Elizabeth chose not to reply. She did not feel strong, quite the opposite, she felt as if she was about to cry at every moment and did not even know why.
They returned to the drawing room, but Lydia was no longer there, and Jane explained she had gone to rest. Soon afterwards, the doctor arrived and went directly to examine Mr Bennet, as well as Lydia, only to return with a hopeful conclusion: both of them were on the path towards recovery and needed rest, which brought Elizabeth some slight relief.
Yet more reasons for distress appeared when, some time later, a letter was delivered for Mr Gardiner. Intrigued, the gentleman opened it while the ladies waited nervously.
“It is from Mr Bingley. He apologises that he was unable to call over the last two days due to some urgent business that demanded his attention. He sends his regards and hopes to visit soon.”
The words hung like a pall. Jane’s fair cheeks drained of colour, her voice a whisper. “Business… Oh…he must have found out. The report about Lydia’s elopement must have reached him already. Perhaps Mr Darcy informed him… Dear Lord, I can only imagine what his sisters have said…”
“Jane, all you know is that he had the courtesy to inform us about his delay,” Mrs Gardiner said gently. “Let us not assume the worst.”
“In the last two days, things have proved to be even worse than we assumed,” Jane whispered, and Elizabeth could not even contradict her.
“I fear I shall never see him again,” Jane continued, stirring Elizabeth’s guilt even more. If not for her ridiculous trust in Mr Wickham, this would not have happened, and Jane would have eventually found her happiness. She had done more harm to her sister than Mr Darcy when he advised Mr Bingley to leave Netherfield.
When Jane hurried to their room, Elizabeth hesitated a moment before she followed her. What could she say to comfort her without raising unreasonable hopes?
Jane was already sitting by the window, gazing out, and Elizabeth joined her; the afternoon light cast a soft glow that belied the storm within.
“That man, Mr Wickham, such deceit…” Jane mumbled with a bitterness unlike herself. “To toy with Lydia’s affections, then abandon her so callously… I can scarcely comprehend it. How dare he! What did he imagine would happen? Is he hoping for money? He must know Papa has so little.”
“George Wickham is a horrible man whom I foolishly trusted, and I shall never forgive myself for that. I have been such a ridiculous simpleton! I even had the audacity to accuse Mr Darcy of cruelty! Mr Darcy should laugh at me. I deserve as much.”
“Mr Darcy did not seem tempted to laugh at you, or to blame you, Lizzy. How did it happen that we misjudged those two men so utterly and completely? The whole of Meryton did, not just us! How were we all fooled so easily?”
“You, dearest Jane, were far less fooled than me and many others. You warned me not to trust Mr Wickham so easilyand told me that I was too hasty in thinking ill of Mr Darcy. I arrogantly assumed it was just your kind heart that induced you to see the best in people. In fact, it was wisdom, prudence, and common sense — something I have lacked.”
They embraced each other, sharing fear and disappointment.
“Mr Bingley is an honourable man with a kind heart,” Jane whispered.
“He is, indeed,” Elizabeth replied, squeezing her sister’s hand. Mr Darcy was even more so, and his image raced through her thoughts like a gallant figure from a romantic tale. One she had rejected, and in doing so, she had likely ruined her best chance at happiness.
Hours passed, and evening draped Gracechurch Street in twilight hues; the children were prepared for the night, and dinner was served, though their appetites had long been lost. Lydia preferred to eat in her room, but Mr Bennet joined them. Pale, suddenly aged, he poured himself a drink, paying no heed to Elizabeth’s reproachful glare.
They ate in relative silence until the uneasy quietude was stirred by a sudden rap at the door. The servant’s announcement sent a ripple of shock through the room: “Sir, Mr Darcy has arrived.”
Chapter 12
Immediately, all of them stood up, holding their breath in anticipation.
Mr Darcy entered, a vision of weary determination, his coat spattered with road dust, his boots muddied, his dark hair tousled as if by the wind’s own hand. Fatigue etched his noble features, yet his eyes burned with purpose. “Forgive the intrusion at this hour,” he said, his voice gravelly from the journey. “I come directly from the road.”
“Mr Darcy!” Mr Gardiner said. “Do enter, sir! Allow me to take your coat, and please sit down, have a drink and some food.”
“Thank you…” Mr Darcy replied, his gaze sweeping the room as he chose a chair, and the others sat too. “I know you are eager for news. We found Wickham near St Albans, attempting to flee northwards. Colonel Forster has him in custody. Measures will be taken to secure him until further decisions about his fate are made. And for that, Mr Bennet’s opinion is important.”
A collective breath escaped the room. “What a relief that you found him. Did he say why he left the regiment, why he took Lydia with him?” Mr Bennet asked.
Mr Darcy took a moment before answering with obvious reluctance. “He proclaims Miss Lydia insisted on going withhim. Of course, nobody would believe a man of five-and-twenty would take a girl of fifteen with him unless he wished to.”
“So he has no intention of marrying her,” Mr Bennet said.
“Probably not. He indicated that he has countless debts and no way of paying them, so supporting a wife, especially now he has left the regiment, would be impossible. Which…”
Mr Darcy paused, and all eyes stared at him.
“Yes?” Mr Bennet asked.
