Remembrance of the Past

by Lory Lilian

  “But…Colonel, you know it is very possible that, once he returns to Hertfordshire, Darcy will propose to Miss Bennet again.”

  “Well, I surely hope so; to tell you the truth, I grow tired of this uncertain and dramatic situation.”

  His joyous voice and light countenance contradicted the seriousness of his words.

  “You do? I was under the impression that you—

  “Pray continue, Lady Cassandra. What about me?”

  “I thought you might have an interest in Miss Bennet yourself. I could not help noticing you seemed to admire her very much.”

  He looked at her, an incredulous expression on his face. “I do admire Miss Bennet, but not for a moment has she been the centre of my interest or my attention. I…umm…had hoped…well, that is I have hoped that your ladyship—who is so very perceptive—would have noticed long ago where my admiration lies.”

  It was her turn to look at him with wonder and no little concern. “Colonel, I must ask what you mean, as I am certainly not as perceptive as you might believe.”

  They were still sitting on the same couch, only a few inches between them. Suddenly, that distance seemed too confining for him; he rose and took a few steps away from her.

  “Lady Cassandra, I know this is not the best moment for such a conversation, and I will not insist any further for now. I am more than willing to wait as long as necessary for your answer. However, since the subject has been raised, I cannot go further without asking your permission to…court you…as I do not dare ask for more at the present time.”

  Her perfect brows furrowed, and her cheeks turned crimson. She hurried to her feet and stood still in front of him, shaking her head in disapproval.

  “Colonel Fitzwilliam, please do not do that to me. I beg you, let us finish our conversation this instant and forget that you asked me that question.”

  His countenance darkened, and for a moment, he forgot to breathe. “Lady Cassandra, I am afraid I do not understand your meaning. Forgive me, but I cannot accept that reply without insisting you tell me why I am to receive such an immediate, sound rejection? Was it not a quarter of an hour since you let me know you have a positive opinion of me?”

  “I do, I do, and that is precisely why I ask you not to go further with this…” For a moment she covered her face with her hands and then, trying to regain some composure, moved a step closer. “Colonel Fitzwilliam, we have been dear friends all my life. I will not deny that I value your friendship, and I esteem you. I also understand that, in your situation, you must marry a woman with a fortune; please believe me, if I had any intention of entering into an arranged marriage, I would accept your offer with gratitude. But such is not the case. I do not intend to marry at all, and surely, I would not accept an arrangement of this kind. You must have known that…” She tried to touch his arm with her hand, but he took a step back. His eyes narrowed as they found hers.

  “Indeed, Lady Cassandra, your words do not betray any kind of consideration you might have for me. May I wonder why, with so little patience, your ladyship hurried to presume that my reason was a mercenary one? And why, if your ladyship had such a good opinion of me as you just declared, did you not spend a single moment considering that, perhaps, it was not an arranged marriage I had in mind?”

  “Colonel, please, let us speak with calmness—

  He was raising his voice and he could not control his anger—no, not anger, but utter disappointment. He had asked some questions, but he could not wait for her answer. Her reply had been eloquent from the first moment.

  “No, I believe talk is unnecessary. In fact, I must beg your forgiveness for placing you in such a delicate situation. Your ladyship was correct; we should put this matter behind us and never mention it again. Now please excuse me— He turned almost violently and hurried to the door with no further word; no more than a moment passed before she reached him and grabbed his arm with strength and determination.

  “Colonel Fitzwilliam, you cannot possibly leave now! Please allow me a few more minutes. We are both very tired and still affected by the meeting with Wickham; obviously this entire situation is a misunderstanding.”

  He stopped; her hand seemed to burn his arm through the fabric of his coat. “There is no misunderstanding. Unfortunately, there is nothing to clarify. My feelings are quite clear—at least to me—and if I did not speak sooner, it was because I did not want to interfere—

  “But we have known each other for twenty years! All this time you have treated me with the care due a younger sister. I have never noticed any other kind of attention— She paused and looked deeply into his eyes for a moment. “Countless times when I was in your company, I saw you among many charming young ladies; in fact, you were a great favourite of all the young ladies! I am sure I correctly interpreted the difference between your behaviour toward them and toward me.”

