What if the Gardiners and Elizabeth went to visit the Lakes and didn't meet Darcy again?
This is a work in progress, though I do have some 20,000 words written so far. I'm hoping to update once every week or two. I have never not finished a story thus far so I don't anticipate leaving any of you hanging! If someone would like to beta, please contact me—I love constructive feedback! Also, if any of y'all notice issues with my regency culture references, please let me know. I'm definitely not a history expert. Canon ships.
Copyright 2018 Elizabeth Frerichs.
"What did you say?" Darcy asked, his gaze trained on Bingley's haggard face. He had expected Bingley to be gone for quite some time. Indeed, Darcy had intended to join him at Netherfield as soon as he concluded his business in London this week. Now, his friend had burst through the doors of Darcy's office, barely waiting to be announced, and poured himself a glass of whiskey before throwing himself into the leather chair to one side of Darcy's mahogany desk.
Bingley looked at him, eyes shadowed with grief. "Miss Jane Bennet is married to the butcher."
"Good good! I did not think I could have heard you aright. How?"
"Necessity." Bingley gulped down another finger of whiskey. "Mr. Collins told me—"
"Mr. Collins is there? Why?"
"I'm trying to tell you," Bingley snapped. "Miss Lydia ran away with Wickham over the summer."
Darcy blanched. "Wickham?" he asked in a strangled croak.
Bingley glared at him. "You said the man was a blackguard, but if I had known he was so bad, I would not have left the Bennets unprotected."
Darcy sank back into his chair. The "and neither should have you" rang through Bingley's tone. "I—I don't know what to say, Charles. You are right—I did not think him capable of leg shackling himself to someone without monetary inducement, but to leave him there was—" He swallowed as the realities of his fault spread through his veins. Whatever Wickham had done to the unprotected people of Meryton was his fault. He had left a wolf in their midst with nary a warning. "Unconscionable," he whispered. "What of the other Bennets?" What of Elizabeth?
Bingley's jaw tightened. "Mr. Bennet followed Miss Lydia and that man to London but could not find them. According to Wickham's friends, he had no intention of marrying the girl, and she never returned. Eventually, Mr. Bennet returned home and, shortly afterward, died of a heart attack." He poured another finger of whisky and swirled it in his tumbler. "Mrs. Bennet remains in Meryton with her sister, Mrs. Phillips—though she is no longer received by polite society. Nor by the Collinses who hold Longbourn. Mr. Collins informed me he had graciously given them a month to vacate the premises after Mr. Bennet's death." The chair creaked as his fingers tightened around the arm. "He sympathises with their plight but 'a man of the cloth cannot appear to condone such scurrilous behaviour, nor to support any tainted by it,'" he quoted bitterly. "My—Miss Bennet had no choice to marry at once. The butcher has a steady source of income."
Darcy leaned forward. "But what of Miss Elizabeth?"
Bingley stared into his glass. "She was sent to her relatives in London along with Miss Mary—"
Darcy started. "She is in London?" He stood and strode to the window as though to discover her whereabouts.
Bingley shook his head sorrowfully. He returned to the table where Darcy's crystal decanters sat and poured two fingers of whiskey into another tumbler. "A carriage accident," he said, holding the glass out to Darcy.
Darcy took the glass mechanically. "A carriage accident?"
Bingley nodded, still not meeting Darcy's gaze. "The carriage overturned on the way to London. Miss Mary is in London, but Miss Elizabeth's injuries were too grievous."
The glass slipped from Darcy's fingers, whiskey spilling across the floor, staining it dark. Much as Elizabeth's blood must have stained the dirt. travelling as often as he did, Darcy had helped at more than one carriage accident. The sight was never pretty: men and women impaled with fragments of carriage or crushed under horses, thrown from the carriage with bones broken and jutting out from their skin. Insides becoming outsides. Man was never created to be so intimately viewed. Cold filled him, bypassing grief, as he imagined Elizabeth's broken body, his beloved dying alone.
Bingley was shaking him, words haltingly spoken, but none of it reached Darcy. He shivered and forced his trembling limbs to walk back to his desk.
"Will! Are you—are you all right? I never—you don't like the Bennets."
Darcy sucked in a breath past the agony in his chest. "I love—loved her."
Bingley flopped into his chair. "Damn. I'm sorry, Will. If I had known—I shouldn't have broken the news like that."
They sat in silence for some moments, both trying to absorb their loss. United in love for a Bennet sister they now sat in the ruins of might-have-beens. Darcy had long struggled to relinquish the idea of winning Elizabeth's love, but becoming a man worthy of her had given him something to strive for. He had hoped the close proximity of Netherfield and the return of her sister's suitor would ease Elizabeth's ire into something softer. And now…
His breath remained as shaky as his limbs. Wickham's trail of destruction had consumed the woman he loved. If only he had done something about Wickham when the blackguard had crossed his path. He loved Georgiana and wouldn't trade her happiness for Elizabeth's, yet wouldn't there have been something he could have done to warn everyone or perhaps have Wickham arrested and put in debtor's prison? Or maybe Colonel Fitzwilliam, his cousin, could have intervened with Wickham's colonel. But he'd been too proud to ask for advice, too worried for Georgiana's future to let any breath of scandal touch her reputation. Ridiculous—especially since those who would be put off by any mention of such a scandal would be the sort of men he wouldn't want Georgiana to marry. His darling sister ought to marry someone who loved her for who she was.
