Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
M r Bennet rode ahead of the carriage for the last leg of their journey, apparently anxious to be done with this business of returning Charlotte to Kent. Charlotte felt a strange kinship with the older man. She too would like to be left to herself. Knowing she was returning to Hunsford—to her husband—was no comfort to her. She could not return home and simply order trays to her room. There would be menus to plan, accounts to balance, mending to be completed—and of course, a husband to pacify. Not to mention that any shred of contentment would be tied to Lady Catherine’s whims and pleasures.
Little tempests of dirt kicked up behind Mr Bennet and his horse, sending dust swirling in the air and clouding her view. Charlotte leaned her head back against the seat as familiar vantage points began signalling that they were nearing home. Her chest felt tight at the thought, and she found herself humming a familiar tune from her childhood to ease the tension in her breast.
When they turned down the lane that would take her to the parsonage, Charlotte watched as Mr Bennet sped his horse around the bend in anticipation of their arrival. She imagined herself knocking on the carriage roof to gain the driver’s attention and asking him to turn around. It was a lovely thought.
She closed her eyes and hummed a little louder, focusing on the sway of the carriage and the feel of the road that lay beneath the wheels. She could do this. She could go home, see her family off to Hertfordshire soon, and ease back into the life she had vowed to live.
Life would settle for a time, until her husband came to notice her growing midsection, and then who could guess at his reaction to that. Perchance he would finally be proud of her—approve of her. She had done her duty and even now conceivably carried the heir to Longbourn in her womb. She hoped with every fibre of her being that it was a male child. She would keep her secret a while longer—at least until the quickening. She had no interest yet in hearing Lady Catherine’s recommendations for carrying a child.
Raised voices awakened her mind, and she opened one eye to see that the carriage was stopping just short of the cottage. The manservant did not come to open the door, and suddenly, the voice of her husband grabbed her attention. She lifted the latch on the carriage door to let herself down.
Charlotte froze at the sight before her. Mr Bennet’s horse, which still carried the gentleman, was moving in strange, spirited patterns just beyond the hedge that lined the lane. Mr Collins could be seen darting to and fro, speaking sternly to Mr Bennet, and waving one finger in the air.
She was only able to catch pieces of his speech, “the behaviour of your daughters,” and “if only you would bother to rein them in.” Charlotte’s hand flew to her mouth at hearing another comment he sputtered at Mr Bennet, “…advise you to leave her to reap the fruits of her own heinous offence!”
Mr Bennet’s voice carried much more easily, responding to her husband’s lecture by saying, “Desist, Collins.”
In awe of the confrontation she was witnessing, Charlotte held her breath, moving more closely but not wanting to alert her husband to her presence just yet. She was familiar with her husband’s anger, but she hardly recognised the man in this fit of fury.
She caught movement out of the corner of her eye and saw her father coming out of the parsonage, waving his arms and speaking loudly, “Collins, let the man be. He has travelled a long way.”
But Mr Collins, spittle running down his chin as he continued to harangue Mr Bennet, did not back down. “Is this the thanks I shall receive for taking your ungrateful daughters into my humble abode?”
The horse was skiting around in an attempt to avoid her bulky husband’s ungraceful movements, though the agitated horse did not deter Mr Collins in his eagerness to gain Mr Bennet’s full attention.
“Collins, you are upsetting my long-tired horse. I will see you inside shortly. Lydia has gone to Longbourn, and I have brought your wife home to you,” Mr Bennet said.
Charlotte froze and instinctively wanted to hide at the thought of her presence being brought to her husband’s attention. But Mr Collins was not easily distracted from his point. He took not a moment to look for his wife, who had been missing for three days, but only continued his evidently practised speech for his cousin .
“Charlotte!” she heard called from across the garden, coming from her sister who stood near the front door. “Charlotte, you are home!”
Taking in the fractious scene, Sir William bellowed towards the cottage, “Return to the house, Maria.” He was making his way down the path to join the others.
