Section I, Next Section
Posted on Sunday, 14 March 1999
Author's note: This P&P story was inspired by Anne Perry's "Face of a Stranger"
Chapter 1
"...and accept my best wishes for your health and happiness."And with these words he hastily left the room, and Elizabeth heard him the next moment open the front door and leave the house." (P&P, Ch. 34)
At this moment, as Fitzwilliam Darcy nearly ran from her sight, it can be assumed that he hated her more than he hated himself for his actions. Suffice it to say that the regret of his manners and his behaviour towards her would come soon enough, with full strength no less.
For now he only wanted to get away from her, away from this humiliating situation he had put himself in, only moments ago. He felt the urgency to lay as much space between her and himself as possible.
No, he would not enter his aunt's house just yet, sick at the bare thought of the society awaiting him, of the duties that would be required of him, empty civilities, meaningless conversation.
Darcy wanted nothing more than to aim his anger at someone else, not to think of his responsibility for his failure. Entering the stableyard he ordered his horse. He was not a cruel man, but the harsh way he treated his horse the moment he sat in the saddle let the stableboy curse under his breath, shouting at him to be more careful with the animal.
In full gallop Darcy ventured into the beginning darkness. That only his mind could go blank, that he had not to think, to remember, but the faster he rode the image of her became clearer and clearer and her harsh rejection was ringing in his ears. It was sheer agony.
Deep in his sorrow, not aware of his surroundings, and at full speed he rode through the night. He could not see the low hanging branch of the oak tree that sent him flying of his horse, even if he had seen it, he was too fast. With a loud thump he landed on the damp ground and fell unconscious.
It was like this that he was found on the morrow, blacked out and with dried blood all over his face. Colonel Fitzwilliam had searched nearly all night, but since it had been moonless, there was not much to be done, without risking his own life or that of the many servants and tenants of his aunt's estate consigned to the lookout. He was the first who arrived at the spot where his cousin lay seemingly dead.
With anguish the Colonel jumped off his horse groping for Darcy's pulse. Panicking as he could not find it, he laid his head on his cousin's body. There, he could feel the slight up and down movement of Darcy's chest.
Meanwhile the rest of the search party arrived, and the stableboy was immediately sent after the local physician. They all feared moving Darcy without the doctor's consent. A frightful half hour passed in which they tried their best to warm the lifeless form.
Arriving from an early delivery, the doctor a Mr. Grant examined the patient. His diagnosis amounted to two broken ribs, and he could only assume that according to the high fall Darcy had taken that he would surely suffer a concussion of the brain. More he dared not, could not, say. Time only would reveal if there were inner injuries or even permanent damage to his head, if he would awake from his unconsciousness or not.
The Colonel watched as his cousin was carefully lifted onto an open curricle and slowly driven to Rosings Park, where his aunt Catherine demanded that a specialist from London was to be fetched and that her other numberless good advices were to be followed on the spot.
She was still arguing with the doctor about the advantages of gruel bandages over vinegar ones, while the men where carrying the badly-injured Darcy to his rooms, undressing him as quietly as possible, bathing and dressing his wounds.
Rosings Park, The Second Night After The Fall. 1 A.M.
Something or someone was hammering in his head and behind his eyes, causing a throbbing pain. He wanted to stop it or them. But the only thing that left his lips was his hot breath. He so desperately wanted to scream but it was a helpless case. First he needed some water, yes that would be the solution, if he could only put his dry lips in contact with some fluid, he would be able to utter one syllable that would stop the hammering and this infernal pain.
Trying to move his body, his arms, even his fingers was a fruitless business, panic began to wash over him. What was this, a nightmare? Well then he had better wake up. He willed his eyes to open. And only this little effort left him breathing heavily at the end of the process. But somehow it was accomplished. His lids were heavy and fluttering, but eventually for what seemed an eternity, they opened and he could see. There was complete darkness surrounding him, nearly suffocating him. Was he still dreaming?
But no, there was something as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. Just opposite to him at the far end of his bed there was a fireplace with some still-burning embers. And there beside him on the nightstand he could even see a flickering candle. He let his eyes wander and realised he was not alone in this strange and unfamiliar room. It was a young man, rather youngish, dressed in regimentals, and he never had seen him before.
Maybe this was the help he needed. He could see the longed-for glass of water standing just beside the candle. But still he could not move a bone. Ahhhh, again he tried to speak and failed. He attempted it again and this time he was himself frightened by the hoarse groan escaping from his lips.
He was dreaming. It was a light and pleasant day, and she was smiling at him. Welcoming his addresses. He stirred in his dreams. It was hopeless and in vain, he would never see her again, now that he was resolved to have her even against his better judgment, even against his means.
Too late, she was gone for ever, gone from the parsonage today, this he had been told by his aunt at lunch. If he met her again, even knowing that this was not a realistic prospect, he would propose to her. He could not bear to live without Elizabeth Bennet in his life. As soon as his business here was resolved he would seek her out.
Smiling in his dreams he remembered lunch, the only occasion he had left the bedside of his cousin on demand of her Ladyship, to give Anne the opportunity to nurse her beloved cousin for five minutes, for longer her precious condition would not allow.
Gggggrthhhhhhhhh, in just a moment he was fully awake, good grief, he had fallen asleep while Darcy had awaken.
"Darcy, I am so relieved to have you conscious again. How are you feeling, uh, I am sorry do not try to speak. Water? Yes here have some, careful, do not lift your head. I told you not to, now you are suffering again, slowly, slowly just one draught at a time. Thirsty are we?" Richard Fitzwilliam realised he was rambling, but could not stop himself, there was something akin to horror in Darcy's eyes.
It seemed that his cousin was unable to move or even to utter one syllable near to be forming a word. Goose bumps of horror were forming on the Colonel's neck, was his cousin injured worse than imagined, his brain damaged beyond repair? He could not bare to think that his cousin would never be able to move or to talk again.
"There, there you had enough, fine. I will be leaving you for just one moment to fetch the specialist from his bedroom."
Rosings Park, The Following Day. 2 P.M.
"Georgiana, good to see you," Richard Fitzwilliam greeted his shaking cousin with a warm embrace, "I am sure everything is going to be all right--thus Mr. Goode, the specialist from London, informs us, but he wants to speak to the family and Fitzwilliam's closest friends, for there are some precautions to be taken care of concerning your brother."
"Can I not see him first," Georgiana shyly asked.
"No, at the moment none of his nearest family are aloud near him, but he is taken care of by his valet, who I am sure will tend to his every need."
Richard managed to maneuver his trembling cousin towards the room in which not only Lady Catherine and Anne were gathered but also his own parents, Lord and Lady Matlock his two older brothers, the physician and the Bingley family.
Once all the greetings were delivered, Mr. Goode turned to speak.
"My patient will no doubt make a full recovery within less than two months, where his physical abilities are concerned." He raised his hand to calm down the small assembly. "As to his mental capacities, I am not that sure."
Sharp intakes of breath could be heard from several of the men and a sob here and there from the women.
"You mean he will stay mentally deranged," Lord Matlock managed to ask.
"No, no, I am sorry, I was referring to his ability of remembrance, to his memory. I fear he is suffering from amnesia*, and at this early stage I am not sure when or if he will ever regain his full memory. Or even parts of it." Mr. Goode began pacing the room, trying this time to be more careful with his words.
"Just yesterday I was hoping that it was just a partial amnesia that he at least could remember bits and pieces of his past, but I fear he was merely trying to adjust, to repeat the things that were suggested to him, concerning his name, his family, everything."
