Mrs. Annesley cried out to Georgiana when the post arrived that here at last was a letter by messenger from her brother.
Mary and Georgiana rushed to her, and the three eagerly took in the brief note. Georgiana breathed in relief as she saw the summons to Pemberley included her friend.
"We shall go north into Derbyshire," she announced, grabbing Mary's hands and jumping up and down. "You shall love Pemberley. The library there is wonderful, and the vicar that brother found for the church is a true Christian."
Mrs. Annesley bid the girls to practice while she directed the servants in the packing of their things. There was no reason they could not depart on the morrow, and the sooner the better.
Col. Fitzwilliam smiled at the letter from Darcy. The messenger had been frantic to place it in his hands and was disappointed to not see the message eagerly received. Darcy had seen the Bennet chit married and was recalling Georgiana to Derbyshire. All his worried journey had netted him nothing but a pleasant evening and a slight reprimand from his superior. And a strong yearning for Christmas at Pemberley. He should write his cousin by the slow post, hinting at the possibility of a winter visit.
Maria Lucas, smiling, caught up Kitty's hands as they exited church.
"Dear Kitty, it seems ages since we spoke. Your parents keep you quite at home since your sisters married. The house must seem so lonely without all of them."
Kitty smiled wanly. The many times she had happily chatted with Maria and Lydia seemed a distant part of her childhood. That Maria seemed unaltered by the ages that had passed further set Kitty apart from the natural passage of time. A summer had never passed so slowly.
"Yes, it is very quiet without them," she agreed.
"But you must be so happy that your family need not lose your estate," Maria said consolingly. "Mr. Darcy is so generous."
Kitty dimly agreed, and again when Maria pressed her to come to dinner some night soon.
"With Charlotte settled so well, you can't imagine how merry we are of an evening."
Kitty promised to consult her parents and to send a note as soon as they might spare her for an evening. But mentally, her fingers were crossed. She wished to witness no merriment. Her own mother's exaltations were bad enough.
At Mrs. Annesley's suggestion, Mary and Georgiana kept the blinds drawn as they passed north through town. To distract herself from the notion of scornful eyes fixed on them as they traveled, Georgia proposed that she and Mary should practice their singing. Happy for the practice, and as the curtains made it too dim to read, Mary raised her voice with her friend's. The sweet purity of Georgiana's tone was angelic to her ear, and hard did she work to bring her own earthier voice to climb to her friend's level. By the time they needed to stop lest they damage their vocal organs, town was behind them, and with it, concerns of recognition and shame.
The rest of the week-long journey they spent watching the scenery, chatting, singing and reading. The summer sun shone bright on the countryside, and Georgiana felt that the sea air could not be better for her than the breath of the country.
Mary had never been so far from home, and homesickness would have claimed her if she did not feel so at home with Georgiana. Where other young women annoyed her, Georgiana pleased her deeply. Her right-thinking and judging, her steady reliance on authority, her studiousness — these all spoke to unexceptionally excellent character.
She had written to Longbourn to inform her parents of their journey but did not wait on a reply. None had written to her in the weeks she had passed in Ramsgate, and she felt free to dispose of herself as long as she held to her own rigorous standards of conduct.
Mary was cautious of the inns at which they must spend their nights. She had read much about the dangers of such places, and surveilled each carefully, lest it contain scoundrels like Wickham who should wish to abscond with her companion. Mrs. Annesley could have had no better guardian with whom to share dragon duty than the middle Bennet girl, and the unassuming farmers and travelers who saw them wondered to see such fanatic vigilance.
They had passed most of the distance when Sunday halted them. For the second time in her life, Mary attended services in a strange church, the familiar words of the collect soothing her.
Georgiana had never been happier. To have such a friend by her side, to be returning home — as Pemberley had always been to her — with the prospect of an indefinite visit ahead of them, was a situation she looked forward to greatly.
