Mr. Darcy & Elizabeth

by Alyssa Jefferson

  “You had, as we all have, the choice between honesty and dishonesty, sir.”

  “Your virtue is charming,” he replied. “I have never met any young lady half so charming.”

  “Lord Norwich, I—”

  “I wish you would call me James,” he said.

  “I shall not!” Elizabeth cried. “This is most improper, and I cannot remain here another moment!”

  The scandal that would ensue if anyone saw her alone with her cousin! Elizabeth could hardly bear the thought of it—and particularly, the thought of another gentleman finding her in so compromising a position. She was happy, upon reaching the doorknob, that Lord Norwich had done nothing to prevent her leaving the room at once. She was gone in such a hurry that he could not follow her quickly enough to find out where she had gone amid the other guests.

  Seeing her sister’s golden gown among the dancers, Elizabeth went to Jane—who was dancing with a handsome young man whom they had seen at the last ball—and interrupted her at once.

  “Jane, we must leave.”

  “What?” She left the dance instantly, taking her sister’s hands in concern. “But Lizzy, where did you go? We were ready to begin the dance, but nobody could find you.”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “Never mind that,” she said. “Only, let us be gone. I wish to go—” she almost said “home,” but the cruel reminder that they had no true home at present again struck her. “I wish not to be here any longer, Jane. Come, cannot we ask the Miss Campbells to bring us home?”

  Jane readily assented, but when she made to leave Elizabeth alone to find their friends, Elizabeth cried, “No! No, Jane, I shall come with you. Do not leave me.”

  Jane was surprised and worried, but she did not leave her sister alone. Taking Elizabeth’s arm, she found her friends and told them Elizabeth was ill. They departed, though they were unable to remove from the house without Miss Whipple again accosting them with shrill laughter, mentions of its “all being a joke,” and hints that she hoped the Bennet sisters would grace her with their company again very soon.

  CHAPTER 19

  __________

  The summer days were growing ever shorter, and soon the Miss Campbells would be sent back to school. But where would Jane and Elizabeth go? This was the question on both of their minds, and it was also a question not far from their father’s. It was highly unusual for Miss Watson to be at Longbourn while Elizabeth and Jane were not, and the absence of his two eldest daughters was felt everywhere and every moment that he saw her. He was reminded of his dear Lizzy whenever he saw Miss Watson sit down to the pianoforte. He thought of Jane whenever one of the younger girls brought in a bouquet of fresh-cut flowers. Their banishment had gone on long enough, and he was so unsettled by the disruption to his family’s peace and order that by and by he developed the gumption to ask his wife about it.

  “My dear,” he said to Lady Sarah one evening as they were preparing to send the children up to bed. “Do not you think it has been rather long since Jane and Lizzy were at Longbourn?”

  The lady frowned. “It has been rather long, but not unusually long. They are hardly here except on holidays, and I daresay that is their own preference.”

  “Perhaps,” he replied, “though this summer I believe has been the first in which we have been so fully separated from them. If they do not regularly come here, it is only because we frequently go to them. We have spent less time in London this year than any I can remember.”

  “I believe you are right,” she said. “And what a pity! I am quite of a mind with you that it has been far too long since we have spent any significant time in town. Perhaps when we bring Mary and Catherine to school, we might remain there for a week or two and call upon our friends.”

  “Yes,” Mr. Bennet said, “we certainly can, if you wish it. But what of Elizabeth and Jane? For I should not care for London if they could not be with us.”

  “Nonsense,” his wife laughed. “There is only too much to enjoy in London. However, we must discuss what to do with the girls. They cannot go on in this manner forever.”

  Again, Mr. Bennet declared emphatically, “Yes. That is my primary point, my dear. I cannot see fit to leave them in London indefinitely. I believe they wish to come home to Longbourn. Certainly, I should be delighted to have them here.”

  “Very well,” Lady Sarah said slowly, as though deliberating whilst she spoke. “Yes, I believe…we may be able to arrange that.”

