Miss Bingley sneered. “Oh, if only you could go to Brighton then, Miss Lydia! And I hear the sea bathing is most agreeable, Mrs. Bennet. The whole family ought to go.”
Mrs. Bennet was clearly oblivious to Miss Bingley’s disdain for the Bennet family and exclaimed, “Oh, you are so kind to us, Miss Bingley! Yes, I shall speak to Mr. Bennet about it at once! A little sea bathing would set me up forever! Girls, why not walk to Meryton to tell your Aunt Phillips?”
Mrs. Bennet fluttered her handkerchief and clucked and shooed her chicks and the callers out the door in a matter of minutes. Once on the path to Meryton, Wickham offered an arm to Kitty, who keenly felt the compliment of his attention, and the other to Elizabeth. Lydia sulked at the exclusion.
*****
Elizabeth felt sheer ecstasy the moment of her release from Wickham’s side. She was quite aware that Wickham watched for her reaction to any news of Darcy. She knew what Wickham did not, however —that Anne de Bourgh was soon to marry Colonel Fitzwilliam. Between the two gentlemen, Elizabeth had no expectation of Lady Catherine succeeding in any scheme to hinder either marriage. But the announcement of either betrothal would bring additional worry of Wickham’s plot against her sisters. The regiment was to leave in a fortnight. If Lady Catherine had cause to hope in a marriage between Anne and Darcy, then Wickham would hopefully continue to oblige her. Then the regiment would depart, for Elizabeth had no misgivings that her father would allow any of them near Brighton, and all should be well. Darcy and her uncle would find something to threaten prosecution against Wickham, and he would be transported instead, their families safe from him at last.
In the five weeks of her betrothal, Elizabeth had grown accustomed to this feeling of uncertainty. The current cause of her distress was entirely new. Darcy had attended a ball, the ball of the Season, and had many dance partners reported as wealthy and beautiful with illustrious ranks, including other eligible cousins. She wondered if he had disliked the ball, despite it being filled with society more to his standards of decorum and rank than the Meryton Assembly and even the Netherfield Ball. Did he hide away in the card room for half the evening? The report said he left early with the colonel. She supposed that was proof enough that he had little more tolerance for this ball than any other she had seen him attend. Perhaps if she had been there, he might have enjoyed it more; they could have danced and teased and laughed.
She did not doubt his constancy, but she was confused all the more how he ever came to love her and felt jealous of his attention. Three weeks without his company and she envied not only the ladies who danced with him but also everyone who even spoke to him. The thought was exactly calculated to make her understand her wishes. Never had she so honestly felt that she could love him, as now, when he was in London and there remained every concern over announcing their betrothal.
She had scarcely patience enough to walk with her sisters on to Longbourn after visiting her aunt instead of rushing ahead on her own. She was enraged at herself for being so silly. By the time she walked inside the house, she was astonished and vexed by her feelings. Before charging to her room, she was informed that she had received a package, and seeing Mrs. Gardiner’s script, she dashed off directly to open it.
After tearing open the box, she found a book of fine leather filled with sonnets written in Darcy’s close and masculine hand. She read her aunt’s explanatory note first. Allegedly, she found the journal in a rare book shop and believed Elizabeth would enjoy reading it. Elizabeth understood at once the reason for the artifice. If discovered reading it, she could point to her aunt’s letter as explanation. Tucked inside the book was her letter from Darcy. Sucking in a deep breath, she began to read:
Darcy House, London
Wednesday, May 6
My dearest, loveliest Elizabeth,
Your recent letter left me in very high spirits, and I shall be delighted to answer any questions your curious mind begs to ask. Georgiana and I are well, as I hope all of your family is. If this letter could contain the sentiments of my heart, I am certain four sides of paper would be insufficient.
Currently, I reside about half the year at Pemberley. Georgiana must reside in London to have access to her masters. You shall find her shy, but Derbyshire proves little in the way of diversions for a girl her age, and I am poor company for her. Town is better to occupy her. I dislike being separated from her for many weeks at a time, and so if she must be in Town, so must I.
My habit is to arrive at Pemberley for the planting weeks, after visiting Rosings, and except for occasional visits to Town for business, I reside there until after Michaelmas. Georgiana and I often visit the Fitzwilliam estate in Yorkshire until Christmas time, but last year, she desired to stay at Pemberley for reasons you may guess, and Bingley requested me to visit him. My business in London seldom takes so many weeks to complete and rarely needs my personal attention in the summer. Never fear, darling. I will not be abandoning you and leaving you alone at Pemberley frequently. As we have already discussed that you do not desire to stay long in Town next Season, I hope you will find Pemberley as enchanting and comforting as I do.
Your desire to learn about my family immensely pleases me. Georgiana is more than ten years my junior and the last of my immediate family. She has the Darcy height but is lighter in colouring, more like your eldest sister. Though little more than sixteen, she is graceful, perfectly unassuming, gentle, exceedingly shy, and desperately anxious to meet you. She has earnestly yearned for a sister to love for many years now and is delighted that I will marry such a worthy young lady. Our mother died soon after her birth, and my father never recovered from his grief. I was shortly away to Eton and then Cambridge and away from her often, much to my regret, but we have been very close since my father died five years ago.
