by Iris Lim
“I understand that this may not be your wish,” Richard continued, now sounding almost tired, “but I owe a duty to my heart – and I shall follow my duty to the letter.”
The declaration was rather too romantic, considering the closeness of their heredity. A normal man ought not to wax so poetic about his cousin, when they were yet to have become engaged.
Still, Darcy nodded.
“You are a wise man, Fitzwilliam, and I know you would not be so blinded by your wishes as to wholly deny mine.”
“Georgiana is young,” Darcy replied then, “but not too young. I see no reason to delay the fulfilment of your wishes.”
“That is not my wish.”
The words hung painfully between them.
Suddenly, Darcy found himself frowning harshly. “What are you attempting to say to me?”
“That I wish to marry – but not to Georgiana.”
“Are you rejecting my sister?” Darcy growled, understanding growing. “Are you attempting to tell me that you have done the impossible and found a woman better than she?”
“No – not better,” Richard replied. His voice was tight, unrelenting. “Merely a woman better suited for me.”
“Because she is richer?”
Richard laughed a single laugh. “No – not by any means.”
“Because she is prettier?”
“Not many would agree.”
“Because she is a general’s daughter who would advance your career?”
“No – I do not believe so.”
The finality in his voice made Darcy fear. Richard the compliant was no more.
The man had been reborn – into a very stubborn reincarnation.
“You do not wish to marry Georgiana?” Darcy asked slowly now, though sternly still.
“I care very much for her – as a cousin and friend.”
“You wish to marry a lesser woman – whose fortune and beauty could not hold a candle to my sister’s.”
Richard sighed loudly. “Darcy, please, understand me. I have always wanted –”
“You have been destined for Georgiana since her birth!” Darcy’s anger rose again. “She – the jewel of Derbyshire – perhaps of all of England – has long known she would marry you. But you – insolent, ungrateful bastard – wish to marry someone else?”
“Darcy, you do not see reason! It is not a matter of Georgiana’s eligi –”
“It is a matter of your heart then?” Darcy scoffed. “Your selfish, foolish feelings that you have suddenly discovered? You have never contradicted me regarding the matter of your marriage with Georgiana. You cannot expect now, after all these years, to inform me that –”
“You wouldn’t listen!” Richard shouted.
The force of his words created a long, wordless silence peppered only by the two men’s harsh panting.
“You always said that I would marry Georgiana.” Richard walked closer then. Darcy knew he was merely two steps away. “I never agreed to it.”
“Your silence represented your permission,” Darcy defended.
“Like your silence to Aunt Catherine?”
The defiance in Richard’s tone – added to the gravity of his accusations – caused Darcy to glower uncontrollably. His hands clenched the top of his walking stick with enough force to leave painful scars upon his palms.
He swallowed. “I have never said that I would not marry Anne.”
“But would you?”
“Richard, you are ridiculous! How can you – change your mind all of a sudden?”
“I never had a mind, Darce.” Richard spoke with a dangerous edge to his voice. Darcy stilled. “But now I do.”
The soldier’s surefooted steps led him to the closed library door.
Neither man said a word as he slipped his way out.
• • •
Sixteen Years Ago
• • •
“You see, Anne, you have been entirely too lenient with your son!”
Darcy tried not to shuffle too obviously. He used the tea cup in his hand to shield his grimace.
“It is not uncommon to allow a man to choose his future,” Mother replied to Aunt Catherine. Her voice was serene and graceful – everything comforting. One benefit of his blindness, Darcy found, was that his family seldom ever left him alone.
At the very least, he was never left alone with Aunt Catherine.
“Having Anne and Fitzwilliam wed secures our properties and legacy. You cannot be blind to that, sister.”
“I am fully aware of your preferences, Catherine.” For a few seconds, Mother almost sounded angry. “It is simply a fact that they do not agree with mine.”
“And what could your preferences possibly be?” Aunt Catherine scoffed.
In his mind, Darcy saw the robust aunt of many years ago. He remembered his cousin Anne as a babe, barely seen even during family events. It was baffling that Aunt Catherine wished to pair them now – when they were mere children.
