Beginning, Previous Section, Section IX, Next Section
Posted on Friday, 11 April 2008
“I beg your pardon, sir?”
Colonel Forster, who had been steadfastly staring down at a sheaf of papers on his desk to avoid making eye contact with his visitor, winced at the exclamation, for polite the words might have been, but they seethed with unexpressed anger.
“I had to let him go,” he murmured again, wishing above all things that this blasted interview might come to an end. “Policy, I’m afraid – you know how these things are.” He dared at glance up at the red-faced Colonel Fitzwilliam and then wished he hadn’t when he saw the fire in the other man’s eyes.
Fitzwilliam leaned back deliberately in his chair, wrapping his hands firmly around the armrests instead of the officer’s throat; it was generally considered bad form to assault a fellow commander in his own office. His temples throbbed furiously, and he lifted an unsteady hand to his brow. “Let me understand you correctly, sir,” he said slowly, glaring at the colonel from beneath his fingers. “You have – even after gaining my personal testimony in regards to his character and seeing for yourself the damage he has done – chosen to release him as if nothing had happened?”
The colonel flushed. “I have no doubt that your word is as good as your name, sir.”
“You are making it fairly difficult for me to credit that,” he bit out.
“Now see here, Fitzwilliam, this is not a matter of personal honor. I simply cannot punish one of my men for crimes I cannot prove he committed in the first place.”
“What further proof do you need?” the colonel demanded incredulously. “Did you not see Miss Nelson yourself? That girl is already great with child – I challenge anyone to deny it. And the shopkeepers, the merchants? Did they not show you lists of debts incurred under Mr. Wickham’s name?”
“That is precisely the problem,” the colonel said anxiously. “They are only listed under his name, not necessarily incurred by him.”
This non sequitur gave Fitzwilliam a moment’s pause. “What in god’s green earth are you talking about? Of course they are his debts!”
“Actually, they are not.” Colonel Forster rose and walked over to the bookshelf, pulling out a dusty volume at random.
“What?”
“One of my other officers, Lieutenant Denny, came forward after Wickham’s arrest and admitted that he had been using Wickham’s name to charge items on account, as his own credit has been long since depleted.”
Fitzwilliam was shocked into silence, but only for a moment. “And you believed him?”
Colonel Forster looked at him as though he had lost his mind. “Of course I did. What reason should a man have to voluntarily turn himself in for punishment? He owes Wickham no debts of honor.”
Even without being in possession of the particulars, Fitzwilliam knew, he just knew, that it was all yet another of Wickham’s slyly-engineered deceptions. He wondered briefly who Denny was – he had not heard the name before – and what Wickham had offered him to play a part in this farce.
“The merchants – they could identify which man they gave credit to; it would be a simple and foolproof way of eliminating this entire problem. I can assure you that they will identify Mr. Wickham as the man who patronized their shops.”
“I am sorry, Fitzwilliam,” Colonel Forster said with a sigh, sinking back into his seat, “but I have already done that, and the shopkeepers – all down to the last of them – told me that Denny is the man they know as Mr. Wickham.”
Fitzwilliam blinked once, twice, and then released his stranglehold on the chair. “You are certain? All of them said the same thing?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“What of Wickham? What did he say to this?”
“He agreed that Denny had indeed asked for permission to use his name for a new credit account, but the entire matter went entirely too far, and before he knew it, the debts were staggering. Wickham collaborated with Denny’s story on every count.”
“Of course he did,” Fitzwilliam mumbled, feeling more frustrated and puzzled and infuriated with every passing second. “And Miss Nelson? I don’t suppose Mr. Denny claimed that he used Wickham’s name for seduction as well?” he drawled, sarcasm heavily lacing his voice.
The colonel’s cheeks reddened. “I cannot lock up a man for...er...personal conduct, however ungentlemanly it is. As long as the girl was not taken against her will – and Miss Nelson has admitted that is not the case – there is little I can do.”
“Or little that you are willing to do.”
Colonel Forster’s eyes narrowed. “I understand you are alarmed, sir, but there is no need for you to blame this wholly on me, even if you believe that I have done wrong by you and Miss Nelson and the people of Meryton. Believe me, I wish there was something I could do; I do not trust Wickham not to make more trouble in the future, now that his behavior has been made known to me – I must follow the law. I am in command here, but I have to bow to the superior claim of the law. I will not go against it.”
Fitzwilliam’s rigid expression gradually relaxed; he had overstepped his bounds, and he knew it. “I beg your pardon, Forster. I know your duty and my own.” He again pressed blunt fingers against his aching brow. “I do not hold you to blame for any of this; I would be a fool to, knowing what I do of Wickham’s manipulations. He is not as clever as he would like to think himself, but he does seem to have a natural instinct for choosing precisely the right time to bow out before he can be caught.”
“Of course,” Colonel Forster said sympathetically. “I understand entirely, and I give you my word that I shall keep a close eye on Mr. Wickham.”
This did not reassure Fitzwilliam. The only time his cousins would ever truly be safe was when Wickham was finally shipped off to Canada or Australia or hell itself. Colonel Forster was a decent fellow, but not bright enough to judge Wickham’s ways correctly – the bounder was an innate charmer and had slipped through more than one tight spot in the past.
“I do assure you that I will watch out for him,” Forster again promised. “Have no worries; I will make certain that Mr. Wickham is aware of his precarious position in my regiment.”
Fitzwilliam shot the colonel a dubious look. “Then what will you do with Denny? I sincerely doubt that he approached Wickham first to ask for access to his accounts; it was not done independent of planning.”
Colonel Forster merely sighed. “If I cannot prove that either man was the only debtor, then I may be forced to release him as well – I cannot charge two men with the same single crime; there is no way of knowing who incurred what debts if they are both telling falsehoods. I wish I could be of more help.”
Biting his lip to prevent himself from saying anything he knew he would later regret, Fitzwilliam nodded stiffly and thanked Forster for his assistance; he did not choose to linger now that the business was done, and took his leave directly.
Colonel Fitzwilliam’s composed mein gave no hint as to the disappointed rage simmering just beneath his smile. That Wickham should again attempt to slip through the cracks....it seemed incredible that a man could be so insolent, so full of scheming conceit! This latest escapade was yet another mocking slight aimed at his cousin, another method of sparking up trouble and then covering it again; of that, Fitzwilliam was certain.
He was quite disgusted with Colonel Forster, no matter how the rational part of his mind empathized with the officer’s quandary, and he resolved not to soil his boots another minute longer on militia property. Netherfield would at least provide a moment’s peace in which he could mull over these new developments and decide what course of action to take next.
Rounding the corner at the end of the gate, Fitzwilliam collided into a person coming from the opposite direction. He mumbled an apology, glanced up, and froze. The red-coated soldier standing uncomfortably in the center of the road was Wickham himself.
The two men tensely regarded each other for scarcely a heartbeat’s measure – Wickham paled, his eyes darting to the side as if seeking some escape, but the next moment, as Fitzwilliam failed to make any sudden move toward him, the color returned to his face in a rush.
Fitzwilliam, recovering from the surprise the unexpected meeting had instilled in him, cast a disdainful glance down at the man he had known – and hated – from childhood. “Wickham.” The single word was both cold acknowledgment and subtle threat.
A little smile, nearly a smirk, curled the edges of Wickham’s mouth, and he tipped his hat in a mock salute. “Why, Colonel, this is a pleasure indeed.”
