Teaching Eliza, page 29
Who was this man, who looked and spoke so like the Darcy she had known, but who was so very different? Learning his ways would take a lifetime of study; being his wife would never be boring. Had they officially broken off their presumed engagement? What had been revealed to the world? She had not thought to consider him again for a moment, but now Lizzy mused at how interesting life would be, wed in truth to such a man. She might even grow to like him; a small part of her confessed that she may already love him.
These reflections were cut short by Georgie’s incredulous tones. “You have met before!” she cried unnecessarily. “Lizzy, why did you not tell me?”
As she sought the words she wanted, Darcy interrupted, “Miss Bennet and I were acquainted in London last winter.”
“When you met Richard and Freddy? How wonderful! But why did you not tell me?” Her voice was breathless.
Having had a moment to collect her thoughts, Lizzy replied, “We did not part on the best of terms, and I had no desire to distress you.”
“But he kissed you!” The girl turned wide, incredulous eyes towards her brother, then to her friend, her mouth agape. “Lizzy, is this the man who kissed you, but who treated you ill? Oh, I ought to have known. Fitz, what did you do to her?” There was definite fire in the girl’s eyes now, and she sounded remarkably like her cousin Richard. Lizzy would gladly have gone through a thousand awful balls and fights with Darcy just to see his young sister coming back to life as she was.
“Georgie, dearest, I treated Miss Bennet abysmally, and I can never expect her to forgive me, but nevertheless I do hope she will try.” His eyes bore into Lizzy’s as he uttered these words, and she forgot to breathe, trapped as she was in his dark, brooding orbs. “If she will permit me,” he continued, “I would like to start working towards atonement now. Pray continue your tour of the gardens, and allow me to exchange this garb for something more appropriate.” With another kiss to Lizzy’s hand, he bowed again and strode into the house.
His arrival was most assuredly unexpected, for Lizzy could hear cries of “Mr. Darcy!” and “Welcome home, sir,” through the open windows of the large house.
“Where did he come from?” Georgie asked, staring after the apparition. “I have not seen him in an age, and yet, here he was, as if he had just come from a walk in the woods.” She stopped and turned to look at the woods, beyond the park. “Oh, I think I understand! It was he who has been staying at the cottage!”
And thus it turned out to be. More properly attired, Darcy soon returned to escort the ladies around the park, bringing Mrs. Reynolds with him. “Oh, Mr. Darcy, why did you not tell us you were back?” she badgered him good-naturedly. “Even had you wished to sleep in your mother’s cottage, we would gladly have sent food and drink for you. Whatever have you been living on, dear boy? You look quite starved!”
Darcy did look thin, Lizzy agreed, and wondered what he had been doing with himself for the four months they had been apart. Had he been living in the cottage all that time? How had he avoided all notice? She would have to ask him later. For the moment, however, brother and sister had fallen together in their reunion, leaving Lizzy with Mrs. Reynolds. They stood in the shade of a manicured tree as they observed the two Darcys together.
“You have done wonders with Miss Georgie,” Mrs. Reynolds said. “I should hardly know her from the wraith of only two weeks ago. The doctor came again, and she would not see him, but she did agree to take the tonic he ordered up. He told me we might expect her spirits to rise and fall unevenly for a while, but as long as she takes her medicine, she is expected to improve over time. How can we thank you, Miss Bennet?”
“In truth, madam, I did little. I merely reassured her that there was hope.”
“You coaxed her to confide in you, and let her know that her life was not over, that there was a reason to go on. For that, my dear, we shall be ever grateful.”
