Mr. Darcy & Elizabeth

by Alyssa Jefferson

  “I do not know,” Elizabeth said. “I have long wondered, and I have wished he would leave me be! We have hardly had a single conversation about anything worth discussing, and even from what conversation we have had, I have been totally convinced that we have nothing in common. He is not the one who—” But she stopped, recollecting herself and looking away with a blush.

  Mrs. Gardiner was too sensitive to her niece’s modesty to press her, and moreover she did not feel in particular suspense as to Elizabeth’s meaning. She had seen enough of Mr. Darcy to know what was happening in that quarter—but Lord Norwich’s interference was certainly an obstacle that must be dealt with.

  “Shall you call at Arlington Street?” Mrs. Gardiner asked.

  Elizabeth replied, “Should I?”

  “It is entirely up to you,” Mrs. Gardiner answered kindly. “Your good sense will not lead you astray.”

  “Perhaps I can explain to Lady Radcliffe how matters truly are between myself and Lord Norwich,” Elizabeth replied. “If I can sit with her alone, perhaps she will believe me. I have been consistent and honest, and if I continue in this manner, she cannot persist in deceiving herself.”

  “She may be able to persist, Lizzy,” Mrs. Gardiner replied in gentle warning, “but you shall certainly be absolved of any blame in the matter if she chooses to deceive herself. Those who will not accept the truth when it is spoken to them plainly have nobody to blame but themselves, but you do a great kindness to her by respecting her enough to give her every opportunity to reform her opinions. Should she continue in willful ignorance, you shall never be blamed for it.”

  Mrs. Gardiner’s encouragement was, Elizabeth began to perceive, even more valuable than Miss Watson’s. Though her governess loved her and had supported her throughout her life better than any other person, Elizabeth now saw that a truly sensible person could be of even higher value as a friend and adviser to a young lady.

  “Will you join me when I call?” Elizabeth asked.

  Mrs. Gardiner appeared pleased to be asked, and she accepted gratefully. It was agreed between the two ladies that Mrs. Gardiner would let Elizabeth down at the gate, circle the square for a quarter of an hour, and then return to retrieve her. As it was still early, they decided to make their visit that morning, as soon as their carriage could be called.

  Gracechurch Street was not near Arlington Square, and the drive was long. Elizabeth prepared herself throughout the journey, practicing her words in her mind. She would thank the Countess for her kind interest and condescension. She would express respect for Lord Norwich, as well as the entire family. She would flatter her while positioning herself as inferior to the family due to her lack of fortune. All this would, she hoped, make Lady Radcliffe feel so well respected, and perceive Elizabeth as so far beneath her, as to be willing to hear Elizabeth when she disclosed yet again that she did not love Lord Norwich, nor did she believe he loved her.

  Not knowing the Countess well enough to formulate any better plan, Elizabeth was as confident as she believed she could be when she was let down in front of the house in Arlington Square. Her Aunt Gardiner assured her that she would return in a quarter of an hour and summon her. She ascended the steps to the house and comforted herself with this reminder that, though the visit might be unpleasant, it would at the very least be short.

  The servant let Elizabeth in the house without any delay, and Elizabeth was glad she had come so soon, for Lady Radcliffe must have been expecting her. She was shown into the drawing room, but she was surprised to see that her aunt’s chair near the fire was empty. The door closed behind her, and Elizabeth turned to see that there was only one person in the room, and it was not Lady Radcliffe at all. It was none other than Lord Norwich.

  “Good morning to you,” the Viscount said, stepping toward Elizabeth. “I wondered if you would come this morning.”

  “Your mother wrote to me,” Elizabeth replied in explanation, refusing to return Lord Norwich’s smile.

  “Nay, she did not write,” Lord Norwich replied. “She is not in town. She has gone with my father to call upon my sister and her husband in Kent, and they shall not return until tomorrow week.”

  “Then—”

  “It is I who wrote to you, of course,” Lord Norwich said. “I could go no longer without seeing you. I was mad with longing for you!”