The falsely cheerful note in the lieutenant’s voice set Richard’s teeth on edge. “Speak for yourself.”
Wickham’s smile only broadened. “Come now, sir, I am trying to be civil. Will you not be a gentleman?”
“A gentleman?” Fitzwilliam said scornfully. “What do you know of decorum and honor? I would no sooner call you a gentleman than I would deem you a saint.” With a sharp turn of his head, he strode forward, determined not to sully himself any further in his present company.
“You are still leading Darcy about by the apron strings, are you, Fitzwilliam?” Wickham called after him glibly. “Or perhaps not, since I hear that now he can hide instead behind the lovely Miss Bennet’s skirts – although I must say, I wouldn’t mind getting under them either.”
Fitzwilliam stopped. Without another second’s thought, he turned and planted his fist squarely into the center of Wickham’s handsome face.
Watching his cousin clumsily wipe the blood from his bruised knuckles, Darcy was sorely tempted to engage a bout of fisticuffs himself, an inclination he hadn’t considered in years. This ignoble desire was spurred on by an earnest wish to blacken his interfering cousin’s eye....or at the very least, give him a swollen lip that he would not soon forget.
Colonel Fitzwilliam, absorbed in the task of binding up his hands, was blissfully unaware that Darcy was a mere inch away from inciting a tussle, turning the two of them again into a pair of scruffy, squalling boys. Neither were strangers to a good scuffle – they had often taken each other on as children, with that odd sort of primitive joy for fighting that all rambunctious young lads possess, but after they had reached the age past which such ungentlemanly things were frowned upon, they had restricted their friendly rivalry to the occasional fencing match. Now, however, Darcy was fully prepared to cast all his well-honed dignity aside for the simple satisfaction of knocking some sense back into his cousin – yet Fitzwilliam was preserved from this fate by the fact that Georgiana was hovering solicitously over the colonel’s shoulder, and Darcy had no desire to frighten his sister with a brawl in the middle of the parlor.
“I can’t say I regret it,” Richard was saying, as Georgiana helped tie off the bandages. “I hope a broken nose is enough to remind him not to cross paths with us anytime soon.” He sounded unconscionably cheerful, gazing proudly down at the linen wrappings swathing his hands as if they were badges of honor.
Unable to hold his tongue any longer, Darcy stepped forward and took the water basin from his sister’s hands. “G-Go on, G-Georgiana. I will s-see t-t-to matters from here on.”
She must have seen something of his thoughts in his eyes, for she stopped fussing over her cousin at once, cast her brother a worried look, and hurried out of the parlor.
Darcy waited until the door closed before rounding on his cousin. “Wh-What the d-devil did you d-do, Richard?”
Having rather expected some commendation, or even gratitude, for his quick intervention in Wickham’s plans, the colonel was astonished to hear the quiver of anger in Darcy’s voice. “What do you mean by that?” he demanded, wondering whether his cousin had understood his explanation of the afternoon’s events. “I did nothing more than alert Forster to the rat lurking around his camp; the man deserves to know who he is harboring under his command.”
“You st-struck him,” he said, a furious muscle twitching against his jaw. “D-Do you not underst-stand what you have d-done? By god, Richard, I had not t-taken you f-for a fool!”
Colonel Fitzwilliam’s mouth opened soundlessly; by some miracle, he was unable to think of anything at all to say to that rather extraordinary claim.
“And th-that is not all: you h-have exp-posed him t-to the man who holds his livelihood in his h-hands – d-do you not th-think that will inc-cite him into st-triving even harder for revenge? You at-tempted to t-take away his freedom and his inc-come, t-to remove his only s-source of work....and you b-believe th-that he will not now t-try to make you – us! – p-pay for it? You have made him d-desperate!”
Fitzwilliam regained his voice, bristling at the rebuke. “You sound as though you mean to defend the brigand! Surely you of all people want to see justice served. He has done enough to your family – to you! You are not thinking as you ought, or you would see the rightness of this course.”
“The c-course? Th-that is the problem, Richard! You only th-think in t-terms of b-battles and stratagems, of wh-what you would d-do, of wh-what men of honor would d-do d-during an engagement. I know Wickham – I g-grew up with him, saw him b-become what he is; will you not g-give me the c-credit of knowing how b-best t-to deal with him?”
The sting of his cousin’s words was sharp. “And I suppose you knew exactly what to do, Darcy?” he replied acerbically. “You must have already had an elaborate plan laid out to stop the man before he could spread another word of vile gossip or defame your betrothed’s name again?”
Darcy stiffened. “He sp-spoke of Elizabeth?”
Still smarting from his reprimand, Fitzwilliam did not smooth over the insult, recounting the brief conversation in whole. Darcy’s face darkened, his fingers curling into fists at his sides before relaxing again. “F-Forgive me, Richard,” he said, more calmly. “You acted as you s-saw fit – in Elizabeth’s d-defense. I c-cannot – would not – f-fault you for th-that. I d-doubt I would have b-been able t-to c-control my own t-temper had he s-said such a reprehensible th-thing about her in my p-presence.” His gaze sharpened. “B-But I c-cannot c-condone wh-what you have d-done.”
“What I did?” the colonel cried. “I was trying to save your sorry —”
“You d-deliberately w-went b-behind my back,” he interrupted. “D-Did you ask me, Richard? D-did you even t-tell me you meant t-to have Wickham imp-prisoned? D-Did you th-think, for even a moment, th-that I might have had my r-reasons for not wishing t-to agit-tate Wickham at this p-particular t-time?” He sighed, a bleak, breathless sound. “You t-treat me as a ch-child as well, Richard. How am I t-t-to have any respect f-for myself if I always l-let others intervene when th-things are d-difficult?”
Something in Darcy’s tone struck a chord with Fitzwilliam – he paused, his righteous anger draining away, and stared dumbly at his cousin. Lord, but he was doing the same blasted thing that he had chided Georgiana for doing only weeks before! It was not a pleasant realization, and one that barbed peculiarly deep. He was guilty of patronizing Darcy, no matter how pure his motives had been in the beginning; he had thought only to save his cousin from the trouble and remove Wickham once and for all from their lives, but in the process he had once again wrested away control of a situation in which he had no right to interfere.
He slumped down into his chair and tugged restlessly on the curls near his nape. “Do you always have to be so d–mned self-righteous, Darcy?”
Darcy smiled ever so slightly, recognizing the truth of his cousin’s retort. “Yes.”
The colonel grunted. “It all came to nothing as it is. I don’t see why you have to make such a fuss over it all; you would have done the same thing. The only way we will ever be rid of Wickham is when he is off on a wagon ride to Newgate.”
“I had h-hoped t-to avoid th-this end,” he replied slowly. “I f-feel....I know...that nothing g-good can c-come of making Wickham d-desperate. If you t-take away his options, Richard, he will h-have nothing t-to lose. He has b-been b-biding his t-time these twenty years – he would not d-do anything b-because he knows th-that if he ch-challenges me, he will not w-win; you need only th-think of what h-happened the last t-time he chose t-to confront me.
“He enjoys having the th-threat of action from him hanging over me; he l-likes t-to th-think that he is a c-constant worry in my life, even if he has t-to restrict himself t-to spreading provincial g-gossip. I b-believe he was c-content enough with th-that: t-to vilify me wh-wherever I went and help p-prevent me from g-gaining any f-further support.
