by Jan Hahn
“Shall you not come with us? You know I treasure your opinion above that of Mamá.”
“I fear I would be a gloomy impediment on what should be a joyful excursion. Let me remain here for today.”
“But, Lizzy…”
I rose from the chair and took the brush from her hand. “I insist, Jane. From the looks of that bed, I have already spoilt your night. I shall not spoil your day. Forget this mop of hair as well. I shall pin it up in a simple knot, and it will do perfectly well. After all, it is not as though there is anyone of importance who will wish to see me.”
She caught my hand and pulled me around to face her. “Now, Lizzy, you must conquer this. I know the secret you learned yesterday is shocking. It pains all of us that you were orphaned as an infant and not born a Bennet, but it does not change who you are: my sister, my dearest sister, who is lovely and lively and brings joy to any room she enters. I pray you will not let this accident of birth alter that essential.”
I closed my eyes, but she would not let go of my hand. How I longed to tell her the truth, but I could not bring myself to inflict more pain upon her. I did not wish anything to interfere with the happy anticipation of her coming marriage.
“Very well, I shall try, but only for you, Jane.” She hugged me and helped me shed my gown and don a morning dress of pale yellow and white. “That does not mean I shall go to Meryton with you, though.”
“But, Lizzy…”
“No, Jane, not today. Do not ask more than I can give.”
That afternoon, when the house had emptied of my mother and sisters and Papá had been called to the stable to inspect a recent wound in the ear of one of the cows, I found myself increasingly restless. After wandering about the parlour, upstairs and down again, I found nothing with which to occupy my mind. At last, I grabbed my bonnet and left for a walk. Throughout the morning, I had tried my best to remain cheerful with both family and servants, ignoring the strain the effort played upon my emotions. Relief abounded in the freedom of a solitary trek through the woods. There, I no longer needed to offer pretence of any sort.
I had no particular destination in mind but soon found myself nearing the stream that meandered through the deepest part of the forest. Sounds of water rushing over the rocks caused me to hasten my steps, for of a sudden, a longing to sit beside its clean, untroubled flow washed over me.
I stopped short, however, when I heard the sound of a man’s voice. Cursing! Harsh, angry words spewed from his mouth as fast as the spring bubbled below. Quickly, I stepped behind a tree, but not before he saw me. Mr. Darcy looked up and halted both his pacing and his swearing.
“Miss Bennet—Elizabeth!” He threw the hat he held in his hand to the ground and took a step toward me.
I turned away, wishing nothing more than to flee from the scene with all haste.
“Pray, do not go.” Within moments, he stood beside me and then moved to bar my escape. “Forgive me. I should never have used that language had I known you were present.”
“I did not mean to intrude, sir. If you will excuse me.” I attempted to brush by him, but he took my hand in his. My skin tingled at the warmth of his touch.
“You did not intrude. Come now.” In spite of every inclination to leave, I allowed him to lead me down the bank to the stream. He dropped my hand and picked up his hat. “You must think you happened upon a madman.”
“One can see you are angry.”
“Angry…that does not begin to describe my feelings.”
“I thought you would return directly to Town or to Derbyshire,” I said, floundering about for some way to change the subject. I felt quite sure I was the cause of his anger, and I did not wish to argue my decision of the night before.
“No…not yet. Will you sit?” He indicated a large grouping of rocks near the water.
I picked my way through the stones and found a smooth place. “I have whiled away many an afternoon on this old stone. It is an excellent perch not only for soaking one’s feet but for contemplation as well. The calm I find in this setting has never yet failed to ease my soul. I consider it much like a familiar friend.”
He smiled slightly, picked up a stone, and skipped it across the pond. When I commended his skill, he repeated the action. “If you had grown up at Pemberley, no doubt you would have discovered all the creeks and rills hidden within the wood, for I know you delight in nature’s beauty.”
“Mr. Darcy—”
He raised his hand as though he would brace himself against my words. “I know what you will say. I shall not add to your woes by painting a picture of a past that can never be. You have enough with which to make peace. I can see it is far too early to expect you to wish to learn more of the heritage that should have been yours.”
“Thank you,” I murmured.
We said nothing for a few moments. He picked up a stick and began working it between the small stones along the bank as though he might forcibly dig up an answer to our dilemma with his endeavour.
“I just do not understand it,” he said.
“Sir?”
“My father—our father—was a most excellent man. For him to have engaged in irresponsible behaviour is utterly out of character. If I had not been in London when Lady Catherine told me of what had transpired, and if I had not gone immediately with her to the solicitor’s office and read the words written in his own hand, I would never believe it.”
“I confess I do not even recall what the note said.”
“Assailed by the shock of it all, how could you? Mr. Bennet gave the copy to me…if you care to read it now.” He reached inside his coat pocket and retrieved the worn, crinkled paper. My hand trembled slightly as I reached for it.
6 December 1791
Lewis,
Tonight I must beg leave to call in all favours you owe me. After you receive this letter, take the child somewhere safe. Find an honest, discreet soul who will provide for her. Inform Barnesdale in London where to send her yearly support. If at all possible, keep this from Catherine so that my dearest Anne will never know. As you are well aware, her constitution is delicate, and I cannot bear to witness her disappointment.
