An Arranged Marriage

by Jan Hahn

  "Welcome to growing up, my dear." I patted her hand.

  "I thought confusion never plagued adults, that they always know what is best."

  "In truth? Hardly ever. That is a myth we tell children. Now that I am grown, I know it only too well."

  The faint semblance of a smile played about her countenance and I embraced her. "All will be well, Georgiana. I truly believe that." She rose from the bed then and, after drying her face, accompanied me to below stairs. The evening progressed without further unpleasantness, although both Georgiana and the colonel remained unusually subdued. She agreed to play his favourite selections on the pianoforte and I noticed the wistful, yearning expression in his eyes as he watched her performance.

  Later that night in the drawing room, however, after Richard and Georgiana had retired Mr. Darcy returned to the earlier incident. "Elizabeth, did you learn what was behind Georgiana's ill pleasure this afternoon? She made little sense to me."

  I closed my eyes and prayed for wisdom. I desired to be honest with my husband and yet I did not want to betray Richard's confidence. "I think Georgiana is simply afraid of the future. She expressed qualms regarding her coming out in the spring and especially without Richard by her side. She relies on him more than we know."

  "They have always enjoyed a close camaraderie, but surely she understands he cannot entirely shield her from society's perusal. And does she not consider me adequate protection against any rou?s or rakes who come calling?"

  "Oh, I am certain you will do all that is necessary in that regard. Perhaps even more than is necessary," I added under my breath.

  Unfortunately, he heard me. "Elizabeth, do I detect a complaint in that last remark?"

  "Not a complaint, sir, just a statement of fact."

  "I do not understand."

  "William, you know you are far too protective of Georgiana. I fear the coming season shall prove difficult for you."

  "How can you say that? After what happened with Wickham, how can I be too protective?"

  "I was fifteen when that happened, Wills," Georgiana said, startling both of us by her return.

  "We thought you had retired, dear," I said quickly.

  "I came back for a book I left over there." She crossed the room to the chair in which she had sat earlier. "And Wills, I am no longer that same girl. Must I suffer for it the rest of my life?"

  "Georgiana," he said forcefully, "I did not mean to infer in any way that you were responsible. Let us drop the subject."

  "But I was responsible. When will you or Richard ever accept that? I listened to Mr. Wickham's flattery; I allowed myself to be seduced by his pretty words; I knew that elopement was not the proper way in which to marry, and yet I agreed to it. He is not the only one at fault."

  "Georgiana!" Mr. Darcy's voice rose. "We shall not discuss this further. You know my wishes on the subject."

  "Yes, I do," she replied in a barely audible voice, obviously chastened, "but do you know mine, Wills? Has anyone other than Elizabeth ever asked me about my feelings?"

  "Elizabeth?" He turned to glare at me. "Have you discussed that unforgivable occurrence with my sister in direct contradiction to my orders?"

  I opened my mouth to speak, but Georgiana interrupted. "Only when I brought it up, Wills. Do not blame Elizabeth."

  "I do not want the incident spoken of again. Do I make myself clear?" His tone sounded deadly.

  Georgiana nodded and keeping her eyes on the floor, she sat down on the sofa and began to cry quietly. I started toward her when Mr. Darcy spoke again. "Elizabeth, do you understand me?"

  I turned and glared at him and wanted to cry, Only too well, sir! And do you understand that you are the most obstinate man who ever lived? But I swallowed my ire and nodded. We both turned our faces from each other and I bit my tongue until I could taste blood. Remember, 'a soft answer turneth away wrath,' I repeated to myself, for I had begun spending time in the Old Testament book of Proverbs since learning it had been a favourite of Mr. Darcy's mother. I walked to the sofa and sat beside Georgiana, taking her hand in mine. By that time I had regulated my breathing and I lowered my tone before I spoke.

  "William, I pray you will hear what I say. Neither Georgiana nor I set out to go against your wishes."

  "Oh, no, Wills," Georgiana added. "We would never do that. It is just that..."

  "Just what?" he demanded.

  "Sometimes I think Richard may be leaving because of what...you will not allow me to speak of."

