Page 97 of Near Pemberley

She had not trusted him when she decided not to involve him before they left Lambton. Wretched decision. Her eyes drifted back to Darcy. A sudden recollection rose before her. The lane at Hunsford. His letter. The openness with which he had entrusted his sister’s history to her care. The memory burnt afresh. She should have done the same.

She even had wondered whether she ought to write. Whether he should know. Whether his knowledge of Wickham might prove useful.

He had not turned away. By her aunt’s report, Lydia had been recovering under his protection.

How completely she had mistaken him – again. Tears stung her eyes.

How different everything might have been, had I trusted him sooner.

How different everything might have been if she had possessed half his certainty. When he believed something ought to be done, he did it. She, meanwhile, had spent precious days debating, doubting, and persuading herself that inaction was wisdom. The distinction had never appeared so painfully clear.

“Good God,” she murmured at last. “I should have asked for your help before we left.”

Darcy pressed his lips together, as though mastering an answer that came too readily.

“Yes,” he said at last. “But perhaps it is not yet too late. If we make a good decision, Miss Lydia may still escape a terrible fate.”

No resentment. No reproach. No expectation of gratitude.

“May I ask a question, Mr. Bennet?”

“Certainly.”

Darcy hesitated.

“I understand how Miss Lydia’s absence became known. What I cannot account for is how the nature of her departure became public.”

Mr. Bennet frowned. “The nature of it?”

“That she left in Mr. Wickham’s company – and without being married to him.”

“What could have been done?”

“Anything,” said Darcy before he could stop himself. The bluntness surprised even him. He moderated his tone at once. “I beg your pardon. What I mean is that society is often willing to accept an explanation, however imperfect, provided one is offered quickly enough.”

Mr. Gardiner looked thoughtful. “He has the right of it, Bennet.”

Darcy continued. “An extended visit. Illness. A change of plans. A stay with relations. “Almost anything would have served better than allowing speculation to attach itself to the truth.”

Mrs. Gardiner sighed.

“Unfortunately, speculation had already begun before we fully understood what had happened.” He sighed. “My dear sir, you have clearly never attempted to keep a secret in Hertfordshire.”

A faint smile touched Gardiner’s face. “I am not certain that is an answer.”

“It is the only one I possess.” Mr. Bennet leant back in his chair. “My wife was in hysterics almost immediately. She insisted Lydia had been abducted, murdered, ruined, or all three in succession. Mrs. Phillips was informed within the hour.”

Mrs. Gardiner closed her eyes briefly. “Quite unintentionally, I am sure,” she said.

“Quite loudly, certainly,” replied Mr. Bennet.

Even Gardiner’s mouth twitched.

Elizabeth rose and crossed slowly to the window.

Until this moment, she had thought only of Lydia’s folly and Wickham’s villainy. Now, unwillingly, she found herself considering the matter from another perspective.

Her mother’s panic. Mrs. Phillips’s alarm. The endless circulation of news from one household to another. Her father did not even attempt to regulate his wife. Although God knows how successful he would have been. Nevertheless, it had to be Mr. Darcy questioning them.