Chapter 24
Elizabeth stood blankly in the study, her arms hanging limp at her sides. It was a small satisfaction that she could project the image of a serene young woman. On the inside, her world was crashing down around her.
He was gone! Gone. How could he be gone? She had got used to the idea that Mr Darcy would always be by her side. Or rather, that she would be at his side until death did they part. Why had he gone so quickly? She was a fool for thinking that he actually cared for her. No, it had all been duty and responsibility — not love.
“Are you well, my dear?” her father asked.
Her head snapped up, and she gasped at the surprise of hearing another person’s voice while she was dealing with the very private emotions of having been cast aside. In reality, this is what she had wanted. Wasn’t it?
Yes, she had wanted her freedom. Now, after coming to know Mr Darcy on a deeper level, she knew she would never love another as she loved him. “Yes, Papa. I am well,” she choked. “I am only over-tired,” she replied. She placed a hand on her forehead. “In all honesty, this evening has been a shock to my nerves. Will you make my excuses to the rest of the family?” she asked.
Her father cocked his head to the side, watching her closely for a moment. “You are relieved at how things have worked out, are you not, my dear?” he asked. “You said as much — ”
“Yes, of course,” Elizabeth said quickly. She sniffed back the tears welling in her eyes, threatening to spill over in anguish. “Of course, I am relieved that the truth has been revealed.” But she was not relieved at the end of her engagement to Mr Darcy. She had come to care deeply for Mr Darcy. And now, it was all too apparent that he did not want her — had never wanted her. She had been a burden to him that he felt obligated to bear. Nothing more. He had all but run out of the study when her father had announced that they were free to dissolve their engagement.
“Forgive me, Papa, but I must lie down,” Elizabeth said. And indeed, she must. She felt as if all the energy was seeping out of her body, leaving as a hollow shell of the woman she had been only moments before. How could a man have such an effect on her? Of course, she had always read about such love in novels, had hoped for such an overpowering love for herself. Had she really believed it was possible? No, she was sure now that she had not thought a love like that really existed.
Elizabeth climbed the stairs as quickly as her legs would carry her. That was slow indeed. It felt as if she were moving through water, her legs weighted down by sorrow. When she reached the room she shared with Jane, she closed the door, hoping that Jane would stay below stairs long enough for her to shed every pent-up tear inside her. She went immediately to the bed and fell face-down, tears pouring out of her like a burst dam. Why had she allowed herself to care for him? Why had she let her guard down?
More importantly, why had she ever suggested that they try to prove their innocence? If she had kept her peace, she and Mr Darcy would have likely been married by now, or very shortly would have been celebrating their nuptials. Now she would never know the joy of being his wife.
Late that night, Jane came back to their room, carefully tiptoeing as she readied herself for bed. Elizabeth had changed into her nightgown long before and had curled up in the blankets, trying to seek some sort of solace from her misery. The familiar scent of lavender on the sheets did little to calm the desperation she felt. Elizabeth had spent the hours since she had excused herself from her father’s study in silent misery, wondering if there was some way she could take back the folly of denying her own heart. How long had it been since any dislike of him had fled, had been replaced first by friendship and trust, and ultimately by love? And yet she had said nothing. She had not been willing to risk her heart — no. The truth was much worse than that.
She had been unwilling to risk her pride, and it had cost her everything.
“Lizzy, dearest? Lizzy?” Jane called softly as she went behind the screen. “Are you asleep?” she asked.
For a moment, Elizabeth thought to pretend sleep. But that was not only cowardly, but foolish as well. Jane would surely find her out. She put the coverlet down and peeked out. “No, I am not asleep,” she said.
“You and Papa were in the study for a long while. Is everything well?” Jane asked.
Elizabeth sat up slightly, propping her weight on her elbow. “Yes, all is well.” She sighed. “You shall know soon enough, I suppose, as will the rest of the county. Mr Wickham was the culprit behind the compromise between Mr Darcy and I.”
