"I knew I would not be able to hide anything from you. That is why I hesitated to write earlier. I needed time..." her voice drifted off. Elizabeth was overwhelmed by a burning desire to finish Mr. Darcy's letter. Until she knew what he'd had to say she could not put her own feelings into perspective.
"What do you have to hide?" Olivia asked gently. Elizabeth grew silent again, and Olivia sympathetically allowed her a moment to compose her thoughts. Elizabeth sat down and began her tale.
"Remember the ride back to Gracechurch Street after our outing to the theatre, when you joked that you would make Mr. Darcy ask for my hand in marriage..." Elizabeth's voice was barely above a whisper.
"Mr. Darcy? Lizzy, are you saying that Mr. Darcy did ask for your hand?" Olivia was incredulous. "When? How? I knew that his being in Kent would give him ample opportunity to court you." Elizabeth gave her friend a pained look, then lowered her eyes. "What? He did not court you? What did he do, climb into your window one night and beg you to elope with him?" Elizabeth could not share her friend's smile. Olivia paled. "What did he do, Lizzy?" Elizabeth rose and began to pace again. Olivia followed with her eyes.
"He did not court me, in fact, until the day he proposed I had no idea of his feelings towards me at all, in spite of what you and Jane may have said," she declared with a backward glance at Olivia. "I was supposed to go to Rosings Park for tea. Lady Catherine, Mr. Darcy's aunt, is Mr. Collins' patron, you see, and she had us over to Rosings Park quite frequently. But I had a headache that afternoon, and choose to stay behind at Mr. Collins' cottage. There was a knock at the door and Mr. Darcy entered. He seemed quite distracted about something. The next thing I knew he was proposing marriage."
"How romantic! He kept his love for you secret until he could bear it no longer--." Olivia was instantly transported by the image. Elizabeth abruptly turned to face her.
"I refused him, Livy." Olivia was shocked.
"You refused him? Why on earth would you do that?"
"Because his proposal..." No. She would never reveal to another soul the words they'd exchanged that afternoon. "Because he tried to ruin Jane's romance with Mr. Bingley, because I had heard vile accusations made against him and believed them, because--," she began to sob and she dropped to the bench and fell into Olivia's arms, "And because I have been such a fool that I did not know my own heart." She wept for some time, Olivia stroking her hair and encouraging her to let her tears flow. After a time, Elizabeth grew quiet and raised her head.
"I am sorry, Livy. I cannot seem to do much else but cry these past few days." Elizabeth rose and walked a short distance away to wipe her eyes and blow her nose.
"Is that a letter you were writing to him?" Olivia asked gently. Elizabeth shook her head.
"He wrote to me," she said, pulling the handkerchief from her pocket. "He found my grandmother's perfume vial and wanted to return it to me." Olivia stood and took the tiny vial from Elizabeth's outstretched hand.
"I thought you had lost this in London. How did he get it?" she asked.
"I do not know. Perhaps I was mistaken. I could not find it the night we went to the theatre but maybe it was among my things and I just could not locate it. I must have lost it in Hunsford."
"I wonder why he sent it back," Olivia said as she took a whiff of the lavender water. "I should have thought that he would keep it as a remembrance of you."
"He returned it because he sensed that it would be something important to me," Elizabeth said, as she took the vial from Olivia and carefully folded it back into Mr. Darcy's handkerchief. For just a second, she ran her thumb across the fine linen and smiled. She had her own trophy to cherish. Olivia watched as Elizabeth carefully returned the treasure to her pocket and shook her head. One minute she berates him for doing something heinous, the next she calls him honorable. She certainly does not know her own mind. She wondered what had actually passed between them that day, and how two people so obviously suited to one another could have come to their present circumstances. She went to Elizabeth and hugged her tightly.
Olivia came forward and hugged Elizabeth tightly. "Oh, Lizzy," she sighed. "I am sorry. I thought the two of you were meant for each other." Elizabeth pulled away and looked at her friend.
"Why do you say so?" she was curious to know. The two ladies began to walk, but not toward the house. "I thought you did not know Mr. Darcy very well."
"Oh, it has nothing to do with knowing him. It has more to do with--well for lack of a better explanation--the way he looks at you." Elizabeth stopped in her tracks and squinted at Olivia.
"How does he...did he look at me?"
