So Long, Sentiment

by Amber Allen-King

  "I do despise pale blue, you know. It's so juvenile," she said, cognizant of the fact that both Jane and Olivia were dressed in that shade. "I would do something far more dramatic in here, perhaps in red, with dark mahogany furniture-"

  "I should think that Miss Darcy should prefer the room to stay as it is, Miss Bingley. After all, I believe that Mr. Darcy recently had this room especially redone according to her taste." Olivia's smile was innocence itself, as she watched Miss Bingley's artificial smile freeze.

  "Have you met Miss Darcy, Jane?" Olivia asked.

  "I have not had that pleasure," Jane replied, taking a seat near the fire.

  "Oh, Miss Darcy is a lovely girl," Miss Bingley chimed in. "You would adore her. So pretty, so charming. She's quite a favorite of Charles' you know. And, unless I am mistaken, she is excessively fond of him as well. I have high hopes of--but I speak prematurely," cooed Miss Bingley, taking a seat opposite Jane to observe the effect of her words. Jane had gone pale, but she held her head high and refused to give Miss Bingley the satisfaction of a greater display.

  So that's to be your game, is it, Miss Bingley? Olivia had never met Caroline Bingley before, although she had seen her numerous times at various gatherings. She certainly knew of her; Olivia had spent that very morning gathering intelligence from a mutual acquaintance and had learned of Miss Bingley's ambitious plans to ensnare Mr. Darcy. Olivia had been instantly disposed to dislike the woman from the moment Miss Bingley had looked down her arrogant little nose and condescendingly greeted her upon her arrival. She was not about to let Miss Bingley ruin Jane's evening. An appropriate retort was forming in Olivia's mind when the door opened and the men entered the room, led by Mr. Darcy. Olivia immediately shifted her strategy.

  "Jane, have you heard from Lizzy?" she asked as soon as Mr. Darcy was within her hearing.

  "Oh, yes, Livy. I received a letter from her just this morning. She sends her love," Jane said, "And asked me to tell you that you should be receiving your own letter shortly."

  "I trust, then, that she had a pleasant journey?" Mr. Darcy said, coming to stand near Jane's chair. Miss Bingley's senses were aroused; why should Mr. Darcy be asking about Eliza Bennet?

  "Oh, yes, Mr. Darcy. Lizzy wrote that she had a lovely trip into the country and she seems to be enjoying her stay with our cousin," Jane replied. Mr. Bingley drew near to Jane and she ducked her head to avoid his eyes. Olivia noticed the movement, and her resentment of Miss Bingley increased.

  "It is a pity she could not spend more time in London," Mr. Darcy said. "But then, as you said, she is enjoying herself among her relations." Olivia rejoiced inwardly. Good, show, Mr. Darcy! Banish that smug smile from Miss Bingley's face. She looked at Colonel Fitzwilliam significantly, but the Colonel was observing Miss Bingley, his expression unreadable.

  "Oh! Was Miss Eliza Bennet in town?" asked Miss Bingley. "How delightful it must have been for you to see her again, Jane, dear. Was she in town long?" she asked, her eyes fixed on Mr. Darcy.

  "She was here but three days. She only stopped in town to visit with my Aunt and Uncle Gardiner before going on to--"

  "Oh, but it is such a shame that you had so little time with her here. Dear Eliza! I am sure she would have loved to have had time to go to all the shops, to attend balls, go to the theatre--all the little things a girl cannot do in the country."

  You are all kindness, madam, Olivia glowered and crossed her arms. Across the room, Colonel Fitzwilliam could see the sour expression on Olivia's face. He furrowed his brows and drew closer to the conversation. Mr. Bingley left Jane and went to join Mr. Crenshaw at the table where a servant was pouring coffee. Jane looked after him, and with a pang of longing, lowered her head once more.

  "It is a pity I did not get a chance to see her. It has been an age since we have seen each other," Miss Bingley continued, voice dripping with sarcasm. "But you saw her, Mr. Darcy. I know that must have been a treat for you, being such an admirer of her fine eyes." Mr. Darcy walked away from Jane and went to get a cup of coffee cup from the table just behind the settee where Miss Bingley sat. He wasn't about to make himself an easy target for Miss Bingley.

  "Oh, but you must have seen her as well, Miss Bingley," the Colonel offered, beginning to understand Olivia's anger. "She was at the theatre last week when we saw 'Twelfth Night.'" Miss Bingley's mouth fell open.

