Beginning, End Section
Prologue
Posted on Friday, 22 February 2008
It is a strange phenomenon defying the laws of physics that a rumor can travel faster than the source of the gossip itself.
Depending upon the secretiveness and the scandalousness of the tittle-tattle, of course, the speed at which it makes its way through a community can vary. The weather, be it rainy, sunny, snowy or worse, can also affect a rumor's rapidity, though by how much is still in question.
Take, as a for instance, the sunny afternoon a small, somewhat shabby carriage rolled through Meryton on its way to Longbourn House. Before it had disappeared around the bend where the road forks left to Longbourn, word had already reached even the smallest dwelling in the village that the Bennet daughter had returned, sans husband.
And by the time the carriage pulled up before the modest manor house, the inhabitants were already aware that the equipage contained not only their long-lost relative, but also a surprise addition to the family tree.
So it was that the dissection of the scandal began, long before it ever occurred to the person in question that her arrival would cause anything more than a few titters behind a few hands.
But it served to occupy the good people of that little corner of Hertfordshire during those rainy days in September, and more than one person could be heard to remark that, with so much good food for discussion, they were most assuredly glad that Elizabeth Darcy -- née Bennet -- had returned.
Chapter One
Rule #1: Find the loving support of family.
"I am glad you have returned," Jane whispered as they sat together in Elizabeth's room at Longbourn while the rest of the household slept.
That is to say, they sat together in the room Elizabeth had occupied since that afternoon, when she arrived. It was no longer her home, no longer her room, no longer her bed: she was simply a visitor, passing through on her way to someplace else. But she hadn't told her family that salient point yet.
Instead, she had allowed them to rejoice over her appearance after being so long parted, had followed them as they showed her to her old room, had listened as they talked to her of all of the events and people she had missed, had not said a word when they spawned grandiose plans of what to do now that she was back.
Surprisingly, in all that time, no one had asked about her husband.
Despite the presence of their son.
That golden-haired, blue-eyed, and exceedingly worn-out little tot was now tucked away in a cot on the other side of the room, sleeping blissfully as his mother tried her best to act as though nothing had changed in all the time she had been gone.
But things had changed. They were all older, for one. And she was wiser, for another. And the closeness that she and Jane had shared what felt like millions of years ago was no longer as close as they now pretended it to be.
"I've been praying for you to return," Jane was now saying. Elizabeth turned her gaze away from her sleeping son and roped her thoughts to the present, despite the jittery feeling that played havoc with her insides. "We have all missed you: Papa perhaps the most of all."
"It didn't seem so this afternoon," Elizabeth replied, recalling his stern face and the tic that jumped in his jaw every time her son came over to his knee to show him something he had made out of the blocks on the floor.
Jane looked away, perhaps feeling the same awkwardness that was stiffening Elizabeth's muscles. "He's just feeling the years of separation, Lizzy," she said softly. That slight broaching of the subject that stood between them like a gulf must have allowed her to take the rest of the leap, for she then continued with: "Why have you not written us since you left Mr. Darcy, except that brief note? We were so worried for you."
Elizabeth averted her own gaze, away from the pleading in Jane's. "I couldn't take the chance that he would find me," she said at last, when the silence had stretched too long. "Not that I imagined he would look, unless it were to hurt me again. He had done such a good job of it the first time, I didn't feel I could take it a second."
"Hurt you!" Jane cried, then lowered her voice when the child in the corner stirred. "He didn't beat you, did he?"
"At least never with a stick any wider than his thumb," Elizabeth said, then suddenly looked ashamed when Jane appeared to believe her. "No. He never struck me, Jane. It was only with words."
Her sister shook her head in frustration. "I don't understand what happened, Lizzy. I never had. How could I, though? You were never here to explain it. All we knew is what he told us, that you had left him in the night, and he knew not where you had gone. His appearance, so wild and angry, hadn't led us to ask him for confidences. And Papa was so devastated by the news that it only occurred to him later to question why you had run away. None of his letters were ever returned, and Pemberley's doors were closed to him, the one time he traveled all that way to confront him."
"He had come here?" Elizabeth asked, startled. "Looking for me?"
"Of course!" Jane cried, though she recalled the sleeping boy in time to control her exclamation. "Why should he not have? You were -- or still are, I should imagine -- his wife!"
"Wife!" Elizabeth repeated with some measure of scorn. "Last time I saw him, he told me I wasn't. He told me it had all been a mistake. That I was no wife to him. He didn't even question the stories, question the truth of what had happened! He took her word against mine. No, I am not his wife."
Jane had no idea what to say, and so wisely said nothing. They sat in silence for some time, until Elizabeth said, "I am sorry, Jane. I don't mean to be so bitter. It's been a long journey."
Jane shook her head and told her sister it was understandable. And urging further, she asked if Elizabeth might not tell her what had happened. "But not if you are unready," Jane said. "I do not wish to pry."
Elizabeth smiled then, though the turn of her lips was shadowed by sadness. "Prying was never a hesitation before," she said. "I remember many years of whispering secrets in the cold darkness as we huddled under the blankets to keep warm. How much we've lost, Jane."
Then, clasping her hands in her lap, she turned serious and said, "But there has been so much that has happened in the meanwhile that it does not surprise me greatly." She paused and then continued: "I have learned so hard a lesson that secrets should not be kept, especially from those we love."
"From Mr. Darcy, do you mean?" Jane prodded gently.
Elizabeth looked over at her and nodded. "Our marriage had been perfect at first," she began. "He had been everything of which I had ever dreamed in a husband. It had seemed to me in those magical days after we met and married that he had been right in telling me he would not think of the difference in our stations. That it did not matter to him.
"But it was only because the difference was not visible, in the relative confines of Derbyshire. His father accepted me willingly. His sister didn't feel the difference, certainly, but she had never had pretensions, had never really felt her station. The servants didn't make it known, either, as I had been well enough trained here that I could handle the household affairs with competence, if not with ease. And the neighbors were such that none were above me socially, other than the Baron Winterbottom and his wife, but they were not so high in the instep that they thought any the less of my background, if they even knew it."
Elizabeth paused here, stood and walked to the window, where she looked out onto the lawn that spread to the edge of the woods, lit by the full moon that rose over the east. "It was not until London that things began to turn south," she said at last, still facing the window. Her breath created a circle of fog on the cold glass, but she did not see it as she gazed into the past.
"What happened in London?" Jane said when the silence continued.
Startled, Elizabeth looked back at her sister, then dropped her hand from the curtain. She sat down on the window seat heavily. "I met all of his friends. Men who made clever and oblique comments about my connections, women who in the ballroom smiled and seemed to accept me, especially in his presence, but proceeded to rip me to shreds with their snide remarks and cold glances in the retiring room or when I was calling.
"It wore on both of us, I believe. I have no doubt he felt it from other angles, as he often came home from his club, or Tattersall's, or wherever else he went, suddenly aloof and awkward around me. And the time he spent at home or by my side grew less and less as the Season passed. We began to snipe at each other and disagreements became more frequent until we could hardly see the other without fighting. The death of his father, too, only three months after our wedding, wore at our bond as he retreated into his pain.
"But we survived, somehow, until several months later -- nearly half a year, really -- when disaster struck," Elizabeth said, and Jane, hearing the distress in her voice, came across the room to sit by her side and take her hands. They were so cold, and Elizabeth was so pale, that Jane feared she were ill, but did not stop the flow of her sister's story, for fear she would not continue it.
"We had been at Pemberley when his aunt, Lady Catherine, descended upon us. I had not met her previous to this -- she hadn't attended the wedding (though few of his family had, so I suppose I cannot fault her there), nor had she attended her brother-in-law's funeral, and she lived a distance away, in Kent. She was angry with him from the start, I could tell, but neither of them said anything to me, though I repeatedly asked Fitzwilliam to tell me what was wrong. I heard them arguing in his study the afternoon she arrived, but I couldn't bring myself to eavesdrop on their conversation.
