Mr. Darcy’s initial behavior on the road at first convinced Elizabeth that he had an identical twin—or perhaps the faeries had replaced him with a changeling. She would have expected a stiff, formal greeting, and perhaps not even that given what he knew of her disgrace. How had he suddenly transformed into this caring man?
So few people credited her story of the incident at the ball that Elizabeth had all but given up recounting it, yet Mr. Darcy believed her without even hearing the complete story. Was Lord Henry correct that Mr. Darcy hoped to gain some advantage over her through a facade of solicitude? But for what purpose? Mr. Darcy could not possibly want her for his mistress. The thought was absurd.
The disdainful, masterful Mr. Darcy who had stood up to Lord Henry was much closer to the man Elizabeth remembered. But once the viscount was banished, the master of Pemberley regained his pleasant concern for her wellbeing. She could not account for the sudden alteration. If anything, news of her disgrace should make him eschew her company—even avoid all of Hertfordshire. She was entirely puzzled by his behavior but could think of no discreet way to inquire about his change of heart.
For the first time Elizabeth found herself doubting the accuracy of Mr. Wickham’s account of Mr. Darcy’s character. Perhaps she had been overly hasty in accepting the militia officer’s version of events. Mr. Wickham, like the rest of the militia, had avoided the company of the Bennet family since the scandal. Elizabeth was not surprised at the defection, but it contrasted sharply with Mr. Darcy’s behavior. Now she wondered if she had judged him too quickly. I certainly was wrong in guessing which of my friends would stand by me in the face of adversity, she thought bitterly. What is one more error in judgment by comparison?
Long periods of silence characterized their walk, but when Elizabeth struck up a subject of conversation, Mr. Darcy was quite amiable. They discussed the weather, the latest news from the war on the peninsula, and the activities of mutual acquaintances. He was uncharacteristically vague about his purpose in returning to Hertfordshire, saying only that he needed a respite from Town.
Finally, she felt she must say something on the subject which hung heavily in the air between them. “Allow me to thank you again for defending me from Lord Henry.”
“No thanks are necessary,” he murmured. “It was the right thing to do.”
“Many others would not have done so,” she said. “In fact, I daresay, most. My honor has suffered a severe setback recently.” She attempted to keep her tone light. Having rescued her, Mr. Darcy did not deserve to be subject to fretful complaints.
“Not your honor, rather your reputation.” The words were so low that Elizabeth strained her ears to hear them.
“I beg your pardon?” she asked, now thoroughly confused. “What is the difference?”
He frowned at her, his mouth set in a grim line, but Elizabeth refused to be deterred. She was beginning to suspect that Mr. Darcy’s bark was worse than his bite. “I pray you, explain your meaning.”
He considered for a moment as they continued to walk. “This is a distinction my father once made to me. Honor is what you know about yourself. Reputation is what others know about you, or believe they know.” He cleared his throat. “The people of Meryton think they know what happened between you and Lord Henry. Thus, your reputation has suffered. But you know you did nothing wrong; your honor has not been compromised.”
He regarded her with unnerving intensity, awaiting her response. She was quite overwhelmed by an intense wave of relief. At least one person understood! And that person believed her honor was intact. Still… “I was gullible,” she said slowly.
“That does not compromise your honor.” His voice was firm. “Only actions signify. Did you do or say something that would have led Lord Henry to believe you would welcome his advances?”
Her answer was instantaneous. “No! I do not even like the man. I had no desire to accompany him anywhere, including the drawing room at Lucas Lodge.”
Did Mr. Darcy’s shoulders seem to relax a bit? “If your conscience is clear, your honor is intact,” he said simply.
It was amazing how such words could make Elizabeth feel lighter, as if a weighty burden had been lifted from her shoulders. Nothing about her situation had changed, yet it was a little more bearable.
She had been silent a long while and became aware that Mr. Darcy was watching her anxiously. “Forgive me if I have overstepped my bounds,” he said.
“Not at all,” Elizabeth reassured him. “I am merely contemplating what you have said. Your words have eased my spirit. I thank you.”