"That is why I felt it necessary to assemble all of his nearest relatives and friends. For you," now again facing the party, "have now the duty to help this poor man to recover, without giving him false evidences of his past like he may have remembered it before his fall. You see, every person has different memories concerning the same experience." He resumed walking. "It is crucial that no one tells him anything of his past, he has to remember by himself, and I am sure he might, but only if this precaution is fully met."
"But what does he remember and where does he have to begin? What achievements has he forgotten?" Lady Matlock asked with a trembling voice.
"I believe in most ways he still is the young man of eight and twenty that he was before this accident. He is in possession of all the learned achievements, like speaking, reading, writing, he remembers how to behave civilly, he remembers his station in life, or rather how to behave in it and in society. What he lacks are memories concerning the bare facts of his life. He recalls feelings, emotions, like being cared for by loving parents or deep mourning for his mother. He even seems to remember a younger sister, but I could discern he was not sure if this particular feeling was reliable."
"In cases like these I like to compare the situation of an amnesiastic patient with that of someone being blinded after a life used to sight. Mr. Darcy is groping for bits of facts of the life he used to know, but he can never be certain if the emotions he remembers are true or just something, he has heard of or read of but are not really belonging to his life. He will ask questions, and answering them carefully is your responsibility," Mr. Goode cast his eyes on every person gathered in this parlour. "You may only answer with yes or no, and maybe one or two words more, but you may not elaborate on the particular question, revealing facts he did not ask for. Only then can we be certain that he will gain full access to his memory in time. And it is not unusual in cases like his, that he may remember things in chronological order. So please refrain from telling him facts he is not yet able to recall. Of course we have to tell him how he is related to all of you, these are facts he is allowed to be told, but nothing else, nothing that may cause him to store a memory differently from how he used to view the particular event in question"
*Author's note: I don't know anything about this and hope not to offend any specialist amongst you on this topic.
Chapter 2
London, The Townhouse Of The Darcy Family, 30 June 1812
It had been the longest two month of his life, Darcy pondered, looking out of the library window.
Nearly one month he had been confined to his room, slowly recovering from his broken ribs, gradually remembering bits and pieces of what seemed to be his former life, under the strict precautions of Mr. Goode.
The second month he was allowed downstairs--a fact he had learned to regret after spending about two hours in his aunt's presence.
He was glad Richard and Georgiana were there and at first the memories that came back were always connected to either or both of them.
Fond recollections of his upbringing, his love for his parents and Georgiana, even the frightening experience of his mother's death and his father's declining health.
Happy memories of his vacations at the Matlock estate, scampering about the grounds with his cousins.
He supposed, he had also remembered something about his aunt Catherine, but somehow these recollections did not seem to be entirely happy ones.
In the last week of his stay at Rosings, he had been utterly disgusted when his aunt tried furthering his memories by stating the aspiration of his dear mother and his aunt concerning the marriage between his cousin Anne and himself.
Darcy was glad that he could answer to this with a truthful, "I am sorry Ma'am but I really do not have any remembrance on this particular wish, but as soon as I do I will contemplate it." He did not want to be more specific at the time, but in his soul he knew, even if this should proof to be the wish of his mother it would remain wishful thinking. He could not imagine himself bound to such a poor creature as his cousin Anne was, even if he pitied her station in life.
Had he then thought there was nothing more appalling then his unnerving aunt he was to be proven wrong as soon as he was introduced to her slimy vicar. He contemplated how someone would actually marry such a sorry excuse of a husband.
Fortunately he had survived the rest of the second month.
Yesterday Georgiana and Richard had accompanied him to his townhouse.
Darcy was disturbed in his musings by a knock at the library door.
"Mr. Bingley to see you, Sir."
"Yes, thank you, let him in, Jenkins"
Darcy began pacing the floor. He contemplated his visitor. He knew Bingley, they went to Oxford together and were the best of friends. He just knew, he was not yet able to say he remembered, damn it, not even after two months. Two months after this accident, this stupid totally useless fall, but he did not even remember that.
Everything he knew now, he had been told by Richard, Georgiana or Mr. Goode. And he had to believe them, believe that he was indeed this Mr. Darcy, rich, owner of a large estate in Derbyshire, curse it, he had not even been there yet.
But there were memories, yes, he recollected his parents, he had seen them before his inner eye in Kent and when he had seen the portrait of both of them, here in the library over the mantelpiece, he was so relieved, he had remembered rightly.
And then just yesterday on the carriage ride back from Kent he commemorated the fairy tale he used to tell Georgiana as she was little, the look on her face as he told her, that was pure bliss, another memory gained back.
"Welcome back, Darcy," Bingley approached and both men shook hands. "'Tis good to see you back in London old chap."
"And you, Bingley, what brings you here."
"Merely a social call, you do remember about those tedious habits?"
"Yes, yes, is it not strange I can recall all these unimportant social skills, but nothing of what happened between my sixteenth birthday and now."
"So you do remember some facts."
"Yes, bits and pieces, and since I entered this house yesterday there are so many more impressions so many more recollections I believe, I remember, but I can never be sure, I always have to ask Georgiana or Richard as to the correctness of any particular memory."
"Have you erred, yet."
"No, no, I suppose that's to be a good sign. But enough of myself."
"Are you prepared to enter London's society to throw yourself in the path of young ladies and there matronly mothers, yet? For there are one or two jolly good balls tonight."
"Well, I am not sure, why cannot we tell society that Mr. Darcy owner of Pemberley and worth about ten thousand pounds a year has lost his mind, or rather his remembrance--that would be what I would call jolly good."
"Err, I, well..."
"No need to answer that, it was merely a joke." Darcy furrowed his brow. He looked at the man sitting before him.
Somehow it was a familiar face, but that could be just because it was sort of ordinary. Maybe it could be called handsome, but what would remain in one's mind after looking at his features was the friendliness that seemed to be Bingley's second nature. It was the face of a man who would never, could never willingly harm anyone.
But deep there in the eyes of his friend, Darcy could discern something more, a hint of sadness a shadow of some hidden sorrow, one would not have supposed to see in this man who appeared the impersonation of happiness. Suddenly Darcy began smiling, a funny image turning up in his mind.
"...you are not listening to one word I say, Darcy."
"Um, sorry, my mind was elsewhere. I just have this image popping up before me, us being outside college in the middle of the night, running like hell not to be caught by the guards. Say do you remember this, too."
"Yes, I do, I do, you lost your hat and had to run back to retrieve it and they nearly had you. I say that is, um, well I don't know, some might say capital. Really, so glad you begin to remember things."
"If I have to recollect every day of this last ten or twelve years, day by day, I will be an old man at the end of it, surely."
"Then we will have to do something to cheer you up, a ride through the park will do you the world of good."
"Yes, maybe, but first tell me, why are you unhappy, Bingley."
"Me unhappy, nonsense whatever gave you that idea?"
"I can see it in your eyes, man, so confess, and do not try to feed me with a story of a lost opportunity at the card table or something as trivial, I can distinguish that look from the one present in your eyes ."
"Since when are you so perceptive, did you hurt some vital parts of your brain after all," suddenly realizing what he had just said, Bingley looked completely shocked and stammered out an excuse, "Sorry, forgive me, I didn't mean to.." Bingley was not sure he liked being read so easily, he just knew he did not feel like dwelling on his sorrow with someone else. He would deal with this pain in his own way in the privacy of his own rooms.
"It is of no consequence, but yes if I seem more perceptive after my accident, than I am glad. Was I such a patronizing ass in the past, that I would not have discerned such a look of utter devastation in a friend's face. Was I so devoid of any consideration for the feelings of others before. This is a question, so please answer it truthfully, you know what Mr. Goode recommended."
