Blurb: The impulse of a moment in Netherfield's drawing room leads to a more hasty proposal, and consequences that are painful, and humbling, and eventually happy.

“I see your design, Bingley,” said his friend. “You dislike an argument, and want to silence this.”

“Perhaps I do. Arguments are too much like disputes. If you and Miss Bennet will defer yours till I am out of the room, I shall be very thankful; and then you may say whatever you like of me.”

“What you ask,” said Elizabeth, “is no sacrifice on my side; and Mr. Darcy had much better finish his letter.”


Chapter 1: Unpredictable, but Always Unpleasant


Mr. Darcy’s quill scratched slowly over the surface of his paper. It was the loudest sound in the room, interrupted only by the irregular jangle of Mrs. Hurst’s bracelets. Combined, Elizabeth found them intensely irritating.

There was a mumble at the card table. She turned her head, and watched as Mr. Hurst languidly placed a card on the table. Just as languidly, Bingley picked one up. Miss Bingley’s skirts brushed the carpet as she moved in a monotonous circuit, from the card table to the writing desk, and back again.

Oh, for heaven’s sake, she thought. Could anything be more tedious than an evening at Netherfield Park? After a short period of debate earlier, the whole room had fallen into a lethargy; a lethargy that threatened to swallow her too. Even now, her needle seemed to move more slowly, the simple task of pushing it through the fabric requiring more exertion. Quite soon, she felt sure, they would all fall asleep like Mr. Hurst was wont to do. Oh, Jane, she thought, get better.

With a last, incisive rustle of paper, Darcy folded his sheet, and pushed it away. “I wonder,” he said, moving his chair back, “if I might beg you ladies for the indulgence of some music.”

His movement seemed to startle the room. Elizabeth blinked at him dazedly; Miss Bingley moved with haste toward the pianoforte. “Of course, Mr. Darcy, “ she said. “I shall be delighted—unless Miss Eliza Bennet would like to lead the way?”

All eyes now turned on her. For several seconds she failed to understand what was being asked of her, so deep was the apathy that had overtaken her. Then she saw the instrument, the gleaming keys, the sheets of music, and her mind cleared. “Yes!” She seized the opportunity to dispel her sense of listlessness. Playing and singing would give her something to do. “Since you have heard me before, I need fear nothing. I am at your disposal.” Miss Bingley, clearly disappointed, was forced to retire.

Casting aside the despised needlework, she rose, went to the instrument, and began to look over the music. It was all Italian arias and French cantatas, and while she could appreciate both, she knew they were not her strength. She preferred good English airs, folk songs and love songs which were simple to play and pleasant to sing.

“What a pity you did not bring your own music,” said Miss Bingley, from her chair. “I am sure you would prefer it.”

“I am sure I would. However, I believe I shall contrive without it.” None of these would do for her current mood. Yielding to impulse, she decided to perform an old song she knew very well, an Irish love song which had captured her fancy when still a child. It would suit her, even if it did not suit her audience, and the conviction that Mr. Darcy would disapprove such an ordinary choice only made her more determined.

She began her song, and the pleasure of singing it soon overtook any other feeling. How fine it was to play on such an excellent instrument, to hear its resonant tones and hers together, to wind her way through the familiar fingering, and to have both her heart and voice lift with each beloved line. If I were a blackbird, I’d whistle and sing. I’d follow the ship that my true love sails in. And in the top rigging, I’d build my nest…

At the song’s plaintive end she sat, a small smile on her lips, until her eyes met Mr. Darcy's. He was very serious. She looked archly as Mr. Bingley began to applaud; Mr. Darcy applauded too after a moment, but she hardly gave him credit for that . It could only be an empty formality on his part. Nevertheless she stayed where she was and performed one or two other pieces until Miss Bingley's impatience became too overt to be ignored, when she yielded her place and returned to her seat.

Miss Bingley began with a very complicated concerto indeed, and Elizabeth did her justice enough to say she played it well. After a few minutes she was surprised to see Mr. Darcy leave his chair and walk in her direction. Surely, she thought, he would have nothing to say to her. He sat down near her and looked as if he would speak, but instead sat silent for several more minutes. Miss Bingley finished the first movement and began the second. Mr. Darcy again looked as if he would speak. She could not help smiling quizzically at him, and his brows snapped together. Sorry for the smile, she looked away.

Finally, after another lengthy pause, he spoke. “ If I Were a Blackbird —you have sung it often, I suppose.”

“I have.”

“Is it a favorite of yours?”

“I do not suppose I would have sung it so often if it was not.”

“The imagery in it, of transforming into a bird and following your lover across the sea—it appeals to you?”

“Within the context of the song it does.”

“This is something you would do in actuality.”

She wrinkled her brow. “Transform into a bird?”

“No, follow the man you loved—love even when it seemed hopeless.”

“Having never known hopeless love, I do not know. I hope I would not completely abandon common sense. Mr. Darcy, the reasons I have for liking that song so well are not in any one element of it. It is the song, as a whole, that appeals to me, and it is not fair to try to extract any one idea, any more than it would be to extract a single note. If you wish to understand why I like it, then look to the song, not to me.”

He leaned in a little bit. “So you mean to say that the song is a representation of you, in a sense.”

“Not entirely.” She was sure he meant to mock her now. “I hope there is more to me than one song, Mr. Darcy.”

At that he drew back, but continued to stare at her, and after a moment she heard him murmur, “Yes, I suppose you would have many songs.” Almost immediately he stood up and retreated to his former place. She was baffled, but quickly put it out of her mind.

~*~

She met Mr. Darcy again the following morning, when she went down to breakfast. He was the only one in the room when she arrived: he stood as she entered, they each bowed, and she went to fill her plate. She felt his gaze and wondered again why he should persist in staring at her.

At the table she sat as far from him as she could manage, though that was not so far, since it was a small table. She applied herself to her food and hoped that he would do the same, but instead he took a sip of coffee and asked, “You are an early riser?”

She arched an eyebrow. “Apparently.”

“You prefer country hours.”

“We are in the country.”

“I suspect, though, that you would prefer country hours even in the city.”

“Perhaps so.”

“And you enjoy long country walks?”

“Only when I can get them.”

“Which is often.”

She put down her fork. “Is there a point to this inquiry?”

“Not at all.” He returned to his coffee and toast, and Elizabeth made some progress on her meal. When she happened to glance up she found him staring at her again.

“Do you wish to critique my table manners, Mr. Darcy?”

He seemed startled. “Of course not.”

“I wonder you should find them such a cause for study, then.”

She might have thought he blushed, were it not for the look of greater hauteur that spread over his features. “You must be mistaken. Forgive me, I will leave you to breakfast in peace.” He rose, leaving his coffee cup half filled. Elizabeth was glad that he was gone, a little embarrassed at having made him leave, and more determined than ever in her dislike of him.

“His moods are capricious,” she told Jane later. “Unpredictable, but always unpleasant.”

“Perhaps he likes the way you look,” suggested her sister.

“That is a suggestion only my dear Jane could make. You know that matter has long been settled. No, if anything, Mr. Darcy stares only to put me out of countenance. Well!—he shall not succeed.” She smile determinedly. “Now, your Mr. Bingley seems very anxious about your welfare. I daresay he would ascend the lattice and climb into your window if he could, just to get a glimpse of you.”

Jane blushed. “Mr. Bingley is very kind. I wish I were not so prone to fevers, or I might be able to go downstairs and speak with him.”

“You are improving, I am sure you are. Soon enough you will be well. We must be optimists and believe the length of your sickness is only increasing his interest. The longer he has to wait, the more he will anticipate seeing you.”

Jane shook her head but smiled, and the two sisters laughed together. Elizabeth remained with her upstairs for the rest of the morning, talking to her, reading to her, or simply sitting with her. Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst eventually came by for a short visit, and were congenial and amusing for the time they were there. Mr. Bingley sent his kind inquiries and regards. Elizabeth collided with Mr. Darcy in the corridor when she ran to her own room for some item—though how, she did not know, because his own rooms were on the other end of the house—and for a moment she thought he was not going to move out of her way, but finally he bowed and stepped aside. “Horrid man,” she muttered to herself, laughing, as she continued on.

In the early afternoon Jane fell asleep again, and Elizabeth, hesitating between remaining or seizing her liberty, decided at last to go down to the library for a book. Its offerings were rather sparse, but she was sure she could find something worthy of an afternoon's entertainment.

And there, again, she found herself unexpectedly coming across Mr. Darcy, while browsing the shelves. Not that he was in the room; rather, he was outside of it, in the garden, and he was pacing.

Mr. Darcy pacing in the garden? It was quite the strangest thing Elizabeth had seen at Netherfield, and she could not help but stand at the window and watch him. His steps were quick and impatient, his manner distracted. Most of the time his hands were clasped firmly behind his back, but occasionally he would raise one in a half-gesture before returning it hurriedly to its place. Sometimes he would glance toward the house, particularly the upstairs windows. Back and forth he went, up and down the gravel pathway outside the library. It was obvious that something was disturbing his mind, but Elizabeth could not imagine what it might be. Something very significant must have happened to cause the usually sedate Mr. Darcy to behave with such open perturbation.

At long last, when she was almost tired just from looking at him, he stopped, and stood staring at nothing for some moments. Then he turned on his heel, and walked back toward the house and up the steps to re-enter by the long library windows. He moved so quickly that Elizabeth had barely time enough to jump out of the way and turn toward some shelves before he was in the room with her.

Three firm steps upon the carpet, and then—“Miss Bennet!”

He sounded inordinately startled; Elizabeth turned and made a polite curtsy. “Good day, Mr. Darcy.” She could not resist studying him to see what hints his person might give: he looked the same as always, but his hair was a little ruffled, and he was staring at her again. “It is a fine day outside,” she ventured.

It took him a moment to reply. “Yes, very fine.”

“Did you enjoy your walk?”

He blinked, glanced toward the door and back again. “I do not know.”

It was such a very odd thing for Mr. Darcy, of all people, to say, that she began to laugh, but checked it at the expression on his face. He seemed... disoriented.

“Good afternoon,” she said finally, and, making another quick curtsy, turned to walk out of the room. Whatever was the matter with him, she no longer felt inclined to stay here and discover it. Mr. Darcy's problems were certainly none of her concern.

She had almost reached the door when he called after her. “Miss Bennet!” She glanced back. “Please,” he said, “stay a moment.”

This was stranger still, but she turned obediently and walked a few steps back into the room, waiting for him to speak.

He looked for a moment as if he would start pacing again; she noticed his hands, clenching and unclenching. His dark eyes were fixed on her face with uncomfortable intensity.

As if reaching a sudden resolution, he came forward and began. “I know,” he said, “that your situation in life is decidedly beneath my own. Your connections are inferior, and your relations are vulgar. However, despite these and other objections, I have felt the strongest attraction to you since very early in our acquaintance, and I believe that in these last days my feelings have grown beyond attraction, to something more warm and ardent. I believe, in short, that I have fallen in love with you, and since I am not the sort of man who falls in and out of love with ease, I have every reason to expect the attachment to be lasting. Therefore, despite your lack of suitable connections or fortune, I would like, without further delay, to offer you my hand—to ask you to be my wife.”

Elizabeth's surprise was beyond expression. At first she could only stare in wonder, and as his avowal continued, she progressed with such rapidity through indignation, dismay and repugnance that when he finally ceased talking she scarcely knew what to say. He extended his hand to her as he finished, clearly expecting her to take it, but instead she moved her hands behind her back and stepped away from him. “No,” she said at last.

His astonishment was not likely to endear him to her. “No?”

Desperately she tried to gather her scattered thoughts. “I am honoured by your proposal, but I cannot accept.”

His hand fell slowly; he seemed uncertain what to do. “May I know the reason for your refusal?”

“Must a lady give a reason?”

Again he seemed caught off guard. “A man wants to know.”

“Very well.” She put up her chin a little. “I do not believe we should suit.”

“I disagree.”

"The decision is mine to make, however, and I cannot be so careless as to agree to a match that I believe would lead both of us into misery.”

He drew back, almost as if she had slapped him, and looked... well, he looked hurt. She was sorry for that, especially if his feelings for her were as strong as he professed—but that she truly doubted. Surely this affection was a perverse fancy on his part, perhaps borne of the very fact that she did not flatter him like Miss Bingley did. He would quickly forget it. And even if he did not, she could not accept a man she detested! Mr. Darcy might be rich, and she supposed she knew no actual ill of him, but he was proud and unpleasant, and she could never be happy with him. The very manner of his proposal was offensive, though she did not suppose he even realised it.

“If I have caused you pain, I am sorry,” she said quietly, “but please believe that it was most unconsciously done. Now, I beg you will excuse me.” She turned and left before he could say another word.

---

See here for a version of the song that Lizzy sings. Some versions of the lyrics have the maiden in love with "a brave sailor lad," and would make a fine theme song for Anne Elliot.

Chapter 2: A Lot of Gold to Turn Down


She remained in Jane's room for the rest of the afternoon, wishing fervently that they could go home. Her sister was still feverish though, and she could neither consider leaving nor removing her. She considered asking for a tray in her room, but knew such a request would be rude. Therefore, when the dinner bell rang she was ready, and went quietly down the stairs.

Mr. Darcy was in the room when she entered, standing off to the side and looking dour—but she averted her eyes as quickly as they identified him, and concentrated on greeting Mr. Bingley and the others. She gladly went into dinner with Bingley, leaving Darcy to escort Miss Bingley. When they were seated she lamented that their party was not larger—only six total, so it was impossible to be far from Mr. Darcy, though he had seated himself down the table and across from her. He was even more silent than usual, speaking only to answer Miss Bingley's sallies, and Elizabeth found herself unequal to much more.

After dinner Elizabeth excused herself to go check on her sister but, finding her sleeping, had no further excuse to remain upstairs. As strong as her desire to avoid Darcy was, she could not reconcile it to her conscience to claim Jane needed her when she did not. She entered the drawing room with some trepidation. Darcy, she saw immediately, was writing letters again, his tall form bent over the desk. Yesterday he had been writing slowly, but today his hand seemed to be moving with almost frantic speed. She saw his shoulders start when Mr. Bingley greeted her, and he turned his head and looked at her. Elizabeth blushed and hastily caught up a book from a side table, and sitting down, pretended to lose herself in it.

It was a volume of verse, and the pages fell open to a love poem. Finding it ironic, Elizabeth nevertheless began to read, and soon became genuinely interested in the expressions of passion. Some minutes passed in this way, until she heard Miss Bingley say, “Why, Mr. Darcy, what do you look for?”

“Only my book, madam,” he replied.

There was a pause, then, “Why, Miss Elizabeth, I do believe you've taken Mr. Darcy's book. Did you not know it was his?”

Instantly she shut the book and held it out in his direction. “No, I am sorry.”

He hesitated a moment before taking it. “No apology is necessary.” Another pause. “Did you enjoy it?”

She looked away. “It passed the time well enough.”

It burned her cheeks to realise that he might have thought of her as he read those poems. It was absurd, but less so than his proposal that afternoon. She could nearly believe it had all been imagined.

As soon as she reasonably could, Elizabeth excused herself. She looked in on Jane; she was still sleeping, and her skin felt cooler. Perhaps they would be able to return home soon.

Coming back into the hall, she nearly ran into Mr. Darcy. “Mr. Darcy!” Discomposed, she turned away, but he stopped her.

“Miss Bennet!”

“Mr. Darcy, I cannot imagine that we have anything to say to each other.”

“And I cannot imagine why you persist in refusing my offer.”

“I believe I already—”

“You said that you did not think we would suit, but that seems manifestly absurd to me.”

“Absurd?” She faced him indignantly.

"Anyone can see that we are well matched for sense and intelligence. We both have, I hope, good principles and a high sense of honor. You have a sister to whom you are devoted, I have a sister to whom I am devoted."

”So far you have said nothing that could not be said of many people.”

“Some, yes; not many, I think. And fewer still have the liveliness of mind which you display. How many men do you believe could keep up with you?—Who would welcome your wit instead of deprecating it?”

“This is not about my wit, sir!” She was beginning to feel very uncomfortable and flushed.

“Not entirely.” Suddenly his face and voice seemed to soften. “If you were not so pretty, I might be less affected by it.”

She gasped, and spun away. Darcy moved quickly to block her path. “You have not answered me.”

“On the contrary, I have given you a very clear answer. It is you who refuse to accept it!”

”That is not what I meant, and you know it. Tell me why you will not marry me!”

An audible gasp behind them caused both of them to turn quickly. Miss Bingley stood in the hall, having just rounded the corner. She was staring, her face so pale she seemed she might faint. Elizabeth and Darcy, by contrast, turned bright red. “Excuse me,” Elizabeth murmured and, brushing past Darcy, fled to her room. She did not sleep much that night, too agitated and amazed to lie peacefully. That Mr. Darcy should love her was absurd, that he should annoy her with offers of marriage, beyond belief. Surely, surely, she would wake and find it all a dream.

~*~

After an agitated night, Elizabeth rose early and slipped down to the garden for a stroll before breakfast. She hoped that there, at least, she might be free from harassment. She found she was wrong when Darcy suddenly appeared before her. “You need to marry, and marry well.”

This time she coloured in outright anger. “You are no gentleman to continue importuning me this way.”

“I am only attempting to finish our conversation which was interrupted.”

“I do not want to marry you!”

“That is nonsensical. Every woman wants to marry, and you cannot hope to do better.”

“In terms of wealth I am sure you are right, but unlike some, I wish for more than a rich husband.”

He laughed. “What do you wish for, then?”

She narrowed her eyes. “An amiable husband.”

The laugh disappeared. “I do not take your point.”

“Then let me make myself unmistakably clear. Your behaviour through this entire affair has been typical of the overweening arrogance that you display at every turn, Mr. Darcy. Your disdain for my family and my neighbourhood has been more than apparent, and has awoken an answering disdain in me. You are the most unpleasant man I have ever had the misfortune to know, and I would not marry you for all the gold in Ophir!”

He stared at her, his own eyes narrowed. “That is a lot of gold to turn down, madam, especially since you are destined to be poor.”

“No poverty could make me as miserable as living with you would.”

“And you base this astounding conclusion on what evidence? Have I ever lied to you, or been unkind to you? Have I comported myself as a rake, or a dandy, or talked like a fool? No! Rather, I have been scrupulously honest and sincere, I have respected your sense and intelligence—mistakenly, it appears!—and been circumspect about raising your expectations when I did not know my intentions. I am an honourable man, Miss Bennet, a just and many would say, generous one. My wife would lack for nothing. But you , however—!” He turned away as if unable to continue.

“Mr. Darcy, I must beg that you give me leave to go in the house. I do not believe either of us would profit from a continuation of this interview.”

“I had thought better of your sense!” He rounded on her as if he had not heard what she said. “I thought you were a woman with judgement, with principles and discernment—not one who would throw away her own future for a whim!”

She stared at him in disbelief. “Is your opinion of yourself truly so high that you think any woman you deign to honour with a proposal must lay herself down at your feet in gratitude, and that nothing less than a severe lapse in sense could make her do otherwise?”

“That is not what I meant.”

“Oh no, it is! It is precisely what you meant!” She clenched her hands. “Have I not just cause to refuse a man so arrogant, so full of his own worth that he cannot accept that there might be a woman in the world who does not wish to marry him? A man who can profess love with one breath, and with the other insult and berate the object of his choice? Mr. Darcy, even if I had not been previously set against you, what persuasion could tempt me after this? It is because I have principles, and discernment, and judgement that I refuse you!”

Once again she turned to flee from him, but he caught her wrist. “I cannot accept that.”

“You must.” Pulling her arm away with a jerk, she stared at him coldly. “I will not change my mind.”

This time when she turned he did not stop her, although she knew that he stood and watched her until she gained the house.

Entering through the conservatory, she collided with Miss Bingley. Mumbling an apology she tried to move past her, but the lady blocked her path.

“What did you do to him?” Miss Bingley demanded.

She did not pretend to misunderstand. “Nothing. I did nothing.” Once again she tried to move on, and once again was prevented.

“You must have done something. Men like Mr. Darcy do not just go around proposing to—to anyone!—let alone…” She gestured at Lizzy's person. “Tell me, what arts did you use? What means of allurement?”

Elizabeth pinched the bridge of her nose and tried to avoid laughing hysterically. “I ignored him, quarrelled with him, and laughed at him as often as possible, Miss Bingley. Perhaps that is what he likes; you have my permission to try it. Now may I go, please?”

With reluctance and a suspicious look, Miss Bingley moved aside, and Elizabeth hurried upstairs, praying that Jane would be well enough to leave Netherfield soon—preferably this morning! But Jane, although improved, was clearly not recovered yet. She answered Lizzy's suggestion with immediate agreement and tried to climb out of bed, but her weakness was so obvious that Elizabeth simply could not do it. Instead she pushed her back onto the pillows, and promised they would stay at least another night. Privately, though, she vowed that she would not go downstairs again, no matter how rude it appeared. She would remain in Jane's room or her own, neither of which even Darcy dared enter—she hoped.

~*~

This resolution was more difficult to carry out than she had anticipated. She did manage to remain in her room through dinner, but after a long and peaceful afternoon's rest Jane was well enough to go downstairs, and she could not deny it to her. They went down together, Jane warmly wrapped in a shawl the colour of her eyes. Elizabeth had hoped to sit with Jane, and by dint of remaining close to her, avoid the attentions, if not the notice, of Mr. Darcy. In this she was foiled by Mr. Bingley, for as soon as they entered he begged Miss Bennet to sit down in the chair closest to the fire, and promptly sat down in the opposite one himself. This left Elizabeth the settee between Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley, the sofa next to Mr. Hurst, an armchair nearby to where Mr. Darcy himself was seated with a book, or one or two other pieces of furniture which were far enough removed from the central groupings to cause alarm. Elizabeth had just settled in her mind that sitting close to Mr. Hurst was worth the security it offered when he gave up his battle with wakefulness and, putting his feet up, reclined full length. Thus Elizabeth had no choice but to sit in a chair at a distance from Jane and the fire, equally at a distance from Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley.

She need not have worried. Mr. Darcy did not disturb her; he did not even speak to her. With solemn civility he addressed himself to Jane, offering congratulations on her recovery, but Elizabeth got no more than a few long, serious looks. He adhered to his book, and Elizabeth thought with relief that perhaps he had finally accepted her refusal.

Two sources of enjoyment were afforded to her that evening: first, watching Jane's happiness in being with Mr. Bingley and Mr. Bingley's rapture in being with Jane; and second, observing Miss Bingley, who spent the time either ignoring or disagreeing with Mr. Darcy. Apparently, she had decided to attempt Elizabeth’s method of seduction. Mr. Darcy looked a little surprised when she insisted that it had not been a good day for shooting grouse, but he refrained from arguing with her.

It was not long before Jane grew tired again, and Elizabeth announced her intention of retiring along with her. They went upstairs and Elizabeth helped Jane into bed, then sat and talked with her for several minutes. The whole of her conversation with Mr. Bingley had to be gone over, and all of his virtues suitably admired, after all. Finally she left her in a darkened room, already dozing off beneath her little frilled cap.

Elizabeth turned in the direction of her own room, then remembered that she had left her embroidery, with which she had planned to occupy herself until bed, downstairs in the drawing room. To go again into the lion's den seemed a little risky, but after all she had no real cause for alarm. So she made her way back downstairs, and retrieved the stitchery with a quick word of explanation. She noticed that Mr. Darcy was no longer present, but thought that he must either have retired, or be playing billiards down the hall—and so moved rather quickly past that particular room.

Feeling almost like a small, errant child, she tip-toed up the stairs, and was just breathing a sigh of relief in the corridor when from around the corner came the man himself.

“Miss Bennet—”

Without a word Elizabeth turned on her heel to go back the way she came.

“Miss Bennet, if you would only allow me a minute of your time,” he persisted, pursuing her.

“I do not want to talk to you.” The stairs were only a short distance ahead; surely he would not follow her down them, into the main hall.

“I know that,” he said, his long strides easily outpacing hers. “But if I could just—” He put his hand on her upper arm to stop her, but at the look she gave him immediately drew it back. “I have been walking the halls for some time in hope of—”

“Why can you not leave me alone?” she demanded, hurrying toward the top of the steps.

“I have every intention—if you would listen to me for one—” He had moved to block her path, just before the stairs, and Elizabeth, with a rising sense of panic, darted past, but at the last moment he reached out as if to catch hold of her again, so she half-turned to avoid him and, her attention all on him, stumbled on the first step, her feet slipping, and the force of her rush carried her all the way down, tumbling down the fine marble staircase to the grand front hall where she lay in a heap on the Axminster carpet.

Elizabeth's vision blurred and swam; black spots danced before her eyes. There was a searing pain in her head, another in her foot, and she knew she had screamed. Other impressions were vague: her name, cried out in a terrible voice; Mr. Darcy's face, very white, hovering over her; then a cacophony of other voices, and the sensation of being lifted, and everything went black completely.

Chapter 3: Very Exacting


Some unknown time later, Elizabeth woke in a bedroom full of morning light to find Jane sitting next to her. She hurt all over. “Jane?” she murmured.

“Lizzy!” Jane leaned over, smoothing her hair. “I am glad to see you awake.”

“Jane, what are you doing here? You ought to be in bed.”

“Do not worry, dearest, I am well, truly I am.”

Elizabeth tried to move her head on the pillow, but stopped and groaned. “What happened to me?”

“Do you not remember?”

A moment. “I remember. But—what are my injuries?”

“You have been badly bruised, I am sorry to say, but your most serious injuries were to your head and your foot. You most likely have a concussion—but it is not so bad. You also seem to have broken a bone in your foot. It will take several weeks to heal.”

As she spoke, Elizabeth realised the foot that hurt so badly was heavily bound. “Has it been set already?”

“Yes, we called the surgeon last night. Do you remember?”

She frowned, trying to recall the night before. “Yes, but it's a bit blurry.”

“We had to dose you heavily with laudanum first, I am afraid.” Jane's cool hands were busy soothing her brow. “Luckily, Mrs. Hurst had a good supply of it.”

That drew a hazy chuckle from her. "Am I correct in remembering my father being here?"

“Oh, yes. A message was sent to Longbourn, and he came immediately. He remained all the night with you, until the surgeon was finished and you were sleeping. He is still here, actually, resting in the room right next door.”

“Poor Miss Bingley,” she murmured. “She must feel like her house is under invasion from Bennets.”

“Caroline has been everything that is gracious, and Mr. Bingley even more so. No one could be kinder or more concerned, or could have done more than he did.”

“I am sure.” The laudanum still in her body was making itself felt. “He is very different from his friend.”

“Mr. Darcy was very worried about you, Lizzy. He was the one who saw your fall, and it affected him very much—you could see it in his face. He carried you back up the stairs himself.”

That did not please her. “If he tries to see me, Jane, don't let him.”

“Of course I would not, but there is no question of that. Mr. Darcy has already left.”

“Left?”

“He departed for London at first light. Mr. Bingley said he had some urgent business of some sort—he was not quite sure what—but Mr. Darcy insisted it could not be delayed, so he has gone to town, and does not expect to return, at least not soon.”

Relief flooded her. “He is gone, then?”

“Yes. Mr. Darcy is gone.”

~*~

According to the surgeon, Mr. Martin, Elizabeth's recovery was remarkably quick. To her it seemed remarkably slow. She hated being so confined, bed-ridden and then couch-ridden, inactive, helpless and bored. She hated the persistent pain, the pounding in her head and the sharp, shooting pains in her foot. She also hated being dependent for so much generosity from those she believed grudged it to her—but Miss Bingley, at least, did not come by more than once a day or so, and there were certain benefits to remaining at Netherfield. Jane remained there too, and whenever she was not attending Elizabeth in her room she was with Mr. Bingley. From what Elizabeth could tell, Mr. Bingley had abandoned shooting entirely to remain at his Miss Bennet's disposal, and they got on so well that by the time a fortnight had passed they were in a fair way to having everything settled between them.

Meanwhile, the most surprising news came from home, expressively conveyed by a variety of notes, her younger sisters, and her friend Charlotte. Their cousin, Mr. William Collins, heir presumptive of Longbourn, had come to visit. He arrived within three days of her fall, and seemed, from all accounts, quite put out to find two of the daughters of the house now at another. Mr. Bennet was distracted in his concerns over Elizabeth, and both Kitty and Lydia—who abused him in the most unflattering terms—avoided his company as much as possible, leaving him to the attentions of Mrs. Bennet and Mary. Elizabeth was never quite certain how her mother managed it, but by the time he left Longbourn a week later, he and Mary were engaged.

The lively descriptions Mr. Bennet had given her of his young cousin were not promising: he was foolish, pompous and obsequious. His manners were formal, his speech absurd, and his opinions wholly dictated by the wealthy patroness who had given him his living. When Elizabeth expressed concern at Mary being bound to such a man, her father laughed and shrugged and said they might prose on very well together—that Collins would never have done for her , Elizabeth, or even for Jane, but Mary's self-importance and lack of sense so nearly matched his, that either they would utterly hate each other or be very happy. "And make no mistake—Mary is very much enjoying the consequence she receives from being both the first of her sisters to marry, and her mother's future supplanter."

