Chapter 32
F itzwilliam’s sudden invigoration was infectious.
I might not have the confidence in the outcome of our plans as he did, but he was right.
We should do what we could to spare Miss Bennet the grief of watching Bingley—oblivious and well-meaning as he was—showing off his intended.
And if I were to make amends in this small way, and in doing so, escort my sister to Hertfordshire and spend any meaningful time in that neighbourhood, I felt compelled to be in better form.
My own hopes had to be set aside meanwhile, and though I did not relish it, I would have to subject myself to a period of uncertainty as to whether Elizabeth’s developing regard could withstand this new reminder of the sins of my past dealings with her family.
“Carsten,” I said the next morning. “I need you to bring young Hammond along. He should be doing the mending and boot polishing and such menial tasks as consume the bulk of your time.”
“Sir?”
“I need you to help me get well. We should start with a walk this morning. Oh, and while I am having my breakfast, bring to me the rest of my mail so we can sort through it. Have two trays sent to my study, will you? I do not enjoy eating alone these days.”
What my cousin had said was true. I found three unopened letters from Bingley—the first mentioning a beauty he had been compelled to follow through the last weeks of the London Season; the second, an ecstatic scrawl announcing he would marry Miss Cora Johnson; and the last a heartfelt plea I would spend a few weeks at Netherfield Park when the hunting began—dates forthcoming, depending on Mr Johnson’s availability—at which time I could meet his bride-to-be and her delightful parents.
By this point, my heart had been so sadly tenderised by the savagery of both love and illness, I replied with uncharacteristic warmth that I had witnessed their introduction, and indeed, Miss Johnson seemed more than just a sweetly mannered beauty.
I was glad, I added, she had done what no other lady could do in securing his settled admiration, for he had become a great nuisance and a heart-breaker besides.
I also let him know I would be travelling with Georgiana to London near that time, and rather than outright accepting, I couched this explanation in the language of good manners, thus leaving the matter open so that he could extend the invitation to include her—which he unquestionably would—upon arriving at a more definite date as to when he would open his house.
As I wrote, I released my resentment towards my friend, who was by nature more malleable than I was, and whose only crime had been to listen to my unsolicited advice and to cause me to feel all the guilt I was due on account of my interference.
In this spirit of absolution, I also forgave myself for my past misdeeds.
I was honestly remorseful—and even a touch superstitious since being struck down by a debilitating fever had seemed severe enough to smack of spiritual retribution.
From the platform of practicality, which was foundational to me, I also had to acknowledge the facts—the plain truth being that what is done is done.
The only remedy clear to me was to make amends and do better, which was now my intent.
In nursing my optimism back to full health, I endlessly replayed the word yes in Elizabeth’s tenderest, most intimate voice.
Had she not written to my sister… if it is truly love then I cannot see how it would be possible to ever fall out of it?
I would soon find out how deep her feelings for me ran.
Meanwhile, Carsten applied himself to my calendar, carving out three full weeks for Hertfordshire, and committing us to a subsequent spell in London before our return to Pemberley for the Festive Season.
In the interim, he filled my days with meetings with my steward, my tenants, my housekeeper, and butler, for I thought it wise to attend to the affairs of my estate after so many months in which my attention had been elsewhere.
Part and parcel to this urge to tie loose ends, I also called for Keller, who arrived hat in hand looking ready for anything.
“Tell the grooms that weather permitting, I plan to ride every day,” I said after greeting him, “and look around for a horse properly sized for Mr Carsten who is to ride with me.”
Carsten, who was by now a fixture in my study, looked up in mild surprise, but his expression then softened into a faint smile when I said, again to the man in charge of my stables, “Speaking of which, how is Mr Carsten’s mule?”
“That animal, sir? He is very good at turning hay into manure.”
“Good. And is he being aired and pastured as much as any horse? I hope he is not lonely.”
“Lonely? He is a mule, sir!”
“But in the company of so many horses he must feel out of place. What say you, Carsten?”
Having caught my sense of mischief, my valet spoke as gravely as if we were considering the matter of an aging, but beloved, member of my household.
