Copyright 2021 Elizabeth Frerichs
As his carriage drew near Netherfield, Darcy's thoughts skittered from one difficult subject to the next as though he were trying to run on slick ice.
Behind him lay Georgiana and his worries for her well-being and recovery. Georgiana supported his decision to return to Hertfordshire, yet her trepidation had been obvious this morning. He was unsure if it had been fuelled by concern for him, worry over Wickham, or discomfort at returning to Aunt Margaret's, but he had not dared to ask her in their aunt's presence. Ultimately, he had only enough opportunity to promise to do his best to look after Bingley and himself and to write often.
Ahead of him lay whatever Bingley had wrought over the past few days, and the Bennets, Wickham, and the Letter-writer—who might yet be one of the aforementioned parties.
Bingley had promised not to interact with Wickham, nor to speak to the Bennets regarding the Letter. He did, however, intend to reinsert himself into local society, particularly to see how the Bennets reacted to his presence and to news of Darcy's coming.
Georgiana's apprehension over what Wickham might have done in the past months left his insides a jumbled mess of overactive frogs. Was she right? Were they responsible for whatever destruction the man accomplished as long as they left him unchecked? As children, he had always done his best to hide Wickham's deeds, unwilling to watch his beloved father fall even deeper into grief. Wickham had brought a lightness to the elder Mr. Darcy, one that rarely appeared after Mrs. Darcy's death.
But what if, by cleaning up Wickham's messes over and over, he had only paved the man's path to ruin, had only pushed the pain away from his father and onto others? What mattered their status—their pain was likely just as acute as his father's would have been, or even more so if Wickham's depredations had permanently blighted their lives . . . . He had told himself it had been necessary for love of his father, but would his father have approved if he had known? Was it not perhaps selfishness, not love, that had governed his actions? He had been afraid of losing even more of his father, of his father wasting away in grief . . . perhaps even afraid, as Wickham often proclaimed, that he would discover his father did prefer Wickham over his own son . . . .
Was he as responsible for the many lives Wickham had marred as Wickham himself? Did not the man bear full responsibility for his own wickedness?
Georgiana's anguished features flashed across his mind's eye. If he had long ago let Wickham get clapped in irons for his crimes or shot by an angry father or sent to debtor's prison, Georgiana might never have worn that expression . . . .
The carriage ground to a halt and Darcy stepped out. Bingley, who had been waiting on the front step, hurried forward, clasping Darcy's hand and greeting him enthusiastically. As they made their way to the study, they talked of inconsequential things, Bingley occasionally giving his servants orders as they passed.
Darcy studied his friend. He seemed far more comfortable giving orders now than he had mere days ago. He carried himself more uprightly as well.
Once ensconced with drinks, Bingley leaned back in his chair with a sigh. "I am glad you have come, Darcy. I have met with the Bennets and the Lucases, but as yet no one has behaved suspiciously. It is devilishly hard to keep watching them for signs of duplicity."
"How did the Bennets receive you?"
"As though I had not run away leaving their daughter open to derision for disappointed hopes," Bingley said bitterly.
Darcy sipped his drink. "They welcomed you with open arms?"
"I have not seen Mr. Bennet—he is away—but Mrs. Bennet invited me at once for a family dinner with the Philipses, and Miss Bennet was as polite as ever; perhaps a bit quieter, but no less kind. And I—I did leave her without word . . . ."
Darcy waved the objection aside. "I am sure Miss Bingley conveyed your apologies for leaving."
Bingley grimaced. "Perhaps. The few times we have spoken of Hertfordshire, she has not been—complimentary, even of Miss Bennet. I do not wish to think ill of my own sister, but I am afraid that she might not have been as kind to Miss Bennet as I would wish."
"If Miss Bennet is indeed innocent of the Letter, of course," Darcy added.
Bingley nodded. "Miss Elizabeth has studied me a great deal. Perhaps she is afraid of exposure or of what the letter-writer may have threatened." He hesitated. "You said you do not think the Bennets are in danger, but if the letter-writer is unhappy with Miss Elizabeth's performance, would he not retaliate?"
