Implacable Resentment

by Jann Rowland

  But several days later, Elizabeth received a letter from her uncle which proved to be upsetting. It was a short letter which contained little of the normal pleasantries and affectionate words which were the hallmark of her communications with her uncle. What it did contain was the news that the Gardiners would be departing shortly for Ireland due to some of her uncle’s business concerns.

  Reading the offending words, Elizabeth was forced to dash an errant tear from the corner of her eye. Though she had returned to her home with her head held high, she had been comforted by the knowledge that her uncle and aunt were a short journey away and therefore able to come quickly should anything untoward happen. Now, her peace of mind would be removed, and she would be forced to deal with whatever happened on her own. What made it even worse was that she had always wished to see more of the world; if she had not been called home, then she would undoubtedly have been going to Ireland with them.

  At once, Elizabeth straightened and chastised herself for her moment of self-pity. She had always prided herself on her courage, and this news would not affect her.

  Therefore, she wrote back to her uncle that night, assuring him that she was well and telling them she wished they had a good journey.

  “Are you well, Miss Elizabeth?”

  The young lady in question started and peered at Darcy, seemingly a little confused; then she attempted a tentative smile. “I am very well, Mr. Darcy. I thank you for asking. My apologies for not attending.”

  Smiling, Darcy assured her that he was not offended, and then he said, “I hope there is nothing distressing you at present.”

  “No, sir,” said Elizabeth with a smile. “I am merely thinking about a letter I received from my uncle this morning.”

  “And how is your uncle?”

  For the first time during his visit that morning to Longbourn, Darcy saw her face light up with a true smile. “My uncle and his family are all very well, I thank you. I just received word this morning that he will be traveling to Ireland to deal with some business concerns.”

  That received Darcy’s full attention, and he felt surprised, though he endeavored to hide the fact from his conversation companion. “Mr. Gardiner is a man of business?”

  By Miss Elizabeth’s reaction, Darcy could immediately determine that he had made a mistake with his inelegantly phrased question, but the young woman spoke before he could clarify his statement:

  “Yes, he is. But a better man would be difficult to find.”

  Her tone was frosty, and Darcy almost winced at how tactless his query had sounded. He endeavored to put her at ease with his reply.

  “I beg your pardon, Miss Elizabeth, but I did not mean to cast aspersions on your uncle. He seemed a most gentlemanlike man indeed. I was merely surprised, as I had assumed he was a gentleman.”

  Though she appeared to be somewhat mollified, she still regarded him warily, prompting Darcy to say, “Bingley is my closest friend, Miss Elizabeth. I do not look down on another man because he works for a living, I assure you. I judge people on their merits.”

  Seeming uncomfortable, she looked down and paused for a moment before she spoke again. “My uncle tells me that my impetuosity is my greatest failing, Mr. Darcy.”

  “It is no failing to protect a beloved relative, Miss Bennet.”

  Miss Bennet finally raised her eyes, a delightfully arch smile directed at him. “I hardly think my uncle Gardiner requires my protection.”

  “Perhaps not,” said Darcy with a laugh, feeling enchanted by this young woman’s manner. “But I assure you that the most powerful of men appreciate the support of a beloved family member.”

  “Elizabeth!” rang out a shrill voice at that moment.

  Though the young woman hid it well, Darcy could almost see her suppress a cringe.

  “Come here, Elizabeth!”

  When the voice sounded again, Miss Bennet drew in a deep breath and smiled tentatively. “If you will excuse me, Mr. Darcy, I believe that my mother has need of me.”

  “I have enjoyed our conversation, Miss Bennet. I hope we will have a chance to speak again very soon.”

  “As do I, Mr. Darcy,” replied she before she curtseyed and left him.

  Watching her as she strode away, Darcy could not help but fancy that she was girding herself for battle as she approached her mother, who had, of course, been the one who had called her. Her mother’s voice, which was scarcely ever modulated, hit Darcy with the force of a bull horn.

