That's What Makes It Love

by Iris Lim

  Darcy smiled slightly just as Miss Bingley – ever predictable – launched into her tirade of why this lady was unsuitable.

  She was not entirely wrong – for they were in Hertfordshire for a mere two days, and Bingley had just met his new angelic being once. But it was silly of the woman to think that her brother could be persuaded. Time and distance were the only things that ever truly succeeded in disillusioning the young new tenant of Netherfield.

  “If you could but have seen her, Darce,” Bingley pleaded, when his sister’s nagging turned sour, “I am most certain you would agree.”

  Darcy sighed, lightly. His friend was kind, benevolent – they would never have become friends at all if Bingley had been half as friendly of a man as he was.

  Tact, however, was neither here nor there in the lists of admirable Bingley family traits.

  “I have heard no reasons to doubt her beauty, man,” said Darcy, in good faith.

  “And what of her kindness and her sweetness and her utterly beguiling charm?”

  Darcy almost laughed. His friend was love-sick. It was clear.

  It was, also, in a different light, rather glorious.

  Darcy shifted on his chair to sit back further. “I don’t believe I have sufficient acquaintance of the lady to agree to such claims. And, if I may say so – neither do you.”

  “I know her – I feel as if I have always known her.”

  “Feelings are fleeting. Do not let them guide where reason may.”

  “You do not understand, Darce.” Bingley stood up and began to pace to God knows where. “I have met many ladies in my life, I admit. I have chased my own share of skirts – but Miss Bennet is different.”

  Darcy listened, patiently.

  “She – when one meets the other half of one’s soul,” Bingley explained with a calm excitement now, “one knows one could never remove her from one’s life without tearing a hole in one’s own.”

  Darcy smiled and nodded politely, uninterested in continuing said discussion. He could never persuade Bingley off his latest obsessions. No one ever could, however they tried.

  “Miss Bennet is that who is destined to fill my heart,” Bingley pledged. “You would know too, Darce, when you meet yours.”

  “I see.” Darcy hoped he kept his musings sufficiently hidden behind a cool, unchanging facade.

  Chapter 17:

  The Catherine Trap

  “Must we play this piece yet again?” Elizabeth questioned, music in hand. She did not sound impatient, but did strike a careful chord between bemusement and exasperation.

  Georgiana smiled, content with the secret knowledge that this piece was her brother’s favorite.

  “I do like it so, Lizzy,” she replied.

  “Very well.”

  They proceeded to polish and perform the duet, as they had been doing for the two evenings past. Elizabeth’s cooing and caring had resulted in a speedy recovery for Georgiana, and she had been deemed worthy to depart from her fireside pose two days after having assumed it. Fitzwilliam kept to himself during the mornings, secluded in his study with the assistance of their steward and the occasional visit from Elizabeth. It seemed that whatever victuals Elizabeth delivered were always heartily consumed – and Georgiana knew better than to interfere with such a healthy arrangement.

  In the evenings, abandoned by the sun and freed from their duties, the siblings and their guest spent time in music and conversation and tea.

  Georgiana could hardly wait for tonight to begin.

  “Are you certain we ought to be spending our time this way?” Elizabeth asked when they – with due diligence – had completed their second attempt at the song for today.

  “I have finished all my lessons,” Georgiana bartered. “And unlike my writing or my needlework, Fitzwilliam does enjoy the music so.”

  Her honesty earned her a gaze of tender sympathy from Elizabeth. “Yes, of course.”

  Oh what she would give to have her as a sister in truth!

  “Do you like your rooms here, Lizzy? Is the food to your liking? Please do instruct me as to what adds most to your comfort.”

  Having recovered fully from her illness now, Georgiana was keen to recover control as well of their guest’s every preference and source of joy.

  “Do not fret, dear.” Elizabeth patted her hand. “I am not one to stay silent if speaking out would ensure an augmentation of my happiness.”

  Georgiana smiled then, relieved.

