Season of Courtship, Ch 1-3
A/N: Well, I wanted to write a sequel to P&P (like everybody and their pet dog), but kept on getting hung up on the gap between engaged!E&D and married!E&D. So instead I wrote a short sequelish thing covering the period of the engagement.
ETA: I've revised Courtship to fit within my present canon, which is quite different from what can be found in my older stuff.
Miss Lydia Bennet’s marriage to Mr Wickham had effectively ended a very promising source of gossip; and Miss Bennet’s engagement to Mr Bingley was hardly better. The only question was why it had taken so long, for they were without a doubt perfectly suited to one another. Even Lady Lucas and Mrs Long, with several very plain charges to dispose of, could not deny it. If anyone deserved happiness in marriage, it was Jane Bennet -- or so the Meryton matrons decreed. She was sweetness itself and so very handsome. It was not her fault that she had been burdened with such a family.
However, Miss Elizabeth’s engagement to Mr Darcy was far more lucrative than either. They supposed, naturally, that she had only accepted him for his wealth and consequence. His motivations were not so clear; surely, a young man in his circumstances had met many a pretty young lady? How had Miss Elizabeth -- ‘tolerable’ Miss Eliza Bennet -- snared him where so many had failed?
‘I hope they will be very happy,’ Mrs James said. A tradesman’s daughter who had married into the local gentry, she was a young, pretty girl, and very much awed by the other ladies.
Insincere agreement immediately followed. Although, her chances with such a disagreeable man -- Mrs Long left it hanging.
‘I never thought him so very disagreeable,’ Mrs Goulding said, startling nearly all of the circle. She was very quiet, but when she had an opinion gave it most decidedly. ‘He was always civil to me.’
Most of her elders gazed at her pityingly. It was a fact that young women’s heads could easily be turned by a handsome man - and there was no disputing that Mr Darcy was exceedingly pleasant to look at. ‘I agree,’ added Mrs James bravely. ‘Molly says that she has never worked for a kinder master. Not that she works for Mr Darcy, but he is at Netherfield, so -- and her father, Smith, is the butler, and he says that Mr Darcy is the only one who ever concerns himself with the servants, and a proper gentleman.’
It had to be admitted that the servants all spoke very highly of him. ‘He may be a good master,’ decreed Mrs Long, ‘but that doesn’t mean he will be a good husband. Say what you like about Eliza Bennet, but I pity her.’
The other ladies were fully prepared to follow her lead, but soon found themselves in a peculiar sort of quandary. It was difficult to pity someone who had no idea of her own misfortune. On the contrary - she seemed quite delighted with her situation in general, and with her betrothed in particular. She was absorbed in him almost to the point of incivility, talking to him when he was near, and inattentive to much else when he was not. Her eyes often followed him wherever he went, with a peculiar intent expression that Mrs Long in particular found almost indecent.
As for Mr Darcy, whom they had fully expected to act the part of the besotted, distracted suitor, he was very much as he had ever been. Quiet, reserved, elegant, he was properly attentive to his intended, endured the attentions of local society with rather better grace than had been anticipated, but his composure never faltered. There was no greater sign of his affection for Miss Elizabeth than a softness about the mouth and a distinct partiality for her company. Several of the ladies unashamedly eavesdropped on their conversations, and found them not only dull but incomprehensible.
It was decided that Miss Eliza had chosen to marry Mr Darcy because he was the only man who could actually understand above half of what she said. Mrs James murmured wistfully,
‘She loves him. I think it’s wonderful.’
Mrs Long shot her a quelling look. ‘It might be wonderful if he cared sixpence about her,’ she said spitefully.
“You must be supposing that she proposed to him, then,” returned Mrs Goulding, perfectly serene. ‘Why else should he propose to her? She has nothing else to offer; and if he only wished for a pretty wife, I daresay he could find plenty among his own circle of acquaintance.’
Mrs Long and Lady Lucas decided that they had never liked Mrs Goulding, who was too clever by half, and muttered imprecations against those artful Bennets.
* * * * *
In the first days of their engagement, Darcy and Elizabeth were so deliriously happy that all else faded into insignificance. The curious glances, rampant gossip, and shameless observations that followed them everywhere they went mattered not at all. For that brief time, she had him all to herself, and luxuriated in the pleasure of being so unconditionally loved. She almost solely occupied herself with acquiring a greater intimacy with his ways, her curiosity boundless as they talked, he earnestly and she joyously.
Within what seemed a very short period of time, she knew that he dropped his eyes when considering something, rubbed his thumb and middle finger together when nervous, and pushed his hair out of his eyes quite frequently for no reason at all. When he was angry, his lips compressed and his eyes blazed. He tilted his head to the side when considering something -- usually one of her more singular questions -- and stiffened, his eyes shuttering, when pained. When amused, a quick, sharp smile curled his lips, while he coloured, glancing away, when embarrassed (and it was very often). She wondered if she was so easily read, and that she had ever found his countenance guarded rarely ceased to amaze, he had become so transparent to her.
There was one little quirk, however, which, while quite endearing, and indubitably amusing, hindered a rather different sort of intimacy. The earnest, almost reverential, respect in which he held her did nothing to alleviate his native primness -- for really, there was no other word for such great reserve, and his constant deference to her wishes in that regard, real or imagined, had her quite envious of Jane for almost twelve minutes, until she hatched a plot.
‘Aunt,’ Elizabeth said sweetly, ‘Mr Darcy and I should like to walk to the Mount again, but I fear it will be too much for you. You do not mind if we just go on without you, do you?’
Sometimes Mrs Phillips’ senselessness was more welcome than at others. With a speculative remark about the attractions the Mount must have for such a handsome young couple, she unashamedly left them to their own devices. Elizabeth flinched and glanced up at Darcy apprehensively, and was pleased to see nothing worse than fierce embarrassment writ on his face. She proceeded with her plan.
‘I saw you talking with John Lucas, Fitzwilliam,’ she said lightly, looking about to make sure they were quite alone. ‘Did you have a pleasant conversation?’
‘No,’ said Darcy, quite happily. ‘He had some very ridiculous opinions.’
‘You enlightened him, of course.’
‘Naturally. We were speaking of the conditions in the North, and he claimed that the poor were solely responsible for their plight, and that any attempt at assistance would only breed indolence and discontent amongst their ranks.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
Darcy grimaced. ‘It is not the first time, either, that I have come across this sort of thinking. My uncle, although he is not illiberal in general, claims that I am young and idealistic -- even naïve and ignorant when he is particularly displeased with me.’
Elizabeth considered asking about Darcy’s uncle, for she had gathered enough to realise that the Earl was unlikely to approve of her, but dismissed the idea. That could come later, and it would only distract both from the present possibilities. She clasped his arm more tightly, and smiled up at him. ‘Mr Lucas looked quite chastened by the end. I daresay you thoroughly educated him?’
‘Yes.’ He turned his head to smile warmly and openly at her -- a smile she never saw, except when they were alone. Elizabeth guessed at his height and lamented it for quite the first time. If only he were that bit shorter, this would be so much easier --
‘I was glad to find that your uncle agrees with me,’ Darcy said unexpectedly. Elizabeth, still considering the logistics that Darcy’s six-foot-three-inch frame necessarily entailed, absently asked,
‘Mr Phillips?’
He looked startled. ‘No, I meant Mr Gardiner. During -- my business in London -- ’ (he had a ready supply of euphemisms for all matters which he did not care to discuss explicitly) ‘we spoke of it. He, too, felt strongly about the matter -- but of course -- ’ Darcy looked slightly vexed -- ’he is not so young as to be accused of ignorance and naïveté, when he espouses unconventional opinions.’
Elizabeth smiled, at both the sentiment (which she shared) and the faintly petulant expression of it, and gazed at him fondly for a moment, briefly relishing her good fortune before acting. ‘Fitzwilliam,’ she said, and he stopped, glancing at her quizzically.
‘Yes?’
She placed one hand against his cheek, and met his gaze as directly as she could without paining her neck. He looked startled, but not displeased, and so she stood on tiptoe and firmly pressed her lips against his. For one moment, she was afraid that he would step away, horrified at her forwardness -- but after all, did he not admire her for her liveliness? -- so she was not too surprised when, after only a brief hesitation, he reciprocated enthusiastically, his lips parting beneath her own, his gloved fingers reaching up to caress her face. Dizzy and disoriented, she felt her eyelids flutter and -- solely for the sake of stability, of course -- kept her hands firmly attached to his shoulders.
Breathlessly, they stepped back, Darcy’s pale complexion flushed -- but not, she trusted, with embarrassment, as his expression was nothing short of delighted. She could feel heat in her own cheeks, after all, and she was not remotely embarrassed.
‘I love you,’ she said lightly, and he simply stared for a moment, the other emotions dancing across his face overlaid with utter astonishment.
‘You -- I -- why -- ’ He stopped, and then, struck, it seemed, by a fit of coherence, said, between kissing her hands passionately, “You are inimitable, irresistible. You are the delight of my life. You are -- ’
Elizabeth briefly touched his head, startled and touched by the intensity of his response to her careless declaration. She was not quite certain how best to manage the situation, until it occurred to her that his face was conveniently near at hand. She tangled her fingers in his fair hair and kissed him again.
Not since the day he had proposed to her had she seen him so voluble and incoherent, nor had she been so quiet. Elizabeth’s feelings were overwhelmed and disordered enough that she could not understand them with any clarity; but his were easier to comprehend. He seemed taken by a violent delight, overflowing with admiration and a little feverish in the expression of it, stripping off his glove and hers with a quick, breathless, ‘do you mind?’ and lacing his fingers through hers almost before her smiling acquiescence.
Elizabeth laughed at her own silliness in the pleasure she took at the sudden contact, his fingers entwined with hers -- at one point she sat beside him on a strategically placed log, turning his hand over in hers and admiring it, making him laugh a little. His was much larger, although more in length than in width.
‘You are so small,’ he said in his quiet voice, tilting his head to the side as he looked at hers. ‘You have such presence that one forgets, sometimes.’
‘My mother has bemoaned my size more than once,’ Elizabeth told him, with a faintly mischievous smile. ‘She wishes that I were more like Jane, or Lydia.’ The look of heartfelt horror on Darcy’s face sent her into gales of laughter. ‘Although for years she has comforted herself that I shall undoubtedly grow stouter with children - “if only she could get me married!” ’
Rather than laughing, a peculiar expression came over his face, one she had not yet identified. He caught his breath, and at once he seemed intimately, powerfully near, and far too distant and remote for comfort. ‘Fitzwilliam,’ she laughed, tugging at his sleeve, ‘where are you?’
He came to with a start. ‘Oh! I was only thinking.’
Elizabeth shook her head. ‘Should I be afraid, losing your attention so early in our engagement? What does this bode for our marriage?’
Alarm flashed across his face, but was as quickly dispelled by her teasing look. ‘Oh, I am easily distracted,’ he said, smiling. ‘It is better you discover it now, rather than later.’
