Page 14 of Mr. Darcy’s Forgotten Heir (Pride and Prejudice Variations #1)
CHAPTER EIGHT
A PRIVATE WORD
Two months later…
Elizabeth swallowed back a surge of queasiness and stared out of the carriage window.
This was purely a social visit. Jane had arrived for the London season, and Mr. Bingley had resumed his attentions now that he had left Hertfordshire and the Bennet scandals far behind.
No one but the Gardiners and Mary knew of her marriage to Mr. Darcy, who was now known to be incapacitated since being attacked by highwaymen.
“Are you quite well, Lizzy?” Jane’s gentle voice broke through her thoughts. “You look rather pale.”
“Merely the motion of the carriage,” Elizabeth replied, forcing a smile. “You know I have never been a comfortable traveler.”
In truth, the mild nausea that had plagued her these past weeks had intensified this morning, confirming what she had begun to suspect. The child conceived during that storm-lashed night at the Red Lion was making its presence known.
“I confess I am still surprised Mr. Bingley suggested this call,” Jane said, her cheeks coloring slightly at the mention of her suitor. “ Though it is only proper to inquire after Mr. Darcy’s health, given our acquaintance in Hertfordshire.”
“Of course,” Elizabeth agreed, her tone carefully neutral. She hated that she kept this secret from Jane, but as Mrs. Gardiner advised, Jane was apt to look kindly on the Bingley sisters and fail to perceive the dangers of what she would believe to be an appeal for assistance.
Elizabeth had already survived the shock when Jane had arrived at Gracechurch Street with news that Darcy was alive but gravely injured, information gleaned casually from Charles Bingley.
The past two months had yielded nothing but closed doors and unanswered inquiries.
Even Mr. Gardiner’s most persistent efforts had failed to penetrate the wall of silence surrounding Darcy’s condition.
“Darcy’s my capital friend,” Bingley said, although not as jovial as his wont. “That he has been ill these two months is inconceivable.”
“So shocking,” Jane agreed. “Oh, but to remember how hearty and hale he was at the Netherfield Ball. All of us were present. Who would have thought?”
Jane was given to looking back fondly on the days when the Bennet family was together, when they bickered like a litter of unruly puppies.
Elizabeth lowered her head as the carriage slowed in front of the imposing townhouse known as Darcy House.
It was grander than she had imagined, but the most painful aspect was knowing that her husband, her Fitzwilliam, lay within its walls while she was but an uncertain visitor—an acquaintance from his time at Hertfordshire.
“Oh my,” Jane whispered, clearly impressed by the grandeur before them.
Elizabeth said nothing, unable to trust her voice. Her husband was inside, fighting for his life. The thought sent a wave of dizziness washing over her, and she gripped the seat to steady herself.
Bingley handed them down from the carriage, his manner less cheerful, although not somber.
“I confess I am eager to see how Darcy fares,” he said as they approached the front door.
“Though I understand he is not receiving visitors directly, his family should be able to provide some intelligence about his recovery.”
The door opened to reveal a butler whose austere expression suggested that even the servants of this household considered themselves superior to most of London society.
“Mr. Bingley, Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” Bingley announced. “We are calling to inquire after Mr. Darcy’s health.”
The butler’s gaze passed over Elizabeth, barely acknowledging Bingley and Jane. “Lady Catherine and Lady Eleanor are receiving in the morning room,” he intoned. “If you would follow me.”
They were led into an elegant drawing room where three women awaited them.
Elizabeth identified them from Darcy’s descriptions after the wedding as he prepared to fetch the carriage.
The imperious older woman with aristocratic features had to be Lady Catherine de Bourgh; the tall, slender girl with Darcy’s dark eyes could only be Georgiana; and the silver-haired lady with a quiet dignity was likely Lady Eleanor Blackmore, Darcy’s mother’s twin.
“Lady Catherine, Lady Eleanor, Miss Darcy—may I present Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth Bennet from Hertfordshire?” Bingley performed the introductions with his usual good-natured enthusiasm.
“Mr. Bingley,” the taller woman said, extending her hand with the air of one granting a great favor. “How kind of you to call. I am Lady Catherine de Bourgh, Mr. Darcy’s aunt.”
“And I am Lady Eleanor Blackmore,” the other woman added with considerably more warmth. “Also Mr. Darcy’s aunt, though I fear I have not had the pleasure of meeting you previously, Mr. Bingley.”
Georgiana nodded with a small curtsey which Elizabeth and Jane returned.
“Bennet sisters.” Lady Catherine held up her quizzing glasses, blinking. “Of Longbourn in Hertfordshire, I presume?”
