Chapter Thirty-Six #2
She spent many hours in the library at Godfrey House, writing in her journal and sifting through the tumult of thoughts that still lingered within.
Each passing day brought greater composure; she could at last reflect on the past with less distress.
Weeks passed, and when Suzanne and Mr Blythe returned from their wedding trip, she felt almost renewed—lighter, as though a great burden had been lifted.
There was, however, one remaining matter that pressed on her mind, and when Suzanne was at leisure, Elizabeth ventured to confide it.
“How did you forgive your mother for her part in your marriage?”
Suzanne looked contemplative. “I do not think I ever blamed Mama,” she admitted. “We were both—well, I was young, and she was ill. She might have consulted my sister, Lady Matlock, I suppose, yet she would not.”
“Then you never resented her for marrying you to a brute?”
Her friend sighed. “Your father’s misjudgements led you to your fate,” she began.
“You were required to suffer for his decisions. He delayed too long in securing his daughters’ futures and, when at last he tried, placed his trust in the wrong man.
Yet I do not believe his aim was selfish—he meant to provide for you all.
It is sadly common for good intentions to miscarry when guided by inexperience.
You were left to bear the cost, and he, though sorrowing, escaped the worst of the consequence.
His ventures brought him wealth, while you were bound to the one who sought to destroy him—and you.
It is therefore no wonder you should feel some bitterness towards your father. ”
“Why then do I feel guilty for the resentment I bear him?” she blurted. “He came as soon as you wrote after Fiennes’s death. He opened his home to me and my unborn child, helped me manage affairs, and has asked nothing in return.”
“Yet you are still angry.” Suzanne rose and crossed to the window, her gaze fixed on the garden beyond.
“Anger and resentment are rarely reasonable. Your mind knows you ought to have forgiven him long ago, but your heart is still wounded. Decide what you truly need from him, Elizabeth, and seek it. If it is a spoken apology, he would give it, I am sure. Your father avoids what disquiets him; he has likely kept silent from awkwardness—or from fear of causing you further pain.”
Elizabeth followed her to the window. “I know,” she said at length. “I will speak with him. Something tells me it is the last step I must take before I may truly heal, and be wholly at peace.”
Suzanne turned and took her hands. “You have come so far in these few short months. In a week you return to Longbourn for Mary’s wedding. Will you be ready?”
Elizabeth pressed her friend’s hands. “I shall. And then, perhaps, I might truly begin life anew.” She had not lived for years—merely endured. Now she wanted more. She longed to breathe freely and see the world afresh… It was a dream worth pursuing.
Two days before her departure, a note arrived from Wilkens.
Dower House, Netherfield
Hertfordshire
10 February 1812
Mrs Fiennes,
It pleases me to inform you that my enquiries have produced a suitable cottage in Margate, available for lease from the first of May.
It is a modest yet charming dwelling situated near the shore.
The solicitor reports four bedchambers above, well suited to yourself, Miss Elinor, and Miss Lane.
The lower floor comprises a parlour, dining room, study, and a kitchen.
Pray write to me directly, that I might secure it for the summer. The house is much in demand and seldom stands empty.
Yours sincerely,
R. Wilkens
Pleased to know her plans were taking shape, Elizabeth replied at once, authorising Wilkens to finalise the lease through the summer months. After Jane and Mr Bingley’s wedding, she and Elinor would travel to Margate. ’Tis time to make new memories.
A few days later, she took affectionate leave of Suzanne. The Blythes would remain in London for the season.
“Come again, dear friend.” Suzanne kissed her cheek. “I hope to hear from you soon.”
“You will not be rid of me,” Elizabeth promised. “I shall return to London before setting out for Kent.”
“Will you stay here at Godfrey House? You know the invitation is ever open.”
“I do, and I thank you. But I mean to stay at my own house. There are still some minor alterations to be made, and it will be best if I am there to direct them.”
Suzanne laughed and drew Elizabeth into a fond embrace. “I am so proud of you,” she whispered. “Your strength is admirable. Send your card round and we shall call when you arrive.”
Elizabeth agreed and, after bidding a final farewell to the Blythes and Arthur, she joined Miss Lane and Elinor in the waiting carriage.
“What say you to a journey to the sea?” she asked as they set off. Miss Lane’s pleased reply set Elinor chattering, and the little party spent the rest of the day cheerfully discussing their coming holiday as the coach rolled steadily towards Longbourn.