Love Will Grow: A Pride and Prejudice Story

by Dixon, P O

  What a stroke was this for poor Jane, who would willingly have gone through the world without believing so much wickedness existed in the whole race of mankind, as was here collected in one individual. What a disappointment!

  Having covered her mouth with her hand halfway through Elizabeth’s recital, Jane lowered it to her chest. “Poor Miss Darcy.”

  “Oh, Jane, how was I so mistaken about Mr. Wickham’s true character? I give you leave to pity me for misjudging him and thinking as warmly of him as I once did.”

  “Pity you? I would never attempt such a thing? We were all misled. Poor Wickham—there is such an expression of goodness in his countenance and such an openness and gentleness in his manner. The entire town suffers under the misapprehension of his worthiness.”

  Indeed—the entire town. It was some time before either of the sisters spoke again. Jane broke the silence with confirmation of her continued amazement. “I do not know when I have been more shocked,” said she. “Wickham—so very bad! It is almost beyond belief.”

  Elizabeth twisted a strand of hair around her finger. “There is one point on which I want your advice. I want to be told whether I ought or ought not to make our acquaintance, in general, understand Wickham’s character.”

  After a thought through pause, Jane said, “Surely there can be no occasion for exposing him so dreadfully. What is your own opinion?”

  “In all honesty, I believe it ought not to be attempted. I have not been authorised to make this communication public.

  “What is more, I am rather certain Mr. Darcy would think even worse of me than he does already were I to discuss such a private matter pertaining to his sister with folks at-large, even if I do so in an attempt to persuade other people of Mr. Wickham’s true character.

  “After all, Mr. Darcy chose to keep this information to himself when he might well have used it to repudiate all Mr. Wickham’s disparagement against him whilst he was here in Hertfordshire.”

  Elizabeth’s reasoning was bolstered by the comfort of knowing the regiment’s removal was fast approaching. In a fortnight they were to go. Once gone, she hoped there could be nothing more to plague her on his account.

  “Mr. Wickham will soon be gone; therefore, it will not signify to anybody here what the true nature of his character is. Sometime hence it will all be found out, and then we may laugh at their stupidity in not knowing it before. At present, I will say nothing about it.” As for the prospect that her youngest sister, Lydia, might journey thither to Brighton with the Forsters, she would do everything in her power to make certain she did not.

  Jane shrugged. “You are quite right. To have his errors made public might ruin him forever. He is now perhaps sorry for what he has done and anxious to re-establish his good character. We must not make him desperate.”

  The tumult of Elizabeth’s mind was allayed by this conversation. She had gotten rid of one of the three secrets that had weighed on her for a fortnight and was certain of a willing listener in Jane whenever she might wish to confide the rest. But then again she might never speak of them. Although she had earlier told Jane of Mr. Darcy’s failed proposal, she dared not relate the full extent of her intercourse with the gentleman whilst in Kent. To do so would inevitably lead to the discussion of his role in separating Jane and Mr. Bingley. Despite her sister’s words to the contrary, Jane was not happy. She still cherished a tender affection for Bingley. Fancying herself an expert on matters of the heart, Elizabeth reckoned Jane’s age and disposition rendered her steadiness as far greater than first attachments often boasted.

  Oh, what Elizabeth would not do to reach into the past—to turn back the hands of time. Then she might speak to Mr. Darcy with greater civility. Though accepting his proposal of marriage would not be a possibility, Jane might certainly enjoy a chance for happiness with Mr. Bingley pursuant to Mr. Darcy’s fulfilled promise.

  It then dawned on Elizabeth—yes, Bingley had not called on Jane in Cheapside, but perhaps there was a good reason. Perhaps he had lacked courage to visit Jane on his own without being accompanied by his friend. Heaven forbid Mr. Darcy would ever set foot in Cheapside! Why it would take months for him to wash away the stench of such an endeavour! Elizabeth’s stomach fluttered with the velocity of a sudden windstorm. If Bingley did not dare venture to Cheapside without his friend by his side, would he then venture all the way to Hertfordshire without him?

