The End of Equanimity #4
Jane had not meant to say the words aloud and was sorry when Elizabeth recoiled.
Yet, now it was said, she found she could not regret it.
All day at the picnic, whilst she had struggled to think of a thing to say, her sister had delighted the guests—and, more particularly, the host—with her easy conversation and clever wit.
Watching Mr Bingley watch her at archery had been deeply troubling, akin to watching the entire neighbourhood watch them dance together at the assembly.
Both incidents had kindled a wholly unfamiliar yet potent sentiment in her mind: envy.
“She is quite right, Lizzy,” Mrs Bennet said. “You must desist from flirting with Mr Bingley.”
Elizabeth’s expression of pained disbelief was nothing to Jane’s dismay. Surely her dearest sister would never usurp Mr Bingley’s attentions by design. Yet if her mother believed it…
“I assure you, I flirted with nobody yesterday,” Elizabeth said tightly. “And certainly not Mr Bingley. Indeed, it grieves me that you consider me capable of it.”
Mrs Bennet clicked her tongue impatiently. “Do not get on at me, girl. I did not say your manner was at fault—only your focus. Leave Mr Bingley alone and—”
“You speak as though I am Lydia, pestering the poor man for attention! If Mr Bingley and I have become better acquainted, it is only through my attempts to help you, Jane, when you have been too shy to speak to him.”
“You have no business being friends with Mr Bingley!” Mrs Bennet objected, negating the necessity of Jane saying the same thing. “No, you must direct your efforts towards Mr Greyson.”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “Mr Greyson?”
“Why, yes! He likes you very well. You could secure him in an instant if you would only use the same charm on him you have done with Mr Bingley.”
“Madam, I have used no charm! And I do not wish to persuade Mr Greyson of anything.”
Mrs Bennet’s expression grew pinched. “You will do as you are told. If you had done your duty and married Mr Collins, none of this would matter. Then you could have flirted with whomever you chose!”
Elizabeth surged from her chair with an angry growl and stormed to the door.
Mrs Bennet followed her, screeching at her even after she left the room about wilful ways and ingratitude.
Elizabeth’s only reply was to close the front door with excessive force.
Mrs Bennet turned back into the parlour, her lips pursed, and her face and neck suffused with a deep flush. “Obstinate, headstrong girl!”
Jane was unused, but not entirely averse, to the sense of vindication that overcame her. “Not quite so charming now, Lizzy,” she muttered.
Her mother rounded on her. “You could learn a good deal from your sister. She has gentlemen eating from the palm of her hand. You would do well to take a leaf from her book before Mr Bingley changes his mind again and disappears off to Nova Scotia forevermore!” She stomped from the room shouting for Hill and Jane was left to all the satisfaction of having forced her to say what gave no one any pain but herself.
Thursday 21 May 1812, London
The air was damp and the sky overcast, yet the day was not cold, and birdsong filled the park. Had Darcy not been burdened with the prospect of a most disagreeable conversation, he would have taken a good deal more pleasure in the early morning ride.
As soon as he was certain no passers-by were near enough to overhear, he turned to his sister riding beside him. “I am sorry if my appearance on Monday gave you cause for alarm. It was naught serious, but I ought to have told you that sooner.”
“There is no need to apologise.”
“Yes, there is. It was selfish of me not to consider how seeing me thus might distress you. I have been careless with your feelings too often of late, and I apologise. I shall endeavour to be more attentive in future and to cancel no more engagements.”
“I do not need you to be more attentive,” Georgiana replied, her voice quiet but her tone uncommonly severe. “I can live very well without ices at Gunter’s or Romeo and Juliet. You must truly think me a child yet if you believe my only concern is for my own entertainment.”
Darcy returned his gaze to the distant trees, frowning in consternation. “It was not my intention to cause further offence.”
“You misunderstand me. I am not offended or feeling neglected. I am concerned—for you.”
He tugged his horse’s reins, needlessly adjusting its heading. Was there a woman alive he did not misunderstand? “I see. Thank you.”
“I understand,” she said with a quiet sigh.
“Would you care to enlighten me? Because I do not.”
That earned him a sad smile. “It grieves me to see you unhappy, Fitzwilliam. I wish it were in my power to relieve your pain, yet I am too young to be of any use as a sister, too old to be your daughter and too much a woman to be your friend. I fear the years that separate us will forever be an obstacle.”
