25. A Better Understanding #3
“She is ashamed one moment and defiant the next. Lady Matlock refuses to indulge either disposition. Richard tells me my aunt has already set Georgiana to writing letters of apology she does not particularly wish to compose. Whether they will ever be sent remains another question altogether.”
“I am very sorry, Elizabeth, for not believing you regarding George. As for Wycombe,” Darcy continued, “my solicitor has sent his description to the men handling the Ramsgate claims and to several creditors known to have dealt with him under George’s name.
He appears to have fled for the coast. Whether he has crossed the Channel or merely wishes us to believe so, I cannot yet determine. ”
“Can he be prosecuted?” Mr. Bennet asked.
“For the debts contracted under another man’s name, certainly, if he is found and sufficient witnesses can be secured.
The greater difficulty is pursuing him without making Georgiana’s involvement public.
Colonel Fitzwilliam and I have agreed that her protection must take precedence over our desire to see him punished. ”
Wickham’s expression tightened, but he nodded. “So long as the truth of those accounts is recorded, he will find it more difficult to use my name again.”
“That has already been done,” Darcy said.
“Mrs. Younge has been turned over to the law,” Darcy added.
“She has given my solicitor a written account of everything she knows. Counsel believes a public prosecution would expose Georgiana more thoroughly than it would punish the woman, but she will receive no further payment from my family and will trouble us no more.”
“And the maid?” Elizabeth asked.
“She is no longer in Georgiana’s service.
My aunt wished her dismissed at once, but the girl’s confession reached us before the week Georgiana commanded her to wait.
Without it, we might have begun the pursuit too late.
I have therefore arranged for her to return to her family with a small sum, though she will receive no recommendation for another position of trust.”
He sighed. “Mrs. Annesley offered her resignation,” Darcy said.
“I did not accept it. She was deceived by both Georgiana and the maid, and I cannot hold her solely responsible for a conspiracy deliberately arranged to evade her notice. She will remain until my aunt and I decide what arrangement will best serve Georgiana.”
“And how do you fare?” Elizabeth searched his face as she asked the question.
The answer mattered, certainly, yet she hoped equally to discover whether the burden he had carried from Hertfordshire had eased in any measure.
Though his posture remained erect and his manner composed, the strain of recent weeks lingered about him.
He had come back to her, but not untouched by all that had passed.
Darcy shook his head.
The slight movement conveyed more than a lengthy explanation might have done.
“I do not know what to do about her refusal to show any measure of accountability.”
Jane’s countenance clouded with concern.
“It must be difficult for her to separate the pain of what happened from the choices that led to it,” she said softly.
“I believe that is precisely the difficulty,” Darcy replied. “Whenever she begins to acknowledge one error, she turns again to Mr. Wycombe’s deception, as though his conduct excuses every decision of her own. My aunt refuses to permit the conversation to remain there.”
Mrs. Bennet gave an approving nod.
“And very right too. One cannot spend one’s life blaming wicked people for every foolish thing one has done.”
Mr. Bennet lowered his book just enough to glance toward his wife.
“My dear, that is unexpectedly philosophical.”
She looked pleased by the compliment whether or not it had been intended as one.
“Give her time,” she repeated. Elizabeth stopped herself from continuing.
She wished neither to wound Darcy nor to condemn Georgiana more harshly than the situation already demanded.
The disappointment she experienced sprang less from indignation than from sorrow.
She remembered the shy young lady whose greatest pleasure had been sitting beside the pianoforte while Darcy listened with unmistakable pride.
It seemed impossible to reconcile that image with a girl capable of concealing the truth from the brother who loved her best.
“Yes, there are no words.” Darcy frowned.
“For now,” he continued after a brief pause, “I am content to leave her with my aunt. Lady Matlock possesses an authority Georgiana has never before encountered. Richard writes she has already forbidden her to speak of marriage, London, or Mr. Wycombe for an entire fortnight. My cousin says the prohibition has not been well received.”
Mr. Bennet smiled faintly.
“I begin to like your aunt.”
“I confess I have acquired a new appreciation of her myself.”
“I am very sorry, Elizabeth, for not believing you regarding George.”
