Together in Perfect Felicity

by P. O. Dixon

  “In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”

  Elizabeth’s astonishment was beyond expression. She stared, colored, doubted, and was silent. Looming in the shadows of her mind throughout his ensuing speech was a conversation she had earlier that same day with Mr. Darcy’s cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam.

  Owing to Mr. Collins’s devotion to his noble patroness, whose extensive property, Rosings Park, abutted his own humble abode, frequent engagements with her ladyship were unavoidable. Time spent in Mr. Wickham’s company in the wake of the Netherfield party’s leave-taking had afforded her ample opportunity to learn all she needed to know about the grand lady as well as her daughter. Thus she was wholly prepared for the rudeness, the condescension, and even the thinly veiled disdain from the haughty aristocrat upon meeting Lady Catherine.

  Making the colonel’s acquaintance rendered time spent in her ladyship’s company and even Mr. Darcy’s, to an extent, far more tolerable than Elizabeth might have suspected. Indeed, she liked the colonel very much.

  An amiable gentleman who fell readily into conversation with everyone whom he met, the colonel had spoken rather candidly of Mr. Darcy’s recent service to his young friend Charles Bingley by preventing him from entering a most disadvantageous alliance to a young woman.

  When asked about the reason for Mr. Darcy’s interference, the colonel had cited the young lady’s family as the principal concern. That and what his cousin had perceived as unequal affections on the part of the young lady toward Bingley himself.

  Elizabeth’s ire in hearing this had not diminished one bit and any goodwill Mr. Darcy had managed to accrue during their time together in Kent when he had accidentally met her during her solitary rambles about the lanes was now deep in arrears.

  Now the proud man stood before her speaking of her inferiority and that of her family—how his own family would suffer as a result of such an unequal alliance. All these things and yet he was willing to look past them if she would but do him the honor of accepting his hand.

  When, finally, it was Elizabeth’s turn to speak, she addressed him in a manner akin to that which he had afforded her.

  “Sir,” she began, “in such cases as this, it is, I believe, the established mode to express a sense of obligation for the sentiments avowed, however unequally they may be returned. It is natural that obligation should be felt, and if I could feel gratitude, I would now thank you. But I cannot, and I shall not.”

  “Are you—are you rejecting me?” Mr. Darcy inquired in a manner which suggested he was not used to being denied anything.

  “I am sorry to have occasioned pain of any sort to you. It has been most unconsciously done.”

  His complexion pale with anger and the disturbance of his mind visible in every feature, he needed to know why—what could possibly be her reason for rejecting his suit with so little thought and even less civility?

  Her temper she dared not vouch for, especially in the wake of the colonel’s confession and Mr. Darcy’s own confirmation by way of his unflattering proposal. Drawing a deep breath, Elizabeth stood and approached him. “I might as well inquire why with so evident a desire of offending and insulting me, you chose to tell me that you liked me against your will, against your reason, and even against your character? Was not this some excuse for incivility if I was uncivil?”

  She drew even closer while the gentleman remained in the same attitude. “But I have other provocations. You know I have. Had not my feelings for you been indifferent or had they even been favorable, do you think that any consideration would tempt me to accept the man who has been the means of ruining, perhaps forever, the happiness of a most beloved sister?”

  As though completely unaffected by Elizabeth’s speech, Mr. Darcy said nothing, which only served to provoke her ire even more.

  “Your silence speaks volumes. Mr. Darcy!” Her voice pained, she asked. “How could you do it? How dare you separate two people in love, exposing one to the censure of the world for caprice and instability, and the other to its derision for disappointed hopes, and involving them both in misery of the acutest kind?”

  “Why would I not do everything in my power to separate my friend from your sister? Why would I not rejoice in my success? I know my friend well enough to know such an unequal alliance would redound entirely to his detriment. Toward him, I have been kinder than toward myself.”

  “Then you must congratulate yourself—or rather thank me for sparing you a fate akin to that which you saved your friend.”