—George Darcy
A hastily scrawled postscript was added below:
9 December 1791
Delivered the girl child to Fawcett in Hertfordshire this date.
—Lewis de Bourgh
I swallowed the lump in my throat and still found it hard to draw breath. The first date was the day I was born, the birthday I had celebrated for not quite one and twenty years, never knowing I had made a perilous journey that same night or shortly thereafter, hastily scurried away from Derbyshire to be hidden miles away in Hertfordshire. I thrust the paper toward him. “Do you think your mother ever knew?”
“Dear God, I hope not!” Mr. Darcy began to pace again.
I stood up and turned to leave. The disgust in his voice pierced my heart. I could feel the stricture in my throat begin anew and the sting of tears about to fall. I would not let him see me cry.
“Excuse me,” I managed to whisper and began to climb the bank.
“Elizabeth, wait!”
I did not heed his command but hurried all the more as I heard his steps follow mine.
“Why must you run away?” He caught my hand and attempted to halt my progress, but this time, I flung my wrist clear, shook my head, and walked even faster. Relentless and quicker than I, he soon blocked my path.
“Mr. Darcy—” I attempted to push my way past, but he would not let me go. He placed his hands on my shoulders, and cupping his hand beneath my chin, he forced me to raise my face to his. I could no longer hide the tears.
“Elizabeth, forgive me. Pray, do not cry. Come back, and let us talk.”
I could not resist his strength or the kindness in his voice and once again allowed him to lead me to the rocks beside the water. There, he sat me down and knelt before me. No matter how I turned my face, he would not permit my escape from his persistent stare. Hi
s voice was soft and conciliatory. “Speak to me. Tell me what you are thinking.”
“Why? What difference does it make? You cannot undo the past.”
He shook his head slightly. “True, but with your consent, I can give you a more prosperous future.”
“I told you last night that I did not want your father’s money, sir, nor do I want yours.”
“Can you not see it belongs to you? Imagine what you could do and who you could be with the inheritance that rightfully belongs to Elizabeth Darcy.”
Elizabeth Darcy. I closed my eyes when he said the words. I had dreamt of wearing that name as his wife, not his sister. Had he so easily put away his former feelings for me? My mind raced, searching for some way to turn our conversation to another matter and thus conceal my strong emotion.
“Mr. Darcy, you must allow me to thank you for what you have done for my poor sister Lydia. My family would thank you if they knew, but because they do not, allow me to do so on their behalf.”
He stiffened at my words and rose. He remained quiet while I explained that my youngest sister had let the story slip. I went on to assure him of my family’s gratitude and that of myself for not only the money his aid had cost him but also the humiliation he must have borne in securing my foolish sister’s marriage to George Wickham. “You must not feel you owe me anything more, sir, for I could never repay what you have already done for my family.”
“Your family does not owe me anything, nor do you. I did what I did for…because…well, because it was my fault entirely. If I had warned Mr. Bennet of Wickham’s character, the elopement would never have occurred. The fault was mine; thus, the remedy was mine to make.”
“I cannot agree with that.”
“Whether you agree or not, let us speak no further on the matter. What is of concern now is your future, Elizabeth. I cannot allow you to remain hidden away in this country burg when the fortune and society you deserve are yours for the taking. With the settlement I propose, you shall have whatever you wish.”
I raised my eyes to his. “I shall never have what I wish.”
He immediately turned away, but not before I heard his quick intake of breath.
][
Mr. Darcy left Netherfield the next day, and once more, I assumed I would not see him again.
Life went on; somehow, it does, no matter what. The story of my birth, subsequent fostering by the Bennets, and distant relation to the Darcys soon spread throughout the county. With servants at Netherfield and Longbourn knowledgeable of the circumstances, one could hardly expect to keep it quiet. Although surprised and curious, of course, our friends and neighbours rallied around my family. They continued to treat me with warmth and friendship; however, I could not help but detect a slight difference in their manners. I was not a lady of substance, but they knew full well I had been born to parents connected to a wealthy family. I was not Miss Darcy, but in their minds, I would never again be just Lizzy Bennet.
Within our own abode, the shock of my birth eventually faded. Jane’s wedding took precedence, for which I was thankful. Mamá gradually overcame her pique that I had refused to better my situation by accepting a settlement from Mr. Darcy when preparations for the long-awaited event between Jane and Mr. Bingley began to consume her.
The wedding date was set for early January. With the holiday season and the Gardiners arriving from Town to stay through Christmas and until after the wedding, our house was a beehive of activity. Jane and I took every opportunity to perform our tasks together. I rejoiced that she was to marry a man she loved, but I felt our looming separation most acutely. I treasured every moment I spent with her and particularly those when we were alone.
“Lizzy,” she said one night before bed, “do you ever regret your decision to forego taking advantage of your kinship with the Darcys?”
“Why do you ask me that, Jane?”
“At times, I detect an expression about your eyes, as though you yearn for something you do not have.”
I rose from the dressing table and smoothed back the coverlet on the bed although the maid had already turned it down. “I do not know what you mean.”