“My son shall choose his own love match, as his father and I did,” Mother declared. Darcy rejoiced that the Rosing’s couch cushion was comfortable enough to keep him stable. He did not wish to cause any commotion by creating another accident with his stray, growing limbs.
“And, pray, Anne, who would love your son? Do you think his wealth alone could overcome his unfitness as a husband and father?” Aunt Catherine’s laugh was cruel and fierce. Darcy shivered. “What woman but my Anne would accept his disabilities? Who but family would take pity upon a boy with not a single means to survive or care or love?”
“Catherine!” Mother was by his side within one breath, arm tight around his shoulders. Darcy turned towards her gratefully. “You speak unfairly.”
“You bore one child, Anne – and he is blind as a bat today. Why you insist upon his wisdom for your future is utterly incomprehensible!”
“Why you, Catherine, insist that your sickly daughter is the answer to Pemberley’s future is the true point of delusion today.”
“You are insufferable.”
“You are unkind.”
“I am in my home, and I have every right to express whatever thoughts I know to be –”
“Catherine!” Mother thundered on her feet. Darcy, teacup deserted, shifted forward on the couch to prepare to stand anytime he needed to as well. “We agreed upon this trip out of kindness – fearing that you may need assistance in guiding Anne through her girlhood. Your behavior tonight proves that our choice was ill-made.”
“I am merely being wise –”
“No.” There was a crack in Mother’s voice – almost as if she was about to cry. She smelled of cinnamon and sugar – as she always did – when Darcy pushed himself to his feet to lean closer. Mother hugged him. “You will not be permitted to insult my family with such vigor. Fitzwilliam shall never marry Anne.”
Mother pulled forward. Darcy staggered to keep up with her uncommonly large strides.
“We leave in the morning.” Mother’s voice was cold, commanding. “Thank you for your hospitality, Catherine.”
Chapter 7:
The Mingling Hopes
“Miss Elizabeth, you see, my most noble patroness Lady Catherine de Bourgh insists that the need for a parson to find a wife is but the most natural and fitting thing in life. It is not extraordinary, I assure you, that I wish to accomplish this task in Hertfordshire.”
Elizabeth marched on, weaving her way towards Meryton as quickly as her feet would take her. Mr. Collins had arrived at Longbourn two days ago with his remarkable trunk, appetite, and tongue – and the family had not possessed a single moment of silence since.
“You see, Miss Elizabeth,” the portly man began again, his words laced with pants as the speed of his cousins’ strides increased. “Lady Catherine de Bourgh spoke from experience and observation, and she could hardly ever be wrong with such remarkable acumen in her possession.”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes, grabbed Kitty by the arm, and hauled her sister forward at the fastest
speed she could muster.
“Miss Elizabeth! Miss Catherine! One must admit your figures are made lovelier by the exercise.” Their cousin and guest stopped a few steps behind them. He leaned on his knees – a ball of breathlessness. Elizabeth frowned at the sight, carefully considering whether or not to offer some compassion.
“Lizzy, he’s fainting,” Kitty whispered, when the parson’s face began to turn blue.
Elizabeth frowned, sighed, and retraced her steps slightly.
“Are you so keen to accompany us to town, Mr. Collins?” She asked as politely as she could.
The last two days had been trying – particularly trying. Mr. Collin’s unbidden and unhidden attentions had been consistently lavished upon her, and his presence in Longbourn had caused Mama to require that the entire household rise early to break fast with their benevolent guest.
Gone without notice were her early rambles towards Oakham Mount. Gone without a trace was the strength she drew from Mr. Darcy’s gentle tones upon the rare occasions he joined her there.
“To accompany ladies is – hardly a chore.” Mr. Collins panted hoarsely. His face returned to a paler, but commoner, color slowly.
Elizabeth huffed with little subtlety. “Your physical discomfort is not a worthwhile cost for chivalry, sir.”
“Oh, but – it is – of course.” He slowly unfurled back to a standing pose. “Kindness to one’s relations is a – prerequisite for any man of the cloth.”
