Mr. Darcy & Elizabeth

by Alyssa Jefferson

  “I am fond of all music,” she said. “I would play something or other every day if I could.”

  “I suppose you have been too much engaged this summer with my cousin to have much time for practicing,” he replied.

  “Time has not been wanting,” Elizabeth replied, “but permission has. Nobody has offered me any opportunity or provided me with an instrument at an opportune moment. My aunt and uncle in Gracechurch Street have no pianoforte, and Miss Whipple has never any wish to use hers, nor to hear anybody else use it. I am not hopeless of playing the piano in Portman Square, however. Or the harp; perhaps if Miss Margaret is not playing, I shall have an opportunity.”

  While she spoke on this subject, immersed in her own thoughts and not particularly needing an answer, Mr. Darcy frowned. “If you love to play and long to practice, your hosts ought to give you every opportunity to do so.”

  She smiled. “A very gratifying idea, but not a realistic one, I am afraid.”

  He could not argue, for he knew she was correct. However, he frowned and seemed to continue in thought on the subject for quite some time. Elizabeth began to speak of something else, but shortly afterward, he spoke in a manner that showed he had not heard her.

  “Who would deprive you of an instrument, if you wished it? Ought not you to ask for one?”

  “It would not be my place—” she began.

  He interrupted, “I am sure, ma’am—forgive me—but I am very sure that those who care about you would wish you to play.”

  His earnestness surprised her, and she said, “How can you be so sure?”

  “It is the proper thing to do,” he said. “You might live in continual penance, having few pleasures while deserving many, but the fact is, you do not ask for what you want.”

  This was too true a point to dispute, but Elizabeth thought it was rather bold of him, as so new an acquaintance, to declare it. However, she began to consider the possibilities. How might her life change if she simply asked for what she wanted? Would there be an alternative to the waiting and submitting she always endured? Would she be happier? It was a strategy she had never tried, always following her sister’s example and obeying her governess’s suggestions. This summer, however, both had abandoned her—in spirit if not in body. She was alone. Perhaps now was the time to exert herself.

  Their conversation was interrupted when Mr. Campbell, who was a patron of the theatre, called Elizabeth away to join their party, as they were to meet another patron. Elizabeth was sorry to go, but she did not feel the same anxiety she had known that morning. At nearly seventeen years old, she could be timid at times—but if a man of the world like Mr. Darcy believed she could be bold, then perhaps she could.

  Elizabeth and Jane had grown adaptable that summer, and they adjusted better to their stay at Portman Square than the servants there adjusted to them. Elizabeth’s correspondence with her Aunt Gardiner continued, and a letter from her arrived the second day of their stay. The third day, however, the servant—who had not yet learned which Bennet sister was which—brought a letter to Elizabeth that ought to have been given to Jane. Elizabeth was surprised when she saw that the letter was written in her stepmother’s hand.

  “Jane,” Elizabeth said, rising to bring the letter to her sister, who was playing Speculation with Mrs. and Miss Campbell while all the ladies listened to Margaret play the harp. “Jane, you have a letter.”

  “Oh,” Jane said, rising quickly with a blush.

  “It appears to be from Longbourn,” Elizabeth added as she extended her hand. Jane took the letter eagerly, but she did not open it. “Will you not read it?”

  “No,” Jane said lightly, “I am not at leisure.”

  “Nonsense,” Mrs. Campbell said, “I would not prevent you from reading your letter.” She smiled warmly at Elizabeth. “Your sister is soundly defeating us as it is, so I am in no hurry for her to finish the business.”

  Elizabeth smiled, then said softly to Jane, “I believe it is from our stepmother, Jane. Or at least, the direction is in her hand. Does not it concern you? I hope nothing is the matter.”

  Jane shook her head, folding the letter and stuffing it into her pocket. “It is nothing urgent. I shall read it when I go upstairs.”

  “How can you know it is not urgent?” Elizabeth pressed.

  “I—that is, we—Lady Sarah and I—correspond.”

  “What?” Elizabeth laughed. “Jane!”

