Love Will Grow: A Pride and Prejudice Story

by Dixon, P O

Elizabeth offered a bemused smile. “Why, Jane, I believe that is the most unforgiving speech I ever heard you utter.”

  “I speak no more than the truth. Everyone in Meryton is privy to his reputation by now, given our uncles and our father were forced to pay his considerable gambling debts.”

  “Somehow I do not think you care one fig for the opinion of the folks of Meryton. Are you concerned about the adverse effect this situation may render upon Mr. Bingley’s esteem?”

  Jane shook her head. “What concerns me most, dearest Lizzy, is not his failure to return from London, but the fact that he went away at all.” Jane took her sister’s hand, “How can I help considering his leaving as a defection—another example of his lack of steadfastness?”

  Jane stood. “You cannot say you do not suffer similar sentiments as regards Mr. Darcy.”

  “Jane, my situation with Mr. Darcy does not compare to the situation between you and Mr. Bingley.”

  “Does it not, Lizzy?” Jane sighed. “Oh, Lizzy, do not allow my dour mood to dampen your spirits.”

  “I hate seeing you disheartened, dearest Jane.”

  “I shall be all right. I am disappointed in Mr. Bingley, but I do not begrudge him. His behaviour is reasonable in light of Lydia’s exploits. Should the occasion come about, I am happy to meet him as indifferent acquaintances.”

  Elizabeth walked to her sister and lightly touched her shoulder. “Jane, I would implore you not to give up hope. Mr. Bingley may yet surprise us all.” His friend is certainly full of surprises. “Lydia mentioned Mr. Darcy was at the wedding—she was about to say more, but her husband quickly interrupted her as though what she had said was meant to be a secret. Mr. Darcy hates Mr. Wickham. Why on earth would he attend the wedding?”

  “Perhaps our father can shed light on the situation. Whilst Papa did not stay in town to attend the wedding, if what Lydia said is true, he and Mr. Darcy may have crossed paths.”

  *

  “Mr. Darcy did everything. He found them. He paid for the wedding. He paid all of Wickham’s debts.”

  Mr. Bennet had turned the tables on Elizabeth. She had gone into his library expecting answers, but he was the one who barraged her with questions the instant she broached the subject.

  He observed her firmly. “Again, Lizzy, I ask you why would Mr. Darcy do all of this for a family so unconnected to his own?”

  “I have no knowledge of any of his actions, Papa. What reason did he give you?”

  “The gentleman went on and on about being responsible for Mr. Wickham’s treachery—which I dismissed as nonsense. He further added he would rather I say nothing of his involvement to anyone. Once again, I must ask you why he would take such an onerous burden upon himself.”

  Elizabeth said nothing.

  “If I did not realise it before, I undeniably discern now that you and the gentleman are more than casual acquaintances. Lizzy, you are soon to be one and twenty, so I dare not compare your behaviour to Lydia’s. However, Mr. Darcy is a rich and powerful man who has taken an inordinate degree of interest in your situation.

  “Regardless of how little you may think of my decision to allow Lydia to travel to Brighton and the disastrous consequences, I am your father. I am your protector. Tell me what I need to know or else I shall expect the worst.”

  How she hated the grief and anxiety so strongly etched on her father’s face—that he would think poorly of her behaviour for even a second, that he should mention Lydia’s actions in conjunction with her own. It would not do. Elizabeth told her father everything—Mr. Darcy’s marriage proposal in Kent, her rejection, the situation with Miss Anne de Bourgh, Mr. Darcy’s determination to change Elizabeth’s mind, Elizabeth’s determination to uphold her obligation to respect Anne’s feelings.

  Now it was her father’s turn to be silent. At length he said, “My dear Lizzy, you must understand you cannot always be predisposed to turning down marriage proposals. What would your mother say if she knew?”

  He smiled. Elizabeth exhaled. Things would be all right. He did not think less of her.

  “I know not what to say except your Mr. Darcy is a good man. A lesser man might have gloated or done everything in his power to cause me to suffer the shame I so rightfully ought in not heeding his advice to prevent Lydia from travelling to Brighton. He did nothing of the kind. With the exception of being a bit overbearing in his desire to right the wrong against your sister, he was every bit the gentleman.

