She refused, however, to allow herself to dwell too much on the matter until such a time as Mr. Covington declared himself. While she was certain of his interest, the truth was that he could do better than her in terms of a match with a woman of greater fortune; hers would be the advantage in a marriage between them. And while his estate certainly was not struggling, it was a small holding, and would benefit by the master choosing a wife whose dowry could enrich the family. Time would tell if his interest was serious, and she would not worry about it overmuch until then.
Her attention, in fact, was elsewhere in any case. Since the loss of the regiment, there had been constant repinings from her mother, Lydia, and Kitty at the dullness of everything around them, which threw a real gloom over their domestic circle. Lydia was particularly loud in her complaints, for she was still angry and disappointed that her visit to Mrs. Forster had been delayed until autumn, and that she would never enjoy the delights of Brighton. Her mother, according to her, had, by taking the advice of Mrs. Covington, betrayed her entire future. Mrs. Bennet wavered between mourning with her favourite daughter as to the opportunity lost and a practical consideration for not offending the only promising candidate for a son-in-law. Once Lydia had determined the true source of her woe, she blamed it fully upon Elizabeth, and did not hesitate to point this out to her sister at every available occasion.
Elizabeth was thus quite in need of pleasant distraction. Her upcoming tour to the Lakes was the object of her happiest thoughts; it was her best consolation for all the uncomfortable hours which the discontentedness of Lydia, Kitty, and her mother made inevitable. The time fixed for the beginning of the Northern tour was now fast approaching. Only a few days remained when Mr. Covington came to call at Longbourn once more.
His primary object in the visit was Elizabeth, and even if he had intended otherwise, Mrs. Bennet, never one to lose an opportunity, would have forced him into a position where it would have been impossible for him to avoid spending time with her daughter. Between the two, there was nothing easier than for him to sit beside Elizabeth and speak with her at length. Elizabeth was honestly glad to see him, as she would have been any caller who did not come solely to mourn the departure of the regiment, and she was quite lively in her description of her hopes for her tour and her interest in the Lakes. Mrs. Bennet was pleased to observe that Mr. Covington seemed to find Elizabeth’s enthusiasm quite charming.
“Lizzy,” Mrs. Bennet interrupted after a time, “it is such a pleasant day, and the flower gardens are in full bloom. Perhaps Mr. Covington would like it if you showed him the different walks.”
Elizabeth was not at all fooled by her mother’s stratagem, but obediently made the offer, which was accepted with alacrity. She ran into her own room for her parasol, and then attended her guest downstairs. Outside they proceeded along the gravel path that led to the flower garden; she pointed out several of her favourites to him along the way.
“Do you enjoy gardens, then, Miss Bennet?” asked Mr. Covington.
“Yes, I confess to a love of the outdoors in general, and Jane and I often will spend our time here among the flowers,” she responded.
“My mother has always loved gardens, and it has been a disappointment to her that her health has not allowed her to oversee our gardens as closely as she would have liked in the last few years. They have not suffered overmuch from the neglect, though I think that the gardeners lack my mother’s sense for designing plantings.”
“It can be hard to match something which is a matter of personal taste, and I can understand your mother’s frustration,” she agreed somewhat absently.
“Miss Bennet,” he said, his voice rather serious, but then he went no further.
She looked up at him. “Yes?”
He took a deep breath, then said, “There is something that I have been… hoping to ask you about.”
Elizabeth had a sudden realization of what he was implying, and her pulses fluttered a bit. She had not been expecting this so soon, and had not in truth given the matter enough thought to be sure of her decision, though the arguments in favour certainly seemed to outweigh any against. Nevertheless, she was sufficiently anxious to try to delay matters. “There is?” she asked.
He flushed. “Yes, umm, I have been thinking, umm, of how much pleasure I have had in your company of late, and I know that you are going away very soon, and it will be some time before I see you again…”
She was both amused and a bit vexed by his obvious anxiety. Whatever else might be said against the other two men who had proposed to her, neither of them had any trouble speaking his piece. On the other hand, she thought, there was something to be said for a man who was not so blindly certain of being accepted as to have no worries in the matter. An ardent declaration of love, too, could be a somewhat more embarrassing proposition when faced with someone whom one would continue to encounter regularly even if rejected. She took a little pity on him, and, seeing an opportunity to gain herself some time as well, said gently, “Is there something you would like me to consider while I am away?”
He seemed relieved by her comprehension of the question, though he clearly had hoped for a more immediate answer. “Yes, that is to say, I would very much like it if you would consider whether you would do me the honour of being my wife,” he said, the last words rushing out.
Elizabeth, feeling somewhat sorry for his uncertainty, said gravely, “I thank you for the compliment, sir. I confess you have caught me quite by surprise, and while I find I am… favourably inclined, I would appreciate the opportunity to examine my thoughts on the subject more closely, with hopes of giving you an answer to your satisfaction.” She smiled at him with a warmth that she hoped would convey her regard for him, despite the delay she was requesting.
