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Part XXII
Lady Catherine de Bourgh was a woman with a strong sense of social obligation, and it could never be said of her that she behaved in a manner that she considered unbefitting. In the present circumstance, she had arrived at the Bingley's at the advanced hour she considered suitable for making an appearance, and it behooved her likewise to make an early exit, if only to establish the privilege of rank, and to make it amply clear that her late arrival had not simply been contingent upon the sort of vagaries of travel which are indecently indifferent to superior birth and breeding. Her leaving perhaps facilitated somewhat the discussion of the remarkable fact of her arrival, although it is safe to say that her presence had not seriously discouraged this line of conversation. Perhaps the only person who seriously regretted her departure was her considerate hostess, Miss Bingley, who had quite enjoyed the distinction of her presence, if not the actual blessing of her company, with which she had not in any case been overly burdened. But if Lady Catherine's presence had been instrumental in lending the event greater social distinction, it did not in any case contribute to its conviviality. Although the supper was excellent, and the musicians lively, the order of the day was gossip, and the Bingleys' guests were quick to realise that the subject under consideration might best be pursued the following day over morning visits, preferably with people who were not present tonight. Notwithstanding their appreciation of Bingley's hospitality, most guests were eager to take their leave not long after Lady Catherine had bid her host adieu, and even the Darcys, as the guests of honour, did not feel the need to stay for more than a half an hour after. Mrs. Bennet, unable to appreciate the alacrity of her companions since her own principal confidantes, her sister Phillips, Lady Lucas and Mrs. Long, were in any case removed from her, was indignant that her second daughter should remove herself at such an hour, but being more concerned with the fate of her eldest, she did not protest vigourously, and Elizabeth, her husband, and his sister, were allowed to remove themselves in peace. For this Elizabeth was thankful, for though she had not spoken to her husband since his aunt's arrival, she was not so imperceptive as to realise from his demeanour that her husband was not entirely satisfied with the progression of events, and to have had to subject him to the raucous entreaties of her mother would have been needlessly provoking.
Georgiana too had observed her brother's discontentment, and in her quiet way she wondered if somehow she couldn't improve matters. The situation just now had been difficult for her as well. Georgiana of course knew something of the complications that had prevented her aunt from making an appearance at her brother's wedding, but her initial reaction on seeing Lady Catherine today had been to think that all such awkwardness had been forgotten. The conversation she had had with her aunt (or rather, the monologue to which she had attempted to contribute a few halting interruptions) had established that although her aunt had not rejected Elizabeth's overtures, she was very far from considering her a niece. Her brother, she knew, could hardly have been satisfied with such a partial capitulation, and she began to wonder if this might not be an issue of some contention between the newlyweds. If this in fact did prove to be the case, she was determined, despite her own dislike of confrontations, to intercede between them. From her vantage point it was clear that each had acted to protect the other, but that each was stubborn enough to protest the action without appreciating the motive.
The short journey back to the Darcy townhouse was made in silence, and though this was not seldom the case, given the temperament of brother and sister, Georgiana wondered whether she were fanciful to imagine that their present disinclination for conversation had another altogether more eerie quality. The silence persisted as they dismounted the carriage and entered the house. Handing his hat and overcoat to the butler, Darcy headed towards his study in quick steps, leaving Elizabeth and Georgiana to look searchingly at each other.
"Elizabeth..."
"Don't worry, dearest. I'll go talk to him at once."
Sending Georgiana upstairs to her room, Elizabeth went after her husband, deliberating as to what she would say. That he was dissatisfied with the present outcome was obvious, and unsurprising, for she had hardly expected him to be altogether contented with her having acted expressly against his wishes without so much as informing him of her intentions. But for the first time it occurred to her that he had been protecting her honour, and not his own pride, in having acted as he had. Truth be told, she had hardly expected her overtures towards Lady Catherine to be so immediately fruitful, and that they were told her that her husband probably knew that he could have brokered a similar peace quite easily without his wife's interference. That he had resisted had been because he had sought something more than the grudging acceptance that had now been granted, and had chosen rather to sever himself entirely from that part of his family than to brook even a veiled insult to his wife. Knowing as she did how he valued his heritage, and his family, she could easily imagine what the severance had cost him, and it pained her to know that it was through her that his sacrifice was brought to nothing.
He was in the small library adjoining the study, which led her to imagine that he expected her to join him, and did not absolutely shun it, and clutching this hope she entered the room. He had poured himself a drink and was seated in one of the armchairs, but he was not even pretending to read. When she entered his eyes were full upon her, and he continued to watch her as she took the seat towards which he motioned.
"Fitzwilliam..."
She paused, feeling the full weight of his attention, and knowing that all apologies and explanations fell to her.
"Fitzwilliam, I'm sorry. It wasn't my place to have interfered."
"No, you don't need to apologize for that. If this was what you wanted then I cannot think of anyone who had a better right to interfere. Your interference accomplished what I obviously was not able to do for you, and I congratulate you."
She looked away, trying to conceal her hurt at his scathing manner.
"I didn't expect her to come today, but really, don't you think that your aunt should have had an invitation?"
"You didn't think she would come? Elizabeth, this isn't about her comings and goings, it's about us. When were you planning to tell me that you were writing to her?"
"I don't know. I just thought someone ought to try..."
"And since I obviously failed you, who better to take up the gauntlet?"
"Fitzwilliam, that is not what I meant and you know it. Why does everything have to bend to your will and your honour? Can't you see that I was only trying to help?"
This time she made no attempt to mask her emotions. Without waiting for a reply, she rushed from the room, and made her way up to her own bed-chamber.
He remained there, watching the door for he knew not how long after she left it. He knew he ought to go after her, but he didn't know what to say. He could see exactly what she had been thinking. Having been the cause of the rift between him and his aunt, she had very naturally wanted to make amends between them. He could hardly blame her for not knowing what his aunt was - not knowing that she would like nothing better than a properly humbled and submissive niece on whom to impose her wishes. The stance he had taken against his aunt had been long overdue: for too long the lady had been allowed to imagine that her nephews and nieces, and even her own daughter, were simply agents to carry through her every plan to fruition. But having once quarreled with her, and having established once and for all that Elizabeth, not Anne, would be his wife, he could hardly say that he was unhappy that the olive branch had been forthcoming. And yet, it rankled. Despite what he had said he hardly doubted that she had acted more for his sake than for her own, and yet it would have hurt him less had her anxiety been entirely selfish if only she had confided in him. And that was the nub of it. Having lived for a month in what he had hitherto considered the most absolute domestic felicity he could not now be contented to know that in all this time his wife had been nursing concerns that she had not seen fit to share with him.
A gentle knock at the door roused him, and he looked up to see his sister, Georgiana, peering in.
"Come in, dear. I thought you would be in bed already. What did you think of your first ball?"
"Fitzwilliam, did you just send Elizabeth away? She's crying."
"Did she go to you?"
"No, she went straight to her room. You'd better go talk to her, Fitzwilliam. There's nothing I can say that will make it better."
"I'm not sure if there's anything I could say."
"You can tell her that you love her, which is a great deal already. Surely you cannot hold it against her that she was only trying to help?"
"That is precisely what she said."
"And what are you going to say?"
"Georgie, this is between me and Elizabeth. I will go speak to her, and you will go to bed."
"I know, Fitzwilliam, it's none of my business. But I only want you to be happy."
"We are happy. I will go talk to her, and there will be an end to it. And perhaps you shall have your chance to spend the spring by the marvelous chimney-piece at Rosings after all!"
They laughed, and rose together, making their way upstairs. At the head of the stairs, Georgiana wished her brother good night, and returned to her own room. Darcy paused for a minute, and knocked on the door to his wife's bed-chamber. He could not quite make out her muffled response, but entered regardless. She had obviously been crying, as Georgiana had said, and as he himself had suspected, but she had taken some pains to conceal this fact, and was trying to maintain an impassive front. She looked up at him expectantly, and he sat down on the bed beside her, and took her little hand in his.
"Look, I'm sorry about what I said earlier. It doesn't matter to me in the least what Aunt Catherine thinks, but if I'd known that it meant anything to you then I would have done something about it. It's just that, well, I wish you could have told me that this was bothering you at all."
She did not say anything, and he could see that she was not yet ready to apologize again. He could hardly blame her for it, having mocked her previous attempt, and he chastised himself mentally for having said anything in the least accusatory. He tried again, this time lighting on an unrelated subject that he had long been intending to bring up with her.
"I thought your sister Jane looked remarkably well this evening."
"And I suppose you will say next that your friend seemed remarkably attentive."
"Yes, well, that is hardly remarkable. He is in love with her."
She looked at him, surprise evident in all her features at the frank admission.
