Chapter 24

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

A week later, Darcy heard melodious sounds from the pianoforte emerging from the music room. It cheered him immeasurably; Georgiana had not touched the instrument since she had been home. Music had been her greatest love since a young girl, but Lady Matlock’s methods of strict regimentation, of forcing Georgiana to limit her playing in favour of singing and dancing and drawing masters, had evidently led to her gradual abandonment of the instrument. He had been encouraging her to take it up again, trying to help her find some joy in life. She had appeared to discount his early suggestions, but now—music.

Could it be that she was returning to her old self? He missed that girl desperately, and he hated not knowing what to say and how to say it, feeling his way along what often seemed a treacherous path. He wandered into the music room, seated himself out of her line of sight, closed his eyes, and tried not to think .

Although the music was beautiful, and he was glad to his soul to hear it, he was not very successful in allowing it to soothe him.

Why have I received no letter from Elizabeth? He had written again—twice, expressing the same sentiments of regret and longing. The silence from Longbourn had grown deafening. The question, niggling at first, but becoming an ever-greater possibility, went round and round in his head: Has Elizabeth changed her mind?

“Have I put you to sleep?”

He snapped his eyes open to meet Georgiana’s gaze; she left the instrument to sit beside him, appearing…concerned.

“I was enjoying listening, but perhaps I dozed off.”

She placed a finger on his forehead between his eyes. “There is a furrow here that tells me you were worrying rather than listening, or, if sleeping, your dreams are not pleasant ones.” She took a little huff of breath. “You have been picking at your meals. You have not been eating well.”

He raised his brows. “You are a fine one to talk.”

Unexpectedly, she grinned. “I suppose we are a pair.” But then her smile faded. “It is my fault you are unhappy. Christmas has come and gone, and yet you have had no letters from Hertfordshire.”

“Do not make assumptions, please. This is not about you, but between me and Elizabeth.”

His tone was more severe than he once might have spoken, but he could hardly help it. Might Elizabeth be ill? There had been illness at Longbourn while Miss Bennet was recovering at Netherfield. When he had gone to ask Mr Bennet for Elizabeth’ s hand, they all appeared healthy. But he had not asked, had he?

“I know you are afraid to leave me here, and afraid to take me to town with you,” Georgiana continued as if he had not spoken. “If I promised not to plunge into London’s seedy gaming hells the moment your back is turned, but instead to stay at home and not leave it unless you or Mrs Annesley accompany me, would you go? I daresay you could quickly discover what has happened, if you went in person.”

Darcy turned to give her a look; this new sarcasm was not entirely welcome. Nevertheless, she was trying to be helpful. Did he trust her? Probably not yet—or not much—but he was convinced, via certain enquiries he had made, that Wickham had departed England. She was doing better, but he would not yet feel right about leaving her alone for longer than a few days. If he went, she must go too.

“The roads will not be in very good order, after our recent storm,” he said at last. “It may not be a pleasant journey.”

Georgiana shrugged.

There was just one answer, however; he was longing to go, to discover what he could. If Elizabeth’s fears had given way to doubt, he was certain that he could change her mind.

“The hour is too late to leave today. Tomorrow is the Sabbath. We shall leave on Monday.”

Georgiana nodded solemnly, and he realised, suddenly, that it had been difficult for her to make this offer. She was frightened of what Elizabeth would think of her, about her, and of what her life would become with this as yet unknown person at least nominally in charge of it .

“I appreciate the suggestion, Georgiana,” he added. “It is a good idea.”

She smiled at that, a little wryly. “That is me,” she said. “Your wise terror of a sister.”

“Play Robin Adair for me, my dear Terror,” he said, smiling back. “I have not heard it in an age.”

Darcy sat back on the velvet cushions, and this time he was more successful in allowing the music to calm him. She played for an hour more, at least, and it did help. But the worry would not entirely disappear.

Do not be foolish, Darcy, he repeated to himself over and over again. Elizabeth would not toss you aside over events beyond your control.

On Monday, just before departing Pemberley for London, he received his letters to Longbourn returned via post, sealed and never opened.

Elizabeth had never read them at all.

William Collins was a happy man. Lady Catherine had been proved in her wisdom once again, in suggesting that he go to his future estate to select a present bride. Naturally, had he seen Mary’s elder sisters first, he might have wished for one of them—they were, to be sure, fine-looking females. Very fine, indeed. However, the Lord moved in mysterious ways, and the eldest Miss Bennet’s illness, preventing him from meeting either sister before an attachment had already formed between himself and Mary, sealed his union with a sort of divine approval, to his way of thinking .

After Mr Darcy’s callous abandonment of Miss Elizabeth, he had been horrified when Mary insisted he ask for her hand. Mary had also been certain she would not agree, and that the risk was minimal. Still, a risk it had been—for both of them—and all because Mary required of him the highest standards of gentlemanly conduct. There was nothing he would not do for his Mary, even propose marriage to her rather intimidating older sister. Miss Elizabeth’s opinions were difficult to dissuade, her logic impossible to refute. He would like to see one of his Oxford professors debate her , and come up the winner!

At this very moment, Mary might be dressing in her bridal clothes—from her aunt Philips’s home, across the street from Meryton’s church—although he must not think too long on that exciting subject! Probably in a matter of minutes, the Bennet coach taking his family to the church would return to Longbourn for him. Its arrival at the church for the second time was to be a signal, to Mary and her father, that the chapel was ready for its bride.

In his eagerness for the ceremony making her his wife, he could not help pacing the vestibule, peering out the windows from time to time in hopes of spotting the Bennet carriage. During one of those inspections, however, instead of seeing the expected vehicle, he saw a man on horseback, finely dressed, trotting up the drive.

Who could that be? He rubbed the thick pane with his elbow sleeve, trying to gain a better view. When that failed, he walked out onto the portico.

To his shock and surprise, the last man in all the world he had expected to see was dismounting, tossing his reins hastily over the gatepost, and striding up the path towards the entrance.

Mr Darcy! What could he mean by it? But as God is my witness, I will stand for my cousin; I will be the man whom Mary expects me to be.