“Yes. I had a letter from him just this morning. He will probably arrive any day, knowing him. He spoke all too truthfully when he said that anything he does is done in a hurry.”
“And you do not object?”
His brows rose. “No, why should I?”
She did not answer.
“I will be glad to see him,” he continued after a moment. “I find it tedious living at Netherfield alone.”
“I’m sure you do.”
“I look forward, Elizabeth, to not ever having to live alone again soon.”
She smiled slightly. “And Mr. Bingley? Does he tire of living alone?”
“He does not live alone,” was his reply. “Having yet to use his fortune to purchase a house in any locality, he either lives with me, the Hursts, or some other friend or family member.”
He was evading her, as he always evaded her when Mr. Bingley became the subject of conversation. Indignation over her sister’s heartbreak rose up quickly, and she had to bite her lip to keep from berating him now, when it would have no purpose.
Jane came into the room and anxious to make this news known to her before it became public, Elizabeth excused herself and drew her sister into a recessed window across the room.
“Dearest,” she said quietly, “you must prepare yourself. Mr. Darcy has just told me that Mr. Bingley intends to return soon.”
Jane paled just slightly but smiled. “Of course, he is coming to support his friend. I am not at all surprised.”
“He is certain to renew his acquaintance with us.”
“Yes, I am sure he will not be backwards in any civility, especially on your account, Lizzy.”
Lizzy rather felt that Mr. Bingley would call on Jane’s account primarily, but again, what could she say? She would not encourage her hopes just to see her disappointed again. Instead she said, “I hope you will not let our mother’s excitement upset you.”
“How could I be upset that she loves me? She only wants what is best for all of us. Besides, she has the comfort of your engagement now, so Mr. Bingley will seem less important by comparison.”
“Yes, for after all,” whispered Elizabeth sarcastically, with a glance in her betrothed’s direction, “his income is only half of Mr. Darcy’s!”
“And yet Mr. Darcy’s home is so much farther away! How shall we bear it when you move all the way to Derbyshire?”
“I think mother will bear it very well, seeing as it is I. If it were you Mr. Darcy intended to carry off, she would be grieved, but she shall get far more pleasure from talking about Mrs. Darcy than she has ever had in talking to Lizzy.”
“I am sure you are wrong,” said Jane, far more distressed on Elizabeth’s account than Elizabeth was distressed on her own. “She will miss you, I am certain of it. And our father and I shall hardly know how to get along without you here. Even though I love all our family, Longbourn without Lizzy sounds like a very lonely place to me.”
Elizabeth placed her hand fondly against her cheek. “You and Papa must find solace in each other’s company, Jane. You must sit with him and talk with him and provide him with some of that sensible conversation he longs for.”
“I know I could never replace you in his affections, but I will try.”
“Do not despair of happiness, dear. You will find it soon enough, I am convinced.”
“I only wish for you to be happy.”
“Oh, me!” She laughed lightly. “You know me, I am always happy, from one cause or other. I daresay Mr. Darcy and I shall suit very well—in fact, he quite grows in my esteem from one day to the next.”
“I am so pleased! I could not bear to think of you married to a man you did not esteem.”
“Well, I do esteem him.” She looked his way again. “I do not always understand him, and he shall not make the easiest of husbands, but I am certain I shall not want for anything as his wife, and his affection for me certainly seems genuine.” Looking back again she asked, “About Mr. Bingley—shall you truly be well?”
Jane nodded. “I am entirely reconciled, I promise you. I will quickly grow accustomed seeing him, and since he never held me in more than common friendship, there need be no awkwardness at all.”
Once again Elizabeth disagreed in her thoughts but only resolved that when the day came, she would strenuously resist any attempt Darcy made to interfere between the two. She would use every feminine wile she had if need be.
Darcy had watched this exchange with interest, although he had not been able to see all their expressions or make out their words. When Elizabeth returned again to his side, he looked inquiringly. At first she hesitated; then, meeting his eyes squarely, she said, “I thought she should know at once that Mr. Bingley is returning.”
