Dear Caroline,
I lied. Everything to which I alluded was deception. I have confessed to the gentleman and his family and have begged their forgiveness. I believe that he, as well as his aunt, will want to speak with you about your participation in the scheme. I warn you now to not spread rumors – they will not take kindly to it.
F. Waters
Hurst and Louisa exchanged worried glances and jumped when Caroline screamed and leapt from her seat. “No! No! It cannot be, that lying, pigeon-livered, light skirt!”
“Caroline!” Louisa stood before her sister and grabbed her arms until Caroline looked her in the eye, “What have you done?” she asked, her voice frantic.
“It was not my fault. She, she, she tricked me!” Caroline said. Reginald picked up Lady Matlock’s letter and read it. He shook his head. “Louisa, you had better read this.”
Miss Bingley,
Do not think that by receiving notice from me that this letter contains overtures of amiability. It does not. Mrs. Waters and my nephew have informed my entire family and me of your treachery. We know of your attempts to harm and interfere in his life. How could you have the audacity to scheme against, and interfere in the life of someone so wholly unconnected with you? I am astonished. But seeing that you have, I feel that I must address it.
If you do not contact me, nor spread lies about my loved ones, I will not expose you. However, if I hear of any rumors concerning this matter, we will all give you the cut direct. You will be socially ruined, for I will make sure that you will not be welcomed into any drawing room, ball, or dinner party of any respectable person in society. Do not test me on this. You will not like the outcome.
You have for far too long been allowed to preen like a peacock while behaving like a vulture. It is time that you realize your place. See that you do.
Lady Sarah Fitzwilliam
Countess of Matlock
“What have you done, Caroline,” Louisa asked, her voice deadly calm, but Caroline tightened her jaw, crossed her arms, and looked away.
Reginald leaned forward on the table. “Tell us what you have done, Caroline, or I shall make certain that Bingley carts you off to Scarborough to live with those relations you disdain.” Caroline flicked an irritated glance at Reginald and rolled her eyes.
“Very well. Come, Louisa, we must pay Bingley a call.”
“Wait! Do not. I will tell you.” With a huff and another eye roll for good measure, Caroline explained how she had helped Francesca expose Elizabeth to what she thought was Darcy’s and Francesca’s son. Louisa gasped, and Reginald shook his head.
“I do not see that what I did was so very bad. I did not tell the lie.”
“Caroline, do you not see? The way you have acted could have caused a scandal for the Darcys and the Fitzwilliams. They are powerful families. They will not be sanguine about someone attempting to ruin their reputations.”
“I think you make too much of it, Louisa. I will just apologize and say I was also deceived by that, that woman! They will forgive me, and it shall be as it was.”
“How shall you apologize when Lady Matlock has forbidden you to contact her or to come near her?” Louisa pleaded.
Caroline shrugged. “She cannot mean it. She is understandably angry. Of course, I will wait until things calm down. When they do, I shall approach her.”
“Caroline,” Hurst spoke sternly, “how could you be so foolish? To believe that you had the right to direct anyone’s life, let alone interfere in Darcy’s is astounding! But to have no more awareness than you do now, even after, the Countess of Matlock,” Hurst shouted, “has forbidden you to contact her under the threat of societal ruin, is imbecilic!”
Caroline pursed her lips, and her nostrils flared as she turned away from Reginald. Hurst shook his head. “You are delusional. Very well, I warn you that if you suffer a cut direct from the Darcys or the Fitzwilliams, you had better pray that, that lovely wife of your brother’s, you know the one that you love to scorn even though she has been nothing but generous to you, is willing to keep you through your spinsterhood! Understand this, I will not lose a connection like the Darcys and Fitzwilliams for your villainous, scurrilous, arrogant delusions!” The two of them stared in a battle of wills, Reginald breathing hard and scowling, and Caroline pinched lipped and sullen. Finally, Caroline lowered her eyes. Reginald stood straight, “Now, leave my drawing room.” Caroline narrowed her eyes and then rose with her head held high. “And do not take your anger out on my servants or my furnishings. I will not tolerate that disrespect in my home any longer.”
When she left, Louisa stood, twisting her hands. Reginald walked to his wife and drew her to sit beside him.
