“Impossible! Miss Darcy has not even been presented. She is younger than Kitty. Mr. Darcy would never permit Mr. Bingley to pursue his sister.”
“Perhaps there exists a long-standing arrangement, not unlike Mr. Darcy’s engagement to Miss de Bourgh of Rosings Park.”
“If that were true, then explain to me why he stood about Netherfield’s grand ballroom, and allowed Mr. Bingley to lavish attention upon you like a besotted schoolboy?”
“I have no answer,” Jane said quietly, folding the letter. A single tear threatened to spill down her cheek.
“This is a fantasy contrived by Caroline Bingley. Had Mr. Darcy shown her even a fraction of the regard her brother gave you, she would have already begun shopping for her wedding clothes and ordered flowers for the church.” Elizabeth said, lifting her sister’s chin with a warm, reassuring touch, gently brushing away the tear with her thumb. “Mr. Bingley loves you, Jane. I would wager my newly anticipated dowry upon that fact. Do not give up hope.”
Chapter Three
The excitement that quiveredwithin the walls of Longbourn, finally burst its seams when the Gardiner carriage at last rolled up the gravelled drive with a satisfying crunch. Elizabeth threw a heavy shawl over her shoulders and hurried outside, followed more sedately by Jane. Out stepped Mrs. Bennet’s younger brother, Edward – a stout gentleman of medium height with intelligent eyes and a trim waistcoat – with his wife, Madeline, whose elegant blue travelling dress showed barely a wrinkle despite the journey. They were followed by their elder children, Margaret and Emily, while the younger ones, Jacob and Nathan, eagerly held out chubby arms to Jane and Elizabeth. With practiced ease born of much experience with their cousins, the two sisters swung the rosy-cheeked toddlers into their arms and onto their hips, promising Aunt Madeline the little ones would be safely delivered to their waiting nanny in the upstairs nursery.
After the flurry of embraces, exclamations, and the rustle of cloaks being removed subsided, the adults settled in the west-facing parlour, warmed by afternoon sun streaming through lace curtains. When the elder Bennet daughters returned, they found their mother already deep in lamentations over the loss of Mr. Bingley and Mr. Collins, her lace handkerchief twisted into atight coil.
“Come now, sister,” Uncle Edward was saying, his voice a soothing baritone against his sister’s shrill tones, while he patted her hand. “Your letters described Mr. Collins as quite intolerable — a pompous gentleman with the conversational skill of a dish rag. Would you truly have sacrificed one of your daughters to such a dullard of a man?”
“He may be disagreeable, with his long-winded conversations and absurd compliments, but Longbourn shall be his when all is said and done, and Lizzy, with her quick mind and administrative skills, would be a wonderful mistress of her ancestral home.”
“I would never have accepted him, Mamma,” Elizabeth said as she passed a steaming cup of tea to her aunt. “Besides, with our circumstances so improved, I need not tie myself to a clergyman who reveres his patroness more than the Lord Himself. Mary has remarked, more than once, that he misquotes scripture at an alarming rate.”
“Perhaps you are right. Still, when Mr. Bingley returns…”
I fear he shall not,” Elizabeth cut in, glancing protectively towards Jane. “Have you not heard? The Netherfield staff have been dismissed without wages, even those owed for past service. Mrs. Hill’s niece was among them. It appears Mr. Bingley has abandoned his lease entirely.”
Mrs. Bennet untwisted her handkerchief, pressing it dramatically to her trembling lips. “Oh, Sister. Mr. Bingley has used my dear Jane most abominably. My poor, beautiful Jane!”
“In what manner?”
While their mother mourned the loss of Jane’s erstwhile suitor, Elizabeth inclined her head towards Jane and murmured, “Shall we remain in attendance, or might we find occupationelsewhere until Mamma’s spirits are recovered from this most grievous blow?”
“We must not slight our relations who have just arrived. I am perfectly composed.” Jane offered a faint smile that did not reach her eyes. She squeezed Elizabeth’s fingers before lifting her teacup with a steadiness that belied the shadows beneath her eyes. Shadows that came from nights spent silently weeping into her pillow rather than sleeping.
Elizabeth’s hands clenched into small fists, her nails pressing into her palms. Had she been born a gentleman, she would have demanded satisfaction from Mr. Bingley on Oakham Mount at dawn for his unconscionable conduct. The man had practically announced his intentions through his actions. From dancing two sets with Jane upon their initial introduction at the Autumn Assembly, to claiming her attention exclusively at each gathering they mutually attended over the next six weeks, and, at his own lavish ball at Netherfield, he secured all the major sets in advance of the music even starting.
They later learned that the evening concluded with the scandalous waltz. Had Jane participated in that particular set, everyone from Meryton to London would have assumed she was engaged to Mr. Bingley. However, Papa had withdrawn the family before the midnight repast. Had their abrupt departure been the catalyst that spurred Mr. Bingley to abandon Netherfield Park like a thief in the night?
Without Mr. Bingley showing his face again in Meryton, they would never know for certainty, and Elizabeth harboured suspicions that Miss Bingley had conspired to keep her brother in Town indefinitely. Papa mentioned they had a powerful confederate in the form of Mr. Darcy. That gentleman, who had deemed her as merely “tolerable,” surely saw nothing of value inany Bennet connection, regardless of their modest estate and ancient lineage.
Darcy welcomed the stingof winter air against his face. The two-block walk to Matlock House provided a refreshing change after four weeks of confinement to ballrooms and drawing rooms since his return from Hertfordshire. Unlike many gentlemen of his station who would have summoned a carriage for even such a short distance, he preferred to stretch his legs. He saw no reason to trouble his horses or coachman. He was, however, practical enough to arrange for two sturdy footmen to accompany him home later. Mayfair’s exclusivity offered no guarantee against nighttime miscreants.
He had barely raised his hand to grasp the knocker, when the door to his uncle’s town house opened as if by precognition.
“Good evening, Carlisle,” he said in greeting to the austere butler as he crossed the threshold.
The faithful servant bowed slightly. “Good evening, Mr. Darcy.” With a discreet gesture, he summoned a footman to relieve Darcy of his greatcoat and hat while securing the door. “Lord and Lady Matlock await your company in the family parlour.”
“Thank you, Carlisle. I wish you a pleasant evening.”
“Most kind of you, sir.”
Darcy climbed the grand staircase and made his way to the drawing room. A chorus of “Darcy!” greeted him upon entry, warming his heart instantly. In this place, surrounded by family, he found the acceptance he so rarely felt elsewhere. Since his father’s death five years prior, his uncle, Lord Matlock, had notonly provided a manly shoulder to cry upon, but had also been both confidant and mentor, guiding him through the complexities of managing his inheritance and various estates. Both of the earl’s sons had also stood steadfast beside him, particularly when the treachery of George Wickham came to light.
Even now, the memory of that scoundrel’s scheme to ensnare Georgiana made Darcy’s blood run cold. Had he not made that fortuitous journey to Ramsgate where his sister had been convalescing under the watch of Mrs. Younge, a woman secretly allied with Wickham, his sister’s future would have been destroyed by that scoundrel and his duplicitous partner in crime.
Merely two days had separated his innocent sister from catastrophe. Spotting her now, perched gracefully upon a settee, he had a surge of brotherly affection. Her golden curls framed her face, reminding him of their mother. He crossed to her side, bent down, and pressed a kiss to her cheek, smiling when he caught the faint scent of gardenias. His sister had chosen to wear their mother’s favourite fragrance. How very fitting.
“Happy Christmas, Georgiana. You are a vision tonight.” He straightened to his full height. “Is this a new gown?”
