Page 12 of Rumours & Recklessness (Sweet Escapes Collection #1)

Chapter 11

W hen Elizabeth stepped into the drawing-room, her eyes flew immediately to Jane’s face. Her sister’s flushed and happy smile told her all she needed to know. Elizabeth’s joy for her sibling was reinforced by the proud satisfaction written across Bingley’s features. Elizabeth concluded they had not yet informed her mother of their understanding, since that lady was chattering contentedly to Miss Darcy. Mrs Bennet had seated the quiet girl near herself, hoping to work her way into the brother’s good graces.

Elizabeth winked at her sister, respecting the new couple’s present silence on the matter. Surely Bingley and Jane would wish to speak to either her father or Uncle Gardiner before making any kind of announcement. She glanced round the room and saw the colonel rise from his seat and walk toward the door to greet his cousin. With quick decision, she excused herself and bolted upstairs.

She stepped softly into her father’s room and looked expectantly, desperately to Mrs Cooper. “How is he?”

The woman shrugged. “No change, Miss. He swallowed some broth from Mrs Hill a short while ago, but little else.”

Elizabeth heaved a sorrowful sigh. Nodding her understanding, she closed the door softly and walked down to the room she shared with Jane. She closed her own door and leaned against it, wishing to burrow under the covers of her bed and remain there until the next day.

The soft hum of voices below drifted through the thin walls and through the door. She knew that she owed it to Jane, to Georgiana, to make her appearance for tea. Their guests would be leaving soon enough, and surely, she could survive another quarter-hour in the same room as Mr Darcy. A glance across the room at her bedraggled appearance in the mirror made her frown. Resignedly, she began tugging at her old gown, now splattered with mud. The least she could do was to clean up a little.

D arcy sat uncomfortably next to Georgiana, and nearer than he liked to Mrs Bennet. He did not even have to try to ignore the matron’s giddy ridiculousness. His mind was solely occupied with his latest argument with Elizabeth. Georgiana could not miss his saddened expression and placed a hand gently on his arm. He acknowledged her with a tight, grateful smile. Then his thoughts turned inward again. How was it that every conversation with such an intelligent, reasonable woman devolved into accusations and misunderstandings?

Elizabeth stepped softly into the room. He looked immediately to her, noting the sage green gown he remembered from Netherfield. Her hair had been neatly rearranged, and as she moved by him, he caught the scent of lavender. The most readily available seat in the room was opposite him, allowing him to command a full view of her downcast countenance. She would not look at him. She half-heartedly followed the conversation between her mother and Colonel Fitzwilliam, who rallied valiantly to the cause. She said as little as possible, while he said nothing at all.

When the tea was brought, Mrs Bennet insisted that Elizabeth should serve the guests, in particular Mr Darcy, forcing her to draw near. Darcy looked at her steadily until she met and held his gaze, hoping the contrition in his eyes would be apparent to her. She blinked, pursed her lips, and moved on to serve Fitzwilliam.

Just as she had resumed her seat, hot cup in hand, Lydia and Kitty burst into the room, late for tea and trailing a fit of giggles. Elizabeth blushed, glancing furtively at Darcy. The girls plopped on the sofa near Elizabeth.

Noisy, boisterous Lydia banged her spoon against her cup heedlessly as she stirred a lump of sugar. “Lizzy, guess what! You’ll never guess! Mr Collins is engaged to Charlotte Lucas!” the girl bubbled over her cup.

Elizabeth paled, setting her cup on the saucer with a clatter. Darcy straightened, his feet finding their place on the floor in preparation to step to her side. Chiding himself, he stilled. She had made it abundantly clear that she did not care for his interference. Elizabeth’s face was a mask of disappointment and disbelief. “Lydia… it cannot be true. Charlotte? It is not possible!”

“Aye, but… Oh, dear! I wasn’t to tell you! She wanted to make him wait so she could tell you herself, but Mr Collins was so dull, it was all he would talk of, even if me and Kitty were there—that and the fireplaces at Rosings Park. It is so plain that Charlotte could not give two straws about him, but she is quite satisfied, I daresay, for she will live here at Longbourn one day!” Lydia chortled giddily.

Mrs Bennet gave a cry of dismay, fluttering her laced handkerchief before her face. “Oh, do not speak of that odious man! Charlotte Lucas to live here! To think that I shall have to make way for the likes of her. Those Lucases are all out for what they can get! Thank heavens, dear Lizzy, you are so well settled, or I should not know what would become of us all!”

