Pride, Prejudice & Secrets (33 page)

“It has been weeks since I got a letter,” Wickham said absently, as he opened both of them to find which one had been posted first.

“It is more luck than anything whenever letters reach us, though my sister seems to get most of mine.”

“Then you are not married? I never heard you mention it.”

“No, have not had the opportunity. I have been in the Thirtieth since I was eighteen, at war and an ordinary soldier for most of the time. If we can ever put an end to the Corsican, I might have better fortune. What is the matter, Wickham? Bad news?”

Wilson had seen Wickham’s face twist in shock, and it was several moments before he looked up with an expression Wilson had not seen previously. “No,” Wickham said slowly, “not bad news. Not at all. Just…surprising. Mary tells me that she is with child. Her aunt estimates a date around the end of the year.”

“Then congratulations are in order. Here, I’ll take another pull at that dirty water.”

“A father,” Wickham said wonderingly as Wilson handed the bottle back to him. He wondered why he felt so strange since he was certain he had fathered at least two children out of wedlock, but it seemed as if that had been the actions of another man. Now that a child was going to be born to his wife, everything felt different. Absently, he took a long drink of the brandy and handed the bottle back to Wilson.

“I do not think I need this now, sir,” he said.

“Well, if you are certain,” Wilson said doubtfully.

“I am sure of it, sir. But I do thank you for the thought.”

“Very good, then. Good night, Wickham.”

“Good night, sir. And thank you also for my letters.” As his captain moved out of the firelight, Wickham returned to his letters. Starting at the very beginning of the first and reading them carefully, the loving and convivial words washed through him. While he had always enjoyed her letters, he had often thought her news of the activities and gossip of the seaside town where she still resided was trite and inane. It was not so tonight, for he felt a connection, a rapport he had not felt before. The news of her pregnancy was paramount, of course, but he also found the trivialities almost as interesting. It was the essence of everyday life in England, and he longed to join her.

As he read, he gradually grew conscious that he now felt much improved. His black mood had vanished as if it had never been. He considered it for a moment and then dismissed the thought, returning to the words of his wife.

Tuesday, January 5, 1813: Darcy Townhouse, London

Elizabeth was resting quietly in her room when she heard the gentle knock at her dressing room door.

“Come in, Sarah,” she said, easily recognizing the knock.

Besides,
she thought in amusement,
who else would be knocking at that door? Sarah guards admittance to my room these days like a mother bear guarding her cubs. None of the other servants would dare enter, and she even looks at William as if she would like to bar him also!

“Pardon, ma’am,” Sarah said, reluctantly holding out a small silver tray with a calling card on it. “Miss Bingley has called and asks for a few minutes of your time.”

“Miss Bingley?” Elizabeth said, so astonished that the words came out without thought. She took the card and studied it. She was further surprised it was so plain; she was not sure, but she seemed to remember Miss Bingley’s card was larger, engraved in an ostentatious yet elegant script.

Why is she calling on me?
she wondered.
Is her brother visiting William?

“Did Mr. Bingley come to call with her?”

“No, ma’am. She arrived alone.”

“Well,” she said, heaving herself up, “help me into my dressing gown and then show her up.”

“Here, ma’am?” Sarah asked in surprise.

“Better here than some other room where I might have to dress,” she said, gesturing to her swollen stomach. “We are acquainted well enough.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Sarah said, clearly unwilling and frowning in disapproval.

Sarah remembers the slight to Jane all too well,
she thought,
and she appears to bear more of a grudge than I.

In a few minutes, Sarah opened the door to the hallway and announced, “Miss Caroline Bingley, Mrs. Darcy.”

Caroline came in, paused slightly as she took in Elizabeth’s condition, and then said, “It is very good to see you again, Mrs. Darcy.”

“Please, come sit down, Miss Bingley. That chair over there if you please. I am supposed to stay off my feet as much as possible.”

“Yes, yes, of course. It is so good of you to see me in your condition,” Caroline mumbled uncomfortably and sat down.

“Sarah, please send up tea and some of those small cakes for the two of us.”

“Of course, ma’am,” Sarah replied and bobbed a curtsey, which was specifically against Elizabeth’s standing orders. Clearly, her personal maid was not going to give this visitor, whom she viewed with scarcely concealed suspicion, any reason to fault the performance of her mistress’s staff.

Caroline looked distinctly uncomfortable as Sarah departed.

“I am very sorry to intrude,” she said uneasily. “I did not, uh…”

“Know that I was in the family way?” Elizabeth said cheerfully, patting her stomach. “Well, it does happen to new brides, you know.”

“Yes, I suppose so.” Caroline seemed to recover some of her poise. “Charles spoke of it. But…I came on a somewhat sensitive purpose. And I will confess I was so…obsessed with my mission that it slipped my mind. I do apologize; it was thoughtless of me.”

