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When he could delay no longer, Darcy slowly made his way to the library where Gardiner waited, closing the door behind him, leaning heavily against it. He still held The Pilgrim’s Progress clutched in his hand. Gardiner stood, looking alarmed.
“Is something the matter, sir? You appear—”
“I…made mistakes!” he blurted. “Said wrong. Bad as brute, Mr Bennet. Drove her…away. Lizzy…deserves better man. But I do…love her. Most sincerely.” The words came easier as he expressed the feelings of his heart, clarified them to her uncle and to himself. “Asked her to marry—no. Assumed she would marry because I bothered to say I…willing. Two times.” He held up two fingers. “Once before ill, once after. Cannot…blame illness. ’Tis me. Mutton-headed sapscull. Do not deserve,” he repeated. “Never…has a man wished…wished could go back…unsay…stupid, devil-damned words from his foolish mouth.” He stared at his feet.
“’Tis unlikely to be the last time you wish that,” Gardiner said dryly. “As marriage will surely teach you.”
Darcy’s head snapped up. Inexplicably, Gardiner was grinning.
“You do not…understand.”
“No, I surely do not and am grateful it is so. I have made too many of my own mistakes, you see, to sit in judgment of yours.”
“How can I convince her…apology? Will change. Must change, prove. How?” He stared at ThePilgrim’s Progress still in his hand, its bindings a far cry from the gilt and leather of Lizzy’s edition, hers signed by…some relation of Charles II? No, that was not quite it. He tried to recall Lizzy’s words about the inscription, but instead, the monotonous, stringent voice of his old tutor rang in his ear: “Catherine of Braganza, Queen of England, Scotland, and Ireland, 1662 to 1685.”
But a queen had not signed Lizzy’s book. Why this memory?
And suddenly, it came to him. He knew exactly. Knew what he had long ago forgotten and the probable, impossible thing he needed, somehow, to discover now. “Gardiner,” he said with an urgency unlike any he had ever felt before, “what would do if…I required something most desperately, but…not mine?”
“I suppose it depends upon whose it is.”
Darcy considered. “Rightfully…His majesty…the king?”
Gardiner raised a brow, cocked his head. “Well,” he replied amiably, and not as if his employer had lost his newly healed mind, “our beloved regent possesses well-known and oft-lamented empty coffers. Perhaps we ought to discover just how valuable a prize it is, oughtn’t we?”
* * *
At the conclusion of another visit from her mother and sisters, Jane escaped to her nap whilst Lizzy made her way into the music room. The younger girl’s attention was solely fixed upon her playing; Lizzy thought a cannon could go off in the next room, and Georgiana would not notice.
Mrs Nicholls entered, carrying a letter. “Will you give it to her, miss, when she’s finished?” the housekeeper murmured.
Lizzy nodded as she accepted it, recognising the handwriting as her uncle’s. Then she saw that it had been posted from Lambton, a town which Georgiana had told her was near to Mr Darcy’s estate…Pemberley.
She smoothed her hand across the folded parchment, knowing his words must be within. In that instant, she realised another truth: however dispassionately she spoke of him, now or in the future, whatever happiness she managed, however tranquil her outward spirits…she would yearn for him all the days of her life.
The music stopped abruptly. “Oh, how long have you been sitting there? You ought to have said something! I am so—”
Georgiana paused her apologies as Lizzy held out the letter, summoning a smile for her friend. “It is my uncle’s writing, but I think this is something you have been waiting for.”
Georgiana took it eagerly, opening it immediately. Lizzy felt her fingernails biting into her palms as she waited. Do not be foolish, she told herself. He will not ask after you. Except…she longed for some small indication that he did not hate her. Perhaps a ‘Please pass along my greetings to Miss Bennet and her family’ as an adieu? An acknowledgement that they held an…acquaintance, however trifling?
Georgiana, with shining eyes, handed it over as soon as she had read it through.
My Dear Georgiana,
If it seems unusual to be hearing from me in another hand, you may, even so, be grateful to Mr Gardiner for his better penmanship; although mine is improving, it still resembles Bingley’s too closely to attempt anything of length. (I will address a separate letter to him, and I will be sure to omit that remark—neither need you mention it, for I am full of gratitude for his kindness in caring for you when I could not, and owe him and Mrs Bingley too much as it is.)
On that score, you may be assured I am seeing good progress daily—not so quickly, perhaps, as I wish, for you must appreciate my impatience to reunite with you and put the past behind me in every particular. Still, I am tolerably well, and to be clear—the condition of the person you last saw and the strength and vigour of the one who writes you today are so widely different from what they were then, that every unpleasant circumstance attending it ought to be forgotten. My speech gives me some trouble, but mostly at night after a busy day, and Gardiner assures me it is acceptable enough.
I have written our uncle, giving him to understand that his intervention in our affairs is no longer required. I feel confident that his lordship will find my arguments sufficiently compelling. As for Lady Catherine, it will be some time before I find myself able to consider renewing our connexion. For Anne’s sake, I suppose something must be done eventually, but you need not worry we will ever again spend our Easters at Rosings. Darcy House is cleared of any servants not under Mrs Taylor’s direct report; Saxelby will see what can be done to ensure Donavan is not allowed to inflict himself upon other victims.
As to another matter that might trouble you, let me reassure you that I hold you blameless for any issue regarding my health and only regret that we were much deceived as to the character of Mrs Younge. Her employment has, of course, been terminated and without references. All else is to be forgot. I mean to sell the Lodge, as I cannot imagine either of us wishing to return to Ramsgate. Speaking of which—I understand Younge let go your maid, Evans. Efforts are being undertaken to find her, and she shall be offered her position again, if she wishes it.
I leave for London today and am unsure the length of my business there but expect to bring you home to Pemberley by Christmastide. Please know how deeply you are missed and how very much I look forward to our reunion. You may write to me at Darcy House for anything at all.
Your Affectionate Brother,
F.D.
It was a universally good report and all of what Georgie had wished to hear.
The complete absence of the slightest mention of Lizzy, his desire to ‘put the past behind him in every particular’…well, it told her the rest of what she needed to know.
