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"Where one is, the other cannot be far behind," Jane muttered as they fast walked out of town and back to Longbourn.
Her meaning occurred to Elizabeth a moment later and she nearly tripped, heart stuttering. The three of them had been inseparable as children; she, George and Will. Would George send a letter to his stepbrother and inform him the Bennet's had been found? Her father had forbidden her to tell them where she was going when the family left, and Mr. Darcy had assisted by sending his sons away while the Bennet's prepared for their move. At least now she knew George had not known she would be gone when he returned.
Of course, by the time she and George nearly eloped, none of them had been children. Lizzy a marriageable age of sixteen, the two brothers only a handful of years older. But because of their lifelong acquaintance, none of their parents had thought anything of them tearing about the countryside, even when they were all long past the age when it was not quite appropriate. But the Darcys were well regarded in the county and the Bennets were of the same class if not quite similar fortune and Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bennet. . .well, that was all gone now.
"You really cannot meet with him, Lizzy," Jane was saying. "It is a horrible idea. Who knows what madness he is up to now?"
"He may just wish to apologize and say his goodbyes. We left so abruptly…none of us had time to reconcile to the inevitable."
And she had not fought for George, not when Will's hard, cold words had shocked her out of her determination to see that George was taken care of. He would inherit nothing from his own father, and though Mr. Darcy loved him, the living set aside was not of the same caliber as what Will would inherit. When George had approached her with the idea that friends would make the best spouses and why not combine their modest fortunes and make a go of it. . .it had seemed practical.
But Will had stopped it, and said cruel things besides, before throwing an icy tantrum and demanding of both their father's that she and Wickham be separated for both their goods.
"Promise me you will not tell Papa."
"Papa?" Jane glanced at her, wide-eyed. "You would do better to swear me to silence on account of our mother!"
They grimaced.
"I'm not sixteen anymore, Jane. I have no desire to elope with George Wickham or really to renew any depth of acquaintance. I should like to speak to him, learn what he has been up to these years. But I assure you, I am quite satisfied living here as I am, a quiet life in the village."
Jane sighed. "You have made me a promise, and I will have to accept it. Lizzy, what if Fitzwilliam comes, too? What will you do then? You know he vowed to cut off George's living if you ever saw him again."
"If he is now an officer, then I doubt the threat holds much weight. Either he already has the living, or it fell through some other way, or why purchase a commission in the army?"
"He could have used it to purchase the commission," Jane said, thoughtful. "In which case, he really is free of Fitzwilliam's threat. And free to marry you."
Elizabeth shook her head. "Which I am not inclined to do, even were he to offer. It was not well of him to cozen a friend into an elopement—he knew the risks to my reputation should we fail, and he took advantage all the same."
"Very well. Only be on your guard around mother. I do not relish listening to her tongue were she to discover you were speaking privately with George, of all men."
"It is fine countryside, Darcy!" Charles exclaimed, his enthusiasm exhausting were William not as fit a man as he was. "And Netherfield charming. We shall be quite happy here, and I hear tell of the charm of the local ladies."
William stared out at the passing countryside. It was pretty, but it was not Derbyshire nor the land surrounding Pemberley. Which was to say, it was tolerable but certainly did not warrant any great praise or this over-exuberant enthusiasm.
"I came to enjoy your company and Caroline's," Darcy said repressively, "not to concern myself with the charms of farmer's daughters."
Caroline laughed, highly amused, even as Bingley sighed theatrically and said, "They are not all farmer's daughters, Darcy. Hopefully, your dour spirits will not drive them away. You will come to the dance in Meryton, will you not? It was so kind of Sir Lucas to extend the invitation as soon as he heard I had let Netherfield."
"Do I have a choice?"
"None at all."
Caroline reached forward and patted William's hand. "I shall guard you against any country ladies and their mamas, never fear. You need only dance with me and otherwise direct your famous scowls to the room in general, and none will dare breach your peace."
"At least London is near enough for a quick escape if needed."
"Oh, cease your cynicism," Charles said. "I plan on enjoying my home, and my new neighbors, and perhaps finally finding myself a bride."
William and Caroline stared at him. "What!" she exclaimed after a moment. "You cannot be serious, brother. Find a wife here. . .no, no. I shall not hear of it. Did you see the inches of dust that coated the hems of these country ladies' dresses as we passed through? Walking! Not a carriage in sight, not even a hack chaise."
"I thought it refreshing, and such color in the cheeks."
"Oh, Charles. Mr. Darcy, we really must save him from all this bucolic enthusiasm. I am quite distraught."
"Do not concern yourself," William said. "I have plenty of experience saving men from poor matches. It seems to be my lot in life, watching others lurch down the path of marital disaster."
Charles laughed. "Have you never been tempted to wed a woman not quite suitable?"
