Darcy and Elizabeth What If? Collection 3 (14 page)

Mr Darcy extricated himself from the dropped tray and glasses at last, but the delay had been long enough to prevent him seeing where Elizabeth had gone. Had she gone into the music room, or the drawing-room, or the library, or the ladies cloak room? He had no idea. As he stood, trying to decide which way to go, another footman addressed him and delivered a second message from his father. He was frustrated and exasperated that his father had chosen that moment to send for him. He had never felt anything like the sensations coursing through him in the ballroom. Elizabeth had bewitched him, body and soul. Just to know her had changed his life. Before Elizabeth, he had seen a dead future stretching in front of him, where he would have to marry someone he did not love, and perhaps did not even like, just so that he could carry on the family name. And now a whole new vista opened before him. It was like a summer’s day, instead of the cold bleak winter he had previously seen. It was full of colour and joy, with love and laughter. If only he could have had a few more minutes with her, then he could have asked her to be his wife. But now the moment had gone, and he could not refuse to attend his father. He would have to wait until later to explain and propose to her.

He resigned himself to his fate. He straightened his cravat in front of a mirror and replaced his look of anguish with his more customary haughty expression. Then he squared his shoulders and attended his father in the drawing-room.

As he entered the room, he saw that his mother was also there.

To his surprise, he saw that his parents were entertaining guests. He did not know the guests. They were not staying in the house and he did not know why they had arrived so early. Perhaps some untoward event had caused it, and now his parents wanted his help in entertaining the newcomers. He felt his frustration and exasperation rise. Now he would not be able to escape for some time.

His birth and breeding came to his aid. He was a gentleman born and bred and so, instead of showing his annoyance, he made a polite bow to the people before him. They bowed and curtseyed in return.

There was an elderly gentleman with white hair and a portly figure. Beside him was a middle aged woman with a look of great gentility, and with them was a young woman of about twenty-five years old. She had lost the first bloom of youth, but even in her heyday she could not have been called pretty. Her features were unfortunate and they were matched by a dull expression. Her hair was elaborately arranged but it lacked any shine. Her clothes were obviously very expensive but they could not disguise her bad figure.

‘Ah, there you are, Fitzwilliam,’ said his father. ‘I would like to present to you Mr Bent and Lady Honoria Bent, with their daughter, Miss Bent.’

He was startled. What did they mean, Miss Bent?

‘This is not —’ Mr Darcy began, looking from Miss Bent to his father, and then to his mother, with a look of bewilderment.

His mother at once saw that something was wrong and said, ‘We are so glad the Bents could come early, Fitzwilliam. I wanted to show them the new addition to the conservatory and I knew you would want to help me, since the extension was your idea.’ She turned to the Bents and said, ‘Fitzwilliam has always been very interested in plants.’

He thanked Providence for his mother’s immaculate manners and for her ability to know how to proceed in any situation. She had saved him from a terrible blunder.

But if the young woman before him was Miss Bent, then who was his mystery lady?

She had appeared very suddenly, and disappeared just as suddenly. He could almost believe she was some fairy, who had come to dazzle him and then go back to her own land.

But such a thought was fanciful, and he prided himself on being a reasonable person.

He applied his reason to the problem before him.

The Bents had arrived early. His mother had obviously invited them to do so. She must have done it so that he could spend some time alone with Miss Bent before proposing to her.

The only flaw in this plan was that the woman in front of him was not Miss Bent. Or, at least, not the woman he had thought was Miss Bent.

He maintained a polite conversation, but he continued to reason out the difficult situation.

His mother had noticed something was wrong and so she had expertly provided another reason for their special invitation, and for his own summons to the drawing-room. The Bents would know, of course, that his mother wanted to further a match between him and Miss Bent, but they would not know that he himself had expressed an interest in their daughter.

For that he was deeply thankful.

It would have been dreadful if the plain young woman before him had expected him to propose to her.

He accompanied his mother and the Bents into the conservatory, making polite conversation all the while, whilst racking his brains to think who his mystery woman might be. She had responded when he had called out
Miss Bent!
down by the lake. However, it was not an uncommon name. She must be another Miss Bent. But what had she been doing there?

Not that it mattered. Once he found her again, and proposed to her, he would have all the time in the world for questions, and she would have all the time in the world to answer him.

