A Perilous Match

Chapter 2

Gracechurch Street, London

E lizabeth lay down her volume of Shakespeare beside her on the window seat. The Bard was normally a favourite, and though she had read every play and sonnet multiple times, he had never failed to hold her attention before; yet, today, she read lines without comprehending them, and the rhythmic cadence of the speech nearly lulled her to sleep.

She watched the busy traffic of Gracechurch Street, the wagons and carriages warring for their portion of the roadway, pedestrians darting out alarmingly close to the vehicles, the muted sounds of yelling and horses’ hooves carrying into the parlour of her uncle’s home. Aunt Gardiner was meeting with her housekeeper, leaving her nieces to their melancholic company.

Elizabeth glanced at her sister, whose embroidery seemed to require a great deal of attention. Jane’s brow furrowed when she caught the weight of Elizabeth’s gaze.

“You are very listless today, Lizzy,” she said quietly, and began to rifle through her basket for a different colour of thread.

“I suppose I am,” she acknowledged.

Jane was paler and thinner than she had been at Christmas. She had hoped that either the cheerfulness of the Gardiner household or Mr Bingley calling upon her sister would restore Jane’s habitual serenity. However, neither had happened, and Elizabeth knew why. Mr Darcy had kept him from Jane and thus ruined her chance at happiness.

Of course, she could not lay all the blame at Mr Darcy’s feet. Mr Bingley’s sisters and Mr Bingley himself must take their share. She could acknowledge the fault in Mr Bingley’s disposition, which would allow himself to be persuaded against his heart. She compared him—unwillingly—with his friend, whom she did not believe would ever allow himself to be persuaded against anything or anyone. She disliked Mr Darcy still, despite her sympathy for any disappointed hopes he may have felt in regard to her, but she could recognise the merits of his stronger will.

She did not want to think about Mr Darcy and turned back to the window with a sigh.

“I wish that you would tell me what is bothering you, Lizzy,” said Jane after a moment.

“Nothing is bothering me, dearest,” she protested and moved over to allow her sister to join her at the window.

“You have not been the same since returning from Kent. Was our cousin Collins very unpleasant to you?”

Elizabeth was surprised by her sister’s question. “Not very unpleasant at all, though he was determined to show what honour I forewent as Hunsford’s mistress and frequent beneficiary of Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s condescension,” she teased.

“Be serious, Lizzy.”

But Elizabeth could not be serious or she would be very tempted to confess what had passed between herself and Mr Darcy. She did not want to admit to refusing a second unwanted proposal of marriage when Jane was heartsick for a certain lack of a very much wanted proposal. It seemed callous.

“I suppose I miss Longbourn,” she said instead.

Jane agreed that she was ready to be at home as well, but their uncle’s business would not allow him to accompany them home for a few more weeks. Uncle Gardiner was loath to send them home by mail coach or hired coach since the recent rash of robberies along the Great North Road.

“We need a change of scenery, Jane. What say you we do a bit of shopping? Aunt said we may have the carriage this afternoon if we wish.”

“I have no need of new bonnets or ribbons, but I shall accompany you, if you wish.”

“I was thinking of Hatchards for a novel or two, or even Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage , if we are feeling very daring.”

Jane smiled at this. They had both been immensely curious about the new literary sensation that was Lord Byron, but the circulating library in Meryton was not likely to stock Byron’s work, as they found the new poet too shocking for their patrons.

Aunt Gardiner joined them, then, in the parlour with a letter newly arrived from their Uncle Gardiner and their father’s shared solicitor. “Mr Baker says that Mr Collins has now employed his own solicitor on the advice of Lady Catherine,” she announced. “It will make the negotiations for breaking the entail that much more difficult, but he still has hope of success.”

“It was not entirely unexpected that he should seek legal counsel,” said Jane.

“No indeed, especially if his esteemed patroness suggested it,” Elizabeth replied dryly, for her views on Lady Catherine were hard to conceal.

