The Red Chrysanthemum

by Linda Beutler

  Jane and her mother stared at Mr Bennet as though he had lapsed into a foreign language, perhaps Arabic.

  “Oh, Mr Bennet! Oh, Jane, can you imagine such a thing? Our Lizzy? Noticed by Mr Darcy? Lydia will find this most amusing. I am just on the point of writing her with birthday money. I must include this news! Mr Darcy is headed for quite a fall, I must say…” Mrs Bennet turned to the house at a respectable trot for a matron of her girth and years.

  Mr Bennet eyed Jane throughout his wife’s ravings. She rose slowly to her feet to follow her mother.

  “Jane? Do you know something of this?”

  “I am not sure what would be right for me to say, Papa. What I know, Lizzy has confided. I can say her feelings for Mr Darcy were unsettled, by my reckoning, when last we spoke of him. That was right after her return from Kent. She has not said anything of him since.”

  “But what of Mr Darcy’s sentiments? Has she said?” Mr Bennet asked.

  Jane’s furious blush heightened further yet. “You would have me break her confidence?”

  Mr Bennet looked quizzical and then shook his head. “No, Jane. I will not ask that of you.”

  As Mr Bennet strolled back to the house, Kitty emerged from it to join the children. An hour later, Mrs Bennet sent a servant into Meryton to post the letter for Lydia.

  * * *

  After supper the next evening, a horse was heard at full gallop approaching the paddock. It was an express rider. The packet was addressed to Mr Thomas Bennet, Longbourn Manor House, Hertfordshire, from Mr Charles Bingley, care of F. Darcy, Pemberley, Derbyshire. Mrs Bennet was rushing down the stairs as Mr Bennet entered the house.

  “Oh, how I hate expresses! They never bring good news! It is Lizzy, isn’t it? She has died! Just to vex me, she would do it.” Mrs Bennet was ever quick to assume the absolute worst, and all her meagre logic failed her when immediate news was at hand. Jane followed her mother down the stairs.

  Mr Bennet, who was full of the most pleasant and forceful sensation of curiosity, put a hand up to silence his wife but looked up at Jane as he said, “Yes, it is from Pemberley, but I doubt it has news good or bad about our Lizzy. The sender is a certain Mr Charles Bingley.” He smiled, and after enjoying the effect of this revelation upon his wife and daughter, turned and entered his library to read the contents of the express in private. Jane and her mother watched him closet himself in stunned silence.

  When Mr Bennet opened the outer packet, he felt his own surprise. In addition to an envelope from Bingley, there was a second, thinner one addressed to him in a much different hand but with no indication of the sender. He opened the thicker letter first.

  Pemberley, Derbyshire

  25 July, 1812, midnight

  My dear Mr Bennet,

  “His dear Mr Bennet, am I?”

  It has been my great luck to have the opportunity to reacquaint myself with your daughter, Miss Elizabeth, whilst I am a guest of Mr Darcy. She has given me to understand that, were I to return to the Meryton neighbourhood to enjoy some autumn shooting, I would not be unwelcome to your charming daughter, Miss Jane Bennet, much to my profound relief. It is of her that I write.

  When I was last in Hertfordshire, your daughter impressed me as having every characteristic of manner that would suit me in a partner for my life — in addition, of course, to being the most beautiful creature I have ever beheld to this very day. When I left Netherfield, for what I had assumed to be a brief trip to London, I was convincing myself to approach you for permission to court her upon my return. My family, sadly, had other ideas, and because of Miss Jane’s natural and proper habit of guarding her feelings in company, they were convinced — and I am sorry to say, they convinced me — that her regard was not out of the common way. Had I not been such a thundering lack-wit…

  Here Mr Bennet laughed out loud.

  …I would have trusted my own better knowledge of Miss Bennet. She and I shared enough candid, private conversation that I ought to have trusted I knew her heart. For this, I will forever remain apologetic. I should have followed my heart, of which I was certain, at any rate.

