Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Thirteen
You may not like what happened… it sounded ominous, yet, Elizabeth said it in a playful tone.
He was letting his imagination get away from him.
Wait for her to tell you before you judge, he admonished himself.
You already mucked it up once, do not do it again.
Once the first course was served and they were alone, Darcy asked how she met his Aunt Matlock.
“Mrs. Gardiner and I were enjoying a welcome break after shopping – her husband owns Gardiner Emporium – when an elegant lady and young girl entered the tea shop. I paid them no mind as they were strangers, but the next set of ladies who entered was none other than Miss Bingley and her sister, Mrs. Hurst.”
Darcy gave no indication he knew who Mrs. Gardiner was. He would explain later. Right now, he was curious – no, it was more like he dreaded what was to come next. Knowing Miss Bingley as he did, and having read the horrendous letter she’d written Jane, the outcome would not have been pleasant.
“Miss Bingley, as you can well imagine, began chastising me, claiming I was a fallen woman, which upset the other patrons. The owner asked me to leave.”
“He did what?”
“You must realize, he had no idea who I was, and was quite fearful of losing the patronage of the other lady who could hear every word.”
“Miss Bingley had no right to say such things.”
“I have thought about that. As your close particular friend, she would have known we were married, but of that fact, she remained quite ignorant.”
Elizabeth shot him a hard look and he couldn’t look her in the eye.
“This is another area where I have failed you. I did not tell the Bingleys about our marriage. Charles was to have come to dinner before our wedding but the rest of his family invited themselves and we did not have the privacy I wished to relay the news.”
“Why could you not tell them all at the same time?”
“I hesitate to raise your anger, yet again.”
“Mr. Darcy, I know you held me in contempt alongside my family. I do not believe there is anything you could tell me in that regard that will surprise me.”
He laid down his flatware and measured his words. He had promised her honesty.
“When I left Netherfield Park, I hinted broadly I was leaving with no regrets. Bingley deduced I was not going to London by way of Longbourn and I did not correct him in his assumption.”
He stopped talking because the footmen came in and cleared the plates for the second course. Elizabeth’s face had lost all its color, the exception being two dark red spots high on her cheekbones.
“As you know they did not stay in Hertfordshire and returned to town the same day as me.”
“This does not explain why you could not tell them about us getting married. Why did it have to be a private conversation between you and Mr. Bingley?”
“Bingley is my closest friend, next to my cousin, Richard. I wanted to talk things over with him. I was unsure of Wickham’s involvement in our situation and needed to know what he had heard after we left the ball. I could not take the chance of Miss Bingley overhearing what we discussed.”
“How many times must I say this? I spoke with Mr. Wickham two times, and know him only as a casual acquaintance.” She put her napkin on her plate. “I find my appetite has deserted me. If you knew what Miss Bingley wrote my cousin… she abused Jane so badly.”
“I am aware. Your uncle had Miss Bennet bring the letter down to let me read it.”
“He did?” Surprise etched across her face. “Then you know how vile a missive it was.”
“I am and, trust me, I will have words with Bingley.”
“When you speak with him, do not chastise him for leaving Netherfield Park immediately following you. In this, he did no wrong as he was under the assumption you had abandoned my family to rumor and gossip. The other drippings of nonsense concerning your sister, you have every right to take Miss Bingley to task – unless of course, what she hinted at broadly was true.”
“None of it is true. I would never have sat idly by while Bingley mooned over your sister if he had an understanding with mine.”
“So, you admit Mr. Bingley showed my cousin more regard than usual.”
“One would have to be blind not to have seen it.”
“I repeatedly assured her Mr. Bingley would not abandon his pursuit of her, seeing as my reputation was saved with our marriage. Little did I know you happily helped him cut those ties.” Elizabeth raised trembling hands to her lips and he could see her eyes well up with tears.
“If you only knew how gentle my cousin is. She trusted Mr. Bingley. Felt safe with him.” Elizabeth pushed away from the table and rose to her feet.