  “Sir, recollect yourself!” Elizabeth said sternly. “This is highly improper!”

  He gave her a placating smile. “How odd a creature you are, cousin.”

  “I have not the pleasure of understanding you,” Elizabeth answered.

  “You must know that I am in love with you!” he said. “It is impossible for me to resist such charms. I have longed for an audience with you, my dear cousin, when I might finally profess my love for you.”

  “Love!” she cried. “Sir, we are barely acquainted with one another. You cannot love me. You do not know me. If you did know me, I daresay, you would not love me.”

  “Nonsense,” he said. “You are beautiful. You are amiable. Your situation in life, I will grant, is below what my family would like for my wife, yet your connections to our family are unobjectionable, and I would be delighted to elevate you forever through your connection to me.”

  “Your wife!” she cried. “This is rather too much, sir. I am convinced that we should never do as a pair. There is simply—”

  “How charming you are when you are angry,” he interrupted.

  Elizabeth said, “How infuriating you are when you will not listen!”

  “I listen, I assure you. You fear that you would not make me happy, and I state that you would make me very much so. I think about you constantly, cousin. You are never far from my thoughts, nor my dreams.”

  Elizabeth again moved away from him, for he had been walking nearer to her as he spoke. “Sir, kindly maintain your distance,” she said. “This behavior is most improper.”

  “Improper, nonsense!” he said. “Nothing shall be improper between us when we are married.”

  “We shall never be married,” Elizabeth said. “Sir, though I respect your family most sincerely, I am not a suitable partner for you. I am sure we should never suit, and it is most inappropriate that you would lure me here under false pretenses to attempt to convince me otherwise.”

  “Nay, what false pretenses? You must have known that my letter was in my hand, and not my mother’s,” he pressed. “Her hand is so feminine, and I write as a man does.”

  “I did not know,” Elizabeth said. “I have never seen her hand, nor yours.”

  “You must have known,” he repeated, “and therefore I cannot believe that you are sincere in your protests. Why, if you did not love me, would you agree to dance with me at the masquerade ball? I daresay you knew who I was.”

  “I did not, nor did I know that you knew me,” she replied. “And your actions then were most improper, as you ought to know!”

  “Improper? Why, we only danced! What odd little notions you have, cousin. I quite dote on you, I assure you, for you are thoroughly charming!”

  “Sir, I insist you maintain your distance,” Elizabeth repeated, again moving to another part of the room—though every time she withdrew, he followed her.

  “You cannot deceive me, cousin,” Lord Norwich said. “How could a young woman in your position, no dowry, no connections besides to our family, ever refuse an offer of marriage from a Viscount—from one who shall one day be an earl? Elizabeth, you shall be a Countess when we are married!”

  At this use of her Christian name, Elizabeth could no longer brook his impertinence. “Sir, I have expressed myself to you clearly, and I can say nothing more when you will not do me the simple act of believing me. Good day to you.”

  With these words, she walked across the room to the door—but she was alarmed to find, upon putting her hand to the doorknob, that it would not turn.

  “What—is it locked?” She turned to her cousin. “What is the meaning of this?”

  “I k
new that you might make me chase after you,” he answered, “so, you see? I have precipitated you. Now you must stay with me until all is settled.”

  “Nonsense!” she cried. “This is most improper. Let me out at once!”

  He laughed, again walking toward her. “Oh, do not be so angry,” he said. “I know you do not truly wish to go.”

  “I assure you, sir, I do!” Elizabeth said. She walked away from the door and began scanning the room for any sign of a key.

  “Where do you go? Dear cousin, you cannot flee from me forever.”

  “Flee from you? Sir, if you so much as lay a hand on me—”

  “I shall not harm you,” he said, laughing.

  “To detain me against my will is to harm me,” she answered, “regardless of what else you do. It is most improper for us to be alone together, and I demand that you release me at once!”

  “I shall release you after you agree to marry me.”

  “You shall release me now!”

