Page 12 of Sketching Mr. Darcy

S ome time after dinner, Darcy was told that he had an urgent call. Puzzled, he entered the main hall and frowned. There was Annabelle Weston, alone, waiting, a daring, challenging expression in her eyes.

He hesitantly moved forward and considered how he could escort her out with as little disturbance as possible when she spoke with animation. “Mr Darcy, what a delightful surprise. I have waited so long to see you. I hope you missed me as much as I missed you.”

“Lady Stafford—this is a surprise indeed. Has something happened of a tragic nature? If not, I would suggest you postpone our conversation. This is not the time for a call.”

“Something tragic has indeed happened, but I cannot tell you here. Shall we speak somewhere more privately? In your room, perhaps?” she whispered, and he took a step forward, gazing at her. He breathed deeply, attempting to maintain his temper.

“Let us go to the library. Stevens, allow us ten minutes then please come and show Lady Stafford out,” he addressed his servant, who nodded in agreement.

Darcy took her arm and conducted her to the library, closing the door.

“Lady Stafford, why are you here at this time of day? In fact, why are you here at all?”

“I have missed you. I have not seen you in four years. What could be more tragic than that? I sent you notes, asking you to visit me. They must have been lost, so I had to come myself. You have been in town for more than two weeks, and I have not caught a glimpse of you.”

“Your notes were not lost, but I saw no reason to call on you. I understood you to have met several of my relatives lately, and they all confirmed you to be fine.”

“I cannot be fine without you. I have not been fine for eight years. I missed you so much…”

“Annabelle, do not start. I ask you politely to be reasonable and wise. I thank you for your visit, but it is time for you to leave.”

“I will not leave before you look me in the eye and tell me that you did not miss me at all.”

“I did not miss you, Annabelle. Please, do not force me to be rude, and please do not allow this obsession to expose you to ridicule. You did not truly miss me. You are only stubborn and unable to accept disappointment. You always strove to reach your goals by any possible means. And you always enjoyed being theatrical.”

“I do not deserve such harsh treatment. Why do you reject me so severely? Why do you not even allow me to speak with you? I have wealth and fortune and name and means. I want nothing from you but your company!”

“Annabelle, you have known the nature of my feelings for many years. I never attempted to deceive you or to pretend to be what I was not—unlike yourself. Your wealth and your name make no difference to me! I wish you all the best, Annabelle, but I have no desire to see you again, and that is my final word. Be wise enough to stop offending my family, or I shall be forced to take measures.”

“‘Measures’ you say? I dare you to do it! What kind of ‘measures’ could you possibly take against me? I shall do whatever I want, whenever I want! You can neither silence me nor keep me away nor instruct me about what to say or to whom.”

“This call has come to an end, Lady Stafford. I will ask Stevens to see you out.”

“You may still have Stevens, but everything else has changed. You have become a cold-hearted, haughty, unpleasant man, whom nobody likes. You are only tolerated because of your connections and wealth—a horrible man who compromises silly country girls in the woods—is that how you amuse yourself now? Is that what satisfies your pride—young, innocent girls? Are you at least aware that you have made a fool of yourself, pursuing a country nobody who favours the son of your father’s steward over you?

” Her eyes were arrows of fire, her lips narrowed in a grimace, and her voice louder with each word.

Darcy stared at her in silence and shock, his jaw clenched in anger. He felt the blood leaving his face and found it difficult to breathe without losing his temper completely.

“Lady Stafford—you shall leave now,” he said with restrained severity.

He took her arm and carefully but decidedly led her from the library.

Stevens glanced at them but stepped forward while Darcy accompanied her to the carriage.

Her face’s beautiful features were distorted by fury, and when he tried to close the door, she grabbed his hand.

“Please forgive me. I did not mean to offend you. Please do not be upset. Will you come and speak to me tomorrow? I shall wait for you all day. Will you come?”

“Good night, Lady Stafford,” he said sternly, and the carriage rapidly departed.

Darcy stood several minutes in front of the house, oblivious to the freezing, sharp wind.

His head reeled painfully, seeming to suppress his reason and his sanity.

