Coincidence

by Jann Rowland

  It was not long before Elizabeth learned to regret her outburst. Though Mr. Darcy’s actions had not been, to her mind, those of a gentleman, and she felt herself justly angered by them, she would have done better to have kept a firm rein on her temper. Flaying the man with the tendrils of her fury had not been in any way admirable, and now that she thought on it, she was certain that the mask which had descended over his face was nothing more than an attempt to hide his hurt over her accusations.

  If only he would trust her and relate that which was objectionable to him concerning Mr. Wickham’s character! How could she know of the matter if he refused to speak of it?

  Of course, even if she knew that Mr. Wickham was the lowest sort of scoundrel to walk on the face of the earth, the fact that Mr. Darcy had not done her the courtesy of announcing his attentions bothered Elizabeth. It spoke to a furtive sort of courtship, as if he was embarrassed to be interested in such a woman as she, one so below him in society’s eyes. How could she possibly enter such a union, knowing that eventually he would come to regret his decision to offer for her? It was in every way unfathomable.

  It had been Elizabeth’s intention to keep to herself for the rest of that afternoon, to suffer in silence, alternately berating herself for her intemperate words, and railing against Mr. Darcy for his inability to show her the respect she deserved. If she had been left to her own devices, Elizabeth thought her mood would have become very poor, leaving her irritable and snappish. Fortunately, she possessed relations who loved her, and, perhaps more importantly, knew her, and knew she would work herself up into a fine state if left alone.

  When Jane entered the room, Elizabeth scowled at her, not wishing to speak to even one as good as her dearest sister. But when Mrs. Gardiner entered after Jane, Elizabeth favored them with a glare so fierce, she thought it might scare away a wild boar. But her two dear relations only ignored Elizabeth’s anger and sat next to her, determined to talk her from her foul mood.

  “It seems like you had a rather . . . spirited conversation with Mr. Darcy, Lizzy,” said Mrs. Gardiner by way of opening the conversation. “And from what I saw, it was not at all a convivial exchange.”

  Elizabeth’s scowl deepened, and she refused to say anything further.

  “You know we shall cajole you until you inform us of what has happened, Lizzy,” said Jane. “Should you not speak now to save yourself the trouble?”

  Jane’s tease—so rarely offered—took Elizabeth by surprise, and against her will a giggle escaped. Jane only beamed at her, the typical serenity she usually displayed gone in favor of her determination to aid Elizabeth. All at once Elizabeth felt grateful for their tenacity, though she also began to feel some shame for her actions.

  “Mr. Darcy and I had . . . an argument,” said Elizabeth at length.

  “That much was evident, my dear,” replied Mrs. Gardiner. “Can you explain what brought this about? In fact, I had thought your interactions since returning from Kent were cordial, and I had detected an improvement in your opinion.”

  Groaning, Elizabeth threw herself back onto the mattress, and she stayed there, gazing at the ceiling, seeing nothing.

  “Mr. Darcy . . . made it clear that he wished to propose to me.”

  Though she was not facing them and could not see their reactions, Elizabeth knew her aunt and sister had exchanged a significant glance. How much they had guessed Elizabeth could not be certain, but she knew it was likely much.

  “That does not seem to me to be a reason to argue,” said Mrs. Gardiner.

  In a fit of annoyance, Elizabeth raised herself up on her elbow, and glared at her aunt. “It might not be under normal circumstances. But Mr. Darcy has not acquitted himself well in this instance, and I was not prepared to hear him declare undying love when he has done everything in his power to avoid the notice of everyone of consequence—including me!—during the course of his courting.”

  The look with which her relations favored her was even, but insistent. “I believe you should tell us all,” replied Mrs. Gardiner.

  And so, she did. Though it was long and rambling, and somewhat painful, when she considered how she had spoken to a man who had professed to love her, Elizabeth told them all and did not spare any embarrassing detail. And when she was finished, she could not but feel drained by the experience. But she also thought it to be cathartic, though she was certain the true impact of the day’s events would not be felt for some time.

