Chapter 31
“After all, what transpired is hardly a secret,” Elizabeth continued, looking at her father, who seemed to know much more than she had imagined.
“I want to know something,” Jane said, finally prepared to ask the question that had burned within her ever since she had discovered what had happened in Kent.
“Anything. I do not see the need to keep anything secret.”
Jane nodded, her beautiful face covered in a grey cloud.
“In London, I did not want to know, but this conversation with you made me change my mind,” she murmured as an unneeded justification. “Did Mr Darcy, at any point, convey that Mr Bingley was in love with me when he left?”
“Would such information have the power to mend your heart?” Mr Bennet asked. Although the day had been about Elizabeth, he was relieved to finally engage in a rational conversation with Jane concerning Mr Bingley.
“Mend? I cannot say, but at the very least, it might bring me some peace.”
“Why?” Mary interjected, perplexed. She had never given love much thought, but suddenly she found herself immersed in a world she had encountered only in novels.
“You have already lost him, and if he still loved you when he left, he is weak and persuadable, which would make the pain even more acute—”
“Enough, Mary!” Elizabeth cried, fearful of causing Jane further distress when everybody hoped she was feeling better. But Jane put a gentle hand on her sister’s arm.
“No, Lizzy. I wish to hear everything that you know. For me, this is also a significant conversation—the first coherent one I have been able to endure.”
“You know how angry I was…that day,” Elizabeth said, trying to evade—or rather postpone—the disclosure.
“You have an excellent memory, Elizabeth Bennet,” Jane said sternly.
“When he proposed, he did not say much about his friend. But his letter—”
“Letter?” cried Mary, once again stunned.
“Be quiet, girl!” Mr Bennet ordered.
“Yes, he wrote me a letter and gave it to me personally the next day. It contained information about Mr Bingley. His friend did indeed have an inclination towards you…almost from the beginning, but only on the night of the Netherfield ball did Mr Darcy feel an ‘apprehension’ as he began to perceive Mr Bingley’s serious attachment to you. ”
“Oh!” Jane exclaimed and placed her delicate hand on her chest to alleviate the sharp pain there. “Why did you not tell me this?”
“Because Mr Darcy immediately added that he had often seen Mr Bingley in love before.”
“Maybe he lied,” murmured Jane.
“No, my dear. A man who is throwing his contempt for my family in my face as the prelude to a marriage proposal is not going to lie about anything else he says, I am certain.
“His honesty is his greatest quality,” Elizabeth added in frustration, her love at odds with the events she wanted to forget.
“He said horrible things about us?” Mary asked.
Elizabeth blushed, looking quickly at her father to see his response, but she found him unexpectedly composed.
“Allow me to conclude my story for Papa and Mary,” Elizabeth said.
Silence briefly descended upon them. Alongside the tension that had permeated their discussion, they also enjoyed what was happening in the library.
“Go on, Lizzy,” Mr Bennet said, and Elizabeth gave a detailed account of everything that had happened in Kent and later in London.
Nothing was left unsaid, and even when it was difficult, she chose the truth, just as Mr Darcy had done himself.
She told her father about Lady Oakham, but he probably already knew about her existence as at least one letter had arrived from Mrs Gardiner during that time, and meeting her old friend had been of such importance to her that she was sure to have mentioned it.
“Lady Catherine, the Matlocks, the Oakhams, the colonel…like many families, they were far from perfect. One brother inherited the family’s wealth, while the other had to forge his own path in life.”
“An entail of sorts,” Mr Bennet mused.
“Indeed. I can only attest that Lady Oakham and Miss Darcy regarded me with friendship. They believed I was the wife Mr Darcy required, deploring his terrible proposal and persuading me to meet him again regardless of what had happened between us.”
Elizabeth paused again, finally deciding not to divulge everything, not even to her father. Lady Olivia had no place in their conversation.
“We met at the theatre, and our conduct was…respectable—”
“She loves him!” Jane exclaimed.
“Too late, but that does not diminish the intensity of my sentiments,” Elizabeth whispered.
“Now you comprehend me,” Jane affirmed.
“I have always understood you, Jane. I have always had faith in your noble intentions and beautiful soul. That is one of the reasons I rejected Mr Darcy’s proposal—I could not imagine a life with someone who did not respect, if not cherish, my family.”
