Had Richard lived, he would have come back to England full of tales of his wife, and would have cornered Darcy to regale him with her merits until no one could possibly deny that he had found a woman like no other. But what of Elizabeth? He was less sure of her. She might be glad of someone to hear her heart, someone who could share equally with her in her grief… or she might count him a faithless intruder.
He would repent of it later, he was sure of it, but the letter burned his very fingers. Before another complaint could pass through his mind, he unfolded it and read.
Dear Richard,
I never thought to be sending you such a letter, but here I am. I am in very great trouble, and I am afraid I must ask for help wherever I can find it.
You said once that if I had any need, I should write to you. Well, as you have doubtless already discovered, I am writing you from New York. I cannot go back home. The worst came, despite everything you and my father did to prevent it. If I value my life, I can never see my family again, and I do not know where to go now.
Jane has come with me, and so has Billy, “to ensure my safety.” That is the only laughable matter in a storm of misery. I am quite lost. I feel so selfish and foolish even writing this to you—you stepped in only to do a noble deed and then marched off to war! How can I even ask this of you?
I am putting my faith in your kindness, in hopes that you meant at least some part of what you said. Our ship departs for London tomorrow morning. I have the addresses you gave me for your mother and your cousin Mr Darcy. All I can think to do is throw myself on their mercy, but I hesitate to claim a relationship they probably know nothing about.
You never spoke of another love, so I assume you have none, but I do not wish to complicate your natural life and the world you left behind. I know you would like to return to it one day, and it was never really intended that I would be there waiting for you. I shall present myself as Elizabeth Bennet, and then, if I gain a kindly ear, I shall confess more.
You did say that Mr Darcy might be generous, but I do not think I can tell even such a person everything. I am in such agony of spirit right now; I cannot think clearly enough to know what I can safely share and how much would be deception if I kept it to myself. They say my crossing will be just over a week, so I will use that time to think and pray for guidance.
Richard, one thing troubles me more than all else. I would not ask you to devote the rest of your years to me. You acted kindly, but if I could think of anyone else to turn to, I would not trouble you. But there is no one else I trust so completely. If this—if I—am not what you want, please send word somehow. If possible, I will be discreet about our relationship until I hear, not wishing to complicate your life. I would ask only some reference, someplace to begin again. I can work. You know I am happy to work, and I will take almost anything. Perhaps by and by, I might even find a way to repay you for all you have done for me.
Thanks to my uncle, Jane and Billy have enough put by for a return ticket once I am settled, so it is only I who will remain. If you do come back to London and if you do think you might not like to be alone, I will fulfil the vows I made. I will honour you, and I will make you a good wife—or as “good” as I am capable of being! I do not know if that counts for much where you come from, but it is all I have.
I pray nightly for your safety and that one day you will be restored to the arms of your family, and perhaps even to me.
In hope,
Elizabeth
Darcy folded the letter again with trembling fingers. A glass of brandy was beginning to sound like a rather soothing idea, after all.
He flung himself back on his pillow, a sliver of the rich wine to warm his lips and a shaft of moonlight through the window as his only illumination. The letter had unveiled so much, yet cast more shadows than it lifted. That the woman possessed secrets was no revelation to him—he had suspected from the first that much remained in her past that she had not spoken. She had alluded to that fact herself, had she not?
Nor was it a surprise to him that she had not married Richard for love… not really. She had told him this much as well, but he had—wrongly—ascribed a bit more marital felicity to the union than was apparently warranted. That moment, in their first meeting, when she had collapsed at the news of Richard—was that the dismay of a loving wife, or merely the shock of a woman who had lost her last hope?
Darcy’s thoughts festered for better than an hour as he sipped away at his glass—merely wetting his lips, really, and savouring the aroma on his tongue. Had Elizabeth deliberately deceived him? Surely, she had committed the sin of omission, but judging by her letter, some black fear gripped her. Something tragic had torn her life apart, and Richard had married her hoping to patch things up again for her. The only notion to come to his mind was an attack of some kind, of the sort that might result in a babe out of wedlock.
But no such babe had come. Even if it had, why would she be forced to leave her home because of it? More questions raised their heads than answers, but one thing he knew. He meant to have the whole of it, just as soon as he returned to Derbyshire. And after that…
He swallowed the last of his brandy and tucked the glass away, then stretched out on his bed. After he knew everything, what then? It seemed she required a new place in the world, and Derbyshire was probably not the right one.
Chapter 23
Pemberley
That very afternoon!
Elizabeth returned to her rooms just after the countess’s departure and looked about the beautiful space that had been her own these few months. The window through which she had sent up countless wishes, the writing desk upon which she had written and read each letter to or from home… or London. She lingered at the bedside table, then on a whim, pulled the spray of lavender from the vase.
“I would like to take this with me, Margaret.”
The maid looked up from packing Elizabeth’s gowns. “But it’s dried out, Ma’am. You can get more at Matlock. I’ve heard they have a whole garden row of five different varieties of lavender.”
“But this was a gift. Please, is there a way to wrap it safely?”
Margaret took it gingerly, with a wry expression that Elizabeth doubted the maid would dare to exhibit before anyone else. “I’ll see what I can do, Ma’am.”
Elizabeth took the maid’s other hand. “I wish you could come with us, Margaret.”
The young woman froze with a bashful expression and squeezed Elizabeth’s fingers. “I’d be right pleased to see you again, Ma’am. I’ll ask Mrs Reynolds if I might serve the tea when you come to call on Miss Darcy.”