“Then I may approach you on this matter on your return?” he asked. To her relief, he did not seem overly disturbed about the deferment of her response.
Her smile was a bit more free now. “I will look forward to it, Mr. Covington,” she said, with just a trace of archness.
He caught her hand and brought it to his lips. “As will I, Miss Bennet.”
Elizabeth, feeling suddenly shy, blushed and looked away. Once her hand was free again, though, she looked up at him and saw again the amiable man she had known for years, and was able to exchange a smile with him.
***
Mrs. Bennet had been quite displeased when she discovered that Elizabeth was not yet engaged despite her efforts, but her vexation was somewhat mitigated when her daughter told her that Mr. Covington had particularly asked if he might call on her on her return. Her mother’s frequent lectures over the next few days as to the importance of securing his affections provided yet another reason for her to look forward to her tour.
The trip in every way lived up to her expectations. The company of her aunt and uncle was delightful, and the excitement of seeing places she had only read of in the past occupied her days. The beauty of the Lakes surpassed all her imaginations; she found it to be a landscape that spoke deeply to her. Though accustomed to more level and peaceful terrain, she felt she could happily spend her life among the crags and fells. Her only vexation was when the question of Mr. Covington would come to her mind. She did not find the thought of him vexing, but her own inability to come to a coherent decision about his proposal was a nagging irritant. She was not used to considering herself a dithering miss, yet her usual decisiveness seemed to have deserted her on this issue.
One morning, when they were staying in the town of Glenridding, Elizabeth set off by herself to explore. She was feeling a need to be alone with her thoughts, and even the pleasant presence of her aunt and uncle felt as if it were more than she could tolerate. She struck off onto a path which led above Ullswater, skirting the small woods that clung to the side of the river, and walked rapidly until she felt well winded. Finding herself in a clearing overlooking the water, she settled herself in t
he grass to admire the dramatic scenery.
For some time she was content just to feel the cool breeze moving over her skin, but soon her thoughts returned to the question she had been avoiding through the entire journey. She could no longer circumvent it; she needed to come to a decision about her future with Mr. Covington. She was not even certain why she was struggling with it; certainly he had a great many of the characteristics she would value in a partner—he was amiable, well-liked and respected, and had a reputation for kindness and generosity. She knew he would never deliberately hurt or neglect her, nor maltreat any children they might have—she found she shied away from thinking of “their children”—and his position in life was one in which she could be comfortable.
It galled her to be forced to consider that very position in life, but the truth was she could no longer afford to ignore it. Her mother in many ways had the right of it—if none of the Bennet girls married well, their position as well as her own would be very precarious after Mr. Bennet’s death. Elizabeth had always put this consideration to the side, certain that Jane, with her beauty and gentle disposition, would find an appropriate husband, thus taking the burden from her. Now, though, having seen how little Jane had recovered her spirits after Mr. Bingley’s departure, she was forced to reconsider that conclusion. No man would want a wife who was pining for another, and, while Jane was strong enough to continue to put a good face on her sadness, that spark she had owned in the past was no longer present. Her younger sisters gave her even less cause for hope; she doubted that Mary would ever marry, and if Lydia and Kitty found husbands, those men would no doubt be as foolish and impractical as their lady-loves. No, she could not depend on any of her sisters to be able to provide a home and sustenance for their mother or the others after her father’s death. Under the circumstances, how could she justify refusing a pleasant, well-to-do gentleman of whom she could make no major complaint?
He certainly was an improvement over her previous suitors, she thought with an ironic smile. Mr. Covington might not constantly challenge her intelligence as Mr. Darcy had, but he was far from the obsequious fool Mr. Collins was; and his manners and conduct were certainly an improvement over the proud and judgemental Mr. Darcy. If he had not the fine countenance and figure of Mr. Wickham, he more than compensated by owning a far greater moral sense than the other ever would. All in all, she had very little to complain of Mr. Covington as a husband—nothing at all, in fact, except that she found herself with no particular urge for his company. She did not miss him when they were apart; she did not look forward with eagerness to their next encounter; she did not remember with delight what he had said at the last. She had hoped to marry for love, but she could go no further than to say she liked him. Still, could not that affection develop into more, given time? Was a failure to make her cheeks blush and her pulse run fast a reason to refuse a man who would make a good husband? It was a sensibility she could not afford. There were few enough men who would look at a penniless woman from a family known for ill-bred behaviour.