‘Not according to Charlotte,’ Elizabeth said absently, wondering what precisely he meant -- for once he was set on a course of action, there was no stopping him. But then, perhaps the distractions heretofore had not been enticing enough. Elizabeth dimpled happily, and laid her head against his arm, clasping his hand once more.
‘I can well imagine what your friend may believe, but she is married to Mr Collins,’ said Darcy, then gasped as he realised he had actually spoken aloud. Elizabeth laughed heartily.
‘You are far superior to Mr Collins, my love,’ she said, once she had regained herself. ‘I think I may safely say that I would prefer to acquaint myself with your idiosyncrasies as soon as possible, so that I may become accustomed to them before we are wed.’ Then she smiled, more than a little mischievously. ‘And, of course, so that I may distract you at my leisure.’
Darcy blushed but only arched one brow, his response all the more powerful for its brevity.
‘Oh?’
It was really more than a lady of passionate disposition, with such a strikingly handsome young man at her disposal, could be expected to endure. This time, no planning was involved, and she was not even certain if she or he had begun it; but one moment they were sitting next to one another very decorously, the next she was pressed against his side, and they were kissing wildly. It was, some time later, only the need for air that separated them, and Darcy, emitting a sound rather like a squeak, fled to the opposite side of their log, a safe distance of about three feet from her. Elizabeth was not certain whether to be offended or merely embarrassed, but the frankly yearning look he gave her returned her to her senses.
‘Ah . . . Elizabeth,’ he said awkwardly. ‘Perhaps we ought to join the others?’
Elizabeth looked at him incredulously.
‘That is -- we have been gone . . . awhile - and your aunt . . .’ Darcy floundered.
‘Mrs Phillips would be delighted if you compromised me utterly,’ Elizabeth said bluntly, and Darcy shut his eyes, looking pained for a moment, before regaining his composure.
‘Elizabeth,’ he said, very gently, ‘we should bear in mind that we have only been engaged a week.’
‘I think it a very promising beginning,’ she said.
‘Oh yes.’ His tone, and sudden smile, had her flushing from head to toe. He coughed, then continued, ’However, if one considers that we are far nearer to the beginning of our engagement, than to the end of it . . . the inevitable conclusion one draws is, er, that if we continue as we have begun, the likelihood that either of us shall reach the altar with, erm, virtue intact is . . . remarkably slim.’
‘Oh!’ said Elizabeth, enlightened. ’You must think me terribly silly.’
‘No, dear, only very, er, vivacious,’ Darcy said carefully. Elizabeth laughed, and recovered their gloves, handing him his, replacing her own, and taking his arm.
‘We must, then, distr -- ’ Elizabeth stopped. That word would never have quite the same meaning again. ‘-- Occupy ourselves with other activities.’ She cast a sly glance at her intended from under her lashes, and added, ‘Most of the time, that is.’
‘Elizabeth!’
She laughed, delighted at his prudery, and said, ‘Come, Fitzwilliam, let us talk. Really, I know very little of you beyond the essentials. Where is your favourite place?’
‘Pemberley,’ he said instantly, and she laughed.
‘I should have guessed at that.’
‘And you?’ he asked, surprising her. With a faint flush, she said,
‘I think -- I must choose Pemberley also.’ His eyes widened, and for a moment she stopped walking, lost in the intensity of his face, before looking away.
‘We are incorrigible! Very well. Are you accomplished, sir?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
She had only mentioned it because she must say something, but liked the idea and gamely went on. ‘You already know that I am not, at least by Miss Bingley’s standards. I daresay you speak the modern languages well enough, and you most assuredly have, what did she say? -- a certain something in your manner of walking.’
‘Miss Bingley!’ he said derisively, and Elizabeth bit back a smile.
‘Poor Miss Bingley, she shall be my sister now, and worse still, yours. Her suffering must be acute. But you have dis -- misdirected me! Do you play, do you sing?’
‘Yes, and no,’ Darcy replied, helping her down the steps. Elizabeth was indeed distracted by this sudden information.
‘Really? I daresay I have embarrassed myself dreadfully before you, for you are undoubtedly far more proficient at the instrument than I. Is it not so, Fitzwilliam?’
‘Of course not,’ he said warmly. ‘Your performance is far more pleasing than mine could ever be -- not that I would give one.’
‘Oh yes -- you do not perform to strangers, do you? But we are hardly strangers -- shall I ask you to play for this evening’s entertainment?’
He looked paralysed for a moment. ‘Certainly not! I should refuse in any case.’
‘I should like to hear you -- ’ she wrinkled her nose at his obdurate expression. ‘There must be some way to persuade you.’
‘None at all.’
‘Not even pleasant distractions?’
Darcy prudently stepped away. ‘Not even those.’
‘If you do not wish to perform, and do not practise, I wonder that you took the trouble of learning?’
‘I never said that I do not practise,’ he said austerely, ‘but it was not my idea. My mother began teaching me almost as soon as I could reach the keys.’
‘I never guessed,’ said Elizabeth, ‘but of course, you did not wish to perform.’
‘No, nor did my father wish me to. He forbade me from playing altogether after my mother’s death, though there were other reasons for that.’
Elizabeth listened eagerly. Darcy rarely spoke of his father, and then with only a distant sort of respect, and his mother he did not mention at all. She could not help wondering what sort of standard she would be held up to. ‘You have not played since then?’
‘I have. When I went to Rosings, I was permitted, even encouraged, to practise all I liked. Lady Catherine is really fond of music, her pretensions notwithstanding. I did not take a great deal of pleasure in it myself, at that time, but continued practising for my mother’s sake; and when Georgiana and I were re-united, I helped her, as Ma -- my mother had intended to do herself.’
‘She must have been very accomplished.’
‘Oh yes, she drew fairly well, and danced beautifully, but music was always her first love. She played the pianoforte, and the harp, and the violin.’
She sounded terrifying. ‘What did she look like? Was she handsome?’
Darcy looked uncomfortable. ‘I - I suppose so. She was said to be very beautiful.’ Smiling slightly, he added, ‘My grandmother says that she broke the hearts of half of London.’
There was a laugh, and a slightly dishevelled Bingley emerged from a path just to the right. ‘Who are you talking about, Darcy? Lady Ravenshaw?’
‘Certainly not,’ Darcy said coldly, and bowed to her sister. ‘Miss Bennet.’
‘Mr Darcy.’
Surprisingly, he seemed a little troubled, and briefly Elizabeth’s protective instincts towards her sister warred with the love and trust she felt towards her betrothed. I will not leap to any conclusions, she told herself firmly, and determined to speak to him about it as soon as the opportunity would allow.
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Note: The latter scene takes place before Darcy receives Lady Catherine's vituperative letter, so he's only exasperated with her.
As soon as they entered Meryton, however, they were bombarded by the attentions of their erstwhile chaperone, along with less good-natured well-wishers. Darcy put up with it very well, although he instantly reverted to his usual grave composure, his face blank of any emotion to all but those who knew him well. He endured the inevitable impertinences better than Elizabeth had expected, responding quietly and civilly when addressed, and wincing but rarely. Only the grip of his hands and a tightness around the eyes betrayed his discomfort. Jane and Bingley, naturally, were as blissfully unaware as ever and entered into conversation with Mrs Long and her three nieces.
The friendly ambush was of a piece with their lives for what seemed the next eternity. Little if any time was spent alone. Elizabeth, although she had never been particularly fond of the gossiping ladies of Meryton and their insipid offspring, was at first only displeased for Darcy’s sake. She did her best to protect him from the worst of it, but only so much could be done. Later however, the trying company, particularly the incessant questions of the ladies, put such a strain on her, that she wished for nothing so much as to be free of it all. Some days she wondered how she had ever endured them for so long; and the promise of Pemberley was never so enticing as at the present.
She marvelled at her good fortune, as she watched Darcy struggling through a conversation with Sir William Lucas. She caught the words ‘brightest jewel,’ a gesture in her direction, followed by ‘St James,’ and sighed. Darcy maintained his composure admirably, but - Elizabeth stifled a giggle - shrugged his shoulders dismissively when the pretentious knight turned his back.
At least he waited. Not only had she found an honourable man of decidedly comfortable means, but one more than handsome, and peculiar enough in himself to provide her with an endless source of amusement - every earthly blessing tied up in one neat little package.
‘I wrote Charlotte of your engagement, Miss Eliza,’ Lady Lucas said. ‘I am sure she will congratulate you on such a fine catch.’
Elizabeth cringed, for once glad that her intended was distant from her. ‘Thank you, Lady Lucas,’ she replied graciously. She glanced briefly at the other side of the room where Darcy and Mr Bennet stood. Over the last few days, as, it seemed, every corner of the house was invaded, the latter had grown quite disgruntled. For his daughter’s sake (and also out of sheer desperation for even somewhat sensible conversation), he had approached his reserved son-to-be, and was astonished to find a kindred spirit in him. Equally unsociable, the two men had formed an alliance of like minds over fine sherry, philosophy, and rare books.
‘Ah, Lizzy, there is little worthy of mockery in him,’ said Mr Bennet, ‘which is his greatest failing, I fear.’ He did not quite comprehend the nature of their attachment, for Darcy scarcely spoke of Elizabeth, and then with - as far as Mr Bennet could tell - no great feeling, while Elizabeth could and did wax eloquent on the subject of her beloved. Nevertheless, Darcy’s actions spoke louder than his words, and Mr Bennet was glad to accept him.
‘I am content with my choice,’ Elizabeth said mildly, but Mr Bennet caught the defensiveness in her look, and raised his eyebrows.
‘You are very serious, my dear. Is he rubbing off on you, or has the company of your mother’s friends overwhelmed your delicate sensibilities? Ah - I see, I have struck near the mark. Come, Lizzy, enjoy the absurdity while you still may. You will be free of it soon enough.’
‘Twenty-two days!’ she said dismally.
Mr Bennet laughed. ‘Lizzy, my love, these weeks will be over before you know it.’
‘I am young and callow, Papa,’ said Elizabeth, smiling. ‘Three weeks of this is a lifetime.’
Mr Bennet conceded that the latter was undoubtedly true. ‘Your intended certainly seems to think so.’
Elizabeth smiled. ‘He does try, for my sake, but he really detests all of it. You and he seem to be getting on well, though.’ She raised her eyebrows and waited.
‘He is rising every hour in my esteem,’ Mr Bennet assured her. ‘I admire all my three sons-in-law highly. Wickham, perhaps, is my favourite; but I think I shall like your husband quite as well as Jane’s.’
*****
Elizabeth’s thoughts were in a whirl. She thought of Darcy’s frown when he had looked at Jane, of the ‘Lady Ravenshaw’ Bingley had mentioned, of the peculiar uncertainty in his manner to her, so unlike him; and then, brushing her lips with her hand, she shut her eyes and remembered the tentative, gentle first kiss, then, his fair hair smooth against her fingers as she drew him in for another, and finally, later - Elizabeth’s lips curved into a slow smile. Mostly, she had been flooded by enjoyable new sensations, but a small part had been inexpressibly curious to see how he looked, and so she had opened her eyes, eager to see what her touch did to him. It was impossible not to be affected; his own eyes were closed, head tilted back, and colour had burnt itself along the high slash of his cheekbones. She had never seen him so -- beautiful, really; and overwhelmed by emotion, she had pressed her mouth against his lips, throat, whichever part of him she could reach, his silent encouragement eroding any sense of themselves as still separate, of where they were, who they were -
‘Lizzy?’
