Page 46 of A Mismatched Compromise

“Then I cannot in good conscience step away from this engagement, knowing —”

“Charles,” she interrupted softly. She had never used his Christian name before. “Mr Darcy’s proposal was a collection of the most unkind things anyone has said about me to my face. He told me marrying me would be a degradation. He insulted my family with such thoroughness that he moved beyond my immediate household and began cataloguing the faults of my mother’s relatives. And when I refused him, he accused me of selfishness.”

Mr Bingley winced and opened his mouth to speak, but Elizabeth shook her head.

“I refused him,” she said deliberately, “because I could not bear the thought of spending my life with a man who wished I were different, who wished my family were different, my connections, my situation…my entire life. I could not imagine being married to a man who would look at me every day and see, behind whatever fondness he managed to cultivate, the degradation that he had accepted.” She looked at him. “And then it occurred to me that if I continued with our engagement, I would have that life anyway, would I not? Not because you are unkind, which you are not, but because your heart is elsewhere, and mine is not with you, and so we would both of us spend our lives being quietly, politely, entirely in the wrong place.”

He watched her, very still, letting her continue.

“I spent half the day today watching my father sit alone in his study, unable to go to his own family when they needed him,” Elizabeth said quietly, “because he married someone who was not a bad person, but who was wrong for him, and he never found his way back from it. I will not knowingly make that same decision. I cannot, even if the alternative is that I never marry at all.”

Mr Bingley let out a long, slow breath. “You are certain of this path, then?”

“Absolutely certain.”

He was quiet for a moment, and she could see him working through it, see the relief and the guilt of it, his joy at what she had given him warring with the worry of what it would cost her. “I trust,” he said carefully, “that you know I would not have broken my word to you, or acted dishonourably. Whatever I feel for your sister, I would not have —”

“I do know,” Elizabeth said. “It is one of the things I like best about you.”

That admission undid him slightly, and she looked respectfully away. When she looked back, something had released in him, and he looked more at peace than she had seen him since the night of the ball. “May I… May I tell Jane?” Mr Bingley asked. “Not to... I don’t intend to do anything precipitous, but I would like to let her know that there is… That she need not…” He stopped. “I would like to let her know that things have changed,” he managed finally.

Elizabeth nodded. “Tell her,” she said. “Please. She has been carrying this long enough.”

His relief was so sudden and complete that Elizabeth knew, watching him, that she had made the correct decision. He looked up, his expression settling into something more sober. “But I must speak of what will become of you. Not…not as an argument, as you have assured me that you have made your decision. But I want you to know that you will not be left alone, to struggle, and that —”

“That reminds me of one thing I did want to ask you,” Elizabeth interrupted, unable to bear listening to him promise to care for her in her lonely old age. “I know that you and Jane will be very happy, and that she will be taken care of. But my…situation, and Lydia’s, will also harm Kitty and Mary. I ask for nothing for myself, but they… They do not deserve to suffer for my actions, or Lydia’s. Please promise me that you will help them find… Find someone to care for them, to give them a comfortable life.”

“Of course,” Mr Bingley said immediately, the very ease of his agreement demonstrating his sincerity. “I will view them as my own sisters, and Jane and I will do everything we can for them.”

Elizabeth nodded, feeling one persistent worry fade at least a little. Later, when she walked home through the evening air, she tried to keep her mind blank. She did not want to think of the ended engagement, or the bleakness of her probable future, or the myriad of dangers Lydia might be facing at that very moment.

Most of all, she did not want to think of Darcy, and of his horrible proposal, and her refusal, or of how, on the heels of that rejection, he had ridden away to save her sister after telling her that he was doing so for her. Nothing had changed. She was still everything he had accused her of being. Her family was in an even worse situation than he had thought upon proposing to her, as this situation with Lydia meant they would be forever disgraced or forever entangled with Wickham, which was nearly the same thing. And even if that did not matter, even if Mr Bingley was right about what his friend had felt for her…she had refused Mr Darcy once. She could not imagine any situation in which he would propose again.