“Now, now, gentlemen,” she heard her father say as he approached the others gathered in the lane.
“I shall not desist, Bennet,” she heard Mr Collins shout, and returned her attention to him. “As my dear patroness, the honourable Lady Catherine de–”
The resolution of their heated exchange came swiftly—too rapidly. The horse reared, nearly throwing Mr Bennet, before setting his front legs back down. Then the great beast kicked his hind legs back—a strong, swift hoof making contact with Mr Collins’s face.
Charlotte watched in horror as her husband’s body was pitched into the nearby hedge. She heard screaming in the distance and wondered at the sound before realising it was coming from her.
What followed was a blur. Mr Bennet settled his horse and dismounted. Her father came forward more quickly, yelling for assistance. She watched as the two older gentlemen pulled her husband’s limp body from the hedge and laid him on the dirt. Servants came from the carriage and the cottage to assist, but Charlotte was frozen in shock. There was so much blood. She felt hot and faint, and her stomach contracted at the sight. She turned away from the scene, and at a run, made her way around the side of the garden to cast up her accounts into the newly planted rose bushes.
Early June brought with it much distraction for Darcy as he oversaw many projects and improvements at Pemberley. There was much to do, and he found that when he threw himself into the work, he would keep her from his thoughts—though it was often impossible. Elizabeth was always with him.
Licking his wounds in Derbyshire over the last month had been a trying time. The scandal appeared contained. No word reached the papers, and his aunt’s threats had ceased, but it did not follow that he was ready to abandon all consideration for a potential future with her; he was biding his time. He felt confident that if he kept up the correspondence he had begun with his cousin Anne, perhaps her ladyship would not even notice as summer turned to autumn and no wedding occurred.
A response from Bingley about his annual visit to Pemberley had finally arrived in late May. Darcy had read the missive so many times he had nearly memorised it.
I reflected upon our last conversation and realised that I could not condone Caroline’s conduct towards Miss Bennet. After a severe scolding and threats to set her up in her own establishment, Caroline went willingly to Cheapside to call on Miss Bennet. I told her she must visit to apologise for her previous behaviour. Miss Bennet did not deserve my sister’s uncivil treatment. Unfortunately, the Bennets were no longer in London. That was weeks ago now, and I had nearly forgotten until I sat down to write to you.
Caroline and the lovely Miss Asher keep me busy with engagements each night—balls, the theatre, dinners. I find myself the happiest gentleman in all of London, squiring around such a charming lady. I hope that I have the pleasure of introducing her to you one day. Just last week, I was afforded an opportunity to hear her exhibit, and she has the most angelic voice. If only you could hear her.
But that is neither here nor there; I am writing to let you know that we are unable to travel to Pemberley this summer as we have recently accepted an invitation to spend two months at Miss Asher’s estate in Surrey…
Darcy was discouraged, for he felt certain he had brought about the end of Miss Bennet’s hopes—even if it was at the hand of his capricious friend. He would never again provide advice about love or marriage—what did he know of it anyway? He had made a grand muddle of his efforts to woo Elizabeth, and now it seemed she despised him at worst, or was merely frightened of him at best.
At least Georgiana was happy, seeming particularly relieved that she would not have to entertain Miss Bingley for a month.
Georgiana’s recent confidence and returned happiness brought Darcy some joy. She was pleased to have their cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, staying with them. Together with her companion, Mrs Annesley, they made a merry party.
To see Georgiana smiling upon her horse after a long morning ride or singing along when she played the pianoforte brought to mind the days before Wickham’s attempted elopement. She was thriving once again, and Darcy wondered if they could remain at Pemberley always.
One morning found Darcy breaking his fast when his butler brought in his newly arrived letters, including one from Anne. While their combined intention was to pacify Lady Catherine, he had been surprised by her quiet wit and ability to make him laugh out loud when her first letter had arrived. Where had this version of his cousin been all this time?