Both his eyebrows went up, and he shifted in his seat. Elizabeth sat down, picked up her embroidery, and turned to him with determined cheerfulness. “Did you by any chance receive a letter from Miss Darcy this morning?”
The day after saw the sisters walking to Meryton to visit Mrs. Phillips, without Darcy, of course. Elizabeth had not dared to invite him, nor would she really have wanted him there, imagining the mortifying scenes that might arise.
Mrs. Phillips’s house was a busy place. Her liberal refreshments and easygoing nature had made it a favorite of the officers, especially when her pretty nieces came to call. Accordingly, several red-coated gentlemen jumped to their feet as the ladies entered. Lizzy did not know whether to be pleased or sorry that Wickham was among them. There were now only a few days left until the regiment removed to Brighton, so this time it was sure to be the last time she saw him.
While Lydia and Kitty rushed toward the men, full of laments at their leaving, Elizabeth’s attention was claimed by her aunt. “My dear Lizzy,” she said, “where is your Mr. Darcy today? Why did you not bring him?”
“I believe he is detained by business, ma’am,” she replied. Certainly he must have business of some sort.
“Please do tell him that he is welcome at any time. You may assure him that he’ll get only the best treatment here; nothing stingy, even if our rooms are not so large.”
“I’m sure he knows that, Aunt.”
“I am planning a little card party before the regiment leaves, just to say good-bye, you know—all the dear officers! We have become so fond of them these months, I am like to cry like Lydia at their going—and if some of the young ones wish to dance, I certainly shall not prevent them. Do you think Mr. Darcy would come, if I were to send him an invitation?”
“I cannot undertake to speak for him,” she said evasively, thinking uneasily of Mr. Wickham.
“You don’t suppose he’s offended because I did not invite him to my house last time he was in the country? I didn’t think he would want to come, and of course I never imagined that he would one day be my nephew!”
“Neither did I, ma’am.”
Thankfully the hostess was called away then; Elizabeth both wished devotedly that Darcy would find a way to decline such an invitation and felt vexed at the possibility that he would. She had sat through the dreariness of cards at his aunt’s house; why could he not do the same at hers? But a full evening of witnessing his contempt was the furthest thing from her desires.
Glancing around, she saw Mr. Wickham standing not far away and watching her. He looked at her so disarmingly, with a tentative smile that seemed to beg permission to approach, that she could not help but smile back. Encouraged, he drew near.
“You are kindness itself to recognize me publicly still,” he said.
“Why should I not?”
“Well . . . you know.” He looked significantly. “Are you not afraid that word will get back to Darcy that you were seen speaking to me?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Should I be?”
He laughed. “Not on my account, I assure you. I can no longer be injured by him. It is only on your account that I am concerned. He would not be pleased if he knew it.”
“Let us talk of some other subject,” she
suggested. “Such as how delightful you shall find Brighton in the summer.”
“Oh, but I do not know if I shall find it delightful. Perhaps I shall not.”
“I am sure any gentleman of your talents will find plenty to amuse him.” She was surprised at the barb in her own words.
He cast her a considering glance. “I can only hope so. You know, I hope you are not offended with me. I must have seemed a great fool to you, speaking of Miss de Bourgh and her supposed future marriage.”
“No, merely uninformed.”
“Yet how could I guess the truth? To tell the truth, my dear Miss Elizabeth, I believe I have always underestimated you.”
“Oh?”
“It is a pleasure to be proved wrong in this instance. Perhaps, if we ever do meet again, we may find we have more in common than ever before.”
“I do not understand you.” She was beginning to be a little hostile now.
Again the measuring look. “It is nothing. I am only speaking my thoughts out loud, I am afraid. But I would not distress you for the world. May I say that you deserve all possible happiness?”
“That is very kind of you.”
“No, not at all. It is only the truth. I hope Darcy may make you happy, and you may make him a better man.”
“I believe I told you before that I would not discuss my engagement with you, Mr. Wickham.”
