Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“ L izzy, I know you too well,” Mrs Gardiner began. “You do not have to share all with me, but I shall listen, should you desire to confide in me.”
Elizabeth had been allowed only one day of rest before the enquiries began. She had reassured Jane all was well, saying that she had simply missed her family, which was easy enough because Jane always saw the best in all people and situations. She would never doubt Elizabeth. Her aunt, however, was impossible to evade.
Mrs Gardiner was only ten years Elizabeth’s senior, and her greater understanding, not to mention more genteel behaviour, made her an ideal companion and model for Elizabeth. Their mutual respect and similar dispositions allowed for an open and loving relationship to thrive between them.
“You need not be alarmed,” Elizabeth told her.
“I daresay, I may be alarmed, but I shall hear it nevertheless.”
Elizabeth joined her on the settee and sighed. With Jane having just left the drawing room to dress for dinner, it was as good a time as any to explain herself with relative privacy. “Kent was lovely,” she said to the drawing room, not meeting her aunt’s eyes.
A quick glance at her aunt’s raised eyebrows told her that would not be enough. “I took long walks and enjoyed the countryside. Lady Catherine was just as expected—a woman I would imagine was quite beautiful when she was young but whose pleasures now rest chiefly in ordering about the concerns of others. Mr Collins enjoyed endorsing her every edict, and Mrs Collins—well, I venture to say that while she is comfortable in her home, I do not believe her selection in a partner was...was a good one.”
Mrs Gardiner nodded and gently persuaded her for more details, “Your friend is unhappy?”
“She would never admit it, but yes, I think she is vastly unhappy. Some might call it misery hidden beneath contentment.”
Elizabeth hesitated before continuing, “She has altered considerably from the sensible, reasonable friend I have always enjoyed. She wanted, above all, to be married, and though she has what she desired, it is less, I think, than she hoped. But she is resigned to her life, I suppose. It is certainly not the marriage I would choose for myself, and it has made my friend into a stranger.”
“I see.” Her aunt put a hand on Elizabeth’s back and rubbed slowly, waiting for the truth of it. Elizabeth could sense that her aunt knew there was more to the tale.
“I found it difficult to live under their roof, with Mr Collins, especially. He felt it appropriate to oversee incoming correspondence, even mine. ”
Her aunt’s eyebrows rose. “Surely he did not read letters addressed to you?”
“Indeed, he did,” Elizabeth said, remembered indignation making her warm. “He even confronted me about the subjects of a half-written letter to my father I had left on the writing desk in my chamber!”
Her aunt looked appalled, shaking her head. “Some men do abuse their positions as head of household. I had not expected it of him, from what I have heard. I pictured him a rather silly man.”
“He is silly, and foolish, and weak. And while he has learning, he has not understanding. And he compensates for these defects by being quite strict; not only with me, but with Mrs Collins as well. She did not assist me during her husband’s regular outbursts, as I would have expected her to do.”
“You argued with your cousin?”
“Pray do not refer to him as my cousin!” she said with the full force of her temper. Seeing her aunt’s shocked expression, she continued more mildly, “I long to forget that he is connected to me.”
Like a boulder set loose from its perch on a cliffside, once jostled, Mr Collins would roll through the parsonage and flatten everything in his sight. So much effort was necessary to keep his fragile pride intact and steady so that others in his midst might find some little harmony. Elizabeth had no desire to expand on her experiences in Kent—to create undue concern over events that were no longer within her control to resolve, nor her aunt’s. Her aunt would only worry needlessly. It was rather shocking, indeed, that Mr Collins had banished her from Rosings and forced her to tend to her spiritual education. A fleeting wish to tell all was quickly dismissed by her desire to simply enjoy the peace and comforts of her family. She was tired of being angry and cautious and alone.
“I would not have you worry. I enjoyed a variety of walks, both in the woods and in the beautifully manicured gardens at Rosings Park. We also had regular morning callers. Lady Catherine’s nephews, Mr Darcy and a Colonel Fitzwilliam, were also visiting Kent.”
