Astounded, he watched as she turned slightly to take in Bingley’s conversation with Miss Bennet. Darcy sat there in silent contemplation as a small fissure of alarm picked at his heart. He beheld Elizabeth as he considered the painful, fearful thought that she might not remember their time together. It was an outcome that had never occurred to him!
He was oddly reminded of when he was a little boy and watched a foreman carry hot tar up onto the roof of the stable. He was patching a leak there and Darcy found the process fascinating. As he watched, however, the foreman lost his balance briefly and toppled over the bucket. The steaming, black tar slowly poured a path down the slope of the roof. Its sluggish, all-encompassing path captivated him as a child and he had stayed rooted in the spot as he watched it eat away at the length of the roof towards the edge. When it reached the end of the roof line, it built up a small mass at the edge, clinging to it as it gained volume. It had cooled slightly on its way down the roof and had lost some of the momentum. Slowly, the mass of cooling tar rolled over the edge, hanging like an evil arm off the side, gravity forcing it to extend and stretch. He watched it fall and drape irregular and ugly scorching stripes across a barberry shrub. He remembered that, eventually, the gardener had to remove the plant as the shrub never fully recovered from the attack.
The destructive thought of Elizabeth not knowing of their time together was like tar on his heart; he could not fathom the idea of it any more than he could prevent the pain. It would render their time together a dream, his dream, of which she remembered no part. How was he to tell her about it? How was he to help her remember, if indeed she could be made to remember? His face grew stern, contemplating this fear, and he felt the caustic coating of the tar over his heart. He would be unable to speak to her of their time. Which portion of their time together could he even mention: the horribly compromising part of their presence together in their bedchambers, the gentlemen’s clubs, the fencing? She would not remember any of their extraordinary experience tethered together. The room felt all at once suffocating, and Darcy brought his cup to his lips to swallow the tepid liquid, hoping to dislodge the lump in his throat.
Our kiss. He almost groaned in pain thinking she remained ignorant of their intimacy. He had thought of little else since placing his lips upon hers. Indeed, the more he thought on it, the clearer it became that now she acted the part of a woman untouched by love. He was growing more certain by the minute; she remembered nothing of their time.
Out of the corner of his eye, he detected her gaze. Looking up to meet her eyes, he saw a fire there. He recognized at once from the early days with her in London that it was anger and frustration. If she truly did not remember, then he could see his behavior then was unforgivably rude as he sat next to her, unspeaking and scowling. He attempted to lift the gravity off his face and hide the despair swallowing him.
“You have not touched your tea, Miss Elizabeth. May I refresh it for you?” Darcy asked, relieved his tone was gentle and tender still.
She shook her head. “No, I thank you. I have not a taste for tea at present, sir. Refreshing it will not change that, I fear.”
If only I could have some kind of clue, some kind of hope that she was the least bit altered by our time together, he thought, I might be able pull myself out from drowning in this misery.
He had to know for sure then, the uncertainty weighing most on him. He leaned into her, ignoring as best he could the way she immediately tried to pull away. He lowered his voice so that nobody else could hear and asked, “Miss Elizabeth, do you remember when last we were in company together?”
He watched her eyes meet his, and he saw all at once that she was thinking of something and it gave him hope. The faraway look in her eyes could not mean that he was totally lost to her. All at once though, he saw a change enter her eyes, and she said, “We have not met, sir, since the 26th of November, when we were all dancing together at Netherfield.”
Darcy sat upright then, his head nodding numbly. The pain rising in his breast was bound to drown him, and he knew he had to get away lest his bereavement become too much to hide. He did not know what he said then or how he excused himself, but soon he was standing and taking his leave of the rest of their party. He did recall assuring Bingley that he need not leave as well, stating urgent business he remembered that required his attention immediately or some other such nonsense. He looked at Elizabeth one last time and tried to memorize every detail of the very life that was in her.
He bowed to her last, and with a final, heartfelt farewell, he said, “Forgive me for having taken up so much of your time, and accept my best wishes for your health and happiness.”
He then turned and walked stiffly out the door, not looking back and unable to bear the searing of the hot tar as it slid around to coat his heart.
* * *
Elizabeth sat motionless, still stunned by Mr. Darcy’s close proximity only moments before. She could detect his lingering cologne and felt almost as if she recognized it from somewhere. Perhaps her Uncle Gardiner wore the same? She could make no sense of it. And then he had asked so carefully, yet almost urgently, about their last meeting — as if it held every importance in the world to him, though she could not think why. His reference to when they last saw each other had brought to mind her dream of him by her bedside, and she had been momentarily transfixed with the image of him so close to her.
When she had realized the length of her silence, she had cleared away the puzzling dream and answered him honestly. She could not understand why he seemed so entirely altered after that. He had mumbled some polite words on seeing her again and then stood to take his leave. She watched mesmerized by his formal manner, not unlike his accustomed behavior to be sure, but somehow incongruent at the same time. While she puzzled this, she was again startled to hear him address her as he bowed goodbye. His adieu was everything amiable, yet the tone of his voice sent shivers down her back; the finality felt there disquieted her, though she could not think why.
