He nodded and stood. “I shall prove myself to you, madam,” he repeated. “The day you leave your mourning clothes behind, I shall be at your side, begging for a courtship. Until then, I shall endeavor to prove myself worthy of your heart.” He bowed and then turned away, striding down the garden path toward the house.
I can only hope he succeeds,Jane thought. She did love him, and it would give her great pleasure to leave the name Collins behind forever. She stroked her stomach again.Perhaps notcompletelybehind.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
July 5, 1812
Pemberley
Elizabeth
Her headache had abated by the time Elizabeth awoke the next morning. The sunlight coming from her window told her that she had slept far past her usual time, and she hurried to summon Smith. She had never replaced the maid, for Smith’s competency and work ethic pleased Elizabeth. The maid also had an uncanny ability to anticipate her mistress’s every request, a trait that proved her value.
She dressed in another black gown. They were all very much alike: simple, no adornment, and depressing. It did not matter if it was silk, muslin, satin, crepe, or something else. None of them suited Elizabeth’s complexion, and all reminded her constantly of her father’s death.
An empty dining room greeted her. Confused, she summoned Mrs. Reynolds. “Where is everyone?” she asked curiously.
“The Bingleys and the Hursts left directly after breaking their fast, madam,” the housekeeper replied. “The master, too, has departed. He left a note explaining.”
Mrs. Reynolds held out a letter, and Elizabeth took it carefully as if she were afraid that it would attack her. Mrs. Reynolds excused herself, and Elizabeth returned to her rooms to read the letter.
Safe in the privacy of her chamber, she sat in a chair near the window and broke the seal.
Dear Madam,
Be not alarmed at my absence; I have not abandoned you as you doubtlessly believe I shall after our illuminating conversation last night. I received an express this morning taking me to my estate in Wiltshire. There has been some trouble there, and I must see to its resolution in person.
My absence will hopefully grant you the solitude you wish. I am sorry to have imposed upon you, but I would have you know that my affection has been unfeigned. Dismayed as I am to learn that yours was not the equal to mine, I promise you that I shall return and make an attempt to rectify things between us.
To start, I must address the charges you laid at my door. Each was of a very different nature, but my pride and honor demand that I defend myself against them.
The first accusation you leveled at me revolves around your when she was still Miss Bennet. I confess that I do not know her as you do, so all my decisions were based on what I thought myself to be: an impartial observer. I know now that I could never claim such a title, for my preoccupation from the earliest moments tainted all my decisions during my time in Hertfordshire.
Your sister, from all appearances, spoke with everyone around her equally. Her demure and proper behavior ought to have told me that she would not act overtly to express her affection. But that is not the conclusion I came to, as you know.
When Sir William Lucas informed me that the neighborhood expected my friend to marry your sister, I determined to examine her closely. Like me, Bingley wished to marry for love and not prudence. I did not wish him to be taken in. Your sister’s beauty drew him to her immediately upon making her acquaintance, and I feared that Bingley had allowed a pretty face to blind him to her lack of feeling.
Throughout the evening, other circumstances arose, further convincing me that Mrs. Collins would act as your mother dictated, marrying where commanded instead of following her heart. Her loud exclamations at dinner, paired with the lack of propriety shown by your three younger sisters and even your father, convinced me that it would be in Bingley’s best interest to leave Hertfordshire and your sister behind.
Bingley departed the morning following the ball. He had business in town and meant to return in three days. The same morning, Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley came to me begging for assistance. Their concerns matched my own, save for one: they held no concern for Jane’s true feelings. You know them well enough that they simply did not wish their brother to attach themselves to a “penniless country nobody.”
It was decided that we would close the house and leave the following day. Miss Bingley claimed she would inform you all of her departure. I was not aware that she had written Mrs. Collins a letter, and so I do not know what it contained. From your words, I assume it disabused your sister of Bingley’s love.
When we reached town, we three attempted to persuade Bingley to abandon Netherfield and your sister, citing all the reasons listed above. He remained unyielding until I told himthat, from my observations, Mrs. Collins did not hold him in affection. He scoffed at first, but we eventually prevailed. I am not ashamed of my actions. They were done in the service of my friend. But your claims of officious and prideful intervention are, indeed, correct. I ought not to have declared her unmoved when I had scarcely had three conversations with her since we met.
This, madam, is a faithful narrative of all my dealings in regard to Bingley and your sister. Now, on to the other accusations.
As you are doubtlessly aware, Mr. Wickham and I have known each other for many years. We were raised together. His father was my father’s steward, and he was my father’s godson. As such, he experienced much of the same advantages as I, receiving an education and lifestyle far above his station. The disparity in our positions never bothered either of us until we went off to school. Wickham attended Eton and then Cambridge with me. It was during the early years at university that I first noted a change in my friend. His disgruntled feelings had likely been brewing for years before I noticed his malcontent.
Wickham would disappear at night and then return to our rooms in the early hours of the morning, completely inebriated and senseless. He proved a better scholar of the gaming tables and alehouses than of books. Soon, he began racking up gambling debts and debts of honor. I hid it all from my father, afraid that I would be blamed for allowing my friend to fall so far. After two more years of his behavior, I stopped my attempts to persuade him toward better behavior, and ceased covering his debts. My father dismissed my claims when I tried to explain. He went to his grave believing the best in George Wickham. It is my fault. I should have never hidden his propensities.
After my father’s death, Wickham presented himself to receive his inheritance. I know not what he expected, but the bequest of one thousand pounds and the preferment of a valuable family living upset him. He claimed he ought to have been given more and agreed to relinquish the living in exchange for three thousand pounds. I agreed, and the transaction took place less than a week after my father had been laid to rest. Where he went after, I knew not.
I believed all matters dissolved between us until, three years later, he resurfaced. The living at Kympton had fallen vacant, and he wrote to me asking to have it. He had never taken orders, and his claims of studying the law proved false. I refused, naturally. His reply to my letter held vitriol that I will not repeat here, but I resolved never to deal with him again and burnt the letter after reading it. I washed my hands of him and did not think we would meet again.
I was wrong. Oh, how wrong! Last summer, he intruded upon my notice again in the worst way. My sister and her companion, a woman named Mrs. Younge, were in Ramsgate. I had taken a house there for her, and we were to spend the summer by the sea. After three weeks, business called me away, and I left her in the hands of Mrs. Younge and our faithful servants.
I was away for four weeks, and when my business concluded early, I resolved to surprise my sister. I arrived in Ramsgate not a moment too soon. Georgiana was, indeed, surprised, and wasted no time in confiding in me. It grieved her to hurt me, and out of love, she told me that she was engaged to Wickham and that they had intended to elope the next day.
