Writerly Ambitions

by Timothy Underwood

  Elizabeth smiled to herself. Her face pinked and she was clearly pleased. She then looked down. “I, perhaps, I am too independent for any sort of marriage.”

  Darcy wanted to argue with her upon that, but really, in the middle of the chief room of the circulating library, with her sister and Mr. Martin there watching, this was neither the time, nor the place to do so. “I think such a notion is one that is easy to hold for a woman such as yourself — a woman who has no need to marry. There could be many rational reasons to not marry.”

  Elizabeth looked at him peculiarly.

  He smiled back, with a bit of his own dry mischievousness. He knew Elizabeth well enough to know that directly arguing with her and insisting that, no she needed a husband, specifically himself was not likely to win Elizabeth’s approval.

  Elizabeth shook her head. “Borrow Frankenstein. You’ll like it, or you’ll have an interesting reason to dislike it that you can share with me.”

  Darcy turned to the bookseller. “Then I would like a copy of Frankenstein as well as the history.”

  “Do you wish to pay a library fee to borrow, or have it for purchase?”

  “For purchase, if you have an unbound copy.”

  That business was transacted, but rather than leaving, Darcy stayed in the bookstore as the bookseller asked Elizabeth and Mrs. Hawdry what they hoped to acquire. “A work of melancholy poetry, to help you wile away your grief, Mrs. Hawdry?”

  The beautiful young woman shook her head. “No… I am at present well supplied with materials for perusal.”

  Elizabeth said, “I have read all the books I have at present that I am interested in — has anything of note come to you recently? I seek a book which does not show an abominable lack of taste this time — I promise, I shall give you reason to despise me with what I borrow next when once I have returned this book that was written with good taste.”

  Mr. Martin laughed. “Have you read the last by Miss Austen — the author of Sense and Sensibility and Mansfield Park. Sadly passed, but they had one last book of hers, written when she was young. Northanger Abbey — a clever book, like all of Miss Austen’s, and the book both makes fun of those terrible novels silly girls read, while, like you, defending their right to read them.”

  “An excellent choice, and I have always been an enthusiast of Miss Austen — in three volumes?” At Mr. Martin’s nod, Elizabeth said, “Bring all three. I’ll read them in one grand to do. I always do the whole lot at once with Miss Austen’s books.”

  Mr. Martin produced the three from the back shelves, and Elizabeth paid the borrowing fee for all three volumes. With a smile they all inclined their heads to Mr. Martin and left the reading room.

  When they were back at the street, Mrs. Hawdry asked, “Lizzy, I know you planned to return home straight away, but I have decided to call upon our Mrs. Phillips.”

  Elizabeth looked at Mrs. Hawdry rather quizzically, as if she was doing something that was out of character for the young woman.

  Mrs. Hawdry did not look at Elizabeth, but said to Mr. Darcy, “Sir, would you be so kind as to escort my sister home — she would be quite lonely without any company on her walk.” When Darcy did not immediately reply, too amused by the face Elizabeth was making, Mrs. Hawdry added, “It is not quite proper you know, for young women to walk about alone.”

  Elizabeth laughed embarrassedly.

  Mr. Darcy carefully looked at Elizabeth to see what she wished. He was aware that Elizabeth could delightedly dally on an exceedingly long walk entirely alone. He rather expected that Mrs. Hawdry knew that fact about her sister at least as well as Mr. Darcy did.

  But Elizabeth smiled brightly at him, and that was that.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Elizabeth now found herself in the sort of meaningful situation she might quite easily place the heroine of one of her own novels into — being walked by the handsome gentleman who she probably loved to her home, two days after she had refused his offer of marriage. And now she must face down the awkwardness, and must face down every other consideration.

  It had been quite unkind of Jane to do this to her, but then she had not told Jane that she had refused Mr. Darcy.

  A bare wintery road and Mr. Darcy.