  “Do not speak hollow words, Lizzy,” she insisted, nonetheless. “To promise you would speak for your own happiness is to promise to do so whenever the time arises.”

  “I shall.”

  “There is no time too inopportune.”

  “I understand.”

  “Be it a thing you ask of me – or of Fitz – or of Mrs. Reynold or anyone here.”

  Elizabeth laughed. “Yes, Miss Darcy, I promise.”

  The formal greeting left Georgiana chuckling, and they spent their time laughing in a rather unladylike manner for a few moments more.

  She supposed it was rather silly to demand that Elizabeth be more honest.

  She had never known a lady more frank and unabashedly confident than Elizabeth.

  It was clear that Fitzwilliam adored her – and Georgiana knew it was merely a matter of time, perhaps before their scheduled departure three days hence, that her brother would break his barriers and offer for Elizabeth.

  She dearly wished Elizabeth would say yes.

  A footman’s abrupt entry interrupted their light-hearted company.

  “A call for Mr. Darcy, Miss Darcy. Presenting Lady Catherine de Bourgh –”

  Georgiana stood up immediately, and just in time, for Aunt Catherine barged in no later than the second the word ‘Lady’ was uttered. She appeared as she always did – adorned with a thousand layers, hair arranged into a regal crown, arms poised in utter command – and terrifying to the utmost.

  “Aunt Catherine.” Georgiana curtsied, incapable of ignoring the manners her upbringing had instilled.

  Aunt Catherine’s eyes flitted over her and her friend in rapid inspection – as if evaluating an object too far beneath her notice to humor with a straightforward gaze.

  “Lady Catherine de Bourgh.” It was Elizabeth’s turn to greet. It did not escape Georgiana that her friend already knew with whom they currently traded stares.

  Aunt Catherine strode forward, her three maids trailing her from behind in muted, dutiful steps.

  She stopped abruptly, two yards away. Her eagle eyes searched and landed on their indubitable prey.

  “And what is your name?” She demanded, voice as low and imposing as it had always been.

  “Elizabeth Bennet, of Hertfordshire.” Another curtsy followed.

  Aunt Catherine narrowed her eyes. Her nose crinkled against her painted face.

  “And this is the piece of rubbish that chases after my nephew so?”

  “Aunt Catherine!”

  “I have heard reports – and doubted them, for some time.” The mistress of Rosings Park stepped around Elizabeth, observing her as one would a sculpture or a new chair. “My nephew has ceased to reply to my letters – and I must know if it is because he is bewitched – or entrapped in his own home.”

  “Aunt Catherine, Elizabeth would never –”

  “Elizabeth now, is it?” Her aunt stopped short, then briefly transferred her gaze to her trembling niece. “And is this the lady whose friend robbed you of Richard’s love?”

  “Aunt Catherine, I –”

  “And yet, here she stands, a cherished guest in Pemberley. Did she not have a sister in dalliance with that Wickham fellow? Is it not clear by her deportment and attire that her desires for your company – are merely as a stepping stone towards gaining your brother’s?”

  “Lady Catherine, I am afraid I shall have to offer my defense,” spoke Elizabeth.

  Georgiana, overwhelmed and overwrought and lost, did the one thing she knew she could.

/>   “Pardon me, Aunt Catherine. I’m afraid I must go.”

  And she fled the room as quickly as she could – to make a mad dash towards Fitzwilliam’s study.

  • • •

  “And if the damage done by your sister and your friend were not enough – you invited yourself here, in unabashed pursuit of my nephew and his fortune,” the opulent lady continued, unstoppable.

  Elizabeth stood, where she did ever since Georgiana slipped away, and took every word of challenge with a rising courage she did not know she had possessed. Her eyes remained fixed, continually, on her assailant’s face.

  “Your family’s behavior is abhorrent, shameless to the utmost degree.”

  “Lady Catherine,” Elizabeth replied, “whatever insults you may wish to pile upon me – I am more than willing to defend. My family, I hope, shall not be judged without their presence.”