His attention rested wholly upon her now. The others remained in the room, yet Elizabeth scarcely noticed them. There existed nothing rehearsed in his apology. He neither excused himself nor attempted to lessen the gravity of his mistake.
She answered him with equal sincerity.
“Have you told Mr. Wickham of your regrets?”
Darcy’s eyes moved toward his old companion and frowned.
“Not in so many words.”
He spoke ruefully.
“I thanked him for his assistance. I acknowledged that I had misjudged the situation. Yet I do not believe I have apologized as plainly as I ought.”
Mr. Bennet regarded him thoughtfully.
“There are occasions when plain words are best.”
Darcy inclined his head.
“I begin to suspect there are more of those occasions than I once believed.”
“Think nothing of it, Darcy.” Wickham cut in from across the room. “I would not have believed me either. Not after all I put you through.”
He spoke with such matter-of-fact good humor that the awkwardness dissolved relatively quickly.
Elizabeth thought again of the young man who had first arrived in Meryton.
Vanity had once flavored nearly everything he said.
That quality had yielded to an honesty she doubted many in the neighborhood yet fully appreciated.
Darcy regarded him steadily.
“Perhaps not,” he admitted. “But I ought to have questioned my certainty rather sooner.”
Wickham shrugged.
“We both had old habits to overcome.”
Mrs. Bennet looked from one gentleman to the other.
“I declare I like this friendship vastly better than the former arrangement.”
Mr. Bennet chuckled.
“I daresay it is an improvement.”
“Then let us begin again. We need to get along, especially since we will likely be intimately connected someday.”
The declaration surprised everyone save, perhaps, Darcy himself. It carried neither embarrassment nor hesitation. He spoke as a gentleman who had resolved upon his future and intended to pursue it honorably.
Elizabeth sucked in a breath.
Heat rushed to her cheeks before she could master herself.
Though she had long hoped for those words, hearing them spoken openly before her family made the prospect suddenly immediate.
Mrs. Bennet’s eyes widened with unmistakable delight, while Jane lowered her gaze in an effort to conceal her smile.
Mr. Bennet observed the company over folded hands, saying nothing.
“I believe that you and I should take a walk, Miss Lydia. Miss Mary, will you accompany us?” Wickham grinned and stood, holding his hand out to Elizabeth’s youngest sister.
Lydia accepted instantly.
“With pleasure.”
Mary blinked in surprise at finding herself included, then rose with dignity. “I should be happy to.”
“I think fresh air will improve us all,” Wickham declared.
Mrs. Bennet looked as though she might object to abandoning so interesting a conversation, but one glance at Darcy’s expression appeared sufficient to convince her that the young couple deserved privacy.
“Come, Kitty,” she said briskly. “We shall see whether Cook has any of those little cakes remaining.”
Within moments, the room was empty.
The door had scarcely closed before the silence altered its character.
Gone was the bustle of family conversation.
Afternoon sunlight filtered through the windows, falling across the carpet between them.
Somewhere beyond the open casement a bird called from the shrubbery, and the faint voices of the others drifted toward the gardens before fading altogether.
For a brief moment neither Elizabeth nor Darcy spoke.
He continued to hold her hand.
She did not withdraw it.
“You were right to refuse me. I let my pride and my belief in my superior understanding get in the way of common sense. I am a different man. Dearest, loveliest Elizabeth, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
Elizabeth could not speak.
For one suspended instant, the world beyond the little parlor ceased to exist. The murmur of voices from the gardens, the ticking of the clock upon the mantel, even the breeze stirring the curtains at the open window seemed to fade into insignificance.
She had imagined this moment often enough to know she would answer him gladly, yet imagination had never prepared her for the simple earnestness with which he had spoken.
Tears in her eyes, she nodded.
The motion was scarcely perceptible, but it transformed his expression more completely than any words could have done.
The strain that had lingered upon his features since entering the room eased at last. He drew a slow breath, as though he had not permitted himself one until her answer was certain.
“You have made me very happy.”
His voice carried neither triumph nor astonishment, just joy. Elizabeth laughed through her tears, finding herself unable to decide whether she wished to smile or weep. She settled upon doing both, much to Darcy’s evident amusement.
Darcy cupped her cheek and stroked it gently with his thumb.