He shrugged uneasily as if uncomfortable with the praise. “I have often found it useful to remember his words.”
They fell into a companionable silence and did not speak again until they neared Longbourn. They crested a small rise, and her home was within sight. Elizabeth had been debating with herself for the last five minutes and finally decided to speak, stopping at the top of the rise and facing Mr. Darcy. “Forgive my impertinence, sir, but I must confess I did not expect such…understanding from you. Your behavior upon the previous visit did not suggest you were interested in a closer friendship with the Bennet family.”
His eyes widened. Was she being too frank with him? “I…er…” He removed his hat briefly and ran his fingers through his dark curls. “I apologize if I gave you the impression upon my earlier visit that I did not…care about…your family.”
He paused. She said nothing, merely watched him expectantly.
He swallowed. “The truth is…I am most concerned about your wellbeing. I heard about your situation from some mutual acquaintances and”—he stared down at Longbourn, his mouth a thin, firm line —“it recalled to me an experience of my sister’s.”
Elizabeth’s hand covered her mouth. She was horrified at the thought that anyone would experience what she was going through.
“A…friend of the family prevailed upon her to elope with him, but he was only after her dowry. I arrived in time to thwart his plan. But the situation easily could have been far worse for our family.” His eyes looked past her, staring at nothing. “Fortunately, nobody knows about her indiscretion, but if it were widely known how much time they spent together unchaperoned, she would be expected to marry the blackguard, which would have made her life miserable.”
She had drawn closer to Mr. Darcy without realizing it. “I am so sorry. She is very young, is she not?”
“Fifteen years of age when it occurred.”
“How horrible! Your poor sister.” What she must have suffered!
Mr. Darcy shrugged. “The worst did not come to pass. But Georgiana and I both learned how fragile a woman’s reputation can be.”
Elizabeth nodded, considering what he had said. “I appreciate your sympathy, sir.” Her words were stiff and formal, but how could it be otherwise with a man she knew so little?
Mr. Darcy again offered his arm, and they resumed their walk in silence. But after a minute, Mr. Darcy cleared his throat. “I…um…felt the need to tell you the story for another reason.”
“Oh?”
He took a deep breath. “The young man who caused Georgiana so much heartache was George Wickham.”
Elizabeth could not prevent a sharp intake of breath. She never would have expected such behavior from the charming young man, but as she considered it, various pieces of the story fitted together. Mr. Darcy’s dislike of the man. Mr. Wickham’s avoidance of his childhood friend. And the militia officer’s loss of interest in Elizabeth when scandal struck.
“That is unexpected news,” she said finally. “But thank you for telling me.”
Her companion nodded. “I never would have forgiven myself if Wickham had taken advantage of you—or someone close to you.”
They crossed the remaining distance to Longbourn in silence. As they grew closer to her home, Elizabeth experienced a sense of increasing dread. Under ordinary circumstances, she would invite Mr. Darcy into the drawing room for some tea and conversation with her family. However, these circumstances were far beyond ordinary, and she feared her mother’s reaction upon seeing her with the man. Mrs. Bennet had always disliked Mr. Darcy, and she was barely civil to Elizabeth these days. How would she react to seeing us together? No, it would not be good. Perhaps I can claim a headache and bid him goodbye before reaching the front door.
As they rounded a bend in the road near Longbourn, Elizabeth disengaged her hand from Mr. Darcy’s arm, rather more reluctantly than she would have expected. It felt unaccountably natural there. She turned to Mr. Darcy with words about a headache on her lips; however, before she could open her mouth, a shriek emanated from the direction of Longbourn.
“Lizzy! Lizzy!” Elizabeth turned to see her mother, hands bunched in her skirts, rushing toward them. A coach and driver waited outside Longbourn’s entrance. Presumably her mother had been about to embark on an outing when she spied them. What horrid luck!
Her mother stumbled to a stop in front of her, puffing and out of breath. “Lizzy! What on earth is the matter with you?” She gestured wildly at her daughter, apparently oblivious to Mr. Darcy’s presence. “Your hair! Your clothes! You look as if you have been tramping through the woods. What have you been getting into now? What if someone should see you?”
