“Then—then nothing has happened at Longbourn?”
“No, of course not,” Lady Sarah said hurriedly. “It is for your sake, and due to your actions, that I have come.”
Elizabeth’s relief at finding there was no great tragedy among her family was instantly overtaken by confusion, for though she knew not under what misinformation Lady Sarah had come, she was very sure it had something to do with Lord Norwich.
“I assure you, ma’am, I am unaware of what lie your family in Arlington Street has told you—”
“Ah! There! You see? I said nothing of Arlington Street! You cannot lie to me any longer—”
“I know that it must be about them,” Elizabeth said, “for I know how scandalously your nephew the Viscount has behaved toward me! I daresay that my word ought to be believed before his, for I am your daughter!”
“Stepdaughter,” Lady Sarah corrected coldly, “and I assure you I am quite as ashamed of our connection as I could possibly be. Your actions are spoken of all about town! Everybody knows of it, and I am the very last to hear, having had a letter only yesterday from my brother’s neighbor, who tells me that you were alone with Lord Norwich for hours while my brother and his wife were away from home!”
“I know not what the neighbors believe they saw,” Elizabeth said with measured calmness, “but I shall do you the justice of telling you the truth—though you have done nothing to deserve my trust, and though I am sure I owe you no explanations. Your nephew wrote to me yesterday week, but he did so in disguise and signed his mother’s name. He invited me to call, and I came to Arlington Street expecting her.”
“Even if that were the case, which I shall not necessarily grant you, you ought to have left as soon as you were aware of his deception.”
“I do not know why you should not believe me,” Elizabeth replied, “except that you have never believed me on matters such as this.”
“That is rather dramatic,” Lady Sarah replied. “I only mean that I do not perceive how anybody could be deceived into believing a note from Lord Norwich was actually written by his mother.”
“An innocent mind is never suspicious,” Elizabeth replied. “It is only those who are themselves guilty who suspect guilt in others.”
Lady Sarah perceived the tacit insult Elizabeth paid her through these words, and she replied, “Fine. Perhaps I shall grant that you did not know that you were to meet James alone. Yet you knew once you saw him. What excuse can there be for your staying so long with him, utterly unsupervised?”
Angrily, Elizabeth answered, “He locked the door to the room where he met me, and I was forced to flee under most untoward circumstances. We were together less than a quarter of an hour, and I assure you that it was the very last time I shall ever set foot in that house.”
At this, Lady Sarah replied, “That is entirely out of the question. You must return to their house, for you must marry James!”
“I shall do nothing of the sort!” Elizabeth replied, horrified. “Do you still refuse to believe me?”
“Whether I believe you is immaterial,” Lady Sarah said dismissively. “I know that my nephew is perfectly capable of doing everything you have accused him of. Have not I always told you the kind of young man he is? Yet you still placed yourself in a position to be compromised by him.” Before Elizabeth could interrupt, she added, “Perhaps these rumors are untrue, but even so, there can be no recovering your reputation if you do not marry him!”
Elizabeth was too shocked to reply.
“Do not act so innocent,” Lady Sarah said. “There is no one among all your friends who would not envy you such a fate. You shall be a countess, Elizabeth! Not a woman in a hundred would be so flippant about such prospects as you are.”
“You know that I care nothing for such nonsense as titles and prestige. Marriage to a man such as him would be a penance forever. It would be a mercenary act for which I would pay daily—in misery. I shall never marry him!” Elizabeth cried.
“Selfish girl!” Lady Sarah retorted. “You are obliged to recover your reputation and that of all your family. Think how I shall look if I am known to have a stepdaughter who has acted so inappropriately!”
“I have done nothing wrong,” Elizabeth protested. “The truth shall speak for itself.”
“That is never the case,” Lady Sarah said, and Elizabeth thought she saw a flash of pain in her stepmother’s eyes, so brief that it lasted only a fraction of a moment. “When people believe ill of a woman, there is nothing that can be said to reason such belief away. You will never be able to convince the world that you are not exactly what they say you are.”