Jane came out from the screen, even though she had not finished buttoning her nightdress. It was a rare occurrence for her to be seen by anyone in such a state of undress, even though she and Jane were the closest of sisters. “Mr Wickham? Whatever do you mean?”
Elizabeth recounted the story Mr Wickham had told, leaving out his horrible suggestion that she would have had to go to London to become a woman of the night. Jane would have been far too scandalised by even the notion of such a thing. “Father was incredible. He lulled Mr Wickham into over-confidence and tricked him into saying more than he ought. It was not as difficult as I had feared, in fact. I think Mr Wickham might even be strangely proud of his scheme. He certainly seems to think there will be no consequences for the role he has played. However, I hope his superiors throw the book at him,” she said crisply.
“I should think so,” Jane said, her voice low with horror. “I have never imagined such evil. How horrible, Lizzy! I always knew that you were innocent, but I did not imagine such an explanation.”
“Nor I,” Elizabeth replied. “Mr Wickham’s scheme was more horrible than I could have imagined.”
Jane sighed. “Thank goodness it has all come out well. All our friends and neighbours will know that you were not to blame. Now you need not marry Mr Darcy, after all.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth said with forced calm. “Indeed, you are right. Now there is no need for us to wed.”
“You do not seem happy that you are not bound to Mr Darcy anymore.”
Elizabeth put on a smile. “Indeed? I am relieved,” she lied. “It is what I set out to do, and I have done it. Now things can return to the way they were before Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy appeared in our quiet little hamlet.”
Jane nodded, but there was sadness in her eyes. “Well, as long as you are happy, then I shall be happy for you.” She pulled her nightgown over her head and climbed between the sheets. Jane blew out the candle on her side of the room, settling into the coverlet with a contented sigh. “What will you do, Lizzy, now that you are free?”
Elizabeth smiled shakily, and she was glad her sister could not see it. “I will go on living as I always have. As long as I have you, I do not require anything else in this world.”
It was not entirely a lie. Elizabeth loved her sister dearly — all of her sisters. But with Mr Darcy, she had allowed a part of her heart to open that she had not experienced before. With him, she had known a different kind of love.
She turned onto her side, facing the opposite direction from Jane. From the other side of the bed, she could feel Jane relax as her breathing slowed to a steady cadence, and she fell into a peaceful slumber.
Elizabeth would not know sleep that night. She could not help but wonder how long it would take for her heart to stop bleeding, for her mind to stop obsessing over the agony of her lost happiness. How long before she forgot the pain of losing Mr Darcy and could move on? Bitterly, she suspected that as long as she lived, her heart would never be the same.
∞∞∞
The following day, Elizabeth rose early. It hardly mattered, she thought dully. She might as well be awake and dressed as awake and laying in her bed. She had cried silently for a good portion of the early morning hours, all while Jane slept in the bed beside her. Her quiet tears had wet the sides of her face, trickling down into her ears and neck until her pillow was half-soaked. The night seemed as though it would last forever. But in the morning, the sun did rise, bright and traitorous. Should not everything be as grey and hopeless as her future?
That was foolishness speaking, of course. Elizabeth told herself that she ought to be happy, ought to be relieved. She had said as much last night — she was relieved that the truth had won out.
And Mr Darcy, in turn, had been relieved that he would not have to keep his word and marry her after all.
Though Elizabeth told herself she ought to have expected it, she had not. It had seemed as though things had changed between them — as though his feelings had warmed as much as hers. Learning that she was wrong was a pain too difficult to bear.
But bear it, she must.
Elizabeth went down to breakfast feeling crabby and on edge. She had no patience with Lydia and Kitty’s excited chatter, nor Mary’s playing, nor her mother’s lectures that they all must find husbands as soon as possible. Elizabeth took the seat closest to her father and sat down heavily. He raised a brow as if to ask if she was all right. She nodded briefly, wishing she might be spared the ordeal of speech.
