“It is not about me,” said Jane. “It concerns Mr. Darcy and his engagement to Miss Bingley. Now that I am his wife, my husband confided all to me. I am only telling you of it because I must confess I have seen the way your countenance changes when the man is brought up in conversation, and I fear for you. Is there something about Mr. Darcy you have not told me?”
Elizabeth’s heart stopped. Why would Jane ask that? “Oh, Jane, I hardly know how to speak of it.”
Jane swallowed. “Oh, dear. Is it quite so awful that you cannot give it words?”
“It is…” Elizabeth was sitting on a chair next to her sister, who was perched at the edge of a couch next to her. Elizabeth felt the urge to get up and walk away, run from all of this. Instead, she gathered up her skirts and began to pass the fabric through her fingers. “One night when I was staying here with you, when you were ill, I became lost on my way to my own bedchamber and I ended up…” She drew in a breath to steady herself. “I ended up in a room with Mr. Darcy. There was a fault in the latch, and we were unable to get out. We were trapped there together until nearly dawn.”
All the color drained from Jane’s face. “Oh, Lizzy!”
Elizabeth reached out and took Jane’s hand. “Nothing happened. We slept separately, and he did not so much as touch me.” Unless fingering her braid was to be taken into account, which was shocking to be sure, but not disastrous.
Jane squeezed her hand. “You were lucky, then, in a way that Miss Bingley was not.”
“What are you saying?” said Elizabeth.
“Darcy is a rake of the worst sort, I’m afraid,” said Jane. “He was discovered alone with Miss Bingley at night in much the same manner as you are describing. But, I know not, perhaps her character was not as strong as yours. She was not able to resist his advances, and she did not escape with her virtue intact.”
Elizabeth licked her lips, trying to process this information. She almost protested that Mr. Darcy had not made advances toward her, but she realized that wasn’t true. He had nearly kissed her, and there was the way he had looked at her. She shivered. And there was the fact that she had resisted him. She’d denied his proposal and she’d made it clear that she did not like him. She had even said that she would not marry him if he were the last man in England or something, hadn’t she?
“When Bingley discovered them, Darcy resisted marrying his sister,” said Jane. “He was not repentant in the least, and then he galloped off and has barely had any contact with them since. Bingley is beside himself. He had managed to cover it up, but he does not know what is to become of his sister. He thought Darcy a friend, but Darcy was despicable.”
Elizabeth put her hand to her chest. “If he did it to both Caroline and me, then it’s likely it’s a habitual practice for him. You say that he resisted marrying Caroline? Because he told me he would marry me, and then he tried to kiss me.”
“You said he didn’t touch you!”
“Well, he didn’t. He wasn’t successful.”
“Perhaps that is the way he convinces his conquests,” said Jane. “He promises marriage and then reneges on what he has said once he has taken advantage of the girl. Lord knows how many times he has done such things. If he had not been caught with Caroline, he might have gone on doing it. He is a snake.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth whispered softly. “Yes, he must be.” She did get out of the chair then. She could barely make it across the room though. When she reached the window, she had to brace herself against the wall to steady herself.
Jane was next to her, hand on her shoulder. “Oh, Lizzy, are you all right? You are telling me the truth, aren’t you? You were not compromised?”
Elizabeth turned to her. “As I said, he didn’t touch me. No, it is not that. It is only that I… I still think of him sometimes. And my feelings toward him, they are, well, some are favorable, and I must stop all that. I must see him as he really was, a villain who manipulated me.”
“Who failed to manipulate you,” said Jane. “You are strong, Lizzy, and he was no match for you.” She drew Elizabeth into a hug.
Elizabeth clung to her sister and felt herself pushed even further over the precipice. The world was a bleak place indeed.
CHAPTER TWELVE
At first, London was nothing but peace. Her aunt and uncle did not get out often, and so Elizabeth was often just in the company of her aunt or able to do nothing but read for hours on end. It was good, because she didn’t think of any of it.
