Pride, Prejudice & Secrets (4 page)

And, with a quick bow, Fitzwilliam followed his cousin, his boot heels resounding through the room.

Fitzwilliam caught up with Darcy and followed him into his apartment, throwing himself into an ornately decorated and exceedingly uncomfortable chair. He squirmed about to find a relatively less uncomfortable position with his leg hooked over one of the arms.

“I would hazard that went about as badly as it could have,” He tried again and failed to find a more comfortable position.

“Oh, I think it could have gone much worse, actually.” Darcy’s voice was surprisingly calm, and Richard looked up to see an unexpected smile on his cousin’s face.

“And how might it have gone worse?” he asked, accepting the glass of brandy Darcy poured for him. “You and Aunt Catherine meeting at dawn with loaded pistols?”

“Well, yes, that would be worse.” Darcy chuckled at the image that came to mind. “But I was thinking more along the lines of my capitulating to our aunt and agreeing that Anne and I
were
engaged — no disrespect meant toward Cousin Anne, of course.”

“I am sure she would take none, Darce.” Richard looked closer at Darcy. “I say, you are taking this much more lightly than I expected. I quite anticipated having to calm you before you wore a hole in the carpet. You
are
a pacer, you know.”

“Too true.” Darcy looked cheerfully at Richard. “But I am to marry Miss Bennet, you know, so I cannot be too upset at Aunt Catherine’s anger. Now that it has actually happened, it seems clear something similar was going to happen at some time or other; she simply was not going to give up her long-cherished delusions about Anne and me.”

“You are likely correct. How long do you think it will be before Miss Bennet — Mrs. Darcy, that is — forces you to reconcile with her?”

Darcy was taking a sip of brandy, and this unanticipated jape from his cousin caught him so completely unaware that he choked on a bit of the fiery stuff. Richard was immediately at his side, pounding him enthusiastically on the back to help clear his airway.

“I shall have to be more careful, I believe,” Richard said in mock contriteness, “else the charming Miss Bennet will be a widow before she ever becomes Mrs. Darcy. Now, do not glare at me, Darce. You know she will force you to reconcile with our aunt, especially after I inform her that the rupture in the relationship occurred on her behalf. Did you not tell me of the way she walked three miles to succour her sister? Could she do less for her future aunt?”

Gradually Darcy’s glare faded and he gave Richard a small smile. Then he took a sip of his brandy — a cautious one — and sat back in his chair.

“Likely, you are correct in that regard. She does have a warm heart…”

“And she will lock you out of her bedroom if you do not listen to her,” Richard quipped.

“She would not do that!” Darcy was shocked at the very idea.

“No? How do you think young wives force civilization on their young husbands? My mother certainly locked my father out of her bedroom when he forgot his manners.”

“I cannot believe that!” Darcy replied disbelievingly, remembering the dignified, gracious, and warm-hearted Lady Matlock. She had been a great comfort to him when his mother died in childbirth and the whole world seemed barren.

“Believe it, old man. I saw it all, though it was years ago when I was not yet fourteen. My father was tactless during dinner and made an ungracious comment about the dim marital hopes of a young lady whose noble family was impoverished by her father’s gaming debts. Mother put down her fork and said, ‘That is the last heartless comment of that sort I will tolerate, James. My door shall be locked until you redeem yourself.’ It was an instructional episode in my young life.”

Darcy looked at Fitzwilliam and recognized his earnest seriousness. He thought on it for a moment then said, “Well, at least I shall give Elizabeth no such provocation as
that
.”

“Oh, Darcy!” Richard gave a snort of derision. “Do you think Miss Bennet will allow you to stand up in company with that silent, cold demeanour of yours and not attempt to convince you to mend your ways? Why, the very things you find most desirable about her — her open and cheerful nature — ought to indicate she will find some way to induce you to change. She is not nearly decadent enough to accept one of those cold marriages of convenience in which both husband and wife call each other ‘Mr. This’ or ‘Mrs. That’ even in the bedroom and look to mistresses and paramours for the love that is missing in their marriages.”

Darcy nodded unhappily, for he did not like that aspect of their society any more than did his cousin, but whether the colonel was correct about what Elizabeth would do would have to wait upon the future.

“Maybe you are right, Richard,” he said, not wishing to openly admit the possible accuracy of his cousin’s assessment, which only made Richard’s smile grow. “But we should plan our departure. I would like to be off before the sun is fully over the horizon in the morning.”

“The best retreats are usually conducted under cover of darkness,” Richard said cheerfully.

