Estranged, page 9
Sighing softly, she finished braiding her long dark hair and slipped beneath the covers. At least here, between these walls that had sheltered so many of her dreams, she could find temporary respite. In the morning, she would be strengthened to face whatever lay ahead, including the lingering heartache she could not yet articulate, even to herself.
Lying in bed that night, Elizabeth tossed and turned in want of restful slumber. Now knowing how it felt to be a woman and a wife, her situation was even more pitiable for her equanimity. Her body ached for the one man in the world that her heart and mind told her she must forget.
Chapter 15
BEGINNING TO UNRAVEL
WEEKS LATER…
The clink of silverware and hum of chatter filled Longbourn’s dining room as the Bennet ladies had breakfast. Shafts of morning light danced across the table, glinting off the crystal glasses. The mood was lively as Mrs. Bennet prattled on about local happenings.
Elizabeth’s eyes swept around the table, lingering on each of her sisters—Jane’s gentle smile, Mary’s contemplative gaze, and Kitty’s playful grin. The chair Lydia usually filled was empty, her trip to Brighton leaving a noticeable calm in its wake. The atmosphere hummed with a subtle sense of peace, a balm on the wounds of her recent trials. As she looked at their familiar faces, a wave of relief washed over her, the tension that had knotted her muscles for weeks finally beginning to unravel. For the first time in a long while, she felt like herself.
“Lizzy, your spirits seem quite enlivened of late,” Jane said.
“How can they be anything but enlivened, being surrounded by my family like this?” cried Elizabeth.
“If any place can lift one’s mood, it is Longbourn,” Mrs. Bennet declared. “Why, with your being so rich, I already have plans to—”
A frantic pounding on the front door halted Mrs. Bennet’s speech and aroused everyone’s curiosity. Moments later, Hill entered the room, looking distressed, a letter clutched in her hand. “Pardon me, but an urgent letter has come for Mr. Bennet.”
Longbourn’s master had left the house earlier that day and had yet to return. With a feeling of foreboding, Elizabeth took the missive and broke the seal with trembling fingers. Her face drained of color as she scanned the contents.
“What is it, Lizzy?” Jane asked in concern, reaching to clasp her sister’s shaking hand.
“Lydia,” Elizabeth said. “She has... she has thrown herself into the power of a Lieutenant Wickham!”
Elizabeth’s mind raced, her thoughts jumbled in panic. The calamity that had befallen the Bennet family could be traced back to Mr. Bennet’s fateful decision to allow Lydia to go to Brighton in the first place. Despite Elizabeth’s fervent pleas for him to reconsider, knowing and understanding her younger sister’s wild, untamed spirits as she did, Mr. Bennet could not withstand Mrs. Bennet’s hysterical entreaties on the matter. Desiring peace and quiet more than anything else, he had given Lydia his blessing, insisting she would be under the watchful eye of Colonel Forster and his wife, the latter of whom had befriended Lydia while the militia was encamped outside of Meryton before heading to Brighton.
For a moment, Elizabeth thought of Lydia’s situation compared to her own, for had she not fled to Gretna Green with a man she hardly knew for the sake of preventing a scandal from ruining her family’s reputation.
A further perusal of Colonel Forster’s hastily penned missive to Mr. Bennet confirmed the two situations were not to be compared, for while Elizabeth’s motives had been to protect her family, Lydia’s had been carelessly crafted to injure them.
Young Lydia, giddy with the prospect of fun and flirtation, had immediately attached herself to the militia officers upon arriving in Brighton. When a recruit, Mr. George Wickham, captured her notice, she became utterly besotted and threw all caution to the wind. Enamored by Wickham’s practiced charms, she convinced herself they would marry.
When Wickham proposed they run off together, Lydia agreed, full of foolish notions about their impending wedding. In truth, Wickham harbored no real intention of marrying Lydia. His true aim was to take advantage of her innocence and then abandon her, ruined, in London or thereabouts.
A query of the officers who knew Wickham best confirmed he had often boasted of such plans when deep in his cups.
