Chapter XIX
Lydia sat very still as Darcy finished speaking. At length, she said quietly, “So they know?”
“Yes.”
She looked down at her hands. “They know where you found me?”
“No.”
Her head rose immediately. “No?”
“I declined to tell them.”
For the first time since the conversation began, some colour returned to her face. “Oh.”
Darcy watched her for a moment. “I thought it better that way.”
“Yes,” she whispered. “So do I.”
A silence followed.
Then Lydia’s expression altered. “You think I ought never to tell anyone.” It was not a question.
Darcy considered before answering. “I think very few people would hear such a story with fairness.”
Lydia laughed once, without amusement. “No.”
“Those who care for you would be distressed. Those who do not would merely gossip.”
She lowered her eyes. “They would think the worst.”
“Yes.” The answer was quiet. “Yes, they would.”
Lydia stared at the carpet. For a while, the ticking of the clock was the only sound in the room.
Then she asked abruptly: “Why were you there?”
Darcy blinked.
She looked up. “If it is such a dreadful place…”
He understood at once.
A faint flush rose to Lydia’s cheeks. “I do not mean…”
“I know what you mean. This is not something usually discussed among ladies and gentlemen.” The corner of his mouth moved slightly.
Instead of appearing offended, he merely leant back in his chair.
Darcy’s gaze drifted briefly towards the window.
“But it would be foolish of me to avoid the topic since we were both there.”
She looked at him expectantly.
“Because I was lonely.”
The confession was so unexpected that Lydia forgot to breathe. “Lonely?”
A faint smile touched his face. “I assure you, Miss Lydia, it is not an affliction reserved exclusively for young ladies.” He shrugged. “My cousin thought an evening in company would do me good.”
Lydia looked unconvinced.
“I let myself be talked into it. No, that is cowardly. I went willingly. I had indulged in such amusements before.”
Silence fell between them.
Then, unexpectedly, Darcy found himself recalling the evening with unusual clarity. The candlelight. The noise. The painted faces. And one girl sitting apart from the others. He frowned slightly.
“What is it?” Lydia asked.
“Nothing.”
Yet it was not nothing. At the time, he had thought only that she seemed different from the others. Quieter. Less practised. Now, looking back, he wondered whether that had truly been the reason. Or whether she had reminded him, however faintly, of someone else.
Not in appearance. The resemblance had not been so obvious. But there had been something in her expression. Something in the uncertainty with which she regarded the room. For a moment, Elizabeth’s face rose unexpectedly in his memory.
The thought was so absurd that he almost smiled.
“What?” Lydia asked again.
Darcy shook his head. “A foolish observation.”
He had no intention of explaining it further. Finally, Darcy said, “Your aunt and uncle will visit tomorrow.”
Lydia’s head came up. “Tomorrow? I-I do not know if I am ready.” A flicker of alarm crossed her face. “Do they hate me?”
“No.”
The answer came so quickly that she stared at him.
“They are worried about you. Nothing more.”
She swallowed. “And after that?”
Darcy leant forward slightly. “That depends upon what you wish. That and what is possible.”
“I do not know what I wish.”
“No,” he said quietly. “I do not imagine you do.”
The honesty of the answer seemed to comfort her more than reassurance would have done.
For the first time, she looked less like the heedless girl who had run away from Brighton and more like someone very young who had discovered that the world was not arranged for her amusement.
“What happens to me now?” she asked.
Darcy was silent for several moments. Then he answered with equal honesty. “I do not yet know.”
And strangely, that answer felt kinder than any promise.
“Until we figure things out, you can stay here with us or stay at your aunt’s. I will have to discuss things with your father. I am looking for Wickham.”
“I do not want him anymore.”
“Yes, I told your uncle and aunt that we should not make him marry you. You would have a miserable life with him, if he does not flee again. But the news has spread in your neighbourhood, and the family is shunned. That is no life either. I have yet to discover what those options are.”
“Please, do not make me marry him.”
“If it is up to me, I will not let him near you.”
Lydia lowered her eyes.
“I do not wish him to hurt you again. Nor anyone else.”
Something tightened unexpectedly in her throat.
All at once, she thought of Brighton. Of Wickham’s promises. Of the days that followed. Her insistence that he should sleep on the couch. His abandonment. Of the terror she had tried so hard not to show.
And of Georgiana. Mrs. Annesley. The doctor. This house. Warm meals. Clean sheets. The simple certainty that she would not be abandoned again tomorrow.
All of it because of the man sitting opposite her.
Before she fully realised what she was doing, Lydia rose from her chair.
Darcy looked up. “Miss Lydia?”
She crossed the distance in three quick steps and threw her arms around him.
The movement was so sudden that he scarcely had time to react. At first, he sat perfectly still.
Lydia became aware of what she had done almost immediately. Colour rushed into her face. “Oh!”
She stepped back at once. “I beg your pardon. I did not mean… I mean, I did mean it, only…”
Darcy’s expression was one of complete astonishment.
Lydia wished the floor would open beneath her.
Then, to her surprise, a faint smile appeared. “There is nothing to apologise for.”
The simple words nearly undid her again.
Darcy stood. He remained standing for a heartbeat, plainly uncertain what to do. Then, seeing the tears in her eyes, he quietly opened his arms.
Lydia buried her face in his embrace with a cry.