  “Of course,” Mr. Bennet added, “they are both very eager to be with Miss Watson again, and they must come here to be reunited with her now that she is to remain at Longbourn with little Sarah.”

  Lady Sarah looked at Mr. Bennet with wide eyes, then let out a small giggle. “Oh, no, dear!” she cried, holding a girlish hand over her mouth. “Have not I told you? Miss Watson shall not stay with little Sarah. No, no, she shall go with Catherine and Mary to London. They cannot do without her, and I am quite sure that another person could do just as well for Sarah. She is so gifted a child, and I have just the person in mind to come to Longbourn and educate her. She shall not be governess for the elder girls, however; only for little Sarah. I cannot bear to see her neglected as Miss Watson’s attention is divided every which way!”

  As was wont to happen when he spoke to his wife, Mr. Bennet began to feel a modicum of confusion. “Then—we shall have Lizzy and Jane here, but Miss Watson in London with the other girls?”

  “Yes,” Lady Sarah replied, “and I shall be quite glad to have their help, for I always have a great many things to do and nobody to assist with any of it. You know Catherine can never focus longer than half an hour on any task, and Mary is far too serious for me to know what to do with her. They are, of course,” she added with a conciliatory smile to their father, “dear, sweet girls, and I do love them sincerely. Yet they are not quite to the age of being useful. Jane and Elizabeth are. I am sure we shall get on very happily.”

  “Of course, they have been engaged in pleasing their friends all summer,” Mr. Bennet replied. “We do want them to have a little leisure, my dear.”

  “Certainly,” Lady Sarah said, but she rose and walked away from him, not meeting his eye. “In any case, I shall write to tell them we are to come, and that we shall bring them to Longbourn in one weeks’ time.”

  Having won his point, Mr. Bennet could not quite work out why he was not happier about it. The idyllic memories of his family when the girls were young, of the eldest two behaving so charmingly, learning from their governess and doting on their new sister, were still in his heart as he imagined having all his daughters home and surrounding him. He must erelong conclude that this happy family picture was nothing more than a memory, and that his future was unlikely to produce similar comforts. His wife had seemed to him the picture of patience when first they had married. She had been willing to become a mother to four girls, at a time when Mr. Bennet had felt utterly hopeless of ever providing them with another. Yet it appeared her patience had finally run out. He sometimes felt nervous to mention his girls around her, and certainly never had the energy or stamina to argue with her over their futures when her mind was made up.

  Therefore, Mr. Bennet said nothing more on the subject. It could only distress him. He must instead look forward to having his daughters near him again, and hope that their return to Longbourn would be a means of resolving the tension that had sprung up between them and his wife and had heretofore shown no signs of dissipating.

  The day Lady Sarah’s letter arrived for Jane, another letter arrived at Portman Square for Elizabeth—a most unexpected and welcome letter from Gracechurch Street. Elizabeth and her Aunt Gardiner continued to correspond, and in a recent note to her aunt, Elizabeth had mentioned that she did not know when she would see her again, for she and Jane were unsure of their father’s plans for them at present. If they remained in London, they would certainly have the opportunity to call on their aunt after they became boarders at the school. However, the question of who would be the
ir guardian if Miss Whipple was not was still unanswerable. Elizabeth and Jane disagreed on the subject, for Jane relied on their stepmother bringing them home to Longbourn, while Elizabeth expected every moment to be cut off altogether.

  Her Aunt Gardiner, however, had a different plan for her niece. “What would you say,” she wrote, “to returning to Gracechurch Street after your stay with your friends concludes? I so greatly enjoyed your company when you came to me two months ago, and I did not exaggerate when I told you that you were always welcome in our home. You have done me the great honor of being candid with me, and as a result of this kindness, I may do the same for you. I am aware, my dear Elizabeth, that you have not a home where you can feel truly comfortable—truly welcome. My home is always open to you. Nothing could exceed my delight in having you with us.”

  It was so very kind a note, and so unexpected an invitation, that Elizabeth’s eyes welled with tears when she read it. She reread the words over and over, “My dear Elizabeth,” and felt so very wanted that for a moment she imagined that this must be what it was like to have a real mother. To feel as though she belonged.

