Page 19 of Done for the Best (Engaged to Mr Darcy #5)
CHAPTER NINETEEN
TO LOATHE AND LONG FOR A MAN
I t was easy to fall back into the routines of life at Longbourn. The months Elizabeth had forgotten were not mentioned overmuch—she had worried her younger sisters would tease her, but evidently their father had warned them against it.
In any case, the primary concern of her younger sisters appeared to be the imminent departure of Colonel Forster’s regiment, which had been quartered in Hertfordshire all winter. Elizabeth remembered nothing of them, but apparently for her sisters, the loss could never be bemoaned sufficiently. They alternated expressions of agony with pleas for their father to take the family to Brighton, but Mr Bennet showed no signs of acceding to the scheme.
Gradually Elizabeth’s rambles got longer, and her leg ached less; her tendency to tears and headaches and pique abated. In short, she became herself again and was much relieved for it. She and Jane passed into the ages of twenty-one and twenty-three with as much ceremony as any birthday was given at Longbourn, with Lydia informing them both that she would rather die of shame than reach such advanced ages without marrying.
Elizabeth did not know if it was her memory loss or her time away which had provided her some measure of clarity with regards to her family. In many ways, she felt all the justice of Darcy’s censure, for her father was indolent and indifferent, the younger girls were spoilt, Mary was pedantic, and their mother was as silly as a child. She tried to view them all with amusement, but too often they made her cringe and wish they might all behave as she saw most families did.
One morning, Lydia burst into the breakfast room, wholly elated. “Mrs Forster will take me to Brighton!”
“What about me?” Kitty cried out immediately. “Surely the invitation includes me as well?”
“Only me,” Lydia crowed triumphantly. “ You are not her particular friend. I am, and I shall go! Oh, Mama! Just imagine the parties, the balls! I shall have to have at least three new gowns!”
Elizabeth and Jane exchanged looks. Their father, so far, had not looked up from his newspaper. Their mother was flushed with delight; her only reply was to begin to imagine what officers her youngest daughter might flirt with, and what gowns and accoutrements were needed. In a flurry of violent chatter and planning—punctuated by Kitty’s peevish protests against her own exclusion—the three soon quit the breakfast parlour. Elizabeth and Jane were left in silence with their father and Mary, both of whom were reading.
It was Jane who spoke first. “Papa?” Once their father had raised his eyes, she continued, “Surely you do not mean to let Lydia go to Brighton on her own?”
“She will not be alone; she will be with Mrs Forster,” their father replied.
This made Mary raise her eyes from her book and observe, “Mrs Forster is not even as old as I am, and I would surely not be able to manage Lydia in a seaside town full of army officers.”
The fact that Mary had exerted herself to say as much alarmed Elizabeth. “Papa, perhaps she ought to be kept home.”
“Do you even remember any of the persons we speak of?” he asked satirically, with one brow raised.
“I remember Lydia,” she said, not at all amused. “And you must admit for any young lady, fifteen is full young to be roaming the countryside unattended.”
Mr Bennet’s eyes were returned to the newspaper. “Lydia will never be easy till she has exposed herself in some public place or other, and we can never expect her to do it with so little expense or inconvenience to her family as under the present circumstances.”
Jane sighed and looked down. Then, not asking to be excused, she rose from the table and left. Elizabeth followed suit, and the two repaired to their bedchamber.
“What hope is there, Lizzy?” Jane demanded as soon as the door was closed behind her. “What man in his right mind could withstand such embarrassment?”
Elizabeth knew just what she meant. “They were right to hold us in contempt, then?” she asked softly.
Jane threw up her hands. “How could they not? We looked like the very worst sort of country bumpkins, ill-mannered first to last. I cannot blame Mr Darcy for warning his friend away from a permanent attachment. Who could? And now Lydia will go to Brighton, and who knows what might come of it! Nothing good, I shall assure you of that! Mrs Forster is scarcely older than Lydia herself and twice as silly.”
“Perhaps Papa would send our mother with her?” Elizabeth liked that idea, not only to see her sister watched over but also to rid herself of a long summer of her mother’s censure.
