Darcy hated that his friend was right.
After a short pause, Bingley slapped him good-naturedly on the back and started for the door. “Come down to tea. Perhaps Caroline and I can help take your mind off things?”
Darcy cleared his throat, stalling for time. Caroline Bingley was hardly likely to help the situation. Once, he had thought well of Bingley’s sister. After all, she was an elegant, well-educated woman.
Unfortunately, her schooling had not included lessons in developing one’s heart and character. Her reaction to the disaster that afflicted his family showed that all too clearly. She pretended to be heartbroken over how far Georgiana had fallen, but each sweetly uttered condolence carried a hint of smug satisfaction with it. Miss Bingley clearly relished her proximity to the year’s most fascinating gossip.
Still, it would hardly do to criticise Caroline Bingley to her brother. Darcy had no wish for Bingley to be disillusioned in a sister as Darcy himself had been. “No, thank you. I need to finish some letters.”
Bingley looked disappointed. He opened the door to his room and stepped out into the hall, turning at the last second. “I want you to know how very sorry I am, Darcy. I never could have anticipated such a thing, never.” He turned. “Shall I see you at supper?”
“Yes, until then,” Darcy replied. When Bingley was gone, Darcy returned to the desk. He took up the letters and thumbed through them. When he came to a letter addressed to him from his cousin, he eagerly opened it. The colonel always had something to say to the purpose. The sending address had been obscured, no doubt to protect military confidentiality.
Dear Darcy,
I have just arrived at my new post, where I found a letter from my mother awaiting me. She says she will consent to recognise the new Mrs Wickham (I can hardly bear to write the name!), but she will not dignify Georgiana’s actions by inviting her to public events. Perhaps it is just as well. I understand the gossips are still too interested in our former ward. When things are quieter, it may be possible to persuade my mother to take Mrs Wickham under her wing.
Unfortunately, our Aunt Catherine will not be swayed. She believes we should disown Georgiana entirely for what she has done to the family. I have tried to reason with her, but there is no speaking to her, as you well know. The only thing that can be done is to allow time to pass and hope that forgiveness can be achieved.
Have you written to her? I should like to know how she is getting on, but I will take your lead in the matter. The greater injury is yours, cousin, and so must be the decision of how to deal with your wilful sister.
I expect some weeks of leave at Christmas. If there is any way I can be of assistance, you will not find me hesitant to act.
Faithfully,
Richard Fitzwilliam
Darcy folded the letter and laid it aside. For once, a letter from his favourite cousin had left him feeling worse than before he had read it.
Georgiana Darcy was now Mrs Wickham. He should have done more to protect her — and she should not have engaged in an elopement she knew very well to be wrong as well as foolish. Guilt and anger mingled in Darcy, leaving him feeling morethan a little sick. Then came the next level — guilt for feeling anger, when Georgiana might already be suffering. Bingley had invited him to Netherfield to try to take his mind off things. Little wonder it had not worked. Everything was a reminder of Georgiana. When Darcy could not even finish a letter to her, how could he expect to have peace for so much as a single moment?
He would drive himself mad if he continued in this frame of mind. Darcy let out a frustrated sigh and stood up from his desk, suddenly decisive. No solace could be found indoors. Out of doors, he would at least have the relief of walking and of looking out over the land.
After putting on a stout pair of boots and retrieving his coat, Darcy headed across the rolling pastureland. When he came to the lane, he turned eastward, where a low hill could be seen some distance away. Though nothing to the steeper, rockier countryside of Derbyshire, it would still offer more vigorous exercise and the chance to command a broader vista.
The event proved Darcy correct. By the time the path reached the top, he had grown warm from the effort of climbing. From its peak, the fields spread out in every direction but one — the east, where he could see a small wood surprisingly close by. Had it not been concealed by the rising ground, it must have been visible for some time. The trees were aflame with the splendid colours of autumn. Looking at it, Darcy took what felt like his first full breath in some time. In nature, if anywhere, was a respite from thinking things he could not bear to consider.
It hardly seemed a decision at all to descend from the knoll and make for the trees. The distance was short and quickly covered, and to Darcy’s relief, the wood proved one well-suited for walking. He followed a small path, entering the trees with asense of relief. They were not the familiar woods of Pemberley, but they would do.
But even the peace of the forest and the lush colours of autumn could not put his mind at ease forever. Darcy was soon lost in thought, wandering through the deeply shaded area of the little forest. Worry for Georgiana soon overtook him; his mood turned toward hopelessness once more.
Perhaps it would be better to write to her, even if he was harsh in his words, than to have this festering inside him, tearing at the closeness they had once enjoyed. At least his anger, guilt, and grief would be known, and they could then begin the hard work of mending their relationship.
But perhaps that was impossible. Perhaps part of his hesitation lay in knowing that their relationship would never again be the same. Then, too, there was time impossibility of believing that Georgiana could ever be tolerably happy in the life she had chosen. He was grieving her situation as much as he was grieving everything he had lost.
Darcy strode along briskly, almost hurrying, though for no purpose. He walked as though he could leave everything — Georgiana, Wickham, his own failure — behind him.
He knew that he could not. A crossroads was rapidly approaching. When he reached it, Darcy decided, he would find his self-command again. He would turn back towards Netherfield, and by the time he arrived, he would be fit to speak to. There were only a few paces left now.
Darcy reached the path, confident in his good intentions. There were four ways: the way he had come, which continued straight forward past a crooked beech tree, a path to the left, and a path to the right. He turned right without hesitation.
If a quiet, niggling voice inside his head asked if he was really sure it was the right way, Darcy firmly ignored it.
That it was, in fact,notthe right was quickly apparent. After several turns and crossings, the little path ended at a small grove. Forced to retrace his steps, Darcy walked quickly, growling at himself under his breath. How could he have been so foolish? He had been warned about the woods and the dangers of getting lost in them since he was a small boy. He had not taken this one seriously, thinking it too small and Hertfordshire too gentle to present any real threat. But he could not see past the trees to the fields beyond, and the sky was so dull and hazy that he could not determine his direction from the angle of the sun. He had got himself into a predicament that would have been laughable, if it had not been so embarrassing — and if it did not have the potential for real danger.
By the third time Darcy found himself at the same crooked beech tree, he could not restrain himself from swearing under his breath. Somehow, he must get himself out of the woods, but how? Though knowing it must be futile, he was about to start retracing his steps yet again when a young woman suddenly appeared on the path before him, coming out from behind some trees. He came out further onto the narrow path to make himself known. She must have been engrossed in the book that she was carrying, for she did not even notice him until she was only twenty paces from him. Darcy cleared his throat, and the young woman startled so violently that he was afraid she would trip backwards and land in the fallen leaves that littered the path.
“Excuse me, Miss,” he said and took off his hat, bowing to her. Darcy hoped desperately that she would not run from him. While he would not normally expect a lone young womanto speak to a strange man, it would be a shame if the only person who might help him was too much terrified to do so.
