Chapter 9

Nine

Darcy returned to Longbourn with his shooting party feeling a mix of anticipation and relief. Anticipation for seeing Elizabeth, of course, and relief to be out of Wickham's tiresome presence. He would not be loath to bid a temporary farewell to the surly Mr Bennet, either, but any bitter grumblings from that quarter were easily ignored. It was Wickham who set his teeth on edge with his smirking and unwarranted boasting. Only Bingley's company had made the hunting trip at all bearable, but his peaceable friend had fallen into anxious silence some time ago in deference to the animosity brewing between his three companions.

How Darcy longed to bask in Elizabeth's sole company! She would soothe his tattered nerves, he was sure of it. A few smiles, a wry quip or two, and his mood would be set entirely to rights. And a kiss would not go amiss, either, should the opportunity present itself. He bit his lip to disguise the roguish smile which threatened to expose his inner thoughts.

The gentlemen had parted ways at the kennels, with Mr Bennet announcing his intention to retreat to his book-room and Wickham wandering off to parts unknown in the direction of Meryton. No doubt he meant to while away a few hours at the inn, though he was in for a rude surprise when the proprietor demanded coin up front for any libations. The town's merchants had learnt their lesson upon the removal of the regiment in the spring and Darcy doubted that even Wickham would be able to charm his way into free food and drink.

Much as he would have taken petty satisfaction in seeing Wickham's expression when denied his intended enjoyment, Darcy felt a greater pull towards Longbourn. He and Bingley made for the manor, and the expected interlude with their preferred ladies, on feet quickened with anticipation.

As they approached the house, however, a glimpse of rapid movement beyond the garden gate captured Darcy's gaze. Even from a distance, he would recognise that rich plum pelisse; he bent his steps in his beloved's direction, leaving Bingley to follow or not as he chose.

It was clear to Darcy by the taut set of Elizabeth's shoulders and the fitful motion of her hands as she spoke to Jane that her spirits were agitated. It was difficult to follow her harried speech, but when he caught the invocation of her youngest sister's name Darcy was able to guess the source. Lifting the latch, he let himself in and made directly for his betrothed.

"Elizabeth, are you well?"

Throwing her arms up into the air, she exclaimed, "I hardly know! I am so absolutely furious with Lydia! Do you know what that ungrateful girl said about you?"

Whatever Lydia Wickham had to say was not likely to be particularly amusing, but he huffed out a laugh. "I can only imagine. Why do we not take a walk? It might help to work out your frustrations."

Elizabeth agreed and slipped her arm through his, allowing him to lead her back through the gate and away from Longbourn. Bingley, who had apparently chosen to follow him into the garden, escorted Jane similarly, though the other couple's leisurely pace allowed Darcy and Elizabeth to outstrip them easily. It was not long before their whispers were entirely inaudible.

Darcy allowed Elizabeth to rail against the presumption and stupidity of her youngest sister for some minutes until it appeared she had spent most of her vexation. "I do not know how I shall ever see her the same way again. At first, I thought that Lydia had simply made a foolish choice and that she would regret it once her folly became plain, but she will not see that she has done anything wrong. Worse, she has the temerity to insult the very person to whom she owes her salvation! What can she be thinking?" Elizabeth closed her speech and sagged against Darcy's shoulder.

He took the opportunity to press a kiss upon the crown of her head. Darcy might have wished her bonnet were not in the way, but indulged in the sweet lavender scent of her hair even so. "I hate to say so, knowing that she is your sister and that you love her in spite of her faults, but I think she and Wickham are much alike. Neither has any seeming awareness or care for others; they can only see their own needs and desires. In a way, they are spectacularly matched, though I doubt it will lead them to much happiness."

Elizabeth sighed. "I wish I could say that you were wrong, but I cannot. I had thought that all Lydia required was a modicum of maturity, but now I worry there is something so substantially lacking in her character that she can never become more than she is—vain, idle, silly, and entirely devoid of understanding."

"She is but sixteen, perhaps she can still improve."

"With Wickham as her husband?" Elizabeth scoffed. "No, even without him, I think Lydia was already too spoilt by my parents, my mother especially, to turn out well. She thinks of nothing but her own wants and cares nothing for anyone but herself. She said as much to my aunt while she was still in London."

Yes, Mrs Gardiner's letter to Elizabeth was explicit on the topic of Lydia's horrid behaviour. Darcy himself had seen a piece of it when he played the role of witness at their nuptials. If Lydia were not demanding congratulations from every passing stranger, she was complaining that her frock was neither new nor ornamented enough for her liking. And then he had endured a four-hour carriage trip with her to Longbourn.

"She is my sister, and I will always love her, but I cannot help but believe she does not, perhaps can not, return the sentiment. I worry what that means for our future relationship."

Darcy paused in the lane and turned Elizabeth to face him. "Whatever it means, I am certain that you will handle it with grace. Your eyes are now open to her character and she will not be able to impose upon you. She may be your sister, but you must not feel beholden to more than is sensible where she is concerned. She has made her own bed and it is not unreasonable for you to allow her to lie in it, especially when she shows no true understanding of her own faults. We will see her only as much as you wish, whether that be frequently or never. I trust your good judgment."