  “I do not know with certainty if Mr. Darcy will ever offer for you again, my Lizzy, but I would not be surprised if he does. When that day comes, I shall give him my blessing—wholeheartedly.

  “As for you, young lady, I have heard but one reason that you are determined to resist the gentleman—that being your acquaintance with his cousin. Whatever the nature of your friendship with Miss de Bourgh, if she is truly worthy of your consideration, then she will understand.

  “I urge you, my dear, if you love this man, then you must satisfy your own heart.”

  Elizabeth and her father spent the next fifteen minutes in his library. She was eager to know everything there was to know of what had happened in London, and he was equally eager to relinquish his borrowed feathers.

  *

  Elizabeth raced from the library to tell Jane all that her father had told her. Mr. Bennet had even mentioned how Mr. Bingley had offered his support—an offer her father had been compelled to refuse.

  Elizabeth had intended to encourage her sister with evidence of Mr. Bingley’s devotion, and she was certain she had succeeded, although Jane said nothing to confirm Elizabeth’s supposition.

  Seconds later, Mary, Kitty, and Mrs. Bennet rushed into the room, the latter all aflutter. She dashed to the window and then turned and peered about the room.

  “Hurry girls, we have not a moment to waste. He will be here any minute!”

  Jane’s eyes widened. “Who will be here any minute, Mamma?”

  “Why, Mr. Bingley, of course. We were outside in the garden when we spotted him headed this way.”

  Elizabeth took her eldest sister’s hand and squeezed it. “Oh, Jane!”

  “Lizzy, please let us not make too much of this.”

  Moments later, when everyone in the room had taken their place and had assumed an air of dignity, Mr. Bingley was shown into the room.

  Elizabeth, her mother, and her sisters stood in unison. Mr. Darcy did not come.

  Bingley bowed. “Mrs. Bennet, Miss Bennet.”

  Mrs. Bennet walked over to greet him. Taking his hand, she said, “Oh, Mr. Bingley, it is so good to see you.” She turned to her eldest daughter. “Is it not good seeing Mr. Bingley again, my dear Jane?”

  Jane smiled and nodded.

  Mr. Bingley swallowed. He tore his eyes from Jane and finally acknowledged her sisters. Then, directing his attention back to Jane, he said, “Mrs. Bennet, if you would, I should like to request a private audience—with Miss Bennet.”

  Mrs. Bennet’s eyes opened wide. “Oh, yes—take as long as you wish. Come along girls—come along.”

  Kitty and Mary followed their mother out of the room. She was about to close the door behind her when she noticed Elizabeth still sitting there. “That means you too, Lizzy. Come, let us allow your sister and her guest this time alone.”

  Elizabeth beheld Jane and smiled knowingly. She glanced back to regard her sister once more before quitting the room. She espied Mr. Bingley preparing to lower himself to one knee.

  *

  Her eyes closed, Elizabeth spun around and around in her rugged tree swing. Mr. Bingley came back for Jane! Elizabeth’s heart overflowed with joy.

  “Miss Elizabeth—”

  That voice. His voice! Am I dreaming? Her eyes opened. She lowered her legs, halted the swing and jumped to her feet. “Mr. Darcy!”

  “I startled you.”

  “No—yes. I did not expect you. Mr. Bingley is inside the house with Jane. I am sure he intends to request her hand in marriage.”

 
; “Yes—I know.”

  “Of course, I suppose he would not have done so without your blessing.”

  “I think Bingley is beyond the point of needing my consent on such matters—but I did confess how happy I am for him.”

  Elizabeth smiled. “I thank you for all you have done on my sister’s behalf—both my sisters, actually.”

  “Both, Miss Elizabeth?”

  “My father told me all you did for Lydia.”

  “Oh!”

  “This situation is not what you think, Mr. Darcy. I am certain he would have kept your secret had I not been the one to instigate the conversation. Something Lydia said piqued my curiosity, and I simply would not be satisfied until I was privy to the entire story.”

  Darcy said nothing.

