Elizabeth and Darcy- Ardently Yours

by Evangeline Wright

  “I, too, was shocked and astonished,” Mr. Gardiner said. “I thought him to be a more reasonable young man. But when I attempted to argue the point further, he merely rose and said, ‘I must beg you to importune me no further on the subject.’ He then quit the house immediately without taking his leave.”

  Elizabeth absorbed this account in stunned silence.

  Mr. Bennet spoke through clenched teeth. “Of all the arrogant, obstinate, headstrong…”

  “Father! I beg you, please do not pain me by speaking of Mr. Darcy in such terms.” Elizabeth was near tears. “You do not know what he really is, nor the full truth of the situation.”

  Her father regarded her quizzically. “You cannot claim to like this man, Lizzy! Are you out of your senses?”

  Perhaps she had taken leave of her senses, Elizabeth thought, for before she knew what she did, she replied, “I do like him. I love him.” Indeed, she had not known how deeply she loved him until this moment, when all love must be in vain. “But how could he think of marriage at such a time, when all his concern must be for his sister? And Papa, as you say, he may very well resent my influence in the matter, which goes deeper than you realize and without which the entire affair might never have transpired.”

  Elizabeth slowly explained her thoughtless endorsement of Miss Darcy’s improper behavior when the young lady first slipped from Netherfield unnoticed; how she persuaded Mr. Darcy to permit his sister to attend the Lucases’ ball; the woeful neglect that evening that allowed Wickham and Miss Darcy the opportunity to plan the elopement; and how in acknowledging her attachment to Mr. Darcy she had inadvertently encouraged Miss Darcy’s own infatuation. To complete the humiliating extent of her interference, her reckless journey to London now appeared to have been wholly unnecessary. She had forced Mr. Darcy into the mortification of gathering evidence against Wickham, when he might have located his sister on his own and resolved the situation in his own way.

  “Who could blame him if he faults me for this pattern of impertinent interference?” she cried. In truth, had she not felt completely justified in hating Mr. Darcy for a far lesser offense? His efforts to separate Mr. Bingley from Jane now seemed utterly insignificant in comparison to her own presumptive behavior.

  Mr. Bennet offered his daughter his handkerchief. Her hand felt unnaturally heavy as she reached to accept it, and her heart felt likewise leaden. All hope must sink under such a circumstance. For even if she had not acted in the matter, Elizabeth realized, even if Mr. Darcy’s affections and wishes remained unchanged—this affair made any future connection between them an impossibility.

  Thus far, Miss Darcy’s unfortunate escapade had eluded public notice, but it was by no means certain that this would remain the case. Elizabeth knew rumor to waft like candle smoke—most acrid after the flame is snuffed, and once dissipated, impossible to retrieve. If Miss Darcy’s reputation was to remain unsullied, any hint of further scandal or impropriety must be avoided at all cost. Should Mr. Darcy himself wish to marry, his choice of wife must be beyond any suspicion or reproach. Mrs. Hurst had expressed a similar opinion, but recent events seemed to confirm it as a matter of fact. Only a lady of the highest station and refinement could fill the role of Mrs. Darcy.

  Mr. Gardiner went to Elizabeth and placed his hand lightly on her shoulder. “Elizabeth, if Mr. Darcy has compromised you in any way, or made promises he now would attempt to deny, there are ways of applying pressure in this situation. He can be made to marry you.”

  “Oh, Uncle! I beg you to do nothing of the sort. Mr. Darcy has never acted dishonorably toward me. He has not compromised my virtue in the slightest way. As to my feelings and behavior, they are mine alone to own and regret. He cannot be held responsible for my actions this week, any more that he can be accused of encouraging my affections. Neither duty, nor honor, nor gratitude has any claim on him in the present instance. Please do not attempt to influence him through any such appeal.”

  “Well, I cannot say I am eager to attempt it, for my part,” her father said. “Mr. Darcy is not the sort of man one forces to do anything, and I could not bear to part with you to one so unworthy. If you assure us that he has not compromised or misled you, Lizzy, we will take your word and consider the matter settled.”

