Mr. Darcy & Elizabeth

by Alyssa Jefferson

  The music, the wind in the trees, the sound of voices yonder—all were working in tandem to lift her spirits. A stone bench near the back of the garden was unoccupied, and there Elizabeth sat, brightening every moment that she spent in hungry enjoyment. How her embattled spirits had longed for respite—and how precious a gift music was, that it could restore all to rights!

  As minutes passed, she grew calmer and calmer, and was in fact in full appreciation of all she saw around her when she sensed a person standing behind her. Thinking it must be Jane come to tell her where Miss Whipple could be found, she turned her head—and there, watching the concert with a cross expression and folded arms, was Miss Whipple’s cousin, Mr. Darcy. The same very cross man she had met twice and would have been very pleased never to meet again.

  “Were you—” she stopped, seeing that it was not Jane. “Oh.” Blushing, she turned to face forward again.

  “Was I what?” the gentleman answered.

  Elizabeth fought against an impulse to sigh. Was not it clear that she had believed he was somebody else? He obviously did not truly wish to speak to her, and she was equally disinclined to speak to him. Why bother to say anything at all?

  She turned again and said with all the civility she could muster, “I beg your pardon, sir. I thought you were my sister.”

  Without so much as a hint of a smile, he replied, “You mistook me…for your sister?”

  “It was certainly unintentional,” she replied. “Please accept my apologies for interrupting your enjoyment of the concert. I shall cease directly.”

  She turned forward again, cringing at the awkwardness of this exchange, but she was surprised to see him walk up beside her moments later. She looked up at him expectantly, but he neither spoke nor looked at her. Frowning, she turned away again.

  The bench on which she was seated was long, and there was plenty of room for two or even three persons to sit comfortably there, yet Mr. Darcy did not sit. He stood with his arms behind his back, a towering figure among the crowd of party guests seated around him.

  They were in this configuration, him standing and her seated, when Miss Whipple spotted them at last. She came cheerily toward her cousin, calling as she approached, “Why, there you both are—I have found you, have not I? I am glad, Miss Elizabeth, that you were not alone. I told my cousin I was waiting for your arrival, but you see I was called away from my post to assist my friend Mrs. Hatting in a very particular matter—but Darcy, you odd creature, why do you stand? Nobody listens to music standing, and everybody behind you is obstructed by you!”

  With a heavy sigh, as though it cost him a great deal, Mr. Darcy sat on the seat a great distance from Elizabeth. She smiled up at Miss Whipple and said, “Miss Whipple, we are so pleased to be here. The music is wonderful! I seldom hear such skill and precision at a private concert, though taste I suppose can be found everywhere. Yet taste is not wanting, either. It is pure enjoyment, pure mastery! Pray tell me, has Jane found you?”

  “Miss Bennet? No, she has—why, was she searching for me?”

  Elizabeth responded affirmatively, and in a moment, Miss Whipple—who really had very little taste for music and derived all her enjoyment of the party from conversation—was off to seek her wayward friend.

  A new air began playing, and Elizabeth sighed happily as she listened to the music. Her spirits were so elevated by her enjoyment, her mind so freed from all its troubles, that she was startled when the gentleman seated beside her—whom she had quite forgotten about—spoke.

  “I would not say, madame, that this concert is distinguishable from any other hired music.”

  Elizabeth turned toward Mr. Darcy. “I beg your pardon?”

  He sighed, shaking his head, and when she met his eye, he turned to face forward. “I only mean that you cannot have attended many private concerts, if you believe this music is superior to most. It is perfectly adequate, I grant you, but it is not superior.”

  Elizabeth could not stop herself laughing, though she attempted to do so briefly. “If you say so, sir, it must be the case. It shall not impede my enjoyment to know it, however.”

  “Very well,” he said, “though I do not know what merit there is in such a compliment, without true superiority.”

  Again checking her laugh, she said, “Many things are meritorious without superiority, sir. If I enjoy the music, and speak it from my heart, the sincerity of my compliment must be its source of merit.”