“Lizzy?” Mr Bennet asked quietly.
“I am well, Papa,” she whispered, if only to avoid having to excuse herself on account of more tears. “Or at least, I will be.”
“That is not the same thing,” he said gently.
Elizabeth shrugged as the maid appeared, carrying a tray of tea things. “It will have to do, for now.”
She studied her tea with the focus of a soothsayer looking for answers in the patterns of the tea leaves. But there was no clear direction laid out for her. Should she hold her peace and suffer on in silence? Should she try to go to Mr Darcy and plead her case?
No. That was impossible. Not only her pride forbid it, but the rules of propriety as well. Now that she and Mr Darcy were no longer engaged, the strict rules of etiquette once again applied. She would not be allowed to speak with him in relative privacy. The firm boundaries of decorum would again put a wall between them. Indeed, would he even remain in Meryton, now that he was free? She would not be surprised if he raced back to Pemberley and never showed his face in Meryton again. After all, his time in Hertfordshire had surely brought him nothing but inconvenience and dismay.
“Well, Lizzy, the great day approaches! Your wedding shall be a fine event, to be sure. How are you, my girl?” her mother asked. She at once took a bite of her toast, then went on as if she had not asked a question that required more than a ‘yes’ or ‘no’. “I say, it is most pleasing to me to know that my daughter will be married in her home parish. I would have liked to travel to Pemberley’s parish, but I understand that time is of the essence.”
Elizabeth glanced at her father, pleading for him not to break the news to her mother while they were in the same room. She could not endure the fit of nerves that would likely take her mother to her bed for the next few days.
“It is coming along, Mama,” was all Elizabeth had the stomach to say. She silently pleaded with Jane not to say anything about the broken engagement. Jane kept her mouth shut, for which Elizabeth was grateful. It felt like there was a large hole in her chest where her heart had been the day before.
With breakfast over, the girls retired to the parlour, some sewing, some reading, and Mary plunking away on the piano. Elizabeth thought grimly that it sometimes seemed as though a lady’s life was filled with one busy nothing or another, broken up only by the rare occasions of light amusement and gaiety that being out in society afforded. How she wished for Mr Bingley to throw another ball at Netherfield. If only she and Mr Darcy had a chance to begin again —
Elizabeth’s thoughts were interrupted when the maid knocked on the door and her mother called for her to enter. “Forgive me, ma’am, but there is a gentleman who has come to call.” The maid glanced at Elizabeth, and her heart instantly began to hammer. Could it be Mr Darcy?
She instantly sat up straighter, her mind in a whirl of activity. If it was Mr Darcy, there was only one reason he would be there. Could he really have come to suggest they continue in the engagement? She took a deep, steadying breath and rose from the well-used settee.
“Now, girls, be on your best behaviour,” their mother instructed, as if they were still girls being trained on how to entertain gentleman callers. Perhaps she needed the reminder after all, Elizabeth thought dismally. The state of her nerves was such that Elizabeth found herself running her hands down her skirt, then clasping her hands in front of her so she would not be tempted to wring them, nor pick at her nails nervously.
The minutes between the announcement and the maid showing the gentleman into the parlour seemed like an eternity. At last, Mr Bingley appeared in the doorway, smiling yet serious. He was quite alone. “Good morning, all of you. Mrs Bennet,” he began. He cleared his throat, turning his hat in hand for several moments. He seemed about to say something else, but her mother interrupted.
“It is so good of you to come for a visit, Mr Bingley.” Her mother moved to the side as if looking for someone else. “Is Mr Darcy not with you today?”
“No, he is not. He had some business to attend to,” Mr Bingley replied. He glanced at Jane, who met his gaze for only a moment before looking away, blushing and smiling at once. He took a deep breath, then plunged ahead once more. “I wonder, Mrs Bennet, if I might have an audience with Miss Jane Bennet? A private audience, that is?” he asked.