Jane shook her head. “Mama was adamant she was needed here, for you.”
Elizabeth groaned. “That is precisely the opposite of what I need.”
And in truth, she did not need her mother, or her mother’s endless reminders of what Elizabeth had thrown away. Elizabeth felt, already, the loss of Darcy, of the life she had anticipated with him. It had nothing to do with his wealth—though that formed the chief basis of Mrs Bennet’s complaints—but with him. She missed the times spent together in Kent, driving and walking and talking. She repined the loss of their plans for a future together, the loss of the children she might have had with him. She simply could not reconcile that man with the one who had so cruelly deceived her for weeks on end with no apparent plan to reveal the truth to her.
Never mind that. It is done. She had refused him bitterly, fought with him, and then rejected him again. There was no hope. No man would try a third time when a lady had made her answer so clear the first two times.
Would you wish for a third chance? She shook her head, hardly knowing what she wanted. He lied , she reminded herself continually. You cannot trust him.
The weight of family nonsense, combined with her own regrets, began to sink her. She did all she could to keep herself busy, often walking into town with whomever asked her to accompany them. It was on one such excursion with Kitty that a handsome gentleman in regimentals was seen across the street. Kitty had no scruple in calling out to the man, who smiled and walked towards them.
“Kitty!” Elizabeth scolded. “You cannot be waving at men in such a bold manner!”
“Oh, dear Wickham is an old friend to us by now,” Kitty said dismissively, not realising how the name fairly electrified Elizabeth.
“Mr George Wickham?” she asked softly, but not softly enough, for the man had drawn near to them then and replied, cheerfully,
“At your service, Miss Elizabeth. How wonderful it is to see you!”
“She has memory loss,” Kitty told him blithely. “She has no idea who you are.”
“Indeed?” Mr Wickham peered closely at her, and Elizabeth raised her chin, coolly evaluating him just as intently. Mr Wickham was an undeniably handsome man, almost as tall as Darcy was, but with an open artlessness in his manner that was baffling. This was Georgiana Darcy’s seducer? He seemed almost…bashful. Sweet, even. So do most devils , she reminded herself. They would be far less tempting otherwise.
Kitty gave him a quick summation of Elizabeth’s troubles, from the snake right up until she had broken things off with Darcy. Elizabeth might not have been so free with details, but as she was determined not to speak to Mr Wickham, Kitty’s way was the way it was done.
“Engaged to Darcy, hmm?” Mr Wickham grinned. “My old friend has done very well for himself.”
“I am not and was never engaged to him. It was all a misunderstanding.” Though Elizabeth had been resolved to not speak, in this matter she felt obliged. “I refused his proposal. Twice.”
Mr Wickham raised his brows. “Singular indeed. I do not know many ladies who would refuse Darcy’s hand.”
“Money and position are not nearly as important to me as…as…other things,” she concluded. No matter how angry at Darcy she was, she would not defame him to his sworn enemy.
Mr Wickham chuckled. “Knowing Darcy as I do, I am not surprised. You are excessively ill-suited to one another.”
Somehow this rankled. She and Darcy had been, in fact, exceedingly well-suited to one another. Then why are you here instead of planning your wedding to him? She dispelled that errant notion with a tight smile to Mr Wickham. “I forget, sir, that you know me better than I know you.”
“It must be excessively unsettling,” he said sympathetically. “Forgive me if I am too familiar.”
His kindliness surprised her. “Um, no, not at all. Yes, in fact, it is very unsettling, but I am growing accustomed to not knowing things.”
“You are very fortunate to be alive,” he said. “And in truth, memory loss is not as bad as some of the stories I have heard from those bitten by adders.”
Begrudgingly, Elizabeth nodded. “I am fortunate. A washerwoman in Kent stumbled upon a nest last year, and she is wholly incapacitated now. She completely lost her ability to speak.”
“Positively dreadful,” Mr Wickham said with a click of his tongue.
Kitty had grown weary with the conversation, and with a quick look at her elder sister, indicated that she would go into the shop closest to them. Elizabeth nodded her assent and moved to accompany her but was stopped by Mr Wickham.
“A moment, if you please?”