Page 4 of Losing Lizzy

“ Good morning, Mrs. Dartmore .”

Elizabeth looked up from her task of unboxing the books Mr. Sheffield had ordered from London for several of their regular customers to view Mr. Sidney Townsend. She groaned internally, but placed a smile upon her lips. Mr. Townsend, for the last four months had made a point of calling upon her, despite the fact she had never encouraged the man. He would appear at the most inconvenient times and insist upon walking her back to the store.

“Good morning, sir,” she said politely, as she wiped the dust from her hands on a rag she kept under the counter. “I have just unboxed the new shipment from London. Allow me an extra minute or two, and I shall have your book wrapped properly for you.”

“I do not mind the wait when I have such a lovely lady to keep me company.”

“I shan’t keep you long,” she repeated. Retrieving the book the man had ordered from the stack sitting upon the nearby table, she busied herself cutting the brown paper required to wrap the book.

“Do you enjoy poetry, Mrs. Dartmore?” Townsend asked.

Elizabeth glanced to the book in her hand and hid the frown forming upon her features. “I have yet to develop an overwhelming love for Lord Byron, but I am not opposed to reading his works upon occasion,” she said diplomatically .

Mr. Townsend’s eyebrow rose in disbelief. “I thought most women preferred the romantics these days.”

Elizabeth had her own questions as to why a man would purchase Byron’s works unless to impress some woman upon which he had set his sights. She prayed such was not Townsend’s purpose. If so, he would know no purchase where she was concerned. She swallowed the retort rushing to her lips. “I fear I am not much of a ‘romantic,’ as many call this new movement toward ‘sensibility,’ rather than ‘sense.’”

Mr. Townsend leaned against the counter in a casual manner. “A woman of your fine countenance should possess a protector—a man who holds you in affection.”

Elizabeth immediately thought of Fitzwilliam Darcy. After his absence from their wedding, she had despised him, thinking he had betrayed her, but, since coming to live with Mr. Sheffield, she had grieved for the loss of the man who had owned her heart. She had cherished Mr. Sheffield’s remembrances of his young master, tales she would share with Lizzy Anne when the child was older and began to ask of her father.

“I have been held in affection,” she said in solemn tones.

“Yet, you are a young woman,” he argued. “You should consider marrying again.”

“I am a young woman satisfied with her life as it is. My daughter and I shall do well together,” she countered.

“What happens to you if Mr. Sheffield chooses to marry Mrs. Harris?” he demanded. “All of Brighton says it will be so.” Elizabeth had begun to wonder something of the connection between Mrs. Harris and Mr. Townsend. Was the gentleman also attempting to woo the widow? Or, had he and the widow joined forces to separate her and Mr. Sheffield, each with their own reasons to lodge a wedge between her and her guardian angel. “You might wish to consider my suit, Mrs. Dartmore. I would see both you and your child wanting for nothing. Your Elizabeth Anne requires a father. I could be that man in her life.”

“And you wish a mother for your two young sons?” she questioned. She had yet to take the acquaintance of the gentleman’s sons, so she held no opinions of the children, but the man’s close presence made her want to scratch at the hives she was certain had formed along her arm.

“Naturally, Emerson and Tobias require a mother. I have observed you with your daughter. Your kindness would prove a boon for my sons, who miss their mother desperately.”

As the former Mrs. Townsend supposedly passed less than a year prior, in Elizabeth’s opinion, it was too soon for Townsend’s children to accept another woman’s touch or her rules. Because her daughter had never known her father, the child might easily connect to Mr. Townsend; however, Elizabeth was not certain she wanted Lizzy to desire the attention of any man beyond Mr. Sheffield and Lizzy’s real father.

She said with as much delicacy as she could muster, “I am honored by your interest in me and my daughter, sir, but, for now, I do not expect, in the near future, to be in a place where I shall wish the protection of another. In truth, I still grieve the passing of my daughter’s dear father. It would be a disservice to another gentleman to accept a man I did not affect.”

“It has more than three years, Mrs. Dartmore,” Townsend reminded her.

“And it may be three more years or even thirty before I am prepared to commit myself to another. I shall know when I am capable of accepting the attentions of another,” she said in firm tones.

The gentleman accepted the wrapped book she handed him. “For the time being, I will abide by your denials, but I have not thrown away my hopes.” He presented her a curt bow. “Until we meet again, Mrs. Dartmore.”

