Chapter 21
CHAPTER 21
Now that they were miles from Milton Hall, Darcy felt his heart rate slow. He had controlled his temper as best he could since he left for Peterborough. But knowing that he was right to remove Edward from Milton, knowing that the law was on his side, was not a comfort. That had only made a dreadful confrontation more endurable. All he could think on was Elizabeth’s despair as she feared her son was lost to her forever.
There was also the sense that something else had happened before he arrived. He felt it in the air and saw it in Elizabeth’s eyes. He noticed Milton’s disdainful looks and Elizabeth’s abject hopelessness. Milton’s true purpose for taking the baby, whatever it was, must have been nefarious.
He would never say so aloud, but Elizabeth looked terrible. As he watched her from across the carriage, it was plain she had not slept. Her eyes were swollen from crying and her voice was raspy, hinting that she had been yelling. She had not brushed her hair, and she had worn the same gown for days. If not for her loving, steadfast gaze on her infant, he would have feared something had broken inside her mind after what she had endured before he could get to her .
He wanted to talk with her, but her child’s whimpers had grown to full-on wails. It was incredible that so tiny a creature could make such a plaintive sound.
“At the next stage, will you change places with Becky?” she asked.
He blinked, affronted. “What on earth for?” Did she dislike him so much that she could not endure a carriage ride with him?
Elizabeth leant her head back against the seat and grimaced as though in pain. “Travelling with an infant is fraught with trials. He is distressed and hungry.”
Darcy stared in complete confusion, and Elizabeth huffed in frustration. “I have to feed the baby, and I am trying to spare your masculine sensibilities.”
Comprehension slowly dawned. “Oh.” It was another half an hour before they could change the horses. “Would you be more at ease if I were gone?”
“I don’t care,” Elizabeth said wearily. “I was concerned for your sake, not mine.”
He shook his head over it. “Feed him now. Don’t make him wait on my account.”
He shifted and looked out the side glass, determinedly keeping his gaze on the bleak November landscape. He heard her shifting around and, suddenly, the crying stopped.
“I had been in Portsmouth and then London until yesterday,” he said a few minutes later, “which is why I am only here now.” He explained how he had found the clerk’s widow and searched her papers and discovered the signed and witnessed will. “There were dozens of other documents belonging to officers and soldiers who died in Spain. Their relatives must not have known where to claim them. I will hire an attorney to look through them and find their families.”
It was silent for a while before she said, “He did write a will. He left Edward to me alone.”
“Of course he did,” Darcy said quietly, still looking out the window. “He waited until the last possible moment, like always, but he took care of you and Edward as best he could. ”
“Why do you think Fitzwilliam waited so long to write a will ensuring that I could keep our son?” she asked, her voice scarcely above a whisper. “I never doubted Fitzwilliam loved me, young and impulsive as we were to marry when we did. But I came so close to losing Edward because of this.”
“He had no way of knowing that would happen.” Darcy ached to have the right to put an arm around her. “I defy even Fitzwilliam to have known what indignities his brother was capable of. As for why? He procrastinated with nearly everything, but that does not mean he was not devoted to you. Even the people we love most possess human frailties.”
She was silent for a long while before saying, “I am so grateful you came.”
“Never thank me for that,” he said, turning to look at her and forgetting that he was trying to give her as much privacy as possible. However, she did not look embarrassed when their eyes met. He was the one who felt embarrassed at seeing such an intimate act, and it was his discomfort to get over.
“I did not know what you could do,” she said, looking back down at the baby, “and it was weak of me to send for you since, at the time, I knew there was nothing to be done. The law was not on my side, after all. I just, I just wanted you to know.”
She thought it was weakness to turn to a friend in a time of need? Was it because he was a man, or because he loved her? Darcy sighed. Why did it have to be an “or”? It was probably all of those reasons.
“You can always rely on me,” he said firmly. He wished she would trust him more. “I am only sorry you had to endure a single moment of torment at Milton’s hands.”
She made no reply, but he had not really expected one. “At the next stage,” he said later, “we must decide where to go: continue west to Leicester or north to Pemberley.” She looked at him in surprise. “You are welcome to visit with us for a while.”
He wanted to bring her home and care for her, but he could never presume. Elizabeth had made it clear that she valued what little independence she had more than she valued whatever he could offer her. That made it even more important she never learn where that money had come from.
“I must return home,” she whispered.
“You prefer Miss Lucas’s company to mine?” The bitterness in his voice was unbecoming, but he felt so frustrated with her he could hardly hide it. “Even if you do not love me or want to marry me, you can depend on my and my sister’s friendship, especially after what you endured at the hands of my family.”
“Oh, Darcy.” Her voice choked with emotion. “Charlotte is gone, and I never want to see her again. Charlotte was the one who wrote to Lord Milton! She told him where I was and that I had a boy. She sent for him and told him I would give him Edward as long as I could stay near to him.”
