A Will of Iron

by Beutler Linda

  Saturday, 25 April 1812, the Hunsford vicarage

  “Lizzy, I would speak to you.” Mr. Bennet waved his daughter into his late cousin’s book room. Once she was seated next to him, Mr. Bennet took her hand. “Dearest girl, you are not yourself.” He held up his other hand against her protest. “No, I shall hear no denial. The present tragedies are unfortunate but hardly the sort of events to put you in low spirits. What is it that weighs on you?”

  Elizabeth briefly met her father’s eyes before looking down at her hand in his and making a decision. I shall tell him. He might as well be entertained by this. I am sure that someday I shall also be amused when I am healed by hindsight.

  She licked her lips and met his gaze fully. “I am sorry to report such a folly of myself, Papa, but I seem to have, quite accidentally I assure you, fallen in love. The gentleman I admire is someone I previously misjudged. Indeed, we all did.”

  “Yes?”

  “Mr. Wickham was a dissembler of great skill, as Mr. Darcy has confessed to you, but I learned the truth of his character and his slanders of Mr. Darcy some weeks ago. In addition to having the particulars explained by that gentleman, Colonel Fitzwilliam has offered verification of every part.”

  Mr. Bennet spoke without thinking. “It is Mr. Darcy who has captured your heart?”

  Elizabeth nodded.

  “Are you out of your senses to be in love with this man, Lizzy? His family will never approve. You will never be welcomed. It is too great a leap.”

  “No, Papa, you must allow me to explain.”

  Mr. Bennet stood and began to pace, much as his second eldest daughter did when she was agitated. “Very well. You will get none of my usual mild torment. This is a matter of no small importance. Proceed.”

  “We have all thought Mr. Darcy a proud, disagreeable sort of man. His pride raised my prejudice against him. For all his wealth and position, he is not comfortable in company, and we all met him when he was at a decided disadvantage. He was afraid of being judged, and so was misjudged. But, Papa, all the time we thought he was looking at me to find fault”—she paused for breath before saying—“he was falling in love with me.”

  Mr. Bennet stopped and stared at her. She was serious!

  “I admire his choice,” he said, trying to lighten her heaviness. As he considered further, his aspect became graver. “Was he in love with you? May I ask how you learned of this?”

  “On the Thursday after Easter, he proposed to me, and I refused him in the harshest possible terms.”

  “Say on, Lizzy, you have my fullest attention.”

  “His offer was ill-timed and, to be frank, rather inept. He was more eloquent of the degradation his position would suffer than of love, but his regard for me overcame his scruples. On the day he proposed, I had learnt he was, in part, behind the removal of Mr. Bingley from Netherfield, and once knowing that, I could never have accepted him, even had I liked him. He never dreamt I felt naught but contempt, but once I had started my refusal, I became unrelenting. I brought forth his dealings with Wickham. I dared him to defend himself…”

  Mr. Bennet could see she was agitated and working herself into a state. He again sat beside her and took her hand.

  Now it was Elizabeth who was too exercised in spirit to remain still, and she jumped up to resume the pacing her father had quit. “The next morning he found me on my walk and presented me with a letter. I know you will not approve, but he was adamant that I read it. He wrote to explain his actions as they affected Jane and to defend his character from Wickham’s slurs. I know I should have refused it, but my curiosity was too aroused to behave otherwise than to read every word.”

  “Do you still have it, Lizzy?”

  “I do.”

  “And who knows of this proposal?”

  “Charlotte, Jane, and Colonel Fitzwilliam. Of them, I am certain. Mr. Darcy may have told Mr. Bingley once he arrived hither, but I can detect no such knowledge in his behaviour. He may have told his sister too, but she would never dare speak of it.”

  “They all know of the letter?”

  “No, not Charlotte or Mr. Bingley, and likely not Georgiana. And no one knows every part.”

  “May I read it?”

  Elizabeth looked alarmed.

  “If a man has written you such a letter as to change your opinion entirely, I would like to see it.”

