Section I, Next Section
Posted on Friday, 06-Nov-98
Author's Note: I was reading some posts on the discussion page of P&P, when I came across a short paragraph at the end of a message which had been discussing Lizzy and Darcy's lively exchange over the pianoforte at Rosings. "What would have happened if Darcy had given in to his feelings and proposed right then and there?" What, indeed...
"Marry me."
Darcy leaned across the polished wooden piano-top, forcing Elizabeth to meet the burning intensity of his gaze.
The simple chords of the song jarred compulsively as she lost control of her fingers. Her jaw dropped and her fine eyes lost all of their teasing mischievousness as she stared at him in genuine shock.
"I - " she began, with no idea of what her next words were going to be, when suddenly he was beside her with his lips pressed to hers, and his hands caressing each side of her face. He released her, and all of Elizabeth's senses were reeling. She could not be sure whether she had kissed him back - but somewhere in the turmoil of her thoughts she suspected that she had, and she blushed hotly. The indecency of it! She felt acutely ashamed, even though she had not been to one to instigate the kiss.
She struggled desperately to recollect her scrambled thoughts.
"Mr. Darcy, I did not - I had not - "
She was interrupted by an imperious demand from Lady Catherine, who was still holding court in the adjacent room:
"What are you talking of? What are you telling Miss Bennet? I must have my share in the conversation!"
Mr. Darcy flicked a brief look over his shoulder in the direction of the voice, then took both of Elizabeth's hands in his own and pulled her swiftly to her feet and out of the French doors which opened into the rose gardens.
When Colonel Fitzwilliam entered the room a few moments later, sent to investigate Darcy's lack of response, he found that his cousin and Miss Bennet had disappeared.
Elizabeth was agitated in the extreme.
"Mr. Darcy, what can you be thinking? We can't! What of Lady Catherine? Your cousins? Charlotte? What will they think? We must go back!"
"Not until I have your answer." He had still not let go of her hands.
"My answer? My answer? Sir, are you sure you know what you are saying?" She saw the hurt impatience in his eyes and tried to explain her hesitation. She simply couldn't understand what was going on in his mind. Had he not always despised her?
"Did you really expect me to take your proposal seriously? Surely you can not be in earnest!" She could see immediately that he was, and reflected briefly that he was hardly of the disposition which leant itself to practical jokes.
She closed her eyes for a moment, and willed herself to calm down.
"Forgive me, " she said carefully, "If I have offended you. That was not my intention. I am just ... surprised. To say the very least."
She inhaled and risked a look at him. His eyes were dark and passionate, and bright with anticipation. In spite of herself, she felt a thrill run up her spine as she looked into those eyes, but she knew what she had to say. As gently as she could, she pulled her hands from his grip.
"In such cases as these, I believe the established mode is to express a sense of obligation, but I can not." The light in his eyes dimmed abruptly, and she felt an odd stab of pain in her chest and looked away, clinging to her resolve.
Hesitating only briefly, she continued, "I am very sensible to the honour of your proposal," she could not help the tinge of sarcasm that crept into her pronunciation of 'honour', but she did not see him flinch. "But it is impossible for me to accept them."
She found she could not look at him, but she jumped when he turned abruptly and walked a few paces away from her.
There was a horrible pause. It seemed very wrong to Elizabeth that the silence should be filled with all the birdsong and heavy scents of an English garden in summer, but the world carried on around them, happily oblivious to their turmoil.
Finally, he turned to face her once more.
"And this is all the reply I am to expect?" His voice, usually so calm and distant, was fighting for control. "I might wonder why, with so little concern or reflection, I am rejected."
Elizabeth was incredulous at hearing him speak so. "Can you really not guess my reasons?" She could feel herself growing passionate, but could no longer restrain herself, "Do you honestly wish me to account for refusing you? Shall I give you names? Dates? Places? What shall I mention first? Your behaviour at the Meryton Assembly, perhaps. Your coldness, your arrogance, your selfish disdain for the feelings of others! Shall I speak of Wickham, and the infamous manner in which you have treated him? Do you want me to continue? How can it be possible that I have come from being too plain to stand up with to a prospective wife? I had not known you a month, Mr. Darcy, before I felt ... I felt ... "
Her voice stumbled to a halt and died away.
Darcy looked at her sharply, and realised that she was not searching for words, but her eyes had fixed on something... Her face, which moments before had been flushed with agitation, was suddenly drained of all colour.
Darcy's anger was immediately overcome by genuine concern.
"Miss Bennet, are you ill?"
She did not answer, but she had begun to sway slightly, and her eyes had not left their mysterious distraction. She seemed to be staring at his right hand. Brow creased in consternation, he took her hands once more and lead her to sit down on small stone bench.
"Should I fetch a doctor?" He asked uncertainly.
Elizabeth seemed to revive a little. "What? Oh.... no... I am quite well... thank-you ... I ... I just ... " She raised her head and looked him straight in the eye. When she spoke again, her voice was much firmer.
"Where did you get that ring, Mr. Darcy?"
To say that Darcy was surprised by her question would be a gross understatement. He stumbled as Elizabeth had just a few moments before, and would not meet her gaze.
"My ring? I ... Well ... A girl ... Not like you think, not like that at all ... Well, we met and ... It was many years ago. She gave me this ring and I gave her - "
"This watch-chain," supplied Elizabeth quietly, and Darcy's shock was compounded when he saw that she held in her hand a small gold fob watch, which he had never thought to see again.
Part II
His memories swept him away as he gazed at it, barely comprehending.
He was shaken out of his recollections by Elizabeth's soft, unsteady voice.
"She must have meant something to you, that girl, if you still wear her ring."
He stared at her, mute. Could it really be true? His Elizabeth, and that nameless girl from all those years ago?
When he offered no response, she went on.
"I'm only asking because I thought you might have experienced something similar to me.
"When I was fifteen, I went to stay with my aunt and uncle in London. I wandered away from them and quickly lost my way. It was almost dark, and it had been snowing for most of the day. Quite without warning, a blizzard swept in, and I was out in the street with no where to go, no where to take shelter."
Elizabeth's memories took her far away, and she shivered as she relived that terrible night.
"I was so cold, so frightened. I thought I might die. Everything was a swirling mass of white, as if I were the only one in the world. I cried for help, but my voice was snatched by the wind. I made out a building - it could only have been about 6 feet away, but I could barely see it, the snow was so thick. I was crying and the tears were freezing on my cheeks. I groped my way into an alleyway, where some of the wind was cut off, but it wasn't much better.
"Then suddenly, I heard someone calling to me out of the darkness. A man, but not much more than a boy. I was even more afraid. I didn't know who - or what - to expect. But the voice came closer, and it was... kind.
"'It's all right, Miss," it said, "There's a broken down carriage at the end of the alley. Its not much, but it's shelter. Don't cry now, all will be well. You'll see.'
"I just stood there, sniffling, but I remember warm hands that reached out the of the blizzard and guided me through the cold, dark alley. I still remember those hands - even in the middle of a freezing snow-storm, were they warm.
"Finally I found myself crawling through a small opening, and though I couldn't see anything, I could feel the tattered remains of velvet upholstery inside the little cave. The carriage must have been rolled in its side. I heard a tearing sound as those hands ripped away a sheet of the upholstery, and placed it over me. I was still shivering uncontrollably.
"Then he pulled me close to him. I remember he apologised first, but informed that it was necessary to sacrifice propriety if we were to stay warm. I don't think I even considered the impropriety of it. I was just so relieved to be out of the storm, safe... I suppose we weren't exactly out of trouble at that stage, but I felt like nothing could touch me anymore. I leaned back against the stranger, and listened to his voice. He didn't seem afraid at all.
"Incredibly enough, I was soon joining in. We were talking, laughing and telling stories, and all the while that blizzard raged outside. It was crazy, but it didn't seem that way then. We each told how we had come to be out in the storm. It seemed that he had been staying with his family at 'the London house', and had snuck away at the instigation of his friend, George, in order to discover what adventures the 'other' side of London life might have to offer. Curiosity, combined with nagging from his friend, resulted in his giving in to his friend's taunts of cowardice and setting off. Having become separated from George some hours earlier, he had wandered the streets, seeing sights he never dreamed of, but when the storm swept in he found himself in the same situation as me: lost, and without shelter or friends in an unfamiliar city street. It was by a stroke of pure luck that he had found the overturned carriage, and even luckier that he had heard me crying, and come to my aid.
