Unforgiving Temper (29 page)

“Pamphlet? What pamphlet?”

“Well, sir,” Denham cleared his throat
gently. “It was from Magdalen House, in London, and very clear as
to the purpose of the institution. Anyone unfamiliar with the
establishment would be left in no doubt of its purpose after
reading the tract.”

“I do not see how any of this could be
connected to the Bennets.”

“According to Mr. Wilson,” Denham continued
slowly, “the woman had asked the girl if she knew of the Bennet
family, Miss Elizabeth Bennet in particular, and where they
lived. She also asked if Miss Elizabeth had been known to
spend a lot of time with any of the young men in the local
militia.”

Darcy sprang out of the tub with an oath,
unable to contain his rage, and Denham was quick to hold out a
robe. “This is preposterous! And from this, Miss Elizabeth
Bennet is to be condemned? Where is the pamphlet now?” Darcy's
voice hardened. He refused to acknowledge the ominous dread that
was closing around his heart.

“Mr. Wilson took it away with him; but the
girl had already shown it to the other chamber maid. The pamphlet
and the fact that this stranger knew of Miss Elizabeth AND the
time of her departure was too much of a coincidence. I am afraid,
too much for anyone to resist drawing the obvious conclusion,
sir.”

“Obvious conclusion,” Darcy muttered
fiercely. “And what of the Bennet family?”

“Miss Bennet is beside herself and
Mr. Bingley is
á perte
as to what else can be
done.”

“I can imagine,” Darcy's lips pressed into a
tight line. “Get my clothes, Denham. I need to talk to Bingley as
soon as he returns.”

“Yes, sir; right away.”

Denham managed to have Darcy dressed for
dinner in less than half an hour. Making a final adjustment to the
fit of his master's dark green coat and green-flecked vest, he
opened the door wide and wished his master the best.

Descending the stairs, Darcy was just in time
to see Bingley enter his study. The look on his friend's face was
not encouraging. His hope that Bingley may have some bit of
information the others did not was fading fast. He approached the
door and knocked softly. At Bingley's bidding, Darcy entered the
room and found his friend slumped in an armchair, steeped in
misery.

“All hope is gone, Darcy.” Bingley's lifeless
tone was barely audible. “I have just returned from Longbourn.
Miss Bennet has refused me outright.”

“You made an offer?” Darcy stared at him.

“Yes, I did. I thought that if, or when, we
find Miss Elizabeth, it would shield her somewhat; having some
connections. It would give her a way back into society, once the
gossip died down.”

“Bingley, you amaze me.”

“What would you have me do? I could think of
nothing else. I was so certain she felt as I did, that she just
needed a little time to know I was earnest.”

“What happened, if I may ask?”

“I am not certain. We were walking and
talking, and before I knew what I was doing, I asked her to marry
me. There was a moment when I thought she would accept; but in the
end, she refused me.”

“Did she give you a reason?”

“Darcy, she actually believes I offered out
of pity.”

“Surely you told her otherwise.”

“It seems I have not been able to controvert
her notion of my changeable nature. Once she refused me, she would
not speak of it again.”

“What will you do now?”

“For now, my cause is all but lost. I can
only hope time and tenacity will change her mind. She did not
reject my company altogether. She would still like our help in
finding her sister. Which reminds me, did your journey to Brighton
turn up anything?”

“No. The regiment was out on maneuvers – due
back tomorrow.”

“Will you go back then?”

Darcy studied the candlestick above the
hearth for some moments before uttering quietly, “I think not.”

“But you must! Wickham is sure to have some
knowledge of what happened. That night on the terrace has to mean
something.”

There was no answer.

“Darcy, you cannot mean to abandon the
search.”

“I do,” he said flatly.

Bingley's astonishment at his friend's abrupt
capitulation turned to an uneasy frown.

“Miss Elizabeth still needs our help. If
nothing else, to ensure she is cared for properly. She – and her
family – deserves at least that much, and I have come to see that I
cannot do it alone. You have resources and connections that I do
not; you said so yourself when Jane first came to us for help –
when you were so resolute on having a hand in this.”