  *

  “The way I see it, we both owe Miss Bennet an apology. You owe her an apology for your interference, and I owe her one for leaving as abruptly as I did with nary a word. What an unmitigated fool I was to leave it to Caroline to explain my departure when I suspected all along that she merely tolerated Miss Bennet and her family and could scarcely wait to flee this part of the country.” Charles Bingley tightened his grip on the reins of his large white stallion as he fixed his eyes on his friend.

  Between him and Bingley there was a steady friendship, in spite of the fact that the two gentlemen were as different as night and day. Where one was agreeable and sought to be amiable to everyone he met, the other was contented to have others think of him what they would. Why would Darcy be concerned for what others thought of him when his honour and his deeds spoke for themselves? On that day, even their attire was in stark contrast. Bingley was dressed in gay colours of pale blue and sported a tall grey hat, whereas Darcy’s outfit was dark and formal, his hat black. The only thing Darcy would say they had in common was they both suffered broken hearts—both a consequence of Darcy’s own doing.

  “And yet you saw fit to bring Miss Bingley down with you. What is more, you insisted I accompany you as well when my presence is just as likely to cause more harm than good.”

  “If you are referring to your disagreement with Miss Elizabeth, I suppose it is fitting that you should come. You have been as miserable as a wet hen since you returned from Kent. As I have every intention of making Miss Bennet my bride—if she will have me—you had better start mending fences with her dearest sister.”

  “Do not mistake me, Bingley,” Darcy said, “but I am still amazed you did not carry me to task for my interference in your affairs. I daresay you had every right.”

  “What would have been the point in arguing, Darcy? You know how much I dislike it. Arguments are too much like disputes, and I would much rather avoid such unpleasantness at any cost. Then again, perhaps if you were not such a great tall fellow in comparison with myself, I might have punched you for your meddling.”

  Bingley laughed, no doubt at the ridiculousness of his assertion. “No, my good friend, I would much rather you suffer the consequences of your actions by spending time with me here in Hertfordshire amongst the very family whom you meant to avoid by separating me from Miss Bennet.” Bingley harrumphed. “Not that I truly consider your accompanying me hither as true retribution.”

  Darcy reared his head back. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, you admit to having argued with Miss Elizabeth on your last day at Kent. But is that not your way? I can recall a time or two when I had rather not had been in the room than have to watch the two of you parley back and forth. You two always seemed to enjoy your games of one-upmanship and verbal swordplay exceedingly well.”

  Averting his eyes, Darcy said, “I am afraid what happened with Miss Elizabeth and me in Kent was no game. I feel rather certain I am the last man in the world she wishes to come across.” Darcy’s chest tightened. The last man in the world—how those words pained him, and, yet, he refused to allow their power to wither. Instead, he held fast to them even though they echoed in his ears like rolls of thunder and pummelled his heart in two.

  Darcy swallowed, substituting a tad of his bitterness with a measure of regret. “I left her standing there with the impression that I was indifferent, when nothing could have been further from the truth. In all honesty, I want more than ever to correct the negative opinion she holds of me, yet I hardly know where to start.”

  Looking off to his left, just across a
narrow stream, Bingley’s voice filled with mirth. “I say you shall have your first opportunity a bit sooner than you had anticipated.”

  “Why do you say that, Bingley?”

  Bingley raised his hand and pointed. “Look—over there! Is that not Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth?” He placed his hand over his heart. “My angel, Miss Bennet, I would recognise her amongst a crowd of a thousand people. Come—let us make haste!”

  Chapter 11

  The gentlemen’s imminent approach set off a wave of anxious anticipations. The inconvenient fluttering in her stomach notwithstanding, Elizabeth’s body went perfectly still. How would it be to face Mr. Darcy after the bitterness of their last meeting? If she closed her eyes so she could not see him, would he still be able to see her?

  Suppose such matters were so simple. Elizabeth forced a smile. Hers paled in comparison to the delight evidenced by her sister’s angelic countenance.

  Jane and Elizabeth drifted closer to the bank of the narrow stream and waited whilst Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy steered their horses through the shallow water. Once they made their way across, Mr. Bingley slid from his mount with the enthusiasm of a young man in love. He clutched the reins in his gloved hand and headed towards them. Mr. Darcy did likewise. His demeanour, however, lacked the joviality of his friend’s. Mr. Darcy appeared rather guarded in his approach.

