Rocks in the Stream

by Lewis Whelchel

  * * * * *

  JANE WAS BECOMING EVER MORE concerned about Elizabeth. She had hoped that the passing of time would begin to heal Elizabeth’s heart, but it seemed that every day her spirits were no better. Jane carefully watched over Elizabeth, always aware of where she was, when she left the house, and when she might be expected back again. Her desire to protect Elizabeth was further excited each time she came upon her sitting alone in silent tears.

  Elizabeth’s melancholy was painful for Jane to witness. She had always been so lively and enthusiastic, full of life and vigor with a smile and a cheerful word for everyone, but all that was gone now. In their place were sadness and heartache. Agonizing over every moment that Elizabeth was alone, Jane spent as much time with her as she could, often accompanying her on her walks.

  They had been pursuing their way in companionable silence when Jane put her hand on Elizabeth’s arm and began to speak. “Lizzy, what can I do for you? I know you are not happy, and it pains me to see it. Is there not anything I can do for you?”

  Elizabeth attempted to put on a happy air, not wanting Jane to suffer for her lack of spirits, but it was a futile effort. Jane was so familiar with her moods and tempers that there was very little she could conceal from her.

  “You are doing everything. I love being at Netherfield with you and your adorable husband.”

  “Yes, my husband is adorable, but I love you very much, and I want to know what I can do to make you happier.”

  They walked on a few paces while Elizabeth determined how or whether she should open her heart to Jane.

  “I do not know if I am allowed to express such feelings as I have. I do not know if it is appropriate for me to . . . ” She paused. “Oh, Jane, I am afraid. I fear that you will not approve of me.”

  Jane smiled at her. “You can tell me.”

  “Very well.” Her eyes started to burn, and she turned abruptly away in embarrassment. “I want to be with Mr. Darcy!” She looked back at Jane. “I want to be his wife.”

  Jane was not surprised by the emotion or the declaration. She put her arms around Elizabeth and held her close.

  “Does Mr. Bingley ever hear from him?” asked Elizabeth. “Where is he? How is he?”

  “We have not heard from him since . . . ” She could not finish. The memory was too painful.

  “ . . . since that night,” said Elizabeth bitterly. “I was in error. I made a grave mistake.”

  Jane watched apprehensively as Elizabeth’s countenance darkened. She struggled to formulate a response. “But he hurt you, and you said you did not trust him. Your behavior was reasonable. You should not censure yourself.”

  “You may say that, but the fact remains that I love Mr. Darcy, and yet I am not with him.” A tear trickled down Elizabeth’s cheek. “I know I shall never see him again.”

  Elizabeth could speak no further, and they walked on in silence. Upon gaining the house, she withdrew to her bedchamber, and she was not seen for the rest of the day.

  * * * * *

  JANE HAD NOT NEEDED ELIZABETH’S confession of her desire to be married to Mr. Darcy to believe that her depressed state of spirits was the result of the love she harbored for him. Now, being in possession of Elizabeth’s open avowal of such a desire, Jane considered herself to be at liberty to affect a reunion between the former lovers. Truthfully, Jane knew there was little she could do herself, but a great deal might be accomplished with some exertion on the part of her husband.

  Jane found Charles at his accustomed place in the study, behind a noble desk of the finest wood. She believed that the solid strength of his desk was mirrored in the man sitting behind it. In him, she had trusted her heart, her happiness, and her hopes, and from him, had gained everything.

  “Charles, do you have a moment for me?”

  Bingley looked up with a smile at the sound of her voice. “I have a lifetime for you, my love. Please come in.”

  He rose, met her halfway across the room, and assisted her to a sofa that, with two other chairs, formed a small sitting area in front of the fire. He sat beside her and took her hand.

  “I am very worried about Elizabeth. She is not happy, and time is not healing her heart.”

  “I join you in your apprehension. I have noticed that she does not look well. She eats so very little, and when I see her in the morning, she appears tormented and exhausted. She no longer laughs.”

