Chapter 18
WHERE NEARLY EVERYONE FAVOURS LONDON EXCEPT MRS BENNET.
There was a bite in the air the morning after the wedding that made Darcy think twice before leaving the warmth of his bed.
He was downstairs and out of the house at his usual hour, however, galloping across the park towards an expanse of frosty fields by the time the day had barely dawned.
Overhead, the sky appeared crowded, full to bursting with a mass of leaden clouds that rolled over the hills of Hertfordshire with the unrest of an advancing army.
Their presence, coupled with the scent of snow on the air, made Darcy anxious to be gone from the country.
By the time he returned to the house, Darcy found the rest of Netherfield’s party at the breakfast table.
Even Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst, who were habitually late risers, were present, sedately sipping their tea beside the newlyweds, their aunt, and Mr Hurst. After bidding them good morning, Darcy walked to the sideboard, filled a plate with bacon and eggs, and joined them.
“How was your ride, Darcy?” Hurst asked as he shovelled a forkful of egg into his mouth. Bingley was engaged with his bride, Mrs Lawrence with her bacon, and Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst, for once, appeared more interested in the temperature of their tea than in Darcy’s comings and goings.
“There is snow on the air. I recommend we depart as soon as may be else we get stuck. The roads are dreadful even in pleasant weather.”
Bingley looked away from his wife. “Will it be bad, do you think?”
Darcy swallowed a mouthful of coffee. “If you would like to gain London by this afternoon we ought to leave soon. The wind is blowing from the south, so there is a good chance we can get ahead of it if we make haste.”
Bingley laid his napkin aside and pushed his chair away from the table.
“I will order our carriages readied and have the servants prepare for our departure.” He rose and extended his hand to his wife with an affectionate smile.
Placing her hand in his, Mrs Bingley accepted her husband’s assistance with a warm look and a blushing countenance.
Miss Bingley and the Hursts followed their example with alacrity, claiming they did not wish to be stranded in Hertfordshire if they could avoid the inconvenience.
Darcy, having barely touched his breakfast, rose as well, and offered his hand to Mrs Lawrence. “No doubt you are anxious to go to London, ma’am.”
“I certainly am, Mr Darcy, but not, I think, so anxious as you.” She gave him a conspiratorial wink and called to her nephew.
“I do not think there will be room enough for Miss Bennet and me both in your carriage, Charles. I have a great number of reticules and I insist on their remaining within my view.”
“I assure you, Aunt,” Bingley replied cheerfully, “you have no cause for worry. There will be more than enough room for everyone, even Caroline.”
“Oh, I daresay Caroline will ride with Louisa and Mr Hurst, as they are all for Grosvenor Street. Miss Bennet and I shall ride with Mr Darcy, for he will be all by himself in that great coach of his. Surely, you would prefer to be alone with Mrs Bingley now that you are married to her.”
Darcy repressed the urge to smile at her machinations and shook his head.
The lady was nothing if not resolute; but rather than being irritated with Mrs Lawrence for arranging his affairs as she saw fit, he felt grateful to her.
She would no doubt make an excellent ally once they reached town, and most likely a lackadaisical chaperon.
“Darcy will be fine on his own,” Bingley replied, waving her off.
“As you are also for Grosvenor Street, I think it wise that you accompany Louisa and Hurst as well. Jane and I will take Lizzy with us as planned. If the weather is unpleasant, Darcy will want to go home directly. I would not wish to inconvenience him.”
Mrs Lawrence gave Darcy a look that clearly communicated her frustration with Bingley’s congeniality and rolled her eyes at the ceiling.
By the time that all three coaches had departed Netherfield and arrived at Longbourn the temperature had dropped several degrees.
Heated bricks warmed the feet of the travellers, and heavy rugs draped their laps.
Miss Bingley, the Hursts, and Mrs Lawrence were settled snuggly within the Hursts’ conveyance and there they chose to remain while Bingley and Jane alighted from theirs to collect Elizabeth and take their leave of the family.
Darcy followed them, avoiding the servants bustling about with trunks and valises, reticules, and bandboxes, all waiting to be loaded onto the waiting carriages.
The moment he entered the parlour, his eyes sought Elizabeth.
He noticed her at once, standing in the centre of the room wearing a nostalgic smile as she embraced Miss Mary and Miss Catherine.
It was a lovely show of affection between the sisters and Darcy did not wish to intrude upon it, not when a full month would pass until they were reunited.