“Yes, of course. You are quite right.” With that he immediately changed the subject. But he remained near her during the whole of their visit with a pointedness she could not like. She could not imagine what he was about. What could he hope to gain by it? It seemed unlikely that pure affection alone motivated him; he had left her side for Miss King’s easily enough. It did occur to her to wonder if he was regretting her, now that her hand was bestowed on another, but she could not really believe it.
Between her unease over Mr. Wickham and her unhappiness over Darcy’s behavior in the neighborhood, she left Mrs. Phillips’s house with rather agitated spirits. Lydia and Kitty had chosen to linger, but before they parted, Lydia whispered loudly to her, “I must say that I think it very handsome of Wickham to forgive you after you chose Mr. Darcy over him.”
Her cheeks scarlet, she hissed back, “Lydia! There was no choice!”
“Well I wouldn’t abandon a friend, no matter how many rich men proposed to me!”
Perhaps the words would have bothered Elizabeth less if she had not felt in a part of her heart that she had done exactly that. She had been very treacherous in her affections, hadn’t she? She had believed and befriended Wickham when it suited her to do so, then turned away from him when a—she winced at the term—a better offer had presented itself. Darcy’s ardent declaration of love had changed everything, proving how illusory her opinions really were. The unknown nature of his temperament—the uncertainty of his honorableness—the difficulty of their entire acquaintance up until then—all had fallen before the flattery of his affections, the allure of the security he offered her, and the claims of mother and sisters.
It was not that she any longer had any particularly warm feelings for Wickham; every encounter with him made her more uncomfortable. But it was her motives for her original decision that disturbed her; had she been led by vanity to choose a man she else would never have chosen? Had she abandoned her most cherished principles and left a friend’s honor undefended for the thrill of conquest when it took the form of conquest over the heart of a rich, handsome, sought-after man? It was not only Wickham but dear Jane who had been wronged by this man she had promised to marry. Not that she was so certain how wronged Wickham had been, but it could not have been a complete fabrication on his part—could it? And Darcy’s own cousin had told her of his interference in Mr. Bingley’s courtship of Jane.
But Mr. Bingley was returning to Netherfield, and all would be well. I will amend, she reminded herself. That was one of her reasons for marrying—one of her justifications for putting aside her objections, that she could make right by her influence whatever wrongs had been committed. Really, sympathy by itself was of no use to Mr. Wickham. How did she harm him by marrying Darcy? Not at all, and she might even be able to help him, if help he deserved.
Mrs. Darcy, she thought. I will be Mrs. Darcy. She rather wanted to laugh hysterically at the idea of bearing the same name she had so proudly despised just weeks ago. Then all at once she wanted to cry, and the end result was that she got a headache.
While Elizabeth was enduring Mr. Wickham’s attentions, Darcy had received a letter from his uncle the earl, a reply to the news of his engagement. Looking at the heavy paper and ornate seal, he wondered what it held and what it might mean to him.
He spread the sheet open and read it through. It was a cool, formal, resigned letter. His uncle expressed his disappointment that Darcy had not seen fit to consult them, while acknowledging that he had a right to make his own decisions. He advised that Elizabeth cut ties with her prior connections, promised that they would do what they could to promote her reception in society, and commanded their presence for an extended visit in August.
After perusing it twice, Darcy folded the paper and stared off thoughtfully. He could tell the earl was offended, and he was sorry for it, but he had no further apologies to make. As for Elizabeth cutting her connections, he had already promised not to ask it of her. Nor, he realized, did he desire it. The Gardiners, whatever their station, were better company and more estimable people than most members of the ton. The Bennets . . . well, the Bennets would be safely in Hertfordshire, thanks to Mr. Bennet’s distaste for town life. He knew he could count on Elizabeth to limit and manage their exposure to London society.
He read the letter through again, lingering with a frown on the last sentence. That summons, now . . . he was loath to offend his uncle and aunt again so soon, but that could not be allowed to stand. He planned to spend the month of August in the Lake District, and not even for his uncle would he curtail his wedding trip. He would simply write and ask to visit at a later time.
