Chapter 54

Miss Bingley blithely sailed in with Bingley several minutes later, looking for all the world like she expected their meeting to be some sort of happy encounter and smiling up at him with eagerness, despite the solemn air of her brother. How can she even look me in the eye, after her treachery?

Without inviting her to be seated, Darcy handed her the letter. Her eyes widened in alarm, but quickly she recovered and pretended, he assumed, to read it through.

“This is terrible. I do not know why you shared it with me, but obviously, it is in very poor taste. And quite untrue, of course. I had heard—not that I read the broadsheets myself, you understand—but heard that some gossips were foolishly accusing you of awful things. I see this one was written to, um, Pennywithers, I think it said? A stupid gossip, I am sure no one with any sense would read him. Naturally, you ignore such drivel, as a gentleman should.” She gave them both a look of practised innocence.

“I ignore nothing. I prosecute such offences,” he replied coldly, the first words he had spoken to her.

“No one would blame you,” Bingley said with equal frostiness.

For the first time, Miss Bingley seemed to realise that she would not be able to talk her way out of the situation. Nevertheless, she tried. She began with protestations and tears, but when she progressed to temper, her brother took charge.

“Enough,” Bingley said, interrupting her outrage. “I do not wish to deal with you, Caroline, nor is it within my capacity to do so. In fact, I believe your conduct beyond the management of our Scarborough relations. Perhaps a school in Scotland, governed by the strictest nuns, will be the best solution to the problem of your shameful behaviour.”

“Is this some kind of jest? I have never?—”

Darcy quickly caught on; after threats of Scotland, Scarborough should seem like a luxury. She probably did deserve Scotland—but the threat could remain, and perhaps the Scarborough Bingleys would find her more malleable if she understood her alternatives. “Excellent idea, Bingley. In England, a birch rod is allowed to be no thicker than a man’s thumb. Scotland imposes no such restraint.”

“You cannot mean to?—”

“Darcy would be well within his rights to cut his connexion with us entirely, you stupid girl. I will not lose my dearest friend in the world because you are a conniving schemer. Your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain for the feelings of others has lost you all of his regard, and most of mine. Would I allow a wild dog to live in my home, and then attempt to bring a wife and children into it? Would I tell my wife, my children, and my friends, that they must simply become accustomed to being bitten? Would I? Would anyone?”

Tears streaming down her cheeks, she shook her head.

“I am taking you to London. Within the week, I shall decide which of the schools available is the strictest. If I hear one word of complaint, I will cease trying for reform, and cut you from my life instead.”

Darcy needed her to hear it from him as well. “It is understood, I hope, that no Darcy ever wishes to see or hear from you again.” She sobbed pathetically, and though he remained implacable, he nonetheless remembered the girl she once had been, the one who longed for attention and affection. But Miss Bingley was no longer a child, and the consequences were her own.

As Bingley led away his weeping sister, he went to find Elizabeth.

Elizabeth knewDarcy was dealing with the Bingley family matters this morning, so she had persuaded Jane to walk in the garden with her.

“Oh, Lizzy, I am so happy. We are going to be so happy! Mr Bingley told me that Hadford Hall, twenty-five miles from Pemberley, is available. When Uncle comes, we will bring him as well as Mr Darcy to see the property—Mr Bingley welcomes advice from both.”

The evening before, she and Jane had exulted in their good news, rejoicing together. It was still a secret, of course, until the earl could be told privately—something which Darcy had promised to do without delay. Elizabeth had not minded; it had been amusing, really, the delicious secret between them in every exchanged glance. Darcy was very good at maintaining impassivity, while it was all she could do not to laugh aloud. He had discreetly moved behind her in the music room as Georgiana performed on the pianoforte, maddening her with surreptitious touches, light as moth wings and instantly gone before she could react.

Last night had been for private joy; in her happiness and Jane’s excitement, she had not wished to even think of Miss Bingley’s betrayal. But morning had come, and the topic could no longer be delayed.

Jane, as expected, was horrified, and she did not at all blame her sister for giving the letters immediately to Darcy. It was clear she felt all of Mr Bingley’s mortification. “What will Mr Darcy do?” she wondered.

Evidently Jane, too, had grown accustomed to the idea of Darcy managing things. “He will leave it to Mr Bingley,” Elizabeth said, “who I fear will leave immediately to return his sister to London.”

“Of course, he must do so,” Jane agreed, unquestioning. “Oh, poor, poor Mr Bingley. I must go in, Lizzy. I know how upset, how humiliated he will feel. If I have any opportunity at all to leave him with a word of reassurance, I shall take it.”

How very like dear Jane!She might instead have complained of the number of times Miss Bingley had snubbed her or in some way behaved offensively; she could not have been blamed if she had rejoiced in the woman’s downfall. Instead, she thought only of Mr Bingley’s distress, and of what she might do to help assuage it.

