Chapter 1 #2
“Not at all. Mama would tell you that, at their age, I was much wilder. Both Edward and Elinor are well behaved and very sweet. Even our new acquaintances said so.”
“I am glad to hear that. Elinor speaks often of ‘Miss Anna.’ She seems quite fascinated by this young lady.”
Elizabeth laughed.
“The children are especially fascinated with the little white dog and the blue kitten that the two ladies carry with them every day. But Miss Anna is a lovely young lady indeed. The day Edward ran into her, she was nothing but gracious and accepted our apologies with kindness.”
“And you still do not know her identity?”
“No —in fact, we do not speak much. She introduced herself as ‘Miss Anna,’ and she addresses me as ‘Miss Lizzy’ —as she heard the children call me.
She obviously wishes to keep a sort of secrecy, and I have no intention of inquiring further.
But we do know her companion is a countess, and their gowns are clearly fashionable and expensive.
They always have two maids following them and a large carriage waiting.
They do not fit well in our small park, yet they have come every day for more than a fortnight.
“What a lovely mystery,” the elder lady said with a smile. “I am glad you have someone your own age to exchange a few words with.”
“Oh, I think she is most likely Lydia’s age.
But her manners are impeccable, and every time she expresses her opinions, they are sound and well argued.
She seems highly educated, and her manners are faultless.
And I say all these things without knowing her well.
I hope my first impression does not prove to be wrong. ”
“Hopefully not; you are usually a good judge of character. Is the countess of the same age?”
“Oh, no —she seems to be rather Miss Anna’s grandmother or a great aunt. But she is still a very handsome and elegant lady. Her features are perfect; surely, she was a great beauty.”
“Now you make me even more curious —I hope to join you in the park soon. Lizzy, I cannot tell you how grateful I am for your help. How could I possibly repay your kindness? Not only that we did not take you on the trip to the Lakes as we promised, but we put our entire household on your shoulders.” Mrs. Gardiner lowered her eyes and her voice.
“I would not imagine that a sudden miscarriage could be so painful…in so many ways…”
They were both tearful, and Elizabeth kissed her aunt’s cheeks.
“I am happy that you feel better, and it is my greatest pleasure to spend time with you, whether in London or at the Lakes. The company matters much more than the surroundings.”
“Thank you, my dear; I promise we will compensate with a longer trip next year. But dearest, are you well? I did not fail to notice that you have not been yourself lately. Your eyes betray you, my darling. Is there something that troubles you? May I be of any use?”
She forced a laugh. “I assure you there is no need of concern for me, Aunt. If I am not myself at times, it is only because I am thinking of Longbourn. I am still a little worried for dear Jane. But I am pleased that she writes me so often, and I know everything is at peace —except for Kitty’s complaints of not having been invited to Brighton with Lydia. ”
“Lydia will most certainly have an exciting summer this year. I wonder how she will behave on her return. She will surely be bored by the steady life in Meryton.”
“Yes, I am afraid the more she gets, the more she demands. I hope and pray that she will become wiser as she grows older.”
The two Gardiner children —Elinor, seven years old, and Edward, eight —rushed into the drawing room, hugged their mother, then hurried Elizabeth to the park.
She took their small hands, smiling at them, while she tried to escape the guilt of deceiving her aunt. Other reasons for distress troubled her frequently in the last four months —and Mrs. Gardiner knew her too well to miss it.
∞∞∞
In all that time, Mr. Darcy’s proposal and her own reaction to it had kept her awake countless nights. The tumult of her mind had been painfully great —and it was little diminished.
She still wondered whether it were true that Mr. Darcy —a man whom she thought only to look at her to find a blemish —had proposed to her. That he had been in love with her for so many months —so much in love as to wish to marry her —seemed as incredible now as it was that day at the Parsonage.
It was gratifying to have inspired unconsciously so strong an affection from such a man whose education and intelligence she could not but admire despite her dislike of him.
