by Iris Lim
Elizabeth felt her eyes water. It pained her to lose her friend, but she was beginning to discover that the future brought with itself its own many charms.
“You shall do well, Char.”
“Even in guarding George Wickham?”
“George –” Elizabeth stopped. She pulled back, confused. “What do you –”
“Mr. Darcy met him last night – said Richard,” Charlotte explained. “Mr. Darcy has purchased Mr. Wickham a commission – and Richard is tasked to guard the man.”
Elizabeth nodded slowly, her mind calculating every cost. “He wishes to ensure that Mr. Wickham stays far away.”
“It is an extreme step, of course. The man does not deserve –”
“Mr. Darcy wishes to protect the people he loves.”
Charlotte did not answer, but she listened – patiently.
“He detests the man but feels indebted to his –” Elizabeth continued, “He chooses to confront the facts that he may –”
For a few moments, the rest of the world stilled as her mind raced ahead. Mr. Darcy was an enigma – reclusive one day and social the next, stormy and indignant, then considerate and kind – prideful and selfish – then helpless and young.
Elizabeth closed her eyes, incapable of seeing the trivial when her mind chased after the inconceivable.
She could not understand why Mr. Darcy extended such mercy still – but she trusted him to have his own reasons behind such a choice.
“Lizzy.”
Elizabeth sighed.
Charlotte looked worried when their eyes met again.
“Do you care for Mr. Darcy, Lizzy?”
Elizabeth pondered wordlessly, a thousand thoughts struggling to dominate her mind.
“I – he is – I don’t –” She thought of the angry brother and the neglected master, the man who spoke carelessly to his neighbors and disappointed his sister – the man who sought to make amends but struggled to do so without help.
“Lizzy.”
“I don’t – I don’t know if I do.” Elizabeth wondered if she would miss him if he went away. Has his blindness lent to his social inabilities – or are his social inabilities forgiven by his blindness?
“Another round of cards, sir?” Behind them, Charlotte’s father addressed Elizabeth’s father.
Soon, Charlotte and Elizabeth were both drawn into games.
It was both unfortunate and relieving that no one continued to ask questions regarding her perception of Mr. Darcy.
• • •
“Fitzwilliam,” Georgiana, standing three yards behind her brother, called out.
Elizabeth watched the exchange from the door. Behind her, Lucas Lodge nearly ripped itself off its roots with gaiety.
“Fitzwilliam,” Georgiana pleaded again.
It was a day of rejoicing – and a day of broken hearts.
The colonel and his bride stood, beaming, greeting every guest with fervor upon their entry. Sir William and Lady Lucas nearly rivaled the newlyweds in joy. The guests – some from nearby and others from lands farther away – yielded a nervous mix of people in the joy-filled lodge.
Yet here before her, behind the lodge – under the harsher noonday sun – two siblings nursed their own aching souls.
“Fitz –”
“Georgiana.” Mr. Darcy leaned his hand upon the nearby tree. Elizabeth took a step towards the two.
“Brother, I did not –” Georgiana sniffed. In a course of a few weeks, the girl had lost her childhood friend, her brother, and the cousin she loved. There were few people more tragic.
“Georgiana.” Elizabeth walked towards her friend and laid a hand upon her arm. “Your brother mourns too.”
Georgiana openly pondered the suggestion. Beside them, the large, grieving man groaned.
“Mr. Darcy.” Elizabeth turned to him without hesitation. Her hands reached to support his frame. “Are you – are you well?”
Mr. Darcy frowned and groaned again. The man had nearly as much strife as his sister in recent days.
It was but human to cower under the weight.
“Mr. Darcy, thank you.”
He looked up at Elizabeth’s words.
“Thank you, Mr. Darcy – for protecting and avenging my sister.”
He turned towards her. His left hand rested on her elbow.
“I did far too little, far too late,” he lamented.
“No, sir – you did – you did so much more than my family could ever afford to do. You act with compassion, and with courage. To confront a man who has wronged your sister so is no easy task.”
“It was my duty.”
“It was his privilege.”
“For a man to attack my sister at her weakest hour – I cannot bear the shame and the –”
“Fitzwilliam!” Georgiana ran over. She clutched her brother, nearly toppling him and Elizabeth to the ground. “Do not bear my guilt for me. I deserve every smidgeon of your censure.”
“No.” Mr. Darcy bowed his head. His right hand held Georgiana. His left hand clung to Elizabeth. “Wickham attacked you. You would not have allowed –”
“I professed myself in love! I allowed him his liberties!” Georgiana stumbled backwards as she shrieked. “You saved me but refuse the honor of having done so.”
“Georgiana, silence!”
“I cannot have you suffer for my wrongs.”
“You and I owe it to our family. I suffer little.”
“You faced a man who betrayed you – and settled his debts for me.” Georgiana let her tears run free. “I would rather have my brother talk to me – than have him settle a thousand debts in my place.”
“I wish to protect you,” Mr. Darcy spoke with bitterness, sorrow.
“Overlooking me is not protection, brother.” Georgiana sniffed. Her teary face lent a wildness to her being. “Please – speak to me.”
