Chapter Twenty-Nine
Darcy
The silence of Longbourn struck Darcy immediately upon his return. Though the housekeepers and maids went about their duties with customary efficiency, the absence of Elizabeth’s presence echoed through every room.
“Sarah,” he called to one of the housemaids who had previously served him at the steward’s cottage. “Where is Lady Elizabeth?”
“She has been staying at Netherfield since her return, sir,” Sarah replied with a curtsy. “I do hope your father is feeling better, Mr Darcy. We have all been quite worried.”
Darcy paused, struck by her words. This was the second time someone had enquired after Mr Wickham’s health since his return. It appeared the household remained unaware of the true circumstances surrounding Elizabeth’s departure. Was this a good sign?
“Thank you for your concern,” he replied, without correcting her on her assumption about Mr Wickham’s relation to him.
He made his way slowly towards Netherfield, each step weighted with uncertainty.
The past fortnight at Matlock had been torturous—watching Mr Wickham’s gradual recovery whilst knowing that his honesty had cost him Elizabeth forever.
The old man had improved somewhat but remained frail, requiring assistance to walk even short distances.
Georgiana had given Darcy quite the lecture about his actions, insisting he must fight to win Elizabeth back.
Easier said than done when the woman in question had fled rather than face him.
As he walked the familiar path between the estates, a figure approached from the direction of Netherfield. Lydia’s distinctive bounce was absent from her step, and when she drew near enough to speak, her expression held none of its usual warmth.
“Mr Darcy.”
“Lady Lydia. How do you do?”
“Well enough, considering the circumstances.” Her tone carried an edge he had never heard before. So the family knew. It was no great surprise, he surmised.
“How is your sister?” he asked tentatively. “I had sent word I was here but she did not wish to see me, yet I cannot stop myself from seeking her out.”
“Do not,” she said with a dismissive wave, “Elizabeth is being very dramatic about the whole affair. Anyone could see she was falling in love with you after the way she behaved at dinner the last time you dined at Netherfield. She should simply let it go.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Whatever Wickham did was probably quite harmless. Elizabeth tends towards histrionics like Mama.”
Darcy’s jaw tightened. “That is not true. Elizabeth does not tend towards dramatic behaviour, and what Wickham did was far from harmless. I was there—I saw it all. He crept up on her with the intention of compromising her reputation for his own advancement.”
Lydia shook her head with apparent indifference. “Well, it does not matter now anyway. It is all said and done. You should be thinking about where you are going next.”
The casual dismissal of Elizabeth’s suffering ignited anger in Darcy’s chest. “What do you mean?”
“Will you return to Matlock? Or perhaps seek employment elsewhere?” Lydia’s tone carried curious interest rather than sympathy. “I imagine it would be quite exciting to start fresh somewhere new.”
“I have no intention of going anywhere,” Darcy said.
Lydia laughed—a sound devoid of warmth or humour. “I overheard her speaking with Papa about an annulment earlier today.”
Darcy staggered backward a step. He felt the colour drain from his face as the implications settled over him.
An annulment would dissolve their marriage as though it had never existed, leaving Elizabeth free to marry someone else whilst branding him forever as the man who had deceived an earl’s daughter.
More devastating still was the knowledge that she truly wished to be rid of him entirely. Whatever affection had grown between them had been destroyed by his deception.
“I see,” he managed.
“She is quite determined,” Lydia continued with what seemed like satisfaction. “Papa has already consulted with solicitors about the matter. Something about fraud, I believe.”
Darcy closed his eyes briefly, fighting against the despair that threatened to overwhelm him. He had known Elizabeth was angry, had expected her fury and hurt. But he had not truly believed she would seek to dissolve their marriage entirely.
“Well,” Lydia said brightly, “I must return home. Good luck with whatever you decide to do, Mr Darcy.”
As she walked away, Darcy remained motionless on the path between Longbourn and Netherfield. The afternoon sun continued to shine, birds sang in the hedgerows, and somewhere ahead lay the woman he loved—the woman who no longer wished to be his wife.