Elizabeth Bennet's Excellent Adventure: A Pride and Prejudice Vagary

by Regina Jeffers

  With a strong prejudice against everything he might say, she examined his account of what occurred at Netherfield. She read with an eagerness, which hardly left her power of comprehension, as well as from an impatience of knowing what the next sentence might bring, so much so she could not attend to the sense of the written lines before her eyes. Mr. Darcy’s belief of Jane’s insensibility Elizabeth instantly resolved to be false, and his account of his real objections to the match brought such anger that she could not declare his actions just. The gentleman expressed no regret for acting upon his beliefs, at least none, which satisfied her. Elizabeth declared his style lacking in penitence, instead of naming it haughty and prideful and insolence.

  But Mr. Darcy’s account of his relationship with Mr. Wickham bore so alarming an affinity to Mr. Wickham’s own narration of the events that astonishment, apprehension, and even horror, oppressed her. Elizabeth wished to discredit it, but every line proved that the affair, which she believed beyond the pale, could name the gentleman entirely blameless throughout the whole.

  In hindsight, Elizabeth grew absolutely ashamed of her accusations. Of neither Darcy nor Wickham could she think without feeling she was blind, partial, prejudiced, and absurd.

  “I acted the harpy,” Elizabeth whispered as she implanted the image of Pemberley upon her mind.

  When her relatives insisted upon touring the estate, Elizabeth convinced herself that viewing Mr. Darcy’s property would prove just punishment for the pain she caused the gentleman.

  “Of all this, I might be mistress,” she reminded herself with each new discovery of how easily she and Mr. Darcy could suit. They held similar tastes in architecture and décor. “So different from his aunt’s ornate presentation at Rosings.”

  And so, although Pemberley’s gallery sported many fine portraits of the Darcy family, Elizabeth searched for the one face whose features she wished to look upon again. At last, it arrested her, and Elizabeth beheld a striking resemblance to Mr. Darcy, with such a smile upon his lips as she remembered to sometimes see when he looked upon her. The viewing brought Elizabeth instant regret for she recognized the honor of Mr. Darcy, which led her to consider his regard for her with a deeper sentiment of gratitude than she ever admitted, even to herself.

  Elizabeth wished she could tell Mr. Darcy that she found Pemberley “delightful” and “charming,” but she quickly deduced the gentleman would assume her opinions mischievously construed: Mr. Darcy would think her praise of Pemberley a device to elicit a renewal of his proposal.

  “Better this way,” Elizabeth whispered as she turned to follow her aunt and uncle further into the woods. “I have memories of Pemberley, and no one is the wiser of my presence under Mr. Darcy’s roof.”

  * * *

  Unable to quash his curiosity any longer, after supper, Darcy sent for Mrs. Reynolds.

  “Yes, Sir?”

  The lady curtsied from her position inside the open door to his study.

  Darcy motioned her forward.

  “Would you see there is a vase of yellow roses placed upon the new instrument in Miss Darcy’s quarters.”

  Mrs. Reynolds’ countenance relaxed.

  “I asked Mr. Brownley for fresh cuttings previously, Sir.”

  Darcy nodded his approval.

  “I should not think to instruct you on providing for Georgiana’s pleasure. You have been an exemplary member of Pemberley’s staff for longer than I can remember.”

  The woman blushed at Darcy’s kindness, but she kept a business-like tone.

  “I also aired out the green bedchamber for Miss Bingley’s use. I pray that will serve the lady’s purpose.”

  Darcy understood Mrs. Reynolds’ poorly disguised question.

  “You may inform the staff I hold no intention of seeing Miss Bingley in the family quarters. The green chamber is close enough.”

  Mrs. Reynolds closed her eyes in what appeared to be a silent prayer of thanksgiving.

  “Will that be all, Sir?”

  Darcy’s heart raced, but he managed to pronounce the necessary words.