  “No, Lizzy, I am in earnest,” she said, smiling despite clear nerves as she turned back to her game.

  Elizabeth puzzled on this for a moment before asking, “Is this a new habit of yours? You did not used to write to each other.”

  “Yes,” Jane said simply. She did not look up from her game again.

  Frustrated, Elizabeth gave up on Jane, turned away, and walked toward Margaret, where she could sit and reflect in peace. Why Jane would be corresponding with their stepmother was entirely a mystery to her. As recently the week before last, they had never written to each other. Elizabeth imagined Jane must have written to give Lady Sarah her new address—but why write to her instead of their father? And why do it so secretly, and expect a reply? A correspondence?

  The lonesomeness Elizabeth continually felt that summer came rushing upon her again. Jane would not confide in her; her habits were growing increasingly secretive. But was she confiding in Lady Sarah? Writing to her? Elizabeth almost wondered whether distance from Jane, physical proximity, would not make her sister more willing to be open with her. She was almost afraid to inquire of her about the letter when they went up to bed, but nonetheless she did inquire, and the answer was the most surprising thing of all.

  “Lady Sarah left a letter with me,” Jane said, “before she returned to Longbourn. She wrote it before she departed from town.”

  “What did it say?” Elizabeth asked eagerly, but Jane was already rising to retrieve it from her trunk.

  “It says,” Jane replied, handing her sister the folded page, “that she is delighted that Lord Norwich wants to marry you, and that I ought to do everything in my power to encourage it. She warns, moreover,” Jane added, “that he has habits and flaws which would make his marriage a most necessary addition to his own merits, and that you ought to marry him as soon as may be, or risk losing him altogether.”

  “Good heavens!” Elizabeth cried. She unfolded the paper and glanced over the letter for long enough to find that it was just as Jane had told. “Have you replied?”

  “Yes,” Jane said, “I told her that we had come here, and I said we did not know when we would see the Radcliffe family again, but that I believed you could not be rushed.” As she said this, she opened the new letter and began to read it.

  “Aloud, Jane,” Elizabeth prompted. “Read it out, for I want to hear it.”

  Jane sighed, giving Elizabeth a nervous look before she glanced back at the page. “She says, ‘Dear Jane, I wish that I could say I am surprised at your sister’s stubbornness regarding Lord Norwich, but I never can be. She is just the same as you. These romantic notions are the best way to ensure you both end up old maids. But never mind speaking of the past. The present is the time that concerns me, and I am very sure your sister will make the best decision erelong. She is ambitious; she is shrewd. She will not pass up the opportunity to be the future Countess Radcliffe. I only desire that she will make up her mind soon, and to that end, I charge you with convincing her of her duty. I am not ignorant of your mind, Jane. I know how you have come around in your thinking. It is unfortunate that nothing can be done now about Mr. Pembroke, but Elizabeth can still be saved. Her future has been spared, and her prospects have never been brighter. Do talk to her, Jane, and let me hear of your success. Affectionately—” Jane stopped, looking up at Elizabeth, whose face must have conveyed all the horror she felt.

  “Now, Lizzy,” Jane said, “do not be upset. She only wants to help.”

  Elizabeth was too shocked by such a representation of her stepmother’s manipulations to reply.<
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  “Indeed, Lizzy, I am convinced that she only wants what is best!”

  “For herself!” Elizabeth retorted. “She cares for nobody but herself. And why should she? We are not her daughters. We are a burden to her. She wants us out of her way.”

  “No,” Jane began to say, but she stopped. Elizabeth looked up at her to see conflict in her eyes, and she recognized that Jane could not contradict the truth of this, though it pained her.

  “What does she mean, that I must make up my mind? I have received no offer from Lord Norwich. I hardly know him.”

  “Perhaps…” Jane sighed, shrugging her shoulders. “I do not know, Lizzy. Perhaps she knows something we do not.”

  “I believe I must know whether or not an offer of marriage has been made to me,” Elizabeth replied.