Her brother did not reply.
Indoors, the people rejoiced.
Here, outside, another narrative reached its own turning point.
“Please, love me – again,” Georgiana pleaded.
A moment later, she turned and ran straight towards the direction of the nearby trees.
“Georgiana!” Elizabeth called.
She stopped to examine if Mr. Darcy could remain upright on his own. He seemed to understand her motive – and planted his hands on the trunk of the tree.
Elizabeth nodded – and dashed in pursuit.
• • •
“Thank you, Elizabeth.” Georgiana sighed, arm linked with her friend. Their return to Lucas Lodge, punctuated with tears and explanations and uneven ground, had taken much longer than an hour. Elizabeth was certain there would be very few guests left upon their return.
She was wrong, apparently – as a hundred people still rushed about, busy and frantic. Every master carried worry on his face. Every servant bore an ashen face of white.
“What has happened?” Elizabeth left Georgiana behind to run the last two yards.
Jane’s tearful eyes met hers. Charlotte and her new husband, still in merry garb, frowned as they ordered servants about. The noonday sun had long gone – and a few of the footmen bore torches.
“Jane, what has happened? Did someone die?” Elizabeth choked on her words. Even in her most spirited adventures, she had often worried she would come home to a lost loved one.
“No, no – no one.” Jane sniffed. There was tension in the air – anger, anxiety.
“Jane.” Elizabeth gripped her sister’s arms.
It had taken many minutes to settle down a running Georgiana – and another half an hour more to convince the crying girl to return. Somehow, within the span of their absence, something grave had managed to happen in Lucas Lodge.
“Any sight of him?” Charlotte loudly asked the latest band of guests, returning on their horses.
“None, Mrs. Fitzwilliam. We do not know how he could have wandered so far.”
“Wandered,” Elizabeth muttered. She turned her e
yes back on to Jane. “Who – who –”
Her eyes strayed – eagerly, desperately, cataloging the faces around them. There were many people here – both the veterans and visitors of the village. There were fidgety children.
It was clear one austere, brooding, tall gentleman was absent. Elizabeth sighed.
“Where could Mr. Darcy go?” Near the door, Caroline Bingley was whining. “If he had asked for my assistance –”
“He wandered off – by himself?” Elizabeth questioned Jane.
“No one knows.” The kind-hearted sister looked far too agitated to come close to resting or rejoicing tonight. “It became apparent that he had not joined the festivities when his seat remained empty the entire duration of the meal. Sir Willam said he’d seen Mr. Darcy step outdoors, but no one can locate him since.”
“And did they say anything of Miss Darcy?”
“Mary saw you walking away with her.”
Elizabeth nodded. Her mind recounted what must have been the sequence of events.
“Did Mr. Darcy ever enter the house after having removed himself from it?”
Jane shook her head. “Charles said there had been no trace of his ever having done so.”
Elizabeth nodded, choosing to tease her sister’s familiar pronunciation of Mr. Bingley’s name another time.
“There has been no sign of violence?”
“None,” Jane replied.
“My brother is gone?” Georgiana appeared beside the Bennet sisters. Her voice carried both guilt and distress.
“We will find him,” assured Elizabeth.
Jane did not look as if she believed it – though she did look as if she hoped Elizabeth’s statement was true.
“They said a tall man walked that way!” Young John Lucas announced. All the servants and involved guests obediently followed.
Soon, the men trailed away. The remaining women, including the day’s lovely bride, turned all around them to straighten the mess of coats, brushes, and satchels strewn about.
A thought, a memory – crept upon Elizabeth’s mind.
“Pardon me,” she whispered – mostly to Georgiana. She blinked three times in rapid succession. A growing resolve took root in her heart. “Please, excuse me.”
The fading light as her cover, Elizabeth slipped her way towards Oakham Mount.
• • •
Ten Years Ago
• • •
“But that is what Mama said!” Elizabeth wailed against the sunset. She sniffed – vehemently wiping the angry tears away from her face in between each sob.
This morning, after Papa had given her another new book to read, when she had been so very happy – Mama had entered the room.
‘You wretched, wretched girl – with all this reading, you will never marry!’
Papa had quickly defended her. Papa had said – and he had been right to say – that many great men would want to marry a wise women.
Elizabeth didn’t want to marry. Marrying meant having a husband. Marrying meant giving up the home that she loved.
But Mama thought it was not alright that she didn’t want to marry.
“No one is ever good enough!” She cried aloud again.
The surrounding birds fled. She stomped her foot angrily upon the grass. Against the horizon, the sun dipped lower and lower. Elizabeth knew, sadly, that Jane was probably crying too.
“I will never marry – men are horrid!” Elizabeth sobbed. Here, at Oakham Mount, she had peace. Here, in nature, Mama never nagged.
Mama had always said she was a town girl. She didn’t like the countryside.
Elizabeth sighed before she rested her head against the nearest tree.
She wanted to stay here – alone – forever. Mama wanted her to marry, wanted Jane to marry, wanted everyone in the family to marry anyone with a house and a horse.
Elizabeth didn’t care to marry.
She cared to read – to dream.
