Page 9

Chapter Nine

D arcy sat rigidly in the carriage beside Colonel Fitzwilliam, his gloved hands clasped tightly together, his gaze fixed on the countryside beyond the window without truly seeing it. Every turn of the wheels brought him closer to Longbourn, closer to Elizabeth Bennet, and with each rotation, his heart seemed to beat a fraction faster. He had rehearsed a dozen speeches during his sleepless night, yet none seemed adequate to convey what he most needed to impart: Wickham was a scoundrel of the first order, and any connection with him would bring ruin upon her family.

“Cousin, I believe you might wear a hole through your gloves if you continue to wring them so.” Colonel Fitzwilliam’s amused voice broke through Darcy’s reverie. “One might think we were approaching a firing squad rather than a gentleman’s house.”

Darcy loosened his grip with conscious effort. “I am merely concerned about our reception. The Bennets may not welcome our unexpected call.”

“If by ‘our reception,’ you mean Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s reception of you specifically, then perhaps your concern has merit.” The colonel’s smile was infuriatingly knowing. “Though I must say, after my inquiries yesterday while you abandoned me at the inn, I’ve learned the Bennets are very well-regarded in the neighbourhood. Unlike some visitors from Derbyshire, they are considered amiable and good company.”

Darcy ignored the final barb, though he recognised his cousin’s efforts to prick him out of his ill temper. Nothing but hearing Elizabeth tell him it was all somehow a mistake, that she was not to marry Wickham after all, might possibly do that.

The carriage slowed as they rounded a bend in the lane, and Longbourn came into view, a modest manor house of weathered stone with an oak-lined drive leading to its front entrance. Darcy found himself strangely discomfited by the realization that despite months of acquaintance with Elizabeth Bennet, he had never before visited her home.

“I have not been to Longbourn before,” he admitted, the confession tasting of his former pride.

Colonel Fitzwilliam raised his eyebrows. “Indeed? Yet you profess such knowledge of the family that you felt justified in separating Bingley from the eldest Miss Bennet?”

“My assessment was made from observations in public and at Netherfield,” Darcy replied stiffly, disliking the reminder of his interference. “I never had occasion to call here.”

“Or perhaps you avoided such an occasion,” his cousin replied mildly. “Well, it appears to be a pleasant enough place. Nothing grand, but certainly respectable.”

As they drew closer, however, Darcy’s critical eye could not help but notice certain signs of neglect: a loose hinge on the gate they passed through, weathered paint on several window frames, an untrimmed hedge along one side of the gravel drive. Small matters, easily remedied, but collectively they spoke of a property whose master either lacked sufficient funds or sufficient interest to maintain it properly. From what Darcy had observed of Mr. Bennet, he suspected the latter explanation. A gentleman of means, even modest ones, ought to take better care of his estate.

“You are frowning again, Darcy,” Colonel Fitzwilliam remarked. “Pray remember we are here as guests, not property assessors.”

Darcy schooled his features into a more neutral expression as the carriage came to a halt. Darcy’s footman jumped down to open the door, and Darcy descended, pausing to straighten his coat and collect himself before approaching the entrance. Colonel Fitzwilliam followed, his easy smile a contrast to Darcy’s rigid posture despite his military uniform and bearing.

The door opened before they could knock, revealing the Bennets’ housekeeper, who ushered them into a small but tidy entrance hall. Darcy handed his hat and gloves to a wide-eyed maid, acutely aware that his last attempt at a formal call upon Elizabeth had resulted in the most humiliating rejection of his life.

“What a delightful surprise!” Mrs. Bennet exclaimed as the housekeeper introduced them into the parlour, her round face animated with an enthusiasm that made Darcy wince inwardly. She sailed forward, a flurry of lace cap and floral-patterned muslin. “We had heard you were in the neighbourhood, Mr. Darcy. Such a pleasure to receive you at Longbourn at last!”

Darcy bowed correctly, though his mind caught on her words. “You had heard I was in the neighbourhood?” he repeated, wondering what else might be circulating about his presence.

“Oh yes, news travels quickly in Meryton,” Mrs. Bennet assured him with a flutter of her handkerchief. “We saw Lady Lucas at church this morning, and she mentioned you had called. We could hardly believe it! And now here you are, with your cousin too! Such distinguished visitors!” She beamed at Colonel Fitzwilliam, and Darcy hastily made the introductions, recalled to his manners.

Darcy seized the opportunity of having her attention turned to his cousin to look around the room for Elizabeth, but she was not present. His heart sank with disappointment even as he acknowledged to himself how desperately he had wished to see her.

