Page 72 of Elizabeth and Mrs. Bennet

I left them to their inane chatter. Darcy seemed to take no interest, not even to respond to Anne’s presumption that they would marry. He was so quiet, his gaze fixed on the distant woods. And Caroline, my sister by marriage? Had she really given up hope of fixing Darcy? Otherwise, to restore her place in London society, she must find a respectable hostess who was prepared to overlook her previous indiscretions. Perhaps she thought the new Mrs. Darcy could introduce her—not to the highest levels, which were now beyond her reach, but to those circles where her fortune was notable and her close connection with the Darcys was a significant asset.

As I took the path towards the folly, I heard Anne de Bourgh—soon to be cousin Anne!—suggest that Darcy obtain a custom-built chariot with a dormeuse extension, enabling her to fully stretch out and sleep while travelling. Poor man.

“I find her beauty overrated.” I started. Fitzwilliam was standing behind me. “Diana has a pleasing figure, but not the vitality of a truly remarkable woman.”

Fitzwilliam!—I had not suspected him to find me here, of all places. It was nigh on impossible to say anything of sense, standing as I was in front of an unclothed goddess. So I elected for the banal—”You escaped your escort. How so?”

“We were overtaken by Crawley, who had just returned from his ride. Miss Bingley thought his arm stronger than mine—having heard of him wrestling Collins from his chair. I was obliged to relinquish it.”

“And Anne? Surely you did not leave her stranded in the maze? You, at least, have the advantage of peering over the tops of the hedges.”

“Milton and Miss Crawley were returning to change into their riding clothes. Anne confessed weariness and returned to the house with them; no doubt Georgiana has discovered further delights in the music room. I found my legs wished to stroll further.”

“Fitzwilliam. Oh, that is too familiar—I must call you Darcy… I confess, I find Mama’s marriage to Mr. Darcy exceedingly unsettling. That she and your father should enjoy such happiness—I wish only the very best for them, and could never stand in their way. Yet…”

“Unsettling, how so?”

“We, you and I, have enjoyed such an easy intimacy, that of brother and sister. Mama tells me that it is wrong for us to continue as before—I am an unmarried woman, of no relation to you. Society will see scandal in our familiarity, whether there is or not. Even now, that you are with me, alone, viewing a statue of an unclad woman, is certainly scandalous.”

Yet I longed to lean against him, to feel the warmth of his chest, as he had held me on Lingmell Col.

“Oh, Fitzwilliam. Can you not see? It is my reputation at risk, for what we may see as a slight indiscretion, others will see as compromising and unchaperoned. Without the prospect of marriage, it is I, not you, who would bear the social disgrace.”

Darcy was so silent, I could hear the sunbeams falling from the sky. He took my hand—oh, the very thing that he should not!

“You are correct, Elizabeth. I had not thought…” He looked at me, so intently, I could not tear my eyes away. Then, against all my arguments, he offered me his arm; against all the protests of my rational mind, I walked with him, feeling the warmth of the superfine wool of his coat, the strength of his shoulder. Until that moment I had never known such weakness—there was naught I could do but follow a heart that was certain to be disappointed.

With a last glance, I cast a final look at Diana, who stood unrepentant as ever. ‘Now, Dian, from thy altar do I fly.’ Tonight, we would toast Mama and Mr. Darcy. My mind wandered to the inconsequential; I wondered whether Anne would wear her best gown—certainly, I would wear mine.

* * *

The celebratory dinner passed without incident. Anne de Bourgh wore her second-best gown; I wore my best; and Mama was radiant. Lady Matlock acted as hostess for the evening, seated regally at the head of the table, every sapphire the countess. Lord Matlock presided at the foot. Eschewing all tradition, Mrs. Bennet sat opposite Mr. Darcy at the centre of the table, the grand centrepiece removed for the evening.

