by Jennifer Joy
Her thoughts turning to money, she considered what options were available to her. Could she work as a governess? Perhaps she could find a position which would allow her to live nearby… No, that would not work. If they lived in London, they could never afford to live near enough to a family who would require a governess. Nor did Elizabeth feel qualified. Mary’s skill on the pianoforte far exceeded hers. She could not embroider as neatly as Kitty. Though Elizabeth moved with grace, she was not nearly so talented as Lydia, who was a veritable encyclopedia of dance. Jane, though she was never bold enough to show her drawings to anyone, painted beautifully.
Each of her sisters displayed an area of talent, which, if put together, would make one formidable, accomplished lady. However, the talents they had were self-taught and lacked the polish of tutelage under the masters. And Elizabeth had yet to think of any great skill in her possession. Father had always complimented her intelligence— for all the good it did. If it was her great wit which had caused her to refuse Mr. Collins and lose her family’s home, then surely she must be the wisest of homeless women.
Chapter 4
She must leave? Longbourn— her home— was lost? She must not have accepted Mr. Collins’ offer after all. While Darcy’s mind questioned her decision for practical purposes, his heart praised her refusal of a marriage of convenience. Could it be that she sought for the same, stout love he did? If only Miss Bingley had not called out and interrupted their conversation.
Darcy trudged across the muddy street. The less time he spent in Meryton, the better. He had no peace wherever he went. He had left Netherfield early to avoid Miss Bingley's irksome company, knowing full well that he might have to see Wickham, who had been stationed in Meryton for the winter. This stay in Hertfordshire grew more unpleasant as the days passed by, and if Bingley was inclined to leave, he would not dissuade him.
The only person he had hoped to see was Miss Elizabeth Bennet, and Miss Bingley had managed to ruin their conversation just when he was about to ask her about his letter. He would call at Mr. Phillips’ office to ensure it had been sent.
At least they were introduced, albeit informally, and they could speak more comfortably if they met again. He would not force his company on the Bennets unless he received reassurance from Mrs. Bennet that he would be welcome. He would respect her wishes and those of her daughters after what he had done.
"What are you pondering so intensely, Mr. Darcy?" Miss Bingley asked from behind him.
He turned back to see her panting to keep up with his long strides.
"Gracious, Darcy, but you walk with a purpose," commented Bingley.
Darcy stopped. Perhaps it would be considered rude to simply walk away, but he had learned long ago that being pleasant only encouraged those who were blind to his dislike. For Bingley's sake, he would endure.
"I have some letters to send and would like to see Mr. Phillips on a business matter while my stallion is shod. I had not planned to stay long in Meryton and was unaware of your plans to ride into the village or I should have waited for you. What brings you here?" he asked Bingley. He knew what— or rather who— brought Miss Bingley there.
"A need to get out of the house. The incessant rain has finally let up, and I felt that I should burst if I could not spend some time out of doors."
Darcy understood. He preferred open spaces as well.
"What is this about you thinking of leaving so soon after taking up residence at Netherfield?" Darcy asked.
Bingley looked accusingly at his sister. "Wishful thinking, I should think. Although, I have yet to see anything to keep me here. I do not yet feel attached to the place as I had hoped."
"Anything? Or anyone?" Darcy asked with a smile.
Flushing bright red, Bingley shuffled his feet. "You know my reason for coming here. Yet, I have not found what I am looking for."
Pressing, Darcy asked, "And what might that be?" He knew the answer well, but wished for Bingley to speak decisively in front of his sister. Otherwise, she would have her way with no discussion.
"I have every intention of finding a wife with whom I may lead a quiet life in the country with the occasional trip into town."
Miss Bingley scoffed. "You would have much more success in your endeavor in town. Aside from Miss Bennet, whom we only recently met, there is a sore lack of accomplished ladies present. And I would not necessarily include Miss Bennet in that esteemed group. Did you see how muddy her boots were?" She looked quickly at Darcy with her chin up at a proud angle. Miss Bingley was proud of her accomplishments and considered herself to be a catch. Only no one had taken the bait as yet, much to her chagrin.
