Page 28 of Missing

Two days after Jane’s wedding, Violet and William returned to London.

Unfortunately for the lovers, William had much work awaiting him after nearly ten days in Hertfordshire.

Although he had corresponded faithfully with his staff, there were matters that required his personal attention.

Moreover, the time he had devoted to Mr. Bingley’s concerns had delayed his own affairs, and he knew that being continually in Elizabeth’s presence would hardly improve his diligence.

With a practical mind and generous heart, Violet invited Mrs. Bennet and her daughters to London for a week, ostensibly to assist Elizabeth in selecting her trousseau.

In truth, her plan was rather more delicate: she arranged that Elizabeth, accompanied by Mrs. Gardiner, might choose her gown freely, while she herself entertained Mrs. Bennet and the three younger girls.

In that manner, Elizabeth’s tastes would prevail without interference.

At the same time, Violet discreetly purchased new gowns for all, wishing everything to be perfect at her son’s wedding.

Mrs. Bennet could not help but perceive that Violet and her son possessed far greater wealth than she had first supposed.

She soon learned that her future son-in-law had inherited a prosperous business in Manchester and was establishing another in London.

With two elder daughters married to wealthy men, she began to feel her anxieties for the future easing; should her husband die, her married daughters would surely assist her.

A week before the wedding, Violet travelled with Elizabeth and her family to Longbourn, where she lent her aid to Mrs. Bennet in decorating the church and planning the wedding breakfast. William himself arrived five days before the ceremony and lodged at Netherfield.

Though he would have preferred the Meryton Inn, he had promised Mr. Bingley to oversee the work in the stables.

Besides, Caroline and Louisa were still in London, so he was spared their constant disparagement.

He only slept at Netherfield, for each day he spent as much time as possible with his betrothed and her family.

Yet William continued to find Mrs. Bennet and Lydia difficult companions; they showed no interest in subjects that engaged his mind.

With Mr. Bennet, however, he could converse more agreeably.

Together they played chess, discussed politics, exchanged views on books, and recalled their days at Oxford, for both had studied there.

Still, William could not wholly admire the indolence with which Mr. Bennet approached life, and above all, his neglect of his younger daughters’ education.

Violet had confided to her son her wish to be of service to those poor girls.

William, though he objected out of concern for her, knew it was useless to dissuade her.

His mother was a woman of unshakable principles and a true Christian spirit, ever ready to aid those in need.

After all, she had done much the same for him, adopting him and forming him into the man he had become.

◆◆◆

William’s happiness was complete when the parson proclaimed him and Elizabeth man and wife.

The night before, he had been tormented by dreadful dreams in which Elizabeth repented at the last moment of marrying one so socially inferior.

Moreover, he had observed Mrs. Bingley’s reserve toward him and feared that, being so close to Elizabeth, she might attempt to influence her against him.

Yet his joy could not be greater as he left the church with Elizabeth Dalton on his arm.

The wedding breakfast was far more reserved than Jane’s, with only a few friends and the nearest relatives present. But it was infinitely more agreeable, for there were none of Mr. Bingley’s sisters nor Mr. Wickham to cast a shadow on the day.

“My beloved William, I know your father is watching from heaven and is as pleased as I am to see you so happy. You deserve this, and much more,” Violet said, embracing her son with tears in her eyes.

“I know, mother. I always feel my father’s presence in my heart; he guides me in all that I do. But please do not cry. In another week, you shall have us with you in London,” William replied, holding the woman to whom he owed everything.

Elizabeth, too, bade farewell to her family.

Kitty and Lydia rejoiced in their sister’s marriage, not so much on account of William as of Violet, whom they regarded as the grandmother they had never known—generous, witty, and full of affection.

Mary also cherished Elizabeth’s new mother-in-law, who always listened to her and valued her opinion.

Together, they said their farewells merrily and wished the couple all happiness.

Mrs. Bennet could not restrain her tears for many minutes, while Mr. Bennet concealed his own sadness at the departure of his favourite daughter beneath his habitual sarcasm.

“Lizzy, I hope you enjoy a very fine honeymoon, even if it lasts but a week. And I hope you may be as happy with your husband as I am with mine,” Jane said, embracing her sister warmly.