Elizabeth started violently, eyes flying open. ‘Jane!’ she exclaimed, flushing deeply. ‘I did not hear you.’
‘I was not very quiet - you looked rather strange, Lizzy, just now.’
Elizabeth laughed. ‘I daresay I did.’ For a brief moment, she tried to imagine a similar scene between her sister and brother-to-be. Perhaps, in a moment of thoughtless passion, Mr Bingley had lost himself and allowed his teeth to scrape against Jane’s pale throat. She suppressed a giggle and a blush, the former in incredulity at the very idea, and the latter in pleasurable reminiscence of exactly that. Jane would never, she was certain, behave as shamelessly as Elizabeth did. She smiled again. Darcy would never behave as shamelessly as she did.
‘Lizzy? Lizzy!’
‘Oh! I am sorry. I have so much to think on these days - but I am very glad to have you to share it with, Jane.’ She looked affectionately at her sister.
Jane clasped her hand, then smiled contentedly. ‘Oh Lizzy, I could not be any happier.’
Elizabeth gazed at her, wondering not for the first time at how different they were. Jane’s happiness was undoubtedly full and complete; but it was not what she would wish. She wanted - joy, and laughter, and passion, along with the gentle, mild, sweet affection that subsisted between Jane and her betrothed. And she had it. There was certainly a gentle quality to Darcy’s love for her, not unlike Jane’s, but it was not the same, either - there was almost a childlike simplicity to it, really - particularly at first, when he could not comprehend his own happiness, and did not dare so much as take a step out of rhythm for fear of distressing her and losing her regard. But there was also an all-encompassing intensity, a passionate attachment so wildly different from what she perceived in Jane and Bingley, and every couple among her acquaintance, and what she herself had always imagined, that she could scarcely conceive of it.
‘I am glad for you, Jane,’ she said, after a moment’s silence.
‘And you, Lizzy?’
She blinked a little. ‘I?’
‘Are you happy?’ Jane pressed. Elizabeth’s eyebrows flew up.
‘Oh yes.’ She smiled ruefully. ‘I will be happier when I am away from all this, at Pemberley, with my husband.’ Her eyes softened, and she gazed towards the window, a little dreamily, before snapping back to the conversation. ‘I think you and Papa are all that I shall miss, Jane. Otherwise, these shall be the longest three weeks I have ever lived.’ Except, she thought, after I left Pemberley and thought I should never see him again.
Jane looked politely bewildered.
‘Oh, well - all the ladies, they do not like me, you know - and it is so difficult for Darcy.’ She sighed. ‘He is not at his best, you know, in - these situations. With strangers, and always being watched and judged and - it exhausts me, and I am not anywhere so retiring as he is.’
‘Yes, it is difficult,’ Jane agreed. Cautiously, she added, ‘I was so glad to go to London, when - that dreadful business happened last year - simply to be away from all the . . .’
‘Prying eyes?’ Elizabeth suggested.
Jane flushed. ‘Well, yes. They meant well, I am sure of it, but it can be so trying when one is not accustomed to it.’
Elizabeth smiled a little sadly. ‘Yes, I think so. But I am happy, and when we are together - just us, or with you and Mr Bingley - I have never been happier in my life, and I feel every day as if I could never be so happy again. Except - I am - more so every day. He is - he is so - I would never have dreamed it, that it would be like this.’ She laughed. ‘I am terribly silly over him - I tell him, that it is all his fault, he has made me so silly, so unlike myself.’
‘You could never be silly, Lizzy.’
‘If I told you half the things that pass through my mind, you would not be able to say so," she replied, flinging herself back on her bed. ‘I am ridiculously happy, just knowing that he is there - somewhere - and that every day I shall be able to look at him, and tease him, and touch him, however I please.’
Jane gasped. Elizabeth sat up straight. ‘Did I say that aloud?’
Her sister nodded, and Elizabeth covered her mouth, dissolving into giggles. ‘Oh, I am so sorry - I did not mean to embarrass you - but, dearest Jane, surely you have -’ She stopped and considered what might constitute a romantic interlude for Jane and Bingley. A few stolen bird-like pecks; holding hands when certain no one would see - agreeing on every conceivable subject - no, somehow she did not think Jane’s experience was quite the same as hers, for all that it was longer in duration. ‘Well,’ Elizabeth conceded, ‘perhaps not.’
‘Lizzy, what have you done?’ a scandalised Jane protested. Elizabeth could not keep herself from laughing wickedly, falling back again. She flung one hand against her forehead, with a melodramatic sigh, then looked sideways at Jane.
‘You must prepare yourself for something very awful, dear sister.’
Jane bit back a smile. ‘Lizzy, please be serious. What if someone had seen you?’
‘Oh, I made certain that could not happen. You see, he is so - careful, with me, that I was beginning to be afraid I should not be kissed until the day of the wedding, and I would really rather have more time to -’ She coughed. ‘So I took him to the Mount and kissed him instead.’
Jane’s mouth dropped open. ‘Why, Lizzy - what did he say?’
Elizabeth smiled mischievously. ‘Very little, as I recall.’
‘He must have been very surprised.’
‘Not really.’ Elizabeth giggled into her pillow. ‘He knows me fairly well by now, I think.’
‘And -’ Jane hesitated - ‘is that all?’
Turning her head to the side, and blushing a little - ‘No. I just said I loved him - very absently, not really thinking. I did not realise that he had not known -’ She frowned a little, recalling how he had looked. Radiantly happy - transported by such intense joy that - it was almost painful to see. He had been so very surprised. She briefly chewed her lip.
‘He did not know?’ Jane said in bewilderment. ‘But, wh - oh.’
Elizabeth looked up. ‘What do you mean, “oh?” ’
Jane dropped her eyes. ‘I should not say. I do not want you to feel - of course you were right, but still, he cannot help but be - if it is anything like what I feel, then . . . oh, I am sorry.’ She took a deep breath, and turned Elizabeth’s hand over, looking up at her anxiously. ‘After all those months of believing Bingley did not care for me, that he never had, sometimes it is difficult to really believe that - well, that he does care. Of course, he always did, and I know that, but I do not always feel it, if that makes sense.’
‘Yes,’ said Elizabeth, very soberly, ‘yes, it does.’
‘It helps,’ she added blushingly, ‘that he is so affectionate, but I must confess, Lizzy, after being unsure for so long, feeling so - desolate, it is always rather astonishing. And - ’ She looked deeply uncomfortable - ‘I know that he really loved me all along, so it is not quite the same.’
At Elizabeth’s stricken expression, she earnestly said, ‘I do not blame you, I am certain he does not blame you, and he would not want you to make yourself unhappy over it - I am sure you were right; really, believing what you did about him, it would have been wrong to accept - it is just, I know what it is like, loving someone so much, and yet - ’ tears actually rose to Jane’s eyes, and she turned her head away, ‘Well, all I mean is that it can be very difficult sometimes.’
‘Oh, Jane.’ Elizabeth put her arms around her sister, who gasped a little, and allowed herself the luxury of crying one last time. ‘Jane, I am so sorry. I did not mean to remind you.’
‘I am well, truly, and so happy,’ Jane said; ‘it is only sometimes that one cannot help but - I am so glad I have had you with me. I do not know what I would have done without you, dearest sister. Only - you will write, when you are at Pemberley?’
Elizabeth pressed a kiss against Jane’s dark hair. ‘I certainly shall. Oh!’ She suddenly remembered Darcy’s cryptic response to her questions about his peculiar behaviour around Jane. ‘Jane, Mr Darcy would like to speak to you tomorrow, if that is acceptable to you.’
‘Well, of course,’ Jane said in bewilderment, ‘he may speak to me whenever he wishes.’
‘No, not with the others. Alone.’ Elizabeth remembered his preoccupied, somehow guilty, expression, and restrained her impatience. ‘Perhaps on the way to Meryton, I shall walk with Mr Bingley and tell him stories about what an ill-behaved child you were.’
Jane smiled absently. ‘Oh yes, that would be delightful.’
‘You must tell me, if it is not a great secret, for I am quite overwhelmed by curiosity,’ Elizabeth said. ‘He started to explain why, but Mrs Long interrupted us, so, you see, I do not know either.’
‘I will tell you all,’ Jane promised. ‘What could he have to say, that he could not mention before any of the others?’
*****
The next day dawned bright and clear. As it was still earlier than Bingley or Darcy were usually expected, Elizabeth joined her father in the library, and after their normal conversation, Mr Bennet remarked casually, ‘I hope Mr Darcy’s letter did not contain bad news.’
Elizabeth stared. ‘What letter? Did he write? Is something wrong?’
Mr Bennet chuckled. ‘I would not be young again for all the world. No, I meant the letter that Mr Darcy received last evening. Did he not mention it to you?’
‘No, I did not know - ’ she frowned. ‘I did not even see a letter.’
‘Undoubtedly because he ripped it up and threw it in the fireplace before he had read five lines,’ said Mr Bennet dryly. ‘Are you certain he did not mention it to you? He certainly intended to.’
‘No, he - ’ Elizabeth remembered, when the gentlemen had rejoined them, Darcy had seemed tense and preoccupied, more than usual, but she had attributed that to a particularly close press of neighbours. He disliked being close to other people. There had been a moment of brief respite - he had looked rather more intense than usual, had said, ‘Elizabeth, I - ’ but they had been interrupted again, and she had not guessed that it was anything of import. ‘I think, he meant to, but there were so many people . . .’
‘Ah, that explains it.’
‘Did he say who it was from?’ Elizabeth tried to think of any acquaintance who had the power and inclination to so disturb Darcy, and soon found herself at the inevitable answer, even as Mr Bennet replied, with great amusement,
‘His aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh. He wrote and sent the reply immediately.’
‘I wond - ’ Elizabeth stopped as the sound of a carriage arriving could be heard, and raced to the window. ‘Oh, it is only the Lucases,’ she said, disappointed. Mr Bennet laughed.
‘Lizzy, they are never here before breakfast.’
‘I know, it is only - ’ Elizabeth shut her eyes, shook her head, and looked again. ‘Papa? Did you invite Mr Collins to the wedding?’
Mr Bennet considered his response to Mr Collins’ diatribe. ‘No,’ he decided. ‘Why on earth do you ask?’
‘Because, unless my eyes deceive me, he is walking up the drive this very moment. And Charlotte! Charlotte is here!’
A breathless Elizabeth flew into the parlour, just in time to greet her friend.
‘I am so pleased for you, Eliza,’ Charlotte said, with a warm smile. ‘I always said he was partial to you, did I not?’
‘Yes,’ laughed Elizabeth, ‘yes, you were positively prescient, Charlotte. And how are you? Is your chicken laying well? Oh! Mr Collins. It is lovely to see you too.’
