Chapter 10

Elizabeth’s first prayer during the wedding ceremony was for the happiness and continued well-being of her sister Jane. The second was more personal. She begged God for help forgetting her love for Mr Darcy. She struggled to keep her composure and hide how perplexed she was at what had become of their connexion; at times, she felt as though she lacked the strength to remain standing. Briefly, she wondered whether her current desolation was what he had experienced after she refused him in Kent. If so, she regretted how foolish she had been. If only they had both behaved better last autumn and spring, all of this unhappiness might have been avoided!

Watching Jane and Mr Bingley depart, Elizabeth began to calculate how soon she could steal away and seek solitude. It was not particularly cold, and she might go for a walk. Lost in her musings as she stood by a window, she did not notice Mr Darcy approach. When she felt a presence behind her, she knew it was him without even looking. Her heart began to beat quickly.

“We must talk, but not here. Somewhere alone,” he whispered urgently.

She said nothing for a moment. Despite having wanted to speak to him, a part of her dreaded the notion after witnessing his behaviour over the last two days. However, it was necessary. Without a confirmation that everything between them was at an end—and ideally an explanation as to why—she would not be able to set aside her feelings for him.

“Please,” he said, evidently taking her silence as an indication she would refuse.

“Meet me on the path between here and Netherfield, by the three pine trees, in an hour.” She brushed past him, not liking how desperate she felt being so close to him.

Feeling the cold December wind whistling through the trees, Darcy watched Elizabeth walk away, her final words still ringing in his ears: “Do not be so ungentlemanly as to force me to hear you when I do not want to!” At once, he felt completely empty and full of something ugly and sickening. He had known their conversation would be difficult, but his imaginings had not prepared him for how terrible it was to witness her pain and fury and know it was because of his behaviour. He wanted to run after her, take back what he had said, make it as though they were beginning again—even better, travel back in time to September and propose before he left for London. Why had he entertained the ridiculous notion that Bingley and his new wife deserved a period in which everyone’s attention was on them alone?

He was not usually a man who showed his emotions, but Darcy was close to tears and utterly exhausted. He stepped towards the closest tree and sat on the ground, not caring that it was cold and damp or what it would do to his clothing.

As hard as it was to live with his decision when he was away from Elizabeth, seeing her, he was not certain he could bear it. The impulse to throw himself at her feet and beg her to be his wife and confront whatever difficulties arose from their marriage together was nearly overwhelming. But surely his sister must be his priority. Even Elizabeth would agree to that if she fully understood the situation. Georgiana’s welfare was a charge put upon him by his father, and it was one he endeavoured to fulfil out of love; it was not simply a duty he might seek to diminish. He had failed her in Ramsgate—oh, how he had failed her!—and he would not do it again, even though that meant giving up the woman he loved and desperately wanted as his wife.

Burying his face in his hands, Darcy dug his fingers into his skin. How had his life come to this? He had been so happy! Indeed, when he had travelled to town, a more fanciful person would say he floated above the ground. He was in love, and unlike the previous spring, he had good reason to believe—to know—the object of his affection loved him in return.

Then Lady Catherine had to interfere.

Darcy sighed and murmured, “I ought not to blame her.” While his aunt had agitated the others, nothing she had said was truly false. The Bennets did have connexions in trade, and one of Elizabeth’s sisters had married Wickham. Darcy wondered whether Lady Catherine would have hesitated to say his name if she had known how angry it would make the earl, countess, and their sons, but she did not know of the near disaster at Ramsgate.

His memories took him back to the day that had changed everything two months earlier.

Having heard that his uncle and aunt had arrived in town, Darcy called on them. The day being pleasant, he walked from his house in Berkeley Square to theirs in Grosvenor Square. The butler directed him to the sitting room reserved for the family. There, Darcy found not only Lord and Lady Romsley but also his cousins Viscount Bramwell and Fitzwilliam—and Lady Catherine.

He greeted his relations, adding, “I did not expect to see you, Lady Catherine.”

The look she gave him was nearly venomous, which puzzled him.

“You did not bring Georgiana?” Fitzwilliam asked.

“She will join us later. Her music master is coming this morning.”

“I am here because we have something very important to discuss,” Lady Catherine announced.

“Yes, do finally tell us why you have made this unexpected visit.” The earl’s tone suggested he was not pleased by it.

“Darcy is on the point of making a grave mistake—one that would be a disaster for him and this entire family. He intends to make an offer of marriage to Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

Darcy was so shocked by her words that he could not immediately respond.

“Marriage?” the earl said, while the countess, eyes wide, said, “We had no idea you were interested in any lady. Who is Miss Elizabeth Bennet? Why do I not know the name?”

Fitzwilliam stared, evidently surprised; his eyebrows were arched in silent question, and Darcy nodded to confirm Lady Catherine’s information.

The earl and countess immediately began to interrogate him—who were Elizabeth’s people, in which county did she live, how had he met her? Lady Catherine sat, her spine rigid, with a smug expression that further alarmed Darcy. Bramwell watched with an amused smirk; he was used to his parents quizzing him about any lady he so much as glanced at.

Darcy had hoped to put off telling them until after he had proposed and secured Mr Bennet’s permission. He sought the best way to present Elizabeth to them. “Her father’s estate is in Hertfordshire, neighbouring the one leased by my friend Bingley,” he said.

“Her father may be a gentleman,” Lady Catherine interjected, “however, her mother’s people are in trade!”

“Trade?” Lord Romsley’s hard gaze swung to Darcy.