  “Elizabeth!” the woman’s voice once again rang out. Then in a slightly quieter tone—though claiming that was akin to saying that a rifle shot was quieter than a cannon blast—she said, “I directed you to stay away from Mr. Darcy. You must not jeopardize Jane’s chances with Mr. Bingley, and you know that Mr. Darcy could never have any proper interest in someone like you!”

  An intense feeling of affront and disdain for Mrs. Bennet swept over Darcy, and he had to look away in order to avoid glaring at her with contempt. Darcy was uncertain which offended him more—her inelegant statement regarding Bingley and her eldest daughter, her belief that Miss Elizabeth could not tempt him, or her insinuation that the early acquaintance between Darcy and Miss Elizabeth portended any underhanded intensions on the young lady’s part.

  “Do you still believe that there is not something strange happening in the Bennet family, Mr. Darcy?”

  Stiffening, Darcy turned his gaze upon Caroline Bingley, who was watching him with an expression akin to a smirk plastered upon her face. Darcy kept his own expression bland. He had learned the disadvantage of agreeing with anything this woman said and of saying anything which she could even remotely construe as criticism of another person, and he would not give her a new target upon whom to vent her spleen.

  “Have you ever heard a mother berate her daughter in public in such a fashion?” continued Miss Bingley, ignoring the fact that he had not responded to her first question. “Miss Elizabeth hardly seems as if she is being welcomed like a daughter who has been away from home for an extended period.”

  “Mrs. Bennet is not the most circumspect of women, I grant you,” replied Darcy. “Beyond that, we know nothing of the family’s situation, and I suggest we do not indulge in speculation or innuendo when it is none of our concern.”

  With that statement—which he accompanied with a pointed glare—Darcy excused himself and strode away from Bingley’s youngest sister. Miss Bingley could try the patience of a saint, and he would much rather contemplate someone much more agreeable. And one who had eyes as fine as any he had ever seen.

  Though she had been avoiding it since her arrival, Elizabeth still had one place to visit, and she was not looking forward to the experience in the slightest. But it needed to be done, for though her family had never forgiven her for what had happened when she was two years of age, there was someone else in particular she believed would have granted her absolution.

  The trees were swaying gently in the autumn breeze that day, and the air was crisp but warm enough that the exertion of the walk kept her comfortable. Near the back of Longbourn’s park, Elizabeth had found a pretty patch of wildflowers, and knowing that she did not wish for anyone to learn of her errand, she stopped there to pick a few which she tied into a small posy, and then she made her way from the park.

  Her destination was only a short distance from the house, and it was an area she had come to know well. The steeple of Longbourn’s small church could be seen from the window of her bedroom, and it was there that she made her way. Outside the church, she waved a greeting to the church’s elderly parson, but she did not stop to talk to him, so intent was she on her mission that morning.

  Behind the small church was a small graveyard in which generations of Bennets had been interred, their memories kept alive by stories of the family and headstones which were meticulously carved and placed with care. Of course, Elizabeth did not know much of her family’s history. This place had always scared her a little as a child, though after her fall from grace wit
hin the family, she had often taken to visiting it at odd times, almost daring goblins and ghosts to accost her. Perhaps she had wished they would end the misery of her life. She could no longer recall.

  She wended her way through the headstones with ease, remembering the location of the one she was looking for as precisely as she would have had she visited only the day before, and when she arrived, she looked down at the stone. It was exactly as she remembered it, the elements having done no discernable damage. The plot was well maintained and clean, as if someone came here regularly to clean away the detritus.

  It was more difficult than she remembered, visiting this place, and she sank to her knees, tears pricking the corners of her eyes as she stared at the inscription on the stone. And for a moment, she thought she heard an echo of childish laughter, though she knew it was impossible. Had that laughter been hers? Or had it been that of the one who slept below the stone in front of her?

  Angrily, Elizabeth dashed away her tears, willing such fanciful thoughts to leave her in peace. The past could not be changed.