“I think you do. Lizzy, be honest. You would like to visit Pemberley again, would you not?”
“Visit?” I nodded. “Perhaps a short visit would be nice, but you know I do not wear the mantle of poor relation well.”
“I do not believe Mr. Darcy or his sister would treat you shabbily. Besides, what is there to keep you here?”
“For one thing, you will live nearby. I can tramp through the fields to Netherfield whenever I like.”
She smiled. “Yes, you may, but you know that Charles and I shall travel to London with the start of the Season. That will not be long after we return from our marriage tour. I am afraid I will not be here for some months.”
I shrugged my shoulders. “Perhaps I shall visit Charlotte and our cousin again. Rosings Park is lovely at Easter…” My voice trailed off with those last words as I recalled the Easter before when Mr. Darcy had proposed.
“Would you truly entertain the idea of abiding Lady Catherine’s presence on a daily basis? Surely not, Lizzy.”
I pulled a face. “You are right. I do not care ever to see her again. Oh, do not worry about me, dearest Jane. I shall find ample activities with which to occupy my time until you return.”
She placed the brush on the dresser and gathered her robe close before kissing my cheek. “Lizzy, do you still dislike Mr. Darcy?”
I hugged her and, in so doing, hid my expression. “I now think Mr. Darcy as good a man as I shall ever know. I just do not feel comfortable in his presence.”
“Of course! I almost forgot he once asked for your hand in marriage. That was so long ago, but I suppose it is awkward if he still harbours feelings for you.”
I held my breath for a moment, afraid of revealing the truth even to Jane. “I am certain his feelings were conquered the moment I refused him in such an abominable way. It would be impossible for him ever to think of me in that manner again.”
“Then what is it? Are you afraid his sister has changed her opinion of you? You said she was most agreeable when you met at Pemberley.”
“She was, but last summer, she had only to acknowledge me as an acquaintance, not as a distant relation possibly hoping to better her situation.”
Jane looked thoughtful as she walked around the other side of the bed. “I believe you are mistaken. You told me how protective Mr. Darcy is of his sister. He would not have offered to render a settlement if he thought it might disturb Miss Darcy.”
“It does not signify now. I have refused his offer, and that is the last we shall ever see of him. Good night, Jane.”
“Good night, Lizzy, but do not make statements you cannot support. I have it on good authority that Mr. Darcy will attend my wedding.” With a smile, she climbed into the bed and blew out the candle on the table beside her.
Oh, no! Why had I not thought of that? My head began to pound as I crawled into bed. So I would have to face him again after all.
][
The holiday season came and went in a jolly blur. Our house brimmed over with children, merriment, and amusement. My mother suffered frequent bouts of nerves, and my father often retreated behind the closed doors of his library, but I welcomed the diversion. With Christmastide and Jane’s wedding to occupy our days, I could bury the longing that threatened to overwhelm me at times. And yet, without warning and at the most inopportune moments, a sudden image of Mr. Darcy’s beloved face would flash before me, and it was all I could do to retain control of my emotions. How could I ever think of him as my brother? I dreaded seeing him again, but even so, I yearned for a glimpse of his countenance just once more.
It did not help that my aunt Gardiner happened upon me all alone one day in the stillroom, whereupon she broached the subject for the first time. Having heard the entire altered version of the story of Lady Catherine’s visit from Mamá, she seemed surprised I had not accepted Mr. Da
rcy’s offer. She repeated the measure of esteem in which she and Mr. Gardiner held the gentleman. She believed he was a man of honour and would do his best for me.
“Lizzy, think of the society and privilege your connection would bring. And surely, you cannot have forgotten the splendours of Pemberley! Can you not imagine what pleasure the possibility of a future visit to that great house might afford you? I should think any connection with a family like the Darcys bears merit.”
I shrugged and tried to change the subject, but she would not relent. “My dear, I think you should reconsider. It is an opportunity not granted to everyone. You should be grateful.”
“I am grateful, Aunt, but at the same time, I am angry.”
“Angry? Surely not with Mr. Darcy.”
I shook my head. “No, no, not with him. I am angry with his—with our father.”
My aunt looked up quickly. “Our father? I do not understand.”
“He did not want me. He sent me as far from Pemberley as possible.”
Without restraint, I confessed the true story of my birth to my aunt, the woman I had always trusted with all my heart. Throughout my childhood and beyond, I had considered her more of a mother than Mamá. Like a flooded river breaking through a dam, the words gushed forth. When finished with the tale, I gasped, shocked that I had blurted out the truth and yet strangely relieved, as though a tight rope had been loosened from around my neck.
Obviously shocked, she did not react in hysterics as Mamá would have done but kept her voice soft while attempting to use words that were sensible and comforting. “What else could he do, Lizzy? You have lived a sheltered life here in the country, but be assured these sorts of things are all too common. Mr. George Darcy might have disavowed any responsibility for you—many gentlemen do—but at least he provided for you.”
“And that makes it right?” My voice rose in spite of my best efforts to curb my disapprobation. “A gentleman may betray his wife and desert the poor woman he takes as mistress as long as he provides for the result and keeps the good name of his family free from scandal?”