Implacable Resentment

by Jann Rowland

  Before Mrs. Bennet could begin to berate her for her own role in the debacle, Elizabeth decided that she had no need of any further sustenance and rose to excuse herself.

  “I have not given you permission to leave the table, Elizabeth,” said Mrs. Bennet, her tone all that was insolent and petulant.

  But Elizabeth was not of a mind to pay any heed to her mother. “And yet I will return to my room, mother. I believe that I should prefer to eschew my supper altogether than to sit here and listen to you berate me for something I cannot even remember.”

  “You will sit!” shrieked Mrs. Bennet.

  “I suggest you prevail upon my father to make me return, as otherwise, I shall not.”

  And with that, Elizabeth left the room and climbed the stairs. Unsurprisingly, her mother, though she screamed after her, did not take the matter to her husband. Elizabeth had to credit her with some small measure of insight, for she could not imagine any situation in which Mr. Bennet would force Elizabeth to bend to his will. She doubted he gave three straws as to whether she stayed in the dining room that evening, particularly when he had not done so himself.

  The more pressing problem, Elizabeth thought when she had reached the sanctuary of her room, was divining the meaning of her father’s words. It was almost as if he was giving them all notice of his imminent passing, though Elizabeth could not detect anything which suggested that he was ill or about to expire. It could merely be another of the games he often played with his wife; it would be just like him to tweak her nose.

  Elizabeth was tempted to attribute the matter to simple teasing, but she could not be certain. It was a fine kettle of fish, and though Elizabeth willed it to be otherwise, she could not completely suppress that old feeling of guilt which crept its way up into her breast.

  She had a long night ahead of her with nothing but her own thoughts to keep her company, as even Jane did not risk her mother’s displeasure by joining her in her room.

  By the next morning, things had calmed down considerably in the Bennet household. Though Mrs. Bennet was every bit as fearful of the words her husband had spoken the previous night, it seemed as if sleep had allowed her to view the matter with a kind of fatalistic acceptance. She still bemoaned her fate, but she also spoke of ensuring that the visiting man would be given every possible courtesy, all in the hopes of inducing him to be merciful on her when the time came that he should become the master of the estate.

  Wishing to escape from the house, Elizabeth readily acquiesced when Jane suggested that they walk into Meryton that morning, as did the rest of her sisters. It seemed that even Lydia and Catherine had grown tired of their mother’s never-ceasing discussion of the topic of Mr. Collins. Of course, Elizabeth suspected that the opportunity to see and be seen by the officers, who were still a fixture in Meryton, played no small part in their eagerness to accede to the scheme.

  By the time they reached Meryton, Elizabeth had grown tired of their constant chatter, and mindful of the previous scene which had ensued when she had tried to check their behavior, she allowed Catherine and Lydia to go their own way at the first sign of a red coat. Mary also left on her own errand, leaving Jane and Elizabeth together in the street.

  “Is there a particular shop you would like to visit, Lizzy?” asked Jane as soon as their sisters had departed.

  “The bookstore perhaps,” replied Elizabeth, smiling at her elder sister. “And perhaps also the milliners and the confectioners?”

  Jane laughed, by now understanding Elizabeth’s penchant for the written word. “I shall not allow you to bury yourself in the bookstore while I wait for you, sister,” said she, though her stern tone was belied by the grin suffusing her face.

  “I promise you that I shall not,” replied Elizabeth in like manner. “But you must allow me some time to look through Mr. Clarke’s wares. I am very much in need of new reading material.”

  “And I shall certainly let you have the opportunity,” said Jane. She began walking, tugging Elizabeth’s hand and leading her forward. “But the milliner’s is closer. Let us visit there first, and then we may proceed to the bookstore.”

  They spent an enjoyable time together, looking at ribbons and bonnets and fabrics in the milliners’ shop. When they left with a few ribbons each, Elizabeth thought privately that the time they had spent together was worth more than any number of ribbons.

  As they stepped from the milliner’s, Elizabeth and Jane were about to proceed to the bookshop when they were hailed.

  “Miss Bennet! Miss Elizabeth!”

