My poor Elizabeth! thought Darcy, reaching for the letter as if reading his friend’s correspondence were the most natural thing in the world. Skipping past the greeting, he read:
An express came at twelve last night, just as we were all gone to bed, from Colonel Forster, to inform us that Lydia was gone off to Scotland with one of his officers. Imagine our surprise. To Kitty, however, it does not seem so wholly unexpected.—But I am willing to hope the best. My poor mother is sadly grieved. My father bears it better, but Lizzy has gone off and will speak to no one. They were off Saturday night about twelve, as is conjectured, but were not missed till yesterday morning at eight. The express was sent off directly. Colonel Foster gives us reason to expect him here soon. Lydia left a few lines for his wife, informing her of their intention. I must conclude, for I cannot be long from my poor mother. It would probably be best for you to remain at Netherfield today, but I will send you word as soon as any arrives.
Bingley returned for a moment. “I am off to Longbourn, Darcy—I doubt I will see you before tonight.”
“Wait,” said Darcy, his earlier indecision forgotten. “I will come with you.”
His friend looked at him unhappily. “Darcy, do you think that a good idea? I cannot imagine they will want anyone but family there today.”
The image of Elizabeth, alone and in distress, cut through Darcy’s usual reserve on the subject. “Nonsense,” he said, brushing past him. “Someone must look after Elizabeth, and no one else will.”
***
He found Elizabeth in the garden, her arms wrapped around herself, pacing back and forth silently. His heart went out to her as he saw the blank look of pain on her face, and he wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms to comfort her.
She did not see him until he was almost upon her. So he has returned, under these impossible circumstances! she thought, looking away lest he see too much in her eyes. She had missed his company these last two days more than she cared to admit, and found the idea he might have given up on her oddly painful. She had chided herself more than once for the impropriety of these thoughts, and tried to throw herself anew into her wedding plans, resolving to think of him no more.
Now, though, the situation could not be worse. Once he knew what had occurred, he would certainly never want anything to do with her again. She wished she could disguise it, but that would only delay the inevitable. Gathering up her courage, she said, “Mr. Darcy, I am afraid you do not find me at my best. My family has received some dreadful news, and I do not think any of us will be suitable company today, I am sorry to say.”
“I have heard,” he said gently. “Your sister sent a note to Bingley, and he is presently inside with her and your mother.”
His kindness almost proved her undoing. She swallowed hard, resolved to keep her composure. “They still believe that they are gone to Scotland,” she said bitterly.
“And you do not?”
“Of course not! She has no money, no connections, nothing that can tempt him to—she is lost forever. You know him too well to doubt the rest.”
A dark foreboding filled Darcy. “I do not know of whom you speak,” he said.
She looked up at him in pained surprise. “I thought you had heard,” she said, heartsick at having to reveal this last shame to him. “She has eloped with Mr. Wickham.”
Darcy was fixed in astonishment. “When I consider,” she added, in a yet more agitated voice, “that I might have prevented it!—I, who knew what he was. Had I but explained some part of it only—some part of what I learnt, to my own family! Had his character been known, this could not have happened. But it is all, all too late now.”
It was a moment before he could take in her words. “I am grieved, indeed,” said Darcy compassionately, “grieved—shocked. But what has been attempted to recover her?”
Elizabeth shook her head bitterly. “Nothing at all—they all believe her gone to Scotland. We are awaiting the arrival of Colonel Forster with more further intelligence, but I cannot, I cannot go inside and pretend there is any hope!” Her voice cracked on the last words.
Darcy did not know how he kept himself from touching her at that moment. “I wish to heaven that I could disagree with you and say they were gone to Scotland, but we both know that I cannot,” he said, in a tone of gentleness and commiseration. “But it is not impossible that this could be mended; please do not give up all hope.”
“Nothing can be done to mend it!” she cried. “I know very well that nothing can be done. How is such a man to be worked on? How are they even to be discovered? I have not the smallest hope. It is in every way horrible!”