  “Do not be cross,” he said. He approached her rather faster than he had before, and she realized too late that she was backed into a corner. The sofa was before her, and a table beside her—and there was nowhere she could go that her cousin could not reach. He extended his hand toward her, stepping still closer. In alarm, she reached out to the table beside them, which happened to contain a bell. Seeing what she did, he moved the bell out of her reach. Desperately, she kicked her leg toward the table. Though it injured her foot, the motion was effective—for she knocked the table over and spilled all its contents onto the floor. The bell, a teakettle, and a tray all fell clattering down.

  The noise this produced brought a servant almost instantly to the room, unlocking the door at what he believed was a summons.

  “It is nothing, Miller,” Lord Norwich cried, hastily turning toward the servant to shoo him from the room. However, it was too late to prevent Elizabeth’s escape. She ducked beneath his arm, which had been braced against the wall above her shoulder. There was the sofa in the center of the room, but Elizabeth was agile, and she held up the ends of her gown with her hands as she leapt over it—knowing, even as she did so, that there would be no preventing the servant from gossiping horridly about the spectacle she made as she fled the room. She did not care. Nothing could be worse than being longer detained with her step-cousin. She had always known him to be unprincipled; she had always heard of his wayward habits and loose morals. Yet she had never expected herself to fall victim to him and his selfish schemes. Her heart pounded in her chest as she skidded around the servant, who was standing in the doorway with mouth agape.

  “Elizabeth!” Lord Norwich called. His steps were audible behind her, and at their sound, Elizabeth ran faster. She was light and quick, and to her natural abilities were added the energizing effects of fear, which was rapidly giving way to anger. As she turned the corner to the front door, she could hear her cousin curse, and she perceived that he was unable to move as deftly as she was. The servant’s presence in the doorway delayed him, and he was not prepared to rival his cousin’s quickness of step. She passed several more servants as she ran to the door, but nobody attempted to detain her. They only stared as she threw open the door and was out of it before her cousin could prevent her escape. Blinking in the bright daylight, Elizabeth was immensely relieved upon her exit to see that Mrs. Gardiner’s carriage had just turned the corner. Without awaiting its arrival at the doorstep, she flew down the stairs and met the carriage fifty feet away.

  “Good heavens, what is the matter?” Mrs. Gardiner asked as soon as the door was opened.

  But her relief soon gave way to overwhelming emotions, and a sob of anger and fear was the only reply Elizabeth could give before fainting into her aunt’s arms.

  CHAPTER 24

  __________

  Elizabeth awoke in her bed, emerging suddenly from a dream. She had been singing to herself as she walked among the flowers in the garden beside Longbourn house, and her father had come to meet her there. He told her that her mother had come home at last and was inside the house waiting for her. Elizabeth had hurried inside after him, full of anticipation and happiness. She had thrown open the door to the parlor where she had spent so many happy mornings playing with her mother when she was a girl—the site of memories so dear that they had never completely faded from her memory. A woman stood in the center of the room, facing the window. Though she could not see her face, Elizabeth perceived that the woman was kind, wise, and strong. All the uncertainty, the lonesomeness, the fear she had wrestled with in recent months—all would be totally done away with now that her mother was here. She knew that she would find all she needed, and that all she had lost would be restored to her. Joyfully, she reached out and touched her mother’s shoulder. When the figure turned, Elizabeth looked into her own face.

  “Mama?” Elizabeth had asked her.

  “Yes,” the figure had replied. She held Elizabeth’s gaze with tenderness, yet with confidence—as though she saw something in her that even Elizabeth herself did not see.

  “You have been gone so long,” Elizabeth had said. “Where did you go?”

  “I was always here,” the figure replied. “Becoming.”

  “Becoming what?”

  But the figure did not answer. She merely smiled, and Elizabeth was still studying her face in wonder when a gentle voice beside her bed led her away from her dream to the waking world.

  “Elizabeth,” Mrs. Gardiner said. “Elizabeth?”

  She opened her eyes. “Hello,” she answered groggily.

  “I have come to check on you,” Mrs. Gardiner said, “for you have slept all afternoon.”

