33. Chapter 33

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Chapter 33

Over the next two days, the marks on Charlotte's face spread and deepened in color; deeper purple joined the angry red-purples under her eye and the pale sickly yellow near her temple. The children were alarmed at first, but under the tutelage of their mother, learned to ignore the bruises and enjoy Charlotte's gentle company. In their soothing society, Charlotte's spirits lifted and, in Lizzy's estimation, she began to sound like herself again.

Though Lizzy often joined them, her own spirit felt cold and heavy. The children did not seem to notice the change in their favorite playmate, but Lizzy often noticed Charlotte looking at her with a most peculiar, intense expression in Charlotte's grey eyes. The scrutiny made her uneasy and tempted her to question her own judgment. She tried to shake it off, but it followed her around the room, a relentless hound that insisted upon her attention.

She finally shook the persistent irritant when afternoon tea had just been cleared away and Charlotte had taken the children upstairs with the promise of reading them a new story. Alone in the parlor, Lizzy tried to marshal her thoughts into some sort of useful pattern, but they stubbornly refused any semblance of order. She walked to the window and peeked out to see a familiar carriage pulling up to the front door. Her chest clenched so tightly, she could not breathe.

She rushed into the foyer as Aunt Gardiner closed the door behind two gentlemen.

"Papa!"

His coat was covered in road dust, and she could see spots of grime on his cheeks where he had tried to brush the travel dirt away. He turned and reached toward her. "Lizzy!"

She rushed into his arms and fought a powerful surge of tears. The warmth and security of his embrace overwhelmed her. After a few sobs, she managed to gulp back her tears, and wiped her eyes with her sleeve.

"I fear you must have left a great deal out of your letter, Lizzy." Mr. Bennet murmured in her ear, rubbing her back. "I expected you to be glad to see me, but you are not at all yourself!"

Over his shoulder, Lizzy could see Charlotte coming down the stairs.

"Charlotte!" Sir William exclaimed, hurrying past them.

They stepped aside to permit him through, but Sir William's shoulders still bumped theirs on the way. Lizzy watched his reaction as he saw Charlotte's face.

He caught her face in his hands. "Was this his doing?" Sir William's fingers traced the bruises along her temples.

Charlotte shrugged, her brows knitted together.

"It is a bloody good thing he remains in Kent, child." He pulled his daughter close.

"Why do you not use Mr. Gardiner's study to talk?'' Aunt Gardiner ushered them away.

"Charlotte is injured— and at Collins's hand?" Mr. Bennet whispered, a dangerous note in his voice. "He has not raised a hand to you, has he?"

"No, Papa." Lizzy looked away, an inexplicable sense of guilt flushing her cheeks.

His fingers tightened on her shoulder. "Has he hurt you in any other way?"

Lizzy could see the tension in his jaw when he grated his teeth. "Not in the way he hurt Charlotte. I could have suffered gravely due to his actions, but Mr. Darcy prevented it."

"I believe I need to know the entire story, now . Let us go to the sitting room, Lizzy." He tucked his hand into the crook of her elbow.

Lizzy nodded against his shoulder. The warm weight of his fingers on her arm felt comforting, grounding her in all that was safe and known. Her heart slowed and the pressure in her chest eased. She took a deep breath, grateful that, for the first time in days, it did not pain her to do so.

They sat on the settee in a sunbeam, and Mr. Bennet turned his face into the warmth, the light caressing the familiar landscape of his scars. Lizzy allowed herself the liberty to stare at him, and let the familiarity embrace her once again. Tears stung her eyes, and her throat tightened agonizingly.

He felt along the cushions for her hand, and twined his fingers in hers. "There is a story you need to tell me, my dear— a long, complex and convoluted story, I expect."

"That would be one way of describing it." She rubbed her temples with her free hand. "Oh, Papa! Every time I think of it, it seems more and more like a circulating novel or a bad dream. I still cannot fathom it has actually happened."

"The girl you wanted to help, she was a wasp, was she not?" He tapped his foot softly on the carpet, grumbling under his breath. His fingers along the settee's wooden arm matched his foot's tempo.

"I am not sure how I would describe her anymore." She drew her hand along her forehead and over her hair. "At first I thought Miss de Bourgh just a kitten, but how very wrong I was. Her claws were out and her teeth, too. So, I thought her a fox, but even a vixen is good to her pups. I dread to think what she would be like with children." She cringed. "No, you are right, with her temper and her selfishness, she is a wasp."

"And you were stung." His voice was so tight she could tell there was more he wanted to say but could not.

"I was, and what it worse, I allowed it more than once." She covered her face with her hand.

"You are so rarely wrong in your judgment of character; I am sure it was a difficult experience." He drew a deep breath, then released it and rubbed the back of his hand across his nose. "You paid dearly for your overconfidence."

