Page 87 of Lizzie’s Spirit

“Mr. Darcy, I must apologise, but the visitors arrived without any by-your-leave,” Mrs. Reynolds, his housekeeper, wrung her hands in agitation. “I’ve put them in the rooms they had before… before the funeral. I trust that is satisfactory.”

“Of course, Mrs. Reynolds, you’ve been running this house for longer than I can remember. I trust your judgement implicitly.”

It had been a month since he and Georgiana had come out of mourning.

Fortunately, the final session of Parliament had kept Matlock busy.

Now, at the end of May, he had no further obligations in London.

Of course, they descended like a pack of hungry wolves on Pemberley.

All had come. Matlock. Lady Catherine. But surely not the Bingleys?

He had thought Bingley was in Hertfordshire.

His heart began to race, his breathing coming in short, rasping bursts; a sharp pain caused his eyes to blur.

“Mr. Winthrop, Jacob, assist Mr. Darcy to his study, now!” The footman, Jacob, took his arm and gently led him down the corridor.

The attacks had become more frequent. If she could have, Mrs. Reynolds would have turned away the so-called guests.

But he was too kind; the Master had always been thus, since a little boy.

***

“Bingley, ‘tis most inconvenient. I’ve just come out of mourning, the earl and countess are visiting, and so is Lady Catherine. There’s much disarray in the house.”

“My apologies, Darcy. Caroline and I were passing on our way to Scarborough. We thought to visit, but truly, I could do with some advice.”

“My advice, these days, is scarcely worth anything. I’m weary; what you see before you is not the man you once knew. But, enough, have a glass—I’ll not join you, for I cannot, at the moment, abide wine or spirits.”

“Let me explain and then take my leave, for I can see you are much occupied.”

It was so unlike his normal effusive self that immediately Darcy took some pity on him. In want of a diversion, a little kindness to his friend was not unwelcome.

“You recall I rented an estate in Hertfordshire. The manor, Netherfield, is excellent, the shooting capital, and society in the neighbourhood was much to my liking. Of course, Caroline grumbled and complained. Which is partly why I’m here.”

“The point, Bingley?”

“The closest neighbours were a family of four daughters whom we met at the local assembly. The eldest, Jane, was exceptionally beautiful, graceful, and well-spoken. Oh, dash it, Darcy, I’ve fallen in love.”

“Then why are you here at Pemberley, and not in Hertfordshire?”

“You see, the family had recently fallen on hard times but had moved back to the manor after the heir presumptive left, no one knows to where. By doing so, he forfeited the rights to the estate. Thus the family has regained ownership—there was an entail, but it is now broken.”

Oh, there’s something so familiar about this tale.

Suddenly a piercing headache, Darcy fought to maintain his self-possession.

He couldn’t ask the obvious questions—the name of the estate, the family who occupied it?

Were the daughters Jane, Mary, Catherine, and Lydia?

If it were them, how could he deny all of his doubts and fears?

He was not strong enough to fight his guilt, knowing she could have been reunited with her family, but was now lost.

“Caroline believes that were I to offer for Jane, the family would be a burden to me: that the father, only recently recovered from an apoplexy, could relapse, perhaps die; that the mother only looks to my fortune; that Jane is indifferent—she smiles too much to be genuine in her affection; that the youngest girls are vulgar and unseemly.”

Darcy leant back in his chair, turned his head away, pretending to look at the sheep grazing the grass beyond the park. It was Lizzie’s family! Unaware of her being swept away because of the risk of her father’s relapse, because of losing his daughter once again.

“Bingley, I ask you, for a second time. Why are you not in Hertfordshire, at Longbourn, seeking the hand of Jane, who has a disposition that would suit you admirably? Is she not a gentleman’s daughter?

For such a connection would raise you in society.

Ah, I do understand, for your sister wishes to go much higher… ”

Bingley was all astonishment. “What do you know of Longbourn, Darcy? Why, that is the very name of the Bennets’ estate. And Jane has the sweetest nature.”

“I know nothing. But I say this, Bingley. If you love your Jane, then that is enough. Her love for you will grow if it is nurtured daily with care, affection, and respect. If you admire this woman and can see yourself two years from now, standing with her, hand in hand, walking in Netherfield’s park, then don’t hold back.