  “Thank you, Papa.” Elizabeth rose on unsteady legs. It was a queer sensation indeed, to walk away from this scene so whole of body, free of any visible injury or scar. She was in every physical way unaltered, and yet utterly torn apart within. It felt as if her soul claimed no acquaintance with her mind, and her conscience was a stranger to her heart.

  “Papa, you would be wise to call Lydia home from Brighton immediately. Indeed, I beg you to do it. I deeply regret involving her at all in this business. It was most imprudent of me to send her with Mrs. Forster.”

  “Do not be so hard on yourself, Lizzy. In that respect, you may have done us all a favor. Lydia will never be easy till she has exposed herself in some public place or other, and we can never expect her to do it with so little expense or inconvenience to her family as under the present circumstances.”

  “But her behavior, Papa! Not only is Lydia the most determined flirt that ever made herself and her family ridiculous, but after this incident with Miss Darcy you must see the danger of allowing such impropriety to go unchecked.”

  Mr. Bennet remained unmoved by his daughter’s heartfelt plea. “Oh, Colonel Forster is a sensible man and will keep her out of any real mischief. We shall have no peace at Longbourn if she is made to return. Besides, Lydia is luckily far too poor to be an object of prey to anyone.”

  Elizabeth tried to believe him, for Lydia’s sake as well as her own. After hearing Mr. Darcy’s words to her uncle, she knew she would be denied the joy of gaining one sister. She could not bear the pain of losing two.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Longbourn

  The day of Jane’s wedding dawned fine and mild, as though by special arrangement contrived to complement the bride’s own serene beauty. One might suppose that, in the absence of Lydia, the task of readying five ladies might be accomplished more quickly than the work of preparing six. To the contrary, without Kitty and Lydia’s noisy jostling to prod them along, the elder Bennet sisters dallied in the atmosphere of comparative harmony.

  Elizabeth fussed so particularly over each ringlet that framed Jane’s lovely face, the bride began to suffer a crisis of confidence. “Am I so very dreadful, Lizzy?”

  Elizabeth stood back to appraise her handiwork and sighed dramatically. “Jane, I fear it is hopeless. For all my best efforts, I cannot improve on perfection.” She placed a light kiss on her sister’s blushing cheek.

  “Oh, Lizzy, the time! I must not keep Mr. Bingley waiting at the altar!”

  Elizabeth clucked dismissively. “Mr. Bingley will wait for you until Michaelmas if you make him, and well he should. Besides, he will have you for the rest of his life, Jane! I shall not surrender my dearest sister one minute earlier than I must.” She took pity on the eager bride, however, and ceased her attentions with a smile. “Let us go, then.”

  Mr. Bingley was indeed waiting at the altar of the Meryton church when they arrived. He stood flanked by the parish’s fresh-faced young vicar, who appeared more anxious than either bride or groom, and by his groomsman, who eclipsed both groom and clergyman in height, composure, and handsomeness.

  Mr. Darcy had returned for the wedding.

  Elizabeth was shocked. On the previous evening, Mr. Bingley had professed little hope that his friend would attend the ceremony. Not that prior knowledge of his presence could have prepared her to see him again.

  She had suffered two sleepless nights attempting to comprehend Mr. Darcy’s categorical refusal of her uncle’s demand. She could not decide whether his bluntly worded rejection signified some true resentment of her, or merely the subjugation of his feelings to the greater purpose of preserving his sister’s reputation. In the end, Elizabeth gave up her attempts to understand it, realizing that no eluci
dation of his motives could alter the unhappy conclusion. She had resigned herself to the task of dismantling all her disappointed hopes, and constructing from the rubble some image of a future that did not include Mr. Darcy. Her attempts thus far to envision such a prospect resulted in bleak pictures, indeed.

  And now the man himself stood but a few feet away, a persistent, imposing figure in her peripheral vision. The temptation to turn her head a few degrees and meet his gaze directly was powerful; for some foolish sentiment told her that one glance at his expression should reveal the truth of his emotions. Her reason, however, argued that his proud mien would remain inscrutable as ever, and the only feelings laid bare would be her own. Therefore, she stubbornly trained her gaze elsewhere.