“B-but now, Richard, he is in d-danger of b-being c-cast out on his own d-devices; with a d-dishonorable d-discharge from C-Colonel Forster, he c-could not find any w-work, and you know how at-tached Wickham is t-to his gold. He has already b-been exposed as a f-fraud and seducer, and if he b-believes we mean t-to ruin him c-completely, he will have no c-compunctions in making our l-lives a living h-hell first, if he c-can.” Darcy paused, curling his fingers tightly around the back of his chair. “I f-fear for G-Georgiana – and f-for Elizabeth. I have no d-doubt th-that he would t-try to hurt me th-through them; it would b-be his most effective weapon.”
A moment of quiet stretched between the two; Fitzwilliam shook his head in equal parts wonder and exasperation. “You seem to understand Wickham all too well; although his mind is frankly not difficult to comprehend.”
An ironic smile flashed across Darcy’s lips. “I would much p-prefer it if W-Wickham were as f-foolish as you b-believe him t-to be; but Richard, I assure you he is f-far more c-clever than you th-think. He only gives the ap-pearance of recklessness and impulse – and th-that is the most d-dangerous kind of c-cleverness th-there is.”
Fitzwilliam gazed at him as if he had said something incomprehensible. “You seem to understand his mind completely. I never thought....”
“You n-never saw him as much as I.”
“True, but he showed no such intelligent leanings last time – that was one of the worst schemes I’ve ever seen a man attempt to implement. It sounded more like the plot of some insipid villain in a penny novel than a rational conspiracy.”
Darcy chuckled. “Yes, th-that wasn’t well c-considered on his p-part; b-but the d-danger of it was th-that had circumstances b-been different, he might very well have s-succeeded. His m-mistake was in ch-choosing the wrong t-time and the wrong p-place. It was p-pure good fortune for us th-that it failed.”
“I would be even less inclined to think Wickham a threat if he is so inept as to choose his battlefields incautiously.”
“Th-think as you wish,” Darcy replied, looking down at his intertwined hands, “b-but I reserve the right t-t-to cond-duct matters in my own way.”
“Acknowledged,” Fitzwilliam said dismissively. “I will still believe you erring on the side of caution, but I give you leave to make your own missteps. I cannot think as you do – Wickham is not a criminal mastermind, only the son of your old steward.”
Something flickered in Darcy’s eyes. “Be th-that as it may, you still und-derestimate him; and as you w-well know, that is a g-grave sin indeed in warfare. His p-plans were not s-so irrational, his p-position in my f-father’s household not s-so inconsequential as you ap-pear d-determined to think.”
“Darcy, he was thwarted – mercy’s sake, he was sent from Derbyshire in disgrace, and if that is not the purest form of failure, I do not know what is!”
“He f-foiled himself by only one error, since he wrongly as-sumed th-that I had b-been isolated from my n-neighbors. You d-do not know, not really, how c-close he c-came....I shudder to th-think about what might have hap-penned if we had not d-discovered him so quickly.”
“All the more reason to have him locked away.”
“Not yet – I had w-wished t-to build a stronger c-case, with p-proof and witnesses that he could not explain away or b-bribe, as he d-did today. I had grounds f-for not wanting t-to provoke him, Richard. It is the very height of recklessness t-to c-confront someone without having your own reinforcements ready.”
The colonel flushed at Darcy’s unsubtle jab. “Perhaps I had not thought things through so well,” he conceded, “but blast, I did not expect him to find a way to dodge around the law.”
Darcy laughed. “And wh-what d-did you expect a m-man of his sort t-to do? C-Confess everything and b-beg your forgiveness? Meekly allow himself t-to b-be carted off to gaol? You are assigning p-principles to a man who n-never had any.”
Fitzwilliam knew his cousin was right, but it galled him to be dressed down by anyone, although it happened frequently enough. “He is of low birth – no one will credit him if he tries that foolishness again.” The instant the words escaped his lips, he knew them to be senseless. Obviously, the good people of Meryton had credited his lies, and even welcomed him into their society.
“It-t is ironic, is it not,” Darcy mused, almost to himself, “th-that I should have b-been invited with op-pen arms b-by these p-people under normal circumstances? P-Pemberley would have b-been enough to gain me entry into every g-good house, into the c-company of Hertfordshire’s most p-prominent families; every mother with a m-marriageable d-daughter would have set her c-cap at me.”
“And instead they snap up the idle tittle-tattle of a man like Wickham,” the colonel added in disgust. “I should have been well-pleased to see him stay a servant; then no one would bother with him. Why did your father promise him that demmed commission – and why the blazes did you give it to him?”
It was more a rhetorical question than an appeal for an answer, but Darcy replied seriously. “I was honor b-bound t-t-to carry out the c-conditions in Father’s will.” He hesitated. “I c-cannot say what made him d-do so much for Wickham.”
Again, the odd phrasing of his cousin’s words gave Fitzwilliam pause. “Cannot say or will not?”
Darcy smiled ever so faintly. “B-Both.”
“Lizzy, have you seen my slippers?”
Elizabeth set aside her hairbrush and turned to look at Kitty, who was standing half-inside the door and looking very cross. “Which ones?” she inquired, picking up her brush again and smoothing it through the damp tangles of her hair. “You must have a dozen pairs at least.”
“The pink satin ones.”
Glancing over toward the bed at Jane, Elizabeth shook her head. “I am sorry, Kitty. They must be in your room somewhere; maybe Mary knows where they can be found.”
“What could Mary know of them?” Kitty cried. “She cannot tell the difference between a slipper and a half-boot!”
“You may borrow some of mine,” Jane suggested lightly. “I have a pair of white ones which would look very well with your gown.”
Kitty stomped her foot, close to tears. “I do not want white shoes, Jane, I want my pink ones! Your slippers will not look very well with my dress, and then the colonel will think that I have no fashion! Miss Bingley will look well, and I will not, and he will not pay any attention to me, and the whole party will be ruined!” She dissolved into noisy sobs, and with a soft murmur of consolation, Jane went over to comfort her.
Elizabeth bit her lip to prevent herself from saying something imprudent, but she allowed herself the luxury of rolling her eyes as she turned back to her vanity. Who knew that a simple invitation to Netherfield for dinner could cause such a commotion?
The two youngest Bennets and their mother had been in alt since the early morning, when Mr. Bennet had casually mentioned over breakfast that they were due to dine at Netherfield by seven in the evening for a celebration of the recent engagements. Mrs. Bennet, outraged that her husband had yet again sprung a pressing invitation on her at almost the last moment, immediately sent the girls upstairs to choose their evening clothes, despite the fact that it had been scarcely ten o’clock in the morning. The entire day had commenced in a dizzying rush of silks and pins and perfumes; and it was only now, just an hour from the time they were to depart for Netherfield, that Elizabeth and Jane had a moment of leisure to even think of what the night entailed. The dinner was in their honor, after all; it seemed ridiculous to begrudge their going.
The brief respite was enough to lift their spirits in anticipation of seeing their respective fiancés again, but the half-hour of relaxation was all too short, for Kitty was determined to make herself heard.
As Fate would have it, Lydia chose that precise moment to make her entrance in a daring violet frock and a pair of suspiciously pink slippers.
Aghast, Kitty could only stare. “Lydia, those are mine!”
Her sister looked supremely unconcerned. “Are they?” She smoothed her skirts grandly. “Well, I daresay they look better on me.”
“Give them back this instant! I want to wear them tonight.”
“Oh, stop your whining, Kitty. I had them first, and besides, you took my favorite bonnet for church last Sunday.”
