Chapter 11
Elizabeth stood in front of the mirror as the maid helped her brush her curls down over her back. She was in a pensive mood that night — no uncommon occurrence of late. Absurd as it was, she could not seem to get Mr Darcy out of her head.
She must not forget the great gap in status between them, even if he half seemed to.
Or was he only indulgent of his sister to the point of not minding such things?
Miss Darcy had invited them over for tea with a frequency that could only be a sincere desire for their company, for it certainly went far beyond mere politeness.
The invitations were, at least, very welcome.
Elizabeth had rarely been so well entertained as with Georgiana Darcy and her too-handsome brother, and Mrs Gardiner and Mrs Annesley were quickly becoming fast friends.
Elizabeth should have been very content. It had been a pleasant day. Her writing had gone well, and the sky had cleared enough for a short walk in the afternoon. She could not account for her sense of gloom that night.
Perhaps it was only that she would no longer have the Darcy’s company, for they were to leave for Pemberley before much longer.
The time had flown by since they had been told of their return to their estate in Derbyshire, bringing the date of their separation with a rapidity that must be due to her reluctance to say goodbye to such charming friends.
Elizabeth knew she ought not to view it with any regret.
Indeed, their departure could only do them all good.
Mr Darcy would be free to see to his business matters and take care of his tenants, who might need the attention of one with the funds and authority to have roofs fixed and quarrels sorted out.
And she would be able to focus on her writing again.
Charming as her new friends were, any distraction must be a hindrance to writing her next novel, and the Darcys were disquieting in their quick intelligence and perception.
Were friendships to be judged only by their likelihood of leading to her secret being revealed, Elizabeth might have wished her new friends considerably less intelligent.
Miss Darcy had not mentioned her extensive “letter writing” since their first few meetings.
Elizabeth attributed the change half to Miss Darcy’s kind discretion, and half to her own increased caution in keeping her hands free of ink, at least to the extent that was possible.
Writing more carefully, avoiding the day before she was to visit them, and scrubbing her hands had improved matters considerably.
But avoiding writing before meeting the Darcys also had the effect of putting her sorely behind schedule.
Mr Tilney had not been best pleased by her reports.
Just yesterday, he had clicked his tongue at her and told her she would have to press herself if she were to make the deadline they had set.
Thankfully, they had not yet announced that her new novel would be released at the beginning of the summer months.
But Mr Tilney still had his heart set on it and had even begun speaking of another novel, to be published as quickly as she could write it!
At that thought, half infuriating and half terrifying, Elizabeth huffed and turned her head sharply.
The maid gasped and Elizabeth gave a yelp of surprise and pain., for the sudden movement had caused her to rip out several strands of hair.
“Oh, please forgive me, Miss. Did I hurt you?”
Elizabeth placed a hand over the tender spot and closed her eyes. “It was my fault, Hattie. I should not have moved, but I was lost in thought.”
“A thousand pardons, Miss Bennet. It won’t happen again.
” Hattie, the poor girl, looked on the verge of tears as she stood before Elizabeth, holding the brush.
She must have been sorely mistreated in her last position, Elizabeth thought sadly, for any reasonable person would have seen that Hattie was not to blame.
“You are not in any kind of trouble, Hattie. It was my fault. I should not have jerked my head.” She gave the girl a bolstering smile and placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder.
“You have done all you can for me tonight. Why do you not return to your mother in the kitchen, and see if there is a sweet treat left over from tea time?” Elizabeth winked.
“Tell her that Miss Bennet has asked it as a special favour.”
“Oh, no, Miss, I couldn’t,” she argued. But Elizabeth could tell Hattie’s mouth was already watering, just thinking of the delicacy she might enjoy.
“I command it,” Elizabeth said with playful seriousness. “Now, run along. I can plait my hair myself tonight.”
“Are you sure, Miss?”
“Yes, thank you, Hattie. You have worked hard enough today, I think. Go and enjoy yourself,” Elizabeth dismissed the girl, then went to sit down at the vanity and plaited her hair down her back. She sighed and looked at her reflection.