But it was when he turned to leave that she was most shaken. She watched his silhouette, and it conjured the other gentleman, the one in the image that now flashed in her mind. Their gait and the sway of their shoulders matched perfectly. It all combined to create so great a turmoil in her mind that she soon was pressing small fingers into her temples.
Jane immediately sensed her distress and leaned towards her with concern. “Lizzy, are you well? May I help you back to your chamber?”
She suddenly longed severely for just that, the security of her room, though she could not say so. She remembered her earlier battle with her family to stay in the room to receive the gentlemen. She had wanted to observe Bingley for herself. She could not very well retreat to her room now that she had gained this freedom.
Shaking her head, she said, “I shall be fine, Jane. I only wish for some other refreshment.”
Jane took her cup from her immediately.
“Shall I pour you some more tea?” Bingley asked kindly, trying to be of some use.
Elizabeth smiled at him, grateful for his return and the joy it brought her sister. She shook her head though, and as a thought flitted through her mind, she knew what she wanted. “Jane, I think I should like a cup of coffee.”
Jane blinked but did not move. Bingley stood then to find a servant and make the request.
His lady stopped him when she said, “You do not drink coffee, Lizzy. You detest the stuff.”
“Still, I should like to have some all the same.”
Elizabeth could not like the way Jane’s eyes filled with a nervous worry. “Truly, Jane, I am well. I suffer only from a slight headache. I know it is strange, but coffee sounds appealing to me now.”
“My father used to drink coffee when he got a megrim,” Bingley offered, happy to contribute.
Jane looked at him and again at her sister and finally nodded. She stood to ring the bell to request a cup of coffee for Elizabeth.
When the tray came, Elizabeth began heaping spoonfu
ls of sugar into the brew. She did so almost instinctively, as if she knew exactly how she would like her coffee. She stirred it quickly and brought it to her lips. The dark liquid immediately was drunk with pleasure. The taste was heavenly to her, and she pulled the cup away to look at it in astonishment. Jane had been right when she had declared that Elizabeth did not like coffee. But it would seem now that, for some inexplicable reason, Elizabeth Bennet had developed a taste for the brew.
If only the gentleman who had just left had stayed! He might have had the sign, the hope he sought. But by that time, he was already issuing orders for his trunks to be packed and readied for his departure. A note lay on his friend’s desk with an inadequate excuse for his hasty removal.
Chapter 20
Within days, the news of the gentleman’s departure made its way to the inhabitants of Longbourn and the surrounding areas, though only his friend had puzzled much over it. He had thought Darcy’s purpose in the area was of a more lasting type. Bingley’s own long term hopes for one lady of the area were sufficient to distract him from the abruptness of his friend’s departure and instead to focus entirely on bringing about his own happiness.
Thus it was that with a swiftness known to his character and without any further delay, Bingley set about to determine the heart of Miss Bennet, and once sufficiently encouraged, to secure it for himself. The happy news of her shy but eager acceptance was soon spread about the house with all the exuberance that such news often encounters. Such as it was, the excitement associated with her change in situation prevented the newly betrothed from having any private audience with her favorite sister. Not until later that night could Jane give a proper accounting of how the deed came about.
The two sisters retired to the eldest’s room; attired in their sleeping gowns and warmed by their shawls and slippers, they prepared for a lengthy discussion of all the finer parts of the event.
“So, Mr. Bingley was amiable enough this time, Jane,” Elizabeth said by way of introduction and in reference to their discussion earlier in the week.
Jane’s cheeks grew rosy, but she took up both of her sister’s hands in hers and squeezed. “He is the very best of men, and I cannot think that I should be so happy.”
Her sister smiled and expressed her own satisfaction in terms only a sister most beloved could. Pulling her feet up and under her, she leaned in with eager anticipation. “Tell me everything that happened. Do not leave out a single breath, Jane.”
With contentment radiating in every way, Jane set out to describe the few minutes that changed the direction of her life and secured all the hopes of her future happiness. Mr. Bingley had taken no gamble with the probability that they might find a quiet moment while on a stroll in the gardens and had quietly asked for a private audience from the start. This request was granted with all due haste by Mrs. Bennet, who amused everyone as she ushered them out of the room, leaving her eldest daughter with a kiss on her blushing cheeks and a heart thrumming quite out of control.
Elizabeth listened with warm tenderness as her sister detailed the all too important moment.
“It was all I could do, Lizzy, to shakily nod my head. My eyes were already betraying the emotion I was feeling.”
Elizabeth smiled, retaining Jane’s hand in hers, and encouraged her to go on. Her sister’s happiness was, next to nothing else in this world, the most important thing to her. Having known the suffering Jane had endured during her separation from Mr. Bingley, this was a most satisfactory end to a lengthy ordeal.
“Once confident of my assent, he shared with me something that quite surprised me.”
“And . . . ?” Elizabeth urged with a smile. “Come Jane, do not delay, I am all anticipation.”
Still her sister paused before continuing. “I am concerned with your reaction Lizzy. I fear you may be angered.”
“Angered?” cried she in surprise. “I fail to see how any part of such a charming proposal could anger me.”
Jane eyed her sister with concern. “It has something to do with his friend Mr. Darcy.”
