by Maria Grace
Darcy stifled a sigh of relief. Now he had Wickham committed to a negotiation. Granted, it might take some time, but Darcy would win; he would give Wickham no alternative, for this was not about Lydia’s hand, but the opportunity to pursue Miss Elizabeth’s, a prize worth no less than Darcy’s own life and breath.
∞∞∞
Less than a week after his arrival in London, Darcy’s efforts bore their perfect fruit. He finally found Wickham’s price which, while dear, was nothing to the value of Miss Elizabeth. If Wickham only knew the truth, he would probably do himself an injury knowing how much more Darcy would have offered to have the matter settled.
But Darcy would keep that detail to himself, especially as it was only the first step. He had been high-handed in determining that Lydia and Wickham should marry and in naming a price for the bride. In truth, he had no right to do so. Thus, now he had to apply to her relations for the privilege of being their benefactor. Miss Elizabeth would approve of nothing less than his humility.
And she had to approve.
Only a little effort revealed that both Mr. Bennet and Mr. Gardiner were in town seeking the recalcitrant girl. Mr. Bennet was perhaps the most proper person to apply to, but he would have no reason to understand why Darcy even knew of the family’s hardship in the first place. That could make him difficult to persuade. Some men had the alarming habit of being stubborn when it suited their best interests not to be. Surely, Mr. Bennet would be one of those. At least, Mr. Gardiner would understand Darcy’s interest in the matter, so that would be the better place to begin.
∞∞∞
A plump, neat housekeeper welcomed him into the first-rate townhouse on Gracechurch Street and led him back to Mr. Gardiner’s study. The house was well appointed, and by his first impression of the housekeeper, well run. The mistress, he was told, had only just returned from a sojourn in the country to visit her sister in Hertfordshire.
She had seen Miss Elizabeth so recently! Perhaps later, he might speak with Mrs. Gardiner and glean some inkling of how Miss Elizabeth fared. But not until all the business was done.
Gardiner’s study reminded him of his own: bright, neat, and well-ordered. Yellow walls reflected the sunlight onto a full bookcase behind a desk bearing tidy stacks of papers and journals. Work—real, honest work—was accomplished in this place.
“Mr. Darcy, how good it is to see you.” Mr. Gardiner rose from his seat behind his desk and walked around it to meet Darcy. “To what may I owe this visit? I am surprised you are not still at Pemberley.” He gestured toward a pair of wingchairs near the fireplace for them to sit.
“I think my reason for being here rather than Derbyshire is quite similar to your own. It is what has brought me here.”
“I do not have the privilege of understanding you.” Mr. Gardiner leaned forward, elbows pressing onto his knees.
“Forgive me if I am direct. I have found Mr. Wickham.” Darcy sat back.
Mr. Gardiner’s jaw dropped. “Mr. Wickham? But why would you seek him out?”
Darcy raked a hand through his hair. “I learned of your family’s hardship from Miss Elizabeth herself. The letters informing her of the situation came to Pemberley as she and I were conversing. At the first news, I determined I must do everything in my power to make things right.”
“How is it that you take such interest in these matters?” Mr. Gardiner’s eyes narrowed just a bit. His suspicion stung Darcy’s pride, but considering the circumstances, it really was not untoward.
“As I see it, the whole is the result of my mistaken pride. I have heretofore thought it beneath me to lay my private actions open to the world. I believed my character should speak for itself. Therefore, it is my duty to step forward and endeavor to remedy an evil which had been brought on by myself.”
Mr. Gardiner grumbled and folded his arms over his chest. “I do not see how my niece’s impetuous actions are owed to any behavior of yours. It was not you who interfered with her or even drew Wickham’s attention toward her.”
“But I was in a place to have prevented everything. I am convinced that had Wickham's worthlessness been well-known, it would have made it impossible for any young woman of character to love or confide in him. At the very least, her family and friends would have known to protect her from his machinations.”
“How would you know of Mr. Wickham’s character?”
