Author's note: I really do love hearing all of your views as you read this! This chapter will be Darcy's reaction to the non-proposal, as well as the result of the express that came - finally! And I hope you love Georgiana in this chapter as much as I do. And maybe stop wanting to kick Darcy. Or punch him.
I know y'all are still waiting on Collins and Wickham, as well as Caroline's letter. I promise I haven't forgotten them! We'll get to them!
Chapter 25
Darcy walked into his room and fell face first onto his bed in exhaustion.
It had been two weeks since Mrs. Hurst's death, and he had never been so busy in his life. Hurst and Bingley had been so inconsolable with grief the first ten days that they had been unable to do anything other than stare morosely at one another. Darcy had taken on the full burden of running Netherfield, managing the Russian wheat crop, sending letters to families, and caring for Pemberley from afar.
To make matters more difficult, a severe snowstorm dumped two feet of snow the day after Mrs. Hurst's death in childbirth. Everyone had once again been confined to their homes, with the exception of caring for livestock and crops.
Darcy's usual outlet when feeling overwhelmed was to go for a long ride. Even that was denied to him with the the poor weather. His attempts to escape to the library only filled him with memories of time spent in it when Elizabeth had stayed there all those weeks prior. No matter how many times he told himself he had made the correct decision, the agony and guilt refused to abate.
So instead, he threw himself into doing everything he could for Hurst and Bingley. Only in the last few days had they returned to themselves enough that he could inform them of what he had done on their behalf.
After spending the last several hours in the study with them, he finally had made it to his room to go to bed. As he lay with his face buried in the mattress, he heard Dawson come in from the changing room.
"Mr. Darcy, sir, I don't mean to be presumptuous, but…" the valet's voice trailed off.
Darcy groaned into the bedsheet. "What is it, Dawson?"
"Well, it's just that I saw you haven't yet opened the express that came for you several weeks ago. I know you have been quite occupied with matters here, but I thought I would bring it to your attention in case you had forgotten."
Darcy shot up from his bed. "Dawson, remind me to give you a raise."
"Very good, sir," said Dawson, giving a bow. "Would you like to dress for dinner now or have a bath first?"
Darcy looked down at his rumpled clothing. "A bath, I think. There has not been much activity, but I feel just as soiled sitting staring at ledgers for hours than if I had ridden a horse for miles."
Bowing again, Dawson left to make arrangements for the bath. In the meantime, Darcy walked over the table where the footman had placed the letter. He recognized the handwriting as his cousin Anne's and groaned again. There weren't very many reasons why Anne would write him a letter directly, let alone an express.
With trepidation, he broke the seal and opened the two-week-old letter.
My dear cousin,
It is with sincerest regret that I write to you to inform you of my mother's severe illness.
As you are probably well aware, the last year or so has been devastating everywhere in England. My mother — in her usual fashion — has refused to acknowledge the severity of the situation. She refused to waive rents or help tenants, and the result has been catastrophic. Those who have not perished due to poor housing conditions, lack of food, and the brutal cold have abandoned the farms that have been in their families for generations.
There was nothing I could do to mitigate the circumstances, as you well know. She refused to heed a word I said, and since I cannot take possession of Rosings until her death or my own marriage, or until I am thirty years of age — per Father's will — I have no power to ease the burdens they carry.
Upon discovering that we literally have no tenants left — meaning no income — my mother had a fit unlike anything I have ever witnessed. She became so enraged that she suffered an apoplexy and is now completely bedridden.
I have hired a nurse to care for her, but the doctor says there is nothing we can do. She is fading quickly, and I fear she only has a few weeks of life left. She repeatedly demands I send for you so we can be married before she passes. I put of sending this letter in the hopes of convincing her that a union between Rosings and Pemberley will never be, but she is beyond reason or consolation.
I would not trouble you about the matter, but I'm afraid the steward has disappeared. While that is no great loss — he was only ever one of my mother's lackeys to do her bidding — I alone am left to manage Rosings.