He felt his jaw drop, but after the shock of it faded, he could understand Miss Lucas’s reasoning. After all she had said to him when they spoke in Leicester, it should not amaze him that she thought turning to a wealthy son of an earl the best way to guarantee her friend’s well-being.
“How could she have done that?” Elizabeth went on, her voice a mixture of confusion and sadness. “What a betrayal, and from one woman to another. She is usually the voice of reason.”
“Was she not, at least as how she saw it?”
“How do you mean?” she asked as she shifted her son from one side to the other. Darcy averted his eyes. He could say “pregnant” aloud, but perhaps Elizabeth was right about his masculine sensibilities after all.
“A woman needs stability and position,” he said, “for herself and her children. And in our world, shameful as it often is, the way a woman gets that is through her connexions to men. Miss Lucas was misguided—and I do think she was wrong—but she tried to ensure you had that security.”
“But at what cost?”
True. Miss Lucas’s choice cost her Elizabeth’s friendship and her respect. The cost to Elizabeth for that security would have been access to her son, something she could never have tolerated. Darcy would never betray her confidence and friendship like that, but he understood the desire to help her.
He forced himself into a little cheerfulness. “Georgiana would love to see you and meet Edward. She bought baskets full of infant things she wished to give you in October. Will you stay with us for a few weeks? When we go to town in January, we can return you to Leicester on our way, or even to town if you want the Bingleys to meet you.”
“No.” The refusal came almost before he finished speaking. “I am determined to live on my own, now that I have the means to do it. You have done more than enough for us by finding my husband’s will.”
“You do not have to be alone to have control over your own life, to have peace.” He understood her reasoning, but he hardly agreed with it. “You are still in charge of your own life and your own child, even if you spend Christmas with your friends.”
“Thank you for all you have done for us, but I must return to my home.”
“Will your stubborn pride be a comfort to you when you are there all alone?” Keeping his bitterness of spirit from his tone was now impossible.
“Pride?” she cried, startling the baby. After closing her gown and shifting him to her shoulder, she said, “What pride do I have left? You heard what Lord Milton said about me, what I would endure if it meant I could stay with Edward.”
A sense of dread filled his heart. “I assumed he was lying to taunt me and shame you.”
“Oh, I suspect that was true,” she said darkly. “But I would have agreed to his plot, even if it was in the hopes of escaping with Edward before it came to fruition.”
Part of him did not want to know the scheme. It would be awful, and he did not even want to ask her. But more than that, he did not want Elizabeth to endure another burden on her own. “Tell me.”
“He wants a son, one of his own blood, and since his wife is incapable, he thought I would be a willing and able substitute. I had delivered a healthy boy and, as he implied, I am tolerably pretty, so it would not be an undue hardship for him to use my body.”
“He would return Edward if you consented to…” It was too alarming to say. “After you gave him a son?”
He felt possessed by a fury he had never known himself capable of. How had Milton even considered such a vile scheme, something so lacking in all decency? If he had any notion his cousin could condone such cruelty, he would never have even brought Elizabeth to plead her case last summer.
“It was the most demeaning moment of my life,” she said harshly, “and you know how I had to live in Spain. Lizzy Bennet would never have sacrificed herself to stupidity, vulgarity, or dishonour for a man who did not love and esteem her, but…”
“But Elizabeth Fitzwilliam is a mother.”
She nodded, rubbing circles on the tiny infant’s back. “I am not ashamed of what I would do to keep him. But I am angry that I had to make that choice.”
“No one with any sense would fault you—all the blame falls to Milton—but there is always a choice.”
“What a thing for a man to say.”
He was quiet for a moment. He supposed she was right. “It is no surprise that the flesh and fibres should continue trembling, long after the mental sense of an injury is gone. But I still say you have a great deal of pride and stubbornness. To be honest, those are not necessarily failings in my mind. But as your friend, I want to ease your suffering, and I hate the idea of you spending Christmas alone.”
She shook her head. “Thank you, but I will spend Christmas in my own home.”
There was no convincing her to trust him or love him. He would speak his mind one last time and then return to Pemberley.
Darcy leant forward in his seat. “I have had to take a hard look at the sense of my own pride this year, about what is proper and improper, as well as my self-worth compared to how I see others. And after what you have endured, independence is all you want, above all else. I am glad that you have it, even if your pride in that self-reliance induces you to shun my notice.”
He watched the colour drain from her face as the carriage slowed. He might have said, “shun my love” but there was no need to mention that. She did not want him. Or, rather, she wanted her independence more.
They were now approaching the next coaching inn. “I will ride in the other carriage, and Miss Adkins can sit with you. My coach will return you to Leicester.”
