Through a Different Lens

by Riana Everly

  Bingley whispered something into Jane’s ear and quickly left the room, and Jane fell into her sister’s arms with a glorious smile upon her lovely face. “Oh, Lizzy! I am the happiest of women! Oh, why cannot everybody be this happy?” Jane then rushed off to tell her mother, and when Mr. Bingley returned a few minutes later from his meeting with Mr. Bennet, Elizabeth congratulated him most warmly. At least one of the Bennet sisters would be happy! Her sacrifice was worth the cost, and she delighted in Jane’s joy. She resolved to be the best possible aunt to Jane’s children, feeling certain that no man other than Mr. Darcy could ever tempt her into matrimony now.

  Letters of congratulations arrived, of course, from all quarters. Charlotte Collins included a lovely note alongside her husband’s scolding missive about Lydia’s moral failings, which he must have learned from Lady Catherine, who in turn must have had it from her nephew. Aunt and Uncle Gardiner wrote variously to the different members of the family, with well wishes, invitations to visit, and news of the other Bennet sister, so imminently to wed. They would, her uncle wrote, journey to Longbourn the day after Lydia’s wedding, to see their relatives and collect their son, hopefully now much recovered.

  As for Wickham himself, Mr. Gardiner, in consultation with his wife, had decided not to charge Wickham with the kidnapping and imprisonment of his son. Such a charge would almost certainly carry a capital punishment, and as much as they deplored Lydia’s thoughtless actions, neither aunt nor uncle wished to see her a widow on their account. His ultimate fate was still undecided, for having deserted his post in the militia, and during a time of war at that, his punishment must be decided by a court martial.

  In a private note to Elizabeth, Uncle Gardiner wrote:

  We had not known before, but this was not Wickham’s first stint with the militia. It seems that he took a similar commission four years ago under a false name, presumably after accepting Mr. Darcy’s payment in lieu of the living at Kympton, of which he has spoken. At this time, he used the name George Younge, which was his mother’s name. He deserted that position after six months and was never found. His former colonel recognised him when he was brought to the prison in London where he is being held. A first desertion is treated lightly; a second carries a much more dire consequence.

  Colonel Fitzwilliam is speaking to everybody he can to avoid the almost inevitable sentence of a death by shot for this second offence, with your poor sister’s welfare in mind. He has made mention of, perhaps, demotion to the lowest ranks of the regulars and a posting to mosquito-infested Jamaica, or to the Canadas, where tensions are rising and the threat of invasion grows daily. If the colonel is successful, Lydia will surely accompany her husband. I hate to offer this thought, but I cannot believe he will survive long enough to return. His commanding officers will have little goodwill for a repeat deserter, and will give him the worst tasks. Perhaps a firing squad would be a kinder fate for which to wish.

  There was one last note in Mrs. Gardiner’s letter, a small package written in a neat and familiar hand, directed to Master Samuel Gardiner. Elizabeth stared at it, savouring the sight of the handwriting she had never again expected to see. Mr. Darcy might have repudiated her and her family, but he would not cast off his friendship with her cousin! The notion that he held the concerns of a young boy so high endeared him even more to her, for Darcy could have nothing to gain from the friendship but the esteem of a young boy who regarded him as only slightly lesser than a god. For some reason, this sign that the great master of Pemberley wished to continue his association with her young cousin touched her heart more deeply than had his efforts to rescue her sister.

  Oh, how could she ever thank him? He had saved her sister, saved the family’s name, to be sure, but he had befriended and encouraged a boy who, teetering on the brink of manhood, sorely needed a role model such as he. For one so insecure in society as young Samuel, to know he might succeed as Mr. Darcy had succeeded was more valuable than any lessons she or Miss Pierce might teach. She so wished she could express her gratitude to the gentleman. But she was still quite certain that Mr. Darcy would never wish to see her again, that all he had done had been for her aunt and uncle, whom she knew he held in great esteem, and for her young cousin. She, herself, was tainted with her sister’s sins, and not even Jane’s engagement to Mr. Bingley could erase that stain from her reputation.