‘Cousin Elizabeth,’ Mr Collins returned, bowing ponderously. ‘I, too, offer my congratulations on a most advantageous connection, despite the distress - the very great distress - inevitably caused to my noble patroness, Lady Catherine de Bour - ’
‘I’m sure Eliza knows all about her ladyship’s objections,’ Lady Lucas interjected, with a braying laugh. Elizabeth sighed, then smiled at her friend. At least there was one person whose company was not trying. Nevertheless she was uncertain whether the pleasure she obtained from Charlotte’s company quite compensated for the sight of Darcy and Mr Collins in one room, the latter having evidently taken her father’s advice as far as he was able.
The younger generation all opted to walk to Meryton, Charlotte and Elizabeth trying to cover as many matters as possible in a brief amount of time, Bingley being his usual agreeable self as he endured Mr Collins, while Jane and Darcy lagged behind, speaking softly and earnestly to one another. Afterwards, Darcy and Elizabeth only had a brief moment of somewhat private conversation.
‘Your sister is the most saintly person I have ever met,’ said he, looking almost stunned. Elizabeth laughed.
‘She is positively angelic,’ she agreed. ‘Should I be jealous?’
‘Jealous? You? What have you to be jealous of?’
Elizabeth glanced at him, but his expression was perfectly serious. ‘Do look in the mirror, dearest,’ she said flippantly, and rather enjoyed the five seconds it took him to comprehend her meaning. His eyes widened, and he coloured deeply.
‘Oh, that,’ he said dismissively; ‘it does not matter. I am yours now.’
Elizabeth beamed at him, but before the conversation could follow this promising path, they were interrupted by Mr Collins’ raptures over the bare one hundred feet between himself and such a near relation of his patroness - both sighed, unexpectedly joined by the long-suffering Bingley.
Exhausting as the previous days had been, this one was only more so, and Elizabeth gratefully retired to her room for the night, having parted from her betrothed with nothing more than a decorous kiss on her hand. Before she could so much as sit on her bed, however, she was joined by Jane, who had been far quieter than usual since her discussion with Darcy. Her dark hair was loose and tangled enough that it was evident she had been running her fingers through it in agitation - she was clearly in a state of what passed for high dudgeon with her.
‘What is it, Jane?’ Elizabeth’s mind went back to the conversation with Darcy, and she stepped forward, alarmed. ‘Jane, what did he say to you?’
‘What did who say to me, Lizzy?’ Jane asked, looking away.
‘Mr Darcy, of course!’
‘Oh, that he convinced Bingley I did not care for him, and knew I was in London, and never mentioned it.’ Jane waved her hand at this, her expression closed. ‘He apologised for that, and I asked him to use my Christian name.’ In a faintly wondering tone, she added, ‘He really felt very badly about his part in it.’
Elizabeth sat down. ‘He told you? But why -’
Jane lifted up her head, perfectly still except for the fingers clenching and unclenching her shift. ‘Because, he said, I am to be his sister.’ There was no trace of accusation in her tone, even as she added, ‘He did not think it right, you see, to conceal such a thing from me, when we are to be so closely related.’
Elizabeth stared at her. ‘Jane?’
‘Elizabeth,’ said Jane, her dark eyes bright, ‘I can understand why Mr Darcy did what he did, and I understand why Bingley did what he did; but could you please - ’ she briefly chewed her lip - ‘could you please explain why, if you have known since April that Bingley truly cared for me, you never told me?’
Elizabeth sighed. ‘Jane, Bingley was already gone by the time I found out. Telling you the entire tale would do no good - it could only add to your regret. It was Bingley’s place to tell you what had happened.’
Jane turned her head away. ‘I was right, then,’ she said softly.
‘I beg your pardon?’
Jane lifted her chin. ‘I supposed,’ she said, ‘that you did not tell me, because you truly believed it best - because you could not possibly understand that - that -’ she clasped her hands - ‘that I would have given the world to know that he had felt something - anything - for me.’
‘Jane - ’
‘That is why he understood,’ she continued reflectively; ‘Mr Darcy, that is - and I suppose it is why he feels so badly about it still. I tried to thank him for Lydia, you know. He said he did not deserve my gratitude - just laughed rather queerly and called it a penance for his sins. I do not think, somehow, that he meant the money.’
Elizabeth did not entirely understand Jane’s meaning, but she accepted that her silence had hurt her beloved sister, and apologised. Jane smiled wearily.
‘It is quite all right,’ she said. ‘It is all over now, and I hope we have all learnt something from it. Lizzy -’ there was a moment’s hesitation - ‘take care.’
Elizabeth lifted up her eyes. ‘Why, what do you mean?’
Earnestly, Jane said, ‘I know you only meant it for the best, but . . . but if you keep things from Mr Darcy, I think he will be far more distressed than I am. I only want you to be careful, Lizzy.’
‘I shall,’ Elizabeth promised.
Elizabeth woke the next day, tired, sore, and in a decidedly ill humour. She was mad to get out of the house, and absconded with Darcy as soon as she found him. She knew he was an early riser, and that he spent his mornings walking or riding about the countryside. Fortuitously, he had opted to remain on foot this morning, so there was no equine monster to disturb her equanimity further.
Of course, the surreptitious meeting was hardly the height of propriety. In her present mood, that was enough to recommend the activity to her, but she knew Darcy’s deeply-ingrained sense of decorum could not so easily be set aside. She was thus rather irritated with him, but knew her feelings all out of proportion - she had knowledge of how quickly matters could escalate between them, and realized Darcy’s caution was far from unwarranted. Nevertheless, when all the tension of the evening and morning combined to a boiling point, she lost control of her temper, but she wished the words unsaid immediately, even before catching the telltale flinch and expressionless look in his eyes.
Oddly, it was he who diffused the situation, quite without intending to. ‘Elizabeth, are you, er . . .’ he began hesitantly.
Since everyone else either ignored her or snapped back at her at such times, she was faintly bewildered at his reaction. ‘I am very sorry,’ she said penitently.
‘No . . . that is, I meant . . . are you . . . er . . .’ He blushed deeply.
Elizabeth sighed. ‘I am in a rather poor humour this morning, Fitzwilliam,’ she said shortly. ‘Please say what you mean outright.’
‘Ah . . . I do not know what it is called, exactly. Mrs Reynolds never said, when Georgiana -’ He flushed even more. ‘Is it . . . that time?’
‘I do not understand you,’ she said.
‘Of the month -- that time when you, er . . . ‘ His fingers were tightly clasped and his eyes steadfastly fixed on a rock near his foot.
Elizabeth stared, then smiled as she comprehended his meaning. ‘How do you know about that?’
‘We thought Georgiana was dying; we all did,’ he said. ‘My housekeeper explained it to us.’
She almost laughed outright, imagining poor Mrs Reynolds explaining the matter to her young master and mistress; then she thought of a frightened, motherless girl with no confidant but an austere older brother.
‘I see,’ she said.
Darcy looked sheepish as he continued, ‘It was one of those times, that I rather wished my mother or my older sister had survived.’
‘Older sister?’ Even imagining Darcy with parents was difficult enough.
‘There were four children before me,’ he said breezily. ‘The first, Alexandra, died about a sixmonth before I was born; she was then seven or eight years old, I think. The others were born too early. We all were, but I lived anyway. Then there were three after me, two daughters and a son, and then - ’ His brilliant smile seemed at odds with the subject matter, until he continued in a softened voice, ‘then there was Georgiana.’
Elizabeth stared. Somehow this picture was so contrary to the vague sketch she had in her mind. For the first time, she thought of his parents, his family, as not simply the dim shadowy figures who had produced Darcy, vague ideas in her mind, but people as real as Lydia, Mrs Gardiner, her father. She thought of a woman whose wealth and beauty and accomplishments were not enough, who had borne so many children, and lost them all - but for one frail boy, and she could only imagine how dear he must have been to her.
‘Your poor mother,’ she said.
‘Yes,’ said Darcy gravely, before turning the subject; ‘speaking of Georgiana, I received this from her. I thought you might like to read it.’
Elizabeth smiled to herself as she saw the letter. Prolific correspondence seemed to be a family trait; four sheets were insufficient to contain Miss Darcy’s delight at her brother’s engagement. Elizabeth was pleased, for her sake and his, that at least one member of his family approved of their attachment; but she was struck by the manner in which Georgiana addressed her brother. The deep affection that obviously subsisted between the siblings was easily and immediately apparent; what affected her even more strongly, however, was the almost reverential respect accompanying it. Halfway through her perusal, it was clear that Miss Darcy worshipped the very ground her brother trod on; he was to her what Elizabeth had mockingly called him, a man without fault.
Pictures of perfection make me sick and wicked, she thought whimsically. I am glad that he has faults and foibles enough to make up for actually living up to such an ideal.
*****
‘Actually,’ Elizabeth confessed, several minutes later. ‘I was in an ill humour because of my mother.’
Darcy opened his mouth, then shut it again, and simply waited for her to continue, and Elizabeth impulsively stepped closer, absently playing with the sleeve of his greatcoat. While she certainly preferred conversation to silence, one of the very great pleasures in their mostly solitary walks was that she never struggled to make herself heard. There were few, if any, exclamations or interruptions when she spoke, and he certainly never ignored her. Moreover, she never needed to sift through well-meaning omissions, careless words prompted by the impulse of the moment, but regretted later, or outright falsehoods. Darcy never said a word he did not mean.
Contemplation of her fortune instantly improved her mood, and Elizabeth felt more disposed to speak of it. ‘She is set on going to town, for our trousseaux. All of this has rather gone to her head. Of course, Jane and I do not want to be separated, so we joined with Papa in trying to convince her, but . . .’ She shrugged eloquently.
‘Why would Jane be separated from you?’ he asked, looking faintly perplexed. Elizabeth blushed.
‘Not from one another - from you,’ she said instantly, then added as an afterthought, ‘and Mr Bingley, of course.’
‘Oh, I see. Well . . .’ The faint widening of his eyes told her that he was anxious, doubtless over some imagined insult he had inadvertently dropped.
‘Fitzwilliam, what is it?’
‘I - Bingley and I were talking, and . . .’ He cleared his throat. ‘That is what we wanted to talk to you about.’
‘What is?’
‘We both have some business in town, not urgent, but then there are the settlements -- ’ he looked deeply embarrassed at even so indirect an allusion to the disparity in their situations. ‘We thought you might find it convenient to accompany us.’
‘All of us?’
‘If the Gardiners consent, I suppose so.’
Elizabeth smiled a little to herself. ‘Mama will be pleased. She has already complained to my aunt and uncle enough that they offered to let us stay with them.’
‘And you?’
Elizabeth glanced up at his face, which was rather too composed. ‘Of course,’ she said, ‘the only reason for the disagreement was that we wished to be with you. And Mr Bingley.’
Darcy smiled, and upon their return, it was decided, amidst vociferous complaints, that Mrs Bennet should take Elizabeth and Jane to town, and stay for a fortnight, while Bingley and Darcy completed their business. Despite the painful prospect of a journey during which Mrs Bennet and Darcy were both present, Elizabeth anticipated the brief freedom from Meryton, and wrote an effusively grateful letter to her aunt.
