by Meg Osborne
“And you think I might offer you a reason?” Lizzy asked, at last seeing the wisdom of his plan.
“I think we might assist one another in our distress.”
“And avoid marrying without love by...marrying without love?” Lizzy frowned.
“Without love, perhaps,” Mr Darcy conceded, with a slight grimace. “Yet surely we might agree on the fact that we like one another, Miss Bennet. We get on well together, do we not? Now that our first disagreement is behind us.”
This, at least, provoked a slight smile to settle over Darcy’s immovable features.
“I don’t - I cannot -”
Elizabeth struggled to make her lips work to form the words that rushed around her mind. Mr Darcy was proposing to marry her himself, instead of Mr Collins. He was by far the preferable alternative, and even Mrs Bennet could not dispute Lizzy’s throwing over a curate and heir to Longbourn, for Mr Darcy of Pemberley, surely?
“You need not answer straight away,” Mr Darcy said, sensing her dismay. “I understand this is a serious decision and requires some consideration, thus I will not pressure you to an immediate response.”
“Let me be sure I am clear, Mr Darcy,” Lizzy said, taking a deep, steadying breath. “You propose we marry - you and I - and build our life together, in order that we might not be bound to marry those others would choose for us. Yet you say nothing of affection, nothing of -” her voice almost died away on the word. “Love.”
A nerve in Mr Darcy’s jaw twitched, and Lizzy’s heart sank. Did he so despise the notion of love that it caused him physical discomfort?
“You said yourself, I am not a romantic man. I would not take you for a fool by acting the part now.” He paused. “No, Miss Bennet, I am not a romantic man, but I am a pragmatic one, and thus I trust that even you can see the wisdom of this plan. We might have a marriage of minds, if not of hearts - for I am sure you still dispute whether I do in fact possess one of those.” His lips cracked in a wry smile, and Elizabeth stared at him in surprise. “But I am not an unkind man, nor a foolish one. I can offer you a position in society far above that presented by Mr Collins, and we might make our home at Pemberley, in Derbyshire, or in London, or, indeed, anywhere else you might choose.”
Lizzy’s eyes darted this way and that, trying to make sense of all that he was offering her. An estate, a position she could heretofore only dream of! Mrs Elizabeth Darcy, my, how well the name sounded! Her heart sank. There must be some catch, some problem she was overlooking.
“Why?” she asked faintly.
“I have explained my own situation, regarding my aunt and my cousin.” Mr Darcy responded, primly.
His cousin! This brought Elizabeth’s own concerns about Anne rushing to mind Did Darcy know Anne loved another? Was he removing himself from her reach so that she might be free to pursue a future with George Martin?
“I did not before now believe you so approving of marriages when each partner is of so different a social position,” she began, tentatively wondering if she might dare to raise the issue of Anne’s future happiness directly.
Darcy frowned.
“I am a gentleman: you are the daughter of a gentleman. I confess I may previously, erroneously, have thought us different, too different ever to find a way forward.” He bowed his head. “I have since seen the error of my ways. Is it not, after all, character which dictates a person’s values, and not merely the position they hold in society?”
Elizabeth could not argue with this, touched as she was by his allusion to his change of heart. If Mr Darcy could overcome his own pride and offer her a marriage in spite of his early prejudice towards her, might she not at least consider it? Truly, it spoke of more character than she had previously imagined him capable of having.
“It is too much - too sudden,” she began, at last.
“You need not respond straight away,” he repeated. “Please, take some time to consider all I have said. I would not rush you to a conclusion before you are ready.” He glanced over his shoulder, acknowledging the crowds that were spilling from the church. “Come, Miss Elizabeth, the rest of our party look set to depart. Let us join them.”
Wordlessly, Elizabeth nodded, and fell into step beside him.
Might this be my life? Walking side by side with Mr Darcy as not only his friend, but his wife? She blinked, unsure at that moment whether the thought thrilled her or left her despairing.