"Like no man I ever saw look at woman," she replied cryptically, her eye fixed on the memory. "The first time I noticed it was in the park that afternoon. He saw you and knew you from a hundred yards away. I am certain of it." Olivia recalled the look in his eyes before he and Colonel took off across the great lawn and the look in his eyes after he'd hit his head and was fixated on Elizabeth. Olivia was convinced at that moment that, had the Colonel let him, Mr. Darcy would have tracked Lizzy all the way to Mr. Bingley's house. "I also remember how he looked at you in the theatre that night. He barely looked at anything else after you smiled at him. If a man looked at me the way he looked at you..."
"As I recall, you were also closely observed that night," Elizabeth said slyly, a hint of her old spirit returning.
"A lot of good that did me. I did not see the Colonel again for a week and the next thing I knew he had gone to see his aunt with Mr. Darcy. You have seen more of him these last few months than I have," Olivia pouted.
"You are in love with him, aren't you?" Elizabeth didn't wait for an answer. "You have my sympathies. 'The course of true love never did run smooth,' to quote the 'Bard of Avon.' At least you did not have to bear the..." Elizabeth covered her mouth suddenly as tears welled up in her eyes and began to cloud her vision.
"Lizzy!" Elizabeth looked up and saw Lydia beckoning her to come inside the house.
"I cannot go in like this," she said, turning away.
"I will make your apologies, but you had better come in quickly or Lydia is likely to come out after you again." Elizabeth nodded and with a last squeeze of hands, Olivia made her way back to the house. Elizabeth judged it best to wait until another time to continue the letter. She dried her tears and pinched her cheeks, and then putting on a brave face, went into the house.
Five
—
"You are getting quite good, Fitzwilliam," Mr. Darcy said sarcastically. The Colonel, who had been besting his cousin in the martial arts since their childhood, cast him a withering glance.
"An eleven year old might have beaten you today, Darcy," the Colonel complained. "You are not even trying." Mr. Darcy did not scruple to argue, but dropped himself into the nearest chair and accepted the glass of water offered by the Colonel. After draining the glass, Mr. Darcy was able to speak.
"I have been thinking, Fitzwilliam," he began, as the Colonel carefully cleaned his epee before gently cradling it in its bracket on the wall. Colonel Fitzwilliam wasn't listening to Mr. Darcy. For the past five days he had listened to his cousin's stream of consciousness ramblings. They had alternated between self-deprecating diatribes and verbal rhapsodies on the perfection of Elizabeth Bennet.
Thinking about what? No! Let me guess? Miss Elizabeth Bennet? Right first time, dear boy! Yes, you are a hopeless fool. No, Darcy, you do not deserve her. Yes, she is quite lovely. No, she will probably never forgive you--. It was not that the Colonel was unsympathetic to his cousin's plight, and he did not begrudge his cousin's proclivity for brooding over his lost love, or even venting his anger and sorrow. Indeed, the Colonel considered his cousin's loquaciousness a far healthier alternative to the gross quantities of alcohol he had allegedly consumed when he first returned to Derbyshire.
But the Colonel's patience was growing thin. For five days now, all he had heard was talk. Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam was a man of action and he found his cousin's iner
tia frustrating, to put it mildly. Do something, man! Put up a fight for her--she cannot do anything worse to you than she has done already. You have nothing to lose, except your blasted pride! And that might, quite frankly, be the making of you, my friend. Colonel Fitzwilliam had been standing with his back to his cousin in order to conceal his exasperation. Now he turned around to face him, his face a blank mask.
"What did you say?" Mr. Darcy's last words had caught Colonel Fitzwilliam off guard.
"You have not been listening, have you?" Mr. Darcy stood and confronted his cousin. "You have not heard a single word I have said in the last three minutes!" As Mr. Darcy drew closer to the Colonel, annoyance briefly flashed in his eyes. The Colonel did not answer, inwardly welcoming Mr. Darcy's show of emotion. It was the first sign of the old Darcy he had seen in some time. The Colonel briefly considered baiting him further, but opted instead to hear what his cousin had to say.
"I am sorry, Darcy. I am afraid I did allow my mind to wander a bit." He grinned apologetically, and Mr. Darcy sighed.
"I said that I received a letter from Bingley. He is on his way to Hertfordshire and has asked me to join him there. The wedding is not until sometime in August but he means to stay close to his betrothed until then." Mr. Darcy strode to the window and leaned on the frame. "I have been considering his invitation," he said as his eyes surveyed the herb garden below the window. "What do you think, Fitzwilliam?"