When the door closed between her and the gentleman, Elizabeth expelled a heavy sigh of resignation. “Oh, Fitzwilliam,” she whispered. “What havoc your actions have brought to my life. If you could do it all again, would you have left me in Hertfordshire to address an issue on one of Lord Matlock’s ships?” She sat heavily upon the stool and rested her head on her arms upon the counter. “Again, I am the odd bird in a family of doves. I had a brief taste of perfection before it was snatched away. At least, you left a bit of yourself behind. The only fault, of which I may complain, is Elizabeth Anne will never know what having you as her father could have meant to her future.”

* * *

Over the next three weeks, Darcy had systematically worked his way through the disaster that proved to be his financial situation. There had been a steady flow of bankers and investors through his door, and, with each, he had threatened to sue them for allowing others to touch his fortune. Most were visibly shaken when they had exited his home, each promising to recover what they could of the money lost at their hands. He had insisted that Fitzwilliam join him as Darcy had shifted through the chaos left behind by Matlock and Darcy’s former man of business.

“I am grieved,” Fitzwilliam said over and over again. “I should have realized what was going on.”

“It is as much my fault as it was yours,” Darcy had assured. “Considering you were Georgiana’s guardian, I should have insisted you be made aware of the workings of the Darcy wealth. My only excuse is you were so involved with your military career, I did not think to add to your responsibilities.”

“I have always known I would inherit Yadkin Hall when mother passes. I simply assumed I possessed the time to learn all that would be required of me.” His cousin saluted Darcy with a raised glass of brandy. “I do blame you, Cousin,” Fitzwilliam said, “you made it appear so easily accomplished.”

Darcy smiled weakly. “I assume you mean, if you had emulated me, your charms in the ballroom would have suffered.” It felt good to return to the customary banter between them. Since returning home, Darcy had recognized the strain in their relationship. It was not only his father’s legacy he must rebuild: It was trusting the man who shared his house and his sister. Although the colonel had proven his worth, Darcy felt betrayed by the world on many levels.

“I am a married man,” Fitzwilliam protested with an equal fear of the world, and Darcy knew that fear would bond them in time. “If I shamed your sister, I would be forced to defend myself on Putney Heath.”

“Exactly.” Darcy allowed himself a smile. “And never forget I am better with a sword than you.”

“Then I will choose pistols.” They sat in comfortable silence for several minutes. At length, his cousin asked the question Darcy had been expecting for days. “What will you do regarding Miss Elizabeth?”

He swallowed hard against the pain that predictably filled his chest whenever he thought of what Elizabeth must have endured because of his shortsightedness. He explained, “I have contacted Bingley, who will call at Darcy House later today.” Darcy had yet to go about in London, avoiding the myriad of questions that were sure to torment him until he had control of his holdings again. “I will ask what Bingley knows of the Bennets’ situation and, specifically, where Elizabeth might be.”

“You still mean to seek her out?” Fitzwilliam asked in cautious tones. They had exchanged more than one round of volleys regarding Darcy’s wish to know of Elizabeth’s whereabouts.

“If she is not pledged to another, I wish to speak to her again.”

“Just speak?” Fitzwilliam questioned.

Darcy silently counted to ten before he responded: More than enough heated words had been spoken between them of late. He realized his cousin only meant to protect him, but no one understood Darcy’s complete dependence upon Elizabeth’s goodwill. “If the lady is not involved with another, it would be my desire to make her my wife.”

“Even though it appears you were targeted upon the docks because of your pledge to Miss Elizabeth?”

They had yet to determine who had paid to have Darcy abducted, but from what they had discovered of the movement of funds from one account to another and from several upon The Lost Sparro w , Darcy had been specifically “chosen” to be a part of the crew.

“Whoever dared to cross me would not be so foolish again.” He had his suspicions, but did not, yet, have enough proof to see the culprits to justice. “If the lady will have me after all she has suffered, I will count myself the most fortunate of men.”

“Is this venture why you met with Mr. Cowan earlier today?” Fitzwilliam demanded.

“I have employed the former Bow Street Runner to learn what he might of this mysterious man who likely offered Elizabeth solace. If Mr. Cowan can discover nothing of merit, I will call upon Mr. Bennet and demand to know of Elizabeth’s current situation.”

Fitzwilliam warned, “Bennet was less than cordial to me. It is likely, after nearly four years, he will drive you from the estate with a whip in one hand and a gun in the other.”

“Even so, I must find her. My heart will never be whole without Elizabeth Bennet in my life.”

* * *

Elizabeth led her daughter across the street when she spotted Mr. Townsend approaching in the distance.

“Why are we hurrin’,” Lizzy asked as her little legs pumped to keep up with Elizabeth’s longer stride.

Elizabeth made herself slow down while keeping an eye on Townsend as he stopped to exchange greetings with several on the street. She had managed to avoid the man the last two times the gentleman had called at the bookstore, as well as after church services on Sunday. “We must call at the bakery before it closes,” she improvised. “Uncle Albert asked if I would bring home a loaf of Mrs. Cache’s berry bread.”

