by Rose Lorimer
After returning from Scotland, Mrs Reynolds had given me a bundle of letters which had arrived in my absence, but I intentionally neglected all those not related to business. I remembered Bingley’s ones among them. Fortunately, I had brought them with me.
I went to my desk and collected the large pile still waiting for my attention. I looked at each sender until I found Bingley’s previous letters; two, in fact.
A bittersweet feeling filled my heart as I familiarised myself with all the details involving one of my best friend’s short engagement and marriage. I was happy for his perceptible bliss, but sad for having missed it.
“What does he say, Darcy”?
Bingley, whose fortune was left to him after his father’s early death just two years before, was having some trouble adapting to his new position as the heir of many properties and businesses. His father was not a gentleman, but a successful tradesman, whose distinguished ability of doing good business had granted him a considerable fortune in the last years before his sudden death, due to his weak heart. It was a shame to lose such an illustrious man in that way. Considering my knowledge on the subject of trade was almost non-existent, when he looked for my help I advised him to turn to some of his father’s trusted partners. Part of the former Mr Bingley’s success was due to his ability in choosing good partners. Apparently, the advice bore good fruits as one of the partners, a Mr Edward Gardiner, an honest, respectable and kind man, not just helped Bingley in his adaptation into business, but also included him in his circle of friends and family.
Last summer, Mr Gardiner invited Bingley to accompany him on a visit to his brother’s estate, in Hertfordshire. There, Bingley met what he called ‘the most kind and beautiful creature God has ever created’, a Miss Jane Bennet, the eldest in a family of five daughters. He immediately fell in love with her, asking her to marry him just three weeks later.
Despite being a modest estate, Longbourn had been in the Bennet family for five generations. If Bingley succeeded in his plan to buy Netherfield Park — the neighbouring estate he was leasing in Meryton — that, and his connection to the Bennet family, would grant him a higher social status, raising him from a mere successful and rich tradesman to a more respectable and prestigious position of a gentleman and landlord, as had been his father’s desire had he lived long enough to see it.
Despite their short acquaintance, Bingley and Miss Bennet decided for a brief engagement. Bingley had planned to travel to Penzance, in Cornwall, in the following month to deal with business. His upcoming journey seemed to have speeded up things. Mrs Bennet had been more than obliging, gladly agreeing with the short engagement considering the developments. They decided they could use the opportunity as their wedding trip.
Now, two months after enjoying each other’s exclusive company, they were inviting me, Richard and Georgiana to join them, alongside with one of Mrs Bingley’s sisters — a Miss Elizabeth Bennet — as Mr Bennet, his wife and the other three daughters were already engaged to spend holidays in Brighton during the same period.
I lowered the letter to think and saw Richard’s eyes shinning with the invitation. “How extraordinary, Darcy! This trip is the answer to our problems. I will be more than happy to accompany you. I have never been to that part of the country.” He approached me and whispered, “I heard that Land’s End is haunted.” He laughed at my shaking head. “Now that I have sold my commission, I still have more than a month before I need to come back to London to meet with Father’s solicitors and do… err, you know, that thing. That would be perfect.”
Richard kept talking about the advantages of such a journey and it surprised me when I caught myself considering the possibility. It would be a small family gathering, and most importantly, Bingley’s sister would not be there. Miss Bingley could be an enormous nuisance. Even if they took part in local assemblies, I could simply refuse to go. I owed no one else any kind of courtesy. But above all, I felt I needed to do that for Bingley. Our friendship meant a great deal to me. It would also be good to witness the potential benefits of a love match. My parents, so far, were the only example I knew.
The idea pleased me.
Richard was still talking only heavens know what, when I turned to him. “I agree.”
He stopped and frowned. “What? You do?”
“Yes. I think it would do good for both of us. According to his letter, he is expecting us by the end of January. He also mentions that Mrs Bingley’s sister could benefit from our carriage and company, if only I could be generous enough to invite her to come along. Unfortunately, he is assuming Georgiana will accompany us.”