"What I think does not matter, Darcy," the Colonel said, joining him at the window. "Are you ready to meet Miss Bennet again? We had spoken about it as a distant possibility, but this is far sooner than you might have hoped for. Are you ready to face her?" Colonel Fitzwilliam searched Mr. Darcy's eyes, hoping that he would agree to go. The sooner he got it over with, the sooner he would be able to get on with his life. Mr. Darcy turned away from the view, still leaning on the frame.
"There is something I have not told you, Fitz," he said in a low voice. He closed his eyes and sighed as the Colonel waited. "I have written to Miss Bennet." The Colonel looked at his cousin a moment, confused.
"You mean you have written to her again?"
"Yes. A few days ago; in fact, on the morning of your arrival I sent her an express." Even as Colonel Fitzwilliam tried to form a question, Mr. Darcy continued. "I had something I had to return to her, you see," he said with a hint of a smile on his lips. "A debt of honor, you might say." Mr. Darcy straightened up and headed for the door. "It is a long story, Fitzwilliam. Let us get cleaned up and I will explain it over dinner."
"Why did you wait so long?" the Colonel asked as the servants departed with the last of the dinner dishes. "You might have returned it to her at the theatre." The swirling dark red wine at the bottom of his glass momentarily mesmerized Mr. Darcy.
"I did not know that I would see her there," he said, then he smiled. "I confess I did have a fantasy about returning it to her after she accepted my proposal." Mr. Darcy blushed at his boyish romanticism, and Colonel Fitzwilliam smiled.
"So you carried that vial with you the whole time you were in Kent?" he asked. Mr. Darcy nodded, and put down the glass.
"Whenever I held it, or looked upon it, or opened it and breathed its scent...her scent..." Mr. Darcy caught himself and flushed again.
"So what did you say in the letter?" Colonel Fitzwilliam asked as he dug into his trifle.
"Surely you did not attempt to renew your advances to the lady."
"No, no, of course not. I wrote at first simply to tell Miss Bennet that I had found the vial and was returning it to her."
"And then?"
"And then...I realized that I had an opportunity, perhaps my last opportunity to tell her how I felt about her." Mr. Darcy stabbed at his trifle with his spoon. "If...when I see her again, I will not be able to speak what is and will always be in my heart. I wanted her to know that although I went about things badly, I truly..." he ran a hand over the lower half of his face, feeling his emotions begin to well up in his throat. The sentence remained unfinished. Colonel Fitzwilliam rose, patted Mr. Darcy on the shoulder, and left him to his sorrow. A few minutes later, Mr. Darcy joined the Colonel in the library and accepted a glass of brandy. The Colonel poked at the fire in the grate as Mr. Darcy went to look out the window.
"I am going to Hertfordshire," he declared. The Colonel paused at his task for a second and smiled to himself. Good show, Darcy. Good show.
• • •
It was nearly midnight before the house grew still. Elizabeth, Jane, and Olivia had sat up quite late in Jane's room discussing Mr. Bingley, their courtship, and wedding plans. Jane told of her difficulties in dealing with Miss Bingley. She had invited herself to accompany Mr. Bingley on his visit to Gracechurch Street on more than one occasion. Although Miss Bingley always behaved within the bounds of propriety, Jane was no longer blind to Miss Bingley's hostility towards her. Elizabeth was a bit surprised by Jane's newfound self-assuredness, and was pleased. Olivia had undoubtedly been an influence; she had kept a close eye on Jane and Mr. Bingley's progress before she went to Bath, and had managed to instill some of her own spirit in Jane before she left.
"Of course, Miss Bingley became far more unpleasant after Mr. Bingley's proposal," Jane confided with a smile, "Because since then she has been trying to be nice to me." The ladies all giggled and Olivia asked for more details about the engagement but Jane, sensing Elizabeth's discomfort with the topic, begged off and sought her bed. Olivia apologized for her thoughtlessness.
"I am sorry, Lizzy. I did not think--does it bother you to speak of Jane's engagement?" Elizabeth laughed, but sadly.
"No, no, there is nothing I would rather talk about than Jane's engagement to Mr. Bingley. I am so very happy for them both. For a while I had feared that Mr. Darcy would prevent it."
"Surely you do not believe that Mr. Darcy would be so vindictive. Just because he did not succeed with you does not mean he would begrudge his friend his happiness." Elizabeth rose and went to close her window. She leaned on the frame and stared out at the garden, its details only barely perceptible in the moonlight.
