That's What Makes It Love

by Iris Lim

  “Elizabeth!” The enthusiastic greeting echoed down from the top of the grand, ascending staircase the very moment Elizabeth’s traveling boots touched the ground.

  She looked up, already smiling. Georgiana appeared much recovered now – no longer the struggling victim or the heartbroken, discarded girl.

  “Georgiana, thank you. I had not thought we could –”

  “We are so honored, Elizabeth.” All attempts at formality dissipated as Georgiana and her crown of golden locks flew down the steps. Elizabeth caught her in a well-balanced, well-seasoned embrace. “Thank you for coming, friend.”

  “Of course.” Elizabeth smiled.

  She was glad – she truly was – for the loyalty of such a friend. She delighted in the friendship behind the honor of such a grand invitation.

  The corner of her treacherous eyes, however, skirted upwards towards another figure – towards the person whose permission and grace had to be garnered for this entire visit to have happened at all.

  “Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth, when Georgiana let go.

  He stood where he was, imposing and tall. With his walking stick gathered between his hands and planted between his feet – he appeared more regal than encumbered. Elizabeth was quickly reminded that she was his guest now.

  And he was not about to appear weak upon his home turf.

  “Miss Elizabeth.” He nodded his head, barely noticeably. “Welcome.”

  She nodded, speechless for a heartbeat or two. Here she was – the woman who’d spurned him, the woman he’d left behind, the woman now brazenly encroaching upon his sacred sanctuary of a home.

  Yet he – with ceaseless graciousness – offered her every civility.

  “Thank you,” she said, not offering a single spare thought towards the silliness of her breathy gratitude when it was Georgiana who had invited her to a visit that had barely begun.

  Then, he smiled – slightly, just the tips of his tight, faraway lips.

  She did not say more, for Georgiana was eager to tug her friend up the steps to the comforts of her stately home.

  Elizabeth complied, heart full and uncertain and hopeful to the utmost degree.

  • • •

  Twelve Years Ago

  • • •

  “Mother,” she begged, knees on the floor and hands around her parent’s, “Mother, why?”

  Mother smiled. Mother always smiled. But, somehow, whenever Mother smiled – Father and Fitzwilliam wept instead.

  “You pray for sisters, Georgiana. They do not come as we demand,” Mother explained.

  “But Anne wants a sister too – and Helen has one,” she lamented. Helen loved her little sister so much that she had to leave Pemberley to see her!

  Mother coughed then, her whole body curling up. Father and all the servants rushed around to help. Fitzwilliam tensed and stood that much closer. Georgiana watched helplessly as everyone tried to make Mother stop coughing.

  When the hot water and the laudanum and the fanning lessened, Georgiana pulled closer again.

  “Mother?”

  “Georgie, dear –” Mother coughed two last small coughs before she breathed heavily instead. Father gave Georgiana a stern look. What did she do wrong?

  “Mother, may I have a sister too?” She asked anyway.

  Mother held her hand. Mother’s clasp was gentle, not like Father’s.

  “Wait, darling.” Mother patted her head. Everyone liked to pat her head. “When Fitzwilliam marries – you shall have the sister you want.”

  “But that is so far away!”

  “Yes, I suppose.” Mother sniffed. Father placed his hand on Mother’s shoulder. They looked at each other. They liked to look at each other before answering her questions. “But he shall be in good hands until then.”

  Chapter 16:

  The Burgeoning Dream

  Her first three days at Pemberley passed more pleasantly than Elizabeth had dared to hope. Her mornings were devoted to accompanying Georgiana in her lessons. Her later hours were spent rambling about the delectably sprawling grounds. Then, every evening, a formal dinner would lead to a decidedly restful hour of reading, playing music, and conversation.

  Tonight, a neighboring family had joined for dinner – and their sensible conversations had surprised Elizabeth more thoroughly than their early departure did. She had always believed her eyes open to the traits of people in the world. She had always been the most sensible sister, the most perceptive child, and the most outspoken conversationalist.

