Page 7 of Epiphany (A Little Bit More Darcy and Elizabeth #2)

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“D arcy, what brings you here at this time on a Sunday? I do hope nothing is amiss.” Bingley ushered Darcy into his study and offered him a drink.

“No, thank you. I have an early start in the morning.”

“Oh? Going anywhere pleasant?”

Darcy clenched his teeth, partly at the now familiar flare of vexation at Anne, Wickham, and the world in general, and partly against the surge of anticipation that had been intermittently assaulting him ever since it became apparent that he would need to travel to Meryton. There was no reason to anticipate the trip, for he would not see Elizabeth while he was there. He had briefly considered taking advantage of the opportunity to ensure she was safe from Wickham but had ultimately decided that if she had chosen to believe that blackguard’s account of things, it was her prerogative. He would not intervene. He would retrieve his cousin and leave.

“A pressing matter has arisen, and I find I must go away for a day or two to resolve it.”

“You are leaving London? Two days before Christmas?”

Darcy nodded.

“Will you tell me the reason?”

“No.” The word sounded officious, even to his ear, but he would not demean his friend by making up a fictitious excursion to evade suspicion. Neither would he reveal his true destination. Bingley was evidently still in danger of succumbing to Jane Bennet’s charms, and since those charms consisted of naught more than a handsome countenance, a vapid smile, and her mother’s tenacious aspirations, Darcy had no intention of permitting his friend to be taken in. Better that the word ‘Meryton’ remain unspoken, lest it dislodge Bingley’s resolve to stay away. “It is a family matter. The timing is regrettable, but it cannot be avoided.”

Bingley, as ever, took him at his word. “Then I wish you a safe journey. I hope the weather holds for you. Does this mean we shall not see you for dinner tomorrow evening after all?”

“That is why I have called. I wondered whether you would still be good enough to welcome Georgiana in my absence. I am loath to leave her alone again so soon after returning.”

“But of course! I assumed she would be travelling with you.”

“Not on this occasion. I hope to be back in London on Tuesday. It will not be a leisurely trip.” Anne would have to remain in town for now. Darcy had no intention of returning her to Kent before Christmas.

“Consider it done. And, should you be delayed, you may of course count on us to keep her spirits up over Christmas as well.”

“That is good of you, Bingley. Thank you.”

Darcy wished he had accepted the offer of a drink. He was uncomfortable with how close he was sailing towards disguise, and speaking of his sister only served to remind him about their unpleasant conversation earlier that day.

What had begun with a simple request that Georgiana not reveal his destination to Bingley had transformed into a highly unpleasant exchange in which she expressed several objections to his inducements for separating Bingley from Miss Bennet. He had been forced to remind her that not all suitors were motivated by genuine affection. This she took as reproof for her own recent misadventure, and matters had deteriorated from there. Nevertheless, in the course of their quarrel, Georgiana had confirmed his own suspicions that Bingley was still very much in love with Miss Bennet, hardening his mind to his present course.

“You never know,” Bingley said, interrupting Darcy’s reflections. “A quick spell out of town might do you good.”

“In what way?”

“Well, it might cure you of this ill-humour of yours.” His affront must have shown, for Bingley hastily added, “I mean no disrespect, my friend, but you have not been at all yourself of late.”

Darcy knew not what to say to that. All he knew was that Elizabeth’s name reverberated in his thoughts, burying every rational denial. Evidently, he had not triumphed over his fascination as well as he imagined.

“I know I have been somewhat distracted myself since we returned from Netherfield, but I still know how to enjoy myself. You seem perpetually dissatisfied,” Bingley went on. “Now, do not glower at me in that way. It is true. Nothing pleases you anymore. You are uninterested in everything, and you seem to have entirely forgotten how to smile.”

Bingley’s accusations provoked a sensation of panic in Darcy, as though his friend were diagnosing him with some incurable disease. It made him wish to deny them, immediately and emphatically. He restrained himself, stating calmly, “Are you certain you are not imposing your own recent disappointment onto me?”

“Oh, I suppose I might be,” Bingley said morosely. His shoulders slumped, and Darcy felt a wretched sense of duplicity. “Pay me no mind. You have enough of your own problems to resolve. Be off with you to do whatever you must and then come back and see how cheerful I can be at the Christmas dinner table. And if I cannot be merry, then as long as you are there, at least Caroline will be happy.”

Even in his dejection, Bingley managed a mischievous smile, reminding Darcy why he treasured his friendship so dearly. He was a breath of fresh air to Darcy’s typically staid existence.

And one breath of fresh air was quite enough. He had no need of another. And he definitely did not need to see her while he was in Meryton.