  Uncomfortable with the subsequent silence, Elizabeth said, “Still, I find I am not entirely satisfied. I remain a bit curious as to the reason you would take it upon yourself to pay a debt you never owed. You satisfied any obligation to my family in warning my father of the dangers inherent in allowing Lydia to travel to Brighton.”

  “Surely you must realise. I did what I could to save your sister for you. I would do anything for you, Miss Elizabeth.”

  Elizabeth started walking away towards the garden. Darcy walked along beside her. For a while, they said nothing. Not content to remain silent, Elizabeth said, “Now that Jane and Mr. Bingley’s engagement is all but official, what are your plans, Mr. Darcy?”

  “My plans?”

  “Do you intend to remain here in Hertfordshire a while longer, or will you be returning to London or Pemberley, perhaps?”

  “What else can I do? I am in love with you, after all. My feelings will never change.” Darcy placed his hands behind his back. “I must be content to remain here in Hertfordshire and look for signs.”

  “Signs, Mr. Darcy?”

  Darcy stopped and encouraged Elizabeth to do the same. “Yes—signs. For instance, if I take your hand in mine—” He did. “And raise it to my lips—like so.”

  His breath—wonderfully warm against my skin.

  “If I linger, and you do not pull away—”

  Elizabeth stood frozen in place.

  Without letting go, he spoke softly. “Then, I shall consider it a sign.”

  Her heart raced.

  “If I reach out my hand and tenderly sweep aside your loosened hair.” He gently tucked an errant curl behind her ear. “If you do not demur or turn away, then I shall consider it a sign.”

  His eyes are as blue as the sea. She easily could imagine herself drowning in them. Oh, why do I lack the strength to turn away? Were it only within my power to turn away.

  “If I take both your hands in mine and our fingers intertwine—”

  His touch is as gentle as a child’s.

  “If you do nothing to pull away, I will consider it a sign.”

  Pull away? She swallowed hard. Yes, I must pull away.

  At length, Elizabeth drew her hands away, albeit with reluctance. “Mr. Darcy, you are not being fair. You are aware of what you do to me—how you slay all my defences when—” When you regard me intently with those amazing blue eyes, when you touch me. “I suppose I should not allow such liberties. This must stop.”

  Darcy clasped his hands behind his back. He said nothing in his defence.

  Elizabeth’s flailing resolve resurfaced. “I would love to pretend that Anne, for whom I suffer a debt of gratitude, did not care for you and was not expecting one day to be your bride. I cannot. Despite what you may or not feel towards her, she loves you.”

  “Do you love me?”

  Elizabeth said nothing.

  He lifted her chin and gazed into her eyes. “Do you love me?”

  Powerless to do anything else, Elizabeth allowed him to pull her closer. Accepting the glorious comfort of his embrace, she laid her head on his broad chest. What on earth was happening to her? What was it about this man who had the power to compel her to say and do things that were totally discordant? She lifted her head.

  We are standing much too close. His lips—our lips are much too close.

  Elizabeth pulled away. One tentative step after another, she walked away. Then she ran.

  Chapter 18

  Tears were streaming down Elizabeth’s face when Jane entered the room. Jane rushed to her side. Elizabeth sought to hide her distress. This was Jane’s day. Nothing should interfere with her sister’s joy.

  “Oh, Lizzy, what happened to upset you so?”

  Elizabeth said nothing.

  “Deny all you wish, for I know your melancholy has to do with Mr. Darcy. I hate to think you are denying yourself a chance for happiness. Perhaps, you should write to Miss de Bourgh so she might learn of your conundrum. If she considers herself half as true a friend to you as you do towards her, then surely she does not want you to suffer.”

  Elizabeth wiped away her tears. “Jane, do not mind me. I suppose I am simply being sentimental. I am afraid I allowed myself to recall those things that cause me a bit of discontent rather than heed my own philosophy to think only of the past as its remembrance gives one pleasure. I shall be all right. You must not worry.”

  Later, when she was alone, Elizabeth allowed for the possibility of what her sister had said.

  Would a man, once spurned, truly risk a second refusal? No doubt he would, for he had intimated as much with his talk of signs. Had I not run off—had I not insisted that Anne’s sentiments held some sway over my own, would he have asked me again?

