So Long, Sentiment

by Amber Allen-King

Olivia fussed with a curl at the nape of her neck as she took one last look in the mirror. She sighed, declared her toilette complete, and carefully placed the ivory handled comb on the tray before her. She smoothed the fabric of her gown and turned around to see Elizabeth standing in the doorway.

  "Lizzy!" Olivia squealed, and the friends shared a warm hug. When they parted, they sat on the bed, holding hands. Olivia spoke first. "Lizzy! What happened to you yesterday? You led us all on a merry chase!" Her tone was not accusatory. Olivia was more concerned about Elizabeth's future than she was about her past. Elizabeth's stomach knotted as she searched for words. She knew that sooner or later she'd have to tell Olivia the whole truth.

  Elizabeth had always considered her sister Jane to be her best friend. But there are some things a girl just can't tell her sister, and Olivia had become a valuable confidant over the years. Corresponding by letter most of the time, Olivia and Elizabeth--or Livy and Lizzy, as they called themselves--cherished the precious few opportunities they had to meet in person each year. Elizabeth dearly wanted to confide in Olivia this morning, but she had reservations, not the least of which was that she didn't know the whole story herself.

  "Us?" Elizabeth asked, with no small amount of dread.

  "Yes. Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Darcy were kind enough to help me look for you yesterday." Elizabeth blanched. She pulled her hands away from Olivia's and went to stand by the window in a manner reminiscent of the man who currently occupied her thoughts.

  "Oh. I had no idea I had inconvenienced your friends as well as yourself. I am sorry to have been so much trouble."

  "You can apologize to the Colonel himself, if you wish. He plans to call this morning." Elizabeth's knuckles went as white as the lace of the curtain she had drawn back. But Olivia did not volunteer the information Elizabeth desperately wanted to hear.

  "Why did you run off, Lizzy?" Olivia asked again, more casually this time, as if her answer would mean nothing to her at all. Elizabeth swallowed hard.

  "I...I..." She turned and faced Olivia. "I don't know, Livy. I just panicked." There. The truth, as much as Elizabeth was willing to admit, was out.

  "Panicked? Why should you have panicked, Lizzy?" Olivia asked with genuine curiosity. She knew, of course, that Elizabeth had run after seeing Mr. Darcy, but why should she have panicked?

  "I...I was afraid that if Mr. Darcy saw me," Elizabeth managed, wringing her hands, "That he might mention seeing me to Miss Bingley. Surely they would suspect me of something, then, "she said, warming to the tale she was weaving. "I am sure they would have contrived to keep me from Mr. Bingley just as they did my sister. Seeing me would only have put them on their guard," she added with a flip of her wrist, "And ruined all chances of our achieving our goal." On the surface, this answer was plausible. If Mr. Darcy had indeed schemed with Miss Bingley to separate Mr. Bingley from Jane Bennet, then it may be supposed that neither person would welcome the sight of Elizabeth Bennet. And indeed, Elizabeth had been just as reluctant to confront Miss Bingley earlier. But something in Elizabeth's demeanor told a very different story and Olivia was determined to know every detail. The only question was how to unravel the delicate web of truths that Elizabeth had woven to get at--what? What was really going on between Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet?

  Elizabeth heard a carriage pull up outside the Crenshaw's townhouse, and looked out the window. The gentleman she had last seen with Mr. Darcy the previous afternoon was ascending the front steps. He glanced up at the window, and before Elizabeth could react, he smiled. He probably thinks I am Olivia, Elizabeth concluded as she turned away. She looked at Olivia, who was gazing at her abstractedly. Elizabeth grew uncomfortable, but the maid, who knocked at the door to inform Olivia that Colonel Fitzwilliam had arrived, gave her a reprieve. Olivia took Elizabeth by the hand and led her downstairs to meet the Colonel. She wondered to herself if he could shed some light on the matter of Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy.

  Elizabeth got her first good look at Colonel Fitzwilliam as she entered the parlor, where he was sharing a hearty laugh with Olivia's father. A prominent attorney, Adam Crenshaw was a longtime friend of the Darcy and Fitzwilliam families. Mr. Crenshaw's older brother had been one of the late Mr. Darcy's closest childhood friends. As the youngest of three brothers, Mr. Crenshaw had not inherited title or fortune, but had made a name for himself through his profession. The Crenshaw family was also connected to Colonel Fitzwilliam through Olivia's older brother, also named Richard, who attended Cambridge with the Colonel. And Olivia's younger brother Edward was a lieutenant in the Colonel's regiment.

