Designed for Each Other

by P. O. Dixon

  Elizabeth exhaled a little. “I suppose that is a small consolation—one to which I will certainly cling.”

  “As will I. Saying that, before we return to Mary’s letter, what say you tell me more about how you are not exactly engaged to Mr. Darcy?”

  “Oh, Jane. I hardly know where to begin?”

  “I would say start at the beginning, but I already know all there is to know leading up to your arrival in Hunsford. I also recall your frequent mentioning of spending time with the gentleman and the colonel and your propensity for long walks in the park with the former. Never did I detect any symptom of love on his part based on what you wrote in your letter.”

  “That is just it, Jane. Never did I detect any symptom of love from Mr. Darcy either until he stood in this very room and told me that he loved me—most ardently. His precise words were: ‘You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.’”

  Her expression puzzled, Jane asked, “With such a heartfelt declaration of love as that, how could you deny the gentleman?”

  “In all honesty, dear Jane, I only told you the best part of his proposal. I neglected to add the words that preceded as well as those which succeeded that particular avowal as well as the manner in which they were declared.” And she had no intention of doing so in fear of risking opening past wounds.

  Encouraging her spirits to rise to playfulness instead, she said, “In such a case as this, I beg you to accept some of my philosophy. Think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure.”

  “I shall respect your right to keep certain details to yourself; however, I remind you once again that you said you and Mr. Darcy are not exactly engaged. Either you are engaged, or you are not—which is it?”

  “Of course, we are not—not yet.”

  “But you are hoping for a second proposal…”

  “Let me simply say this, dearest Jane,” Elizabeth replied. “Mr. Darcy and I are taking things one day at a time.”

  Chapter 11

  Utterly Unbearable

  “What is this I hear about your plans for a country outing for tomorrow, Nephew?” Lady Catherine asked as she sauntered into the room. “I certainly hope you did not think you could keep this sort of affair a secret from me.”

  “No, indeed, Lady Catherine. It is not as though I have anything to hide,” Darcy replied. Disguise of any sort was his abhorrence, but, in this case, he did indeed have something to hide: his courtship of Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Were it solely up to him, he would shout it out to the world that he had finally met the woman whom he hoped to make his wife.

  Alas, it was not up to him, for they had spoken on the matter and decided it was best not to tell anyone for the time being, supposing that Lady Catherine, in particular, would make Mrs. Collins’s life utterly unbearable.

  A tall, large woman with strongly-marked features, which might once have been handsome, Lady Catherine said, “Well, see that you keep it that way.” Taking her seat, an opulent purple-colored settee which was reserved solely for her use, she said, “By the bye, my Anne would certainly benefit from such an outing as you have planned with your friend Bingley and the Collinses’ house guests. I certainly hope you intend to invite your cousin. A little fresh air during this time of year is precisely what she needs.”

  “To be honest, I had not planned to invite Anne. I did not suppose she would be inclined to venture so far from Rosings.”

  “Do not be ridiculous. Of course, she will be inclined to go, especially if it means spending more time with her intended. Is that not the purpose of your delaying your return to town? To spend more time with your future bride?”

  If only you knew, Darcy silently considered. Not for the first time, he felt compelled to correct his aunt’s misapprehension of his future marital plans. “If you are referring to Anne as my future bride, might I remind you once again that she and I are not engaged, nor will we ever be engaged. Your repeated assertions otherwise do not make it so.”

  “Hush, Nephew. Your denials are wasted on me. I know you far better than you think—better than you know yourself. You may have Darcy defiance and independence running through your veins, but you are a true Fitzwilliam in your heart and soul. We Fitzwilliams are a proud people whose noble lineage can be traced back for generations upon generations. You will do what is expected of you when the time is right.”

  “I suppose we shall see,” said Darcy, standing to quit the room.

  “I suppose we shall,” declared Lady Catherine.

  Further discussion on the matter was pointless, for she always enjoyed getting the last word. It was but one of the things that vexed him the most about his aunt.