  At this point Bingley proceeded with several paragraphs of ample compliments to Jane’s manners and accomplishments with a carefully worded delineation of her physical attributes, none of which gave her father any concern other than amusement for the many scratchings-out. The word angelic was used extensively. There is a whole sentence blotted! I shall always wonder what it said. Perhaps he judged himself too explicit. I do hope so. Finally, Bingley came to the point.

  When I clapped eyes on Miss Elizabeth some three days ago, the force of my affection for her elder sister was revisited upon me ten-fold. Miss Elizabeth and I sat next to each other at dinner at Pemberley tonight, and she was kind enough to assure me that her sister, quite miraculously, still has some remnant of tender regard for me, and so I am emboldened to produce this letter. I have informed Mr Gardiner of my intention to write you, and I hope he will vouch for my character if called upon to do so.

  Will you do me the honour, sir, of allowing me to court your daughter, Miss Jane Bennet,

  “As if I doubt of which daughter he speaks?”

  …when I return to Netherfield for the shooting? I remain in the firmest belief that she is just the sort of woman who would be my first choice as an amiable wife. I would have you share with her any part of this letter, as I am sure, as her father, you will also require her assurances that she wishes to know me better.

  “Probably no need for that, Mr Bingley. All seems visible enough from the surface.”

  I shall remain at Pemberley until I have your response, and if, as I pray, it is a positive one, I shall open Netherfield and will, no doubt, be in residence well before the first of September. Please respond as soon as possible with the expense of an express borne by myself upon its arrival at Pemberley.

  Yours hopefully and faithfully,

  Charles Bingley

  Mr Bennet sat back and smiled, anticipating the opportunity to observe Jane’s agitation as she read the letter. The whole tone of Bingley’s remarks pleased him greatly, it making a nice variation from the obsequious missives from his cousin William Collins.

  Before calling Jane to him, he decided to read the other letter. The handwriting on the envelope, “Mr Thomas Bennet”, was precise and decided, the hand of a man who had attended much more carefully to his penmanship instruction than had Charles Bingley. Mr Bennet opened the letter and glanced at the signature first, “Respectfully, F. Darcy”. Perhaps he writes to strengthen Bingley’s hand.

  Pemberley, Derbyshire

  25 July, 1812

  Dear Mr Bennet,

  It has been my privilege to renew my acquaintance with your daughter Miss Elizabeth Bennet during her present visit to Lambton. We had the good fortune to converse often during her stay at Hunsford last April, which served to increase my regard for her begun at Netherfield last autumn. Your daughter has made me perfectly aware that, at the earliest time of our acquaintance, she did not regard me in a favourable light, but I believe she has forgiven my initial unfortunate manners. I have seen to their improvement.

  Mr Bennet dropped the hand bearing the letter to the arm of his chair and stared into space. He was dumbstruck. Whatever does he mean? Has he had one of Lizzy’s set-downs? And she didn’t tell me? He continued reading.

  Although I am by no means certain of success, I humbly request permission to court Miss Elizabeth while she remains in Derbyshire, and longer if necessary. To this end, my sister, Georgiana, and I will invite her to stay on as our guest at Pemberley through the month of August if you are approving of my suit. My sister’s companion, Mrs Annesley, will act as chaperone after the departure of the Gardiners.

  It is the custom at this point for a gentleman to reiterate the estimable qualities of the lady he wishes to court. Because I know you to hold her close to your heart as your dearest daughter, I will only say my tender regard and admiration of her spring from the same lively wit and
intelligence as do yours. She has compelling eyes, which I think chief amongst her ample charms. I am not ashamed to say I love her passionately. Her happiness will always be my first concern if I can convince her to accept me.

  I would further request you keep this matter private — although I trust Miss Jane Bennet if you wish to consult her — until I can report I am making some progress. I shall inform her uncle of my intentions when I have received your response. I beseech you to include some reply to me under separate cover with your response to Mr Bingley.

  Respectfully,

  F. Darcy

  Mr Bennet’s head was spinning, and in an unprecedented display of action, he stood abruptly and marched up the stairs to his wife’s sitting room, where she was composing a letter with Jane and chattering about Charles Bingley. He silently grabbed Jane by the hand and proceeded back down to his library. As they sat, he handed her Darcy’s letter, saying only, “What can you tell me of this?”

