Page 23 of Old Boots (Pride and Prejudice Variations #3)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Dear Miss Bennet,

I write on behalf of your father and at his behest to assure you that all is arranged for your youngest sister, Lydia.

She is to marry Mr Fields from Leicestershire on the fifth of February and has funds settled on both her and any children she may have.

Your father stayed at Pemberley and sent me, most willingly, armed with legal authority to negotiate the settlements on his behalf.

Mr Bennet has also asked Mr Gardiner to come to Bath from London to give Miss Lydia away, and your aunt came in support of your sister, who is staying at The Harrington in Bath until her wedding.

Mr and Mrs Gardiner are providing Miss Lydia with wedding clothes, and I wonder whether you might send her something belonging to her mother to take with her to her new home.

The arrangements are all respectably made, and I urge you to be happy that your sister is suitably settled.

I trust Bandit is continuing with his studies in comportment, though if he has regressed, I shall perhaps take him to task, if I may take the liberty of stopping at Longbourn overnight before returning to Derbyshire.

Your friend,

Darcy

A t Mr Gardiner’s urging, I left Bath. The gentleman made clear he must be given something to do, and my lingering made it appear the family had no confidence in his ability to see his niece married.

I managed to smooth over his ruffled feathers as to why he had not been consulted in the first place by explaining my intervention had been the decision of the moment, spurred on by the sense of urgency, the distress of the ladies at Longbourn at the notion of incommoding a beloved uncle, and by Mr Bennet’s health, which seemed to collapse before my eyes at the mere idea of being required to travel .

I spent the interim in London, not wishing to leave the south until the deed was done.

It was just as well, for I had several items of business I wished to address.

I left the knocker off my door and prowled the silent, darkened halls of my Mayfair house, too taut to rest. When the express arrived from Mr Gardiner assuring me that Mr and Mrs Fields had left Bath for the Midlands, I shot like an arrow out of London and landed aquiver at Longbourn.

It would be impossible to describe the heady sensation of emptiness and anticipation, of raw, unqualified vulnerability that stirred within me.

From head to toe, I vibrated, much like a caterpillar awakening in a cocoon as a creature unknown that must now break into the world.

I sensed my moment of destiny hovered on the horizon, and I went to meet it with painful eagerness. Long gone was the ennui of months ago.

Longbourn welcomed me like a warm blanket, and my heart swelled to the point of bursting to be so sweetly ushered out of the cold.

Even the sight of Bandit running pell-mell down the stairs, bumping the bannisters, and stumbling over his own adolescent paws in a mad rush to greet me flooded me with joy.

Miss Bennet came to me and warmly gave me her hand, and Miss Mary’s greeting was so grateful for my support of her family that she melted me into a puddle of goodwill.

I then met Catherine Bennet, who is called Kitty at home, and who did not quite know what to make of me.

But she curtseyed elegantly, and then, I turned to Elizabeth, who looked me in the eyes and smiled such a pensive, wistful smile as to cause my heart to trip over itself, bump into my ribs, and break into shards.

I drank tea in my favourite chair, and in broad, optimistic strokes, I reassured them with regard to their youngest sister’s future.

On the subject of why I went to Bath instead of their father, I merely said I had been stubborn and overbearing because I objected to him travelling in such awful weather.

My coach, I told them, had been mired to the axles in mud and ice four times, and once, we were forced to wait two hours to be pulled out by a passing carter.

This gross exaggeration served to relieve their anxieties over Mr Bennet.

We ate a savoury dinner of game pie and apple tart, and the evening passed unremarkably.

My company was so familiar as to be considered almost an extension of the family, which was just as I wished it to be.

The ladies were learning a fashionable card game Miss Kitty brought back with her from Bath, and I watched them, content to sit by the fire with Bandit, who had been given a joint to chew to keep him occupied.

I sensed Miss Bennet had questions for me she could not ask in front of her younger sisters, so when they retired, I did not at once jump up to follow them. By necessity my hostess was required to remain behind, and her sister as well, stayed for the sake of form.

“In truth, sir, how did you find our sister?”

