Unequal Affections: A Pride and Prejudice Retelling

by Ormiston, Lara S.

  The shopping trip did not go well, as there was no lace that Elizabeth liked—none, she felt, that would not be eyed askance by Mr. Darcy’s relatives—and nor could she find any flowers for her bonnet that would not render it entirely grotesque. She left town feeling dissatisfied with Meryton, with her mother, with Darcy, and with herself.

  Standing in the front hall at Longbourn, she was surprised and then worried to hear first her mother’s voice followed by Mr. Darcy’s deeper one. There could be no one with them but Mary, hardly a helpful addition. She approached slowly and anxiously.

  “—headaches have gotten better recently. It was very kind of you to inquire.” Her mother sounded surprised.

  “And the preparations for the wedding? I trust you are not experiencing any difficulties?”

  “Difficulties? Why, none in the world! To be sure, that stupid girl at the bakery shop can’t seem to comprehend a simple order when it’s given, and our strawberries have not been so good this year as I would like, but it’s nothing that the lady of the estate is not accustomed to handling.”

  “I’m sure you are right, madam.”

  “I’ve taught all my girls how to manage a household, you know. You’ll have nothing to blush for from my Lizzy, even if she does not sew so prettily as Jane or trim bonnets as well as Lydia. She’s a very clever girl, Lizzy.”

  “I know it very well, Mrs. Bennet. I am sure she will do an admirable job as mistress of Pemberley.”

  “Well!” Mrs. Bennet heaved a satisfied sigh. “Mistress of Pemberley! How well that sounds!”

  “I wish you would tell me if there’s anything I could procure for you from London. My cousin can bring it with him when he comes down with my sister, or else I’ll have it delivered to Longbourn.”

  “Delivered from London! Why, Lady Lucas will turn positively green with envy when I tell her of it! Not that I mean to say that our resources here in Hertfordshire are not as good as anywhere—but a special delivery all the way from London just for the wedding! I’ll talk to Cook about it, Mr. Darcy.”

  “I am sure that whatever arrangements you make will be more than adequate, ma’am. Your cook does a fine job; I have always enjoyed the food at your table.” It was at this point that the grave young man looked up and saw Elizabeth standing in the doorway, watching them both with absolute amazement. He leapt to his feet and bowed, his eyes seeking hers earnestly.

  Elizabeth advanced into the room. “Mr. Darcy,” she said a bit breathlessly. “Please forgive me for being out when you arrived. Have you been waiting long?”

  “Not long, no.”

  “Mr. Darcy has been inquiring about the arrangements for the wedding breakfast, Lizzy. And just think! He’s offered to have anything I wish delivered to Longbourn all the way from London itself!”

  “That is . . . very generous of Mr. Darcy,” she said, her eyes searching back.

  “It is no more than is due to my bride . . . and to her mother.” There was contrition conveyed in his look and a pleading for forgiveness. Elizabeth found herself so moved she could scarcely speak. Never, in the times he had apologized to her before, had he looked quite so.

  Forcing back her tears, she smiled at him, to his very great relief. “Nevertheless we thank you. I thank you.”

  He looked at her, too full for further words himself, and they exchanged gazes until Elizabeth suddenly started and realized they were alone. Mrs. Bennet, with a tact quite astonishing in her, had disappeared without a word. She blushed violently. Darcy, however, did not hesitate. He came forward the rest of the way and took her hands in his. “Please forgive me for not coming yesterday,” he said. “If I could have reconciled myself to my own faults sooner I would have, but I am afraid the truth was too painful to be easily accepted.” She opened her mouth as if to protest, and he shook his head. “Your reproofs were entirely warranted, my darling. I have not treated your family or friends as I ought, and in doing so I did not treat you as I ought. I can only hope that it is not too late to make amends.”

  She struggled for a suitable reply. “I believe you have found your way to my mother’s heart already, sir,” she said after a moment. “Nor do I think you will find it hard to win the good opinion of others. You have . . . ,” unconsciously she clasped his hands more tightly, “you have a great ability to please when you choose.”

