Mrs. Bingley’s Sister (The Austen Novels)

Chapter 10

December 1819

Pemberley Estate

Derbyshire

Darcy saw the carriage pulling up, and the pattering of his heart increased. The rest of the Bingley party had arrived, and with them, a permanent fixture in their household, Elizabeth Bennet. The adoring aunt of his godchild, little Lizzy Bingley, Darcy had seen Elizabeth very sparingly over the years, but for some reason his feelings for her had never diminished. Seasons had passed—springs, summers, autumns, winters—yet his feelings were constant: he knew nobody else would ever fill the void in his heart like Elizabeth could.

But of course, he was a fool. He knew he was—and his cousin Fitzwilliam knew it, too.

"Darcy, is that Bingley's wife and sister?" he heard the man ask from behind him, peering out the window over his shoulder. "Why, we should go greet them. I have wondered about the lovely Mrs. Bingley, whom I've not had the pleasure of meeting yet. And I haven't seen Miss Bennet in many a year!"

Darcy knew exactly when the last time Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth had crossed paths, and it was nearly eight years ago. How could Darcy ever forget Hunsford? How could he ever lose the memory of his botched, abysmal proposal?

And the memory of his cousin's pity that very same evening, which was soon turned into admonishment.

“Why would you endeavor to inform the lady of what a degradation it would have been to marry her ?” he had asked incredulously. Darcy had shot him a glare.

“Leave me alone,” he muttered angrily in reply. Fitzwilliam simply scoffed and shook his head.

“I would pity you, cousin, I surely would, except that I can very well imagine the asinine way you might have informed the lady of all the obstacles to the match which you had overcome. And what a foolish move that was, indeed—why, did you expect that your reminder of her low place in society would endear her to you? Did you truly not see where the fault might lie in the act of insulting her family? It is most unbecoming, I must admit, but you always have your way, it seems, and I expect you believed this situation to be no different—”

“Enough,” Darcy interrupted. He turned his back on his cousin and made to leave the room, but the man called after him regardless.

“Darcy, you made a mistake,” he heard Fitzwilliam say as he left the room, “But consider this a good lesson in humility!”

His cousin's chortle followed him out of the room. Of course Fitzwilliam would point out his failure, admonish him for it, and then laugh about it, all in the same breath. Months later, sending for Fitzwilliam to come to Darcy House to deal with Wickham, his cousin was more subdued.

“You've been out of sorts for months,” Fitzwilliam observed dryly as he entered Darcy's study and began to help himself to some port, “I imagine it has to do with the loss of Miss Bennet.”

“I did not send for you in order to converse about a woman.”

“But you did send for me, which is a change. You've been an utter recluse since our return from Rosings.”

“That is beside the matter,” Darcy said dismissively, waving a hand, “It it Wickham.”

That had caught the colonel's attention, and it seemed they would speak of Elizabeth no more—that is, until Darcy insisted on paying Wickham. When Bingley had left the room, Fitzwilliam had narrowed his eyes at Darcy and said, “You're doing all of this for Miss Bennet, aren't you? What are you about, shelling out three thousand pounds to patch up a miserable marriage between this foolish Bennet girl and that scoundrel Wickham—”

“They must be married,” Darcy said sharply, “as the two had clearly been living as man and wife—”

“Then let Bingley do what must be done,” Fitzwilliam said, “as there is no good reason for you to be holding yourself responsible for this mess.”

“I must do it, I owe it to Elizab—Miss Bennet,” Darcy said quietly, in a defeated voice, “It is the very least I can do. She wouldn't have her reputation at risk by this bloody mess if it hadn't been for me and my pride, my being so self-absorbed that I did not see fit to warn the people of Meryton—”

“Oh, bloody hell,” Fitzwilliam interrupted with a shake of his head, “You owe no family, not even the Bennets, any responsibility. Let Bingley be the man who empties his pockets—they are his family, not yours.”

Darcy had no ready reply to this, other than to simply say, “I cannot bear to see Elizabeth unhappy.”

Fitzwilliam gave him a very unimpressed look.

“And her sister marrying this scoundrel, that would make her happy?”

“Her sister being ruined would make her very unhappy, do you not see that?” Darcy snapped, frustrated, “Not to mention, she and the rest of her sisters would be ruined, also!”

