The countess shook her head and sighed in exasperation after their departure. “These women from trade!” she lamented broadly. “No grace to their credit! A shameless flirt, that one, and growing desperate from what I hear. I believe she desires a voucher for Almack’s, but I would never court such humiliation as to lend that woman my own credibility!”
“You are not acquainted with Mr Bingley,” he covered smoothly. “Trade son or no, I believe you would find him most respectable, Mother. He was monstrous fond of Darcy, and the sentiment was returned in full.”
The countess arched a dry brow. “A friendship formed in school days must, in the end, yield to respectability. I only thank heaven that this Bingley fellow did not employ his intimacy with Darcy so far as to form designs upon Georgiana!”
Richard caught the fearful glance darted his way by his young cousin. “I think we need have no fear of that, Mother,” he smiled indulgently toward his charge. “Georgiana is far too wise to encourage such an interest from anyone unsuitable.”
“I should hope!” the countess sighed, albeit not without an affectionate glance of her own toward her niece. “Georgiana, dear, you look rather pale after that horrid Bingley woman’s visit. If you wish, you may retire while I receive other callers. Richard will see you to your apartment.”
Georgiana curtseyed in relief. “I thank you, Aunt.” She gave her arm to her elder cousin, but once in the outer corridor, he drew her aside and spoke softly.
“Georgie, you do look frightfully unsettled. I hope Miss Bingley has not put you in mind of more sorrowful days.”
She inhaled slowly, her pale lashes fluttering as a softness wavered upon her lips. “Her party were all staying at Pemberley when Fitzwilliam went away for that first business of his. He never told me what it was, but he returned for only a fortnight before going once again to London to see to its conclusion. The whole party came away then, though Fitzwilliam traveled on ahead of the rest of us. I think he must have arrived full two days before we.”
“So, the last time you saw your brother was in Miss Bingley’s company,” he summarised. “Dear Georgie, I am sorry that she came today to distress you further.”
She turned to him, a ray of sunshine at last glowing from her countenance. “It grieves me to think of those last days, but also brings me some peace.”
“The world has a way of marching on, does it not? I suppose Miss Bingley remains a tangible reminder of him for you.”
“Oh, heavens, no!” Georgiana shuddered. “I cannot think of Fitzwilliam and Miss Bingley in the same moment without dread, for she longed for him to make her an offer, you know. He never would, but she made everyone else miserable in her jealousy and disappointment. As a matter of fact—” here, she smiled, even seemed to giggle silently— “it was Miss Bingley’s mention of Miss Elizabeth Bennet which brought me some degree of pleasure. How envious she was of Fitzwilliam’s notice whenever Miss Bennet was about!”
“Is that so?” He mused intently for a moment. “Georgie, did you really like her so well as you claimed?”
“Oh, Richard, I adored her! I even cherished a hope that one day she might become my sister. Perhaps it was silly of me, but you know how cautious Fitzwilliam was. He never praised any woman in my hearing as he did her. He wrote to me of her from Hertfordshire over a year ago, and seemed so eager to introduce her to me when they were at Lambton. And how kind she was! I felt so at ease speaking with her, and she did set Miss Bingley down so neatly. There was no slight at which Miss Elizabeth could not laugh! I shall never forget how she defended me from an insult which had been meant for herself, but which struck me instead. I feel certain that Fitzwilliam was fond of her, for you ought to have seen the way he smiled at her after that!”
All during this soliloquy—the longest speech Georgiana had uttered in weeks—a crafty smile had grown on Richard’s face. “It was Miss Elizabeth who so deftly thwarted our aunt. Do you remember that I told you about that? It was last April, when Darcy and I were in Kent. She had come to stay with her friend Mrs Collins, wife to Lady Catherine’s rector. Well may you imagine that she found herself the subject of our aunt’s condescension. The very picture of class and grace was she as she serenely defied Lady Catherine’s wishes!”