After no more than ten minutes, the gentlemen rejoined the ladies in the drawing room—the evening was to honour the betrothed couple, and Mr. Darcy hardly wished to be entertained by port and cigars when his lady was waiting nearby. I wandered about the room, not heeding where I was going, a smile endeavouring to crease my lips. Did my eyes follow Darcy? Surely not. Had he spoken to Anne de Bourgh precisely twice, Louisa Hurst five times, Caroline Bingley seven times, and Marianne Crawley eight times? Eight times! I was so pleased when Milton—Harry—turned the pages for her at the piano-forte; and Rupert Crawley did the same for Caroline.

“Lizzy, you are staring at Fitzwilliam.” Georgiana led me away from the punch bowl, of which I had been imbibing a little too freely. “Are you unwell? You appear out of sorts.”

“Oh, sweetling, it is nothing. It has been a very long day. I fear that I will miss you awfully when we return to Hertfordshire to plan the wedding. It seems only yesterday that we first met at the Salutation Hotel in Ambleside.”

“You are a silly thing, Lizzy. Afterwards, you will be staying with Fitzwilliam and me at Pemberley.” She looked thoughtful for a moment. “Oh, do you wish to live at Meryton? You must have many friends there.”

Meryton—yes, there were friends. Charlotte Lucas was the closest, but she had written to say Colonel Forster had proposed, and she would soon be away to Brighton with him. What a surprise. The Colonel, it seems, had discovered he desired a wife of good sense and intelligence, rather than fortune; in Charlotte, he had found such a woman.

Jane, of course. In her letters she wrote that Bingley wished to return to Cheshire—a county neighbouring Derbyshire—likely to purchase within thirty miles of Pemberley. An easy distance on good roads. In truth, there was little I would be leaving behind. Even Longbourn, my home of twenty years, no longer called to me—that was my childhood, which I had given up.

“No, Georgiana, there is nothing for me in Hertfordshire—my heart resides in Derbyshire. Mama intends to lease Hathaway House. We will hire a steward to manage the estate and tenants. Indeed, Mr. Goulding, a neighbour, has suggested that the steward could manage his property as well, for he and his wife wish to retire to Bath.”

Where was Darcy… Talking with Milton. I could relax. He glanced up and caught my eye—hastily, I turned away.

“Lizzy, you are unwell; you are so flushed. Come, let us give our apologies to Aunt Susan and Uncle Henry, then to bed with you. And no more punch, I have never seen you so mellow—some willow bark tea will be just the thing.” Georgiana led me upstairs. Indeed, I was a trifle disguised, and fell immediately into a restless sleep once Sally had assisted me into my night-rail.

* * *

It seemed that every room set out to torment me; for, in every room, Darcy would be reading, or speaking of the Lakes, or taking his repast, or a myriad of other things—everything and nothing. Where once I would have engaged him in cheerful banter, I avoided his company. I often found myself too close, or too taken with his intelligent discourse, or his wry observations of London society. I became jealous of his esteem, when I could no longer hope to be benefited by it, other than as a sister should be treated, with familial affection and fraternal protection. I wanted to be near him, to touch his sleeve, to throw my book at him when he made a particularly egregious comment. That I was in love with him was no longer in doubt, but never could such delight turn to the felicity that Mama and Mr. Darcy enjoyed.

What a triumph for Lady Catherine! That before, when I had only seen him as the most benevolent of brothers, she had chastised me for beguiling him with my wiles and allurements. What irony, now that he was by law a brother, I had no hope of securing his feelings beyond those of fraternal affection. I now comprehended that he was exactly the man who, in disposition and talents, would most suit me—a union, I truly believed, that would have been to the benefit of both of us.

Without a doubt, I am a selfish creature. I could barely contemplate sitting of an evening at Pemberley, engaging in witty repartee—perhaps reading Latin, laughing over my appalling Greek pronunciation, besting him at backgammon—only for him to excuse himself, retire for the night, take his wife’s hand, kiss her cheek, and leave me alone. My only warmth the flickering coals of an uncaring fire.