A Death at Rosings: A Pride & Prejudice Variation (17 page)

Elizabeth thought about that. Even with Darcy there, a stranger might have taken money from the housekeeping funds. Darcy was too concerned with the farm to pay that much attention to the house and his first choice of housekeeper hadn’t turned out well. She didn’t even wish to imagine what could have happened if Miss de Bourgh had given an unscrupulous person the same authority she’d bestowed on Elizabeth. “I can see how an untrustworthy person could have done great harm.”

“Good. Now, it is my belief that you should be rewarded for what you’ve done here, so this is what we will do. In a few days, you and Kitty will return home with me.”

Elizabeth blinked. Home . . . she did want to go home, didn’t she? She missed Jane, and her home. Mr. Darcy had only just returned, though. If she left now, would she ever see him again? She swallowed. Her throat somehow seemed very tight.

“On our way back, we’ll stop in London to see the Gardiners,” her father was saying.

Elizabeth seized on his words. She needed something to focus on instead of the panic building inside her at the idea of never seeing Mr. Darcy again. Surly, that wouldn’t be the case? He must want to see her, and if Darcy wanted something, he would accomplish it.

“You and I will go to the bank together,” her father said. “You will withdraw however much money you want to spend. You aren’t yet of age but I will make it plain to the bank that it is your money and you can withdraw it as you wish.”

“Withdraw? For what?”

“Whatever you like,” her father said, casting her a smile. “I must swear you to secrecy, for I can’t have your sisters, and especially your mother, knowing about the money Miss de Bourgh has given you. However, you deserve some sort of reward for the work you’ve done. If you make a purchase on the way home, people will assume the item was a gift from Miss de Bourgh, or that the money used to buy it was.”

Elizabeth nodded. “Anything I wish? You mean, a towering pile of novels, or a huge, gaudy, expensive hat?”

Her father eyed her, looking a bit nervous.

“What about an account book for mother?” she asked, making her eyes wide and innocent.

He narrowed his gaze. “Now I know for certain you jest.”

“I know,” Elizabeth said. “I shall buy my dear sister Lydia a very plain, conservative frock as a wedding gift.”

They filled the walk back to the house with talk of possible purchases; frivolous, ridiculous and wise. Elizabeth realized she could get almost as much enjoyment out of imaginary purchases as real ones. She resolved that when it came to it, she wouldn’t take out any of the money. It was much more sensible to leave it where it was.

The following day as she was getting ready to leave, Elizabeth bemoaned that she hadn’t found a moment to speak quietly with Mr. Darcy. She didn’t have anything in mind to talk with him about, but had missed their conversations greatly in his absence. She tried to maintain her typical cheerful demeanor, but she was tormented by the idea of never seeing him again.

Sitting on the edge of her bed, looking around the room she’d spent the last three months in, Elizabeth felt a wave of sorrow. The space looked cold and empty to her, with her things packed away and even then being carried down and loaded into Mr. Whitaker’s carriage. She’d hoped, somehow, that Mr. Darcy would offer to take them to London, but there was no reason for him to accompany them and every reason for Mr. Whitaker to.

Elizabeth did want to go home, but she had the feeling it would be strange to be there. She wasn’t leaving Rosings quite the same person she’d been when she arrived. She’d never in her life held so many secrets. Darcy’s proposal, his role in separating Bingley and Jane, the money she had in the bank, Pratt’s manipulation of Lydia; it all seemed like a lot to hold inside.

Trying to shake off her disquiet, she stood and made her way to the foyer, where Anne, Mrs. Allen and Kitty waited.

“Elizabeth,” Anne said. “Please do return whenever you like. I shall miss you terribly. Here, take this.” She pressed a ten pound note into Elizabeth’s hands.

“Thank you,” Elizabeth said. She was about to try to return it when she saw the amusement in Anne’s eyes. “I shall miss you as well, Miss de Bourgh.”

“Farewell, dear,” Mrs. Allen said.

“Good bye Mrs. Allen.”

“Good by Miss de Bourgh,” Kitty said. She flung her arms around Anne with a little sob.

While Anne and Mrs. Allen set about trying to comfort Kitty, the former giving her ten pounds as well, Elizabeth turned to Mr. Darcy.

“Mr. Darcy,” she said. “I . . .” She could think of nothing proper to say. I don’t want this to be the last time I ever see you, she thought, wishing that somehow he could see it in her eyes.

“Miss Bennet,” he said. “It is my hope that we shall meet again before long.”

