Page 26 of Expectations (Obstinate, Headstrong Girl #7)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CAN THEY SO VEX US, WHOM WE SO DESPISE?

D arcy found he could not go directly to the nursery; he was too agitated, and the children were too perceptive.

Instead, he went to his study, pacing the large chamber in an effort to regain control of his temper.

He had easily seen the hurt upon Elizabeth’s face at his refusal, and he was scorched by the twin emotions of fury and frustration.

Not furious at her, never at her. He did not blame her for her relations; one could not help every branch of one’s family tree.

He had made it clear, he thought, that she was not to be censured for it, and he would defend her to any in his world who thought to impugn her.

Devil take it, she could be related to a chimney sweep, and he would not care.

She was patently ignorant of what her beloved uncle had done. He had already decided that she must not be aware of anything, and here was proof.

Darcy perfectly recalled the day he had received the letter, the day his life had changed.

He had been at the desk in this very room, having recently returned from attending Bingley’s wedding.

He had spent a great deal of time in Elizabeth’s company those final few weeks before the event.

During those visits, his affection for her, for her wit, for her teasing friendliness, had only grown.

But it was watching her on the day of her sister’s wedding—watching her beauty, her graciousness, seeing those around her drawn into easy conversation, and the way everyone, servants and family both, relied upon her—that had led him to an obvious conclusion: she would be the perfect mistress for Pemberley, the perfect sister for Georgiana.

The perfect wife for him, despite her low connexions and less than sensible immediate family members.

Finally, finally, he had allowed his feelings free rein. He admired her. He wanted her. He loved her. He would return to Hertfordshire and ask Elizabeth Bennet to marry him.

Almost at the very moment of his decision, the letter had arrived.

Striding to his desk, he unlocked a drawer that was always secured and thumbed through the papers therein, finally withdrawing a single sheet.

The antagonism which rose up at the sight of it nearly choked him, but he could not prevent his need to read, once again, the words inscribed upon it.

Mr Darcy,

We are not acquainted, but I am a near relation of the esteemed Bennet family of Longbourn, Hertfordshire, a man of business who has had many dealings over the years with the much-respected firm of Baker and Yeats, of Crosschurch Street.

I have learnt they also handle certain private legal matters for you.

I have requested that they deliver to you this message in the most circumspect manner possible.

If you were to enquire, I am certain they would be willing to vouch, likewise, for my discretion.

It gives me no pleasure to be required, due to my familiarity with those involved, to write of a matter which has recently been brought to my attention.

It has to do with certain untoward events taking place during your recent stay at Netherfield Park, a mere three-mile distance from my own sister and her family.

I am certain that your motive in bringing a party so prosperous to that country was to increase the fortune of its inhabitants, not to beget evil in its stead.

It is with a heavy heart that I inform you of my knowledge of one young lady, specifically—one of prominent family, very well known to you—who is no longer able to look forward to a life which includes a husband and family of her own, thanks to this grievous association.

While I do not fully accuse you of causing her downfall, you certainly could have prevented it.

She is not, however, without friends. No gentleman would like it generally known that he had failed to act appropriately in such a situation.

It seems to me that honour demands of you an obligation to offset some generous portion of her and the coming child’s future expenses.

I am certain that contemplation of this request, and its veracity, would lead any good man to this same conclusion.

If you are in agreement, Mr Baker is entrusted to act most discreetly in the lady’s behalf.

Darcy tossed the letter aside, the resentment fully alive within his bones without even finishing it. Its signature glared at him audaciously from the bottom of the page.

Edward Gardiner

He had met the man at Bingley’s wedding. He had thought his appearance respectable, his manners proper. He had succeeded so well in quieting and calming Elizabeth’s younger sisters and mother, that Darcy had been inclined to think very well of him, indeed.

He had not looked like a man who would participate in a blackmail. It had all been couched so vaguely, so carefully, he could not even be accused of it, although his meaning was obvious.

Darcy had known of Bingley’s seduction of Jane Bennet; indeed, Bingley himself had confessed it. Darcy had insisted on Bingley’s immediate action to rectify the situation—a proposal, followed by a hasty wedding.

It had never occurred to him, during Bingley’s confession, that there was more to reveal.

However, in retrospect, when considering the times he had stuttered and mumbled and started sentences without finishing them, it became very evident.

Obviously, and probably due to the extent of Darcy’s fury, the coward had failed to voice anything beyond his sins with Miss Bennet.

This written demand had come from the Bennet family representative, thus it must be a Bennet who required recompense.

In Darcy’s hearing, Bingley had often expressed distaste for the younger sisters, and admiration for Elizabeth.

There was only a single conclusion to draw: Charles Bingley had seduced not one sister, but both, and as the wealthy man who had introduced Bingley into the neighbourhood, Darcy had been victimised as a potential target to pay for the rest of his friend’s sins.

His first impulse was to go to Netherfield and beat Bingley into the ground, then insist he find the money.

Darcy had finally overruled it for the simple reason that he did not trust his ability to resist Elizabeth.

He might offer her a different way out of her troubles and marry her, even though caught in the grip of visceral resentment and hot jealousy.

It would have been an awful idea, awful for him, for Georgiana, for Elizabeth—whom he now knew, did not even like him back then—and for her unborn child.

His second instinct had been to ignore the entire situation.

He was under no obligation to do anything, much less take the blame for Bingley’s worst sins.

In the end, however, he could not bear the thought of Elizabeth left with nothing except a weak man’s child.

Bingley ought to have provided for her and the baby, but it seemed he would not, else Gardiner never would have written.

Darcy had paid handsomely, cut his connexion with Bingley outright, and done his best to forget her.

In that, he had failed utterly. On a visit to Kent the following spring, he learnt from her sister, Mrs Collins, that Elizabeth had removed to Netherfield and was seldom seen in company any longer, due to ‘Mrs Bingley’s ill health’.

Seven months later, ‘twins’ were born, a boy and a girl.

Again from Mrs Collins, he heard the boy, Thomas, resembled Bingley in every particular, except that he had his mother’s golden curls.

The girl, she said, took after the Bennet side of the family, ‘with Elizabeth’s dark eyes and untameable hair’.

Cassandra, it seemed, was the spitting image of her supposed ‘aunt’, and given Mrs Collins’s complete lack of suspicion, they had all gotten away with the deception.

Darcy had received assurances from Baker that the young lady herself had received the money—he had demanded that, at least. However, for all Darcy knew, especially considering Bingley’s wasteful spending, he had required her to surrender what Darcy had contributed to secure Cassandra’s future as legitimate.

Elizabeth had certainly come to him with nothing.

He had been provided with a copy of Bingley’s will, naming him as Thomas’s guardian; there were no provisions for Elizabeth, nor for his young daughter.

He had long ago decided his new wife had been ignorant of her family’s plotting, of Gardiner’s involvement; certainly she would never have suggested they meet, had she known. Perhaps she had even believed the money to have come from her uncle.

In one sense, he could not precisely blame Gardiner for using every available resource to help his niece.

Neither could Darcy be expected to welcome him to the family, to give such a man opportunity to trade on their connexion, to have the most horrible experience of his life resurrected with every visit.

Elizabeth had been hurt by his refusal, however. It galled Darcy to take the blame.