“But I gave it back,” Kitty wailed, “and church is not the same as a dinner party.” She pointed at the delicate sheen of satin peering out from under Lydia’s hem. “Your feet are too big for them anyway – look how tight they are! They will be completely spoilt if you wear them.”
“Your shoes are not the only things that are too tight,” Elizabeth interjected dryly, eyeing her sister’s cinched and scooping bodice. “You ought to wear a lace tucker.”
“Lord, Lizzy, you sound like Mary.” Lydia reluctantly gave the neckline a tug upwards. “I don’t think it’s improper at all. Miss Bingley’s gowns are cut even lower.”
“And when did Miss Bingley become the utmost authority on fashion?” Elizabeth asked testily. “Use a tucker, Lydia, or Papa will not let you out of the house.”
Knowing that her sister was right, she huffed and left in search of a bit of lace; Kitty called after her, “And take off my slippers!”
“Not a chance,” came the gleeful reply. “I’ll not let you wear them, even if you do want to impress Colonel Fitzwilliam so badly. He won’t notice them on you.”
“You are only jealous because he prefers me!” Kitty exclaimed tearfully, hurrying after her sister.
“La, jealous?” Lydia laughed, her voice echoing down the hall back to Elizabeth and Jane. “I’m doing you a favor; these slippers are too dainty for you, Kitty. You would not want the colonel to see you tromping about in these like a great clod, would you?”
Kitty’s wails rebounded pitifully into the room until Elizabeth rose and shut the door. “Oh, dear,” Jane sighed. “Poor Kitty.”
“Poor Colonel Fitzwilliam. With two such determined creatures and Miss Bingley all quibbling over his attentions, I doubt he will have a moment’s peace....although he does seem ready enough to encourage them.”
“It shan’t hurt them, Lizzy.”
“Oh, no, I doubt that any hearts will be broken when he returns to his regiment. Kitty and Lydia will find some other officers to concern themselves with in due time.” A thought struck her, and she laughed. “I do not know that Miss Bingley will see him depart with her affections unscathed. Fitzwilliam tells me that she is quite enamored.”
Jane twisted about to look wide-eyed at her sister. “The colonel told you that himself? Lizzy, I do not think that is done well by Miss Bingley’s feelings.”
Elizabeth giggled. “No, no – I meant my Fitzwilliam, not the colonel.”
Jane blushed. “Oh. Well, I should hate to think that Caroline could be hurt in this. She is to be my sister, after all.”
“I doubt it will come to that, dearest. When Miss Bingley discovers that Colonel Fitzwilliam has very little chance of ever inheriting the title, I expect that that will put paid to the entire affair.”
Not offering a protest to that which she privately knew to be all too true, Jane pondered the situation, wondering whether either one of them would harbor regrets when the news came out. “It is sad, do you not think,” she said thoughtfully, “that two people could encourage each other so much – perhaps begin to feel admiration, even – and then it should all come to an end when income became more important than affection?”
“It is sad indeed, Jane, but I fear I must predict such a fate for our friends.” Elizabeth shook her head, a smile flirting about her lips. “Nothing drives away love like an empty pocketbook.”
There were few things in the world Charles Bingley liked better than entertaining amiable and well-informed people. Evenings whiled away in such company provided some of life’s greatest pleasures – a man who thrived on society hardly ever tired of it, although even Bingley had to admit that certain company was more difficult to appreciate.
His sister, although equally fond of companionship, was more selective, and Bingley had known, by the perpetual scowl that had marred her lovely face all day, that she had not been anticipating any joy in the arrival of their guests.
The notion of holding a party in honor of his engagement – and of Darcy’s – had come to him belatedly, but once the idea was fixed in his mind, he was determined to carry it out. He would have liked to have held a ball too, but Darcy had gently reminded him that such a feat could hardly be accomplished in the amount of time he had charted out before the gathering.
A dinner it would have to be, then, and Bingley took up the idea enthusiastically. Caroline had reluctantly agreed to act as hostess, and she had done that much only after Georgiana volunteered for the service herself.
Somehow, everything had been delivered to the house in time, and now the combined party made their way to the splendidly-arranged table. Seating was informal, and Darcy claimed his place with Elizabeth and his sister. Miss Bingley found her chair by the colonel already taken by Lydia Bennet, and, with lips tightly compressed in vexation, she grudgingly sat on Elizabeth’s left.
Everyone else was settled down to their satisfaction – except perhaps Kitty, who threw envious glances down the table at her sister every few minutes – and the meal was served.
Darcy and Elizabeth immediately busied themselves with the task of reacquainting each other with the events of the past two days that they had spent apart. Georgiana listened to them absently, more interested in her plate than the commonplace and often tedious subjects that hardly ever prove of any interest to anybody but lovers; but Miss Bingley was sorely unhappy, insulted by her suitor’s neglect and infuriated that she should again be ignored in favor of a saucy, senseless girl like the youngest Bennet.
Finding no one close by worthy of her conversation, she interrupted the engaged couple instead. “I must congratulate you, Eliza,” she said indifferently, motioning for the attending footmen to serve the next course. “I did not have the opportunity to wish you happy.”
“I thank you, ma’am.” Elizabeth, genuinely surprised that Bingley’s sister could offer her even this small gesture of civility, was unwillingly impressed by the poise shown by her former rival.
Miss Bingley glanced over at Darcy. “I would own that the announcement came as a surprise to us all. I had not thought you particularly well acquainted with Mr. Darcy.”
Elizabeth smiled. “Well enough, apparently.”
A curious look, not fully devoid of calculation, came into Miss Bingley’s pale eyes. “I suppose Mr. Darcy has put in an announcement in the London papers?”
“I d-did last week,” Darcy answered, much to Elizabeth’s surprise. “It w-will b-be in print until Saturday.”
“Your family must know by now,” she pressed him. “I imagine they are delighted?”
“They will b-be well p-pleased to call her my wife,” he said curtly.
Elizabeth heard the bite in his tone and reached out to grasp his hand under the drape of the tablecloth. The vehemence of Lady Catherine’s response still troubled him; reminders of it proved a tender topic.
Miss Bingley, who had already acknowledged that she really had no reason to behave with spite toward Elizabeth now, seemed to recognized her error and immediately abandoned the conversation in favor of a more sedate discussion of music with Georgiana.
Although Darcy seemed to relax as his hostess’s inquisition ended, Elizabeth kept her hand in his, enjoying the warm weight of his skin under hers. When she did finally attempt to release him, he gently caught her fingers and held her more firmly, his thumb stroking lazy, sensuous circles on the back of her hand. She shivered.
“Lizzy, are you chilled?” Jane asked with some concern.
“The fire needs to be built up,” Bingley said solicitously, gesturing to one of the servants. “Do you need your shawl, Elizabeth? Jensen will fetch it for you.”
Everyone leaned forward to look at her, and she felt her face burn red; she shot a mortified look at Darcy. “No, no, I am quite fine, thank you.” As soon as the others returned to their business, her eyes turned reprovingly to her betrothed. Do behave yourself, she mouthed.
His dimples flashed as he took her meaning, but he stubbornly kept hold of her hand, continuing his maddeningly slow assault on her senses. His fingers danced boldly along her palm, tracing up her fingers and nails, and lingering with particular attention on the soft flesh of her wrist. She colored and fidgeted and sighed, trying valiantly to carry on normally while he was determined to rob her of her composure. It was astonishing, she thought vaguely, that something so ordinary as holding hands could feel so delightfully wicked.