Elizabeth hid her face in shame, unable to stop herself from peeking through her fingers at Darcy’s reddened face. She could never marry him, and after such arguments as they had had, he surely felt the same about her! What was she to do?

“Oh la, she will have to put up with Mr Collins first, Mama. He is so tiresome! He would prattle on all day, but we were so bored we decided to come home, though we were invited to stay to tea. There was nothing interesting to be had, except Mr Wickham came by, and he wanted to see us home, but we told him that Mr Darcy was here, and he said he oughtn’t come by… Oh, I wasn’t to tell you that either! What did I tell you, Kitty? She is speechless. Why—Miss Darcy!”

Oblivious as Lydia was, no one could miss Georgiana’s sudden shock. She paled, shook, and her cup rattled off the saucer to the floor. Desperate eyes sought her brother, trembling hands took his, and she began to sob.

Mrs Bennet wailed, fearful her distinguished guest had suffered a fit of apoplexy. “Hill! The smelling salts, quickly!” She ruffled her shawl, waving her hands in distress.

Heedless of the splattered tea, Elizabeth dropped on the floor before Georgiana. She met Darcy’s eyes, and for a moment, a mutual understanding passed between them. Their argument faded in the light of the girl’s white face. “I must take her for some air,” whispered Darcy urgently.

Elizabeth nodded, numb. What could have shaken her young friend so? Glancing through the drenched windowpane at the steady downpour out of doors, she looked back to Darcy. “Follow me. I will show you somewhere private.”

Ignoring her mother’s dramatic reactions to both the news of Charlotte’s engagement and Georgiana’s “case of the vapours,” Elizabeth stood quickly. Helping the girl to her feet, Elizabeth led them to the library with Georgiana supported on her shoulder. Darcy had his arm around his sister, lending his strength. Elizabeth blushed fiercely when she realized their arms were laced together, forming a web of comfort for the forlorn girl. She glanced quickly to Darcy, but his concern at the moment was all for Georgiana.

Colonel Fitzwilliam, who had jumped to his feet at Georgiana’s initial reaction, shrewdly resumed his seat. He sat poised at the edge of the chair, but his well-practiced command regained control of his limbs. Best to let Darcy and Elizabeth find some common ground in comforting Georgiana. Meanwhile, he saw no harm in pumping the youngest loudmouthed Bennet girl for some information about Wickham.

E lizabeth closed the door to her father’s library while Darcy eased Georgiana into a chair. Helplessly, she watched brother try to comfort sister, wondering if she should remain or go. He looked to her then with pleading eyes, and she nodded her understanding. She took her place to the girl’s other side. Blonde curls tangled wetly on her cheeks. Darcy took Georgiana’s hands in his own while Elizabeth soothingly stroked her hair and cradled the girl’s head against her shoulder.

“William,” she trembled, “is it true? Is… that man… really here?” Georgiana bit her quivering lips. Elizabeth looked questioningly to Darcy.

He glanced to her, then looked back to Georgiana. “I am afraid so, Sweetling. He will not come near you, I promise. I am here. He cannot hurt you.”

Georgiana began to heave, great racking breaths, turning her face into Elizabeth’s shoulder. “I th-th-thought he w-w-was g-g-gone!” she wailed.

Elizabeth and Darcy held a silent communication. She was utterly shocked but ready to do anything to help her young friend. Darcy’s face betrayed his regret and begged her assistance. Wordlessly he conveyed his need to simply console Georgiana, without further discussion about the man in question. They sat with her, Elizabeth rocking her comfortingly while she clung to her brother’s hands.

Gradually her tears gave out, and she sagged exhausted against Elizabeth. She put her hand to her forehead, a sign recognizable to Elizabeth as the onset of a headache. Elizabeth turned the girl’s face gently to her. “Georgie, do you want to rest a while? I will take you to my room, and you can lie down.” Georgiana miserably nodded her assent.

Elizabeth glanced to Darcy—another soundless understanding passed between them. He would wait for her in the library. There was much explaining to be done.

D arcy paced the small library anxiously. The next conversation with Elizabeth could well clinch her pronounced dislike of him, or it could be the turning point toward a better understanding. He prayed fervently for the latter.

