When she had slipped him the note during luncheon arranging for them to meet at this discreet location she had thought herself terribly clever. She still thought herself terribly clever. It was Darcy's intelligence she was doubting. He seemed to her the sort of person who would have unusual abilities for trials of patience and logic such as navigating mazes. Apparently she had overestimated him.
"Well, he is egregiously handsome. There is one thing we can hope you inherit from him at least. I jest. He has other fine qualities, I assure you." Lizzy said to Someone in Particular. She had taken to talking to it—him—her since the previous evening when she had realized the awful/inopportune/wonderful thing.
When packing for the Madigans' house party Helen, the maid Lady Matlock had loaned her, had asked if she would need linens for her courses. Courses that ought to have arrived some weeks prior. In all the excitement of her move to the Fitzwilliams' house, the purchase of a new wardrobe, and her introduction to Society, Lizzy had lost track of her unpleasant monthly visitor. She knew what its absence meant, especially when considered with the other strange symptoms she had been experiencing.
She hoped she had appeared calm when she had replied to Helen in the negative. She didn't need any rumors circulating among the Fitzwilliams' servants. There were rumors enough about her already circulating amongst the ton.
Lady Matlock's plan was failing miserably. Or perhaps it was not. Perhaps things were going as best as they possibly could be expected to go. Lizzy had been introduced, not as Darcy's fiancee but as a mere friend of the family. The Countess had wished to ease the populace into the truth as to cause as few cases of the vapors as possible. She felt certain people would be kinder to Lizzy if they did not immediately know her to be the lady who had stolen the heart of one of the foremost bachelors of the ton.
If this is their kindness, I would hate to see their ire, Lizzy thought wryly. To Someone she said, "I am the most hated woman in London."
"But you are the most loved woman in this garden. That counts for something I hope."
Before she could respond Darcy had slid onto the bench next to her and captured her lips. It was sometime before either spoke.
"You are late. Were you lost?" Lizzy taunted breathlessly.
"I was waylaid by Lady Celia and her mother. If I had known they were invited, I would never have come, even the pleasure of seeing you cannot make up for it."
"Oh thank you."
"You haven't met them. Once you do you will understand."
Darcy bent to kiss her again but suddenly halted. "I cannot believe you thought me lost," with boyish pride he added, "I'm very good at mazes."
She could not help but kiss him then. Her subconscious did not let her enjoy his embrace for long. It began chanting, Tell him, tell him, tell him! She did not heed it. It had been weeks since they had been alone, it would probably be weeks before they were alone again.
All the more reason to tell him now, the voice urged. Finally she relented, "Fitzwilliam, I—"
Colonel Fitzwilliam and Miss Madigan appeared around the corner, locked—most enthusiastically—in an amorous embrace, obviously unaware they had an audience. Darcy cleared his throat loudly. The couple jumped apart.
"Oh hell, Cousin," said the Colonel, "Could not have you and Miss Bennet chosen some other place?" To Miss Madigan he said, "There is no need for all your blushing and bashfulness. I am certain they were engaged in similar activities before we arrived."
Miss Madigan who had been facing the other direction to hide her mortification, reluctantly turned. She stiffly greeted Darcy and Lizzy. Darcy, ever the gentleman, offer her the spot on the bench beside Elizabeth. Miss Madigan declined with a shake of her head and then, covering her still reddened face with her hands, she muttered, "I shall die of embarrassment," before turning back around.
"Do not fret, Miss Madigan, Colonel Fitzwilliam had the right of it. We were similarly engaged, thus we saw nothing at all." Lizzy found small lies were the best thing in certain situations.
Miss Madigan gave Lizzy a grateful smile when she turned to face them once again. She had somewhat recovered though her cheeks were still blazing. It was perplexing to Lizzy that the very direct Miss Madigan should become easily embarrassed.
