A Perilous Match

Chapter 20

One Week Later

“W hat a beautiful estate,” Jane remarked as they strolled through Ashburn’s splendid garden. Elizabeth had to concede that it was indeed quite grand. She had not expected to be so impressed by Ashburn, especially as Fitzwilliam had not extolled its virtues. In fact, he had remarked that it paled in comparison to his beloved Pemberley. Elizabeth did not know what to anticipate, having formed only a vague image of Ashburn from his words. Now, however, she could see that it was indeed a magnificent place.

The gardens were vast, four times the size of those at Longbourn, and even grander than those at Netherfield, with various sections dedicated to different flowers, fruits, and herbs. At present, they were walking through the rose garden, the sweet scent of a myriad of roses accompanying their steps.

“I never thought it would be so grand. It will take all day to explore,” Elizabeth said, a note of awe in her voice. Jane had only just arrived that morning and was still acclimating to her new surroundings, while Elizabeth, having been at Ashburn for a week, still felt as though she had only just arrived herself.

“How are Aunt and Uncle?” she asked, and Jane smiled.

“Our aunt enjoyed Bath, but I know she was glad to be getting home. She is rather pleased that she and Uncle will have the house to themselves for a time. Mother and Father will have their hands full with our cousins.”

Elizabeth chuckled, for the Gardiner children had gone to stay with the Bennets at Longbourn. It was the Bennet family’s way of repaying the Gardiners for keeping such a good eye on Jane and Elizabeth while they were in London.

“I am grateful you have invited me to stay here,” Jane remarked.

“Well, I imagine you shall visit more often now, as Fitzwilliam and I will be here regularly. Though I suspect he would much rather be at Pemberley.”

“It must be beautiful. Mr Bingley has spoken of it often. He mentioned that he and Mr Phillip Darcy used to spend their summers there, sometimes with Colonel Fitzwilliam, and, of course, Mr Wickham.”

“How are things between yourself, Mr Bingley, and Colonel Fitzwilliam?” Elizabeth enquired, eager to steer the conversation away from Mr Wickham. “Have you decided whom it is your heart wants?”

Jane sighed. “It is rather peculiar that they both seek my company now. Colonel Fitzwilliam has gone to Matlock for a few weeks with his father, now that Parliament is in recess, and Mr Bingley has gone to Netherfield. I was quite taken aback to hear of it. I am grateful that you invited me to Ashburn, as it affords me some distance to think. But enough about me—what of you and Lord Dorset?”

Elizabeth smiled, “I think when it is just the two of us, you can forgo his official title.” She paused, she had anticipated this question but found herself unprepared to answer. “He is kind,” she began slowly. “Fitzwilliam affords me every comfort I could ask for, even sending for books from Town when I express interest in volumes that are not available here. Everything is arranged just as I wish it. He is attentive and caring, and we share some of the most riveting conversations.”

“In other words, he is the ideal husband?” Jane prompted with a gentle smile.

Elizabeth shrugged slightly. “I cannot deny that my feelings for him have altered these past few weeks. I find myself caring for him more than I thought possible. I worry for his safety. The day before our wedding, he was almost injured in a robbery,” she said, pausing their walk.

“A robbery? Goodness gracious, I had no idea!”

“I only discovered it by chance. And then he was injured during a fencing match with his cousin. Not badly, but enough to alarm me. Ever since then, I have been plagued by thoughts of dread, wondering what life might have been like if he had not returned to me. Not so much because I would have been alone, but because he would have been gone. The thought troubles me, and the more I dwell on it, the more I realise that I could not bear to lose him. There was a time when such a notion would have made me laugh, but now… now I care for him deeply.”

Jane’s smile widened. “It seems your heart has found its true path. Perhaps everything is unfolding as it was meant to. Can you imagine it? You and Fitzwilliam together, perhaps even with an heir?”

Elizabeth looked down at her feet, “I think not. We have not even spoken of an heir. We do not share a bedchamber,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper, aware that such topics were not usually discussed openly.

“You have not? But you have been married—”

“I know, but I felt uncomfortable, and he promised not to rush me. Although, the longer we are married, the more I wonder if perhaps I—” she faltered, feeling her cheeks flush. “If perhaps I wish for him to rush me, even if only a little.”

“So, you can imagine yourself as his wife, in every sense of the word?”

Elizabeth smiled broadly. “Yes. I can. I can see myself walking through these gardens with him when we are old, our grandchildren running around us, and still loving him with the same intensity I feel now, perhaps even more.”

Jane squeezed her sister’s hand, her expression one of deep contentment. “Then you have found what you were meant to. And I could not be happier for you.”

Elizabeth smiled to herself. It was true, these past few days had been peaceful and full of growing affection between herself and her husband, something she never imagined possible. Her feels had grown beyond friendship and she knew he still felt as he had in Hunsford—though he hadn’t said so. He made it clear through his gestures and attentiveness, and yet he was not pressing her for anything and that made her care for him even more.

“I suppose my heart does know what it wants, at long last,” Elizabeth began.

Jane, with a knowing smile, said, “I think your heart knew all along.”

“Well, you see? Coming to Ashburn has already given me some clarity, and it may do the same for you,” Elizabeth replied.

“I certainly hope so,” Jane began, but her words trailed off. “That is… it can’t be…” she whispered, her eyes fixed on a figure in the distance. “George Wickham?”

