Chapter 7 #2
Elizabeth was in pain once more, almost to tears.
She kept her eyes lowered to her plate, unable to take part in any conversation and longing only to be alone in her room.
She needed to write a long letter to her aunt about all that had passed in the last few days.
She also wished Uncle Gardiner to send a servant to accompany her to London.
In the best of circumstances, she might be there in three or four days.
She would have left that very night, would even have walked to London, to avoid having to face the people around that table.
“I hope you intend to remain another month, Miss Bennet,” Lady Catherine said.
“Unfortunately, Lady Catherine, I shall leave in a few days. My father requires my presence.”
She scarcely attended to the old lady’s speech, imagining instead how different the evening might have been had she stood there on Darcy’s arm, their engagement announced.
But Lady Catherine was far from finished.
In a cheerful tone, she declared that there would soon be at least one wedding in the family.
When Mr Collins glanced curiously at Miss de Bourgh, Lady Catherine shook her head.
“It concerns my nephews—they both intend to marry, and I am certain that the ton contains exactly the wives they deserve. I cannot imagine a member of my family marrying beneath the daughter of a peer of England.”
∞∞∞
Later that evening, Elizabeth wrote a long letter to her aunt. The facts exactly as they had occurred, her fears, and her perplexities, were all laid open without reserve. She needed advice, and her aunt was the only one who could understand the situation and help her find a remedy.
The days before her departure were difficult for both Elizabeth and her hosts.
Though nothing was openly said, a strange discomfort lingered in the air.
Mr Collins came home only for dinner and scarcely spoke a word—except to repeat what Lady Catherine had said that day—while Charlotte and Maria, in Elizabeth’s presence, tried to confine their conversation to household matters.
It was settled that Maria would remain at Hunsford, for the two sisters were delighted to be together.
Charlotte looked almost relieved when Elizabeth entered the carriage—not a word of regret escaped her.
Elizabeth realised that their friendship, as it had once been, was gone forever.
Yet the relief was on both sides. Their parting was cold and without tenderness, and when the carriage passed close to the gates of Rosings, Elizabeth at last gave way to her sorrow.
∞∞∞
She reached London after hours of weeping.
It took Aunt Gardiner only a single glance to understand that something was deeply wrong.
In spite of their protests, the Gardiner children were sent to their rooms, while Uncle Gardiner had disappeared even earlier.
He understood very well when a female crisis was at hand.
In her aunt’s arms, Elizabeth was at last able to rest. She no longer cried, but her mind was still far from calm.
And the situation was truly alarming. All winter, Mrs Gardiner had witnessed Jane’s unhappiness, but Jane was gentle and easily moved to tears, so her sorrow had not been wholly unexpected.
Elizabeth had always been the stronger. When they were girls, Jane met every trouble with tears, while Elizabeth preferred punishment to shedding a tear or saying, “I am sorry.” She was stubborn, but also trustworthy in every circumstance of life.
And now that same spirited young woman lay broken in her aunt’s arms.
“It cannot be so terrible.”
“It is,” Elizabeth said, at last able to speak calmly. “I have lost my chance of happiness because I could not restrain my tongue.”
“You must not blame yourself alone. From what I read in your letter, he, too, was at fault. In no case was that a proper proposal. Your reply was severe, I admit, but not unnatural in one who has been offended. I find it troubling that he could not foresee how deeply his words would wound you.”
“We are two very singular people. I could have told him, ‘I hate you’ and ‘I love you’ in the same breath.”
“So…you love him after all, and regret refusing him.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth whispered, and again tears fell. “And now he means to marry a lady of rank; at least, that is what Lady Catherine told us.”
“You cannot rely upon what his aunt says. It is her dearest wish that her nephews marry ladies of the nobility. You cannot know what he truly thinks or intends.”
“What am I to do now? I know it is improper for an unmarried lady to write to an unrelated gentleman, but he wrote first. Do you think I might answer him—explain myself, or ask him to come here so that we may speak?”
“I think a note, privately delivered, could do no harm, and it might naturally appear to be a reply to his letter. But before that, let me tell you some excellent news that may make you happier.”
Elizabeth looked at her aunt, unable to imagine that any news in the world could restore her happiness.
“Mr Bingley was here only two days ago. I intended to write to you, but knowing that you would soon return, I waited.”
“And?” At once, she was calmer and intent upon what her aunt was saying.
“The poor gentleman came to enquire whether Jane was in London. He was greatly disappointed not to find her here, and in his timid way asked your uncle and me whether we thought he would be received at Longbourn.”
“Oh! He meant to speak to Jane!”
“Certainly—but more than that, he wished to apologise for his long absence and silence.”
“Are you sure?” Elizabeth asked, a fresh hope in her eyes.
“Perfectly sure. He seemed both anxious and excited, unable to express himself clearly, but we are convinced he is now in Hertfordshire to ask for Jane’s hand.”
Mrs Gardiner studied her niece, expecting some sign of relief. Yet instead of a happy expression, Elizabeth turned pale, as if on the edge of still greater distress. She was no longer crying, but her face had become pale and fixed, which was almost more alarming.
“I refused him for nothing…” she whispered, looking at some distant point invisible to everyone else.
“What do you mean, my dear?”
“Had I known of Mr Bingley and Jane, I might have answered his proposal differently—still angry perhaps, but not so destructive. Do you think Mr Darcy made Mr Bingley change his mind?”
“Could he have had time to see Mr Bingley and advice him to visit Longbourn? I do not know. Mr Bingley was here only two days ago.”
“You are right. It is impossible to know. But in the end, it does not matter. I am happy for Jane.”
Yet her own grief was all the greater. Had Mr Darcy made his offer only a few days after receiving tat news about Mr Bingley, her answer might have been entirely different.
She loved him, beyond all doubt, and she had lost him.
His proposal had been strangely expressed, but she, too, had been at fault in the violence of her reply to anyone who seemed to deny her respect or admiration.
Her prejudice—about which Mr Bennet had warned her long ago—and his pride had made enemies of them, when they might have been lovers.
“I shall go and write that note.”
“Yes, do so; and if it receives no answer, I am certain you will see Mr Darcy at your sister’s wedding.”