Chapter Text
As was fast becoming her routine, Elizabeth paused only for her breakfast before spending another hour conferring with Mrs Bridge. The more the older woman unbent towards her, the greater grew her understanding of the house and its inhabitants. It was becoming increasingly clear to Elizabeth’s sharp eyes that her earlier stiffness owed much to her deep love of the children she had looked upon from infancy onwards as they had grown up to be adults to whom she remained much attached. That they too held a greater degree of warmth for their housekeeper than usual was equally plain, at least in Georgiana’s case. She popped her head into Mrs Bridge’s little parlour, completely at her ease, to enquire when they would be leaving for Lydia’s wedding.
“Not for another hour and a half at the very least, I believe,” said Elizabeth.
“Only an hour and a half!”
Georgiana appeared so obviously distressed by this news that Mrs Bridge’s brow furrowed. “Elise will be along to help you shortly with your dress Miss George, and assures me it shall not take much above an hour,” she said soothingly.
“Oh no, no,” said Georgiana, her face flushed. “Kitty and I shall dress together as she tells me sisters often do. I have never had the pleasure! Pray do not send Elise upstairs, there is truly no need.”
“But your hair, Miss?” asked Mrs Bridge, bewildered.
“Kitty has heard of a particular – particularly enchanting French style! We saw it in a fashion plate the other day, and she shall replicate it for me!”
With that, she hurried away. “Well, I never,” said Mrs Bridge, setting her teacup aside.
“I do wish you would send Elsie upstairs regardless,” said Elizabeth abruptly. Once again, she could feel her suspicions about Georgiana’s strange behaviour grow. Two sheltered girls, clearly with some mischief preying upon their minds... She resolved to investigate their behaviour after the wedding.
“Of course, ma’am,” agreed Mrs Bridge. “And I’ll send up Miss Burrows as well?”
At the mention of her dresser, Elizabeth set down her own cup as well. “Thank you, Mrs Bridge.”
She walked swiftly towards Jane’s room, intent on having a few words with her sister about Kitty. While the wedding was largely to be a private event, someone would have to keep an eye on her and Elizabeth felt herself unequal to the task: she lacked Jane’s instincts, well-honed after two decades as the oldest sibling. But Jane was cloistered with their mother, and deciding that her warning would keep until the carriages came and her mother’s attention was safely diverted, Elizabeth decided to finally return to her own rooms.
Miss Burrows awaited her as usual, with a slightly displeased expression at the paucity of time allotted by her mistress to the vital task of getting dressed. There were some things about town living that Elizabeth was quite sure she would never grow fully accustomed to and the sheer amount of thought given to what was to be worn to each event was chief among them. She allowed Miss Burrows free reign, and the result appeared to please her dresser at the very least.
Her face bore a small smile when she handed Elizabeth a small mirror with which to observe the gentle up-do she had created at the back of her head, with her hair pulled back from her forehead in an elegant style.
“Thank you, Miss Burrows,” said Elizabeth. It felt a little like observing a stranger. While she appreciated the efforts put forth by the other woman it would take longer still for her to accustom herself to such delicate designs and fashions, far removed from the serviceable plaits that had allowed her to roam the country freely.
But her gown was among Mme Franchon’s newest creations, sent over only the previous day. She was truly pleased with its gentle shimmering and even more so by the sturdy nature of its design – a true testament to that unparalleled modiste’s ability to understand her client’s desires at a glance. It was flattering enough to be a town dress while being unmistakably hers, and after a lifetime of sharing her sisters’ gowns Elizabeth could not but be a pleased with this outcome.
She rushed downstairs, once again causing Miss Burrows to beg the heavens for patience (for not just herself but her young mistress as well), to find the rest of her family bustling about the hall. Mr Darcy appeared to be conferring with Mr Bennett upon some issue, but Mr Bennett was called away as she entered – his wife having demanded his presence with her usual volume.
“Mr Darcy,” she said, approaching him with a slightly too formal curtsey. For a moment, she had the oddest sensation that the crowded hall was entirely silent.
