Darcy and Elizabeth What If? Collection 1 (9 page)

Elizabeth rejected three dresses the following evening before she found one that seemed suitable to the occasion. It was a sprigged muslin with short, puffed sleeves and an edging of green ribbon around the hem. A matching green ribbon was threaded through her hair. Long, white evening gloves, a fan and a reticule added to her consequence, and she chose an elegant shawl to wear with the
ensemble
, for the time of year was not yet so far advanced that she could do without one.

Even so, although her dress was commendable, she saw that she was pale when she looked at her reflection in the mirror. She pinched her cheeks to give her a little colour, then she turned to Jane.

Jane’s eyes were shining.

‘I wish . . . ’ said Lizzy.

‘Yes?’ said Jane.

‘I only wish that one day I could be half as happy as you.’

‘You will be,’ Jane assured her. ‘You will meet a good man who will love you, and you will love him in return.’

‘I do not think I deserve a good man,’ said Elizabeth ruefully. ‘But if I were to meet a man who was not all bad, I confess I should consider myself fortunate.’

‘Oh, Lizzy, you don’t mean that, you know you don’t. You are teasing! Perhaps there will be someone at the party this evening.’

‘Oh, no, Jane, don’t wish that on me. I shall have quite enough to do this evening with apologising to Mr Darcy. If I can do that, and spend the rest of the evening without doing anything further to embarrass myself, I shall be content.’

Mrs Bennet, joining them at that moment, had no such qualms about embarrassing herself, or her family. She complained loudly that the younger girls had not been invited to the party, and when Mrs Gardiner said, reasonably, that they were still too young to be out in London, where the rules of propriety were much stricter, Mrs Bennet wailed even louder.

Luckily, by the time the carriage had been called, she had recovered from the worst of her hysterics and was able to climb into the carriage with Jane and Elizabeth quietly.

The Gardiners were not to attend the party, either, for it was chiefly intended to introduce Jane to Bingley’s circle of London friends.

The house Mr Bingley had rented was in a good part of town. Black railings, freshly painted and newly gleaming, separated the house from the street. The door was painted black with a brass knocker, and the large stone blocks forming the front of the house were painted white. All in all, it was a pleasing effect. A lantern hung at the side of the door and the light of a flambeau flickered there. Another lantern hung above the door, casting a pool of light onto the steps that led up to the door.

Mrs Bennet lifted the brass knocker and the door was opened by a liveried butler. He made them a stately bow and then led them inside.

‘Jane! How pleased I am to see you,’ said Caroline Bingley, coming forward.

She had proved a very haphazard friend to Jane in Hertfordshire, sometimes seeking her company but at other times ignoring her. Luckily, with Mr Darcy’s early absence from the neighbourhood, Mr Bingley had been free to court Jane openly and she had spent far more time with him than with his sisters.

But Caroline, seeing that her brother was determined to marry Jane, had decided to put on a show of affection, for she did not want to be banished from his country estate – nor, indeed, from his London home – when he married.

The ladies were shown upstairs, where they divested themselves of their cloaks, and then they joined the rest of the company.

Elizabeth’s eyes were drawn at once to Mr Darcy, who stood broodingly by the fireplace. She felt her spirits quail. He looked every inch a man with ten thousand pounds a year and a large, famous estate in Derbyshire. He as dressed in the most expensive fashion, but there was nothing flamboyant about his clothes. His black coat, cream pantaloons and brilliant white shirt were very simple, but so well cut as to make them mould themselves to his shoulders and his firm thighs. His cravat was arranged in an intricate style, with every crease and fold in place, and in its centre was a diamond tie pin which winked in the light.

She wanted to speak to him at once, so that she could get the unpleasant interlude over with, but he was surrounded by other people and the words she wanted to say could only be spoken in private. Perhaps later, after dinner, when the guests dispersed to different parts of the drawing-room, with some of them clustering around the pianoforte and others retiring to the sofas or playing cards by the window – perhaps then she would have a chance to say a few words to him in private.

Mr Bingley greeted Jane affectionately, offering her his arm, and she took her place at his side. How natural she looked there with Mr Bingley, entertaining his guests!

Jane was introduced to those people she did not know, and Elizabeth, too, was introduced, along with her mother. Fortunately, Mrs Bennet was so overawed by the company that she sat down with a bump on a damask-upholstered chair and scarcely said a word.

Mr Darcy’s sister was present, and Elizabeth soon found herself in conversation with the fifteen-year-old girl. Elizabeth marvelled to think that Georgiana Darcy and Lydia were the same age. Georgiana was graceful and elegant and conducted herself with dignity, whereas Lydia was noisy and silly and, by now, would have been flirting with all the gentlemen and pestering for a game of lottery tickets.

