Chances Come

by Ney Mitch

  Together, Darcy and I went to the music room and entered. Once doing so, I turned to him, prepared for the truth.

  “So,” I began, “what is the real reason for which you called me in here?”

  “You knew that I was lying.”

  “I also happen to know that disguise of any kind is your abhorrence. That results in you sometimes being easy to read. So, spit it out. I am prepared.”

  “Miss Elizabeth, we have a situation.”

  He said this with such gravity, that I was worried.

  “Oh, dear god, what has happened?”

  “Oh,” he smoothed out his tone, “did I speak in a way that made it sound as if someone had died?”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “Ah.”

  Pause.

  “No one has died, have they?” I asked, to be sure.

  “No, they have not.”

  “Ah.”

  “Well, not to my knowledge.”

  “Still, ah.”

  “Yes.”

  “By all means, do not leave me in suspense.”

  “Our situation has reached its climax.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a letter. “Bingley has written to me. He will be in town tomorrow afternoon.”

  This news struck me with alarm and a slight pang of terror. The awkwardness of the moment, so striking, so subtle in its effect, was not how I wished to ever be greeted by the news about Mr. Bingley.

  Ah, the irony!

  Ah, the agony of the tide being turned!

  “He is arriving in advance?”

  “Yes.”

  I sat down.

  “How strange it all is,” I professed. “Mr. Bingley is a pleasant and gentlemanlike man. There was often a time when I was glad to see him, for I knew that he would be the means through which my sister would be made happy. And now, to hear of this news and it does not bring me joy! How bitter a pill to take. And tomorrow evening, the Colonel is sure to visit.”

  “Precisely. That is the reason that I wished to consult you. My proposal is embarrassing to confess, for it is the actions of a coward.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Rather than invite Bingley to dine with us tomorrow night, I thought, perhaps, it would be wise for me to go to his home during the day and pay him a visit.”

  “If we do that, then the first time that Jane, Mr. Bingley, and the Colonel will be in each other’s company, is at Sir Aleck’s ball.”

  “Yes, and I know that it may sound like I am not being particularly brave…”

  “No, you are being smart.”

  Mr. Darcy blinked.

  “You see how I am feeling?”

  “Yes,” I encouraged him, but not blindly. I genuinely agreed with him. “For, if they meet each other in the privacy of your home, then it shall become very apparent that there are two men in one drawing room who are pursuing the same woman. Awkwardness shall ensue, Jane will be placed in a most painful position, for she will be forced to choose one on the spot, and the two gentlemen will wish to kill each other by the end of the night.”

  “Yet,” Mr. Darcy added, happy that I agreed with him, “if they meet each other at the ball, they can speak to each other very little. And they can dance with Jane separately, where she does not have to be taxed by them both imposing their attentions on her.”

  “Very good,” I assured him. “You have made yourself into a very good tactician.” I stood up. “Now, I am going to change into one of my smarter pair of boots, for I shall not want to disgrace my mother, who would despise me not being my best in town. I swear, fashion rules our lives too much.”

  “Yes, it does. And thank you for agreeing with my sentiments.”

  “Never fear, for it was correct. If it was not, I would have not hesitated to disagree with you.”

  I smiled at him and then left him before our reputations could be called to question because we had spent too much time alone. Again.

  Chapter 12

  A Man of Many Talents

  Darcy took us to Madame Duellane’s, and, in truth, we had quite a delightful time. Darcy was adept at accompanying women when they dressed for gowns. When I mention such, what I speak of is something that is quite a marvel: he did not just sit in a corner awkwardly, but he expressed his preferences in gown color, cloth, and style. He was attentive, had good information on how there was elegance in a gown that fit a woman simply, and properly.

  Yet, the surprise was once more entirely on our side. For, when going, he arranged for us to have three gowns made for us, and two new dresses that were meant for everyday use. When we expressed our refusal to accept such a large gift, he was adamant. He made the point very simply, that after the ball, there was the chance of us being invited to other dinner parties, and that we should be prepared.

  Despite that it was an embarrassment of riches, I confess to not refusing him for very long at all. Faith, my initial refusal to accept his gift was singular and flimsy at best. Despite the vanity of it, I felt joy at him being around us and pampering us in such a way.

  It was all a simple thing.

  A little thing.

  And yet, it made me feel closer to him.

  Jane, as always, responded to his generosity with gentle happiness, but Kitty was overjoyed. Yet, her raptures were not rambunctious, but rather, they were just enough to make Mr. Darcy know of her appreciation.

  Since Mr. Darcy was tending to us, and also since he clearly had been there before with Miss Darcy, we were attended to by all the shop women. Our requests were simple, because most of the gowns and dresses that suited us perfectly were already made. They simply had to be tailored down to our size.

  Therefore, we were promised that our gowns would be completed by the next afternoon.

  We left, in all satisfaction, and returned to Darcy’s home with contentment.

  As we all retired to our rooms to prepare for dinner, I was choosing which gown that I was to wear, when I received a knock on the door.

  “Come in,” I called.

  The door opened and Kitty entered.

  “Kitty?” I asked, going back to choosing my gown. “Do you need something?”

