Mr. Darcy & Elizabeth

by Alyssa Jefferson

  “He went to our father,” Jane said, and nothing but a stiffening of her jaw showed that she was angry, “and was given his blessing—but nothing more. Papa told him my dowry was three thousand pounds, and Mr. Dixon said he was lying.”

  Elizabeth gasped, but when Jane looked up at her, she remained silent.

  “Lady Sarah heard a commotion and came to the library, and she seconded Papa’s claims. She told him that we had no more than three thousand pounds apiece, that the rest of her fortune was for her own little girl, and the rest of Papa’s was for our brother.”

  Hearing it all laid out so plainly, Elizabeth was struck with the injustice of her own family’s situation nearly for the first time. She had had fleeting thoughts here and there of the misfortune of being only a stepdaughter rather than a true daughter; now, she saw that she and her sisters were unfairly deprived of even a daughter’s place. Their father could have used his influence to secure them more from his wife, but he did not.

  As though reading her thoughts, Jane said, “Perhaps Papa could have been persuaded to give me more, for Mr. Dixon was quite persistent. At least, that is what Miss Watson wrote in her letter. She heard the whole thing. Mr. Dixon said he would not have me for less than five, and Lady Sarah said she would not barter with him. She did not care if nobody ever married me.”

  Elizabeth covered her mouth, now truly shocked.

  “Mr. Dixon wrote to me to tell me he would not marry me,” Jane said, again looking out the window. “I was not more hurt than I was relieved, though the explanation he gave in his own letter was hardly intelligible. It was not until I heard from Miss Watson last week that I understood what truly happened.”

  “He is a scoundrel,” Elizabeth said.

  Jane replied, “He believes I took him in. He said I led him to believe I had wealth which I did not have.”

  “You did not lead him,” Elizabeth protested. “He believed what he chose.”

  Jane nodded. “Yet without my fortune—without the fortune he believed I had—would not we be impoverished? He could not afford to marry so soon on his present living.”

  “If you knew that, then why did you accept him?” Elizabeth asked—then cringed, for she knew she must sound like Mr. Dixon, accusing Jane of something that she did not truly believe she was capable of doing.

  Jane’s patience seemed infinite to Elizabeth, for she turned without a speck of malice and took a deep breath before saying, “He is not who I thought he was, either, Lizzy. I accepted him because I believed he loved me. I believed I might grow in time to love him.”

  How different these words were than the unequivocal refusal of Mr. Pembroke that Jane had made only weeks earlier! Though she had prevailed over Lady Sarah in that particular battle of wills, it began to be clear to Elizabeth that their stepmother’s cunning might win the day over Jane’s resolve. Slowly, Jane was coming around to Lady Sarah’s way of thinking. To be married without love had once been unthinkable to Jane. Now, Elizabeth was almost afraid to learn what would happen to her beloved sister if this most important principle was forfeited.

  While living amongst the Whipples, the news of the broken engagement was never spoken of by anybody. Elizabeth, knowing Jane’s sensitivity and modesty, never mentioned it. Mr. and Mrs. Whipple were evidently unaware of it, or else too polite to speak of it. Miss Whipple, had she known, surely would have brought it up, and therefore Jane was somewhat relieved to believe that the circumstance had escaped the notice of the general public. After all, her would-be fiancé was in trade, and they moved in vastly different circles. However, Mr. Dixon was not the kind of man who recognized the importance of discretion—or perhaps, he intended to wield the truth like a weapon. An evening that week, as the Whipples and the Bennet sisters were dining with the Jacksons, Miss Whipple approached Elizabeth with wide eyes full of intrigue.

  “Miss Elizabeth,” she hissed in a voice barely above a whisper. “Why did not you tell me?”

  Elizabeth had been seated alone in the Jacksons’ drawing room surrounded by people she did not know, and she replied with calmness, “I cannot think what you mean.”

  “Why, about Miss Bennet, of course! Why did you not tell me your sister was engaged?”

  Careful to conceal any emotion in her features, Elizabeth replied, “Jane is not engaged.”

  “Of course, she is not engaged, now,” Miss Whipple said, drawing closer to Elizabeth. “But she was engaged! You cannot deny that she was!”

