Implacable Resentment

by Jann Rowland

  “Has Lydia always been . . . ?”

  “Spoiled?” finished Mary. Jane might not have been so blunt, but she certainly could not disagree with the sentiment.

  “Brash?” continued Mary, ticking a finger every time she made a new point. “Improper? Unfeeling? Insensible? Childish? Petulant?”

  “I believe that is enough, Mary,” Jane interjected.

  Mary turned to Jane and eyed her blandly. “Do you disagree?”

  With a sigh, Jane replied, “No, but I do not think we should abuse our sister when she is not here to defend herself.”

  “On the contrary,” replied Mary with a significant look at Kitty, “I believe this is exactly the time to discuss our sister’s behavior.”

  A wide-eyed Kitty listened with growing consternation until she could no longer be silent. “Are you suggesting that I have been the same?”

  “You have a tendency to follow in whatever Lydia does, dear,” said Jane, giving her sister a sympathetic smile. “Often, your behavior emulates Lydia’s. You generally do not instigate this behavior, but you willingly follow it.”

  For a moment, Kitty could not speak, so surprised was she. When she was finally able to speak, she could only blurt out, “Surely Lydia is not that bad!”

  Mary huffed with annoyance. “Are we speaking of the same person? Kitty, Lydia has been very close to disgracing herself and her family on several occasions. If she is not checked, then it is only a matter of time before she succeeds in doing so, and it will be to the detriment of us all.”

  When Kitty appeared as if she did not understand, Jane spoke up again. “We could be tainted by association, Kitty. If the sin is grievous enough, we could be shunned by the entire neighborhood. We would not be invited into any respectable society, and our chances of making any kind of a match would disappear.”

  “Then why does my father not take Lydia into hand?” asked Kitty, though her voice was quiet and strained.

  “I have asked myself that many times,” said Jane.

  Again, Mary interjected with some less than diplomatic remarks. “He does not take her into hand because it is far easier to simply shut his bookroom door on us and pretend that Lydia’s behavior does not exist.” Mary paused for a moment, thinking. “Actually, I think he finds it more amusing than anything.”

  “I do not wish to disgrace the family,” whispered Kitty.

  Jane and Mary shared a look. If there was at least some good to come of this situation with Elizabeth, then it might draw the Bennet sisters closer together. It might also allow them to pull Kitty back from the precipice. It was unfortunate that Lydia would not be governed by anything other than her own selfish desires.

  It was then that Jane noticed a single rider approaching Longbourn, and she moved to the window to discover who it was. When she pulled the drape aside, she could see the rider clearly. It was Mr. Bingley.

  “I must go out and meet Mr. Bingley.”

  Mary nodded. “It is best that you speak with him outside of the house. I will stay and speak with Kitty.”

  What went unsaid was that Mary would begin to talk to Kitty about proper behavior, and though Jane knew that Mary was overly moralistic, she felt that Kitty was ready to learn. Jane would speak with her herself after Mr. Bingley left. For now, she wished to know if Mr. Darcy had received her letter and, perhaps more urgently to Jane’s own peace of mind, if the events of the previous day had damaged Jane in Mr. Bingley’s eyes.

  Swiftly, Jane made her way from the sitting room and out into Longbourn’s entrance hall, where she came across Mrs. Hill, who was moving to answer the door.

  “I will see to Mr. Bingley, Mrs. Hill.”

  The housekeeper nodded. “Will Mr. Bingley be staying for tea?”

  Jane considered the matter. She did not wish for Mr. Bingley to meet with her parents—perhaps ever again!—but with her father entrenched in his library and her mother still lamenting the fact that Elizabeth was to be the next mistress of Longbourn, Jane judged it likely that they would not appear at all that day.

  “I will speak with Mr. Bingley, but I believe it likely that he will.”

  “Very good, Miss Bennet,” said the housekeeper.

  She retrieved Jane’s outer wear and helped her into her clothes before retreating from the room. Jane moved to the door and opened it as Mr. Bingley was dismounting from his horse.

