Chapter Eighteen
“I trust it does not bring ill-tidings?”
Charlotte’s voice startled Elizabeth, and she glanced up quickly, realising that her friend had returned bearing a tray of the promised refreshments, and she cast her an apologetic look.
“Forgive me. How ill-mannered I am, letting this intrude upon our last day together.”
“Dear Lizzy! Do not make yourself uneasy on my behalf. I am merely concerned, for your expression did not signify pleasing news. There is no ill health in the matter I trust?”
Elizabeth got up and crossed the room to join her friend. “In part, for Serena travelled north to be with her father who has been unwell, which accounts for her being in Derbyshire rather than Somerset.”
Charlotte poured lemon barley into two glasses and Elizabeth smiled her acceptance as she took it from her, settling herself in her usual chair by the hearth.
“Derbyshire?” Charlotte gave Elizabeth an amused smile as she joined her friend. “So Lambton is in Derbyshire – might one enquire if it is located in the same vicinity as Mr Darcy’s home?”
Elizabeth shrugged. “I do not know.”
Little did she welcome the return of that gentleman to the fore when the contents of her letter had finally succeeded, for however short a duration, in supplanting him.
She took a welcome sip of her cool drink. “It would seem that Mr Seavington is now recovered, and Serena is eager to be in my company. She says she begged the direction from Jane once she arrived home from the West Country.”
Charlotte offered her friend a plate of biscuits, then settled herself back on her chair.
“Ah yes, her Easter visit with the Haringtons. Are she and Mr Nicholas yet on friendlier terms than they were?”
Elizabeth flicked a quick glance at Charlotte, then took another sip of her drink before replying. “Better, yes,” she paused, then let out a short laugh. “You recall, then, her disapproval of him?”
Charlotte laughed. “But of course! Yet she has not visited Longbourn in recent years, so I have only ever known her when she found him the most annoying – what was it she called him – dung-fly of her acquaintance!”
Elizabeth laughed with her. “And I can still picture Nicholas’ face. To be certain, he resembled less a dung-fly and more a codfish, his mouth opening and closing with no sound coming out! He did not think she had it in her to be so outspoken.”
Charlotte’s brow furrowed. “You and she have been such friends, yet she no longer visits with you in Hertfordshire?”
Elizabeth dropped the letter onto a side table. “I am ashamed to own that on her last visit, Mama…” she paused. “Mama was less than subtle about Serena’s agility. You know full well my mother, Charlotte. Her tongue has a will all its own that no amount of censure will calm.” Elizabeth looked at her friend with troubled eyes. “It was quite dreadful. Serena had the misfortune to overhear Mama referring to her as a ‘cripple’. She took the word harshly, being at a vulnerable age, and sadly I have never since secured acceptance of an invitation to Longbourn from her.”
“The poor girl, to believe she could ever be perceived as such. Indeed, one might hardly know, and I recall her being a demon on horseback, from the earliest age!”
Elizabeth nodded. “Absolutely. She is as skilled as any horsewoman – quite fearless. Indeed, I think her somewhat uneven gait as a child troubled her little, for she could run and skip as much as any of us. But once her thoughts turned more upon pretty gowns and social occasions, she seemed to feel it acutely.”
Charlotte busied herself refilling their glasses for a moment, and Elizabeth sighed deeply. “As for her no longer travelling to Hertfordshire, I am fortunate that I have been able to spend time with her when visiting with my aunt, the Haringtons or her parents, though since their return to Mr Seavington’s former neighbourhood this past year, I have seen none of them.”
Elizabeth glanced once more at the letter where it lay on the table, then met her friend’s gaze.
“Forgive my meandering thoughts, dear Charlotte; my attention is all yours. Do you have any scheme for our last afternoon?”
Charlotte laughed. “Sadly yes, Lizzy! I must visit old Mrs Braithwaite with a basket, and call upon one or two of the other villagers who have been in ill health of late. I trust to your not having walked yourself weary, that I might have your company.”
