A Required Engagement Part Two Page 5

  “You cannot go-“ Darcy said, stumbling after Elizabeth as she walked swiftly with Mrs. Watson. Elizabeth turned, and it was then he noted that there were tears clinging to her lashes - tears! - and she looked at him as if she were very afraid. His Elizabeth, afraid of him?

  Good Lord, but he had been a fool. Had she not just had a frightening pass, where her person had nearly been violated by the cad, Wickham, and her reputation ruined? And then to have Darcy fall to his knee and offer to her, when she was so shaken? Had he not had a single thought as to her needs? No, he had not. He had only thought of himself, and his desire to have the one thing he truly loved in the world.

  “Go,” he said, his voice dry. “Go. I am sorry. I am so sorry.”

  Elizabeth shook her head, lips trembling, and then turned, Mrs. Watson guiding her away.

  Chapter 8

  Elizabeth Bennet

  Longbourn, Hertfordshire

  * * *

  My Dearest Elizabeth…

  The letter hung from Lizzy’s numb fingers, and she struggled to retain her breath. Jane, eloped? Betrayal and elation warred inside her heart as she thought of what her sister had done.

  Upon returning to Longbourn with Charlotte, a long walk since they were without the cart provided by Wickham, Elizabeth had been sufficiently restored from the earlier state of distress that she had been in. Mr. Darcy’s proposal had taken her by such surprise, that it had almost wiped out the pain and fear from Wickham’s attack upon her person. Charlotte, feeling the utmost of guilt, had fluttered around her the entirety of the walk home, and had much helped to make Elizabeth laugh at a few small jokes during their trip.

  All of that dissolved as they entered the house to find Mr. Bennet roaring, and Mrs. Bennet collapsed on the divan in the drawing room, enjoying a fit of absolute hysterics.

  It was Mary, quiet, unassuming Mary, who had supplied the reason for the Bennet family grief: Jane had run from Longbourn, out the back gate, through the fields, snuck through the woods, and had met Mr. Bingley on the high-road. Or so it was assumed, given that she had left a note detailing her plans to travel to Gretna Green and become Mrs. Bingley.

  The manner in which she had vanished was so surprising, given that Jane was the best and most well behaved of the Bennet sisters.

  More surprising, to Lizzy, was that Jane had not breathed a word of it to her. Although Jane did keep her emotions closed and locked away, Elizabeth would have thought that something as great as this, plans as great as the elopement was made up of, would have been something Jane thought to share with her closest sister.

  But no. It was not to be.

  Jane had thought hard upon the idea of marrying Mr. Collins, and had chosen to accept a hasty proposal from Mr. Bingley, a secret proposal, and then sensing that her refusing Mr. Collins would result in a similar rage from her mother as Lizzy’s refusal had, Jane had secreted herself out of the house and into Mr. Bingley’s waiting arms.

  So this answered the reason for Mrs. Bennet’s vapors: her eldest girl-child had run, had refused the company of Mr. Collins, and Mrs. Bennet was denied a proper marriage and would be talked about by the local society in hushed whispers.

  The reason behind Mr. Bennet’s roars were not that he was unhappy at the idea of Jane marrying Mr. Bingley (for he was rather fond of the young gentleman), but that she had been forced to do so by her wealth-seeking mother.

  “If you had not been so shortsighted, Mrs. Bennet,” Mr. Bennet snarled from where he stood by the fireplace. “No, if you had not been so shortsighted as to chase the girl off! Look now, you shall have your comeuppance for forcing your children to wed against their better judgement. ‘Mr. Collins, indeed, Mr. Collins shall make them a fine husband’ you said. Such folly! Mr. Collins would no better make them a husband than I would make him a wife,” Mr. Bennet pounded on the mantel as he spoke, spots of rage in his cheeks.

  Elizabeth still sat by her mother, kneeling on the ground, the letter from her sister cradled in her shaking fingers. Jane… gone. Jane, eloped. Mr. Bingley would have her for a wife. Elizabeth could not help but be pleased by this fact, as Mr. Bingley would surely treasure Jane and treat her properly for all of his days. Why, he was so in love with her, it was hard to imagine that Jane’s feelings could even possibly surpass his own! Elizabeth could not hold it against Jane, for wanting to chase after a slim chance at happiness.

