My breath circled as I walked through the frosty air, feeling grateful for my greatcoat. Twigs and icy puddles snapped under my boots as I cut through the woods to take the path by the river. It was not the fastest way to Longbourn, but it was the most scenic, and I felt a great need for beauty before I entered a house of mourning and witnessed the grief I might have prevented if I had been paying attention. I also had no desire to pass along the path where I witnessed Mr Bennet breathe his last.
The path was empty of people. A low mist settled along the river through which birds dived and swooped. Some hardy blackberries still clung to bare brambles. The pretty scene reminded me of Pemberley.
It had been too long since I was there. Perhaps I might return there soon after London. I would miss the season, but that was no loss. Tedious balls and dinner beside tiresome people with little to say for themselves, being assessed by determined mamas to see how big a prize I might be for their dull daughters who cared for little else but an estate in the country and a house in town. The very thought of it made me long to shut myself away, but as Bingley was so fond of reminding me, I could not do so forever. Pemberley needed an heir.
I pushed the thought to one side and forced myself to pay attention to the surrounding countryside.
If I had not done so, I might have missed the sight of a figure swathed in black sitting on a flat rock as she restlessly threw twigs into the rushing water. She had pulled her bonnet from her head, and it lay forgotten beside her. Her small hands were free of their gloves, flushed with pink from the biting air. Some of her pins had come loose as if she had dressed her hair herself in a hurry, and long, curling tendrils tumbled about her neck.
I hesitated, an unfamiliar wave of indecision settling over me. Should I pretend I had not seen her and walk on? Would I intrude on her grief? And how could I face those eyes that had once sparkled but now dulled with pain because I would not pay attention to a companion I felt beneath me?
A stick cracking under my boot decided for me. Miss Elizabeth turned at once and with an alarm that astonished me. I did not take her for a lady who was easily spooked, but her eyes were wide, though she visibly slumped with relief when she recognised me.
I raised my hand in greeting and moved to join her.
“Mr Darcy,” she said. Her eyes were red, but she was struggling to look composed as she greeted me. I shuffled my hat between my hands, feeling as awkward as a schoolboy. Why did this simple country girl leave me so tongue-tied in her presence?
“Miss Bennet. I was on my way to Longbourn to see how you do.” I paused as those dark eyes gazed back at me. “You are well?”
“As can be expected.”
“Of course.” I stood for a moment longer, at a loss for what to do or say. Elizabeth had turned away, clearly not desiring my company. “I will not trespass on you any longer. I wished to give my regards.”
She nodded.
I started to walk away but stopped. Something about the utter hopelessness in her face arrested me. This was more than grief. This was something else.
“Miss Bennet,” I said, walking back to join her. “I hope you will forgive my asking, but I was wondering if you have made arrangements for your future? I ask not to intrude, but so I might offer any assistance you and your family might need. If there is a difficulty, you need only speak it, and I will do all I can.”
Through Elizabeth’s troubled eyes came a flash of such surprise that I was offended. Why should she look so astonished when I offered my help?
“That is very good of you, sir. There are still arrangements to be made, but I am certain we have them all to hand. I appreciate your offer.”
“I understand how you feel, you know,” I blurted out. “My own excellent father died eight years ago. It was as though everything that was safe and solid and good had been torn away from me in a moment. The world tilted beneath my feet, and I did not know how to manage it. But it passes with time, though nothing is ever quite the same again. You will find happiness and delight in the world again.”
Why had I spoken so personally? I was mortified and almost clammed up at once when Elizabeth surprised me by offering me a gentle smile.
“I cannot deny, it is good to hear from someone who knows how it feels. My sisters are so deep in their own grief, and my friends have yet to experience such an event. I am sorry for your loss, sir.”
“Thank you. And I am sorry for yours. It is not easy for someone who has never experienced it to understand. But in one way, my situation was simpler. I knew what my future would hold. I had certainty if nothing else.” I observed her face as I spoke, and I knew at once I had struck to the heart of the matter. Elizabeth’s face paled, and she drew in a sharp breath and glanced away. “I did not have to see another become the master in my father’s place, apart from me. I did not have to endure the pain of seeing a stranger sit where he once sat,” I ventured on. “It cannot be easy.”
Elizabeth raised her eyes to meet mine, and for a moment, I wondered how she would respond. Would she walk away from my impertinence or order me away?
“It is difficult,” she said carefully. Her voice trembled. “It is hard. I do not know who I can speak with now that Father is no longer…”
I took the seat beside her on the rock without waiting for her to invite me. A part of me watched myself from a distance, astonished at my familiarity, but I could not help it. Something about her wretchedness tore at my heart. I found I could no more tell myself it was none of my concern and walk away than I could if it had been Georgiana before me, looking so lost and vulnerable.
Elizabeth was startled. “I think I have taken up too much of your time, sir. These are private matters and should not concern you.”
“You are right,” I said. “They do not concern me. On the other hand, that is precisely why you may confide in me if you wish. I have a distance from your situation that others in your circle do not. I also have some experience with the pain you are in. I promise you that whatever you tell me will not go beyond me.”