The evening star was out by the time she reached Longbourn’s gate. She looked at it for a moment and pushed through, resolutely refusing to make a wish. Jane and Mr Bingley were free to be together. That was enough. It had to be.

Chapter 23

Darcy could not recall any previous time he had been so relieved to find himself ensconced in his own study. It was a modest enough pleasure, all things considered, consisting of just a chair, a fire, and a glass of brandy, but after having spent the better part of three weeks in the least reputable corners of London searching for an absconding soldier and a sixteen-year-old girl, neither of whom wished to be found, it felt a veritable paradise. Fitzwilliam had remained with him, having requested and received an extension on his leave to assist his cousin with a family matter, and was collapsed bonelessly in a chair across from him.

“Thank goodness,” said Fitzwilliam, his eyes closed, “that we have seen the last of that little baggage.”

“I hope you are correct,” Darcy said, “though I confess that I have had a great many hopes these last weeks and have been disappointed in most of them.”

“Well, you’ll not be disappointed in this one. She is married, she is removed to the Gardiners’ house, and the whole business is done.” Fitzwilliam opened his eyes and observed his cousin. “Though I will say, having spent far more time in the company of Miss Lydia Bennet than I ever would have wanted to, I find it very difficult to believe that she is the sister of Miss Elizabeth and Miss Bennet. It would be easier to believe her to be a changeling child than the sister of those two ladies. Perhaps she was left behind by the faeries to plague an otherwise sensible family.”

“You’ve not met all the Bennets,” Darcy said wryly. He caught himself and took a slow breath. “And she is very young,” he added, in an attempt to be more charitable.

Fitzwilliam snorted. “Very young and very silly. Nor am I confident that the latter will improve markedly with age, though I would be glad to be wrong.” Fitzwilliam pushed himself up into a proper sitting position and reached for the glass of brandy Darcy had left on the side table for him. “Though I will grant you, finding her was rather more of a challenge than either of them ought to have been able to offer. I confess, I did not expect to find Mrs Yonge involved in this affair, though I suppose that I should have.”

Darcy’s jaw tightened at the name. “Nor did I, until we had exhausted every obvious avenue. I would not have imagined that those two would have remained associated with each other.”

Mrs Yonge, who had been Georgiana’s companion and had helped facilitate her disastrous elopement attempt with Wickham, had surfaced rather more easily than Wickham or Lydia Bennet, being both less itinerant and far less careful. She had found a house and begun taking lodgers. With the enticement of a little money, her neighbours, who were some of them displeased by the business and others merely indiscrete, were more than pleased to tell Darcy all about her boarders. From them, he had learned that she had let a set of rooms to a gentleman and lady of her acquaintance, and the neighbours did not believe that the couple was married. From there, it had simply been a matter of observing the house and waiting for Wickham and Lydia to return.

“I find it hard to believe that someone with her history seems to have recovered so easily and is still in connection with Wickham. Ought things not be more difficult for such reprobates?” Fitzwilliam demanded, scowling as he swallowed his brandy.

“One would think,” Darcy said with some bitterness, “and yet here we are.” Much of his bitterness was directed at himself. He had thought that dismissing Mrs Younge quietly and sending Wickham away would be sufficient. He understood now, with some discomfort, that turning one’s back on such problems rarely settled anything. It simply moved the problematic individuals out of view, where they were free to continue their machinations and create more problems. He suspected he ought to have learned this sooner, and resolved to speak to his uncle about how to better manage such situations in the future.

They did not speak, but Darcy turned over in his mind what had happened after they had found Lydia. Wickham had been utterly unrepentant but entirely willing to be reasonable, so long as that reasonableness gained him a sum of money that was large enough to clear his debts and to provide a cushion for the future. Darcy had done so, paying the debts outright and purchasing him a commission, as well as providing Lydia with a dowry.