B00CO8L910 EBOK (2 page)

My dear Lizzy, since writing the above, I have obtained news of a most serious and distressing nature. What I have to relate, I fear, will worry you excessively. Be assured we here are all in good health. What I have to relate pertains to poor Lydia. We have heard from our father at Longbourn. An express came to our uncle’s house late last night detailing that Lydia and Kitty, in the company of officers, in truth Mr. Wickham and Mr. Denny, were out for a walk. They were near the ravine at Oakham Mount, when her footing slipped near the edge and she fell down the slope! She is very badly injured. Our father reports that when the officers brought her to the house, she was conscious and speaking Mr. Wickham’s name restlessly. After the apothecary came and treated her, she slipped into a deep sleep. I am willing to hope for the best, that of her speedy recovery, as her consciousness in the beginning cannot but mean she did not suffer a serious blow to the head in her fall. Our father asked that I write to you. Our mother, as you can imagine, keeps to her bed; the news quite distresses her. I must conclude; I cannot be long from packing. I am to return home tomorrow with our aunt and uncle to be of help where we can.”

Without any time for consideration and being scarcely able to know how she felt, Elizabeth reached for the other letter and broke the seal immediately.

By this time, dearest Lizzy, you will have received my hastily written letter detailing Lydia’s accident. I hope this one may be more intelligible; though I am not pressed for time, my head and heart are so weary that I know not how to write what I must. I hardly know where to begin, for I have bad news. Distressing as Lydia’s accident was, we are now greatly grieved, for our poor Lydia soon became feverish. Oh, Lizzy, my heart breaks when I must tell you this news and cannot be there with you when you receive it. Our poor Lydia is gone! Her fever did not subside despite our endless ministrations to her. Soon an infection took over. I take comfort to know that in the end she slipped peacefully into the eternal sleep in which she now resides. Our poor mother is inconsolable and keeps to her room still. Circumstances are such that I know you would want to be with your family as soon as may be, and I beg that you make all possible haste in coming home. In truth, I long for your comfort as we grieve the loss of our dear sister.”

The tears were now streaming down Elizabeth’s face as she stood quickly, in all eagerness to alert her cousin and friend. “Oh, where are Mr. and Mrs. Collins!” As she approached the parlor door, it opened, and Mr. Darcy walked in. “I beg your pardon, but I must leave you. I must find Mr. and Mrs. Collins on business that cannot be delayed. I have not a moment to lose!” Her pallor and tears commanded his immediate concern. Mr. Darcy hastened to her side and steadied her shaking shoulders as she nearly collapsed against him in her distress.

“Good God! What is the matter?” he cried with more feeling than politeness as he carefully settled her on the sofa. Calling for the servant, he bellowed instructions for her to retrieve the Collinses from Rosings immediately. Elizabeth tried to rise again, but he said, “No, let the servant go. You are not well enough; you cannot go yourself.”

Elizabeth assented. Her shoulders folded inward as she covered her face and let grief wash over her. She looked so miserable and fragile that Mr. Darcy could not leave her and, without forethought, sat beside her, taking her hand in his.

“Miss Elizabeth, can I get you something for your present relief: a glass of wine perhaps? You look truly ill.” His voice rang with such emotion and true compassion that Elizabeth’s eyes rose to meet his.

“No, I thank you.” As she endeavored to compose herself, she was taken aback when he quietly offered her his handkerchief. “I am well; I am only distressed by some dreadful news from Longbourn.”

* * *

Elizabeth rested her head against the carriage windowpane as the memory swept over her again. She did not know what compelled her to spill her grief to Mr. Darcy that evening, but she told him all. Her eyes again brimmed with tears as she felt the loss of her youngest sister.
Poor, vibrant Lydia! Gone in the youth of her life.

