Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
The night after her terrible episode, Georgiana visited Elizabeth in her room just before she went to sleep.
In faltering tones, she expressed her heartfelt gratitude for Elizabeth’s swift intervention by the lake, and for disclosing such painful memories to her brother, who had revealed them to her.
Wordlessly, Elizabeth embraced her young friend.
The word Wickham did not pass the lips of either of them; instead, they spoke of many other things—of their hopes and fears, of friendship, and of strength.
Their shared experiences flowed through one another, binding them together.
When at last they had exhausted all topics of conversation, the hour was late, and Elizabeth suggested Georgiana stay with her. They lay next to each other under the cover, just as Elizabeth had done with Jane when she was a child.
“How I wish we really were family,” whispered Georgiana as she closed her eyes.
Elizabeth said nothing, not knowing how to reply in a way that adequately conveyed her feelings. Reaching over, she kissed Georgiana’s forehead. “Sleep well, dearest, for I shall be with you.”
Over the next few days, Elizabeth and Mr Darcy eased into an uncertain pattern.
Neither sought each other out, yet both seemed to know where the other was in the room.
He was always very quiet around her, and she longed to tease him as she had before.
She had never considered herself to be shy, but whenever she was in his presence, her tongue appeared to be stuck to the roof of her mouth.
Had she ever felt this way before? The image of Colonel Fitzwilliam flitted through her mind.
Flattery and flirtation. Those were the two words that came to her whenever she thought of him.
For years, she had been so fixed on how the colonel had rescued her that she had never considered how chivalry might take other forms. Any man might pull an attacker off a defenceless woman, but would all men seek to intervene in the life of a vulnerable servant?
Would all men care for their fallen sister as diligently as Mr Darcy?
Regret tore through her body as she recalled every instance where she had believed him uncaring.
There was no doubt in her mind that he was in possession of a noble heart, one that he kept concealed from the world and she was only just beginning to value.
“I have received a letter from Fitzwilliam,” Mr Darcy announced one morning. “He hopes to come to Pemberley two days from now.”
Lady Acaster stared pointedly at Elizabeth. “Well, that is welcome news.”
Cheeks warm, Elizabeth asked quietly, “How long do you think he will stay?”
With a rueful smile, Mr Darcy answered, “Now that his brother’s affairs are in better order, I should imagine he will be eager to stay for as long as he can be spared.”
Georgiana brightened and sought out Elizabeth, looking at her with a beaming smile. “I am sure you will be glad to see him again!”
All eyes were upon Elizabeth, and she felt the weight of every gaze. She smiled weakly. “His arrival will be anticipated by the whole household, I am sure.”
Fitzwilliam’s return to Pemberley was very different to his arrival four months ago.
He turned up the drive just before noon in his father’s barouche, pulled by two of Lord Matlock’s finest bays.
Darcy stood on the perron watching him descend, noting the gaunt lines in his cousin’s face and thinking of how steadfastly he had attended his brother’s bedside.
The ordeal of watching Callan die has changed him.
Whatever Darcy’s feelings were regarding his cousin’s treatment of Elizabeth, he could not deny that Fitzwilliam had been a support to his family.
In that quarter, he acquitted himself well.
“I am very glad to see you, Darcy.” Fitzwilliam’s once-tanned face looked several shades paler than when he was last at Pemberley. “Much as I respect my father, I am grateful for a change of scenery.”
“How fares Lord Matlock?”
“A little better.” Tenderness filled Fitzwilliam’s eyes when he spoke of his bereaved parent. “Although his grief is still horribly fresh.”
“Naturally,” said Darcy gently. “Your brother’s death is recent, and many of his affairs have been in disarray, which will surely have worsened your father’s distress.”
The colonel gave a bitter laugh. “Let us go to your study, and I shall tell you every sordid detail.”
“You do not wish to greet Georgiana or Miss Bennet first?”
Colour rose to his cousin’s cheeks. “I hoped to change first. The ride was warm, and I am in desperate need of a clean shirt.”
Darcy sensed a desire in Fitzwilliam to avoid this meeting, but he said nothing. There would be plenty of time for the colonel to become reacquainted with Elizabeth, and Darcy could not bring himself to push his cousin too firmly in her direction.
Once in Darcy’s study, a glass of brandy in hand, Fitzwilliam’s spirits appeared lifted, and he seemed more like the good-natured raconteur of old.
“Imagine being the luckless soul to inform Lord Matlock that my brother had an outstanding bill for two hundred bottles of The Berry Brothers’ finest wine,” he grumbled. “I almost heard him mocking me from beyond the grave.”
