Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth Page 11

  Amanda had stopped abruptly, turned slightly to him, and placed her hand ever so gently on his arm. She had looked directly at him and stated succinctly, “William, we two are fortunate. We have deep mutual respect and regard for one another. Should Georgiana be fortunate enough to find what we have and possibly also love with someone of a lower circle, or even a respectable wealthy tradesman’s son, would you deny her that opportunity for happiness? The world is changing, William. Guide her, but do not forever hold her youthful indiscretion against her. She already punishes herself enough over the incident. Allow her the opportunity to live her life and to choose as she so wishes.”

  As her hand continued to rest on his arm, she moved briskly as though to continue their walk but then turned back to face him. Gently running her other hand over her unborn child, she gazed into his eyes long enough for Darcy to look back at her with questioning in his own. Releasing his arm, she finally slowly walked to one of the stone benches and sat down, motioning with her hand for him to join her.

  “William, I do not know what the future may hold, but I ask this of you. Should anything ever happen to me, do not let your ‘pride of station’ keep you from finding love.”

  “But, I do not have . . .”

  Quickly placing the tip of her slender finger to his lips, she silenced him.

  “The concern you just voiced for Georgiana says that you do. You are a good man, William, but in some ways, you are much more like your Aunt Catherine than you are like your Aunt Eleanor and Uncle James.”

  Darcy thought about what she had said. Once, at a country assembly when he had refused to dance with anyone outside his own party, had not Bingley told him: “Good God, Darcy. Even if I had a kingdom, I would not be as fastidious as you are!”

  He continued to think, and after a few minutes of companionable silence, he smiled, stood and offered her his arm. “Perhaps you may be right.”

  “William, is that a concession?” she laughed as she accepted his arm and rose to continue their stroll through the garden.

  As Darcy approached him, Bingley said, “Darcy! I am sorry to bother you, but Jane is very concerned. Her sister did not keep her appointed meeting with the owner of White’s today and has not been seen since very early afternoon.” Running his finger beneath his collar, he continued, “Ever since Jane heard that there was a woman injured during the goings-on outside White’s, she has been very upset. Although I sincerely hope not, it is possible that the injured woman is our sister, Elizabeth.

  “When I spoke with Colonel Fitzwilliam, he told me that you had brought the injured woman here to Darcy House. May I check to see if she might be Elizabeth?” he asked, as contritely as possible.

  Darcy felt like the worst possible friend, if, indeed, he could still call himself a friend to Bingley.

  “Certainly, of course, come with me,” offered Darcy. As they turned to go up the stairs to the guest bedchamber now occupied by the injured woman, he said earnestly, “She has been unconscious since the incident happened, which is now over six hours ago.”

  As soon as he had crossed the threshold, Bingley hurried to the woman, knelt beside the bed, took her hand into his, and cried, “Elizabeth. It’s Charles. Jane is so worried about you. Please wake up so that I can tell her that you are all right.” Face flushed, he looked beseechingly at Darcy and stated what was now obvious. “This is my sister, Mrs. Elizabeth Mills.”

  For a quarter hour, he continued to hold her hand. He then stood and insisted to Darcy, “I must go to Jane to let her know that Elizabeth is here. If it is not too much trouble, I would like to bring her to her sister. I know she will not be easy until she has seen Elizabeth for herself.”

  “Bingley, you know that you do not have to ask. I will have Mrs. Wyatt prepare the guest bedchamber beside your sister’s for you and your wife, so that if your wife wishes to stay, she will be close to her sister.” Then, as the thought came to him, he added, “I can have a servant sent to bring your wife here in my carriage. It would be no trouble at all.”

  Bingley spoke softly, not knowing how his friend would respond, “Darcy, I know that we have not corresponded with one another for quite a while, but you should know. My wife, Jane is carrying our first child, my heir, and I will not allow her to travel alone without me, even in your fine carriage.”