  The ground was soft from the rains of the past day. Deep puddles here, there, and elsewhere threatened muddy violence to the petticoats, stockings and boots of our heroine. Mr. Darcy gallantly offered his firm muscular hand to help Elizabeth step over particularly big puddles.

  Elizabeth rather wished there were more of them.

  “It makes me happy to see you again.” She could not look directly at Mr. Darcy as she spoke. “I had… I confess I worried a little that you would depart to London forthwith, and I would… would never see you again.”

  “Would you have been so sad in that case?” Darcy asked smilingly. “Am I so dear to you?”

  “You are very dear… a very dear friend. A… dear…”

  “Do not specify. We feel it together. We know what we are to each other.”

  “I don’t know!”

  “Then I know.”

  “I…” Elizabeth swallowed. “I am scared… I don’t want… I don’t—”

  “Miss Bennet, I promise you. I shall not pressure you until you wish me to.”

  “Surely you have repented any such thought? Of marriage. You cannot… surely that was the impulse of a moment, what you offered, and you are glad I refused you. Delighted in fact at such an escape.”

  “Delighted that we both have the leisure to consider the matter at length, so that any more permanent connection betwixt us shall be one we enter into after sober reflection, and without any hesitance upon either side — but I have considered, I have thought of little besides you these past days.”

  Elizabeth looked at him, glancing cautiously to the side. His face quite cherubic. He’d not changed his mind in the slightest.

  Elizabeth smiled to herself. “And what, I only half dare to ask, have you thought about me? The details.”

  “That you are lovely, and that I ardently admire you. And that I am more and more convinced it shall make both of our happiness when we marry — but note, I say all this only to myself at present. I am not yet making my suit to you. So do not act as though I am speaking as a lover, not yet.”

  Elizabeth irrepressibly smiled up at him, after he said that. She could feel her face heat up, and she felt quite as soft as the muddy ground inside. But warmer and mushier than dirt ever could be. She replied glowing and blushing. “Of a certainty not! I would never consider a gentleman’s revealing of his private thoughts of admiration to a lady to be anything like a public declaration. I assure you, I have never heard a more private and less loverlike speech.”

  “I thank you, for when I do venture a second declaration of my intentions, I hope to have a fine speech prepared. I plan to study over words in three syllables to write it out, and with ample allusions to the tales of Greece and Rome.”

  “I cannot conceive of what a woman would enjoy more than to be compared to Helen.”

  “No! I was to compare you to Penelope.”

  “That is a kinder comparison in character, though not in beauty.”

  “Ah, a critic who helps me to improve! That is why I admire you — one reason. So in this speech, I shall compare your pulchritude — one of those three syllable words — to that of Helen, but your steadfastness to that of Penelope.”

  Elizabeth blushed. “My pulchritude? That is a word in three syllables.”

  “Yes. Hmmmm. The other part of the comparison must be changed — steadfastness may be in three syllables, but it is too close to an everyday word, it does not belong next to ‘pulchritude’. Ah! I shall haunt the dictionary, and my own mind, and Byron’s poetry looking for a term which means the same but is decidedly not every day, nor ordinary, just as you are neither every day, nor ordinary.”

  Elizabeth laughed. “You can manage something of charm. It is quite different to see you in such a mode.” />
  Darcy blushed and then he looked away and rubbed the fine line of his chin. “It is not too much?”

  “Not at all.”

  “I feared I perhaps laid on the praise a little thick… I asked Bingley for his counsel — he suggested it was decidedly the better when courting a woman to say a little too much, than to say nothing at all.”

  “And then to ask her to marry her of a sudden impulse? — did you…” Elizabeth frowned, a little discomfited. “Inform him of my refusal of your hand?”

  “He guessed.” Darcy frowned. “He has determined to tease me at great length upon the matter of my attachment to you, now that he no longer fears I shall leave the country immediately upon discovery of such tender sentiments in my own heart.”

  Elizabeth laughed. “My poor gentleman admirer — to be made sport of. Such has never happened to you before?”

  “Not often — not with Bingley at least. Bracing. But this did give me leave to ask some advice.”