"He has been for some time now. It was never his intention to remove from Netherfield at all. I might as well tell you that it is all my doing. Miss Bingley had her own reasons for furthering the same end, but it was to me that Bingley actually looked for guidance. I believed at the time that your sister was indifferent to him. I have lately had cause to question that judgment. Your sister has been quite out of spirits every time I've seen her in the last several months. And tonight, well, she fairly glowed in his presence. If they are truly attached, it would not do to keep them apart."
"And who were you to decide? Even if you felt that my sister was indifferent, would it not have been a better plan to allow Mr. Bingley to try his luck, and then help him overcome his disappointment as best he could?"
"You... that is... I did not expect him to be refused, Elizabeth. I did not wish to see him in a marriage where all the affection was on his side. It is what I fear above all things."
"You felt that my sister would have no qualms in accepting a man to whom she was indifferent? I wonder at your having had no such qualms in your own case!"
"Come, Elizabeth, you know that is absurd! It is just that, well, your sister is not particularly demonstrative of her affections, and your mother was only too explicit about her ambitions. I admit I was mistaken."
But Elizabeth was past all reasoning.
"I should say you were mistaken! My sister has been heart-broken a full six month because of your officious intervention. You would have done better do have applied your much-vaunted discernment in your own case. She would never have accepted a proposal for any reason other than love."
"I don't pretend to understand your meaning, Elizabeth."
"Why, you have said it yourself. How could any daughter of my mother's have refused the proposals of man with ten thousand a year? How much time did you spend analyzing symptoms of particular regard? Or did you suppose that the charms of a man who could not propose marriage without making it evident that any alliance would be a degradation were as irresistible as the lure of his pocket-book?"
Darcy stood up, looking bewildered, and a look of pain and astonishment flashed across his eyes. His complexion became pale with anger, and the disturbance of his mind was visible in every feature. He was struggling for the appearance of composure, and would not open his lips till he believed himself to have attained it. Elizabeth, who was only now beginning to realize what she had uttered after many weeks of watching her words, found the pause dreadful. At length, he spoke, in a voice of forced calmness.
"I suppose I ought to thank you for disillusioning me. You are quite right in supposing that I had imagined that matters stood quite otherwise. There is one small point I find I must press you on. If my proposals were so very offensive, did it never occur to you to let me know of your objections any earlier? We have been married some time now."
This last was delivered in a sardonic accent, making it amply clear that he would not in any case have considered such a confession on her part before they were irrevocably bound together. Elizabeth, who had begun to feel something very like regret at her thoughtless words, was once again incensed.
"Perhaps it was foolish of me to base an expectation of marital felicity on a declaration I neither expected nor welcomed. But I cannot imagine what your expectations were based on. It cannot have been my feelings, for if you had been at all considerate of them you could never have proposed in such a manner. I do not believe it ever occurred to you to think of anyone but yourself."
"You have said quite enough, madam. I comprehend your feelings perfectly, and now have only to be ashamed of what my own have been."
And with these words he hastily left the room.
The tumult of her mind was now painfully great. She knew not how to support herself, and from actual weakness lay down and cried for half an hour.
Part XXIII
Entering his own bedchamber, Darcy collapsed on the bed, holding his head in his hands. The events of the past half-hour still defied comprehension. Was it possible? Could he be a creature so repugnant to the woman he held dear above all else? Could Elizabeth, in whose every feature he had seen honesty, have been dissembling for so long? Had there been no feeling in her looks, in her words and caresses? Could he have been taken in by the artful coquetry of a husband-chaser?
Anger welled up in him that she could have spoken thus of him. That she should have accused him of having treated her unfeelingly, when in fact it had been for her alone that he had thought and planned these many months now. How could she resent him for denigrating her family? Though she had never voiced it openly, had she not, in her excuses and her mortification, made a similar criticism? And had he not made it perfectly clear that these were matters to which he was perfectly indifferent? As for the charge of ruining her sister's happiness, had he not spoken only out of concern that her happiness ought not be compromised?
But even as he continued to rationalize his actions, he realized that the affair was capable of a turn which rendered his conduct infamous. Elizabeth had been misguided in her accusations, but they were not entirely unfounded. She had called his behaviour ungentlemanlike, and he saw now that in the early stages of their acquaintance, he had used her ill indeed. It was a miracle that she had ever accepted a man who had treated her thus. But surely he had not been so callous since then. Surely she had seen how high a value he placed on her regard? He had defied family, fashion, and convention in choosing her.... Only now did it dawn upon him how galling it must have been to a woman of her spirit to be constantly reminded of his shallow sacrifice. And certainly the reminder had been present, if not in his words then in his actions and his very manner. Her mother had responded to these hints with a sickening servility; Elizabeth had been hurt, but had never spoken a word.
As the first wave of his anger waned, Darcy was conscious of an enveloping melancholy and regret. Regret that he had been so selfish in his love, that he had not realized that he was indebted to her for his happiness while forcing her to acknowledge that she was dependent on him for her finances, her social status, and even her identity. But mostly he regretted that she, who was so ably equipped to be his teacher, had not spoken earlier, before the rift between them had widened to this extent, before he had betrayed how entirely he had misunderstood both himself and her. Had she but spoken sooner he must have seen the error of his ways and mended them. Had she spoken sooner these weeks of what he had considered perfect marital felicity might have engendered real understanding and trust. Had she spoken much sooner, his suit would have been rejected. He would have had to live with the agony of seeing the error of his ways without the slightest hope of ever being able to gain her good-will. In all probability she would never have come into his life again. As it was, he had at least the satisfaction of knowing that she would always be a part of his life, and that in time she might learn to forgive him.
But how was this to be accomplished? He could not approach her again after he had left her so unceremoniously, As he recalled what he had said, he shuddered. He had confirmed her poor opinion of him in every particular. And what could he now say that would inspire her esteem? It had never occurred to him to doubt her regard for him, but he realized now that he had never exercised himself to earn her regard, or even to deserve it. Her affection he had lately attempted to purchase by lavishing upon her his attentions and his gifts, but what reason could she have to esteem a man who had been so guarded with himself that his wife of more than a month should barely know him?
He started writing to her, as much to release his own pent-up emotions as to offer her some justification of himself. But as he reviewed what he wrote his grievances returned to him and he could not help but believe that whatever the faults on his side had been he had been used excessively ill by her. And it occurred to him then that what she had not understood in living with him as his wife she was unlikely to glean from words committed to paper half in anger. He looked over the sheets one more time before he committed them to the fire.
With sardonic humour he noted how low the fire burnt. Obviously, he had not been expected to occupy this room tonight. When the last shreds of paper crumbled into ash, he extinguished his candle, and made his way to bed, though sleep refused to come. He schooled himself not to turn in the direction of his wife's room.
Had he done so, he would have seen a crack of light under the door. He was not sleepless alone.
***
As Elizabeth's barrage of tears slowed and her weakness passed, she attempted to think rationally upon her confrontation with her husband. A part of her rejoiced that there was no longer any concealment, and that the pressure of playing a part had been lifted. But as she thought back over the past few months she realized that she had been playing no part that did not come utterly naturally to her, and that she had not been anything other than happy to be so doing. As her words came back to her, she felt increasingly remorseful. She had certainly never intended to brutally inform him that she had married him for no other reason than his wealth. And the words she had uttered in her desperation and rage were not even true. While Elizabeth was still unable to understand what had induced her to accept his proposal, she knew quite well why she had not broken the engagement, which she had certainly been inclined to do on more than one occasion. And it was not that she had been goaded into the marriage by the taunts of Miss Bingley and Lady Catherine, or even, as she had justified it to herself, to keep him from looking ridiculous after he had forsworn an important family connection for her sake. Almost from the beginning of their engagement he had surprised her with a warmth and an affection which she had been loath to reject, and which she now recognized had begotten a like feeling in herself. Indeed for some time now it had hardly occurred to her to wonder at her own feelings. She could not continue to allow him to feel thus rejected. He must know that even in spite of herself he had indeed grown extremely dear to her own heart.
Elizabeth reached in the drawer and located some stationary. She saw that the paper had been embossed with their initials entangled, and once again tears crept unbidden to her eyes. She held them back and set about composing her letter.
