by J Dawn King
Mrs. Bennet grabbed the note, a look of satisfaction on her face. Smoothing the paper, she held it close to her eyes. Then she pulled it closer.
“What is this?” She demanded to no one in particular. “What foolishness is this?”
Thrusting the paper away, Lydia grabbed it and ran from Kitty’s reach, holding the parchment high above her head. She was a tall girl, so Kitty would find it impossible to retrieve it.
“Sisters!” Jane attempted to stop them. To no avail.
Looking up at the parchment, Lydia stopped in her tracks.
“Because…,” she read aloud.
“Because, what?” asked Kitty.
Mrs. Bennet waved her hand. “Because nothing, I imagine.”
All the females, including Jane and Mary looked to Elizabeth. She raised her shoulders in a shrug.
Standing, she snatched the parchment from Lydia after she had dropped her arms and folded it carefully.
Her father enjoyed the study of characters. His raised eyebrow indicated his interest in this unusual happenstance. Without saying a word, he walked to his study, and she followed closely behind him.
“Mr. Darcy? How could this be possible? I thought you hated him, Lizzy.”
Elizabeth understood his incredulity. She wished she could take back the many negative comments she had made about him after the fateful assembly at Meryton— comments of derision and disdain for his pricking her vanity and pride. They had applied to the man she thought she knew then. They were exceedingly harsh for the qualities she knew he possessed now.
“He loves me.”
“Has he offered for you, child?”
She dipped her head and twisted her fingers together tightly.
“He has.”
“So you are engaged? He will be coming to see me soon?”
“No, Papa. I refused him.”
“Oh?”
Elizabeth looked into the warm eyes of the one man she had trusted beyond all others for the majority of her life. She saw pride in her decision to reject a great man’s proposal. She also saw confusion. She needed to help her parent understand.
“Papa. It was not until after Mr. Darcy and I argued, vehemently, I might add, that I became aware of outstanding qualities he has possessed from the beginning of our acquaintance. Until then, he kept them hidden. Oh, not from pride or arrogance, mind you. For protection, I believe.”
“You believe? Hmmm.”
“Yes. You see, he has much to draw the eyes of fortune hunters, people who constantly attempt to use his fortune and his good name for their own advancement. Mr. Wickham was such a character.”
“The Lieutenant has been banned from Longbourn, Lizzy. Your note, and that of Mr. Darcy’s, gave enough proof that a subtle investigation among the merchants proved he was not honourable.”
“No, he is far from honourable.” She was relieved to hear the news. “But Mr. Darcy is everything a gentleman should be. He diligently cares for those under his authority and…Papa, he is witty and wise. He loves a laugh and enjoys books and being out of doors and…”
“You love him, then?” His voice was soft and slightly pained.
“I know not.”
“Elizabeth Anne Bennet.” She lifted her eyes to her father. He rarely used her full name. “Are you being dishonest with yourself? Is your heart attached to him while your pride refuses to admit it?”
The questions stunned her, causing her to fall back into the padding of the over-stuffed chair.
“I…I…” She swallowed. “I asked him to keep away from Longbourn for the next month so I can give consideration to whether or not his suit would be acceptable to me. He has a temper and, as you are well aware, I have mine. We are two individuals of strong opinions, and I need to know if, because I would be mistress rather than the master, if he would continually insist on having his way. I cannot imagine being anything other than an involved partner in my home. If not, I would rather never marry. I do not want to start on a course I have no intention of finishing.”
“I see.”
“You do?”
“Yes, my Lizzy. Pray understand, this is the same dilemma every couple faces. Even amiable Mr. Bingley and our sweet Jane, should the circumstances arise, will need to make this same examination if they are wise.” Mr. Bennet drew his daughter to his side, wrapping his arm across her shoulders. “Think of the vows, Lizzy. For better or worse. Does not this imply that in every marriage there will be those occasions when a couple will be against one another?”
