The Darcys of Pemberley

by Shannon Winslow

  When Darcy did return over an hour later, having found no one and nothing out of order, a chagrined Elizabeth confessed. “At the time, I was absolutely convinced someone was there, but now … now I am not at all certain. In fact, I am persuaded that the mischief could just as easily be the work of my own mind playing tricks on me. I am sorry to have put you to all this trouble over nothing.”

  “You need not apologize, Elizabeth. You may doubt your instincts, but I take them quite seriously, I assure you. The fact that I found no evidence of an intruder proves nothing. In any case, you are not to leave this house alone again. If there was someone lurking in the woods, he may still be nearby.”

  “Of course, if you really think such precautions necessary.”

  “I do,” he said gravely.

  “Is there something you are not telling me, Darcy? Do you have suspicions about what … or who may be at work in this matter?”

  After some hesitation, he admitted, “I cannot help wondering if it might be more than a coincidence that this menace has come so soon after Wickham arrived in the neighborhood. Perhaps I was wrong to suppose he could be safely managed here at Pemberley.”

  “Wickham? Surely not. What interest could he have in frightening me? We have had our differences, yet I cannot believe he harbors any serious ill-will against me.”

  “He may hold no animosity toward you personally, but he has always resented me. It may be that he plans to use a threat against my family to torment and manipulate me to his own ends, for profit or just for spite. It would not be the first time he has done such a thing.”

  Astounded by her husband’s last comment, Elizabeth considered her response carefully. It seemed that the moment was at hand for exploring the topic raised by Wickham’s cryptic remarks. Darcy had given her a perfect opening … if she wished to take it. She wavered, Wickham’s warning still fresh in her mind. It was not in her nature, however, to prefer a placid ignorance over truth, even at some peril.

  “What do you mean?” she ventured cautiously. “I know the history between the two of you, of course, but have you undertaken any more recent dealings with Wickham?”

  Darcy answered with equal circumspection. “Unfortunately, it has been necessary for me to see him from time to time, to clear up some problem or respond to one of his demands. But, it is nothing that need concern you, Elizabeth.”

  “Of course it concerns me!” Elizabeth rejoined, her caution instantly supplanted by irritation. “He is my brother-in-law as well. How could you keep me in the dark about something like this? Do I not have the right to know what goes on in my own family?” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Elizabeth recognized the hypocrisy embodied in them. She blushed with the consciousness that the very thing of which she accused him, she herself had been guilty of doing these many months.

  “This reproach from you, Elizabeth?” Darcy demanded in pained indignation. “Do you really think you have earned the right to claim the moral high ground on the subject of honesty?”

  Elizabeth dropped her face into her hands. She could not defend herself; she could not even look at him. An awful silence hung in the air, thick as London fog, against which the sound of his seething breath and her own pounding heart stood out in sharp relief.

  “Well?” Darcy prompted at last. “Do you have anything to say to me?”

  “Only that I am … most extremely sorry,” Elizabeth choked out, her eyes still downcast and stinging with tears.

  He instantly softened. “Look here, Lizzy,” he said, gently lifting her chin until she was forced to meet his gaze. “You know that I love you – nothing can change that – but you must be honest with me. Please, let us get this whole business out in the open and have no more secrets between us.”

  “Oh, you do not know how desperately I long to do exactly that,” Elizabeth groaned, “yet it is not in my power.”

  “Why ever not?”

  “All I can say is that any secrets I keep are not my own, or for my own benefit, but rather to protect another and a confidence placed in me. I am bound by a promise, Darcy. For the sake of honor, there are certain things that I may not tell you, much as I would wish to. Surely you can understand that.”

  Darcy’s mouth hardened. He strode across the room and back again before answering with intense restraint. “I am sorry, Elizabeth, but it just will not do. Your explanation, though plausible, seems a very convenient way to avoid owning the truth. I beg you would reconsider your stand. Have you taken into account what it is you are risking? The stakes are high, and I submit that the person you protect is not worthy of such loyalty and sacrifice!” Darcy turned on his heel, and abruptly quit the room.

  Elizabeth groped for a chair as the floor threatened to slip from beneath her feet. Her mind reeling as well, she grasped after some shred of elucidation to make sense of what had passed. While she conceded that Darcy had every right to be hurt, even angry, that she had kept things from him, she did not understand his vehemence or why he refused to listen to her explanation. All she knew for certain was that she had deeply offended him … and she had no clue how to undo the damage.

  It was just as Wickham said; her interference led to disaster. “Oh, why could I not have left well-enough alone?” No, regrets were pointless. They could not turn back the clock. They could not untangle this muddle and bring back harmony. So Elizabeth cast about for some constructive course of action.

  More urgently than ever, she longed to be released from her vow to Georgiana. Perhaps if she could tell her husband all, he would understand and forgive. To that end, she took up her pen and wrote, begging Georgiana’s leave to tell Darcy the truth at long last. Although her intention was to explain the gravity of the situation without causing her sister-in-law undue alarm, Elizabeth could not be sure she had succeeded. She only knew that, with her letter written, she felt the slight solace of having taken one small step toward restoring the peace.