As she finished and waited for the ink to dry, the futility of her mission was driven home to her. Was it possible that a man so brutally rejected could still harbour any affection for her? His pride, always so strong, would soon conquer any tender feelings. And what had he said that she could rightfully hold against him? The low opinion in which he held her family saddened her, but it was no different from her opinion of them. That her connections should repulse him was also unsurprising; Elizabeth had long known that they were unlikely to tempt a gentleman. Towards her sister he had undoubtedly meant well; it was she who had just now decidedly demolished her chance of happiness. It was impossible that Darcy now be persuaded that a Bennet girl could marry for disinterested love. Elizabeth experienced a heightened sense of loss for the love she had so proudly spurned. She began now to comprehend that he was exactly the man who, in disposition and talents, answered all her wishes. It had been a union that was to the advantage of both; by her ease and liveliness, his mind had been softened, his manners improved; and from his judgment, information, and knowledge of the world, she had received benefit of greater importance. But no such happy marriage could now teach the admiring multitude what connubial felicity really was. Her rash declaration had turned it into an union of a different tendency. She was married to the only man she could ever love, but in one fell swoop she had transformed her marriage into a hollow sham. What right had she to hope for redemption?
With a sigh, she took the letter, and placed it carefully in the bureau. It was impossible that it would be sufficient to placate Darcy's pride. He would think it another move in the games of coquetry; that was the sort of woman he thought she was, one of Mr. Collins' elegant females. No, she could not give him this letter. Unless, unless she might know that forgiveness was forthcoming. But that was a vain hope. He was as generous, she doubted not, as the most generous of his sex, but while he was mortal, there could be no forgiveness for such a breach of trust as hers.
Elizabeth could not bring herself to extinguish her candle. For the first time in her life, she was afraid. Afraid that she would spend the remainder of her life alone, tiptoeing through hallways so as to not disturb her husband, who would despise her for evermore. And as long as the candle burnt, she would not allow herself to sleep, and bring herself closer to this inevitable reality.
Part XXIV
Despite a largely sleepless night, the morning saw Fitzwilliam Darcy rise early, as usual, and make his way to his club. This was a considerable deviation from his accustomed schedule of the last several weeks, Darcy having exhibited a marked preference for the company of his wife over that of his friends, but his staff were too well-trained to betray their astonishment. Nevertheless, he was well aware that his foray would excite comment in the servants' hall; he could hardly wonder at their expecting to find him otherwise occupied this, as on other mornings. But it could not be helped. To spend another moment in the house would have been insupportable. He cringed even to contemplate the agony of sharing the breakfast parlour with Elizabeth; the chasm between them now was far greater than that which he had once considered unbridgeable, that had caused him hours of agony, and that had caused him finally to tender a proposal set forth in mortifying terms to the woman he loved. In spite of all that she had said, she was still the woman he loved. The soul-searching of the night had left him as convinced of this as he had ever been.
It had also forced him to come to terms with many of her accusations. He could hardly deny that he had used her ill initially; at the Meryton assembly his comment had been prompted by what he could only explain as a boorish impulse, and his subsequent behaviour had stemmed from his wish to deny his attraction to her. But that she had failed to acknowledge any subsequent improvement, that she did not even admit the possibility of redemption was painful indeed. Had he not showed her, in word and deed, what she meant to him? He knew that he had tried at least to convey the depth of his emotion to her, and something inside him whispered that she had understood, that her smiles and caresses had not been born of a mercenary impulse, that words bandied in anger could not be allowed to stand between them when he had come to see the error of his ways. But no, she would not admit such a possibility; she could never think him worthy of her love.
His blood rose in a jealous rage as he stopped to consider a possibility that had never crossed his mind before. Was it possible that he had failed to win Elizabeth's heart because she had already bestowed it elsewhere? But in her limited circle, the four and twenty families that her mother had held up so proudly to him, had he ever perceived her to regard anyone with more than ordinary feeling? As he searched his recollection he honestly could not recall any such signs. He remembered watching her dance with many of the local gentlemen, and rewarding them with her smiles and her pert conversation. Indeed, this had contributed something towards provoking him to ask her himself at the Netherfield ball, where she would be hard-pressed to refuse him as she had earlier. But nowhere had he noticed in her any marks of particular favour, nor had he, to be perfectly honest, seen any of the gentlemen with the exception of her cousin the parson of Hunsford, regard her in a like fashion. Admittedly, this had allowed him to despise her society still further. How could they be so ignorant of the presence of such a creature among them?
Even with the arrival of the militia, when every girl for miles had fancied herself smitten by the red coats, Elizabeth had never been anything but uniformly friendly. He had, after all, seen her often among the officers. But unbidden, a recollection flashed through his mind, that of Elizabeth staunchly defending Wikham to him during their dances at the Netherfield ball. The subject had never been renewed between them, and he had long assumed that Elizabeth had learnt something of Wikham's true manner. But it occurred to him now that had that been the case, she would probably have acknowledged as much to him. It seemed more likely, especially after last night's revelations, that Elizabeth retained her sympathy for the one man in the world to whom without any exaggeration he could call an enemy.
For a moment he was tempted to turn back, and to lay before her the true facts behind his long acquaintance with that blackguard. But in truth, what could that possibly solve? He could not in conscience clear himself absolutely of the charges she had laid at his door. Nor could he deny that he was still smarting from her admission. The fact that he still loved her with every fibre of his being did nothing to prevent his disillusionment. She had admitted last night that given her opinion of him she had had no reason other than the most mercenary for accepting his proposals, but he wondered now why he had ever gone to her without a doubt of his refusal. He had been under the impression, to be sure, that Elizabeth's arch manner and pert replies were intentionally bewitching, but he had never denied that she was equally friendly with others. It had been a particular charm to him that she did not flatter him in any obvious manner. It was not then the case that he had intuited any especial regard. But he realized now that he had always carried with him the security of knowing that he would be making a proposal that would be impossible to refuse. The struggle, he had thought, was all on his side. Once he had decided to make his addresses, there was hardly a choice in the matter for her. And his security had rested firmly on Pemberley, the Darcy name, and his income. It was the only reason he had ever supposed any other woman would encourage him. Why, then, had he so readily assumed that in Elizabeth's case it would be any different: that she alone would see him for what he was? Perhaps it was not too unreasonable an expectation of the woman he loved, but it could not be an expectation that lent itself to any form of security. Burgeoning affections were always tenuous and fragile, and he had been too busy struggling with his own to have taken any particular care to recommend himself to her. His double surety now seemed like a laughable contradiction: to assume her acceptance implied that he was careless of her genuine regard.
But surely he was not so. Surely the last month would not have meant half so much to him had he thought that she did not love him as he did her. And though she had never spoken the words she had given him every reason to believe it was so. Every consideration he had shown her had been reciprocated many times over, and it had seemed to him that without even thinking about it Elizabeth had often deferred her own wishes to his pleasure and his sister's comfort. But perhaps she was so considerate of anyone in her sphere. He could hardly ever remember Elizabeth being deliberately unaccommodating. It was he who was the selfish creature.
Even now, he had to hope that he must someday be able to win Elizabeth's love. He would attempt to better himself for her sake, but there must be the hope of that reward. And yet, he could not continue to impose upon her. It was hardly likely that she would be very comfortable in his presence now, after her admission. Nor could he honestly say that he could be perfectly calm in her presence, for though he had begun to justify her feelings to himself, he was still hurt that she should have said such things. Perhaps it would be best to put some distance between them before they were equal to meeting again on neutral terms, and starting afresh. He would do what he could to hasten the process. Georgiana would once again be spending the summer at a seaside establishment. If Elizabeth were to accompany her, not only would Georgiana be safer from lurking fortune-hunters but they would also have the opportunity to further their friendship. Yes, he would plead that he had business in the North, and send them forth together. And perhaps, after a month or so, he might join them.
As Elizabeth awakened, the bustling noises alerted her to an unfamiliar presence in her chambers. The events of the last night came back to her as she struggled to open her tired eyes, and for a moment she allowed herself to hope that her husband might have forgiven her, and returned to her.
"Sorry, Ma'am, I didn't mean to awaken you, but I wondered if you might be needing me just yet."
"Sarah," she said, seeing her new maid. Elizabeth had not been not accustomed to having a personal attendant; at Longbourn, Hill had been the domestic who had filled this role for her and all her sisters, and Elizabeth was used to fending for herself for the most part. In her new status, of course, such a thing had been deemed unsuitable, and Elizabeth had interviewed several applicants, most of whom had appeared rather disdainful upon learning that Elizabeth had never engaged a maid, before Hill had mentioned that she had a niece who was looking to find a job. Elizabeth had been relieved to find someone with whom she would have to assume none of the false dignity she despised.
"What time is it?"
"A little past ten, Ma'am."
"Good heavens, Sarah, why did you not summon me earlier? You know that Miss Georgiana and I have several engagements this morning. What will she think if I am not ready to leave with her?"
"Pardon me, ma'am, but I did not think you would wish to rise early this morning."
Elizabeth coloured at the implication of her statement, wondering how much of last night's fiasco had filtered through to the servants' quarters. Then, as Sarah continued in her soft, hesitant manner, she began to feel a little silly. No matter what the servants might discuss below stairs, they would hardly betray their knowledge to her.