As little as this did to reassure Elizabeth, the engagement was done before she knew anything of it, so she congratulated Mary warmly when she saw her, and tried to not fret. She was allowed to return home after another fortnight, her foot well cushioned on the drive, and never had she loved Longbourn so much as when she exchanged Netherfield for it.

Of Mr. Darcy she heard nothing over the weeks that followed, other than one mention Mr. Bingley made that Darcy had asked after her progress in a letter. She thought of him often, though, in those interminable hours she spent staring at the chintz canopy of her bed. She wondered again and again at the strangeness of everything that had happened, at his abrupt proposal and later persistence. She was bitterly angry at him at times, feeling her current suffering to be entirely his fault, and while she blamed him for running off like a cur when she was injured, she could only be grateful that he had.

Yet there was such a peculiarity about the events that she could not help but be amused by them too, when she thought of it, and over time her sharpest indignation wore down. She was even able to acknowledge, eventually, that her fall had not been entirely his fault. It was mostly his fault, of course, but her own impulsivity, her determination not to listen to one more declaration or argument from him, had impelled her to that staircase. He had been wrong, a thousand times over rude, arrogant and ungentlemanly, and she would be thankful never to see him again, but she also knew that he had never intended to harm her—she knew that the voice that had rung in her ears when she fell was his.

~*~

By the time Elizabeth could hobble about the house, Jane and Mr. Bingley were engaged. By the time she could walk without pain, their wedding was nearly at hand. Mary's wedding had already taken place, with rather less ceremony; Mr. Collins returned for his bride before Christmas. He was everything Elizabeth had feared he would be, but she had to admit that Mary seemed pleased enough with her choice, and listened to his embellished compliments with a calm smile. When Mary spoke, Mr. Collins always listened, and seemed much struck with her wisdom and extensive reading, often deferring his own opinions to hers. Whether this boded well for them or not, she could not say.

“You are not pleased, Lizzy,” said her friend Charlotte at the wedding breakfast.

“I am worried for her, Charlotte. How could any woman be happy, married to such a man?”

“If we were all like you, then I am sure none of us could. But Mary is not you; she has not your notions of romance, or your exacting requirements in a husband.”

“I am not exacting!”

“I am sorry, but you are very exacting. It is not enough for you that a man is respectable and honest, and that he has a comfortable home to offer you. You must have love and attraction and charm as well—and that is very well for you, my dear Eliza, but for one such as your sister, who is practical, and who has learned to think herself plain and undesirable to the opposite sex, Mr. Collins offers what she wants the most—her own establishment, and the respectability of marriage. By marrying Mr. Collins she is also able to guarantee your mother that she will never be without a home; do you not think she finds satisfaction in that, of the best and most lasting kind?”

Elizabeth could not see the matter quite as her friend did, but she hoped, for Mary's sake, that she was right, and saw them off with the most sincere smiles and wishes she could muster.

Meanwhile Jane, who by now knew all that had happened at Netherfield, had come to her with some concern. “Lizzy, dearest,” she said, “Charles wishes to ask Mr. Darcy to stand up with him at our wedding, as his best man.”

“That is not, I suppose, very surprising.”

“As you know, I have never told him of what passed between the two of you in November, but if you do not wish to see Mr. Darcy I will do so. I am certain that Charles would never invite him if he knew it distressed you, and why.”

“But it would distress Charles not to have his friend with him, would it not?”

Jane looked troubled. “Yes—but he would understand, and Mr. Darcy himself could not help but know his reasons. I am sure that Mr. Darcy only left Netherfield out of a desire for your comfort anyway. He will not try to impose himself.”

“He had no difficulty imposing himself before,” she pointed out rather tartly. “But no, Jane, I would not like to be the one to cause harm to their friendship. Little as I understand your Mr. Bingley's taste in friends, I know his regard for Mr. Darcy is sincere, and would not do anything to harm it. Mr. Darcy may come to the wedding—only keep him away from me!”

Jane did not have to keep him away, as it turned out, since he did not make his reappearance at Netherfield until two days before the wedding, and Elizabeth saw him only once, on the night before. Everyone had gathered for a final dinner at Netherfield, the Bennets, Bingleys and Hursts, and Mr. Darcy. The Collinses had remained in Kent, though Mary sent a long letter to Jane, full of platitudes and advice. Elizabeth, trying to discern her younger sister’s happiness from it, could not tell much. There was an air of self-satisfaction, but little to do with Elizabeth’s own ideas of what a happy marriage must encompass.

On this night, with champagne and laughter flowed freely, even Mr. Bingley’s relations seemed inclined to be pleased. Mr. Darcy was very quiet, but for once scrupulously polite to everyone, even to Mrs. Bennet. Mrs. Bennet had not yet forgiven him the sin of overlooking her daughters the first time they met; although she was too happy tonight, too pleased to be marrying off a second daughter in as many months to take much trouble about offending anyone, her manner cooled perceptibly whenever she spoke to him. Darcy bore the insult, and replied civilly.
He did not approach Elizabeth after the initial greeting. Elizabeth would have liked to watch him more, to study his countenance and guess at his thoughts, but she dared not. Their eyes had met only briefly, his filled with some emotion she could not identify. He inquired after her health, which he could hardly avoid doing, but he looked conscious and uncomfortable, which gave her a little malicious satisfaction. She told him that she was perfectly well now, and moved on.

Sometimes during dinner she would find him watching her, but he always dropped his gaze quickly. He seemed, she thought, almost chastened, and she was glad of it. He ought to be chastened.

After dinner someone asked her to play, but she remembered that night at Netherfield that she had played, and declined. Miss Bingley played instead, and then Mrs. Hurst, and then both of them together, until it was time to go home. Since Mr. Bingley was too busy speaking with Jane to notice anyone else, and Mr. Hurst dozed off during the first movement, that left only the Bennets as spectators and company for Mr. Darcy. They were not good ones. Lydia and Kitty whispered and giggled in the corner. Mrs. Bennet made frequent loud asides on how well her daughter, Mrs. Collins , played the pianoforte, and Mr. Bennet, who of all of them was best suited to converse with a man like Darcy, chose instead to sit by Lizzy and speak to her, making quiet jests calculated to amuse himself more than her. Though determined not to care about the opinion of a man like Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth could help but feel embarrassed on behalf of her family, and even a little sorry for him, as he sat by himself at the side of the room, with no companion or occupation other than to listen. He continued to sneak glances at her, she noticed. Once she even felt apologetic, as she met his eyes for a fleeting moment.

Then the evening was over, her mother's exclamations and Lydia's jokes done, and they all climbed into their carriages and went home. “I am so happy for you, Jane!” cried Mrs. Bennet on the way. “So very happy! Such an amiable man! So handsome! So rich! You will very likely even go to London for the season!”

“That is our plan,” affirmed Jane.

“Oh, and you must take your sisters with you, so that they may meet other rich and handsome men! Our fortunes are made, Mr. Bennet!”

“How so, Mrs. Bennet? I do not recall an increase in our income. Perhaps you mean the money we shall save by not having to support Jane and Mary; but I am sorry to disappoint you. They are neither of them very extravagant girls. We will not save as much as you hope.”

“Oh, how can you be so teasing? You know what I mean. Jane has got a rich husband, and soon the others must have one too.”

“Must they? Is this a new law that has been passed?”

“I am sure that you would agree, Mama,” said Elizabeth, intervening to prevent more of this kind of talk, “that Mr. Bingley’s kind heart and cheerful temper make him an even better husband than his money can. If we are all to follow in Jane’s footsteps, then I hope we may get husbands like her in that way.” She and Jane exchanged smiles across the carriage.

“It is very well to talk like that when you are young, Lizzy,” replied her mother, “but when you get older you will find that money is very useful indeed. Not that I don’t wish you to have husbands who are amiable—I am sure I do, for I could not bear to have such an unpleasant man as Mr. Darcy for a son, for all that he is so very rich—but it is no use pretending that Jane would be as happy in a cottage as she shall be at Netherfield, for I shan’t believe it!”

For once, Elizabeth found her mother’s logic strangely unanswerable.

Chapter 4: Not Worth the Vindication


Elizabeth did not like standing opposite Mr. Darcy at the front of the church, but everything else about the small ceremony was delightful: the evergreen boughs that draped the church, the sunlight through the stained glass windows, Jane so ethereal in her wedding finery, and most of all the blissful happiness which pervaded the countenances of the couple as they repeated their vows. Their dear old minister, Mr. Hartley, spoke the rites with solemn care, and it filled Elizabeth's heart with happiness to see her younger sisters in the pew with her mother and her father next to them, all of them in this hour peaceful and cheerful and united in affection for the young woman they were giving away.

The moment was over soon; Darcy went to sign the register, and when that was done everyone went outside, the bride and groom receiving the good wishes of their neighbours who had waited to greet them. Then it was to Longbourn, in a line of carriages, for a fine breakfast laid out in the large front parlour. For Elizabeth, the celebration was joyful, but also a little sad. Pleased as she was for Jane, she could not help but grieve a little the loss of her dear, life-long companion. Jane at Netherfield was a wonderful thing, but not quite the same as Jane at Longbourn. Overcome with pensive thoughts, she left the crowded rooms for the quiet, chilly garden. Winter was nearly over now; she could see the first signs of spring. She paced a little, breathed the air, and turned her head at a footfall. Darcy was watching her gravely.

She looked back warily. “Mr. Darcy.”

“Miss Bennet, I…” He seemed, for the first time she had ever known him, to be genuinely struggling for composure. His usual reserve was gone, and his countenance filled with emotion and regret. “I have not come to disturb you in any way; it is only that I must tell you—that I have long wished to tell you—how exceedingly sorry I am for the events of last November, and the pain and injury you suffered at my hands. If it was in any way in my power to undo it, or to make reparation for it, I would have done so immediately. As it was, I did the only thing I could think to do that might relieve your distress, in removing myself.”

She was very much surprised, and could only murmur her thanks.

“I am grateful, more grateful than I can say to a merciful God, that you suffered no lasting injury. You are—” he hesitated. “You are perfectly well now, are you not? Bingley said that you were, but I could not feel easy until I saw you for myself.”

She smiled uncomfortably. “I do not appear to be in good health?”

“You appear perfectly unchanged.”

“Then I am as you see.”

“I am glad.”

When it was clear that she had nothing further to say, he half-turned as if to go, then hesitated. “To be quite clear, it is not the declaration I regret, but the way in which I made it; in particular, what you correctly named my overweening arrogance, that did not allow me to accept your answer so clearly given. You were right to say I was no gentleman, and I have not been able to think of myself with anything but disgust ever since.”

His sincerity was obvious, and did much to mollify her. “You were not the only one to blame, I believe. My own rash impulsiveness must take its share.”

He looked surprised, and shook his head. “I cannot allow you to say that. It was my fault entirely.”

This sentiment seemed too just to argue with, so she again felt there was nothing more to say. He had behaved better in this than she had expected, but she had no desire for his company, and if he still cherished any feeling for her then it was far better that they not see each other. At least it seemed they could be in a room together with less awkwardness than before.

Darcy bowed to her and left the garden, but Elizabeth stood for some time in thought. As she finally began to make her way back inside she heard a giggle coming from the other side of a high hedge, and recognised it as Lydia's. When a man's laugh followed, she frowned with alarm and walked around to the other side of the hedge.

There, sitting on a bench, was Lydia, drinking champagne with a militia officer who was leaning toward her in entirely too familiar a fashion. He was a handsome young fellow, and she recognised him immediately. He had joined the regiment while she was still convalescing, so she had only met him two or three times, but had liked him very much. Now, however, all liking disappeared in indignant disapproval. As she watched, he put his arm around Lydia's shoulder, whispering into her ear. Lydia giggled louder than ever. “Why, you do talk so prettily, Mr. Wickham!”

“Ahem.” Elizabeth cleared her throat.

The two looked around. Mr. Wickham leapt to his feet, but Lydia only waved her glass. “Oh, Lizzy! This is such good champagne, I've had three glasses of it already!”

Elizabeth fixed a cutting glare on the lieutenant, who laughed uncomfortably. “Miss Lydia was in need of some air,” he said. “I simply offered her my company, so that she would not be alone.”

“Very gallant of you,” she replied. “However, I am here now, so you may feel confident in leaving her to my care.”

Needing no second hint, he took himself off immediately, and Elizabeth sat down next to her sister. She would tell her father later of what she had seen. “No more champagne, Lydia.” She took the glass from her sister's hand with a small struggle.

“Well you need not be such a kill-joy! Why did you have to send Mr. Wickham off like that?”

“It was not proper for him to be out here with you.”

“Pooh on propriety! What do I care about that when there's a handsome redcoat to pay me pretty compliments?” She sighed dreamily. “He is such a very handsome man, Lizzy, do you not think? And he speaks so nicely, much better than Carter or Denny.”

“He has a glib tongue, I will give you that, but it is clear to me that he uses it for ill purposes. Handsome men are not always honest ones, Lydia.”

“You only say that because you don't know him as well I do.”

“I know him quite well enough. Come on, now.” She stood and offered her hand. “Jane will be leaving soon, so we must be there to say good-bye.” But Lydia jumped to her feet and ran off toward the door. Fervently hoping she would not do something to bring shame on them all before the Bingleys left on their wedding trip, Elizabeth paused only long enough to drain what was left of Lydia's champagne before going in pursuit.

All of Longbourn's parlours were open and full of people—every single person they had ever known, it seemed to Elizabeth. Her mother had wanted everyone to know their triumph. She was following Lydia in a circuitous path through the crowds when they were pounced on by a breathless Kitty.

“You just missed all the excitement,” she whispered loudly, her face glowing with news and satisfaction.

“What excitement?” demanded Lydia.

“Mr. Darcy and Mr. Wickham!”

This was all her morning wanted, thought Elizabeth. Separate encounters with both men were not enough—now they must needs create an uproar together.

Lydia was already inquiring eagerly.

“Well, Mr. Darcy was standing just there, talking to Sir William, when in comes Mr. Wickham, by the same door you did. He was not watching where he was going, I think, and he ran right into Mr. Darcy's back. I saw the whole thing, and so did Maria Lucas and Hetty Long. Mr. Wickham began to apologise, until Mr. Darcy turned around and then—oh! You should have seen their faces! Mr. Wickham turned so pale, you would think he was looking at a ghost. And Mr. Darcy—Mr. Darcy went as red as a beet, only he was angry, not embarrassed. You could tell at once that they knew each other, and Mr. Darcy perfectly hates poor Wickham, who seemed terrified of Mr. Darcy. I can't imagine what they were about to say, when Sir William began to talk, asking Mr. Darcy if he had met Mr. Wickham, and telling each of them all about the other, while the two of them stood staring at each other, becoming more and more agitated all the time.” Kitty paused for a breath, fanning her face and placing a hand dramatically over her bosom. She was clearly enjoying the undivided attention of not only her sisters, but half a dozen other people who had ceased their conversations to listen. “Mr. Darcy looked as if he might seize Wickham by the throat at any moment!” she declared. “Just when I was quite certain that Mr. Wickham would be murdered before my very eyes—and on the new carpet Mama just got from London—Sir William finally realised something was wrong and asked them if they knew each other. Mr. Darcy said—” she imitated a deep, haughty tone in her girlish voice—” we were acquainted once, and you just knew he meant that he refuses to know Wickham now, because they have had a terrible quarrel.” She giggled. “I wonder if it was over a woman.”

Lydia seemed enraptured by the idea. “Do you think they fought a duel at daybreak?”

“If they did, I can tell you who won,” Kitty said. “Mr. Darcy must have, else Mr. Wickham would not be so frightened of him.”

“Do you think Mr. Darcy wounded him? A sword thrust through the shoulder, maybe? Perhaps he nearly bled to death!”

“It could have been a bullet wound too, you know. They might have fought with pistols.”

“Swords are more romantic,” said Lydia dismissively. “I wonder if he has a scar?” Her eyes took on a speculative look.

“Sisters!” Elizabeth spoke sharply. “Recollect where you are, please. I am sure it was no such thing,” she added to the spectators. “Kitty is only speculating.”

“It was very strange, do you not think?”

“Unless there was more than you have said, nothing much actually happened other than Mr. Darcy and Mr. Wickham looking at each other. That is hardly cause to start gossiping.” She glanced about. “Where are they now?”

“Oh, Mr. Darcy walked off right after he cut Wickham, and Wickham left.”

“Then it seems there is nothing more to say. Come! Let us attend our sister.” She shepherded them firmly in the direction of Jane, whom she could see across the room. Privately her curiosity raged, and she wondered what could have happened between these two very disparate men who had come to their market town. Surely they had nothing in common, the low-ranking militia officer and the wealthy land owner?—the one beguiling but untrustworthy, the other off-putting and unpredictable?

That afternoon, when Jane had been sent off in tears and laughter, and all their guests had gone home, Elizabeth went to her father and told him all that she had seen take place between his youngest daughter and the militia lieutenant. His brows went up, but he remained silent for a minute or two before finally saying, “Well, well, perhaps I shall have to drop a word in Mr. Wickham's ear, to let him know that my daughters are not for his sport. And perhaps Colonel Foster's as well, as a last resort. But do not trouble yourself—I am sure nothing would have come of it anyway.”

She could not like the ease with which he dismissed the matter, but there was, after all, nothing more she could do other than try to keep a watchful eye over Lydia herself.

A few days later rumour informed her that Wickham was now telling stories of his history with Mr. Darcy. According to him, he had been the son of the late senior Mr. Darcy's steward, and was his godson, and the current Mr. Darcy had most unjustly deprived him of a living that was intended to be his. Elizabeth heard the story with conflicted feelings. It certainly explained the connection between the two men, but it did not explain their reactions to each other, if Kitty had indeed been correct about them. If Wickham had been the one wronged, why would he be frightened, and Mr. Darcy angry? She finally gave it up in disgust, thinking neither gentleman worth the vindication.

Chapter 5: A Few Trees to Perfection


Winter passed. Jane and Bingley returned from their wedding trip even happier than they left, spent a few weeks at Netherfield, and decided to take a house in town for the season. Elizabeth was invited to come stay with them, which she did most gratefully. Longbourn with only Kitty and Lydia for company had become a tiresome place. Mrs. Bennet did try hard to persuade them to take at least one other girl—Kitty or Lydia, it made no difference to her—but Mr. and Mrs. Bingley proved surprisingly firm. This would be Lizzy's season, and since even Mrs. Bennet was obliged to own that she was next in beauty to Jane, not to mention age, the matter was soon settled.

With London came, inevitably, Mr. Darcy, but Elizabeth assured Jane that she was rather sanguine about the prospect. Certainly he could care nothing for her, after all these months; in all likelihood his strongest emotion in her presence would be embarrassment. They could meet socially and smile politely, and with the greater volume of company as London would afford, need never say more than two words to each other in an evening. So Elizabeth determined as she set out for London and all the delights of its season.

Her optimism was proven entirely justified at first. Mr. Bingley knew many agreeable people who were happy to welcome his pretty wife and her lively sister. They attended balls, dinners, routes, soirees, operas, concerts, musical evenings, breakfasts and picnics. They walked in the park, shopped on Bond Street, called and were called upon. In all this Mr. Darcy was rather a constant, but Elizabeth quickly grew comfortable with him as he did not seek her notice and never spoke to her more than propriety demanded. Jane saw to it that if Mr. Darcy was to dine then so were others, and if Darcy and Bingley went riding together the ladies had some other activity to occupy them.

It did not escape Elizabeth's notice, though, that there was always a particular gentleness in Mr. Darcy's tone when he did speak to her, one he perhaps was not himself aware of; and if she, on occasion, still found him looking at her, she could not bring herself to mind.

She was also often thrown, quite naturally, into the company of Mr. Bingley’s sisters. Miss Bingley continued to reside with her married sister, but they met their brother and his bride with great frequency, and generally attended the same social events. Now that they were related, even if only by marriage, Miss Bingley was perfectly civil, if rather cool, to Elizabeth, but any time they were in a room with Mr. Darcy she watched them both like a hawk. Miss Bingley had abandoned her attempts to attract Mr. Darcy with indifference and become fond of him again, which he bore with his usual composure.

Thus went the season up until the evening of the Stetsons' ball. It was the largest ball they had yet attended, and the rooms were overflowing with people Elizabeth had not met, and who, she was certain, would be quite above knowing her. Although it was not possible to dance every dance in such a crowd, at this time she was tracing the steps of a quadrille with Mr. Honton, a gentleman who had been paying her rather a lot of attention lately. She did not like him, but there had been no polite means of refusal, and it was, after all, always pleasant to be dancing.

“My dear Rutley, I said, most of the trees in this avenue are over a hundred years old! Must they all go? Yes, Honton, replied he, all. Every last tree must be cut down or you will never get the prospect from your house that you ought.”

“Surely you did not consent?”

“I had no choice, Miss Bennet. Rutley is, after all, the expert. I am but the humble lord of the manor, offering my home to his genius. Does the canvas tell the master what he may paint upon it? What, after all, are a few trees to perfection?”

Finding no reply adequate to her feelings, Elizabeth folded her lips. Mr. Honton went on to recount the changes made to his estate in minute detail, waxing eloquent in a way that would lead one to imagine it yielded a full twelve thousand a year at the least, instead of the eight hundred of reality. By the time the dance ended Elizabeth had heard quite enough of mutilated groves and faux-Grecian temples. She begged Mr. Honton to return her to her sister.

“You must allow me to bring you a cup of punch first.” He took her arm in a proprietary fashion.

“No, thank you. I believe my sister is waiting for me.”

But when they reached the chairs where Jane had been sitting half an hour ago, she was no longer there. Elizabeth looked around and thought she spotted her through the crowds. She indicated the direction and they set off across the room. The press of bodies forced her close against Mr. Honton's frame no matter how she tried to keep her distance.

When they finally reached the other side of the ballroom, Jane, if she had been there, was now gone. With increasing vexation Elizabeth searched the throngs about her for some familiar face—for anyone in whose company Mr. Honton could leave her. She would have walked off herself had it not been previously impressed on her that young unmarried ladies did not go strolling unescorted through London ballrooms. A flash of gold, and Jane promenaded by, dancing with her husband. “There is Mrs. Bingley,” she said with a sigh.

A damp hand pressed hers where it was held captive by his arm. “A most pleasing display of conjugal devotion,” said Mr. Honton in her ear.

She could not contain her recoil. “The punch you promised me! Would you be so good as to fetch it now?”

“Punch? Oh yes, to be sure. Yes, by Jove, let us find you a place to rest.”

There were many chairs scattered about, but he clumsily and insistently steered her toward one wedged into a shadowed corner behind a pillar.

There he left her with an elaborate bow and a promise of returning with what his friend Grinich termed an eagle’s speed. “Not an eagle, I told him, perhaps only a swallow, but he told me, Honton, you wrong yourself. You are the speediest fellow I ever met—and with such beauty before me—” he bowed again, even more elaborately, “I will have twice the reason to hurry back.” He then hinted darkly at wanting private speech with her, and squeezed himself between a dowager and a baronet in a corset. Elizabeth wondered if he knew how small her portion was and, the moment he disappeared, stood up. Propriety or no, she had no intention of remaining in this secluded spot to be importuned by him when he returned. Staying close to the wall, she stole through the crowds. No familiar bodies presented themselves; glancing back, she thought she saw Mr. Honton's round face peering at her, and ducked through a door to the terrace, nearly colliding with a man who was just coming in.

“Oh! Mr. Darcy!” She glanced over her shoulder again. Was that him, bobbing through the milieu?

“Miss Bennet.” Mr. Darcy bowed, but she scarcely noticed, darting past him into the shadows by the door.

“Miss Bennet, are you well?”

“Oh, yes!” She peered around the door-frame into the brightness beyond. Darcy was beginning to look bemused.

“Can I assist you in some way?”

But she just waved her hand at him, and when he began to speak again, placed her finger over her lips and looked at him pointedly. Brows lowering, Darcy followed her gaze, as some rising instinct made him step backward into the shadow on the other side of the door.

Several moments passed. Finally Elizabeth sighed, straightened, and smiled with sudden embarrassment. “You must think me mad, I daresay,” she began, stepping forward, “but—”

“Miss Bennet!” Suddenly Mr. Honton appeared in the doorway.

“Mr. Honton!”

“I thought it was you I spied, you clever little—”

“ Mr. Honton !”

He moved to take her hand, but she withheld it. “My dear Lizzy, if I may call you so—”

“You may not.” She began stepping backwards one step at a time, each time followed by an answering step from him.

“—the first time I saw you I said to my friend Bilbury, Bilbury, there is a fine female, by George, if I ever saw one! A splendid sample of the fairer
sex!”

“I am obliged to you but—”

“And now that you have led me here—”

“I did not lead you here!”

“I may take this chance to—”

“Our dance is beginning, Miss Bennet.” Mr. Darcy’s voice, as haughty as she had ever heard it, cut through the darkness. Mr. Honton started comically. She sighed with relief and rolled her eyes. “Are you ready to go in?”

“Quite.” She hurried to take his arm.

“But—but—” Mr. Honton was left sputtering.

“Good evening.” Darcy led them off the terrace without a backward glance.

~*~

The ballroom was very bright after the moonlit terrace. “Are you well, Miss Bennet?” asked Darcy under his breath, once they had moved beyond danger of further molestation. “He did not disturb you too much?”

She laughed. “I am very well, thank you. Your interference was perfectly timed.”

They drew near the dance floor, but he paused. Elizabeth was suddenly conscious of her hand as it lay on his arm. “I hope you will forgive me my presumption in claiming your hand like that—it was not my intention to force you to dance, of course. But perhaps I should not have taken such a liberty.”

“I am grateful to you,” said Elizabeth. “I am afraid that interview would have been both unpleasant and very long.” She shook her head. “Are all men constitutionally incapable of accepting a refusal?”

As soon as she said it she realised to whom she was speaking, as the man beside her stilled. “Forgive me,” she murmured. “I did not mean to—”

“No, you are correct, Miss Bennet.” His tone was calm, but with a kind of heavy sadness behind it. “I was no better than he—worse, in fact.”

“I would not say that.”

“I would.” She heard him sigh. “I believe I see Mrs. Bingley sitting down over there—I will take you to her at once.”

“One moment, Mr. Darcy. Are you reneging on your stated promise to dance with me?”

He paused in surprise. “Do you actually wish to dance?”

“Of course.” She smiled at him. “We are at a ball, after all; it is the accepted custom to dance—unless you do not mean to keep your word?”

An uncertain, quizzical, hopeful smile answered hers. “I always keep my word, Miss Bennet,” he said and, taking her hand, led her out to the dance floor.

Though she was surprised at herself, Elizabeth could not regret her actions as they took their places. Mr. Darcy had certainly done everything possible to show his manners improved, and his intervention on her behalf made her feel very benevolently toward him. It really was quite pleasing to stand in the line opposite such a handsome figure, knowing him to be so well known and respected even in London society. She knew he was watching her closely, doubtlessly trying to guess her purpose or her feelings, but she could not help a smile of happiness as they went down the dance together.

“Am I to be gratified by knowing the thoughts behind your smile?” he asked her, when he was able.

Her smile grew as she whirled away, then back again. “Are you so certain that you will find my thoughts gratifying, sir?”

“No,” he replied after a moment, with far more seriousness than she had meant to evoke, “I am more likely to find them very lowering, but I will be gratified by your willingness to confide them to me.”

Then she could not help but laugh. “Are you so easily pleased? Very well, then, I shall tell you: I smile because I am happy, and I am happy because I am dancing at a fine London ball with a fine London gentleman, and though other ladies may be forced to sit out for want of a partner, I am not one of them. There! You see I am excessively vain and frivolous, and doubtlessly wish to relinquish me quickly to my sister, where I will receive my just due in having to sit out the next set.”

“You cannot think I would ever wish to relinquish your company,” he said. This silenced Elizabeth at first, but by the time they had worked their way back up the lines of dancers she had convinced herself that it meant nothing—that he was merely being gallant.

“Mr. Darcy,” she said, after they had applauded the musicians, “I thank you for your earlier kind rescue, and I think—that is, I wish that we might both forget the past. Everything, I am sure you will agree, has turned out for the best, and in light of the associations we now share, we ought to be friends.” She held out her hand. “No regrets between us.”

He took her hand reflexively, saying nothing. After a moment she withdrew it and, with a last smile, turned in the direction that would take her to Jane. He fell into step beside her, and as they made their way through the throng he spoke in a low voice. “Miss Bennet, you are very generous, and I do wish to be friends with you—indeed, I am your friend whether or not you are mine—but in other respects I find I cannot obey you. Regrets, natural and right, will intrude, and ought to. Nor can I agree about the outcome of my actions.” Glancing upward, she caught a half-wry, half-bitter smile on his face. “It is very natural that you would be satisfied, but I am not. I cannot be." They were approaching Jane now, and he paused just far enough away that his words would not be heard. For the first time since they began walking, he looked her directly in the eyes. “I assure you that I have no expectations beyond the hope of someday improving your opinion of me, but I would not have you think that the feelings I so poorly expressed last autumn were insincere or short-lived. They were not.”

Her cheeks flushed, her heart raced, and her eyes fell before his. “I do not know what to say.”

“Then say nothing. Look, here is your sister.”