At her nod, he continued.
“Does it appear to be a bad thing to you?”
“It does,” she whispered.
“Well, it is not.” His sharp tone brooked no argument.
She was surprised at his firmness. “How can that be?”
“Overcoming difficulties and obstacles in a marriage strengthens the bond like nothing else could ever do, my daughter. Learning to work together, you become a force no person outside your marriage or event can bend or break. There is nothing so wonderful when you have confidence in your mate.”
“But, Papa.”
“You silly goose. Are you thinking your mama and I are unlike my descriptions, for you would be wrong if you did so.”
“How can it be?” She had no right to ask something so personal, even of her father, but she had to know.
“Lizzy, the greatest obstacle in our marriage has been the entail on our home. The thought of losing it has long tormented your mother. Since I cannot do anything to change our circumstances, I allow her to express her concerns as often as she feels she needs to. Yet, we determined together after the birth of Lydia that, in spite of the eventual loss of Longbourn, there would be a standard for those whom we would accept as husbands for our daughters. You would not be married to any Farmer Ted or to a man who did not love you for the sake of protecting the future of your remaining family.”
“Then why did Mama desire me to marry Mr. Collins? Was it not to secure Longbourn?”
Mr. Bennet snickered. “Not at all. Everyone, with the exception of you, saw the way my cousin looked at you. He would have been fully devoted to your care.”
After seeing the way Mr. Collins cherished Charlotte, Elizabeth now knew it to be true.
“Papa, I have long been proud of my intelligence. Do I know anything?”
He hugged her tighter.
“You are figuring it out, my dear, just as you will figure out what to do about your young man in the next thirty days. Of this I have no doubt.”
“What am I to do, Papa?”
He chuckled.
“I believe your heart already knows the answer, Lizzy.”
She sighed.
By the tenth day, Mr. Bingley and Jane were an engaged couple while Elizabeth was beginning to fill a special compartment in her treasure box with small daily mementos from Mr. Darcy. She had pressed the daisies between paper in hopes of them lasting, but outlined them as a drawing just in case. The note and the flower were added to each day by a variety of imaginative gifts and a piece of paper with only one word written upon it.
Day one’s ‘because’ had become ‘because of you, my dearest, loveliest Elizabeth, I want to’. She speculated long and hard as each note arrived by the time she sat down to break her fast. The two men must have left London at day break to greet her each morning as she returned from her stroll. ‘I want to’, what? I want to marry you? I want to become your husband? I want to join a circus and hang from the heights? She blew out her breath in frustration, wishing she had not devised such a plan.
The token collection included the pretty paper wrapping from the chocolate delivered on day two, a piece of yellow ribbon, a narcissus, an old button, a daffodil, a poem, a lovely sage green scarf, and strawberries, of which she ate and then drew a picture. Only this morning, there was no token along with the note. The treasure was tucked inside. A dark brown curl. She had stroked it and even held it up to her cheek in some sort of feminine ritual she would have gues
sed was below her. It was not.
Her curiosity was piqued, and the daily delivery became the focal point of her whole existence. She had seriously underestimated Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, so she needed to remain firm. Vigilant. She laughed at herself. Her heart was melting rapidly as the man’s affection filled every crevice. Never before had she felt the risk of falling deeply and irreversibly in love.
By day twenty, the notes said, ‘because of you, my dearest, loveliest Elizabeth, I want to be a better man. You are my heart. You are’. I am, what? I am a shrew for making him wait so long to know my feelings? Yet, how can I tell him when doubts as to his ability to accept me as his partner continue to plague me? In truth, Darcy was a great man— the most important man to have entered Meryton in her lifetime. His demeanor proclaimed his comfort with being in charge, even more so than Colonel Fitzwilliam or Colonel Forster of the militia. Would she bend to his rule? Ha! Never! Yet, had he ever indicated it was what he wanted from her? Even his actions at the Hunsford inn where he overruled her plans for London had been for her protection and care. She knew that now. Therefore, in all honesty, she had to answer, ‘No’.
