Chapter 21 Visiting London #2
She drew a steady breath and paused in the entryway, allowing the servants to attend to the others before turning to him.
“I admit to feeling a little… overwhelmed this afternoon.” Her glance flicked upward, and he knew she saw the worry on his face, for she hurried to reassure him.
“It occurred to me that I will very soon be a wife, and while I am delighted to be marrying you, the many tasks I shall assume as mistress of not only your estate but this house as well suddenly seem considerable. As you know, I have assisted my parents at Longbourn, but never at such a scale.”
Darcy’s heart contracted at her words. He longed to assure her she need never fear—that she was more than equal to the task and that he would stand at her side in every difficulty. Yet something in her manner told him she needed to speak rather than hear his reassurances, so he held his tongue.
“I have been so used to being surrounded by my sisters, with Jane as my confidante in all things,” she said softly after only a brief pause.
“But lately that has not been the case. Despite my efforts to reassure her regarding Mr Bingley, she has continued to pull away from me, and I am not certain she has been entirely convinced by what you told her about Mr Wickham. Perhaps it should not trouble me so, but knowing that I will soon be separated from Jane, and with matters between us unsettled, I am uncertain what to think. In some ways, Mary has taken on part of that role, and of course, soon you will be my confidant in nearly everything. Yet this estrangement from Jane weighs on me.”
Darcy nodded, grateful he had waited; still, the words stirred a pang of regret in him. He longed to tell her at once that all would be made well, but the servants had already stepped forward to assist with her outerwear, leaving him no opportunity to reply as fully as he wished.
“We will speak of this later, Elizabeth,” he said quietly.
“Perhaps when Miss Bennet meets Bingley again, she will see that what I have told her is the truth. It may be that she does not yet trust me—and after my conduct when I first came into the neighbourhood, I cannot wonder at it. Still, I cannot but regret that she was so ready to credit Wickham’s account, when he had nothing to offer but his own assertions, while mine were supported by others and I have proof to offer of my words.
Once he is no longer in Meryton to colour her impressions, she may find it easier to judge my actions with greater fairness. ”
Their private exchange ended as they entered the drawing room where the rest of the party awaited them.
Tea had been kept back for their arrival, and in short order every guest held a cup.
Georgiana and Miss Mary were seated together on one settee, speaking in low tones while Elizabeth and Darcy occupied another.
A little apart sat Mrs Gardiner and Miss Bennet.
Darcy, watching them from his place beside Elizabeth, could only hope that Mrs Gardiner might offer Jane some advice that would soothe her jealousy—for Elizabeth’s sake, if not for his own.
Visitors were shown in a short time later, members of Darcy’s family. He rose at once upon hearing their names, as did the others, and when his aunt inclined her head—as though granting leave to the unspoken question—he began the introductions.
“Lady Matlock,” Darcy said with respectful gravity, “may I present to you my intended, Miss Elizabeth Bennet.” At his side, Elizabeth curtsied with grace, her expression outwardly serene.
Yet as she lifted her hand to rest lightly on his arm, he felt it tighten ever so slightly.
Darcy doubted anyone else perceived the movement, but he was quietly pleased that she sought reassurance from him.
At the countess’s answering nod, Darcy turned slightly to continue. “Allow me also to introduce Miss Bennet and Miss Mary Bennet, Elizabeth’s sisters, and their aunt, Mrs Gardiner, who has been so kind as to host them while they are in town to obtain Elizabeth’s trousseau.”
He looked at each lady in turn as he spoke their names, his manner conveying both his esteem and his resolve that they be properly acknowledged.
As he glanced back to his aunt, he thought he discerned a flicker of appraisal in her eyes, and a faint wariness stirred within him at this unexpected visit.
He trusted Elizabeth to meet the moment with composure, but he knew his aunt too well not to expect her to weigh every word and gesture.
Only then did he gesture briefly towards the tall figure standing just behind his mother.
“And her son, my cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam.” Fitzwilliam offered a polite bow, his presence unobtrusive as though he were content to let his mother command the moment.
Darcy was grateful for it; his cousin’s good sense often lay in knowing when to speak and when to remain silent.
After these courtesies had been exchanged, Darcy observed that his aunt’s gaze lingered a moment longer on Elizabeth, her curiosity plain.
The look was not unfriendly, merely appraising, and at last she spoke.
“I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Elizabeth, and that of your family. I admit that I have heard much of you of late, from a variety of sources, and look forward to seeing for myself which version is correct.”
It was clear from her words that she meant to judge for herself the character of the woman her nephew had chosen. Darcy felt Elizabeth’s hand steady on his arm as she lifted her chin in silent composure.
Elizabeth met the countess’s straightforward gaze with one of her own.
“Thank you, Lady Matlock,” she said warmly.
“It is an honour to meet you, and I am grateful that my family may share in this occasion. I cannot say that I have heard much of you—only what Mr Darcy has shared of his relations—and so I come to you without the colouring of others’ opinions.
But I am now as you will always find me; the same when greeting a countess as when speaking with a tenant.