She dared to look over at him, and although he appeared to be speaking quite coherently with Georgiana, she knew that he was well-aware of her reactions, and was taking an ungodly amount of smug pleasure in them. He was acting so unlike himself, so unreserved and playful, and she did not know whether to be pleased or confused. Reaching out unsteadily with her left hand, she grasped her wine goblet and downed what was left of its contents.
An overeager footman hastened to refill her glass, and Elizabeth, not expecting the decanter to suddenly appear over her shoulder, startled and dropped the goblet with a tremendous shatter of crystal. Crimson wine spread rapidly across the pristine white tablecloth.
“Lizzy, you clumsy girl!” Mrs. Bennet cried. “You have ruined dear Mr. Bingley’s tablecloth. No, don’t use the napkins – you will ruin them too! Mr. Bennet, do something!”
“What am I to do about it?”
“Here, now,” Bingley cut in graciously, “do not worry, Mrs. Bennet. I assure you, there is no harm done. Mrs. Nicholls has an excellent potion for removing wine stains, and it will be as clean as ever in no time at all.”
The mess was quickly mopped up in a pile of linens, and Elizabeth’s embarrassment gradually ebbed once she realized that no one except Darcy could know the reason for the distraction that led to the incident – and she did find some amusement in the way that her footman gave her a glass of water instead of wine with her new plate.
After dinner everyone mingled in the parlor. Mary played the piano – thankfully choosing to forgo singing for the night – and people bunched in little groups of three or four to play cards. The effusive compliments Miss Bingley received from her guests for the excellence of her dinner – or, from Colonel Fitzwilliam, on the excellence of her figure – made her cordial, and she let Darcy and Elizabeth go out onto the terrace without comment on their abandonment of the planned entertainment.
The evening was cool, but very much a summer’s night – clear and dreamy, with an array of stars overhead. Elizabeth walked to the edge of the railing and leaned against it, absently folding her arms to protect herself against the mild wind. Footsteps followed behind her, and she felt the warm folds of Darcy’s coat drape around her shoulders. His lips pressed faintly to the curve of her brow, and she allowed herself to lean into his arms.
“Have I t-told you t-tonight how b-beautiful you are?” he murmured.
She turned to face him. “It is a sorry trick, Fitzwilliam, to try and placate me with compliments.”
“Is it w-working?”
She paused and then laughed. “I suppose it is.”
“Good. I d-do love you d-dearly, Elizabeth.” He sighed, stirring a ringlet against her ear. “I need t-to request s-something of you.”
“If it is a kiss, I might be inclined to oblige you.”
His eyes warmed. “I would b-be happy t-t-to accept your offer later, Elizabeth, b-but we d-do need t-to speak seriously for a moment.”
“Quite seriously?”
“Quite seriously.” He drew her further away from the open terrace doors, where the chatter and laughter of their party could be heard in the still night air. “I want you t-to p-promise me something.”
“This sounds very serious indeed.” She touched his shoulder. “As long as it is not anything foolish, I will give you my promise.”
He chuckled. “You have a very circumsp-pect opinion of p-promises, Elizabeth. I th-think you shall not like th-this one at all.”
“I shall not know until you tell me, Fitzwilliam. What is it?”
“All I ask is th-that you not walk alone from now on. I know how you l-like t-to ramble early in the m-morning, b-but p-please, Elizabeth, t-take one of your s-sisters along – or wait unt-til I can c-call and walk with me.”
“Not walk by myself?” She shook her head. “Fitzwilliam, I have been walking these paths all my life, ever since I was a little girl, and no one has ever approached me or made me feel ill at ease.”
“I know,” he said quietly, “b-but Wickham d-did not live here when you were a little g-girl either. He is angry with me, Elizabeth, b-because of something th-that happened yesterday, and I f-fear for you. I d-do not want you t-to be afraid, but I worry. It would reassure me a g-great d-deal if I knew th-that you were safe.”
Elizabeth wanted to argue, but seeing the real anxiety in his countenance, and knowing that she was not in possession of all the facts of the situation, she overcame her natural reaction to refuse the request. After all, was this not part of marriage – of compromising, of bending to another’s wishes once in a while?
“Very well,” she said softly, moving to nestle closer to him until her head was tucked comfortably beneath his chin. “I swear I will be careful.”
He did not respond, and she laughed at herself as she realized her blunder. Pulling back so she could meet his eyes, she repeated her promise, and his features again eased. “Th-Thank you, Elizabeth. It will not b-be f-for long, and th-then you may walk all over the c-countryside without c-concern.”
“I should rather prefer you walked with me,” she replied. Stepping close, she lifted her face to his and smiled. “And now perhaps you would care to collect on that kiss?”
“Will I r-receive any int-terest on it?”
She did not have time to formulate a clever reply, for his lips immediately commandeered all her attention. He claimed the bartered kiss and its interest many times over, but Elizabeth did not mind, for she had always been of the opinion that wise investments deserved good dividends.
Posted on Friday, 18 April 2008
Since the evening Darcy had so unceremoniously announced his intention to marry Elizabeth Bennet, no word of salutation or congratulation from Matlock House had winged its way into Hertfordshire. Despite his professed indifference to his family’s approval, he had begun to grow anxious as each passing day brought no message from his aunt or uncle; at first it could be excused by the slow post or the busyness of London life, but as the middle of Darcy’s second month in Hertfordshire approached, he began to fear the worst.
Well aware of how persuasive Lady Catherine could be when she had determined a course of action, he wondered if her lies about Elizabeth’s character had been vituperative enough to convince the Fitzwilliams that he had made a grave mistake.
The notion did not sit well with him, nor did it ring particularly true. He had the utmost assurance that his aunt and uncle trusted his judgment – heaven knew he had proved himself capable enough in the months following his father’s death – and the thought that Lady Catherine might have swayed them to believe her outrageous claims seemed improbable, if not downright ridiculous. For his aunt Helen, especially, to put aside her deep personal dislike for Lady Catherine in order to credit her wild claims seemed very unlikely. The Matlocks were sensible people, if a little old-fashioned, and Darcy had difficulty accepting that they would turn away from him now, after being his constant support for nearly thirty years.
And yet, they did not write.
Elizabeth, although unaware of what precisely troubled him, noticed the low spirits that seemed to plague his temper. It was a very slight change, imperceptible to all but her and perhaps Miss Darcy, and she wondered at it. The Elizabeth of a few months past might have assumed that his unhappiness was somehow connected with her, that she was not doing something right, not pleasing him well enough.
Now, after many weeks of repeated avowals of affection, of long conversations and confidences, she knew better than to doubt his feelings....or her own. No longer, also, would she hold back from saying what she felt out of fear of giving him offense, or even some measure of pain. Her parents’ marriage was proof enough that a lack of clear communication between husband and wife doomed the union to failure.
Before she could confront him about the alteration, Fortune appeared of a mind to placate the hapless pair, for two letters arrived one after the other that week.
Elizabeth, coming downstairs for breakfast one morning, discovered her mother in the hall by the post tray, minutely examining a sealed letter.
“Mama?”
Startled, she dropped the parchment as if she had been caught in some underhanded maneuver, and it took a moment for Mrs. Bennet to collect her wits. Elizabeth found the letter pressed quickly into her hands.
“Look at this, Lizzy,” she exclaimed, thrusting the note – fingers and all – up toward her daughter’s face. “‘Tis from a countess – Lady Matlock, it says.”
