Chapter 15
Elizabeth looked almost in despair after Mrs Robertson as she closed the door, leaving her alone with him. She had never believed she should meet him again—or at least not so soon. Too soon, she felt inclined to say.
“Georgiana joined the Clinton Academy last autumn,” he began, as though wishing to ease her task, even if his tone retained its usual pride and reserve.
“I hope you will be satisfied with her progress.” She was grateful that they spoke of the Academy, yet aware that the gentleman before her would never have chosen any other subject.
He was too accustomed to decorum, which clearly required that, in such circumstances, embarrassing recollections should be avoided.
And that particular room in the Clinton Academy was, above all others, a place where rules must be respected.
“Georgiana is a very gentle and obedient young lady.” His composure gave no hint that he had once written that grievous letter containing so many distressing particulars concerning her.
Yet, seeing the girl, Elizabeth perceived that Darcy had spoken truth, and that Miss Darcy, still as innocent as a child, could not be accused of any fault.
Nevertheless, something of the day’s brightness was lost. With Miss Darcy in one of the dormitories or classrooms, she would be perpetually reminded of that day at the Parsonage which she had striven so hard to forget.
“I have no doubt.”
And because she always spoke the truth, Darcy believed her and was content. Georgiana’s happiness was essential to him.
“I thank you. You will find that timidity is her greatest defect.” His voice had grown quiet, almost reflective.
Undoubtedly, when he first saw Elizabeth standing in the parlour, it had occurred to him that the Academy might not be the most suitable place for Georgiana’s education.
He wished his sister to feel at ease, untroubled by what had once existed between himself and Elizabeth; yet the last few minutes had revealed a tension so evident that even those unacquainted with their history might have perceived it.
His thoughts seemed to pass through her mind, as though she could read them, and she remembered how often, in earlier days, they had laughed together, amused to find their thoughts the same.
She shook herself free of the recollection.
“You have my direction.” He gestured towards his visiting card lying among the others upon the table.
“Certainly. Yet I do not think there shall be any need to trouble you.”
“I am returning to Pemberley.”
She coloured slightly, feeling that he had, perhaps, infringed the formality which ought to govern their intercourse; for in that room nothing personal should have been spoken. But he inclined his head, as though wishing to dismiss such an idea.
“Whilst I am absent, Colonel Fitzwilliam is responsible for my sister. We are both her guardians. You will find his direction also on the reverse of my card.” His tone was deliberately cold, letting her comprehend that his mention of Pemberley was no personal confidence but a necessity arising from Georgiana’s particular situation.
“I comprehend. You may be certain that she is perfectly safe here.”
He rose to depart, though Mrs Robertson had not yet appeared—a sign that the allotted fifteen minutes were not yet expired.
Almost involuntarily, she glanced at her watch; he noticed the movement and, understanding it without words, remarked quietly, “I believe we have said all that needs to be said.”
Elizabeth inclined her head in silence. Indeed, there was nothing more to be said between them.
He bowed without a word and withdrew, leaving her—much to her relief—with nearly ten minutes to recover herself before the arrival of the next young lady.
Yet peace had denied her, for Jane burst into the room.
“Mr Darcy? What was that man doing here?” Fortunately, her sister’s voice was low enough to prevent being overheard; even so, Elizabeth raised her finger to her lips, entreating silence.
“What was he doing here?” Jane repeated in a whisper.
“His sister, Miss Georgiana Darcy, is one of the pupils,” Elizabeth answered softly, still glancing towards the door. “But how do you know?”
“I was on the point of leaving and saw him go out.”
“Oh,” sighed Elizabeth, “it was too fair to last perfectly.”
“Do not talk nonsense.” Jane’s voice was firm. “You need not see him—”
“But she is here.” Elizabeth smiled for the first time since beholding him. “And she resembles him astonishingly. I shall have to grow accustomed to it; yet for the present it is difficult.”
She drew a long breath and turned towards Mrs Robertson, who had just entered the room.
“Lady Suffolk and Lady Alice.”
Jane rose to depart, but Elizabeth caught her hand discreetly as she advanced to meet the two ladies; she still required her presence.
Mr Clinton had often declared that Jane and Mary were ever welcome guests at the Academy.
She meant to profit by it, for she needed her sister’s support now more than at any time before—whilst Jane, in thus assisting her, seemed to recover the very purpose of her own life.
∞∞∞
Darcy entered his carriage, overwhelmed by the scene he had just endured.
He had possessed the strength to appear calm and reserved, though he was far from being so in truth.
He was vexed with Mr Clinton for what seemed to him a piece of ill-judged comedy.
Had the gentleman written in his letter that Elizabeth Bennet was the new head of the Academy, he would have sent Richard in his stead and been spared a meeting which had been anything but agreeable.
He felt an urgent need to speak with someone, and in a short while, he ascended to the colonel’s office at the War Office.
It was not his habit to make such visits, and the colonel received him first with surprise, then with immediate concern.
“Has something occurred?” The question escaped him with genuine alarm.
Darcy shook his head and sat down upon the single, rather uncomfortable chair before the writing-table. After a long silence, he began at last:
“In fact, something has occurred. I have taken Georgiana to the Academy today—”
“Is she well?” The colonel leaned forward, plainly anxious; for he thought, for some reason he could not explain, that Darcy, though disturbed, appeared frozen rather than moved.
“Speak, for Heaven’s sake,” he urged, for he had not seen his cousin in such a state since the previous summer; yet, after defeating Wickham’s scheme, Darcy had seemed somewhat recovered, and never so shaken as at present.