The parlour was modest but comfortable, with well-worn furniture arranged conversationally and windows that admitted a pleasant amount of spring light. A small fire burned in the grate, taking the chill from the air. Jane Bennet was seated by the window, her serene beauty as evident as ever. Miss Mary sat at the pianoforte, though she had ceased playing upon their entrance, and the two youngest Bennet sisters, whose names Darcy could never quite keep straight, whispered to each other from their position on a small settee.

“Miss Bennet,” Darcy bowed to Jane, relieved at least to see a familiar face that might not regard him with complete disdain. “I hope we find you well.”

“Quite well, thank you, Mr. Darcy,” Jane replied with perfect composure, though Darcy thought he detected a certain wariness in her blue eyes. Of course, she would have heard from Elizabeth about his proposal and subsequent letter. He wondered uncomfortably what she must think of him. If she truly had loved Bingley, Darcy would quite deserve it if she despised the very sight of him, though there was no hint of such emotion on her serenely beautiful countenance.

“My cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam,” Darcy said, gesturing to the colonel, who stepped forward with considerably more ease than Darcy felt.

“Miss Bennet,” Colonel Fitzwilliam bowed over Jane’s hand with practiced grace. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance at last.”

Darcy observed with interest that his normally smooth-speaking cousin seemed momentarily at a loss for words as he straightened. Colonel Fitzwilliam was staring at Jane Bennet with unabashed admiration, his usual glib manner temporarily abandoned.

Introductions were made to the other Bennet sisters, and Mrs. Bennet urged them to sit. Darcy chose a chair that afforded a view of the door, still hoping Elizabeth might appear. Colonel Fitzwilliam seated himself near Jane and quickly engaged her in conversation, recovering his composure though his eyes rarely left her face.

“We are honoured by your visit, Mr. Darcy,” Mrs. Bennet said, pouring tea with hands that trembled slightly from excitement. “Though I must apologize that you do not find our family complete today. My husband is attending to business in Meryton.” She paused, evidently expecting some response.

“I hope Mr. Bennet is well,” Darcy offered politely, aware that he was avoiding the more obvious question about Elizabeth’s absence.

“Oh yes, quite well. Though we are all in such a flutter of preparations lately! Lizzy is to be married, you know. To Mr. George Wickham! Such a handsome, charming young man. Why, he is the most amiable gentleman in the world! We are all quite delighted with the match.”

Darcy’s fingers tightened around the delicate handle of his teacup until he feared it might snap. He forced himself to relax his grip. “Mr. Wickham is... fortunate,” he said carefully, aware that Colonel Fitzwilliam had ceased his conversation with Jane to listen intently.

“Oh, we consider Lizzy most fortunate indeed,” Mrs. Bennet continued, oblivious to Darcy’s discomfort. “The banns were read for the first time this morning, though...” Her face fell slightly. “Mr. Wickham was unable to attend the service. Some urgent military business, I understand. Poor Lizzy was so disappointed that she has taken to her room with a headache.”

Darcy’s heart constricted at the mention of Elizabeth’s name, even as his mind processed this new information. Wickham absent for the reading of the banns? That was… odd. And possibly concerning. Had the blackguard fled? Why would he do that, after going to the trouble of compromising Elizabeth?

“I am sorry to hear Miss Elizabeth is unwell,” Darcy said, fighting to keep his voice level even as his thoughts raced. “Please convey my wishes for her swift recovery.”

From across the room, he became aware of Jane Bennet watching him. There was a quietude about her that reminded him somewhat of his own sister, Georgiana, though with a steadiness his sister had not yet developed. Jane seemed to be taking his measure, and Darcy found himself surprisingly anxious about her assessment.

Colonel Fitzwilliam was now regaling Mrs. Bennet and her younger daughters with an edited account of his military adventures, his charm momentarily distracting them from Darcy’s unusual silence. Darcy was grateful for his cousin’s social ease, which allowed him time to compose himself and consider his next move.

Fitzwilliam appeared utterly captivated by Jane Bennet’s serene beauty, a reaction Darcy observed with mild surprise. His cousin, typically so composed and measured in his admiration of the fairer sex, seemed as thunderstruck as Bingley had been upon first meeting the eldest Miss Bennet. Darcy watched their interaction with growing interest, noting the animation in Jane’s features as she responded to the colonel’s conversation.

“Miss Bennet, I understand you visited London this past winter,” Colonel Fitzwilliam was saying, his usual military bearing softened by the genuine warmth in his voice. “Did you find the city to your liking?”