Elizabeth’s mother looked as if she might fall over in a dead faint. “Everybody out. Now,” she commanded. She turned, then took Jane’s hands and kissed them. “Not you, of course, my dear.” her mother ushered the younger girls out first, shooing them down the hall. “You may take all the time that is required, Mr Bingley. It is so good to see you,” she said. “Lizzy? Come along, my dear.” She waved Elizabeth out, while Jane looked at her with eyes wider than she had ever seen them, looking half-elated, half terrified.
She gave her sister an encouraging nod, then followed her mother out of the room. While the rest of her sisters and mother listened at the door, Elizabeth leaned against the corridor wall, waiting for the much-anticipated announcement that Mr Bingley would soon become her first brother-in-law.
As the minutes passed, she found she could not stay still and listen to her sister’s excited whisperings. Surely Mr Bingley and her sister would tell them the good news when they were ready. She walked down the hallway, out toward the foyer. Elizabeth looked out over the fields and farms, toward Netherfield Park. Mr Darcy had not come with Mr Bingley. Perhaps she had been foolish to hope. Had he already departed Meryton for his home in Derbyshire?
A quarter of an hour passed before the door suddenly opened and Elizabeth could hear her mother’s triumphant voice. “Oh, Mr Bennet! Lizzy! Do come!” she called. Elizabeth smiled and returned to the parlour, where Jane was crying happy tears and Mr Bingley beamed at them all. In the face of such a joyful sight, it was easy to give her warmest congratulations.
“Ah, I thought it would never happen!” Mrs Bennet sighed happily. “Did you think it would ever happen, Mr Bennet?” she asked, turning to her husband.
“I had every faith that our Jane would make a match worthy of her sweet and generous spirit,” her father said. He leaned in and kissed Jane on the cheek. “I am very happy,” he said.
Elizabeth went over to Mr Bingley and smiled, doing her best to keep her tears locked inside until she could be alone. “I am so happy for the both of you,” she said. “Jane — ” she said, but could not go on. To her horror, Elizabeth found that all her attempts at composure were not enough. If she were forced to speak another word aloud, she would certainly burst into tears.
Jane pressed her hand. “I know,” she whispered.
There was truly no blessing greater than being understood by those one loved most. Elizabeth embraced her sister with all her heart, grateful beyond measure for the chance to regain her composure.
With the benefit of a moment without speaking, she found it again. “I could not be more delighted for both of you,” Elizabeth said warmly, taking both of their hands. “Mr Bingley, though I cannot claim to be an impartial judge, I say you are truly gaining a treasure this day. You will take good care of her?” Upon looking at his honest, good-natured face, Elizabeth felt a little better. She must not be selfish. She must think of this moment not as losing a sister, but as gaining a brother.
“Upon my life, I vow it,” Mr Bingley said.
The words carried such conviction that Elizabeth had not the slightest doubt of his sincerity. Jane would have a splendid husband, indeed.
Yet she could not help but wonder how much of this would have been possible had Mr Darcy not played a hand in it. Had he encouraged Mr Bingley to come and propose? She might never know.
Even the delight of seeing her beloved sister so happy could not entirely ease Elizabeth’s heart. She stayed only long enough so as not to offend, or let any of the rest of her family know that she was in mourning. She then hurried out of the room, retrieved a shawl, and went outside to walk among the browning foliage. Elizabeth found a semblance of solace in her grey surroundings, feeling she was in good company. The cheerless trees and misting rain seemed a fitting accompaniment to her thoughts.
Was it not possible that she and Mr Darcy might have been just as happy together? Slowly, so slowly she had not realised it at first, he had gained all her heart. It seemed that he did not feel the same, and yet what might have been possible if she had only been honest with herself?
Perhaps there was nothing to be done, and Mr Darcy would always have been delighted to be freed from the engagement, but she did not believe it. If only she had seen him for what he truly was in time, affection might have grown between them equally. He might have come to love her, as she did him. He might even now be by her side.
But now, of course, it was too late.