Darcy’s face twisted into a grimace of distaste. “There is but one way to work on him, and that is with money—Wickham will do anything for money.”
She looked at him with eyes that spoke only too eloquently of her despair. She knew that her father had no resources of the necessary magnitude, but she would not say that to him; she would prefer that he not know yet how certain was the shame her family would suffer. Let him believe for a little while longer that we are not completely disgraced! she thought, knowing it could not be for long.
“Miss Bennet,” he said in a voice that bespoke his concern, “let us walk a little through the garden while we wait; it benefits nothing to dwell further upon it until we know more.”
“There is no need for you to wait, sir,” she said, her eyes not meeting his. She had no desire for him to know how much she longed for the support and understanding she had no right to expect from him. “This is no concern of yours; I am sure you would be far more comfortable at Netherfield.”
“There is every reason for me to wait,” he said, almost violently, not caring how improper it was. He held out his arm, and, though she would not look at him, she took it and leaned a little upon him as they walked, taking a kind of comfort from his nearness.
After a time she began to shiver, more from the shock of her distress than from any chill, and he insisted on leading her inside. When she refused to join the others, he took her to a back sitting room, and fetched her a glass of wine. He talked to her quietly of whatever came to his mind—Pemberley, Georgiana, Bingley, neither expecting nor receiving a response.
Finally a stir was heard at the front of the house, and Elizabeth leapt to her feet. “Excuse me, Mr. Darcy; that may be Colonel Forster.”
“Yes, let us see what he has to say,” said Darcy.
She caught his sleeve. “Mr. Darcy, I appreciate all you have done, but you cannot afford to be publicly associated with our family at this juncture. You should not be seen here.”
He looked down at her hand on his arm, eternally damning the fact that he did not have the right to comfort her as he would wish. “Thank you for your concern, but I will judge that; at present I find there is reason for me to be here.”
She did not argue further; she was too grateful for his presence. She only hoped he would not regret it later.
The new arrival was indeed Colonel Forster. After a brief greeting to the ladies, he disappeared into the library with Mr. Bennet, Mr. Bingley, and—to Elizabeth’s surprise—Mr. Darcy. It was some time before they emerged, leaving the ladies in a state of high anxiety as to the outcome. The grim look on Mr. Bennet’s face did nothing to reassure Elizabeth, and she immediately glanced at Mr. Darcy, who looked more thoughtful than anything else. She wondered what he was thinking.
“I wish I had better news to deliver,” said Mr. Bennet bleakly. “It appears there is reason to suspect they are not gone to Scotland after all.” Mrs. Bennet gasped in dismay, beginning to sob as her husband shared the remainder of Colonel Forster’s information. The intelligence that Lydia was not in fact married, nor likely to be, came as a devastating shock to Jane, who would not have believed so much evil could exist in the world. It was far too much for the nerves of Mrs. Bennet, who was finally taken to her rooms in hysterics
by her second daughter. It was much later when Elizabeth returned downstairs, and she was surprised to find Mr. Darcy still there, apparently waiting for her. Mr. Bingley and Jane were sitting close together, talking quietly; signs of tears still showed on Jane’s face.
She managed a small and weary smile for Darcy as he stood to greet her. He was glad to see it; he had spent her absence reminding himself that he had no right to offer her consolation in the way Bingley could with Jane. It was more difficult than ever to accept it after spending so much of this trying day together, and being treated by her family almost as a member.
“I hope your mother is better,” he said cautiously.
“She is asleep; we gave her a sedative,” said Elizabeth tiredly, knowing that as soon as her mother awoke, her demands and wails would begin anew. “Has Colonel Forster gone?”
“Yes, he left almost immediately, hoping to reach London tonight. Your father is in the library making preparations to follow him in the morning.”
She gave him a quiet smile for his efforts, knowing he had gone well beyond the duties of friendship for her, and too exhausted by the effects of the day to try to deny what this implied about his feelings for her. A knock came at the front door, and she looked up eagerly, hoping for news.