  His gaze remained fixed on hers, and his countenance changed instantly; yet, he found no answer.

  “As for my presumption that your interest is in an advantageous marriage arrangement, not for a moment did I intend to offend you. It was you who mentioned so many times in the past that, as the second son of an earl, you needed to be very careful whom you married. When I said I have no wish to enter into such an arrangement, I did not mean to sound offensive—I only gave you my opinion on a matter that is quite common and sometimes even agreeable to many people.”

  She knew her words—at least partially—had the desired effect on him. Comprehension appeared clearly on his face, and it was soon followed by an expression of utter distress. He averted his eyes from her for some time in an attempt to search for the proper words.

  “Lady Cassandra—again you are right, and I was wrong, completely wrong. Aside from choosing the most unfortunate moment to declare my feelings, it is true that nothing in my past behaviour could testify to the seriousness of my intentions. I also must beg your forgiveness for my ungentlemanly behaviour these past few minutes; my temper betrayed me.”

  She attempted a smile to show her acceptance of the truce, but the smile vanished a moment later when he continued. “I shall only speak of this as long as is necessary to gain your trust in my affection—and for you to come to regard it not as a brother’s affection! I shall renew my professions and my addresses only when I am certain you welcome them.”

  “Colonel, please, you misunderstood me, sir! I did not mean to encourage you in this nor did I intend to toy with your feelings. Sir, let me be quite clear: I have no intention of marrying you or anyone else—either now or in the future. I cannot promise that my intentions will ever change, so please do not waste your time with something you will never accomplish.”

  His disappointment was so openly displayed that her heart melted; yet she knew there was nothing to do for it. He moved slowly toward the door, and she was certain she would never see him the same way as before nor would their friendship ever be the same. After a few steps, he stopped and looked straight into her eyes, his gaze losing its usual joy and easiness.

  “Lady Cassandra, may I ask you a highly improper question?”

  “Please do, sir.” Her voice was barely audible.

  “Is there another gentleman who owns your heart—a gentleman whom you would want to marry but you cannot for some reason? Is that why you are not allowing me any chance at all?”

  She paused for a long moment and then averted her eyes as she replied. “Sir, there is no other gentleman I would wish to marry, nor is my heart engaged in the way you presume. Please allow me the benefit of your kindness and ask me no further questions.” She kept her eyes averted, as she did not trust her emotions well enough to remain calm and look at him again.

  “I see…Of course I will not insist further. You must have long desired my absence, so I will go now.” Another pause and he turned to her again. “Lady Cassandra, will you allow me to be in your company again, or would you rather not see me for a while?”

  “Sir, I have never wanted your absence. As I said,
there are few people in the world whom I value as much as I do you. That will never change.”

  “Thank you.” He stepped outside her view and pulled the door behind him.

  Later that day, Darcy arrived to take Lady Cassandra to call at Gracechurch Street, and he was shocked to see his dear friend pale, not the smallest smile on her lips and her eyes devoid of expression; it was as if all her blood and liveliness were drained from her.

  Neither that day nor in the days that followed could Darcy convince Cassandra to confess to him the reason for her unusual sadness. For the first time in twenty years, she refused to open her heart to him, and all he could do was be near her and watch over her.

  He knew it would soon be his turn to help her as she had helped him a few months earlier.

  ***

  A month had passed since Elizabeth left Pemberley, yet it seemed like a lifetime.

  That day, with the rain mirroring her own tears, Pemberley and her heart had retreated in the distance behind their speeding carriage; she was certain she would not be able to endure the pain that was piercing her soul.

  Yet, the moment she had reached the door of her home at Longbourn, she understood there was no room for grief in a family so deranged.

