The day was blustery and cold. Walking down Meryton’s Main Street, Elizabeth kept her head down so her bonnet shielded her face from the wind. When she glanced up, she saw Mrs. Long a few yards ahead, crossing the street to avoid her. The woman then passed along the other side of the street without so much as a nod to acknowledge Elizabeth. It does not matter. I would not want to speak with such a nasty gossip anyway.
Elizabeth hastened her already brisk pace. The snub was a tangible reminder of why her mother hated sending her second daughter to town. Lately Mrs. Bennet even hinted that God would not mind if Elizabeth avoided Sunday services. Although Elizabeth would not miss Mr. Lehigh’s sermons, she did not know how she would bear being even more confined to Longbourn.
Her parents had sent her to Meryton out of desperation. Lydia had been gone for many hours, and her father—who had grown more circumspect about his daughters’ behavior since Elizabeth’s disgrace—had become increasingly anxious. Jane and Mary were both out of the house, and Kitty could not be trusted on any errand involving the youngest Bennet sister. So Mr. Bennet asked Elizabeth if she would find Lydia and bring her home.
Without much difficulty, Elizabeth located Lydia in Colonel Forster’s drawing room, giggling with Mrs. Forster and several officers. However, when she had drawn her sister outside for a conversation, the youngest Bennet refused to return home. After whining and pouting, Lydia informed Elizabeth—with a smirk—that a disgraced older sister had no authority to give her orders. All of Elizabeth’s arguments about the importance of reputation had been met by raised eyebrows and giggles.
Telling herself it did not matter, Elizabeth was returning to Longbourn in hopes of persuading their father to visit the Forsters and exert his authority. He would be extremely displeased at the news. She had never dreamed that Lydia would be so openly defiant.
Lydia is just a silly girl; her opinion matters naught.
Elizabeth brushed some wetness from her eye with a gloved finger. It was one thing to endure such treatment from acquaintances in town and quite another when it came from your own family.
People stared as she walked past. In front of the milliner’s shop, three young women laughed behind their fans, giving her sidelong glances. A man in worker’s clothing—perhaps a stable hand—did not bother to hide his lascivious admiration of her form. She cringed involuntarily.
Once he passed, she turned her head to watch out of the corner of her eye, ensuring that he had not followed her. Fortunately, he continued on his way, whistling insouciantly. She swallowed hard, willing her tears away. Such treatment would have been unthinkable months ago, but now it was a daily trial.
There was the bookseller’s shop on the left. When she last visited the shop a few weeks ago, the owner—once quite friendly to Elizabeth—had given her a haughty glare and asked quite harshly what “she thought she was doing there.” Elizabeth had not returned since. She hated her enforced confinement; however, she was beginning to be more charitably inclined toward the thought of never leaving Longbourn again.
Occasionally she fantasized about approaching each individual and explaining the falsity of their assumptions, but she could hardly argue with everyone in the town. Their opinions do not matter, she told herself again and again. I know that my honor is intact. But with each snub, slight, or rude stare, her soul grew more and more battered. At times she felt so thin and threadbare that there seemed to be hardly anything left of Elizabeth Bennet.
As she had been doing more and more since Mr. Darcy’s departure a fortnight ago, Elizabeth conjured up the memory of his face…the light in his eyes as he proposed to her. How could she have doubted his motives? His sincere admiration of her had shone in every smile he directed her way. Despite his insulting words and overweening pride, it was comforting to know that such an honorable man thought her fit to be his wife. He had regarded her with such tenderness, such caring, and she held that image in her heart as a talisman during her darkest days.
There was danger in such memories, however; she could easily start longing for a life that was a mere fantasy. When the yearning for his company grew too great, she recalled Mr. Darcy’s arrogant assumption that she would accept his offer despite his complete lack of tact. Even if her disgrace had not stood between them, she reminded herself that his pride surely would have.