"When I asked his name, he laughed and told me that since neither of us was actually supposed to be walking the streets of Cheapside at night, it would be better if we didn't know. But we made a game of it, and spent some time trying to guess each other's names. He couldn't guess mine. I couldn't guess his.
"When the wind finally began to die down, we ventured outside. A few hours had passed, but it was still the middle of the night. For a little while, neither said a word. Then the boy turned to me, and asked if I knew my way home. I remembered I was lost. I had quite forgotten that predicament - wrapped in that boy's comfortingly warm embrace, I had somehow forgotten everything else - but I realised I could hear the church bells tolling nearby. I knew I could navigate my way back to Gracechurch Street if I went in the direction of that sound.
"So... it seemed we would part. I didn't know what I ought to say. I took a few steps, then stopped and turned to him - 'If we won't say our names, how will we know if we ever meet each other again?' I couldn't explain it, but the prospect of losing my new-found friend, and saviour, seemed improportionately terrible.
"He seemed to consider it, then I felt him press something into my palm - this watch. I had to give something in return, so I pulled a ring off my thumb. I had begged it off my father because, tomboy that I was, I fancied the silver design. He took the ring, kissed my hand, and then disappeared into the pre-dawn gloom."
Elizabeth's eyes were misty, and focused far away. There was a slightly wistful smile on her lips.
"I never saw him again. I never even knew what he looked like. I never really had a chance to thank him..."
Darcy's eyes had misted over as he gazed at her, and his thoughts were immersed in the past. How he had regretted not finding out the name of that mysterious young woman - so lively and clever, so different from the girls of his acquaintance!
He had supposed his memories of her to be the source of his inexplicable attraction for Elizabeth - it was that Elizabeth was so much like that girl... The irony by no means escaped him.
All this time, he had been pining like a school-boy for the girl he had met but never seen, held in his arms but never spoken love to - found and then let go.
Elizabeth sat silently, carefully observing his countenance as it moved from tenderness to regret, from wonder to bitterness.
Finally, she asked again, quietly, "Could you tell me then, Mr. Darcy, where you got that ring from?"
He met her gaze. "It was given to me by the first woman I ever loved," he replied seriously, "And now I can return it. To the last woman I will ever love."
He slowly twisted it off his little finger, and rolled it briefly between his finger and thumb, sadly admiring the pattern for the last time.
"Here, Miss Bennet," he said softly, "I believe this belongs to you."
Elizabeth stared unmoving at the proffered band, her heart beating wildly.
Now what was happening? Was he withdrawing his proposal? Did she want him to, now that she knew who he was? Did it make a difference to what she thought of him? Of course it did, how could it not? But did it mean that she could forgive his other slights against her? Yes, she thought it could, but what about Wickham?
Her thoughts became even more tangled, as emotion distorted reason. Could the same man who had held her close when she was lost and afraid really be the man Wickham claimed he was? Who could she believe? Did she put her faith in the nameless, faceless voice from the storm, or in the slick and slightly-too-charming red-coat?
Without knowing what she ought to do, she reached out her hand to accept the ring, then hesitated and changed her mind. Instead of taking it, she closed his fist around it.
"Please, keep it," she murmured, "And if you'll allow it, I'd... I'd like to keep the watch chain."
He was watching her intently, uncertain of her emotions.
When she did look up, his heart wrenched to see that there were tears in her eyes.
"Elizabeth, what - " But she held up her hand.
"I'm not quite sure what I feel now, Mr. Darcy. Everything... Everything has happened so fast, so much has changed..."
She regarded him searchingly for a moment.
"I hardly know what to believe." She bit her lip, and decided to be completely frank with him.
"I hope you will forgive me for speaking in this way, Mr. Darcy, but I really must know."
Elizabeth took a deep breath. "I am not in love with Mr. Wickham - I never was. But you must know that he has been .... been talking about you, and I confess, I believed him. But now... now it hardly seems feasible. I only knew that boy in the snow for a few hours but I knew... I know that I could trust him." She was looking directly at him.
"Tell me that Wickham's accusations of wrong doing were lies, and I will believe you."
Darcy did not hesitate.
"They were lies. I do not know what falsehoods he has imposed on upon you, but I hope you will acquit me of cruelty towards him when you know the truth. You shall know it now, if you so desire."
He did not notice her shoulders sag in relief. She could not explain exactly why it meant so much to her that Mr. Darcy, whom she had so despised only a few hours before, was now cleared of guilt. She knew it was all tied up with the boy in the storm.
Her memories of the young man with the kind voice and the warm hands had fed many a teenage fancy, and although she had long since thrown the idea aside as a silly girlish dream, she found that she still compared the men of her acquaintance with the ideal she found in him. And she still carried with her the watch-chain he had given her. It was somehow comforting.
Both were lost in their own thoughts. Darcy was watching Elizabeth, smarting under an intensified sense of loss and self-recrimination as he marvelled at the extraordinary coincidence of finding her again. He berated himself mercilessly for the pride and the cold manners which he had hurt her with for much of their acquaintance. Having discovered her true identity, he knew with more certainty than ever that she was meant for him in every way. Destiny had crossed their paths so many times, it was difficult to ignore the hint. Having now discovered that he loved even more deeply than before - something he would not have thought possible - how was he to live without her? Could he just walk away? He knew that propriety and custom demanded it, but his every fibre rebelled against the thought.
If only he could take her in his arms, and explain everything to her. Tell her how much his life had changed since that night in the storm. How he longed to be that happy, open-mannered boy whom she had cared for, but how that Fitzwilliam Darcy had been forced to become so many other things - a Master of Pemberley, a father to Georgiana, a lord over tenants, a Gentleman and an object of prey in a mercenary society... What could he say to make her understand? To induce her to forgive the behaviour of the Fitzwilliam Darcy he had never wanted to be, and by her love help him reclaim the Fitzwilliam Darcy she had cared for. She and she alone could set him free from the hateful thing he had become. But there were no words adequate to communicate what she meant to him. He was helplessly silent.
He stared at her, and watched the breeze ruffle her curls. The strange hollow ache in his chest became a piercing pain when he thought of leaving her. Her eyes were fixed on some distant horizon, and he wished fervently to know what thoughts were going through her head.
Finally, he spoke softly, aware that he was making himself vulnerable to her, if only by the raw emotion in his voice - the depth of his feelings defied concealment.
"Miss Bennet, may we not start again? Let's go back six years and begin where we left off. Nothing has gone right since then. Please say that you could give me another chance."
His eyes, as they gazed at her, laid bare all of his heart and soul. He held out his hand as an offering of truce.
Elizabeth's eyes flicked from his hand to his face, and to his surprise he thought he could see a small curve returning to her lips, and detect a tiny sparkle humour her gaze.
"Certainly, Mr. Darcy," she replied, taking his hand and standing up, "But seeing as no one else is present to make the introduction, I will have to take that duty upon myself." With every expression of seriousness, she looked him in the eye and bobbed low in a graceful curtsey.
"I am Elizabeth Bennet, sir. How do you do?"
In spite of his tumultuous feelings, Darcy found himself smiling also. Grinning like a fool, in fact.
"Fitzwilliam Darcy, madam," he bowed over her hand, and kissed her fingers, "At your service."
Now, the birdsong and the warm summer scents seemed quite appropriate. The golden sunshine blended harmoniously with the joyous rhythms of their hearts.
"Shall we take a turn about the gardens, Miss Bennet? I'm sure you'll find it... very refreshing."
Elizabeth laughed, and his heart soared.
"Thank you, sir. I should be delighted."
She placed her hand in the crook of his arm, and they set off together.
From that moment, they were never apart again.