“I have been meaning to mention that Mr Williams has a fine, well-cared for pair of mules, sir. Perhaps Trusty might like to return to farm life.”
“Upon my word, sir,” Keller said, “I wish I were fretted over half as much as that ass.”
“I shall ask my sister to knit you a scarf. Meanwhile, see if Mr Carsten’s mule might board at Williams’s farm, but be clear he must be kindly cared for and gently used.”
“Aye, sir, and are we to pay for his fodder and send your farrier to him as well?”
I glanced at Carsten who, ignoring Keller’s sarcasm, shrugged and said, “Make a gift of him if Mr Williams is agreeable, with the caveat that Mr Darcy may wish to borrow him from time to time.”
Keller then turned a sceptical eye upon me as he replied to Carsten, “I should hope he never entertains such a stupid notion again.”
“Clearly you are fond of me, Keller,” I said amiably, “and if I ever decide to rusticate again, I shall consult you first.”
He grunted but with a begrudging goodwill, for he was proud to enjoy such familiarity with me, and excused himself to see to ‘the ass.’
“I am happy for Trusty to be well settled,” Carsten said with a smile to match my own. “What now, Mr Darcy? Should we walk?”
This cycle of work, exercise, and rest became foundational to my recovery, and my strength slowly returned to me.
When at rest, I mused over Fitzwilliam’s plan to be useful to Jane Bennet.
I did not foresee him needlessly raising hopes or trifling with the sister of Georgiana’s dearest friend, but it was a touch perilous to pay particular attention to her while she was in a vulnerable state of disappointment.
He should be careful on two counts. Surely, he knew the lady could be wounded by forming a second unpromising attachment to a gentleman who was only being kind.
But did he know that he could unthinkingly form an attachment to her from only a handful of encounters in the same way I had formed a nonsensical, irrational partiality for her sister?
Not that I would now choose to be sensible, rational, or impartial. Having been so reckless as to give my heart away had grown a humanity within me with which I could not now part.
“Might I bring you anything, Mr Darcy?”
I looked up to see Mr Parker, and then, blinking and looking around to wake up from my spell of rumination, I realised two things: I had been sitting at the breakfast table far longer than usual, and I should not forestall the next step in the execution of my plans any longer.
“I believe I should visit my sister this morning,” I said to no purpose really, and standing from the table at last so the dishes could be cleared, I went upstairs.
“How are you faring this morning? The days are much cooler,” I remarked as I entered Georgiana’s room and sat in my designated chair.
“I confess I enjoy it,” she said, wrapping her fingers around her warm cup of chocolate.
In this gesture, she so palpably reminded me of my mother that I sat at a loss for words for a moment, until she roused me from my abstraction by saying, “What should we do today? Might we go to the village? Mrs Reynolds and I have gone through the closets, and I have linens for the poor box.”
I agreed to go and then I said, “Listen, Georgie. There is something you should know. Bingley has invited us to Netherfield Park in October. Would you like to visit your friend?”
“Like it?” she cried. “I cannot think of anything better. I shall write to Elizabeth this instant.”
I paused before speaking much more carefully than I had begun. “But first you should know the reason we are invited. Bingley is to marry a young lady named Cora Johnson.”
“Is he? I may have met her. She is pretty, I think.”
“The case is, we have a bit of a problem to consider. You see, your friend’s elder sister caught Bingley’s eye last year, and he paid her a great deal too much attention.
It is possible she does not yet know he is to bring his betrothed to Meryton, and in any event, it might be awkward for the Bennet family. ”
“Oh no,” she said mournfully. “She will be so embarrassed. Did Miss Bennet like him?” And then, speaking more to herself than to me, she said, “Elizabeth hinted to me that her sister had some cause for romantic disappointment last year.”
“If she did have feelings for Bingley, she was fairly circumspect about her partiality. Unfortunately, her mother was not, however, and she spoke liberally in the neighbourhood of her expectations for a match.”
Georgiana put her hand to her forehead for she was not insensitive to the situation and said, almost despairingly, “What should we do?”
“There is little we can do but make ourselves useful howsoever we may, but might you gently mention the matter when you write so that they do not have to hear it first from the servants, or worse, from the local gossips?”
“Surely, they know already.”