Fitzwilliam merely rolled his eyes and then let out a lazy sigh.

“As you wish, Darcy.”

“You shall not tell a soul,” Darcy said warningly, eyeing his cousin, who merely chuckled with a sardonic smile and shook his head.

“You have my word—because to whom would I disclose such a revelation anyway? I do not even know Mrs. Bingley, and I doubt I shall see Miss Bennet ever again. Yes, yes, you have my word.”

And that had been the last they ever spoke of Miss Bennet in so direct of terms, although Darcy knew the man had been wondering about her, especially since he never married their cousin Anne de Bourgh before she died.

But Darcy had little time to dwell on what his cousin may have discerned about his feelings for Elizabeth over these many years—the woman herself had arrived, and Darcy was eager to see her again, as well as her first impression of Pemberley. He wondered just how she might react to Pemberley—how she might feel to know that, of this grand estate, she had once been asked to be mistress.

They went out the front doors, following the servants who were forming a line to greet the newest guests. Bingley was already outside ahead of them, bounding toward the carriage with enthusiasm. This Christmastime house party had not been Darcy's idea at all; it had been Georgiana's, as well as Mrs. Fitzwilliam's. Both women seemed to believe they could introduce Darcy to someone with whom he might fall in love. Little did they understand, Darcy's heart belonged elsewhere, even if he could never have the woman who possessed it.

The carriage slowed to a stop, and he followed Bingley close behind, watching as he handed out his wife, Mrs. Bingley. She was as serene and angelic as she always was, looking very much like an idyllic mother, cradling her newest baby, like how the virgin Mary must have cradled the baby Jesus.

Then Darcy's breath caught as he reached up to hand out the woman herself: Elizabeth Bennet.

She looked as radiant as he remembered: her brown hair up with some curls escaping, her cheeks ruddy, and her eyes fine. Elizabeth looked directly at him as his hand caught hers, and they locked gazes for a mere moment before she pulled her eyes downward while he handed her out of the carriage. Darcy felt a whirlwind of sensation at the momentary touch of their gloved hands, and he quickly stepped back to give her space, bowing slightly and gesturing to Pemberley. Darcy cleared his throat and uttered a quiet welcome to the entire party as the nanny and the other children came out, but before anyone could stop her, the eldest Bingley girl—Darcy's goddaughter—walked directly up to Darcy and tugged on his sleeve.

“Lizzy!” all the adults of the Bingley party simultaneously admonished, but the little girl took no notice.

“Are you Mr. Darcy?” she asked in a serious voice. Darcy couldn't help but smile, and he stayed the nanny's attempts to retrieve the child with a wave of his hand as he knelt down to be eye level with the girl.

“Yes, that is me,” he answered. The little girl nodded but looked at him skeptically. Then she pointed to the estate.

“Is this where you live?” she asked and then, with a more pointed look, “All by yourself?”

Darcy bit back a smile as he heard the groans of the Bingley party adults and Fitzwilliam's guffaw, with Elizabeth's voice cutting a warning, “Lizzy dear, that is impolite—”

He looked up and caught Elizabeth's eye for a moment—she looked embarrassed and sheepish as she shook her head slightly and weakly smiled at him, which made his heart pound ever so slightly harder—but he turned his attention back to the little girl as he said, “Yes, this is where I live. Its name is Pemberley.”

“I know its name!” the little girl said smartly, “and it is much bigger than our home. Our home is called Netherfield Park. Have you seen it?”

“That's enough, Lizzy—go with Nan,” Bingley interrupted, nodding to the nanny who then took the little girl by the hand. But she jerked her hand away.

“I was talking to Mr. Darcy!” she protested with a stamp of her small foot. Elizabeth was there in an instant, knelt down next to the girl, now at eye level alongside Darcy. Darcy raised his eyebrows at Elizabeth, who gave him an apologetic look before looking at Lizzy and saying, “Lizzy, it is time to venture inside the estate. Is it not quite cold? Come, take my hand, and let Mr. Darcy welcome us to his home.”

The little girl relented and took Elizabeth's hand, and Darcy stood up. He heard Elizabeth say, “Isn't Pemberley beautiful, Lizzy? Isn't Mr. Darcy very lucky to live here?”