ETA: I've revised Courtship to fit within my present canon, which is quite different from what can be found in my older stuff.
Miss Lydia Bennet’s marriage to Mr Wickham had effectively ended a very promising source of gossip; and Miss Bennet’s engagement to Mr Bingley was hardly better. The only question was why it had taken so long, for they were without a doubt perfectly suited to one another. Even Lady Lucas and Mrs Long, with several very plain charges to dispose of, could not deny it. If anyone deserved happiness in marriage, it was Jane Bennet -- or so the Meryton matrons decreed. She was sweetness itself and so very handsome. It was not her fault that she had been burdened with such a family.
However, Miss Elizabeth’s engagement to Mr Darcy was far more lucrative than either. They supposed, naturally, that she had only accepted him for his wealth and consequence. His motivations were not so clear; surely, a young man in his circumstances had met many a pretty young lady? How had Miss Elizabeth -- ‘tolerable’ Miss Eliza Bennet -- snared him where so many had failed?
‘I hope they will be very happy,’ Mrs James said. A tradesman’s daughter who had married into the local gentry, she was a young, pretty girl, and very much awed by the other ladies.
Insincere agreement immediately followed. Although, her chances with such a disagreeable man -- Mrs Long left it hanging.
‘I never thought him so very disagreeable,’ Mrs Goulding said, startling nearly all of the circle. She was very quiet, but when she had an opinion gave it most decidedly. ‘He was always civil to me.’
Most of her elders gazed at her pityingly. It was a fact that young women’s heads could easily be turned by a handsome man - and there was no disputing that Mr Darcy was exceedingly pleasant to look at. ‘I agree,’ added Mrs James bravely. ‘Molly says that she has never worked for a kinder master. Not that she works for Mr Darcy, but he is at Netherfield, so -- and her father, Smith, is the butler, and he says that Mr Darcy is the only one who ever concerns himself with the servants, and a proper gentleman.’
It had to be admitted that the servants all spoke very highly of him. ‘He may be a good master,’ decreed Mrs Long, ‘but that doesn’t mean he will be a good husband. Say what you like about Eliza Bennet, but I pity her.’
The other ladies were fully prepared to follow her lead, but soon found themselves in a peculiar sort of quandary. It was difficult to pity someone who had no idea of her own misfortune. On the contrary - she seemed quite delighted with her situation in general, and with her betrothed in particular. She was absorbed in him almost to the point of incivility, talking to him when he was near, and inattentive to much else when he was not. Her eyes often followed him wherever he went, with a peculiar intent expression that Mrs Long in particular found almost indecent.
As for Mr Darcy, whom they had fully expected to act the part of the besotted, distracted suitor, he was very much as he had ever been. Quiet, reserved, elegant, he was properly attentive to his intended, endured the attentions of local society with rather better grace than had been anticipated, but his composure never faltered. There was no greater sign of his affection for Miss Elizabeth than a softness about the mouth and a distinct partiality for her company. Several of the ladies unashamedly eavesdropped on their conversations, and found them not only dull but incomprehensible.
It was decided that Miss Eliza had chosen to marry Mr Darcy because he was the only man who could actually understand above half of what she said. Mrs James murmured wistfully,
‘She loves him. I think it’s wonderful.’
Mrs Long shot her a quelling look. ‘It might be wonderful if he cared sixpence about her,’ she said spitefully.
“You must be supposing that she proposed to him, then,” returned Mrs Goulding, perfectly serene. ‘Why else should he propose to her? She has nothing else to offer; and if he only wished for a pretty wife, I daresay he could find plenty among his own circle of acquaintance.’
Mrs Long and Lady Lucas decided that they had never liked Mrs Goulding, who was too clever by half, and muttered imprecations against those artful Bennets.
* * * * *
In the first days of their engagement, Darcy and Elizabeth were so deliriously happy that all else faded into insignificance. The curious glances, rampant gossip, and shameless observations that followed them everywhere they went mattered not at all. For that brief time, she had him all to herself, and luxuriated in the pleasure of being so unconditionally loved. She almost solely occupied herself with acquiring a greater intimacy with his ways, her curiosity boundless as they talked, he earnestly and she joyously.
Within what seemed a very short period of time, she knew that he dropped his eyes when considering something, rubbed his thumb and middle finger together when nervous, and pushed his hair out of his eyes quite frequently for no reason at all. When he was angry, his lips compressed and his eyes blazed. He tilted his head to the side when considering something -- usually one of her more singular questions -- and stiffened, his eyes shuttering, when pained. When amused, a quick, sharp smile curled his lips, while he coloured, glancing away, when embarrassed (and it was very often). She wondered if she was so easily read, and that she had ever found his countenance guarded rarely ceased to amaze, he had become so transparent to her.
There was one little quirk, however, which, while quite endearing, and indubitably amusing, hindered a rather different sort of intimacy. The earnest, almost reverential, respect in which he held her did nothing to alleviate his native primness -- for really, there was no other word for such great reserve, and his constant deference to her wishes in that regard, real or imagined, had her quite envious of Jane for almost twelve minutes, until she hatched a plot.
‘Aunt,’ Elizabeth said sweetly, ‘Mr Darcy and I should like to walk to the Mount again, but I fear it will be too much for you. You do not mind if we just go on without you, do you?’
Sometimes Mrs Phillips’ senselessness was more welcome than at others. With a speculative remark about the attractions the Mount must have for such a handsome young couple, she unashamedly left them to their own devices. Elizabeth flinched and glanced up at Darcy apprehensively, and was pleased to see nothing worse than fierce embarrassment writ on his face. She proceeded with her plan.
‘I saw you talking with John Lucas, Fitzwilliam,’ she said lightly, looking about to make sure they were quite alone. ‘Did you have a pleasant conversation?’
‘No,’ said Darcy, quite happily. ‘He had some very ridiculous opinions.’
‘You enlightened him, of course.’
‘Naturally. We were speaking of the conditions in the North, and he claimed that the poor were solely responsible for their plight, and that any attempt at assistance would only breed indolence and discontent amongst their ranks.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
Darcy grimaced. ‘It is not the first time, either, that I have come across this sort of thinking. My uncle, although he is not illiberal in general, claims that I am young and idealistic -- even naïve and ignorant when he is particularly displeased with me.’
Elizabeth considered asking about Darcy’s uncle, for she had gathered enough to realise that the Earl was unlikely to approve of her, but dismissed the idea. That could come later, and it would only distract both from the present possibilities. She clasped his arm more tightly, and smiled up at him. ‘Mr Lucas looked quite chastened by the end. I daresay you thoroughly educated him?’
‘Yes.’ He turned his head to smile warmly and openly at her -- a smile she never saw, except when they were alone. Elizabeth guessed at his height and lamented it for quite the first time. If only he were that bit shorter, this would be so much easier --
‘I was glad to find that your uncle agrees with me,’ Darcy said unexpectedly. Elizabeth, still considering the logistics that Darcy’s six-foot-three-inch frame necessarily entailed, absently asked,
‘Mr Phillips?’
He looked startled. ‘No, I meant Mr Gardiner. During -- my business in London -- ’ (he had a ready supply of euphemisms for all matters which he did not care to discuss explicitly) ‘we spoke of it. He, too, felt strongly about the matter -- but of course -- ’ Darcy looked slightly vexed -- ’he is not so young as to be accused of ignorance and naïveté, when he espouses unconventional opinions.’
Elizabeth smiled, at both the sentiment (which she shared) and the faintly petulant expression of it, and gazed at him fondly for a moment, briefly relishing her good fortune before acting. ‘Fitzwilliam,’ she said, and he stopped, glancing at her quizzically.
‘Yes?’
She placed one hand against his cheek, and met his gaze as directly as she could without paining her neck. He looked startled, but not displeased, and so she stood on tiptoe and firmly pressed her lips against his. For one moment, she was afraid that he would step away, horrified at her forwardness -- but after all, did he not admire her for her liveliness? -- so she was not too surprised when, after only a brief hesitation, he reciprocated enthusiastically, his lips parting beneath her own, his gloved fingers reaching up to caress her face. Dizzy and disoriented, she felt her eyelids flutter and -- solely for the sake of stability, of course -- kept her hands firmly attached to his shoulders.
Breathlessly, they stepped back, Darcy’s pale complexion flushed -- but not, she trusted, with embarrassment, as his expression was nothing short of delighted. She could feel heat in her own cheeks, after all, and she was not remotely embarrassed.
‘I love you,’ she said lightly, and he simply stared for a moment, the other emotions dancing across his face overlaid with utter astonishment.
‘You -- I -- why -- ’ He stopped, and then, struck, it seemed, by a fit of coherence, said, between kissing her hands passionately, “You are inimitable, irresistible. You are the delight of my life. You are -- ’
Elizabeth briefly touched his head, startled and touched by the intensity of his response to her careless declaration. She was not quite certain how best to manage the situation, until it occurred to her that his face was conveniently near at hand. She tangled her fingers in his fair hair and kissed him again.
Not since the day he had proposed to her had she seen him so voluble and incoherent, nor had she been so quiet. Elizabeth’s feelings were overwhelmed and disordered enough that she could not understand them with any clarity; but his were easier to comprehend. He seemed taken by a violent delight, overflowing with admiration and a little feverish in the expression of it, stripping off his glove and hers with a quick, breathless, ‘do you mind?’ and lacing his fingers through hers almost before her smiling acquiescence.
Elizabeth laughed at her own silliness in the pleasure she took at the sudden contact, his fingers entwined with hers -- at one point she sat beside him on a strategically placed log, turning his hand over in hers and admiring it, making him laugh a little. His was much larger, although more in length than in width.
‘You are so small,’ he said in his quiet voice, tilting his head to the side as he looked at hers. ‘You have such presence that one forgets, sometimes.’
‘My mother has bemoaned my size more than once,’ Elizabeth told him, with a faintly mischievous smile. ‘She wishes that I were more like Jane, or Lydia.’ The look of heartfelt horror on Darcy’s face sent her into gales of laughter. ‘Although for years she has comforted herself that I shall undoubtedly grow stouter with children - “if only she could get me married!” ’
Rather than laughing, a peculiar expression came over his face, one she had not yet identified. He caught his breath, and at once he seemed intimately, powerfully near, and far too distant and remote for comfort. ‘Fitzwilliam,’ she laughed, tugging at his sleeve, ‘where are you?’
He came to with a start. ‘Oh! I was only thinking.’
Elizabeth shook her head. ‘Should I be afraid, losing your attention so early in our engagement? What does this bode for our marriage?’
Alarm flashed across his face, but was as quickly dispelled by her teasing look. ‘Oh, I am easily distracted,’ he said, smiling. ‘It is better you discover it now, rather than later.’
‘Not according to Charlotte,’ Elizabeth said absently, wondering what precisely he meant -- for once he was set on a course of action, there was no stopping him. But then, perhaps the distractions heretofore had not been enticing enough. Elizabeth dimpled happily, and laid her head against his arm, clasping his hand once more.
