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Aunt Gardiner leaned forward and took Elizabeth’s hand in hers. “Being Mrs. Darcy would have many compensations. Once you had an heir and a spare, you need not be intimate—”Elizabeth did not allow her aunt to finish. Pulling her hand from her aunt’s grasp, she clutched the bed covers instead. “Why does everyone assume I will simply marry him? There are always choices….
The other woman’s brows drew together. “What else would you do?”
“I-I could refuse to marry anyone. I could become a nun!”
Her aunt’s lips twitched. “That is a possibility I had not considered….You are not known for your…piety.” Elizabeth could not refute that accusation. “Would that be truly preferable to marrying Mr. Darcy? After all, he is very wealthy. He could help your family tremendously.”
“I know.” Elizabeth forced herself to release her grip on the covers.
The back of her head throbbed, threatening to become a headache. Was Elizabeth’s attraction to the man a result of his wealth rather than genuine feelings? She had not loved Mr. Wickham, but she had been willing to marry him because of his many merits. Was she now perceiving merits in Mr. Darcy because she found his fortune attractive? Elizabeth had no desire to form a marital bond under such pretext.
She sipped her cooling—and far too sweet—tea. How did Mr. Darcy so constantly confuse her? Even her own thoughts and desires confounded her.
Perhaps she should not have returned his note unopened. But sending a letter as if they were already engaged had seemed presumptuous on his part. She had been seriously tempted to throw it in the fireplace; however, her uncle had believed she should return it. Now she wished she knew the letter’s contents. She rubbed the back of her neck, trying to loosen tense muscles.
Lying in bed would not solve her dilemma. Elizabeth pulled back the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed. “I believe I shall take a walk. Perhaps that will clear my head.”
Her aunt stood. “It may do you good. I will leave you to dress.”
But before she reached the door, it opened, and Shaw peered in. “If you please, ma’am, there’s a Miss Darcy here to see Miss Bennet.”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “Miss Darcy?” The girl must be there to plead her brother’s case.
She knew little about Mr. Darcy’s sister other than her age. Mr. Wickham had described her as proud and arrogant, and Elizabeth pictured a younger version of Miss Bingley. The very thought made her head pound.
Aunt Gardiner must have guessed her thoughts from her expression. She pursed her lips. “Hopefully the sister is less difficult than the brother. I shall go down and greet Miss Darcy, so you will have time to dress.”
“Thank you,” Elizabeth said softly.
***
Twenty minutes later, Elizabeth was in the Gardiners’ drawing room with Miss Darcy seated opposite her—and yet another cup of tea in front of her. Aunt Gardiner had slipped out of the drawing room to report that the girl was quiet, well-mannered, and exceedingly shy. Despite her nervousness, however, she seemed determined to speak with Elizabeth. Now that Elizabeth was facing the girl, she agreed with her aunt’s assessment; there was no air of arrogance or superiority about her. Why had Mr. Wickham described her otherwise?
Her aunt had offered to remain in the drawing room, but Miss Darcy had appeared more at ease with Elizabeth alone, so she had declined. They exchanged pleasantries about the weather and the upcoming Christmas holiday. Elizabeth learned that most of the Darcys’ relatives were away from town for the Christmas season. She was also informed that Mr. Darcy gave his sister Christmas gifts which were far more than she deserved, and that he was very good at snapdragon while Miss Darcy preferred charades.
The girl’s hands fidgeted with the sash of her dress, and she swallowed frequently. Elizabeth wondered if the girl would ever work up the nerve to move beyond small talk. Finally, when there was a lull in the conversation, Miss Darcy seized the opportunity. She lifted her chin and looked Elizabeth in the eye. “I must speak to you about M-Mr. Wickham.”
Elizabeth’s eyebrows rose. She had expected a stalwart defense of Mr. Darcy rather than stories about Mr. Wickham. After all, Miss Darcy must have been quite young when Mr. Wickham had left Pemberley.
Miss Darcy continued without prompting. “I know my brother warned you about Mr. Wickham’s character, but he did not give you specific reasons for caution…out of a sense of delicacy for my feelings.”
Her feelings? How did anything concerning Mr. Wickham affect Miss Darcy?
The girl held herself very still, looking quite small on the upholstered settee. “But I believe you should know the whole story, so you will understand William’s concerns and actions.”
And she proceeded to relate to Elizabeth a most amazing tale of how Mr. Wickham had rejected the living set aside for him in Mr. Darcy’s will. Instead, he had received a payment in cash, which he wasted on a life of idleness and dissipation. Then he had concocted a scheme to seduce and marry Georgiana to gain access to her dowry.
“If William had not arrived at Ramsgate unexpectedly, Mr. Wickham would certainly have persuaded me to elope with him—for I did believe myself in love with him,” Miss Darcy said, her voice trembling a little. “But when my brother turned him away, Mr. Wickham left Ramsgate altogether, and I knew William was right. If he had truly loved me, he would have continued trying to win my hand, or he would have been willing to wait until I was older. But when William opposed the match, he gave up the scheme and went into the army.” Tears glistened in the girl’s eyes. “He never really loved me; it was all playacting.”
Her chest aching in sympathy, Elizabeth was struck by this girl’s courage at relating such a story—which did not show her in a favorable light and could ruin her reputation if generally known—to a complete stranger. Miss Darcy must love her brother very much to take such risks.
Elizabeth crossed the distance between them in two steps and, with a rustle of petticoats, sank onto the settee next to the girl. Miss Darcy had been fumbling about, seeking her handkerchief, so Elizabeth handed the girl hers. She accepted it and gingerly wiped her eyes. “I beg your pardon. I am not usually such a watering pot,” Miss Darcy said with a shaky laugh.
“I can imagine recalling such events is most distressing,” Elizabeth said in a low, soothing voice. She wanted to put her arms around the girl and comfort her, but their brief acquaintance did not allow such liberties.
Miss Darcy peered at Elizabeth through tear-spangled lashes. “Do you believe me?”
Elizabeth blinked several times in rapid succession. Disbelieving the story had not even occurred to her; she had only thought of alleviating the younger woman’s distress. There was no guile or deceit in Miss Darcy’s manner. It was nigh inconceivable that she had concocted such a shameful story.