  “Did we have more than one set of visitors today? Thanks to your efficiency, I so rarely encounter the estate guests, but I would not have you beset upon. Your first duty is to the running of Pemberley.”

  “No, Sir. Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner were the only ones we accepted in well over a week. It is no bother: I am proud of Pemberley.”

  “Mrs. Gardiner,” Darcy’s mind caught the name and rolled it through his body like a tidal wave striking a ship. If the lady he observed was Elizabeth, had she married? Had she thought to compare what she earned to what she lost?

  Darcy’s mind retreated from the possibilities, but he could not quite quash his fears.

  “A young couple then? Perhaps on a holiday?”

  Mrs. Reynolds shook her head in denial.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner would be the age of your late parents. I overheard Mrs. Gardiner tell her niece a tale of the village oak. It sounded as if the lady spent part of her childhood on the London side of Lambton.”

  “Her niece?” Darcy’s mind latched onto the one word in his housekeeper’s tale that rang with hope.

  “Yes, Sir. A fine young lady. Very kind to her aunt, offering her arm to Mrs. Gardiner’s support. I believe the lady held an acquaintance with you. She and her aunt held a private conversation when they spotted the miniature of Mr. Wickham on your father’s mantelpiece.” Mrs. Reynolds’ shoulders stiffened. “I am sorry to report, Sir, I could not give Mrs. Gardiner a civil account when she asked her niece how the young lady liked it. In truth, I quickly turned the conversation to your miniature.”

  “I appreciate your loyalty,” Darcy said with a wry smile.

  “My respect for the girl increased when she admitted she knew you ‘a little’ and that she found you ‘very handsome,’” Mrs. Reynolds continued.

  Darcy’s eyebrow rose with curiosity. He hoped perhaps Mrs. Reynolds described Elizabeth Bennet, but he could not imagine Miss Elizabeth’s declaring him handsome: The woman abhorred him.

  “And how did this conversation come about?”

  Mrs. Reynolds blushed, but she did not avoid his unspoken accusation, a sign of her long-standing position in his household.

  “Do not look to place blame, Master William. I respect the late master’s kind heart and his benevolence toward his godson, but I see no reason to display George Wickham’s image in this house. Even the late Mr. Darcy could peer down from Heaven and see Mr. Wickham turned out very wild.”

  “We will discuss the future of Mr. Wickham’s likeness upon another occasion. Speak to me of your conversation with the young lady.”

  It was Mrs. Reynolds’ turn to raise an eyebrow in interest; however, as a well-trained upper servant, the lady swallowed her questions.

  “Mrs. Gardiner remarked of your fine countenance when she looked upon the miniature, and then the lady asked her niece whether it was an accurate likeness. I then inquired if the young lady held an acquaintance with you. When she admitted as such, I asked if she found you a handsome man.”

  “Then, it was Mrs. Gardiner and you who placed words in the lady’s mouth,” he reasoned.

  Darcy felt the female in question likely agreed only to be rid of the conversation.

  Mrs. Reynolds blustered.

  “The girl’s aunt and I stated the obvious,” she declared with a tone commonly found among established servants. “But neither Mrs. Gardiner nor I instructed the young lady to search out your portrait in the gallery nor did we lead her to it again and again.”

  Darcy’s heart hitched higher.

  “I count no one named Gardiner among my acquaintances. Did you overhear the young lady’s name?”

  “Her aunt called her ‘Lizzy’ several times so I would assume it is Miss Elizabeth or Lady Elizabeth.”

  “Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” Darcy corrected.

  Remorse at not meeting her today filled his chest. A glance to his housekeeper said Mrs. Reynolds w
ished an explanation.

  “The young lady’s parents are neighbors of Mr. Bingley’s estate in Hertfordshire. If it is truly Miss Elizabeth, we met upon several occasions. I believe I stood up with her at the Netherfield’s ball.”