The next day, Elizabeth sat in the Bingley carriage, headed for Hertfordshire. She had needed to return home, and her brother and sister had insisted upon transporting her there.
“Jane, Bingley, thank you both again for this courtesy. I would have happily traveled post, but you are really the best.”
“Think nothing of it,” Bingley answered with a grin. “The occasion warrants a trip to Hertfordshire. It was nearly time to leave town anyway and open Netherfield. I am quite looking forward to enjoying my estate again.”
“And besides,” Jane said, “who will help you manage Mama’s nerves if I am not there? Hmm?”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes, “Yes. I do not look forward to Mama’s effusions. Say you will distract her Jane with talk of balls and silks and lace!”
Jane laughed, “Leave it to me, Lizzy.” The sister’s shared a smile, then Jane turned to speak to Charles and Elizabeth looked out the window. With no one watching, her smile disappeared as the thought of all she was leaving behind and what was before her assaulted her senses. She blinked her eyes to stay her tears.
Two and a half days after departing from his uncle’s, Darcy galloped down the road. He was now just a few hours from London. He had ridden hard and normally, he would be exhausted, but not today. Every mile took him closer to Elizabeth. He hoped to clear off the road dust, then have a chance to see her before the day’s end. Just thinking of her kept him in a constant state of agitation. One moment he was euphoric, anticipating seeing her face, holding her hand, expressing his love, and receiving her acceptance, and the next moment, he was in despair, his stomach twisted in knots as he thought of arriving too late and finding out that she had accepted another. The dread of that possibility sent chills down his spine and a weight upon his chest.
He was terrified of losing her, of her love given to another, another man with the right to hold her, protect her, create life with her. How could he have valued himself and his circle so highly and her so little? How could he have believed that birth made one better? Accustomed to deference, the privileged behaved as if they were immune to weaknesses as they censored others for what they allowed in themselves. His own father was an example. While she, she was the rarest of treasures, goodness and good humor, sweetness and archness, wit and whimsy. How could he have ever thought her inferior and unable to attract a man of consequence? How ironic! He, the great Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley, a man of immense consequence by societal standards, had been racing down the dusty road, thirsty and hungry, but too afraid to stop, desperate to keep the woman he had belittled from accepting not one, but two men of significance. He, the master of Pemberley, willing now to beg for his acceptance at the feet of the woman he had scorned.
“Welcome home, Mr. Darcy.”
“Thank you, Johns. It is good to be back.” Darcy divested himself of his outerwear and then looked about. “Where is Miss Darcy?”
“Miss Darcy and Mrs. Annesley have accompanied the art master for a tour of the museums. They are expected to return in time for supper, sir.”
“Very good. Samuels is with the carriage and should arrive before long, in the meantime, please assign a footman to act in his stead and have a bath drawn for me. I will wait in my study.”
“Very good, sir.�
�
Darcy entered his study and grimaced at the number of correspondences. He noticed a letter with the Bingley seal on top of the pile. Darcy grabbed it and ripped it open, hoping for, yet dreading information on Elizabeth.
Darcy,
I say it has been a blot time, old chap! We are blot to blotfordshire with Lizzy in time for Lizzy to blot the blotgagement dinner. Mother Bennet is blot an uproar, and Jane must blot her nerves! We will blot in Hertfordshire until next season. We would blot happy to have you blot, anytime. Hope to see blot soon.
Yours,
Charles blotley
Darcy’s hands shook as he stared, glassy-eyed at the missive. His breath hitched, and he quickly reread it. Then Darcy crumbled to his knees, like one suffering from a mortal wound, the agony too heavy to bear. No! He wanted to scream, but his breathing, rapid and shallow, allowed him to only gasp. He gripped the edge of the desk. He had lost Elizabeth, and Darcy’s world exploded, his life was now rubble in the wreckage of a devastating disaster, his future, bleak and empty. Darcy closed his eyes as sorrow, darker than a moonless night crushed his soul. He remained in this humbled position until the room ceased spinning, and he could breathe again, though he questioned his will to do so. Eventually, he grabbed the note from the floor, rubbed his eyes to clear the watery blurriness, and reread it, his eyes racing frantically across the page, desperate to find hope. He cursed Bingley’s blots like never before.
