Pride, Prejudice & Secrets (10 page)

Elizabeth was alarmed by Jane’s words; what could she tell her until she contrived some way out of her dilemma? She dared a glance at Darcy, expecting to see disapproval at learning of inquiries into his personal affairs, but he simply looked at her with that direct gaze previously misunderstood as denoting disapproval. Instead, it seemed to be his own version of…affection? Approval? Love? Certainly, it was
not
disapproval.

“I also would love to know more, Miss Elizabeth,” Georgiana said. “William has always been so good to me — much more than I deserve.”

“I can hardly believe that, Miss Darcy,” Elizabeth blurted unconsciously.

“But it is true, Miss Elizabeth,” Georgiana said earnestly. “He deserves some happiness of his own, and after hearing him sing your praises last night, I know you will give him the opportunity. Of course, he also said no one would make a better sister for me. I have always yearned for a sister, you know, and I believe he is right. He never lies, you know. He may not tell everything, but when he does say something, it is always exactly what he thinks.”

Elizabeth forced a little laugh at this comment, though she was quite uncomfortable at being flattered so openly and sincerely. “I have four sisters, and I have frequently wished for a brother or even two. I suppose it is common to wish for what we do not have.”

“Perhaps.” Georgiana smiled as she unconsciously squeezed Elizabeth’s hand. Elizabeth looked down at the hand clutching hers then looked to Darcy’s dark, intense eyes. He seemed to feel no impulse to inject himself into the conversation and appeared quite content to simply listen. Remembering the fury on his face on her behalf, she must give his character some thought — a great deal of thought.

I have so many things to think on and consider, but I do not feel up to it yet. I am recovering, but I am not yet well. So many things have happened, and it is evident that I have misjudged his character completely. I must determine, in my own mind, where the truth lies — what is fact and what is or might be an assumption, possibly a mistaken assumption. Bingley said Darcy is quite convivial with intimate acquaintances, and I am now of that group. But is that enough? Could it ever be enough to be treated well by a man who treats others with disdain? Oh, I do not know! I know nothing, and I feel like I am suffocating!

Then,
I am so tired. Perhaps I am not as strong as I thought. I have been wrong so many times recently. I do not know what to believe. Perhaps if I just close my eyes for a few minutes…

In less than a minute, Darcy and Mr. Gardiner looked at each other and shared a smile as the young lady they both loved, in their different ways, relaxed and allowed her head to sag to the side. Georgiana smiled happily at the chance to aid the lady her brother loved and put one of coach cushions on her shoulder to ease Elizabeth’s head. By unspoken agreement, all three kept their silence and allowed Elizabeth to fall into a deep sleep, despite the movement of the coach.

Elizabeth hardly stirred until the coach stopped before her uncle’s house. She awoke at Georgiana’s soft voice calling her name, and at first, she was disoriented. Then everything came back to her, and she sat up with a start.

“Oh, I am so sorry!” she said, her face flushed in embarrassment. “I cannot believe I fell asleep. And on your shoulder! I am mortified!”

“You slept because you needed sleep,” Georgiana said softly, still holding Elizabeth’s hand. “You are not as recovered as you thought you were.”

“I suppose you are right,” Elizabeth said, feeling rather uncomfortable at the girl’s obvious concern.

“Listen to her, Lizzy.” Mr. Gardiner smiled as the door was opened and the step lowered. “I believe your aunt will not consider allowing you to return to Longbourn for at least three or four days.”

He laughed at Elizabeth’s look of disappointment and nodded to Darcy, who had stepped down. “I believe Mr. Darcy will not provide his coach until you are completely well.”

“Of that you may be certain, sir.” Darcy extended his hand to Elizabeth. “Georgiana and I will return home and await word as to when you can receive visitors.”

“Visitors!” Elizabeth said, with a touch of her usual spirit. “Everyone is acting as if I have been ill for months.”

“I do wish to see you as soon as you feel up to it, but I agree with my sister; you need your rest. And, of course, special care needs to be taken for those who never allow themselves to become ill. I shall await word from your uncle — and your aunt, too, of course.”

Elizabeth looked sharply at Darcy, wondering in confusion whether he was jesting with her, but he seemed to be perfectly serious.

Her aunt and Jane were waiting inside, for the air was still chill, and the wind was brisk. Jane had only a moment to embrace her sister before Mrs. Gardiner put her hand on Elizabeth’s forehead and took charge.

