Chapter Nineteen
Darcy
“You are now a landed gentleman, Bingley.” Darcy raised his voice above the clatter of wheels and harness as their horses picked their way down the lane from Ashcroft House.
Behind them, a procession of wagons carried Bingley’s belongings much of which had been purchased in London over the past few days, while ahead lay the promise of a new life built on solid ground rather than mere commerce.
Bingley’s grin threatened to split his face entirely.
“Can you believe it? Three months ago I was Charles Bingley of nowhere in particular, and now I am Charles Bingley of Ashcroft House, Hertfordshire.” He straightened in his saddle with mock pomposity.
“I shall have to practice looking down my nose at trade.”
“I should not recommend it,” Darcy replied with dry humour. “I can assure you that inherited arrogance is far less attractive than earned confidence.”
“Wise counsel from my social superior.” Bingley’s eyes sparkled with mischief.
Darcy let out a laugh. “Your social superior by all but a few weeks.”
“Ah well, my superior still as you are married to a lady and I am not. As yet. Tell me honestly—how long should I wait before approaching Lord Hartford for Lady Jane’s hand? I know the family is still recovering from recent developments.”
Darcy considered the question seriously. “A fortnight at minimum, perhaps longer. Lady Elizabeth’s wedding was conducted under trying circumstances, and the household may need time to settle before entertaining another proposal.”
“A fortnight it is.” Bingley’s expression grew thoughtful. “I confess, I rather like the idea of being your brother-in-law, Darcy. We may have known each other only a few months, but I feel as though we have been friends for years.”
The sentiment warmed Darcy more than he cared to admit. “I share that feeling. I have not been blessed with many close friendships in my life.”
“No? That surprises me. You are excellent company when you choose to be.”
“I was always friendly with the people on the estates where I worked—first Pemberley, then Matlock—but my position kept me at a certain distance. I was closest to Georgiana, naturally, and to Mr Wickham, the father that is.” The name slipped out before Darcy could stop it, bringing with it the familiar weight of complicated emotions.
“How is the elder Mr Wickham faring?” Bingley asked with genuine interest. “You mentioned his health was declining.”
Darcy’s jaw tightened involuntarily. “I wrote to inform him of my marriage immediately after the ceremony. His response was… comprehensive. Three pages of fatherly advice about treating one’s wife properly, being a good husband, reflections on his own marriage to George’s mother.
” Darcy’s voice caught slightly. “He wrote of how much he loved her, how he wishes Elizabeth and me every happiness in the world. Though he did express some displeasure at not having been invited to the wedding.”
“He thinks of you as a son.”
“He does.” The words came out strained. “He refers to Elizabeth as his new daughter-in-law and has demanded that we visit Matlock soon so he can meet her properly.”
Bingley studied his friend’s profile. “And Georgiana?”
“Her letter was more inquisitive about the circumstances behind such a hasty marriage. She knows me too well to accept a simple announcement without questions.” Darcy’s hands tightened on the reins. “But she, too, expressed eagerness to welcome Elizabeth into the family.”
“You are still troubled by keeping the truth from Elizabeth.”
It was not a question, and Darcy saw no point in denying it. The weight of his deception had grown heavier with each passing day, made worse by the memory of Elizabeth’s weeping that first night.
“She accused me of being a fortune hunter,” Darcy said quietly. “Of using her distress to elevate myself above my natural station. The words were devastating in their accuracy, even if her interpretation was wrong.”
“You did not seek this marriage for advancement.”
“No, but I have benefited from it, nonetheless. And in the meantime, I am allowing her to doubt her own perceptions, her own memory of that night. She knows she saw Wickham, Bingley. She was certain of it. By claiming uncertainty where she expected confirmation, I am making her question her own sanity.”
The horses’ hooves struck the cobblestones with rhythmic precision as they entered the village proper. Darcy’s confession hung between them like smoke from a dying fire.
“Perhaps I ought to tell her the truth after all,” he said finally.
“At this point, would that not cause more harm than good? You are already married. If you confess now, it would only add betrayal to her list of grievances. You would still be married, after all. Unless you wish to seek an annulment.”
The word was like a dagger to the side.