  Still, events had settled much better than ever she might have dreamed, and despite the great pain in her heart, where her soul lay quietly bleeding, she knew she must be forever grateful. And, not being formed for melancholy or distress, grateful she resolved to be!

  Soon enough, the Gardiners saw Lydia safely married to Wickham. Richard’s entreaties had been successful, and in lieu of a sentence of death, the former lieutenant was demoted to common soldier, before being publicly flogged. In his new and unwelcome post, he had been assigned to a regiment bound for Jamaica, with no hope for return to England for seven years. Immediately upon making their vows and signing the register, therefore, the couple had been loaded onto a ship bound for Kingston. If Mrs. Bennet bewailed not being allowed to see her favourite daughter happily wed, she was reminded by all who could manage to be heard that, by this very fact, she had the privilege of overseeing the wedding arrangements for her second-favourite, Jane.

  Having seen to this unhappy duty of sending their youngest niece to the West Indies, the Gardiners were, at last, at liberty to return to Longbourn to retrieve their son. The boy was much improved, and excitedly told his parents of what he had read in Uncle Bennet’s library and what he hoped to tell his friend Robert of his ordeal, now seen as a great adventure. The Gardiners all happily returned to London, to see the entire family reunited in a peaceful home once more.

  In the great excitement of Jane’s engagement to Mr. Bingley, Mrs. Bennet had insisted on hosting a celebration for the couple, in honour of their betrothal, and she convinced Mr. Bingley that the ballroom at Netherfield was the perfect location for such a gathering, never mind that there was no hostess at the house. She would do all the planning and she would act as hostess, she promised her future son. Not even Caroline’s precipitous arrival from the north would deter Mrs. Bennet from her task, and Lizzy now threw herself into that project, hoping and trusting that occupation would be the best balm for her broken heart.

  And solace was there, in the form of writing up lists for invitations, meeting with the cooks, visiting shopkeepers in the village, and a hundred other small tasks that needed doing. Jane was too busy being in love, and Mary and Kitty too serious or flighty to be of real assistance. In truth, she was thankful to be kept so busy, and when she fell into her bed at night, she was relieved that her thoughts revolved around procuring ice and the necessary quantity of ham and bread for the celebrations and not around a certain enigmatic man with a poet’s soul beneath his stony exterior and moss-green eyes.

  At last the day of the party arrived. The dresses had just arrived from the dressmaker, with ribbons and lace and pearls, and dancing shoes accompanied them, one pair for each sister. Hill had brought in her niece to assist with the Bennet sisters’ hair and toilette, and before long, the family were gathered in the salon, awaiting the carriage that would carry them to Netherfield. Jane, as always, was beautiful in her soft pink gown, the darker rose ribbons swirling gracefully down her skirt from the high waist, pearls glowing softly in her hair. No one would look at anybody else, Lizzy reckoned, although she admitted that Mary was in particularly fine looks this evening. The dark yellow that suited no one else rather became her! Kitty seemed to disappear in comparison to her sisters, having lost so much of her erstwhile high spirits after Lydia’s unhappy marriage, despite her new light blue gown. “As for me,” thought Lizzy, “I have no cares how I look. I shan’t embarrass my beloved Jane, but that is all I care for my appearance.”

  With these musings, she watched her sisters descend from the carriage in front of Mr. Bingley’s grand house. Bingley himself was there to assist Jane, after whic
h Mr. Bennet helped down his wife, then his two younger daughters, leaving Elizabeth as the last to exit the conveyance. She checked her reticule and ensured that she had her wrap with her, lest it grow chilly during the evening, and at last, with a sigh, moved to the carriage door.

  A hand reached up to help her descend the short stairs. Not her father’s hand… but…

  “You came,” whispered a voice she thought she’d never hear again, and she looked up in amazement, wondering if she were imagining things.

  “Mr. Darcy!”

