Chapter 63
Elizabeth sat in her chamber that night.
She was tired from the exertion of the morning; she’d had nearly eighteen months of not being able to take the vigorous exercise to which she had always before been accustomed.
The morning’s walk had certainly helped; and it would have caused her a sounder rest than she’d had of late if only she had not so much to consider.
But her instincts were telling her that she had been undecided long enough. There were opportunities aplenty before her; she was more fortunate than many young women today.
On that day in December nearly two years ago, she’d had no choice, not unless she was willing to bring ruin upon Jane. But the dreadful time since had led her to today, sitting in a comfortable chamber in the home of her beloved aunt, and with a plethora of choices before her.
Not that some of them were worthy of a moment’s consideration. Hertfordshire. She shuddered, no, never that. That eliminated both Longbourn and Netherfield, although she did long to see Jane.
Elizabeth’s brow furrowed, why had Mr Bingley not brought Jane to town so that she could meet her sister after so long apart? The letters she had exchanged with Jane were rather stilted and uninformative. Elizabeth set those thoughts aside; she would ask her aunt directly in the morning.
Lincolnshire? No, not Lincolnshire. Anna was a wonderful friend, and Elizabeth would need to rebuild the trust between them now her friend knew the truth of who she was and that she had been living a lie.
How strange. Anna was now her sister, not a friend, and their relationship would always be different.
But not just yet. Elizabeth needed to be away from that period in her life, and particularly Mr Price.
She would thank Mrs Simmonds by letter. But Elizabeth would not return there now, and possibly never.
The opportunity to make a life wherever she chose, with apparently limitless funds? Yes, it was an option she supposed, but she was now twenty-two years old. And married. She could not be unmarried, could not seek a new life, partner in life, marry and have children.
A long, lonely life would leave time for many regrets.
If she had been older, perhaps, and could have Charlotte as a companion, perhaps then she might consider it.
But Charlotte had married Mr Collins. Papa had told her so, when telling her news of the family and neighbourhood.
Elizabeth was a very different person now, and so, perhaps, was her friend; or former friend.
Elizabeth hardly knew. She would write soon, and attempt to discover it.
The Pemberley Dower House. Her thoughts came back to that. Again. Every alternative she had thought of had a large dose of ‘but — the dower house’ up against it.
Perhaps she must consider it. She had determined to place it last of her options, merely because she had seen Mr Darcy’s pallor as she asked what if I want to leave?
She did not want to hurt him, she realised that now.
Colonel Fitzwilliam had managed a few quiet words with her when he had called with his cousin.
She knew now how devastated Mr Darcy had been when she had vanished; how concerned for her safety; and how he had tormented and punished himself for causing her such unhappiness that it had caused her to leave in such a manner.
Elizabeth knew how their seventeen months apart had driven him almost beyond prostration in his fear for her and his determination to discover her and make everything right.
She smiled sadly to herself. And, in the end, he had not found her. Mere chance had brought him to his sister’s home on the very day before she was likely to have lost her home when Nan died, and have had to make her own way into danger again.
But the Colonel was certain that Mr Darcy would never have given up the search. And so too, now, did Elizabeth.
But even so, he had been determined that she must not consider his feelings and wishes; only hers.
Yes, he was the best of men.
Elizabeth pulled out the sheet of promises that he had written for her, promises that had put right many of the thoughts she had written that dreadful birthday in May; the letter she ought never to have written and left for him to read.
But that list of promises seemed to show that she would not suffer thus again, and his careful attentions over the last weeks seemed to show that he had also taken note of her feeling of not being seen as a person in her own right.
She read the list of promises again. But that is all they were, a list. It was entirely a matter of whether he would abide by them, no law forced him to.
Could she trust him?
Yes, she thought. I do trust him. He has changed and is very different.
She could trust him to allow her to make the life he promised. But the real issue, she knew, was not going to live at the dower house. If she lived there, she would not be so unkind as to prevent him calling.
Was she willing to let this man come to matter to her again?
She did not love him, although she cared for his happiness. Would she come to love him? She got up and restlessly walked to the window, where she stared out into the darkness of the coming autumn.
She did not know if she would come to love him, but she knew she could do so. He was a very different man.
And she was his wife. Whether she could love him or not, she knew she could trust him, and that he would do his utmost for her happiness.
She laughed softly into the darkness, remembering Charlotte’s voice. “Happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance.”
With what she now knew of her husband, and her trust in him, Elizabeth knew that her chance of happiness was much better than most.
She turned back to her bed, chill now, as the warming pans had been taken many hours ago, but she had a quiet heart and would at last be able to sleep.
She snuggled down into the pillows, wondering if Mr Darcy yet slept. She would seize the chance of happiness he offered and return to Derbyshire.