I'm scared, Cousin. I don't even know where to begin, and I fear the servants will soon decamp as well in search of better positions.
I know you must have great demands on you between Pemberley and Netherfield right now. Georgiana wrote to me of your courageous and generous experiment. I do not wish to add to your burden, nor do I expect you to choose Rosings and myself over your own pressing duties, but I need help.
My letters to my uncle Matlock have gone unanswered over the last weeks. I can only hope that everyone is well there; perhaps they merely cannot get mail in or out. Like yourself, he is a fair master, but this unending winter has taken quite a toll on all of us. I pray for their safety.
Cousin, come if you can. Please. If you can't, please send someone in your stead. I wish you safe travels and Providence's blessings upon you.
Your devoted cousin,
Anne deBourgh
Darcy finished reading the letter and dropped it to the ground as if it were burning his fingers. "My God, Anne," he whispered into the empty room. "I am so sorry. I have failed you. I am so sorry."
He collapsed to his knees. The crushing weight of another added burden seemed to physically press him to the floor. "I cannot do this," he choked out. "God forgive me, but I cannot do this."
As he knelt on the cold ground, his face buried in his hands, faces began to swirl around his head. Images of his tenants at Pemberley and dependents in Lambton swarmed flashed before him.
Little Suzie, the daughter of the apothecary, only 5 years of age — Mr. Jackson, the butcher, who sold most of his meat to Pemberley and supported his four young children — the children at the Derbyshire orphanage, which his mother had established and was funded solely by Pemberley but took in children throughout the entire county — Mrs. Reynolds, the aging housekeeper who came to Pemberley with his mother when she first married and who had cared for his as a boy — the Neils twins, eleven-year-old boys who wished for nothing more than to attend school and would be sponsored by himself the following year.
Hundreds of faces and names came to mind. He knew every single person who fell under his purview. There wasn't a single one whom he could imagine facing to explain that they would go hungry and struggle because the burden of being a rich gentleman was more than he could carry.
He struggled to stand, to move forward, but the weight of Netherfield and Rosings also pressed down on him. He felt himself sinking deeper and deeper into despair and darkness. And through it all, the agonizing heartbreak of being so stupid in explaining himself to Elizabeth and all his words coming out the wrong way instead of the way he meant them to…
"I'm so sorry, Elizabeth. I'm so sorry. I have failed you all."
He barely felt the tears on his cheeks dripping on his trousers. All he could see was the hopelessness and futility of the entire situation. There was no way out.
"Brother?"
Darcy's head shot up. He looked through the haze of tears in the direction of Georgiana's voice, somewhere near the direction of the door that connected their rooms.
"Oh, Brother, whatever is the matter?"
Georgiana crossed the room and sank to her knees, putting her arms around her sobbing brother. He desperately tried to wipe away the tears. "Nothing, dearest. I am merely exhausted."
"Nonsense, and you know it. You didn't even shed a tear at Father's funeral. I don't believe I have ever seen you cry in my entire life. I'm not a child any longer, you know. Please, tell me what troubles you so."
Darcy took a deep, shuddering breath — and then the entire story poured out. His battle with his feelings towards Elizabeth, the way every word came out of his both backwards when he was faced with disappointing her, the burden of the endless winter, the hundreds — if not thousands — of people who depended on him literally for their lives, and now the added burdens of Netherfield and Rosings.
Georgiana sat next to him, listening silently and rubbing his back. Her hand stilled slightly when he repeated the words he had said to Elizabeth two weeks prior, but then she continued smoothing circles across his back.
When he had exhausted every worry he had, he looked down at the floor and said, "How you must despise me."
"Despise you? What on earth would give you that idea?" she asked in astonishment.
"I've failed everyone. I hurt Elizabeth, the wheat hasn't grown as successfully as I had hoped, and now I have failed Anne by entirely forgetting about her letter."
"Fitzwilliam, look at me."
