Miss Darcy's Companion: A Pride and Prejudice Variation (18 page)

Georgiana sighed.

“If you think best… But, Lizzy, I should not wish for him to think me siding with his detractors. He deserves no such affront, when he has shown me nothing but kindness.”

“If he is truly honourable, he will understand the difficulty of your position and will not feel slighted.”

“Oh, I hope so!”

“Besides, he should acknowledge his own error. If he knew there was tension between him and your brother he should have refrained from calling upon you in the first place, before resolving whatever differences they might have.”

“Mr Wickham has done nothing wrong, you know,” Georgiana observed. “He came to heal the breach and kept calling to indulge happy recollections. You must have seen it too, in his countenance and manner. I know my brother would give him a fair hearing when he comes. I will write to him, Lizzy. I will write today, and maybe he will hasten his return. And then they will be reconciled a little sooner.”

“Aye. Do write,” was all that Elizabeth trusted herself to say, lest the sudden burst of hopeful joy ring clearly in her voice – too clearly.

He might not hasten back. He must have had his reasons for departing, must still have business keeping him away, and one should not expect him to abandon everything for Mr Wickham’s sake. But he might see fit to return just a little sooner.

She drew a deep breath to quell the overwhelming surge, but she might as well have sought to stem spring tides. Oh, for the joy of seeing him again!

* * * *

The letter was sent with the morning post. Georgiana had laboured over it with no small amount of care, not knowing precisely what to say, nor how to put it without making too much of it, choosing the wrong words and unknowingly hindering the much-desired reconciliation. In the end she settled for a brief paragraph, inserted with a semblance of casual disinterest between an account of the latest book she had read and a new piece she was practising.

‘You would never guess, Brother’
, she wrote,
‘who came to Pemberley to see you and was distraught to hear you were gone away. ‘Twas Mr Wickham. He called a few times to regale me and Lizzy with heart-warming tales of your boyhood exploits. Mr Wickham speaks of you and Father with the greatest affection and is most eager to see you again and re-establish the fond closeness between him and our family. I can only hope he is still in the environs on your return, so that the pair of you could meet and reminisce over the good times.

I was reminded of very happy times myself the other day, when I was practising ‘The Ash Grove’. Do you remember, Brother, how Amelia and I sought to devise a little dance to go with it, for Hetty and Margaret to perform it in their theatricals about garden fairies? Such darlings! But then they always are…’

She might as well have saved herself the trouble of writing about theatricals at Malvern House and filling a whole new page after that. When the letter was received and read, her brother went no further than the brief lines mentioning Mr Wickham. An almighty oath greeted the first reference to the name, and the paragraph was anxiously read again, in a vain quest for more information.

Nothing remotely reassuring could be found therein so, with another oath, Mr Darcy summoned a footman and delivered imperative instructions. He would not travel to Pemberley in a se’nnight as previously planned, but on that very day. He wished, nay, he
must
be gone within the hour!

“Very well, Sir,” was all that the well-trained man had to say.

CHAPTER 15

When Mr Wickham called again, Georgiana was practising her music and Elizabeth was sitting in a nearby chair with her embroidery.

“The gentleman is waiting in the morning room,” said the footman who came to announce him, and Elizabeth glanced at her friend, then stood.

“I will go and inform him that you are otherwise engaged just now,” she offered, but Georgiana shook her head.

“I should come with you, Lizzy. ‘Tis only civil…”

“Oh, fear not, I intend to be perfectly so. I merely assumed you would be more comfortable if the suggestion to limit his visits comes from me, in your absence.”

“Perhaps… You are very kind.”

“Not at all. ‘Tis my duty. Pray finish your piece, then join us at your leisure. Or better still, let me bring him here to bid his adieus once we have spoken.”

Georgiana nodded uneasily, and Elizabeth left the music room to cover the short distance to the parlour, or rather the morning room as it was commonly known at Pemberley. She paused at the door to prepare herself for the uncomfortable encounter, then squared her shoulders and walked in. Mr Wickham sprang up to greet her with a friendly smile.

“Miss Bennet. May I say you look charming this morning. And might I also inquire about Miss Darcy? I trust she is well.”

Elizabeth gathered the courage to plunge in.

“I thank you, Sir, yes, she is in the best of health this morning. She is practising a piece she would dearly like to surprise her brother with, when he rejoins her.”

Had she imagined it, or had Mr Wickham started at the intelligence? Yet his countenance and manner showed no sign of discomfort when he asked:

“Oh. Are you expecting him back soon?”

“I believe so. Miss Darcy has written the other day to express a wish for his return and I daresay he will indulge her. He is a very attentive and devoted brother.”

“Aye, the best, as I know all too well. I am thrilled for Miss Darcy, and no less for myself. It would be good to see him.”

“So you will remain in Derbyshire until his return?”

“Without a doubt. I would not deny myself the pleasure of paying my respects.”

