Chapter 21 #2
He found his uncle in the library. His arrival at once occasioned surprise. It had been but two weeks since his wedding, and he was already returned to London.
“What has happened? Where is Anne?” his uncle demanded, in his usual brisk manner.
Darcy bowed, then requested that the butler invite Lady Eleanor to the library. She entered shortly after, still holding her embroidery, as astonished as her husband; when the bride and bridegroom had quitted London, Darcy had not expected to return for at least two months.
There was something in his countenance which spoke before he did.
Even his rather indifferent uncle perceived that all was not well.
He wondered if it were his expression that betrayed him; but what should the face of a happy man disclose?
He was, indeed, happy—and at the same time, afraid.
It was, perhaps, that fear which Lord Matlock discerned.
“I do not bring happy news, as you must already suspect. Anne left me as soon as we reached Pemberley.”
“What?” Lord Matlock sprang up so suddenly that he struck the small table beside his chair—an almost identical scene to that in Lady Eleanor’s parlour, which made Darcy and his aunt secretly smile at one another.
Still, this time the table fell with a heavy crash, its contents scattered.
A footman knocked at the door, but he was ordered away with such violence that the poor man did not dare enter.
Lady Eleanor moved to her husband’s side, endeavouring to calm him. At length, they seated themselves together upon a sofa, and Darcy placed Anne’s letter in their hands.
They read it side by side, their indignation increasing with every line.
“The girl is mad!” Lord Matlock exclaimed. “As is her mother!”
He broke off before the end, and Lady Eleanor, taking the letter from him, read the remaining page in silence. But when she raised her eyes to Darcy, they were perfectly serene, though she exclaimed,
“My poor boy! What distress!”
While Lord Matlock paced the room in restless agitation, she drew Darcy gently to sit beside her and took his hand as though he were still a child of her care.
“Do not be uneasy,” she said. “We shall settle this together. Only be calm—and you must not suffer…it is not, after all, a tragedy…nobody died.”
Indeed, it ceased to be a catastrophe and became, as she termed it, a matter to be managed; and the chief concern was not the opinion of London, nor the whispers of scandal, nor any stain upon family honour, but that he should not suffer.
He could have kissed her hands in gratitude.
Instead, he preserved the desolate composure he had assumed.
“It is a tragedy! What are you saying?” Lord Matlock cried, in mounting agitation.
“Sit down, George,” said Lady Eleanor, in a tone so composed and firm that he obeyed her instantly. The formidable temper, before which many had yielded, was quieted by a few words from his wife.
She made a discreet sign towards Darcy; it was time to discuss practical matters, and he set out clearly his plan to divide Anne’s fortune between Richard and himself. Then he handed his uncle Anne’s document to his uncle.
He read it silently; then, like a schoolboy, he looked at his wife for guidance.
“Of course, we shall have to invest in Bourgh estate and see how the estate is managed, but we can do it,” Lady Matlock said, as though Darcy’s conditions were already agreed upon.
“Then, you shall discuss what is to be done for the divorce—when the solicitors are to be seen—and what will happen afterwards,” she added, fixing her eyes upon Darcy. “You will come to my parlour. You must dine with us and see Georgiana and Sophia. They are at present visiting Lady Duhamel.”
There was something in her manner—clear, decisive, almost commanding—that reminded him of a general directing a campaign. He looked at her with gratitude; she returned his look with the same gentle smile she had given him in childhood, when he came to her with some small hurt.
His uncle proved less composed, but under his wife’s steady gaze, he nodded.
“That little serpent,” he added, with less anger than one might have expected in such a situation. “Why marry, if she meant to run away?”
Darcy could not answer him fully.
“And her mother!—she is in London,” Lord Matlock continued, with sudden vehemence. “It is her doing—she never knew how to form a proper woman.”
“I am not prepared to see her,” Darcy said, with an air of subdued distress.
The effect was immediate. His uncle turned upon him. “I shall see her—but I must be prepared with every detail.”
It was agreed that they would attend their solicitors the next morning, but announce the news to the world—and to Lady Catherine—only when they had formed a plan.
Lord Matlock listened, with something like composure, to all that Darcy knew of the legal steps required.
From time to time he inclined his head; the first violence of the shock already seemed to subside.
“Go now—speak with your aunt. You will need her help to face society,” he said at last. “And I require a little time for reflection before dinner.”
Lady Eleanor received him with a glass of brandy. They remained for some moments in silence, until he had taken the first sip.
“Now,” she said, in her calm voice, “the divorce will not be easy; we must consider every step with care. London must be disposed to compassion, not to ridicule.”
“They will gossip,” he replied, and still his spirits were lightened by the support he had found. He would follow her guidance in all things. She would know how best to prevent a scandal—for him, and for the family.
“You did not tell the whole truth,” she observed, without reproach, her attention returning to her embroidery.
“No.” He smiled faintly. “Anne was perfectly civil. I came to like her very much in those last days. I shall assist her in settling, and ensure she has a secure and constant income.”
