This Disconcerting Happiness: A Pride and Prejudice Variation

by Christina Morland

  “But last night, at dinner…”

  Mr. Bennet managed a smile. “Sam Johnson sat at my feet, hidden by the tablecloth. I have been meaning to tell Cook that he especially enjoyed the white fricasse of chicken.”

  Elizabeth could not help herself: pulling her fingers from her father’s grasp, she brought both of her hands to her face and sobbed. She wished she could control her feelings, if only for her father’s sake; he, too, was weeping.

  “What a mess I have made of this entire business,” he said, wiping his eyes. “I think, when I first told you, I hoped as you did—that Dr. Countway had made a terrible error, that somehow, this would pass as easily as all of my other troubles in life have.”

  Elizabeth slipped from her chair and sat at his feet. Leaning her head against his knees, she closed her eyes and tried to imagine she was once again that little girl who had so often sat in his lap while he told her a story or read to her from one of his favorite books.

  “Then, yesterday,” he continued, stroking her hair, “when your Mr. Darcy marched in here with his promises to take care of you and your sisters, I could no longer pretend anymore, could I?” He sighed. “You have been correct all along, my dear. I should have told your mother and sisters from the beginning. Keeping it between the two of us allowed me to think of my illness as an amusing distraction instead of a certain reality. Now, when I have finally come to accept the truth of it, I do not know how to tell them, especially not with Jane and your mother made so happy by Mr. Bingley. I will destroy the few untroubled days they have left with me.”

  Raising her head, Elizabeth met his eyes. “You should tell them as soon as they wake.”

  “This morning? Certainly not! Are you not all invited to dine at Netherfield this evening? I would ruin the occasion.”

  “Oh, fie on Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley!” Elizabeth said, pushing herself to her feet. “There is no better time, Papa. I know how much you must dread this; I dread it almost as much. But if you do not speak of it this morning, you may have to speak of it when Mr. Collins is underfoot.”

  “I had not thought of that,” Mr. Bennet admitted. “It would be a relief to discuss it without hearing his sermonizing. Very well. You will tell me when they wake?”

  Elizabeth nodded, laying a hand on his shoulder.

  “Then leave me for a bit, my dear,” he said. “I need to think.”

  When she closed the door to his study, Elizabeth leaned her shoulder against the jamb and waited for a sense of relief to overcome her. Instead, she felt only the dull throb of her heartbeat, strong and steady in spite of everything.

  *

  He knew almost immediately that something was wrong, yet Darcy could not attribute this realization to any special insight on his part. Even Bingley, who had spent the last two days oblivious to everything except the joy of requited love, sensed the collective unhappiness of his guests.

  “Do you think,” he whispered to Darcy as they made their way across Netherfield’s drawing room, “that my sisters have been unkind to them?”

  Having no wish to speak ill of his friend’s sisters, Darcy was grateful that they came upon the ladies before he was forced to respond. Although he did not particularly care for Mrs. Hurst or Miss Bingley, he could not blame either woman for expressing astonishment at the announcement that both bachelors would be bachelors no longer. Their surprise with regards to their brother was due less to the object of his affection (for who in Meryton did not know of Mr. Bingley’s regard for Miss Bennet?) and more to the timing of his proposal (his sisters had not supposed him that far gone; if they had, they would have demanded a removal to town where the distance from Hertfordshire and the distractions of London were sure to make him forget).

  Yet no one, not even Bingley, had been prepared for Darcy’s news. Indeed, Miss Bingley had treated the announcement as a joke and had only stopped laughing when Darcy had stated with an unsmiling countenance that he would be marrying Miss Elizabeth Bennet before the year was out.

  That the sisters had invited the Bennets to dine so soon after hearing this unwelcome news was a testament to their unswerving devotion to their brother. Or so Darcy had wanted to believe. He had been suspicious, of course, when Miss Bingley had insisted that the ladies should have some time to converse among themselves before the gentlemen made their appearance for dinner. “We are likely to discuss household concerns that will hold little interest for you,” Mrs. Hurst had explained that morning. “Miss Bennet will have many questions about Netherfield, I am certain.”

