Page 28 of Some Natural Importance (Pride, Prejudice and Romance #3)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Two days earlier, at Darcy House
The footman’s hurried steps echoed down the corridor and ended only with a rapid knock on the study door. Darcy’s attention remained focused on the papers on his desk as he called out “Enter.”
He looked up as the door opened and a footman—Joseph, he remembered, a man hired only a month ago—entered, holding a small tray. “Beggin’ your pardon, sir. Mr Hudson is out. A letter’s come. The messenger said t’was important.”
The missive sat in the salver for a full minute before Darcy reached for it and dismissed the man.
He opened it and before he could take in a word of the brief note, another letter fell out.
He recognised the handwriting, though the lettering was less well-ordered than he recalled.
It was sealed with black wax, which boded ill.
He had not expected this, not so soon. He broke the seal and unfolded the paper; ignoring it would not delay the news it contained .
Mr Darcy,
If this letter has found you, it is because I am dead.
The words are blunt, as I wish not to dwell on them nor on the present thoughts of my family.
I wish to thank you for the agreement we have made, and for ensuring the deposit of the sale funds in my bank.
Any further monies that arise from a ‘harvest’ of gold or coin may be sent there as well.
My brothers Gardiner and Philips have my papers.
Be tolerant of Mrs Bennet; she will have some difficulty understanding her good fortune in having you as a protector, and may have expectations of what it entails.
Show patience and kindness to my silly girls, and care for them as the sisters they will be to you.
I regret I shall not see your great library at Pemberley nor enjoy company there with you and my Lizzy.
Do take care of her. She will need you as both friend and husband.
Set aside your anger with me and with your family and recall what Mill wrote: It is not because men’s desires are strong that they act ill; it is because their consciences are weak.
T Bennet
Struck by a sudden wave of emotion, Darcy sat back in his chair, his eyes still on the letter. Bennet had managed to put his affairs in order, provide for his family, and announce his own death.
And he tells me to s et aside my anger with him. For which imposition? Dying with little notice? Consuming my time creating settlements for his family? Attempting to bind me to a marriage I should not want?
His thoughts shifted to Elizabeth and the grief she must feel, losing the father she loved.
Had she been at Longbourn, by his sickbed?
Or was it sudden, and she was called home from London?
He had spent hours and weeks at Anne’s bedside, reading to her, remembering their childhood games, pretending with her plans for their future as a family of three.
He could not regret the marriage; he had given her comfort and companionship she would not have otherwise received, and by securing the service of Mr Hunt, ensured she had the best care and advice from his physician.
Had Bennet had his goodbyes, remained sentient to spend his final days and hours with his family?
Had Elizabeth been with him? His heart ached for her, her father’s favourite.
Darcy rubbed his chin and thought to his last meeting with Elizabeth.
He had been glad to see her, pleased that she had sought him out upon learning he was at the warehouse.
They had shared a moment there, as they parted.
The softness in her eyes, her small smile.
Whatever doubts he had about her feelings towards him were diminished by that meeting.
And now her father was gone. She had been there with him, he was certain; she and her sister were bound for Longbourn the day after he last saw her.
How deeply this must hurt, she, so close to her father and having been out of his company for more than a week.
She was younger than he had been when his own father died, and she, the one most cognisant of the burdens and responsibilities of an estate, there, shouldering her mother’s hysterics, her sisters’ grief, and the servants’ fears.
Elizabeth needed him.
He took a deep breath, recognising what lay ahead.
He must go to Longbourn and see to her comfort.
He must reassure Elizabeth that her family would be supported, and discuss their mutual path forward.
He would need to console her, to be her friend and give her ease.
They had much to discuss, between what her father had explained to each of them, and the plans he himself had made for them in London.
He quickly read Mr Gardiner’s note, and within a few hours he had written to his bank, penned a note to his solicitor about the marriage articles, sent an express to Netherfield informing Miss Bingley of his return, and directed his man to pack a small trunk and prepare for an early departure for Hertfordshire the following morning .
Then he donned his coat and walked to Grosvenor Square to bid farewell to his sister, where he promised her that he would return soon. His uncle was thankfully gone from the house, but his aunt emerged from her rooms before he could reach the front door.
“Darcy, why are you leaving with such haste?”
He winced briefly before turning and bowing. “Hello, Aunt. My visit was to Georgiana. I believed you to be out with my uncle.”
She eyed him closely. “Or did you wish it, so you could slip in and out of my house?”
Conscious of the footmen standing behind him, Darcy claimed his patience. “Did you wish to speak to me, Lady Matlock?”
“Yes,” she replied, gesturing with her hand and walking regally towards the small sitting room she favoured.
His manners and his sense of family duty compelled Darcy to follow, but it was a new sort of feeling, that this family duty was secondary to the one he was rushing to assume at Longbourn.
When the door closed behind them, Lady Matlock directed him to a chair, which he reluctantly took.
She leaned back in her own, and fixed him with a cool stare.
“You came to say a farewell to your sister? You are leaving town without a goodbye to your family, to Cecilia, or to me?”
“I have business requiring my immediate attention.”
Her eyes flashed at him. “Business? Where is it now that you abandon your family so quickly. Does another lady need her heart crushed?”
Although affronted and impatient, he managed to speak with a degree of calm. “I do not ‘crush hearts’, madam. Cecilia is not in love with me, nor I with her. There is no affection between us beyond the brotherly feelings of one cousin towards a much younger one. ”
“You tell me you do not look upon Cecilia with any sense of the fates that bind you?”
“Bind us?” Incredulous, he looked away from his aunt; he would not have his temper raised by a lady and her stubborn, erroneous presumptions. “Duty bound me to Anne and Lady Catherine. I have no duty towards a pretty young cousin who will easily secure a husband this Season.”
Darcy paused; he returned his gaze to his aunt and his tone softened.
“Cecilia is a beautiful young lady. She is clever, displays many talents, and has impeccable connexions. There is no reason for you or my uncle to fear she will not make a good match, and no reason to push a marriage of convenience on her.”
“Convenience?” She repeated, her voice cold and her colour high. “This is how you see your wife, as a convenient alliance? I suppose you do. You have had one of those and it was most convenient for you.”
Fury lit his countenance. “Indeed, I wed my sickly cousin in order to gain her estate, and when her quick death precipitated her mother’s death, I rejoiced to have such riches.
” Unable to remain in such close proximity to his antagonist, Darcy stood and stalked to the window.
His sarcasm would be taken as bitter truth by his aunt, but it would continue to protect Anne’s good name.
Had Richard been in the country five years ago, Darcy would have confided in him.
Hell, Richard could have taken his place at the altar and inherited Rosings—a far happier outcome as far as the Fitzwilliam family was concerned.
The past was past, events had taken their course, and there was no cause for the truth to emerge now and be bandied about as gossip.
As she had in life, Anne deserved kindness and respect.
“No, you do not crush hearts. How could you, when you spend no time in society and take no care to find a wife? You did not wed Anne for love, but for what you gained in fortune. Why is love of any importance to you now? A large income is the best recipe for happiness I ever heard of. ”
“ This is what you think of me.” Darcy squared his shoulders, turned, and walked to the doors. “I have said enough. Good day, Aunt. Salutations to my uncle and cousin.”
He walked so quickly through the foyer he did not notice Cecilia standing, shocked, on the stairs.
The anger and frustration he had felt upon leaving his aunt had not cooled until Darcy was well on his way to Meryton. Unable to withstand the hours in a carriage, he had ridden ahead, needing the release given him by the rushing of wind and the pounding of hooves.