Elizabeth followed Jane’s gaze. Indeed, there he was, strolling leisurely down the road, his arms swinging by his sides as if he hadn’t a care in the world. The sight of him made her stomach clench, memories of their last conversation flooding back—back when she had still held him in some regard, believing his every word.

“Why in the world is he here?” Elizabeth murmured, her voice tinged with both confusion and distaste.

“I’m afraid we’re about to find out,” Jane replied as they drew nearer. Turning back now would have been impossible, and so they continued on their path.

“Goodness, goodness,” Mr Wickham exclaimed with a sly smile that Elizabeth once might have found charming. “If it isn’t Elizabeth Bennet and Jane Bennet. Oh, excuse me,” he added, placing a hand over his mouth as though suppressing a chuckle. “I must correct myself—Lady Dorset. Who would have thought, after everything I told you.”

“Indeed, after everything you told me,” Elizabeth repeated, her tone steely as she met his gaze. How she had ever believed anything this man had to say was now beyond her comprehension. It was so clear to her now—he was a liar, a scoundrel, a man not to be trusted. Her thoughts turned to her sweet sister-in-law, Georgiana, and what Mr Wickham had done to her. Her fingers twitched with the impulse to slap him, but she knew it would be thoroughly unsuitable for a lady to act in such a manner.

“What brings you to Ashburn?” she asked, determined to keep the conversation civil.

“Oh, I am on leave from my regiment,” Mr Wickham replied smoothly. “So I thought I would return to a place where I spent many a summer in my youth. The late Mr Darcy used to bring me here, and I spent many happy hours with dear Georgiana and Phillip. Of course, Darcy himself was never well-disposed towards me, even then. And Colonel Fitzwilliam—Richie, as we called him—was always by Darcy’s side. Bingley was here at times as well, but that was later, when we were older.”

Elizabeth’s mind spun at the mention of Phillip Darcy. She had been unaware that Phillip and Richard Fitzwilliam had known Mr Wickham so well, but it made sense—they were all her husband’s cousins, after all, and had been friends since childhood.

“I was unaware that you were acquainted with Phillip Darcy,” she remarked.

“Oh yes, we were quite dear friends. Not so much as boys, but later, at Cambridge. We grew very close then. We still write to one another. In fact, that is how I learned of your good fortune, Miss Bennet—Lady Dorset. I was actually on my way to see him now. It would be rude of me not to call on a friend when we happen to be in the same town, would you not say so?”

Elizabeth was about to express her surprise that Phillip Darcy was at Ashburn, since she had believed him to be staying in Town, but she refrained, not wanting to appear ignorant of her own family’s affairs.

“I did not know he had arrived yet,” she said instead, implying that she had known of his visit, just not the exact timing.

“Oh yes, he arrived yesterday. Have you not seen him yet? Well, I suppose the cottage is a little far from here. Frankly, I was surprised that Darcy did not put him up at Ashburn—excuse me, Lord Dorset. I will never get used to it. I thought he was proud enough before his elevation,” Mr Wickham said, waving a hand dismissively, though his eyes sparkled with mischief. “But I must not speak ill of your husband.”

Elizabeth felt her temper rise at Mr Wickham’s insinuations but held her composure, determined not to give him the satisfaction of knowing he had ruffled her.

Elizabeth stood rooted to the spot, the encounter with Mr Wickham leaving her more unsettled than she cared to admit. Mr Wickham’s insinuations, his sly smile, and his casual reference to Phillip Darcy as a dear friend gnawed at her. How could it be that Phillip, who appeared so reserved and gentlemanly, still maintained a connection with someone as unscrupulous as Mr Wickham?

Mr Wickham seemed to sense her discomfort. “Well, I must be off,” he said with a casual wave of his hand. “It was lovely seeing you both—such unexpected pleasures are rare indeed.” He gave them a mock bow, his eyes gleaming with mischief, before sauntering off down the road.

Elizabeth watched him go, her mind racing. She turned to Jane, who seemed equally perturbed by the encounter.

“I always had a bad feeling about Phillip,” Elizabeth admitted quietly as they began to walk back towards Ashburn. “There’s something… something the matter with him. I can’t quite place it, but it’s as if he’s envious of Fitzwilliam, though he tries to conceal it. And now, this—Mr Wickham claiming they are still close friends… It makes me wary.”

Jane nodded slowly, her brow furrowed. “It is indeed strange, Lizzy. For him to still correspond with Mr Wickham… it does raise questions.”

“Exactly,” Elizabeth agreed, her voice tinged with unease. “And yet, I don’t want to jump to conclusions. But this encounter—there’s more to it than meets the eye. I think… I think I must speak to my husband about it.”

Jane gave her sister a supportive nod. “Yes, you should. If anyone can shed light on the matter, it’s him.”

As they walked back to Ashburn, Elizabeth’s thoughts churned. She couldn’t shake the sense of foreboding that had settled over her since Mr Wickham’s appearance. If Phillip Darcy truly was as close to Mr Wickham as he claimed, what did that say about his character? And what could this mean for the Darcy family, for Georgiana, and for the harmony she had so recently found with Fitzwilliam?

Upon their return to the estate, Elizabeth felt a renewed resolve. She would not let this matter rest until she had spoken to her husband. If there was something amiss with his cousin, if Phillip’s intentions were less than honourable, then he needed to know. Elizabeth would not allow anything—or anyone—to jeopardise the happiness she had only just begun to embrace.

And so, with determination in her heart, Elizabeth made her way to find her husband, ready to unearth the truth about Phillip Darcy and his mysterious connection to George Wickham.