  Let her think and say what she will. She is bound to do so anyway. Thus resolved, Darcy gave his aristocratic, headstrong aunt a polite bow and promptly quit the room.

  * * *

  Early the next day, a fleet of curricle carriages arrived at the parsonage house. Four in all, enough for the eight members of their party. One for Mr. and Mrs. Collins. One for Bingley and Miss Bennet should things work out as planned. Another for the colonel and Anne. And finally, one for Darcy and his lady love.

  Soon enough a problem arose when it became clear that the colonel had every intention of driving Jane in his carriage. Seeing this, Elizabeth interceded by inviting herself to accompany the colonel leaving him both confused as well as a little amused.

  “What are you doing?” Darcy asked, delaying Elizabeth by a moment or two. “Surely you must know it is my wish to have you ride with me.”

  “Pray you will forgive me, but I fear that the colonel might ask Jane to ride with him, thus hindering Mr. Bingley. I think Jane had much better ride with the latter, do you not agree?”

  “And what about me?”

  “Why, you shall ride with your cousin Anne.” She threw a quick glance in Anne’s direction before continuing her speech. “Besides, it is expected, is it not?”

  “It is not what I expected. I shall speak with my cousin and ask him to ride with Anne in my stead. Trust me, he will understand. Then Bingley and Jane will be together as you so desperately wish, and you and I will be together as I so desperately wish, even if you do not.”

  “I fear you misunderstand me, Mr. Darcy. It is not that I do not wish to spend time with you because I do—I really do. Pray, let us not draw too much attention to ourselves by making a fuss over who rides with whom. We shall all arrive at the same destination soon enough. At wish point, I shall make amends to you.”

  “I shall hold you to that, Miss Elizabeth,” Darcy said, sweeping his eyes over her from head to toe. “And I promise, I shall not be so easily dissuaded.”

  Elizabeth’s heart skipped a beat in the wake of his piercing gaze. Mr. Darcy was not a man to be trifled with, she considered, even as she began to walk away from him in the direction of the colonel’s carriage.

  I promise I shall not be so easily dissuaded. The implication of his words, so promising yet so demanding aroused her.

  A part of her whispered, I wonder what exactly he has in mind. Another part of her whispered, Do I really want to find out?

  I think I do, she considered thereby answering her own silent question. But first things first, and the first thing I need to do is make sure my sister is safe from the colonel. Mr. Darcy knows how vital Jane’s future happiness is to me.

  Looking back over her shoulder, even as she continued to walk away, Elizabeth saw Mr. Darcy still standing there in the same attitude.

  Surely he understands.

  Chapter 12

  Secret Affairs

  “Had I only known you were in London all that time, I should have loved to call on you. Pray why did you not call on my sisters?” Mr. Bingley asked as he and Jane rode along in their curricle. “You know how particularly fond they have always been of you.”

  “Your sisters’ kindness to me has been unlike that of anyone I have ever known,” Jane replied. In her mind, thoughts of her own sister’s contrivance to for
ce a reconciliation with Mr. Bingley threatened to consume her. Jane had much rather be sitting next to Colonel Fitzwilliam. At least, time spent with him was not riddled with reminders of her disappointed hopes. At least with him, she did not suffer the need to hide her true feelings.

  “Indeed. It is the reason I was so delighted when Caroline offered to write to you on my behalf.”

  Oh yes! Miss Bingley’s infamous telltale letter.

  “I take it you have no knowledge of what your sister conveyed in her letter, sir.”

  “Only that she was to inform you of my decision to remain in town longer than I had intended. Was there more?”

  “Indeed, your sister had a great deal more to say.”

  “I suppose I should not be surprised. As fond as she has always been of you, no doubt the two of you had any number of secret affairs to discuss. Fear not, Miss Bennet, for I shall not pry.”

  Jane sighed. Obviously, he is blind to his sister’s duplicitous machinations. I shall not be the one to disillusion him. I know I would not look kindly toward anyone who dared disparage one of my sisters. Must I fault him if he feels the same?

