At Last: A Pride and Prejudice Variation

by Anne Morris

  Mr. Powlett found her again, after she had her plate. He asked, and was given permission to sit with her. They discussed the view with a shared passion. He looked over at Simon who was sitting between Mr. Darcy and Mr. Nash.

  "Your brother is a fine boy," he said, and she could hear the admiration in his voice.

  There was a spark of something deep inside her, "thank you, we all love him dearly," she replied.

  "He is an excellent example of a young gentleman, and your father must be proud."

  "He is," said Elizabeth even more moved. They watched as Simon said something, and Mr. Nash laughed. She watched as even Mr. Darcy smiled—the Mr. Darcy who so often had a stern face, bent under the will of that small boy child. She knew that Mr. Nash had a daughter. Caroline had spoken about her step-daughter, and again there were emotions which crimped inside of her as she watched the two men, actually three men, admire Simon. She glanced back at Mr. Powlett.

  "I should have liked to have had a son, like Master Simon," said Mr. Powlett.

  "And shall you not someday?" cheered Elizabeth for his tone had taken on a certain mournful edge.

  "No, Cora and I only had less than a year before I lost her."

  "Surely you will rally again, Mr. Powlett," she said as she leaned over. She had only known him a day so felt she could not reach out a comforting hand, but thought she could give him comforting words. "Surely it has been many years, has it not?"

  "Yes, but she was my one and only love. I do not know that I can ever love another—that I can love again."

  A silence fell between them, and she had to consider those words. "I believe I understand, Mr. Powlett. I and a gentleman courted but circumstances…" and she left it there. The world and society knew about her and Richard Goulding, but she was speaking about Henry Mandeville. She wondered then about herself and her aunt's advice, and could she rally again, or was she like this gentleman who lost his wife almost a decade ago and felt that he could not bring himself to love another? "And what of your estate?" she prompted.

  "That will be in good hands. My cousin John, who is ten years my junior, is a decent fellow, and I trust him implicitly. He will care for the estate." They turned back to look at Simon, who was always perpetually in smiles; his natural disposition was one of happiness. They went back to enjoying their luncheon and admiring the view.

  • • •

  That afternoon such as those persons who were tired could choose to rest, but Mr. Darcy still played the attentive host, and led a tour of the house and most of his guests joined him. Dinner was as magnificent as it had been the day before, though it was also livelier as there was more easiness with the conversation as Mr. Nash became more welcomed by Mr. and Mrs. Bingley, and Mr. Powlett became better known—and as the wine flowed more freely. The gentlemen did not linger as long over port and cigars, but came in earlier to join the ladies that evening.

  Mr. Powlett knew about their little part of Hertfordshire and spoke of it to Mrs. Bennet and Mary while Elizabeth listened. His wife had been from the far eastern part of the county and had been, it was found, friends with the Osmont family who owned Stokes House. Elizabeth sat up when he mentioned that.

  "Cora and the eldest, Judith, had known each other from school—a local girls' seminary, and were of the same age. They corresponded even after our marriage," he said.

  "Did Miss Judith marry?" asked Mrs. Bennet.

  "Yes, she married a gentleman with an estate up north, even farther north than Derbyshire. I do not recall where after all of these years," he made a slight gesture with his hand, and Elizabeth felt a pang of sorrow for him, as he was, perhaps, recalling his wife when Mrs. Bennet was plaguing him about the Osmont family.

  "Do you know anything about the other daughters?" pressed Mrs. Bennet.

  "Edith and Iola," he muttered. Elizabeth saw his hands grip the arms of his chair. "They have not married to my knowledge."

  "They must be on the shelf now," Mrs. Bennet waved a hand to dismiss them, "poor dears. They used to come down, the entire family, every summer for a three or a four week stay at Stokes House until that fire in '08." She paused to take a sip of her coffee, then she looked over at Mary as though she thought her middle daughter could somehow say something clever that would garner the gentleman's attention.

