That's What Makes It Love

by Iris Lim

  “Jane is everything sincere, I assure you.” Elizabeth tried, truly tried, to avoid sounding bitter. One insult from the unnamed gentleman last night was trouble enough. She did not wish to have to dispute against another such claim quite so soon! “She would never use anyone ill.”

  Miss Bingley’s laugh was harsh and loud. “You speak everything a sister ought to, Miss Eliza.”

  For once, Elizabeth was quite happy her visitor did not face her.

  “I see Hertfordshire does not hold much charm for you, Miss Bingley.” She forced herself to navigate their words towards safer waters.

  “Not at all.” The lady was frank. “The place is simple enough – nearly backwards, one may say. Mr. Darcy himself agreed with me. Your family is all kindness, but the company otherwise is rather faulty.”

  Elizabeth swallowed the insult against her neighbors. “This Mr. Darcy you mention – is he the gentleman who accompanied you to the assembly?”

  “Oh yes, the poor man – blind as a bat and lacking half the charm of his companion. Fate is kind enough to grant his future wife full reign over his sprawling estate, I suppose.” The wistfulness in Miss Bingley’s voice shouted her intentions from the mountaintops.

  “Mr. Darcy is – unable to see?” Elizabeth’s conscience began to complain.

  “Not even a shadow, Charles assures me. I have tried, of course, plenty of times to bless the poor man with my company – so limited he is in his actions.”

  Elizabeth nodded mutely. Mr. Darcy – tall, handsome, reserved – his frown begat new meaning in her mind.

  Had she truly approached a man already incapacitated – and judged him for judging with his limited abilities?

  If he was as wealthy as Caroline Bingley implied him to be – was it not natural for him to fear fortune hunters at every turn?

  “His friend, Mr. Wickham, is charm itself, of course,” Miss Bingley prattled on. “It is a shame the man doesn’t have a shilling to his name!”

  Elizabeth flinched slightly at the recollection of how Lydia had taken, quite quickly, to said Mr. Wickham’s charms last night.

  Full understanding of why Mr. Darcy lingered alone dawned upon her.

  Elizabeth sighed, suddenly feeling rather overcome.

  “What a waste it is to see, of course.” Miss Bingley played the role of informant rather well, however unintentionally. “One would think a man so perfect could not have fault at all. It is a shame, truly, that Mr. Darcy cannot see half as well as his companion could.”

  Elizabeth answered only after the silence grew too long.

  “Yes, of course, Miss Bingley. I dare say it is quite a shame.”

  • • •

  Elizabeth knew, for the most part, that one may be considered impolitic for rolling one’s eyes at one’s guest. With the limited hours granted each day to entertaining neighbors, it was but fitting to be tolerant of one’s visitors’ views – however outlandish such views may prove to be.

  Given Miss Caroline Bingley’s tirade for the last thirty minutes, however, Elizabeth considered herself excused.

  “And Miss Darcy, oh what a dear she is!” All the plumage in England could not accentuate Miss Bingley’s exclamations any more than her current attire and gestures did. “‘Tis quite a shame, I must say, that Mr. Darcy deigns her taken and unavailable for Charles!”

  Her chuckle, affected and hoarse, was not nearly as unladylike as the demeaning glint in her eyes.

  “You see, Miss Eliza, it is the dearest wish of my heart that Miss Georgiana be united with my brother in marriage. Is it not horribly sad that she has been betrothed to her cousin – and therefore incapable of bringing our families such joy? I suppose it is inevitable that I must join the fray and be the means of uniting such suitable lineages.”

  Miss Bingley’s sigh was eloquent – putting to shame the very greatest actors of the London stage. Elizabeth fought to suppress her untimely urge to giggle.

  “You see, Miss Eliza,” Miss Bingley began her next paragraph of thoughts with much the same expression she used for the thirty ones before, “Mr. Darcy and his – shall we say – limitations have only proven him to be more needful of a stately woman who can govern all that he possesses. While my beloved Charles may not have the good fortune to create such desirable connections, it may still fall upon my person to achieve them.”

  Elizabeth wondered, with little effort at concealment, if Miss Bingley thought her own professions subtle.

