Chapter 20
F itzwilliam still had not returned to London.
His reply to my letter to him, care of Colonel Forster, assuring him Georgiana’s Season was well underway and that she seemed to be more sure of herself with every immersion in society, had been both short and vague.
He was delighted to hear such news of Georgiana, had never once considered it would be otherwise, and etc.
Were they truly stretching the Season into August, he asked, and if so, the Thames would be reeking.
As to my direct enquiry about George Wickham, he had replied that the man in question would never impose upon us again.
I had not pressed him for news of his return, for he seemed conscious enough of our urgency to see him back in London.
Thus, I was again left with a residual of unease and the requirement to remain in town for my sister’s sake.
It was only upon the arrival of Miss Elizabeth’s second letter that Georgiana and I were given some inkling of the doings of our cousin.
With less hesitation than the first time, my sister read her letter aloud at breakfast. The beginning paragraphs covered much the same territory as that lady’s first letter—droll and engaging observations of young men who trod upon a lady’s slippers while dancing, and the deplorable lack of chairs upon which a person can sit when her legs ache from standing.
The ladies of Longbourn had also begged for more descriptions of my sister’s ball gowns, each of which had to be different, for she would be considered underdressed if she were to appear in something she had already worn.
Only Miss Mary did not pine for this kind of news as much as she did for a list of musical compositions most commonly played in London drawing rooms these days.
And then came a little shock for us.
Lest you begin to believe we are truly dull here, Miss Darcy, I must relate that we have had a few exciting doings of our own in the wilds of Hertfordshire, for who should visit us out of the blue? It was your cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam!
I had met him when I was visiting Mrs Collins in Kent, you recall, and he paid a call on me out of courtesy which was cause for great elation at home.
Allow me to explain that no gentleman coming to sit with us, be he short or tall or even bald and toothless, is other than a boon to Mama.
She is that determined to be rid of us. Yet, sadly for her, we are pleased never to leave, particularly if it means we must marry old Mr Egerton from Hereford who visits Mrs Long every summer.
But, in the case of a dashing Colonel of the Foot Guards, Mama sank into a state as close to awe as I have ever seen.
I myself was very pleased to meet your cousin again, for he is something out of the common way, and I confess to having been quite susceptible to the compliment of his visit.
I was most alarmed, however, to see his careworn expression and that his arm was wrapped tightly in a brace against his chest. He declined my sympathy, however, saying rather ruefully that he had only fallen off his horse, and he would heal soon enough.
Clearly, he did not want us to dote upon him over something as irritating as an injury, and so we asked no more about it.
Georgiana gasped and looked sharply up at me.
“Fell?” she cried. “From a horse? How could he have fallen off a horse?” She then turned to Mrs Annesley and anxiously explained.
“He has never fallen off as long as I have known him. He is an officer; it is his job to ride a horse! And more than that, Nelson is not a jumper. He is built for war and a horse of steady temper, and my cousin would never heedlessly force him over a wall!”
“Perhaps he was not riding Nelson,” I offered weakly. She could not be so easily consoled, and so I said, “Surely, he is not seriously wounded if he is paying calls on the Bennets, can he? However, if he is not back in a week, I will personally fetch him.”
This did not entirely reassure her, and Georgiana again studied her letter. “But she says his face was careworn, which to me must mean he is in great pain.”
“Well, in this you must defer to my experience of our cousin. I have seen his face similarly careworn after a night of heavy drinking. He is with the militia, and they have so little to do other than converge upon a tavern. I am sure he was enlisted to go along for no other reason than to pay for drinks all around.”
“I suppose you are right,” she said, greatly deflated. “I do not suppose we could make our excuses tonight?”
“We can for Mrs Delaney’s soiree, but we cannot decline Lady Felicity’s ball. But what say you, Mrs Annesley? Might we begin to be more selective?”
She agreed to it only provisionally, for if the Countess of Matlock, who had brought Georgiana out, wished her to go everywhere we ought not countermand her.
“Take heart,” I said as much to Georgiana as to myself. “This cannot go on forever. Why do you not go write to your friend? Doing so might raise your spirits a little. Meanwhile, I plan to write to Fitzwilliam and threaten him with my coming to his rescue. That should hasten his return.”
And so I went directly to my study and wrote out an express:
You idiot. Miss Elizabeth Bennet is acquainted with Georgiana and has corresponded with her since her presentation.
You may imagine my sister’s distress upon hearing of your condition.
You had better write immediately, and do not call ME the idiot for not telling you of their friendship, for how could I if you must get yourself shot or sword struck or whatever it is that you have done that has prevented you from returning.
If you are not here in one week’s time, I am going to personally retrieve you.
Did I want an excuse to travel to Meryton?
Yes—no. Absolutely! The thought of it was excruciating, much like having a wound scraped is wholly unbearable, and also painfully tempting.
Perhaps I was the idiot for having forced the connexion between Georgiana and Miss Elizabeth, for even if it was unlikely, I could not now escape the possibility of seeing her again.