  The evening passed in a blur. There were scores of people—friends and relations—coming to congratulate the happy couple. Elizabeth noticed none of them. Not even Mr. Bingley’s objectionable sisters could disturb the serene joy she felt at being, once more, in Mr. Darcy’s company. Although he had not been on the list of friends Mr. Bingley had given her, he had come (invited personally by Bingley himself, she later discovered) and had sought her out, had honoured her by awaiting her arrival and handing her out of the carriage himself.

  He danced with her, happily, proudly even, not once, not twice, but three times, and danced with no one else, not even Miss Bingley who hung at his elbow like a lost puppy when she was not otherwise engaged. That stiff rigid mask he donned when uncomfortable threatened to slip over his handsome face from time to time, but Lizzy noticed that each time the sights and sounds of the room grew too great for his senses and his composure began to slip, he took her lessons from Rosings to heart and excused himself from the room. And when he returned, the smiles he gave her outshone all the chandeliers that hung from the ceiling of the grand room. He left no doubts in the minds of the others at the ball as to his intentions with regard to Miss Elizabeth.

  It was only towards the end of the evening, when guests were beginning to depart and the crush lightened, that he had the chance to draw her away from the ballroom where she had been standing with Jane for so much of the evening. “Come with me, Elizabeth, come to the balcony,” he urged her. “The moon is wondrous tonight, the breezes warm and the air fragrant with the late roses.” Excusing herself from Jane’s side, she gladly followed.

  Standing outside a few moments later, she was forced to agree. The party had been a brilliant success, and all the guests raved over Jane’s beauty, good fortune, handsome husband and excellent cook. She would be very well-settled woman, they all concurred. But it had been hot and noisy and very crowded, and the chance to stand outside, in the fresh evening air, admiring the silver sheen on the fountain in the garden just beyond the balustrade was so very welcome. “Ah,” she sighed, “This is lovely indeed.”

  “Not as lovely as you,” came the unexpected reply. She turned and saw that Mr. Darcy was close, much closer than she had expected. He raised his hand to her cheek and held it there, softly, as if caressing the wings of a butterfly, hardly felt but excruciatingly sensed.

  She had to say something, offer some words of gratitude for her sister Lydia’s deliverance.

  “Mr. Darcy,” she said at last, stepping back so slightly from him, “I am a very selfish creature; and, for the sake of giving relief to my own feelings, care not how much I may be wounding yours. I can no longer help thanking you for your unexampled kindness to my poor sister, and more so, to my young cousin. Your friendship means the world to the boy. I would have understood had you decided to break with the entire family, as would my aunt and uncle, but Samuel… he sees life through a different lens, and might only have seen your abandonment without reference to my sister’s misdeeds.”

  He cocked his head and blinked, stationary as a statue for a moment, but without the air of impenetrable hauteur he so often carried. “Ah, a metaphor. Yes, indeed he does see life through a different lens than most, as do I. But in one respect my vision—if I may continue that metaphor—is quite clear.” He fixed his remarkable eyes upon Elizabeth’s own as he continued speaking.

  “I confess I did not think immediately of your cousin, Elizabeth, for such is my limited understanding of the world as well. I recollected him only after a word on his behalf from Richard, and for that I am ashamed, for I truly like the lad. But rather, if you will thank me,” he said, staring into the darkness, then deliberately moving his eyes to capture hers in his view, “let it be for yourself alone. That the wish of giving happiness to you might add force to the other inducements which led me on, I shall not attempt to deny. But in truth, at the heart of matters, I thought only of you.”

  He paused to consider his next words. “I am the one who ought to offer an apology,” he stated at last. “Had I been more vigilant, more careful, this elopement should never have taken place. I was concerned about Wickham’s need to take his revenge, but I never imagined it would be in the form of eloping with your sister. Richard’s men did not consider that he might abscond in the middle of the night, and since he had been seen to pay little particular attention to your sister, they thought nothing of abandoning their surveillance when the company retired for the evening. If I had been more adamant, they might have watched him more carefully, at all hours.”