  “Let us speak over there,” she said as she moved toward him and motioned to the side of the house.

  Mr. Bingley seemed to understand that she did not wish to speak to him inside, and he extended his arm for her to take, accepting her gentle guidance as they made their way around the house, through the gardens, and back into the interior of the property where they would not be easily observed. When they had arrived, Jane turned to regard her suitor.

  It was the compassion in his eyes which undid her carefully constructed façade. Jane had intended to speak of the matter dispassionately, reciting the facts while attempting to discern if Mr. Bingley would turn away from her for having a family so unsuitable to a man in his position. She knew that there were several grounds for him to withdraw gracefully and not incur any censure. But in seeing the way he regarded her, Jane’s control over her emotions was negated, and a sob escaped.

  Before she even knew what was happening, Mr. Bingley was there before her, coaxing her to rest her head on his shoulder, patting her back in a manner which was completely improper. But it was also a balm to Jane’s troubled mind, and she allowed herself the luxury of tears. She cried for her sister, who had been thrust into an unwanted marriage with a senseless man she could not respect; she cried for her sisters, whose prospects seemed to be murky and uncertain; and, perhaps most of all, Jane Bennet cried for herself, lamenting her loss of innocence and the death of her inherent belief in the goodness of her fellow man. All of her assumptions concerning others had been laid bare, and she now realized that wishing that others were good would not make them good. There was a lot more evil in the world than she would ever have wanted to acknowledge to herself.

  But one cannot cry forever, and though Jane could not determine how long she had sobbed out her heartbreak, her tears eventually subsided, and she rested her head on the broad expanse of Mr. Bingley’s strong shoulder. And when she had calmed enough to think rationally again, she had to chuckle at herself; she could not ever remember letting her emotions out in such a manner. It was most unlike her.

  Lifting her head, Jane inspected Mr. Bingley, noting that a rather large wet spot had appeared on the shoulder and front of his jacket, and she gave him a watery smile of apology.

  “It appears that I have ruined your coat, Mr. Bingley.”

  “Think nothing of it, Miss Bennet,” was his earnest reply. Though he was normally ebullient and happy, little trace of that man was present this morning. Instead, he was somber and serious, much like Jane felt herself.

  “I thank you for allowing me to unburden myself, sir. I have never allowed my control to relax as much as I have today. It is far more cathartic than I could have imagined.”

  “Shall we sit?” asked Mr. Bingley, gesturing at a nearby rough bench. “I believe it would do you good.”

  Smiling again, Jane agreed, and soon they were perched on the indicated bench, both sitting on the edge and facing slightly toward the other.

  “Now,” said Mr. Bingley when they were comfortably situated, “what has happened here? Mr. Bennet forced Miss Elizabeth to marry your cousin? I can scarcely credit such a thing.”

  “It is true. I would never have believed my father could act in such a manner, but I was witness to it myself.”

  In a halting voice, Jane began to describe the events of the previous morning, detailing what she had seen and what her father’s actions had been. She told him everything she knew, leaving nothing out. She did not worry about the propriety of the situation, knowing that Mr. Bingley was not the type to carry tales.

  By the time she had finished, Mr. Bingley had risen and
was pacing in agitation, a state which continued for some minutes, as he seemed to be struggling within himself. When he turned to her, it was with an expression which almost bespoke fear.

  “What kind of man is your father?” asked he with some contempt. “Does he mean to marry off all his daughters in a similar fashion?”

  Jane’s breath caught in her throat. The meaning of Mr. Bingley’s words could not be misinterpreted, and after all the heartache of the previous day, the mere thought caused a warmth to well up within her. She then chastised herself for thinking in such a manner, as the surety of her admirer’s regard did not lessen Elizabeth’s plight in any way.

  “I do not think so,” said Jane in response to his question, pushing all other concerns aside. “My father is much too indolent to exert himself again.”

  “Then why was your sister singled out so cruelly?”

