by Jann Rowland
That sparked a discussion, Georgiana protesting that she would have said nothing of the kind, while her relations teased her for her pride in her home. Elizabeth watched the banter, heartened that these people were as much a normal family as anyone else; there was no false pride or exaggerated formality among them. It reminded her of the times before her father’s death, sitting around the family dinner table while the girls chattered, and Mr. Bennet lamented the lack of male companionship. So vivid were the recollections that Elizabeth felt her concentration lapse, and a sense of melancholy came over her.
“What is it, my dear?” a voice intruded into Elizabeth’s recollections.
Snapping to alertness, Elizabeth noted the company had fallen silent and were watching her with varying levels of curiosity and amusement. Coloring at having been caught out, Elizabeth ducked her head.
“I apologize for my inattention. Some recollections came to mind, and I became lost in them.”
“It is nothing to be ashamed of, for it happens to us all.” Lady Susan paused as if considering what to say before she ventured: “It seemed your memories were not pleasant. Or perhaps they were poignant?”
“Not unpleasant at all,” replied Elizabeth. “It is just that this company reminded me of the time before my father’s passing when I was a young girl, part of a happy—though boisterous!—family, and had no notion such scenes would ever end. Since my father’s passing—since before, for my two eldest sisters had departed by then—such times have not been abundant.”
“Change is difficult to endure,” said Lady Susan. “As children, if we are fortunate, none of us have any concept of the notion of the loss of loved ones. It is a feeling I understand very well myself.” Lady Susan paused for a moment before turning her gaze again to Elizabeth, her eyes bright with emotion. “Perhaps you do not know, but Lady Anne Darcy, Georgiana’s mother, was my dearest friend. I have missed her excessively.”
“I did not know,” replied Elizabeth quietly. “But I well understand the sentiment.”
“Your father’s heir was my sister’s odd clergyman,” said Lord Matlock, steering the conversation away from such emotional subjects. “Is that not correct?”
“It is, Lord Matlock,” said Elizabeth. “Mr. Collins married my eldest sister when I was yet a girl.”
“Then I cannot wonder that such scenes did not persist, or new ones take their place, for Collins is as strange a man as I have ever met. Catherine outdid herself when she chose him for her parson—I could not imagine having him for a brother.”
“Even now, I wonder at having such a brother myself,” replied Elizabeth.
“Then we shall create fresh memories,” said Lady Susan. “Leave the memories of your father in the past, pull them out when necessary, to help strengthen you, remind you of whom you have lost, and his effect on your life. But life is all about new experiences to go with the old, is it not?”
“I think you must be correct, Lady Susan,” acknowledged Elizabeth.
“Then let us speak of what we may be about while you are here. I am certain we can find many things to amuse ourselves which do not involve the paths of Snowlock.”
With a laugh, Elizabeth agreed, and they spoke for some time on the subject. By the time Elizabeth and Georgiana retired for the night, she thought she was on the road to esteeming the Fitzwilliam family as much as any other she had ever met. The sense that she would enjoy Snowlock as much as she had Pemberley was growing on Elizabeth’s mind, and she could not but be content.
Never had Darcy had such a sense about how empty Pemberley was when he was there alone.
Darcy had sometimes spent months at the estate with nothing but his own company. Georgiana was his responsibility, and she was often there with him, but at times she had stayed with Aunt Susan, leaving Darcy to his own devices. Darcy was, therefore, accustomed to solitude.
But that was before. It had been a world where Darcy had not known that Miss Bennet existed.
The last few days of her stay, Darcy had pulled away from her a little, assessing the feelings coursing through him, analyzing what they all meant. Now he wished he had not. Though always a contented woman, he thought he noted some hint of a question in her manners as if she was not certain what to make of him. Darcy did not know what to make of himself. All his life he had been a reticent being, a man who kept his own counsel and considered everything before deciding.
Would that win him Miss Bennet’s hand? Did he wish to win her hand?
Sitting in his study, his work unattended, his gaze fixed out the window where he had often seen her walking in the gardens and beyond, Darcy wondered what he was thinking. Of course, he wished to win her hand—he would have to be mad to give any other answer.
Then what was holding him back?
It was an answer Darcy knew very well, though he did not wish to confess it, even to himself: it was a vestige of his father’s influence on him. The elder Darcy had been even more deliberate than the son, his lack of anything resembling joy in life a weight on Darcy’s mind. Was the son like the father in this instance? Was he incapable of letting his defenses down long enough to allow Miss Bennet into his heart? If he could not, would she take what he could offer her—a home, a life of privilege, a family of her own?
The very thought caused Darcy’s grimace, and a hand passed over his face, massaging his temples. Though he had only been twelve years of age when his mother passed away, Darcy had been old enough to observe, and to understand. Lady Anne Darcy had been a woman, frail of body, but stout of heart, giving of the love she seemed to possess to everyone in her sphere without reservation. In many ways, Miss Bennet was exactly as she had been. But the one empty part of Lady Anne’s life had been that her husband had returned none of her freely given love.