Presumably Mrs. Reynolds had a moment to convey these same sentiments to Darcy, for later that day, after afternoon tea, he found an excuse to be alone with her, having sent Georgie and Mrs. Reynolds on a quick errand. “I heard what you have done,” he murmured as he leaned over her whilst she sorted through music at the pianoforte in the music room. “I have been living, secluded as I was, in the cottage, but not unaware of the goings-on in my house. I knew how low my sister’s spirits were when she returned home from Town, and I knew how strongly the melancholia had taken her. The other day, I thought I saw movement on her balcony, and I needed to see what that was about. I can get quite close to the house, do you know, at the edge of the wood, where I can see without being seen. That was when I saw her, standing outside, which she had not done in far too long. And then I saw the other lady, and my heart all but stopped when I saw it was you! I watched the house the entire next day, and there you were again, taking your luncheon with her, on that balcony, and I wondered what angel had descended from above to save my sister.
“When I saw you outside in the garden this morning, I knew I could remain hidden no longer. Mrs. Reynolds explained to me how she met you in Lambton and invited you here without knowing your connection to me. She told me of how you have prevailed on my sister to allow us to help her, and of what Georgie told you about Wickham.” He spat out the name as if it were poison in his mouth. “The bastard,” he grinned at her, knowing the effect his curse would have, “the bastard convinced her she was ruined by him, that she would never be able to move past their encounter. Heaven knows, I have lost more than one night’s sleep over my inability to help her, for my failure to discover what had occurred.” He sighed deeply and rubbed a hand over a furrowed brow. “But you corrected her. I shall presume to kiss you anew, you realise, to show her how a kiss need not be tawdry or destructive to a woman’s character.”
“Is that the only reason you wish to kiss me, Professor?” There was a teasing laugh in Lizzy’s voice as she settled on a piece of music and began to run her fingers up and down the keyboard. The sparkling arpeggios she produced echoed the bubbling lilt in her tone.
“No. By no means is it the only reason. In fact, it is quite secondary to my primary objective. The primary reason is that I enjoy it. I have also now compromised you quite thoroughly, and repeatedly, Eliza. Our presumed engagement has not been called off. Would you consider leaving matters as they are for the present until I have a chance to redeem myself in your eyes?”
Her fingers stopped their exploration of the pianoforte, and the arpeggios and scales ceased. “What are you asking me, Professor?”
“Fitz. We have moved beyond such formalities.”
“What are you asking me, Fitz?”
“To consider my proposal. To allow me to prove myself to you. I missed you so desperately, Eliza. I could not eat, nor sleep, but I wished you were near me. Will you give it thought? Please?”
The sensitive, vulnerable man was back. He seemed to be the man most prominent here in the country, in this splendid and prosperous manor house. Far from the artifice of London’s glittering society, where falseness was a virtue and sincerity was a vice, the conflicting aspects to the bewildering character seemed to settle a bit, and perhaps the image of the true essence was visible beneath the ennui and disdain.
“I… I shall give it thought,” she said at last, to which he did not reply in words, but with his hands, which moved around her to pull her upright and into his embrace, and with his lips, which found hers and silently asking permission, proceeded to kiss her quite soundly.
They were interrupted by Georgie’s too-silent return to the room. She carried with her the pile of music which she had been sent to retrieve. “Oh my,” she whispered, sending her brother and friend scurrying in separate directions. “I’m so sorry… I did not know… but, how well did you know each other in London?” She looked from one to the other and back again.
“We were friends,” Lizzy spoke, at the same time that Darcy announced, “We were engaged to be married.”
Georgie stood stunned, allowing the pile of papers she carried to drop to the floor.
EIGHTEEN — UNWELCOME COMPANY
~
GEORGE WICKHAM FOUND, TO HIS great astonishment, that he missed Caroline Bingley somewhat. Not, perhaps, for her charm and personality, for those he discovered were more lacking than present, but for her constant and eager willingness to engage in whatever activity he had in mind. In the time they had known each other, she had proved an amusing lover, quick to learn and with an appetite that matched his own. He would regret it when he had to relinquish her, at last, to Darcy. He had considered keeping her on as his plaything, but this would place him too much in the vicinity of his nemesis, and what he wanted was revenge, not prolonged exposure. Further, Caroline was lovely to look at and delightful to bed, but she was a shrew, always ready to speak ill of others if it might further her own ends, too concerned with her place in the world and with what she might do to improve it. Even to him, George Wickham, her seducer and lover, she seldom had a pleasant word, unless she lay entwined with him under the covers in his rented rooms. No, he would find another amenable young woman to satisfy his lusts, one whom he might enjoy for her company outside of the bed chamber, one whom he liked as well as desired. And so much better that would be, for he could then rejoice in the firm knowledge of his success at finally having defeated his old playmate.