At that point, Bingley’s letter had a slight hint about the modest financial situation of his new father-in-law—and his pride. If Miss Elizabeth could travel with us, they could save the expense.
Having a strange lady travelling with us for four days was not exactly an attractive idea, but it was the least I could do for my good friend’s new family, especially after being absent from his happy moments as I had.
Richard suggested writing to Mr Bennet and asking him to send a lady’s companion with his daughter. The idea could solve part of the problem.
The other part would be to know what kind of lady Miss Elizabeth might be.
Chapter 3
Elizabeth
“More tea, Mr Trevison?” I asked between my teeth, putting an enormous effort into keeping my fake smile, while my mother’s eyes threw daggers at me.
The situation I found myself in at that precise moment was the reason I detested the idea of getting married — or at least, looking for a husband. Supposing that a single man in possession of a good fortune should be in want of a wife was nothing less than preposterous. Who had been the ridiculous person to say such a thing?
But God help me if I dared to thwart my mother’s plans to find me a husband.
Mr Trevison — my mother’s latest attempt to arrange a suitor for me — was a man with little to recommend himself, but his recent inheritance of a small property in the north area of Hertfordshire. He was probably in his late thirties, had yellowish, crooked teeth and a chronic running noise, which not only conferred upon his voice a nasal sound, but also disturbed the whole room every time he attempted to clean it. But those unpleasant features were not his worst flaw. The worst was his covert disdain — or dare I say inability to understand? — subjects demanding more intelligence, reflexion and attention, such as mathematics and philosophy. I had noticed that on the occasion of his first call.
This time, in an unseen endeavour to be… well, interesting to him, I was purposely avoiding those subjects, trying instead to encourage him into a discussion about stars, mentioning Hypatia, an ancient Greek female astronomer.
A safe subject I should say. The stars, I mean.
But things were not going as I expected.
“Lizzy,” my mother intervened with a fearful expression. “Why do you not offer Mr Trevison another scone? I am sure he has enjoyed it very much, have you not, sir?”
I confess I startled with the sound of my mother’s strident voice. I was so focused on keeping my smile I completely forgot her presence in the drawing room.
“Oh, no! Zank you very much, Mrs Bennet,” Mr Trevison replied with his nasal voice. “In fact,” he said, awkwardly rising from the sofa while balancing the cup of tea and its saucer in one hand, while fetching his pocket watch with the other one. “I am expected back home. Oh, dear! I believe I am already late. Well, zank you again for your hospitality, Mrs Bennet. It was impeccable, as usual.”
“Perhaps when you call again…” my mother added with pleading eyes.
“Well,” he replied reluctantly, directing his uncertain gaze in my direction, “I am afraid to say I cannot return so soon. With my new position, I am expected to spend more time with my steward in London and acquaint myself with my new connections. But I will see what I can do. Good day, ma’am.” He almost dropped the cup on the coffee table as he turned to leave. “Oh, please. Do not sta
nd. I know the way out.”
I say! He had not even included me in his farewell!
As if reading my mind, he turned to me, bowed awkwardly, and left in such a hurry I could swear he was being chased by a wild beast.
I sighed, slumping my shoulders, trying to understand what had happened while he escaped through the door.
My efforts, however, were cut short by my mother’s shriek. “Elizabeth Rose Bennet! What are you trying to do?”
I startled. “I am sorry, Mama, but I do not take your meaning. I did exactly what you asked me to do. I poured the tea, smiled and tried to talk about something I thought could be interesting.”
“Exactly! Are you out of your mind?” she shouted, her face red as a tomato.
I frowned. My mother’s words made little sense to me. If I had done what she had asked me, why was she so annoyed? “Mama, I do not—”
“Elizabeth! What were you thinking talking about that Hypo… Hyta… Oh! I cannot even pronounce her name!”