Chapter 6: Capable of Pleasing


As she prepared for bed that night, Elizabeth's thoughts were very far from the red-faced Mr. Honton. That Mr. Darcy should continue to love her after all this time was a compliment to which she could not be insensible. She was surprised, but far from displeased; she found herself complaisant, thoughtful, even gratified. She must say that it also spoke very well of his character—not his taste perhaps (with a self-deprecating laugh), but his character. She had not thought him capable of such persevering affection.

Mr. Darcy had, in fact, impressed her favorably during these weeks in London. His unobtrusive politeness, and the respectful way he had held back from her had soothed the sensibilities he had so wounded in Hertfordshire. Everywhere she went people spoke highly of him. He was, to be sure, sometimes derided for his reserve and the strictness of his ideas, but his honour and good character were held to be unimpeachable. Elizabeth had met his sister once too, and the obvious devotion between them had impressed her.

So what was she to do? Did she want him to pay court to her? She thought not, but somehow could not summon so strong a “no” as before. It would not be kind to encourage him if she could give him no hope—but he already said he had no hope, that he did not expect anything beyond her offered friendship. Denying him even that seemed more unkind, and petty and ungracious, particularly after her rescue that evening. No man ought to suffer for past sins forever.

Elizabeth went to sleep still thinking these things over.

The following morning Mr. Bingley went riding with Mr. Darcy before breakfast, and when he returned, he brought his friend with him. "Good morning, my darling," he said cheerfully to Jane, with a kiss to the cheek. "I asked Darcy to come to breakfast."

"Of course. Good morning, Mr. Darcy."

"Good morning, Mrs. Bingley." He looked at Elizabeth. "Good morning, Miss Bennet."

"Good morning to both of you," she said, as she sat her plate down on the table. He moved to the sideboard to fill his own plate. By the time he finished Bingley had already claimed the place beside Jane, leaving either a seat next to Elizabeth, or one at each end of the table. As he turned he hesitated, and looked again at Elizabeth. She took the look to be a silent form of inquiry, and knew it depended on her response as to whether he came near her. She could drop her eyes back to her plate and he would sit at the end near Bingley, or she could smile at him, and he would sit by her.

Perhaps she ought to have looked away, but instead she smiled. His countenance lightened in some subtle but distinct fashion, and he placed his plate on the end of the table where he would be between her and Jane, and sat down in the chair. The delicacy of the gesture struck her, avoiding any appearance of being particular as it did, and her smile grew warmer for a moment before she bent over her food again.

Jane was giving her an odd look across the table, but she ignored it.

"So now that the London season is so well begun, Mrs. Bingley," Darcy said, "what are your opinions of it? I need not ask if it agrees with you—you look very well—but how do you agree with it?"

"I have enjoyed it all very much," replied Jane, with her characteristic sweet serenity. "However, I believe I will be glad to return to the country again when it is over."

"That is the good thing about town," agreed Bingley. "One is always glad to come, and yet always glad to leave again too."
"And you, Miss Bennet? What have your impressions of London been?"

Elizabeth took a moment to decide her answer. "Of London, I believe I have seen a good deal in the past, while visiting with my Aunt and Uncle Gardiner. It is much as it ever was. Of society, however, I have seen much that is new to me."

"Your impressions of society, then."

"They have been mixed, I suppose. I have liked many things, and disliked many more. I enjoy the amusements—the music and performances and such. I like to dance, as you know, and have had many opportunities to do so."

"And you have met many new people. For a studier of character such as yourself, that must provide much entertainment itself."

"That is true. I find the extravagances of high fashion particularly amusing."

"We all find that amusing," said Bingley.

"It is as Jane said: an experience I am glad to have, but shall not be eager to repeat. I have made many pleasant acquaintances, but I believe, on the whole, that London society contains just as much folly as country society, and rather more vice."

"I cannot dispute that," said Darcy. Conversation continued in a general, amiable fashion until the meal was over, when he took himself off for his own house. Bingley retired to his study to pretend at doing work for an hour or so, and the ladies went to sit in the morning room.

"Lizzy," began Jane delicately, "it appeared to me that you and Mr. Darcy were on better terms this morning than you have been."

"I suppose we are," said Elizabeth, and told her the story of what had happened last night at the ball. Jane was very distressed to think she had left her sister open to such impertinence by dancing as she did, but Lizzy laughed her concerns away and assured her that, even had Mr. Darcy not arrived on the scene, she would have dealt very well with the odious Mr. Honton. Then she told of her conversation with Mr. Darcy.

“I am not at all surprised that he still loves you,” said Jane, “and am very glad that he has seen his own errors and now wishes to earn your respect. He is a good man, I am more than ever convinced of it, and he was simply carried away by his feelings. And I am glad that you are no longer angry at him.”

“I do not think I have been angry for a long time, not since your wedding—but it did not follow that I actually liked him, or wished to be around him. Nor did I imagine he wished to be around me, as I must be a constant reminder of his mistakes.”

“And now? How do you feel, knowing that he does wish to be with you, if you will let him?”

“I do not know, to be quite honest. I like him better than I did before, not simply because he has the great good sense to be in love with me,” this said jestingly, “but because of what I have seen of him since we came to London. I now really think that he is capable of pleasing when he chooses.”

“Oh, he is, Lizzy! You have not seen it—how could you?—but he is so much quieter when you are in the room. On the few occasions that I have been in his company without you, he has been much more open than while you were present. I expect he feared his conversation would displease you.”

This information both touched and troubled Elizabeth. That Mr. Darcy would not speak to her was one thing; that he would not speak, in general, lest he annoy her by the sound of his voice, was quite another. She had not thought him quite so contrite as all that. It made her unhappy to imagine him unhappy because of her, his reserve becoming quietness and his assurance uncertainty, all because she was in the room. It was not what she had ever wished.

"How do I encourage him without encouraging him to hope for more than I can give?" she asked her sister. "I do not want him to be reluctant to speak around me, but neither do I want to arouse his feelings more. I do not want to break his heart."

"Mr. Darcy's feelings are not anything you can help, Lizzy. You have agreed to be his friend, so be his friend. Your own judgment, I am sure, will be enough to regulate your manner."

"I wish I could be as certain of that as you are."

"You will see." Jane leaned over to pat her hand, smiling with the quiet, knowing smile of a happily married woman. "All will be well, I promise."

~*~

This new understanding, if such it could be called, had at least one unexpected result. For reasons of his own, Mr. Darcy chose to tell Bingley the truth of everything that had happened at Netherfield last autumn. Charles's dismay, as communicated to Elizabeth through Jane, was great. He was shocked to discover his friend had behaved in so ungentlemanly a fashion, angered that Darcy would have importuned one of his own guests under his roof, and appalled to learn that Elizabeth's accident and injury were the direct result. He was further rather indignant to discover he was the only one currently living in his house who did not know about it. His wife he quickly forgave—of course she could not betray her sister's confidence—and Elizabeth's motives for concealment were held to be only too generous, but his friend retained the full share of blame for all of it.
It came perilously close to ending their friendship. He had never, he told Jane later, been so angry at anyone in his life. Nor did it appear that Darcy put up much of a defense, except to repeat that his intentions had always been honourable. Bingley was at first resolved to break ties with him for Elizabeth's sake, and it was not until she personally assured him that she had forgiven Mr. Darcy his early trespasses and was quite at ease in his company that he began to relent. Once that was accomplished, though, the rest was easily done, for it went against his nature to be angry long, especially at his best friend. After only half an hour of Jane's soothing presence he pronounced himself ready to forgive, if not quite forget. Darcy was admitted to the house again, perhaps more relieved than he let on.

Having him there rather flustered Elizabeth at first, with Charles watching him suspiciously the whole time. There was no particular significance to their acquaintance, was there?—they were only to be friends, after all. It was right they be friends. If he harbored feelings of a different nature, that was nothing to her; she was not responsible for him. He was a common, ordinary acquaintance. Yet her discomfort in his presence was real, and she thought he suffered a similar embarrassment, at least at first. Yet as time went on, and Bingley relaxed his vigilance, they began to find their way to something resembling a real friendship.

Their early conversations were forced, from the awkwardness of the past and because Darcy was as fearful of presuming too much as Elizabeth was of encouraging too much, but gradually that improved. They did have many opinions in common, and where there was disagreement there was never a want of topic. Darcy was careful never to pay her too particular of attentions, or to draw attention to his preference for her. Elizabeth told herself she was relieved at this, and at first she truly was—but in contrary fashion, within just a few weeks she began to feel a measure of pique when he did not pay her enough attention. It was a foolish impulse, but still she could not help it. If Mr. Darcy did not call as often as usual, she thought him capricious. If they were at a dinner party and he did not speak to her long enough, she felt slighted. If they were at a ball and he did not ask her to dance more than once, he was positively fickle. She laughed at herself for such thoughts even as she indulged in them. He was the man—he had declared his desires—it was up to him to prove them to her. She carefully hid such feelings from him, however. To him she always displayed the same cheerful friendliness.

"Well, Miss Bennet?" he asked her one night, as he led her out into the dance.

"Well what, Mr. Darcy?"

"You have a rather odd look on your face, if I may say so."

"You may. It is because of old Mrs. Hardy, who has just told me how much I resemble herself when she was young. I want to be flattered, but, well... the conceit of youth, I suppose."

He smiled. "Or the conceit of the elderly, perhaps."

She smiled back. "One of us is right."

The music started, and they began. "Mr. Darcy," she asked after a few minutes, "how is your sister?"

"She is very well, thank you. She is eager to meet you again, I believe."

"As I am her. Pray tell her that I have been attempting to apply the excellent advice on fingering that she gave me, and I believe my technique is quite improving already."

"She shall be glad to hear it."

"Everyone who is subjected my playing will be glad to hear it, I imagine."

He laughed. "You do not do yourself justice. Your playing is very pleasing."

"I never suspected you of flattery until now—but I know my limits. It is fortunate I do not aspire to greatness."

He shook his head, and an odd, reminiscent smile lingered around his mouth, but he moved on to a different subject. "I heard your sister say you may be travelling this summer? Is that correct?"

"It is! Really, my life has become positively giddy. My aunt and uncle are speaking of making a tour of the Lakes."

"Have you been there before?"

"Never. My father used to have a book full of engravings of the Lake District, and I would look at it for hours as a child, but my personal travels have never taken me so far."

"Used to have? What happened to it?"

"I decided the pictures needed colour."

Now he bit his lip, a curiously attractive look, with the lines of the suppressed smile still on his cheeks. "Your father ought to have kept it as an object of increased worth."

She very nearly guffawed. "Your ideas of my artistic skills are much inflated, I am afraid. Also my ability to mix paint properly at that age. The book was sodden and quite ruined by the time I was done; it was one of the few times in my childhood that I ever saw my father truly angry."

"And you lost the book you loved."

"Sadly, yes. It was one of my first lessons in how one can sometimes spoil the things one loves."

Mr. Darcy gave her a rather meaningful glance, but all he said was, "I hope you make your journey to the Lakes; I am sure you will get great pleasure from them. If your travels take you through Derbyshire, I should be glad to have you and your aunt and uncle at Pemberley."

"That is very kind of you." The invitation did not surprise her exactly, except that he had included her relations in it.

"Not at all. I plan to invite your sister and Bingley to visit too."

"I am sure they will be happy to accept."

They parted ways in the dance, weaving in and around, and soon it was over. Darcy led her back to Jane, bowed over her hand, and took his leave. Later she saw his tall figure through the crowds, and once on the dance floor. Wretch, she thought humorously. Other men asked her to dance, and she skipped and promenaded and circled and curtsied with good will, but still, when Darcy did not come her way again she decided he was probably paying court to that odious Miss Madison with the flaming red hair that everyone was raving about, and labeled him the worst sort of reprobate and flirt.

Then somehow, at the end of the evening, as they were getting ready to depart, there he was, taking her cloak from the attendant. "Mr. Darcy," she said, "pray do not tell me that you spent the evening in the corner by the punch bowl!"

He smiled. "No, I was in the card room."

Silly as she knew her own earlier thoughts to be, still she felt lighter. "Are you so fond of playing cards?"

"Fonder of that than of dancing with strange women," he said dryly.

She shook her head. "It is a ball, Mr. Darcy. You ought to know how to weather one by now."

"I do know how to weather one. In the card room."

She laughed, and allowed him to put the wrap around her shoulders before they all made their good-nights and left.

Chapter 7: Cleverer Than That


As a single man, Mr. Darcy could not entertain ladies in his home without a hostess. Miss Darcy was only just sixteen, and not yet out in London society, so it went without saying that only gentlemen could expect to cross the threshold of his house on Mount Street. Nevertheless, one day the post brought Jane an invitation in his own hand.

"His aunt, Mrs. Everett, will be acting as hostess," she explained to Elizabeth. "She is his father's sister, and a widow."

"Oh." Elizabeth realised that she really knew nothing about that side of Darcy's family. His uncle the earl she had, of course, heard of, and she had once been introduced to the countess. The earl had a sister, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, who was Mr. Collins's patroness in Kent, and of her Elizabeth had heard a great deal, first from Mr. Collins and more recently from Mary in her letters. Those were his relations on his mother's side, though. "Is the Darcy family a large one?"

"I do not really know. Caroline mentioned once that Mr. Darcy's uncle was a judge, and Charles told me of Mrs. Everett, but I could not say more than that."

"What did he tell you about Mrs. Everett?"

Jane smiled at her curiosity. “Just that her husband left her in rather poor straits financially, and Mr. Darcy has been supporting her ever since. And that he is very fond of her.”

Elizabeth wondered why Darcy had never mentioned Mrs. Everett to her. Surely a beloved aunt would have some place in his conversation? She was sure she had spoken of her Aunt Gardiner to him. “It is good of him to take care of her.”

“Very—particularly since she has chosen keep her household in London and that, you know, is never cheap to maintain.”

Elizabeth murmured something noncommittally, now wondering what kind of woman Mrs. Everett was, to take advantage of her nephew's generosity. She did see Mr. Darcy once before the dinner party, and she was tempted to ask him, but felt unexpectedly shy. He had not chosen to speak of his aunt to her, and she did not wish to seem prying, asking after the circumstances of a woman she had never met. She did mention the dinner, and he told her he was pleased they could attend, while she replied politely that she looked forward to it, but then there was nothing for it but to move on to some other subject.

Her curiosity, fortunately, was to be satisfied quite soon. In another week they arrived on Mr. Darcy's doorstep, and were ushered into a fine salon where Mr. Darcy and his aunt both waited to receive them. Mrs. Everett was older than she expected. Not that Darcy's aunt would be young, but she looked seventy, a fragile, elegant woman with beautiful white hair, and skin like finely creased tissue paper. Her clothes were old fashioned but lovely, and her look was full of intelligence and humor.

“And you are the beautiful Mrs. Bingley,” she said to Jane, even before Darcy could introduce them. “I quite see why your husband fell in love with you.” Jane blushed and laughed. “Mr. Bingley, we have met before.”

“I remember, madam,” he replied promptly, and bowed.

“And that makes you Miss Bennet.” She turned her bright eyes on Elizabeth. “Darcy told me you were a brunette.”

“You appear to know all about us, Mrs. Everett.” Elizabeth glanced with humorous reproach at Darcy. “I am afraid Mr. Darcy has not been so forthcoming to us .”

Mrs. Everett waved her hand dismissively. “Young people cannot be expected to talk of old people. You are to sit next to me at dinner, Miss Bennet. We will speak then. In the mean time, Darcy will take you around and introduce you to anyone you do not know.”

It was an amiable gathering. Elizabeth had wondered what sort of society he would gather around himself when given the choice, and half expected to find his noble relatives there. She was, in fact, introduced to the younger son of Lord ——, a Colonel Fitzwilliam, but the earl and countess were absent. Colonel Fitzwilliam seemed an amiable, gentlemanly man, if not so good-looking as his cousin. Darcy left her in his company as he went to greet other guests, and they chatted easily on topics of general interest before moving on, in the natural way of such gatherings, to other acquaintances. With the exception of Miss Bingley and the Hursts, Elizabeth found she liked nearly everyone there. Most were previously known to her, some were not, and a few of them clearly moved in circles a little higher than the Bingleys, but all seemed well enough disposed to good humor tonight.

She had leisure, in a little while, to look around more thoroughly. The view of the house coming in had been very fine, though not ostentatious, and she saw the room they were in was well-appointed and suitably elegant. It was strange to think that she might have been mistress of this—that she could still be, if she desired (or so at least her fancy told her). It gave everything there a signficance it otherwise would not have had.

As for Mr. Darcy himself, he played his duties as host well. She did not believe that she had ever seen him appear at such advantage in a large gathering, seen his striking dignity combine so well with civility and ease. Presently he began to make his way across the room to her, though it took him some time. When at last he arrived by her side, they smiled at each other. “Did my cousin desert you?”

“It might, perhaps, be said that I deserted him." She gestured around. "You have pleasing company here.”

“I am glad you think so.” Another moment of smiling silence, and then just as Darcy was about to speak again, the butler came in announced that dinner was ready. Darcy hesitated, looking as if he wished to give her his arm, then left to do his duty, escorting Lady Jaimeson, who as the highest ranked woman present had that right. Elizabeth went in on the arm of one Mr. Anders, and was deposited, as instructed, by the left hand of Mrs. Everett, at the foot of the table.

As the meal began she turned to her hostess and remarked, “I understand you make your home in town, madam.”

“Yes, I cannot abide the quiet of the country. I lived there many years when I was young, and grew heartily sick of it. It is a nuisance for Darcy—he wishes me to live at Pemberley, or at least here in this house with him—but I am an old woman and set in my ways. I have been mistress of my own home since I was eighteen, and I intend to remain that way at least until I die, if not longer.”

Highly amused, Elizabeth looked down the table at her host, and could not resist asking, “Your nephew—what was he like, as a boy?”

Mrs. Everett sipped her soup and shook her head. “He was a very pretty child, but too quiet for my taste.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice conspiratorially. “I've always liked the naughty ones.”

Elizabeth stifled a laugh in her napkin. “I’m sure you would have adored me, then—not to mention my younger sisters. But truly, was he really so very good? No mischief or temper at all?”

She shrugged. “None at all, that I could tell. It was most unnatural. I was afraid for years that he would grow into an insufferable man, but he turned out well enough after all. He has his father's kind heart.”

She of all people ought to say so , thought Elizabeth. “I have an aunt who grew up in Lambton, you know. She knew Mr. Darcy your brother by reputation only, but has told me how well he was regarded, as a most kind and charitable man.”

Mrs. Everett nodded. “And his son is like him—it is the Darcy way.”

Elizabeth could not help her curiosity. “And Pemberley? I have heard much of its beauties.”

“Oh, it is one of the most beautiful houses in England, I dare say.” She nodded down the table. “You see young Lord Tarrington there?—his family would give their eyeteeth for Pemberley,” she whispered. “Their old heap is nothing to it.”

Elizabeth laughed. “I am surprised you do not miss it, then.”

She shook her head, smiling. “It was a very good place to grow up; it is a large house, you know, so plenty of space to run around and play hide-and-go-seek. We even used to ride our pony in the main gallery on rainy days. And the country is good for children. But now, I am afraid the idea of walking that far from my bed chamber to my breakfast chamber does not appeal to me.” Her eyes twinkled at Elizabeth. “A lively young creature such as yourself would have no difficulties, I am sure.”

Elizabeth blushed and drew back. Mrs. Everett, still twinkling knowingly, transferred her conversation to the person seated on the other side of her, until, in a quiet lull, a sudden question occurred to Elizabeth, and she asked it impulsively. “I wonder, Mrs. Everett, if you might know a Mr. Wickham, who I believe has some past connection with Pemberley?”

“George Wickham? Of course I remember him, when he was a boy. Now there was a delightful young scamp if ever there was one! Always running about, stealing cakes behind the cook’s back, or sneaking under tables to listen in on conversations—but no one ever punished him, of course. He could charm his way out of a gaol cell, that one.” She gave a crack of laughter. “I should not be surprised if he has done just that, too. Fitzwilliam, of course, was always terribly shocked by his antics.”

Elizabeth was unsure what to make of all that. “I see.”

“How did you come to meet him, my dear? Where is he now?”

“He is an officer in the —shire militia, which are stationed in Mertyon, near my home. I believe he just joined late last year. I do not know him well; I was recovering from an injury when he first came, and later… he did not make a good impression on me. He is well liked though, I believe, and has made some mention of a connection to the Darcy family. He was your brother’s godson?”

“Yes, and George loved him. But you must tell me what he did to earn your disapproval.” Elizabeth blushed and hesitated, and Mrs. Everett shook her head. “You musn’t be shy. I am much too old to shock.”

After a moment she lowered her voice and spoken confidentially. “It was only a rather… improper situation, with a young girl. Nothing too bad, but he was flirting with her in a way I could not like.”

“I am not surprised. He was always quite shameless.”

Again Elizabeth hesitated, then again plunged forward. “He spoke very freely, in Hertforshire, of—of a bequest from Mr. Darcy. A living.”

Mrs. Everett nodded, unsurprised. “It is an old dispute. Fitzwilliam told me of it, when it happened.”

Elizabeth waited, hoping for more explanation, but none was forthcoming. Mrs. Everett went on eating peas, but paused when she noticed her companion’s expectant expression. “I hope you do not need me to tell you who was in the right in that situation. I had thought you cleverer than that.”

There was no way to answer that, so she was left with a certain—an almost certain knowledge that Mr. Darcy had been the right one. That was what Mrs. Everett had meant, wasn’t it? Surely it was! And yet there was no doubt that she had spoken of Mr. Wickham with real warmth, especially when remembering his boyhood. She had said she liked naughty boys better than good ones: did that extend to men too?

Elizabeth stole another glance at the other end of the table, only to find Mr. Darcy’s eyes were on her. She turned her eyes to her plate, wishing he would look away, so that she could observe him unseen. She had not thought of Mr. Wickham the entire time she was in London until tonight. It was thinking of Pemberley that had brought him to mind, and she had found all at once that she wanted very badly to know that Mr. Darcy had not done wrong to him. Well—she took a sip of her wine—Mrs. Everett’s cryptic assurances would have to do.

After dinner the ladies withdrew with all propriety, while the men stayed behind with their port and brandy. Mrs. Everett was speaking to Jane, while Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley made conversation with some of the more exalted members of the company. Looking about, Elizabeth noticed a young woman sitting by herself on a settee. She was a tall girl, striking rather than beautiful, with black satin hair and very blue eyes. She had been introduced earlier as Miss Cornish.

“You must forgive me,” said Elizabeth, seating herself next to her, “but have we met before tonight?”

“Not at all.” Her voice was full, and well modulated. “I am only recently come to town.”

“I see.” Elizabeth wanted to ask her how she knew Mr. Darcy, but instead said, “It is my first London season. How do you find you like it?”

She offered only a polite smile. “It is very fine, although I must admit that I do miss my home in the country.”

“I miss mine too. What part of England do you come from?”

“Lincolnshire.” A pause. “And yourself?”

“Hertfordshire.”

They half nodded to each other, as if in a stiff, ceremonial acknowledgment. “Are you here with your family?” Elizabeth ventured. Miss Cornish, although not uncivil, had a kind of calm gravity that unnerved her a bit. She was also expensively gowned, and carried herself with the same patrician air that Elizabeth had come to associate with old and important families such as Darcy’s.

“I am visiting my aunt.”

“I am visiting my sister.”

Met with more silence, Elizabeth was about to give up and excuse herself when Miss Cornish said, “Your sister is Mrs. Bingley?”

“Yes.”

“She is very pretty.”

“She is, and her disposition matches her looks.”

“Yes, that is what I have heard of her.” Unexpectedly she smiled. “You must enjoy having such a sister to live with.”

“Actually, I have four sisters, all of whom I have lived with for either my entire life or theirs, but I will admit Jane to be unique among all women, not the least women named Bennet.” She turned her head from smiling at Jane to see Miss Cornish looked surprised at her little speech. “Do you have a sister?”

“No, but I do have a younger brother. He is at Eton, where he does very well. Do you have a brother?”

“No.”

Conversation lagged again. Miss Cornish looked disposed to discuss the brother—her chin had lifted proudly as she said “Eton”—but Elizabeth really knew nothing of boys or their schooling. She asked a polite question or two, received polite answers, and was casting around in her mind for some other topic of conversation when Miss Cornish’s aunt called for her. She was glad when the men returned. With them came laughter, and much movement about the room, and then music. An excellent pianist had been hired to entertain Mr. Darcy's guests, and he played at just such a volume that those who wished to listen could do so easily, while those who wished to converse quietly amongst themselves had no difficulty either. It was at this time that Mr. Darcy himself made his way over to where Elizabeth sat, an empty seat conveniently near.

“I hope you have been enjoying the evening, Miss Bennet.” He took the seat by her cautiously.

“Very much.” She glanced around. “You have a lovely house.”

“Thank you.”

“And the musician is very fine.”

He nodded. A pause followed. He seemed oddly uncertain, and her smile grew.

“The company is pleasing—but I told you that before. I ought to say now that you have good taste in friends.”

“I am glad you think so.”

“And the food, of course, was excellent. Pray give the cook my compliments.”

“Thank you, I will do that.”

“I would compliment you on the painting you have there on the wall, but I am afraid that I know little about art, so I cannot make any learned comments on it. I can only say I think it pretty.”

He started to laugh now. “Thank you.”

“And of course I really enjoyed the stories your aunt told of you as a child!”

“Do not say so!” He sat up and glanced toward his aunt in alarm. “What stories did she tell you?”

Elizabeth could not help but laugh. “Nothing alarming at all, I promise you. She said only that you were very good .”

“Ah.” He relaxed. “Not an approbation, I take it.”

“Not precisely. She feels you have turned out tolerably well in spite of it, though.” She smiled at him. “Truly, Mrs. Everett is delightful.”

He returned the smile. “I find her so. And she certainly appeared pleased with your company.”

“She was your father's older sister, I gather?”

“Yes, by some ten years. She had only one child of her own, whom she lost quite young.”

“I wondered,” said Elizabeth softly. “She made no mention of children, and one does not like to ask, of course. Has her husband been gone long?”

“Nearly five years.”

Elizabeth murmured sympathetically the way people do when discussing such things, and then fell silent. She longed to say something to him about his support of Mrs. Everett, but thought it would be too impertinent. They turned their mutual attention to the music, but she felt sorry that their conversation had ended on such a somber note. She had made him laugh, at first; she had enjoyed that. He was a man, she thought, who needed to laugh more. As he moved to stand—his duty as host meant he could not stay too long with one guest, she knew—she tried one last sally. “And, of course, I must not neglect to mention your house’s most handsome ornament—its master.”

Darcy halted in absolute surprise; the look he gave her was of such penetration, that she blushed crimson. Too late she realised all the inferrences that Darcy might draw from so bold a compliment. Despite everything that had happened, and all the ground he had gained in her esteem, she was not yet ready to offer him such open encouragement, and so she tried desperately for a retreat. “For… as the saying goes, handsome is as handsome does. You have certainly done handsomely here.”

A pause; he withdrew his gaze, and bowed. “Again, I have only to say thank you. Excuse me.”

He left, and she remained with her embarrassment. Her foolish tongue! It was wrong, she felt, to say such things to him, if she intended nothing by them; yet, at the same time, it seemed wrong to withdraw the meaning, and make it only another compliment to his home. She was flustered, and ashamed of herself, and at the same time eager to have lost nothing in his esteem. In a few minutes, she made to approach the group he was a part of. He seemed, to her observation, as unruffled and sedate as always. His manner, when she spoke to him, was exactly the same as it was to every other person. She ought to have been satisfied, but was not.

Chapter 8: So Excellent a Horsewoman



The first three days after Mr. Darcy’s dinner party passed without seeing more of that gentleman. Elizabeth, who had been flattering herself that the party had been given for her especial benefit, was disappointed. She had thought he would call again soon, that she might talk to him, and have the opportunity to tell him again how much she enjoyed it. She found, somehow, that all company seemed flat next to his. The most agreeable of callers still failed to excite her interest as he did, and the handsomest man who walked through Bingley’s doors during that interval appeared to her critical eye short and undistinguished. Had it really happened, then, that Mr. Darcy had become necessary for her comfort, for her happiness? It seemed too soon to tell, but the signs looked promising, and Elizabeth smiled to herself over her embroidery.

Mrs. Hurst came to call one afternoon, her bracelets jangling on her wrists as she arranged her skirts. “I wanted to see how you are getting on, Jane,” she said. “I was afraid you might be growing fatigued, after so many months of engagements. Your social calender was never so busy in Hertfordshire, I am sure.”

“That is true,” smiled Jane, “and I do find myself sometimes wishing for a quiet day at home, but I really have enjoyed everything. Everyone has been so amiable.” In fact, she had been sometimes more tired of late, but only Elizabeth knew why this might be.

“It is only that you looked a little pale the other night. I speak purely from concern, of course, as your sister. I would hate for your health to suffer because of too much activity.”

“It is kind of you to worry about me, but I am very well, truly.” She gestured toward a tray on the side table. “Would you like some refreshment?”

Mrs. Hurst accepted a small glass of orgeat, and as she sipped it, she said, “I wonder, do you have any news about Mr. Darcy, by any chance? Beyond what everyone knows, of course—has he spoken to you, or Charles, of this Miss Cornish?”

