Chapter 13 #5
Elizabeth stopped walking. “Sir, notwithstanding my present feelings towards her, that is still impossible to credit.”
He shook his head slowly. “You will recall the attitude in which she and I were discovered the day we became engaged.”
“I could scarcely forget it.”
“It was not the happy celebration everybody took it to be.” He blew out his breath and rubbed the back of his neck. “Moments before that, Jane swooned, or so I thought. She fell in such a way as toppled us both to the sofa.”
Elizabeth made a noise of protest, but he interrupted.
“She has admitted doing so by design. Then she… pardon me…then she kissed me.”
“Why would she do such a thing? And, pardon me, but why would you object?”
He appeared confused by this and turned back to the path. “I like your method of walking off vexation. Might we continue?”
She consented, and they walked for two hundred yards at least in silence before he ventured to speak again.
“Your sister’s demeanour was altered when I returned to court her after Easter.
” He paused to heave a heavy sigh. “What with all the other unpleasantness and distractions that occurred during those weeks, I…well, suffice to say that by June, I had begun to question my wishes. It seems she perceived my indecision and conspired with her mother to act. Mrs Bennet has freely acknowledged our being interrupted at that moment was deliberate.”
“I do not recall that it happened in that way. My mother tried to prevent our going in.”
He looked unsure for a moment but then dismissed it. “It scarcely matters. By then, Jane had thrown herself upon me, and it was assumed by everybody that we had reached an understanding.”
“But why did you not explain the situation to my father? Or—very well, perhaps not him—but to Darcy.”
“I could not tell Darcy!” He seemed to regret his tone and in a calmer voice added, “Not even he could have extricated me without severely injuring your sister’s reputation.
Or yours. Besides, I was not deficient in any feeling for your sister.
I believed—I hoped we might be content.” In a pitiable voice he concluded, “I knew not then how embittered she would become.”
If Jane had indeed condescended to despicable means to secure an offer, condemning herself to a marriage of vastly unequal affection, then Elizabeth hardly wondered that she should have grown jealous of her genuine happiness with Darcy.
The injustice of punishing her for it with malice and disloyalty was insufferable.
“I am very sorry for you,” she told Bingley.
“I understand now why you wished to leave.”
“May I…do I ask too much to stay on a little longer?”
“You are more than welcome. You must return only when you are ready and not because anybody has forced you, no matter how my mother begs me to try.” Thinking of her mother and father, she added, “There can be nothing more wretched than being unable to respect one’s partner in life.
I refuse to have any part in committing you to such a fate. ”
He did not reply for a time. When Elizabeth gave up glowering fiercely at the lake and looked at him, she was surprised to find him watching her with some concern.
“Would that I could offer you such words of comfort as you have given me, Lizzy.”
How she pitied him then, for she had Darcy to ease the pain of Jane’s betrayal.
He had nobody. “Perhaps we can be of comfort to each other,” she offered and was pleased to see his expression lighten.
Her anger was too great to accommodate much in the way of comfort at that moment, however, and she sought to end their tête-à-tête by suggesting they return to the house before breakfast was cleared away.
The prospect of food persuaded him to abandon the subject, and they returned indoors without taxing themselves to discuss anything more significant than the whereabouts of the other members of the household.
“There, you see,” Elizabeth said as they came through the front door. “I can hear Georgiana at her practice still.”
“She is a good girl,” Bingley remarked. “Vastly less trying than my own sisters were at her age.”
He could not have known the very great anxiety this comment would cause her, and Elizabeth did her utmost to conceal any sign of it, but his reference to Georgiana’s sturdiness of character sent her mind racing down a most unwelcome path.
She excused herself on the pretext of some menial task and went to her husband’s study to fretfully await his return.
“And has he stopped her writing to anybody else?”
“He did not say, but that is not the worst of it.”
“Pray, cease pacing and come to it then.”
Elizabeth obliged him insofar as she ceased pacing, yet she continued to prevaricate. “I am almost afraid to tell you, for I know how angry you will be.”