  Extending her hand, Jane persuaded Mr. Bingley to return to the bench, and she kept hold of his hand as she spoke to him.

  “You are aware that Elizabeth lived in London for many years with my uncle, Mr. Gardiner.” At Mr. Bingley’s curt nod, she continued: “There was a very good reason for her removal, Mr. Bingley. Her life at Longbourn when she was a child was very difficult, and even though I was a child myself, I remember fearing for her. My father was never harsh with her, but he allowed my mother to do with her what she wished. And my mother treated her as if she was a worthless stray, fit for nothing more than scraps and threadbare dresses. Elizabeth’s removal to London was her salvation.”

  Mr. Bingley regarded her intensely. “Your parents hold a grudge against her.”

  “Yes,” replied Jane simply. “It stems from when she was a very young child. I am sorry, but I shall not speak of the reason without Elizabeth’s approval.”

  Mr. Bingley shook his head impatiently. “I understand, and I would not wish to pry. Miss Bennet, we live in a society where . . . well, let us just say that a father has control over a child until they come of age. I am certain you are well aware of this.

  “But though I have heard of parents entering their child into an arranged marriage against the child’s wishes, I am astonished by your father’s lack of decency and his lack of any feeling for your sister. Marrying her off to a man who she has just met without any consideration—well, I am astonished!”

  Pausing, Mr. Bingley fidgeted in agitation, and though he seemed to struggle to find the words, he continued in a rush, clearly attempting to say what he meant to say before his words failed him. “I am tempted to remove you from this house immediately and make you my wife before Mr. Bennet can focus upon you to give away to another of his foolish relations.”

  His concern and his obvious care for her warmed Jane’s heart once again. But though her heart cried out for her to urge him to follow through on his notion, she could not. She was not in any danger, and she did not wish to start married life under the scandal of an elopement, which was the only way he would be able to follow through with such a scheme.

  “I will be well, Mr. Bingley. I thank you for your concern, but it is unwarranted in this instance.”

  Though he watched her carefully, the tension seemed to bleed out from him in an almost visible manner. “That is well,” was his quiet reply. “Though I would do it in an instant if required, you deserve the best, and I would not have our engagement begin on the heels of such sorrow.”

  Jane blushed and thanked him for his sincere convictions, more certain than ever that this was an estimable man who would care for her in every way possible.

  “Now, let me assuage your concerns slightly,” said Mr. Bingley. “Darcy received your letter and was heartened by it. It arrived just before he departed for Kent.”

  Surprised, Jane peered at Mr. Bingley, wondering what he was about.

  But Mr. Bingley anticipated her confusion, as he continued gently, “From your letter, I suspect Miss Elizabeth never had the chance to tell you, but Darcy had asked her for a courtship two days ago. He went to Longbourn yesterday to ask for your father’s permission, which was when he learned of the sudden marriage.”

  “What does he hope to accomplish?” asked Jane.

  “He seemed to believe that there is a possibility that the marriage could be annulled,” replied Mr. Bingley. “And given the fact that no banns have been read, the bride was not willing, and your father had to practically drag her to the church, I believe that Darcy is right. There is compelling evidence that the marriage cannot be legal.”

  “Can it be possible?” asked Jane, hope shining within her heart for the first time since the dreadful events of the previous day.

  “Put your trust in Darcy and your sister,” was Mr. Bingley’s gentle reply. “If anyone is able to obtain an annulment, it would be Darcy. And your sister does not appear to be the sort of girl to simply acknowledge defeat. I have never met Mr. Collins, but given what I have heard of the man, I dare say he has more than met his match in your sister.”

  “I very much hope so, Mr. Bingley,” said Jane. The hope his words had engendered had found fertile ground within her mind, and that hope was sprouting, growing at a rapid pace. Perhaps Elizabeth would manage to extricate herself from the quandary with Mr. Darcy’s help. She would pray for them.