Settled in his study later that morning, he tore open the letter with anticipation.
Rosings Park, Kent
May 28, 1812
Cousin Darcy,
I have informed my mother that I shall spend my day writing a letter to you, of which she is particularly approving—so I shall thank you in advance for the quiet you have provided me today. I shall paint a picture with words of the moment I asked for not one but two sheets of paper necessary for my efforts. There was a cry of joy from my mother (shocking, I know), and Mrs Jenkinson nearly leapt out of her seat with a kind smile to hasten the arrival of the required writing implements.
Mrs Jenkinson is practising the pianoforte, so I find myself without encouragement for subjects to include in this correspondence. I am pleased to hear that you enjoyed my letter detailing the flowers in the gardens at Rosings and have passed on your thanks to Mrs Jenkinson for her suggestion.
Shall I tell you of the weather or report on neighbourhood news this time? I think not. If I am to fill two pages complete by the end of today, I shall need some inspiration. Ah, I have it! If it is the most significant news from Rosings that you desire, I shall share that of most importance—my mother .
Lady Catherine took butter on toast and sausages for her morning meal, followed by a lengthy meeting with Mrs Jonas regarding the menus for the day. Apparently, she cannot abide the recent tarts coming from the kitchen. The berries were much too ripe. She proposes a meeting with the head gardener on the morrow to discuss the horticultural methods he is imposing upon us all, to our apparent detriment.
Darcy laughed out loud as he read on, enjoying the literal accounting of Lady Catherine’s day. He mused that her ladyship very certainly relished seeing Anne’s devotion to the letter-writing and hoped that their continued ruse would keep her efforts to see them married by the end of the year at bay.
“Darcy, are you hiding away in here?” Fitzwilliam interrupted his thoughts as he entered the study. “I thought we were to ride to the western fields today.”
“Yes, that was my object, but it will have to wait. I have spent the last two hours complete dealing with letters from my solicitor.”
Fitzwilliam leaned over Darcy’s desk with an amused expression, “Not just business letters, it appears. What have you there, Cousin?”
He reached for Anne’s letter and took it to a comfortable chair by the fireplace. He leaned at an angle into the large chair and kicked his legs over the arm of the other side. A big smile crossed his face as he read. “Ah! Our Anne has done it again!” he exclaimed. “Another ridiculously mundane letter, and another week’s appeasement of her mother, I am sure.”
Darcy waited for him to finish the letter.
“I am of a mind to start writing to Anne as well,” Fitzwilliam added. “I should like to see Lady Catherine squirm while wondering at all of her daughter’s suitors. ”
Darcy chuckled, “As you know, our agreed-upon correspondence is meant to keep Lady Catherine distracted from her purpose, not increase her ire.”
“Yes, well, please do go on—I enjoy Anne’s letters immensely.”
Fitzwilliam stood from the chair to lay the letter on Darcy’s desk and then moved to the sideboard to partake of his cousin’s French brandy. He lifted the vessel in Darcy’s direction so as to offer him some as well, but Darcy shook his head.
Fitzwilliam grabbed a newspaper from the edge of Darcy’s desk and settled back into his chosen chair. Apparently he meant to stay. So, Darcy chose another missive from the pile of incoming post. The next letter had evidently gone to his London house before being forwarded by his servants to Pemberley.
Hertfordshire? The return address made his stomach drop. The script was too precise to be Bingley’s, so he quickly tore open the letter. Could it be that Mr Bennet had finally responded to his letter? But no—the light, feminine handwriting found within seized him, and he held his breath as he scanned quickly to the bottom of the letter to find it signed, “EB.”
Wide eyed and shocked, Darcy looked up to see that Fitzwilliam was thankfully distracted, and ran a hand through his hair. She has written!
He swept his fingers reverently over her handwriting. The letter was read no less than four times and then tucked into the inside pocket of his jacket, directly beside his thudding, elated heart.
