Chapter 11 Possessing Equal Frankness
by Natasja Rose
Hunsford, Kent
Elizabeth regretted not telling the maid that she was not home to callers, as the sound of the knocker sent spikes through her head.
Her headache had begun as a polite fabrication to avoid Mr Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam, for fear of saying several unladylike things in Lady Catherine’s exalted presence.
Haunted by fragments of a pirate’s kidnapping—or were they dreams?
—Elizabeth still couldn’t tell, yet somehow her life had slipped into the plot of a Gothic novel.
Whether it had happened at all, or had merely been an exceptionally vivid dream, the headache was no longer fiction.
The emotional turmoil of almost coming to like Mr Darcy at Rosings, coupled with the discovery that he was partially responsible for destroying Jane’s future hopes, all the conflicting intelligence, and the strain of suffering Mr Collins, made Elizabeth feel as though her head would split in two.
Those wretched dreams of lives lived and realities that never were! They seemed so real while they occurred, but vanished like morning dew, leaving Elizabeth to question her own sanity! Could anyone even begin to comprehend her struggles?
How was she to determine the truth when each repetition muddied the waters further? For an instant, Elizabeth remembered her mother calling for salts and a cool compress to ease her poor, abused nerves. Perhaps Elizabeth should have been kinder to the lady over the years.
The maid Sally returned from the door. “Mr Darcy to see you, miss.”
Oh, lord, must she entertain visitors now? Charlotte and Mr Collins were at Rosings, and there was no one else to entertain him. “Pray bring tea, though I hope it shall not be needed. I will be down presently.”
She dampened a cloth in the basin and pressed it to her temples. It relieved the ache a little, though Elizabeth doubted that it would last. Perhaps Mr Darcy would take mercy on her head and not stay long.
Certainly stranger things had happened…
“You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you—”
“I must do no such thing. I stayed away from dinner with a megrim, only for you to impose upon my suffering.” Elizabeth’s headache and temper flared, along with the memories of how badly this speech had ended once before.
Love could not exist without respect and affection, and while Mr Darcy was not as haughty and reticent as he had been in Hertfordshire, could he claim to feel either for her? How could Mr Darcy claim to love her when he barely knew her and had shown no indication of liking her?
“We have known each other for less than three months and spent most of that time sparring with one another!” The pain in her temples was not the lone reason tears burned her cheeks.
“You do not love me, Mr Darcy. You love an idea of me that is sure to disappoint you eventually. I would rather not be under your power when that happens.”
Her breath caught—so slight a thing she hoped he did not observe—and her thoughts lingered upon the unfamiliar spark about his eyes. Recognition or remembrance, perhaps? Might it be that Elizabeth was not the only one remembering things that never happened?
Recovering from his aborted proposal, Mr Darcy cleared his throat. “The timing could have been more fortuitous, I admit, but I could find no better occasion to speak to you.”
She exhaled in frustration. “Were I inclined to accept you, you would have had to confess all to your aunt and cousin.”
He hesitated. “And that would be a difficulty, as not everyone would welcome our match. But why should that matter to me?”
Again, he thought only of himself! His opportunity, his desires.
Men held the advantage, but that did not mean Elizabeth had to like it.
“Your objections to Jane marrying Mr Bingley also apply to me. My connexions are few, my fortune is meagre, and my mother will not change in essentials any more than Miss Bingley or your aunt. Why am I acceptable, where Jane is not?” Elizabeth rubbed her temples and attempted to stand.
“I cannot speak on this further at this time.”
Mr Darcy hastened to help her gain her feet, steadying her as the room swayed. “Is there a time more suitable that we may speak again?”
Convention had done them no favours in the past; Elizabeth relented. Perhaps it was time for candour. “The day after tomorrow, I will walk out after breakfast.”
Elizabeth met Mr Darcy in the clearing she had favoured on her daily walks. It afforded a peaceful retreat, unlike the parsonage.
They stood in awkward silence before Mr Darcy spoke. “You may not be satisfied with my reasoning, but I would like you to hear it, if you are willing to listen.”
It was as good a beginning as any. She dipped her chin in assent.
He paced, but Elizabeth could hardly fault him for that; she also did her best thinking on her morning rambles.
“At his heart, Bingley is a romantic. His parents were indifferent to each other, and he wanted a love match. Whenever I observed Miss Bennet, she was everything polite and amiable, but she showed no greater preference for my friend than for any other person she was partnered with for a dance set or card game.”
Mr Darcy had said himself that he did not perform to strangers; could he not afford Jane the same grace? Charlotte advocated that a lady should show more affection than she felt, but poor Jane had endured too many so-called gentlemen trying to claim that a smile was an invitation.
But Elizabeth had promised to hear Mr Darcy out, so she said nothing in her sister’s defence.
Mr Darcy continued, as if he feared that if he stopped, he would never start again.
“All of Meryton knew that your mother was desperate to see her daughters married, and while I cannot censure her ambition, it made me wary. I feared that she would pressure Miss Bennet to accept Bingley, whether she liked him or not.”