  He appeared to weigh her words, then said, “Yet a compliment from a truly discerning perspective, you must grant, would be more meaningful.”

  Aware that he was insulting her, yet not thinking well enough of him to care very much, she said, “I spoke as I felt, and you will not reason me out of my enjoyment, nor lessen the true good of paying compliments—of speaking kindly whenever possible, and feeling happy and doing what I can to make others happy. That, sir, is the true merit of a compliment.”

  He was silent for a time, and Elizabeth was relieved to be able to turn forward again and hear the concert. She knew that Mr. Darcy thought very little of her; it was evident from his earlier insults, as well as his current manner of criticizing her. She found him equally unpleasant, and the fact that he had come near her on purpose, sat beside her, and now continued there only to insult her was puzzling. Yet the concert truly was pleasant, and she had again all but forgotten him when he next spoke.

  “It is very easy for you, I suppose, to be happy. We do not all live such easy lives.”

  These words, these careless words, were like ice water springing up in her veins. Elizabeth turned and looked at Mr. Darcy, her face turning quite white, and though her lips parted, she could say nothing. To hear a man with such wealth and stature in the world, a man whom she knew could come and go as he pleased, who had freedom and family and a million things she did not have—to hear such a man call her life easy, her life of all things, was overwhelmingly hurtful. She was used to feeling misunderstood, and she had grown accustomed to brooking unfair envy and unrealistic expectations about her own life. Yet this summer, she had been more alone than ever, less privileged than ever, and fully faced the realities of all she did not have any rights to. Her life felt like a charade, and now this proud, disagreeable gentleman chose to mock her for it. She did not know why these particular words, from this particular man, made her almost sick with anger—but they did.

  The expression on her face was enough. How quickly his face changed from closed off, self-satisfaction to confusion and concern. She did not see it, however. She had already turned away, that he would not see her tears of anger as she worked furiously to blink them away. Then, fortunately, she saw her sister. Jane stood just beyond the musicians beneath a tree, still not having found Miss Whipple and looking quite lost. Elizabeth stood at once, and though her voice shook, she managed to excuse herself and go to her sister. She would not have the easy, frank openness with Jane that she had once been used to having, but at least she would have her sister, faults and all.

  Miss Watson’s reply came to London before the trunks did. She wrote to her favorite charges to inform them that the gowns were coming soon, and Elizabeth could expect them in Wimpole Street before they removed there five days hence. She had more to say on the subject of the girls’ enjoyments in London than Elizabeth had anticipated.

  I am glad you are so well entertained, and I long to be with you. While we are apart, pray make good use of your time. Do not be hasty in rejecting young men, as you have been wont to do. Jane is always a model of the best behavior in this; she has always been willing to entertain anybody’s interest in her—at least, until recently. If you do likewise, you are sure to make a good match. If you could both find husbands due to this unfortunate separation of ours (and I assure you, I feel it most keenly now that we have been apart longer than we ever have before), I should feel it was all worth it. Do not laugh so much at young men, Elizabeth. Laugh only when they joke, and smile at them a great deal more. Be open to falling in love
, and I am sure it will not be long before you have done it. As for your dowry, there can be no need to reveal its true nature until the business is all but settled—for once a man is in love with you, he will put up with whatever he gets.

  What a letter it was! Elizabeth knew not whether to laugh or cry over it. If Miss Watson could have seen Jane’s behavior now toward Mr. Dixon, she would have been delighted. Then again, it might require a greater fortune for her to feel true delight. Perhaps as he was now, she would only be very pleased. Miss Watson had always wanted the girls to marry well, but never had the situation seemed so dire as it did now, with her governess openly declaring her wish of both girls marrying very early.

  Elizabeth gave the letter to Jane with a cross expression after she finished reading it. The girls were upstairs in their room, and Jane read it eagerly.

  “Oh, how thoughtful to send our gowns!”

  “I asked her to do it,” Elizabeth replied.

