Page 16 of A Promise Made

After some minutes had passed, Lizzy was certain that the men were far enough away to be completely hidden by trees. She stood and rubbed her legs. Then she stiffly walked to the cross to see the name and dates on the small headstone.

She had never been more shocked: James Thomas Bennet, September 28, 1796.

Lydia’s birthday.

A boy’s name.

A tiny mound and small cross, with a very low iron rail around the infant-sized grave.

I almost had a brother!

Lizzy felt overwhelmed and allowed herself to perch on the balustrade while she recovered from the shock of her finding.

That afternoon’s outing did not, in fact, explain Mr Darcy’s connection with Longbourn or the Bennet family, as she had assumed it would. It did not explain why he was doing what he was doing to help her family’s estate flourish—other than the fact that it was Mr Darcy’s father who had requested that the young man help them.

She felt as if she knew less, rather than more; she certainly felt more confused than ever. And she dared not speak to anyone about her discovery of the Bennets’ secret loss.

Part Two

October 1811

Longbourn, Hertfordshire, England

Chapter Fifteen

“Mother is very excited,” Jane wryly said. “I suppose it is all down to our new neighbour.”

Lizzy chortled. “Do you mean Mr. Bingley? He of five thousand a year?” She managed to perfectly capture the tone and cadence of her mother’s voice—as well she should, she thought. I have only heard Mama say the name and the income a thousand times in just a few days!

“Not only Mr Bingley,” Jane said with her sweetest smile. “Also the large party of friends he is supposed to be bringing. ‘As you know, girls, a rich bachelor is certain to have other rich bachelor friends!’”

She did not attempt to mimic their mother’s voice, but Lizzy took great joy that she quoted their mother with tones dripping with gentle irony.

The two eldest sisters calmly readied themselves. They had little hope that the newly-arrived gentlemen would be up to their standards. So far, menfolk in general had been disappointing. The five young, unmarried gentlemen who lived locally were quite a bit less clever, hardworking, and responsible than the sort of husband the two sisters hoped for. The other likely bachelor attendees of the assembly would include gentlemen from more far-flung estates and a few men from the middle class—young professionals such as a solicitor from Welwyn and clergymen such as the vicar from Hatfield. Again, none of these men struck Jane and Lizzy as worthy of particular regard.

Unfortunately, men of Mr Darcy’s calibre seemed to be all too rare. It was nothing to do with wealth—but rather with character. Mr Darcy had come to Longbourn years ago, staying nearby but working on their estate for almost two months. Both sisters’ opinions of him, by the time he left, were very high.

Actually, even though none of the Bennets had seen Mr Darcy in almost half a decade, Lizzy had had regular contact with him. At the beginning of those five years apart, she had been the one who read his letters and responded to his queries with honest, sensible reports about Longbourn. Her father had signed the response letters and the reports, but Lizzy wrote them.

She had, as the months and years ticked by, shared more and more family news and then her own personal news. She had shared with Mr Darcy her own thoughts about world events, life in general, and all the drama of being a part of a rather large and noisesome family.

In return, Mr Darcy wrote of his news, anecdotes, and worries. They each responded to one another’s concerns, offering consolation and congratulations when warranted, offering advice when requested, and even indulging in fond teases whenever possible.

With all those thick letters moving between the two far-flung estates, the thing that Lizzy had not confided in Mr Darcy grew in importance. She had never been able to bring herself to confide that she had followed him and Mr Saunders to the tiny Bennet grave. Just as she had not shared her discovery with her parents or sisters, the longer she went without telling anyone, the more impossible it seemed to ever bring it up.

“Lizzy, can you help me with my hair?” Jane asked. Putting up Jane’s hair was quite easy. Her smooth golden tresses were easy to pin into a pretty Psyche knot. However, getting Jane’s hair to curl around her face was not as easy. Lizzy always left that task to Jane, who patiently and carefully removed the linen strips from her rag curls and then used her fingers to smooth and perfect the coiled ringlets.

“Now I will do yours,” Jane offered. Lizzy’s hair was very different from her sister’s—dark rather than pale, thick and curly rather than straight and smooth. Lizzy brought out her hairpin box, which was always piled high with the several dozen hairpins needed to tame her curls.

As Jane got to work on her hair, Lizzy unfolded and reread Mr Darcy’s latest letter. So much of their correspondence was personal, now, after her father opened the letters and read the first few lines—occasionally the entire first paragraph—he always passed them to Lizzy, and she no longer kept the letters in her father’s study.

Lizzy’s eye caught on the word danced, and she felt a tremble as she reread Mr Darcy’s thoughts on the young ladies of Derbyshire.

My aunt came north from Matlock to make sure I danced at the Burlingtons’ ball. Her machinations become more and more tiresome. Honestly, if she presents a young lady to me, my immediate reaction is to cringe, because I know the lady will be snobbish and dull. There are young, gently-raised ladies, I imagine, who are interested in something other than shopping and gossip—but if such ladies exist, my aunt is not interested in them.

Pray, do not think I am actually physically cringing away from young ladies. I feel quite good about my acting skills, as I am able to enact every courteous bow, every polite smile, every proper enquiry with each partner.

Of course, I do not ask any lady to dance more than once—nor do I call on any lady the next day. I know that calling on ladies I have danced with is considered by society to be necessary, but I find it not only personally irksome, I feel strongly that it is cruel to the ladies if I have no intention of ever calling again. Is it not better to be kind rather than proper yet cruel?