Implacable Resentment

by Jann Rowland

  The pointed question could only cause Elizabeth to blush, and she knew that the conversation she had dreaded for so long was at hand. “I assure you not, Mr. Darcy. My mother, though she was undoubtedly happy to be rid of me, is not of the opinion that my nuptials were worth celebrating. And when I made clear to her what her life would be like should I become mistress of Longbourn, she was quickly seized by a desire to see that the marriage never came to pass.”

  Mr. Darcy appeared intrigued by her words, but he did not respond to them. “Miss Bennet, perhaps it is not precisely proper to speak of it, but I find myself exceedingly curious as to the reasons behind your unusual relationship with your parents. I know you would have told me ere now had I allowed it, but I deferred that conversation. Will you not now share your burden?”

  “I am well aware that you are owed this explanation, Mr. Darcy,” replied Elizabeth with a sigh. “Though I might wish to leave it unspoken forever, I cannot in good conscience keep it from you, as I know that it might materially change your opinion of me.”

  Though Elizabeth was stoically looking to the side, she felt a hand on her arm which arrested her progress, and she looked up at the man near her, almost melting at the expression of utter compassion with which he regarded her.

  “Miss Bennet,” said he, “though I obviously have no knowledge of the matter at hand, I cannot imagine that I would ever turn away from you. Please share this great secret with me.”

  “It is not precisely a secret,” said Elizabeth. The man’s manner was utterly disarming her, and though she still regretted the necessity and wished she could avoid it, her apprehension had receded as the mist flees before the sun. “Anyone in Meryton who is of age knows at least the basics of the subject, though it is not much talked of any longer.” Elizabeth paused for a moment, trying to determine how best to tell her story. “Have you heard talk at all of a Bennet heir?”

  Mr. Darcy frowned. “I understood that Mr. Collins was your father’s heir.”

  “That is true. But there was another—my father’s son, who died in infancy.”

  The look with which Mr. Darcy favored her suggested that he already had a suspicion of what Elizabeth was about to say, but he remained silent, his eyes urging her to continue.

  Elizabeth sighed. “My brother Thomas was actually my sister Mary’s twin and was the first born between them. His birth fulfilled all my mother’s wishes, though perhaps she still wished to have a second son to inherit should anything happen to the first. Thomas was by all accounts a healthy babe, though as twins, both he and Mary were a little smaller than most.

  “You must understand, Mr. Darcy, that the events I am about to relate to you took place when I was a small child, and I have no memory of them. What I know I have pieced together through conversations with my uncle, and even though he was not privy to exactly what happened, I feel that it is essentially accurate. My parents have never deigned to tell me exactly what they hold against me.

  “I was an inquisitive child and a trial to my mother’s nerves. In that, I was different from Jane, who was always quiet and well-behaved and able to amuse herself for hours with the simplest of activities. After my mother gave birth to twins, only months after I turned two years of age, I was apparently fascinated with my younger siblings, much as a girl will obsess over a new doll, or perhaps more akin to the feelings of a child for a puppy. I would continually watch my mother and the nursemaid when the infants were awake, and I would watch the twins as they slept, fascinated by the new life which had arrived in our home.”

  Elizabeth took a deep breath, and the memory of the old pain clawed at her with icy fingertips. “On a hot day in the summer, when my brother was less than two months of age, I lay down beside him as he was napping and fell asleep. In my sleep, I somehow rolled over onto him and smothered him.

  “You can imagine what happened when we were discovered. My mother’s fears of being removed from her home when my father’s cousin inherited the estate were born that day. And as I became older and began to understand what I had done, a feeling of guilt settled over me which I can recall from my earliest memories.

  “From that day forward, I became a pariah in my own home. My father, while he did not join in the abuse, allowed my mother to treat me as she would. I was shunned, and my sisters were told I was worthless and disobedient. While my mother only struck me on rare occasions, I was often sent to bed without dinner for some imagined naughtiness. At the age of nine, I contemplated taking my own life, Mr. Darcy.”