Elizabeth pulled her wrist from her mother’s grasp and lifted the letter to see the direction. Unfamiliar looped handwriting elegantly scrolled along it, but nowhere did it bear the sender’s name – that is, until she turned it and discovered that the wax seal had been neatly broken.
“Mama!”
Mrs. Bennet took a step back defensively. “I did not know the hand; I thought that perhaps it had been addressed to you by mistake.”
It seemed highly improbable that the direction could have erred, since the words Elizabeth Bennet were lettered precisely on the paper, but Elizabeth let the weak excuse pass by without comment.
A little flustered, Mrs. Bennet held out another missive. “There is one from your aunt Gardiner, Lizzy. I expect you will want to read it now.”
“Good. I wondered when she was to reply.” Gently tugging the other note from her mother’s hands, Elizabeth tucked it into her pocket and unfolded the first, her eyes drawn directly to the signature at the bottom.
“Well? What does she say? She is Mr. Darcy’s aunt, is she not?”
“She is.” Elizabeth looked at her mother’s eager face. “But you ought to know what she has written as it is. I can hardly add anything to it.”
Mrs. Bennet flushed. “I did not read it, not really – how could you suspect me of such a thing? I am not the sort of person to go about reading other people’s posts. I only looked for the signature, ‘tis all. Why should I be reading my daughter’s letters, pray tell? Of what interest could they possibly be to me?”
Elizabeth was wise enough not to pursue this unpromising line of conversation. Instead she thanked her mother and retreated to her rooms to read her letters in peace. Settling near the window, she smoothed out the heavy creme pages of Lady Matlock’s missive and started to read.
It began simply, begging her indulgence for the tardiness of their congratulations, and was followed by polite inquiries after herself and her family. The countess wrote well, with an impeccable display of civility, yet her speech was peppered with that undeniable tone of confident finality which characterizes those accustomed to having their wishes carried out. The note was long enough to be polite, brief enough for convenience, and Elizabeth soon arrived at the cordial farewell, followed by a request for a reply and the lady’s signature and seal.
Elizabeth gazed at it for a moment longer and, for a reason which she could hardly explain, found herself grinning. It was very cleverly worded, she realized, offering neither wholehearted approval nor dissatisfaction. Through all subjects and salutations, Lady Matlock somehow kept herself neutral – reserving her judgment, Elizabeth supposed, until she finally met the object of her nephew’s affections.
Well, it certainly could have been worse, but somehow it left her wondering even more how exactly Darcy’s family regarded her. There was really no way to reassure them of her suitability without seeing them, speaking with them personally; so, she would have to be resigned to this tentative amiability for the present.
Everything seemed to be going surprisingly smoothly; Jane and Bingley were beginning to plan for their own wedding, which was due to take place in three weeks’ time. Consequently, Mrs. Bennet was in extraordinarily high spirits, dragging her eldest daughter from shop to shop for fittings and measurements, for accessories and last minute decorations; the matron was in her element, and unexpectedly, all the girls found that, contrary to their expectations, their mother was fairly calm and in command of the constant stream of invitations to be delivered, the foods to be ordered from Town, the flowers, the guest list for the wedding breakfast....all these things were dealt with quickly and efficiently, with an aplomb that astonished everyone in her household.
A general air of excitement pervaded Longbourn as the end of June approached. Jane suffered from the usual spate of bridal nerves but was anxious to make her home with Bingley at last. Despite Mrs. Bennet’s restraint, things still became overwhelming at times, and Elizabeth gladly distracted her mother for an afternoon while Bingley whisked his betrothed off for an afternoon’s quiet rendevous.
Even so, Elizabeth’s time – although more limited – was still all her own. It became a custom for Darcy to arrive early, even before the proper visiting hours, to join her for her morning walk. They would go a mile or two on whatever path caught their fancy, enjoying the hush of the dawn hours together, hardly saying anything at all. It became one of her favorite times of the day, when it was only the two of them, without other people or ideas or even words contaminating the simple communion.
They would return to the house for breakfast just as Bingley arrived, and the meal was shared with the rest of the Bennet clan. It was a perfect opportunity to come to know Elizabeth’s parents and sisters better, and Darcy did his best to overcome his natural inclination to keep to himself. It was difficult at times, particularly because the Bennets were so different from the family he knew, and even more so than the family he had built with his parents, but when he grew frustrated with their constant questions and curious mannerisms, he reminded himself that every one of them had good intentions at heart. They were only trying to accept him in the only way they knew, and he appreciated the effort so much that the occasional impertinence could be forgiven.
Mrs. Bennet, after a few hints from her exasperated husband, dropped her habit of addressing her future son like a dimwit, and although she would probably never be completely comfortable around him, his wealth and good presentation went a long way to making his presence at her table tolerable. For Mr. Bennet, Darcy’s constant presence was a revelation. Daily the young man rose in his estimation, and he began to feel that Elizabeth perhaps might have seen something in him that no one else had, something that boded well for her future happiness.
Lydia, strangely enough, took a liking to him, and Kitty eventually got over her fear sufficiently enough to address the occasional greeting to him. Mary’s opinion he still had little idea of. Darcy suspected that she wished to distrust him, but was finding it rather difficult to sort her way through the myriad of views that the clergy took on the subject of his deafness. Some books decried it as the mark of the Devil, others urged compassion and assistance – it must be very confusing, he supposed, to have one’s ideas so conflicted.
The uproar that had greeted the news of the engagement had died down incrementally, although Darcy was still very much aware that he and Elizabeth were being scrutinized closely in the village; he felt the people’s suspicious looks, even if they spoke cordially. At times, it began to wear him down, but he knew it would be unwise to seclude himself before the wedding; he had learned that keeping himself hidden only increased his mystique and the curiosity of his neighbors.
If he could not find much encouragement from the good people of Meryton, he could at least find pleasure in seeing his sister take pains to rebuild the burgeoning friendship with Elizabeth that had been interrupted by their departure that winter. Darcy saw that Georgiana truly wished to do right by her promise, and the incentive of earning her brother’s approval – and keeping on good terms with the future mistress of their home – was more than enough to ensure that she exerted herself to be polite.
Elizabeth, who had never known about the discord between the siblings or the reason Miss Darcy’s letters had stopped coming before she went to Kent, was glad to welcome the young girl into her family. Darcy thought the experience of being among the Bennets might help his sister adjust to the changes that would come to Pemberley upon his marriage. It would no longer be just the two of them; Elizabeth would be a Darcy too, and eventually, he hoped, there would be children as well.
Georgiana seemed to grow quickly accustomed to the routines at Longbourn, although all the noise and activity at first unsettled her. The more she was there, however, the more she came to enjoy the time spent at Longbourn. The Bennets might be loud and energetic and quarrelsome and sometimes decidedly odd, but they were a family, and their wildly divergent personalities somehow seemed to draw them together.
Surprisingly enough, Georgiana also befriended Kitty, who was far less intimidated by Miss Darcy than she was by Miss Darcy’s brother. The two girls were close in age, and despite their temperamental differences, similarities began to emerge. Once one moved past the more superficial tastes for officers and ribbons, Georgiana discovered that they shared many of the same interests. Although Kitty could not play the pianoforte, she could paint, and quite well at that. Georgiana, who liked to dabble in watercolors and whose own sketches were considered proficient, was surprised at the careful detail and attention that her new friend took in her pictures. They were rudimentary by any master’s reckoning, but there was potential in the bright tints and elegant brushwork. Kitty, delighted to have someone interested in her artistry, was eager to devote more of her time to the easel; and encouraged by Georgiana, she went to her father to request better paints and brushes. If Mr. Bennet was surprised by this rather rational petition from one of his sillier daughters, he was at least better pleased to spend his money on watercolors than on shoe-roses or bonnets.
