The Journey (25 page)

“Papá, will you not return two tickets?” Jane asked. “I pray you will allow me to stay with Lizzy — that is, if you do not mind, Aunt.

“Of course you may stay,” my aunt said. “Both of you girls are welcome to visit with us as long as needs be, for you are a joy to our house. I have just had another idea, however. Thomas, why not go to Longbourn, fetch Fanny and the younger girls, and bring them all here for the holiday? Would it not make our hearts merrier to be all together?”

“Oh, Aunt,” Jane said, “how kind of you!”

“But will you have room?” I asked, aware that the Gardiner’s house was not at all large, and she was inviting five more people.

“Of course, we will,” my uncle answered, and my aunt agreed, saying my parents could have the room my father had used, Jane and I could share a room, and Mary, Kitty and Lydia could take Jane’s bedchamber, as it was the largest. Within moments, she had worked out the sleeping arrangements and immediately turned her thoughts to menus.

“Come with me, Jane,” she said. “We shall meet with Cook right now and make our plans for Christmas dinner!”

My uncle kissed her cheek and announced that he had to leave for the office. That left me alone with my father once more.

“Are you sure you can bear your mother’s affliction, once she knows all the particulars of what has happened, Lizzy?”

“Of course,” I said, smiling. “And who knows — by this time, she may have already secured another man for me to charm.”

“There has been a rather steady stream lately,” he agreed.

And so that night Jane and I unpacked our trunks and settled in once again at Gracechurch Street. She remained in her room since our family was not to arrive until a day or two before the holiday, and thus, I had the entire bed to myself. I stretched out fully but found that greater room in the bed did not cause sleep to come any easier.

Each time I closed my eyes, I would see Mr. Darcy, his dark brooding stare, the way his curls persisted in falling across his forehead, and the dimples I had glimpsed when favoured with one of his smiles. I could see him striding across the countryside, his greatcoat flying about as his long legs made quick work of any distance. I knew his familiar walk by heart.

I sighed and rubbed my eyes, attempting to erase the visions that tormented me. But like a persistent melody, I could not rid myself of thoughts of him. My arms ached to hold him just once more, to feel his own embrace tighten around me and his warm hand gently place my head upon his chest. Then, once again I could taste his lips upon mine, feel that urgent, persistent kiss force me to open myself to him. I grew warm all over at the memory of my response.

I trembled, amazed at how little I had understood about a man and a woman prior to this journey I had taken with Mr. Darcy. How little I had known of love, both its joys and its heartbreak.

* * *

On Thursday Jane and I attended my aunt on a shopping excursion. By that time, the reporters had given up trying to obtain any news from us and had forsaken, at last, their vigil outside my uncle’s house.

Several acquaintances had made calls upon my aunt during the week. They all seemed unduly curious about my future plans, but they were dissuaded from pursuing such questions by my aunt’s innocuous, gentle manner. Although I appreciated the diversion presented by such guests, I was in great need of escaping the house, of venturing somewhere other than into my aunt’s garden out back.

It was thus with a measure of anticipation that I tied my bonnet and joined Mrs. Gardiner and Jane for an afternoon of meandering about the fashionable shops of London. Both Jane and I wished to select small gifts for our families for the coming holiday, and my aunt was in search of just the right lace to redo a collar on her oldest daughter’s dress.

We milled about several stores and added our opinions to our aunt’s choice of patterns. We stopped for tea in a lovely little place, and I was much amused to sit at the window and watch the assortment of townspeople come and go with such haste.

“Well, girls, I am almost finished,” my aunt announced. “One more stop at Mrs. Bellamy’s, and I shall have completed my list of tasks for today. What about you? Is there anywhere else you wish to visit?”

We both replied in the negative, content simply to accompany her. Mrs. Bellamy’s turned out to be a dressmaker’s establishment, one that my aunt frequented often enough that the owner knew her by name.