“The same Mr Darcy who visited Hertfordshire last autumn?”
“Yes. One and the same.”
“And what of Mrs Collins?” Mrs Gardiner asked. “Did you not enjoy her company, even if she was much changed?”
“I wish I could say I had. It will be hard to forget her actions and words. She was quite clear that she felt I was demanding something very unreasonable with my expectations of privacy. But I have given it much thought, and I believe the bitterness and anger I oftentimes found directed towards myself were in truth a response to her husband. She extended much effort to ensure his equanimity was not disturbed. I believe my visit only rendered her life harder, reminding her of what she had lost and forcing her to mediate between her husband and me.”
At the questioning look on aunt’s face, she added, “I hope my departure brings her some relief.”
Her aunt looked less than appeased, but it comforted Elizabeth that she allowed that to be the end of their conversation. She patted Elizabeth’s hand and rose to dress for dinner.
After their meal, Elizabeth and Jane were surprised by her uncle’s suggestion that the ladies remain in London for some time. “We had long planned a tour of pleasure this summer, perhaps to the Lakes, but my business will confine me to the city for some time, and I know your presence will cheer my wife.”
“I daresay,” Mrs Gardiner said, looking intently at Elizabeth, “you could do with some amusement. Let us say six weeks. Will that do?”
“My dear, dear aunt,” Elizabeth exclaimed, “what a delight!”
She beamed at her family. Indeed, she felt certain that by the time she returned to Hertfordshire in six weeks, she would be quite recovered.
It was not long before her days quickly filled with shopping, dinner parties, visits to parks, and pleasant conversation with her aunt and Jane. The London Season was at its height, and there were many invitations and events to consider for their amusement.
Night-time was the hardest. At night, she thought of Mr Darcy. She had confessed most of her interactions in Kent more fully to her aunt, but of Mr Darcy, she had been silent. It would not do her any favours to share her broken heart when there was no means to fix it.
Is Mr Darcy still in Kent or has he returned to London? Perhaps he travelled to Pemberley. She wondered often, and she longed to know what was passing in his mind—in what manner he thought of her, and whether, in defiance of everything, she was still dear to him. Or had she ever been?
New evening gowns were offered to both Jane and Elizabeth by their generous uncle for the opening night of a play at Covent Garden in a fortnight. Mrs Gardiner was elated to spend the day at the dressmaker’s as well as perusing Mr Gardiner’s warehouses for the newest fabrics, while Elizabeth was enticed by promises of book shops, which made the long days of shopping ahead more agreeable. Jane, as usual, was simply content to spend time with them both.
Due to her husband’s business interests—Mr Gardiner brought exquisite and exclusive fabrics into the country—Elizabeth’s aunt kept a custom with some of the most sought after dressmakers in London. Such connexions allowed the ladies to move freely and quickly as they shopped, without any thought for appointments.
Thus, they were found in one of the most fashionable shops on Bond Street, sorting through a new selection of silk gloves, by none other than Miss Caroline Bingley. Elizabeth was only alerted to her presence when she heard Jane’s quiet gasp and felt her hand cover her own. Following Jane’s gaze, she saw Miss Bingley had entered the shop.
While a naturally beautiful woman, Elizabeth had long thought Miss Bingley to be one of the most dull and vain creatures of her acquaintance. Not to mention her overt disdain for her brother’s previous interest in Jane. Over time, Elizabeth had come to think of her as a mere puppet for the general opinions of the ton . There was nothing original, nothing remarkable, and certainly nothing kind about her.
Miss Bingley wore a gown of the most outrageous orange velvet and, not surprisingly, a displeased expression. “Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth,” she said with a nod in their general direction. “You can imagine my astonishment to be walking down the street and to see you! I just had to be certain my eyes had not deceived me!”
Jane and Elizabeth curtseyed, and with far more civility, Elizabeth responded, “Miss Bingley, how lovely to see you today. I hope your family is in good health.”