  “Then how thoughtful of you,” Jane said with a slight smile. “But you certainly do not seem pleased with the letter. It is only her way of speaking, Lizzy. You know she means nothing by it.”

  “By suggesting we both marry before summer is over?”

  Jane shook her head, setting the letter aside. “She is speaking in jest! She has always wished for us to—”

  “She has always wanted us settled well, but never so urgently. Jane, do you not see? This is a reflection of things at home. Think of what Papa said. The girls are miserable; Lady Sarah is so unhappy with us that she is taking out her anger on them.”

  “With me.”

  “What?”

  “She is not unhappy with you, Elizabeth, or with poor Mary or Kitty. It is only with me that she has a quarrel. Oh, how I wish she would leave everybody else out of it!”

  Her tranquil manner from a moment before had vanished, and now she seemed quite cross. Elizabeth would rather her react than not, so she said, “I wish she would let us be! Always insisting she knows what is to be done about everything—I am quite sick of it!”

  “Yet without her, would we have very little,” Jane said. Elizabeth glanced at her face to see if she was serious.

  “We have very little as it is, Jane. We are borrowers, nothing more.”

  “Yes, that is why—” She paused, and Elizabeth stared at her, eager for her to say more. After a short cessation, and a period of evident reflection in which she seemed to be making a decision, Jane said, “That is why I am quite of an opinion with Miss Watson.”

  Though she had been more or less expecting something, Elizabeth’s stomach dropped when she heard Jane’s words. She was not of a weak disposition, however; it was not easy to shake her, and her voice did not tremble when she said, “Jane, do not let fear of hardships interfere with your principles—with your happiness!”

  Jane looked very seriously at Elizabeth. In a quiet voice she said, “I have many principles, Elizabeth. I have many ideas of what is right, and I have no wish to follow an easy path. If my sisters are not safe and comfortable, how can I be called happy? If I do not do all I can to facilitate a good home for them, then how can I be called principled?”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “We are well, Jane! See, Lady Sarah has attempted to make us uncomfortable, leaving us in London to shift for ourselves, but it has not harmed us. On the contrary, we are at last able to be with our aunt and uncle, and who can object to that?”

  Jane said, “I have no objections to them, as you well know. It is to our situation that I object.”

  “And what situation is that? Surrounded by friends, welcome everywhere we go, with parties to attend? Enjoyments of every kind?”

  “Without a home,” Jane returned. “Without a place where we are not only welcome but where we belong. A place to which we have a proper claim.”

  Elizabeth was stopped short by this; she could say nothing to refute it. They had, she supposed, once had such a claim on Longbourn, but what was their claim now? Their sisters were there to be miserable and lonesome. Their father lived there without any authority of his own, now that his wife had usurped it—and who could dispute her right to do so? She was the daughter of an earl; she was mistress of twenty thousand pounds, and though her husband now benefited from the interest of her fortune, he was not at liberty to distribute it to any of his daughters as an inheritance as long as she was living to direct it elsewhere. Little Sarah and Phillip were to be the sole benefactors of all their parents’ fortunes: Sarah would have ten thousand pounds, and Phillip was to have the balance of it, in addition to inheriting Longbourn upon his father’s demise. It was these children, and not the elder sisters, who belonged to Longbourn, and Longbourn to them.

  When she saw that Elizabeth was not going to answer, Jane said in a conciliatory tone, “Come now, Lizzy. Consider—I cannot think Mr. Pembroke would marry me now, but—”

  “Jane!” Elizabeth cried.

  “But perhaps I am not totally hopeless of making a match.”

  “You were never hopeless, but have you truly come so far in your thinking that you regret rejecting Mr. Pembroke’s marriage proposal? Lady Sarah would be pleased, indeed, if she knew.”

  “I do not regret it, Lizzy. I am merely considering what my options may be. And I am not thinking of Lady Sarah,” Jane insisted. “I am thinking of you! You, and Kitty and Mary. Of our family, without any proper place to go—and our father, unable to provide for his daughters as I am sure he wishes he could do.”