As Mrs Darcy, I may wear finer gowns—indeed, today’s visit to the dressmaker suggests I shall certainly have more of them than ever before—but I shall remain the same person I have always been. ”
Darcy struggled not to chuckle at her impertinent remark, and his chest swelled with pride.
Her words were clear and steady, her manner perfectly unshaken.
There was no artifice in her, no attempt to be other than she was, and now that he had allowed himself to admit that she was a diamond of the first water, he gloried in it.
This was the Elizabeth he loved—spirited, honest, and unafraid to stand before all of society on her own terms.
Lady Matlock regarded Elizabeth for a moment longer before inclining her head, the faintest wry smile touching her lips.
“You express your opinions with remarkable firmness for one so young,” she observed, her tone edged with mild tartness.
“I am not surprised that my nephew likes you; he has always admired those who speak their minds as freely as he does. Unfortunately, he has never learnt to do so with your tact, which explains why he so frequently gives offence.”
Elizabeth laughed at this characterization.
“I do believe you are right, my lady,” she said, her voice full of laughter as she dropped her hand from Darcy’s arm and moved to stand nearer to Lady Matlock.
“Come, let me prepare you a cup of tea while you tell me stories of your nephew when he was younger.”
Darcy merely shook his head, the corners of his lips tilting upward as he caught the faintly amused glance his cousin sent from behind his mother before looking away again.
“I believe that you and I have been judged extraneous, Richard. Would you prefer to remain here with the ladies for tea or to retire with me to the study for something stronger?”
“Something stronger, without question,” Fitzwilliam replied drily, before lowering his voice so that only Darcy could hear. “There is much we must discuss—chief among it that scourge you charged me with removing. Driving him from Hertfordshire has proven far more troublesome than I anticipated.”
Darcy scowled at this, but with a brief explanation to the ladies, the two gentlemen departed.
When they were settled before the fire, each with a glass of brandy in hand, Fitzwilliam began his account.
“Colonel Forster is unwilling to sign the papers that would see Wickham transferred into the Regulars,” he said grimly.
“Despite his running up debts he never intended to repay—debts accrued in direct defiance of his commanding officer’s orders that no man in his command was to purchase on credit—he has somehow contrived to persuade the man of his innocence.
Or, if not innocence, then at least that he is not truly at fault.
According to Wickham’s version of events, you are wholly responsible for his present insolvency, having, by some means, poisoned the colonel’s mind with his own version of events. ”
Hearing this, Darcy’s hand tightened around his glass, the amber liquid shivering against the sides in response to his unrest. That Wickham could so easily cloak his misdeeds in false charm was no surprise, yet the sting was sharp: once again, despite the truth being known ahead of time, another man preferred Wickham’s lies to his own word.
He could almost hear that silken voice weaving half-truths into a tale that made Darcy the villain and himself the victim.
How often had it been the same? Wickham, all easy smiles and ready charm, disarming suspicion at every turn, while he—Darcy—was judged severe, prideful, unyielding, even envious of the younger boy’s manner.
A weary anger settled over him. How long must he contend with this man’s shadow?
Wickham had abused his father’s generosity, nearly ruined Georgiana, and now threatened Elizabeth’s peace by filling her sister’s ears with lies.
Darcy lifted the brandy to his lips, swallowing hard.
It was intolerable—and yet Wickham endured still, when long ago he should have been exposed for what he was.
“Since he was my father’s godson, I had believed it the right thing to help him, once again, secure a respectable profession that would have the added benefit of removing him from England, at least for a time,” Darcy said with a sigh.
“But it seems the alternate plan we discussed will have to suffice. I hold a significant number of his debts, yet if I were to call them in, I fear he would turn to slandering Georgiana. Perhaps such talk could be dismissed as mere spite, since it would be I who sent him to the gaol, but I cannot help but worry he would contrive some other means of revenge himself against me.”
“There is still my suggestion,” Fitzwilliam said, his voice low as he raised a brow and fixed his cousin with a significant look. Although his words were calmly spoken, the colonel’s words carried a threat — the casualness of it troubled Darcy.
He flinched at the implication, his hand tightening once more around the glass.
That Richard might contemplate so drastic a course no longer surprised him; a darker corner of his mind whispered how simple it would be if Wickham were gone for good.
He forced the thought aside, lifting the brandy and swallowing a measure as if the burn might steady him.
“I cannot contemplate that, Richard,” Darcy replied. “If he were to fall in battle, that I could endure; but I will not permit you to take another man’s life intentionally, however much trouble he has caused.”
Fitzwilliam nodded; the two had canvassed this topic on too many occasions for more to be said on either part.
Had Fitzwilliam been in Ramsgate that summer, he would have run Wickham through, consequences be damned, and Darcy was glad he had not been.
His cousin might, with his father’s influence, have contrived to justify such a course—especially by alleging that Wickham had threatened his ward—but Darcy could not bring himself to consider it.
Still, something must be done about Wickham and soon, else Georgiana could not enter Meryton and Wickham would continue to pour his lies into willing ears.