  “Perhaps it would be better if we cease speaking on this matter.”

  “I beg to differ, sir, for I have another grievance against you—one I dare not suppress any longer than I have already.”

  It was now Mr. Darcy’s turn to close what little distance there was between them. “And what, pray tell, is that?”

  “It is the matter of your ill-treatment of Mr. Wickham—one with whom you cannot deny having shared an amiable past and yet your actions toward him have proved to be deplorable.”

  “Wickham!” Mr. Darcy repeated, his voice filled with disdain. “You take an eager interest in that gentleman’s concerns.”

  “Who that knows what his misfortunes have been can help feeling an interest in him?”

  “His misfortunes!” repeated Darcy contemptuously. “Yes, his misfortunes have been great indeed.”

  She dug her nails into her palms. “And of your infliction,” cried Elizabeth with energy. “You have reduced him to his present state of poverty. You have withheld the advantages which you must know to have been designed for him. You have deprived the best years of his life of that independence which was no less his due than his desert. You have done all this! Yet, you can treat the mention of his misfortune with contempt and ridicule.”

  “And this,” said Mr. Darcy, “is your opinion of me! This is the estimation in which you hold me! I thank you for explaining it so fully. My faults, according to this calculation, are heavy indeed!”

  Unbeknown to either Mr. Darcy or Elizabeth, the two of them were not alone—not entirely, for Phoebe had also escaped Rosings, where all of the Hunsford party save Elizabeth were having tea, soon after Mr. Darcy abruptly took his leave. There she had stood just outside the slightly ajar parlor door for the better part of the very unsuspecting couple’s contentious intercourse.

  Having heard more than enough, Phoebe had raced up the stairs to the room she shared with her cousin.

  Breathless, she did not know what had alarmed her more: that the man whom she had fancied for so long had not proposed to her but to her cousin, or that her cousin had been foolish enough to refuse him.

  A refusal that was not even borne out of Lizzy’s loyalty to me, but out of her affection for Lieutenant Wickham.

  Phoebe had arrived just in time to hear Mr. Darcy speak the words that cut her deeply.

  “You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”

  The entirety of all she heard played out in her mind. The gentleman’s words, though eloquently spoken, had been riddled with disparagement about her cousin and others whom she held dear, but what had he said that was untrue?

  Truth be told, she had entertained the idea that Mr. Darcy’s apparent reticence toward her was borne out of her family’s circumstances, although unlike the Bennet girls, Phoebe had a dowry which must certainly negate such concerns.

  As a consequence of being the eldest son, Mr. Phillips had also inherited the larger share of his father’s meager fortune, a portion of which he had invested wisely and thus designated as his only daughter’s dowry. She, in turn, had been taught by a governess, for her father’s family had insisted upon it, and she had frequently gone to London for the benefit of the masters.

  A young woman with a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing, and the modern languages, Phoebe also excelled in painting tables, covering screens, and netting purses. />
  Unlike her cousin’s lackluster exhibition on the pianoforte at Rosings at Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s behest, Phoebe’s exhibition had been exemplary.

  Any man—even one of Mr. Darcy’s consequence, would be lucky to have her.

  Returning her mind to the real culprit that evening, Phoebe recalled her cousin’s rejection of Mr. Darcy’s hand: “You are the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry.”

  Phoebe shook her head. Yes, there was Mr. Darcy’s interference with Jane and Mr. Bingley, but I dare say that had Lizzy been of a mind to rectify that misfortune what better way than to accept the hand of the one person best positioned to reunite them?

  Her understanding of her cousin’s motives grew clearer upon each recollection of what she had heard.

  I am persuaded that Lizzy’s love for Mr. Wickham is the primary motivation for what she has done.

  The thought that her cousin had led Mr. Darcy on crossed her mind.

  Lizzy was never truly in favor of an alliance between Mr. Darcy and me. I am persuaded she did everything in her power to draw him in. She did not want him, and she did not want me to have him either.