  "Miss Eliza Bennet was at the theatre? You did not tell me, Mr. Darcy!" she purred, twisting around in an effort to catch his eye. But it was the Colonel who delivered the coup de grace.

  "I should not have thought it necessary to inform you, Miss Bingley. She was sitting directly opposite you the whole evening." Miss Bingley glanced at Mr. Darcy and instantly understood the Colonel's meaning. She blanched, and fell silent for the remainder of the evening. As soon as it was possible to do so, Olivia went to Colonel Fitzwilliam. Her smile told him that he was back in her good graces.

  "Colonel Fitzwilliam, I could kiss you," she whispered. His eyebrows shot up and he didn't trust himself to speak. She laughed at his sheepish expression and explained. "You silenced Miss Bingley better than I ever could have done." She quickly retreated, leaving the confused Colonel to wonder if it would be proper to claim his reward.

  The Crenshaws, along with Jane, were the first to leave, and Mr. Darcy saw his guests to the door. When he returned to the drawing room, he found Miss Bingley waiting for him just outside the door. She hissed with exasperation, "Is this how you plan to keep my brother from losing his head over that girl? You invite her into your house?"

  "Miss Bingley," Mr. Darcy replied tightly, "I could no more stop your brother from 'losing his head' over a girl than you could stop me." Miss Bingley paled, and a knot formed in her stomach. "I am not pleased with this development, but I am in no position to do anything about it. I will be leaving town at the end of the week. You'll have to deal with the matter by yourself," Mr. Darcy said as he strode into the room.

  • • •

  Over breakfast the next morning, Mr. Darcy informed the Colonel that they would leave for their annual visit to Rosings Park at the end of the week as they had originally planned.

  "Are you sure you would not rather rest in town a little longer, Darcy? You know Aunt Catherine's company is the antithesis of what your head needs right now!" Colonel Fitzwilliam argued. "I do not mind spending a bit more of my leave in town, if you wish it."

  "Is Caroline Bingley's company a better restorative?" his cousin quipped back. Colonel Fitzwilliam shrugged his shoulders. Mr. Darcy had a point, but his decision to leave at the end of the week would come at the Colonel's expense. He would only be able to call on Miss Crenshaw to take his leave and it would be some time before he'd have the opportunity to see her again. Mr. Darcy, on the other hand, was anxious to put London--and its bittersweet memories--behind him. Yes, the ignominious ramblings of his dowager aunt would provide just the diversion he needed.

  • • •

  Elizabeth sat at her writing desk six weeks later and wondered what, if anything she should tell Olivia about Mr. Darcy. To say nothing was unthinkable, really; Olivia always had a way of finding out things eventually and Elizabeth would rather reveal this particular matter on her own terms. Besides, Elizabeth needed to confide in someone, and could only tell Jane just so much about her dealings with Mr. Darcy. Jane had chosen to remain in London a while longer instead of returning with Elizabeth to Hertfordshire. It was obvious to Elizabeth that Mr. Bingley was the reason. Things seemed to be going well between them, but after nearly two months of courtship Mr. Bingley seemed no closer to a proposal of marriage than when Elizabeth left for Hunsford.

  "What is he waiting for?" Elizabeth said to herself. "Mr. Darcy is back in town and I am sure he will do anything in his power to prevent Mr. Bingley from proposing to Jane. Especially now..."

  • • •

  At that precise moment, at his home in London, Mr. Bingley assembled a meeting with his sister and best friend. The news he was about to impart t
o his sister and friend would have erased all of Elizabeth's concern. Mr. Darcy--who had recently returned to London from his visit to Rosings Park, and was stopping in town only briefly--entered Mr. Bingley's home in answer to an unexpected invitation.

  "Caroline, Darcy, sit down," Mr. Bingley said. "I have something I want to tell you both." He stood with his back to an imposing mantle piece looking slightly nervous but determined. Mr. Darcy looked at him curiously, then took a seat. Miss Bingley stood her ground.

  "What is this about, Charles?" she demanded.

  "Sit down and I will tell you," he commanded. Miss Bingley and Mr. Darcy exchanged glances as she obeyed. Mr. Bingley cleared his throat.

  "You may as well be the first to know...I have asked Jane Bennet for her hand in marriage and she has done me the honor of accepting me." Mr. Bingley squared his shoulders and prepared for the inevitable onslaught. But it did not come as he had expected. His announcement was met with silence. Mr. Darcy blinked, looked down at his boots, and said nothing. Miss Bingley, who had relied on Mr. Darcy to speak on her behalf, was left to confront her brother alone.