As the conversation developed, Elizabeth found, to her surprise, that Georgiana did not find her brother forbidding. Indeed, she obviously loved him very much and thought him the kindest of brothers and the best of men.

How I have misjudged him! thought Elizabeth, as a blush sprang to her cheek.

She wished she could go back and undo the follies of the preceding months, but such a thing was impossible and she gave herself to the task of making herself agreeable, so as not to embarrass Jane, and to show Mr Bingley’s friends that Jane had at least some sensible relatives.

Dinner was over. Elizabeth watched Mr Darcy out of the corner of her eye and waited for her chance to speak to him alone. At last it came. He had been turning the pages of music for his sister as she enchanted them all with a lovely song, accompanying herself on the pianoforte. When Georgiana had finished, and had retired to the other end of the room, Mr Darcy stayed by the pianoforte looking through the music.

Elizabeth summoned her courage and approached him.

‘Mr Darcy . . . ’ she began.

‘Miss Elizabeth,’ he said, looking at her coldly. Then, making her an equally cold bow, he walked away.

Elizabeth blushed scarlet. He had cut her! It aroused her anger. Yes, she had been foolish, but she had not been wantonly bad and she had done nothing to deserve such treatment.

But she mastered her emotion, for she was determined to apologise, no matter how difficult he made it. She owed it to herself and to her own sense of justice and fair play.

She joined in the general conversation and waited for another opportunity to speak to him, but none came. The evening ended, and she had not had a chance to say what she wanted to say.

She climbed into the carriage in silence. As her mother exclaimed over everything about the evening – the clothes! the jewels! the food! the wine! – and Jane sat glowing with the happiness of new love, Elizabeth knew what she must do.

Georgiana Darcy had revealed that her brother would be walking to his club across the park in the morning and Elizabeth decided to meet him there and put a letter into his hand, appealing to his sense of fairness and telling him he must, in justice, read it.

Her aunt would allow her to take a footman with her, to give her consequence, she knew, and as long as her mother did not insist on going with her, then she would be able to accomplish her plan.

The only thing remaining was the letter. She must write it when she returned to her aunt’s house. She would return to her room, which she shared only with Jane, and compose her letter. The most difficult letter she had ever had to write.

Mr Darcy returned to his London home feeling restless and out of spirits. He had been disturbed all evening, ever since seeing Miss Elizabeth. He had tried to forget her but it had been impossible. He had thrown himself into his work. He had ridden and fenced and boxed. He had accompanied his sister to museums and galleries, and to select, private parties. He had paid a visit to his Fitzwilliam cousins and his aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh. In short, he had done everything he could think of to wipe Elizabeth Bennet out of his mind, but it could not be done. The memory of her haunted him. Her liveliness, her playfulness, her intelligence – to say nothing of her fine eyes – had eaten into his soul. He had tried to forget her, but he had failed.

He had reminded himself, over and over again, that she had encouraged Mr Wickham’s attentions, even when she knew he was married, and he had tried to use this fact to arouse his anger and his contempt.

But, somewhere at the back of his mind, he did not feel it could be true.

And yet he had told her of Wickham’s marriage himself, so he knew she was not ignorant of it, and she had not cut Wickham. She had continued to see him.

He shook his head in frustration. It simply did not make sense. And yet he knew it all, for he had seen it with his own eyes.

And then this evening, she had tried to speak to him.

He had been perplexed, both at the strength of his feelings for her, and at her desire to speak to him privately. Seeing her again had awoken all his most primitive instincts, and he had been reminded how strongly he was attracted to her – body, mind and soul.

But anything she had to say to him would surely only be painful or contemptible, and so he had made her a cold bow and walked away.

But now he regretted it.

What had she wanted to say to him?

The thought nagged him as he retired to his study.

His sister, Georgiana, had already gone to bed. He should go to bed, too, but he knew he would not sleep. And so he poured himself a glass of brandy and tormented himself by thinking of all his past meetings with Elizabeth.

One thing was certain, he must accustom himself to meeting her, for when Bingley married Jane, then he and Elizabeth – as Bingley’s best friend and Jane’s sister - would often be in each other’s company.

But, try as he might to convince himself that Elizabeth was nothing to him, he continued to feel restless as the candles burnt low.

Elizabeth woke early. She had passed an almost sleepless night, falling into a doze in the early hours of the morning and then waking at first light, so that she was glad to rise and dress and partake of some breakfast. She ate little, as she was not hungry, but forced a hot roll and a cup of chocolate past her lips as she did not want to feel faint later in the morning.