  With their father absent and their mother requiring constant attendance, Elizabeth immediately took the greatest share of the burden on herself and occupied every minute of her day with the mundane chores of the house, allowing Jane to soothe Mrs. Bennet’s nerves.

  She never felt the weariness; in fact, it was helpful to think of nothing and, thus, suppress the pain buried deep in her heart. Nor did she require food or sleep. In fact, she avoided sleep as sleep meant dreams, and her dreams—all of her dreams—were the same. No, not the same—of great variety—but all had one person at their centre.

  Some of her dreams pained her, some made her wake up crying, and some made her ashamed of her lack of fortitude and her wantonness. Mr. Darcy, of course, was the focus: his deep, tender voice, the look in his eyes—either tender and light or darkened by a feeling Elizabeth could not name but only guess—his fingers entwined with hers, his soft lips touching her hand or her forehead.

  To her utter distress, there were times when she dreamed more than that. There were nights when, in her restless sleep, she had imagined his kiss, his caress, his whispers covering her with passion and tenderness and leaving her breathless and crying for more; and each of those times in her dreams, she desired with all her heart to answer him with the same passion, yet each time she could not. Instead, she felt unable to move, to speak, or to reveal to him her true feelings and desires; and each time he eventually vanished into the darkness, and she awoke with a wildly racing heart and a body soaked in clammy perspiration. No, she did not need sleep; it was her worst enemy, leaving her mind and soul more exhausted than before she retired.

  After a week of searching and acquiring no other news than that the fugitives had yet to been found, a letter came from Mr. Gardiner that Mr. Bennet would return home. Elizabeth knew any hope was lost, and later that night in their room, she and Jane both cried for Lydia—and for other causes neither of them dared share with the other.

  However, to their utter surprise a few days later, another letter from Mr. Gardiner arrived, stating that Lydia and Wickham had been found; a week later, they were married. A glimmer of hope rose in Jane’s spirit; as for Mrs. Bennet, she was in raptures.

  Not possessing Jane’s genuine heart, Elizabeth was not so easily persuaded by the unexpectedly happy conclusion. She wondered continually what had happened; by what method and with what expense did Mr. Gardiner convince Wickham to marry Lydia? She dared to talk only with her father about that delicate matter and was shocked when Mr. Bennet confessed he suspected a sum of 10,000 pounds. Surely, that was more than her uncle could afford and, undoubtedly, more than Mr. Bennet would ever be able to repay.

  If only Lydia had a chance at happiness or at least of having a comfortable life! Yet, the hope was small; Elizabeth was convinced of that a few days later.

  Noisy and thoughtless as ever, the newly married Wickhams arrived at Longbourn before departing for the North where Mr. Wickham was expected very soon to take a new commission.

  Mrs. Bennet and perchance Kitty were the only ones pleased with their visit. Mr. Bennet’s reception was cold; Elizabeth and Jane, though pleased to see their sister well and unharmed, could not hide their disapproval of Lydia’s untamed, unabashed, and fearless behaviour.

  Wickham was no less distressing than his bride; his manners were as pleasing as before, and his smile was charming as he claimed their relationship. Elizabeth was disgusted, and even Miss Bennet was appalled.

  During dinner, Wickham, who happened to sit near Elizabeth, began inquiring after his acquaintance in the neighbourhood with good-humoured ease, which she felt unable to equal in reply. After dinner while they were all gathered in the drawing room, her new brother-in-law approached Elizabeth, who tried to retire to a corner as far from the others as possible.

  “I am afraid I interrupt your solitude, my dear sister,” said he.

  “You certainly do,” she replied, forcing a smile to conceal her displeasure, “but it does not follow that the interruption must be unwelcome.”

  “I should be sorry indeed if it were. We were always good friends, and now we are better.”

  “True; now we are family. Things have changed unexpectedly and very quickly indeed.”

  “Things have changed,” he repeated, looking at her with interest. “I found from our uncle and aunt that you have actually seen Pemberley.”