"Only a few days later, Fitzwilliam said he wished to go north to acquire several rare editions for the library, and he disappeared with his steward, leaving me to play hostess to a woman who clearly thought me beneath her. One afternoon she went so far as to disparage me to my face, declaring me unworthy of her nephew. But I bore it, knowing that this was his family, that I should not antagonize them greatly. I could not be the cause of a rift between them.
"Now, what I tell you next perhaps is where I had gone wrong, Jane," Elizabeth said with a self-mocking smile. "One morning, a gentleman appeared on the doorstep, seeking Fitzwilliam. As he was not at home, he was shown in to see me, where Georgiana and I were in the drawing room. He was an old friend of the family, as evidenced by Georgiana's delight in seeing him; the son of the former steward of Pemberley, he explained, and he had business with my husband.
"Mr. Wickham's manners were very pleasing, though I thought some of his flattery a bit brown. He sat for tea with the two of us, as Lady Catherine refused to come down when she had heard the company we were keeping. I never thought to hear the end of it from her when she joined us for supper, after he had left. He had refused my offer of hospitality, saying he was staying in the village. But we saw him again the next day, and the day after that. And all the time Lady Catherine berated me for my reception of him, saying that it was below my station, and she had no doubt he would attempt to borrow on the acquaintance. But I could see through her censure: to her he was merely the son of a steward, and I was no better than I should be, fraternizing with one whom she considered nearly my equal in breeding.
"A week passed, and through this all I had only one note from Fitzwilliam, though I had seen one pass through our butler's hands for Georgiana and two for Lady Catherine. Mine was terse, saying merely that he was still tied up with business and that he would be returning in several days."
Elizabeth sighed. "But among all the things I can fault him for, I cannot fault him for his timing. The afternoon he returned, I was sitting in the garden alone. Lady Catherine had taken Georgiana into the village, doubtless to be away from my pernicious influence, when I was surprised by a visitor: none other than Mr. Wickham.
"It did not take him long to get to what seemed the true purpose of his visit, which was to force his attentions on me in a most unpleasant fashion, avowing that I had been teasing him all the while, that I had responded to his flirtations. I was more than shocked, Jane; I was horrified that I should have been so deceived -- I, who pride myself on my judge of character! I can only plead that I was distracted by my conjugal distress, but part of me still wonders if it weren't that I was reaching out for someone who understood me, that I truly was at fault, if only for my ignorance of the consequences.
"In any case, I had just pushed myself from his arms, and was prepared to slap him for his effrontery, when a voice behind me, a voice I had never before heard so cold and angry, arrested my arm. I turned to see Fitzwilliam standing in the doorway, and immediately flew to his protection, but he stopped me with a word. He held up a letter and remarked how he would have thought it all lies, but that he now saw the proof of his wife's treachery with his own eyes.
"Jane, he did not even allow me a chance to explain!" Elizabeth whispered in anger. "He just told me to go to the house. And when I saw the look in his eye, coward that I was, I did not argue. I could not. He had already convicted me of betrayal.
"I cannot tell you what transpired then between him and Mr. Wickham. I flew to my room and locked the door behind me. Georgiana knocked an hour later, pleading with me to explain why her brother was so upset, and what had happened, but I could not answer her. How could I, when I hardly knew, myself?
"Much later, Fitzwilliam came to me, through the connecting door I had not thought to lock. I thought perhaps he had come to apologize, to tell me it had all been a mistake, to ask me what had happened. Oh, Jane, how wrong I was! He hated me, told me that I was no wife of his, wondered how he could have been so deceived. Later, after he had gone, I realized that it was over. That there was no hope for us."
"And so you left," Jane said, more a statement than a question.
Elizabeth nodded. "So I left. I rode away under cover of darkness on a horse I had saddled myself, to keep the servants from seeing me, with only a bag of my most precious possessions and what little pin money and jewels I had. I would have taken nothing but what I could call my own, but I am nothing if not practical, and knew I would not last long on that. And as I rode away, I saw two lights, Jane, in the house. One was in Fitzwilliam's bedchamber, the other in the suite I knew reserved for his aunt. And I swear that I could see her form in the window, watching me. I knew then that she had been aware of all of it. I know not how much she had orchestrated, but she had known."
"Why did you not come to us?" Jane asked.
"What, and lead him directly to me? I knew he would be angry at my leaving, and that the first place he would think to search for me would be here. And I was right, was I not? No, Jane, I could not come here. I needed somewhere safe. I went to London."
"London!" Jane cried, then blushed as again the child on the cot stirred. "London?" she repeated, more softly this time. "Why, not to Aunt and Uncle Gardiner's! Why did they not tell us?"
Elizabeth smiled sadly. "I swore them both to secrecy. They could not tell you where I was without betraying my confidence, though I have speculated they did it more from guilt for having brought Mr. Darcy and I together in the first place, than from any other reason. With their help I found lodgings in the anonymity of the city, and when it became apparent I was increasing, they helped me to disguise myself as a widow and find lodging in the country. I know the deception weighed heavily on them, but I gave them no option."
"Why have you come back?" Jane said. "Not that I am in any way unhappy with your reappearance, but why after all this time?"
"I thought it was time," Elizabeth replied, "to introduce my son to his family. That he might know he had a grandmother and grandfather, that he had aunts. Who alone knows the next chance he will have to see you?"
Jane's eyes widened. "What do you mean? Where are you going?"
"To America," her sister replied with a slow smile. "A new start, Jane. A chance to break away from this fear I have that every moment I will turn around and see Fitzwilliam there, ready to steal my son from me. A chance to make a new life with Bennet, in a new place where no one knows our past."
"But America? Where all the Indians live?" Jane asked.
Elizabeth shook her head with a low laugh. "There is no danger, I am sure. And I have enough money saved away to perhaps buy a little shop. I'll descend into the dreaded merchant class, Jane."
Jane still looked doubtful, but asked instead, "You will remain here some time with us?"
"Yes, Jane. I will remain some time."
"I am glad," Jane said, and her tone and expression reinforced the sentiment. After holding hands for a moment more, Jane leaned over and kissed her sister on the cheek, then retired to her own chamber to sleep.
Elizabeth was not so lucky. Left with her thoughts, sleep proved elusive, and she kept awake long into the night. She thought about how long she would have before she must leave again, and how to break the news to the rest of the family, especially to her father. She considered the best way to conserve her funds for the journey, and what she would need to bring to America. She recalled the feelings of hurt and betrayal that had pressed upon her so often since she had left him, and wondered what would happen if somehow her husband found her. Only when the sun was peeking through the curtains did she finally close her eyes, exhausted by the sheer volume of worries.
Unfortunately, another pair of eyes opened at just about the same time, and Elizabeth was awoken in an instant by a large weight falling suddenly on her chest.
"'wake, Mama?"
Elizabeth opened her eyes to look into the wide, blue-eyed gaze of her son, who was at that moment bouncing on her. "Yes, Bennet, dear, I'm awake," she said, reluctantly sitting up and setting him on her lap.
"Papa?"
That startled a look from her. "Where?" she asked, picking him up and flying to the window.
"Bwocks."
"Blocks?" Now she was even more confused. Then, suddenly, the pieces clicked: "You're looking for your grandfather, my dearest?" she asked with a smile. "Well, he's probably downstairs, having his breakfast, and not playing with the blocks you were enjoying yesterday. Shall we get dressed and join him?"
Bennet, never in his short life one to argue with being fed, immediately wiggled out of his mother's arms and ran to find his attire for the day. Elizabeth, meanwhile, attended to her own toilette and, when finished, helped her son match his clothes with the correct body parts.
When the two arrived in the breakfast room, they found all the family at table, discussing with some heat a bit of news that had been shared by the apothecary as he had come to check on one of the servants.
