Chapter Twenty-Four #2
The Honorable Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, she corrected. She had no right to think of him by what amounted to an endearment.
If he attended, how could she face him? Could she even be in the same church with the man? Even for Jane?
“…can’t hear you,” Lydia was saying. “She’s off in her head somewhere.” She shook Elizabeth’s shoulder. “Lizzy, we have to go. Get up.”
“I cannot believe she is still upset about Colonel Fitzwilliam,” Kitty groused. “Even if he is the son of an earl. I was in love with him too, and I am perfectly well.”
“You did tear up your sketches of him.” Lydia smirked. “At least, you said they were of him. I do not know how anyone would be able to tell.”
“You know they were him, and they were from memory. That is much more difficult than when someone will sit for you.”
“We are leaving,” Mrs. Bennet’s voice called from below. “I will not have my Jane late to her own wedding. If you do not join us, you can walk, and miss the ceremony.”
If only Elizabeth cared an ounce less for her sister, she would happily miss Jane’s wedding.
“Lizzy, you have to get up.” Lydia grabbed her arm, tugging, and Elizabeth rose. Then Lydia pulled her into a quick hug, surprising her, and whispering, “If he is awful to you at the wedding, I will punch him in the nose. Will that help?”
A start of laughter burst from Elizabeth at the image, along with fresh tears. “You will do no such thing,” she said softly and hugged Lydia back. “But thank you.”
“Now your eyes are all red again,” Kitty said, taking Elizabeth’s arm. “Keep them closed in the carriage. Maybe they will be better by the time we get there.”
Elizabeth allowed her little sisters to march her downstairs and out to the carriage. The three of them climbed in to sit opposite their parents and Jane, the radiant smile the latter turned on them dimming when she met Elizabeth’s gaze. For Jane, Elizabeth managed a smile.
“I truly thought I would marry first,” Lydia proclaimed as they started moving. “Do you know, one of the officers hinted that we could elope together, like Mary and Mr. Collins, but I put him off. As if I would ever do anything Mary did.”
“Which officer?” Jane asked with alarm.
“Do not mention Mary’s name,” Mrs. Bennet ordered before Lydia could reply, apparently unconcerned with her youngest’s declaration that she’d been asked to elope. “I will not hear her mentioned. Not on Jane’s wedding day. Speak of something else.”
Kitty turned the conversation to excitement over the wedding breakfast, to be held at Netherfield Park.
A break in tradition Mrs. Bennet minded not at all, taken as she was with the grandeur of the idea.
Elizabeth let their chatter wash over her as they trundled to Meryton, focusing on maintaining her calm and her smile.
She kept to that goal when they reached the church, and throughout the ceremony, fixing her focus on Jane.
Jane, who glowed with joy and who made the loveliest bride imaginable.
This day belonged to her, and to Mr. Bingley, and Elizabeth simply wished to be a good sister, then escape back to Longbourn and her room.
To that end, she determinedly refused to look about the church. Only at Jane and Mr. Bingley.
The carriage was less crowded on the ride from the church to Netherfield Park, Jane having gone with Mr. Bingley, though it was Elizabeth’s parents who enjoyed the extra room, for she still sat facing them with Kitty and Lydia.
Even though the ride was short, Mr. Bennet produced a book.
Mrs. Bennet, predictably, embarked on a detailed description of the wedding, as if they had not all attended together.
While Mr. Bennet read and Mrs. Bennet prattled on, Elizabeth studied her parents in growing horror.
This was to be her life. Next, Kitty would wed, then Lydia, and Elizabeth would remain, her heart aching for a man too fickle to deserve the tribute.
Here Elizabeth would be in five years, and ten, and more, seated across from Mr. and Mrs. Bennet, who wouldn’t change.
Yes, they would age, but this same scene would play out over and over, day after day.
She turned her gaze out the window, taking in the brown and gray November landscape, and fought back tears.
Maybe she was being silly. She had never been enamored before. Perhaps these feelings for Fitzwilliam would fade. Vanish like spring dew and leave her in peace. True, they felt unwavering now, but it was not as if she’d spent much time with him, or learned his ways. His dreams and aspirations.
Furthermore, his exemplary behavior during the time they had spent together was in large part what attracted her, and now that behavior was in question. Yes, he had seemed honest, thoughtful, upright, serious in a beguiling, precious way that made her long to make him smile…
But was any of that truly him? He had, after all, mercurially offered for Miss Bingley, presumably before even departing for Scotland. Maybe the man who’d so swiftly captured Elizabeth’s heart did not exist.
Somehow, sadly, that did not make her heartache any less real.