This does not sound like the Miss Bingley I have always known,
Elizabeth thought in wonderment.
She does not apologize — not really. And she never, of my knowledge, spoke so plainly. With her, everything is subterfuge, allusion, and raised eyebrows for those informed of the latest news and gossip. But, if she is willing to speak in this open manner, I will respond equally — for as long as it lasts, at least.

“Then by all means tell me why you came, Miss Bingley,” she said, even if her cheerfulness was forced. “If it is in my power to assist you, I will do so.”

“Thank you,” Caroline answered in a near whisper, and Elizabeth realized the other woman had rather expected to be rebuffed.

Caroline was silent for a few moments, then she took a deep breath. “I could not think of anyone else to ask other than Colonel Fitzwilliam’s parents, and I cannot do so for reasons that will be clear shortly. Is he…that is, does your husband still hear from the Colonel?”

“Of course.” Elizabeth smiled; then her expression grew more sombre. She now suspected the reason for Miss Bingley’s visit. But the news she had, while not actually distressing, was equally not a matter for celebration.

“William had a letter from Richard several weeks ago,” she said seriously. “He is still in Spain with Wellington.”

Miss Bingley gave a jerky nod at this information, and Elizabeth said, “His regiment was involved in a number of actions, the last of which was at a place called Tordesillas in Spain. He said it was a minor affair, the last gasp of the campaigning season. Both the British and French armies went into winter quarters after that.”

Elizabeth was again surprised as Caroline closed her eyes, her face frozen for a few minutes, then she opened her eyes and smiled a slight, tremulous smile. “Then he…the Colonel is…well?”

“So he informs us,” Elizabeth said.

“Then…I hope I do not ask too much…but could you help me get a letter to Colonel Fitzwilliam?”

Elizabeth looked at her silently for a moment.

“I could,” she said quietly, “but I have a question in return. Why?”

Caroline looked away for a few moments, her lips working as she struggled to find the words. Finally, she looked back at Elizabeth, and her eyes were clear and direct.

“Because I have to repair certain…certain mistakes I have made,” she said quietly. “If it is not too late, that is. But, even if it
is
too late…I still have much to mend.”

Elizabeth took this in quietly then got to her feet and moved to her desk. Caroline Bingley looked somewhat alarmed, for Mrs. Darcy was no longer as light-footed as she had been in Hertfordshire.

“No, do not look so fearful,” she said cheerfully. “I had to give up my walks last month; William ordered it. I was unhappy, but he was right; the chance of falling was becoming too great. But I get about easily as long as I watch my balance.”

Sitting down at her writing desk, Elizabeth sorted through several papers before finding what she looked for and quickly wrote down an address on a sheet of paper. As she finished, Caroline cleared her throat.

“Uh, Mrs. Darcy, might I trouble you for another address: that of your sister in Bermuda?”

Elizabeth looked at her sharply, and Caroline gave her another feeble smile. “I am afraid I have several faults to address.”

This time, Elizabeth only nodded, quickly wrote down another address from memory, and then carefully sanded the paper before folding it and holding it out to Caroline.

“Thank you.” Caroline folded the paper again before sliding it into her reticule.

“Thank you again,” she repeated.

But, as she was rising to her feet, she suddenly halted as Elizabeth said sharply, “Where are you going, Caroline?”

“Why…why, I was about to depart,” she stammered, wondering at the tone of Elizabeth’s voice. “I do thank you for your assistance, but — ”

“You were going to simply depart my home? Without greeting my husband? Or Georgiana? You will do no such thing.”

She pulled a cord hanging from the ceiling, and Sarah almost immediately came through the door in the dressing area, carrying a tray with a tea service.

“Yes, Mrs. Darcy?” she asked.

“Inform my husband that we will have a guest for dinner, Sarah.” She paused as another thought came to her, and she asked, “Are you staying with your brother? Or your sister?”

“Uh, no,” Caroline stammered, thrown off balance by how swiftly Elizabeth was acting. “Charles and the Hursts are visiting in Scarsdale.”

“And you travelled to London by yourself?” Caroline nodded. Elizabeth turned back to Sarah. “Have another room prepared for my friend. She will be staying a few days.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Sarah replied, her voice even despite her surprise.

“Then ask my husband and my sister to come to my chambers,” she said looking at Caroline. “He ordered me here, so he must come to me.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Sarah repeated then departed at Elizabeth’s nod that she had no more instructions.

When they were alone, Caroline looked at Elizabeth several moments. “I do not understand, Mrs. Darcy.”

“It is quite clear, Caroline,” Elizabeth said easily, resuming her seat in the comfortable upholstered chair she had left. “You have just repaired your mistakes with me. And I think we now could stop using such impersonal terms as ‘Miss’ and ‘Mrs.’ I believe ‘Caroline’ and ‘Elizabeth’ would do nicely among friends.”

