“Thank you. I do so enjoy listening to a good tenor. Do you sing, Mr. Darcy?”
“I? No, I never learnt. My only foray into the arts was a brief period of acting while I was at school. My father did not approve, and so I gave it up.”
“Fathers can be so tiresome,” sighed Miss Tilden.
Darcy recalled the pain he felt when first informed of the death of his father, and feeling his loss as he did now, he considered him to be anything but tiresome.
“Please, do not be weary of your father. Mine died five years ago, and how I wish he were still alive.”
A moment of embarrassed silence followed his remark. He was uncomfortable with what he considered to be her indelicacy, and she was painfully aware that she had displeased him.
“Oh, I am sorry. I did not know. Please excuse me. Please, do not think that I do not love my father.”
He glanced at her but said nothing.
“If I may speak frankly, though, I believe my father regrets that I was not a son. He is eager to find a match for me and for me to bear the future heir of Tilden Manor during his lifetime.”
Darcy softened towards her when he heard this. He could easily sympathize with anyone who felt they did not live up to the expectations of a parent.
“I am sorry that he finds any regret with you. And you? How do you feel about his efforts at marrying you off? I suppose that you will go to the highest bidder?”
Miss Tilden laughed. She had a cheery voice, though not quite as pleasant to listen to as was Elizabeth’s. Elizabeth . . . Darcy tried to catch himself in the thought, but it was too late.
He cut off any response that his companion may have been inclined to make. “Miss Tilden, I think we should return to the house.”
She looked up at him and wondered at the sudden appearance of sadness in his eyes. They did not speak again until they arrived at the house, and he offered to assist her in ascending a small flight of stairs.
They were met in the entryway by Mr. Tilden, who had been pleased to send them off together into the park and now eagerly searched their faces for any sign of attachment. Determined that the night should not pass away without some progress in that quarter, he concluded that he would speak with Mr. Darcy alone about the hopes and dreams he had for his daughter. “Did you enjoy your walk, Clara?”
“Very much, Father.”
She noticed her father’s glance at Darcy and excused herself.
* * * * *
BOTH MEN WATCHED MISS TILDEN’S receding figure as she walked down the hall. When she was out of sight, Mr. Tilden invited Darcy to join him in his study.
Mr. Tilden’s study contained a large desk, several family likenesses on the walls, and many rows of books on finely finished shelves. The desk was very ornate but was too large for the room. The books were all very handsome, but appeared to be unread.
“Mr. Darcy, may I get you a drink?”
“No, I thank you.” Whatever Mr. Tilden was about, Darcy wanted a clear head to deal with him, and he did not want to be off his guard later when conversing again with his daughter.
“I want you to know how much we enjoy your company here in our home. Clara tells me she is very pleased with your visits.” Mr. Tilden poured himself a glass of port.
“She is a pleasant young woman, sir. You should be proud of her.”
“I am, of course. Thank you.” Darcy was not convinced.
Mr. Tilden continued. “I asked you in here specifically to talk about her. I am curious to know how deep your concern for her runs.”
Darcy began to grow uncomfortable. The truth of the game he had been playing suddenly became clear to him. Here was a father who believed that Darcy’s intentions ran in a way that would lead to marriage with his daughter. While Darcy had tried to convince himself that this was his wish as well, he suddenly realized that he was caught in his own finely spun web of self-delusion.
He could only listen as Mr. Tilden continued to speak. “I have been blessed in my life with many advantages, and have been able to provide for Clara accordingly. She has a dowry of twenty-five thousand pounds and at my death will inherit Tilden Manor. I am seeking a good match for her, sir.”
These are the very things he had thought he wanted to hear. This is why he had left Elizabeth. This is why he had been visiting with the Tildens. But now . . . Where was the joy? Why did he suffer under a feeling of apprehension? The decision to marry was to bring the relief one feels upon arriving home after a long journey, but all he felt was a chill. There was no warmth or happiness. What was wrong? He had done everything his father had told him to do.