  Elizabeth whispered, “If she is not engaged now, then of what import is it whether she was in the past?”

  Not taking her friend’s hint, Miss Whipple continued in a highly audible tone, “Mr. Fink’s brother-in-law is in trade, and he has just told my mother that Jane used to be engaged to a supplier of his. A man in trade himself, with an income scarcely greater than six hundred pounds!”

  Elizabeth looked across the room at Jane, who was at this moment seated near Mrs. Whipple. At least the mother’s discretion could be relied upon more than the daughter’s. Elizabeth replied, “It was a secret engagement, and not long-lived. Jane does not wish for it to be spoken of, Miss Whipple, and therefore I must insist—”

  “But why did he believe her to be rich?” Miss Whipple said. “For Mr. Fink said the man considered himself most ill-used by the young lady because she claimed to be of noble birth and to have thirty thousand pounds!”

  “Jane never claimed any such thing!” Elizabeth hissed, “And I must insist that you speak of it no further! Think in what a bad light it places Jane!”

  Miss Whipple nodded seriously, but to cease to speak on the subject was more than she was capable of. She continued to ask questions, which Elizabeth continued to avoid answering, until dinner was announced by a rather smug looking servant whom Elizabeth imagined was in on the secret. Everybody at the table seemed to be aware of the same gossip that Miss Whipple had been plaguing her with all night. The words “Miss Bennet” and “engaged” and “no dowry” flew about all corners of the crowded table—or at least, it seemed that way to Elizabeth, whose embarrassment on her sister’s behalf was excessive. Young and pretty as they were, Jane and Elizabeth were usually the focus of attention when out in public or dining with acquaintances and friends. It was never something Elizabeth minded until tonight, when their attention felt like an attack on her sister’s reputation. That anybody would have such ill manners as to discuss such a sensitive matter in Jane’s presence was shocking to Elizabeth, but Jane seemed to bear it all with admirable calmness. She was seated near the middle of the table, while Elizabeth was nearer the bottom. How she wished she could hear the conversation at that part of the table! Was her sister aware of what was being said about her? How could she bear it? Elizabeth stared at her plate all through the three courses, intent on giving nobody any sign of knowledge or interest in the subject. Perhaps if she acted as though she did not know what was so interesting to everybody, they might assume the news was nothing more than a rumor. If only Miss Watson had been here, she would know just what to say! Elizabeth longed for her advice now more than ever.

  When the ladies withdrew, Elizabeth and Jane were at once approached by Mrs. Whipple. She had never before any reason to lament that her daughter had invited these particular schoolmates into her home, but in light of what she had learned that evening, she began to rethink her acceptance of them. Though she could not lecture Miss Bennet, for she was not her mother or even her friend, she could make suggestions, and she said enough to convince both Bennet sisters that, though they were welcome to complete their stay, they would not be welcome in the Whipple home again.

  “A young lady cannot be too careful in her acquaintance,” Mrs. Whipple said as Elizabeth stood resolutely beside Jane. The lady drew her head high and fixed her gaze on Jane. “And she must always be very conscious of how she is perceived. People are watching at all times.”

  “Indeed, ma’am,” Jane said earnestly.

  “A young lady,” Mrs. Whipple continued pointed
ly, “has a reputation that, once sullied, can never be regained.”

  Jane’s eyes widened, but she said nothing.

  “Modesty, honesty, honor,” she said. “These are qualities one does not find everywhere.”

  Elizabeth, who was holding onto her sister’s arm and wishing there was any way to answer Mrs. Whipple without making the situation worse, was too distressed during this lecture to notice that the gentlemen had returned from the table, and with them had come other guests for the evening—Mr. Darcy among them. She had not expected to see him, having no idea who was invited to either the meal or the card party that was to follow. Not until he spoke did she perceive his presence at all, and she was surprised at the suddenness with which her heart began to race at the sight of him.

  Approaching the ladies, he said calmly to his aunt, “I have found it is unwise to put stock in idle gossip, however. What is a reputation, after all, except a personification of gossip?”