Georgiana did giggle aloud now, daintily shielding her growing smile behind white fingertips. “I wish I could have seen it. Even enduring with my aunt’s demands would have been a small price to pay.”
He nodded slowly. “She made our annual pilgrimage far more bearable, I will vouch for that. I never knew your brother to delay our departure as he did—thrice! —and I agree with you that there was some regard there, on his part at least.”
A wistful sigh escaped the girl and she repeated, “I wish I had come to know her better.”
His eyes narrowed. “Georgie, I had meant to speak to you of this later, but I may as well do so now. My business may call me away for an extended time, and I shall have to leave you to the care of others.”
She drew a brave gasp. “Oh, Richard! Are you certain?”
“I am afraid so, Sweetling, but I have been sadly remiss in offering Mr and Mrs Bingley my congratulation on their marriage. I feel I ought to render my felicitations in person before I depart, and I’ve no doubt that Bingley will be only too pleased to receive me without ceremony. What would you say to an impromptu visit to Hertfordshire on the morrow?”
Longbourn
Elizabeth’seyeswerefastened,uncharacteristically, on the ground. It was not as if there might be some new vista she had never appreciated, nor some surprise alteration to her way. These paths had been her private retreat since childhood—a bower of dreams and adventures, a silken vale of girlhood fantasy known only to herself and Jane.
Jane’s future now lay elsewhere, and with her father’s edict, a shroud of finality had fallen for Elizabeth as well. This day, as her feet crunched heavily over the frozen ground, might well bear witness to the last of her carefree wanderings. She was to depart for London on the morrow, and with any luck, according to her mother, she would find a husband there and this would be her home no longer.
Yes,her mind cried out, carry me away! Away from Hertfordshire and all these memories! No longer must I feign happiness for Jane’s sake, nor affect strength for Lydia’s benefit. I cannot bear seeing William at each turn, hearing his voice on the wind, feeling his touch in my dreams, and seeing him draw ever farther away!
Ardently as her conscious thoughts might have embraced the notion, her heart dragged at her feet. Well did she recognise in herself the symptoms of disappointed love, for they were the same as Jane had so bravely attempted to conceal only a year ago. Yet, had not she even greater cause to mourn than Jane? She had been assured of love, had come to know with a certainty beyond any doubt that the man she adored remained constantly devoted. While Jane had nurtured the all but extinct hope for a reunion with the love of her heart, Elizabeth could never dream of more than brief, piercing encounters with those who had known him.
It was not the lack of interesting viewpoints along her path which had kept Elizabeth’s gaze still on the ground as she walked, nor was it the treacherous footing—pitted ruts and hoofprints, half frozen even in the afternoon hours. No, it was the steady trickle of salted tears dripping from her cheeks. If she walked with bowed head, they did not run in errant paths down her chin to dampen her collar and cause others to wonder at her emotional display.
One day, she attempted to reason with herself, she must concede the victory to Fate. The mysteries of the universe—God Himself, for all she knew—had seen fit to strike down a good man in the prime of his strength. If even Fitzwilliam Darcy, a man blessed in nearly every way, could not control his own fortunes, how much more could she exert her own will to arrange the future as she liked? She was quite powerless against the whims and forces at work, and one day, she must capitulate. She must marry another.
Her fingers twined together in an agonised knot within her muff, clutching tightly to her middle. That those hands would one day be given in service and tender caresses to a stranger! For strange he must be, as there was nothing left of her own ragged heart to draw intimately near to another. Her hands convulsed until the muscles ached and the delicate bones crushed one another with the force of her revulsion. She tried to breathe, but only a trembling shriek came from her indrawn breath as more tears spilled down her cheeks.
Elizabeth’s steps faltered and she stopped, still hugging her tormented agony close as she shivered her grief. Breathing became nearly an impossibility as a second, then a third breath were forcibly shortened by the shooting spasms in her chest. Helpless now to regain control, she gave herself over to piteous moans and shudders—there, in the middle of a public road, Elizabeth surrendered to the depths of her despair.