  Jane read the letter, although as her astonishment increased, her comprehension of the words diminished. She ceased reading at the word passionately and looked at her father. “I am all bewilderment, Father. I know not what to say.”

  “Did you finish the letter?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Pray, do so, Jane, and then I expect you to tell me everything you know since you hereby have the permission of one of the parties involved. Do not deny you know more than you were willing to tell yesterday.”

  Jane finished reading, carefully folded the letter and handed it back to her father. Tears glistened at the corners of her eyes. “He writes a lovely letter.”

  Mr Bennet sighed. Jane was obviously prepared to be mawkish, and he would just have to bear it. “Yes, there is a pleasing aesthetic to his penmanship, but I doubt that is what you meant.”

  Jane gathered herself and explained what she had been told of Mr Darcy’s proposal at Hunsford. She did not mention the particulars Elizabeth divulged regarding Wickham and Georgiana Darcy; it was misery enough to reveal Wickham as a dissembler. “By Lizzy’s own description, Father, she gave Mr Darcy a blistering rebuke and rather regretted it, or at least regretted being so very vehement after reading his letter.”

  “Have you read that letter?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Did she keep it, do you think? Should we search her room? He must have made quite an eloquent case for himself if it softened Lizzy’s heart.”

  Jane’s blue eyes widened with alarm. “Do you suspect any impropriety in the letter, Father?”

  “You mean other than the impropriety of a single man writing to a single lady without so much as a by-your-leave from her father? No, I suppose not. He says here he loves her passionately. I always heard her claim to hate him passionately. The word is too much bandied about.”

  Jane and her father gazed at each other. “Are you asking my advice?” Jane asked after some moments of silence.

  Mr Bennet’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “Yes, Jane, I suppose I am.”

  “We have Uncle Gardiner’s letter to assure us Mr Darcy is behaving with every civility. That Lizzy has not confided in me as to any alteration in her opinion of Mr Darcy leads me to believe her opinion is changing. You know Lizzy as well as I do. After making so public a display of her disgust with him, she will be embarrassed to admit her perceptions were at fault. She sets great store in her first impressions. His pride cannot be so very great if he would attempt to make his addresses a second time. He must be very much in love with her.”

  “You think I should encourage this man, Jane?”

  “If he is to be discouraged, let it be Lizzy who does so.”

  “Very well. I shall take the unprecedented step of sending a response tomorrow after church.”

  Jane rose to leave.

  “Where are you going?” her father asked with merriment returning to his eyes.

  “To my mother. She was writing a letter to Lizzy about Mr Darcy.”

  Mr Bennet smiled. “Sit down, Jane. I believe we have the means at hand to very thoroughly distract your mother.” He handed Bingley’s letter to Jane. “This letter you will not find as aesthetically pleasing as the last, but neither is it to remain private. Let me know when you have finished it, and I will call your mother hither.”

  Tears of happiness were spilling over his eldest daughter’s cheeks before she was halfway through, and her father’s handkerchief was deployed as she finished. She held the pages to her chest and murmured, “I knew it. Lizzy was right.”

  “So you approve my favourable response to Mr Bingley? I am inclined to be positive.” Jane nodded adamantly, too full of emotion for speech. “You may keep the letter, Jane. I believe ladies to be sentimental about such things. But your mother should read it, and I believe she will credit Lizzy with being friendly to Darcy for your sake. Are you ready for me to summon her? I believe myself to be as ready as I shall ever be.”

  Jane smiled through her tears and nodded again.

  “Mrs Bennet!” Mr Bennet called as he opened the door. She nearly fell into the room.

  * * *

  The Monday morning post brought Jane a letter from her travelling sister. Her father gave an inquiring look, but Mrs Bennet took no notice of it, although she had been praising Elizabeth to the skies as the quick and devoted sister who secured Jane’s happiness when presented with the chance of it. Had Elizabeth been at home, her mother would have kissed and petted her until she was quite overwhelmed with unquenchable affection from so unusual a source. “See, Jane? This is what comes of having such a clever sister. She thinks always of you, dear Jane. I know what our relatives say but I won’t hear it; Lizzy really is a very good girl.”