  Elizabeth's attention was caught by a sound, and she noticed that Mr. Darcy appeared to be listening to their conversation. She wondered what would interest him about neighbors who had moved away years ago, but then she had learned that many odd things interested that particular gentleman.

  "Iola is not in the best of health," answered Mr. Powlett, "I believe Miss Edith cares for her now," he smiled with that slightly reserved smile of his, but Elizabeth again noticed that his hands still had a firm grip on the arms of his chair. She discerned that the topic unnerved him, so changed it to an easier one, then let her mother lead the conversation again.

  Mrs. Bennet had watched Mr. Powlett with Elizabeth, and then had a hurried consultation about their prospects in a corner. Elizabeth tried to persuade her mother that there were no prospects to be had. But Mrs. Bennet could not believe that a single gentleman was not in want of a wife, and that her single daughters would not suit such a gentleman, so she would not believe her daughter. Elizabeth stated emphatically she would not pursue Mr. Powlett, so Mrs. Bennet said to allow Mary the chance to get to know him.

  Elizabeth chose to go sit with Jane and Mrs. Nash then, who seemed to be attempting to mend what had been a broken acquaintance. Elizabeth knew that the former Miss Bingley had not been the best friend to Jane. Now that they were related, Mrs. Nash had, perhaps, come to accept the fact that they were sisters and would frequently meet. There was talk between them—shared confidences—about married life though they looked a few times at Elizabeth as though they had discussions to share that could not be discussed in front of Elizabeth, as a maid. Elizabeth had smiled to herself and thought that there were topics that she probably could share with them.

  The drawing room doors had been left ajar, as the evening had been so fine. She looked over, and saw that Mrs. Bennet's aim had been achieved; Mr. Powlett was talking to Mary. Everyone else was occupied, even Mr. Darcy was speaking with what appeared to be animation to Mr. Bingley and Mr. Nash. Elizabeth decided to slip outside that open door onto the terrace.

  The night was lovely, it had to be the warmest and loveliest summer evening she had experienced that season, and she laid her hands on the railing of the terrace, and looked out into the darkening light. She moved down away from that open door, farther away from the party, and more into the darkness. Elizabeth let it envelope her, and considered that she had only one more day to endure, and then she would be going home and could escape the constant eye of Mr. Darcy.

  It seemed that every time she looked up, she could feel someone watching her. She would look over and see his eyes were upon her. She still felt their last conversation between them, though she did not know that there was anything else to be said, that could be said. She did not feel she could explain or that she needed to explain anything to him at all. She thought of the love that she and Jane had talked about back when she was fifteen, to fall desperately in love, to marry and have children as a gentlewoman does, and as Jane had done, having fallen so gently and sweetly in love with Mr. Bingley that she now began whispering in drawing rooms about the expectation of children, and how quickly they might appear.

  Elizabeth had instead, fallen desperately in love with someone who had not reached his majority when she was but sixteen, where their circumstances had not allowed much choice but to run to Gretna Green, though time then had been wanting, and their only option was a marriage-by-proxy. He had gone away never to return, and she had given birth to a child. But she had loved him. But was she only capable of loving once in her lifetime? Mr. Powlett said he had so loved his wife, Cora, that he could not love another. Was she capable of loving again as Aunt Gardiner had assured her and encouraged her to do? Should she
come to London in the fall and seek a life partner? She had tried with Richard Goulding. She had been honest with him that she had not been a maid, and he had been appalled at that fact. They had broken off their engagement, but she felt she must be honest. She did not know what she was capable of, or what she wished for.

  "Miss Bennet."

  Elizabeth turned, startled, and leaned back against it, the terrace railing, as Mr. Darcy was there in the dark with her.

  "Yes," she called. She had not meant to ever be caught tete-a-tete with him, and in her two weeks at Pemberley she had managed that quite well, and yet here they were, alone. Her eyes danced down the length of the terrace to that door where light shone out from the drawing room, where all of her family and the guests sat, and yet they stood in the warmth of that summer evening in the dark. The stillness was between them as he did not say anything else, and she leaned a little back with her hands clasping the railing, as he looked at her. And then, without warning, he leaned forward and kissed her.