  Chapter XVIII

  It was ironic, Darcy decided, as his coach approached Rosings on that fine autumn morning, that he should be back within six months of his final leave-taking from his aunt. The massive estate house loomed in the distance like a massive web with strands to trap and hold, and he knew that the spider who made her home within would bind him without a moment’s thought should he not be vigilant. He and his cousin had visited his aunt’s domain annually for the past several years, maintaining the estate books, smoothing over any difficulties his aunt’s imperious manner might have caused among her tenants, and overseeing the early stages of planting, which generally occurred some weeks earlier than it did at Pemberley.

  But what Darcy had not told Miss Elizabeth was that he had informed his uncle—on whose commission he made the journey there every year—that he would not extend the same courtesy in the future. Lady Catherine had been more than usually insufferable that spring in her insistence that he and Anne formalize their engagement, and as neither had ever wished for the other as a marriage partner, they were of no mind to pay heed to her words. Lady Catherine, perhaps sensing that the two in question were less than eager to bow to her demands, had badgered them mercilessly, and it had finally resulted in an unpleasant encounter in which Darcy had stated openly that he would not marry Anne and had made a precipitous departure from the estate with Colonel Fitzwilliam. Darcy regretted that he had not informed his aunt that he would never marry Anne several years ago, but as they were all in the habit of simply ignoring her directives in order to promote family harmony, it had seemed like the best option available at the time.

  What his aunt would make of his early return was a matter which any intelligent being would be able to conjecture. In fact, Darcy fully expected that almost the first words out of her mouth would be something to the effect that he had finally come to his senses. But Darcy did not intend to get into an argument with her again, so avoidance would once again be the order of the day. He needed her good will for the moment so that he could meet with Miss Elizabeth and determine what was to be done.

  When Darcy alighted from the carriage and strode into the house, no one was present to greet him, and upon making his inquiries, he was told that the lady of the estate was away on some matter of business and that her daughter had retired to her rooms after breakfast. Darcy instructed that Anne be informed of his arrival, and then he went to his rooms to quickly wash off the dust of the road and change his clothes. It was about thirty minutes later that he made his way down to the sitting room in which Lady Catherine normally held court.

  Life had not been kind to Anne de Bourgh, which was one of the primary regrets Darcy had in vowing not to return to Rosings. She was petite and cursed with a weak const
itution which allowed for little activity, though privately Darcy thought that Lady Catherine’s authoritative manner in declaring what she was and was not capable of doing was as much to blame for Anne’s lack of robust health as anything else. While Darcy himself favored his father’s features, Anne appeared to be in every way a Fitzwilliam, from her blond tresses to her small, slightly upturned nose. She was not unattractive either, he thought, little though her looks affected him. Their primary reason for Darcy’s decision not to follow Lady Catherine’s wishes was due more to a certain incompatibility of character rather than due to any more physical considerations. They were too alike, they had decided early on, for both possessed a rather quiet disposition. They would each benefit enormously from livelier partners. In fact, Darcy had long thought that his cousin the colonel would better suit Anne than he.

  “Darcy,” said Anne as he entered the room and bowed to her. “To what do we owe this pleasure? I thought it clear when you last departed that you would not return.”

  Cursing himself for his lack of foresight—of course Anne would look on his sudden and unannounced arrival with suspicion—Darcy stepped forward and took a seat close to her own.

  “I have not come to bow to your mother’s wishes, Anne,” he said, watching for her reaction.

  He was not disappointed. She immediately became less guarded, and she looked on him with a hint of amusement. “In that case, I wonder why you have braved my mother’s displeasure yet again. You do know how she will view this sudden return, do you not?”

  “Of course. And I mean to allow her to continue with her delusions while I am in residence.” Darcy paused. “Has it been uncomfortable for you?”

  “No more than usual. Mother has always considered you the more troublesome creature, and she has therefore focused on you. I am the dutiful daughter who will do as she directs, after all, so she does not bother me concerning the matter over much, though she does tend to talk about it incessantly.”