Darcy did not wish that—he did not wish it for himself, and he did not wish it for Miss Bennet. If he determined he could not open his heart to her, it would be better if he allowed her to go forward in life, to find a man with whom she could make a meeting of hearts and minds. Better Darcy should enter a cold marriage of convenience with a woman of the ton who cared for nothing of matters of the heart than to condemn such a vibrant, loving woman to a life without love.
Throughout that day and the next, Darcy considered and thought, rolling his feelings over in his mind and heart, wondering what he should do. His insistence that he stay behind to complete his work was revealed to be a sham, for nothing of work did he complete during those lonely days. Darcy had always known it was an excuse. Nothing was tying him to Pemberley now, and he had every reason to go to Snowlock. But he could not make himself go. Until the third day after his heart’s departure, when a letter arrived from Snowlock.
Darcy,
I should like to thank you for providing us with two jewels who have lately been in your company and not stinting in sharing them with us. Georgiana is, as always, delightful, and Miss Bennet has fit into our family as if she has always been a part of it. Even my husband, as difficult to please as he is, has taken to Miss Bennet and has told me she is an enchanting girl. What a wonderful friend your sister has gained! I think more highly of her than any other young lady I have known in some time.
Given this, I wonder at your insistence in staying at Pemberley. Is there something holding you there in truth? If not, we would welcome you to Snowlock, and I dare say Snowlock would be the best place for you at present. It cannot be agreeable to stay in that large, lonely house, with no one but the servants to keep you company.
We are waiting for you, Nephew.
Lady Susan Fitzwilliam
For the first time in his life, Darcy did not consider the ramifications of this letter; that Lady Susan was championing Miss Bennet as a potential bride, his concerns, his worries, his lack of decisiveness all faded away. Lady Susan was correct—his place right now was at Snowlock, pursuing a lovely creature he would regret for the rest of his days if he allowed her to escape.
In the midst of this awakening Darcy did wh
at he had rarely done during the entire course of his life: he acted on impulse, and dashed off a letter to his aunt, informing her she could expect him on the morrow.
Chapter XXVI
Happy did not even begin to describe Elizabeth’s feelings those first few days at Snowlock. It was a combination of many factors, including the welcome she had received, the beauty of her surroundings, and the carefree nature of her sojourn there. While problems might gather on the horizon, including the upcoming return to Longbourn, at present, all was idyllic, a peaceful existence in which she found her equilibrium.
“You live in a lovely setting,” said Elizabeth with a sigh of joy the day after she arrived.
Rachel and Charity had insisted on accompanying her out of doors to show her the principal sights near their father’s home, a suggestion Elizabeth could not have imagined resisting if she tried. It would have been impossible to miss the looks of amusement exchanged by her two friends, and when they spoke, it was on a subject which seemed to be a common refrain between the family members.
“Does this presage a preference for Snowlock over Pemberley?” teased Charity. “If so, I wonder what our dearest Georgiana will say, for the Darcys are proud of their home.”
“Every attempt to compare the two is likely to bring out their claws,” added Rachel.
“I am confident in Elizabeth’s preference for Pemberley,” said Georgiana, an air of unconcern projected in her haughty words. “Such behavior as this is not likely to change her mind, either.”
“Oh?” asked Charity, sharing a mischievous glance with her sister. “I thought we were speaking of estates; why should our behavior change her mind?”
“Tease as you like,” replied Georgiana. “But there are advantages to Pemberley that do not exist at Snowlock.”
“I believe I see,” said Charity with a giggle. “It appears our Georgiana is speaking of someone who is not with us at present.” Rachel did not respond to her sister’s sly comment, but Charity needed no encouragement. “Tell us, Elizabeth; do you have some other reason to prefer Pemberley?”
Finally able to speak, Elizabeth shot a glare at Charity and said: “On the contrary, I believe both Pemberley and Snowlock are worthy estates, and could not choose one over the other even if pressed. They are both lovely in their own ways.”
None of them—except perhaps Rachel—were pleased with the answer Elizabeth gave, and a good-natured argument erupted between the two girls. Having already heard this discussion, even in her brief acquaintance with the Fitzwilliam sisters, Elizabeth decided it was best she did not involve herself. This was particularly important as Charity seemed intent to tease her about Mr. Darcy.
The welcome she received from the family was a matter of some surprise for Elizabeth. Lady Susan’s eagerness for her company, Elizabeth did not understand, though it had never been in question, and the two sisters—especially the younger—were eager for her acquaintance. However, Elizabeth had not expected Lord Matlock to see her presence as anything other than an evil his wife had forced him to endure. Even he soon warmed to her visit.
It began slowly, but soon his lordship was asking after her family, his questions seeming to be the product of interest, rather than suspicion. Her connection to Mr. Collins he lamented, a matter with which Elizabeth could not but agree, but he did not seem to hold it against her.
“If you have an objectionable family member in Mr. Collins,” said Lord Matlock with much amusement, “I have one in his erstwhile patroness. Though you have never made my sister’s acquaintance, I will be the first to inform you that Collins cannot hold a candle to Catherine.”
“That is the truth!” exclaimed Charity to much laughter.
“Then she must be a sight to see,” said Elizabeth, “for I cannot imagine a more objectionable character than Mr. Collins!”
