“Engaged! So soon?” Elizabeth’s astonishment was quickly overwhelmed by her sister’s infectious joy, and she clasped Jane’s hands warmly. “But of course, I believe it. Mr. Bingley was a fool not to have proposed to you months ago!”
“Oh, Lizzy—you must not speak of him so! He is to be your brother now. Oh—but it is the strictest confidence. We agreed not to tell anyone until he has spoken to Papa. I believe I shall be forgiven, however, for sharing my joy with you.”
“Of course you shall. And I shall be the soul of discretion.”
“I hope you will also forgive me then, Lizzy, for not returning to Longbourn today. Mr. Bingley—Charles—has business to keep him in town another week, after which he will return to Netherfield and seek an audience with Papa. He asked me to consider extending my stay here in Cheapside for some days so we need not be separated during that time. After long months of deprivation, it seems absurd that a week more should signify—but Lizzy, I admit I am as loath to part from him as he is from me.” Jane blushed, and Elizabeth squeezed her hands in encouragement.
“Our aunt and uncle have agreed to the extension of the visit and thankfully pressed for few details, despite their obvious curiosity. Aunt Gardiner has already written to Mama asking permission for us both to come home in a week’s time. Will you not remain in town with me? Charles has invited us to the theater on Wednesday.”
Elizabeth considered her sister’s plea. Under any other circumstances, a week in London and an evening at the theater would have enticed her from any set plans. The prospect of meeting with Mr. Darcy during that week’s stay, however, was a pain that would outweigh any pleasure. Once again, he had interfered in the course of Jane and Mr. Bingley’s relationship—this time with happier consequences—but it did not necessarily follow that his interference was kindly meant; nor was it certain that he approved of the results. Whether Mr. Darcy wished her family good or ill, however, Elizabeth could not imagine greeting him with any semblance of equanimity when her own feelings remained so conflicted.
“It is tempting,” she said at last, “but I confess I am eager to see Longbourn again. And what would become of Maria? I cannot allow her to travel on to Meryton alone. Lady Lucas would never forgive me.”
The sisters had abandoned their hosts for as long as good manners would allow. Elizabeth exacted Jane’s promise to preserve every detail of the week past, as well as the days to come, and faithfully tell all when they reunited at Longbourn.
As the carriage departed for Hertfordshire, Elizabeth realized that she, too, would be forced to keep her silence for another agonizing week. First Charlotte, now Jane—Elizabeth was fast forfeiting all her closest confidantes to the institution of marriage. As sincerely happy as she was for her sister, Elizabeth lamented that even when Jane returned to her, it would be for a time briefly borrowed against her future life as Mrs. Bingley. Eventually, the distance between them would be far greater than the three miles from Longbourn to Netherfield implied.
When they reached Lucas Lodge, Elizabeth did not expect her own family’s carriage to be waiting there. Her parents would have received her aunt’s letter by now and likely assumed Elizabeth had remained behind in London. The afternoon was fine, and after a day spent inside a cramped, dusty carriage, the prospect of a brisk walk held great appeal. She paid her respects to the Lucas family and declared her intent to walk on to Longbourn. Hill would be sent to collect her things presently.
What relief she felt, treading the familiar path to Longbourn! Elizabeth tugged off her bonnet and gloves to revel in the fresh, spring breeze. She greeted each gnarled tree and listing fencepost as an old friend, and her humor improved with each homeward step. Surely the clarity of thought that had eluded her ever since Mr. Darcy’s proposal would return to her here in Hertfordshire.
Elizabeth passed unnoticed through the gate of Longbourn. No one expected her; the house was quiet. She had no desire to disturb the tableau of domestic tranquility by making a formal entrance. She decided instead to traverse the gardens and enter by the kitchens, as she would return from any ordinary stroll.