  “And have I said a word that is untrue? Has your sister not entrapped Fitzwilliam’s friend and your neighbor broken Richard’s engagement to poor Georgiana? And yet, here you stand – an honored guest – a wolf in sheep’s skin.”

  “Lady Catherine, again, I must remind you. I am here purely on Georgiana’s invitation alone.”

  “But were you not happy to have received said invitation?”

  “It is, of course, an honor.”

  “Did you not – in ingenuity and subterfuge – reveal to my impressionable niece that you would be much happier here than in your own home?”

  “The contents of my correspondences with Georgiana ought not to be so interpreted, madam.”

  “Ah, so you admit it then?” There was a self-righteousness to the woman’s tones, an air of a person who was accustomed to always being right. She occupied the entire couch as if she owned it – silks and sashes and trains draped over every inch of the now-invisible furniture. “You acknowledge that you wish to be in Pemberley.”

  “I have made no such profession.”

  “So shall you be happier tonight, then, when you and your trunks of rubbish are tossed back to Hertfordshire, where they rightfully belong?”

  Elizabeth blinked, a slight sadness casting a shadow over her former confidence. “If it is Mr. and Miss Darcy’s express wish that I return home, I would not dare to stay another minute.”

  “Right.” The lady nodded, seemingly satisfied. “Then why do you tarry then? You are not a foolish girl.”

  “No,” Elizabeth agreed, just this once. “I am not foolish enough to know when I am welcome – and when I am not.”

  Lady Catherine’s narrowed eyes looked very much like a hawk’s. “And what do these senses of yours suggest now?”

  “I shall –” Elizabeth reigned in her racing heart and breath. She refused to lose her composure before the brute of a woman. “I believe I shall consult the master himself – as I had not been previously made aware that he despised my presence here. It would be but proper for me to take my leave.”

  “I have known my nephew and niece since their births. Where they seek to be pleasing and circumspect, I seek to be frank and certain.” Lady Catherine crossed her arms against each other, embroidered sleeves all glimmering under the generous sun’s rays Pemberley’s nature-loving windows provided. “You should not have come, Miss Bennet, and furthermore should not have taken residence in the family wing.”

  For one quick moment, Elizabeth was truly taken aback.

  What powers of omniscience did this woman have?

  “I take only the rooms offered me by my generous hosts.”

  “Hosts whom, I have reason to believe, have fallen under your wicked spell.”

  “I have cast no spells, Lady Catherine. I doubt anyone as discerning as Mr. and Miss Darcy would ever fall under any spell.”

  “A woman with little to commend her – no dowry, no connections, no fame – inevitably grooms herself in other sorts of arts. My daughter Anne, meant for her cousin from birth, is a much more suitable bride for the master of Pemberley.”

  “I do not deny the equality of their births, madam.”

  “And yet you insist upon intruding?”

  “I – I have no designs – no presumptions – that I am worthy of the romantic attentions of Mr. Darcy or any of your nephews, Lady Catherine.”

  “Good. You are not as foolish as I have been led to believe.”

  Elizabeth permitted herself a long, searching breath.

  “And you shall pack your trunks this very instant – and take your leave for home?”

  “I shall do whatever my hosts and friends demand.”

  “And what if your friends do not know what they truly want? What if your –” Haughty eyes roamed dismissively down Elizabeth’s body. “If your charms have deluded my nephew to seek what he ought not to seek?”

  Elizabeth sighed. “Mr. Darcy has been nothing but a perfect gentlemen, madam. If he truly did care for your daughter, then he would surely not permit himself any attentions to any women apart from her.”

  “Do you promise then – never to engage his attentions?”

  “Despite my lowliness of birth, I have no selfish designs upon your nephew.”

  “You do not care for him then – and promise to cease any sentiment you have fostered betwixt you and him?”

  “I –” Elizabeth sighed. Her eyes wandered to the floor briefly before resuming their stare upon her sudden visitor. “I shall make no such promise.”