  As the two men walked toward the front foyer, Darcy replied as humbly as possible, “I understand perfectly. May we talk later?”

  “Of course, I would like that very much,” Bingley offered as he slipped through the opened door and swiftly crossed the front walk and entered the waiting carriage on his way to fetch his frantic wife.

  When Darcy returned to the injured woman’s room, Georgiana was again there sitting beside the bed. She asked him urgently, “Do you think this is the Elizabeth Mills that Cousin Anne is always talking about in her letters?”

  “I do not know,” replied Darcy sincerely, but he wondered how Anne could possibly know Bingley’s wife’s sister.

  Georgiana remembered Amanda had told her that Aunt Eleanor and Cousin Anne had begun to correspond with Elizabeth Mills after she had visited with Anne at Rosings Park. They had quickly drawn Amanda into their “circle” of correspondence as well. Amanda had often shared Elizabeth Mills’ letters with her.

  “Well, I remember from Anne’s letters to Amanda that Mrs. Mills and her husband buy all of the wool, grains, fruits, and timbers that Rosings produces, and she helps to direct Anne with her investments. Apparently, Mrs. Mills is some kind of genius when it comes to investing and has made Anne quite a lot of money,” offered Georgiana.

  Darcy looked from Georgiana to Elizabeth as he stepped to the foot of the bed. “She appears quite too young to be directing investments such as those Anne would be making. She looks to be barely older than you are.”

  While his eyes never left Elizabeth’s face, he uttered, “Well, we will definitely have to wait until Bingley and his wife return to answer that question.”

  He smiled reassuringly at his sister, but soon his eyes were again drawn to Elizabeth. After a moment he spoke: “I met a Jerome Mills a few years ago as I was looking into investing in his company, but I do not recall whether or not he was married. Besides, this young woman looks far too young to be married to that Mr. Mills.”

  “Wills,” Georgiana asked contritely as she studied her brother’s furrowed brow, “how could she possibly have known George Wickham?”

  “I have not the faintest idea, Georgie,” Darcy muttered as he unconsciously extended his hand toward Elizabeth and then self-consciously drew it back. “I simply do not know.”

  Discomfited by his feelings, he quickly left the room and headed to his study to await Bingley’s return.

  What was it about this woman that drew him to her with such intensity? He could not keep his eyes away from her face, or her body, her generously proportioned and exquisitely formed body. It was certainly a good thing that Georgiana had been looking at his face when she caught him looking at Elizabeth, or he would surely have embarrassed himself even more.

  From the very first time Darcy had approached Elizabeth’s room, his body had responded physically to the nearness of her and he realized with chagrin that Georgiana had witnessed his lustful viewing of the woman’s prone but enticing form. It challenged his control to be in the room with her. Yet, he was unable to bring himself to keep away. It was maddening. He had never before felt this way. All he could think about was caressing her lips with his own and holding her body close to his. As his trousers tented, he had to admit that was not all he thought about doing with her.

  Was this Elizabeth Mills the wife of Jerome Mills? He could not remember if there had been a ring on her finger. He had been too obsessed with looking at her other attributes. “My God, what is happening to me?” he thought.

  He walked across the floor of his study to the window and opened it. A gentle breeze swept over the dish of last year’s dried sprigs of lavender bringing the scent to his nose.
He breathed in the fragrance and looked down on the lavender bushes that were yet to bloom. His mother had supervised the planting of those same bushes nearly twenty years ago. They had been her favourite fragrance. As he leaned against the window frame, he wondered what Elizabeth’s favourite fragrance might be.

  Three quarters of an hour later, Darcy was pulled from his thoughts by the butler’s announcement that Mr. Bingley and his wife had returned. He hurried down the stairs toward the foyer to meet Bingley, who was accompanied by a beautiful and obviously very pregnant young woman. An exceedingly beautiful young woman, if this was Elizabeth’s sister, how very truly different they were.

