Page 8 of The Power of Refusal

R ichard appeared at Darcy House the evening after Wickham’s ship had sailed off into the horizon, in a celebratory mood. The warm glow of the fireplace illuminated his jovial expression as he entered the room. “We are rid of the pestilence at last! Shall we break out the champagne?” Richard asked, his voice ringing with satisfaction.

Darcy nodded. The weight of recent events still sat heavily on his shoulders despite the good news. He directed his butler Mr Blank to search the wine cellar for an appropriate vintage. Perhaps a bubbly libation might lift his spirits.

“Georgie should join our toast,” Richard observed. His eyes sparkled with mirth.

“She is pleased, but her tender heart is not quite ready to see him felled by scurvy or worse. She would not allow herself to gloat. I see a noticeable improvement in her spirits, nonetheless,” Darcy said.

“Whereas I see a continued degradation in yours. What ails you, man? I thought being done with Wickham would make you jubilant. I swear, since we left Rosings, you have been blue-devilled. Surely you are not bothered by Aunt Catty’s threats about marrying Anne?” Richard’s brow furrowed with concern as he studied his cousin’s sombre demeanour.

Darcy scoffed, the mere thought of his aunt’s machinations galling. “As if our aunt’s ravings ever touched me. No, not at all. Anne and I have spoken about it. She is content to remain at Rosings, biding her time until she takes over as mistress. She is abusive on the matter of marriage. ‘A woman of means has no need of a husband,’ says she. ‘Husbands are only overgrown children.’ I have read Mrs Wollstonecraft, and I hear the echoes in our cousin’s words.”

Richard laughed. “Overgrown children, indeed. She is not far wrong in many cases. I know not how she tolerates her mother, who never ceases to lecture on any subject. But if that is not your trouble, what is?”

Darcy sighed. Again, his troubles bore down on him. Mr Blank entered with a vintage bottle, breaking the mood momentarily. Once their toast to “the demise of that devil, Wickham” had been drunk, the crisp, effervescent liquid dancing on their tongues, Darcy thought he may have escaped his cousin’s inquiry. He was mistaken.

“Yes, well, this is a proper send-off for the miscreant, but I cannot have you glower at such a splendid vintage. What ails you?” he asked again. “Do not try to tell me you are well. Even your typical stern expressions do not remain so without variation when all is well.”

Darcy turned away, his jumbled thoughts making a direct reply impossible. The crackling of the fire filled the momentary silence as he gathered his courage. Finally, he started with the most recent event, his voice low and strained.

“I broke with Bingley—or rather, he broke with me. It is rather a muddle,” he began. He gazed into his glass, watching the bubbles rise whilst the words tasted of ashes.

Richard stared at Darcy, his mouth agape, shock etched across his features. “Bingley?

That pup broke with you ? I rather thought he would trail after you his entire life, seeking crumbs from your table. What in the name of everything holy would lead him to break with the man who has done nothing but elevate him? They would never have admitted him across the threshold of White’s but for your endorsement!”

“In must confess, I was at fault,” Darcy admitted. The reflection settled deeply in the pit of his stomach.

“And this has you moping about? I am certain Bingley will crawl back, seeking forgiveness in no time. No, there must be more to it,” Richard replied, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

Darcy sat heavily in his chair and stared into the dancing flames. Richard said nothing, knowing Darcy would eventually open up. The taut silence stretched between them.

Finally, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “Do you recall when we were riding to Rosings? I spoke of saving Bingley from an… unfortunate match?”

Richard thought for a moment, his brow creasing in concentration before realisation dawned. “Yes, the girl from Hertfordshire. He was mad about her, but her family was unacceptable—you thought she would wed him for the blunt, did you not? She did not really care for him.”

Darcy groaned at Richard’s description of his horrible report, the memory of his callous words aching in his sore heart.

“And therefore, Bingley broke with you? How did this come about?” Richard pressed; his curiosity piqued.

Darcy was tempted to skip the entire debacle of the proposal. The wounds were too fresh to prod. “I learnt the lady had formed a true attachment to him and suffered his loss. The neighbourhood gossips were saying she was jilted,” Darcy said, wincing at the recollection.