Although she encountered nobody else on the road, Elizabeth maintained constant vigilance. By the time she reached the refuge of Longbourn, she was exhausted and trembling. She could almost understand what her mother experienced when she complained about her “poor nerves.”
Elizabeth removed her pelisse and bonnet and stopped in her father’s study for a quick conversation about Lydia. Then she trudged toward the stairs and the sanctuary of her room. But before she reached the bottom step, her mother’s voice floated out from the drawing room. “Lizzy? You have a visitor.”
For a moment her heart lifted. Was it possible that one of her friends had braved societal disapproval to visit her? Cassandra Trent? Maybe Marianne Swann? Or perhaps Mr. Darcy had returned? The thought sent her spirits soaring, even though she did not wish him to renew his addresses. She did not. But simply seeing him would warm her heart.
However, all her hopes were dashed when she stepped into the drawing room. Her mother and Jane sat with…Lord Henry.
He regarded her with that lazy smirk she so disliked and a greedy gaze that seemed to devour her with his eyes. Her anger flared. The trembling in her limbs increased, and Elizabeth silently cursed herself for it. She should not fear this man; he had already done his worst to her.
Not wishing to dwell on the viscount’s face, Elizabeth turned her gaze to her mother, who watched her with a stern expression. No doubt she planned to reiterate her insistence that Elizabeth accept the man’s proposal. Jane was the only one regarding Elizabeth with any sympathy. Elizabeth did not acknowledge Lord Henry’s presence. “I have a headache, Mama, and must retire to my room.”
Her mother drew herself up to her full height. “Lizzy! Lord Henry has come all this way to see you! He wishes to speak with you in particular. It is quite an honor.”
Elizabeth shook her head vigorously. “No, Mama. I am a good deal too ill…”
Mrs. Bennet stood. “I am certain what he has to say will not take too long.” Her expression was severe and implacable. She walked toward the doorway, brushing past Elizabeth and whispering in her ear. “This foolishness has gone on long enough. You must accept this man for the sake of your family. Only you can undo the damage you have caused.”
Elizabeth kept her face blank despite the plunging despair that gripped her heart. Lord Henry’s smile grew more predatory; no doubt he guessed the instructions her mother had hissed at her.
Jane’s face was stricken; she had not moved from her chair. “Come, Jane,” their mother said sharply.
Jane cleared her throat. “Mama, I thought I might keep Lizzy company.” Elizabeth silently gave thanks for her sister.
“Nonsense!” Mrs. Bennet exclaimed. “Lord Henry must speak with Lizzy privately.” Jane hesitated. “Come along!” she hissed impatiently.
Elizabeth nodded permission to Jane. She planned to pass a mere minute in Lord Henry’s presence—just long enough to demand that he leave—before she quitted the room.
Jane stood reluctantly and exited, closing the door softly behind her.
Instantly, the viscount was out of his seat, stalking toward Elizabeth. Heart pounding, she pressed herself against the door, grasping the knob in her hand in case she needed to make a hasty retreat. Who would have guessed he would display such predatory behavior in her own home?
He stopped a mere foot from her. “You think you are so clever,” he hissed. “Denying me for so long! Do you think that you can hold out for a better marriage settlement?”
Elizabeth swallowed. “No. I have no intention of ever accepting your offer.”
She plastered herself against the door as if she could somehow escape through solid wood. He stood quite a bit closer than propriety allowed but made no move to touch her. “Darcy will not rescue you,” he sneered. “He left Hertfordshire without you. You are too soiled even for his liking.”
Elizabeth clenched her teeth against any objections. It would do her no good if Lord Henry knew the truth, and it might hurt Mr. Darcy.
He leaned so close that she could smell his sour breath. “If you do not accept my offer of marriage, you eventually will be forced to depend on me on less…favorable terms. Do you understand?” There it was, the threat of making her his mistress—just as Mr. Darcy had warned her. “You should accept my offer…while it is still available.”