  As one, they turned and noted the smiling visage of Mr. Bingley and the darker, more mysterious one of Mr. Darcy approaching them.

  “How fortunate we are to come across you,” said the irrepressible man as he stepped forward and bowed over Jane’s hand. Elizabeth, however, was distracted by his companion, as Mr. Darcy did the same to her.

  After the pleasantries had been exchanged, Mr. Bingley looked between them and said, “Were you about to depart once again for Longbourn? If so, Darcy and I would be happy to escort you.”

  “Indeed,” was Mr. Darcy’s quiet reply.

  “We are not yet ready to return,” said Elizabeth.

  “Yes,” said Jane, though she gave Elizabeth an amused glance. “But I must own that I do find my sister’s ability to peruse the bookshop endlessly a little intimidating. I have been with her but once, and even that once was far longer than I have ever spent there!”

  “Jane!” said Elizabeth, her cheeks blooming with embarrassment.

  Mr. Bingley only grinned. “I must own that Darcy’s capacity for the written word is much greater than my own, and by our mutual agreement, we never visit such a shop together. He wishes to examine the shelves to his heart’s content, while I am continually asking if he is finished so that we may depart.”

  The sister’s laughed at Mr. Bingley’s portrayal, but Mr. Darcy, after chuckling for a moment, addressed them all. “It would seem, then, that we have an opportunity here. I shall escort Miss Elizabeth to the bookstore, and Bingley shall accompany Miss Bennet to the confectioner’s. Then we can meet for the return to Longbourn.”

  “Capital idea!” cried Mr. Bingley. “What say you, Miss Bennet?”

  Though Jane beamed at him, no doubt relishing the continued favor he showed for her, she seemed reluctant. And Elizabeth was certain she knew the reason for her hesitancy—Jane had been enjoying having Elizabeth in her company, and though she wished for Mr. Bingley’s attentions, she also wished to know Elizabeth better.

  “I believe that is an excellent idea,” said Elizabeth, catching her sister’s eye and giving her a smile. “That way, Mr. Darcy and I may browse to our heart’s content.”

  Jane smiled, immediately understanding what Elizabeth was saying. The sisters exchanged a brief embrace before they turned to their escorts and parted ways amid laughter and admonitions that if Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth took too long at the bookstore, then Jane and Mr. Bingley should return to Longbourn ahead of them. When at last they left the nearly acknowledged lovers, Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth shared a commiserating smile.

  “Shall we, Miss Bennet?” asked Mr. Darcy.

  With pleasure and a little embarrassment, Elizabeth grasped the gentleman’s arm, and they began the short walk to their chosen shop.

  “To be honest, I am most happy to exchange Bingley’s company for yours, Miss Bennet,” said Mr. Darcy as they walked. “Though he spoke in jest about my love of books, his words were not far from the truth. And since I have been here for more than a month, I have nearly exhausted the collection I brought with me.”

  Delighted with his openness, Elizabeth arched an eyebrow in his direction. “And there is nothing suitable in Mr. Bingley’s library to satisfy your taste, Mr. Darcy?”

  “Bingley would actually have to possess a library, Miss Bennet. Although there is certainly a room at Netherfield which has been set aside for the storage of books, Bingley is not a great reader, and he has made little use of it. I have
sampled those few texts which interested me, but it is not exaggeration that there were less than twenty altogether.”

  Elizabeth laughed delightedly. “I am unable to account for this lapse on Mr. Bingley’s part. He studied at Cambridge, did he not?”

  “Indeed, he did,” said Mr. Darcy. “But there are times when you would never know it. His correspondence—whenever he can be bothered to actually write a letter, that is—is filled with blots and half-formed thoughts, and any receivers invariably wish that he had not bothered when they are forced to try to decipher them.”

  “Surely he cannot be that bad,” exclaimed Elizabeth.

  “I assure you that he can be,” said Mr. Darcy. “Should I ever have the chance, I shall show you. I have the advantage, so to speak, of having received several letters from him, and I suspect that I am as skilled at interpreting his words as any other. But that does not make it a joy.”