Sorting through the wooden box, she carefully laid out the tokens from day eleven up to the one which had arrived that morning, a lovely linen handkerchief with the letter “D” embroidered in the corner. A picture of a robin redbreast trying to capture an elusive worm joined a piece of Belgium lace, a smooth flat stone similar to the ones skipped across the water in the glen, a paper cutout of a red heart, a miniature version of a man’s leather glove for the right hand, a drawing of a kitten, a beautifully written sonnet, a sash of deep green, and one pearl hairpin.
Elizabeth fingered the glove and inherently knew it had been his, as had been the button. He would not have given her his sister’s hairpin as that would not have been sensible. She sucked in her breath. It was his mother’s.
Not only had he considered her favourite flowers from the glen at Rosings along with the stone so she would recapture the magic of the emotions the morning after the proposal, he was plying her with fragments of his life so she would get to know him better.
You are my heart. You are…” He already was a far better man than she had thought him upon first acquaintance. Honesty begged her to remember he had always been this way. Her outlook and opinion was changing daily.
The first of May had come and gone, and Elizabeth’s notes were almost complete. To her calculation there were only four left. “Because of you, my dearest, loveliest Elizabeth, I want to be a better man. You are my heart. You are my soul. You are my love.” What else could he possibly say? Four days. Four words.
All day, and most of the night, she pondered his message and the man sending them. She sighed. Perhaps her father was correct. Her heart had already made her decision. Her doubt was shrinking to the size of a pea and she wondered at her stubbornness. Why would she not capitulate? Why?
On day twenty-seven, the tokens changed dramatically. Going from a map of Derbyshire, a drawing of a playful puppy, a lovely pale green shawl, a rose, a piece of blue glass, and a key was a heavy tome discussing every military strategy known to mankind. Why would he send her such an item? Was it in reference to his military metaphor? She could only imagine it was so.
The next day she received a piece of shot used by a pistol. What could he possibly mean? Her curiosity was at its highest, and she could ask no one. Only Mr. Darcy could explain his thinking and, because of her restrictions, he was not available.
Mr. Bingley interrupted her contemplation.
“I thought you would like to know, Miss Elizabeth. My friend Darcy will be arriving in two days. My hope is to have an engagement dinner for Jane and myself at Netherfield Park on the evening of his return to Hertfordshire. Since he will be standing up with me, I decided to wait until he was present for the celebration. When last in company, I understood you did not get on well with the gentleman. I hope you are able to overlook his manner and attend with comfort.”
“For a certainty, I will be pleased to celebrate your betrothal to my favourite sister.” She smiled to herself. With the exception of her father, no one, not even Jane, knew who was sending the notes. Jane was easily distracted by the mere mention of her intended’s name and the other girls and her mother had immediately lost interest when they realised they did not get notes as well.
Elizabeth greatly anticipated seeing Darcy again. Would he be proud of having stirred her to such heights of emotion? Please with himself for having played the game well? Or would he simply wonder if his efforts had been successful? She would have to wait to find out.
Day twenty-nine added a small shield from a child’s army play set. It was gaudily adorned with gold and red paint which had been rubbed off on the edges from hours and hours of activity. She smiled, looked up, and caught sight of herself in the mirror. She was unsurprised at the dreamy look in her eyes. Had William used this very piece against his cousin in the nursery? Never could Elizabeth recall sighing with such fervor.
Finally, the last day arrived. Elizabeth had not been able to sleep the whole of the night before. The contents of the twenty-nine notes went around and around and around in her mind. “Because of you, my dearest, loveliest Elizabeth, I want to be a better man. You are my heart. You are my soul. You are my love. You are my…”
As she reflected on the past month, a tear found its way down her cheek. She loved him. She had no doubts of the contents of her heart. Yet that one small fear, though minuscule, was powerful. What would his note say today? Would it allay her concerns that he would always need to be in charge? How could that even be possible with only one word remaining?
