Darcy and Elizabeth

by Maria Grace

  “My dear aunt, this is being serious indeed.” Did Aunt Gardiner believe her mistaken to have refused Mr. Collins?

  “Yes, and I hope to engage you to be serious likewise.”

  “Well, then, you need not be under any alarm. I will take care of myself, and of Mr. Wickham, too. He shall not be in love with me. If, of course, I can prevent it.” Elizabeth winked.

  “Lizzy! You are not serious now.” Aunt laid a hand on her shoulder.

  “I beg your pardon. I will try again. At present, I am not in love with Mr. Wickham. But he is, beyond all comparison, the most agreeable man I ever saw—and if he becomes really attached to me—I believe it will be better that he should not. I see the imprudence of it. Oh, that abominable Mr. Darcy!” Elizabeth scuffed the toes of her half-boot into the dirt and kicked a clump of knotted roots. How many lives had Mr. Darcy the privilege of interfering with?

  “I am not currently concerned with the character of Mr. Darcy. While I trust your character, I do have concerns about your heart.”

  A chill breeze rattled the barren rose canes surrounding them.

  “My father is partial to Mr. Wickham.” Elizabeth turned aside. The eye contact was just too much.

  “Partial to Mr. Wickham? I find that rather surprising.”

  “Even more so, Mama is as well. Shocking, is it not, to find them in agreement about something concerning myself?”

  “I find it difficult to believe that your mother is unconcerned as to his lack of fortune.” Aunt Gardiner often used that expression when one of her boys was offering her a half-truth.

  “She herself suggested that I would be imprudent to ignore his attentions as I have done for a far more eligible gentleman.”

  “In that choice, I can find no fault. As advantageous as a match to Mr. Collins might have been, it would surely have been your undoing. Mary might have done for him, perhaps even Kitty, but surely not you.”

  “I cannot tell you how relieved I am to hear you say that. Mama has been so very vexed with me since I acted thus. I had begun to question myself.”

  “I am troubled to hear that. It would be a shame if you ceased in trusting yourself. We have all a better guide in ourselves, if we would attend to it, than any other person can be.” Aunt pulled her shawl a little tighter around her shoulders.

  “Thank you. I should be very sorry to be the means of making any of you unhappy. But we see every day, where there is affection, young people are seldom withheld by immediate want of fortune from entering into engagements with each other. How can I promise to be wiser than so many of my fellow creatures if I am tempted? Moreover, how am I even to know that it would be wisdom to resist? All that I can promise you, therefore, is that I will not be in a hurry to believe myself his first object. When I am in company with him, I will not be wishing it to be so. In short, I will do my best.”

  Aunt Gardiner sighed, a special disappointed little sound that pinched Elizabeth’s heart far more acutely than any of Mama’s scoldings ever did. “Perhaps it will also be prudent if you discourage his coming here so very often. At least, you should not remind your mother of inviting him.”

  “As I did the other day.” Elizabeth smiled a little self-consciously. “You are correct. It would be wise to refrain from that. But do not imagine that he is always here so often as he has been recently. It is on your account that he has been so frequently invited. You know my mother's ideas as to the necessity of constant company for her friends. But really, and upon my honor, I will try to do what I think to be wisest; and now, I hope you are satisfied.”

  “I am indeed. More so, I am relieved that you have not found the need to quarrel or resent me for what I have had to say.” Aunt Gardiner returned to the house, but Elizabeth continued on in the garden.

  Aunt said she might not do better than Wickham, except for his lack of fortune. Mama thought little of that obstacle. Papa as well. They thought him most agreeable. So did she.

  Was it wrong to have hopes for the most agreeable man of her acquaintance?

  Why did Aunt’s opinion have to be so very different from her parents’? Why did it have to matter to her so much?

  She slept fitfully. Between her conversation with Aunt Gardiner and the knowledge that Jane would be leaving with the Gardiners in the morning, Morpheus was kept at bay.

