Chapter 12 #2
Darcy’s slight shrug seemed to ask what else he had expected.
Fitzwilliam shook his head at yet another example of the man’s nauseating proficiency in all things and offered his hearty congratulations.
“Do not blame yourself for having brought her here. I daresay, now the worst is over, Lady Catherine will back down.” He wandered over to seat himself at the pianoforte and poked at a few of the keys before adding, “You certainly made your point, old boy.”
Darcy’s brow contracted. He took an angry gulp of his drink and stalked to scowl out of the window into the night. “It is unfortunate that we came here directly from Hertfordshire. Events there left me in no humour to hear another word spoken against Elizabeth.”
Fitzwilliam closed the instrument and leant on the lid. “I think it high time you told me what the devil happened at Netherfield.”
Darcy’s frown deepened, accurately presaging the grim account he proceeded to give. When he was done, Fitzwilliam stared at him, appalled. “And this was her elder sister, you say? Not any of the ghastly younger ones?”
“It was Jane. Bingley’s angel.”
“Good God! How did you act?”
“I informed Bingley that I would no longer recognise his wife or receive her into any of my houses.”
Fitzwilliam raised his eyebrows and blew out his cheeks. “How did he like that?”
“Very ill, though he did not cavil.”
Snatching up his glass, Fitzwilliam left the pianoforte and joined Darcy in staring out onto the moonlit lawn. “That must have been very difficult. You have been friends a long time.”
Darcy breathed in deeply through his nose and nodded. “We have. But Elizabeth is my priority now. I shall tolerate no further injury to her honour or her person.” He quaffed the rest of his drink and snarled. “Neither shall I tolerate Greyson’s loose tongue.”
“I very much doubt Greyson has said a word after the little chat we had with him. Lady Catherine much more likely had that tale from Collins.”
“What about the rest of the claptrap she claims is circulating about London?”
“I daresay that is all invention—borne of jealousy, most likely. You broke a lot of hearts about Town when you married Elizabeth, you know.”
Darcy levelled a stare at him.
“’Tis true! There was universal despair amongst the ladies of the ton the day your announcement was printed in the Times.
Miss Periwinkle pricked her finger with a needle in a desperate attempt to take her own life.
Miss Wilson declared she had nothing left for which to live and threw herself off a pavement into a puddle. Lady Frances cried herself to death.”
That earned him an eye roll.
“Lord Tewkesbury’s heart just about stopped altogether. He had five hundred pounds on your marrying Miss Bingley.”
“Stop.”
“That one is not even a joke.”
It turned out his grandmother was correct. A stiff drink, a spot of discourse, and Darcy was almost smiling again.
Tuesday 6 October 1812, Kent
The sun shone bright and warm the next morning, oblivious to the pall of gloom enshrouding everybody at Rosings.
Eager to escape the house, Elizabeth left early to call upon her friend Charlotte Collins but found her not at home.
On learning from the servant that she had gone into Hunsford village, Elizabeth walked there in the hope of seeing her, but to no avail.
Eventually, exercised but divested of none of the confidences she had hoped to divulge to her friend, she walked back in the direction of the house.
There, leaning against the stile separating the parsonage from Rosings Park, she found her husband awaiting her. He cut a dashing figure in his snugly fitted trousers, precisely placed hat, impeccably defined side-whiskers and knee-buckling little smile.
“I was considering sending out a search party.”
She refrained from suggesting he ought to consider employing a permanent staff for the purpose. “My apologies. I thought you were busy with Mr Montgomery.”
“We are done.” He pushed away from the stile and came towards her. “Are you too tired to walk a little farther?”
“No, I should like that very much.” Indeed, she was happy to stay out of Lady Catherine’s way for as long as possible. “Where shall we walk?”
“Any path you choose but that one,” he replied, nodding at the one leading to Rosings. She grinned at their like minds, and then, curious to discover what changes the different season had wrought on one of her favourite haunts, set out in the direction of the grove that lined the park.
In truth, Darcy was not in a humour for walking, talking, or indeed anything but ordering his trunks packed and departing forthwith.