* * *

On the following Monday, Mrs Bennet’s brother and his wife came to spend Christmas at Longbourn as usual. Mr Gardiner was bustled away into Mr Bennet’s library to discuss whatever either could think of that would keep them there until dinner. Mrs Gardiner was drawn into the parlour, where her four children were permitted to remain and play while Mrs Bennet—and her daughters, whenever they were able to squeeze in a word—regaled her with news of all that had befallen them since last they were together.

“Two of my girls almost married,” Mrs Bennet lamented. “Yet, both of them are still single. I am quite as broken-hearted as Jane, though Lizzy has not a care for it.”

Mrs Gardiner sent Elizabeth a private look of commiseration. Between the two of them and Jane there was an intimate understanding that ensured most of Mrs Bennet’s censure was met with sympathy, rather than scorn.

“Now we must suffer Charlotte Lucas parading about the place as though she already owns it,” she continued. “Though I do not know why she should be in such a hurry to be Mrs Collins. If I were her, I should seriously reconsider my decision to shackle myself to such a horrid woman.”

“ Woman? ” Mrs Gardiner asked in some confusion. “If Mr Collins is not a man, does that not resolve the entire problem of the entail?”

“I believe my mother is referring to Miss Anne de Bourgh,” Elizabeth replied, laughing. “She is his patroness’s daughter.” She and her sisters then explained Miss de Bourgh’s strange and eventful stay in Meryton, after which Mrs Gardiner puffed out her cheeks in wonder.

“I see. And Miss Lucas will have to answer to this lady and her mother when she becomes Mrs Collins? Poor woman.”

“Poor woman nothing!” Mrs Bennet objected. “Charlotte will have this house as soon as Mr Bennet dies. I have not one iota of sympathy for her. Besides, she is clearly going about pleasing the woman in the wrong way, for Miss de Bourgh is nowhere near as awful to Lizzy.” She turned to her daughter and said, “Further proof that it ought to have been you who married Mr Collins.”

“What is this?” Mrs Gardiner enquired.

“Miss de Bourgh has singled Lizzy out as her favourite,” Mrs Bennet replied, preening as though this were not a highly dubious honour. “She asks after her constantly and speaks to her more than she does to anybody else.”

“I think Miss de Bourgh only feels more drawn to me because she discovered that I am slightly better acquainted with her cousin than most, having stayed with him at Netherfield,” Elizabeth demurred.

“Who is her cousin?” her aunt enquired.

“The friend of Mr Bingley’s we told you about, Mr Darcy.”

“Mr Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire?” she replied, all astonishment. “Her pride begins to make more sense. With such connexions, she has a good deal of which to be proud.”

“That is precisely what Charlotte said about him , though having met both, I am inclined to think the advantage is far more in Miss de Bourgh’s favour than Mr Darcy’s. He may be disagreeable, but she is awful.”

“Really, Lizzy?” said Jane doubtfully. “I should not have expected you to say so.”

Elizabeth had not expected it either and had quite surprised herself with the sentiment.

“Mr Darcy is disagreeable?” continued Mrs Gardiner, relieving Elizabeth of the necessity of answering Jane. “I confess that surprises me, for his father was highly regarded when I lived in the area.”

“Aye, Mr Wickham speaks fondly of him, too.”

“Mr Wickham?”

“He is an officer with the militia encamped in Meryton,” Mrs Bennet explained.

“And the late Mr Darcy’s godson,” Elizabeth added.

“And he is the handsomest of the officers by a mile,” Kitty said wistfully.

Lydia scoffed. “He is all looks and no manners.”

“What makes you say that?” Elizabeth enquired.

“He promised her the first set at the last assembly and then danced it with Miss de Bourgh,” Kitty explained.

“I did not know he had done that,” Jane said. “How unkind.”

“Oh, I do not care,” Lydia replied. “Denny said he owes him ten shillings from their last game of loo, and I could never love anybody who cannot win at cards.”

“Or pay his debts,” added Mary.

“How odd that so many people connected to one family should have arrived in the same place all at once,” Mrs Gardiner observed.

“Mr Darcy seems to have that sort of influence,” Elizabeth replied. “Everybody follows him about the country. I am convinced Mr Bingley would still be here if his friend had not left.”

“That does neither gentleman much credit,” Jane said softly. “Nor me.”

“Forgive me. I do not mean to pain you, but Mr Bingley was so obviously in love with you, I cannot believe he left of his own accord. And I can easily believe that if Mr Darcy had made up his mind to go, nothing would persuade him to remain, no matter how it might affect his friend, who was too complying to refuse.”

“It is strange that the son should have turned out so disagreeable if his father was as excellent as you say, Aunt,” said Mary.