"Never," William said flatly, ignoring the mockery of his own ruthlessly suppressed memories. He was not lying—that one had not been a woman, but a girl. And her choice had fallen on his stepbrother, proving how ridiculous they all were.
"How tiresome." Charles said. "We must all fall in love at least once with an unsuitable match, or else we have not truly lived."
"You will forgive me if I do not share your philosophy."
"It has been my habit to forgive you a great many ills, Darcy," he replied cheerfully. "Not the least of all your dour worldview."
"You could do with a measure of his dourness, and he a portion of your gaiety," Caroline said. "It is why you are the perfect friends. Now we must find you both wives who are equally well-suited to each other and to you."
She glanced at William, a meaning in her gaze he ignored. If and when he chose to wed, it would not be due to feminine machinations. No, he would choose his wife with a clear mind, a woman of suitable fortune and station, with wit and humor, though a quiet dignity of carriage. A fierce loyalty to family and a strong sense of honor, yet the ability to be flexible in her judgment of others. He could not abide a critical female. But where was such a paragon to be found?
He snorted to himself. Nowhere. She did not exist. He must content himself with merely an accomplished one, as such things were measured these days.
"Why, who is that?" Caroline exclaimed. "It is a woman!"
Charles sat up straight at the alarm in his sister's voice. "She appears injured." He stuck his head out of the window, rapping on the door. "Pull over."
William observed that there was indeed a woman on the side of the road bent over her ankle, a basket tumbled at her feet. He assessed her dress and hat, determining she must be a genteel lady, for the cloth was fine and the trimming on her bonnet not the sort a poor farmer's daughter might have the luxury to afford.
Charles leaped out of the coach and rushed to the woman's aid, crouching down next to her.
"Charles," Caroline called out, a note of complaint in her voice, not budging from her seat.
William sighed and exited the coach at a more dignified pace. If his friend was determined to rescue a lady, it behooved him to lend his assistance as well.
". . .too kind, sir, but I will probably manage."
"Nonsense! I would not leave a lady on the side of the road with a turned ankle. Come, my sister Caroline and my friend Mr. Darcy are both with me, and neither of them would hear of leaving you, either."
"Well, if you are certain it is not an imposition, I would be most grateful. I am so clumsy, I was reading as I walked and not paying the slightest bit attention." She paused. "Did you say a Mr. Darcy?"
The woman looked up in William's direction, doubtless having heard his steps. He observed clear blue eyes set in an oval face, golden ringlets peeking out of her bonnet, and a well-shaped mouth. Definitely not a farmer's strapping daughter, but the daughter of local gentry.
William frowned. There was something familiar about her face, and the growing look of horror in her expression caused him to glance over his shoulder. But no, it was he she regarded with such discomfort. Whatever could be the matter?
"On second thought," she said quickly. "I think I shall walk home. My ankle no longer pains me and the fresh air will help me recover."
"Do not be ridiculous," William said, irritation cooling his voice. "Have I offended you, Miss…"
She could not refuse to introduce herself. She averted her eyes. "Jane."
His brow rose. It was a common enough name and a rather untoward introduction. There were many Jane's in the world, why refuse to give her. . .it hit him in the gut with the force of a blow.
"My God," he said. "I thought I recognized your face. Jane Bennet?"
She said nothing, but her gentle mouth firmed. She began to struggle to her feet and Charles offered his arm with alacrity, helping her rise.
William was rarely at a loss for words, though he often chose silence as the best course. In this moment he could not have spoken if he had wished it, so great his shock. Jane Bennet. If she was within walking distance of her home, then that meant. . .
Elizabeth.
"We will escort you home," William said in a low, controlled tone. Elizabeth was here. He had scoured the countryside for her, discreetly, but to no avail. That his father had concealed her departure from him had caused a rift between the two that had not mended even as the elder Mr. Darcy lay on his deathbed. For he still refused to divulge his knowledge.
"You have a duty to the estate, boy," his father had coughed. "Your sister's dowry must be replenished when she weds. You must take a wife of equal wealth. Elizabeth Bennet is a good enough girl, but too poor a match for you."
"What use is there in having a fortune," he had replied, "if I cannot have the woman I want?"
"Bah. You do not know what you want." Coughing interrupted his agitated words. "You and George—always trying to best the other. You both want her because the other does. Should have seen it years ago and put a stop to it. But I was fond of her, too. A spirited girl, kept my boy out of trouble do not think I am unaware of that—but too poor for us."
That was true for George, perhaps, but William was not nearly so shallow, nor so weak a man he needed to prove his own prowess by defeating his stepbrother in petty games. He had wanted Elizabeth for herself, and had been prepared to wait until she was of a good age to accept or reject him with the full judgment of adulthood. George had thought nothing of persuading an innocent girl into an action that would ruin her.