The End
Continuation
Author's note: I had intended to stop after two parts, but after a number of people suggested I continue, I gave in to the enticing temptation. Here is "Renewed Acquaintances" ... Continued ...
Lady Catherine's vexation was increasing by the hour. Where was her nephew? She had barely seen him at all in three days. It was quite inexplicable, since she knew how much Darcy adored coming to Rosings. What could possibly be keeping him away from her company?
She had been anticipating an extended audience for the duration of March, because in addition to the customary visit of her nephews, she knew that Mrs. Collins, the parson's wife, was expecting the company of her younger sister and a friend from Hertfordshire, or some such place. It was of little consequence to Lady Catherine. The material point was that her social circle would be expanded, and her wisdom bestowed on a greater population of worthy recipients.
She felt quite indignant when, after just a couple of visits, Miss Bennet became subject to frequent headaches, and had to stay at home while the rest of her party made regular calls at Rosings. But she felt positively cheated when Darcy was also mysteriously absent from her drawing room discussions...
Miss Bennet had been an interesting sort of person. Rather too much to say for herself, in Lady Catherine's opinion. After all, anything that needed to be pointed out, and any opinions worth hearing were covered by herself. However, Mrs. Collins' young friend did occasionally stumble upon something witty, and could be rather amusing in small doses. No breeding, of course, but Lady Catherine's natural generosity and graceful condescension prevented her from censuring the girl for her degrading connections. Some other Lady of her standing might have declined to bestow her hospitality on such a common young woman, but Catherine considered it her duty to occasionally condescend to her inferiors. She felt she offered a taste of refinement to their lives - poor, simple souls.
No doubt the poor girl was devastated that her illness had come at such an inopportune moment - how tragic for her that she should be confined to the house by ill-health, when she might be basking in the noble company of Lady Catherine de Bourgh!
To return to the point, the loss of Miss Bennet was a little disappointing, but by no means disastrous. No, Lady Catherine's real concern lay in the absence of her nephew.
He had been behaving oddly ever since that afternoon three days ago. He had gone into the music room to speak with Miss Bennet, who had been providing them with some mediocre entertainment on the pianoforte. When neither Miss Bennet or Mr. Darcy replied to her enquiries a few moments later, she had sent Col. Fitzwilliam to discover the problem. His report was most astonishing - both young persons had disappeared!
Darcy was not seen again by the party at Rosings until some hours later, when he had come trotting up the front steps, rather flushed and bright-eyed, making his apologies to Lady Catherine in a voice that sounded anything but regretful.
"I am sorry, Aunt, for not taking proper leave of you and your guests just now. Miss Bennet became ill, and I thought it best that she be escorted home immediately. I must also pass on to Miss Bennet's most sincere expressions of regret. She was ... very sorry to have parted company without thanking you for your hospitality."
Lady Catherine accepted this, and after berating him for several consecutive minutes for not sending for a servant rather than exerting himself so unnecessarily for the sake of a country girl's headache, she dismissed him to dress for dinner.
Had she had been a more perceptive woman, she might have noticed his face twitch when she spoke derisively of Miss Bennet, but she did not. Nor did she pick up the change in Darcy's demeanour. When he had arrived at Rosings, he had been as serious and reserved as ever, but there was a dark sulleness in his air which was not so habitual. Upon returning from "escorting Miss Bennet to the Parsonage", he was still serious and reserved, but his eyes were bright and eager, and if one looked closely he seemed to be having trouble restraining himself from breaking into a grin. Most uncharacteristic.
Lady Catherine may have been oblivious to everything but her own schemes, but Col. Fitzwilliam certainly was not. He looked on in amazement as his severe, sombre cousin addressed their aunt, and noted suspiciously his subtle change in expression as she admonished him for exerting himself on behalf of Miss Bennet. However, Fitzwilliam could see that Lady Catherine was quickly forgotten, for a few moments later, Darcy's air of repressed joy had returned, and he was practically walking on air as he bowed to his Aunt and left the drawing room.
After puzzling silently over Darcy's abrupt transformation for a good ten minutes, Fitzwilliam too took leave of Lady Catherine and Anne, and went to wait in his room. Sure enough, he heard Darcy climb the stairs and make his way down the hall toward his own room. He shook his head in bemused wonder as he caught the sound of soft humming. Darcy? Humming? Curiouser and curiouser!
He heard Darcy enter his room, which was adjacent to the Colonel's, and rose quickly to catch his cousin before he began to dress for dinner.
He knocked on the heavy wooden door. The humming ceased momentarily. "Come in!" Came the reply from inside, and Fitzwilliam opened the door.
"Oh, it's you Fitzwilliam," Said Darcy, in a friendly fashion, and then began to hum again as he turned back to the mirror and untied his cravat.
"Yes," Fitzwilliam replied, uncertain about how to approach the subject of Darcy's unnaturally good mood. "Umm, about this afternoon..."
"Yes, what about it?" Darcy met Fitzwilliam's gaze reflected in the mirror. The poor Colonel looked more than a little confused. Darcy only smiled, enigmatically, and hummed on.
Suddenly, Fitzwilliam recognised where he had heard that tune before! It was the song Miss Bennet had played for them earlier that day.
This clinched the matter. Fitzwilliam could no longer restrain himself, and blurted out exactly what was on his mind - "Damn it all, Darcy, give up this pretence of mystery! You're in love with Miss Bennet, aren't you?"
Darcy's hands froze in their task and his humming ceased abruptly. His faced looked slightly pale and a little sheepish as he turned slowly to face his cousin.
"Is it so obvious?" He asked hoarsely. Then, almost to himself - "How strange to hear it spoken out loud at last... In love with Miss Bennet. You're in love with Miss Bennet." He shook his head slowly at himself, his mind obviously having drifted someplace else.
Fitzwilliam was scarcely able to credit this change in his cousin. A lovesick Darcy was one sight he had never expected to see.
"Have you proposed?" He asked, thinking it a fair question. He was surprised at the sharp look Darcy shot him. He seemed to consider his answer carefully.
"Yes," he said finally, "But she refused me."
Just as Fitzwilliam had thought he was close to understanding the situation, Darcy said something else which threw him right back into confusion.
"She what?"
"She refused me."
Fitzwilliam considered this, and chose his words carefully. "So, you asked her to marry you, and she refused you," he said slowly, "But you are in love with her. I am right so far? Good, good. However," he continued, "Despite these apparently conflicting facts, you have returned to Rosings in a despicably good mood, practically dancing through the hallways, and humming louder than the London Symphony." He paused for a few moments, then gave up. "I'm definitely missing some vitally important point along the way, here, and you're not helping me at all. Get that demmed Sphinx's smile off your face, and tell me what is going on between you and Miss Bennet!"
Darcy looked at the earnest, puzzled frustration creasing his cousin's face, and took pity on him. Besides, it would be wonderful to share his euphoria with another person.
"Are you sitting down? Good. I shall tell you the story from the very beginning."
Continuation II
It was some time later that Fitzwilliam sat regarding Darcy seriously, struggling to digest all that he had heard.
Suddenly he was struck by a most unpleasant thought. "Darcy!" He exclaimed, causing his companion - who had drifted off once more with pleasant dreams of Elizabeth - to start violently. "This Miss Bennet is from Hertfordshire, you said?"
"Yes, that's correct."
Fitzwilliam was horrified by the suspicions he was entertaining. Surely Darcy would never... But then, not half an hour ago, he had been certain that Darcy would never be swooning under the influence of Cupid's arrow. And the Darcy he remembered would not dream of courting a poor girl from country - without family, connections of fortune - no matter how favourably featured. No, this "Darcy-in-Love" gave an entirely new perspective on the man, and judging by the look of passionate determination in his eyes, Fitzwilliam's only certainty was that nothing about this man was certain any more.
And the facts all added up! Darcy himself had told him of the beautiful girl in Hertfordshire who had smitten Bingley. The Colonel clearly recalled the reserved coolness of Darcy's tone as he had related the story. How the girl's family had been too objectionable, and unworthy of Bingley's connections and wealth. "An imprudent marriage," he had called it, and convinced Bingley not to propose, using the woman's supposed indifference as his most effective weapon.