  Suddenly Elizabeth felt her eyes flood with tears, and she quickly turned from her companion, unwilling to let him see this unexpected weakness.

  “What is the matter, Elizabeth?” he asked with the greatest concern. “I need not examine your face for minute nuances of expression to perceive that you are distressed. What have I said, what have I done, to occasion this? I know I am not always the most perceptive of men, and might have inadvertently said something to injure you.”

  Unable to stop herself, she blurted out, “I had never thought to see you again! I believed you to be happily rid of my whole, indecorous family, with our horrid manners and moral lassitude and shameful connexions. When we parted at Pemberley, you seemed to have decided to close yourself off from me, and in London, when you departed, you said nothing at all. It seemed the veriest of adieux. And now I see you again, and I cannot control my tears.”

  He gently grasped her elbow and led her further into the shadows where they might not be seen nor interrupted.

  “It was never my intention to abandon you, Elizabeth. At no time did the thought occur to me, not when Wickham absconded with your sister, nor when he married her. I hold my friends more dearly than that, and you are the dearest of all.”

  He handed Elizabeth a linen handkerchief with which she daubed at her eyes, mopping tears that were of relief and thanksgiving rather than of bitter grief.

  “But when you read the letter, that awful letter from Jane, you could not leave my presence quickly enough! I thought you might…” she broke off. It would not do to utter her thoughts, even at this time when his intentions once more seemed clear.

  “If I seemed to withdraw, it was my unthinking retreat behind my fortifications, where I hide when I am unsure of how best to act. You had need to return as soon as you might to your family who depended upon you, and I had need for solitude wherein I might best ponder how to proceed. My thoughts were to assist, never to forsake.”

  “I thought I had come to know your ways…”

  “I was more distressed at that moment than ever I had been since rescuing my own sister from that same wastrel. If my retreat was sudden and inexplicable, all I can do is apologise, although I am not able to promise it shall not occur again. But believe me, Elizabeth—for deception is anathema to me—I never have, and never will, wish to desert you.”

  He moved two fingers to her chin to raise her face to his until their eyes met, hazel and green “Do you believe me?”

  She lowered her eyes. “It appears, sir, that I have little choice.”

  “No, you are an autonomous creature with free will… oh. Another idiom.” He offered her a brilliant smile. “There, I made you laugh.”

  She answered his smile with one of her own. “Aye, sir, you did! But I still do not understand why you acted as you did.”

  “I knew there was no way to remove the pain of your sister’s unfortunate elopement, but there were surel
y ways to ease that pain. I did what I could for you. I needed only to think of what might be done. I wrote to Richard, of course, and together we met with Colonel Forster, and we gathered in your uncle’s sitting room each evening to exchange whatever news we had discovered during the day. It was no more than any man would have done.” He paused and examined her face. “You are chewing your bottom lip and your eyes are cast down. What troubles you?”

  “You cared more for my sister than my own father did.” She took a deep breath and released it, allowing her regret to escape with the air. “But when we met once more at my uncle’s house, during all that time we were together as we sought my cousin, you said not a word of this. How could I believe you did not intend to discharge your duty and appease your conscience and then depart again? In truth, I would not have blamed you, for you have your own status and your sister’s future to consider.”

  “You are my future, Elizabeth!”

  “But after we rescued Samuel and discovered Lydia and brought her to safety, you just left! You said not a word to me. What was I to think?”

  Those beautiful moss-coloured eyes clouded in regret. “What could I say, with Richard at my side to hear every thing I uttered? And if I departed without a word, it was because my heart was too full for my brain to form thoughts. I knew your family required time to recover from the consequences of Lydia’s actions, and Richard and I had much to do in town to ensure that Wickham’s punishment was suitable without being excessive. I could not send him to his death, nor to the Antipodes, and leave your sister a widow or an abandoned wife. The separation was necessary, but I had every intention of it being short in duration. I could not count the days quickly enough before I might see you again. I always intended, without regard to your sister or Wickham or my relations, or anyone else unconnected with us, to return to you. Believe me in this.”