Chapter 23

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

February 1814, Rosings

L ady Catherine had obtained a common licence, so no banns were called. Using every ounce of her consequence, she invited the highest of the ton , many of them people she did not know well or at all. The guests for the wedding of her daughter must only be the most noteworthy, most prestigiously ranked. Even her long-standing neighbour Lady Metcalf had barely made the list. The ton had responded with rabid curiosity, cancelling previous invitations and dropping former plans.

In spite of his aunt's strident expostulations, Darcy did not arrive at Rosings until the afternoon before the wedding. He had refused to participate in any of the pre-nuptial festivities Lady Catherine had planned and chose to wait until Georgiana and Fitzwilliam could join him for the journey to Kent. He was resigned to the marriage but would not be flaunted triumphantly before all her acquaintance.

Georgiana rode with him in the carriage, barely conversant. Since learning how her letters had been used against her brother, she had become as painfully withdrawn as she had been after Ramsgate. The loss of her mother's own ring had worsened the blow.

The grounds and manor house of Rosings Park were humming with activity. With lavish spending and shameless bullying, Lady Catherine had pulled together an extravagant work of theatre. Workmen and porters were bustling about everywhere. Carts of potted palms, buckets of cut flowers, crates of wax candles, bolt upon bolt of silk draperies were being moved inside. Succession houses for miles around must have been emptied of their blooms. Topiary evergreens were being tortured into elaborate submission; the dormant lawns were being rolled into flat surrender.

Upon their arrival, Darcy was escorted to Lady Catherine's receiving room. She sat on her elevated chair, the disgruntled earl and countess at her side.

"Do you have it?" she barked at Darcy the moment he entered the room.

He disregarded her to bow to his aunt and uncle. Lord Matlock rose and took his hand. "This is a bad business, Darcy, and I am sorry for it." The older man turned to his sister and held out his hand. "Give me the letters, Catherine."

"I will see the ring first."

"The ring? What ring?" said Lady Matlock.

"The ruby ring given to my sister by George Darcy at their wedding."

Lady Matlock gasped and turned to Lady Catherine. "George and Anne quite specifically left that ring to Georgiana!"

Lady Catherine thumped her cane on the floor. "That ring is for Mrs Darcy, and my Anne will be Mrs Darcy, mistress of Pemberley. Give it to me."

"I will take it, and the letters," insisted the earl, positioning himself between Darcy and Lady Catherine. Darcy placed his mother's ring in his uncle's outstretched palm. The earl put it in his inner coat pocket. "The letters, Catherine." He held out his hand for them.

Lady Catherine grumbled and withdrew a folder from her desk, handing them to the earl.

"Count them, Uncle," said Darcy.

"You dare to question my honour—" Lady Catherine began.

Darcy interrupted. "Honour? You dare to claim honour when you bargained with a criminal? When you threaten to destroy your only sister's daughter? There were eight letters in the file and two more in the safe. Ten in all, as affirmed by Georgiana. We shall count them."

"Apparently, we are not to see the bride until the ceremony," said Fitzwilliam as he poured brandy into two cut glass tumblers later that evening. He and Darcy settled into the heavy old-fashioned furnishings in Rosings's neglected library. They were in their shirtsleeves, having played billiards and then a desultory game of piquet.

"I have not laid eyes on Anne for almost three years," Darcy remarked wearily. "The last time I was here, Easter of the year eleven, she was barely conversant and did not even look at me. I do not even remember the last time I received a letter from her."

"I was here last Easter when you were suffering the floods at Pemberley. She made only two appearances that I remember. Lady Catherine said she was indisposed."

"And what else is new?" snorted Darcy.

"Whatever has happened to Anne, I wonder? She was always infirm and out of humour, but she was never so utterly inert before. She used to occasionally take part in conversation at least," said Fitzwilliam speculatively. "What is Lady Catherine about? Could she be hiding Anne?"

"At this point, it does not matter. Anne could grow horns and a spade tail, and I would still have to marry her," groaned Darcy.

"If she has horns and a spade tail it is because she inherited them from her mother."

Georgiana entered the library, her head down. She sat next to her brother and laid her head on his shoulder.