  • • •

  He had watched her the night before, speaking to his new guest. She had been placed between Mr. Powlett and their governess at the table, and her usual brilliance had attracted Mr. Powlett to her, so he had done his best to speak to the gentleman and draw him out and away from her at dinner. But the next day he saw them again. They had chosen to eat luncheon together, and at one point, even seemingly with their heads bowed as if sharing a secret. Darcy had been thankful that after dinner the gentleman had not chosen to engage Elizabeth, perhaps he had not been able to find a seat next to her, but spoke instead to the bookish sister.

  Darcy watched as she had been a little separate from everyone else, then he noticed how she had slipped out onto the terrace, though no one else seemed to pay her any attention. He had excused himself, followed her, and had been surprised she was not just outside the pool of light from the lanterns, outside that door. Elizabeth stood far down at the end of the terrace looking wistful as she looked out, not at the horizon as there was little to be discerned of the landscape, but lost in thought as he had often seen her lost in thought. He called to her, and she turned, and he thought he had never seen a more lovely creature, that there was nothing else, no other woman in the world that so enchanted him. He had lost all reason when it came to Elizabeth Bennet, and he leaned over and kissed her,. And then Darcy found his cheek slapped, and he pulled back to look at her.

  "I am not a woman without a sense of moral judgment that I should kiss a man to whom I am not engaged or at least with whom I am not courting, Mr. Darcy. I wonder that you believe I would welcome such a sign of affection from you!" she cried.

  Jealousy reared up inside of him, a creature clamping hold within. "Mr. Wolton-Fane I suppose," he began.

  "Are you to forever bring up Mr. Wolton-Fane?" she cut him off. "You are presumptuous and arrogant; I do not know how many times I have pointed this out to you, Mr. Darcy. You have no right to be so suppositious about this!"

  "A man does not take a lady on a curricle ride unless he has intentions," he cried.

  "Have you ever taken a lady on a curricle ride?" she asked.

  "No," he said. And then, though a gentleman is not supposed to ask, he did. "Has he ever kissed you?"

  "Yes," she replied.

  He supposed that she had not slapped Wolton-Fane's cheek when that man had kissed her. All of his ideas that they had some understanding between them, and which he had talked himself out of believing, came rushing back to him then.

  "Did he propose?" he asked in a soft voice.

  "Yes," she answered.

  His body felt heavy as he stood there looking at her, the wine from dinner a sour mess in his gut, as she stood with her hands still clutching the railing behind her. "So you are engaged to Mr. Wolton-Fane," he said, and he took a step away from her; he could not turn his eyes away nor could he hide the sadness in his voice.

  "It was not that kind of proposal," she said, still without moving. And then her words, the meaning of them, hit him, and he thought of the effrontery that Wolton-Fane would do that to her.

  "He assured me that he would care for me deeply," she continued, "he told me how lovely I was, and that he also valued my wit and intelligence, and asked me to come away with him, to be his mistress. He used sweet words, but he did stop speaking when I said no." They still stood looking at one another having almost not blinked. "I propose, Mr. Darcy, that you and I part ways now, and I would appreciate it if we shake hands on Monday and that we agree to never see each other again."

  He bowed to her, and she turned away from him and went back to contemplating the horizon.

  Darcy questioned himself as he moved away from her. He had not understood his own motives in seeking her out that evening. He knew she was a woman who had fallen from grace, and he had not had any intention, truly, of singling her out, of speaking to her, let alone of stealing a kiss from her. But what had he intended? Was he of the same mold as Wolton-Fane? Had he, until that very moment, considered her as a woman with the potential to be a mistress, but never to be considered a wife?

  He had always sought what he wanted in life. He had not stopped to consider pleasing others; he had not sought to love others. He did not believe though, despite her past, he would be the type of gentleman to propose what Wolton-Fane had proposed. Despite her history, she was still a woman worthy of being loved, and not simply a woman to be desired. He felt mortified, as if he had not truly understood himself until that moment. He wished Elizabeth Bennet happy, though it appeared he was to play no part in her happiness.