"All right, you want the truth, so do not be angry with me if it does not comfort you. I am not sure if you would have taken into account how anyone around you felt, before your fall, at least as long it did not concern your own well-being or that of Georgiana. However I am sure you would never have spoken about emotions or enquired after somebody's feelings, other than the civil, "how do you do's". "I do not mean to say that you were anyhow cruel or disobliging to any one near you, you never were uncivil to anyone, whether family, friends or servants, but yes, somehow you have been patronising towards most of us, our best intentions in mind of course, but never really seeing through to our own feelings. Look Darcy I am sorry for this, but I think I should go now, I do not think I should have said thus much, remembering Mr. Goode's good advice. Therefore I will leave you before I reveal anything else you have not yet recalled yourself. Good day Darcy."
With that he left a perplexed and utterly shamed Darcy to contemplate the past half hour and its out-coming.
The same evening Darcy approached his cousin, Georgiana having already excused herself for the night.
"Tell me Richard, was I a pompous ass before my accident?"
"Whatever gave you that idea," the colonel laughed out.
"Bingley, well it was more something he said, like not caring for the feelings of others. He tried to mask it as virtue afterwards, but he was not very convincing at it."
"Well, let this not bother you, Fitzwilliam. You always are a kind considerate brother a likable landlord and master a reliable cousin and real gentleman. Bingley is not himself at the moment, matters of the heart, surely," Richard bit his tongue, he nearly had related some facts to Darcy that he had not yet recollected by himself.
"Yes, yes, that is exactly what Bingley meant, it all sounds virtuous but somehow cool, distanced. I am not sure I like this Darcy fellow after all, are you sure that he and me are the same person, " Darcy laughed but the smile never reached his eyes, "Good night, Richard, I think I am tired."
Chapter 3
London, 02 August 1812
It was not for another month and half in which Georgiana, Richard and Darcy traveled to Pemberley and back, and several new old memories later that Darcy and Bingley met again. It was on occasion of a small dinner invitation issued by Lord and Lady Matlock.
"Georgiana and Richard told me that you now remember practically everything between your birth and your eighteenth birthday. I am so glad my dear boy," Lady Matlock whispered to Darcy while the general greetings were exchanged.
"Yes, thanks to the endless forbearance of both of them. I am sorry that Richard had to leave last week, but I am glad that he was able to stay away from his regiment that long at all."
"Yes, but he is not going directly, has he not told you? I believe that he made a conquest in Kent and that he now wants to renew his addresses to the lady. He is even staying at Bingley's estate in Hertfordshire."
"No I did not know, I am happy for him, he seemed a bit gloomy as of lately."
Dinner was a quiet affair, Caroline Bingley as usual trying to get Darcy's attention.
As he did not as yet remember Caroline's schemes, he managed to be a picture of civility towards her.
Darcy glanced around the dinner table, to his right sat Georgiana, shy as always, as always, yes he remembered her as a child now, growing to fast, her figure thin as result of it, adoring him her elder brother.
As he came to know her better - for a second time, he added in his mind -, she was beginning to turn into a lovely young lady, but he had to do something to draw her out into society, to make her more secure amongst her equals.
There was something about her he could not put his finger on, it was as though she was hiding something from him, concealing a secret, perhaps. He could not imagine what this could be, maybe a little romance, maybe even something he had been aware of before this pointless accident. It surely was something he should retain but trying as he might, he could not.
He knew she would tell him if he asked her, but he should not, as Mr. Goode had advised him, and it would be highly unfair on her, for he knew she would not be able to keep a secret from him, when asked directly.
For the thousands time since his fall, a sense of failure of total helplessness crept into Darcy's mind. He was beginning to tire of this endless journey back into his soul, he was not yet feeling comfortable in his body, let alone in his mind.
He knew not if he was able to endure this much more. The more effort he put in, the harder he tried to remember things, the longer it seemed to take before his mind would come up with a useful new memory. It was as if they were locked up in one part of his brain and he had not yet found the keys.
But he had seen Pemberley at last. He thought back on the journey:
The night before they were to arrive at the Darcy estate, Georgiana, Richard and him had stayed in a small inn near --.
In that night sleep would not come easily, and he seemed to drift in and out of it, and than he had had this dream:
He was riding on horseback towards Pemberley on a hot summer day, fast approaching the house. Through an opening in the trees suddenly becoming aware of an enormous building, glowing in the midday's heat, Pemberley, home at last; deciding to take a quick dip in the pond sheltered in a small valley, hidden from general view; dismounting, untying the cravat, removing hat, coat, vest and shoes and finally jumping into the water.
Water it was, all right, dipping down on him, leaving him soaking wet, with his muscular body shining through the linen of his shirt, but he was not in a pond. He was in his bed. By moving his arms as if swimming he had pushed the jug water on the night-stand right into his bed.
Darcy smiled at this reminiscence, not noticing the dinner party around him and the face Caroline made at him, thinking his smile aimed at her.
He took a sip of the spectacular burgundy wine, Lord Matlock had supplied for his guests. Still lost in his reveries on his journey home.
What a relief he had felt when they arrived at Pemberley and it was exactly like in his dream, the opening in the trees, the huge building, the pond.
The familiarity of the surroundings had overwhelmed him, another memory found and remembered correctly.
It seemed all he needed for recollection was any sort of association, a picture, a room, a face, and with Pemberley it only had been the nearness to it that made him remember the look of it.
However this did not work with any regularity. Some rooms he would know and visions of occupations and occupants of this room would come and others were unfamiliar, the same with the servants, he remembered Mrs. Reynolds but not the butler. Not even after their one month stay did he have any recollections of him.
Some facts he just knew, he knew that his parents were both dead, but as to the death of his father he had no memory. It was exactly like his aunt stated earlier, as far as his remembrance was concerned he was only eighteen. Well he hated being an immature boy, at least where his memories were concerned, with the knowledge and looks of a man of eight and twenty.
At both ends of the table his aunt and uncle were seated, he recalled some fond memories, these were kind upright people, that much he knew.
Opposite him sat Caroline Bingley. Some would call her beautiful, he considered. But she was definitely not beautiful enough to tempt him. Her face was faultless, the skin was wonderful as was her complexion, yet she had a sharp, shrewish look in her eyes she could not hide, even if she tried hard to.
Her figure was tolerable, he supposed, but she was too much on the skinny side for his taste.
There was something haughty in her manner, bordering on incivility whenever she had to deal with someone supposedly beneath her.
Someone should tell her that orange did not suit her, Darcy grinned.
Caroline turned towards him with such an expression on her face that he had difficulties staying earnest. She looked as though at any moment she would pinch him in his cheek and make baby noises.
He took another sip and nearly choked as he felt something cold and damp moving up his leg, caressing his thigh.
To his greatest relief his aunt choose this moment to stand up and lead the ladies to the drawing room.
Caroline still having some decency in her, blushed just a little bit and followed Lady Matlock, nearly leaving the slipper she had removed for her daring approach.
Lord Matlock safely choose subjects over port that would not make his nephew feel uneasy.
Darcy examined his friend. Bingley was trying hard to be his old light-hearted, jovial self, but Darcy could still discern the sorrow in his eyes.
Darcy had been a bit shaken at the thought that perhaps before the accident he would not have seen these hidden emotions in his friend. Somehow he could not, would not believe this, but he could not do anything to find out for sure now.
He hoped and prayed that he would not change back or fall back into his old habits, once he gained back his full memory. Even if he could not believe that his old character really had been so different from his "new" character.