It seemed every time he came to this cursed place, he must wrestle with violently conflicting notions of affection and duty and without much history of success.
He had hoped some time alone with Elizabeth would improve his humour, and indeed, it did until he recognised her chosen destination.
Then, with the remembrance of her unbearable rejection growing more vivid with every step, his spirits grew gloomier than ever.
“How went your discussions?” Elizabeth enquired.
“Well enough. Montgomery has the capital to save Rosings, provided it is managed carefully.” Darcy fixed his eyes upon the gate at which he had handed Elizabeth his letter last April.
“Will you help him, despite your aunt’s behaviour?”
“I shall.”
This pleased her, he could tell. Would that she had known then he was not devoid of all proper feeling!
“You are not happy,” she said gently. “I am sorry the visit has not started well.”
“It is not that which troubles me at the present moment,” he admitted, smiling ruefully at his own foolishness.
She stopped walking and turned to him, all anxiety. “Then what does?”
“It is this place. My memories of it are inexpressibly painful to me.”
She lifted a hand to his cheek, and though her next words were teasing, her voice was as soft as her touch. “Oh, Fitzwilliam, you dear, silly man! I thought all that was forgotten?”
“Forgetting is not my forte, as well you know. I left this place believing I had lost you forever.”
“Yes, you do have a penchant for losing me, I have noticed.”
He choked out a surprised burst of laughter.
“Would that I had known then how I should come to be the constant object of your wit, teasing devil of a woman!” He pulled her closer, then one arm at a time took hold of the front edges of his greatcoat and wrapped them around her, cocooning her against his chest. “What would you have said had someone told you after that night you would be back here half a year on, wife to me and increasing with my child?”
She looked up at him dubiously. “If that is all I had been told, I think I would have been justified in being excessively alarmed.”
His smile faltered. She was perfectly right, of course, yet it made hearing it no less painful, for it served as further proof of how she had despised him at the time. She saw it, God love her. She saw it and immediately redressed the injury.
“Though, had I been told how blissfully happy you would have made me in that half a year, how wonderful it would be to be held the way you hold me and kissed the way you kiss me, how honoured I should feel to be carrying the child of the best man I have ever known, had I been told how very dearly I should have come to love you, I believe I might have been more sanguine about it.”
It frightened him how fiercely he loved her.
It had then, and it did still. He made no attempt to find the words to express it, however; he doubted any existed sufficiently profound.
Instead, he took her by the hand and drew her to the nearest tree, from which he plucked one of the last remaining leaves.
Silently, he pressed a tender kiss to her brow and the leaf into her hand, closing her fingers around it.
“Fitzwilliam?”
“Yes?”
“Kiss me. The way you do.”
Wednesday 7 October 1812, Hertfordshire
“Oh, Sister, I cannot recall ever seeing her so withdrawn, not even when Mr Bingley went away last autumn.”
“Is she very distressed? What did she say?”
“Very little—only that it is certain she is not with child. Her courses arrived on Sunday.”
Mrs Philips shook her head sadly. “Well, she is not the first woman to be mistaken about such a thing.”
“It breaks my heart to think how her hopes have been dashed.”
“And yours, my dear.”
“Yes, mine too, for I was certain she must be increasing. She showed all the signs. She even asked me on Saturday evening, how long a woman must usually wait to feel the quickening.”
“I see why you were so convinced. She obviously believed it to be true.”
“And now all our hopes are dashed.”
“Only temporarily, Sister. With any luck, you will not have to wait long for better news—from Lizzy if not Jane.”
“What use is it to me if Lizzy has a child, for I shall scarcely ever see it. I am getting too old to be forever traipsing hither and thither about the country.”
“I am sure her husband will be vastly pleased to hear that,” said Mr Bennet, walking into the room and taking up a position before the fire. “Perhaps that is why Mr Bingley delays. He may wish to find a house farther away before he begets another excuse for you to visit him.”
Nothing Mrs Philips could do would settle Mrs Bennet’s nerves after that remark, and in the end, there was nothing for it but to help her sister to bed and request a tonic from Hill that would allow her to sleep off her disappointment.
Thursday 8 October 1812, Kent