She sighed. There really was no choice; perhaps that, as much as anything, was what grated on her. She wanted a marriage that went beyond the everyday as much as the spectacular scenery before her outshone the calmer landscape of Hertfordshire, but it was not to be. But it was not realistic to wait in hopes of finding a man who could instantly command her whole heart and devotion. There would not be a husband to open new worlds to her, to continually challenge and stimulate her—that was beyond her reach. But she would not allow herself to be made unhappy by fanciful wishes. She would accept Mr. Covington’s offer when he made it, and she would be grateful for it. She resolved that she would think no further on any attributes Mr. Covington might lack, and only to consider the advantages he offered.
The sun went behind a cloud, and she shivered. She should have brought a shawl with her, she thought, rather than rushing out heedlessly without thinking that the weather might change. She took a last look at the peerless view before her before determinedly heading back towards the town.
***
Darcy had quite enough of his guests for the day. Nothing could please him, neither Bingley’s good humour, nor Miss Bingley’s condescending witticisms, nor even Georgiana’s quiet company. He was restless, and decided to take himself off for a solitary ride before his mood deteriorated any further. He cantered across the familiar and well loved hills of Pemberley until his horse was lathered, then, restive still, slowed him to a walk on his way back to the house. Unwilling to return to company quite so soon, he paused and turned along a favourite path by the side of the water, where every step brought forward a noble fall of ground or a fine reach of woods. In such attractive surroundings, relaxation slowly began to steal over him.
Elizabeth would like it here, he thought involuntarily, and a familiar pain rushed into him. An image of her rose before his eyes, the sweetness of her smile contrasting with an arch look in her lovely eyes. How am I to tolerate this? he demanded of himself, not for the first time. He had thought this pain would fade with time, but it had not; and coming to Pemberley had brought no relief—if anything, it had worsened his distress and longing for her. This was where she was supposed to be by his side, this should be her home, and it seemed he could not forget her, not even for a minute.
Then there were those moments when he would see a shadow of sorrow crossing Bingley’s face, and know that he was responsible for causing his friend the same sort of agony he now found himself in, and he despised himself for it. But Bingley’s loss was the greater; if Elizabeth was to be believed, her sister had truly loved him, whereas Darcy had never been so fortunate as to have Elizabeth’s love to lose. It was almost as great a punishment to think of this as it was to recall the bitterness and acrimony of Elizabeth’s refusal, and sometimes he wondered that he could still look Bingley in the eye and call him friend. If only Elizabeth were here, he thought despairingly.
He gazed unseeingly at the vista opening before him, and the question crept into his mind once more that had been haunting him since the day he had arrived at Pemberley, having ridden ahead of the party so as to have some time in his home alone. Was it possible that his letter had improved Elizabeth’s opinion of him? Might it be that, if he were to try to make his suit again, she might be more receptive? Was his pride, his damnable pride, causing him to refuse the opportunity to see if she might yet be won, now that her misconceptions had been laid to rest? If she ever read the letter, he thought bitterly, and if she believed a word you said in it!
His pride was certainly standing between Bingley and his happiness, he knew. He could hardly blame Elizabeth for refusing him when he looked at his own behaviour—giving up on the woman he claimed to love, and allowing his friend to suffer the tortures of the damned on his account. But to confess his insufferable interference to Bingley—what if Miss Bennet had since forgotten him? Would another disappointment not be worse?
Enough was enough, he decided suddenly. He could no longer bear not knowing. He would talk to Bingley, convince him that it was his responsibility to return to Netherfield to collect the quarter-day rents and to enjoy the shooting, and then they would see—see if Miss Bennet still cared for Bingley, and see if he himself had any hope of ever winning Elizabeth’s affection. If the answer was no, he would have to accept it, and somehow learn to live with it, but he was damned if he would give up before he knew.
***
Elizabeth kept to her resolution of having no regrets. It was somewhat easier after Mr. Covington finally asked her to be his wife, and she was able to see the joy in his face when she accepted him, and to see the pleasure that their engagement brought to her family. Her mother was delighted that she would be mistress of Ashworth, her father pleased that his favourite daughter would be so near, and Jane, to whom Elizabeth had never confessed her reservations, was as happy for her sister as her spirits would allow her to be.
She felt reassured on another front as well. M
rs. Covington was a woman she respected, and despite her pleasant interactions with her before leaving on her tour, Elizabeth had a very real concern that her future mother would be disappointed in her son’s choice. It would have been better for the future of Ashworth, she knew, for him to marry a woman with some fortune of her own, and Mrs. Covington could not fail to be aware of it. Elizabeth disliked the idea of entering the family with any conflict between her and the woman who had managed the household ever since she could remember. It was an agreeable surprise, then, on her first visit to Ashworth after her engagement, to find Mrs. Covington congratulating her with a kindliness which could not be missed.
Touched, Elizabeth thanked her warmly. She was surprised to find herself confessing to Mrs. Covington those very concerns she had worried over, and was for a moment embarrassed to have acknowledged so openly her own consideration that she might not be the best match for her son.
Mr. Darcy's Undoing Page 2