It was sad that only Oakham Mount understood.
Chapter 14:
The Surprise Proposal
“Mr. Darcy!”
He heard her before he felt her approach. She was fearless to call out for him so openly.
“Mr. Darcy.”
This call was softer, closer. She had seen him. Her feminine footsteps rustled as she approached.
It was thrilling to be found by her.
It was comforting to know that he – despite all failure at social grace – still found friends among people.
“Mr. Darcy.”
Her last address came right beside him. He nodded, and he felt her sitting upon the grass beside him.
He frowned, confused by the joy of her presence and by the reminder of reality that she served to be. He had fled from the wedding breakfast – like a coward – because he could not bear to witness his cousin’s happiness come at the cost of his sister’s despair. He could not bear the thought that he, after such extensive expectations, had been told ‘no’ by a man as close as a brother.
Here, in this stolen resting place, Fitzwilliam Darcy mourned.
He mourned Richard, he mourned Wickham – he mourned the pace at which life insisted upon disappointing him.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he greeted, a moment later.
She did not respond aloud.
Lavender and mint surrounded his senses. They mingled seamlessly with the scents of Oakham Mount.
“The sun is setting, sir,” she remarked, many moments later. He felt her look down, heard her diction muffle. “Many worry for you.”
Darcy frowned, guilt now joining his multitude of mangled emotions.
“I am a coward,” he confessed. His hands clutched the head of his walking stick. The journey here had not been without its trials. A sum of three falls had succeeded in bestowing upon him many bruises and even more accompanying scratches. His waist ached, and his legs withered.
Still, the bitter stings upon his body felt easy in comparison to the thought of facing the chaos of thoughts that Hertfordshire society now held for him.
“You are a brave man, Mr. Darcy.” Her voice was calming, assuring. “Not many people can celebrate a cousin the way you did today.”
Darcy bowed his head, too pleased with her comment to admit the difficulty with which he had managed to behave himself today.
Would she still regard him with such esteem – and offer her friendship so freely – if she knew he was a bitter, selfish man at his core?
“Despite your limitations, sir, you handle every trial with principle and courage,” her praises continued.
Darcy tightened his face, suddenly needing to hide his tears.
“It is but natural to feel life’s cruelties – and hide from their pain,” she concluded.
He felt uncomfortable – anxious yet relieved that she understood him so well.
She did not have to extend such kindness. She could easily have told the other parties where she believed he’d gone.
Yet, she came – alone.
Was he ever to find another soul so sweet, so wise, and so strong?
“Miss Elizabeth,” he found himself saying, buoyed by a sudden sense of urgency, “will you marry me?”
• • •
“Will you marry me?”
His words reverberated in the clearing they occupied.
The leaves rustled on, and the sun continued its descent.
Elizabeth – for her part – sat stock-still, a deer catching sight of a running carriage.
“Sir, I –” She caught her breath. Her heart nearly stopped from the gesture.
What did the man mean with his sudden, confusing, irrelevant proposal?
“Sir –” She began again – only to stop once more.
Another anxious moment led her to stand and begin to pace back and forth upon the grass. She heard him withdrawing – felt his limbs contracting against his body.
She simply didn’t have time to address such a sudden change in demeanor.
“Sir, I –”
What did Mr. Darcy mean?
“Miss Elizabeth –”
“Sir, you need not express your sentiments further – if you swear to possess them at all.” She stopped in her tracks. Her hands flew to hold both sides of her head.
“Miss Elizabeth, you misunderstand me.” He struggled to stand. She, for the first time ever, did not fly to his assistance.
“What do I misunderstand? That you proposed marriage to me?” She whirled around to face him. “Did I hear falsely, sir?”
“No.” He straightened himself. He was frowning now. “You did not.”
“And pray, tell, sir – from whence such a request stems?”
“I doubt I owe you an explanation, madam.”
She groaned, anger and frustration besting her other thousand feelings.
“Miss Elizabeth, you are a most adequate choice for my family – particularly in light of my – limitations.”
Her eyes stung. Her throat began to choke.
“I – I fail to see –”
“You are a pleasing enough companion for my sister,” he explained, voice hardening by the syllable. “You are of genteel birth – though not of noble one. Your resilience shall prove a healthy aide to adjustment as mistress of Pemberley.”
“Mr. Darcy –”
“You do not fear my weaknesses – it seems.” He cleared his throat. She desperately wished to do so as well but feared she would miss his subsequent words. “I am told that you are presentable – of fitting appearances to suffice as the inevitable hostess of many a dinner party. You speak graciously enough that you would not embarrass me.”
“Embarrass, sir –”
“In summary, Miss Elizabeth, you are of satisfactory breeding, appearance, and personality as to suit the role of my wife. I know you are not of the disposition to bring disgrace to a family that has been –”
“Mr. Darcy!” She cried, standing two yards away from his person. Tears streamed down her face. She panted with each breath. “Sir, you insult me.”
He frowned for a moment before he replied, “On the contrary, madam, I believe I compliment you.”
“By your offer of marriage?”
He nodded slowly. “Yes – by my offer of marriage.”