  “See now, Mr. Bennet, do not rail so, my nerves, oh- my nerves! If only Lizzy had married Mr. Collins, now we are all ruined, in jeopardy-“

  “Damn you woman, will you silence your endless wailing!” Mr. Bennet slammed his fist down on the mantel once more, and a resounding crack of wood filled the room. All eyes turned to stare at him, as he looked down at the mantel in astonishment. The sturdy piece, so long had kept the residents of Longbourn company while they spent hours by the fire, was cracked down the middle, a line where he had hit it quite firmly.

  “Papa broke the fireplace,” little Lydia said, from where she was tucked in one corner of the room atop a hassock, Catherine next to her with an arm curled around her shoulder.

  “Curse it,” Mr. Bennet said, but his voice was milder. He sagged against the mantel and sighed, the fire gone out of him for the moment.

  Elizabeth looked back at the letter in her fingers.

  Lizzy, love comes to all of us once, and it is upon us not to spurn it, for then we might lose all chance of happiness.

  Elizabeth pressed the letter to her chest and let out a slow breath. Jane was not lost to her forever. They were still bound by blood, as sisters, for always. Her beating heart slowed in her chest. Jane would return to her as Mrs. Bingley, and Elizabeth would welcome her with open arms. If Longbourn was lost…

  She lifted her head.

  “If Longbourn is lost, Mama, then at least Jane is saved,” she said after a moment. Both her parents stared at her, a dawning understanding in Mr. Bennet’s eyes, just as anger rose in Mrs. Bennet’s.

  “Oh you hateful girl! Jane is saved? Jane is saved?! As if the girl was ever at risk to begin with. No, Mr. Collins was an exceptional young man, and would have made her a wonderful husband. It was you, who turned her against him, you hateful, hateful child!” Mrs. Bennet rose from her position and went to strike Elizabeth across the face. Lizzy stared up at her, defiant and unrepentant for her words. Mr. Bennet intervened before the fateful hit could land however, and grabbed Mrs. Bennet back.

  “Mr. Collins would have broken Jane. No one that beautiful, that kind, should have been forced to marry such a man as him,” Elizabeth continued, getting to her feet and holding Jane’s letter close to her as if it embodied her very sister’s presence.

  “It is true,” Mary spoke up, a frown on her face. “I do not like Mr. Collins, Mama, and I do not think Jane liked him either.”

  Mrs. Bennet was quiet for a few moments, then wailed and turned to her husband’s chest, leaning against it.

  “Oh we are ruined, we are ruined!” she cried out. Mr. Bennet sighed and shook his head.

  “We are not ruined, my dear, for Jane has married Mr. Bingley. Mr. Bingley, who has, as you told me, five thousand a year.” Mr. Bennet petted the top of Mrs. Bennet’s head as she fell quiet, comforted by her husband’s words that were neither roaring or meanly-spoken. “Jane is a good girl, and I am sure she will see that you are not abandoned to the dregs of Hertfordshire upon my passing.”

  The hint of Mr. Bennet’s death caused a fresh wave of tears from Mrs. Bennet, and she was only properly soothed when Lydia walked up to her and placed her arm around her mother in a comforting, full hug.

  “Mama do not cry,” Lydia urged, and for once Lizzy was not annoyed that Lydia was the clear favorite of their mother’s, because in a few moments, Mrs. Bennet was all smiles again.

  Elizabeth left the drawing room and wandered Longbourn’s halls. Did they seem dimmer, now that Jane was gone? Normally Longbourn was all that Lizzy really wanted- more days of lazy reading with her sisters in the garden,
or cozying up to the fireplace in the heart of winter as they munched bright red apples and listened to Lydia and Catherine put on small plays and performances for them all while Mary bent the pianoforte to her will. And now? She came to rest her head against the cool, plastered wall of the kitchen, the bustle of servants quieted due to the nature of the house’s uproar.

  Now Longbourn felt like it was constricting upon her, wrapping her up in cotton until she could not breathe.

  It hit her, the full weight of her future: two suitors, both declined; Wickham, an evil little man who’d sought to do nothing but attempt to hurt her. But why? It still confused her even now, the way he’d forced himself upon her, the rancid smell of his breath as he came in closer than any person had ever that wasn’t a member of her immediate family.