At this uncommon use of his first name, Darcy lifted his eyes to his sister's face. She put her hands on his cheeks and said, "You are the most wonderful, dedicated man I have ever known."
Darcy moved to pull away, shaking his head in denial but she gripped his face and pulled it back to her. "I have never seen anyone behave so unselfishly. It's true, you may have behaved quite foolishly with regards to Elizabeth, but it was not consciously done. You have always sought to put everyone else above yourself, and no one can fault you for that."
"I wanted to make amends to her. I wanted to go back and beg her father to allow me to apologize, but then Mrs. Hurst died and the storm came. Bingley and Hurst needed me.. Then it had been two weeks, and I could only throw myself on her generous nature, but now with this letter from Anne…. I just don't know what to do, and I don't think I can do any of it, let alone all of it."
Georgiana was silent for several minutes. The quiet of the room only amplified the self-recriminations in Darcy's mind. Finally, Georgiana spoke.
"I think it is imperative we go to Anne. You and I shall go together. You shouldn't have to face this alone. I may not be out yet, but I have learned much from Mrs. Hurst" — her voice broke slightly on the name, but she pressed on — "and I can be of use to you, if for nothing else than to support Anne."
"But what about Bingley and Hurst? The wheat? Pemberley? The Bennets?"
"I know things are hard for Mr. Bingley right now, and especially for Mr. Hurst," Georgiana replied. "But you cannot shield them from the realities of life. Time marches on, no matter who lives or who dies. Crops grow, snow falls, and the world keeps revolving each day and changing as it goes."
She paused for a minute, then said, "What about this? Let us make plans to leave tomorrow. It is still early afternoon; you can give instructions to the gentlemen this evening and turn the running of their households to them. The Russian man you hired — Mr. Bocharov, or however you say it — let him worry about the wheat for a time. Your presence here will not make one jot of difference as to whether or not it grows or fails."
"And… and Elizabeth?"
"I will send her a letter," Georgiana said firmly. "We can compose it on the journey. I will write on your behalf, and we will send it to her by express when we reach Rosings."
As Georgiana spoke, Darcy felt the load began to lift from his shoulders. The burden hadn't disappeared, but it felt lighter because he was no longer the only one carrying it. For the five years since his father's death, Darcy alone had carried Pemberley and all its dependents on his own back with no one to carry along with him. It never occurred to him, before this moment, that his sister could grow into a woman strong enough to work alongside him.
He pulled himself up from his kneeling position, almost falling as the blood rushed back into his legs and feet. He stumbled slightly, then reached a hand down to his sister. He lifted her up and pulled her tightly into his arms. "Thank you, Dearest," he whispered. "You have given me hope when there was none to be found."
Georgiana returned his embrace fiercely. "You have given up so much, sacrificed so much, for the good of others. The least I can do is help you."
Then she pulled back and looked at him. "Although, I think the first thing I should do to help you is to teach you how to speak to a woman whom you fancy. You are clearly an atrocious suitor."
Darcy let out a small guffaw. "She will probably never forgive me. Even if she does, it doesn't change the circumstances."
Georgiana gave him a small smile. "I know. While I agree with Mr. Bennet — your explanation was very badly done — I understand your reasons for them, and I think they are wise. There is so much more to marriage than love. Love can easily turn into hatred when the consequences of that love have such strong repercussions."
"For once, I wish I were Wickham," Darcy said. "Not a care in the world, and he can marry whom he wishes. Well, he could if he were willing to live less extravagantly."
"But then someone like Wickham would be in charge of Pemberley. Would you really wish such a fate on those who depend on Pemberley's prosperity for their own livelihood?"
Darcy shook his head. "Not at all. I think I long for some freedom, that's all. Freedom to make my own choices."
"Welcome to the lot of womanhood," Georgiana said with a small smile.
"What?" Darcy asked incredulously.
"I don't think you understand just how little freedoms women have. We are entirely at the mercy of our fathers, our brothers, or our husbands."
"But Georgiana, I would never —" sputtered Darcy.
