Jane looked around the room. “I confess I am very glad to be home again.”
Elizabeth laughed. “So am I, Jane. So am I.”
* * *
But the next day brought a letter from Netherfield. Jane’s face fell as she read it. She looked up. “It is from Miss Bingley, Lizzy.” She held out the letter. “It seems you were right. The whole party has returned to London.” There were tears in her eyes. “It seems they were only waiting until I was well again,” she looked down at her hands. “I abused their hospitality by taking so long to recover enough to get home.”
“Oh, Jane!” Elizabeth crossed the room to sit beside her sister. “You were most unwell.” She smiled slightly. “And Mr. Bingley was a dedicated and attentive host.” But she was disheartened. It had been all very well to assure Jane the previous day that she would assist her to gain an offer from Mr. Bingley, but if he was in London, there was nothing she could do.
She squeezed Jane’s hand. “I am certain that as soon as his business in town is done, Mr. Bingley will return to Netherfield — with or without Mr. Darcy.”
Jane had a hopeful look in her eyes. “Do you really think so?”
“I am sure.” Elizabeth put a confidence in her voice that she did not quite feel.
* * *
That afternoon, she hurried up the hill to the meadow. She had very much missed the opportunity to walk in the hills — and she had admitted to herself that she wondered if the strange gentleman had returned to her hidden chest by the old oak.
She needed very much to sit and think about what had happened during the course of the last week. But, as she climbed the hill, she glanced up. It was clear and cold — too cold to sit and think for very long.
But if he had replied — why, then, however cold, she must reply. She smiled, after all, he might have waited a week.
She was surprised at her eagerness as she pulled the chest from the stump and opened it. Yes! There was a reply, and she scanned it, still on her knees in front of the stump. Then, thoughtfully, she carried the sheets over to the mossy area under the oak and sat, leaning against the bark, and read his words more carefully.
Madam, thank you for not berating me at my presumption of writing on your own private notes. When I had returned home I realised that it was, perhaps, unwelcome. I apologise now, even as I thank you for the honour of your kindness in replying.
I think you dismiss too much the way in which you were able to help your friend’s brother, just by being there for him, a comfortable person to be with. I will acknowledge that, looking back, I would have valued such if I’d had the good fortune to know someone like that when I was younger.
The lack of understanding of your friend’s family, is, I fear, a common situation, and my own acquaintances, being boys, did not understand the difficulties I had.
I am grateful for having had the chance to read your reply to me, I had not even considered that there were others in a similar position, or that there were people who might understand, even while not being in that situation themselves.
That he found your company comfortable must have been a great relief to him. I have not, in general, had that opportunity, and therefore, much prefer my own company. However, the expectations of society make solitude a rarity, especially when entertaining, or being entertained.
Elizabeth laughed to herself, seeing the irony as he’d written the word entertained. Her unknown correspondent had a somewhat dry sense of humour, she thought.
Assistance while at a social event must be somewhat more difficult, but I think that the greatest help would be afforded by not expecting too much of a challenging answer during dances, for example. Light conversation that does not require an answer at all might be helpful, for giving the outward appearance of sociability without strain.
But I doubt anything you could do would completely ameliorate all difficulties, and it is up to the affected person to endure what he must.
She frowned a little, wishing that he had not just stopped there, for he could have begun a fresh sheet of notepaper. But there it was, the final sentence of a resigned acceptance of the loneliness that such difficulties must bring.
She wondered how to reply, and settled a new sheet of paper on the blotter and checked the nib while she thought. But Mr. Darcy’s face kept intruding into her mind. She could not reply if she thought her correspondent was someone she knew, and she tried to force herself to think of John Lucas again, to pretend he was her correspondent.
Smiling at her memories of their childhood, she unscrewed the ink bottle and exclaimed in vexation. The ink had separated out and crystals round the rim warned her that she risked the nib if she tried to use it.
No! She wanted to write to him. He might have waited a full week for her already. She screwed the lid back on tightly and shook the bottle for a long time, hoping that she could at least write something.
And she must remember to bring a fresh bottle of ink with her when she next returned.
Chapter 13
Darcy stood by the mantel, glad the fire had been made up recently. He was cold and discomposed. The winter had set in early, and he’d been in London too long already.
He turned again to Bingley’s letter, knowing that he’d lost this battle. He smiled slightly, supposing it did not really matter. At least Miss Bingley could stop her endless attempts to throw poor Georgiana into the company of Bingley.
Darcy knew he would never have allowed Bingley to marry Georgiana. He believed neither had their affections stirred, and Bingley’s interests were too superficial for Georgiana to be happy with him in the future. And he knew Richard’s parents would have put pressure on his fellow guardian to refuse the match, too, but for different reasons.
Now, the possibility was gone. He and Bingley’s sisters had been able to keep his friend in London for a few weeks, and he had relaxed, quite sure that Bingley had believed him when he had assured him of Miss Bennet’s indifference.
Then a note from Hurst had arrived, tersely informing him that Bingley had returned to Netherfield and Miss Bingley had needed to return with him to keep house for her brother. That meant that Hurst and his wife had had to go too, for Miss Bingley had told them she could not manage without her sister.