“I am only happy that your father is at least attempting to break the entail for your sake,” Aunt Gardiner said. “I very rarely agree with my sister, but I did think it very hard that an attempt had not been made. To see Longbourn pass out of the direct Bennet line after nearly three hundred years …”

“Mr Collins seems sincerely attached to his profession in the church. Perhaps he will not want to give it up to be master of Longbourn,” Jane said.

Elizabeth did not think this likely, but she would not be the person to crush her sister’s optimism. There was not much more to be said on the topic until they had further intelligence from Mr Baker, so she apprised Aunt Gardiner of their plan to visit the bookshop.

“What an excellent way to spend the afternoon. There is a new volume of Roman history that Mr Gardiner is keen to read,” Aunt Gardiner said. “If you will give me a few minutes to finish a letter I must have posted today, I shall join you. We might even stop into Gunter’s for an ice or a sorbet.”

***

Fortunately, Jane and Elizabeth were able to secure Hatchard’s very last copy of Childe Harold , while their aunt perused the volumes of history.

… in sooth he was a shameless wight,

Sore given to revel and ungodly glee;

Few earthly things found favour in his sight

Save concubines and carnal companie,

And flaunting wassailers of high and low degree.

Even Elizabeth blushed deeply red as she finished reading the stanza.

“Papa will not like us to read this work, Lizzy.”

“I doubt very much that Papa will care to read it himself, so how will he know the language or the contents?”

Jane’s look was slightly disapproving, and Elizabeth sighed.

“If buying this book and reading it is my small act of rebellion, I do believe that I stand in very good stead,” she argued. “At least I am not chasing after soldiers as Kitty and Lydia are wont to do.”

“I am not telling you not to buy it, Lizzy. The poetry is very beautiful even if it can be lurid, though I am not sure that I will read it through. It would be too embarrassing.”

“Dearest Jane, unless you mean to make a public recital of it, how could it possibly be embarrassing to read from the privacy of one’s own home?”

Jane started, her gaze fixed at some point past Elizabeth’s shoulder, and just as Elizabeth turned, she caught the tone of two very familiar voices as they moved from the entry to a display of political pamphlets by the counter.

Mr Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam. Elizabeth was not prepared to see that gentleman again. It had never occurred to her that their paths might cross in London where they ran in very different circles.

Elizabeth darted behind a bookcase and only risked peeking in their direction when she was certain that the gentlemen were adequately absorbed in their own conversation. Jane joined her with an expression of open amazement.

“What are you doing?” she asked. “You are not hiding from Mr Darcy?”

“Indeed, I am,” she admitted. She could not very well deny it.

“Why?”

“Jane,” Elizabeth began in a deceptively casual tone, “you know I am not fond of that gentleman’s society.”

“I did not think such dislike had progressed to hiding.”

“Will you please step behind this bookcase with me?” she asked. “Otherwise, Mr Darcy may see you and guess that I am here as well.”

“Elizabeth, you are being ridiculous.”

“Please!”

“Very well,” Jane conceded, “but I shall expect a full explanation for this behaviour later.”

Elizabeth bit her lip, but agreed.

They waited for a few moments, Elizabeth pretending to be absorbed in reading Byron and Jane studying her sister suspiciously. Aunt Gardiner found them there, she carried a weighty volume of Roman history and a new edition of Charles Lamb’s Tales from Shakespeare for her children.

“Have you found some interesting choices for your reading?” she asked, tapping the volume of Byron that Elizabeth was holding close to her chest.

“Only the most moral and dry sermons of Fordyce would do, Aunt, as you well know.”

“I would expect no less, Lizzy,” Aunt Gardiner said dryly before turning to Jane, who had picked a volume from Maria Edgeworth.

