Page 44

Lucas Lodge - Jane

“Miss Bennet, you said you had lately been in London?” he enquired, turning to her with evident interest.

“Yes, my sister Elizabeth and I were staying with our aunt and uncle for a few weeks.”

“With the Gardiners, if I remember the name Darcy mentioned?” Something in his tone made Jane wonder just how much Mr Darcy had spoken of their family.

“Yes, Mr and Mrs Gardiner, in Gracechurch Street. My uncle and aunt.”

“I think I know the very street,” Doctor Russell replied warmly. “I had a friend who had lodgings there a year or two ago. A very pleasant street - not fashionable perhaps, but something pleasing and comfortable about it.”

Jane smiled, finding herself enjoying the doctor’s conversation despite herself. He spoke knowledgeably of both high and low society, his observations keen yet kind. She noticed Charlotte seemed equally charmed by his manner, though his particular attention remained fixed on Jane.

Mr Bingley contributed to their discussion now and then, his usual good humour somewhat strained. Yet Jane found herself too engaged in Doctor Russell’s conversation to give Mr Bingley’s mood much thought.

“Have you practised long in London?” Jane inquired, genuinely interested in the physician’s experience.

“I was fortunate to study under Doctor Stevens,” Doctor Russell replied. “Though I must admit, I prefer country practice. One gets to know one’s patients better, become part of the community. In fact, I’ve been considering setting up a practice in a place very like Meryton.”

“Long enough to collect quite a few tales,” he added, his eyes crinkling with amusement. “Would you care to hear about my first encounter with Italian grappa and a rather unfortunate Mr Higgins?”

Doctor Russell gestured animatedly as he told his tale, nearly knocking over his wine glass in his enthusiasm. Jane found herself leaning forward, caught up in the story despite her usual reserve.

“Please tell me you did not go through with it, sir?” she asked, covering her mouth with her hand to stifle her laughter .

“Sadly, he did not return that night,” Doctor Russell replied, his eyes twinkling. “But there is always the chance that Mr Higgins will drink too much Italian grappa as though it were beer and be again in need of my services. In fact, I depend on it.”

Jane’s cheeks were flushed with mirth, her usual composure momentarily forgotten. Through her laughter, she caught sight of Mr Bingley watching them, his expression uncharacteristically subdued.

* * *

Lucas Lodge - Elizabeth

Elizabeth observed Jane’s animation with mixed feelings.

Her sister’s laughter carried across the room, drawing more than one curious glance - not least from Mr Bingley, whose usual cheerful countenance had grown increasingly troubled as the evening progressed.

From her position near the window with Miss Darcy, Elizabeth had a clear view of the entire scene.

“Your brother’s friend seems quite engaging,” Elizabeth remarked carefully to Miss Darcy, watching as Doctor Russell gestured enthusiastically, nearly upsetting his wine glass in the process.

“Doctor Russell has known my brother since Cambridge,” Miss Darcy replied softly. “He often visits us at Pemberley.” She hesitated before adding, “Fitzwilliam trusts him implicitly.”

Elizabeth felt her cheeks warm at this indirect reference to her brother.

Before she could formulate a response, a burst of laughter from Jane’s direction drew her attention.

Mr Bingley had moved away from the group, his expression uncharacteristically dark as he watched Jane’s animated conversation with the doctor .

“I believe he is really the best of men,” Elizabeth said softly, the words escaping before she could stop them. She felt her cheeks warm further at this unguarded admission, though whether she meant Mr Darcy or Doctor Russell, she could not quite say.

Miss Darcy, seeming to sense her discomfort, gracefully changed the subject. “You have two other sisters I have yet to meet?”

Elizabeth gratefully seised upon the change of topic. “Three. You can hear Mary playing, and Catherine, who we call Kitty, and Lydia are over there.” She indicated her youngest sisters, carefully avoiding looking at Mr Wickham, who stood nearby.

Through the window, Elizabeth could see frost forming on the garden paths outside.

The winter evening seemed to mirror the chill she felt whenever she caught sight of Mr Wickham’s red coat among the officers.

How strange that she had once found his presence warming rather than concerning.