Clutching the letter from Colonel Forster, Elizabeth fought back her tears. And now such a scandal would taint the honor of all the Bennets. Their reputations would be left in tatters.
A bitter taste rose in Elizabeth’s throat as she imagined Mr. Darcy’s reaction. He would see this as proof of her family’s frailties. He had been forced to connect his esteemed name to such relations as these, and he was to be repaid with disgrace.
Upon hearing Elizabeth’s declaration to Jane, a collective gasp rose around the table. Mrs. Bennet’s teacup clattered into its saucer as she swayed alarmingly in her chair. “My baby, run off with a scoundrel? Oh, we are utterly ruined!”
As Mrs. Bennet dissolved into hysterics, Elizabeth continued to fight back her tears. Foolish, reckless Lydia, to trust such a deceitful serpent of a man! How could he justify ruining her sister’s life and prospects? This news would condemn not just Lydia but all the Bennets, leaving them socially exiled.
While her older sister comforted her mother, Elizabeth resolved to speak with her father, who had been absent amid the chaos. She found him standing by the pond, staring off into the distance. He was too calm to have heard what had unfolded.
“Oh, Papa!” Elizabeth cried, summoning his attention.
He turned and stared blankly at her. “I suppose you have come bearing the news—”
“You... you know?”
“No doubt all the county knows by now. Your dear mother’s wailings are hard to ignore.”
“Mama is beside herself with grief. We all are! Are you not? Have you no interest in what exactly has befallen your youngest daughter—our entire family?”
“Is that not your purpose in seeking me out? Having found me, by all means, do tell.”
This was hardly the encouragement that Elizabeth had expected, but she would not be deterred, and she spoke at length on all she knew. “Oh, Papa!” she exclaimed with energy. “How is such a man as this vile Mr. Wickham to be worked on? What is to be done to recover her?”
“I have long supposed Lydia would never be easy until she has exposed herself in some public place or other. The silly girl only wanted an opportunity to make her family ridiculous. If I may paraphrase the poet Southey, chickens always come home to roost.”
“Papa! Do you mean to do nothing to mitigate the damage of your youngest daughter’s reckless behavior and blatant disregard for the rest of us?”
“What is to be done? I surely lack the means to deal with such a scoundrel. Your husband, on the other hand—”
“Mr. Darcy?”
Mr. Bennet shrugged. “What is the purpose of having such a wealthy son-in-law if not for situations just like this?”
“Surely you do not expect—”
Interrupting Elizabeth’s protest, Mr. Bennet said, “This Mr. Wickham of whom you speak, this is not the first I have heard of him. Indeed, I have it on good authority that he and your husband have a particular connection—a shared history, if you will, what with the two of them having been reared together at Pemberley. Why, they are as good as relatives because I understand the late Mr. Darcy was Wickham’s godfather.”
“How could you possibly know such a thing?”
“Did you expect me not to have your husband investigated upon learning what transpired in the north?”
Here, Elizabeth scoffed. “And yet, you lack the same curiosity where Lydia is concerned.”
“Your Mr. Darcy will know exactly how to act once he learns what has occurred. I suppose the question is, my Lizzy, will you inform him of what has unfolded, or shall I?”
“No—I forbid you to speak with Mr. Darcy.”
“Well, Lizzy, what can I say except that I shall leave you here to ponder the matter? Scandals arise and fall like the ebbs and flows of the tides, but I hardly need to tell you that, do I?”
Mr. Bennet was gone directly, retreating further along the path and away from the manor house, leaving Elizabeth to stew.
And this was the man she had spent her entire life thinking of as the best man in the world. A man who would so easily abdicate his parental responsibilities to a near-perfect stranger, for all intents and purposes, given our tenuous situation.
Thoughts of what other options she had led her to consider her uncles, but surely Mr. Phillips was not a consideration, for he was of lesser means than her father. The idea of prevailing on her uncle Mr. Gardiner was quickly dismissed as well. Not that he lacked the means, but he had his own family—a wife and four little children who must surely be his primary responsibility—not a gentleman of leisure who spent his time secluded in his library, neglecting his parental obligations. His success in life was not the result of his lineage but rather active participation in the management of his warehouses.