“Possibly so, but, though she is furious with me, I doubt our aunt will order the servants to fire on our coach. And, as you know, travelling at night tends to attract highwaymen.”

“Not the way you arm your footmen. Every miscreant in the kingdom likely has been warned to avoid the Darcy coach.”

“Perhaps.” Darcy smiled grimly. “But being prepared does not mean I desire such a confrontation. Now, I shall have Jennings get packed, and I shall even have him roust Sergeant Henderson from the scullery maid’s bedchamber…”

“That was last week, Darce. She threw him out, and he has ingratiated himself with a pair of downstairs maids — sisters.”

“Good Lord, Richard! The man must have offspring throughout the country!”

“Possibly.” Richard gave an expressive shrug. “But I have always noticed that those troopers who do not take advantage of every willing female they can talk into the straw are usually worthless on the battlefield. And Henderson has proven quite useful on many occasions. Yes, have Jennings roust him out.”

“And perhaps he can deliver a couple of notes to the Parsonage. I need to inform Mrs. Collins of our departure and leave a note for Elizabeth. I want to call on her father tomorrow afternoon after our return to London.”

“You
are
anxious!” Richard’s tone was dry, but he held up his hands in defence as Darcy opened his mouth. “Never mind, never mind. There is the table, Darce. Write your notes and think of the future with your Miss Elizabeth.”

“Perhaps you will one day stumble across a lady as fetching as Elizabeth…”

“…who is also in possession of a modest fortune, since I am, of course, a younger son, and…”

“Of course, of course. In the meantime, I suppose you will have to find solace in the company of that actress…”

“Old news, Cousin, old news. Miss Hampstead threw me over in favour of a baronet; she has aspirations of being addressed as ‘my lady.’ My status as a younger son of an earl would not allow her to achieve that dream.”

“Too bad, too bad. You should look in other locales, I think.”

“Hertfordshire? Does your Miss Elizabeth know any relatively young widows possessed of a modest fortune?”

“I shall ask, once she recovers.” Darcy rang for his valet and pulled out stationery. “You can always marry her sister, live with her at Matlock, and depend on the charity of your parents. I can affirm she is quite handsome and possessed of a very sweet disposition. Had I not intervened, she likely would have married Bingley by now, despite her indifference. Her mother would have demanded she accept him, for she is desperate to find a rich husband for at least one of her daughters.”

“And now she has, even if she is not yet aware of it,” Richard said.

“And now she has.” Darcy frowned as he wrote quickly. “It is unfortunate that the manners of Elizabeth’s mother and younger daughters are so deficient. In fact, when they are merely acting silly, it is an improvement on their other behaviours. Her father is not quite as objectionable, though he does exhibit a certain lack of propriety at times. But I shall not complain overmuch; one can pick one’s own friends, but as it is said, our family are bequeathed by God.”

A knock sounded from the dressing room door, and a tall, spare, middle-aged man entered on Darcy’s command.

“Jennings, I am sorry to have to inform you so late, but unexpected events require us to leave rather early in the morning. Accordingly…”

Chapter 3

“The only thing that should surprise us is that there are still some things that can surprise us.”

— François de La Rochefoucauld, French author

Friday, April 10, 1812: Kent

The glow of the rising sun was just visible as the Darcy coach departed Rosings. Darcy looked back at the dark house and sighed deeply.

“Having second thoughts?” asked Colonel Fitzwilliam.

“Not about my engagement — not at all. But I do wonder whether I might have acted differently so as to not be at loggerheads with Aunt Catherine.”

“From what you said, you would have had to prevent Mrs. Collins from learning of your proposal to Miss Bennet. She is a traditional wife, and it is expected she would inform her husband. It is just as expected he would inform the person responsible for his position. Of course, it did not help that you remained at the Parsonage all afternoon and thus confirmed what Mr. Collins told Aunt Catherine.”

“I suppose I might have said I had to wait for my physician to arrive.” Darcy leaned back and closed his eyes. “In truth, I did not think of anything other than remaining. I was quite concerned for Elizabeth.”

“I trust you remember what Bacon said about wives and children and hostages to fortune, Darce,” Richard said, his voice sympathetic. “Look at me; I have only to worry about myself — well, about myself and my parents and siblings, of course. But you, on the other hand, will likely find yourself more concerned about your wife and children than about yourself.”

“As usual, you have more insight than one would expect from your appearance,” Darcy said, never opening his eyes. “You really must find a suitable wife and preserve that quality in sons and daughters.”