  “Oh, Lizzy,” said Jane when Elizabeth had finished her recitation. “You did not follow Aunt’s advice when you spoke with him.”

  “No,” replied Elizabeth, “I confess I did not. But you must see that Mr. Darcy has not behaved well in this instance.”

  “No, I suppose not,” replied Aunt Gardiner. “I can understand why you would react the way you did. It would have been better for you to have held your temper in check. Nothing good can come from such a spectacular argument, and you might have kept some hope of a reconciliation alive.”

  Elizabeth could not help but huff at the mere thought. “Your words presuppose that I would wish to reconcile. There is nothing to resolve. All he has ever been to me is a rude man who looked down on me, and did not even think enough of my affections to inform me of his interest.”

  “I believe, Lizzy, in this instance you are being unkind,” said her aunt. “Yes, I do agree that Mr. Darcy was not at all wise in how he went about trying to gain your attention. But I do not believe that it is all due to a lack of respect. In fact, I believe the man loathes to have his private business out in the open for all to see. He should have known that in a case such as courtship and marriage, openness is essential, but I would attribute his failure to do so to habit, rather than malicious intent.”

  Elizabeth rolled her eyes, but she decided there was nothing more to say.

  “It is so very distressing,” fretted Jane. “Mr. Darcy must be feeling your loss most keenly.”

  “Perhaps he is,” replied Elizabeth, eager to leave the subject behind. “But I am certain he will recover with alacrity, Jane. I do not doubt it will not be long before he congratulates himself on his escape. I should think he will give me wide berth now. And I cannot repine the distance.”

  “I hope you do not regret it, Elizabeth Bennet,” said Aunt Gardiner. “I sincerely hope you do not.”

  Chapter XIV

  How Darcy managed to return to the house without Georgiana knowing of his distress, he was ever after uncertain. It was likely due to his sister’s chattering, which continued without cessation. To her, the day had been perfect, the company exceptional, and it was heartening to see her in such good spirits; it had been too long, especially with Wickham’s actions, since she had been happy.

  But Darcy could see nothing good in the day. It was, in fact, one of the worst of his life. All Georgiana’s effusions on the subject could not change the ugliness of their argument, and the resulting gulf which had sprung up between himself and Miss Bennet. Darcy wished for nothing more than to retire to his study and lick his wounds in private.

  “I am so happy you have introduced me to the Gardiners and the Miss Bennets,” said Georgiana, not long before they arrived home. “They are so unlike most of the people I know, and so easy to speak to. I hope we shall see them again very soon.”

  That was unlikely, but Darcy did not have the heart to tell his sister that her friendship with them was almost certainly at an end.

  “I do wonder, Brother,” said she, turning a mischievous eye on him, “what you and Miss Elizabeth were speaking of so secretively. I have noticed your attentions to her. Dare I hope I might be gaining a sister soon?”

  Darcy turned to look at his sister, and though he dearly wished to, he was careful to avoid snapping at her. “That is quite unlikely. Georgiana, you must not misunderstand my reasons for introducing the Miss Bennets to your acquaintance. They are good ladies, friendly and obliging, and I think their friendship has been good for you, but Miss Elizabeth is in no way suited to becom
e Mrs. Darcy. It would be best if you would forget such notions.”

  The carriage mercifully pulled up to the drive, and Darcy descended, ignoring his sister’s shocked gaze. He helped her down and escorted her into the house, and then citing the excuse of needing to see to his business, he left her there and hurried away. He did not need to look behind him to know that Georgiana’s eyes were fixed on his retreating back.

  When he gained the security of his study, Darcy began to pace the room, his mind playing over the events of the last hour. The thought that she—Miss Elizabeth Bennet, a country miss who had no dowry and had never even been introduced to high society—would reject him was unfathomable. Darcy could hardly credit it. What had she been thinking?

  Perhaps it was better this way. She had been foolish enough to refuse him; in what other way would such imprudence manifest itself? Let her have her infatuation with George Wickham—it meant nothing to Darcy. He would not spare another thought for her.