  * * *

  Elizabeth could hardly wait for some time alone with her sister once everyone in their party arrived at their destination. She had a bevy of questions about Jane’s time alone with Mr. Bingley and free from Colonel Fitzwilliam’s presence. Unfortunately, none of her sister’s replies gave Elizabeth any reason to hope.

  Jane must have read the disappointment in her sister’s face.

  “I told you that I was over him,” Jane said. “You simply choose not to believe me, as though you feel I do not know my own mind.”

  “I know you, Jane. You do not give your heart easily, and I know you gave your heart to Mr. Bingley.”

  “And you and I both know how that turned out.”

  “Jane, I believe he simply made a mistake.” She was so tempted to tell Jane everything that she knew that had informed Mr. Bingley’s actions. But how could she expound on Caroline’s part in the scheme without implicating Mr. Darcy? She could not.

  Elizabeth said, “Will you at least try to put the past behind you—put the pain of Bingley’s defection behind you? He is here now, doing his best to make amends.”

  Jane made no response to her sister’s plea. Instead, she walked away—directly to where Colonel Fitzwilliam stood, leaving Elizabeth to consider that it was going to be a long day.

  When Charlotte could, she approached her friend and offered her own manner of advice in regard to affairs of the heart. “Dearest Eliza,” she began, “I noticed that you are quick to chastise Jane about her situation with Mr. Bingley, but I cannot help sensing a reluctance on your part as regards your own state of affairs with Mr. Darcy.”

  “Oh, Charlotte. It is not so simple as you think. Although Mr. Darcy has not repeated his proposal of marriage, I suspect that with the slightest encouragement on my part, he might.”

  “That sounds like it would be a good thing, would it not?”

  “I worry that should I rush into accepting Mr. Darcy’s proposal, then I would be doing so for the wrong reasons.”

  “What is there to worry about?”

  She shrugged. “What do I really know about him? He remains rather a mystery to me. I only learned of his feelings for me a little over a week ago.”

  “You know my philosophy when it comes to love and matrimony. As I like to say, there is plenty of time for the two of you to get to know each other after the marriage. Might I remind you the simplest path is always the clearest? It is only when we introduce our own complications that the road seems muddled.

  “Mr. Darcy loves you, and you cannot deny suffering some measure of affection toward him. So far as his feelings are concerned, everything is clear as day. But I fear your cool attitude towards him might cause him to suspect you really do not care for him after all.

  “I can recall warning you of the exact same thing in Hertfordshire about Jane and Mr. Bingley and just look at them, both struggling to recapture that which seems all but lost. Pray, do not allow a similar fate for you and Mr. Darcy.”

  Indeed, Elizabeth recalled Charlotte’s telling words in detail: “If a woman conceals her affection with the same skill from the object of it, she may lose the opportunity of fixing him; and it will then be but poor consolation to believe the world equally in the dark. There is so much of gratitude or vanity in almost every attachment that it is not safe to leave any to itself. We can all begin freely—a slight preference is natural enough, but there are very few of us who have heart enough to be really in love without encouragement. In nine cases out of ten, a woman had better show more affection than she feels. Bingley likes your sister, undoubtedly, but he may never do more than like her if she does not help him on.”

  Charlotte was right then. I suppose I had better heed her words more carefully now. I must confess that I am more than a little intrigued by Mr. Darcy and I can easily imagine falling madly in love with him. But do I dare allow myself to do such a thing?

  Elizabeth had more questions than answers. Her heart and mind were not always in lockstep with one another. Which of the two shall I follow? Yet another question in want of an answer.

  With Jane, Bingley and the colonel having set off for a long walk around the lake, and Mr. Collins off in a wide-open meadow studying the flora, only Anne, Charlotte, Elizabeth, and Mr. Darcy remained behind.

  As though Charlotte and Mr. Darcy were conspiring with each other, the former took the empty space by Anne and commenced instructing her on the fine art of needlepoint.