My mother was quiet and shy. Although sister to Lady Catherine, she truly did not like attention. Father was everything amiable and benevolent. He was my uncle’s dearest friend and so he and my mother grew to love each other deeply over a long acquaintance. My mother’s death was very difficult for him, and I suppose he desired a lively distraction from his concerns and found companionship in Wickham.
Father died before I was able to learn from him as a man ought. My uncle, Lord Denchworth, has been my mentor. His father died when he was eight, and his mother when he was one and twenty. He was also left to care for a younger sister, my mother. He manages his estates extremely well, and I greatly admire his politics. He has always been a steadying force for me. His wife is a leading lady of the ton but affectionate and kind. I would be lost in raising Georgiana without her presence. They have four children. Richard you have met, and he is very much like his father. James, Lord Arlington, is their eldest son and lately married. Arlington serves as an MP for Yorkshire and is very active in Parliament, calling for reform. His wife is good-natured and affable. I have two younger Fitzwilliam cousins, Emilia and Alice, who are very close in age. They are near your age, warm-hearted, and often take pity on me at balls, attempting to save me from the ton’s more scheming ladies. I believe you three shall get on famously. My father’s younger brother died young and unmarried. My father’s sister lives in Kilkenny, and I have only visited her once.
You have asked me how I began to love you, and I must confess that I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun. I was a fool to dismiss your beauty at first sight, but the liveliness of your mind soon drew me. I was disgusted with the women who were always speaking, and looking, and thinking for my approbation alone. You roused, and interested me, because you are so unlike them.
It is much easier to explain when I realised the deep, abiding love I felt for you. I had accompanied Bingley to yet another ball. I had left Hertfordshire determined to forget you and had resigned myself to a marriage of duty and with little affection. Too soon, I realised what I believed was mere infatuation was the stirrings of love. For
weeks, I compared every young lady to you, but none of them met your standard. In the midst of this ball, while I danced with some lady I do not recall, I thought instead of dancing with you at Netherfield. I began to imagine marriage to you, a future with you. I had been careful not to ponder the thought before. But finally, I admitted to myself that I did not wish to deny myself true happiness and gave a loose rein to my fancy and indulged my imagination. I knew then I could never marry another, for you pierce my soul.
I know a young lady who once jested that poetry drives away love, that it is not the food of love; but rather everything nourishes a fine, stout, healthy love. I laughed at the jest then, but now I perceive truth in it, for I find that even our trials nourish my love for you.
Today, I find myself captivated by memories of your eyes. The poets cannot do them justice, but even still, these words are all I have:
If I could write the beauty of your eyes
And in fresh numbers number all your graces,
The age to come would say ‘This poet lies:
Such heavenly touches ne’er touch’d earthly faces.’
Drink to me, only with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine;
Or leave a kiss but in the cup,
And I’ll not look for wine.
The thirst, that from the soul doth rise,
Doth ask a drink divine:
But might I of Jove’s nectar sup,
I would not change for thine.
And to remind you of my constancy:
O my Luve’s like a red, red rose
That’s newly sprung in June;
O my Luve’s like the melodie
That’s sweetly play’d in tune.
As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I:
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a’ the seas gang dry:
Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi’ the sun:
I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o’ life shall run.
And fare thee well, my only Luve
And fare thee well, a while!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho’ it were ten thousand mile.
Yours in passionate fidelity and adoration,
F. Darcy
Elizabeth felt as though she could scarcely breathe after reading the depth of Darcy’s regard and admiration. After allowing a few moments to compose herself, she began to leaf through book. She soon came to the conclusion that Darcy recorded the lines in this journal while thinking of her over the course of their acquaintance. She perused his letter again and realised the loneliness from which he must have suffered. He appeared to have much of his mother’s personality, and she died when he was still young. The age difference between Darcy and Georgiana made Elizabeth wonder if his small family had faced other tragedies before the demise of their parents.
She perceived that she still had much unravelling to do to understand Darcy better, as he seemed unwilling to speak on the misfortunes he had faced. Nevertheless, she found his letter left her quite at peace. How fortunate this letter would arrive today, just as she found herself frustrated by their separation and jealous of his dance partners! As she closed her eyes and drifted off to a well-deserved slumber, she could imagine his rich baritone whispering his words of love as he held her tightly in his arms.
*****
Monday, May 11, 1812
Elizabeth had just returned from a walk when she was called into her father’s study. They had been spending less time together since her betrothal and his shameful treatment of Darcy. Her father had managed to treat Darcy better before he left for Pemberley, but she had finally been forced to see the full weight of her father’s deficiencies. She entered with some trepidation.
Her father looked up from his book and motioned for her to sit. “Lizzy, you have another letter from your Aunt Gardiner already. I collected it so no one would be confused as to why she writes out of turn.” He saw her eyes light up with unfettered joy at the early reply. He laughed at her.