  "Charles!" she cried. "You cannot be serious!"

  "I am," was his firm reply.

  "Mr. Darcy, say something! You cannot, you must not allow my brother to throw himself away on that insignificant chit of a --."

  "Caroline, I am going to marry Jane Bennet and there's an end of it. If you do not approve of my choice of a marriage partner, I would be more than happy to send you to your sister in Lisbon!" Mr. Bingley spoke calmly but his eyes were aflame. His sister's mouth fell open. She turned to Mr. Darcy once more, but to her amazement, he rose and extended his hand in congratulations.

  "I wish both you and Miss Bennet every happiness, Charles," he said simply. "I am rather pleased to find that I was mistaken in my belief that Miss Bennet did not return your affections. It was an arrogant presumption on my part and I heartily apologize for the pain and suffering my unwanted interference must have caused you both." Miss Bingley was shocked by this speech, as was Mr. Bingley, but he graciously accepted both the admission and the apology and wasted no time in asking Mr. Darcy to stand up with him at the altar.

  "If you would still have me after what I have done to you both, I would be honored." Mr. Darcy felt unequal to the protestations he knew his friend would make, and so he turned to leave, saying, "Just let me know the date and I will be at your side. You may contact me at Pemberley. I leave later this morning." With that, he bid his friends goodbye and left, a tumult of emotions beating in his heart.

  That much I could do for her, Mr. Darcy thought hours later as he sat at his father's massive desk in Pemberley's study. It was well past midnight, and Mr. Darcy, still plagued by the demons that had driven him from Kent, was unable to sleep. Elizabeth had refused his love and rightfully so. He had lost her forever and with it every chance of happiness. Mr. Darcy resigned himself to his fate. I have admitted my guilt in wrongfully separating Bingley and Jane Bennet, and have given their marriage my blessing. At least she will see her beloved sister happy...I pray that one day my Elizabeth... and here Mr. Darcy's eyes clouded over and he was forced to swallow the lump rising in his throat, "...That she will find someone with whom she can be equally happy. It is no more than she deserves. I am unworthy of her. As the words formed in his mind, tears began to flow. He lowered his head to the desk and sobbed pathetically.

  Elizabeth hadn't written to Olivia in weeks, not since she had revealed in a letter that Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam were also in Kent. Olivia had immediately applied to Elizabeth for intelligence of the Colonel, unwittingly betraying her attachment to him; not that Elizabeth was without her suspicions. Olivia had also asked after Mr. Darcy, and Elizabeth could not find words to describe what had transpired on the very day that Elizabeth had received her letter. Now, as Elizabeth sought to put pen to paper, she was forced to confront her own feelings about the man that she once thought she abhorred above any in the world.

  Elizabeth rose and began to pace the room. It was nearly two in the morning, but after beginning and discarding several drafts of her letter to Olivia, she was no closer to putting her thoughts down on paper than she had been that morning. Elizabeth was restless, uncomfortable within her own skin. She tried to ferret out the source of her uneasiness. She decided to start at the beginning and try to make sense of all that had passed between herself and her reluctant suitor.

  When she first met Mr. Darcy in Hertfordshire, she had found him to be arrogant, haughty, and distant. In London, she had found him to be civil, pleasant--solicitous, even. He was such a paradox. Or was he? Were Mr. Darcy's motives as mysterious as they seemed? Elizabeth searched her conscience. At Netherfield, Mr. Darcy had willingly engaged her in a battle of wits, seemingly enjoying every opportunity to spar with her. And he had asked Elizabeth, and Elizabeth alone, to dance with him at the Netherfield Ball. On two occasions Mr. Darcy had paid her particular attention and yet Elizabeth knew all the while that he viewed her and her relations with disdain and contempt. Her family, at least, was beneath his notice. Had he thought himself to be courting her favor then, in spite of his disregard for her relations?

  In London, Mr. Darcy had seemed more open and even a bit shy in his dealings with her. Was this the true Mr. Darcy? Or was he merely surer of himself in his own element, as Colonel Fitzwilliam had implied in Hunsford? But Mr. Darcy had not been completely at ease; he admitted to having walked into a tree while looking at her! Elizabeth smiled at the thought, half at herself for inspiring such behavior and half at Mr. Darcy's unpretentious confession. Elizabeth reached for her shawl. The fire was dying down in the grate and she went to tend it.