  Darcy seized the chance to speak with Elizabeth in a hushed voice before standing to stretch his long legs. Upon making his excuses, he set off in a direction opposite of the others.

  A quarter of an hour later, Elizabeth, too, made some excuse about desiring a solitary ramble, and then she also was gone.

  Having been fascinated by Mr. Darcy’s challenge to meet him alone, Elizabeth hurried her steps according to the instructions he had spelled out.

  Bear right on the path just beyond the oak tree.

  She halted.

  There are several oak trees and almost as many paths.

  How pleased she was upon espying a strand of white ribbon dangling from a low hanging branch of a mighty oak just ahead. She walked over to where the tree stood firmly rooted by time, untied the ribbon, and put it in her pocket, just in case she needed it later.

  Having taken the path on the right per Mr. Darcy’s instructions, Elizabeth went ahead at a steady pace until she reached a wooden fence, with no gate, in her way.

  Does he mean for me to climb over?

  No doubt he did, for on the opposite side of the fence lay a loose assortment of freshly picked flowers. Having enjoyed jumping over stiles and springing over puddles more times than she could count, she certainly was no stranger to fence climbing. She hastened over to the other side and immediately gathered the flowers—many of her favorites—purposely strewn about the ground. She retrieved the ribbon from her pocket and tied the stems together.

  Elizabeth lifted her bouquet to her nose and breathed in deeply. “Divine.”

  She recalled him saying to expect a fork up ahead and that she must choose a path. Only he did not specify which one. She set off to the designated spot, hoping he would have left some clue.

  He did indeed—in a manner of speaking. On the path to her left, Elizabeth espied a ball. On the path to her right, she espied a book.

  Decisions. Decisions. Why must he force me to decide?

  She searched her memory for any interaction from their past that might lend a clue.

  What is the significance of a ball? Elizabeth wondered. A ball.

  She then remembered the Netherfield ball and how Mr. Darcy had singled her out from among her neighbors and friends for a set.

  Of course, if I recall correctly a rather heated debate ensued.

  “When you met us there the other day, we had just been forming a new acq
uaintance,” she had said, knowing full well how he would receive the information.

  The effect had been immediate. A deeper shade of hauteur overspread his features, but he said not a word, and Elizabeth, though blaming herself for her own weakness, could not go on. At length, Darcy spoke, and in a constrained manner said, “Mr. Wickham is blessed with such happy manners as may ensure his making friends—whether he may be equally capable of retaining them, is less certain.”

  “He has been so unlucky as to lose your friendship,” Elizabeth had replied with emphasis, “and in a manner which he is likely to suffer from all his life.”

  Elizabeth sighed, a consequence of her frustration with her behavior at that time. Will my memories of Mr. Darcy always be punctuated by my past acquaintance with Mr. Wickham?

  Eschewing that particular path as a possibility for the moment, she walked over and picked up the book.

  Another memory of their time together at Netherfield came to mind. Various members of the party were adding their share in a conversation about accomplished young women.

  “Your list of the common extent of accomplishments has too much truth,” Mr. Darcy had remarked to Mr. Bingley. “The word is applied to many a woman who deserves it no otherwise than by netting a purse or covering a screen. But I am very far from agreeing with you in your estimation of ladies in general. I cannot boast of knowing more than half-a-dozen, in the whole range of my acquaintance, who are really accomplished.”

  “Nor I, I am sure,” had replied Miss Bingley.

  “Then, you must comprehend a great deal in your idea of an accomplished woman,” Elizabeth had responded, her voice challenging as had often been her manner when speaking with him at the time.

  “Yes, I do comprehend a great deal in it.”

  “Oh! certainly,” then cried his faithful assistant, “no one can be really esteemed accomplished who does not greatly surpass what is usually met with. A woman must have a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing, and the modern languages to deserve the word; and besides all this, she must possess a certain something in her air and manner of walking, the tone of her voice, her address, and expressions, or the word will be but half-deserved.”