Let me thanks the reviewers of Chapters 9 and 10: Colleen, Levenez, EmlynMara, Joan, Maria, Jansfamily4, Dizzy Lizzy.60, Deanna27, Liysyl, gabyhyatt, Saralee, RHALiz, Pemsnowy, Xpochakkox, Ice, Motherof8, Maria Teresa C, Saralee and guests. You stopped Darcy from doing anything rash in Italy. Of course, all the reviewers for the previous chapters make excellent contribution to the story. Yeah, I want to bash Darcy head in some of the past chapters. But I guess we have to forgive him because he is young and inexperienced. There are a lot of things happening in this chapter. I hope you are ready for the roller coaster! Stay safe and happy reading! Don't forget to review. I live on your comments.
Chapter Eleven
1812
Fitzwilliam Darcy completed education at Cambridge and returned from Italy refreshed and clear-headed. His trip had given him a sense of culture and separation from the insanity of his duty and family in ways he had never imagined.
He had come down to London for a few weeks. His cousin Richard asked to stay with him. Richard seemed to grow into very much the rake. He had purchased an officer's commission and was stationed in London. He would drag Darcy to balls, parties, operas and boxing matches.
"Darcy, you are coming to the match tonight, aren't you? I've got a stunning wager," Richard said suggestively.
"I cannot tonight. There is something I must do," Darcy said casually.
Richard scoffed at him, saying, "There is nothing more important than this—it shall be the fight of the century! As well, there will be a few lovely courtesans in attendance whom I think you might like." He waggled his brows at Fitzwilliam.
There were a few nights where Richard offered Fitzwilliam a taste of a courtesan or two. The girls were usually lovely, no doubt, but Darcy declined.
"I do not think I need the company of any courtesans," Darcy said broodily. "But I suppose one cannot miss the fight of the century. I shall meet you downstairs this evening."
Shutting the door, Darcy went to his writing desk, anticipation growing as he sat down to read the most recent letter from Elizabeth, sent to Pemberley.
Dear Fitzwilliam,
Business with Mr. Gibson has been rather good for me. I was recently offered a wage from him, which I save to help secure a future for myself and Mary. My mother being all she is, I cannot say that I have had many suitors calling. The work and pay is rather in secret, of course, as it is rather unsuitable for a woman of my breeding (no matter how fallen) to be performing such labours. But Mr. Gibson does not mind and is glad to have the help.
Mary, on the other hand, is becoming quite the novelist. I believe she may even be able to publish some work under pseudonym soon—the Gibson connections are quite satisfactory. She still maintains her affections for Mr. Pratt. He will likely be a barrister of some note himself and would thus be quite suitable for her. I do hope he returns her care.
How do you fare lately? Are you popular amongst the young ladies?
Your friend,
Elizabeth
Darcy noticed that Elizabeth no longer addressed him as dearest. Perhaps she was still angry with him for missing her birthday. Maybe it was time to tell her he was now in London. Picking up his quill, Darcy began to write back to Elizabeth.
Dear Elizabeth,
I am most pleased to read that you are securing money for your future. No matter the social faux pas, I find it commendable that you are so driven in regard to your future. Not to worry—there will be suitors for you one day. Who could resist such a lovely woman? It pleases me to hear that Mary is doing well also—it is lovely to envision her coming out of her little cocoon.
I am faring well. I came down to London at Mr. Kingsway's request. Richard and I spend much time together, at boxing matches, gentleman's clubs, the occasional ball or opera. My mother has introduced me to a few women— I pray that she has finally ceased her efforts with my insipid cousin Anne. One Caroline Bingley, a sister of my amiable friend Bingley, toward whom I do have some appreciation. I am unsure about her, however. It is as if something is missing.
There is something else. I still have not been able to shake the question of my legitimacy, even though I now know Father was an honourable gentleman. I am not sure about my mother. I told you once before that my mother had a certain hesitation when I asked her previously. I cannot forget that, though try I might. Your words always bring me comfort and guidance, so I patiently wait for them. Should I take you out to Gunter's Tea Shop for a belated birthday celebration now that I am in London?What did you know about the meeting with Mr. Kingsway?
Your loving friend,
Fitzwilliam
Darcy set down his quill, folding the letter neatly and sealing it with wax. He addressed it to Mr. Kingsway, who had still continued his assistance with the privacy of their correspondence. Mr. Kingsway had asked Darcy to come to London on his return from Italy. He said there was an important piece of news he had to relate to him and Elizabeth. Darcy had been delaying the inevitable for two weeks, until he heard that Mr. Kingsway was called away from London on an urgent business. Darcy breathed a sigh of relief that he could delay meeting Elizabeth, unless she accepted his offer to visit the Gunter's.
"Caroline Bingley," Darcy murmured aloud. "Why on earth would you tell Elizabeth about her?" Darcy had begun to open up to Elizabeth about his romantic pursuits in his letters, like one would a sister—though he always mentioned the girls he did not fancy, never ones he truly did.
