That also was true. “I’ll visit my aunt on Monday. The regiment will be gone, so it will be safe again.”
“I’ll come with you.”
Now that was a concession. “You don’t have to, Fitzwilliam,” she offered, feeling a sudden urge to caress his cheek (but they were still in full view of the others).
“But I should,” he answered firmly. His hand found hers. “I should have long ago.”
“Do you think I do not know how far you are above them?” she asked softly. “You will certainly be the most important man to ever cross their threshold.”
“I do not believe my importance will be damaged in the process.”
She shook her head, still amazed at this rapid transformation. Where was her proud bridegroom?
He understood her look. “I would bear a great deal more for your sake, Elizabeth.”
“I am only sorry you have to.”
He shrugged. “You have already been subjected to abuse from Lady Catherine. While I trust my uncle and aunt Fitzwilliam will prove more courteous, I cannot pretend that a visit with them may not be an ordeal, too.”
“Are you possibly saying that we should both bear the other’s difficult relatives with equanimity and choose to afterwards remember only such experiences as bring us pleasure?”
He laughed. “I am sure I could never put it so fitly, or so optimistically. I am afraid I cannot forget the unpleasant behavior of my family, but I will endeavor to forget that of yours. At least none of them means to be unkind.”
“If you do not count, Lydia, that is. I must admit that if we are to forget everything we do not like, then we may stand in great danger of not remembering their existence at all. Very well: I give you leave to remember everything but not to think of it unless it gives you pleasure.”
“That is easily done,” he said, “if I think only of you, which I generally do anyway.”
She gasped slightly, caught between a blush and a laugh. “That is not what I meant!”
“But it is what I meant,” he replied. “You cannot think that there is anything that gives me greater pleasure than meditating on your eyes?”
Looking past him, she saw that Bingley and Jane were still speaking with her mother.
“This obsession with my eyes,” she teased him, “one would think I had no other good feature.”
“Now you are angling for compliments.” He took her hand again, holding it discreetly between their bodies.
“Have you none to make me?”
“Many, if you are prepared to hear them.” They both knew that she shied away from flattery.
“But you will think me terribly vain.”
“I will think you the woman I love.” This was said so seriously that her teasing faltered, and she looked at him with eyes soft with emotion, though what he could not tell. He half feared it was pity.
“Oh, Fitzwilliam,” she murmured.
If he could not have an answering declaration, it at least comforted him a little to hear his given name on her lips. It showed that she was becoming more comfortable with him. If they had been alone, he would have kissed her then, but they were not, so he merely held her hand near his heart for as long as he dared. The fitness of it flashed across his mind: her hand, his heart. When he saw movement in his peripheral vision, he let her go quickly and turned back to the others. The actual farewells were formal and proper, and it was away until tomorrow again. At least this time he wasn’t going back alone.
After the gentlemen left, Mrs. Bennet went about the house proclaiming joyous prophecies of having two daughters married before Michaelmas, and both to such handsome and rich men. Sensing that her effusions were distressing Jane, Lizzy took her to sit outside in the garden.
“I think Mr. Bingley was very happy to see you again, sister. So happy, in fact, that he hardly saw anyone else.”
“He was . . . very civil.”
“Very civil!” she mocked her. “If that is what passes for civility, Jane, then I have been grossly mistaken in the character of every bachelor I have previously known, for they were all extremely rude in comparison.”
“Excepting your Mr. Darcy, of course,” she replied with more than usual cheek.
“Ah, Mr. Darcy’s another quantity altogether. But tell me! How did you like Mr. Bingley’s extraordinary civility?”
She blushed. “He was as agreeable as I remember.”
“Which in turn is very agreeable indeed.”
“But I am wiser now, and I know not to get my hopes up.”
“Jane, if there is no hope in the enamored stares he gave you today, then it cannot be had for any price.”
“Do not say so, Lizzy! I can bear it if I think that his attentions mean nothing, but if I were to think . . . and he . . .” She trailed off.