Darcy’s attention was drawn back by the sound of Mr. Tilden’s voice.
“I am seeking a worthy alliance for her, though I know that it might seem presumptuous to extend my efforts to such a one as yourself. I would like you to know that I am willing to add an additional ten thousand pounds to her dowry should you feel it appropriate. I know that money matters are important in bringing about successful matches, and I would not want her prospects jeopardized. Clara is a sweet girl, but I know that it takes more than sweetness to bring about a good marriage.”
The horror of Mr. Tilden’s proposal struck Darcy forcibly. Here was a man trying to sell his daughter! What if that daughter could not be happy? Who was the fortune hunter, and who was the hunted?
Darcy imagined what his life would be like if he married Miss Tilden. The sound of her voice pronouncing his name would become revolting. In an effort to avoid his wife, he would be separated from his beloved Pemberley by continual absence. He would have no respect for his own children. He realized that he would do to them what his own father had done to him. He would abandon them. If he followed in his father’s footsteps, he would be as isolated and alone as his father had been. If he lived up to his father’s expectations, he would end up just as miserable. The truth dawned on him at this moment of realization with bone-chilling clarity. For his own sake and for the sake of his children and their consequent happiness, he must marry a woman he could love and respect. And the woman that he loved was Elizabeth Bennet.
Darcy could barely maintain his seat as a searing heat passed through his mind, convicting him of his foolishness. He had left Elizabeth. He had willingly parted from her, denying himself the very love he sought. What pain had he inflicted on her? If she had thought of him in the same way he now considered her, what agony she must be suffering. Dare he flatter himself that now, after all the sorrow he had caused her, she would accept him? The bile rose in his throat as he experienced a feeling of self-loathing. His mind revolved between the taste of Elizabeth’s lips and the vileness of Mr. Tilden’s offer. What had he become that he could turn from the first and fall victim to the second?
Recollecting himself, Darcy attempted a graceful retreat.
“I do not know if I am in a position to know my own heart on the matter. I should not wish to marry without love.”
“Of course not, Mr. Darcy. It is just important to love the right woman.” Mr. Tilden paused to let the effect of his words sink in. “Shall we join the others?”
There was no question in Darcy’s mind who was the right woman.
* * * * *
LATER THAT EVENING, DARCY SAT glumly in the library of his townhouse staring blankly into a glass of brandy. Today had been his closest friend’s wedding day, and he was not there. He knew he had disappointed Bingley and was ashamed of it. While it was true that Bingley could have married with greater status and prestige, he had chosen to marry for love. What greater gift could there be for a man than a woman who loved him? Too late, Darcy had come to realize the value of such a gift.
Bingley had every right to be happy, and Darcy envied him his joy, for he knew he himself had every reason to be miserable. Perhaps today he could have been married to Elizabeth. He had been wrong in trying to separate Bingley from Miss Bennet. He had been wrong to leave Elizabeth. He had been wrong about himself. As a man who had always tried to do right, the magnitud
e of his errors of late left him humiliated and confounded.
* * * * *
London
Bingley,
Let me congratulate you on your marriage. I wish you joy and happiness with Miss Bennet, who by now is Mrs. Bingley. You, of all people, truly deserve to be happy.
Please allow me to apologize for my behavior. I know I have offended you, and I deeply regret it. My motivations in trying to persuade you against marrying Miss Bennet were self-serving and wrong. You deserved better counsel in your decision than I gave you, and you were right in refusing to be persuaded. The firmness of mind and steadiness of character that you exhibited in your determination to marry Miss Bennet are a testimony of your natural goodness. Mrs. Bingley has been very fortunate in her choice of husband and I have no doubt that she will make you as happy as you will her.
I know that I have offended Miss Elizabeth, and I pray that she and your wife may someday forgive me. Parting from her is the worst mistake I have ever made.
Please extend my best wishes to your new bride.