  Jane looked too relieved to reply, but Mrs. Whipple, who was quite fond of her nephew, said, “Oh, Fitzwilliam, you are come at last? I am delighted to see you!” She kissed her nephew, then said, “That is just what I think about gossip, my dear nephew. I am sure we are quite alike—you and I, and you and Juliana. She is never one to put any stock into gossip.”

  Elizabeth smiled to herself, for this was no accurate picture of Miss Whipple in the eyes of anybody who knew her, probably including her mother. It was likely that another motive was behind Mrs. Whipple’s sudden effusion of nonsense, and Elizabeth was all but convinced of it when she soon began to talk of the gentleman suitors whom her daughter was constantly fighting off. There was little more truth to this than to anything else Mrs. Whipple said about her daughter, but at least Jane was no longer falling victim to the unfair accusations of her friend’s mother.

  Elizabeth wished there was anybody else in the room they could talk to who would not bring up the circumstance with Mr. Dixon. It was nobody’s business but Jane’s, but it seemed that the affairs of a beautiful young stranger were fair game for anybody’s discussion. Elizabeth was ashamed of them all, and quite angry by the end of the evening that such a fuss had been made over something that nobody ought to have known or cared about at all. Her only consolation was that the improvement to Mr. Darcy seemed to have held, at least for one more day. Though he did not talk to her much at the party, he seemed to be the only person in the room never to mention or listen to gossip about what had happened between Jane and Mr. Dixon, and his determined refusal to discuss the subject dwelt on Elizabeth’s mind all evening. She would have thought of him more, and perhaps even spoken about him to her sister, had there not been a subject much more pervasive—and much less pleasant—that could not be avoided any longer.

  The following morning, Elizabeth began to express her displeasure with the party to Jane.

  “Nonsense,” Jane said, not looking her sister in the eye. “Hardly anybody mentioned anything. No one even said his name to me.”

  “Jane,” Elizabeth began.

  “No, Lizzy, truly,” her sister pressed. “You are always seeing more than is there. Consider what a large party it was! We did not hear half the conversations taking place at any time. You only believe that people were talking about me because Miss Whipple was.”

  That fact, at least, was one Elizabeth could not dispute. Miss Whipple loved gossip more even than the typical seventeen-year-old girl, and she had not been able to resist asking everybody what they knew about the circumstance. She did not dare interrogate Jane in Elizabeth’s presence, but Elizabeth did not doubt that plenty was said between the two girls about it in her absence.

  “I was pleased in one respect,” Elizabeth said, attempting to sound indifferent. “Miss Whipple’s cousin, Mr. Darcy, was very good never to bring it up—though everybody else did.”

  “Who?” Jane asked.

  “The tall gentleman who came to us when we were with Mrs. Whipple. The man we met at a party last month, and again at the Hadleys’ ball. Did not you see me dancing with him?”

  “You dance with everybody, Elizabeth.”

  “What? No, I do not!” Elizabeth cried in a huff.

  “You never sat down a single dance,” Jane replied with a sly smile.

  Uncomfortable with this picture of herself, though she hardly knew why, she said, “I do not dance more than any other young lady. Everybody wants to be asked every dance.”

  “Everybody wants to be,” Jane returned, “but you can where others cannot. You always have a partner. And not just anybody, for you have stood up with all the best partners in the room at every party we have attended all year.”

  Elizabeth frowned. “I dance with those gentlemen who ask me, that is all. Besides, why should that mean anything? I am never serious with anybody.”

  “Exactly,” Jane said. “You are behaving just how a young lady ought. You have smiles for everybody, but your heart is for no one.”

  “Jane!” Elizabeth cried, laughing—for now she knew her sister was not in earnest.

  “I am sorry,” Jane laughed, shaking her head. “I ought not tease you. I wish—” she sighed. “I wish our situation was such that these matters could be treated lightly, as they ought to be when we are young and unattached. Now everything I say seems to have a secondary meaning.”

  Jane sounded old when she spoke, suddenly. It was as though the weight of her stepmother’s expectations for her had struck her anew and made her lose her usual sweet air of optimism and levity.