When they reached Netherfield Park, Elizabeth dutifully trailed her relations inside.
Dully, she observed that Miss Bingley truly had made the manor house beautiful for the occasion.
Hothouse flowers adorned every surface. From the direction of Netherfield Park’s largest drawing room, the music of stringed instruments beckoned, soft and lovely.
It was everything Jane could want for her wedding day.
Entering the drawing room felt akin to stepping out of a sheltering doorway and into the wind. Light, sound, a cornucopia of scents both sweet and savory, all slammed into Elizabeth. She halted, blinking.
And sighted Miss Bingley across the room, laughing, on Mr. Darcy’s arm.
Shock jolted through Elizabeth. How could Miss Bingley flirt so with Mr. Darcy after signing away any right to marry him, and after becoming engaged to Fitzwilliam?
Had she no regard for Mr. Darcy’s feelings, for he gazed on her with obvious affection.
What a cruel, heartless game Miss Bingley played.
Their gazes collided and Elizabeth spun, striding from a room where, suddenly, there was no air. Miss Bingley sucked it all up. Took it, as she’d taken Fitzwilliam.
Ignoring the startled staff who lurked without in case summoned, Elizabeth rushed down the hallway.
“Miss Elizabeth,” Miss Bingley’s voice called.
Elizabeth halted. What did Miss Bingley want? To gloat? To beg Elizabeth not to tell Fitzwilliam that she’d seen Miss Bingley with Mr. Darcy?
Hands balling, Elizabeth pivoted.
Miss Bingley halted mid-stride, her expression startled. “Whatever is the matter?”
“What is the matter?” Elizabeth’s voice cracked. “How can you stand there and flirt with Mr. Darcy when you are engaged to his cousin? It is unfair to both, as you well know.”
Miss Bingley’s mouth dropped open. She cast a quick look over her shoulder. “Charles did not tell you?”
What did Mr. Bingley have to do with anything? “Tell me what?”
Sympathy overtook Miss Bingley’s features. She came forward, reaching for Elizabeth’s hands. “I am so sorry. Oh, you must be so confused.” She looked about, then tugged Elizabeth in the direction of a nearby doorway. Over her shoulder, she called, “Fetch my brother immediately.”
Confusion indeed filling her, Elizabeth let Miss Bingley drag her into a small parlor, the only light that of the dull November sun filtering through two tall windows. Yanking free, Elizabeth halted in the middle of the room. “Tell me what?” she reiterated.
“I assumed he had told you, or at least told Jane, and that she would tell you.” Miss Bingley flung up her hands. “Sometimes there is nothing to do with him. Whatever was he thinking?”
Mr. Bingley strode in, followed by Jane. Both appeared as bewildered as Elizabeth felt.
“Caroline, Miss Elizabeth.” Mr. Bingley looked from face to face. “You said it is urgent?”
“You did not tell Miss Elizabeth that Richard was pretending to be Mr. Darcy, and Mr. Darcy was pretending to be him?”
Elizabeth stared at Miss Bingley, unable to comprehend those words.
Mr. Bingley swallowed, tugging at his cravat. “It is none of our concern. Not my place, and all that.”
“What are you saying?” Jane asked.
“Colonel Fitzwilliam, my betrothed, was pretending to be Mr. Darcy,” Miss Bingley reiterated. “And Mr. Darcy was pretending to be Colonel Fitzwilliam.”
“I do not understand,” Elizabeth whispered, the room tilting.
“But why?” Jane looked from Mr. Bingley to Miss Bingley and back. “Because of the abduction attempts?”
“Oh, it was considerably more than that,” Miss Bingley said. “There was a ransom on Mr. Darcy’s head. A bounty. Richard had to pretend to be Mr. Darcy to keep him safe.”
A ransom? Pieces clicked together. A ransom that expired on December first.
Jane turned anxious eyes on Mr. Bingley. “You knew about this and did not tell me?”
“I, ah, secrets of the Crown and all that,” Mr. Bingley muttered. “Not our concern.”
Elizabeth sank down onto one of the sofas. The room tilted back the other way, seeming almost to spin.
“None of our concern?” Jane’s voice rose the barest fraction, but for her that constituted a yell. “You invited them here. You perpetuated their ruse.”
“Yes, well, I had to, after what our uncles—” Mr. Bingley broke off with a gulp.
“Our uncles what?” Miss Bingley’s eyes glowed with interest. “I thought you agreed to Richard’s plan simply to keep Mr. Darcy safe.”
“Our uncles nothing,” Mr. Bingley muttered.
Jane and Miss Bingley aimed matching looks of skepticism at him.
