“I thank you, sir, for your apology and your explanation. My aunt spoke to me last evening as well, and I must confess that I have several matters of my own to consider. I fear I have not been as welcoming as I ought since the arrival of you and your sister, and I hope you both will forgive me for any incivility.”
She hesitated, as though uncertain if she had said enough—or perhaps too much.
Exchanging a brief glance with Elizabeth, Darcy inclined his head in acknowledgment, sensing that, while something had shifted between them, the matter was far from settled.
The three walked in the garden for a short time, their conversation easy, if not entirely free of strain. Darcy was sensible of the tension that lingered between the sisters, but did not attempt to interrupt it.
There were a few late roses still in bloom, along with hollyhocks and garden lilies, while phlox grew in easy abundance along the borders.
When Elizabeth turned towards a trellis where sweet peas climbed in delicate profusion, Darcy followed. Without remark, he gathered several of the blossoms and, returning to her side, placed them quietly in her hand, earning her smile.
Before much more time had passed, the trio returned inside, having been summoned by the eldest of the Gardiner children, a boy of about nine years of age.
Upon reentering the drawing room, they found that tea had been brought in only a few minutes earlier.
It was immediately apparent that something had occurred during their absence: Lydia was no longer present, the Gardiners bore expressions of restrained irritation, and Mrs Bennet looked distinctly put out, as though matters had not proceeded to her satisfaction. There lingered, too, a tension in the room that could not be wholly relieved by the presence of the children.
Glancing about, Darcy observed that Mary and Georgiana were no longer at the pianoforte, but were instead seated together upon a settee in the corner, engaged in quiet conversation, with Mrs Annesley nearby. The composure of that lady—perhaps touched with the faintest hint of amusement—intrigued him, yet it also reassured him that his sister, at least, had not been distressed by whatever had passed.
For the present, Darcy determined it was best not to enquire, and he gratefully accepted the cup of tea Elizabeth brought him. Jane and Elizabeth had immediately been pressed into service to distribute tea, while Kitty had been sent to fetch Mr Bennet. Both soon returned, and Darcy observed as Mr Bennet glanced about the room and, upon perceiving the absence of his youngest daughter, smiled with evident sardonic amusement.
That the man could remain so dismissive of his own child astonished him; and he could only hope that the influence of both himself and Mr Gardiner might ensure Mr Bennet adhered to the course he had resolved upon.
He met Mr Gardiner’s eyes across the room, and, to his surprise, Elizabeth’s uncle rose at once and came to sit beside him.
“My sister is quite certain that, once we are all gone, she will be able to persuade her husband to keep Lydia at home,” Gardiner said quietly, once he had settled with his cup.
“What do you think is the likelihood of her success?”
“It seems likely that, without pressure from one or both of us, my brother will be unable to withstand her demands,” Gardiner replied, after watching his sister and her husband for a few moments. Mr Bennet had settled himself at some distance from the rest of his family, idly turning his teacup in his hands, and had not troubled himself to speak to any of them. That he had spoken so directly at table earlier had been something of a surprise, at least to Gardiner, and he had hoped it indicated some degree of resolution.
Darcy set aside his cup before continuing. “Elizabeth and I have spoken of staying at Stoke for a se’nnight, or perhaps longer, following the wedding—remaining in seclusion for most of that time, but allowing it to be known that we are still nearby once several days have passed. There are many matters yet to be settled; we did not wish to go north directly, but neither did we wish to go immediately to London. We thought to remain quietly at first, and only show ourselves when Lydia is meant to depart for school, to ensure that Mr Bennet does indeed take her there.”
Gardiner regarded him thoughtfully, then set his cup down with deliberate care. “This is not your difficulty to resolve,” he said after a moment.
“It is not,” Darcy acknowledged with a slight shrug, “but I know that Elizabeth will be happier if we can assist her family in becoming more settled. I have yet to speak to Mr Bennet about taking Miss Mary with us to Pemberley, but he did not object to the idea when it was mentioned at breakfast, nor did he appear to take notice when you spoke of taking Kitty to London.”
“He did not,” Gardiner agreed. “Yesterday afternoon, I nearly stood over him to ensure that his letters—to the school you mentioned, and to an agency regarding a companion—were written and carried to the post. I should wish for a reply before we are obliged to leave after your wedding breakfast, but I will continue to press him until something is certain.”
“My carriage will arrive from London Monday week, and I expect that Dark Hollow Seminary will respond promptly to his enquiry,” Darcy said. “If he departs the following day, he should be able to convey her there and return home before the Sabbath. Should word come in time, I will also make the necessary arrangements for the inns along the way.”
“Bennet can afford the expense easily enough,” Gardiner replied, “particularly with us removing three of his daughters from the household.” He gave a slight shake of his head. “No—assist with the arrangements if you wish, but do not offer to pay the expenses yourself, not when you are already lending him your carriage for the trip north. He ought to bear some portion of the cost himself.”
Darcy returnedto his temporary residence late that evening, his mind occupied by several pressing matters. Foremost among them was the letter he must write to his friend. He was uncertain how best to begin, for he hoped—if possible—to preserve his friendship with Charles Bingley; yet much depended upon how the letter was received, and how Miss Bingley might conduct herself towards Elizabeth in the future.
He could not entirely separate the two. What he owed to his friend must be weighed against what he owed to his wife, and he was resolved that, in any such contest, Elizabeth’s comfort must take precedence. Still, he would not proceed with unnecessary severity—unless it proved required.
He seated himself, took up his pen, and began.
Bingley,
There are several matters of importance upon which I must write to you without delay, and I trust you will indulge me with the candour I ought to have shown sooner.
If you have proceeded to Scarborough as you intended, then by the time you receive this, I shall be married. You must forgive me for notinforming you of this beforehand, nor for my not inviting you to stand with me during the ceremony?—
He paused.
The question of who might stand up with him had not, until now, been properly considered. If he were to send an express first thing in the morning to the barracks in London, Richard might yet arrive in Hertfordshire before Wednesday—provided he was in town and not already engaged elsewhere.