This most recent demonstration of Elizabeth’s loyalty had only intensified his need to win her affections. If she would so staunchly stand by a girl of a mere afternoon’s acquaintance, what a faithful, devoted heart could belong to the man bestowed with such a gift! She so fiercely defended a worthless scoundrel because she believed him to be wronged; how much more would she unwaveringly support a just man if she knew him to be such? His fingers fisted and flexed impatiently. He closed his eyes and soothed himself with an old proverb taught to him in boyhood. A gentle answer turneth away wrath.

With a barely audible click, she entered the room behind him. Her face was sober, her hands clasped lightly in front of her. Elizabeth recognized for the first time that day the pronounced fatigue lining his eyes and felt compassion. “Will you sit?” she offered softly.

He nodded, relieved. Elizabeth chose her father’s padded chair, and he drew another near. Elizabeth levelled her gaze at him, but this time without rancour. “Tell me,” she asked with open frankness, “what happened to Georgiana with Mr Wickham.”

He had not expected her to be so forthright, or so meek. He let out a long breath, many of his fears assuaged. Expecting her to lead with bitter accusations, he took a moment to defuse the defences he had rallied and gather his thoughts. Reflecting on the letter still secreted in his waistcoat, he slowly pieced together events as he had related them there, leaving out the resentfulness of his hurts from the day before. If she could speak gently, he could as well.

“Mr Wickham was the son of my late father’s steward, a Mr James Wickham. Mr Wickham senior was a capable, honourable man, and my father trusted in him. My own father was fond of the son, and as boys we grew up together.”

Elizabeth acknowledged this information with a small nod. This much, she had heard from Wickham himself.

Darcy slowly went on. “My father was the very best of men, Miss Bennet. He pledged on his honour his support of George Wickham to his friend. Though a year older, George came to Cambridge the same year as I. He became popular with many very quickly, as his manners were always engaging. Unfortunately, once away from the guiding influence of both of our fathers, George’s habits quickly became dissolute. I shall not share the details—there are many things a lady ought not to hear.” His eyes darted to hers self-consciously, but her gaze remained locked on his face in earnest attendance. His lips tightened as he sought what to relate next.

“Mr Wickham senior passed away the year we finished school, not long at all before my own father. Thus, within a relatively short span of time, we both found ourselves orphans. This all occurred nearly five years ago, Miss Bennet. My father had provided for George in his will by making the living of Kympton available to him upon the decease of the rector at the time, a Mr Tate.

“The living, however, was contingent upon George Wickham proving himself willing to take orders and show himself worthy of the post. You must know,” he said with a brief sigh, “that the choice of a rector for the parish is one of the most important ones an estate owner must make. A good man can inspire the entire being of the parishioners, bringing light and salt to a whole village, whereas a poor one can increase the misery of all.” Elizabeth was reminded ruefully of her cousin. How unfortunate the souls dependent upon that man for guidance!

“I knew that Wickham ought not to enter the church,” Darcy continued, “but I would have been honour bound to provide such a living had he shown himself willing. Much to my relief, he did not. He announced to me his intentions of never taking orders and rather to enter the study of law. He requested instead the value of his allotted inheritance, which was equivalent to approximately three thousand pounds. The money was paid at once, and Mr Wickham went to London. I did not follow his activities there. However, I can state with authority that he never entered law school.”

Elizabeth shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Darcy’s story agreed too closely with Wickham’s for either to be an outright lie, but Wickham had left out some crucial details. Darcy’s earnest manner, his serious eyes which steadily held her own without jest or lightness, made her deeply question her previous assessment of the man.

“I did not hear from Mr Wickham for over three years. Upon the decease of Mr Tate, I assigned the living to a Mr Silva, an excellent man with a sterling record and a highly estimable character. Mr Wickham came to me then, demanding I honour the terms of my father’s will and divert the living to him. As a reminder that all between us was settled, I had my solicitor in London surrender to Mr Wickham a copy of our previous agreement, settling upon the three thousand pounds. Mr Wickham was outraged, and I can well imagine his anger was proportionate to his financial distress at the time.”

Elizabeth closed her eyes in shame. The conviction of the truth of his words was dawning on her, flooding her with humiliation. Mr Darcy’s version of the events filled in the holes she had never detected in Mr Wickham’s retelling. For a woman who prided herself on seeing people as they really were, discerning their flaws and foibles, she had been utterly blinded to the gaping faults in Mr Wickham’s character.

