Chapter 25 More Truths Revealed #2
Nor would he ever again make the mistake of criticising Mrs Bennet—particularly not in Elizabeth’s hearing.
He knew well how often her mother tried her patience, yet experience had taught him that Elizabeth did not tolerate others speaking ill of those she loved.
Early in their engagement, he had once forgotten that truth and spoken too freely, allowing his frustration with Mrs Bennet’s exuberance to show.
Elizabeth’s response had been swift and cutting, her words reminding him—firmly but without cruelty—that affection could not flourish where pride sought to find fault.
The memory of that conversation still humbled him.
His earlier arrogance had nearly cost him dearly; he would not risk even a shadow of it now.
As the men took their leave, after quickly taking a little from the offered refreshments, Darcy’s thoughts turned inevitably towards Longbourn.
The prospect of seeing Elizabeth again stirred a quiet anticipation within him.
Soon, she would be his wife—his partner, his equal—and yet, before that bliss could be realised, there remained much to endure.
Still, the knowledge that in a little under a month they would be married was enough to carry him through the rest of the day with a faint, uncharacteristic smile curving his lips.
When the sound of hoofbeats reached Longbourn later that afternoon, Elizabeth looked up from her embroidery, her heart leaping before she could stop it.
She told herself it was foolish to feel such anticipation; after all, she had seen him only that morning, but reason did little to quiet her delight.
Her mother’s eager exclamations filled the room even before the maid reached the door, and by the time Mr Darcy entered, Elizabeth had schooled her features into polite composure, even though her eyes betrayed her pleasure at his arrival.
He greeted her with that quiet, steady warmth she had come to know so well. Mrs Bennet, however, immediately launched into a flurry of talk about the wedding breakfast, leaving Elizabeth torn between amusement and exasperation. Still, his presence alone was enough to steady her spirits.
“How was your meeting with Sir William?” she asked softly once they had managed to extract themselves from the general commotion and find a moment’s privacy near the window.
Mr Bingley and Colonel Fitzwilliam had effectively occupied the rest of her family—particularly her mother—allowing them this short reprieve.
“It went well enough,” Darcy replied. “Your Uncle Philips was there, and neither he nor Sir William appeared surprised by what I had to say. Sir William intends to speak with Colonel Forster first, to address certain other matters before presenting him with my complaint. He hopes to keep my name out of it for now—at least until he can persuade the colonel that Wickham is not as innocent as he pretends.”
He added a brief account of the remaining points of their discussion, touching upon the need for discretion and the careful manner in which the matter must be pursued, though none of it did much to ease his mind.
Elizabeth sighed and looked up at him, concern plain upon her countenance.
“Charlotte called this morning, not long after I returned from my walk. She told me that Wickham has begun hinting that I am marrying you for mercenary reasons. Worse still, that once you have taken me to Pemberley, you will abandon me there in order to pursue ‘other interests’ in town. Apparently, I am both mercenary and na?ve, with no notion of the sort of man I am to marry.”
Darcy’s expression darkened with disbelief. “You know that nothing he says is true, my beloved?”
“Of course,” she replied quickly, touched by the earnestness in his voice. “We have spoken of these things before, and I have never doubted you—not for a moment. I only wished you to know what is being said.”
He exhaled slowly, his shoulders easing a little, the tension not wholly leaving him. “How does Miss Lucas come by this gossip?” he asked at length, clearly astonished that a maiden should speak of such matters at all.
“She has several brothers,” Elizabeth explained, “and they have been my friends almost as long as Charlotte herself. She is some years my senior, and her brothers were nearer my own age. They still look out for me as elder brothers might. They were unconvinced by Wickham’s stories, yet wished me to hear the rumours from someone I trusted rather than from one of them. Charlotte meant only to warn me.”
Darcy’s expression softened then, even as the muscle in his jaw still tensed. Elizabeth could see the conflict within him—his anger at Wickham’s cruelty warring with his desire to shield her from its sting.
“Very well, Elizabeth,” he said at last. His tone was calm, but she could see the faint tension that lingered in the set of his shoulders.
“If you know the truth, then his lies are of no consequence. Still, I cannot help but wonder—has Miss Bennet heard any of these tales? You mentioned this morning what she confessed to you. That brings us to another problem: if she does not speak to Bingley of his sister’s letters, I would have you tell me so that I might do so myself.
While I doubt many would believe Miss Bingley, she might—unwittingly—harm Georgiana’s prospects if she has spoken too freely of an imagined engagement between my sister and Bingley. ”
Elizabeth felt her breath catch slightly.
She could not help admiring how his concern for his sister mingled so naturally with his loyalty to his friend.
There was a steadiness in his voice now, a kind of measured protectiveness that always touched her—though she suspected he did not realise how transparent his affection for those he loved could be.
It made her love her stoic intended even more.
