by Anne Morris
They were in the drawing-room. Mrs. Gardiner had seen to her children, and Mr. Gardiner sat going over books at a small table in the corner. Elizabeth did not doubt that he was listening, though he did not look up at the two women who sat with their work bags in front of the fire.
“Well Aunt, perhaps you need to keep an eye on both?” answered Elizabeth who flashed her eyes at her aunt. “I don’t believe that the colonel has abandoned me, if that is your concern. Do not believe he has played me false,” her sewing was put down in her lap. “But as you once mentioned, he is a colonel in the army, and it seems he still has responsibilities attached to that position. The last time I saw him, he was apologetic that his general had called upon him so much. Colonel Fitzwilliam has not had time to play the lover,” concluded Elizabeth.
“I see. I shall not think him false then, merely occupied elsewhere,” said Mrs. Gardiner. “But Mr. Darcy? He has called frequently, and even without your new friend, Lady Emma, at his side. Is this the beginning of an admiration?”
“I have not had him declare himself, or even show himself in any way to be my lover. With the colonel, I had Lady Emma’s assurances that her brother admired me.” Elizabeth’s eyes smiled in amusement. “In fact, Emma warned me never to set my eyes or thoughts on Mr. Darcy as so many women have tried and failed to win him over. It never occurred to me to try.”
“That is not quite an answer, Elizabeth, and you know it,” admonished Mrs. Gardiner.
“Yes, aunt. But he has called on me, hasn’t he? When there was no reason to? But I have been cautioned so much by Lady Emma that I shall not read too much into it.”
“There can be no better man for you,” observed Mr. Gardiner, looking up from his papers. “I enjoyed my discussion with him that evening at Fitzwilliam House over cards. He is honorable and wealthy.”
“Yes, but would he take a penniless gentleman’s daughter?” questioned Elizabeth whose voice took on a serious tone. “So I cannot allow my heart too much latitude. Perhaps he is bored and has nothing else to do? It is the end of the Season, and there is nothing better than to laugh with me until he decides what to do with his summer.”
“Do not overlook the importance of having someone you like to laugh with,” said her uncle, who looked rather sweetly over at his wife. Mrs. Gardiner even blushed a little.
“I certainly like him very much,” declared Elizabeth. “There have been a few bumps. He can be arrogant and stuffy at times. He can also be kind.”
“Well, he is a landed gentleman and worth a great deal of money. It may be he feels entitled to be arrogant about his station in life,” asserted her aunt. “Perhaps there is something about you which softens and inspires him. “
“I had not thought about that,” said Elizabeth. “That I might inspire him in some way, to good behavior.”
“That is what all men find so interesting,” pronounced her uncle. “They go along in life not knowing what they lack in their manner until they meet the right woman.”
“Edward!” cried her aunt.
Elizabeth was not sure if that was an admonishment or if it was praise that her aunt gave her uncle. She and her aunt went back to their embroidery.
Elizabeth thought more about how much she liked Mr. Darcy, but that she had no true indication of his admiration beyond his desiring her company. Elizabeth did not know how much his estate was worth, but she had an idea that it was worth a great deal of money. And though she often portrayed herself as penniless, and sometimes felt that way with the excesses which she saw in other women—particularly since she had come to London—she was a gentleman’s daughter. Elizabeth had her own sense of worth because of her station in life. How did Mr. Darcy see her? Could she pose such a question to him?
The man in question called the next morning, alone. Elizabeth felt tempted to inquire after Lady Emma and Colonel Fitzwilliam, but she also did not wish to diminish his desire to call on her, as though it was only relevant if he came with one of the Fitzwilliams. The pair of them had a pleasant conversation, and then as he had done for days, it seemed, he invited her to ride in the park with him that afternoon.
“I fear I shall need to decline your invitation today, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth responded. Though she often did not feel the need to explain herself to others, in this case, she did. “My aunt and uncle are having guests this evening. There is to be an early supper.”
“I’m sorry I shall not have the pleasure of your company this afternoon, Miss Bennet.” Mr. Darcy held out his hand, and Elizabeth placed hers in it. He bowed over it and left.
