Page 2 of Yearning

So, he was sent in a carriage to London nearly immediately, and that was the last time she saw him.

For they would not allow her to go after him. She begged for it, saying that it hardly mattered about propriety at this point, since she was engaged to be married to him, anyway. She should be able to go to London and stay under the same roof as him, to get up each day and sit with him, perhaps soothe him, tend to him, care for him, read to him as he recovered, all the things that a woman who loved a man should be allowed to do for a man who was bedridden with any kind of malady.

She entreated everyone in this way, but no one seemed to quite agree, not even her mother, which seemed absolutely unfathomable to Elizabeth. Her mother had only ever been concerned about her daughters being settled with men who could take care of them, and—by extension—take care of her in her old age, once Mr. Bennet passed on. Well, her mother was not entirely selfish, Elizabeth knew, because there were five girls, and that was a lot of people to be fed and housed and clothed, and if they did not marry, they would all need someone, preferably someone rather wealthy, to see to them.

But her mother was hesitant about Elizabeth’s impending marriage. “Lizzy, dear,” her mother said as she worked some embroidery in the downstairs sitting room, looking down at the needle and thread and not at her daughter, “I don’t know if it’s wise to reside under his roof. You are obligated to marry him, if so.”

“I am already obligated to marry him!” Elizabeth cried. “I am in love with him.”

Her mother regarded the embroidery, pursing her lips, thinking, choosing her words. “Lizzy, you are not one and twenty—”

“I shall be one and twenty quite soon,” Elizabeth protested.

“And you would be throwing away the best years of your life in a marriage that would not be a marriage, not truly. You would be caring for an invalid. He has lost a leg. He will never walk again. He has only one arm. His face, they say his face—”

“I do not care about any of that,” Elizabeth said, clenching her hands into fists. “What sort of shallow person do you take me for? He is still Mr. Darcy. He is still himself, and what sort of woman would I be if I abandoned him now?”

“I am not saying to abandon him,” said his mother. “No, that would not do. So, you must go to him, but not under his roof. I think the best thing is for Jane’s marriage to happen as quickly as possible, and then for you to accompany them to London. You can stay under their roof—”

“Perhaps I could go and stay with the Gardiners, then,” said Elizabeth. “I could go now.” Because she was going to have to wait for the banns to be read for Jane and Bingley to get married, even if they attempted to do it immediately.

“He is not awake, I understand,” said her mother. “His wounds are so extensive, they have him dreaming laudanum dreams, because when he wakes…”

No, Elizabeth knew this. She had been told that when he was conscious, all he did was scream. Her throat felt tight. However, she simply felt so helpless. At least, if she were there, if she could see him, at least she would know what was happening.

She felt as if everyone was cutting her out of Mr. Darcy’s life as if she did not matter, and she was going to be his wife. If they had been married, it would not have been this way, not at all.

“So, I do not think it must be so quick as that,” said her mother. “However, quick enough. You go, you visit daily for two weeks, and then twice a week for another fortnight, and then once a week, and by that time, perhaps he will have awakened and released you.”

Elizabeth gasped. “I do not wish him to release you.”

Her mother looked up at her. “Yes, I suppose I can see that. A marriage to a man like that, a wealthy man, even if he is an invalid, perhaps you would still wish it. But by then, six weeks on, there might be some idea of what his recovery will look like. At any rate, with Jane and her Mr. Bingley, in town, you’re sure to meet someone else, and then, perhaps—”

“I don’t want to meet anyone else!” Elizabeth was very adamant.

“You do, though, dear,” said her mother. “You are a young and vibrant woman, and you do not want to spend your youth tending to a man who will never walk again, and who may never be able to use a chamberpot without assistance. There a number of things that I countenance my daughters to endure for the sake of our family’s safety and happiness, but not this, Lizzy, not this. I would not have you sentence yourself to this, my dear.”

And this stunned Elizabeth, stunned her in a way that she could hardly breathe, because this was not her mother’s character, at least Elizabeth had not thought her mother cared about her happiness. She wondered at this, wondered at how she had come to have an opinion of her mother that made the woman seem so entirely ridiculous as to not have normal motherly feelings for her offspring.

Perhaps her mother deserved it, however. Her mother had wrought this opinion in Elizabeth. Her mother had done it herself, through her own behavior.

At any rate, if her mother was saying this, it was all very bad.

Of course, as the date of the wedding approached, and as the date of Elizabeth’s departure drew nearer, her mother became more of her scheming self, coming up with plan after plan of how Elizabeth might get out of her betrothal without being too impolite about it. She must wait a certain amount of time, and she must appear with all solicitude to come and see to Mr. Darcy, and she must profess her love loudly and often, and a number of other things that came off as rather appalling to Elizabeth.

Her mother was yet her mother, no matter how she had put her daughter’s happiness ahead of her own.

“They will understand,” her mother would always come back to. “Everyone will understand. Mr. Darcy will understand.”

But Elizabeth had no intention of jilting her injured intended. She had spent too long and too much effort coming round to her realizations she was in love with him to do such a thing. She had notions—and perhaps they were foolish and young and romantic, she knew not—that whatever it was between them, it was a rare and precious thing. She thought they were truly meant for each other, and she did not think that anything could tear them asunder, even the loss of two of Mr. Darcy’s limbs or his ruined jawbone or his anguished screams.

Now, in this moment, she watched as her sister, the new Mrs. Bingley, walked up the aisle of the country church in Meryton on the arm of her new husband, and Elizabeth resolved that she would be married to Mr. Darcy, that she would marry him if she had to marry him while he lay in his bed, if he could never get out of it, if they must conduct their entire marriage that way, his lying in a bed and her coming to see him, she did not care.

This man, he was her heart and soul. She was never going to abandon him. She was never going to marry anyone else.

CHAPTER TWO

THE FIRST TIME Mr. Darcy knew Elizabeth when she was in his room with him, he asked her to kill him.