  “Yes,” she announced, boldly, “I need the truth.”

  “Truth? You are sounding philosophical at the moment.”

  “No, it is a truth that is more personal. I want the truth, Lizzy, do you love Mr. Darcy?”

  I froze.

  And I remained frozen for a whole ten seconds.

  Or perhaps it was a little longer.

  “Lizzy, have you lost the ability of speech?” Kitty asked me.

  “Yes, no… well, yes.”

  I sat down on my bed, wondering how it was best to approach the situation. Then I decided that it was best to just voice the truth.

  “Yes, I am,” I responded.

  “Very well. That was all I came to ask about. Now, I shall leave you to it.”

  She went to the door and turned the knob.

  “Wait,” I blurted out. “That was it?”

  “Was there anything more to say?” Kitty responded. “I asked if you love him, you said yes, and therefore, the mystery is solved. Therefore, mystery over!”

  “I am just surprised. Usually, when confessing that one is in love, people ask the traditional questions: when did you first begin to fall in love with him? Are you very much violently in love? Did you fall in love when you danced together? Are you expecting a proposal?”

  “Are you expecting a proposal?” She lifted her eyebrows.

  “In truth, I do not know.”

  “Well, I do. He shall propose one day, for he is in love with you in return. And when he does, then I shall want the full story. Sorry if my lack of curiosity comes across as startling. But I have thought ahead, you see.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, I get the feeling that you shall be asked those same questions very often after Mr. Darcy proposes to you. And you shall have to repeat yourself frequently in telling the story. Theref
ore, if I do not know about it now, then I can be as surprised with everyone else later.”

  “Do you really believe that he shall propose?”

  “I believe he will,” she replied, confidently as she smiled broadly, “for he invited me. I know that he did not favor me at all. Therefore, to invite a woman who he had no apparent connection to, means that he feels a deep affection for you. But if I may offer some advice, pretend to be surprised when he does ask for your hand. The surprise, from what I have observed, is everything to men. Then again, what do I know of men?”

  She turned the knob and opened the door. It was then that I noticed some ink on her hands.

  “Were you writing a letter?” I asked her. “And did the ink get ahead of you?”

  “Oh,” she gasped, placing her hand behind her back. “Yes, I was composing a letter, and then the ink decided that I should not, and splashed itself back up at me. Even ink puts up a fight with me.”

  “Oh, Kitty, do not speak of yourself in such a way. I am your sister; I can do that job for you.”

  “Oh, shut it.”

  She closed the door behind her, and I began to change my clothes. Yet, after I did so, I recalled that I had a letter that I had to write to Charlotte Lucas. It was time for me to rise above myself and write to her. I sat at the desk and began a letter to Charlotte, but I would only have the time to finish it once I returned from the theatre.

  That night, the Gardiners did accompany us to the theatre. The play was lovely, but I could not hold my attention to it. But rather, I found myself stealing glances at Mr. Darcy throughout the course of it.

  Kitty’s words wrung through my mind. I fancied that Mr. Darcy felt for me in such a manner, but I worried that my theories sprung from a place of vanity. And vanity was never the proper foundations to rational judgment.

  That night, I went to bed with my thoughts still filled with Kitty’s words. And my mind, as is often the way it is at night, dwelled on the form of Mr. Darcy, and the very mind and mood that he was often in. I suppose… there was a side of me that was desolate and wanton, and the wantonness sprung from an eternal wickedness that all of us possess under the skin. Or over the skin, and amongst it, with it in between ourselves. For, we humans, in all essentials, have a light between those we are drawn to. We feel a mutual heat. Quite often, that heat that was between us felt as if it was of the boiling point, and at any moment, it would boil over and I would feel the burn of it. Or, if all went as one would dream, I would only feel the warmth of it.

  To be warmed or to be burned?

  Love, truly, could offer no other set of alternatives. For the very aftermath of love would deliver us into the very path of one, or the other.

  It took a great deal of time to fall asleep, but eventually, my eyes closed, and sleep found me at last.

  Such a situation was ideal, for I would need all my faculties the next day…

  For there was another arrival to be met.

  For would this home be content with only three women in it? It was a large home and Darcy had a unique situation on his hands. As such, it was only fitting for a fourth woman to come!

  The next day, we all stood in anticipation, and at the appointed time, the carriage rolled up in front of the house. Mr. Darcy exited the house first, and we three Bennet sisters joined him on the steps of the home.

  “How are you feeling?” I asked Kitty, who stood behind me.

  “I am, to my utter dismay, nervous,” Kitty admitted, “and how do you feel?”

  “Petrified,” I also admitted, and then I turned to Jane. “And how do you feel right now?”

  “I shake in my shoes,” Jane said. “For some reason I fear she may despise me.”

  “I feel the same way as well. And so does Kitty.”

  “Yes, she does,” Kitty responded, referring to herself in the third person.

  “But I am waiting for my bravery to rise up any second,” I asserted. “I am willing to let my courage rise with every attempt for something to intimidate me. Brave heart, sisters. After all, it is just another woman that we meet.”

  “We women can be terrifying.”

  “Yes. Yes, we can.”