  As Elizabeth entered, she observed the Colonel. He was tall, well built; ruggedly handsome, she supposed. Out of uniform, he vaguely reminded her of someone she knew. His smile was engaging, as was the earnestness of the gaze he returned with equal curiosity. The Colonel came forward and, to Elizabeth's surprise, introduced himself.

  "Miss Bennet! I have been most eager to make your acquaintance. Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam at your service." He scraped a deep and dramatic bow. Elizabeth liked him immediately.

  "I daresay your eagerness must stem from my unfortunate elusiveness yesterday. I apologize for denying you the pleasure of an earlier acquaintance, Colonel Fitzwilliam," Elizabeth replied, her eyes sparkling with merriment. Mr. Crenshaw did not know what to make of Elizabeth's statement, and stared at her as she executed an elaborate curtsey to rival the Colonel's bow. The Colonel laughed delightedly, and then turned to greet Olivia. Mr. Crenshaw led Elizabeth to the settee and Olivia felt an unaccustomed pang of jealousy as the Colonel took a seat next to her. Olivia rang for tea and then sat in a chair by the fire.

  Colonel Fitzwilliam, whose mind reeled with questions he knew he should not--or perhaps could not--ask, immediately engaged Elizabeth in conversation. He quickly inventoried Elizabeth's attributes as she assured him that she was not at all adversely affected by her adventure in the park. She's lovely: charming, nice figure, very pretty...and those eyes! he thought, as Elizabeth looked at the Colonel and smiled. She is amazing! And she has a sense of humor--not at all Darcy's type! Good for you, Miss Bennet! You've managed to crack the old boy's veneer.

  "How did you come to know each other? " Elizabeth directed this question to Olivia, sensing that she was a bit put out at being ignored. Olivia did not answer immediately, and her father volunteered the information.

  "Oh, the Crenshaws, Fitzwilliams, and Darcys have been friends for at least two generations. My father, the Earl, and the late Mr. Darcy were as thick as thieves as boys," he said with a laugh. He told a brief anecdote or two and remarked, "And now my youngest boy, Edward, serves under the Colonel." Elizabeth couldn't follow the entire conversation; her interest was piqued, however, by the mention of the Darcy name. The maid brought in the tea things. Mr. Crenshaw excused himself, pleading a business obligation, and Olivia got up to pour the tea.

  "And how did you come to know the Crenshaws, Miss Bennet?" the Colonel asked, leaning a little toward her. Olivia banged the teapot onto the tray, causing the Colonel to flinch. He turned and eyed her curiously. Olivia sheepishly bowed her head.

  "My Aunt Gardiner and the late Mrs. Crenshaw were lifelong friends. They grew up together in Derbyshire." The Colonel cautiously returned his gaze to Elizabeth.

  "Really! Darcy and I were raised in Derbyshire. Where did your Aunt Gardiner grow up, Miss Bennet?" As the Colonel searched Elizabeth's face for any sign of a reaction to the mention of his cousin, Olivia handed the Colonel a cup of tea. Before Elizabeth could answer, Olivia inquired as to the health of Mr. Darcy.

  "Oh, he's recovering," Colonel Fitzwilliam replied as Olivia surreptitiously glanced at Elizabeth. "I spoke with him before I left this morning and he seems much improved." The Colonel noted, with satisfaction, that he had gained Elizabeth's undivided attention. She opened her mouth, then closed it, attempting to hide the gesture behind her teacup.

  "I do feel so sorry about his accident," Olivia said with a heavy sigh, as she sat down. T
he Colonel now eyed Olivia suspiciously. Elizabeth could not resist the bait.

  "Has something happened to Mr. Darcy?" she asked. She tried to sound disinterested, but the note of alarm in her voice betrayed her.

  "Oh! Of course, you would not have heard. Mr. Darcy was injured yesterday while he was helping us to search for you." Colonel Fitzwilliam frowned at Olivia; her tone was clearly intended to imply that Elizabeth was somehow responsible for his cousin's accident. What was she playing at?

  "Oh dear," Elizabeth said, rising and putting her hand to her mouth. A moment later she recovered her composure and went to the tea tray to refill her cup. Olivia looked at the Colonel with raised eyebrows. The Colonel gave her a slightly disapproving look.

