Chapter 8 #2
Just as I was beginning to imagine that I knew and understood Mr. Darcy perfectly well, I discovered this evening that I do not know him at all.
I surely do not comprehend the gentleman.
This evening at Avondale, he was aloof and inattentive—nothing at all like the amiable and caring man he was as recently as this morning during our riding lesson.
Such varying behaviour is exceedingly puzzling and more than a little vexing.
If I were so inclined, I would have to ask: Is such a man to be trusted with one’s heart?
Betsy entered the room while Elizabeth was about to begin her next sentence.
She showed a healthy interest in Elizabeth’s wont of writing at such an hour, and once again, she offered to deliver the letter downstairs when Elizabeth was done.
This time Elizabeth’s annoyance with Mr. Darcy manifested itself to her maid’s detriment.
“Betsy, for the last time, I do not require you to deliver my letter. I am more than capable of handling my own affairs!”
Betsy recoiled. Elizabeth grew contrite. The last thing she meant to do was raise her voice. Betsy was simply doing her job. She looked at herself in the mirror and studied her reflection. What has come over me?
“Betsy, pray you will forgive me for my outburst. The truth is the missive that I spend countless hours pouring my heart into is not truly a missive at all, for I never intend to send it to anyone.”
“Then would you say it is more of a journal?”
“It might be better described as such. The fact is, I believe I would be lost without it.”
When Betsy was gone, Elizabeth reflected on what her writings truly signified.
The truth was that as much as she wished to move on from her eldest sister’s death, even now she was incapable of saying goodbye.
The letters that bore evidence of her deepest held secrets, letters that were never meant to be sent were her means of clinging to her sister.
They served as a constant in her life. Now she was at a crossroads.
She had never meant to be anything other than friends with Mr. Darcy, thinking as she did that she could never truly give her heart over to anyone.
To do so would mean opening herself up to the possibility of suffering the pain akin to that which she felt in losing Jane.
And that was something she was simply not ready to do, or was she?
Rather than go to bed, Elizabeth picked up the candle from her bedside table, slowly drifted back to her writing desk, settled in her chair, and reached for her pen. It is going to be a long night.
As soon as proper decorum allowed the next morning, Darcy called on Elizabeth. Having attended to those pleasantries meant to satisfy her aunt of the notion of his even being there, Darcy invited Elizabeth to walk with him in the garden.
They walked for a time in complete silence while he tried to decide how best to approach the subject that had robbed him of his composure most of the night. At length, he spoke. “You rarely speak of your family. I should like to know more about them.”
“Indeed, but surely you will concede that you are equally silent on the matter of your own family, sir?”
“My family’s history reads much like an opened book, but I will gladly satisfy any curiosity you may have. Ask me anything?”
“I will confess that Lady Vanessa shared a bit of your family’s history with me. I know that your uncle is Lord Edward Fitzwilliam, the Earl of Matlock. She spoke of your late parents as well. I will take this time to say that I am sorry for your loss.”
“I lost both of my parents many years ago—my mother when I was young and my father after I became of age. When he died, he designated the care of my younger sister, Georgiana, to me and my older cousin Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam. It is a circumstance that grieved my aunt and uncle as much as my father’s passing, for neither of them considered me ready to assume the management of my estate as well as the guardianship of my sister.
In fairness to them, I did stumble along the way, but my sister and I have both learned from the experience, and we are well on our way to putting it behind us completely. ”
“Is your sister out in Society?”
“No—heaven forbid! She has endured so much for someone so young, and I dare say she has got over the most trying age. Still, she is not yet seventeen. She has ample time.”
“I am afraid I cannot say the same of my own sisters, for they are all out, even the youngest who is not sixteen. I have always supposed that it would be rather unfair to deny the younger sisters their chance for gaiety merely on the basis of the older sisters not being married.”
“Surely everyone’s situation is different.
My sister’s not being out has nothing at all to do with an older sister’s not being married, for she has none.
No, the reason she is not out has more to do with age and maturity.
I believe she will be ready in a couple of years.
Until then, she shall continue to benefit from the wisdom of her companion, a Mrs. Annesley, who resides with Georgiana. ”
“Then I take it she does not live with you at Pemberley.”
“No, she often visits—that is, when I am in Derbyshire, but she has her own establishment in Town.” Anxious to get to the heart of what was weighing upon him most, Darcy said, “We have spoken enough about my family. Tell me more about yours. What are they like?”
“Well, other than Lady Vanessa who married most advantageously, I can hardly boast of connections as lofty as yours. Truth be told, if you are anything at all like Lady Vanessa, which I pray you are not, then you will be appalled to know that my mother’s father was in trade, and my uncles are in trade.
One is a Meryton attorney, the other a merchant who lives in Cheapside.
” She crossed her arms and looked him squarely in his eyes. “Now, hate me if you dare.”
Darcy unfolded her arms and took her hand in his. “I could never hate you, and you know that.”
After a moment, Elizabeth pulled away her hand.
“I also will add that my father’s estate is entailed to the male line of his family.
I have a ridiculous cousin, Mr. Collins, who pursuant to my father’s passing can turn us all out into the hedgerows as soon as he pleases.
It is for this reason that my mama is determined that we all should find husbands as soon as can be, and it is a factor in my sisters being out at such early ages.
“That brings me to an account of my sisters.
My father proclaims them to be the silliest creatures in all of England.
I give you leave to read in his sentiments whatever you will.
My sister Mary is an ardent reader and other than practice diligently on the pianoforte, there is nothing she would rather do.
My younger sisters Kitty and Lydia are nothing at all like Mary, for they would consider it a pain to open a book and a punishment to go near the pianoforte.
Their idea of accomplishment is walking to Meryton in search of the latest news.
“With the militia’s being encamped there, they are known to venture into Meryton each day, for they find nothing more pleasing than dashing officers in red coats.
They are especially fond of an officer who hails from Derbyshire—a Lieutenant George Wickham.
” Elizabeth stopped, recollecting that said gentleman had boasted of living at Pemberley.
Why have I not made the connection before?
“Wickham!” Darcy spat the appellation. “I know him quite well.”
“Everyone who has met him thinks he is amiable.”
“Mr. Wickham is blessed with such happy manners as may ensure his making friends—whether he may be equally capable of retaining them is less certain.”
“Oh, my! You sound as though the gentleman has been so unlucky as to lose your friendship.”
“Indeed, he has. My good opinion, once lost, is lost forever.” Darcy folded his arms over his chest and looked away. “However, that is a matter I have no wish to discuss.”
Elizabeth moved closer and placed her hand on Darcy’s arm. “You will forgive me for introducing such a delicate subject. I had no idea of your feelings against the gentleman.”
“Of course you did not. How could you have known? As for my forgiving you,” he claimed both her hands, “I believe I would forgive you anything.”
The couple stared into each other’s eyes as if searching for answers of what happens next.
Darcy wanted nothing more than to kiss her. To relish the taste of her lips—sweet, unpractised, just as the first kiss with the woman he loved ought to be. A kiss meant to do more than sate his increasing desire for her; it meant to serve as an avowal of his commitment to her—an unspoken promise.
He placed his hands about her neck, gently massaged her under her chin as he lifted her head, and leaned in.
Wanting more than anything to know what it was like to be kissed by him, desperately wanting to surrender to her body’s demands to be near him, and wanting nothing to take away from the magic of the moment, she moistened her lips and closed her eyes.
And in an instant, she knew what it was like to be swept off her feet, intoxicated with bliss.
The gentle touch of his lips upon hers was tender; it was undemanding, and it was perfect.