“It is impossible now!” Darcy exploded in
anguish. “I cannot!”

“Darcy, you must!” Bingley responded with
equal force.

Bracing himself against the mantelpiece,
Darcy rested his head wearily against his arm, fighting the despair
that had been unleashed inside him. “Can you not see, Charles?” he
whispered. “The circumstances are wholly changed! How can we find
her and bring her home to her family in shame? Obscurity is the
best she can hope for now! No one would thank us for bringing her
home in her present circumstance.”

“Jane wants us to bring her home! Perhaps we
can find something to…that is, I refuse to believe
Miss Elizabeth would…I mean...”

“I envy you, my friend. You always want to
credit everyone with goodness. But sometimes, as much as you would
like it to be otherwise, the truth contradicts that goodness. And
in this case, it cannot be avoided.” The words he spoke ripped at
his heart, but he continued, forcing himself to acknowledge the
truth as well. “Look at the facts, man! She is gone suddenly,
without a word to any of her acquaintance, but with her father's
full knowledge and consent. She travels to a place, hidden,
unknown, and far from home, with a supposed relative who we find
does not even exist.”

“There could have been a misunderstanding
somewhere –” Bingley argued.

“No, Charles!” Darcy lashed out. “You cannot
explain it away! Even before this unknown woman showed up in
Meryton, we were fighting the inevitable questions regarding
Elizabeth's sudden disappearance. And now, when her name is so
clearly connected with a house for fallen women…” He could not
finish the thought.

“All the more reason, I say. Would she not
still be in need of our aid and support? Surely, you would not
refuse in this time of greatest need? Not when you feel as you
do.”

“When I feel as I do? When I feel as I do?!”
Darcy laughed bitterly. “For the love of heaven, Bingley, have you
not figured it out yet?”

“Figured what out?” Bingley stared at him
blankly.

“The difficulty here! From all that we have
discovered, the logical source of her ruin is almost certainly
George Wickham! Wickham, for heaven's sake! Can you not see? She
was partial to him for months, she was seen speaking privately with
him just days before her departure – she even eagerly defended his
character to me while we were in Kent!”

“Yes, but not now. Since her return, she
seemed opposed to his company. Perhaps your letter did some good
after all. Jane is certain her sister no longer welcomed Wickham's
attentions.”

Darcy closed his eyes against the tormenting
vision of Wickham and Elizabeth together. “It is evident that even
if she did believe me and changed her mind about him, it was too
late. The result is the same. She is disgraced, Charles – and with
the man I justly despise above all others in the world! Can you
expect me to simply ignore that fact?”

“I expect you to be true to your heart! But
perhaps that is too much to ask.” Bingley's eyes flashed with
anger. “Where are all the pretty speeches of steadfastness now? Or
was that only for
my
benefit? Jane may have rejected me, but
I love her
still
, and I shall not allow circumstances to
sway me. If you love her sister as you have claimed, you would do
the same…or do you even know your own heart?”

“I know my heart,” Darcy's icy stare into
Bingley's eyes gave no hint of the searing pain he felt within.
“She made her choice, however naïve, and it cannot be undone.”

“Yes, and you have made your choice. I
thought you a better man than that,” Bingley's chin lifted in
bitter disappointment, “and now I see I was mistaken. I cannot
force your hand, Darcy; but you must know that I shall do all I can
to find Miss Elizabeth – with or without your help!”

* * * *

Darcy sat staring out the window of his room
at Netherfield, seeing nothing as his fingers idly stroked a length
of rose-colored ribbon, waiting for the time when he could
escape.

For the past three days, thoughts of
Elizabeth's disgrace had sent him riding into the countryside with
reckless abandon, attempting to shake off the ghostly specters of
blame that haunted him. But he could not ride far enough or fast
enough to keep them from returning again in the long, agonizingly
sleepless nights.

Every night was the same. As he twisted and
turned among the bed sheets, the questions returned again and
again, slashing at his tortured mind. Was his letter of warning to
Elizabeth too angry, too prideful – too late? Could he have worded
it differently so that she understood the danger of Wickham's
company? Worst of all, if he had exposed Wickham as soon as he
discovered him in Hertfordshire and not hid the truth from the
world, would he have prevented this disaster?

