Day 2
Solitude was in short supply at the parsonage, her new brother believing silence leads to an idle mind, and an idle mind leads to sin of the greatest kind.
So, Elizabeth often walked out as the servants were rising, to seek a respite from her sister’s new circumstances, and the anticipated months of Mr. Collins’s company.
She had a particular path which gave her great pleasure, and when she came around a bend was surprised to discover Mr. Fitzroy.
Standing on the pathway not far from where she had found him only twenty-four hours previous, he seemed to have rallied overnight, his appearance markedly improved. Well, that is not entirely true. He is very handsome. That hasn’t changed.
“Good morning, sir. I did not expect to come across anyone on my morning ramble, let alone you. Should you be out so soon after your injury?”
He started at the sound of her voice, seeming to have been lost in thought. “Good morning. Yes, I feel almost myself, save for a slight headache. I have always believed the best form of medicine is brisk exercise in the fresh air.”
She smiled up at him. “Then we are in accord, as that is my belief as well.”
“I am not one to sit by as the world moves around me. And you? It is quite early to be taking a turn in the park…alone.”
“I suppose. But, I find the early morning is the only time I am able to hear my own thoughts.”
They strolled along in silence, Elizabeth glancing at him occasionally.
His dark hair, perfectly in place, save an errant curl falling across his brow; his fine form filling out his expensive attire in a most admirable way.
She wondered at this handsome man. Where did he reside?
Had he contacted his people? Maybe even his wife?
She felt herself blush when his words interrupted her musings.
“I am grateful for your sister and Mr. Collins offering me refuge. It is a kindness I will repay when I am able.”
“Jane is all that is kind and good. She cannot stand to see harm come to anything, let alone anyone.”
“I believe it is a family trait then. For I would be remiss to not acknowledge you as my preserver.” He made a quick bow. “I offer my thanks and gratitude, Miss Bennet.”
“Please, pay no mind. It was nothing.”
“Nothing? Miss Elizabeth, I am certain you had not ventured out in hopes of finding an unconscious man in the woods. A lesser woman would have called for her salts and fallen in the path beside me.”
A peel of laughter echoed through the woods as they continued on, only to come upon the spot of discovery.
“This is where I found you.”
He stopped, inspecting the area for any sign of the cause. “And you saw nothing out of place? Heard no one?”
“None. Nothing looked suspect—other than, of course, a man prostrate and bleeding. There were hoof prints nearby, but no horse.”
“Where is Ulysses?”
“The groom from Rosings reported a saddled horse had been found roaming the back pasture. We determined he was yours.”
“And he is still there?”
“I believe they have him safely stabled at Rosings.” After a breath, she said, “In truth, I feared you had been descended upon by horse thieves.” Her voice shook at the possibility. “Jane has said a gypsy camp has set up on the other end of the village. What if they accosted you?”
He grinned. “It is not common practice for gypsies to accost a gentleman. They are well aware of the repercussions toward harming a person such as myself. And my purse and watch were still found on my person.” He rubbed his chin, glancing at her.
“No, I believe it might be happenstance which will never have a solution.”
“As long as you are well, sir…”
“Yes, I am well.”
“Then I believe you have the right of it.”
“Yes. Let us occupy our mind with more pleasant topics.”
And they did. He asked her about her family and home, her favorite music and plays, and they found they had similar interests and ideas. It was when they were almost returned to the parsonage when he posed a surprising question.
“Pray. What do you know of Mrs. Wickham? She seems a woman of tender age.” His tone bespoke a tension she could not place
“She is a sweet young lady,” Elizabeth said, observing the groundsmen at Rosings raking the gravel. “She has a kind heart and is extremely reserved.”
“Quite. She seemed reticent in company at the parsonage.”
“Yes. But, in the company of us ladies, she is much more talkative.”
“Pardon me for saying so, but she seems quite young to be married and the mistress of such a large estate.”
Elizabeth looked at him sharply, then eased. “That’s right. You were schoolmates with Mr. Wickham at Cambridge. That must be how you know of Pemberley.”
“Everyone is aware of other’s estates and holdings while at university. It is how one makes connections and alliances—lends to the pecking order, I suppose. And, if I remember correctly, Mr. Wickham’s father was not gentry. Am I mistaken in that he was the steward of Mr. Darcy’s estates?”
“From what I understand, that is correct.”
“I do not remember him being so elevated as to marry someone of Mrs. Wickham’s standing and I am intrigued by his fortuitous match.”
