Page 32 of Elizabeth is not a Bennet

11 th May, 1812

The carriage bowled along the road, making good time on the hard-packed dirt, with only small puffs of dust rising behind the carriage. The early flowers bobbed white and blue and purple and pink heads in the breeze left by the swift passing of the carriage, the new green grass stirring in its wake. Small animals scurried in the budding undergrowth, birds hopping industriously from one twig to the next.

Inside the carriage, all the curtains had been drawn back, and the windows had been opened to let in the cool, fresh air. Mary rode facing backwards. The Darcys sat hand in hand facing forward, Elizabeth’s free hand resting on her gently swollen middle. Her first few months of pregnancy had been difficult, hallmarked by frequent illness, but recently her stomach had settled down. She had viewed the upcoming trip with apprehension, but to her great relief, no nausea had assailed her as they rolled along.

“Would you like some water, Elizabeth?” Darcy asked .

“No, thank you. We should be stopping in a little while for refreshments, will we not?”

Darcy looked outside, which was not very helpful since the countryside, while scenic, did not display any landmarks. He then glanced at his watch.

“Yes,” he agreed. “We will need to change horses in an hour or two, and then after that we will be on the last stage before we reach Doncaster.”

Both ladies smiled, and Elizabeth said, “I am glad. This carriage is marvelous and the scenery lovely, but it will also be very good to see my uncle again.”

“Are you looking forward to returning to Longbourn, Mary?” Darcy asked.

“I am,” Mary said with a nod. “I will miss you both and Georgiana very much, but I have been away from home for almost six months now and am eager to see my sisters and sleep in my own bed.”

“I cannot thank you enough for coming with me, Mary,” Elizabeth said gratefully.

“It was my pleasure,” Mary assured her, and then a frown puckered her forehead. “I do confess to being worried about you, Lizzy. I know that you will have plenty of servants with you, but Mrs. Stowe is obviously dangerous. ”

“Yes,” Elizabeth agreed and gave her husband’s hand a gentle squeeze of reassurance. “But she is not the sort of woman who would actually do the dirty work herself. First, she arranged to have Captain Denny try to kill me, and now she is trying to entice Mr. Wickham to murder me. Unfortunately for her, Wickham is on our side.”

“I hope,” Darcy muttered.

Elizabeth leaned over to kiss her husband on the cheek and said, “Darling, try not to worry. I know you have every reason to think ill of Mr. Wickham, but we have the letters from Mrs. Stowe, and my uncle vouches for Wickham’s truthfulness ... in this case, anyway.”

Darcy shook his head grimly. “If I had been consulted, I would never have employed Wickham to spy on your stepmother and half-brother, but Mr. Bennet did not ask me. I can only hope that Wickham is not planning some elaborate double cross.”

“My father is very discerning,” Mary said. “He may appear the sleepy English gentleman, but he is generally able to understand the hearts of men.”

“I know he is very intelligent,” Darcy agreed and sighed. “Well, I have usually known when Wickham was lying to me directly, so we will see soon enough. ”

They lapsed into silence again, and Elizabeth, who was often overly tired these days, found herself leaning against her husband’s shoulder and drifting off to sleep.

/

The Silver Chalice Inn

Doncaster

Yorkshire

Later

Elizabeth's first impression of the Silver Chalice was favorable. It was set well back off the road, with no busy stagecoach traffic passing through its gates. A handful of carriages with crests on the doors sat half out of sight around behind the stables. Neatly tended flowerbeds were a riot of color, and freshly pressed curtains hung in the windows.

Servants hurried forward as the Darcy carriage drew to a stop. Ostlers rushed to unharness the horses and lead them off to warm stables and good feed and water and grooming. A manservant opened the carriage door, and Darcy stepped out, then turned to hand out first Elizabeth, then Mary. Elizabeth brushed a smoothing hand down her pelisse and glanced up as a tall man, modestly well-dressed and slender, his dark hair neatly coiffured, hurried up and bowed.

“Mr. Darcy?” he asked.

“Yes, thank you. Has Mr. Bennet already arrived?”

“Yes, sir, he has. Would you care to accompany me to your party’s private parlor?”

Darcy glanced at Elizabeth, who shook her head slightly, and then said, “I believe we would prefer to refresh themselves in our bedchambers first.”

“Of course, sir, of course! Your valet and personal maids arrived an hour ago, and no doubt have everything prepared for you!”

He led them inside to the vestibule, the floor immaculate, swept and polished, and they stopped at the base of a broad stairway. Elizabeth leaned on the banister as she mounted, surveying the hall with approval. Wax candles in sconces lit the length of it, with a long plush Oriental carpet running across the boards, while flowers in porcelain vases sat on small tables at intervals. The innkeeper stepped forward and opened three doors in swift succession with practiced ease.