He caught her eye once more, and this time he found himself giving a small smile before striding forward to lead everyone up the steps to Pemberley's grand front entrance. He was likely more than just a little red-faced, but luckily it was cold and windy out, so he knew nobody would think anything of it. Darcy's heart was beating loudly in his ears at hearing Elizabeth's voice compliment Pemberley, at seeing Elizabeth's smile—directed at him— and at merely being in her presence again. Three years it had been since he had last seen the woman, and yet, it was as if nothing had changed at all—his heart, he knew, was still completely captured.

Everyone followed him into the foyer, and he led them down the hall into the sitting room, where he had a special surprise waiting for Bingley's children.

"Look, Mama, presents!" Lizzy shrieked as she pulled her hand out of Elizabeth's and ran toward the gifts, quickly followed by the two little Bingley boys. Darcy couldn't help but smile at the sight. Bingley put a hand on his shoulder and then said apologetically to his wife, "Jane, I told Darcy, Christmas gift-giving does not start for two weeks, but he would not listen to me!"

All the adults laughed, and Fitzwilliam said, "Darcy lives to spoil the children, don't you know that, Bingley? The permanent bachelor, here—I have come to the conclusion that he won't marry and have children of his own, precisely so he can spoil all of ours!"

His cousin clapped Darcy on the back, and the men all shared a laugh while Mrs. Bingley and Elizabeth shook their heads, though Darcy noticed that Elizabeth seemed to react to Fitzwilliam's statement of Darcy's permanent bachelorhood. If only she could know, he didn't want to remain a bachelor, not in the slightest. Darcy watched her out of the corner of his eye as she sat down and gave her attention to the children opening their presents. Elizabeth called to the youngest, a little dawdling toddler boy.

"Bring your gift to Aunt Bennet, Jack," she said with a grin, "I shall help you unwrap it."

Darcy was in conversation with Bingley and Fitzwilliam, but his eye kept straying to observe Elizabeth as she helped the children open their gifts. The light in her eyes as she opened the presents, the smile on her face from pure enjoyment of watching the children's delight—all of it made Darcy want to give the children with gifts every day. If it pleased Elizabeth, he'd do it a thousand times over. His ear tuned back into the conversation as Bingley said his name.

"Come now, Darcy, are you even listening?" Bingley asked.

Darcy shook his head and looked at him. "I do apologize. I was watching the children open their gifts."

"I was saying to Fitzwilliam, we are due to visit the Thompsons after our stay here in Derbyshire. We haven't been to Yorkshire since Caroline's wedding, if you can believe that."

Neither had Darcy been to Yorkshire since that wedding, either...

June 1813

Morrisfield Estate

Yorkshire

Darcy viewed the crowded room of the Thompson wedding breakfast. Caroline Bingley was Caroline Bingley no more—she was now Mrs. James Thompson, mistress of Morrisfield Estate in Yorkshire. It wasn't beyond a day and a half's journey from Pemberley, so Darcy knew he should attend. It was the least he could do to please Bingley, considering he had avoided heading south to visit his friend at Netherfield for the past many months. Bingley had been thrilled to see him.

"Darcy!" he had said, "You're here! Why—I thank you for coming, on behalf of my sister, of course, but on behalf of myself as well!"

"And on behalf of me," Hurst interjected, acknowledging Darcy with a nod, "Having Caroline live with us has been a trial."

"Hurst," Bingley said with a warning look, "It is her wedding day. What is past is past."

The men visited a while, and Darcy tried, as casually as he might, to address the absence of Mrs. Bingley.

"Did Mrs. Bingley not attend?” he asked in the most nonchalant fashion he could muster. Bingley raised an eyebrow.

“No, Jane's here," he answered, shaking his head and turning to point, "She's just over there, with Elizabeth. She is a little fatigued, so she needed to sit down..."

Darcy barely heard the rest of Bingley's words, his eyes following Bingley's direction and landing on Elizabeth, sitting with Mrs. Bingley whilst holding baby Lizzy. She looked as beautiful as ever, smiling at the babe in her lap, her eyes sparkling and loose strands of hair framing her face. She was as breathtaking as she had always been, and he needed to see her.

"I see my goddaughter," he barely uttered before heading directly to where the ladies were sitting, leaving a befuddled Bingley behind to exchange raised eyebrows with Hurst, who shrugged his shoulders as Darcy walked away.