  “I now know what we can do for her.”

  “Do you? And what is that? You know I will do anything for her.”

  Jane leaned her head on her husband’s shoulder as he sat back on the sofa. Sitting and talking with him in such a manner as this was one of her dearest pleasures.

  “She has confessed to me that she is still in love with Mr. Darcy.”

  “But have we not always known that?”

  “Yes, we have, but the situation is different now. She has made a decision. It is her desire to be with him, to marry him. It is a studied desire that has not arisen from the impulse of the moment, but is the true feeling of her heart.”

  Bingley said nothing, so Jane went on.

  “She has conceded that she made a mistake in sending him away, and I believe her. If she were not in love, she would act more like herself, but she is not. She is truly attached to Mr. Darcy, and I feel called on to help her in any way that I can. Unfortunately, I cannot do much for her,” she paused, “but you can.”

  “What would you have me do?”

  “I would like you to write to Mr. Darcy.”

  Bingley was silent, considering the implications of resuming contact with his friend whom he had deliberately cut off in an effort to protect Elizabeth’s fragile relationship with Mr. Grinly. Would it not seem insincere to resume a correspondence with him? Yet, his intentions had been honorable, and the engagement was now broken. “I have had no contact with him since he was last here. I had thought, well, that we could not continue . . . for Elizabeth’s sake . . . that we could not remain friends.”

  It was Jane’s turn for a moment of reflection. Even worse than encouraging Elizabeth to marry Mr. Grinly she was preventing her husband from maintaining a relationship with his friend. As she looked back, she could not countenance her behavior in any way that satisfied her. “I am sorry. It was wrong of me. Please write to him and extend to him my warmest regards and an apology.”

  “An apology?”

  “Yes. I know he feels that I am his greatest enemy, and I want to correct that impression. I am not. I want to be his friend. Oh, Charles, I am so sorry. I had no right to separate you from your friend. It was cruel and was based on a mistaken assumption of the needs I felt Elizabeth had in her relationship with Mr. Grinly, but a commitment to one man should not be based on the absence of attentions from another.”

  “I know that you did not intend to injure anyone.”

  “But do you not see? I have injured everyone — Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth, and you!”

  “No one blames you.”

  “Perhaps not, but they ought.” She turned her head into his shoulder. “Please forgive me.”

  Bingley laid Jane back in his arms until he was cradling her head in the crook of his arm. He could tell that she was very near tears. “Jane, what am I to do with you?”

  She was silenced by his kiss.

  * * * * *

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING, MRS. THOMAS sent a servant into Meryton to post a letter written by her master in an effort to heal relationships that had been damaged over the course of the past few weeks.

  It read as follows:

  Netherfield

  Darcy,

  I have not heard from you since you left Hertfordshire, and I just want you to know that everyone here is thinking of you.

  Mrs. Bingley sends her warmest greetings and begs that I tell you that she hopes you are well. She asks me to encourage you to write and let us know how you are faring and that she would be certain to pass your salutations on to all your friends in Hertfordshire.

  Y
ou may be unaware, perhaps, that Elizabeth is with us. She and Mr. Grinly ended their engagement, and he has returned to Wiltshire. Although their separation was amicable, Elizabeth is not happy. She has very tender feelings over what I believe is a recent loss.

  Please forgive my part in our past differences. Indeed, I can hardly remember over what we disagreed. Let us always remain friends.

  Yours, &c.

  CB

  * * * * *

  TO SAY THAT DARCY WAS astonished on receipt of Bingley’s letter would not adequately describe his feelings. Indeed, he could not utter a sound, but could only read and reread with shocked amazement the news that Elizabeth was not married.

  Immediately on the heels of his astonishment was concern. Elizabeth was not happy. It was no small matter to terminate an engagement, and her removal to Netherfield was a statement of the difficulty she was experiencing at home. He had great confidence in the honor and integrity of Mr. Grinly. Whatever had occurred between Mr. Grinly and Elizabeth had happened with her full knowledge and consent.

