by Jennifer Joy
Had four months passed? She counted the days. How was it possible for the same amount of time to have passed by so quickly and so slowly?
Shaking her head and willing herself to sound cheerful, Elizabeth clasped her hands together and forced a smile which deepened when she saw the earnest concern in Charlotte’s face. She had been nervous to speak. Did she worry that in accepting Mr. Collins' proposal, she would thus put an end to their friendship? Unwilling to lose anyone else close to her, Elizabeth said, "I am happy for you, Charlotte. I do not understand it, I will admit, but I wish for you to have everything you seek in a marriage."
She stood. "Thank you, Lizzy. I know I should not feel guilty, but I do."
"You have no reason to feel guilt. Had I taken the security of my family more seriously, it would be me who would inform you of my engagement to Mr. Collins." There. She admitted it aloud. Elizabeth’s family would lose their home because she could not overcome her aversion to the gentleman who held their future in his hands. Charlotte would soon recover from the guilt she felt because it was unfounded. Elizabeth wished she could say the same for herself. And now it was too late. If only Father were there to tell her that she had made the right decision, she could feel some peace.
"If there is anything I can do to help, please send a message. I will come." Charlotte stared at her intently, waiting for an answer.
Elizabeth nodded her head, unable to speak. If only Father were here!
Charlotte walked away. Elizabeth was glad she did not attempt to inform Mother of her news. The hysterical cries would have been heard in Meryton and she already had enough on her mind.
The corner of Mr. Darcy's handkerchief poked out from inside the sleeve where Elizabeth kept it. She had yet to have an opportunity to return it. She pulled it out and rubbed the soft fabric against her cheek. It smelled of sandalwood and soap. His wordless offer soothed her as surely as his handkerchief glided over her cheek. She tucked it up her sleeve again, where it would stay until she could return it to him.
With a sigh, she turned toward the house. It was time to go inside and weather the storm. It would be far better for Mother to hear the news from her than from Aunt Phillips. Since Mother had not spoken to Elizabeth these three days, their relationship could not get much worse.
Mother sat in the drawing room looking out of the window wistfully— as if she wished to be anywhere else but where she presently was. Elizabeth could not blame her.
Mary practiced dirges on the pianoforte. Lydia and Kitty wiped tears from their cheeks between tangled embroidery stitches. Jane clutched a book of poetry within her hands, but stared absently at the pages.
"Mother," Elizabeth called.
She flinched, but she said nothing. Only when Elizabeth sat beside her did Mother look at her.
"Mother, I have some news." Elizabeth swallowed hard, her bravado of minutes ago abandoning her. With a deep breath, she let out, "Mr. Collins is engaged to Charlotte."
Mary stopped in the middle of her melody. Elizabeth felt their eyes upon her, but what else could be said?
Mother recovered first. "Miss Lucas is to inherit our home?" She snapped her fan open.
Elizabeth inhaled again. "She told me that she and Mr. Collins are happy to stay at Hunsford until your mourning is through. Is that not thoughtful of them?" She held her breath.
"The home I have lived in since the day I married your father, the home I bore my five daughters in... is lost to me." Mother pressed her hand against her forehead.
The look she gave over the top of her fan added to Elizabeth’s guilt, yet she knew that all her reasons for refusing Mr. Collins’ offer would be affirmed within five minutes of her being in his company again. Father never would have made her marry him. Elizabeth clung to that belief as if her life depended upon it.
Lydia said, "I had always thought Miss Lucas would be left on the shelf." She shrugged her shoulders and blindly stabbed her needle into her embroidery loop.
In a huff, Mother said, “No, now it will be Lizzy who is left on the shelf.”
“Mother, please do not say such things,” begged Jane.
Lydia pulled up on her needle, poking her finger in the process, and tangling the thread worse than it was before. "Better her than me, I say. I would much rather marry a dashing soldier. What a pity we cannot mingle with the regiment stationed in Meryton. Instead, we must stay home dressed in drab clothes and have no diversions." As if she did not accompany Elizabeth every time she walked into Meryton to see Uncle Phillips on business.