"You were out so late last night. Miss Darcy is only just waking up herself."
"I suppose you're right, Sarah. I hardly realized how late it was. Is... Has Mr. Darcy had breakfast yet?" she asked, not wanting to reveal that she had no idea where he would be.
"Yes, Ma'am. He rose early this morning and headed out for his club. He left word that he would be home in time for dinner."
Elizabeth nodded. She could not wonder at his choosing to stay out of the house until he could be sure that they would not be alone. Poor Georgiana, who had so eagerly looked forward to the happiness that the addition of a new sister would bring to her life, and who had already proved herself so devoted and so dear, would be unwittingly called upon to act as a buffer between them. With an effort she rose, and with Sarah's help, readied herself for the day.
She was just descending the stairs and to find her way to the breakfast parlour when she came upon Georgiana, who told her that she had been waiting upon the Bingleys, who had been with her this past half hour.
Part XXV
The greeting concluded, Elizabeth and Georgiana looked at each other, wondering whether they ought to comment on a rather conspicuous absentee. It was Miss Bingley, however, who took advantage of this particular lull in the conversation and raised the subject that was undoubtedly foremost in the minds of all present.
"I do not see Mr. Darcy, Eliza. I am excessively surprised, for I have known him always to be an early riser."
"You are quite right, Miss Bingley, but since Georgiana and I permitted myself the luxury of late hours, we find that he has undertaken an excursion to his club. I expect he will not be long." she responded, hoping that this answer would content that lady.
It was her brother-in-law who responded first.
"Trust Darcy to stick to business as usual. Singular!"
Mr. Bingley, appalled at Mr. Hurst's lack of delicacy, hastened to change the subject, and though his sister had had more to say, she was obliged to refrain from further comment. For some time he conversed laboriously with his hostess; with every moment Elizabeth grew more anxious for her husband's return, more persuaded that she had damaged their relationship irreparably, and more convinced that the shambles to which her marriage had disintegrated was apparent for all to see. Still she persevered, and they plodded through a series of unengaging subjects. Miss Bingley attempted frequently to turn the conversation in the direction of their unexpected visitor last night, but her brother was equally anxious to return to more neutral subjects. His bent of conversation turned often towards the subject of Elizabeth's family, and it was obvious, although he felt obliged to mention her parents and the Gardiners, that his mind was occupied principally by quite another Bennet. Finally, as the party was rising reluctantly to take their leave, the sound of the doorbell was heard, and the master of the house was announced soon after.
Though Darcy had found himself stifled inside the house, and had felt the inexorable urge to leave, the club proved to be no less confining. His acquaintances, who generally saw no cause to inflict their company upon him, today felt compelled to comment on the previous night's engagement, and his aunt's singular appearance in town. Those who did not speak to him on the subject glanced frequently in his direction, and it became increasingly obvious to him that it was not simply their wives who engaged in gossip on his domestic situation. He took his leave very shortly after his arrival, and had started walking almost aimlessly, but his feet had betrayed him, and soon he had found himself almost at his doorstep. He had intended to walk away once again, but he saw the Bingley carriage awaiting, and realized that Bingley's overly nice sense of delicacy had brought him here for a wholly unnecessary apology, which he would have to accept for his friend's peace of mind. Difficult as it would be to face Elizabeth, it had to be done, and it would not do for her to have to entertain them alone. Trapped in a loveless marriage, her predicament was bad enough without the likes of Miss Bingley spreading rumours of their estrangement. It was essential that a united front be maintained. Whatever Elizabeth's faults may have been, she was his wife, and the woman he loved, and he would not allow her position to be undermined. The likes of his Aunt Catherine or Miss Bingley would not be allowed to see anything other than confidence and affection in their relations to each other.
Elizabeth's surprise at his relatively early return was so great as to be almost visible, but Darcy appeared to be entirely unperturbed. He greeted the Bingleys and the Hursts cordially and Georgiana affectionately; he insisted that his guests remain for dinner, and in the not inconsiderable period before that meal was served, he played the part of a consummate host with greater ease than Elizabeth had ever noted in him before. Bingley's stammered apology he waved away graciously, representing the entire episode as a necessary if unpleasant concession to family unity, without not once referring to his wife's culpability. Miss Bingley's tendency to harp on about the unexpected honour too he was able to quell with polite observations on the other distinguished guests she had attracted. Without monopolizing the conversation he managed to make his presence felt, and he certainly never appeared aloof or indifferent. And when his wife recovered sufficiently to join in the conversation once more, he proved quite as skillful in the art of repartee as she had ever been, and if the company had thought to take pleasure in the skirmish of wits that had so often typified the conversation of Darcy and his bride, they were far from disappointed; each participant proved to be in fine form. Georgiana and Bingley were rather astonished at the change in Darcy's manner; they each attributed it to marital felicity and rejoiced for him. Miss Bingley could not be so content; the exchange seemed to dismiss all her hopes that Darcy had come to regret his choice of bride. The other person who was particularly troubled was Darcy's bride. With an insight that had been denied even to his sister and his closest friend, she noted that his present demeanor was no more than a carefully studied pose. The pride of the Darcys would not allow a further scandal than the choice of an unsuitable bride; the appearances of a happy marriage were to be maintained at any cost. Elizabeth's heart chilled at the thought. How much preferable to this display of gallantry and affection had been his anger last night! How she wished that they could have it out again, that she could convince him of how much he meant to her! That avenue was blocked forever; she was trapped now in this world of appearances. There was no possibility that he could ever believe her protestations of love; most likely, she had lost her place in his affections. And as she made these mortifying discoveries, Elizabeth could hope for no solace, or even any solitude to contemplate her sorry state; she was engaged in as fine a performance as had ever won her a compliment from Mr. Darcy, and if the effort she was compelled to invest was mistaken by her audience to be her customary liveliness, it is a fair testament to her abilities, for they cannot be described as strangers.
Dinner was a continuation of this trial; there was some respite in the segregation of the sexes after the meal, despite the unwelcome company of a certain lady, but when the gentlemen rejoined them the torment continued again. Mercifully, the party did not stay too long after dinner; their responsibilities as hosts the previous night had kept them up long after the Darcys had left, and were anxious for their rest. Their departure was a most welcome relief to Elizabeth, for there the performance ceased. After he had bid his guests farewell, Mr. Darcy turned to his sister, and discussed her plans for the summer. Georgiana enthusiastically told him of her choice of destination, and her brother readily assented without inquiring too far into the particulars. He mentioned also that her new sister would be joining her; he had business in the North which prevented him from taking her to Pemberley at present, and it would provide them with another opportunity to improve their acquaintance. Elizabeth's gloom deepened, as she realized that her fears were being confirmed; she was being exiled -- he could not even tolerate her presence. To Georgiana she professed her delight; her brother's eye she was unable to meet. With her assent given, it was a settled scheme. And so, before the Darcys retired for the night, it was determined that Georgiana and Elizabeth would spend the summer together at Brighton.
Part XXVI
This section was originally dedicated to Davidia, who suggested it. The song is a translation of the aria Elizabeth sings in P&P2, which I took way back when from one of the Deb's story Visits in the BoI archives (or the former DWG).
Malini.
Mumbling that he had business to attend to, Darcy reluctantly allowed Georgiana to draw him into the music room. He had been heading straight for the study after the evening meal, as had become his habit over these past few days. Today, however, his sister had waylaid him before he made good his escape. Georgiana, who spent a great deal of time alone with her new sister, whom she had come to call Lizzy, had newly she had noticed a listlessness that she had never before associated with her. Elizabeth had not confided in Georgiana, nor had Georgiana sought a confidence. But being privy to the initial cause of discord between them, she was inclined to lay the blame with her brother's stubbornness in refusing to forgive his wife for communicating with Lady Catherine. Georgiana had no way of suspecting what had really passed between them, but it seemed hardly likely to her that William was so grievously offended, and she concluded therefore that he was neglecting his wife out of sheer willfulness, being unwilling to make amends. It would have been too much of a liberty for her to speak to him about it, but she was determined to show him his error, for she was convinced that he could not long remain resistant if he were exposed to her company. His place was by Elizabeth's side, and to Georgiana, who was no card player, there could be no place more suitable for them to congregate together than the music room. She would admit no excuses, and since neither her brother nor his bride wanted to involve her in their quarrel, they had none to give. Elizabeth was stationed at the piano, William at a position suitable to observe her, and Georgiana, satisfied with her arrangements so far, went up to Elizabeth and gave her the sheets of music she had selected for tonight. If Elizabeth blushed slightly and glanced quickly across at her husband, Georgiana may be forgiven for neglecting to observe this; she had a great deal on her mind this night. Her brother's neglect is perhaps less easy to forgive, caused as it was by his schooled determination to avoid meeting his wife's eyes. Be that as it may, the opening bars of Elizabeth's melody caught him unawares, and his eyes instinctively searched for hers, foiling his intentions.