He stepped down and turned back to look at her. “Vulnerability is not weakness, Elizabeth. There is strength in asking for help, and in not being alone. I regret deeply that you cannot trust me. Please, at the least, accept my best wishes for your health and happiness.”
He hastily shut the door and hailed the other carriage, knowing he would never approach Elizabeth again.
Despite the disturbing events in Peterborough, it did not take long for the household in Castle Street to fall into a routine. For the fortnight since Darcy had rescued them, Elizabeth had kept to the typical daily schedule with Edward, maintained her small family, and written replies to her friends.
She had little intermission of her solitude on her son’s account and on her knowing few people in the city. But she wrote to her sister to make plans to visit at Easter and to be there for the arrival of Jane’s baby. The Gardiners said they were returning to the Lakes next summer and would visit Leicester on their way.
Her mother hated Elizabeth’s choice to live on her own and had told her to return to Longbourn. She also wanted her married again as soon as possible, so it was best Elizabeth was not close enough for daily visits. Even Jane had hinted that having her mother nearby was a strain .
Elizabeth crossed the drawing room to look out the window again, although the view was narrow and unimpressive. She felt languid and solitary. She was never the sort to be melancholy, with tears flowing and feeling sorry for herself. Her mother said she might feel low because of the baby, but Edward was nearly three months old and she felt comfortable in her role, especially now that he slept for a little longer.
However, since parting from Darcy, she felt too much overpowered for anything but solitude.
Why not just admit that I miss Darcy? Now that she was recovered from nearly losing Edward and not merely surviving between feedings, she had time to reflect. Darcy’s words before he parted from her were still fresh in her mind.
Had she been prideful and absurd? Charlotte had even hinted at the same, little though she wanted to credit anything her former friend had said. Elizabeth had never thought of herself as proud. She had no anxious feelings over the admiration of others. Pride was a high opinion of one’s self and an affected contempt of others.
She just needed to be beholden to no one, as Darcy had said.
Was it not excessively important that she be on her own after all she had suffered due to others’ neglect? Was it not right to have a little pride in being able to live with no man’s help, even if it meant she would be alone?
I chose to be alone, so I had best get accustomed to it.
But what if she had chosen Darcy? Had she made a ridiculous mistake? Had she been sensible, as any woman who suffered would be, or stupid for throwing away a second chance at love?
Her first duty was to Edward, then to her own happiness. She thought that providing for them both on her own would answer for all her wishes. Thanks to the recovery of her husband’s money and will, she could do that. She never had to rely on anyone else ever again.
But now she wished she had been brave enough to trust Darcy with her heart and her future. It was unrealistic of her, too extreme, to expect to never rely on anyone again. She had stubbornly clung to her assumption that all men would disappoint her, even in the face of Darcy’s continued patience and loyalty.
What happiness could she and Darcy have if their hearts were united? She had assumed it was too great a risk, but had she been wrong?
It was not as though Darcy was not a man of character or one who did not value a woman’s voice. He had listened to her when she said Mrs Younge was not the right companion for Georgiana, and again when she suggested he tell his sister about the wicked nature of the man pursuing her. He had even sought her counsel when Georgiana was in Ramsgate.
Darcy had given his sister choices and acted in her best interest, and he had taken her advice, a woman’s advice, to do it.
He would not take her income from her. He would provide for her and Pemberley as carefully as he always had. Neglecting her or their families’ welfare would be incomprehensible to him. He would raise her son like his own. Darcy would love her ardently, and that careful way he managed and regulated the flame of his affection would finally lose all delicate control and consume her.
All the grief and anger that had filled her heart was gone, now replaced by regret. She had refused the best man she had ever known, and all because of old fears, wilfulness, and pride.
And worst of all, she had hurt him. Because she was unwilling to trust, unwilling to rely on anyone, she had lost Darcy forever and broken his heart.
“I cannot go on like this,” she whispered. But what could she do?
“Like what, ma’am?” Rebeckah asked, bending over the fireplace to build up the fire.
She had not heard Rebeckah enter. Elizabeth knew she blushed, but at least her face was still to the window.
“I was just considering the lives of women.” She collected herself and sat at the table with her writing box. “What power do women have to make lives of our own? Unless she has money of her own, she must align herself with men who can create a safe life for her and her children.” And even then, that money would have been given by a father or a husband. “I resent it deeply.”
“Well, I have seen little of marriage that interests me, but I suspect it depends on the man you align yourself with.” Now that the fire burnt brighter, Rebeckah took a spill from the vase to light the candles around the room. “Will he give you money of your own? Will he hit you? Will he let you raise your children? Is he a gamester? Is he faithful? Will he leave his wealth to someone else?”
“Be sure to know the answer to those questions before you agree to a proposal,” Elizabeth said, “because there is no recourse for you after.”