What had just happened? That idiot James told Annabelle about Elizabeth?

And how is it he knows so many details? Is Wickham also in Town?

What could he do to stop the danger that seemed to grow so carelessly and jeopardise Elizabeth?

How had things come to such a horrid outcome?

Did he truly save Elizabeth’s life only to ruin her happiness forever as Robert said?

He recollected the discussion with his uncle and the tormenting events that led to it, starting eight years before.

Yes, his uncle had reason for concern. His short conversation with Annabelle was proof of that.

She was unreasonable and seemed determined—in a ridiculous, stubborn manner—to have him back.

She had never been prudent in her behaviour, and it looked as though time had brought little improvement.

He must have another discussion with her.

Things could not remain as they were, especially as she seemed to direct her anger towards the person least involved and most innocent in the matter—Elizabeth.

He could not allow Annabelle to draw their family—or Elizabeth’s—into a scandal.

His thoughts were still ensnared by recollections of her eyes, her smile, her laughter, her teasing, her wet lips twisted in mischievous smiles, her complexion…

Her love of books, her enjoyment of outdoor walking, and her elegance in dancing were just as Georgiana said earlier.

Yes, he was certain that Georgiana would have liked Elizabeth very much if he had chosen her—but he had not!

He felt guilty for lying to his uncle when he asked whether he had any preference for a wife. He did have a preference. He was certain that Elizabeth would have been the perfect wife for him. But he had not lied when he said that he did not consider her as a choice.

He only imagined what the earl would say if he introduced Mrs Bennet to him—or the youngest Bennet sisters.

He laughed bitterly as he decided finally to return to the house.

Yes, she would have been the perfect wife for him, and he would never need to “do what he pleased” outside his marriage.

He knew that she was what he had wished and waited for all those years, but he could not possibly choose her.

He would likely never see her again. Maybe the earl was right after all: Anne would be as good a wife as anyone else.

If he could only protect Elizabeth from the dangerous gossip that seemed to be spread about maliciously. He must think of something to stop what he had started.

***

Longbourn, 16 December

At Longbourn, life had returned to its usual routine. Elizabeth’s recovery was complete and her accident soon forgotten as other unfortunate events captured the family’s interest.

Mr Collins left Hertfordshire, and he shortly sent Mr Bennet a letter of thanks, written with solemnity and gratitude.

He informed them, with many rapturous expressions, that Lady Catherine heartily approved his marriage to Miss Lucas and wished it to take place as soon as possible, which he trusted would be an unanswerable argument with his amiable Charlotte to name an early date for making him the happiest of men.

On receiving the letter and sharing it with the family, Mr Bennet was the only one amused. The ladies of Longbourn had more important reasons to be preoccupied.

Jane had sent Caroline an early answer to her letter, and she was counting the days till she might reasonably hope to hear from her again.

When Miss Bingley’s letter arrived, it put an end to all doubt.

The first sentence conveyed the assurance of their all being settled in London for the winter and concluded with her brother’s regret at not having had time to pay his respects to his friends in Hertfordshire before he left the country.

Praise of Miss Darcy occupied the chief of the letter.

Her many attractions were again dwelt on, and Caroline boasted joyfully of their increasing intimacy and ventured to predict the accomplishment of the wishes disclosed in her former letter.

She wrote also with great pleasure of her brother’s being an inmate of Mr Darcy’s house and mentioned with raptures some plans of the latter with regard to new furniture.

Elizabeth, to whom Jane soon communicated most of this, heard it in silent indignation. Her heart was divided between concern for her sister, resentment against all the others, and complete astonishment at this news that contradicted her previous assumptions.

She had been certain that Mr Darcy’s generous treatment of her and their family was entirely due to the prospect of a future alliance between Mr Bingley and Jane. However, only a fortnight later, it seemed that neither Mr Bingley nor Mr Darcy had any intention of returning to Hertfordshire.

Elizabeth was certain of his sisters’ participation in this change of Mr Bingley’s plans. But how was Mr Darcy involved? It was a subject on which reflection would be long indulged, but for the moment, she could think of little else except Jane’s wounded peace.