Very little was blooming in Longbourn’s small park when Elizabeth had last seen it. Now the trees were in full leaf, and tender shoots of herbs and flowers twined sunward, only hinting at the tangled thicket of greenery and blossoms they would produce by summer’s peak. Her eyes were downcast as she turned the corner of the hedge, and she came to an abrupt halt at the sight of a remarkably fine pair of boots on the path before her. Unless her father or Hill had traded their dusty, broken-in footgear for the work of London’s finest cobblers, there could be no doubt as to their owner. Elizabeth looked up in disbelief at the gentleman standing before her on the garden path.
“Mr. Darcy!”
“Miss Bennet.” He bowed solemnly, and Elizabeth curtsied. Their glances met briefly, and just as quickly diverted to study the flowers, the path, a nearby bench. Neither spoke for some moments. Elizabeth bit her lip as though chiding it for its stupidity, and she felt certain her cheeks must rival the roses’ crimson hue.
“Forgive me for the intrusion,” he said at length. “I thought you were in London. That is, your father gave me leave to understand you and Miss Bennet would remain there another week.”
“No. I mean, yes, my sister did extend her stay in town, but I decided to return as scheduled. My father… You came to call on my father?”
Now it was Mr. Darcy’s face that colored with embarrassment. “I am passing by Netherfield as a favor to Mr. Bingley, to deliver some instructions to his staff. He plans to take up residence there again presently.”
Elizabeth could only nod mutely.
“While nearby, I decided to call at Longbourn to pay my respects to Mr. Bennet. I did not properly take my leave of the neighborhood last November, and left many such debts of courtesy. I shall continue on to Pemberley tomorrow. My sister is already en route with her companion.”
“I see. Miss Darcy—she is well, I hope?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Silence claimed them once more. Elizabeth looked down at the bonnet and gloves dangling from her hands uselessly. Why had she been so careless as to remove them? She could not attempt to put them on now. That would only call more attention to their absence. She impulsively thrust them behind her back, as if by so doing she might deny their existence entirely. But now she had nothing to hide her dusty, road-wrinkled skirts.
At last, Mr. Darcy seemed to take pity on her distress. “I must be going, then. Good day, Miss Bennet.”
“Good day, Mr. Darcy.” She curtsied deeply and dared not look up again until she heard his footsteps fading into the distance. Then, bonnet ribbons trailing behind her and gloves let fall in the path, she hastened into the house.
“Papa! Papa!” She rushed directly to her father’s library.
“Why, Lizzy—what a surprise, child! This makes two very unexpected arrivals in one day, but I must say yours is the pleasanter surprise by far. We thought you would remain in London with Jane.”
“Mr. Darcy…” Elizabeth could scarcely catch her breath. She swallowed hard. “Papa, what did Mr. Darcy have to say?”
“Oh, little enough and even less of interest. You remember his cold manner, Lizzy. It would not seem that it has altered much since November last. What he lacks in sociability, he may be credited in consistency, I suppose. I wonder that he stopped to call at all. Passed him on the road, did you?”
“Yes.” The fatigue of her day’s journey, a week spent in emotional turmoil, and the entirety of a month’s absence from home suddenly overwhelmed Elizabeth, and she sank into a nearby chair and stared absently at her father’s bookshelves.
“Mr. Darcy did share one piece of information that may interest you, Elizabeth. Although I do not know how your sisters or mother may receive the news, it seems that Mr. Bingley will soon return to Netherfield.”
Chapter Nine
Longbourn
If answers to Elizabeth’s questions were
to be found within Longbourn’s borders, she certainly should have encountered them the following morning. She walked out at first light, having once again slept fitfully, and wandered long through the familiar meadows and woodlands.
She remained at a loss to interpret Mr. Darcy’s intentions in reuniting Mr. Bingley and Jane, but more perplexing by far was his astonishing call at Longbourn yesterday. Teasing, teasing man! What did he mean by paying such a visit? Certainly he had not expected to encounter her there, and indeed he had seemed as disconcerted by their chance meeting as she.
She allowed herself to consider for the first time that Mr. Darcy might intend to renew his addresses to her. If this was the case, then once again he seemed determined to eschew any traditionally accepted means of courtship. Perhaps he meant to ingratiate himself with her family and allow them to persuade her where he could not.