She was destined for disappointment, however, for a moment later Mr. Covington appeared unannounced, having clearly ridden hard. He came straight to her and knelt beside her chair, taking her hands in his. “I am so sorry, Lizzy,” he said with obvious concern and solicitude. “I came as soon as I heard.”
“I…” Elizabeth stammered, staring half-bewildered at him. She could not comprehend Mr. Covington’s presence; it was as if a total stranger was before her. Looking at his earnest expression, she finally admitted the truth to herself: it was not his comfort she wanted. With dismaying clarity, she faced the reality before her—she was to marry one man when it was another she wanted and needed, and it was no one’s fault but her own. There was nothing to be done for it—it was already too late. The tears she had been barely managing to hold back all day suddenly escaped as she faced the bleakness of her future, and she began to sob uncontrollably.
Darcy reacted to Covington’s arrival as if he had been slapped. He had been taking care of Elizabeth, he had been planning solutions—and now he was totally put aside. He watched as she started to cry, she who had struggled so hard to be in control of her emotions all day with him, apparently waiting for this moment when she could let down her guard. She covered her face with her hands, crying even harder now, and Darcy winced as Covington put his arms around her.
He knew then that his game of make-believe was over—he could not look at this tableau and imagine it meant anything but that Covington was the one she loved and trusted. She might have felt an attraction to him at some moments and enjoyed his sense of humour, but in a time of crisis, it was not to him she turned, not even when he was the only one available. It was agony even to breathe as the scene in front of him burned itself into his memory.
Perhaps he had been able to offer her a slight comfort earlier, but now his presence could make nothing but trouble for her. It was her love he wanted, but that was a hopeless cause; all that was left for him now was to give her the best chance of happiness she had. His face set in grim lines, he silently turned and left her to her future with Covington.
Elizabeth remained lost in helpless tears for some time, both for her sister’s lost hopes and her own. How had she found her way into this dilemma? And her position was as hopeless as Lydia’s—even if she were ever free, Darcy could never ally himself with her, not after her sister’s disgrace by a man whose name was punishment for him to speak. She could only be grateful that he had not decamped immediately on hearing of it. She forced herself to breathe more evenly until Mr. Covington released her gently from his unwanted embrace. It was Darcy’s arms she wanted around her, his voice offering her words of comfort. It could never be, of course, but just this once, she wanted to look at him with honesty in her heart; but when she turned to where he had been, he was gone.
***
It was nearly a fortnight later that Bingley arrived for his morning call on his betrothed with Mr. Darcy once again in tow. Elizabeth, in a whirl of embarrassment, could hardly bring herself to look at him when they made their greeting. Since she had seen him last, it seemed her every waking moment, apart from those taken up with worry for Lydia, had been spent trying to reconcile herself to a future without him. There had been a great many such wakeful moments in which to think, since many of her nights were spent in sleepless preoccupation with the feelings she had denied so long.
She had given up hope of seeing him again, at least not for a long time. She had not been in his company since that moment she had recognized the truth of what lay between them; Bingley had brought news the next morning that Darcy had departed for Town and was not expected to return. It had been an acutely painful blow, though she soon realized it was for the best. She needed to make her peace with her upcoming marriage, and it would have been impossible to do so in his presence. Still, she could not stop herself from missing him, and longing for his company.
Now he had reappeared completely unexpectedly, and she did not know what to make of it. She stole glances at him from under her lashes as she sat at her work, but his attention seemed elsewhere, directed to her mother, her sisters, and occasionally on no less an object than the floor.
“Have you heard, Mr. Darcy, that my youngest is to be married next week?” said Mrs. Bennet with great satisfaction.
Darcy replied that he had, and made his congratulations. Elizabeth, humiliated, dared not lift up her eyes. How he looked, therefore, she could not tell.