  Though Darcy paced and fretted, alternating between fits of anger, and periods of despair, he told himself that he had made a fortunate escape, and one which he would not repine. If only his heart would believe his head.

  The next days were long and though Darcy attempted to put Miss Elizabeth from his mind, he found it a near impossible task to accomplish. Thoughts of their words, spoken in anger, would find their way into his mind at the most inopportune times, and he found he could get little work done. The nights were even worse, as they were filled with thoughts and feelings, remembrances of how they had spoken congenially while at Rosings. He managed to sleep but little, which made him surly, though he attempted to hide it from Georgiana.

  He could obtain no insight as to what he should do. He had decided never to think of her again, but he had had no success. He had reminded himself of his lucky escape, but the loss of her company did not feel fortunate. He had tried to think of who else might suit him as a bride, but every woman of society he considered paled in comparison. By the end of those days, he had heartily begun to wish that he had never even heard the name “Elizabeth Bennet.”

  The fourth day brought a change to his routine, as his cousins came to the house and insisted upon seeing him. Fitzwilliam sauntered into his study without so much as a by your leave, and in his wake followed Anne and Georgiana. Darcy directed a pointed look at his sister, knowing it was likely at her instigation that they had come, but for once Georgiana did not duck her head or avoid his gaze; instead, his kitten of a sister seemed to have turned into a tiger overnight, and Darcy wondered what other havoc Miss Elizabeth would wreak on his life.

  “Well, cousin,” said Fitzwilliam, “I see that our Georgiana’s words are not without foundation. You look like you have been trampled by a horse.”

  Darcy decided it was expedient to simply ignore him.

  “Hello, Anne,” said he, wondering if he should reconsider his decision not to marry her. “You are looking improved, and it has been less than two weeks since you came to town.”

  A raised eyebrow was Anne’s response. “I am feeling tolerably well, Cousin.”

  It was all Darcy could do not to wince at the turn of her phrase. “I am glad to hear it. I hope you regain the full measure of your health.”

  “I doubt that I shall ever be robust. But I am hopeful that with proper diet and exercise, I will rally tolerably.”

  There was that word again; for a moment, Darcy wondered if Miss Elizabeth had told Anne of his use of the word, and if she was now throwing it at him to torment him.

  “Yes, yes,” exclaimed Fitzwilliam with evident impatience. “We all wish for Anne to improve, and we’re heartened by her progress, early though it still is. But we are at present more concerned about you—Anne included.”

  “There is nothing the matter with me,” said Darcy.

  “Oh?” asked Fitzwilliam. He sat down on a nearby chair and regarded Darcy with easy skepticism. “Georgiana tells us that all was well, and you were eager to be in the Miss Bennets’ company, and then everything suddenly changed. Apparently, you had a conversation with Miss Elizabeth Bennet—in the middle of the menagerie no less—and you have been sullen and uncommunicative since. As Anne and I are both aware of your admiration for her, it is no great leap of logic to assume that you have had an argument. Or, perhaps, you have gone about your courting in an inept manner and offended her. What is it, Cousin?”

  The scowl that had been building when his cousins had entered changed to a ferocious glower which would have sent lesser men scrambling for cover. Unfortunately, Fitzwilliam could never be called a ‘lesser man,’ and as he had known Darcy for his entire life, Darcy knew that his ill humors would have no effect.

  That did not prevent Darcy from snapping: “I would ask you to mind your business, Cousin. My personal life is not a subject for you to bandy about with your typical nonchalance.”

  “Of what bandying do you speak, Darcy?” asked Fitzwilliam, not giving an inch. “We are all family here, and we only wish to understand and help.”

  “Nothing you say will leave this room,” added Anne. “Please tell us what is bothering you, Darcy.”

  Though Georgiana did not say anything, perhaps understanding that she had overstepped her limits, she nodded with vigor. The worst of his glares would not affect any of them, Darcy understood, and he passed a hand over his face, wishing they would just leave him alone.