Darcy reread the hurried scrawl from his friend.
Darcy, I hope you will wish me joy and be pleased for me, as I announce that I have made Miss Bennet an offer, and she has accepted me!
I know you told me that you had detected no partiality within her, but I decided to return to Hertfordshire after some weeks, because I could not imagine my life without her.
If she did not have affection for me, and merely wanted me for my fortune, then I was prepared to accept such, for I know I have enough affection for us both.
But it was not necessary, for I know now that she returns my affections in full, and I am the happiest man in the world.
All that remains is for me to implore you to agree to be my groomsman at our marriage, for with you beside me as I wed my dear Jane, my day will be complete.
Her younger sisters have begged of me that I might hold a ball at Netherfield, and I have agreed, so that we may all celebrate the occasion of our betrothal in happy company.
I know you find such occasions difficult, but for the sake of our friendship, I do beg that you will also come to stay and attend the ball. Perhaps Georgiana and your cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam will also agree to attend, so that you have familiar family around you to make the occasion bearable.
Darcy scanned the rest of the letter, merely bearing news of the Bennet family, and he found himself remembering the inquisitive gaze of Miss Elizabeth Bennet, and the kindness which she had seemed to accord him.
He hated to admit to himself that he still thought of her frequently. It was still early in the season, but he had conscientiously attended each event with Richard, searching for someone like Miss Elizabeth Bennet, someone who seemed to understand him, and was also suitable.
He fold
ed the letter, frowning. Richard had been most amused at Darcy’s sudden determination to meet young ladies, and Darcy had been tempted several times to dispense with his presence. But he needed him there; once or twice, Richard had urged him to avoid dancing with a particular young lady, for reasons he accepted, but still did not understand.
He walked across to his desk and looked at his diary. He supposed he could go to the ball at Netherfield, but he would need to be back for Lady Effingham’s soirée, two nights after it.
The wedding date — yes, he could be groomsman, although he felt a sense of disquiet. It would mean the wedding breakfast at Longbourn and far, far too much Mrs. Bennet. He thought of Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Perhaps everything would not be all bad.
He turned to the window, and the gathering gloom outside. If they journeyed down the day before the ball, he might ride out early the following morning and see if the lady had left him a note in the hidden chest.
He shook his head. He had been in London nearly two months. She would have torn up his letters, perhaps moved her secret chest. He must not be surprised if that was the case.
Two months, and he had not found one person who had the slightest sign of understanding. He was back with simpering young women who thought he’d be entranced if they gazed soulfully into his eyes and talked of Pemberley.
He shuddered. Miss Elizabeth Bennet had known at once that he found direct gaze difficult, and she had only shown her interest during their conversations by fleeting glances, short enough not to discompose him.
He put Bingley’s letter down, and shrugged. How long might it take him to find another like her, someone who could understand him?
He dropped into his great leather chair. And if he found someone who could understand him, would he find her presence agreeable, her conversation lively and amusing, her appearance quite delightful?
Leaning back, he closed his eyes, seeing her in his mind’s eye, as clearly as if he’d seen her only yesterday. He smiled as he recalled her appearance after walking three miles through the mud to see her sister, her flushed cheeks, bright eyes, and ready smile.
His smile broadened at the memory of hers. He wondered if it would be so very wrong to think about marrying so far below his station. He tried to remember what had been said in the past about such instances, and found he could not really remember much apart from the sense of shocked disapproval.
He tried to dredge particular names out of his memory, to recall whether the outcomes had really been so very dreadful.
And if he did decide … well, how did a gentleman court a lady?
Chapter 14
Elizabeth leaned, as she often did, against the bedpost in Jane’s room, as her sister brushed out her hair.
“Oh, Jane! I cannot wait to see your gown completed! You will be the most beautiful bride that ever graced Meryton.”
Jane’s eyes met hers through her reflection. “I confess I am eager to see what it looks like when I first try it on, Lizzy. I have never worn anything made from such fine fabric.”
Elizabeth leaned towards her. “I am happy you have such a generous gentleman as your betrothed, Jane. He is sparing no expense to ensure you have a day to remember.”
Jane laughed. “I did not choose him for his fortune, Lizzy.”
“Of course not,” Elizabeth agreed, “but you were very clever in finding a gentleman to love who also happens to have a good fortune.”
“Oh, Lizzy!” Jane scolded her, going rather pink. Elizabeth laughed.
“I will leave you to your happy slumbers, Jane. But I wanted to ask, will you walk with me into town tomorrow? I would like to buy some new thread.”
“Of course, Lizzy. But I would quite like to be home in good time.”
“Of course!” Elizabeth hugged her sister. “You do not want to be out when Mr. Bingley calls.”
* * *
It was a crisp and frosty morning. Jane shivered as she glanced at her sister. “Now I know why you got me to promise last night that I would come with you today.” Her smile robbed her words of any rancour, and Elizabeth tucked her arm into her sister’s.
“Mr. Bingley will be enchanted by your brightened complexion and sparkling eyes from this early walk, Jane,” she laughed. “Let us walk faster, then you will feel warmer.”
