The Companion

by Jann Rowland

  “My mother was never robust. In fact, I have often thought Anne to be much like her. It was one of the reasons why I never had any interest in marrying Anne. Between my birth and Georgiana’s, mother had several miscarriages, and each one seemed to take more out of her. I remember when she was with child with Georgiana.” Mr. Darcy paused and a spasm of pain passed over his face. “Every precaution was taken, every measure possible to protect her health. But in the end, it was not enough. Georgiana was born and so much strength was lost in the endeavor that she slipped away only days after.

  “After my mother passed away, my father was never the same. I believe he grieved her loss until the day he died. Georgiana is so much like her that he often could not bear to be in the room with her, and as a result, her memories of our father are different from mine. I remember him as a loving father and husband, but Georgiana remembers him as a distant man, austere and reticent, and one who did not care to see to her needs or assist in her rearing.”

  “That is unfortunate, Mr. Darcy,” replied Elizabeth. “But it is perhaps not so surprising, since your father loved your mother so dearly.”

  “He did.” Mr. Darcy was silent for a moment. “After her passing, he used to sit in her flower garden at Pemberley for hours at a time. He said it made him feel closer to her. When he passed away himself, I believe he welcomed it. He had lost the will to live and wished to be with her again.”

  Elizabeth was touched by these memories that Mr. Darcy was sharing with her. In a certain sense, it was difficult for Elizabeth to understand—such closeness as he was describing had never existed between her parents, and though she thought one would miss the other should they be taken, she could not imagine the level of grief as his father had experienced. Despite the obvious disadvantages and the possibility of having a loved one leave her behind, it was what Elizabeth had always wished to have.

  It also gave her more insight into Mr. Darcy’s character. Though he had spoken of his father’s grief of losing his wife, Elizabeth knew that his own sorrow had been profound. The woman who had played with him, raised him to be a good and industrious man, though she had died when he was young, was missed to this day. Elizabeth could not help but feel her heart go out to him.

  “I thank you for listening to my remembrances, Miss Bennet,” said Mr. Darcy, seeming to recall where he was.

  “Not at all, sir,” replied Elizabeth. “It is clear you treasured your parents. I am honored that you think enough of me to share such beautiful memories.”

  Though Mr. Darcy’s gaze lingered on her, he did not immediately respond. Instead, he cast around, looking for something in particular. There were several rose bushes nearby, and Mr. Darcy looked long at a few of them. For a moment, Elizabeth thought he would gift her with one of the red or pink roses. She was not certain he knew exactly what they meant and would have been mortified if he would have made such a declaration without realizing what he had done.

  But then he shook his head and turned to grasp her hand. “Come, Miss Bennet,” said he as he began to walk down the path, pulling her along behind.

  Elizabeth went readily, wondering what he was about. They passed swiftly down the path, Mr. Darcy looking this way and that, clearly looking for something as if he could not quite remember exactly where it was to be found. While they walked, he spoke to her softly.

  “I have not come back here much of late, and though I remember mother’s roses, I do not know where everything can be found.”

  “For what are you searching, sir?” asked Elizabeth. Her hand felt warm within his. She was amazed at how well his larger one fit around hers and wondered what it would be like if she was always connected with this man in such a way.

  Suddenly Mr. Darcy stopped, and a grin shone forth as he regarded several low plants, standing perhaps two feet tall, with low, thin leaves, and large, round flowers. He released her hand and stepped over to the flowers, reaching down and plucking two with long stems and brilliant, beautiful colors. One had petals which were blood red in the center, changing to a lovely pink toward the end of the petal, rimmed with a pale pink, almost white edge. The other was of the same style, though it was the same shade of lovely light pink all the way through the flower. They were carnations.

  “Please accept these tokens of my esteem, my lady,” said Mr. Darcy, bowing and handing her the two flowers.

  Elizabeth accepted them, though she was so shocked, she almost neglected to stretch her hand out to receive them.

