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Bracing himself for distressing news, Darcy banged the head of his walking stick on the door.
The ensuing wait stretched several minutes, tempting Darcy to knock again, but finally the door was opened by a craggy faced housekeeper. She stared dully at the two men, only coming alive when they gave their names and produced cards.
She ushered them into a cramped drawing room, mumbling that the family would soon join them. Darcy’s eye was caught by a fraying sofa arm and several chairs at least thirty years out of fashion, but he dismissed such observations as uncharitable. The housekeeper eventually returned with a tea service that she set on a low table, but they still saw nobody from the family.
After several minutes, the door opened to admit Mr. Bennet, moving slowly and with a heavy tread. At least he was not the one who had perished, Darcy thought with relief. Still, he might have aged ten years since their last meeting; Bennet’s face was drawn and pale as he shook his visitors’ hands. They had exchanged only a few pleasantries before Mrs. Bennet and Miss Jane Bennet—both wearing black mourning clothes—slipped into the room. Darcy had hoped the deceased was some distant relative, but their demeanor and dress suggested otherwise.
Mrs. Bennet gave Darcy a cursory curtsey but hurried to Bingley, embracing him warmly. “Mr. Bingley, I am so glad you are come, even under these circumstances!”
“I am very glad to be back in Hertfordshire, madam,” Bingley responded.
Surprisingly, the normally voluble Mrs. Bennet did not follow up on the subject but merely invited them to sit. Darcy took a chair opposite the three Bennets while Bingley and Jane had somehow managed to sit beside each other. A long, uncomfortable silence followed.
“I am afraid we are behind the news,” Bingley said finally, his face solemn. “I see that your family is in mourning…?”
Jane Bennet’s hand flew to her mouth, her eyes wide with horror.
“You do not know?” Mrs. Bennet exclaimed. “I thought you called to offer your condolences.”
“I am afraid we have had no recent word from Meryton,” Bingley responded.
Tears rolled down Jane’s cheeks. Darcy found himself holding his breath. All evidence suggested a grave loss. Had one of the younger daughters perished?
“Our darling Lizzy is gone!” Mrs. Bennet sobbed. “Gone! A full fortnight now.”
Chapter Two
Darcy’s mind spun. He heard the words but was unable to comprehend them. Who was Lizzy? Oh yes, that was what the Bennet family called Elizabeth. But that meant…
The room swung alarmingly, causing Darcy to grab the edge of his chair.
“Elizabeth has passed away?” Bingley echoed incredulously.
No. No.
Darcy’s head shook in denial even as Mr. Bennet nodded solemnly. Darcy staggered to his feet. “No…” The word was intended to be a forceful denial, but it emerged as a single strangled syllable. The world reeled again, and Darcy grabbed the back of his chair to keep his balance.
The eyes which had been fixed on Bingley now turned to Darcy. Mr. Bennet blinked rapidly at him while Mrs. Bennet’s mouth hung open with an imitation of a fish that would have been humorous under other circumstances. Jane Bennet’s eyes were soft with understanding even as she blinked back her own tears. Darcy could only conclude that only Jane knew the story of his disastrous proposal to her sister.
Darcy’s mind scrambled about like a frenzied animal in a cage, seeking relief from a horror that could not be escaped. The words could not possibly be true. He conceived and immediately dismissed several explanations. He had misheard. Or there was a mistake. Perhaps they lied. Or they meant some other Lizzy.
Of course, his Elizabeth could not have perished. Not just before he had realized how badly he needed her in his life. Not when happiness had seemed within his grasp. At any moment she would walk through the door and take her place on the settee beside her sister.
But the rational part of Darcy’s mind reasserted itself. No other explanation was possible. At the very moment he had recognized that he would do anything—give anything—if she would accept his hand, she was lost to him. His resolutions to improve his behavior…his rehearsed apologies…his plans for the future… It was all for naught.
Bingley’s eyes darted to Darcy’s face as he realized that choking noise was emerging from the back of his own throat. This reaction must necessarily betray his feelings for Elizabeth, but it hardly signified. Nothing mattered now.
Elizabeth…
Darcy’s shock and horror were reflected in Bingley’s face. As Jane sobbed softly into a handkerchief that already was quite damp, Bingley’s hand hesitantly reached out to hers where it lay on the arm of the settee. Jane glanced up at Bingley in surprise. Then her fingers curled around his.
Darcy averted his eyes.
“How—” Bingley cleared his throat. “How did such a melancholy event come to pass?”
Knowing the particulars would change nothing, Darcy thought dully. Still unsteady on his feet, he toppled back onto the chair, allowing the words of the conversation to wash over him. Their meaning registered only in a distant part of his mind.
“Oh, it was the most dreadful thing!” Despite her evident grief, Mrs. Bennet’s voice was strong, as if she relished relaying the bad news. “I had presentiments of danger. I did. I told my sister Phillips that no good would come of the trip, but nobody would listen to me.”
