Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
H ow she made her way to the parsonage and to her room, Elizabeth knew not. But eventually she found herself there. She sat with her back against the closed door, sobbing quietly as she clutched her knees to her chest. Was it possible to feel so much pain and survive? It felt as though she was dying, save for the fact that she did not get the relief of knowing the agony would soon end.
Eventually, having cried all the tears she had, she crawled into her bed. She lay there, insensible, until the maid knocked on the door alerting her that dinner was at hand. She called out a reply, declining the meal and feigning illness. It was not wholly untrue; her body and head ached, and she felt as though she might cast up her accounts at any given moment.
Elizabeth lay that way for the rest of the evening until, long after the countryside had descended into darkness, she drifted into a fitful, restless sleep.
She woke with the dawn and for a few moments her mind was blessedly blank, if somewhat confused as to why she was dressed in yesterday’s gown. Too soon, the memory of Mr Darcy and what he had said rushed into her mind. Reminded of her grief, Elizabeth declined the maid’s services to ready for the day, instead choosing to remain in bed. She marked the hours watching the shadows from the sunlight move slowly through her room, relieved the day was slowly passing her by.
At some point in the afternoon, she heard a faint knock on the door. Instead of answering, she turned on her side to face the window. She heard the door creak open, followed by her mother calling, “Lizzy, my dear? Are you awake?”
Elizabeth remained silent, prompting her mother to walk around the bed and peer at her.
“Oh dear, you look dreadful,” Mrs Bennet said softly. “Is there something…” She ceased speaking and wrung her hands together nervously. Elizabeth suspected her mother realised her second-born daughter likely suffered from something more than a headache or her monthly pains. And yet, seemingly disinterested in learning more, she stopped twisting her hands and lay her arms firmly at her side as she quickly changed the subject. “You have not even touched your soup. Here, let me feed you.”
In her younger years, Elizabeth would have resented her mother’s inability to offer the sort of maternal succour needed by a daughter, but she had learnt to not expect more from her. Mrs Bennet gave what she was able, a well-meant but limited sort of love and caring. At this moment, Elizabeth welcomed her mother’s limitations; she preferred not to communicate the depths of her anguish to anyone.
After feeding her a few bites, Mrs Bennet asked, “Are you well?”
“I am well enough, Mama,” she whispered weakly, before taking another bite.
“Well, I certainly hope so. You know we are to return to Longbourn in two days. You must get well else I do not know what we will do.”
Elizabeth lay back on the pillows as her mother began lecturing her about the inconvenience of falling ill so close to their travel day. “There is still so much to do before we leave. And look at you, so terribly pale. You must rest, and get better quickly, my dear.”
“I shall.”
“Have you had enough soup?”
She nodded weakly.
“Very well, let us lay you down again.”
Once Elizabeth was again situated under the counterpane, her mother began dabbing her forehead with a wet cloth and stroking her hair. The irony was not lost on Elizabeth that the woman whose mortifying behaviour had helped ruin her happiness now was nursing her through her heartbreak.
It is of no use to be angry with her, even if she had a hand in ruining my future, she thought. I have pleaded with her in the past to change, but to no avail. Her character is set. I cannot change her and have made peace with that.
She inhaled deeply, suddenly overcome with grief. How will I ever recover from this heartbreak?
In time, she would reflect on it and try to reconcile Mr Darcy’s unexpected withdrawal and harsh words with the kind man with whom she had fallen in love. Examining all of his behaviours under a magnifying glass, she would attempt to deduce how he could have treated her so coldly. Eventually she would scold herself for not recognising the patterns that revealed his true nature.
Chastising herself for excusing his pride, arrogance, and reticence towards others by calling it shyness at best or traits she could improve or manage at worst, Elizabeth would conclude that her judgment had been clouded. She had been flattered that a man who was not easily impressed had been charmed by her, and thus she had overlooked his flaws. Ultimately she would blame herself for trusting her heart to another so easily and recklessly.
But those realisations would come later. For now, a day after her heart was broken, her mind was centred only on the loss of the happy future she had envisioned so easily. Gone were the lazy days spent together at Pemberley, laughing, talking, and debating everything and nothing at the same time. Gone were the experiences and memories they would make as they travelled together. Gone were her imaginings of dark-haired boys and girls romping around them like puppies as she and he exchanged loving looks. Gone was the life she could see perfectly and clearly even though it was not real.
Even more than this, she mourned the man she had lost. A man whose companionship she had somehow come to depend on and desire in a few short weeks.
Elizabeth had long feared that her family might hinder her reputation and future happiness. Mr Darcy had said nothing of them that was untrue, but it only compounded her sorrow that the very fears she held deep in her heart were used to reject her by the one she cherished most. And she had defended her family without acknowledging that her own fears matched his concerns. Could she have been more honest?
As her mother dipped the cloth in the bowl of water again, there was another knock on the door. Elizabeth recognised Charlotte’s light footsteps nearing her bedside. Her friend gently touched Elizabeth’s arm and asked, “Lizzy, you look very unwell. How are you feeling? What are your symptoms?”
Instead of answering, Elizabeth just whispered, “Charlotte…” as her eyes fluttered shut.
She heard the women continue the conversation around her as Mrs Bennet informed Charlotte that Elizabeth had no fever and had managed to eat a little soup.
Elizabeth took a deep breath and opened her eyes one more time. She slowly looked from her friend to her mother staring down at her from both sides of the bed, concern etched on their faces. She turned her head into the pillow, closed her eyes, and drifted off to sleep.
Late the following morning, Elizabeth abruptly sat up in her bed. She looked around the room, feeling slightly light-headed, and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She touched her face and hair as she took in her reflection. Her complexion was pale, her eyes ringed with dark circles, and her hair a frizzled mess of uncombed curls and disarrayed plaits. She could hardly recognise herself.
He did this to me when he stripped away his affections.
How could he profess to love her, yet treat her so callously? Why had he pursued her if his disdain for her connexions could threaten their relationship? She was in disbelief that the man she loved, after winning her heart, had used her vulnerabilities to destroy it. It seemed unlikely that Mr Darcy ever truly loved her, for how could someone profess devotion while acting with such selfishness and carelessness towards the one they claimed to cherish? What sort of horrible person treated another this way?
She gripped the sheets around her tightly, and for the first time she felt a new emotion surge within. What had been sadness and regret was overtaken by anger and loathing towards the proudest, most arrogant man of her acquaintance. “You wanted to marry him?” she enquired of the bereft creature in the mirror. “He is positively the last man in the world you should ever have wished to marry.”
As she vowed that she would never let anyone hurt her in this way again, her mother entered the room and gently touched her shoulder.
“How fare you today, my dear?”
Elizabeth could only reply, “Mama, let us return home. I do not belong here.”