Chapter Two #2
“Wickham was not there when we called,” Mr. Bennet added.
“Mrs. Younge claimed he had gone out on business, though what business a man in his circumstances might have, I cannot imagine.” He paused, looking deeply uncomfortable.
“But we were assured Lydia was there. I was unequal to the task of—that is to say, certain matters require a lady’s attention.
The consequences of her conduct must be explained to her.
Such subjects are not fit for a father to address with his daughter.
She requires a lady—a married woman—to make her understand what she has done, and the consequences that may ensue. ”
Understanding dawned on Mrs. Gardiner’s face. “Ah. I see. You wish to remove her from the boarding house before any further negotiations with Wickham.”
“She must be made to understand the gravity of her position,” Mr. Bennet said heavily.
“There are matters that ought to have been explained to her by her mother—matters concerning her reputation, her future, the consequences of her actions. I am not the proper person to have such a conversation, and neither is Gardiner.”
The delicacy of the affair was horribly clear.
Lydia had been living unchaperoned with Wickham for days.
Their mother ought to have prepared her better, ought to have warned her of the dangers that awaited silly girls who made themselves too ready to be noticed by handsome officers.
But Mrs. Bennet had never spoken seriously to any of her daughters about such matters.
She had been too occupied in encouraging the very flirtations that had brought about this disaster.
“I shall go with you tomorrow,” Mrs. Gardiner said. “We must bring her here, where she can be properly looked after whilst the arrangements are made.”
“If you are certain you feel well enough,” Mr. Gardiner said, concern evident in his voice. “It may be an unpleasant scene.”
“I am quite well enough for what must be done, and this cannot wait.” Mrs. Gardiner’s voice was firm. “What time shall we depart?”
“We ought not to call too early,” Mr. Darcy said. “Wickham is more likely to be abroad later in the day, and it will be easier to remove Miss Lydia if he is not present to interfere.”
“Eleven o’clock, then,” Mr. Gardiner said. “I shall have the carriage ready.”
They discussed the particulars for a few minutes more—how they would approach Mrs. Younge, what they would say to Lydia, where she would sleep at Gracechurch Street.
Elizabeth listened as if in a kind of dream, still trying to comprehend that her youngest sister had been found, that she was alive and unharmed, even if profoundly foolish.
At last, Mr. Darcy rose to take his leave. “I should return to my home. Tomorrow will require clear heads, and it is already late.”
“You have our deepest gratitude, sir,” Mr. Gardiner said, rising to shake his hand. “I do not know what we would have done without your assistance.”
Mr. Darcy inclined his head, clearly uncomfortable with the praise. “I am glad I could be of service.”
As Mr. Gardiner and Mr. Bennet continued discussing the next day’s strategy, Elizabeth rose. “I shall see you out, Mr. Darcy,” she said, her voice not quite steady.
He looked at her, an emotion flickering in his eyes—surprise, perhaps, or uncertainty. “Thank you, Miss Bennet.”
She led him from the drawing room and down the stairs to the entrance hall. The house was quiet, the servants having retired for the evening. A single candle burned in a sconce by the door.
For a moment, they stood in the dimness, neither speaking. Elizabeth could hardly remain still. There was so much she wanted to say, so many questions she wanted to ask, but the words seemed to tangle in her mouth.
“Mr. Darcy,” she began at last, barely above a whisper, “I must thank you. For what you have done—for coming to London, for finding Lydia—I cannot adequately express my gratitude.”
“Please,” he said quickly, “there is no need for thanks.”
“But there is every need!” The words came out more forcefully than she intended.
“You owe my family nothing. Indeed, after Wickham’s treatment of you, of your sister, you had every reason to avoid any connection with this wretched business.
Yet you came. You helped. I cannot—” Tightness in her throat stopped her momentarily.
“I cannot comprehend why you would do such a thing.”
He was silent for a moment, his eyes searching her face in the candlelight. “When you told me what had happened at Lambton,” he said slowly, “when I saw your distress—I could not remain idle and do nothing. Not when I possessed knowledge that might be of use.”
“But to involve yourself so deeply, to spend days searching—”
“Miss Bennet.” He moved a step closer, and she stilled.
She was aware of his warmth in the cool hallway and could hear his measured breathing.
“I have not acted entirely from disinterested benevolence. I—” He paused, seeming to struggle with what he wanted to say.
“My own pride, my own failure to expose Wickham’s character when I might have done so, contributed to this situation.
Had I made his behaviour known in Meryton last autumn, your sister might never have been deceived by him. ”
“You cannot blame yourself for Lydia’s foolishness,” Elizabeth protested. “She was warned about him by others and chose not to listen.”
“Perhaps. But I believe I might have prevented it.” His voice was low, intense. “Upon learning what had occurred, I could not rest until I had lessened the evil.”
“You are too good. My family—we do not deserve such kindness from you.”
“If you will thank me, let it be for yourself alone.” He spoke in a quiet but steady tone. “I cannot deny that the wish of sparing you pain added force to my other motives. But your family owes me nothing.” He stopped abruptly, and even in the dim light she could see the colour rise in his face.
But he only shook his head. “I should go. It is late, and tomorrow will be difficult for all of us.” He reached for his hat and gloves, which a servant had left on the hall table.
“Tomorrow—” Elizabeth hesitated. “When they go to fetch Lydia. You will be there?”
“I must be. Mrs. Younge will not grant entrance without me, and if Wickham is present...” He left the thought unfinished. “At eleven o’clock.”
“Then I shall see you tomorrow.”
He bowed, and she curtsied, and then he was gone into the night, leaving Elizabeth standing alone in the entrance hall with a hundred new questions crowding her mind. The space where he had stood seemed suddenly cold, the candle flame wavering in the draft from the closing door.
Elizabeth climbed the stairs to the small guest chamber. She prepared for bed mechanically, her thoughts returning again and again to the man who had just departed.
Mr. Darcy had come to London. For her family. For Lydia. For her.
How differently she had thought of him at Hunsford!
She had rejected his proposal with all the contempt she could muster.
But then he had given her his letter, forcing her to confront her own prejudice.
And then Pemberley—walking through those rooms, hearing the housekeeper’s praise, standing before his portrait and being filled with feelings she had not dared to name.
Elizabeth lay back against the pillows, knowing sleep would be impossible. Lydia was at that dreadful boarding house. Her father’s weary face. Mr. Darcy’s voice in the entrance hall, low and intense. His eyes in the candlelight, searching her face.