  December 29, 1811. Meryton

  Elizabeth rose just after dawn. A walk would probably not be very helpful, but she may as well take one. She buttoned her pelisse and snugged her hat just over her ears. That and a warm pair of gloves should keep the early chill at bay well enough.

  She slipped into the hall, her half boots whispering along the floor. No sense in disturbing the rest of the house.

  “Lizzy?”

  Elizabeth jumped. “Jane! What are you doing up?” And already dressed, wearing her pelisse.

  She smiled weakly. “I could not sleep either. May I join you?”

  “I would relish your company.”

  They tiptoed down the stairs, nodding to Hill as they ducked out of the kitchen door and into the neat rows of the kitchen garden.

  The last of the autumn harvest had been brought in and the air smelt of freshly turned soil, ready for its next plantings. All the weeds had been pulled and the rows straightened, so orderly and tidy, not at all like spring when new bits of green shot up willy-nilly through the dirt and had to be sorted vegetable from weed.

  “What disturbed your sleep?” Elizabeth stepped carefully, not to disturb the fresh ground. “You have never been anxious about going to London before.”

  “I cannot help but think ... is it wrong of me ... I mean I cannot forget that Mr. Bingley is in London. Aunt Gardiner warned me that they go out very little, and they certainly do not mix in the same circles as Mr. Bingley ...”

  “You still hold out hope of meeting him there?”

  “I know I should not, but I cannot help it. Every time I think I have the thought dispelled from my mind, it returns again with such force it cannot be denied.” Jane turned her face up into the golden morning sunlight and bit her lip. “I am a fool, am I not?”

  “How can you say such a thing? You are a dear, affectionate creature. That you would be hopeful is little surprising.”

  “But is it wise, Lizzy? I fear I am only ... no, no, it is foolish. I have determined not to think of him any further, and I will abide by that. I know I shall enjoy the company of my young cousins and my aunt. That and thoughts of you shall be enough for me.” Jane dragged a trail with her toes in the soft soil.

  “Thoughts of me? Whatever for?”

  “I shall think of the pleasant times you must be spending with Mr. Wickham.”

  “Oh, Jane. In truth I hate to even speak of it now, but you are to leave me soon. I do not know who then I shall be able to talk with. Charlotte has her wedding and new life to plan and things are rather ...”

  “Uncomfortable? Awkward?”

  “Both. I do not know what to say to her. Such a decision she has made. I do not know how to wish her well without feeling a hypocrite.” Elizabeth gazed into the sunrise until its brightness made her squint and turn away.

  “She is not you. Be happy in her happiness. That is all you need do.”

  “But is she happy? Can she be with such a man?”

  “Just because you would not does not mean no one can be. Not all can enjoy your good fortune to draw the attention of a man like Mr. Wickham.”

  “What do you think of him?” Elizabeth bit her lip and held her breath.

  “He is everything a young man should be.”

  “Except rich.”

  “Have you not said there are not nearly so many wealthy men as there are young women to deserve them?”

  “It sounds like something Papa would say. I do not recall saying anything of the kind.” But Jane was right, it did sound like something she might say.

  “Whomever said it was quite correct. If expecting a man to be wealthy and agreeable and in love with us may be set
ting the bar far too high, I suppose we must decide, as Charlotte has done, which one of those is most important to us and hope to obtain only that.” Jane pursed her lips and looked around. “Do you like him very well?”

  “I do not know. I think I do. I very much enjoy spending time in his presence. He seems to seek me out whenever we are in company. I think perhaps that he might like me, too. The thought, I confess, makes me very happy. But do you think it right for me to like him?”

  “Right? I do not understand. Do our parents not approve?”

  “They both do.”

  “Then what is your concern? Where there is affection and support from friends and family, then an attachment will doubtless be celebrated and supported.” Jane studied her carefully. “Oh, I see. Mama has been so distraught over Mr. Collins and ... and Mr. Bingley. You fear seeing her upset once again should this affair with Mr. Wickham come to naught. You are all that is kind and thoughtful.”