Darcy sipped his drink, attempting to devise a sufficient response. The thought already haunted him. If he had left Miss Elizabeth in danger . . . . The Letter-writer must have been nearby, observing their conversation, and he had not responded kindly to her. Darcy frowned. Miss Elizabeth's performance had not been calculated to convince. She was too intelligent to believe he would be fooled by a forged letter . . . . Why botch the conversation or bring up the Letter at all?
"I do not know," he finally replied. "There are so many unanswered questions."
"And the Bennets are the only ones with answers."
"That we know of."
Bingley straightened. "Well, we have been invited to a card party at Mrs. Phillips' tomorrow, along with the Bennets. Perhaps we shall observe something there. If not, we shall just have to ask them directly."
Darcy considered. That was why he was here—to find answers. The elder two sisters had the most to gain if they were to force a marriage to either him or Bingley, but they also seemed the least likely to perpetuate deception. Mrs. Bennet, on the other hand, appeared willing to sell her eyeteeth if it would ensure a successful match for one of her daughters.
"Very well, if we do not gain some clarity tomorrow night, I will ask Miss Elizabeth directly."
"You mean we will ask them," his friend said firmly.
Darcy merely blinked at him.
Bingley squirmed for a moment before straightening. "I will not allow you to put yourself in danger, nor to compromise Miss Elizabeth's reputation if she is a victim in all this."
"And so you propose involving the entire family?" Darcy asked incredulously.
Bingley started. "Certainly not! I was including Miss Bennet alone."
"And how do you suggest we have this conversation in private?"
"Well, er, would not your method of meeting on your morning ride suffice?"
"Not everyone continues their outdoor exertions through the winter," Darcy said dryly. "Nor do we know if Miss Bennet is an excellent walker too." His thoughts roved back to the moment when Miss Elizabeth had appeared at Netherfield, dishevelled and looking like nothing so much as a wood nymph, barely noticing him or the Bingleys in her quest for her sister. He compared that picture with a woman capable of lying, blackmail, or forcing a compromise. Either his infatuation had left him utterly blind, or there was more than met the eye.
"Then we simply ask to walk in the garden on a morning visit," Bingley said.
After a moment's thought, Darcy nodded. "If they are unwilling to do so, we may have to resort to other stratagems."
"I do not think they are fortune hunters," Bingley said after a long moment.
"Oh?"
"Apparently, Miss Elizabeth rejected an offer from Mr. Collins—he is the cousin who will inherit their estate. If she cared for naught but security, would she not have accepted his offer?"
Mr. Collins had offered for Miss Elizabeth? A pang went through Darcy at the thought of her married to that—that buffoon. Settling for Mr. Collins would have been the prudent thing to do. Why hadn't she done so?
"How did you come by this information?" he asked.
Bingley looked down at his drink. "Mrs. Bennet." He looked up, his expression almost fierce. "You have seen how she treats Miss Elizabeth. She was not shy about her disappointment with Miss Elizabeth and her decision."
"It was certainly not the most prudent thing to do. She has left her family at the mercy of Mr. Collins . . . unless of course he renews his offer or makes another to one of the other Bennet daughters."
Bingley shook his head. "Miss Lucas has already filled the position. They were married at the beginning of the year, and she is now mistress of the parsonage at Hunsford."
"I see."
"I had wondered if . . ." Bingley began hesitantly.
"If what?"
"The letter is dated from Rosings, is it not? Perhaps the letter-writer assumed Miss Elizabeth's connection with Hunsford would be sufficient to provide the appearance of credibility."
"Perhaps." Darcy sighed. "We shall have to find the Letter-writer before we can learn the truth. Now, tell me, what other changes have occurred in Hertfordshire over the past weeks?"
Elizabeth squeezed Jane's hand as Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy were announced. Aunt Philips had been beyond excited that Mr. Bingley was attending. However, Mr. Darcy was another matter. Uncle Philips had ensured Mr. Wickham's absence from their home, but as Mrs. Bennet continued her vigorous defence of the man's character, her aunt had yet to take a side in the Wickham-Darcy debate. Only yesterday she had lamented the necessity of including Mr. Darcy in their party and apologised to Mrs. Bennet for her husband's stubbornness regarding Mr. Wickham.