  Yet it would be days before she could possibly hear back from Georgiana. What was she to do in the meantime? Elizabeth hardly knew how to behave under these untried conditions.

  Absent any more material relief, seclusion seemed her best consolation. Elizabeth contemplated sending word downstairs that she was unwell. Considering the fright she had so recently received, that explanation would have been accepted without question. Yet it seemed a cowardly thing to do. Ultimately, she determined to take up her courage and face the others. She would conduct herself as if nothing were wrong, at least until their guests were gone. When she had steeled herself for the challenge, she threw back her shoulders, raised her chin, and came downstairs.

  Mrs. Darcy favored her guests with more graciousness and cheer than she had thought possible under the circumstances. Her husband was less successful in affecting an air of good humor, but, since it was not uncommon for him to appear somewhat grim and taciturn, no one else seemed to notice anything amiss.

  While their guests received every possible attention, Darcy and Elizabeth scrupulously avoided any direct contact with each other throughout the evening. The pain of separation cut deeply on both sides. Although neither betrayed any outward symptom of it, husband and wife each longed for a way to bridge the unfamiliar gulf between them. Darcy surreptitiously watched his wife for a sign that she might be willing to comply with his request, but she would not meet his gaze. Elizabeth likewise hoped Darcy would somehow show by word or gesture that his displeasure with her had subsided, or that he was sorry for it. She received no such encouragement.

  When the ladies preceded the gentlemen upstairs that night, Elizabeth wasted no time preparing for bed. She was exhausted and not inclined to wait up for her husband. After such a trying day, she felt totally unequal to the strain of another confrontation with him. So, by the time Darcy came in, Elizabeth was safely tucked in bed, giving every appearance that she was already fast asleep.

  Darcy stood watching her for several minutes, debating what to do. He despaired at the thought of retiring with their di
sagreement still unresolved. And he could not help wondering if Elizabeth really slept or merely wished to avoid speaking to him. Either way, he decided, it would be pointless to disturb her. Yet his conscience would not allow him to rest without giving his wife some token of his steadfast affection. Before extinguishing the candle, he turned to her and softly kissed the back of her head, lingering long enough to take in the sweet scent of her hair and whisper the words “I love you” as a blessing over her.

  A tear ran down Elizabeth’s cheek and soaked into her pillow.

  Chapter 32

  Elucidation

  Elizabeth passed a restless night. Only brief intervals of fitful sleep broke the long stretches of wakefulness, during which the events of the preceding day tortured her without mercy. Employing the dark hours as profitably as possible, she carefully reviewed her conversation with her husband, word by word, struggling to decipher its deeper meaning. The key had to be there somewhere, and she was intent on finding it. If her body could not enjoy the benefit of rest, she hoped at least her mind might attain some measure of peace before the night slipped away.

  After much consideration, Elizabeth came to certain inescapable conclusions. First, Darcy had indeed carried on business dealings of an unknown nature with Wickham. He admitted as much before their discussion took the turn toward disaster. Secondly, he knew (or at least thought he knew) of some unnamed dishonesty or concealment on her part. Finally, he refused to accept her explanation as to why she kept her secrets.

  “What was it he said about that?” she silently questioned. “He charged me with being evasive … and he impugned the character of the person I claim to protect. But that makes no sense!” Then, as Elizabeth lay there in the dark, thinking, the first shaft of light broke through. When Darcy had accused her of secretiveness, she had naturally presumed he referred to the confidences she kept for Georgiana. Yet that could not be the case, for he would never describe his beloved sister as someone unworthy of loyalty. There had to be an error; one or both of them must be operating under some sort of misapprehension.

  Elizabeth’s spirits revived. Should it be all a misunderstanding, perhaps the muddle could be cleared up sooner than she had expected, possibly without even involving Georgiana. She instantly resolved to speak to Darcy in the morning, as soon as their guests were gone, being unwilling to endure the coldness between them a moment longer than absolutely necessary. With this hope in view, Elizabeth attacked the problem with renewed energy, attempting to unravel the mystery further, and planning how to broach the subject with her husband. She found the challenge oddly exhilarating. Fully awake now, she would have paced the room had she been able to do so without disturbing him. “Oh, I will never sleep tonight!” she thought.

  Elizabeth did eventually sleep, however, and more restfully for her improved state of mind. When she awoke, Darcy had already dressed and gone, which was just as well. Despite her eagerness to settle things between them, there would be no point in beginning such a critical discussion with guests still under their roof. Elizabeth went downstairs with more genuine cheerfulness than the night before and found everyone in the breakfast room excepting her husband.

  “Has anyone seen Mr. Darcy this morning?” Elizabeth inquired of the others.

  “The footman said that he went out early on an errand of business,” answered Miss Bingley.

  “Ah. I daresay he will be back shortly; I know he would not let you go without seeing you off,” said Elizabeth. “You must be impatient to be getting under way. Have your trunks been brought down?”

  “Not yet,” said Louisa, “but they are packed and ready.”

