Chapter 36
Elizabeth climbed into the carriage on their second day of travel, Miss Rothschild at her side, Papa and Alexandra sitting opposite.
No streaks had stained Alexandra’s cheeks that morning, but Elizabeth knew she still felt Jaffa’s departure keenly.
“He shall be happy to return to his family after all these years.” Elizabeth tapped Alexandra’s knee.
Leaning her forehead against the window glass, Alexandra sighed. “I trusted him more than anyone.” With a sniff and an inelegant wipe of her nose against her sleeve, she added, “But I have Nick now.”
Papa handed her his handkerchief. “Three is too crowded. Jaffa is both trustworthy and wise.”
Miss Rothschild observed the scene quietly.
She was a welcome addition to their party, though not for the reasons the gentlemen had presented two days before when they had made introductions.
According to them, she had provided them with their next clue, which had set them on the road to Bath.
With her help, they would succeed in discovering why Nick, and a slew of other babies all over the country, had been separated from their families.
What Elizabeth saw was how Miss Rothschild’s gaze fixed on the colonel …
and how he attempted to balance the attention he wished to show her with what he considered proper.
Lord Matlock was on to the pair. The evening before, he had met Elizabeth’s gaze over the dinner table, his eyes glinting. She wondered what he planned. Lord Matlock’s firm exterior housed a soft heart, especially where his son and nephews were concerned.
Alexandra regaled Papa with stories of her exploits. She was an accomplished storyteller with an inclination to exaggerate, but it made for a lively trip. Elizabeth wondered if Nick did the same with Fitzwilliam, the colonel, and Lord Matlock. She hoped so.
Rolling pastures led down to the River Avon. Elizabeth watched the scenery with interest, knowing they were coming upon Bath.
“Your mother shall never forgive me for going to Bath without her,” sighed Papa.
“I shall not tell if you do not,” Elizabeth said.
Uncle Gardiner had already promised he would keep the more exciting details out of his report.
For his brother-in-law and niece’s benefit, as well as the nerves of his wife and sister, he would make their jaunt across England sound as mundane as possible.
Jane and Aunt would know otherwise, but Mama would be comforted to know her husband and daughter were safe and not enjoying themselves too much without her.
A string of ionic columns and white doors shaped in a crescent rolled by, and the pastures transformed to an extensive, manicured lawn as the carriage stopped.
“This must be Mr. Darcy’s residence.” Papa peeked through the window.
“Mr. Darcy’s?” Elizabeth gasped. How many houses did he own?
Her father smiled impishly at her. “He is quite wealthy, Lizzy.”
It had been easy to forget after seeing him in frayed trousers and borrowed boots.
The verdant lawns called to her, but Elizabeth pulled her attention away from the temptation to another, more handsome one. Fitzwilliam waited for them by the front door of his fine residence.
Having so little luggage, it did not take the group long to settle and refresh themselves. They reconvened in a parlor with large windows facing the park. High ceilings and elegant furniture clustered in perfect balance with the proportion of the large room added to the grandness of the house.
Fitzwilliam’s knee bobbed up and down, and he hardly touched the generous repast spread over the table. Elizabeth had been hungry, but she felt his nerves as keenly as if they were her own, and she only managed a few bites before she gave up.
Finally, when Fitzwilliam looked about to burst, he rose and addressed Papa. “Would you like to see the library, Mr. Bennet?”
Elizabeth was eager to see the library herself. She pushed her chair away to join them.
Nick set his roll down on his plate. “I’ve never traveled to yer part of the country, Miss Elizabeth. What’s it like growing up on an estate like…?”
“Longbourn,” she supplied, settling back into her chair with resignation. Papa and Fitzwilliam had already disappeared down the hall.
He snapped his fingers. “That’s it, Longbourn. What do ye do all day?”
“My mother, sisters, and I read edifying books, write letters, draw landscapes, embroider flowers on cushions, paint tables…”
Nick made a face. His interest dissipated the moment his brother and her father left the room, setting Elizabeth’s suspicions on high alert.