  "Do you know my cousin, Miss Bennet?" Elizabeth had to fight to keep from spilling her tea. Fortunately, her back was to her inquisitor. She carefully put the cup down on the tray and pretended to busy herself with adding milk.

  "Yes," she said, trying to sound unaffected. "I met Mr. Darcy in Hertfordshire last autumn." She slowly returned to her seat, willing herself to be calm. After all, why should this bit of news unnerve her? She forced herself to look the Colonel in the eye. Of course! Same height, a certain inflection in his speech, something in his features...even similar mannerisms! She recalled his curt bow to her yesterday, and the way he stood as he spoke to Miss Crenshaw. And when Elizabeth had entered the room a while ago, he had looked at her with open curiosity in a manner reminiscent of Mr. Darcy's. The Colonel was gazing at her even now, twisting the signet ring on his middle finger. Even his coat reminded her of him! Elizabeth squirmed slightly, disturbed by the realization that she had such an intimate acquaintance with the habits of a man she claimed to despise.

  "Yes, I remember him speaking fondly of his time in Hertfordshire." It was Elizabeth's turn to raise her eyebrows, but she let the remark pass unchallenged and inquired as to the nature of Mr. Darcy's accident. The Colonel quickly answered in order to forestall Olivia's response. He heartily wished that he had arrived earlier and had had a chance to speak with Miss Crenshaw before Miss Bennet's arrival. She was obviously as curious as he was about Miss Bennet and Mr. Darcy, but Miss Crenshaw seemed to be out of sorts this morning and was going about things in a heavy-handed manner.

  "We had been searching for you for some time when Mr. Darcy thought he saw you. We headed off across the lawn in order to cut you off, however, my cousin was waylaid by an errant branch." Elizabeth looked confused. "He walked into a low-hanging tree branch, Miss Bennet, and concussed himself." The Colonel sat back and folded his arms.

  "Oh my!" Elizabeth replied. She neither knew what else to say nor did she trust herself to say anything further.

  "Do you know my cousin very well?"

  "No...no, not very well, although we were often thrown into company together." Elizabeth said, looking at Olivia, who seemed content to just listen to the interrogation.

  "Darcy rather liked his time in Hertfordshire," Colonel Fitzwilliam repeated, enigmatically. This time, Elizabeth could not help herself. The words fairly exploded from her mouth.

  "Really, Colonel! I should have thought that Mr. Darcy did not enjoy his time in Hertfordshire at all."

  "Why should you think that, Miss Bennet?" the Colonel asked with interest. Olivia was equally intrigued.

  "Well," she paused, slightly taken aback by the eager stares directed at her. She lowered her cup to her lap to quell the shaking of her hands. "He did not seem to get on at all with the locals there. I believe Mr. Darcy found our society...unsatisfactory." The Colonel threw back his head and laughed.

  "Oh, I can certainly believe that, Miss Bennet. Darcy can be a terrible snob at times." He sobered slightly, and added, "But I distinctly recall him speaking very fondly of Hertfordshire in his letters so there must have been something in the district to make his tenure there tolerable." Elizabeth found herself blushing. The Colonel grinned like a Cheshire cat.

  • • •

  "Thank you, Mr. Darcy. I should be delighted." Elizabeth placed a gloved hand into Mr. Darcy's and allowed him to lead her to the dance floor. The pair joined the line of dancers and began to move to the music. After an unsuccessful attempt at engaging him in conversation, Elizabeth chided Mr. Darcy. "It is your turn to say something now, Mr. Darcy. I talked about the dance, and you ought to make some kind of remark on the size of the room, or the number of couples." Mr. Darcy was too close to rapture to think of anything clever to say. He just smiled, therefore, and assured her that whatever she wished him to say should be said.

  "Very well. That reply will do for the present. Perhaps by and by I may observe that private balls are much pleasanter than public ones. But now we may be silent."

  "Do you talk by rule then, while you are dancing?" Mr. Darcy asked, his eyes riveted to Elizabeth's.

  "Sometimes. One must speak a little, you know. It would look odd to be entirely silent for half an hour together, and yet for the advantage of some, conversation ought to be so arranged as that they may have the trouble of saying as little as possible."

  "Are you consulting your own feelings in the present case, or do you imagine that you are gratifying mine?"

  "Both," replied Elizabeth archly, "For I have always seen a great similarity in the turn of our minds. -- We are each of an unsocial, taciturn disposition, unwilling to speak, unless we expect to say something that will amaze the whole room, and be handed down to posterity with all the eclat of a proverb."