Mr. Darcy had been kind and solicitous, saying little and allowing her to speak freely. She succumbed to the weight of her grief and cried unaffectedly on his shoulder as he gently held her, murmuring incoherent sympathies. Now, as she traveled in his coach, she could not deny his kindness in offering to escort her and Maria back to London. His gentle understanding clashed with the arrogant, interfering character she knew he possessed. She battled between gratitude for his generosity and resentment at the pain she knew he inflicted on Jane’s heart by separating Bingley from her. Before receiving the news of Lydia’s death, she had been determined that, when she next encountered Mr. Darcy, she would confront him about his cruel treatment of both Jane and Mr. Wickham. With the wounds fresh from the news from Longbourn, she had, of course, never challenged him.

She closed her eyes and let the tears roll gently down her cheeks. The sway of the carriage matched the waves of pain surging in her breast. She opened her eyes when she felt a gentle pressure on her hands. Maria and Colonel Fitzwilliam had both fallen asleep, and Mr. Darcy was again handing her his handkerchief. She was about to refuse his offering until she remembered she had given hers to Maria. She swallowed thickly as she accepted it with a faint, “Thank you.”

His eyes were kind, and his face softened in sympathy as he nodded to her.

Mr. Darcy was at a loss to describe what he felt when he saw her thus pained. He felt powerless in bringing her relief. If he could take away her agony and carry it himself — if only to see her smile and the light in her eyes return — he would do so in an instant. He had suffered the loss of his parents, and he knew her misery, albeit he could not formulate the words or the actions to assuage hers. He felt stunted, paralyzed in how to comfort her.
If only the post had been delayed one day!
he thought before castigating himself for his own self-interest. He had gone to the parsonage that evening to tell her of his ardent love and admiration, and to seek her hand in marriage, forever binding them together the way his heart demanded. If the post had come but a day later, they would have been an engaged couple, and he could have offered his sympathy and support in a more tangible way.

True, he had held her in his arms the previous evening, and it had been sweet torture. Her small frame had fit perfectly in his arms, and he had selfishly wished she could remain that way evermore. When her hand had contracted around the lapel of his jacket as she sobbed, he felt guilty for taking such satisfaction in her embrace when she was obviously in despair.

He knew it was further proof of his selfishness that he had immediately offered to escort her and Miss Lucas back to London to her aunt’s house in Cheapside. He had told her and himself that, as he was leaving Kent the next day anyway, it was the most logical solution and would save her the trouble of securing passage by post in such haste. In truth, he did not want to separate from her so soon.

As he gazed at her staring out the window, he was reminded of the barbed comment she had made earlier in the journey about Miss Bennet. It puzzled him, for she said that her sister had suffered ‘another’ loss earlier this year.
Surely, she could not be referring to Bingley?
Yet there was that implication in her voice — almost an accusation. He dismissed the idea that Miss Bennet had felt Bingley’s loss. He had observed her most acutely at the Netherfield ball. Her manners were as open, cheerful and engaging as ever, but they were without any symptom of regard. He was sure that, although she received his attentions with pleasure, she did not invite them, and her heart did not seem easily touched. And yet . . . what had Elizabeth said?
“Her emotions, though little displayed, are fervent and tender.”

Mr. Darcy shifted his weight in his seat, stunned by the meaning of her words. In his disbelief, his eyes darted again to her.
How did she know?
He realized that not only was he likely wrong about his friend but that somehow Elizabeth had learned of his interference. For the first time since encountering her at the parsonage, Mr. Darcy felt relieved that he had not paid her his addresses. In that instant, he remembered that his cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam had seen her earlier in the day and told him he accompanied her back to the parsonage when she fell ill with a sudden headache. He must have told her about his involvement with Bingley! He now sat wide-eyed with the realization that she must have stayed away from Rosings that evening to avoid him! He was never more thankful that he had not proposed. He shuddered to think what could have happened.