Elizabeth pressed her hand. “We will speak of it no more,” she promised, and changed the subject.
That evening she kept her word to Darcy and pled off the party. Instead Lizzy spent a quiet evening in the library with her father, the two not speaking much but sitting in opposite chairs before the fireplace as they had so often before. Sometimes she would look up from her book and see him watching her with eyes that were suspiciously misty. Her heart ached a bit; she smiled at him tremulously, and he would clear his throat, look away, and reapply himself to his tome. Neither one spoke of the separation to come, but they both thought of it constantly.
They were now more than halfway through the month of May. Elizabeth could scarcely believe that it had been little more than two weeks since Darcy made his introductory call at Longbourn and asked for her hand. So much had already happened, and now the wedding loomed nearer, just two weeks and four days away; even now, a seamstress in Meryton was doubtlessly sewing frantically to make her wedding clothes.
The worst, however, seemed over. One source of unease was leaving, the other had arrived, and Darcy’s contempt for her family had lessened. She had, it would appear, nothing left to worry her. What else could possibly happen? In a dizzying array of emotional encounters, she and Darcy had fought through several misunderstandings, apologizing and explaining and forgiving each other, growing closer. Surely that proved they would survive marriage as well, and even be happy in it.
No, decided Elizabeth as she went to bed that night, the turbulent period of their engagement was over. While it might be true that her feelings still did not match his, she liked him, she honored him, she trusted him, and she would do what she could to make him happy. There would be nothing but peace and increasing felicity from here on out.
Chapter Eighteen
Darcy arose from his bed in the early predawn Monday. He had not slept much the previous night, being, too troubled in his heart. There were things—things that he had tried to ignore but were pressing on him now. His unrequited love for Elizabeth had begun to pain him in new and unhappy ways.
He dressed and went to the stables. A sleepy-eyed stable hand brought him his tack, and he put it on the horse himself. The sky was just beginning to turn pale as he rode out over the fields. Inevitably, he turned in the direction of Longbourn. He trotted slowly around the side of the house to where he knew the family rooms were and stared up at them, wondering which one was Elizabeth’s. In his mind’s eye he could see her, her face on the pillow flushed from sleep, her pretty hair scattered about. He wondered bleakly if his desire to see such a sight in reality had overcome every other consideration to the point where they would both suffer for it.
All at once, about a hundred feet from where he sat, one of the side doors opened, and a cloaked figure emerged. At first Darcy thought it must be Elizabeth, and his heart leapt. But this lady was too tall for Elizabeth and moved differently. Darcy’s eyes narrowed, and he urged his mount quietly closer. It was . . .
Lydia. Lydia Bennet, creeping out before dawn and carrying a bandbox awkwardly under one arm. What was going on here?
Mr. Darcy did not like the youngest Miss Bennet and had in fact vowed to keep Georgiana aw
ay from her pernicious influence at all costs, but he had far too great a sense of responsibility to leave this matter uninvestigated. Even if she had not been Elizabeth’s sister, she was far too young, and far too foolish, to be left to her own devices.
He dismounted and walked toward her. “Miss Lydia!” he called in an authoritative voice.
Lydia jumped. “What are you doing here?” she asked crossly.
“I think the better question is what you are doing here, at this hour and carrying a box.” He looked pointedly at her luggage.
She tried unsuccessfully to thrust it behind her. “That is none of your concern.”
“On the contrary, I think it is very much my concern. Where are you going? Are you sneaking out? Meeting someone?” His eyes narrowed with sudden comprehension. “The militia is leaving town today.”
“So? I want to go for a walk.” She tried to walk past him, but he moved in front of her.
“Not so quickly! Tell me whom you are going to meet.”
“Never!” She tried to cross her arms, but again the bandbox got in the way, so she just crossed one arm, defiantly.
“Very well. We shall simply see what your father has to say about this desire for an early morning jaunt.”