Elizabeth sighed, unhappy for his resilience, yet thankful for his willingness to have the families reconcile.
“You are kind to restore our families’ friendship,” Elizabeth admitted, “but, please – sir – do not find it your duty to protect us when we so often survive unprotected.”
He lifted a finger, as if asking for silence. Elizabeth scowled once more.
“Miss Elizabeth, you are most kind to acknowledge my actions in my attempt to reverse the ill will that has resulted from our ancestors’ feuds. It was not I, you see, who conceived the idea to seek reconciliation. Instead, it was my most noble patroness Lady Catherine de Bourgh who –”
Elizabeth swiveled on her heels and marched away, unable to tolerate a single reference more to their cousin’s esteemed employer.
“Lizzy!” Kitty called before running to keep pace with her. Their cousin did not move – perhaps still not having realized his lack of an audience for a few minutes more.
“Miss Elizabeth! Miss Catherine!” He hollered when he began to pursue them once again. Elizabeth hung on Kitty’s arm, slightly thankful that the acquiescent Jane had been required to stay at Longbourn to entertain Mr. Bingley. Oh what horrors could result from an incessant Mr. Collins and an ever-patient Jane!
They would never get to Meryton.
“Elizabeth, Kitty,” a gentler voice – a female voice – called out to them. The sisters stopped.
“Charlotte!” Elizabeth smiled when she realized who had joined them. “Oh, Char, you must help us! Our guest has been most belligerent in providing his attentions since his arrival on Monday!”
The friends clasped hands, and Charlotte quickly looked towards the huffing, puffing, stumbling parson. There was a twinkle in her eyes – perhaps of amusement.
“Mr. Collins has set his eyes on Lizzy!” Kitty exclaimed, never the one to care for priority.
Elizabeth nearly shoved her palm against her sister’s mouth.
Charlotte laughed. “Mr. Collins has rather good taste.”
“Charlotte!” Elizabeth growled, glaring without reserve at her friend.
Charlotte merely smiled.
“Miss Elizabeth, you have a friend,” Mr. Collins declared when he finally arrived at the spot where the ladies stood.
“Mr. Collins, my friend – Miss Lucas,” Elizabeth introduced with little fanfare.
“Miss Lucas,” the parson greeted, with an awkward bow upon the uneven ground.
“Mr. Collins.” Charlotte curtsied, still nursing a small, bemused smile.
“Will you join us to Meryton – please,” Elizabeth addressed her friend.
Charlotte still looked at Mr. Collins.
“Char,” Elizabeth pressed.
For one long, awkward moment, Elizabeth watched her friend exchange a knowing gaze with her ridiculous new suitor.
What could Charlotte possibly wish to do?
“Come.” Charlotte turned back to Elizabeth a moment later, wholly unaffected, and linked their arms. “Meryton awaits.”
Elizabeth was too bewildered to talk for the rest of the way.
• • •
“And Mother said it so effusively that I could hardly ignore her!” Charlotte laughed after her vivid retelling of Lady Lucas’s worries over her daughter’s matrimonial prospects.
The smile on Elizabeth’s face was strained, at best.
“It is ridiculous – is it not?” Charlotte said after her chuckles subsided. Behind her, the rest of the room was engaged in playing cards, drinking tea, and trading gossip. Lucas Lodge, for all its faults, was a cozy place to be. “I can’t quite believe, even now, that Mother thought it prudent to encourage me to pursue Mr. Collins.”
“Charlotte, you confuse me.” Elizabeth pressed her friend’s hand. The observation had weighed heavily upon her since yesterday’s trek to Meryton. Now, with their family and neighbors sedately occupied, was the best time to express it. “What did you mean, Char, when you gazed at him so meaningfully yesterday.”
“Meaningfully?”
“Mr. Collins –” The name felt harsh on her tongue. Elizabeth swallowed, then continued, “When you joined us on the road, you greeted our cousin with a long, silent look. I fear, Charlotte, that your mother’s words may have impressed themselves upon you in the worst of ways.”