“Miss Cornish?” Jane looked her surprise. In the next chair, Elizabeth was startled out of her indifferent reverie.

“Yes. What, have you not heard? You will be surprised as we were, then.” Mrs. Hurst settled down little further into her chair. “The news is all over town about it: he has been seen with her riding in the park, walking down Bond Street, and sharing a box at the opera—her aunt was there too, of course. And he invited her to his dinner party; surely you noticed how he placed her near him at the table?”

No, Elizabeth, at least, had not noticed that.

“She comes from one of the foremost families in Lincolnshire, and has thirty thousand pounds, but no one seems to know very much else about her. She’s lived a very sheltered life in the north until now.” She looked around at them. “Mr. Darcy really has not said anything at all about her?”

“Nothing whatsoever,” said Jane, smiling. “Would you like to me send for some cake, Louisa? I happen to know that Cook made a fresh one this morning, and I know how fond you are of her cake.”

Mrs. Hurst hesitated, temporized, then consented to a slice of cake. Jane went to call a footman, and Elizabeth attempted to appear unaffected by the news she had just received. “How is Miss Bingley today?” she asked, then realised, from the expression on Mrs. Hurst’s face, that it had been the wrong question, loaded with a meaning she had not intended. “She looked very well when I saw her on Thursday,” she added quickly.

“My sister is perfectly well, I thank you.”

They sat awkwardly until Jane came back. “The cake will be here momentarily. Tell me, what are your plans for this week? I am sure you are busy, but is there anything in particular you are looking forward to?”

The cup of orgeat now sat down, she began fingering her bracelets in her usual restless way. “Nothing out of the common. Two balls, a concert, a few dinners—one musical evening. I am sure it will all be dreadfully boring, but one cannot help but go. Are you sure that Darcy has not said anything at all to Charles about this? Perhaps he’s talked about a wish to settle down and marry, or mentioned what kind of woman he particularly admires?”

“If he did, Charles said nothing to me about it, and I could never ask him to break his friend’s confidence.”

“Surely,” said Elizabeth, “Mr. Darcy has a right to ride in the park with whomever he pleases, without having all of his friends talk about it behind his back, or—or imagine it the equivalent of a marriage proposal!”

Mrs. Hurst drew back, offended. “No one is a greater friend to Mr. Darcy than Mr. Hurst and I. Our interest is the interest of friendship, and if you did not wish to speak about it, you had only to say so.”

“You mean only the best, I am sure,” said Jane pacifically, “but there really is nothing to say until Mr. Darcy himself should let us know more—if there even is anything to know, which I am not at all convinced of,” this with a quick glance at Elizabeth. “You know how unreliable gossip always is. Please, let us speak of something else.”

Mrs. Hurst acquiesced with a last injured look at Elizabeth, and they instead discussed gossip about other people they knew until the cake finally appeared. As soon as it was eaten she left.

“Lizzy…” began Jane when she was gone.

Lizzy shook her head. “Don’t say it, Jane. I am perfectly well—and as you say, there is nothing to discuss.”

“I am sure the rumours cannot be true.”

“And what if they are? It is not as if Mr. Darcy were bound to me in some way, or—or as if I returned his affection. He has every right to ride out as often as he likes, with whomever he likes. I do not care at all.”

Jane looked doubtful.

“Truly, I do not care. I think instead we should talk about this soiree we are to attend this evening. Will Mrs. Yartley sing, do you think? She has a very fine voice, though perhaps rather more vibrato than I prefer, myself. But then, who am I to judge?”

Jane was not deceived, but did not argue further, and Elizabeth went on almost completely believing herself as indifferent as she professed. She was suprised, it was true, that he might court another woman so soon after paying her attentions—after all, he had loved her with constancy for some months—but of course, that was his right. In fact, it would be quite a good thing if it was true (though it probably was not). Miss Cornish’s station in life made her a most fitting bride for Mr. Darcy, and they would be a handsome pair. As Mr. Darcy’s friend, she should be glad for him. After all, it was not as if she was in love with him.

They heard the rumour again at the soiree that evening. Several people who knew of Darcy’s intimacy with the Bingleys tried to elicit information from one of them, or from Miss Bennet, who was also known to be his friend. Elizabeth smiled, sparkled, laughed at the idea, changed the subject. Those present that evening said that Miss Bennet was in unusually high spirits and beauty.

The very next morning, they met them. Elizabeth, Jane and Bingley were walking in Hyde Park, enjoying the morning air and filled with a pleasant consciousness of knowing quite a lot of the people they met along the way. Mr. Darcy had sometimes been in the habit of joining them, but on this morning, she was surprised to perceive him walking toward them along the path. On one side was Miss Darcy, on the other, Miss Cornish. Her hand was resting on his arm, and his head was bent a little toward her as they spoke together.

"Darcy!" cried Bingley jovially. "And Miss Darcy! A very good morning to you. Splendid to see you."

Darcy looked up, his eyes moving past his friend to fix on Miss Bennet. "Good morning, Bingley, Mrs. Bingley, Miss Bennet."

Elizabeth and Jane both murmured greetings as they all drew closer. Miss Darcy stepped forward to speak to them, while Miss Cornish nodded to them, but seemed to hang back at first. Elizabeth assumed this meant that she did not desire to know them better.

“My dear Miss Darcy,” she said to Georgiana, “if you like morning walks, I hope you will walk with us some time.”

The girl blushed with pleasure. “I would like that.”

“You must tell your brother to bring you.”

“Yes, I will do that.” She glanced backward to where her brother and Miss Cornish stood, and Elizabeth followed her gaze.

“Have you known Miss Cornish long?”

“Oh! No, not long.”

She waited for more information, but none was forthcoming. “I met her a few days ago, myself, at Mr. Darcy’s dinner party.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

The question caught her off guard. “She... seemed perfectly polite.”

“Polite?” Miss Darcy looked confused, then broke into a sudden, girlish laugh. “No, I meant the dinner!”

“Oh!” Elizabeth laughed too, a little embarrassed. “Yes, of course I enjoyed the dinner. Your brother is a very good host.”

“Fitzwilliam told me all about it. I wish—that is, I do not precisely wish I was there, but I wish I could have seen it all, without having to attend.”

Miss Darcy was very shy, and Elizabeth had to supress a smile. “You will see it all soon enough, whether you entirely wish to or not. Perhaps you will even play hostess for Mr. Darcy some day.”

“Me? Oh no, I…” She coloured violently, and her eyes darted from Miss Bennet to her brother to Miss Cornish, and back again. “I do not know,” she finally whispered, and subsided into obvious discomfort.

Equally discomfitted, Elizabeth turned to her sister, and found her in conversation with Miss Cornish.

"I do love this park,” Miss Cornish was saying. “I prefer to ride, I confess—Mr. Darcy has been so kind as to accompany me on occasion—but it has been quite pleasant to see it from a different vantage point."

"I too like to ride, though I fear I am not so excellent a horsewoman as I am sure you are—and my sister," Jane smiled at Elizabeth, "always walks if she is able."

"Do you not you ride, Miss Bennet?" Miss Cornish looked at her with polite inquiry.

"I am capable," she answered, "but I simply find I prefer the ground. The vantage point, as you say, pleases me better."

"Oh, but you can see so much more from a horse's back! The eye is not restricted in its view, and so much more ground is covered by a horse's feet than our own."

"Nevertheless, I still prefer to walk."

“Of course, I have spent my whole life in the country, so I may be prejudiced. There is nothing so fine as a long ride through the countryside.”

Tempted to retort, Elizabeth held her tongue and tried to smile.

Somehow after that the other party decided to turn around and join theirs, so the whole group walked on, the two men speaking together, and Miss Cornish giving most of her attention to Jane, with occasional solicitations to Elizabeth or Georgiana. For once, Elizabeth found herself much of a mood with the quiet Miss Darcy; neither of them said much. Only when they reached the end of path did they all part ways, with many polite professions, and Darcy promising to call on his friend later.

Jane hooked her arm through her sister’s, but said nothing until they got home and were alone. Then she looked at her with such concern that Elizabeth found herself growing annoyed.

“If you are waiting for me to swoon, or to grow ill from a broken heart, you will wait a long time, Jane.”

“No, no, of course not. But now that you have met her…”

“I met her before.”

She was silent for a minute, fiddling with her sewing. Elizabeth applied herself to her own with pointed determination. “I did like her,” said Jane finally.

“Of course you did.”

“She seemed very aimiable, did you not think?”

“I suppose.”

Silence again. “What did you think of her?”

Elizabeth sighed. “I thought she… oh, had something in her air and manner of walking. Miss Bingley would approve. What is the point of this?”

Jane came and sat down beside her. "I think you are jealous."

"What, of her fortune and fine clothes?"

"No. You are jealous of Mr. Darcy's attention."

A guilty colour rose to her cheeks. "Indeed, I am not."

"I think you are." She looked at her sister with gentle, knowing eyes. "Perhaps you like him more than you realised, and are not pleased to find you may have a rival."

"There will be no rivalry, Jane," Elizabeth said sharply, and stood up. "I will not compete for him or any man."

She walked away and Jane did not pursue the matter. She knew, of course, that Jane was correct. She was jealous. She had become, she realised, entirely complaisant about Mr. Darcy. She had come to view it as quite a settled thing that he was her suitor, and that his devotion, his smiles, even his very hand, were hers to command. It was such a boost to the ego, after all, to have such a fine and wealthy specimen of manhood in one's power. To suddenly realise he may have deserted her for, erm, richer pastures was distinctly displeasing.

It did not necessarily follow that she was in love with him, though. It might be her vanity that was suffering more than her heart, and if so, she ought to hold it in check. She ought not to confuse the two.

Nevertheless Elizabeth watched with chagrin as Darcy led Miss Cornish out on to the dance floor at the next ball they attended. It was not the first dance—the Bingley party had not even arrived in time for the first dance—but still! Mr. Darcy danced more in town than he had in the country, but it was still an uncommon distinction. The rumours of their understanding could only grow. Later Mr. Darcy approached Elizabeth for a dance; she accepted and tried to behave as usual, but knew she was not entirely successful.

Mr. Darcy sensed the difference quickly. "You are very quiet, Miss Bennet."

"Forgive me, I did not know my conversation was lacking." It came out more tartly than she intended.

He seemed surprised. "I did not intend an insult."

"I know. Forgive me." She smiled contritely, though the smile part was a little forced.

"Has something happened to disturb you?"

"No, of course not." She cast about for a subject of conversation. "This is a very large room, is it not?"

He looked at her piercingly, but answered. "It is a good size for a ballroom in town."

"Oh? Are ballrooms in the country larger or smaller?"

"It depends on the home, of course, but often larger."

"Does Pemberley have a ballroom?"

"Two, actually, small and large."

"I must suppose the large one to be larger than this one, then."

He did not answer, but bowed his head in assent.

"And the small ballroom?"

"It is just a little smaller than this room."

She half-choked on an unhappy laugh, thinking of Miss Cornish there, ruling over those grand rooms, welcoming their guests, perhaps opening the dancing herself, with her husband.

"Miss Bennet?" He was looking at her with some concern.

"Do you hold many balls?" She asked to cover her confusion.

"No." There had been a pause between dances, but now the movement recommenced. "Not any more," he finished, once they had gone through the first figures. "In my mother's day I believe there were regular balls, but there has been no hostess since. Pemberley has had no mistress for many years."

Was she mistaken, to think he looked meaningfully at her? But then she turned in the dance, and saw, in the set behind her, Miss Cornish dancing too. He was looking at her , she thought, and felt her heart fall further.

"Miss Bennet, are you quite sure you are well?"

"Why should I not be?" She forced a smile.

"I do not know, but I was hoping you would tell me."

"You are overly concerned, Mr. Darcy. I am perfectly well." She proceeded to chat as in as ordinary a manner as possible, all the while acutely aware of Miss Cornish in the next set, watching Mr. Darcy's eyes as they moved to follow her, and feeling that he was giving herself nothing more than polite attention. And yet, at the end of the dance, when he led her back to her party, she distinctly felt him press her hand with particular warmth, and he smiled into her eyes before taking his leave.

Her inner feelings did peculiar things when he smiled that way. It had happened before, but not with quite this strength, and she felt the oddest desire to sit down. Fortunately or unfortunately her next set was unengaged, and she had leisure to feel all her feelings as she rested her feet. Had she been mistaken, in thinking he favored the other? Then across the room she caught a glimpse of him, and Miss Cornish was on his arm. She scowled. Odious man! She would think of him no more! But of course she did think of him, all the rest of the night, her eyes always drawn to his tall figure, and when at the end of it no Mr. Darcy appeared to help her into her cloak or to bid her good-bye, Elizabeth went home cross and all kinds of out-of-sorts, wondering what she was supposed to do now.

Darcy called the next morning and was as quietly attentive as ever. He did not mention Miss Cornish and neither did Elizabeth. She flattered herself she also behaved exactly as usual, though perhaps the truth was that she blushed more often. By the time the visit was over she almost persuaded herself that all the talk about his intentions toward Miss Cornish was only that—after all, he would hardly come here and talk to them and look at her so if he were actually courting another woman, would he? Not after all the things he said to her.

This assurance proved difficult to maintain over the following days. The rumours continued unabated, and as she herself saw them riding together in the park one morning—Miss Cornish detestably dashing in her riding habit—she could not think them baseless. His behaviour, in fact, made no sense, unless she was to believe that he had resigned himself to mere friendship with Elizabeth. Or perhaps friendship was it all he desired now. If she gave him encouragement, would that bring a corresponding decrease in his attentions to the other woman? Perhaps she would merely embarrass them both; and in any case, Elizabeth had meant what she said to Jane—she would not compete for him. She knew now that her feelings for him were stronger than previously acknowledged, but that could mean nothing if he had decided to seek his happiness elsewhere.

In the mean time, he came perhaps a little less often to the house on Clifford Street, but the difference was not enough to be remarked on. He still asked Elizabeth to dance at any ball they both attended, and sought opportunities to speak with her, though she thought him withdrawn. He seemed almost troubled, but then so was she, and their conversations did not always prosper. She wondered if he was happy to leave, when he went. Then a week went by when they did not see him at all, except in passing at a musical revue. They went to the theatre, and though he was not there, Miss Cornish was, and occupying his box with a small party. The next morning Mr. Darcy called again; he seemed happy to see her, but spent as much time talking to Jane as to her, and when Bingley came in he went off to shoot at Manton’s with scarcely a background glance, Elizabeth thought.

That day she gave herself a stern talking to, told herself not to be missish, to accept that he was now only her friend and not her suitor. Yet, surely it was not only her imagination, the next evening, when he approached her for a dance, that he looked at her with ardent eyes, and clasped her hand tenderly? He said little, but he looked a great deal, and by the time the dance was over she felt as thoroughly confused as she had ever felt in her life. Impossible to demand an explanation from him, to ask him if he still loved her, or what his intentions toward Miss Cornish might be—nor could she expect him to tell her if his feelings toward her had ceased. It would be the most awkward conversation imaginable! I thought you ought to know that I do not love you any more—but please, don’t take offense.

Perhaps the truth was that he had not made up his mind? She had not thought such indecision like him. She could hardly admit that he might be courting Miss Cornish because Elizabeth had not shown him encouragement; and in any case, what did that say about his character if he was willing to court one woman while loving another? Had the man no perseverance, no patience to let her heart adjust? If he had gone over to the other because she was rich and easily had, well, she wanted nothing more to do with him.

Yet—she might encourage him; she was almost sure she would encourage him, if he looked at her more like he did last night, and talked to her like he used to. And when their party met him walking the next morning—just him, no one else—and he fell in beside her, and gave her his arm and attention, and accompanied them all the way home—she breathed a deep sigh of satisfaction, laughed with a sparkling happiness, and teased and blushed in equal measure until it was no wonder he lingered in the hall, unwilling to let her go. She glanced just once at him, as she went up the stairs, over her shoulder: he had not moved, and he was still watching her.

Chapter 9: A Tall, Handsome Young Man



It was during this time that Elizabeth went to spend a few days with her Uncle and Aunt Gardiner in Gracechurch Street. Although she had visited them since coming to London, her days had been so occupied that she had not seen as much of them as she wished, so the plan was made for her to remove entirely to their house for a week or so, and there enjoy the company of them and their children.

The first few days passed uneventfully. Elizabeth was glad to be gone from Clifford Street, from the press of society and the confusing company of Mr. Darcy. She played with her cousins, embroidered with her aunt, and read books in the window seat by the hour. It was very pleasant. On the evening of the third day, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner had an engagement of some long standing, a party that would be attended by some of their friends and many of Mr. Gardiner's business acquaintances. Mrs. Gardiner told Elizabeth she need not come if she wished, but she found by then that she did not dislike the idea of a lively gathering, and said she would go.

She did go, and at first enjoyed herself very much. It was much more like the parties in Meryton than those of London’s upper society—less formality and high fashion, more laughter and gaiety. She felt entirely at ease, and well entertained by the wealth of varying characters to study. Bingley had been right—there was a greater variety in the city. At dinner her interest was particularly aroused by a young woman sitting down the table, on the other side between Mr. Merton and Mrs. Habbish. She appeared to be eighteen or nineteen years old, and she drew Elizabeth's eyes at first because she was so extremely pretty. She was a truly beautiful girl, in a way that rather reminded her of Jane, even though in feature they did not resemble each other. More striking even that her beauty, though, was the aspect of deep sorrow that hung over her. She was pale and listless and spoke very little; her large dark eyes were without animation, and the shadows beneath them spoke tragically of sleepless nights.

Such a combination of loveliness and wretchedness could not help but interest. The young men seated in near proximity to the lady were as conscious of this as Elizabeth, but as even the politest inquiry made her look likely to burst into tears, she was soon left alone. Elizabeth spent much of her dinner trying to imagine what tragedy had befallen her. If someone had mentioned her as Emily of the Mysteries of Udolpho , she would scarcely have been surprised.

After dinner there was some dancing among the young people, but in a lull, when their previous pianist had retired and a new one not yet appointed, Elizabeth found herself sitting down next to an older woman who had been introduced to her as Mrs. Jarling. Mrs. Jarling was a garrulous creature, fond of sharing her observations on every person in the room. She soon noticed Elizabeth looking toward the mysterious girl of earlier, who sat on the side of the room and was the very picture of mute suffering.

"Ah, Miss Bennet, I see you have noticed my niece, Miss Jarling."

"Oh—yes. She is a very beautiful girl."

"Beautiful, yes. She always was. Her beauty has done her no good, though, poor thing. She has had..." The woman leaned forward confidingly and lowered her voice, "a disappointment, you know."

Elizabeth made some noncommittal noise, but Mrs. Jarling was not to be discouraged from her tale.

"It happened over the winter, and she has not yet recovered, I am afraid. The dear girl was quite taken in. The man paid her decided attentions for weeks, then when she was thoroughly in love and all her family expecting an engagement, he took off without a word! Her father investigated of course, and found him actually engaged to some rich, high-born cousin! Now what do you think of that?"

"I am very sorry for her," she answered sincerely. "I hope she recovers soon."

"As do we all," she sighed. "But she's taken it hard, there's no question. He was such a tall, handsome young man, too. Very striking. But I understand you move in upper society. Perhaps you have heard of him." Elizabeth opened her mouth to demur, but she continued without a pause. "His name is Darcy."

Several moments passed while Mrs. Jarling looked expectant and Elizabeth stared at her blankly. "Darcy?" she repeated.

"Yes, and I can see you know the name. I thought you would—he comes from one of the best families."

"Mr. Darcy?" she repeated again. "Of Derbyshire?"

"Yes indeed. He told us all about the family estate there—Pemhurst, was it, or Pramley?"

"Pemberley."

"Yes, that was it! He had poor Maisie in raptures over the idea of such a grand place. Now we cannot even say the word Derbyshire around her but it makes her cry."

Elizabeth sat in a state of shock. It seemed fantastic, beyond belief that the Mr. Darcy she knew could behave in such a fashion—with a tradesman's daughter, no less! "This Mr. Darcy—you said he was tall, and handsome?"

"Very handsome, with dark hair and eyes, and such an air about him! Stately, if you know what I mean. He has an uncle who's a lord, which is probably why he thought it quite all right to dally with a girl of Maisie's station. I suppose he's gallivanting about town now, for all the world as if he hasn't left her broken heart behind him." She wiped her eyes affectedly.

“Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy?”

“To be sure, yes.”

"And—he is engaged to his cousin?"

"Almost from the cradle! It is not published, but quite understood among the family—so I have heard."

Elizabeth's mind reeled back, to the preceding winter, and a letter her father had received from Mr. Collins. He had written with some excitement of the connection between Lady Catherine, his patroness, and Bingley’s friend Mr. Darcy. Eager to show off his knowledge of the family, he had hinted broadly that an even more intimate connection was soon to exist between them. She could not recall the exact words, but there had been something about Lady Catherine's hopes, future heirs of Rosings, and how Mr. Darcy was one of the few men worthy of Miss de Bourgh's refinement and high station. She began to feel sick to her stomach.

Mrs. Jarling was off again, exclaiming over poor Maisie's misfortune and Mr. Darcy's cruelty, but Elizabeth could not partake in the conversation any longer. She excused herself as quickly as she could, then sought out her aunt and, pleading a headache, asked for the carriage to take her home. When Aunt Gardiner offered to come with her she forced a laugh and insisted she remain. She was not lying when she said she would rather be alone.

So Uncle Gardiner saw her off in the carriage, and all the way back to Gracechurch Street, sitting in the dark, rocking interior, she attempted to understand the conversation with Mrs. Jarling. The man she was describing seemed so far from the Mr. Darcy Elizabeth thought she knew that she would have believed him a different man, were it not for the agreement of every particular—from his appearance, to Pemberley, to his family associations. Mrs. Jarling she could acquit of deceit; the woman was a gossip, and probably inclined to exaggeration, but she would hardly fabricate such a story about her own niece, nor could she have had any way of knowing Elizabeth's own history with Darcy. And when Maisie's father investigated the man he found, not that he was someone else, not that he was a stranger stealing the Darcy name, but that he was engaged to his cousin!—a cousin who was wealthy, as Miss de Bourgh was wealthy.

However improbable it might have originally seemed that Mr. Darcy would flirt with a tradesman's daughter, it became less so as she recalled again his behaviour to her at Netherfield, how he had pressed his suit in such a forward and unseemly fashion. And here in London! Had he not been nearly professing love to her only a week before he began to pay court to Miss Cornish? He had courted them both, in fact, at once, paying attention first to one then the other, never letting her alone for long. Nor did he entirely scorn the company of tradesmen. He had met her Aunt and Uncle Gardiner, he had talked with Sir William Lucas, who had been a mere shopkeeper before his knighthood, and his dearest friend came from a family recently in trade. He might associate with such, if it suited his purpose. As for motive, Miss Jarling was a very beautiful girl....

The more Elizabeth thought of it, the more agitated and angry she became. This had occurred over the winter! The winter in which she was lying abed in such pain, and then limping about; the winter when Mr. Bingley had stayed in Hertfordshire, and Mr. Darcy was supposedly suffering so much remorse! The truth was that he had not cared at all; he had not left Netherfield for her sake, but his own, to escape the embarrassment of it, and to find himself a more able-bodied victim! He had courted poor Maisie over the winter—doubtlessly choosing her precisely because her family would have no recourse against him—and then attached himself to Elizabeth again in the spring, when she turned up whole, before moving on to the more elegant Miss Cornish. And all the while he had been really engaged to his cousin in Kent!

The man was a faithless wretch, there could be no two opinions about it. All the evidence was against him. His professed affection for her could only have been pretense; perhaps he had thought her, like Maisie, too poorly connected to protest when he left; perhaps he had hoped to seduce her, and moved on when he realised he could not. A small voice reminded Elizabeth that Darcy had never even attempted to kiss, much less seduce her, but she pushed it away. She had no way of knowing what he might have attempted, had she proved receptive to his initial advances. Had Maisie succumbed to him? Was that the true reason for her enduring grief?

At this last thought Elizabeth had to pause and admit her lack of knowledge. The lovely young Miss Jarling may or may not have been seduced, but she had been imposed on, without a doubt. And what was Elizabeth to do with such knowledge? Once she would have told everything to Jane, but marriage had changed things a little between them. Jane's first loyalty now was to her husband, and her husband was Mr. Darcy’s friend, and loyal to him. Despite the temporary lapse in their friendship earlier, he still had much faith Darcy’s honour and goodness. As troubling as her information was, as great a break in faith as it represented, she had no real proof to offer, nothing but the story of a gossipy old woman, and the sad, pale face of a beautiful young girl. Compared to the word of Darcy himself, what power could that possibly hold?

~*~

Elizabeth's countenance bore the evidence of her sleeplessness the next morning, prompting expressions of concern from Mrs. Gardiner. She wondered briefly if she ought to confide in her aunt, but something in her shrunk from such exposure. Besides, what further insight could she offer? If Mrs. Gardiner knew of the affair, she surely would have spoken of it already. So she forced a smile, made some excuse, and said nothing.

By the time she returned to Jane and Bingley's house she believed she had calmed and settled herself enough to meet Mr. Darcy with composure. He would receive cool civility, as befitted a friend of her brother, but no more. When the moment actually came, though, and his tall form filled the door of Jane's front parlour, all composure deserted her. She could not look at him without thinking of Maisie's haunted eyes, of Miss Cornish, of his own late professions of love and the destruction of all her hopes. When he approached her with an eager look and pronounced her name in greeting, she opened her mouth, faltered, and turned her face away.

Darcy drew back in surprise, and looked at Jane for help, but she seemed as startled as he. After a few long moments, in which Elizabeth still would not look at him, he turned away slowly and walked back to Bingley. His friend welcomed him, but he took his leave almost immediately, departing with one last gaze at Elizabeth, where she sat, now bending assiduously over her needlework.

Elizabeth was all too aware of both his presence and his departure, and she felt, even if she did not see, every glance he sent her way. She felt like a lout, even as she told herself that she had no reason to, that he was a man without character who did not deserve her concern. She did regret her behaviour for Jane's sake, though, for being so rude to her guest, and rather dreaded what she might say when they were alone.

But Jane said nothing, only giving Elizabeth a glance full of a tender pity that made her want to both cry and protest. Because she could not explain herself she did not, only forced a smile and tried to make conversation on other topics. Jane went along with it, and Charles, when he returned, did not reproach her either, but smiled and talked as if nothing had happened.

There was a struggle in Elizabeth's heart, unlike any she had yet experienced, between what she felt and what she knew. She felt guilt and misgiving, pity for Darcy's confusion, doubt that he could really be so bad. Yet she knew that he was perfidious, that he had broken a girl's heart a-purpose, lied to her and betrayed Miss de Bourgh—but here Elizabeth was forced to pause. Of all parts of the story, his engagement to his cousin was the one she had the least evidence for. One broad hint in a letter from Mr. Collins could not be considered absolute verification.

Her heart began to speed up as she contemplated it. If she could obtain confirmation of the engagement, then that would prove everything, would it not? It would prove beyond doubt his perfidy towards herself and Miss Cornish and Miss de Bourgh, and would confirm Mrs. Jarling's account too. If only this one matter could be settled irrefutably, then, perhaps, her heart would rest easy, and her conscience would know its proper course.

She could not ask Darcy, of course, and his connections in town seemed either not to know of the engagement, or to be sworn to secrecy over it. Her one hope of good information would have to come from Kent. Lady Catherine could not be so completely silent on the subject, and as her rector, Mr. Collins might well be in her confidence. If he knew of it, then surely Mary would know too. Elizabeth did not like to ask Mary directly; she knew nothing of discretion, nor tact or subtlety. She could be counted on, though, to be scrupulously honest. If she could phrase the question indirectly, but clearly enough to elicit an answer, Mary might give her the information she so desperately needed.

Mary was a very regular correspondent. Elizabeth rather thought she considered it her duty. Her letters were mostly filled with homilies on the values of matrimony and information on how both she and Mr. Collins fulfilled their duties to their parishioners. Marriage had added superiority and confidence to her opinions, without adding much wisdom.

Bending over Mary's last letter, Elizabeth sought some opening that would allow her to approach the subject. Finally she found it, in responding to some comments about Lady Catherine and her daughter.

If everything my cousin says is true of Miss de Bourgh, she wrote in response, I quite wonder that she has not yet married. She must be considered a splendid match. But perhaps Lady Catherine has plans of her own in that regard.

She hoped to not be censured by Mary as soliciting gossip, but it was the best she could do. If Mary refused to answer, or simply ignored the gambit, then she would be without further recourse. The letter was sent, and Elizabeth waited in nearly feverish suspense for a reply. Darcy called at Clifford Street again, but she pleaded a headache and stayed in her room. When they met in company she avoided him then too, feeling like a coward. His eyes, when she met them, were more sorrowful than reproachful, but she did not look long enough to determine much. Overhearing gossip about him and Miss Cornish steeled her resolve.

At last the letter came. Elizabeth took it from the tray in the hall before it could be delivered, and ran upstairs to read it. Impatiently she read through Mary's formal greetings, and the quotations from her husband's sermons—Elizabeth rather thought that Mary helped write the sermons, which was why she was so fond of quoting them—and finally found what she was looking for.