"I thought the exercise enhanced her lovely features. The fact that her boots were muddy says nothing about her accomplishments, but rather reveals a love of nature and healthy habits which every accomplished lady should possess,” said Darcy.
Miss Bingley crossed her arms and harrumphed.
Ignoring her, Darcy asked Bingley, “I am curious as to what your plans are. Do you really intend to leave so soon?"
"I hardly know what to do, Darcy. What do you advise?" Bingley asked, scratching his head and further disheveling his wavy hair.
"We ought to return to town, Charles. There is nothing here to keep us." Miss Bingley rolled her eyes and threw her nose into the air, much too grand for the likes of Meryton and its surrounding estates.
Darcy grimaced at her interruption, though there was truth in her statement. "I would suggest that you stay until you wish to leave. If the quiet life is what you crave, Netherfield Park is where you will choose to be. If marriage is your aim, you may choose to return to town where I hope you will meet with greater success during the season. I see no reason to make a hasty decision today."
"Capital idea! It is only one more month to the beginning of the season. If I find no reason to continue at Netherfield in a month's time, we shall depart for London. If, however, I do find sufficient reason to stay, I will be glad to have given Netherfield more time."
In a merrier mood, Bingley went in search of new acquaintances and friends among the officers in the regiment. It occurred to Darcy as he watched Miss Bingley reluctantly follow her brother that Bingley hoped to find a match for his sister as well as himself. It would suit Bingley for her to marry before he settled with a wife. An officer would be a good choice. Someone unafraid of confrontation and with a head for dealing with a conniving and oftentimes manipulative opponent. A picture of his cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, loomed in his mind. He shivered it away. He would not wish that on his favorite cousin.
Looking over his shoulder down the road, Darcy wondered about Miss Elizabeth's character. He knew her to be hard-working, resourceful, and independent. Not the qualities he had thought would appeal to him…. And she was not engaged.
Elizabeth walked home more slowly than normal. Though the letter from Uncle Gardiner should have sped her steps, her thoughts of Mr. Darcy tempered her anticipation of his news. There was no denying that he was a handsome man— tall, with a face of a gentleman and the solid body of a man who worked. Elizabeth welcomed the cold blast of breeze against her hot face.
That he showed a genuine depth of feeling was evident in his treatment of her. He had known loss intimately, of that she was certain. He knew how to console with a look, a simple gesture, and few words because he understood what it was to suffer.
At another time, she would be tempted to encourage his attention. As it was, she did not have the luxury of looking for romance. She needed to see to her family's immediate needs and keep them together. If she were blessed enough to find love, it would have to wait. She would see her sisters marry first. It was the penitence she would pay for refusing Mr. Collins and losing Longbourn. It was a small price to pay for her freedom. She was young, resourceful, and determined in her purpose. By this time, next year, she hoped to be in a better position to pursue her happiness freely.
Feeling as optimistic as a self-imposed martyr could, she paused as sh
e entered the drive leading up to her front door. There was a cart full of crates blocking her path. Two men, each holding an end of a heavy wooden crate, heaved their burden onto the back of the cart and hurried back inside before she could ask what their business was.
Her body understood before her mind could comprehend what was happening. Her breath became shallow and she felt light-headed.
Jane rushed out of the house, wrapping her arms around Elizabeth. “I am so sorry I could not prevent this. I tried to talk her out of it,” Jane cried into her neck.
Chapter 5
Breathing deeply to slow her heart before it leaped out of her chest, she grasped Jane on either arm.
"Jane?" she asked, desiring to understand, but afraid of the answer.
Without a word, Jane grabbed her hand and pulled her inside the house. Father's study door gaped open.