Elizabeth was nearly as confused as her aunt. Did she want to see Mr. Darcy? Her stomach churned every time she recalled their last conversation, and she feared she would be unable to suppress a blush when she saw him—despite being innocent of his accusations.
Why had he returned? The thought would not stop plaguing her. To ensure her silence? Yet he had not confirmed the truth of Miss Darcy's indiscretion, so there was little harm she could do there.
Or perhaps he was merely watching over Mr. Bingley. But then why had Mr. Bingley returned? Why not simply tell Mr. Bingley his perception of the truth—that she had "tried to force a compromise" and be done with it?
Before she could sort out her feelings, the two gentlemen approached.
Mr. Bingley greeted them, and then Mr. Darcy.
Elizabeth curtseyed. "Mr. Bingley. Mr. Darcy."
With great effort she met Mr. Darcy's gaze, reminding herself that yielding to intimidation now would only lead to going on in the same manner. And suddenly, behind the shame that had made its home in her stomach, a warm rush of anger made itself known. This man had expected the worst of her and had not examined the facts nor allowed her to explain.
Darcy caught his breath as Miss Elizabeth's eyes met his. Her cheeks were a riot of roses, and he had to remind himself that he could not let down his guard around her. She was even more beautiful than he remembered, he thought as his instincts clamoured to defend her; she ought to be protected from the Letter-writer, not blamed. Bingley immediately drew Miss Bennet into conversation and so it was left to him to speak to Miss Elizabeth.
"How is your family?" he asked after a moment of awkward silence.
"Quite well." She raised her chin as though marshalling herself for battle. "And your sister? Is she well?"
Darcy nodded, studying her closely. "Better than she has been in some time."
Her manner softened. "I am very glad to hear it."
Darcy cast about for another topic. His tongue felt leaden, and his thoughts remained a muddle. In the end, he fell back on habit. "The weather has been quite mild for this time of year."
She arched an eyebrow as though gently mocking the inanity of his choice of topic. "It has. Though the almanac still predicts a longer winter, I am grateful for a reprieve, even if it is only in the weather."
Once again Darcy wondered if her pointed comments were aimed at him—had he become so accustomed to the ton's flirtations that he saw flirtation where none had been intended? Comparing her manner towards him with her manner towards Miss Bingley, he could not deny that they were remarkably similar . . . .
"And what of you, Mr. Darcy?"
"Pardon?"
"Do you find the mild weather a reprieve?"
"I do," he said after a moment's hesitation, cursing his clumsy thoughts for choosing such an overdone conversational gambit. "I am glad to find the roads to Netherfield passable as I would be most put out to miss my morning rides."
"I am surprised to see you and Mr. Bingley back at Netherfield, Mr. Darcy. I had thought the Hertfordshire air did not agree with you."
What was she suggesting? Was she referring to herself and her sister? "Let us rather say that Mr. Bingley has not yet determined whether he prefers the Hertfordshire air or if it is detrimental to his health."
"I see." She glanced over to where Bingley and Miss Bennet were speaking quietly. "I do hope you—he decides quickly. He would not wish to upset the neighbourhood again with another precipitous departure. His neighbours will not know whether he is coming or going."
Darcy frowned. "You are worried about his effect on your neighbours?"
"The neighbourhood is, after all, like a delicately balanced organism; the precipitate removal of any one of its components may affect the health of the whole."
"I suppose it depends on the organism's nature, does it not?"
"How so?"
"Whether it is at its core a beneficial organism."
"Or not?" Miss Elizabeth asked, her eyes flashing. "I suppose if Mr. Bingley is not capable of taking the requisite time to determine the truth of the matter, it will be his loss."
"Perhaps."
"I had wondered why you returned to Hertfordshire, Mr. Darcy, but now I see I ought to have spent more energy considering why Mr. Bingley returned alone. Errant children have a tendency to run off, do they not?" she asked archly.
She thought him little more than a nursemaid? Darcy's jaw clenched, and he wondered how he had ever considered her manners pleasing. He took a deep breath, reminding himself that Darcys were always polite and studying the floor until he was certain his expression would not slip. As he raised his eyes, however, he noticed that Miss Elizabeth's fingers were clenched in the folds of her skirt and slight tremors shook her hands. Was she afraid of him? Intimidated by him? He had never seen her so on edge, save for the day when she had seen his handwriting. Indignation drained away.