When her thoughts flickered to her brother-in-law, Mr. Collins, Elizabeth knew she was bordering on desperation. Why, he was almost as abhorred by Lydia’s wild animal spirits as was Mr. Darcy. No—he would want nothing to do with the fallen young girl now—not ever—and would likely embrace Mr. Bennet’s apparent approach to cast her off.
Later, when the house was calm, Elizabeth sat with Jane in the parlor. Elizabeth clasped her hands tightly in her lap. She knew precisely the only recourse left to them, though the prospect made her recoil with dread.
“I must inform my husband,” she pronounced quietly.
Jane’s eyes filled with sympathy. “Oh, Lizzy, I know how bitter the estrangement between you and Mr. Darcy has become. To involve him now would be the deepest humiliation.”
Jane had spoken nothing but the truth. But Elizabeth and Darcy were bound by law and duty still. Surely even Darcy could not abandon his disgraced wife entirely in her hour of need.
Later, in the solitude of her apartment, Elizabeth composed a letter to her husband, laying out the facts. She tried to maintain a factual tone, concealing none of the scandal’s ugliness. Whatever Darcy’s response, she must cling to a faint hope that he would still do right by his wife’s family, if not for her sake, then to protect his heralded standing.
Sealing the humiliating missive, Elizabeth pressed a hand over her roiling stomach. She had no choice but to lay her family’s fate in Mr. Darcy’s proud, unsympathetic hands and pray he would not fail them.
She hated involving her estranged husband, but propriety and protection of the family name obliged her. Surely he would demand Lydia and Wickham marry, then cast Elizabeth off in disgust at her relations’ impropriety.
But it is my only hope.
Chapter 16
REFLECTIONS
The sound of porcelain tapping together echoed through the room as Darcy lifted his teacup, the pleasant steam rising to greet his nose. Across from him, Colonel Fitzwilliam stirred a generous portion of sugar into his drink.
“Thank you again for coming,” Darcy began. “I find myself in want of your counsel as I navigate certain familial developments.”
The colonel nodded knowingly, taking a sip before replying. “Think nothing of it, old fellow. We are family, after all. I am always happy to lend an ear.” He studied his cousin over the rim of his teacup. “Now, what seems to be troubling you so?”
Darcy hesitated, staring into the swirling amber liquid as if it held answers. At length, he confessed, “It is my wife, Elizabeth. No doubt, you have heard she is no longer in town. It appears that being in proximity with her husband was the ultimate test of her endurance.”
He went on to describe that Elizabeth had struggled to adjust to London society and the resulting tension between them. Though he spared the colonel the details, it was clear that things were not as cordial as when the newlyweds were in Derbyshire.
“She is so headstrong, so unwilling to bend to convention,” Darcy explained wearily. “Her behavior at social engagements was positively mortifying at times. You bore witness to that when we dined at Matlock House.”
The colonel listened thoughtfully before musing, “Hindsight is no doubt a blessing, but perhaps you are being too harsh in your judgment? After all, the young lady did not grow up ensconced in society as you did. Give her time to adjust.”
When Darcy looked unconvinced, Colonel Fitzwilliam pressed on gently. “Consider, too, that she may have been feeling isolated. Did you make an effort to consider her interests and opinions, not just your own?”
Darcy shifted in his seat. He could always count on his cousin for straightforward counsel. “You may have the right of it,” he admitted begrudgingly. “I will take some time and reflect on what you have said.”
Later, after the colonel had taken his leave, reflecting was precisely what Darcy did.
He wondered if he had been too stringent in his expectations, demanding that Elizabeth conform to his world rather than meeting her halfway. Perhaps in his haste to correct her improprieties, he had neglected her feelings. The thought did not sit well with him. He winced, recalling their heated arguments and how his harsh words likely had made her withdraw further into herself.
