by Robin Helm
I should never have given him a choice. I am surely doomed.
Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting; but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.
Proverbs 31:30
Darcy awaited Elizabeth’s visit with an excitement he refused to acknowledge. His feelings would not bear close examination.
He was thankful to be ill, and he could not fathom it, for he had never before embraced any perceived weakness in himself.
When she finally arrived, sat, and began to converse, he longed to know her better. Given the choice of Pope’s works, he decided to surprise her by choosing an early poem written by the man.
“The Rape of the Lock.”
Her face fell. “You jest, sir.”
You thought I would choose a long, serious essay which would have predicated a deep discussion, and very likely, resulted in further discord between us. I am in no mood for an argument with you, Elizabeth.
“Oh, no. I am perfectly serious,” he replied, unable to stop smiling.
“Very well.”
She cleared her throat and began to read aloud.
What dire offence from am'rous causes springs,
What mighty contests rise from trivial things,
I sing — This verse to Caryl, Muse! is due:
This, ev'n Belinda may vouchsafe to view:
Slight is the subject, but not so the praise,
If She inspire, and He approve my lays.
Say what strange motive, Goddess! could compel
A well-bred Lord t' assault a gentle Belle?
O say what stranger cause, yet unexplor'd,
Could make a gentle Belle reject a Lord?
In tasks so bold, can little men engage,
And in soft bosoms dwells such mighty Rage?
Elizabeth glanced up at him, speculation written on her face. “Why did you choose this poem?”
“What did you think I would choose? A boring, academic work? Something very dry and pedantic? Like me?”
She narrowed her eyes. “I refuse to judge you based on so short an acquaintance and very little information.”
He lifted his chin. Even though I judged you unfairly. We shall deal with that.
“You have never judged me? I thank you for your forbearance. You are a better person than I.” His smile was innocent. “I will admit that I have, from time to time, made statements based on first impressions, and those too quickly-formed opinions are occasionally wrong.”
“Only occasionally?” Elizabeth’s skeptical expression was not lost on the gentleman from Derbyshire.
Mr. Bingley made a choking sound behind them.
“Water,” he said in a strangled voice, waving a hand. “I need water.”
Coughing, he rose and left the room.
“Shall I continue?” asked Elizabeth.
“By all means, please do.”
“As you wish.”
She read quickly, soon arriving near the end of Canto III.
The Peer now spreads the glitt'ring Forfex wide,
T' inclose the Lock; now joins it, to divide.
Ev'n then, before the fatal engine clos'd,
A wretched Sylph too fondly interpos'd;
Fate urg'd the shears, and cut the Sylph in twain,
(But airy substance soon unites again)
The meeting points the sacred hair dissever
From the fair head, forever, and forever!
Then flash'd the living lightning from her eyes,
And screams of horror rend th' affrighted skies.
Not louder shrieks to pitying heav'n are cast,
When husbands, or when lapdogs breathe their last;
Or when rich China vessels fall'n from high,
In glitt'ring dust and painted fragments lie!
Darcy chuckled, and Elizabeth stopped reading.
“You are amused?” she asked, smiling.
“You are not?”
“Of course, I am. I simply wonder if we are entertained by the same things. Why do you laugh?”
I laugh because you enchant me. You make me happy. There. I admitted it, he thought.
Darcy gave her the full force of his complete attention. “Pope has perfectly captured the falseness of society. The gentleman cut a lock of Belinda’s hair to keep – a memento of the woman he loved. He did not hurt her or molest her in any way. He had no intention of offending her. It was improper, yes, as well as a liberty, but there was no harm done. Her hair would, after all, grow back rather quickly, yet she screamed as if he had stabbed her.”
Her voice was soft. “I feel certain you know the poem is based on a true event. The families remained estranged. It was not trivial to her relations, for they viewed it as symbolic of a loss of chastity and virtue.”