  “Yes,” Jane smiled, “you would know that. But his intentions, his plans, you do not know.”

  “Lord Norwich is not acquainted with our friends the Campbells,” Elizabeth replied. “He does not have our address. I do not believe we shall soon see him.”

  “We will not see him here,” Jane replied, “but he may know our address.”

  “What? How?”

  “I—I wrote to the Countess when we came away three days ago.”

  Elizabeth was more surprised than perhaps she ought to have been by this information. It was just like Jane to do such a thing, so thoughtful and respectful. Yet Elizabeth longed to have that connection weakened, not strengthened.

  “Do not be angry,” Jane said, misinterpreting Elizabeth’s silence. “They are among our nearest connections in London, and Lady Radcliffe would have been importuned greatly had she not known our current address.”

  “You did what was right, Jane,” Elizabeth answered simply.

  “You are not angry?”

  “Of course not,” Elizabeth replied. “I do not mind corresponding with her, so long as nothing beyond a friendly correspondence as her nieces is on her mind, or yours. Jane, I will never marry a man like Lord Norwich. I hope when you write to Lady Sarah, you shall make that matter very clear!”

  Jane, suspecting her sister’s feelings but feeling unable to comment upon them without Elizabeth saying something first, said hesitatingly, “Are you not being rather hasty? Should not you get to know him better before such a proclamation can be made?”

  “I know that he is forward, that he has bad habits, and that he is wasteful and unprincipled,” Elizabeth replied. “This much information I have long had. Moreover, in Lady Sarah’s letter, she has declared that his affection is so unreliable that I must marry him soon before the warmth of his regard for me wears off. Consider marrying under such conditions! Not only without love, but without the hope of it ever developing!”

  “There is always hope, Lizzy,” Jane said. “Love is as much a choice as it is an emotion.”

  “This, from you? Where was this idea when you rejected Mr. Pembroke’s proposal?” Elizabeth answered. She regretted saying the words as soon as they left her lips, though Jane did not seem surprised or hurt by them. Instead, she seemed almost to have expected them.

  Jane said, “I wish I had had the idea before I rejected his proposal.”

  Elizabeth was taken aback, and she took a moment to recover from her surprise before she said, “I must misunderstand you. Do you mean that you—that you regret rejecting his proposal after all?”

  Jane looked away, wringing her hands softly in her lap. Yes, Lizzy. I do.”

  “Why?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Because of us,” Jane replied. “Uncertain of where we shall live next, without resources or a steady home. What we have now, compared with what we could have had—of course I regret my decision!”

  “But your decision was not what made our situation uncertain,” Elizabeth protested. “Lady Sarah made it uncertain by attempting to manipulate you into marrying someone you did not love. Had she been principled in her actions toward us, then this would not have been the result of you refusing to marry a person you did not wish to marry!”

  “It is so simple to say that you ought to refuse a person you do not love, until you have done it,” Jane protested. “Then, the consequences may be greater than you realize.”

  “Every action has consequences,” Elizabeth protested. “The consequences of integrity, however, are not consequences I fear.”

  Jane sighed, and Elizabeth knew she had made a point her sister could not dispute. Still, Jane’s next words did not give confidence.

  “Take care, Lizzy. I would not want you to make a decision that you will regret.”

  “I am confident I shall not,” Elizabeth answered.

  Jane turned away to write a reply to Lady Sarah. Elizabeth did not ask to read it, nor did she send any message for her stepmother. It was enough to know that, though Jane was not on Elizabeth’s side regarding Lord Norwich, she would do whatever she could to temper their stepmother’s expectations on the matter.

  Elizabeth wished she could make everybody understand that she wanted more from a man than a future Earldom. She wanted more than a connection with nobility, more than the security that pleasing her stepmother would bring, more even than an income that would support all her sisters.

  She wanted love.

  Lord Norwich was not, in short, the man she spent most of her leisure time thinking about. Another man occupied that place in her mind—but how could she explain that to Jane?

