That's What Makes It Love

by Iris Lim

  “It is, of course, common for the upper classes to believe that one’s wealth regarded one’s education, and one’s education regarded one’s breeding, and one’s breeding regarded one’s morals,” the man went on in his inexplicable rant. “It is not unlikely that one’s station in birth produces misunderstanding as to one’s – availability.”

  Darcy nodded, sorting the thoughts tossed his way with increasing confusion.

  “That said, Mr. Darcy, I believed you to be a better man than prejudice and reputation warranted. The town may be thrilled for your party’s arrival – but your presence has nonetheless brought grief upon my family.”

  Darcy cleared his throat. “Do you refer to Miss Lucas, sir?”

  “Miss Lucas? Indeed, I ask you, sir, would I come here all on my own – barely dressed for the weather – merely to condemn you and your cousin for your –” The man paused mid-sentence, then sighed in the way that people who suddenly realized things sighed. Darcy waited for him to speak.

  Mr. Bennet did not disappoint. “I come for my daughter, Mr. Darcy.”

  Darcy felt the sudden urge to blush – and he hoped he did not color as Bingley was famed to do. He realized now that Mr. Bennet had seen his rendezvous with Elizabeth. He had come to demand that they marry. It was unfair, of course – for he had never spoken or done a single wrong thing to Miss Elizabeth. But, still, the results were not entirely undesirable.

  “Mr. Bennet –” he began.

  “What you have done to Lydia!” The older man interrupted.

  Darcy sat straight, dumbfounded.

  “Miss – Miss Lydia?”

  “Have you ever governed your valet and friend, Mr. Darcy?”

  “My – my – you mean – Wickham?”

  “It is, of course, a blessing that Miss Lucas alone spotted them – for no rumors have appeared to this hour. But chance is no savior, sir.” Mr. Bennet spun on his heels, the bottoms of his shoes scraping the floor. “I demand that you remove this man from your circles.”

  “Wickham is a trusted friend and advisor. I cannot believe that he would –”

  “Do you know his whereabouts, Mr. Darcy? Have you any sort of clue as to the havoc your manservant produces?”

  “He is not merely a servant, sir. He –”

  “Mr. Darcy!” Mr. Bennet bellowed. Darcy did not dare to move. For an entire minute, the room was still.

  The birds at the window chirped most inopportunely.

  “You think him upright – you think your years of acquaintance acquit him instantly of wrongdoing. But, son, you are wrong. Your friend and confidante has misused my daughter most horrifyingly. You cannot permit him such power.”

  Darcy held his breath, unable to fathom the depths of this man’s anger.

  “I hold you responsible, sir, for any ruin that ever descends upon my daughters’ good names because you fail to guide your friend.”

  Neither man said another word for the rest of the restless call.

  • • •

  “Lydia, please,” Elizabeth urged.

  Her sister huffed and turned even further away. Papa had been quick to request after Lydia’s unholy arrival two days prior that Kitty and Mary change rooms with their older sisters for the time being. Despite every effort exerted, their youngest sister had refused to talk.

  “He is not to be trusted. He meant you ill.” Jane used much softer tones than Elizabeth did. Gold hair and fair arms leaned closer to their pouting sister.

  “Wickham is nothing but the best!” Lydia sniffed. The loud laments and protests ceased a day ago – and had since been replaced with softer, grouchier complaints.

  “Lydia!” Elizabeth cried, impatient with the unwavering obstinance.

  “Hush, Lizzy.” Jane laid her other hand on Elizabeth’s shoulder. Both dark-haired sisters sighed.

  “He loves me – more than your Mr. Bingley loves you, Jane,” Lydia began her moans anew.

  Jane – with eternal kindness – replied with every gentleness, “If he did – then he would court you, and marry you.”

  Sobs rolled off their youngest sister like thunder off tall, imposing clouds.

  “Lydia, he is not faithful,” Jane continued. “If he loved you – as he so insisted he did – there would be no cause for such alarm.”

  “But he does love me,” Lydia muttered – sniffing between every other word.

