Pride, Prejudice & Secrets (8 page)

Darcy was pleased with the impact of his words while at the same time being ashamed of enjoying her discomfiture. He glanced at Bingley, who showed only amusement with absolutely no chagrin.

Caroline almost reeled as she stood, and Bingley said casually, “I have already tendered Darcy the warmest congratulations on behalf of both of us… Caroline? Are you unwell?”

“Ah…ah…yes?” Miss Bingley said, coming back to an awareness of her quite revealing consternation. “That is…you were saying, Charles?”

This last was said in a tone of clear desperation, and Charles smiled as he said, “I assured Darcy of our warmest regards, Caroline. He has asked me to stand up with him, and I have agreed to his residence at Netherfield until the wedding.”

“Oh.” Caroline felt numb. “I see. Yes, our congratulations…surely, yes…Mr. Darcy. Yes…but now…now, I must return to my room…”

Caroline definitely did not “sail” as she left; her motion was more a stagger, and Darcy and Bingley shared a glance as the door closed behind her.

“That went much better than I thought it might,” said Bingley.

“But I should not have said it as I did,” Darcy said contritely. “I knew she was going to be discomfited, but I should not have taken such pleasure in it.”

“Bosh! After her blatant pursuit these many months and your forbearance of those pursuits, you could not be blamed for giving in to temptation this once. She will get over it.”

Darcy nodded uncomfortably, still not pleased, but done was done. He had become so very tired of always keeping his temper under strict regulation.

At length he said, “It did challenge my control at times.”

“Well, perhaps now she will realize she is not getting any younger. It is amazing that, with a fortune of twenty thousand pounds, she may, in not too many years, claim the title of ‘spinster.’ Most unsettling, you know.”

Darcy smiled politely then leaned forward and said cautiously, “You could always accompany me, you know.” He was quite uncomfortable at saying this; it was an obligatory offer, but he dreaded the answer he might receive.

His concern was unwarranted; Bingley’s voice was dismissive as he said, “No, I think not, thank you all the same. There is, I feel, little to draw me there. I will come down when the wedding is close, of course. But I think it best to remain here; I do have a number of engagements, you know.”

Darcy knew that was true, but he still felt a pang of guilt at this reference to Bingley’s melancholy when he first returned from London. He hoped Bingley’s reactions today could put those unpleasant recollections to a final rest.

Those memories are certainly unsatisfying, even though everything was done for Bingley’s good — and actually for Jane Bennet’s advantage also. Her mother’s determination would have forced an unsuitable marriage on both parties, and I certainly want better for my friend. At least, I want him to find a person, perhaps even Georgiana in time, who could return his sentiments commensurately.

But that thought was for the future. At the moment, all had been said that needed to be said, and he and Bingley exchanged only a few casual pleasantries before Darcy took his leave. He felt considerable satisfaction in his visit as he returned home, and even his unhappiness at succumbing to temptation was tempered by his memory of Caroline Bingley reeling in shock. It was ungentlemanly, but he could not help himself. He had held his composure during so many trying moments, and if he took a certain satisfaction in her discomposure, he supposed he could be forgiven his weakness.

Saturday, April 11, 1812: Hunsford Parsonage, Kent

Elizabeth was sitting up in bed when Charlotte next looked in on her and said, with a crooked smile, “To answer your question, I am definitely feeling better, and I promise I shall wallow in no further self-pity.”

“Eliza! I never said that!”

Elizabeth only laughed lightly and held out her hand, which Charlotte seized gratefully. Her skin felt decidedly cooler than in the morning, and to confirm her observation, she felt Elizabeth’s forehead and cheek.

“Your fever is almost gone,” she said happily, but her face grew stern when Elizabeth made to swing her legs out of bed. “Now there will none of that, Elizabeth Bennet. The first thing children do when they feel better is try to jump out of bed and resume their play. As a result, their sickness makes a rapid return, and it is some days before they are fully recovered. Now, you stay in bed and continue to drink your lemonade.”

“I am hardly a child, Charlotte.”

“But you could easily make that mistake, for you have little or no experience with illness. Now, you are a guest in my house, and you will remain abed until you are fully recovered.”

“Yes, Mama,” Elizabeth replied with a twinkle in her eye.

“In any case, I was intending to visit you; an express has arrived from Mr. Darcy, addressed to you. You can guess what that means.”

It means he has been to see Papa and has received at least his consent, if not both his consent and his blessing,
Elizabeth thought uncomfortably.
I believed he would do so, but to actually hear confirmation is more shocking than I anticipated. Oh, here is yet another problem hemming me in! What am I going to do?

“Yes, indeed, Eliza,” Charlotte said, happy to see the successful resolution of all her hopes for her friend. “A proper gentleman like Mr. Darcy would never write without securing the consent of your father. Here, you can read it while I order your luncheon and a pitcher of lemonade. Do you believe you could eat some stew?”