  Bingley’s wife was about five foot eight inches or so tall, only about four or five inches shorter than Bingley, who was slightly over six foot one inch (only two or three inches shorter than Darcy). And her hair, so different from her sister’s, was blond, shining as the colour of corn silk, and although wisps curled around her face, it was not the wild tangle of curls that Elizabeth possessed. Her eyes were a paler blue; some would call them ice blue, the colour darker at the edges of her iris and fading to an almost transparent blue at the center. Somehow, the orbs of colour made it difficult to look away from her face. With her pregnancy, Darcy could not determine if her form were very like her sister’s or not, but even in her present condition, she did not appear to be quite as generously proportioned.

  “Darcy, this is my wife, Jane,” Bingley announced as soon as Darcy completed his bow. “Jane, this is Fitzwilliam Darcy.”

  “Thank you so much, Mr. Darcy, for taking such good care of my sister,” replied Jane as she rose from her curtsy, no small feat to perform with her advanced pregnancy. “May I see her now?”

  “Of course, Mrs. Bingley, but please call me Darcy,” he said, leading her and her husband up the stairs to the guest bedchamber. When Mrs. Wyatt answered Darcy’s knock on the door and saw Mr. Bingley and the young woman she assumed to be his wife, she swung the door wide and politely moved aside to allow them to enter.

  At the sight of Elizabeth lying in the bed, deathly pale and with the ugly bruise on her face, Jane was overwhelmed by a feeling of déjà vu. She pressed her face into her husband’s neck as a gasping sob broke from her throat. It took a few moments for her to compose herself. Then pushing away slightly from his body, she looked fully into Bingley’s face for another moment before moving shakily toward her sister’s bed.

  Sitting in the chair beside the bed and holding Elizabeth’s hand, Georgiana immediately rose to allow Jane to take her place. As tears slowly trailed down her face and one hand clasped in front of her mouth, Jane simply stood and peered searchingly at Elizabeth. Georgiana, being almost the same height as Jane, gently grasped her shoulders and pulled slightly until Jane was seated in the chair that she had just vacated. Gently, she pressed a small linen square into Jane’s hand to catch the tears that continued to fall.

  When she had recovered enough to dry her face, Jane reached for her sister’s hand to gently squeeze it with her own. After a few moments, comfortable that she had allowed enough time to pass for the young woman to take in the distressing scene, Georgiana introduced herself and began to tell Jane of the doctor’s visit, his recommendations, and all the actions that had been taken for Elizabeth’s care up to that point.

  Darcy and Bingley stayed only another few minutes before heading for Darcy’s study, where over a glass or two of brandy, he asked his old friend about Mrs. Mills’ connection to Wickham. Charles was surprised and angered when he realized that it was Wickham who had done this to Elizabeth and slowly began to tell Darcy of George Wickham’s connection with his wife’s family.

  CHAPTER 5

  Jane began to sob again. “Miss Darcy,” she said, “thank you so very much for taking such good care of my sister.”

  “Please call me Georgie,” responded Georgiana. “I am only sorry we were unable to do more. It seems our families have been brought together by yet another instance of George Wickham’s misdeeds.”

  Jane’s face seemed to grow even paler with each passing moment if that were actually possible. As she twisted to face her hostess, she asked abruptly, “GOOD GOD, did Wickham do this to Elizabeth?” Anger flashed in her eyes when she asked more venomously than she had intended, “Where is he? Did he get away again?”

  Understanding immediately that Jane Bingley’s family had also been hurt by George Wickham, Georgiana firmly responded, “NO.” Then, watching the truth begin to sink into Jane’s troubled mind, she explained, “He is dead.”

  Marshaling her resolve she continued, “George Wickham had long been the nemesis of our family and I, for one, am exceedingly glad that he is dead.”