As they busied themselves choosing silk for a new gown, Jane and I wandered about. We fingered the ribbons and marvelled at the array of fabrics lined up for purchase. One could go blind from the choices.

“A very good selection,” Mrs. Bellamy pronounced upon my aunt’s final preference. “That shade of lavender is perfect for your complexion, madam.” She wrote out the ticket, tallied up the amount to be charged, and watched as my aunt signed for the purchase. “The gown should be ready ten days from the morrow.”

“Thank you,” my aunt replied.

“And,” the lady added in a conspiratorial tone, “might I remind you how skilled my girls are at making wedding clothes.”

Jane and I glanced over our shoulders to see her lean toward our aunt’s ear and give a definite nod in my direction.

“We should be honoured to make the future Mrs. Darcy’s gown.”

My brows shot up in horror, but my aunt simply smiled and turned to bid us depart the shop together.

“Aunt,” I said on the street, “why did you not refute the dressmaker’s error?”

“Hush,” she replied, “let us not speak of it until we reach home.”

I did as I was told, but the moment we entered the foyer of the house on Gracechurch Street, I once again asked for an explanation.

“Lizzy,” she said, handing her coat and bonnet to the maid, “I did not see the need to give my dressmaker the details of your private life, just as I did not make the other shopkeepers privy to your future.”

“Do you mean to say Mrs. Bellamy was not the only person who asked such impertinent questions?” Jane asked.

“Indeed not,” my aunt replied. “I cannot recall one establishment where I was not questioned about Lizzy.”

My mouth hung agape. “Oh, I did not realize! I never would have placed you in that position, had I known.”

“Of course, my dear, but it is to be expected. Just because the journalists have left our stoop does not mean that London has quit talking. You and Mr. Darcy are still much discussed.”

I met Jane’s gaze, aghast at how naïve both of us had been. Only the night before, we had noted that people would probably soon forget all about me, if they had not already done so. Blithely I had gone about Town all day long, oblivious to the gossip following in my wake.

“I shall not leave this house again,” I announced, “until my father comes to fetch me home.”

“Oh, Lizzy, that is unheard of,” my aunt said.

“Indeed,” a male voice chimed in as we entered the small drawing room. “I do hope I can persuade you otherwise, Miss Elizabeth.”

We looked up to see Mr. Bingley standing beside our uncle at the fireplace, a welcoming smile upon his lips and a light in his eyes when they rested upon Jane. After greeting him, my aunt bade us all sit down.

“This is an unexpected pleasure, Mr. Bingley,” she said. “I hope your sisters are well.”

“They are,” he replied. “Caroline would have joined me but for a previous engagement. I have come with a purpose, however.”

He looked at me and then at Jane, keeping his gaze upon her. “I hope Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, you, and Miss Elizabeth will join Mr. and Mrs. Hurst, Caroline and me at the opera a week from tonight.”

“The opera!” my aunt exclaimed. “How lovely! ’Tis a pity Mr. Gardiner and I already have plans for that evening.”

“Ah,” Mr. Bingley said, “that is unfortunate. It is a performance of
Don Giovanni
.”

“Although we cannot attend, neither Jane nor Elizabeth is engaged for that evening as far as I know. Am I right, my dears?” my aunt asked.

“I understand the tenor is exceptional,” Mr. Bingley added, beaming at my sister. “Say you will come.” He continued to keep his eyes upon Jane until she smiled and glanced in my direction. “And you, also, of course, Miss Elizabeth.”

“If Jane is willing, I shall accept gladly, sir,” I said.

“I am willing,” Jane murmured.

“Splendid! I shall call for you at eight o’clock. And, oh yes, Caroline and Louisa ask that you call upon them in the meantime, Mrs. Gardiner, and both of you, as well, Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth.”

We smiled in agreement, although I could not imagine his sisters having issued such an invitation. Mrs. Gardiner asked him to stay for dinner, which he agreed to, and I was delighted at how the day ended.