“No!”
“Yes.” He crossed his arms now. “Believe me when I say, Miss Lydia, that you are not going any further until I know exactly who induced you to take this desperate step.”
“It’s not fair!” She stamped her foot. “You have no right to interfere! It’s all your fault anyway! If it weren’t for you and Lizzy, I would be going to Brighton with Mrs. Forster and I wouldn’t have to run away!” Suddenly she darted around him and took off running. Darcy reached her with a few long, quick strides and caught her by the forearm.
“Let me go, let me go!” She was struggling like a child having a temper tantrum now. He was rather surprised that she did not kick him.
“I am extremely reluctant to use force on any female,” he replied between his teeth, catching her other arm and holding her firmly, “but I owe too much to your father and sister to let you go. You will return to the house with me if I have to carry you over my shoulder!”
“I hate you!” she shouted. “You’re just as bad as Wickham said!”
“Wickham! It’s he, isn’t it? He’s the one you’re going to meet!”
“Yes, because he said he would hide me until we got to Brighton, and then Papa would be sure to let me stay! He understands! He knows how much I long to go and how unjust it is that I have to stay home just to go to your boring wedding!” Darcy answered only by pressing his lips together, his mind working quickly. “Please, Mr. Darcy,” she began to plead, trying a different tack, “you can let me go and not say anything! I’ll be safe; it’s not like I’m going to travel on my own. Wickham is going to put me in the luggage cart and bring me food, and it’ll be great fun! Harriet will be so surprised and delighted when I suddenly appear! Then I can have my summer, and after all, you can’t really care if I’m at your wedding. Please let me go, or you’ll spoil everything and I’ll never forgive you! Just because you—”
“Where are you meeting him?” he demanded abruptly, cutting her off.
She peered at him hopefully. “Over there, under the big beech tree. We’re to sneak back into the camp before—”
“Miss Lydia.” Darcy looked down at her with sudden compassion. She was a silly, headstrong, self-centered girl, but little more than a child, and naive still. Just a year ago he had found his own sister in nearly the same position, deceived by the same man determined to get to him. In a way he was responsible for Lydia’s planned flight. Wickham would never have provoked her to such action if she were not to be connected to him. He loosened his grip on her arms. “Miss Lydia,” he said gently, “I wish that you would allow me to speak to you as a brother. This runaway trip to Brighton may seem like an amusement, but it would ruin you. Mr. Wickham knows that, even if you do not. It would be known all over Hertfordshire and Brighton what you had done, and no man would ever want to marry you. Not only you but all your sisters could be ruined! Is that truly what you desire?”
She tossed her head defiantly. “You just want to spoil all my fun! You’re proud and dreary, and you can’t bear for anyone else to be gay and happy! You’re jealous of Wickham because everyone loves him and hates you!”
“Oh, no, I assure you, far more people hate him.” He began to steer her back in the direction of the house. “You are going home, my girl, whether you like it or not.”
Now she burst into tears. “It’s not fair!” she sobbed.
“Perhaps not, but it is kind. You do not see that now, but you will one day.”
“Never! I’ll never forgive you for this! Oh, why did Lizzy have to decide to marry you? She never even liked you, you know! If you weren’t so rich, she would never have even thought of it, and it’s not fair that I should have to suffer just because she wanted a rich husband. If only you had given Wickham his living, she would have married him instead, months ago, and that would have been ever so jolly, but now I have to have you!”
Darcy’s jaw clenched, and his mouth tightened until deep lines formed around it, but he was implacable. Lydia, railing and wailing, was impelled inexorably back. They went in the way she had come out; Darcy accosted a surprised maid and sent her to rouse Mr. Bennet from his bed. Lydia lapsed into petulant silence, angry tears running down her face, but he was unaffected. When at last her father appeared in his dressing gown, frowning heavily, Darcy just nodded toward Lydia and said curtly, “I found your daughter leaving by the side door this morning, carrying a bandbox. I think you will want to hear her explanation. Good morning.” Just like that, he left.
