by Jane Lark
Had he returned for her? Those words continually played through Lizzy’s mind.
But she must not hope.
He looked so serious.
He hardly looked at her, but looked at her sister Jane. Watching Jane.
When he was not watching Jane then he looked at the ground.
Lizzy longed for him to watch her as he had used to. For his eyes to be on her every time she turned.
Yet he was the thoughtful Darcy once more, the man of quiet, internal contemplation.
She wished for the man she had discovered at Pemberley, who was anxious to please, smiled frequently and spoke easily and often.
Heartache caught in Jane’s chest, like a needle pierced it and created a tiny stitch. “Could I expect it to be otherwise! Yet why did he come?” The words screamed out in Lizzy’s head.
They sat in the drawing room at Longbourn, knowing so many of each other’s secrets, and yet there was no acknowledgement that they knew one another at all.
How foolish that Lizzy should become as tongue-tied as Darcy, but she could find no words to bridge the gap between them. The conversation was filled by her mother, who was determined to send both Darcy and Bingley away again with her deliberate cruelty to Darcy, and unconscious rudeness to Bingley.
“The first wish of my heart, is never more to be in company with either of them.” Lizzy bemoaned her lot. “Their society can afford no pleasure that will atone for such wretchedness as this! Let me never see either one or the other again.” If she had been a child Lizzy would have crawled beneath the sofa with embarrassment. She knew so much her mother did not, and therefore just how foolish and awful her mother sounded.
Jane had not allowed Lizzy to escape Darcy’s company, though, her mother invited the gentlemen to dine at Longbourn.
Jane imagined Lizzy setting down her sewing, leaving the room, then running up the stairs, the soles of her shoes pounding on each step as she rushed to her room, to thrust herself onto her bed, wrap her face in the pillow and scream. How could she have made such a dreadful judgement? How could she turn back time and make a different choice? She loved Darcy, with far greater depth than any affection she had felt for Wickham. She loved the strength of his character, he was a man who presented himself as a pillar of worthiness.
The walks she had shared with him in her favourite place in Rosings Park passed through Lizzy’s memory. They might have been so pleasurable and companionable had she not begrudged him every moment. She rolled to her back, looking at the ceiling.
“Why, if he came only to be silent, grave and indifferent did he come at all?”
There was no answer.
“He could be still amiable, still pleasing to my uncle and aunt, when he was in town; and why not to me? If he fears me, why come hither? If he no longer cares for me, why silent?—Teasing, teasing man! I will think no more about him.”
But she did, of course she did. How could she not think of him? He was only a few miles away in Netherfield.
Why had he come? The thought echoed through Jane’s mind in Lizzy’s voice. Then Jane’s thoughts transferred to Darcy.
He had sat in the Bennet’s parlour, tongue-tied again. He did not know where he stood. His feelings for Elizabeth Bennet were unchanged. Yet hers… What were her feelings? She had been so pleasant towards him in Derbyshire, and to his sister—so kind, and pleased with his company, in appearance.
He had not even felt able to look at her today. He had atoned and brought Bingley back into the circle of her family, yet he had felt sick to the stomach, and terrified of her judgement. It was for Bingley to decide now if he trusted Miss Jane Bennet. Yet for Darcy…
Darcy went for a long ride alone after their visit, and galloped his horse hard, trying to out run his emotions. He did not succeed.
His heart raced when he next had chance to meet Elizabeth Bennet, at the dinner he had been invited to. Yet Bingley, fortunately, chattered during their ride in the carriage over to Longbourn, and when they arrived, there were the Bennets’ other guests to be reacquainted with.
Darcy tried not to look away from the conversation he held with the people about him, and watch Elizabeth, despite that it was all he longed to do.
Bingley was not so reticent. He chose to sit by Jane Bennet at the dinning table, then glanced at Darcy with an embarrassed look. He need not have—if Jane Bennet was what Bingley wished for his life, then so be it.
Darcy glanced at Elizabeth Bennet as she sat on the far side of the table much further down than himself. She was who he wished for his life, and yet surely now that was not possible; he would not dare ask again.
Sadly, his slow progress into the dinning room left him the place no one else wished for, beside Mrs Bennet. He was determined not to become vexed. But she spoke very little to him, and what she did say was spoken with a layer of frost. She did not like him, and he did not particularly like her—except that she had produced an exceedingly pretty, and witty, precious daughter.
When the women rose and left the men, Darcy’s gaze followed Elizabeth’s departing back.
He vowed to himself to attempt at least one conversation with her when the men followed them into the drawing room.
Yet when he entered the room with the other men, Elizabeth was sitting at a table surrounded by women, pouring out the coffee, as Jane Bennet poured tea. A young woman leant and whispered something to Elizabeth, leaving no room for Darcy to draw close enough for more personal conversation. He took a coffee cup from her hand, and he thought he saw a look of regret and apology in Elizabeth’s eyes as her cheeks flared into colour, becoming a brighter pink.
Perhaps she wished to speak with him too.
Lizzy watched Darcy’s back as he walked away and she breathed in, guarding the tremble in her hand as she handed out another cup full of coffee. She wished to scream. She wanted to know how he felt—what he thought?