Elizabeth squeezed the doorknob more tightly and reminded herself of Mr. Darcy’s words about Lord Henry. So far he had behaved just as Mr. Darcy had predicted. She lifted her chin, although the trembling in her limbs no doubt belied any show of defiance. “Is there anything else, sir? I would like to go upstairs for a rest.”
Lord Henry uttered an inarticulate growl. Then he pressed the entire length of his body against hers. His thighs pushed against hers. His stomach rubbed hers. His arms pressed into the door on either side of her head, caging her in. However, as his face neared hers, she turned her head to the side so that the kiss landed on her cheek. “Bah!” he exclaimed. “No woman has ever given me so much trouble. But it will come to an end.” He gave a harsh laugh.
“Sir, my father is in the house. He will not be pleased that you—”
He stepped away from her, holding his hands in the air. “Very well. I will go.” He pointed a finger in her face. “But I have been very patient so far, Lizzy. My patience is nearing the end. The next time I see you, you will be mine…one way or another.”
Elizabeth barely had time to move out of the way before the viscount flung open the door and stomped out of the house.
She leaned against the drawing room wall, now allowing the tears to fall and her limbs to shake. The tap of heels and swish of skirts announced the return of her mother and Jane. “Oh, Lizzy!” Jane cried. Elizabeth fell gratefully into her sister’s warm embrace.
“So you spurned him again, did you?” Her mother’s voice was shrill. “I must speak with your father about this stubbornness, Lizzy. We cannot condone it forever.”
Elizabeth kept her eyes screwed tightly shut to avoid her mother’s disapproving expression. She knew her father would not expect her to marry the viscount, but Lord Henry’s threats caused her heart to ache for a different reason.
He had made it clear that he would not forget her, nor would he accept her refusal. And her presence at Longbourn brought his wrath upon her and her family. It could not continue. She had to go away. She could no longer call Longbourn her home.
***
“I wish you would reconsider, Lizzy,” her father said for at least the third time, fiddling nervously with the letter opener on his desk. “At least wait until the Gardiners return to London.”
“It could be months,” Elizabeth responded. The entire family had gone north for a trip concerning her Uncle Gardiner’s business, and the date of their return was not fixed. Secretly Elizabeth was relieved. While staying with Gardiners would have been pleasant, she had no doubt that news of her disgrace had reached London, and she had no desire to inflict her scandal upon them.
“At least you may stay at Gracechurch Street when you arrive. The servants are quite accommodating.”
Elizabeth nodded as she stared down at the hands clasped in her lap. There was no need to tell her father she did not have the least intention of spending even a night at the Gardiners’ house if she could avoid it. It would be best if no one knew the family was associated with the “wayward” Elizabeth Bennet.
Her father sighed and leaned back in his chair. “All the excitement over the viscount’s story will die down in a few months, and then you may return to us.” Elizabeth nodded again, but she did not hold much hope that the memory of her disgrace would fade so rapidly.
Opening a draw of his desk, her father pulled out a purse that clinked when he set it on the desk before her. “You will need some cash for the journey.” A bit apprehensively, Elizabeth opened the purse and peered inside. “Oh no, Papa! This is too much.”
She tried to hand it back to him, but he waved her gesture away. “I only wish I could give you more. But that is all the ready cash I have to hand.”
“’Tis too much, Papa. Surely you will have need of it here.” She had already cost her family dearly in terms of reputation; she did not want to be financial burden as well.
Mr. Bennet removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes with one hand. “London is expensive, child. You will require more than wits to survive.”
“I plan to find a position as a governess,” she said hastily.
Her father’s head jerked up, startled. He knew she would not seek out such a position if she had any hope of repairing her reputation and marrying a respectable man. She met his gaze. After a moment he sighed as he replaced his glasses. “Take the money, Lizzy. No doubt you will have need of it.” He fixed her with a rather stern frown.
