Chapter 23
TWENTY-THREE
Elizabeth expected the first two months of the new year to be busy, affecting, exhilarating, and even dizzying, between the new people and places she would be discovering.
On the way to Warwickshire after Twelfth Night, she, Lord and Lady Romsley, and her cousins travelled through Meryton.
The earl and countess had expressed a desire to meet the Bennets, and spending time in Meryton gave Elizabeth a welcome if brief opportunity to see the family she had grown up amongst. While her four companions stayed at the inn—causing quite the stir, since the market town was not accustomed to visitors of such elevated status—she would spend the night at Longbourn.
Since the plan had been arranged at the last minute, Mrs Bennet had little time to make arrangements, which Elizabeth knew would either be for the best—the Fitzwilliams did not want or need a fuss made over them—or add to the matron’s nerves.
Elizabeth went alone to Longbourn after leaving the others in Meryton; they would join her several hours later to have dinner with the Bennets. Then, the following morning, she and the Fitzwilliams would travel on to Northamptonshire.
“Oh Lizzy, my dear, dear girl, you are come back!” Mrs Bennet cried as she fell into Elizabeth’s arms. “I was afraid you never would, especially after how I acted when that horrible Mr Collins was here!” She burst into tears, leaving Elizabeth alarmed, desperately attempting to reassure her, and pleading silently with Mr Bennet and her cousins for help.
“Come now, my dear,” Mr Bennet said. “Lizzy would never abandon us, as her letters since she went away ought to have assured you.” He managed to extricate Elizabeth from her aunt’s arms, allowing her to greet Jane, Mary, Kitty, and Lydia.
“I am glad you have come,” Jane said softly as they embraced.
Mary was equally restrained, although there was no less sincerity in her welcome. Kitty and Lydia were boisterous, which made Elizabeth smile.
With a bit of effort, everyone was soon seated, Elizabeth between her uncle and aunt, who insisted on holding her hand.
Elizabeth spent a while answering questions about her sojourn in town—Mrs Bennet, Kitty, and Lydia most interested in the parties she had gone to and shopping she had done, Mr Bennet and Jane wanting to hear about the people she had met, and Mary largely remaining quiet and attentive.
“I have spoken of myself enough,” Elizabeth insisted. “You must tell me how you have been and all the news from the neighbourhood.”
“Mr Bingley is returning!” Mrs Bennet announced gleefully.
As she explained who had told her what regarding the gentleman and preparations at Netherfield Park to receive him, Elizabeth met Jane’s eyes; she seemed embarrassed, but despite her evident wish to appear unaffected by his imminent arrival, she could not hide it from her.
Jane was pleased, and as soon as they had a moment alone, Elizabeth would tell her about their conversation at the ball.
Throughout the dance she had shared with Mr Bingley, he had mentioned Jane repeatedly, making it clear how greatly he anticipated seeing her again.
Before long, talk turned to dinner, Mrs Bennet growing agitated as the moment an earl, a countess, and a viscount arrived at her door approached. “If I had only known a week or two ago, I might have sent to Hertford for—”
“For nothing, my dear,” Mr Bennet interjected. “I have every confidence that they are not coming to find fault with your arrangements.”
“Not at all,” Elizabeth assured her, overlooking Lydia’s questions—repeated by Kitty—regarding Colonel Fitzwilliam and whether he would be wearing his regimentals.
“Do you not recall me writing to you about how grateful they are that you provided me with such a wonderful home? They are coming to meet you and thank you and, no doubt, ask you about what I was like as a child.” She laughed, hoping to further ease her aunt’s anxiety.
Soon enough, the two families had met, a delicious and more-than-adequate dinner had been consumed, and the Fitzwilliams had returned to the inn for the night.
By Elizabeth’s estimation, it all went well.
To be sure, Mrs Bennet had been too talkative—especially in trying to explain that she had not truly been distressed by Elizabeth’s refusal to marry Mr Collins, saying to Lord and Lady Romsley, “I see now that it would have been a mistake. Lizzy has always been so much cleverer than I ever was, and she knew she had a much grander future ahead of her, even if she never actually said it, and when I was just a little quiet after the whole thing… Well, Lizzy is a good girl, and I am sure she understands.”
This talk—and the way Kitty and Lydia giggled—was slightly less likely to vex Elizabeth than the repeated mentions of her being related to a countess and the sorts of people she had been amongst while in town.
To no great surprise, the youngest two Bennets made many entreaties regarding staying with her in London and going to ‘all the balls and soirées’.
There had also been hints about her buying them whatever they wanted, since they—along with Mrs Bennet—assumed she was rich.
When she caught Mr Bennet’s eye the first time the subject was raised, he shook his head, indicating to her that he had not informed them of her fortune.
He had said, “I am afraid you will have to content yourselves with the usual goods you find in Meryton. As to going to town as Lizzy’s guest, Kitty, Lydia, you both require a great deal more maturity before I would agree to that. Let us hear no more of it.”
Fortunately, her London relations overlooked the inappropriate behaviour.
Lady Romsley, long accustomed to handling a variety of personalities with grace and tact, managed to change the conversation when necessary.
Several times, she restated a rude comment made by Mrs Bennet or one of the girls by asking if they had meant something more appropriate, her tone and manner suggesting she truly had not understood, although Elizabeth knew she had.
Mr Bennet and Jane—and even Mary—also intervened to keep the hours they spent together as comfortable as possible.