After breakfast, she announced her intention of going for a walk in the park. The rest of the family being tired after the previous evening’s entertainment, Elizabeth set out alone, accompanied only by a footman. She wore a cloak and carried a muff, into which she had tucked the letter.

The weather was cold but crisp, with a clear blue sky and a weak sun. Yet the bright day could not lift her spirits. Not until she had delivered her letter into Mr Darcy’s hand could she rest, knowing that she had done everything possible to set matters right between them.

It was a desperate measure, and if it ever became known that she had written to a gentleman it could ruin her, for unmarried ladies were not allowed to write to gentlemen, unless they were family members. But she could think of no other way. And if it lowered her in Mr Darcy’s eyes – if he thought her unladylike for writing to him – then what did it matter? His opinion of her was already so low that one more black mark against her could make no difference.

She took a turn around the park, hoping to see him but finding herself alone save for a few people exercising their horses. She was just about to go home when she saw him turning a corner ahead of her. She blushed to the roots of her hair, but, sending the footman away by asking him to call her a hansom cab, she approached Mr Darcy.

His look was not encouraging. Nevertheless, she summoned her spirit to her aid and said, ‘Mr Darcy, please be so good as to read this letter. I have no right to ask it of you, but, as a gentleman, I hope you will accede to my request.’

Then, placing the letter in his hand, she hastily retreated. She did not once look back.

The footman had by this time hailed a cab. The coachman sat on the box, wrapped in a greatcoat, and held the fretful horses. Their breath clouded in front of them with the cold of the early morning.

‘Where to?’ he asked.

‘Gracechurch Street,’ said the footman, opening the door for Elizabeth.

He pulled down the step, which was folded inside the cab, and helped Elizabeth inside. Then he closed the door and joined the cab driver on the box and the cab set off.

The last thing Elizabeth saw, as the cab drove past the park, was Mr Darcy reading her letter.

Mr Darcy had still not recovered from his surprise at meeting Elizabeth in the park, let alone at being handed a letter, and so he scarcely took in the words he was reading. But he saw enough to know that he wanted to be alone in his study when he perused the rest of the letter.

He cancelled his plan to walk to his club and instead returned home. Once he had established himself in his study he opened the letter and read it with great attention.

Gracechurch Street,

March 14
th

Dear Mr Darcy,

I should not be writing to you like this, but I rely on your discretion. As for your own opinion of me, it can hardly sink any further, and so I take this chance of communicating with you as it is the only chance I have.

You told me some months ago that Mr Wickham was married and I did not believe you. I believe I was rude, for I thought it impossible that a gentleman of Mr Wickham’s type could deceive a whole town in this manner. But neither could I ignore your words, and when next I saw him I challenged him with it. I made a grave mistake in saying that my sister, Jane – who is all goodness – thought it must be a misunderstanding, and that you must have seen the notice in the newspaper of another Mr Wickham’s marriage. Mr Wickham seized on this explanation and said that that must have been the case. I felt guilty at having doubted him and angry with you for spreading a false rumour. If you had come to Longbourn that afternoon, I would have berated you for it in immoderate language and so I put you off until I felt better able to be calm and polite.

I wondered if it was my duty to tell you of your mistake, but since you had known Mr Wickham from childhood, I thought such a state of affairs could not long continue and that you must soon discover the truth for yourself.

But my opinion changed radically a few days ago, for I met Mrs Wickham at the milliner’s. We fell into conversation and she showed me a portrait of her husband, which she kept in her locket. It was of George Wickham.

I was mortified. I had not only been duped by a scoundrel, I had castigated an innocent man who had tried to open my eyes to the truth.

I cannot blame you for being angry with me, or for deciding to leave Netherfield, for I spoke sharply to you when you were only trying to undeceive me.

It now remains for me to be ashamed of what my behaviour has been and to apologise for it. Also, to thank you for trying to disabuse me of my mistake as soon as you discovered it.

I hope we can speak in a civilised fashion when next we meet, as we are sure to do now that Jane is to marry Mr Bingley. I love my sister very dearly and do not want to do anything that will cause her distress.

And then it was signed,
Elizabeth Bennet
.

Mr Darcy sat back in his chair and allowed the letter to fall from his fingers. He could not believe it. Wickham’s villainy knew no bounds. And Elizabeth . . . oh! he had done her a far worse wrong than she had done him. He had believed her capable of encouraging George Wickham when she knew him to be a married man. He felt ashamed of himself and he wanted to make amends.