  Here, in Derbyshire – separated from the context of her own silly sisters – Elizabeth was fast realizing just how much she still had to learn.

  In three short days, she had learned that masters could treat servants with utmost respect. She had learned that rich young heiresses recovered best in the comforts of their own home. She had learned that having a brother did not always mean the harsh joking or grouchy violence John Lucas had always contributed to Charlotte and Maria’s lives. She had learned that a man of social and physical limitations – such as Mr. Darcy – must have exerted far more effort than warranted to remain in Meryton’s foreign, gossiping circumstances.

  It was a wonder he had waited until now to retreat.

  “May I –”

  “Here, sir.” Elizabeth placed the teacup – recently and thoughtfully filled – on his tray. It was the least she could do in the face of the Darcys’ generosity.

  He turned his head to face her for a moment. She wondered if he could sense the nervousness that tugged at her fingertips.

  “Thank you, Miss Elizabeth.” He smiled, gently.

  “You are most welcome – sir.”

  She returned to her seat a little happier than she had been when she had left it. A few yards away, Georgiana rendered a light, airy piece on the pianoforte. It was the first of such blithesome songs Elizabeth had heard since she had arrived.

  Both she and Mr. Darcy clapped when Georgiana finished.

  “Georgiana, that was wonderful,” Elizabeth encouraged. The younger girl beamed at the casual compliment.

  Perhaps she realized, too, that it was not a casually spoken phrase at all.

  “Your playing – lightens the heart,” Elizabeth found herself adding.

  Georgiana laughed and pranced towards her friend. They clasped hands heartily. “You bring great joy to us, Elizabeth. Thank you so very much for visiting.”

  “I fear I do not qualify in –” Elizabeth chuckled gingerly, too timid to fully express herself.

  “I would never have come out of supper alive without you!” Georgiana declared, albeit rather dramatically.

  Elizabeth felt genuine surprise.

  Were not the Keatons a most prudent and politic family?

  Behind her, Mr. Darcy cleared his throat. “I believe my sister enjoyed your – distraction, madam.”

  Elizabeth frowned. “Sir, I fail to understand.”

  “Mr. Bartholomew Keaton – square and young and sensible – has always, shall we say, held a tendre towards my sister.”

  Right before her eyes, Georgiana blushed.

  “It is unfortunate, of course, that the feelings have never been reciprocated.”

  “Brother!”

  “Yes.”

  “You embarrass me. You –” Georgiana squealed, sighed, and then flopped herself childishly on the closest chair. “Oh dear.”

  “Do I lie, my dear?” The brother asked, serene and astute.

  “No.” Georgiana sighed again. Slowly, Elizabeth returned to her own seat. “You must think me selfish, Elizabeth.”

  “I – I do not.”

  “But they have been wishing to dine together for months.” Georgiana threw her head back in a grand gesture. “I persuaded them to wait – for our beloved guest.”

  “For me?”

  It was now Mr. Darcy’s turn to chuckle.

  Georgiana nodded meekly. “Forgive me, Lizzy. It was unkind of me to use you so.”

  “Did you –” Elizabeth’s
thoughts wandered over their recent meal. Young Mr. Keaton had been civil and kind, but not in any way overly attentive. “Did I –”

  She trailed off on her own, and the laughter of both siblings greeted her confusion.

  “You see, Miss Elizabeth,” Mr. Darcy spoke first. “It is commonplace for beguiling young ladies to exercise oversight when faced with the proof of their charms.”

  Elizabeth fidgeted, uncertain if he complimented her. “I suppose.”

  “He shall not worry you, Lizzy, I promise.” Georgiana sounded eager to repay her friend for her perceived trouble. “Mr. Keaton is not a man of force. Though it was, honestly, slightly amusing to see him wavering for once – to be unsure of which lady he wished to address.”

  “You do not like him?”

  “No, not – merely as a neighbor.” Georgiana smiled. “I had always preferred Richard, you know.”