After retiring for the night, Elizabeth and Jane stayed awake, speaking in her bedchamber for long hours.
The subject of Mr Bingley required much discussion—as did his sisters’ behaviour—and talking about him made Elizabeth remember Mr Darcy.
Not that she needed the reminder; everything seemed to make her think of him.
Being in Hertfordshire, she looked about her and recalled moments they had spent together the previous autumn, and, knowing he had liked her even then, she viewed them differently.
And now, she reflected, he loves me! He might not have said the words at the Twelfth Night ball, but she knew he did—and that she loved him in return.
Nothing, no adjective man had ever created in any language, could possibly capture how that knowledge made her feel.
Even though she had told him her feelings for him frightened her, during the journey to Hertfordshire, as the distance between them grew, she had realised that the fear was nothing to her, that she would readily, easily defeat it, because the prize she would win—him—would give her the strength she needed.
She missed him, longed to see him again, and even secretly counted the days until they might be reunited.
In her heart, he was her Mr Darcy, even though they were not yet betrothed.
“But this is how it needs to be,” she said to her reflection in the dressing table mirror as she prepared to depart early the next morning. “For the moment, I should give my attention to knowing my family, especially the Sterlings, who are still strangers to me.”
It took two days to reach Hillsdale. Elizabeth’s feelings were not unlike those she had when she first went to Grosvenor Square the month before.
This time, she was not worried about her reception, yet she was just as anxious.
She wanted to feel a similar connexion to her uncle and aunt Sterling and their sons as she did to Lord and Lady Romsley, Bramwell, and Fitzwilliam, and feared she would not be so fortunate twice.
Her emotions—and no doubt those of everyone else—intensified when Uncle Sterling immediately began to cry.
He was a big bear of a man, tall and broad like her cousin Tom, but with features resembling the countess.
Everyone apart from Aunt Sterling, a pretty, slight lady with a kindly visage, had been confused.
They were in a bright parlour, sunlight pouring in through the windows.
Her uncle was sitting on a sofa, bent at the waist, his hands covering his face.
Next to him sat his wife, running a hand gently across his back.
Slowly, the rest of them—including the couple’s sons—had arranged themselves in the available seats and silently waited to discover what had caused such an outburst. With a bit of coaxing from his wife, her uncle confessed he had known that his younger brother had a child.
“While he lay dying, my father told me Thomas had written to tell him about his grandchild,” he said, shaking his head slowly.
“It made no difference to him! He refused to welcome him—his own son—back into the family, said no child of his would ever be acknowledged as a Sterling. But he assured me the child had died of the same infection that claimed my brother and his wife. I should have investigated on my own, should not have believed him, precisely because it involved Thomas. He was irrational with anger that his son had gone against his wishes and married the lady he loved.”
“You must not blame yourself, Robert!” Lady Romsley insisted.
“If you had told us at the time, we might not have looked into it either,” the earl added. “Lying about a child dying is not something I would have expected, even from your father. Or mine, for that matter.”
The countess nodded as her husband spoke and then said, “What matters is that Elizabeth found us, and we are together again.”
“I wish it had happened sooner,” Elizabeth admitted. “But I had a wonderful childhood surrounded by people who loved me, including four cousins who are like sisters to me.”
Regarding her, his brow softly furrowed in sorrow, Uncle Sterling said, “I regret that we lost so much time with you. My goodness, you do have Thomas’s eyes, just as my sister assured me.” He sighed. “Thomas would be pleased to know you are with us again.”
Smiling, Elizabeth said, “For me, this is the fulfilment of a long-held dream. At last, I know who I truly am, I know my family, and I understand where I came from.”
As her words suggested, being at Hillsdale was the final piece of the puzzle she needed to fully embrace her past. She felt it the moment she and her relations approached the house, and she realised it even more deeply the following morning, when Uncle Sterling and Lady Romsley showed her various drawings and paintings of her ancestors and, most affecting of all, her father.
Both his brother and sister insisted that no artist had ever been able to capture his remarkable eyes, but even so, she could trace the resemblance between him and her.
She was Elizabeth Sterling and knew it in a way she had not before.
And, having achieved this realisation, she found she was not averse to changing her name yet again.
I might soon become Elizabeth Bennet Sterling Darcy. It is ridiculously long and sounds awkward, but all three families are central to who I am and to my life.
Over the next days, Elizabeth was made much of by her aunts, who were glad to have a niece over whom they could fuss, given they both had only had sons.
Aunt Sterling teased her about how many beaux she had collected during her time in town until Lady Romsley whispered something to her sister-in-law that made her eyes widen and regard Elizabeth speculatively, saying, “They will make a striking couple. It does seem right, does it not? But what will Lady Catherine say?”
It was thus that Elizabeth learnt that Lady Catherine had responded to the news of her recovery—or discovery, more appropriately, since none of them had known she had been lost—by saying that it had nothing to do with her. Elizabeth was not and never would be a Fitzwilliam or member of her family.
“We are not on good terms, as I have explained,” Lady Romsley said to Elizabeth.
“Since she has always insisted Darcy would marry her daughter, Anne, I suspect she will decide to take notice of you when a certain happy event takes place. You must not mind her bluster. My husband will ensure she remembers she has no right to bully anyone into doing what she wants, not even her nephew.”
It was a shame Lady Catherine was so unpleasant, but many families had serious disagreements. The Bennets had long been estranged from Mr Collins, and her own father and mother had been disavowed. The situation with Lady Catherine did not concern Elizabeth in the least.