Netherfield Park, revealed Mrs. Bennet, who had discovered from Mrs. Hill that Mr. Jones had mentioned it, was let at last.
Chapter Two
Posted on Wednesday, 27 February 2008
Rule #2: Do not see each other.
The Bennet family, in all, did not have an opportunity for several weeks to meet the mysterious (and reputedly handsome) young man who had become their nearest neighbor.
At first, they wondered whether they should ever have an opportunity, as Mr. Bennet maintained to the last that he would not visit the new lodger at Netherfield. At last he had, and that visit was returned in kind, but still the Bennet women had seen nothing of him but a brief glimpse from an upstairs window.
And then, sad to say, Mr. Bingley (for that was his name) disappeared for several days, but reports were soon heard that he had gone to fetch a party from London to attend the upcoming Meryton assembly.
Elizabeth, for one, could not have cared less. She no longer had any interest in the male of the species (other than her young son), and even less of an interest in attending the upcoming assembly. But it was the News of the Day, and no matter how much she tried, she could not ignore the shrieks and squeals from her youngest sisters and occasionally from her mother as they supposed who he might be bringing and whether the party would include any other handsome, wealthy young men.
Speculation did not cease even several hours from the assembly, as no word had been heard regarding the Netherfield party as to the size, the members, or even if they were attending at all -- and this irked the good gossips of Meryton greatly.
It was not until the doors swung open into the assembly rooms that evening and all those present turned as one to see who had entered their midst, that their curiosity was satisfied.
After all the worries of too many ladies, it turned out that there were only five in the Netherfield party, after all, and only two of them female. Most of them were Bingley-relations of some kind: Mr. Bingley, a handsome man with an open, agreeable mien; his sister Caroline, who was stunning in her pale green satin made of the finest cloth and undoubtedly by the finest dressmaker in London; his other sister Louisa, the eldest, who was no less fashionable in blue plowman's gauze; and Louisa's husband, Mr. Hurst, who was fashionable, but clearly a little more interested in his fobs and cravat than the presence of anyone else in the room.
But it was none of these that started the room excitedly buzzing in anticipation of a scene and had Elizabeth, who had under extreme pressure by her mother at last agreed to attend the assembly, nearly fainting.
For the last gentleman to make his way into the room was no other than the tall, handsome, vastly wealthy scion of a Derbyshire family who had, unbeknownst to him, been the only piece of Meryton's new favorite scandal heretofore missing.
"Mr. Darcy!" Elizabeth breathed as she sagged slightly in shock. Charlotte Lucas, who had quickly grasped the likely effect of this development on her friend's knees, took hold of her elbow to keep her from knocking into the punch bowl.
As though he had heard Elizabeth's whisper, but more likely due to the sudden shifting of people from around her, Darcy's eyes turned to that part of the room and immediately locked on her form. His face suffused with heat, and for a moment he seemed as though unsure how to proceed. The room, abruptly falling strangely quiet, pulsed with anticipation.
It lasted several heartbeats, all eyes swiveling between the two, but at last their expectations were deflated as Elizabeth recovered her poise and her balance and Darcy turned to Miss Bingley and entered into conversation. The music resumed and mindless chatter once again filled the room, as the people were forced to wait and see how the encounter would progress.
"I absolutely must leave," Elizabeth said in an undertone to Charlotte and Jane, who joined the two soon after the music had started again. "I do not wish to deal with this."
"I do not think you will have much of a choice," Charlotte said with a small smile. "Here comes your mother. With Mr. Bingley in tow."
Indeed, at that moment Mrs. Bennet arrived at the little grouping and introduced her daughters (and Miss Lucas) to their new neighbor, who was of course pleased to be at the assembly and, naturally, was entranced with the countryside hereabouts and -- most assuredly -- enjoyed dancing. But, Mrs. Bennet, was Mrs. Darcy related in any way to his good friend who happened to be here tonight?
The sudden hesitation in the flow of question and response, the sudden shifting of eyes, and the way Miss Lucas of a sudden excused herself to speak with her mother, who appeared to need her, might have been answer enough for even the dullest observer. Bingley had been on the continent when his friend had married, but upon his return had heard a portion of the story. And though often a carefree and inattentive person, he was not unintelligent. So now, as the certainty solidified in his mind of the woman of whom Darcy had spoken and the woman before him being the same person, he flushed a dull red and began to stammer out an apology.
But his babble was overrun by the voice Darcy, who at that moment appeared behind him. "I do not believe there is any connection whatsoever," he said in a voice so cool it might have chilled the room, by way of freezing Elizabeth's heart.
"Mr. Darcy is correct," Elizabeth replied with as much dignity as she could muster. "There may have been, at one time, a connection, but it was by marriage. And after I lost my husband, well, these things go astray."
"You lost your husband?" Darcy asked with mocking precision. "So, did you return here to your family then?"
Elizabeth smiled tightly. "No. I lived in London for a time. I am only here for a brief visit."
"Well, then, we shall have to make our acquaintance quickly," said Bingley with somewhat forced cheerfulness. "Would you care for a dance, Mrs. Darcy?" When she accepted, partly because his kindness was endearing and partly because it meant she could escape Darcy's presence, Bingley turned toward her sister and solicited her hand for the next. Darcy declined to make the same gesture -- to either sister -- an action that quite naturally caused much of the assembly to whisper excitedly.
When the Bennet party returned to Longbourn after the assembly, which passed without further confrontations between the two Darcys, it seemed that Mr. Bingley and Jane's dance -- and the second dance the two shared later in the evening -- were all Mrs. Bennet could talk of.
Mr. Bennet was yet up, as with a book he was regardless of time. If truth be told he was more than a little curious of the happenings of the evening, and had long hoped that all his wife's expectations for the gentleman from Netherfield would be defeated. Unfortunately for his own expectations of mirth, he found he had a very different story to hear.
"Oh, my dear Mr. Bennet!" Mrs. Bennet said as she and the girls entered the room. "We have had a most delightful evening, a most excellent ball. I wish you had been there. Jane was so admired; nothing could be like it. Everybody said how well she looked, and Mr. Bingley thought her quite beautiful and danced with her twice. Only think of that, my dear: he actually danced with her twice! And she was the only creature in the room that he asked a second time. First of all, he asked Lizzy. I was so vexed to see him stand up with her, for I thought for sure it might be an indication he was not all he should be, but he seemed quite struck with Jane as they danced the two next. Then, the two third he danced with Miss King, and the two fourth with Miss Lucas, and the two fifth with Jane again, and the two sixth with Maria Lucas, and the Boulanger --"
"If he had had any compassion for me," her husband said impatiently, "he would not have danced half so much! For heaven's sake, say no more of his partners. Oh, that he had sprained his ankle in the first dance!"
"Oh, but I am quite delighted with him, my dear," continued Mrs. Bennet. "He is so excessively handsome! And his sisters are charming women. I never in my life saw anything more elegant than their dresses. I dare say the lace upon Mrs. Hurst's gown --"
Here she was interrupted again: Mr. Bennet protested against any description of finery. She was therefore obliged to seek another branch of the subject and began to relate, with much bitterness of spirit and some exaggeration, the shocking rudeness of Mr. Darcy.
But again Mr. Bennet interrupted her before she lied too much. "Mr. Darcy! So he is here, then?"
"Oh, yes, Papa," said Lydia. "And he got into quite a row with Lizzy. All the others were talking about it."
"It was not a row," Elizabeth demurred. "But I see now I should not have gone. Even had he not come, the talk would have been much as it was."
"So we have set the cat among the pigeons, have we, Lizzy?" her father said thoughtfully. "Well, what are we to do but make sport for our neighbors, and laugh at them in our turn?"
"But do you suppose he will force her to come home?" Jane asked.
"I hardly think I am in any danger of that," Elizabeth scoffed. "He has quite disowned me, it seems."