Miss Bingley merely nodded. “My dear friends—” She looked around a bit in awe of the shop and came closer to whisper, “as someone most particularly accustomed to life in London, I should warn you of this establishment’s exclusive clientele. Even those ladies of the highest ranks must wait months for an appointment, and the cost of their creations is generally considerable.”
“You are too good,” Elizabeth said, hiding a smirk. “How kind of you to inform us.”
“I would hate to see you disappointed. Should you desire it, I would be happy to provide the direction of a more suitable establishment for your...” Her eyes swept over Elizabeth before continuing, “...simpler tastes. Are there dressmakers in Cheapside? I would not know.”
Miss Bingley’s smug smile made it impossible to pity her. Elizabeth knew she ought to be tolerant but found she could not resist throwing back her own dart.
“Thank you for the advice, Miss Bingley. Have you had any success securing an appointment here?”
“Louisa was required to wait nearly a year, and I myself have been waiting upwards of six months!” Miss Bingley replied. “I am sure you know I cannot throw my connexions around in order to secure you an appointment, if that is what you seek. You understand. No, no—you see, shops such as these must show restraint and be selective about whom they allow in. They cannot simply dress just anyone!”
“No, no, of course not,” Elizabeth replied.
“I was just telling my dearest friend, Miss Asher—I am certain you are not acquainted—that we shall be lucky if we have an opportunity to have one of their renowned dresses made in time for the next season!” Miss Bingley leaned over the table displaying gloves to add conspiratorially, “Though, I doubt that Miss Asher will have need for an entirely new wardrobe next Season if she continues to spend so much time with my brother. We have attended engagements together nearly every night this week! And I ought not speculate, but should a desired, advantageous outcome come to fruition, we shall all be well situated at her estate in Surrey by mid-summer.”
Elizabeth’s head spun at the rapidity of topics Miss Bingley spat at them. It was bad enough that the lady had suggested Mr Bingley was attached to Mr Darcy’s sister in a letter the previous autumn. But to bring up another lady in Jane’s presence?
One quick glance at Jane revealed her sister was greatly affected. She had averted her gaze, but a soft pink blush coloured her cheeks, and her hands trembled at her side, fiddling with her skirts in nervousness. Miss Bingley’s insensitivity and callous words were not to be borne! Elizabeth squeezed Jane’s nearest hand in staunch support.
And with that, the goddesses of humility aligned their powers for a perfect moment of revenge. Their aunt returned to them from the back rooms to announce, “Lizzy! I have finished, and they are ready for your measurements. Do tell me you have decided on a pattern and have not spent this entire time looking over gloves!”
Elizabeth curtseyed to Caroline, “You will have to excuse me, Miss Bingley. It appears it is time for my measurements to be taken.” She could have left it at that, but she turned over her shoulder for one last remark, “I do hope you are able to secure an appointment soon. My generous aunt was gracious enough to send a note over, just this morning, to obtain ours for today. I am sure your time will soon come. As you have said yourself, they must be selective.”
Elizabeth was soon in raptures over the plans for the soft yellow silk she had discovered at a warehouse earlier that day. They discussed wildflowers embroidered around the bustline as well as trim at the hemline. She considered a modest pattern with the dressmaker with capped sleeves that her aunt thought would be flattering for her light figure. In truth, she was having this gown crafted for Mr Darcy. When she saw the fabric, it reminded her of the sunlit morning surrounded by wildflowers where he kissed her neck and shoulder. Each choice she made that afternoon was a nod to their time spent together. It forced her to shiver, imagining the look in his eyes if he saw her in this gown.
She spent the rest of the day trying to distract herself and appear attentive to her aunt and sister. She knew she was being rather standoffish, but she could not let them in—not entirely.
Each time she considered sharing her heartbreak over the loss of Mr Darcy with Jane, Elizabeth thought better of it. To utter the words would make it real, and the finality of their time together, and the pain associated with it, would still be hers to bear alone. Keeping her recollections of him secure and private in the depth of her own mind felt the safer choice.
Jane’s gentleness was also bolstered by an impenetrable optimism, even in the face of true malice, that could not lend itself to the kind of support she desired. When Elizabeth one night confided in her sister that she had come to understand Mr Wickham’s true nature, her sister suggested it impossible.