“I suppose,” he continued, his tone softening with thought, “others may have speculated as much. I will even confess that, after this past summer, I had considered him a suitable match for her—someday. But I had no intention of advancing the idea for several years yet. Obviously, I would not wish my sister to marry a man whose heart already belonged to another.”
As he spoke, Elizabeth studied his face, the play of light and shadow across his features.
She saw how earnestly he meant every word, how deeply he felt his responsibilities—to Georgiana, to Bingley, even to her.
The mix of gravity and tenderness stirred something in her chest, a swell of warmth that was almost painful in its intensity.
She reached out, letting her hand brush against his sleeve in quiet reassurance.
“No one who truly knows you, William, could ever mistake your intentions,” she said softly.
“I think Jane is seeing more clearly now as well. Your friend asking to call on her helped ease some of her uncertainty, but I think they both have a long way to go before they are ready to marry.”
Darcy inclined his head slightly, his gaze following Jane and Bingley, deep in conversation across the room with Mrs Bennet interjecting herself into their conversation only sporadically.
“That is not for us to decide, Elizabeth,” he said at last, his tone thoughtful.
“But I have advised my friend to speak openly to Miss Bennet—telling him of my own success with you once I stopped attempting to follow the dictates of society.”
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as his eyes returned to hers. “The two of us made significant strides in our own relationship when we did so. I do not believe we would be where we are today had we not chosen to speak with complete honesty.”
Elizabeth’s heart warmed at his words. It still astonished her sometimes how easily he could speak of their past misunderstandings of each other now—how he no longer shied from reflection but viewed it as proof of their growth.
She saw in his expression the quiet pride of a man who had learnt humility and found peace in it, and her affection for him deepened all the more.
She tilted her head, her lips curving into a teasing smile. “So you are now giving romantic advice, sir? I shall have to warn Bingley not to take too much of it to heart, or he may find himself lecturing Jane on honesty before his second cup of tea.”
His eyes brightened with amusement, but his reply was spoken in barely a murmur as Mrs Bennet swept past them, still rattling on about wedding breakfasts and lace. “If he does,” Darcy said drily, “I will take comfort in knowing that he learnt it from the best.”
Elizabeth laughed softly, her gaze lingering on him.
“I gave Jane the same advice,” she admitted.
“Perhaps if I had been more insistent when I attempted to tell her of my changing opinion of you earlier, had I followed my own advice with her, our relationship would not have been as strained these last weeks. Regardless, if she and Mr Bingley hope to make progress, they must both put aside their natural modesty. There has been enough uncertainty and misunderstandings to last a lifetime.”
“That there has,” Darcy agreed. “Thankfully, our friendship has prevented many potential misunderstandings between us; still, we have just begun to know one another well. As husband and wife, we must continue to speak openly.”
Her breath caught at the ease with which he spoke those words—husband and wife.
The warmth that rose in her cheeks could not be suppressed, nor could the flutter in her chest at hearing him speak so naturally of their future together.
It was still so new, this understanding between them, and yet his certainty steadied her even as it stole her composure.
“You are not wrong, William,” she replied at last, forcing herself to focus on the matter at hand rather than the tremor of happiness that his words inspired.
“But before we can marry, we must make Meryton safe from Wickham and then your sister can join us to celebrate. When will Sir William speak to the colonel, and what will your cousin do once he has met with the man?”
He inclined his head, his expression composed but his jaw set in determination.
“Sir William will send a note to me at Netherfield to inform me of his progress—good or ill—with Colonel Forster. If he succeeds in persuading the colonel, then Richard and I will call upon him tomorrow. I shall take with me the receipts I hold for Wickham’s debts, and Sir William will prepare a writ authorising his arrest. With that in hand, I can see Wickham taken to Marshalsea before he does further harm. ”
Elizabeth’s brows drew together. “And if Colonel Forster is not cooperative?” she asked quietly.
Darcy exhaled a long, weary breath, his shoulders sinking slightly.
“Then it will be more difficult,” he admitted.
“But Richard will do what he can. He has, more than once, declared that we should simply have the man pressganged—or see to it that he disappears altogether.” His gaze shifted across the room towards his cousin, who sat between Kitty and Lydia, his easy laughter carrying faintly to where they stood.
“He has spent so many years soldiering that he has grown… less restrained in certain areas than I might prefer.”
Elizabeth followed his look, her unease in the situation deepening.
The colonel’s genial expression gave no hint of what Darcy described, and yet she could easily imagine that beneath his charm lay the same firmness of purpose that marked his cousin.
That Darcy spoke with quiet disapproval rather than alarm told her much—he was not shocked by Richard’s suggestion, rather resigned to the harshness the world sometimes demanded.
“Let us hope that Colonel Forster sees the matter clearly then,” she said as Mr Bennet entered the room.