Kitty added, "When we are free, I shall wear my best white frock every day with different colored ribbons just because I can. I shall never choose to spend a day indoors when we are allowed to make calls."
"You speak of mourning as if it were a punishment, but I cherish the time I have to reflect on our father as well as my conduct before God." Mary, who gratefully had yet to resume playing her instrument, contributed.
Mother sat too quietly, her fan moving violently back and forth.
Wanting to be helpful and knowing full well that the responsibility fell to her, Elizabeth suggested, "We have more time before we need to leave Longbourn. I will be more vigilant in writing to family, friends… even acquaintances to see about a small residence we might be able to occupy. Would it not be wonderful to live in a comfortable cottage on the coast?" Elizabeth did not think it so wonderful to leave the home of her youth, but she knew it would be well-received.
Exclamations of delight filled the room, but the noise did nothing to distract Mother from her thoughts. She pinched her chin and chewed on the corner of her mouth.
When she finally did look at up, her eyes were clear. In a determined voice, she said, "I will not stay in this house for another month. It is no longer ours and I will not watch as it is taken over by someone else. We will leave as soon as I can make the arrangements."
Elizabeth’s pulse raced and she looked at Jane in panic.
Chapter 3
Elizabeth wrote letters well into the night, spending more time scrounging for paper than in putting a pen to it. The simplest things had become objects of luxury and the search did nothing to ease Elizabeth’s anxiety that she and her family could afford to live together comfortably on their meager pittance.
The following morning, she woke to the sounds of scrapes and bumps coming from downstairs. Wrapping a shawl around her shoulders, she tip-toed out of her room and down the hallway— though why she bothered to be quiet, she could not justify with all the noise coming from the drawing room.
Mother stood with the maid in front of a pile of mahogany furniture. Assorted samplers, silhouettes, ceramic figurines, and her bronze candelabra littered the floor. The maid's face was as red as the carpet and a trickle of sweat ran down her forehead to drip onto the floor as she leaned over to move what Mother pointed to.
"What is this?" Elizabeth asked. The drawing room was in complete disorder. Pillows, tablecloths, and slipcovers were piled so highly on top of a chair, they looked like they would topple over if one made the mistake of breathing on them.
“I keep hoping that Mr. Bennet had enough sense to hide money somewhere. It is our lot to leave our home, but I refuse to leave it with anything that does not truly belong to the estate. Mr. Collins can keep the ancient furniture, but I will not leave anything of mine." She tapped her fingers against her chin and looked about the room.
Finding no fault with Mother's reasoning, but questioning her method and timing, Elizabeth asked, "And what are we to do with what you would take with us until it is time to leave?" She indicated the modest-sized pile in the middle of the room.
"I shall have it moved into the study. That room sees no use, and it will not be in anyone's way hidden away there."
Elizabeth cringed at the idea of Father's study being reduced to nothing more than a storage room. “Is there nowhere else?”
Mother ignored her remark.
"I am walking into Meryton to post some letters. Is there anythin
g you need me to see to?" The maid looked up wistfully. No doubt, she would much rather walk into the village than move heavy objects around the house for Mother to inspect. Elizabeth was only too happy to escape the desecration which would take place in Father’s study.
"Take your time, dear. I shall be much occupied and the fewer people milling about, the better," Mother said staring into a corner of the room she had not yet pillaged.
Already forgotten, Elizabeth started to go upstairs when the maid called out. "Will you be needing your spencer, miss?"
The weather had been wet and cold lately. Elizabeth did not need to look out of the window to know what weather awaited her out of doors. "I should think so."
The maid wrung her hands together. "I had started the wash when I was called away."
That was unfortunate. "Did you find anything in the sleeves?" she asked casually, not wanting Mother to know that she hid a gentleman's handkerchief there. She would assume too much.
The maid nodded. "Everything is in the washtub."
Elizabeth had hoped to take it with her on the slight chance that she might see Mr. Darcy in passing. She had already kept it too long.
