Chapter XVI
Elizabeth started awake as the carriage drew to a halt. For an instant, she could not remember where she was or what she was doing, nor why her bed did not feel like a bed at all. Then it came flooding back.
“Our sleeper awakens,” came the voice of her Uncle Gardiner, and Elizabeth did not miss the teasing note.
“I had not thought your niece slept in carriages,” replied Mr. Darcy. “Throughout the entire distance from Derbyshire, I have not seen her so much as nod.”
“It happens but rarely,” said Elizabeth, becoming alert. “Carriages bump about too much to allow me to find rest.”
“In that we are much alike.” Mr. Darcy gave her a tender smile, one that displayed all his regard for her. “The journey has been long and tiring, which must account for your fatigue.”
“Yet we have arrived at last,” said Uncle Gardiner as a footman opened the door.
Elizabeth stepped from the carriage with Mr. Darcy’s assistance, relishing the feel of solid ground beneath her feet.
Mr. Darcy, she noted, was also stretching his legs, though he would need to travel a further fifteen minutes through London streets to reach his home.
When he noticed her regard, Mr. Darcy returned a grin.
“When one’s legs are long, an excursion in a carriage is a punishment, Miss Elizabeth.”
Quirking her eyebrow at him, Elizabeth said: “You live three days from London, sir, and must make this journey at least twice a year. Have you not become accustomed to it?”
“No, I have not,” said Mr. Darcy, “though I often make the journey more than twice. And I do not believe it is the sort of thing one becomes accustomed to. Discomfort is discomfort, no matter what form it takes—I endure it as best I can, but I doubt I shall ever grow used to it.”
“And this is what you are proposing for my future?”
“But think of the benefits you will gain in exchange for the discomfort of traveling a few times a year.”
Elizabeth was enjoying the banter, her responses growing saucier. “What would those be? I suppose you will remind me of your beautiful home in the north, the prominence I shall enjoy in London.”
“Not at all,” replied Mr. Darcy, his complacent smile proving he was taking as much pleasure from the conversation as she was.
“Then what are the benefits of which you spoke?”
“Why,” said Mr. Darcy, stepping close, “that you shall have me for a husband—a man who adores you and will do anything for your happiness.”
Had Mr. Darcy not added the second part, she might have accused him of excessive conceit.
As it was, she had not the heart for further teasing.
The knowledge that she was loved by a good man was still new, and the exquisite sensation suffused her very being.
Perhaps it was also the fatigue that pressed against her, but Elizabeth found she could do nothing more than gaze into his eyes, fancying she could see her future in them.
That was when Mr. Gardiner stepped around the carriage to address them.
“It is getting late, Lizzy,” said he, not unkindly. “Since I doubt you can get up to much mischief in the street, I shall leave you to your private farewells and wait by the stairs.”
Mr. Gardiner gave Mr. Darcy a wink. “Do not tax my patience.”
When he retreated, Mr. Darcy turned back to her, not at all displeased with the teasing. The gentleman reached out and grasped her hand, stepping close so they could speak in privacy.
“Tomorrow morning, I shall come early to confer with your father and your uncle. I hope Fitzwilliam will be at liberty to join me.”
“So soon?” asked Elizabeth, taken aback.
Mr. Darcy nodded. “Fitzwilliam often stays at my house when he is in London, and his recent letters informed me that he would be in town for the foreseeable future. If he is not residing there, then he will either be at his father’s house or at his barracks. I can summon him at once from either.”
“And you are certain he will assist?” asked Elizabeth.
Colonel Fitzwilliam was, after all, the son of an earl—even Mr. Darcy was only a nephew, though she supposed that was not an insignificant connection. Though Colonel Fitzwilliam had been a genial man, part of Elizabeth wondered whether he would involve himself in such sordid business.
“Trust me, Miss Elizabeth,” replied Mr. Darcy with no trace of hesitation. “My cousin has despised Wickham for many years. When he hears of what Wickham has done now, he may even reach the cur before I can—perhaps even before Thompson can, and that is no small feat.”
Elizabeth could not stifle a laugh at the image. “Mr. Wickham is in for a bad time of it.”
“It is long overdue,” replied Mr. Darcy.
“Thank you, sir,” whispered Elizabeth, overcome by sudden emotion. “It would have been well within your rights to wash your hands of Mr. Wickham and my family.”
“At the risk of repeating myself,” said Mr. Darcy, a ghost of a smile not hiding his sincerity, “I shall only say that I would not abandon you for any reason—Wickham is not a factor at all in my regard for you.