Charles surely just had been taken aback by his friends invasion into his privacy. Darcy knew he had to apologize to his friend for prying as soon as possible.
After half an hour of discussing the newest foibles of Prinny, the men stood up to follow the ladies.
"Uncle, please excuse me, but I have to speak to Bingley in private, for just one moment. Bingley will you do me the favour?"
"No, problem, nephew, see you both later." With this his lordship left the room, shutting the door quietly behind his retreating form.
"Darcy, I think I owe you an apology for the things I said to you the other day. I did not mean to be rude. What I wanted to say was that you do care for your friends, but the way you think best. Oh I am not helping matters, am I?"
"Apologies accepted, but I think I was at fault too, for being the patronising ass who I was. I will change my ways a bit, all for the better, I hope. And I am truly sorry for hinting so bluntly at your hurt feelings.
"I know that for now you may want to keep this pain private, but being friends should also mean sharing not only the brighter moments in life but also the dark ones. If you want to share, please know that I will be there to listen."
"Thank you," Bingley eyed his friend curiously and it was obvious to Darcy that he still did not know what to make of this change, maybe he did not believe it would last through the moment Darcy would gain back his full memory, "Maybe it will not be necessary, for I am going to visit some friends in Yorkshire and who knows, when I come back I will no longer feel moody, or perhaps a new sorrow will have replaced the old. Do not worry old chap, I will come back a new man or rather the same old cheerful self I was before." Bingley moved towards the door.
"Yeah, and pigs can fly," mumbled Darcy under his breath, following his friend outside.
Chapter 4
Oakham Mount Near Longbourn, 02 August 1812, Late Afternoon
Elizabeth Bennet ran down the hill. Running always had a relaxing, clearing effect on her and her mind. Not that she had the right to be in need for relaxation after her six weeks trip to the Lake District, but coming home yesterday to such a mad-house was trying.
Her mother had been all in a flurry because of aunt Phillip's news, that a young gentleman was to stay at Netherfield. Immediately Mrs. Bennet had raised her hopes, as to this gentleman being no other than Mr. Bingley, come back to ask for Jane's hand at last. Alas, her sister new for certain that it was not Mr. Bingley.
This was equally good news for Mrs. Bennet. Why, this young gentleman could fall in love with Jane and marry her before Christmas or perhaps better still, marry Kitty, yes Kitty would do nicely and she was entitled to be considered, since Elizabeth had already had her chance and made nothing of it. Elizabeth was a hopeless case, Lydia was away in Brighton which was a shame for she would surely have secured this young man in no time.
Her father had himself locked up in his library for he had not been able to endure his wife's ramblings and the commotion brought to the house by the Gardiner's children.
Mary had been practicing the pianoforte and had cited new proverbs from Fordyce's Sermons during lunch.
Kitty still being depressed by Lydia's invitation to Brighton, had kept to her room, refusing to help Jane with their little cousins.
Jane, Elizabeth slowed her steps and contemplated her sister's demeanour. It was obvious that Jane still was very much hurt by Mr. Bingley's negligence, her feelings still being as tender and steady towards him as they were last autumn.
What had shocked Elizabeth most was the fact that no one else - apart from her sensible aunt and uncle Gardiner - seemed to notice Jane's suffering. Naturally, her sister tried hard to keep her serene countenance, but underneath, and not very deep down, Elizabeth could easily discern a deep sorrow gnawing at Jane and wearing her out.
Before her trip up north, Elizabeth had hoped that by having her dear cousins around, Jane would be too busy to pine, that somehow the pain would start to fade, but apparently this had not been the case.
Elizabeth absentmindedly beheaded some crops, growing near the small footpath. Her anger was raising with the minute and the thoughts of him were not far any more. He who was at the root of all the evil that had befallen her sister and not only her sister, she pondered.
For just one moment she had been able to clear her mind of the train of thoughts that would begin with her concern for Jane and end with him in perpetual repetition since that fateful evening in Kent last April.
Mr. Darcy, the man she hated most, and yet her thoughts revolved around him, as if punishing her for her resentment towards him, the strongest she had ever had for any other human being. She laughed bitterly at this musing.
The man, who had professed to behold the purest and deepest feelings of affection towards her, who in the same breath had abused her and her family in every way possible, leaving her humiliated and nearly defeated but not without one advantage in their battle, the advantage of refusal, which had been powerful enough to gain her the victory.
That he had not loved her at all, that he had forgotten her long since, was something she had been convinced of for some time now. What sort of man in love would have listened to the charges put before him, without even one try one move towards defence.
Of course, she was convinced that he possibly did not have one argument that would clear his charges, but that he had not even tried, persuaded her, that she had never been precious to him, her opinion neither really being taken in consideration nor appreciated.
Yes, Elizabeth Bennet hated Fitzwilliam Darcy, not only for the manner in which he proposed but also, if not even more so, for the inconsistency of his professed feelings, which at the same time she had never sought or welcomed, and which she would reject even for a second time. She knew this was utterly illogical but she could do nothing against this unwelcome sensation of hurt pride.
In the first month after his proposal, she had tried to reassure herself that by her overly-hasty departure from Hunsford, where she had not felt comfortable any longer, she had made it impossible for him to defend himself. But since he not even felt the necessity of writing a letter, however improper such would be, she was convinced of his indifference, of the weakness of his feelings for her.
But why she should be so hurt by his behaviour was a mystery for her, had it not been for those disturbing dreams. In her dreams her ideal of a man would be kind, considerate and without fault. He would esteem and love her in a tender and yet passionate way, but whenever this ideal would turn towards her, thus enabling her to see his face, it would always be that of Mr. Darcy.
Why the man in her dreams had to be Mr. Darcy, why could it not be someone else, Mr. Wickham for example, even if she now was convinced and had been thus for some time that she never had been in love with Mr. Wickham that her regard towards him had been mere fancy.
But time and time again she would find herself pondering how things would have developed between her and Mr. Wickham, if old Mr. Darcy had never had a son or at least not one so devoid of all proper feelings.
Elizabeth wearily threw away the crops she had gathered absentmindedly during her walk. What importance did a dream have, none, she scolded herself.
She focused her rambling thoughts back on Jane. Elizabeth was at wits end how to bring her sister out of her sadness. Every night, Elizabeth would pray that Bingley would either quit Netherfield for good or that he would marry Darcy's sister at last.
Anything, even a painful ending, was better than this endless pain, born from her sister's hope against hope. Perhaps then Jane would be able to gradually recover.
Again she felt her blood beginning to boil, for who was responsible of hurting her sister maybe beyond the point of repair, no other than Mr. Darcy. For the present, she would not think any longer about this hateful man.
With that resolution Elizabeth entered the house. Whilst passing the parlour, she was detained by Hill.
"Miss Elizabeth, there's a letter fo" you. I thought it best to put it in you" room, Miss."
"Thank you, Hill." Elizabeth smiled at the mindful housekeeper.
She was even more grateful when she became aware of the sender. Colonel Fitzwilliam. With no small amount of curiosity, Elizabeth tore open the seal and unfolded the letter.
Netherfield Park,
02 AugustDear Miss Bennet,
Pardon me for taking the liberty of addressing you thus without there being an understanding between us. Since I am in your vicinity I hoped that you would have no objections to receive me in your father's house tomorrow morning. I would very much like to renew our acquaintance and can only pray that your own feelings in this matter may be similar.
Richard Fitzwilliam
For more than a minute Elizabeth was not able to move or think one coherent thought. Did this letter imply what she thought it did? Or was she being presumptuous, she would have to reread the letter to be sure.