  Unfortunately, Elizabeth found it far simpler to shut her eyes to his presence than to banish his memory from her thoughts. It was only too easy to observe the perspiration beading on the vicar’s brow and be reminded of Mr. Collins, and the mental leap from Mr. Collins to Hunsford was all too readily achieved. It occurred to Elizabeth that, had the events of that visit—and in particular, that evening—unfolded somewhat differently, this might have been her wedding day as well as Jane’s. Sustaining an outward appearance of joy under the weight of this cruel realization seemed impossible, but Elizabeth somehow managed to endure the remainder of the ceremony and congratulate the happy couple warmly upon its completion.

  Upon his arrival at Longbourn for the wedding breakfast, Mr. Darcy was received coolly by Mr. Bennet and Mr. Gardiner. To Mrs. Bennet, however, he was a returning hero of the highest order. For not only had he left his ailing sister’s bedside to lend his distinguished presence to the wedding of her eldest daughter, his servant had preceded him at Longbourn that morning bearing a case of the finest champagne from the Darcy family cellar.

  Elizabeth’s method of avoiding Mr. Darcy throughout the awkward affair was to assert her own best social graces and place herself at the center of every lively grouping. If Mr. Darcy would persist in studying her as she laughed defiantly with Charlotte or joined Aunt Phillips and Mrs. Long to solicit their appraisal of the various puddings, at least he would not deign to join any such conversation. So long as she selected her company with an eye toward effusion and merriment, she reasoned, Mr. Darcy might be kept at bay indefinitely.

  The effort required to maintain this unflagging cheer became increasingly great, however, and once Mr. and Mrs. Bingley had departed in their grand barouche, Elizabeth’s façade quickly began to crumble. She escaped the house and the scores of guests therein and briskly walked the short distance to Longbourn’s small pond. This tranquil setting had frequently afforded her a welcome respite from frustrations.

  Elizabeth yanked off her gloves and gathered a handful of small pebbles from near the water’s edge. She lobbed them toward the pond’s center one by one, watching the surface of the water shiver with each tiny impact.

  At the sound of approaching footsteps, a frisson of dread disquieted Elizabeth’s heart, and her hand tightened instinctively around the few remaining stones. She knew who it must be.

  “A lovely prospect,” Mr. Darcy said, regarding the gently rippling surface of the water as it smoothed to a mirror finish. “And a fine location for catching frogs, I would imagine.”

  “Quite.” She was at a loss to understand his purpose in pursuing her company and engaging her in trivial conversation. Surely nothing remained to be said between them that would not cause one or both of them pain.

  “Miss Bennet, you know me to be a selfish being. I realize this day ought to be reserved for the celebration of Mr. and Mrs. Bingley’s joy. However, I can no longer help thanking you for your unexampled courage and kindness in aiding my sister.”

  So this was his purpose. He wished to express his gratitude, to clear all accounts between them that he might sever the acquaintance with a clean conscience. Very well, she conceded. She would readily relieve him of any such burden, if in so doing she might expunge her own regrets. The formidable task of forgetting Mr. Darcy might be made slightly easier without the complication of remorse.

  “Please do not thank me,” she said. “I know how my rather misguided compassion induced you to take so much trouble and bear so many mortifications on Mr. Wickham’s account. If not for my interference, you might have been spared that degradation.”

  “If not for your interference?” he asked, in a tone of surprise and emotion. “Miss Bennet, were it not for your invaluable assistance, my sister might not have been discovered at all, or at least not before her innocence and reputation were irreparably harmed. Ever since I learned of your involvement in her rescue, I have been most anxious to thank you. One day, I am certain Georgiana will add her expressions of gratitude to my own. At the moment, her shock and grief will not allow her to appreciate to whom she is truly indebted.”

  “I am sorry to hear how deeply she suffers,” Elizabeth replied sincerely, recalling Miss Darcy’s stricken expression when they parted at Darcy House. “But I cannot claim to be surprised. I am amazed that you would leave her again so soon.”