She nodded, curtsying. She didn’t want to read overmuch into his statement, but it filled her with hope.

“Papa is waiting, Lizzy,” Kitty said, apparently recovered from her surge of grief. “Good bye Mr. Darcy.”

“Miss Kitty,” he said, bowing to them both.

If Kitty hadn’t taken her arm and tugged her away, Elizabeth wasn’t sure she would have managed to leave. Then, in a flurry of skirts, they were out the door.

“That was ever so nice of her,” Kitty whispered as they headed down the steps. “Now she’s given me two-hundred and sixty pounds.”

Elizabeth almost tripped, turning startled eyes toward Kitty.

“She gave me two-hundred and fifty as a wedding gift. Isn’t that fabulous of her? I love Miss de Bourgh. I’ve never known anyone so nice.”

Before Elizabeth could organize her thoughts, which centered around not feeling as bad for keeping the three hundred pounds if Kitty was to be given nearly as much simply for reading, they were ensconced in Mr. Whitaker’s coach. This necessitated a round of greetings between them and their father and Mr. Whitaker, including the necessary polite complements to his conveyance and thankfulness for the use of it. By the time Elizabeth was able to turn away and look back, the door to Rosings was closed.

Chapter Seventeen

Darcy left two weeks after the Bennets, after finally finding a competent housekeeper. The man he assigned to run the farm was one of those who had returned, allowing Darcy to leave it with confidence. Anne had fully recovered and gotten through the three-month period of heavy mourning, which meant other visitors started calling. Anne let it be known she was ‘at home’ only for a few hours a day. The rest of the time, she spent reading from her increasingly large pile of books.

Anne invited Mrs. Collins to visit two or three times a week, at times there were no other visitors. On the one occasion she invited him, it was obvious Mr. Collins had mixed feelings about that. He was pleased his wife was invited but chagrinned he was not. He consulted with Darcy about it, who suggested that Collins accept it as one of the reasonable eccentricities of a wealthy, yet sheltered spinster heiress.

Although the added and varied company was more pleasant than any of Lady Catherine’s guests, Darcy found Rosings unhappily empty without Elizabeth. He returned to Pemberley, where he’d invited Bingley and his unwed sister to join him and Georgiana. That filled his days and evenings in a way that should have been adequate, but Darcy still felt a lack. There was an emptiness in his life where Elizabeth had been, and he often found himself thinking about her when he should be attending to matters at hand.

One matter, an unpleasant one, was telling Georgiana that Wickham had left Britain. He also apprised her that Wickham had tried to disperse the rumor that she’d almost eloped with him, so that she would be ready if anyone was ever crass enough to mention the event. She was very quiet while he spoke and he tried to ignore the tears in her eyes. Of Wickham’s failed attempt to run off with Mrs. Pratt, he said nothing.

That accomplished, Darcy tasked himself with trying to deduce whether or not Bingley still had feelings for Jane Bennet. At first, he thought that since Bingley never spoke of her, he must have recovered from his infatuation. After a few days, however, it occurred to Darcy that there was a pointedness to Bingley’s silence on the subject. He never talked of his time in Hertfordshire, but mentioned every other place he had lived for the past three years. He also made no mention of a wonderful woman he’d just met, which was unusual for him. By the time Bingley and his sister left for their next engagement, Darcy still had no answer.

There were many times during Bingley’s stay that Darcy was on the verge of bringing up Miss Jane Bennet. He permitted his friend to leave without doing so, however. He still worried that if he broached the idea it would be tantamount to telling Bingley to marry Miss Bennet.

Life returned to normal for Darcy, except that it couldn’t be. Normal was now strange feeling. Even in his beloved Pemberley with his sister there, the world was an empty place without Elizabeth.

Almost two months after he’d last seen her, Darcy sat at his desk trying to read over his mail. It contained a number of business letters he knew he should focus on, but he worked with less alacrity than usual, his mind often straying to Elizabeth. He wondered what she was doing. Did she miss him? It had been two months. What if she had met a gentleman she cared for?

Darcy scowled at the thought, forcing himself to see to his affairs. He had no right to wonder if Elizabeth Bennet had met a gentleman. Until he asked for her hand again and was accepted, he had no right to concern over her activities. Yet how could he ask if he couldn’t see her? He looked at the ledgers open on his desk. Did he have no business that would take him to Hertfordshire?