  “How pleased the Bingleys will be to have you with them,” Elizabeth continued. “Mr. Bingley will be glad of your company, Mr. Hurst, with the shooting season about to commence. I am sorry we could not provide that kind of sport for you here.”

  Just then, Darcy entered and greeted everyone, his eyes moving from face to face and coming to rest on Elizabeth’s. This time she did not turn away. He held her gaze with the strength of supplication, begging, and in turn receiving, her reassurance through that silent communication.

  With both of them thus encouraged and their guests happily anticipating their relocation to Heatheridge, the next hour passed congenially. Once everyone was fed and the carriage loaded, nothing remained except for all to express their satisfaction with the time spent together and their regret that it had come to an end so soon.

  The Hursts climbed into their barouche and settled themselves, facing forward. Miss Bingley lingered a little longer by Mr. Darcy’s side, torn between the pleasure of staying and that of going. “It is always so difficult to leave Pemberley,” she said. “And this time we must go without having seen our dear Georgiana. It really is too cruel. You must tell her, Darcy, how sorry I am to have missed her. I do hope we will have an opportunity to correct that wretched misfortune before we return to town.”

  “As you wish, Miss Bingley. I shall be sure to tell my sister how wretched you were … at missing her I mean, of course.”

  Catching her husband’s eye, Elizabeth struggled to suppress a laugh at Miss Bingley’s expense. Caroline seemed blithely unaware of the joke. She allowed herself to be handed into the carriage after one last wistful look at what she left behind. Mr. Hurst gave the order and the coachman drove them away down the gravel sweep and presently out of sight.

  Darcy turned back toward the house and said, “Now, my love, I think we had better talk.”

  “Yes, that we most certainly must do,” she replied, following him up the steps and through the door.

  ~*~

  As they retreated to their private apartments, Elizabeth’s hopefulness mingled with an equal measure of trepidation. There was a sense that the next hour could easily constitute the most crucial minutes of her married life, deciding the difference between a glorious reconciliation and a deeper, possibly permanent, divide. She had made mistakes. One more false step now and the teetering balance might fall irrevocably against her.

  Elizabeth took Darcy’s hand and pulled him to sit alongside her on the sofa at the foot of the bed. After an awkward silence, she took courage and began. “I cannot bear to have you thinking ill of me any longer, Darcy. And I have good reason to believe we can clear away much of the trouble between us without further delay. Yet I must ask you to be patient with me until I can explain the rest. Will you do that for me?”

  He hesitated, searching her face. “I will try to be understanding, Elizabeth. But remember, I have had this … unpleasantness … pressing upon me for some months already,” he said with a pained aspect.

  Elizabeth recognized that look; she had seen it before. It was the same expression he wore when he returned from that particularly disagreeable business appointment in London … which, it suddenly occurred to her, might well have been a meeting with Wickham. Then as now, she understood it to be a look of anguish rather than anger, as if she had badly hurt or disappointed him in some way. She had no idea then what could possibly have caused it, but she had the distinct impression she was about to find out.

  “I was awake half the night thinking about our quarrel,” Elizabeth continued. “From something you said yesterday, I am convinced that at least part of the problem can be attributed to a misunderstanding. I admit I am guilty of keeping certain things from you for the sake of someone else, although I believe it is not what you think, or possibly who you think. Now, my dear Darcy, tell me if you will, of what sort of dishonesty do you have cause to accuse me?”

  He withdrew from her the hand she still held. “Is that not going at the matter completely backward, Elizabeth? You know better than anyone what you have done. You should be telling me, not me telling you.”

  “I know it seems the wrong way round. Still, if you love me as you say, I beg you would indulge me in this. It is the only way.”

  “Very well, then,” he said, resigned. He closed his eyes for a moment and dragging a hand across his furrowed brow before c
ontinuing. “As you surely must know, I have good reason to believe that you have misrepresented the nature and extent of your former relationship with Mr. Wickham, and that you are, to this day, still attempting to conceal the disgrace of it from me. Furthermore, as I said yesterday, he does not deserve your loyalty and protection. He certainly has not practiced discretion as diligently as you have on his behalf.”

  Elizabeth stared at him open-mouthed, stunned and horrified by the allegation. Although she had tried to prepare herself for some fairly damaging charge, she had not – could never have – imagined this.

  Darcy hastened on. “I see it comes as a shock to you, to find that I have long known of it. It is all in the past, however, and I am reconciled to it, so you needn’t be alarmed. I only wish you had been honest with me from the beginning. The fact that you once had a rather … intimate association with that man is extremely unfortunate. Yet the thing that I find particularly painful is that you withheld the truth from me. If you had only told me about it…”

  “I did not tell you because there was nothing to tell!” cried Elizabeth, finding her voice and struggling to her feet. “There is no truth to it whatsoever, Darcy. There never was any kind of serious attachment between us, and I did nothing disgraceful that need be hidden from you or anybody else! How could you believe such a thing? Who has been telling you these lies?”

  “I … I had it from the man himself.”

  “From Wickham? And you believed him?” she demanded.

  Darcy rose to his feet as well. “Not at first, no, but then he showed me your letter.”

  “My letter? I have no idea what you are talking about, Darcy.”