  “They are lovely, Miss Bennet, but I cannot help but think they pale beside the woman who is holding them.”

  Though Elizabeth blushed, Mr. Darcy did not stop speaking. “I believe the pink flower matches your dress beautifully. Perhaps if you wore it in your hair?”

  It was pure instinct that prompted Elizabeth to reach up with the hand holding the pink flower and insert it in her hair, above her left ear, the blossom situated above her forehead, visible from the corner of her eye. Mr. Darcy’s gaze became so tender, that Elizabeth thought the man might lean over and kiss her.

  “Exquisite, Miss Bennet. I shall have the gardeners gather up some of these in a variety of colors and have them delivered to your room.”

  “Thank you, sir,” replied Elizabeth. Her head was still spinning as she considered the meaning of these blooms he had given her. Carnations: the flowers of fascination, which spoke to a romantic interest, but one which had not yet blossomed into true love. Could Mr. Darcy possibly be aware of the meaning of the gesture he had just made?

  As Elizabeth looked into his eyes, searching, wondering what she would find there, his returning gaze, steady and intent, captured her eyes, holding them in place. And then she knew—Mr. Darcy was exactly aware of what he was doing. The meaning of these blossoms was no mystery to him.

  And then it became clear. Mr. Darcy was fascinated by her, and all his looks when they were in Hertfordshire, and since they had been together in London, became clear. Elizabeth could not understand what she had done to gain his attention in such a way, but it existed regardless. And she knew that to be the focus of his attention was something, indeed!

  Though Anne could not be certain, she suspected something significant had passed between Elizabeth and Darcy. On the day of the Bingley sisters’ visit, Anne had felt more fatigued than she had in some time and had lain down on her bed, sleeping most of the morning. As a result of her long nap, she had awoken reinvigorated and eager to be in her friend’s company again.

  There was nothing specific on which Anne could put her finger. To one who was not familiar with them, it seemed like they behaved the same toward each other as they ever had. But they also exchanged little glances and often seemed unnaturally aware of exactly where the other was. If it had just been Darcy, Anne would have shrugged it off, as she had seen similar behavior from him since they had come to London. But not only were his glances more frequent than she had ever seen, but the fact that Elizabeth was now engaged in the same behavior was even more telling.

  Anne thought of pressing her friend for the story of what had changed, but in the end, she decided against it. Elizabeth could be stubborn when she set her mind to it, and while she was open and friendly, she was also private when it came to her own feelings. It was enough for Anne to know they had made good progress, so she sat back and watched them, waiting for the snow to shift enough to produce an avalanche which would take them to love, matrimony, and the rest of their lives.

  The last thought almost prompted laughter, which she covered by bringing her hand to her mouth, lest her companions question what she was thinking. Perhaps she had indulged in too much contemplation of such subjects, for it was leading her to think decidedly melodramatic thoughts.

  Jane visited and Georgiana joined them for the afternoon in company, having completed her studies for the day. The more time Anne spent with Elizabeth’s sister, the more she esteemed the other woman. She might be called naïve, considering her propensity to see the best in
people, but Anne soon realized that Jane was not deficient in any way. In fact, she often, with her comments and observations, showed signs of a keen intellect, and one which, much the same as Anne’s, was prone to watching others in silence while those of a more open temperament carried the conversation. During Jane’s visit, they made plans for some events they would attend, including some exhibits and evenings at the theater and opera, in which Anne had never been able to indulge herself. She found herself anticipating the coming days with impatience.

  The next morning, however, they were treated to the return of an unwelcome visitor, but this time, rather than receive a masked level of scorn, Elizabeth was treated to that of a more explicit nature.

  “Miss de Bourgh,” said Caroline Bingley when she was escorted into the room. “How do you do today?”

  “Elizabeth and I are both well, Miss Bingley,” said Anne, reminding the woman that her dear friend was in the room.

  It was the established protocol for ladies to, at the very least, acknowledge each other when in company, but on this occasion, Miss Bingley did nothing more than sneer at Elizabeth and turn her attention back to Anne.