  “Georgiana –”

  “No – do not fret.” In less than a minute, Georgiana the young girl had molted once more to Georgiana the woman. Her smile was natural, secure. “Even I have learned to acknowledge that Richard and Mrs. Fitzwilliam suit. She is my cousin now, and I can harbor no ill will for her.”

  Elizabeth sighed, pained all over again by the shadows of Hertfordshire.

  “I shall not have Richard, for he does not wish to be mine.” In the stillness of the room, Georgiana’s confidence rang true and clear. “I shall wait, as my brother does – as you have, Lizzy – for a person who wishes to be my love as dearly as I wish to be his. Any less would not suffice.”

  The weight of the declaration, and the simple joy with which it had been uttered, brought a new gladness to Elizabeth’s heart that she had never known before. Was this how a father, or a mother, or an older sibling felt when their wards grew to be the person they had always been meant to be?

  “Again, I apologize, Lizzy, for using you so.”

  “No, it is no trouble.” Elizabeth smiled, appreciating fully, for the first time, the understated privilege of witnessing the growth of this tenacious, powerful, caring family. “Thank you – for telling me so.”

  • • •

  “And the tea?”

  Their evening three days after the Keatons’ visit was spent in remarkably less enjoyable ways. He had tried – from the very moment her carriage drew up to Pemberley – to be as gracious and generous and understanding of a host as his limited capabilities allowed him to be.

  With Georgiana coughing as harshly as she did all day, however, the brother in him had been quick to overtake the concerned friend.

  “She took it – and sleeps now,” explained Miss Elizabeth, closing the door behind her. The awkwardness of conversing with their guest this way – with both of them stationed at the door to Georgiana’s chambers – was not lost on him.

  “Good.” Darcy sighed, momentary relief coursing through his veins. To hear but not see, to feel but not witness how exactly Georgiana fared had worried him. He knew it to be a shadow of his past – but memories of how Mother had never fully recovered from her first coughs had rendered Darcy a lifelong victim of unwarranted anxiety whenever any one of his loved ones fell ill.

  He felt a soft, gentle hand on his arm. Darcy struggled not to stiffen.

  With George gone and not in any way replaced, it had been Georgiana all these weeks who had been assisting him places – guiding him as his surrogate eyes. The arrangement had come with its inconveniences, naturally, as there were things meant for a valet more than a sister – and it was inevitable that Georgiana’s companionship applied only to certain portions of his daily routines. Still, the arrangement had been welcome.

  He doubted they would both have recovered from their respective disappointments so quickly if they had not each other’s welfare to protect.

  Now, with Georgiana recovering from troubles of her own – it had fallen upon an even less likely character to function as his guide and friend.

  “Come, Mr. Darcy. You must eat,” Elizabeth coaxed. “You would fall ill yourself soon if you do not.”

  The nearness of her scent and sound thrilled him.

  It was no easy task to feign calm.

  Darcy cleared his throat. “Yes, Miss Elizabeth. I thank you. We had sought to welcome you as a guest – and, yet, here we are – needing your help once more.”

  “It is no trouble.”

  “But it is.” Darcy sighed, hands firmly planted around his walking stick lest they try to take hers.

  “Mr. Darcy –”

  “I apologize for our rudeness. I – and my sister – have every intent to offer you every comfort during your stay, to provide ample refuge from your recent, shall we say, exasperations. But, lo and behold, here we are – as troublesome as any family could be.”

  He felt the touch on his arm lighten slightly. He both mourned and needed the change.

  “Your sister has been sharing her letters with you, sir?”

  “Indeed,” he would not lie. He straightened now, regaining a stance of standing more than stooping. He regretfully felt her hand slip away. “I would not have believed it kind of us to extend our invitation if she had not.”

  “You believed me happier at Hertfordshire.”

  “Were you – not?”

  She did not answer quite immediately, and he longed – more than ever – that he had his eyes to support what he thought she felt.

  “One is always happier – with people dear to one’s heart,” he said.

  She made a small hum, as if she agreed with great hesitation and very little resolve.

  He took the risk of extending his arm. He nearly stumbled in relief when he felt her take it.

