by Jennifer Joy
Which left only Elizabeth. The second daughter. The one Mother did not know what to think of half the time, but for whom she held high hopes anyway.
Elizabeth turned to face Mother and received a rare smile of approval. Approval because Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire had shown an interest in her. And surely that must count for something. Over the past few weeks, Elizabeth had felt her mother’s esteem toward her increase, as her possibility of marrying better than she had believed her most obstinate daughter capable of … grew.
To be sure, capturing the attention of Mr. Darcy had come as a surprise to Elizabeth as well. Not long ago, she had despised him. And she had assumed he held her in no tender regard. How wrong she had been — on all accounts!
Elizabeth sighed in an attempt to hide her eagerness as she stared out over the rolling, empty fields. When would Mr. Darcy return? The past fourteen days had felt like an eternity. Had time and distance dulled his affection?
Now, as they swayed on their squeaky carriage seats into Meryton, Elizabeth searched through the glass window for a rider with unruly hair curling under his beaver hat, his wide shoulders filling out his ebony greatcoat, and his perfectly fitted buckskin breeches meeting with polished Hessian boots. Mr. Darcy should be returning soon. He had said he would not be away longer than a fortnight.
Mother somehow knew the direction of her thoughts and how they had held fast to the image of Mr. Darcy’s breeches stretching over his perfectly formed thighs. Her unwavering gaze and knowing smile made Elizabeth want to squirm in her seat and blush to the shade of a tomato. When her mind’s eye traveled up Mr. Darcy’s frame, past his square chin to his disarming smile, Elizabeth resorted to a tactic which had served her well when she most needed to control her contemplations. She thought of Mr. Collins. Like a bucket of cold water dumped over her head, the results were immediate. Her skin cooled, her pulse slowed, and, more importantly, she was able to meet Mother’s look with feigned indifference. Or so Elizabeth chose to believe.
“Jane, has Mr. Bingley given any indication as to when he expects Mr. Darcy to return?” asked Mother.
So much for that. Time and again, Mother had proved herself to possess disturbingly accurate insight where the futures of her daughters were concerned. Unfortunately for Elizabeth, Mother’s attention was distracted before Jane could give an answer.
“I do not suppose he mentioned his dashing cousin, did he? Colonel Fitzwilliam is not as handsome as Mr. Darcy, but I have no doubt he would make an excellent match for one of my girls.” Mother’s eyes passed over Mary to land on Lydia, who rolled her eyes and crossed her arms defiantly.
“You just wait and see. I will marry the handsomest, richest, and most devoted man and you will all be jealous,” Lydia mumbled, once again practicing her pout.
“Much better, dear,” Mother complimented Lydia, patting her hands approvingly.
Lydia’s studies in the art of flirting were not nearly as important as the question burning in Elizabeth’s being. When would Mr. Darcy return? She tried not to fidget as her patience failed her abysmally. Jane was too polite to interrupt, but her frequent glimpses between Mother and Elizabeth communicated that she did indeed know something worth repeating — thus adding to Elizabeth’s anxiety.
Mother continued patting the hands Lydia clutched together in her skirts. “That is all well and good, Lydia, but I hope you would have enough sense to accept an offer from Colonel Fitzwilliam if he were to ask.”
Kitty, now an expert on acquiring declarations from eligible gentlemen, said, “The colonel is not as handsome as my Mr. Denny, but I heard he has ascended in rank based on his own merits. He would want a sensible wife to assist him in his ambitions.”
Mother tapped her chin and declared, “On the other hand, the colonel might prefer somberness to joviality.” This time, her eyes fixed on Mary.
Mary’s face blanched. “I am certain he would not. However,” she added with a flicker of a glance at Elizabeth, “I, too, admit to a healthy curiosity about his and Mr. Darcy’s return.”
Elizabeth smiled at Mary’s thoughtfulness. She observed much more than she let on, and it came as no surprise she understood Elizabeth’s growing need to hear some news — any news! — about Mr. Darcy. Was it becoming easier for him to stay away from Hertfordshire? Would he come back for her? She had promised him nothing. Only hope. Hope she might be able to love him.
It had been a bold request, she knew. Men like Mr. Darcy were unaccustomed to waiting when their minds were made up. Then again, Elizabeth was learning that Mr. Darcy was not like most men….
Jane was finally able to answer. “Mr. Bingley has only said that he expects Mr. Darcy to return with his cousin soon. He did, however, say that while the precise moment of their return is uncertain, he felt confident in reassuring all who ask that Mr. Darcy’s word is not one to be compromised. He has already prepared rooms for the gentlemen.”