However, Nick gave such a gallant effort asking questions about something he knew nothing about, Elizabeth tried her best to make estate living sound as exciting as she could make it.
Unannounced calls were more annoying than exciting, but still, she tried.
What did Fitzwilliam want with her father? What did they have to talk about for over a quarter of an hour?
Just as she was about to dismiss herself and ask the housekeeper to show her the way to the library, Fitzwilliam appeared in the doorway, pink-cheeked and smiling.
He did not look nervous anymore. “Mr. Bennet declares the library satisfactory and has already informed me that we ought to dine without him this evening, as he has more pressing matters to attend to.”
Lord Matlock rose with a chuckle. “And I shall retire early to my rooms. This old man requires more rest than you young ones.”
Fitzwilliam’s eyes met Elizabeth’s, and the look in his eyes, the happiness she saw, made her impatient with curiosity.
“Would you care to accompany me for a stroll down to the river, Miss Elizabeth?”
She could have kissed him. “I would love nothing more.”
Alexandra tossed her napkin onto her plate and shoved her chair back. “I’m in need of some activity, too.”
Nick’s eyes widened. “I’ll walk with ye. Wouldn’t ye rather peek inside the shops?”
She scowled. “What use’ll ye be when neither of us has been to Bath before? Me bum is sore after so much travel, and I’d like Darcy to show us the sights.”
Miss Rothschild said, “I hear the abbey is an impressive structure. We are not far. In fact, I believe I observed the bell tower on our way here.”
Their party of two soon grew to six, and Fitzwilliam’s smile was now a decided scowl, aimed mostly at Alexandra.
He could not have looked more like a cross older brother than he did at that moment.
When the colonel gave him a teasing shove, Elizabeth observed the struggle with which Fitzwilliam restrained himself from shoving back.
Elizabeth’s humor rose, and she laughed. “The more, the merrier.”
Fitzwilliam did not agree, but his scowl lightened. By the time they reached King’s Circus, his manners had improved from tempestuous to only slightly blustering.
A perfect circle of houses surrounded them. Several groups of ladies and gentlemen picnicked on the grass, and passersby stumbled over the uneven ground, too enraptured with the new architecture to pay heed to their feet. Clusters of young men and soldiers laughed and talked loudly.
Fitzwilliam offered his arm. “There is a spot in the center of this circle where everything echoes.”
She tilted her chin and arched an eyebrow. “Is that why you chose to live at the Crescent? To avoid the cacophony?”
He laughed. “That is precisely why. Too many people clap their hands just to hear the echo.”
“I should think most people would enjoy being surrounded by constant applause.” She grinned. “Shall we give it a try?”
He tugged her forward, then came to a stop at a particular spot. Raising his hands, he clapped … and received an ovation in return.
Elizabeth clapped, delighted. Her laughter echoed back to her, accented with the claps of her hands.
Fitzwilliam turned to her, his eyes dark and deep and brimming with mischief.
It was a look she had not seen before, and she determined right then it was a look she would provoke as often as she could.
Standing off to the side, she teased, “Clapping is too easy. When one comes to a place like this, they must share their wisdom with the world.”
“Or they could remain silent,” Fitzwilliam teased.
“Oh, no, that I cannot allow.”
“Very well. Tell me what you wish to hear, and I shall take pleasure in saying it.”
“You ought to know that I expect much more of you by now. Or have you not yet discovered something that shall amaze the public and be handed down to posterity with all the éclat of a proverb?”
All seriousness, he replied, “I have.”
Elizabeth’s heart tripped. “Really? Then, by all means, amaze us.”
Raising her fingers to his lips, he bowed over her hand and said, “I love you, Elizabeth Bennet.”
“I love you, Eliza—I love you, Eliza—I love you, Elizabeth Bennet—Elizabeth Bennet—Bennet.” Everywhere Elizabeth turned, she was surrounded by Fitzwilliam’s declaration.