  She nodded. Now that I think about it, I believe I was too hasty in dismissing my earlier suspicions about my cousin when we were at the Netherfield ball and she used her feminine arts and allurements to turn Mr. Darcy’s head. Perhaps, she employed her duplicitous stratagems to her advantage and thereby my disadvantage long before then—before I arrived at Netherfield during Jane’s convalescence, and yet again once I took my leave. Who is to say to what lengths Lizzy might have gone to thwart my efforts to garner Mr. Darcy’s affection for me?

  “Very well,” Phoebe said out loud. “Turn about is fair play,” she added, reciting a phrase often used by her cousins and herself during their younger days.

  Even if a tiny part of her owned that her cousin was not entirely to blame for her favorite beau’s defection, her bruised ego whispered, I no longer wish to be in such close proximity to the person who has been the means of injuring me. Let Mr. Darcy pine away for Lizzy to his heart’s content. I do not want anyone’s seconds, even if he is so very rich.

  She drew a deep breath. “Mr. Darcy is nothing to me now, and I have Lizzy to thank for that. I will teach her not to cross me again.”

  Her desire to get away from Hunsford and thereby get away from her conniving cousin grew more urgent with each passing minute. Would she go to London to spend time with Jane? Would she return to Hertfordshire to the sanctuary of her own home—her own things?

  Although Phoebe’s father had settled in Hertfordshire some decades earlier, her father’s family was from Brighton. What was more, Phoebe’s aunt had prevailed on her many times to come to Brighton for a visit. She arched her brow in contemplation as another one of her brilliant ideas took form.

  Cousin Lizzy’s precious Mr. Wickham has recently gone to Brighton with the militia. I believe the time has come for me to accept my aunt’s invitation for a long overdue visit.

  Prepare yourself to know just how it feels to be so callously betrayed, dear cousin. Prepare yourself, indeed.

  Chapter 18

  a great improvement

  “Be not alarmed, madam, on receiving this letter, by the apprehension of its containing any repetition of those sentiments or renewal of those offers which were last night so disgusting to you.”

  Having arisen earlier than usual the next morning to the same thoughts and meditations which had at length closed her eyes and having yet to recover from the surprise of what had happened the evening before, Elizabeth had done the only thing she could do in such times as that. She escaped the parsonage without detection to indulge herself in air and exercise. Little did she know, Mr. Darcy had been of a similar mind, only he had been prepared for their encounter as evidenced by the letter he handed her. He asked her to read it, he bowed, and he immediately went on his way.

  Some hours later, Elizabeth was in a fair way of memorizing everything he had said. Once again, the letter’s opening resounded in her mind: “Be not alarmed, madam, on receiving this letter, by the apprehension of its containing any repetition of those sentiments or renewal of those offers which were last night so disgusting to you.”

  To have written something so eloquent, so heart-rendering, and personal, and yet so final. Would she ever really understand such a manner of man?

  He had placed an extraordinary degree of faith in her character by revealing his family’s most closely held secrets: how his young sister had nearly thrown herself in Mr. Wickham’s power, how his own father had been blinded by Wickham’s vile nature. He had disputed Wickham’s lies, each one in its turn. He never denied Wickham the living in Kympton. Wickham had lied. In truth, he had refused to take orders and requested the value of the living instead. Mr. Darcy had given Mr. Wickham money, not only in this instance but time and time again.

  She now perfectly remembered everything that had passed in conversation between Wickham and herself when they were walking along the path to Longbourn from Meryton some months ago. Many of his expressions were still fresh in her memory. She was now struck with the impropriety of such communications to a stranger and wondered how it had escaped her before. She saw the indelicacy of putting himself forward as he had done and realized the inconsistency of his professions with his conduct. She remembered that he had boasted of having no fear of seeing Mr. Darcy—that Mr. Darcy might leave the country, but that he should stand his ground. Yet he had avoided the Netherfield ball the very next week.

