B00CO8L910 EBOK (31 page)

Elizabeth colored in embarrassment for having been caught thus. Shamefacedly, she looked at her father, only to see his sympathetic eyes looking back. Elizabeth could not repress a small chuckle for her mistake and his teasing words. “I suppose I was a bit distracted.”

“You have been a bit distracted, my dear. I would say for about four days now.”

Elizabeth blushed again and closed the book in her hands, keeping her eyes trained strictly on its binding. “I miss Jane, I guess.”

“You must think your old Papa is ‘attics-to-let’ if you think I believe such nonsense.”

Elizabeth blinked and then laughed at her father. “You know it is not always a good thing to have one’s parent know you so well.”

Mr. Bennet was pleased to see her smile and laugh, though it did not quite reach her eyes. “I know you miss Jane, but that is not what has you so forlorn.”

“I am not forlorn.”

“Attics-to-let.”

Elizabeth lowered her eyes again to the book and smiled as she shook her head.

“Perhaps a certain gentleman has something to do with your distraction.” Mr. Bennet frowned as he saw his daughter’s eyes cloud over at his reference to Mr. Darcy. “It seemed to me that your ‘arts and allurements’ were very close to working their magic on the gentleman.”

Hot tears stung at Elizabeth’s eyes, but she held her breath and attempted to push them back. “I do not wish to speak of this, Papa.”

She could not explain to her parents what had caused Mr. Darcy to leave so suddenly because doing so would require her to reveal Lydia’s indiscretions. That she could not do, not when they seemed so happy; they were finally finding peace with her sister’s death.

Mr. Bennet could see that the topic distressed his daughter exceedingly. With a gentler tone and with much tenderness, he said, “Very well, child. I will not press you if that is your wish.” He reached into his pocket and retrieved the letter from Miss Darcy.

Reaching over, he gently slipped the letter under his daughter’s hands that were gracefully folded on her closed book. He watched Elizabeth note the direction on the envelope and then saw her hopeless eyes water again. Something had happened, some kind of misunderstanding between the two of them. Mr. Bennet cleared his throat and went to kneel beside his daughter.

Taking her hand in his, he forced her to look at him. “Lizzy, dear, I know that you have always had your own mind and rarely yield to persuasion . . . But please listen to your old, attics-to-let father.”

At that Elizabeth giggled and smiled at her father with affection as she placed a hand on his cheek.

Mr. Bennet tipped his head into her hand to return the sentiment as he continued. “I know from experience the sorrow of losing years of happiness to a misunderstanding. Please do not make my mistake.” He indicated the letter in her lap. “Nothing can be lost that love cannot find if you will but allow it.”

Elizabeth closed her eyes, releasing the tears down the sides of her face. When she opened her eyes to her father, she could not miss all the love, earnest concern and affection that he had for her. Even though she did not feel she had reason to hope, she nodded to him to relieve him of his worry. She closed her eyes again when he placed a gentle kiss on her cheek and stood.

Looking down at the letter in her hand, she thought about the other note from Miss Darcy. She had not yet even responded to that one. She felt wretched that Georgiana had written again. Surely, by now her brother would have informed her that their acquaintance was at an end. She examined the envelope and noticed the markings on it that indicated it had indeed come by express. She could not help then wondering at the reason for such haste in writing to her. Thoughts of Mr. Darcy’s welfare flashed in her mind, and she panicked at the thought that some accident may have befallen him. Excusing herself from her father’s study, Elizabeth took the letter and raced to the privacy of her room.

* * *

When Elizabeth reached her bedroom, she was most anxious to read the letter. By the time she had closed the door and locked it, she was filled with quite another feeling. Setting the unopened letter on her bed, she walked to her window. Georgiana was her link to Mr. Darcy, and the pain she had felt at his departure was still a fresh binding around her heart. No matter what the letter contained, she knew it would pain her. Elizabeth looked at the letter. She needed to know he was well. She needed to brace herself for the onslaught of emotions that she was sure would come. Drawing in a fortifying breath, Elizabeth took up the letter again and held it in her hands.