Darcy's heart did a merry jig when Elizabeth rewarded him with a tender smile. "You always know what to say to make me feel better."

Laughing, Darcy gathered her closer and bent his head so that their lips were mere inches apart. "I think we both know that you flatter me on that score."

"Perhaps," was Elizabeth's impish reply, "but I find you improve as time goes on. You will be a great proficient at pleasing me if you continue to practise."

They walked along in companionable silence for some minutes before Darcy felt compelled to speak again. He posed a question to her which had been niggling at him for some time, ever since Mr Bennet had approached him in London. "I have been wondering, why did you keep my letter?"

Elizabeth, who had been resting her head against his shoulder, lifted it and fixed him with a quizzical look. "Is it not obvious?"

"Not to me. After our…unpleasantness in Hunsford, I was frankly uncertain whether you intended to read it before pitching it into the nearest fire. Even in the best case, I thought you would burn it for all the bitterness it contained. Why did you keep it?"

They continued to ramble, dead leaves crunching beneath their boots in time with their steps, while Elizabeth took the time to ponder his query. "The letter, perhaps, began in bitterness, but it did not end so. The adieu is charity itself. More than that, however, it was a glimpse of you I had never thought to receive and I was fascinated by all it contained. I will not claim that I was pleasantly surprised, for it taught me what a fool I have been, but…"

"But?"

"But it was a lesson I dearly needed to learn. Until I read your letter, I never knew myself. I thought myself so very clever, yet it transpires that I was blind, partial, prejudiced, absurd. I discovered that you were not the only one between us who suffers from excessive pride, except I have less cause for it. You wounded my vanity and I used that as an excuse to blacken your character unduly."

Darcy had to disagree with her there. "No, you are too hard on yourself. You might have been suffering under mistaken premises, but on the whole, you have no true cause for regret. I treated you abominably from the start of our acquaintance and still considered myself worthy of your hand. Why should you not believe me capable of every sort of villainy? I never showed you aught but the worst of my character. I cannot think back upon my behaviour with anything less than abhorrence."

"You cannot take the whole of the blame upon yourself, I will not allow it. We both, I believe, have a tendency to carry the guilt of others upon our shoulders, so might we agree in this instance to share the culpability between us equally? A burden shared is a burden halved, as they say."

Though still inclined to absolve Elizabeth of her part in their past misunderstandings, Darcy supposed she was correct. "If I must. However, you still have yet to tell me why you kept my letter."

Her shoulders lifted in a sigh. "I cannot explain exactly why I kept it other than to say, at first, my curiosity overcame my caution and I felt compelled to read it. Then, I found it to be a source of much needed education for my character. Once I had learnt from it all that I could, it became a talisman of sorts, a reminder to reserve my judgments until I was certain of them. Finally, after we met again at Pemberley, it became the singular token of a chance I believed I had lost."

The late summer wind rustled through the trees and they were caught in a colourful maelstrom of falling leaves. Elizabeth huddled nearer, shivering, though perhaps not from any chill. Darcy's heart clenched. How close we came to never seeing one another again…

He halted them on the path and drew Elizabeth to him. Her hands slid up his chest and tangled together behind his neck, bringing his head closer to hers until their foreheads touched. She was close enough that Darcy could count the gold flecks scattered across her verdant irises; he was sure he had never seen a jewel so magnificently faceted.

Through a ragged breath, he managed to say, "I am glad you kept it, but even more glad that you misplaced it. It has brought us together again."

"I like to think that our reunion was inevitable," she said, cupping his cheek with one hand. He leant into her palm and kissed it. "That we will always find our way back to one another, no matter the odds. Just look how often we have crossed paths since the beginning of our acquaintance. Even the calamity of my sister's elopement could not separate us for long."

Now that he considered it, Elizabeth was entirely correct about the astonishing number of times the pair of them had come together in improbable fashion. Darcy had never expected to meet with her again after fleeing Hertfordshire in November, only to encounter her in April at Rosings while she resided with her friend and cousin. Then, a day earlier than he was meant to arrive, they crossed paths once more at Pemberley. He had all but convinced himself that his hopes were at an end when Wickham had run away with her sister, only to have Mr Bennet arrive on his doorstep less than a week later demanding that he marry her. Had these events been collected together into a novel, he would have ridiculed its implausibility.

And yet, here she was before him, the woman Fate had apparently decreed was to be his wife. Simply wondrous.

"How I love you, dearest, loveliest Elizabeth."

Her reply was a whisper which ghosted across his lips. "As I love you."

Oh, that I had better withstood Mrs Bennet's caterwauling; I shall never again capitulate to her nonsense.

Regrets were of no use by this juncture, of course, as the lot of them were already suffering from the effects of excessive exposure to the Wickhams and their entitled demands for money, for praise, for every last shred of patience any of them managed to retain. Bennet ought not to have allowed them to so much as pass through the village, much less dine at his table where they smirked and congratulated themselves on their infamous behaviour, yet here they were. Curse my abominable weakness.