“There is a curl,” he said, his voice oddly rough.
“I beg your pardon?”
“From your hair,” he said, “It appears to have come loose as you came down the stairs.”
“And here I thought my curtsey would give me refinement enough in your eyes to compensate for tumbling down the stairs once more.”
At that he blinked his eyes away from the errant curl, and to her disappointment did not reply in kind to her teasing. Rather, he bowed away and went to ensure that the carriages were ready for their departure. Elizabeth did not quite know why she persisted in this game of mild provocation, but the part of her that had led her to impulsively turn down every convenient match ever offered her led her to keep pushing and she could not resist the temptation. Mr Darcy was much too intriguing a contradiction to prove a dull target.
“Heavens, Lizzie, wherever is Jane?” asked Mrs Bennett, breaking in on her daughter’s ruminations.
Before Elizabeth could reply, Mary broke in, “She just left, to be a little earlier than the rest of us and see to Lydia’s dress and other matters before we arrive and the ceremony begins.”
“Oh dear,” fluttered Mrs Bennett. “Is there to be no one left to support my nerves?”
“They appear to go on quite admirably without our help,” said Mr Bennett in an undertone as he walked back to his daughter’s side, and Elizabeth barely managed to stifle a laugh before her mother turned to glare at the pair.
And so the family party was fitted into two carriages, with much rustling of gowns and Kitty’s incessant giggling. Georgiana appeared reluctant to be separated from her new friend at first but gave in once she saw the difficulty with which Mrs Bennett and Mary had been accommodated in the same coach and rode in the second carriage alongside Elizabeth. Mr Darcy, displaying admirable foresight, had chosen to ride instead and was already mounted upon his horse.
The relative privacy afforded by the carriage gave Elizabeth the window she had been waiting for to speak with her soon to be sister. As soon as the wheels were in motion, she asked Georgiana, “Is it a long way to the church?”
“Not at all, barely ten minutes or so.”
“Then I shall be direct, Georgiana: what is it that you and Kitty have been doing in your frequent trips outside of the house together?”
“I suppose you shall find out soon enough,” said Georgiana, biting her lip. “I assure you, it was the right thing to do!”
The vehemence in her voice startled Elizabeth. She reached out to her, “But why this agitation?”
“It was the right thing to do,” she repeated. Elizabeth was bewildered to note a sheen in her eyes that betokened tears. “And so I shall tell my brother. I could not have permitted such a thing to happen. He may believe that he is the in the right of it, and so he was years ago. But I am not a child any longer – I know now exactly what Wickham is and I could not have let him.”
Feeling the beginnings of alarm stir through her, Elizabeth said, “Do not speak in circles, Georgiana: what have you and Kitty done? Is it to do with the wedding?”
She took a deep, shuddering breath. “You must not blame Kitty. She helped me certainly, but the plan was my own. I was decided upon this course since the day Wickham dared – the day he came to see you.”
Elizabeth could only stare at her. She wished desperately for Jane’s presence; with her tact and gentleness her sister was far better suited than she to eliciting confidences. Without her, she could only watch a single tear trickle down Georgiana’s face to be impatiently dashed away.
She looked outside for a moment, trying to gather her whirling thoughts. They were almost at the church now. She could see Mary alighting from the carriage beyond her window, her face slightly green despite the shortness of the trip.
Her earlier light-heartedness had all but disappeared: this was not the girlish scrape she had imagined Kitty had led her new sister into but something far more serious. And if it involved both Wickham and Mr Darcy, it could only last so long until things came to an ugly head.
Insensibly, her gaze was drawn to Mr Darcy’s tall figure. He was standing on the steps of the church, waiting for them to go in. If only she could speak to him for a moment!
In her haste to reach him, Elizabeth stepped out from the carriage far too quickly. A loud rip could be heard and she looked down to see that part of the hem attached to her dress had come undone. The sound also attracted the attention of Mrs Bennett, standing nearby. With a gasp of horror that garnered still more eyes and made it impossible for Elizabeth to slip quietly away, she shrieked, “Oh dear, that dear, dear dress!”