‘I can well imagine what your friend may believe, but she is married to Mr Collins,’ said Darcy, then gasped as he realised he had actually spoken aloud. Elizabeth laughed heartily.
‘You are far superior to Mr Collins, my love,’ she said, once she had regained herself. ‘I think I may safely say that I would prefer to acquaint myself with your idiosyncrasies as soon as possible, so that I may become accustomed to them before we are wed.’ Then she smiled, more than a little mischievously. ‘And, of course, so that I may distract you at my leisure.’
Darcy blushed but only arched one brow, his response all the more powerful for its brevity.
‘Oh?’
It was really more than a lady of passionate disposition, with such a strikingly handsome young man at her disposal, could be expected to endure. This time, no planning was involved, and she was not even certain if she or he had begun it; but one moment they were sitting next to one another very decorously, the next she was pressed against his side, and they were kissing wildly. It was, some time later, only the need for air that separated them, and Darcy, emitting a sound rather like a squeak, fled to the opposite side of their log, a safe distance of about three feet from her. Elizabeth was not certain whether to be offended or merely embarrassed, but the frankly yearning look he gave her returned her to her senses.
‘Ah . . . Elizabeth,’ he said awkwardly. ‘Perhaps we ought to join the others?’
Elizabeth looked at him incredulously.
‘That is -- we have been gone . . . awhile - and your aunt . . .’ Darcy floundered.
‘Mrs Phillips would be delighted if you compromised me utterly,’ Elizabeth said bluntly, and Darcy shut his eyes, looking pained for a moment, before regaining his composure.
‘Elizabeth,’ he said, very gently, ‘we should bear in mind that we have only been engaged a week.’
‘I think it a very promising beginning,’ she said.
‘Oh yes.’ His tone, and sudden smile, had her flushing from head to toe. He coughed, then continued, ’However, if one considers that we are far nearer to the beginning of our engagement, than to the end of it . . . the inevitable conclusion one draws is, er, that if we continue as we have begun, the likelihood that either of us shall reach the altar with, erm, virtue intact is . . . remarkably slim.’
‘Oh!’ said Elizabeth, enlightened. ’You must think me terribly silly.’
‘No, dear, only very, er, vivacious,’ Darcy said carefully. Elizabeth laughed, and recovered their gloves, handing him his, replacing her own, and taking his arm.
‘We must, then, distr -- ’ Elizabeth stopped. That word would never have quite the same meaning again. ‘-- Occupy ourselves with other activities.’ She cast a sly glance at her intended from under her lashes, and added, ‘Most of the time, that is.’
‘Elizabeth!’
She laughed, delighted at his prudery, and said, ‘Come, Fitzwilliam, let us talk. Really, I know very little of you beyond the essentials. Where is your favourite place?’
‘Pemberley,’ he said instantly, and she laughed.
‘I should have guessed at that.’
‘And you?’ he asked, surprising her. With a faint flush, she said,
‘I think -- I must choose Pemberley also.’ His eyes widened, and for a moment she stopped walking, lost in the intensity of his face, before looking away.
‘We are incorrigible! Very well. Are you accomplished, sir?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
She had only mentioned it because she must say something, but liked the idea and gamely went on. ‘You already know that I am not, at least by Miss Bingley’s standards. I daresay you speak the modern languages well enough, and you most assuredly have, what did she say? -- a certain something in your manner of walking.’
‘Miss Bingley!’ he said derisively, and Elizabeth bit back a smile.
‘Poor Miss Bingley, she shall be my sister now, and worse still, yours. Her suffering must be acute. But you have dis -- misdirected me! Do you play, do you sing?’
‘Yes, and no,’ Darcy replied, helping her down the steps. Elizabeth was indeed distracted by this sudden information.
‘Really? I daresay I have embarrassed myself dreadfully before you, for you are undoubtedly far more proficient at the instrument than I. Is it not so, Fitzwilliam?’
‘Of course not,’ he said warmly. ‘Your performance is far more pleasing than mine could ever be -- not that I would give one.’
‘Oh yes -- you do not perform to strangers, do you? But we are hardly strangers -- shall I ask you to play for this evening’s entertainment?’
He looked paralysed for a moment. ‘Certainly not! I should refuse in any case.’
‘I should like to hear you -- ’ she wrinkled her nose at his obdurate expression. ‘There must be some way to persuade you.’
‘None at all.’
‘Not even pleasant distractions?’
Darcy prudently stepped away. ‘Not even those.’
‘If you do not wish to perform, and do not practise, I wonder that you took the trouble of learning?’
‘I never said that I do not practise,’ he said austerely, ‘but it was not my idea. My mother began teaching me almost as soon as I could reach the keys.’
‘I never guessed,’ said Elizabeth, ‘but of course, you did not wish to perform.’
‘No, nor did my father wish me to. He forbade me from playing altogether after my mother’s death, though there were other reasons for that.’
Elizabeth listened eagerly. Darcy rarely spoke of his father, and then with only a distant sort of respect, and his mother he did not mention at all. She could not help wondering what sort of standard she would be held up to. ‘You have not played since then?’
‘I have. When I went to Rosings, I was permitted, even encouraged, to practise all I liked. Lady Catherine is really fond of music, her pretensions notwithstanding. I did not take a great deal of pleasure in it myself, at that time, but continued practising for my mother’s sake; and when Georgiana and I were re-united, I helped her, as Ma -- my mother had intended to do herself.’
‘She must have been very accomplished.’
‘Oh yes, she drew fairly well, and danced beautifully, but music was always her first love. She played the pianoforte, and the harp, and the violin.’
She sounded terrifying. ‘What did she look like? Was she handsome?’
Darcy looked uncomfortable. ‘I - I suppose so. She was said to be very beautiful.’ Smiling slightly, he added, ‘My grandmother says that she broke the hearts of half of London.’
There was a laugh, and a slightly dishevelled Bingley emerged from a path just to the right. ‘Who are you talking about, Darcy? Lady Ravenshaw?’
‘Certainly not,’ Darcy said coldly, and bowed to her sister. ‘Miss Bennet.’
‘Mr Darcy.’
Surprisingly, he seemed a little troubled, and briefly Elizabeth’s protective instincts towards her sister warred with the love and trust she felt towards her betrothed. I will not leap to any conclusions, she told herself firmly, and determined to speak to him about it as soon as the opportunity would allow.
-------------------------------
Note: The latter scene takes place before Darcy receives Lady Catherine's vituperative letter, so he's only exasperated with her.
As soon as they entered Meryton, however, they were bombarded by the attentions of their erstwhile chaperone, along with less good-natured well-wishers. Darcy put up with it very well, although he instantly reverted to his usual grave composure, his face blank of any emotion to all but those who knew him well. He endured the inevitable impertinences better than Elizabeth had expected, responding quietly and civilly when addressed, and wincing but rarely. Only the grip of his hands and a tightness around the eyes betrayed his discomfort. Jane and Bingley, naturally, were as blissfully unaware as ever and entered into conversation with Mrs Long and her three nieces.
The friendly ambush was of a piece with their lives for what seemed the next eternity. Little if any time was spent alone. Elizabeth, although she had never been particularly fond of the gossiping ladies of Meryton and their insipid offspring, was at first only displeased for Darcy’s sake. She did her best to protect him from the worst of it, but only so much could be done. Later however, the trying company, particularly the incessant questions of the ladies, put such a strain on her, that she wished for nothing so much as to be free of it all. Some days she wondered how she had ever endured them for so long; and the promise of Pemberley was never so enticing as at the present.
She marvelled at her good fortune, as she watched Darcy struggling through a conversation with Sir William Lucas. She caught the words ‘brightest jewel,’ a gesture in her direction, followed by ‘St James,’ and sighed. Darcy maintained his composure admirably, but - Elizabeth stifled a giggle - shrugged his shoulders dismissively when the pretentious knight turned his back.
At least he waited. Not only had she found an honourable man of decidedly comfortable means, but one more than handsome, and peculiar enough in himself to provide her with an endless source of amusement - every earthly blessing tied up in one neat little package.
‘I wrote Charlotte of your engagement, Miss Eliza,’ Lady Lucas said. ‘I am sure she will congratulate you on such a fine catch.’
Elizabeth cringed, for once glad that her intended was distant from her. ‘Thank you, Lady Lucas,’ she replied graciously. She glanced briefly at the other side of the room where Darcy and Mr Bennet stood. Over the last few days, as, it seemed, every corner of the house was invaded, the latter had grown quite disgruntled. For his daughter’s sake (and also out of sheer desperation for even somewhat sensible conversation), he had approached his reserved son-to-be, and was astonished to find a kindred spirit in him. Equally unsociable, the two men had formed an alliance of like minds over fine sherry, philosophy, and rare books.
‘Ah, Lizzy, there is little worthy of mockery in him,’ said Mr Bennet, ‘which is his greatest failing, I fear.’ He did not quite comprehend the nature of their attachment, for Darcy scarcely spoke of Elizabeth, and then with - as far as Mr Bennet could tell - no great feeling, while Elizabeth could and did wax eloquent on the subject of her beloved. Nevertheless, Darcy’s actions spoke louder than his words, and Mr Bennet was glad to accept him.
‘I am content with my choice,’ Elizabeth said mildly, but Mr Bennet caught the defensiveness in her look, and raised his eyebrows.
‘You are very serious, my dear. Is he rubbing off on you, or has the company of your mother’s friends overwhelmed your delicate sensibilities? Ah - I see, I have struck near the mark. Come, Lizzy, enjoy the absurdity while you still may. You will be free of it soon enough.’
‘Twenty-two days!’ she said dismally.
Mr Bennet laughed. ‘Lizzy, my love, these weeks will be over before you know it.’
‘I am young and callow, Papa,’ said Elizabeth, smiling. ‘Three weeks of this is a lifetime.’
Mr Bennet conceded that the latter was undoubtedly true. ‘Your intended certainly seems to think so.’
Elizabeth smiled. ‘He does try, for my sake, but he really detests all of it. You and he seem to be getting on well, though.’ She raised her eyebrows and waited.
‘He is rising every hour in my esteem,’ Mr Bennet assured her. ‘I admire all my three sons-in-law highly. Wickham, perhaps, is my favourite; but I think I shall like your husband quite as well as Jane’s.’
*****
Elizabeth’s thoughts were in a whirl. She thought of Darcy’s frown when he had looked at Jane, of the ‘Lady Ravenshaw’ Bingley had mentioned, of the peculiar uncertainty in his manner to her, so unlike him; and then, brushing her lips with her hand, she shut her eyes and remembered the tentative, gentle first kiss, then, his fair hair smooth against her fingers as she drew him in for another, and finally, later - Elizabeth’s lips curved into a slow smile. Mostly, she had been flooded by enjoyable new sensations, but a small part had been inexpressibly curious to see how he looked, and so she had opened her eyes, eager to see what her touch did to him. It was impossible not to be affected; his own eyes were closed, head tilted back, and colour had burnt itself along the high slash of his cheekbones. She had never seen him so -- beautiful, really; and overwhelmed by emotion, she had pressed her mouth against his lips, throat, whichever part of him she could reach, his silent encouragement eroding any sense of themselves as still separate, of where they were, who they were -
‘Lizzy?’