  “The letter did not wholly change my view of him. It is his recent actions that have occasioned his earning my good opinion. Every fault I found in him, he has attempted to improve. He wrote Mr. Bingley to invite him to Rosings once Jane had arrived. He has shown such depths of compassion, and although I know he can no longer love me, his forgiveness has humbled me and, sadly, inspired my affection. He is a good man. Intelligent. Forthright.

  “Imagine it, Papa. He held me in the deepest affection. He would have made me mistress of all that is his; such was his confidence in me. Now that I return his regard, his cannot possibly be the same.”

  Mr. Bennet shook his head in wonder. “You must produce the letter, Lizzy. I would read it.”

  “Yes, Papa.” Elizabeth believed he was right, and she hoped it would begin to change her father’s opinion, as it had so effectively moved hers. “But there are parts that speak of his sister and must remain private.”

  ‘You have my word.”

  Elizabeth arose and in a few moments returned with Darcy’s letter. “Please have a care, Papa. It has become fragile with my near constant perusal.” Mr. Bennet smiled, and she withdrew, closing the door behind her.

  Charlotte was in her sitting room toiling at her embroidery when Elizabeth entered and took up her own work. Elizabeth had only completed six stitches when the front bell was heard and Mr. Bingley duly announced. They wondered that he was alone, for he had called earlier for a walk with Jane.

  “Oh, Mrs. Collins!” He bowed. “Miss Elizabeth! Is your father in residence?”

  “He is reading a letter, and cannot be disturbed at present. It will not take long, and then he may see you.” Elizabeth noticed that Bingley was nervous, and a light sheen appeared on his forehead. He smiled. He smiles too much, she thought. And then another more pleasurable idea intruded.

  “Mr. Bingley…” Elizabeth met his eyes. “Why must you see my father?”

  He looked down, and his cheeks coloured. “Your sister has accepted my offer of marriage!”

  Charlotte laughed, and Elizabeth exclaimed as she bounced to her feet, “Jane! Oh, how delightful! Where is she?”

  “I left her at Rosings. She returned to the packing in Anne de Bourgh’s room and hopes you will join her.”

  Elizabeth scampered into the hall, laughing unguardedly for the first time in weeks. As she gathered her bonnet and gloves to rush to Rosings, her father emerged from the book room. In her joy and haste to share the triumph of love with Jane, Elizabeth had, for several moments, forgotten her own tenuous situation. She turned to join her father, gathering herself to defend her feelings and Darcy’s character.

  Mr. Bennet folded the letter by its worn creases and returned it to his daughter. “Elizabeth, my love. If Mr. Darcy regards you with this depth of admiration and respect, you may depend upon it; he cannot halt his feelings, much as he may wish to. In spite of any unkind and ungraceful sentiments you have expressed to him, this letter makes clear he requires your good opinion. And after observing his continued observation of you, I now surmise that he loves you still. If you persist in moping, he will, perhaps, assume you have not noticed his improvements. My dear, be of better cheer. Return to your lively manners. Tease him. Do those things that stirred his attentions. Show him your feelings are the opposite of what they were a month ago. You will not regret it, I think.”

  “Thank you, Papa.”

  Father and daughter gazed frankly into each other’s eyes. T
hen Elizabeth remembered there was a guest in the house. “Mr. Bingley has called and awaits you. Shall I send him in?”

  “Oh, yes, please. I have been expecting this.” Mr. Bennet folded his hands over his belly and looked over his pince-nez at Elizabeth. “This is becoming a vastly illuminating and diverting day.”

  Elizabeth found Bingley and admitted him to her father. She felt Darcy’s letter in her gown pocket. It was strange to think other eyes had seen it, but she was relieved in her heart; the whole truth was known by someone as dear to her, in his way, as the man who wrote it. After tying it with her ring and returning it to her reticule, she turned her steps to Jane and Rosings.

  Meanwhile, at Rosings

  Darcy was settled into a comfortable chair in the Rosings library in such deep consideration of the Shakespeare he was reading that he did not hear Jane Bennet’s quiet approach.

  “Mr. Darcy?”

  Hearing his name spoken by a lady, Darcy jumped to his feet. “Miss Bennet!”