"He did not scruple to intervene before and with less incentive," she said petulantly. Then she softened. "No, I suppose he would not," she conceded. Olivia watched her friend for as she stared into the night.
"Lizzy," she said. "You do realize that you will have to face him again. Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley are very close friends. He is bound to be invited to Jane's wedding, and more than likely will be a frequent visitor to Netherfield." Olivia paused as Elizabeth absorbed her statement. "Have you thought about how you plan to deal with this?"
"No...I have not," Elizabeth replied slowly. She remembered the letter that was still tucked under the pillow where she had hidden it when Jane and Olivia invaded her bedroom. "But I suppose I will have to now, will I not?" She smiled, and then made a show of yawning and stretching. Olivia took the hint and bade Elizabeth a good night.
Elizabeth climbed into her bed, and tucked herself under the quilts. She drew the letter and the handkerchief out from under the pillow. Fluffing up the pillow to cradle her head, Elizabeth settled back and opened the letter. She read it again from the beginning, but was interrupted by a knock on her door before she reached the point where she had stopped earlier. She hastily shoved the missive under the quilts.
"Lizzy?" Her father poked his head into her room. "I thought you had retired hours ago."
"I had, father. But Jane, Livy and I began to talk about Mr. Bingley and the wedding and, well, the next thing you know it was quite late."" She smiled sheepishly. Her father gave her an indulgent look.
"Do not, I beg of you--do not let your good sense degenerate into that of your younger sisters," he said as he began to pull the door closed.
"Papa?" Elizabeth called out before he had gone. Mr. Bennet opened the door, a bit surprised by her appeal. "Do you really think I have good sense?" Her father looked at her quizzically for a moment then went to sit on the edge of Elizabeth's bed.
"W
hat manner of question is that, child? You know full well what I think of you." He looked into Elizabeth's eyes for a moment, then took her hand in his. "Tell me what is troubling you, my dear girl," he said softly.
"You have always given me credit for being sensible. I am just wondering if perhaps I have been too clever for my own good." Mr. Bennet looked into Elizabeth's eyes once more.
"Is this about Jane? I thought you liked Mr. Bingley--." Elizabeth immediately interrupted him and set him straight.
"No, father, I have nothing to say against Mr. Bingley. I could not be happier with the way that things have gone between them." She laughed for a moment, remembering her trip to the park with Olivia to seek her sister's new fiancé. "No, father, I am worried about myself. I fear that I have become so enamored of my own wit and cleverness that I have allowed them to override that good sense you are so proud of."
"I think that there is little chance of that, my pet. Your good sense has always stood you in good stead. Now, to sleep with you child, before I am forced to change my opinion of you," Mr. Bennet said with a wink. He kissed Elizabeth on the forehead and padded out of her room. Elizabeth sighed as she watched him go. She lay back and considered her father's words, but she did not feel equal to his praise. I have judged Mr. Darcy very ill, and I do not know if I will ever trust myself again. Had I used my 'good sense' I might have behaved so differently towards him. I did nothing to earn his good opinion of me. In fact, I do not know how he came to love me at all! She dug around under the quilts and withdrew Mr. Darcy's letter to seek the answer.
I fell in love with you the first time I saw you. I am not certain when it happened, perhaps when you were at Netherfield attending your sister in her time of illness, perhaps even earlier. You must understand that I had been acquainted with you some weeks before I truly allowed myself to see you, to look beyond the barriers I myself had imposed between us. Those barriers blinded me to all that I have since come to love and cherish about you. I am sorry if my declarations upset you, but I must speak plainly, as I should have done earlier. Perhaps if I had trusted my heart rather than my reason to guide my actions I might have proved a better lover. But I have never met anyone like you, my dear Elizabeth. I have never known a woman with your combination of beauty, intelligence, wit, and charm. Every time I encountered you my senses were left reeling. I saw in you someone who challenged my every preconceived notion of what it meant to love a woman, for I have grown to love you in ways I never dreamt of. I was completely enchanted by your spirit and the tenacity with which you frequently sought to engage me in a battle of wits. And although I know that you meant to put me off, our "battles" only made you all the more interesting. I found in you, my Elizabeth, my equal in intelligence, in temperament, and in passion. I remember our conversations at Netherfield, where your liveliness and superiority of understanding led to spirited debates that established in my mind, at least, a kind of intimacy I had never known with one of your sex.
So Long, Sentiment Page 11