Sincerely,
F. Darcy
He folded the letter and marked it for express post. It would go out tomorrow and hopefully by nightfall, Bingley would once again think on him kindly.
* * * * *
MRS. BENNET RECEIVED MANY COMPLIMENTS on Jane’s wedding breakfast and was particularly gratified by the comments of Lady Lucas who told her she had never seen so elegant an affair. Mrs. Bennet had made it as elaborate as possible so that no one could forget her triumph in marrying Jane off to Mr. Bingley. She also felt quite pleased with herself for having arranged the match in the first place, for had she not insisted that Elizabeth remain at Netherfield, who knows what might have happened?
“Mrs. Bennet,” said Mr. Grinly, “allow me to offer my sincerest congratulations on the marriage of your daughter. She looked beautiful, and I have never seen anyone so happy. It must be a great comfort to you to have a daughter married to a man who truly loves and admires her.”
“It is a pleasing thing, to be sure, to know she is so well settled. Mr. Bingley has five thousand a year, at least. She will have such carriages, jewels, and pin money that I cannot even begin to imagine. I am so happy.”
“Surely, madam, she married him not for his money but for his affection.” Mr. Grinly was convinced that Jane was no fortune hunter. The manner in which she looked at her husband spoke of love and esteem, not avarice.
Elizabeth, who was sitting at a writing table in the drawing room, sympathized with Mr. Grinly’s incredulity at such a statement, but it came as no surprise since she was no stranger to her mother’s opinion of marriage.
“Yes, she loves him, and he loves her, I am sure,” said Mrs. Bennet.
Mr. Grinly was shocked at her callous view of marriage. He remembered his own dear Julia with fondness. How she had loved him! The advantages he could offer meant nothing to her. He could not help but fall in love with her the first time he saw her. The way Julia had looked at him, that particular expression of tenderness in her eyes, had captured his heart. As he grew to know her, he realized what a treasure she was. She had been a poor tradesman’s daughter with no dowry or property, and her father was old and sickly, but he had been pleased to give her away. It seemed, though, that she had been his lifeline, for not long after they married, he died. Now his Julia was gone, having left him with a daughter. Constance was the true image of her mother, and when he looked at her, his heart was filled with both joy and pain: joy, because of the love he felt for Constance, and pain, as he reflected on the loss of Julia.
Julia had asked him before she died to marry again for his own sake and for Constance. He told her that she would be his only love. Julia responded by saying that she hoped he took so much pleasure in being married to her that he could not do without love in his life. “Please, do not spend your life alone. Do not leave Constance without a mother.” One of the hardest things he had ever done was promise her that he would try. It was the beginning of the full realization that he would soon be without her.
That had been eight years ago. Never once had he found a woman that he imagined her equal.
“I believe that love should be the primary motivation for marriage,” said Mr. Grinly. “How can life be pleasant where one partner cannot respect or esteem the other? To me, any alternative would be unendurable.”
Elizabeth raised her eyes to Mr. Grinly, pleased to find that he shared her opinion of marriage. She had been impressed with everything about him, and this only made her appreciate him more. Mr. Grinly was correct. She would only marry a man she could respect, one for whom she felt the deepest love and affection, and if not, she would remain at Longbourn. She knew that Mr. Bingley would allow her mother and sisters to live there as long as they wanted, for the rest of their lives, if necessary. Because she had bestowed her love on Mr. Darcy and had been mistaken about him, she knew very well that in her case, it might be necessary.
* * * * *
NETHERFIELD WAS EMPTY AND JANE and Bingley were alone. Everyone attached to the household was gone except for Mrs. Thomas, who refused to let the Bingleys be without the comfort of dinner and a warm fire. She discretely kept to the servants’ quarters awaiting their summons should they need her.
Jane was sitting in front of an ornate mirror brushing out her hair. It was odd to be sitting in such luxury and to know that this would be her life from now on. At Longbourn, she had never known the pleasure of her own maid.