Elizabeth paced up and down the terrace, thinking of everything that had happened. She did not want to go inside because there were people everywhere, but out here she could be by herself. She was glad of it. She needed some time alone so that she could think. The revelation had come as a great shock to her and she could not understand why Mr Darcy had lied. What reason could he have? Why had he let her believe he was a servant? She had been thinking they might have a future together. She had even been dreaming they might eventually marry.

Oh, foolish, foolish dream. She was well served for her folly. She had let her imagination run away with her and this was the result. Shame and humiliation.

But then she began to grow angry. Why had he let her believe it? Why had he not told her the truth?

Oh, it was too vexing!

Why, oh why did we ever come to this place?
she thought.
I cannot stay. Not after what has happened.

She returned to the housekeeper’s room, intent on finding her aunt and saying she had a headache so she would have to return to the inn.

Her aunt was there, sitting down after spending an hour directing the servants.

‘Ah, there you are Lizzy, I was wondering what had become of you. I am so glad I was here. The servants hired for the night were willing but they did not know what to do. I am pleased to have been of assistance to Mrs Reynolds. I am glad to say that everything is at last ready and now the guests may arrive as soon as they like.’ She finally noticed that Elizabeth’s silence was more than just polite listening and she asked in concern, ‘Is something wrong?’

‘Yes, aunt, something is very wrong. I must leave at once.’

Elizabeth sank into a chair and pulled her shawl around her. Her teeth were chattering. She had been outside for longer than she intended, and together with the shock it had made her very cold.

‘But my dear, you are ill. I will send for the carriage at once. The guests have not yet started to arrive and so the grooms will have time to bring it round for us. I had hoped to stay longer but I have given Mrs Reynolds what help she needed and we can leave right away.’

She sent a message to the stables and then felt Elizabeth’s forehead.

‘Where does it hurt? Do you ache?’ she asked.

‘It is not that, aunt, but I am so wretched. Oh, I can hardly speak. Please do not press me until we are back at the inn.’

Mrs Gardiner could see that Elizabeth was deeply upset and so, sensibly, she allowed the matter to rest.

Elizabeth thanked Providence for sending her such a sensible and good-hearted aunt.

Although what her aunt would say when she found out the steward was none other than Mr Darcy, Elizabeth did not know.

Mr Darcy was forced to be polite to the Bents as they toured the conservatory, but as the clock struck the hour his mother suggested they return to the drawing-room to take some refreshment before the ball began. Mr Darcy bowed and excused himself, earning a disapproving look from his mother, but he did not care. He had to find his mystery lady and discover her identity, so that he could explain.

He returned to the ballroom but she was not there. He searched the ante-rooms but he could find no sign of her.

The clock struck the quarter hour and still Mr Darcy had not found her. He did, however, find his sister.

‘Oh, I knew you would not forget!’ she cried, her eyes alight with pleasure. ‘You are going to dance with me after all. I came downstairs earlier but I saw you dancing with a young lady and I did not like to interrupt.’

‘You have seen her?’ he asked, looking into Georgiana’s eyes with an urgent glance. ‘Did you see where she went?’

She was startled at his behaviour.

‘Yes. She went out on to the balcony and I caught a glimpse of her running down to the terrace.’ Her eyes searched his and then they took on a new and mature air. ‘Why, dear brother, I believe you care for her.’

‘Yes, Georgie, I do, very much. Do you know who she is?’

‘No. I did not have a chance to speak to her.’

He ran his hand through his gleaming black hair.

‘Do you mind if I postpone our dance?’ he asked. ‘I must find her.’

‘Go with my blessing,’ she said, standing on tiptoe so that she could kiss him on the cheek. ‘I think she would make a very fine sister.’

He gave a boyish grin and kissed her hand.

‘Dearest Georgie, I am lucky to have you for my sister. I will make it up to you, I promise. But now I must find her. My whole future depends upon it.’

Elizabeth was relieved to find herself back at the inn. She was in the private parlour with her aunt and there was a pot of tea in front of her. Her aunt had insisted she should have some refreshment when they returned. She had made Elizabeth sit by the fire, for although it was spring and the days were mild, the nights were still cold. Mr Gardiner was also present.

‘Now tell me what has happened,’ said Mrs Gardiner.

And so out poured the story. Mr, and Mrs Gardiner listened until Elizabeth had finished.

‘Well, you have had an eventful evening, to be sure,’ said Mrs Gardiner. ‘I can scarcely believe it. The steward was Mr Darcy. He should have corrected you when he first met you. I wonder why he did not do it.’