“I enjoyed certain aspects of town life,” Jane replied with perfect composure, though Darcy detected a fleeting shadow in her eyes. Of course, he thought with another twist of guilt, her London visit had been marred by Bingley’s unavailability, an absence Darcy himself had conspired with Caroline Bingley to orchestrate.

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, his gaze drawn once more to the parlour door. Each time a floorboard creaked in the hallway beyond, his heart leapt with anticipation, only to sink again when no Elizabeth appeared. His tea grew cold in its cup, barely touched, as he found himself unable to concentrate on the pleasantries being exchanged around him.

“Mr. Darcy, you seem distracted,” observed Mrs. Bennet with a knowing smile that set his teeth on edge. “Perhaps you find our humble parlour lacking in entertainment after the grandeur of Rosings Park?”

“Not at all, madam,” Darcy replied stiffly. “Your home is most comfortable.”

“Such a fine, tall gentleman you are,” Mrs. Bennet continued, her eyes appraising him in a manner that made him distinctly uncomfortable. “So like Mr. Wickham in that respect, though he has the advantage in amiability, I must say. Everyone agrees that Mr. Wickham is the most agreeable gentleman in the county.”

Darcy’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the arm of his chair. To hear that villain’s name spoken with such fondness, to have his own character unfavourably compared to Wickham’s false one, was almost more than he could bear. Yet he forced himself to maintain his composure, knowing that any defence he might offer would only seem like petty jealousy to these women who had been so thoroughly deceived.

“Wickham has always possessed a talent for making himself agreeable where he wishes to be,” Darcy said carefully, aware that Colonel Fitzwilliam had tensed at the mention of the name.

“Indeed, he has made himself most agreeable to our family,” Mrs. Bennet continued happily. “Such attentions he has paid to our Lizzy! And so generous in his affections, despite her small dowry. Of course, none of my girls have ever lacked for suitors, as beautiful as they are, but Mr. Wickham recognised her worth immediately.”

“How fortunate,” Darcy managed, his voice sounding strained even to his own ears. He cleared his throat. “And the wedding is to take place soon?”

“Oh yes, as soon as the banns have been read. Mr. Wickham wishes for a simple ceremony, which is so very considerate of him, knowing our circumstances.” Mrs. Bennet fluttered her handkerchief. “Though I would have preferred a grander affair for my first daughter to be married, one cannot have everything.”

The thought of Wickham becoming a member of Elizabeth’s family was so abhorrent that Darcy could scarcely maintain his seat. He longed to expose the man immediately, to reveal his true character to this household before it was too late, but prudence held him back. Such revelations, delivered improperly, might cause more harm than good, particularly to the reputation of the very family he wished to protect.

“I confess I am surprised,” he said instead. “I had understood Mr. Wickham to be somewhat... encumbered by debts. Has he secured a new commission, perhaps?”

Mrs. Bennet waved away his concern. “Oh, young men will have their little extravagances. Mr. Wickham assures us his prospects are excellent. Colonel Forster speaks very highly of him.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam’s eyebrows rose almost imperceptibly at this, and Darcy knew his cousin was thinking of the numerous people who had been deceived by Wickham’s charm in the past.

The two youngest Bennet sisters, who had been whispering together throughout the visit, now turned their attention to Colonel Fitzwilliam, peppering him with questions about his regiment and whether he knew certain officers. Darcy was grateful for the distraction, which allowed him a moment to study Jane Bennet more carefully.

She sat with perfect posture, her hands folded in her lap, her expression serene. Yet there was a thoughtfulness in her gaze as it rested briefly on Darcy that spoke of greater depth than he had previously credited her with. Unlike her mother, she seemed sceptical of the perfections being attributed to George Wickham. Perhaps, Darcy thought with a flicker of hope, Elizabeth had shared some of her doubts with her elder sister.

As if sensing his scrutiny, Jane’s blue eyes met his directly. There was no hostility in her gaze, but rather a measured assessment that reminded Darcy uncomfortably of Elizabeth’s own penetrating looks. He had underestimated this Bennet sister as well, it seemed.

When Mrs. Bennet was momentarily distracted by a particularly captivating tale from Colonel Fitzwilliam, Darcy seized the opportunity to move his chair slightly closer to Jane’s position.

“Miss Bennet,” he said quietly, “I hope I do not presume too much, but I would very much like to speak with Miss Elizabeth. It is a matter of some urgency, regarding...” he hesitated, aware of how his next words might be received, “regarding Mr. Wickham.”