"I suspect it is no loss," Mr. Bennet said, and then suddenly turned serious. "But my grandchild? Has he disowned him?" When Elizabeth didn't provide an answer, he found his own: "So you have not told him. I see. Well, we shall do our best to see he is not apprised by some other avenue of the existence of his son.
"He is sleeping, by the way," he continued, closing his book and setting it down on the table beside him. "Which is what any sane person should do at this time of night."
And with that the Bennet's long-awaited evening, and the conversation, as well, was brought to a close.
A relatively short distance away, however, it had barely begun. The Netherfield party had returned from the assembly some time ago, and three of the five still remained where they had collected in the drawing room. Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst had retired after cattily dissecting the evening and finding that Darcy, at least, agreed with their assessment of most of the local populace. Mr. Hurst drowsed on the sofa, the nearby fire and the free-flowing punch at the assembly having taking its toll.
Bingley pulled his chair closer to where his friend sat on the other sofa, contemplating a glass of ruby liquid as the firelight sparkled through the crystal.
"I wish you had told me your wife was a Bennet," he began in a voice quiet enough not to wake Mr. Hurst, though the consideration was, as usual, unnecessary. "I felt an utter fool."
"I didn't think it important," came the reply.
"How could you not? They are my neighbors," Bingley said. "You ought to have said something when I asked if you wanted to come to Hertfordshire. I wouldn't have pressed you on it had I realized how awkward it would be, with your wife here."
Darcy's lips tightened, and he set his glass of wine on the table beside him with a smart click. He leaned forward and said to his friend in a low voice, "She wasn't supposed to be here, Bingley," he said. "From all I knew, she disappeared without a trace more than two years ago, not even telling her family she had gone, or where. Why she has come back, I don't know. But not knowing this, I had not thought coming to the area would be a problem for me."
Bingley seemed to muse on that for a while, then asked, "What do you know of your wife's sister? The eldest Miss Bennet."
A shadow of a smile crossed Darcy's face as he asked, "Why, are you interested in her?"
The look on Bingley's face was comical, a cross between dismay he had been so transparent and a desire to ask more without being obvious about it.
"My advice is to steer clear of the whole family," Darcy said, leaning back in his chair and again picking up his glass. "Fortune hunters, the lot of them."
"Not your wife, obviously," Bingley replied, a little nettled. "She wouldn't have left a feathered little nest like Pemberley, otherwise."
A tic jumped in Darcy's jaw, but he merely raised his glass to his lips.
"Besides, I don't see why you should paint the whole family with the same brush. Mrs. Bennet, I grant you, seems a little . . . ambitious, but Miss Bennet is all that is gentle and graceful," Bingley said, his voice softening. "Her beauty is captivating."
"You shared two dances with her, Bingley," his friend said. "Don't make an angel of her yet."
"And you haven't spoken with her at all," Bingley replied. "Don't make her a copy of your wife."
Darcy, and to no less extent Bingley himself, seemed shocked by this response, and after a moment the former shook his head, as if to deny the charge, and muttered, "I would that you not call her my wife." They then fell into a silence Bingley was loath to break, regretting as he was his outburst.
At last, Darcy looked up at his friend and smiled tightly. "Bingley, the honest truth is that the family is not all it should be to interest you. Not only do they not have the manners suitable for our level of society, but their connections are negligible. And that, when it comes to marriage, should be your guide. I learned that lesson the hard way -- at least give me the satisfaction that someone else will benefit from my mistake."
Bingley didn't respond, for he had nothing to say. Between him and Darcy was a very steady friendship, in spite of the great opposition of character, and on the strength of his judgment Bingley had the firmest reliance. He recognized his friend's superior understanding and rarely contradicted it.
Darcy, on his part, felt an obligation to protect his friend, whose easiness, openness, and ductility of temper often mimicked gullibility. With that consideration, he had come to Hertfordshire, his instinct having warned him that this would be yet another situation in which his power over his friend would need to be exercised. From all it seemed now, he had been right.
Chapter Three
Posted on Monday, 3 March 2008
Rule #3: Don't involve mutual friends in the dispute.
The following day was filled with calls, and most of the Bennet family found itself at Lucas Lodge, discussing the events of the previous evening.
Elizabeth, on the other hand, remained at Longbourn to spend time with her son, who was clearly showing signs of too much inside and not enough outside. Fairly soon, though, the gardens were not enough either and the two of them went on a hike through the surrounds.
They walked together along the paths, with Bennet occasionally running ahead to pick up some rock or pull up a flower or poke a stick at a bug. But always he came back to share his treasure with his mother, who, despite quite natural revulsion at some of his finds, showed appropriate awe and approval.
As they were traversing one of the many countryside roads, Elizabeth, still holding the remains of a frog, was surprised to hear hoof beats and turned to see a horseman bearing down on them. She took Bennet by the hand and led him to the side of the road, where they waited patiently for the gentleman to pass. But to her surprise and Bennet's delight, he pulled up his horse.
"Why, Mrs. Darcy!" cried the gentleman. "Imagine finding you here."
"Mr. Bingley!" said Elizabeth with hastily concealed dismay. "Why, I did not expect to see anyone out at this time of the day. Are you on your way somewhere?"
"Oh, no," he replied. "Simply taking a tour of the neighborhood, though I appear to have lost my way, so it is probably a good thing I have encountered you. I always seem to find my way back, but my sisters would undoubtedly worry if I were out 'til dark.
"Well, now, who is this?" he asked, dismounting and coming to crouch down in front of Bennet, who tried his best to hide behind his mother's skirt.
Elizabeth simply awaited the inevitable. It wasn't long in coming.
When Bennet peeked his head out to see if the gentleman were still there, Mr. Bingley gasped with shock and nearly fell backwards. "Mrs. Darcy, is this your son?" he asked, his eyes round as he looked up at her from where he sat on his heels.
"Yes," she replied quietly. "Mr. Bingley, I would like to introduce my son, Bennet."
Bingley looked back at the little face peeping out at him and took in the blond curls and the blue eyes, the long nose and the high cheekbones, which, though softened by age, were signature Darcy features. He shook his head. "I can't believe how much he looks like him. I mean, he is Darcy's, isn't he?"
Elizabeth felt a bit insulted, but when Bingley colored up and began stuttering an embarrassed apology, she took pity on him and laughed. "If you can truly discount the evidence of your own eyes, I should think you a simpleton, Mr. Bingley," she said. "But yes, he is Mr. Darcy's son."
A furrow formed on Bingley's brow as he looked at the young tot, who had gotten over his shyness enough to offer this new acquaintance the bouquet of drooping wildflowers he had been holding. "I don't remember Darcy saying anything about a child," he began.
"Well, that's because he doesn't know," Elizabeth replied crisply. "And if you don't mind, I had hoped it would stay that way."
At this, Bingley stood, his lips tightening slightly. "With all due respect, Mrs. Darcy," he said, "I don't think I can keep this from him, now I know."
"With all due respect, Mr. Bingley, I think you know nothing of the matter," she said. "This is, and always has been, between Mr. Darcy and myself. I would ask for your confidence, Sir."
The gentleman stood in silent contemplation, looking down at the young boy who now stared up at him with wide eyes, thumb in mouth, unsure of the tension he could feel between the two adults. At last Bingley said hesitantly, "I don't know, Mrs. Darcy. He ought to know."
"But I'd rather it was I who told him," Elizabeth said, not mentioning that her intention of telling her husband was less than that of her husband suddenly popping up and performing a jig for them. "You must allow me this."
Bingley, recognizing in this woman before him a spirit to match his good friend's, sensed the honorable (and easiest) course here was to withdraw, and he did so with a generous apology. Now with the awkwardness, though not gone but rather behind them, he inquired into her destination. When he discovered it was a return to Longbourn, he offered to accompany her.
