Page 33 of The Riches of a Life Well-Lived

Day 44/16: Tuesday, November 19, 1811

Darcy trudged down the hallway to his aunt’s sitting room. Though he awoke without any of the expected fatigue from riding to London two days in a row, that did not make the process any easier. He still ached from the ride today, and he was exhausted from the constant puzzle of how to rescue Georgiana.

Not to mention that he missed Elizabeth. Days spent with her were always better.

Admonishing himself to live up to his name, he straightened his posture, attempting to erase the weariness from every line. At least, whether or not Wednesday came, he would see Elizabeth tomorrow.

“William!” his aunt cried as he entered. She hurried over and clasped his hands in hers. “Are you well?”

Darcy gave her a forced smile. “I would prefer to explain my presence once my uncle arrives.”

Lady Matlock rang the bell and called for her husband, then gestured for Darcy to sit.

Darcy’s lips twitched as his aunt immediately began to fuss over his haste. He did not reply, unable to think of anything he could say that would reassure her—nor anything that would not feel too repetitive. He stood when his uncle entered and greeted the man with a firm handshake.

“William has refused to tell me what is amiss until you arrived,” Lady Matlock said severely.

“You look nearly done-in, m’boy,” Lord Matlock said. “How urgent is the matter? Shall we have tea or is it to business first?”

Darcy hesitated. Would his relations be more receptive with a cup of tea in hand? Then again, he would prefer not to juggle a cup of tea at the moment. Not when facing his aunt and uncle simultaneously. “Business first, please.”

Lord Matlock nodded, and the three of them sat down, though Darcy remained perched on the edge of his chair.

“I have returned to ask your advice.”

“Oh?” his aunt asked, one eyebrow raised.

As Darcy related Wickham’s arrival and his concerns about Georgiana, his aunt and uncle responded almost precisely as they had before, even, unfortunately, down to his uncle divining that there was something more to his concern.

Darcy had not intended to speak to his aunt and uncle about the repetitions again, but he could not forgo the chance to gain their joint advice and that would require honesty.

He released a breath and mentally prepared himself “What I am about to say will sound impossible, but I assure you that it is the truth. I have been repeating November 19, 1811, over and over again.”

His aunt and uncle stared at him, disbelief written large across their faces.

“I cannot explain how, but I have already spoken to each of you about Wickham before.” He turned to his aunt. “The Langfords have cancelled dinner tomorrow due to his lordship’s illness, and,”—he shifted to look at his uncle―”you told me that you had nearly been sent down for stealing the king’s sceptre.”

“Oh, come now―” Lady Matlock began.

“How did you know that?” Lord Matlock asked, his eyes narrowing

“You did what?” Lady Matlock demanded of her husband as he confirmed the truth of Darcy’s words.

Lord Matlock waved her question aside. “A schoolboy prank. But I have not spoken of it in years—those who were involved made a solemn vow never to tell anyone else of the prank unless it became absolutely necessary.”

“You told me about it should I need to prove the truth of my repetitions to you,” Darcy said.

Lady Matlock looked pensive. “The Langfords have cancelled . . . .”

“You mentioned it one of the other ‘todays’ when I visited.” Darcy leaned forward, trying to hold his aunt and uncle’s attention. “Repeating the same day over and over seems impossible, but I am not at all trying to mislead you, nor am I pulling a prank.”

“I would not have expected either from you,” Lord Matlock said. “And were it not for the highly unlikely nature of your assertion....”

Darcy nodded. “I am aware how mad it sounds. If I were not living it, I would not believe it myself.”

“Do you know what is causing these... repetitions?” his uncle asked searchingly.

“Perhaps. Someone who is aware of the repetitions has claimed responsibility for them.”

His aunt straightened. “Others believe Tuesday is repeating as well?”

“Yes. Mrs. Engel, the elderly woman who claims to have reorganised time, told me that she did so for my benefit—were I to continue on as I had been, supposedly Wickham will marry Georgiana. And she wished to give me the opportunity to escape that fate, presumably both for my sake and for Georgiana’s sake.”

Lord Matlock’s frown deepened. “Do you believe her?”

Darcy shrugged. “I have no reason not to, and I can attest that she is one of the few people who can change their behaviour from Tuesday to Tuesday. She has also demonstrated other—impossible phenomena, such as vanishing from sight.”

“Vanishing from sight?” his aunt asked, her eyebrows flying up.

“In an instant,” Darcy said.

His aunt stared at him, then exchanged a worried look with her husband.

“I promise you that I am not mad.” At least, not yet. If he had to keep repeating Tuesday, especially if Elizabeth left him—well, he would not vouch for his continued sanity. “I have tried many times, in various ways, to prevent Wickham from marrying Georgiana. Thus far, Tuesday has continued to repeat—thereby implying that I have not sufficiently altered events.”

Lord Matlock appeared troubled. “He did know about the sceptre,” he murmured to his wife. “And I would have sworn that I have never broken that oath. I had not even told you―”

“I am aware of that fact,” she said tartly. “I suppose—if William is merely confused and needs help, we can speak to someone tomorrow. It would not hurt to speak of Mr. Wickham today. Just—just in case.”

