“You have already had the announcement printed in the papers that Georgiana is to marry Richard,” his son protested.
“It is true.” The earl brushed his chin thoughtfully. “I do not like backing down to Catherine so quickly and possibly tarnishing Georgiana, but I set no date for the wedding, and she is known to be in mourning. If one family tragedy follows another, what matters it if she marries a different Fitzwilliam? If Priscilla dies, as you fear she might, I think everyone else would agree that it makes more sense that Georgiana ought to marry a viscount, with a fortune such as hers and an earldom at stake.”
Reginald withdrew his handkerchief with a trembling hand to touch his brow. “If matters come to that, I suppose it merits consideration, but let me remain wed to only one woman for now, Father, I beg you. I could not bear for her to think that a replacement had already been suggested while she lies yet on her d—” He gasped, unable to finish the horrid word, and turned away to blink back his tears. “Do nothing yet, Father,” he begged when he could speak again.
“Of course not. In any case, I would not proceed without at least speaking with Richard on the matter, but I will not mention a word to anyone else, particularly Georgiana, unless the need arises. I do not believe I will need to consult Anne—she is nearly on the shelf. I doubt she will care which brother she marries—but Georgiana is young, so she might.”
“You speak so casually of arranging it all! One might think you were in your breeding stables, rather than speaking of wives for your sons.”
“You would treat her well, would you not? I see nothing that could raise Georgiana’s objections. What young lady would not prefer a man of more domestic tastes than a weathered old soldier?”
“None could care for her better,” his son agreed, a smile growing on his face. “God forbid I should lose Priscilla, but if I am required to find another wife, I suppose Georgiana would be a prudent match.”
“Prudent!” the earl laughed. “The girl does not know it, but she is as wealthy as Lady Catherine and myself together!”
Reginald’s brows rose in mild surprise. “Surely you exaggerate.”
“Only slightly. A few lucky investments on the continent some sixty years ago, which have been kept quiet. I only learned of it because the Darcys used our same solicitor until perhaps twenty years ago, and we managed to have the records unsealed at Darcy’s death. I doubt even Darcy knew the full extent of his grandfather’s affairs, because his own man had no information dating back so far. He certainly would have known the size of his coffers, but it seems that he was rather modest on matters financial.”
Reginald nodded, his eyes twinkling strangely. “Ah, Darcy! I miss the old chap. I’d never a notion he was as wealthy as you claim. He was rather modest for a man who owned both a grand estate and a house on Grosvenor Square.”
“All that money, and no title to dignify it!” the earl lamented with a touch of gallows humour. “Perhaps Pemberley ought once again to become a noble house.”
Hertfordshire
Itturnedoutthatriding to Hertfordshire with a late afternoon start—and without the benefit of his private coachman to arrange for a change of horse at each stage—was not without its challenges. The selection of available mounts was both dismal and costly, and Darcy held nothing like his accustomed prestige in the eyes of the masters at the coaching stations.
His first horse had thrown a shoe—quite by accident, but he was obliged to keep the beast to a walk thereafter. The second appeared to have been ridden hard already that day, and the third had his wind broken. After coddling each mount for its particular indisposition, Darcy was still five miles from Meryton by nightfall.
He handed off the reins of his last mount and stood before the door of the inn, gazing forlornly down the road. Less than two hours would have seen him toherdoor! Grousing to himself and cringing at the cold that drove him indoors, he trudged inside to speak for a room. It would be too late to call on anyone, even Bingley, with such an errand as his. A dead man arriving in the middle of the night—hungry, cold, exhausted, and begging for answers to questions he did not even know? Insupportable!
He had no doubts of Bingley’s ready welcome, despite all confusion, but his pride—and his aversion to becoming an object of open curiosity—would not permit him to make such a spectacle. He must content himself with waiting one more night. No! It must be yet longer, for the next day was a Sunday. All the local families would repair to the church for the morning, so even were he to commit such a heathenish act as traveling on Sunday, there would be none to receive him until later in the afternoon. Well, travel he would, and devil take him if it were a sin to seek to save himself on the church’s sacred day!