  Was it deceitful not to correct Jane’s opinion of her?

  “It will be well. I am sure of it. With no opposition on either side and no concerns but his fortune, I am certain that obstacle can be managed. You look so well together, that cannot be for nothing. Promise you will write to me very often and tell of everything. I shall take my joy in yours.”

  “I think perhaps you think too much of things. He has by no means declared anything to me.” The question was, would he? Elizabeth’s stomach pinched just a little.

  “Then I shall be silent on the matter until you give me leave to speak. But know that in my heart, I shall be awaiting your good news.” Jane’s smile was ever so hopeful.

  “I shall miss you very much whilst you are in London.”

  “And I you. But knowing how happy you will be here will ease my spirit every time I think of it.”

  Surely Jane was right. It must be safe to enjoy Mr. Wickham’s friendship. More than safe, it was quite agreeable. She bit her lip to manage the smile that threatened to reveal too much. How lovely it would to be able to please Mama, Papa, herself, and Jane all at once.

  Aunt Gardiner would surely reconcile herself to it all when everything worked out as it should.

  December 30, 1811. London

  The morning of the panto, Darcy laid his newspaper aside on the parlor sofa, snickering. Miss Bingley should not have worried, her little dinner party hardly garnered any notice from the gossips. A few brief words of Sir Andrew’s and Lady Elizabeth’s attendance and little more. Would she be gratified at the mention of her event, or offended that it garnered no more notice than a few brief sentences? It was difficult to predict.

  No doubt he would find out soon.

  The mantle clock chimed, the sound echoing just slightly off the parlor’s polished paneling. A little porcelain harlequin all but waved at him from the curio cabinet between the windows. Mother had given it that place of honor because this was the room they gathered in whilst waiting for the right time to leave for the theater. Had he been traveling with his parents, they would have left by now. Mother always had been determined to arrive early when they went to Drury Lane. The crush of people seemed less that way. She knew he found crowds very unsettling.

  He still did.

  Mother had always been comfortable in a crowd, much like Bingley ... or Miss Elizabeth.

  She seemed to know what to say and what to do to make people around her at ease. How did she do that?

  The clock chimed the passing of another quarter hour. Procrastination would not make things any easier. He called for his carriage to be brought around.

  The ride to the theater passed quickly, too quickly. He scanned the milling crowd for Hurst and Bingley’s sisters. Several ladies turned toward him with inquiring glances. They followed his gaze into the crowd, as if trying to discern who he sought. He winced and pinched the bridge of his nose. If only it had been colder, or better, raining heavily, so people would be intent on getting inside, not watching others. But no, it had to be intrusively bright and crisp today.

  No, not her!

  The woman in the outlandish purple hat with far too many feathers who contributed to the society pages. The hat was new, but the abundance of feathers was the shrew’s trademark, appearing in far too many of Darcy’s nightmares. No doubt his innocent outing to the panto would be the subject of her pen, probably even tonight.

  A white plume bobbed in the crowd and approached. Beneath it, Miss Bingley in a dark blue gown and pelisse trimmed with white fur drew near. Behind her, the Hursts hurried to catch up.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Darcy.” She and her feather dipped in a small curtsey. “How kind of you to join us.”

  “I appreciate Bingley’s invitation.” He did not like to lie, but sometimes it was unavoidable.

  “Shall we find our box before any more children arrive?” Hurst cast about the throng, his upper lip pulled back. “Dashed inconvenient thing that these performances draw so many children who should be left in the nursery.”

  Children often behaved better than their parents once the performance whipped spirits into a frenzy. Young ones rarely incited a riot.

  “At least we shall have none in our box.” Miss Bingley tapped her fan on her palm.

  “You do not like children?” Darcy asked.

  “What is to like or not like? They are necessary. That is why nurses and governesses and boarding schools are employed.” Miss Bingley shared a knowing glance with her sister.

  “Hear, hear,” Hurst waved his hand, ducked his chin and waded into the crowd.