Elizabeth had never even known that Caroline Bingley could cry, but as she saw the tears trickling from the other woman’s eyes as she struggled to speak, she had evidence she could do so. It took much of a minute before Caroline could utter a whispered, “Thank you.”

“Nonsense. You must learn some of my own philosophy and remember only those parts of the past that give you pleasure. Now, it would be best to dry your tears, for William and Georgiana will soon be here. And you have some letters to write.”

Saturday, February 6, 1813: East Coast of Spain

Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam sighed as he entered his tent and collapsed into his folding camp chair, wrapping his long overcoat about him to combat the chill. The small stove Sergeant Henderson had found and “liberated” struggled mightily against the cold, but his entry into the tent appeared to have let most of the warm air out.

If, indeed, any warmth really existed,
he thought derisively.
Will I ever be warm again?

He and his regiment had joined the Anglo-Sicilian force occupying the port of Alicante in late October, after that unsatisfactory rear-guard at Venta del Pozo. He grimaced in distaste, remembering that most unpleasant day among so many other unpleasant days.
If the Sixteenth had not broken and turned the wrong way, blocking Bock as well as the guns,
he thought morosely,
it might have been different. What a waste of good men!

Not that his present position was any more encouraging. This conglomerate force from several nations did not appear to have done much to contribute to the allied war effort, but he had hopes that the arrival of Lieutenant General John Murray to command, along with substantial reinforcements, might herald better times.

At that moment, the flap of the tent was thrown back and Sergeant Henderson hurried in, quickly closing the flap behind him.

“Sorry, sir,” Henderson apologized, but Richard waved his hand negligently.

“You are not responsible for the cold, you know,” he said in amusement, for Henderson did appear to hold himself responsible for everything else.

“Yes, sir, but I thought you would want to see this,” Henderson replied, handing his officer a letter.

Richard’s eyebrows rose, for he had received a letter from his mother the day before and one from Mrs. Darcy the week before that.

“Thank you,” he said absently, and Henderson exited the tent as swiftly as he arrived.

Richard felt surprise as he saw that the sender indeed ‘Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy,’ and he quickly opened it. He was rather astonished to find that a single sheet of paper had been folded around another letter, which was addressed “Miss Caroline Bingley.” Mystified, he quickly read through Mrs. Darcy’s short note on the covering paper:

Tuesday, January 5, 1813
Darcy House, London

Dear Colonel Fitzwilliam,
I enclose this missive from Miss Bingley, who came to me and asked whether I might provide your address. Her manner was so completely different from what I expected that I decided instead to provide this covering letter in order to satisfy the proprieties. I have no idea where all this may lead, but I just concluded the most enjoyable visit with Miss Bingley. Life does seem to have many unexpected surprises, does it not?

Your most loving cousin,
Mrs. E. Darcy

He looked at the enclosed letter, the address written in a most elegant hand, for several moments then, at a sudden thought, raised it to his nose.

Most enchanting perfume,
he thought in amusement.
Contrived and false she may be, but she has excellent taste!

Curiosity took him then, and he wasted no more time in breaking the seal.

Tuesday, January 5, 1813
London

Dear Colonel Fitzwilliam,
I would completely understand if you had already consigned this missive, unopened, to the flames, but, having read thus far, I do beseech you to give me an opportunity to redeem myself. First, I must apologize for being so forward as to write you, but given your distant and hazardous location, I could not wait until your return. It is already not to my credit that it has taken this long for me to take pen in hand to offer my apologies, but I have had to contend with my many misconceptions and ingrained habits before I could do so. But it is not my purpose to offer justifications, and I will waste no more of your time but will quickly come to my point. Since our last conversation, in which you so thoroughly evaluated my character, I have had occasion for many troubled contemplations on what you said. It was not a comfortable endeavour, for I was forced to the conclusion that many of your points were distressingly accurate. Accordingly…

Richard read the entire letter through in a state of rising amazement mixed with a certain degree of suspicion, considering everything he knew of Caroline Bingley’s past behaviour. As soon as he finished, he stared at the letter, written in a flawless hand, and his bemusement kept him silent for several moments before he picked it up and read it carefully again, examining each sentence and wondering at the instigation of such intimate and thorough revelations to a man who was, in most regards, little more than a stranger.

But the purpose of her letter cannot be misunderstood,
he thought, looking carefully at the ending:

If I have engendered, by chance, any element of forgiveness on your part, I hope that you might do me the honour of tendering a reply. Even if that reply is nothing more than a single line of forgiveness, I would at least be able to go on from this point with a clearer conscience than has been my wont heretofore. And if you have more generous feelings, be assured that any such information will be received in true and sincere appreciation.