Chapter Thirteen
“...Mary, I fancy you have not heard a single word I have uttered in the last five minutes!” Colonel Fitzwilliam’s voice was gently teasing, but Mary flushed a guilty red. They were sitting together in a small sitting room at Rosings.
“I am sorry, Richard.” She smiled a little, still unused to calling him by his Christian name, even though they were so soon to be married. “You are right, I was distracted. Please, tell me again.”
“No, no.” Richard chuckled. “I shall not burden you with my concerns when your mind clearly longs to be elsewhere. What is the matter, dear?”
Mary frowned. “I do not know, except...” She paused. “Did the silence on our journey home from the church strike you as odd?”
“Silence?” Richard laughed again, properly this time. “We must have been in different carriages, for I certainly was not aware of any silence. Aunt Catherine talked just as much as ever, in fact, none of the rest of us could get a word in alongside her reflections on the day.”
“But that is precisely my point,” Mary said. “Did not you notice how she tried - and failed! - to draw Mr Darcy into conversation? He would scarcely answer her, indeed, he hardly seemed even to hear her.”
“That is not anything to comment upon. You know almost as well as I do that my cousin is not well known as a conversationalist.”
“But he was not the only one,” Mary protested. She tried to put her thoughts into words that Colonel Fitzwilliam might understand, not knowing Elizabeth as well as she did. “Lizzy was...distracted, somehow. She kept her eyes fixed on the scenery as it passed, and would not be brought into the conversation by myself or by Anne, or even, once, by Lady Catherine!”
“And this strikes you as unusual?”
“Indeed!” Mary nodded her head, vigorously. “My sister is rarely so quiet, unless something concerns her.”
Richard leaned back in his chair.
“Well, if you are sure there is some problem, why are you tarrying to talk to me?” He clasped Mary’s hand warmly. “I can see your care at present is for your sister: please, do go and reassure yourself that she is as well and as happy as she can be expected to be.”
“You do not mind?”
“Mary, dear!” Richard laughed. “We shall have the rest of our lives to be together. I might manage to spare you for an afternoon.”
She smiled, and darted away towards the door, pausing only as she heard his languid voice call after her.
“Only for an afternoon, mind! You must be by my side this evening, for Aunt Catherine spent half the morning discussing our wedding with her friends: I cannot face her inquisition alone!”
Mary turned back quickly to nod at him and then scurried up the stairs towards Elizabeth's room. Knocking lightly, she could not help but remember the last time she had been in this position, in Longbourn, and how her concern for Lizzy's well-being had pressed her to encourage her sister to accompany her to Rosings. This time, a tiny flicker of anticipation burned in her chest. Elizabeth had been quiet, yes, but so had Mr Darcy! Surely that meant something?
A murmur from within gave Mary the confidence to push the door open, and she entered, to see Elizabeth sitting on a chair by the window, staring listlessly out towards the gardens. She scarcely looked up to greet her sister, so Mary took a deep breath, and crossed the room, sitting on the edge of the bed and looking with concern at Elizabeth.
“Is anything the matter?” she asked, with an affectation of ease.
Lizzy glanced up, then, her features relaxing briefly into a smile.
&nbs
p; “Oh, Mary!” she said. “I am so glad you are here. You must help me to make a decision.”
Mary's heart began to pound a little quicker. Lizzy looked so unlike herself. Her forehead was creased into a frown, and her cheeks were drawn and pale. Her eyes were still undeniably bright, though, and darted around the room, before returning to Mary's face.
“Mr Darcy and I - that is, he has asked me to marry him.”
“Marry?” It was too much to hope for! Mary almost clapped her hands, rejoicing that Jane's plan had come to fruition, and with scarcely the need for any intervention from her.
“Yes,” Lizzy said, her voice faint. “It is quite ridiculous, is it not? I cannot possibly say yes.”
“Why not?” Mary's response was sharper than she intended, and Lizzy lifted an anxious glance to her. “I mean, I do not understand why you might not wish to say yes! You do like him, don’t you?”