Dressing with care, she placed all the tokens in her box along with the twenty-nine pieces of paper. Tucked underneath were the four letters he had written her in Kent. Closing the lid, she recognized that not even the crown jewels of England’s rulers were as valuable as what her treasure case contained. Tenderly, she ran her hand over the surface. Yes, better than diamonds.
In the background of her thoughts, she became aware of Hill opening the front door. The two men were here. The final day. “You are my…” Without restraint, she skipped down the stairs coming to a complete stop. It was not the soldier and the servant.
Mr. Darcy, the handsomest man on the globe, the most wonderful, blessed sight she could possibly gaze upon, stood just inside the doorway, wearing his most solemn expression. In his right hand was the final piece to his puzzle.
Elizabeth held her breath. Mrs. Hill left the entrance hall, leaving them alone, the two standing close but seeming so far apart.
“Miss Elizabeth.” He bowed formally.
“Mr. Darcy.” She curtsied deeply.
“Would you do me the honour of reading this, I pray you.” He handed her the note, keeping the token in his hand.
“I will.”
She opened the note, put her hands to her cheeks, and sobbed. “Equal. You are my equal.”
Elizabeth closed her eyes, trying to stop the tears. The last morsel, her final concern was gone. Vanquished in one word. He had given her all his weapons. He had already conceded the victory to her, and she finally saw the last few days as they truly were. Her fears had been in vain.
Reaching up so the tips of his fingers traced the path from the corner of her eye to her chin, he plainly stated. “I love you, Elizabeth, and I always will.”
“And I love you dearly, William.” She melted into his arms, finally finding the peace which had been elusive for so long. As his lips met hers— or hers met his, she had no clue which— she knew there was no other place on earth she would rather be.
Mr. Bennet cleared his throat for what must have been the third time before the couple separated. Nevertheless, they paid him no heed.
Darcy knelt on his right knee.
“Marry me?”
“Yes,” was her immediate response.
The young man stood quickly and grabbed Elizabeth around the waist, swinging her in circles
, wearing a smile so wide Mr. Bennet thought Mr. Darcy’s cheeks might burst.
Mr. Bennet decided it was not the time to interfere, so stepped back inside his study. Darcy would come to see him soon enough. His Lizzy was getting a man worthy of her. He was pleased for his daughter, but suspected not nearly as pleased as she was at the moment.
“Will you wear my final token? My mother wore this at her engagement to my father.” Before she could agree, he slipped the sapphire ring on the third finger of her left hand.
Elizabeth smiled at him, and his heart was full.
“I believe I shall need to watch out for you, my dear man. You have proven that your ability to scheme against me is unparalleled.”
“Against you?” he scoffed. “I hardly think so. I schemed for you.”
“And I am grateful you did.”
The rest of the day was spent as young lovers do: making arrangements and decisions as to where and when the marriage would take place, and informing the others after gaining Mr. Bennet’s permission and blessing.
That evening, after dinner and entertainments at Netherfield Park, Darcy escorted his betrothed to the waiting carriage.
“Soon, you shall not be leaving me alone at the end of the evening.” He wanted to sigh at the impending loss of her good company.
“Shall you not tire of me, sir?”
In the light of the moon he could see the twinkle in her eye, and his heart filled with joy.
“Never.” He brought her hand to his mouth and quickly kissed the back of it.
“I believe we will get on well, William,” she breathed to him quietly so the others could not hear.
“For a certainty, we will. The Darcys will be reputed to be models of decorum, always doing what is correct.”
“Even Mrs. Darcy?” Her voice was filled with laughter.
“Especially Mrs. Darcy.” At that, he pulled something from his pocket and dropped it into her own. When the fabric of her dress moved against the object, she heard the familiar sound of crinkling parchment. A letter.