  “You have managed splendidly,” Elizabeth said with enthusiasm. Then she frowned. “I am being decidedly encouraging — am I not?”

  “Your smiles, laughs, and amusement do not precisely discourage me, Miss Bennet.”

  Elizabeth laughed at Mr. Darcy’s wry tone. “I do not know that I should be.”

  “Perhaps…” Darcy’s voice cracked, and Elizabeth perceived suddenly that though he was tall, with noble mien, and dressed in fine wool suits tailored by the finest of London, Darcy was anxious just as she was.

  He said, “I have tried to construct in my mind some argument… but I do not know that… have you any questions for me? Do you object to me as a suitor, or more to the general idea of matrimony?”

  Elizabeth’s stomach clenched again, remembering that moment of anxiety when she turned to Mr. Darcy to cry on his shoulder. And she remembered what she had yelled at Jane. About never letting herself trust anyone again.

  She was so terrified of letting herself depend upon Darcy, as she would if they married. But she also… she wanted to.

  Elizabeth took a deep breath.

  “Miss Bennet—” Darcy swallowed.

  Elizabeth wished he would call her Elizabeth again.

  “You need not say anything. I shall not push you, I shall not… I wish your comfort.”

  “Why? Be clear — there are tales about me. Tales you believe, and tales that it seems would make any respectable man to hesitate before making an offer of marriage to me. As you have said, I cannot have an excess of respectable men beating my door down in hopes of marriage. Though I have had some suitors in literary circles in London who I respected.”

  “You mean to assure me I am not your only option — Elizabeth, you are the sort of woman whose mind and character will always draw the attraction of men of sense. I have no doubt that you can find many gentlemen, but, but I have a secret scheme to ensure that it is me who you shall choose.” He lowered his voice, the tones following into a low seductive timbre. “You like me, very much.”

  “And that is your plan? That I like you.”

  “A good one, is it not? You would not marry a man who you did not like.”

  Elizabeth laughed. “Ah! I confess, I had not thought of that point in its favor.”

  Darcy smiled and stood proudly in a manner that suggested he had nothing further to say on the matter.

  After a moment though Elizabeth could not help but pick at a painful point. “What — were you to marry me, you would hear, likely hear about how it is certain I will betray you. What would you say then? When someone brings you rumors about how your wife, who was a ruined woman, has ruined you.”

  “I trust you.”

  Elizabeth waited a moment. “You just trust me?”

  “Yes. It is as simple as that. You have not the sort of nature that would betray me. You do not have the sort of meanness in you to casually trample upon my feelings, my honor, or my rights — should you accept my proposal, and I will make another, though not yet, should you accept my proposal, it will be because you wish to fulfill those vows and you know that you can do so. So then what have I to fear?”

  “Darcy,” Elizabeth felt her hands tremble suddenly with nervousness. “There is something you need to know. I… I should have told you a long time ago. Since we have become such friends, such… but I never speak upon this to anyone, not anymore.”

  He tilted his head to consider her. His eyes were dark and sympathetic. “Yes, Elizabeth. Anything. Nothing I can imagine you saying could change how I care for you.”

  “You see… well you see. It was… Mr. Reed. He made them all laugh at me the last time. And then… Mr. Hawdry. I tried to explain to him. He was quite rude, but he had married Jane. And the other times. None of them ever believed. And so you see… Mama also, she did not want to even hear about my excuses and. And well… I entered this habit… I simply smiled, and let others assume what they would about me… it lets me see something more of a person’s true character, and… and, well—”

  “Breathe, Elizabeth. Take a deep breath.”

  Elizabeth did.

  And then she let out her breath in a long, slow exhale. Another breath and exhale.

  Mr. Darcy smiled at her, fondly. He took and held her hand. “Say it simply: What shocking thing about you and Wickham are you trying to tell me?”

  “It was all lies. We never did anything. I kneed him in the privates when he placed his hands too familiarly on my body, and he then left me alone, except after he took his revenge on my refusal to give him what he wished by telling everyone those horrid stories.”

