Page 29 of Lord Lonbourn’s Daughter

Elizabeth felt awful the minute she tramped out of Mr Darcy’s chamber. He was injured, he was her husband, her place was with him, but he rankled her no end.

They had entered this chaos as a unit, but now it felt like they were fighting different battles—he on the Darcy/Fitzwilliam side, she on the Bennet side—and she knew not how to bridge the gap.

All she knew was that she should not have left him for a second time that day.

She should have stayed and shooed everybody else out of the room and let him rest before he took permanent damage to his head by overtaxing himself. She was a wretched wife.

Lord Longbourn returned home just as she stepped out of Darcy House. Elizabeth hurried to his side and related all the news. Her father looked relieved that Miss Darcy had been found and listened intently to the new developments.

“This changes everything. We have been looking for a carriage containing three young girls and their companion. That they were separated so soon after leaving Ramsgate is of vital importance.”

“My thoughts exactly! Mr Darcy and his cousins seem to think that all we can do is wait, but there must be something more. Perhaps you could discuss the matter with Mr Darcy and the colonel?”

“They are not wrong—we must wait for the kidnappers’ next move—but there is something we can do in the meantime. I must give this latest information to the men who are out looking for Lydia. I must away at once. I only wish that I knew what kind of carriage she was taken in.”

“So do I, but Miss Darcy is not a dependable eye-witness. She does not seem particularly attentive to anything but her own concerns,” Elizabeth remarked uncharitably.

“In that she resembles every sixteen-year-old girl I have ever encountered. It probably applies to the boys as well, but you know my experience in that area is limited. It is like their brains have not fully developed yet. But rest easy, my Lizzy. They all grow up in the end—and much too soon from a father’s point of view. ”

Elizabeth went around the desk, embraced her father, and kissed his forehead before she resumed her seat.

“What has been decided about Jane and Mr Bingley’s wedding?” Elizabeth enquired whilst Lord Longbourn rang the bell to order his carriage.

“We can do nothing but wait for the banns to be read. The archbishop is a stubborn old man, and he refuses to sign a special licence for a nobody—his words not mine. I tried to reason with him, but it was no use.” Lord Longbourn sighed.

“Perhaps we ought to delay the reading now that Miss Darcy has been rescued. The scoundrel may take umbrage against us thwarting his plan and make new demands. He might change his mind and wish to foist her upon the disobedient colonel who found his captive before she was returned. I dare say the colonel would not mourn his loss of freedom if it were so.”

“Why do you say that?” Elizabeth enquired.

“Who could resent being tied to our Jane? I declare there is not a single gentleman in all of England that would object,” Lord Longbourn quipped.

“I suspect you are right, Father,” Elizabeth agreed.

The butler entered to announce the carriage was ready, and her father left.

Darcy House was quiet when Elizabeth returned after talking briefly to her sisters.

Jane had looked like she had something to relate, but there was no opportunity, and Elizabeth was eager to go home.

She knocked on the connecting door to her husband’s chamber as soon as she had refreshed herself, but there was no answer.

She tried the door handle; it was not locked.

As quietly as possible, she entered the dimly lit room and tiptoed to the edge of the bed.

Mr Darcy was asleep, but his sister was still sitting in a chair by the hearth.

“You may retire now, Miss Darcy. I shall sit with your brother.”

For a moment, Elizabeth feared the girl would protest, but she nodded and left quietly.

Elizabeth had thought she could read to her husband, but that seemed a little pointless now—it would only disturb his sleep.

Instead, she watched over him, looking for signs of unrest or pain, but he did not seem bothered.

He had probably taken laudanum to help him sleep and ease the discomfort.

An old memory of her mother came to her mind.

Elizabeth had spent countless nights by her mother’s bedside, but this was another sort of memory.

They were lying in a field of flowers, looking up at the clouds passing by.

It was like her mother was reaching out to her from beyond the grave, trying to tell her something significant, but it was just out of her reach.

Elizabeth awoke to a gentle hand stroking her hair. Her dream about her mother made her uncertain whether she was really awake or caught in the grey area between consciousness and senselessness.