  Mr. Darcy went to the carriage door and opened it. A hand emerged and took his. Then a bonnet was produced, and at last, we saw the face of the wearer. Georgiana Darcy had come back into town.

  She stepped down, smiling at Mr. Darcy in the process. They exchanged some brief but sweet words and then turned to us. Once her face fell on the three of us, I saw her eyes fill with a subtle dread.

  If I read her expression correctly, then she was just as apprehensive to meet us as we were to meet her.

  “Sister,” Mr. Darcy announced, “I have three delightful women who come to greet you. Allow me to introduce Miss Jane Bennet, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, and Miss Kitty Bennet.”

  “The three sisters from Longbourn,” Georgiana acknowledged, her voice somewhat shaky.

  “You know where we come from?” I asked, smiling gently. “That is very flattering.”

  “My brother has written about you three so much that I feel as if I know you already.”

  I turned to Mr. Darcy, with an arched look.

  “Oh, so you talk about us,” I teased, my eyebrow raised.

  “Yes, I am wicked in that way,” he responded, his eyes shining with glee.

  Georgiana looked between us both and she saw the familiarity and comfort between us.

  “Well, let us get inside,” Mr. Darcy encouraged, “for we have so much to acquaint you with.”

  We entered, and we all sat down in the sitting room. I had not known Miss Darcy for more than a mere few minutes and it was quite apparent that she was a bashful sort of creature. This revelation made me feel, even more keenly, how deceptive Mr. Wickham was when he described Miss Darcy to me. It had been soon after we had met, when at a dinner party that my Aunt Phillips had held. The officers who had been stationed there in Colonel Forster’s regiment had been invited, and therefore, Mr. Wickham had been present, wearing his regimentals.

  He had just finished telling me of Mr. Darcy’s villainy, of how he had been cheated out of the inheritance, and how Mr. Darcy had treated him most abominably. And I, in my one-time foolishness, had believed him…

  * * *

  “How strange!” I had cried. “How abominable! I wonder that the very pride of this Mr. Darcy has not made him just to you! If from no better motive, that he should not have been too proud to be dishonest—for dishonesty I must call it.”

  “It is wonderful,” replied Wickham, “for almost all his actions may be traced to pride; and pride had often been his best friend. It has connected him nearer with virtue than with any other feeling. But we are none of us consistent, and in his behavior to me there were stronger impulses even than pride.”

  “Can such abominable pride as his have ever done him good?”

  “Yes. It has often led him to be liberal and generous, to give his money freely, to display hospitality, to assist his tenants, and relieve the poor. Family pride, and filial pride—for he is very proud of what his father was—have done this. Not to appear to disgrace his family, to degenerate from the popular qualities, or lose the influence of the Pemberley House, is a powerful motive. He has also brotherly pride, which, with some brotherly affection, makes him a very kind and careful guardian of his sister, and you will hear him generally cried up as the most attentive and best of brothers.”

  “What sort of girl is Miss Darcy?”

  He shook his head. “I wish I could call her amiable. It gives me pain to speak ill of a Darcy. But she is too much like her brother—very, very proud. As a child, she was affectionate and pleasing, and extremely fond of me; and I have devoted hours and hours to her amusement. But she is nothing to me now. She is a handsome girl, about fifteen or sixteen, and, I understand, highly accomplished. Since her father's death, her home has been London, where a lady lives with her, and superintends her education.”

  Mr. Wickham had co
ntinued to speak on, defaming the Darcys, while I had hung on his every word—and a fool, I had been…

  * * *

  And now, here Georgiana sat in front of me, and she destroyed every deception that Wickham had placed over my eyes, once upon a time.

  Miss Darcy was not proud. Yet, instead, she was remarkably shy. At her age, such behavior was customary, for the way of the world was to be confusing. If you were a woman or man, you could not speak too much, but you also must not speak so very little. Therefore, that always presented the question: how often could a person speak?

  “So, we are told that you are very fond of music,” I began. “Faith, we have heard tales of your talent since your brother and his friends first came into Hertfordshire.”

  “Yes,” Jane added, “and we were told that you play infuriatingly well.”

  “Well,” Georgiana answered, “I do not play so very well, but I am fond of music.”

  “Never fear,” Kitty said, “for you may perhaps be a genius, and we have learned something very important about geniuses.”

  “What is that?” Mr. Darcy asked.

  “Never ask a genius to perform,” Kitty answered, “for they are not meant to be appealed to like actors on a stage.”

  “Yes,” I agreed. “Also, constant appealing to geniuses can lead to making them weary, overwrought, and can lead to their talent diminishing or making a mistake, due to all the attention that can be placed on one.”

  “Precisely,” Georgiana admitted. “For, when alone, I play at my best, but I am not a genius. For, I believe that if I were so, I would be able to maintain my talent under the gaze of many audiences. However, the more that people look on me, the more that I feel my hands shall make a mistake. And once I think on that mistake, then it does happen.”

  “The nerves and weight that can come from having a tremendous talent,” I suggested. “Truly, that is why I value talking as the only sport that I try to perform. Much can be lost in saying the wrong words, but there is always chance for recovery.”