  “Oh,” Elizabeth replied. Slowly, the day’s events returned to her mind as the dream faded to wherever dreams go when they are over. “Oh. What time is it?”

  “It is nearly six o’clock,” her aunt replied. “Are you well enough to take dinner?”

  Elizabeth sat up, stretching her arms above her head. A sudden ache in her ankle then helped her recall what had happened—her cousin’s treachery, and all that had followed. Mrs. Gardiner had revived her with salts, but as soon as they were home, she had sent her directly to bed. Elizabeth had been able to explain enough of what happened that Mrs. Gardiner was filled equally with horror and concern, and it was vowed by both that Elizabeth should never enter the house at Arlington Street again. Elizabeth had gone up to bed, and there she had remained ever since.

  Yet the distress of the morning seemed distant now. Though her cousin had taken advantage of her, Elizabeth did not feel victimized by him. Rather, she felt empowered. Her cousin’s scheming had not prevailed. She had more strength within herself than she had ever realized.

  “Yes,” Elizabeth replied after momentary consideration. “Yes, Aunt, I am well. I am hungry,” she added.

  “Your uncle is so very concerned,” Mrs. Gardiner said, “and that is to say nothing of how I feel. How sorry I am that I ever encouraged you to read that letter!” She continued to express similar thoughts as they descended the stairs together. Elizabeth listened to her respectfully, but no recollection of the morning’s unpleasantness could shake the sense of peace and calm she felt. For so long, Elizabeth had felt as though she was waiting for someone to provide her with the stability she longed for—but now she saw that she had that which she had long sought. At present, she had her Aunt and Uncle Gardiner, and before this, she had had her own good sense and principles. These were pillars that had supported her through all her difficulties, and when she focused on these blessings, she felt she had very little to fear.

  For days, her aunt and uncle watched Elizabeth for signs of distress following the terrible episode at Arlington Street. Their concern was seldom spoken of in her presence, for neither wanted to distress her further through the memory of it, but it was never far from their own thoughts. Mrs. Gardiner, for her part, felt terribly guilty for the part she had played in influencing her niece, first to read the letter, and then to pay the ill-fated vi
sit. Elizabeth was far from blaming her, yet Mrs. Gardiner was exceedingly sorry that her charge, who was living trustingly in her care, had experienced something so horrible under her watch. She was only grateful that Elizabeth had had the wherewithal to escape unscathed.

  Yet unbeknownst to any of the family, who were quite isolated from the Radcliffe family and their circle while living distantly in Gracechurch Street, the events of that morning were known to more than themselves. The servant who had opened the door to the drawing room, as well as the ones whom Elizabeth had passed as she fled the house, had seen enough to make them suspicious. Moreover, the neighbors had observed a young lady flee from the house in Arlington Street while they knew nobody but the young Viscount to be at home. These circumstances together had created a cloud of gossip strong enough that it had permeated their circle, and before the week’s end, news of it had reached Longbourn via a letter from a woman of the Radcliffe family’s acquaintance who was a particularly avid gossip.

  It came to pass, therefore, that on a Saturday morning whilst Elizabeth was still dressing upstairs, a servant came to summon her downstairs—nervously telling her that a woman was very anxious to see her, with business that could not wait.

  “Good heavens,” Elizabeth cried. “Who can it be?”

  “She says she is Lady Sarah of the Radcliffe family, ma’am. I have never seen anybody so fine in the house, nor so noble.”

  Elizabeth was on her feet at once. “What can she be doing here?” Her first thoughts were for her sisters and father, for she could think of no other reason why her stepmother should condescend to call at Gracechurch Street but that something awful must have happened to some member of her beloved family. With not a little panic, she rushed down the stairs and met her stepmother in the entryway to the house.

  “Oh! There you are,” Elizabeth said. “What has happened? Is it my father?”

  Lady Sarah said haughtily, “My, how innocent you claim to be. Yet your deceit shall never fool me. You must know why I have come, and what you must now do.”