“Always.”
“You need not show me any more. You have made your point. I understand that this misery is of my own doing, and I am grieved!”
“We are not finished. Until now, I have shown you how your choices affect yourself.”
Grandmama seized Elizabeth’s hand again and pulled her into another vignette.
Elizabeth found herself again in the breakfast parlour, but this time MrDarcy was older, his chestnut curls now streaked with silver. She wished there were a glass at hand so she might see how she had also aged.
There were three young girls with them at breakfast. The eldest appeared to be fourteen or fifteen years of age, the middle girl was perhaps eleven or twelve, and the youngest looked to be eight or nine.
MrDarcy addressed the eldest with a smile. “You are growing into a fine young lady.”
“That is Emily, your eldest daughter. Of all my great-granddaughters, she is the most like you.”
“As if you would know anything about fine ladies,” Emily said to her father. “If it were not for your wealth and consequence, none would even speak to you.”
“Alas, you are probably right,” replied Darcy. He turned away, but Elizabeth could see a tear flow down his cheek. It was evident that this was not the first time their daughter had chastised her father, and it was clear that he had given up trying to salvage their relationship.
Grandmama mercifully pulled Elizabeth from the scene.
“Grandmama, that was a cruel thing that Emily said to MrDarcy. How could she behave like that?”
“She is imitating the woman who taught her.”
Elizabeth shed a tear that might have been a perfect match for MrDarcy’s. “Have I condemned my daughter to a life of misery? Have I made her as jaded as myself and my parents before me? Is my family line cursed to endure hollow, loveless marriages for generations to come? Is there not some way to break this mould?”
Grandmama took Elizabeth’s hand.
Elizabeth tried to pull away. “Please, Grandmama, I beg you, no more. I have seen enough. I have not the fortitude to withstand another of these scenes.”
“This shall be the last. But it is necessary.”
Jane and her family had arrived at Pemberley for a visit. She had three children: Frederick, Susan, and Edward. Somehow, Elizabeth could not see Jane’s husband. “Grandmama, did Jane marry MrBingley?”
“These scenes are for you—to understand the person you have become. Who your sister married does not signify.”
Unlike Elizabeth, Jane seemed genuinely happy. Jane’s children ran off to play games with Elizabeth and MrDarcy’s children, leaving Elizabeth to converse with her sister. She asked Jane, “How are Mary, Kitty, and Lydia?”
“Mary and MrBlakewell are now expecting their second child. Kitty and John Lucas are also expecting, hoping for a son this time. Lydia’s husband is recently promoted. Now that Major Denny has been given a raise in pay, perhaps Mama will not need to send them so much of her pin money.”
“Speaking of Mama and Papa, how are they?”
Jane sighed. “They are much the same as ever. Mama continues to dote on Papa, and he continues to tease her in return. If only he made an effort to return her affection, they could be so much happier. As it is, none of us ever knew what a loving marriage ought to be, and we were left to find our own way. I wish Papa would open his eyes and see just how much he has missed in their five and thirty years together.”
Elizabeth was appalled. But how could the Elizabeth in the scene not react? Everything Jane had just described mirrored what she witnessed in her own marriage to Fitzwilliam; this version of herself still resented him, and herself for giving in to his proposal.
Throughout this marriage, she had ignored MrDarcy. She had prided herself on thwarting his efforts to bring them closer together. Elizabeth had always been her father’s daughter. Had she become her father? Had her misery all these years been of her own choosing? Once again, tears sprang to her eyes.
Wisteria. At last.
“Grandmama, is this the future thatmustbe? Or is it a future thatmaybe, one of endless possibilities?”
“Anything that has not come to pass is not yet decided. Your past has been written into the Book of Time by your own hand. You hold the pen, and it is your own writing that decides which of those futures will become the present.”
“But Grandmama, I do not know what to write. I know what I want the ending to be, but I cannot foresee how to reach it.”
She listened, but there was no response.