  “Lydia –”

  “He did to you what he did to everyone else!” Elizabeth interrupted, unable to bear another good word in Mr. Wickham’s favor.

  “He did not!” Lydia immediately replied.

  “Then, look – see for yourself.”

  Quickly, Elizabeth procured the letters she and Charlotte had harvested all day. Note after note emerged – each in Mr. Wickham’s hand – and each filled with dramatic professions of love to ladies in town.

  Jane read them first, with widening eyes, before passing them gently to her crying sister.

  Elizabeth watched with fascination as a permanent transformation overcame her stubborn little sister. With every note, the sobs decreased; with every word, the body stiffened.

  “Lydia –”

  “You’ve proven enough, Lizzy.”

  For three quiet minutes, the three ladies remained still.

  Elizabeth wondered, for one fleeting moment, if she had treated her sister too ill.

  “With your permission,” said Elizabeth, when the crickets grew louder than their own, rushing hearts, “I would send these notes to Mr. Darcy – that he may know the truth of the matter.”

  Lydia blinked repetitively – and remained wordless still.

  “He governs the affairs of Mr. Wickham,” Elizabeth went on. “We can trust him to take due action.”

  The sight of her broken sister made her question the wisdom of soliciting love notes all morning – from door to tavern to home.

  “Lydia –”

  “Lizzy, just go.”

  • • •

  Twenty-Two Years Ago

  • • •

  “Thomas, is it not but proper that we purchase whatever our neighbors do?”

  “Fanny, I do not believe –”

  “Mrs. Lucas has new fabrics in spades! It is hardly acceptable that our sheets bear so little resemblance to what is fashionable.”

  “Fanny, the price is simply –”

  “But Thomas!”

  His hand flew to his nose. Even the pain of pinching his own flesh could not cover his frustration.

  “You promised such a life, Thomas,” his wife pleaded.

  Memories of their courtship and engagement pained him. The newlywed bliss that followed seemed to affirm his choices – to affirm the wisdom of choosing a spouse who was pleasing to his eye, if not suitable to his mind. The quick news of her being with child minted his joy with further glory.

  Alas, how short-lived that glory was to be!

  “Thomas –”

  “You shall purchase whatever you wish, Fanny,” he conceded. He had married for beauty – not for character. The punishment of poverty in light of such foolishness was inevitable.

  “Oh! Thomas!” She squealed instantly – and tottered away with her bulging belly – presumably to Meryton posthaste.

  In the sudden silence, Thomas Bennet could only hope that the child was a son – a son who would choose more wisely than his father ever did.

  Chapter 11:

  The Momentous Choice

  A part of him knew his actions were barely appropriate. As his boots tapped upon the soft ground, as the morning chill stung the inevitable scratches on his arm – each inflicted by the brambles he’d braved to get here – he frowned, and he waited.

  Maneuvering himself from Netherfield without aid had resulted in one fall, two near-tumbles, and a myriad of scars he knew now decorated his face.

  Still, he had to see her.

  He had to know what she thought.

  “Mr. Darcy!” Miss Elizabeth’s cry rewarded him soon, and he turn
ed gladly to face the source of her voice. “What have you – oh, you have come here alone, haven’t you?”

  She rushed to his side immediately, and he tried not to wince when her gloved fingers grazed the scratches on his skin.

  “What compelled you to come, sir?” she asked, all kindness.

  He had never felt such tenderness since the loss of his mother.

  Darcy cleared his throat, more important things at hand. He felt her fingers retract from his person once he sat up straight upon the rock.

  “Miss Elizabeth, I have come to seek your counsel.”

  She sighed. He wondered if she thought him mad. Indeed, who sought counsel at such early morning hours – wounded all over, too?

  “Do you wish to discuss Mr. Wickham?” she offered.

  He nodded, glad she broached the subject for him.

  “Have you read the letters, sir?”

  “Bingley helped me – yes.” Darcy frowned. He shifted on the boulder. Her hand assisted him until he settled once more. “I suppose being blind has its disadvantages.”