Even as these thoughts entered her mind, Elizabeth was wont to decry them as impossibilities. Mr. Darcy had made his disdain for all matrimonial scheming perfectly clear some days ago, and, as Mr. Bennet had so innocuously noted yesterday, the gentleman’s character was nothing if not constant. Her influence on him could not be so great as that!
Supposing such a transformation were within her power to effect, and Mr. Darcy did renew his suit through such measures—Elizabeth did not know whether she would embrace or despise him for it. His unwavering character was not the sole source of her affection, but it was the origin of her esteem. Pemberley itself had acquainted her with his basic decency many months past. But if Mr. Darcy could alter this integrity at will, to justify interference in a friend’s affairs or to suit his own amorous objectives, any respect or love built upon that foundation must necessarily collapse.
She had turned into the lane that would lead her back to Longbourn, when a lone rider on a dark mount approached from an adjacent path, causing her some alarm. She turned to retreat into the cover of woods, but she heard her name pronounced distinctly, in a voice that was unmistakably Mr. Darcy’s. He did not dismount, but approached her from the imposing height of horseback. With a gloved hand, he proffered her a letter, and she accepted it instinctively.
“I have tarried here along the lane for some time in hopes of meeting you,” he said. “Will you do me the honor of reading that letter?”
She nodded mutely, studying the weighty, sealed document in her hand, and looked up to encounter his intense gaze a mere instant before he turned his horse and rode off in the direction of Meryton.
Elizabeth watched his figure as it retreated into the horizon, and then she broke the letter’s seal with fumbling fingers to discover two pages closely written in Mr. Darcy’s elegant hand.
Be not alarmed, Miss Bennet, upon receiving this letter, by the apprehension of its containing any renewal of unwelcome sentiments or undue demands on your forbearance. I am cognizant that my behavior of the past week—reuniting my friend with your sister and making an unannounced call on your father—must bear a strong resemblance to the type of artful cunning I once injudiciously ascribed to your character. It is my hope to assure you in these pages that by these actions I intend no imposition of my will upon your own.
I will not deny that your refusal of my addresses at Hunsford, and the words in which you articulated your denial, caused me no small degree of pain. I have come to accept, however, that your reproofs were no more than my due. You accused me of two offenses that evening, and while I must own my culpability in each case, I have since taken measures to remedy them. I do so not with hopes of manipulating your emotions, but out of concern for my close friend’s happiness and an admittedly selfish desire to assuage my own regret.
My first offense against you was my part in separating Mr. Bingley from your sister. As I told you a week ago, I believed my actions to be in his own best interest. I have seen my friend fall in and out of love many times, and though his quiet suffering for some months has since been a testament to the strength of his emotions, at the time he gave no indication that his attachment to your sister was deeper than any of his previous infatuations. For reasons I shall explain later in these pages, I likewise believed that your sister harbored no real feelings for him, and I did not wish to see my friend trapped in a marriage without affection. The best motives, of course, do not excuse my stooping to employ deceit, and for this I offer no justification, but only sincere apology.
My second offense, while equally grievous to the first, I fear cannot be expunged by even the most heartfelt of apologies. You accused me, justly, of possessing an incomplete understanding of your own character, even as I claimed to hold you in the most passionate regard. If my feelings were motivated by a true knowledge of your innermost spirit, you argued, I could not possibly think you capable of employing arts in pursuit of a husband.
In my own defense on both charges, I first must explain that my impressions, however wrong they may have been, were not formed on the basis of your own behavior, but rather from my observations of your family, most particularly your mother. In truth, I believed you to be wholly indifferent to me and a most unwilling participant in any designs on my fortune.
