Page 66 of Fitzwilliam Darcy, Exile

Papa continued, “He hopes, and it is a hope I also entertain, that you only lack more time in his company to see clearly how you must proceed.”

“Papa,” she kept her voice level, “I have told you my answer regarding Mr. Wickham. I will not change my mind.” Her mother and younger sisters believed she was still considering the offer, but she had told her father the truth of the matter.

“And I have told you that I do not believe you have given him proper consideration.” He sighed deeply, the bone-weary sigh of a person too exhausted to argue. “I am trying to secure your future, Lizzy. All of your futures. I am doing what I can.”

“I know it.” And she did know it, which made it so much harder to stand by her decision. “But I cannot change my heart by wishing it otherwise. I do not think you would truly wish me to.” She watched him, wanting more than anything for him to wish for her happiness more than anything else.

He studied her for a long moment. Then he picked up a letter from his desk and said, “Wickham will meet us at the coaching inn at seven. We depart at half past.” That was that, then. Thus dismissed, she rose, smoothed her skirt, and returned to the hall.

That night, her packing already done for a trip she now dreaded, Elizabeth sat at her window and pressed her forehead against the cool pane. The rain streaked down the glass in long, crooked lines. She reached out to trace one and thought of the sea.

Robbie had described the Mediterranean Sea to her—bright blue and enormous and nothing like anything in Hertfordshire, nothing like anything she had ever seen. He had described learning to swim in it, and she had laughed and demanded to know why anyone with sense would willingly submerge themselves in the ocean. His eyes had creased at the corners, and he had said, very seriously, that once you stopped fighting the water and let it hold you, there was nothing in the world like it.

She could nearly hear his voice. She could nearly see his smile—the particular one, not the polite one he wore for the household, but the one that arrived slowly, as though it had considered the matter and decided she was worth it. She let herself dream for a little while. The blue water. His hands steadying her once she convinced him to teach her to swim. The impossible lightness of floating as he had described it. Then she let the dream go.

Tomorrow she would climb into a carriage with her father and Mr. Wickham, and she would be carried north toward a life she had been thrust into with no say of her own in the matter. She did not know what she would find there. She did not know what the will contained or who the heir would prove to be or what would become of her.

She knew only that she was very tired, that she missed someone she had no right to miss, and that the rain showed no sign of stopping. She extinguished her candle, lay down in the dark, and listened to it fall.

CHAPTER 37

Elizabeth awoke in the dark, her eyes crusty and tender. Too aware of her need to wake early that morning to return to slumber lest dawn be near, she donned a shawl and tip-toed out to the landing in search of a clock to tell her the hour.

Papa met her there, his nightshirt tucked haphazardly into his trousers, evidently on a similar errand. Without a word, he extended his arm to her. How many times she had proudly taken his arm as a girl! She mourned the loss of the father she had thought him to be. But she loved him still. Taking his arm, they turned toward the stairs.

“I have news for you from Lucas Lodge,” he said, the words carrying a deliberate lightness that piqued her curiosity.

“Oh?”

“After our discussion yesterday, I called on Sir William. Your uncle Philips suggested such a call would be welcome.” He paused for effect. “Of course, Sir William insisted that it was he who was doing us a favor with his long-winded suggestion that he was pleased to spare us the trouble of inconvenience and any extra expense, but, given the circumstances, the neighborhood might think more kindly toward us if we were willing to accept his humble gesture⁠—”

Elizabeth smiled, cautious at her father’s change of attitude but grateful to hear his humor restored. “Now who is being long-winded?”

He patted her hand, and they arrived at the bottom of the stairs. “Miss Lucas is to accompany us to Pemberley.”

Her heart lifted so quickly, it made her light-headed. She rose on her toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I am pleased to hear it, Papa. Truly.”

She could not see his smile in the darkness, but she sensed it. “We will collect her at Lucas Lodge before continuing to the inn to meet with Mr. Wickham.” At the mention of that gentleman’s name, his tone became more studied, more deliberate. “Miss Lucas is a young lady of practical sense. It is my hope that her counsel may help you see the wisdom of securing your future, not just for our benefit, but for your own.”

He expected Charlotte to persuade her to accept Mr. Wickham’s proposal. Elizabeth understood this perfectly and decided she would let him think so. Doing so allowed her to have her dearest friend beside her when she walked into a house full of people who had likely spent years resenting her existence. Mr. Wickham had not told her much about Mr. Darcy’s family, but she had an active imagination and knew enough about the higher classes to realize they would not welcome her with open arms.

“Charlotte is not romantic, or so she claims,” Elizabeth agreed. “If anyone might persuade me to change my mind, it is her.”

“My thought precisely.” Contented, he turned to the parlor⁠—

And startled poor Mrs. Hill nearly out of her skin. Truth be told, they were all startled. “Good heavens! What are you two doing awake at this hour?” She pressed a hand to her heaving chest as the clock chimed once, twice, thrice…

Before Elizabeth could determine the hour, Mrs. Hill had turned them both around and dispatched them back to their respective beds with the brisk authority of a woman who had managed this family far longer than either of them deserved, promising to have them up in good time. Elizabeth did as she was bid and slept a deep, dreamless slumber until Mrs. Hill’s knock woke her up several hours later.

Charlotte’s entrance into the carriage felt like a warm ray of sunshine. She settled in beside Elizabeth, tucking her feet against the heated bricks on the floor and situating the lap blanket over her legs as though she were settling in for a pleasant conversation over tea and cakes rather than a three-day journey over muddy, rutted roads. The maid occupied the opposite bench beside Papa, who had fallen into a contemplative silence. No doubt he was conserving his energies for his first round of arguments in favor of Mr. Wickham.

Outside, in front of the inn, Mr. Wickham’s horse stamped against the cobbles impatiently, a reflection of his rider’s eagerness to lay hold of the inheritance he expected upon their arrival to Pemberley. “I shall ride ahead,” he announced through the window, “to arrange accommodations and make your journey more comfortable.”

“We would expect no less from a gentleman,” Charlotte replied pleasantly and without inflection.

He accepted this as a compliment and rode off. Elizabeth watched Charlotte’s face carefully for any crack in her composure—the arch of a brow, the ghost of a smile—but her friend had already turned to arrange her reticule, her expression serene and unreadable.

Papa tapped the roof and they lurched forward. “You would do well to heed your friend’s advice, Lizzy,” he said with a satisfied nod. Elizabeth tilted her chin toward Charlotte, who turned to Papa, her eyes widened with innocent inquiry. “If she does not secure Mr. Wickham before he inherits Pemberley, he may not want her. As the master of such a fine estate, he could have his pick among society.”