She trusted him. It was in him she put her faith. She was in distress and wrote to him . In equal measures, he felt anger that she was distressed and completely overjoyed that she sought him out. The impropriety of it did not matter to him at all—he could not imagine a token that would bring him more clarity—she loved him. She had been run home by Lady Catherine, had seemingly lost her father’s favour, and still, she had reached out to him. She must care for him, at least a little, to have risked it. Of course, he would go to Kent. He would move mountains for her. If it were within his power, it would be done.
That her relationship with her father was fractured appeared an understatement. From what he knew of Elizabeth and her father, theirs was a close relationship, and Darcy felt a pang of sadness knowing that it was likely his own actions in Kent that had brought about this change. Not only would he help recover Lydia, but he would do what he could to fix what he had broken between Elizabeth and her father.
Darcy knew that the Bennets could hardly rely on Collins to help recover Lydia. He was a spineless coward. No, he would go, and he would bring Fitzwilliam, whose military experience could prove useful in the search.
Darcy cleared his throat to get Fitzwilliam’s attention.
“Yes?” His cousin responded without looking up from the paper he was reading.
“I have some news. After we left Kent, Mr and Mrs Collins received some new houseguests from Hertfordshire, and one has gone missing—Miss Lydia Bennet—Miss Elizabeth’s youngest sister.”
“What is being done to recover her?” He now had his cousin’s attention.
“I am not entirely certain. The letter was sent first to London and then forwarded here, so the news is some days behind.”
“Surely Collins has engaged the magistrate. I am sure Lady Catherine is offering assistance as well. Perhaps the young lady has already been found. What did she say?”
“Who?”
“Lady Catherine.”
“Hmm?”
“In her letter…I am assuming Lady Catherine wrote to you? Perhaps it is a trap, Darcy—an object to drive you back to Kent?” he said while moving his eyebrow up and down exaggeratedly.
Darcy chuckled, “Nevertheless, I plan to help in the search, and I would be pleased if you accompanied me. Georgiana can stay with Mrs Annesley. If I can be of some help—”
“Go to Kent? Now?”
“Yes.”
“Darcy, as you say the news is old, and can only grow older in the time required to travel to Kent. Could you not send some of your men to Kent to assist?”
Darcy sighed and gripped the back of his neck. Of course, Fitzwilliam would not want to leave Pemberley and go back to Rosings. It was the last place Darcy wanted to be as well.
“Out with it, Darcy. Why do you want to go?”
Darcy sighed, “I need to ensure that Elizabeth is well…err, her sister, Miss Lydia, I mean.”
“It is Elizabeth , is it?” Colonel Fitzwilliam nearly spat out his large gulp of brandy. Darcy thought it served him right to have that burning liquid smouldering his insides for the outburst. He rolled his eyes at his cousin’s theatrics and then levelled him with a stern gaze.
Fitzwilliam let out a long whistle and laughed heartily. “Dash it, Darcy! I knew you were taken with Miss Bennet, but this! I am shocked! Am I to wish you joy?”
“My intentions are honourable,” Darcy said tentatively. “ Lady Catherine caught wind of my interest in her while we were in Kent and sought to threaten her with ruination in response. She was sent home in disgrace. I have no idea if the lady will have me—if she cares for me at all—or if she blames me for our aunt’s interference—but if she needs my help…”
“What lady would not have you, Darcy?”
Darcy levelled a serious look at his cousin, “Elizabeth Bennet, that is who.”
“You truly are besotted! How did I not see it? I had a mind to question you regarding all your moping about lately,” Fitzwilliam said between laughter. “Well, why are you here? Let us go to Kent or wherever your lady-love is!”
Darcy cleared his throat, “As I was saying, her sister has gone missing…”
Darcy and Fitzwilliam arrived four days later, late in the evening, having barely stopped to sleep and rest their horses. Darcy’s valet had followed them in the carriage at a more sedate pace, and both men were eager to bathe and retire early.