"Oh, I don't mean you specifically," Georgiana said. "But just knowing that you could command me to do something — and there was nothing I could do about — is a weight all women carry at all times."
"I hadn't thought of it that way before," Darcy mused.
She smiled. "I hadn't either until Mrs. Hurst mentioned it. We spent so much time discussing what it's like being out, courtships, and marriage. She advised me to never accept an offer of marriage until I was completely certain of his character."
"Very wise. I wonder how her sister is so different?"
"I believe it comes from being the youngest in the family and always given what she wished."
"Then I shall be sure to deny you at every turn," Darcy responded with a serious face.
Georgiana giggled. "Now I know you are improving; you are teasing me!"
Darcy smiled, then sobered again. "If we are to leave tomorrow, we had best get to making plans."
"I will tell Caroline."
Darcy ushered his sister from his room, then went into his changing room. The bath he had ordered was now cold, but he chose to wash anyway, as he knew there would be little opportunity to do so in the upcoming days.
He quickly dressed for dinner and went downstairs. Since Georgiana was still acting as mistress — and Miss Bingley had been taking all her meals in her room since Mrs. Hurst's passing — dinner was held until he arrived. Georgiana ate quickly, then excused herself to see to packing, while Darcy explained his reason for leaving.
"I don't know how we are going to do without you, Darcy," Bingley said morosely, pushing his food around his plate with his fork.
Hurst swallowed his bite of rice and potato, then said firmly, "We will be fine. Darcy has already sacrificed more than enough. As devastated as I am about Louisa, I've seen these last few days just how much Darcy has taken on himself to allow us time to grieve."
"You think we should stop grieving?" Bingley asked in anger.
"Not at all," Hurst retorted. "I'm simply saying that at some point we will need to continue on in spite of our grief. If Darcy hadn't been here, I wouldn't have had the luxury of wallowing in my misery. I also have a son to think of. No, we must allow him to go with our gratitude."
"You will be coming back, right?" Bingley asked anxiously.
"I will do my best to be here by the end of March for the harvest. After that, I will need to journey swiftly to Pemberley to see to the planting. Provided, of course, that the weather warms up properly this year."
Bingley grimaced. "I don't think I can handle a second year where the summer never came at all. Or the spring. Or the fall. Just one long eternal winter."
Darcy rolled his eyes slightly at his friend's typical dramatics but said comfortingly, "We will do the best we can with what God gives us. There is nothing more that can be done after that. Now, gentlemen, if you have finished eating, I suggest we retreat to the study with Mr. Bocharov so we can make plans for the upcoming weeks."
Knowing that he would have more than enough time to sleep in the carriage over the upcoming days, Darcy stayed up with the men until almost sunrise, giving detailed instructions on what to do for the upcoming months. He also wrote several letters to Pemberley.
Just before he fell into an exhausted sleep for a couple of hours, he said a quiet prayer. "Please, God, let the weather hold so I can get to Rosings safely."
His prayer was answered.
Although it took twice as many days to reach Rosings than it usually did because of the snow and frequent stops to for the horses and drivers to get warm, at last Darcy and Georgiana reached Hunsford, then finally Rosings.
Anne came outside to greet them before the carriage even stopped.
"You must have been watching from the window ever since you received my express," Darcy said with a small smile.
"Oh, I am so glad you're here." Anne flung herself into Darcy's arms.
Darcy automatically put his arms around her as he would Georgiana. "Anne? What's wrong?"
Anne opened her mouth to reply, but she began coughing so severely, he thought she would stop breathing. "Get in out of the cold!" he cried, ushering both ladies into the house.
Mrs. Jenkinson, Anne's faithful companion, bustled up to her charge with a handkerchief. Darcy was alarmed to see blood on it when she pulled it away from her mouth once her coughing fit had ended.
"Anne?" he asked in alarm. "Are you well?"
Anne shook her head. "No, Cousin. I am dying. I just need to make sure I don't die until Mother does first."