When he did not hand over the letter directly, she looked at him with beseeching eyes and a hint of anxiety. “Do not fear me, child. Your Darcy has proven to be not as disagreeable as I once thought. I have seen him quietly work to earn your approbation, and he has been rising every day in my esteem. He has shown he is not some squeamish youth to be run off by our absurdities. Indeed, he has suffered many indignities, which his pride must abhor, for your sake. As this is the case, he deserves you. I could not have parted with you, my Lizzy, to anyone less worthy.” He paused a moment, then added, “And I am pleased to see that you like him.”
Elizabeth replied, with tears of relief in her eyes, “I do, I do like him!”
Laughing at her again, Mr. Bennet exclaimed, “I have been attempting to determine why you defended him so vehemently upon your arrival. And this is what I have found: Your sister is quite in love, and now you believe it is your turn! You never could stand to be long outdone by Jane. Although, I always did think you would find a less agreeable man than your sister would.”
Colour rushed into Elizabeth’s cheeks at the instantaneous conviction that struck her breast, and she found herself incapable of speech.
“But, Lizzy, you look as if you do not enjoy my jest. You are not going to be missish, I hope, and pretend to feel affronted. For what do we live but to make sport of our family and neighbours and laugh at them in our turn?”
“Oh!” cried Elizabeth. “I am excessively diverted.”
“Here is what makes it most amusing. Had we not all been so sure of his perfect indifference and your pointed dislike, then I would not have been so disbelieving earlier. It is so delightfully absurd!”
To this, his daughter replied only with a laugh. Elizabeth felt mortified that her father would tease her so for her supposed feelings. Worse still, she had not realised until this very moment that she already harboured a tender regard for Darcy. She had never been more at a loss to make her feelings appear what they were not. It was necessary to laugh when she would rather have cried at his treatment.
“I am happy to be the source of your amusement, but may I now have my letter?” Mr. Bennet willingly handed it over while still chuckling.
In the sanctuary of her room, Elizabeth attempted to calm her thoughts and cool her cheeks before reading Darcy’s latest letter. Do I truly love him? It is too soon, is it not? Elizabeth’s astonishment at the thought was beyond expression. She stared at her letter, coloured, doubted, and was silent. She truly could not, or perhaps would not, say. The discomposure of spirits, into which this extraordinary visit to her father’s library threw her, she could not easily overcome.
After many minutes, she turned her mind towards the account, earlier written in the newspaper, of Lady Catherine visiting Darcy House. From what Lady Catherine had said many weeks ago, Elizabeth entertained no hope that her ladyship’s arrival at Darcy’s home was anything but to apply to her nephew again for a dissolution of the engagement. She dared not pronounce how he might take such a representation after the last encounter she witnessed. So dearly did she wish he could have avoided a meeting with the woman he must now abominate and despise, who employed the man whose very name it was a punishment to pronounce. Her heart knew, however, that he would do this and much more for her, although she felt even her vanity was insufficient to understand such devotion.
In such a flutter of spirits, she began to read Darcy’s missive:
Darcy House, London
Friday, May 8
My beloved Elizabeth,
Something has occurred of a most unexpected and serious nature, but I am afraid of alarming you—be assured that I am well.
What I have to say relates to my aunt and cousins. Just as I finished penning my most recent letter to you, my aunt and Anne arrived quite unexpectedly. Lady Catherine was highly agitated, and rightly so, but with a false understanding. Anne
was very ill and weak, and I can scarce explain my aunt’s reasoning for bringing her to London in such a state, other than her determination that our betrothal was to blame. You know, however, that no such malady would strike Anne, as all her happiness resides with the colonel.
While I awaited the physician’s diagnosis, Richard and my uncle arrived. My aunt shortly came down in high dudgeon with the pronouncement of Anne’s illness. I must now mention a circumstance in which I feel no doubt of your secrecy. Anne is with child and quite ill, but the physician is certain, with rest and proper nourishment, she will shortly recover. Regard for Anne’s reputation and feelings, however, necessitate the immediate marriage of Anne and Richard. The ceremony will be on Monday, and we believe the announcement will appear in Wednesday’s paper. My aunt and cousin are to remain at Darcy House during the interim, under doctor’s orders, but I am residing with my uncle.
What I learnt next is more shocking. This is not the first patched-up marriage in my family. My maternal grandparents married after a sensational affair, and Lady Catherine herself is the product of the union, born mere months into the marriage.
When pressed, Lady Catherine acknowledged the whole of her long-standing designs against me and her employment of Wickham. She confessed that, between the scandal of her birth and the shame of her father’s licentious lifestyle, which left the family near ruin and hastened his early death, her pride could not suffer the added insult to ask for aid necessitated by her husband’s mismanagement of his estate and investments.
Lady Catherine begged my forgiveness, and although I once told you of my implacable resentment, you have taught me the value of forgiving. Accordingly, now I know a little more of her circumstances and history, I have resolved to show her due clemency, providing she makes amends for her past behaviour. I enclose in this letter an apology to you and your family by her ladyship’s hand.
Compromising Mr. Darcy: A Pride and Prejudice Variation Anthology Page 18