The worst part was that Elizabeth could not refute his fear.
Mama had been entirely willing to force Elizabeth to marry Mr Collins, regardless of Elizabeth’s wishes.
If not for Papa’s support and Mr Collins having his head turned by Charlotte, what lengths might Mama have gone to, in order to secure Longbourn beyond Papa’s lifetime?
Elizabeth forced her attention back to the man beside her.
“When Bingley asked my opinion, I told him the truth as I knew it: that I had seen no particular regard, but a very determined mother. As for London, I will own that I made no great effort to confirm whether the young lady I saw at a distance was Miss Bennet and left it to Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst to tell their brother of her calling upon them. The effect may have been the concealment of her presence, when they did not speak of her to him, but it was not my intent.”
Jane had no acquaintance with Miss Darcy, and Mr Darcy had no reason to call upon her.
He had already confessed to thinking Jane indifferent, and so they had simply once been temporary neighbours.
Unhappy as she was, Elizabeth could absolve Mr Darcy of blame in this instance.
“There is one question you have not answered: Why am I acceptable, where Jane is not?”
Mr Darcy swung his arms awkwardly. “Bingley is nouveau riche, and who he marries matters in a way that I can afford to ignore. Georgiana is not out and is happy to remain thus for as many years as she can get away with. I am one of the prominent landholders in Derbyshire, and the Darcys have held Pemberley for centuries.”
In other words, you may marry a country gentlewoman for love and retreat to your estate until the gossips find a new scandal.
Mr Bingley needed to marry up, preferably a gentlewoman with a fortune who would help separate him from the taint of trade.
Elizabeth bit her lip and said light-heartedly, “I confess, I had thought Mr Bingley’s biggest trial would be finding someone who could tolerate his sisters. ”
Mr Darcy flashed a smile, and Elizabeth was again astonished by his altered countenance. A warmth rose unbidden to her cheeks, and as she lifted her eyes to his, she found herself studying the earnestness in his face rather than searching for defects.
“Miss Bennet is a gentlewoman, yes, but one of five sisters, all with little fortune and few connexions. Miss Bingley is enough of a chain around his neck, as she seeks to place herself above others, without adding your youngest sisters.”
Elizabeth raised her brow, and Darcy hastened to explain himself. “I do not mean to say Miss Bingley or your sisters… I meant… Your younger sisters may well improve, with guidance and instruction, but their current behaviour is not that of young ladies out in society.”
He was not wrong. Lydia was likely harmless in Meryton, surrounded by those who had known her all of her life as a silly, headstrong girl.
But in London, or Brighton? In Bath, the birthplace of Good Manners?
Young Goulding, Long, and Lucas knew not to take Lydia’s flirting seriously.
Officers might have enough sense not to want silly wives, but a young lady could find her reputation ruined for far less than the activities of a married woman.
“What made you propose? Even the most confident gentleman wants to be sure his attentions are returned first.”
He blushed. “You challenged and bantered with me in a way that few ever do. I thought you were engaging me through your wit. Miss Bingley often remarked upon my attraction to you, so I thought it must be obvious.”
Mr Darcy was an intelligent man, but it was clear that he was something of a novice when it came to women.
“It was not, I assure you. I was certain that you looked at me to disapprove, so I was sceptical of any claims of your interest.”
He looked to the heavens and inhaled. “In that case, I can scarcely rebuke your surprise. How are we to proceed?”
A courtship under Lady Catherine’s nose and hampered by Mr Collins risked disaster.
On the other hand, courtships were to allow a couple to know each other, and that was less objectionable than she might have thought, last year.
“Depart as you planned, and tell Mr Bingley of meeting me and discovering that you were mistaken about Jane’s affection. ”
“Then I shall return to Netherfield and court you as I meant to, with no misunderstanding between us.”
She nodded. Perhaps it was vain of her, but Elizabeth wanted to be courted, too, not merely to receive a proposal without warning, followed by a hasty wedding.
Mr Darcy smiled again and, rather daringly, took her hand. “Perhaps Bingley will not mind a double wedding.”
Something in her chest gave a treacherous flutter, and she forgot to guard herself as she took in the frankness of his countenance.
Did she love him, or were these feelings from another time, another Elizabeth, remembered in dreams?
Perhaps, during this promised courtship, she would come to love him again.
Elizabeth felt the corner of her mouth betray her before she could school her composure, and she found his expression warmer than she had ever allowed herself to believe.
Elizabeth returned to the parsonage feeling far more peaceful than when she walked out that morning. Indeed, she might even consider herself hopeful.
She made herself comfortable in Charlotte’s sitting room with a biscuit and tea, and she picked up the book that Maria had been reading.
A Bleak Future by Jeff Bigler. Goodness, what an ominous title.
Setting her tea on the small table, Elizabeth read the first page: “It is a truth universally acknowledged that people who will not listen to their own good judgement will listen to a spectre.”