Chapter 21
The next day, when Darcy arrived at Longbourn, Mr Bennet excused himself and left them alone. It was a particular indulgence, and by his last glance he conveyed plainly how they were to conduct themselves.
“I shall die if I cannot kiss you,” Darcy whispered. “How am I to go alone to London, knowing you will follow only in a few weeks?”
“Do not torment yourself, my love—it is not easy. We must be strong; for many months, a mere glimpse is all we shall have.”
“What?”
Elizabeth made a frightened gesture towards the door. “Hush!”
“I shall climb to your bedroom at Bingley’s house. The guest chambers lie all on one side, and there is a wild vine—a climbing plant—which reaches the windows.”
Elizabeth burst into laughter, the image of the proud Mr Darcy clinging to a vine too much for her composure.
“Are you laughing at me, Miss Bennet?”
“Yes, entirely, Mr Darcy. It is but our first day together, and already you are so impatient. What will you do in a month—or in six?”
“I shall die—most likely of wanting to see you, to touch you, and—” He stopped, perceiving her embarrassment.
He stepped towards her as she raised a hand to restrain him. “A maid may come,” she whispered.
“I think not—they are all engaged in attending my valet.”
He advanced once more and drew her into his arms. Before she could speak, his lips claimed hers in a kiss that was neither calm nor gentle.
It was all urgency and desire, and in his embrace, her whole being yielded without reserve.
It was like a summer storm. Had Elizabeth opened her eyes, she might have fancied she saw lightning, while the thunder in her breast broke in the cadence of his kiss.
“I am so afraid to let you go to London. Stay here—if only for a while.” Even as she spoke, she knew it could not be.
“Nothing will happen to me. Gossip has never killed anyone,” he said, with a lightness that did not wholly disguise the truth. “I shall be an object of ridicule in London for a month or two…”
She studied him with anxious attention. For a man of Darcy’s pride, such a prospect bordered upon torment.
“Look at me, Elizabeth. I have known hell. That foolish step—my marriage to Anne—that was hell. Now, when I think that you are mine, all the rest is but an inconvenience.”
“Liar,” she returned, with tenderness.
“No, I do not lie. Never have I been placed in such a grotesque situation. Still, I am persuaded Fitzwilliam will contrive some way to laugh at it. And let us be just—I am the injured party. I shall adopt a disguise for a few weeks, grow a beard, or something equally absurd; then, by degrees, I shall recover, and before long I shall fall under the charm of another lady. It is what they will expect…”
“You make it sound the easiest thing in the world.”
“It is—if you come to London.”
They kissed again, already sensible of the separation before them.
“You fit so perfectly in my arms,” he said.
“Because I am yours,” she answered softly, and he drew breath as though the words had struck him.
His hands lingered over her with a tenderness that soon demanded effort to command. At last, he forced himself to step away. “Come, my love—walk with me to the carriage.”
When he was gone, she could not return indoors at once. Her eyes followed the carriage until it turned onto the London road. She shivered, though not from the cold.
It was impossible to imagine that they might endure such a state for a year or more.
Her whole being ached in his presence. Desires, unknown to her but the day before, now declared themselves plainly as passion.
She wished to be with him as ardently as he wished for her, and she saw no ready solution.
There had been no time to settle so many questions.
The most pressing concern was his return to London, there to announce to his family that his wife had left him; then at least a fortnight must pass before the news could be made public, the time required with Lord Matlock and their solicitors to arrange the legal matters of the divorce.
She grieved for the trials that lay before him; still, in the same moment, she felt she could spin about the yard and sing, as she had in childhood.
They had resolved that no one—not even Jane or Bingley—should know of their meeting in Hertfordshire, nor of the plans they had formed together.
Indiscretion is not always malicious, but it may do considerable harm.
It was far better that their attachment should appear to have grown in London, and at a proper interval after his… misadventure.
“I shall go first to my uncle’s house, and in two weeks we will announce the news,” he had told her.
“And how will the news be made known—to everyone?”
“I neither know nor much care in what manner it spreads. Once one person is informed, it will travel of itself, like a contagion.”
He had disclosed to her all he intended, and his eagerness to put an end to his marriage was such that he went directly to Lord and Lady Matlock.