Elizabeth nodded numbly and accepted the folded square of paper from Charlotte. She managed to restrain herself until Charlotte departed, then she looked at the address.
Yes, that is Darcy’s hand; it is the same as his letter from yesterday, and his penmanship is just as fine and proud and arrogant as I would have imagined it!

She could restrain herself no further and quickly opened it. Seeing that a letter in her father’s hand was included, she ignored Darcy’s note in favour of her father’s missive:

April 10, Longbourn,

Dearest Lizzy,
I was absolutely astounded to receive a visit from Mr. Darcy, but my astonishment knew no bounds when he asked for your hand in marriage! I could not believe my ears, since I knew you hated the man, and I also would have been certain until that very moment that he never looked upon you except to disapprove. I then progressed beyond astonishment to some ethereal level of existence I never dreamed existed when he assured me most earnestly of your acceptance of his offer. After that assurance, you can understand I had no choice but to give my approval, but I am still very confused. Please come home as soon as your health permits, for I have many questions.

With all my wishes and prayers for a speedy recovery, I am, as always,

Your loving father,
T. Bennet

Well, that is one interview that will be short,
Elizabeth thought savagely,
once I am able to return to London and bring this absurd “engagement” to an end! My father will understand all once I tell him what actually happened.

A sudden chill abruptly swept through her as she imagined the embarrassment, almost disgrace, which would likely settle on her once all the neighbourhood heard, first, that she was engaged to Darcy, only to learn shortly afterward that the engagement had been cried off by none other than herself. Her satisfaction at ending this farce disappeared as suddenly as it appeared.

No one will understand,
she realized in a flash of understanding that only the clearing of her mind made possible.
In everyone’s eyes, the first announcement will lead all our neighbours to believe I have made, as Charlotte said, a “brilliant match.” When the engagement is called off, those same people will believe I have lost my mind. With five unmarried daughters without dowries or even a home when my father dies, the universal opinion will be that I have thrown away a heaven-sent chance to save my sisters as well as my mother. Despite the way in which the neighbourhood despised Mr. Darcy, that will be forgotten in the gossip that will flow about the Bennet daughter who dared reject such good fortune. What, oh what, am I to do now?

She knew what she wished to do: to tell Mr. Oh-So-Proud Darcy exactly what she thought of his pride, his selfishness, and his presumption. But the sudden rush of cold reality she had just experienced made her fingers tremble as she picked up Darcy’s letter:

Friday, April 10, London

My dearest Elizabeth,
I am happy to be able to inform you that I have seen your father this day, and he has given his consent and his blessing to our marriage.

Elizabeth felt a familiar surge of anger at the effrontery of the man at, first, addressing her by her Christian name and, second, stating his presumption so baldly. But, after her new realization of the difficulty of extracting herself from this situation, her anger was shunted aside by the decidedly unpleasant remembrance of her dream of being trapped in a web spun by a spider resembling Mr. Darcy. No single strand was exceptionally strong, but they grew and hindered her movements and freedom of action. Lady Catherine, Charlotte, Mr. Collins, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and now her father represented strands in her dream and now in reality. All of them accepted Darcy’s unwarranted and arrogant presumption, and every one of them was an impediment to her need to thwart this…this…

She could not put an exact name to her situation and, unable to think further, returned to the letter:

He was, as you can imagine, rather startled at the unexpected nature of my mission, and I informed him of your illness in explanation of the absence of a letter from you. Of course, he joins with me in praying your return to full health and vitality, and I hope you can soon write with assurances our prayers are being answered.

We then discussed your return from Kent, and I volunteered my coach to take you to London and then return you and your elder sister to Longbourn. Your father wrote notes to both yourself and your uncle explaining the situation, and I expect to soon meet your uncle and discuss any necessary arrangements.

And now my uncle and aunt are added to the list!
she thought in dismay.
Is the entire kingdom to be misinformed that I am to marry this man? Shall I have to put an announcement in
The Times?
Perhaps I should write to Darcy and formally inform him I am breaking our engagement!

She quailed at that thought, for she now understood that more than her own embarrassment was at stake. Even if Darcy were not the one to cry off the engagement, his honour would be besmirched, and she knew how important honour was to men. It was hard to fathom such an importance, especially for a woman, but she could not deny its truth. It was openly known that the Duke of Wellington, the most famous military man in the kingdom, had married a woman he loathed rather than damage his honour by breaking their engagement. It was a measure of Elizabeth’s desperation that she might even consider writing Darcy to end this…this charade! That was the word for which she was searching: charade!