“Yes, trade. One uncle is a country solicitor, the other retains a warehouse in Cheapside, and he lives nearby. Darcy would have an earl for one uncle and a lowborn salesman for another!” Lady Catherine said.

“Who are her father’s family? Has he any decent connexions, someone from our circle?” Lady Romsley asked.

Lady Catherine scoffed. “That would be a miracle. The estate is exceedingly small and ill-kept. I was there just yesterday. The mother is vulgar, and as for Miss Elizabeth Bennet, she was rude and?—”

“You went to Longbourn?” Darcy exclaimed. How could Lady Catherine have thought that was appropriate? And how can I ever apologise enough to Elizabeth? No doubt Lady Catherine was unconscionably rude. “How dare you interfere in my affairs!”

“That is not the material point,” the earl stated, speaking loudly enough to be heard over the other voices in the room. “Does Mr Bennet have any connexions that help make up for Miss Bennet’s other deficiencies?”

While resenting the way the question was posed, Darcy knew it was best not to mention it. “No, I have not heard of Mr Bennet having any relations you might know.”

Lady Romsley sighed, and Lord Romsley said, “What are you thinking, Darcy? Why would you choose?—”

He got no further; Lady Catherine interrupted him to share her next objection. “This girl who has beguiled him—I need not say how—is also poor.”

“Your implication is disgusting, madam, and I hardly need a bride with a large fortune!” Darcy asserted.

“Mind your manners, Nephew. Your aunt is not to blame for you becoming entangled with an unsuitable girl,” the earl reprimanded.

“She is not unsuitable,” Darcy insisted, doing his best to sound reasonable.

But then Lady Catherine told them the one thing Darcy had planned to disclose very, very carefully.

“Besides the disgraceful situation of her mother’s people, her youngest sister recently eloped. Her new brother-in-law?—”

“Lady Ca—” Darcy stepped forwards, his arm outstretched, hoping to stop her.

His efforts were in vain; before her name had passed his lips, she announced, “is George Wickham, the son of my brother Darcy’s steward! My nephew, the brother of a servant’s son? Never!”

A bomb might as well have gone off in the room. Suddenly, everyone was standing, demanding to know whether it was true and how he could possibly consider forming a connexion to Wickham. Lady Catherine calmly sat and watched; no doubt she was satisfied with the result of her interference, even if she did not understand its significance.

“Enough!” the earl barked. “Catherine, leave us. Your presence will not help us resolve this, not when we all know what most vexes you is that Darcy refuses to marry Anne.”

Lady Catherine did not wish to leave, but after a short exchange with her brother, she returned to her chamber, saying, “If I do not have my way in this, you will hear more about it. I shall not rest until I know Darcy has given up the notion for good.”

Once she was gone and the earl had ensured no one was listening at the door, he turned to Darcy. “You cannot do this. It is unthinkable!”

“Uncle—”

“Absolutely not, Darcy!” Fitzwilliam was on his feet, and his hands were clenched into fists, his face bright red. “I admit, I liked Miss Bennet when we met last spring, but how could you contemplate an alliance with her—even as a friend—when her sister is married to that beast?”

Holding his hands up in an appeasing gesture, Darcy said, “I am not proposing to marry Wickham.”

“True, just his sister. I do not say that is much better,” Bramwell said.

“Even if one overlooks that there was an elopement, the involvement of that-that man— How could you do that to Georgiana?” Lady Romsley asked.

“They would never meet, and neither would he and I. Elizabeth would not expect it of me or my sister,” Darcy insisted, desperately trying to make them see the situation from his perspective. “I have considered the difficulties of the situation—of course I have! Do you not trust me to always act in Georgiana’s best interests? Having a sister as kind as Elizabeth will be to her benefit. It is sure to do more to help her recover than all the doctors and other supposed experts we have consulted over the months.”

Fitzwilliam gave a derisive laugh and closed the distance between them. “He is married to her sister. Of course she will want to continue to support her. I am Georgiana’s guardian just as much as you are, and I will not agree to her being anywhere near the Bennets so long as Wickham is connected to them—not even if you are stupid enough to marry one of them.”

“Georgiana has met Elizabeth. She likes her, and she knows I hope to marry her. I have always intended to explain the situation to her, and I am confident that—if she is told carefully and reassured that I shall never allow that man anywhere near her—she will accept Elizabeth as her sister. I truly believe she is as pleased at the prospect as she can be in her present state.”

“And I am confident she will not accept being connected to Wickham in any manner. You cannot ask it of her!” Fitzwilliam cried.

The conversation did not improve. After perhaps half or three-quarters of an hour, the earl decided they should set aside the issue for the remainder of the day. They would take it up again after they had composed themselves enough to discuss it rationally. Darcy agreed. He departed but did not immediately return to Berkeley Square. He required a long walk to ease his agitation.

The scene he found when he arrived home was heart-breaking. Someone had told Georgiana of his intentions. They must have immediately called on her to share the news; he had not been absent that long. He suspected it was Lady Catherine, but it might have been Fitzwilliam. All of Darcy’s plans to disclose Elizabeth’s connexion to Wickham calmly, offer his assurances that the man was far away in the North and they would have nothing to do with him, were for naught. It was too late. Whatever Georgiana had been told, it must have been full of dire predictions of her having to share a house with Wickham when he and his wife visited Elizabeth, if not worse. She was nearly frenzied, sobbing until she was breathless, pacing, pulling at her hair, and hitting herself.

With effort, Darcy and Mrs Annesley managed to make her accept some laudanum, which eased the worst of her behaviours. She took to her bed still crying, which was distressing but an improvement.

Darcy prayed he never saw Georgiana in such a state again.