Tho' I cannot consider Worldly Connections to be of any great Importance, still one should always do what is Proper, and My Husband wishes me to say that Lady Catherine has not been backward in securing an appropriate Match for her daughter, one that will do honour to their family and the Great Estate on which so many depend for their Livelihoods. It is expected that a Marriage between Miss de Bourgh and her cousin Mr. Darcy will soon take place, in order to secure the honour and future continuance of their families and All Rosings.

That was it, then. Any slight hope she might have cherished that somehow it was not all true—that Darcy could still be innocent of the charges against him—vanished. If Mary, who knew nothing of Darcy's behaviour towards herself, nothing of Miss Jarling, nothing of Miss Cornish, knew that he was engaged to his cousin, then Elizabeth had no choice but to believe her. What cause would Lady Catherine have to lie about her own daughter, and her nephew? It could only be the truth.

Her despair was absolute.

Chapter 10: A Little Overcome by the Heat



It was ironic, she later thought, that only in learning to hate him again did she realise how far she had come to like him—to love him. The love he had professed for her had grown exceedingly pleasant, his attraction increasing his attractiveness, and his behaviour ever since she came to town had caused him to rise in her esteem every week. If he had been what he seemed to be, before she found out the Truth, she would have loved him, she believed that now. Perhaps she had loved him already.

But all that was shattered. Mr. Darcy was not what he seemed, and even if he was not promised to another, she could never love the man he truly was. His own affection for herself must have been pretended—and even if it was not, it was unacceptable, immoral, and offered against every proper feeling. She wished only to be rid of him, to be away from London—but how could she leave in the middle of the season? What reason could she offer that would not rouse suspicion and wound her sister's feelings? She had all but promised to spend the summer with Jane too.

For another fortnight this terrible state of things continued. Mr. Darcy tried again, once or twice, to approach her. She could barely bring herself to look at him, much less speak to him civilly. When she did, she could not keep the scorn from her gaze or the contempt from her voice. Cold was the best she could manage. He did not stay long under such treatment. After the second such rebuff he did not approach her again, except for the minimum of polite greetings, which she returned in kind. It seemed to Elizabeth that he spent more time than ever in Miss Cornish’s company. She wondered if she ought to attempt to warn that lady, but quickly dismissed the thought. She did not know her well enough to approach her on such a subject, and it was unlikely she would be believed. Would Miss Cornish even care? Mr. Darcy was rich, after all, and handsome.

Jane and Bingley, she soon realised, believed that something had happened between her and their friend. In all likelihood they thought he had proposed again, and been refused, or that he had imposed himself somehow. She offered no explanations, and they would not ask, but she was aware of them watching her worriedly, and once when she walked past Bingley’s study downstairs, she caught a glimpse of Mr. Darcy and heard raised voices. The situation could not continue.

Immediately upon forming her resolution she went to Jane’s dressing room. “Jane, I think it is time that I went home.”

“So soon?” Jane looked up from the accounts she had been reviewing. “The season is not even over yet.”

“I know, but—but I find I miss Hertfordshire, and my father has written to ask me when I return. I cannot leave him without sensible conversation for any longer.”

Jane was not fooled, of course. She knew precisely why Elizabeth could no longer bear to remain in London, but that did not stop her from looking distressed. “I fear this season has brought you more pain than pleasure,” she said.

“Of course it has not!” Elizabeth went to embrace her. “You have been the best hostess and sister and friend in the world, and Charles the brother I have always wished for. And as for pleasure, I am amazed you could say such a thing! How many times have I danced through a pair of slippers in a single night? How often have we been out until two, three o’clock in the morning, attending a ball upon a concert upon a dinner? The ancient Romans were nothing to us; we have been positively decadent.”

“That is not what I mean, Lizzy.”

“But it is what I mean. You have given me a delightful season, and I will never forget it—but I am, after all, a country girl, and I long to be in the country again now.”

“If you truly wish to go I will not keep you, but are you certain that this is the best solution to your difficulty?”

“It is the only solution to my difficulty.”

“Yes, but—” Jane paused unhappily. “If you only you and Mr. Darcy could—”

“Do not, please!”

“He loves you, Lizzy, I know that he does. Whatever has happened, you will quickly make up again.”

“Jane, if you love me, do not speak to me about this any more. It can never be, Mr. Darcy and I can never be. If you knew everything you would know—” She broke off, and pressed her fingers to her eyes, trying not to cry. “Please, we must not speak of this any longer. My mind is made up.”

Seeing her real distress, Jane did not argue further, but she did urge her to remain until the end of the week. It would take that long to send word home to expect her, and there was one more ball to be enjoyed on Thursday. Elizabeth had ordered a new gown for it, and all the dearest friends she had made in London would be there.

When Bingley learned of her plans, he offered to accompany her back to Hertfordshire, and then Jane decided that if her husband was to go she would too, and it was all settled for them to have a weekend’s visit before returning.

~*~

Between last-minute shopping and making farewell calls, the evening of the last ball came all too soon. Elizabeth was far more anxious than the occasion warranted. Darcy would be there, but he would surely avoid her. She was far more likely to be treated to the spectacle of him dancing with Miss Cornish; perhaps that was what she dreaded. Her new gown suited her very well, and Jane’s lady’s maid was by now expert with her hair. She would go looking her best, at least—but truly, she wished she did not have to go. She was tired of London crowds, of fashion and folly and their endless parading. She wanted to go home.

Still, Elizabeth was not made for unhappiness. By half way through the evening she was laughing, until a turn in the dance brought her quite literally face to face with Mr. Darcy. She was dancing with the very young but dashing Captain Wattle. Mr. Darcy was dancing with Miss Bingley, and seemed as startled as Elizabeth. They clasped hands automatically, circled each other, moved on. He was handsome. He was so very handsome and so very fallen in her eyes that she could neither look at him nor stop looking at him. Three more times they had to pass each other this way, and then it was over.

Scarcely had Captain Wattle led her off the floor than Darcy approached through the crowd. He looked for all the world like the Mr. Darcy of that first assembly, haughty and cold—but also, she thought, angry.

She too was angry when he bowed and asked her to dance. No gentleman, she thought, would put her in such a position: he had to know it was impossible for her to refuse in front of Captain Wattle without inciting the sort of remark she wished to avoid. She really felt she had no choice but to accept him and let him lead her back to the floor. Too late she realised the dance was a waltz. Darcy had never asked her for a waltz before, and she rarely danced them. Nothing could be worse, she thought, than to be in such intimate proximity to him. She had not even the confidence of knowing the steps well! But as the music started she allowed him to take her in his arms.

Even her hope of a dignified silence was destroyed. Only a minute into the dance, Darcy looked down on her and said, “You appear uncharacteristically silent, Miss Bennet. If you have nothing civil to say to me, you might at least attempt an insult.”

It had been so long since he had spoken to her with anything other than perfect politeness that his caustic tone came as a bit of a shock. Then there was his arm around her waist, his hand holding hers, making it difficult to think clearly.

“On no account let concern for my feelings stop you. You will make it a clever one, I am sure. ”

Furious, she stared defiantly at his cravat.

“Well? Have you nothing to say?”

“No.”

“Then that is very strange, for I had always thought you a woman of uncommon eloquence—until these last weeks, that is, which have taught me that your silence is even sharper than your tongue.”

A hot flush burned up her neck, made worse by the heat of the room, and the heat of his hands. Around them, other couples were laughing, moving, brushing past. “I do not know what you mean.”

His fingers on hers tightened. “I wish you would pay me the compliment of not dissembling. If you have determined not to give me an explanation for your behaviour then just say so.”

She refused to reply at first, as they moved around the room. At last she said resentfully, “You have no right to speak to me in that tone.”

“Nor any right to speak to you at all, if your manner is any indication!”

“I wonder you asked me to dance, then.” She glanced up at him and saw his lips close tight with frustration.

“You are leaving,” he said after a moment.

“I am going home.”

“Might I be permitted to know why?”

“Do I need a reason to return to the place of my birth?”

“When your departure comes so abruptly in the middle of the season, I think you do.” It seemed to her that they were locked together, separate and yet near, moving endlessly while the music played on and on.

“I miss my family.”

“Your family is here.”

“Jane is here, but the rest are at Longbourn.”

“It is not Longbourn.” He dismissed the notion contemptuously. “You cannot have such an attachment to Longbourn. You cannot miss your relations there so badly that you must cut short your promised visit to the one sister you actually love, and abandon your friends without notice.”

She was so angry and astonished that she missed her step and stumbled. His hand was strong against her back, steadying her, turning her. It was insufferably hot in this room, and his proximity suffocating, his touch burning her. “My real friends will understand!” she flung back at him.

“Since you have made it painfully clear to me, madam,” he said through clenched teeth, “that I am not one of your friends, I see no reason why I should have to!” Mercifully, the music swirled to a halt just then, and all the dancers stopped. Mechanically Elizabeth applauded the musicians, and without looking at Darcy left the floor before the next dance could start. She felt dreadful, as if something catastrophic had happened, almost physically ill. He was so angry; she had never seen him so angry, even after she had refused his proposal at Netherfield.

“Are you well, Lizzy?” Jane asked, when she found her. “You are very flushed.”

“It is only the warmth of the room—only, I do feel rather dizzy. Perhaps I ought to go home—or outside. Yes, I think I ought to get some air.”

Jane waved at her husband across the room; he came to them, and readily gave Lizzy his arm. She took it, and they went outside to the shadowed garden. The cool air was refreshing. She could not think of what had just happened; instead she focused on the night, the closed flowers, the moonlight. She felt her heartbeat begin to slow as they strolled around together, Bingley tactfully silent. After a time, he steered them to a bench, and they sat.

At long last she let out a deep sigh. “Dear Charles,” she said, “you really are my favourite brother.”

He smiled, but his face looked troubled in the moonlight. As if in confirmation, he rubbed the back of his neck rather worriedly and began, “Lizzy, I know—it is probably not my place, but I must tell you that I could not help but see you were dancing with Darcy just now.” She said nothing, and he pressed on. “You did not look—that is to say, it did not seem to me that—”

“Please!” She put her hand on his arm. “Please don’t ask me.”

He hesitated, then seemed to accept her request. The next moment, both of them looked up as the figure of a man could be seen moving quickly in their direction. All of Elizabeth’s serenity vanished again.

Charles stood and moved forward a few steps to meet him. “Darcy!”

The other man halted. “Bingley.” He was looking beyond his friend, to where Elizabeth sat on the bench, but Bingley did not move back, and Elizabeth did not move forward. “I saw you bring Miss Bennet outside,” he said at last. “I hope that she is well?”

“Oh yes,” replied Bingley easily. “She was a little overcome by the heat, that is all.”

“It was very hot,” he said. “Bingley, if you would like to return to your wife, I—”

“I am better now.” Elizabeth rose and went quickly to take her brother’s arm. “You will take me inside now, won’t you, Charles?”

At first she feared that Darcy would argue the point, but after a moment he bowed, and so they went inside, Darcy walking behind until they reached the house, where he bowed again and left them. Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief. Looking up she saw that Charles’s countenance was troubled again, and she felt even more guilty, but what, after all, could she do? At least she would be going home soon. With a little luck, she would hardly need to speak to Darcy in more than passing ever again. The prospect made her feel bleaker than ever.

Chapter 11: Rather in Need of Fortification



Their entire party left the ball rather early. Elizabeth was certain that if Jane did not already know what had transpired in the garden, she soon would. It did not matter any more. The only thing that mattered was escaping to Hertfordshire as soon as possible. How she missed her long country walks! How she missed the fresh air and quiet, and the sweet smell of grass! London’s noise and crowds and pollution had made her wretched indeed.

She slept unaccustomedly late the next morning and rose to find Jane on the point of setting out. Bingley had bought a new curricle and wanted to take her riding in it, after which they were to visit some shop or other to choose gifts for the family back home. She professed herself willing to stay home and keep Elizabeth company, but Elizabeth was only too happy to wave her forward. She was little equal to conversation.

It was Friday, and they were to depart for Longbourn the next morning. After eating a dilatory breakfast and supervising the packing of her trunks for a short while, she came downstairs and sat in the window where she could watch the traffic in the street. The hacks and horses, and bobbing heads and bonnets faded away after a time; she saw nothing but her private musings—which is why she did not notice the man who walked up the steps and knocked on the door below.

The butler entered the room, startling her. “Mr. Darcy is here, madam, and desires to speak with you.”

“Mr. Darcy?” She looked at him in dismay. “Did you tell him that Mr. and Mrs. Bingley are out?”

“Yes, madam. He desired the favour of a word with you.”

In some agitation she rose. She could not receive him—she would send him away. Would he persist in seeking her out if she did? The butler waited calmly for her reply, but she felt his scrutiny and began to speak to him, to give him her refusal, when the man himself appeared in the hall behind him.

“Miss Bennet!”

“Mr. Darcy!”

“Forgive me, but I must speak to you!” His colour was up, and he looked, she thought, rather agitated. Resigning herself, she nodded to the butler to go.

As soon as the door shut, he came toward her directly. “Miss Bennet!”

“Sir, I cannot imagine why you have come here today.”

“I could not allow you to leave without attempting it. The way we parted last night—! I had to see you again.”

She folded her hands. “Well, you have seen me, and may depart satisfied.”

“Satisfied! When you will not tell me what I have done to deserve such scorn from you? I ought not to have spoken to you as I did last night, and I will ask your forgiveness for that, but for weeks now I have felt your displeasure without knowing its cause, and I can go no longer without asking the explanation.”

Elizabeth found she was trembling, and went to sit stiffly on the sofa, smoothing her gown. “I do not know what you are talking about, Mr. Darcy. I hope I may always treat you with what civility the friend of my brother deserves.”

“Civility!” He turned away with a gesture of frustration, walking with quick steps to the window and back again. “This is your definition of civility? This—coldness, this hostility, this pretension of ignorance? You will hardly look at me!”

She stared straight ahead. “I am sure I do not know why I should.”

He halted. “I see.”

“Have you anything further to say, Mr. Darcy?” She rose slowly, deliberately, trying to quiet the shaking of her hands. “If not, you must excuse me. I have packing to attend to.”

He stood there, clearly also struggling for control, and turned slowly as if to go. Elizabeth felt a surge of relief, but then he turned again, looking at her with a pained bitterness. “I know,” he said, “I know that I have no right to special regard from you, and need no reminding of it, but to promise your friendship, and give it, and then withdraw it without explanation; to toy with the affections you know very well that I have for you—it is cruel, Elizabeth! It is unworthy of you!”

The harshness of his condemnation stung her, raking across her conscience and awakening all her guilt, and at the same time she burned with anger at his effrontery, and this new profession of a love she had decided must be false. "I wonder you could say such a thing to me!” she exclaimed hotly. “You who did me such injury in the past! If the ungentlemanly part you played there is not an excuse for incivility—if there was incivility—then I do not know what may be."

Darcy looked incredulous. “And that is all? The only explanation you have to give me?”

Of course it was not, but the true cause of her anger stuck in her throat, and even her courage failed at the idea of accusing him outright. “Is it not sufficient?” she insisted instead. “I suffered months of pain because of you, Mr. Darcy! I was bedridden for weeks, and could not walk unassisted for more weeks. I might have been crippled for life!—all because of you, and your arrogance and pride, and disdain for the feelings of others!”

A cold mask descended over his face. "Of course," he said when she finished. "Forgive me. I had taken you at your word when you said you forgave me, but obviously I was mistaken. Obviously I should never have believed you capable of such generosity. I now have only to be ashamed of my folly, and you may believe that I will not trouble you again."

He turned at last to leave her, but now Elizabeth's heart, treacherous thing that it was, urged her after him. Just a moment ago it seemed impossible to speak his wrongs to his face, but now to be renounced in such a way, to be left appearing as if she was in the wrong, was worse than anything! "Mr. Darcy!" she called after him. "You might perhaps be interested to know that I recently made the acquaintance of Miss Maisie Jarling."

He looked back at her. "Who?"

"Miss Maisie Jarling ." She repeated the name. He frowned and her anger rose higher at his evident confusion. "Does she really mean so little to you that you cannot remember the name of the girl you courted, promised marriage to and then abandoned?" Somewhere in the shock of his countenance appeared a sudden comprehension and she smiled with bitter triumph. "I met her aunt, you see. She told me everything: how the great Mr. Darcy had wooed her, spoken of love to her, made her love him back, then how, when he disappeared, they discovered that all along he was really engaged to his wealthy cousin!"

"And you believed this?"

"She had no reason to lie—she did not even know I knew you, much less that I had also been the unfortunate recipient of your attentions. Every detail she gave confirmed it—your estate, your appearance, your family connections. And what reason did I have to doubt, when I had myself seen you paying court to Miss Cornish? Tell me, does she know of your engagement?"

At the name Miss Cornish, he started, but quickly suppressed it. "This is it, then? This is your opinion of me? That I am a—a rake, and a libertine? A man without honour, whose professions to you were lies? I thank you for finally explaining it so fully!"

“Indeed.” She put her chin up. “You can wish for no further explanation from me now.”

He looked at her a moment and said, “I do not.” He bowed with perfect, stately hauteur, and left her alone.

~*~

Elizabeth’s room was full of servants, so she could not weep there. The parlours were not private enough and a maid was dusting the shelves in the library, so in the end she sought refuge in Bingley’s study. It was not, after all, a room much used, and drapes were still drawn across the windows, casting it in comforting darkness. She abandoned herself to it, and cried until she finally fell asleep on the hard settee.

She awoke to a gentle hand on her brow, and Jane’s inimitable presence. The moment she saw her sister’s kind, beautiful eyes, the tears came back to her own. She supposed, vaguely, that Bingley must have found her and fetched his wife, and in all likelihood they both knew Mr. Darcy had called. And Jane, dear, sweet, perfect Jane, said nothing of it, but sat next to her, caressing her hair, and crooning the simple, comforting words one might give a child. When she had at last recovered herself enough she went back upstairs and washed her face. Her maid came, pinned her hair back up again and helped her into a fresh gown. She went down to dinner, and no one said a word about Mr. Darcy’s visit.

After dinner, when they all sat about in the parlour, pretending to be more cheerful than they felt, the butler carried in a letter which had just been brought round by messenger. It was for Elizabeth.

She opened it with trepidation, and then surprise. “It is from Mrs. Everett,” she told Jane. “She asks me to do her the honour of calling on her first thing in the morning.”

“Mrs. Everett! Why, have you been in communication with her since the dinner?”

“No, not at all. I would be happy to meet her again, of course, but I did not know where she lived, and could not presume on so slight an acquaintance.”

“You will go tomorrow, before we leave?”

“I must, of course. You will not mind waiting an extra hour?”

“Certainly not. I wonder why she wishes to speak to you!”

The next moment, Jane looked conscious, and Elizabeth smiled rather grimly. “I think I know, though her precise purpose is a mystery.” Taking a deep breath, she looked from Jane to Bingley, who was watching her worriedly. “You have been very kind in not asking about today’s events, but I feel I ought to tell you, Jane—and you as well, Charles, for it is something that cannot be concealed—that Mr. Darcy and I have quarrelled. I beg you not to ask me why.”

“Then of course we shall not,” said Jane, although Bingley looked as if he would very much like to. He looked more unhappy than Elizabeth had ever seen him, and she felt another pang of guilt, for cutting up his peace in such a way. Perhaps, she thought, it would be better to tell them all, to reveal Mr. Darcy’s character in full. They would certainly break off all communication with him then, and although it would make Charles unhappy for now, he would be more satisfied in the long-run. Yet somehow she could not do it. As much as she wanted to feel the full measure of contempt that Darcy undoubtedly deserved, the truth was that she did not want to see him disgraced publicly. If Bingley stopped speaking to him he would have to explain his reason to Miss Bingley and the Hursts, and she could not believe they would keep silent about it. The larger world might not care a great deal what a man of Darcy’s wealth and station had done, but those who had looked up to him as a model of good sense and character certainly would no longer. He would be the object of gossip and contempt, and Elizabeth could not bear it.

“It does not matter,” she said. “I am going home tomorrow, and then all will be as it was between you here in town. It is between Mr. Darcy and myself; please do not worry about it.”

“You are my sister now,” said Bingley.

“Then you should do me the duty of a brother in believing what I say.”

“If he has imposed on you—”

“He has not. Truly, it is not—” She drew a deep breath. “Mr. Darcy has not done anything that would require—that would require a man to act on my behalf.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes, very. We have quarrelled, that is all.” She smiled determinedly. “Try not to fret so, dear Charles. Mr. Darcy and I may never be very good friends, but that is no reason you should not be his friend. Please, let us say no more.” Pleading fatigue, she went up to bed shortly after, but all night her dreams were filled with Mr. Darcy, with the acrimonious words they had spoken. Her own accusations rang in her ears, and despite all that she knew, she felt a moment of panicked doubt—if she had accused him falsely—! But if she had accused him falsely he would have said so, she reasoned. He would have disclaimed all knowledge, told her immediately that it was not true. The fact that he did not was its own proof. And he had known the girl’s name, she was certain of that. Her attack had surprised him, but he knew exactly what and whom she was speaking of.

He was guilty. He had to be guilty.

~*~

Mrs. Everett lived in a slip of a house in the best part of town. The furniture in it was old and old fashioned, but highly polished and arranged with careful elegance, and all the rooms smelled of hyacinths and vinegar.

Mrs. Everett herself was seated in an upstairs parlour. The black silk gown she had worn at Mr. Darcy’s dinner party had been exchanged for one in black satin, with a little less lace. Elizabeth took a deep breath, raised her chin, and smiled. “Mrs. Everett.”

“My dear Miss Bennet!” Mrs. Everett rose. “Thank you for coming. I understand you are to travel today—I hope your journey was not delayed?”

“No, we had not intended to set out very early; it is not a long trip.” She seated herself, at the old lady’s gesture, on a chaise opposite to her.

“Would you like some tea?”

“No thank you.” Her stomach was clenching terribly and she could not think of consuming anything.

“Well, then.” Mrs. Everett placed her own cup down. “You and I need not dissemble, Miss Bennet. I imagine you know why I summoned you in such haste?”

“I had supposed, Mrs. Everett, that your nephew asked you to speak to me.”

“Yes, I knew you were clever. Though not, perhaps,” she finished gently, “as clever as I thought you.”

Elizabeth flushed. “I do not know what he told you?”

“Not very much, though it is not difficult to deduce more. Darcy is not one to confide his private affairs to others, but on this occasion he came to me for the simple reason that he did not think you would believe anything he might say to you.” She took a sip; Elizabeth said nothing. “The matter is a simple one, though I can quite see how difficult it would seem to you. Did you ever hear of my father’s brother, Mr. Robert Darcy?”

“No.”

“He was a very well respected judge. His son, also named Robert, is a barrister, but has not yet attained his father’s distinction. His son, I regret to say, has shown no aptitude for the law or any other profession—but since he is promised to an heiress on his mother’s side, that does not trouble him. He is a rather wild young man, and you see the reason you have not met him is that he was sent into the country with his mother. He got in trouble over some girl over the winter.”

Elizabeth felt herself go pale.

“She was a very pretty tradesman’s daughter, I believe, and he misled her quite shamefully. I think you might know her name, Miss Bennet?”

She could not answer.

“The Darcy family resemblance is strong,” Mrs. Everett said, rather kindly.

Elizabeth put her hand to her head. She felt faint, hardly able to think. “Do you—how do you know this?”

“It is well known among the family, and in any case, his mother, Elvira, is a regular correspondent of mine.” Mrs. Everett, still perfectly calm, sipped some more of her tea.

“But—but is he also called Fitzwilliam? Fitzwilliam Darcy! She said Fitzwilliam Darcy!”

“William, actually, is his name. I can only assume her aunt got them confused.”

After a few minutes, Elizabeth spoke. “His cousin.”

“His cousin.”

“I—I never knew he had a Darcy cousin.”

“Would it had made a difference if you had?”

She rubbed her temples and tried not to cry. Yes , she wanted to cry, but the truth was that she did not know.

“As a matter of fact—although he did not ask me to tell you this—it was Fitzwilliam who first found it all out. William, I am sorry to say, had made rather liberal use of his cousin’s reputation, and it was to Darcy’s house on Mount Street that the girl’s father first came. He could have sent him away, of course, but instead he listened to him, and promised to intervene on his behalf with William’s family. He had no power to require a marriage, of course—nor would it have been desirable—but the Jarlings did receive a settlement, which I do not think they would have done were it not for Fitzwilliam’s insistence.”

Of course , thought Elizabeth, of course .

“Now, Darcy was anxious that I speak to you about his mother’s sister, Lady Catherine de Bourgh. I do not believe you have ever met her?”

She shook her head.

“Count yourself fortunate.” Mrs. Everett shook her own head. “I remember when she first came out; she was just a girl, but already determined to control the lives of everyone around her. Most of the men she met were terrified of her.” She smiled wryly. “In any case, the years have not softened her, and ever since her husband died she has ruled Rosings just as she likes, and forgotten what it is like to be contradicted. She is a woman of both uncommon stubbornness and wilful blindness, and her daughter’s purported engagement to my nephew is nothing more than a product of both. She wishes for it, therefore it must be. But the truth is that there is no understanding between Darcy and Miss de Bourgh. He has never had the slightest intention of marrying her, and only her mother thinks otherwise. This also I can bear witness to, as one acquainted with all parties.”

Elizabeth nodded and waited numbly for some rebuke on the subject of Miss Cornish to fall upon her ears, but none did. In bitter shame and regret she sat there on that settee, trying not to weep. The explanation made perfect sense—far more sense than the original one ever had, and as soon as she heard it she knew what a fool she had been to believe that Mr. Darcy—the Mr. Darcy she knew—could ever have done such a thing. It seemed patently absurd to even think of it.

“Are you sure you will not take some tea, my dear? You look rather in need of fortification.”

She shook her head blindly. “No. I must—I must return, but—oh, do you think he will ever forgive me?”

Mrs. Everett regarded her with a small smile. “My nephew is a very good man, Miss Bennet. Perhaps some day you will come to understand him properly. Now,” she stood briskly, “if you are certain you do not want tea, then I will call for your carriage. My commission is complete, and you have a busy day ahead.” She pulled a cord, and her butler appeared almost immediately. “Escort Miss Bennet back to her carriage, please.” Elizabeth stood, head bent in shame, and came forward. To her surprise, the older woman embraced her. “I hope you will come and call on me the next time you are in town, and tell me how it all worked out. Darcy likely never will.”

“Thank you—you have been kinder than I deserve.”

She waved a hand. “I would far rather be occupied with someone else’s affairs than my own.”

Elizabeth laughed despite her tears, but when she had bid her good-bye and was sitting in the carriage, she felt very miserable. The horror of what she had done—of the things she had accused him of—nearly overwhelmed her. Her behaviour to him had been far worse than anything he had ever done to her! All these weeks she had snubbed him and ignored him, treated him with such contempt! At the very least it had been a gross betrayal of friendship, and at the worst… at the worst, she had driven away the love of the one man who could ever make her happy. For such reflections there could be no comfort.

Chapter 12: Her Own Insignificance



So this is what it feels like to have a broken heart , thought Elizabeth wretchedly. She was lying on a grassy knoll about half a mile from Longbourn, trying fruitlessly to gain some comfort from the familiar countryside. Well, you have got what you deserve.

She wiped her cheeks with her sleeve and covered her eyes, trying to control herself. Strange, how all these feelings had rushed upon her, all the feelings she had denied or ignored or simply not felt while in London, while with him. The rapt admiration, the fierce longing, the pounding heart and breathless sighing at the thought of him were surely wasted on the still summer air. She was remembering everything about him, all his looks and the tones of his voice, his quiet smiles. She missed the sight of him, and she desperately missed his company and conversation, even as she had missed it those long last weeks in London, while trying to deny it. Now there were no hesitations, no illusions, no belief in his wickedness to restrain her feelings. He was not only a good man, he was the best man: the kindest, truest, most honourable man alive, who had been abused by the most foolish and faithless of women.

Two weeks at Longbourn had been enough time to understand her feelings. It had also been enough time for much reflection, shame and regret. Out of bitter self-recriminations had come truth: she had seen herself, and she had seen him, and she knew that she loved him.

How could she not love him? Was there a woman in the world so hardened to goodness, to loyalty, to good sense and strength and persistent tenderness as to withstand his patient courtship? On the one hand there was Darcy, full of all the virtues which he had so quietly revealed to her—and on the other, there was herself, the very picture of folly and ingratitude.

It was vanity that had set her against him from the start. Not that he had done much while in Hertfordshire to recommend himself, but she surely would not have condemned him so harshly if it had not been for that initial slight against her looks. It was that which had led her to court such ignorance of his character, to be wilfully blind to so many of his good qualities. Jane had seen more clearly.

His behaviour around the time of his proposal had been very wrong—no amount of love could argue otherwise—but she looked wistfully now at that passionate determination that had led him to seek her repeatedly, to demand a better explanation than the one she had given him. How differently that affair might have gone if she had heard him with greater sympathy! If she had been a little more gentle in her replies, they might have come to understand each other better, and her painful fall down those steps need never have happened.