  "My dear," I said. "What say you? That misfortune has nothing to do with Richard leaving."

  "It may, Elizabeth. After I returned from Ramsgate, I sensed a difference in him. Oh, he is the same in his affection and care, but at times I find him looking at me in an unusual manner, as though I am no longer myself. I feel damaged, that I shall never be good enough again in either Richard's or William's eyes, so how can I be good enough to face society?"

  "Oh, no." I put my arms around her, as she began to cry anew. "You are wrong, dearest. William, tell her she is wrong."

  He joined us immediately and took her into his arms, cradling her head upon his chest. "Georgiana, do not cry. Elizabeth is correct. You are not damaged. You are as beautiful and whole and innocent as before it ever happened."

  "I am not innocent, Wills," she said between sobs. "I allowed Mr. Wickham to...to kiss me and more than once."

  William's eyes met mine and I saw greater anger flash within his. I tried desperately to signal him not to react in that manner by slightly shaking my head. When he remained silent, I knew that he could not speak without saying more than he should, and so I spoke in his place. "Georgiana, is that all? Is a kiss all that happened between you and Mr. Wickham?"

  "Why, yes, of course, but is that not bad enough?"

  "It is enough." I met William's relieved expression with my own. "But no real harm has occurred. And you are mistaken in taking the blame. Compared to Mr. Wickham, you were an innocent child and he took advantage of your naivety, he and Mrs. Younge. I know of Mr. Wickham's charm only too well for I, too, was fooled by it in the past."

  She turned away from her brother to look at me. "You, Elizabeth?"

  When I nodded, he interrupted. "This does not need to be spoken of. I want the discussion to end."

  "Wills, I pray you," Georgiana said and I was surprised at the depth of pleading in her tone. "I need to know how Mr. Wickham prevailed upon Elizabeth...that is, if she is willing to tell me."

  "But why?" He looked totally bewildered. "Why must you speak of a subject that evokes nothing but pain?"

  "To be heard," I said gently. "To know we are not alone in our foolishness. Sir, this is what women do. It is, perhaps, our fate rather than our merit. We cannot help ourselves. We live at home, quiet, confined, and our feelings prey upon us. You are forced on exertion. You have always pursuits, business of some sort or other to take you back into the world immediately, and continual occupation and change soon weaken impressions. You need not talk of such things, but you must allow us."

  William looked at me as though I spoke a foreign language; to his credit, however, he made no further demand, but stalked across the room to stare out the window. I took Georgiana's hand and began to tell her the story of when I first met Mr. Wickham in Meryton and of how I, as well as most of the folk in Hertfordshire, believed the false story he spread about her brother. She was horrified, of course.

  "When did you learn the truth, Elizabeth?"

  "Last Easter when I visited in Kent. William wrote me a letter and told me of Mr. Wickham's true nature."

  "Was that the letter I saw you re-reading in your chamber when Wills was in London?"

  I nodded and saw Mr. Darcy turn directly toward me, a question in his eyes. He did not interrupt us, though, and I continued telling how Mr. Wickham had seduced my youngest sister last summer and how he never would have married her if not for Mr. Darcy's generous intervention. She looked at her brother with new admiration. "So that is what caused you to
leave Pemberley with such haste last July."

  He did not reply and turned back to the window, but I nodded in agreement with her statement.

  "Can you now understand, Georgiana, that you were not at fault to believe Mr. Wickham? The man is a master at deception and your admiration was based on lies, but perfectly understandable."

  "Do you think Richard shares your acquittal of me?"

  "Of course he does," William said quickly. "You must never believe that you were at fault again, Georgiana, not in mine or Elizabeth's eyes, and certainly not in Fitzwilliam's. Shall we now let the incident die once and for all?"

  He had left the window and come to stand before us. Taking Georgiana's hands, he lifted her to meet his gaze. "Yes, Wills," she said, "but please allow Elizabeth and me to sort things out from now on. If you truly want us to be sisters, grant us this comfort and no longer declare that certain topics will not be mentioned in this house."