Elizabeth’s impatience with her stepmother could not prevent her feeling pity, for she knew that personal experience informed Lady Sarah’s words. Elizabeth said, “The world’s opinions are certainly powerful, but they shall never induce me to marry a man I do not love.”
Lady Sarah replied, “To marry a man you love is a luxury that belongs only to those who can afford it, Elizabeth. You are just as likely to be happy with this man as with any other, and therefore it can be no reason for you not to accept him.”
“Nonsense!” Elizabeth cried. “Every moment I spend in his presence makes me unhappy, for he is a disgrace to his family! His treatment of me has never been appropriate, and when I compare him to other men—”
“Other men? Have you other suitors, Elizabeth? Perhaps another tradesman like Jane’s has been paying his addresses to you?”
With increasing anger, Elizabeth said, “Do not speak of Jane!”
“I certainly hope,” Lady Sarah pressed, “that you have learned from her mistakes to show more prudence than she!”
“What has she done that you did not drive her to do?” Elizabeth returned. “She would never have entertained a thought of Mr. Dixon if she did not believe that you wanted her to marry early.”
“I wanted her to marry well,” Lady Sarah said, “and you, as well. And what harm is there in such a wish? Knowing I cannot provide for you, and that somebody must—”
“Yet what doubt can there be of Jane finding someone who loves her, who values her from his heart, and whom she loves in return? Jane is the kindest, most beautiful creature in the world! She wants nothing but a comfortable home, and all else will certainly fall into place for her. You would not be patient, however! Your unreasonableness was the reason she accepted Mr. Dixon, and now you ridicule her for it!”
“If she believed a romance with Mr. Dixon would make me happy, then she grossly misjudged me.”
“Perhaps she did,” Elizabeth said. “Think, however, of the lengths to which she went in hopes of pleasing you.”
“And the lengths to which her sister goes to defy me!”
“I am not refusing Lord Norwich to defy you, Lady Sarah. I assure you, there are a great many more pressing reasons. The thought of you and your preferences never entered my mind for a moment!”
This statement, however, did nothing to improve Lady Sarah’s temper. She was even more offended, and replied, “Yes, I thoroughly believe that. You never think about me, or your father, or anybody who is directly affected by your choices.”
“As it concerns my marriage, there can be nobody more affected than myself,” Elizabeth replied. “There is no person whose opinion on the subject can surpass mine in importance or authority. Only I know what will make me happy, and in intimate matters of my own life and future, I am accountable to myself only.”
“Your selfishness astonishes me!” Lady Sarah cried.
“And yours astonishes me!” Elizabeth replied, though her heart raced as she spoke the words that she knew she could never take back. She had never directly insulted her stepmother before in such plain terms, and Lady Sarah appeared to know it. She started visibly, looked away for a moment, and when her gaze returned, her eyes had a wildness in them Elizabeth had never seen.
“Very well,” she said with cold calmness. “I can see now that you cannot be reasoned with.”
“No,” Elizabeth interrupted. “What you mean is I cannot be controlled.”
“Silence!” Lady Sarah cried. “I will have no more of your impudence. You have stated your mind, and you have shown that your priorities are vastly different from those of your family. Elizabeth, I shall speak plainly to you. You and your sisters are a burden to your family. You have no fortune, and through your mother you connect your family most shamefully to those whose station in life is equally low. I have been tolerant, however. I have done all I could to establish you as an eligible bride, should some gentleman see beyond your numerous faults. And then, to my great pleasure, you and your sister both attracted the attention of men vastly superior to you—and then you had the audacity to reject them! Your failure to grasp how little you are owed in life, and how much I have given you, and what you owe to me for it, is altogether astonishing. I shall abide it no longer.”
“You cannot force me to marry him,” Elizabeth said in a shaking voice.
“No,” Lady Sarah replied, “I cannot. However, I can and will cut you off from our family. You shall henceforth never be mentioned in our household, nor among any of our connections. I will be quick to tell all that you are no daughter of mine, and your wayward actions will be on your own head.”
“My father will never agree to such measures,” Elizabeth said.