However she could not really claim to know the lady well, no matter how many hours they had spent cloistered together over the last week making plans for their respective weddings with Lady Matlock. It was not an activity either one of them enjoyed. They had that in common at least. Lizzy suspected they had a great deal more in common, but they simply did not know what to make of each other at this early juncture.
"Have all the other guests arrived?" Lizzy asked, in an attempt to cut through the lingering awkwardness.
"All except Mr. Bingley," said Miss Madigan.
"I think he has snubbed us. And here I'd only put him on the guest list so you would have someone to talk to, Darcy. Unconscionable of him. His absence will leave the numbers uneven—some poor lady will have to go down to dinner without escort. The horror!" Colonel Fitzwilliam scolded mockingly.
"That is odd," said Darcy with a worried mien.
"Perhaps he found out Lady Celia would be here," Lizzy quipped. She wanted to distract Darcy from his worry. She also was interested to know how that lady had came to be invited when her attendance must be uncomfortable for the hostess.
"Oh God her."
"I do hope that is precisely how you greeted her, Tessa."
Miss Madigan cast Colonel Fitzwilliam a silencing glare. "The Earl insisted on adding her to the guest list and my father concurred. One would never know it to speak with him, but Papa is obsessed with status. We neither of us have distinguished enough friends it would seem. Beyond your parents and Mr. Darcy here, no one of stature was invited."
"I beg to differ, Major Whitmore is quite tall. As tall as Darcy I would wager."
Richard's fiancee rolled her eyes at him. "You know what I mean. My father craves the good opinion of those from Very Old Families—titles preferred. It is as if he cannot be sure he has made it until he has a calling card from a duchess to display on his mantle. He thought I would marry a little higher up—"
"He thought she could do better. Bah."
"We aren't married yet. I still might."
"Harpy," Colonel Fitzwilliam said with great affection.
"Since I will not have a title he is happy to have a marchioness and her daughter at his house. Never mind they are two of the most vile women I've ever met. Never mind that this was to be the one event organized for our own pleasure, with guests of our own choosing. Never mind that now we will be trapped in a house with her for three days. Three days. My temper can withstand quite a lot—"
"That has not been my experience of your temper at all—"
"But if Lady Celia says one more thing to me I cannot be held accountable for what I might do. She has been uncivil to me these past three weeks ever since the engagement was announced. I cannot understand it. You could hardly be worth such maliciousness."
"True. But doesn't her spite make me strangely more desirable?"
"Perhaps. I have found you passably handsome since she started spiting her venom at me."
Miss Madigan and the Colonel by this point in the conversation had forgotten themselves. Or rather, had become once again unaware of their audience. They began to lean slowly nearer to each other like trees swaying in a gentle breeze inexorably towards collision.
"Ahem."
"Oh, do sod off, Cousin."
"Language, Richard. And in the presence of ladies, as well. Shame! You do disgrace to your good breeding." Darcy had never been good at impersonations, but Richard recognized it readily enough.
"My apologies, Aunt Catherine."
The cousins laughed while the ladies looked on, one with a contented smile the other with a bemused expression.
Darcy, feeling Miss Madigan's shocked gaze, quieted. He looked down at his hands self-consciously.
Lizzy,
guessing the nature of the other lady's thoughts, said, "It is disorienting, isn't it, Miss Madigan, when you first witness the playful side of Mr. Darcy's character? One catches glimpses of it now and again. I have seen it several times now and still have trouble reconciling it with the serious personage he presents himself to be. But I think I am wearing his seriousness down. I fully expect to wake up one day—long into our marriage—and find him amiable."
She reached out and set her hand atop of his, not caring who saw this intimacy. "Now I have fully embarrassed him with my drivel."
"Fortunately for you, not only am I secretly amiable I am also extremely benevolent and forgiving."
"Modest, too."
"Yes, but I am too humble to praise my own modesty."
"Of course."
"Ahem."
Darcy stood. "Quite right. We should all of us return to the house." He offered Lizzy his arm. Colonel Fitzwilliam begrudgingly recognized the wisdom of his cousin's words and offered Miss Madigan the same. Lizzy's secret it seemed must wait for another day to be revealed.