  Having attached to him every foul motive attributable to a man whose pride and scorn played a central role in keeping his friend away from her dearest sister, Elizabeth’s sentiments comprised a mixture of contrition and animus. Now that Mr. Bingley had returned, her sister’s favourite wishes might soon be realised. Should she thank Mr. Darcy for having kept his word, or should she berate him for having taken so long?

  Of course, Elizabeth had but one choice—the former. After the contentious nature of their last meeting and the unsettling anguish she suffered whenever she was alone and could think of nothing other than the hurt in his eyes from the sting of her rejection, the last thing she wanted was any further disagreements with Mr. Darcy. Besides, the look on Jane’s face was enough to make Elizabeth think kindly of even her worst enemy, which Mr. Darcy certainly was not. No—she could never regard him as an enemy, but might she think of him as a friend?

  Mr. Bingley’s amiable mien quieted Elizabeth’s anxieties. He bowed. “Good day, Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth.” He cleared his throat. “Darcy and I were on our way to call on you at Longbourn.”

  With the mention of his name, Mr. Darcy bowed. “Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth.”

  After Elizabeth and Jane responded to the gentlemen in the customary way, Bingley cleared his throat again. “What a stroke of luck it is seeing the two of you.” He looked at his friend. “Is this not fortuitous, Darcy?”

  His friend remained silent and merely nodded, prompting Bingley to forge ahead. “I, for one, am delighted with this opportunity to spend time with you away from your family—not that I do not wish to renew my acquaintance with everyone in your family, for I truly do. I only meant in seeing the two of you here, we shall enjoy a lovely reunion before visiting the others.”

  Again, Darcy did or said nothing to come to his friend’s aid. Bingley angled his way between Jane and Elizabeth, and they commenced heading towards Longbourn Village, Mr. Darcy walking on Elizabeth’s other side. The gentlemen’s horses trailed along behind them. Save the obligatory greeting, Mr. Darcy had spoken not a word, leaving a rather tongue-tied Mr. Bingley to fumble about carrying the weight of conversation whilst Elizabeth and Jane nodded at the requisite times and answered all his ceaseless questions on how everyone in Hertfordshire was getting along.

  For a time, Mr. Bingley had endeavoured to converse with both Jane and Elizabeth until soon he was speaking only to Jane. Not that Elizabeth minded. She was far too pleased with Bingley’s eager attentions, even if Jane did little to encourage him on. In that respect, Jane behaved much the same as when she and Mr. Bingley had first met. Elizabeth paid more attention to Jane and Bingley than she did to her unenthusiastic walking companion. She made a note of speaking to Jane about her reticence. Her sister’s reserve had been the exact reason Mr. Darcy had believed Jane’s feelings for Mr. Bingley were born out of little more than politeness. If Elizabeth knew anything at all about Mr. Darcy, she was sure he would be searching for signs proving his interference had been warranted.

  In short order, Jane and Bingley’s pace had exceeded that of Elizabeth and her rather aloof companion enough that some distance stretched between the two couples. Elizabeth had no choice other than to pay attention to Mr. Darcy. Close inspection revealed a man who was a bit worse for wear than when she had last seen him in Kent. His hair was longer, and she noticed what she supposed were bags under his eyes. His air was more subdued than she recalled from their last days together. How could she attribute this change in his demeanour to anything other than their quarrel?

  The ensuing silence between them grew louder with each tentative footstep. Elizabeth’s bewilderment over his being there recalled her to her last missive from Anne, parts of which she had committed to memory:

  Dear Elizabeth,

  I have not the good news I would rather wish to share with you, for I have heard nothing from my reluctant cousin since he left Kent—he has not even written to my mother, a fact she finds quite disturbing, for she is just as eager as I am for him to declare his intentions.

  I can, however, communicate that all is well and my mother says that should my health continue its improved state, we may very well spend a few weeks in town for the Season. I shall soon be in the company of all my dear cousins.