Darcy shook his head. “You are right, but I think Lord Petre would have married Miss Fermor. He was not a rake, and he made his admiration of her plain enough. However, she was a celebrated beauty who thought her looks were spoiled by his act.”
“I admit it was a storm in a teacup,” Elizabeth replied, “though he seemed to have recovered quickly. After all, he married a rich heiress a year later. I was sad, however, to learn that the gentleman died of smallpox a year after his marriage when he was but twenty-three years of age. He left his sixteen-year-old bride with child. A true tragedy. Do you not agree?”
He nodded solemnly. “I do. Arabella Fermor did not fare much better, for she allowed the notoriety of being the principal player in Pope’s farce to puff her up. Vanity working on a weak head produces every sort of mischief. She was known as a troublesome and conceited lady after The Rape of the Lock was published. I have never envied her husband. She was, by all accounts, very lovely, but she could not have been an easy companion. Beauty does not last forever.”
“And I have never had sympathy for the man,” said Elizabeth firmly. “Mr. Perkins got what he wanted – a wealthy, beautiful, high society wife. I have often wondered if he was pleased with his lot. A London belle, she married him and retired to the country to escape the humiliation of Town after the scandal. She used him. I would not wish to be married under those circumstances.”
The gentleman replied gently. “They both received what they wanted from marriage. That is the modern way, you know. Very few wealthy gentlemen or ladies marry for love.”
“Would you?” Her voice was a whisper as she glanced behind her.
Darcy looked puzzled. “Would I marry for love?”
“Yes.”
He raised his eyebrows. I have not thought of it. Would I want a woman to marry me for my wealth or station in life but not love me? I do not think so.
He shook his head. “I would not marry without it.”
“But you require more.”
Darcy observed the stubborn set of her jaw. You will not like my answer, but I will always be truthful with you.
“I have familial obligations which I cannot ignore.” He frowned. What an unusual conversation. “What of you? Would you marry a poor man for love?”
She sighed. “I have no thoughts of matrimony at all, Mr. Darcy. I refuse to marry unless my groom and I mutually love one another. From what I have seen in the world, with the exception of my Aunt and Uncle Gardiner, there are very few love matches.”
Elizabeth laughed. “Shall I make a good governess? Or perhaps a companion for an elderly lady? One widow might be easier to manage than six children.”
You will choose a life of servitude rather than marry a man who could provide you with comfort? You laugh, but you know you will have almost nothing when your father dies. You must not refuse an offer that could provide for your welfare. Your spirit will die in such cold confinement.
And yet, his heart wrenched within him at the thought of her married to another man.
The door opened, and they both looked towards the sound.
Mr. Bingley entered, followed closely by Mr. Beckett.
Elizabeth closed the book and rose to her feet. “I must go as well. J
ane asked not to be disturbed, for she wishes to sleep. Shall I see you both at dinner?”
“Most certainly,” answered Mr. Bingley. “We came to fetch you and make sure Darcy has everything he requires.”
I would rather she would eat with me, but I cannot detain her. Darcy stifled a yawn. “Perhaps you could bring me a tray after you dine, Bingley. I would like some tea for my throat.”
“I shall send something up with your man while we eat, for Beckett and I hope to hear Miss Elizabeth perform tonight. My sisters and brother will join us for dinner; Caroline and Louisa have already agreed to play for the party. We shall visit you again afterward.”
Elizabeth’s smile faded. “I think I must return to Jane after we dine, Mr. Bingley. I would not wish to leave her alone for too long. Your sisters are quite able to entertain you and Mr. Beckett.”
Darcy noticed Beckett’s expression. He seems to be disappointed. Did he look forward to an evening with Elizabeth?
He had never thought of Beckett as anything other than his physician. Now he studied the man’s face and figure. He is certainly handsome in a way that ladies would appreciate, and he was born a gentleman, though a second son. Odd that he refused a commission in the military or a vocation in the Church, instead choosing to be a physician.
The gentleman sighed. Without a doubt, Bingley’s sisters think he is worthy of their attentions. Otherwise, they would remain in their rooms.
