Part 1 #2
The notion that she believed Wickham, that she trusted that scoundrel, even liked him and considered him a friend to the point of speaking in his defence, was harrowing, and the stinging bite of jealousy added to his torment.
But there was nothing he could do; he had decided any future connection with Elizabeth would be impossible.
He assumed that she returned his partiality, and very likely her wit would have allowed her, in time, to discover his feelings.
Perhaps it already had. He could not possibly trifle with her, nor raise expectations and hopes that he could not fulfil.
As perfectly suited as she was to him, she was not suited to the position of Mrs Darcy.
That was certain, and it could not be changed. Therefore, he had to leave, and he did.
As painful as the longing was, being near her while knowing he was forbidden to step any closer would have become excruciating. Her absence made him grieve, but her presence, so close yet so far, would have been like an open wound, bleeding every day.
No. If he was to be honest with himself, despite the time and distance that now separated them, the wound was still open and still bleeding.
He walked for some time through the park.
He could barely see anything around him because of the mist and the sharp icy wind that was blowing, whipping his face and forcing him to keep his head down.
He had taken up the habit of walking daily in London, no matter the inclement weather, because Elizabeth loved walking so much.
He had tried to forget her but seemed to find himself doing all sorts of small things that reminded him of her.
He knew his wishes but did not know how to dismiss them.
He knew what he had to do but did not know how to accomplish it.
He was alone on his path, in the park and in life, feeling desolate and lost. He did not want to share his loneliness with anyone, since he had run away from the only woman in the world whose company he desired.
And if—no, when—someday he fulfilled his responsibilities and found a wife, if that woman was not her, his loneliness would last. He would have to become accustomed to it.
~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~
“Brother, may I enter? Am I disturbing you?” Georgiana enquired.
He glanced up from the letter he was trying to compose, back home after his chilly adventure out of doors; his heart was full with affection and heavy with concern and a measure of guilt.
Since his return from Hertfordshire, he had been selfish and rather indifferent towards his sister, spending too little time in her company—the exception being the time they had spent together at Christmas.
He was content that her new companion, Mrs Annesley, seemed to be a decent woman with an excellent education, gentle manners, and a real fondness for Georgiana, and he told himself that he was allowing them time to get to know each other and grow comfortable.
He still blamed himself for employing Mrs Younge, who had betrayed Georgiana and almost ruined her entire future.
He had failed to protect his sister then, and her suffering was mostly due to his negligence.
Fortunately, she seemed to be slowly recovering.
She had more colour in her cheeks, more liveliness in her eyes, and she had resumed her habit of practising her music every day.
“You never disturb me, dearest. Please sit down. Would you like to take tea with me?”
“I should love to, but I do not want to interrupt your business. I hope you are not working too much, Fitzwilliam. You have seemed tired and distracted since you returned home. Not even Christmas and its joyful gatherings raised your spirits. Is there anything I can do to help you?”
“Thank you, dearest. You cannot help me, but you must not be worried, I promise you. There is nothing particular amiss, only the usual business affairs.”
“I shall not insist, but I must say I have noticed you are not eating enough. You are thinner and paler and have lines on your brow. You often frown and seem lost in thought. How can I not be concerned?”
“I shall eat more.” He tried to smile, humbled by her attention to him while berating himself for his own lack of concern for her. “And I shall not give you any more reason to fret. That is a promise. And you know I always keep my promises to you.”
“I know. Yet I feel you strive to keep your promises to everyone but yourself.”
“I hardly make any promises to myself.” He smiled again. “But you must give me your word that you will not fret any longer. I want to see only smiles, not frowns, on your face.”
“We seem to be in a difficult situation, Brother. You wish to see me smiling, but I cannot smile when I see you sad. So, in order for you to see me happy, I must see you happy,” she teased him.
His heart beat faster; his sister’s unusual playfulness reminded him of Elizabeth.
Even as he smiled, an inner voice that he struggled to silence responded to Georgiana’s gentle rebuke, telling him that he could not be happy without Elizabeth; hence his sister would not be happy either.