She was prevented from this by her mother's shrill voice, echoing through the house.
"Elizabeth, where are you, I suffer from nerves and none of my daughters will attend me."
Resentful, Elizabeth put the letter down and walked to her mother's chamber.
The evening proved to be as tiresome as the one before and by the time she blew out the candle, she did not have the nerve to pick up the letter, still lying in one corner of the window seat.
Unfortunately the night's events were to be even more distressing and by the time morning dawned, Elizabeth had forgotten the letter completely.
Chapter 5
Longbourn, 03 August 1812, Late Morning
"Hill, if my mother should ask for me, you will find me in the garden."
"Yes, Miss Elizabeth, but I'm sure that with Mrs. Phillips and Mrs. Gardiner she won't notice you" absence."
"I hope so, I hope so," Elizabeth murmured walking outside.
She knew, she was probably being selfish, but she had to get out and clear her mind just for one moment, then she would be able to calm down and to be of better help.
Elizabeth laughed bitterly, yesterday she had believed to have the right to flee the house to seek solace in her walk, but tonight's events had put it all into perspective and now yesterday's circumstances seemed small in comparison.
They all had been wakened by the loud noise of someone knocking at the front door. Apparently it was an express bringing a note from Colonel Forster containing such news as to fully wake them up.
Lydia, wild, idle and frivolous Lydia had left all her friends, had eloped, eloped to marry George Wickham, George Wickham of all men.
Elizabeth could not think of Lydia without some feeling of guilt. When the invitation to go to Brighton had been issued by Colonel Forster and his wife, Elizabeth had wanted to talk her father out of allowing Lydia to go with them, for she knew there could not come anything good out of spoiling Lydia still more.
But in the end she had not dared to speak to her father of it, she had felt she had no right to argue with him. Perhaps she had been weak, because she feared, her father might think her merely jealous of Lydia, and he would have been right.
This was in the past, it was no good to ponder over it, not since last night.
Elizabeth was full with rage. She had trusted George Wickham, she had thought him noble, gentle and considerate, partial towards her, but being deprived of the family living by Mr. Darcy, in need of a wealthier match, than she could offer.
She had understood him, his motives for pursuing Mary King, she had forgiven him had argued herself out of being in love with him. She had even tried to forget him and believed herself successful in this aim.
Now he had betrayed her trust in him by eloping with her own sister. Elizabeth knew she had no right to be angry at him but against her better judgment she was shaken and hurt.
This were her sentiments at first hearing the news, but during the early waking morning hours, when everybody at Longbourn tried to catch some sleep, she had come to think differently.
The more she contemplated his behaviour, the more her good opinion of George Wickham changed. How could she have esteemed him as a gentleman. How could she have been so wrong in her judgment of him. How could she have been so blind towards his true nature.
Yes, she was shocked. Wickham, she never would have thought him capable to stoop so low. But then again she reasoned, he had to be at the roots of all this, not even Lydia could be so devoid of all proper behaviour to have had the idea for their flight.
If only they had eloped to Gretna Green, but she had heard some of what the Colonel said to her father upon his arrival one hour ago, before they had locked themselves up in the library. It seemed the pair of them had gone to London.
Lydia had done everything possible to ruin her family name, and Wickham was equally to blame for this, if not more so.
But what could be his intentions, Elizabeth was at a loss and could only imagine the worst.
Tomorrow her father would leave for London accompanied by her uncle Gardiner, so much she had overheard when the Colonel had left again, just before she had come out into the garden. But how were they to find Lydia and Wickham and what could they possibly do to force him to marry Lydia for the little money their father could afford to give her.
Elizabeth would have to talk to her father for more details on their plan, maybe she could be of some help to him if only by helping him to come to terms with this situation.
Thus lost in her reveries, she did not notice the approaching steps, until a shadow fell upon her. She looked up, and blushing deeply, remembering the letter still left in one corner of the window seat, saw Colonel Fitzwilliam before her.
She hastily stood up and nearly stumbling against him, was secured by his present reaction in stabilizing her with one hand at her elbow.
"Miss Bennet, I am sorry for thus intruding on you. I believe, I have come at a very inconvenient time for you and your family. There seems to be an uproar in the house and it took me some time to get the information where to find you, and now I seem to have disturbed you in deep contemplation. Perhaps I should leave, but please if there is something with which I could be of help, tell me and I will gladly be of assistance to you and your family." Richard looked in concern at the young woman before him, the woman he loved and had come to woo, the woman, who at this moment was close to tears.
"Colonel Fitzwilliam, I thank you, but there is not much hope left in this matter, and as I believe this unhappy business will not long be concealed from the general public I might as well share the details with you," Elizabeth could discern, that he was slightly hurt by her manner of speaking and added, "I am sorry Colonel, for not receiving you properly just now, but believe me I am glad to see you and to confide in you. We are just so shaken by the dreadful news," and with this the long suppressed tears begun streaming down her cheeks.
Richard managed to direct her towards the bench and both sat down, he offering her his handkerchief.
"My youngest sister has left all her friends - has eloped; - has thrown herself in the power of a young officer with the name of George Wickham," she did not notice the alarmed look on the Colonels face and continued, "they are gone off together from Brighton. She has no money, no connections, nothing that can tempt him to - she is lost for ever."
"I am grieved, indeed', cried Richard; "grieved - shocked. But is it certain, absolutely certain?"
"Oh yes - They left Brighton together yesterday night, and as we were informed this morning were traced almost to London, but not beyond; they are certainly not gone to Scotland."
"And what will be done, what is attempted, to recover her?"
"My father will be going to London tomorrow, accompanied by my uncle. But nothing can be done; I know very well that nothing can be done. How is such a man to be worked on? How are they even to be discovered? I have not the smallest hope. It is every way horrible," Elizabeth buried her head in her hands.
The Colonel had come to a quick decision, while hearing of Wickham's latest trick. It would be a hard task to find Wickham in London, without Darcy's help, but since his cousin was still unable to remember anything of his affairs with Wickham other than the business of his acceptance of the three-thousand pounds in turn for the family living, he had to find him on his own, and find him he would, he vowed to himself.
"Miss Bennet, there still might be some hope of finding them. I will not disclose any particulars since I have no right to, but believe me, I know Mr. Wickham and his ill manners. He has been a nuisance to my family since his coming of age. I am sure that I will be able to detect his whereabouts and to bring him to his senses," even if it might be through breaking a bone or two, Richard added in silence, "maybe I could talk to your father and uncle about it."
"Of course," Elizabeth stood up, suddenly feeling more positive. How much she wanted to believe the colonels words, yes, she was sure she could trust in him, and she was curious about what the colonel had meant with Wickham being a nuisance to his family, but she was even more curious about what he had not wanted to relate about Wickham.
Could it be, that Wickham had been the villain from the very beginning, that his accusations towards the Darcys had been fake. No, she did not want to think about that right now, she had to have a clear mind to deal with the present and more immediate problem of Lydia's elopement.
They had reached the doorsteps, but before entering, she thanked Colonel Fitzwilliam for his intentions, for she was sure that with all the hassle going on at Longbourn, this small gesture might well be forgotten by both her parents, before the colonel left for London.
"If you will thank me, let it be for yourself alone," Richard uttered, not wanting to say anymore in this unsuitable situation and with this he followed Elizabeth back into the house.
Chapter 6
London, The Darcys Townhouse, 04 August 1812, late morning
"Miss Bingley to see you, sir."
"Thank you, Jenkins, but does she know, that Miss Darcy is not in this morning?"
