“What do you mean, you left her there?” Darcy had said. His aunt had arrived that morning, her daughter Anne and an exhausted Georgiana in tow.
“We came to an agreement,” Lady Catherine had replied. “And do not raise your voice to me, Fitzwilliam. Had you come to Kent when I bade you come, I would not have been forced into the foul company of George Wickham and his ilk.” At the mention of Wickham’s name, Georgiana had paled and promptly sat.
“It’s my fault,” she’s said, clearly on the verge of tears.
“It most certainly is not. If anyone’s at fault here, it’s George Wickham,” Darcy had said. He’d wanted to rage but his sister was frightened enough, and rage would have no discernable effect on Lady Catherine in any case save to affirm her own sense of moral superiority.
“She sends you this,” Lady Catherine had said. She’d handed him a folded piece of paper, unsealed.
Darcy was grown tired of unexpected notes. They never seemed to bode well for him.
This one had been no exception.
Elizabeth wrote to excuse herself from their arrangement, saying she no longer wished to play any part and that she would not be swayed from that objective any longer; she was gone to stay with aunt and uncle and would not be returning to Hertfordshire anytime soon. Lady Catherine had not seen fit to find out their address, much less to bring Elizabeth with her to Pemberley. Instead, Lady Catherine was keen to begin planning for his future countess.
Darcy had readily disabused her of that notion when, on reading Elizabeth’s note, he’d sent for his horse at once. He’d deal with the issue of George Wickham later – it was paramount he find Elizabeth. He needed her now more than ever.
Georgiana liked her. She’d said as much after they’d watched Lady Catherine drive away, her temper high after he refused to come to heel. Darcy clung to Georgiana’s words, letting them keep him together as he set off down the main road for London.
He couldn’t have made it more than three miles when he saw a distressed carriage alongside the road. It was outside his ability to leave people in need so close to his own home – he slowed his horse to a stop.
“My lord,” said a familiar voice. Miss Elizabeth Bennet made a deep curtsy from her perch on a knoll next to the road. He fancied her voice quavered a little, but he dared not perceive why.
Darcy dismounted, finding himself suddenly without hurry. He began tying off his horse to the carriage.
“Miss Bennet,” he said without turning. “You seem to be having some trouble.”
“Our carriage, yes,” she said. The woman standing next to her cleared her throat. He’d not marked her at first. “Oh, your pardon. My lord, allow me to introduce you. This is Mrs. Gardiner, my aunt. The carriage belongs to my uncle, who has gone some distance up the road ahead.”
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” said Darcy politely. “The coachman left you here alone?”
“We sent him to stop Mr. Gardiner, and to fetch help after,” said Elizabeth.
“You should not have been left alone,” said Darcy, becoming cross.
“We had no choice,” said Elizabeth. “Not if we wished to make the Lake District by next week.”
“Excuse me,” said Mrs. Gardiner. “I must see to the children.” She disappeared behind the massive tree, leaving Darcy alone with Elizabeth.
He did not speak for a moment and she seemed to prefer the silence. He studied her face, looking for any sign of trauma. Any mark on her was another he’d make sure George Wickham suffered when Darcy dealt with him once and for all. Her color rose at his scrutiny, but he discerned no outward injury to her person.
“Were you harmed? In any way?” he asked quietly. It was the question he feared most, but he had to know.
“No,” she said, her gaze darting up to his face. She saw his meaning in his face. “You mean, did they…”
He nodded, the tension inside him unbearable. His imagination tortured him with how she must have been abused.
“No,” she said softly. “No.”
Darcy turned on his heel and breathed once more. The illusion of privacy was enough; he composed himself and turned back to face her.
“How is your sister?” she asked, hesitant.
“She is recuperating,” he said. “I’ve only just left her in the care of my cousin, Anne. I think this experience will have cured her of any tender feeling she had for George Wickham.”
“I can imagine so,” said Elizabeth.
Silence descended once more. Darcy took the liberty of inspecting the wheel of their carriage. He’d no idea what might have caused the break, but the piece was ruined; there would be no repair.
“I think you must hate me,” Elizabeth said softly after a long while.
“Hate you?” he said, astonished. “Of course I do not hate you.”
“But I have disappointed you,” she said. “I am sorry.”
“You have nothing to apologize for. George Wickham would never have come near you were it not for me.” That fact cut him deepest; the entire ordeal would never have happened had Darcy not insisted on her going to London; nor could Wickham have imposed himself on her if they’d never spoken of courtship in the first place.
Elizabeth was spared whatever pitying reply she might have made by the sound of approaching horses. Mr. Gardiner’s carriage came around the bend swiftly, alighting just aside the broken-down vessel. Mr. Gardiner launched himself out of the carriage in an obvious panic.
“Elizabeth!” he cried. “Are you alright? Where is Mrs. Gardiner? Where the children?”
“We are here!” called Mrs. Gardiner. She and the children appeared, back from their play in the nearby clearing. “We’re here.”
“Oh, thank goodness,” said Mr. Gardiner. He nearly lost his footing, so great was his relief.