“One more matter we should discuss,” said Mr. Darcy, “is your father. As he is in London and will question my involvement, it would be best if I spoke to him about our engagement tomorrow. If that is acceptable to you.”
A fluttering rose in Elizabeth’s midsection.
Not that she doubted her decision or wished she had chosen otherwise, though a small part of her still wondered if she knew what she was doing.
Speaking to her father, however, would make it all real in a way that she could not yet comprehend.
It would not do to keep Mr. Darcy waiting, however, so she answered at once in the only way she could.
“That would be acceptable, Mr. Darcy.”
Mr. Darcy nodded. “Then I shall come tomorrow morning.”
The gentleman then lifted the hand he still held to his lips and kissed it, before straightening and giving her a bright smile. “Until then, Miss Bennet.”
Though she was half in a daze, Elizabeth farewelled Mr. Darcy, joining her uncle as the gentleman returned to his carriage and departed. When the carriage disappeared around a corner, she turned to find her uncle watching her, his expression one of amusement, and more than a little knowing.
“That is an excellent gentleman, Lizzy,” observed he. “It does my heart good that you have recognized it yourself.”
“I have, Uncle,” replied Elizabeth.
“Good. Now we must explain it to your father.”
It was a part of this business Elizabeth had not considered to any great degree, largely because she could predict her father’s response with little thought.
The time to test her perception was upon her, for the moment they entered, she heard Mr. Bennet’s footsteps down the hall from Mr. Gardiner’s study.
“Edward,” said Mr. Bennet when he stepped into the vestibule, though he paused when he saw Elizabeth.
Then the father proved he was as well acquainted with his daughter as the reverse.
“I might have expected that you would insist on being a part of this business, Lizzy,” said he, arms surrounding her when she went to him.
Mr. Bennet turned back to Mr. Gardiner. “It is well that you have returned, though I expected you a day or two ago.”
“For that,” replied Mr. Gardiner with no little irony, “you have your eldest daughter to thank. Elizabeth received two letters from Jane at once because Jane wrote the directions ill the first time.”
A grimace comprised Bennet’s response. “I cannot blame Jane. The house was in uproar, Mrs. Bennet already calling for her salts, and I could hardly understand what had happened myself.”
Upon seeing Mr. Gardiner’s face, Bennet spoke to forestall the reprimand. “I know what you will say, Gardiner, and I agree—though perhaps I could not have foreseen what happened, I should not have allowed Lydia to go to Brighton.”
“There is little reason to belabor the point now,” said Gardiner, though his gruff tone betrayed what he thought of the matter. “If you will allow Lizzy and me a few moments to refresh ourselves, we shall return and exchange news.”
“I am afire with curiosity for your news,” said Mr. Bennet, a hint of his usual humor returning. “But I shall restrain myself. Did you stop for dinner?”
Mr. Gardiner looked at Elizabeth, who nodded. “I should like a light dinner if possible.”
“I shall see to it,” said Mr. Bennet.
It was only fifteen minutes later that Elizabeth descended to find Mr. Gardiner already in the sitting-room with Mr. Bennet, speaking in quiet tones. Her father looked up when she entered and invited her to sit next to him.
“Ah, Lizzy, please join us.”
“You were about to explain what you have found,” prompted Mr. Gardiner.
Mr. Bennet’s grimace told the story of his frustration. “Precious little. London is a large city—there is little hope of discovering their location, for I have not the faintest notion of where to look.”
Perceptive as he was, the look exchanged between Elizabeth and Mr. Gardiner did not escape his attention. “Have you something to tell me?”
“Only that a man I respect suggested finding Wickham was nigh impossible if you do not know him.”
Mr. Bennet frowned. “You have mentioned our troubles to someone else?”
Rather than answer the question at once, Mr. Gardiner said: “Might I suppose that is the extent of what you have to report of your search?”
“There is not much more to say,” said Mr. Bennet with a shrug, though he still regarded Mr. Gardiner, his expression censorious. “I can tell you where I have looked, but there will be time enough for that later. Now, what did you mean?”
“Lizzy,” said Mr. Gardiner, “I believe this is your tale to tell.”
Puzzled, Mr. Bennet turned to her. There was no reason for delay, so Elizabeth spoke up at once. “When we were in Derbyshire, we met someone known to us, Papa.”
“Who was it?” asked Mr. Bennet, not understanding.
“Mr. Darcy,” replied Elizabeth, her father’s eyes widening in response. “If you recall, his estate is in Derbyshire, not far distant from Lambton.”
“Does your wife not speak of Lambton often?” asked Mr. Bennet, not so much from curiosity as an effort to regain his balance.