  Surely, an educated lady could not truly think such declarations proper in the slightest!

  “Miss Bingley,” Elizabeth spoke when she could, “Are Miss Darcy and her cousin also residing at Netherfield?”

  The change in subject, attempted with every civility, succeeded in half its intent.

  “Netherfield, though built in poor taste, shall do, I suppose,” Miss Bingley lamented. “How much greater our hospitality could be in town! ‘Tis a shame Charles insisted that his most prestigious guests join us here.”

  Elizabeth’s smile, as well as her voice, was tight. “You do not enjoy Hertfordshire, Miss Bingley?”

  “How could we when we –” Then, pausing, perhaps to think for the first time in the past ten minutes, Miss Bingley continued with a voice much more subdued. “Hertfordshire is lovely enough.”

  Elizabeth nodded, playing the part of a fool.

  “And I trust your family and guests all think quite as highly of Meryton and its neighbors?” There was some satisfaction, she found, in allowing her mischievousness to run free.

  Miss Bingley shifted in her seat, clearly uncomfortable. “I suppose so.”

  “You see, Miss Bingley.” Elizabeth could not resist the echoing of her visitor’s words. “Much of the people in our area believe that families who suit in lineage are far inferior to families who suit in temperament. If couples do fancy each other – there should be no impediment to their union.”

  Elizabeth knew, full well, that Miss Bingley saw her pointed look towards Mr. Bingley and Jane.

  Still, the lady barreled on, undeterred. “I had always hoped, of course, that my dear Charles would find his heart’s desire among the heiresses of the ton. Our father’s fortune, while generous, could hardly be relied upon to create a legacy which would be a source of pride for posterity.”

  “I see.”

  “Yes, of course. You see, Miss Eliza, our own dear parents had many hopes and dreams for their children. How precious we were to them! It is but right that we each marry well to make amends for my sister’s choices.”

  Elizabeth’s eyes widened at the realization that no one – not even her own flesh and blood – was immune from the censure of Caroline Bingley.

  “My brother, you see, has always changed his preferences for female company rather easily.” Miss Bingley’s hand landed on Elizabeth’s. The Bennet sister looked up, surprised. “I trust that your family will need not worry over his attentions for long. Your sister, I hope, shall not be too disappointed at the loss of such desirable prospects.”

  Elizabeth frowned – slowly realizing, for the first time all morning – what Miss Bingley’s true meaning was.

  She moved quickly to defend her sister. “I assure you, Miss Bingley, that there is no cause for worry. My sister treats everyone with all sincerity, regardless of the state of their personal affairs.”

  The look on Miss Bingley’s face was heavy with skepticism. “Your sister is not the first, I assure you, to catch my brother’s eye.”

  Elizabeth, remembering the weight of a promise long made, narrowed her eyes and insisted, “Then I can only hope she would be the last.”

  • • •

  Eight Years Ago

  • • •

  “Elizabeth, it is too long. I cannot read it!” Jane, with all the innocence in her eyes, lamented. Her golden hair cascaded down her back, glowing prettily against the whiteness of her dress.

  Elizabeth laughed, her own previously white dress far from pristine. She lifted the contract in her
hand. “It is an important document, Jane, and I cannot bear to leave out any details pertaining to our future happiness.”

  Charlotte, despite being older, joined their giggles. “You are being silly, Eliza. Why would we need to write out what our hearts already know?”

  “And our hearts know – full well – that we shall marry only for love!” Elizabeth declared at the top of her lungs. Playfully, she danced in the small clearing – Jane at her heels.

  “Lizzy, stop writing! We do not know what our future grooms will look like!” Jane frowned, looking truly worried. She could not run as fast as her sister, but she still tried very hard to catch Elizabeth. “We should not place ourselves in binding agreements.”

  Elizabeth laughed again. Three more rounds of running and pretending to scribble on her paper left her breathless, and she collapsed on the ground at last.

  She leaned back against the side of the tree trunk. Charlotte sat down on the grass and did the same thing on her left. Jane, after some more frowning, lay down on her right.

  Elizabeth smiled, happy to be with the bestest of her friends.

  She tossed her broken quill aside. There had been no ink on it for some time.