In Meryton, a few of the militia officers approached them. Mr. Denny bowed deeply. “Good morning, Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
Both sisters curtsied in return and Elizabeth smiled at his open smile as Jane returned his greeting.
“But are Miss Lydia and Miss Catherine not with you?” he exclaimed.
“I am afraid it is a little early,” Elizabeth was amused at the thought of Lydia discovering she had missed seeing Mr. Denny by staying at home, complaining of the cold. “Of course we will all walk into town this afternoon for the supper at our Aunt Phillips.”
He seemed relieved. “Several of us will most certainly be there, ladies. Thank you for the information.” He bowed again, and turned away.
Elizabeth tucked her arm into Jane’s again and they continued towards the milliner’s shop. Elizabeth gazed backwards at Mr. Denny’s retreating back. “I wonder why he was so eager to see Lydia?” she mused.
“She flatters him,” Jane shook her head. “I wish they didn’t respond so eagerly to her. And Mama encourages it.”
“But Mr. Denny is more sensible than most of them,” Elizabeth frowned. “I am surprised he seems so anxious today.” She squeezed Jane’s arm. “He knows as well as you and I do that Lydia has no fortune.”
Jane went pink and looked down. “I don’t think any of them think clearly when she is smiling up at them.”
Elizabeth thought ruefully that her sister was right. She knew only that her youngest sister gave her a sense of foreboding. Her behaviour was so uninhibited that she might yet ruin them all.
She sighed to herself, it would not do to dwell on the topic. After all, nothing could be done. “Come on, Jane. We will complete our task and get home, ready for your Mr. Bingley to call. After all, we will be returning this evening to Aunt Philips’ early supper.”
As she thought of Mr. Bingley, she thought of Mr. Darcy, as she often did. When he had been staying at Netherfield, she had seen and conversed with him on many occasions when he’d accompanied his friend to call on Jane at Longbourn.
But he had not returned with Mr. Bingley, and she hadn’t seen him for more than two months.
And the notes written in the meadow had stopped at the same time. She had been back often, had written a reply to the strange gentleman and kept a supply of fresh ink, just in case. But she could no longer stay and write her thoughts for herself.
The facts were inescapable. She knew the anonymous gentleman must be Mr. Darcy. He must be. That there should be two gentlemen with the difficulties he had described, who had both left the neighbourhood at the same time — no, it was impossible.
She wondered what he was doing now, and she admitted to herself that she missed their short conversations, even if they were quite formal.
But his name hadn’t been mentioned in conversation when Mr. Bingley called, and Elizabeth hadn’t wanted to draw attention to her interest in him by asking after him herself.
She hoped he was all right. Her memory replayed constantly his words in the second note she had read … it is up to the affected person to endure what he must.
While it had not been written in a self-pitying manner, the words had affected her deeply. She hoped he wasn’t having to endure too much. Then she snorted — he was at least relieved from having to endure Miss Bingley, who was keeping house for her brother.
Jane looked at her enquiringly. “What is so amusing, Lizzy?”
“Nothing, Jane. Just a stray thought.” Elizabeth felt better. Perhaps he had stayed away from Netherfield for just that reason, although she must not allow herself to hope that he thought of her. Miss Elizabeth Bennet would not affect his thoughts or his movements. She pushed thoughts of
him away.
“It is only a week now until the ball at Netherfield, and only four weeks until you are married.” She squeezed Jane’s arm as they hurried along. “So this ball will be the last time we will be at Longbourn together to get ready.”
Jane turned to her, her face dismayed. Elizabeth laughed. “I do not mean to upset you, Jane. In future, I will expect you to allow me to come to you at Netherfield, and we will get ready with the assistance of maids and all manner of modistes and hair stylists!”
“Oh, Lizzy!” Jane regained her smile. “I will look forward to that very much.”
Chapter 15
Elizabeth walked with her sisters and mother to Aunt Philips that afternoon, knowing that on the way home they would have to be careful of the slippery lane in the gathering dusk. She must make sure they left before it began to get too dark. Mama could not walk fast.
Behind her, Lydia and Kitty were laughing and giggling. Elizabeth listened to them as Mary walked silently beside her, clutching her music. Just in front, Jane was silent too, as their mother was in full flow about the ball, the wedding, and her delight that she would have a daughter married before Lady Lucas did.
Elizabeth made a face, then smiled. Thank goodness everyone in the country knew Mama and her ways. Elizabeth didn’t have to feel too embarrassed over what she would undoubtedly say.
She looked back at a particularly loud giggle from behind her. “What is so amusing, Lydia?”
Both the younger girls dissolved into giggles, and Elizabeth felt exasperated. “What are you plotting? Please don’t embarrass us.” At least there would only be their friends — and the officers. But Elizabeth didn’t care about the officers.
“You’ll see, Lizzy, when we get there.” Lydia sounded smug, and Elizabeth wondered warily what her sisters had been up to when they had run into town immediately after lunch. She wished she hadn’t incautiously mentioned her encounter with Mr. Denny that morning.
A Rare Ability: A Darcy and Elizabeth Pride and Prejudice Variation (A Pemberley Romance Book 10) Page 6