Elizabeth felt her face heat, no doubt turning all shades of red. She did not even know whether she was more embarrassed by the rebuke or her mother’s lack of decorum.
“Indeed, madam,” Mr. Darcy intoned. “It is almost as if she had been rushing about the countryside shrieking loudly.”
Mrs. Bennet turned to Mr. Darcy and blinked at him, not comprehending his sarcasm.
The situation likely was unsalvageable, but Elizabeth fell back on her manners anyway. She gestured to Mr. Darcy. “Mama, you may remember Mr. Darcy?”
Her mother’s mouth formed a perfectly round “o” of surprise. “Mr. Darcy! Oh! Oh!” She fluttered her hands and then executed an excessively deep and clumsy curtsey which threatened to pitch her into the dirt. “What has Lizzy been about this time, sir? Has she been causing you trouble? She is such a sly, headstrong creature!”
Elizabeth had not believed it was possible for her face to get hotter. I must be as red as a tomato now!
Mr. Darcy returned the curtsey with a stiff bow; his blank face betrayed neither disgust nor amusement at her mother’s behavior. “Indeed, madam, Miss Elizabeth has done nothing wrong.” Elizabeth felt a rush of gratitude that he did not mention the horse theft.
Mrs. Bennet took another look at Elizabeth’s disheveled state and sniffed loudly in disbelief. “Such a troublesome girl!” she exclaimed. “She is quite a trial to me!” Then her face lit up as it occurred to her that Mr. Darcy’s presence was an opportunity. “Why don’t you come into the house for a cup of tea, and you can converse with some of my other daughters?”
Elizabeth suppressed a desire to roll her eyes. Her mother was not nearly as subtle as she believed.
Mr. Darcy stiffened. “Not today, I thank you. But I will take the opportunity to call another day.”
As he mounted his horse, Mrs. Bennet took the opportunity to voice effusive offers of welcome and exclamations over the virtues of Cook’s poppy-seed cakes. Before he turned his horse toward Netherfield, Mr. Darcy’s gaze caught and held Elizabeth’s as if he intended to communicate some important message to her. But it was lost on Elizabeth. Seconds later, he had bidden them farewell and rode away.
Mrs. Bennet’s strained smile disappeared immediately. “Well, we shall never see him again,” she remarked in a peevish tone. “Only recently returned to the neighborhood, and you have already managed to disaffect him.”
That was not what had happened! Or was it? He had been so sympathetic…yet he had abandoned her at the first opportunity. Perhaps he, like all the others, did not want to be seen in her company.
“He said he would call another day, Mama,” Elizabeth pointed out.
Her mother waved this away. “Stuff and nonsense! He was merely being polite. He could hardly wait to depart.” She emitted a long-suffering sigh. “Not that it means anything to you, but he might have shown an interest in one of your sisters.”
“I thought you did not care for Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth reminded her.
Mrs. Bennet scowled at her daughter. “That was before. Now we must take any port in a storm. I will be well pleased if any of my daughters makes a reasonably good match.”
Elizabeth sighed. Her mother never failed to remind her how her disgrace affected the family. She might love Elizabeth, but she hated the scandal her second daughter had visited upon them—a disgrace which Elizabeth had compounded by refusing to take the only action that would silence the rumors: accepting the viscount’s offer. Lord Henry was rich, well-spoken, and had a good family name; most of Meryton was charmed by him. Mrs. Bennet could not understand why Elizabeth did not leap at the opportunity to marry him.
Her mother sniffed again, turned on her heel, and stalked toward the waiting carriage. Elizabeth trudged toward Longbourn with far less alacrity.
Elizabeth reminded herself of Mr. Darcy’s words about the viscount. It was a comfort to know the master of Pemberley believed she was doing the right thing.
How grateful she now was that she had listened to her own misgivings and not yielded to Lord Henry’s importuning. Yet it was a rather cold comfort. She doubted her mother would believe her even if she repeated Mr. Darcy’s words. And despite her words to her mother, Elizabeth rather doubted that Mr. Darcy would visit again. He had departed with such haste that the very air around Longbourn might have been tainted.
