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In order to expedite her settlement, he must go to his bankers and solicitors in Derby; he could not tolerate the idea of enduring delays, of waiting upon the attorneys to travel back and forth between Derby and Pemberley when he could advance the process more quickly in person by simply remaining there for a few days.
At first light, his carriage was waiting for him before the front doors; he was climbing in when Elizabeth appeared, hastening to him. “Oh, my dearest,” she whispered, “I will miss you whilst you are away. Please hurry home to me.”
He held onto her hands for an extra few moments, looking deeply into her eyes. Her expression seemed to say all the same things his own heart whispered. Finally, he made himself release her, seating himself within the carriage. He watched her from his window grow smaller and smaller, turning in his seat and craning his neck to keep her in view until she was a mere speck. She did not move, watching him go.
Elizabeth was surprised at how unhappy Darcy’s absence made her, but she was determined to stay busy until his return. To that end, Mr Burns, the house steward, and Mrs Reynolds, had offered to show her the household accounts and ledgers; having the most recent brought to the library, she threw herself into the task of understanding them.
It was a mammoth undertaking. There were the books for groceries and linens, the wages for all, the current openings for which servants must be hired, and inventories for the massive wine cellar. And the costs! The expenditures to keep Pemberley running were enormous, offset only nominally by sales from its home farm. Of course, she understood that the profits from the tenant farms, dairies, and timber were kept separately by the land steward Mr Travers, but even so, the amounts were staggering. No wonder Darcy had invested in a house steward. It was a daunting task, trying to understand it all!
She had been at it for some hours, and had just stood to stretch the kinks from her neck, when she heard something of a commotion in the corridor.
“Miss, perhaps you would like to await Miss Bennet in the drawing room,” came Mrs Reynolds’s voice.
“I will not wait!” The voice was almost familiar. The door burst open, and Miss Anne de Bourgh forced her way past the housekeeper.
“No!” she cried, upon spotting Elizabeth. “You will not do it! You will not abuse his goodness in this despicable manner! I shall shout all my secrets to the world myself, first!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
TAKING THE FALL
Elizabeth stared at Miss de Bourgh. The last time she had seen her, the lady had looked sallow, thin, and cross. Now, her colour was high, her hair had come loose from whatever tight control she usually exerted over it, framing her face, and she looked almost…spirited.
“Mrs Reynolds, leave us please,” Elizabeth said. She could not risk that the other woman might begin blurting her most intimate secrets aloud, even before as trusted a servant as Mrs Reynolds.
Mrs Reynolds gave her a dubious look, but obeyed. Elizabeth could hardly blame her; tears streaming down her cheeks, Miss de Bourgh was plainly not wholly in control of her emotions. Elizabeth presumed that the housekeeper would probably not go far.
“Please, sit, Miss de Bourgh, and tell me what has upset you.” Elizabeth gestured at a sofa, but the other woman ignored it.
“You can be at no loss, Miss Bennet, to understand the reason of my journey hither. Your own heart, your own conscience, must tell you why I come.”
“Indeed, you are mistaken, Miss de Bourgh. I have not been at all able to account for the honour of seeing you here.”
“False!” Miss de Bourgh shouted angrily. “However insincere you choose to be, you must understand that I know what you are attempting! I shall not allow it! Darcy will never be your pawn, your tool…the object of your extortion!”
Elizabeth recoiled. “I fear you have lost your wits. What extraordinary delusion is this?”
“I have been told that you intend to marry my cousin Darcy! I insist upon having that report universally contradicted at once!”
“I am afraid I cannot, will not deny that particular report.”
“Then I shall know how to act. I will tell everyone, everyone I know, that several years ago, when I was but a young and foolish girl, I nearly eloped with George Wickham. I shall take out a notice in every newspaper and broadsheet in London, if need be, to ensure everyone in the world knows it. Once it is no longer a secret, your hold over Darcy will be broken, and he will be free.”
Elizabeth stared at her, dumbfounded. “Why in heaven’s name do you believe I am somehow forcing Darcy to marry me?”
The other woman made a scoffing sound of contempt. “You must be! Do you suppose me ignorant of your mother, your uncles? You have no fortune or connexions, are nothing like the bride he has always expected! Mama is mystified, thinking you must have seduced him, but I knew at once what must have happened. This is all my fault, and I will not have him paying for my errors for the rest of his life!”
It was an insulting opinion, to be sure, but at the same time, Elizabeth could admire her willingness to sacrifice herself in trying to rectify what she supposed was outright extortion.
“I can assure you of this,” Elizabeth said, holding on fiercely to her patience, “that if you were to reveal the errors of your youth to the entire world, it would not prevent my marriage with your cousin, nor delay it even a day.”
Miss de Bourgh gaped at her, as if trying to judge whether or not she told the truth. She must have seen the determination in Elizabeth’s expression, for at last, she sank down onto the nearest sofa, a defeated expression upon her face.
“How have you managed it?” she asked. “Do you rely upon his gentlemanly integrity? Did you make him promise? Darcy never breaks a promise, and I suppose you have discovered his high sense of honour. I am too late, I suppose. I did not see the danger. Oh, how long must I pay, and pay and pay, for my mistakes?” Covering her face with her hands, she began again to weep.
Despite Miss de Bourgh’s obviously harsh opinions of her character, Elizabeth could not help feeling an intense pity. The other woman carried a burden weighted by years, plainly expecting the sword of disgrace to fall even after all this time. Taking out her handkerchief, Elizabeth sat beside her, handing it over.
“I have always known that it would all come out someday,” Miss de Bourgh sobbed. “I can only imagine what would happen if I were to find a man I could respect, a husband. Should any rumours of my potential match appear in the papers, I am certain threats would begin. Easy enough, I told myself. Avoid men, avoid society, remain safe. But I believed the risk was my own, not that it would fall upon my cousin. For my uncle’s sake, I would have sacrificed my safety. My uncle loved me, but he loved his son more than life. Oh, please, please, I beg you. I will do anything, anything!”