If he had left her at the mercy of the Letter-writer, she had every right to be upset by his return; indeed, his presence had drawn her into his mess in the first place. She might be paying for his choice to flirt with her, for whatever lack of discretion he had shown that had apprised the Letter-writer of his interest.
"Worry not, Miss Elizabeth; Mr. Bingley returned of his own accord," he said mildly. "And he does not intend harm to the neighbourhood. Nor do I," he added.
Miss Elizabeth studied him for a moment, but before they could exchange anything further, Bingley and Miss Bennet turned their attention back on them.
Darcy watched his friend and the two Bennets as they spoke of trivialities. Bingley was more strained than customary. Miss Bennet also seemed quieter than he had previously observed, and Miss Elizabeth still appeared on edge, her shoulders tensed and her wit sharper than he recalled.
Eventually, the ladies excused themselves, and Darcy and Bingley moved on to speak to the other guests.
Throughout the night, Darcy kept one eye out for Wickham; the man had not bothered to attend the Netherfield ball, but that did not mean he would continue to avoid Darcy. In addition, Darcy continued his observations of the Bennets and their neighbours. The company seemed largely the same as it had been months prior, save for Miss Lucas's absence. He wondered if Miss Elizabeth greatly missed her friend. She certainly spent more time with her younger sisters than before. Mrs. Bennet seemed unchanged and gossiped a great deal about Bingley's likely offer for Miss Bennet.
His lips curled in disgust at her blatant comments, but then he remembered Mrs. Mathers's hints towards his Aunt Margaret regarding Miss Mathers's prospects, particularly as they related to him. He had been just as disgusted in that moment, especially as Mrs. Mathers was a well-known member of the ton. Perhaps propriety fled in the face of a mother with a daughter to marry off.
And at least Mrs. Bennet had reason to wish for a good match. She was facing near penury and an uncertain future once her husband died. Mrs. Mathers had no such reason, only her aspirations for raising her own status. Exhaustion filled his bones as he recalled the fiasco of his aunt's party and his conversation with Georgiana. The thought of the endless struggle for dominance among the ton was fatiguing beyond anything. He had no desire to be party to it.
But he was a member of the ton, whether or not he liked it. He had a responsibility to set a good example—one that did not include marrying a penniless country maiden. His thoughts wandered to the Letter and whether Mrs. Bennet was smart enough to concoct such a subterfuge; she certainly had motive to marry one of her daughters off well, and the scheme with Miss Bennet arriving on horseback in a rainstorm spoke of an experienced matchmaker.
A shrieked admonition to one of her daughters filled the air. No, she could not have been involved in the Letter; she lacked all subtlety. Nor would Miss Elizabeth have gone along with her mother's plot.
When music was announced, Darcy went hot and cold, longing for and dreading Miss Elizabeth's playing (and how easy it would be to lose himself in it), as well as wishing to escape the probable playing of her sister. His fears came to naught, however. The Bennet sisters were not the first to play, and strangely enough Miss Elizabeth and her sister played a duet—one that possessed both heart and technical proficiency, yet did not call his soul forth in the way Miss Elizabeth's solo playing had.
Darcy considered the middle Bennet sister. She had been far more involved in conversation tonight than he had ever seen. In fact, were it not for Mrs. Bennet and Miss Lydia, he would have thought his previous observations to be faulty. The other girls almost seemed—proper and demure.
The night ended without any clear indication of whether or not the Bennets might be behind the Letter, and so he and Bingley determined to visit the next morning and request a tour of the gardens. It was a flimsy excuse in winter, but Mrs. Bennet would likely be so pleased by Bingley's interest that he doubted she would look too closely at the means of expressing it.
I'm so glad you guys enjoyed the last chapter! Thanks for all the reviews—I thoroughly enjoyed reading them :) I love where the characters have taken this story!
Thanks to my betas! I think this chapter was beta-ed by Sara, Dawn, Roberta, Arendelle, and Roxey. By the time they all combed through it, it was much better than what I sent them :)
As always, let me know if you notice any mistakes so I can fix them ;)