“And none of us the worse for wear, uncle” said Elizabeth, for he’d clearly assumed the worst.
“So I see,” said Mr. Gardiner, hugging the children before directing them to get in his carriage with their siblings. The adults were left standing alongside the road.
“Oh!” exclaimed Elizabeth. “My lord, allow me to introduce to you my uncle, Mr. Gardiner. Uncle Gardiner, may I present the Earl of Matlock.”
“The would-be fiancé, eh?” said Mr. Gardiner, unimpressed. “Excuse my frankness, my lord, but your friend Mr. Wickham has rendered you most unfavorably.”
“There can be no excuse,” said Darcy quietly. “No excuse and no apology great enough for exposing your niece to that danger. I can only refute your calling George Wickham my friend; he has not been that to me or to my family for some years now.”
“Hm,” said Mr. Gardiner. Darcy would not defend himself when he considered the responsibility his and his alone; yet he thought he perceived a softening in the other man’s countenance. “Be that as it may. Perhaps you would be so kind as to excuse us, my lord; the children are quite ready to be underway.”
“Are you yet travelling?” asked Darcy.
“We are expected a few days hence by my sister in Newcastle, sir,” said Mrs. Gardiner, glancing briefly at Elizabeth.
“I see,” said Darcy.
Elizabeth had not intended to come to Pemberley at all, then.
They were bound for Newcastle. She’d no intention of seeing him here. Were it not for a failed carriage wheel, she might be gone from him forever.
Darcy’s heart hard beat within his chest.
“Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, I would not importune your family any longer, but while you wait on the carriage, will you consider joining me for tea? Pemberley is but three miles hence, and could perhaps be more comfortable for you and your children than waiting at the inn in town.” Darcy knew not what prompted the invitation, particularly when the Gardiners could not possibly be inclined to think well of him. He only knew that he could not let Elizabeth leave – not yet.
There was still too much unsaid.
The Gardiners were well pleased with Pemberley. It was his childhood home, so perhaps Darcy’s own sentiment colored his perception at times; their approbation reminded him that his judgement, at least in this aspect of his life, was not false. Given a garden for play and servants enough to attend them, the Gardiner children made no disturbance in the house as Darcy escorted their parents and cousin through the halls of his home.
He wished to know Elizabeth’s opinion most keenly, but her expression was placid and had been since their arrival. He dared not guess at her thoughts.
When time enough had passed that his visitors began to anticipate their exit, Darcy could contain himself no more.
“You know, Mr. Gardiner,” Darcy said over his tea, as though the idea had only just occurred to him. “The late Earl had several holdings in Newcastle. I’ve put them off, as I’ve never yet laid eyes on them, but I’ll need to visit them sooner or later. If I could be of assistance during the rest of your travel, perhaps I might join you for the remaining stretch of your journey north.”
“Capital idea!” said Mr. Gardiner. An afternoon in Darcy’s home had altered the man’s demeanor dramatically. “Please do, my lord. It would be most gratifying to continue our conversation regarding that fishing expedition you mentioned.”
Darcy observed Mrs. Gardiner’s eyes widen but could not discern the cause. On hearing his request Elizabeth had turned to gaze out the window. He suspected she was not studying the view of the garden as she appeared to be doing. Had he displeased her? If she did not desire his company, he may well have lost any hope of her.
But the wheels were already in motion, for Mr. Gardiner was talking of the stops they’d planned to make, and of Mrs. Gardiner’s sister and brother-in-law, in whose home they would be guests on their arrival.
A messenger arrived a short time later with news that the Gardiners’ carriage was at last repaired. At Darcy’s instructions, his trunks were added to the load it carried.
Elizabeth was entirely discomfited by Darcy’s addition to their travelling party. What could he possibly mean by it?
He had not yet mentioned her letter, nor had any one among them alluded to the nature of their association. Rather, her aunt and uncle Gardiner seemed to be treating him as though he was still courting her.
Despite the fact that their understanding had been purely for the sake of theatre, Elizabeth could scarcely bear the humiliation she felt. Her own behavior shamed her, that she’d agreed to go along with the charade at all. She felt the weight of her own moral judgement every moment now, and wondered once more just what had possessed her to have agreed to his scheme.
Moreover, what possessed him to contrive it? It made her angry with him, even as she recognized her feelings had ceased to make sense.
Elizabeth knew from long experience that distraction worked as well as any other thing to ameliorate distemper, so she occupied most of her time at Pemberley by playing with the Gardiner children. The weather was fine and after days of being cooped up in carriages, they were all of a mind to make the most of the afternoon outdoors.
The children had just finished their game, for which they’d required Elizabeth’s ignoble skills as a referee, when a figure approached. The woman was dressed head to toe in unrelieved black, including the veil which shadowed her face.
Elizabeth walked over to greet the woman, lest she frighten the younger children by treading too close.
“You are Miss Elizabeth Bennet?” said the figure by way of greeting.
“I am,” she answered. The woman lifted her veil.