“Hypatia, Mama—”
“Do not interrupt me, young lady! What were you thinking talking about… her and all that boring nonsense of astrono… astromo… Oh!” She puffed. “For heavens’ sake, Lizzy. Mr Trevison is a gentleman in search of a wife not a bluestocking! Do you want to remain unmarried?” she asked, panting, coming closer, a finger pointed in my face. “Very well. I believe you have found the best way to it. No man will ever marry someone like you! Mark my words. I am not joking, young lady. Change your subjects towards something more normal or you will end up talking to the horses in the stables!”
With those words, she left the room, slamming the door behind her. The picture above the fireplace shook and almost fell.
Stunned, I fixed my eyes on the closed door. I hate to admit, but this time Mama’s words hurt me more than ever. Her good opinion of me was never my greatest concern. She had always preferred Jane and Lydia, and I had settled with that idea. “Jane was not so beautiful for nothing. Of course, she would attract a wealthy man… Oh! Just look at Lydia, so lively. She just reminds me of my younger self…”
For the first time in the last three years since my coming out, I believed her. No man would ever love me.
I thought about Jane and her meteoric acquaintance, courtship, engagement and marriage to a man she luckily had found coming to our house! How much luckier could she be?
I inhaled slowly, filling my cheeks until they were totally round and exhaled.
It was not luck, I forced myself to admit. Jane was the most kind and generous living creature in all the earth. She deserved it. Being happy. Being loved. I, on the other hand, was outspoken, witty beyond measure, ironic, teaser—bluestocking! If logic was to be appreciated, Mama was right. I would never marry. Where would I find a man who could accept me for what I was?
I returned my cup of tea to the tray and renouncing any other meal for the rest of the day, I retired to my bedroom.
In bed, recollections of those last two years flooded my memory. Unpleasant balls, tea parties and painful family gatherings filled with gossip and nonsense paraded before my mind’s eye. I knew I was a handsome young lady; Papa used to repeat that frequently. He was always pointing out how men used to react to me at first sight. The epithet of ‘local beauty’ had not come by accident. But what was the point of it all? After the first sight, the painful realisation would always follow: disdain and rejection. Every single time a man was shown into the neighbourhood, I was pushed to him like a horse in an auction. I simply hated it. But the worst was always the days following the occasional first meeting. Today’s experience summarized what my prospects in life had become. Appreciated for my appearance. Disdained for my intellect.
My poor pillow, witness of so much resentment, was my only companion since Jane had married. Unfortunately for me, she had been the only one of my sisters to understand me.
I heard a gentle click on my door. Someone was coming in. I did not move, keeping my face turned to the window. I hoped that whoever was entering my room would conclude I was sleeping and would leave me alone.
The approaching steps that followed put an end to my hopes.
Fortunately, the gentle touch on my shoulder told me the person was Papa.
“Lizzy, I know you are not sleeping. You could not… not after…” He sat on the bed beside me. I sat up, keeping my gaze down. He pulled me into a kind embrace and kissed the top of my head. “Your mother told me what happened during Mr Trevison’s call. Oh, my child. Do not let her lack of comprehension disturb you—”
“Oh, Papa…” I could not contain my pain anymore. “I thought she would improve after Jane married Charles, but it seems I was wrong. Mr Trevison is a good man…” I involuntarily shivered. “But I wish you could have seen his face when I mentioned Hypatia. I was not even making my point about women being able to stand as men’s intellectual equals. I was just talking about… the stars.”
Papa chuckled. And then he laughed. “I can well imagine, Lizzy. Have you mentioned how she died? Oh! It would have terrified the poor man!”
Papa had this amazing ability to make me feel better. He could turn any circumstance into a funny thing, just observing people’s follies. But above all, he never undervalued me.
“I miss Jane,” I finally admitted. Jane was not just a beloved sister; beside Charlotte, she was my best friend and confident. Miserably, both were gone now. Charlotte, visiting some relatives and Jane, married.
