Page 75 of I Thee Wed
“No, not here,” Charlotte retorted sharply. “In London. In Kent. He courted her there. And now they will marry, and she will live with him in his grand estate in Derbyshire.”
Alexander turned pale. “It cannot be. How could Elizabeth do this to me? She loves me. She has always loved me, and I have always loved her.”
Charlotte gave a bitter laugh. “Love? You are halfway betrothed to Mary King. She is marrying another because you would not offer for her. Do you speak of love while you throw one woman away for want of fortune and take up another when she becomes an heiress?”
Alexander said nothing. His face betrayed his anguish.
Charlotte, seeing him stricken, felt no triumph. She was angry and sobbing; she flung from the room, ran up the stairs, and cast herself upon her bed. Charlotte wept bitterly for all the years she had remained unclaimed by any man. She was a spinster, and there were no eligible men in the neighborhood. She had losther chance with Mr. Collins, and now she had nothing else to do except weep.
Elizabeth, meanwhile, was injured by the coldness and the loss. She sat in the parlor as neighbors came and went, each offering their congratulations, but she hardly heard anything that was said. She was thinking of her friend who had not spoken a word to her. She had seen the resentment in Charlotte’s eyes, and she had seen the sneer on Lady Lucas’s face. These women had been like a mother and sister when she was growing up. Now there was only anger.
Chapter 55: Darcy Returns to Netherfield
Mr. Darcy returned to Netherfield late in the afternoon on January 22nd. The day was wet and cold, and he entered the drawing room with his hair disordered and unshaven. Elizabeth rose.
“Fitzwilliam!” She ran to him. “You are safe.” She wrapped her arms around his neck. He bent to kiss her; then he paused to look around the room.
He grinned. “We are alone.” He kissed her again; this time, he crushed her body against his. She felt his muscles warm and hard, holding her pressed against him, and she reveled in the intimacy. Then his warm lips grazed her ear. “I have missed you, Elizabeth,” he whispered. He trailed kisses down her throat, then he straightened and set her away from him.
She took his hands in hers and looked up into his dear face. He looked rakish, unshaven. “I need to clean up. Georgiana follows behind me in the carriage.” But then he took her by the waist and pulled her against him again. “I rode ahead to see you, my darling. I could not wait a moment longer to hold you in my arms.” His lips grazed her eyes and nose. “I love you so much, Elizabeth. Why did I wait so long to make you my own?”
That evening, over dinner, Bingley asked Darcy to recount the story of the North Kent gang's breakup. After he had answered all their questions, the talk turned to the wedding, and Elizabeth said, “I have engaged a maid, but Madame Yvette still employs her. Will you secure her for me, sir?”
He laughed, and Elizabeth saw that her betrothed had a dimple in his cheek. “It is my pleasure, Elizabeth. Is there anything else I may do to oblige you?”
Her eyes were full of mischief. “Not yet, Mr. Darcy, though I am certain to think of something once we are married.”
Jane laughed at her sister, and leaning in, she whispered. “Lizzy, you are staring at Mr. Darcy.”
Elizabeth colored, though she did not look away. Darcy’s eyes met hers, amused and tender, and for a moment she did not care who observed them.
When the ladies rose and left the gentlemen to their port, Georgiana slipped her hand into Elizabeth’s.
The young girl looked confused. “Elizabeth, when did my brother fall in love with you? The last I knew, he had insulted you twice and thought himself far too grand.” She rolled her eyes and shook her head with youthful exasperation.
Elizabeth laughed and drew the girl into a quick embrace. “I cannot point to any one moment, Georgiana. I can only say he is very handsome and very manly, so it is hardly a mystery how I came to fall in love with a man who could rival Prince Charming, or even the heroes of our favorite novels.”
Georgiana giggled, her shyness momentarily forgotten.
“But as for Fitzwilliam, I am certain magic is involved. I do not own a wand, but perhaps I have a fairy godmother who decided to do me a great favor.”
The girl giggled, and Elizabeth took her hand. “Come, dearest, tell me, do you still suffer from nightmares?”
Georgiana’s smile faltered. “Yes. I may sleep well for two or three nights, and then suddenly I wake up screaming and find Fitzwilliam has been sent for. By the time he arrives, I am awake, and I feel better. But while I am asleep, the nightmare feels so real; Wickham is in the house on the other side of the door, beating it down.”
Elizabeth grew serious. “Tell me about your most recent dream.”
Jane had drawn near and placed her hand on Georgiana’s arm. “If it is too frightening, you do not have to speak about it, my dear. We don’t wish to cause you more pain.”
Georgiana drew a breath and began to describe her dreams. Elizabeth considered a moment, then said, “Jane, do you have any writing paper? Perhaps Georgiana might draw what she remembers.”
Jane rose at once and returned with paper, pen, and ink. Georgiana took a book from the table to lean upon and began to sketch. When she finished, she looked at her work in wonder. “The real house was nothing like this one of my dreams.”
Elizabeth touched her hand. “Turn the paper over, then. Draw the real attic, the stairwell, and the door where you escaped.”
Georgiana obeyed, and after several minutes had produced a plain, sensible picture. “It is really quite ordinary,” she admitted. “The attic was filled with the usual rubbish any house might collect. I was fortunate it had cots and mattresses stored there, for I made myself a bed and slept soundly the first night.”
She drew a few more rooms, with oddments she had discovered, including a large planter she had been forced to use as a chamber pot. The girl blushed and laughed when she spokeof it, and Elizabeth and Jane joined in her laughter until the solemnity of the moment was eased.