  “Mr. Darcy, you cannot blame yourself,” she said quickly.

  Darcy wondered, for a moment, if she merely teased.

  She spoke again, “Mr. Wickham’s rash behavior can hardly be blamed upon a master so kind.”

  Darcy sighed. “Your father thinks differently.”

  “My father has a daughter wronged.” He felt her fingers wrap themselves around his arm. “His anxiety could hardly be considered reasonable.”

  “But you were able to uncover the truth, when I could not. You collected those letters – amassed proof.”

  “You could not have known they existed, sir.”

  “How did you?”

  She paused. He wondered if she struggled to remember.

  “I have friends in Meryton, sir. My intuition was informed.”

  Darcy nodded, grateful for her ingenuity.

  “Mr. Darcy.” He felt her palms pressing firmly on the back of his hand. “I hope your eyes have been opened, sir.”

  “They have.”

  “And Mr. Wickham?”

  “Shall no longer remain in my employ from this day forward.”

  “You have dismissed him?”

  Darcy sighed, knowing he hadn’t. “I have not had the opportunity.”

  She did not reply – merely held his hand more tightly.

  Her presence brought him warmth, brought him courage.

  “I have ordered his audience for tonight,” he said.

  “My family thanks you, sir.”

  “Of course. It is – my neglect that has caused your sister such sorrow. It is but right that I correct it.”

  Their sudden silence caused him to feel the gaining strength of the sun.

  He sighed. “Is it very late, madam?”

  “No,” she answered.

  “I’m afraid my journey here has taken much larger amounts of time than I’d intended.”

  “It is not late, sir – not for amends to be made.”

  He stopped before he spoke, beginning to understand.

  Her fingers opened then closed again upon his hand. Underneath her gloves, he felt her strength – her trust.

  Darcy tried not to frown. “There are only so many amends one can make.”

  “It must be difficult, sir – to condemn a childhood friend so.”

  Darcy closed his eyes. “He bludgeoned his own life. My neglect has –”

  “Sir.” She leaned closer. Mint, lavender, hope, kindness – each scent rolled off her in waves. “I am sorry you must suffer so.”

  He closed his eyes tighter. He dearly wished he would not cry before her.

  “He has been your friend – and aide – for many years.”

  “Our entire lives,” he lamented. “If he leaves – there will be no one.”

  “You shall have your sister, sir,” Miss Elizabeth assured him.

  “Georgiana too, one day, shall marry.”

  “And would you not – sir?”

  “Who would wish to marry a –” He sighed – striving to control himself.

  “There are many women, sir, who would be honored to marry you.”

  He felt her leaning close – familial and dear. He reached out his arms to touch her gently, resting his hands on what he believed were her shoulders.

  It was an awkward embrace – him seated, her leaning over. He felt her hand patting his back in a comforting gesture. He longed to draw her closer, but resisted.

  “Are you well, sir?” She asked, another minute later, when they had each withdrawn their arms to themselves.

  “Your courage and counsel, Miss Elizabeth, shall spur me on.”

  • • •

  The carriage rumbled on, rickety and pained. Outside its doors, the wind and birds sang a duet. Longbourn was not far. Darcy knew the trip would only last so long.

  Still, he welcomed the privacy.

  “Brother, are we not too formal today?”

  He raised his head at Georgiana’s question.

  He smiled, exerting every effort to remain in control of his life. It was true that without Wickham to pick his clothes, he had blindly – quite literally – chosen whichever fabric felt best beneath his fingers. Mr. Bennet was gracious to extend this invitation.

  Darcy was not about to disrespect the man.

  “All is well. I merely wish to be appropriate,” he replied to his sister.

  Georgiana sighed, though seemingly happily. “Then so it is. I am happy to be able to see Elizabeth again.”

  Darcy nodded, unable to trust his tongue.

  Last night had been tumultuous – perhaps the most devastating of all nights save those upon which he’d lost his parents. Even confronted with every evidence, George had maintained his innocence. He’d admitted to flirtatiousness, to generosity – but to ruin, not once.