Perhaps, thought Fitzwilliam, it was not the girl's connections at all which had caused Darcy to block the union! Perhaps he had been in love with her too, and being unable to bear the prospect of seeing her married to his best friend, had manipulated Bingley's modesty and trust in order to ensure that they were parted. The Colonel racked his brain to remember the girl's name... he was sure Darcy had mentioned it.... and then it returned to him! Bennet! So it was true!
His face as he looked at his cousin reflected his horror and doubt. Despite the undeniable logic behind his reasoning, he still found it difficult to believe Darcy capable of such malicious betrayal. His emotions all contradicted each other, and he felt physically sick at the thought of confronting his cousin with such a terrible suspicion! What if it were really true, and Darcy confirmed it? That would be even worse than the uncertainty!
Darcy, meanwhile, was deeply puzzled by the Colonel's behaviour. He didn't feel at all comfortable in his gaze - suddenly it was accusatory and reproachful. Why?
"Is there something wrong, old man?" He asked, bewildered.
Fitzwilliam was silent. Should he say what he suspected, or leave things as they were? Perhaps he should speak to Miss Bennet herself.
"Darcy, I - " Fitzwilliam paused, considered, then plunged ahead. "I hope you will be able to forgive me if I am mistaken, but I must speak, both for Bingley's sake and for my own peace of mind."
Darcy was naturally thrown into complete to confusion at his cousin's address. "Bingley? What has he to do with this?"
"Perhaps nothing. Perhaps everything. But I want to know the truth. When you were in Hertfordshire... was Bingley in love with Miss Bennet?"
Darcy, who did not stop to consider that Fitzwilliam knew nothing of Elizabeth's sisters, replied guardedly in the affirmative.
Fitzwilliam was deeply shocked by Darcy's shameless admission. "Do you not feel that you have been a little... underhanded in this matter?" He asked, trying to step carefully.
Darcy stared without comprehension. "In what way have I been underhanded?"
Again, Fitzwilliam was confused, and a more than a little angered, by his cousin's stubborn facade of ignorance. He took a deep breath. "Wouldn't the manipulation and betrayal of a trusting friend come under that title? Not to mention the deceiving of a woman you supposedly harbour some kind of affection for."
He regretted the harshness of his words the moment he saw the look of disbelieving hurt that appeared on Darcy's face. However, he had also perceived a flash of guilt in Darcy's expression - and Fitzwilliam interpreted it as a confirmation of his suspicions.
Darcy, of course, was recollecting the part he had played in an entirely different set of circumstances, and could only imagine that it was this to which his cousin was alluding. There was an uncomfortable silence.
Fitzwilliam struggled to maintain his composure in the face of his cousin's apparent lack of remorse. Finally, he gave up and asked directly, "Can you deny that you have done it?" Inwardly hoping that Darcy would deny it.
The reply he received, however, was coldly civil.
"I have no wish to deny it. I did everything in my power to separate Miss Bennet from Mr. Bingley, and I rejoice in my success."
"How can you say that! Are you really so cold-hearted?" Fitzwilliam was by now too distressed to restrain his feelings. Darcy's behaviour had offended his gentlemanly ideals and his moral sensibilities, and he now spoke with all of his withheld passion. "Did you not consider that Bingley loved her? Are you so completely devoid of compassion? You did not think of anyone's feelings but your own! How can you do such a thing and still call yourself a friend! Both Miss Bennet and Mr. Bingley have every right to despise you for what you have done to them!"
Flushed with a burning mixture of anger, shame and mortification, Darcy began to perceive a certain truth in Fitzwilliam's attack. He had not given much thought to what Mr. Bingley might suffer when he had undermined his relationship with Miss Jane - nor, for that matter, had he really considered Jane's feelings. Certainly, he had justified himself at the time by recollecting all of Bingley's previous crushes which had come and gone, and by telling himself after a few moments of observation that Miss Bennet did not look too emotionally involved with his friend. But then, who was he to decide?
As he examined his behaviour more closely, he began to see that his snobbish prejudices against the Jane's inferior connections were hardly an acceptable grounds for separating Bingley from the girl he wished to marry. Besides, such prejudices were entirely hypocritical, now that he wished to marry into the same connections himself.
Having so recently discovered Elizabeth's true identity, she meant more than ever to him, and he was deeply ashamed of the reservations he had held about her family. He understood now that to marry for love meant just that - marrying the object of your heart's desire, not her family or her fortune.
What he had done to Bingley and Jane had been wrong - selfish and unspeakably arrogant and presumptuous. He had had no right whatsoever to interfere.
What if Elizabeth ever discovered how contemptuously he had behaved? His blood ran cold at the thought. He was instantly resolved to discover whether Jane still cared for his friend, and if she did, he would find some way to reunite them. Perhaps he could still atone for his errors.
He hung his head with shame and regret, then realised that Fitzwilliam still awaited some kind of response.
There was genuine humility in his tone when he said, "You are right, cousin. I should never have interfered. It was an arrogant presumption, based on a failure to recognise anyone's feelings but my own. But I will certainly endeavour to discover Miss Jane's true feelings in the matter, and right my wrongs if I possibly can. I am heartily ashamed of myself, Fitzwilliam. I shudder to think of the things I have done. I don't deserve Elizabeth. She is too good for me."
The Colonel, still somewhat angry, was silently agreeing with that statement when he realised what Darcy had said. "Miss Jane's feelings? But... who is Jane?"
Darcy gave him a bemused look. "The woman we have been discussing, of course! Jane Bennet, Elizabeth's sister. The girl I so cruelly separated from Bingley on the ridiculous grounds of her family's connections. Remember? The one with every right to despise me... I think those were your words. What on earth is the matter with you?"
"Miss Bennet.... Elizabeth's sister.... Bingley was in love with her sister? It was her sister whom you separated him from?" Suddenly, the skies were clearing. Fitzwilliam felt like laughing with relief, and at the absurdity of the situation. Of course, Darcy's interference was still officious, but the magnitude of his crime had been reduced in volumes. The Colonel had been appalled by the supposed misdeeds of his childhood friend, and it was an incredible relief to discover his true transgression consisted of nothing more than a petty prejudice, which he now regretted and planned to adjust.
"Darcy, forgive me for speaking as I did. There has been a misunderstanding. I thought..." And now Fitzwilliam really did begin to laugh, as he related the whole misconception. When he had finished, he had to spent a few extra minutes persuading Darcy to see the funny side of the situation, as his cousin was rather offended that he had believed him capable of such dishonourable manipulation.
Soon however, they had put the whole unpleasant mistake behind them, and begun discussing the next two problems at hand - one, how to reunite Miss Jane and Mr. Bingley? And two... What were they to tell Lady Catherine?
Part III
Lizzy's Story
Lizzy stood in the doorway of Hunsford Parsonage, smiling broadly as she watched Mr. Darcy stride out of sight. Five minutes after he had disappeared around the lane-corner, she was still staring after him, and her smile had not dimmed at all. An inexplicable joy was bubbling inside her, and she felt like laughing out loud. She thought about going for a brisk walk through the grounds, then decided against it. When the Collinses returned, she would have to convince them of a headache, and knew that an energetic walk would hardly support her story. She regretted that having to lie to Charlotte, but it really was the only proper explanation for her disappearance from Rosings that afternoon. The situation must appear suspicious enough as things stood!
The thought of the eminent return of her hosts brought her back to earth, however, and her reflections became more serious. There was so much to think about! How much had changed since that morning! She felt she had been subjected to every emotional extreme within the course of a few hours. Casting one last look down the empty lane, she turned and entered the house with slower steps, considering more carefully all that had passed. She reached her bedroom and curled up in the window-seat, hugging her knees to her chest and staring absently into the gardens.
This was how Charlotte found her, an hour later.
"Lizzy, dear, what happened? We were most concerned when you disappeared from Rosings. Are you ill?" She spoke with genuine concern. Elizabeth started at the sound of her voice, and turned to face her friend.