  “I found that I wished to visit you again and come to know you better.” The woman oozed insincere flattery, and she continued: “I feel as if we are almost family already, considering my brother’s intimate friendship with your cousin.”

  “That is interesting, Miss Bingley,” replied Anne, wondering at the woman’s impudence. “I hope that we are all able to be friends with one another, and I hope to meet your brother when the opportunity presents itself.” Anne smiled, noting that Miss Bingley’s countenance had fallen a little. “When will he visit? I am surprised we have not seen him yet, considering his close relationship with my cousin.”

  “Charles is . . .” began Miss Bingley before she stopped. Anne did not miss the dark look the woman threw at Elizabeth. “In fact, he is much engaged with other matters, now that we have returned to London. I expect he will wish to renew his friendship with Mr. Darcy as soon as may be arranged.”

  “Excellent! Please inform him he is welcome to come at any time convenient.”

  Miss Bingley paused, and her gaze darted to Elizabeth again. For her part, Elizabeth was watching them with evident mirth, carefully held in check. Anne looked away from her quickly, afraid she would break out in laughter herself if she did not.

  “In fact, I have something of a delicate nature which I wish to discuss with you.” Miss Bingley directed a conspiratorial smile at Anne. “Perhaps we could adjourn to another room?”

  “I believe this one will do just fine,” replied Anne. “Please, you may proceed at any time.”

  Miss Bingley once again speared Elizabeth with a look, which Elizabeth returned with a false placidity which would have done her sister proud. “My apologies, Miss de Bourgh, but what I have to say is for your ears alone.” The sneer made its return when her eyes once again found Elizabeth.

  “I would be happy to leave you together,” said Elizabeth in response. She rose and smiled brightly at Anne, while Anne glared at her traitorous friend in response. “When your conversation is complete, you may find me in the music room.”

  With those final words, Elizabeth departed, leaving Anne alone in the company of a vicious shrew. Anne watched her friend as she passed through the door, considering what form of retribution her vengeance might take.

  “I thought Eliza would never leave,” said Miss Bingley when Elizabeth was gone. She released an exaggerated huff of annoyance and turned back to Anne. “I am not certain if you are aware, but we have spent much time in company with Eliza’s family when we lived in Hertfordshire last autumn, and there is little good to be had in any of them. A most unsuitable family.”

  Anne regarded Miss Bingley, certain she now knew of what the woman wished to speak. “Actually, I know of your connection with the Bennets. Now, Miss Bingley, you have asked for my time and a private conversation, and we are now alone. Of what did you wish to speak?”

  Although Miss Bingley seemed surprised at Anne’s assertion of knowledge—why she should be shocked Anne was not certain, given her professions of intimacy with Elizabeth—she quickly recovered.

  “I wished to speak to you as a friend. I am so happy we have made each other’s acquaintance. Might we dispense with the formalities? I would be happy if you would refer to me by my Christian name.”

  While Miss Bingley’s countenance was hopeful, Anne was clearly able to see the haughty arrogance and her assurance that Anne would fall in with her schemes. Thus, it was a pleasure to disabuse her of the notion that she would speak, and Anne would agree with whatever she said.

  “I do not believe that would be appropriate, Miss Bingley.” The smile ran away from the woman’s face, replaced by disbelief. “We have only been acquainted for two days, which is not nearly long enough to truly know each other. Let us allow our friendship to mature before we take such a step.”

  Miss Bingley did not seem to know what to say, and she stammered for a moment. Anne had not doubted Elizabeth’s word on the subject of Miss Bingley, but she began to truly understand exactly how tiresome this woman was.

  “Was there something you wished to say?” asked she, attempting to prod the woman along.

  “Of course,” replied Miss Bingley, as she began to regain her composure. “You have my apologies, Miss de Bourgh. I am happy to take this time to come to know you better.” The woman smiled, clearly having come to the best possible interpretation of Anne’s words, and feeling certain that they would soon be bosom friends.