“You also might remember about sticks and stones and insults, old stick. In actuality, I have voluntarily taken on the task of keeping your head from swelling, and your continued aspersions against my sterling character only add to the accumulated evidence of my success. Except that Miss Elizabeth may have just forced me to relinquish my role in that regard.”

Darcy only smiled and settled back against the cushions. He looked at the Parsonage as his coach passed, but it also was dark. Despite the fact no one was yet up and about the daily tasks, he felt the pull of the place. Inside rested the person who now had claim on his very soul, and only the tasks he had set himself allowed him to continue his journey. He would have much preferred to sit by the bedside of she who held his heart.

Soon,
he told himself.
Patience. It shall all be completed as soon as may be.

Darcy was not halfway to London when Charlotte Collins quietly peeked into Elizabeth’s bedchamber. However, despite her attempt at silence, the door made the faintest of scuffing sounds, and Elizabeth looked toward the door. Seeing that her friend was awake, Charlotte opened the door and entered, while Elizabeth’s head collapsed onto the pillow.

“How are you feeling this morning, Eliza?” Charlotte asked, as she sat beside the bed and sat the pitcher of lemonade on the small table.

“I feel terrible,” Elizabeth replied, her voice low.

“That is what it feels like to be sick, and it has to come as an especial shock to you since you somehow avoided all those childhood ailments that afflicted the rest of us.” She touched Elizabeth’s forehead and felt relieved that her temperature appeared no greater than yesterday.

“You said that before, and I can no longer argue about not getting sick. I freely admit it: I am ill, and it feels dreadful.”

“And Mr. Darcy’s physician said you are to drink lots of cool liquid, so I have a pitcher of lemonade here, sweetened with sugar the way you like it.”

“Mr. Darcy!” Elizabeth said with a start. “Then…then it really happened? It was not a dream?”

“No, it was not a dream, Eliza,” Charlotte said, her voice light. “You see? I really was correct when I said he was in love with you.”

“And he offered marriage? That was not a dream either?”

“Now, dear friend, you must drink deeply before I answer any more questions. Yes, sit up and drink it all; you need the liquid.”

When Elizabeth finally handed the empty glass back to her, Charlotte said, “Yes, he did offer marriage and you accepted. I have to confess that I was shamelessly eavesdropping, and I heard it all through a crack in the door.”

I do not believe I really accepted,
Elizabeth thought in dismay.
I am not sure exactly what did happen, but I do not think I said anything like, ‘Yes, I will marry you.’ But Charlotte is so sure; what did happen?

“Now, I can see you are apprehensive about not being sufficiently thankful at the time,” Charlotte said cheerfully, “but I assure you Mr. Darcy understood you were not feeling your best. He demanded the best treatment for you and sent for his own physician from London. Then he stayed after I put you to bed, pacing the floor and telling me how important you were to him. He was a most attentive lover, Eliza, and I am simply overjoyed at your good fortune. Yes, he is a rich man, but that is not nearly as important as how much he esteems you. It is all so wonderful!”

And how do I tell my closest friend that my only thought right now is to find a way to break this unwanted engagement?
Elizabeth thought dully, conscious of the way her thoughts seemed dreadfully slow and impaired by her illness.
I have somehow become committed to Mr. Darcy without any intention or true understanding! How could I ever live with such a prideful and objectionable man? Everything seems more dreamlike than real. I do remember nodding to Mr. Darcy, only it seemed like he resembled Mr. Wickham. Is that what I did — dream I was accepting Mr. Wickham?

“Now, here is a note Mr. Darcy sent last evening,” Charlotte said. “You were already asleep, so I did not wake you, but you can read it when you feel up to it. Unfortunately, he had to depart unexpectedly, and he will not be able to call on you. That is not so bad since I should not have allowed him to visit until you felt better, and he told me he would write after he calls on your father.”

Elizabeth said nothing, numbly accepting the note as well as a quick embrace from her friend. Hardly had Charlotte closed the door behind her before Elizabeth broke the seal on the note and read:

Thursday, April 9, Rosings
8:30 in the evening

My dearest Elizabeth,
I cannot express my happiness in being able to so address you in such familiar terms, and you shall always have my deepest and most grateful thanks for the honour you do me in accepting my hand in marriage.

