Meant to Be: A Pride and Prejudice Variation

by Andreea Catana

  “Mama, what is it?” Elizabeth asked with alarm.

  “It is a tragedy, Lizzy! Oh, my poor Lydia, she will never recover from this! Mr. Wickham—how could he do something like that? To elope with no consideration! This is why she went to Brighton? I never imagined such a terrible thing!”

  Elizabeth looked in horror at her sisters; Jane was pale with shock while Kitty and Mary only shook their heads in disapproval.

  “Eloped? Mr. Wickham? And Lydia? Mother, what are you saying? Give me the letter; I must read it myself,” Elizabeth demanded, her voice and hands trembling. Her knees weakened when she noticed Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy in the doorway while Mrs. Bennet continued to exclaim as Hill struggled to calm her with tea and smelling salts.

  “My poor Lydia…is so terribly affected…she was so much in love with Mr. Wickham! What a betrayal from such a handsome man!”

  “What on earth is happening?” Mr. Bennet thundered, entering the drawing room. “Have you all lost your minds with these cries? You disturbed my peace in the library.”

  He observed the gentlemen, and his surprise increased; he welcomed them then turned to the ladies, waiting.

  “Well? May I invite Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley to the library, or is my presence needed in this din?”

  Elizabeth lowered her eyes, fighting tears of shame and despair. “Papa, we just received a letter from Lydia. It appears she has eloped from Brighton—with Mr. Wickham. Mama was just telling us about it.”

  Mr. Bennet leaned against the wall. “Eloped? What do you mean? When? How? Are you sure? Where is the letter?”

  Darcy unexpectedly stepped in, addressing the master of the house. “Mr. Bennet, you should sit down, sir. You look truly ill. Please allow me to offer my assistance. Do we know where Miss Lydia is now?”

  Mrs. Bennet rose from her chair moved to her husband, her voice interrupting any other discussion.

  “Lydia is in Brighton, where else? Do any of you ever listen to me? It is not Lydia who eloped with Mr. Wickham but Mrs. Forster! The colonel’s wife! That horrible woman who betrayed Lydia’s friendship and eloped with her favourite—and with her husband’s money!”

  Elizabeth’s head was spinning. “Lydia did not elope? Oh, dear Lord! But, Mama, then why are you so distressed? I cannot understand you! I must read the letter myself. Oh, Mama, what is the meaning of this?”

  Elizabeth hastily read the barely intelligible letter and needed only a few lines to confirm the truth. Lydia was whining as her mother did for her favourite’s having run away with her friend, Colonel Forster casting the blame for it on Lydia. She begged to be brought home, as the colonel blamed her for keeping the secret from him and refused to host her any further. Elizabeth dropped onto the sofa with Jane next to her. She put the letter aside and averted her eyes, relieved at having her fears dismissed and ashamed of her mother’s reaction in the presence of their guests.

  “Lydia is safe. She needs to be brought home immediately. She offers little detail except that Mrs. Forster eloped with Mr. Wickham. Oh, what a shame! What a tragedy! Poor Mrs. Forster—poor silly woman…”

  “Poor Colonel Forster,” Darcy answered in such a low voice that only Elizabeth heard him.

  “Poor Mrs. Forster?” Mrs. Bennet interfered again. “She does not deserve to be pitied! What woman in her right mind is not content with being married but instead steals a man who would be a perfectly good husband for an unmarried girl? Poor Lydia was so much in love with Mr. Wickham! I was hoping they were engaged by now and she wrote to inform me, but instead—this tragic news!”

  Her husband moved towards her. “Mrs. Bennet, I am afraid you have lost yourself. This is too much for your nerves. I would suggest you retire to your chamber. Girls, please help your mother while I will make arrangements to bring Lydia home.”

  “Mr. Bennet, I would gladly offer you one of my carriages, two servants and a maid to fetch Miss Lydia,” Mr. Bingley offered, rewarded by Jane’s look of gratitude.

  “That would be very helpful, sir, thank you,” the elder gentlemen accepted.

  “If our assistance is no longer needed, we should leave,” Mr. Darcy suddenly intervened.

  Elizabeth glanced at him and noticed his frowning countenance. He appeared eager to leave—and she could well understand. What else could be said after Mrs. Bennet openly expressed regret that her daughter was not the one who eloped? Could any decent man hear those words and not desire to leave?