  He knew of nothing in her life that could be accounted as a loss. Was it possible that she had repented her decision? Hope immediately kindled in his heart, hope that she might yet still love him.

  From reading the letter, two things must be concluded. First, he had imagined that he would never hear from Bingley again. He had assumed that in an effort to prevent further injury to her sister, Mrs. Bingley would force an end to their friendship, but she had not. Regardless of what precipitated this letter, Bingley would not have written without his wife’s knowledge.

  Second, when he considered all his acquaintances in Hertfordshire that may wish to hear from him, he could only think of Bingley. Who else could it be? Was it possible that Elizabeth wished to know of him?

  There could be no other explanation. It must be Elizabeth.

  The darkness that clouded Darcy’s mind from the moment he left Hertfordshire began to disperse, and it was all he could do to restrain himself from leaving immediately for Netherfield. Yet it was impossible for him to go. He would not risk it. He could not endure being near Elizabeth unless he was certain that she would forgive and accept him, and it seemed to him incomprehensible that she would, not after what he had done.

  Yet that letter . . .

  Elizabeth should not be left wondering. He must seize the opportunity to speak to her and avail himself of Mrs. Bingley’s invitation to send a message that would be passed on to her.

  What to write? He could not profess the love he felt. She may not be prepared to hear it, and she would only become embarrassed because Bingley and her sister would undoubtedly see the letter before she did. No. All he could do was let her know that she was never far from his thoughts and that he had not forgotten her.

  Taking his pen, and after many trials and frustrations, the following letter was ready to be posted to Netherfield.

  London

  Bingley,

  It was such a pleasure to hear from you. I pray that you will forgive my mistaken neglect in not writing sooner. Georgiana is well and asks me to send you her love.

  My thoughts frequently turn towards Hertfordshire and the great enjoyment I experienced being with you when you first occupied Netherfield. I have never been happier than I was during those short weeks.

  London is a little thin this time of year, but it makes no difference to me. I remain quietly at home. I correspond with my steward at Pemberley regularly, but have no plans for traveling.

  I am saddened that anything should have happened to Miss Bennet to make her unhappy, but I am reassured that she is with her sister. She is never far from my thoughts. If there is anything I can do for her, please let me know. I would appreciate nothing more than to be of service to her by any means that are in my power.

  Please, thank your wife for all the kindness she has shown me. I am looking forward to the day when we can all be together again.

  I remain, &c.

  FD

  Chapter 19

  THE NEXT DAY, BINGLEY RECEIVED Darcy’s letter and had the pleasure of sharing it with his wife. Jane, more than pleased with the contents, went in search of her sister, knowing she had information that would be gladly and gratefully received. Elizabeth was outside in the garden, as usual, this time sitting on a bench that encircled the trunk of a large tree.

  “I have been looking for you.” Jane sat down next to Elizabeth, making every effort to suppress her delight.

  “You have? I hope I was not hard to find.”

  “No,” laughed Jane, “you are always out here somewhere. Lizzy, I have news that will interest you. I have come to tell you that we have had a letter from Mr. Darcy that should make you very happy. As you know, we have not heard from him since he left Netherfield, but Charles wrote to him, mentioned that your engagement had ended, and that you were staying with us.”

  “Mr. Bingley wrote to Mr. Darcy? May I ask what Mr. Darcy’s response was?”

  “Perhaps you would like to read the letter for yourself.” Jane offered the envelope to her sister.

  Elizabeth’s eyes grew wide in response to the surprise she felt on reading his letter. “He sounds well.” Her eyes glimmered with happiness.

  “Is that all you can say? Lizzy, that letter is for you. He has not forgotten you.”

  “And I have not forgotten him. Do you think it is true? Do you think he still loves me after all this time?”

  “I am certain of it.”

  Elizabeth rose from her seat and stood in front of her sister. “What should I do, Jane?”