Elizabeth’s hand closed around the purse. “Very well. Thank you, Papa.”
Her father leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “Write to us frequently, Lizzy. I will worry about you every day.” He blinked back some suspicious moisture in his eyes.
Elizabeth hastily wiped her own. “Of course. I plan to tell nobody where I am going, save Jane. I do not want word to reach the viscount, and Kitty or Lydia might—”
He gave a dry chuckle. “No need to convince me, my dear. Kitty or Lydia or even your mother are not the souls of discretion. I will tell nobody.”
“Thank you for your help, Papa.” She stood, wishing she could stay in her father’s study forever. But the longer she remained, the harder it would be to leave.
Her father stood as well; he walked around the desk and drew her into an embrace, kissing her forehead. “I would not part with you for all the world,” he murmured. “But you have been dealt with very unfairly. Perhaps your fortunes will improve in London.”
Elizabeth nodded, not trusting herself to speak. If only she had her father’s optimism. She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and hurried from the room before he noticed her tears.
***
It had been nearly three weeks since he had departed from Hertfordshire. During his more optimistic moments, Darcy hoped to hear from Elizabeth. Before leaving, he had given her directions where to find him either in London or in Derbyshire—and even the name and address of his man of business should she need any funds. Although he knew there was little chance she would accept his money, it eased his heart. She had accepted the information graciously, and every day he prayed she would avail herself of it despite the impropriety of writing to an unmarried man.
At other times he knew he was fooling himself. She would not contact him any more than she would accept his offer of marriage. She might be grateful for his support, but she would not compromise her honor or sacrifice her pride by asking for help. In his darkest moments, he recalled how she bade him goodbye as if she would never again lay eyes upon him, and he wondered if perhaps she had declined the offer because she did not want to be married to him.
Darcy had asked Netherfield’s housekeeper—with the incentive of a generous bonus—to contact him should she hear any news of significance about Elizabeth or the family at Longbourn. I should have asked her to write me weekly even if there is no news. This lack of information is galling.
Every day he sought distraction, fighting to keep worries about Elizabeth at bay. Was her family being kind to her? Did she need money? Had the viscount made another attempt to compromise her? Were the people of Meryton still treating her like a pariah?
Today Darcy had been trying to bury himself in the estate accounts his steward had sent from Pemberley, but as always, visions of Elizabeth crept into his thoughts. Her smile. The way she tipped her head to the side. Her trilling laughter.
When a footman delivered the day’s post to his desk, Darcy was ready for a respite. As always, he immediately browsed through the letters for anything from Elizabeth. His heart stuttered when he saw a letter from Meryton addressed in feminine handwriting, but another glance told him it had been posted from Netherfield. Then it was from Cranston, the housekeeper. Scarcely less eager, he forced himself to open it slowly lest he tear the fragile paper.
Dear Mr. Darcy,
You had instructed me to write to you with any news concerning the Bennet family at Longbourn, particularly relating to Miss Elizabeth Bennet. I have not written until now because there was nothing of note to report. However, yesterday I learned of something which happened some days before but only now came to light. Miss Elizabeth has departed from Longbourn and is no longer in residence there, having quitted the house at least two days ago and possibly longer.
I inquired as unobtrusively as possible about her whereabouts but was singularly unsuccessful in gaining any information. No one in town and none of the staff at Longbourn seem to know where she might have gone, although her absence is much remarked upon. The Bennet family has been entirely silent on the subject, which must be quite a burden for Mrs. Bennet, if you catch my meaning. Their housekeeper, Hill, told me that Mrs. Bennet has relatives in London—the Gardiner family on Gracechurch Street. However, they are not presently in residence. Hill did not know of any other relatives whom Miss Elizabeth might visit.
You did not ask this of me, but I thought you might find it interesting to know that Lord Henry remains in residence with his aunt at Felham Hall. I apologize for not giving you better or more complete information. I will write again should I gain further information about Miss Elizabeth’s whereabouts.
