Page 3 of Bitterness of Spirit

“I am surprised to hear that. I have always believed you a perfect match and that nothing could ever ruin that.”

“My dear, a perfect match needs time, adjustment, patience, even persuasion at times. Two people rarely fit perfectly from the beginning. If they truly value each other, they will surely struggle to overcome their imperfections. And two months might not have been enough time for Jane and Mr. Bingley.”

“But Aunt, this happened only because his sister and ungenerous friend persuaded him to remain in London.”

“He surely had a greater share of blame in that decision, yet he might change his mind again. I do not want to give Jane any false hopes, but it is possible. If not, I hope Jane will soon find another worthy gentleman. Perhaps this might occur right away if we convince her to return to Town with us. A change of scene might be of service—and perhaps a little relief from home may be equally useful.”

“That is an excellent and very kind idea, Aunt; I shall persuade Jane to accept it.”

Elizabeth did convince her sister to agree—and with little effort. Both sisters shared a secret hope that, being closer to Mr. Bingley, a chance to meet again would arise and change Jane’s prospects. But neither of them spoke openly about it.

The Gardiners being at Longbourn provided an opportunity for many visits from the Philipses, the Lucases, and the officers of the local militia. Mrs. Bennet had carefully arranged to entertain her brother and sister, so they always had guests during the daytime or at dinner.

Mr. Wickham, having joined the militia, was one of the most loyal visitors, and Mrs. Gardiner easily noticed Elizabeth’s preference for him, as well as his openly displayed admiration for her.

For Mrs. Gardiner, Wickham had one means of affording pleasure by their mutual interest in Derbyshire, particularly of Pemberley and the family who lived there. They also had many acquaintances in common; and though Wickham had been seldom there since the death of Darcy’s father five years before, he could still give her fresh intelligence of her former friends.

“I feel fortunate to speak of things so dear to me with someone who shares my opinion,” Mr. Wickham said.

“Likewise, sir. I never visited Pemberley House, but the park is the most beautiful place I have seen. And the building is perfectly situated.”

“I was privileged to have the affection and support of the most generous man—my godfather. I know Pemberley as my home, both inside and out. It saddens me to be forced away from it for so long,” the gentleman continued.

“I pity your loss, Mr. Wickham. It is a shame indeed that the strong connection you had with the late Mr. Darcy was completely broken by the young master.”

“Your words comfort me, ma’am,” Mr. Wickham said. “I have always felt that Darcy envied me for his father’s affection. This might be the reason for his resentment, which is as strong as his pride.” He complained about Darcy’s ill-treatment and of his disrespecting his father’s wish regarding the legacy in his will, and Mrs. Gardiner could only listen politely. The things she remembered about the young master from when he was a lad were closely related to his pride and cold politeness, which seemed in complete opposition to Mr. Wickham’s warm manners and amiable nature.

***

London, December 1811

From his balcony, Darcy’s view of snow-covered Hyde Park was lovely; he had admired it many times in the past. And yet, the beauty before him stirred none of his feelings as he drank his coffee. It was early morning; the wind blew, and the streets were deserted.

Christmas was near, but Darcy had ceased enjoying that time of year since his mother had passed away in the middle of December. He had somehow succeeded in overcoming the sadness that wrapped the month until his father left them five years ago on Boxing Day. He considered himself a reasonable man but could not escape the fear that resided inside him for more than a decade: December would bring something terrible in their lives. It was even harder to deal with, as that time was particularly joyful for the Matlocks: his aunt and eldest cousin were both celebrating birthdays. He dreaded the thought of attending at least one large party and a couple of balls before retiring to Pemberley. His sister, Georgiana, was also looking forward to their departure. He was aware that his aloofness only increased her shyness; she was uncomfortable in crowded company, and he loathed it. He was of no help to his sister in this. Thank God for her companion, Mrs. Annesley. Georgiana needed someone to guide her, to help her open herself to the world, and to prepare her for being out and eventually having the happy family she deserved. But was there a man good enough for Georgiana? Would he—and she—ever trust a man’s affection and admiration after Wickham’s betrayal?

He needed more coffee, enough to wash away the fatigue of the last two months. He felt weary most of the time—not from lack of sleep but from the burden he carried during the time he spent in Hertfordshire—and even after. The weight of his struggle between duty and desire. A desire so powerful that it overwhelmed his reason, his self-control, and his judgement. No—desire was too petty a word. It was a yearning, an urge—glimpses into a future that could never be. But if it could, how bright and blissful such a future might be to him. If only he were not required to think of so many people and consequences beyond himself.

The door opened but he ignored it; however, the voice that called his name repeatedly would not be ignored.

“I did not expect to see you before noon, Cousin. Did you have an unsuccessful night that forced you to retire early?” Darcy uttered.

A laugh was the first reply. “You of all people should not speak of unsuccessful nights, Darcy,” Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam responded. “And, no—my night was not unsuccessful at all, and I did not retire early. Quite the contrary. But I have to return to my regiment next week, so I wished to see you.”

“I am glad you did. I planned to call on you later. Was it not established that you would leave in the afternoon?”

“It was. But I planned to visit Lady Crawford during my journey. I promised her brother I would deliver her a letter.”

Darcy’s eyebrow rose in disbelief. “I see. You must keep your promise then. May I offer you something?”

“Only some coffee, Darcy. It is too early for anything else.” The colonel took the full cup and sat in the armchair, taking several sips. “And how are you, Darcy? We talked about you quite a lot last evening, you know. We attended a large party at Lady Templeton’s, and people inquired after you. I knew not what to answer them.”

“You are too kind, cousin, but I doubt anyone has any interest in me. I am not pleasant company, and I am not diplomatic enough to conceal my lack of fondness for such gatherings.”

“Always so modest; I believe it is precisely your aloofness and haughtiness that appeals to many ladies—together with Pemberley, your houses in Town, and your income, of course.” The colonel laughed again. “But we both know that many people have a real interest in you. We were just wondering what or who holds your interest, Darcy.”

Darcy raised another doubtful eyebrow. “Who are ‘we’? You and Lady Templeton?”

“You are indeed hilarious. No—that would be my parents and me yesterday at breakfast. You must know they are concerned that they see you and Georgiana so rarely. And that you spend so much time in the solitude of Pemberley. Not to mention your reluctance in sharing your thoughts and plans. You are eight and twenty. Anne is four and twenty—”