I shall never see him again, she thought, unable to express why the thought made her sad. She turned and looked back at the road, but any sign of his passage was long gone.
***
Darcy did not sleep well, and the next morning he was up and dressed well before the dawn. Leaving Elizabeth at Longbourn, in the company of her hostile mother, had been one of the most difficult things he had ever done. Now her proximity was impossible to forget. Knowing that Elizabeth was a mere three miles away…the need to see her was like a fever in his blood.
Despite the unpleasantness the day before, just being in her presence had been a joy. She was as lovely as ever, and the conversation between them had been interesting and lively. She had not smiled much on the previous day, but Darcy could recall what a glorious sight it was. He could not wait for a day when he would be the recipient of such smiles. I will soon chase away the shadows of sorrow in her eyes.
He had determined that he would make the offer today. Although it might be more seemly to wait until he had been in Hertfordshire longer, he could not stand the thought of her suffering one more day when he could lift her burden. However, thoughts about the proposal itself provoked clammy palms and a stomach which tied itself in knots. He had no doubt about the outcome, but it was hard to escape the knowledge that his life was about to change.
In the early morning light, he meandered the halls of Netherfield, driving the staff to distraction. Finally, the hour was late enough to make an early morning call on the family at Longbourn. Having had plenty of time to devise his strategy, Darcy took Bingley’s phaeton rather than ride horseback.
The phaeton’s bench was not as high as some, but it was still a dashing vehicle: lightweight and agile—a pleasure to drive. Darcy reached Longbourn faster than ever before.
His arrival threw the Bennet household into a frenzy, which puzzled him exceedingly. On the previous day he had indicated that he would return for a visit. However, it appeared that nobody had anticipated such an early visitor, and many of the household were not prepared.
The housekeeper escorted him into the drawing room where he sat alone for a full ten minutes. Then he was joined by the two youngest Bennet girls, whose names he could not recall. They simpered and flirted, but when he did not provide them with the desired response, they fell to discussing Meryton gossip between themselves. Eventually, the room filled with Mrs. Bennet, the middle daughter Mary, and Jane, who seemed as pleasant and unruffled as ever.
Tea and some tasty poppy-seed cakes were brought in. They exchanged pleasantries about the weather, the health of various relatives, and the doings of the Bingley family. Still, Elizabeth did not join them. Darcy was at a bit of a loss as to how he could inquire about her whereabouts without appearing impertinent. It was rather early for a walk or a visit to another household. Was she sick? The thought made his insides grow cold.
Darcy chewed a cake while listening to Mrs. Bennet’s account of the trembling in her left leg. Richard would know how to discreetly raise the subject of Elizabeth; even Bingley might manage it, but Darcy was always tongue-tied and awkward in such situations.
The two younger girls—one of whom was named Lydia, but he could not remember which—were arguing about whose embroidery stitching was better. “Denny said my stitching was the most uniform he ever set eyes on!” the taller of the two girls exclaimed.
The darker-haired one retorted, “Mama said the handkerchief I gave her was the nicest pattern she had ever seen! Didn’t you, Mama?”
Mrs. Bennet waved her hands about. “I do not know what I said! But both of these girls are quite accomplished, are they not, Mr. Darcy?”
Darcy startled, having no desire to be drawn into such a conversation. “Indeed. Their embroidery—what I see of it—is quite fine,” he ventured.
There was a lull in the conversation. Had he said something wrong? Again? Was that not the way this game was played? Empty compliments were the stock in trade of a visitor to a family’s home.
Oh. The two younger sisters had locked eyes. “Mr. Darcy likes my embroidery best!” the taller girl taunted her sister.
“You haven’t even shown it to him yet!” the other one cried.
Darcy pinched the bridge of his nose. How long had he been there? Two days?
The shorter girl continued, “My stitches might not be completely even, but they are quite good…well, adequate. At least they are better than Lizzy’s—” She abruptly clapped her hand over her mouth, her eyes darting to her mother.