  “I thank you for your patience, gentlemen, and I apologize once more for another uproar you had to witness in our family.” Mr. Bennet expressed his apologises as he accompanied them outside. From the doorway, Darcy turned to meet Elizabeth’s gaze—and then he was gone.

  While her sisters took their mother to her chamber, Elizabeth remained on the couch, struggling to breathe and clasping her hands together in her lap. When she was alone, she allowed the tears to fall, and that was how her father found her when he returned. On seeing him, Elizabeth’s state suddenly changed, and through painful tears, she started to laugh—much to Mr. Bennet’s surprise.

  “Lizzy, are you well, my dear? You behave very strangely.”

  “I am fine. Do not worry, Papa. I was only thinking how close we came to disaster again. Mr. Wickham might have eloped with Lydia instead of Mrs. Forster! I know Lydia has little money, but we do not know his reasons for leaving the militia in such a hurry. So she could have been his victim—as I am sure Mrs. Forster is.”

  “But, Lizzy, you speak of Wickham as the worst of ogres. Sure, he is a shallow, weak man without honour or character, but I cannot put the entire blame on him! What kind of woman would leave her devoted husband—a colonel and an honourable gentleman—to run away with a scoundrel? I sincerely hope that Lydia would not have been such a fool, despite your mother’s silly desires of a romantic marriage!”

  “Dear Papa, I am afraid he is worse than an ogre. If he had no better choice, Lydia would have been in real danger. And that would have meant the ruin of our family. I shiver to think of it.”

  Mr. Bennet frowned and watched his favourite daughter’s distress with increased curiosity. “Well, my dear, now I am frightened too. I know you advised me against it, but in my indolence, I chose to let Lydia go to Brighton. I shall know better next time. For now, I am only grateful nothing of this sort happened. We have been close to tragedy twice.”

  “True, Papa. But I dare say it was just not meant to be.”

  ***

  The day appeared never to end for Elizabeth, and she felt thrown into the midst of a torment she could not escape. The earlier stroll in the garden with Mr. Darcy—those few minutes of thrilling revelation and timid confession—seemed lost in a distant past. Darcy’s expression at her mother’s display of despair showed his opinion quite clearly. The entire din was as repugnant to him as it was to her. He—as all of them had—wrongly assumed Lydia was the one who eloped with Wickham, and he had offered assistance to Mr. Bennet. That was astonishing and much more than she expected under the circumstances. Why would he do that? Why would he put himself anywhere near his worst enemy? Was that another sign of his appreciation for her father? Or proof of something else—perhaps something more? Could she dare hope? Should she keep in mind his earlier words and allow her mind and heart to be open to them?

  There was not a moment of tranquillity in the house to allow for clear thoughts. That very afternoon, with Mr. Bingley’s assistance, arrangements for retrieving Lydia were completed, and a carriage was sent for her. In the meantime, news of the shocking elopement had reached Meryton, and it brought Sir William Lucas and Mr. Collins to call at Longbourn.

  Elizabeth and Jane, together with their mother, joined the gentlemen in the drawing room. The visit was equally unpleasant for all the Bennets, and it was unanimously desired that it end as soon as possible.

  “I am appalled to hear that a man of such low morals was allowed in your house, my dear Mr. Bennet.”

  “I agree with you; we should not have accepte
d him,” Mr. Bennet answered. “But as far as I know, Wickham was welcomed in your home too, Sir William. We should share the blame. It seemed Wickham fooled us all.”

  Sir William looked distressed, but Mr. Collins continued unabated.

  “The officers’ company should be forbidden to all my fair cousins in the future—although it might be too late. I fear this connection might affect your family too. My fair patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, often expressed her opinion about the delicacy of young ladies’ honour.”

  “And pray tell me, how could Wickham’s elopement with Colonel Forster’s wife affect our family?” Mr. Bennet inquired sharply.

  “Well,” Sir William spoke up, “it is said that Miss Lydia was a good friend of Mrs. Forster. The best proof is that she was invited to join her at Brighton. Therefore, it is very likely that Miss Lydia was aware of the abominable plans and perhaps encouraged them.”

  Elizabeth turned red with anger, and Jane squeezed her hand to prevent a furious reply.