  “Yes, I have had that pleasure.”

  “I confess I was surprised to hear that you and Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner grew quite close to Darcy. I know how much you have always disliked him.”

  “Mr. Wickham, if I remember correctly, I mentioned to you when we last met that my opinion of Mr. Darcy had changed completely after I had come to know him better, and being more in his company in the last weeks only helped me to understand why so many people admire and appreciate his character. As for Mr. Gardiner, I cannot speak for him, but I dare say he seemed to value his acquaintance with Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam a great deal.”

  Elizabeth hoped she had silenced him, but he soon afterwards continued.

  “Yes, I remember our conversation just before we left Meryton. However, it appeared that Darcy had improved even more on closer acquaintance, had he not?”

  Elizabeth’s patience reached the edge of her tolerance. “Sir, may I dare ask how Mr. Darcy’s character came into your conversation with my uncle? I should think you had more urgent business to discuss,” Her raised eyebrow clearly expressed her opinion about that “urgent business.” But he remained as calm as before.

  “Oh, but I had the opportunity actually to witness the relationship between Darcy and Mr. Gardiner. Did you not know that we met at your uncle’s home a few times?”

  Elizabeth’s heart nearly stopped; of what was the man talking?

  “Mr. Darcy? Mr. Darcy was in Town—in my uncle’s home?” She realised her surprise and interest betrayed her, but she could not contain herself, and indeed her brother-in-law did not miss her reaction.

  “Yes, he was, and he seemed quite familiar with the surroundings, so I assumed it was not his first visit there. And he was not alone but in the company of Lady Cassandra. You did meet Lady Cassandra, did you not?”

  Elizabeth’s head was spinning with countless questions, fears and hopes, and several moments passed before she could breathe properly again. The notion that he had been in London and met Wickham was impossible to believe and even more so to understand. What was he doing there—and with Lady Cassandra? It could not be a simple coincidence, yet it was also unbelievable that either Mr. Darcy or her ladyship would have willingly met Lydia or Wickham. But if it were true, that meant he knew what happened to Lydia; he knew and, even more so, agreed to meet with Wickham—more than once. No, that cannot be…I surely misunderstood. How
was it possible? Had Lady Cassandra betrayed her confidence?

  “Dear sister, I hope I have not upset you with this news,” he said, a pleased grin on his face.

  “No indeed, sir, why should I be upset? Surely it is my uncle’s privilege to receive any guests he pleases into his own home.” She struggled to maintain her calm, yet she desperately searched for a reason to retire to her room. She needed to think, and she needed to write her aunt immediately! Mrs. Gardiner was the only one who could clarify things for her.

  “Lady Cassandra did not seem as friendly as Darcy was to your relatives, to tell the truth. In fact, I dare say she highly disapproved of Darcy’s closeness to the Gardiners. And even more so—as we are now brother and sister—I must warn you she confessed to me she cared not at all about Lydia or any of your family.”

  “Sir, I am truly surprised that Lady Cassandra would confess such a thing to you in my uncle’s house in the presence of my relatives.”

  He appeared clearly disconcerted and averted his eyes instantly; his countenance changed. “It was not in Mr. Gardiner’s house…we met one day, and it was then that we spoke.”

  “I see…You met Lady Cassandra privately? That is also astonishing as I know from an impeccable source that Lady Cassandra does not care much for you either, sir.” Before he found words to reply, she continued.

  “It appears that your time in London was rather eventful. In a short time, you met my uncle and aunt, Mr. Darcy and also Lady Cassandra more than once while you managed to arrange your marriage to my sister and obtain a new commission. You have all my admiration for such efficiency, sir—as I said, quite astonishing!”

  As she spoke, her words seemed to clarify the answers to some of her tormenting questions. Everything sounded so logical and clear that she was afraid to dare believe it. Everything was connected; she could now see that clearly. But how tightly things were connected and to whom she had no courage even to presume. She needed certainties not wild guesses, and she knew to whom to apply.