“Thank you, Jane, for your good wishes. I hear you will be in London. Perhaps we shall see each other often—at my house, at yours, or at aunt Gardiner’s,” Elizabeth replied.

“Of course, I hope we may meet and speak of our new lives. Goodbye, Lizzy,” Jane said, kissing her sister’s cheek.

“Goodbye, Jane,” Elizabeth answered softly. In her heart, she felt that this farewell marked, in some way, the end of the intimacy they had always shared.

“Are you ready, Mrs. Dalton?” William asked his wife.

“Yes, I am ready, my love,” Elizabeth replied.

The newlyweds entered their carriage, leaving behind the life Elizabeth had always known.

◆◆◆

Richard knew he must tread carefully in speaking of Wickham, for his uncle always defended him.

For that reason, Mr. Darcy had long endured perpetual conflict with his family and friends.

On their return from Mr. Bingley’s wedding, Georgiana had confessed that since her sixteenth birthday, Wickham had wholly altered his behaviour towards her, presuming upon her innocence with liberties that made her exceedingly uncomfortable.

Richard had suspected as much, yet without proof, he could not accuse him outright.

He had intended to speak directly to his uncle, but Mr. Darcy had been confined to bed for nearly a fortnight with illness.

Thus Richard resolved to remain for a time at Darcy House, both to tend his uncle and to protect Georgiana.

Yet he had received orders to travel to Brighton the following week and remain there for at least six weeks.

He had already spoken with Mrs. Annesley, who needed no explanation, for she too was uneasy at Wickham’s conduct toward her charge. Though his uncle had not fully recovered, Richard could no longer defer the conversation.

When he entered the room and saw his uncle, gaunt and pale, seated in his favourite chair by the fire, Richard’s heart ached.

Few men were as worthy of esteem, and yet life had dealt him many hardships.

That Wickham should take advantage of his godfather’s generosity and affection provoked Richard’s deepest indignation.

“Come in, Richard; do not stand there staring at me. However weak I appear, I assure you I feel much improved. I knew you must soon leave us, but before you tell me what weighs on your mind, let me thank you for remaining these days with us and keeping this sickly old man company.”

“You have nothing to thank me for, uncle. You know well how much I love you and Georgiana.”

“You are mistaken, my boy. I have much to be thankful for, for one of your age ought to be enjoying life, not tied to a sickroom.”

“Enough of such nonsense, uncle; you know I cannot bear to hear you speak so.”

“Very well, I shall desist. But I believe you came with serious intent, for your countenance was grave when you entered.”

“Yes, uncle, there is something important I must discuss.” Richard began by reminding him that Georgiana was no longer a child. In two years, she would make her debut in society, and her innocence rendered her vulnerable to men who might wish to take advantage of her fortune.

“You know it is for that very reason I wish you to retire from the army. I have two more years to persuade you. For now, my daughter sees only family and intimate friends, and she is well protected.”

“It is precisely because we cannot always trust those friends that I urge you to keep Wickham away from her,” Richard said firmly.

“Richard, what are you saying? George is like a brother to Georgiana. I am certain he, with you, is among the few who would selflessly protect her.”

“You are deceived, uncle. Wickham is a scoundrel who abuses your trust to gain access to Georgiana—”

“Enough! Not another word. I am sure there is some misunderstanding.”

“A misunderstanding? When did Mrs. Reynolds’s petty cash disappear? Or when two collections vanished from the Pemberley library? Or when Mr. Miller’s daughter was ruined and abandoned, left to die in childbirth without so much as a flower from the man who wronged her?”

“Richard! George’s mother gave her life trying to save my son; how can you not understand the debt I owe her?”

“Uncle, do not let gratitude blind you to reality. All I ask is that you keep him from Georgiana. If you choose to pay his debts or overlook his vices, that is your affair, but keep him from her.”

“I shall speak with George before I decide anything,” Mr. Darcy said, breaking into a cough. Richard fetched him water and stayed until he was easier.

Mr. Darcy knew his godson was flawed, but it was difficult to believe him wholly depraved. He was the son of an extraordinary woman; Mr. Darcy clung to the hope that in time George’s better nature would prevail.