Pledged to Mr Darcy

by Valerie Lennox

“In the middle of the night? On your own? With no chaperone?”

  “No one would escort me to go if I had asked.”

  “Because we are in mourning, Lydia.”

  “But in a mask, no one shall know who I am, so it won’t be a problem. No one will know I’m supposed to be mourning.”

  Jane was aghast. “Don’t you care one jot for our mother or our father? Or our sisters?”

  “You know that I do.”

  “And yet you are disrespectful to their memories by wanted to go dancing—”

  “Mama would have wanted me to go. She would never have wanted to me to wait an entire six months to find a husband, you know that, Jane. She would have insisted—”

  “I think Mama would want you to mourn her for a full month at the very least.”

  “Oh, you are making it out as if I’m doing something so very wicked.” Lydia folded her arms over her chest.

  “You are indeed. Why, Lydia, this would ruin you, do you not understand that?”

  “No one will know who I am. I am wearing a mask.”

  “Yes, that’s a very clever disguise. No one will recognize you,” Jane said sarcastically.

  Lydia wrinkled up her nose. “You think they would?”

  “If you are ruined, do you know what that would mean?”

  “Oh, Jane, you are being so dreadful.”

  “No husband for you, ever,” said Jane. “And likely none for me. And heaven knows if Mr. Darcy wouldn’t find some way out of his engagement to Elizabeth.”

  Lydia hung her head. “No one will recognize me.”

  “You’re not going to a masquerade ball!” Jane said. “Have you lost your mind? Come upstairs at once. You are going back to bed.”

  “But Jane, just because everyone else is dead doesn’t mean we must be too.”

  “To bed,” said Jane. She grasped Lydia by the arm and pulled her up the steps.

  * * *

  Elizabeth had grown used to rising before everyone else and breakfasting alone. She tried to tell herself that she didn’t do it on purpose, but she wondered if she was simply frightened of being near Mr. Darcy or of Georgiana for that matter. She wouldn’t have minded if Miss Thackerey joined her, but Miss Thackerey seemed to rise with the very dawn, and had already finished eating before Elizabeth arrived.

  That morning, Elizabeth was apprehensive to find Lady Catherine there, but instead, she only found Miss de Bourgh.

  Miss de Bourgh was using a knife to divide grapes into small slivers. When she saw Elizabeth, she smiled at her. “Oh, hello. How are you this morning?”

  “Quite well,” said Elizabeth.

  “Excellent,” said Miss de Bourgh. “I am finding that grapes are like small moons, do you not see?” She held a piece up.

  Elizabeth supposed that the shape did somewhat resemble the shape of the moon. Hesitantly, she acknowledged it.

  “I wonder what the moon is made of,” said Miss de Bourgh, leaning back in her chair. “I have read that it reflects the light of the sun, and so I wonder if it is like a mirror.”

  “The sun is not visible at night.” Elizabeth went over to the sideboard to assemble her usual breakfast.

  “No, but it does not go away. It simply goes to the other side of the world, to the Orient, to shine on people there. Oh, I should so like to travel. I have never been anywhere interesting. I should like to see India or Barbados or America. Wouldn’t you?”

  “I had not thought on it,” said Elizabeth, sitting down at the table. “It does not seem likely I would ever see such places. Why long for something when one is destined to be disappointed?” Of course, traveling had been unlikely largely because of the expense. But Mr. Darcy did not have such obstacles to travel. Elizabeth wondered what it would be like to go to India, to see elephants. Perhaps it would be exciting.

  “Oh, disappointment is a fleeting thing,” said Miss de Bourgh. “But longing, that can go on for years, even decades, and it can be quite enjoyable if you know how to imagine it. You can construct whole worlds in your mind, full of the most extraordinary detail. And that longing can bring you much joy, even if the longing is never fulfilled. I rather imagine I shall never travel either. Mama has her mind made up against it, and besides, I am not strong. I am always contracting some sickness or another. Why, the fact I have no cough now is a miracle. But if I refused to dream simply because I knew it could never be, well, then what would I do with myself all the time?”