“Your father quite agrees with me that some deprivation will do you good,” Lady Sarah replied.
Elizabeth gasped inadvertently. She had long been afraid of placing herself and her stepmother in competition before her father. Could it now be true that he had made his choice in his wife’s favor? Elizabeth could not quite believe it, but she had no proof to the contrary. All she had as evidence was Lady Sarah’s prideful eyes before her, claiming a victory that she clearly believed she had won.
“Well, then,” Lady Sarah said, “I see that you are at last convinced that I am not to be trifled with. Will you yet persist in refusing to marry my nephew?”
Elizabeth’s eyes filled with tears, though her resolve did not waver, and she said, “Yes. I shall never marry him.”
“Foolish girl,” her stepmother said. “No other offer so eligible will ever come to you.”
Elizabeth knew that this must be the case; she knew that, in forfeiting her place in the fashionable world, she was unlikely to capture any man’s attention. She would be fixed permanently in a place below the notice of any truly deserving men, yet too highly educated and accomplished to be happy with those in her present sphere—none of whom would be able to afford to marry her, anyhow. Yet nameless, faceless men did not cause her any pause. It was only Mr. Darcy whom she thought of when she realized that she would have to give up even her friendship with him—and whatever courtship it may have erelong progressed into. She strongly suspected he had liked her when she had wealth and consequence, and her feelings toward him had warmed so greatly as to make his attention more than welcome—but she knew he would never condescend to court a woman without family or fortune, living near Cheapside with an uncle in trade. He would be lost to her forever. Yet if she married Lord Norwich, she would lose him anyway.
“Nonetheless,” Elizabeth said with all the courage she could muster, “he is not the man I love, and I will never marry him.”
Lady Sarah studied her stepdaughter for a long moment. If Elizabeth had been able to stand looking into a face so despised by her, she would have seen in that moment how Lady Sarah’s expression changed—how she began to see in her stepdaughter’s face something of the young girl she had met years ago, whose cleverness, liveliness, and beauty had won her affection. She was almost ready to ask Elizabeth what she meant—who was the man she loved?—when the door to the library opened.
Having overheard the voices in the entryway which had gradually grown louder, Mr. Gardiner emerged with solemnity and said firmly, “I believe this visit has lasted long enough.”
Lady Sarah’s brief spell of tenderness broke, and she looked again with impatience toward Elizabeth—but her stepdaughter was still looking away. Without another word, she departed, and Elizabeth looked up only when the door had slammed shut behind her. Then, she glanced toward her uncle, whose kind expression was too much for her worn nerves to bear. With a soft sob, she turned and ran up the stairs, that she might grieve undisturbed.
Her uncle watched her up the staircase before he turned around and returned to the library. “I beg your pardon,” he said. “I must find my wife. I am afraid,” he added, “you will not have the pleasure of seeing my niece today, after all.”
Mr. Darcy, seated beside his desk, was all concern as he replied, “Of course not. But is there anything I can do for her?”
Mr. Gardiner smiled slightly, though his nerves were worn. “Come back tomorrow.”
CHAPTER 25
__________
It was an odd time of life for Fitzwilliam Darcy, who at four-and-twenty had suddenly undergone a great many changes. He had been relatively free to come and go as he pleased; now, he was responsible for a great estate. He had been a distant brother to the sister who was still but a girl; now, he was her closest living relative and guardian. He had had hopes to spend his youth traveling the world; now, he was forced to realize such plans were unlikely ever to come to pass. Though his father had prepared him well to inherit Pemberley one day, nobody had expected that day to come so soon or so suddenly. Heavy were his burdens and thick was his grief when he had first met Elizabeth Bennet at Vauxhall Park, now four months prior.
At that first sighting, there was nothing of particular interest about the young lady except for her beauty. She and her sister had been described to him at length by his friend Mr. Pembroke, whom Mr. Darcy had liked very well in their earlier youth, but whose judgment he had lately begun to question. Mr. Pembroke professed himself very ill used by Miss Bennet, and Mr. Darcy—having little leisure to care much about any woman at present—found it easy to enter into his feelings by declaring the utter uselessness of such a connection. He had meant what he had then said, for he did have a prejudice toward tradespeople that made him quite uninterested in any such connection. However, the notion that his words would be overheard never occurred to him—and would not have particularly bothered him if it had. Such matters felt firmly beneath his notice.