"I am sorry to say this, sir, but when I told her of Miss Georgiana's absence, she insisted on seeing you sir, and if I may add, she is without chaperone."
Darcy sighed, but before he could think of any possible excuse, the library door opened and in came a dream in orange or to true to Darcy's first impression, a nightmare in orange, Caroline Bingley.
If Darcy had any doubts as to the cause of her unaccompanied visit, they were to be removed by her next movement. For Caroline ran towards him and violently flung her arms around his neck which nearly had him crumbling down, with her on top. Clinging on to him Caroline whispered in a stage voice, that even to poor near-deaf Jenkins seemed like screaming:
"Oh, Fitzwilliam, I could wait no longer, I had to see you as soon as possible."
Jenkins bowed and bid a hasty retreat. Darcy struggled to untwine Caroline's arms around his neck and finally managed to say in his coldest voice,
"I think you are forgetting yourself, madam. Entering a gentleman's house, unaccompanied. Do you want to compromise both of us?" He wished he had not said that, because he began to fear that that might be exactly what she was about.
"No need to worry, what is done is done. But I was so devastated, when you did not seem to remember what had occurred between us before your nasty accident," she pouted,
"I hoped, that you would, when you saw me the other night at your aunt and uncles, but when I saw your indifferent eyes on me, I had the terrible certainty that you do not remember our engagement."
"Engaged!?," Darcy managed to utter in a husky voice, he had finally unwounded Caroline's hands but she still had a firm grip on his hands. Holding on to them she made a move as to kiss him full on his lips, but thanks to his presentmindedness Darcy turned his head and the moist lips of his want-to-be fiancée only brushed his cheek.
His fiancée, what was he thinking, this sure was a plot to secure him to tight him forever to her sleeve, or could it be true. He already was willing to assume that the man he had been before the accident might have been so foolish as to enter an engagement to such a woman. Yes she was beautiful, yes she belonged to the ton and yes she was sort of intelligent, but love her, marry her? He did not know. Marriages without love were common amongst his acquaintances and some of them could be called happy, but was that what he wanted or had wanted.
Memories of his parents marriage washed over him and he recalled his mother telling him, to marry for love to gain the happiness she had with his father. Suddenly he was sure that only the deepest love could induce him to marry and that he had felt the same way before.
Could he have been in love with Caroline Bingley? He looked at her. She had retreated to the fire place sitting herself down in one of the comfortable chairs beside it, touching her eyes with a tiny handkerchief, seemingly a picture of damsel in distress.
Noooo, every fibre of his body screamed refusal. No he could never love her or be lead to believe that he could have at any time before his fall and loss of memory.
He saw she was not crying, just faking it, trying to look at her best, a pose she must have studied in a mirror. The scheming bitch, how low she had stooped, what cheap means she had tried, how could she have thought her little plan to be successful.
She must be either stupid, and that he knew was surely not the case or perhaps she believed him to concede to her plan for he had lost his memory, for he could not know if this was true or not.
Well perhaps she would have been right to imagine the old Darcy to act like she planned, but she had based her sums on the wrong estimates. For now he was a man who no longer cared what the general public thought of him or not. He had seen through them all and recognised that with his money, society would still seek him out had he murdered someone.
He would play a bit with her before he dismissed her for good.
"Of course I remembered Caroline, but I assumed that after my accident you would want to be released of our understanding, therefore I have been cold and distanced towards you."
"Dear Fitzi, you are so thoughtful, that is why I love you so much, but I am not being deterred by the fact that you have lost your memory."
"Well, darling that is not the only thing I have lost, you see. I could never be the man to you, you deserve." who could though, Darcy laughed to himself.
He saw, she was taken aback and as any proper young lady a bit insecure as to his meaning. But as he had expected, the confusion only lasted for one moment, as she was determined to get him, whatever cost involved.
"You do not think me so deprived of all feeling, as to leave you, just because of that. I love you, I want you to marry me, and I will make you happy. We do not need the sound of little feet around the house. We will be happy with just the two of us."
Darcy reckoned, now was the time to be open with her, to get rid of her now and forever.
"I am sorry Miss Bingley, but what I meant was that I lost my regard for you or rather I remembered I never had any particular regard for you, I will end this engagement here and now. And that will be the end to it as it has been a secret between us, has it not."
Caroline recognized she was loosing her grip on him but she would not yield that fast.
"My sister knows of course, and if I tell my brother, he will not be too pleased, that his little sister is being abandoned and betrayed by his best friend. Everyone in London will hold you responsible for cruelty towards me and believe you deprived of honour in breaking off this honour-bound bond."
"I am sure that even your brother would wish me happiness in marriage which we would never have. But since the engagement was not yet published and made known, I do not think that anyone would think me rude.
"Miss Bingley I recommend you not to tempt me to tell society to what plan you have reduced yourself to get me to marry you. I believe you intelligent enough to see, that you can only loose in this. I would merely be responsible of cruelty towards you but you would always be the woman who was slighted by Mr. Darcy and believe me people will ask why I slighted you and I might feel obliged to say things about you which might not be true, but everyone would believe coming from me." Darcy opened the door and made a slight movement with his head, whispering, "out."
Caroline had risen and almost ran to the door, her cheeks red and maybe for the first time in her live rendered speechless.
"Good day, Miss Bingley, I hope we will meet as friends in the future, as we should in company."
As he was about to close the door he heard a familiar voice greeting Caroline and he opened the door again.
"Richard, do come in, how good to see you."
"Darcy, you are alone? What have you done to poor Miss Bingley, she looked all flushed."
"Just a morning visit, I do not want to talk about it just now. But tell me what are you doing here, from what your mother told me you were scampering about the country to offer your heart and hand to some young lady or other." Darcy could discern that Richard was rather uncomfortable by the mentioning of his supposed business.
"I am sorry, she did not refuse you, did she. It must be devastating for you. I know how you feel," do I, he wondered, "well naturally one would feel angry and hurt."
"No, there was neither time nor place to ask her, her family is in some trouble and I am here on their behalf to help them."
"I am sure you will get your reward afterwards."
"I am not helping them as to gain her as reward, I still do not know if she is partial towards me or not. I just came here to ask you if you do remember anything more about your past, especially about," Richard hesitated, he knew it was not right to ask this question, it surely was against Mr. Goodes advice, "Wickham."
"Wickham, no why. Should I, as far as I recall our business with him ended the day I paid him the three-thousand pounds for his law studies."
"Ah, yes, yes, well there is something more, but I will not tell you. Do you recall the name Younge?"
"It sounds familiar, but no, I do not recall it."
Richard was not that astonished by this, but he had hoped that Darcy would know, where Mrs. Younge had gone after they had released her of her duties. He was sure, by finding her, he would find Wickham's and Lydia's whereabouts.
"I had been better on my way, this business should not be delayed."
"Why do you not tell me, what it is all about, I am beginning to feel a bit bored, with Bingley away from town."
"I am sorry, cousin, but I should not, it concerns people you should remember by yourself."
"So, I do know the lady you are wooing."
"You are to fast for me, Darcy and before I relay anything I should not, I will leave you, good day, cousin."
Chapter 7
London, The Darcys Townhouse, 26 August 1812, Morning
Georgiana entered the breakfast room, where her brother already was reading the newspaper.
"Good morning, dear brother," she leaned down to kiss him on his cheek.
"The same to you, Georgiana, what are your plans for today?"
"I will visit with some friends and will probably be out all morning. And what are your going to do?"
"Bingley is back in London or so I have been told, I will call on him as he will apparently not call on me. I do not know what I have done to offend him, but it seems he holds a personal grudge against me. If only I could remember anything of the past last three years."