  However, it was Mrs. Bennet who yelled angrily, “Encouraged them? I assure you that you could not be more wrong, sir! Lydia never would have done that! She went to Brighton precisely because she possessed strong feelings for Mr. Wickham, and she hoped he reciprocated them! She was sure that she was the one he would have chosen if he intended to elope! He betrayed her affection in the worst possible manner! A horrible man indeed!”

  “Mrs. Bennet!” Her husband shouted to interrupt a tirade that had made both Elizabeth and Jane flush with embarrassment. “The excitement has been too much for your nerves, I am afraid. You need rest and silence, and we will gladly excuse you! Lizzy, Jane, please help your mother to her room while I will have a drink with the gentlemen.”

  Mrs. Bennet had no time to respond as she was gently but decidedly accompanied to her chamber. In the main hall, she continued to argue about the accusations unfairly cast on her favourite daughter and to criticize Sir William, Mr. Collins, and Charlotte for planning to steal Longbourn after Mr. Bennet’s death.

  The following hours passed painfully slowly, and Elizabeth found only a few minutes of solitude with Jane before they were called to their mother again. Fortunately, by evening, things had calmed enough to allow a mostly normal dinner. But that lasted only until Mr. Bingley unexpectedly appeared to inquire whether the family was well and whether he could be of any assistance. Mr. Bennet invited him to join them; Jane blushed with pure joy while Mrs. Bennet panicked at the realization that they had not a single fish course on the table.

  Elizabeth’s heart became unsteady the moment she noticed the gentleman was alone. She was anxious to inquire about the distressing absence, but she dared not and prayed her father would do so in her place.

  But it was not needed. Mr. Bingley chose a comfortable seat next to Jane.

  Then, serene and barely concealing a smile of delight, he said, “Darcy asked me to convey his best wishes and farewell. Urgent business required his immediate presence in London. Mrs. Bennet, these dishes smell wonderful indeed. I confess I am very hungry.”

  Elizabeth stared at him without comprehension. Only a few hours had passed since Mr. Darcy walked with her in the garden and let her believe he had come to Hertfordshire with the intention of staying more than a few days. There was not a single mention of urgent business in Town. His voice, his eyes, and his words—all had said the same thing to her. And now, the news brought by Mr. Bingley contradicted them all.

  The next morning found Elizabeth exhausted and tearful, struggling to refresh her face and show her family a reasonable appearance. Contrary to her sister, Jane was glowing and her beauty was shining. For the eldest Miss Bennet, the previous evening was the perfect ending to a day full of renewed hopes, and Elizabeth put aside her sadness to rejoice in her sister’s felicity.

  Breakfast had just ended when the sound of a carriage and a loud voice made them all hurry outside to meet a whining Lydia, who complained about how devastated, hungry, and sleepy she was.

  Mrs. Bennet, Kitty, and Mary hurried to comfort her while Elizabeth and Jane welcomed her calmly.

  “Mama,” she said, “it has been terrible. You cannot imagine how dreadful it has been to be accused of hiding Mrs. Forster’s real intentions. Everyone thought I was aware of their plan to elope, but I swear, I knew nothing of it!”

  Lydia began sobbing again and continued. “I have cherished Mr. Wickham, and he has behaved cruelly to me!”

  “I know my dear! What a horrible man!”

  “Mama, I believe it was only my poverty that kept Mr. Wickham from eloping with me! If I had money, I am sure he would have chosen me.”

  “I am sure of it too, my darling,” Mrs. Bennet approved while Elizabeth and Jane looked at each other in disbelief, grateful that there was no stranger nearby to hear such a statement.

  “I am sure too—which is why, for the first time, I am grateful for our poor situation in life,” Mr. Bennet said from the doorway.

  “Oh, Papa, how can you say that? Do you not realize I could have been married by now?” Lydia cried.

  “I do realize that my indifference exposed you to a dangerous situation. I am glad to see you in good health. I hope you had a lovely time in Brighton, my dear, for it is the last time you will ever leave the house without one of your eldest sisters.”

  “But, Papa!”

  “Not another word, Lydia. This will apply to Kitty too! And I want to see both of you involved in something truly meaningful for at least ten minutes every day—starting tomorrow. You may go and rest now!”

