Chapter 16
Charles and Jane attended the wedding with the greatest pleasure. Hand in hand, they recalled with animation the moment, three months earlier, when they had stood before the clergyman, answering the solemn questions of the marriage service.
“I hope they will be as happy as we are,” Jane said to Elizabeth a few days later, as they sat alone in the parlour at Netherfield, enjoying a quiet afternoon after Jane’s return from London.
She was eager to relate every particular; but, to her astonishment, Elizabeth suddenly burst into tears. It was something Jane had never witnessed before. Fortunately, Bingley was absent, having gone to St Albans to escort some friends back to Netherfield.
Jane could not understand what had occasioned such distress. She looked at her sister with wide eyes, for in former times Elizabeth had always been the one to comfort and support her.
“What has happened, my dear?” she said at last, more alarmed than curious.
Elizabeth struggled to compose herself, and in a voice faint and unsteady—so unlike her usual manner—she told Jane the whole history.
“Mr Darcy asked me to marry him this spring, at Hunsford.”
Jane gasped and pressed her hand to her bosom; she seemed on the point of fainting. Fortunately, she was seated. Then she exclaimed, with sudden warmth, “Marry? Mr Darcy proposed to you—and you refused him?”
The answer needed no explanation: Elizabeth was seated at Netherfield Park, while Mr Darcy was on his wedding journey with Anne de Bourgh.
Yet, as she looked at her sister, Jane made an effort to restrain her feelings. Elizabeth was unhappy and required only kindness and tenderness.
“My dear Lizzy, I am so very sorry! Tell me everything; perhaps speaking may relieve you.” But even as she said it, she knew it was not true; she remembered too well that nothing had relieved her own sorrow after Bingley’s departure the previous autumn.
Elizabeth still hesitated to reveal all, but at last she yielded. Jane was now happily married, and nothing could injure her happiness—not even…Darcy.
Had she been able, she might almost have smiled; even in such a moment, she remained careful of Darcy’s character.
“Colonel Fitzwilliam, in the course of an unguarded conversation, told me that Mr Darcy had advised a friend not to pursue an attachment with a certain lady.”
Jane nodded quietly. “Yes, I know. When Charles proposed, he told me everything; we agreed that there should be no secrets between us.”
Elizabeth looked at her in astonishment.
“Charles was not even angry. He believed it had been his duty to examine his own feelings. And I entirely agree with him. He reflected, and when he was certain that he loved me, he returned.”
Elizabeth regarded her as though she had never truly known her before.
“He might never have come back,” Elizabeth said at last.
“Yes—if he had not loved me enough, or had not been prepared to act as a man and as a husband.”
It was as simple as that. No great upheaval, no violent struggle—only a gentle and reasonable man, willing to acknowledge his own uncertainty.
And Elizabeth’s pain became almost intolerable.
“I refused Mr Darcy’s proposal because I was angry—angry that he had interfered with your happiness.”
“No!” Jane cried. “Why would you do such a thing?”
“Because I am as proud and as prejudiced as he is. We both believed it was our duty to guide others, but it was nothing but vanity. I see that now. It was Mr Bingley’s happiness, and yours; whether he listened to advice or not was entirely his own choice.
No one could truly influence you, and no one needed to be protected from life. ”
Jane inclined her head sadly. She had thought only of her own feelings. “We all have our faults, but I am grieved that we should have contributed in any way to your suffering.”
“No, my dear, you had no share in it—it was entirely my own doing. I did not think clearly. Instead of being silent and reflecting upon what he said, I…refused him, and in such a manner that he can never forget it. But tell me—tell me of his wedding.”
Jane hesitated.
“I shall be well. It is over—it belongs to the past.”
“Then…the wedding was simple, but very elegant. You would scarcely believe how well the bride looked. She wore a pale yellow gown and a beautiful silk pelisse when they left the church. Yes—she appeared shy and unaffected—a true lady; that is all I can say.”
“And…” Elizabeth could not pronounce his name, but Jane understood.
“He was serious, as he always is, and scarcely smiled during the breakfast that followed. We remained long after the bride and bridegroom had departed, and the breakfast extended almost into dinner.”
“And where did they go?”
“They left directly for Pemberley.”
“At once?”
“Yes. We all took leave of them on the steps of Matlock House. There was an older lady with them.”
“An older lady? Lady Catherine?” Elizabeth asked, suddenly attentive.
“No, Lady Catherine stayed only a short time and then returned home. It was Mrs Darcy’s companion, I believe.”
Elizabeth lowered her eyes. It was painful to hear of “Mrs Darcy,” yet that was what Anne de Bourgh now was—Darcy’s wife.
“It must have been Mrs Jenkinson.”
“Yes—now I remember. Charles introduced us. You must know that everyone was exceedingly kind to me. It was a most agreeable surprise. And we are all to go to London for the Season. I am quite certain you will meet someone suitable and be married before June.”
Most likely I shall, Elizabeth thought, with quiet sadness.
But for the present, she must find some means of forgetting him.
“Will you remain with me and assist me in all my new duties?” Jane asked, hoping her sister might be happier at Netherfield than at Longbourn. “We expect some friends to stay with us for a week, and afterwards we shall return to London.”
“Yes, I will stay with you,” Elizabeth replied.
She resolved, if she could, to forget the past and to turn her thoughts only towards the future.