Chapter Nine #2
Wiping her tears away, she picked up the note for Jane.
Her sister would feel the loneliness as much as did Elizabeth.
She wished she could share her feelings with Jane, but Jane and Bingley courted openly.
Darcy acknowledged her only with a dance.
No one would ever know how she would compare every other man to him.
Caroline Bingley’s letter explained how the family retreated to London because of the danger Hertfordshire offered. “Nonsense,” Elizabeth declared. “Mr. Bingley’s sisters fear nothing but the possibility that their brother would propose to you.”
“Listen to this.” Jane read from the letter.
“Mr. Darcy is impatient to see his sister, and we are scarcely less eager to meet her again. I really do not think Georgiana Darcy has her equal for beauty, elegance, and accomplishments. And the affection she inspires in Louisa and me is heightened into something still more interesting, from the hope we dare to entertain of her being our future sister. I do not know whether I ever before mentioned to you my feelings on this subject, but I will not leave the country without confiding them, and I trust you will not esteem them unreasonable. My brother admires Miss Darcy greatly. He will have frequent opportunity now of seeing her on the most intimate footing. Her relations all wish the connection as much as his own, and a sister’s partiality is not misleading me, I think, when I call Charles most capable of engaging any woman’s heart.
With all these circumstances to favor an attachment and nothing to prevent it, am I wrong, my dearest Jane, in indulging the hope of an event which will secure the happiness of so many?
” Jane sat in dejection. “Is that not clear? Mr. Bingley is intended for Mr. Darcy’s sister. ”
“Indeed, Jane, you ought to believe me.” Elizabeth knew Darcy, and she could not imagine he had such aspirations for his sister.
As much as Mr. Darcy esteemed Charles Bingley, it was likely he planned an auspicious match for Miss Darcy, especially if her heirs would inherit Pemberley.
Darcy’s mother, after all, was Lady Anne Fitzwilliam Darcy, the daughter of the late Earl of Matlock.
In frustration, she snatched the letter from Jane’s hand and threw it into a drawer.
“No one who ever observed you with Mr. Bingley could doubt his affection. Miss Bingley cannot. She is not such a simpleton. Could she have seen half as much love in Mr. Darcy for her, she would have ordered her wedding clothes.” Elizabeth smiled with the knowledge Caroline Bingley would never know Darcy in that manner.
“We are not rich enough, or grand enough, for Mr. Bingley’s sister, and she is the most eager to name Miss Darcy for her brother, for she operates under the notion that when there has been one intermarriage, she may have less delay in achieving a second.
But, my dearest Jane, you cannot seriously imagine because Miss Bingley tells you her brother greatly admires Miss Darcy that he is in the smallest degree less sensible of your merits. ”
Jane continued to believe Miss Bingley to be honest. Elizabeth knew better, but she did not trust herself to discuss her suspicions without confessing how distraught she was about Darcy’s departure.
Little could be done. Mr. Bingley had departed, and Jane held no recourse but to wait for his return.
Elizabeth realized Mrs. Bennet would lament the bad luck of losing such a prime catch.
Their mother would not soon permit Jane to forget the loss.
For that reason, Elizabeth was happy her mother knew nothing of Darcy’s attentions to her.
The morning slipped by as the household stirred to life after the long evening.
Elizabeth roamed from room to room, driven by restlessness and unsettled by the question of whether Mr. Wickham would actually follow Mr. Darcy.
What if he did not? What could she do then?
Could she tell the militia’s colonel what she knew?
How could she keep Darcy from the tale? Elizabeth knew she could not stand idly by and permit Mr. Wickham to choose victim after victim.
And what of the victims? Unless someone assisted in freeing their souls, they were damned for all time.
Elizabeth did not believe she could do what Mr. Darcy had been called upon repeatedly to execute to save the souls of the deceased.
In the early afternoon, she stole away to reread each of Darcy’s notes.
Once more, she drifted to the window. She stood watching Ceres toss her head with an unknown anxiousness, mimicking the feelings she experienced.
She pawed the earth before flicking her tail and skittering away towards the barn.
Then she saw him. Darcy stood along the hedgerow on the far side of the meadow.
He watched the house, obviously looking for her.
He has not left me. Grabbing her shawl, she made to meet him.
“To where are you off, Lizzy?” her father called from the front parlor.
Elizabeth anxiously retraced her steps. “I thought of taking a walk.”
“Do not go out alone. It is too dangerous, Lizzy.”
Elizabeth searched for a plausible excuse to leave the house. She worried Mr. Darcy might leave if she did not hurry, but how could she go against her father’s wishes? “Yes, Papa.” She returned to the upper floors, searching each window to observe if he remained nearby.
Finally, her eyes found him. He stepped into the shadows, but he lingered, his countenance turned towards Longbourn. She knew intuitively he wished for her presence. Despite her father’s warning, she needed to be with him.
Impulsively, she sneaked down the back stairs. Her mother was in the kitchen. “Afternoon, Mama.” She bestowed a peck on her mother’s cheek.
“Afternoon, Lizzy.” Mrs. Bennet spoke in distraction. “Where do your steps lead?”
“I thought to feed the new horse an apple or two.” Elizabeth pulled her shawl tightly around her shoulders.
Her mother’s expression changed. “Our dear Jane was played poorly by Mr. Bingley. Have you spoken to her? She had breakfast in her room.”
“I am grieved for her,” Elizabeth murmured.
“Well, I wish the man a dreadful stay in London. He treated your sister ill, and I may never forgive him.”
Elizabeth agreed with her mother’s sentiments.
Mr. Bingley should not be so easily persuaded!
Mr. Hill brought in wood for the fire, and Elizabeth seized the opportunity to leave.
To avoid telling another lie, she did go to the barn and fed the animal an apple from the barrel.
“Afternoon, lovely lady,” she whispered softly into the horse’s ear.
“I plan to meet Mr. Darcy,” she confided to the animal before rushing to the open door and making her way to the back of the structure.
To prevent others from seeing her, she walked a straight line from the barn to the far-off hedgerow.
She was more than halfway across the unsown field before she broke into a run.
Assured Darcy would note her approach, she skirted the stile on the far-off hedgerow and plunged into the woods. She saw him turn towards Netherfield. Impetuously, she called to him, but he did not answer.
Elizabeth quickened her pace. Yet, no matter how fast she walked, he continued to be removed from her.
She called out again, but he did not hear.
So, Elizabeth simply followed, doing the only thing she could do— keep him in sight.
When he turned suddenly towards the manor house, she smiled, knowing he led her to their secret place.
She knew she played to his vanity with her actions, but his teasing always intrigued her.
At the door, he turned to look at her. Elizabeth saw the corners of his mouth turn up in a smile, and then he slipped inside. Moments later, she crossed the threshold. Calling out his name, she rushed into the room, and then her heart ceased to beat when she saw what stood before her.
A whimper escaped her lips, but no other sound was heard in the empty house. Leaning casually against the mantle of the cold hearth, George Wickham nodded his head in acknowledgment. “I fear your precious William is not here, Miss Elizabeth.”