Yours, etc.
Mary Cranston
Darcy’s heart was pounding by the time he laid the letter on his desk. At least while Elizabeth resided at Longbourn, Darcy had been reassured about her safety. But now he knew neither her whereabouts nor her circumstances. She could be anywhere in England and in dire need of help—and Darcy would not know. He crumpled the letter in frustration.
At least he had hired the right spy. Mrs. Cranston had gone far beyond his initial commission to obtain information for him. She had allayed his first fear: that Lord Henry had somehow spirited Elizabeth away. In that case, the viscount would not have remained in residence at Felham.
It seemed likely that the Bennet family had sent her away. For her protection? Or because of her disgrace?
More importantly, where would they have sent her? He wished he knew more about the family’s lineage and background. But most of his residency in Hertfordshire had been consumed with the desire to avoid their company. The only relative he knew was Mr. Collins, hardly the person she would ask for help.
If the Gardiners were at home, she might have gone to them, but at the moment the information was worthless. Undoubtedly the Bennet family had other relatives in remote corners of England, but how could Darcy learn their identities?
If only she had turned to him instead of disappearing! Darcy would have moved heaven and earth to ensure Elizabeth’s safety, even if she would never be his wife.
Closing his eyes, Darcy rubbed his forehead with one hand. His first impulse was to ride to Longbourn and demand—well, beg—her family to reveal her whereabouts. However, it would be an exercise in mortification, and it was unlikely to be successful. It was unlikely Elizabeth had revealed his proposal, so his sudden interest in her would be rather shocking to the family, if not suspicious. He would also face Mrs. Bennet’s attempts to foist a different daughter on him, a thought that rendered him slightly nauseous.
He thrust his hands into his short curls and tugged as though the pain could help him concentrate. Damnation! There had to be some way to find her.
He reviewed all the options once more but arrived at the same conclusion.
His breathing grew more rapid. What if he never found her? What if she were forever lost to him? It did not bear thinking about.
Darcy crumpled the letter into a ball and threw it savagely to the floor.
***
“No, I’m sorry. We don’t have any positions.” The woman was younger than Elizabeth, and her face reflected genuine regret, which was an improvement over the last place. There the shop owner had said “begone with you now” and made shooing motions when Elizabeth revealed her lack of prior experience.
“Do you know anywhere that might be hiring? Anywhere in London?” Elizabeth asked the regretful young woman.
The other woman shook her head. “Not many places are. Times are hard.”
Elizabeth nodded; she had learned that herself. As she navigated her way out of the milliner’s shop, she considered her situation. I always thought of myself as well-educated and moderately skillful, until I started looking for a position.
There was no money in being adequate at playing the pianoforte or fairly good at embroidery. Her scattershot education in history and bits of mathematics and French would do her no good either. And she knew nothing about the workings of her kitchen; her mother had been particularly proud of that. Now she saw that she had only ever been trained to be someone’s wife. When that position was no longer available, she had nothing to offer in exchange for gainful employment. It was a rather lowering experience.
Elizabeth had visited milliners’ and haberdashers’ establishments on the strength of her sewing, but they all wanted someone with prior experience. Truthfully, she was not certain her stitching would be good enough to hold a position if she obtained one.
I might have made a good governess. But the first agency she approached wanted a character reference from someone who was not a member of her family. Elizabeth immediately realized that any inquiry about her in Meryton would reveal the scandal. Nobody would hire her to supervise their children.
Each morning she perused the papers for a suitable position but had found few opportunities. So she trod the streets every day, applying at shops with “help needed” signs in the window—and some that did not.
She wrapped her shawl more tightly around her shoulders. The early March weather had turned bitterly cold, and her pelisse was not warm enough by itself. Daily trudging along the pavements of London was wearing down the soles of her half boots, and she could feel the coldness of the slate under her feet. How long do I have until one of them has a hole? She was not certain she could afford a repair.
