Rebellion at Longbourn

by Victoria Kincaid

  Of course, he knew someone who would be perfect. But it was a terrible idea.

  Actually, it was a brilliant idea. He could think of nobody who would be more sympathetic than Elizabeth Bennet—and he could absolutely trust in her discretion.

  She understood Wickham’s character and had been similarly deceived by him. She had experienced shame and endured judgment following her sister’s elopement. She would not judge Georgiana through the lens of conventional morality.

  But would it be fair to add to Elizabeth’s already copious burdens? Might it be a selfish act? He should not be encouraging connections between their families when nothing could come from it.

  But his sister’s face was striped with the tracks of her tears. No, he was not being selfish. He would do anything to help his sister. He wanted her to be happy, and Ramsgate clearly still haunted her. He knew deep in his soul that Elizabeth could help.

  Unfortunately, he could not write to Elizabeth and inquire whether she would take on this burden. Any communication between them would be highly inappropriate. He could only convey Georgiana to Hertfordshire and trust that Elizabeth would speak with her.

  He took his sister’s hand again. “Dearest, I have an idea about someone you might speak with—another woman—who could set your soul at ease but arranging it will take some time.”

  Her hopeful expression nearly broke his heart. “I do think I would like to talk to another woman. If it is the right woman. Not Miss Bingley.”

  He laughed. “Not Miss Bingley.” She gave him a watery smile. “Very well. I will see if I can arrange for you to meet…her.”

  “You are being most mysterious.”

  “It is not intentional. I will tell you who I have in mind, but this actually relates to something I planned to ask you about. I have a project I think you can help me with…”

  Chapter Eight

  The cat had caught another mouse but had not consumed all of it. The remains in the corner of the kitchen were fresh enough to be disgusting but old enough that the smell had not immediately drawn her attention. Hill had been running up and down the stairs all day. Baby Robert had been colicky and Charlotte herself unwell with a cold. Collins, unaccustomed to doing without his comforts, had complained about everything from the consistency of the breakfast eggs to the temperature in his study.

  Elizabeth could not bring herself to add a dead mouse to Hill’s list of concerns. She returned to the kitchen and found one of the long-handled spoons they used when making soup. Gingerly, she used it to scoop up the rodent, cradling it in the bowl of the spoon without needing to touch it.

  She hurried out of the back door and deposited the thing under a shrub near the kitchen garden, saying a quick prayer for the mouse’s soul—if mice had souls.

  Hurrying back into the house, she set the spoon in the sink to soak and gave Jane a quick smile as she descended the stairs. “Do you think mice have souls?”

  Her sister paused at the bottom step. “I have never considered the question. The things you think of, Lizzy!”

  Elizabeth shrugged. “My mind has a tendency to wander as I work.” The truth was that she found working in the kitchen tedious. At first it had all been new and challenging, and even now she was pleased to be feeding her family. But the work was the same day after day, and she longed to be outside—where the air did not smell like onions and potatoes.

  “A parcel arrived for you by post,” Jane said.

  “For me? From where?” Elizabeth could not imagine why.

  “It appears to be from a mantua maker in London.”

  Now Elizabeth was completely perplexed. “Are you certain it is for me and not Charlotte?”

  “It is definitely your name on the package.”

  Elizabeth pulled off the apron and hung it up; Collins would be irritated if he noticed her wearing it above stairs. Jane ascended the steps briskly ahead of Elizabeth; no doubt her sister was just as eager to solve the mystery.

  Jane had laid the package on the table in the breakfast room, where Kitty was regarding it with eager anticipation. “Kitty was with me when the post arrived,” Jane explained as she closed the door behind her. This was a prudent move. Collins was not at home but he could appear at any minute, and they would not want to explain the gown’s provenance to him.

  “Is it from Aunt and Uncle Gardiner?” Kitty asked, nearly bouncing with excitement.

  Elizabeth regarded the package dubiously. “It must be. Perhaps she has sent something for all of us and merely addressed it to me.” The Gardiners did occasionally send presents, but they were usually small; the family did not have the means for extravagant gifts.