“You refused him because he proposed in an abominable fashion and because you did not love him,” Jane persisted. They all looked at her, surprised by her frustrated and angry tone, each of them struggling to grasp the cause of her emotions.
“You are mistaken. I would have contemplated his proposal had he not played a role in your unhappiness.”
“But you just said you did not love him then.”
“My soul was shrouded in anger upon discovering his actions at Netherfield. I could not think clearly or make a rational decision.”
“Enough!” Mr Bennet interjected, attempting to mediate an impending argument that threatened to obstruct their discourse. “Carry on, Elizabeth! You girls can fight in your room when you are alone!”
Elizabeth tempered the strange frustration that Jane’s words had ignited and continued her story, not looking at her older sister.
“Tell us about the letter,” Mr Bennet said.
“I still do not understand how he dared to write to you,” Mary gasped, astonished by such audacity.
“Silence, Mary! What ails you girls? Let Elizabeth speak,” Mr Bennet admonished before realising the need to intervene.
“Mr Darcy requested your sister’s hand in marriage.
Even though she rejected his proposal, their relationship warranted such a gesture…
but why am I even bothering to find pointless explanations?
I have always advised you to disregard the frivolous rules that we have inherited from other times. ”
“Oh!” Mary exclaimed, shocked by her father’s counsel. “You have never said that to me!”
“Yet Papa is right. Mr Darcy came and personally presented me with that letter. And, I suppose, that was when I realised I was in love with him. Even before reading his letter…as strange as that might seem. After briefly meeting at the theatre, and advised by Lady Oakham and Aunt Gardiner, I replied to his letter to explain my refusal. I was invited to call on Miss Darcy and Lady Oakham, and I carried my reply with me—”
“You visited his house?” Mr Bennet asked. But Elizabeth could not discern her father’s feelings on the matter beneath his composed expression and simple question.
“Yes, invited by Miss Darcy. Lady Oakham hoped that he would make an appearance, affording me the opportunity to deliver the letter.”
Elizabeth paused; it was impossible to forget the emotions she had experienced that afternoon when she first visited his home.
His splendid residence could have been hers had she been cleverer, calmer, or more understanding.
Or had she listened to her heart above all else, as Jane would have done.
Her reproach was not directed at Jane but at herself.
She did not need to close her eyes to remember, for his house had seared itself into her memory forever.
As the carriage halted before the elegant three-storey house, under the canopy adorned with coloured glass and supported by Greek columns, even Mrs Gardiner had sighed in admiration and regret.
“Visiting Rosings was the first time I had entered a mansion that resembled the grand royal palaces we have seen in town, but his London residence is a home. Warm and inviting. When we entered the drawing-room, we found a pianoforte with Miss Darcy’s music scattered all about.
Her companion affectionately reprimanded her for the disorder, but that was precisely what endeared it to me—the sensation of a real home where people enjoyed spending their time.
Imagine the generous sash windows, welcoming an abundance of natural light, affording views of a small yet enchanting garden that was in full spring bloom!
” Elizabeth said, overwhelmed by memories.
She had admired everything—the exquisite furnishings, the pastel-coloured paper on the walls that harmoniously matched the upholstery of the chairs and sofas. For a fleeting moment, she had imagined herself descending to the garden to pick flowers to arrange in delicate vases.
“I never dreamt of being rich. I had always hoped to have a contented life with a husband who could serve as a parson in a modest rectory or as a solicitor like Uncle Phillips. However, gazing upon his house, I had to accept that I also regretted the life he could have provided.”
“I have never contemplated Mr Bingley in such a manner!” Jane confessed.
“I know, and that was the main reason for my colossal anger.”
“But you imagined your life with him…Mr Darcy,” Mary murmured, lost in dreams of her own.
“I suppose I did. I contemplated the life I would build with such a man. I never anticipated uttering these words, but building a life with the master of that house would have been the perfect pursuit of happiness. I was engulfed in admiration and regret. I longed to see him in that setting as he truly was. Not in the assembly rooms in Meryton, nor even in the opulence of Rosings, but there, in his home, amidst his family and possessions.”
“One remains unchanged, regardless of the setting!” Jane declared with obvious reproach.