Elizabeth was ashamed to realize that she had never thought much of Kitty’s talent, preferring to see her as the shallow, silly girl that presented to the world only more cause for her family’s embarrassments. It was easier to excuse Kitty’s foolishness by believing that it was simply the way she was, that she had no other qualities that would deepen the regret that she had turned out as she had. It was an eye-opening realization, and Elizabeth began to wonder whether she had ever really taken the trouble to know her sisters at all.
Not to say, of course, that Kitty changed in essentials over that short period of time – she was still gossipy and fickle, and probably always would be, but when she was painting, she spared no idle thoughts for soldiers or fripperies or dancing.
Thanks in part to the booklets of landscape and portraiture reproductions that Mr. Bennet had unearthed from somewhere in his library, Kitty learned technique – probably more than an accomplished young lady should – and could speak intelligently and knowledgeably on at least one subject; and Darcy’s promise to take her someday to see the Royal Art Exhibition went a long way in banishing her wariness around him. Indeed, she spoke of drawing and the masters so often that Lydia finally declared that she was becoming a tedious old bore. That dampened Kitty’s public displays of enthusiasm, but she toiled no less frequently over her paintings.
After her success in making a friend of Kitty, Georgiana found it far less imposing a task to acquaint herself with the rest of the family. Mrs. Bennet and Lydia she was less receptive to, but Mr. Bennet always spoke kindly to her, and Mary showed a similar interest in music, however undeveloped her taste was.
Jane Bennet, of course, immediately made her welcome in their home, and, beginning to understand that her brother’s connection to this family would not all be a hardship, Georgiana in consequence allowed herself the luxury of enjoying company, of feeling herself a part of a group for the first time. She had always been set apart from others because of her brother; she remembered someone once commending her for being so loyal to Fitzwilliam, for sacrificing her own time to care for him....but she realized now that it was quite the opposite. She clung to him because she was afraid of being alone, afraid that if he found someone else, her own life would be filled with the loneliness that had plagued him.
Oh, she would still have her cousins, her aunt and her uncle – but it was not the same. She had not been raised by them. They had not been witness to every childhood event, seen her fail and succeed, encouraged her to try new things, or been her solace when everything was in disarray. She had never known her parents; she could not recall her mother at all, and had only a vague impression of her father’s face, but she did know her brother, and the thought of losing him too had been unbearable.
Elizabeth unconsciously reassured her that marriage would not change everything. Although she spent the majority of her time with Darcy, Elizabeth was careful to include Georgiana in their conversations when they were all together. Decisions regarding the running of the house or arrangements for the new mistress’s arrival were also presented to Georgiana for consideration.
Above all things, Elizabeth did not want to cause trouble between the Darcys, and, knowing that any woman would resent having her position in the house taken away without a moment’s preparation, she was particularly careful to ensure that her new sister felt useful. She even confessed, quite truthfully, that she did not know exactly what to expect in the management of such a large estate, and Georgiana was happy to instruct her and assure her that the task was not so daunting as she thought. By valuing Georgiana, Elizabeth was teaching the girl to value her; and Darcy saw the changes in his sister’s attitude with pleasure.
Only one thing remained to alarm him. Although he had forgiven Richard for his reckless treatment of Wickham, Darcy continued to feel ill at ease about the entire affair. Colonel Forster had been keeping watch on the lieutenant and Mr. Denny, who was still incarcerated in the stockade, but Darcy did not have the sense of security that his cousin claimed to possess.
He was grateful to Elizabeth for keeping her promise to him, although he suspected that she was tempted at times – when things were particularly hectic at Longbourn – to make an escape into the woods around Meryton. Darcy was perfectly content to spend his mornings with her, but the necessity of the action irritated him. He disliked the thought that his life – as well as Elizabeth’s – was being affected, even in a small way, by George Wickham.
It was exactly the sort of game that the man loved to play -- to keep Darcy in suspense, feeling that something was being plotted, but not knowing what it was or when it would be implemented. Of course, it was more likely that nothing was going to happen, and that was the most infuriating part of the business; he felt himself paranoid, and knew that it amused Wickham to be the cause of his discomfiture. Still, the man did not take serious action, with the exception of last summer’s debacle, and Darcy was torn between anxiety that something might happen to Elizabeth or Georgiana, and a nasty suspicion that Wickham was merely toying with him.
In any case, he need only endure it for three more months, and then he and Elizabeth would be off to Derbyshire. He knew he would soon have to return home to settle some business and see to the estate, but he had hopes that it would only be a brief journey; besides, he would be able to entrust his sister and Elizabeth into Richard’s care while he was gone, since his cousin was on extended leave, not due back in London until September.
It seemed a rational enough plan, and he was certain that Elizabeth would understand the necessity of it. There was a good deal to be done to prepare for her arrival at Pemberley, and Darcy always liked to keep up with the business at home; he had little respect for men who left their estates to be run wholly by stewards.
He would wait, he resolved, until after Jane and Bingley’s wedding day, and then he would leave for Pemberley.
After safely tucking Lady Matlock’s letter into her reticule to show Darcy later in the evening, Elizabeth opened the post from Mrs. Gardiner. She was eager to see what her aunt had written, for she had sent her last letter, filled with requests for advice and information as well as a confirmation of the date of her wedding, only a week before.
Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, after overcoming their initial surprise and concern at their niece’s decision to marry into the Darcy family, seemed willing to support her, particularly due to the opposition which they had expected to arise at home. Elizabeth suspected that they were both still uncertain about Darcy’s suitability as a husband, but they accepted that the choice was ultimately hers, and she loved them for it.
Quickly breaking the seal, Elizabeth unfolded the single sheet and sat down to read.
My dearest Lizzy,
I received your letter of Wednesday last with a great deal of pleasure. Your notes are always very welcome, although we have not been left uninformed here in Gracechurch Street. Your father has proven himself capable of being a stellar correspondent in these past few weeks, and you may guess on what subject he writes to your uncle.
I greatly anticipate Jane’s wedding; from what I understand, everyone is also hoping for a swift conclusion to all these matrimonial plans. Tell Jane that she need not worry about her trim, for I found a length of very fine French lace that should suit her gown very well. One of your uncle’s associates offered it to us at a reasonable price, and I daresay your mother will find it more than serviceable for Jane’s dress.
A few more wedding details and family items filled the remainder of the page, and it was only on the back sheet that Elizabeth found the reason for Mrs. Gardiner’s unusually swift reply.
I expect that your father will soon receive a note from Edward, but I wished to make known to you our intentions of traveling up to visit. Your uncle and I are of a mind to come to Hertfordshire this next Saturday to assist Jane and your mother with wedding arrangements and meet Mr. Bingley. We would stay through the week and return in time to fetch the children back for the ceremony.
We wish to celebrate this special time with you, and, truth be told, Lizzy, Edward and I are rather of the opinion that a few days away from the children might be beneficial for everyone.
I shall not waste paper with a tedious recounting of my complaints, but suffice to say, the warmer weather has quite spoilt the boys for studying, and Lucy and Clarissa can hardly sit still long enough to finish a single stitch.