Darcy took comfort in the knowledge that Elizabeth would return to her sister’s chambers following the meal.
She had the chance to spend the evening with Beckett, and she refused. He smirked.
The physician touched Elizabeth’s arm. “Miss Elizabeth,” he began earnestly, “I shall go with you to check on Miss Bennet after we dine. If she still sleeps soundly, will you agree to play for us? I have so looked forward to hearing you, for Bingley told me he has rarely heard anything else that pleased him so much.”
Elizabeth blushed and turned her face up to his with a sweet smile. “I do not enjoy performing in company, sir, but since you have so kindly looked after my sister, I will play for you if she still sleeps when our meal is over. ’Tis the very least I can do, for you have asked nothing else of us.”
Watching the scene play out, Darcy clenched his jaw.
The young physician held out his arm to her, and she accepted it.
As Mr. Beckett led her from the room, Mr. Bingley looked at Mr. Darcy and grinned.
“They make a lovely couple, do they not, Darcy?” he whispered before he followed them and closed the door. “He would be an excellent match for her.”
Darcy glared at the ceiling. Lovely, indeed. Perhaps she will not be in service after all. She will marry Beckett and have a dozen golden children, for he looks as if he loves her already. Why would he not?
The thought should have made him happy, for he truly wished Elizabeth to be loved by a good man and well set up in life.
I admit I want to be the good man she loves. I want to take care of her and our children. Our dark-haired, dark-eyed children, playing on the grounds at Pemberley. I would teach my sons to fish and ride and my daughters to gather flowers for their mother. I would take them into Lambton to meet the townspeople, like my father did Georgiana and me. They would gather around Elizabeth and me as we read them stories. I could push them in the swing that hangs from that big oak tree.
He mourned the children he would never have with her as he turned his face to the wall. Georgiana will marry and move away, and I will be alone.
Though Darcy knew Elizabeth was unsuitable for him in every way that mattered to his family, he longed to feel the silk of her thick hair sliding through his fingers, to bask in the warmth of her smile, to see her green eyes flash, to learn what interested her, and to share her secrets.
“I love her,” he whispered aloud, unable to suppress it any longer. “But I can never marry her.”
You are altogether beautiful, my darling. There is no flaw in you.
Song of Solomon 4:7
Elizabeth sat across the table from Thaddeus Beckett, who was flanked on either side by Mr. Bingley’s sisters. Mr. Hurst was to her right, and Mr. Bingley was at the head of the table to her left.
She found the arrangement very satisfying, as Mr. Hurst seldom spoke, preferring instead to drink and eat with great enthusiasm. Apart from answering the occasional question put to her by the other members of the party, she was at liberty to observe the scene unfolding before her.
Caroline Bingley was in fine form.
She leaned towards Mr. Beckett. “You have quite hidden yourself away, Mr. Beckett. I hope you will consider attending more social functions when you return to London. My brother knows many influential people. I am sure he would be happy to introduce you into Society, and if you attend a ball, I will make certain you have a partner for every dance.”
I had no idea I could be shocked by Miss Bingley, but it seems I was in error. Elizabeth took a spoonful of soup. She is positively predatory.
Mr. Bingley cleared his throat. “Caroline, Beckett has no need of my sponsorship. He eschews Society only because he wishes to do so. In fact, he could move in better circles than ours, should he desire it.”
Caroline’s eyes were round as she turned to the physician. “Are you a member of the peerage, sir?”
“I am the second son of the Duke of Ormonde,” he answered stiffly, placing his glass on the table.
“You are the mysterious Lord Thaddeus? Why do you not claim your heritage?” she asked.
“I do not wish to,” he said. “I am a commoner by law and a physician by choice. My profession gives me the means to help people. I would rather live a meaningful life than a dissolute one. Too many young men of my acquaintance have wasted themselves in idleness and dissipation. My mother always taught me, ‘Idle hands are the Devil’s workshop.’”