“Your fever is gone, Lizzy, but you are still pale and need more rest,” she said, her voice stern in a manner that did not brook dispute. “You will go right to bed, and I will have broth sent up as soon as it can be warmed.”

“Might I also have something cool to drink?” Elizabeth asked with unusual meekness. “I am very thirsty.”

“I will order it at once, Lizzy. But no argument, young lady — upstairs to your room. And you remain downstairs, Jane, for I know of your curiosity. We will wait to hear the details of Lizzy’s engagement until she is well rested.”

“But I slept all the way from Kent, Aunt,” Elizabeth protested, but she knew her objection was useless, and so it proved as her aunt personally escorted her to her room, followed by a servant with her trunk. She was quickly inserted into her warmest nightgown and installed into bed.

“I will be back shortly, Lizzy, with your broth. I hope the strain of your journey has not brought a return of your illness. People whom I know have a similar ailment, and it is not some trifling illness. Older people have died of it.”

“Died!” Elizabeth cried in shock.

“Yes, died, Niece, though most young people have fared better. But you are not used to taking care of yourself as shown by your three mile walk to Netherfield.”

“Yes, Aunt,” Elizabeth said, surrendering to the inevitable. Her aunt was not to be gainsaid when she was in this mood. She leaned back, wondering how she was to endure being confined to her room when she was feeling quite well.

When Mrs. Gardiner returned, she was unsurprised to find her niece already asleep. She looked down on her fondly. She was certain Lizzy was in no real danger, but the girl simply did not understand she had to take care of herself — especially now that she was to become a wife and probably mother in the not too distant future. She smiled as she remembered her own wedding and the short time that passed before she was gravid with her first child.

Young husbands are all alike, not able to get enough of their young wife, and the natural order of events takes their course,
she thought, as she quietly closed the curtains.

Chapter 7

“What counts in making a happy marriage
is not so much how compatible you are,
but how you deal with incompatibility.”

— Leo Nikolaevich Tolstoy, Russian author

Tuesday, April 14, 1812: Gracechurch Street, London

In the darkness of the bedroom she shared with Jane, Elizabeth sat up in bed with her back against the wall, her knees clasped to her chest. She knew it was after midnight due to the silence of the house and the absence of chimes from the large clock downstairs, but she could not be sure of the exact time.

She was sure she had been awake for more than an hour. Even so, she had slept most of the day away, first on the journey back to London and then here in her bed. At first, she worried somewhat that her illness was making a resurgence, but she felt completely rested. Surely, she could not feel so well if she was still sick, could she?

She did not believe so, but she had not pondered it long after waking. She had other and more pressing concerns, all starting with that devastating day at the Parsonage. Had she felt at all tired, she would have vastly preferred to go back to sleep, for she was not usually one to do her thinking at leisure. She much preferred considering her problems while walking through the familiar fields and roads near Longbourn, but unescorted young ladies did not wander the streets of London. So, after trying to find a restful position that might quell her raging thoughts, she abandoned the attempt to sleep and sat up to contemplate her concerns.

Of course, her foremost apprehension was the ever-widening conviction that she was engaged to be married to the man she would have heretofore declared to be the last man — the very last man — in the whole world she might have considered marrying. And how it occurred was too incredible, with Darcy dropping to his knee while she was too muddled by her illness to react normally. And then he leapt to the totally unwarranted assumption she had accepted his offer of marriage! It was beyond belief! No author in the whole of the kingdom would have dared contrive such a fanciful and preposterous plot, and she now found herself living it!

But that morning, with the benefit of a rested mind and a memory no longer clouded by fever, she could not summon the anger she had been feeling at Darcy’s presumption. As she looked back and considered the events of that day, she remembered nodding when he asked for her hand. Of course, in her bemused mind, she knew she had only been acknowledging his words and not agreeing to his application. Now, after some uncomfortable minutes of thought, her innate honesty forced her to admit that Darcy had not been presuming too much. Given her nod, his assumption was unsurprising — possibly even justified though that thought was still difficult.

What she should have done, of course, was to instantly and forthrightly correct his misconception. But that, alas, had not occurred. In fact, as she now sifted through her woolly memories of that day, it was clear that her illness had prevented her from even comprehending the import and consequences of what was happening, much less take the necessary action in good time.