“If this is the case,” Papa interrupted my musings, “I believe I have good news. Bingley wrote confirming their desire for you to go to Cornwall and spend some time there with them. I even have a letter from Jane to you.”
He opened his coat and, pretending the pocket was bottomless, holding a mocking smile that made me chuckle, he took his time finding it. “Ah! Here it is. I hope it can keep this smile on your face. I hate to see you sad.”
I sighed and took the letter. Before I could open it, he kissed my forehead. “Lizzy, do not worry about finding a husband and, above all, do not let your mother sadden you. I shall support you in any decision you make. My greatest desire is to see you happy, my dearest. Nothing else. If your happiness is in spinsterhood, well, so be it — although I doubt you would be happy around your mother and her schemes,” he said chuckling. “I will leave you to your letter. Good night.”
“Good night, Papa.”
I turned my full attention to the letter, opening it. Jane’s tidy and feminine handwriting appeared before me.
My dear Lizzy,
I do not know where to start! Life beside a man you love is a blessing that goes beyond any words. I am so happy! Charles is not a gentleman in title, but he is a gentleman in every other sense.
Our time here in Cornwall has been wonderful. The southwest coast is beautiful and with a touch of wildness that is quite appealing. I can almost feel as if I were in another country. But my happiness cannot be complete until we can have you here with us, at least for some time. Please, say you will come. I know Papa is running out of resources and I feel guilty for Mama’s expenses with our marriage, but if he could offset aside some funds for you to come, we can take care of you here. Charles has said so.
There is another alternative, however, and please do not be angry with us. Charles has invited Mr Darcy to come, and kindly asked him if he could bring you with his sister and cousin, also good friends with Charles. Mr Darcy, if you can recall, is the gentleman who owns that large estate in the north, and the one who helped Charles in his difficult times at university. I am sure, if he can come, he would not refuse such kindness towards the sister of his good friend’s wife. And if I say ‘if he can’ it is only because he is a busy man. If you remember, Mr Darcy did not respond to Charles’s last two letters, therefore, missing our hasty wedding. He must have been very busy at that time.
I really hope to see you soon, dear sister.
Much love,
Jane Bingley
Mr Darcy…
Yes, I remembe
red everything Charles had said about the man. I also remembered the exact feeling coming over me — hands tied together on my lap, breath shallow and fast, eyes widened in fascination — as Charles’ described the young Mr Darcy’s bravery, punching some young men for bullying Charles, saying he was not ‘a proper gentleman’, drawing blood from their pompous noses.
“Oh, Darcy? He always was the best friend anyone could wish,” Charles had said holding a wistful smile. “But I cannot say a wife would share this opinion. The man is aloof and antisocial; loves to read… By the way, did I mention that Pemberley’s library is one of the finest private collections in the whole country? ‘It is the work of many generations before me,’” Charles had jested, mimicking his friend’s baritone voice. “Darcy always says that. And I know his passion for reading makes him spend an enormous amount of time in the library, even when we are visiting. Not that he is a bad host — good Lord, no! Darcy is the perfect gentleman in every single aspect of the word. But I can remember Caroline rolling her eyes and huffing after spending a whole night pretending to read just to be seated beside him! I probably should not be saying such things about my sister…”
That was exactly the kind of gentleman I would love to meet.
What was he reading now?
I could not avoid chuckling at my silliness. I was behaving just like Lydia. Heaven help me!
I froze as awareness hit me.
If Charles’ machinations were to work, I would meet Mr Darcy after all! Oh, Lord! Not only that, but we would spend some days confined in the same carriage. And then… a whole month together!
In a very unladylike manner, I began biting my nails.
I took some deep breaths. Nothing had been settled yet. I should wait.
I lay down and hugged my dear pillow. The question now was ‘How?’.
***
The following week was filled with pure anxiety. I could not admit, but I was dreaming about Mr Darcy’s invitation. If it did not arrive, I would not only be unable to see Jane, I would die of disappointment.