  Darcy ushered the ladies to follow Hurst and stepped behind to bring up the rear.

  It should not bother him that Miss Bingley did not like children. A woman of her rank had little need to. She was entirely correct. Nurses and governesses and tutors could relieve her of nearly all need to interact with any offspring.

  His mother had not felt that way about her children, though. How many times had she stolen away into the nursery for the opportunity to read to him from his favorite book? The nurse used to assure her there was no need for the mistress to trouble herself. Still, Mother would not be gainsaid. Sometimes, Father would join her. He would fold himself in a tiny nursery chair to sit with them as she read.

  Some of the servants thought the arrangement peculiar, but Mrs. Reynolds would not permit that sort of talk below stairs. He had once overheard her scolding a maid who dared criticize his parents for paying far too much attention to the goings on in the nursery. What man did such a thing?

  The kind of man Darcy wanted to be.

  But that would require a wife. And more importantly, one who wanted to do more than merely birth her children.

  Miss Elizabeth drew children to her. Walking on the streets of Meryton, nursery maids brought their charges to her. Miss Elizabeth would drop to a knee to address them eye to eye. He had never been close enough to hear what they said to her or how she replied. But their laughter and looks of delight said enough. She was not the kind of woman to become a disinterested mother.

  “What say you, Mr. Darcy?” Miss Bingley settled herself into the seat beside her sister, in the box high above the crowded lesser seats.

  What was she talking about?

  “For heaven’s sake, Caroline, do not bother the man so. I have no doubt he does not care about the state of Mrs. What’s-her-name’s daughter’s hat.” Hurst flipped the tails of his coat out of the way and sat behind his wife. He gestured to the chair beside him.

  A flash of purple in the next box over twisted his guts. Did Hurst recognize her, too? He settled himself on the velvet covered chair.

  The theater filled, and soon the curtains parted. The crowd hushed, ready to be transported by the magic of the players. He leaned forward, studying the stage. Mother had a remarkable eye for detail. She would whisper in his ear about this bit or that. It had been a game they played: who could discover the most about the details of the stage before the first player came out.

  Miss Bingley preferred noticing the details of the
other ladies who attended.

  Masked characters entered the stage, Cinderella and her father. The masks and costumes were excellent and different to what he had seen before. Definitely distinct from a Drury Lane production.

  Miss Bingley pressed her shoulder to her sister’s and whispered, “There, in the second-rate seats, the fourth row,” she gestured with her chin. “Do you see?”

  Were they paying any attention to the production at all?

  “I believe I do. In the pink dress? Sitting between the children?” Mrs. Hurst pointed the tip of her finger toward the seats below.

  “Yes, yes. Do you think ...”

  Darcy shifted, leaning on his elbow. Who were they looking at? He peered into the crowd, following their directions.

  “Why yes, I think you are right. Oh, Caroline, what are we to do?”

  How could they recognize someone by the back of her head, and why ever would it be so significant? Stuff and nonsense!

  Darcy leaned back and returned his attention to the pantomime. Harlequin waved the slapstick and the Fairy Queen appeared to change the characters and the setting.

  The corner of his lips rose just a mite. As a boy, this was his favorite part of the entire show. There was something innately appealing about such change being so easy and effortless, even if it was just a stage illusion. Masks and outer robes fell away, set pieces turned and tipped and transformed. The world of the harlequinade appeared.

  “Here we are again!” Clown cried from the stage and vaulted from one set piece to another.

  The children in the audience, especially the youngest ones, jumped to their feet squealing and pointing. The young woman sitting in the fourth row below them turned to speak to the little girls beside her.

  A cold wave coursed over Darcy.

  Jane Bennet.

  She was indeed in London! When had she come, and how long was she to be here? More important, was her sister—the right sister—with her?

  Darcy leaned as far forward as he could and peered into the crowd for any sign of Miss Elizabeth. Not that he had any intention of speaking to her. That would surely appear in the society pages. No, any public meeting with her would be impossible. But it would be pleasing to see her, to simply know she was in town.