In truth, Darcy could travel to Hertfordshire whenever he wished, of course, and knew why he did not. Mr. Bennet would certainly invite him to stay in his house if he knew Darcy wanted to be there. If he went with no excuse, it was tantamount to proposing. He needed to see Elizabeth again, to assess if her ‘I don’t know’ had changed to something more positive. He wouldn’t be able to stand the pain of handing his heart to her a second time and being rejected.

Unable to focus on them, Darcy set aside his ledgers and letters of business and opened the first of his personal correspondence. It was from Anne. She said that the harvest looked as if it would go well and that she had invited Miss Mary Bennet to stay with her. If she’d invited Elizabeth back, he’d been prepared to take it as a sign. He would have ridden to Rosings and reissued his proposal.

She’d invited Miss Mary, however. Well, Darcy hoped his cousin could improve Miss Mary as much as she’d improved Miss Kitty. He eyed the next letter on the pile.

It was from Bingley. Never before had letters from his closest friend given Darcy pause. Ever since Elizabeth’s vehement assertion that her sister did love Bingley, Darcy felt a shadow of guilt when dealing with the man. It weighed on what had once been a very cordial friendship.

Grimacing, Darcy opened the letter. It was an invitation for Darcy to join Bingley for shooting in Netherfield as soon as he wished to come. Darcy reread the line twice. What was Bingley doing, returning to Netherfield? Either he was so indifferent to Miss Bennet that he didn’t consider her, or he cared for her deeply enough to ignore Darcy’s advice.

Darcy was out of his chair before he knew it. “Stevens,” he called and he strolled from his office. He turned to the footman waiting outside. “Send Stevens to my quarters. We’ve packing to see to. Have a carriage brought round. Tell Alderson we’re off to Netherfield.”

“Yes, sir,” the man said, hurrying away.

Darcy didn’t waste a moment. He was tired of living with the guilt of not knowing if he’d wronged his best friend and he was miserable without Elizabeth. He wasn’t sure what he meant to do about either, but he knew he wouldn’t find the answers in Pemberley. Not when Bingley and Elizabeth were both in Hertfordshire. If he’d wanted a sign, surely Bingley’s letter was one.

When he reached Netherfield, he could tell Bingley was surprised to see him so soon. In fact, he arrived just a few hours after Bingley had. Ever amiable, Bingley took his precipitous entrance in stride. To Darcy’s surprise and relief, Miss Bingley was not in attendance. Apparently, she’d stuck to her declaration to never return. It would be relaxing to be with Bingley and not have to walk the tightrope of being pleasant to his sister without encouraging her to think he had the slightest interest in her.

The following day, Darcy and Bingley rode out to scout possible hunting locations and examine the property. They spoke little except about the purported purpose of the ride, and Darcy mourned their loss of easy comradery. He knew the tension between them stemmed from his guilt and whatever it was Bingley had planned for his visit to Hertfordshire. In spite of that, they still spent a pleasant enough day, riding for several hours.

They’d only just finished a light meal after returning when they had their first caller, Sir William Lucas. Sir William was the father of Elizabeth’s friend, Mrs. Collins, so Darcy did not mind the intrusion as much as he might have. William might mention Elizabeth, after all. He and Bingley stood as the man was shown into the parlor.

“Mr. Bingley, Mr. Darcy, it’s so good to see you both back in Netherfield,” Sir William said, bowing. His tone conveyed what seemed to be genuine pleasure. He had always been friendly before, but there was more in this greeting.

“We’re pleased to be back,” Bingley said. “Please sit. I, for one, missed the fine company and country air Hertfordshire has to offer.”

He didn’t look at Darcy as he said it, but Darcy had the distinct impression the remark was aimed at him.

“Very kind of you to say as much.” Sir William beamed at Bingley. “Mr. Darcy, my condolences on your aunt and might I add, my daughter, Mrs. Collins, spoke very highly of the unflagging assistance you extended to Miss de Bourgh when Lady Catherine died. She said you were willing to do any job, no matter how large or small, to keep Rosings running smoothly.”

“I did what had to be done,” Darcy said, a bit surprised by the praise. He couldn’t see how his shoveling manure was a particular virtue. He didn’t want the cows to be milked in stalls that weren’t cleaned or the horses to stand in filth.

“Just as you did what had to be done when you rescued poor Mrs. Pratt from that villain Wickham?”

“When I did what?” Darcy asked, shocked. If anything, he’d been prepared for veiled comments about Georgiana’s elopement and had been almost eager for the chance to correct any rumors. He hadn’t expected mention of Mrs. Pratt.