Elizabeth scrubbed at her forehead. She didn’t care one whit why Mr. Bingley had helped. If what they were saying was true, Fitzwilliam had lied to her. About…about everything.
“Our uncles what?” Miss Bingley reiterated, slower.
“Your uncles are traitors to the crown, which I used to force Bingley to participate in the charade my commanding officer devised,” a strong, commanding voice said from the parlor doorway.
Apparently, the voice of Colonel Fitzwilliam, not of Mr. Darcy.
He joined them, closing the parlor door behind him.
“Bingley was given little choice in the matter.”
“Our uncles are traitors?” Miss Bingley gasped, her gaze seeking Colonel Fitzwilliam’s. “Will that be a problem?”
“Only when our ambitions do not align with those of my superiors,” he said with an easy shrug.
Miss Bingley sank down onto the sofa beside Elizabeth, her face crinkled in thought.
“Mrs. Bingley, Bingley, people noted your departure, and are beginning to wonder at your absence,” Colonel Fitzwilliam continued.
Not seeming to hear, Jane still regarded Mr. Bingley. “You should have told me.”
“I agree,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said. “I have been made to explain that I am not Mr. Darcy at least a dozen times since we reached the church this morning. I am playing it off as a lark, and I believe most are coming to terms with it. Eccentricities of the privileged and all that, but it would be simpler if word of our ruse had already been disseminated.”
“And I had assumed it would be.” Miss Bingley pursed her lips, studying her brother. “I had no thought that Charles would keep the information from Jane, who I assumed would then tell her family.” Her pity-laden gaze flicked to Elizabeth.
It was left unsaid that Mrs. Bennet would have seen that everyone knew.
“How was I to know who to tell?” Mr. Bingley protested, then reiterated almost angrily, “Secrets of the Crown.”
“Your dedication is laudable, but I did write to you, informing you that I would not return as Mr. Darcy and that the mission to safeguard him was over.” With a shrug, Colonel Fitzwilliam added, “Perhaps it is my fault for not informing you expressly that you should provide your betrothed with the truth.”
“Hardly,” Miss Bingley said crisply. “Who could imagine that Charles would not tell Jane?” She pondered her brother a moment longer.
“We should hint about that the ruse was in service to the Crown, however. We can permit that rumor to take on life, and then refuse to confirm or deny it. That will win forgiveness from the people here.”
“An excellent plan.” Admiration and warmth filled the colonel’s voice. “Bingley, Mrs. Bingley, Miss Elizabeth, what say you to going out and dispersing that bit of intrigue? It would be best if we were all to reappear.”
Elizabeth looked down at her hands, which trembled.
Beside her, Miss Bingley squared her shoulders, smiled, and stood, appearing perfectly relaxed and cheerful.
“I will walk home,” Elizabeth said, quiet but firm.
Jane took Miss Bingley’s vacated spot. “Charles will call the carriage for you.” She pulled Elizabeth into a hug.
“I will tell Papa you have suffered a megrim.” Releasing her, Jane turned to her new husband to add, “And we will go back out and enjoy our wedding breakfast, but once our guests have left, I require a full explanation, Charles. I am certain you have very good reasons for aiding in such an extensive subterfuge, and for not informing me of it, or of the stain on your relations, before I agreed to be your wife.”
“What my uncles did has nothing to do with me,” Mr. Bingley protested.
“Undoubtedly it does not, but not telling me has everything to do with you.”
Even through her haze, Elizabeth heard Mr. Bingley gulp.
“This is proving to be an entertaining morning,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said lightly. “Shall we, Caroline?”
“We shall.”
He was much more jovial as himself, Elizabeth realized as the two left arm in arm. She recalled her first impression of him. That he appeared to be a man who smiled a great deal.
“Do you need me to stay with you?” Jane asked softly.
Elizabeth would not see Jane’s wedding day any more tarnished. “Thank you, but please go enjoy your wedding breakfast.”
“I will send a maid to you, to see you home, and a footman will tell you when the carriage is ready. Do you require anything more?”
Elizabeth shook her head, her attention fixed on her hands. “No. Thank you.”
If the real Colonel Fitzwilliam was cheerful, had the version she’d seen been Mr. Darcy’s attempt at cheerfulness?
And why had Colonel Fitzwilliam behaved so horribly to everyone?
Was that how Mr. Darcy truly acted, or had the colonel simply been trying to have word of ‘Mr. Darcy’s’ bad behavior reach London?
And why Fitzwilliam? Why have her call him by his cousin’s surname?
She could only guess at the answers, because she hardly knew Mr. Darcy at all.