They walked along the road at an even pace, with Bennet, as before, running ahead and then rejoining them to share his treasures. Bingley asked her about her time in London, to which she responded without much detail, and Elizabeth asked him about his friendship with Darcy, to which he was effusive in his praise.
"You must excuse me, Mr. Bingley," she said at last, when he had, in his usual speech, asked her if she didn't agree. "I'm afraid we have some differing views on the same person. You must admit that you, as Mr. Darcy's friend, would only see him at his best, whereas I, as his wife, saw him most often at his worst."
"I do not mean to imply I believe him without fault, Mrs. Darcy," Bingley said, flushing slightly at this misinterpretation. "I only meant to explain my friendship with him. I can only do that by describing my likes, not my dislikes.
"He can have his sullen days, like everyone, and his temper," he admitted with a smile. "Why, I know no more awful an object than Darcy on particular occasions, and in particular places; at Pemberley especially, and of a Sunday evening when he has nothing to do."
"That is true enough," Elizabeth said with a sigh. "Now it is my turn to apologize, Mr. Bingley. I suppose, even after all this time, I still have not forgiven him. I do not blame you for thinking well of your friend, as I do of all of mine."
"Thank you," Bingley replied, and they fell into a comfortable silence as they walked. As Longbourn then came into view, he asked if she knew her family were at home.
"I cannot say," she replied. "They were not when I left, but I can imagine my father is still in his library, and I am sure he would not mind a visit."
They discovered the ladies of the house had, indeed, returned, and Bingley spent a delightful half hour with them, thus sparing Mr. Bennet the trouble of being disturbed. When he at last left, though, Elizabeth was peppered with questions and speculation from her sisters and a rebuke from her mother for encouraging the gentleman, despite the advantageous result.
"It's not as if he has any interest in me," confided Elizabeth to her sister Jane, later as they discussed the events of the day in her bedroom at night. "Especially as the wife of his friend and the mother of that gentleman's child." A giggle escaped her and she covered her mouth to hide it. "You ought to have seen his face when he saw Bennet. I thought he was going to burst."
Jane merely smiled, and a bit uncertainly, at that. "But if he tells Mr. Darcy, won't he take Bennet away from you? What will you do when he tells him?"
"Oh, he won't; I have his assurance on that. And I believe," she said, her voice lightening, "though I don't trust most people as a general rule, your Mr. Bingley is a very honest and honorable man."
"He's not my Mr. Bingley," Jane demurred.
"Do not utter such blasphemy!" Elizabeth said, trying to contain her laughter. "If Mama would hear you, she would have a fit. If Mr. Bingley is not already yours, it is only because you are not doing enough to snare him. You must simply try harder, Jane."
Which was the exact advice Charlotte gave Elizabeth several days later during a call the latter paid at Lucas Lodge. The Bennet ladies had gone a-calling again, this time to Netherfield, and, as before, Elizabeth had no inclination of mixing with that crowd. She had certainly had enough of the two superior sisters the one time she had been forced into their company on a call they had made to Longbourn. And she had certainly had enough of another male presence, even if it were for such a short time. It was certainly long enough to make her continued dislike of him plain.
"In nine cases out of ten, a woman had better show more affection than she feels," Charlotte was saying now. "Bingley likes your sister undoubtedly; but he may never do more than like her, if she does not help him on."
Despite her words to her sister, Elizabeth disagreed with this. "She does help him on as much as her nature will allow," she said. "If I can perceive her regard for him, he must truly be a simpleton not to discover it too. And here I had had such great hopes for him."
"Remember, Eliza, that he does not know Jane's disposition as you do."
"But if a woman is partial to a man, and does not endeavor to conceal it, he must find it out."
"Perhaps he must, if he sees enough of her," Charlotte pointed out. "But though Bingley and Jane meet tolerably often, it is never for many hours together; and as they always see each other in large mixed parties, it is impossible that every moment should be employed in conversing together. Jane should therefore make the most of every half hour in which she can command his attention. When she is secure of him, there will be leisure for falling in love as much as she chooses."
"Your plan is a good one," replied Elizabeth, "where nothing is in question but the desire of being well married. But Jane is not acting by design. As yet, she cannot even be certain of the degree of her own regard, nor of its reasonableness. She has known him only a fortnight. She danced four dances with him at Meryton; she saw him one morning at our house, and has since dined in company with him four times. This is not quite enough to make her understand his character."
"Not as you represent it. Had she merely dined with him, she might only have discovered whether he had a good appetite; but you must remember that four evenings have been also spent together -- and four evenings may do a great deal."
"Yes; these four evenings have enabled them to ascertain that they both like Vingt-un better than Commerce; but with respect to any other leading characteristic -- characteristics I feel necessary for the success of a marriage -- I do not imagine that much has been unfolded."
"Well," said Charlotte, "I wish Jane success with all my heart; and if she were married to him tomorrow, I should think she had as good a chance of happiness as if she were to be studying his character for a twelvemonth. We need only take your example to find that happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance. If the dispositions of the parties are ever so well known to each other, or ever so similar beforehand, it does not advance their felicity in the least. They always contrive to grow sufficiently unlike afterwards to have their share of vexation; and it is better to know as little as possible of the defects of the person with whom you are to pass your life."
"I do not think my example a fine one to take. It was an extraordinary circumstance."
"It is always an extraordinary circumstance," Charlotte replied. "That is the whole nature of marriage."
Occupied as she was in observing Mr. Bingley's attentions to her sister, Elizabeth had little time to interact with Darcy, but at every occasion they attended in common -- which admittedly were few in number, as neither wished to have a scene -- Darcy's attention seemed focused almost solely on her.
His dark expression as he regarded her while propped against some mantel or other drew inquisitive eyes from others at the parties, but as he quite rightfully did not act upon any of his thoughts, no one could guess accurately the theme of his reflections.
And some were more wrong than others.
"I can guess the subject of your reverie," said Miss Bingley as she approached him at a soiree at Lucas Lodge one evening as he held up the wall by the fireplace.
"I would imagine not," Darcy replied.
"You are considering how insupportable it would be to pass many evenings in this manner in such society; and indeed I am quite of your opinion. I was never more annoyed! The insipidity and yet the noise; the nothingness and yet the self-importance of all these people! What would I give to hear your strictures on them!"
"Your conjecture is totally wrong, I assure you," he said. "I am considering the best course of action to take with my wife."
"Your wife!" Miss Bingley cried, and then quieted her voice when the people nearest her turned with expressions of both curiosity and censure: "She's your wife? When you didn't say anything, we supposed she must be some distant relation on your father's side."
"I am afraid not."
"I am all astonishment," Miss Bingley said after a moment, her composure collected and her manner now calculating. "How long has she been your wife? And am I to wish you joy?"
When he didn't respond to her questions, she thought for a moment and then led down a different path: "I understand that she stayed some time in London. But the rumors are that she has returned only to set off not long from now for some distant locale. And she will take her son with her."
Now she had his attention. "Son!" he cried, and then quieted his voice when the people around him turned again. "She has a son? Are you sure of this?"
Miss Bingley smiled. "Oh, yes. Rumors are the boy came with her when she arrived in Hertfordshire, but only the family and the servants have seen him." She paused for effect. "Am I to also wish you joy on your fatherhood?"
Mr. Darcy didn't respond, instead turning his gaze back to where his wife now spoke animatedly with the colonel of the Meryton-based regiment. And as his composure convinced Miss Bingley that all was safe, except, perhaps, a certain young lady, her wit flowed long.
Chapter Four
Posted on Friday, 7 March 2008
Rule #2: Do not see each other.
During the course of breakfast the following morning at Longbourn, a note was delivered. The crisp, slanted feminine writing on the front was apparent ("How fashionable a hand!" exclaimed Mrs. Bennet), and the seal ("I can't tell what that is -- a peacock or a rose?") clearly indicated its origins at Netherfield, and the whole idea of it being from one of those most impressive people brought a sparkle of excitement to the Bennet matron's eye.