Elizabeth took the opportunity to peek around her aunt to ascertain whether Mr Darcy and the colonel had left the shop. She did not see them, thankfully, and sighed with relief. Aunt Gardiner suggested that they step outside to see whether James had returned with the carriage while she made their purchases. Elizabeth was only too happy to oblige. She was restless while there remained any possibility of coming face-to-face with Mr Darcy inside Hatchard’s and felt safer from his notice in the busy walkway. He was likely already gone, at any rate.

Elizabeth was wrong.

She had barely taken two steps outside of the shop before she nearly ran into Colonel Fitzwilliam.

“Miss Bennet,” he exclaimed, “what a pleasant surprise!”

Elizabeth’s face burned in mortification at the sight of Mr Darcy, who was standing next to his cousin, stiff and pale and shocked.

“Miss Bennet,” Mr Darcy bowed.

She hardly knew how she responded, if she responded at all. She was barely aware when her sister joined her, and she was forced to make the introduction for Colonel Fitzwilliam.

The colonel’s awestruck expression was a familiar one. Jane often had that effect upon men, though her shy smile was rarer. Elizabeth had not seen her sister smile so freely for many weeks. She wondered at Jane’s reception of the colonel’s charm, which was different from Mr Bingley’s.

Mr Darcy was even quieter than usual, and for all her efforts to hide from him, Elizabeth could hardly stop staring at him now. He was very pale indeed with marked shadows beneath his eyes hinting at many sleepless nights. His expression was strange and he could not seem to tear his eyes from her either. They continued dumbly for a long moment before Mr Darcy found his voice.

“You are well, I hope.” His tone had none of his usual sedateness.

She supposed that they must talk to alleviate some of the awkwardness of the meeting, but his address was still surprising. Perhaps she had imagined the same kind of mute anger that had characterised his unhappy reunion with Mr Wickham at Meryton.

Instead, there was a curious mixture of gentleness and coldness. A picture of vulnerability. He must be equally desirous of avoiding her notice, but he maintained the pretence of indifferent acquaintances to save them from more acute embarrassment. She was… grateful for it.

“I- I am,” she stammered and finally looked away only to notice that he wore a black armband and gloves and a black cravat. Lady Catherine had informed the Hunsford party that her nephews had been obliged to return to Town unexpectedly for a death in Mr Darcy’s family, though she had neglected the particulars. They had not been invited to Rosings again.

He must have received the news the very night she had refused him. The knowledge had made her somewhat ashamed of her words towards him then, though she could not regret her decision. It was easier to stare at the elegant falls of his black cravat than to maintain his gaze, which was full of a meaning she could not name.

“I am well, sir,” she stammered again, “thank you. And you, sir?”

His jaw clenched and she could have kicked herself. What a thing to ask someone in these circumstances.

“I mean,” she began again, but they were interrupted by one of the clerks.

“Lord Dorset,” the man approached Mr Darcy, and handed over a small bundle of sheet music, “this just came in for Miss Darcy. Shall we send the next shipment to Dorset House or Darcy House?”

“Continue sending everything to Darcy House,” Mr Darcy answered.

“Yes, my lord,” the clerk bowed and retreated into the shop.

“My lord?” Elizabeth echoed in some confusion.

“I - I came into an inheritance… unexpectedly,” Mr Darcy replied, tucking the bundle under his arm and not looking at her. He must also be thinking of their last meeting and the heated argument over the differences in their circumstances.

“My cousin is now the fifth Marquess of Dorset,” Colonel Fitzwilliam supplied.

Jane then noticed the mourning apparel and expressed her condolences. “I am very sorry for your loss, Mr—I mean—Lord Dorset,” she said. “How trying it must be to lose a relation even as one must cope with such a drastic change in situation.”

“Thank you, Miss Bennet,” Mr Darcy said quietly.

Elizabeth fidgeted. Her sympathy for his loss did not preclude the stirrings of anger and injustice in her breast. That Mr Darcy could easily accept her sister’s kindness when he had so injured her was maddening.