London was expensive, and week by week her expenses for lodging and food ate away at her small nest egg. If she did not find gainful employment soon…Elizabeth shuddered. Best not to think of that. Every day it grew a little more difficult to keep a positive attitude.
There was still a scrap of sunlight in the afternoon sky, but Elizabeth decided to call it a day, plodding toward her lodging house. There were only so many times she could face rejection in one day. She barely had the energy to reach Cheapside as it was.
To distract herself from the aches in her feet, she thought about Mr. Darcy. She knew she would never see him again, yet somehow imagining his dark curls and solemn smile or the sound of his deep baritone cheered her at such moments. She had done the right thing by refusing his proposal. She did not regret it.
She did not.
But when things were very bleak, she allowed herself the fantasy that he did love her. She knew it was a foolish dream. Even if she had been free to accept his proposal, his insulting words about her family most likely would have prevented it. But sometimes she needed the fantasy—to imagine a loving husband, a warm home, perhaps children someday. All of those things which she would never have…
The lodging house was not far from the Gardiners’ home. Elizabeth had refused the housekeeper’s offer to stay at the Gracechurch Street house, but had been grateful when Mrs. Greene gave her the name of a woman letting rooms in her house to “women of good character.” Mrs. Greene had vouched for Elizabeth’s character to the landlady, Mrs. Haskell. Without that endorsement, Elizabeth would not have acquired the luxury of a narrow room with a hard bed and two hooks on which to hang her clothing.
Mrs. Haskell had a strict sense of right and wrong, and Elizabeth strove to stay on her good side. She paid her rent punctually every week and engaged her landlady in pleasant conversation whenever possible. Still, the woman’s attitude had not noticeably warmed.
Elizabeth sighed with relief when she reached the boarding house and stumbled gratefully up the short walk to the door. Elizabeth fitted the key into the lock, and the front door swung open. Lovely warmth enveloped her as she entered the house, but somehow today it was not quite warm enough. She shivered violently. It must have been colder than she thought outdoors.
“Good day, M-Mrs. Haskell,” she greeted her landlady. The woman sat in the drawing room, knitting needles clicking as she created something she swore would be mittens. But Elizabeth could not discern a mitten shape in the mess of stitches and thought the woman would be lucky if the project yielded a usable muffler.
“Miss Bennet. I found a glove on the floor in your room,” the older woman replied without slowing the speed of her knitting.
Oh, merciful heavens! The landlady was obsessive about keeping their rooms neat, but seriously…a single glove? Elizabeth did her best to look contrite. “I will strive to do better in the future.”
Mrs. Haskell sniffed, her eyes still on her knitting. “See that you do.”
Following that cheerful greeting, Elizabeth began her ascent of the narrow stairs to her second-floor room. By the time she reached the top step, she was panting—and still shivering despite the warmth. How odd. Usually she could climb the stairs briskly with no trouble. She shuffled the few feet to her room, closing the door behind her. It was time to change for dinner, but the bed beckoned, reminding her how lovely it would be to lie down. Just for a minute.
Without warning, Elizabeth began to cough, rattling her lungs and her head. She sank onto the bed until the fit passed. Thoughts ground sluggishly through her mind. The cough reminded her of something. Another person with a cough. Oh. Anne from upstairs had had a similar-sounding cough. She had been sick for weeks. The other boarders had been subject to a constant stream of Mrs. Haskell’s complaints about the illness and doctors’ visits at all times of the day.
But I cannot fall ill. I must go out tomorrow and seek another job. Today she had identified a street that she had not previously investigated.
Still, the pillow called to her enticingly. Her arms and legs would ache less if she lay down for a bit. I can rest a little and then change my clothing. She dropped her head onto the pillow and lifted her feet to the end of the bed, unconcerned even about her boots on the counterpane. I will rest for a short time. Just a few minutes…