The Disappearance of Georgiana Darcy: A Pride and Prejudice Mystery (13 page)

“One cannot forget Mr. Darcy's propensity to organize his world,” Elizabeth said with her own smile of amusement. They sat in silent companionship for several minutes. “Did Lydia and Lieutenant Wickham stay at the cottage?”

He marked his place in his book with what she recognized as a poor piece of embroidery with which she had presented him when she was twelve. It pleased Elizabeth that he had kept the stiffened material as a memento of her affection for him. “Lydia has remained. Your mother has agreed to stay with your sister.”

Elizabeth's tone betrayed her surprise. “Has Lieutenant Wickham departed?”

His mouth tightened into a firm line. “Mrs. Bennet and I walked in on Lieutenant Wickham's angry response to his eviction from Pemberley.”

“What do you mean by
angry response
?” Elizabeth demanded.

“Your imagination is not required,” he cautioned.

Elizabeth sat forward in agitation. “Lieutenant Wickham struck Lydia?”

“I do not expect it to have been the first time,” he said softly. “Your sister's husband berated her with words of his many conquests.” He expelled a deep sigh. “What future have I encouraged for my child?” he whispered.

“Oh, Papa.” Elizabeth slumped heavily into the chair's cushions. “It was not your fault. You did what you thought necessary to protect Lydia and the family. We all required the rescue of Lydia's reputation, but none of us would ever have wished such a fate on any woman, especially not on someone as emotionally naïve as Lydia.”

“I cannot lay the blame of this matter at your feet, Lizzy,” he said vehemently. “You warned me of the folly of permitting Lydia to accompany the Forsters to Brighton, but I ignored your concerns.
Neither is Mr. Darcy at fault for her consciousness of misery. He attempted to convince Lydia to return to the family fold, but your mother and I had permitted your sister too much freedom. Mr. Darcy's intervention saved Lydia's reputation and permitted the rest of my daughters to make good matches. I despise the situation in which Lydia finds herself, but as much as I bemoan the Fates for setting her situation in motion, her life is the result of your sister's impetuous nature. From the time she set her sights on Lieutenant Wickham, Lydia accepted the man's control over her. I simply wish she had more of Mary's deliberate nature. I think she might have an easier road of it.”

Elizabeth sighed heavily. “What shall we do, Papa?”

“Your mother will escort Lydia to Carlisle. I have promised Mr. Darcy I will remain at Pemberley with you and Bennet in your husband's absence. Besides, Lydia must learn to run a household with more economy. Your mother can assist with that transition better than I.” He stared at the empty fireplace. “I am sore to deny Mrs. Bennet the pleasure of seeing the last of her daughters married by sending her on with Lydia. Yet, Mrs. Bennet grieves greatly because of the situation in which Lydia has found herself. Both of their foolish dreams of dashing men in red coats have burst. Therefore, would you ask Mr. Darcy to accept Lydia's presence at Pemberley for Kitty's sake? I have secured your sister's promise to guard her words. If it is a worry to your husband, I do not expect Lieutenant Wickham will return for her. In case I have erred in that assumption, and the gentleman chooses to seek his wife's forgiveness, I have left the carriage at the cottage for Mrs. Bennet's use.”

“I shall consult with Mr. Darcy immediately.”

The following morning the questions began. “Will Mother Bennet break her fast with us?” Bingley asked as he filled his plate.

Her father shot a quick glance to where Darcy sat at the table's head, and Elizabeth surmised that the two men in her life had come to an agreement. “I imagine Mrs. Bennet still dotes over our youngest. Lydia arrived unexpectedly on Pemberley's doorstep, possibly an hour or so before everyone's return from Derby last evening.”

“Alone?” Bingley questioned, and after receiving a nod of affirmation from Mr. Bennet, he observed, “It was very gracious of Lieutenant Wickham to permit Lydia's attendance at Kitty's nuptials. Mrs. Wickham was unable to attend her other sisters' joinings.”

When her husband had agreed to meet with her father regarding Lydia's situation, Elizabeth had wondered whether the Bingleys would also be consulted as to the story the Darcy household would tell the world of her youngest sister's untimely appearance. Evidently, her father and husband had chosen to limit those in the know. Darcy's refusal to meet her gaze said that her husband was not pleased with the outcome, but that he would tolerate Lydia's presence over the upcoming days. Elizabeth made a mental note to keep both her mother and Lydia as far from Darcy as possible. Her husband's honor and his love for her never ceased to amaze her, and she would reward his actions by circumventing Lydia's foolishness. In Elizabeth's estimation, the man who sat at the table's other end was absolutely incomparable. He had once again risen above the expected censure.

Kitty added, “Having Lydia in attendance shall make my day complete.”

Having witnessed the pain displayed on Kitty's face during the previous day's confrontation with the Wickhams, Elizabeth also directed part of her admiration toward Kitty. “The five Bennet sisters under one roof,” she said weakly. “It has been too long.”

“It is generous of you and Mr. Darcy to open your doors to our family,” Jane observed.

Elizabeth expected Darcy to respond graciously, but her husband continued to bury his nose in the morning papers. “My husband's benevolence is renowned,” she said. “And I am blessed by it,” she added to let him know that she understood his reticence.

Her tone must have penetrated his efforts to ignore the conversation because he lowered the paper just a bit. Unexpectedly, he winked at her, and Elizabeth breathed easier. He would not turn from her. They would survive yet another of their familial catastrophes.