That is, she didn’t think of it during the day. At night, she still dreamed of Mr. Darcy, and when she woke from those dreams, it all came flooding back, and it was nothing but pain. She hadn’t realized it at the time, but she had fallen for Mr. Darcy, just a bit, and against her own sense and will. She wasn’t sure when it had happened. Certainly not when she was denying his second marriage proposal, she didn’t think. Because if she had fallen then, she might have accepted him.
But what a disaster that would have been. A man like Darcy would not have meant it. He was only saying it to attempt what he had been unable to accomplish the night before. And when he had failed with her, he had moved onto Caroline Bingley.
(Only it was strange, wasn’t it, that he’d been in her company for so long and done nothing to compromise her before.)
No, it hadn’t been then that she had fallen for Mr. Darcy, but maybe later, when she had tried so desperately to be diverted by Mr. Wickham. Or maybe when she begun to dream of Mr. Darcy’s kisses. Maybe then.
Maybe it hadn’t happened all at once, but slowly, over time.
Whatever the case, knowing the truth about Darcy was a blow. She thought it might have broken her heart. Somewhere inside, even though she had denied him, she had carried an idea that she could have been the wife of a man like Darcy, but now she knew his proposal was never serious, and that he had only desired to use her. All the wicked heat he had made her feel, it was doubly shameful now. She had been tempted by sin, and she only barely managed to resist. Not only was Darcy wretched, but she was too for wanting him.
But dawn would come, and she would banish these thoughts and rise to a quiet house, devoid of Lydia’s giggles or her mother’s complaints or Mary’s pronouncements, and she found peace again.
Then, however, one evening, they were invited to a ball, and Elizabeth was suddenly thrown into a panic. The last she had heard, Mr. Darcy was in town, and she was frightened that she would see him. But she assured herself that it was unlikely. Her aunt and uncle certainly wouldn’t have the kind of connections that Darcy did, and so it would be strange for him to be there. She wouldn’t see him.
And if she did, she could ignore him. She could avoid meeting his eye, even avoid being in the same room as him.
Besides, she wouldn’t see him. He wouldn’t be there.
She wished that she had asked Jane for more information about Mr. Darcy before leaving. Jane had said that Bingley did not know where he was—
Or had she?
She had said that Bingley did not know when Darcy was going to marry Caroline and that Bingley had barely heard from him. But that did not mean that no one knew where Darcy was. He might, in fact, be in London, and then—
Oh heavens.
In the pit of her stomach, she had terrible feeling that she had been so insistent on coming to town precisely for this reason. Because Darcy was here, and she wanted to see him.
No, I don’t, she told herself.
But she did, and this was, of course, precisely why she had concealed the thought from herself, because she didn’t want to admit that she had not quite scrubbed all feeling for Mr. Darcy from her soul. She still pined for him, down in those hidden depths, and she was ashamed of herself.
She considered feigning a headache or some other ailment and skipping out on the ball entirely. But she knew she couldn’t do that, as there had been several times in her aunt’s discussion of the event that she had hinted that they were attending primarily to amuse Elizabeth, and it would be frightfully
rude to decline.
Furthermore, surely she would not see Mr. Darcy.
* * *
When Elizabeth finally arrived at the ball, she was pleased because she was certain that she was right. She would not see anyone. The ball was altogether too crowded to see anybody at all. It was quite a large affair. After all, it was the beginning of the Season and that meant that quite a lot of people were out and about in London. This ball seemed to be attended by each and every one of them. It was practically a crush of bodies.
Mr. Gardiner, her uncle, excused himself to play cards, and then it was just her aunt and herself. They found a place to sit so that they could watch people dancing. Mrs. Gardiner made comments on the various fashions, and Elizabeth—who usually only had a passing interest in such things—found herself quite diverted by her aunt’s attention to detail.