‘He must have thought it a good game, watching me make a fool of myself,’ said Elizabeth miserably.

‘I cannot believe it. I have heard that he is proud. Some say he is arrogant. But no one says he is cruel. I think there must be some other explanation. But whatever the reason, I am afraid this is the end of our hopes in that direction,’ said Mrs Gardiner sympathetically. ‘Mr Darcy’s steward might marry Miss Bennet, but Mr Darcy himself would not. Oh, my dear, I am so sorry. Are you very disappointed?’

‘Yes, aunt, I must confess I am,’ said Elizabeth. ‘I will not disguise it from you. He was my model of what a perfect gentleman should be. He was intelligent, considerate, proud without being haughty, kind, interesting to converse with . . .’ Her voice trailed away as she remembered all of the instances of him displaying his superior nature. But then she remembered that he had deceived her and she rallied herself. Elizabeth was a sensible young woman and she was not one to remain cast down for long, so she made an effort to be more cheerful. ‘I must accustom myself to it, however, and with your help I will do so. What are men to mountains and rocks, after all? We still have so much to see on our tour, and I should be ungrateful indeed if I allowed myself to repine.’

‘Bravely spoken, my dear,’ said Mr Gardiner. He patted her hand. ‘Well done!’

‘We have no need to stay in Derbyshire. We have already been here longer than we expected. We will move on tomorrow if you wish,’ said Mrs Gardiner.

‘Thank you,’ said Elizabeth.

‘And now, Lizzy, you look exhausted. I think it is time you were in bed.’

Elizabeth did not argue. It was not late but the shock of the evening had taken its toll and she felt that an early night would do her good. Then she could be up betimes and they could be on their way.

Mr Darcy was having no luck in his search and the guests were beginning to arrive. At last he went back to the ballroom in the hope Elizabeth might have returned. It was the most important thing in the world to him, to find her and explain to her, and then to ask her to be his wife.

She was not in the ballroom, but to his surprise he saw that the room was almost full. He had known that time was passing, and he had seen some guests arrive, but he had not realised the event was so far advanced.

Almost as soon as he walked into the room there was a hush and he found that all eyes turned towards him.

‘And here is my son Fitzwiliam now,’ said his father.

Mr Darcy’s heart sank. He knew that escape was impossible. The ball had begun.

‘Fitzwilliam will open the dancing with Miss Bent,’ said Mr Darcy’s father.

Mr Darcy felt his spirits sink further. But there was no help for it. He would have to dance with Miss Bent.

He bowed to the lady. She dropped an ungainly curtsey. Then he gave her his arm and led her to the top of the room.

But worse was to come. Much worse. As he waited for the musicians to start playing, he became aware that his father had not finished speaking.

‘You all know that this is the largest ball we have ever held at Pemberley, but you do not all know why,’ said his father. ‘It is to celebrate the engagement of my son and heir with his beautiful partner, Miss Susan Bent.’

There were gasps and exclamations, and a ripple of applause broke out and ran around the room.

Mr Darcy stood as if turned to stone.

Engagement? It could not be true. His father could not have announced his engagement without even consulting him! Not even his father would behave in such an arrogant and high-handed manner.

But all around him, people were talking about it and at last he had to admit to himself that it had happened. His father had just announced, in public, before hundreds of witnesses, that he was to marry Miss Bent.

There was no way out of it. The announcement made the situation binding. He was formally betrothed to the dull woman before him, when his heart belonged to the sparkling, witty woman whose name he did not even know, and who had captivated him body and soul.

Miss Bent did not look any more pleased than he was. But then, her good breeding was so ingrained that her face showed no emotion whatsoever. He had no idea what she was thinking behind those pallid eyes.

The musicians struck up the chords of the dance. Mr Darcy had been dancing since he was a boy, as it was a part of the education of a gentleman, and he performed the steps without having to think about them. He danced well, but his mind was not on the steps. It was on the hideous prospect that had opened before him, and on his father’s underhand behaviour, which had trapped him into a nightmare.

When the dance was over, he escorted Miss Bent back to her parents and made some polite remarks, then said that he must leave them for a short while. He bowed and walked away.

All around him, people were congratulating him.

Not everyone was pleased, however. The mothers of disappointed daughters gave him a very frosty reception as he walked past.

But Mr Darcy cared nothing for any of them. All he could think about was upbraiding his father, whom he had seen retreating from the ballroom, and venting his anger. He was a dutiful son, but he was not a puppet.