"I do not believe my mother and father are in a fit state to receive visitors. . .at all this week," Jane said.
He understood her meaning very clearly. "Your sister? Is she willing to receive visitors?"
"We have not entertained for some five years, sir."
Charles was looking between the two of them. "The two of you are acquainted, I presume?"
"Yes," he said. "Miss Bennet's family once lived very near Pemberley. Our fathers were great friends."
Charles' face lit up. "Well, this is good news! And I take it you have been separated these last years and now in a happy coincidence may renew the acquaintance?"
Jane said nothing.
"There was a falling out of sorts between our fathers," William said. "It would perhaps make Mr. and Mrs. Bennet uncomfortable to know I am at Netherfield."
Jane's head jerked up, eyes widening. "You are the gentleman who has let Netherfield? Oh, dear."
Charles smiled at her. "I have, not Darcy, though he is my guest. I see news has preceded us."
"It is a small town, sir. News will always precede you." She glanced at Darcy again, this time her expression resigned. "Well, I did tell Lizzy that where there was one, the other was sure to be not far behind. I should have laid a wager on it—I rather admire the new ribbon she purchased this week."
"What do you mean?" Her meaning, however, was clear to any man with discernment and understanding of the past history between their families.
"You did not know?" Her eyes were clear, direct. "George Wickham is also in town, and he has seen Lizzy and renewed the acquaintance, though father is also unaware of his presence here."
He had not seen his stepbrother in years now. They had tried to mend the relationship after Lizzy left, but bitterness and recriminations, and his own awful anger had prevented a full reconciliation. Their father's harsh words only driving them farther apart.
"But why prevent George from wedding her? He will not inherit the estate."
"Want more for him, too, than a girl with a mere £8,000 to her name. He will marry into the gentry, mark my words."
George was as much a son to his father as William. No Fitzwilliam son was allowed to even think of marrying beneath him. His father would be turning in his grave if he had known George would use his inheritance to purchase a commission in the army rather than accept the place set aside for him at Pemberley—and obey the instructions to find a titled wife in need of money.
"Charles, Mr. Darcy," Caroline called out, a note of complaint in her voice.
"Of course! What are we thinking, Darcy, let us assist the lady into the carriage and be on our way."
William said nothing further as Jane directed them to her home in Longbourn. Pemberley needed a mistress of impeccable station and good fortune. He had wanted the bright-eyed, sharp-witted, adventurous Elizabeth Bennet. According to his father, those two needs did not meet. William disagreed. Either he was his own master, or he was not.
He knew it was his harsh words, born of jealousy and anger that had prevented her from writing to him to tell him where she was living. Harsh words that might have made her think that he agreed with his father, and the only qualities in a woman that mattered were her fortune and title.
No, his anger was for George, who had taken advantage of Elizabeth because he knew the one button to push.
"But, Will, if I do not marry him how will he live?" she had cried. "He is only a stepson, and if he does not have a sensible wife to look after him, he will wind up dying in a duel."
The words enraged him. "Is that what George told you? And you fell for it? I thought you had better sense, Lizzy. Now I see you are as foolish a girl as any. If I had known, I would have forbidden you from seeing George a long while ago. We cannot behave as we did when we were children."
The stunned hurt in her eyes seared him. "How could you, Will? And now everyone knows, because you told on us. I am ruined."
A coil of deadly rage reared in his chest, hovering, ready to strike. "Elizabeth, did George touch you? In the manner a husband may touch his wife?"
Her eyes widened. "Of course not! I am not that silly." Her nose wrinkled. "Besides. . .it is George. I was hoping. . ."
William laughed coldly. "You thought you would play house like two childhood friends, and he would never so much as kiss your cheek? No, Elizabeth, you do not understand him at all. One more night alone together, and my brother would have demanded marital rights."
Her hand across his cheek was sharp, stinging pain that reminded him to watch his words with this woman, young or not. But her words were a heady relief. He would not have to kill his stepbrother.
"You will have a care, Fitzwilliam Darcy, with how you speak to me. I am no lightskirt."
"Then you should not behave like one."
She stared at him, expression stiff. "I think you should go."
"I will leave. Stay in your house, Lizzy, until I come to you. I will clean up this mess." He strode away from her, thinking only of how he would convince his father to accept Elizabeth as William's wife. He would take George to London in the meantime. Distance between the pair was the best remedy.
Only his father had betrayed him, and by the time he and George returned, Elizabeth was gone. Glancing at Jane as she avoided his gaze, his resolve hardened. He would not allow his chance to slip by him again. He would see Elizabeth, and if she no longer drew him then he was free of her. If she did, then he would do everything in his power to persuade her to take him as husband.