Elizabeth attempted to shush her but the damage was done. She was now the centre of all attention; the only thing she could be glad of was that it allowed Georgiana’s distress to pass largely unnoticed as she stepped out behind her.
“It is quite alright, mother,” she said, her face slightly flushed. “I’m sure Burrows can mend it.”
“A dresser is no reason to be careless with such finery, Lizzie,” she chided. Looking coyly up at Mr Darcy, she added, “And before the wedding too!”
Elizabeth turned red at that, although from anger or embarrassment she was not quite sure. Mr Darcy had been standing well within earshot of her mother’s unfortunate quip, which so neatly articulated all the anxieties that had flared within her from the moment Georgiana had proposed a visit to her expensive London modiste. His shoulders stiffened at it as well, although he forbore from comment.
She looked up at him with a mix of defiance and gratitude but his attention seemed to be elsewhere. He offered her his arm, eyes still searching for something at the road beyond her. As she placed her fingers upon it, they snapped down to her face at once and he said abruptly, “I believe it shall take some time to set this to rights. I will escort you to your sister in the antechamber that has been set aside for Lydia’s use. There is no rush, after all.”
Elizabeth would have protested for it was a minor tear and easily set aside but he began to walk at once, too fast for her to do much more than follow. His imperiousness added to her annoyance. “Is it your custom, Mr Darcy, to lead a lady about like a prized race horse?”
A flicker of a smile turned the corners of his mouth. “Not a prized race horse.”
Indignation rose in her chest and she opened her mouth to retort, only to be cut off by the sight of her sisters. Jane looked somewhat agitated, surprising in one of her calm nature, but Lydia’s state more than justified it. She was not dressed for a wedding at all; there were certainly fine clothes strewn all about her but she had clearly yet to decide on which ones she would wear. For the moment, she was attired in a simple morning gown.
“Lydia!” she exclaimed. “What are you waiting for? Your guests have arrived!”
“Oh these things never start on time, anyway,” she replied airily.
“And how many weddings have you had to know that?”
Lydia giggled. “Oh how I hope I get to wear such fine clothes again!”
“Lydia!” said both Jane and Elizabeth simultaneously, one appalled and the other exasperated.
Their errant sister only laughed. “Has anyone seen whether my dear Wickham is dressed yet?” she asked, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. It made Elizabeth apprehensive, remembering the similar gazes exchanged between Kitty and Georgiana in the days prior as well as Georgiana’s tears in the carriage.
“I shall see to him in a moment,” said Mr Darcy after a moment of silence. “I only thought to escort your sister to you first. As you can see, she too requires some privacy to fix her dress.”
Elizabeth looked up at him sharply. There was something of a touch of constraint in his voice. Georgiana’s words rang ever more strongly in her mind: there was far more amiss with this wedding than Lydia’s dress.
“Might I have a word with you, Mr Darcy?” she said. With a quick glance at Lydia’s clearly entertained expression and Jane’s resigned one, she added, “In private.”
She could hear Lydia’s giggles at that and Jane’s continued pleadings with her younger sister to resume her task of selecting a dress, but her eyes were fixed on Mr Darcy’s face. As such, she did not miss his quick swallow as he said, “Perhaps after the wedding.”
“It is rather urgent, I’m afraid,” she said, with an insistent tug at his arm.
At that, his eyes lit up again for a brief moment with that elusive expression that caused her so much disquiet. She paid it no mind but stepped out of the room with him, and continued to rush him along until they arrived at a small alcove a little further away. It shielded them well enough from casual passers-by, although this necessitated more closeness than they had shared since the morning of Mr Darcy’s ill-fated proposal.
Elizabeth could feel the warmth of his chest, inches away from hers. She looked up and found his lips much closer than she had anticipated. For a brief moment, all thoughts of Lydia and Georgiana flew away from her mind. But his eyes met hers steadily, and she said, “I believe your sister and mine may have done something terribly rash.”