“I have shared the entire matter in the confidence of Miss Elizabeth. Is that not enough?” Darcy closed his eyes and gritted his teeth.
“Not in this case.”
Damn it all, the man was right. Darcy owed him the full truth, so he briefly recounted the details of the events at Ramsgate. “So, you can see that not only would I have known of his character, but I also had information to use in finding him to which you were not privy and which only added weight to my initial impulses.”
Mr. Gardiner looked over Darcy’s shoulder, nodding, considering. “Your motives do not disgrace you, sir. What have you discovered?”
“I have spoken with Wickham at length and had an audience with your niece as well. Although I offered her a means of escape, she would have nothing of it, insisting that she and Wickham would be wed.”
“By the way you say that I suspect—”
“You are right to be suspicious, for after interrogating him, I am quite certain he had no intention of being married to her.”
Mr. Gardiner’s shoulder’s sagged. “Then hope is lost, there is no remedy—”
“I said he had no intention, not that he has no intention now.”
“You will have to explain.”
“He is seeking advantage and hopes to gain it through marriage. I simply offered a means by which he might gain that advantage though marriage to Miss Lydia.”
“I need you to be far more specific.” Mr. Gardiner steepled his hands before his chest.
“There is no need. I have settled the matter to his satisfaction. You have no need to be concerned. No, that is not true; there is a part of this I must entrust to you. I do not wish to be assigned credit for this resolution. It is enough that I know it has been done. In fact, I insist.”
Gardiner propped his elbows on the chair and sat up very straight. “You suggest that instead of being of use to my niece, I instead merely put up with the credit for having done so? No, I cannot. I absolutely cannot.”
“I will accept nothing less.”
It was to the credit of the man that he argued so vociferously to be of use to his family, but in the end, he capitulated. Reluctantly.
“I insist, though, upon knowing for which actions and decisions I will have to accept credit.”
Darcy blushed. “His debts are to be paid, amounting, I believe, to more than a thousand pounds. Another thousand in addition to her own will be settled upon her, and his commission in the regulars purchased as he must have some useful occupation.”
“You have done too much.” Mr. Gardiner pressed his lips in a thoughtful frown.
“I have done what is necessary and nothing less.”
“But her father must bear a share of the blame in this affair and should feel some burden upon himself for it. It is only right and fair and proper. The settlements must say that he should provide the couple one hundred pounds per annum in addition to what you have done.”
“That was not part of the agreement. You know whatever Wickham is given will be squandered in one way or another.”
“I understand that, but it just might make Bennet feel his error a bit more and encourage him to be more responsible towards his other daughters.”
Darcy huffed. “I doubt it.” But, if it were something that could be of help to Miss Elizabeth, how could he possible object? “I will concede the point, though. You will write to him then and tell him the matter is settled? And you will have the girl married from here, at the earliest possible date?”
“You can be assured of our support with Lydia. But, and I hate to speculate so, are you certain that Mr. Wickham will not
think twice of slipping into the parson’s noose?”
“I will act as his witness and ensure he is at the church at the appointed time.”
“I have no doubt that will be sufficient. I will write to my brother of the happy news immediately.”
Chapter 6
The wedding took place on the last day of August. Wickham made some small attempts to talk his way out of the matter, but in the end, he thought better of it. Surely, even he could realize the likelihood of having a better settlement on the continent was highly unlikely. Especially if Darcy began to write to his connections there and tell them of Wickham’s schemes. Darcy had intimated—subtly and gently, of course—that it was a possibility if Wickham fled.
After the marriage lines were signed, Darcy watched them walk out of the church and sighed. The tension that had held him together for the past weeks ebbed away. The sensation left him almost giddy. Miss Elizabeth and her family were out of danger now.
His muse rewarded him with several nights of peaceful sleep on the journey back to Pemberley. Perhaps she understood that he fully intended to persuade Bingley to return to Netherfield and resume his acquaintance with Miss Bennet. He could not, in good conscience, insist Bingley marry her; that would be too much. But if the affections and wishes of both were steady and unchanged, all they needed was proximity, and it would be accomplished.