It was a poignant summation of their relationship.
Compared to Elizabeth’s intimacy with Miss Bennet, Darcy’s attachment to his sister was markedly patriarchal.
What can a young man do with a baby sister, after all, but dote on her?
Yet, he was no longer so very young, and she was assuredly no longer an infant.
Perchance they had, at last, reached an age where they might enjoy a more equal friendship.
After all, a full eight years separated him from Elizabeth, and he craved her companionship like nothing else.
“Not as much as they have been, I think,” he offered with a gentle smile.
A mix of hope and delight overspread her countenance as she enquired whether that meant he would now tell her what troubled him.
He baulked at the prospect—then, just as quickly, imagined Elizabeth laughing at him for it.
She would no doubt accuse him of being unsocial and draw from him more than he intended to reveal, as she had done on so many occasions.
There was no doubt she would have better understood, better respected him, had he been less reserved.
“I have,” he began, his eyes fixed on the trees ahead, “through my mistaken pride, lost the chance to wed a lady whom I greatly admire. It has been difficult to accept both my mistakes and my loss.”
Georgiana gasped softly. “I had no idea you liked her so very well.”
He looked at her sharply. “Of whom do you speak?”
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
He looked back to the trees, hoping his mortification was not obvious.
“It is her you admire, is it not?”
He breathed deeply but then conceded with a nod. “How did you know?”
“You spoke well of her in your letters, and Mr Bingley said you enjoyed her company.”
He pressed his lips together in vexation. Bingley—indiscretion personified.
“What did you mean,” Georgiana went on, “when you said your mistaken pride had lost you the chance to wed?”
“I would not dwell on this, Georgiana. Suffice to say that her opinion of me is not as great as my own has been, and my arrogance gave her reason to believe other, less favourable reports of my character.”
“What reports? Who does she know that would speak ill of you?”
His instinct was to shield Georgiana from the painful truth, yet his pledge to treat her more equally forbade it. It was nonetheless with great caution that he informed her of Wickham’s part in his present misery. Her response surprised him, being more furious than distraught.
“Has he not done us enough harm? He is entirely unrepentant!”
Her horse skittered sideways, startled by her outburst. Darcy grabbed for its reins, easing the beast closer to his own.
“Unfortunately, yes, he is. I doubt he will ever improve.”
“Then I pity the next person he importunes, for it is too much to hope he will not impose upon anybody else.”
A horrible foreboding blossomed in the pit of Darcy’s stomach.
Elizabeth had never sought Fitzwilliam’s corroboration of the account of Wickham’s character he gave in his letter.
He knew not whether she had even read it.
Part of him hoped she had not, for it was full of bitterness and resentment.
Yet, if she had not, and she was still enamoured of the fiend…
Repugnant visions of Wickham’s filthy hands on her and her reputation in tatters filled his head.
“Good day, Mr Darcy, Miss Darcy!” hailed two gentlemen from the fringes of his set as they walked by.
“Mr Temple, Mr Vaughan,” he said, slowing his horse and tipping his hat.
“’Tis true then?” Mr Temple said, staring brazenly at Darcy’s cheek. “You did get a beating at Jackson’s?”
Darcy glared balefully at the man and said not a word.
He had taken countless punches at Jackson’s, none of them having the desired effect of beating off his heartache, but to mention it in the presence of his sister was unpardonable.
Mr Temple paled. Mr Vaughan babbled an apology for his friend’s impertinence, and both men scurried hastily away.
Darcy shook his head and nudged his horse into motion.
“One day you will meet somebody who is not intimidated by that stare of yours,” his sister reprimanded him gently.
“Believe you me, I have met her already, and she is far more than a match for me.”
Georgiana only smiled sympathetically, and they left the park in companionable silence.
Darcy House
21st May
To Colonel Forster,
I hope this letter finds you well. I write in regard to one of your officers, Lt. Wickham, in whose character I fear you have been most unhappily deceived.
It has recently come to my attention that he has given the people of Meryton an account of his prior acquaintance with me that bears so little resemblance to the truth as to place any who believe it in considerable danger.
Allow me to give you a more truthful report.
(Supporting documentation and addresses of referees are enclosed.)