"Yes, I felt a sudden headache, but I'm much better now, thank you." She smiled, rather wanly. Charlotte noticed.
"You're sure? You do look rather pale. Have you had a shock?"
Trust Charlotte's intuition to set her on the right scent straight away, Lizzy thought wryly, but her smile grew a little wider and her eyes a little brighter as she thought of the sweet secrets she nursed in her heart.
She considered sharing her news with her old friend. Charlotte may be the wife of Mr. Collins, but she would never give us away, I'm sure... And it would do me good to talk openly about some of these things I am feeling. If Jane were here I could talk to her, but as she is not... I must tell someone!
"Oh Charlotte!" Lizzy grinned and blushed, then looked serious once more, all in quick succession. Charlotte was quite astonished by the change in her companion, who was usually so bright and composed. "I had not meant to talk of this to anyone, but I hardly know what to think! Indeed, you will scarcely credit it... Mr. Darcy ... " She paused, to give her words effect, "Has proposed! He was in love with me, Charlotte! All the time! You remember what we thought of him in Hertfordshire... I am ashamed to think of what I believed him capable of. But Charlotte, do I love him? Should I love him? I feel so happy, but so uncertain, and so ... strange!"
Charlotte listened to her friend's disordered speech with amazement and delight, but she was not so shocked as one might have expected. She had seen the looks that the gentleman in question had directed at Elizabeth - looks that burned with unfulfilled passion and yearned with heartbreaking soulfulness. It made Charlotte weak at the knees just thinking of it - and the gazes had not even been directed at her! But her own loveless marriage seemed to make her even more conscious of the loving relationships of those around her. She was very pleased for Lizzy, and tried to be encouraging. For Lord knows, she'll not get much encouragement from Mr. Collins... Or Lady Catherine, for that matter! But best to let Lizzy deal with that when the time comes. She's a strong girl, she can stand her ground - she has already proved her worth when it comes to that.
"Permit my congratulations, dear Lizzy - I'm sure you will be very happy."
"Oh, we're not engaged."
This revelation shocked Charlotte a great deal more than the original announcement.
"What?"
"I refused him." Said Lizzy, apparently by way of explanation.
"Then why...?" Asked Charlotte, struggling to follow the logic of this conversation.
"Why did I refuse him? Because," Lizzy stopped to consider, then the words tumbled out. "Because this morning I believed him to be the most disagreeable man I had ever had the misfortune to meet. Now I know that he is one of the best. Oh Charlotte, if you only knew what he is to me! I don't know if he will propose again. To think that he might not makes me go cold all over, but I think he will... But can I accept him? I promised myself I would only marry for the very deepest love. I have gone from hating this man to ... thinking very highly of him indeed ... (I dare not say love, I dare not!) And all in the course of a few hours! Can this fickle turn-about really be a basis for love? Oh, listen to me Charlotte- I, who always prized my steady mind and astuteness as a judge of character. Suddenly I am babbling like a school girl, with no idea of what I really feel. I have discovered how wrong I was - how fallible - so how am I to be sure that anything I decide upon now is right? Do I love him? Can I love him? My heart says I do - my heart is pounding at the thought of him. But my head is telling me not to be such a fool! My head is saying - stop, reflect, consider. You will make a mistake, you will be miserable! Things have changed too fast, there is no consistency, no certainty! Charlotte, help me, what am I to do?"
Lizzy's heartfelt speech reflected the turmoil of her thoughts, and Charlotte moved forward swiftly to sit by her and take her hand. "Elizabeth, my dear," She spoke with feeling, "I know what you think of my philosophies on marriage. I know that you scorn me for the choice I have made, and I understand why you should think thus. But let me advise you now, for I can speak with conviction, through hard-learned experience. I am more qualified than anyone to assure you of this, and I have had a lot of time to myself in which to consider it. If you marry without love, it will be bearable. You will get by. There are no risks, because you have gambled nothing. If you marry for love, there is a great deal of uncertainty - will love last? Will your heart be broken? You are putting your heart in the hands of another. But it is only by taking this risk that you give yourself a chance to be happy. You can never be happy in love unless you find someone whom you are prepared to open your heart to. And that's what it comes down to. Do you trust him with your heart? Do you trust him, Lizzy?
Lizzy met Charlotte's earnest gaze with astonishment. She had never thought that Charlotte might have formed her own opinions since her marriage. Nor had she ever thought of love in quite that way before. Suddenly, her own words from that morning came back to her... "I only knew that boy in the snow for a few hours but I knew... I know that I could trust him."
Did she trust Mr. Darcy with her heart? She thought of the way he had looked at her when he was proposing... when she had refused him... when she had agreed to start over... when they had parted company an hour before. She recalled her father telling her that 'the eyes never lie'. She remembered the boy in the storm, with the warm, capable, comforting hands. Did she trust him?
The answer was simple and sure, and it muted the chaos of her conflicting thoughts - Yes.
Next morning, Lizzy found herself taking special care with her appearance. She made faces at herself in the mirror, wondering why it was that today - of all days - her hair refused to stay in its pins, and her dress refused to sit properly. Charlotte came to the door and laughed at her.
"Come along, Lizzy, or we shall be late! And do stop fussing. You look very well, as I am sure you are well aware."
Lizzy turned to make another face at her friend. "That's just what Jane says. Am I so very vain?" And they both laughed. They picked up their bonnets and set off with Mr. Collins and Mariah towards Rosings.
It was a beautiful day, and Lizzy found herself lagging further and further behind the rest of the party as she admired her surroundings. She loved the way the spring sun came dappling through the overhanging greenery. Birds warbled in the hedgerows and the earth smelled fresh with new life. Wild-flowers bloomed by the roadside.
Lizzy's spirits soared, and she smiled to herself as she walked along, wrapped up in her own thoughts.
She was startled out of her reverie when a young farm boy of eight or nine, who was walking in the opposite direction, stopped her with the words, "Excuse me, Miss," he grinned up at her. Before she knew quite what had happened, he had handed her a charming bouquet of wild-flowers, with a note attached. The boy bowed, grinned again, and ran off.
Elizabeth stared down at the flowers, then cast a swift look around her. The rest of her party had moved out of sight over a crest of a hill, and the boy had disappeared. There was no one in sight.
Bemused, but with a pounding heart, she unfolded the note. Written in a heavy, carefully-formed hand, she read:
Elizabeth,Shall I compare thee to a Summer's day?
Thou art more lovely, and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date...
But thy eternal Summer shall not fade...F. D.
P.S. Have you ever felt like you were being watched? You're blushing!
Again, her head snapped up and she tried to discern where he might be hidden. She put a hand to her face, and realised that she was indeed blushing.
Trees and hedges lined the road-side. He might be anywhere, or no where! She grinned, and slipped the note into her purse, and sniffed her flowers.
She resumed her walk at an even slower pace than before. She was a little startled when Mariah reappeared over the crest of the hill, and called out to her, "Lizzy! Do hurry, you shall be left behind!"
Casting another swift look around her, Lizzy fancied she saw a quick flash of a dark waistcoat amongst the foliage. "Go on without me, Mariah. I do not think I am quite recovered." But I would not want Charlotte to be concerned... "Tell Charlotte... tell Charlotte that I'm learning to trust my instincts in these matters." She knew that Mariah would be confused by this, but hopefully Charlotte would guess her meaning, and make the appropriate excuses to Lady Catherine.
As soon as Mariah had disappeared once more, Lizzy placed her hands on her hips and raised her voice in mock annoyance. "I wonder how it is that you were never taught proper manners. Don't you know it's rude to spy on a lady?"
"Point taken," said a familiar voice from directly behind her. She gasped and spun on her heel. Darcy smiled warmly into her eyes, and her heart skipped a dozen beats.
She smiled back, and they stood that way for several moments, locked in each others gaze and grinning like fools.
Finally, Darcy said, "Shall we?" And offered her his arm. She took it and they each thrilled to the other's touch. They made their way at a leisurely pace down the lane she had just come by, talking, teasing and laughing, happy just to be together.
Continuation
Some time later, Lizzy teased him by saying: "It is quite scandalous, sir, for the two of us to be alone out here! What if word should get back to Lady Catherine?"