You ladies
Who know what love is,
See if it is
What I have in my heart.
Elizabeth looked up from the sheets before her and found her husband's eyes upon her. It had been some time since he had allowed her to bask in his gaze; indeed, it felt like an eternity. Had there ever been a time when she had resented his attentions? Perhaps all was not lost. Perhaps, in spite of everything, she still had some power over him. She met his eyes, refusing to release him from her thrall.
All that I feel
I will explain;
Since it is new to me,
I do not understand it.
Georgiana turned from Elizabeth to William, to reassure herself of the success of her scheme. Their eyes were locked on each other; it was a gaze that made her feel like an interloper. Surely this was what she had intended. And yet, she got a sense that there was very little intimacy in their eyes; the very intensity of the gaze was a challenge of sorts. Georgiana shook her head; there could be no estrangement. They were oblivious to her very presence; could there be any greater proof of their mutual attachment?
I have a feeling
Full of desire,
Which now is pleasure,
Now is torment.
I freeze, then I feel
My spirit all ablaze,
And the next moment
Turn again to ice.
I seek for a treasure
Outside of myself;
Darcy drew in his breath sharply, responding to the plaintive note in Elizabeth's voice. He had always enjoyed hearing her sing, but today, there was something more, an urgency which had never been there before. He recalled what he had said to her the day he had first heard her sing this song. "We neither of us perform to strangers." They were strangers no longer; for better or for worse, they had exchanged revelations exposing their strongest grievances. But would it ever be possible to heal the rift? Was that her message to him? Or was this just another performance, staged for his benefit?
I know not who holds it
Nor what it is.
I sigh and I groan
Without wishing to,
I flutter and tremble
Without knowing why.
I find no peace
By night or day,
But yet to languish thus
Is sheer delight.
Elizabeth's lips curved into a slight ironic smile as she completed the catalogue of her symptoms. She had spent many hours agonizing over the state of her emotions. Now it was become so strikingly clear to her, yet she had never taken the opportunity to confess it to her husband when she had the chance. Now when it was too late she wondered how she had avoided saying the words which had animated her actions. Now that she had thrown away her one chance at happiness and condemned herself to a marriage that could never be more than a farce, she recognized that she was deeply in love. But there could be no remnant of affection in him after her rejection. It could only be wishful thinking on her part. What a triumph for him that the affection she had proudly spurned only a few days before would now have been gratefully received! He was as generous, she doubted not, as the most generous of his sex, but while he was mortal, there must be a triumph.
You ladies
Who know what love is,
See if it is
What I have in my heart.
As she completed the song, Darcy turned away, abruptly. Why did he tempt himself thus? There was nothing to hope for. It had not been a week since she had told him that she could never have loved him, and certainly he had done nothing to earn her affection in the interim. He wondered whether there was any possibility that she could ever love him, but he had schooled his emotions well, and they did not allow himself to indulge in such a fancy for long. But he could not help wondering whether the object of his affections was indeed the woman before him, or whether she was a figment of his imagination, whom he had cast in Elizabeth's image.
Part XXVII
Elizabeth was in her room, making the final preparations for her journey to Brighton. Sarah had packed her trunks, and they were being loaded into the carriage, but Elizabeth surveyed the room once again, consciously delaying her departure as much as she could. Not that it would solve anything for her to stay. The last few days had been among the most painful of her life. Having known what it was to live in companionable amity with Darcy, it was especially difficult to adjust to the cold civility which had come to characterize her husband's demeanor towards her. He was scrupulously correct in every particular, and when they were unavoidably in each other's company, he was even attentive in the manner of most husbands. Indeed, even so close an observer as Georgiana was allayed in some of her suspicions. But she did suspect, Elizabeth knew; she had grown more acute in her observation of them, and in her quiet way she tried to give them time alone that they might make reparations. But nothing had come of Georgiana's efforts; when Darcy was unable to avoid his wife, he would simply ignore her so pointedly that she saw little profit in attempting any manner of explanation; it was quite clear that none could be acceptable.
Pensively, she went up to the bureau by the window, and from one of its drawers, she drew out a few sheets of paper. As she read through the letter she had written her husband, her eyes filled with tears once again. Was there any hope of redemption for her? Last night, when Georgiana had cashiered them all into the music room, she had thought that there might be. Once again she had found him looking at her, and swept away in the moment, they had held each other's eyes for the duration of the song. But the spell had been broken; he had looked away, and she had not found his eyes for the rest of the evening. But truth be spoken, she had been unable to seek them. Forgiveness was inconceivable, and she had not wanted to tempt herself with the possibility. She folded up the papers once again, and turned to the fire. Sarah had been surprised that she had requested one on so warm a day, but her intention had been to consecrate these pages to the flames. Now, contemplating the fire, she realized that she could not bring herself to do it. She would continue to tempt herself with the possibility that they might one day be reconciled. She turned to the desk, and retrieving a stick of lacquer, she melted off the end and deposited it onto her folded letter. She sealed it, studying the Darcy coat-of-arms as it cooled. And replacing it in the bureau, she went downstairs, responding to Georgiana's urgent summons.
Darcy and Georgiana stood in the foyer, waiting for Elizabeth. They had said their farewells just now; each had promised to correspond with the other, and the brother had not been able to resist charging his sister to take care of his wife. It was a ridiculous instruction, he knew; if anything, his wife would be the guardian, and in spite of his estrangement from her, he knew from observing their rapport that she would discharge this duty creditably. But painful as it was for him to relinquish the task that was rightfully his, it comforted him to think an emissary of his would be watching over Elizabeth. The last few days had been insupportable. It had been as though they had tip-toed through the house, each attempting to avoid the other. He fancied he had comported himself well; indeed, in reviewing his behaviour he congratulated himself that it had been entirely as normal. Elizabeth's evident loss of spirits had not escaped his notice, and although it pained him that she could not love him, he loved her well enough to sympathize with what she must endure in a loveless marriage. He had promised himself that he would not add to her misery by allowing her to know what he suffered for her sake; he could not quite bring himself to imagine that she cared for him so little that she would be entirely unaffected by his pain. And he had held to his resolve quite effectively until last night. Even now, he could not quite explain to himself what exactly had happened last night. He had allowed himself to hope that Elizabeth had indicated her willingness to love him; he had allowed himself to dread that she was leading him on once again in a coquettish game. Now, in the cold light of day, he rejected either possibility. Georgiana had chosen the music; their had been no message in it. He had read an invitation into Elizabeth's voice before: her warmth of expression almost demanded it, but she had never sent him any deliberate signals. If there was any cause for hope, it was that the person who could represent him in the best light would be Elizabeth's constant companion for these two months.
As Elizabeth descended downstairs, Georgiana was the first to see her come. She found a pretext to observe the loading of the trunks into the carriage and left them before either Elizabeth or Darcy could contradict her. Whatever the awkwardness between them, she was convinced that they needed the opportunity for a private farewell. Elizabeth had both hoped and dreaded that this would be the case; as it came to pass, she realized that dread predominated over hope. She told herself that this was necessary, if they were even to begin to reach an understanding, but the necessity made it no easier. They each stood silent for a few moments.
"Brighton should be pleasant at this time of year. I'm sure you will find some of your new friends there."
"I am sure I shall be well entertained, with Georgiana. I hope you will not be so busy as to neglect all your friends."
"My business is rather pressing, and then, most of my friends are still from town."
"Mr. Bingley remains, and the Colonel arrives next week. Will you ask him to join you here, instead of having the Matlock townhouse opened? Georgiana and I will have the comfort of knowing that you are not all alone."
"You are too solicitous. I assure you, I shall be well occupied."
"And you will dispatch this business as quickly as possible, won't you? Georgiana is counting on you to join us, and I..." she hesitated for a moment, and Darcy interrupted her.
"I assure you, I will be there at my earliest convenience, to accompany you to Pemberley."
"I shall look forward to it."
She looked at him earnestly, imploring him to take her meaning instead of parrying her words with polite formulas. And as she forced him to meet her eyes he was tempted for one mad moment to throw himself at her feet again and beg her not to leave. He moved towards her, knowing that in a moment he could take her in his arms as he ought to do, and yet the thought that she had never wanted him to held him back. And then the housekeeper entered, apologetic at the interruption, but armed with a volley of questions for the mistress that could not be postponed. As they went over the details of menus, household purchases, and the upkeep of the mansion, he marvelled again at how intimately she had insinuated herself into the fabric of his life. She had lived here for a month, and it was as though these decisions had never been his, or that the housekeeper had never attended to them without her instructions. But it never occurred to him to marvel at how precisely her instructions were adapted to coincide with the tenor of his life, and even where his own inclinations went against his best interests, how she knew exactly what would suit him best.