Mollified at being at least able to put a name to her situation, she continued reading:

We did not discuss the date or time of the wedding, though I did say that a date before full summer would make travelling to Pemberley more comfortable. As for the place, it would need to be either your parish or mine since I see no need to resort to that increasingly fashionable nonsense of a special license. But these matters can be discussed much easier once you are returned to your home.

I will inform you that another member of my family is quite excited by the news. When I told my sister of our engagement, she was thrilled, and she is consumed with eagerness to make your acquaintance. She would have benefited if there had been a brother or sister closer to her own age, especially since she never knew her mother. Though I have tried, I must confess I was not always able to assuage her loneliness, an affliction with which I have also suffered from time to time. She asked whether she might correspond with you, and I, of course, instantly agreed. I believe she is composing a letter as I write, and it may well find its way into your hands before you are actually introduced to her. I fear she was subject to some concern that I might fall prey to the wiles of Miss Bingley, but the possibility of that fanciful fate existed only in one person’s mind and was, of course, not a matter of concern to either of us.

And now his sister is going to write!
Elizabeth thought, and the mere intimation of another strand binding her made her want to weep, and she felt her headache returning.
And how should I have been able to know he perceived Miss Bingley’s ambition? He certainly gave no indication of it! Does he think me able to read minds?

With the throbbing ache behind her forehead, it was a struggle for her to return to the close of the letter:

I will bring this missive to a close, consoling myself with the thought that I shall soon be able to gaze once more on your lovely features and tell you in person of how important you are to me and of my happiness in the expectation of our future life together.

I remain, as I shall always be, your most loving admirer,
F. Darcy

So what do I do?
she thought through the throb of her head.
I cannot think on it now; I feel worse than I did when I first awoke, though I know not whether that is due to my illness or my quandary. I must sleep now. I cannot make sense of anything at the moment.

Her reverie was interrupted as the maid arrived with her luncheon, and she mutely waved toward the bedside table. Her appetite had vanished with the return of her headache, and she paused only to drink a glass of lemonade before throwing herself into her pillow.

But then, when she most needed it, sleep eluded her, and she could not help returning to Darcy’s ending his letter with “your most loving admirer.” Those endearing words made her feel very strange indeed, and she tossed and twisted for more than an hour before falling into a fitful sleep. That sleep brought a return of the dreadful dream in which strands of silk bound her and hindered her attempts to escape an unnamed and unknown menace…

Saturday, April 11, 1812: Darcy Townhouse, London

Darcy was in his study, futilely trying to concentrate on a letter from his steward, when Williams knocked on the door and entered carrying a salver.

“A Mr. Gardiner begs the indulgence of a few minutes of your time, sir,” Williams said, extending the tray, which bore a calling card.

Darcy picked up the card and read, “Edward Gardiner, Gracechurch Street, London.”

Elizabeth’s uncle!
he thought in surprise, wondering at this completely unexpected visit as he rubbed his thumb idly over the simple, unadorned engraving.
It is almost like one of my own cards. I would have expected something more ostentatious and ornate from the brother of Mrs. Bennet.

“Please show the man in, Williams,” he said. A few moments later, a tall, well groomed man in his early middle years was ushered into the room.

“Mr Gardiner, sir,” Williams announced, and Darcy came from behind his desk to greet him with a quick bow.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Gardiner. I am Fitzwilliam Darcy.”

“Good afternoon, sir.” Mr. Gardiner returned Darcy’s bow. “Edward Gardiner, at your service, and thank you for seeing me without notice. I would have sent a note, but the matter is a bit urgent, so I hastened over instead.”

Sudden fear rose in Darcy, and forgetting his manners, he blurted, “Elizabeth has not taken a turn for the worse, has she?” Mr. Gardiner smiled gently as he hastened to reassure Darcy and quell his worries, warmed by the obvious concern in Darcy’s voice.

“It is not that kind of urgency, sir, I assure you,” he said. “Rather, it is due to information I have from Lizzy regarding her travel.”

Darcy raised his eyebrows in query, and Mr. Gardiner continued. “I received an express from Lizzy about an hour ago. After receiving your missive, I expected to meet with you soon to discuss her travel, but the note this afternoon will affect our plans. It informed me of her illness, of course, but she says she is recovering.”

Darcy sat down abruptly as relief flooded through him. He had seen others who appeared to have no more than a passing ailment suddenly carried away for no discernible reason, and he had a return of that nightmarish vision of his mother holding a newly born Georgiana in her arms one day and dead the next.

God above, what if that had been Elizabeth?
he thought with a shudder. Then, realization of his breach of manners struck him, and he hastily started to get back to his feet, only to be forestalled by Mr. Gardiner’s raised hand.

“No, no, stay where you are, sir. But be of good cheer; Lizzy has always enjoyed the most excellent health and should be perfectly well quite soon.”