“No, no, NO!” he bellowed as he deciphered the meaning. A few servants in the corridor halted and gazed at one another, alarmed at the anguish in the master’s voice. Darcy, breathing deeply, leapt from the floor and strode to the door, the servants scrambled out of the way as he entered the corridor. Because of his early morning departure from the inn in which he had spent the previous night, it was not yet noon. He had time to get to Hertfordshire. Darcy approached the outer door at a near jog. The butler hearing the quick steps hurried to stand before the door.
“Mr. Darcy, sir!” Darcy spoke not, his eyes red, and his face in the gravest scowl Johns had ever seen. Obviously intending to exit, Johns scrambled to open the door. “Sir, how can I be of assistance?”
“My horse. Where is my horse?”
“Your horse, sir?” Johns frowned as he rubbed his chin.
“Yes! My horse! Where is it?”
“In the stables, sir. I, we did not know…” Johns did not have a chance to finish before Darcy sprinted to the stables. The old butler’s eyes bucked, then he scurried behind Darcy. Darcy had ridden Midnight hard already, so he shouted to the stable lad, who jumped upright at Darcy’s voice, “Saddle Flame! Quickly!”
“Yes, sir!” The stable lad ran to his task.
“Mr. Darcy, sir, where do you go?” the out of breath butler asked.
“To Hertfordshire.”
“To Hertfordshire, sir?”
“Yes, to Hertfordshire,” Darcy answered as he tapped his foot and clenched and unclenched his fists.
“Shall your stay be long, sir?”
“I know not, but I must go. I must know. Bingley’s note was unclear. I cannot afford a misunderstanding. I must know!”
“Of course, sir,” Johns agreed, not knowing of what Darcy spoke. “Shall one of the footmen ride with you?”
“No.” Just then the stable lad led Flame to him, and Darcy jumped into the saddle and kicked the horse into a gallop.
The butler and the stable lad stood side-by-side, both gazing wide-eyed at Darcy’s back. He did not even take his hat, Johns thought.
Darcy had ridden Flame hard, and three and a half hours later he rode into Meryton. Darcy slowed Flame to a trot, unaware of the curious looks from the residents who gazed at the normally fastidious gentleman, now without a hat, with hair tousled, and with stubble upon his chin, having foregone his shave in order to depart that morning as early as possible. A few ladies gaped at his slight disarray; a few ladies shivered at his rugged good looks. Darcy noticed none of it.
Darcy approached Longbourn and inhaled. He sat back in his seat, and Flame halted. Elizabeth and Lance stood beside a carriage. Darcy could see only Lance’s profile, but he had a perfect view of Elizabeth. He saw her smile, and his breath quickened, causing his horse to prance about. Darcy squeezed his thighs to calm Flame, his eyes never leaving Elizabeth. Darcy watched as Lance kissed Elizabeth’s hand, and his heart plummeted to his stomach, and he and his horse stilled.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Elizabeth watched Lance board the carriage with a soft smile upon her face. As the carriage rode away, Elizabeth sighed, then she turned in the opposite direction and froze. Even from a distance, she recognized him.
When she looked at him, Darcy moved forward. He did not know how; he did not know why. He wanted to close his eyes, and “un” see what he had seen – or wash his memory with lye to remove the stain. He was sure his heart had stopped beating, or soon would. He wanted to turn and flee, not face her, not see happiness shining from her eyes. So, it was Lance; he had thought it would be Saye, but what did it matter? It was not him, and both men had been wiser, better, and smarter than he. At least he had been spared the agony of having to greet the man who would know a lifetime of the most exquisite bliss. At least he did not have to look at him, and smile, and wish him joy, while his heart lay in shreds, too broken to ever be whole again.