“How did— There is more to this story, Darcy. What are you leaving out?” Richard’s piercing gaze bore into Darcy’s eyes, demanding the truth.

Darcy knew he had no hope of evading Richard’s perceptive glare. Out with it, then. “It was Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s sister. Miss Jane Bennet.” Speaking her name still caused his heart to constrict.

Richard leapt up from his seat, his eyes wide with shock and dismay. “Oh no, tell me I did not put a spoke in your wheels! I bragged about you. What a splendid fellow you were to help Bingley escape before a fortune hunter caught him. I am so sorry, Darcy. That must have been an awkward discussion. Did she call you on it?”

The memory of Elizabeth’s fiery rebuke was seared into his memory. “What do you think happened, Richard? If someone drove away your dearest sister’s suitor, leaving her heartbroken, how would you respond?”

“Miss Elizabeth has some fire to her, for a certainty. I am surprised she did not scratch your eyes out.” Had Richard somehow failed to connect the points? Could he leave it at that, never letting on the reason the matter came to be raised between them? Darcy sipped his drink, the bubbles tickling his nose as he waited to see whether Richard would let the matter go.

“So, you confessed to Bingley, and he took umbrage?”

Darcy nodded, relief washing over him at the temporary reprieve. Safe thus far.

Richard thought, swirling his drink and observing the trajectory of the bubbles. After some tense moments, he spoke again.

“Darcy. I can think of very few scenarios in which you and Miss Bennet—Miss Elizabeth—would have reason to discuss Bingley’s courtship of her sister. I cannot think you would be fool enough to raise it, which leaves the job to the lady. Whatever conversation might you have had in which such a private matter would be tossed about? Now I think it, you appeared out of sorts from the last evening at Rosings before we departed. When you disappeared from the dining room on some pretext?” Richard’s intelligent eyes bored into Darcy.

Darcy maintained his silence, the memory of that fateful night still haunting him.

“What might you have said to so anger Miss Elizabeth that she would take you to task? I apologise for my part. I was trying to paint you in a good light, as a staunch friend and trusted adviser. You seemed to like her, although she looked at you with little affection. How was I to know you stuck your oar into her sister’s courtship? But I cannot think of Miss Elizabeth as an aggressor. She is far too clever.”

Darcy sighed. The weight of his guilt constricted his chest. He would not allow Richard to take the blame for his own stupidity. It all had to come out. “You meant well, I suppose. As did I when I spoke perhaps the most ill-conceived proposal in the history of man. Whilst rejecting my offer, she touched upon all manner of bad behaviour on my part. But the crowning touch was my officious interference with Bingley and her sister. I doubt I could ever...”

Richard slapped his forehead, the sharp sound cutting through the heavy atmosphere. “Only you, Darcy. Out with it. Tell me every word of this ill-conceived proposal. Perhaps we might salvage something.”

Darcy quirked his brow at Richard, surprise flickering across his features. “You seem rather unsurprised by my having offered for her,” he said, his voice tinged with curiosity.

Richard smirked at him, a knowing gleam in his eye. His expression was a mixture of amusement and exasperation. “I know you better than anyone on this earth, Darcy. The pieces of the puzzle fit perfectly now. When I consider your… how should I say it? Your frequent physical response to her. I have eyes, man. Why else would you always stand behind the settee, or place a book on your lap whilst gawping at the lady? She captured your, er, attention like nothing I have ever seen. But you are a gentleman, through and through. No matter her feelings, the only solution to your problem would be marriage.”

The heat of embarrassment spread across his face. Perceptive man, the colonel. Darcy had hoped his problem had not been as obvious to the lady.

“Unfortunately, I botched the matter and received a set-down I shall never forget,” Darcy said. The humiliation of that night still stung. The dam breached, Darcy detailed his offensive recitations and the letter he had written, to the barely concealed amusement of his cousin. “Indeed, I was a fool to imagine my proposal would ever have been met with her agreement. I had deluded myself that she might care for me. After telling Bingley not to wed without the affection of a lady who cared for him, I attempted to win the hand of a lady who cared for me not at all. Her feelings I did not consider, knowing my situation would improve hers. As if such a woman would wed me for advantage! The turn of her countenance I shall never forget, as she said I could not have addressed her in any possible way that would induce her to accept me.” Darcy sighed; the pain still fresh in his heart.