It was her behaviour in London that caused her the most shame, though. Whatever his failings had been in Hertfordshire, he had corrected them. Every time she had been in his company, his behaviour had showed her how sincerely he repented his wrongs. By then she was confirmed in her belief of her moral superiority, though. He was not good enough for her: he had implied it, and she had accepted it. How fine it had been, to let him pay court to her, to exert himself to please her, while she gave him such approval as it pleased her, and felt generous for it! How grand to know she had captivated him, handsome and clever and rich and good! It had not humbled her, as it ought to have, but rather made her only more vain. The vanity he had wounded in the past, the vanity he pleased now—it closed her heart, obscured her judgement, and led her, at the last to make the worst mistake of all.

“How despicably I acted,” she said aloud, for the hundredth time, as once again, she saw the hurt in his eyes when she had turned him away. It was her treatment of him that was really inexcusable. Long reflection had convinced her that she could not have reasonably ignored such evidence as has been presented against him, but neither should she have accepted it so completely. She could have, should have asked … someone , inquired further, and found a way to withhold judgement. Bingley could have been of material assistance, perhaps, if she had confided in him. Even Mrs. Jarling herself might have helped solve the mystery, if she had only stayed to ask more questions. But instead she had acted in a way that did no justice to either her or Darcy, that allowed him no opportunity to explain himself, and herself no chance to learn the truth. She had snubbed him, misused him, and repaid kindness with unkindness, and friendship with enmity. Whether he had loved her then, she did not know, but it did not matter: he had deserved better. He had deserved nothing less than her loyalty and every attempt to find him innocent, and had received instead blame and hasty judgement. Even if he had loved her then, he surely did not now.

At least, she thought on this day, as her hands curled in the grass, he was good. In a way nothing had been worse than believing him wicked. The earth itself seemed to be turning backwards on its axis when that happened. Was that not itself proof of how much she had loved him already?

“Liz-zy!” Kitty’s voice floated over the hill. Elizabeth sat up and groped for her handkerchief.

“Liz-zy!”

“Here, Kitty!” she waved her arm. Down the hill, near the tree line, was Kitty’s small figure. She was returning by a back path from Lucas Lodge; the sisters had gone out together, and agreed to meet again on the way home.

Kitty saw her, and waved back, but obviously hesitated to leave the path. “Wait!” called Lizzy. “I will come to you!” Kitty was not such a famous walker as Lizzy was, and disliked tramping across fields.

Elizabeth half-turned as she stood, drying her eyes under cover of adjusting her bonnet. When she felt tolerably composed she turned back and half-walked, half-ran down the hill to her sister.

“Maria says that Mrs. Forster is inviting Lydia to go to Brighton with her,” said Kitty by way of greeting. This was clearly not good news, in her eyes.

“I rather wonder how Maria could know such a thing when we do not,” answered Lizzy. “Where did she get her information?”

“From Mrs. Forster herself, she says. At least, she overheard her say it last night. They had Colonel and Mrs. Forster and a few of the officers for dinner at the Lodge, and after dinner they were all playing cards, and she heard Mrs. Forster at the table next to her tell Lady Lucas that she had decided to ask Lydia to come with her for company!”

“If so, I wonder Mrs. Forster did not have more tact than to tell a woman whose daughter she was not inviting.”

“But what shall I do if it’s true, Lizzy? Lydia cannot got to Brighton without me, it’s not fair! I am older than she is; if anyone ought to go it is me, and Lydia will be horrid about it.”

“She will be too happy to be horrid,” said Lizzy with more optimism than actual expectation. “In any case, she has not had an invitation yet, so I do not think you ought to worry about it.” Kitty, though, had already begun to cry, and continued her lamentations all the way home on the unfairness of bumptious younger sisters who steal all the attention.

When they got home, the worst was confirmed: Lydia had got the invitation, delivered while they were out, and she was even now planning her wardrobe with Mrs. Bennet. Kitty, just lately pacified, burst into tears again. Mrs. Bennet sighed and beamed and called upon Lizzy to witness her sister’s good fortune. Lizzy got away as soon as she could and sought her father in his library.

“Papa,” she said, “do you think it is wise to let her go?”

He shrugged. “I shall have no peace if I do not.”

“Lydia does not know how to regulate herself, you know she does not. She will expose herself to the scorn of the whole city by her behaviour.”

“Colonel Forster is a sensible man; he will keep her out of any real mischief. And if she is to make a fool of herself, I think it is better that she does so at a distance from us, eh?”

Elizabeth was disappointed, though not surprised, by so cavalier an attitude in the man who ought to be Lydia’s protector and chief guide. “But my dear father, consider! I cannot help but remember how I found her with Mr. Wickham that time. He may have imposed on her in any way and she would have allowed it—nay, encouraged it! If she could behave so here, within your own house, how much more danger will she be in in such a place as Brighton, and with such company as Mrs. Forster!”

“As for that, do not worry—you know we have hardly seen Mr. Wickham since I spoke to him, and I will mention his name to Colonel Forster. Come, come, my love, I can see that you are anxious, but it will all be well. Lydia may be laughed at, but the officers will find many more worthy women to admire, and she is too poor to attract fortune hunters. Perhaps she will learn her own insignificance.”

With such paltry reassurance Elizabeth was forced to be satisfied. Her father was clearly not to be moved. As she rose to leave him, she noticed the daily paper which he had from London, lying discarded on a table. “Are you finished with this, Papa? May I see it?”

He smiled. “Are you anxious for some word of your grand London friends in the society columns, Lizzy? A bit of gossip about who has been seen with whom, or what Lady Such-and-such wore to the ball? You know your mother has not forgiven you for coming back unattached; perhaps you can dig up a prospect there. I daresay if you write to Jane, Bingley will undertake to bring him to Netherfield for you.”

Elizbeth made some reply, she hardly knew what, and fled with the paper. Her father’s jesting had fallen too close to the mark, for she did desire news of a London gentleman. She was searching every paper she could find for a mention of Mr. Darcy’s engagement to Miss Cornish. It could not be long now, she thought. If he had hesitated before on her account, that must be at an end; the other woman’s influence would have grown as her own shrunk, and since she had proven herself completely unworthy of his regard, there was nothing to keep him back from committing himself. How relieved he must be, to find himself with a woman of more elegance, better birth and fortune, and much less troublesome. Miss Cornish would never treat him the way she had, she felt sure. She must know what a prize she had acquired, and would not give it up easily, let alone cast it aside with contempt.

Of late Elizabeth had been reminded of the Proverb which she had once had to embroider on a sampler: “A wise woman builds her house, but a foolish woman tears it down with her own hands.” She had been used to think her mother was the perfect example of this rule, but now she knew she was.

Her father soon became so suspicious of her interest in his papers that she gave up searching them. Surely, if Mr. Darcy became engaged he would write to Charles, and Charles would tell Jane, and Jane would tell her. It seemed as inevitable as the onset of winter.

~*~

The weeks passed. Lydia went off to Brighton with the regiment, leaning half-way out the window to wave at them all the way down the lane. Kitty moped until Lizzy thought she could scarcely bear it. Jane and Bingley came back, and she both laughed and wept to see Jane’s waist thickening with the child she carried. The happiest of all couples was, if possible, even happier now, Jane’s beauty bursting into a full, radiant bloom, and Bingley’s amiability tempered by a new seriousness of purpose. Elizabeth felt almost blinded by their joy, and isolated by it, throwing, as it did, her own grief into sharper relief. Besides, there were memories of Mr. Darcy unavoidably attached to their company, particularly to Bingley’s, and also to Netherfield itself. Despite missing her sister, she found it difficult to visit them there, and did not go nearly so often as she would have otherwise. She had an uncomfortable habit of falling into abstracted reveries, and would suddenly become aware that she had been staring—at the piano, the garden, the gravel walk-way. One time she found herself standing at the top of the stairs, clutching the newel, her eyes fixed on the floor where her body had lain. She did not think of her pain now, but only the way his voice had sounded as he called her name, and the terrible whiteness of his face as he bent over her.

Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner had invited Elizabeth to visit the Lakes with them that summer. At first she had been delighted, but when they abridged the trip to a tour of Derbyshire, she begged off, and they invited Kitty instead. Kitty thought scenery much inferior to officers, but any place was preferable to Longbourn, and any travel must afford some certain excitement and delight, so she accepted, and it was not many weeks before she too was gone.

With Mary and Jane married, and Kitty and Lydia both away, Elizabeth found herself for the first time the only daughter of the house. The Gardiner’s four children had come to stay with them while their parents were away, along with their nurseymaids, and they filled up the silences and kept her busy playing with them, but it still seemed strange to be there without any of her sisters. Her mother’s interest in children who were not her own was slight, and with her two youngest gone, she was restless and discontent. The full force of both her affections and complaints were turned on Lizzy—all her frets and anxieties, her well-meant advice, her gossip and querulousness and marital ambitions now focused on her second-oldest. It did not take long for Lizzy’s walks to lengthen even more. When the children were occupied, when she could not bear to be at home and thought it too soon to visit Jane again—or when she could not bear to be at Netherfield and thought it too soon to return home—she wandered the countryside. Sometimes she walked to Meryton and shopped, or visited her Aunt Phillips, but most often she preferred her solitude.

Jane was not so absorbed in her life as to not notice this change in her sister. Elizabeth could see that she was worried, but there was little she had to tell her. Her feelings she knew Jane guessed, but she could not talk about them, or talk about him. What was there to say? She had ruined everything.




Chapter 13: Vanity, Vanity



By August, a flat, humid heat had settled over Hertfordshire. Elizabeth found it fitting. She had been forced to abbreviate her walks due to the discomfort of the weather, but it could not keep her inside completely. When she was inside, she kept herself busy, playing with her cousins, sewing shirts for her father and baby clothes for Jane, or working in the still-room. She tried to read, but no books held her interest. Some vague idea of reforming her ways led her to pack baskets for her father’s tenants with especial energy, and she often took one with her when she went out. The inhabitants of Longbourn village grew to know her step well, and she admittedly found much comfort in ministering to their simple needs, in talking to their children, and in seeing the cheerful courage with which they faced their difficulties.

When, one morning, she found the weather cooler than usual and moderately breezy, Elizabeth seized the opportunity to walk again. After leaving a basket of food with a family whose crops were doing poorly this year, she set off across the hills. Instead of bringing her a sense of peace, though, the silence brought on a familiar sense of melancholy. She had worked so hard, lately, to keep it at bay. There was no use in heedless, desperate grief, after all. Her tears would not bring Darcy back to her. But the fact was that, months after leaving London, she missed him more than she had in the beginning, longed for him more than she had in the beginning. The fact was that, even though she smiled and talked and chased the children and tried to behave as usual at home, she was still very miserable.

It all ended, inevitably, with her weeping into the grass. A last good cry , she told herself. One last indulgence of a broken heart before she set her face toward a future without Darcy in it. She did not intend to spend her life in endless regret, but here, outside, beneath the uncaring sky, she could surely allow herself to feel her loss one more time.

Later, having regained her composure, she wandered aimlessly, lost in thought, until she found herself emerging from the woods into a wide, open area, occupied at its centre with a pond. Despite her melancholy, she smiled. “Moore’s pond!”

She had not been to Moore’s pond in years. It was a long, shallow pond, with a small island in the centre, rimmed with reeds and clogged with moss. But there were fond memories attached to it: she and her sisters had come here often as children, and made up little boating excursions. She could still see them, in her minds eye—long-haired, laughing, sun-burnt girls, running about on the bank and paddling their boats in circles. Their old nurse, Mrs. Henson, had come with them, and sometimes their father, and even their mother a few times had sat on a blanket with her parasol and waved her handkerchief at them whenever they drifted by her. They were happy memories, some of the happiest she possessed.

The pond, of course, looked smaller now than it had then, and the old boat house had fallen into shambles, but there were still two old down-turned boats on the bank. Elizabeth went down and sat on the faded hull of one of them, gazing over the water to the grassy knoll in the centre. That had been the most favourite retreat of all for them, a picnic on that little island. Even when they got a bit older, she and Jane had come out here a few times, lain in the grass and watched the clouds and dreamed of handsome young husbands.

Driven by an irresistible impulse, Elizabeth stood up and walked around the small boat she had been sitting on. It still looked to be sound enough, if old. Leaning down, she slid her hands under its edge, gripped, and tried to lift it. It was not as heavy as she had feared; the wood had undoubtedly grown lighter as it aged. With a little grunting and determination, she succeeded in turning it over. The oars lay underneath it on the ground, and she put them both in the boat, and began the process of pulling and pushing it toward the water. The closer she got the further her shoes sank into the mud, so she paused, stripped off both shoes and stockings, and tied up her skirt a bit in a bid to keep it dry. Grinning for the first time that day, she laid hold of the boat and pushed it into the water. Cool mud squished between her toes, and then the water lapped over her feet and ankles as she guided it through the heaviest reeds before clambering aboard.

This, she thought, is what I need. The glassy, rippled surface of the water, the quiet lap at the shore, the distracting exertion of rowing—remembered and strange together—were really working wonders on her spirit. She felt peaceful out here, cheered by childhood memories, warmed in the sunshine, soothed by the breeze, removed from all her current troubles… until the boat began to leak.

It started so gradually she hardly noticed it. Her feet were already wet, after all, and she found it tricky to make the warped oars move the boat in the direction she wished to go, so she did not pay much attention to the damp beneath her toes until she moved a foot and it splashed. Only then did she perceive her danger, and her mistake. She would not sink yet, but the water seemed to flow in faster as she watched; it could not be too long before she was in danger of going down. Her original plan had been to row all the way around the pond, circling the island, then land on it and spend some time there before returning home. By the time she noticed the leak she was already around the back side of the island, and here the water was deeper, and the distance from the shore greater. The pond, when it did begin to end, tapered off gradually in a marshy area; there was no firm ground in quick reach but the island itself.

None of the Bennet girls had learned how to swim. Mrs. Bennet had not thought it a lady-like thing for her daughters, and they had no brothers who might teach them. Shallow though the pond was, Elizabeth rather thought it would be over her head. She had taken a tumble once, into the water, and had been rescued by her father’s groundskeeper. It was not an experience she was anxious to repeat, so she rowed grimly for the hillock.

A second leak seemed to spring up all a-sudden. The water went from around her feet to around her ankles alarmingly fast. The old boat was not turning well. She tried to row faster, but the metal rings for the oars were partially broken, and she had to be careful. The island was coming up quickly now, but so was the water level. “Oh, dear!” she cried, as the hem of her petticoat soaked through. This was not a good bank to try to draw up to; the slope was steep on this side, and slippery.

Elizabeth felt like she was abandoning a dying thing as she at last sprang out of the boat, into the water at the edge of the island. She was wet to her knees, muddy and sweating, gripping the long grass of the hill to steady herself, while the sad old rowboat subsided, half submerged, into the mud beside her.

She climbed up the side of the small hill, hands and feet together, and finally hauled herself over its crest onto the gentle down-slope. There was the field she had come through; there the old boat house, with one more bleached hull laid out beside it, and there—she could just make them out—were her shoes and stockings, where she had left them, not more than a half an hour ago. None of them were more than twenty yards from where she sat, but they might as well have been on the other side of Hertfordshire, for all her ability to reach them just then.

Elizabeth lay back in the grass and laughed. What else was she to do? It was absurd really, completely absurd to be stuck here, marooned by a childish whim on the smallest island imaginable, all shreds of her dignity gone with her chance of dinner.

“Oh vanity, vanity,” she murmured, throwing an arm across her eyes, “how often have you been my undoing!”

She was not particularly concerned about herself. She knew eventually her father must send out search parties for her. She was afraid he would be dreadfully worried, but the worry would soon prove to be groundless. Perhaps, if she was lucky, some farmer or a tenant’s child would come wandering by, and she could call out to them to fetch help. In any case, help would come at last, if she was patient.

It was a warm day, but there was a fine breeze blowing across the pond, and she began to shiver a little in her wet skirts. Sitting up, she tucked her feet under her. It was important to keep a watch out, she thought—but as the minutes passed without sight of anyone, and the exhaustion of her earlier bout with grief set in, she slumped and lay back again. Clouds drifted across her field of vision; inevitably, her thoughts turned back to matters of greater import.

The force of her earlier heartbreak had gradually worn itself out. She felt calm now, peaceful even, and if the occasional tear seeped out the corner of her eye, she paid it no mind. She could accept her fate, knowing it was just. And surely she would see Mr. Darcy again some time. He would not avoid his friend forever. Jane meant to ask her to come live with them, she knew, which she would like to do, and there in her house she would meet the man she loved, and perhaps earn his forgiveness some day, if not his love. She was sure he would be too kind to refuse to be her friend entirely, and where there was friendship, there might at least be respect. “I could be happy with respect,” she told herself, even as she knew it was not true.

Having thus settled on a bearable, if rather dreary, vision of the future, Elizabeth lapsed into a kind of mindless abstraction, blessedly free from particular thoughts. She watched the clouds, and then the waterfowl. She sometimes scanned the tree line for movement, or strained her ears for a searcher’s call, but more often followed the line of a ripple as it moved out from the source to the bank, or studied the heads on the grass stalks next to her. She wove a wild-looking wreath of heather, and crowned herself with it. Occasionally she stood up and walked the short distance up her hill and down it, and around as much of the island’s circumference as could be tread without falling into the water. She grew hungry, and tried not to think of the meal being prepared at home. Had they missed her yet? Were they even now searching for her? Exhaustion and boredom finally overcame her, and she burrowed herself into the heather and fell asleep.

~*~

Elizabeth woke with a start, and sat straight up. The sun had advanced far across the sky now; it would be growing dark in a couple of hours. She was dismayed to realise she had slept for so long. Had the search parties already come and gone, while she remained insensible? The air around her had cooled and she shivered more strongly, rubbing her arms.

For the first time, she eyed the expanse of water between her and the shore appraisingly. Was it really so deep as she feared? Perhaps swimming was easier than she thought. Had she not seen small boys doing it with apparent ease?

She stood up stiffly, and not far away a mother duck was startled into leaving, taking to the water with her ducklings behind her, all of them floating away so effortlessly that Elizabeth, again, could only laugh. “Fortunate creatures!” she cried. “Oh for ten minutes as a duckling!”

She thought of the half-mired boat on the other side of the hill and wondered if it might be possible to tear off enough planks to make a raft? Perhaps, if her oars had not drifted away, she might sit on it and paddle to shore? It was an amusing image, and she was just on the point of setting out to survey the wreckage, when the faint ring of a human voice carried across the water.

She caught her breath and paused, straining to hear. There it was again—yes, it was her name! Without thinking she jumped and waved her arms, shouting back with all her might. “Here!” she shouted. “I’m here, I’m here!”

Silence—had she been heard? At first she feared the search party would turn back, but then—oh, blessed sound!—her own name again, called in a strong voice, louder than before.

She cupped her hands around her mouth. “Yes! Yes, I am here!”

She still had not seen anyone, and waited anxiously until at last there was a stirring among the trees, and a single mounted figure emerged at the point where the tree line came closest to the pond. His outlines were vague from this distance, but instinctively she recognised him: it was Mr. Darcy.

Chapter 14: Not a Tidy Experience


Every possible emotion warred with disbelief as she watched him ride closer. How could it be possible that, of all men, Fitzwilliam Darcy rode out of the woods to her? He was in Derbyshire or London or any place else in England but here! Yet it was he, and as he called her name again Elizabeth suddenly became aware of herself—barefooted, filthy, hair falling down her back, in a ludicrous predicament. He had clearly not seen her yet, and for a wild moment she thought of hiding herself in the grass until he went away, but then her common sense asserted itself, and, taking all her humiliation in her hands, she called to him.

His head whipped around, and even at this distance she could see his look of relief when he finally spotted her. “Miss Bennet, thank God I found you!” he cried, as he wheeled his horse about. As he drew nearer, she could see just when he fully comprehended her situation. He came to a stop by the shore, glancing from it to her island and back again. “What are you doing there?” he finally called to her, over the water.

“There was a boat, but it sank!”

He looked at the narrow channel. “Could you not swim it?”

She sighed. “I don’t know how,” she shouted.

He appeared to accept that, and looked about until he spotted the other boat, lying upside-down by the shed. He dismounted. “I will come and get you,” he called.

“No, no!” Elizabeth waved her arms for emphasis. “You must not risk it! The first boat sank, this one might too!”

But he did not listen to her, in his usual stubborn fashion. Already he had tied his reins to the shed, and was stripping off his coat. Elizabeth felt a sudden, giddy rush of joy. He might not love her any more, but he was here! She had expected one of her father’s hired men to find her, but instead it had been the man she loved, and now he was coming to rescue her.

Darcy handled his boat with much more ease than she had hers. In only moments he had it to the water line; his only difficulty appeared to be that there was only one oar. The ring that held it was rusted through, though; one sharp kick with the heel of his fine boot and it broke.

Elizabeth watched him push the boat into the water and climb nimbly aboard. Having only the one oar made paddling awkward, but he started out well, with a few quick, strong strokes. The oar changed hands, and he did the same again on the other side, zig-zagging across the water. It would not take him long, at this rate. Standing a little above his level on the slope, Elizabeth watched anxiously, fearing at any moment to see him glance down at some inrush of water.

Smoothly the boat pulled up to the shore. Mr. Darcy sprang out. Unfortunately, his foot came down upon a rock, his ankle twisted, and he went down hard.

“Mr. Darcy!” Horrified, Elizabeth flew to his side.

“Miss Bennet!” He struggled to sit. “I am well.”

“No, you are not. Oh, your ankle! What have you done?” There was nothing much she could do other than flutter about his booted feet. “Or is it your foot that is injured? Oh dear, is it very bad?”

“Of course not. Your concern is exaggerated.” He tried to stand, and she went to take his arm, but he shook her off. “I am quite well, Miss Bennet. A small twist of the ankle, but I do not require the assistance of a woman to— aah !” This as he put his weight on his foot.

“See, I told you!” She knelt and drew his arm over her shoulder before he could stop her. “You must lean on me.”

She felt his whole form stiffen, and was suddenly embarrassed, but he needed her assistance, and so she stayed. There was a tense moment, then he shifted his weight, and together they got him to his feet. As soon as he had gained his balance he withdrew, and limped away.

“Are you sure you should be walking?” she called after him.

“Perfectly,” he answered over his shoulder. “It is better already. Your time would be much better spent attempting to retrieve—” His words trailed off as he turned his head and saw his boat. Lightened of Darcy’s weight, blown by a keen afternoon breeze, it had begun drifting away and now sat just beyond the point where Elizabeth might have been able to safely retrieve it.

“Oh dear,” said Elizabeth.

She got the impression that Darcy would like to have uttered something forceful and ungentlemanly, but all he said, after a pregnant silence, was, “Can you wade in to get it?”

She shook her head. “The water is too deep there.”

He sighed and turned away, limping on, as if determined to walk away all their difficulties.

“I am sorry.”

“It is not your fault.”

“Still, you would not be here if it were not for me, and my… sudden mania for boating.”

He gave her a sideways glance, smiling slightly. “A rather surprising choice for an afternoon’s amusement, it is true.”

“A disastrous one, anyway.” Her courage rose at this faint sign of encouragement, and she took a deep breath and pressed her hands together. “Mr. Darcy, since you are here, I cannot delay the apology you deserve. You may not wish to hear it, and I know that I do not deserve your forgiveness, but I must speak, to tell you how very sorry I am.”

He looked away again. “No apology is necessary.” Despite his words, his voice was constrained.

“Of course it is necessary! Mr. Darcy, the things I believed—the way I abused you so unjustly! I cannot think of it without shame!”

Finally he met her eyes. “It is a feeling I am not unfamiliar with,” he said.

The graciousness of the remark caught her off guard, and she fought back sudden tears. “It is not the same.”

“Is it not?” He smiled a little, twisted smile. “Perhaps you are right. Come, let us not talk of it. We should instead—”

His voice had stopped abruptly, and when she looked to him in confusion she found that he was, at long last, looking properly at her, but with the oddest expression. He almost appeared… amused.

“Oh,” she said, aware again of her appearance. She smoothed her gown self-consciously, “Nearly drowning is not a tidy experience, you know.”

His eyes moved to her feet and dwelt there a moment, before returning to her head. “It is not that,” he said, “though I am sorry you had to endure such an ordeal. But…”

“What is it?” She put her hands up with a sense of dread. “I know my hair is coming down, but I cannot help that.”

“Indeed; but—” He hesitated.

“Tell me at once.”

“But I cannot help but wonder how it is that heather came to be growing from your head?” He was now suppressing a genuine smile.

“Oh!” Belatedly she recalled the wreath she had made before she fell asleep, and began feeling for the purple-flowered stalks, and extracting them. Her face, already flushed, burned even brighter. “I have been here a long time,” she said sheepishly.

Darcy looked away again, but she could see that now it was to hide a desire to laugh, and that heartened her so much that she did not mind her embarrassment. “I am sorry,” he managed after a moment. “I can imagine how tedious it has been.”

“Very tedious! You will find out how tedious very shortly, I am afraid.” She was feeling over her head. “Is that all of them?”

“No, there is one—just there—” He hesitated, and moved forward to pluck the stalk from her hair. It tangled, and he had to use both hands for a moment.

“Thank you.”

“Yes; of course.” He cleared his throat.

At a loss at first, Elizabeth finally opted to sit on the ground, tucking her feet beneath her skirts, and looked to him to join her. He did after a moment, settling gingerly in the grass about three feet away. “Now comes the part where we wait, and think about our dinner, and look longingly at the shore.”

“Oh, our plight is not so dire.” He stretched his long legs out. “Unlike you, I can swim.”

“Not with your injury, surely!”

“I am not convinced I am really injured at all. I daresay a short rest is all my ankle needs.” His mien was positively cheerful now. “If it comes to it, I can definitely swim, but if we are lucky I will not even have to. The wind may blow that fickle vessel back to us, and if it does not, a search party will find us soon enough.”

Looking for the boat, Elizabeth found it nearly out of sight around the edge of the island. “It will join mine soon,” she said. “Wretched things.”

“How came you to be out in a boat by yourself in the first place?”

“A silly impulse. My sisters and I used to have boating parties down here when we were younger, and I suppose I was wishing to recapture some of that joy.” She saw his quick look. “I did not even notice it was taking on water until I was all the way around to the other side. It was all I could do to make it this far.”

“Then I thank God you succeeded.” He plucked at the grass beside him.

“Yes, but it would have been far better if I had never set out in the first place.”

The sun had fallen even lower in the sky now, lengthening shadows and striking off the water in almost blinding brightness. Elizabeth turned her head a little to look away from it, and found herself staring at Darcy’s horse, still cropping the grass peacefully where he had left it. “How came you to be here?” she asked suddenly. “I thought you were at Pemberley, or in London.”

“Bingley did not tell you he had invited me to Netherfield?”

“No.” Jane, I see your hand , thought Elizabeth.

“Oh. Well, he did.”

“And you came.” She turned to study his profile.

He looked a little uncomfortable. “He is my friend, after all.”

“Yes.” Feelings so strong she scarcely knew how to control them welled up, and she looked away. “That does not explain how you came to be searching for me, though. Had my father sent out search parties?”

“Well... that is to say, Mr. Bennet did not think it necessary at that time. He still expected you would return as usual. I am sure,” he added, “that he has acted differently by now.”

“Oh.” Elizabeth digested this. He had come looking for her on his own, even when her father had said there was no need. Her heart, already full of tenderness for him, grew even more so. She had injured him and slighted him, but still he came to her aid. “Thank you,” she whispered.

He looked at her. “You are welcome.”

This was something entirely new to her, to be sitting so near to him with the consciousness of her love. She found herself with all kinds of irrational and nearly overwhelming impulses—to take his arm, to kiss his hand, to lay her head on his shoulder and nestle into his embrace. Once, she knew, he would have welcomed such attentions, but that time was gone now. She had wasted his love, had not valued it, and so he had given it to another.

The thought was exquisitely painful, but as she sat there, feeling his nearness and loving him, Elizabeth told herself she must think of him now. She must be unselfish. “I—” she swallowed. “I have forgotten to ask you, Mr. Darcy, how is Miss Cornish?”

“Miss Cornish?” he seemed startled.

“Yes. Was she well, the last time you saw her?”

“She was very well. Miss Cornish,” he said slowly, “is not Miss Cornish any more. I thought you would have read it in the paper.”

“Read it in the—is Miss Cornish married?” Her heart tumbled over and over.

“Yes, more than a fortnight ago. I was not at the wedding, but I knew of it.” He was watching her closely. “I had always known of it, of her engagement, that is.”

“I don’t understand.” Elizabeth found it difficult to stay sitting in her agitation, and moved a little away from him and his too-potent presence. “I never heard of any engagement. The only thing I ever heard was that you —” she could not continue.

“It was a secret.” He had turned toward her, and began to speak more rapidly. “I know her husband, he is an old university friend of mine. He works as a diplomat, and they had only just become engaged when he was sent abroad on a mission of some delicacy. There was risk involved, and secrecy, and so it was decided that they should not announce the engagement until his return. In the mean time Miss Cornish was to come to town, and he asked me if I would look after her.”

“Look after her!”

“She did not then know anyone in society.”

“And no one can be introduced in London.”

He flushed a little. “She is shy.”

“Shy?” Elizabeth felt herself dangerously close to growing hysterical. Never would she have thought of the dignified Miss Cornish as shy.

“Yes,” he said defensively, “she reminded me of my sister, actually.”