  Elizabeth looked down, feeling rather sick, and not able to bear to see his reaction.

  She felt as if not telling Mr. Darcy until now meant she had been lying to him about her real nature all this time. On the other hand that was ridiculous. Any gentleman should be delighted to hear that a woman he admired had never participated in such a sin.

  Darcy was silent for a time. Elizabeth glanced at him repeatedly, would see his eyes and his puzzled frown, and then she would glance down again quickly.

  “Well, that was not what I expected to hear.” He laughed sharply. “I half expected you to tell me there was truth to the story I overheard once from Mr. Reed that you’d fostered out some child.”

  Elizabeth laughed squeakily. “He says that to everyone?”

  “At least to Mr. Lucas when he is drunk.”

  It was impossible to stop, Elizabeth started nervously giggling, and Darcy gripped her hand in his strong warm hand, and he kept that warm affectionate smile. The smile of a man who insisted that he loved and admired her.

  Something in Elizabeth that had been broken, some sort of inability to trust started knitting up.

  “And to think,” Darcy said when she stopped her helpless nervous giggling, but kept smiling at him, “I prided myself on my judgement. But I made one assumption, and it was quite wrong, and now…”

  And at Darcy’s rueful tone she started giggling again.

  He softly embraced her, and Elizabeth let him. She would accept his offer, a stray thought came, when he made it, so why not let him embrace her now.

  When the happy, yet still a little nervous, couple resumed their muddy walk, prompted by the cold that demanded quite fiercely they not stay in one location without warming up from walking for too long, Elizabeth asked, “You do not think entirely differently of me, or feel as though I have been dishonest towards you? I long ago decided that it is better to be judged worse than I am, than to defend myself, and be disbelieved — you do believe me.”

  “I always trust you, Elizabeth. Anything you tell me.” He smiled.

  He called her Elizabeth again.

  She could not help but smile. She let out another long breath, and then sat down on a big stump. “I am trembling.”

  Darcy sat next to her.

  “Well. Well. So then neither of us…” He blushed and stared at the sticks and dead grasses. Much of the fallen leaves had decayed or been washed away. “I
always kept myself pure, as well… thinking I ought… for my future wife, and as a decent Christian gentleman.”

  “Oh.” Elizabeth smiled at him, and he smiled back at her. “I know enough of the world to know that is not the usual course of a gentleman’s education.”

  “I think neither of us follow the usual course of life.”

  Elizabeth laughed and squeezed his hand.

  She noticed that she did not deny his implication she would one day become his wife — the moment was too intimate for that sort of teasing, and she did not desire to reject that presumption.

  Mr. Darcy kept smiling upon her, seemingly comfortable with a quiet silence between them. She wondered if he was reassessing how he thought of her.

  Eventually she asked, “You do not… I should have spoken to you earlier, upon the topic. At a certain point… at a certain point we had become such good friends… but to suddenly say such a thing, it seems like a ridiculous self-importance… And I am not used to my word upon this matter being credited by those I am not on the closest terms of intimacy with. I of course knew you would credit me, but…”

  Mr. Darcy smiled widely at her.

  Confusedly Elizabeth smiled back. “What?”

  “You include me in the number of those you are on the closest terms of intimacy with.”

  She blushed and then laughed. “Well… we are dear friends…”

  “Friends?” He tilted his head, his smile not fading, and for a moment, for a delirious moment, where she had no idea what she would have said, Elizabeth thought Mr. Darcy was going to propose once more.

  But to her disappointment, Mr. Darcy looked up at the sky. It had turned grey once more. “I ought to walk you the rest of the way home. Fulfill your sister’s request.”

  Darcy grinned at her as he pulled her to her feet from her stump chair. They walked briskly forward along the road to Longbourn, both smiling, neither speaking much.

  ====

  In one sense matters seemed at a standstill. Elizabeth and Darcy did not speak further upon his hope to marry Elizabeth. However they saw each other quite often.