For such moments are precious and may be fleeting. This I do know.”

Tonight, sleepless, he would again fight his fears, with the faint hope that in the morning, he would not have succumbed.

“Darcy, this is so unlike you. Is it Georgiana, for I knew you were away when Frederick was killed? Or losing her father?”

“‘Tis not Georgie, though she feels my pain and sorrow. There was a woman, Bingley; she and I were very close, so much so we were to spend our lives together. But she is lost to me, irretrievably. I would give anything, any part of my fortune, for just one more day in her company. I left this woman to return to England, thinking we should soon be reunited—but it was not to be. So foolish, foolish.”

He turned to gaze out the window, afraid to let his friend see the tears that ran down his cheeks.

“Bingley, take any horse from my stable—no, ask for Jonas to accompany you. Ride like the wind; the quickest route is by way of Derby, Northampton, and Dunstable, and thence to Meryton. There are Darcy horses stationed every ten miles at the posting inns. Jonas is known and will assist you in changing horses. Leave now, and you can be betrothed on the morrow.”

“But I came in the coach with Caroline.”

“She must return without you. I will lend her a maid to sit with her own and a footman. She cannot stay here, for she is not Georgiana’s guest and cannot be mine.

If that is rude, then so be it. I am tired enough of being imposed upon, and, well you know, I cannot abide your sister’s fawning, let alone having her believe I would offer for her. ”

Caroline was outraged, but Bingley saw her tantrum as the sham it was—all along, she had only connived to stay at Pemberley.

Determined, he sent her off to their aunt in Scarborough.

Her maid, with help from Pemberley’s staff, quickly repacked her clothing; the trunks and travelling desk were hurriedly closed up and placed in the boot of the carriage.

As he and the groom, Jonas, sped in the opposite direction, towards the post-inn at Matlock, Bingley realised he had never told Darcy of Meryton being the town closest to Longbourn.

And why would Darcy have horses posted along the route?

That Jane’s sister, Elizabeth, had gone off to New South Wales to escape marriage to the heir presumptive.

That Darcy had returned from there only the previous year.

But he had come alone. And no word had been received from Elizabeth for eighteen months.

Could it be that she was the woman Darcy had lost?

Jane had said Elizabeth had spoken of Darcy in her letters, that she had been hostess at Government House in Sydney—where Darcy was lieutenant governor.

Bingley recalled the torment he had seen in Darcy’s face and the tears his friend had so desperately tried to hide. Poor, poor man, if it were truly so.

***

Georgiana stepped between her brother and the door to the drawing-room. “Please, William. You are in no mood to confront them. Ride with me; we could go to the library…please, anything, for this will end very badly.”

Darcy smiled gently, for she was now the dearest person in his life.

But the emptiness, those growing doubts, were consuming him.

He was no longer concerned with the polite manners of society.

What more could his uncle, the earl, do that hadn’t already been done?

The great whirlpool, which had sucked up Elizabeth, was now drowning him as well.

Carefully stepping around his sister, he opened the door.

Reluctantly, she followed. The decor should have been calming—unchanged since Lady Anne had planned the decoration; restrained, elegant, reflecting the harmony of man and nature; tall windows linking the interior to the gardens and nature beyond.

“Darcy, where have you been? We are your guests; we expect better of you.”

He grimaced. “You are not my guest, Lady Catherine. You arrived unannounced, imposed on Mrs. Reynolds most discourteously, sit drinking my tea and eating my biscuits, and then have the temerity to scold me! If you do not care for the company, you are free to leave. I believe I would welcome it.”

“Take care, Darcy. She is my sister and your aunt; I will not have you speak so disrespectfully.” Lord Matlock stood and glared at his nephew, an expression of outrage spread across his countenance; Lady Matlock gasped, her mouth inelegantly left open, like a fish out of water; Anne, sitting beside her mother, shrank further into the cushions; Felicity looked to Georgiana, who shook her head—there was naught she could do.

“Enjoying my Madeira, Uncle? No, silly me, that is a fine Bordeaux placed in my cellar before the embargo, perhaps a half dozen bottles remaining—drunk all of yours, I assume.” The room became deadly still.