Borrowing Jane’s spencer and an additional shawl, Elizabeth left the house shortly afterward.
The ground sloshed with each step she took, coating her boots with mud and seeping water into the loose seams around the sole no matter how she tried to avoid it. Her hem suffered too. She would have to wash her own dirty hems when they left Longbourn. They could hardly afford to take servants with them.
Where would they live? She prayed for a small cottage on the coast, somewhere not too far away.
Elizabeth remembered a trip she had taken to the seaside with Father when she was a child. It had something to do with an exposition, but what she remembered and treasured was spending all day with him. He had bought her a piece of peppermint, and they had gone to a place which had a great many books to see. The shelves went all the way up to the ceiling, and she had become dizzy trying to see the top. It had been a wonderful day. Maybe they could live near there. Sweet sadness slowed her pace.
"Excuse me, miss," said a velvety voice to her left, jolting Elizabeth out of her thoughts and forcing her with a thud back to reality. Her vision cleared of the cobwebs of past memories, and she recognized the stables leading into Meryton.
“I apologize for startling you,” he said. Mr. Darcy wore the same black greatcoat and hat he had worn when he had offered her his handkerchief. He was exceedingly more handsome than she remembered him being through her tear-blurred vision from three days before.
Transfixed by the firm cut of his jaw and the kindness emanating from his chocolate brown eyes she, for a moment, forgot how to speak.
Recovering enough to put her tongue to use, she said, "Good morning, sir. Please do not trouble yourself. Had I paid any heed to my surroundings, I would not have been so easily startled.”
He bowed, bringing himself closer to her stature where she could appreciate his features all the better. “I am Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley. I am a guest at Netherfield Park. Please let me express my condolences for your recent loss.” He watched her intently as if he expected a certain reaction.
Then she remembered. Of course. His handkerchief. With a curtsy, she said, “My name is Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn…” Wait, Longbourn was no longer her home. “Or… at least I am for the time being. Thank you for the loan of your handkerchief, Mr. Darcy. I only apologize that I am unable to return it now, as I did not carry it with me today."
Mr. Darcy's brows furled. "Miss Bennet, it is an honor to finally make your acquaintance— especially so if you are soon to depart Longbourn. As you surely know, I had the privilege of meeting your father shortly before joining Mr. Bingley at Netherfield Park. He spoke highly of you." He held out his palms apologetically.
Her hand clutched the collar at her throat. Something much stronger than curiosity bubbled under her tongue as myriads of questions rushed into her mind, overshadowing his remorseful stance.
He continued, his hands still out. "I had the pleasure of meeting him at my aunt's estate near Hunsford. I believe your cousin, Mr. Collins, is the rector there?"
Ah. That explained it. He was not apologetic. He was hesitant. How was he to know if she did not possess the same vexatious qualities as Mr. Collins? "Yes, he inherited Longbourn. I fear your aunt might soon find herself in need of another parson to fill his place once he occupies our home." The bitter words sounded hollow, and as soon as they were uttered, Elizabeth wished them unsaid. She had no reason to confide in Mr. Darcy, but it grew increasingly important that he not judge her based on his knowledge of Mr. Collins. Her neck grew hot as the impropriety of her comment sunk in.
Her eyes flickered up to Mr. Darcy's face, hoping not to see disapproval. She wanted him to think amiably of her, for she had nothing but kind thoughts toward him. The empathy he had shown, the understanding he had displayed in one simple act, had won her good opinion.
His features revealed nothing.
"Pray forgive me for speaking out of turn—" she began.
He held up his hand and shook his head. "Let me allay you of your worries, Miss Bennet, and reassure you that I think no less of you for your frankness than I did before."
He had thought of her before? Had Father said something to him? Intrigued all the more, Elizabeth sorted through the questions in her mind for the most appropriate.
"Thank you, Mr. Darcy. I do not understand to what I owe your understanding—"
A high-pitched voice interrupted. "Mr. Darcy, what are you doing standing in the mud?"