There was little chance of Elizabeth having to dance. She didn’t know anyone there, and she couldn’t dance with someone with whom she had not been introduced. Rather than finding this disappointing, however, Elizabeth was relieved. She was quite done with all the trappings of romance, she had decided. Jane had been the miracle of the family, securing such a wonderful marriage with a man such as Bingley. Perhaps her sisters might manage a marriage too. Lydia and Kitty were the kind of silly women that some men seemed to prefer. Elizabeth had to admit that Mary was probably just as hopeless as she herself was. But no matter. She didn’t suppose Mary would mind. And Elizabeth herself resolved to be in good humor about it all.
There was nothing worse than a person bitter about her station in life, after all. That person drove away what company they might have to distract themselves from their plight and to give them hope. No, it was much better to have a sense of humor about it all, and Elizabeth was, by nature, a bright and positive sort of person.
She ought to count herself lucky anyway. She had narrowly escaped being a victim of Mr. Darcy. If she and Mr. Darcy had been discovered, she would have had no brother like Mr. Bingley to insist upon Mr. Darcy’s doing the honorable thing. By all rights, things should be much worse than they were. As it was, things were quite good on the whole. So, she smiled at her aunt, and she watched the women in their dazzling dresses, and she felt happy.
Then, they were approached by the master of the ceremonies, who had a younger girl and another woman trailing along behind him. “Excuse me,” said the master of the ceremonies. “You are Miss Bennet, are you not?”
Elizabeth was taken aback. “Why, yes, sir.”
The master of the ceremonies gestured. “May I present Miss Darcy and her companion Miss Tilney.”
Miss Darcy? Elizabeth was quite surprised. Was this, then, Mr. Darcy’s sister, Georgiana, the one who was so accomplished, and of whom Miss Bingley had so wished for Mr. Darcy to convey her greetings in that letter so long ago? Why was she being introduced to her?
Georgiana curtsied and so did her companion.
The master of the ceremonies continued his introductions, introducing both Elizabeth and her aunt. They both curtsied as well. When the master of the ceremonies had left, Elizabeth was tongue tied.
Georgiana looked to her companion, who obligingly began to speak. “We apologize for the intrusion, but Georgiana was most desirous of being introduced to you.”
“Yes,” said Georgiana, then, in a very soft voice. She was young and small and seemingly shy. “My brother has told me a great deal about you, you see, and I was most desirous to make your acquaintance.”
Elizabeth responded with politeness. “Of course, yes, I have heard much of you too,” she said. “And have been quite eager to know you too.” But inside, her mind was reeling. Darcy spoke of her? To his sister? Did that make any sense? She was a conquest and a failed one at that. Why would Darcy be spinning stories of the women that he attempted to take advantage of to his sister?
“You must call on me,” said Georgiana. “I so rarely get any visitors these days, and my brother says that you are a lively conversationalist and that you read quite a lot. Perhaps if we have read some of the same books, we could talk of them. I do try to talk to Miss Tilney, but she is never that interested, I’m afraid.”
“I do my best,” said Miss Tilney. “But I haven’t the same taste as Miss Darcy. If you will come and entertain her, I would be quite pleased myself.”
Georgiana smiled. “There, you see, you must come. Do say you will.”
“Well, of course,” said Elizabeth, who was still thoroughly confused.
“Excellent,” said Georgiana. “Now, I think I have a dance with that abominable Mr. Fletcher. He is always speaking of hunting. He seems to take too much pleasure in killing things.” She shuddered in disgust. Saying their goodbyes, both Miss Darcy and her companion took their leave of Elizabeth and her aunt.
Her aunt was all astonishment. “This is the sister of Mr. Darcy, the most hated man in all of Hertfordshire? I did not think you were on good terms with him, Elizabeth.”
“Indeed, I did not either,” said Elizabeth. She was very bewildered by the entire exchange, not least because it had renewed within her the fear that she might see Mr. Darcy, who was quite likely in attendance at the ball that night.
“You must tell me everything,” said her aunt.
“There is nothing to tell,” said Elizabeth. “When Jane was ill and spent that week at Netherfield, I went to be with her. I was in Mr. Darcy’s presence somewhat during that time, but I did not form anything like a friendship with the man. In fact, I would have suspected that he thought of me as… well, not as someone to speak of to his sister. It’s all very odd, in fact.”