Darcy hesitated only a moment before returning the embrace, one hand resting reassuringly between her shoulders. He closed his arms around her while the girl cried in his arms, just like Georgiana did at Ramsgate.
Without trusting herself to speak, she returned hastily to her chair and fixed her attention upon the carpet.
Darcy wisely pretended not to notice that she spent the next several minutes blinking rather more rapidly than usual.
As Darcy decided to leave, another thought occurred to him. “Miss Lydia.”
She looked up.
“There is one thing I must ask of you.”
The seriousness of his tone immediately caught her attention.
“Of course.”
He seemed uncertain how best to begin. “The circumstances which brought you here are not the only matters which ought to remain private.”
Lydia frowned slightly.
Darcy folded his hands behind his back. “My sister has shown you a confidence which very few people know.”
Understanding dawned slowly. “Oh.”
“Georgiana’s history is not widely known.”
Lydia lowered her eyes. “No.”
“Nor must it become so.”
The words were quiet rather than stern.
“Even the smallest piece of gossip may travel much farther than intended. A careless remark to a friend becomes a conversation. A conversation becomes a rumour. A rumour acquires a life of its own.”
Lydia winced. She knew that better than most. “Her reputation would suffer?”
“Yes.” He hesitated. “Unjustly, but it would suffer nonetheless.”
Lydia nodded. “I understand.”
“Not to friends,” Darcy continued gently. “Not to acquaintances. Not even to family.”
Lydia looked surprised. “Not even my sisters?”
“No.”
She was silent for a moment. Then, with a faint smile: “Not even Kitty?”
“Especially not Miss Kitty.”
To his relief, she laughed. The sound was brief but genuine. “That is just as well; she cannot keep a secret to save her life.” Then her expression became serious once more. “I promise.”
Darcy inclined his head.
After a moment, he added: “There is one exception.”
Lydia blinked.
“Miss Elizabeth already knows.”
“Lizzy?”
A faint warmth touched Darcy’s expression before disappearing almost immediately. “Yes.”
Lydia regarded him for a moment. Then, very slowly, she smiled.
Darcy immediately suspected he had said too much.
“Good evening, Miss Lydia.”
“Good evening, Mr. Darcy.”
***
The following day passed with less agitation than the one before.
Darcy met with the Colonel’s trusted man. They studied Gardiner’s map and notes, and he answered the man’s many questions about his former friend. The thought of referring to Wickham as his ‘once-friend’ still sat uneasily with him. He agreed to have Wickham’s likeness brought to London post-haste.
It was good to be occupied.
Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner visited Lydia in the morning and remained with her for some time. Upon their return, Mrs Gardiner told Darcy that her niece appeared greatly altered – quieter, more thoughtful, and far less inclined to dismiss serious matters than she had ever been.
Gardiner himself seemed cautiously encouraged. “She has suffered,” he told Darcy. “Perhaps more than we realised.”
Darcy made no reply. He had seen enough to know that was true.
Darcy and Mr. Gardiner talked more about what could be done about the situation, but they did not find a solution.
***
The next day brought Mr. Gardiner’s note.
Darcy broke the seal while finishing his lunch.
My dear sir,
Mr. Bennet arrived in town in response to the express I sent after your kind visit.
If it is convenient, I should be obliged if you would call upon me this afternoon, as there are several matters concerning Miss Lydia which require discussion.
Should prior engagements prevent it, we shall instead wait upon you tomorrow.
Yours faithfully,
Edward Gardiner
Darcy read the note twice.
Mr. Bennet’s arrival was hardly unexpected. Had he received an express informing him that his daughter had been found, he would surely have arrived in London the very next day. It took Mr. Bennet another day.
Yet the prospect of the meeting filled him with less anticipation than unease. The conversation was unlikely to be pleasant.
Mr. Bennet had every reason to wish his daughter returned immediately; Darcy, however, was far from convinced such a course would be wise.
After a moment’s consideration, he folded the note and rose.
He had no engagement which could not be postponed.
An hour later, his carriage turned into Gracechurch Street.
The weather was overcast once more. A fine mist lingered in the air, softening the outlines of the buildings and leaving the pavements damp beneath passing feet.
Darcy scarcely noticed. His thoughts remained fixed upon the conversation ahead. Mr. Bennet was not a man he knew well. Their previous acquaintance had been brief and conducted under very different circumstances.
What gratitude the gentleman might feel for Lydia’s recovery would likely be tempered by embarrassment, wounded pride, and the uncomfortable necessity of discussing his daughter’s future with a comparative stranger. None of which promised an agreeable interview.
The servant admitted him immediately. “Mr. Gardiner is expecting you, sir.”
Darcy surrendered his hat and gloves. “Thank you.”
The servant led him towards the drawing room. Gardiner must have decided against waiting in the study. A sensible choice, perhaps. There were matters concerning Lydia which Mrs. Gardiner might reasonably wish to hear discussed.
The servant reached the door, opened it, and announced: “Mr. Darcy.”
Darcy stepped forward.
Then stopped.
His glance swept the room, and his mind quickly registered that there were more people in the room than expected.
Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner. Mr. Bennet.
His gaze moved to the window. There stood the fourth figure.
For one extraordinary moment, he forgot entirely why he had come.
Elizabeth Bennet was standing beside the window.