  The parcel was large and flat but not rigid, wrapped in sturdy brown paper and tied with string. It could easily be a garment—or several garments. Perhaps her aunt had sent shawls for all her nieces?

  Jane handed her a small knife and Elizabeth cut the string, pulling away the many layers of brown paper. The paper inside the parcel was a fine, thin stuff, as if the garment needed to be wrapped in only the most delicate materials. As Elizabeth drew away the last bit of paper, all three women gasped at once.

  It was an exquisite gown of sapphire blue silk trimmed with gold. Taking it by the sleeves, Elizabeth held it up so they could see the full length. The bodice and overskirt were made from the blue silk, but the underskirt was cream. The sleeves were short and adorned with a few gold beads. The bodice was cut fashionably low, but not so low that Elizabeth would find it immodest.

  “Oh, Lizzy!” Jane sighed.

  Elizabeth could only agree. Even when their father had lived, she had never owned a gown this fine.

  “But who is it from?” she wondered. The Gardiners could not afford something this extravagant. A jolt of panic shot through her at the idea that the gown was from Mr. Darcy; he was the only person of her acquaintance who could afford it. However, she could not accept a gift like this from him; it would be entirely inappropriate. She would be forced to return it.

  How cruel! Now that she had seen the gown, it would be very painful to surrender it.

  Was that part of his plan? Elizabeth’s panic transformed into a general tingle of anxiety spreading through her body. He had been unusually civil and solicitous of her well-being.

  Was he hoping to lure her with beautiful gifts and gradually seduce her into becoming his mistress? Certainly it was not an uncommon story: a young country woman lured by a wealthy man into trading her virtue for financial security. Mr. Darcy did not seem to be that sort of rich man, but what did Elizabeth know of the breed?

  Kitty had been searching through the layers of paper. “There is a note!” She thrust it into Elizabeth’s hands.

  Addressed to “Miss Bennet” in a feminine hand, the note was written on a page of expensive hot press paper. Elizabeth unfolded it, and her eyes immediately darted to the signature. “It is from Georgiana Darcy!”

  “Who is that?” Kitty asked.

  “Mr. Darcy’s sister!” Jane exclaimed. “When did you become acquainted with her?”

  Elizabeth shook her head with a little laugh. “I have never laid eyes on the woman.”

  “What does the note say?” Kitty asked. Elizabeth bent her head to read it.

  Miss Bennet,

  Forgive my forwardness in addressing correspondence to you when we have not been properly introduced. Although I do feel that I know you in some small measure since my brother has spoken of you warmly so often. It is my dearest wish that we may someday become acquainted.

  I had this gown made for me in London but afterward did not feel it suited my coloring and complexion. I did not wish it to go to waste, so my brother suggested perhaps you might appreciate it since he believes we are of much the same height. It is a beautiful gown and deserves to be seen to its fullest advantage. I hope you will wear it with pleasure. Again, please pardon my presumption.

  Yours & etc.

  Georgiana Darcy

  Elizabeth set the note back on the table, stari
ng at the gown. “I cannot accept it.”

  Kitty made a noise of distress. “It is from his sister!” she said. “If it were from Mr. Darcy, of course, it would be improper. But there is no reason you cannot accept a gift from his sister!”

  “It must be by Mr. Darcy’s instigation,” Elizabeth objected. “It might as well be a gift from him.”

  “But, Lizzy, think. Mr. Darcy might be offended if we send his sister’s gift back,” Jane pointed out.

  Elizabeth’s eyes fixed on the dress, and she acknowledged to herself that Jane had a good point. She did not want to offend Mr. Darcy. She had few allies, and he had resources that might help her save Longbourn from Collins.

  “You should at least wear it and see if it suits you,” Jane insisted.

  “Oh yes!” Kitty agreed with shining eyes. “It would be a shame if you never knew how you appeared when wearing it.”

  It was an excellent idea. Perhaps the gown would not fit, and Elizabeth would be forced to refuse it. Just because she and Miss Darcy were of a height, it did not necessarily follow that their figures were at all similar. She and Jane could share the white gown only because it was a looser fit than most formal dresses, and even then it had needed many modifications. Very likely a dress as closely fitted as this one would need extensive alterations.