“Darcy had walked away to another part of the room. She followed him with her eyes, envied every one to whom he spoke, had scarcely patience enough to help anybody to coffee, and then was enraged against herself for being so silly!
“A man who has once been refused! How could I ever be foolish enough to expect a renewal of his love?”
Darcy bided his time within the room, speaking with a few of those gathered, then saw that Elizabeth was accessible and took back his empty cup.
It was as though she seized upon him, as she smiled swiftly. “Is your sister still at Pemberley?” She asked as she took his cup.
He responded in a straightforward manner, answering the questions she asked, unsure if she merely sought to be polite. Then the conversation was at an end, and the words dried on his tongue… What to say? I love you still. How do you feel about me now? Has your opinion changed?
He said nothing.
The younger woman leant forward and whispered something to Elizabeth. He turned away.
No further opportunity to talk to Elizabeth came. For the rest of the evening they were placed on separate card tables. Yet he did glance at her often, and she was glancing at him, as though she would rather be at his table.
What did that mean?
Did it mean there was some hope?
Nonsense. Nonsense. He must stop thinking of her with such tenderness. She had refused him once. What fool of a man would ask again? She had made it clear to him that his affection was not returned, and perhaps now she might like him but what he felt for her was far more than like, and like between them would never be enough.
It would be better if he went away.
He spoke to Bingley when they returned to Netherfield. They discussed Miss Jane Bennet, with no mention of Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Darcy agreed with Bingley that her kindness and partiality to Bingley did indeed seem real. It was agreed then that Bingley would continue on in Netherfield and call regularly upon the Bennets until he was certain of his and Jane Bennet’s affection, while Darcy would return to town. He told his friend he had business to attend to. He had none. He
merely had no heart to remain at Netherfield and watch Bingley’s courting when his own had turned sour.
Jane smiled at the way she had sent her hero away, defeated, even though he had undone all his wrongs. Her quill now lay on the side, and she was as much reading her story as any reader as looking for new parts. Yet within Jane the characters were alive. Their thoughts and feelings which leaked out from the empty space between the lines were those that she had known when she had written the words.
But. “Oh. Yes. Wonderful!” Jane picked up the quill, drew over a clean sheet of paper and then filled the quill with ink.
If Darcy’s aunt, Lady Catherine, called upon Lizzy, it would give Darcy a much better reason to return than to have a mere change of heart. If Lady Catherine had heard some gossip from Meryton, from Mr Collins, she would not let it pass without interference.
Jane laughed aloud and looked at the clock. Twenty minutes to the hour of eight. There was time. If the maid came she would send her away to return in half an hour.
The tip of the quill began scratching over the surface of the paper, leaving black letters which spread across the page.
It would be a momentous thing for the Bennet household to have such a grand carriage and a grand lady arrive to visit them. All the women would be scurrying about the house preparing themselves in amazement, and Mrs Bennet would overly try to please and show off her house and her daughters all at once, while Lady Catherine did nothing but criticize and insult.
Lizzy would have expected Lady Catherine to have brought a letter from Charlotte. But none was offered, and so Lizzy remained ignorant of the reason for Lady Catherine’s visit until she requested Lizzy’s particular company.
As Lizzy and Lady Catherine walked in the small wilderness area, the image in Jane’s mind’s eye was the wilderness path beside the farmyard outside Stoneleigh Abbey.
“How could I have ever thought of her like her nephew?” The words slipped from Jane’s lips, then tolled in her head while she wrote Lizzy’s part, though she did not let them become Lizzy’s words.
Lady Catherine had heard that her nephew intended to propose. Lizzy was struck by the words, as though she had been hit by the swipe of a glove.
But Lady Catherine’s belief could only have come from someone locally who had heard of Mr Darcy visiting Longbourn. They had made a foolish assumption.
It could not be true.
It would never be true again.
Yet it had been true once.
Lizzy would not tell Lady Catherine, though.
The defiance in Lizzy’s nature burst into snarling life. She still hoped, and she would not destroy what little hope she had. She would neither deny that the proposal had been made, nor agree to refusing it if it was made. She would never deny Darcy again.
The following scene—Darcy’s conversation with his aunt—remained only in Jane’s mind.
The quill did not touch the paper as the images and conversation slipped through Jane’s thoughts. She did not have time to capture it all. Lizzy’s conversation and Darcy’s return would say it regardless.
She smiled.
Chapter 24
The bell rang in the hall of Darcy’s town property in St James. Darcy looked at his valet. The man had only just tied the knot of Darcy’s cravat.
Who would call at such an hour? It was eleven, far too early for callers.
Besides he had no desire to face people. He had not come here to receive visitors.
Darcy opened his mouth to tell Jones to send word down to turn the caller away.
“Where is Mr Darcy? Where is my nephew? Tell him I wish to see him immediately!” His aunt’s voice carried through the house—invading the peace he had sought here.
Blast!
He was in an ill-mood, and certainly not in the right humour to speak with Lady Catherine. He had come here to wallow in his misery for a day or two before he must regain his composure.