  Both Mrs. Wyatt and the maid nodded their heads in agreement, at which Jane again broke into gasping sobs. As Georgiana folded the young mother-to-be securely in her arms, she wondered what

  Wickham could possibly have done to Jane’s family. Although her curiosity was about to overcome her good manners, she would not question Jane. Still, that did not keep her from silently hoping that her guest would volunteer the information, and soon.

  It was several long minutes before Jane could regain her composure, and throughout that time Georgiana continued to hold her as if to protect her within the strength of an embrace. Other than her husband, Elizabeth had been the only other person to ever hold her like this. As her tears began to subside, Jane realized that here was a woman of great compassion and one with whom she felt instantly at ease. She quietly thanked Georgiana, and again took Elizabeth’s hand in her own, tucking the now very damp pocket square under the cuff of her sleeve.

  Mrs. Wyatt left the room only long enough to direct one of the servants to bring a tray of tea and some small cakes up to the guest room. When the tea service arrived, Georgiana prepared a cup for Jane and set it on the nightstand between Elizabeth’s bed and the chair where Jane sat. Once her guest had taken a couple of calming sips, Georgiana spoke, “Jane, if I may ask, is Elizabeth married to the Mr. Mills who is the exporter?”

  Jane’s hand began to shake slightly, and she lifted her other hand to the teacup to steady it, lest the contents splash over the edge. “Yes, she was. Jerome has been dead for almost a year now.” As she carefully placed the cup in its saucer, she looked to Georgiana. “Jerome was murdered by George Wickham, and . . .”

  So unsuspecting and shocked was Georgiana by what Jane had just said that she had no time to prepare and her teacup slid from her hand and fell to the floor. Somehow that helped Jane gather her wits. Squaring her shoulders, she glanced over at Elizabeth and felt strength move through her body. It was not the first time. No matter what the circumstance might be, it seemed, she was always bolstered by Elizabeth’s presence. Jane continued, “And he was responsible for the death of my two younger sisters.”

  No matter how unladylike it appeared, Georgiana’s mouth gaped open, and her eyes grew almost as big as the empty saucer she now balanced in her hand.

  Jane slowly began to explain her family’s involvement with George Wickham. “It all began about two years ago, shortly after I was introduced to Mr. Bingley in April at one of the country dances in Meryton.

  “The Bennet family estate, Longbourn, lay only about a mile from the town of Meryton. Netherfield, the estate that Mr. Bingley was leasing, was situated about three miles on the opposite side of the town, although in reality, the estates abutted one another.

  “Mr. Bingley had leased Netherfield only two weeks before he attended this particular country dance given by Sir William Lucas, the owner of another local estate. He had asked Sir William for an introduction to me, and we ended up dancing the first set of the dance together. Between sets, I found him to be pleasant company, and we chatted quite comfortably. Later in the evening, he asked me for another set, and I was more than happy to oblige.

  “After that dance, Mr. Bingley left the neighborhood for a brief time. Once he returned, he visited us frequently at Longbourn. Often, one or more of my three r
emaining sisters would accompany us as we walked to town. Although Elizabeth is my younger sister, she had married more than a year before and was living in London with her husband, Jerome Mills.

  “It was at this time that a regiment of the militia came to camp outside Meryton for a period of about a year. Soon the young officers were attending the dances and balls of the neighborhood whenever they were given. My younger sisters, save one, were the most abominable flirts and soon became quite friendly with several officers of the militia, as well as with the commanding colonel’s wife, Mrs. Foster.

  “In August of that year, Mr. Bingley gave a ball at Netherfield and sent the officers of the militia a general invitation. Lieutenant Wickham was among those officers who attended.

  “Mr. Bingley had invited Elizabeth and Jerome to attend the ball as well, since he had spoken with them about a courtship with me.

  “My father had suffered a stroke more than a year before and, since that time, my Uncle Gardiner and Jerome Mills had acted jointly as the head of the family. At the ball, Mr. Bingley did ask me for a formal courtship, which I readily accepted.