Elizabeth started violently, eyes flying open. ‘Jane!’ she exclaimed, flushing deeply. ‘I did not hear you.’
‘I was not very quiet - you looked rather strange, Lizzy, just now.’
Elizabeth laughed. ‘I daresay I did.’ For a brief moment, she tried to imagine a similar scene between her sister and brother-to-be. Perhaps, in a moment of thoughtless passion, Mr Bingley had lost himself and allowed his teeth to scrape against Jane’s pale throat. She suppressed a giggle and a blush, the former in incredulity at the very idea, and the latter in pleasurable reminiscence of exactly that. Jane would never, she was certain, behave as shamelessly as Elizabeth did. She smiled again. Darcy would never behave as shamelessly as she did.
‘Lizzy? Lizzy!’
‘Oh! I am sorry. I have so much to think on these days - but I am very glad to have you to share it with, Jane.’ She looked affectionately at her sister.
Jane clasped her hand, then smiled contentedly. ‘Oh Lizzy, I could not be any happier.’
Elizabeth gazed at her, wondering not for the first time at how different they were. Jane’s happiness was undoubtedly full and complete; but it was not what she would wish. She wanted - joy, and laughter, and passion, along with the gentle, mild, sweet affection that subsisted between Jane and her betrothed. And she had it. There was certainly a gentle quality to Darcy’s love for her, not unlike Jane’s, but it was not the same, either - there was almost a childlike simplicity to it, really - particularly at first, when he could not comprehend his own happiness, and did not dare so much as take a step out of rhythm for fear of distressing her and losing her regard. But there was also an all-encompassing intensity, a passionate attachment so wildly different from what she perceived in Jane and Bingley, and every couple among her acquaintance, and what she herself had always imagined, that she could scarcely conceive of it.
‘I am glad for you, Jane,’ she said, after a moment’s silence.
‘And you, Lizzy?’
She blinked a little. ‘I?’
‘Are you happy?’ Jane pressed. Elizabeth’s eyebrows flew up.
‘Oh yes.’ She smiled ruefully. ‘I will be happier when I am away from all this, at Pemberley, with my husband.’ Her eyes softened, and she gazed towards the window, a little dreamily, before snapping back to the conversation. ‘I think you and Papa are all that I shall miss, Jane. Otherwise, these shall be the longest three weeks I have ever lived.’ Except, she thought, after I left Pemberley and thought I should never see him again.
Jane looked politely bewildered.
‘Oh, well - all the ladies, they do not like me, you know - and it is so difficult for Darcy.’ She sighed. ‘He is not at his best, you know, in - these situations. With strangers, and always being watched and judged and - it exhausts me, and I am not anywhere so retiring as he is.’
‘Yes, it is difficult,’ Jane agreed. Cautiously, she added, ‘I was so glad to go to London, when - that dreadful business happened last year - simply to be away from all the . . .’
‘Prying eyes?’ Elizabeth suggested.
Jane flushed. ‘Well, yes. They meant well, I am sure of it, but it can be so trying when one is not accustomed to it.’
Elizabeth smiled a little sadly. ‘Yes, I think so. But I am happy, and when we are together - just us, or with you and Mr Bingley - I have never been happier in my life, and I feel every day as if I could never be so happy again. Except - I am - more so every day. He is - he is so - I would never have dreamed it, that it would be like this.’ She laughed. ‘I am terribly silly over him - I tell him, that it is all his fault, he has made me so silly, so unlike myself.’
‘You could never be silly, Lizzy.’
‘If I told you half the things that pass through my mind, you would not be able to say so," she replied, flinging herself back on her bed. ‘I am ridiculously happy, just knowing that he is there - somewhere - and that every day I shall be able to look at him, and tease him, and touch him, however I please.’
Jane gasped. Elizabeth sat up straight. ‘Did I say that aloud?’
Her sister nodded, and Elizabeth covered her mouth, dissolving into giggles. ‘Oh, I am so sorry - I did not mean to embarrass you - but, dearest Jane, surely you have -’ She stopped and considered what might constitute a romantic interlude for Jane and Bingley. A few stolen bird-like pecks; holding hands when certain no one would see - agreeing on every conceivable subject - no, somehow she did not think Jane’s experience was quite the same as hers, for all that it was longer in duration. ‘Well,’ Elizabeth conceded, ‘perhaps not.’
‘Lizzy, what have you done?’ a scandalised Jane protested. Elizabeth could not keep herself from laughing wickedly, falling back again. She flung one hand against her forehead, with a melodramatic sigh, then looked sideways at Jane.
‘You must prepare yourself for something very awful, dear sister.’
Jane bit back a smile. ‘Lizzy, please be serious. What if someone had seen you?’
‘Oh, I made certain that could not happen. You see, he is so - careful, with me, that I was beginning to be afraid I should not be kissed until the day of the wedding, and I would really rather have more time to -’ She coughed. ‘So I took him to the Mount and kissed him instead.’
Jane’s mouth dropped open. ‘Why, Lizzy - what did he say?’
Elizabeth smiled mischievously. ‘Very little, as I recall.’
‘He must have been very surprised.’
‘Not really.’ Elizabeth giggled into her pillow. ‘He knows me fairly well by now, I think.’
‘And -’ Jane hesitated - ‘is that all?’
Turning her head to the side, and blushing a little - ‘No. I just said I loved him - very absently, not really thinking. I did not realise that he had not known -’ She frowned a little, recalling how he had looked. Radiantly happy - transported by such intense joy that - it was almost painful to see. He had been so very surprised. She briefly chewed her lip.
‘He did not know?’ Jane said in bewilderment. ‘But, wh - oh.’
Elizabeth looked up. ‘What do you mean, “oh?” ’
Jane dropped her eyes. ‘I should not say. I do not want you to feel - of course you were right, but still, he cannot help but be - if it is anything like what I feel, then . . . oh, I am sorry.’ She took a deep breath, and turned Elizabeth’s hand over, looking up at her anxiously. ‘After all those months of believing Bingley did not care for me, that he never had, sometimes it is difficult to really believe that - well, that he does care. Of course, he always did, and I know that, but I do not always feel it, if that makes sense.’
‘Yes,’ said Elizabeth, very soberly, ‘yes, it does.’
‘It helps,’ she added blushingly, ‘that he is so affectionate, but I must confess, Lizzy, after being unsure for so long, feeling so - desolate, it is always rather astonishing. And - ’ She looked deeply uncomfortable - ‘I know that he really loved me all along, so it is not quite the same.’
At Elizabeth’s stricken expression, she earnestly said, ‘I do not blame you, I am certain he does not blame you, and he would not want you to make yourself unhappy over it - I am sure you were right; really, believing what you did about him, it would have been wrong to accept - it is just, I know what it is like, loving someone so much, and yet - ’ tears actually rose to Jane’s eyes, and she turned her head away, ‘Well, all I mean is that it can be very difficult sometimes.’
‘Oh, Jane.’ Elizabeth put her arms around her sister, who gasped a little, and allowed herself the luxury of crying one last time. ‘Jane, I am so sorry. I did not mean to remind you.’
‘I am well, truly, and so happy,’ Jane said; ‘it is only sometimes that one cannot help but - I am so glad I have had you with me. I do not know what I would have done without you, dearest sister. Only - you will write, when you are at Pemberley?’
Elizabeth pressed a kiss against Jane’s dark hair. ‘I certainly shall. Oh!’ She suddenly remembered Darcy’s cryptic response to her questions about his peculiar behaviour around Jane. ‘Jane, Mr Darcy would like to speak to you tomorrow, if that is acceptable to you.’
‘Well, of course,’ Jane said in bewilderment, ‘he may speak to me whenever he wishes.’
‘No, not with the others. Alone.’ Elizabeth remembered his preoccupied, somehow guilty, expression, and restrained her impatience. ‘Perhaps on the way to Meryton, I shall walk with Mr Bingley and tell him stories about what an ill-behaved child you were.’
Jane smiled absently. ‘Oh yes, that would be delightful.’
‘You must tell me, if it is not a great secret, for I am quite overwhelmed by curiosity,’ Elizabeth said. ‘He started to explain why, but Mrs Long interrupted us, so, you see, I do not know either.’
‘I will tell you all,’ Jane promised. ‘What could he have to say, that he could not mention before any of the others?’
*****
The next day dawned bright and clear. As it was still earlier than Bingley or Darcy were usually expected, Elizabeth joined her father in the library, and after their normal conversation, Mr Bennet remarked casually, ‘I hope Mr Darcy’s letter did not contain bad news.’
Elizabeth stared. ‘What letter? Did he write? Is something wrong?’
Mr Bennet chuckled. ‘I would not be young again for all the world. No, I meant the letter that Mr Darcy received last evening. Did he not mention it to you?’
‘No, I did not know - ’ she frowned. ‘I did not even see a letter.’
‘Undoubtedly because he ripped it up and threw it in the fireplace before he had read five lines,’ said Mr Bennet dryly. ‘Are you certain he did not mention it to you? He certainly intended to.’
‘No, he - ’ Elizabeth remembered, when the gentlemen had rejoined them, Darcy had seemed tense and preoccupied, more than usual, but she had attributed that to a particularly close press of neighbours. He disliked being close to other people. There had been a moment of brief respite - he had looked rather more intense than usual, had said, ‘Elizabeth, I - ’ but they had been interrupted again, and she had not guessed that it was anything of import. ‘I think, he meant to, but there were so many people . . .’
‘Ah, that explains it.’
‘Did he say who it was from?’ Elizabeth tried to think of any acquaintance who had the power and inclination to so disturb Darcy, and soon found herself at the inevitable answer, even as Mr Bennet replied, with great amusement,
‘His aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh. He wrote and sent the reply immediately.’
‘I wond - ’ Elizabeth stopped as the sound of a carriage arriving could be heard, and raced to the window. ‘Oh, it is only the Lucases,’ she said, disappointed. Mr Bennet laughed.
‘Lizzy, they are never here before breakfast.’
‘I know, it is only - ’ Elizabeth shut her eyes, shook her head, and looked again. ‘Papa? Did you invite Mr Collins to the wedding?’
Mr Bennet considered his response to Mr Collins’ diatribe. ‘No,’ he decided. ‘Why on earth do you ask?’
‘Because, unless my eyes deceive me, he is walking up the drive this very moment. And Charlotte! Charlotte is here!’
A breathless Elizabeth flew into the parlour, just in time to greet her friend.
‘I am so pleased for you, Eliza,’ Charlotte said, with a warm smile. ‘I always said he was partial to you, did I not?’
‘Yes,’ laughed Elizabeth, ‘yes, you were positively prescient, Charlotte. And how are you? Is your chicken laying well? Oh! Mr Collins. It is lovely to see you too.’