  “I am sorry to interrupt your reading, but might I have a word?” Jane advanced a few more steps. “There has been a conversation to which you were not a party but that I fear might have been misrepresented to you.”

  “Oh?” He was bemused and turned to face her as Jane walked past him and selected a nearby chair. Once she was settled, he resumed his seat.

  Jane cleared her throat. “Are you aware of a conversation between Mr. Bingley, Colonel Fitzwilliam, Miss Darcy, Lizzy, and myself?”

  “Er…no. Should I be?”

  Jane appeared surprised and perhaps a bit confused. “Oh, dear. Perhaps I ought not speak.” She smiled gently.

  She smiles over the oddest things. I am glad Bingley finds it charming; I would find it irksome. “But you have begun. Was I a topic?”

  “No, sir. Pemberley was the topic. Lizzy realised afterwards that her words could be seriously misconstrued, and might be reported to you, casting her in an ill light. But it is not my intention to betray her heart, rather to explain it. She does not know of my intention and would surely stop me if she did, but she is with our father at present.”

  At her mention of Elizabeth’s heart, Darcy’s own leapt to his throat.

  “I see…I think…that her opinion of you is changing, sir. I hope you have observed it?”

  She had his fullest attention, but he could not respond to her question by anything other than a curt nod.

  “We were discussing Pemberley as we had tea in Miss de Bourgh’s sitting room. You are aware there is a magnificent painting of Pemberley over the mantle? Lady Catherine had it hung there, I was told.”

  This, at last, produced a brief smile from Darcy. Poor Anne. I am certain her mother meant it as an inducement, a reminder of Anne’s prize should she secure me. My poor cousin.

  Jane continued, “Your home is most impressive, and of course Lizzy has never been, thus she asked most particularly for details from the colonel and your sister. She was quite taken with its situation in the landscape and asked whether it was a true likeness.

  “Lizzy was, I could see, quite agitated—very moved. I understood her even without the explanation she made to me later. We comprehend each other closely as I am sure you are well aware.”

  Jane stopped smiling and fixed Darcy with a most serious and knowing expression. This was the first time Darcy had ever seen a resemblance between the sisters, and he understood her meaning. Here, more apparent than ever, was additional proof of his grave mistake in dragging Bingley from Hertfordshire in November. Jane might not have the lively manners and ready wit of her sister, but she was intelligent and obviously observant with some accuracy.

  “When Lizzy reflected upon that conversation, she feared that Miss Darcy and the colonel, who do not know her as well as I, might perceive her interest as mercenary—that she was regretting the loss of the opportunity to be mistress of so fine a home and such beautiful country.”

  “The conversation was not repeated to me. You need not fear, Miss Bennet. By the very nature of your sister’s refusal, I know she is not mercenary.” In spite of the heartache expressed with his words, Darcy held Jane’s candid gaze. “But what do you intend by this telling?”

  Jane’s eyes dropped as did the volume of her voice. Darcy leaned closer as she began again at just above a murmur.

  “That you were prepared to bestow all of it… all you own upon her… You loved her—perhaps you still do—enough to have made her mistress of such a grand place, a place she thinks beautiful, if only in a painting.” Jane’s eyes filled with tears as she expressed her sister’s thoughts. “Until she saw that painting, sir, she did not quite believe…or comprehend…the depth of your admiration, of your confidence in her.

  “But now she does.” Jane’s tears spilled down her cheeks, and she produced a handkerchief from her sleeve. “She knows.”

  Darcy’s heart was so full—Elizabeth thought Pemberley beautiful, and an image of it was more eloquent of my affection than my paltry words—that he could not form a response.

  After a moment of sniffles and eye dabbing with a handkerchief initialled “CB,” Jane finished her belief. “I know her heart, Mr. Darcy. I know it all. Lizzy is generous and forgiving, and she feels her mistakes keenly. She is not as stubborn in her opinions as an impartial observer might think.”

  Darcy coaxed a direct look from Jane. “Let me assure you, Miss Bennet, that excepting at our very first meeting, I have never observed your sister impartially.” You, Jane, yes, but Elizabeth, never.