“Well Lizzy, that was the most disappointed lover I have seen in a long time,” declared Mrs. Gardiner. “I think Mr. Darcy is winning this race concerning which one of them admires you most.”
“He may admire me all he wishes, but that does not necessarily mean he will ever declare himself aunt,” said Elizabeth, who felt like she needed to erect some barriers about this subject and her heart.
***
The supper party was comprised of those same friends of Mr. Gardiner’s who had been invited before. It was as if they were making up for the evening which had been canceled right after Prime Minister Perceval’s death, though there was the addition of Mrs. Eyers’ company.
Though she enjoyed the conversation, Elizabeth had to admit that she had been enjoying her foray into London society. Elizabeth did not think she was a snob, and could not enjoy the company of men in trade, but she had certainly enjoyed the entertainments she had found in the past month in the society of Lady Emma and her cousins.
The more Elizabeth thought about it; she was enjoying the company of two or three in London society. Really though, it was one whose company she most looked forward to the most: Mr. Darcy. It was not that Elizabeth was prejudiced against men who made their living by trade as opposed to those who owned land. She adored her uncle, but Elizabeth realized that she now woke each morning with the surety that Mr. Darcy would call. There was no longer this nonsense of his calling because he was merely Lady Emma’s escort or the companion of Colonel Fitzwilliam. Mr. Darcy called because he wished to call. Darcy called because he wanted to call on Elizabeth. She could no longer deny that such actions had meaning as she sat and spoke to her uncle’s friends. Elizabeth thought about what her heart had to say in response.
Tomorrow was Sunday, however, and there would be no morning call because they would go to church, but would Mr. Darcy call in the afternoon? Might he still take her for a drive in the park? Lady Emma had some admirer who had taken her for a drive the previous day. Perhaps that was what had prevented Emma’s calling, and maybe Elizabeth and Emma might fall back to their old habits of visiting.
Elizabeth wondered if her friend would approve? She suspected Lady Emma was more loyal to her brother than to her cousin. If Emma suspected an admiration for Mr. Darcy on Elizabeth’s part what would Emma say or do?
Everything occurred the next day the way Elizabeth’s distracted thoughts had predicted at the dinner table the night before. They went to church; Mr. Darcy called in the afternoon and asked to take her for a drive.
They were silent together for a while after they entered the park. Mr. Darcy finally asked her to account for her thoughtfulness.
“I am going to ask a question I may regret,” began Elizabeth.
“Really?” was his reply.
“I am trying to account, Mr. Darcy, for our daily trips to the Park together. I have tried to answer this question,” Elizabeth responded without letting him answer—if he had an answer. “You began calling at Gracechurch Street as a reluctant partner because you brought my new friend, Lady Emma, to call on me.”
“That is true,” Darcy agreed.
“But she has not called on me in days, yet you still make an effort to come,” Elizabeth explained. “So I have asked myself why? Are you bored, or is there some other reason that you seek my company?”
Darcy listened to her words, and though he knew he was going to be in such a position, Darcy
did not think he would find himself challenged by the object which so bewitched him. Darcy was still making out exactly how he felt about her, this miss country nobody with the bewitching eyes, and a laugh that made him catch on and join in. A woman who made him feel content and on-fire at the same time when he was with her.
But Darcy was mistaken if he thought he could call on Elizabeth Bennet continually, somehow take her driving in the park every day without ever being called to task about his intentions. Darcy did not believe that Miss Bennet was challenging him about his intentions as if Elizabeth wished to snare him into marriage. He had seen that with other women, and he had merely walked away from those short infatuations. But Darcy had not precisely defined this infatuation, this admiration, and exactly how encompassing it was.
But she had asked.
He was not going to lie. But Darcy could not exactly articulate, just then, beyond saying, “I enjoy your company very much, Miss Bennet. You inspire me to laugh.”
“That is a good beginning,” Elizabeth replied. “It says a lot.”