  By this time, Elizabeth had tears streaming down her cheeks, though she made no effort to dry them. Mr. Darcy had kept a grave silence as she had related her past, and more than once, his compassion had almost proved to be her undoing. But Elizabeth stoically kept her composure, determined to relate the entire story before her courage failed her. She was spent by the time she fell silent.

  “That is an extraordinary tale, Miss Bennet,” said Mr. Darcy. “Here, let us sit so that you may regain your composure.”

  He led her to a nearby bench which had been hewn from a log, and after seeing to her comfort, he sat by her side. Though it was not proper by any stretch, he reached out and grasped one of her hands between his own, caressing it in soothing, mesmerizing circles.

  “Now, there are one or two points I would like to clarify. First, in my experience, infants are put into cribs to sleep for their own protection, not only from falling, but also from other dangers such as curious toddlers. As a child of two, how could you have climbed into the crib to sleep with your brother?”

  “I know not, Mr. Darcy,” replied Elizabeth, taking the handkerchief he pressed into her hand and drying her tears. “It is something which has come up in conversation with my uncle. He suspects that my entreaties to see my brother annoyed my mother—who has always been flighty—and that I was put down to sleep with my brother either by mistake or by design in order to silence me.”

  “And your father has never spoken of it.”

  Elizabeth laughed, though the sound was devoid of mirth. “Does my father ever speak of anything? A more taciturn man would be difficult to find. My father ignored and avoided me before I left his house, and other than the day he forced me to the altar, he has confined his interactions with me to an expressionless stare.”

  “Then your uncle stepped in?”

  “When I was nine, my uncle and aunt visited for Christmas a few months after they were married, and they removed me back to London with my father’s permission.”

  Mr. Darcy fell silent, and they sat on the bench listening to the wind as it played through the bare branches of the trees. Here and there, the sounds of bird calls echoed through the woods, and Elizabeth thought she could hear the chattering of squirrels, though the season was rather late. The sensations evoked by Mr. Darcy’s continual stroking of her hand were almost soporific in nature, and Elizabeth soon found herself drifting. She had slept badly since her arrival in Kent, and she almost felt as if she could succumb to the lure of sleep out here in the woods, with Mr. Darcy watching over her like a guardian angel.

  At length, however, he spoke. “Miss Elizabeth, would you like to hear my interpretation of the events you have just related?”

  Though by now she was certain he would not be severe with her, Elizabeth smothered a sense of apprehension and nodded.

  “It is unfortunate that your brother did not live, but a child of two has not the capacity to understand the consequences of their actions. Even a fairly simple desire, such as the desire to see a beloved brother, can have consequences far beyond what a child can understand.” Mr. Darcy looked intently into her eyes, and she could fancy that he was trying by force of his will to induce her to agree with his assessment.

  “Miss Bennet, in the end, I believe that the exact sequence of events is irrelevant. What your parents have subjected you to is unconscionable. Only the basest of parents would hold the actions of a child against them, no matter what the tragic consequences were. I urge you to releas
e whatever guilt you still carry.”

  “I have tried, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth. “It is still difficult for me to talk about it, but my years with my uncle and aunt taught me that lesson, though it was not easy to learn. I mourn my brother’s passing, but I know that I did not bring about his death with malicious intent.”

  Mr. Darcy nodded. “Even in the short time in which I spoke with Mr. Gardiner, he impressed me as a sensible man. And now I find that I am indebted to him.”

  Curious as to his meaning, Elizabeth cocked an eyebrow at him, a little of her spirit returning in the wake of her confession.

  “If he had not taken you into his home and molded you into the exceptional young lady you are today, than we may have met under very different circumstances, and you might have been a very different person.” Mr. Darcy paused, and a shadow fell over his eyes. “We might not have met at all.”

  “But we have, Mr. Darcy,” replied Elizabeth. His words caused her heart to soar, and she now felt happier than she had since before she came to London. If her penance for what had happened—her time with her family, the trumped-up marriage to Collins, the pain of all that had occurred—was to be the price for the love of this wonderful man, then Elizabeth would pay it gladly a hundred times over.