  She leaned down and gently laid the posy in her hands next to the gravestone, and after touching it reverently, she rose again to say a silent prayer, though whether she was praying for peace, for forgiveness, or for something else entirely, she could not say.

  There was no answer, though she felt a little lightness enter her heart. And with one final glance at the stone, she turned and left the graveyard.

  Chapter VIII

  Several days later, Elizabeth was told that there was to be an assembly at the gathering hall in Meryton and that her attendance would be required. In truth, Elizabeth was of two minds about the affair. On the one hand, any opportunity to leave the stifling atmosphere of her family home was to be considered a source of good fortune. On the other hand, she was not in a mood to socialize, and an evening spent pretending that everything was well seemed almost hypocritical, not to mention draining. But the demands of society were not to be ignored, so she girded herself up to once again play her part, all the while wishing that she was somewhere else.

  As she was preparing herself for the evening, Elizabeth thought of her aunt, missing her more now than she ever had previously. Elizabeth knew by now that she would be the last to enjoy the services of Longbourn’s maid and that her mother and younger sisters would take quite a bit of time before they were ready.

  The Gardiners were well able to afford the services of a maid for both Elizabeth and her aunt, but the two ladies had long assisted each other with their toilette, so her uncle had never seen fit to add to the single ladies’ maid he employed. Elizabeth was well aware of what most in London would think of such an arrangement, but she and her aunt had always enjoyed their time together, and her husband had indulged the small idiosyncrasy which brought the ladies of his house such joy. Thus, Elizabeth had some experience performing the tasks which needed to be performed, and she was therefore able to ready herself to a large degree.

  The thought of her aunt and the times they had shared caused Elizabeth to ache with longing for her presence. She truly wished that the situation was such that she could leave this house behind and accompany her family to Ireland.

  Before she could indulge further in such thoughts, a knock sounded at her door, and Elizabeth, though she would almost prefer to be left in peace, called out permission to enter.

  The door opened, and Jane stuck her head into the room with the diffidence Elizabeth would have expected of her.

  “May I come in, Elizabeth?”

  “Of course, Jane,” replied Elizabeth, feeling rather grateful that it was not her mother. Of course, she should have known already that it could not have been her mother, as the few times Mrs. Bennet had entered Elizabeth’s room, she had certainly not deigned to knock in such a polite manner.

  “I was hoping,” said Jane, “that we could perhaps assist each other in readying ourselves for this evening? Kitty and Lydia have a tendency to require the maid’s attentions for an inordinate length of time.”

  Elizabeth smiled, her heart melting at her sister’s painfully awkward attempts to come to know her better. From what Elizabeth had seen, Jane was always given the first attention by Longbourn’s maid, no doubt because Mrs. Bennet was in such a rage to marry her eldest off as soon as she could. Indeed, Jane looked as if she was already prepared for the evening, as her hair was perfectly coiffed, and she appeared to be as radiant as Elizabeth had ever seen.

  But the incident highlighted another facet of life at Longbourn that Elizabeth had not previously understood. Simply put, Jane had not had another sister upon whom to rely since Elizabeth had fallen out of favor with her parents. Mary and Jane were far too dissimilar, and Catherine and Lydia were confidantes, leaving Jane to become more reticent than she might otherwise have been.

  Therefore, Elizabeth accepted the gesture in the way she was certain it was meant, saying: “What a perfectly wonderful idea, Jane. My hair is often unruly, and though my aunt and her maid are adept at wrestling it into submission, I am afraid that it is difficult to manage by myself.”

  Smiling, Jane stepped into the room. She picked up a brush and began to pull it through Elizabeth’s hair, a contented smile settling over her features. The motions and feelings of the brush running through her tresses had a calming effect on Elizabeth, and soon she found herself concentrating on her sister rather than worrying about her situation.