“Come now, all the world knows of it,” Sir William said. He leaned forward. “How Mr. Wickham fled the country to avoid debtor’s prison. How he first tried to run off with Miss Lydia to get her dowry for paying his debts.” He spoke in a low voice completely at odds with his assertion that everyone already knew.

“I think it would be best if we didn’t belabor the subject,” Darcy said.

“What subject?” Bingley was all eagerness. “Come, Darcy, you’ve said nothing of this. What’s happened?”

Darcy shook his head, frowning. “It’s exaggeration.”

“Now, don’t be modest,” Sir William said. He turned back to Bingley. “I have it from the girl’s own mother that Mr. Darcy and Mr. Pratt rode at a gallop in the dark of night for hours and rescued the fair maiden. Wickham kidnapped her, you know, for her dowry, knowing that her father and uncle would pay him more than her share, because she is her mother’s favorite.”

Darcy grimaced. Not only were the details wrong, he wasn’t even certain if the word maiden applied. Not that he would ever correct that. If he said that Mrs. Pratt had gone willingly, he would cast a slur on her name that she might never live down. The fact that the slur was earned didn’t matter.

“Come now, Darcy, let’s have the lot of it,” Bingley said, obviously enjoying himself.

Darcy shook his head. “I did little.”

“He’s a local hero,” Sir William said. “I would be honored if you’d dine with us soon.”

“We would be happy to, sir,” Bingley said. “Send round a time and date.”

“I will, I will,” Sir William said. He stood and Darcy and Bingley followed suit. “Wanted to be the first to see you again, Mr. Darcy, Mr. Bingley. Glad you’ve returned.”

They exchanged bows and a footman showed Sir William out. As soon as he was gone, Bingley turned to Darcy. “Well?”

“I, along with several others including her father, assisted Mrs. Pratt,” Darcy said. “We did put Wickham aboard a ship to Spain. There’s really nothing more to it.”

Bingley eyed him for a moment, looking disappointed. “If you say so. I know better than to try to change your mind on a subject.”

Did Darcy imagine the vindictive edge to that statement? Again, he wondered why Bingley had returned to Netherfield and if it had to do with Miss Jane Bennet. Had he invited Darcy for the purpose of proving him wrong?

Bingley continued to scrutinize him, but Darcy shook his head, pressing his lips closed in a firm line. He refused to divulge any further information about Mrs. Pratt. He trusted Bingley, but it wouldn’t do to ever have Lydia Pratt’s actions come to light. Bingley was a terrible liar, especially to those who knew him. Words aside, a guilty look in response to probing by his sisters was all it would take to put their tongues wagging and a different story would reach the world.

“If we’re not to speak of that obviously delicate subject, I suggest we speak of another,” Bingley said. He regarded Darcy with determined eyes. “I brought you here for a reason. I cannot get Miss Bennet out of my mind. I know you said before that you didn’t think she loved me, but I love her. I want to meet her again and decide if I love her enough to marry her without her loving me. You said you thought she enjoyed my company. Could she like me enough to be happy with me? I have to see her again.” This last, Bingley said with a note of desperation in his tone.

Darcy recognized that emotion. It lurked in his own breast. “Why do you want me here?”

“Because if you are looking over my shoulder I will be more careful. I have a tendency to rush headlong into things. Even if you don’t say anything, knowing you’re watching me will make me more careful. In spite of how much I care for Miss Bennet, I don’t know if I can marry a woman who doesn’t love me. I’m afraid I’ll propose before I can answer that question for myself.”

“If you want someone to make sure you don’t propose to Miss Bennet, why not one or both of your sisters?” They’d made no secret of not approving of Jane Bennet and had done a skillful job of preventing a proposal thus far.

“Because you want me to be happy. My sisters want me to be rich and well connected,” Bingley said bitterly.

“I do want you to be happy. Remember that,” Darcy said, realizing it was time to tell Bingley the truth. “There are some things I’m going to tell you that will probably make you angry with me.”

Bingley looked at him with puzzled expectancy. “This sounds serious. Should I sit back down?”

“You may want to,” Darcy said, but they both remained standing. “First, Miss Bennet was in London for most of the winter. She called on your sisters who cut the acquaintance. I suspect that Miss Bingley told Miss Bennet you knew she was in London.”

“Miss Bennet must have thought I was avoiding her. She will never forgive me.” Bingley groaned, sinking into a chair.

“Miss Bennet is a generous hearted woman who tends to think the best of people, but she isn’t stupid. I suspect she knows the truth.”