  Then she lifted her contract with both her hands, using the paper to shield out the sun.

  “We, Charlotte Madeline Lucas, Jane Frances Bennet, and Elizabeth Theresa Bennet,” she read aloud. Who cared if anyone heard them? “Being sisters, by birth or by friendship of the strongest kind, hereby promise only to grant our hand in marriage to the best of men, men whom we shall love dearly with all of our hearts. Said hereby future husbands shall be at least 5 feet and 6 inches tall, shall not weigh more than our fathers, and shall be handsome and rich. (They do not need to be particularly rich but need to be very handsome). We shall each marry in Meryton and will not serve tongue at the wedding breakfast. We will wear white and be completely in love with our husbands. A man who does not ask properly will not be approved. All parties must approve of a groom before a bride can agree to being proposed.”

  Elizabeth smiled when she reached the end. All that remained to do was to affix their signatures.

  “We hereby state our agreement.” Elizabeth turned and pointed to the part of the paper intentionally left blank.

  Solemnly, Charlotte used the twig she found to sign her name in bark. Elizabeth followed, looking everything regal. Jane, despite her protests, sighed and signed by dipping Elizabeth’s quill in a flower’s nectar.

  With their agreement thus solemnized, Elizabeth screeched in happiness and began her dancing once more.

  This time, Jane did not chase her. It was rather less fun running about by herself.

  Chapter 3:

  The Welcome Visitors

  Despite the many days since their arrival at Hertfordshire, Darcy had not – not once – chosen to accompany the Bingleys in their neighborly calls. The choice was not for lack of invitation, for Bingley was nothing but consistent in his persuasions. Neither was the choice a result of Miss Bingley’s presence – though her promised company did nothing but solidify his resolutions. Netherfield, for all its limitations, was a cozy place to be for this particular visit. Georgiana filled the halls with lovely music. Richard enlivened the evenings with his witty remarks. Wickham, faithful and astute, tended to his every need – more than a valet, dearer than a friend, and almost a brother.

  Darcy was content, as he ever was, to find distractions as they offered themselves. He smiled whenever Richard and Georgiana teased each other, hearing each romantic undertone ring louder than Richard’s denials. He schooled his face into frowns instead of grimaces whenever Miss Bingley, perhaps believing her advances too subtle, nearly threw herself into his lap every other evening. He listened patiently to Bingley’s praises of his newfound angel – and could only feel regret that he could not witness in person the great beauty Bingley described.

  Ever since that fateful night before his childish fever broke, Darcy’s physical limitations had rendered life much simpler than it would otherwise have been. The gardens of Pemberley existed only in his memory and under his walking stick. London’s debutantes could not impress him no matter their attire. While he was unsure if he would ever marry, he seldom met women beyond his own circle – among which Miss Caroline Bingley was a most unpalatable but sadly accurate example.

  Such examples only served to increase his hesitation to entertain the concept of marriage at all.

  “Miss Elizabeth Bennet, sir, madam.”

  The announcement roused Darcy from his reflections.

  “Why, do let her in, of course.” Bingley exclaimed from his side of the room.

  Miss Bennet slept upstairs, Darcy suddenly remembered. Miss Bingley’s many protests had informed him of Miss Bennet’s shivering state when she had arrived for tea yesterday afternoon. There had been no delay on the part of his hosts in settling Miss Bennet into her own room and providing her every possible sort of medical attention at hand. While the lady’s gentle sniffs had not proven any cause for alarm for Darcy, he chose to suppose that her physical state perhaps appeared much harsher to the human eye.

  “Mr. Bingley, Miss Bingley, Mr. Hearst, Mrs. Hearst,” a feminine voice began to greet soon after the corresponding footsteps led her into the room. “Mr. Darcy, Miss Darcy, Mr. Wickham, and – Colonel Fitzwilliam?”

  Darcy heard Richard, Bingley, and the two sisters greet her in reply.

  There was a familiarity in the woman’s voice – though he knew he had not been introduced to her before.

  “Miss – Elizabeth?” Darcy ventured. He sensed, almost heard, all the occupants of the room turn to watch him.