  Bingley had readily agreed to the plan, and Darcy had been willing to accept the sisters’ rationale, for it allowed him more time to attend to letters he had for too long been avoiding.

  However, upon seeing the downcast faces of the Bennets, Darcy knew he had made an error of judgement.

  The Bennet ladies were not, as a rule, prone to fits of melancholy. True, Darcy had long observed the two youngest girls’ propensity to sulk, but even their pouting tended to contain an air of mischief and frivolity that was absent on this occasion. Mary, whose sermons he had already become well acquainted with (after only one dinner at Longbourn), was silent. Mrs. Bennet, too, held her tongue, and Jane Bennet was not smiling; this behavior was so contrary to the natural order of things that Darcy could not help but feel unsettled.

  It was the look on Elizabeth’s face, however, that caused Darcy pain. Had she appeared angry, amused, or some combination of both, he might have supposed that either Miss Bingley or Mrs. Bennet had said something offensive, as was their wont to do. He would have expected Elizabeth to raise her shining eyes to his, and they would have exchanged a glance that managed to communicate more of worth to him than all the words written here. Elizabeth did meet his gaze—but she reminded him more of a sleeper who had been unexpectedly roused and was confused as to her whereabouts than the witty young woman he had come to love.

  After performing the perfunctory bows and greetings, Darcy took two steps toward Elizabeth, only to find his arm claimed by Miss Bingley.

  Bingley and Miss Bennet, the first to notice, wore matching looks of surprise.

  “Caroline,” her brother said, frowning, “I would think—”

  Elizabeth cut him off with a shake of her head. “Mama?” she said, offering her arm. Mrs. Bennet complied without showing any sign that she recognized Miss Bingley’s affront to her daughter.

  Mrs. Hurst, however, had. “Let us proceed to dinner,” the hostess announced with an overly bright smile before any comment could be made on her sister’s forward behavior.

  Darcy was not surprised to find himself seated at the opposite end of the table from Elizabeth. While he would have preferred to be near her, of course, he used the opportunity to watch her and her mother, who was seated at her side. There were no exasperated looks or muttered side comments from either of them; indeed, neither said or did much of anything at all. Only when Mrs. Bennet reached for her soup spoon with a trembling hand did he finally realize what, in retrospect, seemed quite obvious: they knew. All of the Bennets now knew.

  Sighing, he wondered how any of them were going to make it through this seemingly interminable meal.

  “Whatever could be the cause of your sigh?” Miss Bingley whispered beside him. “Surely it is not the sight of your future family?”

  Darcy did not bother responding. While Mr. and Mrs. Hurst’s behavior that evening was as it had always been (dull and patronizingly polite), Miss Bingley struggled to present even the veneer of civility.

  “I simply cannot comprehend, Miss Eliza,” she said during the meat course, interrupting her brother’s failing (but noble) attempt to keep up a cheerful topic of conversation, “how it is that you managed to capture Mr. Darcy after such a short acquaintance.”

  Everyone, including Mr. Hurst, who was deep into his third cup of wine, looked on Miss Bingley with amazement. Even Miss Bingley would have looked on Miss Bingley with amazement had she been able to see how jealousy had transformed her pret
ty features: eyes narrowed and lips pursed, she appeared, in that moment, to be oldest of the three Bingley siblings.

  “I suppose,” Elizabeth said after a long moment of silence, “you would have to ask Mr. Darcy that.”

  He did not know if he trusted himself to respond. To his surprise, Mrs. Bennet spared him the pain of having to do so.

  “Like all of my girls,” she said, her voice hoarse, “my Lizzy has some very attractive qualities.”

  “Oh, that I do not doubt. In this respect, she is very much like her mother,” Miss Bingley replied, and she might have improved everyone’s opinion of her had she actually meant what she said. Though sincerity was too much to hope for, it was perhaps within reason to expect that she would spare herself further embarrassment and keep silent for the rest of the meal. Alas, even accomplished ladies such as Miss Bingley are bound by some tragic flaw.

