Chapter 22 #2
There was something in Darcy’s tone—measured, almost too measured—that made Richard study him more closely. He did not press, however, and instead listened as his cousin recounted all that Bennet had reported, both in Miss Elizabeth’s presence and later, when Darcy had sought further detail.
When Darcy finished, Richard’s thoughts turned elsewhere—inevitably, and not without unease.
“Have you told Georgiana?”
“Elizabeth spoke to her after we learnt of it,” Darcy said.
“I did not ask her to, but she volunteered to do so, and since Georgiana is staying with her family, I thought it would be simpler for them to find time alone. Regardless, that is the other part of the tale: we hastened to Hertfordshire because Elizabeth’s youngest sister had planned to elope with the blackguard, but fortunately was prevented from doing so by the man’s illness.
Georgiana was aware of that before we left Pemberley. ”
“She is ruined?” Richard asked, his gaze sharpening as it returned to Darcy. “Is your hasty marriage meant to cover this scandal?”
“In part—or at the very least, we hoped that our sudden wedding might halt any potential gossip regarding Miss Lydia,” Darcy acknowledged, and Richard noted the way his cousin’s hands twisted together.
“We did not know if any gossip had already begun to circulate, but fortunately the Bennets managed to keep the matter quiet. Some suspect Miss Lydia of behaving badly, but she is not ruined. At church on Sunday, there was a great deal of gossip, but most of it concerned our wedding.”
Richard nodded, at last taking a drink from the glass in his hand. The brandy burned more than he noticed, his thoughts already turning ahead of what this might mean. He finished it quickly, then rose to pour himself another measure, the small movement giving him a moment to collect himself.
“What do my parents know?”
“I have written to them that I am to marry, and they will not receive my letter until the deed is done,” Darcy admitted.
“Your father might have offered some small protest, but in the end he would recognise that the decision is mine. I will send a letter to Lady Catherine tomorrow. It is already written, and I have a messenger prepared to depart after the wedding. He will travel to Kent with two letters—one for our aunt and one for Anne. It is my hope that Anne will calm her mother, though I cannot be certain. She will not know where to find us, and besides, any attempt at mischief will be for naught, for it shall be too late.”
Richard considered this, turning the glass slowly in his hand, watching the amber liquid catch the light before he took a measured sip. Too late, indeed. Darcy had always been decisive, but this bordered on reckless—although perhaps only because Richard had not yet seen the necessity of it.
“Is not that foolish parson connected to a family in the area?” he asked. “He and your bride are cousins of a sort, I believe, and his wife is from here.”
He was not prepared for the way Darcy blanched, the colour leaving his face so abruptly that Richard straightened, his attention sharpening at once.
“I had forgotten—but yes, Mrs Collins is related to Sir William and Lady Lucas. It is possible Lady Lucas has already written to her daughter, but I can only hope Mrs Collins is prudent enough to withhold that information as long as she is able.”
Richard’s brow furrowed slightly. Forgotten? It was unlike Darcy to overlook such a detail, though much had occurred in the last fortnight, if he understood matters correctly. With a bride such as Miss Bennet, he could well imagine lesser concerns slipping through the cracks.
“Well, then, we must be certain to prepare your bride—and the rector—for a possible interruption tomorrow. But if the letter was sent on Monday, it may not have been received until this evening. Even if Lady Catherine does arrive, it will be too late for her to accomplish anything beyond making a scene.”
“I will write to Elizabeth and have it sent to Longbourn first thing,” Darcy said, taking a sip from his drink.
Richard watched as the colour returned to his cousin’s face and found himself considering the change. There was something in Darcy’s expression, at the mere mention of his intended, that had been absent for years.
It was, he thought, a good thing. Darcy had too long borne more than his share of responsibility, and a wife of liveliness and spirit would do much to lighten that burden.
Setting his glass aside, Richard rose with quiet determination, the decision forming almost before he was fully aware of it.
“You will not face it alone,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact.
“If our aunt does descend upon Hertfordshire, I should very much like to be present to witness it—and, if necessary, to assist. I shall throw myself upon the hospitality of your new family for a day or two, and then take Georgiana to Pemberley for you. Do you and your bride intend to take a wedding trip?”
Darcy inclined his head, something like relief passing briefly across his features.
“We had intended to remain in seclusion for a few days—perhaps so long as a se’nnight—at Stoke.
Only the Gardiners, Elizabeth’s aunt and uncle, knew of our intention, and now you.
Still, if you are willing to escort Georgiana and her companion to Pemberley, along with Elizabeth’s sister Mary, Elizabeth and I might go on to the Lakes directly, rather than returning first to Pemberley. I should be most obliged.”
Richard allowed himself the smallest hint of a smile. Whatever tomorrow might bring—marriage, scandal, or Lady Catherine’s displeasure—it promised, at the very least, not to be dull.