The servant who had brought the note was enjoying a nice leisurely cup of tea in the kitchen as he awaited the reply and would have been dismayed to hear Mrs. Bennet avow that haste was necessary. But at that very moment above stairs, she was indeed insisting quite eagerly that Jane open the letter and tell all from whom it came and their purpose for writing.
"It is from Miss Bingley," Jane said, and then read it aloud:
My dear Friend,If you are not so compassionate as to dine to-day with Louisa and me, we shall be in danger of hating each other for the rest of our lives, for a whole day's tête-à-tête between two women can never end without a quarrel. Come as soon as you can on the receipt of this. My brother and the gentlemen are to dine with the officers. Yours ever,
Caroline Bingley.
The news that the gentlemen were dining with the officers drew discouragement from several quarters, but Mrs. Bennet had a plan: Jane would go on horseback to dine at Netherfield, which, with rain coming, would ensure she stay the night.
Her scheme was less than enthusiastically received by her eldest, who had no desire to be caught out in rain, with even less enthusiasm by her second eldest, who disliked the lengths to which her mother would go to ensnare a husband for her daughters, with supreme indifference by the next three, and with surprise by her husband, who hadn't realized it was to rain.
"I had no idea your mother could control the weather," he confided in his second eldest as they sat in the library later that morning, as the dark skies and precipitation made being anywhere near the smug Mrs. Bennet nigh on impossible. Young Bennet sat on the floor, paging through an atlas with pictures of monstrous sea creatures that made him squeal in delight.
"I'd rather she couldn't," Elizabeth replied, setting down her own book, a history of the settling of the colonies in America. "I can't help but feel she tries too hard to force marriage upon us, sometimes. And with the track record this family has had so far, I can't quite understand her drive."
"Disappointment, I'd wager," her father replied. "I wouldn't worry about it greatly. Mr. Bingley seems a decent enough sort. A little accommodating and easy, perhaps, but he's a match for it in Jane."
"His closeness with his friend does him no credit."
"Perhaps," Mr. Bennet said. "But as you know, a friendship is a wholly different kettle of fish than a marriage. And Mr. Darcy had won you over in the beginning, if I recall rightly, so there must be some good in him -- at least superficially, if no deeper."
Elizabeth conceded him that point, and the reminder of those days in Derbyshire during her trip with her aunt and uncle caused her thoughts to linger in her memories long after her father had picked up his book again.
He was right -- they had been happy at first. Darcy, bemused by her unconventional beauty and intrigued by her vivacity when they had met in the village, had sought out the acquaintance more than she at first. But she had soon a return of his feelings, and after an acquaintance of little more than a month -- part of it in Lambton and the other when he had followed her to London -- they had known they were meant to be together.
His father had been, if not enthusiastic over the match, approving, at least. He had hoped, perhaps, for someone higher in society, but those wishes went unspoken in the face of his son's joy.
Her father was a little more hesitant, but in the end only wanted the happiness of his favorite daughter. And her insistence that the young Fitzwilliam Darcy could provide that happiness assured him (when supported by several inquiries into the gentleman's background) that he was giving her hand to a most worthy person.
With the blindness of first love, she had seen only his most worthy attributes. And it was true that, with her, he was not proud. But it was indeed his pride that had begun the unraveling, and perhaps no less the pride on her side, as well.
In the end, though, it was the lack of communication and the unwillingness on both their parts to be the first to reach across the gulf dividing them that brought about their separation. And, certainly, now it was too late. It seemed it was too late the moment she had run away. And perhaps before then.
But she wasn't going to hide from him anymore, Elizabeth told herself the following day as she strode across the fields toward Netherfield. Perhaps it was the bright sunshine after a day of rain, or perhaps it was her reluctance to dwell on the way the mud squished up through the seams of her half-boots, but a feeling of optimism and self-confidence swelled through her as she hopped the stiles and crossed the streams along her shortcut.
She was walking to Netherfield to see Jane, despite her mother's most strenuous objections and her father's offer to call the carriage. She needed some time to herself, to work out some of the anxiety she had been feeling recently and the depressive state of mind she had as a result of her contemplation of her marriage the night before, especially as she was quite possibly about to face the subject of these reflections.
Elizabeth wasn't usually so downcast, but the increasingly complicated and volatile position she was in was having its effect. She simply needed to leave, she told herself, and take the next ship sailing for the colonies, and all would be fixed.
But even that thought was not as buoyant as it had been, now that she had come back to see her family. She didn't want to leave her father again, nor Jane. Bennet had really taken to his relatives, and would certainly feel their loss. And she would miss even her younger sisters and her mother, she had to admit.
It really was a quandary. But staying was dangerous, especially now that her husband had found her. She had been more than dismayed to see him standing there across the room at the first assembly in Meryton; and each occasion thereafter, as she met his eyes across the crowded room, she became even more aware of the urgency to leave.
She was still in love with him.
The first moment she had realized it, as she saw him talking with Miss Bingley at the Lucas soiree and felt a wave of jealousy roll through her, the thought had nearly sent her staggering. Every time then she looked at his face, saw the shadows in his eyes, she recognized the voice that whispered to her to ease his pain and the longing in her to once again bask in his love. His lips reminded her of his smile, so long absent; his hands reminded her of his touch, which variously had comforted her and thrilled her; his eyes reminded her of the many glances shared across a crowded room; his hair reminded her of their son, the product of their love.
What was wrong with her, that she didn't have the sense to hate him? He had certainly shown he had not truly loved her, and to be still pining after the man clearly was a sign she was not as intelligent as she had always thought.
At the same time, though, the knowledge that she was prepared to put an ocean between them despite her love made her a little more confident in her strength. She could stand up to him, finally. She was his equal, if not by birth, then by marriage, and most certainly by character. She had nothing to fear from him anymore.
Which was partly her motivation for this trip to Netherfield. Of course she wanted to see her sister. Jane was always one to downplay her illnesses and never complained, so the sheer optimism in her note that morning telling them of a mere sore throat and cold was enough to make Elizabeth wary. But beyond her care for her sister, she did feel a desire to test her newfound confidence in her ability to stand up to her husband. And she certainly couldn't do it from three miles away.
She could do it from three feet away, though, and when she came upon Darcy as he walked the grounds, her eyes sparkled with a martial gleam.
"Elizabeth!" Darcy exclaimed in surprise as he looked up and saw her standing there so unexpectedly.
"Mr. Darcy," she said with cool composure. "How do you do?"
"Well," he replied with some confusion. "What are you doing here?"
She raised her brow at his lack of tact, and he had the grace to blush. "I am come to attend my sister. Would you care to direct me to her?"
He courteously bowed and offered his arm. As they walked toward the house, though, he said softly, so as not to be heard by any of the servants in the garden, "I cannot believe that you would come here on such a paltry excuse."
"I beg your pardon, it is a very fine excuse, and depending upon how I find my sister, perhaps a most necessary one," she said.
"I won't be taken in by you again."
Elizabeth stopped on the spot, and he stopped as well, turning to look at her. "I really have no idea what you are talking about, Mr. Darcy," she said, arching an eyebrow.
"Oh, I think you do," he replied. "You want me to take you back in, as if nothing had happened. You wish to tempt me with your arts and allurements, to get in my good graces, make me overlook your indiscretions and their result. Well, I shall have you know that I am not so easily deceived. You have made me a laughingstock, madam, and that is not so quickly forgiven."
"You are completely mistaken, Mr. Darcy, if you think I seek anything from you. I left your protection two years ago, and I have no intention of coming back. And if you believe I am in need of your forgiveness for that, you are sorely illusioned."
She paused and smiled grimly. "Now, I am here to see my sister, and not for any reason inclined to speak with you, even should you behave in a more gentlemanlike manner. But I see Mr. Bingley in the doorway there. Perhaps he would be so kind as to escort me to her, without haranguing me the while. Excuse me."