Elizabeth's stomach clenched and a wave of nausea rolled through her. She skimmed the bookshelves until her eyes burned. They were empty.
One final crate, the last, sat waiting for a stranger to cart it outside with the rest. When the man came inside to haul it away, Elizabeth moved to sit on top of it. But Jane, reading her thoughts, clung to her arm and held her back.
"Where are you taking my father's books?" she shouted through the hammer pounding in her head.
The man looked at her with large eyes and Jane tightened her grip on Elizabeth's arm.
"Lizzy, we must let him take the books. They are no longer ours. Even if Mother had not sold them, they would have to stay with the estate."
"But Father's books..." Elizabeth's voice choked into silence as the last crate disappeared through the front door never to be seen by her again. Never again could she run her fingers over the smooth covers; never again could she read her father's thoughts written in the margins; never again could she take comfort in the books which had bonded her to Father. She felt like she had lost him again.
Her eyes felt hot, but no tears would come. There were none left to shed. The room was as empty as she felt.
Bolting to the desk, she pulled open the drawers. Nothing. Her pulse throbbed through her. Clenching her jaw to spare Jane from the brunt of her anger, she asked, “Where is Father’s journal?”
Jane’s uncertain silence was all the answer she needed.
Elizabeth’s nails bit into her palms as she tightened her fists and set out in search of her mother. Jane followed closely behind.
"Calm yourself, Lizzy. Please do not say anything you will later regret."
Elizabeth did not answer.
"Lizzy, slow down. Calm yourself, I beg of you," entreated Jane from behind her. She grabbed Elizabeth's hand to hold her back.
Stealing her hand away, Elizabeth charged up the stairs to Mother's room, where she would no doubt be found fanning herself in a senseless fit of nerves.
Her eyes trained on the fainting couch as she burst through the door, Elizabeth was taken aback to see that Mother was not resting leisurely. Rather, she stood giving directions to the housekeeper, a healthy, pink glow on her face. She looked as if she were planning a coming out ball or some grand social event which would put her daughters in the way of eligible gentlemen of fortune. She looked much too happy and Elizabeth’s ire burned inside her.
Catching her eye, Mother waved her over to join them. "It is good that you are here, Lizzy. I have been giving instructions on what to pack. It makes me sad to leave all the servants behind, but I trust that Mr. Collins can keep them on the estate." She spat his name out like a dirty word she would scold Lydia for saying. "I want to move our household to London. I realize the difficulties and the expense involved, but I have sold some items to help."
Elizabeth gasped. "London? Is that why you sold Father’s books? So that you may set yourself up in London to live out all of your silly fancies? How could you?” She lashed out, knowing her words would hurt.
Jane dropped into a chair, her hands at her temples.
Rubbing her hands together and pursing her lips, Mother said, "I have my reasons, Elizabeth. You may call them silly— it is what Mr. Bennet would have done— but I am your mother, and I am acting for your benefit whether you realize it or not. We shall be uncomfortable for a time, but it is the best place for us to be during the season."
Of course. She would marry off her girls as she had always dreamed of doing. A marriage of convenience had been sufficient for her, and now she expected her daughters to follow her example. Elizabeth would rather seek employment than suffer in an unequal marriage.
"Is that why you sold Father's books? For the coin?"
"I had no choice. I found no money hidden, though I searched through and poked into every nook and cranny in the house. Mr. Bennet's books were one of the items with the most value in our home. You know how dear books are. I am surprised you should ask."
Had Mother completely lost her senses? "They were not ours to sell. What will Mr. Collins say?" Never mind her emotional attachment to the precious tomes. Mother would never understand that. She may as well speak Latin to her for all the good it would do.
Mother waved away her argument. Before she could answer, a knock sounded on the door.
"Mrs. Phillips is here for you, ma'am," Martha announced. She hardly had time to move out of the doorway when in walked Aunt Phillips.