Lord Matlock nodded. “That seems reasonable.” He turned back to Darcy. “Well, William, how can we assist?”

“Any advice you can offer would be most helpful—both about how to handle Wickham and how to make the most of these repetitions.”

Lady Matlock frowned. “What have you already attempted with Mr. Wickham?”

“Initially, I tried to speak to him and to Georgiana. I also sent letters to Fitzwilliam informing him of the situation. However, Mrs. Engel told me that I was attempting to change the wrong people.”

Lady Matlock sniffed. “The wrong people? Are not Mr. Wickham and Georgiana the primary parties in such a marriage?”

“That is what I thought. Apparently, however, it is not their actions that I need to change. I considered killing Wickham,” he admitted. “Mrs. Engel said that were I to do so, I would simply end up with an equally repulsive brother in addition to staining my soul. She assured me a way out of this predicament exists.”

Lord Matlock huffed. “And if she is lying?”

“Why would she bother?” Darcy asked. “If she truly has the power to alter time, why would she need to lie to me? She could gain whatever she wishes without having to endure endless Tuesdays.”

“Perhaps you have something she wishes to gain,” Lady Matlock said, drumming her fingers on the arm of her chair.

Darcy considered the matter for a brief moment. “I cannot imagine what. Not to mention that she bears all the appearance of truthfulness in her manner.”

“Then you wish to proceed with the assumption that keeping Mr. Wickham from marrying Georgiana is the solution?” Lord Matlock asked.

Darcy gave a firm nod. “Since she told me to cease concentrating my efforts on Wickham, Georgiana, and Fitzwilliam, I have attempted to speak to Wickham’s commanding officer and to the two of you. I have also attempted to find Mrs. Engel to ask for more information, as I am unsure how to proceed without simply treating the whole thing like searching for a needle in a haystack. I am required not only to speak to the correct person but also to say the correct thing, and I do not know what that may be.”

“Very methodical,” his uncle approved. “It sounds as though you have the right approach.”

Darcy grimaced. “Though I did not initially agree, I am coming to believe that a methodical means of searching for a solution may not be best.”

His aunt gave him a shrewd look. “Is this Mrs. Engel the only one who is experiencing these Tuesdays?”

The question hung in the air, as Darcy frantically tried to decide whether to disclose Elizabeth’s presence and his true feelings about her. Perhaps speaking to them together might lead to a different result?

“There is only one other person who is experiencing these Tuesdays: Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” he said firmly. “She convinced me to spend some time searching for Mrs. Engel—primarily because she believes that there are almost infinite variations on what may be the correct thing to say to someone.”

Lady Matlock narrowed her eyes. “And how did this woman enter into these ‘repetitions’ with you?”

Darcy tensed, his back becoming ramrod straight. “I was unable to resolve the issue on my own, and so I asked Mrs. Engel for aid. Though I requested her personal assistance, she sent Miss Elizabeth.”

The furrows in Lord Matlock’s brow grew. “Miss Elizabeth and Mrs. Engel are working together?”

“No. Miss Elizabeth had not met Mrs. Engel prior to entering the repetitions. Mrs. Engel simply said that she would send the person best suited to assist.” He closed his mouth, unwilling to elaborate about the risk he was taking, nor about the increased rewards—though he was starting to feel that endless days spent in Elizabeth’s company were more than enough reward.

“What sort of woman is this Miss Elizabeth?” Lady Matlock asked, studying him intently.

The back of Darcy’s neck heated under her gaze. “She is the daughter of a local gentleman. I have found her to be intelligent and kind. She also possesses a strong set of morals.”

“That is high praise from you. Is she a suitable young woman? How are you protecting against compromise?” his aunt demanded.

“According to the values of our set, no, she is not suitable,” he said, his spine still straight. “She possesses neither valuable connections nor wealth. However, she has far more substance than most of our set—I believe it is because she has grown up outside the ton and has had a more unconventional education that she is well-suited to be an excellent wife. Miss Elizabeth cares for her tenants, is intelligent and witty—I have seen her twist an insult so sweetly that the insulted party is hardly aware of being insulted—and I have witnessed her kindness towards others.”

His uncle gave him a warning look. “William, you know what is due to your name.”

“I know what I have always believed to be due to my name, but.... Does it truly increase the Darcy standing if I marry someone who makes me miserable? Or marry someone who will not be a credit to the Darcy name in any way, save wealth and connections? Would it not be more aligned with the Darcy values to marry someone who possesses substance, who will take excellent care of the tenants and navigate society while retaining her own values? Miss Elizabeth would never become trapped in chasing the ton’s approval, as so many of our set do. I believe many of the skills she possesses are more important than those which our society rates as accomplishments.”

He held his aunt and uncle’s gaze in turn. “You wish for a niece who does credit to the Fitzwilliam name just as much as I wish for a wife who does credit to the Darcy name. But marrying one of the ton’s favourites, simply for the sake of increasing our wealth or connections, will not do that. What if I were to marry someone who is easily bored and looks outside our marriage for entertainment? Or what if I marry a spendthrift?”