  “I know that there is still much to do,” continued Mr. Darcy, “but once you are free of Collins, I wish to bring you under my protection quickly.”

  Elizabeth’s joy dimmed slightly. “But I am still not twenty. Even if I am free of Collins, I doubt my father will agree to allow your suit.”

  A fierce scowl met her concern. “Leave that to me. Given how the man has behaved, I will feel not an iota of remorse should his refusal force me to act against him. You will be my wife, Elizabeth. That I promise you.”

  What was there to say to such a declaration? There was nothing she could say. And though Elizabeth knew that the greatest care must be taken in her behavior, she could not but wait with breathless anticipation as Mr. Darcy lowered his head. Then his lips were suddenly on hers.

  It was nothing more than the briefest of contact—a mere grazing of his lips upon hers—but the feeling behind it and the tenderness of Mr. Darcy’s expression was enough to leave Elizabeth breathless, as though he had kissed her with abandon. But more than that, it was the promise, the unshakeable testament that he would abide by his words and that they would ultimately be together. And in that moment, Elizabeth felt the first stirrings of love flutter within her breast. What a thing it was to be inspired to such feelings and to inspire them in her turn!

  The moment was over quickly, and though Elizabeth felt her face flaming as if warmed by the heat of a blacksmith’s furnace, she could not look away from Mr. Darcy. This was where she belonged. She was home.

  “Come,” said Mr. Darcy, rising to his feet and pulling her along with him. “We should return you to the parsonage before you are missed.”

  They began walking through the wooded paths, and Elizabeth reflected back on this most wonderful of days. She knew that she would always cherish it, above even their ultimate wedding day or anything which was to come afterward. For on that day, she had truly learned that she was worthy of the love of a good man.

  A few nights later, Elizabeth found herself in the sitting room of Rosings Park, where Lady Catherine was holding court. When she arrived back at the parsonage, Mr. Collins had met her with the invitation—though Elizabeth felt it was more like a summons—from his illustrious patroness for dinner that night. It was the first time since her arrival in Kent that they had been so honored with an invitation, and Elizabeth was almost certain that it would have been forthcoming earlier if Mr. Darcy had not arrived the next day. And there were two others present that evening—Mr. Darcy’s cousins, Anne de Bourgh and Colonel Fitzwilliam.

  It was not long before Elizabeth felt she had taken the measure of the two new acquaintances. Anne de Bourgh was a quiet woman, likely a few years younger than Mr. Darcy, and though she was not what one would commonly term as “pretty,” she was at least pleasant-featured and seemed to be a kindly sort of person. Of course, it was difficult to tell, as Miss de Bourgh was rarely allowed to say anything without Lady Catherine restating or outright contradicting everything she said or even simply speaking for Miss de Bourgh so that she might avoid the bother of speaking for herself. Elizabeth could also see evidence of the woman’s weak constitution in her coloring, which was much paler than Elizabeth’s own, and in the thinness of her figure. Miss de Bourgh’s method of dealing with her mother was often a roll of her eyes or a small shake of her head. Elizabeth thought she would be well worth knowing if one could only get past her mother.

  By contrast, Colonel Fitzwilliam was bluff and good-humored, his pleasure at meeting Elizabeth evident in the wideness of his smile. Colonel Fitzwilliam was at least as tall as Mr. Darcy, but though he was not nearly so handsome—and she was willing to acknowledge that she might be prejudiced—he was by no means ill-favored or bereft of charm. Elizabeth quickly felt disarmed in his presence and was soon chatting with him happily.

  “I am very happy to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Collins,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam after sitting on one of the sofas near to her. “Darcy has told me much of you, and I dare say he did you justice, even with his typical reticence.”

  “I am happy to have Mr. Darcy’s good opinion.” Elizabeth forced herself to avoid looking at the man, who sat at Lady Catherine’s side. “Very happy indeed.”

  Colonel Fitzwilliam smiled and nodded at her while shooting a glance at his aunt, who was in the midst of graciously accepting Mr. Collins’s fawning. “I understand you are recently arrived at Hunsford. How do you like the parsonage?”