  Darcy sighed, haunted still.

  Was he never to find a person to trust again?

  “I am happy they invited us for dinner,” said Georgiana then.

  Darcy knew his smile was grim. “Of course. I am delighted.”

  Georgiana’s ability to speak so gayly at such a horrific time discomfited him to a certain degree.

  Wickham was a friend – and a brother. All their lives, they’d kept company. When Richard left, George did not. When Mother died – then Father died – George stayed true. Darcy had never treated him as a servant – but as a confidante, a comrade, a friend. He’d trusted Wickham to read his letters, to care for all his possessions, to accompany him wherever and whenever he travelled.

  How was he to survive now that he had been dismissed?

  Darcy knew he did right. Wickham’s behavior – and all its repercussions – would bring ruin to Pemberley and to him and Georgiana. Miss Elizabeth was right. There was no room for undue mercy.

  Still, Darcy felt, keenly, that he had lost both his legs atop losing his eyesight.

  “Will Mr. Bingley and the rest of them be late?” asked Georgiana, when they turned in what he knew to be the last bend in the road.

  “They left soon after we did. They cannot be too tardy.”

  “Miss Bingley dresses rather slowly.”

  “I suppose she does.”

  They ceased talking, again – perhaps having little to say.

  Darcy turned his face towards the window, enjoying the slight warmth that lingered outdoors. When their arguments had stopped last night, when they had both agreed that the proof was irrefutable, George had begun to withdraw.

  Gone was the warmth of nearly three decades of friendship. Gone was the trust they had both built in the other. Gone was the confidence that, though the world may change, he had constants in his life that would always remain.

  Even Georgiana would marry some day.

  Darcy sighed. Life, it seemed, had already chosen to leave him behind.

  • • •

  “Mr. Bennet – may I?” Darcy waited for the man to reply. He knew he stood awkwardly in the midd
le of the hall. Without George, it was difficult to maintain a semblance of respectability.

  “You wish to speak with me?” Mr. Bennet asked, probably halfway into his study as it was.

  Darcy nodded, trying hard to frown less harshly. His fingers rearranged themselves upon the head of his walking stick. His limitations allowed him, at least, to use it indoors.

  “Dinner was – remarkable, sir,” said Darcy.

  He heard Mr. Bennet scoff lightly. “For that, perhaps, you ought to speak to my wife.”

  “Mr. Bennet –”

  “Is there any rightful cause to continue our argument, Mr. Darcy?”

  Darcy paused, beginning to feel the older man’s anger.

  Then, he swallowed. “I have no wish to continue it, sir – but every wish to offer my sincerest apology.”

  When Mr. Bennet did not answer, Darcy could not help wondering if he communicated wordlessly with the daughters seated in the room behind his tall, uneasy guest.

  “Come then, son.” The answer came as a surprise. “Let us talk.”

  Darcy followed, careful with every step, into the study. Mr. Bennet stepped behind the desk. Darcy used his hands to seat himself in the chair opposite the wooden expanse.

  “My accusations –” began the master of Longbourn.

  “I have dismissed Mr. Wickham,” stated Darcy. To use a less familiar, and more formal, address at least lessened the pain.

  “I see.”

  “I apologize, sir, for my ill manners when you presented his poor demeanor to me.”

  Darcy imagined Mr. Bennet nodding rather sagaciously in the quietness that followed.

  “Was it difficult?” The man asked.

  “Pray, sir, to what do you refer?”

  “Dismissing your – friend.”

  Darcy sighed under his breath, realizing then his own transparency.

  He blinked, face tilted towards the ground. “He did not deserve mercy, sir.”

  “And what of lifelong friendships – and your obvious need for his assistance.”

  Darcy straightened. “I can manage. His inability to uphold good character renders him undeserving of such consideration.”

  “But there is no one you trust more than you –”

  “Trust is volatile, sir,” Darcy replied. He smelt Mr. Bennet’s cigar pulling farther away. “Ill-advised actions can render it moot.”