  “The matter of which I wished to speak is more in the nature of a warning. I understand that Eliza has been staying with you for some time now?”

  “Elizabeth has, indeed, been with me for more than two months.” Miss Bingley started at Anne’s firm tone. “She came to Kent to visit her friend, Charlotte Lucas, who is recently married to Elizabeth’s cousin, Mr. Collins.”

  “Oh, her friend married Mr. Collins, did she?” Miss Bingley seemed a little annoyed. “I had thought his . . . affections lay in another direction.”

  “I am afraid I have no knowledge of that,” said Anne, though she knew of what had happened. “Not long after Elizabeth came to Kent, my companion passed away suddenly, and as a friend, Elizabeth agreed to stay with me while she stayed in Kent.”

  “Eliza agreed to be your companion!” cried Miss Bingley with an odd kind of squealing laughter. “How wonderful! I had not thought her inclined to such a life, but perhaps it suits her, though I cannot imagine she possesses the necessary skills to do it in a creditable manner.”

  “She is not my companion, Miss Bingley,” said Anne, injecting a hint of steel in her voice. “Elizabeth is my friend and is staying here as my guest. She was not paid to keep me company at Rosings—in fact, she did so because I applied to her as a friend, and as she is both kind and thoughtful, she agreed, even though it meant she would spend much less time with her friend of many years.

  “Now, I believe you had something of which you wished to speak. Might I ask you to come to the point?”

  As Anne all but reprimanded Miss Bingley for her unkindness, the sardonic smile ran away from her face, and by the end, she was all but gaping. She was not slow of thought, however, and soon recovered, but her look of condescension which replaced the arrogance was nearly as infuriating.

  “Miss de Bourgh,” said Miss Bingley, “it is clear from all you have told me that you have no notion of the reality of the woman you have accepted as your friend. As I have a greater knowledge of her, I thought to inform you of it, so you may take steps to defend yourself. Your little Eliza, though she is adept at passing herself off with a degree of credit, is not who you think she is.”

  “That is quite interesting, Miss Bingley. How so?”

  “She is the second daughter of five, each one more improper than the last. Mr. Bennet’s estate is entailed to Mr. Collins, and now that Mr. Collins has marri
ed—and not to Miss Elizabeth—I can only imagine that on the death of their father, the Bennet sisters will be destitute.”

  It seemed something was offending Miss Bingley, for her voice was rising, taking her color along with it.

  “Furthermore, I have it on good authority that they have no greater connections than an uncle in trade and another who is a country solicitor. Mrs. Bennet is perhaps the most avaricious, grasping social climber I have ever had the misfortune to meet. She schemes openly of how her daughters will attach themselves to rich men by whatever means possible, and it was only because of the diligence of myself, with Mr. Darcy’s assistance, that my brother was able to avoid being caught in Mrs. Bennet’s web. Their father is a slothful man, who does nothing to attempt to teach his family better manners or improve their situation. I have never met such an odious, improper family in all my life.”

  When Miss Bingley fell silent, she turned her attention back on Anne, apparently expecting her to immediately jump to her feet and insist Elizabeth leave the house. Her brow furrowed when Anne did not do precisely that.

  “Those are serious accusations, Miss Bingley,” replied Anne at length. “I have never met any of Elizabeth’s family in Hertfordshire, so I cannot speak to their characters beyond what Elizabeth has told me.”

  “I am certain she was eager to portray them in the best possible light,” said Miss Bingley.

  “Actually, I was amused by her candor.” Miss Bingley did not seem to know what to say. “However, I have met Miss Bennet and the Gardiners and have found them to be estimable people.”

  Miss Bingley paled. “You have met Miss Bennet?”

  “I have,” replied Anne. “She is perhaps the sweetest woman I have ever met. I cannot imagine how you might have gained any impression of her lack of propriety.”

  “Miss Bennet is a sweet girl,” replied Miss Bingley, though her grudging concession was given unwillingly. “But the rest of her family is exactly as I have said.”