Elizabeth laughed though her eyes watered for a moment.
“This is most unlike you, sir. Not so long ago, you would not deign to dance with anyone in Meryton, now you sit beside one of us, urging them to confide their deepest secrets to you.”
“Not your deepest secrets, if you please,” I said and was rewarded with a brief, dimpled smile. “Just the one that is troubling you.”
“That might be best. My deepest secrets of all might leave you shocked and scandalised. You would never recover.”
6
Elizabeth
If I had been in a clear state of mind, I would have been astonished by my situation; sitting here beside Mr Darcy, of all people, preparing to tell him what was troubling me.
Yet I could not deny his presence brought me comfort. He was gentler than I ever knew he could be and more importantly, he understood something of my situation. He could share my pain, even if he could not share in the predicament it left me in. I needed the comfort of someone who understood even more than I needed to maintain a sense of propriety. Once I married Mr Collins - and I could see no way out of the situation - I would never have the luxury of someone who understood again.
I could not confide in Jane. She had her own pain, and if she knew how this affected me, it would make her miserable. She might even offer to take my place, but I loved her too well for that. Charlotte would not see an issue with my marrying Mr Collins. She would see it as a perfect solution to our problem. No, it had to be someone distant from me, who would soon go away and I would not have to see again.
Haltingly, hesitatingly, I told Mr Darcy about the entail, much of which he already knew. He nodded as I spoke as if he understood I needed to talk about previously known topics before I worked my way to the point. His eyes were grave and thoughtful until I came to the part where Mr Collins had proposed to me and renewed it just that day.
“I was so relieved when my father supported me in turning him down. I shoul
d have trusted him, but I had a deep fear he might see my marriage to Mr Collins as the perfect solution to the entail. And I suppose it is. But now Mr Collins has renewed his offer, and I do not see how I can refuse it.” I stared down at my hands as I spoke. My fingers were so cold, I could hardly feel them any longer. I tucked them into my shawl and looked at Mr Darcy.
There was an odd expression on his face. I could have sworn it was anger, and I thought I understand the cause. I smiled wryly.
“I need not ask what you think, sir. You think me foolish and ungrateful to take issue with such an offer. You think I have a duty to accept and my doubts make me selfish and wilful. Well, you are probably right.”
“Do not be so quick to believe you know what I am thinking, Miss Bennet. Remember, I told you once that your character defect is a propensity to wilfully misunderstand people,” he replied in a surprisingly gentle tone. “Tell me, how does marriage to your cousin make you feel? Forgetting any advantage to your family. How would you like to commit your lively talents to such a man?”
“Oh, do you need to ask? You have met my cousin. I cannot care for him, and I cannot respect him. We will never make one another happy. Our personalities are hopelessly mismatched. We will have little to say to one another. But I will provide security to my family, and I do not see how I can refuse it.”
“Could Mr Collins be directed to one of your sisters?” Mr Darcy asked. “Perhaps Miss Mary might make a better parson’s wife. I think the life would suit her.”
I stared at him, amazed at his perception. I would not have thought he’d pay so much attention to my family except to find fault with us.
“She would, and I agree. But no, Mr Collins makes it clear it must be me alone or no one. And it is not because he is in love with me. I fear it is something worse. I suspect he resents me rejecting him and sees an opportunity to have the gratification of seeing me forced to bend to his will. He came after me when I left to walk and said he expected an answer by tomorrow evening or we would have to make other arrangements.”
“Did he indeed!” Darcy’s eyes flashed with anger, but this time I knew it was not for me. “I knew he was a fool, but now it seems he is a scoundrel.”
“He is right,” I answered. “If I say no, he cannot keep us on in charity any longer. It might be ungenerous of him, but he has attempted to mend the situation, and his conscience will be clear if I say no. I cannot fault him for that.”
“I can fault him for seeking to use your situation to his advantage,” said Darcy. “A gentleman would never issue such threats to force a lady’s hand, especially one stricken with grief.” He frowned. “I cannot and will not think well of a man who behaves thus.”
“You have the luxury of thinking little of him and the luxury of not needing to have anything to do with him,” I snapped with sudden frustration. “It is all very well for you to despise him, but it does not help me. I cannot refuse him. My family depends on me. We have received no responses from houses. We cannot work, and we have no relations who can take on the burden of six women. Debating whether he is a gentleman is a luxury I cannot afford, sir.” I released a breath, and it curled before me on the frosty air. “Forgive me. I have not been sleeping well since Father died and now this. I have not had a moment’s relief. I did not appreciate those days where I had nothing more taxing to ponder than what book I should read next or whether it was Kitty or Lydia, who took my new shawl. But that is no excuse for how I am speaking to you, sir. You have been kind to listen to me, and I am repaying you poorly.”
Mr Darcy waved away my apology.
“I understand. The last few days have been exhausting for you. Instead of being able to grieve your father, you must contemplate a future very different from what you had planned. I think you are allowed some frustration.”
I was astonished at his gallantry, and I murmured a brief thank you.
“You have not yet given Mr Collins a response?” he asked. He fixed his gaze on the slow-moving water, which rippled as an unseen fish gasped beneath the surface.