I believe we may stay at the Inn while we are in Meryton, for heaven knows your father and mother need no further distractions at the moment. I can only imagine how it will be for us when my girls are married. Hopefully that time will not come yet for a few years at least.
I hope you and Jane shall not object to the extra company, but I must confess that we are eager to meet Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy as well.
Speaking of whom, Lizzy, I have something I might add in regards to your questions. I grew up in Lambton, as well you know, and although I was certainly no intimate of the family, I remember much of what was said about the Darcys. Pemberley, my dear, is the grandest estate in the North. I saw it once as a girl, when my father had business at the great house. My brother and I begged to go along, and he let us stay with the cart while he went inside to see old Mr. Darcy. There was a housekeeper there – I believe her name was Moresby, or something like it – and she brought us cups of lemonade to drink while we waited for Father to return. How fine and fancy Jack and I thought ourselves, to be shown such attention. I seem to recollect thinking that Pemberley was surely grander than St. James’s itself.
You may think me maudlin, Elizabeth, but truly, it did seem to me as though royalty must have made their home in Derbyshire. You will love the grounds, I am sure, for they are natural woods and gardens, with little fashion and plenty of beauty.
As for old Mr. Darcy and his wife, there are a few things I would mention to you, as I believe that I would not be overstepping my place sharing common knowledge. However, I should rather discuss it with you personally, rather than write it here where anyone may discover it. My knowledge of the family, however, is still limited, and your best option is to ask Mr. Darcy outright.
I understand that you are fearful of pressing him for confidences, but Elizabeth, do be careful. Secrets that are kept between husband and wife cannot but come into the light eventually, and often the circumstances surrounding the exposure can be painful. Let him understand that you respect his privacy but will not be left unaware because of any misguided gallantry or a desire to shield you from unpleasant details.
Also remember to give him equal measure; do not demand from him what you yourself are unwilling to give. I am sure, even as forthright as I know you to be, that there are things that you have left unsaid. I do not know Mr. Darcy, but I suspect that, in the usual manner of things, he has not yet learned how to talk to you. Yes, I know that seems a strange way to state it, but believe me, you will soon learn that men and women often have differing ideas of what it is to love, and what love entails. You know how close your uncle and I are, but I promise you that to this day, he comprehends my mind little better than he did ten years ago.
There is more I would say on this subject – I could probably fill fifty pages with the things that I have learned about marriage and children – but for now this will suffice. I will speak to you and Jane about this more upon our arrival. I imagine your sister will also have some questions, particularly since her wedding day is so near.
On the other subject, I will address it also when we are in Hertfordshire and have an afternoon to ourselves. I must commend you, dearest, for the amusing manner in which you phrased your request. It was so very discreet and carefully worded that I nearly was at a loss to understand what you meant at all. Oh, but you need not blush for it, Elizabeth. I should be happy to speak with you soon on the subject.
I must put an end to this letter, for the children have gotten it into their heads to walk out to the park, and Nanny will not do, so it appears that I will be the leader of this expedition. Give my love to your sisters.
Yours, etc.
M. Gardiner
Elizabeth laughed and shook her head, carefully concealing the letter under a sheaf of papers in her bed-cabinet. She glanced up at the clock and saw that it was already ten. Hurrying to put on her slippers, she rushed out the door and down the stairs, only to find that the breakfast room was empty but for her father, who was reading his newspaper by the window.
He looked up and saw her expression. “I heard a horse out on the road just a minute ago; I would wager that your Mr. Darcy has made his appearance at last. These young lovers can hardly be dissuaded for a moment.”
Elizabeth kissed her father’s brow and slipped out the front door, running toward the stables, where one of the footmen was leading in a spotted black mare. To her surprise, she found that Darcy was not standing next to the horse – rather, it was his sister instead.
Georgiana, who was carefully re-pinning her jaunty hat over her windswept dark hair, glanced up and saw the other woman on the path. “Good morning, Elizabeth! I hope you don’t mind me here today. Fitzwilliam has business that cannot be delayed, and he sent me to keep you company until he could come.”
“I am delighted to have you,” Elizabeth assured her, coming forward to clasp her gloved hands. “Did you ride all the way over?”
Georgiana turned to give an affectionate pat to the mare, who nuzzled her shoulder in acknowledgment. “Buttons and I often go out early in the morning, although usually Richard goes with me. He had business in the village too, although I suspect that it was an excuse this time rather than any actual occupation. Would you like to come riding with me some morning?”
“I would like it very much – but I am afraid I cannot ride,” she replied, looking up at the beautiful, glossy-coated creature with wistful admiration. “I tried only once, when I was quite young. My father put me upon a fat, ill-tempered little pony, and it took exception to my being on its back. You may imagine what happened. I could not sit down comfortably for a week afterwards, and I have not ridden since.”
“Perhaps Fitzwilliam can teach you. He taught me, you know.”
“Yes, he mentioned it, but I think I prefer to entrust transportation to my own two feet. Will you come in?”
“I had hoped you might be in the mood for a walk, but I would be happy to come in if you think the wind is too strong.” Georgiana reached over the saddle and unlatched a burlap satchel from the pommel. “I was not sure whether you had eaten breakfast yet, so I brought some cheese and Mrs. Nicholls’s pastries.”
Elizabeth smiled. “In that case, shall we go out by the pond?”
The two women strolled down past the gate into the thatch of trees and brush that bordered Longbourn property until they reached the tiny pool of runoff water that sat along the sheltered stretch of the wall. They settled in the grass and shared the food and a bottle of sweet dessert wine that Georgiana had smuggled out of the kitchens.
“I have been thinking about something,” Elizabeth said between a yawn as she lazed back in the warm grass, “and I wondered if you might do me a favor.”
Georgiana rolled over onto her stomach, nestling her head against her upraised arms sleepily. “Of course.”
“You know how to talk to Fitzwilliam, don’t you? I mean, you use your hands to talk to him.”
Sitting up, Georgiana looked at her companion curiously. “Fingerspelling? Yes, I can do it; I learned when I was young.”
Elizabeth swept a blade of grass from her skirt, trying to appear nonchalant. “Can anyone learn to fingerspell?”
“Do you want to learn, Elizabeth?”
“Do you think I could?”
She laughed. “Of course you could! It is no different than learning Italian or French, except you use your fingers instead of words. It is really very easy, once you memorize the alphabet.” The girl raised her right hand and made a series of motions, so fluidly that they flashed by almost before Elizabeth could register the fact that her fingers were moving. “This is A....” She slowly curled her hand into a fist. “....and this is B.” Extending her fingers straight and high, she smiled at her friend. “All you have to do is memorize the patterns. There is a gesture for every letter of the alphabet, and once you understand them, you can spell any word almost as fast as if you had said it aloud.” A startling hint of mischief appeared in her eyes. “But would you not rather have Fitzwilliam teach you? He is an excellent instructor.”
Elizabeth tried not to blush. “I am certain he is, but I should rather you showed me the basics of this. I would like to surprise him.”
Georgiana nodded. “We could arrange lessons, if you think you would really like to learn; we could meet a few afternoons a week or so, and I could teach you the alphabet. There are other components to it, of course, but maybe once you have the letters mastered, he could explain the rest to you. When would you like to start?”
Elizabeth propped herself up on her elbows and grinned rather sheepishly. “Right now, if you do not mind.”
She nodded again, trying unsuccessfully to stifle a giggle. “Well,” she said, holding up her hand and spreading her fingers, gesturing for Elizabeth to mimic her motions, “we had best begin then.”
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One