"You will in time, I am sure. Look at the progress you made these past four months."
"Yes, yes, only three lost years. Say, have I changed since the accident, I have, have I not?" said Darcy staring blind eyed out of the window.
"Changed, what do you mean. Who says you have?" Georgiana looked puzzled.
"No one, not with so many words. Well Bingley did, and I can see it in the reactions of people I have met before, they look at me as though they do not recognise me. I have asked Richard, but he will not tell me what could be wrong.
"In fact I am glad that he has left for Scotland to finally join his regiment. He was beginning to sound like Robin Hood with all the good deeds he bestowed on the family of his lady love," Darcy uttered ill-humoured.
"I have noticed no changes, Fitzwilliam. To me you are the loving, caring brother you always have been. Maybe you act strangely amongst your mere acquaintances since you try not to show your," she hesitated a second, "um, injury."
"You are to good to me, Georgiana, the perfect little sister."
They continued to sit in companionable silence, Georgiana eating and Darcy reading.
"Listen, it seems someone of our acquaintance has married. Lately, George Wickham, Esq. to Miss Lydia Bennet. Bennet, Bennet, the name sounds vaguely familiar," Fitzwilliam shook his head, "but then Bennet is a widespread name. I wonder if the lady has enough money to support Wickham's costly style of living, for I am sure he will not have changed these past years I have not heard from him." Darcy looked up, smiling, "What do you say, Georgiana, you do remember George do not you."
"Yes," Georgiana had paled considerably, she was not at all comfortable with her forced upon deception of her brother. He had yet to recall past years events in Ramsgate, and she was afraid what his reaction would be.
Wickham, she shuddered at hearing his name, thinking about his falseness, telling her compliments, almost seducing her. She wished the other woman more luck with this monster. Mustering all her strength she replied, "maybe marriage will do him good."
Shortly after this conversation, Georgiana stood up to make herself ready for her morning visits with Mrs. Annesley.
Darcy peaked around his newspaper after her retreating figure. Had he just imagined it or had she been discomposed by his mentioning of Wickham. He sat for a while his heads in hands desperately trying to bring back his memories.
There was something wrong, he knew it, he felt it. She was hiding something from him, that much he had sensed ever since his accident, then Richard's questions as to Wickham's whereabouts. It was obvious that his dealings with him had not ended all those years ago. He had to ask someone about it. Maybe Bingley knew anything about it.
London, The Bingleys Townhouse, Later The Same Morning
"Good day, Sir, I am afraid, Mr. Bingley is not in this morning," the young footman was about to close the door, but Darcy blocked it with his right hand.
"I am certain he is in, as I checked at the stables, all carriages and horses are in, and I am aware of Mr. Bingley's habit not to leave his house by foot on the morrow. Do not insult my intelligence in telling me he is not in. So he is not receiving visitors. I am aware that you are only trying to fulfill your duty, but as one of his oldest friends, you would do better to let me in. Pray tell me where he is, not still in bed?"
The young footman, being completely lost for words was hushed away from the door by the Bingley's experienced butler Larkin.
"Mr. Darcy, pleased to see you. Mr. Bingley has not yet left his chambers, sir, but I am sure if you like to wait in the library, he will be down in no time. Sir," he opened the door and motioned towards a door at the far right end of the hall.
"Larkin, pleased to see you, too. No need to be that formal, I will visit my friend in his chambers," and with that Darcy jumped up the stairs, taking three at a time, leaving two stunned servants in the middle of the hall.
Reaching the second floor he knocked on Bingley's bedroom door.
"Come in," cried a week voice from inside.
Darcy entered a dimly lit room. It took some seconds in which his eyes had to adjust to the darkness, before he could see his friend's limp figure in a chair. Obviously still dressed from last night, holding a glass with some alcoholic liquid in it.
"Still suffering from self-pity, as I see," Darcy asked sarcastically, while opening the heavy curtains, causing Bingley to shift uncomfortably, moaning a curse.
"Darcy, what a pleasure to see you, I am sure. Do not take any attention of me. This is just my habitual morning occupation."
"Nonsense, I want no more excuses or hints, I want the full story of what is bothering you, all details please. The situation can not be that desperate, can it now. Say something man." Darcy began pacing the room, while Bingley remained seated, motionless.
"I can only imagine one or two things that could excuse such your sorry state. Either you were told to be suffering from an incurable illness or it is an affair or the heart."
"What do you now of affairs of the heart." Bingley imitated him, still staring blind eyed into the now fully alighted room.
"So why are you here pining for her instead of being with her."
Still no utterance from his friend.
"All right, then answer my questions, will you."
Bingley nodded.
"Were there any objections to the lady concerned," Bingley shook his head "she is not married or engaged is she?"
"No, no, she is perfect and would make any man proud who would have the good luck to acquire her good opinion and her heart, which some say is not likely to be easily touched."
"She did not approve of you?"
"Um, no, she was always perfectly civil towards me."
"What is the problem then, go for her."
"She does not love me," whispered Bingley.
"Pardon me, what did."
"She is not in love with me, she is just after my money or at least that is what you yourself told me eight months ago," shouted an enraged Bingley, he jumped to his feet and moved towards Darcy pointing his finger angrily at him, his body shaking, "I suppose that is something else you do not remember, just a little detail you have forgotten, how comfortable for you, how convenient, a pure conscience.
"Is this what you wanted to hear? I was not supposed to reveal this to you, as I am sure you would recollect these events slightly different, as Mr. Goode would put it, damn you Darcy, I wager you would think you were noble towards me, look what you have done to me.
"I am completely devastated, and you know what bothers me the most is, that I am not sure if you and Caroline were right, maybe she did love me and is suffering the same as I am. But then you are always right, are you not. Fitzwilliam Darcy never errs. Go, I do not want to talk about it, not to you, nor any one else." With that he broke down on his chair, holding his head in his hands.
Darcy was shocked at Charles' words and nearly as shaken by them as his friend had been.
What had he done. What right did he imagine himself to possess to talk his friend out of love, seemingly under the disguise of acting on his behalf, for his good and well-being. When the turnout of it was this, the heart of his friend broken, perhaps broken beyond repair, and perhaps, as he had mentioned not the only victim of his interference.
Even if he, Darcy, had been right, and the lady in question had not loved Bingley, or would have considered marrying him out of material motives only, it was not for him to dictate his friend what he was to do or not, he should have granted Charles the possibility of finding out by himself.
He was a grown, intelligent man, for heaven's sake although sometimes indecisive and easy to be deceived, but how could he be otherwise, when he, Darcy, always had made the decisions for him, directly telling him what to do or not, never mentioning the choices, never letting him decide on his own. Living Bingley's life for him.
What sort of friendship was that. He had to do something about it, mend the breech, repair the damage he had done as quickly as possible, maybe there still was hope.
Darcy put a hand on Bingley's shoulder, slightly shaking him.
"I am sorry, I know this does not give you comfort. I was wrong and I admit it, I had no right to interfere, neither had Caroline," Bingley was trying to escape his hold, but to no avail, Darcys grip was firm.
"Listen to me, Charles. You will have some clothes packed and leave London to go to wherever she lives, do you hear me?"
"What point is there, after eight months?"
"You will be able to see for yourself and to decide for yourself whether she still loves you or not, whether there is hope or not. Only if you have assured yourself of either possibility you will be able to put your mind at ease again.
"Please, Charles, do it for yourself, do it for me. It is the only advice I can give you, the only way of mending your heart and perhaps our friendship. I promise to never again make any decisions that should be made by you. I can only hope that this last advice of mine will turn out to be a lucky one."