Elizabeth was silent, unsure of what to say. It was no secret that, before her accident, Elizabeth did not hold that gentleman in any favor, but since waking up, she felt slightly differently. It was not as if she admired the man — that did not seem a likely thing — but it was almost as if she could no longer find within her the dislike she had once held so staunchly.
She did not share this ambivalence she felt with Jane because it was all a part of the growing list of different sensations since waking. Deny it, though she would, she felt a listlessness about her that could not be explained by fatigue or continuing recovery. She had preferences that were decidedly not the same as before her accident, her peculiar taste for coffee being foremost among them. This ennui, combined with the other changes she bore, as well as the troubling flashes of places and persons she did not know, were enough for Elizabeth to keep her own counsel. She feared the return of the wariness so previously prevalent in the eyes of her family and only recently beginning to fade. It was as if, in the couple of days since she first ventured down to the drawing rooms to await the call from the gentlemen from Netherfield, her family had begun to trust in her recovery, and Longbourn had taken a collective sigh of relief. Elizabeth was not about to stir any more worry on her account over a few trifling changes, troubling though some may be.
Elizabeth also knew of her sister’s suspicions regarding Mr. Darcy, and hesitantly, she thus began, “I know that you have your beliefs about Mr. Darcy, Jane, and I beg you not to repeat them. The man does not favor me.”
Though not what she was about to reveal to her sister, Jane felt she needed to defend her opinions.
“Lizzy, you are entirely too quick to dismiss your own charms in general. I do believe that Mr. Darcy esteems you. He was much too solicitous of your health to be — ”
“Yes, Jane, because gentlemen who are enamored often flee the neighborhood wherein the object of their desire resides,” Elizabeth interrupted with a sigh and a disbelieving smile.
“Mr. Bingley once did just that, Lizzy, and I believe at the time you were insistent that he was in love with me,” Jane said pointedly.
Elizabeth bit her lip, holding in a laugh. “Indeed, and fortunately for the both of us, though more so for you, I was correct in that opinion.”
Jane gave her sister a look that said she ought to see the similarities.
“Jane, their manner is entirely different. When Mr. Bingley took his leave last autumn, he did so after quite clearly showing his preference for you in front of all of Hertfordshire. When he returned, he took up exactly where he left off. And today we have seen the evidence of his admiration for you, as he has asked for your hand.”
“I think, Lizzy, it is only that you do not like Mr. Darcy, that you are so determined to dismiss my thoughts on the matter.”
Elizabeth sighed and giving her sister’s hand a squeeze, said kindly, “I apologize, Jane, if you feel that I have dismissed your opinions on the matter as naught. I simply cannot see anything in Mr. Darcy’s manner last autumn or during his brief visit most recently that would suggest he favors me.”
The two sisters looked intently at each other. It was the only point of contention they had ever really had, and each looked at it with so different a view that it was impossible that they should come to terms with the other’s stance.
Jane suspected the gentleman’s preference, though she would admit that his manner of wooing lacked a certain finesse, and though she could not prove it with any finality, she very much hoped that it was the case. She had always thought better of Mr. Darcy than had her sister and had felt that, should her sister look beyond his initial poor impression, then Elizabeth might find in him an equal partner in intelligence, passion, and wit. Besides, it made perfect sense to Jane that two persons so well favored by herself and her betrothed might come to care for each other.
For Elizabeth’s part, she held no animosity towards the gentleman, puzzling though
that was, given her previous sentiments. And while she could not account for that change in her feelings, she could see quite plainly his own. While in company with him, he was often grave, serious and silent. True, he did often look upon her, but Elizabeth felt as if that might be interpreted as abstraction of mind on the gentleman’s part. She knew of her sister’s hopes for a possible match, and she was endeared to her for her sentimentality given Jane’s current state of happiness. It was quite natural that, once assured of their own joy, people often wished to ensure that of those close to them.
“Come let us not quarrel about this tonight, Jane. You were just speaking of your happy moment. You have not finished what Mr. Bingley said to you that you found surprising.” Elizabeth could see that her sister still hesitated and thus said, “If you are concerned for my reaction, you need not say.”
Though her curiosity was piqued, Elizabeth was sincere in her statement.
“I do wish to share with you what Mr. Bingley said. Only I fear that you will be too much upset by the beginning that you may not see the virtue in the end.”
“I promise to withhold judgment then until the end. Will that satisfy?”
Jane was a moment in answering and, with a nod, thus began. “Mr. Bingley explained to me his absence last autumn and his delay in returning as soon as he had planned.”
Elizabeth’s brows rose at this and pursed her lips, interested to hear what might be his explanation. She could see, though, that Jane was nervous, and that made Elizabeth suspicious.
“Once in town he was persuaded to stay by his friend and sisters. They believed it was in his best interest to quit the neighborhood entirely.”
“Is that so?” Elizabeth said with some heat, but upon seeing her sister’s stern look, she was reminded of her promise.
Jane then related the extent to which Mr. Bingley had missed her in the meantime, but having been convinced by his friend and family that she did not return his affections, he instead agreed to remain in town.
Haunting Mr. Darcy Page 27