“What was your father’s opinion of this news?”
“Given that he had just learnt of Callan’s significant debts in virtually every gambling den or bawdy house in Covent Garden, he was somewhat resigned to its acceptance.”
Darcy made a sympathetic noise. “It appears that you and your father have become closer throughout all this,” he ventured.
Fitzwilliam fell silent. “Painful as it is to admit, I believe that the discovery of Callan’s vices has changed my father’s view of his eldest son. It has been left to me to pick up the pieces of his disappointed heart and take up the mantle of favoured child.”
“You appear to be excelling in your new role.” Darcy regarded his cousin carefully. “Being the heir to an estate and title is an honour, but it is not without its difficulties. You must come to me if you are in need of any advice regarding your future.”
“That is very generous. I had no idea there was so much to learn. Once, I believed that fixed bayonets were the most fearsome words a man could hear. Now I know them to be ledgers and accounts.”
Darcy suppressed a smile. “Your father is still alive. There is time yet to learn from him.” He paused. “Have you heard from Lord Bellingford regarding his daughter?”
Fitzwilliam raised a brow. “I can guess the direction of your thoughts. You are doubtlessly remembering how frantically I paced about this very study, adamant that I should choose my own bride and would not marry a maiden intended for my brother.”
“And now?”
Fitzwilliam sighed. “Now I think not of myself but of my father. For too many years, we lived our lives estranged, and we have recently reached a point where he comes to me for counsel. Our bond is nascent, but it is forged in adversity, and I believe it is stronger for it. To marry a woman that he did not approve of might cause a rift, and I find myself reluctant to go against his wishes.”
“Since Callan’s death, has Lord Matlock repeated his desire for you to marry Lady Violet?”
Fitzwilliam shifted his weight in his chair. “The topic has not been broached…” He paused. “But he asked whether I might sell my commission and stay at Haddon Court.”
“For what reason?”
“He said he desires my company.” Fitzwilliam gave a careless shrug, but Darcy knew his cousin well enough to perceive how important those words were to him.
He glanced at Darcy. “Here I am, a man of four-and-twenty, eager for any scrap of my father’s affection.
I did not know what I was missing in my life until I experienced it. ”
I did not know what I was missing in my life until I experienced it. Fitzwilliam’s words made Darcy think of Elizabeth. “What of Miss Bennet?” he asked quietly.
Fitzwilliam had the grace to appear embarrassed. “I believe I was hasty in my intentions towards her. However, there is no understanding between us.”
“Perhaps not in your eyes, but to many people—myself included—you have appeared enamoured with Miss Bennet. You should have thought about the consequences of your attention towards her.”
His forehead creased. “What would you have me do?”
Darcy held his gaze. “Consider her feelings in every action and decision henceforth. I will not have her hurt again.”
“Again?”
Darcy had promised Elizabeth that he would not share details of her ordeal with another soul, but his cousin had been the one to save her. His voice tight, he said, “Why did you never tell me of Miss Bennet’s encounter with Wickham?”
Comprehension settled on Fitzwilliam’s face. He cleared his throat. “Do you know, it must have escaped my mind.”
“Escaped your mind!” Darcy bit back his anger, picturing Elizabeth’s stricken face as she sat in that same chair.
“It coincided with the time that all hell broke loose regarding that poor maid—Mary, or Meg, or whatever her name was.”
“Martha,” Darcy hissed, all but spitting the word.
Fitzwilliam raised his hands. “I believed that by saying nothing, I spared Miss Bennet an enormous amount of embarrassment. Do not forget your father’s anguish at the scandal regarding his favoured godson. What good would have come from telling the world of another of Wickham’s misdeeds?”
“As a final act of generosity, my father did not immediately expel Wickham from Pemberley but allowed him a few days’ grace to gather his belongings. He could have used that time to attack Miss Bennet—or another woman—again.”
Fitzwilliam paled. “Was she harmed a second time?”
“Mercifully, no.”
“Anyone else?”
“I do not believe so.”
An uneasy laugh escaped Fitzwilliam’s lips. “What a relief there was no harm done.”
Darcy bristled. He was not ready to be so flippant. Icily, he said, “For the past five years, Miss Bennet has lived under the misapprehension that she was sent away as a result of her conduct, and she has carried a burden of shame ever since.”
Fitzwilliam grew silent once more. “I promise I shall consider my behaviour very carefully with regard to Miss Bennet. I would not wish to add to her pain.”
Darcy took a breath, attempting to wrestle his temper back under control. “I think that would be very wise.”