‘Cousin Elizabeth,’ Mr Collins returned, bowing ponderously. ‘I, too, offer my congratulations on a most advantageous connection, despite the distress - the very great distress - inevitably caused to my noble patroness, Lady Catherine de Bour - ’
‘I’m sure Eliza knows all about her ladyship’s objections,’ Lady Lucas interjected, with a braying laugh. Elizabeth sighed, then smiled at her friend. At least there was one person whose company was not trying. Nevertheless she was uncertain whether the pleasure she obtained from Charlotte’s company quite compensated for the sight of Darcy and Mr Collins in one room, the latter having evidently taken her father’s advice as far as he was able.
The younger generation all opted to walk to Meryton, Charlotte and Elizabeth trying to cover as many matters as possible in a brief amount of time, Bingley being his usual agreeable self as he endured Mr Collins, while Jane and Darcy lagged behind, speaking softly and earnestly to one another. Afterwards, Darcy and Elizabeth only had a brief moment of somewhat private conversation.
‘Your sister is the most saintly person I have ever met,’ said he, looking almost stunned. Elizabeth laughed.
‘She is positively angelic,’ she agreed. ‘Should I be jealous?’
‘Jealous? You? What have you to be jealous of?’
Elizabeth glanced at him, but his expression was perfectly serious. ‘Do look in the mirror, dearest,’ she said flippantly, and rather enjoyed the five seconds it took him to comprehend her meaning. His eyes widened, and he coloured deeply.
‘Oh, that,’ he said dismissively; ‘it does not matter. I am yours now.’
Elizabeth beamed at him, but before the conversation could follow this promising path, they were interrupted by Mr Collins’ raptures over the bare one hundred feet between himself and such a near relation of his patroness - both sighed, unexpectedly joined by the long-suffering Bingley.
Exhausting as the previous days had been, this one was only more so, and Elizabeth gratefully retired to her room for the night, having parted from her betrothed with nothing more than a decorous kiss on her hand. Before she could so much as sit on her bed, however, she was joined by Jane, who had been far quieter than usual since her discussion with Darcy. Her dark hair was loose and tangled enough that it was evident she had been running her fingers through it in agitation - she was clearly in a state of what passed for high dudgeon with her.
‘What is it, Jane?’ Elizabeth’s mind went back to the conversation with Darcy, and she stepped forward, alarmed. ‘Jane, what did he say to you?’
‘What did who say to me, Lizzy?’ Jane asked, looking away.
‘Mr Darcy, of course!’
‘Oh, that he convinced Bingley I did not care for him, and knew I was in London, and never mentioned it.’ Jane waved her hand at this, her expression closed. ‘He apologised for that, and I asked him to use my Christian name.’ In a faintly wondering tone, she added, ‘He really felt very badly about his part in it.’
Elizabeth sat down. ‘He told you? But why -’
Jane lifted up her head, perfectly still except for the fingers clenching and unclenching her shift. ‘Because, he said, I am to be his sister.’ There was no trace of accusation in her tone, even as she added, ‘He did not think it right, you see, to conceal such a thing from me, when we are to be so closely related.’
Elizabeth stared at her. ‘Jane?’
‘Elizabeth,’ said Jane, her dark eyes bright, ‘I can understand why Mr Darcy did what he did, and I understand why Bingley did what he did; but could you please - ’ she briefly chewed her lip - ‘could you please explain why, if you have known since April that Bingley truly cared for me, you never told me?’
Elizabeth sighed. ‘Jane, Bingley was already gone by the time I found out. Telling you the entire tale would do no good - it could only add to your regret. It was Bingley’s place to tell you what had happened.’
Jane turned her head away. ‘I was right, then,’ she said softly.
‘I beg your pardon?’
Jane lifted her chin. ‘I supposed,’ she said, ‘that you did not tell me, because you truly believed it best - because you could not possibly understand that - that -’ she clasped her hands - ‘that I would have given the world to know that he had felt something - anything - for me.’
‘Jane - ’
‘That is why he understood,’ she continued reflectively; ‘Mr Darcy, that is - and I suppose it is why he feels so badly about it still. I tried to thank him for Lydia, you know. He said he did not deserve my gratitude - just laughed rather queerly and called it a penance for his sins. I do not think, somehow, that he meant the money.’
Elizabeth did not entirely understand Jane’s meaning, but she accepted that her silence had hurt her beloved sister, and apologised. Jane smiled wearily.
‘It is quite all right,’ she said. ‘It is all over now, and I hope we have all learnt something from it. Lizzy -’ there was a moment’s hesitation - ‘take care.’
Elizabeth lifted up her eyes. ‘Why, what do you mean?’
Earnestly, Jane said, ‘I know you only meant it for the best, but . . . but if you keep things from Mr Darcy, I think he will be far more distressed than I am. I only want you to be careful, Lizzy.’
‘I shall,’ Elizabeth promised.
Elizabeth woke the next day, tired, sore, and in a decidedly ill humour. She was mad to get out of the house, and absconded with Darcy as soon as she found him. She knew he was an early riser, and that he spent his mornings walking or riding about the countryside. Fortuitously, he had opted to remain on foot this morning, so there was no equine monster to disturb her equanimity further.
Of course, the surreptitious meeting was hardly the height of propriety. In her present mood, that was enough to recommend the activity to her, but she knew Darcy’s deeply-ingrained sense of decorum could not so easily be set aside. She was thus rather irritated with him, but knew her feelings all out of proportion - she had knowledge of how quickly matters could escalate between them, and realized Darcy’s caution was far from unwarranted. Nevertheless, when all the tension of the evening and morning combined to a boiling point, she lost control of her temper, but she wished the words unsaid immediately, even before catching the telltale flinch and expressionless look in his eyes.
Oddly, it was he who diffused the situation, quite without intending to. ‘Elizabeth, are you, er . . .’ he began hesitantly.
Since everyone else either ignored her or snapped back at her at such times, she was faintly bewildered at his reaction. ‘I am very sorry,’ she said penitently.
‘No . . . that is, I meant . . . are you . . . er . . .’ He blushed deeply.
Elizabeth sighed. ‘I am in a rather poor humour this morning, Fitzwilliam,’ she said shortly. ‘Please say what you mean outright.’
‘Ah . . . I do not know what it is called, exactly. Mrs Reynolds never said, when Georgiana -’ He flushed even more. ‘Is it . . . that time?’
‘I do not understand you,’ she said.
‘Of the month -- that time when you, er . . . ‘ His fingers were tightly clasped and his eyes steadfastly fixed on a rock near his foot.
Elizabeth stared, then smiled as she comprehended his meaning. ‘How do you know about that?’
‘We thought Georgiana was dying; we all did,’ he said. ‘My housekeeper explained it to us.’
She almost laughed outright, imagining poor Mrs Reynolds explaining the matter to her young master and mistress; then she thought of a frightened, motherless girl with no confidant but an austere older brother.
‘I see,’ she said.
Darcy looked sheepish as he continued, ‘It was one of those times, that I rather wished my mother or my older sister had survived.’
‘Older sister?’ Even imagining Darcy with parents was difficult enough.
‘There were four children before me,’ he said breezily. ‘The first, Alexandra, died about a sixmonth before I was born; she was then seven or eight years old, I think. The others were born too early. We all were, but I lived anyway. Then there were three after me, two daughters and a son, and then - ’ His brilliant smile seemed at odds with the subject matter, until he continued in a softened voice, ‘then there was Georgiana.’
Elizabeth stared. Somehow this picture was so contrary to the vague sketch she had in her mind. For the first time, she thought of his parents, his family, as not simply the dim shadowy figures who had produced Darcy, vague ideas in her mind, but people as real as Lydia, Mrs Gardiner, her father. She thought of a woman whose wealth and beauty and accomplishments were not enough, who had borne so many children, and lost them all - but for one frail boy, and she could only imagine how dear he must have been to her.
‘Your poor mother,’ she said.
‘Yes,’ said Darcy gravely, before turning the subject; ‘speaking of Georgiana, I received this from her. I thought you might like to read it.’
Elizabeth smiled to herself as she saw the letter. Prolific correspondence seemed to be a family trait; four sheets were insufficient to contain Miss Darcy’s delight at her brother’s engagement. Elizabeth was pleased, for her sake and his, that at least one member of his family approved of their attachment; but she was struck by the manner in which Georgiana addressed her brother. The deep affection that obviously subsisted between the siblings was easily and immediately apparent; what affected her even more strongly, however, was the almost reverential respect accompanying it. Halfway through her perusal, it was clear that Miss Darcy worshipped the very ground her brother trod on; he was to her what Elizabeth had mockingly called him, a man without fault.
Pictures of perfection make me sick and wicked, she thought whimsically. I am glad that he has faults and foibles enough to make up for actually living up to such an ideal.
*****
‘Actually,’ Elizabeth confessed, several minutes later. ‘I was in an ill humour because of my mother.’
Darcy opened his mouth, then shut it again, and simply waited for her to continue, and Elizabeth impulsively stepped closer, absently playing with the sleeve of his greatcoat. While she certainly preferred conversation to silence, one of the very great pleasures in their mostly solitary walks was that she never struggled to make herself heard. There were few, if any, exclamations or interruptions when she spoke, and he certainly never ignored her. Moreover, she never needed to sift through well-meaning omissions, careless words prompted by the impulse of the moment, but regretted later, or outright falsehoods. Darcy never said a word he did not mean.
Contemplation of her fortune instantly improved her mood, and Elizabeth felt more disposed to speak of it. ‘She is set on going to town, for our trousseaux. All of this has rather gone to her head. Of course, Jane and I do not want to be separated, so we joined with Papa in trying to convince her, but . . .’ She shrugged eloquently.
‘Why would Jane be separated from you?’ he asked, looking faintly perplexed. Elizabeth blushed.
‘Not from one another - from you,’ she said instantly, then added as an afterthought, ‘and Mr Bingley, of course.’
‘Oh, I see. Well . . .’ The faint widening of his eyes told her that he was anxious, doubtless over some imagined insult he had inadvertently dropped.
‘Fitzwilliam, what is it?’
‘I - Bingley and I were talking, and . . .’ He cleared his throat. ‘That is what we wanted to talk to you about.’
‘What is?’
‘We both have some business in town, not urgent, but then there are the settlements -- ’ he looked deeply embarrassed at even so indirect an allusion to the disparity in their situations. ‘We thought you might find it convenient to accompany us.’
‘All of us?’
‘If the Gardiners consent, I suppose so.’
Elizabeth smiled a little to herself. ‘Mama will be pleased. She has already complained to my aunt and uncle enough that they offered to let us stay with them.’
‘And you?’
Elizabeth glanced up at his face, which was rather too composed. ‘Of course,’ she said, ‘the only reason for the disagreement was that we wished to be with you. And Mr Bingley.’
Darcy smiled, and upon their return, it was decided, amidst vociferous complaints, that Mrs Bennet should take Elizabeth and Jane to town, and stay for a fortnight, while Bingley and Darcy completed their business. Despite the painful prospect of a journey during which Mrs Bennet and Darcy were both present, Elizabeth anticipated the brief freedom from Meryton, and wrote an effusively grateful letter to her aunt.