"Then she would demand an explanation, and I would tell her the truth."
"And what truth might that be?" Lizzy asked coyly.
"That I love you, and that I intend to ask you every day to marry me until you accept."
She frowned a little at this. "And if I do not accept?"
"Then I shall haunt you for the rest of your days, and we will both be old and grey, but I will still be coming to your door every day to ask for your hand."
Lizzy couldn't help laughing at the ridiculous image he conjured up. "Let us hope then, that it will not come to that."
He looked sharply at her. She smiled sweetly but her eyes held a shy promise that made his heart pound and his head spin. He considered proposing again that very moment, but checked himself as he remembered his resolve to take things slower this time. Besides, he could make no legitimate advances with her until he had corrected the wrong he had done her. Or, more specifically, the wrong he had done Jane.
You'll have to tell her sooner or later. Prolonging it can only cause you both more pain...
He took a deep breath, and gave her hand a quick squeeze, before releasing it. She seemed a little surprised, and looked questioningly into his eyes.
Oh Lord, that look... She trusts me and now I must shatter that trust. Must I tell her? It will ruin everything... He tried to fight down his growing panic. He could almost hear his father's voice: "Don't make excuses for yourself, son. You must always be prepared to take the consequences of your actions." But what if those consequences involved the loss of Elizabeth Bennet's trust and affection? Could he live with that? That is not the issue now. Do what you know is right. Tell her.
"Elizabeth," his voice betrayed his hesitation, and her concern intensified. He stepped away from her. "Elizabeth there is something I must ask you." He paused again, and shot her a brief, stricken glance. "When we left Hertfordshire last Summer, did Jane... was Jane... very attached to Mr. Bingley."
The confusion on Elizabeth's face became mingled with sadness. "Yes, Mr. Darcy, I believe she was. In fact, I believe she is. Poor Jane, she tries so very hard to pretend... But why do you ask such a question, sir?"
Mr. Darcy steeled himself to continue. "Miss Bennet, I have a confession to make. Bingley returned all of Miss Bennet's affections and fully intended to propose before the summer was over."
He could see the questions forming on her lips, and hurried on. "Mr. Bingley is a very amiable man, but he is too modest, too uncertain of his own good judgment. And such a man is too easily persuaded." He braced himself for the most difficult words - "He left Netherfield, not because he had lost interest in the affections of Miss Jane, but because he was convinced by others - whose opinions he trusted better than his own - that the lady was indifferent to him." Darcy risked another look at Lizzy. Her eyes were begging him not to say what they both knew was coming. "It was I who persuaded him, together with his sisters. It was my mistaken pride, my presumptuous interference which are to blame for your sister's grief."
Lizzy turned away. Her rejection slashed him like a knife. His voice lost some of its assured control. "I - I am truly sorry. I can not justify my behaviour. I can only beg for you to recognise my endeavours to correct these misdeeds. For I do intend to do everything in my power to reunite them. And indeed, whatever opinion you hold of me now - " Those words were incredibly painful to voice. " - you must help me, for the sake of your sister's happiness, and Bingley's. I know you would not compromise their right to be happy now - they are perhaps the only ones who have been entirely blameless during this whole affair."
For several long moments Elizabeth stood silent. Her back was turned to him, so he could not see her face. After what seemed an eternity, she spoke, but his heart dropped when he heard her cold, distant tone.
"Certainly I will help you to bring them together. What would you have me do?"
He swallowed hard at the lump in his throat. His nightmares were coming true - she clearly despises me now. Oh, Lord, I could bear anything but that! But what can I do?
Still numb with the shock, he recited his plan. "I can lure Bingley here without too much difficulty. You say that Miss Bennet - Jane - still cares for him. Could you tell your sister that he is staying here? Would she come?"
Elizabeth shook her head vehemently. "She would not." There was an edge of bitterness to her voice. "She believes him to be indifferent to her. She is too modest - and has been too sorely disappointed to believe anything else."
He knew that she was blaming him. How could she do otherwise?
"Then we will have to fabricate some reason for her to come to Rosings."
She gave a wry smile, turning to face him for the first time. "I never knew you had such a scheming streak, Mr. Darcy."
He gazed intently into her face. "I am determined that my past mistakes be corrected. To be abhorrent to you is to be abhorrent to myself. I shall be worthy of you, Elizabeth. If you will not have me now that you know the full extent of my pride and conceit, then I shall have to become a man whom you will have. I know now that I was wrong. And I know now what it means to be worthy of a woman who is worthy of love."
She met his gaze. Though her eyes were bright with unshed tears, her voice was still cold as she said, "I would like to return home now Mr. Darcy. I believe I have walked too far today."
They were almost back at the Parsonage already. They walked the rest of the way in silence.
Fitzwilliam released the breath he had been holding in a low whistle as his cousin completed his account of the morning's conversation. Darcy had not taken his head out of his hands since arriving in the safe haven of his room earlier that afternoon.
He was uncertain of how to comfort the despairing man. Making his voice sound as positive as he could, he said, "Look at it this way, she's agreed to join forces with you in re-uniting her sister with Mr. Bingley. That is something, is it not? That gives you a very reasonable excuse to see her frequently over the next few days. So you will certainly not be entirely estranged. Hope is not yet lost!"
Darcy shook his head without looking up. "You didn't see her face. You didn't hear her voice. She despises me, just as she ought to."
"You are much too hard on yourself, cousin. She'll come around. You're a good man, and she's an intelligent girl. She'll see you for what you are. Now tell me, what do you propose to do about Miss Jane and Mr. Bingley?"
"I - I hadn't really thought that out in much detail. That is, Elizabeth is to find some way of bringing Jane to the Parsonage, and it is my duty to lure Bingley to Rosings. After that - "
He was interrupted by a quiet knock on the door. A sombre-faced butler entered, stiff with plaid, carrying a small note on a silver tray.
Showing enthusiasm for the first time that afternoon, Darcy flew across the room to retrieve the message, leaving Fitzwilliam to dismiss the servant as he broke the seal and devoured the content of the note. Finishing, he bit his lip and frowned, then thrust the page at Fitzwilliam. "What do you think?" He demanded.
Fitzwilliam skimmed the three brief lines.
Mr. Darcy.I have procured Mrs. Collins' confidence, and she has written to Jane in London. She has been led to believe that I am seriously unwell, and will most likely be here within three days. I hope that Mr. Bingley can be here at such short notice.
Elizabeth Bennet.
"Well, she has used her first name in the signature. That is something."
"That is grasping at straws."
"Yes," admitted the Colonel with a sigh, "But that is not a good reason to give up."
Part IV
Jane's body swayed with the motion of the speeding carriage, as she tried to refrain from tapping her fingers on the window frame in her nervousness.
Her brow was creased in earnest concern as she thought about Charlotte's letter. Why had she not been more specific? It was such a vague, mysterious message that Jane scarcely knew what to make of it. She had been assured that Lizzy's life was in no danger, yet encouraged to make her way to Rosings as quickly as possible. But for Charlotte to write to her in London, the affliction must be reasonably serious! What a strange contradiction.
Despite her confusion, there had really been only one possible course of action for Jane. Accordingly, she had boarded the first carriage for Kent.
When she felt the carriage slowing down slightly, Jane looked about in mild concern. There were no buildings in sight.... Then she saw that another carriage was approaching them from the opposite direction. That accounted for it - they were just slowing to pass this other vehicle on the narrow country road. She leaned back in her seat, and watched through the window as the carriage drew near.
It was almost upon them when she noticed that there was something very familiar about it. She eyes sought out the crest and her breath caught in her throat. Could it be...?
As the two carriages rattled past one another, Jane managed a glimpse of the occupant and it threw her thoughts and emotions into turmoil. Charles! She wondered it she had spoken the name aloud. Thank God the last passenger in the post carriage had disembarked at the last town, or Jane would have had a difficult time trying to explain the tears that sprang to her eyes and trickled slowly down her cheeks.