That was too much. On the verge of both laughing and crying, unable to control her emotions any longer, she jumped to her feet and walked away.

He came after her, moving quickly despite the limp. “I swear I never heard the rumours. No one ever spoke to me of them directly, and any hints I received I dismissed. And really, they made much out of little. I never thought—”

“But you should have!” She rounded on him, some of her emotions finding vent in indignation. “You are a man of the world. You should have known that if you let yourself be seen frequently in company with a single woman of birth and beauty and fortune, everyone would think you were her suitor. And—why are you standing?”

“Yes, I should have.” He seemed stung. “But I was a fool, as usual, and as usual, I have paid for it.”

“You are a fool if you do not sit.”

He ignored this admonition. “I was careless, and I ought not to have been, but was the impression it gave you of my character really so bad, that you would believe me capable of seducing an innocent girl? Of base deceit and falseness to no less than four women at once?”

So he was still angry after all. “Of course not! I never even questioned your character until—”

“Until you heard a stranger’s gossip.”

“Not just gossip. The woman I spoke to gave me such details—”

“Details!” He dug his hands through his hair in frustration. “Details ought not to have mattered, if you had any understanding of my character, or any trust in me.”

“I did trust you, I did think I understood—oh! You were not there, you did not hear her. She described you—”

“She described my cousin!”

“Well, how was I to know you had a cousin? You never said one word to me about having a Darcy cousin! When she said Mr. Darcy, there was only one Mr. Darcy I knew!”

“And did you know me?” He stared intensely at her, and looked away. “I sought while in London to correct the bad impression I had made, to show you that I am a honourable man, and I thought I had succeeded, but perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps the disgust of our early acquaintance was too great to be overcome.”

This was very bad. All of Elizabeth’s protests died away as she saw him turn back to the place they had been sitting. His limp seemed more pronounced than it had been a minute ago. She felt ashamed of arguing with him, though it was because she did not want him to think she had been eager to believe him bad. Arguing was no way to show contrition, and no way to soothe the hurts she had given him; sitting there in the grass, he still looked proud and noble, but he also looked hurt, and sad.

She went to sit next to him. “Mr. Darcy, I ought not to defend my reasoning. It seemed unanswerable at the time, it is true, but clearly it was wrong. Clearly I was wrong. And you are right: in believing the worst of you, I betrayed our friendship. Nothing can ameliorate my wrongs. But I want you to know…” she swallowed, and her voice wavered a bit. “Believing those things… was very painful to me. It was nothing like at Netherfield; then, I was too indifferent to care much about like or dislike. It was nothing to me if your character was poor. But in London… in London you had become…” she took a breath, “my friend. I did believe in your goodness, I was confident of it, and when it seemed that all had been a lie, that you were not a good man at all, I… I was very unhappy.”

She ended by staring at her lap, rolling a head of grass in her fingers, unable to watch his reaction. It was the closest she dared come to a declaration of love, and it had cost her something to make it, but she hoped that, somehow, he would be comforted in the knowledge that she too had been miserable there at the end. Perhaps, too, he might feel some triumph, in knowing how far he had conquered her affections, even if his own had changed. He was as generous, she doubted not, as the most generous of his sex, but while he was mortal, there must be triumph.

“And now?” he asked her quietly.

“Now?” She was surprised into looking up. He seemed somehow closer than he had been, watching her steadily, and she could only answer him honestly. “Whatever my regrets have been these last months, it has been a great comfort to me in all of them to know that you are exactly the sort of man I wanted you to be.”

It was silent then. Still she rolled the spikelet, bristling with seeds, back and forth in her fingers, in time to the beating of her heart. Perhaps it was too late, and nothing she said would make any difference to him. She felt him shift beside her, saw him lean forward in the corner of her eye. She turned her head, and just as she met his gaze again, he dipped face toward hers. He moved quickly, his face suddenly filling her vision, and Elizabeth started back in surprise. It was only a reflex, done before she realised his intention or her own, but it was enough: the next moment, he had rolled away in the other direction and was climbing to his feet.

By the time Elizabeth had collected her scattered wits and realised what he had meant to do, he was walking away. “Mr. Darcy!” she cried. He would not look at her, limping his way determinedly up the hill. Everything about him spoke the deepest mortification, and she thought she heard him mutter the word “ fool! ”

Giddy now with joy, she jumped to her feet and rushed after him. “Mr. Darcy, please!” If possible, he turned even further away, moving higher on the hillside. She tried to catch his arm, but he pulled it free. “If you would just look at me—!” She darted around in front of him, tried to catch his eye, but he was too deeply chagrined, too hurt at what had appeared as yet another rejection, and kept turning his head. Finally, in desperation, she took the only action that seemed adequate to her feelings: she threw herself upon his chest, and clasped her arms around his neck.

Her timing was unfortunate. They were now high on the little hillside, right at its crest, and Mr. Darcy was not at all prepared, in body at least, to receive a muddy and excited young woman into his arms. Her weight threw him off balance, he staggered, his bad ankle buckled, and with a sharp cry of pain he went down, and she with him, down into the grass, and tumbled a few feet down the slope before coming to rest.

“Mr. Darcy! Oh heaven, what have I done?” Elizabeth untangled herself from his arms, and crawled over to his feet.

“Elizabeth—”

“How badly does it hurt?” His actual foot inaccessible, she touched his boot, running her hands over the leather. “Please say it isn’t broken!”

“Elizabeth, stop.”

“But your foot—”

“Hang my foot!” he said forcefully. She looked up. He grasped her wrist and pulled her, so that she fell against him. “You threw yourself in my arms. Why?”

There was only one possible reply. “Because I love you.”

He closed his eyes, and for a moment she wondered if he had passed out from pain or shock, but then the next he opened them, gave her one more deep look, and, pulling her closer still, made good on his earlier intentions. This time, she was very well prepared.

Chapter 15: A Little Disreputable


They remained at their current occupation for some time. Indeed, it seemed to Elizabeth that Darcy would have been content to remain as they were in the grass for hours. He no longer looked much like the formal gentleman she had spoken with in Netherfield’s refined parlours those months ago—he was rumpled, and grass-stained and (she knew) in some pain, but also so much happier.

She was quite entirely pleased herself, but the day was getting on, and one of them had to be sensible. She sat up. “Can you walk at all?”

“With your assistance, perhaps.” With a reluctant sigh, he sat up as well. “Swimming may present something of a challenge.”

“That is not to be thought of. We shall have to wait until a search party finds us. Surely my father has sent some by now.”

“Bingley set out to look for you the same time I did, though I think it was mainly to humor me. If the attitude of your family is anything to go by, my love, your affinity for long walks has become legendary.”

“That is true.” There would be time enough another day to tell him why she had wandered so far and long recently. “I must admit that I am not very sorry for it today, although I could wish that now—” Her sentence was cut off by the sound of Darcy’s laugh. It was a very pleasant sound; when she saw the reason he was laughing, she laughed too.

There by the edge of their island bobbed their little errant boat, blown back to them by the changing winds.

“Come, let me secure it.” Elizabeth ran down to the water, and waded in a foot or two until she could grasp its side, and pull it more firmly up onto the bank. “I think we will still be able to push it off from there,” she said as she returned, “if only we can get you to it.”

“As obstacles go, that seems a very minor one,” was his reply. “I have overcome some much more significant impediments lately.”

“I put too many before you,” said Elizabeth, sitting next to him. “It was not fair.”

Darcy took the opportunity to kiss her again, and smiled good-humouredly. “It was entirely fair. You are a woman worthy of being pleased.”

“I fear we will get into a quarrel if we continue this line of discussion: you will hardly admit I was wrong, and I will hardly admit to having ever been right. Our time will be better spent getting you back to Netherfield.”

“As you wish.” He put his arm around her shoulder, and together they got him to his feet. He leaned more heavily on her this time, and she could tell that even the slight weight he put on his foot caused him pain, but he uttered no complaint as they slowly hobbled back towards the boat. Getting him in was an awkward business, though he rowed them across with the same firm, graceful strokes as before. At the other bank there was more wading and staggering, and they nearly both ended in the water, but at last, with a sigh of relief, the reached his horse, still waiting peacefully by the shed.

Leaning on the saddle for support, Darcy again pulled grass from Elizabeth’s hair. “You’ve achieved a very disreputable appearance,” he told her.

Elizabeth laughed, and reach up to return the favour. “You are a little disreputable yourself, you know. I fear I have corrupted you.”

“You have only made me a better man! Elizabeth…” He had a light in his eyes that told her he was about to launch into a lover-like speech, but Elizabeth curtailed it by standing on her toes to kiss him. Afterward, she took her shoes and went down to the water to wash her feet and legs. She dared not turn her head to see how much of this he watched. When she finally returned he was fidgeting with the straps.

Elizabeth untied the reins, and Darcy was able to heave himself into the saddle without too much difficulty. He gave her his hand, she climbed up in front of him, and just as they were setting off, his one arm securely around her waist, Mr. Bingley and two of Mr. Bennet’s hired hands rode out of the trees.

Elizabeth heard Darcy chuckle behind her. He was pleased to have rescued her on his own, she thought.

“Darcy!” cried Bingley, then, “Lizzy! Good heavens, what happened?”

“I got myself stranded on that island over there,” she said, when they had gotten a little closer. “Mr. Darcy was kind enough to rescue me.”

“Stranded? Great Jove! However did you manage that? Lizzy, are you hurt? You must have been out there for hours.”

“Yes, but I am perfectly well.” She smiled brilliantly at him.

“Darcy, well done.” Bingley seemed to be gradually assessing the looks of the people in front of him, not to mention the possessive way Darcy gripped Elizabeth’s waist. A slow smile began to spread across his face. “You are the hero of the day, it seems.”

“Yes he is.” Elizabeth smirked a bit, too happy to be embarrassed. “But he injured himself in the process. His ankle is sprained, if not worse.”

“It is nothing of consequence. We ought to get Miss Bennet home.”

“By all means!” Bingley led the way with a smirk of his own. “We are only glad to find you unharmed, Lizzy.”

They made their way back at an undemanding pace. By the time they arrived it was dark, and Elizabeth’s family at last really alarmed. Her father had set out some time ago with other men. Mr. Bennet’s old hunting horn was brought out and sounded to signal her safety, while her mother, Jane, the four children, Mrs. Hill and her friend Charlotte all came rushing out of the house.

“Oh Lizzy, Lizzy, where have you been?” cried Mrs. Bennet. “I made sure you were lying dead in a ditch somewhere.”

Bingley helped her down, and she was borne away, able only to glance over her shoulder at the man who still sat on his horse, watching her. He was turning his mount’s head as they went in the door.

Over the next hour, as Elizabeth was fed, washed and changed, she heard the story of that afternoon first from young Meg Gardiner, and then from Charlotte, who had been visiting with her mother at the time. “Aunt Bennet let me stay in the drawing room when everyone came,” said Meg. “First Lady Lucas and Miss Lucas and Miss Maria, and then Jane and Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy came. Everyone else was talking, but Mr. Darcy kept looking at the door, and I think he must have been looking for you, Lizzy, because then Jane asked how long you had been gone, and nobody knew of course, and he sat up and looked so fierce, Lizzy!”

“He was very concerned,” said Jane, who had stayed behind to assure herself of her sister’s well being.

“He broke right into the middle of Aunt Bennet’s speech, and demanded to know when was the last time anyone had seen you! And Aunt Bennet said she had not seen you since breakfast, and you were supposed to bring her a receipt from Aunt Phillips’s cook and had not, then Uncle Bennet said you were always gadding-about these days and would come home like Little Bo Peep’s sheep when you were ready, and—” she paused to take a breath. “And then Mr. Darcy just walked out of the room!”

“He did talk to Jane first,” explained Charlotte later, after Meg had been sent away. “To find out where your favourite haunts were. But his exit was rather abrupt—one moment he was there, the next we heard him calling for his coat in the hall. Mr. Bingley decided to go with him, and that was it. Mr. Darcy must be in love with you, Eliza; I am sure there was no reason for him to be so worried otherwise.”

“We are all grateful to Mr. Darcy,” put in Jane.

“Even Jane thought you were perfectly safe.”

Jane blushed. “It is true. It is only because you have come to spend so many hours outside lately, dearest.”

“Yes, I have.” Her sister’s embarrassment amused Lizzy. “I believe I have always come home before dinner, though. Tell me, if I had been lying injured in a ditch, how many days would it take for my family to come looking for me on their own? Two? Three? Do you suppose my absence from church on Sunday would be remarked?”

“Lizzy!” Jane laughed and blushed some more. “Of course, by the time dinner drew near and you had not returned—nor Mr. Darcy either—we all became very concerned then.”

“So you are saying that even without Mr. Darcy, there was a fair chance that you would not have simply discovered my skeleton on that island one day? Because I can quite see it—your children, or grandchildren, perhaps! on a boating trip, never imagining the grisly discovery awaiting them.”

Suddenly reverting to their childhood, Jane hit her sister with a pillow. Elizabeth laughed, defended herself, returned the gesture. Charlotte rolled her eyes in an older-sister-like way, and resumed her narrative. “Mr. Bingley returned eventually and said he had not seen you, but Mr. Darcy we never saw again. My mother wondered if he had fallen down some hole with you.”

“He had, in a sense.”

“I think that your father had really become worried before then, but he did not like to admit it, or perhaps he thought the men would find you. But when Mrs. Bennet grew distressed too, he declared that he would join the search; so he called his men, and they set off in one direction, while Mr. Bingley went back out in another direction with two others, and since my mother did not like to leave yours, and I wished to remain too, we all sat and waited until Mr. Darcy brought you back.”

“And we are so thankful you are unharmed,” said Jane.

“It is a bit mortifying not to be injured, after such fuss. I feel I ought to have at least a good limp, but that, alas, has fallen to Mr. Darcy.” Elizabeth could not help the smile that crossed her face whenever she said his name. She felt Jane’s eyes on her, and tried to appear unaffected, but only blushed instead.

“However did he come to injure himself after all?” Her sister pried delicately.

“Jumping out of the boat, when he first reached me. There was an unevenness in the ground that was covered by the grass.”

“How long were the two of you on the island together?” asked Charlotte slyly. Lizzy blushed harder.

“It was not more than an hour, I am sure. Not much more, anyway.”

“Oh, no, not much more at all.” Charlotte’s eyes twinkled.

“Charlotte! Really, we were not there so very long.”

“Of course not.” Her friend was laughing now, and even Jane could not suppress her smiles. Elizabeth began to laugh too.

“It is not as if we remained by choice!”

“Yes, because your boat floated away , I remember. ”

“Well, it did!”

“And then conveniently floated back,” contributed Jane.

“Very conveniently,” agreed Charlotte.

She laughed, shook her head, and refused to rise to their baits further. Although she intended to tell Jane everything as soon as possible, Charlotte would have to wait until after Mr. Bennet’s official approval. Soon enough, Charlotte took her leave, and Jane talked of doing the same, but lingered long enough to hug her sister again.

“I am so happy you are safe, Lizzy. If you had been hurt! I would never have forgiven myself.”

“As if you had anything to do with it!” Lizzy hugged her back fondly, and looked down at her swollen belly. “How is baby today?”

Jane placed her hand where her child was. “Oh, well! Very well! Moving a lot. But, Lizzy…” She hesitated.

“Yes?”

“Forgive me if I am intruding, but you seem so very happy this evening. Did anything… did Mr. Darcy…?”

“Mr. Darcy and I reached an understanding,” said Elizabeth. Jane looked hopeful, but uncertain, and she laughed. “Yes, Jane, that kind of understanding.”

“Oh! I am so very glad.” Jane hugged her again. “I knew you loved him.”

“I do! I love him more than I can even explain. He is far too good for me.”

“Or perhaps the only man who is good enough. My dearest wish is for you to be happy.”

“You would not say that if you knew everything. Oh, Jane, I have been...” The maid knocked on her door, to say that Mr. Bingley was wanting his wife, so there was no time to speak more. “It is a happiness I do not deserve.”

“That is how I felt too, when Charles proposed. You will come tomorrow?”

“Of course!” They shared one last, radiant look, and Jane went downstairs.

~*~

Later that evening, as Elizabeth was preparing for bed, a note arrived for her from Netherfield. Mrs. Hill brought it up the stairs herself, and paused to tell the young miss how glad she was of her safety.

Elizabeth opened it, and when she saw the signature, blushed and smiled.

My dearest Elizabeth — I could not go to my rest tonight without sending you some word. The surgeon has been here, and confirmed the lack of serious injury to my ankle. As I suspected, it is only a sprain. I should be as well as ever in a few weeks, nor can I regret the necessity to remain at Netherfield for the present.

My happiness, I hope you know, is more than I can express at this time. It is my intention to write to your father tomorrow and ask him to call, as I cannot go to him; the sooner we may have everything settled and open, the more satisfied I will be. I hope you will please come yourself as soon as may be, as I long to see you. I have been too long without your company to be satisfied with one afternoon, however much happiness it brought me.

If you will, send me some word before you retire so that I may know whether you have suffered any ill effects from your day. Again I find I must tell you how very ardently I love you. Your very devoted,

Fitzwilliam Darcy

Elizabeth traced the signature tenderly. She had never seen his Christian name written in his hand. How very ardently I love you. She felt she could remain awake all night rereading what he had written, but first she would send him the reply he desired.

Pulling a new sheet of paper towards her, she dipped her pen, thought a moment, and began to write.

My love [she felt very bold for addressing him so, but thought it would please him, which she meant to do] — Surely you know me too well by now to suspect me of having a frail constitution. Whatever effects I may have from my day, they are not ill. I may, perhaps, admit to being sunburnt, but only if you agree not to mention it when you see me, which will certainly be tomorrow. I will make what excuses I can as soon as I can, and may even arrive at Netherfield earlier and muddier than I did on one previous occasion. My father, I think, will wish to visit you tomorrow anyway, to thank you for his daughter’s rescue, but I will speak to him about it before I leave.

Please believe your affection returned in the fullest measure. Your own,

Elizabeth

She scrutinised this note, sealed it, and took it downstairs herself to see it was sent off. Not long after she was in bed, but even as tired as her day in the sun had made her, it was some time before she dropped into sleep, Darcy’s letter lying by her pillow.

Chapter 16: At Every Approach


The next morning brought further evidence of Mr. Darcy’s desire to see Elizabeth, in the form of a carriage from Netherfield, which arrived for her immediately after breakfast. “The coachman says he will wait for you, until whatever time you are ready to depart,” relayed their butler.

“I am ready now.” Elizabeth went to put on her bonnet.

“What, so soon? Jane cannot want you so soon,” cried Mrs. Bennet. “I quite depended on you to help me trim Kitty’s new gown this morning.”

“I will help you later, Mama,” she laughed. “But I did promise, and besides, I must see how Mr. Darcy is, and tell him thank-you for rescuing me so gallantly.”

“Yes, I suppose that cannot be avoided.” Mrs. Bennet paused, and a certain thoughtful calculation came into her eyes. “Lizzy, I know you dislike Mr. Darcy, but he is very rich...”

“I do not dislike Mr. Darcy!” Elizabeth came back into the room in her distress. “Indeed, madam, you are mistaken. It—it is true that I did not always like him so well as I do now, but he and I became very good friends while I was in London, and now we have nothing but the sincerest regard for each other. Mr. Darcy is the best of men, and truly, he is very amiable.”

“Ah!” Her face cleared. “In that case, be off with you. Hurry, hurry now! You don’t want to keep Mr. Darcy waiting!”

At Netherfield Elizabeth found Darcy in an upstairs sitting room, with Jane and Bingley. His foot was elevated on a stool, but otherwise he looked very well, and he smiled as she entered. The Bingleys quickly found an excuse to leave, and they were alone.

As eager as she had been to see him, Elizabeth found that she did not quite know what she ought to do or say. Their adventure of yesterday had swept aside formality and proper comportment, but now they were in a sitting room, and she had shoes on, and they were engaged. In the end, she took refuge in civilities. “How is your injury?” she asked, and sat in the next chair over.

“Only a little uncomfortable.” He stretched his hand toward her, and she took it with a blush. “I confess, I have thought of it very little this morning.”

“I hope your distraction was a happy one.”

“You know it was.” He bent enough that he could raise her hand to his lips.

“I told Jane last night. I hope you do not mind.”

“I expected you would, and I do not have the smallest objection. It is my intention to make our understanding public as soon as possible.”

“My father says he will wait on you this afternoon.”

“I will of course speak to him then.”

He was still holding her hand, still inclining himself toward her, looking at her with those keen, dark eyes of his. She felt herself lost, in love, nearly suffocating from the strength of her feelings, and after the intimacy of yesterday, far too far away from him. To be near him seemed now the most necessary thing, and so she accomplished this by the simple act of moving herself from her current seat to one on his knee. Mr. Darcy, though at first surprised, made no objection to this arrangement, and there she stayed.

“You made me think you were in love with Miss Cornish,” she complained, some time later.

He smiled as tolerantly as if she had not made him think her indifferent for much longer. “My dearest, I was far too preoccupied with thoughts of you to consider such a thing. After all, I had told you I was in love with you, and my remaining in love certainly seemed evident to me.”

“It might have seemed evident to me too, had I not seen you in her company quite so often,” she retorted. “Even when you were with me, you were distracted. I was sure you were thinking of her.”

He kissed her again. “It was quite the reverse. Nor do I think I was in her company quite as often as you and rumour imagined. Your complaint is just, though. I was finding it difficult to be your friend at that time, and I believe I did sometimes agree to escort her merely as a way to avoid you .”

She frowned. “You did not want to be my friend?”

“Of course not. I wanted to be your husband.”

“Oh.” She blushed happily.

He shook his head. “I was not the only distracted one. There was a constraint in your manner, too, even then.”

“The constraint in my manner was Miss Cornish.”

“You were jealous?” He smiled.

“Madly,” she promised. “And besides, I did not know what to think. If you were courting her, what did that mean for me? For us? I had offered you friendship; perhaps that was all you were offering as well.”

“How could you not know that you had me in your power? Elizabeth, I lived for your smiles. Then they began to grow fewer, and when they stopped altogether, I felt utter despair. I was frantic to know what I had done, but you turned me away at every approach.”

Elizabeth felt correctly that such wrongs could not be repented enough, so she wound her arms around his neck, and kissed him, and murmured her penitence, and kissed him again, and murmured some more, until he stopped it all by a very proper kiss indeed. “I had intended to remain civil to you,” she said eventually. “But I could not. Every time I saw you I thought not only of everything I believed you had done, but of my own disappointment. I had finally learned to love you, only to find that the man I loved had never existed. To even be in the same room with you was painful.”

“Painful? It was agony!”

“And you were angry.”

“I was confused.”

“You had every right to be—confused and angry both. But that night, the night of that last ball, what made you decide to speak to me?”

“I felt I had nothing to lose, I suppose. I had heard you were leaving town, going out of my reach forever, as I thought, and then we met in the dance. I could not help myself—I could not let you leave without saying something to you, without making you say something to me.”

“And I was so cruel to you!” She hid her face in his cravat.

“As I was to you. I wanted to hurt you.”

“You had reason.”

“To hurt you? No indeed. I have already been responsible for far too much of your pain, Elizabeth.”

“Surely you are not thinking of that? That is all forgotten now.”

“Not by me. I will never forget it; I still shudder every time I pass those stairs.” He gripped her a little tighter.

She stroked his hair soothingly, and found she liked the activity. “It was not so very bad.”

“I beg your pardon, but it was the worst day of my life—worse even than that day in London. When first you landed on that cursed floor and lay so still, I thought I had murdered us both. And even after—to hear you groaning in your chamber as the surgeon set your bone.” True to his word, he shuddered.

“You remember it far better than I do. I am sorry it pains you to think of it, and you must promise me you will do everything in your power to forget it. In any case,” she smiled coaxingly, “we were discussing my sins, which, I confess, I hope you will also forget.” She smoothed her hands across his wide lapels and pretended to be arranging his cravat (which, however, she knew better than to disturb). She liked touching him, and liked watching the evident pleasure on his face when she did so. “What I ought to say is that if, in London, you had remained polite and gentle, I would not have told you anything. It was only when you became so angry, and then accused me, that I was provoked to explain myself. And when I found out the truth! Oh, you may believe that I was wretched indeed. Admit it: you must have hated me then.”

“Hate you! I was angry, but the real cause of my anger was that I saw your willingness to believe the story as proof that you did not love me.”

“And now I am rebuked indeed,” she sighed. “I did love you, but I did not know how much until I believed I had lost you. When I met Mrs. Jarling that night, when she told me the story of her niece, and did it so unsuspiciously, I felt—I knew that she must be speaking of some other man, but the longer she spoke and the more description she gave, the harder it seemed to deny it. I even wrote to my sister Mary, trying to discover if there really was an understanding between you and your cousin, and her reply confirmed it. When combined with what I thought was your courtship of Miss Cornish…”

“The evidence was against me, I do not deny it.”

“And yet, I should not have believed it. Not until it had been confirmed past any possibility of denial. It seemed impossible, at the time, to speak of it to anyone, and I told myself that I kept silent for your sake, or for Bingley’s sake, but I have long come to believe it was cowardice.”

“Cowardice? I can hardly believe my fearless Elizabeth would ever be guilty of that.”

“And yet I was, for if I had been braver, if I had had more faith in you or more conviction of rightness, I might have found a way to the truth. I might have done both of us more justice.”

Darcy only smiled and kissed her, but she thought she saw a certain satisfaction in his look. It meant a great deal to her, that he approved the lessons she had learned. Then he shifted in his seat, and she thought to move herself, for his comfort. He let her go only after a last caress.

Back in her own chair, Elizabeth found her embarrassment returning. It was easy when she was near him, but she hardly knew how to sit here, like it was a formal call. Casting about for some occupation, she saw that Jane had left some embroidery out, and took it up. When she glanced up, though, she found Darcy watching her with absorbed interest, and that discomposed her into talking again.

“I have been wondering—why did you come back to Netherfield?”

“For you, of course.”

“That is not what I meant. You said yourself you had despaired of my love. Why would you come here, yet again, after the humiliation I had subjected you to?”

“Ah, well, I believe we have your sister to thank for that.”

“Jane?”

“She is an inestimable woman.”

“I agree. But what did she say to you?”

“Nothing directly, but I am fairly certain she had the dictation of Bingley’s letter, which was written in such a way as to make me believe I still had hope where you were concerned. It was also, I might add, uncommonly free of blots.”

Elizabeth laughed. “That sounds like Jane. She knew, of course, that I loved you.”

He hesitated. “I came back, Elizabeth, still hurt, but ready and eager to forgive. Your accusations were wrong, founded on mistaken premises, but acted on in the sincerity of righteous indignation. I could not blame you for that. And I loved you too much to allow any opportunity for reconciliation to pass. Bingley’s letter intimated that your grief had gone beyond what mere regret might be expected—”

“It had.”

“And so I came, fearful and hopeful, and unable to stay away.”

Elizabeth shook head, with a small smile. “You are really are much too good for me, you know.”

“That I cannot agree with. What sort of man would I be if not for you? One still locked in heedless pride, unable to see the real truth about myself. But—I want you to promise me that you will never conceal anything like this from me again. We all cannot help but conceal some minor thing about ourselves, perhaps, but if there is matter concerning me, and my conduct now or in the past, that concerns you, you must ask me.”

She put the sewing down. “Of course! Of course I will, but not because I doubt you. I know you could never do anything truly dishonourable.”

“But still, I wish you would ask me immediately, rather than wait and let doubts grow.”

“I promise I will.” She reached her hand to him, he took it, and then it was up for another kiss, and back to her seat. She resumed her sewing, but with many fond glances exchanged between the lovers.

Presently, something occurred to her. “Oh!”

“What is it?”

“I have just remembered something I ought to ask you about—since you wish me to.”

“Some other rumour of my depravity?”

“Well—yes.”

His brows rose; clearly he was surprised. “I had no idea my reputation was so bad.”

“No, of course not. It was not in London, but Meryton. It was Mr. Wickham.”

“Mr. Wickham!”

“Yes. You met him at Jane’s wedding, remember? He had a commission in the militia here.”

“I remember,” he said grimly. “What nonsense did he put in your ear?”

“I only know the rumours. They said he claimed to be your father’s godson, and that Mr. Darcy had desired in his will that he receive a certain living on your estate, but when the time came, you denied it to him out of jealousy for your father’s affection.”

“I remember what your opinion of me was then; I can well imagine his story seemed credible.”

“It might have, if I had not caught him in the shrubbery with my sister,” she said drily.

“Your sister!” He leaned forward in concern. “Elizabeth, was she harmed?”

“Oh, no! But it gave me no very high opinion of him either. I heard the rumours, but did not care to determine who might be in the right. Now, of course, I know it was you. You would never deny any man his just due.”

“Thank you. And you are correct: I did give him his just due, in the form of three thousand pounds, which he himself asked for in lieu of his claim to the living. That did not prevent him from seeking it when it came open, however; I believe he had already spent his inheritance, and was in pressing debt.”

“He spent three thousand pounds? In how much time?”

“Three years. Also an additional thousand pounds left him in my father’s will.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “I am glad he left town with the regiment.” Looking up a few minutes later, she saw that Darcy still seemed abstracted and brooding. “Is it Mr. Wickham’s debts that disturb you?”