  “Mr. Darcy,” she continued with a sneer, “you are very fortunate in your choice of mother-in-law. I have heard it said that all young ladies become their mothers, given enough time. So you may see what refinement, what erudition, what sophistication to expect from your betrothed.”

  Mrs. Bennet flushed; though slow to comprehend on the best of days and preoccupied on this worst of days, not even she could fail to recognize the insulting tone of Miss Bingley’s voice.

  “Then I am fortunate indeed,” Darcy said with feeling. Meeting Mrs. Bennet’s astonished gaze, he added, “I have never had so charming a dinner as I did last night at Longbourn. You, Madam, are the consummate hostess.”

  They were not, perhaps, the most truthful words he had ever spoken—and Darcy did abhor disguise of every sort. But in that moment, faced with Miss Bingley’s spite and Mrs. Bennet’s misery, he felt that his statement was authentic, if not wholly accurate. And though it was likely the effect of the candlelight, the glimmer that returned to Elizabeth’s eyes seemed well worth the momentary lapse of his convictions.

  “To that I give a hearty second!” Mr. Bingley said, raising his glass. “To Mrs. Bennet! No man could ask for a better mother-in-law!”

  “To Mrs. Bennet!” the others echoed with varying degrees of enthusiasm.

  The mood of the party (with the notable exception of Miss Bingley) lightened after Bingley’s toast, in large part because Mrs. Hurst, who was herself a consummate hostess, seemed determined to make up for her sister’s outburst. Together, Mrs. Hurst’s good manners and Mr. Bingley’s natural cheerfulness made the rest of the meal bearable, if not a success.

  By the end of the evening, Mrs. Hurst’s behavior toward Jane Bennet was so friendly that one might have assumed that she had been the instigator of the engagement.

  “Would you not, my dear Jane, like a tour of the house? There is so much to discuss in the way of decorating, and I am certain your mother and sisters would enjoy the tour, as well.”

  “That is very kind, Mrs. Hurst,” Miss Bennet said as they sat listening to Mary play a mournful tune on the pianoforte.

  “But you are to be my sister! You must call me Louisa, dear!”

  “Well, then, Louisa, I am flattered, but I would not want to trouble you. Besides,” she added, glancing at her mother, “we should be returning to Longbourn, should we not?”

  Mrs. Bennet looked to Elizabeth. Indeed, all of the Bennets, including the sullen ones (as Darcy was coming to think of Lydia, Kitty, and Mary), looked to Elizabeth.

  She managed a smile. “A tour would be lovely.”

  Bingley, who was standing next to Darcy, whispered, “That was rather odd, was it not? Why did they all defer to Miss Elizabeth? I really do think there is something the matter this evening.”

  “I would not press Miss Bennet on the matter,” Darcy advised before the others came close enough to hear.

  Bingley’s eyes widened. “You know something.”

  “Shall we start in the breakfast parlor?” Mrs. Hurst inquired. “It is a room that Caroline and I were considering refurbishing, but now that task will be yours, my dear!” Mrs. Hurst took Jane’s arm and led her from the drawing room.

  “You should hurry,” Darcy said, “or you will not be able to speak to Miss Bennet again, unless you mean to discuss wallpaper.”

  Still, as the others filed out of the room, Bingley hesitated. “Darcy, I think you and I need to have a long talk.”

  “Do you?” Darcy said, his eyes on the women leaving the drawing room. Elizabeth turned in the doorway and met his gaze.

  “First,” Bingley said, “you astonish us all with the announcement of your engagement, then this—whatever it is…”

  “Damned waste of time,” Mr. Hurst muttered, coming to stand beside them. “Decorations! Tours! But I suppose we must follow along, eh?”

  “Yes, yes, I suppose we must,” Bingley said, sighing.

  Darcy pretended to follow, only to hang back as they left the room. A moment later, he heard Elizabeth’s voice echo through the hall: “My reticule, I suspect I left it in the drawing room…no, no! I will catch up with you!”

  He smiled to himself, doubting that anyone would believe her—or him. It seemed there was something about Elizabeth Bennet that loosened his once-firm commitment to propriety.

