Page 44 of Mr. Darcy's Runaway Bride
Elizabeth looked at him in surprise. “Whatever for?”
“Earlier, when we had breakfast with Richard, I spoke to defend you when you did not need it.”
The simple acknowledgment touched Elizabeth deeply. She thought of Jonathan Blackfriars, who had never once considered that her preferences might differ from his own, who would never have recognised such a fault in himself, let alone apologised for it.
“Thank you,” she said. “Your consideration means a great deal to me.”
Darcy’s eyes held hers, and Elizabeth felt a curious warmth spread through her chest. In that instant, her decision crystallised. No, she would not mention her acquaintance with Wickham. The knowledge could serve no purpose except to introduce strain into the growing understanding between them. He was merely a trivial figure from her past, unworthy of disrupting the future she was beginning to envision at Pemberley.
As they rose to return to the house, Elizabeth felt a newfound clarity. The truth about Wickham had revealed much about Darcy’s character—his loyalty, his protective nature, his capacity for restraint even when wronged. These qualities, combined with the consideration he showed her daily, strengthened her growing regard for the man she had married under such extraordinary circumstances.
Perhaps, as Richard had suggested, their temporary situation might indeed be evolving into something more enduring than either of them had anticipated.
Chapter 15
Elizabeth
9th August 1812
Morning light streamed through the tall windows of Pemberley’s breakfast room, casting golden patterns across the polished table where Elizabeth sat with Jane’s letter spread before her. Two weeks had passed since Colonel Fitzwilliam’s departure, and Elizabeth had postponed reading her sister’s correspondence, knowing it would address the Wickham situation. Her fingers trembled slightly as she broke the seal and unfolded the parchment. Wickham’s name leapt from the page immediately.
Dearest Lizzy,
Your letter brought me such pleasure, though I confess to disquiet at its contents. This matter of Mr Wickham troubles me deeply. If he is indeed the same man who imposed himself upon our acquaintance in Meryton, then your continued silence on the subject may prove unwise.
I urge you to consider revealing your knowledge of Wickham to Mr Darcy. Particularly after receiving your second letter with the news from Mr Darcy’s cousin. Secrets, even those kept with the best intentions, cast long shadows.
Elizabeth’s grip tightened on the paper, creasing its edge. Jane’s gentle reproach mirrored the doubts that had plagued her own conscience. How could she confess now, after weeksof calm? Would such a revelation not destroy the fragile understanding that had developed?
Her gaze dropped to the next paragraph, where Jane’s perceptiveness struck closer to the heart:
Forgive me if I speak too boldly, but your letters suggest a growing attachment to Mr Darcy. Your descriptions reveal an admiration that might, in time, deepen into something more profound. If such feelings develop, how much more difficult might it become to acknowledge this omission?
Elizabeth placed the letter on the table. Had her feelings become so transparent, even in ink? She continued reading as Jane shifted to more ordinary matters:
We have had some excitement here despite your absence. Mr Bingley arrived a fortnight ago with his sisters and a Mr Hurst. The neighbourhood has been in a flutter, and we made their acquaintance at Tuesday’s assembly.
Mr Bingley possesses every quality one could wish for—handsome features, cheerful temperament, and pleasing manners. Mama will have told you that he stood up with me twice. We have been invited to take tea at Netherfield tomorrow. I find him most gentlemanlike, but pray do not tease me about this acquaintance. And what’s more—he knows your Mr Darcy! He called him his dearest friend. Is that not a remarkable coincidence?
A smile tugged at Elizabeth’s lips. Despite Jane’s attempt at nonchalance, her enthusiasm for Mr Bingley shone through her measured words. The prospect of Jane forming an attachment to her husband’s closest friend sparked an unbidden vision—future visits between their families, shared celebrationsat Pemberley, a connection between her old life and new that Elizabeth had scarcely dared imagine. She would have to tell Jane Mr Darcy was well acquainted with Mr Bingley, something she had forgotten about thus far.
Footsteps echoed in the passage, and Elizabeth gathered the letters into a neat pile as Darcy appeared in the doorway.
“Good morning, Elizabeth.” His voice carried a softness reserved solely for her, the same subtle shift she had noticed whenever they were alone.
“Good morning,” she replied, tucking the letters into her pocket. “Did you sleep well?”
“I did.” Elizabeth hesitated, more words hovering unspoken. “Jane has written,” she said instead, careful to keep the letter hidden lest Wickham’s name catch his eye. “She has met your Mr Bingley and speaks of him in terms that suggest genuine admiration. He has invited her to tea at Netherfield.”
A smile transformed Darcy’s usually solemn face. “Bingley has never been able to resist a pretty face. But do not worry—he is an honourable man.”
“Do you think we might visit soon?”
“Would that not mean seeing your family as well as mine?” Darcy’s question held no mockery, merely sensible consideration.
“Yes, but it cannot be avoided forever.”
“Let a few more weeks pass, and then we shall make arrangements.” He studied her face before adding, “I’ve come toask if you might join me this morning. We always walk, but there is more of Pemberley to see on horseback.”