He turned his attention to Mrs Gardiner instead. She stood just behind Elizabeth, conversing with Jane and Bingley. Her two daughters accompanied her. Emily, the eldest girl, held Mrs Bingley’s hand, admiring her wedding ring. Darcy left them to their conversation.
Mrs Bennet was conspicuously absent, as was her husband, but Darcy soon discovered Mr Gardiner and his son Robert standing beside the window in the far corner of the room.
The elder gentleman’s expression as he observed the displays of domestic felicity was indulgent, while Robert looked positively bored. Darcy crossed the room and joined them.
“I see you and your family are for London this morning as well, Mr Gardiner.”
“That we are, sir. We are only waiting on my wife and daughters to say their goodbyes and we will be off. The weather looks as though it might become tricky, and we are anxious to away.”
“We are of the same mind it seems. The temperature has dropped since dawn, and I fear we shall see snow before long if we do not make haste.” Darcy turned his attention to the tall, smartly dressed young man who stood sedately beside his father. “How do you do, Master Gardiner?”
Robert offered him a polite bow. “I am well, thank you, Mr Darcy. I hope you are also well?”
“I am very well today, thank you. Have you enjoyed your visit at Longbourn?”
“Yes, sir, very much.”
“And what did you most enjoy?”
Robert grinned at him, looking much like his father when he smiled. “We were here for Cousin Jane’s wedding,” he said, his voice taking on a conspiratorial tone, “but Cousin Lizzy is my favourite. She is great fun and tells the most exciting stories.”
Darcy raised his brows. “Does she? And what was your favourite?”
“The story about the prideful prince and the prejudiced maiden, without a doubt. There was an ogre in it, but also a moral lesson.”
Darcy’s brows shot to his hairline. “I believe I would like to hear it someday. Do you think your Cousin Lizzy would agree to tell the story to me as well?”
Robert was about to answer him when a great commotion was heard in the hall.
“No!” Lydia cried as she entered the room, stomping her foot upon the floor for emphasis. “I want to go to London! There is nothing for me here, Wickham.”
“Lydia,” Wickham said as he pursued her, “I will be much occupied by business. You will have nothing to do in town while I am engaged. You had better stay at Longbourn.”
“La, Wickham! I shall go to the shops and to the theatre. I need not sit at home, for I am a married woman and can therefore venture out alone!”
Wickham would not be moved. “You shall remain at Longbourn, Lydia, with your mother and sisters and that is final.”
She turned her back upon her husband with a sour expression, but her countenance brightened when she spied Darcy standing with Mr Gardiner and Robert. “I will not remain at Longbourn,” she told her husband defiantly, “and you cannot make me!”
To Darcy’s horror, she crossed the room and addressed him directly. “Mr Darcy, you must tell Wickham to take me to London at once!”
Darcy stared at her in shock. He could not believe Lydia Wickham had the gall to approach him in such a fashion, never mind make such a demand of him.
“Lydia,” Wickham said sternly as he glanced at Darcy, “be silent.”
Lydia, however, continued to demand that Darcy speak to her husband. “Tell him, Mr Darcy! Tell him I ought to go to London, for I know Wickham will listen to you above everyone, much as he did when we were all there the last time.”
Darcy could only stare at her as he felt the colour drain from his face.
“Mrs Wickham,” said her uncle, “you have said quite enough.” There was no mistaking the disapprobation in his tone. With a pointed glance at his wife, he took Lydia firmly by the arm and escorted her from the room.
After consigning her daughters to Jane and Bingley’s care, Mrs Gardiner bade Wickham accompany her and, with a look that clearly expressed her displeasure with Lydia’s behaviour, hastened after her husband.
Lydia’s protests could be heard from the hall.
With a grim countenance, Wickham quit the room.
Darcy could barely believe such a scene had occurred, and was not only incredulous, but livid.
Though Mrs Wickham’s comportment had been poor when they had dined at Netherfield the evening before Bingley’s wedding, it was nothing compared to the conduct she exhibited today.
Darcy attempted to swallow his ire. If he incurred Elizabeth’s wrath or that of her father because of Lydia’s wagging tongue and unrepentant ways, he could not be held responsible for his actions!
After all that had been done to discover her in London—the expense of bringing about her sham of a marriage to an unscrupulous man, the Gardiners’ efforts to impress upon her the necessity of strict secrecy regarding Darcy’s involvement on her behalf—the ungrateful, undeserving, spoilt brat dared to allude to the business anyhow!