Lizzy laughed, but it was a humourless sound.
“If you had asked me the question three weeks ago I do not doubt my answer would have been different,” she conceded. “But our acquaintance has grown since then, and I suppose it is no great shame to confess that yes, I do like him. He is intelligent and kind, and - when one can draw him into conversation - is a clever, witty partner. Only -”
Mary’s breath caught, the only sound that she offered as a response to Elizabeth's verbal reasoning.
“I do not love him.” She sighed. “I was always so determined that only the greatest affection could induce me to marry, but now, I wonder if I was not being childish to hold to such a view. Certainly, Mama does not hold it, nor Father, and even Charlotte Lucas told me in no uncertain terms that I must let go of the idea and consider my future security as the most important concern in deciding upon marriage. What do you think, Mary?”
Mary felt the colour drain from her cheeks. This was an important question, and it fell to her to give a still more important answer, for she felt certain that what she said in this room would determine Elizabeth course of action, and thus, her future happiness.
“I think,” she began, frowning as she carefully considered her words. “I think that to marry for love is one’s highest ideal.”
“You see?” Elizabeth said, nodding, fervently. “I knew I could not be alone in this. Jane loves Mr Bingley. And you love Colonel Fitzwilliam.”
“Yes,” Mary conceded. “And yet -”
Elizabeth snapped her gaze up, and Mary struggled to find the words to communicate clearly what she was thinking.
“I do not think love is necessarily the same as we read about in books. And - do not take this as criticism, Lizzy dear, for it is not meant to be - you have read many more books than I. It may grow over time.”
“It may not,” Elizabeth interjected, in a low voice.
“I think that unlikely,” Mary said. “If you marry, if you build a life so entwined with another, how can you fail but grow to love them?” She drew a tentative breath. “And if you like Mr Darcy, if you get on well together, then that is a better start than many might wish for.”
“Better certainly, than the other marriage Mama seems intent on forcing me into,” Elizabeth acknowledged, with a weary sigh. “And it is only I that speak of love. He, as you well know, is not romantic in the least.” She cracked the merest hint of a smile and Mary’s spirits began to lift. “He actually referred to it as a business proposition. We might provide one another with a way out of the difficult circumstances we found ourselves trapped in.”
“And is Mr Darcy trapped?” Mary asked, recalling Anne de Bourgh's explanation of her mother's wishes for him to marry her. She frowned. “Will this new scheme not leave Anne all alone?” Mary asked, feeling a flare of concern for her new friend.
“No, that is perhaps the best part, and aids me in deciding, for it is clear my marrying must have an impact on all those around me, whoever I choose to marry and whether I marry at all!” Elizabeth's voice was soft, yet she still darted a glance towards the door as if to reassure herself that they were not to be overheard. “I have reason to believe Anne has a shared affection with another gentleman - one her mother will most likely disapprove of, and one whom she certainly might not pursue any kind of friendship with if she is forced into marriage with Mr Darcy. If he is otherwise - if we are married, then at least she might be free to pursue her heart.”
Elizabeth sighed.
“You are yet not convinced?” Mary asked, folding her hands in her lap to keep from wringing them in despair. Where was Jane in this? She would be far better to counsel her sister. Could Elizabeth truly not see what was only too apparent to Mary? She did indeed love Mr Darcy, and he loved her. They might call it a practical marriage all they liked, but surely they could not ignore the truth of the matter for long.
“I am reluctant to admit to the wisdom of the plan,” Lizzy said, lifting her eyes to Mary’s. “Yet I am thankful that it is you, pragmatic, sensible Mary, who is my counsel on the matter. I know this is a wise step to take. Certainly, Mr Darcy is a gentleman. He might provide all I could hope to wish for in life - more! And I know you are right, if I do not love him, at least I respect him, and no doubt love will grow in time.” She paused, a strange expression lighting on her face. “I cannot deny I do care for him, though he infuriates me at times.” This last was whispered, and Mary wondered if her sister realised she had spoken it aloud. Wisely, she did not respond, merely allowed Elizabeth to reason in silence.