Elizabeth took a long draught of lemon barley from her glass, and dropping the letter on a nearby table she stood up, grabbing a couple of the biscuits from the platter before holding it out towards Charlotte and nodding at it to encourage her to do the same.
“Come then, let us go, and you can regale me with all Maria’s news from Hertfordshire!”
~o0o~
Disguise of every sort sat ill with Darcy, and though his confession should have brought some relief, the silence that followed his final revelation became more than he could bear. He made to rise and excuse himself, but just then his friend got slowly to his feet.
“Darcy, I believe I have never been so pleased to see anyone in my life as you today!”
Darcy sank back in his chair, staring at Bingley in disbelief.
“Come, man! You have informed me not only that my affections were returned – Lord, let us pray that it may ever be so – but that Miss Bennet may even yet be here in London.”
“But I have deceived you!”
Bingley walked over to the window. For a moment no words were spoken, but then he turned to face Darcy.
“I do not deny that it does not sit well with me that I was so – taken in, so gullible.” Bingley ran a hand through his hair, then gave a self-deprecating smile. “But deceit? Do you really believe it to be so? I do not see it. Did you lie to me openly, deny her presence in Town?”
Darcy let out a frustrated breath. “Not precisely, no, but –”
“Yes - precisely. That is the very point.” Bingley walked back over to the table. “What would you have gained from sharing such intelligence with me? You knew the lowness of my mood – you did me a kindness, for it would have been cruel to advise me of her nearness, knowing I was not at liberty to call upon her.”
“But I should never –”
“Imagine if you knew someone you had such feelings for was in Town now,” Bingley interrupted him once more. “Imagine if there was such a chasm between you that nothing warranted your attentions upon them. No, Darcy, you must keep it in context. At the time, we believed her to be indifferent.”
Darcy got to his feet slowly, breathing steadily through the intense pain that once more gripped his insides. Bingley could not know how his words stung his friend, yet amidst his pain, Darcy accepted that he deserved every innocent blow, and if anyone was justified in the delivery, it must surely be his friend.
“Where is your anger over my interference in your affairs?”
“Anger? How can I be cross with you, when you bring me such happy news?” Bingley paused. “Though I wonder a little at Caroline’s – and indeed, Louisa’s – reticence. Forgive me for speaking thus of my own sisters, but I doubt their reasons for not revealing Miss Bennet’s presence in Town run to such altruistic ones as yours did.”
Darcy grunted and walked over to a window on the far side of the room before turning around. Bingley watched him with apparent interest, but clearly unable to suppress the smile that would linger about his mouth and almost rocking from foot to foot in his pleasurable anticipation.
“Bingley, you must be rational, you must think. I have done you a disservice. I have not treated you fairly. You were ill-advised, and I can blame no one but myself.”
Bingley’s smile faltered and he walked over to join his friend. For a moment, they both stared out at the busy thoroughfare of Piccadilly. Then Bingley stirred, and his tone took on a rare seriousness as he spoke.
“No. No, Darcy. Let me accept my own culpability. I was a fool to be so persuaded. I have had time aplenty to reflect whilst you have been away, my friend and
had long acknowledged my own culpability in this before you came to claim yours. I have been haunted by my own indecision, not by your advice to me.”
“But you credited it because of my arrogant assertion.”
Bingley placed a hand briefly upon his friend’s shoulder.
“Darcy, for once accept that I shall stand my ground. Your fault is no deeper than mine. And let us not forget that my sisters advised me likewise.” Bingley paused. “Yes, perhaps you should not have counselled me so, but you did so with the best of intentions – a friend’s well-being. But I?” Bingley ran a hand through his hair again, leaving it in further disarray. “I should not have allowed myself to be thus persuaded away without endeavouring to ascertain Miss Bennet’s true feelings. I was weak. I should have countered your arguments. Well, now I am doing so, and that is your penance for your original ill advice! We are both equally to blame, albeit for different reasons, and that, my friend, you will simply have to accept.”