  “Jane,” Elizabeth said again, this time in a conciliatory tone. “Can we not simply enjoy our holiday? We are with our friends, seeing people and places we do not ordinarily have an opportunity to see. We have gone to the theatre, to parks and concerts and entertainments of every sort. We ought to be having the happiest summer of our lives, and instead we are constantly plagued with this dark cloud of—”

  “Of responsibility,” Jane filled in. “We cannot neglect our responsibilities, Lizzy.”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “You are not responsible for your sisters, Jane. We will be fine in our present situation. Our father will not allow Lady Sarah to truly degrade or disown us, and as long as we have him—”

  “We will not always have him,” Jane said. “Who knows what may happen? I am only trying to be rational.”

  “Rationally,” Elizabeth replied, ignoring her sister’s last comment, “Lady Sarah cares about her reputation, even if she is not quite as nice about ours. She would not do us serious harm, for she knows that this would reflect poorly on her. I believe we are as safe with her now as we would ever be in the future. And besides,” Elizabeth added pointedly, “you are bound to marry some time or other. You, who are beautiful, accomplished, and well-connected, are infinitely more likely to marry and marry well than to end an old maid and rely on the kindness of your brother forever.”

  Jane smiled. “I know I would marry sometime,” she said, “but the sooner I do, the sooner we shall all be free of—”

  “It is not torture, Jane,” Elizabeth interrupted gently. “Having a stepmother who is rather controlling at times is not the worst thing in the world. At least, it is not significantly worse than marrying without love.”

  Jane looked mildly chagrined as she said, “I never should have agreed to marry Mr. Dixon. I know that much, Lizzy, so there is no need for you to say anything about it.”

  Elizabeth pressed her lips together.

  “Do not bother saying that you would not have mentioned it, either, for I am sure that would be a lie.”

  “You will not let me say much,” Elizabeth replied.

  “I will let you say that you were right,” Jane answered. Then, more seriously, she added, “I know you are right. I am embarrassed that I acted the way I did.”

  “You were only trying to please Lady Sarah,” Elizabeth said. “I understand you, Jane. I always do. I only wish that he had been more deserving—nay, more decent. To break off the engagement in such a manner, and then to tell
everybody about it!”

  Jane cried, “Oh, do not speak about him! Believe me, I am glad to be rid of him. If only it were as easy to get everybody else to stop mentioning him!”

  This hint was enough to silence Elizabeth on the topic, but unfortunately not much could be done to dissuade Miss Whipple from asking, insinuating, and baiting Jane at every turn to disclose more information about him. No one but Jane could have had the patience to bear it!

  CHAPTER 14

  __________

  Miss Whipple had been insufferable all night about Mr. Dixon, but Elizabeth was surprised to see her attentions taking a different turn in the morning—though the reason soon revealed itself.

  “Miss Bennet, you will never guess what has come in the post for you,” Miss Whipple cried, rising from her seat.

  Elizabeth’s first thought was to worry it was a letter from Mr. Dixon, though evidently that thought never occurred to Jane, for she said in a perfectly sincere voice, “Indeed, I shall not guess. I am not expecting any letter. But what is it?”

  “It is a card,” Miss Whipple answered, “from the Countess Radcliffe herself!”

  This was a greater surprise than either Bennet sister foresaw, and Jane even allowed herself to be pleased by it. “Why, how unexpected!” she cried, drawing nearer to her friend to take the letter from her outstretched hand. “I wonder she did not call,” she muttered to herself as she opened the envelope, which bore the Radcliffe family seal.

  From her sofa, Mrs. Whipple called out for Jane to show her the letter when she was finished reading it. She probably did not have any of Jane’s confusion regarding why the wife of the Duke Radcliffe had not called at her fashionable but moderately sized townhouse, and the honor of having a house guest with so important a correspondent was enough to supersede any displeasure she had felt with Jane the evening before. She was proud of her guest now.

  “It is just a note,” Jane said, holding it up before reading it. “Oh, how well she writes. She thanks me for my visit,” glancing at Elizabeth with a smile, which Elizabeth returned in spite of herself, “and she hopes my sister and I will call again. Oh, Lizzy!”