“Mr Darcy…forgive me for asking, but…does Mr Bingley know?” Jane enquired weakly.
“He does, and I must say he was a great help in handling some delicate matters,” he responded with a little smile and another glance at Elizabeth. Then he bowed again and took his leave.
Once the door had closed behind him, Jane began to sob and hurried to her room. Elizabeth was tempted to follow her, but she knew they were happy tears and that it was more important to remain with her father and uncle to hear their final decision.
The conversation unfolded in earnest, Mr Bennet conferring with the Gardiners, Elizabeth adding her measured thoughts. Eventually, they decided to have one last conversation with Lydia, and the whole party went together to her chamber.
“So, my child, I shall ask your opinion, though I might not accept it. Still, I wish to know what your thoughts are, after I tell you everything. Wickham has been found. He blamed you for the elopement. He said you insisted on leaving with him and that heis greatly in debt and unable to support a wife. Still, we might pay him to marry you, if you wish.”
“Oh, could you?” Lydia cried, and Mr Bennet gave a loud sigh.
“We could, but hear me out. You would marry a man with a tendency for cards and seductions, with no home, no living, no prospects. I can only give you one hundred pounds per annum, which will probably be wasted within a month, so once you are married, you will be forced to live in some cheap rented room and take on the duties of a maid. You will need to clean, dust, wash your own clothes — and his — cook, and take care of children if there are any. All the while, he will be free to attend to his friends and his pleasures. Think carefully! You must not count on my further support because I shall not be able to offer any, even if I wanted to. You will move from doing only what you like at home, to waking up at dawn to serve your unworthy husband for the rest of your life.”
Mr Bennet’s voice was cold, calm, and determined, and Lydia’s face changed from disbelief to horror. She appeared shocked by the picture being painted of her future life, vastly different from that which was in her own imagination.
“I cannot become a maid,” she finally said.
“You will be worse, since a maid is at least paid,” Mr Bennet insisted harshly, while Lydia’s eyes filled with tears. “But if you do not marry, you will have to spend the next few years facing the consequences of your actions, as harsh as they might be. But at least you will be cared for, nurtured, safe, and perhaps you might dedicate more of your time to your education. Then, in the future, you may hope to find a decent man to marry you despite your past.”
Lydia still looked dumbfounded, tears falling down her cheeks, gazing imploringly at her sister and aunt.
“We shall take care of you,” Elizabeth assured her.
“We shall, but you must adjust your behaviour, or you will face ruin and poverty,” Mr Bennet concluded.
A long moment of deep, painful silence followed, broken only by Lydia’s sobbing. Finally, she wiped her eyes and said, “I do not want to become a servant. I cannot marry George.”
“That is a wise decision, my child. Probably the first one of your life, but I hope not the last. Brother, shall we adjourn to your study? I am in desperate need of a drink,” Mr Bennet said, limping out of the room with Mr Gardiner.
Elizabeth and her aunt remained with Lydia, who was still sobbing, whining over losing her true love.
Comforting her sister, Elizabeth’s reflections ran towards Mr Darcy, wondering what he was doing and what thoughts churned behind his brooding eyes.
He had offered his house for Lydia to live in and suggested she could also be accompanied by her sisters — she and Jane. So he did not abhor the notion of having her — Elizabeth — in his proximity, connected to him in such a way. He seemed to have pondered the scandal’s reach with much consideration. Did he still ponder her place in his heart? Each of his glances stirred a flutter within her, a blend of admiration and yearning that warmed her soul. At that very moment, she understood that he was not just a generous rescuer; perhaps a love could arise from the ashes of prejudice. Could there still be a spark of his affection for her still alive?
Chapter 13
The morning light crept into the house on Gracechurch Street with a hesitancy that matched Elizabeth’s own state of mind. Sleep had eluded her entirely; the hours had been spent in restless turns upon the pillow, her thoughts a merry-go-round of gratitude, guilt, and that most perilous of emotions — hope. Every creak of the house had made her start, imagining Mr Darcy’s tall figure at the door, his voice low and measured, asking after Lydia, or perhaps — wild fancy! — after her. By dawn, she had risen, pale and bleary-eyed, determined to appear composed, though her heart beat a traitor’s tattoo beneath her muslin.
When the servant announced Mr Darcy shortly after breakfast, the drawing room seemed suddenly too small, the air too thin. He entered looking every inch the gentleman who had ridden hard and slept little — his coat brushed but still bearing faint traces of the road, his expression grave yet composed. After the usual civilities, he requested a word in private with Mr Bennet and Mr Gardiner. The three gentlemen withdrew to the small study at the back of the house, leaving the ladies in a state of restless anticipation.
Elizabeth paced. Jane sat with folded hands, her needlework forgotten in her lap. Lydia, propped upon cushions with her ankle elevated, sulked in silence, still smarting from herfather’s lecture the day before. Mrs Gardiner watched her eldest niece with quiet concern but said nothing.
The conference lasted too long for Elizabeth’s patience; when the study door opened again, Mr Darcy emerged first, bowing to the room at large.
“I must take my leave,” he said, his voice steady. “There are matters still to settle, but I trust your family will soon be restored to some tranquillity.”
Mr Bennet inclined his head. “We are more in your debt than words can say, sir. Please send us news on the progress of this affair. We shall remain in London for two or three more days.”
Mr Darcy bowed and took a few steps towards the door.
Elizabeth’s heart pounded so strongly that she was certain everyone could hear it. Was everything settled? Would he leave now? Would she see him again? A strange sense of despair enveloped her as she felt the moment slipping away like sand through her fingers. She was terrified of her own boldness but could not live with that burden on her chest any longer. She stepped forwards before courage could desert her.
“Mr Darcy,” she said, her voice clear though her hands trembled at her sides, “might I beg a few private moments with you — in the hall, perhaps — before you go?”
A startled silence greeted the request.
Mr Darcy’s dark brows lifted fractionally; surprise flickered across his features before he schooled them back to calm. Mr Bennet regarded his second daughter with a mixture of puzzlement and faint amusement. Jane’s eyes widened; Mrs Gardiner’s lips parted in quiet astonishment.