With a final glare, Elizabeth turned away from her husband and once again left him, this time standing dumbfoundedly in the middle of the gardens at Netherfield. He was shaken by this contretemps, and confused as to her words. She appeared to be completely unashamed of her actions in this whole affair, and, if it could be believed, thought him to be the offender.
When everyone knew that he was the one wronged.
Still slightly put out, he related the experience to Bingley as they played billiards before dinner.
"And I don't see what she has to complain about, really," he was saying. "She wasn't the one who was abandoned in the middle of the night, without so much as a note. Or made a complete fool of with Wickham, of all people."
"What is all this with Wickham, by the way?" Bingley asked as he ricocheted another ball off the cushions, completely missing the pockets. "You never did explain to me the whole situation."
Darcy sighed and lined up his shot. "At the time it all happened, I was up north with Wester, looking over some rare editions -- to be honest, I don't even recall anymore what they were. It was mostly an excuse to leave, to have some time to consider my marriage, to come to terms with her standing in society, our seeming inability to see eye-to-eye. I suppose it also helped that my aunt Lady Catherine and her daughter had come to visit. After a few acrimonious meetings there, I left my aunt to keep company with Georgiana and Elizabeth.
"Shortly after I left for Yorkshire, she wrote me that Wickham had arrived at Pemberley, asking to see me, and that my wife was spending an inordinate amount of time with him. Naturally, knowing what he was, I felt some measure of unease, and wrote back, asking her to keep an eye on the situation.
"She wrote me again later, detailing some of his visits, and several things she had heard from the servants. This disturbed me, but not so much as to cut my business short; it wasn't until I received yet another letter from my aunt, which suggested the situation had become even more dire, that I made preparations to return to Derbyshire. Georgiana, in her own letter to me at that time, seemed to confirm what my aunt had written, though I can imagine, in her innocence, she knew not what she wrote."
"But how could you be sure your wife was not innocent in all this, Darcy?" Bingley asked as he chalked his cue. "Could it not have all been a misunderstanding?"
"I wish it could have been, but I witnessed proof," Darcy said tightly, hitting the ball before him with unusual force.
"Ah, just a kiss," Bingley commented, watching as the two balls then careened in opposite directions.
"It wasn't," Darcy said, stalking to the other side of the table. "The shock on her face when she saw me as I came upon them in the garden was proof enough for me of there being more to it than a mere kiss, even had I not the confirmation of Wickham's own words, after I sent her to the house."
"Wait -- you saw them embracing? And he confirmed you had been cuckolded?"
"I would have put a bullet in his smug face then and there, had I a pistol, and I wouldn't have felt the least twinge of conscience," Darcy confided. "As it was, I merely paid him off the next day, when I called upon him at the inn at Lambton while in search of my wife. Not only for his silence in the affair, mind you, but also compensation for the living my father had bequeathed him. There was little doubt now he would not go into the church."
"And you never found your wife."
"No. My first thought, when I found her gone the next morning, was she had gone with Wickham. But even he had scoffed at that notion, and I confirmed she had not been seen in the area. I then came here, but her family had heard nothing of her. Going back to Pemberley, I was able to trace her to London, but the one family I thought might know something disavowed any knowledge. I suppose now that I might have been a bit overzealous in my dealings with them, at least -- but no amount of money or pressure could make them reveal anything, despite my suspicions they knew more. So, after my efforts to locate her failed, I washed my hands of her."
Bingley nodded, unsure what to say, and they resumed play in silence. At last, though, he spoke hesitantly: "I apologize for insisting your wife stay here with her sister. I thought it the right thing to do, but I wasn't thinking of the complications."
"I'm certain we shall manage civilly for the day or so she is here," Darcy said. "I imagine she will spend most of her time with her sister, in any case."
"I invited her down after dinner," Bingley said slowly. "She insisted on a tray in her room, but I thought she might benefit from the company while her sister slept."
"Quite the generous host."
"I daresay I am. I also insisted she stay as long as her sister needed her, which, if Mr. Jones is right, may be nearly a week."
Darcy put down his cue and stared hard at the other man, whose gaze shifted guiltily to the table. "If you are thinking to effect a reconciliation, Bingley, you had much better put the idea out of your mind. I have no intention of allowing that woman a return into my life, but for the short time I am here. I would rather my property go to Georgiana's children than have her or her issue back. And unlike what most men of our acquaintance would undoubtedly do with such an errant wife, I will not beat her and send her off to be sequestered on my estate or my hunting box in Scotland, to show my dominance or to save my pride. But I wish her gone and shall find no rest until she is."
"Then you must wish I had not invited her to stay here," Bingley said.
"By no means; I am not afraid of her," Darcy said with an ironic and half-humorous smile. "But if you try to reunite us, my friend, you may just learn to be afraid of me."
Chapter Five
Posted on Wednesday, 12 March 2008
Rule #4: Ignore the elephant.
When Elizabeth came downstairs after dinner, feeling it would be rather more right than pleasant to accept Bingley's invitation, she found all the party at cards. Having no inclination to join them, she responded to Mr. Bingley's kind inquiries after her sister and then refused their offer to move so she might be seated at table, saying she would instead prefer to read.
"Do you prefer reading to cards?" said Mr. Hurst, looking at her much in the same way as she had responded to the frogs her son had found the other day. "How very singular."
"Mrs. Darcy despises cards," Miss Bingley said. "She is a great reader and has no pleasure in anything else."
"I deserve neither such praise nor such censure," the object of this discussion said. "I am not a great reader, and I have pleasure in many things."
"In nursing your sister I am sure you have pleasure, and I hope it will soon be increased by seeing her quite well," Mr. Bingley said.
Elizabeth found herself responding to his warm smile and once again wondered inwardly how such a man could be a friend of her husband. When she realized her gaze had moved to that gentleman, who was staring as though mesmerized at her, her smile faded abruptly and she turned away to pick up one of the books lying on a table nearby.
Bingley immediately offered to fetch her any book she cared from the library, though he warned her they were few. She declined his generous offer and assured him those in the room suited her well enough.
"I am astonished," said Miss Bingley, "that my father should have left so small a collection of books. What a delightful library you have at Pemberley, Mr. Darcy!"
"It ought to be good," Darcy replied. "It is the work of many generations."
"And this present generation has done much to maintain its increase," Elizabeth said, the phrase she had heard her father-in-law use many times slipping off her tongue before she realized it.
The room fell into an uncomfortable silence until Mr. Hurst took a trick and Miss Bingley was suddenly inspired to change the subject.
"Is Miss Darcy much grown since the spring? Will she be as tall as I am?" she said now.
"I think she will," Darcy replied. "She is now about my wife's height, or rather taller."
Miss Bingley was not so happy with this response, either, but forged ahead: "How I long to see her again! I never met with anybody who delighted me so much. Such a countenance, such manners, and so extremely accomplished for her age! Her performance on the piano-forte is exquisite."
"It is amazing to me," said Bingley, "how young ladies can have patience to be so very accomplished as they all are."
Miss Bingley scoffed at the idea of all ladies being accomplished.
"Yes, all of them, I think," her brother exclaimed. "They all paint tables, cover screens, and net purses. I scarcely know one who cannot do all this, and I am sure I never heard a young lady spoken of for the first time, without being informed that she was very accomplished."
"Your list of the common extent of accomplishments," said Darcy, "has too much truth. The word is applied to many a woman who deserves it not other than by netting a purse, or covering a screen. But I am very far from agreeing with you in your estimation of ladies in general. I cannot boast of knowing more than half a dozen, in the whole range of my acquaintance, that are really accomplished."
"Nor I, I am sure," cried his ready echo.
"You expect a great deal from a woman," observed Elizabeth.
"Yes; I do expect a great deal."