  “I…” Elizabeth was not sure how to take that speech. She was almost certain it made sense. Sort of. “I really wouldn’t know, I suppose.”

  “What do you with yourself?”

  “When?”

  “Oh, all the time?”

  “Well, I go on walks, I suppose. And I read books. I do some traveling, but only in England.”

  “Books are lovely,” said Miss de Bourgh. “Walks, I am not permitted to indulge in, but I like to imagine that I am walking in a fairy forest, and that all the trees are alight with tiny bright bursts of magic. And elves. I so adore the idea of elves.”

  “And unicorns?” said Elizabeth, who was starting to feel a bit sorry for Miss de Bourgh.

  “Indeed,” said Miss de Bourgh.

  “But you know that none of that is real. There are no fairies or elves or unicorns.”

  Miss de Bourgh shrugged. “Perhaps not. But maybe they are out there and we haven’t found them yet. No one knew about America until it was found.”

  “I suppose, but I don’t think that’s the same thing—”

  “It is to me. I shall never see America, so I shall imagine it. And if I imagine elves as well, why not?” Miss de Bourgh popped one of her grape slivers into her mouth.

  The poor girl had never been allowed to go anywhere, Elizabeth was realizing. She had likely had no society other than her own. She was childlike because she had been forced to be her own companion, and imagination was all that she had.

  “You mustn’t worry about my marrying Fitzwilly,” said Miss de Bourgh.

  “Fitzwilly?” Elizabeth drew back. What a nickname! How horrid.

  “Yes, that is what we called him as a boy. Well, I suppose I don’t remember. He was quite grown up by the time I could remember him. I remember him at sixteen, so very tall.” She mused on this for a moment.

  Elizabeth felt a strange stab of jealousy, and she didn’t know where it had come from. Of course, she didn’t care that Miss de Bourgh had known Mr. Darcy at sixteen and that Elizabeth had not. That was ridiculous. Why should it matter to her?

  “Anyway, I could never marry him,” said Miss de Bourgh. “Not truly. I like to imagine being married. I like to imagine a prince comes and rescues me from a tower in Rosings that has grown all over with thorny vines, and he must hack them away with his shiny sword to get to me. Then he carries me away on a white horse and we are married in a ceremony that everyone attends—all the fairies and elves and the spirits who live in the trees. If I got married for real, I could no longer imagine getting married. I should think it would make everything frightfully dull.”

  “But a real marriage must be preferable to an imagined one.”

  “I think not. No, a real marriage would be dreadful. Especially to Fitzwilly. He is nothing to a prince who would climb a tower, you know. Why, he doesn’t even really like me, I don’t think. He is kind to me, but I think he pities me. I want more from a man than that. No, you may have him. I can dream up a better man than any who exist in real life. I often wonder why God is so bad creating people, you know? If he is God, and he is perfect, why does he make people the way they are?”

  “I think… well, we are to strive to improve ourselves—”

  “Yes, see, that’s even more disturbing. He’s made us flawed on purpose so that we shall be forced to pray to him. I can’t make heads or tails of it. Perhaps God isn’t perfect after all?”

  Elizabeth cleared her throat. “I’m not sure if I’m comfortable with—”

  “Oh, of course.” Miss de Bourgh a
te another grape. “Most people don’t like to talk to me for too long. Mama says I make her brain hurt. Perhaps I do the same to you?”

  “Of course not,” said Elizabeth. “Don’t be silly. You are quite, um, lovely to talk with.”

  “Am I truly?” Miss de Bourgh smiled at Elizabeth. “You are very kind to say so. I like you, Miss Bennet. I think you will make a very sweet wife for Fitzwilly. I wish you true happiness.”

  “Thank you,” said Elizabeth.

  “Well,” said Miss de Bourgh. “I am quite stuffed. I’ve eaten far more than can even fit in my belly. I must be off, then. Perhaps I shall see you later?”

  “Perhaps,” said Elizabeth.

  “Goodbye.” Miss de Bourgh walked out of the room in that dreamy, unhurried way of hers.