That said, however, it pains me to inform you that certain events require me to depart Rosings unexpectedly in the morning rather than on Saturday due to a quite unpleasant quarrel with my Aunt Catherine. As you are probably aware, my aunt has long asserted within the family that my cousin Anne and I would marry when we were of age. She insists it was the plan of her and her sister since we were born, and though such has never been the intention or desire of either Anne or myself, my aunt has consistently ignored my attempts to correct her misapprehension. I know I should have been more forceful in my protests, but I was not, and I now have to pay the penalty for my discretion.

She learned of our engagement from Mr. Collins and, upon confronting me, insisted that Anne and I were engaged, refused to listen to my attempts to correct her, and expressed herself in such terms of vituperation and insult to you that I was left no choice but to remove myself from her house at the earliest opportunity in the morning, as I so informed her. My cousin Fitzwilliam and I plan to depart long before you read this note, and I apologize for not personally informing you of this change in my plans. I trust you will understand that I cannot allow even the sister to my mother to act towards you as she did.

Thus, since we had no chance to discuss the matter, my plan is to travel to Hertfordshire tomorrow to seek the consent and blessing of your father. I shall seek his counsel regarding how you should travel when you leave Kent as well as when and where we should be wed. I know you had planned to stay another fortnight with your friend, but our engagement and my aunt’s ire will almost certainly require those plans to change. I shall write more when I know more.

I trust you will quickly recover your health, which Dr. Douglas assures me will likely occur within a few days. In the unlikely event that it is necessary, I charged Mrs. Collins in a separate missive to communicate directly with Dr. Douglas, but I hope and believe that will not be required.

Colonel Fitzwilliam has already been informed and sends his congratulations. I shall inform my sister when I return from Longbourn, and I know she will be almost as happy as I. She has often wished for a sister, and I believe your presence in her life will be of great benefit to a young lady coming of age.

I look forward with the highest anticipation to seeing your lovely face at the earliest possible date, and I remain your most ardent admirer,

F. Darcy

Elizabeth dropped the note in exasperation and confusion. The exasperation derived from Mr. Darcy’s undesired familiarity in his note as well as her confusion as to how she could break this unwelcome engagement. The confusion, on the other hand, derived from much the same source since she could scarcely understand how a man — who was otherwise such a wonderful example of arrogance, pride, and selfishness — could have written a letter so amiable and informative. And to have shared the information regarding his confrontation with his aunt was even more astonishing. The mortification of revealing such intimate familial details should have been impossible for such a man!

Except he believes he is sharing such information with the woman he will marry and with whom he ought to feel most confident of discretion,
she thought in consternation.

It was all too incredible, and the thoughts engendered were so impossible of resolution that her headache grew too painful for her to think on it further. She lay back and covered her eyes, hoping, without much optimism, that she might be able to put such thoughts aside. Instead, she did not even have a chance to feel surprise since she was asleep before she realized it.

Friday, April 10, 1812: Longbourn, Hertfordshire

Thomas Bennet looked up at the knock on his door. “Enter.”

Hill carried a small silver tray. “You have a visitor, sir.”

Surprised, Mr. Bennet put his book aside and took the card, whereupon mere surprise turned to disbelief as he read, in simple print on fine paper stock, “Fitzwilliam Darcy, Pemberley, Derbyshire & London.” Bewildered that such a man would call on him, Mr. Bennet looked on the back, but there was no message.

Well, there is nothing for it but to invite the man in and see what he wants,
he thought in perplexity.
Nothing has been heard of him since he left the neighbourhood last November with that friend of his, Bingley…and broke Jane’s heart.

His lips thinned in remembered anger at the affront and the heartlessness of that departure, just when everyone expected Bingley to make his addresses. Worse followed, as Bingley’s sister dismissively wrote Jane a note saying the whole party was leaving Netherfield and would not return.

He shook his head at the sorrowful remembrance and then braced himself, for this was Darcy, not Bingley. But that thought brought another unpleasant recollection, of Darcy slighting his Lizzy because she was ‘not handsome enough to tempt him’! The nerve of the man!

He had to shake himself to break the whole chain of thought and hoped he had his voice well enough under control as he said, “Please show Mr. Darcy in, Hill.”

He deliberately did not order refreshments. A visit from a fellow who carried such ill memories was not one to be celebrated, not by coffee or tea, much less port or brandy.

I shall see what the he wants and send him on his way as quick as may be,
he thought.

But his ungenerous faults did not cause him to forget his manners, and he rose as Darcy entered and gave a quick bow.

“Thank you for seeing me, sir,” Darcy said, “and I apologize for my unexpected arrival. I considered sending a note by express, but I thought I might well arrive at about the same time as the note.”