“Had you written a script, you could not have been more obnoxious,” Richard said, his tone a mixture of sympathy and disbelief. “I never heard from her about Wickham. I do hope she believed your letter.”

“As it happened, I chanced upon her later that morning. We had gone to the parsonage to take our leave, but she was not present. I was concerned. I discovered her near the grove. When I handed her the missive day before, she looked exhausted. I wanted to assure myself she was well. You recall I walked back to Rosings?”

Richard nodded, the memory of the day coming back to him. “And took your own time to do so, as I recall. The horses were stomping in annoyance as we waited in the carriage.”

“Miss Elizabeth was walking from the grove. I waited to see whether she wished to avoid me, but when she saw me, she halted, then approached and spoke. I wished I could take back every word of that letter.”

“So, she was angry?” Richard’s brow furrowed in confusion, trying to make sense of the situation.

“She was not angry, but distraught. She begged my forgiveness for believing Wickham. I reminded her he had deceived many a person, and she was not to blame. I offered to escort her to the parsonage, but she said she could see I was dressed for travel and would not delay me.”

Darcy hesitated; the painful memory etched in his heart an often-revisited scar.

“I would have remained, but she insisted she needed rest. I apologised for—well, for everything. I told her I would remedy my mistakes. I wished she would disregard the angry words I had spoken and written in a dreadful bitterness of spirit.” Darcy’s eyes were unfocused, lost in the memory of that fateful encounter. “My behaviour at the time had merited the severest reproof. It was unpardonable. But she insisted she had been wrong to abuse me. She said there was nothing for her to forgive, as she was the one who was mistaken. Whilst she could not like my interference with Bingley and her sister, she could now understand it was well-intentioned. And as for the business about Wickham, she was mortified she had championed him at my expense.”

“And yet you returned to Rosings, and we left immediately for London? Why did you not stay to court her?” Richard asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

“I would have done. She would not permit me to speak. She was heartily ashamed and claimed I must hate her after that evening. If she could not forgive herself, she was certain I ought not forgive her. Nothing I said could convince her there was the least hope. She did not wish to hear it. I remained in the grove until she had time to reach the parsonage. She would have no one suspect our having been alone together. She could not allow me to be seen with someone so undeserving. She told me to think of her no more and released me with a ‘God bless you.’”

Richard clapped Darcy on the shoulder and said, “Cousin, I must say, that was an exemplary demonstration of how not to propose to a lady. You truly have a gift for saying exactly the wrong thing at the wrong time.”

He then looked Darcy in the eye, his expression serious. The weight of his sympathy and understanding was palpable. “I am sorry. I am sorry for my part in this debacle, and sorrier still for your pain. I know not what I might say to improve matters with Miss Elizabeth. But I would ask, should you decide to propose to a lady in the future, please consult me first. I daresay we could improve upon the utter rubbish you spoke to Miss Elizabeth.”

∞∞∞

Darcy and Georgiana travelled to Pemberley for a lengthy stay. Pemberley was a welcoming sight, with its expansive grounds, formal and wild gardens, and the grand, stately manor house.

Darcy anticipated invigorating walks through the countryside and quiet moments of reflection in the estate’s many tranquil nooks and crannies. It was a place of beauty, prosperity, and peace—the perfect escape from the bustle of London life. And from his doldrums. The housekeeper, Mrs Reynolds was, as always, delighted to have them in residence. She reported about all that had gone on in their absence.

“Lord Fairbairn visited in July. He was en route to his estate in Dumfries and took a rest for several days. I know you prefer to avoid allowing the use of the estate when you are not at home…” Mrs Reynolds trailed off, her face flushed.

“Never mind, Mrs Reynolds. Fairbairn is overbearing, and I do not expect you to turn the man out on your own. Has anyone else visited?”