“Not yet. He said he wanted his answer by tomorrow night. I shall have to accept, but I shall not do so until the last minute. It will be an unkindness to my mother and sisters to cause them an extra few hours of concern but considering what I am about to sacrifice, I am sure I can be forgiven the indulgence. I want to enjoy as many hours of freedom as I can before I am engaged to Mr Collins.”
My mouth twisted as the reality of it hit me once again. Mrs Collins. The wife and, God help me, the bedmate of that odious man. How on earth would I bear such a fate?
“No one could blame you for that,” said Mr Darcy. His voice was low and soft as if he were no longer with me, as if he were many miles away. It seemed my tales of woe no longer held his interest. He rose to his feet. “I am afraid you have long desired my absence. I will leave you now. Please give my regards to everyone at Longbourn and accept my best wishes for your health and happiness.”
I felt a peculiar stab of hurt at his sudden coldness. It was as if the abrupt, formal Mr Darcy had returned in a moment. Perhaps my predicament reminded him of my low origins, and maybe he was offended by how I spoke of my family’s problems despite his encouragement. I should have known better than to confide in him.
“Thank you, sir. Good morning.” I nodded to show him I could be just as abrupt. He bowed and appeared to be about to say something else, but I turned my gaze back to the river to show the conversation was at an end. He walked away, and the coldness that had briefly lifted and given me some relief returned with his absence.
I remained where I was for some time before reluctantly returning to a home that no longer felt like a warm sanctuary.
7
I spent the rest of the evening trying to avoid my mother and Mr Collins; not an easy task to do as, despite my day’s grace, they were determined to have an answer, knowing that there was only one I could give. Kitty and Lydia provided distractions at dinner by discussing the officers, and though I should have been irritated at their lack of respect so soon after Father died, I welcomed it as a glimpse of the old normality we would never have again. Something about their silly chatter made me smile. I could almost imagine the last week had not happened and everything was as it was before. I even joined in their conversation to tease them every time I saw my mother look in my direction or Mr Collins clear his throat, fearful he would ask if he could make an announcement.
Wickham was back in Meryton, a piece of news I received with mingled despair and delight. I was sure he would visit us, and his lively conversation would provide me with relief from my constant rumination, but seeing him would remind me of the relationship I would never have. I would never have a husband I could be comfortable with. I would never laugh or joke or discuss favourite books. I would never look at my husband with desire or pride. He would both relieve me and remind me of the high price I was about to pay.
Mama caught me as I was about to leave the dining room.
“Do you have an answer for us, Lizzy?” she whispered urgently. “Come, we are all gathered in the same room. It is the perfect time to make an announcement.”
“Not now, Mama,” I said, pulling myself free.
“You insolent…”
I hurried down the hall before I could hear anything else.
It was a beautiful, clear, frosty night, and the moon was full. The garden would provide me with a welcome escape from my mother’s desperate attentions. The moon was so bright I could easily walk about the park until the lights from the drawing-room were dimmed and I knew Mr Collins and Mama had gone to bed.
The grass crunched under my feet as I drew my hands inside my cloak. It was a beautiful, fresh night, the kind of night I had always delighted in. How fitting that it should also be my last night of freedom before I chained myself for life to my lumpen cousin; a man I had thought only a fool but one I now feared had something darker about him.
I still recalled Mr Collins’s attempts at cornering me earlier a
nd the implied threat in his words. Would he be a cruel husband? Would he mistreat me to punish me for rejecting him? I was not sure he was brave enough for that. I suspected he could bluster but nothing beyond that, and if he attempted it, he would learn very quickly I was not the sort of person to endure it.
I had never been in a rage to marry before but now, confronted with a husband like Mr Collins I wished I had received an offer of marriage from another man earlier — anyone I might have accepted who would have spared me what I was about to do. I had never seen a man I liked enough to marry before, but I believed there could be none less suited to me than my cousin.
So lost was I in my self-pity that I missed the figure who stepped into the light until they were before me. I yelped in alarm, my hands flying up to defend myself at once before I recognised them. That only increased my surprise.
“Mr Darcy,” I gasped as he hurried towards me, his usually cold face concerned. “Good Lord, sir, what are you intending by hiding in the dark like that?”
“I beg your pardon,” he said quickly as I took a deep breath to calm my racing heart. “I did not mean to startle you. I thought you had seen me and were coming towards me.”
“I think we can agree I did not see you,” I said.
My hands shook. For a dreadful moment, I had thought the figure was Mr Collins coming to accost me into marriage. Although as I appraised Mr Darcy’s tall, upright figure, I acknowledged that only a fool could mistake the two men. When it came to being blessed with looks, one received all of it, and the other was sadly lacking. “What are you doing here? Have you some message from the Bingleys?” My mind turned at once to Mr Bingley, and I seized on the hope. Perhaps Mr Bingley might return and ask Jane to marry him. If he did, I would be free from the obligation to marry Mr Collins. I was desperate for anything that might offer such hope. But I was not surprised when Mr Darcy shook his head.
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