"That will be Mr. Mumford," Jane said as the knock sounded throughout the little cottage. She glanced at the clock on the mantle. It was early. Earlier than she hoped he would come. If he had arrived later she might have been able to convince him to stay for supper.
"Should I get the door?" asked Mary looking up from her writing. She had decided to add composition to her list of accomplishments. Not fiction. That would be too frivolous. She was compiling a guide to economy for ladies in reduced circumstances. Her work left little time for sermonizing. Jane and Kitty encouraged her in her efforts as much as possible.
"No, I will," Jane said as she patted down her already perfect coiffure. She wished her sisters were anywhere else but the parlor. She wanted her guest all to herself.
As if reading her thoughts, Kitty suddenly set aside her embroidery and said, "Mary, I think we have something to do. In the kitchen."
"What?"
"You know, that thing."
"I already prepared the chicken for later."
"You will never convince me you are the intelligent one."
Finally, Mary dragged her gaze away from her writing long enough to glance up at her younger sister. Who was winking.
"Why—oh! Alright, yes. That. Yes, I will help you with that."
Jane went to the door, marveling at her sisters' improved relationship and overall more mature behavior. When Lizzy had gone they had floundered at first. They had bickered so much that first week even she had lost her patience. But now all had settled and she was thankful for it.
The pleasant smile the thoughts of her sisters had brought on fell away the moment she opened the door.
"Mr. Bingley."
"Miss Bennet." He bowed.
Jane was too shocked to curtsy. Too shocked to speak.
"I hope I am not intruding . . . ." Mr. Bingley trailed off nervously. He had expected to see his joy at seeing her reflected on her beautiful face.
Innate politeness jolted her out of her stupor. "No, not at all. Please come in."
"Shall I call for some tea?" Jane asked once they were seated in the parlor. Shall I go to the kitchen and make tea, she thought. A local woman and her daughter came in three times a week to do the heavy cleaning and a bit of the cooking—heaven knew how Lizzy had managed to afford them such a luxury—but today was not one of their days.
Much to her relief he declined. Or perhaps not to her relief. Escaping to the kitchen sounded wonderful at the moment.
"You are looking well." Bingley instantly colored. The words had come out admiringly, almost too much so. He did not want her to think his thoughts were of a lascivious nature. Nor did he want her to think he expected to find her haggard after so many years.
He added, "That is to say you do not look ill. I was told you were ill."
Jane watched his faltering with a compassionate eye. She understood he was struggling not to sound flirtatious, not to sound insulting. He had the same worries she had, always desirous to make everyone else comfortable, always eager to say just the right thing.
"I was ill, now I am better."
"Yes, I see."
Silence engulfed them. Bingley had no talent for silences, at least not silences of this sort.
"Your sisters are well I hope?"
He did not care one jot about her sisters. Fine, he cared. A little. In other circumstances he might have cared much more, but at the moment the whole of his concern was focused on Jane and The Very Important Question he had come to ask. He could not ask it yet. To do so would be too hasty. There was a whole set of rituals that must be performed, the first of which was to ask after her family.
And so the interview transitioned from awkward to dreadful. To a disinterested observer it would have seemed outwardly pleasant, two perfectly indifferent acquaintances reminiscing over begone days. That was what was so dreadful because they certainly were not indifferent acquaintances. Mr. Bingley openly wore his feelings in his eyes. It all felt familiar.
For Jane was too much to bear. For probably the first time in her life, she interrupted someone, "Mr. Bingley, why are you here?"
Bingley gaped at her. He never imagined his delicate Miss Bennet could be so bold. She had put him all out of order, stunned him into boldness of his own. "I came to ask for your hand."
"My hand?" Even as the question left her lips, Jane felt cruel for having spoken it. She knew what he meant. That he should ask was unbelievable, but she knew what he meant and should not force him to clarify.
"In marriage. Will you marry me, Miss Bennet?"