He shook his head, and his brooding look cleared. “No. There is another matter connected with him that I will tell you about some day, but not today.” He held out his hand. “Today I wish only to be happy.”

Feeling herself excellently qualified to assist him in that, Elizabeth returned his gesture, and was soon ensconced on his lap again, where she remained until Jane came softly knocking, to tell them that Mr. Bennet had arrived to see Mr. Darcy.

~*~

Mr. Bennet was very surprised, upon visiting Mr. Darcy, to receive an application for his daughter’s hand. He consented, however, and once Elizabeth assured him of her happiness and sincere affection, grew quite complacent about it. Mrs. Bennet received the news with both more joy and agitation, and Elizabeth could only be thankful that Darcy’s injury kept him safely at Netherfield, so that he could not hear her raptures. Her mother’s dislike of such a son-in-law was not so inviolable, after all.

Jane and Bingley, of course, were only too delighted with the match. Darcy wrote to his sister, who sent back many pages of congratulations, and letters were dutifully dispatched to Kent and Brighton with the news. Now Elizabeth was at Netherfield every day, and with such lenient chaperones, the couple never lacked for time alone, despite Darcy’s forced inactivity. Elizabeth enjoyed fussing over him, fixing his tea and fetching small items, even reading aloud to him, often while perched on the arm of his chair.

“Oh my word,” said Bingley disgustedly, when he came across them like this one day. “You’ve injured your ankle, not your eyes, Darcy.”

Darcy waved him away. “Mind your own business, Bingley.” He turned his eyes back to Elizabeth’s profile, and Bingley walked away laughing.

What was certain was that he endured the period of his recovery with much more complacency than he would have otherwise.

Upon making an ardent application to her brother, Miss Darcy was soon allowed to journey to Netherfield with her companion, Mrs. Annesley. Both women made happy additions to the household, and Elizabeth embraced her new sister whole-heartedly. Georgiana was a dear, sweet, shy girl, who adored her older brother. She and Elizabeth had become friends in London, and now she blossomed under Jane’s kindness and Elizabeth’s warmth. Mr. Bennet’s wit at first astonished her, and Mrs. Bennet made her look confused, but she soon became accustomed to them, and Mrs. Bennet paid her so much respect, and Mr. Bennet so little mind, that she grew quite comfortable in their presence.

By this time Darcy was walking again, admitting to only the occasional twinge if he remained on his feet too long. Wedding dates were being talked of, but Elizabeth expressed a wish to wait until both Lydia and Kitty returned from their summers away. She felt neither would care very much if she married while they were gone, but marriage meant Pemberley, and while she was eager to see it, she could not reconcile herself to moving so far away without first seeing her sisters again.

Chapter 17: This Young Gallant


One morning at Longbourn, Mrs. Bennet let out a shriek and came running into the parlour. She had a letter in her hand. “Oh, Mr. Bennet!” she cried. “Mr. Bennet! I have had a letter from Lydia!”

“There seems nothing remarkable about that,” he said.

“Oh, but Mr. Bennet, only think! She writes that she is engaged!”

“Engaged!” Everyone looked at her in astonishment.

“She is engaged to a young captain in the militia, Captain James Turley! Oh, Mrs. Lydia Turley, how well that sounds! She says he proposed to her in a garden, next to a statue of the Regent—how romantic!—and that he is vastly handsome. Mr. Bennet, we shall have four daughters married, four daughters!”

“I hesitate to contradict you, Mrs. Bennet, but as Lydia is underage and I have not given my consent, she is not engaged.” Mr. Bennet rose, looking unusually stern, and held out his hand. “May I have that, please.”

She gave it up, with a huff. “How can you be so vexing? You know you will consent. How could you not consent? A handsome young captain for our Lydia? I daresay he has a fine fortune to go with his commission!”

Mr. Bennet perused the letter with a frown. Next to Elizabeth, Darcy stirred. “Perhaps I ought to leave you,” he murmured.

“No, please don’t.” She clasped his hand. “Stay with me.” He relaxed back into his seat, returning her grip.

“I wonder, did you perhaps observe this passage?” Mr. Bennet directed his wife’s attention to a certain portion of the page.

“Yes, and I was excessively shocked, but how fortunate that dear Captain Turley should come along just then. No wonder they fell in love!”

“Hmm.” Mr. Bennet looked sour, and left the room. Elizabeth and Darcy looked at each other as Mrs. Bennet returned to her excited exclamations. Elizabeth attempted to ask her about the captain, only to find that Lydia had apparently given no information of use about him, except that he was dashing and handsome and a very good dancer.

After about half an hour of quiet speculation between the two on the chaise, a footman came in to tell them that Mr. Bennet requested their presence in his study. By this time, Mrs. Bennet had gone to write Mrs. Gardiner about wedding clothes. They went dutifully, wondering what they would hear from him.

Mr. Bennet was sitting behind his desk, several papers spread around him. “Come in, Lizzy,” he said, “and you too, Mr. Darcy. You are soon to be a part of our family, so I thought you might as well hear it all.” They came in and sat down, looking at him inquiringly. “Upon examining my unopened correspondence, I found that I have, indeed, received a letter from this young captain of Lydia’s, as well as one from Colonel Forster. Both of them attempt to shed light on Lydia’s rather muddled account of how she first came to meet Turley.”

“What do you mean, Papa?”

“It would appear,” he said, drawing the words out with wry inflection, “that Captain Turley rescued our Lydia from the violent embrace of none other than that same fellow Wickham that you warned me about, Lizzy.”

“Wickham!” Darcy exclaimed.

“Papa, no! Did he harm her?”

“Evidently not, thanks to this young gallant. He appears to have played the role of the hero to admiration.” He frowned. “But to you alone will I say that I am quite suspicious of Lydia’s role in all this.”

“Why, what do you mean?”

“Well, Mr. Wickham evidently claims that Lydia—” he consulted a paper— “ lured him into the hall, cast herself into his arms, then began to struggle just as Captain Turley came walking by. ”

“Mr. Wickham is not a man to be trusted,” said Darcy. “I would give his account no credence at all.”

“No more would I, except that the timing of all this does seem rather too convenient, does it not?”

“The timing?”

“Oh, yes. I mean, how fortunate that he should come by at just that moment, when there had been no commotion to attract others’ notice before. And it was not, I understand, a particularly secluded spot; for a would-be ravisher, Mr. Wickham appears to choose his localities ill.”

“Papa!”

“You suspect your daughter… used Wickham?” Darcy’s expression was hard to read.

“I do not consider it impossible. If she admired Captain Turley, but had been unable to capture his attention? I would not put it past her. And since I had expressly warned her against seeking Wickham’s company, she might have thought him the ideal, er, dupe. I understand,” he consulted one of the letters again, “that Turley gave him quite the bloody nose.”

Darcy opened his mouth, and shut it again. “Did he indeed.”

Elizabeth looked anxiously at her betrothed to see how shocked he really was. He was shocked, but there was something else there in his face, something that was… oh, good. Amusement. “This is all speculation,” she said.

“Oh, yes, of course, of course.” Mr. Bennet did not sound convinced. “You must admit, though, that it seems more in character than Lydia refusing his advances.”

“Papa!”

“Perhaps,” said Darcy, recovering himself, “we might do better to consider the situation as it is now. You said Turley wrote to you?”

“He did.”

“Was his letter a sensible one?”

“Surprisingly, yes. I would not call it a model of erudition, but for a man actually desirious of marrying Lydia, he sounds remarkably sound of mind.”

At this point Elizabeth began to wish that her father would not make such a point of mocking his own daughter. There was little he could say on the subject of Lydia’s folly that she would not agree with, but for him to repeatedly harp on it, and in front of Darcy, mortified her. “What did Colonel Forster write?”

“Colonel Forster wrote his own explanation of Lydia’s encounter with Wickham, as well as to give me information on Turley. He assures me that Wickham has been dealt with—whatever that means—and that I might do worse in a son-in-law than this fellow. Here, I will read it to you.” He adjusted his spectacles and held the paper closer. “‘I have made inquiries and ascertained that he comes from a respectable family in Devon and that, though not wealthy, he is due to receive a modest inheritance upon his mother’s death, as he has no sisters. His colonel speaks well of him, as a man who fulfills his duties. He is a quiet fellow, but well liked by the men, and I must say that he seems much taken with Miss Lydia’s liveliness.‘ There you have it. A quiet fellow with modest prospects who does his duty. A match made in heaven, wouldn’t you say?”

Elizabeth wasn’t sure what to reply to that, when Darcy filled the silence. “He would not be the first man of quiet disposition to be capivated by a lively woman,” he said.

She broke into a brilliant smile, while Mr. Bennet laughed. “Bravo, Mr. Darcy,” he said. “Spoken like a proper lover. However, I must admit that I still fear for Captain Turley’s sanity.”

“But will you consent?” asked Elizabeth.

“I think I may ask him to pay me a visit here first. It does not seem too much to ask to meet a prospective son-in-law, does it?”

“I would never consider otherwise,” said Darcy. “And if I may suggest, Mr. Bennet, Miss Lydia is young for marriage. You could stipulate a long engagement.”

“But would she agree to it? I fear Lydia will never rest easy until she is married and can lord herself over her unmarried friends and sisters. I would never hear the end of it.”

“I think she would be content, if she were engaged,” ventured Elizabeth. “She would be able to boast about it as often as she wished to her friends. It is the idea of marriage that Lydia wants, Papa, not the reality of it.”

“A captaincy in the militia is not enough to support a wife on,” said Darcy. “They cannot marry now for that reason alone.”

“Yes, yes you are right.” He studied the captain’s letter again. “Yet I have the strongest feeling that I ought not to look a gift-horse in the mouth, as the saying goes, by making him wait for his wife.”

“If they are not well suited, it would be better that they discovered that before marriage. Papa, surely you will not let them marry soon!”

“Perhaps I may be of assistance,” said Darcy. “Tell them that if they are willing to wait to marry until Lydia is whatever age you consider proper, I may be able to help him to a commission in the regulars.”

While Elizabeth was not precisely certain how much commissions cost, she was very sure that this is was a generous offer. Unable to speak the love and gratitude that welled up inside her, she took his hand. His fingers tightened on hers, but he kept his gaze on her father. Mr. Bennet had displayed some surprise, but now looked only meditative.

“I can see, Mr. Darcy,” he said at last, “that you are the kind of man who is accustomed to getting his way. You make it impossible for me to refuse. However, I do reserve the right to negotatiate this wait with Captain Turley in person. I have a feeling he may prove to be more reasonable than my daughter.”

“And what will you write to Lydia?”

“Nothing. She did not bother herself to write to me, so I see no need to make a greater effort in return. Her mother, I am sure, will say more than enough for both of us. I will, however, write to Captain Turley, and request that he wait upon me here as soon as he may get leave to do so. Then we will see what kind of man has voluntarily decided to surrender his freedom for a lifetime of companionship with your silliest sister. I daresay I am almost as excited to meet him as I was to meet Mr. Collins.”

Mr. Bennet’s question was everyone’s question. What kind of man was this, who had offered for Lydia? He was brave enough to rescue her from Wickham—although who was the real victim seemed at question—and had spirit enough to knock him down. (“I almost begin to feel sorry for Wickham,” said Mr. Bennet once. “You need not,” answered Darcy.) He must be handsome, or else Lydia would not look at him. His letter seemed to indicate at least a moderately good understanding. His prospects seemed as good as most men to be found among the ranks of milita offers. No one but Mr. Bennet would say it, but everyone except Mrs. Bennet was thinking it: Why, then, did he want Lydia?

Two weeks later a carriage arrived from Brighton. It bore Lydia inside it, and Captain Turley rode alongside.

“Oh, la!” cried Lydia, as she alighted, her hand in his. “To think here is Longbourn, looking just the same as it did! How long it feels since I went away, and yet nothing changed but me! Oh, Lizzy, are you still here and not married? Perhaps we will marry first. You must admit,” at this as she took the fellow’s arm and brought him forward, “even though you did get yourself a rich husband, he is not near so handsome as my dear Turley!”

Captain Turley blushed, stammered, and bowed. Elizabeth looked at him in surprise. He was very handsome, in a youthful fashion, and did look smart and dashing in his militia officer’s uniform. He was also, it would appear, rather painfully shy. As he responded to Mrs. Bennet’s rapturous and Mr. Bennet’s laconic greetings, one reason for this became very clear: Captain Turley spoke with a distinct stammer. Anxiety had probably made it worse, but no one stuttered that much because of mere nerves; it must undoubtedly be a life-long condition. Yet Lydia did not seem to mind, and when Mrs. Bennet’s face grew slack with bewilderment, it was Lydia’s gushing enthusiasm that seemed to convince her there was nothing to be alarmed about. After a few moments, she recovered herself and went on as before.

“My C-Colonel gave me l-leave,” said Turley, when Mr. Bennet inquired whether he had deserted his regiment just for them.

“Of course he must have,” said Elizabeth, fearing that her father was going to have fun at his expense. “Should we go inside now, Mama?”

In the parlour was more of the same. Mrs. Bennet and Lydia talked around and at poor Captain Turley more than to him, and Mr. Bennet interposed the occasional question for no apparent reason other than to make the captain talk. Darcy’s delicacy had kept him at Netherfield during this first meeting, and Jane and Bingley had not arrived yet, so there was no one to assist Elizabeth—but she concluded after a few minutes that assistance was perhaps not needed. For all that Turley was nervous, he actually seemed to relax whenever Lydia spoke, and his blushes when she bragged on him were ones of pleasure as well as embarrassment.

The Bingleys arrived just as conversation was lagging, so there were more introductions, more blushes and halting conversation. At length, Mr. Bennet rose and invited the captain to join him in his study. Off they went together.

“Well!” said Lydia, slumping back in her seat. “It is very pleasant being home again, I must say, even though it shall not be for long! When does Kitty return?”

“The day after tomorrow,” said Elizabeth.

“Whatever did they find to do in Derbyshire for so many weeks? Are my cousins here?”

“They are upstairs, in our old nursery quarters. Mama said they must stay up there while our company are here.”

“Oh, Turley will not mind! He never minds anything. I daresay I shall go up and see them presently. How fat you look, Jane! I hope I never get so fat when I am with child! Lizzy, you must tell me when you and Mr. Darcy mean to marry, so that we may have our wedding first. I should like to say that I was married before two of my older sisters.”

“We have not decided yet, but with you and Kitty both home, it will probably be soon.”

“Or we could have a double wedding. I have never thought I would like to marry at the same time as someone else, but it could be very amusing, I dare say.”

“Lydia,” intervened Jane, “will you tell me more about Captain Turley? He seems very amiable.”

“Of course he is amiable! I would not like to marry a man who was not. I knew as soon as I saw him that I wanted to marry him. He was in full colours, and dancing with this plain, odious little creature named Sarah Hargrave, and she looked absurd next to him, because he is so handsome. He dances so well, you can’t think, and is never tired. We danced for hours one night. And that night he rescued me from Wickham, he says he knew too. It was love at first sight. He is utterly devoted to me, you know.”

“I hope you will be very happy,” said Bingley, into the silence.

“If only he could get a good commission, we would be. I think Mr. Darcy ought to buy him one, since he’s so rich, but Turley says I am not to speak of it—oh!” she laughed merrily. “I forgot. And I did promise. He will be angry when he hears, but he can never stay angry with me for long. Oh, la! It is a fine thing to be in love, isn’t it Lizzy?”

Lizzy forced a smile. “I suppose it is,” she said, and changed the subject.

Some time later, she was walking through the passageway when Captain Turley came out of Mr. Bennet’s study. He looked overcome by some strong emotion, and as soon as he saw her, he came directly toward her and said, “Miss B-bennet, your father has t-told me what Mr. D-Darcy offered us. His k-kindness is b-beyond anything I can express. I h-hardly how to thank you for s-such a gift.”

“It was Mr. Darcy’s idea entirely,” she said. “He wished to make it possible for you to marry without distress.”

“P-please convey my d-deepest gratitude to him. I will forever b-be in his d-debt.”

“I suspect that if you will only treat Lydia well, and act as an honourable man, he will consider that debt well repaid.”

He bowed and, seeing Lydia appear behind her, hastened to speak to her. The two had a hushed conference, then, just as Lizzy was going up the stairs, Lydia broke out into violent protest. “Eighteen!” she cried. “What do you mean we have to wait until I am eighteen?” He began to speak, but she broke out again, “I think that is the most unjust thing I have ever heard! What right does he to have say when we may be married?” More low-voiced speech from Turley. “Well, why can’t he give you the captaincy now? Lizzy!” She spotted her sister on the stairs, and ran up to her. “Lizzy, tell Mr. Darcy to give Turley his captaincy now!” The intrepid captain followed her and took her arm. She shook him off. “No, she must tell him! I don’t want to wait until I am eighteen! I want to be married now!” She turned to run back down the steps to her father’s study. “Papa! Papa, you must tell Mr. Darcy that—”

Her wails were cut off at the door as Turley took her hand in his firmly, turned her around, and in a voice that hardly stuttered at all, required her to walk in the garden with him. “Oh, very well,” she said sulkily, and they disappeared down the passageway. Elizabeth was left astonished on the steps.

Bingley appeared at the parlour door, further down. “Lizzy? What is happening?” Moving to join him, Elizabeth described what had just passed. They looked at each other speculatively, but said little.

Half an hour later they were all in the sitting room when Lydia and Captain Turley came in. Lydia looked unwontedly subdued, but no longer sulky. She went directly to Elizabeth. “Well, Lizzy, even though I did want to be married first, I daresay I shall like it just as well at eighteen. I shall still be younger than you, or Jane, or even Mary were when you married. Turley says I am to thank Mr. Darcy for his offer, and indeed I am grateful, for I would not like to live off of what Turley makes now. Will you thank him for me?” She looked up when she had finished, across the room at her captain, and everyone saw the slight, approving nod he gave her.

Bingley jumped to his feet, and strode over with his hand held out. “Turley,” he said, “welcome to the family. We are delighted to have you!”

Chapter 18: The Way It Ought to Be


On a beautiful autumn day in October, Elizabeth Bennet and Fitzwilliam Darcy went to church and were married. It was a large wedding, what with both her family and his sister. Even the Collinses had come to town; it appeared that Lady Catherine was not at all pleased by her nephew’s marriage, and both Mary and Mr. Collins being guilty by association, they found it expedient to remove for a time from the Hunsford parsonage.

So Mr. Bennet, Mrs. Bennet, Lydia, Kitty, Mary and Mr. Collins, Jane and Mr. Bingley, and Georgiana all gathered in the old chapel to hear the service read by Mr. Hartley. Afterwards they signed the register, and left the church to the cheers of their friends and neighbours.

Elizabeth was very happy. She was happy, and she knew that Darcy was happy too. To think that it was not even a year since her days at Netherfield nursing Jane, and his ill-fated proposal! How much had changed; how much she had changed. Riding in an open carriage back to Longbourn, she looked at her husband’s profile. He was the handsomest man she had ever seen, and the best. Henceforth, he would be everything to her, and she to him. It was a pleasing prospect.

~*~

One week later, they were driving on a long, winding road between trees. “There is a break up ahead,” said Darcy, “and you can see the house from there.”

“And all of this is yours?”

“All of it,” he said, with pardonable pride.

Elizabeth was very quiet after that. They were sitting close in the carriage, with Darcy’s arm about her waist, both watching out the window.

Gradually, they began to climb. For about half a mile they ascended, and there, on the peak of the hill, the woods gave way as promised. A small valley stretched out below them, and on the opposite slope, Pemberley House.

Kitty and the Gardiners had toured Pemberley during their trip around Derbyshire, and Elizabeth had thought herself prepared by their descriptions. Now she discovered she was not. The beauty of the small, verdant valley, with its woods and its lawns and its broad, winding stream; the gravity and grandeur of the great stone house, were really beyond any description. She felt within moments of seeing them that she had never truly understood her husband before now, that here before her lay a key to unlocking his character which, had it been provided sooner, would have altered her mind faster than a whole season of dancing and calls.

“Can we get out?” she asked. Immediately he rapped on the ceiling, and the coachman pulled up. Without waiting, he unlatched the door, and helped her out. Together they walked a little ways, to nearly the edge of the eminence. Elizabeth looked, and looked, and looked.

At last Darcy stirred. “Mrs. Darcy?”

She smiled at him rather mistily. “Yes?”

“We have stood here for some time now, and you have yet to speak. Tell me, do you like it?”

“Like it? Oh, my dear,” she reached for his hand, “I feel like I am looking at you!”

~*~

Hunsford Parsonage
17 March, 1813

Dear Lizzy — I have been with Mary for a week, and it is perfectly awful. I do not know how she and Mr. Collins contrive to remain here all the year, as there is nothing to do but take tea with Lady Catherine and Miss de Bourgh. Lady Catherine is very dignified and very unpleasant, and I am sure she hates me—mostly because of you, of course. She talks all the time of the impertinence of people who wish to marry above their station. Miss de Bourgh is very small and thin, and almost never speaks. I feel sorry for her, for I think it would be dreadful to have a mother like Lady Catherine, and she has never been allowed to go anywhere or anything fun at all. She has never even been to a ball!

I do not know if you noticed, for you were getting married, but when we saw Mary and Mr. Collins in October, they did not seem to be getting on very well at all. It was like they were always fighting with each other when they made speeches, and their speeches were awful. I could hardly bear to be in the same room with them—I almost didn’t agree to come because of it. Well, at least I can say that Mary seems happier now. The baby has made such a change in her, you can’t imagine, and she spends less time talking about virtue and more time talking about—well, pigs and carrots and candles, and all kinds of nonsensical things, but at least they are better than extracts. She cares for nothing but housekeeping now.

If Mary writes you that William is a beautiful baby, do not believe her. He looks just like Mr. Collins. Mr. Collins, of course, thinks he is perfect. He calls him his olive leaf, and the Greenest Branch of the Great Collins Tree. Mary calls him the Heir of Longbourn. I must admit, though, he is not fussy at all, and when he smiled for the first time only yesterday, it was at me. Mary says he was really smiling at her behind my shoulder, but I know better. I am prettier than Mary, so of course he smiled at me. Do not tell Jane and Charles, but I think I might like him better than Janet, who cries all the time. Your affectionate sister,

Kitty

~*~

Netherfield Park
4 June, 1813

My dearest Lizzy — We have only just arrived home from London to find the most significant news waiting for us: Mr. Morris has found a purchaser for the lease. They are to take possession as soon as we are able to remove ourselves, so that by the time we come to you next month we will be quite homeless. Charles assures me we will have no difficulty finding a good estate in your area of the country, and as that is the dearest wish of both our hearts, we cannot be very sorry to leave Netherfield, however happy we have been here. We will bring Kitty with us when we come, of course. When last I spoke to her she pretended she did not care, but I could see that she is really very excited at the prospect of different society than she has here. She is certain to be happy at Pemberley.

I am so glad that I am to be with you during your confinement. You will see, my dearest sister, how motherhood makes all your joys increase and abound! You have always laughed at me when I have spoken of it, but when your time comes, you will feel all I do, and perhaps even more.
…

Since writing the above to you, Lizzy, we have been at Longbourn. We found Capt. Turley come to visit Lydia, and he brought his commander with him, Col. Morrow. The colonel had very kindly wished to come with him, in order to personally commend him to my father, and because he wished to meet the family he was to marry into. He seemed a very sensible man, and was especially kind to Lydia. Lydia and the Cpt., I am glad to tell you, seem as attached as ever. I really think her manner is growing softer when he is by. While we were there, the Lucases also came in, and—Lizzy, I am not certain whether I ought to tell you this, but Charles says I should, because he thinks the same as I do. Lizzy, it really seemed that Col. Morrow took a great liking to our dear Charlotte. They spoke together for a long time, and before he left I heard him ask Lady Lucas if he could call on them next time he was in town. You will wonder what appearance he has: He is about five and thirty, I should think, quite tall, thin, but with a good figure. Although I cannot call him handsome, he has a good countenance, like a man of sense and humor. Everything I observed of him was favourable. As for Charlotte, she did not say a great deal after he left, even when Lydia assured her that he was not married, but I think she liked him very well herself. Perhaps she will tell you more when she writes to you.

My father wishes me to tell you that he misses you, and that he intends to appear at Pemberley again, but only when you least expect him. My mother also sent many messages, which I will tell you in person when I see you. She is glad now, I think, that Lydia is not to be married yet, and takes much comfort in her company when Kitty is gone. This is all I have time for now. I will write you again soon—with my dearest love,

Jane Bingley

~*~

—shire
21 April, 1814

My dear Eliza — I must thank you for your kind invitation, but I do not think my husband will have leave enough to travel to Derbyshire any time soon. We have now settled into our house here at —ton, and he is hopeful that his regiment will be stationed here for some months. We were in our last house for so short a time that I did not have opportunity to think of it as home, but already I have began to feel at ease here. I find I enjoy housekeeping very much, and since I got married I have often thanked my mother for her foresight in teaching us to cook. The Col. is particularly fond of mince pies, which as you know I can make very well.

You asked me to write and tell you how Capt. Turley was getting on. He is conscientious in his duties, but Thomas says he can perceive that the fellow’s heart is not in it any more, as he is looking forward to his marriage in a few months, and the captaincy in the regulars which Mr. Darcy has promised to procure for him. He went through a despondent spell a few months ago—I believe you know the cause. According to Maria, however, Lydia has become quite altered since, and no longer flirts with the local boys at all, so I suppose that is proof that she really does love him.

You must give your son kisses from me. How he must have grown since I last saw him! Yours affectionately,

Char. Morrow

~*~

Longbourn
10 July, 1814

Dearest Lizzy — I have been engaged so long, I can hardly believe that I am at last to be married. To think that neither Janet nor Charles nor Edward even existed, when I met James! It has been a very long two years, and I often thought Papa quite cruel, and Darcy too, but now I am so happy that I can forgive you all. I do wish more of you would be at my wedding, but I know that Derbyshire was too far, especially as we shall be away immediately. Mama thinks you are increasing again, but I know it is because of Kitty and her curate. Gracious, to think of Kitty as a clergyman’s wife! It is fortunate that Darcy has so many livings he can bestow, or they would be very poor. James says he is now the whole family’s patron, and I suppose he is right. How fortunate it is that you married him!

James has come in while I was writing, and he wants me to tell you again how pleased he is with his new commission. It is just what he would have wanted, and he is determined to act so well in it that Mr. Darcy will never have cause to regret using his money or name to get it for us. I can see your face now, Lizzy—you will tell me that I do not deserve him, and I know you are right—but you did once tell me that you did not deserve Mr. Darcy either, so perhaps that is the way it ought to be. Farewell for now! I am to be married tomorrow.

Yours, etc,

Lydia Bennet (for today)

~*~

“Will you play for me tonight?”

“Well I suppose I must, since you request it. What would you like to hear?”

“The same as usual.”

“What, that old song? Will you ever be tired of it?”

“Not likely.”

“I know why you like it so much. You like it because every time you hear it you see me as I was, that pretty, impertinent girl you fell in love with, singing for you at Netherfield. You proposed to me because of that song, did you not?”

“I will not deny your singing affected me.”

“Affected you? Pfft. I remember how you looked at me. If I was too ignorant to understand it then, I am not now. I daresay you would never have proposed at all, if I had refused to sing that night.”

“Your memory misinforms you: I already looked at you that way. I look at you that way now. It was never about the song; it was always the singer.”

“Well, flattery is never wasted on me, Mr. Darcy, as you well know. Still, if that be the case, I see no call for me to keep crooning the same old air to you. Perhaps I ought to try one of these more modern tunes.”

“You will do as you like, but I still prefer the old. As you say, it carries pleasant memories with it.”

“So you admit it! You admit that you like it because it reminds you of the way I used to be, in all my youthful charms, before marriage and babies and time had their effect!”

“ Elizabeth .” Sitting by her, he caressed her face. “You sang it once as a girl, before either of us knew the other very well, and my feelings and your prettiness were everything you say they were, but you have sung it many times as my wife. You sang it to me the first night I brought you to Pemberley, do you remember?” She blushed and nodded. “You crooned it as a lullaby to our children. You have played it on every instrument in this house, and you have sung it, for me, through every season of life we have had. Those are the memories I speak of.”

“Oh, my dear love.” She set her hand along the planes of his cheek. “Whatever did I ever do to deserve you?”

His deepest smile appeared, with the slight dimples at the very corners. “According one very good authority, nothing but be exceptionally teasing.”

She began to laugh. “Very true. I am sure it was nothing more than that.”

“Of course it was more than that.” He caught her hand. “Elizabeth!”

“Fitzwilliam!”

“Should you like to ride out with the children in the morning?”

“Oh, in the morning? Of course. Shall we make it a picnic?”

“If you like.”

“The weather should be very good. I will ask cook for a basket; she baked those tarts you liked so well again today. Can we take the boats?”

“Yes, but only—”

“I know. Do not sink.”

“I was going to say fall in, but that as well.”

“Tsk, tsk, when have I ever fallen in? Do not answer that!”

“Believe me, I was not going to. The years have taught me that much wisdom, at least. Did you happen to visit Mrs. Markson today?”

She shook her head, and answered him, and they spoke of tenants and children, and plans for dinner on the morrow, and then she sang her song, and they went upstairs, arm in arm.