“Mrs. Darcy’s room,” he said deferentially, swung open the door beside it and announced, “Mr. Darcy’s room – you will observe a connecting door between them – and Miss Bennet’s room,” he finished proudly, opening a third door.

“Mr. Bennet is waiting in the private parlor at the end of the hall,” the man continued eagerly. “Shall I send you some refreshments now?”

“Perhaps you could send tea and sandwiches to the parlor in an hour?” Elizabeth suggested.

“Of course, Madame! Of course,” the man replied, bowing deeply and then scurrying away.

Elizabeth blew out a breath and smiled up at her husband. “I am still not used to being treated with such fulsome honor.”

“Riches tend to bring out such attentiveness,” Darcy said quietly. “But come, my dear, will you not refresh yourself within?”

Elizabeth nodded and entered the bedchamber where her personal maid, Molly, had indeed unpacked a dress for the evening. Elizabeth, who felt a trifle grimy after riding many hours, availed herself of the chamber pot – a frequent necessity while pregnant, she had discovered – and then changed out of her traveling attire into a long-sleeved, green dress made of muslin, with a warm and attractive tan shawl around her shoulders. Her hair, which had also been rather disordered by her travels, was carefully arranged by Molly, whereupon she tied a lace cap over her red curls.

She looked, she thought, well enough and was comfortable besides. Even a year earlier, she would have gladly set aside some comfort in favor of fashion, but now that she was with child, she found herself gravitating to garments which did not dig or tug her uncomfortably.

The door that led to her husband’s room opened, and Darcy appeared. He, too, had changed out of his traveling attire, and his dark locks had carefully been brushed by his valet.

“Are you certain you do not wish to take a nap?” he asked his bride of six months.

“I am certain,” Elizabeth replied with a smile. “I napped on your shoulder a few hours ago. Do you not remember?”

“I do, of course,” he replied with an adoring smile. “Then come along; I believe Mr. Bennet and Wickham have gathered in the parlor.”

“Molly, would you be kind enough to help Miss Bennet as needed?” Elizabeth asked as she took Darcy’s arm.

“Certainly, Madame. ”

Elizabeth nodded and accompanied her husband out of the room, down the carpeted hallway, and into the parlor at the end of the corridor.

/

Parlor

Warm sunlight poured through the window, turning the wood of the backgammon board to honey. Wickham studied the board before glancing up at Mr. Bennet, who was seated across from him and likewise in rapt contemplation of his next move. Miss Stowe and Miss Mary would be arriving any moment, and the two men were taking the chance to relax with a game before business must be addressed.

Wickham was happy, happier than he had been for many years, not since those halcyon days when he had run freely about Pemberley as a young boy. He had been welcomed back into the militia by Colonel Forster, though he continued to live quietly in the little cabin near the edge of Longbourn land, separated from the corrupting influence of the other officers and far enough from Meryton to make late-night carousing inconvenient. Having thus missed most of the games of cards and dice engaged in by his fellow officers, he had succeeded in retaining the majority of his funds, no longer frittering them away on games of chance.

Nor did he have to pay room and very little for board. More days of the week than not, he was invited to dine at Longbourn and converse with the family. Mrs. Bennet was invariably hospitable, even if her conversation was not always diverting, and Mr. Bennet’s rare dry contributions generally had a way of provoking thought. As for the two youngest girls, since with Jane Bingley married and Miss Bennet absent due to accompanying Miss Stowe, they were the only Bennet daughters left, Wickham had adopted an almost brotherly air with them. They were undeniably pretty girls and would grow into lovely young ladies, but they were painfully young. So he smiled at them, and spoke with them, and indulged them, but he was unfailingly careful to never intimate even the slightest flirtatiousness.

It had all been very nice, really; he had been an orphan for many years and an only child. Likewise, he had forgotten how good it felt to be trusted and appreciated. It was very pleasant to feel as if he were part of a family again. He would be a fool to risk that by offending Mr. Bennet in any way. The man was both sharp and clever, and though he might be indolent in his person, he plainly had no qualms in taking steps to protect his family. It would be churlish to take advantage of him or his – and entirely foolish to risk the situation he now enjoyed. The man was not tightfisted when paying his agent, and Wickham was relishing the security of a steady income.

Now, after several peaceful months in Hertfordshire, he had joined Mr. Bennet on the journey north to bring judgement on Moira Stowe. He had felt a strange surge of righteous anger when Mr. Bennet had revealed his plans and asked Wickham to accompany him. It was a new experience for him to be so passionate to see justice done, but then it still made his stomach churn uneasily when he thought of Moira Stowe looking at him from beneath her lashes, the way she had carefully dressed to accent her beautiful body and lovely face, how she had delicately set him up to murder her step-daughter. It was both despicable and offensive. He had crafted himself as a man in search of wealth, with at least a hint of roguishness, but for this coldly calculating woman to reckon him capable of murder for the pleasure of her bed – well, it rendered him hot with indignation.