Jane’s expression did not change, but her eyes widened almost imperceptibly. “My sister has expressed certain... concerns,” she replied, her voice equally low.

“Then I beg you to allow me to speak with her,” Darcy pressed, forgetting his usual reserve in his desperation. “What I have to tell her may prevent a great deal of unhappiness.”

Jane studied him for a long moment, her gaze surprisingly direct for one so gentle in manner. “You care for her,” she said finally. It was not a question.

Darcy could not bring himself to deny it. “More than I can express,” he admitted quietly.

Something in Jane’s expression softened. “I will see what I can do,” she promised, and rose gracefully from her seat. “If you will excuse me, Mother, I should check on Lizzy. Perhaps she is feeling well enough to join us now.”

“Oh yes, do try to rouse her,” Mrs. Bennet agreed. “Such distinguished visitors deserve the attention of all my daughters. Tell her Mr. Darcy has been asking after her health most particularly.”

Jane inclined her head and left the room, her steps unhurried yet purposeful. Darcy watched her go, hope and dread warring in his breast. Would Elizabeth consent to see him? And if she did, would she listen to what he had to say about Wickham?

The minutes of Jane’s absence stretched interminably. Mrs. Bennet continued to extol the good fortune of securing such an amiable son-in-law as Wickham, each word a fresh torment to Darcy’s ears. Colonel Fitzwilliam maintained the conversation admirably, though Darcy noted the tightness around his cousin’s eyes that betrayed his growing concern.

At last the parlour door opened again, and Jane returned. Alone.

Darcy’s heart sank like a stone thrown into deep water. Elizabeth had refused to see him, then. Perhaps her dislike of him was too great to overcome, even for the sake of hearing what he might have to say about Wickham.

Jane resumed her seat with the same graceful composure, but as she reached for the teapot to refresh Colonel Fitzwilliam’s cup, she cast a significant glance at Darcy. When she moved to replenish his own cup a moment later, he felt her slip something into his hand beneath the saucer.

A note. His fingers closed around the small folded paper, concealing it within his palm. His heart, so recently fallen, leapt upward again with renewed hope.

“I fear we have taken advantage of your hospitality long enough,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said at last, rising to his feet. “It has been a very great pleasure, ma’am, to make your acquaintance, and that of your daughters.” He scarcely seemed able to take his eyes off Jane as he spoke.

“Oh, must you go so soon?” Mrs. Bennet protested, though without much conviction. “We have not even had the pleasure of introducing you to my husband, Colonel.”

“Another time, perhaps,” Darcy said, standing also, the note burning in his hand like a coal. “Please convey our respects to Mr. Bennet.”

The leave-taking seemed to take an eternity, with Mrs. Bennet insisting on accompanying them to the door herself, extolling the virtues of Longbourn’s gardens as they went, suggesting they might wish to tour them on a future visit. Darcy nodded and murmured appropriate responses, all the while acutely conscious of the message concealed in his palm.

Darcy did not so much as glance at the folded note until they were well away from Longbourn, though he remained acutely conscious of its presence, held carefully between his fingers as if it might dissolve should he grasp it too tightly. Only when the house had disappeared from view behind a bend in the road did he finally unfold the paper, his heart quickening as Elizabeth’s neat, decisive handwriting revealed itself upon the page. Colonel Fitzwilliam, displaying unusual tact, pretended great interest in the passing countryside, though Darcy suspected his cousin’s curiosity must be nearly unbearable.

The note was brief, the words as direct as Elizabeth herself:

“Mr. Darcy,

There is a path leading into the woods beside the bridge between Longbourn and Meryton; a short distance down that path is a stile. I shall be there tomorrow morning at sunrise.

Elizabeth Bennet”

Darcy read the words three times, his fingers tracing the firm strokes of her pen as if they might somehow connect him to her hand that had formed them.

She was willing to meet him. After all that had passed between them at Hunsford, after his disastrous proposal and her vehement rejection, she was willing to grant him an audience. The relief that flooded through him was so profound that for a moment he forgot the gravity of the situation that had brought him to Hertfordshire.

“I take it Miss Elizabeth has agreed to speak with you?” Colonel Fitzwilliam inquired.

“She has,” Darcy confirmed, carefully refolding the note and placing it in his waistcoat pocket, close to his heart. “Tomorrow morning, early.”

“You realise we are likely too late to prevent some damage to the family’s reputation,” Fitzwilliam said soberly. “If Wickham has already fled, as seems likely from his failure to appear for the reading of the banns, gossip will inevitably follow.”