“Our afternoon guests should arrive by one of the clock. I have asked Mrs. Oliver for a picnic served on the lawn at two.” She stood to take her leave. “I shall check on the preparations.”

“May I offer my assistance?” Kitty asked tentatively.

Elizabeth paused by Kitty's chair. “You, my dear, are assigned the arduous task of being radiantly happy.” She bent to kiss the top of Kitty's head. “Create wonderful memories of these days to tell your children.”

Lydia had fought against her natural propensity to seek the attention of all the gentlemen in the room; she constantly reminded herself that she would abide by her father's edict. Often, of late, she had prayed for a way to regain the friends she had so carelessly sacrificed.
At least, I am finally at Pemberley
, she thought.
I can experience the splendor of Lizzy's life first hand, rather than in finely scripted letters describing the lovely gowns of Pemberley's guests from Kitty, or in a litany
of Jane's and Mary's accomplishments from Mama
, she added silently as she looked over the room. Jane had her wealthy Mr. Bingley, Lizzy her even wealthier Mr. Darcy, Mary her highly respected Mr. Grange, and now Kitty had landed the son of a baronet. The disparity between her station in life and those of her sisters was not lost on her.
Everyone content except me
, she thought.

Kitty's approach brought her musings to a close. “There you are,” Kitty said as she handed Lydia a small, colorfully wrapped package. “A little something to say that I am pleased to have you join us for the wedding. It would not be the same without you, Lyddie.”

Lydia's heart lurched in happiness. Kitty had not forsaken her. “How very kind,” she mumbled awkwardly.

“Open it,” Kitty instructed. Lydia wondered when her sister had learned such a cultured accent. She suddenly realized Kitty's voice sounded more like the polished tones often practiced by Jane and Lizzy when they were all living under the same roof. At the time, she and Kitty had made light of their older sisters' ways, but she could not escape the fact that each of the Bennet sisters, except her, had found a man of wealth or of an honored position. Was there a connection between pursuing one's studies and finding a respectable husband? It was all so confusing. Until this journey, Lydia had never analyzed her choices—had always assumed she had acted wisely—had accepted Mr. Wickham's temper as part of the marriage bargain. Now, she was not so certain. Her parents never openly expressed affection, and more than once she knew that her mother had caused her father great embarrassment, but never had he raised his hand to her, nor to his children. She had assumed she would have a husband who treated her as her father had treated her mother, but her foolish dash to the altar had denied her girlish dreams.

Lydia unwrapped the small package to find a pair of earrings that she had once coveted. “Thank…thank you,” she stammered.

“You always loved them more than I,” Kitty said softly. “I want you to know happiness, Lyddie. From this moment forward.”

Lydia fought back the tears forming behind her lids. She looked up to take note of Mr. Winkler's approach. “Here comes the happy bridegroom,” she announced.

Winkler slid his arm affectionately about Kitty's waist. “My mother would like your opinion of a fashion plate from Mrs. Fitzwilliam's catalogue,” he said privately. “Would you mind seeing to her queries?”

Kitty smiled easily. “Certainly. It would be my pleasure.” She glanced at Lydia. “We will speak more later.”

“Go along,” Winkler encouraged. “I will keep Mrs. Wickham company until it is time for the picnic to begin.”

The politeness which she had been brought up to practice as a duty made it impossible for Lydia to escape; while the want of that higher species of self-command, that just consideration of others, that knowledge of her own heart, that principle of right, which had not formed any essential part of her education, made her miserable under it. At length, after a short pause, she began with, “So you are to be a clergyman, Mr. Winkler. This is rather a surprise to me. I mean, you are a baronet's son.”

“Why should it surprise you? You must suppose me designed for some profession, and might perceive that I am neither a lawyer, nor a soldier, nor a sailor.”

“Very true; but, in short, it had not occurred to me. And you know there is generally an uncle or a grandfather to leave a fortune to the second son,” she said defensively, but immediately Lydia wondered if she had said something foolish. Her knowledge of the
aristocratic ranks might be mistaken. Were sons of baronets subject to the same fortunes as those of earls or dukes?

“A very praiseworthy practice,” said Winkler good-naturedly, “but not quite universal. I am one of the exceptions, and being one, must do something for myself.”

“But why are you to be a clergyman? I thought that was always the lot of the youngest, where there were many to choose before him.”

Winkler's gaze flickered over Lydia. “Do you think the church itself never chosen, then?”

Lydia's spirits perked up. Although the man was Kitty's intended, Mr. Winkler's attentions were a balm to her bruised ego. “
Never
is a black word. But yes, in the
never
of conversation, which means
not very often
, I do think it. For what is to be done in the church? Men love to distinguish themselves, and in either of the other lines distinction may be gained, but not in the church. A clergyman is nothing.” As soon as she had said the words, she wished to own them again, but Lydia raised her chin in defiance and waited for the man's censure.

Surprisingly, Kitty's betrothed spoke with kindness and understanding. He raised neither his voice nor his hand to correct her. “The
nothing
of conversation has its gradations, I hope, as well as the
never
. A clergyman cannot be high in state or fashion. He must not head mobs, or set the
ton
in dress. But I cannot call that situation nothing which has the charge of all that is of the first importance to mankind, individually or collectively considered, temporally and eternally, which has the guardianship of religion and morals, and consequently of the manners which result from their influence. No one here can call the
office
nothing. If the man who holds it is so, it is by the neglect of his duty, by forgoing its just importance, and stepping out of his place to appear what he ought not to appear.”