I should have sheltered her more during those first difficult weeks in London instead of leaving her to flounder amidst soirees and shops. Perhaps then she would have felt less isolated, less inclined to flout convention in rebellion.
Darcy cursed himself for driving her away with his stringency. Yet resentment simmered beneath his remorse. After all, had Elizabeth made any effort to adhere to his expectations as society demanded?
Taking a sip of brandy, Darcy acknowledged his own faults. Perhaps I ought to have been more patient, given her time to adjust to London’s intricacies.
Darcy’s thoughts turned in circles as his emotions warred within him. Elizabeth knew full well what was required of a gentleman’s wife, however distasteful. By flouting convention so brazenly, she invited censure upon herself.
Could she not have compromised just enough to avoid outraging the ton? Darcy could never fully relinquish his duties to rank and reputation, nor did he think it fair for her to expect as much.
Finishing his drink, Darcy sank into his chair. He missed Elizabeth fiercely—her lively wit, her beguiling eyes. His heart ached, picturing her ensconced at Longbourn without him.
If only I had swallowed my pride. Now, I have driven her away, perhaps forever.
Darcy found himself once again dwelling on those same agonizing doubts that plagued him for weeks. Elizabeth’s abominable family...
Tell me, Mrs. Darcy, did you expect me to rejoice upon learning that I had attached myself to such wretched connections?
His own words echoed in his mind. Words that, even until that day, all alone in his townhouse, a townhouse that felt cavernous and desolate ever since Elizabeth fled to Longbourn, he refused to recant.
Brooding into the fire’s dying embers, Darcy felt rising frustration. Why could his wife not meet him halfway? Did she give no thought to his efforts in introducing her to society?
For heaven’s sake, I even turned a blind eye to her regularly visiting her relations, the Gardiners, in Cheapside ... that godforsaken place, exposing herself to who knows what! Was my tolerance repaid with anything but more complaints?
Shaking his head, Darcy tried to dismiss his cyclical thoughts, but the same tormenting questions kept creeping back in. Draining his glass, Darcy acknowledged that he had been far from the ideal husband. But, he reasoned, reconciliation required two willing parties. If Elizabeth proved unwilling to temper her behavior and expectations, what hope remained?
Just then, a footman entered with an express letter for Darcy. His heartbeat quickened, seeing it was from Elizabeth, though he could not fathom her reason for writing so urgently. Such pain he never thought possible filled his heart. Not that they did not exchange letters, but never through such means as this.
Has something happened to Elizabeth?
He tore it open and read what his wife had to say. Sadly, the subject matter did not surprise him. Elizabeth wrote of young Lydia having run off with George Wickham. How the scoundrel had boasted of abandoning her once he tired of her. How Elizabeth’s family was at a loss to know what was to be done. How was such a man to be worked on? All hope was lost.
George Wickham! It had been years since Darcy had reason to think of that vile man. Indeed, the two gentlemen shared a history that stretched back to their childhood at Pemberley.
Mr. Wickham was the son of a very respectable man who had managed the Pemberley estates for years. Darcy’s own father had been very fond of Wickham, who was his godson, and liberally bestowed kindness on him, supporting his education at school since Wickham’s own father lacked the means. Darcy’s father had the highest opinion of Wickham and hoped he would enter the church, intending to provide him with a valuable living when it became vacant.
As a youth nearly Wickham’s same age, Darcy began to see his true character—his vicious propensities and lack of principle that Wickham was careful to hide from Darcy’s father. After Darcy’s father died about five years ago, Darcy intended to provide for Wickham per his father’s wishes. But Wickham wrote to request a more immediate pecuniary advantage instead of the church living, claiming he wished to study law. Darcy doubted his sincerity but agreed to give him three thousand pounds, after which Wickham severed all ties.
About three years passed with little contact between them. But when the family living fell vacant, Wickham applied to Darcy again for the presentation. Darcy refused, knowing Wickham should not be a clergyman. Wickham’s violent reproaches and abuse ensued. After this period, every appearance of acquaintance was dropped. How he lived, Darcy did not know.