  Mr. Darcy sighed and nodded ever so slightly in agreement, but after his sister left the room, I watched his brows knit together in a frown and I could see how he struggled to repress his emotions. Georgiana's request went against all that he had ever known. He had spent his entire life avoiding discussion of personal subjects, as his father before him, but now his young sister asked for her independence from such censure, and he was only too aware it had come about because of my influence.

  With a somewhat weary gesture, he sat down in a large chair before the fire, leaned back, his hand upon his mouth, while he stared at the flames. I knelt before him and took his other hand in mine. "Are you angry with me, William?"

  He shook his head, but his expression did not change and he continued to gaze at the fire.

  "You do believe I have had undue influence upon your sister, do you not?" When he made no response, I continued. "I might remind you that is the reason you married me. You asked that my lively ways might somehow affect her spirits."

  He met my eyes. "That was the reason I gave for marrying you, but we both now know the truth."

  I smiled, aware that his voice had grown deeper and less troubled. "Yes, and do not think that I am ungrateful for your love, but still I take my obligation seriously. I know I have caused you unhappiness by forcing this issue to come to light."

  He sighed again. "I do not blame you. If there was force, it was done by my sister's distress and although I hate to admit it, probably for the best. Open discussion of hurtful occurrences is not easy for me, Elizabeth, but if my carrying forward the pattern I learned from my father harms Georgiana, then I must change, no matter how painful that change is to me."

  "You are exceptionally brave, my love." I took his face in my hands.

  "No, I am not, and I am in dire need of comfort at this moment."

  I began to kiss his lips, softly and tenderly. "Does this help?" I murmured.

  "Hmm...a little. I cannot tell for sure. Try it again."

  He gathered me onto his lap then and I proceeded to comfort him in such a way that we both derived great benefit.

  ~ * ~

  We bid Colonel Fitzwilliam adieu the next morning. Georgiana tried her best, but she could not halt the tears spilling from her eyes. As Mr. Darcy gave last minute orders to the driver, Richard kissed my young sister's hand.

  "Oh, Richard!" She flung herself into his arms. "Promise me you will return soon."

  His arms embraced her tenderly and his eyes met mine as he kissed her hair. "There is no need to fret, Sprout. I shall be back before you know it. After all, I cannot miss dancing at your wedding." Although he spoke the words in jest, the pain in his eyes was unmistakable. Mr. Darcy and I stood beside her as she waved until the departing carriage could no longer be seen in the distance.

  "Surely, he will not be gone too long." Georgiana's voice broke.

  "Of course not," her brother said. "You know Fitzwilliam. He shows up when you least expect him. I would not be surprised at all to see him return within six months or less."

  My husband's prediction was in error, however. We did not see Colonel Fitzwilliam for four long years and a great many things can happen in that length of time.

  Chapter 16

  We traveled to Hertfordshire in early March for Jane's wedding to Mr. Bingley. It had been an exceptionally cold winter and I thrilled to now see vestiges of spring begin to appear in the countryside. We were to stay at Netherfield, for that great house contained much more adequate room than Longbourn for Georgiana, Mr. Darcy, and me, along with our maids, valet, and other servants. As we climbed the stone steps leading to the entryway, vivid memories washed over me, transporting me back to an earlier year. The last time I entered that house, I danced with Mr. Darcy and deemed him the best dancer I had ever encountered, but surely the most difficult man to understand upon the face of the earth. My, how much my opinion had altered in little more than a year!

  Mr. and Mrs. Hurst, as well as Miss Bingley, were also in attendance at the estate and thus, Georgiana and I oft times found ourselves spending much of the day at Longbourn. My sister-in-law much preferred the general noisy uproar of my old home to the stilted, hypocritical remarks Mr. Bingley's sisters inflicted upon the general conversation. Back and forth, their talk would swing from gushing over 'dear Jane' to thinly veiled, sniping remarks aimed at my mother and younger sisters. It was evident they lamented the fact their only brother was marrying down in the world. Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley, along with Mr. Hurst, escaped as early as possible each morning to their retreat of sport, and so the superior sisters found themselves in the sole company of each other for most of the days preceding the wedding.