It was well enough. Her mother and all the neighbours had always considered her pretty, if not so pretty as Jane. While not wishing to be vain, Elizabeth did not dislike her own appearance. Certainly there was nothing in it that would make her private dreams of love and marriage impossible.
No, that she had accomplished by her own actions.
Even a man who overlooked her lack of fortune could not view her work as the notorious Mrs Laurence with indifference.
It might have been different if she had written works of fine literature or moral tomes, but these would not have brought in the money her family needed.
Her books, works of Gothic thrills that they were, had succeeded beyond her wildest dreams, saving her family — and dooming herself to a life of being Mrs Laurence in private and Miss Bennet in public.
No worthy man would give his name to a woman of such notoriety.
Elizabeth stood from the vanity and padded in her bare feet over to her little writing desk.
Her manuscript and notes had lain untouched for days.
She knew she should take advantage of the quiet and try to get some more writing done, but her mind was too unsettled to focus on work.
Ever since she had become such good friends with Miss Darcy, it had become more difficult to keep her secret.
She felt overwhelming guilt at the continued lies she and Mrs Gardiner had had to tell.
Oddly, Mr Darcy seemed interested in learning more about what she knew of the publishing world, even as she tried to pass off her knowledge as merely second-hand.
What she had “learned” from Mr Tilney had actually been her personal experiences, but she could never say so.
She would always be forced to lie to her new friends.
Perhaps some time away would give her some wisdom about how to proceed.
Elizabeth traced her fingers over the words that she had scribbled more than a week earlier. Worse still, she could not deny that she felt more for Mr Darcy than she should. If they were thrown together much more, she felt that her heart would be completely lost.
She need not blame herself. It was only a girlish fancy, and nothing more. She knew that, and must not forget it, for certainly her interest would not be returned.
Only it was difficult to remember that it was nothing, and must remain nothing, when he was so very excellent a man.
Mr Darcy was undoubtedly handsome. But he was also kind, considerate, and listened to what she had to say with an unfeigned interest that could not be otherwise than flattering.
Mere politeness would have been well enough, but Mr Darcy spoke to her with genuine enjoyment, as though even the simplest topic might be rendered interesting by the speaker.
It reminded Elizabeth of no one so much as her father.
He too had always been glad to listen to her.
And now her father was gone, and would never listen to her with a wry little smile and a reassuring nod again. Never again would he comfort her with a calm, dry “now, now, Lizzy,” or give her rare, precious words of praise.
Elizabeth stood and took up the magnifying glass from the mantel.
“Oh, Papa. I wish you were here right now. I could sorely use your advice,” she murmured.
She replaced the glass, then turned and retrieved the candle from the vanity.
She then padded over to the bed, set the candle on the side table, and climbed between the sheets and coverlet.
Elizabeth blew out the candle, then turned and snuggled into the sheets.
The rains had stopped that afternoon, revealing a clear sky brightly lit with a near-full moon.
She watched the shadows sail across the walls as the moon went behind fluffy clouds, then peeked out again as the wind blew the clouds across the sky.
She let out a deep sigh as she allowed her eyes to close. “Be practical tonight, Lizzy,” she whispered to herself. “Try to sleep well, and do not dream too much. There is a lot of work ahead of you on the morrow.”
Elizabeth was asleep almost as soon as she had said the words.
But the dream-Elizabeth did not follow her own sound advice.
She was running through a darkened hallway, back at Longbourn.
She was a little girl again, searching for Papa in the deserted house.
As she came into his study, she found him standing near the hearth.
A fire had escaped it to lick its burning tongue over the piles of books and papers, rapidly turning into an inferno.
Her father did not seem to notice. He merely stood there, watching, as the flames consumed everything.
“Papa, get away from there!” Elizabeth gasped. She tried to reach her father, but he was quickly engulfed in the flames and smoke.
Just before he was consumed, he turned to her and spoke. “Wake up! Fire! Wake up, all!”