  Elizabeth gathered the dress into her arms, careful not to ruin the fall of the cloth. “Very well. I shall put it on, but should we encounter anyone—anyone at all—we must tell them this is a gift from the Gardiners.”

  Jane and Kitty both nodded quickly; they understood the possible consequences if Collins were to discover the gown’s true provenance.

  “You must put it on immediately,” Kitty said breathlessly. “Our cousin could return from town at any moment!”

  Elizabeth sighed, knowing her sister was correct. The three women exited the breakfast room and hurried up the stairs, Elizabeth carrying the gown pressed against her chest.

  A short time later, Elizabeth was admiring herself in the mirror. The dress fit perfectly. It clung to her waist and bosom in just the right places. The shape of the bodice, the color…everything flattered her figure and complexion.

  Since her father’s death, Elizabeth had ignored the shifts in fashion and told herself that her appearance did not matter. Since her marital prospects were dim, she had focused her efforts on ensuring that Jane and Kitty appeared to their best advantage. But in this dress, she was again Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn. Tears stung her eyes. How silly to be brought to weeping over the good fortune of a beautiful dress!

  “It fits so well!” Kitty exclaimed. “It is as if the gown was made for you! You and Miss Darcy must have very similar figures. What a stroke of luck!”

  Elizabeth brushed her fingers over the skirt, savoring the soft, smooth texture of the silk. As she exchanged a look with Jane, she knew they shared the same thought. It was impossible this dress had been made for anybody but Elizabeth. It fit her too exactly; it must have been made to her precise measurements.

  Mr. Darcy must have obtained that information from the seamstress in Meryton and then arranged to have the gown made in London. And he must have done so immediately upon his arrival home. He had been gone nearly a week. Creation of such a gown would take time. Her estimation of the cost increased—as did her guilt—even as she was compelled to take another peek in the mirror.

  Jane’s expression suggested she was drawing conclusions about Mr. Darcy’s feelings for Elizabeth. She wanted to blurt out everything he had told her about making amends; no doubt the dress was simply another way to assuage his guilt. At some mysterious point when he determined the debt had been paid, he would drift out of the Bennets’ lives. Perhaps he would buy gowns for all the Bennet daughters, and then they would never see him again.

  “You are a beautiful dream, Lizzy!” Kitty sighed. “You simply must keep the gown.”

  Elizabeth disliked being the recipient of someone else’s charity, but she had spent much time over the past month convincing the tenants that they should accept help. Refusing the gown on principle would make her a hypocrite.

  Elizabeth cast a worried glance at Jane, who better understood the reasons for her misgivings. “You should keep it,” Jane echoed. “Then you will be able to attend the ball.” The ball at Pelham Manor. Had he guessed how dearly she longed to attend it? Perhaps she had not been as good at concealing her disappointment as she believed.

  Well, if Jane believed it was acceptable….And she was correct that they did not want to offend Mr. Darcy…

  She admired herself in the mirror again. It was a most flattering dress. “Very well. I will keep it.”

  “And you will attend the ball?” Jane asked with rising excitement in her voice.

  Elizabeth experienced a thrill of anticipation. “Yes, I suppose I will.”

  ***

  Even the people who attempted to ignore the existence of the Bennet sisters could not prevent themselves from glancing in Elizabeth’s direction at the ball. It was rather satisfying. She felt quite elegant in a gown that was not only beautiful but also au courant with the latest London fashions. No other woman—not even Mary King—had a gown that could compare.

  Upon such occasions, Elizabeth was tempted to reconsider her decision not to marry. Did she want to become a poor and lonely spinster? But she reminded herself that these moments were fleeting. She could enjoy it while it lasted, but this glittering world bore little resemblance to her real life.

  One stark reminder of that life was how few invitations to dance she received. Two of Charlotte’s brothers—one of whom was married—stood up with her, as did a friend of her father’s. Mr. Shaw had solicited a dance after his set with Jane, but dancing with him was rather a chore than a delight. Well, I could hardly expect a fashionable gown to make me less of a pariah.