Apparently, his muse was willing to recognize the attempt, allowing him to produce several tolerable sketches in his book at the inns they stayed at on their way back to Hertfordshire. Should his soul sing at such thin affirmation? Probably not, but it did anyway.
They arrived in Hertfordshire near sunset on a day bearing an uncanny similarity to the day he and Bingley had first arrived these many months ago. Darcy’s hands itched; his feet longed to make haste to Longbourn and lay before her all he had done.
The knot in his stomach warned that impatience would be a mistake. To try to sway her with such offerings would somehow diminish the purity of her acceptance. No, he would muster every iota of self-control and—finally—do it all right.
And pray his restraint did not cost him as dearly as his impulsiveness had.
His muse was nothing if not fickle.
Mundane business at Netherfield occasioned by Bingley’s prolonged absence took up the following two days. Thankfully, Darcy was there to help, or it would surely have taken a week to complete.
On the third day, Bingley insisted their horses be readied for a call upon Longbourn. Granted, he had rather a great deal of subtle help in deciding upon that action, but ultimately it was his decision.
The way Bingley paced and muttered while waiting for the horses might have been laughable had it not carried such an important message. His anxiety at the sort of reception Miss Bennet might offer him was a sure sign that his affections towards her were of the real sort, unchanged by their separation. Excellent.
The Longbourn housekeeper showed Bingley and him into the parlor. Mrs. Bennet’s shrill whispers—instructions to her daughters on how to present themselves—passed through the walls as effectively as if she were in the hall shouting. Truly, most mothers would do the same sort of thing, but in a more civilized tone of voice so as not to be overheard. Could he fault Mrs. Bennet for poor vocal control? Yes, he could, but today he would not. If the housekeeper and Bingley could pretend to ignore them, then so would he.
The parlor was unchanged from the way he remembered it: furniture a touch shabby and faded from too much sun, no painting of any note on the walls, haphazardly placed items that most would call decorative but he thought cluttered. Yet, it was a warm and happy place, so much the more so for the presence of the one person he most longed for.
Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth sat together on a couch near the window, their color high. The sunlight brought out a luster in Miss Elizabeth’s fine eyes that must be a sign--surely, it must. He held his breath and steeled himself. He had come too far to give into temptation now.
They rose and curtsied.
“Good day, Mr. Bingley, Mr. Darcy.” Miss Bennet’s gentle, warm voice betrayed no trace of bitterness or resentment. The flush on her cheeks and forehead betrayed her agitation, but with no hint of reproach, it portended well indeed.
“We are most delighted to see you have returned to the neighborhood. The society here truly suffered from your absence. Pray sit down.” Mrs. Bennet gestured toward a pair of chairs, which were much too far away from Miss Elizabeth but would have to do for the moment. “You are most kind to call upon us. I am sure you must have a great many things to do and a great many amusements open to you. That you should think of us ….”
And so the banal chatter began. It might bother him more if Bingley were not here to keep up the other side of the conversation. But he was, so Darcy could content himself to observe the entire scene, especially Miss Elizabeth. No commentary he might offer could improve upon that privilege. He was in her presence, and she was content if a bit surprised. Her shock offered its own delights: the most intriguing dimple appeared on her cheek when she was surprised.
Still, he really ought to attempt to say something. It was only polite, and he dare not be uncivil. “How are your Aunt and Uncle Gardiner? Are they in good health?”
Miss Elizabeth uttered a small gasp and stammered something like a reply. She shifted her feet and clutched her hands, limbs stiff, as though trying not to spring to her feet.
She knew something. Merciful heavens! What did she know and how?
He had sworn the Gardiners to secrecy. They were honorable people and would not betray him. Who could have …?