  “Are you so adamant that you shall receive your prize? Do you fool yourself into believing that any connection to you could ever bring about any goodness for him?”

  “In the eyes of the world, I must acknowledge that there is little I can bring to a marriage.”

  “And yet still – you insist?”

  “I insist – I do not insist, Lady Catherine, upon anything regarding your nephew’s actions.” For one moment, Elizabeth watched the great lady watch her. “I merely insist upon my own feelings – regardless of whether or not they are requited. I insist upon admiring a man whose goodness and kindness run far deeper than any of his coffers ever could. I insist upon tendering whatever help I am equipped to offer to a brother and sister wounded by the betrayal of their family and friends. I insist upon caring, upon loving. I am not foolish enough to expect any of these sentiments to be returned.”

  Lady Catherine shifted, as if smoothing her ruffled feathers.

  “I love whom I love, Lady Catherine.” Elizabeth’s voice returned to their previous calm. “And I cannot promise that I would cease what there is no law to govern.”

  “What an utterly shameless social animal.”

  “No,” a male voice emerged, bringing to sight Pemberley’s glowering master. “She has no reason for shame. It is you, Aunt Catherine, who ought to think twice over what you have chosen to do.”

  • • •

  Six Weeks Ago

  • • •

  “Will you be happy, Char, taken far away from home – with barracks and tents and guest houses as your home?” Elizabeth, wistful despite her age, mused with her friend the final evening of her days as Miss Charlotte Lucas.

  “Where there is love, one can surely conquer even the most tawdry of lives.” Charlotte sounded calmly resolute.

  “Do you not fear the strangeness of it all – the men and his family – the – the rumors of the wedding eve?” Even Jane, for all her timidity, spoke plainly tonight.

  Soon, their party would be required to return to Longbourn. Soon, it would just be the Lucas clan in this home – holding a final vigil towards a new hope, a new tomorrow. A tomorrow where even spinster ladies found true love with the children of an earl flamed pretty hopes in many hearts indeed.

  Charlotte sighed – happily, it seemed. “Oh Jane, oh Lizzy – when love comes, there is nothing we would not do for it.”

  “Even to give up one’s life,” suggested Elizabeth.

  “Yes, even then. And, yes, Jane – the gentleness of Richard’s hand on mine can only lead to further gentleness in every way we unite –
would it not? To be granted the hope and the chance to live my life with my beloved – there is no price too great and no happiness too unreachable.”

  Elizabeth smiled, awed and mystified by the transformation love had wrought upon her sensible friend.

  Who knew there would come a day when logical, practical Charlotte would be so willing to throw all caution to the wind?

  “You are utterly shameless, Char,” teased Elizabeth.

  Her friend, eyes starry, giggled. “When love comes for you, Lizzy, I dare say you would never let something as silly as shame get in your way.”

  Chapter 18:

  The Final Engagement

  “The audacity!” Aunt Catherine thundered, voice reverberating through every seat, spot, and corner of the room.

  “I am the master of Pemberley.” Darcy stood behind the nearest chair his hands could find. “I grant passage to my home as I deem appropriate. You, dear aunt, have not been invited.”

  “Have her claws sunk so low into your skin that you do not see? Or have you never seen – at all?”

  He felt Elizabeth draw closer to him.

  Her presence lent him courage.

  “My physical limitations do not extend to my perception of character.”

  “And what have you perceived?”

  Darcy paused, a moment’s deliberation at the threshold of a lifetime. Then he felt it – the soft, gentle touch of a feminine hand – lavender and mint – curling around the crook of his arm. He took it all in, heart rising.

  “If I have found happiness, Aunt, shall you not congratulate me?”

  “And, pray, what happiness is there to be found in an alliance with the least among us?”

  “Elizabeth is a gentleman’s daughter, and I a gentleman’s son,” he risked the implication that there was indeed a possibility of an alliance between them. He drew strength from the fact that her hand still remained upon his sleeve. “We are of similar faith and country and of matching dispositions. Is it altogether difficult to understand how such a partnership could sustain me?”