The owner of the whiny voice, a young lady, dressed in a bold blue riding habit with a feather poking out of the matching blue silk band of her tilted hat, dismounted. She was accompanied by a young man who must surely be her brother. Both of them had fair hair, perfectly straight noses, and pointy chins.
Mr. Darcy sighed, his shoulders bunched up to his ears, before he turned toward the two joining them.
"Miss Bennet, allow me to introduce you to Mr. Charles Bingley of London and his sister, Miss Caroline Bingley."
Elizabeth waited for him to complete introductions before asking, "You are the gentleman who let Netherfield Park?"
Mr. Bingley bowed again, sweeping his hat through the air. Through a large smile, he said, "The very one. I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Bennet. Please accept my condolences."
She liked him already. His manners were open and kind, and she wished Jane had accompanied her.
"Condolences for whom?" asked Miss Bingley, looking at her brother.
Mr. Bingley's unforgiving skin flushed bright red.
Mr. Darcy frowned deeply. “Miss Bennet’s father passed away recently,” he said quickly and quietly.
His help emboldened Elizabeth. She added, "My father died the day of the Meryton Assembly. Otherwise, we should have become acquaintances months ago." She expected tears to prickle her eyes, but was relieved when they did not.
"I am sorry for your loss, Miss Bennet," said Miss Bingley in a display of decency that surprised Elizabeth. She did not seem to be the sort of lady to concern herself with anyone other than herself.
Tossing her nose up in the air so that Mr. Bingley had to lunge out of way of the feather in her hat or risk being poked in the eye, Miss Bingley said, "My sister, Louisa, and I have felt the lack of satisfactory female company since our arrival. I realize that it may be too soon for you to pay social calls, but now that we are introduced, perhaps we might grace you with our presence or risk perishing from boredom before we return to the diversions of London."
"Caroline, really…” Mr. Bingley stopped, at a loss for words.
Her initial impression of the lady and of her brother thus confirmed, Elizabeth said, "It is a pity my eldest sister, Jane, did not walk with me this morning. I am certain that you would approve of her company.” She was certain Mr. Bingley would approve of her too. Even with the subdued colors c
overing her thin frame, Jane’s beauty shone through. She was head and shoulders more agreeable than Miss Bingley.
“I have found little difference between the accomplishments of a lady set up in town and a lady in the country. If anything, the country promotes greater opportunities in practical knowledge and improvement of the mind with fewer distractions and demands on her time. Let us not detain Miss Bennet any longer,” Mr. Darcy suggested to the Bingleys. To Elizabeth, who bit her cheeks to suppress her smile, he said, “You came into Meryton for a reason, and we will not keep you from accomplishing what you set out to do.” His dark eyes warmed her in spite of the cold breeze. A tuft of curly hair fell rebelliously over his forehead when he bowed to depart— the only implication of anything being out of place on his entire person. And as quickly as that, he left, herding his friends away with him.
While Elizabeth appreciated how efficiently he had led Miss Bingley and her thoughtlessness away from her, she was sad he had to go. He was everything considerate and compassionate. If what Miss Bingley implied was true, they were to leave soon. Elizabeth may not see him again.
She looked down at her hands, trying to remember why she had walked into Meryton. The letters. Right. She had letters to post. Letters which, she hoped, would prove more successful than the previous batch she had sent and would keep her family together in a comfortable, albeit cramped, situation.
A letter from Uncle Gardiner had arrived in the post for Mother. She hugged it to her chest, trusting that it brought good news and would bring cheer to Longbourn. Though trips to London were few and far between— and would be even more so now— a stay with Uncle and Aunt Gardiner was always a welcome respite.
Elizabeth’s fingers twitched to crack the red wax seal and read the letter, but she controlled her curiosity. She would hurry home and sit next to Mother until she shared its news. Mother had developed the bad habit of sending correspondence she thought to be bills up the chimney in smoke. Her hope that they would disappear if she ignored them long enough had yet to realize. Bills still came.