Elizabeth did not look forward to the arrival of their sisters. Their long-delayed honeymoon was more blissful than in her wildest imaginings, and she felt their sisters could not add, only detract from their happiness. But the scandal demanded that Georgiana retreat home, and though she knew herself innocent in that scandal, none else could know. And to deprive her of her chosen companion would be unseemly, particularly as Mary had suffered similarly. For her to be returned home would taste of punishment. Thus self-tutored, Elizabeth smothered her selfishness.
Darcy suffered pains of anticipation, fearing that Georgiana would upbraid him for his loss of control that led to this tainting of her stainless reputation.
Oft he would forget that she knew nothing of the nature of their elopement and thought that she would place all the blame on him, alone. Then, despairing, he would recall that she did not know, could not know, the truth. He did not know which was worse.
He had withheld the truth about Wickham from her and it had left her vulnerable to villainous perfidy. Now he must keep lying to her about something at the very heart of his life, and it was like vinegar in his soul.
He had considered his sister so safe at Ramsgate, its environs tempered by the healthy sea air yet close enough to town to afford her enjoyable society, that the very notion of his actions affecting her in any way caught him completely off guard.
Again and again did Elizabeth reassure him that his sister would never rebuke him, though she mentally noted that Mary would suffer no such restraint, particularly if she were come to know the truth. Her sister had not spoken a word to her during her sojourn in Longbourn, and her stares, silences and swift departures from any room where Elizabeth remained showed clearly that Mary considered her attainted. She had hoped that with time, Mary would not judge her so harshly, but feared that, after having herself become a victim of her scandal, that she would be even more harsh.
But it did no good to anticipate future evils and she bent every effort to enjoy herself and to help Darcy enjoy himself.
One day as they walked the grounds and he seemed distracted and unhappy, she bade him tell her what could plague him on such a beautiful day.
He admitted his concern about Georgiana bearing well-deserved resentment toward him. He confessed that he could think of naught to add to what he had said already to her to decrease it.
"What did you tell her?" she asked.
Darcy laughed slightly at himself. "I told her that I thought it was the sensible thing to do. As if I was thinking sense at the time."
Elizabeth hugged him to her. "Poor Mr. Darcy, driven out of his mind by a girl who would not do the sensible thing and say yes to such a proposal."
Darcy blushed. "I could think of nothing but having you by my side. All else was lost, including my duty to my sister."
She rested her head against his shoulder and sighed. "All you can do is apologize. She may be upset. I doubt she will be angry. But she has had the company she was free to choose, which should help soften both of them."
Dimly picking up the import of her words, he asked if she thought Mary would be upset.
"Mary was always scrupulous of our reputations," she admitted. "That Lydia would bring her disgrace was ever a peril that she never looked for from me. She has not spoken one word to me since I went home. I fear that she may resent me, as well."
He kissed her forehead and again muttered an apology.
She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him closer. "I am so happy that I must own anything that passed to bring us together as a good. We shall both have to face our consequences together."
His arms came about her. She felt his face in her hair, his lips forming words unspoken. She reached up and brought his face close to hers and invited him to speak again. He swallowed and tried.
"When I was in the Channel, I decided to give up hope that you would ever forgive me and instead promised myself only that I would try to win your forgiveness. The thought kept me afloat as much as that oar. To hear your words…" he again broke off, kissing her hair.
He had never before spoken of the Channel, and she had avoided asking about what must have been a very trying time. But having started, she must continue.
"Were you in the water for very long?" she asked tentatively, still holding him close.
"It seemed ages before the storm passed," he said, suddenly glad that she was speaking to him of this. The words starting coming faster, and he spoke of the power of the waves, the water relentlessly trying to drag him down. A long time he fought, unable to think of anything but his next breath. But as soon as he could breathe free, his next thought was of her.
She clung to him, her face turned against his chest as he held her and spoke.
"The water seemed to me just punishment for the great wrong I had done you," he said. "The power, so much greater than myself, dashing me here and there at its will… it was too much like what I had done to you. It seemed that you could never forgive me for what I had done. Even now I can scarce believe it possible."