  She also remembered that, till the Netherfield party had quit the country, he had told his story to none except herself; however, after their removal it had been discussed everywhere with neither reserves nor scruples in sinking Mr. Darcy’s character, though he had assured her that respect for the father would always prevent his exposing the son.

  How differently did everything now appear in which he was concerned.

  Elizabeth grew absolutely ashamed of herself. Of neither Darcy nor Wickham could she think without feeling she had been blind, partial, prejudiced, and absurd.

  How despicably I have acted! I, who have prided myself on my discernment! I, who have valued myself on my abilities to discern other people’s character. Had I been in love, I could not have been more wretchedly blind! But vanity, not love, has been my folly.

  Till this moment I never knew myself.

  Her self-recriminations aside, there was the matter of Mr. Darcy’s interference in Jane’s concerns. He owed it to his obligation to his friend and entirely in the absence of any malice toward Jane. He truly believed that Jane’s affections toward Mr. Bingley were in complete discordance with how they ought to be. Although Elizabeth would be the first to confess that Jane rarely showed her true feelings to anyone, she would not completely accept Mr. Darcy’s explanation, insisting still that it was not his place to decide.

  Some hours later when Elizabeth arrived at the parsonage house, her friend Charlotte met her at the gate. “Eliza, my dear, you will be disheartened to learn that you have just missed our morning callers.”

  Elizabeth supposed it was just as well, for the last thing she wanted to do on that particular morning was sit with people she barely knew and feign politeness when her mind was so busily engaged with the events of her last encounter with Mr. Darcy in the grove when he handed her the telltale letter.

  Remembering herself, she said, “No doubt it was one of the parishioners calling to seek favor from Mr. Collins.”

  “In this case you are mistaken, for the guests I am speaking of were Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam.”

  “Mr. Darcy?” Elizabeth responded, her voice a puzzling mixture of disbelief and surprise. Having seen the unaffected look on his face earlier and having spent the next hours wandering the lanes in the wake of reading his letter, she had persuaded herself that she was the last person on earth he wished to see.

  Charlotte nodded. “Yes. He and the colonel called to say goodbye be
fore leaving for London.”

  “So they have left this part of the country,” Elizabeth said almost in a whisper. She did not know whether she was more pleased than disappointed by this intelligence. Certainly it was a great convenience to be spared the awkwardness of seeing Mr. Darcy face to face so soon upon the heels of reading his letter. While he had promised there was to be no renewal of the sentiments that, in his words, Elizabeth had found so disgusting, a part of her whispered it would be worthwhile to express her regret for judging him so severely.

  “Indeed. I suspect they had hoped to see you. In fact, the colonel made mention of walking out in search of you.”

  “I suppose it is just as well that he did not,” she said, still quite uncertain if he had intentionally meant to sow seeds of discord between Mr. Darcy and herself. Again, she silently rebuked herself, for how could the colonel possibly have discerned any symptom of love that his cousin harbored for her when even she was caught completely unaware by his ardent love.

  You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you. Even now, Elizabeth was shocked by Mr. Darcy’s declaration.

  “Why ever would you say that, Eliza?” Charlotte asked. “I was certain that you got along exceedingly well with both gentlemen. Surely you witnessed a great improvement in Mr. Darcy’s demeanor over what it had been when we were all in Hertfordshire.”

  Elizabeth thought for a moment that she ought to confide all that had happened between Mr. Darcy and her with her intimate friend, and then immediately thought better of it. Not that she could not trust Charlotte with such a confidence, but she did not want her friend to think she was foolish, imprudent and even worst ridiculous. Wanting to put temptation completely aside, she said, “I suppose Phoebe was utterly delighted by the visit, even if a little disappointed to bid her favorite beau adieu—”

  “Perhaps forever,” Elizabeth added nostalgically after a brief pause. Now aware more than ever that Phoebe never stood a chance of garnering Mr. Darcy’s affection, Elizabeth suffered a measure of pain for her cousin. Not that she suffered any guilt, for whatever had been the cause of his ardent affection was a result of no conscious act on her part.