  When she composed herself again, she rose and went to Jane, who was also in the drawing room, bent over her own letter in thoughtful contemplation. “Jane,” Elizabeth said, “what would you say to going back to Gracechurch Street? Our aunt has written the most gracious, kind invitation—”

  “I am afraid it will not be in our power to accept her, however,” Jane said in an odd voice. “Our stepmother has written to say we shall be returning to Longbourn.”

  “What?” Elizabeth sat beside her sister, taking the letter Jane offered from her hand.

  Dear Jane,

  The expense of keeping you and your sister in London, I am sure you know, is very great. It has long been my wish to bring you back to Longbourn, that our family might be relieved of that burden—but for your sakes, I was happy to allow every enjoyment you might wish for this summer. I have learned from various sources how pleasant your summer has been, and I congratulate myself on having provided for you so amply—for I confess, I could hardly spare you at Longbourn, and would not have given you up for the world if I had not known it to be a much happier circumstance for you both to remain where you were. It was my hope, as it has long been, that your time in such fine society would produce connections strong enough to justify any expense I incurred.

  However, I have lately found that I simply cannot spare you any longer. Your sisters Catherine and Mary are to return to school, and with them shall come Miss Watson. All three have been so immense a help to me this summer that I fear I shall never survive if I cannot replace them with you! And it shall save us all a great deal of money, for keeping you as boarders in London is quite unnecessary, now that there is space enough for you at home.

  I imagine that you both shall feel rather melancholy at the change, for London is a city full of enjoyments and entertainment of every sort. To this, I can only say that we all must at times submit to situations unpleasant to us, and when you are both married and living in your own homes, you will have the privilege of directing your own time. Tell Elizabeth in particular not to worry, for there is always opportunity to call on my brother and his family, and I shall never deprive her of any opportunity to call there. Beyond this, however, I see no benefit in remaining in London and am delighted to send a carriage to retrieve you both at week’s end—at which time we shall also convey your sisters to school.

  Sincerely,

  Etc.

  Elizabeth read the note several times before looking up at Jane in disbelief. “What could she possibly mean by it, Jane?”

  Jane shook her head, and seeing that her sister was angry and not wishing to encourage such a feeling, said placatingly, “Lizzy.”

  “No, Jane,” Elizabeth said. “We have her letter from the beginning of summer, have we not? We know that this account bears no resemblance whatsoever to her plans for us this summer!”

  “We do not have her letter,” Jane reminded her. “It was not addressed to us. She wrote to Miss Watson.”

  “I daresay she knew we would read it,” Elizabeth replied. “In any case, Jane, she is lying! She is purposely claiming falsehoods in an attempt to—” she paused. “I do not know what she is attempting to do.”

  Jane shook her head. “Nor do I. Yet it is clear that she wishes to prolong our separation from Miss Watson, which I am sorry for.”

  “Yes,” Elizabeth said, truly meaning it. “I am, as well. But Jane, Lady Sarah did not know that Mrs. Gardiner would invite us into her home when she wrote this letter. And if all she is concerned about is sparing the expense of keeping us—which I daresay is not significantly greater there than with our aunt—then we would do just as well to go to Gracechurch Street again.”

  “That is not her only reason,” Jane replied. “She has said she cannot spare us at home.”

  “Remember what Papa said when he called at Gracechurch Street, about the girls cleaning the cellar? Jane, think what horrid excuses she shall make to mistreat us in just the same way!”

  Jane shook her head. “Lizzy, you are too suspicious. I cannot think our stepmother is still angry with us. I simply—I do not know what to make of her letter.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I do recall that she was unhappy with us when summer began. I did not think at the time that her keeping us here was meant as anything but a penance. But she is correct, Lizzy, that it has been the means of many enjoyments. We ought to be grateful to her.”