“I am sorry. I have lost my appetite and shall retire for the evening.”
She stepped away from her chair and made to leave the room.
“Elizabeth,” he called out and she paused. “You have yet to tell me how you met my aunt and sister.”
“The time for companionship and sharing has ended, Mr. Darcy. I am unwilling to remain in your company this evening.” She gave him the briefest of curtsies. “Good night.”
And once again, he watched his wife leave the room. It was becoming tedious, yet he knew not how to mend their shattered relationship. He signaled the footman to clear the table.
“Please advise Pennyroyal the meal was perfect, as usual. My wife has fallen with a headache and, as such, has retired to her rooms.”
He strode down the hall to his study, the silence of the house weighed heavy on his shoulders. His sister had abandoned him to Matlock House and his wife did not wish to speak with him and when Charles learned Miss Bennet had indeed loved him… what a mess. All because of his damnable pride.
He sat at his desk and stared at the papers scattered about on his desk.
Normally, he enjoyed taking care of his estate.
Writing letters of business was not odious, as Miss Bingley had simpered one fateful night at Netherfield Park.
Words came easier when he could carefully order his thoughts and put them on the blank page.
He paused, and a slow smile spread across his face. There might still be a way to connect with his wife. He pulled out a fresh sheet of paper and reached for his quill and inkpot.
***
Early the next morning, Elizabeth lay in her bed and stared up at the coffered ceiling of her bedchamber, going over the conversation with her husband the previous night.
His admission that he had willingly let Mr. Bingley think he would not do the honorable thing and offer marriage should not have surprised her.
She knew how angry he had been, yet her heart pinched at the idea of Jane being caught in the crossfire of his contempt toward her family.
“Odious man! And to think I was starting to like him,” she huffed before sitting up and swinging her legs over the side of the bed.
Although it was still too early for Danvers to attend her chambers, she noted the scullery maid had already been up and stoked the fire, taking the chill off the room.
She padded over to one of the windows and drew back the curtain, enjoying the peaceful back garden bathed in the first blush of a winter sunrise.
A few minutes later, she moved away from the window to pull the lanyard to summon her maid, when she noticed a thin strip of light beneath the connecting door to Mr. Darcy’s bedchamber.
It was disconcerting to know he was nearby.
About to turn away, the sound of something being slid beneath the door caught her interest.
Moving quietly, she approached the door and stooped to pick up the letter.
Elizabeth, was emblazoned across the front of the sealed missive.
Even though she could not see him, she stared at the door, envisioning her husband getting ready for the day and leaving her alone in the house, as per usual.
Seated by the window, she broke the seal and began reading.
Elizabeth,
Last night you asked quite succinctly why a letter would not suffice.
It is too late for me to write to Mr. Bingley, so I am meeting him at my gentlemen’s club this morning and shall lay all things before him.
If I lose his friendship over this, then it is my fault.
I am hopeful, though, that I am not too late to regain your good opinion.
To that end, I must tell you why I lose all reasonable thought when it comes to George Wickham.
Mr. Wickham is the son of a very respectable man, who had for many years the management of all the Pemberley estates.
My father esteemed Mr. Wickham’s father so much, he willingly allowed his son, George, to be named his godson.
My father had the highest opinion of young Mr. Wickham, hoping the church would be his profession.
George Wickham and I are of the same age and I was aware of things my father remained ignorant of his entire life.
While at university, George’s licentious behavior had free reign and it was there I began to distance myself from my former friend and childhood playmate.
When my excellent father died, he included in his will a recommendation that if Mr. Wickham took orders, he would make available to him a valuable family living as soon as it became vacant.
There was also a legacy of one thousand pounds.
Less than half a year passed before Mr. Wickham wrote he had resolved against taking orders and expected an immediate pecuniary advantage, in lieu of the preferment.
He resigned all claim to the living at Kympton and accepted in return three thousand pounds.
To be frank, I was relieved. I could not, in good conscience allow him to lead a pig to slaughter let alone a spiritual flock of sheep to eternal salvation.