She seemed to be content with that answer. Again, Darcy thought how unusual she was. Other women would want declarations of love, or at least, hints that there was an offer to be had somewhere down the road. But Miss Bennet merely wished to know that he enjoyed her company and was content with that. If anything, Darcy thought that her answer rolled around inside of him and sparked after he had returned Elizabeth to her uncle’s house.
It flared and grew, and Darcy thought that he was beginning to fall seriously in love with Miss Elizabeth Bennet, whose rich dark eyes and whose wit and country charm he wanted more of. There was something about her interest in him in return. He felt there was affection; she cared for him.
She cared for him, Darcy, and not Mr. Darcy the gentleman, or Darcy, son of Lady Anne and grandson to an earl. Not the Darcy worth ten thousand pounds a year; she cared for him.
Darcy wondered if he needed to say more to her. If there were more steps to be had. Just how infatuated was he? What were his intentions? Did he speak to her uncle? His family would not be pleased. He was Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley; his mother had been Lady Anne, his family connections were prestigious.
He decided late that Sunday night that he did not have to decide. There was no urgency. He might merely enjoy her company at present. Miss Bennet had not expressed or urged or asked for anything more, so Darcy would not offer anything more, even though there was that something which had flared inside him that afternoon. A growing interest and desire that Darcy tampered down, that he denied that this was the woman for him.
Elizabeth Bennet had not given him any indication that she was going anywhere. She was visiting her aunt and uncle and had not said she was to return home anytime soon. Darcy had not yet made any plans for the summer. No plans to return to Pemberley, nor had he accepted any house party invitations. Bingley had a golden-haired lady who was currently resisting his charms, so Bingley was not in a hurry to leave London. And Fitzwilliam, for once, was busy. Those rascally ex-colonists were causing some trouble for Liverpool’s new government and kept the colonel busy.
Darcy called the next morning and solicited Elizabeth’s hand for a ride in the park as he had done for days; she accepted. Emma came along as well, and the conversation was principally between the two women; it was less intimate between Darcy and Elizabeth. But no bother, Darcy should have her to himself in the afternoon as Cavanaugh was to escort Emma to the park again. Darcy hoped that Lord Cavanaugh’s attentions were not cooling or that Aunt Evelyn had not frightened off this suitor from Emma as well. He was beginning to think that, secretly, the Countess did not wish to part with Emma as she wanted a constant companion in her dotage, though Emma was always saying it was her fault she hadn’t married yet, and agreed she was a trial to her mother.
Darcy looked forward to the afternoon drive, taking his usual care in picking out a coat and waistcoat to wear before driving to Gracechurch Street to pick up Miss Bennet. He was not met in the foyer by Elizabeth in her pelisse and bonnet, ready to step out with him. A servant showed Darcy into the drawing-room; he thought Elizabeth must not be ready and was she to turn into one of those women who made him wait an interminably long time once he arrived? Darcy only waited a minute, however, before her aunt, Mrs. Gardiner, came in.
She did not sit, so Darcy stayed where he was. “I am sorry to have to impart to you, Mr. Darcy, that Miss Bennet is gone.”
“Gone?” Darcy felt as though he had taken a blow to the chest when he heard the word ‘gone.’
Where has she gone to? Why had she left? Where could she possibly have gone? Were thoughts that flew through Darcy’s mind. She’d agreed to a ride in the Park with me! This does not make sense.
“Perhaps you need to sit down,” said his hostess.
“No,” Darcy groaned. “But…she went away?” he asked, seeking clarification.
“Yes, this was very sudden. Miss Bennet received a letter from her father asking her to return home as he is to marry…remarry. We had no inkling of it; I can tell you.” Darcy could hear in the lady’s voice and see in her face what a shock it was to her. He could imagine what a shock it must have been to Elizabeth to hear that her father was to remarry if nobody in the family knew that he was considering such a step.
“But it seems that the preparations have been put in place, and they only wanted her return. Her uncle has taken her to the posting inn to catch a mail coach home,” explained Mrs. Gardiner.
“She’s traveling by the mail coach?” he asked. Darcy was still feeling a little lost.