  “Indeed, I did so with extreme reluctance. I must return to her in London this afternoon. Only the deepest sense of obligation could have persuaded me to leave her company for even one day.”

  Elizabeth retrieved her gloves from the fallen log where she had placed them earlier, brushing off the dust. “Mr. Bingley is fortunate to have such a dutiful friend.”

  “Bingley?” Mr. Darcy asked, puzzled. “I cannot deny that my prior commitment to stand up at his wedding provided some additional inducement. But as much as I value his friendship, I believe I thought only of you.”

  “Sir, I beg you not to trifle with me. I know of your conversation with my uncle. Please understand, you are under no obligation to provide any further justification of your decisions. I understand your feelings completely, and we may be silent on the subject forever.” She turned her back on him and began to retrace the path to Longbourn, but Mr. Darcy kept stride with her easily.

  “I am sorry, exceedingly sorry, that you were informed of what may, in a mistaken light, have given you uneasiness. I did not realize Mr. Gardiner was so little to be trusted.”

  “You must not blame my uncle. His only concern was for my reputation. I have assured him and my father that my actions were mine alone. You cannot be held responsible for my heedless interference any more than you could be blamed for the brash presumption that occasioned it.” Her tone became increasingly clipped with each determined stride.

  “This is no striking resemblance of your own character, I am sure,” Mr. Darcy objected. “Although it seems a rather faithful portrait of mine.”

  Elizabeth redoubled her pace.

  Mr. Darcy caught her by the arm. “So long as we are speaking of brash presumptions,” he murmured, drawing her from the path into the shade of an ancient chestnut tree. Elizabeth looked down to where his hand encircled her arm, and he released her slowly, his tight grip becoming a tender caress. She glanced up at his dark expression with puzzlement, and he abruptly withdrew his hand, flexing it into a fist as he turned from her to pace beneath the tree’s low canopy. He removed his hat abruptly and flung it aside, raking his fingers through his hair.

  “I have learned a hard lesson over the course of our acquaintance, Miss Bennet, but I fear this occasion is sorely testing my mastery of it.”

  Elizabeth could not imagine what he meant, but she remained silent and waited for him to continue.

  “As a child, I was given good principles, but I was left to follow them in pride and conceit. Being an only son, and for many years an only child, I was spoilt by my parents. Though good themselves, they allowed, even encouraged me to be selfish and overbearing, to think meanly of the rest of the world. A proper humbling has long been my due, but since the death of my father, the same arrogance that was my defect in youth became an advantage of sorts. I had been raised to trust my judgment implicitly, to value my own opinion above all others’. When, at a y
oung age, I suddenly became master of an estate and guardian of my sister, self-doubt became an indulgence I could ill afford.

  “My obstinacy and arrogance outlasted any reasonable excuse, however, and became deeply rooted in my demeanor. Such I was from eight to eight-and-twenty, and such I would be still, if not for you. You made me realize how greatly I had erred in my conceit. I denied those close to me the power to make decisions that were rightfully theirs alone. I thought my judgment superior to any other, never imagining myself to be blinded by prejudice or made partial by pride. I was wrong to separate Bingley from your sister. I should not have concealed the truth of Wickham’s character from anyone, least of all my own family. This history of vain presumption has occasioned no small amount of pain, and I will be damned if I make the same mistake again with you.”

  Elizabeth was alarmed by the violence of this exclamation, and she cast a desperate glance homeward. “Mr. Darcy,” she began, “I told you earlier, you are preserved from making any further mistakes on my account. I will make no claim on your honor or affections.”

  She retreated a step, but he quickly moved to close the distance again. He sighed roughly and shook his head, reaching down to where her hands hung as clenched fists at her sides and taking hold of her wrists. Her pulse throbbed against his fingertips as she met his piercing gaze.

  “Forgive me,” he said softly. “I had not thought it possible to make a more wretched scene of this than I did at Hunsford, but clearly I underestimated my considerable talent for mangling declarations of love.”

  “You would speak to me of love?” She could not comprehend him. A small, gasping sob escaped her throat. “But you told my uncle—”