  "This is no very striking resemblance of your own character, I am sure," said he. Mr. Darcy glanced sidelong at Elizabeth. "How near it may be to mine, I cannot pretend to say. You think it a faithful portrait undoubtedly." He prayed for a denial, but she continued to toy with him.

  "I must not decide on my own performance." Elizabeth turned then, and Mr. Darcy fixed his gaze upon the bouncing ringlets at the nape of her neck.

  "Your performance is...enchanting, Miss Bennet." Elizabeth stopped in her tracks momentarily, and then continued her steps in the circle. She was drawn by the dance a little distance from Mr. Darcy. She swallowed hard, not believing her ears. When she was reunited with her partner, she gave him an encouraging smile.

  "You are too kind, sir."

  "I speak as I find," Mr. Darcy replied, remembering Elizabeth's retort of a few weeks earlier. He felt a slight pressure: had Elizabeth just squeezed his hand? Was Elizabeth Bennet falling in love with him? This was too good to be true. No. This could not be happening. What was he thinking? He could not allow himself to be induced into an attachment to such a girl. She was probably an adventuress after all, like all the others.

  "Blast!" Darcy bolted upright in his bed and immediately regretted it as the pain of his concussion was added to the painful memories of his last meeting with Miss Bennet. He had played the scenario over and over in his head, trying to work it out to a different conclusion. But it was to no avail. He could not make things right. He could not reconcile his emotional attachment to Elizabeth with his sense of obligation to his social position, his family, or his rarified standards of what his future wife should be. And yet he could not erase her from his mind. He knew she was the one. Elizabeth Bennet had won his heart, and he had lost her forever.

  • • •

  As soon as the door closed behind Caroline Bingley, her brother's smile returned. Like a beacon from a lighthouse, his smile was sufficient to illuminate all he looked upon, and from Charles Bingley's vantage point, the world looked wonderful. He had first found his smile as he left the Gardiner residence the previous night. His smile had lit his way home, accompanied him to bed, and greeted him in the morning when he looked in the mirror. Charles Bingley was grinning like a fool, but he didn't care. He had found her! Jane Bennet was in London. He had seen her. He had spoken with her. He had touched her. She was real and beautiful and welcoming. For the first time in months, Charles Bingley was truly happy. About the only thing that could cast a shadow on his happiness was the fear of discovery. When he ente
red the breakfast room that morning, therefore, Mr. Bingley had shuttered his smile behind a bland façade. Unable to completely contain his joy, he hid behind a newspaper, much to the annoyance of his sister.

  "Charles," Miss Bingley was saying, "When I returned to the house last night, Thomas told me that you had gone out." She buttered a piece of scone and took a delicate bite.

  "Yes...yes. I met a...an acquaintance in the park yesterday afternoon..." Unsure of how to continue without whetting his sister's curiosity, Mr. Bingley stuck a piece of toast into his mouth as a stalling tactic. His mind raced furiously as he chewed. "I met an old acquaintance in the park, whom I had not seen in some time. I invited 'him' back here, and then later escorted 'him' home in my carriage."

  "Didn't he have a carriage of his own?" Miss Bingley asked abstractedly with a shrug of her shoulders as she buttered another bit of scone. To her mind, someone who did not own his carriage wasn't worthy of notice. Mr. Bingley ignored the remark and held his newspaper in such a manner as to barricade him from his sister's scrutiny. That effectively ended the intercourse, and he began to relax a bit and actually read the news. But Miss Bingley was in the mood for conversation.

  "Oh, Charles! I saw the most delightful hat at Mme. Depardieu's shop yesterday. It has the most wonderful little beads along its edge, and I am sure that Mister--." Miss Bingley caught herself and looked at her brother. Rather than arouse his suspicions, she had not so much as gained his attention. "Charles," she whined, turning down a corner of the newspaper. "Are you listening to me?"

  "Of course, dear," he said with a sigh. He lowered the paper and listened as she began to describe the hat. Before she had completed her second sentence, Mr. Bingley interrupted.

  "Caroline, surely you do not expect to engage me in a conversation about women's finery?" he said with just a hint of exasperation in his voice. Miss Bingley threw down her napkin with an elegant pout, then suddenly remembered something.

  "You are supposed to dine with Mr. Darcy today, are you not?" Mr. Bingley paled. He had completely forgotten about his plans for luncheon at White's. "Do bring him back here for tea afterwards, Charles," she purred.