Her aunt smiled. “Odd, indeed. Perhaps Jane is not the only of the Bennet sisters who will be making herself a very good match.”
“No, no, it’s not like that,” said Elizabeth. “Mr. Darcy is… well, abominable.”
“Disagreeable, yes,” said her aunt. “So, you’ve said. But I might think that he has other attributes that provide a bit of balance to his disposition.” She gave Elizabeth a knowing smile.
Elizabeth laughed a little. “Indeed, you think me quite shallow, I suppose.”
“I do not. I am only teasing.” Mrs. Gardiner regarded her, her smile fading. “He is as bad as that, then?”
“He is indeed,” said Elizabeth. She did not want to speak further on the subject. With Jane now connected to Mr. Bingley, nothing could be said to besmirch his sister’s name, or it would badly affect Jane as well. And certainly, Elizabeth had no desire to reveal what had passed between Darcy and herself. She left it at that, and if her aunt was curious for more details, she did not press for them, perhaps sensing that Elizabeth was not disposed to talk of the matter.
* * *
Elizabeth was nervous at the idea of calling on Georgiana, but she had been asked to do so specifically, so she knew that she must. Her aunt, who was to accompany her, was eager to know more of the situation, and suggested it every day for the next three days, but Elizabeth kept making excuses.
She didn’t want to go, because she was horrified at the idea of seeing Mr. Darcy. She thought it was only divine providence that she had not seen him at the ball, and she did not think it was likely she could tempt fate again. If she went to his home, she would see him, and it would be calamity. She did not know what she would do at the sight of him, but she didn’t trust herself. She imagined screaming at him, because he deserved it. But even if she managed to keep herself in check, she was certain that she would begin to shake or cough or in some way betray herself, and what would everyone think when they saw that?
The worst fear, though, was not that she would let anything slip, but that it would simply be painful to see him. She might see that fire in his eyes, and it might rekindle it within her body, and that would wound her desperately. She did not wish to feel anything for Mr. Darcy, and she was quite frightened that she still did.
Finally, on the fourth day, her aunt said that if she did not call soon, it would be taken as a slight, and Elizabeth was too go
od a person to do such a thing. So, they got themselves together and traveled to the other side of town, to the grand town house where Miss Darcy was staying.
When they were greeted at the door, Elizabeth half-hoped that no one would be there, and that they could just leave their cards and be done with the whole business. It would be much easier if Georgiana came to see them. There would be less chance of Mr. Darcy coming, and she would not be faced with seeing him.
But instead, they were conveyed into the drawing room, and only moments later, Georgiana and Miss Tilney met them.
Georgiana greeted them warmly. “I am so very pleased that you would come. It is delightful, and I will send for some light refreshments right away. I must say that I haven’t had as many visitors as of late as would please me.”
“That is unfortunate,” said Elizabeth. She found she didn’t know what to say. She knew very little of Georgiana. “I am given to understand that you are very accomplished.” And then she cringed inside, for she found the accomplishment of ladies to be vaguely ridiculous. She thought of her conversation of it with Mr. Darcy. Thinking of him, of his voice, was a like a dart penetrating her flesh.
“Oh, who says so? My brother?” Georgiana laughed. “He is terribly proud of me, but I do not know if it is warranted. I believe he does have a familial bias.”
Elizabeth swallowed. She couldn’t help from asking. “Is your brother… at home?”
“Oh, no, indeed.” Georgiana shook her head. “He is in the country. He was here for Christmas, but then he left, and good riddance to him, I say, because he was in a foul temper the entire time he was in town. I could hardly get him to speak. He brooded everywhere. He brooded over tea. He brooded over soup. Just sat at the table, staring at his spoon while the broth dripped back into the bowl, as if he was trying to solve all the world’s problems by wrinkling his brow. Nor would he tell me what was wrong. I gather he and Bingley had a falling out. Do you know what it was about?”
The Unraveling of Mr Darcy Page 9