“Lady Carstairs left her card. She is in the country through the autumn. She expected you would be at Pemberley. I know not why she did not write ahead. I could only provide refreshments in your stead before she hopped back into her carriage to return to Hastings.”

Darcy half listened to the detailed recitation of every visitor to the estate since he had last been home. Mrs Reynolds, with his consent, allowed tours of the common rooms of the mansion to gentlefolk who came to the door. She had instituted a guest book, which she presented for his review. He casually paged through the record until he came upon a signature that caught his eye.

"Mr and Mrs Gardiner of London—what sort of people were they, Mrs Reynolds?” he asked.

“Well, the gentleman was a mannerly fellow, intelligent and observant. Spoke admiringly of the trout streams. Quite a fisherman, he said. The lady, you might have known her. She is a few years your senior, grew up in Lambton. Her father was Mr Holder, the bookseller. She moved to London when she was wed. This Mr Gardiner, he is in trade, but you would never know unless he told you. Lovely visitors. They were renewing their acquaintance with her former neighbours and such. Travelling with their niece, but she took a chill and was not up to the visit, so she remained at the inn whilst they had a good poke around. ’Tis a pity. They could not stop speaking of how she would have admired the pianoforte.”

Were these not likely the Gardiners with whom Jane Bennet stayed in London? Given the timing of their summer visit, Miss Bennet, now Mrs Bingley, was off on her wedding tour. Was it possible Miss Elizabeth Bennet was at Pemberley, but a few weeks before? Darcy shook off the thought. Miss Elizabeth was lost to him. She had not walked Pemberley’s garden paths or climbed the stairs to the drawing room, as much as he had often pictured her there. She remained in his heart, but never had she come to his home.

Despite a sense of near shame at his actions, Darcy enlisted a trusted man of many talents to discover the identity of the Gardiner family who had visited Pemberley. He had heard the name, he was certain, from Miss Bennet. The coincidence of their travelling with a niece and that niece declining to visit Pemberley stuck with him. Once in London, it was a small thing to determine their direction.

Adopting a haughty posture and speaking as if he had a business concern, he engaged a runner to watch the house.

“I wish to know who is in residence, and what sort of people they are,” he said to the man, Mr Whitehill.

“I can see what the neighbours say,” he replied.

“No, nothing so obvious. Take your time and learn what you can, but nothing is to get carried back to them. It would not sit well with the fellow if he learnt I was prying into his affairs. I merely need to get a good sense of his situation.” Darcy would far prefer to pay the man for weeks of subtle observation than to have someone mention his interest to Mr Gardiner.

Mr Whitehill was the sort of unobjectionable, rumpled fellow who could pass unnoticed in any neighbourhood. He followed instructions, and as long as he refrained from engaging in too much conversation, he would blend into the area. Stilling his tongue was essential to making his presence unobtrusive.

In less than a week’s time, Whitehill reported back.

“The man has a very lucrative business, despite his warehouse being just across the road. They have a full staff of servants, a coach, and the house looked well cared for. I saw several children. I did not think that interested you. His wife dresses well, very ladylike, and has a reputation for being a kind mistress.”

“What sort of enterprise did you note?” Darcy continued as though he wished to know the man’s solvency.

“Imports and such. Very busy warehouse. A great deal of custom from upper class folks like yourself. His workers are content, not a bad word about him as an employer. What I could see on manifests and the like, he deals in high-quality goods and makes a pretty profit,” Mr Whitehill reported.

“Did you see what sort of society he keeps?” Darcy was reaching for anything that might reveal whether Elizabeth Bennet frequented their house.

“He had some gentlemen to dine, and she had ladies to tea. Nothing out of the ordinary, but their guests looked more like gentlefolk than trade. Also, they have a young lady in the house. At first, I thought she might be a nursemaid, she was so often with the children. But she did not dress like a servant. More like a gentlewoman with little ready. A poor relation, perhaps. Very pretty, though, and lively.”

Darcy had struck gold. Pretty and lively were the essence of Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

Mr Whitehill departed with hearty thanks and an excessive bonus in his pay.

Darcy had little interest in society. He preferred his solitude, but Georgiana’s spirits were low as well. He knew his high tolerance for being alone was not typical, and surely not the usual course for a young lady of seventeen. He would take greater care for her comfort. Surely she might enjoy company?