  He retreated back inside and left her to her thoughts.

  • • •

  She knew she was sorry then that the beauty of this place—his place—but particularly the outdoors, kept calling her, as it had called to her for the past two weeks; she thought she had been safe—after all, he had been talking to Mr. Bingley and Mr. Nash—and she did not think that his eyes had noted her disappearance, but Elizabeth felt like she should have known.

  She was sorry she had slapped him. She had been continually offended in her dealings with Mr. Darcy. She was always thinking, always assuming there was something presumptuous about him as her first reaction. She had been afraid there might be a proposal like Mr. Wolton-Fane's proposal coming, and Elizabeth realized she did not want to think about ever receiving such an offer from Mr. Darcy.

  Elizabeth had watched him with Simon that afternoon. He had been patient, even indulgent, as he talked of his own childhood and his dreams of being King Arthur, and all of the quests he had set out and fulfilled in the name of chivalry, and for honor. She had met his one cousin and could well understand the Pemberley Woods holding such a fascination for boys with vivid imaginations. Elizabeth had watched him speaking to Mr. Bingley and Jane, and considered the happy conclusion there to a frustrating concern for her family. He had said he encouraged his friend to think about marriage—to not rush into it. If she was honest, and stepped back, Elizabeth had to admit that it was sound advice; advice she herself would have given any friend.

  He was a warm host; she had come with low, even few expectations for this visit—of the estate and its owner—but had been surprised by both. He could be—he was—a thoughtful and considerate host; providing entertainments that suited the different tastes of the variety of his guests. She thought how much her opinion of him had changed since she had first met him in the fall. If he had had an inclination to make her an indecent proposal, she did not want to hear it so she had rejected him before he had been able to ask. She had rejected him with a slap to his cheek.

  The evening cooled, and Elizabeth knew that she needed to return to the drawing room. She slowly made her way back and realized that she had not been missed. The pleasure that the people within found with each other meant she had not been missed by anyone but Mr. Darcy. And that he did note when she had finally composed herself and returned back to the light and to the warmth made her wonder at the nature of their relationship as a small
breeze blew her back inside, ruffling the drapes around the open door as she came through into the light.

  She found a seat just inside, a book there on a table, and occupied herself with the pretense of reading until the evening came to a close, though her eyes never noted any of the words in front of her, and her mind was occupied solely with the man across the room as he moved about playing host. She wondered if his mind was equally as ill-at-ease as hers.

  • • •

  Sunday was a game of cat and mouse. Elizabeth came to the breakfast parlor late, and was relieved to discover Mr. Darcy was gone already. In fact, all the gentlemen had gone on a long ride, and she was spared his company until tea time. They were on opposite ends of the room then, and were not seated next to each other at dinner.

  After the meal, Mrs. Bennet suggested dancing, though Mr. Bennet had not danced in years, but Mrs. Younge said she often danced the men's steps when teaching her charges, and if she danced there would be enough for four couples and a spare—one set. Elizabeth offered to play the pianoforte, which delighted the two youngest as there was then one less lady dancing. Elizabeth played until everyone had their pleasure from dancing, even Mrs. Bennet, and no one commented or even seemed to mind about her not joining.

  Refreshments were ordered after everyone had their fill of the entertainment and Elizabeth used the time, as everyone settled into seats, and in little groups, to steal away and retire early to her bedchamber.

  "Miss Bennet."

  She was halfway up the main staircase, but turned to see Mr. Darcy standing on the outside edge of it beside the newel post at the bottom. She inclined her head in acknowledgment as she looked at him over her shoulder.

  "You said he was gone."

  The topic was back between them again and hung in the air—oppressive to her as though a humid day weighing down on her, and she was glad for the distance between them. Her position above him up on the staircase, and his down below in the hall. Her hand gripped the rail with increased pressure as she looked at him with his own resting atop the post below.