Dozens of witnesses looked at them, nodding and whispering, but he did not seem to notice them.
Silent, taciturn Fitzwilliam Darcy stood in front of her, his heart wide open for all to see.
The uncertainty in his eyes, the quickness of his breath, told her this was not the proposal of a man assured of a positive reply.
She could not bear to see his doubt. Raising his hands to her face, she ran her lips over his gloves.
“Oy, Darcy! It is you!” a loud voice, an unwelcome voice, an odious voice ruined the moment as surely as a bucket of cold water dropped over one’s head.
Elizabeth turned to see Mr. Wickham, grinning like a drunk fool, a half dozen of his cronies staggering behind him.
“Where is your wife?” she asked. That was as close as she could get to dashing him with frigid water, and the effect was satisfying.
His smile disappeared. “Probably spending all of my money.” His tone was bitter. Wickham’s friends hooted and howled behind him.
Elizabeth imagined her sister and her new husband foolishly squandering all of their money on gloves and boots and bonnets that would be scuffed and in tatters within the year living a champagne life on a budget more suited to ale.
“Speaking of money,” Wickham clamped one hand on Fitzwilliam’s shoulder, steadying himself. “Allow me to offer my heartfelt congratulations. Now that we are to be brothers—”
“You shall get nothing from me. And the lady has yet to answer.”
Elizabeth felt fumes course through her veins. How dare Wickham ruin what was building up to be a promising, charming proposal. She could throttle him.
“Tut tut,” Wickham cackled. “We both know that a lady such as Miss Elizabeth would never refuse a gentleman of fortune and consequence.”
Through clenched teeth, Fitzwilliam asked, “Why are you with these … men … when you ought to be with your bride?”
Wickham shrugged, too foxed to heed the underlying threat in Fitzwilliam’s tone. “Why bother? She’ll move into Pemberley with you, and everyone’s happy.” He flailed his free arm in the air.
Elizabeth was shocked he could think such a thing. Did he not understand Fitzwilliam’s character at all? He would never be welcome at Pemberley, nor anyone attached to him—
The full extent of Fitzwilliam’s declaration hit her with a force that knocked the breath out of her lungs. A union with her would forever attach Fitzwilliam to Wickham, and yet he was willing to endure the connection. Because of her.
Until that moment, Elizabeth had not truly understood the depth of his love.
Breathless, she looked up at him, her heart brimming in her eyes.
To think that Fitzwilliam loved her so ardently, so thoroughly.
And, oh, how she loved him! With every inch of her being, every thought, and every heartbeat, she loved Fitzwilliam Darcy.
Wickham belched and tightened his grip on Fitzwilliam’s shoulder.
Elizabeth’s anger boiled over. If Fitzwilliam was willing to endure a connection to his worst nightmare, then she would ensure Wickham knew how little they desired his company.
“I love my sister, but I cannot shield her from the consequences of her actions. Nor do I feel obliged to spare you the results of your choices. I do, however, expect you to at least pretend to be an attentive husband to Lydia.”
He scoffed.
Elizabeth’s restraint snapped. “Or do you limit your attentions only to gullible maidens?”
Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Alexandra draw a dagger from her hair. “This rascal givin’ ye trouble, Lizzy?”
Nick stood beside Alexandra, his fists raised and ready. The colonel, too. Miss Rothschild had no dagger, nor did she raise her clenched fists, but the imperious glare she cast at Wickham would have melted a better man.
Wickham’s friends were quiet now.
He turned to her, placing his hand on her shoulder. “I would never harm you. You know that. I am your brother now.”
His familiarity put Elizabeth’s teeth on edge. “Kindly remove your hand, sir,” she warned.
“Ye know what to do,” Alexandra said with a double wink.
Darcy stepped in and would have made short work of Wickham, but Elizabeth shook her head. She wanted to discourage Wickham from ever discounting the admonition of one he considered weaker than himself.
She knew precisely how to handle this rascal.
Grabbing his hand, she spun around and wedged her shoulder under his.