  Slightly uneasy, he cleared his throat.

  Their visitor responded before he could speak again, “Mr. Darcy, I – it is a pleasure to see you again.”

  Darcy nodded, unable to reciprocate the sentiment.

  “Mr. Bingley,” the new arrival addressed his friend, her face and voice turning towards the other side of the room. “I apologize for my incivility – but I am afraid my mission here today proves more familial than neighborly.”

  “Your sister – of course!” Darcy heard Bingley springing to his feet. “Come, I shall lead you to her immediately. We dearly hope the herbs in her tea have assisted her recovery.”

  Darcy listened, curious, as Bingley guided a clearly anxious but apologetic Miss Elizabeth towards her sister’s guest room. He observed, rather mischievously, Miss Bingley’s quick disapprobation of their new visitor and Richard’s subsequent quick defense of Miss Elizabeth’s kindness. With candor, Wickham whispered to him the state of Miss Elizabeth’s clothes upon her arrival. Georgiana, hearing their whispers, expressed her support immediately. It was, of course, natural for a younger sister to care so much for her older sibling. It was, in fact, nature itself!

  Darcy, content in his disinterest once more, only nodded.

  • • •

  The past days had been pleasant, if rather mundane. Every day, Wickham would report on the sight of Miss Elizabeth rounding out the gardens. Every day, Miss Bingley would criticize their guest’s preference for the outdoors while her brother inquired diligently on the state of Miss Bennet’s health. Every day, their party of nine would dine together while Miss Bennet rested upstairs.

  Every evening, the men and women would choose to reunite soon after separation. Every night, Georgiana’s hands would fill the hallways with celestial music. Then every night, without fail, Darcy would speak with Miss Elizabeth – taking turns as they remarked upon the weather, upon the temperature of the room, or upon Miss Bennet’s incremental recovery.

  Every day, her voice reminded him of someone – perhaps the teasing of some past, fleeting acquaintance. Every day, he chose not to tell her that he had been awake when she slipped outdoors that morning. He had been awake each time, every morning, waiting patiently for Wickham to rouse and aid him.

  It had not been until this morning, when she stated how her sister did not need further assis
tance for breakfast, that the cogs in his mental machine had clicked into place.

  Bingley had been mentioning Miss Bennet since the assembly.

  It was strange how long it took Darcy to understand which exact sister of the divine Miss Bennet this intriguing Miss Elizabeth was.

  “Mr. Darcy!”

  The cry startled him, and he quickly sat straighter in his chair. The library walls felt closer than they had before.

  “Mr. Darcy, if I may – have a moment of your time – please.”

  He only frowned slightly. The voice was hers – of that he had no doubt.

  “Miss Elizabeth, I apologize for my inability to rise and grant you your proper greeting.” He did not know how long Wickham had been gone. Perhaps the grounds Bingley mentioned truly had been too pretty to miss. Darcy did not mind the solitude. Even a dearest childhood friend could not accompany him at all times. Some things were inevitable. “My assistant, it seems, is still touring the estate with my friend.”

  She did not reply, and he almost wondered if she, perhaps discovering their unchaperoned state, had already quit the drawing room.

  Then she heard her sigh, pace, and shove herself on to a nearby chair.

  Now he frowned in truth. “Miss Elizabeth?”

  “I apologize, Mr. Darcy – oh, how I’ve been wishing to for days!” Her voice carried passion, indomitability. “I fear your – condition had been revealed to me rather belatedly in our acquaintance. It was but natural that you did not cipher Jane’s true feelings that night. I apologize most heartily for my misunderstanding and contempt.”

  He heard every sincerity in her voice, and nodded briefly.

  “I’ve tried repeatedly, sir, to attempt your private attention all these days – but Mr. Wickham has been faithful in accompanying you,” she continued, clearly unfinished. He heard cracking joints, perhaps her wrists. “I feared I may have added further indiscretion to my existing follies, sir, for waiting so long before offering my apologies.”

  “No – please, do not say so.” He chose his words carefully, anxious to avoid any repeat of their first encounter. He rested his right hand on the arm of his chair. “I fear I must be the one to apologize, madam, for accusing your sister and family with little cause to do so.”