The tableau dissolved, and the familiar scent of wisteria enveloped Elizabeth once again.
“The wedding was how I imagined it. I am glad that Mama and Papa have found a way to be content. I must hope for the same.”
“Have you sunk so low, Lizzy? Did they appear content? Did you not once say that you yourself would marry only for the deepest love?”
Elizabeth froze. Had Grandmama been with her all those years?How could she have known my thoughts from so long ago? And how does she know my own mind when even I am uncertain of it?
“I did say that. But if MrCollins inherits Longbourn before any of us marries, we shall be cast out. Though Mama’s hysterics about living in the hedgerows must be an exaggeration, my prospects will diminish if I am required to take a position as a companion or governess. I can be content with MrDarcy. It is not that dreadful.”
“No, it is not. That is the tragedy.”
Before Elizabeth could ask what she meant, Grandmama pulled her into another scene. “Elizabeth, dearest,” MrDarcy called as he entered the sitting room.
Why does “dearest” sound forced when he says it? Am I truly dear to MrDarcy, or is he trying to convince himself that I am?
“I am afraid that we have been invited to a dinner party. I regret, but you and I must both attend.”
“Is this another of those events where I must feign affection for you?”
Elizabeth was shocked. She could never imagine herself saying those words to anyone, much less her husband. She tried to stop herself. She tried to shift her countenance. She tried to walk away. But she could do none of those things, for she was a prisoner in the body of a future self that she did not wish to become.
“It is only for an evening,” he replied. “Surely, you can endure it.”
“I suppose there is no escaping it.”
Elizabeth wanted to scream. Fortunately, her grandmama pulled her from the scene at that instant, because she was unsure that she could withstand another moment. She drank in the scent of wisteria, grateful for the reprieve.
“Grandmama, does MrDarcy resent being married to me?”
“No, Lizzy. He is saddened that the woman to whom he gave his heart did not return his love. His resentment is about maintaining the appearance of the marriage he wants while enduring the one he has.”
Grandmama tugged Elizabeth’s hand again. This time she was with MrDarcy in the breakfast parlour.
“I am in need of some fresh air,” she heard herself say. “I shall go for a walk.”
“May I accompany you this time?” he asked.
“Of course you may, MrDarcy.”
MrDarcy made several attempts at conversation, but each time Elizabeth turned from him. When he asked questions that required a response, she gave the briefest of answers. She began to understand her Grandmama’s words. She lived in a prison ofher own making, but she was powerless to make this vision of herself realise it.
When they passed the lake, a goose waddled up. MrDarcy took a crust of bread out of his coat and fed it to the goose, which devoured it. The goose looked to Elizabeth for more. She shooed the goose away, but the goose nipped at her instead. Elizabeth ran away, terrified, until she found herself soothed by the now-familiar scent of wisteria.
“Grandmama, I have always had a good relationship with geese. Why would that goose bite me?”
“Geese are more intelligent than most people realise. That goose could tell that MrDarcy is a good man. They bite those who deserve to be bitten.”
As Grandmama showed Elizabeth different aspects of her marriage, she realised that what she missed most about her former life was the closeness she had with the people she loved and cared about. Her sisters were absent; she could not imagine what it would have felt like to spend years without seeing them. Georgiana was lovely, to be sure, but Elizabeth felt the absence of Jane, who had been her confidante her entire life before she married MrDarcy. She realised that she also missed Mary’s sermonizing, Kitty’s whining, and Lydia’s peculiar combination of petulance and exuberance. She missed her regular visits with her friend Charlotte. Although there were plenty of tenant families on Pemberley’s estate, she missed the ones she had known all of her life at Longbourn. Indeed, the greatest absence in her future life was the company of people who cared about her and the minutiae of her life, as she had cared about theirs. In Hertfordshire, she had been someone; in her new home in Derbyshire, it was evident that she was no one.
She sobbed, but Grandmama had yet to finish with her.
“Pull yourself together, Lizzy. There is still more that you must see.”
She felt the familiar tug. This time, she found herself in her bedchamber. She realised that she must have just lain with MrDarcy. She attempted to turn away and cover her eyes, but the Elizabeth in the bed did not oblige. She watched as MrDarcy got up and walked towards his bedchamber without a word. The bed coverings still held his warmth. His scent lingered on the pillow. Citrus. Elizabeth loved its fragrance; it was one of the first things that she had noticed about him.
The click of the latch to his bedchamber echoed through the small room. Definitive. She was alone. Was that what he wanted, or was it what he thought she wanted? She stared up at the canopy, trying with all of her strength to cry. But the self that she was trapped inside had no tears to shed; she just rolled over and went to sleep without a second thought.
When Grandmama pulled her out of the scene, Elizabeth sobbed, “Is it always like this?”