Lizzy snarled her nose in obvious distaste. “I not like berry bread.”

Elizabeth smiled down upon her daughter and bent to tug the child’s coat tighter about her. It had turned unreasonably cold and damp of late. “Then I shall, instead, purchase you a berry tart, but we must be quick.” She stood to catch the child’s hand again. Elizabeth held no doubt her daughter would be cooperative if a sweet would be earned in the end.

Picking up her pace again, she ducked into the bakery just as Mr. Townsend reached the bookstore and stepped inside. Elizabeth prayed Mr. Sheffield would not disclose she was out shopping, for the man would likely keep searching until he discovered her.

“Good day, Mrs. Dartmore,” Mrs. Cache said as she looked up from where she rearranged the display of items remaining from which the customers could choose.

“Good day. I pray I am not too late for your berry bread. My uncle dearly loves it.”

The shop mistress smiled kindly on her. “I set two loaves aside for Mr. Sheffield. I know he prefers the loaves with the currants and a bit of honey.”

Elizabeth chuckled easily. “Yes, both Sheffield and Miss Lizzy possess a sweet tooth.”

“But you do not?” Mrs. Cache asked as she retrieved the bread.

“Upon occasion, I enjoy a good custard or a pudding,” Elizabeth admitted reluctantly. Over the years, she had been very careful not to disclose too many details of her life before arriving in Brighton.

“One or two loaves?” the shopkeeper asked.

Elizabeth shook off another round of maudlin. Of late, she had been missing her family terribly. “I will take both and a berry tart.”

Mrs. Cache frowned. “I have no more berry tarts. I apologize.”

Elizabeth kept hold of Lizzy’s hand, willing her child not to turn to a tantrum before others. “Then we shall choose something else, will we not, darling?” She knew Lizzy was not the type of child who did well when there was a change of plans, but a gentle squeeze of her child’s fingers coerced the proper response.

“Yes, Mama.”

She lifted the child to her so Lizzy could better choose from the selection. She pointed to several choices before her eyes fell upon an apple concoction sprinkled with cinnamon. Without thinking upon what she did, Elizabeth sighed heavily.

“What ’miss?” her daughter asked in obvious concern. Lizzy patted Elizabeth’s cheeks in imitation of how she often caressed her little girl’s.

She shook off Lizzy’s worried frown. “Nothing is amiss. Mama was simply considering how much your father would enjoy one of Mrs. Cache’s apple tarts.”

Lizzy’s sweet features turned into a downward frown. “You miss Papa?”

Elizabeth had always made it a priority to speak of the child’s father, providing Lizzy memories her daughter would never have on her own, while not disclosing too much information—information that could jeopardize her daughter’s legitimacy. She wanted Elizabeth Anne to realize how much her father would have wanted to know her, while keeping some secrets to herself. “Yes, I miss him with all my heart,” she said before swallowing the sadness that always brought tears to her eyes.

There were moments, such as this one, when she wished she could forget Fitzwilliam Darcy and accept another man’s attentions—wished desperately to give her daughter a real father, not just a borrowed memory of one. Unfortunately, Elizabeth’s heart still had not accepted the loss of the man, and she was not certain it ever would.

So often she had observed a stranger on the street who held himself with the same exactness as had Mr. Darcy, and her heart would characteristically stumble to a halt for a few elongated seconds. Then the pain of losing him would rush back in, as real and as completely devastating as it had been when Mr. Sheffield had pronounced his speculations as to Mr. Darcy’s fate.

“Papa like apples?” Lizzy’s questions drew Elizabeth from her musings.

She smiled easily upon the gentleman’s features arranged upon her daughter’s face. “Your father loved anything with apples and cinnamon.”

“I love them, too,” Lizzy declared.

Elizabeth was not certain her child knew the difference between one tart and another, but she said, “As you are definitely of your father’s nature, I imagine so. Do you wish the apple tart in place of the berry one?”

“I be like Papa,” Lizzy declared with a smile.

“Yes, you will be, my love. There is no doubt in my mind, for you are carved in his image.”

* * *

“Darcy!” Charles Bingley crossed Darcy’s study, his hand extended in greeting.

Darcy stepped from behind his desk to accept his friend’s hand, although he was no longer comfortable with such niceties. Onboard ship, few extended their hands unless it was used to strike out against another. It would be necessary for him to relearn some of what was expected of him as a gentleman.

“I cannot tell you how surprised and pleased I was to receive your note upon my return to Bedlow Place. My prayers and those of many others were finally answered.”