Now, knowing what she did, each glimpse of him near her younger sisters sent a fresh wave of anxiety through her.

“Miss Elizabeth?” Miss Darcy’s quiet voice drew her attention back to the present. “Are you well? You seemed far away just then.”

“Quite well,” Elizabeth assured her, forcing a smile. “Just thinking about the changes winter brings to familiar landscapes.”

“I love winter at Pemberley,” Miss Darcy offered shyly. “Fitzwilliam and I used to go skating on the lake when it froze.” Her face lit up at the memory, and she let out a light, musical laugh. “Though I was terribly clumsy at first.”

* * *

London, Darcy House - Darcy

Darcy was tired, very tired.

Despite the fire crackling in the hearth, a chill seemed to cling to the room, matching Darcy’s sombre mood.

It had been a very long day, and he had virtually nothing to show for it. He had made enquiries for three days now and he was no further forward. No closer to his goal.

Darcy glanced at the stack of letters from his various contacts, each one failing to provide any useful information about Mr Collins’ past. The names of obscure parishes and long-forgotten curates swam before his eyes, none offering the insight into Mr Collins’ character that he sought.

He had eaten alone and quickly that evening, then returned to his study. Darcy rubbed his temples, wishing he could uncover something, anything, that might delay Elizabeth’s impending marriage to Mr Collins.

Trying, but without any success, not to think where Georgiana might be at that moment and who she might be with. At the realisation of his failure to control his thoughts, he allowed his mind to wander freely for a few minutes, while he drank a glass of port.

Darcy couldn’t shake the fear that Wickham might somehow manipulate his way back into Georgiana’s good graces, undoing all the healing of the past months.

Darcy wrestled with conflicting emotions: relief that Georgiana would have Elizabeth’s companionship, and envy that his sister would enjoy the very presence he longed for.

He berated himself for his selfish thoughts.

Shouldn’t he be grateful that Georgiana would have Elizabeth’s steadying influence, rather than wishing he could be there himself?

The thought of Georgiana potentially seeing Wickham filled him with dread, while the idea of her bonding with Elizabeth stirred a complex mix of hope and frustration.

Darcy felt pulled in multiple directions: wanting to protect Georgiana from Wickham, longing to be with Elizabeth himself, and feeling guilty for not trusting his sister’s judgment more.

At last he drained the glass, sighing as he set it down on his desk. The weight of silence pressed in on him, broken only by the occasional crackle from the fire and the soft clink of glass against wood as he set down his port.

He returned to the pile of letters and papers that required his attention. His mind was as far from dealing with matters of business as it ever had been. He absently fingered the rough texture of the unread letters, their wax seals still intact, a testament to his distracted state.

He tried to focus on the letter in front of him, but the lure of the port was too strong.

‘Just one more glass,’ he told himself, knowing it was a lie even as he thought it.

As he reached for the decanter again, a sobering thought struck Darcy: how could he hope to protect Georgiana or help Elizabeth if he couldn’t even maintain his own composure?

At least Russell was there to watch over them and act when Darcy was unable to.

Darcy hoped that he would receive word from him soon.

He was not sure which route might lead to the better results.

The longer he went without word from Russell, the more Darcy’s imagination ran wild with potential outcomes.

As much as he appreciated Russell’s help, Darcy couldn’t help but feel that he was shirking his responsibilities by not being there in person. He took another sip of port, trying to quell his unease. Darcy had always prided himself on his self-sufficiency.

It was not long before he had risen to his feet and refilled in glass from the decanter on the side table.

The pile of unanswered questions about Mr Collins’ past seemed to mock him from the corner of his desk. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows across the room, making the piles of papers on his desk seem even more daunting.

When he returned to his desk he took the decanter as well.

He reached for another letter, hoping against hope that this one might contain the key to understanding the man who was to become Elizabeth’s husband. Darcy’s determination to uncover the truth about Mr Collins warred with his growing sense of futility as each lead turned cold.

Darcy’s fingers drummed restlessly on the desk as he battled the urge to pour another drink. Eventually, his resolve crumbled, and he stood, decanter in hand.

* * *

Lucas Lodge - Bingley