  Upon returning to her bedchamber, Jane opened Elizabeth’s letter.

  The Rose and Raindrop Inn

  Lambton, Derbyshire

  25 July

  My dearest Jane,

  You will forgive me, I know, for not having been a more diligent correspondent, but the tour of Derbyshire has become something very different from what I expected. Certainly by the time you read this, an express from Pemberley will have arrived, and I smile as I imagine you smiling. I am certain our father has given consent to a courtship, which will commence with great haste once the response arrives here.

  Although I have no direct knowledge of what Mr Bingley might have written to our father, I seriously doubt he has recounted the rencontre he had with his sisters when he learnt, quite by accident from our aunt, that you had been in London through the winter. I did not think him capable of such anger, and you will be distressed to hear he sent his sisters and Mr Hurst away to Scarborough when their deception was revealed, and he would not let Mr Darcy intervene. They abundantly deserve such censure, but I know you are too good to think so. Mr Bingley and I have spoken briefly about this, and he assures me that a family spat of this nature will in time be forgiven, but I believe you may need to do some persuading when you see him. However, I do not think that needs to be your first topic of conversation.

  There is another person here about whom I must write. I believe my uncle has written to father that we have encountered Mr Darcy, and he beseeched me to make the acquaintance of his sister, Georgiana. She is a handsome girl with fair features and taller than you, even though not yet seventeen. She is not proud, as I was informed, but is shy and lacks confidence. However, it is not of her I wish to write, either.

  You would be shocked, I think, pleasantly so, but shocked nonetheless, at the change in Mr Darcy since our last encounter in Kent. His acquaintance in Meryton would not recognise him for the proud, inconsiderate man he appeared then. His manners are so improved that, were his looks not as handsome as ever, I would not know him myself. He is everything kind and civil to our dear aunt and uncle, is a devoted brother, which of course we suspected before, and has been almost gratuitously generous of his time and the resources of Pemberley in entertaining us. I fear our aunt will be vexed as he invites us so often to dine or make some little tr
ip to see the wonders of the area, that she cannot spend the time she would like renewing acquaintances from her youth. My aunt and uncle believe he is exerting himself to secure my good opinion, and I must confess, dear Jane, he has come a fair way to succeeding. He still studies me a good deal when we are in company, but I see now it is with admiration, rather than to find blemish. While I cannot argue with his taste, I find his approval somehow more disquieting than his assumed disapprobation.

  Pemberley is a very grand estate; the manor house is everything elegant with none of the ornate frippery of Rosings Park. The grounds and parkland are, likewise, everything anyone could wish for who enjoys the open air, flowers and birds. Jane, just think of it. Before I had even seen his home, he had determined to his satisfaction that I should be a suitable mistress of this place. And it is clear from his every word and look that he still finds me so. I believe he still loves me, and Mr Bingley believes it, too.

  My feelings about the man are so changed that I find nothing but mortification in my previous sentiments, and I am heartily sorry I was so vociferous and so mistaken. That he might forgive all I have said is astonishing. I cannot allow myself to hope he will ever pay his addresses to me again. Jane, I was far too unkind and so wretchedly wrong.

  And yet, I do hope. Oh! How I wish you were here, that you could be with your Mr Bingley and see this beautiful Pemberley. I long for you to observe Mr Darcy for yourself and tell me if there might be any way I could encourage him to trust me again. Whenever he enters a room, or when I know I am about to see him, I feel a constriction in my chest that admits to the gravest vulnerability, such as I have never experienced before. Then he smiles at me, and my concerns are vanished. Jane, I believe I am quite in love with him and feel every portion of the bitter irony of it. Now that I would not hesitate to accept him, he will never dare to ask again, even though he treats me with kindness and is obliging in all things. He even finds ways to tease me, which must be the most improbable part of the business.