My cousin solved this dilemma for me, however, with an express sent two days later.
You are indeed the idiot. Why could you not have mentioned their friendship in your last letter—before I paid a call on the young lady?
I would have thought you had more sense.
If you must be so petulant, I leave a week from Friday, whether I am on a stretcher or not.
Your coming would only serve to make my business here more interesting than I would wish it to be.
So, with slightly abraded spirits, Georgiana and I stepped out again that night—this time to a huge ball given by a storied matron of society, Lady Montiel.
There we met Bingley and his family, just as we had often seen them since returning to London.
In truth, I wished we would not meet them.
This was born of a selfishness of which I was not proud, since seeing Bingley caused a reverberation of guilt within me that was miserable to endure.
Yes, I had discouraged him with regard to Miss Bennet.
I had simply applied a healthy dose of scepticism, pointing out to him how often I had seen him in love and how seldom anything came of it.
Had I also hinted I saw no return of admiration on her part and obliquely mentioned the lady’s general unsuitability?
Yes. The deficiencies of her family and her lack of fortune had weighed heavily against her in my opinion.
Added upon this guilt was the additional shame of looking the other way when his sisters decided he should not be told the lady was visiting London.
I can personally think of nothing worse than the sensation of shame, and so I would meet Bingley with the appearance of good will and friendship, while also cringing against the warmth of his smile, which I did not deserve.
Should I confess to him the change in my opinion and my role in keeping him ignorant of his chance to see Miss Bennet again?
I resolved to do so again and again. But something always seemed to catch me on the brink of it—some impulse to wait and see if he showed some clearer symptom of being truly attached to her.
In this exercise of observing him closely, I saw myself more clearly.
For in seeing so many possibilities in the debutantes of the Season, he seemed to recover from his infatuation, whereas my own only deepened.
It became clearer to me with every incursion into society whom I wanted to see, what conversation I wished to have, and what was the truer direction of my life.
I could not have been tempted to shift my interest to another lady if a gun had been held to my head.
“Are you also thinking that Lady Montiel has been imposed upon by that family, Mr Darcy?”
While I had been deeply engaged in these compelling reflections, Miss Bingley had managed to discover my whereabouts.
Before I noticed, she had sidled up to me to purr into my ear, effectively trapping me against a wall.
I had been irritated to begin with, and I was instantly annoyed at having my train of thought interrupted.
Moreover, I was fatigued with the relentlessness of these social gatherings, anxious for my cousin, required to be constantly vigilant for the sake of my sister, and heartsick besides—all of which erupted in the unconscionable sharpness of my reply.
“There are many here who have their fortunes from trade. Your brother is among them. Perhaps you should consider that he is lucky to be as well-received as he is—just as Mr and Mrs Johnson, to whom I assume you refer—are fortunate to have made the connexion.”
This had been a fair hit. She seemed not to know how to reply to me, since I had simply stated a fact.
And in an impulse reminiscent of my quarrel with Lady Catherine, I rounded on her and said, “Like you, I have been standing here considering this crowd. And it occurs to me that Mr Bennet reads more books in one week than most men in this room read in one lifetime. It speaks to his intelligence, and if I were to have to choose, I believe I would prefer an educated satirist over a man who must admire himself in every mirror he passes.”
I then curtly excused myself and went directly across the room to Lady Montiel to ask for an introduction to Mr and Mrs Johnson.
By making the acquaintance of the objectionable family in question, I was indulging a fit of temper, and I knew it.
My excuse had to be that Miss Bingley had shown me who I so very lately had been, and I did not like it.
In a final stroke of irony, Bingley joined me as I was being introduced, and upon meeting their daughter, Miss Cora Johnson, he was pleased to lead her out onto the floor.
Still seething, I watched him as he led the young lady through the steps.
She was a pretty girl—an uncommonly pretty girl—yet I was wildly relieved I did not have to ask her to dance because she was still so fresh from the nursery.
I was appalled. Had I ever seriously considered taking a wife of seventeen years of age?
I never would again, for I had met a woman who is within striking distance of her majority, and she would not need parenting so much as she would require partnering.
My God , I thought, resisting the strong urge to clutch at my head.
I was so well and truly owned by Elizabeth Bennet she had me on my knees with contrition to even think of dancing with any other lady.
A light touch on my arm brought me up from the depths. “Are you well?” Georgiana asked.
“Yes, why? Was I scowling? Do not pretend I was not. Shall we dance? I believe the next is mine.”
“I would much rather go,” she said quietly. “You are tired, and I am more so. Might we properly leave before the supper dance?”
“Do you not have partners on your card?”
She looked down and said, “Well, I claimed we would likely be leaving after supper for the rout at Claremont.”
“What rout at Claremont?”
“There is not one, I know, only I heard someone mention it is to be held next week. I was hoping that the gentlemen I rejected would be too polite to point out I was merely confused.”
“In that case,” I said, “let us go to this so-called crush just as soon as we may.”