“Good. I begin to understand her plan, and she made an excellent choice in marrying you—very good for her. You may tell her to write to me.”
Darcy regarded her. Her delicacy of appearance concealed both strength and discernment.
“Where is Richard?” he asked.
“With his regiment. He will not return for at least a month. Now, Fitzwilliam—tell me more about that young lady. Does she wish to be involved in such a…difficult matter?”
“I hope so. But I need your assistance in this more than in anything else.”
“My dear Fitzwilliam, I am wholly devoted to your happiness—and to Richard’s.”
“I rely entirely upon you.”
“God bless you, my dear boy! You are as unselfish as your mother. Such generosity cannot go unrewarded.”
“It was Anne’s idea—”
“And you agreed!”
Darcy loved Richard sincerely and had resolved to secure for him an income of at least three thousand a year.
It was not solely generosity. He knew that, once Richard became master of the Bourgh estate, his mother’s influence would be entirely his—and, through him, Elizabeth would never want for support.
“Now,” said Lady Eleanor, recovering herself, “tell me more of this young lady.”
“She is the most beautiful and intelligent woman in the world,” he answered, and his thoughts returned, unbidden, to their last embrace.
Lady Eleanor smiled with indulgence. “That is not what I require to know, Fitzwilliam. After the little stray you married, I expect you to present me with a mistress of Pemberley who will remain so.”
“She possesses every quality,” he replied, and again his aunt suppressed a smile.
“Who is she?”
“She is the sister of Bingley’s wife—Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
“And you are certain, this time, that she is the woman you love, and with whom you would spend your life?”
“I am, Aunt. Do you think it will signify that she is not of…?” He hesitated.
“…our circle?”
“Yes.”
“In other circumstances, it might have signified something. At present, bring her to London, and we shall manage the rest.”
Darcy was not without discernment. He could not help but wonder how far this readiness was influenced by the prospect of Richard’s advantage from the de Bourgh fortune. In any other situation, his aunt—daughter of a duke, wife of an earl—might have judged differently.
But it no longer signified. Save for the difficult interval before the divorce, it seemed that Anne, in quitting him, had served him in more ways than one.
Two things remained: to inform Georgiana and to write a long letter to his cousin with the news—which, in the end, proved favourable for the whole family.
As they were both to be present at dinner that evening, he silently sought Lady Eleanor’s help. When Georgiana entered the room, she ran to him and threw herself into his arms like a child.
She asked no questions, for not everyone had assembled yet. But when it became evident at the table that Anne was not present, she turned to him and asked,
“Where is Anne?”
Only then did the viscountess notice that Darcy’s wife was absent; her eyes moved at once to her mother-in-law, who gave her a small, knowing sign to be patient.
To the surprise of all, it was Lord Matlock who spoke. His anger had clearly subsided, though not his concern.
“My dear friends, we have news—news that is not entirely agreeable.” The expression was so ill-suited to the gravity of the matter that Darcy had some difficulty suppressing a smile. It seemed that the Bourgh estate had already eased many of his uncle’s anxieties.
“To our astonishment, Anne has proved not to be the woman we believed her to be. Instead of expressing her doubts before taking such a step, she chose to marry Darcy—and only afterwards regretted it.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Georgiana and Lady Wharton together, while the viscount set down his cutlery, as though afraid he might drop it in his surprise.
“That little mouse?” he asked.
“Precisely. That little mouse has deceived us all,” said Lord Matlock, with severity.
“But we must allow that Lady Catherine bears a considerable share of the blame,” the countess continued, unwilling that all faults should rest with Anne. “Rather than attend to her daughter, she concerned herself only with Rosings and her own affairs.”
“And what will you do?” Georgiana asked Darcy, alarmed.
“I shall seek a divorce, and afterwards I shall look for a lady who truly loves me,” Darcy replied, with a composure that reassured her in some measure.
“For the present, what you have heard tonight will go no further than this dining room. Is that clearly understood?” said the earl, in a tone so grave that every smile vanished at once; all assented in silence—some from fear of Lord Matlock, others from affection for Darcy, but all equally resolved to support him.
“Do you suffer?” Georgiana asked after a long pause, her concern directed less to his honour than to her brother’s heart.
“He suffers only in that he must face many difficulties with the divorce,” declared Lord Matlock, in the same tone almost martial—the only form of suffering he appeared willing to acknowledge.
“There will be the talk of the world,” the viscount observed.
“That remains to be seen,” said Lady Matlock shortly, and the viscountess smiled, for she already knew her mother-in-law well.
They dined almost in silence thereafter, speaking only of lighter matters. When dinner was over, the viscountess approached Darcy and said in a low voice,
“I am sorry for what you must endure, but do not be uneasy about London. I saw that steel in Lady Eleanor’s eyes, and I would not wish to be in the place of anyone who speaks ill of you. One word from her, and such a person would never again be admitted into any drawing-room of consequence.”
And that was all Darcy wished to know in that moment.