  By this time, Elizabeth was laughing so hard that tears were rolling down her cheeks, though she attempted to keep her decorum about her. Unfortunately, Mr. Darcy did not appear to be inclined to take pity upon her.

  “I believe that our army should simply use Bingley to pass information to our commanders in the field. They will have a difficult enough time making out his letters. I am convinced that should the French ever intercept them, then they will be completely at sea. It is a method guaranteed to keep our communiqués secret from our enemies.”

  “Surely not!” she finally gasped, attempting to rein in her mirth.

  “Perhaps not,” allowed Mr. Darcy with a smile. “But I assure you that it is not much of an exaggeration.”

  As they neared the bookshop, Elizabeth was able to bring her laughter under control, and she looked up at Mr. Darcy askance as something occurred to her. He caught her look and asked what she was thinking.

  Blushing at being caught looking at the gentleman in such a frank manner, Elizabeth attempted to demur, but Mr. Darcy was having none of it.

  “Miss Bennet, clearly you wished to say something. I shall not be offended, even if your words contain more of your delightful impertinence, I assure you.”

  “You should not encourage me so, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth, her mirth once again returning.

  “I merely wished to say,” she said after a moment’s thought, “that I was not expecting to see this side of you. My first impression was that you are a serious gentleman, and subsequent meetings have not taught me that I was incorrect.”

  Mr. Darcy sobered, and he looked down at her thoughtfully. Elizabeth attempted to apologize, but again, Mr. Darcy would not hear of it.

  “Miss Bennet, one of the things that I find the most refreshing about you is your delightful tendency to speak as you find. I assure you that I am not offended. On the contrary, I find that young ladies who only speak to agree with me or to put down their perceived rivals, all with the intent to curry favor, are the ones who offend me. You are assuredly not of their ilk.”

  Elizabeth could not help but smile, though it was obvious that he was speaking of Miss Bingley, at least indirectly. Given his fortune and position in society, Elizabeth did not doubt that there were far more Miss Bingleys in London than young ladies he could speak to without fear that they would take it as a sign of favor.

  “I can assure you that I will never treat you thus, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth sincerely.

  “I already have enough of a measure of you to know the truth of that statement, Miss Bennet,” replied Mr. Darcy. “But come, let us go inside. I should not wish for your sister to accuse me of taking you from her under false pretenses.”

  The couple entered the bookshop, where they were met by Mr. Clarke, the jovial proprietor. He greeted both with pleasure, proving that he had seen Mr. Darcy in his store previously.

  For the next thirty minutes, Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy examined the small shop in great detail. They kept to one another’s company, discussing this or that text which they had both read or making recommendations when they discovered one had not read a favorite of the other. Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth soon determined, possessed rather eclectic tastes when it came to literature. He had read many classic works, and from what she was able to glean in a short period of time, he possessed intelligent and insightful opinions of them all. On the other hand, he had also read many newer works and enjoyed a wide variety of different styles of literature, from poetry to philosophies, and he even acknowledged that he had read a few novels, though, he assured her with a smile, he had only done so to ensure that the material was suitable for his much younger sister.

  It was clear in the way he spoke to her that he considered her an equal. He listened to whatever she had to say with great interest and was even able to discover a few texts he had not read which Elizabeth had found in her uncle’s library. In all, it was the most enjoyable time that Elizabeth had ever spent conversing with a young man, and she was sad when it came time to depart.

  “I would like to thank you for this most enjoyable time, Miss Bennet,” said Mr. Darcy after they had exited the shop. They each carried some books they had purchased, and Elizabeth was greatly anticipating the opportunity to read a few of the selections he had recommended for her.

  “No more than I would wish to thank you,” said Elizabeth. She forced herself to meet his eyes instead of succumbing to a sudden bout of bashfulness at his praise. “I thank you for your recommendations. We must discuss them at our earliest opportunity.”

  “I assure you that we shall,” replied he in a quiet voice.

  “Here, Darcy!” the voice of Mr. Bingley cut off their interlude. “I must own that I expected you to be ensconced in the confines of Mr. Clarke’s shop for some time to come!”