I am now the victim of my arrogant vanity,
she thought in melancholic reverie,
the vanity that never considered staying in bed and having Charlotte call the apothecary! No, I had to dress and go downstairs! I even recall thinking of taking a walk to feel better! In truth, if I am honest with myself, I am far from blameless in this situation. Darcy may have been hasty, but, based on the worry he displayed and the admiration evident in almost every line of his letters, he wanted desperately to see what he honestly believed he saw.

Such contemplations were not at all pleasing. She would have preferred to blame someone, specifically Mr. Darcy, but she could no longer do so. It simply was not justified, no matter what her emotional side wished to do.

What a disconcerting, disastrous course her life had taken since that day at Hunsford! She never could have imagined she would accept an engagement to be married in such an unwitting manner, but she had at least had the confidence that she could bring the charade quickly to an end — that is, until Darcy brought his sister with him to the Parsonage. Everything she thought she knew about the proud, haughty girl and even about Darcy himself collapsed into dust as dear, sweet Georgiana threw herself into her arms, sobbing in frustration at not being able to find the words to express her joy.

It was instantly clear that the facts she thought to be solid and proven were nothing of the sort. Nothing — nothing! — had been the same since.

Now, seemingly everyone accepted that she had would wed this man. Her father had given his consent, Darcy had likely informed all his relations, Jane was undoubtedly beside herself to hear all the details, and her mother would be out of her mind with excitement at the brilliance of the match. Everyone clearly believed she had changed her opinion of this proud, arrogant young man.

Of course,
she thought uncomfortably,
if I am honest with myself, I am no longer as certain of my assessment of Darcy’s character as I once was. Proud and disdainful he may be, but as Charlotte once said, perhaps he has some justification for that pride: master of a large fortune, many people obligated to his benevolence and management, a sister in his charge, both parents dead for some years, and still not thirty years of age. So, is it overweening pride or something more understandable — the pride of challenges met and tasks well done?

In addition, though I depended too much on the testimony of Mr. Wickham regarding the Darcy family — brother and sister — honesty forces me to the conclusion that my opinion of Darcy’s character was based even more on overhearing him say I was “tolerable but not handsome enough to tempt him.” Yes, that comment shows intemperance and thoughtlessness, which is certainly a fault, but it is not a basis for condemning his character as universally as I did.

As for all that Mr. Wickham related, can any of it be true? His description of Georgiana as being “proud and disdainful of others” can be nothing other than an arrant lie. That is certain; nothing could be farther from the truth. And, having deceived me about the sister, how can I trust what he related about her brother, who was supposedly the prime instigator in cheating him of his inheritance?

The time she spent in Darcy’s company in Kent only confirmed his inherent honesty — whatever his other defects — and Bingley had attested to the fault being Wickham’s, adding the additional information that Darcy was esteemed and valued in his circle. Darcy had to be capable of
some
amiable feeling at least among friends and family, but was that enough? Certainly, as his wife, she would be included in that circle of approbation, and she no longer doubted that he would treat her well. But, again, was that enough? She just did not know.

One thing she did know was that she could not complain of Darcy’s actions since the day he proposed. He had immediately gone to her father, but that was as it should be. And, based on his letters, he informed his relations, which was also as it should be. He had also been immovable when faced by the wrath of Lady Catherine, who was the sister of his mother. Considering his regard for family, he would not have taken such a step except for the deepest of affections. He had been worried for her health, joyous at the prospect of their marriage, cheerful to her uncle, solicitous of his sister, and mindful of the proprieties of the situation. The only thing she could observe against him since that tumultuous day was that he was content merely to listen to the conversation of her uncle and his sister, but that was a trifle at most and perhaps not even that. Could at least some of his difficulties with her neighbours in Hertfordshire have stemmed from the desire to merely observe and remain distant while all of them expected to find him as amiable as his friend? Again, she had no answers to her own question.

She was uncomfortably aware that she was thinking of him as “Darcy” in her thoughts, when she used to think of him as “Mr. Darcy.”
When, exactly, did that begin?
she wondered.
Even my innermost thoughts are conspiring to betray me, and I never realized how events could take on such momentum as to make resisting them so difficult. How it happened is not certain, but every day, in fact every hour, is causing even me to contemplate the possibility of marrying this man, bearing his children, and living with him for the rest of my life!

But even more difficult to comprehend is the unpalatable fact that ending this engagement would be much more difficult than I initially thought. I was quite naïve in believing it would simply be a matter of saying, “end it.” Now I find myself recoiling when I consider the disruptions, even scandal, that would erupt if I did so.