“It would ruin her reputation just as thoroughly as the original scandal,” Darcy conceded. “Perhaps more so. A highborn lady who seeks to dissolve her marriage becomes an object of gossip and speculation. The scandal would follow her for years.”
Bingley nodded. “Yet the deception weighs on you.”
“It does. I wonder constantly whether I should have told the truth from the beginning. Perhaps Mr Wickham’s health is better than I feared—his handwriting in the letter was steady enough.”
The damage is done now, in any case. The question is how to proceed.”
They rode in silence for several minutes, each lost in contemplation. Finally, Bingley spoke again.
“How are things between you and Lady Elizabeth currently?”
Darcy considered the question. “Better, I think. We had a lengthy conversation about Pemberley and my childhood yesterday. For a few moments, it felt as though the barriers between us were beginning to soften. It reminded me of the day I spoke to her in the apple orchard, when I—” He stopped abruptly, shaking his head.
“Continue,” Bingley encouraged.
“It was nothing of consequence. Simply a pleasant conversation with a young woman I thought quite extraordinary.” Darcy’s voice grew distant. “If circumstances had been different, if she had not been so far above my station…”
Bingley’s eyebrows rose with interest. “It sounds as though you actually care for your wife, Darcy.”
“The situation is far too complicated for me to entertain such thoughts,” Darcy replied. “I hope only that we might learn to get along tolerably well in future.”
“Who knows? Perhaps things will end up very good indeed.”
Darcy shook his head. “Elizabeth is beautiful, intelligent, possessing a fiery spirit and considerable wit. But too much stands between us now. Besides, she most certainly does not care for me.”
They had reached the village centre, where the ancient church stood surrounded by its weathered cemetery. A long queue of people stretched from the church doors, and Bingley pulled up his mount with curiosity.
“What is happening there?”
“Every Wednesday they hold a soup kitchen,” Darcy explained. “Lord Hartford arranged for all the tenants to contribute a small portion to the church fund in exchange for reduced rents. The church provides hot meals and essential supplies to those in need.”
As he spoke, Darcy’s attention was caught by a familiar figure moving among those serving the meals.
Elizabeth stood at one of the tables, ladling soup into wooden bowls with practiced efficiency.
Her hair was simply dressed, and she wore a plain brown dress that had seen better days—clearly chosen for practicality rather than fashion.
“By Jove!” Bingley exclaimed. “Is that Lady Elizabeth?”
Darcy stared, genuinely surprised. “I had no idea she participated in this.”
An elderly woman hobbled past them, clutching a small basket that clearly contained her allotment from the church. Darcy dismounted and approached her.
“Excuse me, madam. Is Lady Elizabeth here every week?”
The woman turned, revealing a toothless smile that transformed her weathered face.
“Oh yes, sir. Lady Elizabeth has been coming for years, she has. Sometimes she, Lady Jane, and Lady Mary deliver things to people’s homes, too.
Lady Mary, bless her, will read from the Bible if you ask her—ever so pious, that one.
But Lady Elizabeth, she’ll pick up a broom and help you clean your house if you need it. ”
Darcy thanked the woman and remounted, his mind reeling. He had known nothing of this aspect of Elizabeth’s character—her willingness to engage in practical charity, to work alongside the common people rather than simply directing their efforts from a distance.
“You look as though you have seen a ghost,” Bingley observed with amusement.
“I am beginning to realise how little I know about my wife,” Darcy admitted. “Her interests, her habits, her character beyond our brief acquaintance.”
“Perhaps in due course you will discover more,” Bingley said thoughtfully. “And who knows? You may yet find a way to bridge the gaps between you.”
As they rode away from the village, Darcy cast one last glance back at the church.
Elizabeth was still there, her movements efficient and purposeful as she served those who depended on the weekly charity.
The sight stirred something unexpected in his chest—not quite admiration, for he was still too wounded for that, but a recognition that his wife possessed depths he had never suspected.
The question that haunted him as they returned to Longbourn was whether those depths might someday include space for forgiveness, or whether the lies between them had already grown too thick to penetrate.
For the first time since their disastrous wedding breakfast, Darcy allowed himself to wonder what might have been possible between them under different circumstances—and what might still be possible, if he could summon the courage to seek the truth rather than hide from it.