“Forgive me for asking, but your husband was a good man, was he not?”
“Oh, yes.” She had not meant to imply otherwise. In fact, now that she had Fitzwilliam’s will, she had more proof that she had made a good choice after all. Did that mean she had the sense to make a second good choice of a husband? “He could charm a room with a word, but he never set out to win people. They were just drawn to his ready conversation. He had a genuine interest in people. He was patient, amiable, and loved to laugh. If Edward grew up to be like him, I would be delighted.”
Rebeckah nodded as she tossed the used spill into the fire. “I was afraid of your friend Mr Darcy, at first.”
“Of Mr Darcy?” she repeated. “Why? He is the most generous, honourable man I have ever known.”
It pressed so hard on her heart that she had refused the man best suited to make her happy that her breath caught.
“He was outraged when I told him about your baby being taken. I guess I did not have to go in person after all,” she said with a chuckle. “I thought he might throw things or hit someone as he mustered everyone to go after you, but he never did. And then I thought he was just that stern and sharp all the time. Probably likes to have his own way, if you will give me leave to say.”
“As do we all,” she murmured.
“I did not realise until we were there that he was just afraid for you, ma’am. Oh, he was angry, but I doubt that is his true nature. I thought he might have challenged that lordship to a duel if he did not hand over Master Edward.” Rebeckah laughed.
Darcy had taken on so much for her, even challenging his own powerful family. He loved her; she had every reason to trust him, and she had refused him because she was too afraid and proud to accept everything he offered.
Elizabeth could not affect cheerfulness, let alone conversation, and Rebeckah curtseyed and left.
When the door shut, Elizabeth held her head in her hands. Fear, obstinance, and mistaken pride had cost her Darcy’s affection. Her fears may have been justified when she was concerned about her future in a vague sense, and the memories of Spain cast a long shadow, but she could have trusted Darcy.
She grew absolutely ashamed of herself.
I actually refused a man who loved me, who would have devoted himself to me and my child. What was she to do now? She had mourned her husband’s death and their short time together; she mourned her own disillusionment with men and the world, and her place in it, and now she had to fully mourn Darcy’s loss. But Darcy was not dead and gone. Did she have any reason to hope that he would renew his addresses?
Darcy had said he understood her fears, her need for independence, but could he forgive her for refusing him?
Elizabeth reached to her writing box for Georgiana’s latest letter. She could reply to Georgiana, mention her brother’s invitation, and ask if she and Edward could come for Christmas after all. It was more cowardly than writing to Darcy directly, but simply going to Pemberley might be as brave as she could be.
She had been so eager to depend on no man that she spurned the one who loved her and her son, and now here she was about to throw herself in Darcy’s way. No one could accuse her of undue pride now.
Georgiana’s reply had come two days later, an enthusiastic response telling her she would love for her to come to Pemberley, how she eagerly wanted to see Edward, and that she had a great pile of baby things to give her. There was no word on what her brother thought, but he must have given his permission. It was customary to arrive a day or two before Christmas, but the letter had been so welcoming that perhaps they would not mind if she arrived a fortnight earlier?
At least, that was what Elizabeth told herself as she sat in the carriage with Edward and Rebeckah. Rebeckah held Edward to the window to see the passing landscape as they left Leicestershire behind and entered Derbyshire. It occurred to her that when she returned to Darcy’s parish, she could claim her next pension payment, but her true independence came from the income off the five thousand pounds recovered from the Portsmouth bank.
As they rode along, she remembered what Charlotte had said about that money, provoking her about where it came from, implying it was charity. It was a way to hurt her, although she did not understand it. An attorney for the bank had traced her from Pemberley after her husband’s funds were recovered.
Darcy had always said its recovery was unlikely, and now that she thought on it, she believed he had been right. How did a bank that failed months before and had long stopped its payments recover five thousand pounds to remunerate her?
“Oh my God,” she whispered.
Darcy had done it. He had, to be sure, done much—she was ashamed to think how much. He must have immediately traced her to Leicester, and then discovered Charlotte, for Elizabeth had been abed with the baby the entire time. He had given her the one thing she had desperately wanted—the ability to live a life reliant on no one—and arranged for it all to be established for her in secret.
Everything he had done for her had to be placed to his attachment to her. She was exceedingly distressed. She was feeling agitated, happy, embarrassed, grateful.
It was impossible to think on anything else for the rest of the ride. The likelihood of Darcy secretly giving her the money to live on threw Elizabeth into a flutter of spirits, in which it was difficult to determine whether pleasure or pain bore the greatest share.
Could any affection and confidence subsist now between Darcy and herself? If she threw herself in his way, would he even renew his addresses? He had made it so she would never have to rely on a husband again. At the least she could now thank him for preserving her independence. He would not want her thanks, but she could not rest until she gave it.