He left the ballroom and, once in the hall, he did not have to deal with the congratulations that had been showered on him within its lofty precincts. There were no guests here, only a few servants going to and fro with trays of glasses.

At the other side of the hall, he glimpsed his father’s coat tails disappearing into the library.

He strode angrily across the hall, but his way was barred by his mother, who appeared before him and said, ‘You cannot pass.’

‘Step out of my way, Mamma,’ he said with a determined air.

She opened the door of the room next to the library and said, ‘Not until you have heard me out.’

‘I know what you are going to say,’ he replied. ‘You are going to say it is time I was married; that I declared my interest in Miss Bent and so I have no reason to reproach my father.’

Nevertheless, he went into the indicated room, for he knew that his mother was determined to speak to him and he also knew that the sooner he listened to her, the sooner he could proceed to speak to his father.

‘I expected better from you,’ he said. ‘You knew I did not like Miss Bent when you saw us together. You guessed there had been some mistake and yet you allowed my father to announce our betrothal.’

‘We are not like other people, Fitzwilliam. You know that. We cannot do as we please in these matters. We have to ensure the prosperity of the estate and the continuance of the family line. We have a duty to perform.’

‘
Noblesse oblige
. I know,’ he said. ‘You have told me about it often enough.’

He was not himself noble, but he was of noble blood, for his mother was the daughter of an earl, and she had brought him up from an early age on the motto
noblesse oblige
– nobility has obligations. Obligations to family, obligations to the tenants, obligations to the servants . . . As he thought of it, he felt those twin pillars of his heritage, obligation and duty, tightening like vices around his heart and squeezing the life out of him.

‘I will not do it,’ he said rebelliously.

‘Was there someone else?’ she asked him. ‘Someone you thought was Miss Bent?’

He nodded.

‘I am sorry for it, but it is too late to do anything about it now. You must forget her. You are betrothed to Miss Bent and you will marry her as soon as the wedding can decently be arranged.’

‘I will do nothing of the kind. My father is mad to expect it. I will tell him so at once,’ he said, heading towards the door. ‘He is —’

‘Ill, Fitzwilliam,’ she said. ‘Your father is very ill.’

The words hit him like a hammer and stopped him in his tracks.

‘Ill?’ he asked disbelievingly, for it had come out of the blue.

‘Yes. He has not been well for some time. He refused to see a physician but at last I managed to persuade him to call in the leading practitioner in London. The news was bad. Your father has been pressing you to marry because he has only a few years to live. He wants to see you married and with a son of your own before he dies. That is why he announced your betrothal tonight.’

Mr Darcy felt a lump rise in his throat. He was not a demonstrative man. His upbringing had taught him to hide his feelings, and he had learnt that lesson well. But now he could not prevent tears from springing into his eyes.

‘I cannot believe it,’ he said at last.

‘No,’ said his mother. ‘Neither could I, to begin with. But I have spoken to the physician myself. It is true.’

She sank into a chair and she looked old. For the first time he realised his parents were mortal. They had always seemed invincible to him. And yet here they were, as powerless as anyone else when faced with the certainty of disease and death.

‘What is the cause of it?’ he asked sorrowfully.

‘His heart,’ she said. ‘It will not last much longer.’

‘Does Georgiana know?’

She shook her head.

‘Your father does not wish her to know, either,’ said Mrs Darcy. ‘So you must promise me not to tell her. She is only sixteen. Let her enjoy her childhood whilst she can.’

‘Of course,’ he promised.

Her mother lay back in her chair.

He looked at her hand, which lay on the arm of the chair, and he saw that it was lined and the veins were clearly visible. He took it and held it.

She would have usually admonished him for such a sign of emotion, but instead she squeezed his hand in gratitude.

‘Can nothing be done?’ he asked.

‘If he lives carefully he can perhaps extend his life for an extra year or two. To that end, he has decided that we will travel to Buxton after our guests have left, so that he can take the waters. The Bents are to go too, so that our two families will have some time to get to know each other. Your father would like to see you married in the summer.’

As he comforted his mother, he realised he was leaving the last vestiges of his childhood behind him. Soon, all the weight of responsibility for his family and his estate would fall on his shoulders, and he must be ready to bear them. And he must do so whilst married to a woman he did not love, whilst the woman he truly loved was denied to him.

What a mess
, he thought.
What a terrible, tangled, inescapable mess
.