"Fanny, how are you doing today? You have a lovely flush to your complexion. I do declare that you look ten years younger than when I last saw you. Mr. Phillips wanted me to inquire if the man's servants were able to take the books off your hands as was arranged?"
Aunt Phillips' eyebrows shot up in twin question marks.
With an unperturbed look at Elizabeth, Mother said, "Yes, everything has been handled to our satisfaction. So long as Mr. Phillips received the price agreed upon, I am content."
Bobbing her head up and down, Aunt Phillips said, "Of course. The gentleman who purchased the library has been most honorable and did not argue over the price."
Sensing an opportunity to undo the damage done by Mother, Elizabeth demanded, "Who purchased Father's books?" Perhaps, just perhaps, there was the smallest chance Elizabeth might persuade the new owner to part with one book for her to remember Father by. At the least she would recover his diary.
"You know that Mr. Phillips is the pinnacle of discretion, dear. Though he speaks in a general manner of his business affairs, as a responsible attorney, he never mentions names nor specifics to me." She shook her head at the suggestion that Uncle might have been so untoward as to discuss something which might have been so helpful to Elizabeth. She crossed her arms and planned. She would need to return to Meryton and speak with Uncle directly.
Taking a seat next to Mother, Aunt Phillips asked, "Fanny, has your tea been packed? I am positively parched! I have rearranged my guest rooms to suit Mary and Kitty, and the work has been fatiguing."
Elizabeth tensed. "Mary and Kitty? Why would you prepare rooms for them at your house?" She placed a hand over her heart to calm the pounding. Jane appeared every bit as confused as she was.
Mother and Aunt Phillips exchanged a look. Mother was not pleased, but it was she who spoke. "Your dear aunt has offered to keep Mary and Kitty with her while we move on to London. The advantages she and Mr. Phillips can offer the girls far outweigh any advantage they might have in London with us."
Elizabeth sucked air into her lungs, but it was so heavy around her, she may as well have breathed in water. This day could not get worse. Had she not gone completely numb, Elizabeth would have pinched herself. This could not be real.
Quickly, Mother added, "It is understood by all concerned that if we establish ourselves successfully, they are to join us. I only meant to give them a stable home on the small chance that it does not fare so well with us."
Elizabeth clasped her shaking hands together.
The tea had not been brought up yet, and Aunt Phillips still had news to share, but Elizabeth could not stand to stay in the room any longer. Mother looked excited— as if
the loss of Father led her to a new life full of adventure and thrilling prospects. It made Elizabeth sick. She needed to get away.
If they noticed her leave, they did not say anything. She made it down the stairs and outside before she bent over with her hands on her knees to gasp for breath just as she had after a strong run as a child. Only, this was so different. Instead of recovering her breath, it drew more difficult as the seconds passed.
Pressed from all sides and hating herself for being so weak when she must be the strong one, she started walking toward Meryton. If Aunt Phillips refused to cooperate, then she would appeal to Uncle Phillips.
Raising her head and squaring her shoulders, Elizabeth marched on, her vision closing in on the path before her.
Chapter 6
Miss Elizabeth marched like she was on a mission. Her cheeks flamed red and her eyes flashed with an intensity which made it difficult for him to wrench his gaze away from her. Before he could stop himself, he called out to her from atop his horse. "Miss Bennet!"
She slowed, shaking her head as if waking from a dream. But she did not stop.
Waving his hand in front of him, he repeated, "Miss Bennet!" before he could stop himself. He touched his heels to the side of his borrowed horse to move closer.
He ought to have let her go. Riding a loaned horse while his mount's hooves were attended to at the farrier's, he remembered what the man at the stables had warned him about. It was too late.
Jolting forward, directly toward Miss Elizabeth, the brute reared up on his hind legs with a shrill neigh. Turning to the side with no regard for his surroundings— only the desperate need to escape whatever had tickled his ribs— the stallion made to knock Miss Elizabeth over.