  Jane smiled a grudging smile, one she obviously did not want to make and rather different from her habitual serenity. At last, a singularly genuine smile, Darcy thought. If Bingley has seen such a smile, then I understand him entirely.

  “Yes, so we have all seen,” she replied, one eyebrow rising, completing an expression that made her look as much like her sister as she ever could.

  Jane stood, and Darcy did likewise. “I have said all I came to say, sir. Probably enough to earn a set-down from Lizzy should she learn of it.”

  “I must thank you a dozen times over, Miss Bennet. You may be assured of my discretion. You have given me much to ponder. But I must ask, has your sister another suitor?”

  “Why would you think so?” Jane asked with evident surprise.

  “She has been seen by both Bingley and my cousin reading letters in the woods. Alexander said she wore a ring and was embarrassed to be discovered. Bingley said she hid a letter in a most secretive manner when he disturbed her.”

  Jane seemed confused and hesitated a moment before replying, “I know nothing of any letters. To whom would she write excepting our father? And he is here!”

  “Perhaps the gentlemen are mistaken…?” Darcy asked hopefully.

  “Perhaps. She has spoken of no one.” Jane curtsied and Darcy bowed. When Jane reached the open hall door, she stopped.

  “Mr. Bingley has walked to Hunsford just now, Mr. Darcy. He will speak to my father.” She looked knowingly over her shoulder.

  “Miss Bennet!” A warm smile over spread his countenance. “I am truly delighted. This calls for champagne.”

  Jane smiled widely. “No, sir. You must appear to be hearing it for the first time when Charles tells you.”

  Darcy laughed. “Of course. You are quite right. I shall attempt surprise.”

  “You may call me Jane now, Mr. Darcy. You are Charles’s best friend and as close to a true brother as I am ever likely to have.”

  At Jane’s departure, Darcy returned to his chair but did not take up A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Rather, he sat and yet again contemplated his hasty and ill-spoken proposal. He had spoken too briefly of desire and passion, but being a maiden, perhaps Elizabeth would not have approved of his saying more. Knowing her now for another few weeks, he quite acknowledged the truth of Jane’s words. If his
praise had been needed, as was clearly the case, it was of her intelligence and abilities that he should have spoken. She might not trust his admiration of her beauty, given his altogether stupid comments in Meryton, but she could have no doubt of her capability to play the part of mistress of Pemberley with grace and vigour. She would learn any necessary skill she did not already possess with readiness and good humour. The tenants would love her and know they could depend upon her good sense as they depended upon his.

  If circumstances ever presented him with another opportunity, he now understood what to say. Assuming Jane was as correct about Elizabeth as Elizabeth had been about Jane, and there were no letters from another gentleman, perhaps fate would grant him a reprieve from the dull ache that was his bosom companion since returning to Rosings.

  After the space of a quarter of an hour, for such was the length of his musings, Darcy heard a noisy yet breathless Bingley burst through the front doors, loudly and happily calling for Jane—not Miss Bennet—simply Jane. A glimmer of happiness took root in Darcy’s heart. Jane and her Charles: there would be a great marriage, just as Mrs. Bennet had so artlessly announced months ago. And, as she had also said, it would throw her other daughters into the paths of rich men. Well, one daughter certainly—into my path.

  After a joyful celebration of the newly betrothed couple, Jane and Elizabeth sorted through Anne’s gowns and personal effects, accompanied by Charlotte, who assisted in advising which younger Bennet sister might be flattered by which colour. Georgiana was able to comment on some of the gowns, identifying unusual fabrics and sharing shivering tales of shopping excursions with her aunt. Even with much movement to and fro, Elizabeth could not become accustomed to Darcy’s portrait still hanging in the hall. She blushed each time she passed it.

  After selecting clothing enough to fill four trunks bound for Longbourn and two poor boxes for Charlotte to distribute within the parish, there was nothing to be done but deciding the fate of the de Bourgh jewels. The pile of gems had not been moved from the careless heap upon the tea table in the bedchamber.