  “If I can please you, I will be content, but to your acquaintances I hope to demonstrate that I am not so unfeeling as I have appeared.”

  “I cannot imagine you failing in any endeavor you undertake.”

  “Can’t you?” He gave her a meaningful look that made her flush. “I wish it might be so!” She turned her face away then, and their privacy was gone anyway as Jane came in search of her sister.

  Watching him the remainder of the day, Elizabeth saw a new determination in him as he approached her family. He did not suddenly become garrulous, and conversation with them was clearly an effort, but make an effort he did. He even remained steadfastly polite in the face of Lydia’s snide boldness. He glanced often at her, as if seeking reassurance, and she smiled her most encouraging smiles, marveling inwardly. She still could hardly believe it. A man like him, to accept a rebuke from a woman and to act on it in such a way! Was it the effect only of love, she wondered? Did he merely seek to please her, or was he truly repentant? Did he understand why she had thought his behavior wrong? Did he think it wrong, too? He said he did, and she had no reason to doubt his word. It only remained to be seen if his reformation was a lasting one.

  Her family’s surprise at his sudden demonstration of interest could have been comical. They had gotten so used to his curt silences that the younger girls almost gaped at him the first time he addressed a remark to them. Mr. Bennet stared with fascination over the roast lamb as Darcy paid his compliments to his wife; even Mary appeared startled when he asked what she was reading in the parlor after dinner. Elizabeth, watching him anxiously, could not tell his reaction; inwardly, though, he was even further shamed. Nothing could have told him more clearly just how sullen and uncivil he had actually been, and he wondered how Elizabeth had been able to bear it so long. Looking at her curly head as she bent over her embroidery, he wondered what else she was feeling that he did not know, and if there would ever come a day when she opened her heart to him fully.

  One day later Mr. Bingley arrived. Darcy happened to be at Netherfield and came out into the hallway to welcome him. The two clasped hands warmly, as brothers might. “I am glad to see you, Bingley,” said Darcy.

  “And I am glad to be here.” He looked around the house, beaming, and greeted the butler and housekeeper. “It has been entirely too long.”

  They retreated to the study. “Well, man?” demanded Bingley as soon as they were alone. “How are you? How is your bride?”

  “As delightful as ever.”

  That made his friend laugh. “And you as much in love as ever, I see! And she? Are you making progress in her affections?”

  “Let us speak of your business here,” suggested Darcy, his brow furrowing for a moment. “Have you come to resume your courtship of the eldest Miss Bennet?”

  “Yes, if she’ll see me.”

  “She’ll see you.”

  “Do you know that?” he asked eagerly. “Have you spoken of me with her?”

  “No, not directly, but the impression I’ve gotten is that your absence is still much lamented at Longbourn.”

  “The impression? Darcy, come on, man, you must give me something more than that! If you do not know, then say so!”

  Darcy blinked at this admonition from his usually meek friend. “I do not know what Miss Jane Bennet’s feelings for you are, but I cannot imagine her refusing to see any person. She was polite to your sisters; she will scarcely be less to you. Mrs. Bennet will probably fall upon your bosom and order up the fatted calf for dinner.”

  Bingley looked sly. “With a richer prize than me already under her belt? If she falls upon anyone’s bosom, it should be yours, Da
rcy.”

  For perhaps the first time ever in reference to Mrs. Bennet, a gleam of real humor entered Darcy’s eyes. “She is much too frightened of me to do that, Charles,” he said gently. “It is you who encouraged her to be familiar, not I.”

  He laughed. “She may be as familiar as she pleases for all I care, as long as she does not prevent me from speaking with her daughter.”

  “No fear of that.”

  “Do you know,” said Bingley a few minutes later, “I must say that your words that day, when you first spoke to me of your engagement, impressed me deeply. You know, when you said how you were certain that your feelings were stronger than hers and therefore must prevail against them?”

  Darcy’s face clouded over. “I remember.”