Oh Lord, he looks just the same! How long it feels since I last saw him! But how can he be here? Has he been here long? Is this why I never saw him in London? But Caroline said he was with Miss Darcy in town! Could she have lied to me? No, that can not be it. She does not care for me, she made that quite apparent, but I'm sure she would not lie to me. The only conclusion can still be only that Charles didn't.... that Charles doesn't.... Anyway, it doesn't matter now. Lizzy is what's important now. I must put him out of my mind for good. She brushed the tears away and forced herself into composure.
As the quaint parsonage came into view at last, Jane could not wait for the coachman to stop the carriage and open her door. She was out and running across the gravel before the horses had been fully reigned.
Charlotte was outside to meet her.
"Jane, it is very good to see you. Come inside!"
"Charlotte, it is good to see you too," Jane spoke hurriedly, catching her breath, "But how is Lizzy?"
Charlotte smiled and led her into the house saying, "Lizzy will be fine. She has been waiting for you all morning!"
Jane was greatly relieved by this news, but she was a little surprised to be shown into a small parlour rather than a bedroom. Her gaze was immediately drawn to Lizzy, who sat propped up against pillows in the window seat.
"Jane!" Elizabeth cried delightedly, and opened her arms to her sister, who was quick to cross the room and complete the embrace.
"Lizzy! How are you feeling? I've been so worried!"
Was it just her, or were Lizzy's eyes evasive as she replied - "Oh, much better than yesterday and a thousand times better than the day before. I'm so glad you have come!"
Jane smiled gently at the patient, but she couldn't help the bewilderment which crossed her features as she looked to Charlotte. Lizzy seemed perfectly healthy. She did seem a little pale, and as the afternoon progressed, Jane perceived that she was rather out of spirits. But there were no signs of serious illness, nor was anyone willing to be specific about the nature of her sickness. Jane was not at all suspicious by nature, but even she could sense that something didn't quite add up.
She did not give it much thought, however, for now that she was assured of Lizzy's health, she found that her mind was constantly preoccupied with the knowledge that Mr. Bingley was somewhere nearby. She replayed events in Hertfordshire and in London again and again, but she could not account for the mystery. To keep herself from going crazy, she talked extensively with Lizzy and Charlotte, laughing and sewing with them, and trying to rid her brain of his image.
Lizzy and Charlotte exchanged conspiratorial looks over their samplers. So far, everything was going according to plan.
Part V
After making a few snide remarks about the source of Bingley's fortune and the inferiority of 'new money', Lady Catherine accepted him as a guest at Rosings - but only to oblige her nephews. Darcy and Fitzwilliam were willing to let the insults pass in order to secure their purpose. Thus, the invitation was approved and accordingly sent on to London.
Some days later, Bingley's carriage pulled up the long gravel drive, and the man himself disembarked, flashing his customary grin. Darcy greeted Bingley with the enthusiasm due to an old friend, then stood aside for Fitzwilliam.
"Bingley! It is good to see you! You remember my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, don't you?"
The two men shook hands in a friendly fashion, and fell into lively conversation about the hunting to be had at Rosings in the Autumn.
Fitzwilliam took his cue, and said casually - "Speaking of the Hunt, have you any interest in fishing? Darcy and I have discovered a fine trout stream not too great a distance from here. We're eager to try it - I believe it may even rival the streams at Pemberley, though Darcy refuses to credit this."
"Certainly, I would like that very much indeed.... But that can not be the reason why you issued my invitation here with such urgency! London has held few charms for me this Season, and I am glad to be here, but I've been very curious to determine the reasons for your expressions of haste."
Darcy looked a little uneasy at Bingley's reference to his lack of interest in the Season, but Fitzwilliam was ready for the question - "Just wait until you've sat through a meal or two with our fine hostess Lady Catherine, Mr. Bingley - it will become clear enough why we were so eager to dilute the company. We hope you can forgive us!"
Bingley looked doubtful for a moment, unsure of whether a joke had been made. But his friends just smiled, clapped him on the shoulder, and welcomed him to Rosings. There seemed nothing to be gained by pressing the matter further.
Everyone retired early that night, but no one got much sleep.
Jane lay in the dark trying to recreate the features of Mr. Bingley in her mind's eye, and trying to understand the strange business of his being in Kent.
Charlotte wondered whether it was so very wise to have agreed to this scheme. She felt too young to be match-making, and she was a little concerned that it was unwise to be taking other peoples affairs and arranging them without their knowledge. Match-making could be a dangerous pastime.
Fitzwilliam's thoughts had taken a similar turn to Charlotte's. Was it right to interfere in the lives of others like this? Well, if Darcy interfered first. This is just sort of... balancing out that interference. And if he is ever going to gain Miss Bennet's forgiveness, he must first right himself with her sister. I suppose that justifies it....?
Bingley lay in an unfamiliar bed, wondering again why he was here. Like Jane, he was not a suspicious person, but he did think the circumstances of his visit to Rosings were a little odd. Nevertheless, he didn't think too much of it, and thought instead about how glad he was to be out of London. The Season had been unbearable this year, which was odd, because he usually rather enjoyed it. The fact was, there wasn't a single girl who had anything on.... But it would be better not to think of that either. He rolled over, pulling a pillow over his head to block the memories.
Darcy's mind, unsurprisingly, was burning up with thoughts of Elizabeth. How to win her back, what to do, what to say. In the three days since he had received her note, she had avoided Rosings and kept herself from his company as much as possible. Every slight punished him cruelly. Yesterday, when she had received a letter heralding Jane's eminent arrival, she had agreed to meet with him at the Parsonage, and they had discussed their plans for bringing their friends together soon. The moment he tried to turn the conversation to their own relationship, however, she had cut him off coolly and shown him out. He had gone calmly, but he had no intention of leaving it at that. He had to find some way of changing her mind, and soon.
Lizzy was thinking of Jane, glad to have her nearby once more. She had noticed that the sadness which had enveloped her sister ever since Bingley had gone away was still present. With Darcy's help though, it would hopefully not be long before the gloom was evaporated.
With Darcy's help... She thought again. Why am I keeping him at a distance? Why do I keep pushing him away? He was wrong, but he is sorry for what he did to Jane, and he is trying to fix his mistake. What other man would have done half so much? I don't hate him - I never could, now. In fact, I've all but forgiven him - so why won't I let him love me? What am I afraid of?
Sighing heavily in the dark, she pulled a pillow close to her and held it tight against her. I wish.... She checked the improper thought, but the fantasies came anyway. She couldn't stop them. Rolling restlessly, she gave up resisting and let her imagination take over. It would be another long, lonely night, and she couldn't take many more.
Something had to give.
The next day dawned bright and beautiful, which was fortunate for the execution of the plan, but no one was really in the mood to appreciate the simple aesthetic pleasures of the sunlit spring morning.
"The Plan" was really very simple. Fitzwilliam and Darcy (with Bingley in tow) would be up at dawn to try out the fishing in the trout stream. Lizzy and Charlotte, meanwhile, would insist upon showing Jane some of the charming woods and groves which were to be found around the Rosings estate. The result - the two parties would meet, an appropriate degree of surprise would be expressed, and acquaintances would be renewed. With such meticulous groundwork established, what could possibly go wrong? Note: Dramatic Irony! ;)
This question was swiftly answered.
"A walk, my dear?" Mr. Collins enquired muffledly through a mouthful of breakfast. He swallowed noisily, and spoke a little more clearly. "Is it not a little early in the morning for you young ladies to be undertaking so adventurous a pursuit?"
Lizzy and Jane looked to Charlotte, to whom the question had been directed. "Not at all, my dear," she replied calmly, gathering her bonnet from the hook on the wall. "I hear the morning air is most beneficial to one's health."
Mr. Collins took another large mouthful of egg and toast, and chewed thoughtfully. "I believe you may be right, my dear," He managed, almost incoherent, "In fact," He pulled his napkin from his collar and pressed it to his lips before pushing his plate away and standing up, "In fact, I think I might join you. Lady Catherine has been most vociferous of late upon the importance of maintaining one's health through exercise."