Mrs. Bennet’s plans for your sister and Mr. Bingley were no secret from anyone in Hertfordshire, it seemed. On the evening of the Netherfield Ball, however, I chanced to overhear your mother speaking to you as your party awaited the carriages. Believe me, madam, when I state that I am not in the habit of intentional eavesdropping, but rather your mother’s voice reached my hearing. The content of her comments to you revealed her expectations that both you and Miss Bennet would soon be engaged. Miss Bennet’s consistently placid demeanor toward my friend, combined with the persuading Mrs. Bennet deemed you to require on the subject of marriage, convinced me that neither you nor your sister desired the expected proposals. I now know, of course, that in your case Mrs. Bennet referred to Mr. Collins—but you can easily imagine me in possession of such vanity as to presume myself to be her second target.
You might rightly inquire, then, why I would make such addresses to you when I was convinced you held me in no special regard. To this, I can offer no defense but a selfish surrender to the utmost force of passion, and the hope that some future affection might replace your initially practical reasons for acceptance. Such vain presumption was beneath me and insulting to you, and I dare not ask your forgiveness for such behavior as I will never forgive of myself.
Having admitted my guilt in both of these cases, and accepted your just reproaches as my due, my thoughts and energy were immediately consumed by a desire to resolve both matters, such as it lay within my power to do so.
The first of my offenses is the one more easily remedied. When our conversation revealed to me the extent of my misunderstanding with regard to your sister’s feelings, I soon regretted my interference in Mr. Bingley’s affairs. I would like to say that some altruistic concern for his happiness was my greatest motivation, but I fear that my eagerness to redeem my actions was spurred more by the depths of my own suffering. If I could do nothing to relieve my own misery, at least I might occasion an improvement in my friend’s similar plight.
I therefore returned to London at my earliest opportunity and wasted no time in acquainting Mr. Bingley with my duplicitous actions and vain interference. This most unpleasant conversation was made slightly easier, however, by the pleasure I was able to give him in relating that, contrary to all my earlier suppositions, Miss Bennet appeared to return his affections. I could not promise him that her feelings remained unaltered these five months, but I could offer him reason to hope. The remainder of the resolution I would, for once, leave completely to his own discretion. I believe my friend has since acquitted himself admirably, to the great happiness of both.
Now to address the second of my transgressions, the more painful to my own heart of the two, and the one less readily mended. When you dismissed me from the parsonage that evening, you told me we were little more than strangers to one another, and that my impressions of your disposition were wholly m
istaken. Although I hope the contents of this letter have convinced you that I did not hold you in such low esteem as you imagined then, I cannot deny that I was guilty of your accusation in spirit, if not in particulars. For in this you were undoubtedly correct—had I taken the time and effort to become thoroughly acquainted with you and not allowed my perception to be clouded by prejudice, I would have done greater credit to us both. My shame at having neglected, on so many occasions, to more fully inform my opinion of your character and improve our mutual understanding is profound, and only surpassed by regret at having acted so thoughtlessly as to destroy all future opportunities for the same.
This regret, then, was my true motivation for visiting Longbourn yesterday. Upon my return to London, plans were quickly set in motion for me and my sister to return to Pemberley—a homecoming long overdue for us both. When Mr. Bingley expressed his intention to alert the staff at Netherfield to prepare for his imminent arrival, I offered my services as courier, although the duty could have been performed by a servant just as readily and my own travels were necessarily delayed. The prospect of being so near your home, and in some small way nearer to you, compelled me.
I cannot fully describe the sensations of being admitted to Longbourn yesterday, after several months’ absence. The house was smaller than I remembered it from the exterior, and somehow grander from within. Inside, it was unexpectedly quiet, although not still. The atmosphere in each small chamber was not stagnant, but alive with energy and industry and echoed laughter—as if the walls had breath and life all their own.
When I was admitted to your father’s library (and I must apologize for the rude shock my presence must have caused him), a teacup rested on his desk, and my eyes immediately went to the small, knob-handled drawer that I instinctively knew once housed an ill-fated frog. Standing before the shelves of books and scanning their titles, I could imagine you in the exact same place, searching for a well-loved volume or awaiting the assignment of lines as punishment. In truth, in acquainting myself with the contents of your father’s collection, I felt I could trace the genealogy of your remarkable intellect, and the discovery of our many shared ancestors was bittersweet.
Elizabeth and Darcy- Ardently Yours Page 9