"You did warn me. I should have listened." She bowed her head and studied the dust motes playing in the sunbeam just above her father's feet. The silence between them grew heavy and prickly enough to make Lizzy squirm.

"Are you going to tell me, or do I have to ask?'' His tone made her giggle. "It has been a long time since I have had to do that. You are usually the most forthcoming of my children. "

She balanced her elbows on her knees and rested her chin on her hands. "I am sorry. It feels so surreal—the sense of dreaming about a novel I have read… and I know I should be waking up… but cannot find my way there. I do not know where to begin."

"At the beginning is a good place." He cocked his head and lifted his remaining eyebrow, puckering the scars along his forehead.

She rolled her eyes with a huff.

"Ah, that is my girl. I knew she was in there somewhere." His chuckle filled her with comfort enough to loosen her tongue.

She smiled and leaned her head back, eyes closed, savoring the peace her father exuded. With a deep breath, she began to describe everything that had taken place since she had left Longbourn, to the point when she found Mr. Darcy in Lady Catherine's study.

"Did you and Mr. Darcy speak afterwards?" Mr. Bennet leaned forward, hands clasped over his knees.

"Papa, it was awful!" She wrapped her arms around her waist to contain the ache in her core.

"Why? What did he say to you? The two of you have always been able to talk so easily."

"Is it not obvious? We had words." She shifted slightly, turning her shoulder toward him. "I have ended our understanding."

He started, shoulders pulling back. "What ever for?"

"How can I trust such a man?" Her jaw gaped and forehead knotted so tightly her head ached.

"How can you not?" he said in a tone she rarely heard him use. "Did he not see you safely to the curate's house? What is more, he ensured your safe passage to London when he had no obligation to do so! It seems to me that he went to great length to protect not only you, but Charlotte, as well, and all that after you quarreled. As I see it, a man who would go to such lengths is most trustworthy indeed.'' He tapped his foot again.

She dragged her hand down her face. "Have you forgotten what he did to us?"

"What are you talking about? I have never seen him be anything but cordial, as long as he is not playing chess, of course." The corner of his lips twitched.

"I suppose you do not know how he bought Mr. Wickham his commission and turned him loose on us!" She straightened her spine and pulled her shoulders back. "If it had not been for him, Lydia—"

"Stop!" he snapped, sitting erect and slapping the cushion "You have gone too far."

She jumped and gasped. Memories of her father flashed through her mind and none resembled the man who had just rebuked her.

"You will not blame Mr. Darcy for what happened to your sister. He did not provoke that cur's behavior, nor did he have any hand in your sister's foolishness. If you must assign blame, place it upon those who deserve it— Mr. Wickham and Lydia, and them alone." His voice was heavy and low. The veins in his hand stood out as he squeezed the arm of the settee.

"But he should have thought of what Wickham might do to other girls! You cannot argue that he was culpable in that." She crossed her arms tightly over her chest.

"I certainly can. I do not know why he would think that Wickham would have repeated his actions elsewhere."

"It is obvious Wickham would try it again after what he did to Miss Darcy."

"My dear, that is only obvious in retrospect. There was every reason for Mr. Darcy to expect it was an act uniquely against his sister.'' He released the arm of the settee, fished his handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his forehead.

"How do you know so much about this matter?" She scowled at him, studying his expression carefully. She leaned in so close she could feel his breath on her cheek. "How much of it did you know?''

"Not everything , but much of it. He told me, after the flogging. Mr. Darcy felt tremendous guilt over what had happened." He steepled his fingers and tapped them together, the soft sound easy to hear in the stillness that had fallen over the room.

"He did?" Her voice was barely a whisper.

"Yes, but there was no reason that he should take such a weight upon himself. Wickham is the son of his late father's steward, and carries a lifelong grudge against Darcy. Darcy saw the attack on his sister as an attack on himself, so did not consider that Wickham might repeat his actions. I concurred with his assessment, and told him so. I believe he was relieved to hear that."

"Oh," she bit her lower lip, a heaviness dripping onto her in a steady, stifling flow, "he should have told me, though."

"He thought he was protecting his sister. I do not speak of my sister's experiences either. You recall, not even your younger sisters know." He laced his fingers together, his thumbs drumming against one another.

"But from me? Why would he not trust me?" She turned her back on him, wrapping her arms over her stomach.

"Did you trust him? Did you tell him about Horace Carver?''

"Certainly not. He had no need to know." Her heart raced and her breath became short.

"Really? Should he not know of his betrothed's reputation? Would that not be of importance to a man like Mr. Darcy? As much as his sister's experiences were important to you?"

Lizzy's cheeks burned. She pushed off the settee and walked to the window. Pulling the curtain aside, she pressed her forehead against the cool glass. "It was years ago, No one remembers, it does not matter now."

"Then why does the mention of it drive you to skulk in corners?"