But on the day of the proposal, his abominable pride, the shameless avowal of his intervention between Jane and Bingley, and the careless manner in which he had mentioned Mr. Wickham had defeated any other feelings and brought out the worst in her.
In a perturbed state of mind, she had spent the rest of that afternoon, crying and struggling.
She had retired early, refusing dinner, and the night brought even more turmoil.
She could not recover from the surprise of what had happened, and it was impossible to think of anything else.
She was grateful when dawn first appeared, so she had dressed in a hurry and escaped to the solitude of nature, directly towards her favourite walking path.
The sun was up when she had been shocked to see Mr. Darcy —waiting for and then approaching her.
Was he there for her? Did he have more to say?
She had looked at him hesitantly, prepared to apologise for her own rudeness if he expressed similar regret.
But he only handed her a letter, his manners as cold and haughty as ever, barely looking at her.
He asked her to do him “the honour of reading that letter,” but his voice indicated that he demanded assent rather than asked for it.
He wished something from her, and he expected her to obey. Nothing had changed.
She took the letter and only had time to read through it briefly.
After such a long time, she still remembered vividly a few words that cut her soul and raised a storm in her mind —words that hurt and offended her so that she was unable to control herself or to continue reading more than a few minutes.
“The necessity must be obeyed, and further apology would be absurd…that total want of propriety of your three younger sisters, and occasionally even of your father…to preserve my friend from what I esteemed a most unhappy connexion…persuade him against returning into Hertfordshire…on this subject I have nothing more to say, no other apology to offer…George Wickham was my father’s godson…
the vicious propensities —the want of principle… a life of idleness and dissipation…”
With amazement did she understand that he believed justification to be in his power without being affected by shame or guilt.
Her anger hastily overcame her reason. How dared he attempt to excuse his rudeness by putting the blame on dear Jane and Mr. Wickham?
Was Jane guilty for Darcy’s destroying her happiness?
Was Mr. Wickham to blame because Darcy had ruined his life?
What a horrible man! He deserved no consideration from her, and she would surely not waste another minute of her time reading his falsehoods.
And she would let him know that she was not someone to trifle with.
She had found herself running after him, calling his name, and holding him responsible for offending her and her family once again. She ripped the letter and threw the pieces at him —and the wind took them and spread them throughout the wet, rainy grove.
A light summer rain had started, and she still recalled the cool drops on her face. Till presently, she could not forget his hurt expression: the rain-drops on his face like heavy tears and the apparent shock as he glanced at the scraps of paper stolen by the wind.
She never regretted refusing Mr. Darcy’s proposal.
But as the days and weeks passed and she thought of it repeatedly, she began to repent that she did not read the letter to its end.
She painfully tried to remember what else she had seen —letters, words, sentences melted together —and while she knew they were there, she could not distinguish them.
He had taken the trouble to fill two pages and the back of the envelope. Surely, he considered it to be worth the effort. How could she destroy it instead of putting it in her reticule for later consideration? Surely, she was not in her right mind that day.
He had no excuse for separating Jane from Mr. Bingley.
No gentleman could ever hope for a more beautiful, sweet, kind, generous, and perfectly behaved wife than Jane.
Mr. Bingley was lucky to have won her affection.
Then how was it possible that he allowed his friend and sisters to intervene so easily?
Did Mr. Bingley deserve Jane’s affection? Would Jane truly be happier with him?
Regarding Mr. Wickham, her thoughts were equally varied. Although she had no motives to change her opinion of him, her observations became keener and more objective once she returned from Kent.
Rather often, she remembered her father’s mocking comments about him as well as Jane’s advice for prudence in believing his words. And eventually, she realised that, although she had no reason to doubt him, she had no reason to trust him from the beginning either.
Rumour said Mr. Wickham was banished from the company of Miss King and their engagement had been broken by the young lady’s uncle. While many others took Mr. Wickham’s side and considered it an injustice, Elizabeth wondered about the inducement of Mary King’s family to take such drastic measures.