Darcy paused. What he had to say next was the most vital piece, as well as the most harmful. Georgiana’s reputation hung in the balance, her very future at stake if the wrong ears heard. He studied the young woman in front of him. Her sweet face was wreathed in remorse, her chin tipped low, her being exuded gentleness and humility. As she waited for him to continue, her eyes slowly came up to his. Intelligent understanding shone back to him. He took a bracing draught of air and continued.

“Georgiana was only eleven when my father died. I was young myself, and at two and twenty was ill equipped to raise her alone, as well as take over all of my father’s responsibilities. Colonel Fitzwilliam, who is four years my senior, was named in my father’s will as a co-guardian. My father had great faith in both Richard’s abilities and his affections for Georgiana, as do I.

“We have watched over a tender young girl as well as any two bachelors could, I daresay, though I know she has longed for what I could not give her. Wishing to provide opportunities for more varied society, this past summer we took her from school and sent her for three months at Ramsgate to enjoy the sights and make new acquaintances. We carefully chose a companion to stay with her, a Mrs Younge. She came highly recommended, but we were sadly deceived in her allegiances.

“I decided to visit her as a surprise, and I thank God to this day that I did. I found Mr Wickham in the drawing-room alone with her… Mrs Younge nowhere to be found… he was.…” Darcy’s voice broke. He brought his hand to his mouth, blinking rapidly. Elizabeth leaned closer, concern and fear for her new friend beating in her breast. “He was taking liberties a gentleman would never take, Miss Bennet. He intended to shame her, should she attempt to change her mind.” He looked to her, begging her to understand without saying more. Elizabeth swallowed hard and made a grim nod, signalling her comprehension.

“He had convinced her that he was in love with her, and Georgiana was persuaded to agree to an elopement. Wickham had made arrangements for a private coach to take them to Gretna Green on the very next day. He intended, I suppose, to pay for the journey out of her rather ample pin money, as we found he was at the time rather destitute. His object, of course, was Georgiana’s dowry, which is thirty thousand pounds.”

Elizabeth gasped at the figure. She and her sisters had at best only a thousand each after their mother’s death, paid in an annuity, and nothing at all from their father due to the entail. The sense of the differences of their status pressed on her, but weightier was her conviction that she had been entirely unjust in her outraged defence of a wicked man. George Wickham was everything that was pleasing in conversation and delightful in company, but this evidence of his iniquity forced her to acknowledge that she had been deceived. Her eyes sought the ground, unable to face Mr Darcy. “What of Georgiana?” she murmured.

With a deep sigh, Darcy rubbed his temples and continued. “I made it clear to Wickham that I would not release her dowry under any circumstances to him. The conditions of my father’s will and her young age give me some leeway to administer her settlement as I see fit, and Miss Bennet, I can be very inventive. He sought, of course, to blackmail me by either marrying her or ruining her. She was but fifteen, Miss Bennet.

“She remembered his association with our family from happier days, but I had perhaps unwisely shielded her from his less honourable deeds. She paid the price for my error. She believed herself in love, and you must know by now that Georgiana was an easy target to someone who knew the right words to say. A young girl such as herself, deprived as she has been of a mother’s love and a father’s care, is… very vulnerable, Miss Bennet. Mr Wickham left Ramsgate without even attempting a farewell to her—of course, I would not have permitted it in any case, but his interest in her was purely selfish. To say she was broken-hearted is to put it lightly.”

He stopped. Elizabeth had said almost nothing during his entire recounting. Her eyes were on the carpet at her feet, tears glistening on her cheeks. “Miss Bennet?” he inquired softly. “Are you well?”

Her gaze slowly met his. “I did not know. Poor Georgie… no wonder she was so troubled!”

A deep sigh of relief escaped him. She believed him. He watched her tenderly as her whitened face flushed bright crimson at the cheeks. She bit her lip and dropped her eyes again. Hesitantly, he leaned closer to her, reaching for her hand. “Miss Bennet?”

Her eyes fluttered back to his, shame and remorse written across her features. Moistened lips parted, but she did not speak. She let him hold her hand—her fingers slack and lifeless in his, but this time she did not pull away.

Encouraged, he spoke from his heart. “Miss Elizabeth, please forgive me if I speak too boldly, but you must not blame yourself, as I fear you do. Mr Wickham is a practised deceiver, and you are not by nature a cynical person. You had no reference, no other source of information by which to detect the truth. Any blame must be mine for failing to check him or to warn others.”