Having no further excuse to linger outside, Georgiana returned, hoping that her brother and his wife had had the opportunity for an intimate farewell. The conference was interrupted, and offering each woman one arm, Darcy led them to the carriage waiting outside. Georgiana threw her arms around him in a warm sisterly hug, and admonishing him to join them at the earliest, she boarded the carriage. His reply was non-committal; there was much that he needed to take care of in town at present. As he helped Elizabeth into the carriage, he kept his eyes studiously on their two hands, marvelling at the impact so brief a touch could have on him. As she thanked him, her hand was still in his, and on a sudden impulse, he briefly raised it to his lips. Still the hand was not withdrawn, but still he could not meet the eye. It was not until he turned to Georgiana and observed her knowing smile that he dropped it, abruptly, and bade the coachman to drive on.
It was not until Elizabeth turned back for a last pensive look that he was compelled to meet her eyes again. At such a distance, it was impossible for him to read their message. Or so he told himself as his heart began to scrutinize every emotion that her glance had evoked.
Part XXVIII
The coming of the post to Longbourn had become a rather momentous occasion, and on this particular day, once again, the mistress of the house looked forward to the event with some anticipation. A sizeable bundle was delivered, and in her eagerness, Mrs. Bennet sorted through it herself. The tradesmen's bills earned scarcely a glance; they were forwarded on to the library, and the care of the master of the house. The anticipated missives were from Brighton, and though there were two such among the letters, Mrs. Bennet could not but be disappointed that her two distant daughters had chosen to address their sisters rather than their mother. Kitty claimed her short letter eagerly, and spent the remainder of the day alternately ecstatic to share Lydia's adventures vicariously and dismayed that the opportunity to live in such a manner had been denied her, though she was the elder. Miss Bennet's response to her letter was more serene; her pleasure, though evident enough to those who knew her, was not so plainly imprinted on her features, and her resentment, if indeed she were capable of such an emotion, was also more tempered.
And yet it was unlikely that even one so good-natured should have not a pang of regret at the present outcome. It had been her own marriage that had been conjectured at through all of Meryton, her heart that had been given away long before her sister had been suspected of any partiality. Now Elizabeth was married, most advantageously, and Jane had every reason to believe, from her letters, and from her demeanor when they had met in London, that she was perfectly happy. To be certain of such a man's affection must be gratifying, and his material circumstances could only add to her sister's felicity. There had been a time when she had thought herself similarly secure; though she had been reluctant to admit of such a conviction before a positive engagement, Mr. Bingley's manners had persuaded her of his regard. Now she knew not what to think; when he had not waited upon her in London she had come to believe that her fancy had led her to see an imaginary affection, but when she had lately seen him in Hertfordshire and at his ball in London he had been as attentive as ever, though perhaps a little more melancholy in his aspect. That might have been his response to her own demeanour; though she had sought to exert herself to be cheerful, she was well aware that she had not been entirely successful. She had perceived also that he paid no special note to Miss Darcy. For this she was grateful. Though her temper was universally acknowledged to be angelic, Miss Bennet did admit to herself that she would be uncomfortable to meet a Mrs. Bingley. Georgiana Darcy had grown to be something of a favourite with her while she had stayed at Longbourn, and had she noted a partiality, her loyalties would have been divided. Moreover, in Bingley's words she had found cause to believe that he may have been entirely unaware of her presence in town; though she was still reluctant to admit that his sisters had treated her so infamously, she could put no other construction on some of his comments about his absence during the winter in Hertfordshire. As she remembered walking up the aisle to stand up for Elizabeth, she coloured. It had been easy to imagine it to be her own wedding day; Bingley had been standing up for his friend. But he had left for town the very morning after the wedding, and there was no sign that he would ever return to Netherfield. Jane Bennet knew not what to think.
Once again, she perused her sister's letter. Had she not been so preoccupied in her own concerns she might have noted that in between the descriptions of the Royal Pavilion, whose construction had newly recommenced in a fashion Elizabeth considered outlandish, and their old friends from the --shire militia, Elizabeth had little to say about herself. Her letter bore every hallmark of her familiar liveliness; what was missing was the intimacy of her communications of yore. She had encountered Lydia, and the three of them had attended several balls together, where Lydia had behaved with her customary lack of restraint and Miss Darcy with every semblance of propriety heightened by her natural shyness. She mentioned also that she had renewed her acquaintance with Mr. Wikham. Of Mr. Darcy she said but little; he was unfortunately detained in London on business, and he was unable to say when he would be able to join them. His friend she did not mention.
Part XXIX
Elizabeth Darcy had risen early and had left her apartments for a walk by the sea front. Georgiana was sleeping still, and Elizabeth was glad for the solitude. She had been in Brighton a little over a week, and she was still to hear from Mr. Darcy. Upon arrival, she and Georgiana had dispatched a communication informing him of their safe journey, but thus far, they had received no acknowledgment of this news from him. Georgiana was slightly mystified at her brother's silence; Elizabeth felt not surprise but regret. It was only natural that he should hesitate to correspond with her under the circumstances; certain as she had become of her own feelings, she could hardly put pen to paper to address him without thinking of the letter that remained still in her bureau, and knowing that any other missive would find no other destiny. She could not open her heart to admit his disdain, and she knew that she could expect no other response. Once again, she thought upon his parting gesture, and wondered whether it was possible that in spite of everything, she was still dear to him. But even if she were, it could come to naught; even if he had been unable to banish her from his heart thus far, her revelations had surely cost her his esteem for evermore, and his understanding would surely conquer his errant heart, especially aided by the distance that he had imposed upon them.
She saw Mr. Wikham approaching from a distance, and waited for him to join her. She had encountered him at a ball her sister Lydia had insisted upon her attending, and had been happy to find that he was still eager to continue their acquaintance. Her mind inevitably had flown back to the Netherfield ball, where she had anticipated the pleasure of his company, and found herself sparring with Mr. Darcy instead. Now the friendship of one was a poor substitute for the good opinion of the other, but nevertheless she welcomed any friend. As she thought of the history he had once recounted to her, she was mournful for his sake, but no longer outraged at its perpetrator; she thought it only natural that there had been some slight exaggeration in Wikham's account, and the rest she was easily able to forgive her husband, especially considering what her own faults had been. Her new-found affection for husband had not blinded her to his pride and implacability; indeed, they contributed almost as much as her own faults to their present estrangement, for though she had caused the breach of her own rashness, they had prevented her from making any overtures of peace. Had she been wise enough to remain in his good graces, she might have been able to intercede with him on her friend's behalf.
Wikham greeted her upon his approach, and acknowledging him with a smile, she recommenced her walk in his company.
"It is a pleasure to see you here, Mrs. Darcy. I had not expected that we should be able to renew our friendship again so soon."
"Neither had I, Mr. Wikham. But it appears that Georgiana habitually spends her summers by the sea, and as Mr. Darcy remains indefinitely in London, I thought it best to accompany her."
"Yes, of course," was his only reply, and it seemed to Elizabeth that he regarded her closely. She flushed, wondering whether he had divined her estrangement with her husband. Then it struck her that he had probably never regarded her marriage in any light other than a mercenary measure on her part, and inwardly, she was a little amused when she thought of the strength of her attachment and the heartache she endured for it.
"Will you not come by and renew your acquaintance with my sister? I am sure she will be eager to see you again." Elizabeth was determined to convince him of the amiability of the Darcys; she could not credit the story he had given her of Georgiana, and wished to demonstrate to him that he had been in error about the sister, and perhaps glean an acknowledgment that he had wronged the brother as well.
"I could hardly escape your sister's company; the Colonel may well punish us for neglecting his wife's particular friend," he laughed, in response to her question.
"I speak of Miss Darcy. I noticed you did not greet her at the ball last night. Surely there is no cause for you to avoid her?"
"She did not acknowledge me."
"I am sure she did not notice that you were in attendance. She would have mentioned it to me at least."
"I see." He sighed, as though in relief, and noting her surprise, he continued, "You know I do not wish to put myself in a position where scenes may arise unpleasant to more than myself. It is best that Georgiana not know of my presence. She is pleasant enough, but her brother's hostility puts us in an uncomfortable circumstance. I do not wish to discompose her."