  CHAPTER 17

  __________

  Jane did more than Elizabeth believed she would do as she wrote to their stepmother. Knowing what she would not tell her sister—that she had seen the way Elizabeth looked at another gentleman, and the way that gentleman looked at her—Jane was torn between wanting her sister to marry a man who would please their stepmother, and wanting to affirm her dear sister’s own wishes. Yet the fact was, neither of these men had actually proposed marriage to Elizabeth. Therefore, Jane wrote earnestly in defense of Elizabeth to her stepmother. That there was no decision to make, that Elizabeth had been and would always continue to be the very picture of modesty and propriety, and that if ever there was a decision to make, Elizabeth would make the right one, were all points on which Jane dwelt with feeling. Having a sweetness of nature and mildness of temper, however, which made it impossible for her to write or to speak any words that she worried might offend, her passages were diluted with such sentiments of hope in her sister’s success and prosperity in love as must have made Lady Sarah believe Jane was her ally in hoping for a marriage to Lord Norwich—when in fact, nearly the opposite was the case.

  Jane put her letter in the post the next day with confidence that Elizabeth would be exonerated of any perceived wrongdoing in her stepmother’s eyes, and hopeful that this would place the whole business before Lady Sarah in a more realistic light. She found Miss Campbell and Elizabeth again listening to Margaret play the harp when she returned from her errand.

  “How well she plays,” Jane said softly as she joined her sister and friend.

  “Not as well as Miss Elizabeth,” Miss Campbell commented with a smile. “I suppose, my dear friend, you wish to have your turn to play.”

  With newfound boldness, she replied, “I would be delighted! I am always eager to play, and it has been weeks since I have had the pleasure.”

  “Weeks! My dear Miss Eliza!” Miss Campbell said, “We shall have you play next.”

  Elizabeth thanked her, and instantly her mind sprang to what it was she ought to play. Having gone so long without any music, it was almost too much to consider which of her favorite songs was best. She was about to go upstairs to produce a book of her most beloved melodies when Mr. Campbell entered the room.

  “Hello, girls,” he said pleasantly, beaming at his daughter at the harp, for whose musical talent he always felt due credit for having financed her education. “I have just been out to see our horses, and they are in excellent shape for a drive. What do you say to an excursion this afternoon to Hyde Park?”

  Bo
th of his daughters were giddy with delight at this scheme, and Jane also was pleased. Elizabeth alone was left to regret that she would again be delayed in sitting down to an instrument. However, she could not be displeased for long. There was nothing she loved better than a long walk in a park; not even music delighted her more. The fresh air, the cool breeze, the warm sun—all were delightful to her. The harp and the pianoforte would always be there for her to play, and this would perhaps be the means of giving her the opportunity to ask for what she wanted again.

  The carriage seated four, and the ladies rode together while Mr. Campbell went ahead on horseback. In their excitement, nobody seemed to notice Elizabeth’s uncharacteristic silence on the journey thither. She was reflecting all the while on the attitude Jane seemed to have toward marriage—an attitude which she simply could not share. Jane seemed to believe that their current state of uncertainty, the prison of their stepmother’s expectations and their own lack of wealth, would all be substantively improved by a prosperous marriage. Yet what difference was there between living under their stepmother’s rule and living under a husband’s? Would not the expectations, responsibilities, and duties of marriage be equally limiting? Nay, they would be more so, for a husband requires far more of a wife than a stepmother ever could of her husband’s children. It was all the more reason why rushing into marriage was foolish. Without the deepest love, without faith in the most deserving partner, how could any woman be justified in entering into such a state? If poverty were her only other option, perhaps she could then be excused for having been mercenary, but otherwise, Elizabeth was convinced she would merely go from one prison to another. Jane may have come to regret her decision not to marry Mr. Pembroke, but Elizabeth could not regret it for her, and she would certainly never regret a similar decision of her own.

  She was still reflecting when the carriage delivered the ladies to the southern bank of the Serpentine River, where a winding footpath was crowded with similarly minded people come to escape the city air and enjoy the relative quiet of the pleasure grounds.