He rang the bell and gave orders for the carriage to be brought round. But once he was inside, he knew he could not call on the Gardiners with no reason. And so he went to Mr Bingley’s house, where he was immediately admitted.

Fortunately, Caroline and Louisa were still in their rooms as they were tired from the previous evening’s festivities. But Bingley was up and playing billiards.

‘Darcy!’ he said, when Mr Darcy was shown in. ‘This is a surprise.’

‘I am sorry for calling on you so early in the morning, but I need your help.’

He began to explain the matter to Bingley, and Bingley listened attentively.

‘And so you would like me to pay a morning call on Jane, so that you might come with me? Nothing easier! I will fetch my coat.’

So it was that, half an hour later, Mr Darcy was admitted to the drawing-room in Gracechurch Street, where he was met by the astonished faces of Mrs Bennet and Mrs Gardiner, the sweet face of Jane and the becomingly blushing face of Elizabeth.

Mrs Gardiner took his arrival very well, saying that any friend of Mr Bingley would always be welcome in Gracechurch street.

Mr Darcy was surprised he had ever found that address to be inferior, for it held the woman he wanted to marry, and that meant there was nowhere he would rather be.

The others soon fell into polite conversation, but Elizabeth said nothing. She seemed ill at ease and he did not know why. She had apologised in her letter, but had he read too much into it? Had he thought there was hope for him, when really there had been nothing on her part but a desire to be rid of any misunderstandings?

There was only one way to be sure. He remarked that the day was very fine and asked Mrs Gardiner if he might see the garden.

Mrs Gardiner looked astonished that Mr Darcy, who had a great estate. should take an interest in her small patch of land, particularly at such an inauspicious season, but nevertheless invited him to see it.

‘Mr Bingley and I would be happy to show it to Mr Darcy,’ said Jane. ‘And perhaps Elizabeth would care to accompany us, for she loves to be outside.’

Mrs Gardiner looked from Jane to Bingley to Mr Darcy to Elizabeth, and understanding began to dawn on her face.

‘A good idea,’ she said.

‘I had better go, too,’ said Mrs Bennet. ‘There is no one who knows more about gardens than I do.’

This astonishing piece of news startled everyone, for Mrs Bennet knew nothing about gardens whatsoever, but she was always eager to join in any pleasure.

‘It s very cold outside,’ said Mrs Gardiner. ‘I am persuaded it will be too cold for you. Let the young people go. They will not feel it.’

Mrs Bennet was persuaded to stay indoors and before very long the four young people were walking round the very small back garden.

Jane and Mr Bingley were strolling arm in arm and were deep in loving conversation.

Elizabeth and Mr Darcy were walking without touching, and saying nothing.

An awkward silence hung between them.

Then Elizabeth said, ‘Mr Darcy, I must know, do you forgive me for the unjust thoughts I have had concerning you? And do you forgive me for speaking to you so rudely when you had the goodness to tell me of Mr Wickham’s marriage?’

‘Elizabeth . . . Miss Elizabeth,’ he hastily corrected himself. ‘There is nothing to forgive. Wickham is an accomplished liar and it is not surprising you believed he was a bachelor. Everyone else in Meryton believed the same, and until I discovered the truth, I, too, thought him unmarried.’

‘I was abominable to you when you told me the truth.’

‘You were not abominable at all. You were loyal to a man you thought was your friend and it reflects well on you. You were not prepared to believe something bad of him without proof, and I should have realised that fact. I should have told you I had been to Somerset House and seen the marriage document. But it never occurred to me you would think there had been a mistake. I have been too used to people deferring to me and accepting everything I say. In short, I have been spoiled. But I do not wish to talk of myself, I wish to talk of you. It must have been very hard for you to discover the truth, when Wickham had been deliberately paying court to you. You had every right to be distressed.’

She shook her head. ‘I was not distressed. Or, at least, not in the way you mean. I had come to realise that Mr Wickham’s charm ran only skin deep and my friendship for him had started to wane.’

A light of hope dawned on Mr Darcy’s face.

‘Can it be true?’ he said, turning to face her and looking deep into her eyes, as if to read the answer there.

‘Yes, it can, and it is,’ she said.

She spoke shyly, for now that he was standing in front of her and all the misunderstandings between them had been resolved, she was aware of how much she loved him.

‘Elizabeth . . . .’ And this time he did not correct himself by adding, “Miss Elizabeth”. ‘Elizabeth, I have known for some time that I am in love with you. I have tried to forget you but it has been impossible. I cannot live without you. Elizabeth, will you do me the very great honour of becoming my wife?’