Elizabeth thought to point out that this current account was entirely contradictory to his previous remarks, but the gentleman fell silent, and she realized that such a challenge would only alienate him further. It was clear that his resentment of the Darcys was deeply felt, and it seemed quite likely from this inconsistency that her conjecture that his account of his injuries had been enhanced by the betrayal he had perceived was true. She found that she had cause to be thankful, not only that she was not likewise repudiated by someone she considered a friend, but also for the reflection that perhaps her husband's offences had not been quite as grievous as her friend had given out. Enmeshed in thought, she had fallen silent as well as her companion, and soon afterwards, he took leave of her, and she was left to contemplate her situation once again.
Part XXX
As he sorted through his mail in the breakfast parlour, Darcy, who had never thought that he might in any particular be comparable to his mother-in-law, was, like her, also looking for a letter addressed from Brighton, and unlike her, he was fortunate enough to find one addressed to him. This in itself was not enough to explain the anticipation with which he opened the missive; it must also be remarked that it was addressed in a hand that was not his sister's. Darcy did not quite know what sort of a letter he wished his wife to write him; had he stopped to think about it he would have acknowledged that the present circumstances were entirely too awkward for her to write him a heartfelt communiqué. Indeed, he himself had often picked up a pen to address one such to her, but had never been able to bring it to a satisfactory conclusion, much less send it. But now a letter from his wife was in his hand, and Darcy did not stop to think of any of this. With unaccustomed haste the seal was broken, and the single page unfolded. He scanned the letter quickly; it was short and to the point, informing him of their safe arrival in Brighton. And though it was of Elizabeth's composition, it was addressed in conjunction with Georgiana. He put the letter down, conscious of a vague sense of disappointment. He was at a loss to explain it; surely he could not have expected any more. But he could not stop himself from hoping for what might have been.
Determined to maintain the orderly routine around which he had built his adult life, he devoted himself to the remainder of his correspondence, which dealt primarily with the administration of his estate at Pemberley and his investments in town. He had been engrossed in them for some time when he heard someone at the door, and the butler came in to say that Mr. Bingley had arrived, and inquire whether he would be receiving him this morning. Darcy, who had not seen his young friend since the night of the ball, decided that he would welcome a break from his business affairs, which he was beginning to find increasingly tedious. Besides, he had some unfinished business with Bingley as well. He had been procrastinating the encounter, but now that Bingley was upon him, he knew it would not do to delay any further.
Among the charges Elizabeth had laid at his door that eventful night had been the destruction of her sister's happiness. She was now convinced that by having mentioned the matter she had further destroyed Jane's happiness, and that Darcy would think that she had been mourning the loss of her sister's opportunity to make the sort of advantageous match she herself had confessed to having entered without affection. Darcy, who despite his disillusionment, had not been able to keep from thinking that her affectionate gestures had sprung from some real feeling, and that she would perhaps one day be able to love him as much as he did her, had never even considered the possibility that her anger that night had sprung from such a mercenary motive. He himself had broached the possibility of having been in error that night, and her subsequent outburst, though it had taught him to think of a great deal that he had never considered earlier, had only reinforced this particular opinion. He was now quite sure that Jane Bennet loved Bingley, and though he had often seen his friend in love before, he knew that this time it was different. Their mutual attachment was genuine, and it was only his officious interference that had separated them, and was continuing to keep them apart. It was up to him alone to remedy the situation.
Bingley, who had been surprised not to see his friend about town in the weeks since the ball, had been reluctant to seek him out. He was uncomfortably aware that some blame might be laid to rest on his shoulders, for the gossip about town was that the appearance of Lady Catherine had driven a rift between the previously idyllic Darcys, and besides, the sight of Jane Bennet had evoked in him all the feelings that her brother had told him he must suppress. He was beginning now to see that his friend had been right in his judgment, for Miss Bennet had regarded him with a pained expression when he had importuned her, and he could clearly see that she did not mean to encourage him. He had experienced also the beginnings of jealousy towards his friend, who had obviously succeeded with one Bennet sister where he had failed with the other. Recognizing the unworthy sentiments he was harbouring against one who had taken such care of him had added the stigma of guilt, and he had been rather relieved than otherwise when he saw that the Darcy's did not mean much to be in company anymore. Then he had learnt only the other day that Mrs. Darcy had removed with Miss Darcy to Brighton, and when he saw that even now, Darcy was never to be seen at their club, he had determined that it was time he made inquiries; he owed at least that much to his friend.
He was shown to the drawing room, and Darcy joined him in a few minutes, making some inconsequential remarks about how long it had been since they had seen each other. He then asked after the other's wife, and was informed that he had heard from her only this morning, and that she was getting along quite well in Brighton. He thought he heard some sorrow in his friend's voice, and put this down to his regret at not having been able to accompany her. Whatever the town gossips might be saying, and Bingley knew that there was some truth in the pronouncements about his friend's anger at the unexpected arrival, he did not believe that such a petty misunderstanding would divide a couple who were obviously enamoured of each other. These pleasantries completed, there was a lull in the conversation; in the one, it might have been mistaken for his habitual gravity, although his friend knew him sufficiently well to know that he could be lively enough under the right circumstances; in the other, it was a marked contrast from his natural ebullience. Darcy's guilt could only be further intensified as he guessed at its cause. Wretched as his own position was, he could hardly deny that he had brought it upon himself, in part by having wronged his friend, and though he knew that his situation was unlikely to be remedied so easily, he realized also he owed it as much to himself as to his wife and her sister to make amends on this count.
Accordingly, he began with some awkwardness. "It was pleasant, was it not, to have some of our Hertfordshire friends in town for the ball? How did you find the place on our recent stay there, Bingley?"
"I have always liked it well enough, and I dare say it improved on you this time around."
A shadow of Bingley's high spirits returned as his mind went back, inevitably, to his encounters with Miss Bennet, and he wondered, despite everything, if there were not cause to hope. His friend's involuntary grimace at the allusion to his wedding quite passed him by. Still, Darcy pressed on.
"Perhaps you should return there again. Summer in the city is hardly worth staying for."
"I hardly need tell you, Darcy, why I have been avoiding Netherfield. It was by your recommendation, I might recall. And despite your information, my hopes cannot stay dormant in her presence. You saw how it was at the ball. It is best that I do not return."
"I have given you ample cause to question my judgment, Bingley. I recall having argued strenuously against her lack of connections and fortune." he noted wryly.
"I did notice that you had abandoned your scruples on those counts," Bingley smiled back, a little sadly, "but, Darcy, those reasons held as little sway with me as they did with you. If she does not love me as I do her, then I must remain less fortunate than you are."
Once again, Darcy could not quite keep his countenance at Bingley's easy assumption, but once again, his friend was too lost in contemplation of his own affairs to notice, and Darcy felt no urge to confide his unhappiness. He kept the conversation on Bingley's affairs, despite the awkwardness he felt at the necessary admission.
"Bingley, I was wrong on the principal count as well. Jane does love you; I did not know it at the time, and now I can only apologize for having misled you."
"She loves me? Darcy, are you quite certain this time? But of course you must be -- you have the truth of it from her sister! Darcy, you must thank your wife on my behalf. I must confess that I had still hoped that I would be able to alter Miss Bennet's opinion of me given time, and the close connection to your family, but to learn that she loves me already, that the affection that I had hoped to create is mine! I had not hoped for such a thing; you are not often wrong! But enough said about that; I cannot thank you enough for you present information."
Darcy smiled, watching his friend express himself in the incoherent lucidity of a man violently in love, but he knew there was more to be said. Bingley had to be told of the events of the winter, and his own role in them. His penance was thus far incomplete.
"I have been guilty of more serious offences. Jane was in town all this winter; she waited upon your sisters, and was told that you knew of her presence and chose not to see her. Bingley, I knew of this all along, and I concealed it from you. I can only say in my defence that I thought it for the best at the time. It was absurd and impertinent for me ever to have interfered in the matter."
If Bingley realized the import of the statement, he was more than willing to forgive its consequences as far as he himself was concerned, especially in light of Darcy's other revelation.
"It is no matter. I dare say it would have been a wretched affair if we had met, for I was convinced that she did not care for me," he broke off, realizing that he was not the only injured party, and could not but show some resentment on the behalf of his beloved. "I cannot imagine what Miss Bennet must have thought of me; to think that we might each have been pining for the other...." Such gloomy reflections could not persist when he had such hope now, and he continued disjointedly, "It is no matter; I must and shall make amends, if she will still have me, and if you believe that she will...." Darcy winced, realizing the trust that his friend still held him, as Bingley still spoke on, "I shall be in Hertfordshire tomorrow; there can be no delaying this. Darcy, we shall be brothers!"
"Are you planning to stay here rambling all day? There are preparations to be made if you will go into Hertfordshire tomorrow. Go to it, man!"