His mind turned to the Academy; for an instant, he imagined fire or some other calamity—but it could not be so, since Darcy had only that morning conveyed Georgiana there, after they had supped together the previous evening.
“You know I received a letter requesting that I should attend and meet the new Principal—”
“Yes, yes, I remember.”
“You will never guess who the new Principal is—”
“Miss Bennet.” The words slipped out before he was aware of them. Yet he must have guessed rightly, for Darcy nodded and at once appeared lifeless, as though all strength had been drained away by that meeting, which was not far from the truth.
“Good Heavens, what an unfortunate coincidence!” The colonel stared at him.
Darcy’s engagement had been received with delight by the Earl and Countess of Matlock.
The Ashcombes were not only an ancient family but also of great wealth, and the two daughters were their sole heiresses.
It was even rumoured that the Regent himself might consent to confer upon the elder the title of Baronne Ashcombe at her father’s death, and Lady Elizabeth was the betrothed of Darcy.
Only the colonel knew that matters were not ideal, yet they appeared lately to move upon a proper course.
Lady Elizabeth, newly arrived in London with her family, was timid but witty—less accomplished, perhaps, than the other Elizabeth, yet assuredly of the kind Darcy desired: a young lady who might become his companion, not one who would squander her fortune in London amusements.
“A prudent decision,” Lord Matlock had declared, and all London soon learnt of the engagement, which ruined the designs of several young ladies—among them Lady Amelia, who had long sought to entrap him.
After Elizabeth Bennet, Elizabeth Ashcombe was indeed the best choice…yet, observing Darcy, the colonel perceived that his cousin’s feelings were far from settled.
“I am exceedingly angry.”
“With…her?”
“With her, with myself, with this accursed situation, in which Georgiana must remain near her, and I am obliged to see her.”
“You are not obliged to see her.” The colonel made a grimace which Darcy could not interpret. Though they resembled each other in feature, their expressions rendered them quite different: Darcy seldom betrayed his thoughts, whereas the colonel’s face was their faithful mirror.
“Not in person, perhaps; yet Georgiana will assuredly be captivated by her, and all her talk will henceforth concern Miss Bennet. Whilst I came hither, I wondered whether it might not be better to remove her from the Academy and take her to Pemberley. She is near sixteen, and other young ladies of her age already think of marriage.”
“I am glad you refrained. You would have created a stir far beyond the importance of the matter.”
“You are right.” Darcy nodded, relieved that his cousin approved of his decision to let Georgiana remain…
in Elizabeth’s hands. “Yet I am so incensed when I think of her. She behaved with such want of civility. She used words which she must have known would wound me. I do not believe I was ever so humiliated.”
“Darcy, you know that I am with you, body and soul, whatever the case may be. But you cannot claim that you were perfectly civil, or that you offered for her in a joyful manner. You do not even know—”
“I do not even know?” His astonishment was visible, for the colonel had stopped mid-sentence. “Pray finish what you mean to say.”
“You supposed that she answered thus because she felt nothing for you, no affection. But did it never occur to you that the manner of your declaration might have so shocked her that her feelings could not signify—”
“Enough.” His tone, far from harsh, was merely weary.
“Yes, you are right—enough. There is no use in pursuing it. Your future is now, Lady Elizabeth.”
And upon Darcy’s countenance, till then immovable, there spread a look of wonder, as though he had forgotten who Lady Elizabeth was.
“Your betrothed,” the colonel added unnecessarily.
Again, Darcy nodded, but then a certain animation returned.
“When I left Rosings that afternoon, I intended only to ride two hours for weariness and then return to sleep and forget.”
He paused; the colonel thought he would say no more, but after a while Darcy continued in the same subdued tone, as if relating another man’s story.
“In Hunsford, I encountered Lady Elizabeth. She was on horseback likewise. I cannot tell how it happened, but I escorted her home. She rides remarkably well, and when she is in her own element, her timidity vanishes. You think I proposed to her from resentment, yet it could not be so, for the resentment would have fallen upon myself.”
“Exactly.” The colonel appeared calmer now.
“I scarcely understand it even now, but we spoke as we dismounted. She invited me in, and we walked for nearly ten minutes from the stables to the house. You must understand something. Whilst I struggled to determine whether I ought to marry Miss Bennet, something changed within me. In deliberating whether to marry her, I resolved that I wanted to get married. Suddenly, I began to desire a wife and children at Pemberley—all that a man might possess. When I found myself deprived of her, it was not only my love that was disappointed, but also my wish for a family. And there, beside that intelligent and modest girl, who rides admirably and takes pleasure in the management of an estate, I felt a revelation—that, in the absence of Elizabeth Bennet, she was the wife destined for me. Before we reached the house, I had asked for her hand.”
“Oh.” The colonel’s voice softened. “Then she accepted.”
“Yes, I spoke to her first—and her parents rejoiced.”
He was disappointed. He had hoped that Darcy had spoken only to the father and that the daughter had been pressed into the engagement; then there might yet have been hope that she would resist and break it, but not so.
“You will marry.” The words came almost as a sigh; yet Darcy did not perceive the dismay in his cousin’s tone, being wholly absorbed by his recollections.
“Yes. That is my intention. The three months will pass, and Georgiana shall not return to the Academy…and Miss Bennet shall vanish for ever from my life.”
The colonel thought Darcy seemed all at once too calm compared with how he had entered. He would almost have preferred that his cousin’s anger had remained, for behind anger there might still dwell strong feeling. But with Darcy, one could never be certain.