"I am not in the corner."

"Lizzy!"

She felt her breath bounce back against the window, hot against her face. "I do not like to speak of it.''

"But if it was years ago and does not matter, then why should it matter to speak of it?"

"Papa!" She whirled, curtain still in hand, wrapping herself in the fabric. "I do not want to think about it."

He rose slowly, knees popping. He grunted and shuffled toward her, until he laid his hand on her shoulder. "It still hurts. I know it does."

She sniffled, biting her knuckle. "It does, so much. I thought it would not by now, but it does."

"It hurts to have your reputation marred, even through no fault of your own. Even though you did nothing wrong." He pressed his lips together tightly and nodded. "Perhaps he may have felt the same way?"

The lump in her throat stayed her words.

"And perhaps, just perhaps, he could have feared what your reaction might be as much as you feared his if he had learnt your secret?"

"Oh!" She covered her face with her hands, and the curtain fell away leaving a sudden chill in its wake.

"Is that a reason so unworthy of your trust?''

Her shoulders shuddered with sobs. He wrapped his arms around her and allowed her to cry herself out. She drenched her handkerchief, his sleeve and hers before they returned to the settee.

"Are you ready to pack your things and return home now?" he asked.

"Yes," she whispered.

"Then we must speak with Sir William and ask his plans. I expect…"

She squeezed his arm. "But as much as I want to go home, I must stay for a little while longer, if my aunt will have me.''

"You have suddenly grown fond of London society?" He crossed his arms and cocked his head.

"Not especially, but when Mr. Darcy arranged for the carriage for Charlotte and me, he asked a favor of me. I must complete it before I return to Longbourn."

"What did he ask?"

She swallowed hard. "Lady Catherine had been set to arrange his sister's wedding. Since that is now impossible, and Miss de Bough is not up to the task, he asked me to make the arrangements on his behalf. Their uncle's condition requires that it be accomplished quickly.''

"You agreed to do this?" He raked his hair.

"After his great service to Charlotte and myself, I could hardly say no." She shrugged.

"Are you sure? You realize that Miss Darcy's intended is a viscount. I have every confidence in your capability, Lizzy, but this might be outside even your realm. I am afraid you have had little exposure to that level of society. You have never planned an affair of such distinction."

"I know, Papa. I would not have agreed except that Mr. Darcy assured me it was to be a very small event— a private ceremony and breakfast for only the family."

"Then why does he not leave it to his housekeeper to carry out, or even his sister?" He tapped his foot.

"I do not know. I expect… I do not know." She pushed a stray lock behind her ear. "He said he feared his sister's preferences would be overlooked if his aunt in London were to arrange things."

"Perhaps you should consider it carefully. It seems to me that it is a fitting occupation for the woman to whom he is betrothed."

"I told you, Papa—"

"I know what you told me. His actions do not indicate he is in agreement with you. You both need to talk; clearly there is much yet to be said."

She shook her head and looked away. "He said the same thing."

"You realize this will throw you into Mr. Darcy's company again, and he is likely to demand such a conversation from you. Are you prepared for that?"

"I believe so. At the very least, I must make good on my promise to him." She worried the handkerchief in her hand. "I wish to apologize to him; I fear I spoke to him most harshly and in a most unladylike fashion."

"I can imagine," he chuckled. "I know your temper, Lizzy. How long will you stay here?"

"Until the wedding. Miss Darcy and the babies should arrive in just a few days. Mr. Darcy believed his trip might take only a few weeks. His aunt recently had a letter from her son placing him just outside Calais. They have reason to believe he may still be there. If so, the trip will be of short duration. The wedding will take place almost as soon as they return. He has already purchased a special license on their behalf."

"You know your sister delays her wedding for your return. She is quite insistent that you stand up with her." He chewed the inside of his cheek.

"She told me as much in her last letter, and I have promised her that I will." Lizzy fidgeted and plucked at her skirts.

"You are comfortable postponing her nuptials in order to plan a stranger's wedding? Do you not wish to plan your sister's?"

"Jane told me that Aunt Philips and Lady Lucas were planning the wedding and breakfast. She is in very capable hands. Clearly, she does not need me."

"And Miss Darcy does?" He drummed his fingers loud enough to drown out the tapping of his foot.

"Mr. Darcy seems to think so." Her voice dissolved into a squeak.

"So you will go where you are needed," he snorted. "Is that not the selfsame reason you agreed to Lady Catherine's request? Does that not give you some pause?"

"Is there something wrong with that? Should I not give aid where I am needed?" Her reasoning sounded weak even in her own ears.

"Must you always be needed, child? Is it not enough, sometimes, simply to be wanted?"

She listened to her heart thud loudly until she whispered, "I do not know."

"Perhaps the idea is something you should consider." He took her face in his hands and kissed her forehead.