Sitting on the bed, she pulled her legs up underneath her and pulled the counterpane over them before she turned the letter over to reveal the seal. Swallowing, she pushed her finger through, breaking the wax.

Another deep breath and she unfolded the letter, pressing it flat against her legs, before beginning to read.

Dearest Elizabeth,

Be not alarmed, dear friend, upon receiving this letter, by the apprehension of its containing a reminder of those events or those discoveries about your sister’s past that were so distressing to you a few days ago. I write without intention of paining you or anyone else by dwelling on history that, for the happiness of so many, cannot be too soon forgotten.

Elizabeth closed her eyes and suppressed the urge to cry again. She could not blame Mr. Darcy for sharing what they both knew of Lydia’s past with Georgiana. It was probably a necessary part of his explanation as to why she must end her acquaintance with Elizabeth. Oddly, she felt comforted by her friend’s words. Opening her eyes, she returned them to the pages in her hands.

It has come to my knowledge that an offense has been laid at the door of my brother by you, one that I feel it is incumbent on me to defend. However significant in its severity it may seem to you, I hope that after the recital of all that I have to relate, you will acquit my brother of wrongdoing. If, in the explanation of which I feel is due to him, I am under the necessity of stirring feelings that may be distressful to you, I can only say — I am sorry.

Elizabeth’s brows furrowed, and she became worried.
What offense have I laid at Mr. Darcy’s door?
She did not understand at all. It was her sister whose loss of virtue prevented him from connecting himself with her! But Mr. Darcy was not to blame. She read on.

My only hope at regaining your esteem for my brother is to lay before you the whole of Wickham’s connection to my family. I am unaware of what part of this you may already know, of what my brother may have related, so forgive me if I recount parts with which you are already acquainted.

Elizabeth shook her head, confused further. “Regain my esteem? It cannot be that Mr. Darcy should doubt my affections for him. And what had Wickham to do with it?” Elizabeth whispered aloud before returning to the letter, hoping to find clarity for her confusion.

Elizabeth then read a repeat of everything Darcy had related to her in his library at Pemberley regarding Wickham’s history with their family. Then to Elizabeth’s astonishment and horror, Georgiana began to relate an entirely new part of that history — a part that left Elizabeth in tears, this time with compassion for her young friend.

Last summer, he once again most painfully intruded upon our family’s notice. I must now mention a circumstance about which I would wish to forget myself and which no obligation less than the present should induce me to unfold to any human being. Having said this much, I know I can be assured of your secrecy. I have been left under the guardianship of both my brother and my cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam. About a year ago, I was taken from school in London and, with my companion at the time, a Mrs. Younge, left for the seaside resort of Ramsgate. Hitherto also went Mr. Wickham, I know now by design. He and Mrs. Younge, in whose character we were most unhappily deceived, seemed to hold a prior acquaintance — a fact that, as you must realize, my brother and cousin knew nothing. Mr. Wickham began calling on me with the permission of my companion, and through the memories of his kindness to me as a child and with my natural diffidence, I was persuaded to believe that I was in love with him. It was his design that it be so. It was through this belief that I consented to an elopement with him.

My brother, who happened to surprise me at Ramsgate a day or so before the intended elopement, knew nothing of our plans. I could not bear the thought of paining a most beloved brother, and so I divulged to him all our plans for the elopement. You may imagine how he felt and how he acted. Mr. Wickham’s design, it seemed, hinged on obtaining my fortune, being thirty thousand pounds.

And now I come to the reason for telling you all of this. William’s regard for my credit and consideration for my feelings prevented him from any public exposure of Mr. Wickham in Hertfordshire last autumn.

Elizabeth was stunned beyond belief and had to reread the account twice before she felt she comprehended it all. All proper feeling went out to Georgiana in her distress and for the mortifications she had to endure to share such a personal narrative with her. Suddenly, she remembered a moment with Mr. Darcy on their ride back to Longbourn directly after Lydia’s death. He had told her then he approved of their correspondence because of his belief that Elizabeth would be helpful to Georgiana. He had hinted only at a painful experience the girl had recently endured. Elizabeth covered her mouth with her hand, realizing that he was then referring to Ramsgate. The old acquaintance he mentioned would then have been Mr. Wickham. Still, she could not understand what Georgiana’s history had to do with her own situation with Mr. Darcy and had yet to determine with what offense she felt Elizabeth had charged him.