Unbidden, an image appeared in his mind—Elizabeth living with them, filling the house with her joy and liveliness, practising the pianoforte with Georgiana and making her laugh, while he smiled, listening to them, the two people he lo—
He inwardly shook himself and dismissed the image as being nothing but a dream, with no place in his life, his real life, full of responsibilities and social expectations.
“We find ourselves in an impossible situation, then,” he agreed. “We must try to overcome it together. Perhaps a little music would help, if you would care to play for me. After tea, I mean.”
“I love playing for you, Brother,” Georgiana said tenderly.
A knock on the door, one that he recognised as Lethbridge’s, interrupted them, and his butler entered, barely having time to announce their visitors before Miss Caroline Bingley and Mrs Louisa Hurst pushed their way into the room.
Not waiting for permission, barely acknowledging the other occupant of the study, and completely disregarding his butler, Miss Bingley addressed him.
“Mr Darcy, we apologise for intruding, but we have a most delicate and urgent matter to discuss with you.”
He frowned, looking at them with some surprise, wondering what could bring the two women to disturb him in such a fashion, without his friend—their brother—and calling on him instead of his sister.
“Dear Georgiana,” Miss Bingley continued, finally realising her faux pas in not greeting her properly. “How wonderful to see you. You look beautiful, as ever. Charles always says he has rarely seen a young lady as elegant and accomplished as you, does he not, Louisa?”
“Thank you, Miss Bingley,” Georgiana replied shyly. She was obviously disconcerted, examining the floor rather than looking at the unexpected visitors. “I am pleased to see you and Mrs Hurst too, though such praise is too generous.”
“Is Bingley not with you?” Darcy asked the obvious question.
“No, and we thank God for that! It is my brother to whom the urgent matter I mentioned pertains,” Miss Bingley answered, looking meaningfully towards Georgiana.
“Please excuse me, I shall join Mrs Annesley.” Georgiana discreetly took the hint, allowing them the required privacy.
Darcy watched the two women, waiting, without even inviting them to sit.
“What is this urgent matter?” he eventually enquired.
“Mr Darcy, it is almost a disaster!” Mrs Hurst responded, increasing his confusion.
“I hope not,” he uttered.
“It is!” Miss Bingley confirmed. “Several weeks ago, I received a shocking note. Jane Bennet wrote to inform me that she was in town, staying with her relatives, somewhere near Cheapside! She is in London!”
The lady stared at him expectantly, and he felt his frown increasing. When he failed to enquire further, she continued.
“You can imagine our shock! I penned a brief reply, but—as expected from one of her low education—she did not understand my polite reserve, and only a few days later, she called at Grosvenor Street with her aunt, a Mrs Gardiner! Thank goodness Charles was not at home. Can you imagine the tragedy if he were?”
“I see…” he answered, suddenly feeling rather warm and more than a little alarmed. The mention of Miss Jane Bennet made him wonder whether Elizabeth could be in London too. He was uncertain whether he felt joy or dread at such a possibility.
“And today, we returned her call. There was no pleasure in it,” she hurried to add, “but what else could we have done? We were frightened that she might call again, so we told her that Charles knew of her presence in town but was too busy with other engagements to join us. I pray that will convince her that my brother has no desire to see her and will persuade her to put aside any absurd hopes she might have about entrapping him.”
“And is Bingley aware of her residence in London?”
“Of course not!” Mrs Hurst cried. “God forbid! For weeks he has spoken of Jane Bennet every day. However, lately he has been attending parties and balls and seems in better spirits. We cannot allow him to see her.”
“So, you deceived your brother and will continue to do so. What if he finds out? What if he happens upon her somewhere?”
“It is not a deception if we are doing it to protect him. And where could he happen upon her? Her uncle’s house is in Gracechurch Street. Near Cheapside and far from Grosvenor Street! We were more than an hour in the carriage on our way there. They are still separated, as they should be!”
“And…may I ask what is the urgent matter that you wished to discuss with me? What can I do?”
“We thought you should be informed about this concerning situation since we conceived the plan together to separate him from Jane Bennet and save him from that dreadful family of hers! As sweet as Miss Bennet is, he cannot marry her!”