But his ultimate victory, while nigh, was not quite complete: first he must find Darcy and watch as he discovered how he had been betrayed. Only then could he enjoy the spectacle as the proud man crumbled at his feet, destroyed by the very people he thought he loved. Ah, that would be sweet victory indeed.
One problem remained: his prey seemed to have vanished. He was not with Caroline. That was certain. Caro was, at present, visiting her aunt in the north, having been sent thither once more by her brother. Why on earth the brother thought this a good idea so soon after the engagement had been announced, Wickham could not fathom, but the wealthy often did very strange things.
During their trysts the previous spring, Caro had related to him a great many details leading to her departure, lamenting her ill treatment at every turn. The apartments Charles had selected for her and her companion were nowhere near adequate in size for a lady of her status. When she complained, her brother suggested that they were the grandest she could afford on the interest from her dowry, but really, could Charles not have paid for better accommodations from his own coffers? Any caring brother ought to have done so! Leaving her to her own devices in this way was quite insupportable, and after all she had done for him over the years! Wickham had been surprised to find a modicum of sympathy for the woman over the abuses she suffered at her brother’s hand!
Worse, she had complained, none of her friends would deign to visit her there. The apartments were in a perfectly respectable part of town, despite their modest size and furnishings, and Caro could not think what kept society from her door. It must be the food, she decided. She did not have extensive kitchens, nor did she employ a trained chef as her brother did; therefore, if she wished to entertain and be seen, she must do so from Charles’ house. (All the better , Wickham considered, for the funds to come from Charles’ pockets than Caro’s allowance . He could see no fault in her plans at all.)
At first she would arrive in the mornings and sit with Dear Jane as she accepted company, presiding as mistress of the house in lieu of the new Mrs. Bingley. She would stay until after dinner, for why should Charles’ chef produce all that food for only two people? And if company should be expected, well surely that company would wish to see Caroline as well!
But these arrangements had their limitations, which the lady had lamented to her lover. When the Bingleys were invited out, Caroline was sent home to her apartments, almost as if she were not wanted. This was unacceptable! If Charles and Jane were to be out in society, she must be as well. How could her brother, whom she had cared for and sacrificed for, neglect her thus?
Wickham had observed that Caro never mentioned Darcy by name; she did not wish to discomfit him with news of her betrothed. It was a sweet action on the part of a rather selfish woman, and he appreciated it. This must be why she did not mention those evenings when she must have been out on Darcy’s arm. She never boasted of going to the opera with him, or to some grand society ball, or to cards at his noble relations. It could only be, Wickham considered, that she was protecting his sensibilities.
Once, and only once, had Wickham even dared to ask after Darcy. He had said nothing specific about the engagement or wedding, playing according to Caro’s rules, and had merely asked how the gentleman was doing. Caro’s response was simple. “Oh, yes, dear Mr. Darcy,” she had waved a hand in dismissal and said nothing more. It must be, Wickham assured himself, that Caro did not wish to remind him of her betrothal to another. This left Wickham feeling rather smug and pleased with himself, for after him, what possible good could Darcy be, other than a set of deep pockets? He felt somewhat more kindly towards Caroline at this, for how gratifying it was that when she spent time with him, Caro devoted herself entirely to his pleasure and would not allow other concerns to interfere in their trysts. Perhaps there was more to her than her obvious physical charms after all.
