25. A Better Understanding
twenty-five
A Better Understanding
Elizabeth waited for any news, but none was forthcoming.
Each morning began with the same expectation.
Before breakfast she found herself listening for the sound of approaching horses upon the lane or the knock that might announce a messenger from London.
More than once she caught herself glancing toward the window whenever Mrs. Hill crossed the hall, just to discover it was a tradesman or a neighboring farmer upon ordinary business.
Life at Longbourn continued with remarkable determination.
Mrs. Bennet discussed dinners, Kitty practiced her music with varying success, Mary read improving sermons aloud when anyone remained still long enough to hear them, and Lydia endeavored to appear cheerful despite an anxiety she did not wholly conceal.
The household carried on because there was nothing else to be done.
It did not bother her, though she grew anxious with every passing day.
The contradiction would have amused her had the matter been less serious.
She did not resent Darcy’s silence. Indeed, she would have thought less of him had he abandoned his sister in order to satisfy her curiosity.
Georgiana must require every moment of his attention.
Still, concern possessed an inconvenient habit of growing in the absence of information.
A dozen possibilities presented themselves during idle moments, and although Elizabeth dismissed each one as quickly as it arose, another inevitably followed.
Darcy, she knew, would be heavily involved with securing his sister’s wellbeing and hardly in a position to pen a note to Mr. Bennet.
She pictured him much as she had last seen him: resolute, determined, and burdened by responsibilities no brother ought ever to bear.
Whatever awaited him after reaching Georgiana, it could not have been easy.
Whether he found her willing to return, frightened, defiant, or heartbroken, every outcome promised difficulty.
The remembrance of the anguish in his countenance before he departed remained vivid enough that Elizabeth found herself offering silent prayers for his success whenever her thoughts wandered.
Uncle Philips had graciously forgiven his clerk’s abrupt departure.
Mr. Philips declared that no respectable employer could object to a young man’s leaving under such extraordinary circumstances, particularly when another gentleman had undertaken to explain the necessity.
He nevertheless remarked—with considerable theatrical sighing—that his office had become a place of perpetual disorder without Mr. Wickham to keep the papers in their proper order.
Lydia accepted this tribute to Mr. Wickham’s industry with unconcealed satisfaction, though she attempted to hide her smile by attending very closely to her embroidery.
Two weeks after Mr. Wickham and Mr. Darcy departed, the former came back to Longbourn.
His arrival occasioned rather more excitement than anyone admitted aloud.
Mrs. Bennet insisted that fresh tea be prepared the instant Hill announced a visitor, while Kitty hurried to smooth ribbons that required no attention.
Mary closed her book with deliberate care, plainly curious despite affecting indifference.
Elizabeth rose before she consciously intended to do so, disappointment mingling with anticipation.
If Wickham had arrived alone, Darcy had remained behind.
Even so, news of any sort was preferable to uncertainty.
Mr. Wickham looked careworn and weary as he greeted the family warmly.
The change in him was unmistakable. Dust from the road still clung faintly to his coat despite every attempt to brush it away, and there were shadows beneath his eyes that spoke of too many nights spent with little rest. He smiled readily enough, yet the easy confidence which had once seemed inseparable from him had softened into something more thoughtful.
The alteration suited him surprisingly well.
He kissed Lydia’s hand, lingering there for a moment longer than propriety allowed.
The gesture was restrained enough that no one could reasonably object, yet its warmth required no interpretation. His expression brightened in a manner Elizabeth had observed when Lydia entered a room. Whatever hardships the journey had imposed, they had not diminished that particular attachment.
Lydia seemed on the verge of embracing him, but maintained her composure admirably.
Elizabeth suspected the effort cost her youngest sister dearly.
Lydia clasped her hands together instead and laughed a little more brightly than usual, as though conversation might compensate for every demonstration good breeding required her to suppress.
Mrs. Bennet beamed upon them both with unmistakable approval, while Mr. Bennet lowered his newspaper far enough to observe the exchange over its edge before returning to his reading with an expression that suggested amusement.