Our guest was, as usual, pleasant and charming, and I could see how happy both he and Jane were to spend the evening together. I could not help but wonder whether Mr. Darcy had spoken of Jane to Mr. Bingley. Had he rectified the injustice he had rendered my sister? If so, I should be greatly pleased.

At the end of the evening as we bade him good night, my uncle asked Mr. Bingley if Mr. Darcy had yet returned to Town, and he replied in the negative, stating that he did not know when to expect him.

“Naturally, you know more about that than I, Miss Elizabeth,” he said, smiling at me. “I do hope he returns in time for the opera, for I am certain he will wish to join us.”

I simply smiled. He appeared to assume there was some connection between his friend and me. Had Mr. Darcy failed to tell him that we were not to be married? I went to bed that night, my mind in a muddle. How long must we keep up this pretence?

* * *

As far as I knew, Mr. Darcy had not returned to London by the day of the opera. In the intervening days, Jane and I had called upon Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst — an uncomfortable visit I have no wish to recall — and Mr. Bingley had called upon us twice more. Each time he wondered aloud when his friend would return, and of course, we were also at a loss for an answer.

I was thrilled that Mr. Bingley now openly courted my sister. With every visit, he appeared more and more in love with her. Surely, he would declare his intentions any day. For that reason alone, I hoped Mr. Darcy stayed away from Town. I suspected that he might have spoken to Mr. Bingley about Jane in a positive manner, but I could not be sure, so I wished for nothing that might spoil their progress toward happiness.

As time drew near for our special night, Jane and I tried on various gowns and practised several hairstyles. Neither of us had ever attended a gala at Covent Garden, and the thought filled us with excitement.

My naturally optimistic outlook had pushed my disappointment with Mr. Darcy far below the surface of my emotions into the deepest recesses of my heart — or so I thought — and I did my best to face each day with hope for Jane, filling my mind with the distraction of a possible spring wedding. Goodness, I was beginning to sound like my mother!

The sole drawback to my happier outlook occurred when I chanced to find my uncle’s discarded newspaper. It appeared that most days he took particular pains to carry it off to his office, but twice during that week, I discovered it left behind in its usual place beside his plate at the breakfast table. As soon as permissible, I stole upstairs to my room and pored over the issues searching for any news of the highwaymen.

What I found alarmed me!

The fate of the accused had evidently taken on less importance than reports of newer crimes, for other than a reminder of the trial date, there was nothing written about them. However, in a gossipy column on the society page, I saw the following references that filled me with dismay:

London hostesses are abuzz with talk of feting upcoming brides, not the least of which is when to hold congratulatory teas for the future Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy. As the groom has been mysteriously absent from Town and the bride a resident of Hertfordshire, it is anyone’s guess as to when the nuptials will take place.

And a second notice three or four days later:

Has Mr. Darcy left his bride at the altar? The gentleman departed London with Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, son of the Earl of Matlock, early last week, and neither of them has been seen for more than ten days. Speculation rises as to when and if the marriage will take place.

Both items filled me with anxiety, and when I complained to my aunt that I thought it dishonest to allow such rumours to continue, she had a difficult time persuading me otherwise.

“Your father and Mr. Darcy agreed that nothing should be said publicly until after the trial is over. You must not stir up a hornet’s nest by rushing to set things straight. Think of Jane. Mr. Bingley calls regularly. We would not want to do anything to set that amiss, Lizzy.”

I was forced to agree with her and stifled my urge to march to the newspaper office and tell the unvarnished truth. It was after our talk that I noticed my uncle took more pains to carry the periodical out of the house before I came down for breakfast.

All continued on a somewhat even measure until two days before the opera. That morning Jane and I sat in the parlour with my aunt applying our attention to our needlework. I had little aptitude for sewing and had always wished my stitches as neat and tiny as Jane’s. I had just stuck my finger for the fifth time and popped it in my mouth to ease the pain when we heard a loud commotion outside the door.