Leaving his horse behind, he made his way quickly toward the old beech. How like Wickham to pick it. He knew he might be too late, that Wickham may have given up waiting already. Yet, as he came soft-footed around the corner, he saw him pacing restlessly and looking at the sky.
Hearing movement behind him, Wickham swung around. “I thought I said—” A moment’s silence. “Darcy,” he drawled.
“Wickham, you have failed in your purpose again,” said Darcy, stepping forward. “Miss Lydia is not coming to meet you.”
He shrugged. “I didn’t really want her anyway.”
“No, you wanted to injure me,” he replied levelly. “When is this going to end, George? When will you have had enough of your petty revenges?”
“Never!” said the other fiercely. “Never, as long as you are rich and I am poor.”
“If you are poor, it is due to your profligacy. I gave you everything you were owed and more. No one has brought this situation upon you but yourself.”
“Read me none of your sermons!” he flung at him. “My word, you were always so self-righteous and good, even as a child! You have never understood anything but your codes of honor and morality and pride. Darcy honor! Darcy morality! Darcy pride! No wonder I came to hate you! But there’s one thing at least I’ve always been able to take from you,” he began to walk toward him defiantly, “and that’s affection. Your father loved me more than you, your sister loved me more,”—he sneered as he got close—“even your bride loves me more than she does you!”
That was when Darcy did something completely unprecedented in the history of their relationship: He knocked Wickham down.
He knocked him flat with one swift blow to the jaw and stood over him, a little pale and holding his hand. Active and athletic, Darcy nevertheless deplored personal violence. He thought himself above it and had boxed as little as he could while at school, fought never. Wickham might have even resented him less if he had been willing to descend to the level of a common brawl like any other man. The very superiority of Darcy’s restraint was infuriating.
Sprawled on the ground, Wickham lifted a hand to finger his jaw, a strangely satisfied gleam in his eyes. “So I found your weakness at last.”
“You would do well to remember that I still own your debts
that I purchased in Derbyshire two years ago,” replied Darcy in a coldly furious voice. “Some three hundred pounds’ worth. If you do not wish to find yourself imprisoned for debt, I suggest you never speak of that lady in my presence again.”
Wickham eyed him silently, trying to judge his seriousness.
“I came here to ask you what it would take for you to leave my family alone forever,” he went on, “but I believe I have reconsidered. I told you last time we spoke that my forbearance was at an end, and I mean now to prove it. For too long I have allowed you to go your own way, cheating honest shopkeepers and ruining respectable women with your vicious habits. I hoped the good influence of both our fathers would finally begin to show, but I see I was in error. You have provoked me for the last time. If it were not for the years of service that your father rendered Pemberley, I would take you to the magistrate this very day. For your father’s sake alone will you remain free, but from now on you will purchase your continued freedom by your good behavior.” He crossed his arms, looking as implacable as a stone wall. “The wealth you have sought for yourself now will be your downfall. I have the resources to track you, Wickham, anywhere you go among respectable people, and I will see to it that every town where you may take up residence knows the truth of your character and history. It shall be published far and wide.”
Wickham blanched. “You wouldn’t dare!” he hissed. “You would never expose your sister in that way!”
His lips curled, though he did not look amused. “I will not have to. I am certain that you will leave enough evidence behind you in Meryton. More than one shopkeeper will be willing to sign a statement against you in exchange for having their bills paid—to say nothing of their daughters. And if I ever hear of your running up debts again, Wickham, my action will not be to pay them but to assist in your capture. If it becomes known that you have gotten a girl in trouble, I will help her family to pursue you for breach of promise. Either way, you’ll end up in gaol before you’re not very much older if you do not reform your ways. You have my word, and you know that I never break my word.”
Unequal Affections: A Pride and Prejudice Retelling Page 26