Page 57 of Introducing Mrs. Collins
Elizabeth hesitated. Her brow was crinkled, and tears formed in her eyes. ‘I should never have let him in. Darcy warned me. It was my idea to allow it.’
Charlotte shook her head and said, ‘It is not your fault, Eliza.’
Elizabeth looked into her eyes. ‘Nor yours.’
Charlotte didn’t reply.
‘I’ll see you downstairs then. We will be in the parlour.’
‘Yes. I shall not be long.’
Elizabeth, who last night had been swift and certain in her reactions, this morning seemed unsure how to behave. She would usually have hugged her friend and sat with her, but Charlotte felt that Elizabeth seemed a little afraid of her – afraid to touch her or get too close, perhaps even slightly repulsed, as people often are of things that are wounded.
As it turned out, few questions were asked about Charlotte’s late appearance – it was easily put down to the same headache she had had last night. Present in the parlour were the only guests remaining at Pemberley: Jane, Mr Bingley and Colonel Fitzwilliam, and its residents: Mr Darcy, Elizabeth and Georgiana.
Charlotte sat next to Jane again and drank tea, careful as she moved her arms not to pull too much on the long sleeves she had worn to conceal the bruises on her wrist. She was determined not to catch the eye of Colonel Fitzwilliam, who was, rather unhelpfully, staring at her with a grim, stern look. An outsider might have thought he was angry at her, but Charlotte guessed at his feelings.
She let her eyes wander around the room, trying to focus on something other than her own thoughts. She eyed the paintings, the curtains, the fire. The fire proved a winning option. It held her gaze and her interest. She stood up, and grabbing a poker, she started to stoke the flames, lightly at first, and then, in something of a daze, she began jabbing at the coals harder, until one fell over the grate onto the hearth.
Charlotte, unthinking, went to pick it up with her bare hand, and Fitzwilliam, the only person with eyes directly on her, vaulted forward from his seat and grabbed her other hand, pulling her backwards.
She looked around, shocked, and then seemed to come back to herself.
‘Allow me,’ Fitzwilliam said, and reaching down, he grabbed the pair of tongs and carefully returned the coal.
They both now stood by the mantelpiece, not knowing what to say.
‘Thank you,’ she said.
‘It is nothing.’
‘It is not nothing. I am grateful,’ she said, turning her face up to finally meet his eyes.
Colonel Fitzwilliam had spent a restless night. While Charlotte was taken upstairs, he had found Darcy, as instructed, and they had gone together to where Wickham still lay. Darcy, taking advantage of the man’s inert state, had quickly formulated a plan, giving several directions to his butler and informing Fitzwilliam of his intentions. When Wickham’s eyes started to open, Darcy and Fitzwilliam pulled him to sitting, which wrenched him into consciousness.
Once Wickham was able to hear and respond, Darcy said simply, ‘You are leaving. Tonight.’
Wickham grinned and then winced; a purple bruise was already forming across one side of his face. ‘Absurd. What a hysterical reaction, Darcy! Why are you involving yourself in this petty argument?’
Darcy certainly did not look hysterical. He was entirely composed and seemingly emotionless. He had been dealing with Wickham his whole life, and it showed; he indulged none of his talk, letting his words slide away into nothing.
Elizabeth entered, soft-footed and efficient, and whispered in Darcy’s ear.
Darcy turned to Wickham and said, ‘Your trunks are loaded. The carriage is ready. Your wife is waiting. Go.’
And after a few spluttered protestations, he did. A wailing, reluctant Lydia accompanied him, and Pemberley was rid of them both before the morning light broke through.
Now, in the parlour, Darcy looked at his cousin, standing by the fireplace next to Charlotte. He considered the fortune of Fitzwilliam’s presence last night; what luck that he had been near the music room and heard the commotion. Had he gone looking for Charlotte, he wondered? He lost the thought, as Bingley asked him a question and he allowed his attention to be drawn.
Fitzwilliam, oblivious to his cousin’s observation, had eyes only for Charlotte, who had taken her place next to Jane once again. Having been so radiant last night, she now looked pale and drawn. She had been putting on a show of being only tired, but he saw the effort she was making to keep that up.
Thank you,she had said, but what had she to really thank him for? For throwing a punch, for losing his temper, for brawling and, in truth, enjoying the win. He did not feel heroic now. He felt rather dirty and like his old self. But would he do it again? Of course. He was fighting an instinct, now, to sit with her, to comfort her, to be close to her – which was, he surmised, probably the last thing she would want.
So, he remained standing a while, a safe distance from her, feeling as uncomfortable as he appeared.
CHAPTER VI
Jane and Bingley left Pemberley the next morning; they were both keen to get back to Netherfield, having not had the chance to settle properly before their travels. Heartfelt goodbyes were made between all: Elizabeth and Jane, Darcy and Bingley, all of whose fates had been intertwined and come out for the better. Charlotte hugged Jane tightly, and they assured each other they would write more and make plans to visit.