Caroline Bingley's mother was from some minor nobility, even though her father was from trade. She had a substantial dowry that his mother looked upon favourably. Darcy cared little about that. But she seemed very sweet-natured and intelligent, which he liked greatly. Yet, there was always something lacking in his conversations with her. He could not help but compare her to Elizabeth.
During Darcy's time in the continent, he spent time in the company of several beautiful young women, but none he could take to bed without Elizabeth's bright green eyes glaring at him from every imagined corner of the ballrooms.
"Curse you, Elizabeth," Darcy said. He had been at war with himself for some time, not wanting to admit the truth that was etched upon his heart—he was madly in love with Elizabeth Bennet. Darcy had always been.
But what will they all say? Darcy thought. His mother and the Matlocks had expected him to marry someone with noble or wealthy connections. While deep down, he understood that he could not care less—he had a faint worry about reinvigorating drama with his family. He did not like his family at all, except his uncle Lord Matlock, but isolating himself from his family for Elizabeth, would that be the right thing to do? At any rate, Darcy was not entirely convinced that he was good enough to marry anyone. Am I even truly a Darcy? He asked himself often. He had only asked his mother the once and was still dubious.
"Elizabeth," Darcy whispered aloud, his breath caught in his throat. He had not seen her in years—unable to trust himself around her, unsure how she might react if he were to propose or courtship or kiss her in the way that he desired. He wondered if she would ever feel the same way.
That evening after the boxing match the men attended a fête given by one of Richard's friends, with many in attendance. There was much gaiety there—drinking, dancing, and ribald jokes. Darcy tried to distract himself with the excitement but often found himself lost in thought.
"Mr. Darcy?' a voice called. It was Miss Bingley, who gave him a sweet smile.
"Miss Bingley, how lovely it is to see you again," Caroline Bingley said, courteously bowing at her. "Is your brother here?"
"Yes, Charles is here, dancing with a blonde angel." She said with an indulgent laugh. Darcy shook his head. He liked that Miss Bingley seemed to be very fond of her brother. Charles Bingley was always falling in and out of love, with one beautiful blonde woman after another.
"I have seen you on your own for much of your time here. May I lend an ear?" Miss Bingley asked him.
Darcy looked at her with some sadness. If only he could bring himself to forget Elizabeth. "Oh, no need to be concerned, madam. My mind attends some…personal matters that are keeping me rather preoccupied at present."
Caroline gave him a demure smile, saying, "Well I do hope that all is right. I often find my own mind preoccupied of late."
"Is that right?" Darcy asked, returning her smile.
"To be sure. It appears that there is a gentleman who has quite roused my attentions," Caroline finally said flirtatiously. "Have you scheduled yourself on many dance cards?"
Darcy sighed to himself. She knew as well as he did—he had not engaged himself to dance with any young women at the gathering. "I have not. Shall we dance?"
Caroline agreed and Darcy led her out to the dance floor, where they twirled pleasantly with each other, both out of breath when they finished.
"That was quite lovely, Mr. Darcy. I do hope I may see you again, soon?" Caroline asked coyly. "Charles would be desolate without you."
Darcy felt his throat dry as she asked him this. She hoped for him to call for her, thus clearly stating his intentions. Miss Bingley seemed to be a fine, lovely woman—but she was not Elizabeth. Darcy stumbled on his words, saying, "Miss Bingley, I… While you are most gracious… I am not certain—"
Caroline interjected, understanding. "You are not certain that you would like to pursue anything further," she said flatly, clearly disappointed.
"Yes, I just do not think that I return the feelings that you share," Darcy said honestly. It hurt him to see the displeasure in her eyes, but he felt relief at the telling.
"I see. Not all matches begin with mutual adoration, you know," Caroline said jestingly, a wry smile on her face. They both knew that Caroline was well sought after— she would soon find her match.
"I fathom that quite more thoroughly than you realise," Darcy said as he returned her smile. He picked up her hand and kissed it gently. "Thank you for your understanding."
Darcy turned to leave, but not before he heard her flicked her fan shut too loudly. Perhaps Miss Bingley was not as sweet as she portrayed.
At the next week's end, Darcy attended another gathering—this time at a Lord Lupton's house—only at the insistence of Richard. Upon his arrival, he was immediately accosted by the loud voice of Mrs. Bennet.
"Yes, darling, Lord Radbourne has gifted me with the most exquisite diamond necklace!" Mrs. Bennet said loudly to an admirer. Mrs. Bennet still had Lord Radbourne firmly in her clutches, and society mostly had acquiesced to her presence—though she was as notorious as ever.
As much as he tried to avoid her, Mrs. Bennet sauntered up to him eventually. "Greetings, Mr. Darcy." She waved her jewelled fingers at him in a mocking way. "I expect all is well at Pemberley?"
"All is well, particularly now that it is much less occupied," Darcy said boldly.
Mrs. Bennet glared at him. It was plain that she was still bothered by her erstwhile eviction. Though originally Darcy would have had them stay longer for Elizabeth and Mary's sake—he now thought that life was much better for all three without the pressures of Mrs. Bennet.