Darcy’s valet lifted Darcy’s redingote. “Sir.” Darcy slipped in one arm and then the other, then his valet settled it correctly at his shoulders, over his waistcoat. The valet walked about Darcy and brushed down the lapels of the collar.
“I said where is he? Is he here? …Tell him I shall await him in the drawing room!”
There was to be no escape. He must pull himself together and cease pining for a woman who would never be his.
“Sir.” Jones stepped back, his work done.
“Thank you.” Darcy turned away.
The muscle tightened in his jaw when he walked from the room. He had not known his aunt was even expected in London, she had not written to advise him, as she normally would, and what on earth she could want with him at this hour, he had no idea.
His fingers slipped over the polished wood bannister as he descended the stairs.
His porter looked up. “Mr Darcy, your—”
“I heard.” Darcy jogged down the last few steps. He had come here seeking a haven. He had even avoided Pemberley and his sister because he knew she would question him if he was in a bad mood, and he did not have the heart for feigning a good one. Nor did he wish to trouble her with his sorrows. They were minor in truth. A broken heart did not kill a man.
Yet from somewhere he must find the strength to rid himself of these putrid emotions. He had heard from Bingley, the proposal had been made to Miss Jane Bennet and agreed. If Darcy were to remain friends with Bingley, then he would be in the presence of the Bennets and particularly Elizabeth Bennet regularly. He could not continue to merely sit and stare at the woman.
Darcy stopped before the door of the drawing room and drew in a deep breath, gathering up his spirits to face his aunt.
Of course, though, if he could master his feelings, then he might have the rest of his life to appreciate Elizabeth Bennet’s expressive eyes and sharp wit. It would be quite normal for the Bingleys to visit him at Pemberley and for Mrs Bingley’s sister to accompany them.
Darcy sighed out at the thought of Lizzy’s eyes, as the image of her face drifted into his mind’s eye, and he turned the handle of the drawing room door. He walked into the room. “Aunt. I did not expect you. How pleasant to see you.”
She had not seated herself but stood near the hearth and now she walked towards him, in a hurry. “Nephew. Tell me it is not true.”
“What is not true?” He was taken off guard by her question. There was no greeting. No enquiry asking how he had fared, or concern for the health of her niece, his sister. “I may tell you, Aunt, but I would have no idea what I would be denying.”
“This nonsense.”
“What nonsense, Aunt? You are not making yourself clear.” She stood before him. Still in her bonnet. Her hands waving before her in an agitated manner.
“I have come from Longbourn. That stupid young woman would not deny it. And you? What do you say, Nephew?”
Longbourn… He had nothing to say.
But a desire to hear what had been said at Longbourn raced through his heart.
What had brought his aunt immediately to London from Longbourn?
“Why have you been to Longbourn? And what do I have to say about what, Aunt?” If she had gone to Meryton, he would not feel so confused. He could imagine that in her benevolence she might have called on Mrs Collins’s family as she passed. But Longbourn… Why had she called on the Bennets?
“Do not answer me with questions. You know what I am speaking of.”
“Forgive me, ma’am, but I do not.” Impatience sizzled inside him.
Jane leant back in her chair, no longer looking at the words on the paper, but merely living through Darcy. She looked up at the ceiling and let Darcy’s unwritten part play out in her head. She laughed aloud at her image of Lady Catherine—so similar to Lady S & S.
“If Mr Collins has heard then it cannot be untrue, someone has spoken of it.”
“Spoken of what, Aunt?” Darcy’s voice lifted in depth and pitch, resounding with annoyance.
“Your intended engagement to tha
t dreadful woman! She has nothing you know, no dowry of any consequence, no name of any recognition—”
“Aunt.” Darcy halted her with a growl. Intended engagement… Impatience and frustration spun and whirled in a dance with excitement and hope. His innards became a twisted clutter of emotion. “Please tell me what, and whom, you are speaking of? I am in the dark.”
“Mr Collins said—”
“I have not had the pleasure of speaking to Mr Collins, so how am I to know what he has said, Aunt?” His stomach tumbled over as the emotion lay heavy in his gut. He wished to shout. To whom did you speak at Longbourn? He could no longer stand to believe it was Elizabeth Bennet, in case it was not. Yet hope cried out in his chest.
“That Bennet woman. Miss Bennet. Miss Elizabeth Bennet! Have you any intent, or have you not, of asking for her hand? If you have, you cannot. My—”
“Aunt.” Darcy almost yelled her name to silence her, caught by a desperate desire to hug her for her interference and bringing him such hope. He wished to grip her arms and shake all of the information out of her.
She had seen Elizabeth and now she thought that Elizabeth might become his wife.
“Your cousin—” she began again.
“What have you said, ma’am?”
Her eyes, like his mother’s, stared straight into him. He had never missed his mother so keenly. She would have been pleased for him. Pleased for his hope. Pleased his heart had found such a genuine, pleasant woman as Elizabeth Bennet to settle upon. Yet in his mother’s place he was not without family, his sister would be overjoyed if she was party to this conversation.
Joy ripped into him at the thought. “You spoke to Miss Elizabeth Bennet?”