  “I did not think of it like that before—I never seriously considered that even if Miss Bennet was indifferent to me, is indifferent to me now, that I might still have a real chance of changing that. I loved her so quickly, you see. It seemed to me that she either could return my regard or she could not—I never thought of winning her over gradually. And I did not want to encourage expectations if she could not love me.”

  “Bingley, I really have no greater proof of her feelings for you than I had before.”

  “I understand. But you were right when you said I gave up too easily.”

  “I did not say that.”

  “But it’s true. You did not give up.”

  The other man looked away, as if uncertain what to say, and ran his hand through his hair. “If you want to marry a woman whom you love, and who loves you equally in return,” he said at last, “then you should not settle for less. Make your choices, not mine. I took the course I felt I must, but neither can I recommend it to anyone else. It is not,” he added after a moment, looking suddenly grim, “for the faint of heart, believe me.” Bingley’s eyes widened at this admission, and he studied his friend closely. But Darcy regained his calm quickly and favored him with an ironic smile. “You see me at an unusual disadvantage.”

  Feeling awkward, Bingley diverted the conversation back to his own affairs. “Are you going to Longbourn today? Do you think I could come with you?”

  “I am going today, but are you sure you want to make such a display of eagerness as to visit the very same day of your arrival?”

  He shrugged. “I would be alone here without you. Surely no one would think it strange that I prefer company? Besides, I am eager, and I see no reason to disguise it.”

  “You may raise greater expectations in Mrs. Bennet’s breast than in Miss Bennet’s.”

  “So what are you saying? That I should stay away just so her mother will not hope for a good marriage for her daughter?”

  Again Darcy looked at his friend in surprise. “No,” he said after a moment, “no, of course not. You must do as you think best, Bingley. As long as your intentions toward Miss Bennet are honorable, I’ll have no argument with you.”

  “Playing the protective brother already?”

  “Someone must.”

  “I rather thought that was Mr. Bennet’s job.”

  “It is,” he said shortly.

  Bingley laughed. “Never mind, I know how you are! You must take care of everyone. Well, my intentions towards Miss Bennet are entirely honorable, and I do not intend to leave Hertfordshire again until I know for certain whether she can love me or not.”

  “Well then,” answered the other. “How soon will you be ready?”

  Jane was trying terribly to remain composed, but not all her efforts had concealed her shock at Mr. Bingley’s sudden eruption into the parlor, nor could they suppress the rose-petal blush on her cheeks or the admiration in her eyes. The gentleman was even less successful at hiding his feelings; he was clearly entirely overwhelmed at finding her even more beautiful than he remembered. Once the initial perfunctory greetings were over, they looked only at each other, while Darcy looked at Jane, Elizabeth looked at Bingley, and Mrs. Bennet looked happy enough to swoon. Lydia and Kitty, by an amazing stroke of luck, were absent, and Mrs. Bennet soon carried Mary off with all her usual tact and subtlety. The two couples were left to their own devices.

  Up until that point Elizabeth and Darcy had been divided by the seating, but now they inevitably gravitated towards each other. Elizabeth, having satisfied herself that Mr. Bingley was as besotted as ever, turned her attention to her own swain, anxious to see how he bore it. He looked thoughtful, but complaisant rather than otherwise. Pleased on her sister’s account and relieved on her own, she smiled happily at him. He moved to sit a little closer.

  “I know you told me he would appear suddenly,” she said in a low voice, “but I did not quite expect him the very day of his arrival.”

  “My friend’s impetuosity is well established.”

  “Was it your suggestion that he accompany you, or his?”

  “Oh, his, but I was pleased enough. I’ve missed his company.” He looked with fondness on his friend.

  “Do you know how long he intends to stay?”

  “No, but I believe his visit may be of some duration.”

  “Will he stay even when you have left?”

  “He will stay on after our marriage, yes.” He put a slight emphasis on the word marriage.

  “Fitzwilliam.”

  He turned his head sharply.

  “Thank you for bringing him.”

  He searched her face, wondering how much she knew. Then his eyes turned back to Jane’s face. She was undeniably happy, even glowing.