  “Then perhaps you might renew the acquaintance,” Mrs. Reynolds suggested. “Mrs. Gardiner was to dine with friends before the family moved on to Matlock. I am certain Mr. Bingley would wish to behold Miss Elizabeth again.”

  An invisible hand squeezed Darcy’s heart. Should he risk an encounter with Elizabeth Bennet? Had his letter softened the lady’s disdain for him?

  “Miss Bingley took a dislike for the Bennets,” Darcy offered in explanation. “Mr. Bingley developed a regard for Miss Bennet. His leaving Netherfield was poorly done.”

  “I am sad to hear it, Sir, but your confidence explains the halfhearted air, which follows Mr. Bingley about these last few months.”

  Darcy nodded his acceptance: His housekeeper gave voice to what Darcy’s pride denied. Darcy sorely wounded his friend by acting in partnership with Miss Bingley in separating Bingley from Miss Bennet. With a second nod, he excused his servant. For several long minutes, Darcy stared off into the emptiness, which marked his life.

  “I cannot seek out Miss Elizabeth,” he told the rise of expectation climbing up his chest. “Even if the lady might offer her forgiveness, Miss Elizabeth holds no interest in renewing our acquaintance. Furthermore, I do not deserve happiness when I robbed my friend of an opportunity to know it.”

  * * *

  “You are very quiet this evening, Lizzy.”

  Her aunt’s friends invited them to dine in the evening, but once they returned to their let rooms, Elizabeth preferred to spend time alone with her thoughts of Mr. Darcy.

  “Just a bit tired.”

  Elizabeth made herself smile at her dearest aunt.

  “Then you should retire early,” her Uncle Edward declared.

  Her aunt ignored her husband’s lack of intuitiveness.

  “Are you certain what the Pemberley housekeeper said of Mr. Wickham did not upset you? I would venture the woman’s loyalty to the Master of Pemberley colored the woman’s opinions.”

  Elizabeth expected her aunt to ask of Mr. Darcy, not of Mr. Wickham.

  “Not in the least,” Elizabeth assured. “While in Kent, I learned more of what occurred between Mr. Darcy and Mr. Wickham, enough so to acquit the former of any ill doing.”

  Aunt Gardiner’s interest piqued.

  “Would you care to elaborate?”

  “I promised my source secrecy.”

  Elizabeth would like to confide in her aunt and uncle for she wished someone would provide her permission to beg Mr. Darcy’s forgiveness, but she dug the pit of regret in which she wallowed.

  “As I explained in my letter before I departed for Kent, Mr. Wickham bestowed his affections upon Miss King, and I held no loyalty for the man when I arrived on Charlotte’s threshold; therefore, I was free to accept other versions of the events.”

  Hers was an exaggeration of what occurred, but it held some truth.

  “Although I still believe handsome young men must have something to live on, I pity whoever accepts Mr. Wickham’s hand.”

  If only I did not previously express my opinions to the contrary, Elizabeth thought.

  “That is quite a transformation,” her uncle observed.

  “I am only aggrieved that I behaved with foolish disregard for Mr. Darcy. I treated the gentleman poorly.”

  Her aunt’s question came quickly.

  “Is this revelation the source of your reluctance in viewing Mr. Darcy’s home?”

  Elizabeth swallowed the bile rushing to her throat.

  “I rejoiced today when Mr. Darcy’s housekeeper informed us that we missed his return to Derbyshire by a day. I would not wish to encounter the gentleman. Our last exchange of words was far from pleasant.”

  “If I knew…” her uncle began.

  Elizabeth shook off his regrets.

  “I asked the inn’s staff of Mr. Darcy’s presence at Pemberley before we came to the place.”

  “We should be on to Matlock the day after tomorrow,” her aunt declared. “Even with Mr. Darcy’s attendance at Pemberley we are not likely to encounter him. My friends do not travel in the same circles as Mr. Darcy. We shall be gone soon, and the gentleman will know nothing of our coming into his part of the shire.