“Once she got her wish to be wed, Miss Lydia was much chastened by the reality. The notion of marriage is perhaps romantic for very young ladies, but to sign herself over to the power of a man so recently met, to be thrust into the role of wife and mistress of a house in a place unknown to her, daunted her a little. However, Mrs Gardiner helped her reconcile herself to her new situation, and I left with a degree of hope she will settle comfortably.”

Elizabeth and I glanced at one another. She knew I withheld more distressing facts.

Our eyes broke apart and then locked again, and I searched her face, imparting with my own expression, a sincere, reluctant apology that I did not have believably happier news for her.

She took a fortifying breath and nodded once in acknowledgement that Lydia’s future was set in stone and must be put behind them.

Miss Bennet perceived none of this silent exchange and swallowed my reassurances whole.

“And my father, sir?” she asked. “Pray, do not out of consideration for my feelings spare me the truth as to how he fares in Derbyshire.”

This was a much more interesting subject, and I struggled to arrange my countenance into a mask of innocence when I assured her of her father’s wellbeing.

Indeed, when I went on to tell her he had become a great favourite with my sister and even more so to her companion, I could hardly keep from chuckling aloud.

Under Elizabeth’s sharp, watchful scrutiny, I managed a convincing end to my report by claiming, “I hardly have to entertain him at all, he is so much a fixture of complacency at Pemberley and so easily pleased.”

“Oh? How delightful to hear of him happy!” Miss Bennet said, but as soon as her smile flashed, it faded into hesitation. “He is not becoming too comfortable, sir? Perhaps I should not have encouraged?—”

“Should he never leave my house, we would be well pleased. However, I hardly expect him to stay past spring. Pray, be easy on Mr Bennet’s account. He is happy where he is for now, and we are happy to have him for as long as he likes.”

“Must you leave in the morning, Mr Darcy?”

This surprising question, spoken abruptly, almost intemperately and out of context, came from Elizabeth.

“I had planned to stay only one night here,” I replied tentatively. What is she about? Does she wish me to stay?

“But will you not want to rest your horses a little longer? At least a day more—perhaps until the rain passes? ”

She turned to enlist her sister, who then took up her cause. They had no trouble at all convincing me to linger at Longbourn.

By instinct alone, I woke early and rang for Carsten. I asked for my old boots and warmest coat. I knew, in spite of the heavy mist that rose from the wet ground, I would be stepping out of doors to take Bandit for a walk.

Nary a word had been spoken between us, yet Elizabeth and I had an assignation. She was before me, waiting impatiently in the hall with a cloak and velvet calash while Bandit scampered like a fool at her feet.

We did not speak even as I took the lead. We broke out of the warmth of that old Tudor manor and forced our way into a silent, grey landscape. My companion was once again distracted and deeply pensive, and I knew she struggled to speak of something uncomfortable to her.

I had no choice but to be patient, though the waiting was agony.

Nor could I adequately gauge her thoughts.

She had put the hood of her cloak up and denied me access to her eyes.

We walked for an exceptionally long time in this attitude of smouldering anticipation, and I began to wonder whether we were once again going as far as Oakham, now shrouded in fog.

When Bandit began to slow his pace, I knew we had gone too far and must turn back.

“I would like to know what troubles?—”

“What are your intentions with regard to Jane, Mr Darcy?” She interrupted me as though she only needed me to break the silence to explode into her burning question.

I stopped in my tracks while my mind momentarily reeled. Her face, now before me in glorious proximity, came into focus. I had mistakenly thought she was perplexed, irate over one of my ineptitudes, or worried over her youngest sister’s folly. But what I saw in her expression was pure misery.

I took her hand and stepped closer. “I intend to make her my sister,” I said gently.

A sob escaped, her face crumbled, and though she tried, I would not let her turn away from me.

“I have never yet spoken these words, Elizabeth, not even privately to myself. I wanted your ears to be the first to hear me tell you of my constancy, of my regard, of my irrevocable devotion. To say I love you would be to cruelly lessen what I feel.”

She threw her arms around my neck and held me so fiercely, I struggled to breathe. “But why are you weeping, love?” I whispered in her ear, and she cried even harder.