  Elizabeth watched her go. She was a strange girl, she thought, but not altogether unpleasant. But for some reason, she was glad that neither Miss de Bourgh or Mr. Darcy seemed keen on the other. Without noticing it, she had become somewhat possessive of Mr. Darcy.

  * * *

  Later that morning, Elizabeth was taking a walk in the gardens. Lady Catherine appeared at the end of one of the paths, standing next to an iron bench. She beckoned for Elizabeth to come to her.

  Elizabeth wanted nothing less than to talk to Lady Catherine, but she couldn’t exactly pretend that she hadn’t seen the woman. She had to go to her. So, Elizabeth walked up the path to meet Lady Catherine.

  “Miss Bennet,” said Lady Catherine. “I have been looking for you.”

  “You have found me,” said Elizabeth, trying to smile.

  “Let us sit here on this bench and speak for a while.”

  Again, it didn’t sound particularly like an activity that Elizabeth wanted to engage in, but she couldn’t very well say no. She sat down.

  Lady Catherine sat down too.

  “The flowers in this garden are beautiful, aren’t they?” said Elizabeth, hoping to guide the conversation away from topics that would be upsetting. “And so sweet-smelling as well.”

  “I did not seek you out to speak of flowers,” said Lady Catherine.

  Well. There went that idea. “I had thought not,” said Elizabeth.

  “I want to speak to you about my nephew.”

  “Of course.”

  “I have observed the two of you in each other’s presence, and I cannot detect any special affection on your part to him. I am therefore left to conclude that you have entered into this match with him precisely because you wish to rise in society. I suppose that you are also concerned with financial comfort. Am I wrong to conclude such things?”

  Elizabeth was flustered. “Yes,” she finally said, but she didn’t think it sounded convincing.

  Lady Catherine snorted. “I do not think that you and Mr. Darcy suit. But I have another option for you. You remember my other nephew, Colonel Fitzwilliam. You met him at Rosings. The two of you seemed to get on well.”

  Elizabeth’s lips parted. She had not realized that Lady Catherine had noticed her conversing with the colonel.

  “I have made up my mind to give him a generous stipend upon his marriage,” said Lady Catherine. “Not quite so generous as Mr. Darcy’s income, to be sure, but enough to keep himself and his family quite comfortable. He is my only family who will not inherit anything, after all. Now, you are not my first choice for the colonel either, but he did seem fond of you and you of him, and I’m sure he told you the only reason he could not offer for you was that he must marry an heiress. But once that obstacle is removed, I am sure he would rather marry you. So, now, what do you say?”

  Elizabeth folded her hands together in her lap. “You are mistaken, madam. I do not love Colonel Fitzwilliam.”

  “No? Well, you certainly don’t love Darcy either. Are you simply a cold-hearted fortune huntress, then?”

  “I do love Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth. “I love him very much.”

  Lady Catherine looked her over. “I don’t know whether you’re trying to convince me of it or yourself.”

  “If I do not seem overly demonstrative, it is because I am in mourning. I have recently lost most of my family, and I am not recovered from the shock or the sadness.”

  Lady Catherine laughed softly. “Yes, yes. You have a perfectly reasonable answer for everything, Miss Bennet. But I can see it. You do not love Mr. Darcy. Why are you here, threatening his happiness when he could be perfectly pleased with my daughter?”

  “He is perfectly pleased with me,” said Elizabeth.

  “Is he? Is he truly?”

  * * *

  Mr. Darcy was in his study, ostensibly because he was going over business receipts, but truly because he was hiding from Lady Catherine. He could not abide the woman, especially since she had come with the express purpose of breaking up his engagement with Miss Bennet, which was a thing he sometimes wondered if he didn’t want to do.

  It was shameful to think so, and he knew it. He had promised himself that once they were here at Pemberley, he would spend time with her and they would form a lasting bond that would convey them happily into matrimony. And he meant to do it, still. It was only that he would see her, walking through the house in black mourning clothes, her face downcast, and he couldn’t think of a thing to say to her. He knew that after the death of his own parents, what he had principally wanted was to be left alone.

  So, he let her be.