Darcy removed his hand to send for Bingley's valet, but was stopped by his friends words.
"Do you really think, I should," Bingley already sounded a bit more optimistic.
"Yes, of course, it will do you good to do this on your own. Go for it."
"I think, I will," Bingley stood up and moved towards Darcy, holding out his hand, "we will always remain friends, Fitzwilliam. I am not angry with you, maybe it turns out that you were right in the first place. I have only to blame myself for believing your doubts so easily."
They shook hands.
Darcy was about to take his leave, when he remembered his errant.
"Um, this is not the right time, but if I do not ask you now, I will not have the possibility for some time. It is about Wickham, you know him, yes of course, well, do you know of any business or dealings I had with him in the past two or three years."
"From what I learned from you, he came into your way again last summer, but you did not relate any details, and you understand, do you not that even if I knew, I should not tell you."
"It is all right, thank you. By the way, Wickham has married, it was in the paper today."
"Poor woman, is it someone we know?"
"Well the name sounded vaguely familiar to me, but I am sure we do not know the family. Bennet, I do not recall the first name."
"Bennet?," Bingley looked shocked, "you do have to remember the first name, I beg you."
"Whatever is the matter with you?"
"Bennet, that is the name of the woman I love, I pray to god, that it was not her, but I doubt it, she would never consider him, nor would her mother, he has no money," Bingley was desperately looking around the room, picking and dropping items, "uh, here it is, this morning's newspaper, Larkin brought it in earlier, but I was in no mood to look at it, show me where it is."
Darcy did as he was asked and pointed the little announcement out to his friend.
"Lydia, thank god, she is the youngest sister, which means there is still hope for me."
"Good luck to you and write as soon as there is anything to write. Good-bye."
"Good-bye, Darcy, I promise."
Chapter 8
Early September
Two people were contemplating the changes the past couple of month had brought to their respective lives:
Colonel Fitzwilliam
Richard Fitzwilliam had joined his regiment at the end of August. During his journey up north he had considered the possibility of visiting Miss Elizabeth Bennet, but he had resisted this increasing urge. He had come to a resolution and he would follow it even if it meant loosing the woman he loved.
He knew his heart full well and was by now convinced that he loved Elizabeth with all his heart but he had doubts as to her feelings. In Hertfordshire she had received him with warmth but he supposed it was her usual way of receiving acquaintances.
How could she have acted otherwise, he scolded himself, when their meeting in Hertfordshire was completely overshadowed by the events following Lydia's elopement. After their conversation in the garden she had immediately introduced him to her father and uncle leaving the three of them alone to discuss the next steps in finding Wickham and Lydia.
Richard had not had the opportunity of speaking to his beloved in private again. He dined with the family retired early to Netherfield to collect Mr. Bennet and Mr. Gardiner on the following morning where he departed from Elizabeth as good friends nothing less and nothing more. She had thanked him, wishing them luck in their mission and off they were to London.
Well he had succeeded. He had searched Mrs. Younge and after some threatening and bribing she had disclosed Wickham's whereabouts. Bribing him to marry Lydia was not that easy and being far from cheap. Richard had to lent money from his brothers to pay Wickham for his consent and willingness to speak with Mr. Bennet and Mr. Gardiner and to take their offers into consideration.
This fact of course, Richard had been wise enough to conceal, as he had no right and no excuse to interfere in matters, to which he should have been completely indifferent, other than his love for Elizabeth.
By rights this mission would have had to be accomplished by his cousin Darcy. Who else was responsible that Wickham was still bird free and able to ruin other women, after he had nearly succeeded in ruining Georgiana. The Darcy pride had prevented his cousin from revealing Wickham's true character to the public.
But as Darcy was not able to remember his dealings with Wickham the duty of bringing the match about had fallen on Richard. And he was far from being happy about this.
How would it look if he returned to Hertfordshire now and asked Elizabeth to marry him. He knew the answer, her family would think he was claiming his reward and would do anything to forward this match as they felt indebted to him for rescuing Lydia and Elizabeth would hate him for that.
This was only one of the obstacles that prevented him from renewing his addresses to Miss Bennet at this time. The other obstacle was his cousin.
Richard could not dared not, to pursue something that Darcy had wanted before him. He was aware of Darcy's regard for Elizabeth. Back in April he had even been sure of having seen Darcy look at her with more than that. His cousin had been in love with her himself, but his accident had prevented him from forming a deeper attachment and from securing Elizabeth's hand in marriage.
Although Richard had not seen any particular regard on Elizabeth's side, he could not be sure. Maybe by his interference he would deprive the two people who meant the most to him, of their destined happiness. He would have felt bad by snatching Elizabeth from under Darcy's nose, when he was not able to fight for her.
Therefore Richard had made the resolution of not visiting Miss Bennet until Darcy remembered last years occurrences.
Richard knew what a fool he was, for letting his honour dictate his happiness. It could take another year before his cousin gained back his full memory. A year in which Elizabeth might meet someone else. But that would only mean that she had not been destined for either of him or Darcy.
Believing in destiny, Richard was sort of reconciled with his decision. If Elizabeth was still free when the time had come that both men could woo her, she would have to decide; and may the best man win.
Elizabeth Bennet
What a fortnight this had been. Elizabeth's mind was a complete mess. Not three weeks ago life had seemed hopeless. Lydia's elopement. Jane's declining health due to her unhappiness. Now life had turned into something worth living again.
For the first time in a month she felt happy again, she was following Jane and Bingley, lacking behind the happy couple, picking some flowers here and there, leaving them enough privacy without neglecting her duty as a chaperone.
Elizabeth breathed in the humid autumn air. Everything had turned out fine in the end.
Jane and Bingley had come to an understanding only a week after his surprising return to Netherfield Park. He had asked for her hand in marriage and she had accepted him. Even a date for the wedding had been set and Elizabeth and Jane were to accompany Bingley back to London in about three weeks time to buy the necessary items for a grand wedding reception.
The other troublesome problem, concerning Lydia, had also been resolved thanks to Colonel Fitzwilliams, who had been able to detect them. They were married not two weeks ago, had been visiting the past week and had just left this morning for Newcastle.
Due to society's rules the wedding was a happy ending to this sad affair, but Elizabeth doubted that it would turn out to be a happy ending for her sister.
Elizabeth was not blind and she was now fully aware of Wickham's faults. Her father had told only her that the couple had to be forced to marry and that marriage had not been Wickham's design in eloping with Lydia.
Soon after the elopement rumours of Wickham's gaming debts and wicked ways with other women had emerged from seemingly everywhere. Although some of the rumours could be counted to the usual malicious gossip, Elizabeth believed them to be true in their essentials.
By recognising and accepting Wickham's true character she could not avoid regretting to have acted as his advocate during nearly most of her acquaintance with Mr. Darcy. She no longer believed Wickham's accusations against the Darcys., although she was far from thinking any better of one particular member of that family.
She no longer hated Darcy, her hatred had turned into complete indifference. At least that was what she wanted to believe. Elizabeth was well aware of the fact that at least one last meeting with Mr. Darcy was unavoidable. Bingley would surely invite his friend to his wedding.
Well if Mr. Darcy dared to face her, she could do the same, could she not. She would meet him with composure and cold civility nothing more and nothing less, even if she was tempted to slight him as he had done before. That should teach him to forget her so soon after his professed love for her.
Elizabeth was interrupted in her contemplation by Jane's voice. The couple was waiting for her, to enter Longhorn grounds together. With a smile she joined them, leaving the unpleasant train of thoughts behind her.