Lizzy and Charlotte exchanged looks of alarm. "I'm not sure if that would be altogether wise, dear!" Charlotte said hurriedly.
Mr. Collins looked up in surprise. "Why ever not, my dear?"
"Because - because - " She floundered, and Lizzy came to her rescue -
"Because I am quite sure I understood from Lady Catherine's nephew that she was thinking of calling on the Parsonage this morning."
Mr. Collins straightened noticeably in his chair. "Lady Catherine? Here? This morning? My dear Mrs. Collins! My dear cousins! There is no question of you going out now! You must be here to receive our noble patroness!"
Lizzy resisted the urge to groan. "Oh no sir, I am sure that will not be necessary." She began to edge toward the door, and surreptitiously gestured with her hand to indicate that the others should go before her, "For if Lady Catherine should come, I am sure if would not be until late morning, and we will be back well before then. And after all, the whole idea was sheer conjecture - she may not come at all. Perhaps you forget your place sir, to expect so grand a Lady to come calling at your humble abode simply to address yourself? Are such expectations truly reflective of the ideal humility of a clergyman?"
Mr. Collins drew himself up to his full (unimpressive) height. "My dear cousin, I should certainly never harbour such high-minded expectations of so grand a Lady!"
"Ah. Well, with that in mind, then you will not mind if we go out for a walk this-morning. You should stay home, just in case your noble patroness decides to call and share her gracious presence. I am sure you would not wish her to come all the way from Rosings only to find an empty house, would you?"
"Absolutely not..." Mr. Collins was beginning to sound a little confused.
"Good man," Lizzy was almost out the door, "You are a credit to your station."
And thus they made their escape.
Bingley was dreaming that he was back in Hertfordshire, dancing with Jane. As they danced she smiled and laughed, and he felt sure of her affection. Without warning, however, someone tapped her on the shoulder and she was whisked away from him. The next thing he knew, his sisters and Darcy had all closed in on him, all talking at once, all insisting that Miss Bennet did not care for him and that he was making a fool of himself by pursuing her. Darcy reached forward and began to shake him by the shoulders, "Damit, man! Wake up to yourself! Wake up... Wake up..."
He shook his head groggily and opened his eyes. He was back in his room, and Darcy and Fitzwilliam standing over him. Darcy did indeed have his friend by the shoulders, shaking a good deal more roughly than Bingley would have thought necessary.
"Good God, man, you sleep like the dead!" Darcy exclaimed as he saw the sleepy man's eyes open. "Hurry up and ready yourself, or you will miss Miss B - "
"Or you will miss the best part of the day," Fitzwilliam cut in swiftly, shooting Darcy a reproving look. Bingley regarded them bemusedly. "Darcy seems to have picked up a stutter." Explained the Colonel, straight-faced. "We'll meet you on the front-steps in fifteen minutes."
And they left Bingley alone with his confusion, so that he could ready himself.
Part VI
Posted on Monday, 26 April 1999
"Samson! Get to heel."
The eight-month-old red cocker spaniel looked up at sound of his name, then wuffed good-naturedly and went back to exploring the multitude of scents that lined the roadside.
Colonel Fitzwilliam called again, swearing mildly at the animal and making some derogatory comments about its pedigree. This time he was ignored altogether, as the pup caught a whiff of some marvelous scent in the grass and wriggled enthusiastically through the hedge, streaking off in pursuit of his quarry.
"Let him go, cousin," advised Darcy, shifting his heavy fishing tackle from one hand to the other, "Lady Catherine has little interest in sports, so none of her dogs are too well trained. Samson knows his way home."
Another half-mile down the road, they turned off the lane and made their way down a steep wooded slope towards the trout stream.
It was a beautiful morning. Jane, Elizabeth and Charlotte were strolling leisurely along the lane, leaving the Parsonage behind them. Jane raised her face to early morning sunlight, and felt a warm breeze toy with the curls unbound by her bonnet. She smiled.
Every now and then one of them would pass an idle comment, but for the most part they were happy just to enjoy the sights and sounds of their gorgeous surroundings, happy in each other's company. Lizzy had decided that there was no need to think of what was to come just yet. Rosings Park truly was a beautiful estate.
Suddenly, Elizabeth cocked her head to one side and stopped walking. Charlotte and Jane also paused, and looked questioning.
"Do you hear that?" Lizzy enquired, excitedly, "It's running water!"
"Yes, it's the stream that feeds the eastern lakes at Rosings," said Charlotte, "It runs past here. It's very pretty, actually."
"Charlotte! All the weeks we've been taking walks around here and you haven't shown me the stream! Shame on you!" Lizzy scolded her playfully, "Well, no time like the present! Shall we go and see it now?"
Charlotte gave Lizzy a swift look. What if we miss Them? Lizzy gestured subtlely at her watch chain - there was plenty of time yet. And they concluded their silent exchange.
"Certainly, if that's what you'd like." Charlotte replied aloud, and they all turned off the road and made their way down the slope in the direction of the sound of the water.
"Oh dear, there's no path..." Commented Jane regretfully when they stood together on the steep grassy bank of the stream, which bubbled and gurgled its way over a gully of stones. "I should have liked to walk along a little ... Lizzy! What are you doing?"
Lizzy looked up from unlacing her boots, and grinned mischievously. "What does it look like I'm doing, silly? I want to paddle!" She rolled down her stockings, left them strewn in the grass with her shoes, and waded into the fast flowing stream, holding her skirts clear. She gasped in the cold water, then turned back to her friends. "Come on! It's lovely."
Jane gave a furtive look around. Leafy trees lined the banks and a green, sun-dappled canopy sheltered the water's crystalline passage. All clichés were personified in this charming little spring. It was tempting - she couldn't deny it. And there was no one around to see, so... She sat down and began to unlace her boots. Lizzy splashed her as she descended gingerly into the cold water, and she splashed back, with mock indignance.
Charlotte watched indulgently, but refused entreaties to join them. "I'm an old married woman now, you know," she reminded them, only half-joking. "Whatever would Mr. Collins say?"
Jane looked longingly down-stream, where the water meandered round a tangle of outcropping oak roots, and continued out of sight. "Wouldn't it be lovely to keep exploring down stream?" She thought wistfully. She hadn't done anything of the sort since she was twelve, on a family picnic. Lizzy had been ten...
Even as she gazed, there came unexpectedly into view a shaggy reddish pup, drenched with water and trotting happily up-stream toward them. Jane exclaimed in surprise as the dog caught sight of her and came galloping up as if he had known her all his life.
"Hey there, good dog, good pup," she murmured, bunching her skirts into one hand and leaning down to stroke his head.
"I wonder where he came from?" Pondered Lizzy, wading up behind her.
Charlotte gestured to get Lizzy's attention, while Jane, distracted by the dog, did not notice.
"From Rosings!" Charlotte mouthed silently, pointing to the pup with a significant look. Lizzy understood, and turned back to Jane, but found that her instigations would be unnecessary.
The spaniel wuffed twice excitedly and ran down-stream again, then turned back to wuff again. Jane laughed delightedly. "He wants us to follow him!" She said, "Shall we see where he goes?"
The three men stood around the stream in companionable silence - the kind that all male friendships are prone to, especially when engaged in such a bonding activity as fishing. In this case, however, there were additional causes behind their disinclination for conversation.
Darcy, who anticipated their approaching confrontation with the ladies, brooded silently. Bingley, who had tried to keep himself as active as possible these past few months, found that the peaceful, reflective mood of his surroundings plunged him inevitably into wistful recollections of the short months of happiness he had known in Hertfordshire. And the Colonel... Actually, the Colonel just liked his fishing.
The sound of the a dog barking a little further up-stream caused them all to look up simultaneously. Bingley jumped at the opportunity for distraction. "That'll be Samson!" He said eagerly, laying down his rod, "I'll go and see if I can bring him to heel this time, shall I?"
He stepped into the stream, not bothering to remove his boots since their rim was well clear of the shallows at the water's edge. Behind him, Darcy checked his pocket watch and shrugged. It was some time before they were due to 'accidentally' meet the ladies, anyway.
Bingley set off up-stream.