∞∞∞
It was raining heavily when he arrived at Matlock House.
The carriage drew up, but he did not immediately alight.
From Longbourn to London, he had thought only of his eagerness to deliver the news and let the whole affair unfold; now, before the familiar town house, his resolution faltered.
Once admitted into the well-known library or his aunt’s parlour, his life would be altered.
He could not precisely determine what such a step might signify for his place in society.
He knew of one man who had been divorced, but no particulars came to mind to guide him through what must follow.
In the worst case, he would take Elizabeth to Pemberley, remain there until the divorce was secured, and return with her only after their marriage.
That, however, was not what he wished for her.
Elizabeth deserved to have London at her feet, not to suffer for his errors. In this, he had little command.
This time, his plan was well conceived. The servants were paid by Lord Matlock, but they were all devoted to the countess, who knew how to win both affection and loyalty.
When he placed a finger to his lips, asking the butler for silence, and then whispered, “Lady Matlock,” the man, without a word, led him to his mistress and left him to knock and announce himself.
“Darcy!” exclaimed Lady Eleanor, with such deep surprise that she nearly overturned the small tea table beside her. Darcy sprang forward and saved the delicate china cups from falling.
“What brings you here?”
Instead of answering, he embraced her; and that sensitive woman, who had been to him almost as a mother since the loss of his own, understood at once that something unusual had occurred.
“Where is Anne?”
Darcy sat beside her on the sofa.
“We have little time. I would not wish it to be known that I came to you first.”
“Oh! Then you have not yet seen your uncle,” she said, growing more astonished and curious. “Is everyone well?”
“Yes—do not worry. But I need your help.”
Lady Matlock took his hand and answered with warmth, “Anything, my dear boy.”
“I shall be brief and direct. If you help us, we shall all gain—Richard…Anne…” he added quickly, not omitting his cousin’s name.
“What has happened?” murmured the countess, far from reassured.
“Anne has left me.”
Darcy smiled faintly and pressed her hand, which had grown cold in his.
“Good heavens! What are you telling me?”
“It is no story. We lived beside her without seeing that Lady Catherine had oppressed her for years, and meant to bind her completely—only to retain control over an estate that was, in truth, Anne’s.”
“I know,” Lady Eleanor said quietly. “I tried many times to intervene, but your uncle will not hear of such matters. Still, I have spoken often with Anne this past year. She came to me—and she seemed much improved.”
Darcy looked at her with admiration. So she had been one of the reasons Anne had found her strength—had gathered the courage to act.
And at once the agitation within him eased.
Lady Eleanor would know how to manage the uncertainties of London society; she would help them.
She would surely take to Elizabeth—and in all this, only Elizabeth mattered.
“When I proposed to her, she already had a plan—to leave for America with Mrs Jenkinson.”
“Incredible. That delicate creature—a woman of such resolution. But why did she not remain with you?”
“Because she needed to free herself entirely from her mother—to begin again. She had a plan, but my proposal suddenly offered her a better means than the one she had devised. Had she simply fled, her entire fortune would have remained with Lady Catherine, and it would have been nearly impossible for her to recover any part of it.”
“Quite so. With your uncle’s support, Lady Catherine would never have granted anything to a daughter who had fled and brought disgrace upon the family.”
“And you do not suffer?” she asked, searching his face.
“I am in love with another woman.”
Without hesitation, he told her everything—his attachment, his proposal, the mistake he had made, and the despair that had driven him to Anne, believing Elizabeth lost to him.
“What a story,” the countess said softly.
“Anne’s fortune is now mine, and through the divorce Lady Catherine cannot reclaim it—if Lord Matlock agrees.”
In a bold move, he handed her the document from the solicitor, which Anne used to transfer the Bourgh estate to Richard. Lady Eleanor flushed deeply, overcome by emotion as she read it.
“You consent to this?” she asked, holding the paper.
“Entirely.”
“Bourgh House is fine, though somewhat neglected…no matter. I shall make it worthy of Richard.”
In that moment, Darcy knew he had succeeded. Lady Eleanor was ready to do whatever might be required—and he asked only that, in time, she would protect Elizabeth.
“Go now to your uncle,” she said. “Let him believe you came to him first. Then send for me.”