They had been making their way past the pond, and Elizabeth took a moment to choose her words carefully.
She brushed a wisp of hair away from her face.
“It is not my place to say, sir, but as you are acquainted with him, I will divulge what little I know. Several years ago, Mrs. Darcy died giving birth to a son, after which Mr. Darcy became unwell, pining the loss of his wife. Eventually, he too deteriorated and passed a little over a year ago. In his will, he left my friend into the care of her uncle, the Earl of Matlock.”
That recently? She noticed the muscles in Mr. Fitzroy’s jaw tighten before he asked quietly, “And the earl approved of her marriage to the steward’s son?”
She looked at him with a raised brow, surprised at his direct enquiry. “As I understand from Mrs. Wickham herself, her husband was a favorite of her father’s and close friends with her cousin, Viscount Wenton.”
“And Richard? Where is he?”
“Who?”
“Her cousin. Alfred’s younger brother. Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam.”
“I have no knowledge of that gentleman, sir. Mrs. Wickham has never spoken of him.”
His brow furrowed, and then he pressed on. “And what of the uncle, the earl?”
“I understood Mr. Wickham and the earl have since had a falling out. But I know no more of the particulars.”
He breathed deeply before he asked, “And is she happy?”
Elizabeth was taken aback by his presumption, and Darcy appeared to check himself. “I apologize, Miss Bennet, for my impertinence. It is just that I saw so little joy in Mrs. Wickham’s countenance.”
“Oh, but Mrs. Wickham has great compassion and emotion…that is hidden in company. She has become a friend these last weeks of our acquaintance, and I am grateful our paths have crossed.”
“Yes. I am certain you would treat her as one of your own sisters. The kindness and patience you give to your younger three does you credit.”
Elizabeth stopped walking and faced him, an unease bordering on agitation flowing through her. “Mr. Fitzroy. I am still unclear how you know of my sisters, yet you cannot seem to remember parts of your own life. This is highly irregular.”
His hands clasped behind his back and a small crease formed on his forehead. “Forgive me. Things just come to me, as if I know them, even though I should not. If I remember correctly…there was a young man in a class on agricultural management at Cambridge…a Mr. Lucas?”
“Charlotte’s brother?”
“Yes!” he exclaimed. “He had a sister, and often spoke of her friends, the Bennets, and their estate.”
“Really? Harold Lucas spoke of us?” At his nod, she asked, “Have you ever been to Hertfordshire?”
“Yes. Yes, I have. I visited Hertfordshire with a friend, and we met many of the local families, including Sir William Lucas, and met again with Mr. Lucas during a shooting party.”
“Oh, Mr. Fitzroy. That makes me quite at ease. I was confused at you knowing so much of the people of Meryton. It is a wonder we did not meet. Maybe Jane and I were visiting our aunt and uncle in Town?”
“Possibly.”
He was grateful he had attended to the ramblings of Sir William Lucas when he and Bingley had been at Netherfield.
The minimal information I recall about his son and estate are beneficial to my ruse.
Although disguise of every sort is my abhorrence, in cases as these, it is necessary.
He had to encourage her to share what she knew about Georgie.
It grieved him his sister was merely across the park, and he could not go to her.
“Knowing of Wickham as I once did, it seems perverse he married someone so elevated. Someone so far above his station. And innocent.” He kept his words light, hoping Elizabeth did not sense his eagerness.
She paused, as if lost for the right words. “Yes, I see what you mean. Mrs. Wickham is full young.”
“I remember meeting her parents when I was a boy,” he said with little thought.
“You do?”
“Yes,” he stammered as he looked away. “I remember small glimpses of my life, including a visit to Pemberley. Her father was very gentlemanly, and her mother all that was lovely. Or so that is how my mother always described her.”
Elizabeth looked curiously at him.
“How long have they been married?” he asked, tugging at his sleeves.
“I believe it has been almost twelve months.”
“Twelve months? Did she even have a Season? I do not remember her ball.”
“I do not believe she had a ball. She was only fifteen when they wed?”
He choked back his words. Fifteen? How could Richard allow it?
He attempted to hide the agitation in his manners, but his breathing increased, and his words came out clipped.
“And she and Mr. Wickham? Are they on holiday at Rosings? How fortunate she has been able to make yours and your sister’s acquaintance.”
“Oh, we are the fortunate ones. But they are not here on holiday. They live at Rosings Park most of the year.”