You see, dearest Elizabeth, that it was with the hope of protecting another’s secret that he did not expose Mr. Wickham to your society. Please consider my words and do not persist in holding my brother accountable for the tragedy your sister has encountered at Mr. Wickham’s hands. I know that he carries all the guilt on his shoulders, and I realize that, if he had exposed the man, Wickham could not have imposed on your family, especially your sister, in such a way. If anyone is to blame, it is I, whose history with him prevented others from knowing his true character. Please forgive my brother, Elizabeth.

Georgiana’s plea was so sincere and heartfelt that Elizabeth nearly wept again. She retrieved Mr. Darcy’s handkerchief from her pocket and dried her eyes.
So this is what he thinks?
A small hope began to spring within her chest. She had never considered blaming Mr. Darcy for anything regarding her sister and Mr. Wickham! But there was more, and she returned her eyes to the last page.

Forgive me if I offend you by being too forward, but I know that my brother loves you. Concern that he has lost you has driven him to depths I have never seen him suffer before. Immediately upon reaching London, my brother sought out the whereabouts of Mr. Wickham and, together with my cousin, was able to get him to confess his violence against your sister. My brother’s love for you and his consideration for your feelings as well as the wellbeing of your family alone prevented him from turning Wickham over to the magistrate immediately. Instead, they hastened a court-martial for Mr. Wickham’s desertion from the militia and brought about his passage to Australia, thus ensuring that he would never again be able to cause your family or mine pain again. If this does not prove his unaltered affection for you, I do not know what may be said that will. With an urgency that I know you will understand, I shall endeavor to put this letter into your hands as soon as may be by sending it express. I will only add,

God Bless You,
Georgiana Darcy

Elizabeth’s fingers went numb as she sat shocked, grieved at Georgiana’s final revelation. Words from it kept crashing through her mind unaccountably. ‘
Violence against your sister.
’ ‘
The magistrate
.’ Elizabeth could feel her head ache as the realization began to dawn on her. Suspicion was not in her nature, and detection could not have been in her power. That her sister’s death was not an accident had never occurred to her and inflicted upon her a new wave of grief. Unable to contemplate anything more, Elizabeth sank under her blankets and tried to summon sleep to relieve her mind.

Some hours later, she awoke clutching Darcy’s handkerchief in her hand. Sleep had aided in healing her heart and mind. Somehow, the nature of Lydia’s death did not pain her further, for it did not change that she was gone. Her thoughts about the man whose hands were responsible only caused her to think of the great kindness Mr. Darcy had done in saving her family the humiliation of a trial. She was relieved that Wickham was gone and felt satisfaction in knowing justice had served Lydia. There were many who could have prevented Lydia’s death beyond Mr. Darcy and his reticence about Wickham; she decided harboring guilt would not change history, and it resolved nothing. She concluded Mr. Darcy should not hold onto his guilt if she did not.

Elizabeth turned and reached for the well-loved leather book resting on the side table near her bed. It was her mourning book from Mr. Darcy. As she held it in her hands, the pages opened naturally to where she had placed a few flowers for pressing. They were bluebells from her trip to Pemberley. Gently tracing her fingers across the tissue-soft petals, she was transported back to that field. A feeling of warmth surrounded her as she recalled the tenderness she felt from Mr. Darcy and the recognition of his love that she discovered standing amongst the bluebells. It was a bright spot, an ethereal moment of beauty in the dark months of mourning for Lydia.
Think only of the past as its remembrances give you pleasure.
Elizabeth realized then that, although Lydia’s death was a terrible tragedy, a preventable one perhaps, it had been the catalyst for “bluebell moments” in the lives of many in her family. Jane and her Mr. Bingley were reunited where there had been no hope. Her parents’ affection for each other had been reborn through their sorrow as well. All that was left now was for Elizabeth to find a way to reconcile with Mr. Darcy.