  She had hoped that Mr. Darcy might attend, thinking that the unexpected gift was an indication of his plans. It would be quite flattering if he not only wanted her to have the gorgeous gown but also wanted to see her wearing it. And Elizabeth was a bit astonished at how eager she was to see him.

  But an hour of the dance had already passed, and he had not appeared. Perhaps he had simply felt sorry for her and wanted to ensure that she might be able to attend a ball. Disappointment was silly. His attention was flattering, but he certainly meant nothing by it. Guilt had prompted better behavior toward her family, but no doubt he disdained her inferior connections. Still, she made frequent glances toward the ballroom entrance in search of any latecomers.

  She had just finished a glass of punch when she peeked once more at the entrance. Her heart fluttered at the sight of a tall figure framed by the doorway. Mr. Darcy had arrived! His suit was immaculate, cut to emphasize his height and the breadth of his shoulders. Dark hair tumbled over his forehead, and Elizabeth imagined she could see the vivid blue of his eyes even from this distance. He commanded attention from many in the room, both those who knew his identity and those who were curious about a handsome, obviously wealthy man.

  Her joy was immediately tempered, however, when she saw that he was escorting an elegantly dressed blonde woman. She was about Elizabeth’s height but with a far more womanly figure—displaying curves in all the places Elizabeth lacked. Her gown, a pale ivory embroidered with flowers and birds, put even Elizabeth’s dress to shame.

  Elizabeth quickly averted her gaze, not even certain at first why she was so distressed. She had hoped Mr. Darcy would be here, but she had expected him to come alone. If he had brought a young lady, they were likely more than casual acquaintances.

  She might even be his fiancée. Although he had not mentioned being engaged, there was no particular reason he would have told her family. For a moment Elizabeth believed her heart had ceased beating and died in her chest.

  Why do I feel so terrible at the thought of his fiancée? I must have feelings for Mr. Darcy!

  What a terrible time for such a realization.

  She had alway
s disliked the man, but his recent kindnesses had prompted her to rethink her opinion. Certainly he was proud; however, she had realized how much Mr. Wickham’s false reports about the man had colored her perception. When Elizabeth had finally rejected the officer’s perspective, she increasingly realized she had always found Mr. Darcy attractive.

  Only now did she truly understand her sentiments—at the very moment when she lost all hope of him. Her feelings greatly exceeded attraction.

  “Miss Elizabeth?” She started at the sound of his voice and whirled around. How had he approached her so quickly and without her noticing?

  “Mr. Darcy,” she stammered and stumbled into a semblance of a curtsey, attempting not to stare at the beautiful woman on his arm. Far from affecting fashionable languor, she was regarding Elizabeth shyly. Elizabeth could feel the weight of many eyes watching them; no doubt some women were jealous of Mr. Darcy’s attention.

  Mr. Darcy gestured to the woman on his arm. “Please allow me to introduce my sister, Georgiana Darcy. Georgiana, this is Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

  His sister.

  Elizabeth was too relieved to chastise herself for the error. As the two women exchanged curtsies, Elizabeth gave her a warm smile, which Miss Darcy returned tentatively. “Miss Darcy,” Elizabeth exclaimed, “I am delighted to make your acquaintance. I must thank you for this beautiful gown.”

  Miss Darcy blushed and ducked her head. “It appears to far more advantage on you than it would on me.”

  Elizabeth silently agreed. Not only was Miss Darcy’s coloring utterly different, but she also could not have fit into Elizabeth’s gown—even with the help of a shoehorn. Any tale that the dress had been created for the other woman was complete fiction.

  “Are you enjoying Hertfordshire?” she asked.

  “Oh! I hardly know. We only arrived today.”

  “Well, I hope you will find it to your liking. Where are you staying? At the Meryton Inn?”

  “No.” Miss Darcy’s voice was scarcely above a whisper. “Mr. Bingley has lent us the use of Netherfield.”