"I do forgive you, Fitzwilliam," she said, looking up into his face. "Would that I could have fore-given myself to you to avoid all this mess, but here we are. Had I understood how dearly you loved me, I don't think I could have resisted you at Hunsford."
Her words pierced him. That she understood the love that he bore for her enough to see his actions in that light… it was unbelievable, but he believed. He kissed her, her touch a balm to his wracked conscience. She had forgiven him.
"Of course you couldn't believe me," he said. They had continued their conversation as they finished their walk and returned to the house.
"You were dreadfully earnest, but it was so sudden," Elizabeth admitted.
"I had thought that you were beginning to like me," Darcy confessed.
"My feelings had begun to change," she said, reflecting. "You were so much more civil than when we first met, but nothing that would lead me to expect that you were in love with me."
Darcy could only shake his head at how poorly he had communicated his love to Elizabeth in Kent. When he thought of how he had addressed her, he could not be surprised that she had refused him. That she was with him now was so wonderful that all he had suffered — and had yet to suffer — seemed as naught. Her smiles and sallies, her company and attentions, that these were now his daily fare. Manna, rather. He saw that she was leading him toward her room, and his body, already roused by contact with her, sprang to attention.
She traced his features, gazing at him lovingly as they lay in peace, limbs still intertwined.
"I do so want to hear how you would have made me understand at Hunsford just how much you loved me," she said, teasing.
He moaned reached for her again. But then her stomach growled loudly, followed shortly by his own. They had become so lost in each other that they were surprised to find that the night was well advanced. They had missed dinner. Disentangling, they rose, tidied themselves and dressed, then Darcy led her on a foray to the pantry. They returned to his room and picnicked on the floor, delighting in each other.
"Mrs. Annesley writes to say that they were to depart some days ago and should be here early next week," Darcy announced. He had started reading his correspondence at the breakfast table, a new habit Elizabeth understood and approved.
She smiled and nodded, then looked at him. "I suppose if there is aught else you'd like to show me, particularly, we'd better do it before then."
He grinned at her and abandoned both letter and the rest of his breakfast.
Kitty's courses had come on painfully, and her mood suited. She despaired of ever seeing Col. Fitzwilliam again. As if compelled, she had asked her father if she would invite the colonel for the pheasant hunting. He had looked at her, bemused, and asked if she did not think that the colonel had better things to hunt, such as Napoleon's soldiers as they fled in disorder.
His wit had not pleased her, and she retired to her room mortified. She took out the colonel's letter, but it had lost its power to please. Her mother spoke of London less frequently, but still she dreaded the coming of winter and the return to town even more crowded with fashionable gentry. Life seemed to hold no comfort, and she curled up around her pillow, weeping softly.
Mr. Bennet paused by her door, his ear pricking at the sound of his daughter's sobs. This was trouble, for certain. Swiftly his mind worked as he returned to his study. Kitty's fervid welcome of Col. Fitzwilliam, her joy at his thank you note, her insistence at him being invited back for the fall hunting, her dejection since he refused her — these all betokened an unusual attachment.
That she had taken a fancy to the colonel was nothing out of the ordinary. She and Lydia had been in and out of love with officers since the regiment arrived last winter. But that her infatuation should persist many weeks without the least encouragement from the man in question, that was the puzzle. He determined to keep an eye out for further clues.
—
Dear readers,
I'm sure we're all relieved about Kitty. I track all of their cycles so I knew right along that she hadn't come away from her encounter with Col. F with child, but I'm afraid that you did not have that comfort.
If it seems there is a bit of a fade-away for Darcy's explanation of how he would have made himself clear at Hunsford, you are right. It's significantly too steamy for here, thus is on Patre()n, called "I Will Take You," one of a series of vignettes, extra to the plot, but so satisfying to write.
Thank you for reading!
Kaurifish