Darcy was already a good way beyond angry—with Jane, with Bingley, with Mrs Bennet, and with Ashby and his bloody wife. He watched Elizabeth bite her lip and rub her temples and grew angrier still at all those who continued to obtrude on her happiness. “Tell me.”
“Jane knows about Georgiana’s near elopement.”
He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth.
“I am sorry, Fitzwilliam. I meant not to break your confidence, only on the very day I returned home from Hunsford, Jane and I met Mr Wickham in the street. He was so vile, so charming, that I could not bear to see Jane taken in, so I told her. But I trusted her then. I never dreamt she might—”
Darcy stepped forward and took her by the shoulders. “Calm yourself. I do not blame you for telling Jane. She is your sister. You could not have known how she would change.”
She let out a shaky breath and gave a weak smile of thanks. “But think you she will tell Lady Ashby?”
“I know not.”
“I should never forgive myself were Georgiana’s reputation tarnished because of me.”
“It would not be any fault of yours if it were,” he said firmly, pulling her into his embrace. “Leave it with me, love. I shall deal with it.”
Knightsbridge
11th February
Ashby,
I am in no way surprised Darcy has written you such a letter if your wife has indeed been playing arson with his reputation, and neither ought you to be.
I shall overlook the colourful rant you sent me on the assumption that you were not brave enough to direct it at him.
Frankly, you ought to count yourself fortunate that his threats ended where they did and were not extended to include the removal of one or both of your ballocks.
May I presume, dear brother, that this is the reason for Lady Catherine’s displeasure? Your wife is making friends hand-over-fist, is she not? I suggest you encourage her in future to better select her enemies. The wives of men such as Darcy are not generally prudent marks.
Do not trouble yourself writing to Father.
He will not intervene, and neither will I, for we both dislike your wife as much as you do.
Knowing you prefer an uncomplicated existence, my advice is to shake off your indignation and concede to Darcy’s embargos.
Opposing him will only cost you money and respect—and possibly a ballock.
Your younger and eminently wiser brother,
Fitzwilliam
Friday 19 February 1813, Derbyshire
Darcy gritted his teeth. “Your turn, Bingley.”
“I beg your pardon.” Bingley ceased staring from the window and turned over a card.
Darcy played another of his and returned to waiting. After a minute, he cleared his throat.
Bingley turned over another card.
“For crying out loud, that was a king!” Darcy exclaimed, tossing his hand down in disgust. This was precisely the inattention that had forced a premature end to their game of Vingt-et-un and Piquet before that, reducing them in desperation to playing Beggar-My-Neighbour.
“It was? I thought I had missed my turn again.”
“I comprehend now why you disdained the idea of foils. Wool-gathering such as this would have seen you skewered within moments.”
“’Twas you who turned your nose up at billiards.”
“Thank God, else it might have been my cloth you skewered. Besides, I thought some air and exercise would do you good.”
“It is February, Darcy. I have no wish to be outside—be it on a horse, on my feet, or on my arse by the lake catching frozen fish. I was quite content merely sitting here ’til you came along, resolved on entertaining me. I shall never comprehend your need to be constantly occupied.”
Darcy maintained a blank expression, keeping his exasperation well hidden.
He would have been equally content to leave Bingley to his musings, had Elizabeth’s vexation at her mother’s latest letter not persuaded him this discussion could be postponed no longer.
Yet, having long ago lost all taste for interference, he was presently guilty of some vastly uncharacteristic procrastination whilst he summoned the will to delve into the quagmire of Bingley’s affaires du c?ur.
“Pray, forgive my ill humour,” Bingley said with a sigh. “You are very good to have me here. I would not be ungrateful, only I have much on my mind.”
Darcy inclined his head.
“I have received a letter,” Bingley sullenly informed him. “From Caroline.”
“She has discovered you are here then?”
“Aye, and she is displeased, to say the least. Jane is apparently gone to Farley House to escape the gossip in Meryton.”
“Indeed? Elizabeth received word from her mother that Jane was gone to Town, but she made no mention of her staying with the Hursts.” He could imagine with what delight they had received her and wondered whether Hurst might soon arrive at Pemberley seeking refuge as Bingley had done.
“Dare I enquire what else Mrs Bennet wrote?” Bingley enquired.