“Yes, your ladyship,” Jane replied with her customary grace. “We had the pleasure of Mr. Darcy’s acquaintance during his visit. We were most distressed to hear of his accident.”
Elizabeth bit back the urge to correct her sister’s careful phrasing. Accident, indeed.
“Please, be seated,” Lady Eleanor said, gesturing to chairs near the fire. “I shall ring for tea. You must be chilled after your journey across London.”
Elizabeth maneuvered herself to take the chair nearest to Georgiana. The younger lady would not meet her gaze, but when she thought Elizabeth was otherwise occupied, she would peek at her with an intensity resembling Darcy’s.
“We were so sorry to hear of Mr. Darcy’s injuries,” Bingley was saying to Lady Catherine. “Though I confess the details have been rather vague. Might I ask how he fares?”
“He is recovering,” Lady Catherine replied curtly. “Slowly, but we have every confidence in his complete restoration to health. The physician says we must be patient.”
Elizabeth’s hands clenched in her lap. Such vague platitudes told her nothing about Darcy’s actual condition or the nature of his injuries. Was he conscious? Could he speak? Did he remember anything of their time together?
“I am relieved to hear it,” Jane said sincerely.
“How is he faring?” Elizabeth asked. “Is he able to speak?”
Both of Darcy’s aunts put their teacups down to stare at Elizabeth.
“The particulars are of no consequence,” Lady Catherine said dismissively. “My nephew will recover in due course. The Darcy constitution has always been remarkably robust.”
Elizabeth bit her tongue, desperate to demand more information but knowing she had no right to press. Instead, she focused on Georgiana, who had not spoken a word since their introduction. The girl was watching her with a peculiar intensity, her fingers nervously pleating the fabric of her dress.
“Miss Darcy,” Elizabeth said gently, “I believe your brother spoke of your accomplishments at the pianoforte. Do you still enjoy playing?”
Georgiana started, as if surprised to be addressed directly. “I—yes. Though I have had little heart for music these past months.”
“Understandably so,” Elizabeth said, her voice softening with sympathy.
Georgiana’s eyes flickered nervously between her aunts and Elizabeth. She opened and closed her mouth, as if she were debating whether to speak.
“What is it?” Elizabeth urged, knowing she was going beyond propriety. “Has your brother?—”
“His condition is a family matter,” Lady Catherine said sharply. “Miss Georgiana, you will oblige me by remembering that family matters should remain within the family.”
The girl blushed and turned her gaze to her teacup while fiddling with the lace doily. She had wanted to convey something. Perhaps allay her fears about Darcy’s condition or offer comfort.
The nausea returned, stronger this time, and Elizabeth pressed a hand to her stomach, drawing a sharp glance from Lady Eleanor.
“Are you unwell, Miss Elizabeth?” she inquired, her tone neutral but her eyes keen.
“A slight indisposition only,” Elizabeth replied. “It will pass.”
Lady Eleanor hastened to pour Elizabeth another cup of tea. “If you require a spell of rest…”
“Perhaps.” Elizabeth seized on the opportunity. Of the two aunts, Lady Eleanor was less intimidating. Her eyes were kind, and Elizabeth imagined Darcy’s mother was similarly dispositioned. “Your ladyship, I wonder if I might impose upon your kindness for a private word?”
Lady Catherine’s expression grew thunderous. “I cannot imagine what matter a young woman of your station could have that would require private conference with Lady Eleanor.”
“Catherine,” Lady Eleanor said mildly, though Elizabeth detected steel beneath the gentle tone. “I am perfectly capable of deciding whom I will or will not speak with privately. Miss Bennet, I should be happy to grant you a few moments of my time.”
Elizabeth followed Lady Eleanor to a small sitting room. Once the door closed behind them, Elizabeth found herself face to face with a woman whose kind eyes held unmistakable intelligence.
“Now then,” Lady Eleanor said, settling herself in a chair and gesturing for Elizabeth to do the same. “What is this matter of delicacy?”
Elizabeth took a deep breath. This was her chance—perhaps her only chance—to reach someone in Darcy’s family who might listen to her story with an open mind.
“I have something that belongs to Mr. Darcy,” she began carefully. “Items that were entrusted to my care. I should like to return them to his family, but I confess I am uncertain how to proceed.”
Lady Eleanor’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Indeed? And how did you come to possess my nephew’s belongings?”
Elizabeth drew a deep breath. “At the Red Lion Inn in Barnet. Mr. Darcy was staying there in December when I…” she hesitated, “…when circumstances brought me there as well.”
“The Red Lion?” Lady Eleanor’s eyes widened. “That is where Fitzwilliam was last seen before his attack.”