When he had proposed to Elizabeth, he had made a choice—a deliberate choice but a painful one at the time—to place his personal inclinations before his sense of duty. Duty then meant his name and his family, and the obligation he bore to increase their consequence and improve their standing in society. Somehow in the last weeks, so fleeting yet so long, duty had taken on another face. Elizabeth. What he owed to her now was above what he owed to any other—above even his obligation to Georgiana. Somehow, duty and inclination had aligned themselves.
When he arrived at Longbourn that afternoon, it was to be greeted with the news that Elizabeth was lying down upstairs with a headache. He looked at Jane. “Is she unwell?”
“No, she will be better presently,” she replied tranquilly.
“Is your sister prone to headaches?” he asked, remembering vaguely that she had had a headache once before . . . yes, it was the night he proposed, though she had seemed better by the time he arrived.
“Not very often, but they can be brought on . . .” Seeming to think better of what she had been about to say, she bent over her stitchery.
“They can be brought on when?” he questioned her. “You must concede that it will be useful information for me, Miss Bennet.”
She smiled. “Lizzy does occasionally get headaches when she becomes overwrought.”
“Overwrought?” he repeated.
“It does not happen very often,” she assured him.
“Why was she overwrought?” He glanced with concern and unease towards the stairway.
Jane sighed. Elizabeth had not confided in her. “I do not know. But it will not last long; you will see. Lizzy can never stay oppressed for long—she laughs herself out of it, as she always says.”
He smiled but continued to look worried. “Did something happen at your aunt’s house to upset her?”
“I do not believe so. I am sure, Mr. Darcy,” she said gently, “that it was nothing serious. Perhaps the walk to and from Meryton, or emoti
ons regarding the wedding, was all that brought it on.”
Darcy could hardly agree that a walk, of all things, was likely to make his Elizabeth unwell. He was perturbed to think of her in pain as well as to imagine what emotions might have brought it on. Emotions regarding the wedding! He stood up and began to pace distractedly about, hardly noticing the other members of the family as they came and went.
Finally, Jane took pity on him and suggested that she should see if Elizabeth could come down. He wanted very much to see her, but consideration for her overtook his other concerns. “No,” he answered, “she should rest. I will go back to Netherfield but return for dinner. Would you tell Elizabeth that I will come a little early, in hopes of taking a stroll in the garden with her?”
“Of course,” she promised. So he left, and Elizabeth came down an hour or so later, feeling much better for a nap and some quiet reflection. She had succeeded in once again forgiving herself for her defection from Wickham—after all, what did she really know of that matter?—and in reminding herself of all the good qualities Darcy had displayed since their engagement. Dire possibilities of disaster were not for her to contemplate. She wished to be happy, and so she would be.
“I believe he was quite concerned about you, dear,” said Jane.
She smirked. “That is well, don’t you think?”
“I should not like to give anyone cause to worry about me.”
“But you are better than I am. I find it quite gratifying to know that there is an exceedingly handsome young man out there who is suffering anxiety simply because I had the headache. He shows a lover-like devotion I think entirely commendable.”
“I do not think it was so much concern only at the fact that you had a headache but rather what might have been the cause of it,” ventured Jane.
That sobered Elizabeth’s frivolous mood a bit. “It is past now,” she said firmly. “I am entirely better.”
When Darcy reappeared as promised, she smiled reassuringly at him and said the same thing. She would not answer his inquiries and laughed off Jane’s remark about her being overwrought. Darcy was hardly contented with such replies, but as it was apparent that she would not confide in him, he had no choice but to accept her evasion and take her good spirits as proof that all was well. She was particularly beguiling that evening, flirting and laughing, and even took him into the music room and sang for him. “Sleep well,” she bid him at the end, giving him her hand to kiss and smiling her dimpled smile. He left reassured and hopeful, thinking once again more about her eyes and less about her heart.
Unequal Affections: A Pride and Prejudice Retelling Page 21