Darcy tried to ignore the distaste he felt for himself, knowing full well that he could not yet bring himself to admit to Bingley his further incentive in removing them both from Hertfordshire. He watched as his friend moved over to the door and called for his manservant.
“Can I prevail upon you to return with me directly to Mount Street?”
Bingley closed the door on the servant and crossed the room again. “Let us discuss it over some refreshment. I find my appetite has suddenly returned and have ordered a fresh meal be sent up for us. Come,” Bingley indicated that they seat themselves once more and reached for the wine bottle. “Convince me I should wait at least until dawn to seek Miss Bennet's whereabouts.”
Darcy eyed Bingley thoughtfully, then reached for his glass. “Bingley,” he said, raising it in a toast to his companion, “If there is one thing I will promise you, it is that I shall not attempt to convince you of anything ever again.” Then, meeting Bingley's wide grin with a rueful smile, he drained his glass before offering it for a refill.
~o0o~
The afternoon had drawn to a close by the time Elizabeth and Charlotte were once more in sight of Hunsford parsonage. Their visits were complete, yet the sun still held some warmth, and with mutual agreement they headed for a charmingly situated wooden seat against one of the garden walls.
“I shall miss your company, Lizzy,” Charlotte said as she set her now empty basket upon the floor. “You do promise to write me during your sojourn in Town? I will welcome any news you can spare!”
Elizabeth grasped her friend’s hand and squeezed it. “It is the least I can do, if that is all the repayment you will demand for having hosted me so gracefully these past weeks.”
“Of course, your opportunity for indulgence in society is widened by the Harington connection. Should you find yourself once more in the same company as has recently left the neighbourhood, I will not be satisfied with anything less than an Express!
With a jolt of unease, Elizabeth recognised the truth of this, but before she could answer they both detected the approach of Maisie.
“Beggin’ yer pardon, Ma’am,” she bobbed an awkward curtsey, “But Cook be seeking you. Says ‘tis urgent, she does.”
“Thank you, Maisie. Tell Mrs Dene I shall come directly.” With a sigh, Charlotte stood, stooping to reclaim her basket. “Please excuse me, Lizzy; I will re-join you as soon as I am able.”
Elizabeth nodded and sat back against the bench for a moment, eyeing the pretty cottage garden in an attempt to prevent her thoughts from straying once more in a certain gentleman’s direction, and as her hand brushed her reticule she recalled Serena’s letter which she had placed in it prior to their walk into the village.
With a frown, she quickly withdrew it, her eyes drifting to the closing paragraphs.
“Dearest Lizzy, there is a matter pressing upon my mind that I would share with you, yet I find myself reluctant to put it in writing. Though I am restored to my parents’ home but these ten days, now that I am assured my father’s health is improving, I have sought an invitation from my dear sister in Town, that I might find the opportunity to join you there before you leave for Hertfordshire. Much as I would enjoy securing your company here in Lambton, I believe to hope for it before the summer’s end would be unrealistic, and I long for your kind ear.
Thus, I beg you, Lizzy, to not make haste for Longbourn if it is within your power to extend your stay. I will trust to my sister’s kind invitation by return and hope for your counsel and comfort at the soonest opportunity.
Your affectionate friend, Serena”
Tucking the letter back into her pocket, Elizabeth rose from the bench and gathered her shawl. Serena’s anxiety notwithstanding, it would be enjoyable to tarry a while in London and spend some time with her friend, and as the thought of Mr Darcy residing there attempted to reassert itself, Elizabeth refused to allow it any purchase as she crossed the lawn and went up the steps into the parsonage. She would pen a quick response to Serena, assuring her that she would await her arrival, and as soon as it was done, she would put the finishing touches to her packing.
Chapter Nineteen
Half way along Mount Street in Mayfair stood the London residence of the Darcy family, the only double-fronted townhouse in a row of similar striking edifices, set slightly back from its neighbours and displaying an inscrutable, unadorned façade to the outside world, its door unembellished other than by plain brass fittings, and a simple bell pull located in the stone architrave.
