters of the heart cannot be taken lightly.”
“Indeed they cannot.” He straightened and turned to face her with hooded eyes, masking the pain that was his constant companion. “And that is why I will tell you that even if I had any interest in E…Miss Bennet's sister, it would not matter. Not now.”
“Not now? And what if there were no rumors, no gossip connected to Miss Elizabeth Bennet? What then?”
“Scandal or no, our circumstances were already separated by an impossibly wide gulf. Even before this business, her situation in life was wholly unsuited for any possible alliance with Pemberley.”
Georgiana looked at him with a gentle frown. “You cannot be serious! What is so very different that would prevent you from pursuing a woman of your liking? She is a gentleman's daughter and you are a gentleman. As far as I can tell, you are equals. You have not the restraints of most men in search of a wife. You are your own man, Fitzwilliam, independent in family and fortune, and you need not answer to anyone.”
“It is all quite meaningless now, my dear,” Darcy sighed. “Present circumstances will not permit me to even entertain such an alliance.”
Taking one large hand in both of hers she gently pulled him to the sofa, her heart pounding with the effort it took to be so bold. Knowing his feelings ran much deeper than she had suspected, she sat close and spoke quietly, “Your happiness is the most important thing to me. Surely there is a way for you to attain it.”
“No, there is not. I do not expect you to understand, but as master of Pemberley, I have certain responsibilities that must be considered. My own desires cannot overshadow my obligations to Pemberley – to you.” A tinge of regret crept into his voice as he raised his free hand and touched her cheek. “Even if there were the slightest possibility, and the family's poor situation could be overcome, this new matter makes it impossible for me to marry her. I could not expose you to that.”
Georgiana raised herself to look squarely into her brother's eyes. “Fitzwilliam, you once saved me from a scandal and your love has not diminished, much as I do not deserve it. Surely you can do the same for the woman I believe you love.”
Darcy studied his sister with new eyes. When had she come to be so grown up? He shuddered at the thought of last summer's near-tragedy. Wickham's callous manipulation of her heart could have haunted them both for the rest of her life; but no, she had weathered the storm and somehow emerged stronger for it. Strong enough to challenge his own heart.
“If you cannot forgive her and help her, then I wonder what would have happened had George Wickham succeeded with me. Would you have cast me off? Would I have never seen you again? Is your love truly love or merely a conditional sentiment?”
Georgiana rose, giving a kiss to the hand she still held before releasing it.
“My love for you is unconditional, Fitzwilliam. Whatever happens, I will always love you and stand by you; but you must make your own decision. Only you can say how much you truly love Elizabeth Bennet.”
* * * *
With a low moan, Darcy rolled onto his back, wincing at the pain in his leg. He was obviously injured, but he could not think clearly enough to determine the extent of the harm done. His head was spinning and he had the sensation of a great weight sitting on his chest which prevented him from drawing a full breath. Absently, he noted that the ground beneath him felt soft and cool. He raised a hand from that coolness to clumsily brush away the dirt and leaves clinging to his cheek and brow.
After some minutes, the spinning began to recede and he opened his eyes, slitting them against the sunlight that filtered through the branches he lay beneath. He tried to recall what had happened, but his mind was still too addled to make much sense. He settled for lying still and concentrating on his breathing.
There was an odd silence, as if every creature ceased their movement at the same instant. He thought perhaps he had lost his hearing until a faint sound reached his ears. It was the sound of voices, steadily growing louder – high-pitched, female voices whose tenor rose and fell with excited chatter. As they neared where he lay, he discerned two women of a mature age, evidently on their way back from the village.
Still dazed, Darcy wondered if he should call out for help, or if he was even capable of making a sound loud enough to be heard as the ladies passed within ten feet of his resting place among the undergrowth.
“…she hadn't any notion such a place existed until she read about it. Can you imagine? And to think Elizabeth Bennet would end up among the fallen angels,” the first woman clucked. Her voice had a sharp, penetrating quality and Darcy's mind conjured up a thin, pinched face to accompany it.
“Such a shame,” a much gentler voice replied. “She was a lovely girl, she was; always kind to my David. She never made him feel bad about his being so shy and all.”
“Well, maybe so,” came the first voice again, “but she was more free-spirited than a girl ought to be, in my opinion. Walking about the countryside by herself all the time. I always knew it would come to no good.”
“Oh, yes, you may be right there. A girl can't be going about so unguarded, she could put herself in the way of danger quick enough.”
“I am not one to be making judgments, mind you, but who is to say she did not go looking for it?”
“Oh, no, Mattie! I can't believe that of Miss Elizabeth. Not in a thousand years!”
“Well, you can think what you want, Annie Price, but you know what they say – the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.”
“Er, yes, I suppose; but…um, what does an apple have to do with Miss Elizabeth?”
“What I mean, dear friend, is that there may be more than one Bennet who has been stepping out, so to speak. I happen to know that my sister has been getting letters addressed to Mr. William Bennet at Granley Cottage – in a lady's hand, no less! I don't think the Mrs. would be sending letters to him there. They been coming steady for weeks now. I'll wager he's got himself a lady on the side. And if the father is a wanderin', then the daughter might not be so very different.”
“Letters, you say!? My goodness, who would have thought…”
The voices faded as the women turned a bend in the lane and moved beyond Darcy's hearing.
Darcy had tried to rise at the sound of Elizabeth's name, but the tilting of
the landscape had kept him where he was. With the ladies' departure, he let his head fall back to the sodden ground with anguish as his memory of the day came into focus.
It had begun with Georgiana's clever ploy to draw him out of his room and confront him. She had forced him to face the reality he had tried so hard to avoid since his return from Brighton. It was too painful and he had sought escape once again in a mind-numbing ride through Hertfordshire.
Emerging from a stand of hemlocks at breakneck speed, he had urged his horse into the open field beyond. It was a heady, reckless feeling. For a few moments, horse and rider became one with no other thought than that of the ground falling away beneath them. They crossed the field and charged into the next stand of woods without slowing. But the pounding hooves could not drown out the pounding thoughts that had invaded Darcy's head nor the visions of Bingley and Georgiana. The more he had tried to push them aside, the more they had multiplied into a throbbing, excruciating tangle of guilt.
Still lying in the shrubbery, Darcy held his unsteady head with both hands as the horrible thoughts came once again. He could not escape Bingley's angry words nor his sister's searching questions.
'I shall do all I can to find her, with or without your help'… 'That night on the terrace has to mean something'… 'Would you have cast me off?' …'Is your love truly love or merely a conditional sentiment?' He grimaced at the memory of the unrelenting words. 'She still needs our help. If nothing else, to ensure she is cared for properly'… 'Only you can say how much you love Elizabeth Bennet'.
And then he remembered how he came to be lying in the woods, injured and alone. Unbearable pain tearing at his heart and mind, he had ridden on in a blind stupor, not really seeing where he was going, nor even caring. He had not seen the lane cutting across his path nor the hedge bordering it until it was too late. The horse, having insufficient footing for the jump, had balked at the hedge, skittering sideways and unseating its rider. The forward momentum launched Darcy over the hedge, landing him unceremoniously amid the shrubbery beyond.
Idiotic! Darcy's anger at his own reckless behavior cleared the remaining fog from his head and he slowly rose to a sitting position, taking inventory of his injuries. Except for a dull ache at the back of his head, he seemed to be in full possession of his senses. Cautiously, he stretched his shoulders up and back, one at a time, and found no serious injury there. When his movements caused a fresh throbbing in his ankle, he carefully examined the painful limb. It was not broken, only sprained; but still unable to bear any weight.