“You must seek your answers from her.” He rose, regaining his usual self-command. “I have just recalled a matter of some importance. Safe journey, Lady Westland. Should you see my aunt before I do, give her my best.”
Lady Westland rose to take her leave, resignation in her countenance. With a shallow curtsey, she quitted the room, her dark skirts whispering across the carpet. When she was gone, he sank back into his chair and pressed a hand to his face.
Elizabeth would leave Hertfordshire. He longed to follow her to town but knew such a course would only hinder her purpose. Still, how was he to remain here? Every room, every walk, every vista held her memory. Even Meryton’s streets recalled her voice and smile. How much more desolate would all appear now that she would be gone?
I cannot stay here,he thought. The earl and countess were still in Derbyshire with Georgiana. Certain obligations had prevented his sister from making her way south to Netherfield. Perhaps he ought to write and declare his intention of spending the winter at Pemberley. Georgiana would like that, or so he hoped. She had not yet recovered her spirits after the disappointment of the previous summer. Colonel Fitzwilliam had hunted down that blackguard Wickham and seen him thrown into the debtor’s prison. Darcy had made no attempt to interfere; disgust and self-reproach forbade it. His only concession had been to instruct the gaoler to inform the family should the prisoner die.
A frown gathered on his brow. Wickham was not unlike Fiennes. Was his former friend not a master of manipulation? Both had wielded charm as a weapon, deceiving men and women alike and preying upon their paths?Did his sister suffer as Elizabeth? I must find out.He rose and strode from the room in search of his valet.I shall be ready to depart as soon as Bingley returns,he vowed. He must see for himself the state of his sister’s heart and learn whether she had indeed recovered from her near folly.
They had not spoken of the events at Ramsgate since their first discussion of the dangers posed by unworthy gentlemen. Georgiana had wept quietly through it all, and afterwards, withdrawn into silence. After several months with no communication, he had sent her to his aunt and uncle, hoping they might succeed where he had failed. Beyond a few brief letters, she had remained largely unresponsive since his departure for Hertfordshire.
I shall need to help her heal.Georgiana was the dearest sister a man could wish for; she did not deserve to suffer. Perhaps together they might come to understand how George Wickham—once a friend, almost a brother—could behave so abominably.Have I forgiven him?he wondered.Have I healed from hisbetrayal?
Darcy could not answer. For years he had tried to convince his father of the man’s character, but to no avail. When all remonstrance failed, he had withdrawn from Wickham entirely. The memory still filled him with anger, a feeling so sharp it constricted his chest.No, I have not healed,he realised.Perhaps the path lies first in forgiving my father for not listening.
Resolved at last, he took up his pen and began a letter to his aunt and uncle, informing them of his intention to return to Pemberley. Matlock lay on his way north; he would call there to bring Georgiana home. They would pass the winter at Pemberley before returning to Hertfordshire for Bingley’s wedding. And if Elizabeth were there…he did not know what he would do.
Everything is in her hands now.I will see to my own while I wait.Surely it would not be too long before all was resolved. His thoughts turned, as they ever did, to her. Wherever she was, he prayed that peace would find her first—for only then could his own begin. He longed for a future with her—and so he would wait as long as it took.
29 November 1811
Longbourn-London
Elizabeth
Suzanne did not speak as the carriage departed Longbourn, three days after the Netherfield Ball. Elizabeth had bestowed heartfelt farewells to her family, struggling against tears as she spoke to each in turn. Mr Bennet’seyes were unusually moist, glistening with unshed tears. “Find your happiness, my Lizzy,” he whispered as they embraced.
“I will, Papa.” She had not told her father why she had chosen this moment to leave Longbourn, yet he seemed to understand her need to rediscover herself. They had never discussed the events of her short marriage in detail, though she felt certain he had speculated on what she had endured at Fiennes’s hands.
“Bring me a present, Lizzy!” Lydia’s brash command drew a smile. Her youngest sister remained as wilful and lively as ever, despite her governess’s constant direction. She bounced on her toes, curls tumbling about her shoulders—every inch the fifteen-year-old girl she was, and exactly as a young lady not yet out should appear.
To think I was married when I was not much older than Lydia.The reminder brought a pang of unease, and she felt renewed gratitude that her father had insisted the younger girls wait.
“Goodbye, Cousin Elizabeth.” Mr Collins, soon to depart for Hunsford, bowed with easy politeness. “I have great hopes that we shall see each other again soon.” His gaze drifted towards Mary, who had turned to speak to Jane.
“That would be agreeable, sir.” She paused a moment, considering her words, then continued. “Cousin, if it is not too forward, and if it is indeed your intent to seek a courtship with Mary, you should speak with my father before you depart. Once he has granted permission, perhaps you and my sister might agree to exchange correspondence. ’Tis an unusual beginning, I know, but it would spare you another journey from your flock while allowing you to pursue your suit honourably.”
He looked thoughtful and inclined his head. “I shall do as you suggest, Cousin.”
Elizabeth moved on to Jane and Mary, embracing each in turn. “You will return for my wedding, will you not, Lizzy?” Jane asked.
“I shall. I cannot miss my elder sister’s wedding; it would be a travesty. Write to me when you have chosen a date.”
“Perhaps there may be more than one wedding,” Mary murmured, quietly enough so only Jane and Elizabeth heard. “I know it has been but a fortnight, yet…”
Elizabeth took her hand gently. “There is no harm in having hope. He seems a good man. If he makes you happy—if you can love him—you will have no cause to repine.”
Suzanne likewise took leave of the family. She had called upon the four-and-twenty families over the past few days to bid them farewell, and Elizabeth had accompanied her—except when she visited Netherfield. She felt her letter to Mr Darcy had served enough as her parting. The Bingley sisters were not there to care whether she neglected propriety. Indeed, the younger probably rejoiced when she had returned to London with the Hursts—not that such absence would clear her path to Mr Darcy’s affections.
She forced her thoughts away from that gentleman. It hurt to think of him, and she feared that if she dwelled on him too long she would cast caution aside and fly to his side at Netherfield. She could not. He deserved a whole woman, not the fractured creature she had become.
With a final farewell, she and Suzanne entered the carriage. Arthur and Elinor joined them, chattering cheerfully and entertaining one another with stories and songs. When they stopped to rest the horses, Suzanne asked the children to complete the journey in the other carriage, which conveyed Miss Lane and the other servants.
“I need to speak with my friend,” she explained, and Arthur nodded his understanding. With the promise that they might return later, the children went without complaint.
“You are running away,” Suzanne observed, her gaze speculative.
“I am not. I mean to discover who I am and what my life is to be.” Elizabeth folded her arms stubbornly and met her friend’s look with stubborn resolve.