"…I wish I could have taken all my sisters to Brighton, for that is the best place to find husbands…"

Glancing about at each of their faces while Lydia, once again, boasted of her success in wrangling herself a husband—such as he was—before all her sisters, Bennet could see that he was not alone in his opinion. Jane and Bingley squirmed uncomfortably in their seats; Mary and Kitty exchanged derisive looks; Elizabeth appeared to be biting her tongue to the point of pain; and even Mrs Bennet, the greatest proponent of the Wickhams' visit, seemed ready to interrupt Lydia and institute a new subject. And that Darcy, towards whom Bennet supposed he must feel some gratitude for recent events, glowered down the table at his intended father-in-law as if he expected Bennet to do something. What that might be, Bennet could hardly fathom, but the accusation was a veritable slap to the face.

He scowled at Darcy in return before he resumed sawing at his meat, this time with some vehemence. Sanctimonious prig. I suppose he wants me to cast them out of the house and banish them from my sight forever. The notion was tempting, but hardly one he could enact without causing an unholy uproar. And have we not had enough of that for a lifetime? Still, I shall be glad to see the back of the Wickhams and would not be sorry to see them gone sooner than expected.

As it was, they need only endure the Wickhams for a little while longer—could there still be another eight full days to go?—and then they would be sent as far as possible from Hertfordshire while still remaining in England. They would be close to Scotland, as a matter of fact, an irony Bennet appreciated with dark amusement.

"…but perhaps Kitty might come with us to Newcastle! There will be plenty of soldiers there to entertain us."

Bennet nearly dropped his knife at Lydia's suggestion. He fixed her with an incredulous glare, to which she seemed entirely immune. "Absolutely not!"

Lydia continued on, speaking directly to Kitty as if her father had not already denied his permission. To Kitty's credit, she did not appear even slightly enticed by the prospect. "You shall be the belle of every ball—I will see to it myself! I daresay that I can find you a husband before your first week is out. I cannot promise you one so handsome and dashing as my dear Wickie"—at this mention of his pet name, Wickham sneered at his oblivious wife—"because that is impossible, but we might find one or two who are reasonably attractive. And, as you know, any man is distinguished in regimentals." Lydia ended her speech with a titter.

"I, ah, thank you for your invitation, but I believe I would rather not," replied Kitty, avoiding Lydia's expectant gaze by looking to her plate. "Our sisters' wedding day is coming up and I would hate to miss it."

Lydia made an awful snorting noise. "Nonsense! What is some dull old wedding to a camp full of officers? No, I am determined, you shall come with me to Newcastle. It is quite a settled thing."

Kitty flushed a bright red and clenched her fork and knife tightly while Mrs Bennet took up her defence. "Lydia, dearest, I do believe your sister is right to stay for the wedding. Officers are well and good, but the sort of gentlemen to whom Mr Darcy and Mr Bingley might introduce her are of a different sort entirely. Kitty will remain here with us for now, though if she is invited to travel to London or Derbyshire in a few weeks…we shall see."

Bennet was amused to see Darcy baulk at Mrs Bennet's suggestion, but some silent communication from Elizabeth urged him to hide it quickly. He cleared his throat before saying, "Indeed, I am certain my new sisters would enjoy a Season in London. Once Elizabeth and I have properly settled in, of course."

Splendid. Another expense for my depleted coffers.

"In any case," Darcy continued, his air haughty and disapproving, "I cannot see that sending a young lady off without the proper chaperonage has ever done anyone at this table any good. I believe it best not to risk it and to keep Miss Catherine—and Miss Mary—at home."

The silence which followed Darcy's proclamation was palpable. Bennet, who knew of Miss Darcy's near disaster, could detect some self-censure in it, though of course he felt the slight against himself like the thrust of a blade. Elizabeth afforded her betrothed more sympathy, if the light brushing of her fingers against Darcy's fisted hand was any indication, but Bennet was incensed. Arrogant arse.

Puckering her face into the sort of configuration which always boded an impending tantrum, Lydia whined, "Why should Lizzy get to take Kitty and not me? It is unfair! She shall have a much better time in Newcastle where there will be dances and officers enough for anyone."

"Aye," agreed Wickham with a wink for Kitty which nearly made Bennet launch from his seat and throw him from the house that moment. "I can guarantee that my lovely sister will have her pick of amusements where we are going. Newcastle is not London, of course, but the company will be…lively."

"There, you see? What sort of fun would she have with Mrs Darcy ? Nothing but dull old tea parties and?—"

"Enough!" Bennet barked, bringing his fist down hard enough to rattle the dishware. "As I have already said, Kitty does not have permission to go to Newcastle. In fact, nothing could ever induce me to allow it; she would be fortunate to go as far as Eastbourne! No, I have at last learnt to be cautious and none of my daughters, so long as they remain under my protection, shall ever stir from home till they prove themselves able to behave in a rational manner. Am I rightly understood?"

There was a general murmur of assent from his daughters, excepting the pouting Lydia, and for some time there was not another sound save for the scraping of cutlery on china. At length, Mrs Bennet ventured a tentative comment on the weather and conversation resumed at an uneasy pace from there.