Darcy’s jaw tightened. “We do not know that he has fled. He may simply be...”

“Temporarily absent on the very day he was meant to fulfil his first public obligation toward the young lady he intends to marry?” Fitzwilliam raised an eyebrow. “You know Wickham better than that, Darcy.”

Indeed he did. George Wickham never did anything without calculation. If he had absented himself from the reading of the banns, he had a reason, and it was unlikely to be one that would benefit the Bennet family.

“All the more reason why I must speak with Elizabeth as soon as possible,” Darcy said firmly. “She has influence with her father and sisters. If Wickham is planning something beyond simple abandonment, the family must be warned.”

They sat in silence for a moment, contemplating the gravity of the situation. Finally, Colonel Fitzwilliam spoke again.

“I should accompany you tomorrow morning,” he said decisively. “Four eyes are better than two, and if Wickham should appear...”

“No,” Darcy shook his head. “Elizabeth has agreed to meet with me alone. Your presence would only complicate matters.”

“You plan to tell her everything, then? About Georgiana?”

Darcy nodded slowly. “I included it in my letter, but as I said, she may not have believed me then, or may not have read it. Now I must convince her face to face.”

“And you believe she will keep that confidence? Even after your... disagreement in Kent?”

“I trust her completely,” Darcy said without hesitation. “Whatever her feelings toward me, Elizabeth Bennet is a woman of principle and discretion.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam studied him with shrewd eyes. “Well then, I shall wait for you at the inn tomorrow. But I warn you, cousin, I am growing rather tired of being abandoned. If you have not returned by noon, I shall set out to find Wickham myself, with or without your assistance.”

“That is fair,” Darcy conceded. “But I hope by then to have learned something from Elizabeth that may guide our search.”

“And if Wickham has truly fled, what then?” Fitzwilliam asked. “Shall we pursue him?”

“Until we find him,” Darcy confirmed grimly. “I will not allow him to ruin another young woman’s life and escape the consequences yet again.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam nodded his agreement, then after a moment’s hesitation, added, “I must say, I found Miss Jane Bennet quite charming. Not at all the insipid beauty you described.”

Darcy had the grace to look discomfited. “I may have... misjudged her,” he admitted reluctantly. “Her reserve is not unlike my own, and I mistook it for lack of feeling.”

“A significant error, if Bingley’s affections were as strong as you suggested.”

“They were,” Darcy confirmed, the weight of his interference sitting uncomfortably upon his conscience. “And I fear I have done them both a great disservice.”

“And was that your only motivation?” Fitzwilliam pressed. “Protecting Bingley from what you perceived as an indifferent match? Or was there perhaps another reason you wished to remove your friend from Hertfordshire?”

Darcy met his cousin’s knowing gaze directly. “I wished to remove myself as well,” he admitted. “I found myself... dangerously attracted to Elizabeth Bennet, against my better judgment. I convinced myself that distance would cure us both of unwanted attachments.”

“And did it?”

His cousin was laughing in his sleeve with that question, Darcy knew, but he deserved to be laughed at. It was the least of what he deserved, for his pride and arrogance. “It did not,” Darcy replied simply. “It merely delayed the inevitable confrontation with my own feelings.”

Fitzwilliam smirked. “Well, cousin, it seems you have experienced quite a transformation since meeting Elizabeth Bennet. I never thought to see the day when Fitzwilliam Darcy would admit to being in error about anything, let alone matters of the heart.”

Darcy did not return the smile. “I have made many errors, Richard. My judgment of Jane Bennet is but one of them. My approach to Elizabeth in Kent was another, far graver mistake.” He sighed, passing a hand over his face. “I can only hope that tomorrow provides an opportunity to begin to make amends, if not for my own sake, then at least for her well-being, and that of her family.”

“I wish you success,” Fitzwilliam said sincerely. “And should you require my assistance after all, you have only to say the word.”

Darcy nodded gratefully, then turned the conversation to practicalities. He would need to rise well before dawn to reach the meeting place at first light. The stile Elizabeth had mentioned was, he believed, about a half-mile from Longbourn in the direction of Meryton; he would take the carriage to Meryton and walk from there. As they continued their planning, Darcy found his thoughts returning again and again to the note in his pocket and the woman who had written it. Tomorrow he would see her again. Tomorrow he would look into those fine eyes and try once more to make her understand the kind of man George Wickham truly was.

And perhaps, if fortune favoured him, he might also begin to show her the kind of man Fitzwilliam Darcy was trying to become.