  “Oh, Mama—what does Papa mean?” Lydia asked, great tears rolling down her face.

  “There, there, my dear…we will be fine, do not worry…”

  Mrs. Bennet embraced her and led her to the chamber where she was immediately consoled and pitied—both for Mr. Wickham’s betrayal and for her father’s cruel punishment.

  ***

  Nothing could spoil Mrs. Bennet’s good humour the following day. Not even Lydia with her sulkiness could ruin it. She had succeeded at last in having one of her daughters engaged to be married. Her problems had all been forgotten.

  “I have always known that Jane would marry well,” she said at breakfast. “Ever since I first held Jane in my arms, I knew that she would marry well; did I not tell you that, Mr. Bennet?”

  Mr. Bennet made no reply for fear that she might take it as a sign of encouragement, but Mrs. Bennet continued.

  “Oh, the joy! Lady Lucas will surely have nothing to say against it. Her daughter is married only to a poor clergyman. She will not claim superiority to me anymore! Five thousand pounds a year!”

  Fortunately, Mr. Bingley was so smitten with Jane and so eager for their wedding day that he became oblivious to anything except his betrothed; he paid no attention to Mrs. Bennet’s effusions.

  About Mr. Darcy, his friend knew nothing, even when Elizabeth asked. However, a piece of information came from a most unexpected source—Mr. Collins. Still in the neighbourhood, he was prepared to leave in two days’ time as he had received a letter from Lady Catherine. Her ladyship demanded his presence at Rosings because Mr. Darcy was visiting her and she expected a marriage proposal at any moment. So Mr. Collins hastily stopped at Longbourn for a brief call. The news fell unexpectedly, leaving Elizabeth dumbfounded. Her distrust in Mr. Collins was complete, but Lady Catherine’s letter was real. Why would she send it to her clergyman and make a fool of herself with a falsehood?

  Could Mr. Darcy be there for another reason? Why had he troubled himself to speak to her and confess his feelings if he still intended to marry his cousin? Was this another proof of his admiration for her but his unwillingness to bond with the Bennet family?

  Elizabeth’s spirit was completely ruined, and she did not even try to disguise her sadness. She stayed the rest of the afternoon in her room, and not even Jane’s presence could comfort her.

  In the evening, Mr. Bingley joined them for dinner again, and Mrs. Bennet informed him of Mr. Collins’s c
laim. Mr. Bingley was incredulous.

  “Surely this cannot be true! Darcy would have told me if it were. I know about the supposed engagement between him and Miss de Bourgh, but it was never real. All who know Darcy well enough to claim his friendship are aware of that. It is the precise reason that many young women in London—including some of my acquaintances—chased Darcy for years. He is an honourable man; if he were bond to someone, he would make it public. Mrs. Bennet, these potatoes are excellent and the meat even more so! They are perfectly matched with this wine!”

  “Then—do you believe we can expect Mr. Darcy to return to Netherfield before our wedding?” Jane asked her beloved sweetly.

  “I hope so—if he completes his business in London. He did not give me many details of it, and I offered to join him in case he needed my help, but he refused. I think he wished to allow me time to achieve the real purpose of my return,” the gentleman answered with an adoring gaze. Jane blushed, the Bennet sisters giggled, and Mrs. Bennet exclaimed again.

  “How wonderful of Mr. Darcy! He is such a tall, handsome gentleman! Of course, Mr. Collins was wrong again—how could a clergyman know about the plans of a gentleman worth ten thousand a year? And I am already tired of his calls; he behaves as though Longbourn is already his! He can at least wait until Mr. Bennet dies!”

  Several pairs of eyes stared at the lady in shock; Mr. Bennet smiled calmly. “I thank you for your considerate thought, my dear Mrs. Bennet. Now, Mr. Bingley, I believe you are right! Mr. Darcy did not even ask me to return his books, and I know he is very fond of them. I expect him to return any time now.”

  The exchange was a palliation for Elizabeth’s distress, and suddenly, the entire situation looked different. The more she thought about it, the more she was tempted to see the reason behind the two gentlemen’s discussion—and the more she distrusted her own judgment. Ever since her heart had been captured by Mr. Darcy, her wit seemed to betray her. She had little else left to do except wait. And hope.