She lifted her head from the bed and looked into the stormy blue eyes of her husband.

“There is no need for you to attend me during the night, Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth had half a mind to contradict him by handing him a mirror, but that would have been cruel. She harboured no wish to force her attentions where they were unwelcome, so she rose stiffly from her chair. Her legs felt like they were swollen into tree trunks and were prickling and burning.

“May I be of service to you before I return to my chamber?” she enquired coolly.

“No, thank you. You should get some decent sleep in your own bed.”

“I am glad you are feeling better.” What else could she say when she had been evicted from her husband’s chamber? Nothing came to mind as she reached her own room and pulled the bell.

#

The following day

Elizabeth was hammering out the first movement of Ludwig van Beethoven’s fifth symphony on the pianoforte.

Darcy might have pitied the keys had not his ears suffered the brunt of the ponderous notes.

He should return to his chamber instead of ogling his wife through the crack of the door, but he was as rooted to the spot.

She could not have shown her vexation any more glaringly if she had shouted in his face.

Of course, his wife was too polite to do so, though he might have preferred it to the lyrical abuse of his ears.

His pleasure was not at the forefront of her mind at the moment but rather her own displeasure.

He was ignorant to the source of it, or he would certainly have rectified the matter expeditiously.

Could she have been displeased with her new conveyance?

He thought back to that morning when Elizabeth’s new, resplendently fitted carriage had arrived.

She had looked genuinely pleased with the size, the colour of the upholstery, and the perfectly matched horses.

Her surprise had been a delight to observe as she had seemed subdued since Georgiana’s return. No, it could not be the carriage…

“I feel wretched,” she muttered to herself as her hands clunked down on the final notes.

Was it acceptable to feel relief the music had ended?

He must remember to be supportive in all her endeavours as she must feel the events of recent days keenly.

Her heart was so easily touched. Fear was displayed differently from person to person, in his experience, but hammering incessantly on the poor keys of a pianoforte was new.

“We shall find Lady Lydia and bring her home,” he promised from the threshold.

Elizabeth startled; she had clearly not noticed him standing there. He limped towards her, resting heavily on his cane.

“Yes, I feel ridden with guilt,” his wife admitted.

“You can hardly blame yourself for her abduction!” Darcy exclaimed incredulously, then winced at the pain in his head.

“I should have spoken more forcefully against their sojourn to Ramsgate. My father is blind to his daughter’s faults, Mr Darcy.

It is the prerogative of a parent, I suppose, but a sister is not so easily fooled.

Lydia is full young and thrives as the centre of attention.

She is the baby of the family, and with my mother’s illness and death, I am afraid she did not receive the guidance she needed before she was launched into society.

It has left her vulnerable to those with nefarious purposes.

Lydia does not have Miss Darcy’s reserve nor Kitty’s modesty.

She might think this is all just a great game and be prevailed into doing something very stupid indeed.

We may have to find her a match as soon as she is discovered, but with her lively disposition, she would be miserable in a marriage without affection.

I cannot picture this disaster ending as well for her as it has for Miss Darcy and Kitty.

We are adults, Mr Darcy, and understand what sacrifices must be made, but Lydia is sixteen—” Elizabeth drew a sharp intake of breath and regarded him with concern.

“I am not saying that I do not understand what sacrifice you have made, Mr Darcy. I am sorry that you were forced into a marriage not of your choosing.”

Darcy’s mind reeled. Her concern for her sister was legitimate. He knew nothing that could assuage her worries there, but her worries on his behalf were not.

“I may oppose the manner in which we were forced to wed, Elizabeth. Yet I do not regret the outcome. I may not have expressed it in so many words, but it is apparent in everything I do. You cannot have failed to notice that I love you!”

Instead of looking comforted, Elizabeth looked vexed.

“Must I? How do you suppose that I should know that? Do not suppose that my concern for my sister was an entreaty for idle compliments. Your desire to avoid the attachment in the first place was evident—stating quite clearly within my hearing that this was not how you imagined entering holy matrimony. You are not an expressive man, but one would think that the words may have been uttered at least once voluntarily if they were indeed honestly felt.”