"It is very late. Can you not sleep, my dear?" Darcy said, putting his arm around her.

"I cannot." She sniffed. "I cannot stop thinking about how stupid I was." She wiped her cheeks with an already damp handkerchief.

"Georgiana, remember how we spoke of this after we left Ramsgate? You were deceived by a practised liar. He played you with happy memories of your childhood. Our own father was fooled by him his entire life. You were only fifteen, dearest."

"We made errors as well. As your guardians, we should have prepared you for men like him," added Fitzwilliam. "We thought you would not need to learn about the worst kind of men until it was your time to come out in society. Your brother and I were also badly deceived by Mrs Younge."

As his cousin spoke, Darcy silently withdrew into himself. He was not thinking about Wickham or Anne or Lady Catherine or the travesty of a wedding that faced him. His thoughts had returned to the shocking claims that Miss Bingley had made about the Bennet family. About Elizabeth. As soon as he could return to London, he was going to investigate.

"Anyone can be deceived. By an unscrupulous person, by society, or even by one's own self," he finally said quietly. "I deceived myself for years."

Georgiana, who had been leaning into Darcy's side, pulled away from him and sat up straight. "How so, Brother?" she asked, bewilderment written on her face.

Darcy stretched out his long legs and put his feet up on a footstool. He leant back into the cushions of the settee and reached for his sister's hand. "I believed that all that mattered in marriage was rank and fortune. Money and connexions. Marry someone, anyone, with whom you are somewhat compatible and who has the correct credentials. Someone whose family name looks well next to yours in an engagement announcement. That is what our parents did, and our aunts and uncles. Some married couples become friends, others become bitter enemies, most simply tolerate each other and cooperate as need be. Love matches, though celebrated in novels and fairy tales, are rare. I never believed in such foolishness.

"That is until I fell in love. She was…" He paused, a feeling of warmth suffusing his chest as he allowed memories of Elizabeth to fill his mind. "Enchanting. Intelligent. Kind. Captivating. She had no pretence. She was honest with me—honest in what she said but also in how she presented herself. She played no feminine games, which made Miss Bingley's behaviour all the more ludicrous in contrast. At the time, I was certain she flirted with me, but I later realised that I had in no way been singled out by her. She treated everyone with care and courtesy. That was my conceit speaking."

A small, crooked smile played about his mouth. "She even refused to dance with me. Twice."

"Miss Elizabeth Bennet," Georgiana said softly. Darcy blinked at her in surprise.

"You wrote about her in your letters," she explained.

"Ah, yes. You would have liked her very much, dearest."

"I like her still. Or the idea of her, I suppose, since we have never met."

Darcy looked down at his hands. "She was unsuitable in every way. Her father is a gentleman, barely, and so indolent that he had not bothered to create dowries for his daughters. Her mother is probably the most vulgar, loud, foolish person I have ever encountered, and her people are in trade. Miss Elizabeth's eldest sister, to whom she was close, was kind and genteel, but the rest of her family seemed to exert themselves to behave in the most ignominious manner possible. Bingley fell in love with the eldest, Miss Jane Bennet, to the point where he was ready to declare himself. He went to London intending to return to Netherfield, but his sisters and I joined him in town and persuaded him to remain there.

"I never gave any thought to Miss Elizabeth or her sisters or what would happen to them when we left Netherfield," he said, feeling sick at his own thoughtlessness. "I only thought of removing myself and Bingley from a foolishly perceived danger. When I returned to London, I threw myself into society to prove to myself that she was not all that rare and that I could find someone like her."

"My mother remarked upon that, I remember, when she wrote to me. I was in Spain at the time," said Fitzwilliam. "She was happy to see you willingly getting out and about, but she wondered whether you were ill. You were at every ball, party, and soiree before the festive season with a monstrous scowl on your face until you abruptly left town."

"I thought that surely if I made a greater effort, I would find a lady like Miss Elizabeth with a more eligible background. Instead, I loathed every moment. Bingley was miserable, and Miss Bingley was under the impression that my cooperation with her meant that we had some sort of understanding. I finally threw up my hands in surrender and left. There is no other lady like Miss Elizabeth Bennet. She is unique."

"Mr Bingley married Miss Grantley only a few months later. Did he recover his spirits?" asked Georgiana.