Every morning, with the light of day, came
the horrifying realization that his pride had condemned the woman
he loved to a life of ridicule and destitution. His heart would
constrict with the unbearable thought of her wretched condition and
his torment would begin all over again. The frenzied forays into
the Hertfordshire countryside were his only escape.

This morning had dawned exactly as the
others. Darcy now sat in his chair, sheltered from his pain by a
protective numbness, waiting to be gone. He did not notice that
Denham worked at a snail's pace to complete the necessary
preparations nor did he hear the soft knocking on his door.

The knocking persisted, creating an
irritating distraction at the edge of his consciousness which
finally ceased when Denham moved to the door, opening it only wide
enough to greet the visitor.

“Miss Darcy, good morning.”

“Good morning, Denham. May I please see my
brother?”

“I am sorry, Miss. He is unavailable at the
moment.”

“I insist upon speaking to him,” her voice
carried a more demanding tone that was edged with frustration.
“Since he has refused to come to me, I am coming to him.”

Darcy continued to stare out the window as
Georgiana's voice drifted across the room, seeping into his
lethargic mind. He knew he should not ignore her. He knew he should
do more to help her understand his behavior. He should, but he
could not summon enough energy to throw off the suffocating guilt
that engulfed him.

The evening he and Bingley argued had been
followed by days of icy silence. An unnatural stillness had settled
over Netherfield, causing everyone to seek relief in their own
way.

Bingley had busied himself making attempts to
gather more information regarding Elizabeth, writing letters, and
making frequent visits to Longbourn. The rare moments when they had
crossed paths, there were only silent, angry looks and the rift
between Bingley and himself deepened with each passing day.

He had thwarted Georgiana's efforts to
intercept him as he made his daily rides. He was in no mood to face
the questions he knew she would have for him. Another measure of
guilt was added when she had finally given up, turning to her music
for the comfort he could not give her. She played at the
piano-forte every morning for hours, but this morning she had come
to his room.

“I beg your understanding, Miss Darcy.
Mr. Darcy has left specific instructions not to be
disturbed.”

“Very well,” Darcy could hear the hurt in his
sister's voice. “Would you be so kind as to inform my brother that
if he shall not talk to me, then he shall not mind if I accept
Lieutenant Saunderson's invitation for a picnic this
afternoon.”

“I shall relay your message,
Miss Darcy,” Denham responded evenly and quietly shut the
door.

Darcy's mind struggled to comprehend what he
had just heard. Picnic? Lieutenant? What did Georgiana think she
was doing? She had no business accepting invitations, least of all
with an officer! He jumped from his chair with a low growl before
Denham could begin.

“Denham, what was that about a picnic?”

“It appears Miss Darcy has accepted an
invitation.”

“Is that right? And who is this
Saunderson?”

“I couldn't say, sir.”

“Well, I will have something to say. Get my
clothes and be quick about it!”

“Very good, sir,” Denham replied in the same
even tone.

Within twenty minutes, Darcy was hurriedly
descending the stairs. At the bottom, he stopped, calculating where
he might best find his sister. Soft strains of piano music sent him
in the direction of Netherfield's drawing room. Still driven by the
anxious concern that had pulled him from his stupor, he marched
into the room and halted next to the piano-forte.

“What is this about a picnic?” Darcy demanded
harshly.

Georgiana stopped playing, her hands poised
above the ivory keys as she greeted him coolly.

“Good morning, Fitzwilliam.”

“And who is Lieutenant Saunderson?”

“Lieutenant Saunderson? Whatever do you
mean?” Her voice remained distant as she resumed playing very
softly.

“You know exactly what I mean, Georgiana. Who
is this person and what do you mean by agreeing to a picnic without
my permission?”

“I am sure I do not know what you are talking
about.”

“Do not pretend you were not at my door but
half an hour ago talking about plans for a picnic with Lieutenant
Saunderson this afternoon!”