  “You and he have suffered through immense heartache and misunderstanding. I know how strongly you feel about him. I would recommend that you take a chance and send him a note telling him what is in your heart.”

  “Would that be proper?”

  “It may be best that, in this circumstance, propriety be transgressed. Mr. Darcy is as uncertain of you as you are of him. Give him just a hint as to what you feel. Give him reason to hope and then wait to see how he responds.”

  “Thank you, Jane. I will. I will write to him.”

  * * * * *

  IT WAS A FINE MORNING when Darcy returned from an appointment with his solicitor. His housekeeper, Mrs. Jamison, greeted him. “Sir, Mr. Tilden is waiting to see you. I told him you were out, but he insisted on waiting for your return and would not be persuaded to leave. I am very sorry. I know that you do not like to be disturbed in such a manner as this.”

  “Thank you for your efforts, Mrs. Jamison.” Darcy relieved himself of his hat and gloves. “I suppose the sooner I see him, the sooner he will leave.”

  Mrs. Jamison laughed.

  “I will receive him in the drawing room.”

  He knew that Mrs. Jamison went to great lengths to insulate him from unwanted callers, so he could only conclude that Mr. Tilden must have been in rare form if he were able to stand his ground against her. There was no doubt in Darcy’s mind as to Mr. Tilden’s errand, but he was unmoved.

  Assuming a proud, dignified air, he proceeded to the drawing room to await his visitor.

  * * * * *

  DARCY WAS STANDING WHEN MR. Tilden entered the room. He moved quickly to greet him and ushered him to a seat near the fire.

  “Mr. Tilden, welcome to my home. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” The conventions of society necessitated lies. Pleasure? Not likely.

  “I came to learn the truth for myself. I have heard confusing reports, some telling me that you were in Town, and others confirming that you were in the country, and not having had the pleasure of your company for quite some time, I thought I would take the liberty of calling.”

  “As you can see, I am here,” said Darcy flatly. “I am sorry you were kept waiting. Mrs. Jamison, of course, told you that I was out?”

  “Ah . . . she did,” answered Mr. Tilden uncomfortably, “but I am not to be at White’s until later in the morning, so I asked if I could wait.” Mr. Tilden had no appointment to be anywhere, of c
ourse.

  “Would you care for some tea?”

  “Thank you, but no.”

  “Well, Mr. Tilden, how long will you remain in Town? It must be nearly time for you to return to the country. I believe Miss Tilden mentioned that your visit was to be only three months.” Darcy concluded that it was best to get directly to what he believed was the point of Mr. Tilden’s visit, and so was not unwilling to introduce his daughter into their conversation.

  “We have no immediate plans for a removal. I bring with me Clara’s compliments, Mr. Darcy, her warmest compliments . . . ”

  “I thank you, sir, and please extend my . . . ”

  “ . . . and a renewal of my offer.”

  “Your offer, sir?”

  “Let me speak plainly. It is my earnest desire to form a match between you and my daughter.”

  Darcy was taken aback by such a boldfaced attack. He had hoped to escape this interview without giving or receiving offense, but with each word, Mr. Tilden was making that less likely. Marrying his daughter was out of the question.

  “Yes, you have touched on that before, but I recall that my response to you was that I did not love your daughter and, for that reason, could not marry her.”

  “Mr. Darcy, both our families, though untitled, are ancient and honorable. The fortune on each side is splendid. Upon your marriage, you will receive £35,000. Tilden Manor will be Clara’s upon my death, and through her, yours. She is a beautiful young lady, highly accomplished, and pleasant company. You cannot possibly have an objection to her.”

  “No, indeed. There can be no objection to Miss Tilden. She is all that you describe.”

  “Let me ask you this, Mr. Darcy. Are you engaged elsewhere?”

  Once again, Darcy was astonished at Mr. Tilden’s impertinence. “No, I am not.”

  “You spoke of love, Mr. Darcy. That is a meaningless concept these days.”

  Mr. Tilden’s boldness was unprecedented. Darcy stared at him incredulously.