The air was suddenly sucked from the room as all the sisters froze in place. The younger girls stared apprehensively at their mother while Jane seemed to implore Mrs. Bennet with her eyes. The older woman’s lips were pursed tightly, and she practically quivered with emotion. Had Darcy not been present, no doubt the younger girls would be experiencing quite a dressing down.
Nevertheless, he was puzzled by the air of tension. It was not a secret that they had a fifth sister. Was she so out-of-favor that they could not even mention her name? Perhaps Darcy could take this opportunity to learn something.
“Where is Miss Elizabeth? I had such a pleasant conversation with her yesterday,” he said.
Mrs. Bennet blinked, fiddling nervously with the necklaces on her capacious chest. “Lizzy? Lizzy?” she echoed as if only now recalling that she had another daughter. She waved a lace handkerchief. “She is around somewhere. I cannot say that I know.”
Surely he could be more forceful in making his desire for her company known. He considered how to construct such a request.
Fortunately, Jane Bennet saved him the trouble by rising and saying, “I will find Lizzy.” Nobody could have failed to notice the glare Mrs. Bennet aimed at her eldest daughter as she slipped out of the room. Darcy’s heart ached for Elizabeth, ostracized even within her own family.
Mrs. Bennet maintained continuous conversation about rosettes on shoes, but it finally stuttered to a halt when Jane returned with Elizabeth in tow.
Elizabeth always took Darcy’s breath away, but today it was more out of concern than admiration. While yesterday she had been wind-blown and ruddy, today she was pale and solemn with none of her usual animation. She curtseyed properly to Darcy, and he returned a bow, but she said nothing and did not meet his eyes.
Darcy previously had noticed that Elizabeth’s ordeal was taking its toll upon her; she had lost weight, and there were dark shadows under her eyes. But somehow she was even more subdued following a night in her family’s house than after an encounter with Lord Henry. Darcy wanted to rail against Mrs. Bennet and any of the sisters who made his Elizabeth feel unworthy. If only he could scoop her into his arms and carry her away to Pemberley that instant!
The conversation proceeded upon its halting course, including such animating subjects as the weather, that year’s crop yields, shoe rosettes (again), long sleeves, the shocking disarray of Mrs. Long’s wardrobe, the weather (again), how long the militia might stay in Meryton, and, yet again, the weather.
Darcy dug his fingernails into the palms of his hands—and endured.
Elizabeth said not a word. On one occasion she seemed about to speak, but her mother gave her a sharp look and she subsided. Darcy thought about directing a comment or question to her specifically but feared he would make her situation worse.
Finally, the bounds of Darcy’s politeness had been exceeded. An escape from the overheated room was necessary, not only for his own sake but also for Elizabeth’s. When the conversation stuttered to a stop, he announced, “I have the good fortune to have Bingley’s phaeton with me today and thought I would take it out to see the horses run their paces.” The two younger girls ceased bickering about bonnet ribbons and regarded him with great interest. One emitted a high-pitched squeal.
“Unfortunately,” Darcy continued, “I only have space for one other party. Miss Elizabeth, would you do me the honor?”
Her head, bent over her stitching, swung up immediately, and she regarded him with an astonished—almost horrified—expression.
Mrs. Bennet was equally astonished and far more horrified. She drew breath to voice her opinion, but Darcy spoke before her. “Unless you have any objection, Mrs. Bennet?”
He had neatly forestalled her criticism. “Ah…no…that is, of course not. Any of my daughters is at your disposal.” She blinked rapidly and then hastily added, “For a ride in the phaeton.”
“Excellent.” He glanced at Elizabeth, who nodded, a dazed expression on her face. Darcy rose and held out a hand to her. She stood slowly and laid her fingers in his hand as if she were touching a live snake. But he was able to draw her into the hallway, whereupon she said in a low voice, “I must gather my pelisse.” Darcy released her hand and strode toward the front entrance to retrieve his greatcoat, subduing his elation. She would soon be his!