The inn’s bed proved just as miserable as he had imagined it to be, but it was not due to unsatisfactory linens or lack of proper stuffing of the tick. To these he had grown immune. It was that each time he closed his eyes, Gardiner’s words tormented him, tossing him into a restless sweat.
How had the man insinuated himself into his affairs, finding some other associate with whom to conspire, that they might raise themselves by bringing him to ruin? Couldshehave been aware of her favourite uncle’s doings? How righteous her anger would be when she learned all! Yes, even if she did not love him, he knew her well enough to be certain ofthat—just as he was sure of her initial disbelief and fury at the messenger, when he must present to her the truth of her uncle’s treachery.
He turned in fitful frustration until two hours before dawn, when at last the stifled air of the cramped room overcame his need for rest and shelter. He had some trouble securing another horse so early, refusing as he did to again mount that poor brute from the day before. At long last, and with a greatly diminished purse, he threw his leg over a stocky, hard-mouthed little bay, and pointed its nose toward Meryton.
The roads as he approached the sleepy town had begun to stir. The first person known to him was Sir William Lucas, walking toward the church with his family. Absent, of course, was his eldest daughter, but the younger was audibly present. Darcy glanced right and left, searching for an unobtrusive way off the main path before Lucas might recognise him. Being a friendly sort, Lucas hailed in greeting before Darcy could take himself elsewhere.
“Good morn to you, fair sir!” the older gentleman called. “I see that you have traveled far. Well, let that not trouble you. You see, we are all easy in these parts, and strangers are always welcome to warm by our hearths. Are you seeking fellowship on this fine morning?”
“I…” Darcy stammered, drawing back slightly on the horse’s reins. “No, sir, I thank you. I travel on some distance yet.”
“Oh, but do join us but a little while before you travel on, good sir!” Lucas objected. “Far be it from me to cast the sojourner out along his lonely way on a Sunday!”
“I regret that it is impossible, sir. Good-day,” Darcy tipped his hat and sent his mount into a brisk jog-trot in the opposite direction. Once he had lost sight of the family, he dropped the reins and flexed his cramping fingers. Again, he had not been recognised! Was he truly so altered in the last months? Whatever the cause, he was grateful to have avoided the pointed questions that Lucas would certainly have asked.
He drew one or two calming breaths as his mind began to reason once more. He could not simply parade into the Longbourn church and demand an audience with Elizabeth! How to approach her? He felt his heart would burst if he could not at leastseeher this very hour. Glancing up the road, he determined that he might be able to conceal himself in a small grove of trees nearby. If nothing else, he might know the pleasure of watching her walking with her family and perhaps hear her musical voice laughing gaily over the dewy fields.
The Bennets were always some of the last arrivals, this he knew well. Lace and pelisses slowed the preparations of every family with daughters, and of these, Mr Bennet had more than he had maids to dress them all. His pulse drummed steadily harder with each passing moment, and every bonnet tip cresting the rise sent him into fresh transports of anticipation.
After nearly a quarter of an hour, Catherine Bennet strolled into view, her arm linked with that quiet sister… Mary, that was it. The two chatted amiably, with their mother joining in chorus just behind them and their father walking in silence, his eyes on the road. Darcy straightened, his eyes scanning the road in terror, and his horse nearly bolted from under him as his calves tightened upon its sides.Where was she?
He stared, helpless in shock. Jane Bennet was not present either, nor was that ridiculous youngest sister.Herabsence he could account for, as he had arranged her marriage himself. And the eldest sister—yes, surely, she was wedded to Bingley by this time! Could that mean that Elizabeth…?
Sick with dread, he closed his eyes and leaned over the side of his mount, quickly covering his mouth as his stomach knotted and twisted. No! She could not belong to another! After all he had suffered to return to her side, to make things right, the heavens could not permit such a travesty!