  She would molder away in Longbourn’s halls as her sisters married, one and all, and left her to the fate she had created for herself.

  A steady ache grew beneath her breastbone and she leaned ever more heavily against the plastered wall of the kitchen. Servants moved around her as if she were not even there, and it wasn’t until the cook turned, with a sad look on her face, and brought Elizabeth a small bit of pastry that Lizzy emerged from her cloud of ill thoughts.

  “’Tis no small thing, when yon sisters goes to the men they’s to marry, Miss Elizabeth,” Cook said, as Elizabeth picked the sweet raisins out of the bun she’d been handed. The small dried fruit exploded with flavor on her tongue, and brought her further into the present. “Ye both were close as two peas in a pod, from the time ye was born she loved ye more than anythin’ in the world.”

  Lizzy felt hot tears lining her lashes, and then spilling over onto her cheeks. The bun was sticking in the back of her throat, and Cook collected her against her vast bosom, patting her head as Elizabeth cried, undignified and not caring for the separation between family and servant. There was a comfort in being held and comforted, since she wasn’t likely to get such attention from her mother, and Elizabeth let herself wallow in the bereft feelings of being parted from her sister for the foreseeable future, perhaps forever if Elizabeth’s fortunes did not turn around. At least Jane had a chance at happiness now, and it was something that Elizabeth could be wholly grateful for.

  The pain of the day, Wickham’s betrayal, Darcy’s lack of thought when it came to her mood and feelings - to think he would propose to her only moments after she had fended off Wickham’s unwanted advances! - and then Jane’s leaving with nothing more than a note to cling to. It was all too much.

  “There there, Pet, why don’t ye run along up to yon room, an’ I’ll have the tea service brought right up,” Cook said as Elizabeth dried her eyes on a spare handkerchief tucked into the sleeve of her dress.

  “Thank you,” Lizzy managed to say, and then collected herself so she would appear close to normal as she ascended to the room she had shared with Jane for so many years. The bed would be cold and empty at night from then on, a fact Elizabeth was not looking forward to.

  As the evening wore on, a rain broke over Longbourn, matching Elizabeth’s mood perfectly as she curled in her bed clothes, the counterpane wrapped around her body. She watched it streak down the window, and if a similar patter of drops stained Jane’s letter still in her hand, well, the quiet bedroom would never share that secret with anyone.

  Chapter 9

  Fitzwilliam Darcy

  Netherfield, Hertfordshire

  * * *

  Mr. Darcy had been planning to spend the rest of his evening nursing a broken heart over Elizabeth’s refusal to his proposal, however inelegantly worded or ill-timed it had been. Then he had planned to seek Bingley’s blessing to ban Wickham from the Netherfield Park estate in its entirety.

  Unfortunately his plans went awry from the moment he disembarked from his carriage at Netherfield’s front entrance.

  Mr. Hurst was there to greet him, face grave and drawn. Mr. Darcy alighted to the ground, concern growing in his chest as he walked towards the other man. He did not know Mr. Hurst all that well, and was surprised to see him outside.

  “Mr. Darcy, your father wishes to speak with you immediately. He is in… quite the rage, if I might be frank with you, and the subject of his anger happens to be my brother. If he smashes another of the Netherfield artifacts I may be placed in the position to ask him to leave, and take the rest of his household with him,” Mr. Hurst said, and Mr. Darcy felt his eyebrows hike upwards towards his hairline in surprise.

  “My father? Is cross with Mr. Bingley? He has damaged Netherfield property?” It was such a surprise to him that he could not help the way the words wheezed out of his throat.

  “Yes he is deep into his cups. If you could come quickly, it would be most appreciated. I have had Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst sequestered in their rooms lest his behavior startle and alarm them,” Mr. Hurst said. As they entered the library, Darcy heard his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, speaking in a loud voice.

  “Now Uncle, please, consider the ladies-“

  “Damned relations of Bingley!” came the drunken response from the elder Mr. Darcy. When the two men came into view, Darcy was struck at how his father listed to one side, and had to hang onto a shelf to keep himself upright.