  Elizabeth could not agree. “Jane,” she said. “We know, beyond any doubt, that Lady Sarah intended to humble us by keeping us in London this summer without any visits or enjoyments. That this plan was not executed to her wishes is clear. Now, I believe she wishes to keep us in her control. She shall bring us to Longbourn and hold us hostage—”

  “Lizzy!” Jane cried.

  “No, Jane—only consider. She has said that if I wish to see my cousin Lord Norwich, she will convey me to London, but otherwise there is no reason for me to be here. If this is not an ultimatum specifically designed to manipulate me, I do not know what is.”

  Jane sighed.

  “You cannot argue,” Elizabeth said in a calmer tone. “You know that this is true. Banishing us has not been an effective means of controlling us; now, she shall attempt a more direct method.”

  “There is no point in focusing on such things, Lizzy, nor on assuming ill intent. She is our stepmother; we know that she has affection for us and desires only what is best for us. And,” she hurried on before Elizabeth could contradict her, for her sister had already drawn in a breath to reply, “even if we cannot be certain of these things, in circumstances where we are not in control, we shall be much happier if we choose to believe them.”

  “She cannot force us to come home, Jane. We still have a little control.”

  “She can force us when she is our only means of support.”

  Elizabeth placed her letter from her aunt in Jane’s hands. “She is not our only means of support, Jane. We are not helpless; we have our Aunt Gardiner!”

  But Jane’s eyes were fearful, and she placed the letter back in Elizabeth’s hands without opening it. “No, Lizzy, I cannot flee our stepmother forever. I cannot go on in this manner, never knowing where I stand or if I am forgiven.”

  “Jane,” Elizabeth began, with pity in her eyes.

  “I know you will say there is nothing to forgive, but you must agree that in Lady Sarah’s eyes, there is. I angered her by squandering an opportunity to assist our family. I was selfish, and I wish to be so no longer. I will submit to her wishes, whatever they may be.”

  Elizabeth stood silently for a moment, her aunt’s letter in hand and her eyes fixed on the floor. Jane had not always been open with her this summer, but Elizabeth still felt she knew her sister better than anybody else in the world. She was far from entering into agreement with Jane’s sentiments, but nonetheless they did not surprise her. Jane cared f
ar more for the approval of others than Elizabeth did. Her need to be loved had, Elizabeth realized, been unmet this summer. She felt her stepmother’s anger, her sister’s impatience, her governess’s abandonment, and her father’s indifference. She had received two offers of marriage, neither of which had resulted in anything prosperous. Though in Elizabeth’s eyes, her sister was a figure of maturity and composure, she began to see how young and uncertain Jane was. Though there was not likely to be any pleasure in a return to Longbourn, Jane needed to return all the same.

  Yet Elizabeth did not share her sentiments nor her preferences. She would not return to Longbourn. There was nothing for her there, and while there was nothing guaranteed in London, either, there was a hope that she could not shake.

  “I shall not join you, Jane,” she said slowly, finally raising her eyes to her sister’s face.

  “What? Lizzy, you must!”

  “I believe I am under no peculiar obligation, Jane. I did not feel, upon reading our stepmother’s letter, that she truly wanted me at home. However, I am confident that my Aunt Gardiner does. I know that my coming to her will be a pleasure to us both, and while I shall be sorry to be parted from you, I believe I shall not regret going where my presence is a mutual blessing and source of happiness.”

  “Think how unhappy Lady Sarah shall be, Lizzy. She cannot approve of such a scheme.”

  “She approves of a great many things of which I would not approve, Jane.”

  “I hardly think—”

  “For example,” Elizabeth pressed on pointedly, “having Mary and Kitty make an inventory of the fruit in the cellar.”

  Jane was a kind-hearted and principled young woman, but she was not courageous. Elizabeth’s decision to act in her own best interests in the face of Lady Sarah’s malicious interference was one that Jane could not emulate, and the fruits of which she certainly would not share. After a quiet week in Portman Square with the Campbell family, Elizabeth removed to Gracechurch Street, while Jane awaited her stepmother’s arrival on the morrow to convey her homeward.