"Certainly," said Miss Bingley, "no one can be really esteemed accomplished, who does not greatly surpass what is usually met with. A woman must have a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing and the modern languages, to deserve the word. And besides all this, she must possess a certain something in her air and manner of walking, the tone of her voice, her address and expressions, or the word will be but half deserved."
Elizabeth seemed amused by this pretty speech. "And are you satisfied with only that, Mr. Darcy?" she asked softly.
"No," he said with gravity. "To all this she must yet add modesty and a sense of honor unimpeachable."
"I am no longer surprised at your avowal you know only six accomplished women," said she after a moment. "I rather wonder now at your knowing any."
Miss Bingley, sensing undercurrents she could not understand, re-entered the conversation with: "Are you so severe upon your own sex, as to doubt the possibility of all this?"
"I never saw such a woman; I never saw such capacity, taste, application and elegance -- and modesty with such innumerable qualities -- as you describe, united," Elizabeth replied.
Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley both cried out against the injustice of her implied doubt, and were both protesting that they knew many women who answered this description, when Mr. Hurst called them to order with bitter complaints of their inattention to what was going forward. As all conversation was thereby at an end, Elizabeth soon afterwards left the room to check on her sister.
No sooner had she left the room, then Miss Bingley began abusing her to her companions, saying, "Mrs. Darcy is one of those young ladies who seek to recommend themselves to the opposite sex by undervaluing their own. And with many men, I dare say it succeeds. But in my opinion it is a paltry device, a very mean art."
"Undoubtedly," replied Darcy, unsure why he should defend her but feeling he ought, "there is meanness in all the arts which ladies condescend to employ for captivation. But as Mrs. Darcy no longer need recommend herself to the opposite sex, she perhaps might be acquitted of any ulterior motive."
Miss Bingley, not entirely satisfied with this response, did not continue the subject.
Some minutes later, Elizabeth, appearing not completely unhappy with her news, returned to the room only to inform the company that her sister was worse, and that she could not leave her. Bingley immediately suggested sending for Mr. Jones, while his sisters proclaimed that nothing less than a London physician would do for their friend. This Elizabeth would not hear of, but she consented to have the apothecary sent for in the morning, were her sister not improved.
Mr. Bingley was made quite uncomfortable by the news, and the sisters declared themselves wretched. They solaced their unhappiness with duets, however, while he could find no better relief to his feelings than to give his housekeeper directions that every possible attention might be paid to the sick lady and to her sister.
And in the morning he was rewarded for his care by receiving to his note the reply that Miss Bennet appeared, indeed, on the mend. Elizabeth was able to give similar tolerable replies some time later to the inquiries from the elegant ladies who waited on his sisters.
In spite of this, she felt it necessary to send a note to Longbourn, desiring her mother to see Jane and form her own opinion. The note was immediately dispatched and its contents just as readily answered by the visit of Mrs. Bennet, accompanied by her two youngest daughters.
Mrs. Bennet's appearance went much as expected. She might have been truly miserable had she found Jane in any danger, but, as her illness was not alarming, she had no wish of her recovering immediately, so as to prolong the visit. She would not listen to her daughter's proposal to be carried home and seconded most strongly the apothecary's similar judgment.
With no spot on her conscience, she was free then to visit with the rest of the company. During the following half hour call, Elizabeth, at every turn, found herself deflecting her mother's curiosity, her acrimony towards her son-in-law, and her comments that revealed her mean understanding of society. At one point, she was forced to cleverly change the subject when her mother began talking about how, at her age, she was certainly too old to be towing young children around. The only thing about which Elizabeth could do nothing was her sisters' appeal of Mr. Bingley to host a ball and their exuberant replies upon hearing his intention to keep his promise. But that was a minor inconvenience.
After her mother and sisters had left, Elizabeth returned, strangely exhausted, to her room, stopping briefly in the library to find a new book. To her surprise, she encountered her husband in the upstairs hall. They neither of them spoke at first, more startled than anything by the other's appearance. Then Darcy said with a bow, "It appears you have become able to control your mother in company at last."
Elizabeth felt herself flushing, and strove to calm the surge of anger that flowed through her. This was an old argument, from when her family had visited Pemberley after they were first married. "And it appears you have lost none of your boorish pride," she replied. "Do I still reflect so poorly on you? You shan't worry; I will not do so for long."
Darcy started at this, but recovered swiftly. "I am glad I had the chance to speak to you privately," he said. "First, of course, I would that you refrain from joining the company tonight. No good can come from you and I being in such close quarters. You ought have refused Bingley's invitation at the very outset."
"Happily for me, I no longer rule my life by your approval of my actions," Elizabeth said. "I am here for my sister, who needs my care and concern."
"This is not an all-bachelor household," Darcy observed. "She would have been well attended."
"Oh, yes, I could have left her to the devices of your friend's sisters," she scoffed in reply. "But you know as well as I that they are not the sickbed type. As soon as their interest waned, distracted by whatever more exalted company they could find, Jane would have been left to fend for herself. And as hers is not the character to demand things of others, she would have wasted away before asking for more than a glass of water.
"And besides, there is nothing to compare with the loving attention that can only be given by a sister," she said. "You may despise me my motive in coming, but at least I know how to care for the ones I love."
When Darcy didn't reply, she pushed past him to open her door. But as her hand reached for the handle, she was arrested by his voice: "You must never have loved me, then."
She looked back at him in surprise. His face was in shadow now, and she couldn't read his expression, but she had recognized the intensity behind his irony-laced tone and knew her answer to be important. "On the contrary," she said with calm precision, weighing her words. "But you see, Mr. Darcy, I know Jane loves me in return."
And without waiting for him to reply, fearing as she did the answer, she entered her room and closed the door firmly behind her.
She did not see him again that night, choosing retreat as the better form of valor. And when they encountered each other again over the breakfast table the next morning, neither spoke a word to the other. Elizabeth excused herself as soon as politely possible.
She was not as confident now as before in her ability to stand fast against him, she admitted to herself. She had revealed the day before some of the bitterness in her heart and the temptation to speak her piece to him seemed now to burn more strongly.
"How he must despise me," Elizabeth said as she helped her sister change into a gown prior to going downstairs after dinner.
"Surely your words to him have not had any effect on his opinion," Jane replied rationally. "And you have the both of you professed disinterest -- why should his opinion matter now?"
Elizabeth looked startled by that, and stammered out, "It doesn't."
Jane smiled at her sister over her shoulder. "It is probably just this nearness, the uncertainty," she said. "Perhaps it might be best for you to air your concerns, and he as well. Perhaps it was all just some misunderstanding."
"Of course it was all a misunderstanding," Elizabeth said, resuming her old humor with a small smile as she finished up the buttons and went to the dressing table to look for hairpins. "That wasn't the problem at all -- it was that he didn't trust me, that he misunderstood and believed the lies without question."
When Jane didn't say anything, Elizabeth looked up at the mirror and perceived her sister's inward struggle. "Don't bite your lip like that," she said with a laugh. "You'll never get them overall rosy if you work only on the bottom."
"Oh, don't start with that, Lizzy."
Elizabeth returned to her sister, pinned up the locks of hair that had fallen, then framed her sister's face with her hands. "First off, Jane, I know you -- I know what you are thinking right now. But you cannot make us all out to be good. There is but such a quantity of merit to go among the lot of us, and I am inclined to think that you, who try so hard to make everyone appear noble, have got the best of it.
"Secondly, I'm perfectly happy with the way things are now. I have my son, about whom I'm terribly worried at the moment, not having been away from him more than an afternoon before now. I have my family, with whom I was able to spend some time after so long a separation. And I have a new life waiting for me in America." She shook her head with a smile. "I don't need a husband now.
"But you, on the other hand, most assuredly do," she said, her smile broadening wickedly. "And I know one who's perfectly ripe for the plucking."
"Oh, Lizzy," came the weary, laughing answer, and the two exited the room and went downstairs to join the company.