  Elizabeth stole a glance at Mr. Darcy. How very unfeeling of him to have ignored her revelation of his cousin’s expectations. For Elizabeth’s part, her friendship with Anne was born out of gratitude and facilitated by her stay in Kent. Now that she had return to Hertfordshire, she might very well never see Anne again, unless she should be invited back to visit her friend Charlotte next spring. Though there was no longer the excuse of proximity to cement her affection for Anne, there was her sense of obligation and integrity, and most of all her good conscious, reminding her of her tacit commitment to respect Anne’s feelings for her cousin, regardless of the futility.

  How would Anne feel if she knew he was here in Hertfordshire? Must I remind him of Anne’s hopes—again?

  She would not think of that now. First, she needed to discover his purpose in being there. Obliged to walk beside him, some conversation must be in order. The silence racked her nerves.

  “It is a fine day for a stroll,” said Elizabeth, her breath bated.

  His hands clasped behind his back, Darcy nodded slightly. “Indeed.”

  She tried again to speak on a topic that would animate him. However, each attempt proved futile. Enough is enough! “It is your turn to say something, Mr. Darcy. I have thus far discussed the weather, even the condition of the roads from London.”

  “Forgive me, Miss Elizabeth, if I seem a bit taciturn. Seeing you here caught me by surprise.”

  “Did Mr. Bingley not say the two of you were on your way to Longbourn? No doubt you expected to see me once you arrived.”

  “Indeed. However, the possibility that you and I would find ourselves alone, as soon as this, never once occurred to me.”

  “You supposed you and I might avoid the awkwardness inherent in our situation amongst my family?”

  Darcy looked at Elizabeth intently, his eyes filled with sincerity. “Actually, I thought I might have a bit more time to rehearse the apology I intended to bestow.”

  The fluttering in her stomach returned. Elizabeth pressed her lips together and swallowed. “I suppose an apology is in order on both our parts, Mr. Darcy.”

  “I believe my offence was the greatest; therefore, I should like to start.”

  With Longbourn in view, Elizabeth thought it best to hold off on the obligatory apologies. “Mr. Darcy, I will be the first to admit much remains to be said between us, but for now, I sh
ould like it very much if you will believe I hold no ill-will towards you. You have kept your promise in reuniting Mr. Bingley and Jane. I am grateful.”

  *

  Only with Longbourn in sight did Darcy feel up to the task of breathing. Seeing Elizabeth again had taken his breath away and robbed him of nearly all his senses but one. The fragrance she wore, as innocent and sweet as it was, had intoxicated him. He was disappointed when they entered the drawing room where Elizabeth’s mother and sisters were assembled and he was not able to sit next to her. Her kind words of gratitude had given him a measure of hope. He wanted nothing more than to carry on their conversation.

  The pleasure of being in Elizabeth’s company was all but erased as Darcy endured the tedium of his new situation. The degree of civility with which Mrs. Bennet received his friend did not surprise Darcy one bit. Neither did her cold and unceremonious politeness towards himself. Although, for the sake of Elizabeth, whose colour was heightened by her mother’s behaviour, he would have preferred Mrs. Bennet exercise some restraint. An unintended consequence of her attitude brought to mind his original contention she was mercenary—intent on ensnaring his friend in a disadvantageous alliance with her eldest daughter. The aforementioned was the last thing he wished to recall, choosing instead to depend on Elizabeth’s assertion that Jane truly loved his friend.

  Mrs. Bennet made it her business to apprise Bingley of all the comings and goings of the past months during his absence. None of what she rambled on and on about had the slightest bearing on Darcy, for all he wanted to do was speak with Elizabeth in privacy.

  Purposeless chatter poured from every corner of the room. After a while, Darcy gave up trying to keep the thread of a conversation and instead averted his gaze out the window. Bingley’s animated voice hummed in the background. How he marvelled at Bingley’s easy ability to engage with folks he had not seen for months. Why, he even remembered the younger sisters and addressed them all by name. Restless, Darcy shifted in his seat. Perhaps, had he given himself the trouble of knowing Elizabeth’s younger siblings, he would not feel so out of place.