  And he worried that there was nothing in this marriage that made it make any sense anymore. Certainly, the disparity in their stations was a chasm between them, but it could be bridged with strong love. He had thought he loved her that strongly. He still felt that wild sense of passion when he remembered her. But the way she was currently, she inspired nothing within him but pity.

  There was a knock on the study door.

  Thinking it was a servant, Darcy called for them to enter, not looking up.

  The door opened, but no one spoke.

  Darcy turned, about ready to urge the servant to speak up.

  Except it wasn’t a servant, but Miss Bennet herself, standing there in the doorway.

  He stood up from his desk, startled.

  She clasped her hands together in front of her. “I’m sorry. If I’m disturbing you…”

  “Oh, no, you are quite welcome,” he said, smiling. For all that he was confused, he did feel pleased to see her, pleased that she was seeking him out. She seemed never to notice whether he was there or not. “Please, come in. Would you like to sit?” There were two chairs set up next to the fireplace, not that there was a fire burning now, not in the middle of spring.

  “I… well, I do not need to sit,” she said. “But perhaps, given the gravity of what I come to speak to you of, perhaps it would be advisable for us to sit.”

  He was concerned. She came to speak to him about grave matters? He wasn’t sure he liked that. Now, anxious, he ushered them both over to the chairs and had her sit down before he joined her. “What is it?” he said.

  “I have just had a rather interesting conversation with Lady Catherine,” said Elizabeth.

  “Oh, you mustn’t mind her,” he said.

  “She doesn’t want us to get married, you know.”

  “Ah, what gave her away?” he said, chuckling a little.

  Her mouth quirked into a little smile. “Well, she is rather insistent about it. She tried to say that she would set me up with Colonel Fitzwilliam and give us both money if I would set you free.”

  Darcy felt tension building in his shoulders. He had noticed that his cousin and Elizabeth had gone walking rather frequently in Kent. Had she formed an attachment to him? Maybe the prospect was agreeable to her.”

  “I refused her,” said Elizabeth. “Of course I did. But then… well, something she said, it made me wonder… I cannot entirely understand how we came to be engaged sir.”

  “I asked you. You accepted.”

  “Yes, but when you asked me, you did not sound entirely convinced of it. You dwelt rather substantially on the r
easons why our match was not a good one.”

  “Did I?” He cringed. He had meant to be honest with her when he asked for her hand. He had felt a great deal of turmoil about whether or not he should propose, and since he had done it, he still felt turmoil. “Well… what is between us, it is somewhat irregular.”

  “Yes,” she said. “When you asked me, you did not know that my father was dead or that my family would go through such calamity. You did not realize how much you would be taking on by making me your wife. Perhaps now you have reconsidered, and you feel differently.”

  He licked his lips. “Why are you saying this?”

  “Well, the conversation with Lady Catherine got me thinking about it, I suppose.”

  “Do you feel differently?” he said. “You accepted me when you were grief-stricken. Do you want to withdraw from our arrangement? You know that you are capable of doing so, of course you are.” Men couldn’t break engagements, not without a fair amount of consequences, but women were permitted to change their minds.

  “I do not wish to,” she said. And then she looked a little puzzled, as if she had not expected herself to say that so firmly.

  He couldn’t help but smile. “Then I do not wish to either.” And he felt better about it all, suddenly. Knowing that she wanted him made him want her more.

  She smiled too. “Well… well, good.”

  “Good,” he said. “Listen, you must not pay much more mind to Lady Catherine. If she attempts to speak to you again, tell her that I have forbidden you to talk to her alone, and go running to find me. I will also speak to her, and tell her I don’t appreciate her harassing my bride.

  “Mr. Darcy, you don’t have to do that. That all sounds rather extreme.”

  “Nonsense. I don’t like her here, anyway, hanging about and trying to stick her nose into our business. I shall see to it that she never bothers you again.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Elizabeth did not know what Darcy had said to Lady Catherine, but she was huffy at dinner and then announced that she and Anne would quit the place in the morning. She had only been there for a few days, a very short visit indeed, so Elizabeth was surprised. However, she didn’t think that Lady Catherine was the type to take rebukes well. That had likely driven her to go.