  “I do not wish to speak of it.”

  “But you must.”

  Surprised, Darcy gazed at Anne, wondering yet again from where this forceful young woman had come. Her tone was unyielding, and for a moment Darcy wondered if he even knew her.

  “A burden shared becomes less of an encumbrance, Cousin,” said she. “Please, allow us to help.”

  “There is nothing you, or anyone else, can do to help. The matter is closed, and I cannot imagine that it shall ever be reopened.”

  At Anne’s glare, which did not abate a jot, Darcy finally threw his hands up on the air.

  “Very well, I shall tell you all.”

  And tell all he did. He attempted to keep his recitation dispassionate, forcing the feelings which the remembrance of the argument evoked, but he was not certain as to his success. The telling, however, became easier the longer he spoke, and by the end of it, he found that the experience of unburdening himself had, indeed, been cleansing. He would not forget Miss Elizabeth, but he now felt his disappointment was easier to bear.

  “I must say, Darcy,” said Fitzwilliam, shaking his head when Darcy had fallen silent, “you are a fortunate man to have found the one woman in this country who would not leap at the chance to marry you when offered. It is, however, truly unfortunate that you have managed to botch it so spectacularly.”

  “I hardly think I was the only one to make mistakes,” replied Darcy, feeling all the offense of his cousin’s words.

  “No, I dare say you were not. But she is right—you did not pay her the compliment of your attentions in anything other than a clandestine manner, and your words concerning her family were insulting, regardless of whether they are the truth.”

  “But I do not understand!” cried Georgiana. “How did she take so decided a dislike to you from the very beginning of your acquaintance?”

  Darcy shook his head, ignoring Fitzwilliam’s interested gaze. He would not share that part of his history with Miss Elizabeth, regardless of what they did to attempt to force him to speak. He would never hear the end of it if Fitzwilliam became aware of it, and he did not wish to encourage the man’s incessant teasing.

  “It does not signify,” was all Darcy said.

  “So, what do you intend to do about it now” asked Anne.

  “There is nothing to be done,” replied Darcy. “She has returned to Hertfordshire, and I doubt I shall ever have occasion to return there myself. It is better this way. She would not have been accepted by society regardless.”

  Fitzwilliam snorted, while Anne shook her head. And even Georgiana eyed him with a skepti
cal frown.

  “If you think that, you have not truly considered it,” asserted Fitzwilliam. “Your position in society would guarantee her acceptance, and you know my mother would support her. She would undoubtedly have detractors, most prominent among those who vie for your favor, but I have no doubt they would be circumspect.”

  “And her personality is such that she would win over many,” added Anne.

  “I do not wish to speak on the subject any further,” said Darcy. “If you do not mind, I would appreciate the use of my study again, for I have much to do.”

  Darcy did not miss the glance exchanged by his cousins, but they seemed to decide that it was pointless to attempt to work on him. They rose and said their good byes, Georgiana rising along with them. But before they departed, Fitzwilliam turned to Darcy and fixed him with a stern look.

  “I would suggest, Darcy, that when you consider what has happened, you attempt to see yourself from Miss Elizabeth’s eyes. You will never be able to do so until you descend from your high horse.”

  And with that, they left him to brood alone. And though Darcy was ill inclined to allow his cousins’ assertions any credit, they stayed with him. In particular, he thought of Fitzwilliam’s last words. He was unable to banish them from his mind.

  Homecomings to Longbourn were always similar in nature, and though her family would calm after some time, Elizabeth had often wondered if coming home were worth the hassle. Invariably, it would remind Elizabeth of the weaknesses of her family, and though it was not something that would expose them all to ridicule, as it happened away from the prying eyes of society, still Elizabeth felt keenly the lack of propriety shown by them all.

  First, of course, were Lydia and Kitty’s cries of “What did you bring me?” followed by Mary’s ponderous, “I have no need of frivolities.” But the coup de grace was left for her mother.