“You must trust us,” said Lady Susan. “As a family, we can endure Catherine, but few of us wish to be in her company for long.”
“That is why I am so thankful to Darcy and Anthony,” mused Lord Matlock. “If they did not accept the responsibility of assisting, the whole of it would fall to me, and I cannot cross the threshold of Rosings without provoking an argument with my sister.”
The laughter this observation provoked was of a more rueful quality, as if that exact scene had played out more times than any were willing to confess. Elizabeth did not laugh, though she looked on with mirth, her lack of acquaintance with Lady Catherine preventing her full understanding.
His lordship, however, did not dwell on Mr. Collins and seemed to prefer to avoid speaking of him altogether. Instead, he asked after the rest of her family, including her father and what kind of man he had been, her thoughts of the neighborhood in which she lived, and her impressions of London society. Another subject of much interest was her uncle, Mr. Gardiner, as the earl concentrated on his character, the exact nature of his business, and the composition of his family.
“This uncle of yours sounds like a worthy man,” said the earl at length. “Worthy enough that he might be a valuable connection.”
Elizabeth was nonplused at his lordship’s words, which the earl seemed to notice. It was fortunate he took no offense at seeing it.
“Though many of my level of society look down on the merchant class,” said he, “I prefer to measure a man based on his merits and not his profession. Some merchants are, regrettably, objectionable, but that is due to their actions and characters rather than their circumstances. In time, I suspect merchants will far outstrip our wealth and rival our influence; it is not wise to ignore and look down on them from our high perches.”
For all his liberality toward men like her uncle, Elizabeth recognized that the earl still possessed a streak of pride and superiority, though it was rarely overt. Given his position, Elizabeth could not blame him, for he was one of the leading members of society. Never did she feel that he considered her an interloper or one who intended to use her acquaintance with his family to further herself in society, a matter Elizabeth acknowledged with relief.
And so, Elizabeth walked, and thought, enjoying their outings and activities together, and became better acquainted with the family, enjoying her time with them as much as she ever had in any other situation. They were not a perfect family, but being with them became more comfortable than being with anyone else other than those who were closest to her. Elizabeth did not attempt to discern why that was so—she simply enjoyed her time there, knowing it would end all too soon.
While she stayed with them, much of her thought dwelt on Mr. Darcy, and the longer she considered the gentleman, several facts became apparent to her. The first and most important was that the situation was entirely in Mr. Darcy’s control, beyond the fact that wooing was a gentleman’s responsibility. Elizabeth, who had come to know and esteem him, recognized that should Mr. Darcy ask her to marry him, her answer was unlikely to be anything other than an unequivocal affirmative. Her feelings for him, while she could not say they were love just yet, were strong, painfully close to that state. All it would take was a nudge from the gentleman to push her over the edge.
What she could not understand was the gentleman himself, and whether he would come to the same conclusion that she had. To some extent, Elizabeth understood his cautious nature, and she could not fault him for it. The more she thought about it, however, the more she realized that Mr. Darcy would need to leave his caution behind and act with purpose, knowing he might find disappointment. If he did not, then all the time she had spent in his company would come to naught, and they would drift forever apart. The thought caused a pang in Elizabeth’s heart, but there was nothing to be done if he did not do it himself.
Thus, coming to that conclusion, Elizabeth allowed the matter to rest, knowing there was nothing she could do now. At present, Mr. Darcy was at Pemberley, while Elizabeth was at Snowlock, and soon she would return to Hertfordshire to assist her sister in preparing for her move. Given Mr. Bingley’s friendship with Mr. Darcy—and her own with G
eorgiana—Elizabeth knew it was inevitable she would come into the gentleman’s presence again. When that happened, she thought she would learn if Mr. Darcy meant to pursue her.
That eventuality, however, happened far sooner than Elizabeth might ever have expected. On the third day after her arrival at Snowlock, Elizabeth walked out for a quick stroll, and when she was returning to the house, a horse and rider arrived at the front door of the estate. When the gentleman drew close enough, Elizabeth perceived it was Mr. Darcy, and the look with which he regarded her seemed to stop her heart within her breast.
The meeting of Miss Elizabeth and Darcy was witnessed by one other, and she could not be more delighted with what she was seeing. The letter, written in a hand most unlike Darcy’s careful script, had arrived that morning, proving Lady Susan’s suppositions and justifying her determination to provoke his response. If what she was seeing before her proceeded to its natural conclusion, she suspected her nephew would gain his happiness.
With interest, Lady Susan watched as Darcy descended from his horse and greeted her, and though they were too far away to see their expressions, they appeared rather cozy together. Then Darcy gathered Miss Bennet’s hand in the crook of his arm and his horse’s reins in the other and led them both away. It was all Susan could do not to clap her hands in delight; she could not have planned it better if she had tried!
“What has captured your attention?”
The sound of her husband’s voice behind her did not surprise Susan as he had intended, but she could spare little time for him at present. When she did not answer at once, Hugh stepped forward and pulled the drapes a little to the side, gazing out on the scene in time to catch sight of Darcy leading Miss Bennet away. The first indication Susan had of his disapproval was the clucking noise he made with his tongue.