"After a fashion. Bingley decided that he should follow my advice and marry for connexions and advantage. He chose not to seek out Miss Bennet again but to marry Miss Grantley." He paused, thinking of his old friend, content with his small estate, his sensible wife, their infant daughter, and the company of her family in Lincolnshire and his in Yorkshire. The wealthy son of a tradesman had become an insignificant country squire; shooting and fishing, hobnobbing with the local families, immersed in the business of farming.

"He is pleased enough in his marriage, but I shall always wonder whether he would have been happier with Miss Bennet. That is when I began to question my own beliefs about choosing a spouse," he admitted.

"Then, just a few days ago, when the announcement of my engagement was published in the newspaper, Miss Bingley came to my house uninvited and quite literally shoved her way into my study. I wish you could have seen the look on Bridges's face. She was furious. She had made assumptions about me, you see. She raged and shrieked at me about her misguided expectations. Before she was removed from the house, she made sure to pass on some malicious gossip about the Bennet family. She had disliked them extremely, especially Miss Elizabeth. Apparently, I did not conceal my attraction to her as well as I thought I had."

"Malicious?" asked Fitzwilliam, glancing at Georgiana.

Darcy nodded and, recognising his cousin's discreet reminder of Georgiana's youth, edited his words. "Miss Bingley claimed that the Bennet family had been thoroughly ruined by the actions of none other than George Wickham. That they had been completely shunned by their entire neighbourhood and that their uncle in London had been forced to take the daughters to town to find husbands for them. She claimed that they have been compelled to marry men of the labouring class." Next to him, Darcy heard his sister gasp. He reached an arm round her shoulder and hugged her to him.

Fitzwilliam snarled. "Wickham must occupy a special place in hell for all the pain he has caused! Did Miss Bingley say what exactly he did to ruin an entire family?"

"Apparently, on the night he was deserting, Miss Elizabeth's youngest sister absconded with him. She was also killed in the accident."

There was a brief silence before his cousin commented, "Rather strange, then, that Sir William did not mention it to you."

"I thought it as well, but the Lucases and Bennets were very close. He may have been protecting their reputations from me."

"From you? Why would he do that?" Georgiana sat up and asked.

Darcy felt his cheeks heat and looked away. "I did not give a good impression of myself when I visited Hertfordshire. I was full of my own consequence and above my company. I realised later that I must have left a very bad taste in the mouths of the locals. Bingley's sisters did not help matters, lording their expensive wardrobes and superior ways over families that have been estate owners for many generations. Sir William may have believed those of our party would despise them for it and spread gossip. Which of course is exactly what Miss Bingley did."

The colonel leant towards him, frowning. "That time you boasted to me of steering Bingley away from an unsuitable lady…was that Miss Jane Bennet?"

"It was," he admitted. "I should not have done so. I did not know the lady well, and it was wrong to assume the worst about her. It was wrong to advise Bingley at all on such a personal matter. Worse, it was wrong to leave Hertfordshire without warning the community about Wickham's propensities. You heard Sir William describe the extensive damage he did in the short time he was there.

"And now Miss Bingley has spitefully informed me that the damage was far worse than I could have ever imagined. Her objective was to wound me, and she has, deeply. I am far more distressed at the thought of what has happened to Miss Elizabeth and her family than I am about the disaster facing me on the morrow."

Darcy looked into the faces of his sister and cousin, faces he loved more than almost anyone else in the world. "I have learnt some bitter lessons over the last years. It is too late for me, but your happiness is of the utmost importance to me," he said earnestly. "If either of you choose to marry, I want you to marry for regard. Marry the person who makes you happy, whom you will love and cherish and who will love and cherish you. Marry the person who will share your joy and sorrow, who will ease your burdens and trust you to ease theirs. Who will offer criticism when you need to hear it but also support you and give you strength."

Fitzwilliam opened his mouth to speak, but Darcy was too quick for his objection. "I know you believe you must marry a lady of fortune, but I would much rather make provision for you myself. I shall gift you a property, or more than one if needed. It is far more important that you marry a lady whom you love."

At that, Darcy swallowed the rest of his brandy in one gulp and took himself off to bed.