When next he saw Elizabeth as a friend of his cousin’s, he was inclined to think even less of her—for though he respected his own family a great deal, he knew Juliana Whipple to be the sort of young woman whose actions lacked discipline and whose notions lacked depth. No friend of hers could be a worthwhile acquaintance. However, Elizabeth Bennet was very beautiful. Her eyes arrested him, and every time he saw her, he found it difficult to look away from her. Overhearing her conversation with Juliana, he suspected that she—like most other young women—was interested in knowing him better.
He was greatly surprised, therefore, when he decided that her connection to the Radcliffe family made her a worthy dancing partner, and she actually refused to stand up with him! Yet her sweetness of manner and brightness of eye were too enticing for him to be angry, and he found her representation of her own claims intriguing.
From that moment, he began to watch Miss Elizabeth Bennet more closely whenever they were in company. Observing her, he noticed what he had missed before. First, he saw that Elizabeth was sad. Though she laughed and smiled, it was apparent to him that her smiles never quite reached her eyes. She was sought after by many people, moreover, but she never seemed particularly interested in anybody. She was charming, but yet her affection could not be so easily won. Even extremely eligible young men, such as Lord Norwich, were met with the same impenetrable distance. Her approval was not easily given, and therefore it was all the more worth having.
When, in a moment of impulsivity most unlike his usual demeanor, Mr. Darcy told Elizabeth of his recent struggles, he learned still more about her character. He saw that she was sympathetic and kind. She had heard him with the compassion of a friend, though he had done nothi
ng to earn such favor with her.
So gradually that he hardly knew it had happened, his feelings underwent a total change. There were many highly eligible women whom he knew would be glad to marry him, and at least as many gentlemen who would be thrilled to marry her, yet he began to feel that there were no two people in the world better suited for each other than himself and Elizabeth Bennet. Though these were not so much conscious thoughts as underlying feelings, still they drove his actions from that point forward, until Mr. Darcy—scarcely having realized it—began to think and plan, hope and wish, all for Elizabeth.
Having no steady home, Elizabeth was difficult for him to court. He could call at Wimpole Street, of course, but until Mr. and Mrs. Whipple were at home again, such a measure would hardly be proper. Then, when the Bennet girls removed to Portman Square, Mr. Darcy had to resort to even more creative measures to be in Elizabeth’s presence. Yet seeing her was easier still while she lived there than when she removed to Gracechurch Street and appeared to depart from society all together.
From every party, event, and public place in which she had formerly been a fixture, Elizabeth then disappeared. Mr. Darcy was determined to learn more of her whereabouts, but the only information he could procure was from his cousin Miss Whipple, whose excessive jealousy of Elizabeth’s relationship with Lord Norwich made almost unintelligible whatever accounts she could give of her friend. Yet Mr. Darcy was persistent. He was glad to have her address when, the day after the disastrous masquerade ball, he called at Gracechurch Street and found her doing far better than he had expected.
Lord Norwich was nothing more or less than a despicable scoundrel. He may have been destined to become an earl, but he would never deserve a woman such as Elizabeth. Mr. Darcy was determined that the only man to deserve her, the only man to earn her, would be himself.
He began to make a habit of calling, yet he encountered terrible luck. The morning of Elizabeth’s fateful visit to Arlington Street, Mr. Darcy had waited for her half an hour. The next time he called, he learned that Elizabeth had gone to her old school to visit her sisters and governess. On the morning of Lady Sarah’s visit to her stepdaughter, Mr. Darcy had been in the library with Mr. Gardiner, waiting for Elizabeth to come downstairs. The scene with Lady Sarah was horrible, but it had created one singular spark of hope for Mr. Darcy: Elizabeth had alluded to loving somebody else, and Mr. Darcy could not help suspecting that this mysterious other man was himself.
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