Mrs Gardiner turned from Jane, whom she had been regarding with a worried expression, to frown instead at Mary, this time pensively. “I spent some years in that part of the country, and I cannot recall ever hearing it said that Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy had turned out markedly unlike his father. I think I heard it said that he was reserved. Perhaps that was the beginning of a more conceited sort of pride.” She shrugged. “I left Derbyshire some years ago. Anything could have happened since then to affect his character.”

There was much in what her aunt said that was of interest, yet Elizabeth could attend to only one part of it. “Fitzwilliam? Is that his Christian name?”

“Yes. It was his mother’s maiden name, I believe.”

She knew not why this information gave her such a sense of satisfaction. Perhaps it was that knowing his name made him seem less forbidding. Perhaps it was how well the name suited him—pompous, imposing.

Distinctive. Striking . Elizabeth blushed deeply at the direction of her thoughts and, undesirous of being asked to account for it, rose to help herself to another cup of tea.

“Well, if both of them are disagreeable, at least they will be well suited in marriage,” Mrs Gardiner said, holding out her cup for Elizabeth to fill.

“The same can be said for the Collinses. I wish them all the happiness they deserve. Which is none,” said Mrs Bennet.

A commotion erupted elsewhere in the house that grew louder and louder until the parlour door was thrust open, and Mrs Philips burst into the room. “Sister! Oh—and Sister!” she added upon noticing that Mrs Gardiner was present. “How wonderful to see you, dear. But attend, I have such news! You will never guess who I have just seen arriving in Meryton.”

“Tell us quickly, then,” Mrs Bennet said eagerly.

Mrs Philips grasped her sister’s outstretched hand. “Why, none other than Mr Darcy!”

Mrs Bennet cried out in delight and began to rhapsodise about what this meant for Jane’s romantic aspirations, for surely, they had just settled it that Mr Bingley followed Mr Darcy everywhere!

Elizabeth hoped her mother’s transports would mean nobody noticed how the tea she was pouring shot over the side of the cup and pooled in the saucer, but Mrs Gardiner’s querying gaze was awaiting hers when she glanced up to return the cup. She prayed she would not be called upon to account for herself, for she had not the slightest idea why that gentleman’s name should startle her.

It was likely because she had talked about him so frequently of late, courtesy of his cousin. Or perhaps because she had just that moment surprised herself with the recollection that he was uncommonly good looking. Mayhap she was simply pleased for Jane. Indeed, upon reflection, Elizabeth thought it most likely that it was her aunt who had moved her hand, and that she had not flinched at all. She turned her attention to Jane, who looked considerably less collected than she herself was bound to feel once her heart slowed to a more natural pace.

* * *

“I beg your pardon, Mr Darcy, but your fair cousin is not here. Mr Collins has taken Miss de Bourgh to Longbourn for one last visit before she returns home. But pray, come in. You are more than welcome to await her return here with us.”

Darcy stared at Sir William, trying his hardest to neither snarl nor swear. He had not thought his day could deteriorate any further. The journey had been long and difficult thanks to inclement weather, a broken wheel, and the tide of memories that harried him along the way. Despite his man’s most persuasive efforts, the only lodgings they had been able to secure this close to Christmas were at the George and Crown—the least salubrious establishment in Meryton, with a name disagreeably reminiscent of the reprobate who had necessitated his trip hither.

To make matters worse, he had stepped down from his carriage onto the High Street at precisely the same moment as Mrs Philips had come out of the milliner’s shop. She had curtseyed, blasting his hopes that she had not recognised him and making a mockery of his wish to remain incognito. He could envisage her, even now, announcing his arrival to all her acquaintances. To all her relations. To Elizabeth. As though all of that were not objectionable enough, he discovered now that he need not have come at all, for Anne was about to leave anyway!

“No, I thank you, Sir William,” he replied. “I have some business in Meryton. I shall make use of the time and see to that whilst I wait.” That his business consisted of skulking in his lodgings to avoid any more unwanted encounters was neither here nor there. He took his leave and with the promise to come back in two hours, mounted his horse and returned in the direction of the inn.

He reached as far as the end of the lane before his resolve began to waver. What was to be gained by avoiding Longbourn? Anne was already there. He did not doubt that Mrs Philips was already or had recently been there, telling them all he was in town.

Elizabeth will be there.

He abhorred the way his guts twisted at the thought. Good God, was he so little master of himself that he could not set eyes on her without incident? He clenched his fist around the reins. There was no danger for him at Longbourn, and he would not be frightened into inaction by the pathetic fluttering of his recalcitrant heart. Better to get it over with—fetch Anne and leave Hertfordshire this very afternoon.

Ever angrier at the irrepressible feelings that had plagued him for the last three months, making every decision ten times harder than it ought to be, Darcy turned his mount and set out defiantly towards Longbourn.