  Mamá, naturally, was almost hysterical in her preparations for the nuptials. I did my best to relieve Jane of her oppression and welcomed my Aunt Philips' daily attendance, as it at least gave Jane and I some respite and chance to be alone with each other. Of course, Mrs. Philips had returned to her tiresome habit of quoting proverbs and I vowed to Jane that I might engage in a desperate act if I heard Happy is the bride that the sun shines on one more time. One morning, after she glanced outside at the approaching clouds and then uttered it for the fifteenth time, I finally spoke up.

  "I would not put much stock in that old saying, Aunt, for I can testify it takes more than sunshine to make a happy bride."

  "Now, Lizzy," she replied, "these old sayings, as you call them, have stood me in good stead for many a year and I will have you know I have been proved false on nary a one."

  "But Aunt, surely you must recall, it poured on my wedding day and yet I find myself quite cheerful."

  She tsked-tsked over my rebuttal and tried to think of another appropriate adage with which to salvage her opinion, but I conveniently remembered a task calling me to another room, and made my escape. In fact, I had endured all of the close family contact I could for the present and, seeing that Georgiana was happily trimming bonnets with Kitty, I grabbed my shawl and bonnet and skipped out the back door. I longed for a walk in the old, familiar woods and the weather was mild enough to accommodate me. I reveled in the beginning buds popping out on trees and shrubs and the touch of scarlet the crocuses provided as they peeked out for a look at the new season.

  I walked no little way that afternoon and after awhile, seeing the sun begin to lower in the sky, I observed that I should begin to make my way back to my mother's house. Before I returned, though, I climbed the small hill behind Longbourn Village and walked through the gates fronting the cemetery where my father was buried. I could not walk those lanes and woods without thinking of him, without recalling how I lost him at almost that very time only a year ago. Finding his grave, I knelt and placed upon it the small bouquet of wild blooms I had gathered. I ran my fingers across the roughly carved letters of his name and the dates of his birth and death below.

  "Oh, Papá," I whispered, as a tear escaped down my cheek, "I miss you so." I allowed myself to cry a bit and then blew my nose and began to recall happier times. I could still see the twinkle in his eye and that sly, unreadable exp
ression about his face when he made one of his droll statements, usually at my mother's expense, the meaning of which she never seemed to grasp. I remembered the talks we enjoyed in his study or walking about the grounds at Longbourn, how he could not wait for me to share a new book he received and enter into a long discussion of its merits. Although neither a perfect man nor parent, he had been a very dear father and I missed him most heartily.

  I began to speak to him aloud in that way people have spoken to their departed loved ones for centuries, longing to feel a bit of communion with one another again.

  "How I wish you were here to see Jane marry, Papá. She will make a beautiful bride, but of course, you have always known that. Mr. Gardiner shall escort her down the aisle, but do not think he can replace you, for that is impossible. You need not worry about her, though, for I believe she and Mr. Bingley will be happily settled. Their tempers are by no means unlike, each of them so complying that nothing will ever be resolved on; so easy that every servant will cheat them; and so generous that they will always exceed their income."

  I could not help but smile to think that my father would most probably have uttered that statement had he been there. Our minds had been much alike and we had enjoyed a compatibility of temper and humor unlike anyone else in our family. I sat back upon the damp ground, looking up as the light wind rustled the new leaves on the trees, now causing my curls to blow slightly. I felt cheered my father was buried there, for it was a lovely spot and if one looked off in the distance, the spire of Longbourn Church could be seen faintly through the trees. As I lowered my gaze, I was surprised to see a man's figure emerge from the wood, growing ever closer as he walked toward me.

  I smiled upon recognition of William's familiar gait and long legs. Hastily, I tried to brush aside the tears from my cheeks and began to rise. He put out his hand, motioning me to stay where I was. "Do not get up, dearest, unless the ground is uncomfortable for you," he said, as he knelt beside me and with one finger under my chin, tipped my face up to meet his. "You have been weeping." He gently rubbed his thumb across my cheek.