He would enjoy seeing Mrs. Stowe realize all her plans had come to naught, and perhaps even see her be arrested. Ravenswood was now beyond the conniving woman’s reach, as Miss Stowe had attained her majority and was thus free to leave her estate to whomsoever she pleased. It was equally nice to get out of Meryton for a while and travel again. On his last journey, he had borne the discomfort of riding the common stage, the cold and the jostling presence of other passengers in a poorly sprung carriage. The return trip back north was proving far more pleasant; Bennet’s coach was not precisely new, but it was of good quality, with excellent springs and comfortable seats.

Wickham moved his piece, having plotted his own moves as Bennet contemplated the board. He had even started to enjoy their little sessions of intellectual board games, much as he had once despised such pursuits. But months away from the gaming table had caused gambling to lose some of its luster, and he had come to appreciate the games of chess and backgammon with unaffected pleasure.

The door opened, and he turned his head, smiled, and rose to his feet. “Miss Stowe, it is wonderful to see … Darcy?! What are you doing here?”

Miss Stowe looked startled at these words and shifted her gaze to Mr. Bennet. “Uncle? You did not tell Mr. Wickham?”

“I did not, my dear,” Bennet replied, stepping forward and pulling his adopted niece into his arms. “The best way to keep a secret is to avoid telling anyone anything of import. So no, Mr. Wickham had no idea until this moment that you and Mary had taken refuge with Mr. Darcy at Pemberley.”

Wickham straightened his back and firmed his jaw, but he could not quite manage to look Darcy in the eye .

“You could not be safer anywhere else, Miss Stowe,” he said and was pleased that his voice did not quaver.

“I am now Mrs. Darcy,” the lady replied with a smile. “Mr. Darcy and I were wed in December. Mr. Wickham, we are grateful for your assistance in this particular matter.”

Wickham, whose initial shock had given way to stupefaction, could only gape at the couple. This provoked Darcy, dark brows dangerously lowered, to demand, “Do you have a problem, Wickham?”

“No, no!” Wickham squeaked and then cleared his throat and tried again. “No, of course not. Indeed, congratulations to you both. I, erm, I am confident you will be very happy together.”

“And you need not worry about my husband,” Mrs. Darcy said with an enchanting smile. “He is grateful for your assistance in keeping me safe.”

Wickham glanced nervously at Darcy, who was no longer glowering at him.

“Wickham,” Darcy said, “I am thankful that you have gathered useful information about Elizabeth’s step-mother and half-brother. So long as you do not attempt to entice any young women into marrying you in Scotland, I am content to leave you quite alone. ”

Wickham cringed, and Bennet arched his right eyebrow and asked, “Do I sense a story?”

“Yes, but a secret one,” the lady said firmly, provoking a well spring of gratitude in Wickham’s heart. He liked Mr. Bennet and thought the older man liked him in return; the last thing he wanted was for Mrs. Darcy to reveal to his patron that he had once tried to run off with Georgiana Darcy for a marriage over the anvil in Scotland.

“It is all water under the bridge,” Elizabeth continued. “Thank you so much for coming north to assist us, Uncle. I know you do not particularly enjoy traveling.”

“I do not, but I will not sit in my library while that vile woman plots to murder you. She truly is most despicable and … Mary, there you are!”

The door had opened during the older man’s rant, and within a few seconds, Mr. Bennet had his second daughter in his arms.

“My dear, it is good to see you,” he said a moment later. He pulled away from her to inspect her carefully and said, “You look very well; it seems Pemberley agreed with you.”

“It did, but I am eager to return home,” Miss Bennet replied, smiling up into her father’s face .

“You can leave on the morrow,” her father declared. “We have hired outriders for your journey south, and Sally came with us so that you will have a maid on your trip home. It will only take two days, and you will be back at Longbourn. But come, shall we all sit down? I believe there will be tea and sandwiches shortly.”

“How are Jane and Charles doing?” Elizabeth Darcy asked, sitting down on a dark green loveseat, while her husband took his own place protectively next to her.

“They are very well,” Bennet replied.

The ensuing discussion was, to Wickham’s relief, confined to general bits of news about parties and acquaintances of the Bennets, the Bingleys, and the Darcys.

He was still flummoxed and flabbergasted that Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, master of Pemberley, with an income of ten thousand pounds a year, with an uncle as an earl, had married an orphan without any known connections to the ton.

But then again, seeing how they looked at one another, at how they held hands, he rather thought they were in love.

He was also certain that he envied them.