I waited for you for so long. Jane pushed that thought away even as she wished to scream it at him. How could he do this to her? After all this time?
She had once liked him immensely. If he had asked her in Hertfordshire when he ought to have done so, she would have come to love him. She could not imagine anyone not loving Mr. Bingley. But she had not allowed herself to love him. Her heart was too cautious to love without a guarantee of safety. Or it had been.
Even if she had not quite loved him, his desertion had injured her greatly. The betrayal by his sisters whom she had thought of as friends only added to her grief. It had been the most painful period of her life. Until she had learn what true pain felt like.
In the years since last meeting with Mr. Bingley she had experienced true betrayal. True devastation. True love.
"It was foolish of me to think you would still feel for me—that you had ever felt for me—."
"No it wasn't. I do still feel for you, Mr. Bingley. More than I should. More than I want to. But I have—I've met someone else."
"Of course," he said immediately. Why should she have waited for him? He was glad she had not. He knew what it was to wait. He had done so all these years and it had wreaked his heart.
"Of course," he said again, "I wish you every happiness."
He stood. Jane followed his example "And I you."
"Farewell." His eyes were shining, but he managed a smile. He would be genial to the last even if it killed him.
"Goodbye, Mr. Bingley."
She did not show him out. He did not need the assistance and she did not have the strength. She collapsed in her chair as the door closed. Tears cut crooked paths down her cheeks. Why did she weep? She did not love him. Did not love him, did not love him. Did. Not. Well . . . .maybe a little. Maybe a lot.
But she loved Mr. Mumford as well. More. Theirs was a brief acquaintance, but she knew he would not disappoint her. He had a very decided mind.
She allowed her foolish tears to fall. One could mourn the past and still look forward to the future.
There was another knock at the door before she had a chance to properly cry it all out. Mr. Mumford. Her eagerness to see him overrode her fright of him seeing her with red, puffy eyes.
"I brought the book you asked—" Mr. Mumford began without preamble as soon as she had opened the door. Greetings were a nicety the surgeon often forgot
completely in his excitement to get to the purpose of the conversation. However, he stopped abruptly upon observing her expression. With sudden agitation he asked, "What did he say to you? Did he hurt you?"
"Who?"
"The gentleman—ha, gentleman!—the man who just left here, did he think he could make indecent requests of you because your sisters have fallen?"
"Mr. Bingley asked me to marry him," Jane replied in a lifeless tone. Before Mr. Mumford's last remark Jane would have said that there could be no revelation more extraordinary than Mr. Bingley's proposal, now it had gone completely out of her thoughts.
Because your sisters have fallen, he had said. Sisters. Plural. She had told him about Lydia. It had felt necessary to do so given the obviousness of his intentions towards herself. The disclosure had not affected his admiration of her, much to her relief.
Mr. Mumford had of course met Mary and Kitty. Whatever his opinion of them might be, he could hardly think either of them fallen. That left Lizzy. Lizzy with her mysterious, too generous employer.
All of Jane's suspicions came into sharp focus. The new house, the servants, the outstanding bills. She knew how Lizzy had paid for them now.
She needed to sit down.
"Please, do come in, Mr. Mumford."
He hesitated. His mind was in an uproar just as hers was, but for very different reasons.
Jane's distress had pushed her past the point of propriety. She had no time for his wavering. No time to consider how her revelation might be affecting him. Grasping his upper arm she pulled him through the doorway, down the hall, and into the parlor.
She plopped into her usual chair with neither grace nor ceremony. Mr. Mumford remained standing, but that was not out of the ordinary, sitting rarely had much appeal to his energetic nature.
"So marriage? He asked you to marry him. I wish you great joy and . . . whatever else one says on such occasions." He finished with an empty bark of laughter and a pained grin.
"I refused him."
Mr. Mumford sank down into the nearest chair. Eyes widened with disbelief, he said,"You refused him."
The Ruin of Elizabeth Bennet: A Pride and Prejudice Variation Page 22