As relief rushed through him, he realized with extreme disappointment — and no little aggravation — that he could not in all propriety pay his addresses to her for at least three months as she would be in full mourning.
However, I might use the time to persuade her to my cause and change her opinion of me.
At almost the same moment, he felt disgusted anew at what seemed to be his proclivity for slipping into a selfish disdain for the feelings of others.
Have I always been thus?
he thought in frustration as he clenched his teeth. He hit his head against the back of the carriage to force his thoughts into a more charitable direction.
For God’s sake, she has lost a sister, and all you can think about is how soon you can marry her!

“Is everything all right, Mr. Darcy?” Elizabeth queried.

And with that, he fell in love with her all over again as he looked across at her tear-stained face. She was asking after his well-being even in the midst of her grief!
You thoughtless cad.
“Pardon me, Miss Bennet. I did not mean to disturb you.” He watched as she simply nodded her head and turned her attention once again to the view outside. ’
Til this moment, I never knew myself.

* * *

As their caravan rolled closer to London and the sounds of the city began to compete with the creaking of the carriage wheels, Elizabeth sat up to straighten her dress. But when she was about to give Mr. Darcy the address of her aunt and uncle in Cheapside, she realized with a start that they would not be at home! They had left for Longbourn with her sister earlier in the week. Suddenly, she felt bereft and absurd at the same time.

“Ohh . . . ” She moaned as she sat back into the seat and brought up a hand to cover her face. A frown contorted her brows as she thought of what she was to do. “Mr. Darcy, I . . . that is, with the turmoil of the moment . . . I neglected to realize . . . ” She twisted her hands together in her lap before raising her chin and continuing, “Mr. Darcy, would you be so kind as to procure Miss Lucas and myself a room at an inn for the night? We will, of course, need to borrow a manservant for protection.” Her voice drifted off; she was embarrassed that she lacked the foresight to have a plan.

The colonel spoke first. “Miss Bennet, I understood that you had an aunt and uncle in Cheapside?”

Elizabeth colored at her stupidity once again. “You are correct, Colonel Fitzwilliam. I only just realized that they would have left town with my sister Jane several days ago for Longbourn. I can only blame the distress at the news of Lydia’s passing . . . ” Her voice faltered briefly. “I failed to remember . . . to realize . . . ”

Mr. Darcy’s voice caused her to lift her head to him. “Miss Bennet, that will not be necessary. You and Miss Lucas will be welcome at my home tonight. As tomorrow is the Sabbath, we can journey onto Longbourn on Monday. I will be happy to accompany you as your relatives are not available to do so.”

“Mr. Darcy! Certainly you cannot expect me to accept such a proposition!” Elizabeth was aghast at his indelicate suggestion.

Mr. Darcy was puzzled at her fervent declaration. “I fail to understand your meaning, madam. My house is large, and my staff is proficient enough that it would be no imposition.”

Elizabeth looked with astonishment from Mr. Darcy to Colonel Fitzwilliam. The latter also seemed unaffected by his cousin’s offer.
Are the two of them mad? Have they lost all sense of decency?
Elizabeth took in a slow, steadying breath to lessen her feelings of offense as she stated flatly, if a little coldly, “Must I remind you? It would not be proper for Miss Lucas or myself to stay the night at the home of an unmarried gentleman without a proper chaperone.”

Mr. Darcy attempted to hide a smirk at Elizabeth’s adorable ire as she properly chastised him. After a moment of matching her steady gaze and relishing the feelings coursing through him, he said, “You are correct, Miss Bennet. Your modesty commends you. However, you do not need to worry about your reputation. I never would compromise —”

“That is hardly the point, sir!” she interrupted him, astonished at his audacity to continue in that vein and coloring at the implication.

Mr. Darcy’s lips twitched in amusement before he drawled, “If you will allow me to continue, Miss Bennet, I was saying that I never would compromise your reputation by putting you in such a situation as you suggest. My sister, Georgiana, and her
widowed
companion, Mrs. Annesley, are both in residence currently at Darcy House. Her companion is of an appropriate age and status to offer proper chaperonage.”

“Oh,” was all the response Elizabeth could manage in her discomfiture.