An even more uncomfortable, and even staggering, thought was this realization: she was no longer certain she actually wished to end the engagement.

I am now convinced this man would esteem and love me, but just how important are such things? Perhaps they are more important to men than to women; I simply cannot say. But I believe I can be certain Darcy would not treat me badly as his wife. In fact, he gives evidence of feeling pride in me though I am no longer sure such pride is deserved. Just what is needed on both sides to achieve at least a modestly acceptable marriage?

One of the elements is that both husband and wife can respect the other. That is certain. Look at my own parents. My father was originally attracted to my mother’s beauty; in fact, he must have physically desired her, but that is surely not enough, for he soon came to lose all respect for her. I cannot think of it without pain, for I cannot deceive myself about his failings as a husband and a father.

And look at Charlotte! Neither she nor Mr. Collins felt even that much. So being able to respect one’s spouse is an essential component. It is certainly true for him, but is it true for me? Can I respect him? Do I respect him?

After several minutes of thought, Elizabeth concluded the answer was “yes” — a qualified “yes” and one that needed further observation but still a “yes.”

I shall be able to answer that question shortly,
she thought.
He will call as soon as he learns I am well, and I will contrive some private time in which to talk with and observe him. If I can just watch his face when we talk, I will know the answer.

But is respect enough? We are so different! I am lively and playful; I love jests and teasing. But he is reserved and more than a little taciturn, even brusque; would we be like my parents, my mother rattling on and on and my father either ignoring or holding her up to the disdain of her daughters?

Then she remembered Darcy’s quiet contentment at merely listening to the conversation during yesterday’s journey.

Is that an accurate facet of his true character? That also will have to wait for my observation. If so, if he is a man of few words who does not feel compelled to speak just to hear the sound of his own voice, is that a fatal defect?

It took little time for her to answer.
I think not — not any longer at any rate. I remember that Wickham could rattle on and make everyone think he was the most amiable man they had ever met. Look how useless he has proved to be. Of these two boyhood companions, one seems to have all the evidence of goodness while the other has all the reality. I shall have to observe Darcy, but I think I already know the answer to this question
.

Elizabeth smiled at the final element in her personal evaluation, which was whether a husband could support a wife and family. She had told her aunt at Christmas that Wickham was not a satisfactory possibility for marriage since even handsome young men must have something on which to live. That statement, which she had phrased as a jest as was her wont, was moot, considering Darcy’s fortune, and her only consolation to thinking
herself
mercenary was that it was the last element she considered rather than the first.

So, even if I desired nothing more than to return to Longbourn and my family, silly as most of them are, and resume my solitary rambles and achieve some peace and contentment in my life, it cannot be. No longer. My life from this point forward will be much different — one way or the other. The engagement may have been a mistake, probably even a mistake that is no one’s fault, but my choices have been circumscribed just as in my dreams. I cannot go home and simply resume my life. But it is equally certain I cannot go on in this turbulent manner; I must find a measure of peace. I can neither ignore it nor defer it nor forget about it. I shall see Darcy, speak with him…and observe.

Can it really be,
she wondered pensively,
that such peace as is possible for me might be found with the last man in the world I might have ever considered marrying?

“So then what happened?” Jane asked.

“I expected to see Uncle Gardiner arrive alone,” said Elizabeth, “t
hough I should have realized from Mr. Darcy’s letter that some kind of alteration in travel would be needed. So I found not only Uncle Gardiner but also Mr. Darcy and his sister at the door.”

She had, as expected, been unable to avoid the enquiries of Jane and her aunt since coming down for breakfast, and she had decided during her long contemplations that she ought to act as if all the affairs between Darcy and her were as everyone presumed. It could not be more difficult to break her engagement than it already was, and it would be most challenging to attempt evasions with a woman as perceptive as her aunt.

“Oh, Miss Darcy is so nice, Lizzy!” Jane said. “I met her last evening, you know. She was very shy, but she relaxed somewhat as the evening went on.”

“She is a dear girl, Jane. And” — Elizabeth’s face became uncommonly cold and stern — “she is also nothing like the girl Mr. Wickham described. Remember what he said? That she was like her brother: proud and disdainful of others? She is not like that, is she?”

“Well, no,” Jane said uncomfortably, “but perhaps there may be some mistake. She may have improved since Mr. Wickham knew her.”