Chapter Five #4
She sniffed. “I should have waited for your April visit had not the pastor of Hunsford written me. I sent him here to marry. He is the cousin to a family of five daughters who will all be cast out when their father dies.” She straightened to her full height.
“An entail away from any daughters is a ridiculous thing. A marriage between the heir and one of the daughters would secure them all.”
Darcy groaned inwardly, and his cousin put a hand over his eyes. It might have been a kind gesture, Darcy admitted to himself, had the man not been who he is.
“Mr. Collins had the gall,” Aunt Catherine sputtered, “to relate that he had been refused by his choice of bride because you, my own nephew, were already courting the penniless country chit.” She straightened her sleeves.
“I knew it must be a scandalous falsehood, but I would have you contradict it at once.”
Richard ran a hand over his face. “Aunt, I can tell you that Darcy is not courting Miss Elizabeth Bennet.” He held out his hand. “May I see the letter?”
The worst of Lady Catherine’s pique seemed to melt away. “You may.” She proffered the letter to him and sat down in a chair. “I am pleased to hear it, but not surprised. You could not have forgotten your duty so entirely.”
I could. I did. And it was that which will save me. Darcy read the letter again. “This is not my father’s letter, aunt.”
“Despite your willfulness, Fitzwilliam, you cannot deny your duty. It is your father’s dying wish!”
Darcy grimaced. “Aunt, have you even read this letter other than the part you most wish to believe?”
The old woman drew herself up, the picture of offense. “I have, many times!”
Darcy took the letter from his cousin and held it out.
“The date, madam.” He shoved it back at Richard and strode for the door, where he rang for a servant.
A harried-looking maid appeared at the summons.
“Inform Miss Bingley she has an unexpected visitor who will require a room for one night.” She nodded and scurried away.
Richard was scrutinizing the letter. “29 December 1806.” He shrugged, bemused. “Your father passed on the last day of the year, Darcy.”
“He did. But he was insensible for the entire week preceding, as Aunt Catherine well knows.” Darcy met his aunt’s gaze and held it.
“He was barely awake and spoke not at all. He could not have held a pen, let alone written in such a strong hand.” He shook his head.
It pained him to speak of his father’s passing; it had not been a pleasant or a peaceful one.
This reminded him that Elizabeth’s aunt might herself be very ill. He needed to end this discussion.
“I am sorry I was not there,” murmured Richard.
Darcy acknowledged the sentiment but remained resolute.
“I will admit that the letter is well done. But it is a forgery, nonetheless.” He pointed at a few sentences.
“In addition to the date, Father’s ‘b’ never had a loop quite that wide.
I have read enough of his business correspondence to tell the difference. ”
“You cannot deny this letter, nephew,” insisted Lady Catherine, though a great deal of the fire had left her. “It came from your own home.”
“I doubt that very much, Aunt,” Darcy replied. Which is another question. Who would send her such a thing? He heard a knock upon the door. When he opened it, he was surprised to find Cleopatra Bingley standing outside.
“Darcy, dear,” she said sweetly, “I hear we have an additional guest?”
“Yes, Mrs. er… Auntie Cleopatra.” He bade her enter.
“My aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, requires a room.” He had not examined the old woman’s apparel before this moment, but he was relieved to see it was reasonably tasteful.
That is, it was until she walked past him and he saw an enormous, garish peacock embroidered in bright colors on the back of her skirt. He held in a sigh.
“Who is this woman you address as an aunt?” fumed Lady Catherine, but Darcy was already in the hallway.
“Aunt Catherine, your hostess, Mrs. Cleopatra Bingley,” he said.
“Good evening, your Ladyship,” he heard Bingley’s aunt say.
“I am ever so glad to meet you!” He could imagine Aunt Catherine’s horrified countenance, but she had made the journey of her own free will, and she could damn well suffer the consequences of her interference.
He left the women to it and escaped outside.
The carriage was waiting, and he nearly dove into it head first. Hurry, Richard, he thought anxiously.
We must be away before any other relations appear out of the midnight mist. Even as he finished the thought, Richard tossed himself into the coach, causing it to rock heavily to one side before it righted itself.
“Leaving without me?” he teased. “Hardly fair to abandon me to the aunts.”
Darcy tried to sit still as the carriage began to move, but his foot tapped out a steady rhythm on the floorboards. “What did you tell her, Richard?”
His cousin grinned. “She wanted to know if you had shown the chit any particular attention, to which I said that you had.”
Darcy groaned. “You did not…”
“I did,” Richard said with a grin. “It is the truth, is it not?”
He closed his eyes. “It is.”
“Then she asked again where we were going.”
Why are you stretching this out, Richard? “And you said?”
“I told her I was taking you away to London. Immediately.” He leaned back and examined his fingernails.
Darcy felt a warm smile beginning to grow. “You know she will think you are separating us.”
His cousin snorted. “She also thinks you have never courted Miss Russell. But I only said you were not courting now—and you are not. Well done, by the by.”
Darcy leaned his head back against the squabs. “Thank you, Richard.”
Richard’s voice grew solemn as he reached into his coat and withdrew the letter. “We shall have to find the scoundrel who has dared to forge your father’s signature, Darcy. It could cause a great deal of trouble if this is not the only document.” He held the letter out.
Darcy ran a hand through his hair and took it. I cannot think of it now. “I know.”
Elizabeth paced the hall as the servants rushed about with all manner of tasks to complete.
Her trunk had been lashed to the back of the carriage for nearly half an hour and she still awaited the arrival of her betrothed and Mr. Fitzwilliam.
But they did not come. She crossed her arms over her stomach and tried to remain still.
Francis poked his head back inside. “We are ready, Lizzy,” he said quietly. “We shall just wait a bit longer for Darcy and Mr. Fitzwilliam.”
She touched her ear. “What could be keeping them?” she asked, knowing she sounded peevish but unable to prevent it. Surely Miss Bingley had not found some way to delay them?
It was another ten minutes before Mr. Darcy’s carriage rolled into the drive and she rushed outside. Darcy barely waited for the steps before he burst out of the carriage to meet her.
“My apologies, love,” he said. “Unexpected and unavoidable.”
“Is that all you plan to tell me?” she asked, her anger flaring.
“No,” he replied, drawing close enough to look her in the eye. “But the tale can wait until we are on our way.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “Of course. I am just…”
“You are afraid for your aunt,” he said, with a comforting squeeze of her hand. “Come.” He led her to the larger coach that was waiting in front of his own and handed her up into it. “I shall join you shortly.”
She watched out the window as he spoke to his own coachman, relieved when he returned quickly.
Delilah entered the carriage and sat next to her while the men climbed in and took the rear-facing seat.
Mr. Fitzwilliam rode past their window to take a position at the back of the coach, and she tried to ignore the rifle hanging from his saddle.
Then she felt the welcome sway of the carriage as it began to move, and they finally began the long, dark journey to London.