Elizabeth had shown him that. She had rejected him for who he was rather than the position he held. It was a gift he would never forget.
Bingley buried his face in his hands. "I never should have left her," he whispered.
Darcy cleared his throat several times, trying to force words of comfort past the constriction in his throat. "You didn't know, Charles."
"I have seen the women of the ton for several years. I knew she was a jewel beyond compare. I should have returned and tried to win her affection."
Darcy hesitated. He owed Charles an apology for separating him from Jane Bennet. One he had intended to give after they had both returned to Netherfield. But now?
What would Elizabeth tell him to do? It was the question he measured everything in his life by and had for some months now. He squared his shoulders, anticipating the loss of his dearest friend on top of the woman he loved. It was too much, but he would pay his penance. The least he could do for Elizabeth now was to live as she would have wanted him to do.
"I owe you an apology, Charles," Darcy began. "While at Rosings in April, I ran into Miss Elizabeth and she shared with me that Miss Bennet did indeed have feelings for you."
Bingley stared at him, fingers sliding from his face and gripping the desk. "What did you say?"
"You had Miss Bennet's affections," Darcy said quietly. "And I am exceedingly sorry for the part I played in preventing you from returning."
Bingley froze. "Preventing me from returning?" he croaked.
Darcy gave short nod. "At the time, I believed Jane Bennet did not hold you in affection but would be forced by her mother to accept an offer, tying you to their family most securely. I believed the Bennets would drain you dry and destroy your social status."
"Why would you do such a thing?"
Darcy shuddered. "I—I was proud. Elizabeth showed me the error of my ways. I believed I knew what was best for you instead of allowing you to be your own man." The man looked as though someone had kicked his favourite hound, however, anger was rapidly overtaking his shock.
"Will, I have given you a say in my life because you are more experienced in certain matters—that does not extend to who I marry. I thought we were friends."
"We are, Charles."
Bingley jerked his head in denial. "No friend would do what you've done." He stood and went to the window. "How did Miss Elizabeth show you the error of your ways?"
Darcy hesitated, but he owed it to Charles to be honest. "I proposed, and she rejected me soundly, enumerating the many reasons she considered me the last man she would ever marry—one of which was my interference in her sister's dealings with you."
"She knew?"
"My cousin informed her unknowingly." And hadn't that been a shock. Darcy hadn't known they were speaking of him. Fitzwilliam had admitted he was trying to change Elizabeth's poor opinion of him. How had everyone around him seen Elizabeth's antagonism and he had ever only seen flirtation in her wit and debates?
"Good," Bingley said savagely.
"I am sorry, Charles," Darcy repeated. "It was unconscionable and arrogant of me to interfere in your life or anyone else's. I have tried to change my dealings with you and others in the wake of Elizabeth's rebuke."
Charles's eyes widened as he turned toward Darcy. "You really do love her."
"Very much."
"I've never seen you change your opinion once made—I had wondered why your behaviour changed," His eyes took on a faraway cast. "You became more aloof with Caroline and more involved with your business."
"I realised I was cruel to Miss Bingley. I had never indicated a preference for her—"
"As I told her many times," Charles cut in.
"But by my silence, I condoned her treatment of others. It is a failing—one that led us to where we are today."
Bingley returned to the whiskey and poured himself another glass. "We are all responsible for our own faults, are we not?" He sat in the chair and stared into his glass, swirling the liquor around and around. "I could have returned to Jane. I didn't have to listen to you. I could have fought for her, but I did not. It is as you have always said: I am too willing to bend to others." He tossed back the whiskey, then gave a bitter laugh. "I just didn't realise you were warning me against yourself."
"I have—Charles, you are not—" Darcy closed his mouth, trying to gather his scattered thoughts into some kind of order, swimming against the tide of grief that longed to think only of Elizabeth—her face, the arch of her eyebrow, the swell of her lips, the wisps of curls that sprang free in the wind, the way her eyes sparkled. He clenched his teeth and reminded himself to deal with Charles first or he would lose his friend. "You have an ability to land on your feet no matter the social situation you find yourself in. Your friendliness and the way you see good in everything makes the world a better place. It is an ability I envy. Perhaps that may appear to some as lacking backbone, but it does not have to be so. In truth, you are your own man. You have proven that these past weeks—returning to Netherfield against your sisters' advice.
Bingley sighed heavily. "Too late."
Darcy shuddered as his own culpability hit him once more. Too late to win Elizabeth. Too late for Elizabeth's life. Too late to rescue her or to save her family even though he owed a debt that could not be paid. If only he had done something different.
The two of them remained in Darcy's study late into the night, silence holding between them. Both pacing and drinking and staring out the window alternately. Darcy's thoughts vacillated between memories of Elizabeth and horror at the part he had played in her death. The stars came out—an oddity in London made possible due to the morning's rain.
In the past, they had comforted him—a reminder that Elizabeth too was under the stars. Tonight they seemed hollow, a reminder of how very alone he was and how helpless he was to change anything. He stared unseeing as a shooting star flamed across the sky. If only he had behaved differently last year. If he had been a better man, Wickham would not have gained a foothold. He had spent days under the same roof as Elizabeth and had only managed to convince her of his pride and unsuitability.
If only he could have saved Elizabeth.