A marquess. Was anyone more suited for the pride of such a station? He must be very grateful now for her refusal. If she was barely suitable to be Mistress of Pemberley, she was far less suitable to be a marchioness. His elevation must temper any suffering she caused.

She suddenly, desperately wanted to be away from his scrutiny. The mortification was only more painful for that realisation. She might have been a marchioness, and though the possibility did not hold much weight with Elizabeth, it reminded her again of the disparity of their stations. If she had accepted him, he would even now be wishing to be released from his promise. At least, she had spared them both the humiliation of such a scene.

Where was the Gardiner carriage? She could not return to Hatchard’s without seeming to be running away, and while that is what she most wished to do, she could not give Mr Darcy the satisfaction of seeing her so discomfited.

“Are you in Town long?” he asked just as she had begun to think he meant to excuse himself or ignore her.

“Only a few weeks more. We are staying with my Aunt and Uncle Gardiner in Cheapside.” She winced, but then boldly met his gaze at the allusions to the relations he had found so beneath him.

He did not reply and looked away and Elizabeth was saved from further awkwardness by the appearance of Aunt Gardiner. She stumbled over Mr Darcy’s new title in the introduction but was gratified to see his surprise in the elegance and manners of her aunt.

“Lord George Darcy was an excellent man and a great friend to my father,” Aunt Gardiner was saying to Mr Darcy. “My father was the rector at Lambton and came to know your parents quite well in his line of work.”

“Your father was Mr Drummond?” Mr Darcy asked.

“Yes, indeed, my lord.”

“My father often said he never found a man better suited for the office of clergy than your father, Mrs Gardiner,” Mr Darcy said warmly. “He was very glad to recommend him to the Archbishop.”

“Papa was grateful for his assistance,” said Aunt Gardiner, her features pink with pride that her father had been so remembered. “He was loath to leave Derbyshire as all native sons of Derby must be, but found much in York to be admired.”

“I cannot disagree with such loyalty to Derbyshire,” Mr Darcy replied with greater ease than he had ever exhibited in Elizabeth’s presence before. She fairly wondered at the transformation.

“I sometimes think that Darcy would never leave Pemberley, if he could help it,” the colonel volunteered with a smile. “But then, I am partial as I am a native of that county myself.”

“You make me quite envious,” said Jane, “for I have always wanted to visit the Peak District.”

“We shall have to arrange such a trip when my husband can be spared from his work,” Aunt Gardiner said. “I should dearly love for my nieces to witness its beauty.”

They spoke some minutes more on the merits of the northern counties. Aunt Gardiner glanced at Elizabeth once or twice with meaning, as though she could not reconcile the civility of the man in front of her with the description Elizabeth had provided. Elizabeth could hardly credit it herself. Did her reproofs work such a change as this? It could not be for her sake that he was so altered. Indeed, he hardly looked at her and spoke to her aunt more often and with greater freedom.

For her part, Elizabeth was unusually reticent, feeling that any input of hers on the topic of Derbyshire’s beauty and travel would seem suspicious, at least to Mr Darcy. She fidgeted and reddened and would look at him no more, and fairly launched herself in the direction of the Gardiner carriage when it finally arrived. She did not wait for the assistance of their driver or either of the gentlemen, and settled herself quickly in the corner, firmly looking out the opposite window. Neither Jane nor Aunt Gardiner remarked upon her odd behaviour though she saw them exchange a puzzled glance.

When the carriage pulled away, Elizabeth caught a glimpse of Mr Darcy casting a lonely figure on the walkway. Even with his cousin standing beside him in his regimentals, he was striking and elegant. An uncharacteristic pang wrenched her heart when he pulled off his hat to rake a hand through his hair in some agitation. He spoke to Colonel Fitzwilliam and righted his appearance before walking away in the opposite direction, leaving his cousin to follow. He must still be in pain from her. She had thought that the mode of her rejection would have justly killed any remaining affection for her but it appeared he remained as affected by her rejection as she did by his proposal. How odd that they should be placed in one another’s path again …