Inside, the hallway was richly but elegantly furnished, and at this hour of the day depicted a serenity at variance with the concealed activities of some of the house’s many occupants: a servant readying the tapers; the cook and her many helpers working diligently in the kitchen, keen to prepare a meal that would assure their master of their continued devotion; Mrs Wainwright, the long-serving housekeeper, personally putting the final touches to the drawing room – plumping a cushion here, tweaking the particular fall of a drape there and casting an assessing eye towards the stock upon the drinks tray before heading to the dining room to ensure that the upholstery had been adequately brushed and the flowers suitably arranged.
Upstairs, in his customary chamber on the second floor, Colonel Fitzwilliam reclined in his shirt-sleeves in a hearthside chair, a glass on the drum table near his elbow, oblivious to his manservant as he applied himself to a last-minute polish of the buttons on his coat. The Colonel frowned into the flames before reaching for his glass. Appreciative though he was of the reason behind Darcy’s precipitous departure, he could only hope that his cousin’s delay in returning did not signify a dramatic turn of events. The further complication of a rift with one of his dearest friends might have serious implications upon how soon Darcy might rally his spirits.
Fitzwilliam swirled the liquor in his glass before taking a hefty swig. Notwithstanding his empathy for his plight, he had a further and equally serious concern other than Darcy’s state of mind: that of his other cousin, Georgiana. After the despair she had experienced of late, he was keen nothing should disturb the marked improvement in her spirits he had detected earlier, and if she were to discern the lowness of her brother’s mood, the Colonel worried for its influence.
The young lady herself was presently in her own chamber at the opposite end of the landing. Turning her head this way and that, Georgiana Darcy inspected the dressing of her hair in the looking glass, before wrinkling her nose at her reflection and getting to her feet.
Walking over to her bedside table, she picked up the note that her brother had left, frowning at its all too brief content as she read it through one more time in the hope it might even yet shed some light upon his purpose with his friend. The chiming of the clock, however, reminded her of the hour, and she discarded the note before making her way out onto the landing and set off in search of her companion.
Inside Darcy’s own chamber, in contrast to the calm silence of the hallways, there was considerable bustle. Having been let into the dressing room from the serv
ants’ staircase, several retainers were busy with their appointed tasks and, assured that all was in order, Thornton turned his attention to his own duties.
Crossing over to the corner of the dressing room, he retrieved from the back of a nearby chair the garment that he had laid there earlier. He frowned as he picked the coat up and gave it a good shake before walking over to hang it upon the stand in the far corner, and taking up a nearby brush he began to sweep it over the fabric. It had been soaked from its outer layers right through to the silk lining, which had watermarked badly.
Thornton tsked and slowly shook his head. There was nothing for it: the lining would have to be replaced, and who knew how the seams would hold up in future. With a grunt, he gave the coat one last sweep of the brush before discarding his task and making his way over to the closet to select suitable attire for his master that evening.
~o0o~
The afternoon had all but faded by the time Darcy finally emerged from the Pulteney Hotel and began to retrace his steps along Piccadilly. It was fortunate Bingley had agreed to progress to tea rather than order another bottle of wine – though unspoken, they both had seemed to sense that anything signifying a celebration might be premature. As a result, he now felt the benefit of the decision, his only ailment being the ever-present ache in his breast.
Darcy paused as he reached a wide junction, oblivious to the noise of hooves clattering on the cobbles and the bustle of people around him. The progression of the afternoon had left him adrift, for any attempt at diversification had fallen upon deaf ears, and eventually he had conceded defeat and allowed the conversational reins to fall into the hands of his friend.
Bingley’s initial preoccupation was, understandably, with Miss Bennet: establishing her whereabouts, calling upon her, attempting to repair the damage to their acquaintance. But as there was little that could be resolved instantly, thus it was her sister who ultimately secured Bingley’s interest.
A Fair Prospect Page 15