And Bingley, who had been continuing to brim forth, saw the wisdom of his friend's statement, and left at once, mentally beginning to prepare the declaration he hoped to make to Miss Bennet the following day. Darcy watched him go to his happiness, and wondered when his wife would hear of the developments that would inevitably ensue. Unlikely as it was that she would ever learn to love him, he could not help hoping that in having been of service to his friend he had helped his own cause as well. He dismissed the thought, realizing that it might generate gratitude, but it was unlikely to inspire love, and he could not be happy with the one without the other.
Part XXXI
Elizabeth Darcy sat in the parlour of her rooms in Brighton, writing letters to her family in Longbourn, and, belatedly, to her friend, Mrs. Collins, whose house she had unceremoniously left when her engagement had been revealed. She sighed, thinking back to that day, when she had first had an inkling that she might in fact be able to care for the man who was to be her husband. Then her worries had revolved around her conviction that she could not entirely requite his affection; now that she knew her own heart, she knew also that she had uttered words designed to shatter any hope of happiness they might have had. As her mind turned to the possibility of reconciliation, it dwelt briefly on another letter that she had left in her bureau in London, and knowing that it was an idle hope she indulged in, wondered once again why she had failed to destroy it.
Georgiana and her companion, Mrs. Annesley, had gone to a fitting, from which Elizabeth had begged off, pleading a headache. Much as she liked Georgiana, the proximity of the sister inevitably turned her mind to the brother, and she was having trouble disguising her low spirits. This afternoon, she had known that she would not be able to, and had urged her new sister to go without her. She had gone, but not without some concern on Elizabeth's behalf. Despite her best efforts, Elizabeth had not been entirely successful in concealing her sorrow from Georgiana, who was coming to the conclusion, not entirely incorrect, that her brother's absence was the cause of her sister's distress. She had determined that she would summon him to be at Elizabeth's side as soon as may be, and had already started writing him a letter, gently chastising him for his neglect.
About a half an hour after Georgiana's departure, Elizabeth heard someone at the door, and wondered who would be calling on them at this hour. Putting her letters away, she prepared to receive her visitor, and was not entirely surprised to find that it was Mr. Wikham, whom she had not seen since their encounter by the seaside some days earlier. She greeted him in her usual easy manner, and bade him have a seat, but that observant gentleman also noticed that something was amiss with his companion, and wondered as to its cause.
"I trust I have not interrupted you, Mrs. Darcy. I would not want to keep you from your letters," he opened, seeing the stationery scattered about the desk.
"They can easily wait, sir. I hardly have news of any urgency to convey."
"I take it then, that Brighton does not hold for you as many pleasures as it does for your sister, for she always has news of such urgency that she cannot keep it to herself," he jested.
Elizabeth smiled faintly; Lydia's enthusiasm was amusing, certainly, but she could not help but be a little concerned about her lack of propriety.
"I am sorry that she importunes you thus. I am sure your Colonel would rather see his men otherwise occupied."
"Quite the contrary, I assure you. Miss Bennet has the entire regiment at her disposal; the Colonel and his lady are quite particular that we do not neglect her special friend."
Elizabeth wondered, not for the first time, whether Colonel and Mrs. Forster were adequate chaperones for her sister. From the accounts she had had from Lydia, they did nothing to curb her spirits; Mrs. Forster, in fact, was quite apt to encourage them. She was beginning to think it might be best for Lydia to come and live with her and Georgiana before her manners brought ridicule upon her, but she knew her sister would resist a removal from the company of her friend and the close proximity of the officers of the militia.
"I cannot but imagine you would rather be otherwise occupied than as the recipient of my sister's confidences."
"Indeed, I do confess I am more concerned for another lady."
Elizabeth wondered at the implication of his statement. She knew his opinion of her husband well enough, and she imagined that he thought her mercenary for having married him, but she had not thought that he would discuss such a matter with her. Though she appreciated his concern, she could not but resent his interference, especially considering the change her own opinion of her husband had undergone.
"Have you heard from Darcy lately? Is he to join you in Brighton?" he inquired, still testing the waters. He had noted the impact of his previous statement, but he was not entirely sure whether she was embarrassed at the implied intimacy or whether he had indeed hit upon a sensitive point.
"No, he is much occupied with his business in town." She left the first question unaddressed.
"I wonder you are come to Brighton, then. He is prodigiously careful of his sister, to provide her with so valuable a companion, but perhaps not so concerned for his bride."
Elizabeth blanched, surprised that he would speak in such terms. Her own reply was defensive.
"You are mistaken, sir. I opted to accompany Georgiana. There is very little to interest me in town at present. Many of our friends have retired from town, and not a small number are here by the seaside."
Wikham noted her defensiveness, but read her behaviour in a light she had not intended. He really thought that Elizabeth had married Darcy for little other than his wealth, and he flattered himself that his own influence on her had not waned. His own motives were simple. His situation with his creditors was growing desperate, and he quite expected to have to flee the country very shortly. In the meantime, he had spotted what he considered a capital opportunity to revenge himself on his enemy, while gratifying his own desires. He would seduce Elizabeth, and leave Darcy in the ridiculous position of a cuckolded husband.
"I am happy, then, that you are come to Brighton, for your company here is much appreciated by more than myself, I am sure."
"I am happy too, sir, to be in the company of old friends."
"It is comforting for your friends that you have not forgotten us."
"I hope I am not so fickle."
"I assure you, madam, that we would not have seen any fickleness if you had neglected us a while longer. It is more surprising that you do not. Forgive me for asking, Mrs. Darcy, but are you entirely happy?"
"I am as happy as I have any right to be." Elizabeth hedged, not liking the direction the conversation was taking.
"Would it be too forward for me to say, as an old friend, that you are not as happy as I have seen you in earlier days? Mrs. Darcy, I cannot be content to see you thus. You know that I, of all people, have cause to suspect the source of your unhappiness. Let there be no secrets between us. I am sure my solace would be of comfort to you. It would pain me more than anything else to think that you could not return my trust in you."
"I cannot imagine what you mean, sir."
"Come, Elizabeth, you must know that I have ever wished to be more than a friend to you."
Elizabeth had been wondering as to Wikham's persistence, but now she almost shuddered as she realized that he was looking for far more than a confidence. She was not so naive as to wonder any longer at his meaning, but it pained her to think that he could take her for such a woman. She was struck too by the irony of her position. He had evidently assumed that she was unhappy to be trapped in marriage with a husband she could not love, when in fact her only sorrow stemmed from her love for her husband, and her belief that his affection for her had sunk to indifference. She was angered too that he would continue to imply such things about her husband. Elizabeth was by now quite convinced that Wikham's account of Darcy's injustices had been grossly exaggerated; she had long discovered that he had been quite wrong about Georgiana, and during their previous conversation he had practically acknowledged at least this inconsistency. She could not be happy that one whom she perceived as a friend would think that she had married Darcy while still entirely crediting such an account, for it portrayed her in a mercenary light in which she was loath to see herself. She was eager also to dispel any illusions he might hold about the light in which she regarded him; it had been a long time since she had thought herself in any danger of forming such an attachment, and she had realized that there was no such affection long before she had understood her feelings towards her husband. She spoke now, anxious to convey to him her revulsion, not wanting him to spell out his intentions any further and create a situation unbearably awkward for them both.
"Mr. Wikham, you forget yourself. I must tell you that you are quite mistaken. You need have no concerns on my behalf. I sympathize with you for the wrongs you have confided in me, but there is no cause for you to suspect that I have suffered in a like manner, whether from the same source or from any other. I must remind you that it is my husband that you allude to, and I would be remiss indeed if I did not defend him."
"Mrs. Darcy, surely among friends there is no cause..."
"Mr. Wikham, I cannot permit you to think that I mean anything other than what I say. I must ask that you do not make inferences about my marriage."
Wikham stood up. He understood that Elizabeth was indeed in earnest, and that his design must fail. Somewhat awkwardly, he took his leave, and retreated. He wondered whether Elizabeth had acted simply out of loyalty to her husband or whether she was indeed in love with him. He could not quite comprehend why the former would be a sufficient motivation, but if the latter were in fact true, he could not see why Darcy would have exiled his bride in Brighton. And from Elizabeth's defensive responses, he was quite certain that she had was not in Brighton entirely of her own free will, as she claimed to be. Even though his plan had failed, he was far from dissatisfied with the morning's events. Though Elizabeth had resisted his advances, his conviction that all was not as it should be in the Darcy's marriage had not weakened. For one thing, even in her rejection, Elizabeth had given him no indication that Darcy had enlightened her as to their dealings. While this misapprehension persisted, he knew that he would be able to find some route to revenge himself on Darcy through his bride.