The lady gaped for a moment before she recovered enough to assume her practiced smile once more.
She looks like a fish. Elizabeth chuckled quietly. Jane would disapprove of my uncharitable thoughts. She attempted to keep her face from showing her mirth, though she knew her eyes most likely betrayed her merriment.
“Surely you cannot mean that all men should work,” said Miss Bingley. “If a gentleman is well established, why would he spend his time laboring? There are plenty of amusements available which are not decadent. My brother and Mr. Darcy do not engage in business.”
Mr. Bingley leaned forward in his chair. “Caroline, you go too far.”
Mr. Beckett smiled. “Do not distress yourself, Bingley.” He shifted his attention to Miss Bingley. “Of course, they work. Darcy has the oversight of the Pemberley estate. He must be a man of business to assure that the land provides a living for his family as well as his tenant families. From what I have observed, he takes that responsibility quite seriously. Your brother is seeking to buy an estate, and I think he shall follow Darcy’s example. If he does, he will have to work very hard indeed.”
He looked back at Bingley. “Do you not agree, sir?”
“You know that I do. You have heard my conversations with Darcy in London. I assure you he has no admiration for men who do not view land ownership as a grave duty. The lives of so many people depend upon the successful running of the estate.”
Elizabeth thought of her own situation. As her father and mother had produced no male heir, Longbourn would go to a cousin upon her father’s death. Her choices were quite limited, for her father had not earned enough from the estate to provide for her, her four sisters, and their mother.
“I must say I admire your ethics, gentlemen,” she said quietly. “Your concern for the tenants and families of an estate is commendable. I think you would be an excellent master, Mr. Beckett.”
The gentleman looked her squarely in the eyes. “I hope I am.”
“In the future?” asked Elizabeth.
He bit his lower lip for a moment. “No, now. I hope I am a good master presently.”
/> Miss Bingley raised her eyebrows. “You already own an estate?”
Elizabeth lowered her eyes. The hound has scented the fox. Run, Mr. Beckett!
Mr. Beckett nodded. “It is not generally known, but I inherited an estate in Suffolk from my maternal grandmother. She felt that my elder brother was already adequately provided for, so she left her land, home, and fortune to me. If I were given a choice, I would rather my grandmother were still alive rather than have Beltham.”
“How do you handle both the management of your estate and your profession at the same time?” asked Miss Bingley. “You must never have a spare moment.”
Mr. Bingley shook his head. “Caroline! Have you not pried into Beckett’s affairs enough already?”
Holding up a hand, Mr. Beckett replied, “Bingley, as I am the one who brought up my ownership of an estate, I have no problem answering your sister’s questions.”
He dropped his hand to his lap, shifting his blue gaze to Elizabeth. “I employ both an estate manager and a man of affairs, and I visit Beltham at least twice each month to inspect the books, as well as the property. Since my eldest sister is widowed, she and her children live there, and she handles the staff. As for my profession, I have a partner. When I am not in Town, he sees my patients if they are ill. I do the same for him when he is gone.”
Miss Bingley looked from him to Elizabeth, her mouth set in a thin line. After a moment, she stared at her. “How is your sister, Miss Elizabeth? I am sure you are quite eager to return to Longbourn. You must miss your family exceedingly.”
“I am enduring it as best I can, Miss Bingley. Thank you for your concern, but my sister is still too ill to be moved. I look to Mr. Jones and Mr. Beckett to tell me when she is well enough.”
“Miss Elizabeth has four sisters, all unmarried, and the estate is entailed away upon a cousin. Is that not right, Miss Elizabeth?” Caroline Bingley looked triumphantly at her perceived rival.
Elizabeth closed her eyes for a moment. Before she opened them again, she attempted to assume an expression of serenity. “Yes, Miss Bingley. You are correct. When my father is dead, Mr. Collins may turn us out as soon as he pleases. We must depend upon God to provide for us.”