He frowned. “What could they have possibly done that would affect this wedding?”
“I do not know but I know Kitty! We need to confront them with haste.”
“You may know your sister, but you do not know mine. Georgiana would never do something so improper.”
She looked at him in disbelief. “You may think you know your sister, sir, but as the unfortunate possessor of four I must hold my knowledge of young women to be superior to yours.”
“Indeed, Miss Elizabeth?” he said, softly. For the first time, his gaze wavered, and he looked down at her lips.
“Indeed, sir!”
She would have said more but just then his lips touched hers, so gently that for a moment she wondered if it had been his movement or hers that brought them together. Then, there was no doubt. His arms came around her with a crushing strength they had not possessed even at Lady deBourgh’s estate, and her lips sought his with an eagerness that she could not explain. Heat rushed through her body.
Just then, a thundering male voice echoed through the building: “What on earth is the meaning of this?”
It was all too reminiscent of Mr Collins’ interruption. Elizabeth drew back hastily, gently pushing Mr Darcy away. He looked down at her palm against his chest and stepped out of the alcove at once, his eyes darkening with something strangely akin to hurt. She crushed his shirt between her fingers to hold him still: not again, not when they had been so close just moments ago.
Mr Darcy’s confusion was evident. Elizabeth could not quite explain her behaviour herself, or understand his. But the conversation they needed would clearly have to wait. She forced her fingers to let go and smoothened the fabric beneath.
A man stepped forward from the vestibule into the corridor, clad in all the regalia of a holy man, clutching a letter in one fist. “I have searched high and low this morning, Mr Darcy!” he fumed.
Mr Darcy stepped forward at once to face him, covering the opening to where Elizabeth still stood with his body. “My apologies, pastor. I am at your disposal,” he said smoothly. His fingers, she noted, were almost unconsciously brushing against the fabric she had just let go off.
“This is an outrage, Mr Darcy!”
“I did not realise my presence was so vital to the proceedings.”
Even from her vantage point, with only Mr Darcy’s back and the pastor’s shadowed face to guide her, Elizabeth could tell that that was the wrong thing to say. The other man’s face almost turned purple and he thrust the letter he was carrying into Mr Darcy’s hand.
“Read this, sir! I cannot believe I allowed myself to be persuaded... This whole affair has been mighty unpleasant from the start and I might have known how it would end!”
Mr Darcy glanced down at the paper handed to him. He turned slightly, and Elizabeth could see that his jaw was clenched. “Perhaps we shall need some privacy for this.”
“It is unlikely you shall have any once word gets out, sir,” predicted the pastor grimly.
“Nevertheless, we can make the attempt at the moment.” Mr Darcy spoke softly but his tone was implacable and the other man relented grudgingly. He walked ahead, his long stride making the much shorter pastor struggle to catch up.
Elizabeth waited until the sound of their footsteps indicated that they were sufficiently far away and then went back to the chamber within which Lydia and Jane were still engaged in their battle. Lydia has at last consented to put on a lavender under-dress that indicated she had chosen the floral purple gown. But she was still fussing this way and that as her elder sister patiently tried to arrange her hair in a becoming manner.
“Jane!”
Her sister’s eyes widened as they took her in even as Lydia’s giggling grew louder and only then did Elizabeth realise her mistake.
“My dear sister,” said Lydia in a sing-song voice. “Whatever have you been doing?”
Jane directed a quelling look at their younger sister even as Elizabeth threw a conveniently placed scarf at her head.
“Jane,” said Elizabeth, holding her older sister’s shoulders, “We must find Kitty and Georgiana at once, I’m afraid they’ve done something terrible.”
“Or you could just ask me,” said Kitty petulantly, peeking out from under the scarf.
Both of them turned to look at her.
Lydia threw the scarf off triumphantly. “It may have been their idea but they never could have done it without me!”
Her older sisters exchanged a look. Jane went down on her knees to sit next to Lydia’s chair. “Tell us everything,” she said urgently. Elizabeth stood before them, waiting.