“Might you invite some young ladies to stay?” he asked her one morning as she toyed with her breakfast.

Georgiana looked up. “Who would I invite? Whatever would we do?”

“Do you not use up all my post fees on a thousand letters each week from your friends from school? Is there nothing to do here, with acres of fields, a dozen horses, hot houses, gardens, walks, and pleasure grounds? What do young ladies do all summer?” He was genuinely curious. His time was easily absorbed with attending to the land, working with his steward and studying agriculture and husbandry. What did young ladies do?

Georgiana eventually warmed to the idea, and letters flew to young ladies of her acquaintance, inviting them for a sojourn in Derbyshire. One of the young ladies had to decline, having been required to attend her own sister’s nuptials. The other two agreed to visit. Pemberley carriages were dispersed to the various locations to deliver their guests.

Georgiana had few friends, but those she cared to keep were well chosen. Lady Julia Halliday was a lovely young lady, with accomplishments and manners. She possessed a sense of her own insignificance in the world, which rendered her pleasant company. Miss Leah Terry was less of a beauty, but excellent company, with amiable manners and a mischievous streak. The three ladies occupied themselves from the first with chatter, giggling, and endless trays of tea and cake. Darcy was relieved to see Georgiana smiling.The three trimmed bonnets of the same design. and rode out daily in their matching habits like a minor battalion, keeping the Pemberley grounds safe from stray kittens and wandering lambs.

The gentle tinkling of teacups and soft laughter drifted through the open windows of Pemberley’s morning room. Inside, a small gathering of young ladies basked in the warm spring sunlight that spilt across the polished floor.

Georgiana, ever the gracious hostess, poured tea with a steady hand. “Julia, would you care for another scone?” she offered, her voice soft but no longer timid as it once had been.

Lady Julia’s eyes crinkled with a genuine smile. “Oh, thank you, Georgiana. They’re simply divine.” She accepted the delicate china plate, her movements unhurried and elegant. Unlike some of their peers who might have used such an occasion to gossip or boast, Julia’s attention remained fixed on her companions, drinking in their conversation as eagerly as she sipped her tea.

Miss Terry, seated nearby, straightened her posture almost imperceptibly. “I’ve been practicing that new sonata, Georgiana. Perhaps... perhaps you might offer some guidance? Your skill at the pianoforte is unmatched.”

Georgiana’s cheeks flushed slightly at the compliment. “I would be delighted to help, Leah. Though I daresay your own talents far exceed mine.” She leant forward, her voice warm with encouragement. “Shall we try it together after we finish our tea?”

From the doorway, unseen by the ladies, Darcy observed the scene for a moment. As the conversation flowed, punctuated by gentle laughter and thoughtful pauses, Darcy saw Georgiana relaxed in the easy camaraderie. There were no airs put on, no subtle jockeying for position or favour. Instead, three young women simply enjoyed each other’s company, their friendship as refreshing as the spring breeze that rustled the curtains.

The sight of his sister, happy among friends of such genuine character, brought a rare, unguarded smile to Darcy’s face before he quietly withdrew, leaving the young women to their pleasant afternoon.

When their visit ended, Georgiana’s spirits sunk again.

“How I wish I had a sister—or several,” she sighed one evening.

“I am sorry to say I cannot assist you with that. It is far too late to increase our family,” he responded absently.

“It surely is not, Fitzwilliam. If you were to marry, I would have a sister. And if you found a wife with sisters, I would have more. Why are you so opposed to being wed, brother?”

Had he erred in inviting her friends? Their company seemed to have emboldened his usually diffident sibling.

“I am not opposed to being wed, Georgiana. And it is not your place to take me to task in that manner. Were I to find the right lady, I would be happy to be married,” he said. That was not truthful. He had found the right lady, and she had refused him. He knew not whether he could ever consider another.

“Julia Halliday has a sister—she is a lovely girl. And Aunt Catherine is always insisting you marrying Anne.” Georgiana’s nose wrinkled. She glanced about idly affecting an air of offhand conversation whilst it was apparent she wanted answers.

