Chapter 59
Chapter Fifty-Nine
She did not understand.
But she would let him go.
She knew she must be walking, as the trees were passing and the brighter light of the clearing was growing larger, but she did not feel her legs moving. She drifted towards the road, into the carriage.
He was leaving her. It was not hatred or a change of heart, of that she felt certain, but why?
Oh. Yes. They had ventured too far, come too close to passing the bounds of propriety.
In his reprieve from a death sentence, Darcy had allowed himself to act impulsively, and she knew he could not abide it.
He was not ending their alliance, simply removing himself from temptation, and perhaps going to recover from the fear he had endured at the thought of being hanged.
Once they were back in the carriage, he said, “My only guests will be Bingley, Goulding, Georgiana, and James—er, Colonel Fitzwilliam. Do not invite my cousin Anne. I am too cross with her.”
She realised he was speaking of the wedding. Who cared about a wedding when he was running away?
“Your family may invite whoever they choose. The food, the arrangements—all will be as you wish it to be.” He kissed her hand and she turned away to look out of the window at a passing farm.
“Georgiana might wish to come with me to town, but if she prefers Netherfield, will you look in on her as you can?” She did not answer. “Elizabeth?”
She turned to him, undone by the reversals of the day, feeling as if she were being pulled beneath the surface of water and held there. She nodded, hoping that answered whatever question he had asked. Something about Georgiana.
At their arrival at Longbourn, all emerged to enquire, to congratulate, to celebrate, but she felt nothing. Her family was too loud, too enthusiastic. She begged them to calm themselves and ended up shouting, “Enough!”
All turned to her in shock, and, body rigid and with determination to control her voice, she added, “Mr Darcy must speak with his sister and then he must depart. Give him leave to see to his business.” All nodded, and once Georgiana had stepped close to her brother and Elizabeth’s own family appeared to be heeding her wishes, she floated inside and up the stairs, finding herself knocking on Mary’s door.
“Enter,” said Mary, and when she saw it was Elizabeth, set aside her book and beckoned her in.
Elizabeth hurried to her sister, sat upon the chair next to Mary’s bed, and promptly began weeping.
She thought of all she had feared: of Darcy being ripped away from her, of him sitting in a dark cell deprived of comforts and hope, of watching him walk to the gallows.
She cried, holding in her wails so her head pounded, then sobbed and sobbed until she had run out of tears.
She was breathing heavily into the quilt when Mary said, “I fear to ask. Has Mr Darcy…been found guilty?”
Elizabeth bolted upright. “Heavens! No. No! He—” She sniffled. “He is free.” Free! He was free. She could scarce believe it.
“You frightened me,” said Mary. “It is a relief.”
“I thought you wished him ill.”
She shook her head. “I told you before, I wish he had stayed to assist when Mr Collins was killed, but I would not wish on you the same fate: the longing and pain that I have endured.” She smiled a sad half-smile.
“And I must confess, upon further reflection, Mr Collins was at fault for the accident. It is lucky, in fact, that the coachman and Mr Darcy and his cousin were not injured or killed when Mr Collins stepped into the road.” She sighed.
“I miss him no less, but I do see his culpability.”
Elizabeth kissed Mary’s hand and rested her forehead on it.
“Mr Darcy plans to remove himself from Hertfordshire until the wedding.” She felt Mary’s other hand stroking her hair, and it brought her back to being a young child sitting on her father’s lap before the fire as he read or as Mama told a story.
Closing her eyes to the world felt good, and she breathed more calmly.
A knock on the door pulled her out of her reverie. “Mr Darcy is departing,” announced Mrs Hill.
Elizabeth sat up and looked at her sister. Mary lifted her chin in a show of courage, and Elizabeth mirrored the gesture, straightening her back. She breathed deeply once, then twice, and glided out as if she had not been undone moments before.
Darcy was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs with Miss Darcy and her father. Papa offered an elbow to Georgiana and they walked out the front door, allowing Elizabeth to speak with Darcy alone.
“My darling,” he murmured as she approached. “You have been crying.”
Her cheeks always remained red and her eyes puffy long after she had calmed herself. She regretted not taking a moment to wash her face with cool water, but there was nothing to be done for it.
“Georgiana will go with you?” she asked, managing to keep most of the tremble out of her voice.
He nodded and pulled her to him. “The month will pass quickly, and then we shall be married.”
“Of course,” she said without enthusiasm. “Have you any requests for our wedding?”
“That you are there.”
She almost smiled.
He added, “I do hate a large crowd, and I know your mother will want one, but if it might be kept reasonably small…”
This time she laughed. “There is no telling what Mama will do.” She threaded her arm through his, and they began walking to the door.
Then she stopped short. “I just remembered. I heard talk at the inn that Mr Wickham would be buried in a pauper’s grave after the inquest concluded.
Is it wrong to suggest that we witness the burial? ”
Darcy looked at Elizabeth with horror.
“I am in earnest. The man has caused you so much pain. Perhaps it would be good to lay all of the harm he did to rest.”
Darcy paused. Then waited more, holding himself very tight. “I understand what might prompt you to say such a thing, but no. He does not deserve it.”
“Darcy…”
He frowned as he walked with her to the carriage. Before stepping up, he sighed and turned to her. “Shall I return you to Longbourn after the graveyard?”
She bit back a smile of triumph, and he raised one eyebrow just a little.