  Just then Mr. Bingley, seeming to suddenly realize there were others in the room besides Jane, turned to them and said, “Miss Elizabeth! I have been most remiss in not offering you my congratulations.”

  She smiled at him. “Not at all, Mr. Bingley.”

  “I was completely surprised when Darcy told me of your engagement. However, if you will allow me to say so, I think he simply could not have chosen any better.”

  Aware of Darcy’s warm gaze, she was surprised to find herself blushing a little. “Thank you, sir.”

  “The match is a particularly fine thing for me, of course,” his eyes were back on Jane, “because it will allow us all to see so much more of each other.”

  “I’m happy to have obliged you,” said Darcy drily.

  “Not at all,” he grinned. “Miss Elizabeth, I think you may be exactly what my serious friend needs, and I hope you may be very happy.”

  “Thank you,” she said again. “I expect we shall.”

  When Mrs. Bennet finally rejoined the group, Darcy’s determined civility to her continued. He had fastened on two topics of conversation to canvass with her: her health and the wedding. As these were two of the topics dearest to Mrs. Bennet’s heart, it was easy enough for him to make a few inquiries and listen politely to her rather extended answers, but to Elizabeth the effort meant much more than the time it took him. He was humbling himself, in a way completely different to his condescending proposal, when all he could think about was the fact that he was humbling himself. It was early yet—she knew very well that it was early yet for the firmness of his resolve to be tested, but every time she saw him bending his proud dark head to hear her mother describe her latest nervous attack, she saw honor, true character, and the depth of his love for her.

  Conversely, as Darcy’s determination to talk to her family increased, Elizabeth’s determination to shield him from them also increased. Even though he was now doing exactly what she had always wished, instead of relaxing and appreciating it she found herself constantly intervening, seeking to either draw her mother and sisters away or draw him away, no longer because she felt she had to but because she wanted to. It was one thing to wish he would be willing to bear such mortifications for her sake and another to watch him actually doing so. He really was their superior in so many ways, she found herself thinking, this scion of a noble house who bore his responsibilities so effortlessly. Her uncle had called him a great man once, she remembered, and she supposed that it was true . . . so od
d as it was to have greatness sitting in the second-best parlor at Longbourn.

  It was Friday, and Mr. Bingley’s arrival was very timely in that it offered Darcy an excellent excuse to not attend Mrs. Phillips’s card party for the officers that night. When he first got the invitation, he had rejected the idea of attending out of hand, Elizabeth’s aunt or no, but in his current repentant mood he did not wish to offend. He would have suffered the indignities of the evening as both a duty and a penance, and even tried to smile. If any of his Fitzwilliam relations ever discovered that he had attended a party in the home of a country solicitor, they would cringe in shame, but that was irrelevant now.

  Mr. Wickham’s presence, however, created an entirely relevant problem. Neither Darcy nor Elizabeth had any desire to see him again. When they discussed the party previously, Elizabeth had eventually yielded to Darcy’s insistence that they not attend, promising to devise some excuse for herself. Then last night he had come to her quietly and asked her if she thought they should go after all; did it matter to her?—would it matter to her aunt? And she knew that he was willing to bear even the distaste of being in that man’s company in order to please her and show respect to her family. Today, with Mr. Bingley so happily arrived, she saw a respectable means of escape. It was one small thing she could do for him to repay his efforts.

  So when her mother began to talk about that night’s gathering, she informed her firmly that Mr. Bingley could not possibly attend the very night of his arrival and that Mr. Darcy needed to keep him company.

  Darcy managed to pull Elizabeth aside before they left. “Sweetheart, are you sure?” he asked her.

  “Do not be concerned; I’m almost sure I feel a headache coming on,” she said with a significant little quirk of her eyebrow.

  She meant that she wouldn’t go either. “Yes, but your family, will they . . .?” He bit his lip. “They’ll think I’m the reason you did not go.”

  It was true, but she shrugged. “It’s only one party.”

  “But you will not have the opportunity to attend many more.”