“Would you have me marry Anne? She would be furious if I suggested it. You know she has no interest in leaving Rosings, and I certainly would never wish to leave Pemberley.”

“I suppose not. Will Anne never marry? She is even older than you are, is she not?”

“Anne is nine-and-twenty. I doubt she will consider marriage during her mother’s life. If Anne married, her mother would have to cede control to Anne’s husband, and Lady Catherine has convinced herself she will keep authority over Rosings regardless of Anne’s marriage. I cannot imagine a man willing to allow her to push him aside. So, Anne bides her time.”

Georgiana shook her head. “I would not want any part of that. So, it will be you and me here forever?”

“Are you planning to follow Anne’s path? Wait until I am gone before you marry? Aunt Eleanor seems to believe your coming out is on the horizon within a year.” He smirked, knowing the subject was not a favourite of his sister.

She surprised him. “I should begin preparing to come out. Miss Terry told me all about her sister’s come-out, and it did not seem so terrible as I once thought. If I could be in the same season with Miss Terry and Lady Julia, that would be far less daunting.”

The realisation that his little baby sister was now open to the idea of entering society disturbed Darcy’s equanimity. A prickle of sweat appeared on his brow at the thought of endless balls and routs, presentation at court, dances, and callers. He went to the sideboard and poured a finger of brandy to settle himself. Then, after they separated for the evening, he wrote to Richard, his cousin and co-guardian of Georgiana, with the unwelcome news of her sudden interest in having her come out.

∞∞∞

As Mrs Gardiner increased, she charged Elizabeth with more of her errands about the town. With the Gardiner coach, footman, and maid to keep her safe, Elizabeth had the freedom of London. Whilst she missed the wild tramps in the countryside, she grew to appreciate the diversity and distraction of London’s shops and populace.

The Gardiner maid, Evelyn, was more accustomed to a stately pace and struggled to keep up with Elizabeth’s quick gait. Elizabeth’s stride was brisk, her boots tapping a rapid rhythm on the cobblestones. Behind her, Evelyn’s laboured breathing punctuated the air.

“Miss Elizabeth,” the maid gasped, “might we... slow down a bit?”

Elizabeth halted, turning to see Evelyn’s flushed face. “Oh! I’m so sorry, Evelyn. Let’s rest a moment.” She guided them to a nearby bench, handing the parcels of needles and fresh bread to the footman as they sat.

Once Evelyn’s breathing steadied, they continued their errands, Elizabeth consciously tempering her pace. As they passed Mrs Humphrey’s print shop, a small crowd had gathered, their laughter and murmurs drawing Elizabeth’s attention.

“Just a moment,” she said to Evelyn, edging closer to the window display.

Her eyes widened at the array of satirical prints. The caricature prints were etchings about eight by twelve inches, uncoloured and coloured. Politics, international affairs, scandals, and satire of London’s social elite were depicted. Often those who figured in the graphic satire purchased them, and Elizabeth wondered at paying for a drawing which was more apt to criticise than to praise. The artists changed the actual names or omitted letters to avoid being charged with slander. Still, the individuals portrayed were more often than not quite identifiable. One depicted a portly gentleman, his features exaggerated to comic effect, dancing with a willowy lady whose haughty expression was unmistakable. The caption read “Lord P—’s Folly at Lady R—’s Ball.”

Elizabeth’s gaze darted to the next print, then quickly away, her cheeks burning. The image was far too risqué for public display, yet there it was, tucked between political cartoons and social commentary.

“Come along, Evelyn,” she said hurriedly, “the bookshop awaits.”

Inside Hatchards, Elizabeth lost all sense of time. She trailed her fingers along spines, inhaling the scent of leather and paper. Finally, clutching her precious purchase, she glanced at the clock. She rushed down Bond Street to be collected by the coach. Evelyn panted behind her.

So intent was Elizabeth on reaching the coach that she barely marked the passing clatter of hooves and carriage wheels. She missed the flash of recognition in a pair of dark eyes watching her from behind the carriage’s glass, too focused on not dropping her wrapped book as she hurried down the pavement.