  Has the time come to put my own happiness first?

  Mr. Darcy loves me. What is more, I love him. Yes, Anne says she loves him too, but he does not love her. This must end—it simply must!

  It is not fair to any of us that three people should be miserable when two might escape its painful clutch or is misery a dish best divided by three? No, such unnecessary torment cannot be.

  Jane’s words held a good measure of truth. Were Anne a true friend, then surely she would understand. Elizabeth only needed to speak with her, but what would she say? Will you grant me your blessing to accept the man I love? Perchance Jane was correct. She merely needed to be open with Anne. How would she do it? Writing a letter would be tactless, but what other choice existed. She might travel to Kent to tell Anne in person, but what of the expense of travel. Fifty miles of good roads posed no obstacle to someone of Mr. Darcy’s means, but surely her father would never consent to such folly.

  She might write to her dear friend Charlotte. Charlotte was clever. Once she understood the situation, she would discern exactly what needed to be said and done to assure Anne recognised the truth too. Alas, such a thing proved too much to ask of her friend.

  I suppose I might wait until I return to Kent in the spring. What is another six months in the grand scheme of things?

  Six months seemed a lifetime. Elizabeth could not wait that long. She would not wait. Somehow she would find a way to see Anne. She prayed it would not be too late.

  *

  Bingley’s face beamed with delight. Darcy shared in his friend’s good cheer. “I understand congratulations are in order. I believe you will be exceedingly happy.”

  “I thank you, Darcy. In spite of everything, I cannot imagine how I should have gotten through these past weeks without your friendship.”

  “Think nothing of it. I was glad to be of service.”

  “Shall we drink a toast to my good news?” Bingley strolled over to the liquor cabinet and retrieved a bottle of brandy. “I believe your presence was missed at Longbourn this evening. I wish you had joined us for dinner. Why, even Mr. Bennet asked about you.”

  “I was at Longbourn earlier, only I did not come inside. I came across Miss Elizabeth outside.”

  “Did you enjoy a pleasant visit?”

  I would say I had a perfect visit—that is until she ran away. “That is rather hard to say.”

  “Oh?”

  “I will only say Miss Elizabeth is aware of my intentions.”
/>   Bingley crumpled his brow. “How does she know your intentions, old fellow? What have you done?”

  *

  Mrs. Jenkinson walked into Anne’s room. Silent weeping—it had become Anne’s favourite pastime of late. The letter in her hand, Anne, by now, was well on her way to memorising.

  “Oh, my dear Anne, what on earth is the matter?” She espied the letter in Anne’s hand. “What is this?”

  “It is a letter—from my cousin.”

  “Mr. Darcy?”

  Anne nodded.

  “What did he write that renders you in such a state?”

  I suppose I might benefit from confiding in someone. Anne handed over the letter.

  Mrs. Jenkinson pushed Anne’s hand away. “No—I shan’t. It is not proper.”

  “Go ahead and read it!”

  Her companion did as she was told. After reading the letter silently, she began reading aloud:

  “How does one go about destroying a dream of someone whom he holds dear? Especially when he never fully comprehended the conviction of said dream? Shall I start by telling you how much you mean to me? Would such assertions soften the blow of my words when I say, in spite of those feelings, yours is a dream that shall never come to pass. For as much as I care for you, I, too, have a dream. I dream of a passionate, all enduring, everlasting love—the kind of love I shall never feel for you. The kind of love I already possess for another.”

  Mrs. Jenkinson embraced Anne. “My dear child, when did you receive this letter?”

  “The letter arrived days ago—no, weeks.”

  “Weeks? I no longer question the source of your melancholy of late.”

  She placed her hand upon Anne’s chin. “I am sorry, Anne. I understand how this must anger you. Trust me. You are not the first woman to suffer such a betrayal.”

  “Betrayal? Whatever do you mean, Mrs. Jenkinson?”

  “Why, were you not in frequent correspondence with Miss Elizabeth Bennet? In your many letters, did you not remind her how much you love your cousin, and how you cannot wait until the day you two are married?”

  “I told Miss Elizabeth about my sentiments, but how does my confiding in her affect my current sufferings?”