Page 7 of A Prudent Engagement

At Mr. Darcy’s words, she suddenly saw her papa again. He smiled at her, the long grey side whiskers, the cheerful eyes, the lips turned up in that slight smile as he expected her to share in a joke.

Elizabeth’s legs could hardly support her, and she fell back into the sofa, wrapped her arms around her legs, and sobbed in a terrible quiet manner that made her whole body shake. She had meant to hold this in until she was home and far away from those who did not love her.

Someone took her hand and gripped it tightly.

It was Mr. Darcy. She gripped his fingers with all the ferocity that she had. The sobs came from the depths of her belly, shaking her with every suppressed wail.

Charlotte sat on Elizabeth’s other side and put an arm around her shoulders.

Elizabeth cried helplessly.

As she wept, Mr. Collins returned, exclaiming his apologies for neglecting the esteemed Mr. Darcy.

Elizabeth kept sobbing—it hurt too much. She could not stop herself, not even while Mr. Collins watched.

The parson said, “Cousin Elizabeth, this is unseemly. And in front of Mr. Darcy. Strive to gain control over this feminine weakness. The excess of your sorrow is nearly irreligious, for the Lord giveth and he taketh away, and—”

“Be silent, ”Mr. Darcy’s low, peremptory, and commanding voice rang out.

Mr. Collins was silent.

Elizabeth kept seeing her father in her mind, the way that his eyes twinkled at her and how he had said that he hoped she had not been too hurt when she had told him the story of how Mr. Darcy had insulted her when they first met. His manner as he made a joke of supporting her when she refused to marry Mr. Collins. From this day you must be a stranger to one of your parents.

No. He could not really be dead.

A lie.

It was a lie.

It could not be real.

Why had Mary sent a letter lying about such a thing?

The sobs redoubled in strength, and Elizabeth curled tighter and tighter into herself on the sofa.

And then gradually her body stopped shaking so hard, the convulsive sobs slowed, her tears changed from that uncontrollable gasping pain into simple weeping, and at last she released her grip on Mr. Darcy’s hand, lowered her feet back to the floor, and looked up and around through eyes that were still too watery to see clearly.

A fine silk handkerchief was pressed into her hand by Mr. Darcy, and she wiped at her eyes, then blew her nose into it several times.

While she had been crying, Mr. Collins, to Elizabeth’s astonishment, had left the room, and a fresh tray of tea had been settled on the table.

Mr. Darcy poured the tea for her and handed her the cup.

She gratefully took it, sniffed the fragrant liquid, and took a cautious sip.

“I apologise.” Elizabeth sat up straighter. “I hardly know what came over me. I should not have behaved in such a way in company. I am not quite myself today. Distressing news, you know.”

“Nonsense,” Mr. Darcy said. “Nonsense.”

Papa is dead. He really is.

Elizabeth was filled with a numbness that allowed her to say it to herself.

She would never again see him smile at her.

She must go on without him.

Elizabeth wiped at her face again, and Mr. Darcy produced another handkerchief.