“I am sure you all want an explanation and a tale of the events. I shall be happy to oblige once I have had a cup of tea. Darcy has given me leave to explain all. Miss Elizabeth, he plans to return in a few days.”
They gathered in the parlor and Mrs. Bennet called for tea.
Hill soon appeared with a fresh tray, the fragrance of hot tea and warm currant buns lending an ordinary comfort to a morning that was anything but ordinary.
No one reached immediately for the food.
Even Mrs. Bennet, whose hospitality generally outweighed every other consideration, poured the cups with unusual haste.
Mr. Bennet folded his newspaper and laid it upon the table beside him, giving Mr. Wickham his full attention.
Mary drew her chair a little nearer, curiosity overcoming any desire to appear detached, while Kitty watched the visitor with wide eyes.
Lydia scarcely looked away from him at all.
After a few fortifying sips, Mr. Wickham placed his cup and saucer on the tray and addressed them.
He rested both hands upon his knees for a moment before beginning, as though considering where such an extraordinary tale ought properly to commence.
“We found Miss Darcy sooner than any of us expected,” he said. “The gentleman believed himself secure. He supposed the letter would delay Mr. Darcy for several days longer, and therefore made little effort to conceal their movements.”
Mrs. Bennet gasped softly.
“So they had not yet reached Scotland?”
“No, ma’am. They had no opportunity. Providence favored us.”
His account unfolded deliberately, never dwelling overlong upon his own part in the affair.
Elizabeth suspected the omission intentional, for whenever his actions reflected particularly well upon him, he passed over them with remarkable brevity.
The greater portion of his narration concerned Darcy and Georgiana, and Elizabeth listened with increasing sorrow as the circumstances became clear.
What followed was a tale so extraordinary that Elizabeth could do naught but gape.
She had imagined any number of possibilities during the previous fortnight, but none approached the truth.
That Georgiana had concealed the gentleman’s true surname from her brother out of fear and shame, allowing him to persist in believing Mr. Wickham guilty, seemed beyond belief.
Equally astonishing was the existence of another gentleman whose name differed by scarcely more than a single syllable and whose character proved so thoroughly corrupt.
To think that kind, sweet Georgiana had acted in such a duplicitous manner was beyond her comprehension.
Elizabeth remembered the timid young lady she had first met in Town, whose modesty bordered upon painful shyness.
She had spoken so affectionately of her brother then, looking toward him with unconcealed admiration whenever he entered the room.
How lonely Georgiana must have become before another’s flatteries found such fertile ground.
Loneliness, Elizabeth reflected, often persuaded people to believe what comforted them rather than what was true.
Poor Mr. Darcy, to have learned of his sister’s defects in character in such a manner.
She did not mistake the matter for simple youthful folly.
Georgiana had erred gravely. Yet she was scarcely sixteen years of age, motherless, possessed of a considerable fortune, and surrounded for months by a woman she trusted completely.
Elizabeth found it impossible to condemn her without also mourning the circumstances that had made such deception possible.
Mr. Wickham paused long enough to accept another cup of tea before continuing.
“Miss Darcy has suffered greatly since discovering the truth,” he said. “Mr. Wycombe departed during the night without so much as a farewell once he learned the marriage settlement could not be obtained without Mr. Darcy’s consent.”
Mrs. Bennet pressed one hand against her breast.
“The wretch!”
Mr. Bennet nodded once.
“There is little baseness beyond a fortune hunter disappointed of his prey.”
Mr. Wickham inclined his head in agreement.
“I fear you judge him accurately, sir.”
“There is hope for reform.” Mr. Wickham’s words drew her attention again.
His countenance softened in a manner Elizabeth had not often observed.
“I know Miss Darcy’s present conduct has disappointed everyone who loves her. Nevertheless, she is still exceedingly young. She has admitted many painful truths already. Others may require more time. Shame rarely instructs a person all at once.”
Elizabeth studied him thoughtfully. A year earlier he himself would likely have laughed at such sentiment. The sincerity with which he now expressed it admitted no doubt.
“If I can become a better person, then she can as well. I understand Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam have called on Lady Matlock to intervene.”