Page 53 of Grief and Grievances
Darcyawokewithastart, his heart pounding in his chest as the remnants of an unsettling dream clung to his mind like cobwebs. The image of Elizabeth Bennet, her eyes full of doubt and uncertainty, haunted him even as he tried to shake off the tendrils of his restless sleep. He sat up in bed, running a hand through his dishevelled hair, and sighed deeply.
“Will she accept my proposal, or shall I be doomed to live this agony forever?” he muttered under his breath, anxiety tightening his chest. As the first light of dawn crept through the curtains, he rose from his bed and began to pace the room, his thoughts consumed by the captivating young woman who had stolen his heart.
“Surely,” he reasoned with himself, “she must see the sincerity in my affections, the depth of my love for her.” His heart ached at the memory of their last conversation, where he had laid bare his soul and confessed his love despite her initial refusal. And now, once more, he awaited her answer with bated breath.
“Brother,” came the timid voice of Georgiana from the other side of the door. “Are you awake? It is nearly time for breakfast.”
“Ah, Georgiana,” he replied with a forced smile, trying to conceal the turmoil within. “Yes, I am awake. I shall join you shortly.”
“Very well,” she said softly, sensing the tension in his voice but not understanding its cause. “I shall save a seat for you.”
Darcy took a deep breath, attempting to compose himself before facing the day ahead. With each step towards the dining room, the weight of his uncertainty grew heavier. He could hardly focus on the meal before him, picking at it absentmindedly as his thoughts circled back to Elizabeth. They were not to venture to Longbourn today, as Miss Bingley had contrived to invite another neighbourhood family and insisted they must remain at home, so Darcy would not have his answer today.
“Brother,” Georgiana’s gentle voice pulled him from his reverie as he entered the breakfast room. Her furrowed brow betrayed her concern as she studied his tense expression. “Is everything quite well?”
“Indeed,” he replied curtly, offering a smile that did not reach his eyes. He glanced past her to see Caroline Bingley, poised at the buffet, her ears straining to catch any morsel of their conversation.
“Mr. Darcy,” Caroline interjected with feigned sweetness, gliding towards him like a serpent in silk. “You look rather… distressed this morning. Has something happened?”
“Nothing of import, Miss Bingley,” he responded coolly, narrowing his eyes at her intrusion. “Merely a restless night.”
“A shame, sir! I shall have the servants pay particular attention to your pillows today.” She smiled eagerly, and he shuddered at the thought that he might have just given her an excuse to intrude into his rooms.
“Indeed no, my restlessness is no reflection on Netherfield’s comforts,” he said hastily. “Perhaps I merely did not take enough exercise yesterday. A good ride this morning will see me right… I believe I shall go into Meryton.”
“But Mr. Darcy, the Goldings are coming this morning!” Caroline protested.
“Your guests, Miss Bingley, not mine. Forgive me.” Ignoring her spluttering, he turned to Georgiana. “How do you find Netherfield this morning, dearest sister?”
“Quite lovely, Fitzwilliam,” Georgiana replied with a small smile. “The gardens are especially beautiful today.”
“Indeed,” he murmured, though his mind was not on the beauty of Netherfield’s grounds. Instead, it wandered to Meryton and the possibility of encountering Wickham, the scoundrel who had nearly ruined Georgiana’s life. Darcy could not help but worry that the man would seek revenge now that his financial misdeeds were exposed.
And so, after finishing his meal, he excused himself and ventured towards the village, despite Miss Bingley’s continued protestations at his departure.
The air was cool and crisp, a welcome respite from the stifling atmosphere within the house. He mounted his horse, feeling the familiar rhythm of its gait soothe his troubled thoughts.
As he approached Meryton, the village teemed with life—barrows laden with produce were pushed through the narrow streets, and children darted between the legs of their elders, laughter bubbling in their wake. Yet within this idyllic scene, a sinister undercurrent persisted, one that Darcy believed only he could sense.
“Steady now,” he murmured to his horse as they navigated the busy thoroughfare. His eyes scanned the faces of passersby, searching for any trace of Wickham. Despite his efforts, there seemed to be no sign of the man whose presence haunted him.
Pausing beneath the eaves of the local apothecary, he considered his options. Lieutenant Denny and Captain Carter meandered nearby, deep in conversation. It would be simple enough to engage them, to inquire after their fellow officer. But no, Darcy chided himself, his motives must remain shrouded in secrecy. To arouse suspicion would be to risk exposing not only himself but also the precarious position of his beloved sister.
“Mr. Darcy!” a voice called out, jarring him from his thoughts. He turned to see Mrs. Long, the widow who had taken such an interest in the militia officers stationed in Meryton, approaching with a broad smile. “What a pleasure to see you here in our humble village!”
“Mrs. Long, good day,” Darcy replied, forcing a polite smile onto his face. “I trust you are well?”
“Indeed, I am, sir. And yourself?”
“Quite well, thank you.” His eyes flicked back to Denny and Carter, who had since moved further down the street. He knew he must act quickly if he wished to maintain his cover.
“Forgive my abruptness, Mrs. Long,” he said, “but I was hoping to speak with Lieutenant Wickham. Have you seen him about?”
“Not today, Mr. Darcy,” Mrs. Long shook her head. “Though I did hear a little gossip regarding him yesterday… but I am sure that would not be of interest to you.”
“Indeed?” Darcy replied, feigning surprise. News of Wickham’s financial troubles must be spreading. “Well, perhaps I shall ask Captain Carter or Lieutenant Denny if they know where he is.”
With a nod of farewell, Darcy strode towards the officers, his heart pounding in his chest. As he closed the distance, however, he hesitated. No, he thought, it would not do. To reveal his purpose now would be to jeopardise all that he held dear. Instead, he turned away and entered the post office, his eyes scanning the small room for any signs of prying ears. To his relief, only the elderly postmaster occupied the space, hunched over his desk, diligently attending to his duties. Darcy approached the counter, producing the letter he had composed earlier; an urgent request for his solicitor to investigate Wickham’s financial matters without delay.