“I sent a servant with her, of course,” assured the lady.
“Of course. Well, I wish every happiness to Mr. Bennet and his new wife,” Darcy replied.
“Thank you, Mr. Darcy,” said Mrs. Gardiner.
He said his goodbyes and turned to leave before he turned back and asked one more question. “The name of the town?”
“Meryton, but I don’t expect you have ever heard of it, it’s so small,” assured Mrs. Gardiner.
“No, I just thought to keep my eyes open for the notice in the papers. Bennet is a common enough name,” Darcy explained.
“Oh yes,” she replied. “Good day.”
Darcy managed to get to his carriage, waited for the groom to crawl up behind him before he let go the leads; they took off. His heart did a flip it had never experienced before. He felt devastated. I had time, he had told himself the previous night, but apparently, that was not true. Darcy didn’t know what to do now that she had flown away from him, and he had no concept of how to contact her again. How to discover her. How to claim her. Because it was in the losing that Fitzwilliam Darcy discovered how much he had lost. How much he loved Elizabeth Bennet.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Elizabeth had been so shocked by her father’s letter that he was to be married on Wednesday (and to please return immediately), that she had been unable to utter a word for five minutes. Mrs. Gardiner had been unusually concerned and had called over to Elizabeth, who could only pass her the letter.
“We should send you off today,” her aunt had said. “The coaching inn at Aldgate has a mail coach which leaves at three. We have time if we are quick about it, Elizabeth. I shall send Albert to fetch your uncle home so he can take you there and see you off.”
In a shorter space of time than Elizabeth ever she could have supposed, her aunt and uncle managed everything for her: trunks were packed, a small hamper of food prepared so she did not need to bother with inns, and the footman Albert was sent as a chaperone.
Her first thoughts were about her father and this unexpected step. There had been rumors between the neighbors who had speculated that Mr. Bennet might remarry—especially the gossipy ones. Neighbors who spoke of which lady he would take, which of the widows in Meryton would suit, but her father had never said anything to his daughters about his intentions to take a second wife. Elizabeth felt cheated. She felt slighted, as though her opinion and those of her sist
ers did not matter, that he would take such a step without even telling them that he was considering it in the first place. And to find out in such a manner! A summons to his wedding! It wasn’t even a request; it was a summons!
Mr. Bennet surprised most of the neighbors as he had not chosen to marry one of the widows of comparable age, but was marrying Mrs. Meeks, who was about thirty and whose husband had died about a year before Mrs. Bennet and left her with a small son. Their properties bordered each other. Wheaton was tiny, about one hundred acres and with a minuscule income, much smaller than Mr. Bennet’s. Elizabeth wondered if her father was contemplating that he was expanding Longbourn with this marriage, though Mrs. Meeks would surely like Wheaton to go to her son. Daniel.
If there was a child, another boy, would Mrs. Meeks favor the new son to inherit it all over her firstborn? Elizabeth thought her father had chosen a young widow that there might be more children and a son of his own to cut off the entail to that distant cousin, Mr. Collins, who would otherwise inherit Longbourn and leave his first five children destitute.
***
Elizabeth also reminisced about Mr. Darcy as the coach raced out of London towards Hertfordshire. She knew it was only a half day’s journey, and yet, that meant so much more than distance. Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy had been growing closer…closer in understanding, closer in loving, moving beyond the bare niceties that people exchanged with one another when they came across each other in a social setting, in a drawing-room, or in the park. They had shared details about their lives. Yet falling in love was a continuum and now she had come to a cliff with her father’s summons. Elizabeth did not think there was any going back. Perhaps it was a leap of faith; she could only jump off and hope to land on the other side.
Elizabeth had wanted to continue their gentle infatuation and eventually to find and admit to love. But she doubted that Mr. Darcy was the type of man to leave familiar settings and come find her in Hertfordshire, and Elizabeth was not likely to return to London for some time. In all likelihood, they would not meet again. They could not correspond; they had no mutual friends—so baring an unexpected meeting—she must set him aside. Leap of faith indeed.