“My prayers also,” Darcy said simply before gesturing to the two chairs before the fire. Although it was late August, his body had yet to adjust to the dampness prevalent in London. On the Sparro w , the crew had spent much of their time in the waters off the southern Americas where the temperature was often sweltering.

Once he and Bingley were settled and drinks dispensed, Darcy provided his friend the edited version of what had really occurred—the version he and Fitzwilliam had agreed upon as to what they would tell the curiosity seekers.

“Unbelievable!” Bingley repeated several times before saying, “I knew you would never purposely abandon Miss Elizabeth at the altar, no matter how often Caroline and Louisa declared it otherwise.”

Darcy held himself perfectly still, attempting to appear at ease, when he would very much like to hunt down every naysayer, including Bingley’s sisters, and present them the direct cut for belying Elizabeth’s reputation. Deliberately, he asked, “I understand you attempted to save Elizabeth from ruination by offering her your hand in marriage.”

Bingley squirmed in his seat. “It was all I could think to do. Miss Bennet made the suggestion.” In other words, Bingley had not had an original idea, something that did not surprise Darcy. His friend was too easily persuadable. “The lady and I were both moved by the despair marking Miss Elizabeth’s features when the colonel made his announcement.”

Bingley’s description of Elizabeth’s state of mind after it was apparent he would not show for their wedding was like a knife to Darcy’s heart. However, he managed to say, “It was magnanimous of both you and Miss Bennet to attempt to save Elizabeth.”

Bingley continued to appear uncomfortable. “Now that I know the truth of your absence, I am exceedingly glad Miss Elizabeth refused me.”

Darcy could not control his desire to torment Bingley for daring to aspire to Elizabeth’s hand, even if the gesture had been a kind one. “I am also glad of Elizabeth’s refusal. It would have been difficult for us both, to say the least, for me to return to London to discover the woman I planned to marry installed at your house as your wife.”

Bingley swallowed hard. Obviously, his friend had not expected Darcy to know of his actions. “You know how impetuous I am,” his friend said nervously. “I felt a responsibility for Miss Elizabeth’s loss. After all, I was the one who introduced you two, even attempted to see you partner her at the Meryton assembly. Jane, I mean, Miss Bennet begged me to assist her family.”

“I am not angry with you, Bingley,” Darcy said in calmer tones than he felt. “You acted when others did not, but, surely, you recognized Elizabeth’s answer before you made the gesture. She was determined to view you as Miss Bennet’s husband, not hers.”

“I suppose,” Bingley said weakly .

At that moment, much of the respect he had always felt for Bingley disappeared. Darcy purposely used silence to allow Bingley to consider the choices he had made. At length, Darcy asked, “Why did you choose to leave Hertfordshire? Why not remain at Miss Bennet’s side to provide comfort to her and her family?”

Bingley blushed. “My sisters insisted I could be of more use to the Bennets if I assisted your family in locating you.”

“Yet, you did not return to Netherfield when it was determined I was deceased.”

Bingley shifted his weight from one hip to the other. “It was always my plan to do so.”

“You planned to return to Hertfordshire, but you did not. For more than three years you chose to ignore those for whom you once spoke of fondly,” Darcy stated firmly. “Help me to understand, Bingley. You were willing to risk your family’s reputation to save Elizabeth’s, but you were not willing to save the one woman you claimed to adore. Was it because you knew before asking her to marry you that Elizabeth would refuse, and you could claim honor without acting upon the matter?”

Bingley’s color returned, only this time it was touched by anger. “There is more to consider than the Bennets, Darcy.”

“You offer me an imitation of your sisters’ words,” Darcy said coldly. “You are correct. There is more than my absence from the wedding executed against the Bennet family’s future. There is bigotry. Shortsightedness. Small minds. Snobbish views of one’s own self-worth. Those things have existed all around us our whole acquaintance, but you, my friend, never allowed them to change your affable nature. Even when I foolishly erred in my views of Miss Bennet, you forgave me because you knew I acted as your friend—that I meant to protect you.” Darcy set his glass on the table with a heavier hand than was necessary. “I can guarantee you that if the situation had been reversed, nothing could have kept me from making Elizabeth my wife, and I would have protected Miss Bennet simply because she was my wife’s sister, even if Georgiana had begged me to free myself of the commitment.”

“Life is not that simple,” Bingley protested.

“That is where you and I differ! Even if some day I discover Elizabeth Bennet has accepted another man to husband, I will never stop loving her, nor will I quit doing all within my power to see her to an easy life.”

“I have not stopped loving Miss Bennet,” Bingley protested.

“So you say, but, if I were the lady, I would prefer, at this point, to know your detestation, for your love had struck me a blow that tore my heart in two.”