His aunt pursed her lips. “You would do no such thing. And though I agree that there are things more important than wealth and connections to consider, there are young ladies in the ton who have both substance and wealth and connections. You are talking as though you have to choose between the two, but you do not.”

“Indeed,” his uncle said, nodding. “There are many amiable young ladies in the ton.”

Darcy wished he knew how to put his thoughts into words that would convince them. “I do not wish to go against you. And I am not yet fully convinced that Miss Elizabeth is someone I wish to pursue. I miss her and wish to be near her all the time. I believe she will be an excellent wife and mistress for whoever marries her, but....” He sighed. “I love you both very much; however, I am tired of trying to fulfil society’s expectations. What does it matter if I marry a country maiden? Society may complain for a week or two, but truly, will they not complain regardless? I am constantly faulted for being unmarried, and I would surmise that, just as my peers have been, I shall be faulted for whomever I marry, even if she is a diamond of the first water.”

Lady Matlock leaned forward, placing her hand over his. “William, we do not wish to see you unhappy. Your well-being and Georgiana’s are our first priority in the matter of your marriage.” She glanced up at her husband.

“Marrying someone who is not of the first circles will limit Georgiana’s choices,” Lord Matlock said. “Not to mention that many in our circle may shun you. Surely a country maiden would be miserable among the ton, dealing with their disapproval. You would not wish such a life on one you truly cared about.”

Darcy clasped his aunt’s hand. “Thank you,” he told the both of them. “I know that you both care deeply for Georgiana and me, and truly, I cannot express what it has meant to have your support after Father’s death.” He held his aunt’s gaze. “And I understand your reservations. I have shared them for much of my life. It is only within this multitude of Tuesdays that I have begun to question those ‘truths.’ Georgiana’s brush with Wickham has reminded me that I do not wish her to marry someone who only values her wealth and status. I would much prefer she is sought after for her character—at the bare minimum, I wish Georgie to marry someone congenial and hard-working, a person of substance, who will come to love her in time even if he does not yet love her at their wedding.” He took a deep breath. “Marrying a person of substance will set a good example for Georgiana and will help discourage those who desire her wealth or connections alone.”

His aunt shook her head. “Only those who are desperate for wealth and connections would be willing to overlook such an offence.”

“Offence? How is marrying a person of substance an offence?” Darcy demanded.

“Perhaps that was poorly phrased,” Lord Matlock put in. “However, Peg’s point is still valid. Society will consider ignoring one of the most foundational rules of our set nigh-on unforgivable, particularly for someone in your position. Like must marry like.”

“I still believe that a true man of substance will be willing to overlook any such ‘transgressions’ and marry Georgiana anyway.”

His aunt squeezed his hand. “Please allow us to guide you in this matter, as we have seen many bring dishonour on their family names through poor marriages. I would not wish to see you repeat their mistakes.”

Darcy opened his mouth to protest that he was not convinced that it was a mistake nor that he was certain he wanted to marry Elizabeth, but then closed it. His aunt and uncle were unlikely to be convinced in the space of a single day, and even if he did convince them, he would have to repeat the process all over again. Arguing against them had, however, solidified his own position. The rules he had upheld his entire life seemed far less important now—particularly in the light of Elizabeth’s own brilliance. She shone like a true diamond of the first water, even if it were not in the fashion society demanded. He would continue to consider the matter on his own and speak to his aunt and uncle again once they were no longer repeating Tuesday.

That night, Elizabeth decided to attempt to dissuade Mr. Wickham from pursuing Miss Darcy any further. When he reached the point in his customary tale where he mentioned how proud Miss Darcy had grown, Elizabeth shook her head. “How unfortunate. Many men would overlook such a character defect in favour of her dowry though, so it is unlikely that she will suffer materially for it.”

“True,” Mr. Wickham agreed. “Still, it is a difficult thing to witness in one I used to consider nearly a sister.”

“She is young; you may yet see her change.”

Sorrow still artfully etched upon his features, Mr. Wickham shook his head. “I am afraid her brother’s unreasoning hatred of me means that I will never see her again.”

“Truly?” Elizabeth asked, widening her eyes.

“Mr. Darcy has poisoned her against me.”

“I suppose it would be unwise to pursue further interactions with her then, especially as Mr. Darcy has said that his temper is resentful, and you would not wish to find yourself on the wrong end of a sabre or a pistol.” She tried to give the viper a warm smile. “We would hate for an enraged family member to end your time here in Hertfordshire, and if Mr. Darcy is as hotheaded as some of the brothers in our shire are—you would not risk a painful death, would you?”

Mr. Wickham shook his head. “Certainly not!”

“Not to mention that Mr. Darcy’s uncle—the earl—is likely influential enough to have you brought up on any charge he so pleases. We would hate to lose the newest member of our community to such a foolish action.”

Mr. Wickham did not appear able to meet her eyes but agreed.

Elizabeth smiled tranquilly.