She felt nervous with anticipation. She had changed into a silky, white nightgown, and the way it moved over her skin caused her to shiver with delight. It was plain, without any ornamentation. It was simple, like her love for Charles.
Jane heard his knock at the door and smiled. “Come in.”
Bingley closed the door behind him but remained at the far side of the room, seeking in her eyes the permission he felt he needed to approach her.
“Good evening.” He was obviously tense and uncertain. As am I, thought Jane. For both their sakes, she felt it best that she lighten the mood.
“My name is Mrs. Charles Bingley.”
“And I am Mr. Charles Bingley. I am very pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“No more than I, sir.”
Bingley saw with pleasure the sparkle of delight in her eyes. “I am told that I was married today. Could you possibly be my wife?” He took a single step towards her.
“I do not know,” she said inching closer to him. “Perhaps if you were to describe her to me, I could tell you whether I have seen her.”
“My wife is extremely beautiful. She is tall and has lovely blonde hair that pours over her shoulders when she lets it down. Her laughter is like music. I love the sound of her voice. I love everything about her.”
“What else can you tell me?” She again moved closer to him.
“She has beautiful blue eyes that illuminate her face when she smiles. They seem to speak of the joy that she feels in being alive.”
“If she is married to you, I can understand why she might feel such joy.”
She watched him step nearer to her. Only a very few steps remained between them.
“I should mention her skin. It is soft and delicate.”
Jane moved again towards her husband. “Have you ever kissed her?”
“I have. I can still remember the taste of her lips and the way I felt when I took her in my arms. It is a pleasure of which I could never tire.”
Bingley reached out his hand to her and she took it. He encouraged her forward until she was standing next to him.
“If I knew where she was, I would touch her like this.”
Bingley outlined her lips with his fingers. She rested her hands on his arms and looked at him.
“Would you like to kiss her again?”
“There could be no greater happiness.”
* * * * *
BINGLEY WOKE UP TO THE distraction of something passing over his face. With his eyes closed, he reached up to b
rush it away and found himself holding a lock of Jane’s lightly perfumed hair. He drew in a deep breath to enjoy the fragrance and all the memories it inspired, memories of such love and passion as he would never forget.
Jane was an angel. Had he thought her beautiful before, those thoughts were nothing in comparison to reality. How he loved her! She fulfilled his every conceivable desire with the magic of new discovery. He would cherish and love her for the rest of his life.
* * * * *
THAT AFTERNOON, THE BINGLEYS WERE drinking tea in the drawing room and discussing the details of their wedding.
“Charles, why did not Mr. Darcy come to our wedding?”
“He was called away on urgent business.”
“Business?”
“Well . . . ”
“But if that were the case, how did Mr. Graham know to come to stand up for you?”
“Darcy knew he would not be able to come. We did not . . . ”
Jane did not understand his behavior. Bingley was always forthcoming and open, but now he seemed so hesitant and reluctant. “Charles, is something troubling you?” Bingley was truly distressed and she could only conclude that there had been a gross misunderstanding between her husband and Mr. Darcy. “Well, I am sorry he could not come, but it was very unkind of him. How could he allow himself to be called away? What could possibly have been the problem?” She thought for a moment. “Did you quarrel?”
“We did have a disagreement.”
“What did it concern?”
There another was a pause. “Must we talk about it?”
Bingley knew if he spoke the truth, his wife would be forever prejudiced against Darcy, though certainly it would not be without just cause. Bingley cherished hopes that Darcy would witness his happiness with Jane and change his opinion of her.
“Very well.” She stroked his cheek. “But it does seem odd that he would not come.” She took his hand and kissed it, then held it against her cheek. “He is a strange man by way of a friend.”
Bingley was quiet for a moment. His eyes were closed, his brow was furrowed, and he found himself forced to agree with her. What kind of a friend was Darcy? “He attempts to look after me.”
Rocks in the Stream Page 16