  The man she met in Kent was more like the original: oddly distant and yet omnipresent. In retrospect, Elizabeth realized that the Fitzwilliam Darcy she had encountered in London and in Kent was a man intoxicated by love. He loved her! Elizabeth shook her head as if to reject the notion, blew out the candle on her nightstand and crawled under the layers of quilts piled atop her bed.

  What of her own heart? She did not, could not love him. She knew that she no longer hated Mr. Darcy, but common sense told her that she could never love a man who had shown so little respect for her or her family. Perhaps she had let her prejudices cloud her opinion of him, but Mr. Darcy's proposal had convinced her that he was undeserving of her love. She tossed about fitfully, trying to reconcile her ambivalence. I could never love such a man. Why not? Because he insulted me? Because of Jane? She knew these reasons were inadequate. She searched her soul and found guilt. It made her sit up in the dark and confront her own feelings. I did not ask for his love. I gave him absolutely no encouragement.

  "Did I?" she asked aloud. Her attacks on him could certainly be viewed as encouragement. Caroline Bingley certainly took Elizabeth's behavior to be flirtatious. Did Mr. Darcy also think so? Elizabeth repeatedly went out of her way to provoke him. She was unquestionably not the first lady to employ such a tactic to entice the wealthy bachelor.

  Oh, why did I not just keep my mouth shut and leave him alone! A second, more disturbing thought occurred to Elizabeth, and it made her shudder. I brought this upon myself. Did I unconsciously seek Mr. Darcy's attentions? She would not allow herself to finish her self-interrogation. She got out of bed and lit the candle. She picked up the candleholder and made her way down to her father's study, ostensibly to look for a book to divert her. As she tiptoed down the stairs, Elizabeth bitterly reproached herself. Indeed, I have behaved no better than Caroline Bingley has! What was I about? And yet, Elizabeth had to laugh at herself--she had succeeded where Miss Bingley had failed miserably. What would she say if she knew of Elizabeth's success? Once in the library, Elizabeth picked up and discarded several books. Poetry was tempting, but dangerous in her present state of mind. Histories didn't appeal, nor did Mrs. Radcliffe's latest novel. Elizabeth drew her finger along the shelf that held the complete works of Shakespeare. Elizabeth picked out the copy of "Twelfth Night," but could
not bring herself to open the volume. She soon found herself pacing again.

  I have never behaved toward any man as I have behaved toward Mr. Darcy. I thought I was repelling him...I thought he was repugnant...Have I been deluding myself all along? Was my dislike of him based on nothing more than my own predisposition to find him wanting? Have I not used his every word, look and action to fuel my own opinion of him, to justify my prejudices? Elizabeth put down the book and walked over to the window. She pulled her shawl tightly around her shoulders in order to ward off the cool night air that seeped in.

  "Am I in love with Mr. Darcy?" The words were no sooner of her mouth than the answer became self-evident. Her tears began to flow. "What a mess I have made of things. I have fallen in love with the man I have vowed to despise, in spite of myself. I have insulted him, accused him, slandered him with my accusations...I have treated him most abominably. Oh, Lizzy--foolish, silly girl! Mr. Darcy loves me and I love him! I could never have accepted his proposal, but I did not know my own heart then. Had I recognized my true feelings I might not have said... I know my heart now and it is too late. I have rejected him irrevocably." She collapsed sobbing onto a large wing chair and cried herself to sleep.

  • • •

  Mr. Darcy awoke at daybreak and surveyed his surroundings. He stood and stretched, trying unsuccessfully to ease the stiffness in his back and neck. He left the study and made his way to his chambers. He pulled off his waistcoat and shirt and went to the wash basin to splash his face. As he turned to reach for the towel, a glint of silver caught his eye. He went to the dressing table and picked up the tiny silver vial that held within the intoxicating scent of "her." Mr. Darcy dared not allow himself to even think her name.

  Mr. Darcy carried the precious object to his bed and sat down, staring at the fine engraving along its length. He choked back tears as he opened it and inhaled. He closed the vial reverently and lay back on the bed, allowing the full force of his misery to overwhelm his senses. After half an hour, Mr. Darcy gathered himself and abruptly stood, dropping the vial on his bed. He rang for his valet. When he had dressed, he retrieved the vial and stormed out of his chambers.