By now, Lydia was Mrs. Wickham. There would be no wedding feast. No cause for rejoicing, contrary to what Mama thought. And although Lydia was too foolish to know it, her happiness was certain to be short-lived.
Kitty pouted on the settee she usually sat on with Lydia, whose empty space Jane attempted to fill with her soft encouragement and gentle attentiveness. “Papa will not let me do anything or go anywhere,” Kitty complained.
Jane smoothed Kitty’s hair away from her face. “You can hardly blame him after what has happened. He loves you a great deal and seeks to protect you.”
“But it is not fair! Lydia got to do everything, and now I am stuck here.”
Mary stopped playing and turned to Kitty, showing more emotion than usual. “How do you not see how close Lydia came to ruining us all? Sheshall reap what she has sown, and the fruit shall be bitter. Do not wish the same for yourself, Kitty, when it is only thanks to Uncle’s generosity that we have the chance, no matter how slight, of marrying men less self-serving than Mr. Wickham.”
Mama snapped her fan open. “Mary! I will not have you speaking so poorly of your brother; such a fine, dashing soldier! You would do well to make such a catch.”
Elizabeth could not think of a more depressing prospect, and she could not excuse her mother’s willful blindness no matter how well-meant her motive. Mama did not see—or she refused to acknowledge—how the connection to such a man, as well as the circumstances forcing his union to Lydia, would affect her unmarried daughters.
Mama resumed her speech, extolling Lydia’s good fortune. Before she could expound on Mr. Wickham’s merits, Elizabeth stood to leave. She could hear no more.
Mary resumed her dirge, and Elizabeth did her best to ignore her surroundings until she closed herself behind the solid oak door of her father’s book room. It was quieter in there—the quietest room in the house due to its location behind the stairs.
She sat on her usual perch by the window overlooking the rose garden, doing her best to be quiet lest she disturb her father’s reading. She did her best to ignore Mary’s playing, Mama’s voice, and Kitty’scomplaining, but the soft rustle of her father turning pages could hardly compete.
Eventually, her mind did wander, and she was back at Hunsford Cottage. Mr. Darcy stood before her, his heart exposed. In these dreams, she always answered more kindly. She would not have accepted him—she could not accept the offer of a man who had interfered with the happiness of her most beloved sister—but she might have asked for an explanation. He might have recognized his error and made amends. Understanding his character as she did now, she suspected he would own to his misunderstanding and make the necessary reparations. Mr. Darcy was everything dutiful and responsible.
And Elizabeth loved him for it.
Leaning her forehead against the cool glass, she squeezed her burning eyes shut. Not only had she spitefully refused the only man she could ever love, thus severing all hope of reconciliation, but her sister was now married to Mr. Wickham. Mr. Darcy would never agree to attach himself to the vile man who had abused his friendship and that of his innocent sister.
Elizabeth would not receive another offer from him.
She did not know how long she had been woolgathering, but she noticed when the papers at her father’s desk ceased to rustle. He watched her, a pensive look on his face.
“What is it,Papa?” she asked.
He bunched his lips as though he had something unpleasant to say. “You were right, Lizzy. I would have been wise to heed your warning.”
She shook her head. “I take no pleasure in it when I would rather have Lydia home with us, protected from the likes of Mr. Wickham.”
“As would I,” he mumbled, clasping his hands together on top of his desk and leaning against his forearms. “I hate to think how much your uncle must have laid on that wretch. I shall never be able to repay him, nor do I consider myself worthy of his kindness.” His voice trembled with shame.
“Mama and Kitty do not understand how fortunate we are that Uncle found them and arranged for them to marry.” Elizabeth watched her father’s reaction, praying he would continue to withstand their complaints when they threatened his cherished peace and time dimmed his regret.
He took off his spectacles, wiping them slowly and meticulously with his handkerchief. “Your mother is of a mind that marriage rights all wrongs—a view I might have helped dispel had I not been too indolent to correct her. Kitty knows no better.” Settling his spectacles on his nose, he tucked the handkerchief into his pocket. “I shall not fail my other daughters as I failed Lydia. Do not fear that their demands will be met, no matter how tiring they become.”
Elizabeth hoped with all of her heart that he meant it.
Galloping hooves and flying gravel interrupted their conversation, followed shortly by a knock on the door. Mary ceased playing, and even Mama went quiet. Mr. Hill’s heavy footsteps grew louder as he traveled from the entrance to the book room door. Holding out an envelope, he said, “Brought by messenger.”
Papa stood. “I shall see to him immediately.”
Mr. Hill shook his head. “He has already gone.”
Elizabeth glanced at the envelope as it passed between Mr. Hill and her father. It was Uncle’s handwriting. Furthermore, Uncle had seen to the expense of sending a message. This was not good news. Had the wedding not taken place after all his trouble?
Panic whipped her heartbeat into a frantic pace, echoing in her ears.Ruin ruin ruin.
Papa opened the letter, his eyes fixed on the page as he groped for his chair. Pale, he fell into it.
It was true, then. Their worst fear. They were ruined.
The door behind them creaked open, and Elizabeth looked to see Jane standing in the doorway, her features etched with concern.