Charlotte’s face remained steeped in a thoughtful frown.
It was almost as if she did not understand.
“Charlotte, you cannot think of marrying such a man!” Elizabeth nearly cried, so arduous were her efforts in repressing her tone – lest the entire room heard. “He is foolish and pompous and utterly ridiculous!”
“You think I meant to seek his favor?” Charlotte spoke with wide eyes, as if understanding had just freshly dawned upon her.
Elizabeth clasped Charlotte’s hands even more tightly. The budding tears in her eyes cut deep in her heart.
“We may grow older by the day – but hope is not yet lost.”
“You think I meant – to court him?” A hint of incredulity peeked through Charlotte’s words.
“You do not need to, Char. You may yet meet a better man!” A single tear, shoved forward by its growing company, escaped Elizabeth’s eye. She wiped it away quickly.
“Eliza, I never meant to –”
“We promised to marry for love – did we not? How can a few summers rob you of your loyalty towards such a solemn vow?”
“I never meant –”
“Did you not mean it?” Elizabeth’s heartbreak seeped through her tone – but she needed to exert every effort.
“What I mean, Elizabeth.” Charlotte grabbed both her hands now. They sat awkwardly – each upon her own chair – with four hands clasped betwixt them. “I have never forgotten our vow.”
“Oh.” A slight relief loosened the tightly-wound strings of Elizabeth’s mind.
“I have met a man – a worthy man – a wondrous man.” Charlotte looked assured yet shy. “And he is not Mr. Collins.”
“Oh.”
Elizabeth blinked her eyes until their welling subsided.
“My new friend has not spoken to me yet of any serious intent,” Charlotte explained, the shyness beginning to win. “I cannot betray his identity without his permission.”
A new possibility dawned upon Elizabeth’s mind. Her eyes flew to the Netherfield party, currently split between the card table and Lady Lucas’s prattling. On the couch, Mr. Wickham accompanied his master – refilling his cup ever so often. To their left, Colonel Fitzwilliam nodded solemnly at
every new word their hostess uttered. The rest of them – remained at the tables, each fumbling over his bets.
“Is it he?” A new sort of heartbreak carved itself into her heart. Her eyes remained still, fixed on the neighborhood’s newest guests. Her hands released Charlotte’s.
“I hope you do not find me too forward to profess such feelings,” Charlotte asked.
“No, I – I cannot blame you.” Elizabeth sighed. Was it so wrong of Charlotte to admit to her feelings? “If I were in your place, I believe I – I would freely acknowledge it too.”
“Thank you, Elizabeth!” Charlotte gushed. Her eyes sparkled, eloquent with thanks. “I knew, of course, that you would understand.”
Elizabeth smiled sadly. “I do – I truly do.”
“He is a great man, Elizabeth – astute, kind.”
“Yes, he is.”
“Oh yes, you stayed at Netherfield with them! You must know how admirable he is!”
“I know.”
“Elizabeth, dear, dare I hope?”
When she lifted her eyes to meet her friend’s, Elizabeth found them filled with the exact hope she described.
With great difficulty, Elizabeth nodded. “Of course.”
“I feared I was imagining his concern, of course.” Charlotte smiled. “It – it was most sudden – with us keeping each other company at the Netherfield Ball.”
“I see.”
“I had never imagined, of course, that I would ever expect to be a soldier’s wife – so foolish are the men in the militia.”
“Yes, they are.”
“This soldier, I assure you – is wise and sweet and everything wonderful,” Charlotte spoke passionately, her voice nearly rising twice.
Then, in the silence that followed Charlotte’s declaration, Elizabeth realized the truth.
She sat up straight, immediately. “Charlotte, a soldier, you say?”
“I – well, yes, though he outranks most, I know.”
“You have been befriending Colonel Fitzwilliam?”
“He calls often – yes.”
“And it is he who has captured your heart?” New hope mingled with old joy – and Elizabeth felt herself almost flying.
“I – yes, I must admit.” Charlotte smiled.