“No apology is necessary, Mr. Darcy. Please, take a seat. There, that upholstered one is quite comfortable. It is Lizzy’s favourite, and she has spent many an hour curled up in there, reading or just chatting in wandering conversation with her doddering, old father.”

Mr. Bennet thought Darcy looked at the chair rather oddly before he sat down, but he could determine no reason.

Perhaps the fellow was looking for dust
, he thought in amusement.

“So, is this in the nature of a social visit?” he asked, straining to keep curiosity out of his voice. “Perhaps Mr. Bingley is returning to Netherfield?”

“No, I do not know for certain, but I suspect Bingley will not renew the lease,” Darcy said, somewhat stiffly.

“Well, if he will not return, that would probably be best. It would at least allow the possibility of another tenant.”

“My visit is occasioned by a mission on my own regard rather than my friend,” Darcy answered, “though I believe my purpose will be rather unexpected. You see, while I was in Kent, visiting my aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh — ”

“Is that the same Lady Catherine whose living my cousin Mr. Collins enjoys? Why, Lizzy is visiting there at this very time!”

That answers it!
thought Mr. Bennet.
Lizzy gave him a letter and asked him to deliver it! What a coincidence!

“Yes, I know.” Darcy looked somewhat offended by the interruption. “While I was visiting, my cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam and I were able to spend many agreeable hours visiting with the ladies at the parsonage and at Rosings, my aunt’s estate.

Mr. Bennett nodded, waiting for the expected presentation of one or more letters, but instead he received the shock of his life.

“While there, my admiration of your daughter, originally engendered during my visit to your neighbourhood last autumn, deepened into a more fervent emotion. In short, Mr. Bennet, I found myself — I
find
myself — in love with your daughter. Accordingly, I made her an offer of marriage, which she graciously accepted, and we are engaged. Conscious of the amenities and aware that Elizabeth is not yet of age, I have come to ask for your consent and your blessing to our marriage.”

Mr. Bennet was so stricken that, for some indeterminable period, he could say nothing. He merely stared in incredulity at Darcy, hardly able to form a thought and completely incapable of saying anything aloud. Finally, conscious that he must say something, he managed in a strangled voice, “Lizzy…you say Lizzy accepted your offer of marriage?”

“She did, sir. I think she would have written you a note, but it pains me to inform you she was immediately afterwards taken quite ill and was moved to bed.”

Seeing the look of alarm on Mr. Bennet’s face, Darcy hurriedly said, “Let me assure you the illness does not appear serious. I sent for my physician, and he has seen similar ailments these last months. It is not a real problem for those in good health, and as you well know, Elizabeth is in the most excellent health. In fact, she protested that she could not be sick because she simply did not get sick!”

Mr. Bennet had to smile at this statement since he remembered Lizzy saying just that. And she was mostly correct, for he could not remember her being ill more than a handful of times. But his smile faded as his thoughts returned to the more astonishing news.

What caused Lizzy to change her mind about this man, whom she so often criticized?
he thought in confusion.
Can it be simply that he is rich? Certainly, this will be a godsend for our family given the entailment of my estate. Could she have sacrificed herself for them? Oh, why did I not set aside a fund for my daughters’ dowries? Why, oh why, did we not have a son to break the entail?

But such thoughts could serve no useful purpose, and Mr. Bennet forced himself not to dwell on them. Answering these questions would have to wait until her return.
But I think I shall delay speaking of this to my wife until Lizzy returns.

“Well,” he said finally, “since Lizzy has accepted your offer, I cannot gainsay her wishes. She may not be of age, but she has known her own mind for a number of years. So, despite the unexpected nature of your request, I hereby grant you both my consent and my blessing.”

“Thank you, sir,” Darcy said, but Mr. Bennet easily recognized that Darcy had expected nothing less than approval. How could a man of his consequence expect anything else? But there were other matters to consider.

“Now, sir, this illness of Lizzy’s. I think she is supposed to stay longer with Charlotte…”

“Another fortnight, I believe, sir.”

“…but I think this news will likely cause her to cut her visit short.”

“I believe you are correct, though I have not yet had an opportunity to communicate with her. But, with your approval of our marriage, I can inform my family and friends as well as correspond with Elizabeth with propriety. I shall, of course, immediately inform her of your decision, but I would suggest, if it meets with your approval, that I volunteer the use of my coach to bring her back to Longbourn when her health permits. And, since I understand your elder daughter is visiting relations in London, I could return her at the same time.”