“I-I should have known,” she whispered miserably. “It was improper for him to say the things to me that he has said! He flattered my vanity, and I wanted to believe him. I cannot believe I was so easily taken in.” She looked steadily into his drawn countenance. “I was far too ready to believe ill of you.”

He gave her a tight little smile. “Clearly, your opinion of me was already poor. Miss Bennet, I know I have given you offence. I do not know where my first error lies, but you spoke of arrogance. I had never thought of myself as such, but my trust in your judgement is such that I must allow it to be true, at least in appearance. I have always believed that pride in my family, in my conduct and in my responsibilities to be well and good. I have striven to remove myself from foolishness, iniquity, and slackness of character. Coupled with the fact that I find it difficult to mingle easily in company and awkward to make new acquaintances, perhaps I do appear... forbidding.”

She gave a short, bitter laugh then sniffled a little, wiping her eyes with the bared fingers of her other hand. “Mr Darcy, I believe I have never heard you speak so much as you have just now! You ought to make a practice of it, you know, as the more you speak, the better a person can finally understand you. Had I a more accurate notion of your purposes, I might not have made it a point to amuse myself to your disadvantage at every opportunity. In my defence, you do provide ample fodder for my rather unfortunate sport.” She arched an eyebrow, a pitiful return to her accustomed playfulness.

His breath loosened a little, and he began to smile timidly. If she was attempting again to tease him, it had to be a positive sign. He gave a gentle squeeze to the hand he still clasped, then released it before she could grow uncomfortable and pull away. He fumbled for words, not knowing what to say next.

Despite her jesting comment, her shoulders slumped, and she fixed her eyes at her feet, her cheeks still stained a dusky pink. At this point, he could not be certain whether it would be best to press for more conversation or back away, granting her some time to consider all she had heard and its implications.

His answer came in a soft knock at the door. Beckoned to enter by Elizabeth, Colonel Fitzwilliam poked his head into the room, speaking to his cousin in a low voice. “Darcy, I think it best we take our leave. Georgie would like to return to Netherfield to rest, and a Mr Jones is just arrived to tend to Mr Bennet. He is asking for Miss Elizabeth.” The colonel’s gaze shifted to Elizabeth, and he acknowledged her politely before removing himself and closing the door.

The pair stood, awkwardly trying to decide what to say to one another to gracefully end their tête-à-tête. Rather than speak, he gave her a nervous bow, and she quickly returned the courtesy, avoiding his eyes. She felt his gaze steadfastly following her as he held the door for her to precede him out of the room.

The party in the drawing-room had already broken up. Bingley was still in the doorway of the drawing-room, taking his reluctant leave of Miss Bennet and creditably ignoring Mrs Bennet. Colonel Fitzwilliam was helping Georgiana into her pelisse in the foyer. The girl’s pale face brightened when they came into view, and she took Elizabeth’s hands. “Thank you so much for your kindness, Elizabeth,” she murmured with a return to her shyness.

“Georgiana, I am so glad to have made your acquaintance today.” Elizabeth met her blue eyes with a sincere smile. “Will you come tomorrow for dinner? My mother tells me she has invited your party.” Curiously, Elizabeth found she did not dread the event as she had before.

Georgiana’s eyes turned to her brother, doubtfully. Knowing the question before it could be asked, Elizabeth quickly added, “I understand it will be a small gathering. Only your party and my own family will be in attendance. We are in hopes that by tomorrow evening, my aunt will have arrived from London, and I believe you will like her very much.” Elizabeth felt a little swell of smug satisfaction at her intention of introducing Mr Darcy’s fashionable sister to her aunt, whose husband was known to him to be in trade. She glanced to him to witness his reaction, but his face revealed neither revulsion nor interest. Instead, he seemed to be focused only on Georgiana.

The girl smiled and nodded her acceptance, and she was duly escorted to her waiting carriage by her cousin. Darcy gave another quick bow to Elizabeth, joined by a hopeful little tightening about the mouth, then departed himself without waiting for words.

The carriage ride back to Netherfield would have been a very silent one, had Bingley not decided to share his joy. While he waxed romantic about Miss Bennet’s beautiful face and sweet disposition to Fitzwilliam, two of his listeners were focused instead on another sister.