“Then if you would be so kind to leave a note with the butler or one of the footmen as to where you are staying, then I am certain Mr Darcy will send word when it would be convenient for you to meet. Until then I fear we will be much engaged with preparations,” she delivered valiantly, hoping he would have the good sense to understand her meaning.

Seemingly he did.

“But of course. I should not keep you any longer,” he said with a smile and a bow, and Elizabeth was relieved in no small measure to see that he accepted his dismissal with good grace. “Might I bid farewell to Miss Darcy?” he civilly added. “That is, if I am allowed to disrupt her music practice.”

For all the civility of address, there was a certain something in his tone showing he had seen the pretext for what it was, but he said no more. Elizabeth let it pass and casually replied:

“It would not be disruptive. Her command of the piece is close to flawless already. Right this way, Sir.”

She guided him to the music room, although he must have known precisely where it was, and saw him restrainedly bid his adieus to Georgiana, then bow to her once more and retreat from sight.

A short while later the young ladies caught a glimpse of him atop his mount, hastening away from Pemberley. Georgiana gave a sigh of troubled compassion. For her part, Elizabeth felt nothing but relief.

* * * *

Relief was the furthest notion from Darcy’s mind as his carriage thundered along the Great North Road at breakneck speed. Couriers had been sent to race ahead from one stage to the next and bespeak post horses, so that he would not be delayed a moment longer than strictly necessary. And still he could not travel fast enough! He cursed every rut in the road, every protruding stone, every tollgate. He cursed the rain that was falling ceaselessly, threatening to mire him. And above all he cursed Wickham. Knowing him at Pemberley, simpering his honeyed lies to Elizabeth and Georgiana and as much as breathing the same air as them was intolerable!

He spoke with great affection of himself and his father, did he?

Darcy gave a loud snort of derision. What game Wickham was playing, he knew not, but it was a game, beyond the shadow of a doubt. Given the extreme coldness between them of late, it was not to be imagined the rogue would labour under the misconception that a few fine words of praise for his departed godfather would set everything to rights. The greatest fear was that he was seeking to ingratiate himself with Georgiana by playing on her fond memories of the past, heaven knows for what nefarious purpose.

Darcy tightened his fist on his knee and struggled to regulate his breathing as the choking fear returned to grip him by the throat. Surely the beast did not imagine that a few honeyed words in Georgiana’s ear would be enough to sway her from every given precept and entice her to elope with him!

He drew a deep breath. No, he must be running mad to even think it. She was too sensible, even at her tender age. She knew right from wrong and would not be cajoled into such a dreadful step, even if the blackguard had worked to engage her affections.

Her affections! The mere thought was apt to choke him with fear and fury, and the only possible way to subdue both was to remind himself again and again of Georgiana’s good sense and Elizabeth’s sterling qualities. Elizabeth would not allow her charge to form an unsuitable attachment.

Like a vicious snake, the fear rose again and bit sharply back. Neither of them knew just how unsuitable such an attachment was. He had not said a word to either about Wickham’s vile proclivities. He had not foreseen the need. Worse still, a thousand times worse, he had thought him in town, lost in some den of iniquity or another, and had never imagined he should instruct his people to guard Pemberley against him.

His fault! His own cursed fault. As was the lengthy absence from Georgiana’s side. He should have been there. The vermin would not have dared show his face if he had known him in residence. But he had stormed away from Pemberley to self-indulgently think of nothing else but his own conundrum. Over Elizabeth. Over the choice between head and heart.

He had not reached it yet, but–

He scoffed.

Who was he seeking to deceive now? Himself? What was the use of that? And who else was in his head to listen?

True, he had not stated firmly to anyone, nor put it in writing, that he would go back to offer for her. But he already knew it, without words. He had instinctively recognised the truth when he had acknowledged he could no longer bear to spend another day away from her. When he had begun to make arrangements to return to Pemberley, even before the Wickham nightmare had erupted.

He ran his hand over his face. This was his prime concern now. Wickham. The vermin. This must be put to rest, and then he might be allowed to think of happiness with
her
, and devil take whomever found causes to object or slight them.

Elizabeth. She was his only comfort on this agonising journey. Not as a promise of a future reward, but as a safeguard in this time of trouble. He trusted her. Implicitly. He
must
believe she would keep his sister safe. Although she had insufficient knowledge of Wickham and his ways and would have no clear reason to mistrust his motives, she would watch over Georgiana. She would guide her. With her keen judgement and good sense, she would spot the signs of danger and keep her safe. In the unthinkable alternative that Georgiana might forget herself and be enticed into something as dreadful as an elopement, Elizabeth would prevent it. At least for fifteen hours more. Until noon on the morrow when, God willing, he would arrive at Pemberley.

* * * *

The morning brought a guest at Pemberley, but thankfully not Mr Wickham. It was Miss Fenton, to inquire if Georgiana would be so kind to accompany her into Lambton.