  “I daresay he can do more for us, Jane—and would, if he thought it was necessary. If Papa is not concerned for our welfare, then why should you be?”

  “He is concerned,” she replied. “I have spoken to him about it.”

  This news surprised Elizabeth, and she raised her eyebrows.

  “He is interested,” Jane continued carefully, “in knowing Mr. Dixon better.”

  Elizabeth knew that Jane’s delicacy would not allow her to say more about Mr. Dixon than this; she would say nothing more until she was actually engaged to him. This proved she did not love him, in Elizabeth’s eyes. If Jane loved him, truly admired him, she would talk about it—but wanting only to marry him for security’s sake made it a subject neither sister wished to dwell on.

  “Speak with our aunt about it,” Elizabeth answered hastily, for Jane had now risen and was preparing to leave the room. “She knows more of Mr. Dixon than we do.”

  “I shall,” Jane replied. Her manner in saying it, however, did nothing to allay the sense of dread slowly building in Elizabeth’s chest.

  CHAPTER 10

  __________

  How quickly time passes when one is with company truly beloved, when the future is uncertain, and comforts are transient. Elizabeth felt, upon the morning of her last day in Gracechurch Street, that no number of days or weeks would be enough to repay all the warmth and welcome she had felt from her aunt and uncle. Her visit, she knew, was appreciated by them. The feeling of being wanted somewhere was almost foreign to her, and it filled her with sadness to know this feeling would now become a memory. They were to go to a friend who only wanted them for their connections and fashion; they were to leave a place where they were valued from the heart. If, four weeks ago, Elizabeth had been told that her time in Gracechurch Street would pass so pleasantly that Wimpole Street would seem a penance by comparison, she would never have believed it. Nothing, nothing at all except removing Jane from Mr. Dixon made the removal seem positive in Elizabeth’s eyes, and she shed tears of genuine feeling upon her departure.

  “Come to us again,” Mrs. Gardiner urged, holding Elizabeth’s hands and kissing her goodbye.

  “I will,” Elizabeth said seriously, meaning the words. It was odd to be in the same city as her aunt and yet to feel that their separation was to be long, and their next meeting uncertain. She was not hopeless, however, of their having occasions to meet again.

  “Thank you so very much,” Jane said, tears springing to her eyes when she saw how her aunt and uncle were affected b
y their absence. “We certainly shall meet again soon.”

  She said this so knowingly that Elizabeth wondered if more of an agreement between her and Mr. Dixon subsisted than was currently owned by her sister—but nothing more was said of that nature, and Elizabeth knew better than to press Jane on an issue so unpleasant to her. If she was resolved on marrying a man solely for the purpose of providing for her sisters, then there was nothing Elizabeth could say on the subject which she had not already said, and to no effect.

  The carriage was dispatched, and the girls rode across town. As the carriage moved, Elizabeth felt as though the city was opening up to her, unfolding like a flower in bloom. Wimpole Street was not very near Gracechurch Street, and a great many sights were to be seen on the way. As they passed markets and shops, houses and parks, Elizabeth’s pulse beat faster. A warm, summer sun shining low in the sky gave everything an orange glow. She glanced at Jane, whose complexion was warm in the waking light. A smile on her sister’s lips showed her that they felt the same sense of excitement.

  “We should write to Miss Watson,” Jane said, “when we arrive.”

  Elizabeth nodded. “I wonder if our trunks have arrived yet.”

  “I hope they have,” Jane said, “for Miss Whipple has told us that a party is planned at her friend Mrs. Jacobson’s house.”

  Elizabeth replied, “Good heavens, she attends a lot of parties!” But her eyes were twinkling with pleasure.

  Miss Whipple was so thoroughly delighted to greet her friends when they at last arrived at her door that she actually threw off all decorum and went to the window at the sound of the carriage, waving her handkerchief to them and descending to the lower level, that she might be present when they first walked inside.