In seconds, he was before her. He dismounted and stood; his eyes bleak, his face grim, and his hands hanging loosely at his sides. He wanted to speak, but he feared his voice would come out as a wail, so acute was his agony, like a thousand blades shoved into his body. He wanted to drop to his knees and beg her to undo what she had done, to choose him instead. He wanted to tell her that he loved her more than life, and that his heart could not bear the thought of life without her. He wanted to tell her that he was so very sorry that in the beginning, he had not valued her enough, so that he had squandered so much time, and with it, opportunity – an opportunity for a lifetime of joy. But it was too late now, and besides, there was a curious lump in his throat. Mercifully, she spoke, or else he did not know how long he would have stood there, stupidly staring.
It was the first time she had seen him since the park with Francesca, and when he had drawn near, his presence had hit her with such a force that she had nearly staggered backward. He looked haggard but still incredibly handsome. Currents flowed between them as if they were connected by an unseen force.
“Mr. Darcy!” she exclaimed. Darcy bowed stiffly and rose, still mute, and with a bleak stare.
“You are here! Yes, yes, of course, you are here.” She bit her lip and looked away. “Bingley is at Netherfield,” she said quickly, and Darcy nodded once, just staring.
“I was just about to go for a walk!” she babbled. “Good day, Mr. Darcy,” she curtsied and turned to leave – and Darcy could not bear it; he could not bear for her to walk away.
He closed his eyes and spoke, “Miss Bennet, may I, may I accompany you?” She nodded. He tied his horse, and his feet remembered how to move. He would walk with her this last time. He would breathe in her lovely fragrance; he would look into her eyes, and then he would say goodbye. Darcy swallowed the lump in his throat and closed his eyes against the anguish that threatened to fell him like a tree sliced by a woodcutter’s ax.
They walked in silence for a while. It seemed that only the woodland animals, free from such anguish, had the ability to speak. Besides, the only thing left to say was “goodbye,” and he would avoid saying that if he could, as long as he could, forever – if he could.
Finally, she spoke, “I did not know you had returned.”
He cleared his throat, but still, his voice sounded gruff, “Yes. I arrived in town this morning.”
Elizabeth looked up quickly, “And you are here now?”
“Yes,” he answered, staring straight ahead, “I received Bingley’s letter. I came. Yes, I came.”
“Oh?” Elizabeth’s brows were squished together
as she watched him.
“Yes, I came to…” Darcy struggled to breathe, and he swayed as if he carried a great burden. Elizabeth was just about to reach out her hand to lend him support when he inhaled sharply and straightened. “I came to wish you joy,” then he groaned and turned his head, covering his mouth with a fist.
Elizabeth stopped and stared; her brows knit together. “I beg your pardon?”
Darcy exhaled with a huff as if he were preparing for a great battle, then he turned and looked her deeply in the eye. “I came to wish you joy and lasting happiness.”
Elizabeth blinked, “What?”
Darcy’s breath came quickly, and he wanted to double over to stop the world from spinning. Do not require me to speak the words, his heart pleaded. But he was no coward, and he knew he had to face it. “Your betrothal, to,” he swallowed, “to Mr. Lancaster.” His voice was wobbly.
Elizabeth stared, her brow squished even closer together, “But, I am not engaged to Mr. Lancaster.”
“Oh, is it Saye then?” still the wobble. “I apologize. I saw Lance but never mind. Still, I wish you joy. Saye is highly favored.” Darcy bowed, but he really wanted to retch. He wanted to run away. He wanted to stay, take her in his arms, and hold on forever.
“No. You misunderstand. I am not engaged at all.”
Darcy inhaled sharply and staggered back, glad that there was a tree behind him. “You, you are not engaged?”
Elizabeth shook her head, but his watery eyes were too blurry, and it was difficult to see. Finally, she answered, “No. No. I am not engaged.”
Darcy moaned and fell to his knees for the second time that day. He grabbed her hands, “Elizabeth, marry me! Elizabeth, my darling, I love you so, more than life, more than anything on this earth. Please, you are everything to me! I will gladly give you all that I have. I cannot bear much more. Please, my darling, end my agony. Marry me!” Darcy needed to see her face, but that watery blurriness interfered, so he blinked. Then Darcy felt wetness on his hands and wondered if it had begun to rain, even though the sun was shining. His eyes cleared, and he looked up at Elizabeth’s happy face, smiling, crying, (that was the source of wetness on his hands, he thought), and most importantly, nodding ‘yes.’
Men of Consequence Page 40