  Something in his manner told Elizabeth that he was aware of the truth of the situation, and she relaxed ever so slightly at the thought of having another ally so close at hand. “It is a comfortable home and by no means lacking in shelves in the closets. I believe that Lady Catherine has graciously bestowed her . . . kindness upon the one man who will willingly accept whatever she deigns to share with him.”

  The colonel laughed. “I have no doubt of it. I dare say that I understood Mr. Collins’s character within a few moments of meeting him this previous spring.”

  “What are you talking of, Fitzwilliam?” interrupted Lady Catherine in a strident tone. “I shall not have guests in my house speaking in low tones and keeping confidences. I will share in the conversation.”

  “We were speaking of your generosity in bestowing your advice upon Mr. Collins, aunt,” said the colonel. He winked at Elizabeth in a manner which Lady Catherine could not see, nearly prompting Elizabeth to giggle.

  “Indeed, your ladyship is most kind and condescending to offer such pearls of wisdom,” was Mr. Collins’s grandiose interjection. “We are exceedingly grateful, I assure you, and whatever you impart to us, I promise shall be executed with alacrity. And might I add—”

  “It is very discerning of you to recognize good advice when you receive it,” said Lady Catherine, speaking over whatever William Collins was saying at the moment. The parson almost appeared to have swallowed his tongue in his haste to be silent, a circumstance which did not go unnoticed by any of Lady Catherine’s relations. Perhaps it was not exactly kind to laugh at the stupid man’s mannerisms, but he was so ridiculous that Elizabeth could not blame the cousins’ hastily hidden smiles.

  “I could not do otherwise, Lady Catherine,” replied Elizabeth, watching as the grand dame inclined her head as if it was nothing more than her due.

  The conversation continued for some time until they were called into dinner. Lady Catherine insisted that Anne and Mr. Darcy sit on either side of her, leaving Elizabeth in the company of her supposed husband and Colonel Fitzwilliam. But though Mr. Collins spent much of the meal pontificating in his ponderous tone, Elizabeth and the colonel were able to garner much amusement from baiting and observing the man, so it was not a total loss.

  “I really must say that I find your wife qu
ite enchanting, Mr. Collins,” said the colonel near the end of the meal. “I am sure you must feel yourself to be fortunate indeed to have persuaded such a woman to become your wife.”

  The parson preened and smiled beatifically, no doubt thinking that it was a compliment to him that the colonel liked his wife so much. “Indeed, I am. My wife has many charms in her favor, and though her portion is small and her future was bleak, I flatter myself that I saw past the material disadvantages and recognized that she was perfectly suited to a man in my position. I dare say that you will not find two such partners possessed of such a commonality of purpose, such a unity of thought.”

  “Indeed, you are correct.” With a glance at Elizabeth betraying his amusement, Colonel Fitzwilliam continued, “I have yet to meet a couple such as you.”

  Elizabeth was forced to cough into her handkerchief, which she had raised to her mouth when Mr. Collins had begun speaking. It truly was beneficial to her state of mind to have such an intelligent and amusing man as Colonel Fitzwilliam nearby to make her life more bearable!

  After dinner, they adjourned to the music room, where Lady Catherine expressed a fervent desire for some music. Of course, as she was the only one present who possessed any skill whatsoever on the pianoforte, Elizabeth was elected to exhibit before the company. Far from being annoyed at the lady’s imperiousness, Elizabeth was grateful for the opportunity to avoid more “instruction” at the lady’s hands. She was pleased when Colonel Fitzwilliam offered to sit with her and turn the pages.

  When she had played the first piece, Lady Catherine spoke up. “Your playing is quite proficient, Mrs. Collins. I understand that you had access to masters during your sojourn in London.”

  “Yes, Lady Catherine,” replied Elizabeth, quietly beginning to play another song which she had memorized. “My aunt was diligent in seeing to that part of my education.”

  “As she should have been,” replied the lady. “I am glad to see that the necessities of polite society are recognized even by one as far down the social scale as your aunt.”