“They will return to Netherfield Park? Oh, how wonderful! That will make the arranging of dinner parties much more convenient for Mr. Bingley…” Mother’s sentence trailed off unfinished, leaving behind a wake of optimistic anticipation.
Elizabeth secretly hoped Mr. Darcy would stay at Mr. Tanner’s inn. They had only recently discovered their familial ties and it would be a pity to separate them. And then there were the other house guests at Netherfield Park. Miss Bingley and her odious sister, Mrs. Hurst, had returned as soon as Mr. Wickham’s murderer had been captured. While Elizabeth was secure in her possession of Mr. Darcy’s regard where Miss Bingley was concerned, she did not appreciate her or her sister’s disparaging remarks toward her family.
Kitty, whose concentration was greatly limited to thoughts of her own upcoming wedding, clapped her hands together. “Oh, I do hope Mrs. Burk received the order of lace in time. It will be the perfect finishing touch to my gown, and I do so want to look beautiful for Mr. Denny on our wedding day.”
Lydia, who had believed herself to be the object of Mr. Denny’s affection, scowled in her corner of the carriage.
Mother squealed in delight. “The first wedding in our family! And I had always supposed my Lydia would be the first of my girls to wed.”
Poor Lydia. Though she crumpled her face like a toddler sucking on a lemon, Elizabeth pitied her. Lydia’s vanity (her most cherished feature) had been insulted when a handsome officer dared prefer Kitty over her, and Mother’s thoughtless comments only poured vinegar on her open wound.
Mother and Kitty babbled on about the upcoming ceremony and the wedding feast to be arranged afterward. It would be a simple affair, as the militia was to depart from Meryton two days hence — a dreadful inconvenience to Mother, but one which did not diminish her joy in having a daughter marry.
The sun reflecting off the glass blinded Elizabeth as they turned a bend and Meryton spread out before them. They would go to the haberdasher’s before proceeding to Aunt Philips’ to exchange gossip and plan Kitty’s wedding feast over tea cakes.
The carriage slowed to a stop and, one by one, they entered Mrs. Burk’s haberdashery, home of the circulating library and every frippery imaginable for a lady’s home and person (much to the consternation of the modiste and milliner who could not compete with Mrs. Burk’s lower prices). Elizabeth was anxious to see if any new books had arrived. There was nothing better than a book to pass the time.
They were not the only ladies enticed out of their homes by the sunshine and dry roads.
A gathering of ladies — like a gaggle of geese, Elizabeth thought wickedly — of varied stations hovered around Mrs. Burk at the counter. Lady Lucas stood next to Mrs. Thorne, the vicar’s wife. Elizabeth regretted her goose thought when she saw them, but it was fleeting since the rest of the ladies fit the description appropriately. Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst stood together slightly to the side — clearly a part of the group, but much too good for it. They would waddle with astounding speed to gobble up any crumb said against their competition. The modiste and the
milliner’s wife stepped away from Mother and toward Mrs. Burk, refusing to look up from the tips of their slippers. What truce had the shopkeepers made with each other so that they would not only be seen in each other’s company, but seek refuge in their enemy’s shop?
“Good afternoon, ladies,” greeted Mother, no doubt assuming she would be welcomed by the group assembled. Elizabeth could see otherwise plainly on their pinched faces.
Lady Lucas looked longingly down the hall behind the counter and sighed.
Miss Bingley sneered as if Mother had unwittingly stepped in a pile of fresh manure.
After long seconds of uncomfortable silence, Lady Lucas had the grace to step forward. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Bennet. I hope you are well?”
“It is difficult to be otherwise when the weather has been so favorable. I have no doubt it shall continue through Kitty’s wedding. We have been blessed much of late, what with her engagement to a handsome officer and all. And have I mentioned that Jane is very soon to be engaged?”
Her presumptuous comment elicited gasps from Mr. Bingley’s sisters, as well as a fierce blush to Jane’s cheeks.
Mother, oblivious to anything which did not add to her pleasure, continued, “I will not reveal the name aloud, but no doubt you have noticed how another gentleman in possession of a large estate — and a fortune to support it — has bestowed his attention on my Lizzy.”
Interesting how all of a sudden Elizabeth, Mother’s least favorite daughter, should now be “my Lizzy.” Elizabeth would have been mortified had the reaction on Miss Bingley’s face not been so impressive. If looks could kill, Miss Bingley would have glared Mother down in one batting of her stubby eyelashes.