“Would you, my dear friend? We are to travel to town, Mamma and I, to rejoin my brother, and I must have at least three new dresses. The linen-drapers’ is shockingly deficient, but I daresay one cannot expect the fine wares of Messrs Harding and Howell in our little market town. So until I can order new dresses in a more fashionable place, whatever could be contrived here would have to do. Would you kindly come and advise me?”

“Well, I… Shall we go, Lizzy?” Georgiana half-heartedly asked.

“Nay, do not trouble Miss Bennet. We can go by ourselves. Besides, we would be rather crowded. I brought the smaller carriage. So if Miss Bennet would not mind having the morning to herself we can drive in mine, just the pair of us, and I shall return you to Pemberley in plenty of time for dinner.”

“I would be happy to escort you,” Elizabeth spoke up. She had no wish to leave Georgiana to travel with no one but the scatter-brained Miss Fenton for company and protection. Having her own carriage and her own people about her was far preferable, and what Mr Darcy had always insisted on.

“Are you quite certain?” Miss Fenton hesitantly asked. “There is no trouble for me. No trouble whatsoever.”

“Nor for me. It is my pleasure,” Elizabeth assured her.

“Oh… Very well. Let us be off then, before this wretched rain is again upon us,” Miss Fenton urged them cheerfully, and before too long the Darcy carriage was also readied and the small party was on its way to Lambton.

The weather remained dry, although grey clouds still lurked above them threatening with the all too frequent drizzle of the north, and was still fine when they reached the prosperous market town.

Elizabeth looked around her with more than a hint of pleasure. It reminded her of Meryton, Lambton did. Not the lie of the land, nor the narrow streets. Not the houses either, with their distinctive shapes and their walls of grey stone, but the constant move and all the bustle.

They stopped near the busy
Crossroads Inn
and the footman came to hand Elizabeth and Georgiana down, so that they could join Miss Fenton on the rather muddy road covered in straw to prevent it from turning into a quagmire.

“So, shall we go? The linen-drapers’ is just around the corner.”

“Could we not go to Howe and Crompton’s first?” Georgiana suggested, indicating the booksellers’. “Unless you would mind very much, Miss Fenton?”

“No, ‘tis probably too early anyway. To start rummaging through bolts of cloth in such poor light, I mean. Besides, ‘tis only fair for you to choose some of the amusements, rather than spend the morning pandering to mine. We can go to the linen-drapers’ later.”

So the trio made their way into the small booksellers’, whereupon Miss Fenton inquired about Mrs Radcliffe’s novels and began to breathlessly tell Georgiana about the sleepless nights she had endured after reading
The Mysteries of Udolpho
.

“A terrifying read it was. Terrifying! That dreadful Signor Montoni and his awful castle. I declare I have not slept a wink for a fortnight, once I started reading of it. How about you, Miss Darcy? What have you found most shocking?”

With a warm smile for her young friend, Elizabeth left Georgiana to share her views with Miss Fenton and wandered off towards the further reaches of the small Aladdin’s Cave. Good friends of hers of old greeted her from the crowded shelves and she quietly perused a few at leisure, while Miss Fenton’s never-ceasing tones kept ringing as she skipped from one topic to another, needing little to no encouragement from Georgiana.

The soft sheen of a title on a spine stopped Elizabeth in her tracks. Was it indeed? It was. Mr Defoe’s novel.

A pensive little smile came to her lips and slowly grew, at the warm recollection of that day at the lakeside, near the den where Mr Darcy and his cousin had played the part of Robinson Crusoes in their boyhood. That distant day when his handsome countenance had drawn her incautious eyes for such a length of time, as he had stood still for Georgiana to capture his likeness into a charcoal sketch.

She reached to pull the volume from the shelf and opened it to run her fingers over the smooth pages. An exquisite edition, beautifully bound.

His own copy was lost, he said. Ruined by the rain when they had left it forgotten in their den. His father had not been best pleased, he had imparted with that half-smile of his that made him look even more handsome. Her own father would have had a thing or two to say as well, had she been so careless as to leave his treasured books lying around to be rained on. Not that she ever had.

Would he agree to receive this from her? Or rather, would it be appropriate? A parting gift, to remain at Pemberley with him along with the bookmark. He would be pleased to have it. He already said he should acquire a new copy. It would remind him of happy days of carefree enjoyment with his cousin – and perchance remind him of her too. Of the day when they had spoken of it. That beautiful day by the lake.

He would not mind, surely – would he?

She turned the pages looking for the small strip of paper bearing the price, that Mr Howe was in the habit of inserting in all the volumes in his shop. She found it at long last, not where she had expected. The price was rather unexpected too and her brow furrowed to find it quite steep. More so than she had imagined. Perhaps because it was an old edition? As old as Mr Darcy’s own, the one that had been ruined? She could not tell, nor did it matter, and the price was of no consequence either. It was still too small for a treasured memory. As long as she carried enough with her now to cover it.