Oh! That twitterpated girl! No doubt she forgot her promise of silence in the excitement of showing off her new husband to her sisters. She probably felt the need to brag about her wedding and who was in attendance.
Stupid, stupid girl! Had she ruined everything?
Miss Elizabeth settled a bit and gazed into his eyes, asking, seeking, wondering. He willed himself not to look away, to open to her anything she wanted to see. Oh, the exquisite torture of having his reserve stripped away layer by layer by those eyes!
“It is a long time, Mr. Bingley, since you went away.” Had anyone ever told Mrs. Bennet she sounded far too much like a squawking goose?
“Yes, it has been. Far too long I think, to be away from such pleasant surrounds and pleasant people.” Bingley nodded vigorously, his eyes not leaving Miss Bennet.
“I began to be afraid you would never come back again. People did say you meant to quit the place entirely at Michaelmas. I hope it is not true. A great many changes have happened in the neighborhood since you went away. Miss Lucas is married and settled.” Did the woman ever stop to breathe? “And one of my own daughters. I suppose you have heard of it; indeed, you must have seen it in the papers. It was in the Times and the Courier, I know; though it was not put in as it ought to be. It was only said, ‘Lately, George Wickham, Esq. to Miss Lydia Bennet,’ without there being a syllable said of her father, or the place where she lived, or anything. It was my brother Gardiner's drawing up too, and I wonder how he came to make such an awkward business of it. Did you see it?”
Actually, it had been Darcy’s suggestion to leave the Bennet’s name and location off the announcement to spare the Miss Bennets unnecessary embarrassment.
“I did indeed. My most hearty congratulations to the couple and to yourselves. I hope that it will be a very happy match for all concerned.” Bingley’s voice turned just a little flat, but Mrs. Bennet did not appear to recognize the change.
Miss Elizabeth did, though, abruptly looking away, a flush rising up from her shoulders. For whom did she blush? Her mother or her sister?
“It is a delightful thing, to be sure, to have a daughter well married.” Mrs. Bennet smoothed her skirt over her lap. “But at the same time, Mr. Bingley, it is very hard to have her taken such a way from me. They are gone down to Newcastle, a place quite northward, it seems, and there they are to stay I do not know how long. His r
egiment is there, for I suppose you have heard of his leaving the Derbyshire, and of his being gone into the regulars. Thank Heaven! He has some friends, though perhaps not so many as he deserves.” Mrs. Bennet cast a quick dark glace at Darcy.
The daughter knew what the mother did not. What a mercy! Mrs. Bennet’s gratitude would be far worse than her scorn.
Miss Elizabeth all but writhed in her seat, every posture attesting to the shame she suffered. Did that mean she approved of his interference?
“Do you—and your guest—mean to make any stay in the country at present? It would be a shame to lose your company quickly.” Honeyed warmth returned to Mrs. Bennet’s voice.
“A few weeks, I believe. Perhaps more, if we find it pleasing.” Bingley glanced at him, brows raised.
“You are here for the hunting then? Of course, you are. You young men are all about sport. You must know, when you have killed all your own birds, Mr. Bingley, I beg you will come here, and shoot as many as you please on Mr. Bennet's manor. I am sure he will be vastly happy to oblige you and will save all the best of the coveys for you.”
Miss Elizabeth clutched her temples and not without good reason. Was it wrong to be delighted at her discomfort? Not that he would have her discomfited for his own pleasure, but for what it all meant—at least what it might mean, what it should mean.
Thankfully, Bingley was somehow able to wrest the conversation back from Mrs. Bennet—how he managed was a feat that should be studied and taken down for posterity, so momentous was it. He began talking about his tour that led to Derbyshire and Pemberley, wisely leaving out the time he had spent in London as he regaled them with beauty of the landscapes and the most interesting people they had met along the way.
Miss Bennet seemed rapt by his conversations, rising to a new beauty in his presence, almost fairy-like in its quality. He had never seen her like this. How could he have missed it? Is this what Bingley saw when he gazed upon her?