“Darcy! Fitzwilliam!” Lady Catherine exclaimed when they were announced to the drawing room, “You are such good boys; I knew you would be back soon. I was just telling Mrs Collins that you were both so excessively sorry to leave Kent.”
Both gentlemen greeted their aunt with politeness and informed the lady that they were in need of refreshing themselves and asked to have food sent to their rooms.
“Of course,” their aunt responded. “Your rooms are always ready for you, and I shall see that hot water and a light repast are sent to you immediately. Anne will be exceedingly happy to see you.”
The last she said with a particular gleam in her eye, meant only for Darcy. It was all he could do to refrain from sighing or rolling his eyes.
“We shall be pleased to see Anne as well,” Darcy responded, but he was in need of information from the parsonage before he could simply retire to a guest room. He had come all this way and needed the latest information regarding Miss Lydia’s disappearance.
“How is Mrs Collins?” Fitzwilliam said, as if he read Darcy’s mind.
“She will make do, I suppose. She is a useful sort. It is a tragic thing, what happened to my parson. Mr Collins shall never regain his speech, my physician says. But the curate is come down and will be taking up his duties.”
“Pardon me, Aunt. What has happened to Mr Collins?” Darcy asked.
“An accident with a horse. He was kicked in the throat,” she responded lightly, as if these things happened every day. “Though it was the fever that nearly took him. Seems he shall make a full recovery, well, with the exception of speaking, that is.”
Both men exchanged looks of shock and curiosity. “And the guests at the parsonage?” Darcy asked carefully.
“Yes, well, Mrs Collins has much help. Her father, sister, and Mr Bennet have been very obliging.”
“What of Miss Lydia Bennet?” Fitzwilliam asked, sharing a glance with Darcy. “Anne mentioned she was visiting in a letter to Georgiana.”
“Oh, that unfortunate girl. No, no—she was sent home to Hertfordshire. She never even came to take her leave of me… I should have known after her sister’s disgraceful behaviour th at I could not expect much more from that family. Five daughters out at once! I have never heard of such a thing, and here are the fruits of such carelessness.”
Darcy and Fitzwilliam both seemed to question the information and exchanged meaningful glances between them with nary a word. Was she still missing, or had she actually returned home? It was natural for families to keep such things quiet.
With that, Lady Catherine announced she would speak to her housekeeper, and left the gentlemen alone.
“What do you think?” Darcy asked Fitzwilliam.
He could see Fitzwilliam’s mind was turning the information around and around, attempting to reach an opinion. “Time will tell,” was his only response.
“Perhaps I can shed some light,” a gentle voice spoke up, and both men turned quickly towards the fireplace where their cousin Anne sat in the shadows, tucked into the corner of a chair with a shawl covering every inch of her from the neck down. “Do close your mouths. My mother was so overcome with excitement that she forgot I sat nearby. It is to my advantage at times to remain quiet,” she said with a giggle.
Both gentlemen bowed and greeted their cousin properly.
“Lydia was recovered nearly a week ago and sent home. My mother is still unaware that the lady went missing at all. Perhaps it is best if you do not tell her. She is distressed enough with her parson going and getting himself injured.”
Fitzwilliam stepped closer, an eyebrow lifted, “And how did you come to know about her disappearance?”
“I could ask the same of you,” she said, raising her own eyebrow at her cousin. “Though I have my suppositions. I overheard some of the servants speaking. They were unaware of my presence, and I was not about to announce myself when I could instead learn of what they were discussing. ”
“Perhaps the army should recruit you! You would make a good spy, Cousin.” Fitzwilliam laughed and took a seat next to her.
She blushed and averted her eyes.
Darcy felt awash with relief that Miss Lydia had been recovered. He could sleep well that night knowing Elizabeth’s sister was well and whole and home. Now, if only he could find a way to insist Elizabeth make her home with him.