"It seems now that my fortune and connection surpass that of a woman hidden away at a Dowager House, Fitzwilliam," she said in a scornful tone.
"It also seems that with all of your wealth you still have not spared a penny for an ounce of class," Darcy retorted.
Mrs. Bennet uttered a loud "Hmph!" and glided back over to another group where she regaled them with another story. Darcy watched the scheming woman, still cursing her late husband's name. "After my neglectful late husband left us nearly penniless, Lord Radbourne came to my rescue. Now I live in unimaginable luxury—I could not be more grateful for the Radbournes," Mrs. Bennet said with false modesty.
Darcy could not bear to listen further, choosing instead to mingle with guests. He finished his mingling quickly. Mrs. Bennet's voice was just as grating as he recalled, and he had heard enough. He went over to Richard, saying quietly, "I think I shall take some air."
"Miss Bingley just made an appearance," Richard said, smiling at him. "Surely, you want to have another conversation or a dance with the lady."
"Perhaps later," Darcy replied, brushing off the comment. He left the main room to the garden, where he could finally think. He looked at the moonlight, which always made him think of Elizabeth.
"Fitzwilliam?" A voice questioned.
Darcy froze, his blood racing with adrenaline. Surely it could not be—
It was. As he turned, the exquisite visage of Elizabeth Bennet appeared before him, appearing glorious in the moonlight. "Elizabeth?"
She laughed at him. "Who else might it be?"
Darcy grinned, walking closer to her. She had only grown more beautiful in the last years.
"What are you—" they both said at the same time, laughing awkwardly. Elizabeth spoke first.
"My grandmother forced me to attend. I am twenty-one now, so she believes that it is time to stop hiding from society," Elizabeth said with a musical laugh.
"I expect you have seen your mother and sisters?" Darcy asked curiously.
"From afar, yes. But I do not wish to speak with them," Elizabeth said, changing the subject. "I could not convince Mary to attend, so I am here with my grandmother."
Darcy felt his pulse pound as he watched Elizabeth speak. "I am here with my cousin— Richard, you know," he said clumsily. They stared at each other for what could have been hours—the sudden reunion making their mouths run dry.
"You look very lovely," Fitzwilliam said to her, hoping to fill the silence.
"As do you, not lovely," Elizabeth laughed again. "but handsome. It seems that you have grown even taller," Elizabeth said in approbation. "I received your letter this week. I had not known that you had been attending social functions in London for some weeks. And you must have made quite the name for yourself amongst the young ladies—I have overheard many admiring you tonight." She regarded him with raised eyes and a hint of exasperation.
"Ah, yes. It is mostly at Richard's insistence," Darcy replied. "I would keep to Derbyshire, but it does get lonely."
"Fitzwilliam…why did you not visit me? I understand it might be somewhat untoward, but… your word... I thought…" Elizabeth trailed off, looking at the ground.
"Elizabeth, I wanted to. I hoped to many times, yet I could not bring myself to knock on your door," Darcy replied urgently. He needed to tell her everything, soon.
"I see. My mother's scandals certainly follow me regardless of where I go. You associate with others of high society now and I know what they would think if you were seen with me," Elizabeth said sharply.
"No, you misunderstand, Elizabeth. It is not that I would not visit—I could not. I could not trust myself to visit you, knowing that you did not share—"
Suddenly, there was a scream from inside the house along with other shouts and commotion. Elizabeth and Darcy looked at each other for a moment, the emotions between them elevated and palpable.
"Elizabeth, we must continue this conversation later," Darcy said. He would not rest before he told her of his true feelings.
The pair rushed out of the garden and into the home, rife with the disorder. They followed the crowd to an antechamber where they found Mrs. Bennet. She was lying on the floor, shaking intensely like she had apoplexy. A man, presumably a doctor, with the help of two other men, was trying to restrain Mrs. Bennet. The doctor shouted to someone to bring his medical bag and a glass of water.
"Mother!" Elizabeth cried out. But before she could reach Mrs. Bennet, the widower's violent movement stopped. Darcy grasped Elizabeth's arm, delaying her movement forward.
The doctor put his hand over Mrs. Bennet's nose and then shook his head.
Mrs. Bennet was dead!
Mrs. Gibson ran into the room moments later, her aged frame gathered around her daughter, howling with sobs.
"Oh my god!" Elizabeth cried, turning into Darcy. He was stunned, wrapping his arms around Elizabeth, and turning her from the frightful scene. There was much upheaval, with many speculating about what happened as the magistrate was called.
About half an hour later, before the authority arrived, another scream was heard from the gallery above the dance floor. A voice shouted, "It is Lord Radbourne—he is dead too!"
Elizabeth and Darcy gasped, looking at each other with frightful eyes amongst the tumult. He pressed her closer to him, wanting to keep her safe, not caring about who saw them.
"What happened? Who did you say?" Darcy asked another onlooker who mentioned seeing two people fleeing from the antechamber before Mrs. Bennet was found.
The elderly woman looked at Darcy with huge eyes, whispering gravely, "It was the notorious woman's blonde daughter, Jane something, and an army man, I believe."