“It will be a delightful thing, to be sure, to have a daughter well married, and two more soon to come, but at the same time, it is very hard to have my youngest taken such a way from me. They are to go to Newcastle, a place quite northward, it seems, and there they are to stay.”
“Very hard indeed, I would imagine, to have one so dear to you far away.”
“How suddenly you went away, Mr. Darcy!” continued Mrs. Bennet.
Darcy looked grave. “Yes, it was unfortunately sudden; urgent business called me to London. In truth, I am leaving again this morning; I came last night only to settle some matters with Bingley. I cannot stay long, but since I was unable to call to make a proper farewell before my last departure, I hoped to make it up to you now, and to thank you for all the hospitality you have shown me.”
Elizabeth froze at his words. She had somehow assumed that his reappearance meant their old pattern of daily meetings was to resume.
“Leaving again, Mr. Darcy? So soon?” Jane asked.
“Yes, I must be back in London tonight, and next week I will be undertaking a longer journey, and do not expect to return to England for some time.”
Elizabeth looked up at him in shock at this statement. His eyes met hers in a serious look, and she bit her lip, trying to fend off the loss she felt already. She understood his presence now; he had come to say a final goodbye to her. He too must have acknowledged that what was between them must end. A lump formed in her throat, and she looked away suddenly before tears could begin to appear in her eyes.
Mrs. Bennet inquired as to his destination. He replied, “I will be going to Vienna—I have not been there since my grand tour, and I always intended to return there to acquaint myself with the city properly.”
Now that she knew she had lost the small hope of him she had, Elizabeth could not decide whether she more wished him to stay longer or go immediately. It was an acutely painful pleasure to sit across from him, able to look at him but nothing more, and to know there would never be anything more.
She did not have long to think of it, as in fact it was only a brief interval before he said he must go. When he rose to leave, she boldly seized her moment to see him to his carriage, hoping that no one would no
tice her agitation. She did not know what she wished to say to him, if in fact she wished to say anything, or if she just hoped to be in his company a few minutes longer. His eyes thanked her, however, and that was enough.
She found, though, that she must say something, or stand in uncomfortable silence as the maid brought his hat and coat. “I hope you enjoy Vienna, Mr. Darcy,” she said.
The corners of his mouth quirked in what was almost a smile. “It is a place to go,” he said. Their eyes met again for a long moment, and she looked away first. He moved towards the door, then stopped again just at the edge of the vestibule. “Before I go, though, Miss Bennet, I must beg your forgiveness.”
“My forgiveness? For what?” she asked. For engaging my affections when I was already bound to another man?
“For this,” he said. Before she realized what he intended, he leant towards her and kissed her, a brief, tender touch of his lips to hers. “There is no need for you to come any further. Goodbye, Miss Bennet, and please accept my best wishes for your marriage.”
She could not help herself; her eyes clouded with tears, and by the time she had blinked them away, he was already out the door and stepping into his carriage. He did not look back, and she watched with stinging eyes as the carriage disappeared down the lane, still feeling the sensation of his kiss.
Chapter 4
The trip to the Longbourn church seemed to take forever to Darcy. He could see the breath of the horses steaming in the cold air; in March the promise of spring had not yet arrived in Hertfordshire. The leaves had been falling when he had left five months earlier, and it seemed as if winter were not prepared to loosen its grip on the countryside this year. His mouth twisted into a frown as he saw the spire of the church ahead.
The occasion was merely a meeting with the rector to review the order of the ceremony, and as such, the focus would primarily be on Bingley and Miss Bennet, but Darcy could not help but wonder what other members of the Bennet family might also be present. It did not seem likely Elizabeth would be there—presumably one of her younger sisters would be serving as Jane’s bridesmaid, since Elizabeth would be married herself now—but the mere possibility made him tense with anticipation. He did not know whether he more longed for or dreaded the prospect; he ached to see her, but it would be crushingly painful knowing she was Covington’s wife now. The very thought made his chest grow tight in a now familiar feeling of distress.
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