  Jane, who was holding Mr. Bingley’s arm, laughed and greeted her sister and her suitor’s friend. The four stood on the side of the road conversing for some time until Jane reluctantly noted that it was time to return home. Elizabeth wondered what had become of Lydia and Catherine, but she decided that it was of no moment. They could obviously find their way back to Longbourn on their own.

  The gentlemen gallantly offered to walk with them, and after fetching their horses, which had been tied up by the side of the road, the group began to walk the mile back to Longbourn. And though there was not much conversation between Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy—Jane and Bingley spoke between themselves almost the entire duration of the walk—Elizabeth felt within her heart that much was said nonetheless.

  Mr. Darcy watched her as they walked, and he was solicitous of her comfort and her well-being. Furthermore, his eyes seemed to contain some sort of unidentifiable emotion within their depths, and though Elizabeth could not state such with a surety, she fancied that she could see his heart within his eyes. She felt certain that it was directed at her.

  As is often the case in such situations, Elizabeth felt a measure of confusion. She had come to Hertfordshire at the behest of her father, and she would never have imagined that she would attract the attention of a gentleman such as Mr. Darcy, particularly under such circumstances as existed in her life at present. But it seemed indisputable that Jane was correct: Mr. Darcy seemed to admire her.

  Elizabeth’s sole problem at present was to determine the state of her own heart. She was not indifferent to him; such a thing was inconceivable. But though her aunt and uncle had showered her with love and support from the moment they had taken her in, she was still the product of her upbringing as a young gentlewoman, and as such, she was sheltered and inexperienced in the ways of the world. She simply did not feel as if she had the knowledge to understand how she felt—how she should feel—at this moment.

  But there was one thing she did know without any hint of doubt. She knew that should Mr. Darcy ask anything at all of her, she would be unable to deny it of him. She trusted that his attentions were honorable; the idea that such an exceptional gentleman could harbor any untoward intentions beggared belief! She did not know that she was in love with him, but she felt sure that given the opportunity and
the necessary experience, she would find herself deeply in his thrall. And though the mere thought should have been terrifying, Elizabeth in fact felt nothing but peace and safety.

  Mr. Darcy did not speak much more that day. Beyond the typical—though somewhat sparse—conversation exchanged between them, he spoke no words of true substance, and certainly he did not speak the words which Elizabeth was quickly becoming convinced that she longed to hear.

  The gentlemen did not stay long. Indeed, they did not even enter the house, citing a need to return to Netherfield, as they were engaged at one of the neighborhood families for dinner that evening. But as they were leaving, Mr. Darcy gave Elizabeth a look of such intensity and utter regard that Elizabeth became certain that some time or another those words would be spoken. And then he kissed her hand for the first time as he went away, and for Elizabeth, it was like a jolt of lightning which pierced her very soul.

  Yes, she thought, as he was riding away, if he asked her that all important question, she would accept with alacrity. To do otherwise would be beyond comprehension.

  Later that afternoon brought the arrival of the man whose coming was silently dreaded by most of the Bennets. What Elizabeth herself thought of the man’s arrival, she could not truly say. He was the heir to the property, but his ultimate inheritance was a matter of extreme indifference to her. Though she would not always wish to be a burden and longed to eventually have a home of her own, Elizabeth knew that she would always be able to stay with the Gardiners if required.

  When the man himself was shown into the parlor for the first time, he was announced by Mrs. Hill, and soon he had greeted the entire family. He was tall, standing taller than Mr. Bennet, though not nearly so tall as Mr. Darcy. He was also dressed all in black, wearing the garb befitting a parson, which was a bit of intelligence that Mr. Bennet had not seen fit to impart to the rest of his family. Mr. Collins was also portly and seemed to constantly perspire from his forehead, even in the coolness of the late autumn air. His head was plastered with a mop of greasy dark hair, and his face, which was not pleasant to look upon, was made even less attractive by the look of self-importance and pompousness affixed to it. His first words made clear his unqualified lack of intelligence for anyone paying any attention whatsoever.