Mrs. Thorne, ever the peace-maker, took it upon herself to intervene before Mother could offend anyone further or cause Miss Bingley to suffer an apoplexy. Her warm, brown eyes full of understanding toward both the offended and the offender, the vicar’s wife took Mother’s arm and steered her away from the brood of ladies toward the rainbow-colored assortment of ribbons dangling over the far end of the counter. “You do provoke the ladies sometimes, Mrs. Bennet. You ought to take greater care lest you cause offense.”
Her plea met against an unabashed stone wall. “My dear Mrs. Thorne, all mothers should occupy themselves in the prospects of their daughters. It is not my fault if others have failed where I have succeeded. You are an exception, of course, Mrs. Thorne.”
That brought a smile to Mrs. Thorne’s face. “Next week will be ten years since the vicar and I married.”
“And what a blessing for you to marry at an age most would consider firmly on the shelf.”
Mrs. Thorne’s smile faded with a long-suffering sigh. “What a relief it must be to you as a mother with five, lovely daughters of marriageable age to have met with a measure of success. I daresay the frequent tribulation you suffer from your nerves is much improved as a result?”
Having touched on one of Mother’s favorite subjects — that of her poor nerves — Elizabeth watched her regale Mrs. Thorne with a lively account of the greatest thorn in her flesh while the remaining ladies sneaked behind Mrs. Burk’s counter, each casting irritated glances over their shoulders toward Mother before they went along the hall to a small parlor where Mrs. Burk took her tea and invited her usual acquaintances (of whom the majority of the ladies joining her that morning were most decidedly not) over to pass the time in gossip and embroidery. It was an odd sight.
When Elizabeth saw Mrs. Burk slip away, leaving her husband to attend to their customers, the scene disturbed her even more. What a strange assortment of ladies. What could they possibly have in common? Elizabeth would have asked Mrs. Thorne, but she did not think it wise to do so when her mother could overhear. If the ladies had met together to exchange gossip, Mother would invite herself where she clearly was not welcome.
Making her way over to a cushioned chair surrounded by ostrich feathers and other fluffy fripperies in a secluded corner, Elizabeth sank into the seat and looked out of the window opposite her, hoping to see him riding by. The marble mantle clock on the shelf behind her struck the elapsing of another hour with a trilling chime. It was a pleasant tune, but the joy it brought was short-lived. Each passing day had grown longer than the previous, and Elizabeth found it ironic that the very thing she had wished most from Mr. Darcy was the very thing with which she now grew impatient. Time.
The closer they rode to Meryton, the more difficult conversation became as the portrait in Darcy’s mind of Miss Elizabeth was soon to become reality. Her fine eyes were so much more vibrant and expressive in reality than in his dreams. Two weeks had been an eternity and he vowed to himself never to part from her company for such an extended time again.
His horse pulled against the bit, responding to Darcy’s impatience. Had he not been convinced of the sincerity of Miss Elizabeth’s character (after all, her values were similar to his own) he never would have endured the suffering of separation.
His cousin Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam shook his head and chuckled. “The two of you are a pretty pair. Control your emotions and you will gain control of your mount.”
It stung Darcy’s pride to receive instructions in equestrianism from his cousin, but Richard was right. Of course, Richard had not had much opportunity to know Miss Elizabeth. He had not witnessed her strength of character, her dazzling wit, her indefatigable loyalty, or her humor under adversity. Richard would soon understand his reasons for wishing to hasten their return to Meryton. As well as their stop in London — unnecessary, but entirely worth the sparkle it would bring to Miss Elizabeth’s fine eyes.
Slowing their stallions to a walk as they passed the vicarage leading into the village, Darcy pulled out his pocket watch for the tenth time in the past hour. It was entirely within the realms of possibility for Miss Elizabeth to have walked into Meryton on this fine day. She often did so.
They rode by the post office, approaching the haberdashery toward the stables. His groom, who had accompanied them from London, nodded at the stable owner. Darcy looked across the square and to the corner where Miss Elizabeth’s Aunt Philips resided. Was she visiting her aunt? Pity he could see nothing through the windows.
A bell tingled from the doorway beside him and he sensed her. The disinterested manners he had trained himself to adopt told him to temper his smile. Blast it all! With a wide grin, he turned his horse, leapt to the ground, and doffed his beaver hat before Richard could turn his horse.
Miss Elizabeth looked every bit as pleased to see him as he felt on seeing her, and his heart soared at the knowledge of her delight clearly expressed on her resplendent countenance.