  “My aunt used to do this every night,” said Elizabeth quietly. “We cherished our time together in the evenings. Even my uncle, who is everything one could wish in a man, could never take the place of those quiet times with my aunt.”

  Jane seemed to study Elizabeth while she continued to pull a brush through her hair, and for a moment, she was silent. But Elizabeth could see that she was attempting to gather her thoughts and struggling to find the words for what she wished to say.

  Finally, after a few moments, she sighed and fixed her gaze upon Elizabeth. “You have been happy with my aunt and uncle.”

  Though her question had all the appearance of a statement, there was a pleading quality to Jane’s words which took Elizabeth back to those horrible days. Elizabeth remembered Jane’s heartfelt “Be happy in your new home” as she had been led to her uncle’s carriage the day she had left Longbourn all those years before.

  “Very happy indeed,” stated Elizabeth, wishing to ease Jane’s anxiety. “My aunt and uncle have treated me like one of their own children. I could not have wished for anything more.”

  A relieved smile bloomed on Jane’s face, and she said, “Then I am grateful to them for their care and attention.” She then ducked her head in embarrassment. “I always knew that you would blossom with the right encouragement. I am very happy to see that I was correct in believing in you.”

  Elizabeth felt a lump settle in her throat, and she was forced to blink tears from her eyes. Had the situation been different, she and Jane would have been the closest of confidantes. And they would be now, she decided. All they required was a little time, and Elizabeth was certain they could attain the closeness they had been denied.

  The budding moment between the two sisters was not to last, as the door opened and Elizabeth’s mother entered the room. She took in the situation, and her lip curled with disgust, though an instant later she concealed that expression with an exasperated look at Jane.

  “Jane, whatever are you doing, child? I have been looking everywhere for you.”

  “I was speaking with Elizabeth, Mama,” replied Jane.

  Elizabeth thought that her sister would say more, but she apparently realized that her mother would likely not appreciate whatever she had to say, so she held her tongue. Elizabeth was careful not to release a sigh of relief—apparently, Jane’s penchant for looking for the best possible motives in others did not extend to the situation between her parents and her younger sister.

  Mrs. Bennet’s sniff of disdain clearly illustrated her thoughts concerning Jane’s response, however, and she e
xclaimed, “Now is not the time for such things. You must hasten to finish making yourself ready. We must arrive early so that you may make a good impression upon Mr. Bingley.”

  Though Jane was clearly ready to depart, she allowed herself to be guided from the room and put into the care of Longbourn’s maid. But Mrs. Bennet did not leave the room with her eldest daughter. Instead, after watching Jane leave, she turned back to Elizabeth and regarded her with an expression of distaste for several moments. Elizabeth kept her expression carefully neutral, not wishing to incite any further censure.

  “Jane is not your maid,” said she after a pause of a few moments, confirming Elizabeth’s suspicions concerning her mother’s thoughts. “I know not how your aunt manages her household, but at Longbourn, my daughters do not do the work of the maids.”

  Ignoring the implication that she was not recognized as Mrs. Bennet’s daughter, Elizabeth could only reply, “I did not ask for my sister’s help; she offered it.”

  Mrs. Bennet waved her hand impatiently. “How Jane came to be in this room is irrelevant. In the future, should she offer her assistance, you shall refuse it. The maid shall be made available to you before we leave for an evening and in the morning after we rise. You will avail yourself of her services.”

  “Yes, mother,” replied Elizabeth, knowing that it was pointless to argue.

  Nodding her head, Mrs. Bennet turned and left the room, leaving Elizabeth alone and wishing that she might leave this house and never see it again.

  For Darcy, an evening spent in an assembly hall attending a country dance was torture in its purest sense.

  Being blessed—or cursed, depending on how one viewed the matter—with a reticent disposition made such affairs utterly drab and tedious. Add to that the fact that everyone in the vicinity of this tiny hamlet had known Darcy’s estimated income within hours of his arrival—and that every unattached young lady hoped to become Mrs. Darcy—did not improve his mood in the slightest.