“I believe I must accept him,” Elizabeth said, at length. “Though I can scarcely believe I am saying so!” She grinned, looking at last like her old self once more. “Imagine, Mary, what Mama and Father will say when they hear. Imagine Jane’s reaction! It is a dream, I am sure. One of those absurd dreams that make real life seem dull and logical, and yet I have pinched myself blue and still have not awoken.”
“Lizzy!” Mary laughed. “How can you have gone from romance to logic in the span of one conversation?”
“I can scarcely say!” Elisabeth said, smiling. “I hardly know myself, or my life, and yet I imagine you felt much the same, upon accepting Colonel Fitzwilliam, and look how happy it has made you both.”
Spontaneously, Elizabeth reached over and enfolded her sister in an embrace.
“Thank you, Mary,” she murmured into Mary’s shoulder. “I am grateful for your counsel and your support. I know now what I must do, though I do not rejoice at the prospect.”
Yet, Mary silently corrected her. You may not rejoice at it yet, dear, but I am sure you will come to in time...
LIZZY’S TALK WITH MARY had settled her nerves considerably. She still could not quite believe that this was happening - that Mr Darcy had asked her to marry him and that she, Lizzy, was poised to accept. She could not refute the wisdom of the match, though, when it offered them both a way forward. And the sense of relief she felt at the question of Mr Collins being so swiftly and decidedly answered was palpable. Her spirits soared and she walked with energy, determined to enjoy some exercise before she sought out Mr Darcy to give him her answer. It was quite by chance, then, that she spotted Anne de Bourgh, sitting on a bench that was surrounded by those flowers that still bloomed in the sheltered Kent Autumn.
“Here is a picture!” she exclaimed, pausing to sit near her friend.
“I did not take you for an artist!” Anne remarked, with a warm smile.
“Indeed, I am not, but I am well able to admire beauty. You make a perfect scene, sitting here amidst the flowers, with the late afternoon sun lighting your golden hair.”
“Not an artist, but definitely a wordsmith,” Anne said, laughing at Lizzy’s poetic description. “How are you, dear Lizzy? You were so quiet after church that I feared you had had some mishap on your visit to the mausoleum. I trust you found it well?”
“Yes, and appreciated its architecture, just as you assured me I would.” Elizabeth paused. “You are at least as observant as my sister, Mary, in understanding what others find agreeable. I pride myself on my powers o
f observation but I am sure you both put me quite to shame.”
“We often fail to see that which is unfolding right before our eyes,” Anne said. “Particularly as it pertains to us as individuals.”
There was a sad note to her voice, and Elizabeth tried to discern her meaning. Might she refer to George Martin, to her secret romance?
“It is difficult, I think,” Lizzy ventured. “To be honest about one’s feelings when we know others might disapprove.”
Anne glanced up, sharply, but Elizabeth continued, undeterred.
“I speak mostly of my own experiences, of course. However, I am bold enough that when a matter is so very important to me, I confess I care more for my own feelings in living through it, than I do of others who wish me to endure.” She smiled, self-deprecatingly. “Is that terribly selfish?”
“It is honest, I believe,” Anne said, softly. “And brave. I do admire you, Elizabeth. What it must be like to be so confident in one's own abilities and decisions, to be able to overthrow the will of those older or wiser than oneself.”
“I do not believe that wisdom and age are inextricably linked,” Elizabeth said. “In fact, I think our elders are occasionally blinded to the course of true wisdom by the experience of their years. If one has always acted in a certain way, one must always act in a certain way.” She shook her head. “I disagree. The world is constantly moving forward, Anne, and we must move with it, or fear to languish, forgotten, in the past.” She laughed. “Oh dear! I seem to be waxing unpleasantly lyrical this afternoon, don't I?”