Darcy joined Elizabeth on the garden walk within the hour, his expression aloof. Once, she might have assumed his calm demeanour meant the confrontation had little effect upon his mood. She knew him so much better now.

She took his arm and simply walked beside him, allowing the cool September breezes and peaceful pathways to do what conversation could not always accomplish. After some time, he stopped and sighed, seating her upon a well-placed bench before leaning against a gnarled oak.

“I have neglected to ask how you do this day,” he said formally. “My apologies.”

Elizabeth reached over to take his gloveless hand and placed a kiss upon it. “You have not had an easy morning, I think.”

He looked at her then, truly looked at her, and she was happy to see his expression lighten. “The last several minutes have been a marked improvement.” He even smiled, almost, a slight tilt to his lips. “The earl has given his approval. I would have proceeded regardless, but his support will make things much easier.”

She smiled at that.

He brushed the side of her cheek, feather-light, growing serious once more. “I learnt something earlier this morning, from my steward. I had asked him to make enquiries regarding the current whereabouts of George Wickham. Apparently, Wickham went to London after my discovery of his actions towards Georgiana, but met up with an old crony of his, who encouraged him to join the Derbyshire regiment. They returned to Lambton and were quartered here for several days before being assigned to a different county.”

“At least he is gone now.”

“Yes. The name of the town where his regiment is now stationed—it is Meryton. I think I recall it as being near your family seat, is it not?”

A streak of alarm slashed through her as she thought of her sisters. Kitty and Lydia were not overly sensible, and if news of her marriage to his enemy made its way to Mr Wickham, might they be especially vulnerable to his machinations? “It is!”

“I have already written to his commander, a man by the name of Forster. I have urged him not to let the man make a nuisance of himself, including in it a list of his current debtors.”

Her panic died. “Oh, that is perfect. I can write to my aunt Philips as well—I need not mention any names. She will take my word on it. Darcy, she knows I am Pennywithers. She has never revealed the secret, but she is also the most likely to, if anyone is.” Briefly she explained how ‘Pennywithers’ had come to be.

“Perhaps if you invite her to Pemberley, she will consider the connexion worthy of upholding.”

She looked up at him. “I am not ashamed for you to know my uncle Gardiner. My aunt Philips is quite another sort.”

He only smiled. “Invite her. Do not invite her. It is entirely up to you, my love.” His expression grew grave again. “It is quite likely that once our marriage becomes known, your estranged family members will attempt reconciliation. It should make no difference, but wealth often does.”

How many friends did he have who simply hoped to make use of him? How many women might he have married who cared nothing for him?These were not small things she offered him—her loyalty and heart.

“I suppose forgiveness is possible, eventually, at least for my mother—and certainly to the extent that I assist my youngest sisters,” Elizabeth said thoughtfully. “Mama felt helpless and grieving in the moment she acted, and hastily made a decision—feeling, I think, that she was saving her other daughters and her home. I do not know that I shall invite her to ours, but I can at least try to understand, and let my anger go.”

He sat down, putting one strong arm around her. “Perhaps she will write to you, and perhaps you will wish to write back. Eventually, as you say, and so that you find your own peace with the past.” He hesitated. “My mother was often difficult. She was a more delicate, astute, and prettier version of Lady Catherine. She wanted things her own way, and could seldom fathom any other point of view. And yet, she was very charming, a remarkable conversationalist, a wonderful manager, and good to Pemberley and its servants. I loved her, and grieve her loss. I do not regret anything I did to respect her wishes—even if I could not and would not do everything she wished.”

Elizabeth laid her head against his shoulder. “You can know, absolutely, that you honoured your parents—even when they behaved badly, even at a tremendous personal cost. You need never have any regrets.” Reaching up, she placed a soft kiss upon his cheek. “Your ability to love puts me to shame. I shall have to practise on you until I get better at it. I do not know that I shall ever want to acknowledge my cousin, Mr Collins, even though his wife is my own sister.”

He hugged her tightly to him. “I am happy to be the recipient of any, er, practising,” he said, his lids lowering as his look sent chills rippling through her. “However, I do not think Collins worthy of acknowledging. How he treated you was despicable and unworthy. I am sorry for your sister, and you must do as you see fit in regards to her. But he is not welcome here.”

A vast sense of relief filled her; for the first time, she truly recognised and understood that she would not fight her future battles alone. She need not decide whether or when to forgive, today. I will have a husband, a family of my own, and will consider the difficulties of my past from a position of confidence and support.

Looking up at him, she framed his dear face in her hands. “I do love your kisses,” she said softly.

“That is very good to hear,” he said, smiling. “Perhaps you ought to begin practising what you preach,” and bent to take her lips with his.