  “I hope, Miss Elizabeth, that you do not feel compelled to appreciate what we attempt to offer. We seek to alleviate your distress – and not to add to its sources. If we succeed in our attempts, then God Himself knows our hearts. If we fail – however sincerely – please, do not take it upon yourself to have to be happy or to have to be of help.”

  “Mr. Darcy.” She did not say more, merely echoed his name in the laden hallway.

  After a moment’s deliberation, he leaned upon his walking stick and turned them towards the stairs. “Thank you, Miss Elizabeth, for your many kindnesses. What was it you said about food?”

  She laughed softly beside him then, her subtle mirth weaving through her arm and into the tips of her fingers. He cherished the feel of said fingers against the fabric of his sleeve.

  “One is always happier – with nourishing food in one’s stomach.”

  He did not have to pretend to laugh. He simply did. And his heart sang the entire way she patiently supported him on their joint journey downstairs.

  • • •

  “See, Lizzy, I am well!” Georgiana, presumably still guarded by her guest and friend, made large, swishing motions in an apparent attempt to prove her good health. There was a timbre in her voice that still spoke of sickness – the impending weight of a stuffy nose.

  “You must still rest,” Miss Elizabeth chided.

  Darcy sighed and smiled from his seat. The ladies were huddled by the fire, many seats away from where he sat, hot as it was for him and his layers.

  He could not help wonder, in times like these, why he bothered asking the servants to dress him so well when he himself could not know what he looked like.

  “Mr. Darcy, shall you not convince your sister that she is still ill?” Miss Elizabeth’s voice travelled across the room with ease. She must have trained herself well in a house full of enthusiastic young women.

  “I hear no complete recovery in her voice,” he dutifully replied.

  “Fitz! You do not help me!” Georgiana lamented. Yet, even then, despite the pout he heard in her voice – there was a hint of humor as well.

  Miss Elizabeth laughed, and his mind conjured an image of how pretty she must look while doing so. “Even blood, though thicker than water, does not aid you, dear.”

  “It is unfair, Lizzy, for Fitz always take
s your side.”

  Darcy caught his breath. Was his sister to ruin him as he had come so close to ruining her?

  “Nonsense, Georgiana. Your brother stays on the side of reason.”

  “Reason is often the slave of –” A coughing spell overcame Georgiana, and Darcy found himself half parts worry and half parts relief. He heard Miss Elizabeth quickly assisting his sister, and the choking sounds subsided soon.

  Darcy sighed and sat back.

  Georgiana sipped from her tea cup before setting it down on its platter. “You are a loving dictator, Lizzy.”

  “Good, for it was never my aim to be anything but.” The smile in Elizabeth’s voice was clear – gentle, kind. If he had managed to be the one to fall ill, would Elizabeth have been just as sweet and generous to him?

  “You’re like my brother, you see,” Georgiana continued, perhaps determined to send her only sibling into shock. “You insist too much upon caring.”

  “That is a great compliment then, for I have never met a man as invested in the lives of his family as he.”

  “It is not stifling for you?”

  “For me?”

  “The way Fitzwilliam cares – oh, never mind, I do not know of what I speak.”

  Darcy listened with bated breath as the sounds in the room implied Elizabeth drawing near to his sister.

  Her subsequent words were soft, nearly a whisper, but his many years of relying on his ears had instilled in him the ability to hear even the tiniest kitten’s purr.

  “Your brother loves you, and he acts with nothing but love for you. Any woman, truly, would be blessed to have the love of a man so loyal, considerate, and good.”

  His heart swelled and soared so quickly that he nearly thought it would lift him off his chair.

  He anchored himself with a quiet sigh.

  • • •

  Six Months Ago

  • • •

  “She is, I tell you, Darce, the most beautiful angel one may ever hope to know – kind, and gracious, and graceful.” Bingley’s fervor knew no bounds. In Darcy’s mind, his friend sat on a throne of clouds, floating slowly away from all sanity into blissful oblivion. “I swear my heart shall never be recovered.”