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Chapter 39

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

S ince Bingley had reopened Netherfield, Darcy was not required to stay at The George, but instead took advantage of his friend’s grander accommodations. His conversation with Mr Bennet had been brief, but when he had offered to leave with him in the morning to return to London, opening his own home to him if Mr Gardiner remained absent from town, helping him to take up the failed search for his daughter, there had been genuine gratitude in the older man. Bingley had also offered to accompany Mr Bennet, of course—but it was obvious he doubted the younger man would be of much use. Darcy doubted it too but was glad to have him along regardless, and though the thought of separation from Elizabeth was physically painful, especially so soon, it could not be helped. Nevertheless, he worried a little over his sister, who had accepted the Bennets’ invitation to stay with them at Longbourn.

He could not always understand Georgiana, and feared leaving her here. Was it wise? While he wished her to learn to emulate Elizabeth and her elder sister, he was not so certain of Miss Catherine’s influence. There was also the fact that Miss Lydia had so easily escaped her parents’ protection, and in her fragile state, Mrs Bennet would not be much help with supervision. He trusted Elizabeth, of course, but did not want her to have to take a disciplinary role in Georgiana’s life. Not yet, at least.

He had once believed his young sister to be possessed of an extreme natural diffidence; now he was unsure whether he had always misjudged her character or whether Wickham had corrupted it. What had possessed her to choose the man…twice? Most of all he wondered… will she ever do it again? Was she easily swayed by a pretty face and charming manners, with no judgment whatsoever? She was repentant, in that she had done everything possible to reunite him with Elizabeth—and he owed her for it. But…has she learnt anything of wisdom from her mistakes? What more can I do?

His inability to supply answers to these questions kept him from his sleep.

He and Bingley arrived early at Longbourn the next day, as they all wished to get on the road. Elizabeth looked bright and lovely in the morning light. How he hated to leave her! Mrs Bennet’s dark circles attested to her lack of sleep; still, she was up and dressed—apparently for the first time since Miss Lydia’s flight—and greeted the men cordially, insisting that they sit for a meal. Darcy seldom ate much in the mornings, and did not wish to do so now—thinking it much better that they be on their way. Yet, she had gone to some trouble to see that an abundance of breakfast food was available, and he would not insult her by refusing her table.

His impatience was eased tremendously when Elizabeth took his hand beneath the table linen, squeezing, and he felt the softness of her skin upon his own. Abruptly, he wished nothing more than to sit beside her all day, and wondered how he would ever find the strength to depart.

They had not been sitting long, however, when a woman hurried into the breakfast parlour—she was vaguely familiar, but at first, he was so astonished by her singular appearance that he could not begin to recognise her. For one thing, she seemed to be wearing some sort of loose silk nightgown which did not begin to fully contain her generous figure; her wildly-dressed hair was wrapped in cloth rollers, and she looked for all the world like a woman who had been startled from her bed. For another, she was sobbing noisily and in incoherent distress.

“Frances! Oh! Frances!” was all he could discern of her words.

Georgiana’s eyes were so wide, he could see the whites all the way round. Mr and Mrs Bennet, the bewildered servants—and the table in general—stared at the weeping woman in shock. Only Elizabeth rose and went to the woman.

“Aunt Philips,” she said gently, patting her shoulder. “Please, you must sit and calm yourself. Mrs Hill, please bring Mrs Philips a fresh cup.” With such soothing and directives, Elizabeth soon had her aunt seated, wrapped in a blanket, and a semblance of order restored.

When she had her calmed and sipping her tea, Elizabeth spoke carefully. “Aunt, please, tell us what has happened. ”

Mrs Philips’s lower lip trembled, and it appeared she might burst into tears again, but a few words of assurance from Elizabeth helped, and she looked to her sister. “It was George all along, Frances. I am so sorry. I never dreamt he held the slightest desire to elope. He certainly did not seem the type who would consider it.”

George? The name, although a common one, caused a cold streak of dread to shoot down Darcy’s spine. From a regiment? Had Wickham joined up, hiding here , almost beneath Darcy’s very nose? Had he heard of Darcy’s failed wedding to Elizabeth and targeted Lydia in response to his loss of Georgiana?

“George? George who?” Darcy said, so sharply that all eyes turned to him.

“George Philips,” Mrs Philips answered at once, obedient to his tone. “My husband’s nephew. He took him on recently as his clerk, with the hope that one day he will take over the practice—he is a very clever young man.”

“Lydia went away with George Philips?” Mr Bennet cried, incredulity in his voice.

Tears leaked down Mrs Philips’s cheeks, and in some relief, Darcy handed her his handkerchief. No one could possibly be as awful as Wickham. Elizabeth’s young sister had at least a chance for happiness.

“Yes. He had told us he needed to go to town to take care of some personal business, and so his absence, at the same time as Lydia’s, did not alarm us. He has never betrayed any special preference for her, nor she for him. Did you ever see it, Frances?”

Mrs Bennet could only shake her head, speechless .

“I had never considered the possibility, nor had Mr Philips! But he did not go to town. Instead, he took her to Scotland! They just arrived home, the foolish children. I asked George what in the world he was thinking, and he said creating such an adventure was the sole enticement he could offer Lydia to prove he is not dull.” She blew her nose loudly.

“Lydia…is married?” Mr Bennet asked weakly. Mrs Bennet still gawped in shock.

“Yes, and over the anvil,” Mrs Philips cried. “I apologise, my sister. I know that you would much rather have planned Lydia’s nuptials. An elopement was not ideal, and so I told her. I know she took ten years off your life with her antics, but the silly girl is so happy to be married—she thought she never would be, you see—she probably won’t listen to us complain about it for a fortnight, at least. They will have to live with us, of course. It will be some time before Mr Philips is ready to hand over the reins, and before George can afford his own place. There won’t be much money in the beginning, although, as I said, George is a clever lad and good with a shilling. He will be able to care for her—eventually. In the meantime, I shall teach her how to reap what she’s sown—you needn’t think I won’t take on the responsibility. It was my idea to bring him here, and I’ll own it.” She blew her nose again before addressing Mr Bennet.

“I know George is not what you wanted for her, but it would be foolish to contest the marriage now.”

Mr Bennet turned away, but not before Darcy saw the tears in his eyes. “What I wanted? I wanted her safety. Just that.” Leaving them all where they stood, he slipped into his book room and shut the door behind him .

“Oh! Mr Bennet! Always with his books, even at such a time as this!” Mrs Bennet cried, a bit foolishly. “Matilda, we must plan a dinner for them. Oh, my dear Lydia! I must speak to Mr Bennet about new clothes for her! You will bring them both to dinner tonight, with Mr Philips, too. Come upstairs with me, dear. You have left the house in your night-rail again. You may borrow my blue.”

The sisters bustled up the stairs together, Mrs Philips hissing in a noisy whisper, “Sister! Mr Darcy is at your breakfast table?”

“Yes! Oh, Matilda, soon I will have four daughters married!”

Darcy gazed at Elizabeth, seeing the amusement gleaming in her eyes, and the relief. She did not care that her aunt was silly; like her father, she only cared that Lydia was safe.

“Come, walk out with me,” he said. “I see the weather is particularly fine.” It was a grey, drizzly sort of morning with fat, dark clouds that appeared as though they would spit rain at any moment.

“Oh, yes,” she said, smiling up at him. “Let me don my coat, and we shall go out and enjoy the sunshine.”

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