  “I shall leave you to it,” Mr. Hurst said in a tight voice from behind Mr. Darcy, and then he heard the library doors close. His cousin shot him a worried, exasperated look, and then turned back to his uncle.

  “Uncle, please, the Bennet girl-“

  “The Bennet girl was for my son, and that Bingley stole her, right from under his nose,” elder Mr. Darcy said, scowling and swiping at the air in front of him with a hissing curse.

  “Father,” Darcy said as he entered the room, disappointed and in no small part mortified that his father and the patriarch of his family was behaving in such a manner. If he had one small thing to be grateful for, it would be that Georgiana was at home in the safety of Pemberley’s walls, and not being exposed to their father’s behavior. “Father, Miss Bennet was not the woman that I was interested in as wife-“

  “She was meant to be your wife, Fitzwilliam,” elder Mr. Darcy said with a lisping snarl, turning to his son with eyes that flashed, though whether that was from the drink or the anger, Darcy could not quite tell. “She was meant to be yours, and the Bingleys will not get away with this insult! Spiriting away the woman before you had the full opportunity to court her and offer for her?! It is not to be borne! I shall… I shall challenge him!” Elder Mr. Darcy wavered and went to lunge at his son, but Colonel Fitzwilliam shoved himself between them bodily.

  “Uncle, please, take a moment and think upon who’s halls you currently walk? You are here due to the hospitality and kindness of Mr. Bingley and his family. Jane Bennet is not-“

  “I do not give a damn what she is not,” elder Mr. Darcy snarled, and then cracked Col. Fitzwilliam across the face with one hand.

  Shocked silence descended upon the room, and Darcy swallowed, waiting for his cousin to holler back, or lose his own carefully controlled temper. Instead, the other man stepped away, walked to the fire, and stared into it, a bright red hand-print on his cheek. When the senior Mr. Darcy breathed heavily and turned to his son, Darcy felt his whole body tense up.

  “You will find that girl,” his father said. “You will find that girl, you will challenge Bingley, and you will make that Bennet girl your wife, or by God I will throw you out of Pemberley and I will not recognize you as my son.”

  Darcy’s blood ran cold at the serious tone in his father’s face- into the spirits as he was, the old man meant his threat. But to hunt down Bingley and his bride-to-be as if they were dogs? His father had clearly taken leave of his senses… it was not what men of their status did, even if Darcy had been in love with Jane Bennet.

  “Father, I have heard you now… and I must say, I cannot… I will not. I will not deny my friend his chance at happiness. I will not marry Jane Bennet. She is not the woman that I desire, and she is in love with the man I call so cl
ose as to almost be a brother to me,” Darcy said, his throat tight, but fire burnt strong in his heart. He would do what was right by his friend, his best friend… and he would follow his own desires and offer for Elizabeth Bennet. He would be steadfast no matter what his father said, no matter what his father threatened-

  “Oh you will not, will you then?” Elder Mr. Darcy swayed on his feet, and then took one step forward, and another. Darcy held his ground, lifting his chin up, when his father’s next words took him by surprise. “Ruin the family name then? What shall you do, hmm, if not for your father, you will not do this even for me, then there is one you will do it for- if you do not get that girl back here and marry her, then Georgiana will be ruined, even if not by your actions, I shall put her out of house and home, out from the family and from the Darcy name.”

  Col. Fitzwilliam inhaled sharply, lifting his head to look at his uncle.

  “That is madness. To punish Georgiana for what you regard as Darcy’s lacking behavior. Do you honestly think that his actions are the ones bringing down ruination upon the Darcy household?” Colonel Fitzwilliam demanded.

  “You will not speak to me, this does not concern you,” the elder Darcy snarled, rounding on his nephew. A coldness had defended upon Darcy during the exchange between his father and his cousin. Georgiana, threatened? His father had truly fallen into madness. While his mind raced to find some sort of solution- surely his aunts and uncles would not abandon him or at least, not abandon Georgiana to the cruelties of the world with no protection, especially with Colonel Fitzwilliam vouching for them in the situation…

  His father crossed the room and snatched a sheet of writing parchment of the secretary there, wetting a quill and inked a quick missive. In the quiet of the room, the scratching of the nib nearly echoed.