"I cannot think so ill of him,” Jane replied.
“I have it on good authority that he is a scoundrel of the first order!” Elizabeth cried from across the room.
Jane flinched at the thought, and Elizabeth crawled into bed next to her sister and calmly added, “Even Mr Bingley and his sister attempted to tell us that he was by no means a respectable young man.”
Jane seemed thoughtful and then at once her eyes drifted off across the room. She was lost in thought. Elizabeth should not have brought up conversations from the Netherfield ball. The last thing she wanted was to upset Jane. She was clearly not thinking of Mr Wickham any longer, so Elizabeth kissed her cheek and left her to sleep.
Of course, Jane could not believe such things of Mr Wickham, not after Elizabeth herself had been so vocal in her support of the man. She was coming to realise she had long surrounded herself with those who would stroke her vanity, but now found that sincerity was more welcome. Blowing out the candle next to the bed, Elizabeth’s last thoughts before sleep were that she dearly missed the steady honesty of Mr Darcy.
The next day found Elizabeth declining a shopping trip to enjoy a book she had recently purchased. She curled up in a cosy chair in the drawing room for the entire afternoon. And that is how Mrs Gardiner and Jane found her when they returned from their excursion.
Jane came to join Elizabeth, taking the chair next to her. “Lizzy, I believe I saw Mr Darcy’s carriage today.”
“Mr Darcy?” Elizabeth immediately set her book on the nearby table.
“I recognised the crest, and I was sure it was him I saw inside,” Jane answered.
Her aunt approached and joined in, “This may go against what you have told me of his behaviour in Hertfordshire, but I would rather like to meet the gentleman. His father was a good man. Growing up only five miles from Pemberley, we knew of the family. They were highly regarded in those parts. ”
Jane responded, “I have always said Mr Darcy was all that was honourable—Mr Bingley certainly thought he was.”
He is the best of men. Elizabeth smiled gently at her sister, though her heart thudded painfully with just the mention of his name. “I have no doubt that you and Mr Bingley—both being so amiable—would never utter an unkind word about Mr Darcy, nor anyone.” She continued softly, “I confess, I found a great improvement in his manners whenever I met him in Kent.”
“Did you meet him often?” Jane asked.
“Almost every day.”
The two ladies exclaimed over this, exchanging a small glance.
“I was unaware you were much in company, Lizzy.”
Elizabeth, resolved not to divulge the fragility of her heart, answered carefully, “Mr Darcy and his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, called on the parsonage with regular frequency during my stay.”
“Was the colonel much like his cousin?” Jane asked.
Elizabeth chuckled. “In some ways, yes, and in others, no. They are both, as you would expect, well-educated and with good understanding, but Colonel Fitzwilliam is much more talkative, abundantly at ease in any place I saw him. He is a natural storyteller with good manners.”
Jane said, “What of their cousin Miss de Bourgh? Is she sickly as Mr Collins suggested? Is she truly promised to Mr Darcy?”
This question nearly stole the breath from Elizabeth’s lungs. Promised to Mr Darcy.
Elizabeth hid her shaking hands under her skirts and replied as evenly as possible, “Miss de Bourgh was in good health when I left Kent. She is a quiet woman—an unassuming lady, I should say. It appears our cousin and Mr Wickham were correct about Mr Darcy and Miss de Bourgh. Mrs Collins told me just the day before I left Kent that their engagement was soon to be announced.”
She was pleased with her response. Though her voice was unsteady, she hoped that her pretence of indifference would deter her aunt and sister from further questioning. Apparently, it had, because there were to be no additional questions on that subject. The ladies soon dispersed to dress for dinner.
On their way, Jane whispered to Elizabeth on the stairs, “Did Mr Darcy happen to mention Mr Bingley while you were in Kent, Lizzy?”
Elizabeth, who was hesitant to do anything but show the utmost kindness to her sister, replied in the negative and wrapped her arm around her as they ascended.