  When she came into the room and shut the door behind her, he found himself wondering what he had ever seen in propriety, anyway. He held out a hand, and she launched herself into his arms.

  “So they know,” he said, resting his chin on the top of her head.

  “They know.” She sighed. “I expected to be relieved, but I never could have imagined how much of a blow this would be to my mother and my sisters. Oh, I supposed that Jane would be distressed, for she feels badly for anyone who is ill. But I did not think…” Her voice trailed off, and he felt her tremble. “My poor mama! She may be a silly woman, but she does, in her own way, love my father very much. It is as if I thought,” she said, her voice muffled against his chest, “that only I could love him as much as I do, that somehow, because I was his favorite, they did not care as much!”

  “Elizabeth.” He stroked her hair, wishing he knew what else to say.

  “They were not angry with me. I was prepared for that! But their sorrow—all of them, even Lydia, whom I have always considered so thoughtless!”

  He rubbed her back, feeling both inadequate to the task of consoling her and opportunistic, as well.

  “Oh!” She sniffed and pushed herself away from him. Wiping her eyes, she managed a weak laugh. “Miss Bingley is quite right, you know.”

  He smiled. “No, I do not know.”

  “She is!” Elizabeth lifted her chin. “I am just as silly as my mother.”

  He handed her his handkerchief. “You are not silly.”

  “Oh, that is what you must say,” she replied, turning away as she pressed the cloth to her face.

  “I think I told you once that I would not flatter you.”

  “That I know, but you must flatter yourself into believing you made a better choice than you actually have.”

  They smiled at each other, and he reached for her hand.

  “Why did your mother not send her regrets this evening? When I realized what must have occurred, I wondered that you had bothered coming at all.”

  “My father insisted. He said he had been the cause of enough unhappiness for one day.” She shook her head. “Poor Papa. For all his wit and knowledge, he does not fully understand us. We would have been happier if we could have stayed with him this evening. Still, he needed his rest and I,” she said, smiling up at him, “am always glad for the opportunity to speak with you in out of the way and improper places.”

  “I would hardly call the drawing room out of the way or improper,” he said, tugging her closer. “However, I predict that, given our tendency to have serious discussions in unlikely settings, we will be naming our first child in Pemberley’s root cellar.”

  “And what would we be doing in Pemberley’s root cellar?”

  The fingers of his free hand had found their way to the
nape of her neck. “You have made me into a cad, Elizabeth Bennet.”

  “Yes, I claim all responsibility,” she said, smiling as he bent his head toward hers. Then she kissed his nose and pushed him away. “I must not corrupt you any further. We should return to the others.”

  “You are very considerate,” he said, frowning. “But I cannot thank you for it.”

  “Such ingratitude! You would not want to be discovered, would you?”

  “I am surprised your mother has not already sent one of your sisters to find you.”

  “Oh, Mama.” Elizabeth sighed. Then, attempting a smile, she added, “Even if she were not so distracted, she would not disturb us, not after your chivalry this evening. I think you may supplant Mr. Bingley in her affections.”

  “That is unlikely.”

  “Well, I find it unlikely that you believed what you said to her, but it was a very nice compliment.”

  “You dare to question my integrity?” he asked, smiling.

  “Given your long face and curt manner at Longbourn last night, imagine how astonished we all were to discover that you had never enjoyed any other meal above that one. I feel exceedingly sorry for you if that is the case!”

  “If this is the treatment I am to expect after paying a compliment to your family—a compliment, I might add, that was true in its intent if not exact in its wording—then I will remember to keep silent in the future.”

  “That will represent such a dramatic change from your usual behavior in public that we will all worry for you very much indeed.”

  Darcy grabbed for her hands, but she stepped out of his reach.

  “You are a great deal of trouble.”

  “Poor Miss Bingley,” Elizabeth said, laughing. “If only she had know how attractive you find insolence.”

  “Attractive indeed. Well, Miss Insolence.” He bowed. “Shall we?”

  “If we must.” She was about to place her hand on his arm when the smile slipped from her face.

  “What is it?”

  “I nearly forgot what I came here to tell you in the first place.”