Despite this momentary lapse of her accustomed selfishness, Caroline had often voiced her frustration at her brother’s actions. Wickham knew he was adept at reading between the lines, and realised that whether she mentioned the man or not, Caro must think of her betrothed from time to time, at least. Surely, if she were excluded from Mr. and Mrs. Bingley’s engagements, she must still take steps to remain active in society when not on Darcy’s arm. This must be why she had abandoned her apartments and returned to Charles’ house. Now he and Jane must include her in their plans! And, as Caroline had whispered one lazy afternoon, now she could reassert herself as the true mistress of the house, for poor Jane did not run the household as it ought to be done!
But matters had not proceeded quite as Caro had anticipated. The new Mrs. Bingley had taken exception, it seemed, to her husband’s sister always being underfoot and at last, Charles Bingley had grown a spine. Wickham sniggered at the very concept, but it must be so. Caro had always joked about how malleable her brother was, how she could manage to convince him to do anything she desired. Alas, it appeared that Mrs. Bingley had a similar influence over the man, and hers, as his wife, was stronger.
Therefore Caroline was ordered out of the house and up to Scarborough, where she remained, presumably until her wedding.
Wickham could not determine from the letters why Caroline’s engagement to Darcy should be so drawn-out. As was her wont, she never mentioned anything relating to Darcy, and her wedding was no exception. Perhaps the man himself had other matters that needed attention before he could devote himself to a wife. His estates must be tended, his business affairs put in order. He might be planning a lengthy wedding trip, and a prolonged absence from his estate would require much advance preparation.
But now Darcy had disappeared and Caroline was gone to her aunt in the north, and corresponding was increasingly difficult. If Caro knew of Darcy’s whereabouts, she was silent on the matter. It was, perhaps, time to take other steps. Bringing himself back to the present, Wickham found the old military officer’s coat and hat that he had failed to return after his departure from the militia and pulled them on. He checked his appearance in the glass once more, and more than satisfied with his appearance, strode out of the door in search of information.
This information was not easily found at his usual tavern. Higgins, his sometime-confident, was not at his accustomed table, and there was no whisper in the air for Wickham to overhear. But there was Sanderson, over by the window. Wickham bought the man a pint of ale in exchange for rumour, and this proved somewhat lucrative. Sanderson seemed to know something about Colonel Fitzwilliam being in Town rather unexpectedly. The colonel had taken a prolonged leave from his military duties since his marriage and was expected to resign his commission shortly. Why he should be in London was a mystery, but one that could be solved with an appropriate ear at the appropriate door.
What Wickham discovered surprised him. He heard from the kitchen maid at the Duke of Bedford’s house, who had it from a chamber maid at the Baron de Morigne, who had it from her beau, a footman for Lord Malton, that someone named Liza had written, concerned that Darcy was not at Pemberley, where everybody thought he ought to be. Who Liza was, he cared little. He knew only that his prey seemed to have vanished. Could he be at Scarborough with Caroline? No, surely not, for if he were so eager to be in his future wife’s company, why delay the wedding?
Wickham was also certain that Darcy had not left England at this point, with his wedding approaching. Such news would have reached his ears, of this he was sure. And why, he wondered anew, was the couple separated thus? Could there have been some falling out already over Caro’s dalliances? There certainly had been no gossip that he had heard about the engagement being broken. It mattered not. For, as he contemplated affairs, Wickham thought he knew where Darcy was.
He recalled from his childhood a cottage in the woods on the Pemberley estate, and knew well that a man might live there in comfort for a time, if he were prepared to tend to his own needs. Food could be brought in, or purchased in the village by a willing servant or the master himself, in suitable disguise, and none need be any the wiser. Yes, he was certain! That was where Darcy lay concealed, and that was where he, too, must go!
~
After discovering her brother and Lizzy in the music room, Georgiana had demanded a full accounting of their past, and Mrs. Reynolds, acting as the mother hen for her adopted brood, had insisted on sitting in on the discussion. Lizzy could do nothing but provide them with the unvarnished truth of the affair, all the while Darcy sat back on a chair in the corner of the room looking distinctly uncomfortable. When she reached the part in the tale about his interference in the blossoming attachment between Richard and Charlotte, both Georgie and Mrs. Reynolds turned their most disapproving eyes upon him.
